#possibly?? or just really pinch pennies until I get another job

[toads-treasures]

I found out the catch with that job I thought was too good to be true. It’s very part time and also very temporary, position ends in August 😒

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Hollow Pass (Part 1)

Summary: When the reader has to spend a day in the mines for work, she’s less than thrilled. When the miner showing her around for the day, Dean Winchester, is an ass, she’s even less thrilled. But an accident will change all of that and if they want a chance of getting out of the mess they’re in, they’ll need to put their lives in each others hands, literally...

Pairing: Miner!Dean x reader

Word Count: 4,100ish

Warnings: language, injury, frightening/claustrophobic/near death situations

A/N: Please enjoy the first of this 2 parter!

_______

You sighed as you stood in the trailer of the manager’s office, a jumpsuit and a pair of boots sat in a chair. Your boss, bless his heart, thought it was always a good idea for corporate positions to experience a day in the mines to truly understand the product and what the little guy went through on a day to day basis. The argument that you were not really corporate, not even close, seemed to go over his head.

“Y/N, you gonna change? I need my office back,” said the manager through the door. You pulled it open and pouted. “I don’t want you going down in the mines anymore than you do but if you want to make corporate, you gotta do what the CEO says.”

“Dad I don’t even want to work there. I like my simple office job.”

“Then why have you been in all those development programs at work?” he asked. You shrugged and he sighed. “Cause you can’t say no.”

“Do I have to?” you asked, looking back at the overalls.

“Do you want to quit?” he asked.

“I don’t want to lose a good paycheck. But I don’t want a corporate job either,” you said. 

“Then you’re shit outta luck,” he said. “I’m gonna put you with the Winchester boy. He’s on safety checks in our most secure mines.”

“You mean the ones that never have problems.”

“Funny how that all coincidentally happened today of all days,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks dad.”

“I don’t want you going anywhere near explosives. You’ll be safe doing the checks with Dean for the day.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you said twenty minutes later. The man in overalls and a hard hat rolled his eyes.

“I’m ten minutes late because of you which means I’m gonna get docked those ten minutes of pay so thank you little miss corporate.”

“I’m your boss’ daughter, jackass.”

“Still ain’t my boss,” he said. You huffed and headed over towards the mine entrance when he grabbed the back of your overalls. “No, dummy. You have zero safety gear so unless you want to die, you’re coming with me.”

“Asshole.”

“Dean Winchester at your service,” he said, dragging you over with him to some lockers. He punched a card and went to the storage racks, seemingly grabbing a few items and putting them on. He picked the hard hat off your head and grabbed one with a light and a wire attached to it, clipping it on your belt. He put something over your shoulder you put your arm through like a sling and clipped a mask onto the back of your belt, a flashlight and a small hand pickaxe going through your other loops. “Turn this lamp on anytime you’re in the mine and never, ever, take off your hat. If I yell at you or you smell something funny, get that mask on. Flashlight and the axe are backup for emergencies.”

He put a radio in your pocket and looked you over.

“Oh and for the love of God, do not wander off. I don’t care if you see a bug or break a nail or gotta piss.”

“What do you do if you have to…” you said.

“Normally you piss against some rock like a man but special manager’s daughter we’ll walk you back out here, take our slow ass time, make me go longer than my shift and because I was late today, I don’t get overtime.”

“That sounds kinda illegal.”

“The contracts for this company are a fucking nightmare,” he said, walking out of storage.

“Why work here then?” you asked as he went to an area and grabbed a clipboard. He took two water bottles and clipped them on each of your belts before whistling for you to follow after.

“Well somebody had to pay for his baby brother to go to law school and it wasn’t going to be my drunk of a father now was it,” said Dean, stopping and writing something down. 

“So you didn’t grow up with mining in your family?” you asked.

“No. I’m not some redneck hillbilly like you imagine either,” he said. He flipped on his light and turned yours on when you got to the mine entrance. “Crouch.”

“Huh?”

“We ain’t riding the cart which is missing, dumbass. Crouch down so you can fit in the tunnel,” he said. You swallowed and had to bend down some, following Dean closely. “Ain’t claustrophobic are ya cause now’s the time to tell me.”

“No,” you said. “Jerk.”

“Ah, see? We’re getting along already.”

You walked for five or so minutes before the ground sloped down further and an entrance to the right opened up. Dean straightened up and you did the same, stretching out as he grabbed the back of your jumpsuit.

“Dude, would you stop doing that?” you said.

“Would you stay in my line of sight?”

“That’s harassment. You can’t touch me without my permission,” you said, crossing your arms. He blinked a few times and rolled his eyes quite possibly the most dramatically you’d ever seen in your life.

“This? This is not an office building. Every single time you step in here you run the risk of dying and you have zero clue on how to stay safe down here. I hate it when you people with your big offices and penny pinching bullshit come down here and complain about every goddamn little thing. If you want out, get out of the fucking mining business.”

“You’re an irritable person,” you said. He grumbled and tugged you along with him until you brushed him off. You followed him down a hallway and another, Dean checking things off on his clipboard as he went. “Are you gonna explain any of this stuff?”

“What do you think?” he said. He whistled and you followed him down a few more hallways when he stopped a gauge looking contraption. He checked a few different numbers and valves on it as you spun around. 

“I guess it is kinda cool. That somehow you guys know how to block up rocks and leave all these cracks and know how to make it so it doesn’t all come crashing down.”

“Cracks?” he asked as he squatted down and read off a meter.

“Yeah like that big one,” you said, pointing at the wall across the way. He turned around and looked at it for barely a second before he grabbed your arm. 

“Move. Now,” he said. He pulled out his radio and pressed down the button. “We have a grade five crack in Lodge Six West. Do not blow. I repeat do not-”

The ground rumbled and you heard a splintering noise, Dean pushing you back into the hallway you’d been in. He jumped on top of you and covered your body with his, all the lights going out, a loud thundering of falling rocks happening close by. It seemed to go on and on before it finally stilled, the hallway pitch black.

“You alright?” he asked.

“I think so,” you said, coughing when you felt dust in the air.

“Don’t move,” he said. He lifted his head and there was some light, Dean looking around before climbing off of you and staring at a new wall of rock. He looked at the hallway you’d been in, clicking on his flashlight and you saw where the rock dropped off about a hundred feet away. “Well. Shit.”

“What just happened?”

“The rock was unstable and they already set off the charges and it shook the mountain so now there’s a giant hole over there and our exit is blocked.”

“What’s that way?” you asked, nodding down the only unobstructed hallway.

“Further down into the mine before you hit the decommissioned area.”

“Is there a way out,” you asked, Dean patting his side.

“Fuck. My radio is under all that,” he said. He took out yours and handed it to him, Dean nodding before he turned it on. “Main do you copy, over?”

There was silence on the other end and Dean hit the button again.

“Main this is Winchester in Lodge Six West with…what’s your name?” he asked.

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, manager’s kid. Copy, over.”

“Winchester this is Main. We got lots of calls coming in from ground crews about a shaking.”

“Lodge Six West Hall K is a giant crater of death and Hall H is buried, right up to the entrance of junction HJ.”

“Injuries?”

“We’re okay,” said Dean.

“Give me a second.”

Dean took a deep breath and coughed. He tapped your mask on your belt and you put it on, the air a bit easier to breath. 

“Winchester this is Melvin.”

“She’s okay, boss. Just a little shook up. Saved our asses from winding up in the ground even if she doesn’t know it yet,” he said. He held out the radio and you pulled down the mask. 

“Dad I’m fine, really. We both are. It’s just kinda dark and smelly is all.”

“I know. Put your mask on sweetie until you can get to some cleaner air,” he said. You put it back on, Dean, getting to his feet. He pulled you up and looked back at your blocked path. 

“Any other collapses?” asked Dean.

“None reported so far. Everyone should be out of the mine’s or on their way. Alarm is blasting.” You looked back at Dean, his eyes shutting.

“Melvin we can’t hear it. At all.”

“Rodney’s out checking where our side of the collapse starts. We’ll get you out,” he said, someone panting in the background.

“Hall B, Mel,” he said. Dean turned away from you and sighed. No one said anything for a long time until Dean finally raised his head.

“We got two 16 ounces bottles of water. If she rations it, she’s got a shot,” said Dean quietly.

“No, she doesn’t,” said your dad, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “How long does your radio have?”

“Mine got crushed. Hers was on a quarter charge. I’d guess maybe an hour or two tops,” he said.

“Should we call your brother?”

“He’s hiking in Glacier Park this week. No cell service,” said Dean quietly. “Just tell him to check my bottom desk drawer. There’s something for him there.”

“I can do that,” he said. “Is there anyone...parents-”

“All due respect sir, I’d rather you talk to your daughter,” he said. Dean held out the radio to you and you picked it up, Dean skirting around the corner to the one unblocked hallway.

“Dean?” you asked, following over there. He was leaned against the wall and looked over his shoulder at you. “What’s going on?”

“They can’t dig us out in time.”

“What do you mean-”

“Talk to your dad. You’re wasting time. That battery won’t last forever,” he said. He turned back and you walked back around the corner, sitting down against the wall.

“Hi dad,” you said.

“Hey,” he said, his voice shaky. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “Mom’s on her way down to talk, okay? She’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“I so quit this job,” you said, wiping off your eyes with the back of your hand. He laughed and you threw your head back. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m gonna stay on the line as long as I can, okay?”

“Okay. Okay.”

Two Hours Later

The battery in the radio had died about fifteen minutes ago. There was no sound aside from your sniffling and Dean’s down the hall. You got up eventually and went into the hall, sitting down beside him. You handed him the radio and he clipped it back on his belt.

“You okay?” you asked, voice hoarse.

“You try listening to someone say goodbye to their parents and not bawl,” he said. He wiped off his face and took a deep breath. “Air’s better now at least.”

“What do we do now?”

“Now,” he said, clipping his water bottle onto your belt. “You sit there and try not to exert a lot of energy and that water will last you a few days.”

“We both heard my father. They can’t drill or dig or do anything fast enough. It’d take weeks. I’m not sitting here next to your dead ass so take your damn water back,” you said, shoving it back in his chest. He didn’t speak but put it on his belt, pulling his knees into his chest. “Why were you so mean to me before? You gave up time on the phone for me. I don’t think you’re what you pretend to be.”

“I’m a dead man walking and that’s a fact.”

“Technically you’re sitting.”

He smiled and rested his face in his knees. He sat up and reached over behind you, hitting off your headlight.

“We need to conserve power as long as possible,” he said.

“Will our lights go out before we dehydrate to death?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said. “This is what it’ll be like.”

He flipped off his lamp and you swore you’d never experienced a darkness so deep. You felt his hand graze yours before holding it and you swallowed.

“Kinda less scary knowing you can turn it back on again,” he said.

“You didn’t answer my question. Why such a brute?”

“You do this job long enough and most people think you’re a dumb sack of shit with nothing in his head. You’re dead weight, odds are you’ll die down here or get into some kind of accident and have to go on disability the rest of your life. You corporate people are always so stuck up, like I’m not even good enough to be the dirt on your shoes. I didn’t give you a chance because odds were you were like all the rest of them. You’re the only reason we didn’t die in that hole, very painfully.”

“Wouldn’t we have-”

“No. It’s not a simple hole we would have fell in. Falling rocks, crushing and hitting, landing on you, ones you hit yourself. Might not kill you immediately. You’d feel it.”

“Dying of thirst is better?”

“I’d say so. Still get to keep this handsome face, or what’ll be left of it,” he said. He flipped his light back on and you scooted closer. “I think you’re very attractive.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m gonna die in like three or four days. Life has no consequences now and I happen to find you very attractive and you seem like a smart, sweet woman that put her parents a little at ease during the worst moment of their lives.”

“Who’s your brother?” you asked. “No consequences after all.”

“He’s a lawyer...and my best friend.”

“You said you did this job for him.”

“Student debt is a bitch. I try to help him out and the overtime helps make dents in it,” he said. “Our parents had debt out their asses. It caused so many problems for us. I wanted him safe, never have to worry about the next meal on the plate or the roof over his head or having to wear my hand me downs ever again. At least he’ll get my life insurance policy. That should help.”

“I have been busting my ass since I was a college freshman in that office to move up the chain for a job I didn’t even want. I completely lost nearly all of my twenties to work. All so I could die in here.”

“Well I know this doesn't sound good but I’m glad I didn’t die all super painful. Or that I’ll be alone,” he said. You smiled and nodded, Dean returning it. “Got any bucket list shit we can pull off down here?”

“We could make out,” you said. “Never knew anyone could make that jumpsuit look good.”

“Why the fuck not,” he chuckled. He leaned in close and your helmets bonked, Dean pulling his off and yours, quickly cupping your face. 

His lips were gentler than you thought, the two of you stopping when your lips were pressed together. You rested your forehead against his and broke off only an inch.

“Not as much fun at the moment as it sounded,” you breathed out.

“Pretty good last kiss though,” he said. You put your helmets back on and you grabbed his hand again. 

“Don’t let go down here. Please.”

He reached to his belt and undid a little pouch, pulling out a small tether of rope. He clipped one end onto him and the other to you.

“For when the lights go out,” he said.

“How long do we got?”

“About a day, maybe a little more,” he said. You sighed and turned your head, staring down the rest of the hall. “It’s decommissioned, Y/N. It’s a death trap.”

“Is there a way out?” you asked.

“Maybe. Maybe they never find us though,” he said. You stared at him and he nodded, hitting your headlamp back on. “Enough of the pity party. Let’s go get out of here or die trying.”

He stood and held out a hand, hoisting you to your feet. 

“So. What’s our best option?” you asked.

“It’s alright for a bit until we get to the decommissioned section. When we get there, that’s when it gets dangerous. Technically it’s dangerous now considering the blast but we’re okay for a bit,” he said. 

“Let’s go then,” you said. He nodded and you followed him down the hall, walking side by side. 

“Alright so the decommissioned section is called Hollow Pass. Beyond that is Upper Seven. If we can get to Upper Seven, we can get out the old entrance I’m pretty sure. Never been in there but hopefully it’s not a maze over there.”

“So Hollow Pass is the hard part.”

“Yeah.”

“Why was it decommissioned?”

“Unstable ground. Holes, pockets of air, rotted support beams, wood planks.”

“So it’s a death trap.”

“Yup,” he said. “We’re probably gonna die down there.”

“What do you think our odds are?”

“Well it’s been out of order for over fifty years, we have no map, I have no real idea where exactly to go...I give us 1% odds.”

“Beats are 0% odds here.”

“Good way to think about it considering we’re going to most likely die.” He stopped walking and took a deep breath. “If I fall or whatever, follow the widest hall possible and keep away from wood and cracks as best as possible. Ration your water and eventually you’ll find your way out.”

“If you fall I’m definitely not gonna make it.”

“Well at least try. You can tell my brother how devastatingly brave I was that way.”

“You just spent the past hour crying.”

“So did you,” he said. You bumped his shoulder and he returned it but it was playful and soft. You walked together quietly for a moment until Dean rounded a corner and took a deep breath.

There were a few planks across a hallway, Dean kicking them down, frowning when they broke pretty easily.

“There’s gonna be rot.”

“Lovely.”

“We don’t have to go,” he said. “You don’t have to. There’s a chance-“

“There’s no chance Dean. Not if we stay up there. If you don’t want to go, I will. Maybe I can get help back in-“

“We’re doing this together or you’re staying. I can go and you-“

“We both go,” you said. 

“I go first. You step where I step and if I tell you to do anything, you do it.”

���Dean. We already established that you’re not a hardass. You can lead the way but you know, nicely.”

“Alright, alright,” he said. He gave more slack in the rope attached to the two of you and took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

He was calm for a few minutes until you were turning down a hallway, Dean suddenly stopping in front of you.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Look,” he said. You poked your head around him, swallowing at the rotted wood on the ground, holes worn into the planking. “Y/N that’s not good. Rot means there’s water and water means erosion and erosion means big shafts hundreds of feet straight down under those wood planks.”

“How much of it is wood?” you asked. You both looked ahead and sighed, the whole hall flooring covered in wood. “Shit.”

“Y/N. This is too dangerous. I’ve worked in mines since I was 18 and it’s way too dangerous.”

“Dean. I don’t want to die. If we don’t do anything, we’re dead in three days, maybe less.”

“Maybe they come up the decommissioned mine and get us,” he said. 

“Dean. The mountain collapsed from what my dad said. They are not coming in here, risking even more lives, in this mine. It might even have collapsed on the other side on the way out. We don’t know. All we do know is we stay and we’re dead or we go and we’re maybe dead.”

“You still won’t let me go on ahead on my own to try to get some help?”

“You’re not leaving me alone,” you said. You stepped ahead and he yanked on the rope, pulling you back. “Dean. Stop.”

“I go first,” he said. You held up your hands and he swallowed, Dean stepping past you, carefully putting his weight down on each plank. “Follow. Every footstep exactly where mine go.”

You followed after, the only sounds your breathing and the occasional board creaking. Dean put a foot down and stopped moving forward when you heard snapping. 

“Go back. Slowly.”

You stepped a foot backwards, putting weight on it and your foot going straight through. Dean grabbed your arm as you pulled your foot up, a few sticks falling into a deep dark pit. 

“What do we do,” you breathed out.

“Well we’re over rock that fell away so there’s a big hole beneath us if the rotted wood is anything to go by,” he said. You heard the slight waiver in his voice and sighed. “We make a choice. Forwards or backwards.”

“Back looks bad. Plus we already probably broke the supports.”

“I think solid ground is in front. But I have to jump for it,” he said. You looked past him and shook your head. 

“Dean, it's way too far. I can try to walk over there if you let out the rope. I get to solid ground and then you walk and if you fall, I got you with the rope.”

“Sweetheart, there’s no way.”

“You’re too heavy and we can’t stay here,” you said. You slipped past him and he tried to grab you but you went quickly. “Dean let out the rope. Now.”

“Fuck. We’re gonna die.”

“No we’re not,” you said, walking quickly, planks creaking but you sighed when you had solid rock under your feet again. “Alright. Just go where I did and fast.”

He took a deep breath and walked a few steps, a loud groaning of the wood making him move faster.

You hit the ground the second you saw him go down, the wood breaking away. Dean shouted and you dug your heels into the dirt. 

“Y/N!” he said, falling straight down into a hole and out of view.

_____

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[archetypal-archivist]

Xisuma and Evil X- A Hero By Any Other Name

So. This happened. You ever get the urge to write 9000 words of Evil X and Xisuma as brothers that in a Super Hero AU where the government is corrupt and runs all the heroes into the ground in the name of “protecting the most people possible”? With lots of Evil X making poor choices to help out his exhausted hero of a brother? And then have that story end up taking over your life for about a week until you can get it all out? Yeah. Yeah, glad I finally finished this but gosh darn am I double glad that I can move on to other projects.

Also on AO3.

__________

A story in which there are two little boys, a pair of twins by the names of Evil X and Xisuma. Xisuma is good and kind and responsible, everything that his mother ever wanted and more. Evil X was the mistake, the additional child their parents didn't want nor could afford to have. Their parents had run the math, knew the risks, knew that if they penny-pinched enough, they could afford to have the child they always dreamed of. Evil X threw their maths into chaos, and if they wanted one son, they had to take both.

Evil X and Xisuma knew that Evil X was a mistake, that his presence was why their family could never afford to go to the movies, why they couldn't buy school lunches like all the other kids, why their parents were so stressed and tired and cruel. Still, Xisuma was glad that his brother existed, even if it made his parents' lives harder. He wondered if that made him a bad son.

In time, Evil X and Xisuma were left alone by everyone in their lives and until all they had are each other and the void that their parents left them with when they had to look them in the eye and tell them that they couldn't take care of them anymore. Even now Xisuma thinks that the void raised them better than their parents ever did, teaching him and his brother to lie through their teeth, be sneaky, be cruel.

In the orphanage and the many foster homes that followed, Evil X did his best to take care of his twin as a sort of penance for screwing up the life Xisuma could have led. In return, Xisuma lied and lied and lied to the matrons and the well-meaning children about anything and everything he needed to. They don't need anyone but each other. (Truth.) They are happy. He is everything that Evil X needs, Evil X doesn't want a family. Xisuma is enough. (Lie.)

(Gods, don't take his brother away.)

Xisuma grew up with lies on his tongue and smiles in his eyes, warping himself into the golden child, larger than life. Evil X grew up in the shadows with bruised knuckles, a bruised heart, and eventually, scars across his face from a fight gone bloody and wrong. He was protecting Xisuma, the scars were worth it- his brother accepts them with an odd little smile on his face and a shattering in his eyes. It is a moment that stays with them long after.

---

Eventually, foster homes turn into streets and dumpsters, and long nights spent under the covers together are turned into nights spent up in the branches of trees in the park. Xisuma makes friends with the pigeons while Evil X pretends not to like their feathered neighbors. They curl up the same though, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces high in their bower. Made for each other, quietly shaping themselves around their twin so as to better protect them and shield them from the cold.

Evil X comes home to their tree with stolen sweaters and wilted flowers and popcorn kernels from behind the movie theater so that the birds don't starve. Xisuma meets him with tears of wonder in his eyes and fire dancing on his fingertips.

Xisuma has magic. Evil X tries not to be jealous. As it turns out, he has very little to be jealous of when it's revealed that there are many other people who have magic throughout the city- or rather, "superpowers." It's like something straight out of a comic book, if that comic book resembled something like Neil Gaiman's "Sandman" or the Transformers IDW continuity.

People start dying. A lot of people. Those with powers that make them look monstrous are feared, hated, and eventually outcast. Those with powers that are useful are drafted to fight wars and heal people for hours and hours with no rest in the hospitals. Xisuma sells himself to the city officials behind Evil X's back and in return, he and his brother get a cold glass and steel apartment and food enough that they will never starve again.

Evil X begins to build up muscle, fleshing out and growing tall and strong. He hates it, hates his body, because Xisuma never becomes more than whipcord strength and whispered words- down-turned eyes, up-turned lips. Reassurances that he's happy, really, truly. So obedient, his brother, the ideal filial son to the system that Evil X could never bring himself to be. They train the civilian out of his twin and mold him into a leader, a real proper superhero.

They don't give his brother lunch breaks. They need his power too badly, they say. There are people dying and they need his strength.

Gods, it makes him sick.

Xisuma's slight figure hides in his brother's shadow when they are at home, and Evil X does his best to wrap around him until the "monsters" of the world can't get him. Evil X lets Xisuma's flames dance across his fingertips and tickle his face, their gentle warmth driving out some of the chill in their big empty apartment. On truly special days, they go to the park to feed the birds. The higher ups don't like that, of course, insisting that Xisuma under Evil X's care is like using his spark for a kerosene lamp, contained, stifled, unable to help anyone in any way that matters.

The city wants a bonfire. Evil X growls and tells them no, but Xisuma just smiles and his eyes shatter a little more as he goes with them willingly, offering himself up as kindling. His superhero name is Matchstick of all things, and Evil X knows his brother well enough to know that he picked it out himself.

A nod to the fact that he is destroying himself? An inside joke and an apology in one, maybe. It breaks his heart too much to think on it.

---

With time, the rules and roles become a little clearer and the war begins to solidify. Basic rights for those with powers is still in the works, but Xisuma is able to start eating a little more. Evil X makes him protein shakes to take with him to work anyway.

The heroes are this: Matchstick, Reaper, Ivy-Over, Xenon, Spatter, Shank, Krypton, and Trigometric. Xisuma, Cleo, Gemini, Tango, Vintage Beef, Iskall, Impulse, Cubfan.

The villains are this: Armistice, Zyon, Ooze, Clockwork, Poultryman, Valkerie, and Lumesce. (Welsknight, Etho, Jevin, Mumbo, Grian, Stress, Pearl- but our hero doesn't know this yet.)

Evil X sits on their shared bed and holds his twin in his arms, listening to him talk about work with troubled eyes.

Reaper. Cruel, with a tongue like a knife and teeth even sharper. She eats her enemies whole and seems to enjoy the taste of blood. Somewhere in the dark of the building is a man named Joe who whispers comebacks and threats to her for her to use in her next fight. She has not seen him free or unshackled in three years. Around his neck is a metal collar, an irony too bitter for her to speak of often. Xisuma hopes they treat him well.

Ivy-Over, blinded by the glitter and shine of heroism, still firmly thinking the best of her political overlords. Naive. Carefully herded off the battlefields as soon as her fights are over so that she never sees the casualties her massive vines leave in their wake. Xisuma worries that one day the illusion will be broken and with it her mind. She seems like the kind of person who could regress to using entrails as a skipping rope if pushed far enough. Evil X does his best to reassure him, but the lies turn to mulch in his mouth.

Xenon and Krypton, a duo that never let the higher ups split them up or force them to fight alone. Together they share a record for the fewest recorded injuries, as well as a certain fierceness in their eyes as they volley explosive balls of shadow and light between them, bouncing them back and forth to build up velocity before letting them loose on their enemies. Still, the people whisper about how much more help they could do if they were simply separated, able to cover more places at once. At night, Xisuma hears them crying, bundled tight in each other's arms and mourning their missing third.

Shank, their sniper. Supreme accuracy, a consequence of his self-built bionic eye and his special laser rifle. The higher ups are murmuring about what he could do if more of him was bionic. What improvements could be made to his body? How many more lives could be saved? (How many more "monsters" could be put behind bars?)

Splatter, their brawler. A sip of blood and he hulks out, his strength becoming all the greater the more he drinks, so the higher ups give him all the blood he could stomach and more. They never tell him where it comes from, and he's too afraid to ask. (He was a butcher before this whole hero thing, he had explained to Xisuma once. He knows what animal blood tastes like. What they give him is definitely not animal blood- and sometimes, it makes him feel sick. He always was allergic to steroids.)

Trigometric, who bent reality into fractals, who seemed just a bit more broken than the rest. He actually liked his job, and that perhaps made him less of a hero and more of a monster. (Mr. Goodtimes was a head of government of some renown, famous for his power plays and his campaign that favored brutal action against those that the city condemned. Trigometric called him "Scar" with affection on his lips and that was perhaps scariest of all.)

It's terrifying hearing about his twin's coworkers and their varying flavors of unfortunate and unstable, even worse when he has to stay at home and watch the news to see if his brother has survived to see another day against the violent protests and the drug rings and mobs and super villains.

Because there are super villains. He even meets one.

---

The pigeons need feeding. Life or death, whether Xisuma is around to remind him or no, the pigeons need feeding so every Tuesday and Saturday Evil X goes to the park with a bag of bird seed. It just so happens that one sunshine-filled summer day there is someone there before him. Crouched close to a few pigeons, at first he thinks the figure is just dressed in a purple cloak, but when the figure stands up and stretches, the cloak separates to reveal a pair of brilliant purple wings. Poultryman.

Evil X has seen his brother come back from fights and he knows that while Poultryman is a figure of some renown, his battles rarely cause collateral damage- that's more the hallmark of his partner Clockwork. So when Poultryman turns to face him, trademark white mask over his eyes and an odd expression on his face, Evil X just glares and walks up to him to dump the bag of bird seed on the super villain's feet.

"For the birds," he says tersely before spinning on his heel, preparing to walk away. The sound of bright, cheerful laughter has him pausing and the sound of wings meeting the dirt has him turning around. Poultryman is on the ground, rolling around in the bird seed and laughing his head off, clutching his stomach and flapping his wings wildly, which only makes even more of a mess.

"Pffftt- hahaHAhAHaH! Oh gods, your face! If I couldn't tell you were so pissed off to see me I wouldv'e thought this was the greatest prank ever!" Oookay? Evil X crosses his arms, unimpressed and left with a sneaking suspicion he is being made fun of.

"And?" Poultryman lets out a last few wheezing gasps before smoothly rolling to his feet, mask askew and utterly covered in dirt, grass, and bird seed. The local pigeons have, surprisingly enough, not scattered just yet.

"And that was brilliant! Tell me, are you the one who's been feeding the birds around here? The pigeons have been dying to introduce me to their 'friend' and I've been eager to meet them ever since. Well, the word translates more to family but there's some non-pigeon implications mixed in there, so friend works a little better. I don't think my feathered friends have quite yet figured out how to buy their own bird seed. You don't look like a pigeon anyway."

"No. I am not a pigeon," Evil X sighs, shifting his feet but keeping his posture defensive. If he remembers right, Poultryman never did any real damage but he apparently came off to Xisuma as a little unhinged and he'd rather not test the super villain's good mood. "And yes, I feed the birds around here. Can I go?"

Poultryman tilts his head to the side, going abruptly silent and still, all emotion wiped from his body language, expression, and voice. "That depends. Would you like to make Matchstick's life a little easier? I have a deal for you."

---

It goes a little something like this.

Clockwork and Poultryman schedule a raid on a local food processing plant, hoping to take their newest shipment of tin. Matchstick and Splatter are in the area and are called in to help. It's a poor match up to begin with, with Splatter's strength not doing much against Clockwork's robotika and Matchstick- while able to keep up with Poultryman in the air, barely- can't seem to land a solid hit on the villain. It doesn't help that he seems to be limited in how hard he hits, too conscious of what his flames might do to Poultryman's vulnerable feathers and of just how high they are in the air. Clockwork, meanwhile, is free to pilfer what he and his partner please from the plant.

However, despite the lack of damage the super heroes are able to do, the villains do even less. To Evil X, that is all that matters.

In another part of the city, a group of civilians meet in an abandoned railway car, dry docked in a train yard with its rusted frame resting on several heavy blocks of wood. The door is chained shut, but that means little when the underneath has a hole cut into it and if one is determined enough, crawling inside is easy. There, they exchange moth-eaten blankets, half-broken appliances, tattered clothes, and the tools to fix them. Money. Documents.

Evil X brings food. The government promised food unending to him and his brother, he may as well take advantage of it.

A deceptively normal-looking man with glasses and a deactivated metal collar around his neck brings a stack of books in, most of them picture books for the children. Another man, this one with green skin and robotik prosthetics, brings a stack of battered but newly repaired mobile phones, gaze shifting around nervously, as if scared to be caught there. Evil X makes a quiet note of the men but moves on. Theirs is not a story he feels like tampering with today.

When Xisuma comes home to find Evil X laying face-down in bed, fast asleep, he just smiles and tucks himself in beside his twin. Today is the first day in a long time he had come out from a fight unscathed, and tomorrow he will share the good news with his brother. For now, he sleeps.

---

In time, Evil X becomes a staple of the Homeless Enforcing Principles, which quickly gets abbreviated to the rather unimaginative "HEP." He wonders in the back of his mind if a certain man in glasses had something to do with the name, but decides not to bother with that quickly enough. He has enough on his plate as is with his newly adopted duties.

You see, when you get a diverse enough body of people together from all echelons in the city, and then put them into a rather small space, they begin to do what every group of friendly strangers like to do on the train- start complaining. Sometimes it's about the new "neighborhood watch" starting trouble on the corner of 6th and Fruit, sometimes it's about the new increase in taxes their boss wants to implement, sometimes it's about the stock that slips through the gaps when the trucks come to restock the supermarket.

Between him and his twin, Evil X never really was the one for idle chit-chat, but he knew lies just as well as his brother did and public speaking was just lying with a pretty bow on top. Stock begins to get left off of inventory sheets and put into the hands of the needy. The "neighborhood watch" get pointed towards the parts of the city that actually need their help (conveniently drawing the attention of the local law enforcement, who can actually do something about the problem).

He begins to donate more and more food to the cause, waistline thinning in the process. He thinks he likes his figure better that way.

As Evil X puts more time into his new project, crime rates don't exactly go down, but the number of people arrested for stupid reasons certainly does. The other members of HEP begin to bring in their friends and family and the pool of resources and talents grows, expanding outside the walls of their train car and out into people's basements, gas station parking lots, metal trash bin bonfires in the park. Little pools of community, and for Evil X, wellsprings of information.

Clockwork and Poultryman are some of the first actual super villains to come to the meetings, this time under the names of Mumbo Jumbo and Grian, but they are not the last.

---

Armistice arrives hanging off of Lumesce's shoulder one night, his metal body forcing her to drag him along on the ground, shredded legs unable to hold his own weight. She cries steady tears of light, seemingly near-physically pained at being unable to further help him. Evil X watches quietly from the background as Grian looks up and over the bonfire from where he is tending the jagged gash in the unconscious Mumbo's leg.

"Wels. Pearl. Got you too, huh?" The carefully kept-up cheer is gone from the man's face as the duo settle down by the fire, sprawling out in a rough heap.

The woman, Pearl, nods wearily, pulling off her hood and wiping at her face, glowing tears staining her black jacket. "Yeah. Trigometric decided he wanted to come and 'play' for a bit, seems he finally caught on to the illegal clinic I was running down in Mr. TFC's basement. I was lucky enough to get an anonymous tip that he was coming, but Wels got caught in the crossfire for defending me." Grian nods back, eyes distant.

"Give Mumbo a hand with his leg, I'll go grab the last of our tin for Wels to eat so he can patch himself up. E-X?" Evil X straightens up at the winged man's attention. "Call up Keralis and see if you can't get some hew housing sorted for Mr. TFC. I doubt his house survived in the crossfire and you might as well fix it for him with my permission and funds rather than just sort it out behind my back and try to sell it to me as an 'investment' later."  With that parting remark Grian stands up stiffly and flies away, leaving Pearl to make her way over to his partner, healing tears already streaming down her face so that she can start to fix the wound.

On the other side of the fire, Wels reaches down and rubs at the sharp and twisted metal of the remnants of his left leg, expression lost and weary. "Things can't keep going like this, so many of us are running on fumes by this point. Something has to change." Expressionless, Evil X just turns away, pulls out his cellphone, and begins to make a few calls.

He carefully ignores the twisting of his heart in his chest.

The next day, Mr. TFC has a room in a decent hotel and Evil X sits on his perfectly white couch staring at his overly large TV, watching the news. Armistice and Poultryman are fighting against Matchstick and Ivy-Over, dashing in and landing a few hits before retreating to the shadows, then running up to repeat the process again. The fight ends with both sides retreating, the heroes to the hospital, the villains to skies with Poultryman straining to bear both Armistice's weight and the load of cash stolen cash in his arms.

Grian's going to pull a wing muscle again, Evil X just knows it.

Xisuma leaves the fight unscathed. Gemini isn't nearly so lucky.

---

The next super villain he meets is mostly on accident, a random encounter more than anything. Tired of lounging about all day, if you call making connections and surfing the internet doing fuck all, Evil X decides he hates himself a bit more than he usually does and decides to go job hunting. A quick internet search later and he finds himself standing outside an abandoned warehouse on the North docks. He and his brother never had much more than their birth certificates and social security numbers to their name, so shady suited him perfectly fine.

A man steps out from behind a corner dressed in a hospital mask, black pea-coat, and a sailor's breton cap as white as his hair. Evil X freezes, eyes going wide as the familiar-looking stranger goes bug-eyed to see him right back. Then the man shifts his weight to his back foot, crossing his arms and wincing playfully, very real trepidation lurking in his posture.

"Uh, you wouldn't happen to by Matchstick's brother, would you?" Evil X takes a careful step away from the man, who he now recognizes as Zyon from watching the news, one of Xisuma's more common foes. His own research proved that the fellow had ice powers to put an iceberg to shame, which was ironic considering that he was secretly the business mogul Etho, who ran a shipping company helpfully named "Titanic Inc." It was doubly ironic since "Zyon" was notorious for causing problems for "Etho," who then claimed the insurance payouts when the boats eventually sank.

That the boats that sank frequently carried weapons, junk food made with GMO ingredients, and weirdly enough, socks, was of little consequence to him, but he kept that amusing tidbit in his back pocket for later. (The sailors on board were... collateral. And a nonissue. Anyone who signed up on a ship run by "Titanic Inc." deserved what they got.)

(Their deaths were not his concern.)

"Yeah, that's me. And you're Zyon- or rather, Etho." Zyon chuckles nervously.

"Yep yep, that's me. And you're very firmly on the 'no touchie' list around here, so I'm just gonna gooo...." Zyon flinches as Evil X suddenly attaches himself to his wrist, expression steely.

"List?" It's more statement than question, but it has Zyon gulping back a frantic giggle anyway.

"Oh no, I'm not messing with that one. Let's just say you should take that up with your brother and leave it at that. Get too deep into that mess and someone's gonna end up regretting it- and I'm not that dumb, that's for sure!" With that parting remark, Evil X finds his feet frozen to the ground and Zyon running off, dropping the black pea-coat of Etho to reveal the icy blue Kevlar ninja suit of the super villain underneath.

Bemusedly Evil X watches Zyon vault up a stack of pipes onto a nearby roof, then off towards the city where he could better better disappear.

Hmm. Seems like he needs to step up his game.

---

He runs into Ooze at the supermarket. Apparently they both prefer the green grapes to the purple ones. The more you know.

---

It's his encounter with Valkerie that really sets things off.

Xisuma comes home one day, tears streaming down his face and his gloves covered in blood and dust. He crumples in a heap at Evil X's feet where he sits on the couch and drops his face into his twin's lap, trembling. His arms dangle at his sides, blood dripping from his fingers onto the sterile white carpeting.

"Four dead found in a park near here. All teenagers, just having fun. Just. Just fucking kids! She ruptured their ear drums and they bled out because they couldn't move to get to safety. Gods E-X, their eyes... They looked so scared..." Evil X stays quiet and runs his fingers through his brother's hair, heedless of the muck clinging to the ends. Xisuma shakes himself to bits in his hands. "They were just kids. We couldn't do even do anything but clean up the mess afterwards."

Xisuma pauses, hesitant, before choking out- "That could have been us. Had we still been on our own, that could have been us." Ah. So that's it.

"We're safe, you know. Whoever Valkerie is, she won't get us here."

"But we don't know that! What if you're out shopping and she's at the market, or if she gets on the news and her scream works through the TV? What then?! I can't-" The words die in his twin's throat and Evil X gulps back his own.

I can't lose you. It's a phrase that's crossed his own mind more than once.

"Okay. Okay. I'll stay home until she's caught, okay? Get delivery or something, I don't know. And I'll keep the TV off, the radio too. Shhh. Shhhhh. I'll be okay." Xisuma struggles closer, shoving his face into his brother's stomach and getting snot and tears all over the both of them. Evil X doesn't complain. It's a lie and they both know it, but they've lived lies before, are used to it. What's one more, in the face of that?

To be fair, Evil X gives it a few weeks before he makes his move, and he knows he'll be fine so really it's only half a lie anyway.

---

Feet crunch against gravel as Evil X approaches the woman kneeling in the center of the abandoned construction site, hands over her mouth, eyes scrunched, biting the flesh of her thumb to keep her sobs held in.

"Hello Ms. Valkerie. Grian's told me about you."

The woman whips around, eyes wide and bloodshot at his sudden appearance, before she shakily lowers her hands from her mouth to clutch at the fabric of her pink cardigan. "I'm- I'm not some monster, got it? I'm just Stress, j-just- I'm just me! I don't want to hurt anyone!" Her voice goes shrill and thin towards the end and Evil X hides his wince, although apparently not well enough because she immediately slaps a hand over her mouth again, eyes watering anew.

"Okay. It's okay, Stress. I'm here to help," he placates, lowering himself down to sit next to her in the dirt. Around them, rusted I-beams and concrete pillars rise, giving them some semblance of privacy. The full moon lurks overhead, casting them both in a silver glow. "You're life must be very hard, hm?"

Stress nods, expression wary.

"And retail is very- ha- stressful too, I imagine?" Here a little grin leaks out from behind her hand. "All those customers whining on and on about discounts. 'Oh, I have a gift receipt why can't I return this?' Like, lady, you opened this box. 'I'm gonna talk to your manager!' Lady, he's just gonna say the exact same thing."

A stifled giggle and a whispered "Worse! I work in the women's clothing department." Evil X gives a mock gasp, face going wide and shocked.

"So you don't just have to deal with fussy customers- you deal with fussy suburban soccer moms!" Stress tips forward with the force of her muffled laughter, tucking her damp face into the curve of his neck and putting her full weight on him. Hesitantly she clutches the tail of his shirt with her freehand, then a little tighter when he makes no move to shove her off. Evil X just wraps a gentle arm around her shoulders.

"Some of those customers must make you want to go home and just scream, huh." Her laughter tapers off, but she nods, quiet. "So you go somewhere empty and abandoned and scream your heart out so you don't kill someone." Another nod, a little hitch in Stress' breathing. "And you scream and scream, so glad to release some of your pent-up feelings, but oops. It turns out there are people there anyway. And your screaming just killed them. You've become a murderer and the police brands you accordingly."

The hand in his shirt tightens, tugging. "I- I didn't want to hurt them! I didn't want to hurt anyone! But- but it just happened and then I was running, and no one saw me so I had to just go to work the next day, a-and. And-"

"And now you're the wanted super villain Valkerie." His hand smoothes up and down her back as her breath hitches again, once, twice, and then wetness against his neck.

"Valkerie is such a stupid name, anyway. I'm not escorting anyone anywhere, let alone to Valhalla. I just scream and. And they're dead."

Evil X hums quietly. "You must be very tired."

"...Yes. Yes." The moon slips through the sky for a while and they drift with it, lost in thought. Evil X stares up at it, squinting against its light to try and figure out what time it is, if Xisuma is likely to be home yet. The gravel is harsh against his knees.

Then. "Things can't keep going like this. I'm so tired, all the time these days. It's just work, day in and day out, and all this stress." She pulls away then and Evil X watches as Stress scrubs at her face, expression going cold and determined. She stares him straight in the eyes, but something about her still seems lost, like she's gazing through him. "Something has to change or else someone is going to get themselves killed."

He tilts his eyes head, considering, thoughtful, with a well-hidden edge to his voice.

"I think I could help with that."

---

The morning news. Four calls placed, a frantic brother reassured, Stress is sitting a cafe on the corner of Elm and 5th. Her gut flutters with nerves but Evil X can see her expression is calm from her position in the background of the shot. The news anchor is a pretty blond-haired, blue-eyed young woman blathering on about how the cafe apparently is the oldest one in the city and some other historical nonsense. Out of shot of the camera, a desperate, dog-eared petty thief is running for his life down 6th street, the hulking figure of Spatter hot on his heels.

They round a corner, onto 5th. Past the cafe, the startled reporter, the public shrieking as their morning is disrupted. Stress nearly throws up as her heart launches itself into her throat but she's... There's a plan and she's going to stick to it.

So she stands up, small and in the background of the shot, but her bright pink jacket makes her stand out. She opens her mouth, expression going scared like a civilian's, and screams just as she had been told to. It's not for long, barely a second or two all told, but it's enough to have the people near her cringing away, blood trickling from their eyes and from where their fingernails dig into their skin in trying to cover their ears.

Spatter freezes in his tracks, pupils mere pinpricks as the sudden outpouring of blood triggers something deep and wild in him. The camera shakes, the frightened camera man ducking down to avoid notice but carefully recording what's about to happen, as if sensing that whatever happens next is about to be important.

The hero turns towards Stress, eyes wild, and although she's scared out of her mind, she stands her ground. Her voice barely even shakes as she speaks.

"S-stop. Stop running, can't you see you're scaring people? You nearly ran me over!" In the eyes of the camera Stress looks like a frightened civilian gone civil defender in pink, the morning light casting her in gold and the cafe's shadow creeping over Spatter's massive, muscled-out form to cast him in darkness and grey. The lack of harsh lighting makes it even more obvious when he starts sniffing the air, darting eyes pausing on all the bloodied hands and finally resting on the woman who caused the damage.

The world has insisted, long and loud, that he is a hero and with that comes certain ingrained responsibilities. Stress is Valkerie. Splatter fixes his gaze on her and with a snarl, he moves.

The camera catches it in perfect, awful clarity when his arm goes through her stomach and her blood starts pooling on the floor. Her expression is so betrayed.

From his place on his clean, white couch at home, Evil X turns the TV off.

---

Stress is buried with honors and all media depictions of Valkerie as a monster cease as the streets are made "safe" from the super villain. Instead, news programs and talk shows take up a new crusade, this one against the "heroes" that protected the city and the governing bodies that controlled their movements. Mr. Goodtimes has his name dragged through the mud, and each day his brother comes home with stories about how frazzled Trigometric is, Evil X has to hide his smile.

Seeming to pick up on the way things are turning, Clockwork disappears from the public eye while Poultryman steps up the showmanship, making more appearances in public spaces to egg government buildings and steal petty amounts of scrap metal from junk yards and factory scrap heaps. The heroes that give chase, usually Xenon and Krypton, end up causing more damage than they actually prevent.

Ivy-Over- shocked at the public outrage about the apartments left in shambles after her particularly brutal battle against Zyon- rather predictably ends up snapping, although not in any way Evil X expected.

She ends up going to the news and telling them everything. Public outrage rises anew.

There's a riot in town square and Matchstick and Reaper are sent in to stop it. Thirteen people die, kindly Mr. TFC one of them. Xisuma comes home, collapses into Evil X's arms, and cries.

Things have to change. And so they do.

---

Midnight and two figures meet on a roof top somewhere overlooking the domed silhouette of city hall. The first wears a set of armor shaded in green and grey, a purple visor over his eyes and an oxygen-filter over the lower half of his face. The second figure has wings, stretched wide to block out the light of the crescent moon above.

Matchstick. Poultryman.

Xisuma. Grian.

Matchstick tilts his head to the side, drawing himself up to his full height to loom over the far shorter villain. "The status quo is falling apart, Poultryman. Does the deal still hold?"

Poultryman rolls his head to make it clear he had just rolled his eyes, the purple insignia on his mask flashing to display his annoyance. "Yeah yeah, I've spread the word to the others and they're not as crazy as the news likes to make 'em out to be. No one has hurt your precious 'E-X,' nor do they have any plans to. Too much trouble to mess with beyond trying to keep him out of whatever crime scene we'll be making, and that's hard enough as is. Your brother has a habit of making himself hard to track and it's getting... troubling."

The hero's posture suddenly goes as stiff as his namesake, smoke starting to hiss from the vents carefully built into his suit. "Troubling?"

Violet wings flap once, twice, before pulling tight against Poultryman's back and not for the first time, Matchstick curses himself for never bothering to learn what his various wing positions mean. The villain in question just rolls his shoulders back and settles into a careful parade rest that gives nothing away, expression pensive.

"Xisuma..." Matchstick flinches back, the careful line between them wavering at the name. "What exactly do you about your brother?"

A hesitant head tilt and he taps his fingers along his leg, thinking back to when he had last spent more than a few fleeting hours with his twin at a time.

"He likes sweet foods, even if he pretends he doesn't. Has more money invested in Derp Coin than he probably should. Likes red and black but gets fussy if anyone calls him a goth. Never seems to sleep, or eat regular meals, but he never seems to forget anything either. Best brother I could ever ask for- he loves me, I know that for sure. All the important stuff. Why?"

A wisp of cloud drifts overhead, casting a brief shadow over the pair, and in the sudden darkness Matchstick could swear that Poultryman had pulled a frown. Then the moment passes and the villain is back to his usual inscrutable self, the only emotion in his body language being what he had put there intentionally. His wings remain tight to his back.

"Then I think you might be in for a bit of a surprise one day, Matchstick. Here's to hoping you can roll with the coming storm."

---

Evil X is beloved by the HEP network. Regardless of Grian's intention in putting him in contact with them- or even why the villain knew of the group to start with- his repeated contributions to their food stocks made him an opening among them and his ability to make and exploit connections made him their hero. If you were desperate, hungry, in need? Evil X could get you whatever you needed at the cost of a simple favor.

When it came to the price of a life, a favor is a small thing to ask indeed. Is it any wonder that they became so loyal to him? So when Evil X began asking questions about some of the city's more sensitive secrets and its shadier underbelly, it was only natural that they told him.

From the tall man with green skin, he learned the best places to dump things so that they disappeared. From a sleepy-looking fellow with a bandana, he learned the locations of the best drug dealers, and from those dealers he learned of their suppliers, their manufacturers, the places where heroes never walked. From the man with glasses, he learned about the back doors and hidden routes through the biggest, most important buildings, the places where they held people until they could make them disappear.

And with this information, Evil X's services expanded even further. Drugs for the addicts, as contaminant-free and trust-worthy as he could find them. Ways to make people appear and disappear in the eyes of the law (and the occasional abusive spouse). Alcohol, cigarettes- and most importantly, information.

Or rather, black mail. If you wanted to know something on someone, Evil X became the person to go to. Months of careful manipulation had spread his name and his reach through all levels of the city and people from all walks of life took advantage of her services, although usually all meetings were held over the phone and through a voice changer fashioned to look just like his twin's mask. The secrecy only increased his popularity, as people just love a good mystery and a grey-shaded crime boss made a lovely story indeed.

And soon, this caught the intention of another of the city's fabled figures- the mad scientist who lived deep in the underbelly of the city, a place where no light shone. The man, the myth, the legend... Void.

But then, myths never were all that accurate, especially with things like names.

---

Curly blond hair, brown cardigan, a ripped white lab coat. Calculating purple eyes and a wide, wide eerily white grin. Short and stocky with a complexion like a ripe peach, the blue light coming off the lights overhead casting hazy shadows over his form, everything about the good doctor is simultaneously creepy and a soft sort of handsome- he has to say, he's impressed. The mythical Zedaph lives up to the city's dark rumors of him and he says as much, which prompts that grin to grow all the wider.

"Ah, hello Weaver! Y'know, I kind of thought you'd be shorter. And down here a lot sooner, I almost could say I missed you~!" Evil X balks as the scientist steps forward and grips his chin to tilt his head down, purple eyes wandering over his scarred features.

"It's not like you make yourself easy to find- and that's not my name." Zedaph shakes his head, leaning his face up with just scant inches between them.

"Little spider, you might be pretty good at hearing things but you're awful at listening. If you have large enough ears, you'd find you're just about the most talked about thing in the underground these days-"

"Do spiders have ears...?"

"-so like it or not, your web is big enough that people have been spotting it in odd places, which means your twin will probably catch on soon. Which means..." Here Zedpah spins away to walk to the opposite wall, pressing a few buttons on his tablet which make the underground laboratory brighten considerably. Evil X tries not to feel bereft at the sudden loss of contact. "Your plans are gonna have to hit double time. And I love me a good speed potion!"

Speechless, Evil X just nods as the scientist opens a previously hidden door and pulls out a laptop case from inside, turning to present it to him with a fiercely proud expression on his face.

"Knock 'em dead darling. I can't wait to see you rock their world~!"

---

What does the end of an era look like? It's not a sudden collapse of civilization, people screaming and running through the streets. It's not the violent murder of the governmental leaders or riots against the past order. It's not as clear cut as all that. Nor is it so subtle that people look around one day and go huh, as the world around them had shifted beneath their feet without their notice. Indeed, there are many who saw the tide rising and were all too happy to watch the waters sweep in and away.

It goes like this.

The super villains go missing. First one week goes by with no wild scheme or dangerous incident, then two, then three. The higher ups are frantic with worry, running constant meetings and keeping the super heroes out on the streets for as long as they could without the heroes themselves rioting. It keeps Matchstick out of the way of Weaver, and at the moment, that's all the thought he can afford to spare his twin. It's for the best, really. The next step is important.

Across every government-issued computer in the city, an email is issued out. Personalized, first middle last name, parents' names, chidlrens' names. An alphabetical list of every law the person in question had broken in the last ten years, the number of witnesses who saw them do it, sometimes video footage or photo-copied documents if the crime was serious enough to warrant more concrete proof. What the punishments for those crimes would be. What could be done, if those punishments were waived for money or fame.

Nearly a thousand people get an email in the span of 24 hours. (Evil X never wants to write another email ever-fucking-again. None. Ever.) The heroes also receive an email detailing what laws were broken by denying them rights, food, decent living conditions and overtime pay, as well as the names of several lawyers who would work for them for free if the email was shown to them within three days time.

Every email is emblazoned with a web-like logo with a bright red "X" sitting in the middle like a bloody spider. Though some plucky tech people attempt to track the emails back to the sender, their every attempt is rebuffed by the impossible firewalls built into the computer the messages were sent from. As imagined, chaos in its most understated form ensues.

The city officials scramble to keep their sinking ship from falling apart and the little people kept cooped up in square offices and cell blocks come crawling out of the woodwork to jump ship. Some of the heroes, such as Xenon, Matchstick, and Shank try desperately to hold things together, but others like Reaper head for the nearest legal office and hole up with a team of vicious prosecutor attorneys. Meanwhile, the civilians go about their business, unaware of what is going on in the ivory towers far above their notice.

Xisuma comes home to fin their apartment empty, and although betrayal sits like a rock in his gut, his guts still squirm with desperate, aching fear. (No... please, no.)

The super villains make their reappearance with flair, setting the stage for the next act. Each one takes to a corner of the city, working in pairs to capture civilians and hold them hostage en mass, their efforts to wide spread for the remaining heroes to deal with in one go. From here, walking along a quiet street and watched by hundreds of frightened eyes- a captive audience- Weaver makes his debut as he makes his way to the city capital.

Tall, whip-thin enough to make his proportions lean more towards slenderman than super model, and dressed in red and black armor with a matching helmet and visor, Weaver cuts an imposing figure as he makes his way up the white marble steps of the capital building to where a nervous-looking reporter stands. She straightens up at his approach though and with a nod to her camera crew, she starts asking questions just in time for Poultryman to swoop in and land beside the newest super villain, expression stern but a clear presence of support.

In his hands a laptop is clutched.

---

The demands are simple in theory, but Xisuma feels his heart thunder in his throat at every point on the list.

The week would be split into three types of days. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays would proceed as normal and the heroes and villains could go at each other as they pleased. Fridays would be reserved for the villains to do as necessary without hero interference under the caveat that no blood would be spilled, and Sundays heroes could have the same. Tuesdays and Saturdays, no one would fight, a proper break for everyone.

The villains would keep to their side of the bargain, Weaver says darkly as he stares directly into camera, just so long as the heroes kept to theirs. And measures would be taken for anyone who chose not to comply. Xisuma's brain goes fuzzy with static as the super villain makes a few other demands, something about fair wages and from when to when each group could operate, but his gaze remains locked to where he can just barely make out his twin's face through his visor. The words filter through him, dismissed into a soft numbing blur.

The air suddenly feels chilled on his skin, fingers twitching in his lap, a rough, twisting feeling in his gut like the bottom of his stomach just dropped away. He feels trapped, unable to move from the couch, from the wrong side of the screen. Oh, he thinks hazily to himself, he's about to be sick. Hmm, ought to do- something. About all of- of this.

Gods... What did his brother do?

---

An era ends like this- Poultryman sweeps Weaver away in his arms and in his place, Evil X comes home. Xisuma watches his brother come through the door, eyes glued to his brother's face even as Evil X places his keys on the table by the door and takes off his shoes. There's a gentle realization bubbling up that this is the first time he's seen his brother's bare face with his own eyes, without the tint of a visor between them, in far too long. His twin's got paler as of late, making the eye bags and scars stand out all the more.

"You're home." The words hang in the air and Evil X sags at their weight, leaning against the door as if to prop himself up for the conversation to come. His arms hang behind his back, a laptop case dangling in his grip.

"You know this isn't home any more than the tree was."

"We- we were supposed to be safe here. This was where we were going to stay!" Xisuma is going red now, rising up from the couch in his anger, and Evil X watches him with the dredged-up calm of a man resigned to drowning. Good, anger he could handle.

"You thought this was where we would stay, got us a nice, normal apartment that looks like it's out of a fashion plate without asking me. You think I like staying in this pretty white bird cage that you bought by selling yourself to the most corrupt people around? This place isn't any safer for us than the tree was, and at least in the park we had company!"

"Says the one who fell into bed with the literal bad guy! At least here you weren't getting into fights every other week."

"No, now you're the one doing that!" They're shouting at each other. They never do that. An acrid taste fills Evil X's mouth and he gulps it back, along with a few words he just knows he would regret if he said them. A deep breath, a slow in and out. "Look, just. Don't be a hypocrite, okay?"

Xisuma pauses in his wind up for a proper tirade, eyes wary and wet. "What?"

"You aren't the only self sacrificing moron here."

"...Oh." Yeah. Oh.

Here Evil X takes another breath, resisting the urge to hold it, then extends his arm to show his twin the laptop case. "Hey."

Xisuma folds his arms behind his back, looking at his feet and then up again, shuffling back a step. "Yeah?"

"Got you a present. You always were the best of us, so. Here. It was the last part of the deal I kinda set up, a kind of fail-safe slash card to add to your deck. This laptop has evidence of my entire operation, every backroom deal, every piece of black mail, every person I've had killed or vanished or what have you. Everything I've been up to for the last however long. And... it's for you to read. It's not gonna be fun, but like, I trust you so it's okay. If you read this and really, honestly think I've crossed a line you can't forgive me for, you can turn this into the police and... I'll deal with whatever you choose to do with me. No loop holes, no take-backs."

Here Evil X leans his full weight against the door and lets his arm swing back down to his side, gaze sliding off to the side and a melancholy smile curling at his lips and pulling at his scars. "I trust you. I trust you. It... It'll be okay, yeah? Just make whatever choice you need to. Don't hesitate." He doesn't promise anything, keeps the words 'I'll be okay' from spilling into the air between them, but instead allows a careful submission to enter his posture, head bowed and figure loose and hanging.

It... might not be alright, but it will be right and that will have to be good enough. (It has to be.)

Xisuma chokes, a sob rising in his throat as his brave, strong brother gives up before his eyes. The air in his lungs freezes solid at the thought of having to choose whether or not his twin lives or dies, because that's what this is, he can't pretend that the city wouldn't execute him at the slightest chance, agreements be damned. His gaze tracks wildly from the laptop case to the top of his brother's head to the window, as if trying to see if anyone could be watching, could make the choice for him.

It's not fair. It's not fair, why him, why? He was so good, tried so hard- his heart is loud in his ears, breath rattling in and out in wheezing gasps- sobbing now, utterly sobbing. Evil X doesn't look up, doesn't try to comfort him. Won't even move, gods.

Fuck it.

Evil X startles, back banging against the door as Xisuma rushes forward and rips the case from his hands, only to chuck it into the far corner before throwing himself into his arms. On instinct Evil X catches him and holds him close just in time for Xisuma to bury his face in the crook of his neck and burst into messy, tearful sobs. They shake together and Evil X lets his head thump back gently against the door, eyes hazily gazing up at the ceiling.

"It's not- *hic*- it's not fair! I didn't want this!"

"I know. I know." He runs his hand over his twin's back, his taller form bowing forward to shelter his brother's smaller one. Somehow, even now it feels like Xisuma is the larger one between them, solid and warm in his arms.

"Why do I have to choose? I never wanted this! Why?! Why would you do this for me?"

"You're my brother. I love you." A gasping, wet sob against his neck and his twin lets out a moan like a dying cow, low and agonized. Evil X focuses on a soot mark on the white ceiling, tears stinging his eyes and running down his face to plop softly into his brother's hair.

"But why?!" Screaming. Gods, he can't-

"I love you. I love you." Rocking now, back and forth, gentle, just as he had when he had come home from beating up the men who had tried to lay stomp out his brother's heart, scarred and beaten and bloody. I love you, he had said then, and he repeats it now.

Later, much later, Xisuma will have to boot up the laptop and read through its contents. He will try to burn it, first, but Zedaph's work is more durable than most and Evil X will watch as his twin will dump his emotions into his flames, desperately trying to stoke them hotter and brighter. Later, a choice will have to be made.

But for now, Evil X will hold his brother, warm and safe, and let him cry.

[bbaronpiper]

Darkness

Hi guys! here’s another story I wrote for you. This one’s a bit personal. My demons are stronger than me tonight soooo. yeah. I didn’t go into details but I dunno maybe it may trigger yours a bit too. so please be cautious and don’t continue reading if you feel it may trigger you. love you all! Night! I’m off to bed <3

I hope I lived up to your expectation anon. Also sorry to the lovely anon who requested fluff. I promise I’ll write yours after this. <3 

i already know its gonna break my heart but can u write a fic with either 23 or 35 from the angst prompt list? thanks so much ❤️

23.”How do I make you love me again?”

35.” Can I have one last kiss?”

not my GIF. Credits to @anderaron​

Aron Piper x Reader

Your life is a fucking routine and you’re getting tired of it. Every day you wake up, go to your 9 am to 5 pm job, pass by the grocery or fast food chain for your dinner, go back to your apartment, eat, watch TV then go to bed, wake up the next morning and do it all over again. Every. Damn. Single. Day.  You never felt genuine happiness and you’re convinced you probably never will. Yes, you smile and you laugh but you always had this darkness in you which goes a long way back in your childhood days. It’s a feeling of emptiness.

Until he came along. Yet you never considered him as your knight in shinning armor. You hated the thought that women needed men to save them. No, women are built strong, they can save themselves and besides you’re not sure if you want to be saved. However, you can’t deny the fact that Arón spiced up your life. He brought different kind of positive feeling without even trying and for a moment, you forgot about this certain darkness of yours. You bury it deep inside you as an unfamiliar, pleasant feeling emerged.

You met him in a photoshoot as you were working in a production house but this was way before his career took off, before Elite. The “simpler times” as he used to say.

“You wanna go for a drive?” he asked you smiling.

“as long as I’m driving” you stick out your tongue at him. He never let you drive not because his car is expensive as shit but because you are a reckless driver.

“How about no?” he said almost laughing and put his arms around you as you both walk to his car. “I Have a few on my bucket list that I haven’t crossed yet” he winked

You just laughed at him and pinch him on the arm earning a low “oww” from him. You love watching him drive though. The way his arm muscles flex a little every time he shifted gears. His short glances from the road to you as you sit beside him. The way he put his arm behind your seat when he’s backing up. Damn. That shit turns you on more than he knows.

You both found yourselves at Cerro del Tio Pio Park. Both of you love going up here enjoying the nice quiet time it provides not to mention the beautiful view of the city lights. Arón may have loved this place a bit more than anyone. He always come here every time the noise in his head gets too loud for him, get some steam off or just enjoy the sunset with you.

you felt his hand rest on your thigh. you looked at him and saw he had a small smile playing on his lips while looking forward, straight at the sun as it sinks down.  You then place your hand on top of his.

“Arón”

“Hmm?” he answered still looking at the sky.

“Te quiero.” you said simply. Blush slowly creeping in on your cheeks. He looked at you and grins. “I think I love you moooorrrreee than you love me” you played trying to get a little something from him.

“Nahhh. That’s not possible. Yo te quiero mas.” (I love you more) and with that he leaned in to give you a kiss.

His kisses are passionate most of the time. so passionate that you always get lost in it as you feel yourself melt. Your hand traveled up to his neck just behind his ears, deepening the kiss. This goes on for a few minutes before you both pulled back gasping for air. You see him smiling at you hinting at something. You rolled your eyes, laughed and nodded yes knowing he’s asking you to make love with him. He then got out of the car and went to your side.  Imagine having sex in a two- seater car. Damn right.

“Uhh. It’s tight in here” he said not knowing how to position himself.

“yeah I heard that before. Just last night, I think?” you laughed relieving the words he said while he pounds into you the night before.

“whatever, Y/N. you know you loved it too” biting his lips as you see his growing bulge. He sat on the passenger seat lifting his ass up a little to help you get off of his pants and he did the same to you. you positioned yourself on his lap, your legs draped on either side of him and kiss him. His hands traveled down your pussy and played with your clit, rubbing circles making you moan in his mouth.

“Gotta wet you first bebe” he said in between kisses. You didn’t respond as the pleasure took over you. “you like that huh?”

“hmm” again, no words just moans.

“words Y/N” he demanded as he pushed two fingers inside you. you moan in pleasure at the sudden feeling. “Y-yes” you stammered. You buried your face deep into his neck as he moves his finger faster and curled it. he pulled out completely after a few pumps making you groan at the loss of touch. You decided to play him again and started to rub your pussy against his length a few times. Earning a low moan from him“You like that baby?” you said mimicking his words earlier. You then positioned yourself on his tip. As you were about sink down on him, you stopped and got only a few inch of him in. “words, Arón” you said close to his ears. He just grunts in return growing impatient and put his hands on your waist and slammed you down into him. You screamed his name so loud you think you startled the birds on the tree.  “Si, I liked that” he teased you.

He lets you adjust for a few seconds. Your nails dug into his forearms as you feel him stretching you out. Damn, he’s huge. You slowly rise up and sink down again slowly. Moaning his name while doing so. Repeating this until you had the urge to go faster.  You looked at Arón as he watched his dick disappear and appear inside your pussy. You cupped his face making him look at you while you moan his name. he smashed his lips into yours silencing you while his hand grabbed your left ass cheek and the other went down on your clit again rubbing it fast. “Cum for me Y/N” he then licked your nipple, sucking and biting it lightly and soon enough you felt your pussy clench around him “Oh, fuck.. fucckkk.. fuck.. Arón!!” and cum on his dick. He slammed into you a few more times before letting himself go. You both collapsed on the seat catching your breath. His arm automatically went to your waist holding you tightly and the other at the back of your neck. Your foreheads pressed together savoring the moment.

But this was almost a year ago. If you only knew then what you know now, you would’ve hold on to him a bit longer that night.

You lied on your bed watching him sleep, your hand placed on his chest caressing it slowly with your thumb. Contemplating on how you’re supposed to tell him. Tell him that the darkness within you resurfaced and you couldn’t handle it anymore. You were not sure if it was because of your busy schedules, the months being away from each other, his constantly partying leaving you alone in bed or it’s just that there’s really something wrong going on with you. Nevertheless, it’s back. You felt it once again: The emptiness, you thought was long gone.

“Good morning princesa” his husky voice broke you out of your thoughts. You just smiled at him in return. A smile that didn’t reach your eyes and he knew right there and then that there’s something wrong. He turned to face you completely. Lifting your chin up. “A penny for your thoughts?”

You opened your mouth just to close it again. Not knowing where to start. Arón knows you had issues like this and he always understand and helped you with it just as you do to him. Your chin starts to quiver but you’re trying your best not to shed a tear. When Arón noticed, this is when he start to be more alert and awake.

“C’mon baby, you can tell me. I’m here” scooting closer to you.

“we need to break up” you said quickly, avoiding eye contact.

“What’s that baby? try that again but slower.”

“Arón” your voice starts to tremble. “I think we should break up”

He looked at you with what seems like forever not saying a single word. It took him a lot of strength to sit up on his side of the bed, with this back turned on you, rubbing his hands on his face like he always do when he’s frustrated. You then sat up on the bed too resting your back on the head board. Afraid of how’s he gonna react.

“No” his voice muffled as his hands are still on his face.

“Arón-” he cut you off

“I said no” his voice stern still had his back turned on you.

You knew he loves you. and you love him. With everything you have. But you didn’t wanna drag him down with you nor ask him to save you from this. So you had to lie, you know it’ll break him but it's for the best.

“I don’t love you anymore” looking down on the sheets. Your fingers fidgeting.

He instantly turned his head to you. “Que?” his face has a mixed look of shocked and pain. “Don’t say that baby. Tell me you’re lying Y/N”

“No, Arón. I’m sorry but it’s the truth” you heart breaks at every word. The look on his face killed you. you wanted to take it back but you know the damage has been done.

“How? Why? When? What the fuck Y/N?” questions after questions after questions. He just kept on throwing them at you and you couldn’t comprehend. Everything went into slow motion and you couldn’t hear a word he says, you’re too focused on the pained expression on his face. Your Arón. You broke him. You couldn’t give him answers. you just sat there looking at him with tears streaming down your face.

“Y’N!!!” he screamed, frustrated. You were startled and afraid. “answer me! ” You’ve never seen him like this.

“I’m sorry, it has to be this way.” You stood up from the bed. Went to your shared cabinet and starts to load your clothes on your luggage. Your tears are now streaming down your face like a waterfall. You couldn’t stop it but you tried your best not to make a sound which made it difficult to breath. He can’t see you like this. He would see through you and your plan wouldn’t work. You’ll just fall back into his arms again in one snap. He sat there on the bed as his leg bounced up and down, looking at you as you packed your things. Unable to grasp the reality.

He then stood up and walked out the room probably to smoke. You continued to pack your things pacing from the bathroom to the bedroom gathering your things. your heart was pounding in your chest you can almost hear it. You know you had to do this quickly as you felt that you’re about to breakdown. You were zipping your luggage when he walked back in the room. You slowly stood up and turn to face him only to see him inches away from you. his eyes red and his cheeks are flushed.

“How do I make you love me again?” he whispered while he searched for your eyes hoping for a slight chance he has with you. His hands went to touch both of your forearms with his thumb caressing your skin. Desparation evident in his eyes.

A stab in the heart. That’s what it felt like when you heard his words. But you believe you’re doing this for him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat “You’ll always have a special place in my heart, Arón” his looked down as he shut his eyes tightly. Not the answer he wanted to hear but he knows there’s nothing he can do to change your mind now. He lost you.

“Can I have a one last kiss?” you can feel the pain in his voice and all you wanted was to wrap him in your arms and tell him you’re sorry. That you change your mind and that you love him dearly. But unfortunately, the darkness in you won. Again.

You closed the gap between you, cupped his face and kiss him with every passion and love you have in your body and he did the same to you. You can feel his hiccups from crying but he continued to kiss you, never wanting it to end.  You both pulled away but he refused to let go. so he place another quick kiss on your lips and said. “I have never loved anyone this much in my life but if this is what you really want, I’ll give it to you. I love you too damn much.”

You wept. You cried in his arms as he did to you. you were standing in the room holding onto each other for the last time and you never felt this kind of sadness in 3 years you’ve been together. But again, you had to. you pulled away pushing his chest lightly.

“Thank you for everything Arón. Te quiero but this is for the best.” You sniffled and wipe your tears. trying to limit the words you say because you had to get out as soon as possible and drown yourself in your own tears. You then grabbed your luggage and begun to walk away when you heard him say��

“Maybe for you Y/N, but not for me”

[jewish-space-laser]

Stand Back

Wow! I’ve only been back for a few hours, and there’s already been so, so much support. I missed you all. This piece is one of my favorites, inspired by my R&RHoF excitement last winter. My dear friend, @for-fucks-sake-h​ beta’d this for me, and I loved her then and I love her now! Thank you all for believing in me! If you enjoy this story, shoot me some feedback :) 7.5k words

xoxo Tile

“Harry, c’mon!” Millie whined, tugging at his sleeve when he didn’t bother looking away from the TV. “This isn’t fair and you know it!”

“Millie, fuck’s sake, I already told you that it’s just not possible,” He rolled his eyes, reluctantly looking over at his puppy-dog-eyed best friend. She’d been pestering him for the better part of the afternoon, and he was beginning to get frustrated. She was definitely going to ruin his surprise.

“I just don’t understand,” she pouted, “I’m the one who got you into Stevie’s music in the first place, maybe I should be the one inducting her next week.”

“Yeah, you can do the performance bit, too,” he chuckled, “I’m sure the audience would love to hear your off-pitch, dying-cat screeches. Stevie would love it, too. Instant record deal- oof!”

The pillow hit his stomach with more force than he had expected, but it did nothing to wipe the shit-eating grin off of his face. Millie whacked him on the thigh, and then once more for good measure, before chucking his throw pillow – her makeshift weapon – across the room.

“I didn’t want to see your performance anyway,” she grumbled, “you’ll probably sing Edge of Seventeen, because you’re too basic to sing anything else, and I’ve already seen you perform that one.”

Harry smirked at the memory. They had been fifteen, almost sixteen, and Millie had managed to smuggle a few bottles of cider from her father’s ‘special fridge’ in the garage. Harry had climbed the tree outside her window for the umpteenth time, and the two of them had spent the entire night looking up youtube videos of their favorite rock singers, their virgin livers drunk off of just a few sips of alcohol.

“The 1983 performance was better,” Harry argued, throwing his hands up in outrage.

“You’re taking the piss,” Millie scoffed, swatting his hand away from her laptop, “The 1981 performance is clearly better. Her dance moves are absolutely insane, and the audio quality is better.”

“Her dance moves are mediocre at best in this one,” Harry stated, nodding his head to the guitar beat anyway, “anyone could replicate those.”

“I’d like to see you try!” Millie challenged. The duo regarded each other for a long moment, waiting for the other to back down, and completely oblivious to the hearts in their eyes, still too young to understand what they were feeling.

“Alright then,” Harry giggled, standing up on her bed, obnoxiously singing along to the music blaring from her laptop. He tried to imitate Stevie’s high kicks, the bounce in her step, and swung his arms around as if he were draped in the singer’s white shawl. Millie couldn’t fight the peals of laughter that bubbled up in her throat. He looked completely absurd.

“Just like the white-winged dove!” Millie sang, hopping up on her bed to join Harry.

The two of them bounced until the song was almost over, their voices riddled with gasps and coughs as they tried to catch their breath. The fun had ended abruptly, with Millie’s mother swinging the door open, asking the two red-faced teenagers if they knew that it was past midnight.

“First of all, that was a great performance,” Harry teased, appreciating the way Millie’s eyes softened as she too reminisced their teenage years. She’d always been a sucker for happy memories, and Harry had quickly learned that they were the best way to calm her down or change the subject. Most of her happy memories included him, anyway. “Second of all, this time around, you won’t be grounded for a week.”

“Yeah, because you won’t let me be there!”

“Millie, I told you, I promised Gemma I would bring her along and I only get to have one guest,” he lied, “she’s my sister, I couldn’t say no.”

“You say no to her all the time, in fact, you love saying no to her,” she pointed out, “plus, I’m kind of like your sister. We’ve known each other just as long.”

Harry felt his heart plummet into the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t the first time she had said something along those lines, brother and sister, but it still hurt. He was beginning to think that she would never feel the same way about him that he did about her.

It was a curse, really. He had the world falling at his feet, enough girls were interested in him, and he was successful. But it didn’t matter, did it? Not when the only person he wanted thought of him like a brother.

“Right, yeah,” he cleared his throat. He quickly stood up, mumbling something about getting them more tea, but really he just wanted to hide the burn of tears behind his eyelids. When he came back, Millie was squinting at the screen of her laptop, hunching over so her face was inches from the screen.

“I’m buying my own damn ticket,” she informed him.

Fuck, he thought.

“Okay, okay, stop,” he groaned, closing her laptop. Millie’s hands were still suspended in front of her, poised to type when he shut the computer in her lap. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but there’s a front row seat at the Hall of Fame with your name on it.”

“I KNEW IT!” She cried, shoving the laptop off of her legs and throwing her arms around his neck. “I knew you wouldn’t just leave me behind!”

Harry melted into the hug, winding his arms around her shoulders and back and subtly inhaling as he pressed his nose into her hair. She was practically vibrating with excitement, which made him grin with pride. It may not have been the surprise he had planned, but it was certainly the reaction he’d been expecting.

“You were making it really hard to lie to you,” he admitted, tugging her back when she tried to step out of their embrace. He wasn’t quite ready to let go of her yet. “I was going to tell you tomorrow at dinner, had a whole plan.”

“I’d say I’m sorry for forcing it out of you, but I’m not sorry in the slightest!” She wiggled out of his arms, successfully this time, and gave him a look of pure happiness that made his insides turn to putty. “Does this mean you’ll tell me what song you’re performing?”

Harry snickered, batting her hands away when she went to pinch his arm. He wasn’t about to reveal all of his surprises.

“Not a chance!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh my god, turn this up!” Millie squealed, already reaching over to twist the volume knob on the dashboard.

“Oi!” Harry snapped, swatting her hand away with a steely glare. “What did I just tell you about touching m’ new car?”

“You told me not to make fingerprints on the window,” Millie crossed her arms over her chest, “you never said I couldn’t touch the radio.”

“It was implied,” Harry said through gritted teeth. Normally, Millie’s stubbornness was oddly charming, but today she was truly getting on his last nerve.

Harry had finally saved up enough money for a new car. Grueling ten-hour bakery shifts, babysitting jobs, yardwork, any penny he could get his hands on, had all finally been worth it. He didn’t technically have his license yet, since he was only sixteen, but nobody really paid attention once you got out into the country. Most kids knew how to drive anyway, one of the benefits of growing up in small English farmtown.

The car, which he had bought off of a classmate’s older brother, was a complete piece of shit, but that didn’t stop Harry from polishing every last surface, inside and out. It was a Mustang, and even though the front bumper was dented and it had chips in the paint, it was his pride and joy. He’d overheard a group of girls talking about how sexy it was that Brad Hannagan, his lab partner, had gotten a car. Apparently, he’d taken Allison Fishman to the next town over for dinner, and then they made out in his front seat. Harry wanted his car to be sexy, too.

There was really only one girl he wanted to impress though, and she was currently spilling granola bar crumbs onto his leather seats.

“Millie!” He whined. “You’re getting everything all messy!”

“You’re being so anal, H,” she had just shoved the rest of her bar into her mouth, so her voice came out muffled and garbled, “this is supposed to be fun! Our first ride together in your new car.”

“It is rather special, huh,” Harry nodded thoughtfully, “how do I look in the driver’s seat?”

“Honestly?” She raised an eyebrow. “You look… kinda hot. But do not let that go to your head or else I’ll - ohmygod! Harry, seriously turn it up, it’s Stevie Nicks!”

This time, he didn’t complain when Millie reached over and pressed three different buttons on his dashboard, because the girl he liked thought he was attractive, his windows were rolled all the way down, and the chorus of Stand Back was blaring through his speakers.

This feeling was worth every window smudge, crumb on his seat, and unwelcome dashboard push, he thought. Especially if it meant seeing Millie like this: long hair blowing out the window, head thrown back with her eyes closed, and feet tapping along to her favorite song.

It was a miracle he could keep his eyes on the road.

Harry was going to sing Stand Back. He knew it, Stevie knew it, almost the entire crew backstage knew it, but Millie was still in the dark. It was her favorite song, and he had every intention of putting on a show for her.

He was already dressed in his suit. He’d chosen another custom-made Gucci, a deep matte black fabric with metallic bronze flowers twisting up his torso and down his legs. He’d even let the makeup artist apply some matching bronze eyeshadow to his face, something he’d always wanted to try out. His shoes were plain, black with a bit of a lifted heel, and his only other accessory was a bronze colored tambourine. This was a Stevie Nicks tribute, after all, it wouldn’t be complete without her signature instrument.

The moment he stepped on stage, he knew his outfit choice was a hit. He hadn’t even started his speech before the familiar screaming started, but he’d grown used to the high pitched noise.

He hadn’t been able to meet with Millie beforehand, but it was hard to look away from her now (not that keeping his eyes off of her had ever been easy for him). She was sitting in the front row with a proud smile on her face, and a sinfully tight silver dress on her body, and Jesus Christ she looked incredible. He gave her a lopsided smirk before squinting his eyes into the lights over the audience.

The moment the first notes of the song echoed from the speakers lining the walls, Millie’s jaw dropped lower than Harry had ever seen. He smirked at her, licking his lips cockily as he started bobbing his head. The cheers from the crowd only spurred him on. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, never looking away from his best friend.

“No one looks, I walk by, just an invitation would have been just fine,” he crooned, unable to stop himself from tapping his feet to the rhythm.

He’d opted out of playing the guitar during the performance, wanting to focus more on his vocals. He tore his eyes away from Millie, who was still watching him in awe. This song was for her, but there was still an entire venue crowded with thousands of people, and this was the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He’d rather fling himself from the Empire State Building than give a poor performance.

“Stand back, stand back,” he ripped the mic from its stand, prancing across the stage and flipping the hair out of his eyes with a dramatic snap of his neck, “in the middle of my room, I did not, hear from you….”

“La la la la la la la, la la,” he closed his eyes as he turned his back to the crowd, seeing the bright bronze and burnt orange visuals on the screen through his eyelids.

He knew he absolutely killed the performance, if the whoops and hollers were any indication. He could hear the cheers, see people dancing, see her dancing. She seemed to have befriended the woman next to her, as they were both shouting out the lyrics along with him with their hips bumping.

“Take me home….” Harry belted, his voice turning grainy the longer he held the note. When the music finally faded out, he let out a low chuckle into the microphone, relieved to have done the song justice.

It took several minutes for the applause to die down enough for him to speak, and by the time it did, he had no idea what to say.

“Ehm, hello New York!” He called into the microphone, clearing his throat. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Writing a speech about Stevie was the easiest thing he’d ever done. All he had to do was be honest, after all; she was an inspiration, a legend. The definition of a powerful woman. The kind of person who supports young struggling artists, can whip out a killer song in less than an hour, who dedicates her life to bringing melody and emotion to her fans. A poet. A magician.

Giving the speech was another story. The sweat on his back was making the fabric of his undershirt stick to his skin in the most suffocating manner, and Millie’s burning stare had all but caused his brain to short circuit. She’d looked at him like that just once before. He thought about it often, usually when he was alone with his hands shoved between his thighs.

Millie was four drinks in.

Harry knew this because he’d been counting. He had gone to enough parties with her to know that she got a bit… loose once she’d had a few, and he’d taken it upon himself to keep her away from every man who dared look in her direction.

“Stop shooting daggers at everyone, H,” she’d complained, “I wanna dance with someone, but you’re scaring them off. They probably think you’re my boyfriend.”

Good, he’d thought.

“Mills, the men here look sleazy as fuck,” he’d said sternly, “I’m not letting you rub yourself all over some chav.”

“Well, I need to rub myself all over someone, or I swear I’ll lose my mind,” she giggled, her eyelids more hooded than usual as she leaned up against the bar, “you know how I get when I drink.”

Maybe he wouldn’t have normally responded in the way that he did, but he’d had a few to drink himself. The words were pouring out of him before he could stop them, his filter broken down by the whisky double he’d choked down earlier.

“Y’could dance on me.”

Millie hummed, slowly raking her eyes over him from his shoes to the stray curl on his forehead. Instead of giving him an answer, she leaned over the bar to whisper something to the bartender.

He wanted to kick himself. She’d said it time and time again: he was like a brother to her. He started running excuses through his head, things he could say to break the tension and make her forget that he’d ever uttered the words.

“Now that’s an idea,” she finally said, carelessly dropping a bill onto the counter beside her. Harry raised his eyebrows, shocked. When the shots she ordered appeared by her elbow, she slid one over to Harry wordlessly. He took it without hesitation, the burn of tequila tickling his lips long after the bitter taste faded away.

“A good idea?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. “Or a bad one?”

She had never looked at him like this before. Harry had long ago memorized every facial expression she’d ever thrown at him, and prided himself in being able to read her like a book, but this was brand new territory. Her eyes, which were normally bright enough to blind him, had darkened. She was looking at him like she could see right through his clothes… like maybe she wanted to see right through his clothes.

“Why don’t we find out?”

It had taken him weeks to stop dreaming about the way Millie’s ass had felt pressed against him, or how dewy her skin had felt as he ran his hands over it, but now it was all rushing back. Not even the bright spotlight could disguise the fire in her eyes. She wanted him.

But he couldn’t think about that night at the club, not unless he wanted to pop a boner in front of thousands of attentive onlookers. He delivered his speech perfectly, but on the inside his stomach was twisting and tangling into knots, and he hadn’t been able to look at Millie throughout the entire thing.

The rest was a blur. The deafening roar of applause as Stevie came on. The brief hug he shared with her as he passed the microphone to her. The hand he placed on the older woman’s back while a video montage played on the giant screen. More applause. Millie’s eyes.

By the time he made it offstage, all he wanted to do was shove his hand down the front of his trousers, but he still had one more surprise he had to follow through with. With his back pressed against the wall and a twitching hand on his stomach, he took a few deep, heavy breaths. He needed to calm the fuck down, or he was going to blow his load the moment he saw her in that dress.

“Shit,” he exhaled, closing his eyes.

He wasn’t near as composed as he wanted to be, but one of his security guards would be leading Millie backstage any second. He’d arranged for her to meet Stevie, something he knew she’d been wanting since they were children.

“Harry!”

He looked over to see his best friend galloping towards him, his frazzled looking security guard trailing after her.

“Sorry we’re late,” the man apologized, adjusting the walkie-talkie that was clipped to his belt, “she ran ahead and went the wrong way, so we had to backtrack and ended up getting lost.”

“That sounds about right- oof!” Millie clearly hadn’t pumped the brakes, barreling straight into him. If he hadn’t been against the wall, the two of them would have ended up on the floor. “You can take the rest of the night off, Dave.”

His guard didn’t argue, quickly spinning on his heel and leaving the pair to themselves. She’d glued herself to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his waist as she swayed them back and forth.

“Missed you,” she mumbled.

“Just saw you last week, Mills.”

“Yeah, too long,” she nodded. Harry liked the way the tip of her nose rubbed against his dress shirt.

He chuckled fondly, gently easing her back with his hands on her shoulders. “How’d you like my song?”

“H, I can’t even describe how incredible it was. Like… I’ll be honest,” she blushed, “you looked… kind of hot. But do not let that go to your head, or else I’ll chop off your bollocks.”

Suddenly, he was fifteen again, bouncing all over her bed and getting her in trouble. He was sixteen, preening as Millie complimented him from the passenger’s seat. He was twenty-two, filled with euphoria as they moved on the dance floor. He was twenty-five, looking at her silver dress and feeling the overwhelming need to kiss her.

She was peering up at him like she might want him to, wide eyes and tiny smile, but one glance over her shoulder told him that there were more important things on the agenda. Stevie was walking towards them slowly, her ridiculously tall heels causing her to teeter with each step she took.

“Don’t kill me,” Harry said quickly, “I have one more surprise.”

“Harry, what- OHMYGOD!”

Millie had thrown her hands over her face, cupping them against her mouth and nose. The moment Stevie came into her view, tears burned at the corners of her eyes and a few fell down her cheeks.

“Oh my,” Stevie cooed, stepping close and placing her hands on the younger girl’s elbows, “I know Harry’s a handful, but there’s no need to cry!”

“Heeeey,” he whined, but it fell on deaf ears.

He stood to the side and watched his best friend tell her idol about all of the amazing memories she had with her music. She told Stevie about the first time she played Landslide at her fourth grade piano recital, how she’d listened Edge of Seventeen on repeat for hours on her last night of being sixteen, how she’d written an essay about Leather and Lace for her creative writing class at uni. Millie’s hands were flying all over the place, clutching at her chest, in the air above her head, wound around Stevie in a secure hug. He’d done this for her, and there was no better feeling.

“Harry talks about you constantly,” Stevie smiled. Harry widened his eyes at her.

“Oh he does, does he?” Millie pursed her lips teasingly. “Hopefully nothing too horrible.”

“On the contrary,” Stevie’s eyes twinkled mischievously. Harry shook his head subtly. He’d given her a long and detailed monologue of his feelings for Millie during a particularly vulnerable songwriting session, but they had never mentioned it again. “He’s said only good things. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Harry’s chest deflated with relief. He was going to send a very long, scolding text to Stevie later on this week.

When it was time to part ways, Harry left the two women alone to say their goodbyes while he made sure there was a car for him and Millie. They’d arranged for her to stay in his guest room, and all of her bags were already there. By the time she was walking over to him, mascara streaking down her face and a sad little smile on her lips, he was ready to have her all to himself.

“How’d I do?” He grinned, scooping her into his arms as she let out a shaky sob.

“I’m,” she let out a hiccup, “so happy!”

“Oh, Mills,” he cooed, rubbing a hand over her shoulder blade, “let’s go home, yeah? I can make you some tea?”

“Mhm,” she whimpered.

The pair began walking towards the back exit, clinging to each other. It made it harder to walk, being pressed together so tightly, but the thought of letting go didn’t sit well them them .

“My emotional Millie,” he hummed, “always so teary.”

“Shut up, Harry!” She cried as she slid into the car. He quickly followed, watching her buckle herself in and kick off her heels. “I can’t help it!”

“Didn’t mean it as an insult, babe,” the term of endearment slipped out before he could stop it, “means you’ve got a big heart. It’s sweet.”

“If anyone in this car is sweet, it’s you,” she sighed, “first, you fly me here all the way from London. Then, you perform my favorite song, and then you introduce me to Stevie Nicks… my absolute, complete, legendary-“

“It was nothing,” he said quietly, knowing that she’d never stop unless he cut her off. Millie scoffed, but he was telling the truth. He’d do anything for her, and if it made her happy, it didn’t feel like a chore.

“Nothing my arse.”

Millie had felt like she was high from all of the excitement, but the way Harry was looking at her was sobering. Despite the sharpness of his cheekbones and the hard line of his jaw, he looked soft, the pine green of his eyes turning to velvet.

“Why are you looking at me… like that?” She asked softly.

“Like what?” He mimicked the tone of her voice.

“Like…” she paused, gulping against a dry throat, “like you’re thinking about kissing me?”

“I am thinking about it,” he admitted, “I’m constantly thinking about it.”

She didn’t say a word, turning her head away and staring out the window. With anyone else, he would have been offended, but Millie was a deep thinker. She always took a bit longer to process things, lost in her own head. He twiddled his thumbs as they sat in silence for the rest of the drive.

He knew he couldn’t take it back. He probably shouldn’t have said it in the first place, but it was as if everything he loved about Millie had been amplified tonight. Hell, he’d just inducted a rock legend into the Hall of Fame, and all he thought about all night was her. She was in his head, in his heart, running through his veins, completely ransacking any rational thought he might have.

When the car stopped in front of his building, Millie was swinging her door open and marching across the lawn before he’d even gotten himself unbuckled. He quickly thanked the driver, scurrying after her like a madman, making sure to grab her forgotten heels before the car rolled away.

She had already walked into his apartment building, using the little fob he’d given her when he started renting in New York. His two level loft had an entrance on the first level, which is where he found her standing when he finally caught up. She was tapping one foot impatiently at his locked door.

“Mills….” he cleared his throat as he dug the house keys from his pocket, “I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean it?” She hissed.

“No, no,” he rushed, “I meant it. I just, I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Once again, he was met with no response. Millie pushed the door open as soon as it was unlocked, and he could hear her stomping up the stairs. He sighed, fighting the pinprick of tears that threatened to form.

Harry didn’t know why she was reacting this way. Sure, she’d told him just last week that she was like a sister to him, but the way she’d undressed him with her eyes earlier had given him some hope. Maybe he’d just imagined it, conjured it up in his head to cope with his desperate need for her.

As much as he wanted to follow her up the stairs, he knew it was a bad idea. She was angry with him, and he couldn’t figure out why, but leaving her alone to simmer down had always been the best course of action.

“Harry, what the fuck!”

Harry’s eyes widened. This was his first day back to school after missing an entire week, and he realized with horror that he’d forgotten to text Millie about breaking his leg.

“You just vanish for an entire week, and then you show up to homeroom with… with bloody crutches?”

“‘M sorry,” he ducked his head, “I fell off my bike last weekend, and we had to stay in Manchester for a bit to get everything settled. I swear I didn’t mean to worry you-”

“Worry me,” his friend rolled her eyes. They were only thirteen years old, but Millie was more terrifying than most adults when she was well and truly angry. “Understatement of the century. I went by your house, and nearly organized a search party when nobody was home! Have you even checked your phone?”

He hadn’t.

“You know what? If not texting me is so easy, why don’t we just never speak again?”

“Mills,” he groaned, voice cracking slightly. They’d both noticed that his voice was starting to get a little bit deeper, and normally she’d tease the hell out of him for a voice crack like that, but she wasn’t in the mood. “I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change how scared I was when you didn’t answer me!” She huffed, storming off. Just as he went to follow her, the bell rung, meaning he was already going to be late. With an irritated moan, he hobbled his way to his first class, hoping to god his teacher would let his tardiness slide when she saw his crutches.

She had, and later that night, Millie’s flailing pre-teen limbs fell through his bedroom window, eyes filling with tears and apologies leaking from her mouth.

“I thought about it all day, and once I calmed down… I just missed you.”

He chugged an entire glass of water before slamming it on his counter, taking a deep breath. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps in his hallway, so he turned around to look at her. She was still in her dress, but had wiped off her makeup. He swears she’d never looked more beautiful.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she said sheepishly.

“I’m sorry for-”

“No,” she gulped, “you don’t owe me any apologies. I was just… surprised.”

Harry nodded, not knowing what to say. He watched his feet, wiggling his toes awkwardly as an uncomfortable silence fell over them. Millie was shuffling around as well, debating whether or not she wanted to ask the question she’d been wanting to ask for years. Eventually, she couldn’t contain it anymore.

“How long have you been in love with me?”

Her voice was loud, but the volume isn’t what startled Harry. Sure, Millie had always been straightforward, fearless when it came to confrontation, but they’d never had a conversation like this. People had teased them as kids, telling them that boys and girls couldn’t be just friends, but they’d let the comments roll off of their backs.

“I… I-” he stuttered, his tongue suddenly feeling like an anvil in his mouth.

“You… don’t hide it well,” she divulged, looking at anything but him, “you’ve always been like an open book to me.”

“I’ve… yeah,” he choked out, “I, um, most of my life, I think.”

She started crying, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. He wanted to go over and hold her, like he usually did when she cried, but it was as if he was stepping into cement, absolutely rooted where he stood.

“Most of your life,” she echoed.

Harry rubbed a hand over his face, his skin feverish and beginning to bead with sweat. He needed to get out of his suit.

“I- you, yeah,” he croaked, robotically moving across the room to slip his blazer over one of the kitchen chairs. His legs felt like jelly, as if he’d completely forgotten how to walk.

“H,” she whimpered, “why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Why didn’t you ever say that you knew?”

Millie sucked in a breath, fiddling with the sequins on her dress. “I wasn’t completely sure. I mean, I was pretty sure, but then you’d talk about going on dates with other people, or… just, I had my doubts. But then tonight….”

“I was pretty obvious tonight,” he chuckled humorlessly, clearing his throat and scratching at his jaw, “and I never told you because… well look at us. We’ve never been this uncomfortable around each other.”

“H-”

“There were a few times I almost told you,” he gulped, “but… the timing was never right. You’d be in a relationship, or I’d be out on tour. It never lined up.”

This time, when Millie let out a sob, Harry didn’t hesitate to tuck her under his arm.

“You’re such a wanker,” she bawled, pressing her forehead into the skin between his sparrow tattoos, “obviously I love you too.”

Harry couldn’t breath. Had his heart stopped beating? Was he alive? Maybe he was hallucinating. The girl he loved, his best friend, was currently pressing her entire body against him, and she apparently felt the same way he did.

“How long?”  He asked.

“Most of my life,” Millie giggled.

“Fuck,” Harry wept, licking the tears away from his lips, “we’ve wasted so much time. Could have been together ages ago.”

She looked up at his face with a watery smile. “We’re here now. Still wanna kiss me?”

Harry leaned down and mashed his lips to hers in one fluid motion, loving the way it felt to have her like this. Millie was pushing herself closer, the pressure of the kiss making them both smile. She tasted like salty teardrops and toothpaste, and he probably smelled like a gym locker after loping around the stage, but neither of them minded, completely captivated by the feeling of finally moving their mouths together.

Once the floodgates had been opened, there was no way of stopping it. What had been a sweet, almost innocent embrace, was suddenly rough and desperate. Their soft touches were now strong and unyielding, calculated movements gave way to impulse and speed. They were like a river breaking free of its dam; calm waters growing higher and stronger until the tension became too much, cracking the barrier and releasing every single pent up drop. They were white-capped waves, beautiful and chaotic as they crashed against each other.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” Millie heaved, clenching her fist around the fabric of his shirt while he nipped at her jaw.

“‘Bout kissing me?”

“No, I mean, yes- oh!” She yelped, hissing through gritted teeth as Harry licked over the spot he’d bitten into her neck. “Yeah, b-but, also about what it would feel like to have sex with you.”

He’d been ignoring his semi since he walked off stage earlier in the night, but the moment she spoke, he could feel his cock chub up in his trousers, the blood rushing below his belt making him a bit dizzy.  

“Thought about that too,” he was hunched over as far as his back would allow, his craving to taste the skin below her collarbones much stronger than the strain on his spine.

“We should probably do it then, yeah?”

Harry moaned. He had been suppressing his inappropriate thoughts about the way she looked since the moment he saw her in the crowd, but now he could let them roam freely. He wanted to gather her hair into his fists, peel the dress off of her body, absolutely ruin her lipstick (he was a little bit disappointed that she’d wiped it off). He couldn’t wait to make his fantasy a reality.

“We probably should,” he agreed, pushing the strap of her dress down her arm, “only if you want.”

“Obviously I do, bloody bellend,” she said impatiently, undoing the buttons on his dress shirt, “god, this outfit was so sexy tonight. When you were singing, all I could think about was how bad I wanted you to fuck me.”

“I know,” Harry smirked, “saw the look on your face when I was done. Nearly got a boner during my speech.”

“The sex eyes can’t be tamed,” she shrugged, finally unfastening the last button under his navel. She tugged the material from the waistband of his trousers and pushed it off of his shoulders.

“Don’t want you to tame ‘em,” he growled, moving closer to her when the zipper of her dress snagged under his fingertips, “want you to keep the sex eyes on, and get this fucking dress off!”

When he finally got the zipper down, he practically ripped it away from her body, tugging it roughly over her hips and letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. Millie didn’t even have time to step out of it before Harry was lifting her bridal style.

“Don’t you fucking dare drop me!” She shrieked, lightly swatting his shoulder when he set her down on top of his kitchen table.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mills.”

She opened her mouth to tell him off again, but her train of thought completely derailed when he got on his knees and sucked her clit through her underwear. She couldn’t suppress her moans, especially as he swept the flimsy fabric to the side and really dug in, tongue licking over every bit of her and calloused fingers plucking at her clit.

Millie sighed feverishly. The rough texture of his fingers and the smooth wetness of his mouth felt practically angelic, while the sounds filling his kitchen were sinful. Wet pops of his lips and hollow slurps when he suctioned his cheeks in wre driving her hellishly insane.

“I can’t come like this,” she panted, “I want to see your face.”

He pulled off of her, leaving one last kitten-lick to her folds before rising to his feet. His lips were swollen and shiny as he undid the zip on his trousers, quickly stripping the bronze and black fabric from his legs. He pressed his erection against Millie’s sopping core, letting her soak into the fabric of his boxers. Everything was warm and wet and smooth, just like he’d always imagined.

“Let me fuck you,” he pleaded.

“Condom?” She asked, feeling her walls twitch as if they were trying to guide Harry’s cock inside on its own. “‘M not on the pill….”

“Right,” he swallowed harshly, “Okay, yeah. I’ve got to run upstairs and get one.”

“I’ll stay right here,” Millie promised, peeling her undergarments off the moment he was out of sight.

Whenever she pictured having sex with Harry, it was romantic; white sheets and fluffy pillows, a warm summer breeze, maybe even some scented candles and music. She certainly hadn’t imagined it happening on the hard wood of his kitchen table, but in a way, it was even more perfect.

Their friendship, their relationship was unique. They were two people who had spent the better parts of their lives dancing around each other, orbiting like two planets, feeling the weight of the gravity but never touching. It was only fitting that their first time together was unconventional.

Harry practically sprinted back into the kitchen, wincing at how cold the tile felt against his bare feet. However, he didn’t focus on that long, too distracted by the skin Millie had revealed in his absence.

She was laying down still, and her exposed breasts fell slightly to the sides, their undersides resting on top of her ribcage. She’d splayed her legs open upon seeing him, giving him his first unobstructed view of her heat.

“Christ,” he wheezed, “let me just….”

He ripped the condom package open with his teeth, slipping the clear latex from its confines and pinching it his fingers while he ripped his briefs from his body. He rolled it on slowly, almost teasingly, when he noticed Millie watching with an attentive gaze.

“Ready?” He hummed.

“Please, H,” she nodded, wiggling her hips in anticipation.

He gave her a breathtaking smile before pushing inside. She was so slick that he managed to push all the way in with one single stroke, causing Millie’s back to arch off of the table. Harry’s knees nearly gave out when she clenched around him, so he gripped her thighs and locked them around his hips to keep himself steady.

This had to be his favorite position.

From where he was standing, he could see the entire expanse of her body, laid out so prettily against his table. He could watch himself push in and out of her, seeing how his cock glistened with her wetness all the way down to the base, admire the way the flesh of her hips creased as they bent to accommodate him, watch her breasts bounce and jiggle with every thrust. If he leaned forward just the slightest amount, maybe he could even reach up to roll her nipples between his fingers.

Millie loved it, too. She liked the way Harry’s stomach muscles concave with each flex, the rapid snap of his hips affecting every nerve in his body. She absolutely loved watching a red flush creep up his chest and neck, the black ink of his tattoos standing out even more against the rosiness. Most of all, she liked watching his face. It was almost as if he didn’t know where he wanted to look most, his blown-out pupils flickering over every inch of her body.

The smell of sex wafted over them, sweet, sensual, and uniquely theirs. Their bodies were sticky with sweat as they slapped together, filling the loft with wet claps and breathy moans. It was raw, carnal, a complete release of the tension they’d been holding in for years.

When Millie was close, Harry dropped one of her legs to play with her clit, knowing that he’d find his release the second she found hers. Her lips were mouthing his name, but no sound came out. He watched, utterly bewitched, as her fingers curled into her palms and a strangled moan fell from her throat.

She gushed her release onto him, and he felt it drip down the fronts of his thighs as she tightened around his cock. He’d never made a woman squirt this much before. Profanities poured from his lips as he felt his balls clench, cumming into the condom with so much force that he had to bend over and rest his torso over hers to keep from falling over. His face was nuzzled into Millie’s breasts.

It was Harry who broke the silence after several minutes of shallow breathing. “Well, fuck, Mills.”

“Holy cow,” she coughed, “okay, first of all, I need some water, second, we’re doing that again immediately.”

He chuckled into her skin, nipping at her breast playfully before standing upright and looking between them. They’d made quite a mess of themselves, not that he minded.

Millie slid off the table, walking her shaky legs over to the sink, where she stuck her entire head under the faucet. Harry smiled to himself; seemingly, nothing had changed about their dynamic. He was afraid that professing his love for her might change the way they acted around each other, but she was just as silly as she’d always been.

“Millie, no! That’s so unsanitary,” a twenty-year-old Harry complained. Millie had just stuck her entire head into the unisex bathroom sink, chugging at the stream of water, “this is a karaoke bar, probably germs everywhere.”

“I was thirsty,” she informed him, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, “and there’s only one more person in front of me. How am I supposed to sing Stevie Nicks with a dry throat?”

“How are you supposed to sing Stevie Nicks when your voice sounds like a police siren?” He countered with a smirk. His best friend crossed her arms over her chest in offense.

“We can’t all be professional singers, you knob,” she bit out, swinging the door open with more force than necessary. She’d only had a drink or two, but Harry drank enough to make the room spin.

“‘M not a knob,” he muttered to himself as he followed after her.

“You sure are!” Millie called over her shoulder.

When it was time for her to take the stage, Harry made sure that his seat was all the way up front and his phone camera was at the ready. Millie had always been a horrible singer, but that had never stopped her. He couldn’t wait to post the video to his private instagram in the morning.

“Stand back, stand back!” She screeched, flipping Harry the bird when he started laughing, “in the middle of my room, I did not, hear from you!”

Her hair was flopping all over the place, hips moving back and forth while she hopped up and down. He wished he’d gone up there with her, wanting to wrap an arm over her shoulder or put his hands on her waist.

“I would cry… la la la la la la la, la la….”

He was in a perpetual state of wanting to be near her. It felt like it was part of his identity at this point. His name was Harry, he had curly hair, he wore tight jeans, and he wanted to be touching Millie.

Twenty-five year old Harry wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self that he’d get to touch her, whenever he wanted and for however long he wanted. He’d held her close while they showered together, placed a hand on the small of her back while she sifted through his dresser for pajamas to wear, and had her sprawled over his chest while she slept in his arms.

He closed his eyes, a smile never leaving his face as he imagined having her at twenty-six, twenty-seven, thirty. Maybe even fifty, sixty, and seventy. Trips down memory lane are much more enjoyable when there’s a future.

And yeah, he thought, revelling in the tickle of her soft snores as they puffed into his skin, there was definitely going to be a future.

~~~

Thank you for reading, if you’ve made it this far! Leave me a message, I’d love to know your thoughts <3

xoxo Tile

[abalonetea]

Just Keep Breathing: Chapter Three

I was partnered with @the-dot for the @originalfictionbigbang​! Thank you for working with me, Dot!

Here is the first chapter! I’ve split the first 10k words between four chapters, and will be posting them all in a masterpost in just a moment!

Summary: It’s the height of storm season and everyone in Hi-Banks, Florida is getting ready for the bad weather. It should be a year like any other - but on the tails of a national pandemic, a new disaster strikes. More than one new disasters. So many disasters that Eddie Carver would like to put some of them back, thanks. He’s just a down on his luck guy living in the local trailer park with his boyfriend. He’s not interested in dealing with the revival of an old murder case - which he knows nothing about, thanks -, the storm season of the century, or…zombies?

Yeah. Absolutely not interested in the zombies.

This black-comedy follows the inner workings of a small town as they band together to survive, and the young man - reckless, mean, angry, written off b the big city folk come to look into a cold case - that might hold all of societies survival in his hands.

Forget about society.Eddie’s only interested in keeping his friends alive.

Chapter Three – The Troubles Begin

“ - the riot appears to have originated inside of an office building in Toledo, where the CEO of Marino Corps was evidently thrown from the top floor window. The cause of the riot is unknown, but it has grown both in number and in scale of violence. The hospitals in the area are overflowing with victims, many of whom are suffering from bite wounds - “

Click.

“ - and if the tropical storm continues on this path, it will run directly in front of Hurricane Beth. The resulting storm will make land fall with Florida - “

Click.

“ - is the streak of violence we’re currently seeing in large cities a result of drugs, a side affect of the vaccine, or something else entirely? Today on The Sooty Orange we’re going to discuss - “

Click.

Carson groans. “Everything sucks. Just hit the radio.”

Eddie stretches over and clicks on the radio instead, oldies crooning into the quiet trailer park. “Man, why is it so hard to just find something fun to watch, huh? What happened to playing movies and stuff?”

“Dunno. It’s a real drag first thing in the morning, though,” says Carson. They’ve got a spread of coffee in mismatched cracked mugs on the little table in front of them, along with a few microwaved breakfast burritos and an open bag of sweet chili pepper flavored chips. “You work today?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to hit up the garage this evening.”

“Ugh. So we still aren’t going to get the truck up?”

“Part might be in today. I’ll check on it,” says Eddie.

They aren’t talking about the news and they aren’t talking about the agents, and that’s just facts. They didn’t need to speak about it. They just both sort of came to that conclusion. No point in discussing something that can’t be changed, and Eddie won’t say a word on the Mulborne case, not even to Carson.

They eat and change and head off on their own separate ways, passing Bonnie Barker and her dog Poncho on the way out of the trailer park. She waves at them and the dog goes nuts barking. It’s cloudy and gross out, and Eddie has a really bad feeling that it’s just going to be a bad damn day.

* * *

The little black car is parked outside of the mechanic shop, and the moment that Eddie gets close to it none other than Agent Russo steps out. He’s got this awful slicked back hair and a stupidly expensive looking suit. The other agent isn’t there.

“Ugh. You again?” Eddie squints at him and sucks on his front teeth. “I told you, man, I don’t know anything about the Mulborne case.”

“Something tells me that’s not the truth. I’ve looked into you, Eddie Burke. In and out of trouble for years. You’ve got a record a mile long, and you were the last recorded person seen speaking to those missing tourists,” says Russo. “I think that the two of us need to have a little talk.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t.” Eddie makes to walk in past him but the agent grabs him by the elbow, wrenching him to the side. “Hey! Get the Hell off of me, man!”

“I don’t know how you people do it out here, but let me tell you this,” says Russo. “When I say we need to have a talk, it’s not something that’s up for debate.”

A sharp whistle splits through the air. “Alright, boys. That’s enough. You want to talk to him, you get here with a warrant or you do it off my property,” says Penny. “That’s how it works around here, boy. And you, Eddie, you get to work. I got a car that needs the tires changed out, pronto.”

Eddie jerks his arm out of Russo’s grip, flips him off, and scurries into the garage. There’s not actually a car needing the tires changed so he mostly just loiters around until Penny comes inside, shaking her head.

“This is a whole lot of bad business that we don’t need to be dealing with right now,” says Penny, clucking her tongue. “I don’t like that man poking around none. You think someone needs to go out and give Benny a heads up?”

Eddie hops up onto one of the counters. “No way. Benny’s on his own.”

Penny purses her lips. “Neighborly.”

“Hey, I ain’t neighbors with him,” says Eddie. “You want to hike all the way out there for this, you be my guest. I’ve got enough that I’m dealing with. You been keeping track of this storm?”

“Yeah,” says Penny. “We’ll have to close up shop if it gets too much closer.”

“Red’s still planning on going out to his cabin. That dumbass.”

“Really? I don’t think I’d want to go out in this kind of weather.”

“You’re telling me,” mutters Eddie. “Hey, do you actually have work for me today?”

Penny gives him another pinched smile. “Yep. You’re gonna work on my boat motor. Put those skinny fingers of yours to good use for a change.”

Eddie groans. He hates working on boats but – cash is cash, he supposes.

* * *

Eddie swings by the gas station on the way home from work to buy a six pack. TJ’s working and Rat’s hanging off him out at the front counter, the door to the beak room blocked open with a tire iron and the grainy box screen style TV showing off the national news; the riots are spreading across the country, hitting every major city. There’s talk of it possibly being related to the vaccine or even a new street drug that’s being passed around, something similar to a hyped up bath salt.

“That’s stupid,” says Rat. “I’ve done those before, and no one out in some big city pent house is going to snort bath salts.”

“Coke,” says TJ.

Rat squints at him. “Coke doesn’t make you bite people.”

“Nah,” says TJ. He lights a cigarette. “But that’s what they do, you know. At those fancy parts. Snort coke.”

“Gimme one of those.” Eddie wiggles his fingers at the pack.

Rat pipes in, “oh, if he’s having one, I want one too!”

TJ grouses and grumbles but passes them each a smoke. “You owe me for that.”

Rat sticks out his tongue. “Join the club. I owe everyone.”

“Man, after the day I had, I deserve one of these. You all seen those feds running around?” Eddie asks. “Can you believe they’re out here about Benny?”

Rat perks up. He’s actually pretty good friends with Benny, even despite everything that’s happened. “What, really?”

The bell above the door chimes and they glance over almost as a group, only for Smith to come walking in. She heads for the back of the store, grabbing a few things from the little center rack where all the pre packaged and over priced sandwiches only tourists buy are at.

And sure, maybe the smart thing to do would be to just shut up, and stay quiet, and let the whole thing blow over, but Eddie’s never been particularly smart. He’s sharp and mean and good with his fists, and he scuttles across the gas station, still clutching his bummed cigarette, just so he can get right up in Smith’s face and tell her, “you need to make that little attack dog of yours back the Hell off. I didn’t do shit, you hear me?”

Smith, clutching a plastic wrapped chunk of carrot cake pulls back. “Excuse me?”

“I said that you need to back off. I don’t care who the Hell you people are. If that asshole shows up at my work again, I’m gonna clock him,” says Eddie, all teeth, and from the other side of the gas station Rat crows with laughter.

“Shit! Did you have the feds sicced on you?” Rat jams his cigarette out against the top of the counter. “That’s a trip!”

“I – have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Smith.

“Yeah, I totally believe that.” Eddie takes a step back, takes a drag off his cigarette. “You people come tearing in here and start shit, but you know what? No one around here is gonna put up with that. We got enough troubles happening. We don’t need you dragging up old ghosts that are already put in the ground.”

“What? No, that’s not – we already discussed that,” says Smith, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize that he was going to try and follow up on a dead lead. I’m very sorry. If there was an issue with your work place because of this, I can – I’ll happily speak with them tomorrow.”

The apology is so out of the blue that it takes Eddie off guard. He freezes, glances over at the counter. TJ shrugs his shoulders.

Smith continues, “we’re not looking to cause issues for anyone. We’re just doing our job, same as anyone else. I’ll speak with Russo. It won’t happen again.”

She steps around Eddie, all neat as can be, pays for her wares, and leaves. Just like that. As if it’s all nothing.

In the wake of it, Eddie sidles back up to the counter and puts out his cigarette in the little fish shaped ash tray. “I’m outta here. Just ring me up for the beer.”

TJ does, the chime of the register, and says, “I don’t know. I think I would’ve spilled the beans already.”

“You say anything to those agents, I’ll break your face,” warns Eddie, the words a sort of harshness that only comes from fear. “You got that?”

Rat cheerfully chimes in, “I’ll totally help.”

[mama-ghostie-61542]

A Thousand Lifetimes

Rated M++ for language and themes

If you recognize it--IT AIN'T MINE

Sorry for the OOC-ness

Chapter 7

Kihyun

The next day, after two fittings with costumes, two phone interviews, a shoot for an ad, and a tv spot; I finally got back to the dorms, and back to that story.

Bryn PoV--

As if today wasn't bad enough, I walked into the house to find it completely empty. The kids wandered around and I tried to field a million questions about where they were gonna sleep and what we were gonna eat. That and the meltdowns every five minutes led me to try to call my little brother. I really just needed to talk to another grown-up. As soon as I had supper figured out, I called Joey.

"Hello," said a voice on the other end of the phone.

"Ummm. Hi?"

"Oh. Hello," The voice was familiar, but it wasn't Joey.

"Is Joey close?"

"Sorry. Who?"

"Sorry. Jooheon. Kids call him 'Uncle Joey'. Guess it stuck."

"Hmm. No. You just missed him."

"Dern. Can you pass on a message?"

"Sure."

"Can you tell him to call Bryn when he gets back?"

"Oh! I didn't recognize your voice, Bryn. How are you? It's Kihyun. Joey is in the shower. Can I help you with whatever you need," I asked, biting my lip and praying she would say yes. Just the sound of her voice was both soothing and somehow able to tie me up in knots.

"Actually, I was calling to vent. I've had a particularly terrible day today. Joey is my sobriety sponsor."

"He is? Wow," I said before Honey came charging at me, his hair still wet. "I would still LOVE to talk to YOU," I shouted.

"Gimmie my phone, Kihyun."

I handed him back the phone and heard him say

"What's up, Sis?"

Though I couldn't hear exactly what was said, I could tell by the look on his face, it wasn't good.

"Really?"

Then, Honey sighed. "Lemme see what I can do from here."

"Please, let me help."

If it were possible for him to get any more pissed off, he did. "HE WHAT," he yelled. Then, he pulled the phone from his ear and said, "I need a one way ticket to Peoria International!! I'm gonna kill him. I am gonna fuckin' kill him." Next, he put the phone back to his ear, "Lemme see what I can do here, Sis," he growled as he demanded numbers and wrote them down, and then hung up.

As he started digging on the internet to find the cheapest fare, HyunWoo said, "Hold it, Hot Shot. What happened?"

"That douchbag finally left. He took everything! Even the kids stuff. He left them with NOTHING! That is why Sis was calling. He cleaned out their account and took everything. Damn lucky he couldn't touch the shop accounts or he would have cleaned them out too. Literally everything. She needs a little cash to feed the kids til Friday."

"Thank God it is Wednesday," said CK. from the far side of the room. If anyone had bothered to look, the reflection on his glasses was an Amazon cart with 37 things in it. The only time ANYONE has that many things in an Amazon cart is when they are buying groceries. However, most of those were chips or snack cakes.

Honey, Min, and HyungWon all sat down to iron out how much and what they were gonna contribute.

Silently, I picked up my bank book and palmed the slip of paper with her info on it. Only HyunWoo saw me slip out the door. He stopped me as I waited for the elevator and handed me a few bills from his own wallet before turning back towards the room.

"What," was all I could get out before he interrupted, cutting me off mid-question.

"We look out for our own," He answered before he opened the door to the dorm.

After heading to the nearest Western Union, I called the number on the slip from Honey. When she picked up, I smiled.

"Hey, Bryn, it's Kihyun. I wired you some money. Should be about $100, if everything gets exchanged right."

"Kihyun, you guys didn't have to do that. My dad was already gonna feed the kids. I just needed to talk to someone. This has got me so shaken up, I want a drink really bad. Guess I wasn't too clear with Joey."

"Really? Then why was he," I stopped as a shadow fell over me. "Well, shit. Guess who is now standing right behind me."

"Tell him to calm down."

"Bryn says to calm down. She told me to sit on you if I have to."

"Kihyun! I did not."

"I paraphrased," I laughed. "Besides, Sweets, if looks could kill, I'd be dead right about now."

"Really," she chuckled.

"Oh yeah. He is probably gonna follow me all the way to the dorm. I guess I am not allowed out on my own," I laughed.

"Why," She asked.

"I tend to do dumb things, according to others. Though they may be a little impulsive, they always work out in the end. So don't look the horse in the mouth."

"I won't."

"Good girl," I laughed, "So why did you call him, anyway?"

"I needed someone I could yell at that would not take it personal."

"I am always here. Though, I may occasionally yell back."

She laughed. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Making me laugh. I needed that. "

"Damn. I was looking forward to the screaming match. C'mon, get it started, Angelface," I said as I stopped at the stoplight and waited for the crosswalk. "Do you want me to start," I asked, then pulled the phone away and yelled.

Bringing the phone back to my face, I asked as the crosswalk lit up and I crossed the street, "How was that," I grinned.

"A 10. A fuckin' 10. Have you thought of being a Rockstar," she laughed.

I could almost hear the smile on her face, which made me laugh. Even if my throat killed me in the morning it was worth it.

"Hey, hang on a second. I want to send you something," I said as I put my phone on speaker and started the camera.

"Oh dear God, what now," she asked.

I took a short video of me sending her a kiss and sent it off. "Nothing bad."

"Ok, if you say so. Just not cool with unsolicited dick pics from strange men."

"I would not send you unsolicited dick pics, nor am I a stranger. Now, if you asked for them...Like a good girl," I started and looked over at Honey, who was looking at me with the 'better never do that' face. "Uh-oh."

"What?"

"I'm getting side eye."

She laughed and said, "I know just the look. It screams, 'You'd better not be sending photos of ANY part of your anatomy to my sister'."

"Yes," I laughed. "So how are you feeling? Better?"

"Much. Thank you."

"No problem. I'm here all week. Try the veal," I laughed. "Still want a drink," I asked.

"No. The laughs did it for me. Thank you."

"You are very welcome, Darling. So did you get the video I sent?"

"I did. That was very sweet. Thanks."

"You are very welcome, Pretty Lady. Well, we are back at the dorms."

"I should probably go then," she sighed.

"Just remember I am also available for Mitzvahs," I chuckled, which made her laugh. "Seriously, Sweetie, anytime you need a sounding board or a laugh fest, a screaming match or some naughty-Ow, Mother fucker!-I got smacked on my arm for that last bit. I am always here,"

"Thanks again. Until next time."

I paused and came VERY close to telling her how I felt but said, instead, "Again, you are welcome."

"Bye, Kihyun."

"Bye, Bryn," I breathed, then hung up.

Honey looked at me as he crossed his arms over his chest, "It took everything you had to not tell her 'I love you' didn't it?"

All I could do was nod and hope that my dreams tonight would be better than they had been.

As we got into the elevator, He said, "It was good hearing that you made her laugh."

"I love the sound of her laughter. Once I got her started, I didn't want her to stop. I think that she is just as funny as she is sweet."

"You do know that she will do one of two things, right?"

"What two things?"

"Either immediately send the money right back, or hang on to it and physically give you back every bit. She hates asking for help...of any kind," he said as he opened the door to our dorm.

"Yeah? Wonder why."

He just laughed, "Her ex-fiancée, ex-husband, and her father."

"What happened," I asked as I made us a pot of coffee.

"They all held every penny over her head. Her dad decided he wanted her out the minute she turned 18 and to do it, he threw her out the boat, so to speak. Said if she floated, she never needed help anyway; and if she sank, well, it was her own fault."

"That's abuse. Financial abuse."

"Yep. He was the kind to tell her everything she had was his, that she owned nothing; not even the clothes on her back. He comes from the 'I Own You' school of parenting. Her ex-fiancée would demand she work, then make her late, so she would lose any job she got. Then, he'd take any money she got paid and use it for crap he wanted rather than the bills she had it ear-marked for."

"Oh, tell me he didn't."

"Oh he did. Spent it on girls at the local under 21."

"Shit. He screwed around on her, didn't he?"

"Yep. Which is why if you ever think about cheating, I will castrate you myself," he growled.

Somehow I knew he would do it, and I would let him. "Don't have to worry about that. Can you tell me about her ex-husband?"

"That asshole was a piece of work. Emotionally, Mentally, and Fiscally abusive. The entire time they were together, he would pinch a penny until it died if it was something she needed, but she was expected to turn over her things and cash to him. She worked second shift in a factory; out of the house from half 1 to almost 1 am. He was in semi driver school at the time, racked up a HUGE amount of debt; I'm talking almost 40K. Constantly accused her of cheating when he had a different lot lizard every night. It's a miracle he never gave her anything."

I was disgusted by this guys behavior. To have a woman like her waiting at home and trying his best to break her.

"And that isn't even the worst of his offenses. He screamed at her one night while he was over the road, on training. She was at work, and he called her on her lunch break. The entire time, he screamed at her for having a cold sore and yelled about her cheating loud enough for her co-workers to hear. Her boss to tell her to turn off her phone; that he was tired of hearing that jerk yell at her. The guy he was learning with, told him that 'If I were her, I would be calling the lawyer first thing in the morning, after that shit.' He 'apologized' pretty quickly after that."

"Icky. I hope she ended it there."

"No. That girl has a ton of stay and No show. He ended up deployed to Egypt and told his brother about the girls there. Never thought his brother would run and tell her. She still didn't leave. You left a blister on her cheek one night and he threw her out in the snow."

"Stay and no show? I'm not sure I understand."

"Horse terms," came a voice from the doorway. I had forgotten Hoseok was staying with us while his apartment was getting the pipes fixed. "When a filly is learning to ride, it's said she is full of Show and no Stay. Meaning she looks good, but is too skittish to stand still. Sis--Well Sis may not look like much, but she has tons of loyalty to those who show her the same. She has the patience to play a 30 year long game, and the courage to weather ANY storm. But she has a problem knowing when to leave, and so she gets hurt."

"Hold up! He threw her out in the snow?!"

As Hoseok filled his own mug, he answered, "Yeah, he threw her out of the apartment in the middle of a snowstorm. Lucky her parents were in town. So if you start this with her, and you ever want out; you are gonna have to straight up tell her to go. She won't understand otherwise. She doesn't play games and has a tough time with subtly. So always be direct and honest with her."

I nodded taking it in. There was something I thought I wanted, so I asked, "How is her aegyo"

"If you are looking for overt aegyo, don't. Hers is subtle but she has got it in spades, and she doesn't even know it. It's in the way she plays, either with her guy or her kids," he said as he leaned against the counter, "It's in the subtle blush when you say or do something for her without her asking. It's in a compliment and the smiling eyes that comes with it. She has never had some of the things other girls take for granted, like a stolen kiss or flowers on her birthday. Other things, like those romantic gestures, she has only had once or twice. If I remember right, the last guy to 'play' was an FWB years and years ago, and that guy only stole one kiss, once," Honey replied.

"Don't expect her to run with girls. Most girls find her too harsh, too rough. She doesn't appreciate girls and their whiney, gossipy ways. She never wears makeup, and I have never once seen her with her nails painted. She is a guys-girl, a tom-boy through and through; wasn't made delicate. She is stronger than most people will ever know. However, her heart is extremely delicate, it's been broken and bruised so bad, even I wonder how she is still alive. So, let me tell you, right now," Hoseok said as he sat down his mug and leaned over the counter in my direction, "She may not be blood, but she is my sister."

"Hmm," I nodded. "You really don't have to worry about that," I replied. "How are you related to her again," I asked.

"Distant cousin. Her auntie married my mothers little brother, for all of five minutes. I am only gonna tell you this once, if you hurt that filly in ANY way; you wont walk again."

"Got it," I replied, cringing.

"You know that she won't ask for what she wants or needs. You are gonna need to be damned good at reading between the lines, cause she is so afraid that if she tells you what she needs, what she wants, you will do the same thing every one else has done," Honey said after a minute.

"Run," I answered nodding.

"Yep. Most men can't handle her intensity so they either run or try to turn her down to levels that they can handle without realizing that her fire isn't meant to be dimmed, but fed. She is gonna need you to be just as emotional as her, to show her that it is ok to feel again. She is very touch oriented, very tactile. So a lot of her feelings are touch related."

"I understand, Joey."

"You had better. The only reason I didn't beat the shit out of the other assholes, is that I wasn't there. If I had been, I would have had no problems with a few months in the county lock-up. And if Clark had tried that shit while I was there..."

"Really?"

"Yeah. See, the shit of it is, she fades into the background. She doesn't want all those things that other girls want. She isn't the kind to run or chase. She doesn't play games. She is also emotional. Ease into it. Don't try to love bomb her, she went through that shit with Clark and won't put up with it from you," Hoseok said, then turned to Joey, "Speaking of, did you hear what Lone Elm called him?"

Joey shook his head.

Hoseok grinned. "Elm called him a fuckin fishstick."

Joey started laughing, "Elm called him 'Fishstick'."

I looked back and forth between the two men who were holding themselves up on the counter while they laughed. "I don't get it. What-What's a fishstick?"

A hand landed on my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Changkhyun standing there, an amused look on his face.

"Fishsticks are only available in the States. They are mashed-up fish paste, about an inch wide by around six inches long, which is then breaded. Then, they are to be baked in an oven. Either they turn out soggy or they are hard as a rock; inedible either way. Which is good, because they are fuckin' gross. Nasty little things."

"Are they like the fish at Mickey's?"

"No," CK stated. "The fish there is actually decent. Fishsticks are generally served in school hot lunches on Fridays due either to religious reasons, or because they are cheap and can be purchased by the gross. At any rate, they are still inedible."

"Icky. How in the hell can people do that to their kids?"

"Not a clue. That was why I always took my lunch on Friday. Every Friday, the hot lunch was always the same thing; rock hard fishsticks, soggy tater tots, dehydrated-rehydrated mixed vegetables, and golden glow salad with mayonnaise on the top. It was the grossest meal I have ever seen in my entire life."

I shuddered to think of those poor kids. Forced to eat that nasty stuff.

After reading that, I was glad her kids never had to eat that. She fixed boxes for them. School lunches in the States sounded gross.

'Some things were ok.'

'I thought you took your lunch, Mami?'

'I did. My dad said cold lunch was cheaper. But, there was one day, once or twice a month, that I would get school lunch. They called it pork pattie day, but it was a breaded pork tenderloin on a bun. It was pretty decent. It was pretty gross the rest of the time, but that day wasn't too bad.'

'Have I watched you fix those before?'

'Not sure.'

'Are those the sandwiches where you beat the pork chops to nothing and then bread and fry them?'

'Yes.'

'Those do look pretty tasty,' I said as I dug around for what to fix the next day, so I could write it on the board. 'Hmm. Help, please. Can't figure out supper.'

'Whatcha got?'

'Hmmm. Some sausages, some tiny shrimp, and a package of chicken,' I said as I dug around in the freezer.

"You can use the shrimp and chicken in Gumbo.'

'It has been quite a while since I've had Gumbo. I've never made it before though.'

'Look it up. There are a million Gumbo recipes out there.'

'I think I will do that. Thanks, Baby. Have I told you, today, how awesome you are??'

'Yes, but I can always stand to hear it again,' she laughed.

A/N)--The above abuses......actually happened. First hand experience.

[face-turn]

All the Flowers (turn to face the sun)

Pairing: Gen; the Shield and its brotherly homoeroticism notwithstanding Words: 1.3k Rating: PG, for Dean’s mouth A/N: While this is technically not complete, I don’t know where else it’s going, so I’m setting it free. Also I’ve been gone for two years what of it. 

The safehouse this time is barely more than a shoebox, a single bedroom with an alleyway window opening up into a tiny living room and a galley kitchen. They never really expect comfort-- they pay for security, for secrecy, not for luxury-- but even Dean has to admit this is a little sad. 

Except. On the windowsill of that tiny little window, a pot of ivy creeps halfheartedly up the screen. It’s just a little one, maybe some kinda ornamental thing, but Dean is fucking fascinated. They’ve never been here before, because somehow Rollins has matched and surpassed Dean’s paranoia, but nonetheless Dean is compelled to carefully water it, to weed the little thing and to turn it a little to help it catch what meagre sunlight peeks over the sharp shadows of the neighboring building. 

“It’s just a weed,” Reigns says, and he says it like he’s an expert on weeds and not-weeds and hey, Dean, have you ever considered being a person with a working brain for once? 

Well. He doesn’t say that last part. Dean infers it. 

“Yeah?” Dean says, focusing on picking tiny blades of grass out of the pot and flicking them into Reigns’ hair when he’s not looking. “Well, s’lasted this long on its own. Think maybe I was a weed in another life?” 

Reigns looks at him with his startling grey eyes. “Yeah,” He says. “Well, you’re like some kind of weird mold now, so I guess it’s not too--” 

Their ensuing scuffle is interrupted by Rollins coming back, slipping into the back door like a shadow. The look on his face says trouble, which means a job, which means Dean flicks one last piece of dirt into Reigns’ hair and stands up, brushing his hands off on his pants.

When they come back, month and change later, the plant is gone. That’s okay. Dean is used to things that don’t last. 

--

The motel’s on the very outskirts of town, vacancy sign flickering dolefully in the foggy dark. They’re outside of Atlanta-- or Aurora, or Akron, or Augusta. Dean’s lost track of all the places they’ve paced through, hackles up and snarling. They blur together when you never stop and someone else pays the bills.

The pool out front’s been drained and there’s only a couple of cars out front, but the lights are on and this is the address Punk gave them. Rollins is dozing on his feet, swaying into Dean’s shoulder every so often, and Reigns is tweaked out of his mind on Modafinil, muscles shivering ever-so-slightly with barely restrained get-up-and-go. 

Dean’s always had a better stomach for uppers, already has most of the side effects wired into his biology and doesn’t get ‘em better or worse when he’s on stims. He’s the one who bundles them out of the car, drags them staggering into the lobby to pick up a room key. He assures the man at the desk that no, sir, he’s certainly Mr. Punk, sir, yes that is his birth name, yes he certainly can produce an I.D., if you’ll give him just a moment. 

There’s only one bed, because C.M. Punk is some kinda penny pinching motherfucker when he’s not paying their fees, but it doesn’t matter. Dean’s slept on worse than dirty carpets, and at least there’s a roof. He hefts Rollins-- Seth, he guesses, because it’s hard to keep it casual when you’re unlacing a guy’s boots-- onto the bed while Reigns mumbles something incoherent and stumbles off, possibly to die in the shower. 

Dean’s still got the urge to move shoving at him. He drapes his dog tags across the old alarm clock-- Reigns will get it or he won’t-- and secures the room as best he can before slipping out the door. It’s gone from foggy to rainy, drops bouncing off cracked asphalt and turning the whole place into a shitty, muddy slip-n-slide. A cluster of pretty girls are gathered around the Coke machine, short shirts and shorter skirts and the kind of high-pitched laughter that’ll kill a man’s confidence at a hundred paces. 

It’s too rainy to walk, Dean guesses. 

“Hey mister,” One calls, kind of sarcastic, and her friends break back down into laughter. She’s wearing a flower in her hair, rain-dropped and vibrant even under the shitty fluorescent lights. 

“Evening ma’am,” Dean replies, doffing an invisible cap. He doesn’t approach, because he’s not interested or capable of buying what they’re selling. 

They don’t seem too put out about it. Dean’s looking kind of rough, he admits, five days unshaved and hands still wrapped to the wrist. He definitely wouldn’t wanna see himself in a dark alley, that’s for fuckin’ sure. 

“You looking for anything?” The girl with the flower asks, cocking her hip in defiance of the weather and his distance. 

“Only the ice machine,” He demurs, and they laugh at him again. He smiles, so he’s in on the joke. 

There’s no ice machine, they all cheerfully inform him, which is okay because Dean didn’t really need ice anyway, just something to do with his hands until the mania steps back a little and lets forty sleepless hours take the reins. 

It takes a lap or two of the complex to settle down. He scopes out all the easy exits on the first go around, because he can’t help it, and then the harder exits, because his mind still needs something to work on. 

It’s late-late by the time he trudges back up to the door, instead of just late. He taps the door softly, pattern set in his bones after all this time practicing. It’s a minute before the return knock comes, a password and response that’s as familiar as breathing. When the door swings open for Dean to slip inside, Reigns is there, sleepy and still damp from his shower. 

He also looks hilariously pissed off. 

“No hot water?” Dean guesses, and is immediately rewarded with a snarl that would make a tiger jealous. He slips the travel lock back into place, locks and double locks and bolts the door behind him, kicks the door stop into place and slides the safety lock in, too. It won’t keep out someone who’s desperate to get in, but it’ll give them a little bit of time to wake up. 

“Seth’s gonna bitch so much,” Reigns says, squeezing out his hair and starting on his nightly ritual untangling. “Boy’s like a lapdog.” 

Dean makes a noise of agreement, watching Seth’s back rise and fall with his slow breaths. Something about him just screams that he was made to be pampered. Maybe the sly hints of a good family life. 

“We’re gonna let him find out on his own.” Dean says, settling onto the foot of the bed and fighting against the weight of his eyelids. 

“Yessir,” Reigns says, plaiting his hair up quick and laying one hand, still cool from his cold shower, onto Dean’s forehead. “C’mon, babe, get up and brush your teeth. We got a spare.” 

Dean hoists himself up, because of course now he’s tired. Brushing his teeth and splashing his face with water is a blur, and when he finally passes out he doesn’t even remember that there’s only one bed, after all. 

When they leave the next day, Seth bright-eyed and bushy-tailed from his surprisingly chilly wakeup shower, the girl’s flower is in a puddle by the soda machine, pretty and only a little bit stepped on. Dean wavers before stooping to pick it up, fragile and wet and almost weightless. 

Reigns looks back over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow up in that stoically judgmental way that he has, but doesn’t say anything to Dean, just keeps bullying Seth’s salty ass back to the car. Dean pets at the petals one more time before letting the flower fall back into its puddle, where it floats and spins endlessly in a reflection of the star-speckled dawn.

[n0madic]

mobile rules and about.

introduction.

hello, i’m lettuce! i’m a 20 y/o college student with zero motivation! i’m more active on discord, so if we’re mutuals feel free to ask for it! i don’t have any triggers, but i ask that the standard stuff be tagged in case i’m having a bad day. otherwise i’m pretty easygoing. feel free to reach out to me if you have any questions!

following.

i am as selective as i see fit, and i’m mutuals only. if i’m following you, i want to interact, so no scare there. if i don’t follow you, don’t take it personally. i have weird moods and get picky about who i want to talk to. it’s nothing against you, honest. if i’m not following you, you can still send asks, but they won’t be made into threads.

threads.

i prefer para to multi-para, but i’m open to one-liners as well. if you would like to make an ask into a thread, please move it to a new post and tag me. i roleplay when i feel like, so i might reply immediately or it might take me ten weeks. if you think i’ve forgotten, feel free to poke me.

shipping.

i am open to shipping if there is chemistry. if you’re sensing a connection between our muses, don’t be afraid to reach out! i am multi-ship, and each ship will have its own verse. i currently do not have a main verse ship.

nsfw.

i am of age and so is my muse. nsfw is a possibility, but it will only be with people i trust and probably will be over discord. all nsfw will be tagged, of course. i am also open to darker topics, but they need to be discussed. if you’re unsure, ask. i will do the same. everything will be tagged.

own characters and alternative universes.

yes

biography.

early life.

jackal is unsure where or when he was born. hell, he doesn’t even know that he’s fully human.  his first memories are of a boring colony on some backwoods, middle-of-nowhere planet. he assumes he grew up there with his ’parents’ ( who look nothing like him ). it was a nice enough upbringing if a bit dull. they had food, water, shelter, and, of course, raiders. they ransacked the colony once a cycle and took about half their food. they ruled the place, and jackal admired them. when he was a teen, he joined them.

the raiders taught jackal to fight, to pillage, to steal. they taught him that the world would destroy him unless he destroyed it first, and he was all too happy to believe them. until they raided his parents’ farm. jackal was ordered to take everything. it was his initiation, but he refused. they killed his parents anyway and razed the farm anyway.

distraught, jackal hijacked one of the colony’s only ships and took off into space. he wandered aimlessly for years, picking up odd jobs on random colonies. finally he settled into something of a transport service for less-than-legal merchandise. he traveled the universe with weapons, drugs, and stolen property.

qila.

jackal was lonely. he had no family, no friends. only enemies and clients. so when a strange white box was loaded onto his ship, he took interest. inside was a small device that held the entirety of an advanced artificial intelligence named qila. jackal was taken with her immediately. he hijacked her systems and installed them into his ship, effectively stealing her and the small bracelet she is housed on. now she acts as his first mate. she navigates, runs diagnostics, and insults jackal. theoretically someone is still searching for her, but they haven't run into any trouble yet.

nomad.

jackal doesn't make a habit of stealing what he transports, honest. it just keeps happening...

at first, jackal hardly noticed nomad. they were in a tiny box inside another sealed box. he was to transport them and get a pretty penny from it. unfortunately he didn't know that nomad was one of the most sought after beings in the universe. he immediately ran into trouble. his ship took massive damage, which broke the seal on the box and revealed nomad. nomad is a small worm-like creature around an inch long. they are semi-sentient and half machinery. panicked, nomad searched for the most readily available vessel to keep it safe. which, at that point, was jackal's hear. mortified, he tried to get them out but to no avail. and he didn't dare get them surgically removed lest the people who attacked his ship track him down.

and besides, nomad isn't so bad. they translate for him and are real helpful in a pinch. they don't seem to do any damage, and jackal can't deny that the sudden influx of knowledge is really nice.

present.

jackal spends most of his time continuing his smuggling services with his two new crewmates - qila and nomad. together they try to avoid the fiesty warlord hellbent on acquiring nomad while also trying to figure out what the fuck nomad even is.

[selfishsunnies]

i wish you sidewalk pennies - JJ x reader

warnings: not more than the show

notes: This is just a filler chapter... so much is ab to go down you guys I am so ready. we just gotta get there. Feedback & questions are apriciated!!!

word count: 2,300 roughly

CH. 2- “melodies & giant plastic dinosaurs”

It had been a few days since that night after the party. Kie had to work a few shifts at the wreck, so that left Alice alone in the house. It’s not that Alice wouldn’t help out at the restaurant, they just hadn’t asked. It left her with a lot of free time. She didn’t really remember the island, so she couldn’t head to the beach nor did she feel comfortable going by herself. Alice didn’t really trek outside of her comfort zone very often, but this whole summer was miles out of her little box.

With the cell phone towers down often and the wifi in the house being spotty, she spent a lot of time reading. She had brought a few books with her, but quickly finished those and had to resort to Kiara’s bookshelf. It was outdated, probably stuff she had read in middle school. Alice didn’t really mind though, she had read most of them, too. She picked up one she hadn’t and began reading. She quickly lost track of time and before she knew it, her aunt was home. She knocked lightly on Alice’s door, peeking her head in. The woman looked tired, bags under her eyes, her eyebrows pinched together. 

“Hi, dear. I hope I wasn’t interrupting.”

“No,” Alice said, closing the book, “it’s okay.”

“How’re you doing? The first few days can be rough.”

“I’m good, Kiara’s friends all seem super nice and I’m loving the weather.”

Her aunt pinched her nose when Alice mentioned Kiara’s friends, but smiled softly. She thought about what she’d said, about being good. This wasn’t a lie. Alice really was having a good time. She felt relaxed for the first time she can remember since her parents began fighting. She didn’t miss her friends as much as she had imagined, although she wished she could group facetime and show them around the house or update them more often. She certainly didn’t miss her parents’ arguing. Her dad had lost his job a few months ago and it seemed he had no intention of getting another. Alice tried not to be home as much as possible to avoid them both. She kept busy with her job, school, and soccer practices, but now, all that was over. 

And Kiara’s friends did seem nice. They were all instantly so accepting. She felt like they were all little kids again. She wished she remembered when they were.

“Well, we’re here if you ever need anything, baby.” She placed her hand on Alice’s cheek and kissed the top of her head. Alice nodded, grateful.

The next night, the four of them had dinner together at The Wreck. It was past closing time, but it was the end of a long week and Kiara had the weekend off. Her father had been working late hours to prepare for the height of the season, he was calling it. This meant they celebrated the last few moments of calm before the storm. 

“So, Alice,” her uncle started, a glass of rum and coke in his hand, “are you still singing?”

Alice blushed at the question, “Not like I used to.” She tried to laugh it off. Alice used to train extensively, lessons twice a week, binders filled with sheet music, always doing a vocal warm up. That all changed when she got to high school though. She started playing for the school’s soccer team, her classes got a little harder and she needed more time to study. She started going to lessons only every other week, missing recitals for soccer games, until one day during senior year, she just didn’t go back. She never did the school’s musicals, though. When people learned that Alice could sing, they always assumed that meant she did theatre. It did not. Alice was a terrible dancer and didn’t particularly like acting. So, she stuck to singing. 

“Aw, really? I remember you used to love coming down here because it meant you got to skip lessons. That didn’t stop you from singing though.” Kiara said, laughing.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you don’t remember?”

Alice shook her head sadly.

“Oh come on,” her uncle started again, “you never stopped singing. Used to make kie and the neighborhood kids perform talent shows for us and your parents in the backyard, couldn’t have been older than five.” 

This earned a laugh from everyone at the table, “No way!”

“Oh, it really was the sweetest thing,” her aunt sighed, reminiscing. 

The thought of John B and JJ performing in a backyard talent show had Alice nearly in stitches, Kie too. 

“Oh, I cannot wait to hold that over their heads,” Kiara exclaimed. The laughter soon died down, making everyone realize how empty and quiet the restaurant was.

“Well, maybe I’ll start again. I’ve got tons of time,” Alice said with a smile. She was only half kidding. She really did love to sing.

“There is that fundraiser event at the end of the month.”

Kie sighed, loudly, “Mom, that is such a kook thing. Where does that money even go? Who are they even fundraising for?”

“Dear, they’re-” She started to reply, but was cut off again by Kiara ranting, “They’re a waste of time and good money that could be given to an actual cause.”

They went on like this for a few minutes before Alice could butt in, “Uhm. What?” she asked. 

“The kooks are planning a fundraiser event for god only knows what and I am being forced to go.” Kiara shot a look at her mother.

“Of course we are going, it’s a really big deal. Everyone’s going to be there and,” she reached out and placed her hand on Alice’s arm, “and they need entertainment.”

“Oh, I don't know. That’s kind of-”

“Mom, please. No.”

“Honey,” her aunt's tone was tight, the crease between her eyebrows returning, She turned her attention towards Alice, “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”  

Alice nodded her head in agreement. She silently made the promise to herself that she was not doing it. Alice had been out of practice for too long to just begin performing for an important event like this. The thought of singing in front of more than about five people made her stomach swirl. That was a different part of her life, one that Alice has left behind when coming here.

A few hours later the girls wound up at John B’s. Him and Sarah were laying in a hammock out back, tangled up in each other. JJ was rolling a joint while Pope sat next to him, talking about some tv show he just finished, “No, dude, it was crazy.” When they walked into the yard he stopped talking to kiss Kiara on the cheek and then returned to his spot next to JJ. He waved a nice hello to Alice and Sarah yelled her hello’s from the hammock. Her voice was smooth and a little giggly like she had been drinking. 

“Kie, you want a hit?” JJ asked, holding the lit joint closer to her. She took it from him and formed O’s with the smoke she exhaled before handing it to Alice.

“Oh, I uh, I don’t know.” She stuttered out. 

“Just like this” Kie demonstrated, very poorly may she add, before handing it back to Alice. She tried her very best, and still managed to choke. She coughed and coughed. This earned a laugh from JJ, “So I take it you don’t smoke?” 

“I’ve just never tried, no one smokes back home. I guess it’s just not a thing.” 

“You’re telling me no one where you’re from smokes weed? Bullshit. You’re just not going to the right parties.” He was laying in the grass, arm tucked under his head, a smug look on his face.

“I go to plenty of parties,” Alice said in defense. It’s true, Alice rarely turned down an invite to a kegger back home. She had only ever lost one beer pong game, and that wasn’t even really her fault. 

“I don’t deny that. I’m just saying you ain’t going to the right ones if there isn’t weed.” JJ took another drag and formed O’s of his own. By now Kiara had moved to sit in between the two boys and was leaning against Pope. Alice sat on his other side, leaning back on her hands. 

“I don’t know dude, even if it was there I couldn’t smoke it anyway. At least not in high school. Shit messes up your breath support and stuff.”

“She used to be a singer,” Kie clarified, “a natural talent really.” She said, poking fun.

“Ah, cool. So like musicals and stuff?” Pope asked, bless his heart. She felt her face light up now that the attention was all on her.

“No,” Alice answered with a chuckle, “like choir and recitals and all that.”

“She’s being humble, Miss first in the state.” Kiara shot back.

Now it was her turn to clarify, “That was like sixth grade! And it was just a junior competition. Anyway, enough about my miserable singing career, what’re we doing tonight?”

JJ raised his head to look at her, “this.”

“What? What about crazy adventures? You’ve all told me the stories.”

“We’ve retired,” John B spoke up for the first time since she’d been there that night. 

“Retired? At the young age of 18, that’s quite a shame.” Kiara giggled at Alice’s sarcasm. 

“Maybe if we didn’t spend a whole summer being chased by the police and a bunch of big men with guns, we wouldn’t be so tired.” Pope spoke up.

Sarah started to chime in, “Yeah, or get stranded in the Bahamas.”

“Facts.” John B said.

“Okay, okay,” Alice began, “I’m just saying, it’s a little depressing.” The crickets were loud in the trees and she closed her eyes, taking in the silence, the lack of cars speeding by. Truthfully, Alice didn’t mind sitting here all night. At home, there was always something going on, somewhere to be, someone to be with, but here everything felt like a choice. One that Alice could decide whether or not to pick, and the outcome was always good.

*********

“This is it,” John B said, gesturing outwards. Alice looked around at her new friends.They were all smiling wide staring at her, waiting for her reaction.  After much convincing, everyone agreed to go on an adventure that night. They didn’t tell her where they were going, but when they arrived, she was confused to say the least, “Uhm. Okay.” Kie swung her arm around Alice’s neck, “You really have to take it all in.”

“I- Okay. I just don’t understand why?”

“Why do you have to take it all in?” She responded.

 “No, no. Like why is it here of all places and why a dinosaur?” 

Alice tilted her head staring at the massive dinosaur statue in front of them. They had all piled into the van and drove for what felt like forever until they arrived in a little town Alice had never been to. They parked and walked to the center of town to come across this. It was huge, really. It’s neck and tail longer than three of her on top of each other. And it was surrounded by hedges and flowers and a few benches. It was the most random statue she had ever seen and it was right here in the middle of a town.

“I don’t know. Some historical shit.” JJ said, “Bet I can climb it.”

“No, JJ.” Pope dismissed and then turned to Alice, “It’s a replica of brachiosaurus. Part of it’s leg bone was discovered here in the 1800’s, so they built it to commemorate that.” Alice smiled at this explanation, thankful for Pope’s knowledge.

When they turned back to look, John B already had JJ sitting on his shoulders, trying to lift him further up the statue. 

“Guys, stop!” Sarah yelled, but she couldn’t help but laugh. He was close to hooking on to the neck. 

“This is just pointless, what are you going to do when you get up there?” Kie asked, coming over to stand where Alice and Pope were. The two boys ignored the question, obviously struggling to get JJ’s leg over. Alice couldn’t help herself and took out her phone to record a video. 

Finally, they did it. JJ was sitting on this massive dinosaur, posing cheesily for pictures while everyone laughed and egged him on.

“Imagine riding one of these things down the street,” he yelled from the top, “no one could stop me. I’m on top of the fucking world.” They were doubled over with laughter until someone spotted a cop car pulling up, “shit.”

“I cannot get caught right now,” John B said, quickly turning away from the car and grabbing Sarah’s hand. 

“JJ jump!” Pope yelled. The others were on the move down the street and ALice could see the two cops approaching the group. 

“Pope I can’t jump! Do you see how high I am right now?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, “In more ways than one.”

Alice kept her eyes on the police, inching their way to them, “C’mon!” 

JJ swung his leg down and got as close to the ground as possible before leaping off and tumbling to the ground. He laid there for what felt like an hour before getting up and beginning to sprint away. The cops started to chase after them, but Alice was frozen on the scene. When she went to move, she realized Pope was already gone. 

“Bro, move!” JJ yelled and grabbed her wrist, dragging her alongside him. They ran until they saw the van, Pope behind the wheel and Kie on the passenger side. Sarah was holding the back door open and the pair made it with just enough time to drive away. 

[hoodoo12]

Ménage (2/13ish)

SWF, backstory, personal hurts, connection

He listened to Molly move through her kitchen, hoping to hear her talk to herself for some more info on her. That wasn't eavesdropping, not really, he told himself; she knew he was there. But she was quiet, and quickly returned with another glass, sinking down beside him again.

He accepted the refill of this not-pink-at-all-drink, raised it properly in a toast, and liked very much that she took his hand as she settled in this time.

"So, you sound like you have a lot of experience with celestials. Is it just angels? What are they like?"

"Celestials?" he asked. "You really wanna hear about them? Pompous, jealous, dickwads? It's not just angels, either . . . anything that didn't turn away from the Light calls itself a celestial, and they're all busy jerking off to their own superiority. Sometimes they like to try and herd lesser beings back to what they think is the Way. Gets 'em brownie points or some horseshit."

He took a swig.

"Is that what you were hoping to call here?" he asked, barely keeping the distain out of his voice. "They're like Jehovah's Witnesses or fucking ringworm -- you can't get rid of them once they're here."

He extracted his hand from hers and drew his blackened fingernails through her palm and to her wrist.

"I think you'll find getting me was a much better choice, baby."

Rapt, she listened, her thumb idly brushing the side of his hand; his disdain was easy to perceive, but she was fascinated nonetheless. How many humans got an opportunity like this, to hear about the afterlife, to know even tiny details about the ever-looming What Comes Next?

"You know, I don't doubt you. I'm not exactly the religious type anyway."

The scrape of his blunt, dark nails across her palm to the delicate inner face of her wrist made her heart stutter in her chest, and goosebumps immediately raised on her arm all the way up to her shoulder. Oh. That had felt far too good.

She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks again, wondering how many times this ghost had made her blush in the half hour or so he'd been in her home. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. She flipped her hand over, lying it palm up on her knee, and took a long sip of her drink, draining half in one swallow.

"Do that again?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, half a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"This, baby?" he asked to confirm, even as he repeated the motion, first and second fingers circling in her palm, following the creases there like he was divining before dragging them to her wrist and the soft skin of her inner arm. He pulled his fingers backwards to her hand and did it again.

Without permission but with the same smirk on his face, his fingers skipped from her arm to her thigh. They were even lighter there, dragging slowly upward, even as he watched for her reaction.

If his smile wasn't enough to make her heart begin to race, the slow, deliberate drag of his fingertips across her palm certainly did the trick. There were calluses on her fingers from working in her gardens, but her palms remained soft, sensitive, and she couldn't help pinching her lower lip between her teeth to hold back a sigh. Who knew such a simple touch could have such a physical effect on her?

When his fingers migrated to her thigh, bare beneath a thin pair of cotton pajama shorts, she couldn't keep a soft moan back, shivering at the more intimate touch, sliding slowly inward. This . . . oh, it was nice but she couldn't . . . he needed to know what he would be signing up for.

"Hey," she whispered, placing her hand over his to still his progress. "This . . . look, I like you touching me. I like it a lot. But if you . . . if you want more . . . there's a few things you should know about me first."

She sighed, feeling embarrassment and anxiety creeping icy tendrils around her ribcage. "I don't . . .  I . . . um, I haven’t done this. I haven't even been kissed. This is all fresh territory for me, and there's a really big reason why."

At the hesitation in her voice and her physically stopping his hand, he cocked his head. She had let the softest moan ever escape. There was the faintest tremble to the fingers atop his. Her breath had come more quickly, and that same pretty blush had darkened her cheeks again.

He didn't want to care about her reason; she was responsive and just the fact she'd called him was arousing. He sported a bit of a tent pole behind his fly, but he wasn't all demon. He knew pain. He'd caused pain gladly, sometimes. But Molly, this woman who may had inadvertently summoned him hadn't immediately banished him, so he wasn't going to do that to her.

So he stopped.

"Everyone starts somewhere, baby," he told her, hoping it sounded more philosophical and less smarmy, and then he waited.

She was grateful that he stopped, that he didnt press his hand forward, only cocked his head in response. He even spoke gently, assuring her that everyone started somewhere, and she was grateful for that too.

"I know. If it was just the virginity thing, your hand would already be in my shorts. I wouldn’t have stopped you just for that." She took a deep breath, let it out, realizing just how long it had been since she had spoken to another person about this.

"I . . . I lost my whole family when I was fifteen. All of them. My older sister was graduating high school and my parents threw a huge party for her. Everyone came, aunts, grandparents, cousins. Everyone. I was being a shitty teenager and didn't figure they'd miss me, so I took a walk, just wanting to be away from so many people asking if I was gonna graduate valedictorian like my sister. And . . . well, I grew up in a small town in the rural midwest, which means half the town made cooking meth their day job. Our neighbors happened to be cooking that day and it...went wrong. The explosion took out half the block, including the house behind it. My house." She paused. She could get through this. "No one got out but me.

"After that, it was foster homes until I could legally be on my own. I had a small fortune in inheritance, since I was the only living relative of anyone with a will. I got a shitty apartment and stewed in a delicious mix of PTSD and survivor's guilt until I turned twenty and started putting my life back together. Got my GED and a BA in journalism. Even got a girlfriend."

A short smile curled on her mouth, but it was joyless.

"Met on an online literary forum. She lived two states away, so we were long distance for a year. She was gonna drive down to spend Christmas with me, and her car . . . hit some black ice. She was killed on impact. She was still in the closet back at home, so I only found out because her best friend found my Facebook. I couldn't even go to her funeral."

"After that, I . . .I just couldn't do it. Everyone I ever loved had died, and not peacefully. I couldn't let myself be around people. I felt cursed. I still feel cursed. I bought this house and I . . . I don't leave it. That's why you're the first person I've spoken to face to face in nearly two years." Her head hung, ashamed at her own weakness, thoughts dark with the horrible memories she has dredged up from the murk.

"Still think I'm worth the trouble?"

Oh, he had some stories about his past that would rival hers, but this wasn't the time or place for one-upmanship. He could bitterly tell her that shitty things happen to everyone, and that's life: just a series of falling down to claw yourself back up again, over and over. You did it or you didn’t, and no one’s path was the right one for anybody else.

But the deep pain he’d experienced that should’ve made him calloused and sour wasn’t quite there. Hers was different, nothing like his, and that didn’t make the deep-seated anger flare.

“So you thought calling up a spirit would give you some companionship,” he said. It was a statement, not a question. His voice dropped. “And you got me instead.”

Slowly, his fingers curled in on themselves, towards his own palm, until he was no longer touching her. Gently he extracted his hand out from under hers.

He tried to chuckle, but it came out a little strained. “Second best again.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his gaze flicked downward, away from her for a moment, until he collected himself. When he did, straightening and leaving his hand on his own knee, he was able to look at her again.

“Tell me again what you wanted from the spirit you were trying to call up. I’m no good at conversation, I cheat at cards and Monopoly, I’ve eaten my fair share of puzzle pieces. TV is okay, so long as it’s reruns of the Jerry Springer Show. I’m not really suited for the quiet life that it seems like you’ve got going here--I’m more an inappropriately physical specter, if you hadn’t noticed.

“I’ve liked being here, baby, and the drinks were nice, but you might be better sending me on my way and trying your ritual again.”

For a moment, though his eyes were downcast and his posture already shrinking back from her, Molly could see something in his eyes. Something fractured and irreparable. Raw and pained on a level she couldn't possibly begin to fathom. Then the veil dropped, the veneer smoothly tugged back into place, his voice carefully measured and cold.

"What?" It was her turn to cock her head, brow furrowing. "I don't understand, second best to who? I called a spirit and you answered. Haven't I said more than once that I'm happy you're here?"

Reining herself in before her voice got too shrill, Molly took a deep breath.

"Just like I wasn't sure what kind of spirit would answer, I wasn't sure what I'd want if they did. Different spirits have different rules." She bit harshly at her lip, tugging threads of skin loose until the spot began to bleed. "I hoped maybe we could figure it out together, but I guess I just ruined that. I want you to stay, Beej, but I won't make you. Everyone else left, so I shouldn't have assumed you wouldn't leave, too."

She shrank back against the arm of the couch, tugging her knees up protectively to her chest.

People tended to dismiss him, so that wasn't totally unexpected; it was a familiar ache. But people didn't tend to be upset that he offered to go, didn't tend to try and tuck the blame back in on themselves, and didn't tend to tell him repeatedly they wanted him to stay.

In the silence that stretched between them, he considered what she'd said. Seeing her worry her lip till the red on it wasn't lipstick, he dug around in a pocket till he found a scrap of cloth that may have been a handkerchief at one time.

"Here," he told her, shaking it out. He looked it over, reading the monogram, before offering it to her. "I can't imagine old HPL is going to mind you using this. Why the hell anyone would be buried with a snotrag is beyond me."

He left it on the cushion between them, and sighed.

"Molly, I'm sorry I'm not what you expected when you wanted someone here. But . . ." He paused and made sure she was looking at him before continuing. "None of those people in your life left you. Not voluntarily, and that's a big difference than someone choosing to go."

Now the hard part, because it was dangerous being honest; in his experience, people used it against him. "You've said you'd like me to stay. I'd like to stay too, baby. A little company and comfort? Who in their right mind would turn that down?"

His own gaze had flicked to one side, a little, but he forced it back up to hers.

Out of her peripherals, she could see him moving, and assumed he was getting off the couch to leave. So when he produced an off white square of fabric and placed it in the neutral space between them, her brow knitted in confusion. Molly reached for it; there was probably more bacteria on this handkerchief than in a public restroom, but the gesture was kind, and she held it to her bleeding lip anyway.

Hope leapt in her chest like a flame when he admitted that he'd like to stay. Unfurling from her position on the couch,  she sat closer to him, and hardly believing her daring, she lifted her hand to cup her palm against his cheek, touch light in case she needed to pull away quickly.

"I was expecting at most some kind of poltergeist, something I could feel but couldn't see. Something to make the place feel less empty. But you came through, and I can talk to you and touch you . . . honey, don't apologize because you weren't what I was expecting. This is better."

Her thumb swept over the ridge of his cheekbone, secretly hoping no moss had rubbed off on her hand. "I would . . . I would really like you to stay. You're fascinating, and fun to talk to, and cute . . ." She bit her lips out of habit, wincing as her teeth raked the tender spot. "Please."

Her feather light touch made his eyelids flutter closed. It was something he could never get enough of, something he'd never tire of. He had to actively prevent himself from pushing into her like a damn cat.

When she relayed what she'd been hoping for and at her quiet admission that she'd like him to stay, he opened his eyes again and caught her gaze. He also couldn't help drop his eyes to her grabbing her lip between her teeth again. A smile grew on his face, and he hoped it distracted enough from what was growing in his pants.

Beetlejuice twisted his head under her hand a little, planting a kiss into her palm.

"I'd like to stay too, baby," he murmured against her skin, before he lifted his amber eyes to hers again. "You expected a poltergeist, but I can go bump in the night too, you know.

"If you're interested . . ."

There was something about the way his eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his cheeks as her palm brushed his cheek, that made her insides tremble; odd how such a minuscule gesture could affect her entire body, could make her breath catch. And oh, when his eyes opened again, intense and pinned to her, missing not a single move she made, and he smiled. Molly wondered if she was supposed to feel this way, if it was the isolation talking or if it was normal to have your heart try to hammer through your ribcage.

His lips were cool, colder than the rest of his skin from the chilled liquor, but they left a spot of warmth behind, ticking her palm as he spoke softly against it. Her stomach did a somersault, then another when he caught her gaze again, that playful flicker alight in his eyes. How could she possibly say no?

"I am interested," she breathed, her hand pressing just a bit more firmly to his cheek, leaning closer. Her drink was set aside, her other hand mirroring its twin, cradling his face between them. Her hands ached with the need to bestow gentleness on him; he seemed to be in desperate need of it. "You . . . you can touch me again . . . if you want."

He didn't need any further invitation. The hand he'd teased her with before went back to her thigh, using light pressure to draw a line up it. He made it to the hem of her shorts, then eased his fingers under it before stopping.

He shifted his head in her palm, and put his teeth on the fleshy mound below her thumb even more lightly than his lips had been.

When she moved closer in, he finally moved out of her hand again.

"Never been kissed, you said?" he confirmed, his voice a tad lower than before. "That's a crime. You bit your lip, and I don't wanna hurt you, baby, but I do want a taste . . ."

He left that hanging in the air as he tilted his head and his mouth covered hers.

The skin beneath his fingers seemed to tremble at their passage, a soft rush of breath leaving her as those gentle fingertips slipped under the hem of her shorts, caressing her inner thigh but venturing no further. A hot flush crept down her neck at the sight of his teeth, the soft scrape of the sharp edges making her lips part. Such subtle touches, but God, the effect they had on her.

Like a peal of passing thunder, the last parting rumbles at the end of a clearing storm, his question was asked, and Molly shook her head to confirm that no, she had never been kissed, head tilted back slightly to bare a throat that bobbed in a heavy swallow. Her hands slid to his shoulders, digging slightly into the material of his suit to ground herself as he crooned to her, leaning closer, closer . . .

 tbc

[flickering-chandelier]

Baby, Stay With Me

Summary: Billy needs to get out of Hawkins, away from his dad and everything he can’t stand any longer. The only thing holding him back? The girl who changed his life. 

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Word Count: 1450

Billy and I were laying in my bed, the sheets tangled all around us. My head was on his chest, and his arms were wrapped tightly around me. 

He had come over after a particularly bad fight with his father. I hadn’t seen him this bad in a while, he was frantic, with bloodshot eyes and he just held me and cried for what felt like ages. My heart breaks for him every time this happens, but in a weird way, I’m glad that he knows that he can come to me and be vulnerable. We had dated for months before he felt like he could cry in front of me. 

I played with the pendent around his neck, tilting my head up to look at him. He was deep in thought. I kissed his chin and said, “What are you thinking about?”

He blinked, looking like I just snapped him back to reality. “Mmm, nothing,” he said, nuzzling his face into my shoulder. 

Giggling at the contact, I said, “Come on, I know you. What is it?”

He shook his head, holding me tighter. “Nothing you have to worry about, baby.”

I propped myself up on one elbow so I could look at him, my other hand on his bare chest. “Hey, if it concerns you, it concerns me. We’re doing this whole life thing together, remember?”

He sighed, defeated. “It’s just… what am I doing here, you know? It’s been getting to me lately. I hate my job, I hate my family, I hate this whole town. I’m not doing a damn thing with my life,” he said, shaking his head again. “I’m eighteen, I would leave if it weren’t for…” he trailed off, not meeting my eyes, looking a little guilty. 

“If it weren’t for me,” I said quietly.

He met my eyes then, lightly brushing his thumb across my cheek. “Yeah. If it weren’t for you and your damn smile.” he murmured, placing his hand at the back of my head and bringing me in for a quick kiss. 

I took a second to think, still toying with his pendant. “I’ll go with you,” I said matter-of-factly. 

Eyes wide, he looked at me like I was crazy. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”

“You’re right. You deal with crap from everyone around you every day. You deserve better than that, Billy. You deserve to have a chance at the life you want. Pick where you want to go, and I’ll follow you.”

His brow furrows and he looks at me intently. “No. No, I can’t ask you to do that. You have a good life here, Y/N, I’m not going to screw that up.” 

He was right, of course. I did have a good life, especially compared to his. I had a good family who cared about me, and a job that I didn’t completely hate. Although…

“And I can’t ask you to stay. You have to get away from your dad, Billy. We’ll save up, find a small place to rent wherever you want. California?” I said, smiling.

He looked  at me with something like wonder in his eyes. “You’re serious about this? This is a huge step, you realize that right?”

“Of course I do. And I am one hundred percent serious about this.”

He looked unsure for a moment, then his face lit up, and he flipped me over suddenly, pinning me to the mattress.

“Billy!” I squealed, before he kissed me deeply. Running his fingers over my jaw, he opened my mouth with his tongue. 

He moved to my neck, leaving open mouthed kisses, mumbling, “I love you, baby,” against my skin. 

“I love you, too,” I giggled, before he moved back up and peppered my face with tons of gentle kisses over and over again. 

--

I was reading in my room when I heard a knock on my door. I rushed downstairs, knowing exactly who it was. When I opened the door, I saw Billy grinning at me. 

“Hi,” he said, pulling me to him, and planting a kiss on my mouth. 

“You’re in a good mood,” I said, surprised. We both had been taking as many extra shifts as we possibly could these last few months, ever since we decided to move in together. We were moving toward a good outcome, but it often left us tired and grumpy, to say the least. 

He kissed me again, passionately, pushing me backwards into the house, and kicking the front door shut with his foot.

Finally, he pulled back, smiling at me still. “Put a dress on,” he instructed.

I gave him a questioning look. “What for?”

“I’m taking you out. Come on, put a dress on.”

“We can’t go out, we’re penny pinching,” I said sternly.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said, kissing my forehead. “I’ve been planning this for a while, I’ll still meet the monthly amount we’re planning on.”

I raised my eyebrow. “You’re sure? Because I really don’t mind staying in again, rent isn��t cheap and-”

He silenced me with a kiss. “Put. A. Dress. On.” he growled into my neck. 

Well, I couldn’t exactly argue with that. 

--

Billy took me to one of the nicest restaurants in town, somewhere we had only been once before. It was when we had just started dating and he was still trying his best to impress me. 

I smirked, thinking about how I had been the one to impress him tonight. I decided to wear a dress that I knew was one of his favorites. It was white with off the cuff shoulders, and had little blue flowers all over it. His eyes lit up when I walked down the stairs, a slight blush working it’s way across his cheeks. It made my heart stop when he looked at me like that. 

He had been really sweet to me all night. Not that he normally wasn’t, it just seemed amplified tonight. He was all gentle touches and sparkling eyes. 

As we exit the restaurant, he puts his hand gently on my waist, leading me on the sidewalk. “Let’s take a walk,” he said. 

“A walk? When have we ever taken a walk?”

“Let’s start tonight,” he said, smirking. 

I agreed, of course. Anything to make this night last longer. 

Eventually, he stopped us at a park bench, and we sank into it together. I leaned my head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly. 

“You’re perfect, you know that?” He said, gently squeezing my thigh.

I laughed. “I’m hardly perfect, but that’s sweet of you to say.” 

He straightened then, and I lifted my head up to face him. He took both of my hands in his and gazed at me with adoration. “You are to me. I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you, Y/N, but you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You make me strive to be a better person. I love you so much,” he said, moving off of the bench to kneel down in front of me. 

I can’t stop the gasp that comes from my mouth. 

“Y/N, I never want to spend another day without you in it. Will you marry me?” he asked, pulling a ring from his back pocket to hold in front of me. 

Words wouldn’t come right away, so I frantically nodded before I could finally say, “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!” 

He laughed gleefully, standing up to pick me up and spin me around. He kissed me fiercely, before sliding the ring onto my finger. It was a thin band, with a small diamond in the center. 

“How could you afford a ring?” I asked, completely shocked. 

“A lot of extra hours at the pool,” he chuckled. “We might have to stay here a little longer than we planned, but I figured your dad would kill me if I took you away without a ring on your finger.” He leaned down, resting his forehead against mine. “And I do want to marry you. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. And I wanted you to have a ring that was somewhat decent, since you know, you’ll be wearing it forever,” he smirked. 

I glanced at the ring, but could hardly keep from staring into Billy’s beautiful blue eyes. “I love it. I love you.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him over and over again, happier than I had ever been. 

“I love you, too,” he said, in between kisses. “We’re getting married,” he grinned at me. 

“We’re getting married,” I repeated, my face starting to hurt from smiling so much. “And we’re getting out of here.”

Billy laughed, pulling me to him, and kissing me until we were both breathless.

[sabraeal]

The Most Perverse Creature in the World, Chapter 8

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Though your father had been a country count, unimportant to the machinations of Wistal’s court, you had never lacked for companionship.  What your father had lacked in political clout, he had made up for in varied acquaintance: knights’ daughters, a neighboring baron’s young granddaughter, your own cousins-- all of them had made up your coterie of ladies, giggling beneath covers in childhood and over fans when you made your debut.

They had cooed when you had told them of your husband’s proposal, teasing you over his age, over his equally distant holdings, but when you had married in your father’s lavish gardens, taking your husband’s hand as you made your first steps toward Bederin--

They had wept.

You wonder sometimes what has become of them. Whether they married well, whether the pretty knight’s daughter caught a peer after all. Perhaps you sit on the council with their husbands, and they--

They ignore the receipts as well. Just another entry made in the ledger, written in their neat hand at the same time it is thoroughly unseen.

Perhaps they think of you, too. The news of your husband’s death, at least, must have brought them pause over their needlepoint, remembering their younger, less complicated years. Their condolences could have been one of the hundreds you received and blindly answered, too deeply entrenched in your mourning to think of anything more than a few lines of thanks.

They might even think of you now, wondering if you nephew took care of you as he ought as the new count, or if you had been sent to the house of your brother, living as a spectral albatross about his neck.

Ah, whatever they think, it would pale to the truth of it.

“I only mean to say, if we’re to be taxed for acts, then what’s the incentive for us to do more than give ‘em a quick rub and send ‘em on their way?” Himawari folds her arms right under her chest, mouth set in a belligerent pout. “What next? Are they going to take for duration too? For how many little deaths we fake?”

At least, you hope your friends would not be able to guess at this. “I am not sure of the lords’ plans for future taxation, but as it currently stands, you would be changed more for a, ah, rub than you would be for something more...traditional.”

Himawari’s brows draw sharply over her blade of a nose. “Traditional.”

“What her ladyship is trying to imply,” Kikyo interjects smoothly, “is that they mean to tax us for what they call lewd acts, which doesn’t include fucking. Unless you do it any way but on your back.”

Himawari snorts, stretching out to her full, impressive length. Before tonight you thought few men wanted a woman who could look them in the eye, but it’s taken you weeks to find an opening in Himawari’s schedule. Aside from Tsubaki, she’s the most popular girl in the house.

“Well, that makes no sense. It’s quicker and cleaner to just use a hand, and I--”

“Plenty of your other companions feel the same,” you explain quickly. If you have learned anything in your meetings with the ladies of this house, it is that you do not give them time to expound upon...personal experiences. Or rather, specific personal experiences. It only leaves you wondering which of your fellow councilmen might have been the ‘rude gent that wanted a spank’ before he inevitably got down to business.

(Though you do have a few ideas on that one. And the lord who asked for a glass of port during a specific act you will not allow yourself to recount.)

Himawari frowns, somehow forbidding even in her gossamer negligee. “Then what’s to be done about it? It’s the lords what decide our fate. Are we to deny them custom? Starve ourselves while they go elsewhere?”

“That is why I am here.” You smooth your notebook across your lap, taking comfort in the paper beneath your palms. “His Majesty has task me with finding an alternate proposal.”

“She’s been asking all of us our thoughts,” Kikyo explains, “in an attempt to make one that’s more fair to us, instead of the lords.”

Himawari raises a skeptical brow. “And how’s that been coming?”

“Ah...” Your notes are a mess; you ask one girl what she wants, and it confounds another’s. You put forth this contradictory piece, and suddenly you are in a debate with no experience to draw from, only what you have gleaned from your interviews and trolling through the Big House’s archives. “I am...approaching an idea...”

“Yeah, that none of us want the same thing,” she laughs, shaking her head. “There’s some girls here who don’t to much but lie on their backs. And some of us that have made a name filling different sorts of appetites. And have you talked to the boys?”

“Boys?” You blink, shuffling through your notes. “The doormen--”

“They’re for sale too.” Her mouth hooks, wry. “I’m sure they’d have plenty to say about getting taxed up the--”

“We take your point,” Kikyo interjects smoothly, “but there’s not much to be done. Not without suspicion.”

You nod. “I’ve gleaned that your madam wouldn’t like the idea of you girls bargaining a better position.”

“Not unless it made her a pretty penny,” Himawari spat, “which it might well do, since she’s so keep on pinching from our pockets.”

You swallow a sigh, shifting in your seat. “It would be nice to have all of you in a room at once, if only to make some sense of it all. But your madam--”

“Would never allow it,” Kikyo confirms. “She’d think it was cutting into profits.”

“Even if I paid?” You would be far from the first peer to rent out a house of ill repute for an evening. “I could--”

“My lady, it would only be a pretense.” Kikyo sends you one of her soft, sly smiles. “She hardly likes two of us in a room at once, let alone all of us.”

“And agreeing,” Himawari huffs. “Might give us ideas about who should really be running the house.”

Your mouth hooks into a smirk. “Sounds like you all have ideas on that too.”

“Don’t we just.” Himarwari’s teeth bare in a tiger’s smile. ��Mainly seeing our current one out of it.”

Her words slap you as hard as a thunder clap. “Would that be possible?”

Kikyo’s eyes widen. “My lady?”

“I do not mean permanently.” Yet. “But for a night. Is there a way to get her from the house?”

The two women exchange glances.

“She hardly ever leaves,” Himawari admits. “Unless...”

“Unless she has custom,” Kikyo finishes, thoughtful. “But she considers her services very...elite.”

“What she means is: the madam won’t go out for anyone but the choicest lords.” Himawari grins. “Which don’t happen too often, considering how they all like young things that aren’t too big for their britches.”

More likely they prefer young things who are impressed by their power and will do anything to please them. You bite down on the thought; as true as it may be, your job here is not to denigrate the reputation of the other councilmen.

After all, they do such a fine job of it themselves.

“Not that it would solve much,” Himawari scoffs, “Sumire would still be here.”

Sumire. You’ve heard the name before, once or twice, as girls passed meaningful looks. “Is that...?”

“The Madam’s spy?” Himawari snaps. “Yes.”

Kikyo’s glance is laden with censure as she says, “Sumire is the Madam’s freshest flower.”

“Freshest flower?” you ask, already fearing the explanation, but-- you are here to learn. There is no point in helping them if you choose to turn away from what they cannot.

“She debuted last year,” Kikyo explains with a hesitation that sets your teeth on edge. “To much anticipation.”

Himawari snorts. “She paraded the girl around for a year, letting everyone look and never touch, and then sold the right to the highest bidder.”

“An auction.” Kikyo gives her a quelling glare. “Only the most promising receive one. There’s no point, after all, if one’s debut won’t pay for the party itself.”

“You mean that her...” You flounder for the words, and Himawari smirks. “Her maiden’s head was...?”

“Sold, yes.” You stifle a squirm, but Himawari’s grin says you have done a poor job of it. “To some lord, who kept her until he tired of her.”

“That isn’t what happened,” Kikyo snaps. “You know that well enough.”

“It hardly matters in any case.” The tall woman shrugs, careless. “Only the fanciest lords are allowed to have her now.”

Your mouth pulls thin. “I take it that the Madam has something to do with that?”

“Of course.” Himawari’s grin is sharp. “Why accept less than the opening bid?”

“The Madam gives her the choicest clients,” Kikyo clarifies, “and as such, Sumire is loyal to her. Like a child to a mother.”

It is on the tip of your tongue: a mother would never sell her child. But it is an easy thing for you to say, a woman who never had one, a child who never wanted despite it. But when a child is yet another open mouth to feed, and there’s not enough food to hand-- who knows what might be done to make up the lack.

You stare at your hands, still covered in lace, the weight of your wedding ring heavy on your finger, and--

And maybe it is not only those hungry for bread that sell their daughters.

You nod, briskly, to organize your thoughts. “Then we will table such an idea for now. But as for your thoughts...”

You close the door behind you, leaving the woman to whatever preparations they make to conceive the illusion of your visit being a profitable one. For your own peace of mind, you’ve never quite asked what that entails.

Those thoughts are not the ones that occupy you in any case. Your mind races, as it always does, filled with half-written laws that sag in the middle, or are only held together by a thin chain of ellipses as you search for the words you need to bind them. The other councilors might joke about your knotty problem, but if it is one, its loops conceal a hopeless tangle beneath, the whole of it always hidden from your view. You may pull at what you see, hoping to find an end, but you suspect all of those efforts have only made it worse, not better.

Still, you probe at it, mind tugging at its coils. If only you could drag every last bit of it into the light--

You press your lips together, teeth biting at your cheeks. There is a way to do it, if only you could figure out the logistics of it.

Hah, but is that not what you were trained to do? They may not have wanted you to be a countess in your own right, but the perfect count’s wife, able to organize a luncheon--

Now that, that you have been trained to do.

“Obi.”

He glances up from where he leans against the wall, all impossibly long limbs, the way hounds were just after they grew out of being puppies.

“May I help you?” he asks, gaze darting to the door behind you. “Is my lady ready to leave?”

You blink. “Yes?”

His brow arches, every feature of his face curved into polite curiosity. It takes you aback for a moment, he looks younger like this, hardly more than a boy without the guarded suspicion marring his face. “Will you get her?”

“Get her?” You stare at him, brows drawn in confusion. “I’m here.”

“You’re--?” His eyes widen, jaw going slack. “My lady. I didn’t-- I didn’t recognize you without--”

Words fail him, and he gestures vaguely toward his face. For a moment, you stand stymied, but then you raise your hands, the smooth round of your cheek squishing beneath the lace of your fingers.

“My veil,” you breathe, reaching for your reticule. “I must have-- I didn’t--”

His hands come to still yours, lifting the fall of lace from your boneless fingers. “Please, my lady, allow me.”

He sets it over you gently, lowering the blusher of your veil until it falls over your chest, obscuring the world beneath a black cage.

“There, that’s...” His lips press together. “Normal.”

“Normal,” you sigh, fussing with the edge. “Yes. I suppose.”

Obi opens his mouth only to close it again. “You were going to ask me something else, my lady?”

“Yes.” Your hands drop down to your side, laying flat against the crape. “There’s a girl I want you to secure a meeting with. Her name is Sumire.”

[evolutionsvoid]

It is quite a challenge to write an entry on Mimics because the species teeters between the categories of "things people already know a ton about" and "things too complicated to even understand." What can be said about Mimics that people don't already know? If you look deeper, though, you find things that can't be properly explained, so what then? Despite this conundrum, I am going to forge ahead and do my best. I am sure many readers will find certain sections obvious, but I implore you to keep reading! Perhaps there will be a nugget or two you didn't know! To begin, Mimics are a species that is quite famous for their shape-shifting abilities. So great is this ability that it is nearly impossible to figure out what category of life they fit in. Are they a mammal, an amphibian, a mollusk or fungus? Or are they more akin to Slimes? Since they can create appendages, organs and bodily structures at a whim, it is really hard to say. Research has found the closest thing one can describe as a "neutral state," which is the form they have when they aren't mimicking something. In this state, Mimics are pale and have a dripping body that some compare to soft wax. Their limbs and body plan may vary, but they often possess pink gums, a set of wicked teeth and (of course) a long tongue. Sighting them in this form is quite rare, as Mimics absolutely adore their ability and will take any form, shape, color or texture they please.   Obviously if we are going to take about Mimics, we have to talk about their shape-shifting abilities. Thankfully I was able to find some willing Mimics to talk to (though it cost a pretty penny to do so!), and I was to get a slightly better understanding of their abilities. As one probably already knows, Mimics are capable of changing their bodies to replicate any pattern, texture or substance. In minutes, their flesh can switch from iron to bark to human skin and even lush fur. Their forms seem to have no real internal structure, which allows them to morph and sculpt their bodies to better suit their environment and prey. Due to their amorphous nature, they can even stretch or compress their flesh to allow them to shrink or grow in size, though they do have their limits. The amount of flesh they have limits the sizes they can grow or shrink, as at some point they simply cannot go any farther. Clever Mimics, though, have found ways to circumvent this with a few cheats and tricks. For objects of large sizes, a Mimic may hollow itself out and instead focus its mass on its outward appearance (though this cause the problem of them being very lightweight and perhaps a bit too malleable if conditions are not favorable). For shrinking down to tiny proportions, a Mimic could turn its body into several small creatures but connect them all together with a single thin tendril (which may give away their disguise if faced with a sharp eyed opponent). While a Mimic can change its form into practically anything, ranging from a bear to a bed, their ability does have some weaknesses. The big one is their tongue. Any pictures or stories of Mimics often show off their long tongues that they use to snare and reel in prey. This is because all Mimics have these flexible appendages, and also because this organ is the one thing in their body they cannot change. For whatever reason, the tongue of a Mimic is completely incapable of shape-shifting. It can stretch, shorten, twist and tie itself into knots, but its appearance and texture cannot change. This means that the Mimic has to work around this organ, as most people know that bookshelves aren't supposed to have tongues. For those who disguise as objects and furniture, they often hide their tongue in their concealed mouths, waiting for prey to get close. Those who mimic living creatures will try to get the organ to look as close to the real deal as possible, but they will often be too big or small to truly fool a observant person. Instead, they will use distraction and subtle manipulations to keep people from noticing, or they might just jam the tongue into some other part of their body. The other thing that Mimics have to worry about when it comes to shape-shifting is, funny enough, themselves. It turns out shape-shifting and copying other things is not as easy as it looks. They can't just say "I want to be a chair," snap their fingers and POOF! It is something they have to think about and focus on, which is quite difficult. To get a better idea of this, imagine a bed. It can be any bed you want, canopy, bunk bed, normal, whatever. Just think of one in your head and picture it the best you can. Got it? Now suddenly I walk over to your bed and yank the covers clean off! What does the mattress look like? What about the underside of the blankets? Now I jump on the bed, what does it feel like? Is it soft like cloth and padding or soft like a squishy bag of organs pretending to be? And what about those blankets and sheets? What does each one feel like? Or, if your bed has wood, what does the grain look like? Or how about the underside of the bed? You probably get the point I am trying to make here, and it is that there are way more factors into replication than one at first believes. If a Mimic wants to copy a bed, then it needs to take all these things into consideration depending on the level of deception they want and the type of prey they are hunting. It is this extreme level of thinking, planning and focus that makes older Mimics much better at mimicking than younger ones. They have learned an array of personal tricks over their lifetime, as well as picked up others from fellow friends. The youthful energy of young ones may allow them to shape-shift faster than an adult, but when their disguises face scrutiny, the older one will win every time.

  The diet of a Mimic is just as varied and free as their bodies are. They are the ultimate omnivore, capable of eating practically anything (though it is a question if they want to eat some of these things). They can consume fruits, vegetables, meat and other organic substances (and some inorganic as well), but often their menu will be unique to them. Some may have cravings for certain substances, while others may just go for what food sources are available. Many do indeed have the taste for meat, which leads to their infamous hunting strategies and appetites. Many stick to the simple method of ambush, hiding as a common object and then striking once prey gets close. Others may go for active stalking, taking on a disguise and following prey until they are vulnerable. Some take that a step further, using tricks and pleasing appearances to lure in prey. Many human stories talk of seductive young females who catch the eye of suitors, only to transform into ravenous beasts when taken to private quarters. While these stories are perhaps the most obvious and plentiful, these types of Mimics will pull this trick on any species of any gender. They take joy in playing their cards just right and causing prey to willfully bumble right into their open jaws. They enjoy this so much, that some Mimics have actually wound up making careers out of it! There are tales of some Mimics going into entertainment, using their mimicry to perform plays or create music (though they often do so in disguise). Some use their trickery and imitation for con jobs and scams. It is said that no criminal organization is complete without a Mimic on the payroll! Others find their talents useful for framing people or spying. I have even heard a rumor that there are a few shady Mimics out there that one can hire to lure cheating spouses and dish out some revenge! Quite the list of possibilities when one can turn into practically anything! And yes, I am sure some are wondering, there are said to be some Mimics who partake in a certain....business...for folks who wish to indulge in particular...fantasies. Nothing more need to be said about that.   The talk of seduction does bring to mind the question of reproduction, which is a pretty straight forward process for Mimics. Due to their makeup, Mimics do not have a gender, which means any Mimic can breed with another. The act of reproduction is the two partners pretty much mixing with one another and then budding off an offspring. Think of it like kneading two balls of dough together and then pinching off a piece. Except in this situation, the two dough balls will separate on their own and go back to being two individuals! Young Mimics start off quite small, with them being about the size of your closed fist. At this size and age, they will stick to ambush hunting with simple disguises. Things like rocks, dirt clods or coin pouches is perfect for them, and they will patiently wait to nab a bite! As they consume and age, they shall gain more mass and become more experienced in shape-shifting. One interesting thing to note is that while young Mimics begin to grow, they also begin to develop cravings. What I mean by this is that each Mimic will go through a stage in their life where they become obsessed with a certain food item, to the point where it almost seems like an addiction. No one is sure what dictates the source of their craving, but some believe that these cravings are meant to guide the Mimic down a certain lifestyle or hunting behavior. In time, these addictions will pass, mainly when they become a full grown adult. The other thing that changes as they age is their speed of shape-shifting. While they are young, Mimics are able to morph quite quickly, but it takes them longer to get the little details right. For the adults and elderly, shape-shifting takes longer, but they often get the appearance right on the first time. Due to the time it takes to perfect their disguise, young Mimics will often keep a part of their body partially transformed into their desired disguise. That way if they need to hide quickly, they just have to compress and hide the rest of their body while their prepped part takes the stage. For the adults, who take longer to morph and change, they will remain fully transformed for most of their time. If movement is needed, they will only make small adjustments to make themselves mobile. Only in dire emergencies will they completely morph out of their main disguise and take on a different form. As adult Mimics grow past adulthood into their elder years, their ability to shape-shift will continue to slow and become more costly for their body. If a Mimic lives to such an old age, they will hardly ever shift from their common disguise, to the point where they are just as immobile and docile as a piece of furniture. To fully change their body takes a huge amount of energy from their aged form, as such a drain can actually kill them. If pushed past their limit during their elder years, the Mimic will lose all control and consistency over their body and fall apart into a puddle of lifeless goo. So to avoid this, they will remain in their chosen form for the rest of their years, simply waiting for the end to come to them. So perfect and peaceful are these forms, that some people have unknowingly kept elder Mimics in their house as furniture for years! There is a story that tells of a king who once bought an antique wardrobe for his personal quarters. He was quite fond of it and kept it for decades. One day, though, as he was changing, his wardrobe let out a calm sigh and simply melted into the floor!         Now I am sure the talk of the unknowing king and his secretly living furniture has some people worried. Many are when it comes to Mimics, and the most common question is: How do I tell if someone or something is a Mimic? While there are a few tricks and clues one can use, there is not one that is 100% foolproof. Mimics tend to have their own touch when it comes to shape-shifting, and they may use different methods to achieve the perfect look. The other thing to keep in mind is that Mimics aren't dumb. When word gets out that there is a way to identify Mimics, they are quick to listen in and change their methods to avoid this trap. Regardless, I will list a few here, as they can still be useful, but don't come crying to me if they fail to keep your "chair" from biting your bum off! Of course the most obvious clue when it comes to identifying Mimics are their tongues. Depending on their disguise, these can be cumbersome to hide, so keep an eye out for entities who cover their mouths or do their best to draw your attention away from them. Another trick is one that can be used for inspecting wooden objects or furniture. If you suspect a piece of furniture being a Mimic, take a look at the grain of the wood (carefully though!). Younger Mimics tend to overlook this detail, or they will find it too hard to focus on, so what often happens is that they take one pattern of wood grain and then copy it all over their body. If the grain on the furniture suddenly cuts off or keeps repeating, then that object is probably a Mimic. Depending on what a Mimic is copying, you might be able to take advantage of the limitations of their morphing. While Mimics can copy texture, shape, color, size, sound and smell, there are certain properties they cannot replicate. Powers, immunities and magic are not possible for them to copy. For example, demons are immune to heat and flame, but even if a Mimic takes on their appearance perfectly, they cannot possess this ability. They may find ways to work around it, but such efforts to do so may disrupt their disguise and expose them. Since Mimics cannot perfectly replicate magic, one merely needs to test to see if their subject can perform a complicated spell that cannot be organically reproduced. Another tip is to check the clothing and garb of the suspected person. When it comes to copying specific people, Mimics tend to grow their clothes rather than put them on. If a person is unable to remove their shirt or pants from their body, it might because it is actually a part of their flesh! This trick, though, takes some finesse to properly use, as many folk don't respond well to someone demanding they take their clothes off. And lastly, some have pointed out that Mimics rarely copy the internal structures of their targets. If they pretend to be human, they don't often go as far as to create lungs, hearts and other organs. Instead, their insides will just be that blank pale flesh. While this is indeed a way to detect a Mimic, I do not recommend following this line of thinking for obvious reasons.       One of the things that continues to be debated about Mimics is their origin. Due to their incredible shape-shifting abilities, many find it hard to believe that they are a natural species. However, we must remember the crazy types of magic that humans, dryads, fairies and demons can use. Then there are the shades who go against every rule in the book, yet we still believe them to be a natural occurring species. On the other hand, though, is the question on why their population is so small despite their fantastic powers. Beings who are capable of nearly perfect replication of other species should be quite dominant, but so far studies have found Mimics to be quite rare (unless they are better at hiding than we thought!) The other thing that brings their origins into questions are the Doppelgangers, a species of shape-shifter that has indeed been created through tampering and magical influence. Many folk believe there is a connection between the Mimics and Doppelgangers, but no one is truly sure what came first. Some suggest that Mimics were failed experiments that eventually found life, while others think they are the botched result of Doppelgangers breeding with other races. On the other side is the idea that Mimics were the foundation of the Doppelganger experiments, and the successful fusion of human and Mimic resulted in this artificial species. It is quite hard to say for certain!     Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian --------------------------------------------------- Can one write an obscenely long essay about one of the most basic and common monsters in fantasy? DARN RIGHT I CAN!

[searchingwardrobes]

If Found Please Call

This fic idea wouldn’t leave me alone, so I stayed up until one am writing it. Hopefully it’s not a hot mess. Based on my own experiences as a not-so soccer mom.

Summary: Emma Swan wasn’t trying to give Henry’s soccer coach Killian Jones her phone number. She was just sick and tired of her kid losing his water bottles.

Rating; G

Words: 3,000 +

Can also be read on Ao3

Tagging @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @kday426 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay @teamhook @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @ohmakemeahercules @distant-rose @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines

Emma Swan doesn’t ask for a three and a half bath house or high-end SUV. She doesn’t need to take her son for a week at Disney World at the Grand Floridian. But she would like for once to be able to just say yes to the little things without doing mathematical gymnastics in her head. Henry’s currently begging her for a water bottle to take to soccer, and damn it, this shouldn’t be such a big deal.

But she’s a single mom and pinching pennies just seems to be part of the deal. She doesn’t even have the added bonus of a child support check. Scratch that, having Neal in their lives wouldn’t be worth the pennies he’d most likely throw their way.

You’d think a water bottle wouldn’t be a major purchase. But first of all, this is no ordinary water bottle. This is a metal Thermos with a flip top straw that promises to keep beverages cool for twelve hours. And since Emma bought one for herself to take on stake outs, she can attest to the legitimacy of that claim. With ice still rattling around inside.

But, they aren’t cheap, at least in Emma’s opinion. She spent twenty-five bucks on hers. Henry wants a slightly smaller one, which is twenty, but that’s still a lot for a water bottle. Especially considering how many water bottles she’s already bought for the kid that he’s promptly lost. When she points this out to him, he naturally begins his debate skills which are surprisingly well-honed for a twelve-year-old.

“But this one is special, so I won’t forget it.”

She raises both eyebrows. “Special how?” Aside from keeping drinks ice cold for twelve hours.

“It’s an Avengers one.”

She crosses her arms and purses her lips at that. They’ve had this debate so many times. Her son is crazy about all things Marvel, while Emma is strictly a DC girl. She maintains that Superman and Supergirl alone could have defeated Thanos. One holds him down, the other yanks off the gauntlet, they use their heat vision to destroy the thing, and bing-bang-boom, the Justice League is home by dinner. Mary Margaret maintains it has more to do with her taste in tall and dark Tom Welling or Henry Cavill as opposed to the blonde and muscled Chrises of the world. Not that Henry’s picked up on that particular aspect of her Superman obsession.

“You can check that I have it after practice, I swear,” Henry quickly changes tactics to avoid another Avengers vs. Justice League argument.

She rolls her eyes, and Henry’s mouth is open for his next argument before she can speak. Being a single mom and having the job she does, she’s enlisted the help of every one of her closest friends to make sure Henry gets where he’s supposed to be and is supervised. Emma herself can barely make sure Henry’s got his cleats and shin guards, much less keep up with a water bottle. She certainly can’t expect David or Mary Margaret or Ruby to remember. Aside from that, she’s pretty sure Henry has left past water bottles all over Storybrooke park, not just on the soccer fields. He has a bad habit of running off to do the myriad of things boys do while waiting to be picked up. Last week, David found him and his friends playing in the creek by the parking lot. She’s pretty sure water bottle number 12 is floating its way to the Atlantic by now.

“But the environment, Mom! Remember those YouTube videos of all the plastic water bottles?”

Well, shit. Now he’s gone and pulled the “we need to save the environment” card. And yes, she was horrified at the mountains of disposable water bottles in the landfills and the beaches covered in hundreds that had washed ashore. Hell, it’s why she bought Henry the other dozen water bottles that he’s lost. And she takes waste seriously, really she does, but she’s trying to raise a kid here. If she carries the weight of the world too, she’ll end up mumbling in a corner somewhere. So when Henry kept losing the reusable bottles she kept buying, she had given up and starting buying cases of water at the grocery store to keep in the Bug. That way, her kid stayed hydrated without constant nagging.

“Henry,” she groaned, rubbing at the tension headache mounting behind her right eye, “I want to be green and all that, but you’ve lost every single reusable bottle I’ve gotten you. And none of those cost as much as this one.”

“We’ll put my name on it!”

“Your name was on the last one. Fat lot of good it did when you dropped it in the creek.” So much for saving the environment.

Henry rolled his eyes and it was way too familiar for her comfort. “Coach got onto us for that, remember? No more playing in the creek.”

Henry’s coach, Killian Jones, was the envy of every other soccer team in the rec league. He was British, and apparently, that automatically meant he knew more about soccer than anyone else in Storybrooke. Not that Emma would know. She was the farthest thing from a soccer mom. All she knew was the ball went into the net, and if the goalie didn’t stop it, they scored. No, that wasn’t right. Henry told her it was a keeper, not a goalie. God, she was awful at this sports mom thing.

Other parents cheered specific instructions to their kids from the sidelines, but Emma didn’t know enough to do that. She just clapped and yelled for the kids to “go.” Emma couldn’t even yell the other kids’ names. She missed so many practices, she hadn’t learned any of them.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Henry had told her. “Sometimes the parents are yelling stuff that’s wrong anyway. I think it annoys Coach Jones.”

If the man was annoyed, he never showed it. There had been so many games when Emma was thankful her son had gotten on his team, and it had nothing to do with his superior British knowledge of the game. He was calm and collected, while other coaches got red in the face and way too intense. He smiled and encouraged the boys, while other coaches yelled things at their players that made Emma cringe. Not that Coach Jones didn’t get loud, but it was to call out instructions to his players or to cheer them on.

Of course, some of the other single moms (and some of the married ones) were glad to have Coach Jones for other reasons. The man was easy on the eyes, there was no doubt about it. Some of the available women had even made rather obvious advances on the man, which he seemed to deflect with easy grace. But not Emma. What little romantic life she had was kept completely separate from Henry which made his coach off limits. Her romantic life was kept on the surface level too, but that was neither here nor there.

“We could add a phone number.”

Emma shakes her head to clear it of thoughts of Coach Jones and his blue eyes, easy smile, and how good he looks in soccer shorts. What were her and Henry talking about again? Oh right, the water bottle.

“You know,” Henry repeats, shaking the Avengers Thermos at her, “if found, call?”

Emma thinks about the mountains of plastic bottles in landfills, guilt rising up. She thinks of how much easier it would be if she didn’t have to buy a case of water every time she went to the store and how much space would be freed up in her tiny Bug without all those bottles of water. She looks into Henry’s eager face, and she caves.

“Fine.”

“Yes,” Henry cheers, pumping his fist.

As soon as they get home, Emma gets out the masking tape. Careful to avoid the Avengers logo, she labels it “Henry Swan. If found, please call 555-0980.”

****************************************************

It’s a week later, and Emma is on another stake out. She’s just received a text from David that he’s dropped Henry off at the apartment. She’s got Ruby lined up to head over at nine if Emma’s still working. Knowing her son’s taken care of relieves some of the tension she’s been carrying in her shoulders, and she relaxes a bit while still keeping her eyes trained on the apartment building across the street.

Her phone rings, and she frowns when she sees Coach Jones flash across her screen. She only has his number saved for when he sends out texts to the team about when the games are, what color jerseys to wear, and alerting them if a game gets rained out. He doesn’t have to, most of the other coaches assume the parents follow the team portal on the rec website, and Emma is incredibly grateful that he’s so considerate. It’s one less thing she has to stress about.

But he’s never called her, and seeing his name now has her going into immediate mom-panic mode where she jumps to the worst possible scenario. She imagines Henry getting bullied by some of the bigger players. He can’t have been injured at practice, or David would have told her, but what if Coach Jones noticed something more subtle? She saw a movie on Netflix about a figure skater who kept coughing at practice and ended up dying of a rare throat cancer.

She shakes her head at her own ridiculousness and answers the call. “Coach Jones, is everything okay?”

“Oh yes, Ms. Swan, I didn’t mean to worry you,” he assures her in his smooth accent. “I just have Henry’s Thermos here.”

“Oh,” Emma replies, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, “thank you. He’s always forgetting his damn water bottles.”

Coach Jones chuckles. “He’s not the only lad on the team that has that habit, I can assure you.”

Emma bites her lip as his accent wreaks havoc with her hormones. Are all British men so eloquent?

“Shall I bring it by?” he continues.

“Um, no,” Emma says, “I’m working still, and I don’t feel comfortable -”

“Say no more, Ms. Swan,” he cuts her off, “I understand completely. Tell me your place of employ and perhaps I could bring it to you there.”

“That’s a bit complicated . . . I’m . . . kind of on a stake out.”

“Stake out?” he asks, and she thinks he sounds impressed. “Are you a cop?”

“No,” Emma says, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth, “I’m in bail bonds.”

“A bounty hunter?”

Emma laughs at the awe in his voice. “In a way.”

He whistles and his clear admiration makes Emma’s chest swell with ridiculous pride.

“No worries,” he tells her, “now that I’m thinking on it, there’s no reason why I can’t fill it up for Henry myself and bring it to the game Saturday.”

“Could you?”

“I’ll set it on my kitchen counter so I’ll be sure to remember,” he assures her. But it isn’t that she thinks he’ll forget, she’s just still, after all these years, surprised at random acts of kindness, no matter how small.

“Thank you, Coach Jones.”

“Please, Ms. Swan, it’s Killian.”

“Then it’s Emma to you.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

*************************************************

When Emma and Henry arrive at the soccer fields on Saturday, Coach Jones, as usual, is already there. He waves as soon as he sees them and jogs over with Henry’s Thermos in his hand.

“Thanks, Coach,” Henry says, taking a swig. Then he’s off to join his teammates on the other side of the field.

Emma swallows a lump in her throat when Coach Jones – Killian – lingers. He ducks his head and scratches behind his ear, and Emma can’t help but think that he’s gathering his courage. She’s suddenly petrified that he’s about to ask her out. Oh God, does he think she put her number on Henry’s thermos as a roundabout way to get him to call her?

“I must ask for your forgiveness, Emma.”

She blinks. Of all the things she thought he might say, that wasn’t it. “For what?”

He rubs at the scruff on his jaw. “I have all parent numbers saved as a group on my phone, just for team communication. I have a strict policy not to socialize with parents. It might make others believe I’m playing favorites you understand.”

“Of course,” Emma says, narrowing her eyes. Where’s he going with this?

The nervousness seems to fall away and his gaze becomes not only sincere, but a bit intense. “But after I called you about Henry’s Thermos, I saved your number as just Emma.” She can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “And I must confess, I've thought of calling you again many times.”

Emma commands her lips not to turn up in a smile and fails miserably. “I see.”

“I didn’t ask permission to have your number in a social compacity, and for that I apologize.”

Emma shrugs one shoulder. “No need. It’s just a phone number. We’re both adults.” Her lips continue their rebellious ways and she add, “And I don’t think just a phone call or a text here or there would be called socializing. Do you?” Is she seriously standing on the sidelines of her son’s soccer game and flirting with his coach?

Killian’s smile broadens to a full grin, dimpling his cheeks. “Aye. I believe you’re onto something, Swan.”

“I thought I told you. It’s Emma,” she says. So she’s flirting, okay?

He winks. “I didn’t say Ms Swan, now did I? The name suits you.” Then he’s jogging backwards towards his team.

Yes, she’s flirting with Henry’s soccer coach, and he’s flirting right back. The scariest part is that she isn’t scared at all. She’s so screwed.

***************************************************

It’s six weeks later, and Emma has lost count of how many text messages she has received from Killian Jones. She’s also talked to him on the phone almost daily, sometimes for hours on end. He hasn’t so much as touched her, they haven’t even been on a date, and already she’s falling hard. But they both agree that officially dating is out of the question as long as he’s Henry’s coach.

Which is why she’d giddy with excitement today. And simultaneously feeling like the worst mother in the world. Because today is Henry’s last soccer game. Maybe. If they lose, the season is over. If they win, there will be one more week of practice, then two weeks of tournament play that involves some complicated system that is ridiculous in her opinion for a rec league of twelve-year-olds. Is she a horrible mother if she doesn’t want to wait three more weeks to jump Henry’s coach? Oh God, she is. She’s a horrible mother.

She also has to talk to Henry about dating his coach. She may be breaking all her self-imposed rules of romance (yes even the one about keeping things surface level), but Henry still comes first. He’s bouncing with excitement in the passenger’s seat as they drive to the soccer fields, making her feel even more conflicted with each passing moment.

“If we go to the tournament Mom, there’s a trophy for the top three teams. I mean, we all get participation medals, but a trophy is something else!”

Emma bites her lip thinking of Henry’s disappointment if they don’t make the tournament. Three weeks, Emma, it’s only three more weeks . . . so she changes her prayers to whoever is listening that Henry’s team wins after all.

“Henry,” she says when she parks the car, “I need to ask you something important.”

“Okay . . . “

She takes a deep breath, “Would it be okay if I date Coach Jones? I mean, once the season is over?”

Henry frowns, and Emma’s heart beats erratically. If her son is upset by the prospect . . .

“Can he still be my coach next season? Cause I wanna be on his team again, and you can request a coach -”

Emma lifts her hand. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, okay?” Although, she doesn’t think it will be a problem if they’re already in an established relationship when the season starts. Wait, she’s totally getting ahead of herself, and she never does that.

“Well, will you ask him before you go on your date? To be sure?”

Emma smiles softly at him. “Is that really the only thing you’re worried about?”

Henry shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, it may be a little weird, but he is really great.”

“Yeah, kid, he is.”

**********************************************

The team is packed into Granny’s to celebrate their win. Even though it means three more weeks before she can go on her first date with Killian, Emma can’t help but get swept up with Henry’s enthusiasm. You would think they were going to the World Cup the way the boys are acting. She catches Killian’s eye across the sea of boys shoveling french fries into their mouths, and she knows that taking these kids to the tournament means a lot to him, too. He tears his blue eyes away from her to engage with the boys in front of him, congratulating each of them on how they contributed to their big win. Emma slides away, letting them have this moment.

She finds herself seeking solitude in the hallway near the bathrooms, though the boys are still a dull roar out in the dining room. Someone selects “We are the Champions” on the jukebox, and soon a chorus of warbly prepubescent boys are belting out the tune.

Killian finds her there. He reaches out to touch her elbow hesitantly, and at her soft smile, he rubs both her arms with his hands. She steps away from the wall and closer to him.

“I’m sorry our date is delayed, love.”

Emma shrugs, pushing aside her disappointment. “How can I not be happy for Henry, though? And what about you? I saw you on the sidelines. Are you sure this is just rec soccer? Because you seemed really into it today.”

He laughs, his blush rising to the tips of his elf-shaped ears. “I’m pretty excited, I won’t lie.” He takes a step closer and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The ghost of a touch is enough to send a shudder through her. “But I’m more excited about our date.”

Her eyes dart from the blue of his eyes down to his lips. “I know we said we couldn’t date while you were Henry’s coach. But I’m not a sure a kiss would -”

He captures her mouth with his before she can finish the sentence. Emma practically loses her balance with the passion and heat of it, grasping onto his soccer jersey with both fists. He presses her against the wall as he deepens it, and Emma thinks she might just rip those soccer shorts off here and now. She whimpers slightly when he pulls away, chasing his lips, and he presses his forehead to hers.

“I was going to ask if I had been too forward, but evidently not,” he teases her.

She doesn’t answer him, she just yanks him close again. If he keeps stealing kisses like this, the next three weeks may not be so bad after all.

And she needs to remember to thank Henry for that phone number idea . . .

[quickeningheart]

Seventeen

   When Charley entered the apartment at the end of the day, she was greeted with the rich scent of chocolate. Her mouth watered as she inhaled deeply, and her stomach growled; she hadn't gotten around to lunch, after all. Or much of a breakfast, for that matter. "Is that chocolate cake I smell?" she called.

   The bathroom door opened and Alley's head popped out. "Better," she replied.

   "Better than chocolate cake?" Charley lifted one of the towels spread over a baking sheet, eyes widening at the sight of round, red cakes cooling on them. "Are those…?"

   "Red velvet whoopie pies. They were your favorite, right?" Alley approached with a grin, pulling off a pair of rubber gloves. The heavy scent of cleaning chemicals and air-freshener followed in her wake. "I still have to add the filling, yet."

   "Who needs filling?" Charley picked up a still-hot cake, juggling it between her hands, and took a large bite. She sighed blissfully. "Still as good as I remember!" She finished it off in two more bites, sucking the sticky crumbs from her fingers.

   "That's great, Charley, but now there's a pie without a top."

   "Oh, well, we can take care of that." She picked up another pastry and wolfed it down.

   Alley laughed. "I think those boys have been a bad influence on you," she teased.

   Her cousin just smirked. "So what brought on this rabid bout of baking?" She glanced at the four trays of cakes sitting on the table, waiting for their filling.

   Alley fidgeted. "I made them for you. As an apology," she admitted. "I'm sorry I said all those things in front of your friends. I wasn't trying to embarrass you or make you look bad or anything. I was just worried."

   Charley grinned and shrugged. "Well, no big surprise. The filter between your brain and your mouth never did work right."

   Alley stuck her tongue out, slapping Charley's hand away when she reached for another pie. "I'm being serious! I feel really bad about it."

   "Look, I'm honestly not that upset. Just my pride got a little bruised, is all. But you know I'm not the type to hold grudges. Besides, something good came from it."

   Alley raised an eyebrow when her cousin blushed faintly, a goofy smile spreading over her face. "You look like a teenager crushing on the hot guy in class," she teased.

   "He is pretty hot," Charley agreed, laughing when Alley pulled a face. "Or maybe older men are more your type," she added slyly, "given that little scene I walked in on this morning and all…"

   "That was—!" Alley blushed to the roots of her hair. "That was…"

   "Kinda hot, is what is was," Charley snickered. "Another second and the kitchen might've erupted in flames."

   "Another second and I'd have punched that letch through the wall!"

   "Hmmm." Charley eyed her cousin thoughtfully. "If you really wanted to punch him, seems to me you'd 've done it."

   "What are you implying?" Alley huffed. "That I'm giving in to his charms? No way! I'm not into furries. Especially old furries."

   Charley laughed. "So you admit he has charms, eh?"

   "What? That isn't—!" Alley pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, if you want to date Vinnie, that's all fine and dandy. Knock yourself out, I'm honestly happy that you're happy. But please just … don't…" She faltered, not wanting to upset her cousin all over again. "I'm not—"

   "Okay, okay. Relax," the mechanic soothed. "I was only teasing. I understand. I really do, and I promise not to say anything else about it, all right?" She drew a line across her lips, turning an imaginary key.

   "Thank you," Alley replied with a sigh, opening the fridge to grab a bowl full of whipped filling. She offered it with a sheepish smile. "Want to help me frost?"

   "Only if I get to lick the spatula."

   She snickered. "You're such a kid."

   "Damn straight. Keeps me young." Charley grinned and riffled around in the bottom cabinets until she unearthed an ancient Tupperware container. She pursed her lips, eyeballing the container, then the cakes. "Ummm … pretty sure all these ain't gonna fit in here."

   "Is that the only container you have?" Alley looked horrified.

   Charley chuckled. "I'm no master chef. Never needed more than one before."

   "I'm just gonna have to buy you the whole damn kitchen and be done with it," the blonde grumbled.

   "Like you can afford that."

   "I can with the jewels Stoker left behind."

   There was a marked silence; Alley reached up to pull down several dinner plates from the cabinet, deliberately ignoring the irritation on her cousin's face.

   "I told him I didn't want his charity!" Charley burst out.

   Alley pursed her lips, setting the plates down with a thunk and fixing her cousin with a hard stare. "That's your ego talking. Can't you tell the difference between charity and a heartfelt gift? But, whatever. Since you didn't want it, he gave it to me, instead."

   "And you have no problems accepting handouts."

   "I fail to see how this is a handout," Alley replied, pulling a roll of wax paper from a drawer and tearing several sheets from it to line the plates. "He found the jewelry, didn't he? And he already took what he needed from it. The rest of the jewels are just junk to him. But they're worth a pretty penny to most humans. So, rather than tossing out some incredibly valuable rocks, he deemed it more economical to give the rest to you, so you can take what you need from them. I don't think that's charity so much as some pretty damned useful recycling."

   Charley opened and closed her mouth several times, trying for a retort, but finding none forthcoming. She huffed and picked up a well-worn spatula, using it to slap a large dollop of filling onto half of a pie. She used a little too much force, however; the pastry crumbled easily, leaving a red and white gooey mess sitting in her palm. She scowled down at it for a second, until a choked giggle had her switching her glare to Alley, instead, who was doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. "Shut up," she grumbled, flinging the mess at her. It landed smack-dab in the center of Alley's chest, earning an outraged squeak.

   The tension broke as Charley broke into giggles of her own, her irritation melting away. "Okay," she admitted grudgingly. "I suppose I might have possibly let my ego overrule my common sense on this subject, but it doesn't sit right with me to just be handed a huge amount of money like that." She sighed, turning on the sink to wash her hand off. "I busted my ass to get this garage up and running, and to keep it going despite everything conspiring to shut me down. To accept help, no matter how well-intended, just feels too much like … giving up. Like admitting I can't do it."

   "Nobody would believe that," Alley scolded, dabbing at the frosting on her shirt. "Those guys wouldn't think less of you. You mean the world to them. They just want to help, the same way you've been helping them all this time. You consider each other family, right? Isn't family supposed to support each other when it's needed?"

   "You make a good point," Charley conceded.

   "I've made a lot of good points. You just didn't want to listen to them. And I guess that was my fault, too."

   "Well." Charley leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. "I'm listening now. Do you have anything else to say about my business practices that you think I should know?"

   "Actually…" she hedged, "I think I've got an idea that might solve some of your problems. At least on a temporary basis."

   "Oh? Do tell."

   "Well, in regards to those gems, if you're that determined to keep your garage running by yourself, why not just sell them and open a separate bank account with the money? It could be like a … a disaster relief fund or something."

   "A what?"

   "Give the guys the money. They don't have any of their own, right? In that sense, they're way worse off than you," Alley pointed out. "You can set up an account for them, under your name."

   "Okay…" Charley nodded. "And doing that would accomplish … what, exactly?"

   Alley rolled her eyes. "Well, for one thing, if they put any more holes through your doors, or manage to blow up some of the much-needed equipment to do your work, they can actually pay for it, for a change. Rather than you dipping into your own savings to cover replacement parts or whatever, dip into theirs, instead." She held up a finger. "And also! Those fancy, highly-expensive upgrades you're always giving those bikes of theirs? You'll no longer have to pay for them yourself."

   "That doesn't seem right, making them pay for stuff I always offered for free," Charley protested.

   "What's the big deal? Not like they actually earned any of that hypothetical money," Alley pointed out dryly.

   Well, Charley could hardly argue with that logic. She huffed a laugh and shrugged. "I guess it's not bad, as far as ideas go," she grudgingly admitted. "It doesn't really work as a long-term solution, though."

   "Well, no, I did say it was temporary. Whatever money the gems bring in would run out eventually, but at least it'd give you a chance to catch up and rebuild your finances. Take some of the pressure off, for a while at least."

   Charley tapped her chin, staring into space as she thought. "I'll talk it over with the guys," she decided. "See what they think."

   "That mean you'll do it?"

   "I guess it wouldn't hurt to give it a try." She shrugged. "It'll get those furballs to stop nagging at me, if nothing else." She grinned and shook her head, shooting Alley an impressed glance. "Really, I dunno how you do it. First, getting them to eat something other than junk food, and now this. All these years with them constantly putting holes through my walls and now they suddenly grow a conscience about it. Did you take a class or something? Guilt Trip 101?"

   Alley scoffed. "Please. Have you met my mother? That woman's got guilt-tripping down to a science, and she's practiced on me my entire life. Those guys never stood a chance!"

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