#she’s grown but i think she’d get acne too

[milimeters-morales]

Spider-Man/Woman fighting someone, and they land a hit that makes Spidey go down and hiss in pain, which makes them think the hit was really good + makes them overconfident when the truth is that Spidey had a painful pimple there and hitting it felt like being stabbed a few times in a single second

[stargazedmoony]

“His arms were her safety and his eyes were her home.”

“Oi, Evans!”

In her first year of Hogwarts, Lily Evans had no idea what it meant to be in love. Sure, she used to watch romance movies with her sister and she liked reading romantic fiction, but all the boys she read about were charming and kind, and they certainly weren’t annoying — like James Fleamont Potter, who seemed to find it necessary to call out her name every time he saw her.

Lily sighed and chose to ignore the boy who was waving and smiling sheepishly at her from a distance. Marlene frowned next to her. “Looks like someone’s got a thing for you,” she remarked.

Lily shrugged. “I’m not interested.”

“Good,” Dorcas said. “Because boys are sheep.”

Lily laughed at this and couldn’t really disagree. She’d known from the first day of school that this black-haired boy was trouble. Potter and his three friends were always fooling around and causing mischief. Well, maybe not all three of his friends. Remus was OK.

In second year, all Lily wanted to do was read and study and not argue with her best friend, Severus. James “Oi, Evans!” Potter thought differently of this. At twelve, he looked lanky and skinny and rather out of proportion, but she assumed that was normal for boys going through puberty. She had been there too.

When he called her name, Lily turned her head away and grunted. “Leave me alone, Potter,” she said. She could not possibly tell what he wanted from her except to annoy her.

Remus, who she’d been studying with, smiled at her apologetically. At least he was a sweet boy.

In third year, James Potter called her name again. “Oi, Evans!”

Lily was in the library. For some strange reason, Potter and his friends were too. Lily was pretty sure this had everything to do with Remus forcing them to study several hours a week.

Potter was staring at her, maybe waiting for a response. When he realised he wasn’t going to get one, he opened his mouth again. “You look pretty,” he said. “As you always do.”

“Try-hard,” Sirius coughed. Lily laughed at this.

And maybe, just maybe, she felt flattered as well. She’d been so insecure about herself lately — something she knew was part of hitting puberty. Lily turned her head away, thinking to herself that it was okay to smile. Compliments were nice. But was Potter nice, really? He was always so mean to Sev.

Oh, what did it matter? Homework.

In fourth year, Lily realised she couldn’t help her eyes from following Potter around the common room. He looked so different in the light of being fourteen years old. All of his friends did.

Remus was tall, but still as pale as he’d been the day Lily met him. He was fidgeting with one of Sirius’ wristbands as they were whispering to each other under their breaths, sitting close together on the sofa. Sirius looked captivated, content and handsome as always. Even puberty acne looked good on him — talk about unfair.

Peter looked the same as last year. He didn’t seem to have grown at all and his face was still sweet, plump and reddish. James had to be the second tallest of the group and he looked more muscular than he’d done last year — Quidditch practise maybe?

Unlucky for her, the black-haired boy noticed her staring. “Oi, Evans!” he called. “D’you like what you see?”

Lily rolled her eyes, but her lips curled upwards. “Get over yourself, Potter.”

“What’s that?” Mary asked next to her. “What’s that on your face? Is that a smile? Is this ship finally happening?”  

“Lily and James!” Sirius started singing. “Sitting in a tree—!”

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Peter added.

“Shut up, both of you.”

But in fifth year, Lily could hardly ignore how charming Potter looked. His hair had grown longer over the summer and was now curling graciously around his tanned face. Not only was he handsome, but as it turned out, he wasn’t such a bad person to talk to. He was actually very sweet and caring. Still, he was stupid and immature.

“Oi, Evans!” he called out for about the thousandth time in both their lives. “Fancy a date?”

“Sure,” Lily said. The girls in her dormitory were calling her a fool for not wanting to go out with him, but Lily just shrugged it off. “Meet me at eight? In your dreams.”

James shook his head, clearly amused and not at all disappointed. Lily laughed.

She loved teasing him. She loved him smiling at her teasing, his ears turning hot and his eyes sparkling with happiness — and maybe hope. He just looked so sweet and innocent, and so in love.

In sixth year, Lily could no longer be bothered by James’ “Oi, Evans!” whenever he saw her. Or so she thought.

One evening, they were on Prefect duty for patrolling the halls and when Lily heard him call out those familiar two words, her heartbeat sped up, out of control, and her stomach filled with a tingling strange sensation that was unfamiliar to her — and that was when she knew. This feeling was what the romance writers wrote about.

“All right, Potter?” she said.

James had a big smile on his face as he often did when she talked to him, even if it was to tell him off. He was sixteen now, yet he still looked so young and boyish. “All right,” he answered cheerfully.

“All right,” Lily repeated. She kindly bumped her shoulder against his as they began to walk. She could tell he was trying to hide his smile, which gave her the courage to continue. “I’ve been wondering about something.”

“For the fourteenth time, Evans, I’m not taking a bath with you in the Prefects’ bathroom until we’ve gone on a proper first date.”

Lily laughed out loud. “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk about,” she said. “Do you still fancy the idea of a date?”

James’ mouth fell open and his cheeks turned almost as red as her hair. “You’re joking. Are you joking? Tell me you’re NOT joking!”

Lily chuckled softly. “I’m not joking,” she said. James looked as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Lily smiled and felt a brave victory roaring in her chest.

In seventh year, James finally kissed her. They were seventeen now, hiding in the semi-dark of a broom cupboard, red-faced and shy and in love. James fumbled with the material of her jumper until Lily reached for his hands and placed them on the bare skin of her back. His hands were cold and shaking nervously.

Sometimes you don’t realise what you’ve been missing all your life until you find it. Lily thought of this as she held James’ hands and moved them from her back to her hips and down to her stomach. The world as she’d known it, she realised, had been so black and white until she’d let James in; until she’d let him hold her so sweetly. Now, everything seemed flushed again with colours.

And for every moment that Lily was with him, the things that happened in the world and the war beyond the hills of Scotland didn’t scare her as much. His arms were her safety and his eyes were her home.

“Oi, Evans,” Lily heard in her ear. She smiled at this and thought to herself that perhaps she had come to love him years earlier than she had realised. She hummed in response and James’ eyes were happy.

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

I don't want to linger any longer

DCU Gen Rating: G Words: 7,523  AO3

In upstate New York there's a very lush, very expensive summer camp that caters to the children of the rich and famous. Bruce and Oliver happen to be those children. And they're less than thrilled to be at this camp.

Alfred was leery of the summer camp. Bruce went to public school partially because of Martha's pointed remarks regarding democracy and public education, partly because of her pointed remarks regarding Thomas's own time at boarding schools and prep schools surrounded by equally rich and entitled boys. Alfred never said anything at the time, it wasn't his place, and would never say anything now but, he whole heartedly believed both. Especially after his own childhood in private schools, even if the times and the British and American systems were very different. Regardless, Bruce was remaining in public school with all the trials it entailed. Including the socializing problem.

He'd always been a quiet, almost shy child but after Martha and Thomas died he retreated far beyond. Even friends from before like Miss Zatara took coaxing and occasionally trickery to get him to interact with. At thirteen and with the beginnings of acne and voice cracks the behavior was partially to be expected. The newfound interest in The Clash was too. Still, Alfred felt strongly that the boy should have the opportunity to at least try and make some friends. So when he overheard some of the women mentioning the summer camp during one of the Wayne Foundation luncheons Bruce insisted they attend "for appearances" (and Alfred was a little worried about the thought process behind that as well but well, one thing at a time) he had to break his normal rule and butt in.

"Pardon me, but what summer camp might this be?" He tried to be as nonobtrusive as possible, it still raised some eyebrows from the women with their pearls and perfect red lipsticks. Their clothes were so immaculate that while he knew they all had nannies, looking at them you never would've even known they had children. Alfred no longer owned a single shirt that wasn't stained somewhere by something, he just hid them well.

The blonde in the most putrid shade of chartreuse he's ever seen recovered first. "Oh! Camp Open Woods. It's in upper state New York, very exclusive but so worth it." Mimi flicked her wrist and half rolled her eyes as though to indicate sending the children she never saw there was the best parenting tip she'd ever taken. Mitzie shifted her hair before continuing, "They've got hiking and horses and like there's a lake." The other women all hum and coo their agreement at how pretty it is, Muffy silenced them with a brow, she was the one who started the story after all. "The kiddos just love it there. Go for a month a time. Would be there year round if they could!" They all nod enthusiastically in agreement.

"Sounds lovely." Which isn't strictly incorrect, but Alfred sincerely doubts these women would actually know whether their children enjoyed the camp or not. "I'll have to look into it, thank you," Alfred excuses himself. He will look into it.

The camp itself does seem the definition of picturesque, with acres of land and woods as well as the lake. The cabins looked to be clean and well maintained. The extensive list of activities alone made Alfred want to go. He reached out to the nannies he'd made friends with over the years, trying to gauge how any of the kids who attended regularly really felt. And the reviews were glowing.

Alfred made an executive decision, the fresh air would be good for Bruce, and called to secure a place for June. Just one month, to test it. Bruce might not be pleased at not having been consulted but Alfred was sure the end results would be well worth it. And if not, it's not like the boy could fire him in revenge. Legal guardianship made that rather tricky.

~

Oliver heard someone stop in the hall outside his room. From where he sat on the floor organizing the old jazz records his mother had given him he couldn't see who it was, the bed was in the way and he didn't really want to move everything just to get up. That seemed like a lot of work. Whoever it was could just come in. Or talk. Whatever. He wasn't moving.

"Are you in here, Oliver?" he finally heard his mother ask, apparently having grown impatient.

"Yes."

"I signed you up for camp. You leave for New York in the morning. It comes very highly recommended, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Chef is making your favorite chicken parmesan as a treat for dinner at six. I will see you then." The sound of her heels were nearly silent as she made her way back down the hall with its plush carpeting.

Taking a minute to process this, Oliver stared at the short shelves in front of him momentarily. Well there went his record organizing, now he was going to have to try and pack.

~

Bruce narrowed his eyes as Alfred slowed to turn the car onto a narrow lane that was barely a break in the trees. A large, wooden arch above it was carved to proclaim it as the entrance to "Camp Open Woods." Somehow, Bruce managed to narrow his eyes even more. Though he suspected it made him look like he was squinting. Especially by the way Alfred pressed his lips into a tight line, an obvious tell that he was trying not to smile.

The lane curved gently through the trees until they opened up to show a field, teenagers and college students in soft blue polo shirts and khaki shorts were scattered throughout it, directing cars in where to park and kids and parents in where to go next. A girl with brightly colored beads on the ends of her tight braids waved at Bruce through the window as they passed. Tentatively, he waved back at the counselor.

Once they were parked, the sleek black sedan settling a little into the grass as they both got out, Bruce immediately slung his backpack on and beat Alfred to the trunk to pull out his bulky footlocker. "Master Bruce," Alfred chided gently, reaching in to help lift the heavy thing, "I do wish you'd let me do that."

"It's fine, Alfred," Bruce protested. Even if the help was appreciated. "Isn't the whole point of this to teach me to be self-sufficient?" Bruce tried to level his steeliest gaze on the man. The unimpressed look he got in return told Bruce he might need to work on that.

Alfred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in the process -- and really Bruce didn't think his actions warranted that level of dramatics -- before leveling a flat look at Bruce. "No, Master Bruce. The point of this endeavor is that you enjoy yourself with peers of your own age. Possibly make friends. Build lifelong bonds. Get a nasty sunburn on the first day and minor bear scare on the last."

Bruce frowned and lifted one end of the battered footlocker Alfred had dislodged from the attic the week before. Possibly, it had been Alfred's and come from some hidden corner of the man's room as Bruce had never seen it before even in all his exploring of the manor's nooks and crannies. "Exiting pursued by a bear is not a worthy goal, Alfred," he said dryly.

Lifting the other end of the footlocker the duo began to make their way towards the counselors with carts lined up at the front of the field. "Maybe not for yourself, but personally an exciting and Shakespearean end would be the greatest achievement of my mundane existence."

He snorted, and Alfred wondered where his own penchant for melodrama came from.

"Hiya folks!" The young man next to a cart already loaded with duffels and trunks waved brightly as they approached. "Welcome to camp! Where are you staying?"

Bruce glanced to Alfred and Alfred returned the look, both challenging the other to speak first. If Bruce admitted that he had read and memorized the pre-camp welcome packet then Alfred would see it as a win. If Alfred's patience crumbled before Bruce's then it would vastly undermine the veneer of authority Alfred had managed to paint over their strange relationship. The poor guy standing by the cart was starting to look uncomfortable.

Finally, Bruce broke. He was going to be here for a month, it's not like he'd have to see Alfred be smug during that time. "Pine Ridge," he said flatly.

The counselor visibly sagged in relief. "Ok, great! You're going to toss your gear on that cart up there where Gambit's standing then follow the road to the Health Center to turn in your paperwork and get your head and foot check."

Wrinkling his nose, Bruce nodded. He wasn't really a fan of being touched, even for medical examinations, and was a little glad he got a heads up. He'd briefly forgotten about the fact the packet had said there would be a lice and athlete's foot examination. Not that Bruce had either, which is probably why he'd let it slip his mind. They reached the next cart and a young woman with large sunglasses leant against it. Bruce squinted at the lanyard she had around her neck with an odd badge on the end as a nametag, all the counselors had variations of brightly colored and often glitter coated badges on lanyards. Each as unique as the names on them. Hers had popsicle sticks layered to make a large X and playing cards glued on top so that their back's made a place to write. "Gambit" had been scrawled in looping white paint. With red glitter. Bruce really hoped they weren't going to force him to make a glitter nametag.

"Are you living in Pine Ridge?" She asked, pushing off the cart to stand and raising her clipboard.

"Yes," Bruce said simply.

Gambit nodded. "You can toss your stuff on. What's your name?"

"Bruce. Bruce Wayne."

"Ok, double-o-seven," she smirked, checking off something on her clipboard. "I'm Gambit, head girls counselor for Pine Ridge. But just cause I'm not the one doing bed checks on you doesn't mean I'm not still in charge," she teased. Bruce was fairly certain he heard Alfred snicker. "Anyway, you'll be seeing a lot of me over the next month even though we don't share a latrine. You a first time camper?"

"Yes."

"Well then, welcome Bruce, Bruce Wayne!"

Alfred definitely snickered at that.

"Um, thanks."

She grinned and stuck her pen back behind her ear. "I'll watch your stuff until the grounds guys come and hook the cart up to the ATV to take it up to the cabins. Lucky us, we're on the hill. Nice site, one of my personal favorites actually, but you'll be getting your steps in while you're here. Whole summer or no?"

"Um, just the month." Bruce was starting to get a little overwhelmed in the face of her relentless positivity.

"Rad. Well, I hope you enjoy it! You're gonna want to follow the gravel road trail and head to the health center. I'll see you at dinner."

Bruce nodded and began to walk on, Alfred a step behind him. Once they were out of earshot, Bruce hung back slightly so that they walked next to each other and turned to Alfred. "Do you think everyone's going to be like that?"

"Well Master Bruce, I don't think that children's summer camp counselor is a position that attracts introverts," Alfred replied dryly.

Bruce glared.

"Which isn't to say, however, that every person here would be so enthusiastic."

"Hmm." Bruce didn't say anything else and they made their way to the two-story farmhouse that had a sign hanging from the porch proclaiming it the "Health Center" in silence.

A large group of people were spread out in the grass in front of the porch around a series of low, backless wooden benches. Bruce slowed as they approached, lingering on the gravel. Alfred gripped his shoulder once before gently pushing Bruce forward to step into the grass. Alfred was still a head taller than him, but Bruce was catching up and he couldn't wait for the day he could glare at the man without craning his neck. Alfred looked the picture of cool indifference and collected innocence.

"Excuse me," Alfred called, striding forward and fully expecting Bruce to follow. Which he did, but in silent protest. "Is there a queue?"

"Not really," the teenaged boy Alfred had asked shrugged. "Just give your paperwork to nurse Doc, then pick a spot on a bench and we play monkey."

"Monkey?" Bruce tried to raise an incredulous eyebrow. It was a work in progress.

The older boy's face split into a wide grin. "Yeah! You know," and here he began to howl and jump, scratching at his head in imitation of a monkey.

"Ohmystars, Apollo you're ridiculous!" Another teenager said, her silver painted crescent moon nametag read "Artemis" and the two did look like they could be siblings if not twins. "Theater kids." She rolled her eyes derisively.

Apollo stopped abruptly. "Arty, you're a theater kid."

"Tech kid. There's a difference," she snapped with practiced ease.

"She is correct," Alfred added sagely. Bruce's forehead met his palm as he hung his head.

"Thank you!" Artemis preened. "C'mon, I'll take ya in to Doc." She gestured at them to follow as she turned and headed onto the porch. Having no real other option, Bruce glanced at Alfred before following. Artemis had waited for them, holding open the screen door before shouldering open the second door and leading them into a large room with worn wooden floors and a table with a trio of adults sitting behind it. Some other children and parents stood in front of them and spoke with the adults at the table. Artemis winked and wiggled her fingers in a wave before turning to head back outside. But she stopped short and came to stand next to them again. "Actually, they don't need me out there right now and I'd much rather soak up the AC with you."

Bruce nodded. It was cold in here, especially compared to the muggy afternoon it was shaping up to be. And those polo shirts didn't exactly look comfortable. Neither did the crisp button up and khakis Alfred wore, but Bruce could count on one hands the number of times he'd seen Alfred in shorts or a t-shirt. The group in front of them shifted and Artemis lead them to the table. The burly woman on the end glanced up at them and smiled. Unlike the counselors, her nametag was a pin though she, and the other two adults at the table, still wore the light blue polo shirt. And her nametag also had sequins spelling out "Doc."

"Hey there, you have your paperwork?" she said by way of greeting.

Alfred produced a carefully paperclipped stack from somewhere. Bruce honestly had no clue where. Sometimes Alfred liked to do things like that just to puzzle him. Often times. Bruce was certain he did it routinely just for fun and Bruce's annoyance.

Doc took the stack and looked it over before leaning over to file it in a plastic tub and marking this off on a couple different clipboards. "Alright," she said finally, "you're officially checked in, Mr. Wayne. You still need to be checked over before we can let you run wild. But you're checked in. Welcome to Camp." She smiled broadly and held out a hand, Bruce shook it and managed a small smile in return.

Artemis led them back outside and instructed Bruce to sit, take off his shoes and socks, and wait for Apollo cause she didn't "do feet." Alfred chuckled as Bruce sat, his nose wrinkled, and Artemis took gloved hands and a comb through his hair. Apollo eventually reappeared as she declared him lice free and he poked at and spread Bruce's toes before proclaiming him "good to go!"

As Bruce pulled his socks and sneakers back on --  Alfred refused to buy him hiking boots because they wouldn't be broken in in time and apparently if Bruce was going to be miserable it was going to be his own conscious choice and not due to poor footwear decisions -- Alfred chatted with Apollo about a production of Midsummer that the counselor had done in fall. Finally, Bruce was standing up and slipping his backpack on again.

"Well, I'll let you say bye to your dad and then we'll go find your group," Apollo grinned.

"He's not-" Bruce started but the older boy had already walked away and started talking to one of the other counselors. "Hmph."

Alfred raised a single eyebrow -- Bruce wished he'd just teach him how to do that already -- and gave him a sly smile. "Well Master Bruce."

"Alfred."

They both stood there staring at each other. Finally, Bruce caved and stepped forward to wrap his arms around Alfred. "Bye Alfred," he muttered.

Returning the hug, Alfred replied. "I shall be back at the end of the month. I do sincerely hope that you enjoy yourself, Master Bruce. And I expect letters at least once a week. You should have more than enough stamps for that and if not you have credit at the camp store."

Bruce snorted at that before pulling away. "Thanks, Alfred."

Alfred smiled. "Of course, Master Bruce."

Apollo reappeared then and led Bruce to the edge of the trees and a path there. Bruce looked back once to see Alfred still standing by the benches, waving. Bruce waved back before turning to walk into the woods.

~

Oliver tapped his fingers restlessly on the formica topped table. The other kids all seemed to know each other and once the counselor escorting them to the dining hall left they immediately headed off to meet their friends. Not that he minded, Oliver was used to being alone and could function on his own just fine thanks. But all of these kids would be living with him for the next month at the least. They could at the very least come over and ask him who he was. But apparently, Pine Ridge was the largest unit at camp and so his age group was the biggest if they were staying there. And already there were at least twenty other kids who were all preoccupied and not noticing the blonde kid with a bad haircut.

Tugging at his recently shorn hair, Oliver frowned. He'd been trying to grow it out and it was almost to his shoulders when this morning his mother took him to the barber before putting him on the plane and shipping him off. Supposedly, she thought he'd be too hot with all that hair. Oliver just thought it was a convenient excuse. Oliver respected the trick even if he didn't like it. Especially because he didn't like the end result. His ears were still slightly too big and the cut just emphasized that. No girl would want to go out with a guy with satellite dishes attached to his head. Not that any girl seemed to even want to talk to him right now. Not that anyone at all wanted to talk to him. Maybe if he'd stop glaring at the table? But Oliver didn't really want to be here to begin with.

One of the dinning hall doors opened again and Oliver turned to look. The dorky guy who'd walked Oliver over, and only a dork would name themselves Apollo, and a new kid stood next to him. All dark hair and pale skin that Oliver bet was going to be looking like a lobster by the end of the week. He lingered in the doorway as Apollo said something and turned to leave, scanning the space in front of him. One of the other counselors walked over to meet him, he'd said his name was Sherlock and he was the head boys and Oliver secretly respected him for having the guts to name himself after the world's greatest detective. Sherlock was obviously introducing himself to the boy and Oliver was trying to figure out why the kid looked so dang familiar as his gaze landed on Oliver. And stuck.

That's when it hit him. That kid was Bruce Wayne. His parents talked about him all the time. Mostly, wondering what he would do with Wayne Enterprises once he turned eighteen and could take over and what that would mean for Queen Industries' contracts. Oliver had ever only met the kid once. Right after his parents had died and the whole Queen family had flown out to Gotham to "express their condolences" at the Wayne Foundation's Annual Holiday Party. It wasn't until a couple years later that Oliver realized how awkward the whole thing had been. But that was definitely the same kid, older now but his eyes no less haunted. Oliver blinked and turned away. Bruce Wayne was one kid he'd be happy to leave him alone.

Oliver never did have good luck.

"Oliver Queen?" The kid had come up behind him and without asking, walked around to sit on the bench across from him.

"Yeah?" Oliver winced as his voice cracked at the end. Stupid fraggin luck what the frickety heck stupid stupid puberty.

"I remember you." The kid still hadn't taken off his backpack. They were inside and it's not like someone was gonna steal it. Oliver's own sat on the bench next to him and he barely had anything in it anyway.

"Yeah?" This time his voice didn't crack. Small victory.

"I'm Bruce Wayne."

"Yeah."

The kid's brow crumbled in annoyance and he frowned. "Do you ever say anything else."

Oliver gave his cheekiest grin, oh this was too good. There had never been a more perfect set up. "No."

Impossibly, the kid's look got darker.

Oliver sat and smiled back. The seconds stretch out and Oliver just knew they were each waiting for the other to crack. Bruce continued to glare. Oliver continued to smile.

Finally, his cheeks started to hurt and Oliver took the loss. He was kinda starting to feel like an idiot anyway. "So, this your first summer?"

Bruce relaxed his glare but he still frowned. "I'm just here for a month."

"Didn't answer the question, Brucie."

The frown deepened. "Yes."

Oliver nodded. "Mine too," he admitted. Bruce finally seemed to relax.

"I'm... not sure what we're supposed to do," Bruce admitted, though it looked like struggled to.

Oliver let some of his bravado fall. "Yeah, neither do I. I think we're supposed to have fun, whatever that means."

Bruce's mouth twitched in the direction of a smirk. Oliver took it as a small victory.

"Hi!" A high voice warbled behind Oliver and he turned in surprise.

"Zee?" Bruce sounded just as shocked, though he apparently knew the girl that had just yelled in Oliver's ear. She settled heavily on the bench next to him and Oliver turned to look at her. Long black hair pulled up in a ponytail, bright pink shirt and darker pink shorts, light-up sneakers. She looked younger than him too. Which was confirmed when Bruce said "Aren't you too young to be in this unit?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "I turn eleven in July and I'm here for the summer so."

"That didn't answer the question," Bruce pointed out.

"And the unit is twelve to thirteen," Oliver added, finally recovering from his shock at her sudden appearance.

Pushing out her breath in annoyance, the girl flounced to her feet. "So, I may have heard that you were here and in the dinning hall and convinced my buddy to take a detour on the way to the latrine." She wiggled her arm in the direction of another girl shifting awkwardly by the side door. "We have to sit with our groups at dinner tonight but find me at breakfast tomorrow," she said it like an order and then ran off towards her friend and together they left.

"Alfred," Bruce muttered like a curse.

"Her name's Alfred?" Oliver felt like strange names were just a part of camp life but still.

"Her name's Zatanna." Oh, that was even weirder. "Alfred's my butler."

"Right," Oliver nodded like he understood. He absolutely did not. And Bruce did not seem like he would be explaining.

~

The counselors finally rounded them all up and made them stand in a wide circle, saying that they were going to count off and play get to know you games since one game of like forty people could be fun but maybe was a bit ambitious for first thing. Bruce told Oliver to stay where he stood before wiggling away further down the circle so that there was three people between them. Four groups of ten or so made logical sense and even if Bruce didn't know if he liked Oliver, he at least kind of knew Oliver and would prefer being in a group with at least one person he knew. So Oliver would have to be that person.

They both wound up being number three and Bruce leaned forward slightly to look at Oliver and smirk. The other boy just blinked back at him.

By the time dinner and the opening campfire rolled around, Bruce had come to the conclusion that Oliver wasn't his friend, but he was certainly one of the more tolerable of the other campers. As soon as he'd introduced himself as Bruce Wayne he'd been all anyone else could focus on. Even the kids not from Gotham looked at him with wide eyes. It made Bruce sympathize with the lions at the Gotham Zoo a whole lot more than usual. But Oliver acted like he didn't care. Oliver acted like he didn't care about anything. Just joking and smirking. He gained a gaggle of admirers over the course of the afternoon despite how downright obnoxious Bruce thought he was, but he still didn't seem to care that Bruce was Bruce and that's really all that mattered.

Besides, they apparently were in the same cabin. It just made sense that they hung out together. And if Oliver got sick of Bruce or Bruce got sick of Oliver well lots of kids wanted to ask Bruce all sorts of questions and everyone else seemed to love Oliver.

Even still, they sat next to each other at meals when Zatanna and an everchanging roster of her friends would flock to Bruce. Zee sitting herself down next to him and chattering on about what she'd done in the few hours they were apart. Oliver looked bewildered by the interaction every time. Bruce just nodded along at the appropriate points and asked questions as the fancy struck him. Sometimes he'd ask her stupid questions, like if she was sure the horse she rode that morning couldn't fly so that she would laugh and say she hasn't "learned levitation yet, you dingus!" Oliver's face when that would happen always made Bruce grin.

These meals were the bright spots in Bruce's day. He was... not having a good time. They'd had a swim test first thing Monday morning and Bruce had stupidly forgotten to put on sunscreen, so between swimming laps in the lake while the lifeguards made notes and sitting on the beach he'd very quickly burnt to a crisp. And would have to deal with that for the foreseeable future. Then on Thursday during their hike, Oliver had been behind him and tripped, stumbling into Bruce and pushing them both off the trail. Right into a patch of poison oak. So now Bruce had sunburn and poison oak. To say he was in constant pain was putting it mildly.

Bruce wasn't making friends. He wasn't enjoying the great outdoors. He was just slowly suffering in silence. Especially after Oliver left the screen door open one night and mosquitos had gotten in to use Bruce as their very own all you can eat buffet. So now Bruce was sunburnt, covered in mosquito bites, and still had poison oak.

Doc was really the only bright spot in this hellhole. Her air conditioned domain of the Health Center was quite and comforting. With individual exam rooms that meant Bruce could be completely alone for at least a little while. Which Bruce desperately needed. Being around people all the time was exhausting. And Doc herself had a wry, dry sense of humor that Bruce appreciated and a calm demeanor when Bruce sat and complained about the fact it was all Oliver's fault everything itched twice over. She would just snicker and have Bruce put some slightly odd smelling pink cream on his skin. Then she'd tell him that maybe he should write home about it. Bruce would frown and say "I will."

Alfred didn't seem to care though based on the letters back Bruce received. Or possibly the man was making fun of him. Most likely both. The end of the month really could not come soon enough.

~

Frankly, Oliver had no dang clue why Bruce flippin Wayne decided they were friends. Ok, "friends" was a stretch. But still, the kid spent more time with Oliver than anyone else at camp. Maybe he'd hang out with that Zee girl if she weren't in the younger group, and she did come have meals with them and wander over during all camps, but he didn't even really bother to even attempt to talk to anyone else. Oliver at least tried. If only because he was fairly certain he'd singlehandedly end the Wayne family line if he only talked to Bruce. Besides, the other boys in their cabin weren't terrible. Sure they were a little stuck up and that Brad guy had about the same amount of brain cells as Oliver's old hamster, but they weren't awful people. Which couldn't be said about all their fellow campers. Bruce had pushed one boy off the end of the dock the one morning after he said his third sexist remark in an hour. Oliver had gladly covered for him on that one. Another kid kept picking on two of the girls and Oliver might have possibly sort of filled his bag with rocks and as many spiders as he could find when he wasn't looking. He thinks Bruce saw him do it, but he never said anything once the kid got tired of carrying it and opened his backpack then immediately started screaming.

Neither incident had necessarily endeared Bruce to Oliver though. Especially since the kid had somehow managed to tip their canoe while they were in the middle of the lake. So they both floated there buoyed by their life vests spluttering water and trying to right the stupid canoe while screaming at each other and kicking madly. In the cold lake. They never did manage to flip the boat and the counselors had to come with the little motorboat to fish them out of the water. They were still glaring at each other after Sherlock had taken them to get showered and fresh clothes. He let Bruce mess around with his nametag as he ran their wet, smelly stuff into the Health Center and throw it in the washer that was supposedly there. Oliver was still pissed though so he ripped the plastic magnifying glass out of the other boy's hand. Sherlock's name was just a label stuck onto the handle so you could still use it. Which Oliver immediately did in an attempt to burn Bruce's shoelaces.

Which is about when Sherlock came back. "Hey! Oliver! Cut that out! Seriously dude, what're you doing? And Bruce, you were just gonna let him light your shoes on fire?"

Bruce shrugged. "I have other pairs. And I did dump him in the lake."

Oliver handed the nametag back and nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, he's the one who thought he saw a frog and tipped the thing."

"A fish, not a frog."

"Whatever."

"And you gave me poison oak."

Oliver frowned and scratched at some of his own poison oak. "That was not intentional and I have it too."

Sherlock looked between them. "Right. You two are supposed to see Doc soon anyway, wanna go in now?" They both nod and that was the end of that. For then at least. That night Oliver got up to go use the latrine and forgot to close the screen door again. All five boys in the cabin wound up eaten alive and never mind the fact Oliver was just as itchy, Bruce acted as though he'd planned it just to mess with him.

Still didn't excuse the fact that the jerk got them lost and banned from the stables on the following Monday. Oliver liked the stables. He thought the horses were cool and they seemed to like him. He'd tried to schedule as much riding time as they'd let him after the initial group session. Bruce just so happened to have scheduled some on Monday morning too it would seem. And they both were the same ability level. Great. But they were doing a trail ride, going single file through the woods at the edge of camp, didn't leave a whole lot of room for talking and Oliver was more than ok with that. He wound up behind Bruce at the very back of the group and took it at a leisurely pace which Pancake didn't seem to mind. So long as Oliver stayed behind Bruce he just zoned out. Taking in the forest with its sounds and smells, the warm horse that swayed gently as she walked making him sway too. Oliver should've been paying more attention. Because Bruce decided to take his horse on a bit of an adventure. The two were wandering through the woods for an hour before Oliver realized that Bruce had hijacked a horse and gotten them lost. Another two before anyone found them. They'd completely missed lunch. And they were banned from horseback riding.

Not that Bruce cared, he was only here another two weeks.

Oliver had two whole months.

It's not like his father recognized he ever existed half the time, but his mom sending him off to the other side of the country was a bit much. He'd thought they had an understanding. Apparently not. And now he wouldn't even get to ride the horses.

Which Oliver naturally thought was overkill for himself but it was totally punishment for Pancake too. They had bonded. Not that the riding staff seemed to care when he tried to plead his case. Knox looked a little sympathetic at least. And she called after him when he'd turned to walk back over to Brad and maybe go play volleyball or something. "Oliver!" Knox said again and he paused. "I'll talk to Bambi and see about a probationary period or something. Maybe clean some stables or just make it a two week ban since you're here all summer. Kay?"

Oliver grinned. "Thanks." She returned the smile before turning to go back to mucking stalls and cleaning the tack.

~

Archery, Bruce decided, was the worst. It slapped his reddened and itchy skin even with the arm guard on. The smaller bows they had were too easy for him to pull and sent the arrows almost skittering at the target when he released. The bigger ones and the compound bows were too heavy a draw though and Bruce's twiggy thirteen year old arms just didn't have the strength. Oliver didn't seem to like it either. He seemed like the type of guy who had everything handed to him and most of the sports came naturally to him. Archery didn't. It clearly frustrated him that while he managed to hit the target he couldn't hit the center. Or even the yellow rings just outside it. He managed to pepper the blue ones every time. He could at least use the larger recurve bows at least. Which Bruce wouldn't admit to but was supremely jealous of.

"You just gotta practice, you'll get there!" Legolas reassured him. Bruce and Oliver both raised skeptical brows at that. Legolas had gotten his name because he was a crack shot. Hitting the bullseye just about every time. His encouragement wasn't as meaningful as he meant it. Especially when there was a rumor going around that the other counselors had dared him to shoot an arrow off of someone's head while blindfolded. And that he had managed it. "Though not today," he laughed after checking his watch, "we need to clean up for lunch."

The boys and other campers all turned their bows in and Legolas set them in the shed before returning and sending them to collect their arrows. By the time they were all cleaned up a couple other counselors had wandered out of the woods where they must've gone for a hike on their breaks and decided to head with them to lunch. A week and a half of camp had all the kids falling into a buddy line without even being told and Oliver fell in next to Bruce out of habit. Beaker made them do a headcount, checking each camper off on her list, and let Legolas lead them off toward the dining hall. He also started to lead them in some insipid song about a worm getting stuck in a straw. Legolas would shout a line and around Bruce all the other kids would eagerly shout it back. Even Oliver. Bruce would rather actually swallow a worm.

Inside the dining hall was the usual premeal chaos as counselors took their assigned tables and yelled across the room to each other. Kids swarmed around trying to find seats next to friends or at tables with specific counselors. Bruce scanned the space when a small arm covered in bright string bracelets -- and there hadn't been that many at breakfast, Bruce was certain -- shot up and waved towards him enthusiastically. "BRUCE!" Zatanna bellowed. He was fairly certain she'd pushed her magic into it because he could clearly hear it over everything else. That, or Zatanna was just disturbingly loud.

Bruce began walking to the table she was at and the two seats she appeared to be guarding with her life. Oliver followed and Bruce couldn't explain why. Well at least not beyond the fact that it was just what they did anymore.

"Hey kid," Oliver said by way of greeting. Zatanna preened and smiled. She was a ten-year-old queen and this table was her court. Just no one beyond the three of them knew that just yet.

"Hi Ollie. Oh! I want you guys to meet Hartley! He lives in the cabin two over from mine. He really likes music," Zatanna told them breathlessly, pointing at the small redhead next to her. Bruce and Oliver both sat down across from the two as more kids took the spots further down the table. Oliver waved at the boy while Bruce just nodded. "That's Oliver and that's Bruce, he's my best friend," Zatanna told Hartley and pointed at the two older boys.

Bruce frowned at Zatanna and was glad to see the boy looked skeptical when he glanced between Bruce and Zee. "Isn't he a little old to be your best friend?" he asked a little too loudly.

"Yes." Bruce said. "And we're not best friends."

Zee pouted. "Well until Oliver I was your only friend."

"We're not friends," Bruce and Oliver corrected her at the same time.

"Sure," she said with an eyeroll.

The poor boy she'd dragged into this looked so confused. "So, how old are you?" he finally dredged up the courage to ask.

"Thirteen," Oliver sounded smug. Bruce just nodded.

"Oh." Hartley seemed to shrink in on himself.

"How old are you?" Zee asked, genuinely curious.

"Eight." He was still a little too loud when he spoke, even though he seemed like he was shy.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. He'd been practicing and he knew it wasn't as smooth as Alfred's but Oliver provided infinite possibilities to practice and it was still leaps and bounds better than a week ago. "Aren't you in the nine to eleven group?" he asked Zatanna.

"Yeah," she frowned. "Hartley, how'd you wind up in my group?"

He shrugged. "I skipped a grade and my mom kinda bullied them into putting me in by grade instead of age."

Oliver seemed to hum in understanding. Bruce just felt himself frown. Zatanna met his eye with a slight frown of her own. The moment passed though when one of the counselors started the quiet clap and everyone shut up and turned to pay attention.

~

Oliver was officially tired of camp by the last week of June. A racoon had gotten into their cabin the day before and went though literally all of their things. It didn't eat or destroy anything though, just wanted to make chaos by rubbing its tiny hands on everything apparently. Sherlock had to make another laundry run for them. Gambit had heard about it over the radio and claimed a golf cart just so she could come laugh at the mess before they managed to clean too much of it up, having been off on her break at the time. She left the cart for Sherlock before heading to her own cabin for the rest of her break, laughing the whole way. The other counselors in the unit made a fire for the boys while everyone else got ready for bed and they waited for their sheets and sleeping bags to be washed.

Unfortunately, Oliver had a whole two more months to go. He was officially less than pleased with his mother for this grand idea.

Luckily, Knox found him before the Final Campfire for those who were only there for the month. Taking long strides up the wide stone steps of the amphitheater to where he sat next to Bruce. Zatanna and her little friend Hartley on Bruce's other side. They all watched as the barn staffer made her way towards them, standing out in her jeans and tall muck boots while everyone else was wearing shorts. "Hey, Ollie!" she called as she approached, obviously not realizing that she already had everyone's full attention. "I just got back from the barn and I wanted to be the first to tell you that your ban has been lifted! You're allowed to come back starting Monday, since Bruce is leaving." Here she grimaced over at Bruce. "Sorry, but Bambi kind of decided you were the responsible party and Ollie just collateral damage. Very foolish collateral damage." She didn't bother to apologize for that one though as she turned to look back to him. "So Pancake will see you Monday? She's missed you."

Oliver nodded eagerly. "Yes. Absolutely. I'll talk to Sherlock about changing my schedule right after the campfire."

Knox nodded. "Sweet. Ok, I need to hit the showers. Bye all! I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow!"

They all said their goodbyes and Oliver couldn't stop smiling. Camp still sucked and the one person who made it interesting at least was leaving tomorrow, but at least Oliver's ban had been lifted. He could spend the rest of summer riding horses.

~

Bruce thought that he'd never been happier to see Alfred in his life. The man stood on the porch of the Health Center, talking with Doc when Artemis came to collect him from the dining hall where he'd been sitting on the steps, avoiding singing camp songs. The irony of Apollo taking him to the dining hall at the beginning of the month and Artemis leading him from it at the end was not lost on Bruce. Nor was it lost on Alfred by the sly grin he had when he saw who walked with Bruce. "Have a safe trip home!" Artemis said brightly before heading to Bugs, the camp director, and getting the name of the next camper she was to fetch.

"Well Bruce, I'm sorry that the circumstances weren't better but I'm glad I got to know you," she said and held out a hand that Bruce shook. "Maybe I'll see you next year? And if not, keep in touch. Mr. Pennyworth has my mailing address, maybe you can write me some of your famous letters."

Bruce smirked. "I will."

Doc laughed and the corners of Alfred's mouth twitched. "Shall we, Master Wayne?" he asked. "Your footlocker has already been loaded and you have officially been checked out."

Nodding, Bruce eagerly turned to go search the field for the car. He thought to look back once and wave to Doc, but then he was off and moving. He closed the door hard after he climbed in. Alfred started the car but didn't shift into gear. They just sat there in silence as the vents slowly began to push out cold air.

Finally, Alfred asked what he wanted to. "How was camp?"

"Never again, Alfred. Never. Again."

"That bad?"

"Didn't you get my letters?"

Alfred finally pulled out of the field and started down the long drive towards the road. "I did. I had just assumed that you were exaggerating as is your penchant."

Bruce glared at him. "You were talking to Doc."

"And I realized that you were not exaggerating."

"Never. Again."

"Yes, Master Bruce."

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Nine | Dating Tense! (Part 1 of 3)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Alternate Title: 'Hey, (mami/papi)' or 'Sans acts like a Latin American f*ckboy'.

• • •

Week two into clearing out the air between you and Frisk's monster friends arrives much faster than you would like.

With all the pent-up frustration you'd let out during the first half of your tour and how you ended up postponing the other half prematurely precisely due to that, you don't really want to visit Toriel's home anymore. Even if she did invite you over for a chat at her place back when you were still at the hospital, and even if you did tell her you would set up a date with her soon, you assume she's already long forgotten about that promise, and the mere thought of asking her where she lives now that she's moved on from an apartment to a house is far too much for you.

Are you available today?

I would like to fulfill what I promised you at the hospital, if so.

If not, do let me know when you are free.

Here is the new address.

>> Attachment - 1 image

If you are not certain over how to make it here, I can gladly pick you up during your lunch break, or after you have clocked out of work.

Or I can ask another person to help you get there.

Just make sure you do not eat anything before visiting, so I can prepare either lunch or dinner for you and everyone else here, depending on when you arrive.

Take care. ]:)

But, of course -- and as fate would have it -- she'd sent you a string of messages first thing in the morning today.

She'd even sent you a picture with her new address, detailed to such a point where you really wish -- now that you see who the person is -- you hadn't agreed with her on having someone help you find her new home.

"Jump in," Sans says, opening the front passenger door of what you can only assume is Papyrus's car based on the stories Frisk told you about him. "We'll make it there in less than an hour -- just in time for you to make it back to work later."

Between Toriel's sudden message, what happened back at Waterfall, the cloudy weather rushing you to make a decision, and just who's the person the goat lady's entrusted to help you out, it's almost impossible for you not to stress any more than you have already.

You're still too worked up over what was revealed to you at Waterfall, and you still can't shake off the extreme caution you've now built around the same person meant to keep you safe in the first place, as far as having to remind yourself not to be as on-edge as you'd been the time he tried to console you when you started tearing up back at the Ruins.

That reminder makes you look at the monster again, though without a friendly tone or look present, mind once again fueled by your urgent need to put up a front around him.

"What makes you think I'll hitch a ride from you now of all times?" you ask, remaining in place. "And with questionable music, to top it all off."

While you're usually not one to make shallow judgements based on personal taste, you can't ignore how obvious he's being with you right now. There's a bell of warning ringing at the back of your head with the low rumble and suggestive beat of the song playing on the radio, and his beyond relaxed driving pose. Only one hand's on the wheel, and the other's hung over the open window. He's either pretending, or he's for real about his attitude, something hard to tell after ending your tour with him at the Underground.

"C'mon, pal. We know our names, met a whole month ago, and you know some of my past to more detail now, don't ya? I'd say we're still acquaintances, at the very least."

"I'm afraid I'll still have to refuse." You cross your arms and point with your gaze at the minivan parked not far behind him. "I've got my own car to drive in. I can follow behind you."

The skeleton's gaze follows yours, and his grin almost stretches when he gets a good look at where you're pointing at. "A minivan?" His irises light up and he snickers, a rumble similar to the song's leaving him. "You really are a parent at heart, huh?" His irises move on back to you, and you further shield yourself with the cross of your arms when you see he's now eyeing you up and down, a different light flaring in his gaze. "Don't think I've said this before, but you've got the looks of one, too." He winks. "And this's probably a bit off-topic and a whole lot personal, but... Has Frisk told you why they ran away yet, or are they still keepin' quiet about it? Jerry aside, you sound n' act like a good parent, as far as I've gotten to know you."

Sans hits another weak spot, one you try to mask by showing anger on your face, using the excuse of him having checked you out. "I doubt I should answer that to a guy who's just looked me up and down." You form a scowl, persisting. "You really have no shame left in you anymore, do you? If you hadn't been so honest with me at the hospital, I would've assumed you've got experience trying to woo people over -- even if you're not that good at it, in reality."

He grins and later shrugs; the arm hung over the window slips back inside the car and lowers the volume some. "Well, what can I say, pal? Ya don't wanna be acquaintances, ya don't wanna be friends, and you're set on me being your enemy ever since the tour. The only thing I've got left's to try flirtin' with you."

"You really don't." You huff and let your arms fall back to their rightful place, self-consciousness showing when you see his irises follow your movements. "Are you that intent on pissing me off from now on? Stop staring at me like that."

"If I stop, will ya try to listen? I just wanna help you and your kid out."

Humour vanishes from his skull; the serious note to his words is then augmented when he makes eye contact with you, music now low enough not to distract you anymore. "Fine." You look back to your car. "But I won't ride with you. I... I don't trust you enough to be all alone with you anymore." You pause and avoid any further eye contact, crossing your arms again when you feel too exposed from his earlier staring.

Being a full-time office worker and single parent, topped off with having to do almost all the chores around the house, meant little to no time for yourself, which in turn meant self-care was scarce -- a factor that tripled when Frisk ran away, made worse with how you coped with their absence. Barely eating anything throughout the day to later drown out your sorrows with the least healthy food there was late in the night -- mostly microwavable to avoid having to cook only for yourself -- had left an imprint on your body and health alike, and it shows to this day. Even if you were starting to get your social life back together and even if you were little-by-little going back to a better and healthier lifestyle, you were still far from being as active as you once were before Frisk went missing. The once natural huskiness and pudginess of your physique was something, but ignoring how that amount doubled over the past few months, how you lost what once used to be good stamina, and how you have stress acne all over your face is a whole different thing in its entirety.

This man was seeing the downright worse self you could possibly show to the world right now, both in terms of emotional and physical health. How he apparently gained a crush on you over the past month is an anomaly you rather wouldn't want to find an answer for currently.

"(Y/N)?"

You look towards the skeleton when he calls out for you, a bit off-put by him using your name. Truth be told, you'd already grown used to him calling you 'pal' or (L/N). Any other name besides those main two felt strange coming from his teeth. "You good?" he asks, a subtle furrow present on his skull. "You've been spacin' off for a while now."

"I'm good," you reply, careful not to let your voice break. It's not until you see him wipe the car door with his jacket's sleeve that you notice rain's began to fall, tainting the inside -- a cause of him having left the window open. "...You should close the window, Serif. I'll follow behind in my car."

"Ride with me." There's not a trace of humour left in him, though you still find it hard getting to take him seriously. "I promise I won't bother you 'til we get to Tori's."

"I still can't." You step back, eyes looking off towards the passenger door to see it left ajar, kept somewhat protected by the rain, yet still in wait for you. "Sorry, but I.... I really can't." Already feeling your work uniform starting to stick, you reach out for your bag and take a mini-umbrella out, shielding yourself from the rain with it. "Thanks for the offer, and for the tour last weekend, but I simply can't ignore how you looked at me just a second ago, and how you've been acting with me recently."

• • •

With how heavy the rain gets, you can barely see when the monster takes a turn to the left, forcing you to take a detour to the emergency lane and suck up a cry of frustration.

Of course, accepting a ride in his car would've been much easier than all this, but then what about your integrity as a person?

Some monsters were reported to have caused Frisk harm, one of them in particular said to have been a literal, killer robot, programmed by none other than Alphys, the same monster responsible for hurting her own kind through means of inhumane experiments.

So if that was the case, who knew what that skeleton could be up to?

Whether jokingly or not, you were far from trusting over his demeanor and were in no means wanting to leave Frisk under the care of him, Papyrus, Toriel, or anyone else anymore. After all, your ex-husband left the second he deemed himself too irresponsible to look after a child. So who's to say an utter stranger belonging to another species wouldn't do the same, or worse?

"I'm sorry to say this, but we're gonna have to stop here."

Once again caught daydreaming, you look to your left, the monster's muffled voice made more audible when you lower the window only slightly, keeping the rain outside. "It'll be hard gettin' anywhere with how strong it's pourin'."

Sans is pretty much drenching himself, though your urge to let him in your car is held back when you question yourself over it. You chew on your lip as you think it through, clicking the switch the second after you scold yourself over your straight-up awful manners recently. "Get inside," you exclaim, huffing. "Don't just soak yourself for me!"

Without waiting, you turn your back to him and reach out for the seat next to yours, opening up the front passenger door for him to pass by and closing it the second he's in.

"Wouldn't've happened if you'd just hitched a ride off of me. Or unblocked my number, at least."

"As if."

His breathing's scarce, and your questions over why he hadn't chosen to use magic similar to last time are answered to you when you remember what he said about Karma.

"Use this." You offer out a towel to him, one you retrieve from within Frisk's leftover school supplies at the back of the car. "Why would you drive all the way back, park your car behind mine, and then get down from it even though it's pouring, all just to talk to me? Haven't I given off enough signs about us? Don't do this for me, Serif. I... I appreciate all your help, but I can handle this from here on out."

You find it hard not to stare when he slips off his jacket and throws it on his lap, revealing a bulky build despite him being a skeleton. He's soaked from head to toe, yet he pays little to no mind to it and takes the towel from your hands, patting it over himself a few times. "You done starin', pal?"

"How are you so... big-boned? I thought that was just your jacket adding extra bulkiness to you!" You look away when you realize just how plain and awfully rude you've been. It doesn't help when you remind yourself he's drenched because of you. "That was rude of me," you say, sighing. "I'm sorry." A strain takes over your chest and a frown accompanies it. "What I meant to say is, well..." You breathe out a sigh. "Why are you so... husky? Is that normal for skeleton monsters?"

"Just as normal as it is for you to have love handles. Didn't really notice the first few times we met, but you've gotta real (mom/dad) bod, if I do say so myself. Your work uniform kinda brings that out more."

You face him with wide eyes and keep your distance from him by scooting away, once more stricken by how much he's changed in so short of a time. What was once a level-headed and decent guy was turning out to be a much more brazen one -- a jerk, not so much yet, but boy, was he starting to cross a few boundaries every now and then. "So it's... not?"

"It's normal." He chuckles, honesty present in the subtle, hearty rumble of his laughter. "...You sayin' it ain't normal for you to have those? 'Cause Human Anatomy's taught me it is. Even more so if you're a single parent, since time's scarce and stress's more than bountiful. Don't really expect you to have your ex's six-pack abs if you're takin' up pretty much all the responsibilities of raising a family by yourself."

"Wh-" You ignore everything he's said and instead reply with, "...Why do you call them that, anyway? You know the scientific term for them if that's the case, don't you?"

"I do, but I kinda like calling 'em that more," he says. "It's a cute name for 'em."

If this was another way of him getting to try to flirt with you more, it was the weakest and most awful attempt yet. Whether he was joking or not didn't matter anymore, your desire to have him out of your life increasing with each second he spends inside your car. "You sure have plenty of guts for a skeleton, you know that? Never in my life would've I imagined someone would bring that up in a conversation." You sigh, breathe back in, and turn the air conditioner down a notch, annoyance helping further contrast the cold of the rain. "Are you alright with the cold, Serif? I know you lived at Snowdin, so I'm not sure if you're uncomfortable or not, but... I lowered it since you got rained on."

"Warmin' up to me already, pal?"

You throw another towel at the skeleton, and a scowl returns to your face. "Ask that again, and I'll kick you out for sure this time."

He laughs, taking the towel and draping it over his shoulders. "Duly noted."

• • •

With the rain forcing you to start up any means of conversation with the monster, you suck up your pride and unblock his number half an hour into your wait for the sky to calm down.

"I might have just enough energy to drive us there without havin' to wait so much for it to clear up," he comments, breaking the ice when you let him know he can call and text you again. "But I'm gonna have to take the wheel from here on."

Letting him drive is by far crossing the thick and neon line you've drawn between him and yourself, yet you can't exactly rule out his reasoning behind it. Before you can spell a 'why' in protest, he continues, preventing you from interrogating him again, "My normal magic's strong enough for small tasks, so I can try casting a veil over the windshield, kinda like how I did the last time you almost fell into the river."

It makes sense, though you hesitate, pride further shrunken when you realize you didn't exactly thank Sans for last time. "Won't it tire you out?"

"A lil', yeah. But it's better than waitin' some more, and I can just sleep that off as soon as we get to Tori's."

You face the wheel, reluctant to let go. "...Are you sure? But then what about your car?"

He nods. "It's already parked n' locked. We can think about that later."

Facing the rain, you bite on your lip and consider the options: either stay here for what you assume will be another hour alone with the skeleton, or agree with him and get to Toriel's on time. The meeting you have at work returns to your mental to-do list, influencing your thoughts on what decisions to make.

Sans was offering to help you out, but at what cost?

Would he bring it all up later and make mention of how much you owed him?

And then again, hadn't he been obnoxious enough with his flirting for you to have a counter-argument about it?

Whatever his reasons were for having offered to show you around the Underground with as much patience as he displayed and help you meet with Frisk's monster friends -- going as far as to drive you to Toriel's new place by himself -- you truly don't have time to delay anymore; the pending meeting is sufficient to remind you of that. As a result, you backtrack on your stubbornness, sighing out your frustration and letting go of the wheel after. "Thank you." Glancing at the back of the car and later back at him, you give him another look of warning before speaking up again, "Back away first," you say, lips a firm line. "If you're gonna move over to the wheel, you're way too close for what I'm about to do."

"Sure." He grins, scooting away. "Whatever ya want, pal."

You eye him over again, making sure he's distant enough for you to move to the back; no way you were getting an inch closer to him physically. The proximity from his seat to your own is more than abundant already.

When you're certain he's not looking at -- or anywhere near -- you, you slip one careful step after the other into the backseat as best as you can. Caution over not letting him take a look at your derrière or anywhere else deems your movements clumsy. Your foot almost slips, though you catch yourself, resulting in a not-so graceful land, face hitting the seats.

"You can move over now," you say once sitting up straight. You fix your clothing and look back to the front of the car when you're done. "I'm not doing that again with you around, so I'll just stay here for the rest of the ride." While you notice his irises have been gazing out at the rain thus far, you don't exactly rule out the possibility of him having slipped in a look on you while you were moving to the back. Simply confiding the monster with your car was ample trust for one single day. Having given your back to him in the most literal sense possible was exceeding it.

"Noted," he replies, laughing. "But don't sweat it. If you're worried about me ogling you, I only saw you climb over to the backseat, and nothin' else. I don't like lookin' at people that way."

"Didn't you do that barely a few hours ago, though?"

"I was mostly just distracted by how... different you look in your work uniform. Real different from your casual self, I'd say."

You face him with stern eyes, unamused. "Oh, that's all, I'm sure." You scoff. "Dunno what's your type, but I've got to be the only human you've talked with so far if you've seriously got a crush on me."

"Why's that?"

"Haven't you seen me at my ugliest? I doubt I looked anywhere near attractive the day after I fainted."

"Last time I checked, a hospital's not a catwalk, ain't it?" He grins. "And who says I'm not into you? You're still a PILF, as far as my tastes go."

"What's that mean?" you ask, quirking a brow.

"An abbreviation for 'Person/Parent I'd Like to be Friends with'."

You're sitting straight on the backseat now, hands folded over your lap as you look to the windshield, distracting yourself away from his gaze. Worry over the rain not picking up makes you wonder if Frisk's doing okay in Toriel's new home, and just what they could be up to with her and the rest of their monster friends. "Were you always this shameless and keeping that hidden? Or am I a special case for you?"

He winks and grabs the wheel without breaking his irises away from you, now staring at you from the rearview mirror. "Whatever you think it to be." It doesn't take more than another hostile look from your part for his smile to tense up again, irises almost appearing to do the same. "Damn." He whistles, looking away and grabbing the wheel tighter. "You're a tough cookie, pal."

"Yes, and I have my reasons for it."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Notice

To older readers or those curious about the old version of this fanfic:

As you may have noticed, we're beginning to fall into the chapters of the old version, meaning that -- for those who're waiting for the continuation of the old plot (but improved upon in terms of writing style, flow, and depth, among other things) -- it will appear around the 3rd Arc/Chapter Twenty-Six of this new version.

With that being said, any suggestions to improve are welcomed (as that's what made me write up a new version and improve upon the old one), whether old reader or not!

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

[royalsunshinehotel]

“quit distracting me,” (Neal Sampat x f!oc)

Nannie gets together, it’s a long time coming. Redone 3/13/21 for @hecuba-of-troy​

Livid doesn’t even cover it.

To say that Annie MacDuff had a strained relationship with Neal Sampat was an understatement. Since the day she had been hired, they had been at each other's throats.

He insisted on calling her Annie, which she was fine with. Marianne MacDuff is a bit long, and she’d used Annie before.

He insisted on getting the door for her, which she could live with. She was a feminist and it was a bit strange that he only did this for her, but she can live.

But the thing that they were squabbling, the world’s dumbest disagreement, was how Neelamani “Neal” Sampat kept changing the colors for the ACN website.

He’d ask her opinion, but he’d move the color up half of a shade. The difference in shade was undetectable to the human eye. Neal, in his limited wisdom, had become somewhat obsessed.

Outside of work, they were friendly, but not quite friends. 

Neal and Annie had been out for drinks after work, with the senior staff. It was simple, something they did every other weekday.

Everything was normal.

Jim had made it known that he was something of a “big brother” type. Any time a creep would start a conversation, he would intercept her and drive the creep off.

He dropped the ball.

She had looked to Jim across the bar, glaring and trying to telepathically summon him over, but Jim had simply made a U-Turn. Annie felt a jolt of panic when the creep in question put his hand on her knee.

Enter, Neal.

He had come in swinging, no plan, no idea of what to do next. It was just a reckless, reflexive action that resulted in Annie kicking the creep in the shin, and dragging Neal out of the bar. 

She had gotten them a cab, and the ride home was silent. 

Neal’s still quiet when he unlocks his door and flicks his lights on. Annie watches carefully as Neal slides off his jacket, and walks over to his half-kitchen to dig out his first aid kit. 

He hadn’t used that kit in two years, he hoped it was still stocked. 

She follows close behind, boots clicking on the wooden floor. Neal’s fumbling trying to get the kit open, and she doesn’t hesitate helping him. Annie unsnaps the case, and pulls out alcohol wipes and gauze. 

Neal’s holding his breath as she takes his hand in hers. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” She says quietly. Annie’s slowly dabbing at his bloody knuckles, while gently tugging on each finger. His hand was too puffy to tell if he’d broken anything yet. 

“He was all over you!” Neal tries, half-heartedly. 

Annie was a grown woman, and likely knew how to handle that situation, whenever Jim wasn’t around at least. 

“I had it handled.” 

“Then why didn’t you handle it?” He snipes back, making Annie clench her jaw. She’s glaring and her eyes could cut him in half. 

“You could have gotten killed!” Neal winces at this. Maybe he did overreact. It’s just that she looked so scared, he couldn’t not.

He huffs, taking Annie’s wrist firmly.

“Don’t be dramatic.” She finishes off the last bandage, scowl cutting deep across her face.

“People in this city have been killed for less.” She snaps, offset by the fact she hasn’t let go of his hand.

Her mind takes her to those terrible scenarios she’d gone over in the taxi.

What if the man had a gun? What if Neal had been stabbed? What if he died and no one could change the color on the website! It’s not like she knew how to do it.

He tries not to react when she tugs on his fingers again, almost mindlessly. Annie’s thinking about how his knuckles are as purple as his bedspread.

And his bed’s right there.

Neal’s not going to lean forward enough to smell her hair. He doesn’t need to, Annie’s floral perfume is soft enough to float up to him on it’s own. And yet he does. Her perfume paired with a coconut shampoo nearly kills him.

“You could have gotten killed!” Annie feels her throat start to tighten. Neal doesn’t even understand. She opens her mouth to say something, but halts and thinks better of it. Emotion crawls over her skin, crawling up and coiling around her neck, stealing the air. 

“Why did you do that?” Annie’s voice breaks, and it feels like Neal’s been hit in the face. She was about to cry, and he did that. He never wants to do that. 

Neal’s pretty sure he’s going to die. 

‘Say something. Tell her something. Explain why you did what you did.’ He tries to find the words, but the air is too thin. The words don’t come.

She lets his hand go, and turns to head for the door. If Neal let her go, he’d never have a shot like this again. If he wasn’t gin-drunk. If his hand wasn’t about to fall off, maybe he would have gotten his point across by now. 

Annie gasps as two large, warm hands, turn her right back where she was. Neal has two arms tight around her waist, and she’s not pulling him off. That had to be a good sign, right? 

“Explain.” She snipes flatly. 

“Do I need to say it?” How could she not know? He’s done everything he could to show her.

And the sinking feeling hung off his shoulders. He failed. 

Neal leans down quickly, pressing his lips to yours. The two of them take a step back, so Annie’s trapped against the counter. Neal’s puffed up to his full height, and yet she doesn’t feel trapped.  

All of the fear that had been sitting in Annie’s stomach turned to butterflies in a single moment. He’s soft. Softer than she’d thought. The tip of his nose is cold. 

Annie wasn’t sure where she was for a moment. 

Neal pulls back too soon. 

“Oh.” Annie gasps. Neal’s usual bravado had been flattened by fear. She’d seen him at every office party with some new girl, pawing at them like he was putting on a show. Neal’s not shy. 

But apparently, he is. 

“Okay.” Annie took a moment, letting her eyes focus, before standing on her tiptoes, and kissing him right back. The redhead wavers for a moment, only to catch a grip on Neal’s sweater. 

He moans softly into her, and it shoots right down to Annie’s toes. 

“I’m still fucking mad at you.” Neal laughs lightly, running his palms across her torso. Underneath, her skin was burning, but he didn’t need to know that. 

Neal’s pressing kisses all over your face and she’s not sure whether she wants to laugh or to cry. He’d had her so stressed and now this. 

“He was twice your size!” She protests, and yet with every bite, every touch, the trademark edge that Marianne MacDuff had worked so hard to cultivate, was being drained from her voice. 

It’s a distraction. Neal’s hands run down her sides, palms shaking even though he’s been plotting this in his mind for months. 

“He wasn’t!” Neal shoots right back, moving his soft mouth to her neck. 

“You’re a twig! He could’ve hurt you!” Annie tries again, but Neal’s more focused on how your hands feel, wandering under his shirt. 

“I’m invincible.” Neal realizes that Annie wasn’t mad, but scared. It nearly knocks him over. Annie’s not sure how she could be tangled up with someone who was this reckless. 

“I’m invincible!” He presses the words into her mouth, making Annie giggle. She’s arching her back into him and he’s meeting her in the middle. Neal’s trying to get her as close as possible, and it still doesn’t feel real.

He made a powerpoint for god sakes! He’d made twelves slides with half-baked logic as to why Annie MacDuff should go out with him. The two of them were solid enough, but now she was grinding against him, and he didn’t know how he got there. 

How did he get this lucky without the powerpoint? 

Everything is hazy and he doesn’t know what to do. 

Well he knows what to do, but he doesn’t know how to go to work tomorrow if this is a one-time thing. 

How is he going to look at her again if this was a one time thing? 

Neal’s going to cross that bridge when he comes to it, but if this was a one-time thing, Annie was going to remember him. 

But he had to move, he had to strike back. It felt like she was everywhere at once. Her hands in his hair, her teeth on his collarbone. 

‘Do something, Sampat.’ He tries to prompt himself, but Annie was taking hungry bites out of his exposed chest. He had nothing. 

But once again, Annie saves the day. 

“It was still dumb,” she snapped, only to be cut off when Neal took a tight grip on Annie’s hair. 

“Got us here didn’t it?” Neal lets his voice take a lower, quieter tone, making Annie shiver in the best way. The low, raspy accent made the fake indifference seem even harder. 

“N-Neal.”

The sound of his name in your mouth, barely more than a gasp, is what breaks him.

He’s back in his body with a bone-chilling clarity of where to start on the list of what he wants to do to you.

Neal drops to his knees. 

He hums as you push into his touch. You’re trying to push into him as hard as you can. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long, and now...” I’m going to be worth it, I promise.

Annie doesn’t quite register when Neal dropped to his knees, or when he rolled up her skirt. She knew when Neal dipped two fingers inside of her, taking his sweet time dragging them out, and putting them right into his mouth.

He groans and Annie’s eyes close.

Annie’s arching her spine and trying to reach down, but the scrawny web designer was stronger than he looked, holding her back with a large hand on her torso.

“Can I put my face here? Can I make you scream for me?” She fights the urge to slap him for making everything sound so simple. 

“Y-yes.” Of course you can.

He takes a beat, resting his face on her thigh. The contact hits Annie all at once, Neal’s between her legs. 

Neal. 

“G-god.” He slurs when he takes his view, it’s unreal. She’s not real.

“You know you drive me crazy.” She’s so sweet and warm, and there’s so much of her he hasn’t touched. 

Neal cleared his roster for Annie the first day she came in to work. He never looked back. 

“I always wanted to bend you over my desk, but now we can just do … this.” The words flatten Annie’s lungs, breath leaving her in a gust.

Annie makes a sad, filthy cry as Neal drags a calloused finger over her slit, groaning at just how wet she was for him. Her legs tremble as he starts in with his mouth. He’s mumbling against her pussy. Just as usual, Annie doesn’t give a shit what he’s saying. 

He’s humming, satisfied.

Bastard, Annie thinks. He was sending shockwaves through her with so little effort. He could have gotten seriously hurt tonight! Just because he wanted her, that makes it okay? 

“I just think we’d be good together is all.” A low, raspy accent rumbles into Annie’s legs. 

“Quit distracting me.” She barely opens her mouth to speak, and Neal’s on there, pushing his fingers up into you, and drawing out everything that he can.

“I’m trying to . . . “ She wants to say words, but nothing is coming. 

Annie digs her hands into the counter, and whimpers. 

Marianne MacDuff from Minnesota doesn’t whimper.. 

Annie from ACN does. 

“Trying to what?” Neal smiles into her legs, this can’t be real. There’s no way the recipient of his affections was leaning against his counter, drenching his hands. 

It’s impossible. 

“Fuck,” gasps Annie. Neal’s digging his hands into the redhead's ass, and she’s realizing just how large his hands are. He’s also supporting her as her knees start to give, but Annie’s not focused enough for that. 

“What a coincidence, me too!” He’s so damn chipper. 

Annie leans down and smacks him on the back of the head. She’s shivering and he likes it. Asshole. 

He takes a bite of her leg to retaliate, earning a high-pitched gasp.

She gives him something between a whine and a moan, because Neal pushes his face into her with a kind of desperation Annie had only seen when he was pursuing a story. 

Neal is babbling about how tight she is, how good she tastes, and how he’s been dying for this, and she just wants more.

But then it shifts.

He tells her all of the things he’ll do to her if she wants. 

Fuck this boy has a mouth on him. 

She only takes in about half of it, as he was muffled by her pussy, but the rest she understood and took to heart. Annie’s blood runs hot, fingers scrambling for a grip on Neal’s shirt. 

She tries her best to brace herself, but the best she can do is a grip on his hair, and his strong support on her rear. 

Annie clamps down hard on his tongue. The only thing Neal feels is heat. He doesn’t let up, keeping pressure on her clit, curling his fingers inside her, trying to drink all that he can. 

The sob is strangled because Annie’s about to throw a fit. He’d been so good to her, his hands were amazing but she still needed more. 

The redhead opens her mouth to ask, but all she can do is whine. Neal’s nose pressing into her leg, breath puffing out over her skin.

He has to wait a moment to recover. She’s not one to tell a drowning man what to do. 

Neal uses the counter to get up off his knees. 

“Come to bed with me.” Internally, Neal cringes at how small his voice sounds. Annie opens her eyes to stare up at him. 

She exhales slowly, resting her head against his chest, before giving him a warm smile. 

“Okay.” Neal moves slowly, taking his time sucking at her lips. 

Annie takes this opportunity to push the rumpled plaid shirt off of his shoulders, not forgetting his injured hand. 

He loosened his grip on her waist, just enough to see if she could stand on her own. 

She does, but it takes a moment. 

Annie takes slow, deliberate steps toward Neal’s bed, pulling her skirt down, and her shirt over her head. 

Neal’s practically salivating.

Annie wasn’t sure where her underwear had gone to, but Neal sure seemed thrilled about the bra.

It was a demi-cup, white, unlined.

Annie was thanking every version of god there was that today was the day she was trying out a new set.

Neal could see everything, and he was fucking thrilled. 

“That-that’s quite pretty.” He calls across the room. 

“Thanks.” Annie runs both of her hands over her nipples, getting them hard through the sheer fabric. She might have put in an extra gasp or two, just for the sake of her audience. 

“Really good craftsmanship.” Neal says. ‘My hands can do that too’ He means.

Annie could have burst out laughing, she had never seen someone look that happy before. And she hadn't even taken it off yet! 

She takes a seat on the edge of his bed, crossing her legs. 

Neal’s over by her in an instant, kneeling down, taking off her boots. Annie gets up, and pushes Neal flat on his back, crawling on top of him. 

It was at this point that Neelamani Sampat was pretty sure that at some point that night, he’d died and gone to heaven. 

“You look pretty good on your knees, Sampat.” He’s smiling at that. 

“I know.” 

And with that, Annie leans down for a kiss. Initially, it was supposed to be soft, but it turned a bit more heated the moment she tasted herself in his mouth. 

Neal’s smooth and warm and Annie doesn’t want to leave. She likes being above him, and having him look at her like that.

Had he had that expression before? Or had she just missed it. 

Neal’s hands were starting to wander, grabbing and squeezing wherever he wanted. He was trying to work his way to her bra, without coming across like a complete teenage boy obsessed with breasts.

He was a 22 year old man who was still obsessed with breasts. Annie’s specifically. 

But he’s thwarted. The clasp required too much flexibility from his right hand. It felt as if his entire arm had been struck by lightning. 

“Aw FUCK.” Neal’s face twists in pain. Annie fights the instinct to panic, and instead redirects his arm above his head. 

Why did women wear those things? Why didn’t they just stop? 

Why didn’t Annie just stop wearing bras all together, to be … convenient. She’d save money at the stores too! 

“Are you okay?” Annie practically shouts. If Neal was going to die, she’d tell Jim he died from an impossible bra. Neal would like that, she thought. 

Annie curls over Neal, taking his injured hand in her own. She’s checking every finger carefully, being thorough like she always was. 

“Yeah, yeah I am.” He tries, finding it hard to breathe. Neal’s clenching his jaw and trying to act as if that jolt of pain from his hand didn’t go straight to his skull. 

Neal feels his cock twitch against his leg. Fuck.

“Do you need to stop?” She tries, but he vigorously shakes his head. ‘He looks cute on his back’, Annie thinks.

Annie puts his hand on his chest, arching her back, and unlatching her bra.

“Does this make you feel better?” Annie puts his hands on her chest, and arches her back, finishing the job of unlatching her bra. 

Gravity kicks in and Neal can’t respond to any logic. 

When Annie moved to New York, she’d tried to convince herself that her and her peers were ‘adults’. Neal looking at her chest like he’d just been set loose on the M&M store in Times Square was not helping this though process. 

She laughs at him, and he doesn’t mind. He grabs them, cupping them and pressing sweet kisses 

“It was still stupid,” Something flips behind Neal’s eyes, colder, more serious. He takes her wrists for a half-second, eye contact sending a chill through her. 

He takes a grip on Annie’s waist, and flips the smaller woman onto her back. The mattress takes the hit effortlessly. 

“Neal, I-” But he starts in on her chest again, biting and licking her in a pace and touch bordering dangerously close to vicious.  

The sounds falling out of Annie’s mouth are too pretty for him to slow down. But he has to. He has to ask a question.

The sparks sitting on Annie’s skin catch fire as Neal grunts getting on top of her.

“Neal what the fuck?” 

He was only slightly regretting what he’d done, but then Annie scrunched up her nose in the way she did when she was mad at him. 

Neal senses that she’s going to break him in half, so he takes each of Annie’s wrists and pins them up above her head. This plan backfires immediately. He feels himself start to shake, and he needs to close his eyes. 

“TellmeonlyIgettotouchyou!” 

Annie’s eyes widened, Neal was nervous? Weren’t these his usual evening plans? 

His breath made her feel hotter than she already was, and she wants to ask what the hell he’s doing. 

“Tell me only I get to touch you,” Neal brushes his nose against hers. Annie opens her mouth, as if to say something, but the words don’t form. 

“Kiss you, hold you, only us.” A broken cry makes its way out, and it makes Neal question everything. 

“I need to hear you say it.” 

“Neelamani Sampat, you better be serious.” Everything was too hot, too loud. Annie could have reached up to snap his neck, or kissed him until nothing made sense anymore. She’d wanted him since her first day on the job, and all of that time put them both here. 

Together. Like this. 

He just confessed feelings! Big feelings! 

“Fucking tell me, please.” He pleads softly, getting self conscious. Neal rests his nose in her neck, like it’s a good place to hide. His skin's starting to get cold, and Annie’s starting to wiggle against him. 

Nothing is fair. He’s an absolute fool to think she’d want him, especially with his reputation. 

“Please…” Neal’s voice sounds shattered. Annie’s head starts to buzz. 

“Tell me your mine.” His voice is just honest. It’s overwhelming. This couldn’t be a move he pulls with other women. Neal from ACN isn’t this good of an actor, there’s no way. 

It’s Neal

“I’m yours. I promise.” 

“Still want this?” He asks, and she practically rolls her eyes, soft hair clashing with his bedspread. She wants everything he has, but she won’t say that yet. 

“Of course I do.” Annie wants to grab at him, but her hands are still shaking. The kiss she manages to pull him into is messy. He’s ecstatic, like a puppy. 

“Let me get a-” Annie cuts Neal off, putting all of the days she’d walked to work to use, trapping him with her legs. 

“Birth control, wanna feel you.” Neal’s jaw drops, and Annie has to laugh. She takes advantage of his open mouth. 

Neal doesn’t waste any time pushing up into her, the blunt pressure of him… was almost overwhelming. Annie was already winded from being flipped on her back! 

But she was shocked, stunned, in disbelief. It felt as if he was somehow hitting the back of her throat, and Annie made a note to revisit the various pieces of office gossip she’d heard about Neelamani Sampat. 

Just a few short movements turn the backs of Annie’s eyelids into white. Neal’s hands stopped hurting a while ago, and he’d dig it into her ass for support. The other is still on her clit, determined. 

How could she feel like this in two moves? Extensive practice? Who cares! 

It was a simple command.

“Let New York know who fucks you like this.” Annie squirms under his weight, whining. 

So she does. Writhing, moaning, scratching because she wasn’t afraid of anything. Nea’s neighbors were going to hate him, but even if she was never invited back, they’d remember she was here. 

Even if he wouldn’t. 

Annie was a bruised, gasping mess, and Neal doesn’t let up. He fucks into her like it’s what he was born to do. 

“Fuck. That’s it.” Her back is arch, and yet the two of them can’t get close enough. Neal doesn’t notice that Annie’s practically pulling out his hair. 

Neal’s clearly gone, but he knows it. He’s murmuring a string of curses and compliments into her mouth and neck.

Annie wants to tell him how good she feels. How she loves this, how she wants more. But Annie MacDuff can’t speak. 

“Let me feel you come undone for me…” and as if on cue, she bares down around him again,” ...fuck… with me.” 

Neal follows her all the way down. 

He fucks her through the haze as best as he possibly can. The first words Annie hears for certain are,”no one else can have you, I’ll scare them off.” 

Neal leans into Annie’s neck again, teeth grazing gently, as if he was holding back. His teeth made Annie calm somehow, the little gasps in her ear felt like music. 

“You wanna mark me up, Sampat?” She mumbles into his neck. Her hands smooth over his chest. 

“You wanna let the people know?” 

“Know what?” Annie’s eyes widened for a moment, as she forgot what she was actually trying to say. 

“I-I forgot.” She feels Neal crack a smile in the crook of her neck. 

“Good.” 

Annie lets out a large yawn, and Neal’s eyelids are getting heavy. She could feel it, whatever it was. 

She has to force herself to get up, be responsible, even though the exhaustion said otherwise. 

Neal’s a little tired, but still afraid. 

“I need to go home and change.” The first clear thought of the night pokes through the haze that Neal had hung around the two of them. It must have been two hours before they were both needed at work again. 

Annie runs her hands around the bed, trying to find out where any of her clothes ended up. Being responsible sucks. 

“Annie tomorrow’s Saturday.” He grumbles, flat. If she wanted to leave, he’d be fine. 

Right? 

“Oh.” Annie cracks a smile, and it feels like the sun’s just come out. 

She doesn’t hesitate. Neal pulls his comforter back and she crawls right to him. Annie rests her head on his warm chest, he leans his cheek against her. A few heartbeats pass and she’s fast asleep. 

In a way, it feels like she’d always been here.

[amphtaminedreams]

Spring/Summer & Haute Couture Week 2021: Whoops, I’ve Missed a Loooot

Hi to anyone reading,

Where TF has the time gone!?

After experiencing the longest January of all time (when your birthday is right after New Year, you get that between Boxing Day before NYE slump like a couple of weeks after everyone else), February has gone by in, like, 5 minutes and already we’re well into the throes of the F/W 2021 collection presentations. Meanwhile, I’m here like! Surprise! Here are my reviews of the S/S 2021 collections if anybody still cares! I mean I’m mashing it up with corresponding haute couture week reviews to fool everyone into thinking that doing it so many months later was intentional and it was totally working right up until this sentence, right?

In all fairness, I originally thought that I wasn’t going to bother reviewing S/S21 because it seemed kinda redundant given the circumstances and I wasn’t keen on the idea of collections being showcased via photo sets which is the route so many brands chose to (understandably) go down. Buuuut, the more I saw of what designers had put out there, the more I was tempted to put this post together and now here I am. The fact that designers are even able to churn pieces out during a pandemic when I’m out here like 0__0 no thoughts, head empty...it’s impressive to say the least, especially the way so many used the circumstances to inform their designs. In a way, it would be a disservice not to do a post on the season, and yeah it’s late, but given that it we are actually about to enter spring and the shows are kind of the deciders of what’s going to be “in” and “out”, they’re more relevant than ever. With plans for our way out of lockdown materialising-now is the perfect time to add that I don’t want ANYONE suddenly developing selective amnesia over how our government has failed us now that Boris has announced when the clubs COULD reopen-let this post serve as a roundup of every bit of inspiration available for our spring fits. I also want to use this opportunity to disclose how irritated I am at myself for starting the previous fashion week reviews post by declaring I was going to work through the designers in chronological order when I meant fucking alphabetical because I now can’t go back and change that. So this time, let me start properly. I’m going to be reviewing the collections in ALPHABETICAL order. Now that’s out the way, let’s do it. First, Acne:

It’s so great to start on a high, it really is, and fortunately Acne is reliably good. It’s still got that deconstructed, minimalist feel that the brand is known for but for the summer season; we can see creative director Jonny Johansson and his team moving away from the heavier pieces we saw last time round, away from upcycled bohemian curtains and towards a breezier, more season appropriate aesthetic, boujee kaftans and swimwear rebelliously hacked up and artfully rearranged, and it feels correct. The net pieces, the beachy colour palette, the oil spill-esque print (though this represents an intruder of the marine ecosystem, as a print I loveee it and 100% want more!) and the accessories, reminiscent of shells, coral and anything else you might find on the seabed, give me a hipster mermaid washed ashore vibe which completely fits with that rugged, mysterious sense of Nordic folklore references and adventure the brand has established as its foundation. If it’s a nod to some kind of new age cult that Johansson was going for, which apparently is the case, I’m guessing said cult worship sea goddesses and perform pagan rituals on the beach by moonlight, and though indoctrination doesn’t sound at all inviting, it's a party compared to scientology.

The chiffon trousers here are actually chic and seeing them styled under a blazer makes me realise done right they CAN be more than just a PrettyLittleThing summer sale piece, so I’ll store that away for outfit inspo when the time to get rid of some layers comes around. The glasses, too, are very Gucci. Flip flops with socks I don’t think I can ever come round to but-

Whilst it was a favourite of mine last season and it sticks to that same bohemian vibe with a lot of the elements I love, Ferretti lacks a little oomph this time round; it’s more stripped back, neutral, easy-going, and it is lovely, but for those same reasons it doesn’t grab my attention as much as the past couple of collections have. If you’re an influencer wanting to shoot a Joshua Tree desert lookbook this is sublime, but compared to the flair I saw in their last winter show, for example, there’s something lacking.

I’m very glad to see neutral coloured boiler suits on the runway, however; I snagged myself one off Depop the other week so I might be unintentionally ahead of the curve for once! The crochet detail dresses are nice too but very much remind me of past Zimmerman collections, or an Ermanno Scervino grab for the most high street friendly parts of Erdem SS2020, something along those lines. What I’m trying to say is that it’s definitely been there done that, even by Ferretti themselves and not in a continuity kinda way, in a kinda…this is basic and pretty so we know it will sell kinda way.

Eurgh, I wanna be one of these Alessandra Rich girls so bad.

I end up repeating myself every single time because I always love her collections but really, this is what a high fashion novice thinks Chanel is. Alessandra Rich outsold. As much as her dresses have looked amazing on people like Kate Middleton and January Jones, I’m just waiting for one of the modern it-girls to take the nostalgia-tinged femininity of her pieces and put some kind of daring, street-style twist on it; if that doesn’t happen I’ll gladly take 5 minutes of fame so I can do it before fading back into obscurity. Let me fulfil my modern first lady fantasy, reenact the croquet scene from Heathers, drape myself on a chaise lounge whilst smoking with a cigarette holder, and then throw me back into the trash where I belong. I can die happy. Also, can we once again appreciate how much more iconic the Alessandra Rich two piece made the already moment Dakota Johnson singlehandedly brought down the Ellen dynasty?

Dakota knew exactly what she was gonna do and the energy that she was gonna channel when she wore that piece and I admire it. Alessandra Rich, if nothing else, will go down as a key moment in pop culture history, and you know what? It’s what she deserves.

Whilst I do wish she’d branch out a little and try and get back in touch with the dark drama of old McQueen collections now and again, Sarah Burton has made a very recognisable Alexander McQueen silhouette and it’s beautiful; this season is gorgeous as always. A leather biker and tulle affair that’s perfect for a grunge ballet, it’s easy to avoid lamenting the excitement and theatrics of old collections when Sarah creates such consistently sophisticated pieces. Stunning.

Now, a quick haute couture detour with Alexandre Vauthier:

Compared to other haute couture collections, this is pretty toned down and by appearances alone (I know haute couture is more about meeting technical requirements more than anything else but there is a level of grandiose you expect to see) is more like a RTW collection than its counterparts. That being the case, I don’t have a huge amount to say about this one, though I do really like it-the ruched metallic boots especially. The Studio 54 vibes and the glam rock influences are clear and a lot of these pieces could definitely make it into Lady Gaga’s AHS Hotel wardrobe which is a compliment of the highest order, so there ya go. Plus, if a collection IS gonna be presented through stills, a format like this is preferable to some of the others I’m gonna talk about. There may be more exciting ways of doing it but simple allows us to see the clothes properly and at the end of the day, that’s what I care about the most!

Heading back to good ole’ RTW, we have Altuzarra; I wasn’t hugely keen on their last collection but this is definitely a step up for me and justifies keeping them on my radar. Though in some ways this seems like less of a summer collection and more of a late winter/early spring transitional one on the basis it can’t seem to decide which temperature its catering to, there’s a lot to like: a colour palette that reminds me of a Dion Lee collection, harnesses evocative of those sprinkled throughout the last few Alexander McQueen shows, and more of the utility wear trend that I’m still very much into nicely contrasted against lighter, airier pieces for an overall fresh, modern vibe. The interpretive dancewear style pieces are interesting and the woven platform sandals are the shoe of the summer but the white shirt with the cape incorporated is definitely the high point of this show and I absolutely adore it.

Anna Sui was actually pretty cute this time round. Her pieces have always been kooky, but in the past a little too lairy and occasionally cheap-looking for me. This collection, however, is kooky in more of a Melanie Martinez styled baby doll kinda way, as opposed to in an eccentric Bjork loving aunt whose idea of heaven is an all-must-go Primark sale kinda way (I know some people are going to vehemently disagree with my aesthetic preference there) and I love that. There seems to be a lot more creative direction going on, a much clearer vision of what Sui wanted to achieve, and yes a few of the looks went a bit too hard on the cookie cutter vibes but on the whole, they were more edited than usual; it seems Sui actually paid attention to the “take one thing off before you leave the house” rule this time. The staging is the perfect compliment to the doily style bucket hats and the sandals paired with frilly socks, and really adds to the whimsy of the collection, and as a whole, it really reminds me a lot of the way my mum would dress me as a toddler but styled up for a grown adult. Cute AF.

Armani RTW I was pleasantly surprised by, considering I don’t usually rate it. It’s a cool, androgynous take on retro shapes and styles that’s simultaneously fit for the hustle and bustle of the modern world. Strong 2021 Peggy Olsen vibes, and a bit muted Lacoste-I can 100% imagine Elisabeth Moss as Peggy swanning around in one of those huge minimalist houses with the floor to ceiling windows after a long day at work, though we’ll switch the cigarette for a vape because...you know...welcome to the future. And sure, maybe the vision is slightly influenced by THAT scene from Us, but whatever. As for the men’s wear, if I have to look through an endless gallery of straight white men in plain ass suits every time I do some kind of red carpet fashion review, I at least hope they’re wearing Armani. I need me some impeccable tailoring to soften the blow.

I do wonder, however, how the clothes would look on plus size models. I feel like it’s a collection that’s very catered to a person who is straight up and down, and it feels like a bit of an easy cop out not to have any kind of versatility. Say what you want about Christian Siriano but he caters to all body types very well.

I actually quite liked Armani’s haute couture collection too; the pops of colour and the intricate embroidery give me what I’ll later talk about missing from Valentino haute couture. There were still some of the frumpier pieces that I usually associate Armani with but also a lot of Great Gatsby-esque looks that I really enjoyed.

Returning to RTW, Ashish was amazing. I LOVE that there’s always some kind of unique print (this time round, kitschy illustrations) and whilst a whole maxi swan print dress may not be the most wearable for the majority of us, Ashish Gupta does bold and innovative really well. There were a few boring striped pieces in there but I adore the one shouldered butterfly print dress and I NEED that Hail Satan jumper; it reminds me a lot of something by sustainable fashion brand Minga, which is one of my absolute fave websites to buy from when I’m treating myself to some new clothes.

Azarro’s haute couture collection is full of supreme awards show afterparty fits, and I was shook to find out that Olivier Theyskens is the brand’s creative director! My newfound obsession with his pieces really had me like :O when I realised he was behind Azarro too. I loved their collection last time round, though this I’m finding a bit harder to give much analysis on because of the way it’s shot; whilst it could be a YSL perfume Vogue ad, which is obviously far from a bad thing, it comes at the cost of lacking visual clarity. That being said, from what I can see, Theyskens once again masterfully channels the wardrobe of the effortlessly cool, messy haired, smudged eye make up rock ‘n roll girl, and I think that’s someone we all want to be.

Balenciaga RTW was an interesting one for me-on first inspection, I was kinda disappointed. Without the usual drama of the bold, exaggerated silhouettes and the theatrical production of their shows, I felt it was missing a bit of the magic I’ve come to expect from them. The streetwear elements infused throughout, a departure from their typical pieces, was very hit and miss; the shearling slip-ons in particular were not my thing at all. I’d be admiring some beautiful gothic dress and then my eyes would slide down and see those monstrosities and it would bring the whole thing down a notch or two, despite bad shoes being something I can typically overlook if I otherwise enjoy the rest of the outfit. My initial conclusion: that the Balenciaga Myrtle Snow would choose as her last words this collection.

However, upon re-evaluation when typing this post up properly and knowing what to expect, I like the collection a lot. I’m getting a bit of a Seoul streetwear vibe from it, and I can appreciate that although it is a lot more trend focussed, it’s got an edgy, daring quality to it, with a lot of androgynous, utility wear elements on show. I loveee the Balenciaga chokers too and in my wildest dreams would get my hands on one before it goes the way of the Gucci belt and gets overdone and flaunted by social media influencers as a show of wealth to the point of tackiness.

At Balmain the sculpted body armour made a comeback but on this occasion, not in a way that I liked, and there war far too many neons for my taste too. No matter how many times it rears its ugly head, I find it hard to get on board because as a colour palette I can’t help but associate with Claire’s Accessories circa 2007-it has to be SO well done to avoid looking cheap, imo, and these Balmain pieces weren’t good enough for me to go against that gut aversion. A collection with 100+ looks isn’t usually a good sign and expecting Olivier Rousteing to achieve the impossible and manage to do both quality and quantity is a recipe for disaster; it’s a shame because his last collection was so original and yet this one feels like a cheaper looking rip off of other brands. It was just a bawdy display of 80s overkill IMO and if I can only find 8 outfits to include out of 100 that’s clearly not a good sign.

Bottega Veneta is a brand that the high fashion side of the internet loves that I can never 100% get on board with; I get it, they’re behind the gorgeous square toed heels, but other than that none of their collections have ever really wowed me. The chunky knitted pieces are very Miu Miu style futuristic grandma chic and as someone on the cusp of being either a millennial or gen Z (depending on which website you visit) it’s got me outfit planning for my retirement years. Utilising so much wool for a summer collection, however, seems like a choice because can you IMAGINE wearing a heavy knit in blazing sun; I almost didn’t include the collection to be honest but then every so often something really cute came long, and one of the signature crisp, classic BV pieces would be done well and so I felt I had to. Am I missing something given all the hype here? IDK tbh.

Burberry? Meh. You could also call this collection how many ways can I do a trench coat, with results of differing quality; occasionally the mix match of styles worked and I saw the deconstructed outerwear concept that Ricardo Tisci was presumably trying to go for, though it can’t come as much of a surprise that the combination of a trench, denim and leather jacket was mostly just messy and came off as a last ditch attempt to make the classic coat more interesting by just chucking other fabrics at it and seeing what stuck.

One thing I will say is that there were some really sick prints going on-the snakes in particular-and it was those prints that were really the saving grace of the collection; as I said with regards to Ashish, I like it when you can tell a brand has gone out of their way to experiment with patterns and actually incorporate illustration and graphic design into their pieces. Prints notwithstanding, though, it wasn’t a memorable collection and I really can’t wait for the day we put this whole multiple denim jean waistband trend to bed once and for all; in the wise words of Regina George “stop drying to make multiple waist bands happen. They’re not going to happen.”.

Carolina Herrera was just as I expected. Whilst Wes Gordon was a little more daring with the structure of the pieces than usual, you can still he’s still committed to designing for the wealthy, modestly dressed socialite (yes I’m talking about Tinsley Mortimer and yes, I have recently become obsessed with Real Housewives) and her insatiable need to collect more charity gala gowns than she’ll ever possibly have opportunities to wear in her time on this earth. Sounds like a great life, sure, but it’s not like it gets my heart racing when I see the looks on the runway. The most memorable piece for sure was double breasted blazer w the asymmetric ruffle; I haven’t seen anything like it in a RTW collection in recent memory.

Now onto the fucking train wreck that was Celine RTW.

It’s not even bad for a runway fashion show, it’s just like…straight-up bad. Like Hedi Slimane went back in time to 2013, took a bunch of models into my local Topshop (and I have to clarify my local Topshop rather than the flagship Oxford Circus store-RIP-because to do the same in the latter would produce far better results), picked up some cheap basics, switched the lights off, and then, finally, dressed them in the dark. There’s very few positive comments I can make so I’m just going to move on.

Chanel RTW I actually didn’t hate as much this season; maybe it’s because coming from Celine, my standards are like, on the floor, but it’s slightly better than usual. Whilst most of it was same old same old, the opening 10 or so looks and then from 40 onwards were alright. The colour contrast pieces were classic Chanel in a good way, that is to say somewhat modernised and appealing to a younger clientele as opposed to the elderly women who still see a boucle jacket as the height of fashion. The mini chiffon capes were also cute, and if it weren’t for COVID putting pause on everything I can see the Chanel headband being duped ad infinitum.

The worst part of the collection was without a doubt the pieces with the neon logo print, which I wish I could erase from my mind. At this point, with Virginie Viard seemingly refusing to make any attempt to reinvent the brand, Chanel is best when it’s subtle; that way it appeals to those regular customers who rely on the prestige of the garment and the new generation of consumers who are further branching out into experimenting with their personal style and want a quality base. But who I ask are these tacky ass pieces aimed at? Because though it appears to be an attempt to infuse a kind of youthful spirit into Chanel, it is very out of touch with what gen Z actually like, and I can’t imagine any rich old white ladies buying them either. Big shoulder shrug.

Whilst I tend to find Chanel’s haute couture collections a bit better than their RTW, this is probably on par. Still rather meh and frumpy at times, but there were some pretty, whimsical pieces in there that were definitely elevated by the staging which, I must say, was very dreamy. I’ve enjoyed the last couple of haute couture shows a lot more (the one with the library set was v cool), which were comparatively restrained with the frivolous details and the chintz, so this seems a step back. The dresses with the 50s Audrey Hepburn for Miss Dior style silhouette are lovely but obviously, as per the reference, nothing new.

Onto something much more exciting, we have Charlotte Knowles’ RTW collection, whose work has made her one to watch. I’m not as huge a fan of this as her last instalment, but Knowles’ (who I recently found out only just graduated from Central Saint Martins, making her achievements all the more impressive) continues to create clothes for a girl far cooler than myself; I know, that wouldn’t be hard, but we’re talking like, miles cooler. One of those women who can literally pull anything off and immediately make you want to try it yourself even though 9 times out of 10 that would be a bad idea-I could probably take, like, one piece and make it work but anything more would most likely just be me embarrassing myself. You wouldn’t think San Fransisco psychedelic summer of love motifs would mesh with futuristic Mad Max style biker vibes but Charlotte and her partner Alexandre Arsenault make it sexy AF, like a combo that was always meant to be. They are a dream team.

And lastly for this post, we have another collection I really liked: Chloe. Sadly Natacha Ramsay-Levi’s last collection for the brand, she truly went out on a high note, with a reliably gorgeous iteration of her sophisticated take on bohemian style. Who now, will we look to when we want to cosplay as one of the Jessas from Girls of the world? When we want to pretend we’re a rich, party girl socialite backpacking across Western Europe (along the foothills of Mount Tibidabo…) on a commissioned trip to “find herself” for the fashion magazine column she’s writing, whilst we’re actually on a budget family holiday in Spain? When we can’t decide if we’re dressing like a modern day Rachel Green or Phoebe Buffay and say fuck it, I’m gonna do both? I mean sure, I could never afford Chloe anyway and sure, I’m interested to see what Gabriela Hearst can do with the brand, which despite its loveliness is quite predictable, but it’s definitely sad to see Ramsay-Levi go when she has become a reliable source of elegance and class each season. She brings a quietly confident brand of femininity to the fashion world where the high profile design houses are increasingly dominated by men who are sometimes too focussed on being bold and brash enough to be hailed as the newest design visionary, and I have huge respect for that. She will be missed.

Now it feels right to end the post here, given that I just finished with a kind of dramatic memoriam for a woman who is very much still alive and given that I would really be playing with fire by trying to push Tumblr’s edit post feature any further, so I’ll wrap it up for now. In part 2, which will hopefully be out over the next couple of weeks, we’ll be looking at a surprisingly strong haute couture collection from (can’t believe I’m about to say this) Maria Grazia as well as some of my faves, Etro, Dion Lee, Gucci, and of course Iris Van Herpen’s haute couture. In the meantime, I’m hoping to get a post out on my favourite sustainable clothing brands and to shoot my take on the “what I would wear sat front row at X” video trend that’s been going around lately on TikTok and Instagram reels, which I know I am kinda late to the party with.

I’m also looking at starting “photo dump” posts where I basically just substitute what I would be putting on my Instagram feed as photo posts on here, all the way back to when I first started my fashion Instagram account. I know this is hardly a hot take, but Instagram has really gone to shit, and once I’ve moved all my photos from there to here, I’m probably going to be deleting my account and just keep my private personal one. I’m sick of the endless scrolling past photos of people edited to the point of being unrecognisable and of seeing faces that all conform to that exact same Eurocentric beauty standard with the exact same surgical procedures to the point that even I, as a thin, white cis girl feel disgusting (so god knows how others without my privilege feel) because I don’t have a fucking fox eye lift or whatever it is that internet famous surgeons are telling us we need for our faces to fit the “golden ratio” at the moment. I am OVERRR all the promoted posts from people who preach social awareness and equality and authenticity and kindness making money off promoting companies that rely on slave labour rather than those who make me feel uplifted and inspired. And I am VERY MUCH done with scrolling through share for share and like for like pages because I am embarrassed by the fact that my likes don’t match up to my follower count since that must mean that NOBODY LIKES ME AND EVERYONE HATES MY FACE, right!? Even though I’d like to think that mentality was something I grew out of a long time ago. Instagram, much like Facebook before it (which is no surprise since the latter now owns the former), has just become another cesspit of an app which exists solely to convince you to buy new clothes and follow the latest filler trend and blow money on holidays you can’t afford to convince everyone you’re living the good life. Like many others, I have finally come to the conclusion that the way Instagram operates now is nothing but detrimental to my wellbeing. So, all that being said, I’m moving my feed over here, to a place where I can just arrange my silly little photos into silly little collages and not care if I’m shouting into the void by doing so because they’re just a screenshot of my life that I can look back on in however many years time and think Oh, Cool! That’s What I Was Interested In Back Then! That Outfit is Timeless! Or That One Was a HUGE FUCKING MISTAKE! Because I do love the creative element of Instagram, turning your feed into a collage, picking out which colours compliment each other, posting your favourite art and your outfits and the makeup looks you’re proud of, the beautiful sights you’ve seen-I just hate how unbridled capitalism and unrealistic social expectations have once again destroyed a good thing, and caused it to stray so far from its original vision of connecting people. Here, I don’t care if I get 0 interactions on those kinds of posts, because I am putting stuff out there I am proud of that expresses who I am and that interests me, and when I put a lot of hard ass work into something that’s actually important or that benefits others in some way as opposed to indulging my own vanity, it does get some circulation and I hope that it does make a positive difference, regardless of how small. I hope it doesn’t bother anyone too much seeing my initial photo dump posts on their dashboard as I try and catch up to where I am now; you’ll probs see a mini influx of 2015 fashion and I’m sorry about that! But I don’t *think* it will be too long until I’m up to date and then the photo dump posts will be much less regular.

Anyway, sorry about the Instagram rant there at the end! If you read all the way til the end, this is a  huuuuge thank you! I hope you enjoyed the post and I will get the next one out ASAP, potentially with a few posts in between. As always, feel free to inbox me if there’s anything you wanted to talk about or suggest and make sure you stay safe. There may finally be some light at the end of the tunnel:D

With a cautious dose of optimism, and the acknowledgement that I will most likely regret saying this: bring on June the 21st UK gals!

Lauren x

[theluckyshadow]

Listen

Kevin falling for Jamie

He’s not sure when it started. Just one day his palms started turning sweaty and his heart beat became irregular- honestly at first he thought he was getting sick and he left it at that. Then he started noticing little things about Jamie that he was sure he wouldn’t have noticed before if he wasn’t staring at her so intently.

She bites her lip and the inside of her cheek when she’s thinking.

She scrunches her nose when she’s got a headache.

She tilts her head, smiles and widens her eyes to show she’s interested in what you are saying.

She’s always fiddling with things, her pens, her fingers, her hair.

When she’s restless she enjoys playing the guitar to help her relax

The first feeling:

“Hey Jamie just wanted to double check your all secured we don’t need other ripped stocking.” Kevin joked. Jamie laughed and gave him a thumbs up.

“Yeah I think jeans should be sturdy enough for today.” She grins. Kevin suddenly felt this unfamiliar wave rush over him, like he was looking at a cute puppy or that feeling you get after you win a game, his palms felt kind of like he’d held them over steaming water. It was weird.

“That’s good. Alright I believe we are on in five let’s go?” Jamie quickly fixed her top up before following Kevin to the back stage.

The second feeling:

“Jamie is going to get food Kevin can you go with her?” Sangyeon asked. Kevin agreed. He’d been feeling funny recently and thought maybe some fresh air could do him some good.

The two had made it safely to the small shop and were looking for food and some snacks for the dorms since everyone had eaten their last lot. They’d properly grocery shop but right now it isn’t needed and only need a few things not an entire months worth of food. Kevin was pushing trolley slowly beside Jamie, masks up covering their faces, her hair tugged up into a sloppy bun while he had a cap on. He was watching her carefully and minding where he drove and couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on her body.

He didn’t know why but seeing her in whoever’s stolen hoodie and leggings made him feel warm inside. With her bare face beneath the mask he could see the light freckles on the bridge of her nose. He could see her acne scars and the tired bags beneath her eyes. She still looked... pretty? His eyes trailed her, looking at her shapely legs, the hoodie stopping mid thigh covering her made her small and adorable- even though they are the same height and she can most certainly put up a strong fight- and the crinkle at her eyes told him she was smiling.

“Do you want to grab some fruit?”

“What?”

“I just asked if you wanted to grab some fruit?”

“Oh shit sorry, must have zoned out.”

The third feeling:

The third feeling came in the form of jealousy. At the time though he didn’t think it was. There was an afterparty for a handful of bands, The Boyz being invited themselves. Kevin mingled and spoke with a few others while keeping an eye out for Jamie. She wasn’t the most fond of large gatherings but she made her piece. He spotted her with Chani from SF9, okay cool she found a friend to chat with, that made him feel a bit better. Yet- his heart clenched.

At one point during the evening he lost her, he didn’t know where she was so he asked the rest of the members. Haknyeon thankfully knew that she’d gone home because she didn’t want to be at the party any more and wanted some alone time. Of course he was worried she’d gone home alone but Haknyeon said he overheard Youngbin say Chani was making sure she’d gotten home first. His heart clenched again.

The jealousy really came in a tsunami of thoughts when the all got back to the dorms. Shoes that didn’t belong to them sat at the door mixed with Jamie’s... and from the looks on Chanhee and Eric’s faces she wasn’t alone in their room. He just suddenly felt so angry. He wasn’t seeing red but he wasn’t thinking properly. He shook his head, no it was the alcohol talking... Jamie can do what she wants she’s a grown woman with needs that need to be met.

Though when Chani walked out an hour and a half later with lipstick stains and messy hair and an awfully buttoned shirt he suddenly wished he was in that place- no Kevin no you don’t... but he did.

Finally

Movie nights were always great for bonding with each other. It was Changmin’s turn to pick a movie however and only he and Jamie liked to watch horror- so what they enjoy the special effects and Jamie finds the decapitations funny, it’s normal... Jamie was sharing the blanket with Sunwoo, her legs draped over said boy’s legs whilst her upper body was slightly resting against Kevin’s. He had his arm up on the back of the lounge so she was partially tucked beneath his arm.

The movie was... okay. Jamie was giggling along whenever anyone died a gruesome death, Changmin sat in awe while everyone else screamed- the usual. Suddenly some extra weight had fallen against Kevin’s side and he looked down slightly to see Jamie. She’d called asleep against him. Quietly he motions to Sunwoo that he’s going to move her and gently brings her head into his lap. After a few minutes he wasn’t focusing on the screams of the film but the peaceful look on the girls face. She looked content, happy. His hand absentmindedly began to play with her hair and stroke her head.

She was so pretty. Elegant. Brave. Wild. Unique. He couldn’t name every single aspect about you that he loves there was too much to pick from...

Oh

Loves.

For weeks he’s felt something in his heart, a warmth when she was around. His hands would get sweaty and he’s stutter a little. He’d get so lost in thought thinking of her and looking at her that he couldn’t help but be blown away. Jealousy... he should have known then and there really how badly he wanted to be in that boys place with her making her feel the way he did but he blamed it on the alcohol.

He fell in love with Jamie and he hopes to god she will as well.

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

SKIN DEEP—a fic

So Rainbow had a pretty funny exchange on Twitter yesterday about the Watford crew and teenage acne, and in particular if Baz would have acne. Which she said he most certainly would. So, being me, I had to go write a fic about it. Because I have no chill and even less self control. So here is a slightly crack-y fic, set at pre-canon era Watford, as hormones start to surge and Simon becomes pimple obsessed.

Screen shots of Rainbow’s tweets at the end of this post, to prove this lunacy had a real life prompt.

Simon and Baz fourth year, as the ravages of adolescence commence. Pimples, blemishes and spots. Questionable concoctions. The roots of Baz’s immaculate skin care regimen. Some things even a vampire can’t avoid.

Skin Deep

Year Four

Simon

I’m just about to splash water on my face when I notice them in the mirror. I mean, I’ve been expecting this to happen. I saw the older boys go all spotty at the homes. There’s no way I’d be lucky enough to be spared.

But fuck it all. I’ve got one on the side of my nose, two on my chin and one right between my eyebrows. How did I get all these pimples in one night?

I’m half tempted to think Baz spelled me. But that’s not his style, he doesn’t sneak about doing something like this, even though he’s a prick and a plotter. No, he did things like this when we were first years, but now when Baz spells me he wants everyone to know what he’s done.

Makes a production of it, the wanker.

Like when he knocks my boater off. Spells my shoes untied during class, so I trip when I stand up. Or seals the lid on the butter dish at breakfast.

If Baz was going to spell me spotty he’d do it in on a Monday, right before class, when everyone would notice. Not in our room, on a Saturday morning, when we’ve got nothing to do and nowhere to go.

He’s still asleep so if he did do it, it must have been in the night and really what would be the bloody point of that?

I have to reluctantly admit it’s probably not him this time. It’s me. I was just hoping this particular stage of puberty would just pass me by.

The other milestones have been coming one right after another though, so I guess I’m not that lucky.

I’ve got hair in more places now.

And I grew three inches this summer (Baz grew four, the tosser, so he’s still taller than me).

He’s taller but it’s like he fits in his body. Glides when he walks. Smooth as silk on the pitch. Bloody infuriating, is what it is.

I feel like a marionette on a string, my arms and legs all out of sync, knocking into furniture and tripping over my own feet, even when my shoes are tied.

And my voice has been doing that stupid thing where it gets all deep mid-sentence, and then it goes up so high I sound like Madame Bellamy. It’s bloody awful. Baz always gives me shit about it --“going to break into song for us, Snow?”

He’s such a prick.

I lean in closer to the mirror. The ones on my chin are small. It’s the nose one that’s a disaster.

No help for it. I’ll ask Penny if there’s a spell at breakfast. Though I doubt there is, seeing as Agatha’s been spotty for weeks and I know she’d use a spell, if there was one. Penny says Agatha spells her hair to be that straight and shine like it does. I wasn’t sure I believed her but some days it’s got a bit of an uneven wave to it so I wonder if Penny may be right.

*******

“No, Simon, there isn’t a spell.” Penny is using her patient voice with me, which means she thinks my question is unbearably stupid. She leans across the table to peer at me over her glasses. “You’ve hardly got any.”

“I might only have four now. But just you wait. They’re bound to get worse. With my luck I’ll be covered in them.”

“You don’t know that. And even if they do get worse it’s human nature! The universal teen experience!”

I groan.

“It won’t be that bad, Simon. Besides everyone’s spotty.”

“Baz isn’t spotty.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not Baz again, please.”

“Have you seen him, Penny?”

“I see him every day, Simon.”

“Yes, but have you really looked?”

“Obviously not as intently as you.”

“I live with him!”

I get another eye roll.

“He’s not got one spot! I tell you, it’s proof he’s a vampire. You can’t go through normal adolescence and be as pristine as all that.”

“Everyone goes through puberty at different times. He’s probably not at that stage yet.”

“He’s taller than me!”

“He’s always been taller than you.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“It’s not like he has any control over that, Simon. It’s genetics.”

I know that. I know height isn’t something that you can magick. But it just doesn’t seem fair that each time I grow enough to catch up to him, he grows too.

He did it last summer. Did it again this summer. Even grew over the Christmas holiday this year, the jammy bastard.

And now I’m sprouting pimples right and left and he’s across the dining hall with his flawless, pearly grey skin. Not a spot to be seen.

Typical.

****

I can tell I’ve got more when I wake up. Bloody hell. The old ones dry up and get crusty and new ones take their place.

My face feels heavier this morning. I grimace and I know there’s one on the side of my nose again. It pinches when my cheeks move so it must be massive. And the one on my chin itches— it’s probably grown overnight, red and welted around that nasty white center. I can’t even imagine what my forehead looks like.

I’ve tried everything.

Washing my face twice a day.

Alcohol to try to dry them out (didn’t do a thing, except make my skin all flaky so I looked like I had dandruff and the pox).

I borrowed some ointment off of Gareth. (He’s worse off than me, the poor sod, just a face full of them.) (Which should have tipped me off that whatever he was using wasn’t working.) (Got an earful from Penny about that.)

I had some sort of allergic reaction when I used his, so my face was itching, red even in the areas between the spots, and felt like it was on fucking fire.

Practically scrubbed my face off trying to wash it away.

Of course, Baz walked in right as I came out of the en suite. Did a double take at the sight of me, the wanker, then raised that eyebrow of his and curled his lip up in a sneer. Leaned forward and studied me for a moment. My face got even hotter. I don’t like it when he stares at me like that, all intense and focused. Like he’s plotting the best way to end me without triggering the Anathema. Makes my stomach twist, it does.

Made me wish my wand wasn’t half way across the room.

But I know Baz won’t risk the Anathema. He’s never done anything remotely threatening in our room. (It’s another story out of our room.)

He’d crossed his arms over his chest after he was done inspecting me and smirked, the tosser. “You know, Snow, between the excessive quantity of moles, infinite number of freckles, and extraordinary collection of pimples you have on your face, I don’t think I can actually see anything resembling skin anymore.”

He’s going to make me trigger the Anathema one of these days.

I ended up having to see the nurse for it, when I couldn’t stop scratching at my face. She rolls her eyes almost as much as Penny. It’s not like I can help being there so often. I’ve got missions. Important work for the Mage. It’s what I do.

She’d shaken her head at me and cast some spell that made the itching go away but didn’t do a thing for the bloody spots. Looked bored and put upon even doing that, she did.

This teen experience is a bloody nuisance.

I’m more and more convinced Baz is a vampire. The entire class looks poxed except for him. Like we’re in the middle of a plague while he’s all alabaster skin, unblemished and smooth, immaculate and bloody flawless.

Perfect, just like he always is.

Wanker.

Baz

Snow is an absolute spotted mess. It was entertaining at first, to watch him peer at himself in the mirror, hear the muttered curses as he would catch sight of each new blemish.

But I’m actually finding myself almost feeling sorry for him now.

Almost.

He’s standing at his mirror, turning his face this way and that, grumbling to himself as he inspects his reflection.

It’s something he does on a daily basis since his skin condition deteriorated so precipitously. I should probably stop needling him about it.

But I won’t because he actually seems quite bothered by it. Can’t let him think I’m going soft.

I wasn’t joking the other night, when I mocked him. I don’t think he has a span of skin left that doesn’t have some manner of spot or blotch or freckle on it. At least he’s stopped with the alcohol washes. He was shedding more than a snake when he was doing that, leaving errant flakes of skin all over the bathroom sink.

Disgusting.

Whatever he’s doing certainly isn’t making anything better. Making it a far sight worse by my estimation.

He’s literally a textbook illustration of acne vulgaris. The full range: from red and bumpy spots, to glaring pustules, to crusted over, scabby craters.

More like a walking dermatologic visual in actuality. You could slap a label on him: progressive stages of teenage acne and the entire range of pigmented facial anomalies.

Although they weren’t really anomalies before the acne got to Snow. His moles and freckles just seem to fit with his tawny skin—vast arrays of constellations scattered across his face, mapping out patterns against the smoothness of his complexion.

I don’t know what I’m thinking. What absolute nonsense. Snow’s freckles are a travesty.

And he’s anything but smooth complexioned. He’s more of a lunar landscape than Shakespeare’s damask’d roses.

I can’t be arsed to mess with him now though. I’m too comfortable under my blankets.

It’s far too early for anyone to be up, but Snow’s probably readying himself to head off on one of the Mage’s blasted missions again. Despite the fact that it’s a Sunday morning and by all accounts he should be doing what the rest of us are—having a lazy lie-in.

I watch him from under half-lidded eyes, the blankets pulled up to cover the bottom half of my face. He growls one last time, savages his curls in an attempt to tame them, and then charges out the door. It slams shut behind him, further proof that Snow has no regard for the niceties of sharing a room.

Thanks to all his thumping about, I’m now wide awake. I try to go back to sleep, try to will myself into a drowsy oblivion, but that ship has sailed. No Sunday lie-in for me and I lay the blame directly on Snow.

I stay under the covers for a bit longer, dreading the chilly walk to the en suite, but eventually my need to piss outweighs the comfort of the bed.

It’s not until I’m washing my hands and happen to glance up at the mirror that I notice.

There’s a pimple on my nose. Not just on my nose—at the very tip of it. Right in the fucking center of my face. If it were anywhere else—my forehead or my cheeks, for example—I’d have some chance of hiding it. But this. I can’t hide this.

And I can’t hide the one on my chin either. Bloody hell.

I shouldn’t even have pimples. I should by all rights be immune to this. I don’t get sick, I’m not prey to infections—how the bloody hell have I ended up with acne, for Crowley’s sake? It should be one of the perks of being undead—imperviousness to the ravages of teenage skin eruptions.

For half a minute I wonder if Snow has spelled me, in retribution for my insensitive commentary on his facial imperfections. But there is no possible way Snow could have managed a spell this precise, this nuanced. I’d be covered in boils, like Job himself, if Snow had attempted to pox me.

That’s not to say that this is acceptable. It most assuredly is not. And there’s no bloody spell for it. Dev’s been spotty since last year and he and Niall have yet to find anything that does more than slightly diminish the redness.

It’s fine. This is fine.

It’s not fine.

I need to call home and talk to Daphne. Surely she’ll have some advice for me.

Simon

The sunlight filtering through the window wakes me up. I’m still knackered from yesterday. Didn’t get back until well after midnight and I’ve got class in just a bit. I stretch and groan as my shoulder pops. I wrenched it trying to free my sword from that basilisk’s skull last night. I roll my neck and pull myself to a seated position.

Baz is already up. The door to the en suite’s closed but I don’t hear the water running.

My stomach growls. I’ll have time for seconds if I get to breakfast early enough. I’m just about ready to head down there when Baz comes out of the bathroom, steam drifting behind him and bringing the scent of his shampoo with it. It’s some posh brand, in sleek, artistically shaped bottles.

Penny says it smells like cedar and bergamot. I’m not sure what cedar and bergamot smell like. All I know is that the scent is unfairly pleasant.

Unlike Baz, who isn’t pleasant at all.

He looks murderous at the moment, eyebrows lowered, eyes narrowed. He’s an arse in general but more so in the mornings. He’d sleep late if he had the chance—he’s rarely out of bed before nine on weekends, the tosser, not unless he’s got exams to study for or an away match.

I’m trying to stay out of his way as I leave but I make for the door right as he crosses the room to his wardrobe and we do this awkward half step to avoid each other.

And that’s when I see it.

He’s got a pimple on his nose. Right at the tip of it, where it comes to a bit of a point. It’s nothing compared to any of mine. I’d hardly notice it on anyone else but this is Baz.

It’s stark against his pale skin, raised and just slightly reddened.

Fuck. He’s got one on his chin as well. Two, actually.

Baz has spots.

Trivial and hardly noticeable ones, but still.

I open my mouth to say something then think better of it and hightail it down to breakfast.

I still can’t quite believe it.

Baz has spots.

Penny is disappointingly unimpressed by this unexpected and highly irregular development.

“Simon, we all have spots. This is not some earth-shattering revelation. It’s puberty. A normal part of human development. We’ve been over this.”

“No, but this is Baz. Baz, Penny. He’s not human.”

Penny rolls her eyes again. She rolls her eyes rather a lot, I’m thinking. “He is if he has spots, Simon. I’d say this disproves your vampire hypothesis for good.”

“Maybe vampires aren’t immune to acne.”

“Simon.”

“Maybe it’s some plot. He probably magicked them up himself, the scheming prick.”

“You’re relentless! First you’re outraged that he doesn’t have spots, now you’re complaining that he does! For Merlin’s sake, Baz has finally shown himself to be as imperfect as the rest of us, so let it go, Simon.”

“He’s not imperfect. Far from it. Even his pimples are impeccable—small, unobtrusive, uh . . . restrained.”

Penny stands up, takes her plate and glares at me over the top of her glasses. “That’s enough, Simon. You’re being absurd. No one has perfect pimples.” She stomps across the hall to deposit her dishes, turning back to give me a disapproving look.

I scowl at her. Baz walks in as Penny goes out.

She’s wrong this time. Penny’s not wrong about much, but she’s wrong about this.

Baz’s pimples are fucking perfect.

It’s so fucking unfair.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383057

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 4

AO3

In which Helen fights for control from her kidnappers and John is met with deadends.

(The action will pick up in the next chapter

Waking up in a cell is a little easier the second time around Helen discovers.

She wakes up, freezing again, on the floor. Not that there was any other place to be. The cell was still empty.

The guards were different when she woke up but she barely paid them any attention. Instead, she managed to crawl to the little stall in the corner of her cell. Indeed, she was grateful to find a bathroom. The contents of her stomach were emptied into the small toilet and she wondered, idly, if it was the sedative that made her feel so.

She wished there was a window, or any other sort of indication of what time it was. What day it was.

Was it still Saturday? She wasn’t sure.

She wondered if it was Sunday and what would happen tomorrow morning when clients started arriving at her office to find it locked and empty?

Priorities, she tells herself.

No, she wasn’t worried about a few people missing their appointments. Not when her hands were still bound together and her throat burned from the acid of her vomit.

They’d live.

And so would she.

John was coming, she knows. It may take him some time to find her. Helen was certain she was hidden somewhere that wouldn’t be easy for him to find. But she was also positive that John wouldn’t stop until she was safe.

That brought her some comfort.

But even with that knowledge, she wasn’t going to stop trying to get herself out of the mess.

She tries to engage the new guards in conversation, but they kept their mouths shut. Probably warned by DeLuca, she thinks.

Still, one of them disappears upstairs and returns with a tv dinner that he slides through the bars to her, along with a bottle of water. They undo the bindings at her wrists but refuse to give her silverware. While she can only imagine what other uses John would find for a spoon or a fork, she wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with a utensil in a fight.

At least DeLuca isn’t planning on starving her. That was a plus. Especially since John would kill him either way.

She closes her eyes.

John was probably a wreck. He didn’t do well with things being out of his control and his emotional regulation skills were lacking.

This, she thinks, is really going to stunt the progress she’s made with him. Months of building up to him addressing his issues with self-esteem and his own feelings of self-hatred, only to have her kidnapped by his enemies.

It would take months more to work through the blame he was going to feel and probably years before he could even start to forgive himself.

The guards change not long after she wakes up. The new guards are told: “She’s been fed. Mostly quiet. DeLuca says not to interact with her.”

They listen. They ignore her attempts at small talk and don’t even look at her. The only moment of interaction comes when they hand her another meal a few hours later with a gruff, “Here.”

She falls asleep again after she eats. It’s almost too cold to sleep but she manages, blaming the exhaustion on the sedatives.

When she wakes up again, the guards have changed.

Nick, the man who had sedated her is back, along with someone new. The kid is younger than Nick. She’d place him in his early twenties at best. His face was still a little soft around the edges and the scarring from acne hadn’t found its way to clearing up just yet.

“Morning, boys.” She says, “Or is it night?”

“It’s two pm.”

“Hey!” Nick says, “DeLuca said not to talk to her.”

“What harm will talking do?” The new kid asks, looking over at Helen with a naïve sort of interest.

Nick shrugs, “Guess she’s some sort of psychiatrist.”

Wrong, Helen thinks, but doesn’t comment.

“She got inside DeLuca’s head yesterday. Kinda eerie, to be honest. Started spouting all this stuff about his parents and I guess it was true, because DeLuca was pissed. Bastard still hasn’t come back.”

Helen resists the urge to smirk at that.

“Why didn’t he just kill her? What’s she in for?”

Helen perks up a bit. She knew, obviously, that she was here as leverage or bait or something altogether nefarious to entrap John. But the more she could figure out about the details, the better off she would be.

“You ever hear of John Wick?” Nick asks, shuffling the deck of cards.

“Heard of him?” The poor kid almost sounds excited, “The man’s a fucking legend! I heard he killed three guys who started shit-talking him in the bar with a fucking pencil!”

Helen hadn’t heard that little tidbit, but she wasn’t surprised. John’s versatility was arguably his greatest strength. It made sense that it converted to weapons.

Nick hums, “Yep. And that’s his girl.” He throws a thumb in her direction.

The kid’s head flies over, staring at Helen in shock. She gives him a finger wave and the kid looks back to Nick, “That’s the boogeyman’s girl?”

Nick nods and starts to toss out the cards, “DeLuca’s been talking about getting a jump on the Camorra ever since he took over the Syndicate. Can’t help but wonder if this is his ploy.”

John had referenced the Camorra before, a number of times, but she couldn’t recall him ever mentioning the Syndicate. Nevertheless, she now had a name to put to the organization and its face that held her captive.

“But, it’s the boogeyman! You don’t mess with the boogeyman!”

“Sound advice,” Helen pipes in, “I suggest you relay the message to DeLuca before he gets you all killed.”

The kid pales and Nick shakes his head, “Don’t listen to her, Frankie.”

But Frankie was already listening. She just needed one in. “He’s probably right. I wouldn’t want to spend your last hours on this Earth in fear. Play your game.” Helen tries her best to give her a sweet smile. “Have fun with your time.”

“Hours?” he echoes.

“I mean, maybe you’ll get lucky. You might have a few days before John finds this place and razes it to the ground.”

“Disengage, Frankie.” Nick warns but even he looks uneasy.

John had mentioned his reputation a few times, but this was the first time that Helen had ever seen it in action. She knew John was not one for dramatizing but still, it was a little strange to see grown men becoming uneasy at the very mention of his name.

Frankie lowers his voice but she can still hear him echoing in the empty basement. “Look, man, you know I’m all in for the cause but I don’t know if I want to be involved in this.” He shoots Helen a glance, “I don’t want the Boogeyman coming after me.”

She almost felt sorry for the kid. Rationally, she could probably justify his actions. Write it off as a kid looking for a place to fit in, a world to survive in. He was mousy and largely unintimidating. The idea of mafiaso protection probably appealed to him, gave him space to live. But, she acknowledges, it’s harder to feel bad for someone who is keeping you locked in a cage.

“It’s a little late for that, Frankie. You and Nick are already involved.”

Nick shifts uncomfortably at the use of his name. Good, she thinks. She wants him to be anxious. She wants them both to afraid of what was to come.

Poor Frankie hadn’t even been here five minutes, she thinks, and he was already ready to bolt. She had a foot in the door, now she just had to hold her ground and push through.

“Look,” Helen offers him a small smile, “You seem like a good kid. Single mom?”

His eyes widen and he nods. “How did you know?”

An educated guess, but she doesn’t elaborate. “You did whatever you had to do to help her. How many siblings you got?”

“Don’t—” Nick tries but it’s too late.

“Two.”

“Still in school?”

Again, he nods.

“Good.” Helen says, “I hope they won’t have to drop out when you aren’t around. It’s hard for kids who drop out to catch back up. Sometimes you never do. Right, Nick?”

Nick tenses immediately.

She hums and closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall.

“Nick, man—”

“She’s just getting into your head. Let it go.”

Helen huffs a small laugh at that.

“I don’t know. How’d she know about my mom? And me dropping out? I didn’t say anything that—”

“It’s all just lucky guesswork. Calm down.”

If her eyes were open, she would have rolled them. “Guesswork, huh?” She glances up. It’s not much, she thinks, but it’s an opening, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to make a little wager about that?”

“Not a chance.” Nick is quick to say but she can see the curiosity behind them. It’s reflected in Frankie who, with less experience and far less intelligence is quick to ask, “What kind of wager?”

Nick shoots him a glare but doesn’t cut her off.

“I’ll read you. Both of you. I’ll analyze your lives based on what I’ve already seen of you. And, if I’m wrong, on either of you, I’ll shut up. I won’t say anything for the rest of the night.”

“And if you’re right?” Nick asks.

“I get a phone call.”

“Not a chance.” Okay. She expected that. She could compromise.

“A text, then. I’ll keep it short. No more than a minute.”

“DeLuca would kill us.” Frankie says, shaking his head.

“DeLuca doesn’t have cameras here.” She gestures around, “And I wouldn’t be worried about DeLuca killing you when John’s out there looking for me.” She pauses, “I’ll sweeten the pot. Win or lose, I’ll ask John not to kill you.”

She’s met with silence as Frankie looks to Nick to take the lead.

Nick looks indecisive and she takes that into account. She watches the way he glances towards his phone. He’s considering it.

“You’re both part of this.” Helen leans forward, “DeLuca is arrogant enough to think he can get out of this without backlash. You’ve got to know that won’t be the case. John will hunt him down to the ends of the Earth, along with anyone else who played a part in this. Your only shot of making it through this alive is for me to interfere.”

She watches him swallow. Nick isn’t stupid. He’s probably the smartest of all the kidnappers she met but, Christ, he is lost.

John was like that, once.

Desperate for a way out, unable to find one.

“Will he listen to you?” Nick asks finally, “If you ask him to spare us, will he listen?”

She can’t make the promise. Truth be told, she’s never seen John truly angry at anyone other than himself. She doesn’t know how this is going to go.

“I am the only chance at stopping him.” She says finally. Not a promise or a guarantee. The honest truth, if ever there was one.

“Either way, win or lose?” Nick pushes.

“I give you my word.”

The moment lasts an eternity as she holds Nick’s gaze.

“I won’t give you a minute. You can’t touch the phone. You tell me the number, I type in the message. You get to send one word.”

“Three.”

He considers it, then he nods and she breathes easy.

“Start with Frankie.” He says and there comes that guard again. Keeping himself safe. Protecting his secrets.

She suspects but she isn’t entirely sure.

Frankie is an easier read, anyway. He wears his heart on his sleeve.

Nick’s reactions to what she says to Frankie will give her everything she needs.

Helen exhales and looks to the younger boy.

She takes in the clothes, the demeanor. The way he sits, the little bit of excitement in his eyes that proved just how naïve he was. How in over his head he was.

“We’ve established the single mom. You’re the oldest. Different dad’s all around. Your mom’s a dreamer. She kept hoping that each guy would be different. They’d care. They’d stay. But they never did.

“You get that from her,” Helen softens her voice, “that tendency to daydream. It keeps you going on the bad days, but it also keeps you stuck. What do consequences matter when everything will be okay in the end, right?

“But you were smart. You did shit in school, but you were quick to pick things up and acing tests made up for the fact you probably never did you homework. But your siblings do. You prioritized their work above yours, made sure they did well. Because it was too late for you, even then, wasn’t it?”

Frankie’s mouth opens but she keeps going.

“Three boys,” That much is a guess but the subtle intake of breath from Frankie tells her she’s right, “Three growing boys need food. And clothes. Mom was running herself to the ground to keep going. So, you stepped up. Because you’re the oldest, and because you love your mom. And, partly, because she and your brothers are all you have.”

Frankie looks like he’s going to pass out at any minute but it’s Nick she’s watching, out of the corner of her eye.

Nick’s leg is shaking, bouncing with nervous energy and he’s staring at his phone, as if it’s the only thing in the world giving him strength.

She’s willing to stake everything that whatever his lock screen shows is his reason to get up each and every morning.

Turning her attention back to Frankie, she continues, “So you wound up here. It’s local and Italian, so it could be worse in your mother’s eyes. It doesn’t stop her from worrying, though.

“But you have your uses. You’re not street smart like the rest of these guys here, but just clever enough that you see things they don’t. Finding patterns and solving puzzles. It makes up for the fact you’re shit in a fight and you probably can’t even shoot straight.”

Frankie’s face breaks into a huge grin, “Holy shit! That was dead on! How did you do that?” He leaves his chair and comes to sit on the ground outside her cell. “I didn’t know psychologists did that.”

Her face softens, “Most don’t. Technically, we’re supposed to avoid making assumptions but, after a while, you learn to pick up on little things.”

Nick narrows his eyes, “Still seems like guess work to me. The fact we’re both dropouts isn’t written on our faces. You guessed based on the fact we’re involved in Syndicate.”

“It gave me an indication of your socioeconomic status,” she admits, “But, in Frankie’s case, it was the oldest brother, single mother combination that made me go in that direction. I used to do quite a bit of family therapy. There are roles that often come up in enmeshed families,” she explains, looking back at Frankie, “things like enablers who allow everything to happen, or scapegoats, who get blamed for everything.”

Helen tries to watch Nick’s reaction to the scapegoat. And sure enough, he stares at his locked screen.

“What am I?” Frankie asks.

“The Hero.” His chest puffs up at the label, “You try to fix everything, even the things that can’t ever be put back together. Which is how I knew you dropped out to help your mom. It’s what you do.”

“And Nick?” He asks, gesturing back to where Nick sat at the table.

Curious, but tense. Disbelieving, but with a hint of worry.

He had the most to lose from this expenditure.

“Nick,” she says softly, “was the scapegoat. And that’s a difficult place to be because you can do everything right but it doesn’t matter. I imagine you got in trouble a lot as a kid, didn’t you, Nick? You didn’t follow the expectations lined out for you. In your parent’s eyes, you made the wrong choices. Had the wrong friends. Played with the wrong toys.”

“There are no wrong toys.” Frankie says, tilting his head in confusion.

“You’re right.” Helen replies, not looking away from Nick, who is now tapping his fingers on the table in an attempt to appease the nervous energy. “But there were in your parent’s eyes. So you tried to appease them, to do everything right. Just how they wanted but you had already made your bed and they never quite got over it.”

Helen has to close her eyes at the flash of pain she sees in Nick’s eyes.

And she’s careful with her phrasing because she won’t be the one to bring it into the open, even if she needs to communicate to him that she knows his deepest secret. The one he pretends doesn’t exist.

“I’ll admit, I am unsure of what happened. But they found out. Maybe you told them, or they saw something they shouldn’t have, but they found out.”

“Stop.”

“They found out, and you lost everything.”

Nick’s hand reaches for his phone and his fist tightens around it, like a lifeline.

“I don’t understand.” Frankie says, looking between them.

Helen ignores him. “You didn’t have a choice but to leave school. You had to support yourself. Take care of yourself. And you found this place. The Syndicate. A family in its own right and they took you in. But this time, you were more careful. You didn’t let it show.”

“Stop!” Nick shouts and Helen does. His face is red, his chest rising and falling.

Helen swallows but stares Nick down until he brings is eyes to meet hers. “There is nothing wrong with you, Nick.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I don’t know the pain of what you’ve been through. Your experience is your own. But I know what it’s like to be afraid and to feel trapped. And I know that nothing is going to change until you learn to accept who you are.”

Nick closes his eyes and rubs them.

And Frankie, bless his stupid fucking heart, looks back to Nick in a kind of understanding. “Oh.” He says and he looks to Helen and then again to his comrade, “Dude, I know how this place can be, but if it helps, I don’t care one way or the other. My middle brother is gay.”

Nick winces at the word and looks past Frankie to Helen.

“What gave it away?” He asks, voice heavy with emotion.

“Nothing that anyone else will pick up on.” She eases his worries, “I’ve been a therapist for nearly fifteen years. I know what to look for.”

Nick looks to Frankie, “You can’t fucking t—”

“I won’t say anything.” Frankie is quick to jump in. “I see how the world treats Gio and he’s only in high school.”

“The world can be a cruel place. As humans, we tend to have a hard time distinguishing what is perceived as normal and what is perceived as right. But we all have a responsibility to challenge those beliefs and I am sorry that your parents couldn’t do that for you.”

“I wasn’t a bad kid.” Nick mutters.

“Of course, you weren’t.”

“I just wanted my parents to love me.”

“Some parents aren’t made to be parents. And the fact they couldn’t get over their narrow world view has nothing to do with you.”

“I can’t come out.”

“You don’t have to.” Helen tells him, “You can live the rest of your life pretending to be someone you’re not. Half the world does, anyway. But I can guarantee you that hiding who you are isn’t going to do anything to protect your kid.”

Nick’s eyes widen and he looks to Helen in shock.

“You have a kid? How did that even happen?” Frankie asks.

“Tequila.”

“We’ve all been there.” Helen mutters, lifting her water bottle in a silent salute. “The guys start asking too many questions about why you never date, never have a girlfriend. They start teasing at the truth and you go out and find somebody. Anybody. And things happen, because things always do. And the next thing you know, you’re trapped in another web of lies. It’s easier to play along than to find a way out and, eventually, that web of lies starts to feel like home. And right now, it’s fine. But webs will always begin to unravel. I’d suggest you do it on your own terms rather than watch your world implode.”

Nick shivers, “You really need to stop.”

“Sorry. It’s hard to shut off, sometimes.”

“I can see why DeLuca sedated you.” He mutters and grabs his phone, “A deal is a deal. What’s the number?”

Helen tries not to look to relieved as Nick brings up a new text message. She recites John’s number, forever thankful that she memorized it. Just in case.

He types it in and shakes his head, “I take it this is Wick’s direct line?”

She nods, “Yes.”

Nick exhales, “I’m really fucking glad our shift is almost done. What do you want to say?”

Three words, she muses. They had agreed on three words.

She didn’t know if he already knew where she was, or who had her. Helen didn’t want to waste her one shot giving John information he already had but, she liked to think if he knew where she was, he would already be here.

“DeLuca of Syndicate.” She decides and hopes against hope that it is enough.

….

Dead ends.

After more than a day of searching, John had only been met with dead ends and more questions.

Winston was right. The answer to who would want to destroy the Camorra was apparently everybody. Which meant the only other factor they had to go on was by means.

Who had the resources to stalk and evade John Wick?

Again, the answer was more substantial than he knew what to do with.

They all had money. Especially, the higher up the food chain they went.

While Winston had been able to clear the highest-ranking officials of the High Table, there were still hundreds of smaller echelons to eliminate.

It hadn’t been going well.

John had limited the search to the Camorra’s immediate allies and their top adversaries, local and foreign. Winston was running it now but John could tell he wasn’t hopeful.

It had never occurred to John just how far the Underworld went. Aside from the major players, there were crime families and gangs that all held some sort of stake in his world. And New York was the fucking capital of it all. Anyone and everyone had ties to the city.

The Technician was still there, in his room. He had used the twin bed to catch a few hours of sleep while they waited for the phone to be activated and John had kept vigil. He watched the phone, waiting for any sort of call or message that wasn’t going to come. He watched the computer, hoping that something would pop up.

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing, Mister Wick. If this guy had a modicum of common sense, he would have ditched her original phone and just taken the SIM card. He’ll probably keep the phone off until he intends to use it. Might even be removing the card and only using that when he needs it. Until it’s turned on, we can’t do anything.”

It had taken every ounce of self-control John had not to smash the Technician’s computer. To break the table the way he had done the chair.

He wanted to break something. Needed to see, and hear, and feel something smash apart. Something else had to break before he did.

Thirty-six hours.

It had been thirty-six hours since he had gotten the phone call and he was still no closer to finding Helen.

His stomach churned.

He’d never had trouble eating before or after a mission before. Nothing rattled him. Not blood, or entrails, or the crack of breaking bones. He could see brain matter spattered along a floor and go for a cheeseburger right after.

But this uncertainty, the not knowing… it was killing him.

Had she eaten?

There was a frost over the weekend. Was she someplace warm?

Was she scared?

Did she know he was coming?

He hears the door open and jumps to his feet, heading to the main room. The Technician was hunched over the laptop, needlessly running security cameras and traffic footage near Helen’s home.

John feared it wouldn’t be enough.

A table full of weapons brought by the Sommelier is prepped near the door that Winston is walking through.

He has a bag ready in case Winston is unable to find anything. In case he has to go after the D’Antonio’s.

Winston shakes his head at John, almost in defeat.

“We need to reframe our parameters.” The Manager says, “It’s still too broad.”

John leans against the table. He hadn’t been expecting much but anything would be better than the constant attempts to narrow their search.

What was he missing? What was he leaving out?

What if he went too narrow and ended up missing Helen?

“Have you slept, Jonathan?”

It’s the third time they’ve had this conversation.

He’s tried. But he can’t. Every time he closes his eyes, he can see Helen, bound and passed out on the cold floor.

He can’t remember how many coffee’s he had but it’s keeping him going.

“I suppose I should be grateful you’ve showered.” Winston says, obviously still disapproving. “Still, you won’t be any good to her if you’re strung out on caffeine.”

“I’ve tried, Winston. I just…” He trails off.

This is your fault. You should have protected her better. You should never have showed weakness. Should never have gone to her house. To her office. Should never have brought your fucked-up life into her safe one.

He runs a hand through his hair.

The sitting, the waiting, the hoping is doing absolutely nothing.

He has to fix this.

“I can’t wait any longer, Winston.” John shakes his head, “I’m going after Lorenzo.”

Winston responds in kind, “Don’t be stupid, Jonathan.”

“I can’t sit here doing nothing. If I kill the D’Antonio’s, this is over. She’ll be released.”

“You’re banking on an unknown enemy being honest.”

It was true, but what else was there to go on?

“He has no reason to keep her once they’re dead.”

“That you know of. This could just be the beginning of his plan.” Winston keeps arguing.

“It’s all ifs right now!” John can feel the anger brimming within him, “But it’s all I have! And Helen… she’s tough but she has her limits.”

Winston frowns, “Well, perhaps you should have thought of that before you became involved with her.”

“You think I don’t know that! I know that this is my fault but I will get her out of this. I gave you time, I gave the Technician a chance.”

“My time isn’t up.”

“You have a handful of hours and no fucking leads.”

“Um, Mister Wick…” The Technician pipes up, turning around in his seat.

“Then help me narrow down what I should be looking for. You know I can’t just let you go off to kill a member of the High Table.”

“You won’t be able to stop me.”

“Mister Wick!” The Technician shouts and both John and Winston turn to look at him, “You, um, sorry. But you just got a text from an unknown number.”

He holds up the phone and John takes it.

A New York number, that he doesn’t recognize, but opens all the same. The message is short, deliberate.

The miracle he’s been praying for.

DeLuca of Syndicate.

[novelistash]

Life Simulators

Tinkering with life simulators are a guilty pleasure for me. The chaos of procedurally generated lives keep me far too interested. My mind fills in the blanks creating the story of these rich lives. It kind of goes against what I was talking about yesterday, but I think I said it was an issue up for debate? Well, if I didn't, you can basically say that about everything. Newtonian Physics was the only way to view the Universe until it wasn't after all.

Anyway, I'm going to drop the life of Alexandra Miller, a character who was able to live most of her life with perfect stats. Is this for posterity or just for me to keep a semi-obsessive record? Also this might be in multiple parts. Hmm, maybe I should turn this into an exercise.

Born in Sydney, Australia, my parents conceived me on a nude beach. Cate Miller, my mother, never knew who my father was, and never cared to find out. She was a 40 year old history teacher. She quickly found and married Samuel Hornsby, a 33 year-old army enlistee with a son, Kobe.

Alexandra (Lex) had trouble getting along with her new family at first. Samuel didn't want to take 3 year old Lex to the zoo when she asked, and she got into a fight with Kobe where she got so mad that she licked him on the forehead.

To help Lex feel welcome, Cate got her daughter a boxer named Baxter! Lex was very serious about taking care of Baxter, giving him baths at the age of 4 and feeding peas for treats. Her family warmed up to her, with Kobe talking to Lex about how scary the toilet was and Samuel discussing Lex's imaginary friend.

When Lex started school, she was anxious about the other kids. Some of them didn't seem to like her. In particular Ariana was always giving Lex the stink eye. Lex tried to be her friend. Ariana responded by telling Lex to jump off and calling her a sausage shark! Lex gave up on trying to make peace with Ariana and instead tried to be nice to everyone in class, showering them with compliments. She became friends with Ayla, the first girl to talk to her, as well as the smart cookie Clive. Lex cared so much about her grades in Kindergarten that she studied until her eyes were sore.

At the age of 6 Lex went to Pompei with her family and starting taking piano lessons. She learned to enjoy reading, finishing Corduroy and Stellaluna by herself.

At age 7, Lex became friends with revolutionary Archie and stylish Eleanor. One of her fondish memories of her father Samuel happened this year, when he took her sky diving! Afterwards, he gave her a compass that had been in his family for three generations. Whenever Lex was lost, she could look at the compass and know where to go.

When I turned 8, Lex's step brother Kobe became a cadet for the Sydney Police Department and moved out of the house. Continuing this theme of people leaving her, Baxter ran away from home. With compass in hand, Lex looking for her dog and found him hiding in a bush! They ate lemons together and hated it. In addition to piano lessons, Lex started taking taekwondo and voice lessons and dreamed of becoming a pop star.

An avid reader and compulsive studier, Lex was having trouble with her eyes at age 9, but the optometrist said she wouldn't need glasses if she just studied in the light. When she got a yellow belt, she learned how to perform the eagle strike in taekwondo.

Lex was content that some people would never like her, but those that showed her kindness, she'd always go out of her way to talk to them. She felt extremely luck to have so many amazing people in her life.

Kobe became a Patrolman, but Lex's 11th year would be anything but safe. Lex fell out of bed and hurt her jugular. She was bed ridden for 5 days. Baxter got in a street fight with another dog and died. Ayla helped Lex get over losing her dog and the two became best friends.

Sixth grade was the year of the great Disney movie debate, where Lex's entire class argued about which was the best Disney movie. Clive wanted to sneak into a neighbor's house to get a box of Reese's Puffs, but Lex stopped him from taking a suspicious risk. Lex was finally old enough to go to the library by herself and she started going there every week.

At the start of secondary school, Lex joined the school's orchestra! She did 26 hours of babysitting for a neighbor. She tried out for water polo but had too much trouble breathing to focus on the ball at the same time. She started going to the local gym and focus on breath control. Lex found that diving helped her get better and ended up joining the diving team instead. She started working with her mother on the garden. Her mother Cate said that the garden always reminded her of Lex.

Lex will always remember the day before her fourteenth birthday, because she met a boy from another school, Chase Edwards. After spending some time together, Chase asked to kiss her and she gave him her first kiss. When she felt him opening his lips she pulled back and decided not to spend any more time with him. A few months later, Lex went to a party with Ayla. Ayla spun the bottle and it landed on Lex. Ayla seemed like she wasn't sure if she was ready to kiss a boy, so Lex went into the closet with her. Once they were inside, Lex realized that she wanted to kiss Ayla, but didn't have the courage to try anything. Their seven minutes in heaven turned into seven minutes that were very much on Earth. Lex vowed to not live life in fear and focused on her taekwondo, earning her blue belt. While at the gym training for dive, she was asked out by Connor Robinson, and agreed to date him. Lex did work as a babysitter and lawn mower, and used that money to pay for her first mani-pedi. She joined instagram just to show off her nails. She was meditating a lot on the nature of the world and joined her school's recycling club. If all of that wasn't enough, she started taking guitar lessons.

Lex and her acne ridden boyfriend, Connor, snuck into Lex's attic, and found her mom's camcorder. There wasn't anything interesting. Lex became her orchestra's section leader and her mom, Cate, gave her a BMW after acing her driving test. Feeling like an adult, 15 year old Lex decided to go on birth control, and her mom had no objections. Ayla joined the art club, and Lex partied with her and her friends. She realized that she still had feelings for Ayla, but Ayla confessed that she was into one of her club mates and so Lex decided not to act on her feelings and stay with Connor. Ayla got a boyfriend and Lex felt like she was ready to commit to Connor.

Her sixteenth birthday was an emotional high point for Lex, and she felt like she was happy for no real reason. She became concertmaster of her school's orchestra. Everything was going great and she decided that she wanted to take things to the next level with Connor. Connor wasn't interested in sex before marriage, so she broke up with him. Her friend, Clive, helped her get over the break up by getting mani-pedis with her and they became best friends. Ayla had recently become single and so against Clive's advice, Lex decided to ask Ayla out on a date. Ayla rejected her, but said that she was willing to still be friends. Lex wasn't over her but gave up after her attempts at flirting continued to go nowhere. Lex's tutoring gig let her work with grown men from college. Clive thought one client was a pimp.

Kobe became a Corporal, Lex became dive team captain, and the family had a big party to celebrate. Lex told all of her friends that she was pansexual and everyone was more interested in going to the movies.

Lex decided to study biology at university. She met Charlie Edgecliff at the gym and asked him out. On their first date Charlie took her yodeling. After going to the movies, Lex gave her virginity to him. Lex joined the university's orchestra and swim team. For Charlie's 20th birthday, Lex took him cliff diving. They had a serious talk about cloning and decided that it would be cheating to hook up with a clone of your partner.

Lex's ex boyfriend Connor went to Lex's 19th birthday party and tried to get back together with her. Lex told him off without needing to use her brown belt in taekwondo. Between swim team, uni, and hooking up with Charlie, Lex was not only busy, but happy.

Lex became the section leader in her orchestra and somehow found time to do tutoring to pay for the many dates she went on with Charlie. She wanted to look her best for him and got Brazilians and laid on the tanning bed. She loved her body and her boyfriend, but one day at the tanning bed, she got out and threw up all over the floor. When she went to the doctor, they told her she had skin cancer. Lex had maybe five years to live. Lex couldn't accept that, she needed to try other options. When Lex talked to Connor about going to see a witch doctor, he laughed at her. She broke up with him and saw a spiritualist from Mexico. The woman told Lex to eat chihuahua hair as part of a ritual. Lex did and her cancer was miraculously gone! The 20 year old Lex had a new lease on life and she wasn't about to spend that life being single. She met the buff Kylie Mills, and dated her. Within a week they were not only girlfriends, but they were talking about moving in together.

At the age of 21, Lex took her girlfriend Kylie to Kobe's marriage. Sergeant Kobe had married a school teacher, Kiara. At the reception, Lex's old friend Archie joked with her about how weird it was that he was dating one of his mom's coworkers, even if she was only 34. Lex liked Archie's dark humor and the two became best friends. Lex kept tutoring, swimming, playing, studying, and dating. She climbed up onto a try with Kylie and school children taunted them to kiss. They made out while the sun set.

The love of Lex's life, Kylie, graduated and became a Pilot Trainee for Salls Air. Kobe and Kiara divorced after having only been together for thirteen months. Six months later, Kobe was a father to a little girl named Kylie. After graduation, 22 year old Lex got a job as a Jr. Environmental Scientist at Pacific Consulting.

Not hindered by his divorce, Kobe got promoted to Inspector. 23 year old Lex, put everything she had into her job, working more and more overtime. She was determined to buy her own place and marry the woman she loved. Things wouldn't be the same as Kobe.

Kobe had another daughter, a girl named Hazel. No one really talked about who the mother was, but they were proud of him for taking her into his family. Lex's research discovered that used condoms were threatening the lives of duck billed platypus, so she engineered a biodegradable condom. This got her a promotion at work. Feeling like she could do anything, the 24 year old Lex read War and Peace. She purchased a ring of alexandrite and proposed to Kylie. She said "yes." They were going to get married!

At Cate's retirement party, Lex realized she'd been with Kylie for 5 years! Thought the two were madly in love, Kylie's financials were in doubt. She had a lot of debt and her job wasn't even covering her student loans. At Lex's mom's retirement part, she learned that Cate was actually independently wealthy, owning some 3 million dollars in stocks and bonds. Lex's brother was the one who brought this up, because he was pretty sure the two of them were going to get a million dollars each. He told Lex to look out for Kylie, because she could divorce her and take hundreds of thousands from her. Lex knew in her heart that she could trust Kylie, but when she saw a male proustite on the street, she found herself tempted. Maybe their relationship wasn't perfect. The still Jr. Engineer, Lex, asked her boss for a promotion, but despite having come up with a new condom, she was denied.

For Lex's 26th birthday, she went to Comic Con with her coworker Bella and her friend Eleanor. Eleanor became her best friend. Lex worked while sick with the common cold and got a raise. She applied for a mortgage and bought a town home on Evans Manor. Her mom had to help her pay for the place, because Kylie's financials were all tied up in her debt.

After celebrating Lex's niece Kylie's birthday, her fiance, Kylie wanted to get married. Lex was still house poor and asked her parents to pay for the wedding. They agreed. They were going to be wed within the year. Lex had a short battle with athlete's foot. She was really starting to think of her own mortality and the mortality of her mother. After going paintballing with her step father, Lex decided that Kylie needed to sign a prenup. When Kylie refused, Lex made her promise to wait to get married until Kylie could stand on her own two feet. Kylie wasn't happy and the two stopped having sex. Lex begged Kylie to go to couples counseling, but Kylie wouldn't try. It was then that Lex knew she needed to end things with her fiance. The 27 year old Lex cut down on her hours at work and decided to focus on herself. She had a one night stand with Archie Irvine and realized that it wasn't for her. She wanted something long term and went online to date Ariana Evans. Their first date was a parkour exercise. And even though things went well, Lex wasn't ready to start getting physical with Ariana. Ariana told Lex that she was willing to take things slow.

After giving her all to a company that didn't seem to appreciate her and a fiance that wanted everything, it was only after Lex stopped caring that things finally started to change. At age 28, Lex was finally promoted to Environmental Scientist. Ariana took Lex for a photoshoot to celebrate and the two finally got physical. It was then that Ariana admitted to Lex that she didn't need to work. She was independently wealthy, being worth nearly 5 million dollars from her family's wealth. Lex threw a party at her house and Ariana was content to live separately.

Lex was falling for Ariana, but she didn't want her to think she was after her fortune. She asked her mother to pay for the wedding, and Cate agreed. Lex bought a $500 platinum ring and proposed to the millionaire, Ariana. Lex took Ariana to a football game and proposed on screen. Ariana said "yes!"

At the age of 30, Lex finally married Ariana. There was only one catch, a prenup. Lex laughed and agreed to the prenup, explaining that her mom was also wealthy. When the time came to go on a honeymoon, the two women realized they'd rather just stay local and be with friends and family. Lex took Ariana's last name, becoming Alexandra Evans.

[pleasefeedthebirds]

A Relatively Deep Dive Into My “Crème de la Crème” MCs - #1. Mavis Linnet

(From the astonishingly crisp interactive fiction by @hpowellsmith! ...It’s not weird to tag, right?)

Mavis “Miss Linnet” Mallee-Linnet

she/her/hers

Light brown complexion and loosely curled brown hair

Favors conventionally masculine fashion 

Accommodating

Manipulative

Traditional

Exceptional Poise

Noteworthy Wit and Intrigue

Commonplace Spirit

Unremarkable Flair

LOADS more info and spoiler content under the cut!

I envision Mavis as having grown up in a wealthy household, where she was still raised reasonably well about the importance of non-profligate spending. Her parents both taught at Olmstead’s Valley School, where she was in attendance for the bulk of her college-age years. Sailing was manageablely smooth. Mavis got along well in her studies, had time for both dressage and lacrosse, and—for her genuine interest in the subject matter—made it on the good side of many educators there (albeit not as often her fellow students, being for all the world their definition of a teacher’s pet!).

Her life took an abrupt shift in its trajectory when Mr. Mallee, her father, had a shameful affair come to light. Their rural community was small enough that such a thing made waves. Her other father, Mr. Linnet, sent Mavis off to Gallatin with the still-favorable Linnet name, and spent a pretty penny to do so. Primarily, he did this to save her from suffering by association, and was very vocal about these intentions. He’s definitely also relying on her to save their social standing, and despite the point being markedly unspoken, Mavis quietly understands.

So, Mavis feels an immense pressure to make the most of her time at Gallatin. She tries to conform unfalteringly to the school’s every long-winded social expectation, which exhausts her utterly. However, by her proficiency in book research, and her sincere knack for studying people, she has grown excellent at “playing the game” in high society. 

More than ever, Mavis is dedicated to her studies at Gallatin, even when the prescribed syllabus is less than stimulating. She keeps her head down so to never risk rocking the boat. This mode of being doesn’t make her happy per say, but the Gallatin atmosphere has her shoehorned into believing there’s no feasible alternative. She’s cognizant of surface level flaws in the system, but plays along because she thinks she has to. After all, it’s her way out of rural smallmindedness and into an academic world. That said, things certainly can change, particularly when one can’t help but notice atrocities being committed against literal children!

5’10”, with broad shoulders but slender hips. Her body makes an upside-down triangle shape.

Prone to acne, her skincare routines are extensive, and she’s usually up at the crack of dawn every day to get her proverbial ducks in a row.

Her hair is thinner than it looks, and she takes especial care when rationing it about her scalp. She feels vulnerable with it all the way down, so favors hair styles with low centers, such as looped pigtails, a nape bun, or double braids. Also labors to hide her considerable widow’s peak.

A heavy tea drinker. For all of her wits, she doesn’t realize that her mug o’ choice (earl grey) is highly caffeinated. She slugs the stuff down each day without ever realizing, because it “makes her feel better” about mornings.

Though it’s hardly polite, she LOVES gossip, and writes down every secret she hears as her guiltiest pleasure.

Miss Dalca and Mr. Griffith both make her uncomfortable—the former for her extreme progressiveness, and the latter for his gruff demeanor. Mr. Blanchard is her favorite teacher, and I bet she’s accidentally cried in his presence before. She’s scared of Lady Renaldt, and makes herself known to the headmaster only out of necessity.

Virtue: 91%

Popularity: 75%

Coursework Grade: A

Exam Mark: A+

Extracurricular(s): Birchmeier Society and the Gallatin Swans (goalkeeper)

*[Though not doable ingame, I like to think that she overloaded her schedule and dropped the Swans halfway through the semester. Mavis is never the type to drop anything, so having to take that step back was a double-edged blow to her confidence, in addition to being a sheer relief on her stress levels. Since the Birchmeier Society was where her heart truly lay, she managed to build herself back up there with Freddie’s support.]

Entanglements: Romantically engaged to Freddie.

Besties and then some with Freddie. They’re both hardworking scholars with each their own zest for learning, and by preparing for classes, exams, and Birchmeier Society biz in the same shared spaces, Mavis spent disproportionately more time with her than with anyone else. Freddie encouraged Mavis to be a bit less hard on herself, and was brave enough to stand up to her whenever Mavis’s fatigue was turning her curmudgeonly. Mavis helped get Freddie out of her own head on multiple occasions, taught her to break the most overwhelming situations down to deal with day-by-day, and bolstered her confidence anytime it faltered in the face of the Gallatin sphere. The engagement was Mavis’s idea, which she accidentally blurted out in a rare impulsive burst of feeling. After processing the implications, she was ashamed to have second thoughts upon remembering Freddie’s financial situation. It seemed for a while that the engagement was off, following a hard conversation that soured their relationship for awhile. I don’t think Freddie would easily bounce back after having her family standing scrutinized. However, the mine plot—when Mavis had to ultimately turn her back on everything she’d built at Gallatin—spurred character development enough that Freddie deemed her worthy of a second chance.

Friends with Gonzalez, who couldn’t help but respect that Mavis was competent in lacrosse, academically accomplished, and generally pretty nice to people. I don’t think she realizes that Mavis keeps a stiff mask. Mavis found Gonzalez refreshing, albeit off-puttingly honest, and couldn’t find a way to fault her spirited nature. I can’t imagine them engaging much off of the field (i.e. post Mavis quitting the team), but the two were mutually supportive in their interactions, even if Mavis was probably repressing some criticisms of Gonzalez’s fast and loose attitude all the while.

Friends with Max after he tutored her in flair, per Lady Renaldt’s instruction, via a sick dance sesh. I like to imagine him groaning about the task, assuming that Mavis would be a hopeless case, and then being pleasantly surprised at the fact that she can absolutely hit it (even just in the name of compliance with authority). He tried to make a move on her and was politely rejected. I think he supports the idea of her at a distance after recognizing that she’s not trying to breathe down anyone’s neck, and really is a kind, tired gal being squeezed dry by the system.

Friends with Hartmann, who was initially confused about which “side” Mavis was on in her prefectural feud with Max (Mavis shushed him at the opening commencement, which she liked, yet supported Max when he dipped out the common room window). They came to understand each other in the later game, bonding over how ill-affected they both are by the pressures of their respective positions. They don’t “hang out” much, but a couple of key deep conversations put each in the other’s good books.

Pleasant acquaintances with Karson. Mavis rarely went out of her way to talk to them, but whenever they crossed paths, she was good to Karson, and sympathized (albeit at a respectable distance) with their situation as a servant. When trouble in the mines was first coming to light, Mavis got sniffing, and sussed out enough clues that Karson eventually passed Blaise’s note on to her directly, trusting her moral compass enough to do so.

Unpleasant acquaintances with Delacroix. His unconventional take on life, passion for the intangible, and apathy towards collegiate procedure all make her uneasy. In his own right, Delacroix probably takes her for a stuffy, self-centered dud, which after all the times she’s reflexively shut his occult talk down, is pretty fair.

Acquaintances with Blaise. Mavis made nice in the early game because she had to, and was secretly relieved when she “resigned.” This was short lived, and turned into a misplaced sense of guilt after what actually happened to Blaise came to light. Mavis didn’t end up in the mines herself, but she did everything she could to help her, Miss Dalca, and eventually Gonzalez escape. When all was said and done, Blaise still made Mavis uncomfortable, and she let her be to get on with her life.

Approached Rosario at the punch table in an attempt to court the princess in the room… absolutely blew it. Ended up tripping over her own tongue when she realized that the heir is not so predictably wooed by traditional measures as originally anticipated. I like to think of that moment as a point of deeper connection for Mavis and Freddie, where both were totally overwhelmed by the noble sphere at Archambault and turned to each other for comfort. Otherwise, Rosario was a Rosari-no for Mavis.

Was weirded out by Auguste. Mavis fears any authority figures who don’t like her right away, and they’re too close to the ever-frigid Lady Renaldt for her comfort. She did totally trash them (benevolently) at dressage on sports day, though.

Gave Florin the widest possible berth. Mavis wanted nothing to do with that kind of scandal, but definitely found her shallowly cute. 

Some Choice Plot Pieces (cue spoilers):

Gathered evidence against Miss Dalca in compliance with Lady Renaldt.

Had an adequate working relationship with Miss Benton.

Gathered information for Annick against Lady Renaldt.

Endgame (cue SUPER spoilers):

Worked in secret against Lady Renaldt.

Sent Gonzalez to the mines, but most everyone got out (I believe Miss Dalca died?!).

Settled things quietly with Kathrili Burgin.

Went on to study at Gessner.

Joined Freddie for the summer.

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 14 of 29)

 Paul was still trying to remember the times he’d slept with her even as he looked her over. Brownish hair in a grown-out shag, that sort of dirty light brown color that made it obvious she’d probably been towheaded as a kid, blue eyes, freckles in heaps across her nose and cheekbones. Icepick scars ran down one cheek on close inspection, reminiscent of Ace’s, pitting up her complexion. The remnants of measles or acne. She was very small, easily at least a head shorter than him, even now. Skinny figure, accentuated in a pair of jeans and a halter top. So much for the dress code he’d rambled about that morning. Younger than him, if he were going to take a guess. Not—not substantially so, maybe three or four years. She wasn’t beautiful at all, but she had that blandly cute girl-next-door look about her that sometimes was its own ticket of admission.

He’d been working towards this for days, and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to approach her. The doorman had already backed away, disappearing as soon as he’d realized Gene saw the girl. Paul’s palms were sweating worse now than during the dance; he felt like he was about to sing at Shea Stadium. He felt Gene’s hand on his back, urging him, and finally he stepped forward and spoke.

"Hi, Carol."

She didn’t recognize him. He could tell by the way her eyes flickered from him to Gene, measuring him up. She was probably thinking that Gene was adding up girls for a threesome. She smiled in a distant, vague way, holding her hand up in a wave.

“Hi.”

“We need to talk,” Paul said, but she shook her head and turned to Gene.

“The guy at the door said Paul Stanley wanted to see me, too.”

“I do.”

“What?”

“I do want to see you.”

She looked at him. Really looked at him, staring him dead in the eye. Her mouth opened. She looked—she almost looked afraid.

“Oh, my God.” A breath. “Paul?”

Paul nodded.

 “It worked? It really—” Carol stopped herself. Her gaze inched down from his face to his chest, Paul’s stomach curdling as her focus moved further down—it had never felt that bad before, being looked at, but being looked at by her felt absolutely awful, like he was a specimen or an experiment. “Did it go all the…”

“Do I look like I’ve got anything else there?”

She actually flinched, shaking her head. He hadn’t expected that. Thought sure she’d be gleeful as soon as she realized who he was.

“We want to talk to you.” Gene, still next to him. Paul glanced at him briefly. The lipstick smeared on his mouth and neck had to make him seem far less threatening, but Carol seemed at least a little cowed anyway. “You know exactly why.”

“I… I don’t want to talk to you. I only want to talk to Paul.”

“That’s too damn bad,” Gene snapped, but Paul raised his hand.

“No. That’s fine. We’ll talk privately.”

“Paul, I don’t think—”

“Gene, it’s okay.”

He didn’t really think it was okay, being alone with this girl. No matter how small and timid she was, that didn’t change what she’d done, what she was capable of. But he thought he’d stand a better chance of getting the curse removed if Gene wasn’t there staring daggers into her. Whatever he’d done to Carol, however he’d hurt her, it was up to him to try and smooth over, not Gene. Gene, who still hadn’t withdrawn his hand from Paul’s shoulder.

“Paul, don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not being stupid.” He turned to Carol. “Look, we’ll go to the basement and talk this over there, all right?” He’d almost bet she was familiar with that basement. Mary-Anne had said she wanted to be the next Pamela des Barres, hadn’t she? She’d probably gotten with dozens upon dozens of rockstars.

Except that didn’t feel right. There wasn’t that—Pamela’d been before his time, but Connie Hamzy, even Bebe Buell, and the weird entourage of girls he’d almost started to recognize when he’d tour parts of America over again, they all had some sort of—charm and self-confidence propping them up, at least for as long as it took to come. This girl seemed totally devoid of that. This girl reminded him, uncomfortably, of—

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay. We can go downstairs.” Carol glanced, haltingly, at Gene. “I won’t hurt him.”

Gene’s expression was wary. Paul couldn’t blame him. He clasped Gene’s arm, briefly.

“I’ve got to do this myself, all right? I’ll be right back.” He squeezed Gene’s arm; for a second, just a stupid second, he wanted to kiss him. Like they really were together. Like they’d… like they’d really shared something beyond an evening and a few dances and a few kisses not five minutes ago. Something in Paul’s stomach felt all mangled, whether because he couldn’t manage to do it or because he wanted to, he wasn’t sure. Gene inclined his head in a slight nod.

“You’ve got twenty minutes.” Gene was directing the words at Carol, not Paul. “I’m coming down there if he’s not back by then.”

Paul started to say he didn’t have a watch, but Gene was unlatching his own and putting it in his hand before he could. The silver felt heavy in his palm, heavy and warm from Gene’s skin. It was just as well that he hadn’t tried to put it on him; it would’ve been loose enough to be laughable. Paul nodded.

“I’ll see you, Gene. C’mon.”

--

It felt weird, going anywhere without Gene at his side. Made him feel bare, somehow. Two girls walking together down the VIP floor, without anything recognizable about either of them, was ironically enough to garner quick glances from the people around. Paul sped up his steps more than he needed to, dimly satisfied at the way Carol was having to scurry to keep up with him, heading down the stairs to the main dancefloor, and then past that, to the basement.

He’d thought a doorman might be there to block the way for non-VIPs, but there was no one at all. Maybe Ace had been right when he’d said Rubell’s workers were as loaded as he was. Maybe they were just lucky. He wouldn’t question it, holding the railing in one hand, Gene’s watch in the other. Twenty minutes. He stood at the foot of the steps, waiting on Carol, and then, once she’d descended, started knocking on the doors that lined the basement. A whole hallway full of them. He didn’t stop knocking until he came to a door where he didn’t hear an answer back, and he opened that door, turning on the light, looking the room up and down before gesturing for Carol to come inside, and then shutting the door on them both.

The room was small, the carpet dirty and full of ground-in glitter and smeared stains. There was a coke spoon on the floor, a box of tissues, and a bare king-sized mattress. Studio 54’s luxury basement suites, tawdry and disgusting as a tenement. With nowhere else to sit, Paul lowered himself onto the mattress next to Carol, sitting on one corner while she sat on the other. Her knees were bent, ankles up against the side of the mattress. His legs were stretched out but closed on the floor, more from concern about what might be crawling around on the carpet than any lousy efforts at ladylike fakery.

It wasn’t the way he’d wanted to confront her, in a grimy little room, wearing a dress that made it seem, maybe, like he wanted to be like this. Odd as it was after what she’d done, she seemed almost like she was the one afraid of him. She didn’t say a word at first, just looked at him, gaze right on his face now, hands resting her knees, watching him as he put on Gene’s watch, having to clasp it several inches below his wrist just to keep it from falling off. He wondered what she was seeing, if she had a better idea of what was under the surface than Gene did, just by virtue of having done this to him. He wondered if she was disappointed, when she finally spoke.

“You look nice.”

Paul didn’t answer.

“I didn’t think you’d look that nice.”

“Did you think I’d come out here in a sack?”

She bit her lip, flinching, shaking her head. For a bizarre moment she looked like she was about to apologize to him, and then she seemed to steady herself.

“I was just surprised. I didn’t really think it would turn out.”

“Well, it did.” Paul couldn’t manage to catch himself. He was scared, sure, but he was pissed-off, too. He’d counted on her crowing over the damage like some corny Batman villain. That would’ve been so easy to smart back at. But this fragile slip of a girl that still seemed cowed by him—this girl, instead, at the crux of all his problems—there was no satisfaction in snapping at her, any more than there’d be from tearing a piece of paper or blowing out a candle. “Carol—what the hell did I even do to you to deserve this?”

Carol shook her head again, rubbing her hands up and down her jean-clad thighs, like an anxious athlete, like she was trying to gear herself up, almost. The words seemed to tumble out of her throat, like pebbles and shells pushed out by the tide.

“Y-you don’t even know. Mary-Anne said you wouldn’t. She said I could try whatever weird hex I wanted, and you’d never know who did it to you, or why. I guess she was half-right.”

“Are you going to tell me? Look, Carol, whatever it was, I’m—”

“You’re sorry?” She shook her head. Her face was starting to flush, body stiffening. That weakness to her, that fear, seemed to be fading out, blue eyes narrowed. Every sentence seemed to be fueling her, getting louder and louder. “You think you can just apologize and I’ll reverse it for you? Y-you can just stare at me real sad and I’ll feel bad for you?”

“I can’t apologize if I don’t know what I did!”

“That’s your whole damn problem! That’s all of it!” Carol reached over, grabbing his arm. He was too surprised to jerk away. She let go for him, after a squeeze that, even now, in this body, was hardly tight enough to hurt at all. “You don’t know anything! You aren’t anything! People—people wanna be like you! Girls wanna sleep with you! They think there’s something you’ve got that they can get at, but there’s not!”

“What are you talking about?”

Her lip was wobbling, her face completely red, all the way to her neck. He was hoping she was high, hoping he had some leverage, somehow. He didn’t think she was.

“You know what they say about you in the magazines?” she blurted. “They say you’re so, so sensitive. They say you’re shy. That you’re wanting to commit to someone, but you just haven’t found the right girl yet.”

“That’s—”

“I believed it.” Carol bit her lip. “I believed all of it. W-why shouldn’t I have believed it? What the hell else did I have going for me? I was flunking out of college.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all! You’re just sorry I did this to you!”

“I—” Paul started, then swallowed the rest. She was right. But more than that, he wasn’t in a position to argue her on anything. She could make him a girl permanently. Or do something even worse to him. Better to try and let her get it all out.

The funny thing was, the sad thing was, he wasn’t sure how. He wasn’t used to anyone spilling on him. Peter, maybe, in the early days, but besides him… people didn’t confide in him. Even Gene didn’t. Luckily, the girl didn’t need any prodding.

“I was flunking out of college,” she repeated, quieter now. “My dad had just died. That’s how I got into the occult. I’d try and contact him. But I never got him. That was two years ago.”

Paul opened his mouth to apologize again, then, figuring she’d yell, he reached over, hesitantly vying for her hand. Her mouth wobbled, and she yanked her hand back before he’d even grasped it.

“My mom was… trying to get me to withdraw from all my classes and come home. But I didn’t. I just kept skipping them. I’d go downtown, watch movies, go to the record store. That’s when I saw you.”

“Were we doing a signing?”

“Yeah. But I hadn’t heard of you. I was just there to buy an album.”

“What album?”

“Have You Never Been Mellow.”

Oh, God. Paul managed a tight smile.

“Olivia Newton-John.”

“That’s right. I-I wasn’t going to get your album, ’cause I didn’t know who you were, but… you were all at the front of the store, and—I was holding her album, and… you waved at me.” Her voice had softened up as she kept going, that hard edge whittling to nothing. “It’s stupid.”

He wanted to agree. It was outstandingly stupid. If every girl he’d ever waved at hated him half as much as this chick did, he’d have been hung, drawn, and quartered years ago. But the look in her eyes was so miserable, and his body was so heavily on the line, that he couldn’t manage a word.

“That’s not why I did this to you, anyway. I got your album and all of you signed it. Dressed to Kill. You were right at the end—then you… you said you had a show tomorrow. So I went and—”

“And I picked you up after, right?”

She snorted.

“No. I was too far back. You didn’t even see me.” Her hand was on the mattress now. “But that’s what got it started. I’d get all the music magazines. I kept looking out for KISS. I-I wanted to know all about you.”

“Just because I spoke to you?” Paul swallowed, shook his head. “Carol… Carol, KISS was nothing back then. If Alive hadn’t been a hit, we—”

“You were something to me. I didn’t care what you were to anybody else.” Carol wasn’t looking him in the eye. She was staring at the floor, or maybe at his heels, her voice almost on the verge of wobbling again. “My… my roommate, she—she still had that old Mark Spitz poster on the wall. The one with where he’s wearing all his medals, you know? So why couldn’t I want you? At least you were around! At least I knew I could get you, if I kept trying!

“So I kept trying. I had lots of time. I got kicked out of college the end of that semester. My mom’d given me some of the insurance money after Dad died. I spent that whole summer chasing musicians around.” She took a ragged breath. “I saw Lynyrd Skynyrd twice, I saw the Stones at the Garden, Fleetwood Mac, Aerosmith… all those guys. I figured out how to get backstage. And then… that next year, when KISS was back in town—I got you.”

He was starting to remember her now. She hadn’t been any prettier then, their first time together. He remembered opting for her because she seemed to want it most, the way he tried to aim guitar picks at the fans that seemed most desperate for them. But he’d only noticed her at all on the outset because she was very short, the shortest girl in the entire Coop that evening. It had appealed to him, in some weird way—kind of made her endearing. Just a little bit of a chick.

“I picked you up. That was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one I carried out of the Coop.”

She looked a little startled, but she nodded.

“You’re the only one I ever did that to.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I…” Paul hesitated.

He’d been in a good mood that evening, really good. Gene had gotten to the Coop first, as was typical. Then Ace—he knew because he’d passed him in the hallway, face halfway made up and a girl on his arm. He didn’t know about Peter. He’d seen the girl, he’d seen Carol, staring at him with a look that was practically beatific. Like those weird Catholic icons. It should have turned him off, but paired with her height and build, it had just given him an idea. He’d pointed at her; she’d started to walk towards him, and then he picked her up bridal-style, carrying her past one hotel threshold and to another. The other girls in the Coop just about lost it. And Carol, Carol was giggling.

It hadn’t been hard to carry her from the Coop to his hotel room. She probably didn’t weigh much more than ninety pounds. He hadn’t had to sit her down once until putting her on the bed. He remembered being a little pleased with his own theatrics, remembered thinking that it was too bad his taste usually ran to taller girls; otherwise, he might have tried the trick again.

But that was the only thing he remembered from that first evening with her. He couldn’t remember tears or her having trouble getting off or anything; it was just a typical night. He exhaled, trying not to be intimidated by the look in her eyes, the disgust there, the bitterness.

“Carol, I—look, I don’t understand. What was the problem? What didn’t I live up to?”

Carol looked at him. Really looked at him, blue eyes watery.

“Nothing. You were just like all the magazines said.”

“So—”

“You were really good. Well, I thought you were. It’s not like I could compare.”

“You said you—”

“I said I figured out how to get backstage. I didn’t say I slept with all those guys to do it.” Her mouth twisted acridly. “I wasn’t that cheap. I was just waiting on you.”

“Waiting on…” There was a prickling down his spine as it hit him. “Wait, you… were you a virgin?”

Her mouth opened like she was about to speak, or about to sob. She closed it and nodded instead, tears dripping down her cheeks. Paul’s stomach started to churn. He didn’t know how to answer.

“Carol, if I got you pregnant, if you—caught something, I—”

“You didn’t get me pregnant!” Her voice cracked. “You didn’t give me anything! Y-you just slept with me!”

“Then—”

“You took my virginity! Then you got up and took a shower! Asked me to leave like I was a whore! It didn’t mean anything to you! A-all the time I’d spent! All the money I’d spent! Reading about you! Figuring out about you, how t-to get to you—and it didn’t mean a goddamn thing! You only wanted me long enough to get off!” She was crying now. “I-I wanted it to be different! I wanted to mean something to you!”

“Carol, stop—”

“A-and I knew I wouldn’t! I knew I’d be like e-every other girl, but I didn’t want… I-I thought if I could… if I could have you, just once, it’d be enough for me. Just once. But having you made me feel even worse than before!”

He sat there stunned, without a word. One hand shifted awkwardly again, but he didn’t reach for her this time. Instead, he grabbed a tissue from the box next to the mattress, placing it on her thigh. Her fingers clamped around the offering, but she didn’t bring it to her face at first.

“I wasted myself on you. I knew that before you told me to leave. Y-you’d be in some other city the next night, fooling around w-with some other girl.  Your breakfast meant more to you than I did.” She rubbed the tissue against her eyes, streaking her eyeliner. “I couldn’t stand it. I threw up as soon as I got out of the hotel.”

Paul’s throat felt dry. He couldn’t say she was wrong, because she wasn’t. He couldn’t say he hadn’t ever thought about it, because he had. He had wondered. He did know he slept with virgins on tour sometimes, just from body language and, sometimes, from the blood. He thought they knew what they were in for, assumed they’d made their choice with just as much awareness as any Butter Queen or Sweet Connie. He didn’t drug girls; he didn’t fuck drunk girls, and he didn’t try to hurt them. But he didn’t give a damn about them, either. He hadn’t in years and years. They came with the tour. Pick the girl like a room service entrée. Never think about the after, or the kind of place she lived in, or the things she wanted—because thinking about that might stir his conscience, might make her matter.

“Then I went home a-and just went to pieces. I even called up my mom.” She sniffled, wiping her nose on a clean edge of the napkin. “I didn’t tell her what happened. But she told me to come back home. I did for awhile, but… it didn’t help. I just kept thinking about you. Going through all those girls l-like we were toilet paper. You and all your stupid bandmates. You and all the other rockstars. Claiming you were looking for the right one. All that bullshit. I wanted to hurt you like you’d hurt me. And I figured out how to do it.”

Paul swallowed thickly.

“It took months to get it all worked out. Marbas is so particular.” Her eyes closed. “I had to make all these offerings just to summon him right. He thought the whole thing was… was funny. That’s why I didn’t really think he’d done it.”

“So you did conjure Marbas.”

She looked a little surprised he knew the reference.

“Yeah. Marbas told me what I needed. How to get to you. I knew you’d come before you walked into CBGB that night.” Her lips tilted up. “You were better that second time, you know. Maybe just ’cause he told me what you liked. You didn’t carry me anywhere. But you offered to let me shower with you, after. I almost changed my mind about cursing you.”

“I wish you had.”

“I don’t.” She wiped her eyes on the tissue again, seeming to recover a little. “It didn’t turn out like I thought it would. You haven’t had it that bad.”

“How the hell can you say that to me? You ruined my life! How can you have the… the nerve to—”

“What’s happened to you?” She twisted the tissue in her hand, crumpling and tearing it. “You’ve got a nice dress. You’re pretty. Y-you’re still getting the VIP floor at Studio 54. You didn’t even have to do anything nasty for it.”

“I’ve got a tour I can’t go on. I’ve got family I can’t see. You can’t—”

“How come you’re even here, Paul?” she interrupted, as if she hadn’t even heard him. “It’s ’cause you just got Gene to take care of you, right? I bet that’s how it’s been this whole time.”

Heat seemed like it flooded his throat. Got him to take care of you. Like… like he was just some dog with a limp, scurrying into the house for comfort and petting. Like he wasn’t capable. Like he had to have Gene there, like he was screwing around, just screwing around with what he knew Gene wanted out of him, just to get ahead, just to get his body back. His guts felt like they were twisting and coiling inside him. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t like that. He wanted to burst into the truth, as lowly as it was, and he couldn’t get the words out. Easier to let her think he was rotten than to own up to—

“Gene—”

“I saw you kissing him.” She said it slowly, still tattering what was left of the tissue. “It’s not just the girls you’d hurt. You’d use anyone to get what you wanted, wouldn’t you? Even him. Y-you really did deserve what I did.”

“Carol, it’s—”

“I won’t take it off.”

Paul stared. His heart felt like it had dropped somewhere down into his twisting guts. He was breathing hard through his nose, mouth twitching. He hadn’t even asked yet. He hadn’t even asked yet, and she’d decided. His gaze drooped, unbidden, to his hands, fingers still long, wrists too thin to even hold Gene’s watch on them, not his hands at all, not really. He didn’t want them. He didn’t want to be like this. Not for forever. He didn’t want to face—

“You’ve got to!”

He hadn’t touched her since that ill-fated reach for her hand earlier. Still trying the time-worn ways to get a girl’s attention, even though it couldn’t possibly work now. Still not really aware that he didn’t have the presence he’d taken for granted his whole life. He turned on the bed, legs splayed out to the side of the mattress, and grabbed her bare shoulders. She bit her lip, drawing back a bit, but didn’t try to push him away.

“You can’t leave me like this! I-I can’t live the rest of my life like this! I don’t want to!”

“I don’t think you’ll have to, Paul.”

 “What are you—” Paul stopped, eyes widening, hands shifting down from her shoulders. “Carol, please. I’ll—I’ll pay you, I’ll do anything, all right? I’ll—what do you want? Do you want to fuck me again? Date me? I’ll do that. Whatever you want. I can’t—please, you have to—”

“You think I’d be hot for you when you’re like this?” She snorted. “You caused it. You can fix it.”

“You caused it, damn it! You can fix it!”

She shook her head.

“You weren’t paying attention. It took months to summon Marbas. He won’t want to come back to undo it for me. Not this fast.” She exhaled. “If you want to break the curse, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

“How?”

“It won’t be hard on you, Paul, don’t worry. I’m surprised you didn’t get there already.”

He didn’t hesitate. Even her slight got shoved to the side in his eagerness.

“What do I need to do?”

She shifted, leaning back and resting most of her weight on her arms, against the mattress. Posture that shouldn’t have seemed stiff at all but somehow did.

“Depend on somebody else the way I depended on you. The way all those girls depended on you. Give yourself up just like they did. That’s fair, right?”

Paul sat there stunned. His palms were sweating.

“Give myself up. You mean—”

“Give up your virginity. Get fucked, Paul.” Her mouth was unsteady again, twitching at the corners in her effort not to cry. “You’re still a guy, so maybe you won’t even care. But I hope you do. I hope you feel like I did. I hope you feel like you wasted it on someone that didn’t give a damn. T-that’d be enough for me.”

“That’s what I need to do?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s all?”

Carol took the pieces of tissue, wadding them up and pushing them into her pocket. Then she stood up, biting her lip.

“Yeah. That’s all.”

He started to get up himself. His throat still felt hot, heart and guts all out of alignment, utterly uncertain. Whatever sparks of anger she’d had before were gone already, and she seemed smaller now than ever, like a battered kite, flimsy, forlorn. Someone who’d put all her hopes in something that couldn’t pan out.

He knew who she reminded him of. He’d known the whole time.

“Carol.”

“This is one room you’re not showing me out of,” she said quietly, and walked out the door.

[takingcourage]

Additions: Part 2

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 3,700

Summary: During their first morning at home, the kids start settling in and Jaime and Arden get their first taste of parenting.  

Note: Based on my drafting and outlining, I anticipate that this series will be 6 full parts (give or take one) and a brief epilogue. I should be able to post at least an update a week from here on out -- hopefully more, if editing and polishing go smoothly. 

I also wanted to include a quick note about content. As the story progresses and you get to know more about the kids, you’ll see that they’ve experienced a fair share of difficulties. Although I ultimately want this series to be a hopeful and uplifting read, I also don’t want to be naive in the way I deal with their upbringing. If you have any concerns about the way I’ve portrayed any elements of this story, please tell me. I’d much rather correct my mistakes than make a further mess of things. 

Anyway, happy reading! 

June, 2027

Arden woke early, not quite believing that she’d actually slept through the night. As she consulted the phone on her nightstand, she felt Jaime stir at her side. When his imploring hand reached out to caress her hip, she flipped over to face him. 

“It isn’t even daylight,” he urged, voice thick from sleep. “We could go back to sleep.” 

She snuggled up to him, cool nose nuzzling his shoulder. “I don’t want them to get up before we do. And I forgot to ask last night if they like pancakes.” 

He chuckled and lowered his face to kiss her hairline. “They’ll be here next Saturday too.” 

Arden’s fingers teased the patch of hair on his chest, her voice growing quiet at the intimation. “But you know how important it is for us to be consistent. It’s their first full day here and I want to start things off right. Plus, it’s tradition.”

Jaime buried his face in her hair, his lips providing assurances before he ever gave voice to them. “We’ll start plenty of new traditions as a family of five. If they don’t like pancakes, we’ll find other routines to get into.” 

Wiggling even closer, she basked in the remnant of sleep warmth that lingered between their sheets. On any other day, she’d have been tempted to stay there until some outside force pulled them both from bed, but she was far too full of thoughts on this morning to lose herself in such amusements. 

“And I can almost guarantee that they’ll like pancakes.” 

She giggled into his ribs. “Probably so. All right, I’m getting up now.” With a slight groan, she pushed herself away and left the bed. Entering the bathroom, she heard the telltale rustle of blankets as her husband joined her. 

“It may be a little early to start on breakfast, but we can go drink some coffee while we wait for them to get up,” he suggested, bypassing her at the double-wide vanity. 

“It’s never too early for coffee.” 

Jaime shook his head and stepped into the shower with a grin. “I’m enabling your addiction, aren’t I?”

She cocked a brow, but didn’t dignify the comment with further response. Instead, Arden made her way to the dresser and set about choosing an outfit for the morning. The options were still sitting at the foot of their bed when Jaime emerged from the shower, hair dripping onto her bare skin as he leaned over her to take a look. 

“I didn’t figure this part out before,” she admitted, rotating her face so she could see him. “Do I put on lounge pants or real clothes? I want them to know that we’re down-to-earth, but I don’t want to look like a slob. We’re supposed to “model good choices” and all of that.” 

He hugged her tightly, and though she squirmed automatically against the loose droplets of water that transferred to her skin, it didn’t take long for her to relax into his continued touch.

“You’ll be modeling good choices no matter what, babe. Before you know it, you’ll be back to work and long gone by this time most mornings. Besides, I think our Saturdays now are for lounging around and enjoying family time.” 

“Okay.” 

Arden took the advice gratefully, slipping her jeans back onto the shelf in her closet. She pulled on the drawstring sweatpants she’d selected, subconsciously checking to make sure they hadn’t gotten too wrinkly in the days they’d spent sitting in her drawer. 

“Ready?” came his quiet question minutes later. 

“Can I have a kiss first?”

He gave in, and the easy motion bolstered her strength. “We’ve got this, Arden.”

The relative darkness of the house meant that they had to navigate by memory. As they crept down the stairs, Arden had to suppress the feeling that they were some strange variety of burglar -- tiptoeing and avoiding all excess noise in their own home. On reaching the kitchen, Jaime flipped on a single light and withdrew the bag of grounds from the cupboard.

No sooner had Arden turned on the sink to fill the pot than footsteps creaked on the stairs. Their daughter appeared in the kitchen doorway moments later.

“Morning, Sophia.” Jaime gave her a welcoming smile as he folded back the top of the package of coffee. 

“Good morning,” Arden echoed, briefly taking in the girl’s appearance.

“Good morning,” came the tentative response. One hand raised to brush the neatly-parted hair behind her ear. The other slipped into the pocket of her jeans. 

Why am I so awkward? Just say “good morning” back like a normal person. 

The errant thought wrenched Arden’s heart, and she nearly dropped the pot of water balanced between her hands. Trying not to stare at the girl before her, she shifted it to the counter. She’d just decided to offer the child some coffee when Sophia spoke again.  

“Sorry,” she breathed, so cautiously that the words were almost a whimper. “I’m really bad at sleeping in new places and I woke up super early. I can go back to my room if that’s what you want.” 

Exchanging a quick glance with Jaime, Arden took a step toward the doorway. “Only if you want to. We weren’t sure what time you were used to eating breakfast, so we thought we’d come down and start with some coffee until you were all awake. Do you want some? We’d love to have you join us, even if you don’t want any.” 

In the months leading up to the placement, Arden had expected that interactions with their children would come as naturally her interactions with guests on the show – that all the right words would fall from her tongue at all of the right times. In the past eight years, she’d grown accustomed to the easy confidence she felt with her on-set persona. 

Her parent persona seemed incredibly stilted by contrast. Talking with her daughter was more like rehashing a script than anything genuine. She could practically feel herself checking off the familiar reminders. 

Be nurturing. When possible, let the child make decisions for herself. Include the child in normal family routines. 

Swallowing hard, she wondered how long it would take before she stopped second guessing her responses to everything. 

Sophia offered the shadow of a smile, tugging her hand from her pocket with no small degree of difficulty. “I like coffee.”

Arden’s brows scrunched. “Do you like it black?”

The girl couldn’t hide her impulse of disgust at the question, mouth souring at the thought of the bitter liquid. “Ugh, no.” Seeming to catch herself, she amended, “I can’t drink it like that.”

“Oh, good,” Arden sighed with relief. “Neither can I.” With renewed purpose, she opened the fridge and searched for the various bottles of creamer she knew resided on the shelves. Finding them, she ushered Sophia over for a look. “Do any of these sound good?”

Sophia squinted at the bottles she indicated, lifting her hand again to confirm that the hair was still tucked behind her ear. 

Arden gave her space, careful not to stare when it was so clear that she wasn’t ready to meet her eyes. 

But avoiding her face was hard. Those features had been seared on her memory for the better part of the past year. Seeing them before her now, she was struck by how notably they’d changed since September’s filming. The clear skin that she’d had in the initial video was now marked with a smattering of acne across her hairline, and her round cheeks had hollowed considerably over the course of the school year. 

She’s hardly a child at all, Arden realized with a sense of alarm. We’re going to have a teenager in the house in less than a year. I don’t think we’ve spent time around teenagers since we were teenagers. What have we done? There’s so much research I’ll have to do for–

As her thoughts began to spiral, Sophia’s voice dragged her out of the vortex. 

“Ca– May I try the hazelnut?”

Still trying to settle her mind, Arden retrieved the creamer she’d requested, along with the gallon of milk for herself. “If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to try any of the others.” She knew the response was delayed, but at least it felt better than not saying anything at all. “I like to switch things up now and then, so I usually have a few to choose from. Jaime doesn’t like anything in his at all,” she offered conspiratorially, placing the of bottles on the counter. “It’s gross, but he refuses to drink it any way other than black.” 

Jaime jumped in to defend himself, and soon the three of them were seated around the dining room table, mugs in hand. 

By the time the boys surfaced more than an hour later, they were just starting in on their second pot. 

“Ew, yuck,” Will announced on entering. “Coffee is dis-cuss-ting.” The word was drawn out, lisped over a pair of missing incisors. 

Alex elbowed him and traded a look with his sister. 

Jaime topped off Arden’s mug and passed her the sugar jar knowingly. “Well, we’ve got plenty of coffee if you happen to change your mind.” 

“I won’t,” Will promised, still rubbing his injured side. Taking a large step away from his brother, he found the empty seat at Sophia’s side. 

“How about you, Alex? Coffee?”

The boy’s tangled mop of hair shook vigorously. 

“All right. What about pancakes?” Jaime offered instead. 

I told you they’d want them, he told Arden when a round of nods circled the room.

“I can help make pancakes,” Sophia volunteered, pushing her empty coffee mug to the center of the table. 

“That’d be great,” Jaime agreed. “Do you like them with blueberries?”

Sophia looked at her brothers, discomfort evident in her puzzled expression. “I’m not sure. I don’t think we’ve had them like that before.” 

“I don’t like raisins,” Will chimed in. 

Arden’s face must have displayed her confusion at the younger boy’s admission. 

“We ate a lot of raisins with our last foster family,” Sophia offered by way of explanation. “He didn’t like them.”

Alex grumbled something under his breath. 

Sophia shot a warning gaze as she passed by his chair. “As long as they’re not raisin pancakes, we should be fine.” She stepped through the archway and stood attentively. 

“I’ll make some both ways, just so we’re safe.” Jaime retrieved a mixing bowl from the cabinet, then set about gathering dry ingredients. 

“You’re the one making them?” Their daughter’s voice cracked with the question. “I mean, I don’t mean that in a rude way. I just thought she was going to…” The girl’s wide eyes scanned the back he’d turned to her. He’s a nice guy. I’ll be okay. 

Arden felt like the wind had been knocked out of her as she watched the scene unfold. She knew a fair bit of Sophia’s history, and she’d picked up a handful of nonverbal cues when they’d visited the kids before, but no proof was as stark as what she was seeing and hearing this morning. 

A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. The thought of Jaime being anything other than trustworthy was ridiculous. Anyone who’d known him longer than thirty seconds could tell he was a man of impeccable character. Sophia was probably safer in the kitchen with him than she could be with any other person in the world. 

But she doesn’t know that, Arden reasoned. She’s been hurt before and trust takes a long time to build. 

Resolved, but somewhat deflated, she passed the threshold. 

Sophia visibly relaxed at her presence. 

“Do you want to get the eggs from the fridge?” Arden asked with a reassuring smile. “How many do we need, Jaime?”

“Today? Let’s start with three and see where that gets us. I haven’t made this many in a long time. It’ll take a while to cook them all,” he chattered on amiably. 

Arden caught Will’s restless squirming from the corner of her eye. “Do you boys want to go and play for a while or stay in here and wait with us?” The idea of keeping all three of them entertained between now and breakfast was a little daunting. 

“Can I take Opie for a walk?”

“Sure!” she replied instinctively. 

Panic flared across her consciousness as she realized her mistake. I can’t just leave Sophia alone with Jaime. And I’m not letting a seven-year-old go walking through the neighborhood by himself. 

Unless Alex wanted to stay and help too, splitting up was probably a terrible idea. 

Please volunteer to help, please volunteer to help. 

Alex continued staring at the grain of the table, fiddling with the collar of his pajama shirt.

Jaime met her eyes across the room. His quizzical brow quickly cleared in understanding. “Alex, would you mind helping too? I’ve got a perfect job for you.”  

It looked for a moment as though he was going to grumble at the request, but his face soon reset and he marched into the kitchen without complaint. Sophia’s calm demeanor assured her that they’d made the right decision. 

Thank you, she mouthed over the back of the boy’s head. Jaime smiled his response. 

Turning her attention to their youngest, she found him already petting the dog in the hallway. “I’ve got the leash here. Do you want to put it on?” 

Will’s bright eyes lit at the suggestion. 

Arden passed the cord over, watching closely as he clipped it onto Opie’s collar.  “He likes you,” she informed him with absolute certainty. “And he’s going to be so excited to have someone new to take him on walks.” 

The boy beamed at her, tongue visible in the spaces between his missing teeth.  She’d once thought that Jaime was the only person on earth whose smiles could stop her heart, but she recognized the distinct patter in her chest. For entirely different reasons, this child already had her wrapped around his finger. 

She was stirred from her musings by the sensation of a small face rubbing against her shin. Jinx strolled by, pausing momentarily to sniff the length of leash that dangled on the floor. 

“Can Jinx come for a walk too?”

Arden giggled, catching the cat’s derisive tail flicking even if she didn’t hear her thoughts. “I don’t think she’d like it very much. She really just wants to sleep and look out the window these days.” 

“Is she old?”

“She’s older than Opie is.” 

“Can we get a new cat for her to play with?”

“Maybe someday,” she answered noncommittally. Saying no to this boy was going to be an incredible test of willpower. 

With a quick wave toward the kitchen, they were ready to go. The morning had hardly started, and Arden already felt that at least one potential crisis had been averted. Repeating Jaime’s earlier affirmation, she followed Will out onto the lawn. 

We’ve got this. 

_____

July, 2027

Arden was’t sure when she’d been more relieved to pull into the garage and put her car in park. All she’d been able to think about since leaving was getting back to their kids, and the view of silhouettes through the front window had made her impatience all the more palpable. 

She practically flew through the adjoining door and into house. 

This was the first day that they’d needed her dad and stepmom to help fill in the gaps between schedules, and she’d be lying if she said that the arrangement had left her feeling easy. She had nothing against either one of them, but guilt had been gnawing constantly for the two hours she’d been gone. 

These were their kids. Their responsibility. Turning those duties over to others -- even family -- filled her with trepidation. 

“Mommy!” Will leapt from the couch before she’d even fully made it through the entryway. 

“Hey, guys!” she returned his enthusiasm, pulling him tight for a hug. His arms lingered at her waist a little longer than necessary, but she couldn’t help reveling in the affectionate show. Knowing that her desire to see him was reciprocated was extremely gratifying. When she glanced up, Alex’s eyes were on her.

Traitor. 

Her mouth ran dry at the older boy’s thought. It wasn’t the first time she’d been privy to hints that he was uncomfortable with Will’s quick attachment, but it was easily the most incriminating thing she’d overheard in the five weeks they’d spent together. 

“How’s your day been?” she asked Will, trying to push Alex’s response from her mind. 

“Good. Knock knock.”

“Oh, I love my welcome-home jokes.” With a cheesy grin, she set down her work satchel and gave the boy her full attention. “Okay, ready. Who’s there?”

Will’s features danced with excitement, the excess energy coming out as tiny shuffling steps across the hardwood floor. “Lettuce.” 

With a giggle, Arden complied. “Lettuce who?”

“Lettuce in, we’re cold out here!” Having recited the punchline, he gave a triumphant hop into the air.

She treated him to a breathy laugh, catching her father’s smile out of the corner of her eye. “That’s a good one.” Stretching out a calming hand to grasp his elbow, she asked, “Where’d you learn it?”

Will pointed to Harry, still seated on the couch with a pile of books on the cushion next to him. 

“He’s been reading them to me for the past hour,” Harry confirmed. “This one has a whole section in this one about vegetables.” His dubious look was reflected in his tone.  

“Oh yeah! There’s one about radishes! Can I tell it?”

Although she continued to engage with Will’s babbling, Arden’s eyes drifted to the other child in the room. Alex was still scribbling away in his sketchpad, the papers angled close to his chest so that no one could see the resulting artwork. 

What is it that’s going on in that head of yours? she wondered, feeling the faint furrow of her brow. But no answering thoughts met her question.

Bringing her conversation with Will to a close, she wandered into the dining room to find her daughter and stepmother engaged in one of Julie’s trademark pastimes. 

Jewelry making had always struck Arden as a remarkably fiddly way to fill one’s hours, but she couldn’t help admiring the strand Sophia was stringing together from the colorful array of seed beads strewn across the table in bags. 

She sat across from the table’s two occupants, eyes glazing at the repetitive motion of Sophia’s nimble fingers. “Those look amazing,” she said, considering the small assortment of bracelets and necklaces piled on the other side of the table. “Do you mind if I look?”

Sophia’s eyes met hers momentarily as she shrugged. “Go for it.” 

Arden looped a finger through a prominent chain and pulled the collection toward her. 

“Julie told me I could use her beads to make some back-to-school jewelry,” she explained, keeping a tight hold on the end of the wire as she searched for the next bead in sequence. “Do you want me to make something for you too?”

Arden’s breath hitched at the suggestion, and her response came slowly. “I would love that. You remember that dress you helped me pick out at the mall last week?” At the girl’s nod, she continued. “I’d been thinking about pairing it with a necklace that has some deeper greens…maybe some blue in there too? I’ll leave it up to you.”

With an approving smile, the other woman entered the conversation. “I’ve got lots of beads in those colors. If there aren’t any here that you like, I’ve got plenty more at home.”

“Thanks, Julie,” Arden expressed gratefully. “And thanks again for coming over this afternoon. You really helped us out.”

“We’re happy to do it anytime.” She selected a pair of pliers from the tools before her and cinched the clasp on her bracelet. “How was your interview?” she asked as she draped the piece over her wrist. 

Rolling a bead between her fingers, Arden considered the question. “I think it went well. We’ll have to match what this new group said against the rest of our records, but I we may have finally found the missing link.”

“It always sounds so much like you’re doing detective work.” 

“Sometimes it feels that way too,” she admitted with a half smile. “I just like to get to the bottom of a good story.” 

“You certainly have a knack for it.” Bracelet donned, she rose from the chair. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

Seizing the opportunity, Arden shifted to the end of the table nearest her daughter. “Speaking of getting to the bottom of things, can I ask you something?”

Curious eyes glanced at her before returning to project between her hands. “What?”

“Alex seems like he’s in a weird mood today. Do you know if everything’s okay?”

Sophia reached for a new bag of beads, her forehead scrunching in contemplation. “He’s always like this at the end of summer. I think he’s just upset that he has to go back to school soon. He hates it.” 

“Do you think there’s anything we can do to make him feel better about it?”

“Eh, not really.” 

“Is there something specific about it that he hates?”

Raising her shoulders slightly, Sophia answered, “He hates homework and classes...kinda everything, really.” 

 “Okay.” Arden relaxed against the back of the chair. “We’ll see what we can do about homework and classes and...everything, then.” After a pause, she added her thanks. 

“Welcome.” Holding the strand to the light of the window, she took a better look at the work she’d done. Apparently satisfied, she placed another bead before sharing her thoughts further. “I don’t get it, but he really does hate everything to do with school.” 

Arden had seen comments to that effect in Alex’s case file, but hearing it from Sophia’s lips was still unsettling. Based on his behavior and the thought she’d overheard before, she was starting to have the sneaking suspicion that his agitation was being caused by something more than just school. 

She wasn’t going to stop investigating until she knew just what that something was. 

[themattress]

Rewatch: My Bride is a Mermaid Ep 23 - 24

Two episodes that are absolutely hilarious...and then sucker-punch you HARD with Feels.

Episode 23: The Man Without a Past

The episode opens up with a Masa Today, which launches us right into the main conflict: Masa is revealed to have no memories of his past beyond when he began working for the Seto Gang 10 years ago. At the same time, Akeno reveals that she is searching for her older brother, who disappeared 10 years ago while on government business to the Seto Inland Sea, and she wants to kill him for bringing shame upon the Shiranui family...and on a more personal level, for abandoning her. Yeah, anyone can see where this is going: Masa is Akeno’s brother who got amnesia after being struck in the head by a drunk Gozaburo. Desperate to save Masa’s life, Nagasumi and Gozaburo team up to stop him from recovering his memories, but their crazy attempts only end up causing that very thing to happen.

There is a lot that is funny in this episode: Gozaburo and Nagasumi actually needing to work together for a common goal, Sun constantly addressing Akeno as “Aki” which she never did before and never will again as though she just randomly decided she’d give Akeno a pet name for that day and that day only, Akeno briefly losing her memory and reverting back to her 4 year old state of mind, and the ultimate pay-off to Nagasumi’s homoerotic feelings for Masa with him pretending to be outright in love with him in order to keep his memories suppressed...a choice that he is seriously, hysterically regretting by the end of the episode.

But when Masa actually recovers his memories, the episode takes a shocking turn into true emotional sincerity. Masa has a mental encounter with his past self and expresses shame and disappointment in his whole existence being nothing but a lie, and he is willing to fade away to give the original persona his body back. His past self, however, makes him see all of the friends - family, really - that he made in the 10 years he’s been around, telling him that he can’t just disappear from their lives. And so it’s his past self that fades away, with parting words asking Masa to be there for his sister. Akeno, in 4 year old mode, is crying for her big brother and it’s legitimately heart-wrenching: for all her teenage self’s declarations of hatred and a desire for fatal vengeance, deep down all she really wants is to have him back. Masa goes over and hugs her tight, saying that even if he’s not the brother that she remembers, he wants to be the brother that she has now. And at the end, he even tells the guilt-stricken Gozaburo that he bears no grudges toward him for accidentally causing him amnesia, and that he loves him, Sun and the whole Seto Gang. It’s beautiful, and it actually got to me.

Can the show possibly top it? Yes. Yes, it can.

Episode 24: Farewell, My Friend

Kai Mikawa and Hideyoshi “Chimp” Sarutobi have consistently been two of the most unlikable characters on this show, but this episode pulls off one of the best redemptions for jerks that I have ever seen, up there with Eddy from Ed, Edd n’ Eddy and Lars from Steven Universe. And it must be noted that it’s the other episode in this anime that has no basis in the manga, which means this show’s writers must be applauded for pulling such a fantastic turnaround. 

It starts when Kai, in a typical narcissistic mindset, is trying to hide the fact that he was visiting a hospital because he’s developed a boil on his butt. While the rest of his classmates actually guess that this was the case, Chimp refuses to believe it because he’s grown to care for Kai as a true friend and doesn’t think he would keep information from him unless it was something serious. This leads to Chimp staking out the hospital and overhearing part of a conversation that makes it sound like Kai has something terminal. He confronts Kai about it and Kai, thinking Chimp knows the truth about his “ass acne”, swears him to secrecy, which Chimp takes as Kai being so noble that he doesn’t want everyone else distraught and worried over him. However, Chimp is unable to keep this promise as he has to tell his classmates what’s going on so that they won’t act antagonistic toward Kai even when he’s being a jerk. This info then spreads to the rest of the class, and to the teachers, and to the whole freaking town, with absolutely everyone pitching in to pamper Kai and celebrate his existence in order to make his “last days” the best possible for him. What a wacky misunderstanding, eh?

But even amidst the natural humor in this situation, legitimate character insight is being given to Kai. As an agoraphobic who grew up around a bunch of yes-men, Kai has developed the belief that nobody loves him naturally and that he can only get love through flaunting his money, his good looks, his material goods, etc.  And from this he developed an entitlement complex when he feels he isn’t being given his rightful due from others. So when everyone starts showering him with love and kindness, he can’t recognize it for what it truly is and instead thinks that everyone has just “come to their senses” and are treating him the way he “deserves” to be treated. Even when he learns of his “terminal illness” from a TV report, he can’t connect the dots between it, the way people have been treating him, and how they feel about him - he’s too consumed by the horror of believing himself to be dying. The fear turns to sadness, and then to anger and hatred toward one target: Nagasumi Michishio. Kai decides that if he’s dying, then he wants to take his rival whom he is so envious of with him.

A showdown at high noon ensues, with Kai even taking off his protective space helmet and suddenly having white hair for...reasons. But Nagasumi’s improved reflexes from all the time he’s spent dodging attacks across the series combined with the emotional breakdown Kai is having leads to Nagasumi being victorious. The scene transitions into a huge tear-jerker once Kai begins sobbing and admitting what his real problem is: he genuinely thinks he has no real friends and no-one that truly loves him, whereas Nagasumi does and he’s jealous of that, and the thought that he’s now going to die without that being rectified while Nagasumi gets to live a Happily Ever After with Sun is more than he can bear. “SOMEONE LOVE ME BEFORE I DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!!!” he screams up toward the sky, all onlookers choked up with pity.

With Sun and Nagasumi leading the way, all of Kai’s classmates gently protest his claims: they’re his friends and they love him, they wouldn’t have done all that they’ve done for him if that wasn’t the case. And Kai never needed to ask for love from them, or buy it from them, because otherwise that isn’t really love. Sun may not love him romantically, but she still loves him all the same, and so does his rival Nagasumi which is the whole reason why he even accepted his potentially fatal challenge. And then the episode delivers the biggest gut-punch when Chimp, fucking CHIMP, rushes to Kai’s side, crying his eyes out as he declares that he loves him more than anything in the world and that if he could he’d gladly take his place and die instead of him. In-universe, this is what fully breaks Nagasumi, who has to turn away as he begins sobbing uncontrollably (MAJOR props to Eric Vale and Anthony Bowling’s voice-acting; they sell their emotional lines in this episode and especially in this scene perfectly.)

Kai flashes back to the various times he’s hung out with his classmates and realizes that he was never alone, he never lacked love and friendship. He was just too self-absorbed to recognize what was right in front of him the whole time. As he lays down to die, he sums it up by saying “All of you have shown me how big your hearts can be...but me, all I did was show you how small mine was.” He apologizes to Chimp for taking him for granted, saying that he’s the best friend a guy could have, and then he thanks Sun and Nagasumi and tells them to be happy together. And then...he passes on. OK, not really, but the scene plays it totally straight and does it so well that for a moment you might actually forget that his terminal illness isn’t real and was just a misunderstanding. Naturally, this creates a huge mood whiplash when we suddenly get the final scene where the status quo reasserts itself at school, with everyone hilariously reacting to the fact that they went through all that emotional turmoil for nothing.

But as we’ll see in the two-part series finale, Kai and Chimp have come out of this experience somewhat changed: they aren’t the complete pricks they were before and even play a major heroic role, with Kai especially showing how much both Sun and Nagasumi mean to him. While Chimp on his own still isn’t a particularly good character, he is an excellent accessory to Kai, whom this anime has made one of the strongest characters in the cast over the course of just this single episode. Kai, you definitely have my love. (And Kai/Chimp OTP 4evah!)

[wendynerdwrites]

Guess who got a big chunk of writing done for the first time in months? This gal!

Okay, so here is a rough first chapter of a Metalocalypse fanfic, Dethcomics:

"Gentleman… It seems Dethklok is looking into joining the world of comic books. A call has gone out seeking artists and writers to create a Dethklok graphic novel."

"This could be catastrophic! Every new Dethklok industry venture manages to upset the balance of trade, but a band-sponsored book spreading their messages further?!"

"At least with their music no one can tell what Nathan Explosion is saying. But written in black and white?!"

"Exactly. To elaborate, I have called in expert in comics, Professor Varveil Molfirbygai."

The Professor, skinny and acne-ridden, comes forward, pushing his square-framed glasses up  the bridge of his nose. "Gentlemen, Dethklok have already rejected the proposals by Brian Posehn, Brian Piludo, and Grant Morrison for their books and are tearing through artists one at a time. At this rate, no one in the industry will be left but Rob Liefeld and Devin Grayson. Apparently their contradictory demands and unrealistic expectations have even been characterized by Alan Moore as 'too far out'. Marvel, DC, Image, and Dark Horse have all blacklisted them, leading to the band to launch their own independent publishing house. This could potentially upset the delicate balance of power within the industry. And God help us if the title is snatched up for screen adaptation by Sony or - ugh - Hulu."

"What can we do to nip this in the bud?"

"It seems that Nathan Explosion's new wife, Abigail Remeltindtdrinc and Charles Offdensen have taken a more direct role in monitoring the project. They may prove a stabilizing influence…"

~_~_~

"Ugh, Dildos!" William Murderface hurls his whiskey bottle to the corner of the game room. "These artsy-fartsy types are a bunch of egotistical, emotional dildos!"

"Ja, likes how obsessives and arrogants can yous gets?" Skwissgaar adds, shredding silently on his Gibson. "And sos delicate!"

Toki, leaning back from the Mortal Kombat machine, sniffs. "I's kinds of liked that Yoorerd Way fellows…"

"HE DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ROCK!" Nathan roars from the foosball table, engaging in a fierce battle with Pickles.

"Maybe we should just write it ourselves, y'know." Pickles suggests, "And get, I don't know… Toki, you draw things, right?"

Toki brightens. "I'S DO!"

Skisgaar scoffs, "All's he's draws is girly, fluffy tings like happy bunnies and womens withts de tits covered."

"Toki is even less metal than that Brenden Smalls douchebag! Heh, Brenden Smalls, what did he ever create for anyone?" Murderface adds.

"I cans draw brutal!"

"I'm sure you can, Toki, but I'm afraid that still isn't happening," a firm, female voice calls out.

The room falls silent as Charles and Abigail enter the room. 

"Guys, Abigail may have found someone to write and draw the book," Charles announces.

Abigail blanches slightly, somewhat uncomfortable. "Maybe, if I can convince her."

"Her?" Murderface asks, somehow sounding simultaneously dismissive and aroused. "We can't let ladies make stuff for us!"

Abigail cradles her temple. "See?" She says to Offdensen, "I told you!"

"Why would we wants chicks arounds us?" Skwisgaar asks.

"Guys, we already put out the announcement. You've blown through nearly every acclaimed graphic novel creator in the business. Fans are getting impatient. So if we can get Abigail's friend to do this for us, you will be on your best behavior!"

"Maybe we should give this chick a chance, you know?" Nathan offers, offering his wife a sympathetic look.

"Oh, you're only saying that because your lady suggested it!" Murderface howls, taking a new bottle of alcohol from a Klokateer with a tray. "You're totally whipped, Man!"

Abigail's eyes burn. She smarches over to the couch and yanks the bassist by the ear. He cries out.

"Listen, you talentless sack of piss, this whole project has been taking time away from recording. And you know how I feel about that. You're going to be a good little boy and do as I say, understand?!"

"YES, MA'AM!"

Abigail releases him, leans back, clears her throat, and smooths her blazer. "I apologize for that. I am… not feeling like myself lately. Like I said, I haven't even convinced my friend to do this, I am not even sure I can. But you can all be sure of her qualifications. Her name is Sofia Maldonado, she's been creating comics since she was fifteen. She has worked on titles like The Boys, Swamp Thing, Ms. Marvel, Deadpool, Nightwing, and Batman. She has her own book, The Emerald Pixie, that has been a hit with both critics and readers and has been nominated for four Eisner Awards, winning two."

The band looks at her as if she is speaking Chinese. She sighs.

" Uh, 'Emerald Pixie'?" Nathan inquires, "No offense, Honey, but that doesn't sound very metal."

"The Pixie has retractable ten inch fangs."

"Oh, uh, that's cool, I guess."

"I mean, it can't hurt, I guess." Pickles adds.

"Is she hot?" Murderface asks.

"Yeahs, is she hot?" Skwisgaar asks.

Abigail turns to Charles. "Why am I doing this again?"

Offdensen pats the producer on the arm. "Guys, please, that is irrelevant. And you will keep things professional, or I am cancelling your vacation to Pornfest this year, understand?"

"What?! Can you even do that?!" Pickles cries out.

"As per my new contract with the five of you, I most certainly can." 

The band all grumbles, except for Toki.

"Cans I's shows her my drawings?"

"I'm sure that will be fine."

Abigail sighs. "Look, guys, this woman is a friend of mine, she is good at what she does, and she does not put up with crap. I am going out on a limb for you with this. One wrong move and she bolts. Understand?"

They all grumble again, but answer in the affirmative.

"Excellent." Charles straightens his tie and clears his throat. "Abigail will call up Ms. Maldonado and see if she is willing."

~_~_~_~

"No."

"Just lis-"

"No, Abby, and also: No. Nope. Negative. Nuh-uh. Nein. Not happening. They've run through almost everyone. Do you know how fucked up you have to be to weird out Alan Moore?! The man worships a Roman Snake God, for fucks sake. I am not descending into that pit of testosterone and excess."

"I will keep them in line, I promise. I managed to get them through six albums in as many years. Now that I'm involved, it will be different, I promise."

"Didn't William Murderface once refer to women as 'Serpents with tits'? Abby, I have reached a point in my career where I am through putting up with shit like this. I have had to collaborate with Garth Ennis and Frank Miller. I even spent an entire hour of my life in the presence of Dave Sims. I have done my time."

Abigail groans. "Sof, Charles Offdensen is offering enough for you to put Eddie through preschool, K-12 private, college and grad school someday."

"Emerald Pixie is selling like crazy and Paramount and Universal have approached me for the rights."

"I'll get you an interview for Collegiate."

There's a long pause. 

"...Really? How?"

"I'm an alum, remember? And the Headmistress owes me, like, seven favors. Your son will be playing in the sandbox with the children of Governors and hedge fund owners.”

There’s another pause. Abigail smiles. For all that Sofia has gone on about hating capitalism and her passion for Leftist politics, since her son was born she’d grown a little hypocritical on that front. Not that Abby could blame her. Sofia didn’t have a lot of support, being a single mom. 

“Maybe I’ll consider a meaning.”

Abigail tries a different tactic. “Please do. To be honest, I could really use a friend around here at the moment.”

It’s not something she’d normally say, as independent as she is. But as she makes the statement, she realizes that it’s true. 

Sofia’s voice becomes gentler. “What’s up?” 

Abigail tells her.

Her friend takes a deep breath. “Okay, then. I’ll take the meeting. But I mean it, Abby, one shitty comment---”

“---I know. But hey, look, you’ve met Nathan, and he’s not so bad, right?”

Technically, Sofia had encountered the entire band to varying extents at the wedding. She’d really only spoken to Nathan, and stared, mouth agape, at Pickles’s bender and slurred Best Man’s toast.

“He’s not too bad, I guess. But the rest? Bunch of crazy gringos.”

“Toki is sweet. Pickles actually isn’t bad when he’s not blackout drunk. Skwisgaar can be decent, aside from the arrogance. And Murderface… Don’t worry, I’ll keep my boot to his neck. I’ll keep my boots to all of their necks. I swear. Please, Sof, do this for me.”

Sofia takes yet another deep breath. “Alright. I’ll be available in a couple of weeks. Book me a flight. And I want my Collegiate interview before then.”

“Done. Thank you so much.”

They say their good-byes. Abigail hangs up and leans back against the pillows of her bed, rubbing her temple. Nathan enters the bedroom, looking a little sheepish. 

“Look, uh, I had another talk with the guys. Murderface is in debt again, so I offered to pay it off, if you don’t, uh, mind. That should help keep him… you know… less Murderface.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes her hand. “Did she say yes?”

  “We have a single meeting in two weeks. I’m pretty sure I’m going to draw up a list with Charles about things they are not allowed to bring up.”

“You’re sure this is a good idea, right?”

Abigail smiles ruefully. “No, not at all. But it’s the only idea I have.”

“I hope the guys don’t, well, uh, you know…”

“Sofia talks a big game, but she’s tough and willing to put up with more than she lets on. She wouldn’t be where she is if it were otherwise. If we keep them reined in enough, I think we might make this work.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“Hey, I’s remembers her!”

“Shut up, Toki! Don’t be weird!” Pickles snaps as they watch their prospective new artist drop her bags in the middle of the Mordhouse entry hall and look up at the gargantuan ceiling. 

She is tall and athletic, with bronzed skin, blue eyes, and dark brown hair. She wears boot-cut black pants, a red graphic tee, and a black jacket with pins on the lapel. The band all peers at her curiously as Abigail rushes forward to greet her, ask after her son, and re-introduce Charles.

Handshakes are exchanged, and Abigail ushers the band over.

“Sofia, you of course remember my husband Nathan. This is Pickles, the drummer. Skwisgaar Skwigelf, lead guitar.”

“Hi’s.” Skwisgaar offers, obviously trying not to stare at her tits.

“Toki Wartooth, rhythm guitar.”

“Hello’s artist-lady!” Toki bounces on his heels, clutching sheets of paper. “I’s have some drawings, I hopes you like them!” He thrusts them towards her.

The artist smiles kindly and takes them. “I’ll give them a look. Thank you, Mr. Wartooth.”

“Calls me Toki!”

“Thank you, Toki.”

“And finally, William Murderface, bass.”

“Greetings and salutations, Senoriiiiiita!” Murderface grabs the woman’s hand and presses a wet kiss to it before smirking up at her. “Ole.”

Sofia snatches her hand back and glances at Abigail, who glowers at the bassist. “Knock it off, Murderface, or I’ll have you neutered.”

He squeals and jumps back. “S-Sorry.”

"So's, tells me, comics-lady. Cans we's makes dis comic book a pops-ups book and can we's makes the pop-up dragons breathes fire?"

Sofia takes one look at Toki, then another at Abigail. "I'm so glad to be here!"

[x-wearethefuture-x]

15. 

The first time she was asked on a date, Yewon was 15.

Hyunwook was handsome, much too handsome for her, she believed. But he had approached her at school with a tender smile and Yewon had all but melted. And when he asked her to come with him to the movies that Saturday, of course she’d said yes. He was attractive. He was popular. He was older than her. And she thought, in that moment that maybe he genuinely liked her. Maybe she was prettier than she’d thought.

For the first time in a few years, Yewon looked at her reflection in the mirror and didn’t see her imperfections. She saw vibrant eyes and toned legs. She saw full lips and soft hair. She could look past the sun painted freckles and the little pink acne spots. She could even overlook the bit of chub that she hadn’t grown out of yet and the wide nose that she hated so much. None of those things seemed so noticeable now. They were small and insignificant. Maybe she really was kind of pretty...

But Saturday showed her something entirely different.

Hyunwook showed up on time, he met her father, he was polite and kind. And the movie looked promising.

Not that Yewon actually saw it.

“I just wanted to see if what they say is true: ugly girls are easy.”

The words were quiet, she wasn’t supposed to hear them as she waited for Hyunwook to finish talking to his friend in the snack line. She was supposed to think they were laughing at something else, not at her.

He glanced back at her and Yewon forced a smile. If she hadn’t overheard what he’d said, that wink he gave her might have even made her swoon a little. Instead, it made her feel sick. And while he was distracted, the girl slipped out of the building and hid herself away.

It was surprising that he came looking for her. Not surprising that he gave up so easily with a groan of annoyance and a muttered “dumb bitch. waste of fucking time”.

The rain was icy cold and her pink dress stuck to her shivering body, but Yewon had too much pride to walk back and let him drive her home. Or maybe she just lacked the self-respect to know that she didn’t deserve to walk the three miles back home in the pouring rain.

Anyway, she needed something to do to buy herself a few hours before she returned home. She didn’t want her father worrying that things had gone wrong.

So she dipped in and out of shops on her way home, places to glance around, places to get out of the rain for a bit. She even bought an umbrella in one so she could keep a little dry (though it was fairly useless by that point considering she was soaked through). 

When she finally arrived home, her father leaned out of the kitchen doorway to smile at her, “Hey, sweetie! How was the date?”

“It was nice.” She lied, smiling, “We got caught in the rain, though.” Another lie, but one to explain her current state.

“And what about Hyunwook? He seems like a nice guy.” Her father had now ducked back into the kitchen to finish cooking, but Yewon didn’t follow him into the room. Instead, she walked past the kitchen, started down the small hallway towards the single bedroom- the one her father had so kindly given to her even though that meant sleeping on the futon in the living room (”A young girl needs her own space”).

“There won’t be another date.” And this time, it was the truth, “I don’t think he’s my type.” 

“That’s good, though! It means you aren’t letting yourself settle for someone who isn’t right for you. There’s someone much better for you out there, pumpkin. Just wait.”

“Thanks, dad.” Maybe another night those words would have made her smile, but tonight they just felt like false hope. 

“Dinner’s almost finished, by the way. Do you want to eat in our pajamas? Catch up on that show we’ve been watching? What is it called again-?”

“Not tonight.” Yewon answered back from the bedroom, her door still open. And, again, she saw her father leaning out of the doorframe to the kitchen, looking down the short hall at her. But this time he wasn’t smiling. His lips were drawn into a frown.

“Are you feeling alright?” Fatherly concern. Yewon wanted to dissuade it.

So she yawned, stretched, and let those be the reasons for the few tears touching at the corners of her eyes, “Yeah! Of course!” She smiled, hoping it didn’t come off as strained, “Just tired.”

“Okay.” He didn’t seem convinced, but he had no reason to think that Yewon wouldn’t eventually talk to him about it if there was something wrong. She always talked to him about things. Didn’t she? “You should get some rest.”

“Goodnight, dad.”

“Goodnight, Yewonnie. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you, too.”