#so before then we have to juggle cleaning everything and also dealing with lines of customers

[gabagoulie]

To the asshole who came to lock the gas station: FUCK you

[shades-of-stony]

Post CA:CW Fix It Stony Fanfics

Making Amends by TheseStoriesAreWrittenOnMyHeart

Summary: Everything about them happened in seconds. Their first meeting was quick, with Tony landing next to the Captain, each man giving a curt nod and name in greeting. Their argument on the hellicarrier took mere seconds to escalate. Until Steve was goading Tony into putting on the suit and going a few rounds and Tony not so subtly reminding Steve that he wasn’t afraid to hit an old man. It was only seconds of staring at Tony on that New York City Street, his arc reactor dark, no rise and fall of his chest, for Steve to know that inside the tin can, was a good man. Then Ultron happened, and it took seconds for their world to change, seconds for Steve to throw his shield at Tony and for the billionaire to send a repulsor blast back. They went from laughing and relaxing to standing on an edge thousands of feet above solid ground. And now…now everything’s changed. And all it took was a combination of seconds; of decisions made, actions performed and words spoken that they couldn’t get back. Just a few ticks of the clock for their world to shatter.

It’ll take more than that to make things right.

Note: This one deals with amending the accords. It is about how the avengers pick up after the civil war and how they learn to be friends again. It is an incredibly detailed and well written piece! Also, NO TEAM CAP OR TEAM IRON MAN BASHING. I was only supposed to re-read a few chapters to recall the story and give a few-word review but I ended up re-reading the whole goddamn thing. It’s a masterpiece. 

maybe love is the reason why (we're seeing it eye to eye) by parkrstark

Summary: "I'm sorry. Repeat that again." Tony leaned forward in his seat from across the table. He even stuck a finger in his ear as if he was cleaning it out. "I don't think I heard you right."

Fury rolled his eyes-- or well, eye. "You and Rogers need to go undercover as a married couple in a community out on Long Island."

--

After Civil War, Tony and Steve are sent on an undercover mission as a couple to try and find Hydra informants. Somehow, they end up with Peter as their undercover son who decides to play matchmaker even if the two of them are doing their best to ignore their feelings after Siberia.

Note: My latest Fix It read! It just completed today. This fic is a phenomenal read, with its fake relationship, superfamily, undercover, and sexual tension elements! A definite 1000/10!

and this is the map of my heart by CydSA

Summary: The Avengers are splintered - spread out across the world.

There are many things to regret. The biggest one is what could have been.

Tony refuses to have any more regrets. Steve realizes that perhaps he made the wrong choice.

It starts from here....

Note: Here is some sweet, sweet, Civil War Fix It. It dwells deep into the Accords, how Tony fixes it, and the downfall of Ross. 

floating point exception by ooka

There is something, he knows, to see a man as mortal. To see his fault lines and jagged edges instead of the smooth surface they present. Most people don’t like the illusion, whether it be good or not. They don’t want people like him to be human.

But that’s what he is, under the suit and the smile and the sunglasses. Under the bravo and the quick grins. He’s just a man, trying to hide his broken pieces, the dents in his heart, the washed out color of his soul. He’s just a man, trying to solve problems and make the world better. That’s why he’s Ironman, just a man in a suit. Nothing extra.

The place where the arc reactor used to rest in his chest aches so fiercely for a moment that Tony can’t breathe.

He takes in a few breaths and does what Tony does best - pushes it down and goes to work.

(Tony, after the Civil War. Post CA:CW)

Note: A 150k+ fanfic that is centered on Tony, his issues, and his struggles. PREPARE TO CRY.

Not Enough Scotch for this Matchmaking Scheme by desolateice:

Summary:  After Civil War and a lot of healing the Avengers are fed up with the stubborn silence between Steve and Tony and try to take things in their own hands.

Note: A Fix It where the ‘kids’ play matchmaker to bring their fighting ‘parents’ back together! 

Never Eye To Eye by vorkosigan for mrsgingles

Summary: After the Civli War, the Avengers were back together.

How is everything going, Tony? Pepper had asked in her email. It's fine (Tony had written back). I'm fighting with Steve all the time. Everything is going to hell. I'm okay (you know I'm always okay).

(Or: How Tony and Steve learned to be a bit gentler with each other)

Note: A 26k+ fic where Steve and Tony learned how to be friends again, and more. It deals with the struggles and frustrations they had just to salvage their friendship.  

Fly One More Time (Alternately Titled--The Phoenix) by RavenLost2187

Summary: Steve couldn't see them before.

But then he woke up and there they were.

There's a small problem though.

One of his teammates doesn't have wings like he should.

And that's Tony Stark

Note: Some winged fics anyone? This has a bit of a Team as Family element and not to mention that glorious Civil War fix it theme! 

What it’s worth by masterlokisev159

Summary:  Tony's scent is off. Wanda realizes why.

Note: Here is a Hurt and Comfort fic for you with a dash ABO elements in it! 

Sunrise Over the End of the World by Sapphic_Futurist

Summary: When Dr. Strange arrives at an Accords Committee Meeting and warns of the coming of an alien megalomaniac set on destroying the world, the Rogues are pardoned and Tony finds himself exactly where he never wanted to be. Back at the Compound with Steve, who still can't take a hint and won't leave him alone.

--

In which Tony is broken and Steve finds redemption.

Note: A Bad case of Tony acting like nothing happened and doing his goddamn best to avoid Steve. It’ll work all out in the end. Well, it will get worst first before that though.. 

We stand together (or not at all) by Jana_C

Summary:  It’s so easy to hate this man, so painfully easy. He’s the embodiment of rich, white male privilege. He’s irritatingly arrogant, and he doesn’t always think before acting, and even when he does, he manages to twist his logic around and shape it into something that will always benefit him, and yet, here he is, building the guy who killed his parents an arm, without having been asked; working his way through diplomacy and politics, even though he hates it with every fiber of his being, just so he can correct the mistakes all of them made. She watches him go and sighs, small and tired, before texting a single line to Steve. Get ready to come home.

Note: Anyone up for some Tony Whump and Appreciation fanfic? 

You Don’t Only Get One Shot by janonny

Summary: In which Tony voluntarily carries a tracker around, and learns how to talk to Steve all over again in-between and during kidnapping attempts.

“Leave you alone for two months, and you have an operation all set up to track wayward Hydra cells and rescue innocent billionaires,” Tony said, his tone skating the line of annoyance and admiration.

Note: a dose of Stalkerish!Steve (but not in an entirely creepy way because he just wants to keep Tony safe dammit). 

You've Got A Sister Now by ZaraMelMercury

Summary: It's been a year since the events of the Avengers' Civil War. Tony Stark is trying to pick up the pieces of his life, while juggling his work, his remaining friendships, getting therapy sessions for Rhodey and dealing with government politics, as well as the Accords.

It is a bit rough, but he's got Pepper (always a steady rock by his side), Rhodey, Happy and the Kid- Peter Parker. Tony would never admit to it up front and center, but you could always catch a proud look on the man's face whenever the young Spiderling was mentioned!

Life seemed to be looking up...

Except for one, minor detail:

Steve Rogers.

The hope for one reconciliation, surprisingly, led to another!

A new bond that would form that Tony would ultimately always be thankful for.

"Oh, I wanna take it back!... " "No, no, no, you can't retract it!"

Who would've thought it?

Tony Stark has a sister looking out for him, after all.

Note: Here are some Tony and Nat friendship for you! This one isn’t exactly a solid fix it but one with a more of hopeful ending. 

The Bro Code by Sullen

Summary: In a world where the Winter Soldier is found years earlier and is named Tony’s godfather, Zemo plays a different R-rated video and Siberia goes a little differently.Or –Steve breaks the bro code.

Note: This is just too cute and wholesome not to include. 

WIP

Used to be Mine by Fangirlingmanaged

Tony can't even recognize himself nowadays.

Note: This one certainly deserves a place at the heavy angst category because that’s what it is. HEAVY ANGST AND HEARTBREAK.

[blutopaz15]

For the fanfic end of the year asks, 3 and 14!

#3: favorite line/scene you wrote this year

I have a terrible memory, and I've written so much that I don't think I could pick out a specific line, so...a fave chapter?

I wrote a chapter of clean slate that's like 10k of the kiddos dealing with ~everything~ the night after the end of s3 and I still really like how it turned out. I feel like it ended up being pretty balanced between the !! we all almost died !! vibes and the sweet, sweet !! we just said i love you !! vibes. Also, I amused myself by embarrassing poor rayllum with the recurring gag of them getting interrupted...

One such instance below...

“It is swollen though.” He caught her wrist in his hands again, assured now that he could hold on a little less cautiously. Callum pressed her fingers closed into a loose fist and lowered his lips to her knuckles, laying two breathy kisses there before she started to laugh.

“We’ve already tried this, Callum.” She was grinning now, teasing back in her tone and in her eyes. “Kissing it better doesn’t work”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try again,” he argued, laughing along, and feeling the flush that flirting with her always brought on.

Callum kissed her last knuckle and went on to trace a path with his lips across the back of her hand, down to the slightly yellow-tinged ring around her wrist. Her wrist bone, where the friction of the binding had broken skin that was long-healed and so very faintly scarred, was where he started his loop, aiming to leave no patch of the fading bruise unkissed. She giggled, her own face flushed, when he looked her in the eye as he breathed against the underside of her wrist, the skin there even more sensitive than the same spot on her other arm, he knew.

“Ahem.”

Callum’s mouth froze against Rayla’s skin, feeling her arm tense immediately, her loose fist tightening.

Smeck.

The color drained from his face and then immediately filled back in across his cheeks at the sound— so loud —of the kiss he’d been in the middle of when Rayla had yanked her hand away from his lips. He looked at her first—her gaze shifting, her smile awkward, and her bare wrist hidden away beneath her covered arm—before turning to see Aunt Amaya at his back, Gren at her side.

“Aunt Amaya! This, uh, isn’t — ” Callum started, shrugging and leaning away as if he could somehow deny being the cause of Rayla’s bright red face. Her ears pinned back, also glowing red, and he followed her gaze over to all the people nearby, realizing that she was checking to see that no one had heard that loud, echo-y kiss.

“You two look...comfortable,” Amaya signed, blinking, eyebrows raised.

#14: a fic you didn't expect to write

CURSED. (rated M, heed the tags, reader beware)

I do not angst. But I angsted. It went okay. Lotsssss of things to juggle in that fic, and I got to the point with that enormous chapter posted last weekend that I just needed to let it go...so now I have angsted. (also, hello excuse to write a rayllum first time for a second time, lol)

end of year fanfic asks

[callboxkat]

Second Chances: Virgil’s No Good, Awful, Very Bad Week

Author’s note: Thank you everyone for your patience on this! I’m so sorry I didn’t get this out as quickly as I intended. I hope you enjoy it :)

Summary: Things had really begun to snowball for Virgil in the past week or so. And he was reaching his breaking point. 

It had started with those stupid nails.

Warnings: Food mentions, rude customers, arguing

Word Count: 4735

Second Chances Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

Virgil had been having a time of it lately. Seemingly everything that could possibly wrong was going wrong, and he desperately needed a me day. He was going to lose it, at this rate.

His new coworker had finally settled in enough to start being actually helpful, rather than slowing everything down and doubling the number of irate customers Virgil had to juggle, and had maybe turned out to actually not be a jerk, and things had been looking up. But of course, Virgil’s life couldn’t have that, and here he was. Things had really begun to snowball in the past week or so. And he was reaching his breaking point.

It had started with those stupid nails.

…

“Are you freaking kidding me,” Virgil groaned.

There was a nail in his tire. A nail, in his tire. The end of it glinted slightly in the weak sunlight, the rest completely embedded in the tire of his car.

He’d had a feeling about what he’d fine, as the low pressure warning had come on and he’d pulled onto the side of the road, although he’d hoped otherwise. This was the third time this had happened in as many months. Virgil swore someone was seeding his driveway with them.

“Great. Just great.” Virgil fished his phone out of his pocket, glanced at the time—he was definitely going to be late for work, since he wasn’t about to let his car sit in the parking lot and leak air from the tire all morning—and dialed Thomas’s number. Apparently, he and Roman would get to start today’s shift alone.

Rain began to fall, pattering the street. Even more perfect. Virgil cast one more glare at the offending tire before he got back in his car. He slammed the door just as the line picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey T, uh… were you going to go in today?”

“I wasn’t,” Thomas admitted. “Why, do you need me to?”

“Well, I was on my way to the café, but you’ll never guess what I just found in my tire.”

There was a sympathetic groan on the other end of the line. “Oh, no.”

“Yep.”

“But you just got that fixed.”

“Yep.”

“…Are you sure it’s not just a pebble?”

Virgil laughed. “Thomas, I think I know how to tell a nail head from a pebble. If I didn’t before, I sure should now.”

“That’s true.”

“So, uh, hopefully I shouldn’t be too long, but….”

“No, don’t worry about it. Do what you’ve got to do. I’ll go make sure Roman’s not by himself.”

“Yeah. Um, tell Princey I said hi, I guess. And that if he messes anything up while I’m gone, I’m gonna take his name tag and make him wear my Myrtle one.”

“…You don’t have a Myrtle nametag?”

“I’ll make one, then.”

Thomas snorted. “Alright.” He knew Virgil was joking. Which he was. Mostly.

Getting a nail in his tire sucked; but of course, it if were only the nail that he had to deal with, it wouldn’t have been so bad. Virgil could handle a minor inconvenience. A few minor inconveniences. But things only got worse from there.

…

“Medium chai latte with two cherries,” the woman standing in front of the register said, not looking up from her phone.

“Sure,” Virgil said. They typed in the order, then told her the price. The cherries seemed a little odd, as did the specific request for exactly two of them, but they’d put together some pretty strange orders. And it wasn’t exactly difficult to throw in a couple of cherries. It wasn’t a very expensive drink.

The woman frowned anyway and finally looked up from her phone, clearly unhappy. “But the sign says the chai latte is only—"

THUMP! The loud interruption was accompanied by a gasp and a splash. Virgil spun around, their heart immediately racing. There was a yelp from the side—probably Roman.

“Oh, goodness gracious,” Thomas sighed, one hand on the counter, looking down at the mess he’d made. He’d dropped a gallon of milk—which had been nearly full, from the look of it, and which either hadn’t had a cap, or had lost it when the jug fell, hitting the ground hard. It had, of course, tipped onto its side. Now, milk was spreading across the floor, and there were splashes of it across the bottom of the cabinets and their clothes.

Roman, the only one of the three spared from the splatter, quickly set down the pair of drinks he’d just finished before he could drop them. A bit of coffee dripped down the side of one of the cups. His eyes were wide as he looked from the splattered milk on the floor, to Thomas by the counter, to Virgil at the register.

Virgil also took a second to take in the scene, then noticed the damp feeling at the ankles of their leggings. They looked down, and their still frantic heart managed to sink as they took in their skirt. It was new, ankle length, with beading and embroidered skulls. They’d worn it with a stylishly ripped long sleeve shirt under their uniform shirt, as well as a studded choker with a dangling storm cloud pendant, which had been a birthday gift from Thomas. They were also wearing a they/them pin that they’d gotten from Roman, who’d shown up one day with a set of three pins, looking both very nervous and very pleased with himself. Virgil had still been able to see where the clearance sticker had been torn off—not that they were judging saving a little money. Virgil was 100% sure that the gift was Roman’s attempt to help himself, since apparently the name tags were too subtle. Virgil thought it was kind of hilarious—and maybe a little sweet (maybe)—so they wore the pins.

They had loved the look, minus the Sanders Café shirt; and wearing it had really brightened having to go to work so early in the morning; but now the ensemble was rather soured by the milk dripping from the skirt’s hem and splashed across their shoes. They stepped back to avoid the spreading puddle, as if it mattered at that point.

“Huh,” they said, still trying to get their heart rate to calm down.

Thomas sighed as if in agreement. A few people in line either groaned or snickered, depending on how impatient they were feeling on that particular day, but most weren’t that rude. One person whispered to their friend, “Should we go somewhere else?”

Roman, meanwhile, looked like he was waiting for someone to start yelling. He was eyeing the closet where the cleaning supplies were, but he couldn’t get to it without marching through the milk, and he was visibly hesitating. Probably didn’t want to ruin his shoes. Virgil might have been annoyed, but Roman was the only one who hadn’t already gotten milk on them, so they couldn’t really blame him.

Their gaze drifted to Thomas’s hand on the counter, and how much weight he was putting on it, and the fact that Thomas had also made no move to clean up the spill.

“I’ve got this,” Virgil said, leaving the register and the crowd behind it. A soccer mom who was waiting for her drink made a snide comment about professionalism. Virgil decided her drink was getting made last.

“Thanks,” Thomas said. He watched as Virgil righted the jug and picked it up. The side of the jug had cracked, and they quickly moved to hold the jug at an angle to avoid too much more spilling—not that there was all that much left. It continued to drip as they carried it to the sink and set it down. Then, they went to get a mop. Thomas was feigning casualness as Virgil went, clearly preferring to look a bit like a jerk than anything else in front of the customers, who probably assumed he was just a manager taking advantage of the lower ranking employee by forcing them to clean up his mess. Virgil wasn’t going to do anything to ruin that image if that was the one he preferred, although they did keep an eye on Thomas as they started to clean up the spill.

Roman slowly turned back to what he’d been doing, wiping off the side of one of the drinks and sliding the both towards the waiting crowd. He grabbed one of the café’s popular double chocolate cheesecake slices, put it on a plate, and added it to the grouping on the counter before calling the customers’ names.

After a few seconds, Thomas straightened and walked to the register, and sat down on the stool. Chatter resumed a more usual tone in the café, although Virgil did notice a few people taking pictures of the spill.

Thomas smiled brightly at Ms. Chai Latte with Two Cherries. “Sorry about the wait! Let’s see, one chai latte, with two added cherries. That’ll be���”

The woman was already waving her credit card in his direction. “I know, I know. Here.”

Finally, the spill was cleaned up, and Virgil went to put away the mop. They snagged a bag of chips from the display and tossed them to Thomas on their way. And for the rest of their shift, they desperately tried to ignore the milk still stubbornly set into their skirt and leggings.

…

“Sorry,” Virgil said dully, not actually sorry at all, “Would you mind repeating that again?”

The young man grinned and repeated his very, very long order, speaking fast in a way that could only be on purpose. Virgil was pretty sure the order was different this time than the first. They cast a glance at the camera phone the guy was holding up, which was recording the entire thing, as if this was somehow the thrilling content the entire internet was looking for.

“One more time,” they said. “Please,” they added, because their boss would want them to.

The guy chuckled. “A little slow, huh…” he squinted at their shirt “…Alex, are we?”

Virgil only blinked at him.

He repeated the order. He definitely changed it again, but at least he slowed down this time. Slightly. Virgil typed it in, flashed a customer-service smile that didn’t reach their eyes, and went to make the order, taking a copy of the receipt. Roman was technically meant to fill the orders, but no one else was in the café besides a pair of teens waiting for their drinks. And based on the look the other barista cast Virgil, he had no idea where to start with this guy’s order anyway, even if he wasn’t already busy. Everything the man had ordered was ridiculous and often contradictory, like an “americano” with milk and whipped cream, to start. Most of the drinks had about ten customizations each that made their drinkability questionable at best. The order was rounded out by two relatively normal cappuccinos, identical except that one was decaf, and three-quarters of a cookie (he was being charged for the full cookie). It wasn’t a cheap bill, but that didn’t seem to be a concern.

The man filmed Virgil work, making dumb comments and laughing, and calling out various things that he thought that the barista had forgotten even though they hadn’t, or saying that they hadn’t added enough sprinkles or cherries or syrup, or whatever he could think of. Virgil only checked the receipt and kept going.

When the customer clearly didn’t get the reaction he wanted from any of that nonsense, he instead started berating Virgil’s appearance, saying he hadn’t known he was at some kind of freak raccoon zoo.

Roman looked annoyed at that and opened his mouth to respond, but Virgil shook their head. “Don’t, Princey,” they said in a low voice.

Roman hadn’t looked happy, but he had dropped it, instead heading over to the register, so that he could help the newly arriving customers who would otherwise be stuck waiting.

Finally, the monstrous order was done, and Virgil placed each cup on a tray. Two trays, actually. The drinks didn’t all fit on one. They set the dumb three-quarters cookie the customer had ordered on top of the lid of one of the cups.

“Which one’s the full caff cappuccino?” he asked. “You know, with—”

He went on to list all of the specifications it had, which Virgil tuned out because they didn’t care. They calmly pointed at one of the cups.

The guy grinned, took that drink off of the tray, and set it to the side. Then he did his best to fit everything else on one tray, putting his phone in a chest pocket so he could keep filming. He wasn’t going to win any awards for cinematography. Maybe he didn’t have any friends to film for him. It wouldn’t be a surprise.

The man picked up his overflowing tray of drinks, and then he dumped the entire thing in the trash.

Some of the drinks hit the edges of the trash can’s opening, spilling over the sides; but most of the man’s order ended up firmly in the trash. Everything Virgil had spent the past… he didn’t even know how long putting together. The two teenagers in the cafe looked up from their table, their jaws falling open like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Roman looked even more horrified, but as angry as they were, Virgil simply blinked and turned to the drink the guy had set aside. “Oh, wait. Yeah. Sorry, that one’s actually the decaf.”

The wannabe internet star, who’d been watching their reactions smugly, paused. His face went blank with surprise, then contorted in rage. He turned off his camera phone and stormed out of the café without his drink.

Virgil counted to five, to reset, and let out a long, weary sigh. There weren’t many customers who were that horrible, but they were always a pain to deal with on the rare occasion they did show up. They turned to the small line that had collected during the show, held up by how long the one pointless order had taken. “If you all wouldn’t mind, please use the trash can on the other side of the café until further notice.” They pointed at the other trash can. They’d clean up the other once the line was gone, or make Roman do it.

Speaking of Roman, the other barista was still staring at the trashcan full of wasted drinks. Probably his first encounter with someone like that.

“Next customer,” Virgil called.

“He didn’t even… try any of them,” Roman said quietly. He looked down at the solitary, ridiculous drink left on the counter, and picked it up.

Virgil sighed. “Yeah. He was just here to make a mess for views, or whatever. Don’t worry about it. You can just throw that one away, too—we can’t sell it; and I doubt he’s coming back.” They turned and smiled at the customer before them. “So sorry about the wait. What can I get for you?”

They focused on taking the customer’s order, then turned to Roman, only to see that he hadn’t moved, still standing with the abandoned drink. He looked angry.

“Roman?”

“I’m taking my break,” Roman said. Still holding the drink, he left the prep area, walking stiffly towards the back of the café.

Great.

Virgil watched him go, shrugged, and went to make the order herself. She handed the drink off, then paused to switch the pins on her shirt before heading back to the register.

Some time later, once the café’s line was empty and the trash can had been cleaned up, Virgil walked to the break room and leaned on the doorframe. Roman was in there, sitting on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and looking at the floor. The drink he’d taken from the counter sat on a table, half finished.

“You drank it?”

“It was the most normal drink he ordered,” Roman said, not looking up. “And he barely touched it.”

“Yeah, but… it’s decaf.”

Roman huffed, but he didn’t actually seem amused.

“What’s up, Princey?”

Roman shook his head.

“Come on, humor me. I don’t have time to needle it out of you. Someone’s supposed to be out front.”

Roman shook his head, glanced at Virgil, and looked away again. “It’s just a big waste, okay? What that guy did. I don’t—” He shook his head. “People shouldn’t do that.”

“No,” Virgil agreed, still confused about why a few drinks mattered so much to Roman. He wasn’t the one to waste so much time putting them together, and the guy had paid for them. “They shouldn’t.”

Roman took in a shaky breath and sat up, still looking away. “Sorry, just… go back out front. I’ll join you in a second.”

“…Okay.” Virgil hesitated, glancing him up and down, but she did leave.

Roman came back soon after, but he kept acting weird for the rest of their shift.

When she got home that afternoon, Virgil wanted nothing more than to take a long nap and watch some bad television, but someone had backed into her mailbox, and she got to deal with that instead.

…

The next day, the fridge died.  

The freaking. Fridge. Died. They had just gotten a milk delivery!

Virgil and Thomas were stuck with a dead fridge and a crowd of customers who weren’t exactly going to leave and give them space to figure out what to do. At least they knew roughly when it had stopped working, since Virgil had checked it when he got to the café, and they’d noticed something was wrong soon after.

Thomas went to the back to make some calls about getting the fridge fixed, and Virgil went on as normal, since they had some time before this really became a problem.

He tried not to think about it too much—at least, not until Thomas returned, looking annoyed and exasperated.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “That’s the earliest they can come look at it.”

“Everything will go bad way before then,” Virgil pointed out, arching an eyebrow. “The milk.”

“Yep.”

“So? What are we going to do?”

“Bradley told me we could figure that out. He doesn’t care.”

“Um, okay, well….”

Thomas shrugged. “Clearance sale?”

They ended up selling everything that required refrigeration for half of the regular price. Some of the less popular items, or items they had a lot of, were even further discounted. The first few customers to find this out were simply pleasantly surprised to hear the prices. Some of them added more to their orders, since they might as well.

And then, news spread, which created a new problem. Soon, the line was out the door, the café filled with customers clamoring for their discount coffee and pastry fix.

This rush, naturally, created more problems. Many of the customers seemed to be under the impression that everything was half price, and Virgil had the joyous task of dealing with many customers who were angry that their plain black coffee or chocolate chip cookies were full price, and who were unimpressed by Virgil’s suggestion that they make their americano a cappuccino or a latte if they were that set on paying less.

Thomas and Virgil were pushing out orders as fast as they could, and still it seemed like half the shop was filled with people clamoring to get their orders filled.

Mass hysteria rose when the café ran out of the popular double chocolate cheesecake. Virgil was beginning to contemplate simply closing the café for the day, cutting their losses, and hoping he wouldn’t get fired for doing so. Possibly the only reason he didn’t do that was remembering Roman’s reaction to a few (well… relatively few) drinks getting thrown away.

At one point, Thomas pulled Virgil aside. “I might need to go home,” he very reluctantly admitted. “This is… a lot. Would that be okay? I don’t want to leave you alone with all this.”

Virgil bit his lip. “Okay. Just… hold on a minute. Stay on the register. I’ll see if anyone else can come.”

Virgil pulled out his phone (which he was allowed to have in his apron pocket, at least as far as he cared) and stepped away from the crowded front of the café, retreating to the back room. He tapped his painted nails against the black, purple-rhinestone-studded phone case, thinking. Talyn and Joan would both be in class, so they weren’t an option. And he didn’t like most of the other baristas. Really, there was only one option.

Virgil selected Roman’s contact, and waited. He’d have preferred to just text—he hated phone calls—but he couldn’t be sure that a text would get Roman’s attention; and that cheap phone of his probably took forever to type on, anyway.

“Hey, Virgil,” Roman said. “What’s up? It’s my day off, isn’t it?” There was a shuffling noise, like he was scrambling to check that he hadn’t gotten the date wrong.

“Yeah—yeah, I know it is. Sorry, but, uh… we kind of have an emergency going on here, and we really need you to come in if you can. The fridge died this morning, so Thomas and I are trying to sell everything we can before it goes bad, and it’s getting crazy. And he’s not feeling well, so it’d just be me here… and—and it won’t like you’ll be losing your day off this week, since I doubt we’ll be able to open tomorrow with no fridge or supplies or anything. It’ll only be a couple of hours.” After that, they’d have to throw everything out.

Roman paused.

“…Please?”

“Wow, you must really be desperate if you’re saying ‘please’.”

Virgil scoffed, but before he could say anything, Roman continued, “Yeah, of course I’ll come in. One sec, I’ll see if I can get a ride.” Roman seemed to freeze, as if he’d misspoken “Uhh—my car’s—it’s in the shop.”

“…Yeah, sure.” That was an obvious lie, but it was neither any of his business nor anything he particularly cared about, especially at that moment. Virgil heard a scuffing noise, then footsteps, then a muffled conversation. Virgil paced the back room impatiently.

“Alright, I’m on my way. Give me like ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”

Virgil heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

He went out to tell Thomas, who agreed to stay until Roman arrived, although he wasn’t sure how helpful he’d be.

And then a disgruntled guest threw a drink, because apparently it was taking too long to get their wife’s order. Virgil was really going to need a self-care day after the week he was having. Or two. Or ten.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave,” Thomas said from the register, looking unimpressed with the display.

“Sure, ma’am, whatever you say,” the customer said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Thomas frowned.

“Bye,” Virgil said pointedly.

Both customers looked annoyed, but thankfully, they did leave. The next several customers were overly nice, as if trying to make up for them. Virgil was not opposed to that, or to the substantial tips a few of them left.

Just under fifteen minutes later, Roman arrived. Another young man came in with him. Virgil assumed that he was a customer at first, but he looked around the café, grinning, chatting with Roman in a clearly familiar way.

“Wow, Roman,” Virgil heard, “is it always this busy?”

Roman laughed. “No, Pat. This is a little… unusual.”

“Oh, that’s good. It looks like a Black Friday sale in here.”

“That’s accurate,” Thomas commented, looking amused, as they came closer. He was sitting on the stool from the register, no longer taking orders—Virgil had been doing that for a while now. He started to get up, leaning on the counter to talk to Roman. “Thanks for coming in. Virge and I really appreciate it.”

Roman waved him off. “It’s fine, I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Still, thanks,” Thomas repeated. He waved at Virgil, then left the prep area, starting to untie the knot of his apron.

Virgil set down another cluster of drinks and pastries, and called the names on the orders even as hands appeared from the crowd to snatch them. Hopefully they were the right people, but if not, well… not his problem. “Who’s this?” Virgil asked, coming closer to Roman.

“Oh, Virgil, this is Patton. He gave me a ride. He’s, uh….”

“I’m his roommate,” Patton said, smiling. “And a friend.”

“Yeah,” said Roman. “Thanks, Pat. You can go home if you want.”

“Okay. Just text me when I should pick you up!” He smiled at Virgil, then glanced around at the crowded café. “Well, I won’t keep you, but it’s nice to meet you, kiddo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Virgil agreed.

The young man hugged Roman before he left, and then the baristas turned to face the mob.

By the time their clock ran out, very little was left to throw away. Still, Virgil could tell it pained Roman when they had to announce to everyone that the café was closing, and even more so when they threw out what was left. There wasn’t much to do about it, though, which Roman understood.

After their disaster of a morning came to a close, Virgil threw his apron at the hook on the wall in the wall. He missed, and the apron fell to the ground. “At least we get tomorrow off, right?” he sighed.

(Of course, this was before he knew that Bradley would ask him to be there when the repair worker came to look at the fridge)

…

Virgil watched a movie in bed that afternoon, but she burned her popcorn, which happened to be the last in the box; and she wasn’t exactly willing to go out and buy a new one at that moment. And the neighbor’s kids seemed to be having some kind of screaming competition.

She wasn’t having a great week.

…

The next afternoon, after dealing with the fridge situation at the café, Virgil finally got to go home and properly relax. No more nails in his tires, no more angry or entitled customers, and no more neighbors backing into his mailbox.

He had barely closed the front door before he was kicking off his shoes and yanking off his Sanders Café shirt (Why had he worn it, when the café wasn’t even open? The best he could figure was some kind of horrible autopilot.) He put his head back and let out a cry of pent-up frustration.

The week was over. It was finally time for some self-care, before he lost it completely.

He put on his softest pajama pants and was about to flop on the couch to watch The Office when the doorbell rang. He would have ignored it, but it rang again. Virgil threw a pillow in the door’s direction. It fell to the floor. The doorbell rang again.

Reluctantly, Virgil got up and went to answer it, and give whoever stood there a piece of his mind. “What,” he groaned, only to cut himself off when he saw who stood there. “…Oh. Hi, Thomas.”

“Hi,” Thomas said. He held up a case in one hand and smiled. “I brought drinks.”

Strawberry lemonade—Virgil’s favorite.

Virgil leaned on the doorframe and looked at Thomas appraisingly. “…You like The Office, right?” he asked.

Thomas laughed. “Storm Cloud, I introduced you to The Office.”

“Hm.” Virgil stepped back to let him in, cracking a grin. “Fair point.”

They watched a few too many episodes of The Office before Thomas went home, and by then, Virgil was feeling a lot better. Still, once he was alone, Virgil treated himself to a nice soak in the tub (in swim trunks and t-shirt) with a wine glass full of his finest purple Gatorade. He even set out candles (the battery-powered kind), put on some relaxing music, and used a swirling galaxy bath bomb that he’d been saving. A book Thomas had recommended sat on a little table by the tub, along with his cellphone in case it didn’t turn out as to be as good as his friend claimed.

Once everything was ready, Virgil sank into the bath, Gatorade in hand, surrounded by a swirling galaxy, ready to let the stress melt away

It was a nice way to end a very, very sucky week.

[secretpeachtea]

Onigiri Miya Tidbits Ch 3

Title: the unexpected reunion

Genre: gen fic, reader insert

Word count: 5.1k

Summary: Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job. The business has been gaining popularity since its grand opening, and many customers travel from different cities just to have a bite of Miya Osamu’s delicious recipes. You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players during your shifts.

disclaimer: manga spoilers

A/N: I uhh went a little overboard with the word count this time, but im a hoe for msby so whoops. hope you enjoy!

Previous///Next

“Good work today, (Name)-san!”

“You too, Osamu-san!”

Your boss walks up to the entrance and switches over the sign to display ‘Closed’. You let out a deep yawn as you grab the broom to start your nightly cleaning routine at Onigiri Miya.

It’s hard to believe that it’s already been a month since you started working here. You can honestly say that this is probably the most enjoyable job position you’ve had in a while. You were able to learn new onigiri recipes and even started recognizing some of the regular customers that have fallen in love with Osamu’s cooking. This includes a very kind, elderly woman who always makes sure to give you a peppermint every time she stops by.

Your friendly relationship with Osamu has definitely been one of the most obvious reasons why you’ve been able to juggle everything in your life along with working for your expenses. He’s become a trustworthy and reliable person even though you’ve only known each other for a short period of time. Although it was a bit awkward calling each other by your first names in the beginning, you both got fairly comfortable addressing each other since you practically see him almost every day. 

Though he doesn’t necessarily count as a customer, Osamu’s troublemaker brother is another frequent guest at Onigiri Miya. Atsumu comes by to visit at least once a week to eat or stop by after practice. By default, that means you’ve had the pleasure to deal with his antics every week since the kitchen massacre incident. He’s even gotten into the habit of calling you ‘sweetheart’ just to get some reaction out of you. You have to admit, it’s pretty fun to watch the twins banter back and forth, especially since Osamu always makes Atsumu pay for whatever he eats (“But, I’m your brother!”/”Yeah, so you should support my business.”).

Despite the chaos that follows Miya Atsumu, you always end up striking up a decent conversation, usually revolving around volleyball and his team. He always brings up how he’ll bring over the team eventually, but it’s just been a bit busy lately since they were preparing for tryouts. He actually hasn’t come by for a couple days now for that reason.

You snap out of your thoughts when you hear Osamu’s phone ringing. Judging by the slight scowl on his face, it’s probably his brother. You just continue to sweep under the counter, assuming that the call isn’t that important.

“You’re what? Right now? Seriously?” Osamu questions with a slightly peeved tone. There’s a brief pause as the other person on the other line starts whining. Your boss just sighs in defeat. “Fine. Only this one time since it’s been a while.”

Osamu ends the call reluctantly and you’re slightly concerned at his reaction. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, ‘Tsumu just told me that he’s on his way here with some of his teammates. Apparently they’re celebrating the new player on their team but everywhere else is closed or too crowded.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised that he told you last minute,” You sympathized.

“They’re gonna be a bit rowdy, so I guess I’ll just apologize now for bringing you into this mess. You can just continue doing your own thing and not worry about them.” The man just let out another tired sigh before making his way back behind the counter area and setting up any ingredients he may need to make more food. You let out a chuckle and waved off the unnecessary apology before continuing your sweeping.

It seems like the guys really told Osamu last minute because before you knew it, the front door flew open and a group of boisterous male voices rang through the air. You were so startled that you almost dropped the broom in your hands, turning your focus away from the guys that just walked in.

“Hey, ‘Samu! We’re here to party!”

“It’s been a while!”

“Wow! This place seems really nice! Your brother's pretty cool, Atsumu-san!”

Your body froze. You were caught off guard with the last person who spoke and couldn’t help but turn around quickly to confirm your suspicions. You were faced with four males clad in the yellow tracksuits you’ve become used to seeing since it’s the only thing you’ve seen the blonde Miya twin wear. Each held onto their own gym bags, so you assume that they just got out of practice. You recognize Atsumu and Bokuto. The one wearing a mask has never visited Onigiri Miya, but you can assume he’s Sakusa Kiyoomi, or better known as ‘Omi-Omi’ since that’s the nickname you hear from Atsumu’s stories. However, what you didn’t expect was to come face to face with a familiar mop of orange hair.

“Sho-kun?”

Everyone’s eyes shot towards your direction at your sudden interruption, including Hinata Shoyo’s. “No way! (Name)-san?!”

You placed your broom against the wall and the two of you made a beeline towards each other. Once you were close enough, Hinata engulfed you in a big bear hug. Even though he isn’t much taller than you, his muscular build entrapped you in a warm and comforting embrace. He rocks the two of you back and forth gleefully and you can’t help but squeal from the cute gesture.

Once the two of you separate, you both face each other with curiosity completely ignorant of the other people in the room who are looking back and forth between you guys in a state of bewilderment and shock.

“I didn’t know you worked here!” Hinata exclaimed.

“I actually only started working here about a month ago!” You responded back just as excitedly. “When did you get back to Japan? How’s Pedro? I didn’t get the chance to swap contact info before I left.”

“About a week ago! I tried to settle in and fix my sleeping schedule before I went to tryouts for Black Jackals and I got on the team! And, Pedro’s doing great! I can give you his social media account if you want!”

It seems like Atsumu was the first to get tired of watching without understanding the situation, so he just decides to break the ice himself, “Now, hold on a sec. You two know each other?”

“We actually met in Brazil!” Hinata replies.

“BRAZIL?!”

Osamu decided to join in on the questioning, albeit in a bit more of a reserved manner than his brother. “(Name)-san, why were you in Brazil?”

“I studied abroad for about 6 months lasts year,” you start to explain and then begin to ruffle Hinata’s hair. “I happened to run into Sho-kun after his bike broke down in front of the apartment I was staying at. Poor guy looked so lost, and his phone was out of battery so he couldn’t call anyone.”

The boy just laughs at your friendly gesture. “Yeah! (Name)-san helped me find the nearest repair shop and even patched up my injuries! I was really surprised to find someone else who spoke Japanese!”

“Same here. I didn’t know anyone in Brazil, so it was a bit lonely. We actually met up quite a few times to share a meal or watch a volleyball match at the beach whenever we were both free.”

The rest of the guys listened on with interest, except for maybe Sakusa who just walked over to one of the empty tables and wiped down the chair before taking a seat. Atsumu makes his way over to where you and Hinata are standing and throws an arm over the younger boy. “You guys seem pretty close if you’re on a first name basis, Shoyo-kun.”

Hinata just looked up to his fellow team member with innocent eyes. “Well, everyone called us by our first names in Brazil, so we just decided to go with it since it was getting a bit confusing for some of our friends.”

“That’s pretty cute. You guys are basically best friends already.” Atsumu just hummed in acknowledgement before turning his head towards Sakusa. “Him and I are also on a first name basis ‘cause we’re the best of friends. Ain’t that right, Omi-Omi?” 

You could hear a faint “tch” come from the masked figure. “Don’t associate me with one of your fantasies, Miya. And, I only called you by your first name that one time when your brother delivered food to the gym.”

“So cruel, Omi-Omi.” 

“Okay, guys. Take a seat! Food’s ready!” Osamu announces. “(Name)-san, you mind helping me bring some of this stuff?”

You nod your head and take some of the warm food into your hands following your boss to where all four of the guys are now seated. Similar to when you first met, Bokuto’s lips slightly glisten from the drool pooling at the sight of the tasty meal. Sakusa pulls his mask down and places it in a plastic bag so that it doesn’t get messy from the food. Once all of the food is set on the table, you and Osamu stand off to the side to give the guys some space as they eat. However, before anyone could take a bite, Atsumu stands up from his chair.

“Alright, guys! Before we start eating, we gotta remember why we’re here! Captain and the other guys were a bit busy, so they couldn’t make it tonight, but it’s important that we do this today!” The blonde pats Hinata on the head. “Welcome to MSBY Black Jackals, Shoyo-kun!”

Bokuto lets out a loud whistle. “WOO! Welcome to the team, Hinata!!”

Sakusa just nods his head at his new teammate, the usual frown he sports is now absent from his face. If you squint hard enough, there’s a miniscule curve at the corner of his mouth.

“But, that’s not all!” Atsumu remains standing as he dumps the rest of his speech on everyone in the room. He points at the two-tone haired male sitting in front of him. “Bo-kun! The bag, please!”

Bokuto snaps his fingers as if he just remembered something. The owlish man shuffles through his gym bag and produces a heavy plastic bag. You can hear the clinking of glass as he raises it higher. “I’ve got the good stuff!”

Atsumu looks ecstatic. “Can’t have a celebration without a little bit of alcohol to spice it up!”

Slightly concerned, you look up to Osamu to gauge his reaction towards the introduction of alcohol. He looks a bit uneasy, but just lets out his third sigh of the night. “Just don’t break anything, or I will make sure none of you make it out alive from this building.”

Completely ignoring the threatening tone, Atsumu and Bokuto start popping open bottles of who-knows-what. Sakusa just opts for a glass of water since he has no intentions of partaking in the silly shenanigans between the two most eccentric volleyball players. Hinata has no choice but to comply as Atsumu pours his glass to the brim. Eventually all the guys start to dig into their food as well.

With nothing else left to help them with, you and Osamu get back to cleaning the other areas. It only takes about 15-20 minutes to wipe down everything and gather the trash. You step into the back room to get everything together so that you’re prepared to leave whenever the group outside finishes their meal. You smile as you hear muffled laughter and loud conversations through the closed door. Your boss had let you know that he’ll clean up after them, but you didn’t have the heart to make him do all of that work himself. 

You step out to the main room to have an idea of where everyone’s at with their food but stop in your tracks as you witness a significantly more irritated Osamu watching the table of four with a twitching eye behind the counter. You’re about to ask what’s wrong, but you can pretty much guess what the problem might be. 

The table is littered with empty alcohol bottles and half-full glass cups. Surprisingly, there isn’t much of a mess in terms of leftover food, but it doesn’t make up the fact that there are three very drunk men hovering over the table. 

Atsumu’s upper body is entirely flushed pink from the bottom of his neck to the tips of his ears, and he’s fanning his face with the top of his shirt. Hinata practically has flowers oozing off of his figure as he sways back and forth next to the blonde, a permanent carefree smile plastered on his face next to his red cheeks. Although not as obvious as the other two, Sakusa has a glossy shine to his eyes above his own pink cheeks and hiccups occasionally in his seat, focusing his eyes on a tiny speck on the table. Not sure whether to be surprised or not, your eyes move onto Bokuto, who was completely sober. He heartedly laughs at the state of his drunk friends, enjoying every moment.

“I thought Sakusa-san wasn’t going to drink?” You ask Osamu.

Your boss just shakes his head. “‘Tsumu switched his glass when he went to the bathroom and he didn’t notice until it was too late.”

You’re not sure whether you want to pray for the blonde’s safety once Sakusa is in his right mind, or if you wanna ask Hinata to record the poor man’s fate in the hands of an angry, hungover Sakusa.

Osamu just turns around with heavy steps and makes his way to the back room, probably to do the same thing you went to the back room for a couple minutes ago. You look back to the table when you hear a chair scraping against the floor. Atsumu seems to have moved his chair right next to Sakusa because before you knew it, he was leaning against the tall spiker with his hands in the air.

“Omi-Omi! Can I borrow your sanitizer? My hands got dirty!” Wrong choice of words.

Sakusa immediately shoves his elbow backwards and it slams right into Atsumu’s chest, forcing his breath right out of him. The setter doubles over clutching his chest, while Sakusa simply pulls out his sanitizer and applies it to wherever he has come in contact with the man next to him. It seems like drunk Sakusa is a bit more violent about his way of rejecting people.

Remembering how tired your boss looked before he left the room, you felt the need to try and intervene to encourage the group to start thinking about calling it a day. As you approach, the first person to notice you was Hinata. As soon as he realizes who you are, his eyes light up as if he was a child that just received a birthday gift. 

“(Name)-san!”

You don’t even get the chance to make it halfway to the table when the boy jumps up from his chair and stalks over to where you are. Without warning, Hinata throws his arms over your shorter figure and smothers you with another hug. It takes all of your mental fortitude to not think about how muscular his arms feel around your shoulders or how strong his grip is on your back. He was definitely not this fit the last time you saw him.

“You’re awfully affectionate today, Sho-kun.”

“Hehe~ I’m just glad to see you, (Name)-san!” Hinata starts shuffling around a bit until his cheek is able to nuzzle with yours. You giggle at how adorable he is. 

Although you appreciate his affection, Hinata was slowly suffocating you with his tight embrace. You signal to the only other sober person in the room for help. Bokuto continues to laugh at everything going around him but complies and makes his way over to the two of you before peeling off the orange haired male from your body. Luckily, Hinata was too drunk to actually keep his grip on you and just fell into his teammate’s arms. 

“Thanks, Bokuto-san.” You’re able to stand up straight again and Bokuto gives you a thumbs up with a wide grin. He takes Hinata back to the table to sit him down and you follow suit. Osamu walked out of the back room at this time and just began tying up two large trash bags next to the sink, not even batting an eyelash in the group’s direction.

You should’ve expected it, but you were still startled when you suddenly felt a heavy arm sling across your shoulder. “So, you come here often, sweetheart?”

You blankly stare at Atsumu’s smug expression as he continues to nestle his arm comfortably around you. His flushed appearance was definitely not helping his attempt at flirting with you. “Come on, there’s no way a goddess like you could resist my divine qualities.”

“Lame.” Osamu was quick to comment on his brother’s cheesy words while walking towards the exit with the two garbage bags in his arms. He stepped outside and closed the door to keep any insects from wandering inside as he took out the trash.

You were about to swat Atsumu’s body away but noticed the deep, dark circles under his eyes and came to the conclusion that he’s probably going to pass out from exhaustion at some point anyways, so you just let him be. His attention span seems to be a lot shorter too since he suddenly let go of you and lunged forward towards Sakusa’s hand sanitizer bottle that was now sitting neatly on top of the table. 

Although he’s usually good at completely avoiding Atsumu’s attempts at stealing his things, Sakusa’s reflexes were a bit deterred due to his tipsy condition. Instead of snatching the bottle away from the blonde’s vicinity, Sakusa ended up knocking the bottle to the ground with his own hand. 

Luckily, Bokuto was able to stop Atsumu from crashing onto the table headfirst with one arm still holding onto Hinata. Afraid that Sakusa would possibly slap the setter or drag Hinata into the crossfire in a drunken stupor, he pulled Atsumu close by and slung his arm over his two drunk teammates. 

Sakusa just let out a disgruntled groan and sent a nasty glare to Atsumu. He stood up to look for the fallen bottle but misjudged where he stepped. Luck decided not to be on his side as the tall spiker placed a foot directly on top of the sanitizer bottle causing his balance to shift. The world tilted in his vision and his body began to succumb to gravity and fall...on top of you.

You tried to stop both of your bodies from losing balance by wrapping your arms around his torso, but your shorter frame was no match for Sakusa’s much bigger body. You can hear shouts of concern coming from the other three guys as the both of you crashed to the floor in a mess of limbs. The air is knocked out of you and you wince at the heavy weight laying on top of you.

During the fall, your eyes shut tight automatically to brace yourself, so it takes a moment for you to reopen them. As soon as your eyelids flutter open, your breath hitches. Sakusa’s face is mere inches from your own and he looks just as stunned as you do. You realize that his thighs are on either side of you and somehow he was able to quickly place a hand under your head to make sure it didn’t come in direct contact with the hard floor after toppling over together. Your heart is beating fast and you can only hope that Sakusa doesn’t notice.

While the two of you are stuck in a brief trance, the rest of the group is just watching in a huddled position. Even they were mostly keeping silent, perhaps anticipating whatever was going to happen next. Hinata's face held a mixture of confusion and wonder, while Atsumu’s expression held obvious annoyance. Bokuto's eyes danced with fascination as his mouth hung loose. 

All of a sudden, the front door slid open and everyone’s head snapped towards the entrance. Osamu stood on the other side wiping his hands on his jeans. 

“Alright, guys. It’s time to-” He stopped speaking once he took a good look at the scene in front of him. It was a bit difficult to figure out what was going through Osamu’s head because he just held a deadpan expression. 

Not liking the bit of tension in the air, you clear your throat. “Um...I could use a little help.”

At your pleading, Osamu steps back inside the shop and grabs Sakusa by the shoulders to slowly take him off of you so that the spiker doesn’t end up falling over again from any sudden movements. You sit up and see that Bokuto had gotten up from his seat to lend you a hand. You take it gratefully.

“I guess now would be a good time to go home,” Bokuto mentions sheepishly. “Do you guys need any help with cleaning?”

Osamu gave Sakusa a glass of water to sober him up a bit then turned to Bokuto. “Just keep an eye on these guys and (Name)-san and I will take care of everything else.”

With that, you and your boss spent the next couple of minutes clearing the area and washing all the used dishes. In the meantime, Bokuto kept an eye on all of the other guys and even called up a taxi to arrive soon. Atsumu and Hinata seemed to have fallen asleep while waiting, and Sakusa just slouched in his chair quietly grumbling about how his sanitizer is undoubtedly contaminated. 

Once everything was set, all of you grabbed your things (Osamu shouldering his snoring brother; Bokuto piggybacking a snoozing Hinata) and locked the door to Onigiri Miya. The taxi was already parked in front of the shop, so all that was left was to figure out how everyone was getting home.

“You only called for one taxi?” Osamu questioned.

“Oh yeah, Omi-kun doesn’t want to ride the taxi,” Bokuto replied as he hoisted Hinata’s body in the back seat of the taxi. “I thought we could all just squeeze into the back since most of us are on the way anyways.”

Sakusa, who is slightly more sober than before, took out a new mask from his bag. “I live a couple blocks down, so I’ll just walk.”

“Oh, actually, I live a couple blocks down too, so I was just planning on walking as well,” you respond. “You all have to go in the opposite direction, so it’ll be a hassle to drop me off.”

Osamu’s eyebrows furrow with unease. “It’s pretty late. I don’t think it’s a good idea to walk around in the dark alone at this hour. Where’s your place?”

“Ashita Complex*.”

“Seriously?!” Bokuto suddenly exclaims, startling everyone. “Omi-kun lives there too!”

“No-”

“That’s great,” Osamu interrupts. “You guys can walk together.”

Bokuto’s hair flairs up along with his arms in satisfaction. “Man, I love it when everything works out and everyone’s happy!”

There seemed to be no room for objections by the germaphobe himself, so he just sighs in defeat. The rest of you just say your goodbyes and Osamu finally shoves Atsumu into the back before taking the front passenger seat himself with Bokuto offering to sit in the back with his sleeping teammates. As soon as the taxi is out of sight, you turn around to see that Sakusa had already started walking ahead.

“Hey! Wait up!” You rush to where Sakusa was and eventually match your strides with his.

The taller man doesn’t slow down his pace and just continues forward. He does, however, glance at you from the corner of his eye. “You know, if you live so close by, it would’ve been fine if they dropped you off.”

“And, leave you to walk home by yourself? No way.” You shake your head to emphasize your resolve. “You’re still slightly tipsy, so I feel more comfortable seeing you get to your apartment in one piece.”

“I’m fine.”

“You say that, but then why are you still swaying as you walk?” You point out. “I know you’re not acting like a typical intoxicated person, but your mind is still pretty cloudy, right?” 

There was no way to counter that argument because even Sakusa knew that he wasn’t exactly walking straight since he wasn’t completely sober. “Then, walk at least six feet behind me.”

You pout a bit at his pettiness. The only way to fight fire is with fire. “Yeah? But, what if you lose your balance and bump into a street light that hundreds of people have probably touched throughout the day?”

Silence. You know you’ve won this time, but you still try to be a bit respectful and stand at least an arm’s length away. 

The rest of the walk is fairly quiet, only the sounds of your footsteps echoing across the empty streets. You didn’t mind, though, since you were able to just enjoy the cool night air that refreshed your tired mind. Once you reached the apartment complex, Sakusa stepped back as you scanned your ID card and opened the door. You figured he just didn’t want to touch anything, but didn’t say anything since you were just too tired to question him.

The only elevator in the building was under maintenance, so the two of you had to take the stairs for today. 

“What floor are you?” You ask.

“3rd.”

“Oh, you live on the floor right below me.” You were a bit surprised at how you haven’t run into him at all since you’ve lived in this apartment for a while. To be honest, it’s probably because he doesn’t go out much unless it’s for volleyball.

As the two of you step onto the 3rd floor, Sakusa starts heading for his apartment door. You didn’t really expect anything from him, so you were taken aback when Sakusa stopped in his tracks to look at you briefly.

“Thanks.”

 A small smile forms on your lips at Sakusa’s simple gesture. “Good night, Sakusa-san.”

The said man just raises a hand over his shoulder without looking back and takes out his keys with his other arm. You standby to make sure he goes in safely and hear the lock click. Satisfied, you climb the rest of the stairs to your floor and make your way to your own apartment. 

As soon as you're inside, you shove off your shoes and make a beeline for the couch. Taking in a deep breath, you eventually exhale willing your exhaustion to leave your body as well. It probably won’t do you any good to fall asleep in your uniform, so you decide to change into more comfortable clothing and prepare for bed. 

Clothed in your favorite gym shorts and oversized T-shirt, you hop into bed. Your eyelids are practically closing in on themselves as you scroll through your phone one last time. Despite your initial tiredness, your eyes shoot open when you catch a glimpse of a certain YouTube video.

“Kodzuken posted a video today!” You squeal out loud. There’s no way you can sleep without watching it now. Kodzuken was your favorite Youtuber, and you’ve never missed a single one of his videos. You even went as far as buying merchandise from his athletic wear company, hence the Bouncing Ball shorts and shirt you were currently wearing as your pajamas. 

If you ever met him in person, you honestly don’t know how you’d react. You’ve heard that he used to play volleyball in high school, so maybe with all the volleyball players you’ve been coming across, fate will find its way to you.

But, a girl could only dream.

Leftovers:

Bright light glares through the blinds of Sakusa’s room to indicate that the sun has already risen quite a bit. A loud doorbell rings through the apartment causing Sakusa to stir. The man opens one eye and groans at the obnoxious headache that was already set to ruin his morning. His mouth is incredibly dry, and he doesn’t feel that he’s gotten nearly enough sleep last night. Sakusa was most definitely feeling the symptoms of a mild hangover.

“I’m going to kill that blonde gremlin.”

With much reluctance, the tall man drags his body to a standing position. He makes the bed as neat as possible before walking out of his room towards the front door. Sakusa makes the effort to look through the peephole to see if he could make out the person who decided to disturb him from the comforts of his bed but is confused when he can’t see anyone outside. 

Normally, he would just walk away and assume it’s just someone who rang the wrong doorbell (it’s happened multiple times before), but there’s a nagging feeling at the back of his brain to just open the door. Sakusa clicked the lock loose and opened the door wide enough for him to peek outside. A slight shuffling noise startled him and when he looked down he saw a plastic bag hooked onto the door handle. 

A little skeptical, Sakusa grabs two disposable gloves from the box he placed next to the entrance of his home and slides them onto his hands. He has no idea where this bag has been, so he’s not taking any chances in coming in contact with potential germs.

Shutting his door closed with his leg, Sakusa makes his way over to his kitchen countertop and places the bag on top of it. He considers just throwing it out, but notices a pink slip of paper at the top of the contents inside. Curiously, he pulls it out and realizes that it’s a written note. He doesn’t recognize the handwriting, but skims through to find any hints of the sender, and surely enough, he sees your name printed in the second sentence.

Hey, Sakusa-san! It’s (Surname) (Name). I’m on my way to work, so I thought I’d just drop this off really quick. You drank quite a bit, so I made you some soup to counter the hangover. Don’t worry! I thoroughly washed my hands and put on gloves before making it! Feel free to throw it out if it makes you uncomfortable. I also put in an extra sanitizer since I know you were upset about the one yesterday. Have a nice day at practice!

Sakusa just stares blankly at the piece of paper for a couple seconds before putting it down and analyzing the contents in the plastic bag. Just like you said, there’s a large blue thermos and a travel-size sanitizer bottle that looks almost identical to the one he dropped yesterday just in a different color. If he were to be completely honest, he probably has the same bottle somewhere in his cleaning supply shelf, but you can never have too many sanitizers. As he took out both items, his nose caught the familiar scent of disinfectant. You must’ve wiped down everything before placing it in the bag.

The stoic man stares at the thermos and sanitizer in silence. After a couple more moments, he simply turns towards his stove and starts heating up the soup.

Ashita Complex: I made it up :D (If you’re curious, ashita means ‘tomorrow’ in Japanese)

***Please do not succumb to peer pressure when drinking, folks! Drink safe!

A/N: the #1 Cockblock Award goes to...Miya Osamu, everyone! Hehe, just kidding~ I also added a ‘Leftovers’ part to this chapter as sort of an ‘extra’ or an ‘omake’! I don’t know how often I’ll add these, but I really wanted to write this one, so I hope you enjoyed it too!

[xxsanshinexx]

A textbook and you

Pairing: Yang Jeongin x Reader

Words: 3576

Genre: Highschool au

Synopsis: You didn’t have a biology textbook and needed one, thankfully Yang Jeongin was kind enough to share one for the semester.

~

You had no idea how you ended up sharing a biology textbook with Yang Jeongin, but yet here you were; scribbling down the functions and structures of cells before you had to give him back the book for his test. The two of you had different class periods, you having biology late in the day and him right after lunch. It helped make the little system you created function a little easier; however, it still didn’t make the situation any less odder. Juggling the textbooks back and forth between the two of you, one of you getting to steal it for one half of the day and the other getting it for the rest. 

You knew how all of it came to be. You were too lazy to get up on time to get your textbooks from the school and by the time you had gone to retrieve them; it came out that the school hadn’t ordered enough. Now while you were wholly content to try and pass your class without the textbook, you knew Mr. Park only assigned out of the textbook. Jeongin just happened to be in line in front of you during the whole situation and being the kind boy that he is, insisted that you took the book and he would get the work from one of his friends who already took the class.

The only problem about his noble offer was that you couldn’t accept it and that the pair of you were extremely stubborn. This is how you came to the conclusion that you would share the textbook. This is also how you came to sit in the library, furiously scribbling in your notebook as Jeongin tried to review his sticky notes.  

“I don’t think pressing harder on the paper is gonna make you remember the content anymore than regular studying would,” Jeongin chuckled without glancing up from his yellow notes. This was common, the two of huddled over a single textbook; you clamouring to understand the information while Jeongin sat nice and pretty and calm reviewing everything you should’ve had memorized. 

“Jeongin,” You huffed, scribbling down the function of enzymes that roamed the esophagus, “Please shut up.”

You could feel him lean against you shoulder and you sucked on your teeth at the proximity. It was common knowledge that Jeongin was good looking, with a great personality and a sweet smile to match. It was also common knowledge to anyone who looked close enough that you had a crush on the young sunshine since the two of you met in middle school. Thankfully, no one had looked at either of you two close yet. 

He leaned his head against your shoulder and you stared intently at the scientific words that made no sense, trying to distract yourself from the way his breathy laugh sounded so perfect. “You spelled enzyme wrong.”

It was moments like this though that made you regret your taste in men.

“God let me study in peace Jeongin!” You shouted, earning a distasteful shush from the librarian that put an embarrassed blush on your features. “Mr. Park hates me, I have to know all of this even if it’s spelled wrong.”

“Don’t feel special he hates everyone.” Jeongin laughed as he rearranged his notecards to be in alphabetical order. “And enzyme’s has an e at the end.”

“God dammit Jeongin.” You grumbled as you began to add in the e to the word, knowing he wouldn’t stop mocking you about it till it was fixed. “Doesn’t matter if I spelled it write or not the tests are multiple choice.”

“Beomgyu told me this one is written. Might want to learn to spell,” He said and you groaned, slamming your face against the textbook just as the bell rang. It meant your time with Jeongin, and most importantly the textbook, was over. 

“Goodbye to my grades.” You sighed and you felt Jeongin pat you back in an attempt to reassure you. 

“You’ll do fine Y/n, you always do.” You looked up only to be greeted by his mesmerising smile, and you couldn’t help but feel like his words were truthful. “Now, can I have the textbook? I need it for class.”

A pout settled on your lips, “Only if you write down all the test answers for me when you give it back during passing.”

“Sure, whatever you say Y/n,” He swiftly pulled the book out from under your arms and cast you a wink before stumbling off to his classroom; leaving you a mix of emotions in the deserted library. The feeling of lovesickness and dread were not a good combo for anyone, especially not you with your weak heart and closed emotions. Another sigh left your lips as you made your way out of the room, trying to remain optimistic about the rest of your day. 

The last period of the day seemed to come a lot faster than you could memorize what chemosynthesis was. You had spent the majority of you history class reviewing the scribbly notes you had taken during lunch time, mentally cursing yourself for misspelling nearly every word; though you would never give Jeongin the satisfaction of knowing that. 

“I am going to fail~” You sang as you met Jeongin in your normal meeting place, the hallway that was the middle ground between your final classes.

Jeongin just shook his head and smiled, holding out the book for you to take in your arms. “It’s not that hard Y/n.”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. I’m a genius.”

“I’m not a genius,” He laughed, running his hand through his hair suddenly seeming anxious. “Anyways, I have something to ask you which you kinda have to say yes to?”

You raised an eyebrow at his odd remark and demeanor, “Then why are you even asking me?”

“Fair point,” He nodded and ran his hand up to clutch onto his backpack strap, “Well I uh signed us up to be partners for this biology project Mr. Park is gonna assign at the end of class. We have to make a model of a cell- i think i picked plant- and uh I figured you’d be okay with it. I mean- we already spend so much time together over this class i just uh… guessed you’d be cool if we just paired up for it. I’ll have to see you after school anyways to get back the textbook.”

His proposal had you with a nervous smile on your face, having never expected such a statement. Usually when Jeongin asked you something, it was to buy him food or to slide him the answers for the math exam that he had next period. You didn’t really think he would ever want to partner with you, for anything other than this stupid textbook deal. 

“Yeah,” You squeaked out, Jeongin barely able to catch your words. “That-That sounds good… we can work on it at my house if you want?”

“Today? I can do today after school- if that’s okay of course-” the warning bell rang in the midst of Jeongin’s words and you both looked at each other with wide eyes. 

“I can do today,” You said quickly, watching as Jeongin nodded and began to speedily backpedal in the direction of his classroom. 

“Sounds good!” He called through the sea of late students who were beginning to swarm the hallway, “Text me- oh and good luck!”

His words made you smile as you shook your head, beginning to squirm through the hallway’s traffic to your dreaded last class. At least now you had something to look forward to at the end of the day. And the sticky note that read nearly all the answers are A with a smiley face only added to your sudden happy mood. 

The test was just as difficult as you had expected, but Jeongin’s words of wisdom had you feeling better about your outcome. It made the decisions on answers easier to make and you remember to spell enzyme correctly when faced with written answers. Your optimistic mood only grew as you reached the porch of your house, textbook in hand and a nervous smile on your face. 

“Grandma i’m home!” You called as you walked in, dropping off your things in their respective places as you made your way towards your room.

“How was school love?” You grandma’s soft voice fluttered out from her room and you peaked your head in to find her bent over book. 

“It was good, Grandma.” You said and that nervous smile came back onto your face as you remembered who would be here in less than an hour, “And uh Grandma, I have a friend coming over today so please? Try not to scare them of to quickly?”

It was then she finally looked up from her book, eyes withered with age alighting with interest. “You don’t ask that when just any of your friends come around. Why is this one special? Oh! Is it that Jeongin boy you keep gushing about- you know i’ve still yet to meet him and all you do is talk about-”

You sighed in distress, realizing that you should never tell your grandmother anything, and nodded your head. “Please don’t say anything! He’s only coming over for a project! A project, grandma! Nothing else! Nothing! No weird talk and certainly don’t repeat anything I have said about him to you-”

“Not even how you think his eyes hold the whole galaxy-”

“Anything!” You could hear her mischievous laughter as you continued down the hall to your room, the panic beginning to fill you. Yang Jeongin was coming over soon, your room was incredibly messy, your Grandma was planning something and you had less than thirty minutes to make you and your house presentable. The panicked shriek you let out was loud enough for your grandmother to laugh at as you began your frantic attempt to clean up. 

A soft knocking half an hour later brought you out of your cleaning daze. You had managed to get all the clothes off the floor, the books back on your shelf and your bed made, as well as changing out of your uniform, when the noises rang out through the house. 

“Y/n! Your boyfriend is here!” You grandmother helpfully called as you sprinted down the hall. 

“Grandma! This goes against what we talked about!” You called back as you frantically tried to smooth out your shirt and force the redness away from your face before you opened the door. When you opened the door you were faced with a different Jeongin than you were used to. Instead of the pristine yellow uniform that usually adorned both of you, he was in black track pants, a black fitted T-shirt and his hair was pushed back underneath a beanie. To say your face got redder at the look was an understatement. “Hey Jeongin.”

“H-Hi Y/n.” He smiled as he stepped into your home, slipping off his shoes and sliding his backpack off of his shoulder. “Nice house.”

“Uh thanks,” You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly as you began to take slow steps in the direction of your room. “We can work on the project in my room if that's cool- or we could do it out here! Just uh my grandmother’s home so I don’t know if you want-”

“I’m good with anything, I just don’t want to intrude.” He chuckled as he followed you down the hallway. You were quick to notice your grandmother's door was wide open and mentally groaned, knowing that perhaps you should have just left it a mystery about who was coming over. Thankfully, she didn’t make an appearance as you snuck into your bedroom leaving the door open only a fraction so she wouldn’t get suspicious. 

Jeongin stood in the center of your room taking in all the pictures and colors that adorned it, before turning back to you with a small smile. “Is it just you and your grandmother or?”

“My mom and dad are away a lot,” You shrugged, gesturing to the room for him to sit wherever while you grabbed supplies. “I live here cause it's easier and better school district.”

“So how do you want to do this?” Jeongin questioned, as you laid on a notebook on the bed and took a seat next to him watching as he laid back against the headboard. 

“I barely even know what you signed us up to do,” You shook your head with a smile as you flipped your notebook to a blank page. 

“Then why did you say yes so easily?” The teasing tone was evident in his voice but it still made you fight blush rising to your cheeks. Jeongin chuckled at your lack of response and dug around in his backpack, pulling out a ruffled piece of paper. “We’re making a plant cell model. It’s gotta have everything, cell walls, chloroplast, nucleus-”

“Has to be green.” You added helpfully as you jotted down all the requirements onto your paper, earning a laugh from Jeongin.

“Yes,” he chuckled, setting the paper next to you. “Most importantly, it has to be green.”

“We could do it red if we’re feeling creative,” You said, doodling away as you tried to think of a good model for this project. 

“I was honestly feeling pink. Maybe even a blood orange-”

“Oh my God, shut up,” You laughed, sliding the paper over for him to be able to add in his own ideas. “We can make something blood orange on the model if you really want-”

“You know maybe a champagne pink would look better instead?” You couldn’t help your laughter at his words, “Okay, what about amethyst? A fuschia if you will?” You slapped him on the shoulder, trying to get him to stop as giggles flowed out from your lungs, “Fine, we'll go with cerise.”

“Just do some work,” You smiled up at him, quick to notice the stars that danced in his eyes making him seem all the more lively. You weren’t lying when you told your grandmother that fact. 

Jeongin still filled the time of your peaceful working with color jokes, plant jokes and many things that were able to get you to snicker despite your determined mood. The air surrounding you two was light and easygoing, letting you both chatter about nothing as you sketched out cerise nuclei and periwinkle ribosomes; Jeongin cutting away and organizing as you did so. It was nice, even if words weren’t as prominent as you thought they would be; because they weren’t needed as you cut, colored and organized in silence. 

“I don’t think we’re going to finish all of this today,” You huffed, stretching your fingers that had begun to ache from their constant sketching. 

Jeongin nodded as he held up a handful of mitochondria, letting them fall from his hands in a flutter. “We’ll just have to meet up again to finish all of this.”

You blushed against your will but still managed to scoff, “You want to see me that badly?”

Jeongin gapped at your response and would have nearly embarrassed himself with a response if it wasn’t for your grandmother barging into the room at that very moment. The look she gave you upon seeing Jeongin had your ears turning red and a panic coursing through your veins. 

“Well, hello there,” She smiled sweetly to which Jeongin responded with his own smile, but you knew she was only here to embarass you. “You must be the Jeongin Y/n talks so much about!”

And there it was. You internally screamed as Jeongin’s smile grew a little lopsided and his eyebrow raised in interest. “Oh? Y/n talks about me?”

“You and your pretty dimples and voice. Your jokes and laugh make the conversation a lot too.” She grinned and threw you a wink, which you barely made out through your embarrassment. “I came in just to check in on you two, and meet you very good looking friend.” 

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.” Jeongin said, through rather tightly as you watched his features dance with too many emotions. Oh God, he had definitely put together you grandmother words and hints. 

“Grandma, can you please leave?” You said with a forced smile, watching as she grinned but nodded; slyness glinting in her eyes. 

“Just yell if you need me, I’ll be knitting in the living room.” Again, she winked with the words you’re welcome lingering on her lips as she shut the door; leaving the once content room in an air of awkwardness. 

The silence passing between you two was thick. Jeonin didn’t so much as look up as he went back to busying his hands with cutting out shapes. You couldn’t blame him, you tried to avoid all eye contact as you furiously scribbled away at what was supposed to be Chloroplasts. You couldn’t believe she had just walked in here and done that; telling him you thought his dimples were cute! She even told him you thought his voice was nice! Why would she do that!? You mentally screamed, feeling like your once positive day had been entirely ruined by the elderly meddling in it; enough so that angry tears began to swarm in your eyes. 

“Did… do you really think my dimples are cute?” Jeongin muttered after several moments of silence, jolting your body back into being rigid with nerves. 

“I uh…” You trailed off, not picking up your gaze from your sloppy drawings, “I…. I might have mentioned it once.”

“And my voice?”

You sighed before speaking, curling up against the headboard facing your head away from his, not having the courage to even look at him. You didn’t want to see the rejection. “I might’ve.”

“Was that the only things you complimented about me? Or was there something else you wanted to say besides my dimples and voice?” His voice was soft, still holding that teasing undertone, as he reached over and gently placed his hand over yours. There were those stupid jolts that festered under your skin; the ones that were there when he smiled at you or did something relatively kind. You didn’t understand why he was trying to coax more compliments out of you at the moment. 

“I’m sorry for my grandmother, I really am. I didn’t know she was gonna say all that stuff and make a mess of the whole day. I know it’s super awkward now I totally get it if you want to just leave- God I kinda want to and this is my own house- but uh just don’t think any differently of me or just please don’t-” You were cut off by the back of your hand being met with feather soft lips. 

“You really think I’m going to shun you for something like this…. Especially when… when I feel the same to you.” His voice was quiet, lower than a whisper, but it was enough for you too snap your head around and meet his star filled eyes. You had never seen them look so sincere, or vulnerable. It was silent as you both stared at each other, not even your breaths made a noise as you stayed frozen, watching how Jeongin still held your hand tightly in his and how his breath fanned against your skin. “Please tell me I didn’t read this entire situation wrong and made a fool out of myself.”

“You didn’t.” You breathed out, forcing yourself to hold onto his hand a little tighter despite your shock. “I just…. Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Trust me, neither was I.” His dimple appeared as he laughed, the nervousness from the previous moments flowing out of him. “I never thought a grandmother’s meddling would make me confess of all things. I figured it would’ve been Seungmin’s annoyance.”

“It’s not what I pictured either.” You chuckled, looking back up to the eyes that you loved to stare at, the moments prior finally hitting you. Those eyes liked you back. 

Jeongin tugged gently on your hand, the smile on his face never seeming to go away, “I-I don't think you want to spend our first day together working on a school project, do you?”

“Together?” The words leaving your lips lit up your body with an undescribed feeling. You? Together with Yang Jeongin? It was unbelievable. 

“Yeah… together.” He laughed quietly, playing with your fingers that were still wrapped around his own.

A smile finally rested upon your lips as you felt him fiddle with your index, running a light finger over your knuckle. “You never officially asked me out.”

He shook his head and looked up at you, pure elation written on his features. “Would you, Y/n, L/n, please be mine? Please?”

“Will you give me the answers to the next bio test?” You laughed, gripping his hand tightly in your own, loving the way it felt to finally hold his hand. 

“Already planning on it, love.” The grin on his face at the words show you how truthful he was, and your red face told him you loved the new nickname. He pulled your hand back up to his lips, pressing another one of his feather soft kisses against your skin before whispering against it, “Now how about some ice cream to celebrate?”

Maybe, after all, your grandmother knew what she was doing with the two of you.

[hoodoo12]

Familial Ties (Epilogue) 14/14

SFW ~

Rigel’s End

Damp and angry, Rigel pushed passed the moaning dead simpletons waiting in line at Mother’s office, and tapped his foot. His shoe squished unpleasantly on the floor while he waited first in line at the reception desk. The noise was distracting, so with increasing annoyance he switched to tapping his finger on the glass partition until Miss Argentina deigned to return to her vacated chair.

She gave him a blank eyed stare, unimpressed.

He muzzled his irritation.

“Mi tesoro. Mi amor!” he praised. “¿Por qu�� no vienes conmigo? Te trataré bien . . .”

“Vete a la mierda,” she spit back..

He winced and grabbed his chest over his heart, as if her rejection hurt.

“So rude!”

Her expression didn’t change. “Ve a la mierda con tu madre, gilipollas.”

That did wipe the smile from his face.

“Just buzz me in, bitch.”

Rolling her eyes, she did. Rigel marched through the door like he owned the place and didn’t currently look a mess: disheveled, slimy wet, and pissed off. As he passed Miss Argentina, he hissed,

“You wish you were lucky enough to fuck me.”

She rolled her eyes again, gave him the universal one fingered gesture of contempt, and swivelling her chair away back to the window, made it very clear she was ignoring him.

Rigel stomped through the maze of desks to his mother’s office. Every lowly office worker pointedly ignored him as well, but he didn’t care; this scum and their opinions meant nothing to him. They were simply jealous of him and his status, any of them would give anything to have the pull he did, he was Cecil Rigel Venandi, The Hunter Also Named Torment, and he could do what he wanted--

“Rigel, comb your damn hair! You look like you’ve been bum-rushed through a paper shredder!”

“Yes Mother,” he agreed meekly, trying to smooth his mussed hair back into place as he opened the door to her office.

As always, dear old mom sat at her desk behind towers of paperwork, smoking. Her eyes were bright, taking in more of him than he ever wanted to show, and he felt less like a demon in full command of his infernal power, and more like a child about to be scolded.

“You smell like a garbage chute. What the fuck have you been doing?”

“I’ve been trying to contain Lawrence, Mother! He’s topside again!” Rigel exclaimed, pulling at the hem of his jacket to straighten it so he looked more presentable; his hand came away sticky from hellmouth saliva. He tried wiping his hand on his trousers, and only managed to get tiny bits of something unpleasant stuck to his palm. “He shacked up with another dimwitted breather, and wormed his way into her pants--she managed to call him up and--”

“How? How’d she call that waste of space?”

“She had a copy of Ens entium collectio infernalia.”

At hearing the title, Juno perked up, even as her son continued.

“Lawrence must have shoved one of his stupid flyers in there and the breather was even more stupid enough to summon him--”

“Of course she did. I don’t know what kind of influence he manages to embed into those fucking flyers. Might be something to look into.”

Rigel pinched his lips together at the second interruption, but didn’t say anything about it.

After giving her a moment to think about her observation, he continued. He was proud to relay this part to his mother. “Because she’d opened the book, I was able to influence her and she called me up too. Big brother was there, of course, already imprinted and attached to her like a goddamn puppy. We fought and I got half the book--”

“You did?”

He didn’t let her derail him this time. “--and I used it to call Dziban to assist so I could get the second half of Fuch’s book--”

“Dziban? That thing? Couldn’t you have gotten something a little more powerful?” she said disapprovingly.

Rigel ducked, a little.

“I only had half the book,” he whined. “Fuchs wasn’t the best about keeping things organized in his little notebook. You know that, Mother!”

Juno raised her eyebrows and looked over the tops of her glasses at that little outburst, and instantly Rigel reeled it back in.

“I’m sorry, Mother! I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

Placated but still frowning, Juno waved the cigarette held between her fingers to indicate he should continue.

“So Dziban attacked the two of them and injured Lawrence. The woman knew when they were beaten, though, and agreed to give me the other half of the book if I, quote, ‘left them alone’.” He grinned, showing too many teeth. “Breathers never think about everything, and she never thought to include that other family members--such as you, Mother dearest!--would continue to have access to her.

“They thought they’d trick me,” he continued. “They called up a hellmouth--remember those old things? She gave me the book, as promised. I was having a civil conversation with Lawrence--” Juno snorted her disbelieving response to that, “--and that bitch pushed me into the ‘mouth. Joke’s on her though; I grabbed her too and we went down together. Ended up in the lowest level, surrounded by the bones of deceased hellmouths.”

Purposefully he stopped there, not relishing relaying the rest of the story. Omissions were lies, but sometimes necessary. He smiled triumphantly. His mother stared blankly back at him.

“And?” she prompted.

He blinked. “And what?”

“And did you get the second half of the book, you imbecile?!” she spat.

He ducked again. “Oh! Yes! Yes I did!”

With a flourish, he dug into his jacket’s inner pocket and extracted it. He dropped it on her desk right in front of her.

“Rigel, what in the fuck is this?”

Her hissed question was not the pleased or excited response he’d expected. He’d expected accolades and praise, and his mother’s hiss of disapproval stung.

“The book . . .?” he replied, wincing that it sounded like a question instead of a firm answer.

“The book?! This is a soggy, ruined mass of nothing!” his mother screeched.

In horror, Rigel took a real look at the half of the book he’d procured. She was right; it was gummy from the hellmouth’s saliva and the fucking holy water Pate had used and fucking stupid Dziban--the old parchment had been damp too long. Panicked, he grabbed it back and tried to open the pages. They stuck together enmass and tore in his hands. Ink rubbed off and stained him as well. It was useless. He almost sobbed.

“What about the other half of the book?” Juno asked in a dangerously low voice.

Almost frightened to present it but unable to disobey, he reached into the opposite inner pocket of his jacket and extracted it. It was in the same unusable condition. The fighting and wetness had been too much for the ancient book.

Rigel risked a glance back up to his mother. She was sitting back in her chair, staring at him like she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at.

“Tell me the rest of it,” she demanded.

In a slow, shaky voice, he told her how he and Lawrence fought, how Pate used holy water against Dziban, how Pate had sacrificed herself and pushed him into the hellmouth’s throat--but he took her along with him!

Juno was still unimpressed. “And where is she now, Rigel?”

He was forced to admit that she’d escaped, with the help of Lawrence and you knew about his clones but did you know he had tentacles, Mother, did you know that he--

“Shut up about your brother!” she shouted over his whining.

His mouth shut with a snap.

Juno pinched the bridge of her nose. “You colossal fuck up. You not only couldn’t retrieve and keep safe a book we’ve been trying to locate for centuries, you were beaten by some breather and Lawrence?! I can’t believe how much you’ve fucked this.”

At her words, Rigel shrank a bit. “But Mother, I tried--I wanted to--”

“Shut up!” Juno interrupted. “I don’t want your shitty excuses! You’ve been traipsing around up there, royally fucking things up, and neglecting all the work you have to do down here! This! This is just a bit of the shit I’ve had to deal with since you took it on yourself to get summoned, acting all high and mighty and living large up there!”

She stood up, grabbed a one tower of paperwork from her desk, and shoved it at him. Automatically Rigel took it, juggling to keep it together and not spill out of his hands.  

With her hands on the limited clear area before her, Juno shouted, “Now get back to your fucking desk and get back to fucking work!”

Ducking, he nodded, apologizing and agreeing all at once.

“And take this shit with you!” she finished, chucking the damp ruined books at him.

Burdened with paperwork, he couldn’t catch them, but turned so they hit his shoulder instead of his chest before they bounced to the floor.

“I’ll be back to clean that up, Mother,” he whimpered, and scurried out of her office.

Juno scowled after him. She always knew Lawrence was a screw up, but Rigel? She was deeply disappointed. She went back to her own paperwork. Muttering profanities to herself, she didn’t watch her useless spawn hurry away.

 fin!

[lachlann-macnab]

At Al’s Potluck

Alternative title: Backstory, friendly banter, potatoes and feels.

Dated: October 24, 2020

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann had learned rather quickly that when Seamus had said "you're a menace to society you're never driving again, not unless I'm hurt so badly I'm passed out" he'd really, really meant it and no amount of pouting and/or complaining would stop the man from driving them both to Al's Comic Barn as their respective recipes sat on the backseat. But karma had struck the man as soon they had to get out the car, since now he had to juggle his enourmous plate and the keys, a scene Lachlann found actually quite funny as he remained seated on his place, phone on one hand and dish on the other

Seamus MacTunnag it would have been much easier to balance the fucking pot if he didn't have another platter along with it. Stovies and oatcakes were easy to make, especially for large amounts of people, but that meant having more than was necessarily manageable. Lachlann was pouting in the car and, thus, unhelpful. Finally shoving his keys in his pants pocket, the brunet picked up the second tray he'd set carefully on the hood of the Roadster. "Yer no help, ye know that?" He shook his head and mumbled under his breath about a grown man being a brat all because he wasn't allowed to drive before he nodded to the door. "Hands're otherwise occupied. Care the get th' door at least?"

Lachlann MacNab "That's a lot of complainin' for someone that generally insists on doing everything himself, Mister Mac T" Lachlann replied with a grin, making sure his phone was set to airplane mode (having figured before that receiving any message during the event would be a faux pas) and using the little moment to also make sure he'd actually closed Spotify, not wanting a certain other playlist to accidentally...well, play after the "driving" one had finished. "Yeah, yeah, I'm getting the doors. I'm still surprised you decided to actually come, tho'" he said, now being the one doing some juggling

Seamus MacTunnag "An' that's a lot o' lip comin' from a man who sat an' watched 'cause he wasna allowed tae drive," Seamus quipped back, smiling winningly as he waited. Lachlann fiddled with his phone for a moment before shoving it in a pocket then reached for the door. "Thank ye kindly," he murmured, brushing past the other as he strode through the doors. "An' 'course I would, Lachie. I try tae at least go tae one or two o' these every year. Get a feel fer th' candidates." McWiggin was a native to the town, ran a small business, and seemed concerned with the community as a whole. It would be smart to look into him, at the very least. "'Sides, I havena cooked fer a large group in a while. Seemed th' thing tae do. Old family favorite, an all."

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann didn't have a counterpoint for that, so he decided to stick his tongue out at the other man and take that L as he made sure the car's doors were closed, Al's were opened and his own pot of Chili Macaroni (Vegan, mind you) remained secure on his hands. "Louie says Al 's a pretty cool dude and I think he did well during the first debate" Lachlann nodded "you rootin' for him, Mister Mac T? or are you more interested on the food? Like, I think he's done great so far but, well, I'm kinda new around, so... I don't really know for certain"

Seamus MacTunnag If Seamus's hands were free, he'd have gone for Lachlann's tongue. Much like how Adelaide had done to him when she was a wee one, in fact, though the circumstances were far different. "Careful darlin'," he warned, grin hinting at the mischievous, "wouldna want ye tae lose yer tongue." Listening for a moment as he found somewhere to set the platter and pot down, Seamus hummed in acknowledgement, mind turning over what he knew. In years previous, he'd known McWiggin to be a bit of a tit, rude to women and someone who was just generally unpleasant. Seemed like he'd cleaned up his act in the past year or so, as well as he could anyway, and was hoping to turn over a new leaf. "Dunno quite who 'm votin' fer yet, in truth. 'S why I come tae these, see what they're about. He seems concerned about th' town he grew up in an' the local business, but I'd like tae see more of his stance on Magick/Mundus relations, given where we live."

Lachlann MacNab "Darlin'" Lachlann didn't know what to reply to that -at least not while in public-, even stopping for a second before deciding that the best next unrelated step was finding a place to place his pot as he nodded. "Yeah, it's kind of complicated" politics had never been an easy topic, really "Al strikes me as the most approachable candidate, like, I don't get a thing Reza talks about, Aquata is kind of initimidating and Shock..." He didn't really finish that sentence because he figured that everyone felt the same way about the youngest candidate and her blasé ways about... everything. Also, because he'd just spotted a familiar recipe. "Oh, the Beignets! Tiana must be here too!"

Seamus MacTunnag The silence was noted and smugly filed away. And over a little old thing like darlin', at that. "Aye," he agreed, eyes sweeping over the people milling about the comic shop. He'd never ben inside the place himself, but he knew Louie worked here, so he'd wanted to come down for a look-see. "Al may be approachable, but both Reza and Aquata address cohesion and Magick representation in a mixed community as well as plans to provide a more streamlined petition process. An' Adamson, well, I hardly take 'er seriously." Seamus shrugged, running a hand through his hair. After having lived with a Magick for half a decade, amidst other generational hardships, Seamus had always made it a point to look at legislation that had to do with Magicks. "Take it ye know someone around?" The name was vaguely familiar, like he'd met them previously, but he couldn't place a face to it.

Lachlann MacNab "I mean, yeah, they do" Lachlann shrugged "Like, they sound like they know what they're saying but I think that the best possible option 's having someone you know you can approach, you know? I'd get nervous by the mere thought of just getting close to Miss Triton or Reza -like, I don't think I'd ever have a reason to do so but...yeah" And he'd rather not think much about the whole Magick-Mundus things, since he still had a bittersweet feeling about the whole Moon Market fiasco. "Ah! Yeah, well- kind of! She's an acquaintance of sorts, I guess. 'nyways, what was it that you cooked, again, smoochiekins?"

Seamus MacTunnag Lachlann did have a point, yes. You had to be able to approach a council representative, or feel like you could, anyway. That was the entire point of it all, wasn't it? Granted, Seamus had cut his teeth on hardened business men and women, their unflinching values and ironclad stances. There was a different type of ability to interact there for him than there was Lachlann. "The Triton lasses ain't all bad. Adella's nice, even if she is a right pest." He smiled, thinking on the woman fondly. He'd not seen her in a while but she was one person in town he counted as a friend. "Aquata's Da was a staple of th' council. Think she's jus' tryin' tae do right by him." Both brows rose at the abrupt change of subject and the godawful nickname. His nose wrinkled involuntarily at the implementation. "That's awful, Lachie. Truly, truly awful. But 's, uh, we call it stovies an' oatcakes. Traditional Scottish fare. Me mam used tae make it a lot." He glanced down and off to the side, clearing his throat once he was through speaking, suddenly not too keen on talking about Davina MacTunnag. "Yers was, uh, vegan was it?"

Lachlann MacNab "I think I've heard about the Tritons before- I think one of them designed Loopy's favourite lipstick" he couldn't say which one, though "And I kind of recall seeing Adella's name somewhere..." He'd checked Tinder one or twice since arriving to Swynlake and vaguely recalled seeing someone with a curious name and amazing photos but, well, obviously out of his league, so he hadn't even bothered trying. And there was another reason,  of course, which was currently looking fondly at his own pots. "So that's what you needed all those potatoes for!" he said with a wide smile "and here I was, thinking you were feeling like starting a farm, Mister Mac T! And, yeah, 's no big deal. You kinda just throw all the ingredients into the pot and pray for the best. It may not be anything fancy but at least I didn't burn down my kitchen"

Seamus MacTunnag It took him a moment to parse out who Loopy was but, once he had, Seamus nodded his head. "Aye, one o' 'em has a make up line I think. Adella dragged me tae th' bloody adult prom a year of so back," he mumbled, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "She's a sweet girl. Seemed tae think I needed tae get outta th' house. Kinda like someone else I know." Yes, that was a Pointed Pause, Lachlann. "The family's from Swynlake though. Been here fer generations, I s'pose. Makes sense they'd try tae continue it." The comment about the potatoes made him pause, lips quirking up into a smile before he chuckled and shook his head. "Nope, no potato farming. My people didna do such a thing," he quipped, grin widening. "But th' Stovies feed a family fer a while, keep ye warm, all o' that. 'S a staple when ye grow up in Glasgow slums. Had tae take th' liquor outta the recipe though. Been sober around two an' a half years. Don'tcare tae cook with it neither." He hummed his acknowledgement of the other man's dish, wondering how it tasted. At least it wasn't burnt

Lachlann MacNab "Oh" Lachlann said, nodding at the comment and making a mental note about Adella being cool (even in a non-Tinder context). But at the rest of the phrase he tilted his head and bit the inner part of his right cheek "But isn't that kind of thing like...what's the word? When someone in power helps other person to achieve things- necromancy? no, eh, neo- no, nepotism?" He paused for a second, first thinking about the implications of the words and the situation he wasn't sure about, then deciding to move towards a plate full of cookies before the girl with the white dress decided to eat them all by herself. "Myesh" he said with a mouthfull of cookies "sh more like ah shtereoghtiphgical 'rish thng, nt Scottish" Wait. Slums?... " 's better that way, I guess. That way you can be the one driving, instead of having me risking everyone else's well-being, sweetipie" he joked, even if he was still curious about the comment about living in the slums once.

Seamus MacTunnag "Mm, I s'pose ye could see it that way, aye. Most dunna. From what I understand 's more--" Seamus searched for the words, brow furrowing a bit as he walked alongside the other man. Toward more food, he could see. "--a generational connection to th' town. The Triton family is rooted in Swynlake. Everyone knows 'em. Sure, it sounds like they're takin' advantage o' that an' maybe they are, but what if 's because they got th' best fer th' town at heart? I jus' tend tae look at both sides o' matters, or try tae." Rolling his eyes as the other man spoke with a full mouth, Seamus waited until he was done. "Aye. An' 'm nae fuckin' Irish." He'd had to live in the Little Ireland neighborhoods in New York for a while, mind, but that's because no one knew their arse from their head back then. Couldn't tell the difference. Some people still couldn't. Seamus swiped a cookie from the other man and took a bite before turning on his heel to take a look through the rest of the dishes, offering quiet hellos as he went. When he heard another awful nickname, Seamus turned to give Lachlann a droll look. "'M nae luggin' yer heavy arse tae th' car--" A mischievous little grin cropped up and, just to be a tit, tacked on a m'eudail for good measure, accent thickening around the familiar word.

Lachlann MacNab "Yep, 's important to try and do that, get to know both sides I mean, like the whole thing with Reza's scandal" which had surprised all of twitter, himself included. Lachlann still wasn't sure where he stood on all that and his attention was, instead, focused on the food and trying to keep his cookies away from the other's hands, anyways. But even when he swiped one away, Lachlann couldn't help but smile it off, nod and follow him in the search for something nice to munch on. "Yeah, some people think it's the same thing but that's, frankly, offensive to both nationalities" he said, having some vague knowledge about the topic, since people assumed a lot of things when they heard the MacNab surname, but he had never really mind the errors "You started it, darling. Anyways, so Stovies are kind of a family recipe, then?"

Seamus MacTunnag Seamus nodded his head, agreeing without really needing to say anything. It was true, after all. The scandal release had been a shock to everyone, but Seamus wasn't just going to judge the man like so many other people seemed to be fond of. Sorcerer or not, Magick or Mundus, all sides deserved a critical look. "'S extremely offensive, particularly when I was exposed to it." The Irish, at one point, were treated like animals. When people had believed Seamus was, he'd been given the same treatment. He'd had to learn how to defend himself and his sisters quickly. "Darlin' is a term of endearment. Whatever those other things were were nae. But yes, I s'pose so. Most everyone in th' area knew how tae make 'em, but me mam taught me. I had tae work two or three jobs growin' up but, uh, she let me help in me downtime. Da never gave a shite so--" Seamus shrugged, going a bit pinched around the eyes at the involuntary reminder of his father. "--figured I could give another pair o' hands when she needed 'em."

Lachlann MacNab This was the first time Lachlann heard about Mister Mac T's parents and- nothing about it sounded all that cool. Slums, working two or three jobs, the "Da never gave a shite"... Sure, the older man was resilient and most certainly had seen a lot of stuff before, but hearing that he'd to struggle even during childhood was kind of a harsh idea; Maybe someone that felt particularly poetic or philosophical would say that that kind of things had turned the man into the kind of person he currently was but- but Lachlann only found it kind of miserable, really, that he hadn't had the chance to just be a happy child. "Maybe you could teach Huey, Dewey or Louie how to cook it, eventually" he said, placing a hand in the other's shoulder, in an effort to cheer him up "or me. I'd be happy to learn it"

Seamus MacTunnag See, he knew what his childhood sounded like. He had lived it and it was just as shite in the telling as it had been back when he was a lad, and that had been hedging around how big of a piece of shite his father had been. Seamus snorted at the mention that the boys would learn. He turned his head to look at Lachlann's face, squeezed the hand that had landed on his shoulder."Aye, maybe Huey. Dunno about Dewey. Louie would rather food be served to him, not be made by him, so I doubt he would. But I wouldna mind it, if ye wanted tae learn. Ain't hard tae make."

Lachlann MacNab "I think Dewey would be down to clo- I mean, totally up for it" Probably. Maybe. He wasn't sure if his best friend had any interest in cooking but he figured that as long as something sounded like a fun time, he'd be up for it. Huey probably would take notes about the recipe like the very organized guy he was and- -he was absolutely correct about Louie, so there was no point in thinking about that, so he smiled and nod, then pointing towards a fancy-looking salad, as if asking the man if he wanted to try some of that (while still not letting go of his shoulder). "I wonder if we'll see Al himself. I'd really like to tell him that I admire the fact that he has Darkwing comics in stock- and also maybe give him props for making the drinking game interesting for everyone"

Seamus MacTunnag Down to clown? Really? Resisting the urge to laugh or smile at the turn of phrase (because it was awful and not at all endearing in any way whatsoever), Seamus still found himself losing the battle when his mouth twitched upward. Nodding his head at the nonverbal suggestion, the Scotsman allowed himself to be steered to the side a bit, walking in step with the other man and listening as he spoke. He'd have to remember to ask the boys if they ever wanted to learn how to cook. It would come in handy for them later, if anything. "Maybe, maybe not," Seamus murmured, a shoulder moving in a half-shrug. "Though I dunno if havin' a series o' books or tryin' tae give yah alcohol poisonin' is worthy of congratulations." Now he was just being a shit head, it was true, but it was also a fact that McWiggin had seemed to run in circles during the first debate, never really seemed to address questions that were more hard hitting when his contempories had. He had stuck to "small businesses" and "community" which, while what he was using in his campaign, should not have been the entire thing, in Seamus's opinion. But what did he know?

Lachlann MacNab "But I'm ok now" he declared, rather proud of himself "I'm dying by plane crash or not at all" Which was a joke, really; He simply didn't get (terribly) injured in any of his particular stunts so that phrase was more of a roundabout way to say "no way" than an actual - -wait. Mister Mac T wasn't supposed to know about that. Shit. "They aren't just any comic books, they are, objetively, the best comic books ever made" he said, trying to steer the conversation into another direction, then stuffing his mouth on some nearby potato salad so he could play the "sorry, I can't talk, my mouth is full" card just in case the older man didn't take the Darkwing bait. "Thish ish tashty! You shld try shome"

Seamus MacTunnag Dying by plane crash or not at all. That...that didn't sound good at all. In fact, that sounded the opposite of good. In fact, that sounded like Seamus should be worried about Lachlann flying a goddamn airplane which was, frankly, disappointing. He wanted to see how the man flew. And the fact that the other man tried to steer the conversation into a 360 didn't help any. "In a minute. We're gonna circle back tae th' plane crash thing. How many times, exactly, have ye crashed Lachlann? How accident prone are ye?" Is that why you're in Swynlake?

Lachlann MacNab Oh, Lachlann was absolutely not having that conversation -not in that place, not ever and specially not with Mister Mac T of all people. " Gee, I was only joking" he said, even if his tone was way more somber than intended "but, I guess now I know what I'm not supposed to joke about when you're around, eh?. Like, I guess that's all my fault, I know it's a serious topic and all". He decided to try and distract himself searching for a plate and filling it indiscriminately with food.

Seamus MacTunnag Ah, sore subject then. Seamus could read a room well enough by now and certainly could tell when someone didn't want to talk about something, even if it was something important. He'll, he'd done much the same more than once. It was still irritating but it was forgivable. It would be hypocritical to not be, after all. "Mmhmm," he murmured, both brows hiking ninto his hairline before offering a small smile, the kind that said 'I know you don't wanna yak about whatever that is, so I won't. Yet.' "Ye can joke around plenty. Death 's just a touchy subject, is all." Which wasn't a lie, but he wasn't going to elaborate much more just then. Instead, he picked up a small plate of his own.

Lachlann MacNab Look, Lachlann generally tried his best to take that whole topic in stride, playfully mentioning it every now and then when necessary, but discussing it (or anything vaguely related to it) with the older man was simply not going to happen, not when he held his family's talents in such high regards, not when he felt like his-their current closeness depended on what he could offer (and driving certainly wasn't it). If he didn't have a good reason to be there then- then Mister Mac T would send on his way, right? He would never bother dealing with a washed-up pilot, right? He- he deserved way better and- "'s ok. I know, I'm sorry" he finally said, voice slightly cracked. He just couldn't bear to lose the other's respect too, or the comfortable closeness they've built.

Seamus MacTunnag He heard the cracks in Lachlann's voice before they really made themselves apparent and Seamus felt his brow furrow at the sound, wondering at it. He filed it away for later, just like he did much everything else he observed about Lachlann and other people around him, to pull up and examine later on. Clearly, whatever it was, it was something the younger man didn't want to talk about, probably something with his family, if Seamus had to guess. Just a hunch but, well, MacNabs usually didn't stray far from their clan, if you will. And Lachlann was an entire ocean away from his. "Ye dunna have tae apologize, Lachie, 's alright," he said, voice pitched low so the nosy biddies around them couldn't eavesdrop. Namely, his nephew, wherever he might be.

Lachlann MacNab "Yeah, but still...." Lachlann said, trying to keep up with the conversation even if he suddenly felt quite down (so much so that the food currently on his plate suddenly didn't seem all that enticing anymore and had been reduced to a mere excuse for his movements). He just didn't want to deal with that topic. He'd rather run away. He'd rather pretend all of that wasn't even a thing. He'd rather just take his few belongings, throw 'em into his uncle's car and never look back now that people, that Mister Mac T knew about his failures. But he couldn't. Not now. He didn't want to let go of that- them- him. Not yet. "I just- could we- I'd rather talk about politics or Darkwing or Swynlake, you know?"

Seamus MacTunnag Yes, there was definitely something sore about the subject here. He recognized the behavior. In fact, he'd done it himself, once upon a time. It was...odd seeing it mirrored in someone else, someone he knew that hadn't been from decades and lifetimes ago. "Aye," he said, voice still pitched low, a small, placating smile, curling around his mouth. "We can do that." Seamus checked him with his hip, herding the man away from the food table and closer to the comic books, figuring it was a better topic to pick up than anything else. "Which arc's yer favorite? Or th' one ye need? Might have it here."

Lachlann MacNab That- was kind of unexpected, really. Lachlann had hoped the other would simply nod and let him be instead of guiding him away from the table -or actually mentioning Darkwing. He couldn't but give the man a little smile (that also served as a silent 'thank you') as he followed him and looked into the various colorful displays, plate still in his hand. "The Dark Knight Returns, hands down" he said, voice slowly returning to it's usual volume "I like the idea of Darkwing being retired for a while, then returning. Like, I feel that makes a hero -doing the right thing even when it's difficult or it kind of hurts, being- reliable, I guess" But he wasn't looking at the comics as he said that, not really.

Seamus MacTunnag He saw the unexpected surprise cross Lachlann's face and counted it as a win. Or, at least, a minor victory of a small skirmish. It was also, incidentally, what appeared to be a bit of a thank you in its own right. As the other ran spoke about the comics, Seamus's eyes traveled over the colorful covers and the snazzy artwork, the characters that came to life in their pages pitted against the harrowing forces of some villain or another in a snapshot on the front cover. The Darkwing books were no different, though Seamus knew them by hert a little differently. Still, it was nice to hear Lachlann a bit more normal, so he let him go on with his explanation, chuckling quietly at what he heard. "Sounds like yer trying tae tell me somethin', Lachie," he mumbled, teasing in the tone. He reached out a hand and tapped one of the covers, the garish suit they put Darkwing in front and center. "I remember when th' first one o' these came out. Laughed meself about sick. 'Course, I knew why. He did deserve it, retirement an' all. Sometimes it ain't fer someone, though, an' they wanna keep on, even if they dunno how tae quite get back intah th' game." No, he wasn't taking about Darkwing anymore.

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann laughed and shook his head 'no', even if there was some true to the other's statement and once again found himself intrigued by the other's words, or more exactly the way he used them -sure, one could argue that him being older meant he'd had more exposure to that sort of media, but that didn't seem like the reason he talked of Darkwing in such a way. But then again, who was Lachlann to judge? If anything, he was happy to had a shared interest. "It's difficult sometimes. Once you start doubting it just...isn't the same, right?" he asked, before taking a bite of his previously-forgotten food "I really admire the kind of people that just- you know, keep doing their best even when things get difficult. I hope to learn to do that kinda stuff someday" Maybe he could from the older man, that even with his rough start had managed to make the best he could and continued trying to do so. "I- I know this may not be the best place, but could I ask you a question real quick, Mister Mac T?"

Seamus MacTunnag Seamus paused when he was done speaking, glanced over at the other man, a hand holding just over the spine of an omnibus edition. Looked like the first arc of an early Darkwing series. Maybe another hero, mixed into the wrong area. "Aye, it is." Turning so he was facing the other man more fully, Seamus leaned his empty arm against the shelf and crossed his feet at the ankles, brow ticking upward. "Shoot, Lachie."

Lachlann MacNab "Would you keep me around even if I had nothing interesting to offer?" But that was a waaay too complex of a question for that moment and place, really, so Lachlann chewed a couple of seconds more, eyes on the omnibus' in the other's hands, before speaking again. "How do you do it?" he finally said "keeping on even when things get difficult, I mean"

Seamus MacTunnag It had long been established that patience was a virtue in Seamus's life, one that he had learned to perfect over the years. Even with a bit of a temper when he got riled up, he had learned to make the most of a wait. And he did. Even guessing at the question hadn't really prepared him for the actual thing, however. It made the brunet's eyes widen as he drew in a breath and let it out. That was a bit of a loaded question. "Sometimes ye dunna want tae," he began, wetting his lips and giving a small smile. "Sometimes 's hard, harder than anythin' yer gonna ever do. But then ye remember ye've got family that need ye, friends that care about ye. An' th' shite ye hear in yer own head...dunna sound so loud anymore. Ye keep busy an'...ye remember. Ye remember everythin'." He'd looked down as he started speaking, thumb of his free hand flicking against the side of the shelf as he spoke, but he looked up now and met Lachlann's gaze head on.

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann remained silent for a second, taking in every single word, and smiling at the end. "See? Just like a hero" he said almost in a whisper "You're there for them-" He paused again, eating a piece of steamed broccoli before he continued, adding a better word to express his idea. "-for us" because he was still there, even if his previous words hadn't been the best, his skills still were a sore topic and he was too dumb or too loud or just too much in general "I- thank you for that, for being there" For staying, even when he, himself, wanted to run.

Seamus MacTunnag A wider grin edged around the corners of Seamus's mouth and eyes; despite that, he shook his head, bemused. "Aye, if ye wanna call it that, then sure." There were a lot of times he didn't quite feel like a hero, like there were times were he missed a step or took a wrong turn, hid away or back tracked entirely. But if he kept moving forward, didn't look back, he had learned that maybe, just maybe, things would get better. That he could learn to live with the things he had seen and what had been done in his life. Thank you for that, for being there. "'Course, Lachie. What else would I do?"

[prorevenge]

Treat me like garbage for 3+ years and try to deny me my unemployment? We'll see about that.

This is a bit of a long one, so strap in, grab some popcorn, and enjoy. Happened some years ago. If you find any spelling or grammar errors. Keep them and breed them, they make great pets. Tl;dr at the bottom.

So some background; due to some personal reasons, I needed a new start. Years ago, I moved cross country to a state famous for its mountains, colours, and legal drug use. Since I had some family that wanted me to drive some items they'd stored on the eastern coast of the US to the state. I agreed and decided on moving since I could easily transfer all of my schooling to another college in the area. My folks were abusive and I moved out about a week after getting a job, but this isn't about them.

Enter my old boss. They came from the kind of money that paid their way into an ivy league school and owns several properties around town. Their also the sort of person who stopped their birth control just to get pregnant and keep their equally douchey boyfriend around. Just some background and used to establish character.

The Details & Background

My new job was working as an assistant. I thought that it was odd that the interview was at a Starbucks, but I needed the job. I accepted minimum wage as a 1099 employee--yes I know I was dumb at the time, don't worry, I've learned better--and started. My new workplace was out of their basement. Odd, but I'm a good guy, so I roll with it.

Folks I'm not exaggerating in the least when I say I worked sometimes upwards of 70+ hours a week. This was a job that was pitched to me as "part-time." After months there, I did everything from answering phones, running social media and websites, drafting estimates, doing all IT work, some minor cleaning, and generally trying to help out this business in any way I could. I bent over backwards and then some more. Years later I realized I set an impossibly high standard for myself and others as the first employee of this business.

Fast forward to some years in the future. I had left due to some stress-related health concerns. Essentially, I had a small stroke because of the stress and berating. I later came back, as I was and still am a very "pay it forward" person. And felt that I owed the company for getting me a start in an industry that got me out of retail. I've since learned better in this respect too.

The work environment was never great. Any small mistake was treated as a large offense. Instead of this being a red flag to me; I doubled down. Did beyond my best to check all work and even taught myself some coding and server management that would help the business. Business started to pick up and we were soon busy enough to be able to afford a new location (I had suggested leasing a place near our primary clientele). We also needed to hire more staff since the workload was too much for two people.

Before I left the first time, I had trained two office personnel. The company had also promoted me. As anyone who has worked in a small business can tell you, you'll wear a lot of hats. So my job title was somewhere around Estimator/IT/Office Manager/Field Representative. The owner had also bought a house in a residential neighborhood with the intention of renovating it to be our new office.

Problems & Red Flags

Well... any business has it's problems, here's the ones for this company: -New office was a house. The lot was zoned for residential. This was apparent at the time of purchase. -While homeowners can pull permits, you have to actually pull the permit for the work. -We couldn't keep staff or subs to save our life. Turn over was ridiculous. -The owner was using the business accounts as their personal accounts. -Anytime the owner came back in; all staff were expected to drop what they were doing and listen to their tirade and demands. Gods help you if you forgot anything or didn't do it to their exact--sometimes incorrect--specifications. Or the specifications they came up with and didn't tell you about. -The owner would scream, shout, and fume with staff. -The owner dated subs. -The owner often requested that I forge or backdate paperwork. (I'm a notary, this is not only illegal, but I could lose that privilege.) -The owner and other workers would smoke pot on the premises. (I'm cool with recreational use, but don't partake myself.) -We would have to constantly juggle credit cards, accounts, and other funds, often begging the owner to be able to pay our supplier(s) to end the throng of endless, angry phone calls and emails asking for payment. -The owner was a serial appointment canceller. Often, I had appointments dropped into my lap past the time I would need to actually travel there and arrive on time.

After more than three combined years of verbal abuse, threats and demands for payment, dealing with a revolving door of angry staff, and having more than one occasion where subs threatened me and the office staff for not being paid; I was ready to leave. I put in my notice as I was having the same stress-related health issues.

The owner panicked and offered to sit down and talk things out. I had no intention of going back to working for $13/hr, with no benefits, and dealing with downright childish behaviour. I hadn't even been sat down for an interview, offered any sort of salary when I came back, and jumped in because they desperately needed the help. I knew that and got straight to work.

But here we were in a public shop, talking things over and I explained the issues in this toxic environment and how it was affecting me. Why I was leaving and that I was sorry things had turned out this way.

To my surprise, they came back with a counteroffer for a fair wage, praised my work, threw in some benefits, and offered to let me work from home for a large percentage of the week. I was still working on lining up a better job at the time and due to a series of equally bad employment situations before; don't work for a GC if you can help it, I needed to rebuild my savings. I agreed and had written proof of this agreement.

Three months go by and for nearly every week I've received multiple calls after my shift asking, why I haven't been doing (x, y, z) task. Why (insert insurance or customer name) hasn't paid up yet. And, of course, being called into the office more due to the "needs of the business." Anytime I'm in the office I'm putting out more fires than the New York Fire Department. Their bookkeeping assistant treats me like garbage. Anytime I had to teach them how to use a new system or even Excel, I'm met with opposition, stubbornness, and later would receive complaints about how I was "being condescending" to them. (In truth, they were very computer illiterate and unqualified for their position.) But they worked for next to nothing and would flatter the owner. They were generally two-faced and a brown-noser.

The company also had a new office manager since I was working on mostly estimates and negotiations. This was one of the two I had trained and they were a sweetheart. They deserved more than they got there and were days where I had found them breaking down crying. The owner treated them worse than they had treated me and so did their "bookkeeper." I felt sorry for them and eventually, they were fired. It's unfortunate, but they are doing better now from what I've heard.

Well, when the office manager was fired, bookkeeper and the owner drafted up a TON of fake write-ups. Backdating them, forging signatures, and generally trying to make them look like the worst worker to ever exist.

I was upset. This was someone who had been in a similar position that I had been in; saved from the world of retail and trying to gain experience to get a better job. They were a hard worker and set the standard impossibly high. The customers loved them and they ran the office like a well-oiled machine. I honestly think that they had done a better job than I had in some respects.

I brought up how the office manager as indicated by the write-up form was entitled to a copy of the form. That backdating and what was done here was not only inappropriate but illegal. Both bookkeeper and the owner brushed off what I said.

Big red flag.

At this point, I started looking for other work. I was in the office nearly every day and I had even gotten there early enough to open up on most days, then close. I was miserable and kept having chest pains due to the stress. During this time, I was trying to get approval to go on hormone replacement therapy (HRT) since I am trans. In order to qualify, you have to be of certain health requirements. Having a high BP will disqualify you for very valid health reasons.

Due to where I live, I had to drive over an hour away to be seen for these services. Bummer, but I do it anyway. It takes over six months to get an appointment, where I'm told that I need to lower my blood pressure, or I can't safely start HRT.

I'm devastated, I cried, I got seriously depressed, and it only made things worse. To the point that my toxic work environment had stressed me beyond stressed. I came home one day, walked past my roommate like a zombie, went into the shower in our bathroom fully clothed, turned on the cold water, and just... laid there for an hour.

My roommate had been urging me to quit. Seeing the employer abuse, how upset I was, and how my depression was starting to spiral out of control again. Instead of quitting, I put together a solid business plan, job descriptions, improved workflows, and really just a huge document on "How to Unfuck Your Business." Presented the product of several hours of my own time to the owner. Who dismissed it in a loud bar where we could barely hear each other.

After three more months of waiting and trying to prompt change that would never come, I quit.

The Revenge

Since I had left without lining up another, immediate job; and frankly, need therapy, I applied for unemployment benefits due to health reasons. In my country, you can be awarded benefits if you meet a set of strict criteria. Which, after a good day of research, I realized I did meet.

I had never applied for unemployment in my life and having grown up with family that were a mix of benefits fraud poster children and welfare queens; I never wanted to "use the system." But I had bills to pay and needed the time off to pick up my mental pieces after everything that had happened and I was going through. My roommate and I were running low on our savings, so I needed the unemployment.

Swallowing down my pride, I applied and after over a month of back and forth and paperwork; I received my unemployment award.

We breathed a sigh of relief as I continued to recover and look for work. Three months go by and we're past the period of an employer being able to dispute a claim. Again, sigh of relief. I was nearly certain that they were going to try and file against me.

Well, I was right. Turns out they had lied and gotten an extension, filed against my claim. Claiming that I was fired for poor performance.

I was livid.

How dare they insinuate that I did anything less than give 100% at that festering hole of toxicity they called an office! I worked well past my shifts, I had learned and set up the systems and documents they used for nearly everything, and I had treated their company as though it was my own. Sacrificing time, sanity, health, and even some of my own equipment to ensure it succeeded. I kept going when so many had walked away from the dumpster fire that was their business.

Fuck this.

Fuck the owner and fuck this. I immediately and angrily started my research to build my case.

I read the document and the "hearing" was scheduled as a phone hearing in front of a deputy representing the department. There's also a deadline to submit supporting documents. The very latest you could submit documentation for both the former employee and employer was within 24 hours before the scheduled hearing.

Over the next three or so weeks I gathered up years worth of notes from medical providers I had seen, statements from former employees, witnesses to both my mental state and the state of the office environment, etc.

When the office manager had left, they filed for unemployment (which they were justified in). The owner had laughed, drafted up false write-up forms, filed for an extension, and the office manager's claim was decided that the office manager didn't have enough proof and documentation--they hadn't bothered to turn in any--and lost their claim. Which means that the claimant has to pay back any money awarded. The owner and bookkeeper laughed and carried on, bragging about their "handiwork."

Now, I knew that there was going to be a fresh stack of fake write-up forms with my name all over them. I was the one who had authored the write-up forms. I've never once had a write-up form in any job I've worked. I waited until 10 minutes before the deadline, used an online faxing service, and faxed over copies of all of my supporting documents to both the former employer and the deputy for the hearing. Leaving the company no time to turn in any documentation. I kept copies of the faxes to both of them, along with the successful notification that they had been received by both parties.

If they had any documentation, they had to send it to both parties. Since I hadn't gotten anything from them or the deputy, I knew I was the only one walking in with ammo.

Upon further research, I discovered that I could attend the hearing in person. Which, I was more than happy too. Armed with a bulging folder full of evidence, collared shirt, tie, and a beaming smile on my face, I shook hands with the deputy and they called my former employer.

Bookkeeper answers the phone, we're sworn in, all documentation is listed and verified that it has been received, and they give the employer's side of the story.

My gods, to say that they bashed me would be an understatement. Speed bumps take less abuse. "I didn't work." "My work was sloppy." "I was rude to customers." "I refused to go into the office," and so on.

At this point, I'm honestly doing my best to keep quiet and not laugh. They even tried to say that because I was trans, I left because of that. Makes no sense, but ok. I give my statement; which I had written out and practiced several times before this hearing. All the while bookkeeper continually interrupts me and the deputy has to tell them to let me speak, as I did the same for them.

I finish and we start going through the evidence.

Of COURSE bookkeeper is waffling, saying they have evidence (emails and write-ups, both easy to fake since they controlled my employee email account) and starting to reference evidence that neither I or the deputy have received. The deputy has to interrupt them and state that anything they have is inadmissible since they didn't turn it in before the generous deadline.

They are livid and I can tell in the background that the owner is feeding them things to say. (Bookkeeper is not the sharpest spoon in the knife drawer.) Which was an old habit of theirs for anyone who answered the phone in the office.

I spend my sweet, sweet time going through the mountain of evidence I have. I'm interrupted several times and politely ask in my most honeyed of tones, "Bookkeeper, I let you speak freely, can you please do the same for me?"

They are livid. Both the deputy and I could hear the seething rage over the phone and the poor deputy just rolls their eyes over the course of the hour. Having to remind bookkeeper that they are under oath. As they made several contradicting statements. After hearing the evidence from both sides and several claims by bookkeeper of, "This is the owner's 'bread and butter,' you're taking food from their kid's mouths." To which, I calmly reply, "Oh! Excuse me bookkeeper, I'll keep that in mind during this hearing, and when I go to pay rent." The deputy got a chuckle out of that but had to ask me to "keep it civil."

To add to this buttery, decadent roll of sweet, sweet revenge; one of my witnesses was called who was a former employee. Not only did they back up my story, but they got to enjoy jabbing them back too.

Needless to say, a few weeks later I got the results of the hearing and the deputy had ruled in my favour. There was a period of time where both parties were welcome to repeal the decision and we would appear in another hearing. At that time, recordings of the exchange would be made available to both parties. They never repealed.

You would think this would be the end of my revenge. Admittedly, it's not bad, but not pro revenge material yet.

It Gets Better

Before I had left, one of the many bills that had been perpetually left unpaid were the insurances for the company. Which included their unemployment insurance. I smiled each time I deposited my check, knowing full well that there was a very real possibility that over 7k of my unemployment came directly from them.

But I wasn't done. My professionalism had been insulted and dragged through the mud.

You see, I knew nearly everything that was going on in that company. I had made their systems, documents, edited contracts, and was ingrained in nearly every aspect of their operation. I knew they were facing an audit by their former insurance provider.

I called their former insurer and spoke with the auditor. I detailed all of the OSHA, federal, and state violations. I also informed them of the paperwork forging that I had seen while I was there and of several unsafe practices. They thanked me for my time and I happily ended the call.

Next stop, the IRS. I made a report and gave detailed information in regards to their records and even provided why they were not able to file on time. Again thanked for my time and honesty.

Afterward, I decided to touch up with a few of my friends with the regional building department. They were more than happy to listen.

In the three years I had worked there, I had the opportunity to meet and get to know several local businesses and their assistants around town. I spent the next two weeks calling and emailing several key businesses in the area that were their suppliers, vendors, subs, and labour suppliers. I never said an untrue word, asked if they had time to talk, and summarily, was thanked for my time. Funny thing about their assistants too; they control scheduling and well, answer the phones. I'm on good terms with several of them and they backed my story.

Wouldn't you know it, their business address was mysteriously devoid of their trailer, equipment, and signs not long after. They still have an online presence and probably will as long as their family continues to bail them out.

I'm writing this after years because after working for several bad employers, I now have a good job with an amazing company that supports me. It's the result of my years of experience, credentials, and having to eat shit for all those years.

Tl;dr: Abusive employer abuses employees, tries to deny me unemployment, drags me through the mud during the hearing. I not only win my case, but report them enough to drive them out of their location and likely, business.

(source) story by (/u/27thFrequency)

[auncyen]

Salty

Ren's been working too hard. Ann's determined to find out why. Time management is never easy, but it's especially hard when you're trying to keep secrets from your friends, too.

Technically, both Ren and Morgana had been idiots. Morgana hadn't had any reservations about buying the so-called "Holy Stone" either, after all. But Morgana was currently stuck as a cat and had amnesia; he couldn't really be expected to have money sense. (He arguably had more than Yusuke, and that just made Ren worry about the artist.) That left Ren solely responsible for wasting 100,000 yen, which was probably just as well, since Morgana couldn't exactly help out with earning it back. Sure,the smallest Phantom Thief made a habit of picking up coins and bills that people dropped around Yongen-Jaya, but he reserved actual thievery for shadows only, so all he had gathered between April and July was about 3,000, an amount Ren could earn in a single shift at any of his jobs. No, it wasn't fair in any sense to try to put the responsibility for this on Morgana. Ren still kind of wished he could blame the other thief, though, if only to avoid some of Ann's disappointment. The blonde was currently eyeing him, tweaking the straw of her milkshake cup. There was a vase of flowers carefully settled on the booth seat besides her; she'd come back to the mall around 6:30 and asked him for "the best bouquet he could make", adding in "I want to give it to Shiho at the hospital tomorrow!" If she'd meant to put him under too much pressure to be thinking of excuses, she'd succeeded. This being Ann, though, he was pretty sure she'd just impulsively decided that she should get flowers for someone if she was going to a flower shop anyway. The purple vase held pink lilies, yellow carnations, roses of both colors, and lavender chrysanthemums. He hadn't been able to get to know Shiho in that first week of school, but he remembered the colorful hair ties and clips she'd worn the few times he'd seen her, and Ann had confirmed that her best friend loved bright colors. Hopefully she'd like the arrangement, and it would keep her spirits up. "So." Ann's voice drew Ren's attention away from the nagging worry of if the best friend of one of his closest friends would be unimpressed by his choice in flowers and back to the worry of said close friend being absolutely disappointed and/or infuriated by his lack of common sense. "Morgana had to stretch his legs, huh? I wouldn't have minded him tagging along." Yeah, she wouldn't have minded him coming along so she could try pumping him for answers. "He gets antsy in the bag after a few hours," Ren said, which was completely true, and Ann gave a little hum as she accepted that. It was also true that Ren had suggested Morgana take a walk around Shibuya before Ann came back. The not-cat had taken the hint, even if he'd grumbled at Ren that he really should come clean to "Lady Ann" if she was getting suspicious. ...He'd barely saved 40,000 so far, after what he had to spend on his and Morgana's personal care... If he'd already made up most of the money, maybe it'd be easier to confess, but he wasn't even halfway. "Okay, Ren. You have five jobs. What's going on?" Ren took a bite out of his burger and chewed slowly, biding his time. Om nom nom. "Like I said earlier, I'm saving up." "Yeah, sure, perfectly reasonable." Ann nodded. Her milkshake cup plunked down on the table. "Except you're juggling three paying jobs with two that don't pay. Plus whatever you do for our first aid. Plus our 'club activities'. ...Also, you've been helping out a politician?" She sounded genuinely confused on that last part. "He's teaching me how to negotiate." "Okay, guess that makes sense." Her tone implied that she considered it to make about as much sense as anything related to their phantom thievery ever did. "You haven't been able to hang out with me or Ryuji or Yusuke for nearly a month now." "It--" Ren stumbled, casting his mind over the past few weeks and several apologies he'd had to make. "It hasn't been a month." When had he last hung out with one of them? "Maybe--three weeks?" "Ren, what's three weeks?" "...Nearly a month." "Uh-huh." Ann eyed him with disbelief. "And you score higher than me on exams." He didn't have a good comeback for that, a little appalled with himself. He needed to make good on the yen he'd wasted, and it seemed risky to neglect his deals with Iwai, Takemi or Boss. Yoshida's coaching seemed like it would come in really handy in the future, and Ohya's articles and insight into the news and media would likely be important if they were going to keep increasing their reputation to both encourage more people and delve deeper into Mementos. He even had a deal with the fortune teller who had scammed him, Chihaya Mifune, and he had to keep that up for her useful fortune-telling abilities. (Plus, he wanted to convince her to stop scamming people.) "Somehow you didn't think any of us would realize you were suddenly never available?" He shook his head quickly. "It's not that I thought you wouldn't realize," he said. "I just didn't think it'd be a big deal." Not compared to the matter of 100,000 yen. He was only one of their friends. Ann hung out with every other Phantom Thief too, even Makoto, which Ren was grateful for. Ann also had Shiho to visit, now with a bouquet. But if she felt like he'd been ignoring her--and Ryuji and Yusuke probably felt the same, maybe even worse--he'd been so worried about not neglecting the deals he'd made with adults while he earned back the yen that he'd neglected friendships instead. Great. "Sorry. I didn't mean it's not important--sorry. I'll make more time for everyone." Even if that begged the question of what he'd need to neglect in turn. ...Yoshida didn't seem the impatient type. Maybe it'd be safe to turn down his invitations for a time? He was getting a lot of unimpressed looks from Ann today, and Ren remembered that even if she was a lousy liar herself, Ann could also pick up on other's lies quickly, had probably caught the uncertainty in his voice. "No. We're not mad, we're--okay,let me tell you about a conversation Ryuji and I had the other day." She tweaked the straw in her hand, bending its head under her finger, and picked up the paper wrapper the straw had come in with her other hand, positioning it similarly. Straw and wrapper faced each other. "'Aw, man,'" Ann said in a bad mimicry of Ryuji as she crinkled the wrapper. Ren took another bite of his burger, bemused by the sudden show. "'Ren's too busy to hang out again--that beef bowl manager's an effin' slave driver.'" Now she put on something close to her normal voice, bending the straw as she answered wrapper-Ryuji. "'What? He doesn't work at a restaurant, Ryuji, he works at 777. He rang my stuff up when they were having that make-up sale.'" The wrapper started moving again, energetically this time. "'Forreal? But I know he's working at the beef bowl place on the same street, I've seen him running around in there when the place was packed!'" Ann-straw. "'That can't be right. He's got a job at the flower shop in the mall too, and three part-time jobs is just too much..." Wrapper-Ryuji. "'Wait, it ain't just three, 'cause he works at the airsoft shop too, he told me. And I saw him at beef bowl just last week, so it ain't like he got fired...'" "'Four jobs? No, five, if you count him helping Boss...'" Straw and wrapper went quiet for a moment, and Ren opened his mouth to ask if the little performance was done--he guessed that did answer how Ann knew about all his jobs--but Ann silenced him with a hard look as wrapper-Ryuji's head slowly turned to Ren. He shut his mouth around the straw for his soda instead, taking a long sip as wrapper-Ryuji spoke. "'Hey, Ann. Like, the Phantom Thieves just took care of that Kaneshiro guy, but he's not the only crappy adult out there. You don't think Ren's in trouble, do you...?'" The soda he'd been sipping on went down wrong, and Ren hastily turned his head away as he coughed. "That," he said between coughs, "is not how Ryuji said it," because he needed to stall a few seconds to reevaulate this conversation. And to get the soda out of his throat. Ann gave him a light kick under the table. "Duh. I'm not going to repeat how Ryuji actually said it in public." Okay. Okay. He'd stopped coughing. "You two thought I was being extorted?" "Let's see," Ann said. "Shujin students getting blackmailed has been a pretty big deal lately. You suddenly act like you're hard-up for cash, and you still won't tell me what that's about. Can you blame us for thinking something's fishy?" His burger sat heavy in his stomach. They'd been seriously worried about him. Were worried about him. Morgana was right. Time to face the music. "You're going to be mad." "Try me." He sighed, casting his eyes up to the ceiling of Big Bang Burger, as though it might open to a burger-shaped UFO that would carry him away from this world. "I'm not being extorted. I did fall for a stupid scam. Wasted a hundred thousand yen. I was trying to earn it back." "Oh my god." He winced and braced himself. "We had a hundred thousand yen? How much do we have now?" ...Ann sounded more astounded than angry, and he wondered if she and Ryuji had ever kept track of how much yen passed through the Phantom Thieves' hands. Then again, they didn't really need to, since he was the one who handled all the supplies. "Not quite sixty-thousand? It was most of our money, and I've only earned about forty-thousand back so far." "'Only'. 'Only' forty-thousand." Ann shook her head and took a long sip of her milkshake, eventually sucking up all the liquid along the bottom. "Okay, so...did you ever learn the name of the person who scammed you? Because if not, we should have started investigating yesterday. This sounds like a Mementos target waiting to happen." Ren shook his head and flipped his phone on the table, tapping the red and black icon in a familiar movement. "Chihaya Mifune, Mementos." "Candidate not found." Just as he'd known it would say. Finding Chihaya's shadow in Mementos had occurred to both him and Morgana the same night they'd realized the Holy Stone was phony, but it wasn't that easy. Ann frowned at the negative result. "A fake name...?" "I don't think so. People only turn up in the app if they have distorted desires, but she seems to honestly believe she's helping people somehow." He explained the scam in more detail from there. Chihaya's uncannily accurate and specific predictions of the future, with the unexpected allowance from Boss as the example that had initially convinced Morgana and him, and the Holy Stones she hawked to people with potential misfortune on the horizon. "So, what did she say to you, that you thought you needed one of those?" "...It's been a few weeks, so I don't remember all the details--" "Ren. No. Do not bullshit me on this." Ann leaned forward on the table, resting her weight on her elbows. "She convinced you and Morgana that spending a hundred thousand yen on a rock was a good idea. Don't tell me you forgot what she said. I'm not angry that you fell for a scam. I will be angry if you keep lying to me. And then I'll get the truth from Mona anyway." ...Yeah, fair enough. He'd been treading on thin ice this whole time. He just really wasn't sure how she would react to the prediction Chihaya had made. "She predicted that I'm going to die." "WHAAAAAT?" Ren immediately became aware of every single set of eyes in the restaurant, currently resting on their table. On the blonde who'd shot to her feet and was staring down at him. "Ann," he said, trying best for a level voice. "It's okay. Some of the fates she's read have already changed. Mine will too." It had to. Ann stared at him for a few seconds longer before scoffing. "Oh, yeah. It's okay. She just told you you'd die. No big deal, right?" She pushed away from the table, stepping away from the booth. Paused for a second and turned back around to pick up the vase and set it in front of Ren. "Hold my bouquet for me. I'll get it from you tomorrow." He settled his hands on it uncertainly. "Tomorrow? Where are you going now?" "Shinjuku. She's a real fortune teller? Then I hope the cards warned her about me, because I am going to wreck her--" If they were in the Metaverse, she would be radiating heat waves right now. Her hands were gripped tight as if itching for her whip. "Wait, Ann--" He'd thought she'd maybe be shocked or afraid at the morbid fortune, or maybe just be skeptical and disbelieving. Instant rage had not been one of the expected reactions. "--threatening people so she can scam them--" "--that's not how it is, I told you--" He could see why she was thinking of it that way, but Chihaya honestly believed in the Holy Stones, that was part of the problem. And Ann was no longer listening to him, already stalking out of the restaurant while being given a wide berth by other patrons. He took Shiho's intended bouquet into his arms, cradling it as carefully as possible while also hurrying after his friend to catch her before the Phantom Thieves ended up having two members with assault records. "Ann!"

[quickeningheart]

Seventeen

   When Charley entered the apartment at the end of the day, she was greeted with the rich scent of chocolate. Her mouth watered as she inhaled deeply, and her stomach growled; she hadn't gotten around to lunch, after all. Or much of a breakfast, for that matter. "Is that chocolate cake I smell?" she called.

   The bathroom door opened and Alley's head popped out. "Better," she replied.

   "Better than chocolate cake?" Charley lifted one of the towels spread over a baking sheet, eyes widening at the sight of round, red cakes cooling on them. "Are those…?"

   "Red velvet whoopie pies. They were your favorite, right?" Alley approached with a grin, pulling off a pair of rubber gloves. The heavy scent of cleaning chemicals and air-freshener followed in her wake. "I still have to add the filling, yet."

   "Who needs filling?" Charley picked up a still-hot cake, juggling it between her hands, and took a large bite. She sighed blissfully. "Still as good as I remember!" She finished it off in two more bites, sucking the sticky crumbs from her fingers.

   "That's great, Charley, but now there's a pie without a top."

   "Oh, well, we can take care of that." She picked up another pastry and wolfed it down.

   Alley laughed. "I think those boys have been a bad influence on you," she teased.

   Her cousin just smirked. "So what brought on this rabid bout of baking?" She glanced at the four trays of cakes sitting on the table, waiting for their filling.

   Alley fidgeted. "I made them for you. As an apology," she admitted. "I'm sorry I said all those things in front of your friends. I wasn't trying to embarrass you or make you look bad or anything. I was just worried."

   Charley grinned and shrugged. "Well, no big surprise. The filter between your brain and your mouth never did work right."

   Alley stuck her tongue out, slapping Charley's hand away when she reached for another pie. "I'm being serious! I feel really bad about it."

   "Look, I'm honestly not that upset. Just my pride got a little bruised, is all. But you know I'm not the type to hold grudges. Besides, something good came from it."

   Alley raised an eyebrow when her cousin blushed faintly, a goofy smile spreading over her face. "You look like a teenager crushing on the hot guy in class," she teased.

   "He is pretty hot," Charley agreed, laughing when Alley pulled a face. "Or maybe older men are more your type," she added slyly, "given that little scene I walked in on this morning and all…"

   "That was—!" Alley blushed to the roots of her hair. "That was…"

   "Kinda hot, is what is was," Charley snickered. "Another second and the kitchen might've erupted in flames."

   "Another second and I'd have punched that letch through the wall!"

   "Hmmm." Charley eyed her cousin thoughtfully. "If you really wanted to punch him, seems to me you'd 've done it."

   "What are you implying?" Alley huffed. "That I'm giving in to his charms? No way! I'm not into furries. Especially old furries."

   Charley laughed. "So you admit he has charms, eh?"

   "What? That isn't—!" Alley pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, if you want to date Vinnie, that's all fine and dandy. Knock yourself out, I'm honestly happy that you're happy. But please just … don't…" She faltered, not wanting to upset her cousin all over again. "I'm not—"

   "Okay, okay. Relax," the mechanic soothed. "I was only teasing. I understand. I really do, and I promise not to say anything else about it, all right?" She drew a line across her lips, turning an imaginary key.

   "Thank you," Alley replied with a sigh, opening the fridge to grab a bowl full of whipped filling. She offered it with a sheepish smile. "Want to help me frost?"

   "Only if I get to lick the spatula."

   She snickered. "You're such a kid."

   "Damn straight. Keeps me young." Charley grinned and riffled around in the bottom cabinets until she unearthed an ancient Tupperware container. She pursed her lips, eyeballing the container, then the cakes. "Ummm … pretty sure all these ain't gonna fit in here."

   "Is that the only container you have?" Alley looked horrified.

   Charley chuckled. "I'm no master chef. Never needed more than one before."

   "I'm just gonna have to buy you the whole damn kitchen and be done with it," the blonde grumbled.

   "Like you can afford that."

   "I can with the jewels Stoker left behind."

   There was a marked silence; Alley reached up to pull down several dinner plates from the cabinet, deliberately ignoring the irritation on her cousin's face.

   "I told him I didn't want his charity!" Charley burst out.

   Alley pursed her lips, setting the plates down with a thunk and fixing her cousin with a hard stare. "That's your ego talking. Can't you tell the difference between charity and a heartfelt gift? But, whatever. Since you didn't want it, he gave it to me, instead."

   "And you have no problems accepting handouts."

   "I fail to see how this is a handout," Alley replied, pulling a roll of wax paper from a drawer and tearing several sheets from it to line the plates. "He found the jewelry, didn't he? And he already took what he needed from it. The rest of the jewels are just junk to him. But they're worth a pretty penny to most humans. So, rather than tossing out some incredibly valuable rocks, he deemed it more economical to give the rest to you, so you can take what you need from them. I don't think that's charity so much as some pretty damned useful recycling."

   Charley opened and closed her mouth several times, trying for a retort, but finding none forthcoming. She huffed and picked up a well-worn spatula, using it to slap a large dollop of filling onto half of a pie. She used a little too much force, however; the pastry crumbled easily, leaving a red and white gooey mess sitting in her palm. She scowled down at it for a second, until a choked giggle had her switching her glare to Alley, instead, who was doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. "Shut up," she grumbled, flinging the mess at her. It landed smack-dab in the center of Alley's chest, earning an outraged squeak.

   The tension broke as Charley broke into giggles of her own, her irritation melting away. "Okay," she admitted grudgingly. "I suppose I might have possibly let my ego overrule my common sense on this subject, but it doesn't sit right with me to just be handed a huge amount of money like that." She sighed, turning on the sink to wash her hand off. "I busted my ass to get this garage up and running, and to keep it going despite everything conspiring to shut me down. To accept help, no matter how well-intended, just feels too much like … giving up. Like admitting I can't do it."

   "Nobody would believe that," Alley scolded, dabbing at the frosting on her shirt. "Those guys wouldn't think less of you. You mean the world to them. They just want to help, the same way you've been helping them all this time. You consider each other family, right? Isn't family supposed to support each other when it's needed?"

   "You make a good point," Charley conceded.

   "I've made a lot of good points. You just didn't want to listen to them. And I guess that was my fault, too."

   "Well." Charley leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. "I'm listening now. Do you have anything else to say about my business practices that you think I should know?"

   "Actually…" she hedged, "I think I've got an idea that might solve some of your problems. At least on a temporary basis."

   "Oh? Do tell."

   "Well, in regards to those gems, if you're that determined to keep your garage running by yourself, why not just sell them and open a separate bank account with the money? It could be like a … a disaster relief fund or something."

   "A what?"

   "Give the guys the money. They don't have any of their own, right? In that sense, they're way worse off than you," Alley pointed out. "You can set up an account for them, under your name."

   "Okay…" Charley nodded. "And doing that would accomplish … what, exactly?"

   Alley rolled her eyes. "Well, for one thing, if they put any more holes through your doors, or manage to blow up some of the much-needed equipment to do your work, they can actually pay for it, for a change. Rather than you dipping into your own savings to cover replacement parts or whatever, dip into theirs, instead." She held up a finger. "And also! Those fancy, highly-expensive upgrades you're always giving those bikes of theirs? You'll no longer have to pay for them yourself."

   "That doesn't seem right, making them pay for stuff I always offered for free," Charley protested.

   "What's the big deal? Not like they actually earned any of that hypothetical money," Alley pointed out dryly.

   Well, Charley could hardly argue with that logic. She huffed a laugh and shrugged. "I guess it's not bad, as far as ideas go," she grudgingly admitted. "It doesn't really work as a long-term solution, though."

   "Well, no, I did say it was temporary. Whatever money the gems bring in would run out eventually, but at least it'd give you a chance to catch up and rebuild your finances. Take some of the pressure off, for a while at least."

   Charley tapped her chin, staring into space as she thought. "I'll talk it over with the guys," she decided. "See what they think."

   "That mean you'll do it?"

   "I guess it wouldn't hurt to give it a try." She shrugged. "It'll get those furballs to stop nagging at me, if nothing else." She grinned and shook her head, shooting Alley an impressed glance. "Really, I dunno how you do it. First, getting them to eat something other than junk food, and now this. All these years with them constantly putting holes through my walls and now they suddenly grow a conscience about it. Did you take a class or something? Guilt Trip 101?"

   Alley scoffed. "Please. Have you met my mother? That woman's got guilt-tripping down to a science, and she's practiced on me my entire life. Those guys never stood a chance!"

Next

[mischiefandi]

Chapter 5: The Body (Blue Moon Series)

A/N: I totally forgot to do an author’s note wth haha, oh well, enjoy!

Summary: Y/N McCall, Scott McCall’s younger sister, starts her first year at Beacon Hills High School when something unexpected happens to her brother. Her entire world is turned upside down and it is up to her to figure out how to juggle romance, schoolwork, friendship and the supernatural without risking her life (too much)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, Stiles making terrible werewolf puns

Word Count: 7,4 K words

 Chapter 4 & Chapter 6

6:41, McCall House

Derek rushed to Scott and gripped his shoulders before pushing him against the wall of the back of the room in one swift movement, Y/N shrieking as he pulled her with him. Holding the teenager by the neck and pressed against the wall, Derek leaned in close and shook Y/N’s arm slightly as she tried to get a way as best she could, knowing full well her strength would never compare to the werewolf’s.

“I saw you on the field,” hissed Derek and Scott, panicking, huffed heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

“What are you talking about?” wailed Scott.

Y/N’s heart thumped against her ribs as she kept trying to pry her wrist out of Derek’s tightly closed fist. The man suddenly yelled and it made her whole body freeze, tension running through it at his words.

“You shifted in front of them! If they find out what you are, they find out about me, about all of us-” he started but Y/N cut him off.

“-let us go! Stop!” she exclaimed, as she tried to kick him in the leg but he didn’t even wince at the contact of her foot against the crook of his knee, his only reaction being twisting her wrist. She groaned and whimpered, her mouth ridden of any words she was planning to say.

“And then it’s not just the hunters after us, it’s everyone.”

Scott tried his best to exhale but to no avail, Derek’s thumb pressing against his windpipe.

“They- didn’t see anything, I swear!” he tried to convince his aggressor.

“And they won’t. Because if you even try to play in that game on Saturday,” he turned to look at a terrified yet clearly angry Y/N, “I’ll kill her.”

After those terrorizing words slipped from his lips, Derek let go of both of the McCalls and jumped out of the window carelessly. Scott fell to the ground, wheezing. Y/N sat on the bed and tried to slow her rapid heartbeat, face flushed and eyes wide.

“Holy shit,” whispered Stiles and she sent him a glare through the webcam.

“Holy shit? Holy shit? Seriously? This is the guy that killed that girl in the woods? This is Derek Hale?” she exclaimed, furious with both her brother and the boy with his mouth left agape.

“In the flesh…”

“Oh my god. What in god’s name did you get yourselves into?” she whined, letting her back fall onto the bed with a quiet thump.

“I think you already know the answer to that Y/N, otherwise you wouldn’t be in this room right now.”

She immediately turned her head to the laptop and Stiles regretted his previous sentence. She got up and walked towards the computer, pointing slightly at the webcam.

“No. You do not get to be a smartass right now Stiles. I’m going to die because of you, dickheads!” She shot around to meet Scott’s eyes.

“And you. You are not playing on Saturday. I don’t care what Allison says, what mom says, I don’t give the slightest crap what Coach says. You are not even going to sit in the bleachers. Got it?” she said, seething.

“Got it,” answered a petrified Scott, still lying against the wall.

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a shower. Try not to set the house on fire or conjure up a ghost while I’m gone please.” And she walked out.

“I don’t know who’s more lethal, Derek or your sister.”

Friday, 12:34, Beacon Hills Indoor Cafeteria

A week had gone by since the incident in Scott’s bedroom. Classes were long and tiresome, homework was demanding and time-consuming. However, school was the least of her worries. Unfortunately, even a week hadn’t been long enough for Derek’s traumatizing words to erase themselves from Y/N’s memory, let alone for them to lose their importance in her mind. He was dangerous, that much was clear, and what was even more dangerous about the teenagers’ situation was the fact that they knew nothing about him. All she could think about as her teachers droned on about the concept of democracy and French irregular verbs was- well…literally everything.

Stiles had spent the whole week trying to listen in on the Sheriff department’s calls and he had even tried to log on his father’s computer. The password having unfortunately been changed, his plans had fallen through. He had also spent quite few hours bringing Y/N up to speed with everything that had happened since that fateful night when Scott got bitten. She thanked him, knowing however that the extra information hadn’t given her the feel of peace she thought she would get, instead, it just made her even more anxious.

First of all, because now she knew just how positively dead they were, secondly, because this meant she had more to keep from Carrie. She felt terrible about Carrie being left in the dark about all of this. Truth be told, she wanted more than anything to come clean about her latest “adventures”, hell, even just to ask for advice. How was she supposed to deal with this alone?

“But you’re not alone,” Stiles had told her after she had tried convincing him and her brother to give her permission to tell Carrie the truth. They didn’t get it though. Obviously, they were in on this too, they knew what was going on and they had assured that she was a part of “Wolfie Club” as Stiles had jokingly called it. But still, she felt alone. She needed her friend.

That kind of secret was a burden that her little shoulders just couldn’t carry on her own. One could argue that she didn’t have to listen to her brother and friend, but she was loyal and once promises had been spoken, they had to be kept. No point in discussing it any further.

So the fifteen year old girl sat in her seat at lunch that Friday ignoring Stiles and Scott’s banter, wondering to herself how on earth she was going to manage holding her tongue, helping them out and not imploding due to the giant ball of stress and fear growing in her abdomen, all at the same time.

“-right? Y/N?”

“What?” Y/N snapped out of her daze.

“You agree with me right? We have to find the body. Well- the top part,” said Stiles, tripping over his words.

“I’m sorry, can we rewind?” she asked, rubbing at her forehead.

“Stiles’ dad just installed a curfew. He’s looking for the murderer-” said Scott until Stiles interrupted him hurriedly.

“-meanwhile we know who the killer is!”

“Stiles, we can’t just tell your dad what we know,’ said Y/N.

“Which is exactly why we need to look for proof so that we can get Derek arrested for his crimes and so we don’t need to deal with his death threats anymore!”

Stiles leaned back in his seat and bit excessively at his apple, his anxiety obviously through the roof right then. Y/N felt bad for him. She had been so busy thinking about how this whole “thing” affected her, not even taking a minute to realize the fact that her best friend was probably about to overdose on Adderall.

“Well, yeah, okay I agree but how? I mean it’s not like you’re the best sleuth in the world Sti, you can’t even shut up for more than ten seconds, let alone sneak around in a house with a murderer slash werewolf hot on your trail.”

Stiles sniffed and bit his lip as he furiously tapped his knee against the edge of the cafeteria table. He turned to Scott who was picking at his pasta in silence.

“Hey did you talk to Coach about tomorrow?”

“Yeah…”

“Scott…are you or are you not playing tomorrow night?” questioned Y/N, feeling her heart beat a little faster by the minute.

“I- I don’t know.” Stiles and Y/N scoffed and groaned but he threw his hands up in defense.

“You don’t understand! Allison’s coming to the game, so is Mom! And Lydia said I had to play or she’d introduce Allison to the other players.”

“Let her! Jesus, Scott! You’re seriously picking your one week long girlfriend over your sister’s life and safety?”

“And yours?” added Stiles, bewildered and annoyed.

“And the poor kid’s life?” hissed Y/N, noticing that people were starting to turn their heads in their direction.

“Who’s?”

“The kid who’s gonna find himself at the wrong place at the wrong time and who’s either going to die or bleed. A lot,” she said angrily.

“Okay, okay! There’s a lot on the line. I know that.”

Scott slumped back into his seat and closed his eyes. Stiles and Y/N shared a look and frowned.

“Look, we’re sorry about this. Okay? It’s not fair. But you don’t have a choice Scott.”

“She’s right Scott. I’m sorry.”

Scott looked down and sighed but nodded.

“Guess I should tell Allison then,” he said before pushing away his tray and sliding his arm in the strap of his backpack as he walked away.

Y/N sighed and mournfully looked at her club sandwich, still neatly placed in her paper plate. Stiles munched on a large piece of apple as he turned to her and stopped when he noticed her plate.

“Hey, you haven’t even touched that. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Really?”

He chuckled and tilted his head in agreement.

“Okay, maybe we are experiencing our fair share of problems right now but is that all this is?”

Y/N paused and looked down at her lap.

“I’ve been a little distant from Carrie ever since this weekend.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t even look at her without wanting to spill everything about Scott. I mean, you guys are lucky. You’ve got each other, you’re a pair.” Stiles opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off before he could. “And- don’t say that’s not true because you know that it is.  Sti, you’re my best friend and Scott’s my brother, but you guys are brothers as well.

“I can spend as much time with you two as I want, it’s never gonna change the fact that my relationship with you is different from your relationship with Scott. And it’s okay. I don’t mind, I realized that a long time ago. But it means that you’re a pair and I’m a single. I have Carrie, but I can’t bring her into all of this.”

“You can’t be a pair,” said Stiles, nodding his head slowly.

“I can’t be a pair.” Y/N bit her lip as he reached for her hand and cupped it with his own.

“I’m sorry that you can’t tell her all about this, Blue. I really am. I wish you could. Maybe one day, Scott’ll tell you he’s okay with it but for now, it does have to stay between us.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

Y/N squeezed his hand and let go of it, reaching for her sandwich and digging in.

4:02, McCall House

After school, Y/N rode home on her bike and let it fall on the grass of the front lawn, too tired to prop it against the wall of the house. Walking up the stairs after having gotten a water bottle from the fridge, she took out her phone and tapped on the Messages app.

Y/N: hey Car i missed u this week. wanna hang this weekend? watch dumb romcoms and have pizza?

Y/N walked into her room and sat down on her bed, pulling off her little black boots from her sore feet as she yawned. This week had simply been exhausting. Suddenly, she heard her phone emit a ding and she turned it on in a flash hoping it would be Carrie.

Scott: I found something guys, both of you come to my room asap

Y/N didn’t hesitate and went straight into Scott’s room, shutting the door behind her, a pang of disappointment floating around her stomach. She turned around and saw what Scott was doing.

“What happened to your lacrosse stick?” she gasped, rushing towards him and snatching it away from him.

“I went to see Derek,” he answered, looking at his stick, more precisely, at the torn net.

“Why?”

“He’s messing with Allison. I think he’s going to hurt her if we don’t act fast.”

Y/N raised the stick and her eyebrow simultaneously at him.

“He doesn’t know you have replacement string, does he?”

“I think it was more so to prove a point.”

“Ah.”

She sat on the floor next to his bed, looking up at him as he shifted over his covers.

“So, what did-“

“-what did you find? How did you find it? Where did you find it? And, yes, I’ve had a lot of Adderall, so-,” Stiles said quickly and loudly as he entered running into Scott’s bedroom. He stopped, heaving and blinking his eyes a couple of times before trying to catch his breath.

“I found something at Derek Hale’s,” answered Scott.

“Are you kidding? What?” interrogated Stiles before turning to Y/N and taking a step back as though he hadn’t seen her, “Oh hey Y/N.”

“Hi?” she replied, the corners of her mouth quirking up a bit at his hyperactive behavior.

“There’s something buried there– I could smell blood,” Scott answered, screwing his nose up a bit.

“Wait what?”

“That’s awesome! I mean that’s terrible. Who’s blood?”

“I don’t know. But when we do, your dad nails Derek for the murder. And then, you guys help me figure out a way to play lacrosse without changing. Because there’s no way I’m not playing that game.” Scott got up as Y/N nodded.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said, pensively.

“We need gloves, a night vision camera, binoculars-“

“-Stiles, we’re not the FBI,” laughed Scott.

“And besides, we’re not going to Derek’s. At least not right now,” Y/N said with an all-knowing look on her face.

“Rrrright,” Stiles said, nodding, “where are we going then?”

“We’re going to the hospital,” she answered the confused boy and Scott and him shared a look as she started explaining her plan.

5:16, Beacon Hills Hospital

Y/N walked into the main hall of the Beacon Hills hospital clutching her wrist with her other hand. After a few minutes of taking the elevator and finding her way, she treaded lightly to her right and peeked at the front desk on the second floor. Sure enough, her mom was there. Sliding her phone out from her back pocket, Y/N quickly typed in a message, hit send and put it away before walking towards Melissa who was busy answering calls.

“Hey, mom,” she said, stepping right into her eyeshot. The nurse looked up and smiled.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” she asked warmly before getting up and making her way around the front desk.

“I hurt my wrist wrestling with Stiles- long story, and I can’t move it much without it being really painful. Could you take a look at it?” she asked, praying she would say yes.

“Well, I’m not really supposed to do consultations for patients without an actual doctor present,” Melissa said, wincing a little and Y/N’s heart sank. “Let’s go.”

She beamed and kissed her mom on the cheek before following her into a patient room a few feet away, looking over her shoulder and winking.

“Okay, let’s do this,” said Stiles as he got her signal, motioning at Scott to go ahead. They both walked slowly in the direction of the front desk and Stiles turned to a certain door. He nodded.

“Good luck, I guess,” he said as Scott pushed the door open and slipped inside, the letters MORGUE written in bold white just a few centimeters away from an arrow pointing in the direction of where he had just gone.

Scott walked into an empty corridor and kept walking until he reached the morgue, a sign on the door signaling that this was where he needed to be. The teenager went inside and started opening the different metal doors, desperately trying to find what he was looking for and scared out of his mind. His heart thumped harshly against his ribcage and he couldn’t help but start hyperventilating when he slid a tray out. On it lay a body covered with a white cloth. Well, technically, half a body.

“Oh god, Y/N, why?” he asked under his breath as he grimaced and flipped the corners of the cloth off the cadaver. A strong scent of blood and slowly rotting flesh filled his nostrils as his eyes landed on the dirty and cold feet of the victim. He could barely stand the smell, it was just too strong and too foul, almost beastly. It was disgusting but Scott concentrated and his eyebrows raised when he recognized it.

Not even bothering to cover the bottom half of the body up again, he slid the tray back in, shut the metal door and ran out of the room, the terrifying image and the gruesome scent following him. When he got to the waiting room, his eyes fell on Stiles, seemingly busy reading what appeared to be a pamphlet on menstruation and he went to tell him he was done.

“Holy god!” exclaimed Stiles when Scott grabbed the pamphlet from his clampy hands.

“The scent was the same.”

“You sure?” asked Stiles as he got up.

“Yes.”

“So he did bury the other half of the body on his property.”

“Which means we have proof he killed the girl,” Scott said, nodding his head.

“Okay we have to text Y/N, let her know the coast is clear. Let’s go.”

Y/N’s phone emitted a ding and she suddenly shot up as her mom felt her arm and wrist.

“You know what, mom, it’s getting better. Besides you have a lot of work to do so I’m just gonna go.” Melissa looked at her and frowned, wondering why she was in such a sudden rush to leave.

“Okay, well, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong. If you’re still feeling sore, put some ice on it and it should get better from there.”

“Great, thank you, I love you!” said Y/N hurriedly before pulling the door open and rushing out of the patient room, leaving her mom alone and puzzled.

“Huh.”

“So, was it the same?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

“So, the body’s what you were smelling! That’s good news, great even. We can finally get rid of him and get that girl justice,” said Y/N, grinning widely.

“Okay so what do we now?” Scott asked.

“We’re going to Derek’s,” answered Stiles, determined. Y/N nodded.

“We’re gonna need shovels,” she added and Stiles clicked his tongue in agreement. It made her quite happy to know that they were on the same page practically all the time, they rarely disagreed over important things and that gave her a sense of partnership and teamwork she simple loved.

11:56, Hale House, Woods

Derek’s black car gleamed in the moonlight as it drove away from the clearing where the Hale house stood. After a few minutes, a baby blue jeep took its previous spot and the ignition was turned off. The three teenagers left the car, slamming the doors shut behind them and they started to walk towards the house.

“It was around here somewhere when I came earlier,” Scott said, gesturing at a spot a few feet away from the left side of the house.

“I low-key can’t believe we’re about to dig out a human body,” said Y/N as she grabbed a shovel from her brother’s hand and he nodded with a hum.

“It’s weird though, something feels different,” he said, contemplating the ground.

“Different how?” asked Stiles, stopping his first dig mid-movement.

“I don’t know.” Scott walked closer towards the spot he had pointed at minutes earlier and pushed his shovel in the humid ground. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Agreed. I am not spending one minute more than necessary here. Fucking creeps me out,” Y/N said, shuddering as she started digging on Scott’s right.

The three dug for a while, time slow and taunting as their arms felt heavier and their muscles ached. They didn’t speak during that time, the only sounds besides the incessant scraping of the shovels in the dirt were their grunts and groans as they kept going. No one talked until finally, Scott paused to wipe his brow and spoke.

“This is taking too long,” he said.

“Just keep going.”

“What if he comes back?” asked Y/N, stopping to properly look over at Stiles who was still going at it.

“Then we get the hell out of here,” Stiles answered.

“What if he catches us?” Scott questioned, his brows furrowed in confusion and anxiety.

Stiles shrugged and looked ahead but kept going, digging his shovel in the ground as deep as possible.

“I have a plan for that.”

“Which is?”

He grunted and waved his shovel in the air, almost banging Y/N on the forehead with the metal object.

“You run one way, I’ll run the other, so does Y/N. Whoever he catches first, too bad,” he said, shrugging before starting to dig again.

“I hate that plan,” whined Scott.

Y/N nodded with a neutral expression on her face after having given the so called “plan” a thought.

“Actually, I second it.”

“You seriously think you could outrun Derek?” inquired her brother with a smirk as Stiles scoffed.

“I don’t have to outrun Derek, I just have to outrun one of you.”

“Touché.”

The three of them chuckled before Y/N spoke again.

“This is really starting to bore the crap out o-”

“-alright stop, stop, stop!” exclaimed Stiles when he felt the edge of his shovel touch something a little harder than the humid soil beneath their feet. Y/N’s breath hitched as both the boys let go of their shovels and bent down to start digging with their hands.

Their dirty fingers unraveled some string and they both looked at each other, puzzled.

“Okay just get whatever that is above ground, guys, he’ll be back any minute now,” Y/N whispered, her heart beating faster and faster by the minute.

Sure, they had done some pretty cool and forbidden stuff before like when they hung out in the principal’s office when Scott and Stiles were in the 7thgrade at night or like that one time when they had hidden in the storage room of a comic book store downtown for hours before the manager had found them. Those times had definitely made their pulses raise, but they were nothing like what the teenagers were experiencing right then. This was some other level.

“I’m trying. Did he have to tie this thing in like, 900 knots?” said Stiles, hissing lightly as his long fingers desperately tried to untie the string.

“I’ll do it.” Scott knelt further down to help him and sure enough, together, they managed. Opening up the package by pulling off the dirty material, their eyes fell upon a dead black dog.

Scratch that, it was too big to be a dog.

“Oh my god!” yelled out Scott, jumping backwards and landing on his backside, groaning at the impact with the ground.

Y/N shrieked and looked away, covering her mouth and moving her legs in a squeamish fashion as though she were urgently in need of going to the bathroom. Stiles meanwhile gagged and fell back alongside his best friend all the while cursing.

“What the hell is that?” he exclaimed, gesturing towards the disgusting and morbid thingin the hole they had just dug up.

“It’s a wolf,” said Scott, staring at the dead animal with disgust yet curiosity.

“Yeah I can see that!”

“Cover it up, please, please cover it back up Scott!” Y/N whined, trying her best not to throw up due to the vile smell.

Scott shook his head just as he was about to tell her they had to inspect it but Stiles cut him off before he could even utter her name.

“I thought you said you smelled blood? As in human blood?” said Stiles, annoyed and confused all at once.

Y/N was completely bewildered by what they had just discovered. Why had Derek buried a wolf? Was it a werewolf? If so, had he been a member of the pack? Was it a she? Thousands of questions swam around her head and she almost felt woozy as she tried to focus on one.

“I told you something was different.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” said Stiles as he closed his eyes.

“We gotta get out of here.”

“No! We can’t!” Y/N exclaimed, ignoring the rotten stench coming from the hole.

“Why not?” asked Scott.

“Because! You’re not telling me you’re not even a little curious as to why this is here?”

“No, honestly Blue, we have to go, like, now.Scott, help me cover this up.”

Y/N groaned as she shook her head, rolling her eyes before turning and gasping a little. Her gaze had rested on a flower, partially hidden in the earth, the deep purple petals barely visible through the humid soil.

“What is it?” inquired Scott as she started to walk away from them and towards the curious flora, almost hypnotized by its beauty. “Y/N?”

Y/N ignored him and bringing two fingers down to the stem of the flower, she tugged lightly. Only the flower didn’t detach itself from its roots. Instead, they left their earthy cage with it.

A long line of string followed and Y/N, perplexed, looked over at the teenage boys who were staring at the plant in her hand.

“What the-?”

“-Y/N, don’t touch that!”

“Ugh, it’s fine. I haven’t turned to a big pool of green slime okay? Give the dad talk a rest.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow and she brushed it off, instead inspecting the flower. It really was mesmerizing. Tiny little light green leaves stuck out the side of it and it offered contrast with the purple color of the flower itself.

“What is so special about this flower?” Y/N asked herself. She felt drawn to it, but as to why? She had no clue.

“Not to interrupt your newfound passion for herbology but we really should go. If Derek finds us here, we’re dog food.”

Scott slapped Stiles’ chest with the back of his hand and glared at him.

“Well what? Dog food is more fitting than toast in this case.”

The glare didn’t cease and Y/N snorted, looking away from them only to start inspecting the string attached to the plant in her hands.

“Agree to disagree.”

“Hey guys?”

“What?”

Y/N slowly backed away from the place she had found the flower all the while staring at the tiny hole in the soil and treaded lightly. Their eyes widened as more and more string left the confines of the earth, leaving a concave trace on the ground but Y/N didn’t stop. Her heart thumped in her chest and she kept going, walking behind Scott and Stiles then making a whole turn around them. And another, and another, and another one after that. Finally, the string came to an end and Y/N looked up, confused. She squinted her eyes at the traces left beneath her feet when Scott spoke up.

“Look,” he said, simply, staring at the grave they had just dug up.

Both Stiles and Y/N rushed over and what their eyes landed on sent a chill down their spines in a matter of seconds, Y/N’s veins turning to ice.

The animal they had found was no longer a wolf, it was a woman. Her top half to be exact.

“Oh shit!” screamed Y/N. “Okay that’s it! We’re out of here.”

“We have to cover it up,” murmured Stiles, his stare not leaving the corpse’s void-filled eyes.

“Yeah, let’s do that, but we have to move fast. Y/N, pass me the shovel!”

She did as she was told and hurried as she grabbed her own, immediately getting to it.

“D’you know what this means?”

“We’ve got him by the tail,” answered Stiles.

“Dude!”

Saturday, 4 pm, McCall House

Soft music played through the small orange speaker on Y/N’s dresser as she absentmindedly tapped the end of her pencil on her desk, her tired eyes staring into an abyss while she tugged at her bottom lip with her fingers.

Her empty thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing. Stiles’ name flashed on the screen as the Star Wars bar theme played and she frowned, picking it up swiftly and bringing it up to her ear to answer the call. “Stiles?”

“I lost Scott.”

“You what?”she exclaimed, jumping out of her seat, her whole body tensing.

“It’s not a big deal! But yes, I- uh- lost him…”

“I can’t believe you Stiles. Remind me never to leave you alone with my future kids.”

“Hey, I will have you know that Mrs. Terry was very satisfied with my babysitting ski-“

“-yeah yeah, where are you right now?”

“Woods.”

“Okay, where did you lose him?”

“Woods.”

“Details, Stiles!”

“I had the string with the purple flowers in my bag when we left Derek’s after my dad arrested him and Scott said he couldn’t breathe so I ran out and threw the bag away and I turned around and he was gone! Poof!”explained Stiles, breathlessly.

“Poof?”she repeated, seething with anger.

“Poof?”

“I’m gonna kill you Stiles.”

“Look, I’m gonna call him right now, okay? Just try calling the Sheriff’s department, they don’t take me as seriously as they used to.”

“When did they ever?”she said before hanging up and dialing 911.

“Sheriff’s station, what’s your emergency?”

“Maggie! Hey! It’s Y/N, McCall?”

“Did you Stiles put you up to this?”

“No! What? Just- it’s Scott, we can’t find him-,”

“The Sheriff’s department’s got too much on its plate to worry about your game of hide and seek Y/N, have a good day.”

“No! Wai-“ Y/N shrieked but it was too late, the deputy had hung up.

“Good thing I wasn’t calling about a killer in my house,” she grumbled as she slipped into a dark blue pair of jeans and a grey tank top. She grabbed her maroon sweatshirt and her phone before hurrying out the door. She had to find her brother, before it was too late.

6:55 pm, Beacon Hills High School

Y/N’s muscles ached as she sped on her bike, riding as fast as possible in the direction of the high school, the last place Scott could be at. She had ridden all around the town, scraping her knees and burning thousands of calories as she called out her brother’s name, desperately trying to find him. She had been to Stiles’ house, she had gone to Deaton’s, Scott’s boss. She had called her mom to check if Scott was over at the hospital with her, she had been to the comic book store all the way across town. She had literally ridden every square inch of Beacon Hills but the school and she was sweaty, angry and exhausted.

Grumbling profanities and wiping at her brow, Y/N pulled into the parking lot of her school, shivering slightly due to the cool night air and she set down her bicycle, wasting no time to rush over to the lacrosse field.

“I swear you better be here, Scott,” she mumbled.

Sure enough, Stiles and Scott were there, standing next to their coach as he yelled out their strategy, making some of the players on the team groan and whine.

Y/N didn’t even stop to think but instead rushed over to them and pushed Stiles aside.

“What the hell Stiles?”

“Hey Y/N! Oh my god! I’m so sorry, we just completely forg-“

“-you sent me on a wild goose hunt and didn’t even bother to call me to tell me you had found him! What the hell is your problem?”

“I’m sorry, Blue.”

“You’re sorry? Not good enough. My legs are sore and I am this close to crying from pure exhaustion Stiles.”

“Y/N-“

“-I’m not done talking! I swear to God, if your team doesn’t win the game tonight, I will make it my personal mission to stuff your lacrosse jersey down your throat and do the same thing to Scott.”

“Are you done now?”

“Yes,” she huffed, crossing her arms and exhaling as her shoulders untensed.

“And that is how you motivate a bunch of horny imbecile teenagers! Give it up for- I’m sorry, what’s your name, sweetheart?”

Y/N whirled around only to realize the entire team was staring at her, each and every one of the players utterly shocked and confused as to why she was on the field in the first place.

“Y/N,” she answered, her cheeks reddening immediately. “Good talk,” she added before walking away with clenched fists, a bottomless pit forming in her stomach.

“Oh god,” she muttered under her breath as she walked over to the bleachers and walked a little further up, seating herself right next to a tall and very pretty brunette.

“Do you know him?” asked the gorgeous girl, turning to her.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you know that guy? Over there? Number eleven?””

“Oh yeah, he’s my brother,” answered Y/N, coolly.

“You’re Y/N?” she asked, a beam painted across her face, making her rosy cheeks wrinkle a bit.

“Uh yeah, and you’re Allison?”

“Scott told you about me?”

“Something like that,” she said, smiling sheepishly. The fact was, ever since the truth had come out over Scott’s new powers, he hadn’t shut up about his new girlfriend, Allison. Both Stiles and Y/N had been shocked and intrigued by the news, wondering how in God’s name Scott had managed to score a date with her in the first place, much to his dismay.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” said Allison, extending her hand, timidly.

“Nice to meet you, Allison,” said Y/N, smiling a little wider this time as she shook it.

Scott’s new girlfriend was extremely warm, her friendliness immensely agreeable. Y/N couldn’t help but want to strike up a conversation but she stopped herself from saying anything, too afraid of scaring her away.

Y/N searched for some familiar faces and found her mother who was waving at Scott with a huge smile on her face. Of course she had come, it was his first big game. She sat on the first bench and set down her handbag. Y/N exhaled slowly. It was at that moment that a certain strawberry blonde seated next to Allison turned her head to her.

“It’s good that your brother chose to step up and play. I hope he makes this game worth our while.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Y/N muttered under her breath, looking over at the field. Jackson was talking to the coach and Stiles had just sat down in front of the field, obviously looking in the same direction as her. Scott was standing next to the other players on his team and staring back at her. She couldn’t really see his eyes but gripping the edge of the bench on which she was seated, she mouthed something to him.

‘You can do this’

Scott nodded and cracked his neck before placing himself in the right position. The ref blew the whistle. It was go-time.

The ball immediately filled the nets of the Beacon Hills players and for a while, everything seemed to be okay. But something was off. As the maroon players ran around the field, slowly approaching their opponents’ goal, Scott trailed up behind.

“What is he doing?” she asked herself.

Then suddenly, number 10 found himself surrounded by two whites and he cowered, the ball flying out of his net and onto the grass a few feet away due to the force of the opposing team’s defense. Scott whirled his head around, his wide eyes resting on the little white ball and he dove in, ready to catch it with his net. He ran but Jackson caught up with him and shoved him away, grabbing the ball and heading towards the ball.

“They’re keeping him from playing,” she muttered, her eyes fixated on the scene unfolding before the crowd.

Speaking of the crowd, an eruption of cheers echoed through the stands as Shitmore scored and a red digital 1 showed up on the scoreboard right under the letters HOME. Y/N shook her head and cursed under her breath.

“Asshole.”

Allison and Lydia both got up and held up a large banner with the words WE LUV U JACKSON as they whooped and Y/N rolled her eyes, focusing on the field. She tried to catch Scott’s eyes but he was staring at Jackson. Yep, he had probably seen the banner.

“This isn’t good…”

The team huddled up but the teenager stayed away, looking at them with anger seeping through his eyes. The whistle blew once, signaling the game was about to pick up again. Every player got into position, including Scott, and soon the ref blew his whistle again.

White and maroon jerseys ran towards the player with the ball in his net and he sprinted away aiming at his friend. Each person on the field was in motion, the cool breeze of the night blowing softly through their hair as they accelerated their swift movements, trying desperately to catch the ball with their long sticks. Groans and cheers, oohs and aahs and gasps escaped the mouths of the people in the stands and Y/N’s muscles tensed as she heard Allison talk to Lydia.

“I hope he’s okay,” the beautiful brunette said, looking over at Scott who was hunching his back.

“I hope we’re okay,” said Lydia and Y/N almost snapped.

Standing up yet again, Lydia held up another banner, Jackson’s name followed by a #1 drawn onto it with a sharpie. Y/N’s eyes widened and her head snapped in Scott’s direction. He was going to be furious.

Sure enough, the young werewolf had seen it and cracking his neck again, he straightened his back and stood in front of the white player, both at the ready to catch the ball. The shrill sound of the whistle blew and Scott blocked his opponent’s attempt at taking the ball, sending it flying into the night sky.

He moved in a matter of seconds and took a leap, jumping over another player and catching the ball in his net, taking a run for it. The crowd erupted in cheers and Allison gasped, clapping furiously and beaming.

Scott kept going, avoiding the visitors’ defense and pushing away his attackers, passing through a wall of players and shoving their shoulders with his own. Getting just close enough to score, he didn’t hesitate and motioned his net to the ground, throwing the ball right into the opponent’s goal.

The entire stands jumped up, screaming his jersey number, and applauding his swift moves on the field as the players on his team rushed to him to clap their hands on his back.

Y/N squealed and yelled out his name as her eyes widened in pleasant shock.

Maybe it was all going to be okay in the end.

Stiles was cheering as well along with the other benched players and the team’s coach started yelling out instructions to his players.

“Pass to McCall! Pass the ball to McCall! Hey, that rhymes.”

The game resumed and Scott was on fire. He passed more players and scored more points, running from one goal to the next, blowing everyone’s mind with his talent and athletic prowess. One opposing player even passed him the ball at one point, obviously terrified of him.

The end of the game was nearing, there were only a few seconds left on the clock. The stands were quiet for the first time in the whole duration of the game. Y/N exhaled, incredibly nervous. She glanced down at Stiles who was literally chewing on his gloves, his own eyes fixated on Scott.

The ball was sent to him and the teenager caught it with ease, making his way to the goal. But he stopped.

From afar, he seemed to be looking for a bee buzzing around him, his head turning and moving quickly and strangely. It was like he couldn’t situate himself.

“Scott,” murmured Y/N. “Scott, focus.”

His ears perked up and he looked over at the stands only to see his sister and Allison were both muttering words of encouragement in his favor. He breathed heavily and straightened his back before looking ahead. The goalie seemed terrified, gripping his stick with terror.

Scott raised his arms and sent the ball flying towards the net. Time stopped. Then, the whistle blew for the last time.

Everyone screamed and cheered, waving their maroon banners in the air and chanting “McCall!” over and over again.

“That’s my kid! That’s my son!” exclaimed Melissa, gasping for air as she raised her fists in the air and arched her back.

Stiles ran towards the field and jumped up and down, screaming his head off and everyone followed. The game had been won. Scott had scored for his team, they had won! All thanks to him.

Y/N could barely believe it as she ran down the steps of the bleachers and onto the field to join the cheerful crowd. She joined Stiles and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him in a tight hug as they both laughed and whooped.

“Oh my god! Scott?” called out Y/N, searching for her brother through the crowd.

“Scott?”

Stiles and Y/N looked around but no trace of the young werewolf could be seen. Turning to each other, their faces turning white as sheets, they both ran off in the direction of the woods, calling out his name over and over again.

Y/N’s heart was beating so fast, she could practically feel a dent in her skin above her ribs as she ran and yelled for him. Stiles grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the school, running as fast possible.

Rushing through the corridors, Stiles yanked Y/N into the boys locker room but pulled her back immediately.

“What are y-,” Y/N was about to ask when he cupped his hand over her mouth and pulled her a little further into the shadows of the dark room. Bringing a finger up to his mouth, he looked straight into her eyes and she shivered. They were pressed against each other, her body squeezed between her friend and the lockers. The moment was interrupted however when his gaze left her own and he peeked at the scene behind said lockers.

He let her go and straightened her tank top. She looked at him, puzzled.

That was when Allison walked towards them and blushed, her lips a little redder than they had been at the game and her hair untidy.

“Hey, Stiles, Y/N,” she said, smiling timidly as she passed them and left the room, the sound of her boots resonating in the hall as she left the perimeter.

Both Stiles and Y/N made their way around the lockers only to find Scott. He looked proud and a goofy smile was plastered on his face as he waved at them, sheepishly.

“Hey.”

Y/N shook her head and laughed, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Oh thank God,” she said.

“I kissed her.”

“We saw.” Stiles smiled all-knowingly at his best friend.

“She kissed me.”

“Saw that too.”

“It’s pretty good huh?”

Scott couldn’t stop grinning as Stiles patted him on the back and Y/N’s lips curled into a smile.

Scott’s eyes suddenly widened and he smiled even wider.

“I-I don’t know how, but I controlled it. I pulled it back! Maybe I can do this, maybe it’s not that bad!” he exclaimed.

“Uh, yeah, about that.”

“What, what is it?” asked Scott, his eyes turning to his sister.

“The, uh, medical examiner looked at the other half of the body we found,” explained Stiles, his face turning a little dark.

“And?”

“He determined that the victim’s killer was an animal, not a human…”

“Which means, what?”

“Derek is not an animal.”

“Yes?”

“Let me keep it simple, Scott. Derek not animal. Derek thus, not killer. Derek let out of jail,” said Y/N, exasperated.

“Are you kidding?” exclaimed Scott, fear flashing through his eyes.

“No, and here’s the bigger kick in the ass.”

“The victim was ID’d. Her name is Laura Hale.”

“Derek’s sister…”

Scott gasped and shook his head.

“This can’t be happening!”

The three of them stared at the floor when Y/N spoke up.

“But you kissed Allison!”

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[windrocklibrary]

=== [ MAGNOLIA ANTHOLOGY ] ===

=== [ “Side Jobs” ] ===

=== Tessie ===

I’m not sure how to explain what I do for a living. It’s difficult because I don’t have a right word for it. If I were to say that I constantly change my job, doing one thing to another in the next day or hour without committing to only one, you would probably call me a drifter—but I’m not. If I then continue that my payments are decent to exceptional, you would probably think that I’m some sort of mercenary, but I have standards that I live by.

Perhaps the best word would be that I’m a freelance—a jack of all trades—though I like the first one more; it sounds kind of professional, without the expense of making me look intimidating. The point is, I don’t have a single career, but rather I handle many tasks and requests from people.

Like a side-job, if you get what I mean.

As of the moment, I am hanging by a building with only a single rappelling rope to keep me alive and suspended. The feeling of my weight suddenly pushing me downwards caught me by surprise as I stare back into reality in the shape of a large sign right in front of me that I assign myself to fix. A fine Choirtech piece of work it was; it had long glass tubings that snaked throughout the board with intricate and hectic wirings and other gadgetries beneath it that connects all tubings together with itself and a single Choristone, the power source. In case it wasn’t clear, this is my current side-job that I am working on.

I feel like I’ve called a lot of things as a side-job that it might as well lose its actual meaning. The one I got here was from two days ago—a Thursday—after finishing watching over some Mumesian floras owned by an old lady and then going over my schedule, I came across an old man. We were both in some sort of Midlight stores that sell Choirtech wares, I believe.

He looked puzzled, like a kid in a store except the store sells crap that made no sense to him; so absolutely lost that I couldn’t help but approach him and offered him help out of pity; turns out he was actually lost—clueless, more specifically. He told me he needed some help in a place he’s running, a restaurant, that his well-aged Choirtech sign was busted. Said that the light was fading away and having no idea on how to repair it himself.

So, of course, I helped him.

The man, a Tamarixan, came here to start his own business: cooking his home delicacy for a decent price, according to the menu I saw by the door—at least, in my standards—I mean, I’ve seen more ridiculous price tags elsewhere before. The place wasn’t too bad for Midlight standards too: well-lit, clean, rather posh—a lot of green furniture were used too—though it complimented the porcelain-white floors, walls, and ceilings. I believe the place was attempting to recreate some sort of luxurious Tamarix aesthetic, like a royalty or something—not sure honestly, I don’t know much about royalty in Tamarix and its culture.

The waft of stews and spices glides out from the restaurant’s main entrance and window, all blending with the plucky odour of sewers, smokes, and people out and about. Not exactly the greatest smell, especially when I’m hanging two-storeys above a building—it almost made me feel like vomiting—wouldn’t want that to happen, of course, that would be very unprofessional of me.

“How’re things going?” A voice comes out from below, when I look down I see a man staring at me—it’s the owner of the place. He had a dark skin—like blackened wood—a sharp point as the chin, coated with a thick and bushy moustache that resembles the whiskers of a Northern Nivalen Daggered Seals and a long-patched goatee—painted in silver with streaks of crimson. He’s wearing what I think is a long white garb with a dark-brown apron—probably a traditional Tamarix apparel—it goes so far it conceals his footwear.

“Hello there Mr. Ariq” I cry back from above, letting myself lean back in midair to make myself a little comfortable, “I’ll have you know that things are going just fine, how are you?”

“Absolutely good Miss Tessie. Is… Everything okay? I apologize if I asked too many times but I’m a little worried that—”

“Don’t worry about me Mr. Ariq, I’ve been doing stuffs like these ever since I was just a kid.” I assure him, going back to work on the sign, “It’s not too bad as well, by the way—the sign I mean. Besides, I’m almost halfway done with this whole thing and soon it should be back in no time!”

“I am glad to hear that.” Mr. Ariq comments, “Is there perhaps anything that I can do to help you up there?” He adds. “No Sir, I’ll be just fine right here!” I smile, giving out a thumbs up. “Very well, I understand, but if there is anything you need feel free to find me inside.” He waves to me before going back inside the restaurant.

“Halfway done”, in the language of craftsmen and tinkerers, is a common phrase used vague enough to appease their customers; in this instance—more specifically—I currently have somewhere around five things or four if I were to ignore the plan of finding a new replacement for the Choirstone’s container because I assumed it’s still in a good condition.

The big things that I look for when I started were the wirings and the casings. Luckily, it seems that there aren’t any faulty wirings—nothing burnt nor cut-off—so that’s nice. The casing, however, had its fair share of experience; there were clear signs of age, things like cracks and rusts were rather prevalent around it. Patching all of that shouldn’t be much of a problem as long as I have time and materials to spend—which I have just about right.

There are, of course, many other things to pay attention to when fixing something—especially when dealing with a Choirtech; things like the isolizers, transporters, Choirstone’s integrity, to name a few. They’re a bit tricky to deal with those Choirtechs, but admittedly they have a good reason to be so popular nowadays—with it being so energy conserving and so unique that it might as well be magic.

It reminds me of stories about how different it was back before the discovery of Choirstones, it was a curious time, one that I would like to know a little bit more of. My dad often tells me how much of a big deal he was back then, said that his workshop could get crowded in a matter of seconds; prides himself as one of the top of the line in terms of fixing and crafting (at least, that’s what he told me). When Choirtechs became a thing, he had to learn and start all over again, because at that point almost everyone has some sort of Choirtech with them and when it’s broken they don’t take it to some normal mechanic, it had to be a special one—a Choirtech specialist—as they say.

But he didn’t mind—told me that it’s all part of the experience—he was eager to try understand what made the new things big and how they work. Because that’s the cycle of being a craftsman. In addition to that, what made my dad love his hobby-now-a-job, is knowing that what he does could help out others, making them smile and be happy, even if it means pulling out a little more effort to it. That’s what he taught me.

He’s a fine man. But I believe that’s enough about him for now—I have my own work to do right in front of me and I wouldn’t want to waste too much time. In order for me to get things done quickly, I picture myself a collection of all the bits and pieces that’d normally be found and are necessary in a Choirtech machinery. With everything gathered nicely in my head, I gaze at the sign like a painted canvas intently—like a critic staring at some oblique art—analyzing its full form before narrowing down from one large piece to a smaller one. Because what makes the big world, is the little people that inhabited it.

That’s also what my dad taught me. And indeed, I am making use of everything he taught me.

Well, most of it.

Going from one piece to another, slowly swinging from one end of the sign into the other and back, I was able to juggle my task well enough into a manageable scale. What would probably feel like a voided experience suddenly became an encapsulating moment, an experience where I can’t lose track of both time and space; like my whole body is moving on its own as it throws out my consciousness, knowing exactly what to do and how to do it. Not sure if that’s a developed second nature from all my long-term exposure to tinkering or I’m just into it. Like a hook, it reels me in, a feeling so therapeutic and so one-of-a-kind, something you just can’t get from anywhere else; a package that goes through your senses with a good kick to it. The kind of kick where—

Wait a minute. I’m done?

Huh. That was fast.

The abrupt realization showed myself holding a transporter box on my left and a thermic-pen on the other. I gave the transporter box a final inspection, a one last looksie for any little bits I missed inside before I plug it back into its original spot—making a soft and extremely satisfying ker-clunk sound. Now that everything is in place; I push myself backwards from the sign, slowly and gradually lowering myself towards the ground—both of my feet felt weird there—like it missed the feeling of standing up straight.

Into the restaurant, I look to the right of the entrance for a number of switches planted by a wall, between the window and the entrance. Finding the switch for the sign, I flick it up to activate it; the next thing that I hear is a steady buzz slowly evolving into a series of humming tones that assemble an abstract melody. Heading outside, the tune grew louder and it came from the sign itself—the Choirstone, more specifically.

The slim glass section of the Choirstone’s container sheds out a sharp violet glow, and at its bottom, a hazy flow of the stone’s energy wraps around the connector like millions of thin tendrils. It grew longer and longer with some tiny traces dispersing out, but soon it reaches the maze of wire’s starting line and trailblaze it, scattering from one point and now all over the sign itself; next thing you know, the entire glass pipelines light up. Shining the building and the entrance with soft but spectacular lights, with writings that spells out the restaurant’s name: “Yetthro’s House”.

“Is it working? Is it done?” A familiar voice appears again, I look back to see Mr. Ariq quickly waddling towards me with wide and interested eyes. I guess he noticed me staring and admiring the sign.

“It sure is.” I smile, “I’m guessing this is what your sign is supposed to be doing right?”

Mr. Ariq walks out and looks upward, his whole face suddenly completely showered under the light. It’s almost blinding—but I catch a glimpse of his smile—relieved and satisfied with what he sees. A signal for a job well done.

“It looks perfect—” Exclaims Mr. Ariq, “Just like the way I remembered. Thank you very much, Miss Tessie”.

“Anytime Mr. Ariq.” I dust off my suit and vest before continue my comment, “The entire thing was actually fairly manageable, and the problems that I found weren’t anything ridiculous; just deteriorations—which is expected with any machines throughout time—especially through excessive or poor use. I suggest you try to take a little more care for it. Something like… Don’t leave it on for the whole day, or turn it off or on at certain times. As a little advice, of course”.

“Oh, one more thing, just as a heads up from me—” I snap my fingers as I remember something. I let out the inner salesman inside me, going through one of my pockets for a small card that shows my workshop’s address and cable-phone number—to promote my little business! “If you ever need any help—not just to fix things, I mean anything— feel free to give me a call,” I give him my little business card, “I am more than willing to lend out a helping hand”.

“I appreciate your kindness, Miss Tessie.” Mr. Ariq takes the card as he greets me. “This reminds me, I must pay you for your works. Please wait inside for a moment… How much do I owe you again?”

“As promised originally: 500 Prosperas—an extra hundred ‘cus I had to replace one of the isolizers”.

The two of us walk inside into the restaurant again, with Mr. Ariq ahead and in front of me, he shuffles off quickly into a door by the end of the room—presumably leads into the kitchen, or the staffroom, or his office, whichever it is—while I patiently wait standing in the midst of the slightly crowded restaurant, all filled waiters serving and getting orders and customers eating and asking their orders.

I make myself busy by browsing through the restaurant itself; an activity where I essentially have my eyes go from one object of interest into another and analyze it for reasons unknown except to occupy time—kind of like what I did back then when I was working on the sign—except now I do it on purpose and not subconsciously spaced-out out of nowhere. I’ll admit, it is a slow burner, feels like time is actually crawling and putting weights around my joints the moment I start; but after unnecessarily analyzing at three things, it’s all smooth sailing from there on out.

I just notice that a lot of the furniture—particularly the green tablecloths that are everywhere—have golden embroideries by the edges. It had a sleek geometrical design to it that turns into angular diamonds as an occurring pattern. Neat.

I count fifteen people—both customers and staffs—have some part of their bodies augmented. Auggies, they’re sometimes called, pretty common in Sorrel.

I spot a woman, in her prime years with short and blonde hair, has a booger hanging by the edge of her nose and she doesn’t notice it. That’s funny.

I see an old man coming towards me, holding an envelope on one hand and a paper bag on the other—both of which appears like it’s filled with something—and it looks like he’s approaching closer and closer to be right in front of—

Oh wait, that’s Mr. Ariq.

He hands both of the items to me, “Your payment.” he says as he bows down in gratitude. I—being slightly puzzled by the old man’s need to bow—reactively bow back to him as well. I count the money inside the envelope once I took it, after counting the expected amount I tuck it deep under the back of my belt to be concealed by my suit—kinda like shoving a contraband up your rear, but I’m not because that’s gross and this is my paycheck for goodness sake.

“Thank you but… What’s that?” I ask curiously, pointing at the bag.

“A gift.” Mr. Ariq answers, “For your consideration”.

I grab the paper bag with both of my hands, with curiosity and interest finally taking over me, I decide to roll it open to see what exactly is inside. To my surprise, a puff of warm and sweet scent suddenly flies out of the bag, looking closely into it I discover something fantastic: a trove of buns—barely even the size of a hand—all neatly packed in an orderly fashion. After a smelling a gust of strange spices that I probably don’t know; I notice that the buns have a golden-brown colour, and each has this rough gravelly texture as the surface for the bread, giving the bun a cartoonish appearance of a round brown rock. I couldn’t help but be in awe and also confused as to what this is.

“These are…”

“Sandbreads!” That’s a silly name. I like that. “A common snack back in my country. These are made with my family’s recipe!”

“How nice!” I compliment him, “And you want me… To have it?”

Mr. Ariq nods.

My head backs up and tilts just hearing that, “Oh wow…” I begin, eyes widening now, “that’s very kind of you but… You sure about this? I mean I’m just doing my job and it’s no big deal and—”

“Oh but please do!” He interrupts me, “I have paid you for your services, I should at least pay you someway for your generosity.” He explains, his arms gradually reach into the bag and gently push it farther to me; he clearly insists for me to have it, ”Had you not come to me back then, it might take longer just for me to fix that sign!”

He’s actually right, now that I think about it. I did approach Mr. Ariq back then in that random store in some random place on a random afternoon Thursday; it wasn’t just me who approached him, it was my spontaneous burst of generosity that led me all the way here.

One of my conscience, the Humble One, reminds me that I shouldn’t take too much—especially since my work isn’t all too special. But another conscience—the Logical One—has some good arguments to the table. It’s not a matter of me wanting it, but a matter of me deserving it.

The third conscience though. The Hungry One. Bursts in with its own opinion, telling me that the sandbreads look delicious and I should take the helm and give it a try.

So I did.

Embracing the crumply paper bag goodness filled with even more baked bread goodness, I can feel the heat of the sandbreads barely piercing out the bag—it was clearly fresh out of the oven. A smile grows on Mr. Ariq’s face—equally as warm as the buns I’m holding—and I couldn’t help but do the same.

“Well. Guess I’ll be taking it then. Thank you, Mr. Ariq.” I thank him, shaking his hand before heading out as quickly as possible, remembering that I have something else to do in mind.

“Thank you as well, Miss Tessie!”

Bustling out from the exit, I try to check for the time, the only problem being that there isn’t anything for me to tell. I could try looking at the sky—which I did—but I only find a drab and foggy atmosphere stained of squeamish green; with pale yellow lights beaming down into the urban jungle, blending together with the buildings and other artificially made colour palettes across Midlight, as the only sunlights Sorrel could ever get.

Counting the numbers of the sunlight beams and judging the properties of the light. I make an unintelligent guess that it might be nearing 3 past afternoon. It looks like I have enough time. Hopefully.

I creep towards the nearest alley that I can find, the one I chose seems to lead me to a shadowy and littered pathway with an upward stairway at the end. Stairs are key to finding your way through the mess of a place that is Sorrel, because they either take you to a major walkway or in this case, another inconspicuous alleyway.

Stopping in the middle of the stairway, I look around to see if there’s anyone around me, just to ensure that I won’t be causing too much scene. I kneel down to reach for my duffel bag, the place where I keep most—if not—all of my tools for work. I dig down through all of the gadgets that I kept inside it, making clamoured and jumbled noises of clinks and clangs with a pling-plongs and a plinkity—it’s rather annoying admittedly, but I have nothing else for me to use. As I go deeper and deeper, I finally find it:

An empty gun, and a collection of loaded magazines.

I reach for the gun and give it some quick care and inspection to make sure that it’s still in good condition. I wonder to myself just how much will I need the gun later; for now, I choose myself a number of five—five magazines—and pull four out from the bag and evenly put them in both of my sides and one into the gun, cocking it before I give one last look at the gun.

I stand up and have some half-a-minute worth of stretching after I close the bag. The gun’s place into a holster at the side of my belt, conveniently hidden by the suit I’m wearing. With everything in place, it’s time for me to head straight for my next job.

It’s more of a side-job, but I’m sure you get what I mean.

[pedalfuzz]

The Sea And Cake

The Sea And Cake have been making elegant, assured, and singularly unique music for over two decades. The band is made up of a who’s who of Chicago experimental/indie/jazz/post-everything musicians that include Sam Prekop, Archer Prewitt, and John Mcentire.

Their latest album on Thrill Jockey Records is Any Day. Sam Prekop (singer, guitarist) sat down to talk with Pedal Fuzz about writing and recording the record, just after a soundcheck in Durham, NC, ahead of their performance at The Pinhook.

 Pedal Fuzz: Your Last album Runner came out in 2012. When did you start working on the songs that would make up Any Day?

Sam Prekop: So it was probably February 2017. Got a bit of a slow start I guess. I started actively playing guitar for that mainly on my acoustic, roaming around my house cooking dinner for the kids. Strumming the guitar, getting it together kind of. And then Archer Prewitt (guitar) and I spent a fair amount of time together before John McEntire (drums) showed up. And then the three of us rehearsed at the practice space for probably about a week with the new material. And then we went into the studio to record the basic tracks.

PF: Is that generally how it's worked in the past, you starting just with the guitar then bringing everyone else in?

SP: So Archer and I spend a lot of time without drums to work out the intricacies of the arrangements. Of course John contributes as well, but to get the ball rolling usually I start, get the basic gist of it, and then I have Archer come in. There's a few songs on the new record that Archer and I came up with just sort of messing around improvising and stuff. So it happens that way as well. "Any Day," the title track comes out of that, and also the last song "These Falling Arms."

PF: Did you record in John’s studio, Soma Studios?

SP: His studio in flux now because he moved to California. So it was different in that regard, so we used a different studio in Chicago. He had already moved right around the time I started working on the guitar stuff.

PF: So did you track in two locations, or just go out there to L.A. and track?

SP: We never made it to L.A. actually. The original plan was to go and mix it and finish it in L.A. And John moved to L.A. but then he bought a house more northern, east of San Francisco. So that kind of threw our plans for a loop a little bit. So John would mix, and then he would send us the files and we would give input on it.

PF: As far as the songwriting. how collaborative does it get once everybody else joins in? By that point do you already have the structure set, or is there room for change?

SP: So when we have the basic tracks, it can still change because I haven't done any singing yet. So I get the basic tracks into my home studio - and I have been doing it this way for a while where I record the vocals at home and mix them later with John. So I spent quite a bit of time writing and singing and recording the vocals on my own basically. I spent more time doing that this time around than other records I would say. I'm not sure why, I think I just found myself with more time.

There were a few setbacks. One was how we thought the studio would be ready in time, so we were kind of waiting for it. Things were hinging on different factors as we were working, so I wound up like, “OK, I have another month to do other stuff,” and so I ended up redoing a lot of things this time around which was good. I think because I got a little bit of time away from what I had done, I got a slight amount of perspective. I could discover that it could be better if I tried to rewrite certain lines or words.

PF: Was it mostly lyrics and vocals you were changing, or other elements?

SP: Sometimes it was just the delivery of it, like I can sort of get more out of the performance. Other times it might be some slight adjustments to the words, or rhythm things, but usually it was that I felt like I could inhabit these vocals more...not intense exactly, but just be more familiar with them. Just to be able to really perform the song.

PF: That's something striking about the record too, it kicks right off with the vocals.

SP: I know - this is the most vocal-centric record of all, and when rehearsing for this tour and playing some older stuff I'm like, "Oh my god I hardly sing at all in long spots." And I have to say the shows have been quite the vocal workout. It's an hour and a half show and I'm singing the whole time. I'm quite burnt by the end.

PF: Are you having to come up with like a honey/lemon regimen?

SP: I should maybe! It's getting better, you know. So this will be maybe our seventh show tonight, and each night it's getting a little easier. It depends on if the monitoring is good and if the sound is good on stage. If I have to over-sing, that's a problem, and sometimes that's the case if I don't hear it properly.

PF: It seems that on this album, compared to some older songs like "The Argument" or even "Harps" from the last record, there's less electronic elements. It has much more of a band feel. How did you decide that was going to be the vibe this time?

SP: Well, usually with these things the project tells you what it wants as you're working on it. I feel like my job is to pay attention as much as possible to what the material is leading you towards. So I didn't start out like, "Oh this should be a super vocal-heavy record and it should be all about that." So as it was leaning in that direction, it seemed like there was just less room for electronic stuff. And I think I think there would have been more of that if we had been in the studio together during the overdub process - which we had planned, but didn't quite happen because of logistics. So that's also part of the reason I think.

PF: Let's talk about gear a little bit. What guitar and amp are you using on the record?

SP: So I started writing on my acoustic. It's a pretty old beat up Martin 000-17. It's a Mahogany, small body kind of deal. And so I write a lot on that. I've never played it live and I don't plan on it - too many problems involved with drums and stuff.

And my main guitar is not actually a Fender Telecaster, though it looks like one. I got it maybe 15 years ago. It was built by Greenwich Village Custom Guitars (GVCG). It's sort of a legendary builder (Jonathan Wilson) which I didn't know at the time. But as soon as I tried it I'm like, "This is my guitar." So that's been my main guitar for a while.

And I use a Fender Bassman amp - but it's not actually a Fender. It's made by Victoria Amp Company out of Chicago (Victoria 45410 Tweed, modeled after a 1959 Bassman). And I've been using that for a long time as well, at least 10 or so years.

PF: What do you like about the Victoria?

SP: It sounds very acoustic. Not like an acoustic guitar, but the sound of the wooden box is very forward in a way. It feels very lively and unveiled in a way that feels very direct. It's very responsive to the way you play, very quick and responsive. There's no reverb or anything, it's a very direct, classic amp design. I imagine it's probably pretty simple. It's designed originally for bass players but it works really well as a guitar amp.

PF: And are you putting anything between the guitar and the amp?

SP: Yeah, I have a few BJFEE pedals, from Norway. Björn Juhl made them, he went on to design Mad Professor pedals. I have one that’s a very subtle overdrive I use all the time called the Honey Bee. And a BJFE EQ pedal (Sea Blue EQ) that’s amazing. I also have a Mad Professor Deep Blue delay pedal I use for a little color – I’m not big on changing my sound per song very much.

PF: You have a very crisp, but full, clean sound.

SP: On the song “Color The Mountain,” I play some pretty distorted guitar. On that I use this Swedish Himmelstrutz Fetto Nord 70 distortion pedal I’ve had a long time. But I don’t use it much.

PF: You’re in a band with people that are in so many other bands, and so many different collaborations. Does that become difficult for everyone to juggle what they have going on?

SP: There’s no real difficulty. That’s why there’s sometimes longer breaks in-between records. So Tortoise had a record in-between, so that was about two years of the lag time. I also make solo records and usually tour on those. No problems really, it’s just a matter of making the plan and it works out.

EDDIE GARCIA PLAYS GUITAR AND ALL THE PEDALS AS 1970S FILM STOCK. YOU CAN ALSO HEAR HIM REPORTING ON NPR AFFILIATE 88.5 WFDD IN WINSTON-SALEM, NC. IN THE WEE HOURS HE RUNS PEDAL FUZZ, WHICH IS A PROUD RECIPIENT OF A GRANT FROM THE ARTS ENTERPRISE LAB / KENAN INSTITUTE FOR THE ARTS. 

[sheps-shepherd]

Title: Negotiations

Rating: G

A/N: And y’all thought I forgot about Lorelei Day this year. I didn’t. I just am completely incapable of having things prepared on time. So here’s our annual Lorelei Day Brothers AU update a week and a half late!

I also want to get to a point where I update this series more than just once a year. That’s what I tried to set up here. Enjoy~

[Modern AU/Canon Divergence]

See all works in the series here!

“Ten… Eleven… Twelve!” Luke cheered gleefully as he swung himself from the final rung of the monkey bars. He landed firmly on the metal platform and spun around, waving his arms over his head. “Did you see me, Guy? I went all the way around all by myself!”

Guy grinned and clapped his hands a few times. “Good going, Luke! I think you did it faster than you did last time.”

“You think so? Wait, I’ll do it again, you can time me!”

“All right, all right, give me a second.” Guy took his phone out of his pocket and pulled up a stopwatch. “Get ready, and… Go!” His thumb hit the start button and Luke grabbed the first rung, swinging himself from the platform to gain some momentum to carry him to the next.

“You set yourself up for that one,” Asch pointed out. “He’s going to ask you to time him five more times now.”

“That’s fine. That’ll keep him occupied for a solid- what do you think, two minutes?”

“If we’re lucky.” Asch watched his little brother swing for the first few rungs before turning his attention back to his laptop. A screen filled with time slots and class names stared back at him. While he’d fit a majority of them nicely into one giant block, there was one that stubbornly remained an outlier, and it was frustrating Asch to no end.

He felt Guy shift against his arm. “How’s it going?”

“You’re supposed to be timing him.”

“So, not well?”

Asch sighed and lifted a hand to rub at his temple, leaving the other pressed against the base of his laptop to keep it balanced on his knees. “I think I’m going to have to bite the bullet. I’ve tried everything, but this class just won’t fit into my schedule. It’s too late in the evening.” He ran the same hand through his hair in irritation, letting his elbow come to rest on the back of the bench they were sitting on. “I guess I’m just going to have to take it online.”

“You know, I could pick Luke up from school if you were to have a late class a few times a week. It’s really no big deal.”

Asch shook his head. “That would be three days a week, and you’d have to stay until I got home. That’s too much to ask.”

“I really wouldn’t mind.”

“I know you wouldn’t. But you have your own life to live, Guy. I don’t expect you to spend it at my beck and call.”

“Asch-”

“Guy!” They both glanced up to see Luke once again standing on the platform, pouting petulantly in their direction. “You weren’t watching!”

“Ah, sorry, Luke! Here, go again, I’ll watch extra carefully this time.” Luke puffed his cheeks unhappily, but still wiped his palms off on his pants, readying himself for another go-around. “Okay, get ready, and… Go!” As Luke’s feet left the platform, Asch’s gaze dropped back down to the screen of his laptop, staring at the one box that didn’t fit in his puzzle.

Creating his class schedules was no easier now than it had been the other two times he’d done it. Asch had a strict time limit as far as how early and late his classes could be - late enough in the morning for him to be able to drop Luke off at school, and ending early enough in the afternoon for him to be able to pick him up after. By some stroke of luck, his first semester had worked out almost perfectly for him. He’d had class every day - which couldn’t be avoided, no matter how adamantly he tried - but his first and last classes fit well into the time slot he’d set for himself. His second semester was largely the same, though twice a week he had a class that ran a bit later than he would have liked, but again, it couldn’t be helped. On those days, Luke had to wait for him in the school office, and while it really wasn’t that much of a problem, Luke didn’t like it, and admittedly neither did Asch. He didn’t like the idea of Luke having to sit in the office and wait for him alone, so Asch decided he’d do what he could to avoid that happening again.

Unfortunately, most of the classes he planned on taking in the next semester had only one offered time, and left little room for leeway on how he could arrange his schedule. He didn’t want to take many summer classes if he could avoid it - summer was supposed to mean being able to spend more time with Luke, and less time trying to find someone else to watch him - which left him the option of taking some of his classes online. Which was convenient, but also meant more of his time at home would be taken up, still leaving him with less time to spend with his brother.

Asch had known trying to juggle university and Luke would be challenging, but he also knew that continuing with his education would be better for them in the long run. Still, the end of that run seemed dishearteningly far away, sometimes.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” Guy said, when Luke had gotten about halfway around the monkey bars. “Since, you know, I’m graduated now.”

“What about it?” Asch asked, distracted, his eyes scanning through a list of available online classes for the coming semester. The one he needed was still open; at least he had some luck there.

“About how I want to start watching Luke full-time again, now that I won’t be busy.”

That grabbed Asch’s attention, and he snapped his head around to stare at Guy wide-eyed. Guy didn’t even flinch, keeping his gaze steadily trained on Luke.

“What?”

“Time!” Luke landed back on the platform and spun around. “Time, Guy! What’d I get?!”

“Thirty-two seconds.”

“That’s too slow! Time me again!” Luke didn’t even wait for Guy to call out a start before he was off again. Guy chuckled, but let him have his few-second lead.

Asch, annoyed that Guy had timed his comment so well, reached out and shoved at the blond’s shoulder. “Are you out of your mind?”

“When it comes to you two? Definitely.”

“You aren’t watching Luke again.”

Guy finally looked over at him. “Why not?”

“Because, Guy, you being graduated doesn’t mean you’re going to suddenly  have all this free time. You have to start your career at some point.”

“Plenty of people take gap years after they graduate.”

“Yeah, a year, not three.”

Guy shrugged and turned back to Luke, who was finishing up the last few rungs. “I’ll let you pay me, if that’ll make you feel better.”

“You know that’s not what this is about-!”

“Time! What was it on that one, Guy?!”

“Just barely thirty that time. You wanna go once more?”

“Yeah! I’m gonna get under thirty this time, watch!”

Guy chuckled again as he started the stopwatch for the third time, glancing back to Asch. “What makes you think I wouldn’t wanna spend every day with this kid?”

“Guy,” Asch said seriously, “you can’t keep putting your life on hold for us.”

Guy’s smile wavered at Asch’s statement, twisting from happy and carefree to something more somber and understanding. He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you on your own.”

Asch frowned. “You don’t have to take care of me. I’m fine-“

“I know you are,” the blond cut in, waving Asch’s words away with a hand. “I’m just saying: all you’ve ever done is what you think is best for Luke.” His hand dropped onto Asch’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “I think it’s time someone started doing the same for you.”

Asch stared back at him, having no idea what sort of response he could possibly give to that. He’d never thought twice about living his life by Luke; he’d known from the moment his little brother was born that he was going to do whatever it took to take care of him, that he wouldn’t let Luke grow up feeling the way he had. He was going to make good on all those promises he’d made to that tiny baby in his arms on sleepless nights spent by the window.

Asch had never stopped and thought that maybe Guy had a few promises of his own that he wanted to keep.

The sound of a shrill yelp followed by a loud thud drew Asch’s attention back towards the playground. All it took was for him to register a head of bright red hair on the ground before he was all but shoving his laptop down beside him on the bench and taking off, Guy at his heels.

“Let me see,” Asch said, as soon as he was crouched down beside his little brother. Luke had pushed himself up into a sitting position, and now sat on his bottom in the wood chips, his hands palm-side up. There were tears at the corners of his eyes as he held them out towards Asch.

“I-I’m okay, Asch, see?” His hands were scratched from catching his fall, the jagged edges of the wood chips leaving his palms littered with small lines of torn skin. There was only one cut deep enough to draw blood, and thankfully, it was just a thin streak of red running along the base of Luke’s thumb. “It just stings a little, that's all…”

Asch looked over at Guy, who was hovering behind them, ready to step in if he was needed. “I have a water bottle in my bag. Will you grab it for me?” The blond nodded, doubling back to their bench as Asch turned his attention back to his brother. “Just a few scrapes. We’ll clean you up and you’ll be fine.” Luke sniffed and nodded.

There was a tap against his shoulder, and Asch reached up to grab the water bottle that Guy passed over to him. He unscrewed the cap and took one of Luke’s hands in his, pouring some of the water over his palm. Luke winced slightly as it slipped over his cuts.

“There,” Asch murmured, repeating the process over Luke’s other hand. “That should be good enough until we get home. We can clean them properly there. Just be more careful, okay?”

“Okay.” Luke nodded, a small smile crossing his face. “Thanks, Asch.” Asch smiled back at him, lifting a hand to ruffle his brother’s mess of red hair.

The scuffling of wood chips sounded behind him. “Excuse me?” Asch looked over to see a tall blonde-haired woman standing there, clutching a small blue coin purse to her chest. She gave him a kind smile and a little wave as she gained his attention. “Your brother, is he all right?”

Asch blinked in surprise, rising to his feet. He gave a slow nod of his head. “He’s fine.”

She nodded back at him and popped open her purse. “I hope you don’t mind me being nosy. I just thought you might like to borrow this.” She pulled out a small green spray bottle, and held it up for Asch to see. The label across the front of it read To-Go Antiseptic. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

Asch furrowed his brow as he stared skeptically at the woman. She met his gaze easily, even giving him a pointed look of her own.

“Please, I insist.” She shook the bottle lightly between her fingers.

When she didn’t show any signs of backing down or leaving them alone, Asch sighed, and finally stretched out his hand. With a pleased smile, the woman dropped the bottle into his waiting palm, allowing him to draw it back and get a better look at it. It seemed legitimate enough; in fact, it was the same brand of antiseptic that he kept in the medicine cabinet at home.

He glanced over his shoulder at Guy. His friend gave him a shrug back. It’s your call.

“...Luke, let me see your hands again.” Asch turned back to his brother and held his own hand out expectantly. Luke obeyed, holding out his cut palms. “This one’s going to sting a bit more.” His little brother bit his lip, but nodded.

Asch placed his finger on the head of the bottle and pressed down. He gave Luke’s hand a squeeze as the younger boy winced more sharply this time. He was quick about doing his other hand, then pushed Luke’s palms together and blew a cool breath over them to ease the stinging.

“I-It’s okay, I’m okay…” Luke mumbled, pulling his hands free to cradle them against his chest. He had on a brave enough face, though his bottom lip still wobbled slightly. Asch nodded and patted him on the shoulder, shooing him off in Guy’s direction.

While Luke attached himself to Guy’s leg, Asch held the bottle back out to the woman.

“Thank you.”

She accepted it back with a smile. “You’re welcome, Asch.” He blinked, taken aback, and she giggled. “I beg your pardon. It’s just, I believe you’re in my psychology class, up at University of Kimlasca?”

Asch blinked again, this time in realization. They’d never spoken before, but now that she mentioned it, he did recall seeing her walking into the lecture hall practically every day. Their psychology professor was one of the few who required attendance, and did roll call at the start of every class: that must have been how she knew his name.

“Yeah, that’s me. And you’re…” He pondered for a moment, “...Natalia, right?”

Natalia smiled and held out her free hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Asch accepted the handshake. “I didn’t know you were from around here.”

“Oh, I’m not, actually. But I come to the neighborhood every so often to look after Tear, while her brother is away.” She glanced down at her side. Asch followed her gaze, and saw a little girl who had to be about Luke’s age peeking out from behind Natalia’s leg. Her bright blue eyes caught sight of him and she squeaked softly, slipping further behind Natalia. The sight made a smile tug at the corner of Asch’s mouth. He wasn’t used to shy kids, Luke had never been anything but a little social butterfly since the moment he learned how to walk.

“Tear?” Luke was peering at them from around Guy’s leg, staring curiously at the girl. He took a step forward. The girl switched to peeking out from Natalia’s other side as she heard the call of her name. “Hey, I remember you! You’re the girl who pushed me down into the mud when we were playing tag!”

Tear’s face went pink. “O-Only because you pulled my hair!”

“I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to tag you! And I said I was sorry!”

“Well, it still hurt!”

Luke puffed his cheeks, but walked over to the girl. Tear shrunk back behind Natalia as he approached. “Look, I am sorry, okay? You wanna go on the swings? I’ll push you.” She stared at him wearily, but apparently the mention of the swings was enough to convince her, and she slowly stepped towards him. Luke beamed at her before running over to the swings. Tear followed him.

Natalia giggled, watching the two of them. “My, what a little gentleman.”

“Yeah, well, he knows better than to be pulling anyone’s hair,” Asch said, glancing over at Guy. He must not have joined him and Luke at the park that day, because he didn’t recall any hair-pulling, and Guy had certainly never mentioned any either. Busted, the blond grinned sheepishly and waved at Asch before slinking back over to their bench.

“Oh, don’t be angry with him. It truly was an accident, I saw the whole thing. Besides, Tear was the one who purposely pushed him down.”

Asch shook his head. “No, it’s okay. They were just being kids.” He crossed his arms. “And anyway, I think it’s good that Tear knows not to let anyone mess with her. Good on her.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s a good point.” Natalia looked over at him, a smile still on her face. “You certainly pay attention in class, don’t you?”

Asch looked back at her, shrugging gently. “Or I just have a younger brother that I expect to do the same.”

“Of course.” Her olive green eyes twinkled at him. “It sounds to me like you take your job as an older brother quite seriously.”

He cleared his throat, glancing back to the swing set. Tear had settled on one of the seats, and a smile was on her face as Luke pushed her up into the air. “You must take being a babysitter seriously too, to carry a to-go bottle of antiseptic around with you.”

“You’d assume correctly. Though I fear sometimes I’m overly paranoid.”

“Trust me, you’re fine.” Asch used to carry a fully stocked first aid kit around in his bag whenever he took Luke anywhere. If that wasn’t overly paranoid, he wasn’t sure what was - Guy still teased him for it.

“Well, I believe it’s true that there’s no such thing as being too careful, so I think I’ll be keeping this with me.” She held up her coin purse and snapped it shut, definitively. “Should you ever need it during class, then, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Still, the offer stands.” Natalia smiled at him, then blinked and checked her watch. “Ah, I need to get Tear home, her brother will be back soon.” She held her hand out to Asch again. “I’m sure I’ll see you around?”

Asch nodded as he took her hand once more. “Yeah, see you.”

She nodded kindly at him, stepping away to head over to a bench on the other side of the playground, where she had apparently set up a small camp of her own. “Tear! Come on, we have to get going!”

Luke pulled Tear’s swing to a stop, letting her hop off. Asch watched the two of them speak, too far and too quietly for him to hear what they were saying. But Luke had a smile on his face and made a gesture with his hands as he said something that made Tear smile too. The girl nodded at Luke, then turned away and hurried back over to Natalia, taking the pink teddy bear that the blonde woman held out to her.

Natalia lifted a bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. She caught Asch’s gaze and waved at him; he offered a small lift of his hand back. As the two of them began to walk away, a splash of red appeared at the corner of his vision, and he looked over as Luke came running up to him.

“Can we stay a little longer, Asch? Please?”

“Yeah. I still have some work to finish up. We’ll go after that. Just save me the heart attack and stay off the monkey bars, for now.” Luke beamed up at him and nodded before taking off for the playground again, as Asch headed back to the bench where Guy sat with their belongings.

“She seemed nice,” Guy chirped innocently, his gaze trained on Luke as he ran around on the playground equipment. Asch sat back down beside him and reached for his laptop, setting it on his knees. He typed his password in, watching as the screen lit back up to the page of online classes.

“Three times a week,” Asch said. “You’d have to pick him up from school and probably make him something to eat, too, if I’m not home in time. But you leave as soon as I’m back. We won’t be taking up your entire day.” He turned his head. Guy was staring at him, eyes wide with surprise. “And yeah, I’m going to pay you. So deal with it.”

“You’re serious?”

“If you really want to watch Luke again, then that’s the offer. Take it or leave it.”

Guy hummed thoughtfully. “I'll take it. On one condition.”

“That's not taking or leaving it.”

Unsurprisingly, his retort went ignored. “The deal goes for every semester. Changed however you need it to fit your schedule.” Asch narrowed his eyes in annoyance, but Guy only stared back at him, unfazed. “Asch. Just let me help you, okay? Take whatever classes you need to take and get through these next three years. Luke will be fine with me.”

“I know that,” Asch said immediately, because he did. He trusted Luke more with Guy than he did with their own parents.

“So…?” Guy nudged him expectantly. “We have a deal?”

“...Yeah. Deal.”

Guy grinned smugly, continuing to elbow him. Asch batted him away, attention back on his laptop, once again beginning to click through all the tabs he had open to figure out - what would hopefully be - his final schedule.

“He won't need a babysitter forever, you know,” Guy pointed out. “It'll get easier when he's older, and he can look after himself.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Hey, you turned out alright.”

“Guy!” Luke shouted from the playground. “Guy, will you time me again? I wanna see how fast I can get down all the slides in one go!”

Guy gave him a thumbs up and grabbed his phone again. “He’s reaching, now.”

“Let him wear himself out. Besides, he can’t hurt himself going down a slide.” Asch glanced up as Guy called out the start of the time, and Luke began racing through the equipment to get to the first slide. “Well, he’s less likely to, at least.”

“Knowing Luke, I wouldn’t be surprised if he still found a way.” Guy rested his phone on his knee as he leaned back against the bench, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, seriously, that woman who was here. She’s a friend from school?”

“I wouldn’t say friend. I don’t know anything about her besides her name.”

“She mentioned you guys have class together? That’s nice.” Asch gave the blond beside him a look, and got a cheeky grin in response. “What? All I’m saying is it’s nice to have a friend or two in a class. You never know when you’ll need a save.”

“Yeah, if I ever get a paper cut, I’ll know who to find.”

Guy chuckled. “You’re impossible.”

Asch only shrugged, falling silent as he focused in on what he was doing. His schedule looked less aesthetically pleasing now: small groups of classes that fit in a nice block flanked by the separate squares of the one that didn’t. But it was going to work, and that was all he cared about.

He stared at his outlying class thoughtfully, a block labeled Developmental Psychology.

He had a feeling he’d be seeing more of that woman after all.

[panda-noosh]

Action!{P4}{Lance x YouTuber!Reader}

    Words: 5709

   Summary: Being a YouTube guru is hard enough without the added stress of living with Lance McClain, the man who insists on bombarding into every YouTube video you try to film. His viewers love him, and so do you.

  Pairing: Lance McClain x Youtuber!Reader

   Notes: p1 - p2 - p3 - p5 - p6 - p7; EVEN MORE ANGST AND SHIRO YAY

  You wanted to be alone.

    It was strange. You had been sobbing over the fact that you were alone for the past four days straight, tucked up under the loose covers that Samuel had kindly laid out on his sofa for you to crash on, and yet you still didn't want to see anybody.

   It was like your brain was playing tricks on you. Cruel, lethal tricks that were making your anger and sadness turn into a gut-wrenching self hatred that left you clawing for something, anything, to whisk you away into a world where maybe, just maybe, this hadn't happened.

    Maybe not meeting Lance at all would have been the best option, but not even in your destroyed, bruised and fragile state could you lead yourself to believe that.

    After reading about the article online, you couldn't bring yourself to step foot back in the apartment you once shared with the man in question. Samuel and Austin had come and picked you up from the coffee shop, Austin basically having to haul you out of the petite place as your knees felt too weak to carry you anywhere, and since then, you had made shelter on their sofa, wearing the same pair of oversized pyjamas that you had slipped into whenever you stepped foot in their house on the first day.

   You were beginning to stink. Your hair was beginning to get heavy and even in your state, you wanted a shower and a good change of clothes. Wearing your friends oversized pyjamas was comfortable until around the third day hit – then they just became another reason for you to feel self conscious.

    And yet the idea of walking back into your apartment was enough to keep you still on the sofa, unmoving.

   Samuel sighed as he hauled himself up onto the sofa beside you, pulling his legs up out of his chair using his hands. You didn't even flick him a second glance, instead opting to keep your eyes tight on the screen in front of you which was playing old re-runs of A League of Their Own that you had bought from the Sky Box Set options.

    Samuel stayed silent for a few minutes, simply letting you bask in his presence, as if he was worried you would jump at the sound of his voice. The thing was, though, you were very aware of his presence. You had heard him sighing from the kitchen for the past four hours, shooting you worried glances every now and then, acting as if you were some kind of painting on display for him to look at.

    “I'm fine,” you grunt out, finally.

   Samuel barely moves, the sound of your groggy voice not taking him by surprise. What more could he have expected whenever you had done nothing but sit around for the past four days?

   “I can see that,” he replies, sarcastically. “But I think we need to talk about your living conditions, babe.”

   You raise a brow, flicking your eyes over to look at him.

   “That came out wrong,” he insists though there is no panic in his voice, no worry that he offended you. “You know you can stay here for as long as you like, but eventually you've got to pay rent on your own apartment, and maybe - I dunno – get yourself some of your own clothes? There's no way you can do that moping around here all day.”

    You turn back to the television. “That's honestly the last thing I want to hear.”

   Samuel groans, shoving your shoulder with his own. “Oh, come on, Y/N! You know I'd go and get your stuff for you, but I think you need the time out of the house, and I haven't exactly got the best stamina at the moment with surgery prep coming up. You need to forget about Lance. You're life is better off without him anyway.”

   You swallow thickly, not wanting to hear him say another thing about Lance but at the same time wanting nothing more than to talk about him, detail every feeling he had left for you the moment he decided to take that interview.

    It was another weird mix of feelings. Whilst you wanted to be alone, but not lonely, you also wanted to stay quiet, but scream all at the same time. Let your voice echo off the walls and let the pain in your chest out somehow.

    “Please, Y/N,” Samuel says. “For me and Emma. Just – Just let us know you're okay by going and getting your stuff – if you're serious about moving out, that is.”

   “I never said I was moving out,” you grumble. “I just don't want to be there right now. I wanna give Lance some time to move his stuff out before I go in.”

   “And have you and Lance actually spoke about him moving out or are you just assuming things again?”

   You pull your lips into a thin line, hands messing with the thin fabric of your blanket. You knew Samuel was right – he was a smart man, somebody you needed to trust with this kind of thing. You wanted to believe that you could work on your own emotions alone, but that was very clearly not the case. Judging by the stink coming off of you at the moment, you were actually very bad with dealing with this kind of thing.

   Hollowing out your cheeks, you decide to give in. It would take less than an hour. Just go inside of your apartment, grab your stuff and then leave – nothing else needs to go down, and if Lance is there, so what? It should be him too afraid to face you, not the other way around. He was the one who had caused the damage – you had nothing to be embarrassed of.

   “Fine,” you mumble, pulling yourself off of the sofa and heading towards the bathroom to shower.

    The anxiety burned.

   It had welled up in your chest almost as soon as you saw the front doors of your run-down apartment complex, but only grew worse and worse the closer you got to your actual apartment.

   You had walked up these steps thousands of times in the past. You had juggled with these keys thousands of times. You had opened the door to your apartment and stepped inside thousands of times, and yet this time felt like it was the first time all over again. The feeling of not knowing what to expect – it was as if you had never even been inside the place.

    You try to pry a smile on your face as you pass the lady at the front desk, who gives you a raised brow due to your lack of presence the last four days. You're half-tempted to ask her if Lance has been, but decide against it. Showing just how paranoid you were wasn't going to be the best idea – you wanted to make it out like you were the strong one in this mess. You wanted people to think that YouTube had toughened you up enough that this kind of thing came and went easily for you.

    “Oh, you're home!” Slav, the guy from next door, calls out to you as you finally reach the red door of your apartment room. You turn to him and smile slightly, giving him a small wave in affirmative. “Where have you been, neighbour?”

   “Staying with a friend, Slav,” you reply lazily. “Nothing to worry about.”

   “And do you plan on staying long?” he asks, stepping out of his own home fully. “I've just bought tea cakes and there's always too much for me. You can take a couple if you want?”

   You bite your lip, shaking your head. Just walk in, get my stuff and go.

   Slav frowns. “O-Oh. Okay. Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to-”

   Slav's voice becomes background noise as your ears pick up on another voice. It's so faint – you should barely be able to hear it, especially not over Slav's babbling on about tea cakes, but you do. It's like your senses are drawn to it, zoning in on it almost immediately because it's what you want to hear.

   The voice comes from behind your apartment door – the voice of Lance McClain.

   Your chest tightens. Your palms become sweaty and you're half tempted to turn and sprint in the other direction, because that's the only thing you can do, right? You certainly can't face him. You certainly can't look him in the eye and pretend to be civil in this moment.

    But something keeps you rooted to the floor, and you find yourself waving for Slav to be quiet, pressing your ear to the red door in an attempt to hear better.

   “-shoes and clothes and make up everywhere. Dude, she clearly hasn't been home. I thought leaving the place to settle for a little while would eventually coax her back, but literally nothing has changed since I last came back. What if she's not alright?”

    Another voice springs into the mix – Takashi Shirogane, an old friend of yours who had befriended Lance through you.

   “Can you blame her? Christ, the shit she must be dealing with right now. Her YouTube comments and Twitter mentions are gonna be flooded. You kind of forgot that it isn't some normal, middle class girl you were dating, Lance. She's a YouTube star, and she has to clean up your mess.”

    “I haven't seen her active on Twitter since the night of the ceremony,” Lance grunts. “I'm worried, man. She's never been away from home for this long without giving me a reason.”

   “She doesn't owe you a reason,” Shiro scoffs. “You played her, whether you want to believe that or not. She probably doesn't wanna see you.”

   “Don't say that.”

   “It's the truth. She's a sensitive soul-”

   “Alright, you're no help,” Lance growls, and you swear you hear the noise of Shiro stumbling over something – perhaps Lance had pushed him.

     The mere thought makes you angry. Shiro was right – you didn't owe Lance anything. Not after what he did to you. Lance has no reason to be the angry one in this situation when it was him who caused it in the first place. He was the one who used you. He was the one who completely threw away everything you two had built together over the course of three years, so he should be the one to have to deal with it.

    You pull away from the door, ignoring your suddenly blurred vision that had fallen upon you due to the unshed tears balancing in your eyes in this moment. You ignore Slav as he calls your name, you instead turning on your heel and marching down the hallway.

    You didn't owe Lance anything. Not an explanation, a reason to stay. You would clear this all up eventually, prove to him that he had done nothing but make you stronger, wiser in your choice of friendships.

   You just had to get over the heartbreak first.

  Things had to go back to normal. If there was one thing you knew, it was that.

   You knew full well it wasn’t going to be easy. Migrating back into YouTube after drama had ensued was going to be nothing short of difficult, but there was no other option - you had to fight through it. You had to turn on the camera, show your face and pretend everything was okay, because this was your job, and these were your fans and you needed to be strong.

   The camera feels heavy in your hands as you attempt to set it up, ignoring the drumming in your ears or the way the make up suddenly feels caked on your features after not wearing it for so long. You done the best make-up look you could conjure up, filmed yourself doing it with a big smile on your face, laughing and grinning and enjoying life. That was what the fans wanted to see, you hoped. You happy.

   Perhaps the Lance drama wouldn’t even be that big of a deal at the end of the day. Perhaps people hadn’t even seen the interview. The tabloid it was written for was fairly small, clearly only just starting out and looking for any willing person to spill any information they could get for the reads they so desperately needed.

   Perhaps getting back in the swing of things wouldn’t be as difficult as you’d thought four days ago.

    You sigh as you finally finish up your intro, your cheeks hurting from the amount of smiling you had done in the past hour and a half. Despite still feeling utterly awful, the make up was helping you feel a little bit more confident in yourself. It was like returning to an old friend.

   A loyal old friend. Not somebody who was willing to spill details about your private life for some money that wouldn’t even-

    A knock sounds at the door, breaking you out of your half-angered trance that you were surely about to fall into if it hadn’t been for the distraction.

   Your eyes whip around, conjoining with Austin’s. You hadn’t realised he was home. Austin worked at the nearby diner down the road, having only recently been promoted to counter manager, which meant his schedule basically consisted of working none stop.

    “Oh, hey,” you say, turning in your seat and grinning at the dimpled boy who was peaking his head through the door of the store room Samuel had let you film in. “When did you get back?”

    “Couple of minutes ago,” he replies. “I heard about the apartment situation. I didn’t wanna bring it up, but-”

    You wave a hand through the air, dismissing the awkward tension that this conversation always brings up. There’s no point to it in your eyes. Absolutely no point.

    “It’s fine, Austin. Really. I’m fine. Look, I even filmed a video today!”

   Austin smiles, but it’s clearly forced. He can hear the strain in your voice as you attempt to pretend that you’re okay, when he can see right through you, knowing that you’re not.

    At least he’s kind enough not to bring up the tinge of fake in your voice. The subject of Lance drops in a matter of seconds, leaving the room feeling oddly spacious.

   “You should come down for dinner, then,” Austin finally says. “You haven’t been eating the best of foods and I let you off with it whenever you were moping around. Now that you’re back on your feet, you have to get back in shape, okay?”

    You roll your eyes. “Yes, mother.”

    He grins cheekily as he turns away from the door, giving you one last lopsided smile before he disappears into the hallway, leaving you to deflate against the hard-wood chair behind you.

    Pretending to be okay was exhausting, and you quite frankly didn’t see yourself as fit enough to do it.

    Walking around in the middle of the night was never your forte.

    The streets of California were dangerous whenever the sun wasn’t up to alert you of any suspicious behaviour, and most of the time you wouldn’t even dream of stepping out after dark. The risk was too high, the idea too scary.

    But you had stopped caring, and that was why you were currently patrolling through the streets of California, a hood shrugged on up over your head with your hands stuffed inside of the pockets of your oversized hoodie.

    The weird thing was, you were tired. You were downright exhausted. You wanted nothing more than to lay down and go to sleep, but at the same time, the idea of letting your head run adrift again was too much to bare. Today had been the start of it all - this healing process that you so desperately wanted to fling upon yourself. You had filmed a video, realised that life would be better without him. You would be better off without him in the long-run,and you needed to keep that positive attitude going for as long as you possibly could.

    It didn’t matter that it was forced. It would eventually all click into place with time.

    You knew that trying to fall asleep would only trigger the bad thoughts you had been pushing away all day, and the idea of doing such a thing was aching. So you ended up pulling on an oversized hoodie and your shoes and making your way out into the warm, night air of California.

    Anything to keep the thoughts at bay. The reminders. The memories.

    Shops were still open. Small kiosks still lit up with Halloween decorations, despite Halloween having passed two weeks ago. Some teenagers on skateboards were yelling up ahead, scraping their boards against the concrete. One of them fell over. You stared at him as you walked past, pulling your lip into a thin line.

    You remembered when those activities used to be you and Lance. Skateboarding even though you didn’t know how to. Him falling down steps and scraping his knee and you bursting out into laughter at the squealing noise he made on his way down. He often ended up hopping up and pulling you down on top of him - it was weird how you two were friends for three years and hadn’t seen each other as anything more for a long time afterwards.

    You shake your head. There the thoughts go again, plaguing your brain whenever you didn’t want them to. Maybe you should have brought headphones. Perhaps that would have been better than simply listening to the thumping in the back of your head or the whizz of the cars as they sped past you.

    It must be around 10:00pm whenever you finally arrive at the park that was your unplanned final destination. You had planned to just walk. Walk and walk until every part of you was numb, but you had thought about the park and decided that was where you wanted to go. It was the place everybody went - kids in the day time, drug dealers at night, heartbroken girls who were trying to forget about assholes in the most unsafe way possible.

    You push open the gate and immediately head for the swing set on the far side of the park. It’s cramped between the oversized see-saw and the rusted slide, but it’s the perfect little cubby hole for you to wollow within without people seeing you. The shadows were much to dark at this time of night - even the street lamps wouldn’t illuminate the tears that were already trekking down your face by the time you finally sit down on the swing.

    They fall fast and without meaning. Fat tears which don’t make themselves subtle accompanied by the racking sobs in your chest that you try to muffle with the sleeve of your hoodie, but they escape through the confines of the fabric and get whisked away in the darkness that surrounds you. The darkness of the night, the darkness of life in general. Everything seems so - dark. Like Lance had turned the lights off on his way out of your life and left you stranded to deal with it all on your own.

    And you knew it was dumb of you to be crying now. You had done so well all day. You had told yourself that you were okay, that you were going to be okay, and you had maybe even believed it for a little bit, but being on your own now was strange and it gripped at your lungs and made you wheeze and double over and memories of Lance were flooding back to you and before you can stop yourself, you’ve tugged your phone out of your back pocket and pulled up the infamous interview that you had avoided reading all them days ago.

    It’s like you want to feel pain.

   You reread the headline and feel the tears build even more, blurring your vision but not enough that you can’t continue reading. You let your eyes fall onto the unbolded lettering - the beginning of it all.

   So, Lance, tell us about what it is like to live with YouTube personality, Y/N L/N?

    It’s easy enough. I’m not really home often due to my hectic job schedule, but whenever I am home, she tends to be alright. She doesn’t do anything to break the rules, she pays her half of the rent and she makes her videos. Nothing over the top.

    Is it true that she once had a mental breakdown because she had to edit a video in the space of an hour? We got this information off of some YouTube drama channels who all seem pretty legit.

   Haha! She does that most weeks!

    If there was one thing you had to change about living with her, what would it be and why?

    Probably the mood swings. I understand that editing and stuff is stressful, but her job is hardly anything over-the-top. She can get up in the middle of the day if she liked and pay no consequences, so sometimes it’s difficult for me to understand why she would ever complain, but I guess I don’t fully understand the whole YouTube stress like she does.

    What do you think about her recent confession at the Video Star event in LA?

    I saw it on the live-

    Your reading is cut off whenever the phone is yanked from between your fingers. For a moment, you’re almost positive you’re getting robbed, and fear brews in the pit of your stomach. You don’t know whether to fight back or let them have it - maybe letting them have it would save your emotions a little bit.

    Your eyes snap up at the last minute, tears slipping from your water line at the sudden jolt of your irises. You get ready to yell, but your words fall flat whenever your eyes meet with a familiar pair of brown, upturned eyes.

    “Shiro?”

    The tall, muscled man smiles down at you, chuckling as he hands you your phone back. You silently thank God that he didn’t look down to see what you were reading. You must have looked pityful enough with tears dripping down your face, rocking back and forth alone in a childrens park at 10:00pm.

    “What are you doing here?” you ask, wiping your tears with your sleeve quickly.

     “I could ask you the same thing.” Shiro sighs as he sits down on the swing next to you, taking you by mild surprise. Although you and Shiro had always been friends, you never really spoke to each other that often. He had been in your high school class, and you two were always friendly but you never went out of your way to speak to one another whenever you didn’t need to.

    He was definitely much more Lance’s friend than yours. The two had bonded quickly after you had introduced the two of them at your house-warming party a few years back.

    “It’s late, Y/N,” Shiro says. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

   You shrug loosely. “I’m fine.”

    “Plus, it’s getting cold.” Shiro looks at you but you don’t look at him. He’ll see the tears full-on then, and after hearing him speak to Lance today, there’s no doubt in your mind that he knows exactly why you’re crying, and it’s embarrassing to admit it.

    So you don’t.

    “I can walk you home if you want,” he continues. “Wherever - Wherever home is for you nowadays.”

    You bite back a sob. “I’m good, Shiro. You don’t have to sit here with me.”

    “I want to. You’re my friend.”

    “I’m also extremely emotional right now, in case you couldn’t tell.” Your voice comes out harsher than you expected it to, and you have to take three deep breaths to get yourself to calm down. “Just get yourself home, Shiro. Before it starts to rain.”

    Shiro is silent for a moment, and you think you may have won him over. Maybe your hostility had made him decide to actually get up and leave, and you wouldn’t want a better outcome. You had come out here to be on your own, and on your own was what you wanted.

    But Shiro doesn’t move from the swing. He simply sighs, stretches his long legs out in front of him and gently rocks back and forth in the dark, inhaling deeply through his nose.

     “You know, I read the interview,” he says. Your heart pulls. You don’t say anything. “It was a real dick move what he did, and I understand completely why you’d be angry at him. Hell, I was angry at him. What kind of douchebag can do that to their own girlfriend?”

    “Ex-girlfriend,” you correct. “I’m - I’m his ex-girlfriend now.”

   Shiro nods slowly. “Right. But it was a bit of a stupid move, wasn’t it?”

    “You can say that again.”

    “But I’m sure he had his reasons behind it.”

    You raise a brow, ducking your head to the floor. ���I don’t see how there’s any logical excuse as to why somebody would do what he did.”

    “Well, that’s because it’s Lance. Nothing he does is particularly logical to the normal human brain, but it makes all the sense in the world to him. You know how he gets - he gets so worked up that anything makes sense to him. Maybe that was what happened when he got offered the interview.”

    You don’t believe him. You can’t. Not even Lance was that dense when he was worked up.

    Shiro sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m making excuses for him when I know I shouldn’t. It’s just - He hasn’t been in the best of shape since you left and-”

    “I wasn’t the first one to leave,” you bark. “Lance was. He left me at his fucking licence ceremony and didn’t come home that night. I had to read the interview on my own in a god damn coffee shop the next day, all because he was too afraid to tell me about it himself!”

    You were suddenly fuming. Suddenly, the tears stinging your eyes weren’t from sadness or pain or self-consciousness. They were from pure, red hot anger.

    You tighten your fists on the ropes of the swing set, trying your hardest not to lose your temper at Shiro. He was a good guy. He just wanted to help you, help Lance. He wanted to work for both sides, and you had to give him props for trying to make things right.

    “God, it’s just so confusing to me,” you continue, keeping your voice low in an attempt to disguise your anger. “He meant the fucking world to me and he knew that. He used that to his advantage, didn’t he? He wanted me to care a lot about him so that the fall would hurt ten times worse.”

    Shiro’s shaking his head now, leaning forward in shock. “Y/N, I know what he did was wrong, but Lance isn’t like that-”

    “What other explanation could there be?” you nearly yell. “He clearly didn’t care for me like I cared for him! If he did, he wouldn’t have even begun to think about doing what he did. The offer would have been a big joke to him if he cared for me, but it wasn’t. He took into consideration. He chose money over our damn relationship! He used my name to get his own out there, and I -” You wheeze, doubling over as the sobs attack you all over again. “I fell right into his hands, didn’t I? I didn’t even see the signs, Shiro! He was so good at it all, playing me the way he did, and it hurts so fucking much.”

    You cry out, pressing a hand to your mouth as Shiro stumbles off of his swing and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest so tightly and so compactly that, just for a moment, you feel safe. You feel the world slide back into place as the arms of an old friend finally wrap around your body, but it all goes to shit again whenever the thoughts come racing back, not leaving you alone for a second.

    Because it isn’t Lance hugging you right now. It’s not Lance, and it won’t be Lance, and it should have never have been Lance. It’s Shiro. It’s the man who you barely even spoke to nowadays comforting you over the man who promised to be by your side for the rest of your life, and that thought alone is enough to make the tears fall at a new-found speed, a new found strength and a new found pain to erupt in your chest that has you clenching at the material of Shiro’s coat, looking for anything to grab onto.

     Shiro rocks you back and forth against the swing you’re still sitting on, his arms wrapped around your shoulders. “It’s okay, Y/N. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

    And with everything in you you want to believe him. You want to nod and thank him and tell him he’s right for thinking such a thing, but nothing seems right in this moment, and nothing seems like it’s going to be okay ever again. This will be your permanent state, won’t it? You will forever have to live with the knowledge that your first love - whether you wanted to admit it or not - had chosen money and fame over you.

    You were one of the unlucky few who had had their heart broken and shattered even when everything seemed to be going smoothly.

    “I don’t trust you walking home on your home,” Shiro mumbles against your hair as your sobs finally descend into whimpers that disappear amongst the fabric of his coat. “You can stay at mine tonight.”

    You feel too weak to protest.

      The sunlight nearly blinds you as you are pulled from your long, hysterics-induced sleep that you had fallen hostage to the night before.

    You sadly remembered everything when your eyes opened. It hadn’t all been forgotten like you thought it would have been - you remembered the way you had clutched onto Shiro’s coat pathetically, sobbing into his shirt and grabbing onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded in your time of absolute crisis, it seemed.

    As soon as the memories flood back to you, a blush creeps upon your cheeks at the horror of it all. You had lost yourself completely last night, in a way that even shocked you. You were never the type to cry like that. It was a strange feeling.

    You slowly get out of bed, not bothering to check the time, knowing full well it will only make you feel worse. You instead opt for slipping on the jacket Shiro had left out for you and walking down the stairs to greet the man who had potentially saved you from dying of hypothermia the night before.

    Oddly, facing him doesn’t seem as challenging as you thought it would. You woddle into the kitchen, give him a light smile as he sits at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in his hands, petting his tabby cat with his other hand. Glasses are resting on the edge of his nose that he quickly shakes off of his head upon your arrival.

    “You’re awake,” he points out and you nod grimly, heading towards the coffee machine. “How are you feeling?”

    “Better than ever,” you grunt. You don’t mean to sound so salty. You want to thank him for last night, make him feel like his efforts meant something - which they did - but the groggy feeling in your head and the dryness of your throat stops you from sounding anything more than bitchy.

    Shiro nods at your reply. “Well, I hope that sarcasm will wear off the next time I ask, because me, you, Emma and Samuel have plans for the day.”

    You raise your brow, turning around to look at him in confusion. “What kind of plans?”

    “The kind of plans that we all knew you would forget,” he sighs. “Emma invited me to tag along with you guys to go and see her opening up for the art exhibit in LA.”

    You nearly gawk, your jaw falling open at the reminder. That was tomorrow night. You would have to be in LA by tomorrow night!

    “Don’t worry,” Shiro says. “We’re all heading out in the pick-up trucks in a few hours. We should be in LA by tonight.”

     You sigh, turning back to the coffee machine. “You really are a life saver.”

    “So Emma told me,” Shiro chuckles. “I texted her last night to tell her where you were and she said I could come along to the exhibit as well if I was interested. I, of course, said yes.”

    You nod your head slowly. You know what Emma is up to, because it had been Lance she had invited only a few weeks prior. She wanted Shiro to go in place of Lance, meaning she wanted Shiro to be your plus one.

    The thought makes a blush creep up your neck for all the wrong reasons - embarrassment mostly, that maybe Shiro would figure out the truth behind Emma’s invitation. You really didn’t fancy losing another friend.

    “She cares about you a lot, you know,” Shiro continues. “She made me send her a picture of you tucked up in bed so she could make sure you were actually with me and I wasn’t just lying to get some friend points. It was cute.”

    “She’s always been the protective type.”

    “They’re the best type,” Shiro chuckles. “We should probably start packing for LA, though. I’ll drive you to your apartment, pick up some of your stuff, and then we can all head out.”