#sometimes you just need to rag on your previous shirt for ten straight minutes with a virtual stranger

[anthropwashere]

So at work today I had to go grab some extra tickets for my squadron’s upcoming Oktoberfest/morale event thing, and the person I got them from was, honestly, the coolest fucking person I have met on this base in the past three plus years. I’m so, so out of practice when it comes to polite conversation, but she came out of the gates just reaming her office, her flight, our unit, and the base itself for being cruel and/or indifferent to far too many inexperienced airmen. We were standing outside the little coffee shop in her building for at least an hour as we took turns just taking potshots at various things that have frustrated us here, and since I’ve been at three different duty stations (four if you want to include my one deployment) and this is her first, I kept reassuring her that proper AF bases are nothing like how this base operates.

This woman was, honestly, truly, earnestly, the kind of person I hope muscles it out long enough to make SNCO. She was just so fucking angry at how so many airmen she’s known have been dicked over by the good ol’ boys club. She’s been eagerly throwing herself in the line of fire for her subordinates. She’s demanding one-on-one with leadership to make sure they know what is actually going on in her building. I’ve never met anyone as fearless and steadfast as her in my (nearly) ten years in the AF. 

She made me care again. I haven’t cared in so effing long about work that I can’t even remember when it felt like what I did mattered. The only reason I haven’t just stayed in bed so many fucking mornings is because of the threat of being declared AWOL. I mean that. I’ve been so low for so long that only the threat of being stripped of my rank or imprisoned has been what’s gotten me out of bed for far too many mornings.

But she made me care. She made me want to make this unit mean something. She made me want to be part of something greater. I joined the AF to escape a terrible home life and I still remember my astonishment at feeling so wholly part of something greater than myself in BMT and tech school (well, the first tech school anyway. The second one was hot garbage, but that’s neither here nor there). 

I really, really hope this woman sticks it out. I hope she escapes her shitty office and gets to join her husband at his base. I hope she decides to re-enlist. I hope she makes SMSgt one day. Hell, I hope she makes CMSAF one day. I hope she never loses her fury.

[your-anxious-nightmare]

Adventures In Dad-Ing (12)

Summary: LOGAN’S BACK!!! Logan is in a bit of pain but superhero Roman to the rescue.  Word Count: 2370 Relationships: Prinxiety, Platonic/Almost Parental Roman and Logan,  Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven,  (because I know this has problems, look up the tag ‘adventures in dading’ or ‘dad virgil’ on my blog archive and you’ll find all of them) Tags:  @katatles-the-fish   @karma-the-tax-collector    @analogical-mess   @rebeyerfdog  (ask to be tagged xoxox) Warnings: Abuse mention, Blood mentions, Panic attack/Sensory Overload, I wrote it how I remember feeling it (i normally don't remember it) so it’s not necessarily accurate but be careful just in case.  Ao3

Logan was a smart child. 

He could recite pi to the 50th decimal, solve a Rubix cube in under a minute, and knew his 12 times tables. 

He also knew his family wasn’t normal. 

It wasn’t normal when his step-father locked him in the basement when he forgot to do the dishes or when his mother slapped him for speaking too loud. It wasn’t normal that his bed was a pile of old rags on a torn foam mattress or that he had to wear second-hand high neck sweaters to school even in the summer. 

But he didn’t know how to change it.

He was scared to ask for help because he didn’t know what to say. He was scared he’d be taken away. He was scared they wouldn’t listen. 

So he hid it all. He wore long shirts and claimed to be clumsy and only spoke when spoken too. He kept his interests to himself, learnt to sneak food after dark, made friends with the boy around the corner so he had somewhere to get away too. 

Of course, there was always the Casey’s when he needed a hug or to get away for a few hours. 

So after his father had stopped attacking him for burning their breakfast, he snuck out the door and headed down the road, wiping his tears with his sleeves and smearing the blood further across his dark skin.

As he walked down the street, he pulled his hood up to hide his face from the neighbours working in their gardens and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He probably looked more suspicious that way but at least they wouldn’t judge him too harshly. 

When he reached the Casey household, Logan knocked lightly, waiting a few minutes before knocking again. But no one came. 

So he sat on the doorstep, arms folded around his middle and tears quietly falling into the new cuts on his face. 

He sat there for hours, slowly moving closer to the door as the sun made its way across the sky and left him in the cold, huddled against the wall and bored out of his mind. It was nicer there, alone, then it was at home so he wasn’t complaining. 

It was 5 pm when a car pulled into the Casey’s driveway, Patton jumping out of the back before the car had even stopped and running to the ball of child he called his best friend. 

“Logan!” The boy yells, falling to his knees in front of his friend, carefully unfolding his arms from around his knees and pulling him into a gentle hug. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I just had to leave.” Logan whispers, burying his head into Patton’s shoulder and wincing as he brushes against his collar just a touch too hard. Patton looks up as Virgil and Roman climb out of the car, both with worried looks on their faces. 

“Logan, you are always welcome here, no matter the time. I’ll put a spare key under the flower pot for you in case we aren’t here again.” The father walks over, kneeling by the pair of boys as Logan looks up. The blood had dried to his face long ago, eyes red from the tears that now stained Patton’s shirt as well as his own. 

“Let’s get you inside to clean you up okay?” Virgil unlocks the door as the boys stand, Patton helping Logan inside to leave the adults to talk. 

“Do you want me to go home, Virge?” Roman takes his hand, squeezing it lightly as he watches the man continuing to stare after his son. 

“I think I’d like if you stayed, I just don’t know how Logan will feel. He doesn’t know you and he’s hesitant enough to talk about it with me, let alone a stranger.” He turns to face Roman, both concerned and mildly afraid. Without a word, Roman pulls him into a hug, holding him tight before Patton returns to the door.

“Dad, Logan said there’s some mail in the letterbox. Is Mr Phillips staying?” Virgil pulls away enough to face his son. 

“Is Logan okay with him staying?” Patton just nods, a small smile on his lips. “Then, it’s just up to you.” 

“Let’s go help your friend clean up while your dad gets the mail.” Roman lets go of his boyfriend and takes Patton’s hand, entering the house while Virgil treks across the yard. He waves at the couple next door, the youngest happily drinking coffee while their boyfriend tends to the garden, and takes the collection of envelopes. 

Shuffling through as he walks inside, it's all the usual stuff. BIlls, promotions, a pamphlet for the pizza place in town. The last letter, however, makes him freeze at the door to the kitchen. 

It’s a plain white envelope, with his name printed on the front and an ‘Urgent’ sticker across the top. He tears it open, finding a single sheet of paper and a piece of cardboard to keep it straight. It’s his court date, the first hearing for the custody battle over Patton. 

It’s scheduled for a Sunday. 

Could he get Roman to take Patton for the day? Tobias might be free to babysit, it is a weekend and one of his normal workdays. Would Remy be able to come along? Should he take Roman instead? Is he even allowed to take someone?

“Mr Patton’s Dad?” He looks up to see Logan at the counter, face cleaned up and a Hello Kitty bandaid on his cheekbone, looking at him curiously through broken glasses. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?” 

“Yeah, Logan, I’m fine, it’s all good. How are you feeling?” He carefully slides the letter back inside, placing it and the bills in the folder on the bench, turning to the boy who looks at his hands with conviction. 

“I am okay. Mr Phillips cleaned me up and made sure I was alright. He is very good at first aid. He and Patton have gone to find blankets to build a fort in the living room. They said you would not mind, do you?” He looks up, green eyes filled with a worry Virgil can’t understand. 

“I think that sounds wonderful. Are you sure you’re alright with Roman hanging around? I know new people can be scary and he is a teacher so I would understand if you were uncomfortable.” Logan had once said that the teachers at his school were rude when he couldn’t take part in activities, and that none of them seemed to care that he either came to school in pain or just not at all. 

“Thank you Mr Patton’s Dad, I’m okay. Patton said he is like a large teddy bear.” Logan laughs lightly as Virgil cackles, both happy to see the other smiling.

“You could definitely describe him like that.” Roman enters the kitchen with his arms stuffed full of various blankets and sheets, Patton trailing with even more, one thrown over his head so he can only vaguely see through the thin fabric. 

“Come on, Papa! Mr Phillips said he knows how to build a better fort than us.” Patton laughs, turning to run from the room and hitting the wall, stumbling back into his Dad’s arms before being directed into the living room. 

“Logan, are you coming?” Roman looks at the young boy still sitting at the counter. He nods slowly, climbing down and following him to the lounge where Virgil and Patton have claimed half the furniture and started draping sheets over it. 

“I guess you’re on my team then, Little Einstein,” Roman smiles, starting on the fort and directing Logan to help him. Within only a few minutes, Patton falls through his and his dad’s fort, leading the two pairs to combine their efforts and collapsing in the middle with smiles all around.

As Virgil and Roman left to prepare dinner and Patton got distracted by a cat in the backyard, Logan couldn’t help but get lost in his thoughts. 

This was a home where the father treated his son with love and respect, where outsiders were welcomed in with open arms, where everyone felt wanted. Yes, there is only one parent, but it’s a family no matter who is or isn’t there. It was warm and comfortable and safe. Nothing like his home. 

Tears start to brim in his eyes as he thinks of having to go back. Sure, he could stay here the night, maybe two, but eventually he will have to return. He will have to face his mother and step-father, the physical beatings and verbal abuse. He can't stay in this eutopia forever no matter how much he wants too. 

Or...

He could speak up. 

Roman is a teacher, not his teacher, but still a teacher. Technically, if he hears about, or even really suspects the abuse, he has to ask. If Logan told him, he could tell the police or child services. He could get him out of that nightmare house.

But...

Logan's step-dad is a police officer- the captain, to be specific. No one would listen to the 'delinquent' son of his 'mentally ill' wife. That's what they were. He was punished for acting out, she didn't know any better. Or at least that's what he'd say. 

Sometimes his mum hugged him after yelling, saying she was sorry and that she loved him, that it was for his own good. Sometimes she kissed his forehead or gave him an extra slice of toast. She loves him. Or at least that what she claims. 

Logan hiccups a sob, hand slapping over his mouth to keep himself quiet and silently praying no one heard. 

"Logan?" Roman's voice calls from behind the curtain of sheets next to the couch, the only path to the outside world from his cave. The boy doesn't reply, stifling his sobs and frantically wiping at his tears. 

"Can I come in?" Waiting for the quiet affirmative, Roman slowly crawls in, looking up at the worried father in the doorway. He disappears into the tower of sheets, finding Logan curled up against the couch, eyes filled with terrified tears. 

"Hey buddy, wanna talk?" Logan frantically shakes his head, hands tugging at the hems of his jeans, fingers rubbing over the fabric roughly. "That's okay, would you like a hug?" Another shake. "That's alright too. Is it alright if I just sit here?" The crying boy nods slowly, watching the man adjust his legs to sit comfortably. His tear-filled eyes track Roman’s every move, undeterred by the lack of air entering his lungs, more focused on the threat of pain. 

His mother hated him crying, she hated hearing him sob or even hiss in mild discomfort. She often lamented about how ‘men shouldn’t cry, it’s a sign of weakness’. He had learnt to stay quiet and unseen, but this was inescapable. The emotions welling up so much they had to burst free no matter the cost. 

They sit there for a while, Logan sobbing quietly into his knees as Roman waits patiently, quietly telling him some meaningless tale of his day. Logan slowly calms down, breaths coming easier as he focuses more on Roman's words than his hands, eyes locked on the teacher's face as his own hands stop frantically tugging at his clothing. 

"How are you feeling now, Logan?" Roman carefully lays his hand face up between the two, watching the green eyes snap down to the offending movement. Logan looks up to Roman’s face, seeing the soft, welcoming smile before looking back down to his hand. Slowly and carefully, like a cautious wild animal, Logan reaches out, fingers brushing over Roman's skin before grasping his hand tightly. 

"It's okay if you don't want to talk, you don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with. Virgil said you're very cautious around new people so I understand if you'd prefer to talk to him, or even Patton instead. But I want you to know that if you need an impartial ear, I am here to help. If you want someone to just listen, or give you advice, or anything at all, you can come to me as well," Roman laments, watching Logan's hand trail up his arm, fingers dancing over the now-faded scars that litter the tanned skin, before he looks up, tugging on Roman's sleeve. No words are exchanged, they don’t need to be, as Logan crawls closer to Roman, curling up in his arms. 

Roman holds the young boy close, running a soothing hand over his back as he clings to him. Neither speak, both relishing in the silence and the warmth of the other. 

Logan still feels scared, he can't help it. Roman is a man, much bigger than he is, holding him. He could easily hurt him, hold him too tight and suffocate him, crush him slowly, break a bone or four. But something about Roman feels honest. He feels safe and genuine and warm, though that could just be because he's holding him. 

Roman is scared too. Logan has been abused, it’s obvious to anyone that spends even a moment near him. He holds the boy tight, but still loose enough that he could push away at a moments notice. He would hate to hurt him, physically or otherwise, but he wants to show the boy how love can be, how you can feel safe in the arms of an adult. 

When they pull away, Logan is the first to move, sitting back on his knees and smiling at the teacher softly. Roman smiles back before holding out a hand, leading Logan into the kitchen where Virgil and Patton sit at the counter, dinner ready to be served. 

Virgil dishes it up as Roman pours them all cups of juice and mugs of coffee despite the hour,   Logan climbing up next to Patton and smiling at his friend as he holds his hand beneath the table. 

The house quickly fills with laughter and stories, adults and children alike sharing tall tales and smiles over a meal prepared with love. Ex-families, custody battles and unsavoury thoughts are all set aside if only for the night, giving way to only love and happiness.

[newsiegirlscout]

A Summer of the Ages

Hey-yo! I’m sorry to say this is my “finale” of sorts to Captain Underpants fanfiction, but my-oh-my, was it a ride. 

This is a continuity to all my previous fanfictions: Last One Chosen, Of Rooks and Pawns, (Commission), and Nerdsitting. 

Without further ado....onto the fic!

In every neighborhood, there’s bound to be a house with a child nobody really knew growing up. It wasn’t that he kept to himself, necessarily-in fact, you and he probably went to the same school, crafted the same bird feeders, and wished on the same dandelions. It’s just that, well....he was certainly not of the same kind.

Sometimes you have to be your own hero, because sometimes the people you can’t live without can live without you.

Behind him, the door swung open unceremoniously and hit the side of his desk. The boy tensed, instinctively pressing his hand against the spine of his novel.

“Hey, Melvin.”

Behind him stood the not-terribly-surprising figures of his acquaintances, George and Harold.

Melvin bristled visibly as he pulled a strand of his hair and marked his place.

“Beard. Hutchins. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Harold looked at him blankly until his accomplice punched him in the arm.

“Dude. He means, what the heck are we doing here. But in adult language.”

“Oh….OHHHHHHHH. Okay. We kinda left your garage door open after we destroyed a few dozen timelines. It’s like, two days later and you still haven’t noticed, so we figured you were either reading or dead.” he shrugged, “Anyhow. Wanna come hang out?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Harold began briefly before George cut him off midword.

“It’s summer vacation, genius! You might have heard of it. It means you don’t have to think anymore.”

He sighed and put his hands up in mock-defeat, a smile playing in his hazel eyes.

“Alright, then. I’m bringing my book, though.”

###################################

“Sooooo, do ya’ like her?” Harold giggled.

Melvin cocked his head to the side in an expression of pure confusion. “Whom?”

“Stephanie, of course! You’ve been cow-eying her like, all year! Remember when she did that presentation on Madame Curie and you fell out of your chair?”

The redhead’s face flushed a cherry-blossom pink.

“I simply forgot to clean my glasses that day….her presentation was one of the best, and I was trying to get a better view of her visual aids and diagrams. I was leaning forward, and my chair slipped.”

His companion raised one eyebrow.

“Melv. C’mon. You go cross-eyed when you lie. George? Is that a penalty?”

Beside him, he raised his hand and shook it slightly.

“Yeah, sorry, man. Mr. Hutchins?” he laughed, getting to one knee and bringing his hand to his chest as akin to a high-class businessman placing an order.

“Yes, Mr. Beard?” he replied through his bubbling laughter, returning the gesture.

“Would you kindly retrieve the Deactivation Sequence?”

Harold tittered softly and shook his head, casting a last glance towards his friend. “Awwww, sorry, dude.”

“Wait….what are you two up to?”

The neighborhood was filled with an anguished howl.

In the treehouse, Melvin sat shivering, drenched head to foot in ice water. His bangs plastered to his forehead, he tried in futility to dry his glasses for a minute or two before giving up.

“I hate you both.”

They chuckled while the evening breeze lightly rustled the wind chimes in the yard.

“Love ya’ too, Melvin.”

###########################

The cheery sounds of INDY 500 racers, laser rifles, and the occasional chime of a winning score ran through the arcade. Behind the duo of notorious Piqua fame, their bespectacled associate was being led blindfolded across the kaleidoscopically patterned carpet to, as it seemed to be, a particular location.

Once at arrival, George twirled him by the hand into a ballroom-style embraced dip, then flamboyantly removed his blindfold to reveal the gaily-colored interior of the Midway Tesla arcade reservation space.

“George and Harold, there are 171, 476 words in the current English language and none of them can describe how much I continue to be utterly bewildered at your antics. Should I ask why you decided to reserve an arcade’s solitary non-vociferous room out of occasion?”

In unison, the two turned to each other blankly.

“I’m gonna pretend you asked why we got the party room even though it’s not our birthdays.” said Harold, bouncing happily on one foot, “And the answer is, we have our ways.”

Taking Melvin’s scrawny wrist in his own, he peered at the time and released him, pulling light-blue visors emblazoned with pixelated lightning bolts from his bookbag and passing one to George. Beside him, he thanked his friend, withdrew their trademark sunglasses and name tags (on multicolored lanyards, of course) from his pocket, and passed the yellow-and-green patterned badge to Harold.

No more than perhaps a minute later after they’d clambered onto the nearest table, a lanky counselor with frizzly chestnut hair, a smattering of scruff about his features and a pinstriped button-up shirt came in.

“Boys.” he said plainly, tipping down his sunglasses in amusement.

“Walter.” they replied, returning the gesture prior to tucking their Ray-Bans into their pockets.

The three bumped fists with their coworker, turned, kicked the flats of their shoes together, slapped alternate hands, repeated with the converse digits, and lifted their hands as if celebrating a team accomplishment.

“So, we’ve got a special-”, Walter said, then burst into laughter and wiped a tear from his eye, “Sorry, I just...I just love how you two stand on a table to get eye contact with me. That’s like, a zillion shades of awesome. Anyhow. We’ve got a dozen kids coming in for a Cartoon Network Block Party theme, and we need to make sure we’ve got the wheelchair ramp, restocked the prize counter, and cleaned the syrup container. You guys got that?”

“Got’cha covered.” George called back, “Walt, if you get the syrup, we’ll work on the decorations and prize counter.”

“Sure thing, captain.” the teen replied, sending a salute to the boys. Withdrawing a rag from his back pocket, he whistled an eight-bit melody and headed towards the back counter.

Harold kicked the wheelchair access into place, then joined his companion whispering something that appeared to be of humor judging from the hushed laughter emanating from the pastel-papered supply cabinet.

“Em...hello?” asked Melvin tentatively, stopping only to nudge the ramp a quarter-inch to the left, “May I ask what you find so amusing?”

A wide gap-toothed grin spread across Harold’s features, and he leaned over to ruffle Melvin’s hair. (He, however, in response, was quick to swat his hand in all seriousness.) “Welcome to your first day on the job, Melv. At least, you’re gonna help us. We need these posters and streamers and stuff hung up, so George gets the Powerpuffs, I’m on Foster’s Home, and you….”

George tossed him a poster tube and a set of vials, trying hard to keep a straight face.

“...You get Dexter.” he finished.

###########################

“Ladies and gentlemen!”, George announced, tapping the microphone clipped to his collar, “Hello, and welcome, to Dav’s birthday party!”

A cheer spread through the room until Harold stepped closer to the host, a boy about four feet tall with a wide grin spread across his features.

“How old are you, Dav?”

“I’m ten! Who’s the new guy?”

The boy laughed. “Ah, ten. Good year. As for your other question, this is Melvin. Little short, but you know, he recently got crushed under all his books. Guess he’s only got his shelf to blame.”

From the back, a few of the kids giggled. Behind the duo, Melvin leaned back on the table, unamused. Harold wasted no time in reaching back, and, with a flick of his wrist, escorting his friend forward.

“Mel, kindly greet these children. Stop being antisocial club president.”

He raised his hand slowly in a wave, then retired it to his side.

“I’m not antisocial, I’m just not user-friendly.”

George, opposite them, took the opportunity to tap his mike and rejoin the chaos.

“You know, Melvin does make horrible science puns, but only periodically. He might act like a solitary bird, but really, he’s thrilled. It’s really hootiful. Dav, you know any card tricks?”

Dav giggled and shook his head, eyes brightening when George produced a hand of cards.

“Alright, pick a card, any card!”

He complied.

“Now another…..and another…..”

After a moment or two, the young boy frowned.

“Hey, you asked if I knew any card tricks!”

George grinned. “And neither do I. But I think I know something that’ll make you Snicker….”

“Ah, sweet!” the boy cheered, taking a bite of the treat.

“Glad to see you smile, Davey Jones.” George giggled, “As to the rest of you dorks, we’re proud to announce that the arcade! Is! OPEN!”

A cheer went up amongst the crowd, and Melvin shrugged and made his way to the front past the barrage of children, handing them each a roll of tokens as if arming them for combat.

“Let your plans be as dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.” he quoted seriously with an edge of a grin.

When the last of the children left--a disabled girl with bouncy strawberry curls, Andrea--turned back, grinned, and saluted.

######################################

Back in the treehouse, the impromptu arcade counselors breathed a deep sigh of exhaustion in unison.

Looking up from his book, Walter chuckled. “I still can’t believe you seriously invited me over. Nice place you guys got, of course, but like…..I’m seventeen….don’t you have a ‘no-adults’” policy?”

Harold glared suspiciously towards him from the cooler in the back corner.

“Hey, Walt, adulthood, if you haven’t noticed, is kind of a choice over here. What I can’t believe is that Iris and Andrea actually got the big alien. Ten thousand points, right?”

“Fifteen.”, George called from the beanbag he appeared to have melted into, “That thing was almost as big as Andrea.”

“Dannnng….almost wouldn’t be surprised if it ate her. Good job, Team Fullmetal. George, Walt, Melvin? You guys thirsty?”

A fatigued sound of acclamation rang from all three corners of Tree House Comix, Inc.

“Sweet, alright. Sprites all around. Good job, team. Ice cream bars are, of course, coming...Walter, do you want Jake? Or Finn? Or are you a Cookie Cat kind of man?”

From a grave of pillows, he threw up his hand, gave a point, and a thumbs-up.

“You know it, my dudes. How many others memorized the entire thing and wrote like, five parodies pertaining to each of the Gems?”

Harold giggled softly and began to descend down the rope ladder.

“See, Cinders? This! This is why you’re with us!”

A pillow struck him weakly, but with accuracy.

“However big, however small, glad to be part of it all, Bubbles.”

Melvin looked back towards the teenager with an expression, though not the first, of utter confusion.

“Explain….please….?”

Walter sighed happily.

“Walter goes into Walt, which goes into Waltz. Waltzes are for Ballrooms, and Cinderella was famous for losing her slipper on the halls. Ergo, Cinders. And Harold…..well, you’ll see.”

Melvin cleaned his glasses on his shirt, then leaned back once more, flipping through his book to the mark.

“I shall never understand your kind, dear sir.”

“Frankly, the beauty of it…..is that neither will I.”

A few pages later, Harold swung into view, his left arm cradled to his chest.

“Gentlemen, I present….your prince!”

With a bounce in his step, he passed out the various ice cream bars to his comrades, stopping at Melvin with an unbranded ice cream sandwich and rubbing his arms sheepishly.

“Sorry, man. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so….”

He chuckled.

“Actually, this is perfect.”

“Alright!”, he cheered, joining his spot, “Powerpuff Girls?”

“Powerpuff Girls!” Walter echoed.

“Powerpuff Girls!” George followed enthusiastically.

“Uh…..Powerpuff Girls?” Melvin shrugged.

“Powerpuff Girls!”

George laughed zealously. “Commander Cheeseball, ready the VCR?”

“Signal given, second lieutenant Fluffy.”

“Guys….”, he turned, addressing the room, “It’s gonna get wild. Powerpuff Girls film in action!”

######################################

Late in the prime of the summer afternoon a week later, George was mildly startled to see a pale hand emerge from beneath the treehouse, put a call bell on the edge of the floor, and courteously double-ring it.

“Melvin, man, you can just come in.” Harold responded, cornflower blue eyes barely flickering from the image he was immersed in coloring.

“Well, some people-”, came the call from below them as their nerdy compatriot struggled to gain purchase on the rope ladder, one arm unavailable, “-weren’t raised to break into their classmate’s houses.”

Upon reaching the interior, he stood, revealing the formal charcoal suit and bow tie he was wearing, carded his fingers through his ginger hair, and shifted the sizable package occupying most of his strength to his hip.

“Stephanie’s birthday is today. Suit up.”

George sighed, and straightened his tie impulsively.

“Wait….June eighteenth? That’s today? Harold, when was the last time we looked at a calendar?”

Beside him, the boy in turn shrugged. “George, it’s summer vacation. You’re such a Melvin.”

“....I’m not even going to question that. She invited everyone in her homeroom, which includes you two, and yes, it is indeed June eighteenth. Since we only have two hours, I’m….”

George beamed.

“Oh, my goodness. Harold, please, find a calendar and mark this down. Melvin needs our help.”

The blond chuckled.

“I’m going to stand strong in my belief that you like-like her. Sooooo…..what’s in the bag? And do you seriously need help talking to girls? Are you allergic to like, fun or anything? And by ‘suit up’, you mean swimsuit, right?”

“I plead the fifth amendment. I’m allergic to dander, but I happen to know that she has a parakeet. I would bring a change of clothes if I were you, because you always show up at formal parties dressed in the zeitgeist. Finally, I heard her say once that she loves humor, so I did some research and brought ‘A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’, and a few other personal favorites of mine…..’The End of Mr. Y’, ‘She Kills Monsters’, and ‘Radio Silence’....and a ten-dollar heart-shaped Starbucks gift card, if that’s….not too straightforward….”

He flushed scarlet and scraped the toe of his dress shoe against the pine floor, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harold grinned, then burst into teary-eyed laughter.

A second later, George followed.

For once, Melvin Sneedly was silent.

“Okay…..okay, man…..yeah, it’s okay to get her a heart Starbucks gift card. I promise, she’ll love it.” George said, wiping tears from his eyes and sighing his last, dangerously close to bursting into laughter once more.

“I’m going to assume you’re both prepared, and didn’t have plans to attend every formal event in t-shirts and shorts, if I may be so bold.”

George and Harold looked at each other with identical expressions of perplexity.

“.........”

###################################

“Melvin, why do you hate us?” Harold asked mournfully, tugging at his starched collar.

“Because that’s how you make an impression.” he responded instantly, somehow shifting the bag containing his change of clothes and the oversized present to the crook of his arm in one fluid movement purely to look at them over his glasses smugly.

From the walkway, a flag stuck out from the house like a full invitation, a cow’s nose pressed comically close to the viewer. The faint air of a catchy song (of which no one had ever managed to learn the lyrics) emanated from the yard, and a rainbow of balloons decorated the back gate.

Jumped in the cab,

Here I am for the first time

Look to my right and I see the Hollywood sign

This is all so crazy

Everybody seems so famous

George grinned and poised one finger on the latch.

“What’ya say, Mel? Ready to step into the unknown?”

Melvin straightened his bow tie and rubbed his palms on his waistcoat.

“Of course.”

################################################

Unbeknownst to the trio, across the yard, Stephanie sat cross-legged between her friends, eying the glass doors behind them warily.

Jessica Gordon giggled, trying in futility to smother her giggles and ending up looking more like she was attempting to eat her hand. “Okay, Stephers….truth or dare or don’t?”

“Don’t. Wow, guys. Thanks for playing. Are you going to give me a hand setting up the craft table?”

“Awwww, Steph, you always pick don’t.” Wendy Swan giggled.

Stephanie smirked and deftly threw a block of glycerin and a pocketknife into her friend’s arms.

“That’s what happens when you make the unwanted an option. What incredibly weird and personal question did you want to ask me?”

Jessica fell back on the lawn, followed shortly by her friend.

“Geez, that’s a bit anticlimactic.”

“Can you be anticlimactic while shredding the glycerin and sorting out the soap dyes and oils and stuff? We’re going to make rainbow soap…..assuming you crazy wyverns can organize a table.”

Jessica giggled, stuck out her tongue, and began dividing the glycerin base.

“Okay. Be honest with us…..do you like Melvin?”

“Melvin? Uh, you mean like Melvin Sneedly? With the cardigan and the bow tie, fourth-period science?”

“How many Melvins do you know? You’ve been blushing around him, like, all year! Remember that time you did that presentation on Marie Curie, and he like, fell out of his chair?”

Stephanie fiddled with her hair clip.

“He simply forgot to clean his glasses that day…..I’m sure he was just trying to get a better look at my visual aids and diagrams. His prescription is pretty blurry at points, you know.”

“Awwwww, c’mon, dude. You crinkle your nose when you lie. Jessica? Is that a penalty?”

The strawberry blond giggled and nodded. “Sorry, Stephanie. Miss Swan?”

“Yes, Miss Gordon?”

“Will you kindly retrieve the Decommission Progression?”

Wendy laughed and, with a skip of her heel, ran into the house. Stephanie put down her craft knife and fidgeted with her shirt cuffs.

“Wait…..what are you two up to?”

An anguished howl tore through the neighborhood.

Stephanie shivered and rubbed her shoulders, her hair flat and plastered to her face as she sat drenched in ice water.

“You guys are so immature.”

##############################################

So hard with my girls not around me

It’s definitely not a Nashville party

Cause' all I see are stilettos

I guess I never got the memo

“Oh, hey! Melvin!” Stephanie said, giving a swift and sideways cuff to her companion’s shoulder, “George, Harold, the infamous Tree House Comix. Inc…..what’s up? You look nice!”

“Are we early?”, George inquired, shifting his and Harold’s gift to his hip.

“Fortunately, yes. And these dryads don’t seem to want to help set up, so if you could, that would be totally awesomesauce. Gift table’s-” she jerked back with her thumb, “-kind of the giant hamper thing, and if you want to change, the bathroom’s the second door on the left. My uncle’s working on the water slide, but I really need some help with the gift bags and snack bar.”

Wendy cartwheeled over. “Wow, rude. I guess it’s hard to be friends with me, ‘cuz I’m so awesome.”

“Wendy, I love you, but I also don’t trust you with unsupervised amounts of candy.”

Harold, now dressed in a cherry-red shirt with a notable star emblem and swim shorts, nudged the cheerleader out of the way.

“You can trust me!”

Stephanie stepped into the shaded square, knelt under the tables, and slammed a five-pound bag of gummy bears onto the table.

“Let’s get to work, then.”

######################################################

So I put my hands up

They're playing my song,

And the butterflies fly away

Noddin' my head like, yeah

Movin' my hips like, yeah

I got my hands up,

They're playin' my song

You know I'm gonna be okay

Yeah, it's a party in the USA

Yeah it's a party in the USA

“Alright!” Jessica giggled, “I think everything’s actually ready! Steph, wanna form the teams?”

In response, she just giggled and blew a single note on the tin whistle around her neck, turning the attention of all the partygoers.

“Atten-TION! Alight like a sparrow and fall like a hawk, because we’re about to have full battle! Partygoers, strap your water pistols and arm your balloons, because it’s going to be brutal. Take. No. Prisoners. Teams will be decided by your awesome captains, me and Tommy.”

“Hmmm?” said a freckled brunette in the back with a timid smile.

“Yeah! Tommy, come on up here! Granted, my team is kind of going to crush you, but it’s nice to be powerful, isn’t it?”

He chuckled and climbed onto the picnic table, striking a mock-pose. “Yeah, I’m feeling it.”

“Sweet. To start off with, I’m taking Sugar. Sugar N. Spice.”

“Oh, so you’re just going to take my best friend? Two can play, Wykoff.”, Tommy said, grinning maliciously, “Jessica Gordon.”

“George Beard.”

“Wendy Swan.”

“Harold Hutchins.”

“Iris Patrick Harris.”

“Andrea Morris.”

“Mac Turtledove.”

“Melvin Sneedly.”

“.....Katherine Taylor. ”

“This…..is battle.” she said, clapping her hands, “We have five minutes to work out our strategy. Let’s go.”

############################################

“Did anyone ever tell you that water balloons aren’t supposed to be full of paint?”

“War is the most readily available form of chaos. Or are you calling Tommy’s Last Stand?.”

“Laws are silent in times of war.”

###############################################

Stephanie, although smudged with at least seven different forms of glitter, smiled as she plucked a pair of dice out of her hair.

“Well that….could have gone better.” she said, leaning an elbow on the craft table, “But man, we hit Gettysburg with that vinegar flank and baking soda ambush. What’cha making?”

Harold smiled. “Rainbow soap, of course. Is it okay if I take one of those giant dot-to-dot thingies with me for later?”

Stephanie flapped her hand in his general direction. “Oh yeah, it’s highly recommended. So….Avengers or Justice League? Or are you a Big Hero 6 kind of guy?”

“Avengers, all the way. But you are totally, like, more Honey Lemon than Captain America, so I’m guessing you’re a Bay-Maximum Rider?”

“Yeah, chemistry and physics are the two key elements to making everything scientifically awesome. Just….if everything has order….it’s better, y’know?”

“Steph, I don’t think you’re allowed to say that with an entire water slide and pool in your backyard. That is the gear of someone who flies at the moment.”

“Well…..generally, I plan things out, map out the possibilities from that moment, and choose the best one. Like, how can I prevent allergic emergencies? By finding all the natural allergens in all the snacks and labeling them, duh. Clear space, clear mind.”

“You must think…..really fast. But what if you flip a coin and it lands on the edge?”

“Harold, that’s a one in six-thousand chance, even for a typical American nickel.”

“Okayyyyy, well…..if you flip this coin and it lands on the edge,” Harold said, digging into the pocket of his swim trunks for the desired coin, “You have to do something crazy and unexpected.”

Stephanie chuckled and cuffed his shoulder “Okay, yeah, sure. And if it lands on either side?”

“I’ll do something totally characteristic, by which I mean awesome.”

“Let’s go, then.” she said, edging the coin on her fisted thumbnail and releasing it.

Immediately as it hit the table, it spun gradually, then rested on its edge.

Stephanie climbed onto the picnic table once more and blew her whistle.

“In light of Harold Huchins being the craziest boy alive, the rest of this party is set in a Victorian era, with the pool as a lake and the slides as aqueducts. Cow chicka wow wow, that’s what my baby says.”

Harold gave her a high-five.

At no point did she see the magnet he had placed under the table be palmed back to his pocket.

############################################################

“There’s no way”, George finished, “she actually already had that whole, like, wedding cake with roses and gold dust and stuff ready to go.”

Harold grinned. “Eh, it was still unexpected at the time. Maybe she just made the theme off the cake.”

“Yeah, the period-accurate silk sponge cake she just happens to have, while literally everything else here is Marvel-themed.”

“Boo!”

“Gyahhhhh…..oh, hey, it’s just you. I kind of thought it was someone I needed to worry about.” George joked, “What’s up?”

“I’m just about to open the presents, so, if you guys want to bail or stay, now would be a really good time to decide.” Stephanie said, her dark hair now cascading across her shoulders in wet, frizzy, waves and a smile playing across her chocolate-brown eyes--

“Yeah, it’s cool. We want to see your reactions! Trust me, you’re going to love Melvin’s present.” George said, winking at his bespectacled friend slyly.

“Oh! Sweet! Well, my obligin’s to you!”

With a stamp of her heel, she was off. A small crowd of adults and children gathered behind her, but she, for the most part, seemed to prefer a staged approach.

“Of course,” she said, addressing the crowd, “I have the highest of thanks to all of you, of which it may be unbecoming of a lady to showcase, so you must excuse my manners. At this time, I find it best to open the lovely gifts and laurels you all have been so dear to present, and at the next stroke of the clock, we shall have a marvelous parting. My farewell, in a more physical form, if you wish to claim it at this time, is by the snack table. So, first off for presents…..I’m going to check out this big one from Melvin.”

She spent a few minutes removing the galaxy-themed aesthetic wrapping paper from the package, and her eyes lit up.

“Oh, hey, cool! She Kills Monsters! I don’t think I’ve read these…..sweet! Thanks, Melvin!”

Then, with a raised eyebrow, she glanced at the edge of the box.

“What’s this?”

Melvin held his breath.

“Oh, nice, a sliding block puzzle! And the spring-thingy…..there’s something inside, right? So if I just rotate this, and slide this part over here….”

A few moments later, the final latch clicked, and the girl grinned.

“Alright! What is it?”

Beside the others, Melvin Sneedly fainted.

######################################################

“Hey….dude, wake up.”

The boy rubbed his eyes. “Do I….want to know?”

Stephanie giggled. “Yeah, you probably do. See, I got this boss Starbucks gift card from a nerd and he died. So now he’s totally in my dad’s office, because there’s a lot to be said for a family of medical practitioners. Everybody else left like, an hour ago, including your friends, sorry, man. Do you want your parents to pick you up?”

“Uh….I think I’ll walk, thanks.”

Stephanie scooted forward and hopped off the box she was sitting on. “Ah, dude! Can I walk you home? I’ve never seen your house, anyway...is it like, a mansion or something? Or an apartment?”

“As I told the last people who asked that exact same question, it’s actually a pretty ordinary house, and it’s a two-hour walk….but I’d be delighted for your company.”

Stephanie laughed and hooked her arm into his. “Well, then, I shall be gladsome.”

###############################################################

One July seventh summer afternoon, George beamed and plunged his hands wrist-deep into multicolored slime.

“Harold, please, tell your mom I apologize for using all her laundry detergent.”

“....She’ll be fine.”

The call bell rang, and the blond rolled his eyes.

“You know the drill, nerdsaurus.”

A minute later, their companion clambered into the treehouse and cleared his throat.

“...Do I want to know what you’re doing?”

Harold nudged a tub of fluffy canary-yellow slime towards Melvin with his foot.

“Yes, actually. Yes, you do.”

“.........”

“Oh, this is really satisfying.”

George grinned. “Told ya’.”

############################################################

Meanwhile, no more than a few miles away, Principal Krupp begrudgingly knotted his tie and handed a concoction of lemonade and raspberry syrup to the new science teacher.

“I can’t say I remember hiring you, but I must admit, you’ve won the title.”

“And vhat title might this be?” said Professor Poopypants, extracting one of his hands from a similar tub of bright blue slime to take the drink.

“Edith? Do you want to explain this?” he said, glancing at the lunchlady.

“Ah, well….”, her voice rose an octave, and she smoothed her apron down, pausing only to take her cherry syrup, Sprite, and lemon concoction, “You gotta understand, Melvin’s really a nice kid…”

“Ah, zat suck-up. Yah, I vemember him. We have ze same online Dungeons and Dragons campaign.”

Edith looked over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. “An’ you know how he’s always talkin’ about getting into them Ivy Leagues, so he’ll do anything for extra credit, right?”

“Yah, yah, vhat’s your point?”

“Well, some of the less-well-meanin’ teachers make it a game to see what they can get Melvin to do for extra credit. Mr. Krupp used to be the reigning champion, but you took all this year with ‘assist in a full-frontal lobotomy.’”

“I suppose he is starting next year vith a 4.5 GPA…..but does that mean I have to give extra credit to George and Harold, too? They’re probably already setting fire to something as ve speak.”

“Aw…..sir, they’re also pretty well-hearted kids if you know ‘em, and they’re Melvin’s best friends. Surely, one of them is the voice of reason among all that, right?” Edith said, looking hopeful.

################################################################

Back at the one and only Tree House Comix inc, Holly Hutchins gasped and turned to the boys playing cards in her living room.

“Did you three use all my laundry detergent?”

Harold blushed. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Wow, I’m not even mad, I’m just….I’m just surprised.” she said, laughing, “I don’t suppose you’re looking for more ideas, are you?”

Harold shrugged. “Yeah, we’ll take ‘em.”

Then, as an afterthought, “As long as you don’t want us to dust or wash the windows or something.”

Ms. Hutchins laughed again. “Watch it, mister. No, I just saw these shell-shaped candles online and thought that I’d really like one or two. You guys can use a burner, right? After all, I am counting on at least one of you to be the voice of reason.”

“You’ve got it. Boys, I know what we’re gonna do today.”

################################################################

“Were we supposed to do something at these faculty meetings?” Ms. Anthrope inquired, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

“Yes. We were supposed to have drinks and gossip about the students behind their sun-tanned freckled backs.” said Poopypants, folding in his hand of cards and raking in a small fortune of chocolate coins.

“Ah. Well, Tommy’s too quiet. It’s weird when kids are too quiet.” responded Ms. Anthrope boisterously, leaning back.

“Seriously?” said Mr. Krupp, glaring at the narrator  giggling nervously who doesn’t know how to write gossip and such and thus decided it would be a good time for a scene jump. 

################################################################

“Why does your mom even have a reactive steel pot?” George said, warily glancing at the flickering flames, “Flour puts out stuff like this, right? Electrical fires?”

Melvin shoved George into the opposite counter.

“My friend, if you would like to graduate without third-degree burns, I’d get water.”

Harold fidgeted with his shirt sleeve. “This is a grease fire, right? With the candle scented oils and stuff? I think we’d get in trouble if we managed to spread it.”

George shrugged. “You know, once my uncle told me there was a special fire extinguisher for that…..Harold, do you-”

“We don’t even have a fire extinguisher, man! And paraffin is like, a cooking fat, not an oil, so I’m not even sure it’ll work!”

“Okay….” George said, biting his lower lip, “But we can smother any fire, right?”

The paisley towel caught aflame.

At that moment, Holly Hutchins arrived, gasped, and threw baking soda on the flames.

“....You’re all grounded.”

###########################################################

By July’s end, fireflies danced in the night sky with a hint of chlorine and lemongrass.

“Hey! Are you two there?”

George slid down the oak tree’s limb and landed on the grass.

“Why, yes we are. And who might you be?”

A small girl with thick glasses, ginger hair curling around her shoulders, and a distinct professional appearance despite her age faced them.

“My brother really ought to have mentioned me, but, for our acquaintance, my name is Ciana Sneedly. May I presume that you two are the troublemakers he’s been seeing as of late?”

Harold giggled. “Wow, troublemakers. Miss Sneedly, I am blushing.”

George took a theatrical bow. “The troublemakers in person. You sound like your brother before we taught him not to talk like that. What’s up?”

“Melvin sent me to tell you two that he’s at a convention, but he’ll see you next week.”

George’s shoulders dropped. “Awwww….that’s the last day of summer. What convention is it, anyway?”

“Don’t even try. He actually has a guest speaker position with a Mr. McCracken.”

Harold’s eyes brightened. “Ciana, would this man’s first name happen to be Craig?”

“I believe so.”

“Miss Sneedly, please, come inside. I think we’ll get along very well indeed.”

##############################################################

By the last day of the summer, Melvin arrived and unloaded a bag of spare machinery parts onto a blanket.

“I think you two are actually going to like this…..because I just got an ignitor battery at the convention, so, in other words, we have a model rocket.”

George and Harold grinned and high-fived their companion.

“Dude, that’s awesome.”

“I know.”

################################################################

By the hour’s stroke, all three of them were smudged with grease and sweat, but the rocket was complete.

And it was glorious.

And its final streak of color as it exploded in the evening sky was breathtaking.

#############################################################

Flight 2-765, Ohio to Massachusetts, now boarding.

Melvin Sneedly, as now a seventeen-year-old graduate of Jerome Horwitz High School, grinned towards the duo and tugged his suitcase off the bench.

“That’s my call, you two troublemakers.”

Harold laughed. “Yeah, MIT, right? I hear that’s the school for nerds who don’t set fires to their kitchens.”

Melvin winked. “Hey, that only happened once. And in our defense, your mother really shouldn’t have steel pots in her kitchen. Say we saved her a shopping trip.”

George facepalmed. “Mel, she was already out shopping. We used all the laundry detergent.”

“Guess we should have told her to get a Grade K fire extinguisher while she was out.

Vous êtes deux fous. Je suis honoré d'être considéré comme votre ami.”

And with a final sleight of hand, he was gone.

In a Piqua bedroom window, a mechanical train passed softly on its tracks.

FIN

##########################################

Acknowledgements: 

OCs are Walter Ashton, Andrea Morris, and Iris Patrick Harris. All the others you see here and don’t recognize are likely minor characters. 

Thanks to @kitkat1003​, my editor! (Her OC, Katherine Taylor, makes a brief cameo)

A special extension of gratitude would have to go to @thefangirlingcartoongal​; I guarantee, the first prompts came from conversations with her.

Obligings to @memeberd​; if you see a headcanon in here, it’s probably his.

@wiffanywhiff​, welcome to the fandom!

So, to all of you, and all of my readers, and even just anyone new to the fandom....goodbye, and thanks for all the fish. Farewell!

[1989dreamer]

Pennies and Dimes for a Kiss

Big thanks to annasakai for bidding on me (and letting me run with this idea) and thanks to @fandomcares for running this auction.

On AO3

Title and inspiration comes from Carly Rae Jepson’s Call Me Maybe.

Summary: Laura, lead singer of a garage band, sees her new next door neighbor mowing the lawn one day. Derek begs her not to make it weird.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

Laura was tuning Babe, her fourth-hand electric guitar, when she saw him.

He was her neighbor, recently moved in next door, and currently he was taking off his t-shirt to mop at his sweaty face.

He was pale in the way that it was early summer and the temps had finally climbed high enough for tank tops and shorts. Moles speckled his skin, stars painted across the canvas of his body. Her fingers itched to write the lyrics of him.

“Derek!” she yelled. Her brother sighed loudly, rolling his eyes. He straightened from where he’d been tinkering with Dad’s bike and strolled to where she was sitting on an overturned cooler. He deliberately wiped his hands on a grease-covered rag before deigning to ask, waspishly, “What?”

“Go get my lyric book,” she ordered him.

He glared at her. “No.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but he only glared harder. Ever since he’d shot up about a foot and a half and started weightlifting, she hadn’t been able to boss him around as much.

It was frustrating.

Well, bossing might not work now, but Derek was not immune to her begging.

“Please?” she whined. “I need to finish this,” she stroked Babe’s frets, “for the gig tonight, but inspiration.”

Derek rolled his eyes again but loped off amiably. He returned shortly, her lyric book in one hand, a twelve pack of Mountain Dew in the other, and their younger sister Cora trailing him.

“Thank you,” Laura said, grabbing the book. She scowled at him when she noticed the large, oil-stained prints all over the cover. “Derek!”

He snickered, setting the pack of soda down. “Hey, you got your book,” he pointed out. Laura glared harder, imbuing her gaze with as much hatred as she could. Sometimes he could be such an asshole.

“Your book and no pen!” Cora crowed. Laura stuck her tongue out at her. Cora may have only just turned twelve, but apparently she wasn’t too grown up to not retaliate by blowing a raspberry in Laura’s direction.

“Why aren’t you ever as rude to Derek?” she lamented.

Cora shrugged. “He lets me do what I want.” To emphasize her point, she grabbed a can of soda and Derek didn’t stop her.

Laura sulked, useless lyric book balanced on her thigh while she fiddled with the tuning keys.

Derek watched her for a few moments before digging a pencil out of his toolbox. Laura took it without acknowledgement, setting Babe down reverently. She flipped to a fresh page and began scribbling. Derek went back to Dad’s bike, and Cora sat next to him.

Next Door Hottie was back to mowing. He hadn’t replaced his t-shirt, and Laura spent a couple of minutes watching his muscles bunch under his skin. He was lean and wiry without being narrow or small. He appeared to be about Derek’s height, with legs up to the sky and strength bunched in his forearms as he pushed the mower back and forth.

She managed to write six truly terrible lines before NDH finished mowing, guzzling water straight from the hose in his backyard.

Laura fanned herself at the display, wishing she were the water he was chugging.

Immediately she wrote: “Baby, you look like you need a drink, and honey, I’m your flavor.”

Derek’s wrench clattered by her feet, and she yelled at him about almost hitting Babe.

He rolled his eyes. “She’s on the other side of you,” he said. “You’re making it weird. Quit staring or I’ll tell him.”

“You wouldn’t,” Laura gasped, clutching dramatically at her bosom.

“Don’t pretend to be insulted.” He rolled his eyes again. At this rate, he was going to strain something. “Just. Please don’t be weird to our neighbor. You’re not the one he’ll beat up if he doesn’t like you.”

“He’s not going to be another Jackson Whittemore,” Laura said, but she winced at the reminder of their previous next door neighbor who used to beat Derek up whenever Laura did something he didn’t like—and Laura had lived to antagonize him.

It hadn’t helped Derek any that he’d been crushing on Jackson’s best friend, Danny Mahealani. In order to protect Danny from the uncool, Jackson had jumped Derek and kicked his teeth in.

Two lawsuits and the Whittemores paying for Derek’s dental work later, the Whittemores moved away.

The house next door had been empty for almost two years. Now there was a gorgeous guy mowing the overgrown yard and making Laura’s nether regions quiver in anticipation.

She was going through a dry spell since Mom caught her with the older Lahey boy last year at one of her “study” sessions. All because Cam was already eighteen and Laura had just turned seventeen.

NDH looked like he was nicely under eighteen but still mature enough to know his way around a pussy.

“No one can be another Jackson Whittemore,” Derek broke into her thoughts. He still didn’t look happy, so Laura put down her lyric book and stood up to hug him. She stole a can of soda on her way back down.

“I’ve almost got the song,” she said. “I just need—”

“Less cheese?” Cora interrupted looking pleased with herself. Laura sneered at her.

If Derek was standing up to her now and being insufferable, Cora was ten times worse.

Derek was Cora’s favorite, so to have the carefully cultivated older-sister fear dispelled so rudely, it meant that her little sister was a little shit.

“My lyrics are fine. They’re just not as fine as him.”

Derek collected his wrench, taking time to grab Laura’s can and drain it in one long swallow. “You’re being creepy again,” he told her, handing the can back to her. “Besides, don’t you have a gig tonight? Shouldn’t you be over at Jordan’s to practice?”

Laura checked her watch, swearing because he was right. “Bye, assholes,” she called as she stuffed Babe into her case and grabbed another can for the road. Parrish lived on the next street over, the back of his yard butted up to theirs. She hopped the fence, jogging to make up time.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

“No,” Stiles said flatly. He ignored the sad, pleading look Scott shot at him. Stiles sighed. “Do you see this?” he demanded, pointing around them. “The yard still looks like shit.”

In the not too distant neighborhood, someone began banging on drums. Stiles clenched his teeth.

He hated it here. He would have preferred to stay in his own neighborhood in Hill Valley with Scott and Harley, but with his dad’s election to Sheriff came a bigger paycheck. Dad had sold their modest two bedroom house and moved them 12.5 miles away.

Seriously, who did that?

At least since they were still in the same school district, he’d get to see his two best friends during the school year. It just sucked that since his dad had grounded him from his Jeep—something about a party with underage drinking and sex, neither of which Stiles was participating in—he hadn’t been able to visit his friends, relying instead on their texts and nightly messenger calls.

Since neither of them had vehicles or licenses, they hadn’t been able to visit either.

Scott had finally convinced his mom to drive him to Stiles’ new house for a sleepover, and now he wanted to go see some stupid cover band.

“Stiles,” Scott implored. “Please? They’re, like, the coolest. They go to our school.”

Stiles shook his head. “That just means they’re losers like us.”

“No,” Scott insisted, “they’re really cool. I mean, they’re all seniors and we’re going to be juniors.”

“Juniors are cool,” Stiles said. He wasn’t looking forward to school. If Jackson Whittemore was back from London, as the rumors were saying, then his life was over.

Jackson aka Jackass had been such a dick that he’d knocked some dumb Devenford Prep kid’s face in and had been sent to boarding school. In Europe!

And now Stiles was living in Jackass’s old house. There was no way this would end well for Stiles.

At least he could console himself with the fact that he hadn’t yet embarrassed himself in front of his hot next door neighbor.

Technically, Stiles had forty neighbors, fifteen of them to either side.

There were the Laheys on the left and the Hales on the right. Four Laheys. Eleven Hales. And only one had caught Stiles’ eye.

The middle child, Darren or Eric or something like that, was outside when Stiles and his dad came to scope out the place before his dad bought it.

Darren-Eric had been working on a motorcycle with his bulging arms on display. Stiles had walked into the clothesline post, and his dad had spent the rest of the tour alternatively laughing at him and trying to see what distracted him enough that he gave himself a black eye.

Since they’d officially moved in, Darren-Eric had worked on the bike damn near every day. And Stiles walked into the post so many times that Dad hired the boys next door—the immature Lahey brothers—to remove it.

It was a combination of his dad and Scott that inspired him to try getting Darren-Eric’s attention. His dad kept complaining about the state of the lawn—a tad bit overgrown—and Scott kept texting him stories about all the muscles he was getting by mowing his mom’s and Harley’s dad’s properties.

A neat yard and muscles. Sounded great. So Stiles spent all his time outside, pushing around a dinky mower he thought would die on him with every grunt, and trying to both catch the eye of and impress his hot neighbor.

So far, he hadn’t succeeded in anything except tanning (and making a few new muscles). Darren-Eric kept working on his bike and ignoring Stiles.

He complained once to Scott about it, and all Scott said was “Oh that sucks. Say, Mom said I could visit.”

Now they were here and Scott was still trying to get him to agree to go to the stupid band thing.

“Fine,” Scott said exasperated, “the neighbor you like? His sister is in the band. He’ll probably be there.”

“Wait,” Stiles said, gaze immediately going to the Hales’ garage. None of the kids, only three of them, two girls and the hot boy, were there. It was just the adults sitting on camp chairs, drinking beer, and shooting the shit.

“Seriously?” He’d seen the oldest girl with her guitar of course. He just hadn’t thought she’d been in the cacophonous racket emanating from the property flanking the Hales’.

Scott smiled knowingly, handing Stiles his plaid over shirt.

“I hate you,” Stiles told him.

“Uh huh, let’s go.”

They jumped the fence and cut through the empty lot behind Stiles’ yard to join the growing crowd in front of an open garage.

The guitar-girl saw them and faltered. Stiles nudged Scott and he nudged back.

Behind her, helping to run cables from the instruments to the amps was Darren-Eric. Stiles shamelessly watched him. He wanted those arms and that face. He wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

Stiles hadn’t even kissed anyone yet. Scott followed his gaze and nudged him pretty hard. Stiles knocked him back, and when he looking again Darren-Eric was nowhere in sight.

He swallowed down his disappointment. Mostly because the band was starting to play and the crowd around them started yelling.

Up close, the band was just as awful, disorganized, and ear-bleedingly bad, but in kind of a good way? Guitar-girl was also the lead singer, and she had a good voice.

Halfway through the set, the band paused for water. Then, guitar-girl grabbed her mic.

“This next song is for all the younger siblings out there—especially you, Derek.” She pointed at Darren-Eric, who was hiding behind a shapely shrub.

Derek, Stiles thought. It was a good name for him.

“Scott, give me some paper.”

“No.” Scott carried a journal everywhere. He never actually wrote in it, but he said liked to be prepared.

“Please?”

Scott relented, handing over the notebook with its severely masticated pen. Stiles tore out a page and printed his number. Below it, he added a simple, “CALL ME” and folded it up. Then he gave Scott back his journal and settled in to listen to the rest of the set.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

The gig had gone perfectly. Even with NDH showing up—and that was a nice ego boost, to have him staring at her during setup—and making her a little nervous.

Jordan’s cousin who usually helped them sort cables was sick, so Derek had helped. Normally, he stayed home listening to their aunts and uncles bitch about their jobs. He stuck around the whole set, glaring at her dedication of “You All Suck.” Afterward, he helped them tear down, rolling cables with a practiced ease she knew was from his theater nerd side. He wanted to be a mechanic or an actor. She wanted to be a singer. Their mother was disappointed in them both.

“Just you wait,” Jordan told Derek. “We’ll make a roadie out of you yet.” He accompanied it with a lecherous wink.

Derek pretended to laugh, sidling away from the drummer and the only one who’s mom would let him host a band out of his garage. Jordan made him uncomfortable, but Derek refused to confront him about it. Laura hadn’t figured out why yet. It drove her to frustration that he wouldn’t let her do it either.

Almost everyone in the crowd was gone when Laura looked up. Only NDH and his friend were still standing there.

Derek tapped her shoulder. “Need me?”

Laura shook her head. “Where’s my lyric book?”

Derek pulled it off a shelf and shoved it at her. He glanced at NDH and leaned in close. “Don’t be weird,” he said.

“I won’t.” All Laura was going to do was give NDH her number.

“Hey, so,” NDH said behind her, and she whipped around, paper held out defensively. He was behind her yes, but he’d grabbed Derek’s arm. “I just was curious—I mean, would you…?” he faltered, trailing off and blushing under Derek’s heavy gaze. Derek flicked his eyes to Laura and then deliberately opened a folded piece of paper in his hand. Laura saw a number and some words, looked down at her paper where all she’d written was “Call me?” She wrote down a number and slipped it into NDH’s pocket.

“Going home or not, Derek?” she knocked him with her shoulder. Derek’s face scrunched and he looked to NDH.

NDH stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Stiles. I just moved in next door.”

“Hi, Stiles,” Laura said. She looked from her brother to Stiles. They wore identical blushes, and she wasn’t dumb. She knew what it meant. It meant that she could write all the songs about Stiles’ attributes that she wanted but her drought would persist.

“Don’t stay out too late,” she called, shouldering Babe’s case. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Derek groaned, covering his face.

“What would you do?” Stiles asked, innocently.

Derek groaned again. “Don’t,” he warned Laura. “Please don’t.”

Laura blew him a kiss and strolled to the fence to hop it. Her heart felt funny, like it was missing beats, but when she looked back and her brother was smiling, eyes shining at Stiles, their stances relaxed, the same blush burning both of their ears, she decided it didn’t matter. Besides, together, they made a pretty good pair.

Stiles definitely wasn’t another Jackson Whittemore, hallelujah. She couldn’t wait to tease her brother.

Maybe she would write them a song.

Maybe.

Maybe Call Me.

~ Fin ~

[imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch]

I Love You, You Pay My Rent: Chapter Four

First Chapter (Prologue)

Previous Chapter (Chapter Three)

Nico had been living with Will for three and a bit weeks and in that time Will had never invited anyone one else round to their home. It was therefore a surprise when he woke up one morning and found a stranger in the kitchen. The stranger was wildly attractive, even with sleep messed hair. He was also shirtless.

Nico stared at the stranger. The stranger stared back.

"What up," the stranger said by way of greeting.

Nico, not always rude but also definitely not a morning person, continued staring blankly in total incomprehension.

Will came out of his room then, thankfully not shirtless because Nico definitely would not have been able to deal with that, but looking incredibly rumpled and not at all with it. Will stopped and looked between Nico and the stranger. For some reason he seemed mildly alarmed. He must have thrown on clothes very quickly because his sweatpants were inside out and his tshirt was back to front. His hair was a complete mess too, more so than usual like he'd been running his hands through -

And finally it dawned on Nico what was going on and he couldn't believe he had been so slow but he at least managed to stop himself blurting oh my god out loud.

"Oh god," Will said.

Nico gave him a look, and Will shook his head frantically looking unbelievably panicked.  The stranger was oblivious as he poured himself a glass of water. Nico was busy freaking out because stranger, male stranger and wait did that mean Will –

He blamed his next words on his jumbled thoughts and lack of ability to think clearly.

"Who is this honey?" he asked.

Will's expression might have been worth it, he looked so confused: for a split second he was the picture of a deer in the headlights. Then he cottoned on to what Nico was doing.

"Oh god," he said again and Nico wasn’t entirely sure if he playing along, commenting on Nico’s plan, or simply still panicking about the situation.

The stranger looked at Nico in some surprise then over to Will. Will closed his eyes. He didn't have to do much acting to seem like he was simultaneously freaked and wanting the ground to swallow him whole. Nico thought that was probably a good thing given Will's acting ability.

"You didn't mention this last night," the stranger commented. He seemed amused more than anything else which was lucky because Nico was belatedly realising this gambit could have gone a whole other way.

"You didn't mention me?" Nico asked and he was actually beginning to enjoy his role.

"I-" Will said but his voice gave out.

"Are you kidding me Will Solace?" Nico demanded. "I thought after your brother’s graduation-"

"Can you stop bringing up my brother’s graduation?" Will snapped and Nico thought he might have to revise his previously formed opinion of Will's acting skills.

The stranger looked between them.

"Maybe it would be better if I -"

"And who are you?" Nico demanded, rounding on the unreasonably attractive person standing in the middle of their kitchen. He realised his own jealously of the stranger - the tall, muscular, beautiful stranger who looked nothing like Nico - might be leaking into his tone. The stranger recoiled slightly, and Nico thought he might have overdone it.

“I’m gonna go,” the stranger said.

He went back into Will’s bedroom. Neither Nico nor Will had moved when he returned with a shirt and shoes on this time. He gave Will a final glance as he left and Nico felt a hot spike of unreasonable jealously in his stomach. When the door shut, Will slid to the floor.

“Oh god,” he said.

“You’ve said that,” Nico commented. But he did take pity on Will, mainly because Will looked like he regretted everything, and went and got him a glass of water. After some thought he also took a box of painkillers out the drawer.  

“I’ve never done that before,” Will said as Nico handed him the water. “That’s not me.”

He sipped the water silently for a minute or two. Nico sat next to him and tried to reconcile his own muddled thoughts.

“Thank you,” Will said eventually. “I don’t know if I could have dealt with that on my own.”

Suddenly he smirked, looking more like himself.

“Though I am sorry about whatever happened at my brother's graduation.”

Nico began laughing and it helped distract him from the spiky feeling in his chest.

“You don’t remember? You left with Dave. I was heartbroken.”

“Dave? I don’t remember Dave.”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember! Honestly it’s Christmas 2013 all over again.”

“Hey, you said we were on a break!”

“Well we sure weren’t on a break with Dave,” Nico yelled. “Not the first time. And not the second time after my father’s funereal!”

“Babe, come on I would never let Dave come between us!” Will protested. “Screw Dave!”

“You did,” Nico retorted. “That was the problem!”

“Well how about that time at your grandmother’s?” Will countered in a dramatic sitcom yell.

“How about you two shut up for once?” Octavian shrieked through the walls.

Will rolled his eyes but started laughing and Nico made a rude gesture in Octavian’s direction, and wondered why such a fancy building had such thin walls.

“You know I didn’t even know his name,” Will said after the laughter had died down leaving a hollow space.

“It’s not the worse thing you could have done,” Nico said, though privately the jealous part of him decided he would rather Will was confessing a murder.

Will shook his head.

“I should have at least known his name.”

“How drunk were you?” Nico teased gently.  

“I don’t know. I don’t even think I was that far gone. I was just –“ he shook his head and shut down in the way he sometimes did. It reminded Nico of the fortune cookie thing, that alluded to some mysterious past.

Will tipped his head back, and though it hit the wall with a sharp thud he didn’t wince. He looked so ragged and torn.  Nico wasn’t sure he liked seeing Will so down.

“Hey at least he was hot right?” he said gently bumping his shoulder against Will’s.

Admitting Will’s one-night stand had been hot was the closest he’d ever come to admitting aloud, or even hinting that he was gay. Jason had found out accidentally, and the only good thing about that was that Nico had never actually had to say the words. It felt strange vocalising even something as innocent as the other guy’s attractiveness - even to Will who had just slept with him - but Will didn’t seem to even register the meaning behind the words, just burst out laughing.

“Are you suggesting I’m shallow?”

“I’m saying you could have done worse.”

Will bit his lip to stop himself laughing and nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”

Nico was pretty sure Will wasn't ready to think about what he'd done and he knew he definitely wasn't ready to think of the implications of what Will had done (because Will was apparently single and not at all straight and-) so he suggested a movie. Nico was going to let Will choose one of the ones of the list since he obviously needed cheering up but Will surprised him by letting him choose. Nico was surprised at the sudden power, and instantly worried that whatever he picked would be an awful disaster. There were a couple of films on there he knew he'd like, but he had no idea what Will enjoyed other than the endless array of Disney movies. He wasn't sure he was ready to bare his soul to Will even if it was only the tiny part of his soul that was in charge of things he liked.

So to circumnavigate all of that he chose a horror movie at random.

"Slasher Killer Blood Revenge of the Darkness: 3?" Will questioned.

"That's not what it says," Nico protested.

"It might as well," Will said. He shrugged. "Whatever, I like a good Slasher Killer Blood film."

Nico raised an eyebrow at him.

"Sure it won't be too scary for you, Disney boy?"

"I'll cope. I guess this is standard for you Death boy?"

"I actually starred in one of these once."

Will laughed.

"No you didn't," he said but he didn't sound one hundred per cent sure.

For the first ten minutes Will was annoyingly calm, which Nico took as a challenge. Usually horror films didn't bother him and it would have been a walk in the park but he'd managed to pick a genuinely frightening psychological thriller. Still he refused to break before Solace.

He tried very hard not to grin in triumph when Will paused the movie but Will just went to get another glass of water. Despite his claims he hadn't drunk all that much the night before, Nico thought he might be just a bit hung over.

Though Will was right behind him, though he could hear him moving about in the kitchen, though all he had to do was turn and he'd see him, the second Nico was left alone on the sofa he began to silently panic.

He jumped when Will asked him if he wanted anything and tried to cover it up be reaching for a cushion.

"Nico?"

"Coke."

Neither of them had bothered to open the curtains and the light that tried to sift through the gaps made strange shadows in the corners of the room. Which he was absolutely not concerned about. Not at all. He'd survived hundreds of horror movies that had left Jason, Percy, Leo, even Reyna a wreck.

"Here," Will said handing Nico his coke.

Nico drew his feet up onto the sofa in case there were monsters hiding under it, and took the drink. Will had brought back a thing of m&ms and Nico grabbed a handful as he restarted the film.

He hated that Will seemed so relaxed about everything but then, almost as soon as the movie was playing again, Will jumped. His water went flying, and he bumped into Nico who knocked the m&ms all over the floor. Nico was feeling smug until something on screen leapt out of the shadows and he actually let out a scream that he almost immediately stifled.

Twenty minutes later and Nico was really beginning to regret his choice. He was now sitting close enough to Will to almost be on his lap, though Nico wasn’t sure whether he’d moved closer or Will had. The characters on screen were exploring an abandoned house, like morons, and the music was doing the thing and Nico was trying very hard to maintain his composure because Will was right next to him and –

Will screamed, Nico screamed and somehow they had both grabbed at the other one and Will was so close, his arms around him.

The banging sound that had scared both of them so thoroughly continued and almost at the same time they identified it as the door. Will let go of Nico to run his hands through his hair, laughing nervously and self-depreciatingly. He paused the film, which was actually a relief.

“You’re stronger than you look Neeks,” he commented as he stood to get the door.

Nico managed a small, tight smile and tried to get his heart rate down from the million miles an hour it currently felt like it was doing.

“I’m coming,” Will yelled at the continued banging.

“Five dollars on Octavian complaining about something,” Nico said.

“Done.”

He wrenched open the door, Nico twisted around on the sofa to watch. Instead of Octavian (there went his five dollars) there was a slim guy with curly brown hair. He was kind of like the boy next door version of the model Will had slept with.

“Cecil.”

Cecil came in, eyes immediately clocking onto Nico with a worryingly huge grin.

“I was coming to check on you,” Cecil said sloping over and hauling himself up to sit on the counter.

“You disappeared last night,” he said helping himself to a banana out of the fruit bowl. “And you haven’t been answering your phone. Lou Ellen thought you were dead.”

“But you weren’t concerned?” Will asked.

“Nah I didn’t think anyone could bring themselves to hurt your pretty face. Who’s that?”

“Nico. Nico this is Cecil. We’re friends. It’s unfortunate but we’ve known each other too long to do anything about that now.”

Cecil looked Nico up and down with the trace of a smirk and then glanced back at Will.

“So you’re not dead?”

“Evidently.”

“Did you have fun last night?” Cecil asked with an even bigger grin.

Will fixed him with a look, but if anything Cecil’s smile only got bigger.

“You want me to leave you two in peace? Only it’s Kayla’s birthday thing? You remember?”

Will’s eyes got very wide.

“Oh no.”

“We didn’t think it was like you to forget. That’s why Lou put money on you being dead or at least kidnapped. Drew said distracted, I guess she was closest.”

“Oh god, okay wait there, I’ll be like thirty seconds.”

Will dashed off leaving Nico alone with Cecil. Seconds dragged as Cecil gave Nico another once-over but this one far less friendly.

“So,” Cecil said leaning forward and putting his chin in his hands as he stared at Nico.

“You must be pretty interesting to make Will forget his sister’s party?”

Nico wasn’t sure how to respond to that, or the sudden seriousness and intensity of Cecil. He may have been jokey and teasing around Will, but the second Will had vanished it was like a switch had flipped. Now suddenly scrappy, easy going Cecil seemed almost intimidating.

“I’m not –“ Nico began but he wasn’t sure where he was going to go with that so it was almost a relief when Cecil interrupted him.

“Don’t hurt him,” Cecil said in a low voice. “He’s been through enough. Whatever this is don’t  – I have to say that shirt looks a lot better when it’s the right way round.”

Will, who had come out of his bedroom properly dressed and was responsible for Cecil’s abrupt change in manner, paused only to flip Cecil off before grabbing his keys.

“I’ve got to go,” he told Nico. “Kayla’s my sister. I’ve never missed her birthday, I can’t believe -”

“Well you have one, or was it two, drinks last night." Cecil quipped. "That’s anyone else’s equivalent of a bottle. We’ll tell her you were too hungover –“

“You won’t do anything of the sort,” Will threatened as he pulled Cecil off the counter and towards the door.

“I could tell her the truth.”

“I could murder you in a way that would be undetectable by most forensic specialists.” Will suggested cheerily.

“See you Nico,” he said without changing tone.

And then the door shut and Nico was alone.

He wasn’t scared. He totally wasn’t scared. But he did open all the curtains and turn all the lights on to banish the shadows. Then he microwaved some pizza because he couldn’t be bothered to cook, and put on cartoons because they were fun and light and didn’t involve dungeon-demon-shadow-monsters.

If he kept busy he wouldn’t have to think. So, he cleaned up the m&ms and washed up and washed his bed sheets and managed to stay away from thoughts of Will (and demons) until he ran out of chores.

Will was gay.  And apparently, if his willingness to sleep with some random guy was anything to go by, single. That –

That changed things.

Before he’d viewed Will as completely unattainable. He’d been resigned to another drawn out period of secret longing that would ultimately turn into pain as Will decided to get married and ask Nico to be his best man.

Now –

He didn’t know what to think. His chest felt funny, butterflies were multiplying in his stomach. Will was - and that meant there was a chance - but how could Will ever want someone like Nico? Will was beautiful and perfect and gorgeous and kind and -

He was spiralling. He could feel himself spiralling.

He clenched his fists and told himself not to be stupid. He shouldn’t be falling apart over some guy. Especially not Will.

There were other things to think about. Like Cecil’s very distinct personalities and mild threats, like how he had to figure out what to get Reyna for her birthday next week, like the possibility of demi-gorgon-demon-shadows creeping under the door and murdering him while he slept – no not that last one.

Nico was kind of relieved when Will returned because it forced Nico to confront the fact that they were going to be continuing living with each other and so he really couldn’t spend all his time on edge. It was also getting dark and Nico was afraid. He’d never been afraid of the dark before.

“I spent that entire meal terrified someone was going to sneak up behind me and murder me,” Will admitted as he threw himself down onto the sofa next to Nico.

“I was fine,” Nico lied.

“All the lights are on and you’re watching cartoons.”

“Unrelated.”

“So you’re going to refuse to watch the fluffy and light Tangled with me? Because obviously you don’t need it and you hate Disney.”

“I’ll stay to keep you company,” Nico said magnanimously.

Will smiled in response and Nico’s heart fluttered automatically, even though there was something not quite right about it. Will’s smiles were usually bright as the sun, even the small ones, but this time it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Did you make it to Kayla’s thing in time?” Nico asked.

“It had already started. But Kayla wasn’t mad,” he paused, gave a rueful smile. “She should have been.”

Will shrugged and Nico thought his mind was somewhere else.

“You want me to put fluffy and light on, or are you going to do it?” Nico asked trying to cheer him along but he thought his own voice was starting to sound kind of hollow. He didn’t like how worried Will looked.

“I’ll do it in a sec,” Will said. “But there’s actually -”

He took a deep breath. Nico was starting to realise why he was so on edge. Will’s uneasiness was familiar because it was the same uneasiness Percy had shown right before he’d admitted he was proposing. Nico couldn’t take any more bad news. He couldn’t think of what Will could possibly want other than maybe kicking him out, maybe the one-night stand was going to move in instead and –

“I need to ask you something. And I need you to hear me out because it’s a really strange request and I know that but –“

Will stopped and bit his lip.

“Okay I know this sounds crazy,” he said. “But Cecil kind of thinks you were the guy I went home with last night -”

“That actually explains a lot,” Nico said.

Will gave a tired little smile.

“Sorry for whatever he did. The point is –“

“I don’t care” Nico blurted out. “That you slept with him or that he’s a guy or that –“

Will was looking at him strangely now.

“That wasn’t what I was going for,” he said and he looked closer to actually laughing now. “But thanks.”

Nico nodded and had to press his lips together to stop anymore outbursts because if he thought he could delay whatever was coming then he’d keep talking until the sun imploded and the universe died.

“Nico I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for a bit. Please? The other’s all think I slept with you anyway and I swear you’ll never have to meet any of my friends and I’ll keep Cecil away but please can I just tell them we’re dating?”

Will’s words came out in a tumbled rush.

“Nico?”

Nico realised he hadn’t responded. He tried to unglue his mouth, remember how to make his tongue work, how he formed words, figure out what he was going to say because how did he respond to that?

“Okay,” he said.

Next Chapter

[ronyxfic]

Educating the Victim - Act V, Chapter XL

Pairing: Yellow Diamond/Yellow Pearl

Rating: Mature

Warnings/Tags: mentions of drugs, homophobia and transphobia

Read it on AO3!

Educating the Victim Masterpost

(Previous chapter) (Next chapter)

CHAPTER 40: Pride

  Marigold Diamond woke up uneasy that particular early March day.

Being a fairly proactive person, she immediately shoved the mere notion of negativity aside and poured herself a double espresso. She sipped it while examining the grey of the sky, her car stuck in traffic.

She hated traffic. But not as much as Marigold Diamond utterly loathed being late.

Which she was, at least to her usual standard, by approximately ten minutes. Students were already beginning to file in.

Marigold frowned. Too many students. Way too early.

Suspicious. She couldn’t recall any trips. Perhaps a homework assignment had been due for several classes at once. But even then, gaggles of girls stood by the gates.

Tentatively, she locked her car door. An odd anxiety boiling in her belly as she approached the front office entrance.

   Girls stood outside the door, flocked together, whispering. Eyes darted towards Marigold, and as she approached, they fell silent.

   Marigold swallowed. They’d looked at her in that unpleasant way.

It made her insides feel chill, her throat seizing. She found her fists in small balls.

Despite being decades their senior, experience, and her authority, she was truly scared shitless by teenagers sometimes.

She scowled a little, wondering whether to exert her dominance. Call them out for staring. Detention? No, she couldn’t find a reason to justify it.

They deserve to be punished for looking at me like that.

She swallowed.

This was dumb. People looked at one another. That was typical human nature. She couldn’t control that. Marigold tried to inhale as she attempted to mentally retrace her steps. The traffic. The coffee. The anxiety. It was just making her antsy.

The girls weren’t worth her time. Heck, it was likely that they weren’t even really watching her.

I’m making it up. I’m causing a big fuss because my office was broken into. Don’t look back. You’re going to make a spectacle of yourself, you dumb goose.

 Inside, there seemed to be even more students. Unusual, for a time like this, and they didn’t seem like they were worried, or studying – no, instead they seemed excited.

More glances came Marigold’s way. A small group of teenage girls openly followed her with their eyes and then, as soon as she’d passed them, burst into laughter.

 This was enough to make Marigold finally turn around. No. That wasn’t a coincidence. They were laughing at her. Her breaths turning a smidgeon more erratic, she observed her clothes. Her fly wasn’t down. Her shirt was tucked in. Not a speck on her blazer.

She even spied herself in the reflection of a window, terrified of possible menstrual bleed-through.

Jesus, Marigold. You’re literally done with your menopause.

And yet, her terror remained. She quickly stripped off her blazer, mid stride, checking it for stains. Even her route to the office shifted, trying to avoid more students.

It was perhaps by the fact that she was desperately evading that she came across others trying to evade sight, too. Primarily, Buck Dewey standing beside another sixth former who galloped away at the mere sight of the Principal in the locker area.

Buck Dewey was not nearly as fortunate.

“And a good morning to you, Beatrice.” The Principal curled a lip. “What are you up to?”

 “O-oh, hi, Principal,” he said. “And it’s – it’s Buck now, actually. Uh.” He desperately tried to slip whatever he was holding back into his bag. Subtly. He failed. “Weather’s nice, huh?” he said loudly. “So nice to have the sun come out again.”

 “Whatever it is, I won’t hear it until I see some proper identification.” Marigold waved a hand dismissively, but then pried into Buck’s body language. “What are you hiding, young woman? Show your bag to me.”

 Buck visibly flinched when Marigold called him a ‘woman’. “Nothing. It’s all just, er, regular stuff.” He shuffled in front of his bag, shielding it from Marigold’s glare.

 “Give it here.” It wasn’t a request. She stared him down.

It appeared she’d stumbled upon some form of transaction.

 Buck handed over his bag, unwilling to meet Diamond’s eyes. “There’s, uh, a bottle of water in there,” he said, “very dangerous. You wouldn’t be able to fly with that.”

 Marigold remained unsmiling. She opened the bag and glanced in. It appeared pretty much the regular contents of a student bag until her eyes focused on a tiny square inside a sealable plastic bag. The square wasn’t much bigger than her fingernail, and appeared to have a tiny picture of a cartoon character printed on it.

She picked it out, dangling it in front of Buck. “My, my. And what have we here?”

   “Breathmint.” Buck held her gaze steadily, sweating.

 “Oh? And should I eat it?” She called his bluff straight away. “Haven’t had a breath mint with... what is that, Adventure Time....? Characters on it.”

 “I-if you want, Principal. Can I have my bag back, please?”

 She returned the bag. It was time to get to the office and finally escape further... voyeurism from the students. Besides, judging from the line of sweat on Buck’s face, she figured she’d had her fun. “You’ll be hearing from me later.”

 Buck took his chance and legged it.

Several more students were practically lying in wait around the Principal’s office. As soon as they saw Marigold, phones were taken out. Whispering ensued, and then, as Diamond passed, silence.

“Don’t you have anywhere better to be? This area is off limits.” It wasn’t. ”Shoo.” She huffed, slamming the door as she finally found herself with some privacy.

Something was most certainly going on. Too many stares. Too little fear. What sort of conspiracy even was this? Was it related to the break-in? She’d still found herself empty handed on the pursuit of that, too.

She made eye contact with Aurora as she stepped in the room, and once again her memory spun to that awful night. Not much of it remained in her mind past a familiar set of near golden eyes she found herself staring at.

Aurora did not break into your office.

Or, at least, she found herself repeatedly affirming that in her head. Loose thoughts scattering and further spilling into the reservoir of paranoia. Why was she working so hard to believe it wasn’t Aurora?

Aurora was too sweet. Aurora wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Her mind had likely made the vision up.

She bitterly grunted to herself. Perhaps she’d seen Aurora for a split second that night because... Aurora was what she had wanted to see.

That’s disgusting. I’m disgusting. She found her palm quivering a little. No. You’re not like that.

“Aurora, would you turn the kettle on? I need a tea after this morning.”

 “Sure, Principal.” Aurora got up and busied herself in their little kitchen area. “Did something happen?”

 “Just the usual grievances.” Marigold attempted to roll her eyes. Anything to mask her torment. “Although... I must say, I do feel something odd must be happening in the student body. There’s so many of them for such an early hour. And so many near the office - did you see them? It’s like we’re feeding stray cats tuna. Almost as if they’re... eager to come in.”

 Aurora didn’t meet her eyes.

“I hadn’t noticed, Principal.” She took out two mugs – habit – and teabags. “We’re nearly out of milk.”

 “I’ll pick up a new thing of it. What alternative do you want this time?” Oh. Aurora was being... tactile, for once. Or, at the very least, quiet and obedient. Too quiet. Marigold didn’t know if she liked it or not. “I’ve been eyeing up the oatmilk.”

 “I don’t mind. I’ve heard coconut is good.” The kettle boiled. Aurora poured two mugs. She knew how Marigold took her tea.

She set the mug down in front of Marigold. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Principal?”

 Marigold remained frowning. “You... really didn’t notice the abnormal amount of students at eight am? I don’t recall anything going on today at all.”

Aurora can’t be in on it. She wouldn’t be.

Marigold stiffened, all paranoid thoughts returning at full force.

If I can’t trust her... who can I trust?

She glanced at Aurora with suspicion, her cheeks beginning to burn. No. She paid Aurora to work here. She had authority in this school. It was her sanctuary.

The thought of some form of mutiny made her insides chill again. No. She stared at Aurora. “There’s nothing happening, yes?”

 Aurora drew in a quiet breath. She forced herself to look at the Principal, and put on an innocent smile. “Not to my knowledge, Principal. Why would you think that?”

 Marigold grew stiller.

Before taking a sharp inhale, her face crumpling as if she were about to cry.

She then took another breath and her face had transformed itself into a stony expression. Her voice was cold. Quiet. “I don’t know, Aurora. Could it perhaps be the fact that my office was literally broken into? That my things were stolen? Broken?” She found her voice raising, the noises she made were becoming ever more shrill by the syllable. “Could it be the fact that for the past few days, I have received nothing but stares, only for them to get worse today?”

Her breathing had turned ragged. Her entire body shaking as she took looming steps towards Aurora. “Could it be the fact that my secretary decided to abandon my friendship with her on a whim? With no choice or explaination? Could it be the fact that despite that, I still have to talk to you? I still have to pay you? Aurora Jaune,”  She was close enough to Aurora to perhaps begin a tango. Seething. “I hate you. Leave this office. Now.”

 Aurora didn’t move. Tears were gathering in the corners of her eyes from just how much it hurt, hearing Marigold say that.

Even though she knew it wasn’t true.

She stood her ground,

“Well,” she said, her voice thick. “It wasn’t me who poured all your alcohol down a drain while you had to watch. You threw this relationship away, not me. I was only ever a victim. Principal.”

 “Is that what you’re so trifled with? Heavens, I don’t even remember that evening!” A red hot fury bore over her mind. “But what I can remember is you begging, pleading me to stop.” She took another step forward, forcing Aurora to back into the wall. “We didn’t have a relationship. I was chasing temptation, and now I’m not. You were the one to abandon me. You... you changed your number when I needed you. When I was sobering up, like you asked.”

Marigold felt her cheeks wet. She hadn’t realised she was crying. This was enough to make her back away. “Go. Leave. Get our of my sight.” Her voice registered as shaky now.

 Aurora couldn’t hold back the tears. Just like Marigold. “I never asked you to abandon me. I never asked you to quit cold turkey. I’m not the one who ruined our relationship, Marigold, I was the only reason it kept going as long as it did! I – I –“ She broke down. Grabbed a tissue from her desk and blew her nose. “I loved you and you won’t even admit we had a relationship.”

 This was enough. She didn’t want Aurora to watch her cry. She didn’t want to watch Aurora cry. “I thought I told you to get out!”

 Aurora stared her down, tears still flowing. “You don’t have that kind of power over me anymore, Marigold. I’m not scared of you.”

 Marigold turned around and left the room, wordless. Head pounding. A part of her felt tempted to just run. Run, quit and never return.

However, Marigold had indeed mastered ignoring temptation.

She’d taken to patrolling when angry. If it was war the student body wanted, then it was war it would get.

 Pearl noticed Marigold angrily pacing as she came into the school.

Today was already going to be... interesting.

As she approached the Principal, she thought that Diamond’s eyeliner wasn’t quite as astute as usual.

“Principal,” she said with in sweetest tone she could muster, “I have another letter for you. You know, the same one as the one I gave you yesterday? I heard you lost that one, so I got you a replacement.” She waved the papers in Marigold’s face.

 Marigold snatched them, stared Pearl down, and tore the stack in two before crumpling the shreds into a ball and throwing them onto the floor. “Leave me ALONE!”  She yelled into Pearls’s face and strode off, boiling.

Before long, though, she found her face growing wet again.

Oh.

Crying in front of Aurora was already despicable enough for her. Doing so in front of any students seemed to be social suicide. Her salvation came in the form of the staff restrooms, to which she strode into and immediately sprinted into a cubicle to calm down.

 Peridot saw her disappear, and decided to follow her. Just to... watch her. And potentially lead her in the right direction.

She washed her hands, initially to kill time, but as she thought about the situation more, the motions became more nervous.

 Marigold, now slightly more composed, quickly grew suspicious of the sound of water for a solid five minutes. “Is... is someone out there?”

 Peridot jumped. “Just m-me, Principal,” she said quickly. “Peridot. Uh. I’m just... washing my hands.”

 “Oh.” She wiped off her eyeliner, now utterly smudged, off with a wipe from her pocket. “Seems an awfully long time to... Be doing that.”

 Peridot panicked. “I – uh – I get sensory overload a lot!” she blurted. “I’m not here to keep tabs on you! Why would I do that!” And with that, she turned off the faucet and scampered outside, where she leaned against the wall, trying not to freak out.

 Marigold found herself chasing the young teacher down. Her face felt barren. She managed to just pluck Peridot by her shoulder. “So. You were keeping tabs on me?”

 “N-no I wasn’t! Okay maybe a little but only because we weren’t sure if you’d seen it yet!” stammered Peridot, looking up at Diamond fearfully.

 Marigold frowned. Was this it? “Seen... what?”

 Peridot slumped, hung her head. “I’ll show you,” she said, defeated. “It’s – it’s really nothing bad.”

 Marigold softened a little as she followed, finding herself in the direction of the gym. “At least you’re not denying that there’s something going on. What is it, then? Some sort of student affair I wasn’t informed about?”

 “In a sense,” Peridot said cautiously, “but... several members of staff are involved as well.” She made her way to the gym in the comforting knowledge that Lapis and Jasper would protect her.

“We’re here,” she said, holding the door open for Marigold.

 Marigold stepped in, her eyes widening. The gym had been set up as if it was some sort of party - streamers, balloons and posters hugged the walls and ceilings. Several stands had also set up.

And absolutely everything was covered in rainbows.

“What on Earth....” she whispered, craning her neck forward. Her voice suddenly turned cold. “Who is responsible for this?”

 “It’s Pride,” Peridot said, her voice small. “We thought the students needed something to keep morale up for the exams... and we have a large number of queer staff and students... and we just wanted to show people, that it’s okay, and good and that you can celebrate it, and you’re... more than welcome to join, Principal.” She spotted Jasper at the other end of the gym, staring at the Principal wide-eyed before seeing Peridot and jogging over.

 Marigold spent another second taking in the excited students; some of them had taken to painting flags on their faces. The stalls looked... almost interesting.

All looked happy.

Par Marigold.

Jasper had no time to speak to her as she swiftly turned on her heel and stomped away. She needed to get out. She was losing control. Of the school. Of the student body, the teachers. She found herself crying again.

Stop that. Stop that right now. You’ve done that twice now. You look pathetic. Stop.

Girls were looking at her as she passed them by. It was nearly nine, the school filling in. Some had turned up in rainbow themed clothes. Marigold tried to outrun her urge to scream at them, to tell them to get back into uniform.

But... for the first time, she found herself surrounded. Overpowered. Outmanned. She had no power to stop this. The students. That cursed pride event. Her own breakdown.

Aurora was still in the front area to the office, but Marigold barely registered her at this point.

They should be hating themselves. Those girls shouldn’t be happy. They shouldn’t be allowed to be happy. They’re sick. They’re sick, Marigold. Get a hold of yourself and go out there and bring a stop to it.

She was finally in her office. Alone. She slammed the door into her inner cubicle with enough force to regret it after one of the hinges rattled a little dangerously. Her desperate, frantic thoughts begged for an outlet. She wanted to hurt something, someone.

She wanted to do nothing more in this precise second than to drink. Drink until her throat burnt. Drink until she was sick.

Drink until it all just ended.

“Whatever!” she screamed, stomping into the now near cleaned office. She found herself rummaging her desk cupboards, all the places she used to store alcohol. Fine. That was it. Screw sobriety. She didn’t want to be sober.

No one showed her affection when sober. No one loved her while she was sober.

But, of course. No alcohol remained. It had been the case for months.

She gave a loud, painful scream and proceeded to angrily open her drawers and throw papers onto the floor, all while continuously both sobbing and yelling, frustrated.

She only stopped as her fingers reached Claire’s will, still in its stash.

Her eyes narrowed. The thin layer of dust bore fingerprints.

She hadn’t touched it in years.

Bizarre. This was all surreal. The day. The argument. The stares. She placed the will back into the drawer and slid her hands in her pockets, determined to lock the papers away from prying eyes.

However, as her hand reached for the desk key, she found herself pulling out the small square she’d confiscated from Buck.

Marigold Diamond knew very little about drugs. She’d confiscated enough of them in her time, of course, to know the potent smells and obvious effects of nonalcoholic intoxication. Azure had once upon a time gone through a phase, back when they’d both still played Bridge, of following Roxy to clubs and bars in their youth and filled Marigold in with stories of trips and sensations alcohol could never even begin to bring.

She inspected the small square. What even was it? It had no smell. It barely existed. What sort of dosage even was it?

Why are you even wondering about this? This is a waste of time. You have things to do.

Executive dysfunction held her in place like a stuck marionette.

It’s obviously some form of drug. Heroin? No, I don’t think that’s what... what do children even consume nowadays? What did they do in the clubs. Oh. Ecstasy? Yes, that must be it.

Despite her soaked face, she found herself smiling for a brief second. Ecstasy seemed preferable to this disarray of broken and burning emotions.

Don’t. This is incredibly silly. You really shouldn’t even be touching it. You should go and call the police department, right now. Tell them that you found a student with drugs.

She looked at the telephone, and then at the tab.

The police will come in. They’ll sort this out.

She began to walk towards the phone before pausing.

And what then?

It would take a while for the police to arrive.

That doesn’t matter. Just call.

She’d have Buck apprehended.

And then I’ll go back to this.

Back to this.

Back to this...

Marigold looked around the room and swallowed the tablet.

> Act V, Chapter XLI