#the hook has to pull me forcibly off the stage

[hydrangeathief]

like yeah maybe he was just worried because he's never done sinsmas and never seen anyone play around with the spirit of wrath before but i think we can take the meta so much deeper

we know stella is physically violent. she throws things and hits. we know she's verbally abusive to the extreme. she mocks and belittles and degrades constantly.

so for stolas to watch m&m rolling around on the floor, kicking each other out windows, threatening each other with knives and guns and punches, all while yelling negative things about one another? while making threats? in public? has gotta have him more than a little bit freaked out.

and THEN, to top it off, they're happily in love and being cute and sweet immediately afterward and even DURING what stolas is probably seeing as a very upsetting situation. the poor dude has no idea what's happening. he's been through what they're doing but he didn't know anyone could act like that consensually, mutually, and without any actual vitriol or hate. he's been on the receiving end of all of that without any of the love or fun.

idk i could ramble for days

im sure someone else has pointed this out but i wanna talk more about stolas, a victim of domestic abuse, being so freaked out by moxxie and millie play fighting for sinsmas

[iturbide]

WAIT TO PIGGYBACK OFF OF THAT GUY WHO POINTED OUT THE ROUTE NAMES - THAT'S WHY DIMITRI'S ROUTES IN BOTH GAMES START WITH THE SAME AZURE TITLE - AZURE MOON AND AZURE GLEAM

HE'S THE ONLY ONE OF THE THREE TO STILL RESEMBLE HIS THREE HOUSES SELF AT ALL - EDELGARD HAS NEW PLANS AND A NEW ALLY WHILE "CLAUDE" ISNT CLAUDE AT ALL

AND THAT'S WHY THE GD ROUTE NAME CHANGED COMPLETELY TOO, FROM VERDANT (MORE GREEN ASSOCIATED) TO GOLDEN (OBV YELLOW), IT WAS A SIGN THAT THIS CLAUDE IS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT AND NOT EVEN CLAUDE TO BEGIN WITH, ITS ALL COMING TOGE*forcibly removed and pulled off screen by a comically large hook*

I am going to END whoever is operating these stage hooks you hear me

I have a pitchfork and I'm not afraid to use it

I'm having flashbacks to the Three Houses route name discussions we had, breaking down the implications of Crimson Flower and Verdant Wind and the like (and I loved those discussions, they were excellent).

Also maybe it's just the geologist in me but Golden Wildfire also kind of makes me think of pyrite -- the textbook example of "all that glitters is not gold," considering that its colloquial name is "Fool's Gold." It might look like gold, even shine like gold, but it's not gold in reality -- just like how the character in Three Hopes looks like Claude, but reveals himself almost immediately to anyone that knew him in Three Houses as someone else entirely.

Verdant Wind was about hope: it was the green of new beginnings and the winds of change. Golden Wildfire is a brilliant falsehood, poised to destroy everything in its path.

[twstwonderlandstuff]

Sleep depravity

You feel like shit.

Flashback

Ahaha, the new year! A time for fun and festivities! Surely, that’s what YOU’RE going to be doing, right?

Wrong.

Well, I mean right, but it’s not fun by what most of NRC calls as. So imagine this, right, you’re sitting in yo damn class doing your damn shit when suddenly, your classmate whispers to you from behind.

“Hey.” You nudge an elbow, to show that you’re listening. 

“You should watch ‘Tales of the Seven Lords’. It’s a really good series.” You nod in thanks at the recommendation and your classmate retreats back to his seat. 

And the day goes on as usual: Running around campus doing your part-time jobs, occasionally talking to your friends and seniors, feeding Grim, appreciating how fine everybody looks today- pardon me.

So now, it’s bedtime and you’re there listening to Grim talk as you do your homework. Then, he says: “Oh yeah, someone said something about a recommendation, right?”

“Right, I forgot about that.” You nod, finishing your homework in time. “We should check that out to watch for New Years. It’s in a few days.” You sigh, bouncing your leg. 

See, unlike from where you’re from, NRC has a different curriculum, where the OFFICIAL tests come out somewhere in the 3rd and 9th month of the year, not the 6th and the 12th, so this is just cooldown time for you to kind of chill and relax. 

“Right, holidays~~~ We don’t need to listen to Vargas anymore!” Grim hums cheerfully, and you nod. He’s already loud and super annoying every time he meets a slightly muscular kid, but add THAT with him rambling about safety protocols? Nah, man, ya can’t.

"Ah yes, the holidays where everyone goes home and leaves us here to wail and stay all alone with nobody- I mean I got you but you know- nobody and probably have to clean the school.” You take a deep breath. “Lovely.”

"That annoying guy is going to do something like that...” Grim complains, rolling over to flop on your stomach. “I don’t wanna!”

“Same...” You reply lazily, fist bumping Grim’s paw. “Hahah... hah...”

Despite your complaining, you feel a little giddy. I mean, come on, you get the FUCK around the school, all day by yourselves! What’s not to love about that? And the series is sure to keep you entertained.

Flashback end.

‘That was a terrible, terrible thing to think about.’ You thought blearily, thoughts swirling around your head as Grim falls asleep on you, *heetos and dorr*tos all over your body, making you feel sticky and gross. 

It’s now the actual new years, where everybody’s gone home and like you predicted, Crowley did assign you to tasks- fucking bird, so you and Grim’s ass didn’t do what he told you. Fucking hell, the school’s been functioning DAMN well without you, surely the tasks not THAT big of a deal, right?

After goofing around for a few days, you’re getting bored, so you drag your lazy self to Sam’s store (where his friends from the other side are tending it for him) and rent out a DVD- Crowley didn’t gift you a phone, unfortunately (but still fixed that old TV set??? Man’s got some weird priorities)

You bring this news to Grim, who immediately begs and whines for you to open and watch the show. So you did.

The first episode, you were intrigued, but only a little bit. The same went for the 2nd and 3rd episode. You’re about to call it a lame series when you hit... the 4th episode.

It was a wild ride of emotions and wow... that scene where Henry helps the king really brought you and Grim to tears. 

You were hooked. Or in other words, you were fucked. Fucked because now, you can’t THINK of anything BUT the series, which forces you to stay at home and watch the entire god-damn thing and now its 2 days after that.

At... you blearily open your eyes and notice the cracks of light shining through the curtain. “Oh god...” At somewhere around 8 am in the morning.

“Fucking hell... I’ve gone and fucked up my sleep schedule... shit...” And for some reason, tears began running down your eyes. What the fuck? Are you THAT tired that’d you’d cry over your SLEEP SCHEDULE?

Yes. Yes, you are.

You hear a knock at the door. “Oh my fucking god.” You curse, rolling down the uneven wooden floors, wincing as you get splinters. You lethargically stand up  and open the door and look up to see...

HEARTSLABYUL

Someone 5 cm taller then you- oh screw off, you’re 145 cm, its okay to be pissed, you know?

“Happy new year, prefect-” You interrupt him.

“Oh.. you’re cute!” You grin gleefully, pinching the red hair’s cheeks.

“U-unhand me at once!” The guy with red hair shouted, forcibly taking your hands away. “Or its off with your head!”

"What, you’re gonna- you’re gonna tie me up~?” You tease, punching the guy’s shoulder. “That’s kinky dude... like tone down the horny ya know...”

2 guys with red-orange hair and other with blue starts laughing loudly in the background and you laugh too.

The guy with red hair STARTS turning red- oh my fucking god, people can turn red?

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!” And a collar winds up around your neck.

“Eh????” You ask, lightly tugging at the collar. “What the fackin hell is this shit? Y’all really out here puttin’ collars and shit on people... in the middle of the day too... wow...”  You mutter, slipping into a country accent.

Flash! You hear a snap of a camera and turn to look at another person with a feather duster on his head- why does he have a feather duster- you know what, its cute, and you like it. You reach up and begin petting it, effectively blocking the phone he’s holding.

“Eto, prefect? You’re kinda- woah!” You look at him with a glazy eyes from those 2 days of non stop watching.

"Are you a...” You ponder, biting your lip as you blink repeatedly. “Are you... a fuck boy?”

(“CATER’S A FUCK- CATER’S F-FUCK- AHAHAHAHA-” Ace wheezes in the background as Deuce starts laughing harder, neither of them caring that they have collars on their first day back.)

Fuck boy has a bewildered look on his face, but before you could see his reaction, another hand goes to tug you back. You look up and... is that... is that lettuce, you see? No no way, it... it kinda looks like broccoli, though..

“Let’s get you to bed, prefect.” The broccoli tells you firmly, but like hell are you listening to a broccoli! Fuck man, you got higher standards then that, come on!

“No! I’m not listening to a broccoli!” You duck, effectively pulling out of his grasp and ran inside to wherever room you’re in and slam it shut. “YOU’RE NEVER GETTING ME, BROCCOLI MAN!!!”

(”Bro---brocoll-” This time, it’s Deuce’s time to collectively pound weakly at the dirt, one hand holding onto Ace’s shoulder as he looses it.)

Eventually, you slump on the ground and slowly... you don’t hear the brocolli’s voice anymore.. which is good (but like, why does his voice sound so... sexy??? Like, why??? It doesn’t make any... sense...)

---

Ace and Deuce finish from their laughing stock, having to hold on to the third years to get up from their position. “We’ll go check on the prefect.” Deuce tried to say, a snort or two making its way to the sentence.

“HAH- KINKY- KINKY FUCK BOY BROCCOLI--- AHAHAHAHAHA-” Ace was still loosing it as he walked inside, a tear streaking down his face. “I love the prefect so fucking much.”

Laughter bubbles up against Deuce’s throat as he walks in. “F...Fuck...boy...”

“W-where is the prefect, anyway?” They immediately see you, slumped against the hallway, snoozing away. With their strong powers, they gently lift and place you on the sofa, amidst all the gunk and shit that’s piled up.

“Ew, what were they even doing?” Ace cringes, looking at the mess. “It smells like shit.”

“They’re watching ‘Tales of the Seven Lords’- oh.” Deuce nods, in extreme understanding. He too, has pulled all-nighters with his gang to watch this series... oh how they cried like mad.

“Oh, that show... it’s bad. I don’t like it.”

“What?!” Deuce swiftly turns around. “But its really good!”

“No, it’s not, what? You got some poor taste, Juice.”

“It’s Deuce, not Juice! And you’re the one with poor taste!”

They bicker all the way, until they’re lovingly threatened by Riddle to NOT say a word, or its way more then off with your head, got it~?

SAVANACLAW

An extremely good-looking lion man- lion man, the fuck???- who lazily looks around at your dorm. Behind him is an EVEN better looking man, this one with a very fluffy tail and BEEG ears and BEEG body and my god, wow... he also sexy- like, sexier then lion man.

“Furry?” You mutter, your eyes falling onto another boy with animal-like ears and tail, except he’s shorter then the two, but his eyes seem to have more light in them.

“Happy New Year, prefect~!” He cheers on, his small tail wagging- oh that is cute oh my fuck- oh shit-

“...what the fuck? Why the fuck are there furries?” You gasp in alarm, running your hands through your hair in a frantic manner. “HAVE I MISSED A FUCKING GENERATION OF FURRIES?!”

“NONONONO NO NO NO THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY- NO-” You scream, falling onto the floor and grabbing a piece of your hair.

A shadow seems to loom over you, and you can feel something fluffy- or maybe that’s just you. “Prefect, are you okay- not like I’m worried, or anything, but...?” That line seems like something you’ve heard, but from where?

“Has the herbivore lost their mind?” Sexy lion man can be heard asking in the back, his voice quickly slipping into a yawn.

“Are ya worried, Leona?” The smaller guy teases, a ‘shi shi shi’ going past his lips.

“Tch.”

Well they seem like good friends- nice.

“I’m fine-” You look up and BAM WOAH WHAT IS THAT- SOMEONE’S PANTS AREA THING NOPE-

“I’M NOT FINE FUCKKKKKKK!” You scream back. The guy jumps back.

“Prefect, are you possessed?”

“By this stage? I might as well fucking be- HAH!” And you snort at that- it’s not even funny, you moron. “Oh, and also sexy lion man- yeah I’m talking to you, yeah you-” You point at said man. “I’m not a herbivore, okay? Like, I’m not a vegan (NO OFFENSE TO THE VEGANS OUT THERE), umm...” You slip into a dramatic accent where everything becomes more pronounced.

“I’m a fucking omnivore, and if you wanna like, insult me, please do it right. Thanks.” You pose, your hands making a heart shape, before slumping onto strong boy’s arms.

“Pfft- AHAHAHAH-” And Ruggie’s gone and lost his shit, because what’d you expect, right?

Leona looks surprised, before becoming very irritated, dragging Ruggie by the scruff/neck and walking away, leaving Jack to deal with you.

His seniors out of earshot and eyeshot, he glances at your sleeping form, which was nuzzling up to him, sighing in bliss as the warmth surrounds you.

He lets out a snicker despite his best efforts not too. Goodness, you surprise him every day.

He easily brings you inside with a princess carry, making sure to respectfully touch only your legs and you back to support you.

He glances at your sleeping form- what on earth were you doing that could keep you up so late, anyways? Oh, he finds out by passing through the living room, TV still on.

He finds your bedroom and lays you down there, not bothering to bring Grim inside- just kidding, he absolutely brings Grim in because he knows how much you love each other, but you didn’t hear that from me~

He glances at your form again and brushes some hair out of your face. The steady rise and fall of your chest eases him. Maybe he should stay here, just in case you wake up and act like THAT again and that’s something he’s sure a lot of people aren’t ready to witness.

He takes a chair and sits in front of you, once again having his eyes trained on you, seeing he has nowhere to look at.

A content smile passes your lips, and he smiles at that. What kind of dreams are you having, he wonders? (Little did he know its about him)

Wait.

If he’s waiting for you like this, isn’t that what you usually do for friends?! He stands up immediately, regretting his actions just as fast as he notices you squirm, sighing in relief as you settle back down onto your dazed state again.

“Happy New Year, prefect. Let’s make more memories together.” He mutters lowly, far too low for you to hear but somehow, you smile at just the right moment.

He leaves quickly, a red blush adorning his cheeks. No, that does NOT make him happy in the slightest! His tail isn’t wagging, his ears aren’t red, you’re lying!

Right?

Wrong.

Yeah, right.

Oh, god damn you and making him so confused!

OCTAVINELLE

An incredibly good-looking gent, with a smile on his face that doesn’t look as nice as it should. And look, he’s got a fedora! That speaks fancy~

“Happy New Year, pre-” You take the fedora and slap it onto your head, to the surprise and subsequent irritation of this man.

Or octopus. Honestly, they radiate the same vibe, so you wouldn’t know.

Then, you began doing the Orange Justice (cringe) as you hum- “Mhph, then you break it down! Down! Down! High! Down!”

“Is shrimpy-chan okay?” Oh what the fuck he’s so tall- THERE’S ANOTHER ONE YOU’RE SEEING THINGS-

“Oya oya.” HE HAS ARA-ARA ENERGY OH MY GOD YOU CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS- NONONONONO-

“Ara ara? Ara ara ara~ ara ARA!” You reply in kind, switching to a weird boogie as you sing offkey about a song.

“Under the sea~~~ under the sea~~ something, something, du do do do, under the sea~ under the grass, and till they fall~ ahhhh!!!” You grab the gent’s hands and drag him to you, paying very close attention to your feet as you attempt to tap dance.

The gent splutters indigation, so you leave him be and focus on your feet.

“Ne, that sounds fun!” The 1st double says, following you to dance- except he’s doing way better then you.

“Wha- how the fuck- that’s good! How the fackkkk... fuck... fucking... fucking fucking wop wop!” You giggle, trying to imitate his dance.

“Hehe, shrimpy’s funny when they’re tired!” Double 1 says, grabbing your waist as you shout in fright.

“Jade, maybe we should-”

“Let them be, Azul.”

Upon closer inspection, you realize that this ‘Jade’ has resonating vibes with Sebastian from Black Butler- wait, is this the twin cliche?! Where there’s the crazy one and the other’s the sane one?! But then again, he has that scary smile on his face... hmm, maybe that theory should be left alone.

You, still Double 1′s arms, shout: “Come on butler man! Join us!!!”

“Butler... are you referring to me?” He sounds surprised.

“Yeee! Come on dude,let’s vibeeee-” You stop mumbling and began singing again. “Oh oh, I’m a rebel just for kicks now! OWAH!!!”

“Owah~~” Double 1 joins, and Jade with a grin, joins in. “Owah~”

“...owah...” The gent also joins, albeit in a softer tone.

“What else, shrimp- eh??? They’re asleep!” Floyd pouts as he gazes at your non-moving body. “No fun.”

“Oya, maybe we should bring them back to their couch. It looks like a nice place to be.” Jade remarks, looking at the pile of chips and snacks on the floor. Floyd shruges, dropping you with a thud, but you don’t seem to wake up. Jade picks you up for Floyd and brings you to the couch.

Azul cringes at the sight of messy chips. “It’s giving me heartburn just looking at it.”

“Don’t lie, Azul. We saw you eating the same thing yesterday~” Floyd teases, a wide grin placate on his face.

“...I could’ve sworn nobody saw me! How...” Azul mumbles to himself, a red flush on his face.

“They’re asleep. We should leave them be.” Jade suggests, walking back to the group.

Azul nods. “There’s nothing I can make a deal about, anyway. And, the benevolent sea witch wouldn’t agree with that, wouldn’t she?”

"Yeah! Goodnight, shrimpy!” Still, you don’t reply, but Floyd looks happy enough since he hoists Azul up from his stand and walks out with him, princess style.

“F-floyd, put me down!”

“Nah, Jade looked really happy holding Shrimpy, so I’ll do the same to you~”

“Floyd!”

Jade walks behind them, watching as they have their fun.

Did I really look that happy? He glances back at your living room and gives a rare, sincere smile to the dimly lit room.

“Goodnight, prefect. I hope to get along with you better.” He whispers to himself, before closing the door gently behind and catching up to his brother.

SCARABIA

Sunshine??? in the form of a... homo sapient???? and a snake??? why the fuck-???

“Happy New Year, prefect! I brought you some food, a few blankets and oh!” The sunshine greets, giving you things, which you don’t have the strength to take, but nod as thanks anyways. He hands you a carpet, incredibly soft, 100% quality. “A carpet- eh, prefect?! Are you okay?!” The sunshine fusses, grabbing your cheeks in worry.

You melt, easing into the touch. “I’m okay now.” You lazily reply, giving him a slow wink. “Haha, get it? Cause- cause you’re here, and you’re the sun, and you’re cute, so like... haha? No?” You don’t let him reply as you sigh and nod, taking his hands of your cheeks. “Alright.”

The sunshine grins at your attempt. “I don’t really know what you mean, but thanks!” Oh my god he’s so cute-

“...hopefully, these things can dress up your broken- er, rustic house.” The snake replies, watching your behavior with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

You son of a bitch-

“Look, snake-man. No no no no, look at me. Watashi no eyes, you look at eyes- you see my eyes?” You stalk towards the snake, squinting at the bright sun (2 suns) as you trudge towards him. “Y-you see? Yeah, these eyes have tried their FUCKING best to fix up this dorm, so please, bro, please don’t like, mock it cuz like-- it’s really fucking hard- and you know why?!”

“Why?” The sunshine questions, just as you hope (but for some reason, the snake has backed away and is guarding the sunshine. You wonder why.)

“Lemme tell you why- lemme tell you why. So, this bird-man bitch boy I don’t fucking know, right-” The snake sort of laughs at this description as sunshine nods. “This guy, right, leaves ALL this SHIT to me- like BITCH, did you see the fucking state of this... I don’t know, um, SHACK?!” You point aggressively at the house. “Yeah man, it was SHIT! Like, there were holes, rats on the ground, and there were a insects everywhere...” Oho, snake seems to tense up at this, walking towards sunshine in a scared manner.

“The wood was rotting, it smelled like mold... the couches were moldy, the BED was moldy... it was... it was FUCKING shit mate, like the fuck?! You expect me to clean up that shit in what, like...” You bring up your fingers, not even counting. “Three fucking days? Like what the fucking hell, bitch? I’d like to- to- to know what the fuck crossed his mind, like the fuck, you know?”

“That seems hard, prefect. Do you want us to help?” The sunshine offers, but the snake interjects, saying: “Kalim (oh, so his name is Kalim, huh? Cute name for a cute guy!), how many times do I have to tell you? Don’t-”

“But it looks like they’re having a really hard time!” Kalim argues, pouting and looking at you pitifully, and you give the snake a woeful mourning face. The snake glares at you, before sighing heavily. Ah, damn, you feel kind of bad.

“Nah, it’s okay sunshine, I can handle it. Oh, by the way, have ya seen my baby?” You say nonchalantly, describing your feline friend.

“Baby?” The snake pales. “You have a baby?!”

“Prefect, why do you have a baby?” The sunshine panics too, eyes widening, forgetting the nickname you gave him.

“Yeah, I do! Wanna see-” Slump! You fall onto the ground before you can finish your sentence, leaning across the snake’s legs.

“Oh... they’re probably talking about Grim...” Jamil realizes, sighing in relief at the thought.

“Oh yeah, that’s probably it! Hehe, we think alike, Jamil!” Kalim grins, much to the chagrin of Jamil.

“Yeah, yeah, we do. Now come on-” Jamil lifts up your body, princess style and grunts. “Help me open the door.”

“Sure thing!” Kalim hums, opening the door. “What do you think they were doing, looking so tired?”

Jamil shrugs, walking inside ASAP, first giving the dorm a quick sweep with his eyes- he isn’t quite sure how to feel about the bugs you said. They pass by the living room and upon seeing the disarray, nod in understanding.

“Kalim, can you clean it while I put the prefect back in their room?” Kalim nods and gets to work, rolling up his sleeves.

Jamil smiles, nodding as he walks towards your bedroom, opening it with his foot. Surprisingly, it looks WAY cleaner then your living room- you really did stay up all night to watch whatever show was on, huh? The bed isn’t even creased.

Jamil sets you down gently, and you immediately roll to the side, sighing in comfort. He watches as the crumbs of snacks fall onto the bed, and thanks the graces that its not Kalim’s, or his bed that got the food spilled, phew.

Speaking of Kalim, how is he faring? Jamil walks back to the living room, fully expecting to see Kalim get distracted, but much to his ACTUAL surprise, the room is a quarter cleaned. The crisps are thrown in the trash bin and the blankets are folded up, albeit not neatly.

Jamil smiles, a little bit proud of Kalim. “Kalim?”

“Here. Shh, not so loud. Grim’s sleeping.” Kalim whispers back, waving from the kitchen. “I’m trying to clean the dishes, but...”

“Here, let me teach you.” And so, they two do their best to help clean the living room until it’s up to Jamil’s standard.

“I bet they’ll feel surprised when they wake up!” Kalim giggles, happy that it’s clean.

“I hope so, it’ll be a waste if we did all this and they didn’t notice.” Jamil frowns, crossing his arms, satisfied. “I’m sure they liked the gifts, Kalim?”

“Really?! I didn’t go overboard, right?!” Kalim worries, looking at Jamil in concern.

“You always do.” Was Jamil’s snide remark.

“Jamil!” Kalim pouts, and Jamil nods.

“It’s true.”

“Aww... I thought I really... aww...” Kalim shakes his head, cheering up immediately. “There’s always next time! Let’s visit Heartslabyul next, Jamil!”

“Let’s go.” And Kalim rushes out, shouting a ‘Happy New Year!’ to the dorm, despite his previous warning. Jamil says nothing, echoing his behavior as they walk out.

(And it’s true. After 14 hours or so, you wake up, walked towards the living room, and cried the SHIT out of your eyes. It really was nice to see, you know?)

DIASOMNIA

 You can’t distinguish who the fuck this person is, but they’re definitely tall. 

“Who the fucking hell??? Is so fucking tall?” You ask in a whisper. “Hello?”

“Don’t talk to Malleus-sama that way, human!” A guy that looks similar to a cucumber yells. 

“Shut up, my guy. Oh shit, sorry I probably sound really fucking rude hah.” You snort, pinching the nose of your bridge. “Um, what can I do for you? Or something?”

“You look pale.” A softer voice comments. You turn to look at him and oh fucking HELL he looks so... soft??? Princely???

“Woah.” You breathe, grabbing his face. He quickly pushes you off, but you don’t mind. “What the fuck... Your face??? Is?? Nice???” 

“Thank... you...?” He says strangely, stepping away. “Da- LIlia-sama, I think we should leave. ___ doesn’t seem to feel well.”

“Nonsense, ___’s fine. It’s probably just lack of sleep.” You let out a bark at that. 

“Hah, lack of sleep. More like lack of heat!” You giggle at that- why did you giggle at that it literally makes no sense. You turn to look at this ‘Lilia’ person and holy shit, is that a d i l f ?

“...Dilf?” You mutter, stetching out your hand to touch this short emo man. “Emo???”

“What is a dlif?” Emo man’s face contorts into confusion, one that is not often seen in his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that phrase...”

“Dad’s I’d Like to Fuck, because damn bro, you look- you look like you raised hot kids and set them on a frying pan do you get me, cuz like you’re also sexy? I don’t... yeah.” You nod  heavily at your sentence. 

Emo man and prince-looking guy’s face contorts into a grin and a horrified look respectively. Tall man seems to have the same face as prince-looking guy, while Cucumber just... freezes. 

“Are y’all okay??? You know what, I don’t- I don’t have- I’m not- I’m- I’VE GOT THE APPLE BOTTOM JEANS, BOOTS- BUTTS- BUTTS WITH THE FURRR, THE WHOLE CLUB WAS LOOKING AT HER~” You break out into a song, changing your voice to a country accent. 

“SHE TOOK THE FLOOR AND GOT THE JEANS AND WENT LOW LOW LOW low low low low...” You sync in with the music, going lower to the beat until you lay your body on the ground and slowly lose sight (or blurry shapes) in front of you.

You don’t know what happens next, but you do know that someone’s riding a small cow. With big horns. And hair? With the bit of consciousness you have left, you reach up to touch the cow horns. 

“Sick...” You mutter, and your hands fall slack on the small cow’s horns and you finally fall into well-deserved sleep.

EXTRA

“Lilia.”

"SEE SILVER, I TOLD YOU THAT PEOPLE WOULD-”

“I DON’T NEED TO HEAR IT, DAD!”

“NONE OF US DO!”

“Lilia.”

“I- I’M A DILF- I- I’M A DILF- HAH, I’M- OW OW OW... ow.. my back... oh, yes... Malleus?”

“I’m bringing the human inside.”

“Sure..- argh, ow ow ow... Silver, Sebek, come help me!”

“Yes, old man...”

“...”

“Pfft... a dilf... a dilf....” Malleus snickers at your naming choices, lighting up candles that you’ve strategically set. Once the lights are on, he can’t help but squint at the messiness of your dorm. He walks past the living room and opens your simple bedroom door, placing you on your bed. You don’t seem to be unbetrubed, but you squeezing something in the air. Ah, perhaps you’re looking for the cat? 

Poof! Grim instantly nuzzles into you, and you both sign at the warm heat between you. Malleus smiles at the sight and leans closer to you, and whispers: “Happy New Year, child of man. Let’s make more memories together.” He gazes at your simple room, and his eyes falls at your bedside table. He smiles fondly at the picture on your bedside table. It’s you, Grim and him in Ramshackle’s living room, you making flower crown as you bitch on about physics, Grim agreeing and complaining as well. 

He gives you a small pet on the head and disappears in neon butterflies. 

“Shall we go?”

“Oh, young whisperer, you’re back. I take it ___ is back in their bedroom?”

A smile blooms on Malleus’ face. “Yes, now let’s go.”

“Dilf.. dilf...”

“I can’t... dilf... I can’t.. no...”

*

I don’t fucking know what this is

I just thought--- lilia... is a dad.... and he sexy

and memes... and i created this fic

please enjoy it

[raleighcarrera]

catch up

platinum | raleigh carrera x mc (cadence dorian)

it’s been eight months since the breakup. they have a lot to catch up on.

~6k words, M (18+ only)

songs mentioned are gorgeous | no more sad songs | touch (acoustic)

he’d been wondering who would get around to dropping their album first. from the looks of the current trending topics on twitter, cadence had won. it looked like she’d even chosen to jack his style -- dropping her album in full with no announcement, no promotion, no warning... nothing.

color him impressed.

no more sad songs was number one on trending. just below it was the word touch. related topics: cadence dorian, raleigh carrera. 

he told himself it was just his own narcissism that made him click. that, and morbid curiosity. it’d been so long since he’d last tortured himself, after all. 

a long list of tweets stared innocently back at him. GOD touch is the sexiest song anyone has EVER WRITTEN I’M SCREAMING, said the first one. make it a single queen!!!! you deserve the hottie they will cast for that music video and more!!!!!

he scrolled down. sooooooooo are we going to talk about how touch is obviously about raleigh carrera giving that good dick or nah

his eyebrows shot up. well, now he had to listen to it. 

he pulled up spotify; of course she was on the home page. with just a few taps, the song started to play. an impressive piano melody filled the room. she must have beep practicing. as her voice filtered in, he turned up the volume.

cadence sounded... soft and sad, and, the masses on twitter were right: sexy. god did her breathless, yearning voice sound sexy. despite himself, he could actually feel his face flush as he listened to the words. so won't you take it, i feel like for the first time i am not faking... fingers on my buttons and now you're playing. master of anticipation, don't you keep it all to yourself.

it took everything in him not to be consumed by the memories that were threatening, but the last thing he needed was to fall down that rabbit hole. he’d gone so long without thinking about her, after all. it was almost up to a full two days at this point, before something would inevitably remind him of her and he would spiral again.

the rest of her album stared back at him from his laptop screen. he studied the cover art as her voice filled the empty room. it was a photo of cadence, of course, a wide full-body shot against a brick wall. she looked powerful, in the sharp black outfit she was wearing, her skirt just short enough to make her legs look a few hundred miles long. 

inhaling sharply, raleigh forcibly redirected his gaze to the track list, scanning the rest of the titles. his lips curved up into a smirk as he read them off, one by one. motorcycle boy. hollywood. tattoos and bad news. subtlety was never her strong point.

then again, he mused, as he considered his own journal and the songs inside it -- kaleidoscope dress. ferris wheel. lady liberty. sex at the moda. -- he really wasn’t one to talk. not that his label would ever let him get away with that last one. it was just a working title, anyway. 

he navigated back to twitter and tapped the moment about her album, no more sad songs. the first tweet he saw said omgggg i love the energy of cadence building raleigh up in ‘gorgeous’ and then tearing him down in ‘shout out to my ex’ so much kdhfgksjfhdg HER MIND this album is everything

it looked like he had some listening to do. but first... 

he strolled over to the far wall of his bedroom and pulled off his shirt, sidling up to the floor length mirror by the window to take a selfie. his free hand pushed his hair back from his face, and he stuck his tongue out at his reflection as he snapped the picture. 

it was just trolling, he told himself as he uploaded the photo to his pictagram, already laughing at his own joke while he typed out the caption. it wasn’t like he was trying to get anyone’s attention -- he just couldn’t resist giving the fans and the internet something to talk about.

raleigh smirked at his phone as the photo finished uploading and stared back at him from his feed. photograph with no t-shirt on. well, there was no taking it back now. if cadence was allowed to write about him, he was allowed to enjoy it, right?

five minutes later, his phone rang. it was avery. he took care to pause cadence’s album before he picked up the phone. “helloooooooo?”

“you know you broke the internet, right?” she asked, aprops of a greeting. 

a shit-eating grin appeared on his face. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“you’re such a dick,” she laughed, “you just couldn’t let her have one day, could you? you could congratulate her, you know. she worked really hard on that thing.”

“um, i basically gave her a number one album,�� he remarked, his bravado a mask as always. “without me she would’ve had, like, one track on that thing. or she wouldda had to write about you. so you’re welcome, too.”

raleigh pulled his phone away from his face to squint down at his pictagram notifications. stream no more sad songs!! said the last ten comments. omg shout out to my ex is right

“besides, i’m getting trolled. like, a lot. i doubt she cares what i post.”

“i wouldn’t be so sure about that,” avery remarked cryptically. before he had a chance to wonder what that meant, she said, “hey, she’s playing a surprise show tonight at webster hall before the album release party. you should stop by.”

“i think if she wanted me to come to her party she would’ve invited me.” it might’ve been nice to hear from her -- especially given the intimate details about their relationship he was now being forced to listen to, along with millions of other people. 

you’re not being fair, he reminded himself, thinking again of sex at the moda. he hardly intended to give her a heads-up about that one. though he doubted she would care.

not that he cared. she could write about whatever she wanted. she could turn her life into art -- if that was what she wanted. she could tell... whoever, about what had happened between them. about what he’d made her feel.

she never told him, but, whatever. that was fine. that was her prerogative.

“earth to raleigh,” avery said on the line, snapping him out of his thoughts. “i said, she didn’t tell anyone about the party. the album was a secret, yeah? you should at least come to the show. i think your support would mean a lot to her.”

“well, i guess you’ll just have to support her enough for the both of us,” he said, meaner than he felt. raleigh shut his eyes, sighing as he rubbed at his forehead. “sorry. i’m not trying to be an asshole.”

“don’t sweat it.” avery always let him off the hook so easily, “i know it just comes naturally to you. seriously, the show starts at 7. think about it, okay? if you do decide to come, text me when you get there and i’ll let you in the back.”

he put the album back on as soon as they hung up. without a distraction, there was nothing to stop him from looking at cadence’s twitter account. she’d last posted just a few minutes ago:

surprise! i’ll be playing no more sad songs in its entirety tonight at webster hall’s marlin room. doors open at 6 for the first 600 in line. see you there? you never know who might drop by...

fuck it. he turned the volume up on her album and headed towards the shower. he’d avoided her for long enough, and tonight was as good a night for him to get over himself as any. maybe after this he could stop looking over his shoulder at every party he went to, terrified he’d have to see her. 

that didn’t mean that it didn’t feel like a mistake, to get dressed and make his way to the village. it felt like a bad decision every step of the way, even as he ducked around the back of the venue at 7:05 to see avery’s smiling face, holding the backstage door wide open. it was too late to go home, now. 

“took you long enough,” she grinned, squealing as she jumped into his arms. “i almost thought you weren’t going to show.”

“yeah, yeah. did she go on yet?”

avery led him inside, closing the door firmly behind them both. she nodded as they stepped up to the side of the stage. the screams from the crowd were deafening. “she just went out there. i think she’s about to start --”

raleigh heard the strum of a guitar and peeked around to see cadence standing center stage. “this is a really good looking crowd,” she said, grinning when the sound of the cheers rose exponentially. “thanks so much for coming out. are you guys cool if i play some tunes? yeah? okay, then. this first one is about a guy i used to date, it’s called ‘gorgeous.’”

he folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall behind them. he was shameless in the way he looked her up and down, staring as she strutted across the stage. he was proud of her -- she’d come a long way since the first time he saw her perform, so long ago. cadence had real stage presence, now -- she’d come into her own. she acted like a woman, sang like a woman, dressed like a woman. she was confident. 

“whiskey on ice, sunset and vine. you’ve ruined my life by not being mine.” an elbow in his side made raleigh tear his eyes from her. he looked over at avery, rubbing at his ribs. “ow. what was that for?”

“you know everyone thinks this one is about you, right?” she asked, smirking. 

“you make me so happy it turns back to sad, there’s nothing i hate more than what i can’t have.” 

“aren’t they all about me?” raleigh asked, still hiding behind his attitude. avery only rolled her eyes, and eventually the crowd’s screams drowned out anything else they might’ve wanted to say. 

she played a few more songs before finally sitting down at the piano off to the side of the stage. now that she was closer, raleigh could see her better, and he stared as she brushed her hand across her forehead, pushing her hair off her face. she drank deeply from a water bottle and then set it on the piano’s ledge. raleigh was close enough to watch her swallow, but she still didn’t see him. it was probably the stage lights -- a single spotlight illuminated her at the piano as she adjusted the mic to pull it closer to her lips.

“we’re gonna slow it down for just one song,” cadence said, “i hope you don’t mind.” the cheers from the crowd proved that they didn’t. “i saw ya’ll talking about this one on twitter earlier.” he could see her grin perfectly from where he was standing; it was blinding. “i’m glad you like it. even if you don’t post thirst traps to it.”

the crowd went wild. even raleigh barked out a laugh; he hardly thought she had it in her. okay. point one, cadence.

“put your flashlights in the air for this one, okay? you and i and nobody else... feeling feelings i never felt...”

she was beautiful, of course -- always, every day, but never more than in this moment, with her eyes closed and her expression haunted, her hands moving along the piano keys. it probably said something dangerous about his ego that he found her the most stunning when she was singing about him. 

as the last few notes died, he sighed, digging his fingernails into the fabric of his jacket over his arms where they were folded on his chest. suddenly, it felt like he shouldn’t be there. or maybe he was the only one who should be there. either way, he hardly wanted to think about it. 

her moment of silent reflection as the song ended was gone in a flash. he watched her take a breath to steady herself, and then cadence was back in her stage persona, hopping off the piano bench to grab her guitar again. “thank you so much, new york city. you’ve been amazing. i’m so glad i could share this album with you -- it’s one of the most personal things i’ve ever written, and it means so much to me to play it for you all like this.” 

“this is the last song i have for you tonight -- it’s the title track, no more sad songs. it’s the last song i wrote for the album. this song is about trying to get over someone you can’t help but think about by any means necessary. it’s about the point in a breakup where you’re tired of wallowing and you’ll do anything you can to make yourself feel better -- i like to think it’s about the acceptance stage of grief. anyway, it felt right to keep it last... to name the album after it. i’m finally at a place in my life where i can put this chapter behind me. and it took a lot to get there, and i’m so proud of that. so, with that being said...” 

the crowd cheered as she strummed the first few notes. “thank you guys again so fucking much. sing along if you know the words already, okay?”

it was the second time that day he’d heard the song. it still made him feel the same way he’d felt when he first heard it -- angry and surprised and unsettled... and guilty. why hadn’t she ever told him she felt that way? why hadn’t she called him, and more importantly, why had he never called her, again?

his gaze hardened as she stopped at the front of the stage for the bridge. the same single spotlight illuminated her again. 

“uh, why do you have that murdery look?” avery asked from beside him. he said nothing, watching the melody build around cadence as she approached the crowd.

“still got you on my mind, starting to realize... no matter what i do, i will only harm myself tryn’a hurt you, and if i turn the music loud just to drown you out --”

her head tipped back with the powerful crescendo. she looked like an angel under the spotlight, more beautiful than he even knew how to explain. his chest seized painfully. 

abruptly, he turned around and headed back towards the backstage door. he knew he only had moments until the last song ended and cadence rushed backstage, and he needed to get out of there before that happened.

“raleigh!” avery called after him, but he didn’t stop, throwing open the back door and stepping out onto the sidewalk... immediately into a crowd of waiting fans and paparazzi.

a cacophony of screams started from the street. “ohmygod, it’s raleigh carrera!”

fuck. venue security glared at him as he shoved sunglasses on -- fuck the fact that it was nine o’clock at night -- and rushed off down the sidewalk. so much for getting in and out before cadence saw him. there’d be pictures of his exit all over social media in moments. paparazzi called after him as he rushed to the intersection, eyes scanning the street desperately for a working cab.

he stuck his hand out just as one with its lights on slid to a stop at the corner, jumping inside and slamming the door closed. camera flashes still shone behind his eyes even as he shoved the palms of his hands into them, drawing in a deep breath. sighing shakily, he met the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “88th and park. please.”

once he was alone in his apartment he felt like he wanted to put his fist through a wall. the urge to destroy something, anything was too strong -- because that was what he was supposed to do, wasn’t it? that’s what raleigh carrera would do.

she deserved so much better than him. the last thing she needed was to see him at her show and get sucked back into his bullshit. he paced around his living room, convincing himself he’d done the right thing. she’d moved on, after all -- she was happy, thriving. she didn’t need him around messing up her life. she’d practically said so herself. 

his phone vibrated where he’d dumped it on the coffee table, sliding onto the carpeted floor. raleigh couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to talk to, but he bent down and picked it up anyway.

he almost jumped out of his skin when he saw the caller id. cadence dorian. tongue out emoji. winking emoji. music note. 

“hello?”

“oh, so your phone isn’t down a well somewhere. okay, just checking. good to know.”

she hung up. 

he glared down at the phone in his hand. what the fuck? raleigh called her back before he even knew what he was doing.

“what?” she answered, though she sounded annoyed. like... really annoyed. 

“what is your problem?” he demanded.

“my problem?” she laughed. he could barely hear her over the commotion on the other end of the line -- someone was calling her name repeatedly in a way that sounded urgent -- and then a door slammed, and there was quiet. “my problem, okay. i don’t have a problem. i’m not the one out here subtweeting and sneaking in and out of your show without calling, am i?”

“no, you’re just writing and releasing an entire sixteen-song album about me and all the ways i ruined your life without calling,” he snapped, his patience finally wearing thin enough to crumble. “don’t you think it might’ve been nice for you to give me a heads-up?”

“oh, please,” cadence scoffed, and he could feel that she was getting angry now, too. it felt good, in an awful sort of way. at least it was something. “i should have to clear it with you every time i write a song?”

“not a heads-up about the album,” he grit out, the fingers of his free hand flexing with the urge to throw something, “a heads-up about the way you fucking felt. you never say a goddamn word about any of that to me and i have to find out about it for the first time with -- everyone else? that’s really fucking special, cadence. that means a lot to me.”

there was silence on the other end of the line, giving him a moment to try to calm himself down. cadence was only ever quiet when she’d been surprised, meaning she wasn’t expecting him to say that. but she was certainly silent, then; if he couldn’t still hear her breathing raggedly, he might’ve assumed that she hung up on him again.

finally, she spoke, her voice small and unsure. “raleigh...”

but he wasn’t done fighting with her yet. “what’s the matter? you never thought that it might actually hurt my feelings? i guess that’s on me for giving a shit.”

“raleigh,” cadence said again, more insistently this time, “i didn’t know how to --”

“how to what, cadence? not break up with me? not ignore me for eight months afterwards? not pretend like it didn’t mean anything to you? it’s not that difficult.”

“well, obviously it was too difficult for you to do, too. you didn’t call me, either. so i’m supposed to believe -- what, exactly? that you missed me? that’s convincing, when you’re never out without a model on your arm.” 

she sounded hurt. why did she sound hurt? she was the one who’d stomped on his heart, she was the one who’d wanted this. 

“get over yourself,” he bit out, his hand curling into a fist at his side. he was never going to get his security deposit back after what he was about to do to his penthouse. “you knew i was in love with you and you didn’t care. which is fine. you don’t have to... just own it. stop acting like i did something to you.”

suddenly, the commotion on the other end of the line was back. “i have to go,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. 

he hung up without saying goodbye, throwing his phone onto the couch. okay. that was fine. everything was fine.

except that he couldn’t possibly stand to be in his apartment for another moment -- not without doing something stupid. 

he grabbed his keys and his phone and left, slamming the door behind him. his fingers drummed restlessly on his thighs as he rode the elevator down to the lobby. there were paparazzi waiting outside the front door of his building -- raleigh could see them through the glass as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. with a grimace, he headed for the back door.

there was already a car waiting for him. “let’s go to kismet,” he directed, rapidly firing off text messages to anyone he knew who might be available to distract him. 

within minutes, he was inside the club at a vip table. there was a bottle of vodka sitting in a bucket of ice at the center of the booth, calling out to him. he lifted it straight to his lips, drinking as much as he could in one go without coughing. she’d always used to joke about his self-destructive tendencies. if only she could see him now.

“hey, raleigh.” belle tamblyn stood before him, smiling in the low light of the club. she must’ve just gotten back from paris fashion week. two of her friends had already sat down at the booth, talking among themselves. 

he leaned back into the booth with a charming smile. “hey, belle. i knew you missed me.”

she laughed, taking his words as an invitation to sit down in his lap. he didn’t push her off, wrapping an arm around her narrow shoulders. she was taller and thinner than cadence in a way that wasn’t unfamiliar to him, but wasn’t exactly welcome, either. you’re never out without a model on your arm.

“so,” she started, looking down at him from up close, “what’ve you --”

he leaned up and kissed her, sliding a hand into her hair. her lips parted in surprise, sticky with lip gloss. raleigh bit her bottom lip and she sighed breathlessly, and that was -- good. that was almost... close enough.

his free hand slid over her backside, pulling her in closer. she was breathing hard when she pulled away, her face flushed.

raleigh laughed, pushing his fingertips under the hem of her dress. she reached down and swatted playfully at his chest.

“you’re an asshole,” she said primly, but she was rubbing her hand over the muscles in his chest. “do you want to get out of here?”

the last thing he wanted was to bring her back to his apartment, or to be there at all. “i don’t think i can wait that long,” he said charmingly, “bathroom?”

her nose scrunched up as she considered it, staring down at him. then, she said, “fine,” and slid up off his lap. he grinned, grabbing her hand and tugging her off toward the back of the club. 

it was a single person bathroom, and blessedly empty when they arrived. no one paid them any attention as he pulled her inside and flipped the lock. 

raleigh lifted her onto the sink and leaned in to kiss her again. she moaned as he pushed her legs apart and stepped between them, sliding his hands up her thighs.

this was fine. this was what he wanted.

so why couldn’t he force himself to do what he knew he was supposed to? his hands didn’t seem to want to move from where he’d anchored them on her legs, his lips kissing her methodically but not doing much else.

she wants to have sex with you! his brain screamed at him, she is a supermodel. a supermodel who wants to have sex with you. 

impatiently, her hands slid to the waistband of his jeans. he didn’t stop her as she pulled the zipper down and slipped her hand under the waistband of his briefs. 

it’s not a big deal. you’ve done this a million times. never after an argument like that with cadence, though... only when she was busy pretending he didn’t exist... 

the bass of the music playing in the club vibrated through the closed door. the song sounded painfully familiar -- he strained to make out what it was...

of course it was a dance remix of ‘gorgeous.’ why wouldn’t it be?

panting, he pulled his mouth off of belle’s, tipping their foreheads together. “hey,” he started hoarsely, licking his lips as he glanced down towards where her hand was wrapped around him, “i’m sorry, but i don’t... have anything. i don’t think we should...”

have unprotected sex in a nightclub bathroom. her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she weighed her options. on any other night, that might have actually been flattering, but tonight...

pounding on the bathroom door made their minds up for them. he stepped back, adjusting himself in his jeans. “come on.”

he helped her down off the sink and opened the door, ready to lead her back out into the club. the line of people waiting to use the bathroom stared open-mouthed at them both as they walked off toward the booth. raleigh grinned at them as he walked past -- that was what he was supposed to do, right?

belle’s friends barely arched an eyebrow at her as they sat down again. immediately, he started pouring drinks and passing them out -- anything to be as drunk as possible before the song ended.

by the time he stumbled home, alone, it was late -- later than he’d wanted to be out. he used the front door -- not because he wanted any paparazzi to get photos of him going home alone or anything, but because he felt like it -- and waited until he was in the elevator to sigh frustratedly, decidedly not checking his phone. he knew there was no way she’d texted him.

cadence was sitting on the floor outside of his apartment door when he stepped out into the hallway.

he stared at her like she was a hallucination, lifting one hand to his eyes to rub at them. maybe he had more to drink than he’d thought. she looked up at him, still dressed in what she must’ve worn to her album release party.

he felt like he was going to throw up. god, that would be uncool.

“hi,” she said quietly, from the floor. wordlessly, he stepped closer to her and held out his hand. she took it, letting him pull her up. “can i talk to you?”

that wasn’t going to be easy, considering he had absolutely no idea what to say, but raleigh nodded, unlocking his front door and motioning for her to step inside.

he didn’t turn the lights on, letting the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminate the space. the lights from the city and the glow of the moon made cadence look almost ethereal as she slowly wandered over towards the far wall, hesitating for a moment before kicking her high-heeled shoes off. despite himself, his lips twitched up into a smile as he watched her.

“want a drink?” he asked, because he certainly did.

she nodded, and he moved to the bar cart to pour them both a half-full glass of vodka. he dropped an ice cube into his and poured orange juice over hers. 

raleigh forced his feet to join her at the windows, silently holding her glass out to her. she took it with a mumble of thanks, lifting it to her lips. her eyes were trained on the view. what the fuck was she doing here?

the silence stretched between them. finally, he said, “congratulations on the album. it’s really good.”

that seemed to snap her out of it. she snuck a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “you listened to it?”

he nodded. no point in lying about it, now. “i’m a narcissist,” he joked, “it’s what i do.”

she laughed. raleigh stuffed his free hand into his pocket so that he wouldn’t reach out for her. god, he’d missed her laugh. 

he drained what was left in his glass in one go. “what’re you doing here?”

cadence was still staring out at the city. “i wanted to talk to you.”

“and yet, here you are. not talking.”

“i didn’t get that far when i planned this in my head,” she admitted, in an annoyingly endearing way. god damnit.

“how far did you get?”

she turned to look at him, then, leaning her shoulder against the window. “i thought maybe i would just kiss you when you got here and that would say everything i wanted to say. but then i chickened out.”

it felt like she’d just elbowed him in the stomach. “that doesn’t sound like you.”

“the kissing? i don’t know, i thought about it kind of a lot...”

he swallowed hard. “the chickening out.”

“oh.” she nodded, looking away. raleigh watched her stare down at the glass in her hands. “i guess i just felt like i already messed up so much. i didn’t want to... do the wrong thing again.”

raleigh couldn’t quite decide if he was too drunk for this conversation or not drunk enough. “how was your party?”

“it was fine. i think the last one i had -- for the odyssey -- was better.”

there was a night he didn’t want to relive. “look,” he sighed finally, turning back towards the windows and the city skyline, “i didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable position. if you’re only here because you think i’m upset... you don’t have to be. i’ll be fine.”

he could see her shifting out of his peripheral vision. she seemed to be considering what she wanted to say. finally, she spoke up. “that’s not why i’m here.” he turned towards her and watched as her shoulders squared. “i’m here because i missed you. a lot. and i wanted to apologize, for what happened between us... for shutting you out. for not telling you how i felt -- that i was in love with you, too. for letting you go.”

raleigh’s grip tightened on his glass so that he wouldn’t drop it on the floor. he stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. 

cadence drew in a deep breath and continued, “getting over you was the hardest thing i ever had to do. and when i saw the pictures of you leaving the show tonight i realized... i failed miserably at it. i can’t get over you. i couldn’t. i won’t.”

he had to be imagining this, right? he was drunk and asleep in his limo, he had to be. he was dreaming.

but she felt very, very real when she reached out and twined her fingers in the fabric of his shirt.

“please say something,” she begged. she was undeniable.

“cadence...” he sighed, “you know how i feel.”

she nodded, once. “i do, but i want to hear you say it.”

“i want you to be my fucking girlfriend,” he admitted immediately, his voice hoarse. now that he’d given in, his free hand reached out and cupped her cheek. “for real. all the time. in front of everyone. i want you to move in, i never want us to go another day without talking. i don’t want anyone else to touch you. ever again.”

her lips parted. he couldn’t stop his thumb from pressing into her invitingly full bottom lip, watching in fascination as her eyelids fluttered. “raleigh,” she breathed, beautifully enough to do his head in. 

he stepped forward swiftly, pressing her back against the windows, and kissed her. she moaned, scrambling to set her glass on the side table next to her. he knew her hands were free when they shoved into his hair. 

fuck, if he hadn’t been wanting this for so long. his lips broke off of her to trail kisses across her jaw, down towards her neck. he couldn’t stop his fingers from tugging at her dress insistently. “do you want that?” he demanded. raleigh felt her nod against him. his teeth scraped across her pulse point. “say it.”

“raleigh!” she exclaimed. it was the most amazing sound in the world. his hips pushed forward insistently, grinding between her thighs. the force of it pushed her back into the windows. “i want it, i want you. i want all of it -- everything.”

the urgency to fuck her through the window was balancing precariously against his desire to do things right -- to give her what she deserved. with a huff, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up, walking them both off towards his bedroom.

she laughed again as he dumped her on the mattress, hard enough to make her bounce. raleigh grinned back at her as he whipped his shirt off of his head, tossing it to the floor. she was scrambling up the mattress, and he chased her towards the headboard, kneeling on top of her when she finally laid back.

he crowded her in close for another kiss, his hands everywhere at once. she whined into his lips, kissing him so urgently, like they didn’t have all the time in the world, now. “i missed you,” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders desperately.

“i missed you too, beautiful,” he returned, pushing her dress up her thighs, “now lie back and let me make you feel good.”

his head was spinning by the time they’d finished, and not because of the drinks he’d had. cadence was tucked up under his arm, her head pillowed on his chest. she was still catching her breath as she dragged her fingertips along the tattoo spanning the expanse of his ribs.

the sun was starting to come up outside, filtering light into his bedroom. he stared at her face, illuminated by the dawning daylight. “you know, if anyone here is gorgeous, it’s you.”

“oh my god,” she mumbled, pressing her face into his skin, “you’re never going to let this go, are you?”

he smirked up at the ceiling as he pulled her in closer. “would you say it makes you so mad?”

“i’m going home,” she threatened, pinching his side. he laughed, squirming away from her hand. “this is over. you ruined it.”

“well, what if i want to come along?”

“raleigh,” she groaned finally, kicking him under the covers, “stop it.”

he snickered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “what, you’re allowed to write about me, but i’m not allowed to enjoy it?”

“please,” she sighed, settling in against his chest again, “like you don’t write about me.”

“i never said that,” he hummed, already imagining the things her face would do when she finally got to listen to his album, if he ever finished it. “i’m really hoping the label doesn’t make me change the name of sex at the moda.”

“okay, you did not write a song called ‘sex at the moda.’ tell me you didn’t.”

“i’d hate to lie.”

she lifted her head to look at him, her face flushing. “will you play it for me?”

he eyed the guitar in the corner of his bedroom. like he could ever say no to her. still...

“maybe later,” he grinned, rolling over to pin her beneath him, the sheets tangling around their legs. “i can think of a better use of our time. we have a lot to catch up on.”

her arms wound around his neck. “tell me about it.”

[unfolded73]

Partners (1/1) - schitt’s creek ff

The third of a series of snapshot fics centered around stages in David and Patrick’s relationship and the way they label it. Set some time between 5x06: Rock On and 5x08: The Hospies. (ao3)

Rated Explicit, 3267 words. Previous fic in this series: Boyfriends; “I Love You”

__________________________________

Partner, n. a person with whom one shares an intimate relationship; one member of a couple

~

“Stevie, no,” David said as she put a big bottle of discount shampoo into her grocery cart. “We sell shampoo at the store.”

“And are you going to give me some for free? Because I can’t afford the shampoo at your store.”

He wasn’t going to give it to her for free. She got enough free wine from them as it was.

They rounded the end of the aisle and moved onto the next one, where Stevie threw a box of tampons into her cart. “No comments.”

“Why would I comment? It’s a normal part of being a vagina-having human.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that. I just figured you’d have an opinion on what brand I was buying.”

David sniffed. “It would seem you’ve found the limit to my wealth of opinions.”

Stevie had moved on to the condoms, and she pulled two boxes off the little hook, throwing one in her cart and one in David’s.

“Oh,” he said. “I don’t—”

“Don’t tell me those aren’t your brand; I’ve seen you buy them plenty of times.”

“No, it’s not that.” He carefully put the box back. “I just don’t need any.”

Stevie shot him a pitying look. “Patrick’s not putting out anymore?”

“No!” he said indignantly as he continued pushing his cart down the aisle. “We’re just not, um, using… condoms. Anymore.”

Stevie stopped and stared at him. “That’s a big deal.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” David said, concentrating on his cart. “I have to go back; I forgot Patrick’s cereal.”

“So you’re saying it’s not a big deal that you’re here, buying groceries for the boyfriend with whom you’ve practically moved in and with whom you’re no longer using condoms.”

“I haven’t moved in, I just happen to know he’s out of cereal,” David said, trying not to smile.

“Because you’re exclusive,” she continued, bumping his shoulder. “Monogamous.”

“We aren’t seeing other people because we’re in a committed relationship.” David replayed Patrick saying those words in his mind a lot. Committed relationship. “And he says he has no interest in seeing other people, so.”

“Yeah, I heard about Ken,” Stevie said.

“Who told you about that?” David said, wincing.

“I got the full rundown from Alexis and from Patrick.”

David huffed. “So given that, and that we got tested ages ago, we decided to forego the condoms from now on.” He didn’t tell her the other thing that Patrick had asked him to promise: that if anything ever did happen with someone else, for either of them, the important thing was that they be honest with each other about it. Patrick said he could forgive infidelity, but he wouldn’t be able to forgive his health being put at risk in the interest of keeping a secret. It was an incredibly mature position to take, and David was still trying to wrap his head around the implications of it: that Patrick thought their relationship was solid enough to withstand something that serious. David had always thought of romantic relationships as something ephemeral that could be blown away by the prevailing winds. Not something stable, with thick stanchions sunk deep into the earth.

“That means you also have no interest in seeing other people,” Stevie said.

“Why would I want to see other people? I had a lifetime of seeing other people, and it didn’t hold a candle to…” He blinked. He was getting way over-emotional for the frozen food aisle, where Stevie was currently putting a couple of frozen pizzas into her cart. “Get one of the pepperoni and sausage,” he told her.

“These are for me. Get your own.” She shot him a smirk. “Didn’t hold a candle to what?”

“To being with someone who knows me,” David said quickly.

“Hmm.” Stevie led David over to the cereal aisle so that he could get Patrick’s breakfast cereal. “And you realize that he probably feels the same way, right? Which is why he doesn’t care about experiencing other guys at this point either.”

“Yes, I realize that now,” David said, meeting her eyes.

“Good.” Stevie nodded, but then her face contorted into a grimace. “God, David, you’re so happy. It’s disgusting.”

~~~

David found himself surprised by his own confidence in their relationship when he noticed Patrick checking out a hot guy in bike shorts who stopped by the store. Rather than a stab of jealousy, he just felt a sort of warmth about it, that after so many years of not knowing himself and even after the Ken debacle, Patrick was allowing himself to openly admire another man. So when the guy left with a bottle of juice and was back on his bike outside, David grinned and commented, “This town has a criminal shortage of asses that perfect.”

And rather than looking guilty, Patrick laughed. “Oh my god, right?”

“Aside from yours, of course.”

Patrick snorted. “Sure,” he said, and once again David had to restrain himself from delivering his well-researched, thoroughly-sourced lecture on the perfection of Patrick’s ass to the man himself.

“Maybe we should carry more items geared to cyclists. Reusable water bottles, energy bars, that kind of thing,” David mused.

Patrick looked impressed. “That’s actually a great idea, even if it is rooted in your desire to check out guys’ asses.”

“Not just guys. I like the asses of all genders.”

“Okay, fine. But my point is, Elmdale has a long-distance cycling club. We could do some good business with them if they’re motivated to stop in town while they’re out riding on summer weekends.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon putting together a plan for sourcing fitness-related products, with frequent interruptions to help customers or for shameless innuendo between the two of them, and all of it was fun. Working with Patrick was fun. Flirting with Patrick was fun. Just being in Patrick’s presence was fun, and the fact that they’d been dating for over a year hadn’t made any of it any less fun.

Of course, none of that meant David didn’t still have a possessive streak, and the next time the hot cyclist stopped in the store, David might’ve made a point of dragging his fingers along Patrick’s back where the guy could see.

“You might be interested in these new artisanal protein bars we’re testing,” Patrick told the cyclist, giving David a pointed look like he knew what he was doing.

“Are they good?” Hot cyclist asked.

“I make a point of not eating things with that much granola in them, but my partner assures me they are,” David said, winking at Patrick.

They sold him four bars.

~~~

The thing was, the word ‘partner’ had always been a regular part of their vocabulary since they owned a business together, so when it started to slip out of David’s mouth in contexts that had less and less to do with the business, at first he didn’t realize the import of it. It was Alexis who had to point it out to him one evening when he was hanging out at the motel while Patrick was at the Wobbly Elm with his baseball team.

“You’ve started calling Patrick your partner,” she said.

David squinted up at her from his journal. “What? He’s my business partner.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what you mean by it now. You mean partner. You know. Partner.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it just as quickly with a click.

“Like you guys are in it for the long haul.”

“Maybe we are,” David said, and oh fuck. Maybe they were.

“Are you going to propose?” she asked.

“What?” His mind whited out at even the suggestion of them… would Patrick want that? To marry him?

“You did always want to get married, David.”

“When I was young and naive and didn’t know that most people are terrible, fickle users.” But he thought about the wedding scrapbook from his childhood that he’d crammed into a suitcase on impulse when they’d been forcibly ejected from their house, the one that was now hidden under the knitwear in his cedar chest.

Alexis huffed, closing her magazine. “Yeah, but Patrick’s not. Patrick’s a sweetie and for some reason he loves you. You might want to lock that down.”

“Patrick’s been engaged before and he had an existential crisis about it,” David said.

“Patrick is gay and was engaged to a woman, so I don’t think that’s relevant.”

“Well, in any case, it’s too soon to… it’s too soon.”

Alexis shrugged.

“What would you do if Ted proposed again?” David asked.

“I’m pretty sure I ruined any chance of that happening. But who knows? Maybe I’ll propose to him someday. No reason I couldn’t ask him to marry me if I wanted to,” Alexis said, picking up her magazine and pretending to be interested in it.

“No,” David said faintly, not thinking about Alexis and Ted at all. “No reason at all.”

David’s conversation with Alexis about his and Patrick’s future was still on his mind at work the next day, which made Patrick’s grumpy mood particularly ill-timed.

“What is up with you?” David asked when Patrick thumped some of their precious merchandise down on a shelf a little too aggressively for the third time.

“I’ve been too busy to go grocery shopping and I was out of milk this morning,” he grumbled.

David winced, because he was pretty sure he’d used up a lot of that milk himself.

“And the stupid dryer in my apartment building ruined another one of my shirts,” Patrick continued.

“Well, is that really such a great loss?” David asked.

Patrick shot him a baleful look. “Really?”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Patrick waved it away and started heading into the back, then just as quickly swung back around. “Did you call the other contractors on the list about giving us a quote on the bathroom reno?”

“Ronnie’s quote is fine. I told you we don’t need—”

“David.” Patrick’s hands went to his hips.

“She’s our friend.” Which wasn’t exactly true — for some reason Ronnie’d never been more than politely skeptical of Patrick. But she was David’s friend.

“And conveniently, if we go with Ronnie you don’t have to call anyone else.”

“Excuse me, maybe I want to support another small business in town,” David said. “If it’s so important, why don’t you call the other contractors?”

“Because I’ve got a million other things to do!” Patrick shouted, his hands flung up in annoyance. “But whatever, do what you want.” And he stalked into the back.

Patrick stayed hidden away throughout the rest of the morning while David helped customers, his stomach in a knot and the press of tears behind his eyes. He hated when they fought. Fortunately it didn’t happen often, but David wallowed internally while he sold people jars of honey and hand-knitted sweaters and body milk.

He finally stuck his head in the back at a quarter past noon. “Do you want a sandwich from the café?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, not looking up from the filing drawer he was searching through. “Thanks.”

When David returned, he walked carefully over to Patrick’s desk and set the styrofoam container down in front of him. “I told Twyla that you were angry with me, and she gave you an extra pickle.”

Patrick looked up, his eyes sorrowful. “I’m not angry with you. I’m sorry I shouted. I was having a bad morning and I took it out on you.”

David sat across from him, opening his own lunch container. “But I didn’t call those contractors.”

Sighing, Patrick took a bite of one of his pickle spears. “No, you were right. We should cultivate loyal relationships with other business owners in town. Especially since Ronnie’s on council.”

“Okay.”

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

“The store is doing particularly well this month,” Patrick commented, sandwich in one hand while the other still scrolled on his scratchpad. A crumb dropped from Patrick’s sandwich onto his computer keyboard, making David wince.

“Yeah?”

“Mm hmm. Between the new product lines and your summer series of events, we’ve raked in record profits.”

David drummed his fingers on the desk. “So will you pay that out to us as a bonus, or…?”

Patrick arched an eyebrow. “No, I was thinking I’d use it to chip away at the list of things we wanted to do to improve the store. The bricks need repointing, and you wanted that wine fridge—”

“Or we could take a trip,” David said.

“A trip?”

“Yeah, a trip. A vacation. You and me, a beach, rum-based drinks, and minimal clothing.” He shimmied his shoulders a little, although the effect was somewhat lost since he was sitting down.

“That’s a lovely thought, David, but it would be a mistake to shut down the store to go on vacation when things are just starting to go so well. We should at least wait until we can afford an employee or two to cover for us while we’re out of town. And I think we might be a year away from that, based on my projections.” Patrick’s eyes were still focused on his spreadsheet.

“So in a year…”

Patrick finally looked at him and smiled. “In a year or two, we should take a trip.”

And sure, it hadn’t been that long ago that David had used the phrase ‘five years down the road’ in reference to their relationship, but he still felt dizzy at Patrick so blithely making plans with him so far in the future.

“You’ll definitely have broken up with me in a year or two,” David demurred, a joke that wasn’t really a joke.

Patrick eyed him for a few seconds, and then stood up and came around from behind the desk. “Oh, I think the promise of rum-based drinks and minimal clothing will be enough to keep me around.” He reached out a hand and when David took it, Patrick pulled him to his feet. “We can start planning it, if you want. If the planning is something you’d enjoy.”

“I suppose that’s something I’d enjoy,” David said into Patrick’s mouth just before they kissed. It was slow and sweet, and David tried to ignore the fact that Patrick tasted like pickles.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off?” David asked when their lips parted, his fingers kneading Patrick’s shoulders. “It’s been a while since you’ve taken some time off to relax.”

“I took an extra day off last week,” Patrick said.

“Yeah, and I came back to your apartment to find you working on the quarterly taxes at home. I mean, actually relax. Watch some porn. Read a book — and not a finance book! Read that baseball book you keep falling asleep on. I’ll take care of things here.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Mm hmm.” David kissed him again. “I insist.”

“Will you come over after?” Patrick asked, his hand squeezing David’s hip.

“Yeah.”

David floated through the afternoon on a happy cloud; he was even polite to Roland when he came into the store. It was equal parts relief that the small fight with Patrick hadn’t been that big a deal, and the smug satisfaction of having done something nice for his partner. At the end of the day, he didn’t even mind doing the tasks that he hated, like the bookkeeping.

When David slid his key into the lock of Patrick’s apartment and opened the door, the sparkling candlelight and the smell of something delicious cooking hit him simultaneously. Soft music was coming from the record player.

“I told you to relax,” David said, unable to keep his smile at the romantic tableau off his face. “Not slave away over dinner.”

“I did relax. And then by four o’clock I was bored and I decided to do this,” Patrick said as he poured red wine into two glasses, then he noticed what David was holding. “You got milk.”

“You said you were out.” David handed the jug to Patrick, who took it and put it away, a smile on his face.

David sipped his wine. “What did you do this afternoon?”

“Pretty much what you suggested,” Patrick said, pulling a roasted chicken and potatoes out of the oven. “Jerked off, took a nap, replaced that broken string on my guitar, flipped through the Netflix menu without watching anything, and then read my book for a while.”

“Sounds like a good afternoon,” David murmured, his brain stuck on picturing the first thing.

“It did improve my day enormously,” Patrick said as he put food into plates, “so thank you.”

“Any time. Well, not any time. The store is dull without you.”

They ate and drank and talked, and David thought again about what Alexis had said: that they were in it for the long haul. God, he was really starting to believe that was true.

Later, when they’d found their way into bed, Patrick’s hands were confident on his body, competent in the way he was when he operated a corkscrew or plucked his guitar. David felt a lazy kind of pleasure brimming over as Patrick touched him, a gentle thing that bubbled up as they moved together. They traded off using their mouths on each other’s cocks, slowly and without any need to race to the finish, just bringing each other pleasure for the enjoyment of the act itself, for the way it made the other man moan and gasp. The build was achingly slow until it wasn’t, until Patrick turned over onto his elbows and knees in obvious invitation.

David dragged out the process of preparing Patrick with his fingers until Patrick’s fists were clenched on his pillow, his voice ragged as he begged to be fucked. And then David kept at it a little longer still.

When he finally sank inside, Patrick was so keyed up that David worried he’d pushed things too far, that their orgasms would be too mistimed for them both to enjoy this as much as he wanted them to. But Patrick quieted as David fucked him, going to whatever place inside his head he went to stave off coming too soon. Then it was all long, slow strokes and David pressed against Patrick’s back, the sweat slick between them. God, it was a crime how good it felt.

“Harder,” Patrick finally said, finally giving in and stroking himself. “Please, harder.”

“I love you like this,” David groaned, his hips snapping forward with more force. “I’ll always want this with you. Always.”

Patrick had gone nonverbal, rocking back on his knees in time with David’s thrusts, and then he came and David could feel it, the pulses of it clenching around his cock, and he fell over the edge right after Patrick, his teeth against Patrick’s spine.

“Fuck, that was good,” Patrick slurred, collapsing onto his stomach once David had pulled out. They took turns cleaning up in the bathroom, a well-worn routine including comfortable pajamas and glasses of water before getting back into bed.

“This turned out to be a pretty good day,” Patrick said.

“We could go to Elmdale on Monday and I can help you pick out some new shirts,” David murmured, remembering Patrick’s morning frustration.

“You just want a mall pretzel,” Patrick answered, but then he leaned over and kissed David’s cheek. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

It was only minutes before Patrick was softly snoring next to him. David was wide awake though, lying still and watching him sleep, imagining what their future together might be.

[riotwritesthings]

Undateable

Steve/Tony fanfic, 2.9k, rated T AO3

Prompt: Fake Dating

Prompt found here

-

“This is all your fault,” Tony mutters grumpily as he slides out of the car, pausing just long enough to shoot Happy a quick nod. "Maybe this'll teach you not to say nice things about me in public. Important information for the future."

“I'm still not even sure how we got to this point,” Steve says, still in that vaguely lost tone he's had all day.

The incessant flashing of a million cameras certainly isn't helping with Steve's slightly dazed expression as he clambers out of the car, and a small part of Tony can't wait to see those photos. Most of Tony, though, is just dreading finding out exactly how this is all going to go horribly, horribly wrong. Plus, he just knows Steve is going to look unfairly good in all the press photos no matter what dumb things his face is doing. The suit he's all nicely wrapped up in pretty much guarantees that.

"Let's get this night over with," Tony says miserably, slaps on his press smile, and then drags Steve's giant, dazed ass towards the doors by the arm.

What had happened was Steve, being a big dumb sweet-hearted idiot who didn't know when to keep his damn mouth shut. Namely, when they suddenly found themselves swarmed by reporters just tying to leave the tower to walk to the burger place down the street. Tony had been all prepared to just flash a smile and elbow his was through the crowd, but not Steve, oh no, apparently Steve had had other plans.

Tony had been barely even paying attention to the questions being tossed at him, had zoned out around the time someone had asked asked about his breakup with Pepper for the millionth time. Like that hadn't happened a couple years ago now, like it wasn't the oldest of old news. Apparently the term 'undateable' has been thrown out there, because the next thing Tony knew Steve had been practically screaming into the gathered reporters, ranting about how 'Tony is the exact opposite of undateable,' about how he's apparently 'thoughtful and generous' and how 'anyone would be lucky to have him.'

Tony had nearly tripped over nothing and face planted into the sidewalk, and he hadn't even been sure which part was more surprising, Steve being anything less than polite to the press, or the fact that Steve apparently thinks he's 'a real catch.'

-

“Yes, I remember that,” Steve says, and he doesn't roll his eyes but his face gets that pinched look that says he really wants to. It's too bad, Tony would really love the mental image of Steve going full-annoyed in the middle of a charity gala to look back on and laugh. “And I'm still not going to apologize for what I said, they were way out of line-“

“Stop, you're embarrassing me,” Tony says dryly, and Steve kindly goes along with pretending the sarcasm is real.

“What I'm saying,” Steve continues on, undaunted as he always is by Tony's bullshit, “is that I don't understand how that got us here.”

“Ah,” Tony says, because it's a fair point.

-

That was kind of where the whole thing got a little complicated, and see there was a reason Tony never responded to those kind of digs from the press. Because they always took any reaction entirely out of context, and usually blew it out of proportion too. Which is how 'news' had gotten out that Tony Stark is looking to date again, with Captain America as his confusingly aggressive wingman.

Tony is not, for the record, looking for a date. Not even a little bit, but he couldn't exactly say that or they'd go right back to reporting on how he's obviously still in love with Pepper and wasting away without her. Again, for the record, he's not, but since when has the truth ever mattered to the tabloids? And Tony supposes it's better than the alternative, which would be the press making the wild leap to the (correct) conclusion that the reason Tony hasn't been dating is because he's a little, completely hung up on someone new. Someone tall and blond who does dumb things like yell at the press on Tony's behalf. Maybe. Who's to say, really, because Tony will certainly never tell. Luckily, very few of the least respectable writers had leapt on that theory.

The end result of the entire mess, is that the world is now convinced that Tony's looking for love, which could not be further from the truth. He's got all the love he needs, more than enough, so much that he's constantly surprised no one else notices it spilling out of him every time he's so much as in the same room as Steve. Which makes their current situation such a problem.

-

"Aren't you supposed to be mingling?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow at him as they loiter near the catering tables. "Isn't that what you usually do at these things?"

Tony shoots him a flat look, and then peaks around Steve's broad shoulder, which he is definitely not hiding behind, to eye the circling predators. "No Steve, I'm not mingling. That's the whole reason you're here, to play human shield so I can show my face while only talking to you all night. It's like you weren't even listening to Pepper."

"I didn't understand a word the two of you were saying," Steve confirms easily and hands Tony another plate of tiny shrimp.

"You're lucky you're cute," Tony says sweetly, patting at Steve's cheek with the hand not clutching his third plate of food. And he's really in trouble, because Steve just smiles and there is no way Tony is going to make it through tonight without making a fool of himself.

"Well at least I have that going for me," Steve says with that goofy little grin that always makes Tony weak. The one Tony has been trying really hard not to think of as 'his' smile.

Tony shoves more shrimp into his mouth so he won't say anything incredibly stupid.

-

Tony's plan had been to just ignore all the rumors and gossip, like he always did, but after the third overzealous admirer had to be forcibly carted out of the tower lobby he could admit that maybe things were getting out of hand. And the media was just making it worse, of course, playing it up like some kind of competition; capture the heart of Tony Stark and win instant fame and notoriety.

Tony remains wildly unamused by the whole thing. He had even had to ban the news in the tower after a particularly fictional broadcast had Clint laughing his ass off and Steve nearly putting a remote through the TV. Pointing out that technically this was what Steve had wanted, now people officially thought Tony was dateable again, just seemed to make Steve grumpier, which made Clint laugh harder, until Steve had stormed out of the room and Tony had been left alone with Clint’s cackling. The whole thing is just a headache that Tony doesn't want to deal with, much less know begin to know how.

And then came the charity gala, the one Tony couldn't skip no matter how much he begged and pleaded and reasoned. Pepper had even sounded kind of sorry for him, though she hadn't let him off the hook, so what good did that do him? Because Tony just knew he'd be swarmed with the desperate elite the second he walked in, no way to avoid it. Not without actually finding a date to the thing, which is what Tony had been trying to avoid in the first place.

For all the good that had done him.

-

Hiding behind Steve doesn't work forever, because of course it doesn't. Steve is entirely too friendly and wholesome to keep the wolves at bay for long.

"I hear you're back on the market," the woman says, a small secretive smile on her face and yep, that is definitely her hand on Tony’s ass.

"Technically true, but I assure you, rumors of my appeal have been greatly exaggerated," Tony says with a tight smile and tries to subtly shift away from her.

Its apparently enough to pull Steve's attention away from the conversation he's having with the woman's husband. Or possibly her father. The introductions weren't real clear.

"Time for your speech," Steve says and wow, that is his Captain America voice right there. No one even thinks to protest as Steve expertly extracts Tony from the women's clutches and then escorts him across the room with his huge hand in the small of Tony's back.

It takes everything Tony has not to blush like a school girl being escorted into the prom. He has a terrible feeling that he's failing, and Tony would just like it known, just for the record, that this whole thing was not his idea.

-

Getting called to Pepper's office had felt uncomfortably similar to getting called into the principal's office. Not that Tony would know. At all. The feeling had only gotten worse when he realized Steve was already waiting in the hallway, looking like a confused puppy and Tony definitely hadn't been struck with the urge to pet his head, not even a little bit.

After making them wait for an agonizing ten minutes Pepper had finally let them in, and Tony had known instantly by the look on her face that he wasn't going to like where this was going. And he hadn't, because she'd wanted to talk about the rumors and the upcoming gala, because of course that was what this was all about. Pepper had pointed out there was one rumor that might actually come in useful, and the look she had given Tony was equal parts pity and mocking.

Tony's blood had run cold, and no matter how much he'd objected Pepper had stood firm. She thought it was the best option, no matter how many times Tony had insisted that it was actually the worst option. Poor Steve had just been left looking back and forth between them, confusion obvious on his face, and in the end it had been his downfall.

-

Tony gets up on the stage and he gives the speech Pepper wrote for him. The whole time his eyes follow Steve as he moves around the room, talking and smiling and charming everyone in his path.

It’s disgusting, it what it is, how easy Steve makes it look. Every gala or press event that Tony has to do, he worries that his fake smile is going to get stuck, stretched painfully tight across his face. But Steve is genuinely friendly, and talking to him always leaves people smiling and happy. Not at all like Tony, who at best leaves people confused and a little lost, wondering if they've just been insulted.

By the time Tony's speech is over Steve is waiting by the edge of the stage again, and his easy smile has been replaced by a look of determination. Before Tony can say a word, or maybe ask where the fight is, Steve grabs his hand and drags him over to the slowly filling dance floor. Tony is so busy trying to fight down his sudden and overwhelming urge to blush and stutter that he doesn’t even notice they’re dancing until it’s already happening.

“Um,” Tony says, and now he’s definitely blushing. His head is also kind of spinning, and Tony is totally going to blame it on the dancing, even if they're really just swaying in place. Mostly he's just lightheaded from having Steve's hands on him, Steve's eyes on him, the heavy weight of Steve’s attention focused entirely on Tony. “Wha- what-?”

"Tony," Steve says, voice low, something oddly tight in his expression, "do people think I'm your date?"

Tony blinks at him, clutches a little tighter at Steve’s shoulder because its kind of the only thing keeping him upright. "Wow, you really weren't listening to Pepper's plan," Tony says, and he definitely sounds a little strangled.

-

Historically, people have had a hard time saying no to Pepper. Doesn’t matter if it’s Tony or the SI board of directors, Pepper basically always gets what she wants.

So really, it’s not totally Steve’s fault, that he had automatically agreed when Pepper had turned that sharp smile on him and said ‘Steve doesn’t mind, does he?’ Of course Steve hadn’t been able to argue with that smile, no one would have been.

Tony certainly hadn’t jumped in with any further arguments, and not just because, actually, he would really, really like to take Steve to a charity gala as his date. Or really anywhere as his date. No, Tony hadn’t said anything because he had known there was no way he’d be able to believably object to the plan any more than he already had without giving away how much he secretly, selfishly loved the plan. He’d made some very expressive and unhappy faces though, leaning back where Steve hadn’t been able to see him, and Pepper had steadfastly ignored him.

So really, Tony is right. This whole thing is Steve’s fault. He just had to go be a dumb, sweet hearted idiot, defending Tony to the press, and now Steve has to play fake date / bodyguard to defend Tony from the desperate masses. Except apparently Steve had missed the ‘fake date’ part of the equation, and Tony’s really not sure how he’s supposed to feel about that.

-

“I told you, this is what you get for saying nice things about me in public, now people think you're my date," Tony says and he's aiming for flippant but probably misses by a mile. Because apparently the fact that this was a date, no matter how fake, hadn’t even occurred to Steve, and isn’t that fun? “You can just wait and see how undateable I actually am at the end of the night.”

“Tony,” Steve says slowly, in the special tone he gets when Tony takes a joke too far.

“What?” Tony tries to demand, tries to sound offended, but instead his voice just comes out soft because Tony genuinely has no idea what he did wrong this time. Except apparently trick Steve into a fake-date, and if that’s what Steve is upset about then Tony might actually cry. Because if he can’t even get a fake-date from the nicest guy in the world than maybe he’s even more undateable than he thought.

Steve sighs, leans his head down until their foreheads bump together, and its probably a good thing Steve's eyes are closed, because there is absolutely no way for Tony to hide the way his own eyes have gone wide with shock. “I told you, I meant every word,” Steve says, his voice practically a whisper, and he sounds so sincere and so unexpectedly sad and Tony has no idea what any of it means. “Anyone would be- so, so lucky to have you.”

Tony makes a sound that's supposed to be a scoff, but it comes out sounding weak and strangled. “Aw, come on, have you not even met me?” Tony asks, trying to crack a joke but it doesn't really work when his voice is the thing that cracks.

Steve opens his eyes again and Tony's breath catches almost painfully in his chest. “I know you,” Steve says, voice quiet but firm, like he's saying something terribly important. “I know you, and I- I think you're the most amazing person I've ever met. I just, I wish I could make you see it.”

Tony can only blink stupidly, and he wants so badly to turn this into some kind of joke, but with Steve meeting his gaze steadily Tony can't seem to think of a single thing to say that's not brutally honest. “That’s... really nice,” Tony finally says, his voice tight and he’s really having trouble breathing with Steve all up in his space like this. He’s also having a lot of trouble not reading into the way Steve's face is inches away from his own, smiling at Tony all gentle and fond, spinning him through the end of one song and straight into the next. “Stop it, you’re freaking me out,” Tony insists weakly.

“No,” Steve says, grinning a little wider. His hand on Tony’s lower back feels huge and warm and so, so gentle, his eyes bright and about as happy as Tony has ever seen him. “I’m going to say nice things about you all the time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Before he even knows what’s happening Tony finds himself blurting out “maybe you should go on a real date with me, see how you feel after that.” The wave of mortification that crashes over Tony almost immediately afterward is almost enough to knock him off his feet, and he might actually fall on his ass if not for Steve keeping him standing.

And Steve just smiles, wide and bright, like somehow he’s the one who’s been waiting for this. "Deal," Steve says, and Tony is left blinking in stunned confusion. "But fair warning," Steve adds with a smirk, "I'm probably going to say more nice things."

"Deal," Tony repeats, a little breathless and a lot shocked, still not sure that this is really happening. He'd pinch himself, but one, he'd have to stop dancing with Steve, and two, if this is a dream Tony doesn't actually want to wake up.

"Good," Steve says, and spins him again.

[ravenbloodau]

The Voyages of Ker'Tak and Skye Episode 4: Peace Gone Wrong

"Ker'Tak, can you pass me the that injector?" Skye asked as she worked to treat the Captain.

"Here," Ker'Tak was quickly handing her things as they tried to treat another crewmate of theirs.

The Kirins didn't see the couple sent to their planets as a sign of peace. Unfortunately, Mekt'Ta didn't take Ker'Tak's advice to send Sek'Fa.

"Ker'Tak, your normal resting pulse is 230 beats per minute?" Skye sounded worried now.

"Yes, why? What's going on? James is stable," Ker'Tak had James all taken care of for the time being.

"Heart rate's below average, trouble breathing, there's a large area of irritation, like they shot them with a phaser," Skye started hooking Mekt'Ta up to a breathing mask and worked to scan the irritated site.

Ker'Tak couldn't move past Skye, but they could look over her, and they saw the charred bruising of a phaser.

The ship shook for a moment and the alarm started blaring. The comm buzzed in a panic.

"Skye, go, take care of those injuried on the bridge," Ker'Tak took over, "I'll take care of the Captain."

"Alright, gotta hurry," Skye ran out carrying her bag of supplies. Mekt'Ta's breathing stabilized as the ship shook a second time.

"Godspeed," Ker'Tak muttered as they worked to lift some of the char off the Captain's chest.

The Captain's heartrate stabilized around 203 bpm. Not ideal, but better than under 150.

The alarms ceased and it got eerily quiet upon the ship. Mekt'Ta was stable for the time being, so Ker'Tak stepped back and waiting close to the door.

Skye opened the door, carrying Fekt'Ma around her shoulders. That, and a human child laid in her arms. Bloodied.

"Help," Ker'Tak didn't need to hear more, moving to get both the child and Fekt'Ma onto bed and begin treatment. They had to call in a couple other medics for the time being, so that they could work to stabilize the two.

"Bullet in their lung, they need immediate surgery," Hiashi started, prepping Fekt'Ma for said surgery.

Skye watched over Human James and Captain Mekt'Ta for the time being as Ker'Tak handled the child's injuries. They were crying a lot, so Ker'Tak also worked to distract them with their horns. The crying was a bit more controlled, but still consistent. The child would be ok, a couple of stitches along their forearm, and some tylenol later and they'd sleep for the day.

"Mekt'Ta isn't looking too hot, Ker'Tak. Has Viya been informed of her role?" Skye inquired not half an hour later.

Fekt'Ma had come out of surgery and was recovering well..Surprisingly well.

"I don't know," Ker'Tak admitted, "With all that has occured over today, I've been swept up in the work."

Skye nodded, "That's alright, I'll head to the bridge to see if she knows. Do you want me to grab anything while I'm out and about?"

Ker'Tak paused for a moment, staring at Skye. Their mind went blank for a moment. If they needed to, they could grab what they needed and be back in a few minutes, why would she offer to go? It would be awhile before she'd be back anyway.

"N-No, thank you Skye," Ker'Tak mumbled halfheartedly turning away.

"Alrighty, well, yell if you need anything," Skye seemed worried about Ker'Tak. In all honesty, they seemed exhausted, overrun already, even after their extended break the day before.

It would be hours before they had anything interesting happen.

Skye left, and her voice rang in Ker'Tak's ears. They were bothered by this whole thing. Mekt'Ta was pulling through, and the other three injured patients were going to be fine.

Human Skye, as a representative of her species, was much more surprising than anyone had predicted. The level of individuality between humans, given their limited genetic pool, was an unsettling precedent for other similar species.

Kirin were no exception to this unsettling development. Both species were *predatory* in nature, while most other species within the High Council of Planets were originally prey species.

Mekt'Ta stirred as Human Gia, Skye's twin sister, entered the Medbay. Ker'Tak looked over as Gia slowed down suspiciously.

"Is the Captain alright?" Gia asked, shakily rooting around in Skye's station.

"Mekt'Ta will recover, yes, what are you looking for?" Ker'Tak was on edge, the soft red glow from their growing horns ebbing into sight.

"She was asking for her notepad, no one else has been hurt that she can find, but something's eating at her," Gia mumbled half-heartedly, "Said something about Kirin physiology being off-put by Si'Nian nodes."

Ker'Tak looked over as Gia found the notepad.

"Kirin physiology, being off-put by-???" It clicked. It was possible that the nodes that made it possible for Si'Nians to telepathically communicate agitated the Kirin, generating hostility that allowed the attack.

"Ker'Tak?" Skye walked back into the Medbay as Gia turned to leave. Both were surprised to see her all bogged down already.

"Human Skye? Your theory, how do you plan to test how Si'Nian nodes affect Kirin physiology?" Ker'Tak took interest in their co-worker's theory.

"Oh! Gia told you, did she? Well, the plan is instead of sending the Captain back, I'll send *you* down. Your nodes are still growing in, *however* they may be in too early a stage to agitate the Kirin's sensitivity to those electric frequencies," Skye explained as she stole away her notepad from Gia.

"How do you feel about heading down there?"

"Why bother asking sis?" Gia cut in, half annoyed, "They attacked-"

"They were in *pain* Gia, it's a natural response to being overstimulated to be agitated, hostile, even, to anything and everything around," Skye cut her off, "Ker'tak, would you be ok with heading down? If you're still shaken by yesterday, I completely understand and I can find someone else."

Ker'Tak blinked. They had forgotten about yesterday for the most part, more focused on the here and now of it all.

"I'm..I'm willing to do anything it takes to ensure this treaty is signed and agreed upon," Ker'Tak affirmed his promise, recalling his *oath* to the High Council of Planets.

"But are you prepared for the ramifications if something goes wrong?" Skye shot back. Ker'Tak blinked, the red glow faded away.

"Only if you or Gia accompany me down, *yes.*"

Skye nodded as her sister quickly made her way out.

"Well, lucky us, you're one of the youngest here on ship and I've just applied to head down and it's been approved," Skye smiled as Ketti walked in and took over the monitoring of Mekt'Ta and the other patients.

Ker'Tak started on their way out, walking beside Skye toward the transporter, quietly. Quickly.

"No breifing? Sir nothing?" Warren asked as Ker'Tak stood on the transporter, "Are you sure?"

"Time is of the essence, is it not?" Skye countered rapidly, "We were briefed on our way down, Warren."

"Skye, you needn't be harsh," Ker'Tak chided the human, now reminded of her brash nature, "But we were briefed on this issue. Now, beam us down, Warren."

"Sure thing sir," Warren beamed Ker'Tak and Skye down.

Immediately they were met with weapons pointed at them. The Kirin hadn't calmed down yet.

"Whoa! Whoa! Hold up! We're not here to cause harm!" Skye immediately began trying to talk them down.

They lowered their weapons, unsure if they could trust this obviously predatory female and this docile nonbinary entity.

A Si'Nain that wasn't agitating them was a nice treat however..It certainly dropped their guard.

"You want to hash out the treaty? Get it signed and official don't you?" The president of the Kirin people, Wysteria S. Illiad, stepped forward.

"Yes, we would like to do just that, may we proceed?" Skye asked calmly, confidently and collected.

"Of course, ma'am, is your assistant here simply to provide information? Or are they meant to pry?" Wysteria inquired as Skye was offered a seat at the long table, with half a dozen Kirin settling down.

"He is here to provide myself with necessary information and to help us make the best informed decisions. No one means to pry or to cause harm," Skye explained as she sat down. Ker'Tak sat beside her, quietly taking up a notepad and reading through the files.

"So they are an assistant?" Wysteria asked to clarify.

"They're my coworker, we are of equal rank and we're both qualified to take over for the other should we need to leave the room," Skye clarified and Wysteria nodded.

"Alright, ma'am, sir, we had gotten as far as just needing the treaty to be proofread and signed," Wysteria explained, "Just before your Captain started to actively pry to read the situation."

"I understand that the prying must have been very painful for you," Skye sympathized, "Reading over this treaty, it seems to be fair enough and well-written."

"Thank you, ma'am. Is there a name we can call you by?" Wysteria asked and Skye nodded.

"My name is Skye, and this is Ker'Tak," Skye introduced herself without incident.

"Hello," Ker'Tak greeted the group. They were all wary of them, watching his horn like nodes for color, for activity, "I have to agree with Skye, this treaty appears to be fair and well-written, I'd see no issue with signing it now."

"Thank you, Ker'Tak, but there is one alteration we would like to add. That no Si'Nian would forcibly probe a Kirin without consent, as it causes a considerable amount of pain and discomfort to our species," Wysertia wrote it into the treaty, and the group all nodded.

"That is fair, it is invasive to do that to someone without their knowing," Skye agreed, "Ker'Tak?"

"Agreed, if I may invite you, Madam President Wysteria, to sign the treaty, I will sign after you," Ker'Tak and Wysteria were given the official copies of the treaty. One for each side.

It was signed.

The Kirin planet of GaxTal 3 was now apart of the Council of High Planets. The Treaty was put through to the Council, and there were cheers when Skye and Ker'Tak returned to the ship with Wysteria.

She was shown around, and the tension melted between her and Ker'Tak as Skye mediated the conversation.

"Ah, so you two are doctors?" Wysteria chuckled, "For people who work with the dying, you make excellent ambassadors. Especially you Human Skye."

"Thank you Madam President," Skye beamed, "I hope your people and ours will grow in tandum, and be able to learn from one another."

"The sentiment is shared, from one species of warriors to another, now, I must return to my people and you must return to your patients," Wysteria beamed as she stepped onto the transporter.

"Yes ma'am!" Skye sent her off with a cheerful farewell. Ker'Tak was already back in the Medbay, as Skye walked in.

"That was impressive work today," Ker'Tak cheered her on, "The Treaty's gone through to the Council, and they're pleased that Humankind was able to assist in such a difficult situation, lessening the stress and distress of it all."

"Thanks Ker'Tak!" Skye smiled as she got back to work, checking Mekt'Ta's pulse and other vitals.

Mekt'Ta was pulling through, and the ship had already been repaired by those in Engineering. Everything was coming back together well.

Gia entered the Medbay again, worriedly walking up to Skye, and the two started to conversate quietly with one another.

Ker'Tak busied themself with other work, ensuring the child and James were alright to go as long as they returned the next day as a check up.

"You what?" Skye's voice spiked in tone and her alertness spiked through the roof.

"SHHHHH!" Gia hushed her sister, "But yes, I think I am, and so is he. Please don't tell anyone."

"Alright Gia, only because you asked and because he's my patient. You can see him," Skye gave the all-clear for Gia to see Mekt'Ta.

The next evening, Ker'Tak and Skye ate together in the dining hall.

"Ker'Tak, I've been reading up on interspecies relationships. Are they fully forbidden?" Skye asked midway through the strangely quiet meal.

"Yes, they are, for sake of everyone, to protect from any problematic pregnancies and prevent interspecies children from being discriminated against. Bi-racial children have always had issues, despite attempts to educate and eradicate the hatred towards them," Ker'Tak explained plainly, "Why? You know this already, do you not?"

"I do, but I wanted to be sure," Skye mumbled as Ker'Tak took a drink.

"Is there someone you were seeing Human Skye, or planning on seeing?" Ker'Tak inquired, now curious and worried.

"Me? No, no of course not. I'm.. Ah, well, I'm not looking for anybody, just, wondering out loud, I guess," Skye covered her tracks well.

Ker'Tak placed his cup down. Carefully they considered telling Skye. She took a drink as it crossed their mind that the truth best be spoken now.

"Human Skye, I understand humans can get easily attached to those they work with for prolonged periods, and over time their friendships can evolve into lifetime bonds as mates. I must inform you that I have no interest in any relationship with anyone as a mate. I am, as you humans put it, asexual," Ker'Tak told her.

Skye went red in the face as she sat down her cup and immediately began telling Ker'Tak quickly that that wasn't the case.

"Ker'Tak no! That's- no! I'm not! You're a good friend sure, but that's! Aaah, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable with that question! It's- aaah...Shit... It's Gia. I'm her sister and she tells me everything. She's..Got someone in mind," Skye admitted and Ker'Tak sighed in relief as the tension between the two of them.

"Ah, thank the stars," Ker'Tak laughed it off, a golden glow coming from their horns, "It's alright. Your familial bond to her is understandable, you want to protect her, naturally."

"Yea," Skye laughed it off, "Ugh, you're a great friend, honestly, thank you Ker'Tak. I needed to admit to that."

"No problem Skye," Ker'Tak lifted their glass to hers, "To success!"

"To success!" Skye's laughter filled Star-Forward.

The bond between the two could only grow stronger from here.

[sgnolivia]

weird flex— are you okay??

two days into maybe-olivia’s eat-pray-love-crush-enemy-skulls pillage of cleveland, she’s struck by a migraine so searing that she has enough presence of mind to google psnn hesd dyig strook e ? before she’s left twitching in a trash heap behind starbucks.

two days into maybe-olivia’s eat-pray-love-crush-enemy-skulls pillage of cleveland, she’s struck by a migraine so searing that she has enough presence of mind to google psnn hesd dyig strook e ? before she’s left twitching in a trash heap behind starbucks.

it’s still light out when her brain stops trying to design, manufacture, and detonate it’s own atomic bomb. maybe-olivia isn’t sure if it’s been three hours or three days. the double chocolate chip frappe she bought t-minus five to blackout (ha!) has solidified on her pants. she can taste seafoam under her tongue.

she stares up at the sky in muted exhaustion. 

god, it’s me, she thinks. i would like to invoke my right to choose. 

perhaps if the zygote tube had been pro-choice, none of this would be fucking happening. 

the lizard takes over all executive functioning at that point, forcibly ejecting her from the drivers seat. when she blinks down at her shirt it’s neon green and has a fun i love chicago! written across a black skyline. 

maybe-olivia wonders if she saw the blue bedroom and doesn’t remember it. hopefully the lizard wrote it in the unicorn book.

not that it matters. what’s another forgotten thing in the grand scheme of it all? it’s a fifty-fifty shot she’ll remember anything she’s written in the notebook, anyway. her memory is half a step above melted swiss cheese. 

from that point on, every decision is like russian roulette with a gun that’s fully loaded. maybe-olivia has no fucking idea what’s going to set her spinning into a migraine or send her flying off the realm of human existence or remind her, hey, she fucking loves macaroons. it’s a lot of calculated risks and maybe-olivia discovers that she’s very bad at math. 

it goes on like this for an indeterminable amount of time. 

she tries to balance her world-wide assassination tour with her brain’s need to self-destruct every seventy-three seconds. it is difficult. 

after the act of dying her hair a soft brown sends her tripping into a panic attack, shivering violently and puking all over the nice bathroom of the vacation home she’s squatting in, maybe-olivia decides this isn’t working. 

the unicorn notebook is full, so maybe-olivia unpacks the glittery purple one she bought to replace it. the pen that lights up was lost somewhere in bolivia so she has to settle for a fatter pen that holds four different wells of ink. she feels traitorous for liking it more than its predecessor. 

option 1:

die. 

honestly, this is the easiest and most cost-effective route. at this point she’s ninety-five percent sentient machine gun. there wouldn’t be much lost. blackout was set to be decommissioned after operation foxtrot anyway. maybe-olivia would just be finishing what was set into motion a long time ago. 

she switches the pen into the blue inkwell and sets up a t-chart.

pros:

no more migraines.

won’t wake up in romanian hostel.

stop randomly puking.

permanently get rid of lizard.

cons:

maybe-oliva sits back in the chair. this list is marginally harder. 

agency is exhausting and confusing. some days she’s completely post-verbal and other days she can only speak argentinian spanish, despite having no memories related to argentina. some days she physically can’t wake her body up for more than six minutes at a time. most days she throws up everything she tries to eat. 

maybe-olivia wishes she was strapped back into her holding cell in the unnamed facility, twelve floors below the earth. 

this transforms her body into a wet chihuahua. it takes four hours to pull her bones back inside her skin and another two just to get off the floor. 

jesus, she thinks, and adds keep bones in skin to the pros list. 

she ruminates on her death for a bit, losing time to daydreaming about the endless sleep that might await her. none of her training covered the afterlife so this is as much a guess as everything else in her life. maybe it’s an endless blank void. maybe it’s burning in a pit. maybe it’s a another shot. maybe-olivia hopes not. she doesn’t know if her spirit can handle another go-round of this. 

but, her brain lizard pipes up, then they would win!

maybe-olivia growls out loud and pointedly tells it to shut the fuck up even if she begrudgingly admits that it has a point. 

if she dies, then director howard lives. 

this alights something hot deep in her gut. it feels like she has to puke and run fourteen miles at the same time. there’s no way in hell marcus fucking howard gets to live over her. fuck that. fuck that. 

and really, doesn’t she deserve that? doesn’t she deserve the right to drag howard out of his villa safehouse, shove a piece of rubber in his mouth, break all his fingers, and ask what her real goddamn name is?

project sisyphyus has been trying to kill her— the real her— for eleven fucking years and they still haven’t gotten it done. she wins, they lose. they’ll have to try harder. 

she writes fuck that in the scrawling, bunched together lettering she’s beginning to associate with her own personal handwriting. it’s nice. it feels like she owns something.

fuck that.

if they want me dead, they better fucking find me.

option 2:

get it the fuck together

there are no cons to this. she doesn’t need a t-chart. 

getting it together proves to be a con all on it’s own. her brain is a glorified vegetable but it’s all she’s got. it’s not like she can swap it out for a new one. it needs serious repairs though, and short of hooking her scalp up to a car battery, maybe-olivia isn’t sure how to go about this. 

google is, though.

and google doesn’t care if she has to look something up four times an hour. it points her towards helpful websites. searching how do i get my memories back and following it with who the fuck am i six times in half as many hours points her to a self-help thread which leads her to a diagnosis forum. she has acute brain trauma, post-traumatic stress disorder, dissociative episodes, panic attacks, and sometimes seizures. also, maybe arthritis. she has to ask google what dissociation means. 

maybe-olivia is struck with the overwhelming knowledge that other people know what she’s going through. there are other people who fell head first out of a plane with no parachute and have been hurtling towards the ground for as long as they can remember. sure, they haven’t been tortured and brainwashed and denied the basic human rights that are allocated pretty much across the board but she doesn’t care. she feels connected to these people who live half outside of their skin, wondering the earth like zombies chewed up in the garbage disposal. 

they teach coping strategies. ways to fake normal existence so that it seems like they’re living in the same reality as everyone else. how to breathe when her lungs collapse. how to avoid physical contact in day-to-day situations. 

a lot of them gently suggest finding creative outlets for her feelings. she tries writing but after penning an expansive four page letter in cantonese only to suddenly forget how to read cantonese, she gives that up. 

she decides she isn’t really ready to sift through her emotions. her bodies fucked up instincts are enough without trying to decide if she’s depressed, furious, or anxious on top of it. 

google assures her that recovery happens in stages and at her own pace. if you aren’t ready today, try a little bit more tomorrow. 

her brain still jerks her around like it’s the worlds most aggressive dog owner and she’s the runt of a teacup poodle’s litter, but it works to her advantage. no one can track her if even she has no idea where she’s going next. the targets come in migraines, in hallucinations, in dissociative fits, but they come and maybe-olivia dutifully follows, even if she can’t remember doing it. it’s admittedly a reckless strategy but if there’s a part of her that isn’t a screaming disaster then she hasn’t recovered that part yet. 

she reviews her notebooks every few days, now. they look like they’ve been written by at least four people, one of them being a small child. there’s a variety of languages, handwriting styles, codes, and small illustrations. one page just says fuck licorice in increasingly bold font, fiercely underlined and surrounded by aggressive exclamation points. 

it doesn’t do much except reaffirm that she has the minimal amount of control required to be a human being, but that’s okay. 

a lot of her problems sort themselves out once a helpful blog post points out that she’s eating about a third of what’s required of adult women. this is mostly because she constantly throws up anything that tastes more flavorful than wheat bread but also because she’s never really had to feed herself before. hunger is just another loud, shrieking signal her body sends at her to inform her that something’s wrong, but it sends fifty of those a minute. how’s she supposed to know where the problem is?

a steady combination of pedialyte, muscle milk, and a bottle of gummy vitamins becomes the solution. she has to set alarms to remind herself to drink them and it isn’t ideal, but it keeps her caloric intake up, and solves the arthritis issue. 

it also makes it easier to actually keep the memories she recovers which is a huge win. 

that doesn’t mean things are smooth by anyone’s standards, including her own. random things still absolutely kneecap her— a dad yelling at his son, a lawn mower starting up outside the motel, her own abilities blinding her first thing in the morning. but every incapaciting moment gives a clue. 

a car backfires on the road and maybe-olivia darts behind a minivan, seeing both the tan metal under her hand and white sand beaches. 

239948S462569W

maybe-olivia has never infiltrated a fully-staffed enemy facility on her own before. that’s alright. it can be a learning experience for everyone. 

[slutty-mcree]

!!!! @shoeswithoutsocks

listen, buddy, thank you so much for this request omg.

I really hope you don't mind my song choice! Ring of fire absolutely screams Jesse Mcree and i love it so much, but the song  ‘big bad handsome man’ by Imelda May was introduced into my life a few weeks ago, and I haven't been able to stop associating it with Mchanzo since hearing it adsk. You've handed me a golden opportunity i cant pass up. (Seriously if you haven't heard that song please listen and tell me it doesn’t absolutely fucking  radiate Mcree energy...)

Anyways! I hope you enjoy <3

—

“You are telling me you can sing..? Seems...unlikely.”

Hanzo could remember just how offended Mcree had looked when he said that; hand clutched over his heart, mouth slightly agape as though someone had suddenly struck him.

“Darlin..sweetheart...my huckleberry pie..you sayin’ you don’t think I got talent?”

“Obviously I believe you have talent, Mcree. Overwatch would not have recruited you otherwise. I am just unsure as to how much of that talent is...musical.”

In hindsight, Hanzo supposed he should have known better. Jesse Mcree, by nature, was never one to withdraw from a challenge. It was proven time and time again—whether it was showcasing a dauntless, unnecessary act on the field or following through on an unsuspecting fool who was not expecting to be taken up on their dare. The cowboy was, without a doubt, the very definition of ostentatious--and evidently, Hanzo’s comment made him feel like he needed to prove something.

Hanzo Shimada had provoked the southern, gun-slinging bear and now he was now going to pay the price for it.

“I cannot believe you helped orchestrate such a ridiculous charade.” The archer scoffs with a tinge of annoyance coloring his tone. He eyes over the homemade flyer in his hand; decorated in obscenely glittery drawings of music notes and tiny cartoon versions of cowboy hats. Big, bold letters spelled out ‘karaoke night: featuring the musical talents of Jesse Mcree’, and Hanzo glances from the piece of paper to the Korean woman in front of him warily.

“Don’t look at me like that, Han! Lucio made the flyers and did the audio set up stuff, all I did was set up the chairs.”  Hana defends herself, though the mirthful smile that’s present indicates that wasn’t completely true. “Besides, karaoke is awesome! Look you have a front-row seat and everything!” She gestures to a folding chair that sat front and center to the boxing ring in the training area watchpoint offered (which was now made out to be like some kind of stage.)There were a few more rows of chairs just like it, though that one in particular quite literally had his name written on it. In messy, sparkly blue lettering...

A long, albeit dramatic sigh rolls from Hanzo's chest as he takes a seat, arms firmly crossed. He can practically sense the Meka pilots ever widening  smile from beside him, and he vaguely hears her utter something along the lines of ‘mission dragon strike is a go!’ before running off somewhere.

It isn’t long before other agents trickle in, among the small crowd being Genji himself. His brother takes a seat next to him, and Hanzo attempts to probe for any type of information he can about what’s to be expected out of this aside from the obvious. Though, much to his chagrin,  Genji offers nothing; the other man just sits there and has the audacity to shush Hanzo all while somehow being able to radiate utter smugness behind his impassive faceplate.

The archer narrows his eyes in return, a quiet huff leaving him as he turns his attention back to the stage with a glower etched on his face. It felt as though everyone was aware of something he wasn’t, which caused an infuriating mixture of concern and panic to flutter in the lower part of his stomach. One would hope his words days prior wouldn't of offended Jesse to the point he was willing to organize an entire ordeal just to embarrass himself or his own lover.

Then again… this was Jesse “once went streaking through the streets during a category five storm because someone told him he wouldn’t do it” Mcree.

Hanzo shrinks at the onslaught of other ridiculous possibilities the cowboys could be subjecting him to tonight; Images of Jesse in nothing but underwear, howling out a song that’s far too high pitched for him is the first thing that comes to mind…

The man sighs, although before his concern could get the better of him the lights of the gym suddenly dim just as a tall silhouette makes its way on stage, causing the soft chatter of the crowd to dwindle into silence. Hanzo makes another huff when forced to squint in the lack of lighting, unable to make out a familiar hat but not much else. A moment passes, then the lights above the makeshift stage suddenly alight brightly once again, illuminating the cowboy now occupying the space with a glow that could almost be called ethereal.

Hanzo blinks, and he finds himself swallowing against the sudden thickness that gathers at the back of his throat.

Mcree, void of his usual gear, is instead embellished in a form-fitting vest with a tasteful dress shirt underneath; which, in Hanzo opinion, was unfairly  left unbuttoned a few notches lower than probably necessary. Mcree then smiles, toothy and suave as he gives an experimental strum against the guitar strapped to his torso, dark eyes immediately meeting Hanzo’s own.

The archer fights back the urge to swallow again.

“Howdy, everybody~” The southerner greets in a way that’s somehow so damn provocative it elects a series of whistles and cheers from the crowd.  Honeyed laughter echoes through the standing mic, grin never forsaking him. “I’d like to thank everyone for comin’. Got a real special song for a real special person tonight.”

Mcree winks in his lover's direction, and suddenly Hanzo is aware of a dozen cheeky gazes and smiles on him from every damn direction. Despite being able to remain relatively straight-faced, heat burns the tips of the archer's ears.

Much to his own displeasure.

Mcree grins a little wider, before counting down from three. A pre-recorded tune of saxophone and base notes then begin to play from a pair of speakers from behind him, and along with it Mcree begins steady beat with his guitar; the symphony creates a type of rhythm that immediately reminds Hanzo of the old American style songs from the 1950’s his father would occasionally listen to. It's amazing, really; Mcree’s fingers strum against the strings of his guitar with such fluid ease it renders Hanzo shocked at first. Though really what is more surprising than the skillful use of the instrument is the actual sound of Mcree’s voice.

‘The man is tall, mad, mean, and good-lookin', And he's got me his eye. When he looks at me, I go weak at the knees, He's got me going like no other guy. Cause he's my big, bad, handsome man, He's got me in the palm of his hand. He's the Devil Divine, I'm so glad that he's mine, Cause he's my big, bad, handsome man~”

It held a gruff yet ever seductive timbre that resonated Hanzo through his core and sent small bumps prickling the surface of his skin. His jaw drops ever slightly, though he’s only made aware when the icy, metallic touch of Genji's hand pushes his chin up to forcibly close the gap.

“May I get you a something to drink, brother? You are looking extremely thirsty.” The cyborg snickers from beside him. Red rises over ivory skin, and Hanzo turns his head to with a look sharp enough to cut the man in half where he sits--though it’s not a half second later before his attention is brought back to the stage.

‘With his rugged good looks yeah he's got me hooked

Got me where he wants me to be

With his arms so wide, he pulls me in by his side

He's the kind of guy that does it for me’

Cause he's my big bad handsome man yeah

He's got me in the palm of his hand

He's the devil divine, I'm so glad that he's mine

Cause he's my big bad handsome man

Ooh

My big bad handsome man, yea

He's got me in the palm of his hand

He's the devil divine, I'm so glad that he's mine

Cause he's my big bad handsome man

Mcree is staring at him with a wide, far too charming smile as he finishes up the rest of the song. It ends with a long, soulful hum—and the group of ten to fifteen sounds more like a crowd of hundreds with amount of clapping and cheering that goes on. He chuckles, bowing with a polite tip of his hat and signature “thank you kindly” before he exits the stage to allow those next in line (Reinhardt) to showcase their talents. As the boisterous German takes center stage, Hanzo manages to shake away the astonished look of his face and swiftly disperses to the water fountain in the far corner he watched Mcree strut off too.

“I must say that...was impressive,” Hanzo compliments as he approaches. He eyes Mcree as he smiles and leans away from the water fountain to wipe the thin layer of sweat across his forehead with the back of his hand. “Why thank you, darlin.’ Mighty kind of you to say. Gotta admit it’s nice to know I can still surprise ya.” His smile curls into a coquettish smirk, as if being able to read Hanzo’s thoughts the entire duration of his performance. The archer was not always as impassive as he thought he was, that’s for certain.

“Mm…” a subtle smirk of its own tugs at the corner of Hanzo’s lips. He leans forward, adjusting Mcree’s slightly askew collar. “Indeed. Actually, I am so surprised I wanted to ask if you would care to favor me an encore.”

Mcree blinks, chuckling softly and scratching the back of his head. “Encore, eh? Why I don’t mind, but I take it Reinhardt is gonna be a while—“

“I am referring to an encore of a more private sort. In my quarters...” Hanzo interrupts.

“Oh? Oh…” The southern gunslinger grins, clearing his throat as he wraps a well-sculpted arm around his lover's shoulder. “Well sweetheart, I’m thinkin’ that can be arranged.”

[snarkeater]

Misuse of the question

Tarn uses Kaon’s unwavering faith in him as a security blanket.

It's windy, dry, and hot in a way that Tarn doesn't remember from the last time they came to this world to track down a target.  Standing in overwatch on a rooftop a couple blocks from the heart of the action, he waits patiently for the last part of their plan to fall into place.  It shouldn't be long – any minute now, he expects, he'll get the call from Vos and they'll be ready to spring the trap.

It's taken them all morning to set this up, but it'll be worth it if – no, when – they manage to pull it off.  They've been on this particular list member’s tail for unacceptably long – long enough that Tarn’s been asked about it, twice, and not in a nice way – and, as such, Tarn made it crystal clear to everyone before they set out today: failure is not an option this time, and there will be repercussions for anyone who makes things more difficult for the team.

So far, fortunately for them, it doesn't look like Tarn will have to come down on anyone after this. Everyone's done their part and everything's in place; the only thing remaining is Vos' piece – a nasty, pivotal little infiltration and demolitions job that he was quick to put his hand up for. It's the sort of thing that's well within his wheelhouse and that Tarn would have expected him to volunteer for, but...

Sometimes...

Sometimes.

Optics narrowed, tension mounting rapidly, Tarn stares at the building, blocks away, that he knows Vos is in right now and wishes with all of his being that he could see through walls.  Logically, he knows Vos is already in there, and that chances are he's doing his job – quickly, efficiently, and with precision.  Exactly the way Tarn wants it done.

Unfortunately, under pressure as they are at this very moment, it's not an entirely rational reaction Tarn's having.

It's silly – he's given Vos key taskings before and the mech's never disappointed him, so there's no hard reason whatsoever for Tarn to cast any doubt on him.  And yet, every now and again, he gets this feeling...  A tightness at his center that makes him question his decisions and compulsively review the plan as a whole, and Vos' part in it specifically – just in case.  It can't be helped; he has to protect himself.  He has to protect the team.

Because although this Vos has never disappointed him, the one who came before...

Peeling his gaze from the building in the distance, Tarn glances down and to his left; sitting back on its haunches, tail swishing eagerly back and forth, the Pet is staring in the same direction Tarn was a klick ago.  Standing on the other side of it, Kaon stares off as well, but distractedly and in a different direction entirely.  Focusing on the Pet, Tarn uses it to still his mind:

Vos, he reassures himself, leaning heavily on the power of positive thinking, will do his part and history won't repeat itself.  How can it? Lessons were learned by all involved and Vos...  Well, there's absolutely no reason to believe that this Vos is a traitor.

The Pet continues to stare off, unaware of the crimson optics above boring a hole through its skull, and Tarn—

Tarn still doesn't feel any better.  The tightness at his core remains, and the invisible fist encasing his spark applies more force to it for every klick that goes by without that final call from Vos. With a sharp ex-vent, he redirects his attention from where it's being wasted on the Pet to the surrounding area – where it should be.

This is autobot territory. This would be a very convenient, very bad place for something to go down...

The digits of his right hand squeeze at the phone he's clutching, and he only stops when he feels the weak casing begin to crush.

"He'll call soon.  Be patient."

Kaon's voice – calm and sure.

Tarn looks over; the mech's hand is on the Pet's head and his helm is turned away, towards Helex and Tesarus' position to the east.  For a moment, Tarn simply examines his profile and funnels the remainder of his processing power into fighting the urge to continue to crush his phone.  The cynical part of him sees a possible traitor there too and the mere thought causes the fist around his spark to clench violently, but another part of him – a decidedly weaker, but arguably the more reasonable part of the two – just wants to hear the certainty in Kaon's voice again.

So he gives into a compulsion that he doesn't realize is one until the words have left him:

"Do you trust me?" Tarn prompts.

It’s a crutch.  It's also a question Megatron asked him, long enough ago that the details of the encounter have since faded from memory.  Alone to stand the test of time, however, is how Tarn recalls feeling that day, in that moment – and that's what he’s seeking from Kaon now.

And oh, by some sweet providence, Kaon does not disappoint.

The other mech's helm whips back around at once, his brow creased in a deep frown as he turns to face Tarn. A whirlwind of emotions sweep over his screwed up features, and in them Tarn can pick out all the individual things he was hoping to see – all the familiar things he remembers feeling, himself, when he was asked the same question: confusion, curiosity, pride, defensiveness, a hint of fear...

And most prominent of all, bald fervor.

"Absolutely." Kaon replies, flummoxed – like he's just been asked which way is up.  He leans in.  "What do you need?"

The question's raw stopping power is positively thrilling, rivaled only by the speed – and genuine enthusiasm – of the response it garnered.  Confidence renewing, Tarn takes another moment to look upon his lieutenant, as, safely hidden away under several layers of thick plating, the creeping paranoia gripping at his spark slowly loosens away.

That, Tarn responds, although silently.  That's what I needed.

To close off with Kaon, however, he simply shakes his helm, dismissing the topic without a word.

Kaon is still visibly piqued, but the possibility of any further discussion is denied by the quiet ring of Tarn's phone.  At the sound of it, Kaon's demeanor returns to normal; he points at the item in question peeking out of Tarn's right hand and smiles:

"See?  Told you."

Smirking under his mask, Tarn takes the call.

It's Vos, and the job – Tarn is elegantly informed by the immediate transmission of a ticking explosives timer with just over a minute remaining – is done to order.  Vos himself is on his way to them now.

When he terminates the call, Tarn is awash with relief – of both the professional and personal kind in equal measure – and all remaining negative sentiment is instantly stowed, smashed down, locked up and forcibly drowned.

Gone – as it should be.

At long last, the stage is set; there's only one final movement left in this performance, and the talent – his talent, his team, together – are ready.  

Energized and spark blazing, Tarn returns his attention to the city scape beyond.

There's work ahead of them yet, but things, he decides, are definitely looking up...

Tonight, it would seem, may not be about punishment after all.

As the timer on his phone's display nears the zero mark, Tarn hooks an arm around Kaon and yanks, pulling him in to shield his audials with his frame; klicks later, two blocks in the distance, the engineered blast goes off and the targeted building crumbles.  Standing tall, Tarn looks on, the maestro proudly drinking in the sight and visceral sound of Vos' expert handiwork – a masterpiece put on display for all in the surrounding area to see.

All the exits are now officially sealed; as soon as the smoke clears, it’ll be show time.

[skeletonscribbles]

At Least It’s Not Sports (Part Four - Senior Year, Second Semester)

and here’s the grand finale! thanks for hanging out, theatre nerds, and happy Richie Tozier’s birthday!

Title: At Least It’s Not Sports (High School Drama Club AU)

Pairings: Reddie, Stanlon, Benverly, Bill x Audra

Rating: less explicit than last time but still a quick sexy moment

Summary: Richie interrupted his thoughts. “So. You wanna talk?” Eddie didn’t want to talk. He wanted to kiss Richie so hard that they both forgot everything about what had happened between them, and then he wanted to start over from there. He reined back his imagination and nodded slowly. “I think that would be a good idea.”

Warnings: excessive sappiness, straightforward Stan

Freshman Year / Sophomore Year / Junior Year / Senior Year First Semester

Read on Ao3!

They didn’t talk to each other for a little while after The Incident.

Everything else was normal. They both ate at the same lunch table, both continued to socialize with their friends, both went through the motions of school. They just...didn’t talk to each other.

It fucking sucked.

Eddie missed Richie with everything in him, to the point where it was physically painful to even look at him most days. He knew he was the one that had fucked up - if he hadn’t had so much to drink, then things wouldn’t have escalated in the first place - but for the first time, it really, truly felt like Richie hated him, and that was almost unbearable.

More than that, it meant that Eddie didn’t have anyone he could talk to. Richie had morphed, over the summer, into not only friend and crush but confidante. Eddie trusted him implicitly - always had, even when things were rocky - and though he loved the rest of his friends, his relationship with them wasn't the same. Even Bev didn’t get him like Richie did - didn’t listen and understand like Richie could.

He found himself on the phone with Stan a lot.

“I don't know if you should talk to him, Eddie, I really don’t.” Stan sounded tired. He always sounded tired. College seemed exhausting. “You probably really freaked him out. I can’t imagine hooking up with someone only to realize after the fact that they weren't really in any position to consent.”

“I did consent,” Eddie insisted, cradling his cellphone to his ear and willing his mother to stay out of his room. “I wanted it. All of it.”

“Did you tell him that?”

Eddie sighed. “No. But he won’t even look at me.”

“If you tell him that, he might.”

“But--”

“Don’t call me if you don’t want my advice, Eddie,” Stan said, and hung up.

“I applied to NYU--” Eddie tried, hoping that a subject change would keep Stan on the phone, but he was already gone.

The winter play rolled around much like it always did - too quickly. Bill was absolutely beside himself with making sure that everything was running smoothly...no matter how many times Eddie assured him that yes, everything was running smoothly. Bev’s costumes were sublime, Ben’s set design was sophisticated and easy to work with and around (which Eddie very much appreciated, as SM), and Richie was brilliant in a part that had literally been written for him.

In short, it was perfect, and Eddie absolutely hated it.

He hated that every single thing on stage was a visual reminder of the fact that they were leaving; that it was their last straight play together. He hated Bill’s obsessing, and Bev’s incessant swatching, and Ben’s need to focus and refocus the lights.

Most of all, he hated having to watch Richie. The stage was where Richie belonged; where Eddie had fallen in love with him, and now, it was where Eddie came back to have his heart sliced open again and again and again.

Sometimes, Richie would catch him looking. Those were probably the moments that sucked the worst. Neither of them had any idea what to do, so Eddie would end up angrily returning to his clipboard and Richie would shove his hands in his pockets and look down.

Stan was still on winter break through their final dress rehearsal, and so decided to come in to assess the play’s progress. (Eddie was pretty sure he was actually there to check out attractive, older Bill, but that was apparently neither here nor there...and besides, Stan and Mike were still going strong.) When he saw what was going on between Richie and Eddie, he all but ripped out his curls.

“Why didn’t you tell me that things were this bad,” he hissed once Eddie had given his end of show notes. Eddie had been careful not to include Richie in them for the last couple of runs because he didn’t want to seem vindictive...but there were some major prop switches that Richie needed to make, and Eddie knew that Stan had noticed each and every one. “It’s impacting the show.”

Eddie sighed. “I did tell you. Obviously you’re not listening to the shit I tell you over the phone.”

“No, I’m not,” Stan acquiesced. “Well, shit, Eddie.”

“Well, shit,” Eddie agreed, pulling the strings of his black hoodie tight enough that his face was enveloped in his hood.

“So let’s fix it.” Stan was not in the mood for pity parties (not now, and really not ever). He stood up once Ms. Starrett was finished giving acting notes, and crossed down through the sea of departing actors. Eddie watched him, frozen with panic.

“You mean right now?!”

“Right now,” Stan confirmed. “If the audience has to watch Richie Tozier walk onstage tomorrow with a dagger that looks like it came out of a Polly Pocket set, it will be your fault, and I will be sure to murder you personally. We are talking to him right now.”

“Tyrant,” Eddie moaned, shuffling reluctantly after him.

Richie’s face lit up when he saw Stan, and Eddie felt an ugly pang of jealousy - it had been weeks since Richie had looked at him with anywhere near that kind of excitement.

“O Stanny boy, the pipes the pipes are calling!” Richie pulled Stan into a hug, which Stan returned with minimal enthusiasm and mild disgust. “What brings you back to hang with us lowly folk?”

“First and most importantly, I hate you,” Stan began, counting off on his fingers. “Second, grab a different knife from the prop table at the beginning of act two, for the love of God.”

Richie’s face fell. “I like the pink one, though.”

“Third,” Stan continued, plowing through at a rate that was making Eddie’s heart hammer, “I’ve got someone here who’d like to talk to you.”

“Mike?” Richie looked around with interest.

“I wish.” Stan took a moment to look wistful, and then reached back to pull Eddie forward. “Ta-da.”

Eddie swallowed hard and willed himself to sink through the floor.

Richie was pretending to look pleasantly surprised, but his switch to a shitty Russian accent betrayed the fact that Stan had actually put him off of his game. “Zees eeez...veddy unexpected, Comrade.”

“That’s me,” Stan said, purely monotone, “Mr. Unexpected.”

Richie and Eddie blinked back at him.

“Well, okay.” Stan ran a hand through his hair matter-of-factly. “My work here should never have started, but it did, and now it’s done, and I’m gonna go to Mike’s. Use protection if it comes to that, please.”

Neither of them felt like they were in a position to respond to Stan’s insult, so he was met with silence. This was clearly very satisfying for him; he walked away with a smile on his face. Richie and Eddie watched him until he reached the door.

Eddie didn’t want to be the first one to break the silence, so he turned back and looked at Richie’s hands instead. They were way bigger than his, and obviously not paid much mind to (there was a callous on the inside of his right pointer finger from his pencil, and there were pen scribbles up and down his arms from when he was bored in class), but Eddie had always thought that they were kind of beautiful.

Richie interrupted his thoughts. “So. You wanna talk?”

Eddie didn’t want to talk. He wanted to kiss Richie so hard that they both forgot everything about what had happened between them, and then he wanted to start over from there.

He reined back his imagination and nodded slowly. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“I think so, too.” Richie took a deep breath, and gestured to one of the rows of auditorium seats. “Wanna sit?”

“Sure.” Eddie sat in the space that Richie had gestured to, feeling awkward about how formal this all suddenly felt. Richie looked like he felt the same way, which was a small comfort.

Once they were both situated, Eddie geared himself up, and began.

“I guess I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, picking at his shoelaces.

Richie crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. “I’m not super sure what you’re sorry about. I’m the one that did the fucked up thing, remember?”

“No.” Eddie couldn’t bring himself to look at Richie. “No, Rich. I, uh, planned the getting drunk and talking to you thing. I planned it.”

“Okay, what.” Eddie knew that Richie’s eyes were on him; could almost feel them, like they were laser beams. “I don’t think I get it.”

“I wanted to be with you, and I didn’t think I was going to be brave enough to be honest about that if I was sober,” Eddie said, so quickly that it was basically incomprehensible. He forcibly jerked his head up to look at Richie - he didn’t want to know how much Richie was going to hate him, but he had to deal with the repercussions of all this properly or he’d be kicking himself for years, probably.

Eddie could practically see Richie deciphering and then processing the information he’d been given. His eyebrows went up, and he knitted his brow in concentration. “Okay. I mean - am I really that scary?”

“Sometimes,” Eddie admitted, feeling the tips of his ears go scarlet. “Mostly, I think I’m scared of myself.”

“And why is that?” Richie started to bounce his leg. Eddie was starting to feel anxious by proxy.

This crazy, stupid dancing around each other shit needed to stop. Eddie was going to put an end to it, right this instant.

“Because I want you so much,” Eddie breathed, looking Richie directly in the eyes. “I know you’re gonna break my heart, and I want you anyway.”

Richie inhaled softly and flexed his fingers, seemingly debating whether or not to touch Eddie. He ultimately withheld his hands, but he kept his eyes on Eddie, combing up and down.

“I didn’t date April because I liked her,” Richie finally said, tapping on his leg. “You know that, right?”

Eddie thought about it - remembered the sick, churning jealousy he used to feel when he saw Richie and April together. “I didn’t at the time.”

“And I didn’t leave you at the cast party because I didn’t want you,” he continued, closing his eyes. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since that first fucking day, when you sassed me back at the Workshop.”

“Oh.” Eddie didn’t know how to respond to that. His stomach was tied in so many knots that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to eat for weeks. He’d always assumed that Richie was joking - at least in the early days. “Why, um...why didn’t you tell me?”

Richie turned a little bit so that his upper body was facing Eddie. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re scary, too. And it’s hard, you know...when you’re a little shit who can’t fucking hold it together when his crush starts flirting back.”

Eddie didn’t know what he was talking about...and then suddenly, he did.

“Is that what happened sophomore year?” Eddie asked, genuinely curious. Richie chuckled.

“Yeah. My feelings were kicking my ass, and I saw something happening that I felt like I didn’t deserve, so I...bailed.”

“Are you gonna bail this time?”

Eddie didn’t know what prompted him to say that, but he was a little mortified that he had. He buried his head in his hands, face burning red.

Before he had a chance to cool down, one of his hands was being tugged away from his face. Richie took it and held it between both of his own, like it was something precious.

“I’m gonna do my best,” Richie said softly.

This time, when he leaned in for a kiss, Eddie didn’t pull away.

----

“So are you guys like, dating?” Ben squinted at the two of them, confused.

It was the next day at lunch, and Richie had just finished recounting their post-rehearsal conversation to their friends...which was embarrassing as fuck, especially because Richie kept trying to embellish the things that he said to make it sound more badass...but it felt like stuff that everyone else needed to know. The group had put up with their shit for a long, long time.

Eddie shrugged. “Something like that.”

Bev stared between the two of them with murderous eyes.

“Something like that?! I listened to both of you asshats whine about your feelings for years! You’re dating, and that’s final! I deserve this!”

Richie sipped at his water bottle. “Yeah, okay.”

Still fuming, Bev pushed herself up and over to the hot lunch line. Richie and Eddie watched her go, and as soon as she was gone, put their joined hands on the lunch table.

“You know, me and Bev are dating,” Ben said, trying to add relevant information to the conversation.

“We know,” Richie, Eddie, Bill, and Audra chorused.

“Oh.” Ben thought about that. “Shit.”

“We’re all coupled off, now,” Bill said, giving Richie and Eddie a warm smile. “Fucking gross.”

“Fucking gross,” Eddie agreed, feeling almost serene for the first time in his whole adolescence.

----

Sonia took the news considerably less well.

Eddie had turned eighteen back in September, and so was an adult and legally able to leave Sonia’s house should the need arise. This was the primary reason he decided to tell Sonia that he’d been actively disobeying her all year - if she tried anything, he could leave, and Richie had already offered his house as a sanctuary of sorts. Richie’s parents knew and understood the circumstances, and seconded Richie’s offer enthusiastically. (They’d met Eddie at cast events before, and when Richie brought him back to his house for the first time, Maggie Tozier had taken one look at the two of them, thrown her head back, and let out a big, hearty laugh - Richie’s laugh - and said “Oh, FINALLY, Richard.”)

Eddie would have loved to have had Richie there for the big reveal, but that would only have made things worse, guaranteed.

“Mama,” he said, on one otherwise unremarkable night in mid-March, “I have news.”

“If it’s to say that you got into that New York school, put the thought out of your head,” Sonia said irritably, “you’ll catch something awful in those disgusting subways.”

Eddie had, in fact, gotten into NYU’s College of Arts and Sciences for prehealth, but that wasn’t the conversation he was looking to have at the moment.

“It’s about Richie Tozier,” he said, bracing himself.

Sure enough, she whipped around, eyes glinting. “What about Richard Tozier, Edward?”

Eddie took a deep breath, looked her dead in the eyes, and bit the bullet. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Sonia genuinely didn’t know what to do with herself at that. Her face changed colors several times before settling on an unattractive purple, and she gestured wildly with her hands. It would have been funny if Eddie weren’t absolutely terrified.

“I knew he’d lure you back in,” she finally hissed. “Boys that...evocative...are nothing if they’re not preying on younger, nicer--”

“I’m older than Richie,” Eddie said, anger bubbling up in his throat, “it was his birthday last week...and he’s a good person, mama. I’m with Richie because he’s a good person.”

“He’s corrupted you.” Sonia reached for the landline, which was on the table next to her chair. “I’m calling the doctor.”

“I won’t go.” Eddie stood firm, even though his nerves were all but begging him to buckle. “I’m eighteen now, mom. I won’t go.”

They glared at each other for an uncomfortably long time. Eddie could see the fear in her eyes - the lack of understanding, the hatred - and he wondered, not for the first time, how he could have possibly grown up to be the person he was while living in her household.

“Go to your room,” she said once the silence became unbearable. “Don’t come back down.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie muttered, climbing the stairs with great relief.

She stopped acknowledging him after that, for the most part. Eddie counted it as a win.

----

The musical was a joyous experience, especially compared to the icy treatment Eddie was getting at home.

Ms. Starrett had picked a comedy for Richie, and he was absolutely thriving in his role. Every time he got to pratfall or do an exaggerated voice, his eyes would flick over to Eddie for a split second, and Eddie lived for those moments - lived to bask in that joy.

Well, really, actually, Eddie was living for every single moment he spent in Richie’s company. Eddie had quietly loved his time stage managing for the drama club since his freshman year. Losing himself in cues and notes and schedules was so easy, and he loved seeing the finished product and knowing that he’d played a central role in making things come to be.

There had only been one piece missing, and now that he had it, Eddie was loudly loving his time stage managing. Mrs. Starrett couldn’t believe how drastically his mood had changed, and was being really nosy about trying to figure out the reason. (Eddie was pretty sure she already know and just wanted to hear him say it, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction after last year’s ‘Richie and Eddie bit’ debacle.)

The rest of the cast found it...extremely annoying.

“You know, I thought I wanted this,” Bev said after she caught Richie with his hands down Eddie’s pants in the costume closet for the fourth time, “but so help me God, if this happens again, I will castrate you both.”

“Does Ben know about your interest in our dicks?” Richie asked, not removing his hands from the bare skin of Eddie’s ass. Eddie closed his eyes and prepared for swift death by way of Beverly Marsh.

“Just make it quick this time, dumbass.” Beverly turned on her heel and left, obviously disgusted. “But then, it’s always quick for you.”

Eddie giggled against Richie’s lips as they listened to her leave. “She got you.”

“You got me,” Richie mumbled, groping Eddie’s ass with renewed interest. “You got all of me.”

“I did,” Eddie said, in wonder and amazement, kissing him fiercely. “Holy shit, I did.”

Like all joyous things, though, the musical was over far too soon. Before Eddie knew it, he was watching Richie, Bill, and Bev take their final bows, wearing matching togas and crying. (Eddie may also have been crying, but nobody needed to know that.) Richie looked offstage for a moment and blew him a kiss, eyes sparkling with tears and emotion, and Eddie flipped him off in return, heart full.

“You okay down there, Eddie?” Ben’s voice came cautiously over the headset. He was a junior and there was no need for him to shed any tears yet, so he was rather alarmed by his friends’ emotional outbursts.

“I’m not crying, Ben, shut up,” Eddie hissed into his headset.

“I didn’t say--”

“Shut up,” Eddie repeated, switching off his headset and turning back to the stage, trying to memorize the way Richie’s curls haloed in the stage lights.

Eddie skipped out on the final part of crew cleanup (he’d been in this program for four whole years; he deserved a little bit of leeway, and besides, Stan had done the same thing his senior year) to go greet Richie in the lobby after the show. He had pretty much stopped crying by then, so he figured he was safe to appear in public without anyone questioning his red eyes.

He was so wrong. As soon as he saw Richie standing with his parents, looking gleeful and absolutely wrecked, his eyes immediately started to burn with happy tears.

“Richie,” he called, reaching into his bag to grab the comic books and candy he’d bought as a congratulatory present. (Richie always killed flowers, so that was out.) “C’mere!”

It took Richie a moment to locate him, but once he did, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. He bounded over to Eddie in four neat strides, reached out, and swooped him up in his arms, spinning him crazily. “Eds, Eds, Eds!”

“Oh my fuck--put me down, idiot!” Eddie banged on his shoulder, trying and failing to pretend to be upset. “I’ve got stuff for you, and you just made me drop it.”

“So sweet,” Richie cooed, getting in one more good spin before putting Eddie back down, “Spaghetti Kaspbrak really thinks that I’d want any gift but a date with his mo--”

“Shut UP,” Eddie groaned, pulling himself up on his tiptoes, “shut up, shut up.”

“With pleasure,” Richie agreed, pulling him in for a terrible (wonderful) kiss with too much teeth and Richie’s glasses pressed uncomfortably into Eddie’s face. Eddie heard Ms. Starrett give a little excited cheer behind him, and couldn’t help but giggle into Richie’s mouth. For all of her poking around, it was nice to know that they had her support.

“Edward.” Eddie jumped back at the sound of a second, uncomfortably familiar voice. Richie opened his eyes and peered out through his glasses, looking confused and a little hurt, but his expression morphed into extreme concern when he saw who was behind Eddie.

With a shudder, Eddie turned around to face his mother.

“Mom?”

Sonia looked uncharacteristically pensive. She wasn’t dressed as fancily as she usually did to leave the house - she was wearing a tracksuit and no garish jewelry - and her eyes were trained on the ground.

“I wanted to say,” she began, “that--”

“Mama don’t,” Eddie pleaded softly, looking anxiously between her and Richie.

“That I thought the show was very amusing,” she finished, looking up - not at him, but at Richie. “You performed very well, Richard.”

Richie shoved his hands into his pockets, stunned. “Uh. Thanks, Mrs. K.”

“I hope you’re proud, Edward.” Her eyes fell on Eddie, now, and it was all Eddie could do not to cry. He’d never imagined she’d make an effort - never in a million years thought that she’d be nice to Richie, or appreciate any of the things that Eddie enjoyed.

For all of the shit she’d put him through - and all of the shit she’d put him through in the future, because this wasn’t totally fixed yet, not by a long shot - she did love him, at the end of the day.

“Thank you, mama,” he whispered.

She straightened up. “I expect you back home by ten.”

“Yes,” he said numbly. “Okay.”

“Have a nice night, boys,” she said, turning to leave. “Be appropriate, and Eddie-bear...take your medicine.”

“Okay!” Eddie said, at the same time that Richie said, “You’re one in a million, Mrs. K!”

After she exited the door of the lobby, Eddie turned back to Richie. “Am I dreaming?”

“Fuck if I know.” Richie smiled, soft and sweet. “All dreams are good dreams when both me and your mother are involved, though--”

“Choke on a thousand dicks,” Eddie laughed, and kissed him again, dizzy with hope and disbelief.

He couldn't have asked for a more perfect closing night.

----

By the time the drama awards happened, they all knew where they were going off to college - except for Richie.

Eddie had sent in his paperwork to NYU, and was incredibly excited to be able to start fresh in a place that was so...not Derry. His mother wasn’t thrilled about his decision, and was, alarmingly, looking for apartments just outside of the city so as to be nearer to him, but Eddie was handling that. It was nice to feel like he could handle that, now.

(Stan was kind of upset that Eddie hadn’t chosen to join he and Mike in Boston, but given that Bill was enrolled in Boston University’s playwriting program, he couldn’t complain.)

Bev was headed to the city, too - she was going to study fashion at Parsons, which Eddie thought was just perfect. Ben wasn’t graduating until the year after, but he was already looking into NYU (or Columbia, as a reach) for architecture and design.

Richie had gotten into some schools - SUNY Pace and Purchase for acting, as well as Emerson in Boston (Stan had voiced some concerns about having Richie in Boston, but Eddie was pretty sure he was secretly hoping for it to happen), but he was still waiting to hear back from his first choice, NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. He and Eddie were both going a little crazy over the lack of response - Richie because it was his future, and Eddie because he felt like they deserved to be in the same place for the next four years, after all the shit they’d gone through to be together.

The letter came on the day of the awards, and Richie all but had a nervous breakdown.

“I was already terrified of not getting anything tonight, but now this?” Richie brandished the letter at Eddie like it was on fire. “This?!?”

The letter was tellingly large. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“They don’t send all this shit to people who don’t get in, you absolute nerd,” Eddie sighed, taking the offending object from Richie’s hands. “You want me to open it?”

“Please,” Richie mumbled, bouncing on the soles of his feet. “Just...rip off the bandaid.”

Eddie tore open the white paper and extracted a folder. He opened it, and felt his own nerves melt away.

“Congratulations, Richard Tozier,” Eddie read triumphantly, “you’re gonna act at NYU!”

Richie leapt at Eddie so ferociously that the two of them went toppling down onto the grass of Richie’s front lawn. Eddie couldn’t bring himself to care about the inevitable grass stains on the back of his polo - instead, he reached for Richie and kissed every inch of space on his face that he could reach. Finally, finally, finally, the universe was giving them a go-ahead.

“This is the best day of my fucking life,” Richie crowed, grabbing Eddie’s face and kissing him back firmly. “Which program did they put me in?”

Eddie re-opened the folder. “Uh. Experimental theatre wing?”

“Yesssss,” Richie breathed, “the weird shit. Oh, Eds, the future’s gonna kick ass for us, isn’t it?”

“It better,” Eddie said, curling himself against Richie and burying his face in his shoulder. “No, it will. We’ll be together, so it will.”

“Cute, cute, cute.” Richie snaked his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Hey, do you think you’ll pick back up with stage management when you’re there? You know...for me?”

“Don’t ruin it,” Eddie warned, words half-muffled by Richie’s shoulder.

Richie laughed. “Just a thought. You know...for youherrrrr considehrrratiohnnnn,” he finished, moving into an unplaceable accent.

“We’ll figure shit out when we get there,” Eddie said, giving Richie a halfhearted shove for using a stupid voice.

Whatever happened, it would be okay. They’d figure it out together.

----

And if Eddie was considering continuing to stage manage, well...Richie didn’t have to know that until later.

----

Eddie Kaspbrak loved theatre.

There were a lot of things about him that he wasn’t super sure about, but that much he knew was unequivocally true. He loved the lights, the sets, the way the mood changed when the lights went down. He loved knowing that everything was in its place; he loved being the person that called the shots to make the magic happen. He even loved the people - he knew that all of the friends he’d made there over the years were friends that he’d keep forever.

Most of all, though, Eddie loved watching Richie Tozier do theatre. He loved seeing Richie perform, he loved watching him win the award for ‘Best Overall Acting’ at their senior drama awards, and he loved the fact that Richie was going to be able to move on and do the thing that he was so absolutely tremendous at.

Eddie Kaspbrak loved theatre...and Richie Tozier, and that was that.

End scene, blackout.

[masksandtruths]

Bless Your Heart- Part 5

A/N:  This all started with @deanjensengirlmaggie‘ strange pairings challenge, and it just got out of control…in a good way…or at least I hope you think so. This part is a long one, but the boys finally get their first encounter with the monster. Oh anddd there’s a little smidge of Dean x Reader sexiness–so yeah, good times. Thank you to the ones that have liked and commented and reblogged. Feedback is always welcome. 

If you want to catch up: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Warnings: Language, mentions of drinking, strippers/lapdances, sexy times (more like another hot, makeout session), cheating (kind of…you’ll see), angsty-ish (but only right at the very end). 

Summary: Dean and Sam are finally on a case in paradise…otherwise known as San Pedro, Belize. Several tourists have gone missing from Ambergris Caye just as the town’s biggest festival of the year is ready to kick off, and it has the locals spooked. As the boys try to figure out what is snacking on the travelers, they run into a few members of the opposite sex that may or may not make this job a bit more difficult (but at least hotter) than most…bless their hearts

“Dude, are you done primping? Come on,” Sam called, looking at his watch impatiently. He’d been waiting on Dean for over an hour.

“What’s your hurry, man? Can’t wait for the girls to drink you under the table again?” Dean shouted back from the bathroom. 

Sam huffed and stomped down the hallway of the condo E had hooked them up with for the week, fully prepared to forcibly drag the idiot he called his older brother out the door and to the golf cart if need be. 

“Unlike you, Dean, I’m actually trying to work a case—not chase tail,” he retorted, pushing open the door to the bathroom where his brother had been squatting for the last sixty minutes. Dean’s eyes never strayed from his reflection as he continued the task of fixing his hair. “I’m just hoping I can get a little help out of you before Y/N shows up, and your brain decides to go on strike again.”

Dean responded with a quick lift of his middle finger, flapping his lips wordlessly and making a face in the mirror as he silently mimicked the last bit of Sam’s little jab.  “My brain is working just fine, you dildo.” He tugged on his shirt one final time before turning to face his brother. “Now are you ready to go, or what? We’re burning daylight here,” he joked with a shit-eating grin, slapping Sam on the chest as he shoved past him through the bathroom doorway. 

Sam dropped his head and closed his eyes for a moment, saying a little prayer to whoever might be listening that he’d make it through the night without strangling his sibling. He had to admit, though, it felt like old times. An involuntary smirk turned up the corners of his mouth, and with a shake of his head, he typed a quick text to Shelby letting the girls know they were on their way to the club. Then, he followed his pain in the ass brother out the door. 

***

“Score!” Dean exclaimed as he pulled the cart into a parking spot next to the Jaguar Club and noticed a food vendor set up right outside the door. “Cervezas, strippers and street food. What more could a man want?”

“Sense. But you obviously got jipped on that one,” Sam deadpanned.

“Shut up, Sammy. No one asked you.”

“Technically, you did, Dean.”

“Well, technically, you—you—”

“Don’t hurt yourself, man,” Sam interrupted with a laugh, turning his back on Dean and walking towards the club’s entrance. 

When they pushed through the double doors a moment later, both men paused for a second to take in their surroundings. The long rectangular room was filled with people—some standing in line, yelling out drink orders, others grinding on each other out on the dance floor, a couple bachelorette parties crowded around tables and laughing with their friends—nothing unusual though. Dean looked towards the stage at the front where the DJ was set up and doing his thing, and then at the bar running the length of the far wall. Loud music, tons of alcohol, way too many people—it could have been any old club back in the states.

Dean turned his head towards Sam and leaned in a bit, hoping to make himself heard over all the chaos. “I’m not seeing strippers, Sammy.”

“Yeah, me either,” he hollered back. “Nothing special here.” His eyes scanned the length of the room once more, hoping to catch something he’d missed the first time. Dean was looking at him expectantly, knowing that he had the better view of the room due to his height, but he just shook his head. Everything seemed perfectly normal.

Dean nodded in agreement. “Alright then. Well we’re here…might as well grab a drink before we find someone to interrogate.” He and Sam began to shoulder through the crowd towards the bar, smiling politely at the each of the girls throwing appreciative glances their direction. He looked over his shoulder at Sam, who was doing the same thing. 

“Hey, Sam?” Dean asked when they finally stopped at the back of the drink line.

“Yeah?”

“Is it just me or are we getting more attention than usual here?” 

“Must be all that time you spent on your hair.”

“Damn it, dude, I’m serious. I feel like I’ve been eyeballed by every chick in the place.”

“And you’re complaining?” Sam questioned sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. 

Dean glanced down at his jeans and boots and then tugged his v-neck t-shirt out, away from his body, so he could give it the once over too. There wasn’t anything embarrassing on his clothes. He wiped a hand down his face, inspecting his palm when he pulled it back. Nothing on his face either. Weird. Then what the hell was going on? It’s not like he and Sam weren’t used to attracting women, but shit, the ladies tonight were acting like they were the only two men in the whole joint. 

Sam was studying the crowd again too, eyes squinted in concentration like he was trying to solve a puzzle. But before he could get it worked out, a twenty something year old in a dress that left little to the imagination wobbled over in a pair of sky high heels and shoved a beer into his hand. 

“Here you go, handsome.” 

“Uh, thanks…what’s this for?” Sam stumbled over his response a bit. He’d been in his own world, and her direct approach caught him a little off guard.  

She turned and handed Dean a beer too before answering. “Because it’s my girl’s bachelorette party, and you and your friend here are about the only guys worth flirting with. Figured we could buy you a couple drinks, bribe you two into hanging with us for the evening,” she responded with a wink.

“Greatly appreciated, darlin, but we’re actually here on business,” Dean stepped in for Sam, who he’d noticed had already gone back into nerd mode.  

“Shame,” the young woman purred. “Well if you get finished, the offer stands. We have a spot reserved right over there.” She pointed towards the couches lining the back wall before she turned and sashayed back over to her friends. Dean watched her leave, surprised to find that while he most definitely enjoyed the view, he had absolutely no desire to follow. When he looked up, Sam was staring at him. 

“What?” He shrugged and took a pull from the bottle of beer in his hand.

“Nothing…just a little shocked you didn’t chase after her.” 

“We have a case to work, Sam.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s the reason you’re still standing here.” Dean shot him a “go to hell” look, so he figured it’d be in his best interest to drop it for now. “Speaking of case though, you notice anything missing in this place?” Sam asked, changing the subject.

“Damn sure do. Boobs and g-strings,” he answered with a snort, nudging Sam playfully, thoroughly entertained by his own joke. When Sam didn’t seem to share his amusement, instead choosing to stare back at him blankly, he smacked his lips in frustration. “Strippers, Sammy, strippers…and your sense of humor, but we already knew that.” 

“NOT what I’m talking about, Dean. Think about what that chick said—about how we are the only guys here worth flirting with.”

Dean cocked his head towards the group of girls, studying them and the other tables near their party for a second before turning slowly towards the dance floor. He surveyed the crowd again, thinking about her comment as he looked at the mass of people in front of him. 

Generally, guys would be all over parties of girls like that…offering to help them celebrate their last days of freedom, buying them drinks, showing off their dance moves, but none of that was happening. Aside from the male employees, a few locals, and a small handful of other guys in line for drinks or clearly already coupled up with someone, he and Sam were the only men in the place.

“What the hell?”

“Yeah, exactly. I think we need to find out where all the guys are hiding this evening.”

“Agreed. Now, let’s go ahead and add that to the list of things I never want to hear either of us say ever again.”

“Fair enough,” Sam chuckled before stopping one of the waiters carrying around a tray of tube shots. “ ‘Scuse me sir, we’re looking for the club manager. Know where we might find him?” 

Dean pulled his FBI badge from his pocket, hastily flashing it at the young man when he hesitated. The guy’s eyes widened a bit at the sight, and he quickly motioned towards a hallway off to the right side of the bar. He even offered to escort them there himself, but they assured him that wouldn’t be necessary. Sam said a quick thank you for his cooperation and strode off in the direction of the office with Dean following closely behind. 

The boys halted in front of the third door down the club’s hallway and began the same process they’d been through together a thousand times at this point. Dean nodded his head at Sam, quietly signaling that he was ready. Sam extracted his badge from his pocket, prepared to immediately show it to whoever answered. 

Then, he raised his right hand and sharply rapped his knuckles against the door several times before stepping back and assuming the same authoritative stance as his older brother. When it finally swung open, the man behind it looked like he was geared up to jump all over the person responsible for disrupting his work, but as soon as his eyes landed on the badges the Winchesters were flashing, his attitude changed. 

“Sorry about that, gentlemen. What brings you to the Jaguar this evening?”

“Hi, I’m Agent Wayne, FBI. This big fella here is my partner, Agent Robbins. We’d like to take a moment to ask you a few questions about Michael Frederick’s visit to your club this past Saturday, if you don’t mind.” Dean smiled and closed his badge with a snap before shoving it back down into his pocket.  

“Uh, sure, don’t see why not. I’m Bernie Rivero.” The man introduced himself, taking a step forward and extending his hand first to Dean and then Sam, giving them both a quick, firm handshake. “You are talking about that dead tourist, right?”

“Yes sir, he and his buddies passed through here Saturday night before he went missing. Since this was the last place anyone but his friends saw him alive, we just wanted to give the place a once over. See if anyone remembered anything that might help us out. Standard procedure,” Sam explained briefly.

“Yeah, okay. Tell me how I can help.”

“First off, you mind telling us what these ‘special’ events are that everyone around here seems so keen on?” Dean asked.

Bernie dropped his eyes and awkwardly shifted his weight to his other foot before answering. “Well, funny you should ask, agents. We actually have one of those special events going on tonight.” 

The boys looked over their shoulders back in the direction of the main room, and Dean started to respond, “I don’t see anyth–.”

The other man cut him off before he could complete his sentence. “Nah, that’s not what I’m talking about. All our special events and private parties take place in our back room, and they usually involve female entertainers, if you know what I mean. I can show you if you’d like to see it.”

Dean’s face lit up like he’d just won the jackpot. “Lead the way, Romeo,” he instructed eagerly. He could practically feel the side eye Sammy was shooting him right now.

Sam cleared his throat. “One second, Mr. Rivero. Does this back room happen to have surveillance cameras?” 

“Yeah, we have them everywhere besides the bathrooms and the private rooms in the back.” 

“Would you mind pulling up the footage from Saturday night before you go? I’ll take a look at that while you are showing my partner the event room.”  

Bernie agreed, motioned them into his office and sat down in front of wall of screens, all filled with live video footage streaming in from every nook and cranny of the club. While he was clicking away on the laptop trying to pull up the archived footage Sam had requested, the boys took some time to look around the small, organized office. The guy seemed to take his job seriously, they’d give him that. 

When Dean’s eyes landed on the TV labeled ‘back room’ and took in the scantily clad figures dancing on the screen, business immediately got shoved to the back burner. He nudged Sam with his elbow and lifted his chin in the direction of the monitor, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. Sam pushed his arm away with a shake of his head, but it took everything in him not to crack a smile at his brother’s child-like excitement. 

“Alright, Agent Robbins, this should be everything from the night of Mr. Frederick’s visit. It’s all yours. I’ll show your partner to the back room, check on a few other things, and then I should be back. Take your time, though.”

“Appreciate it, Bernie,” he said as the manager stepped back out into the hallway to wait on Dean. Before his brother could follow the man out the office doorway though, Sam stopped him. “Listen, I can handle combing through this stuff on my own. You just check everything else out, talk to anyone that might have been on shift that night, and let me know what you find.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, this ain’t my first rodeo, numb nuts. I know how the hell to work a friggin’ case.”

“I just didn’t want you to get distracted before I got some actual work out of you.” Dean rolled his eyes and started to step away, but Sam wasn’t through. “But seriously, after that’s done, go enjoy yourself, man. Like you said, this is probably as close as we’ll ever get to a vacation. I’ll get come find you when I’m finished.” 

“10-4. Hey, speaking of enjoying myself, you heard anything else from the girls?”

Sam shook his head. “No, but I’ll give you fair warning if I do. Don’t want Y/N to walk in and find you drooling over another chick.”

“Aw come on, Sammy. I don’t drool. I have more class than that.”

“Yet to be determined. See you in a bit.”

***

Dean followed Bernie down to the end of the hallway and through a door to their right simply marked with a ‘Private’ sign.  It looked like another small office, but on the opposite side of the room was another door—only this one was painted a deep red. 

“Okay, Mr. Wayne, just head through there. Angela is working the bar. She was here the night the tourist was, so she might be able to help you out. Several of the entertainers were there too, I’m sure, but I’d be lying if I told you I knew exactly which ones. Like I said, I have a couple other things to handle up front, but then I should be back at my office with your partner, in case you need me.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks for the help,” Dean said, giving the guy another quick handshake.

“Alright, let’s see what this super-secret special event room is all about,” he mumbled under his breath, taking and step forward and pushing through the second door.  As soon as the door was cracked open, loud rock music and drunken voices slammed into him. Damn room was sound proofed, that was for sure, because he hadn’t heard a peep when he was on the other side of the wall. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the scene; the stages were lit up like runways, but extra, ambient lighting was nonexistent. Eventually, he was able to see well enough to weave through the chairs and tables and make it to the long bar. 

“What can I get for you tonight, hot stuff?” The woman working behind the bar, presumably Angela, asked when she stopped in front of Dean. She was pretty, and clearly damn good at her job if she was handling this madhouse all by herself. 

“A Belikin…and any info you have on a man named, Michael Frederick?” 

He caught the smallest hint of surprise register on her face before she reached down into one of the coolers, picked up a bottle, popped its top and slid it towards him. “The beer is easy, but I don’t know how much I can help on the other part. Some of it depends on who’s asking,” she answered casually as she dried her hands on the towel she had draped over her shoulder.

“How about if it’s someone from the FBI doing the asking?” Dean quipped back with a flirty smile, laying on the charm.

“Well then I’d say show me some proof and give me a minute to pull one of my gals off the trays to cover the bar, and then I’m all yours.” 

Dean agreed, pulling out his badge for the third time that night, and then waited while she waved down one of the waitresses circling the floor and asked her to take over as bartender for a bit.

“Here, let’s go back in one of the private rooms. I can barely hear myself think in this place.”

“Lead the way,” Dean said, stepping aside so that she could walk in front of him. She led him down another short, noticeably quieter hallway to their left containing only three doors. 

Angela stepped up to the first door, took a look at something near its door knob, and then moved onto the next. Dean glanced at the spot Angela had studied and noticed a small sign that said ‘occupied’ right above the lock. Well someone was getting lucky apparently. 

“This one’s open,” Angela announced after inspecting the second door. She stepped through and held it open, so Dean could follow. When she closed it behind them and turned the lock, Dean saw the word above it change to show that the room was no longer vacant. 

“I’m not sure how much help I’m going to be. We get so many bachelor parties roll through here, it’s crazy, but ask away,” Angela prompted, taking a seat in one of the modern-looking, red leather chairs sitting off to the side of the stripper pole that was lit up in the middle of the room.  

Dean plopped down onto the matching loveseat to her right as he gave her the old spiel about how any detail, no matter how small, could prove to be useful to their investigation. She nodded in understanding, ready to begin. 

“How about you just tell me what you remember of them that night, and I’ll ask questions as you go? Sound good?”

“Yeah, okay, so when I saw his picture on the news I recognized him from the night at the bar. He seemed like a nice enough guy…completely crazy about his fiancé, and the drunker he got, the more he talked about her. There were three guys with them. I don’t remember much about two of them, but one of his buddies was kind of obnoxious…just loud, more immature than the others, bought them all lots of shots and wouldn’t take no for an answer. That sort of thing. He seemed harmless though, and he was a great tipper.”

Dean nodded, knowing exactly which friend Angela was referring to.  She continued, “Actually, I think he was the one that bought Michael the lap dance.”

“Wait, Michael got a lap dance from one of the girls?” Dean asked. Those punks didn’t mention that. Was that what they got all hush hush about back at the beach, he wondered. 

“Well, that guy—I can’t remember his name—told him he had a surprise waiting for him in one of these rooms, so I kind of assumed.”

“Hmm,” Dean pondered, “he just didn’t strike me as the type willing to accept that. He was hesitant to even come here in the first place, and like you said, he was head over heels for his chick.”

“I’ve seen bachelors do much worse, honestly. And the poor guy was pretty shit faced at that point too, for whatever that’s worth.” 

“Got it. Any chance you happen to know which girl did the dance and what room they were in?”

She shook her head. “That’s what’s odd. I asked around after I heard about the murder and all of the girls swear they weren’t the one the friend hired. I even checked our maintenance log to see when the rooms got cleaned.”

“Sorry, pause again. Explain the maintenance log thing to me.”

“I guess you didn’t see them outside, but we have an employee stationed in this area that is responsible for wiping down the rooms every time a party leaves it, and they document it each time.” Dean raised an eyebrow at that. Very sanitary for an island strip club. “Yeah, trust me, I had the same look on my face when I started working here, but Bernie takes that shit seriously. Anyway, I checked his logs and the rooms were cleaned four times that night, and when I started asking around, four girls remembered giving lap dances—so it adds up.”

“But none of them remember giving one to Michael?”

“Nope.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah especially since I remember seeing him stumbling around the corner towards these rooms. I couldn’t see if he went in or not, but I’d talk to his friends again, if I were you. They bought a couple more rounds from me, watched a few dances on the main stage, then went to check on him. They’d know more about it than me.”

“I’ll definitely be giving his little pals another visit. Can you think of anything else? Did you happen to see them when they left?”

She thought for a second. “One of the quieter ones hadn’t closed his tab yet, so I saw him briefly. But he just signed the receipt and left—didn’t really say anything. I was so damned busy at that point, I didn’t really pay much attention to the others…sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ve been extremely helpful. Hell, you’ve practically done my job for me. If the bartending gig doesn’t work out, you might have a future in investigations.” Dean stood, pulling a business card out of his pocket at handing it to her. “We are staying at Athens Gate on the South end of the island. My cell is on there too. If you think of anything else, give us a call, okay?”

Angela took the card from his fingers and stuck it into her back pocket. “Will do, agent.”

“Thanks for your time. I’ll let you get back to work.” Dean unlocked the door and swung it open, holding it open for her this time. He took one last look around the room, and when he stepped into the hallway, the bartender was already gone. There was an older man waiting patiently just outside the doorway with a janitor’s cart though, just like Angela had said there would be, which made him wonder just how in the hell their vic and a stripper managed to slip past Mr. Johnny on the Spot without him noticing.

He didn’t have a chance to figure it out before he heard someone call his name. His head whipped up at the sound of her voice. “Y/N! You made it. Sam said he’d let me know when y’all were on the way.”

“Yeah, blame that on Shel. She never hit send on her message. Now are you done FBI-ing for the night, so we can have a little fun?” Y/N winked and held out her hand for him. But instead of looping his fingers through hers like she expected, he caught her wrist and pulled her into him, hugging her tightly. God, she smelled amazing.

“Damn straight. Time to raise a little hell. Now let me get a good look at the prettiest woman in the place,” he ordered, taking a step back and making a twirling motion with his finger.

She let out a laugh, but did as she was told, twirling slowly so he could appreciate all the effort she put into getting ready tonight. “Dean, we are in a room full of strippers, I doubt anyone here would agree with you on that,” she chuckled.

“Well then they’re blind.” She was wearing a thin, green, spaghetti strap dress that floated over her curves as she turned for him. It was just short enough to show off her muscular legs, which looked even longer now thanks to the wedged pair of heels she was wearing. But the back of the dress—that’s what sent his mind straight to the gutter. 

“Stop,” he commanded, and she froze, casting a curious glance at him over her left shoulder.  Thank the Lord they were still in the hallway, away from most of the people in the room. He stalked towards her, but she stayed perfectly still. When he was close enough, he reached one hand up and gently brushed the silky strands of hair off her back, sweeping them over her right shoulder and down her chest, so that nothing interfered with his view. The dress dropped in a deep V all the way to the lowest point of her back, effectively showcasing a substantial amount of her soft, sun tanned skin, and it was sexy as hell. His knuckles brushed hotly against her bare skin as he softly traced the length of her spine in admiration. When he reached its base, he took both of her hips firmly in his hands and closed the little bit of distance left between them, pressing his chest to her back.  

“You look gorgeous,” he finally managed to say, before dropping a kiss on top of her shoulder, right where it curved into her neck. She let out a soft sigh of pleasure, and all he could think about is how much he wanted to hear more of that.  

“Looking pretty sexy yourself, Mr. Winchester,” she responded, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel his face warm a bit at her compliment. 

“I like the color you chose—the green,” he stated, pressing a soft kiss against her temple this time and smiling when she leaned into him with a contented hum. 

She swiveled in his grip so that she was facing him now and wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers gently playing with the short hairs on the back of his head. “Yeah, well, for some damned reason, I can’t get the color out of mind,” she joked, standing up on her tip toes so she could kiss him right on the outside corners of both eyes. 

His hands slid from her hips up to her rib cage, and when she’d lowered herself back down enough that she was even with his lips, he pulled her to him, crashing his mouth against hers. He could feel the moan that vibrated from her throat when he slid his tongue along her bottom lip, asking her to let him in. She complied immediately, and he deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue with hers, unable to get enough of the way she tasted. 

He backed her against the wall, never breaking his connection with her lips. They were soft and warm and so damned perfect. He fucking loved Belize. He let his hands roam up her body, across her breasts, enjoying the way she ground her hips against him at his touches there, and then he continued moving them up her neck, until he was cradling both sides of her beautiful face. And then he finally broke the kiss. His chest was heaving and there was an uncomfortable tightness in his jeans, which was made worse when she opened her eyes to look back at him. Even in the dim lighting of the club, he could see that her skin was flushed. Her kiss-swollen lips were slightly parted as she tried to catch the breath he’d stolen from her. Her y/e/c eyes burning with want—hell, with need—as they searched his, trying to figure out their next move. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he growled into her ear as he dropped his hand and laced his fingers with hers. He felt her head dip once in wordless agreement. 

Anticipation and desire pumped through his veins, and he turned to lead them out of the hallway, ready to finally make good on all the promises he’d made her. He rounded the corner in a hurry, running smack dab into…

“Y/N?” he gasped in horror, confusion overwhelming him as he looked from the version of her standing in front of him to the version whose hand he was holding. 

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed, dropping the second woman’s hand like he’d be burned. She was a looker—tall, dark hair, chocolate colored eyes, long legs—but she sure as shit wasn’t Y/N. 

“What’s wrong, Dean? I thought we were going back to your place,” she crooned, an evil smirk playing across the mouth he’d just been kissing.  

“No…no…HELL NO,” Dean barked, backing away and shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Oh don’t let me stop you. Do your thing, Dean. Maybe I’ll get Sam to take me home, he doesn’t seem like he’s as much of an asshole as his older brother,” Y/N spat, rage radiating from her small frame. 

“Y/N, if you’d just let me explain…”

She held up a finger, silencing him. “No explanation needed. I get it. I just met you. I have no claim on you.” He took a desperate step towards her. “But if you move another inch closer to me, I will deck you, I promise.” 

He stopped in his tracks, knowing she would do exactly as she said she would. And when she turned and walked away from him, he sighed and dropped his head in defeat. 

He had so many questions. Starting with—what in the royal blue hell just happened?  

And where in the shit did that other conniving wench go? 

And what the fuck was that white, cottony, teddy-bear-stuffing-looking fuzz doing on his damned shirt?

He ran a hand down his face in frustration. Well, so much for tonight being fun.

Tags: @goldenolaf25 @dancingalone21 @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @deanssweetheart23 @wheresthekillswitch @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda @arryn-nyxx @hannahindie @mrswhozeewhatsis @avc212 @atc74 @-lovepeacenhope- @kathaswings @messy-buns-and-shotguns @michellethetvaddict @roxyspearing @amanda-teaches @there-must-be-a-lock @escabell @nostalgic-uncertainty @duherica @mogarukes @shutupiminlooove @mspseudonymwho @littlegreenplasticsoldier @nightlyinsomnious @donnaintx @growningupgeek @deevvoon @emmazach @kbl1313 @akshi8278 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @emilywritesaboutdean @sofreddie @triciareh @horsegirly99 @ultimatecin73

[takebackthetreasure92]

Making myself clear to my ex-stalkers

This is an email I sent my former staff worker from InterVarsity Christian Fellowship in February 2018. Apparently, InterVarsity remains under the impression that I won't speak out about the fact that they gang-stalked me and encouraged my abuser to harass me--even strangle me. And spread slander about me that they knew was false, just because my would-be murderer was a model student leader and it was my reputation or his. Are they really foolish enough to think I will back down? #InterVarsity #metoo

"Hi Jordan,

This is just to set you straight on a few things and make sure you understand what I hope for and don't hope for with you in future. The reason for using the pseudonymous email address is just a precaution against a certain ex at the moment because my legal name change is not information he needs right now, but I think you know who this is ;). (It's Julian, who has ditched their birth name for good.)

So I know that you, at the very least, had the decency to recognize the low and utterly puerile nature of your betrayal of me. You even almost got yourself to believe your own lies sometimes. I say almost because you had your somewhat squeamish moments, like when you used Gregor's last abusive accusation of non-forgiveness as a way to try to shut me up about every way our former cult had fucked up. (Honey, you realize your willful blindness to InterVarsity's more dangerous qualities and failure to watch Gregor's paranoia and rage, both of which escalated almost no matter what I did (keeping my mouth shut not being something I owed him or that he deserved), could have resulted in me getting literally strangled to death at Rockbridge, right? If you honestly don't--well, that ought to at least explain quite a lot about my continued hypervigilance around IV that led to some perfectly understandable PTSD paranoia. Google around and inform yourself on what that looks like. For your love of God, please recognize the signs in the students that come your way in future at Needle's Eye or anywhere else.)

Jordan, I feel like if you had paid closer attention to the things I was trying to tell you every time I brought it up or a PTSD flashback brought it to mind, which I unabashedly recall was often because...your cult was (and is) dangerous, you might have picked up on the fact that I was hoping to wake you up to what was going on in the ministry. And you used both my persistence and my PTSD to stab me in the back in what was the most manipulative way possible (no matter what prettier half-truth you told the self-righteous and naive Halen about it). Your smile at me when you knew Josh's confusion at that ridiculous gossip situation (your poisonous cult was the problem there, dear, not me) gave you a way to fuck me over, and to let your own childish ass off the hook for having an openly pro-gay transgender member, recalled a seven-year-old boy who had just told a perfect fib to the teacher on someone else and thought he was going to keep the candy he stole from that other person after all. You were a child, to be blunt, Jordan, just an immature, accountability-shirking little boy who threw his more Christ-like morals completely out the window--and all in the name of covering up every disgusting arm-twist (all failed arm-twists in my case, hee hee hee) and mind game and coercive (and often abusive) move InterVarsity had ever pulled to keep its attendees in line. Speaking of which, your expression when you thought I was about to blurt out the words "I was gay" at one event might have led someone else to think I was about to forcibly break someone else's arm, at the very least. Jordan, becoming disappointed when people who say something controversial on Facebook and then have the temerity to show up at your event--that is a fifteen-year-old thing to do. Admittedly it's better than seven, but *really?*

You know, what I give myself a pat on the back for is not giving in to your or Gregor's immature insistence that I keep my mouth shut. What you did there was wrong, Jordan, not least because you knew perfectly well Gregor was a very, *very* dangerous person when his narcissism was threatened. The only thing I caved on with him was the fact that during our casual relationship he monopolized my time romantically, literally stalked me, and acted very petulant and possessive when other men's names came up--and in the later stages of that contemporaneously cheated on me with my roommate and later went out of his way to paint me as a complete ninny for getting offended by that, as if nonconsensually holding someone to romantic double standards does not count as cheating, which of course anyone without pathological narcissism and over the age of 18 or so knows it does. Just because I gave him my silence on just that one at the time for Brooke (who truly had no clue because she had taken his fibs hook, line and sinker, to the point where he would have had no problem still messing with her mind by smearing his way out of further accountability, just like you did with me later in the game) did not mean that I was going to even begin to overlook my conviction that InterVarsity classmates needed to be told what the ministry was capable of, under the wrong circumstances and with the promise of seizing more and more control over the lives of its members. That I never ceded that control to you all--for which again, I feel extremely blessed and grateful, but to God goes that glory--is of course the real reason you gave me the boot and then tried so hard to mindfuck me into thinking I had no one but my own sorry, selfish, deep-in-sin self to blame.

LOL! Grow up, Jordan. That is the kind of silly lie a fourteen-year-old boy tells his partner (especially if his partner is female-identified and he therefore feels entitled to say it to "his girl") when he's trying to get a get-out-of-jail-free card for screwing her over by making her believe it's because of something she's done. Spiritually, you are the one who needs to get your shit together. You and InterVarsity fucked our friendship over, and you delivered the coup de gras for an incredibly selfish, inappropriately domineering, and silly reason. Emma may have been able to behave like a manipulative, completely brainwashed fool on the matter most of the time (which of course, to a degree, she was), but your own acting and/or (more likely) self-deception skills left just a bit more to be desired. I mean, I get that the staff routinely throw both themselves and their dogma at people to earn their allegiance (in many ways it was like dealing with very persistent pimps, especially when you were trying to shut me up, just to be brutally honest there), but still. And for the record, I have called Gregor out on everything (partly to cleanse my own mind of any toxic remnants of his brainwashing and mainly to secure my safety and my partner's, now that Gregor lives just over in Nashville) and threatened him with a restraining order based on both his abuse and threats and his (actual) stalking behavior if he *ever* resumes any of that again--and pointed out to him that pointing those projections of his back at him where they belong would be a cakewalk in any "court of law," should it come to that. Which of course praise God it almost certainly won't, now that I've made it clear I don't trust him to behave in the event of reconciliation, not in this life. For the last seven years all I've wanted for him was for him to be free of all the poison in his soul--that is a wish extremely near and dear to my own heart and soul--which is why your disgusting use of the ammo he gave you in telling you of his self-exculpatory-nine-year-old accusation of non-forgiveness (no, child, the reason it so visibly hit home was not actually being guilty of that; I've given you the real reason) was so, so, SO low. And I did not give a fuck about what Mary and the other brainwashed, narrow, and foolish girls thought, just to be radically honest about them.

Again, for your own sake, for the sakes of your students in Needle's Eye, and literally for God's sake, you have got to get your spiritual shit together. For years I thought you were one of the ones who also remembered to hold onto principle and, more importantly, a sense of principle *that originates within the self,* not the cult. I was very, very wrong about that. As advice, I'll let you know that I often felt like one of the few people in the cult who hung on to their adulthood in that sense, mainly *because* I would not relinquish control over my life, let alone my mind. You almost got me with the implied lie about everything being just "benevolent misunderstandings," but in my heart and in the hearts of others who would have been vilified and dismissed right and left, had they voiced those opinions to the overenmeshed majority, all those childish fibs never quite held water. Your crimson-faced mortification when I cunningly ratted your bullshit out to Josh--that was a very adult high five on your part, so I sincerely high-five you in return for all that--said it all.

I need scarcely say that I make no apologies at all for exposing all of your evil as a ministry to the university's first-years. They were the ones who needed to be warned in light of all your intrusive, sneaky, manipulative, and just plain disrespectful rubbish in infiltrating the move-in volunteer staff and pulling out all the shots in your usual WAY-too-manipulative ploys to lure new people over. There is a world of difference between wanting a person to be Saved--God has a myriad of tools suited to that purpose, as you well know, for which good old-fashioned prayer will suffice if it's meant to be--and wanting to be the saving force and guide. And there certainly is a difference, a very consequential AND spiritually essential difference, in wanting it so intensely that you will stoop to ANYTHING to pull people into your ministry, not RUF or Cornerstone, and to make sure they join, stay, and follow YOU. The real kicker here is that their definition of "follow" is for their members ENTIRELY too invasive, inappropriately domineering, manipulative, unhealthy (the DEFINITION of unhealthy, dear, so it's small wonder your staff used that buzzword fairly frequently with folks, in the pot calling any criticizing kettle black), and just plain psychologically abusive in a much-too-frequent pattern.

So I beg of you. BEG of you. If you have not already, get your shit together. I intend to just let you be in future, and I would appreciate it if you would extend me the same courtesy, starting with not responding to this email. Even though you're out of IV now (for your sake I sincerely thank God for that), I don't need to tell you outright that you had your chance with my friendship; you blew it when you irrevocably broke my trust. Forgiveness always came easy for me, but almost no matter what comes up down the road I will never fully trust you again in this life. The same goes for Gregor and Emma. And there is nothing you can say to me that you can get inside my head ever again. I'm just being honest.

Please, just work on healing any remaining crippling and lies in your mind and soul.

In Christ,

Julian"

[blood-and-lilacs]

Book Rec: Necrotech (Hey, that rhymes!)

Book: Necrotech, by K.C. Alexander

Primary Whumpee(s): Risa Cole, aka Riko. A mercenary fighter with a robotic arm, futuristic tattoos that she can turn on and off, a bad attitude, and no memory of the last six months. 

Secondary Whumpee(s): Indigo Koupra, aka Digo. I’m only calling him “secondary” because even though he’s important throughout the whole story he doesn’t really join in the action till the last quarter of the book. But once he does, the whump is strong with this one, especially in terms of pushing through injuries and self sacrificing. Also he’s gorgeous, just saying.

Whump Categories: Man, if you’re into amnesia or fighting through absurd amounts of pain and injury to finish the mission, this is the book for you. Also: phantom limb pain, zombiefication (”nano shock” in the early stages, "going necro” if you let it go on too long -- symptoms include organ failure, bleeding black blood from all orifices, and finally, becoming “an obscene fusion of necrotic flesh and working tech with a viral need to kill,”), loss of consciousness, beaten up, interrogation, bomb impact, held at gunpoint, laceration, broken bones..... I cannot for the life of me remember or find from skimming whether any of the main characters get shot. But the sheer fact that I can’t REMEMBER something like that should tell you something about how much whumpage is going on. Also, everybody has nanobots in their bodies that help them heal faster. Personally I like accelerated healing because it means the characters can take more damage, but I know opinions are divided on that.

Summary: Riko wakes up alone in a lab with no memory of how she got there. In the next five minutes she discovers her girlfriend, forcibly hooked up to way more robotic equipment than a human can handle, “go necro” (see description above). She makes it out of the lab but discovers that she’s missing six months of memory and her former teammates think that during that missing time she sold them out. New mission: Find out what ACTUALLY happened in those six months, get revenge on whoever fucked her girlfriend up, and avoid dying, going necro, or losing all her cred along the way.

Opinions: I'm kind of disappointed by how much the setting is just Generic Cyberpunk City #34. I played like two sessions of Shadowrun once and if the entire setting description had been “I live in Shadowrun but there isn’t even any magic,” I would have known everything I needed to know about the world. But it’s still a fun world to live in. I’m a sucker for any setting where a regular suburban kid can run away and become a street smart merc with a robot arm and a cool codename. I love the characters, though. Riko is a lovely combination of lean mean machine and total wreck of a human being. And the action just GOES from page one and DOES NOT STOP. 

Favorite Whump Moment:         It took effort, but I sucked in air through gritted teeth, forced myself to stay conscious. I just needed to wait out the damage, ride the pain. {....}        I slung an arm over the rim of the padded table shoved into my back. I couldn’t see out of one eye, and the floor was jerking back and forth, but I didn’t need perfect vision to glare at the four silhouettes coming down the steps at me.      The pale glow behind me went dark. “That’s enough.”       All four stopped.       The suit didn’t shout; he didn’t have to. His voice wasn’t as deep as Jad’s, but it carried the kind of weight you can’t program into tech. It was effortless, patient, and cool. A signal that cut through noise with pure authority.        I was going to rip his voicebox out and make him eat it.        “Bring her.”         My ass. I tried to get to my feet. My damaged knee buckled hard, twisting out from under me. Before I hit the ground, two sets of hands curled around my upper arms. Pulled me upright.         I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood as torture streaked through my broken ribs. It came out in a mangled “Fuck.”        They half-carried, half-dragged me to a plastic armchair across from the suited man, and set me gently into the padding. Two sets of hands clutched at my shoulders, holding me firmly in place. 

Bonus: I literally read this book because I picked it up at random, read the back and the first page, and then my eyes went wide and I whisper-yelled “LESBIAN CYBORG ZOMBIE HUNTER.” (For the record Riko's actually bi or pan, I just didn’t know that from the back cover.) I kept trying to put it back but I should have known right then that I was a lost cause. Like..... how can you say no to that?

Triggers: So, like, despite being super diverse in terms of race, gender and sexuality, there are some occasions where that’s handled in a ..... weird way. There’s a concept of “black market gene therapy” with racial memory side effects that has some interesting notions in it but I’m really uncomfortable with the way it’s described (and also I’m really white so I don’t really know how to evaluate it). There’s a femme character who MIGHT be a “transwoman, fashion savvy man in drag, ass-kicking cis female,” etc. The idea is that it doesn’t matter, which is cool, but it feels weird that she’s the ONLY trans character and that’s how she’s handled. So like -- I honestly don’t know what to make of these things, and I would love to hear others’ opinions on them! So hit me up if you’ve read it and are interested in that type of discussion. Oh, there’s also some brief sexuality and body type based insults, brief references to sexual assault, and lots of violent death of minor characters. 

[ohyesilovetoread]

Idolism by Marcus Herzig

(heads up for some racism and underage relationships)

I was pretty interested going into this book, because I just finished another one of Herzig’s books, The Proxima Strain, and I found it really fun and entertaining, and the summary for Idolism had me interested, too. however, as I started to read it, it quickly became boring

the concept of it is interesting: a band consisting of 4 teenage friends suddenly skyrockets to international fame after a video of the lead singer roasting some government official goes viral, and they struggle to deal with that. also the pope has just died and a new one needs to be picked. you’d think that last part would be important, but it’s really not

the characters of the story are:

Julian, the quiet yet headstrong, eccentric lead singer of the band. he’s been the “weird” kid all his life, shy and loves to educate himself on every possible topic. despite his quietness, he loves to talk about his opinions and debate with people. his friends describe him as autistic sometimes, but he’s not officially diagnosed with it. he’s really into religion, not that he’s religious, but he likes to debate it and is obsessed with rituals. he loves to watch religious stuff and likes to stop watch the guards change at the palace.

Michael, who has been Julian’s best friends since they were little kids, is the band’s drummer. he’s a genius with computers, and even though he’s just 17, he has created some sort of AI named MINDY that can do whatever the plot requires, can track anyone in the world by somehow using computers and not being traceable. despite this, he mainly uses it to keep tabs on Julian

Ginger, real name Emma but everyone calls her Ginger because, in a shocking turn, she has red hair, plays keyboard. there’s... not really much to say about her really. she’s just a normal teenage girl who doesn’t really affect the plot much. her dad’s a lawyer

then there’s Tummy, who plays bass. his name is really Thomas, but he’s fat, so everyone calls him Tummy. he is... terminally straight and terminally annoying. he hooks up with a Japanese tv host named Momoko, even though he’s 17 and she’s 22. his plot mostly revolves around that and the fact he was raised Catholic provides some insight on the religious stuff.

other side characters:

Momoko, whose show rocketed them to fame and follows them around. she speaks with an accent and broken english, and literally says “herro” a few times.

Robert Murdock, a southern tv show preacher who became the head of a multimedia empire that affects certain parts of the plot. gets elected to be the new pope. most definitely a Trump expy

Edward Pickle, the PR guy who is responsible for pulling the strings behidn Murdock and getting him to where he is today

the book switches between Tummy, Ginger, and MIchael’s perspectives every chapter, with a few chapters from Edward’s perspective here and there. it seems like a cool gimmick, but it doesn’t really affect much. seeing it all from everyone else’s eyes but Julian’s does help him come across more mysterious and mystical, which I liked, though. Tummy’s chapters are very British with him saying “me” in place of “I” and the like.

the story starts out at this special concert where Julian is preparing to give a big speech. he’s been missing/presumed dead, so it’ll be his first public appearance in a while. he’s dressed in all white and it’s a very on the nose Christ resurrection thing. it makes you all wonder what’s going on, how did they get to this point, Michael sends a cryptic “I failed” message to Ginger, it’s very good at raising a lot of questions.

but then it goes back to the start and all the answers to it all end up dissatisfying. it spends a LOT of time introducing us to these characters and building them up. it starts off with Tummy noticing his dad at school at night, which is odd. his dad works for some British government guy, and he sees him overseeing them haul in huge boxes from Murdock’s media company. anyway, the band shows up, Michael tells Tummy to put an SD card in dad’s laptop so he can hack, Tummy does so, and they find some documents that the government wants to force more religion into schools.

at some big school anniversary concert, their band performs, and they’re actually pretty good, so the govt guy and this media producer alumni, Peter Tholen (who is being followed by Momoko for some tv thing), come on stage to talk to them. then Julian lambasts the govt guy for the religion plan with a great rant. Momoko films this, it hits the internet, suddenly they’re famous, Peter signs them. shablam

then it goes onto this kind of pointless thing where they perform in Germany and Julian sings the former East Germany socialist anthem instead of the current one because he liked it better, it creates a controversy, so they go back to apologize, only to end up singing the same anthem with Germans singing along. idk, it’s mostly to set up that Julian follows his own drum and loves to preach or w/e

since they’re making lots of money at this point, the band’s like “lol let’s go to Rome and do a flash mob.” so that’s what they do. they get stopped by some cops, only to find out the new pope has been elected! and it’s not a cardinal? it’s Robert Murdock of the media empire, wtf??

(see, Murdock’s been setting up fancy schools in impoverished locations and bringing cardinals there to bribe them, that’s how he got it lol)

so anyway, of course Julian’s like “we HAVE to record our music video at the announcement of the new pope.” so they do. however, instead of lip syncing, Julian gets too ~caught up in the moment~ and starts singing loudly enough to attract attention, leading to their arrest. they spend the night in jail, then Peter comes and forcibly takes them to America because they’ve been making such a mess in Europe.

once they reach America, Michael and Ginger give the typical “you’ve changed, man” speech to Julian after noticing his attention-seeking ways. Tummy wants to stay and have fun, but he ends up going straight back to Europe with the other two while Julian stays in America doing a press tour for a few weeks. then the book gets boring again as it mostly describes the others doing nothing but watching Julian give interviews and people on talk shows discussing him.

one fun moment is Julian’s appearance on the Bill O’Reilly show where he lambasts him for a whole chapter, and it’s pretty clear this is just the author venting his own issues with O’Reilly, which, I suppose, is valid. and then it ends with Bill threatening Julian and going all crazy, getting his show cancelled and him sent to a mental institution, which... lmao

AND THEN, once back in Europe, the bus that Julian and Peter were on crashes and explodes. they were not among the dead or survives, so they’re presumed missing. Michael is all sad, but then he uses his deus ex AI to find out they’re in Rome with the pope. turns out the pope is a fan of Julian for whatever. they use this to record the pope saying some fucked up shit.

then it goes back to the benefit concert thing, they air the footage of the pope, and Julian gives his grand speech, and it’s exactly the typical “religion can be good for people, but it can also be Bad. we as a society should be nice to each other. makes you think, no?” speech you’d expect. applause. Michael’s “I failed” text at the start was simply referring to his plan to get the concert broadcast all over the world via Murdock’s company. Edward finds him out though, magically, and sends Michael away, promising not to reveal his god AI, but airs the broadcast everywhere anyway because he’s like “my god what have I done” wrt Murdock

in a touching moment afterwards, and probably my favorite part of the book, Michael finds Julian and they reconcile after their falling out, and Michael agrees to go on a 3 week vacation with Julian to a private island. in the epilogue, Momoko has Tummy’s child after being arrested and found guilty for having sex with a minor, but only serves 3 weeks. Tummy becomes a house husband. Michael and Ginger go back to school. Julian’s giving speeches and shit, the end.

all in all... it was just kind of boring. I think it would have been a lot better if it cut Tummy and Ginger’s chapters and focused mostly on Michael watching his weird, formerly quiet friend rocket to fame. it was very clear that Michael had serious feelings for Julian and hated sharing his special guy with the world, and I would have loved if the book had done more with that.

plus I think it would have been a lot more interesting had Herzig done more to mirror Julian’s rise to fame with Murdock’s. it certainly TRIED to do that, but it fell flat in that regard. he clearly wanted to do something about how religion and fame are tied these days, but it just felt kind of impotent. like its lofty goals were held back by the fact it’s just a YA book.

Tummy’s chapters were just gross and annoying. I really don’t want to read about this 17 year old being kinkily punished by a 22 year old woman, thank you. the kink part barely comes up but even the small passing mentions are like... this is so unnecessary

Momoko and her broken English also really bothered me, and it’s an ugly pattern I’ve noticed in nearly all of Herzig’s books. at least one character speaks in a bad accent, and if it was just a one time thing, I’d side eye and move on, but it keeps happening and I’m like... bro how come no one has told you to stop that yet

also he really likes overly describing science stuff, like the tech behind MINDY, and it just gets real boring after a while