#who seem familiar with the movie ginger snaps & seem to like it even

[juniperhillpatient]

i just had somebody rb a toxic yuri meme i made that had ginger/brigitte and they included in the tags something like “idk why ginger and brigitte are here they’re sisters” and i’m just like 😭😭 i’m just not gonna say anything

….this movie literally invented toxic yuri tho?

[weirdstuffinthewoods]

The inevitable what if...?

Freddy vs Jason (2003)

Horror fans constantly seem divided on what constitutes "real" horror, or even "good" horror.

The issue with gatekeeping the genre is that you start to get bored with the offerings that fit the qualifications. Original IPs are best rewarded only if they're frightening enough to satisfy lovers of jump scares and dread alike. Franchises are begrudgingly watched for ever-lengthening amounts of time, and attempts at reboots are either met with rightful scorn (the moneygrabs) or badly received because fans are still clinging to the original too hard to make room for the new (think Candyman 2021). Between the two options, restricting what constitutes as worthy horror can leave you in a stale place.

All this to say- I watched Freddy v Jason tonight and it continues to be one of my Ol' Faithfuls. While not necessarily frightening, balls-to-the-wall movies like Freddy v Jason, Deathgasm, House on Haunted Hill (1999), or the Hong Kong fever dream that is Rigor Mortis offer something that truly frightening films sometimes can't- fun.

Sometimes intentionally and sometimes not, horror and comedy have always gone well together. You see it as far back as films like The Old Dark House (1932) and at Halloween haunts worldwide every year. A scare actor gets a scream out of you and you run off, laughing. The tension of a film builds and builds and is finally cut by comedic relief. Horror and comedy make the perfect group watches- the acting is usually mediocre, and someone's always going to have a questionable costume or hair and makeup choice (lookin' at you, knockoff Jason Mewes and frosted-tips cop). There's plenty to laugh at but also plenty to make you go

The film is directed by Ronny Yu, a director who also breathed life back into the Child's Play franchise with Bride of Chucky, another one of my favorites. In Fangoria 221, Yu notes that for Bride he was asked if he'd seen the original films. When he answered in the negative, he was told "No worries-you can catch up later or just forget it and start fresh." Using a similar philosophy here (as he was not familiar with either franchise before pairing the two in a match made in hell), Yu managed to keep the lore as consistent as it's ever been (not very) and also give us a horror milestone that manages to be really, really fun.

Still not convinced? Here's a short list of reasons:

The 2000s-era over saturation!

This movie focuses on BLUE as their color of choice- movies like Cabin Fever or House on Haunted Hill were very focused on RED. If you want to forget what colors the real world is, movies from this decade are for you!

The stupid one-liners!

(and casting easter eggs like Kelly Rowland here and Ginger Snaps icon in the lesser but still memorable role of "Gibb")

Joint-smokin' Freddy caterpillar (in super dated cgi, but who cares?)

The entire cornfield rave!

Who throws raves in a cornfield? Is that a thing in the midwest? Who cares? It's a great place to hide Jason's bulk and watch some obnoxious jocks get gutted.

It's like watching a wrestling match between two legends. Both Freddy and Jason have built their respective (if questionable quality) franchises that both began with iconic films that shaped the slasher genre. The pair are polar opposites in every way- Freddy a quick-witted, small, overly talkative set of brains with some knife fingers, and Jason a hulking, silent mass with both his strength and his machete on hand at all times.

The kills are still fun and the blend of practical and cgi effects don't feel totally cheap just yet, but the real payoff is the finale that pits the two legends head to head in an over-the-top, totally rock-n-roll finale. While you can and do root for both of them, the surprisingly sympathetic lens put on Jason adds a layer of connection you usually don't get with the silent behemoth, making it an impossible to call fight. I can hear the theaters full of screaming fans now.

I'm just saying- Horror, if no other genre, is a place for experimentation, especially with its long-running penchant for low budgets. Where else are you going to see crossover fights outside of fanfiction?

When given the choice, definitely champion an original idea (don't want to encourage those big budget studios too much), but if you're having a Halloween rager, why not throw on a bloody good time like this one?

[shieldedreams]

a bit of vodka don’t hurt nobody (e.u.)

summary ⇾ in which you’re agent tequila’s sister, agent v... who eggsy’s smitten by the first encounter after being shot at with a tranquilizer. details ⇾ 2,048 words / eggsy unwin x agent!reader / 🌸 fluff, meet-cute (?) notes ⇾ agent v, for vodka :-) (all because i thought it was cute, lol. and it seemed fun to make the reader an agent in the statesman) reader calls agent tequila ‘t’ as he calls her ‘v’.

[!] spoilers to the second kingsman movie (if you haven’t seen!), sexual innuendos, slight change to the movie’s plot/details so definitely an au!

between you and your brother, he’s known to be more... brutal, with his advancements. even now as you watch him interrogate two people in suits from the two-way glass. things change drastically, however, when you receive a ping from ginger to stop agent tequila immediately!��false alarm! your eyes widen from the message, especially when you glance up and your brother’s seconds away from putting a bullet to their friend’s head through another two-way mirror.

eggsy–despite seconds from getting his ass roasted on fire–and merlin are yelling at the top of their lungs for agent tequila to stop. the humorous side of things earlier quickly washes away from your system (it’s been a long time since anyone sassed your brother despite being the ones at his mercy) as you bust through the door.

“t, stop!”

agent tequila looks up, gaping at the sight of you but more so when ginger slides past to toss at him an umbrella. upon first glance, he thinks nothing of it, but it’s not until ginger points out: “their story checked out. i opened our doomsday locker and that umbrella was in it. it has our logo on it.”

you grab ahold of one of the two towels ginger brought in. while she’s helping wipe away the alcohol from merlin’s clothes, you’re doing the same for eggsy. maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the shock but you blink up to him to catch him staring. the proximity would normally make any person blush but instead it makes you smile with the click of your tongue to snap him out of it. you move to stand beside your brother as he introduces the statesman, along with ginger ale’s position in the company, to himself as agent tequila and–”i’m agent v.”

eggsy lets the words fly out before he can hold himself back. 

“what does the v stand for?”

you scoff a laugh, crossing your arms, “how about you find out?”

eggsy raises a brow, “is that an invitation?”

you unfold your arms, jutting out one hand to grab onto tequila’s arm as he–”why i oughta smack you to your momma’s–”

“wouldn’t you like to see your friend?” ginger pipes in quickly, diffusing the situation before it escalates. tequila remembers the situation they’re in, glances at harry behind him. he exhales deeply and you let him go, patting his back as he turns away, taking his leave out of the room. merlin and eggsy’s gaze trail back to their friend in front of them, which eggsy says after, “this is the part where you untie us.”

//

hours later, you find yourself down at the bar with a glass of martini in your hands. news came around that tequila must’ve had a little bit too much fun that he now has blue veins showing up in his skin. sure, he’s a complete butthead but he’s still (and always will be) your brother. you’re staring at the mahogany in front of you, swirling the pattern with one finger as the chair next to you pulls open.

“is this seat taken?” a voice seemingly familiar asks. in an accent that you could read from a mile away especially after today’s turn of events. you shake your head and tip your glass to the side, “go for it.”

eggsy slides in next to you, requesting for a–”martini, please.”

it elicits a chuckle from you, to which eggsy’s pleased with.

“seems like i figured out what the v stands for,” his tone is playful and he sounds like a nice guy but you’d be a liar if you said you’re all dandy based on what happened in the last couple of hours. 

you turn to look at him and notice he’s in a different attire (of course he would, tequila dumped a good amount of rum on him). a black fitted t-shirt and black joggers, no glasses this time. he looks smart without even trying. on the other hand, eggsy tries not to show he’s fazed even if he’s slightly intimidated, or charmed, if you will. it might be a thing around here to wear a cowboy hat but on you, it seems elegant. the same coloured cowboy hat as the one he notices on agent tequila earlier, a white denim jacket, dark blue coloured top with matching denim jeans. the name ‘vodka’ has never been so fitting.

as he takes a sip of his drink, he notices how you’re not too chatty. it reminds him earlier of his conversation with ginger when he was in the hallway of medical rooms.

ginger’s going through some of the procedure matters and giving eggsy a tour around as they come to a stop in the middle of the hallway when eggsy stops walking. he spots you hurriedly making your way down, only to make a sharp left as you open and close the door, effectively disappearing. ginger notices eggsy’s attention has detoured that she lowers the clipboard in her hand, waiting for eggsy’s curiosity to surface.

“isn’t that agent tequila’s room?”

ginger nods. “yeah, it is. we’re currently keeping him there to monitor his body conditions.”

eggsy slides his hands into his pockets, head tilted slightly. then he turns to look at ginger with narrowed eyes, “is agent tequila and agent v... you know... romantically involved?”

ginger laughs, a proper laugh, too. the kind that almost makes eggsy feel like an idiot but ginger means no malice in her tone, which gets him to loosen up just a bit. “you’d better pray they don’t ever catch you saying that. they’re siblings.”

eggsy opens his mouth to respond but is left speechless when you reappear from the room. you turn to the side and notice both ginger and eggsy. he feels himself straightening automatically when you make your way towards them, offering a fist bump to ginger which seems like a normal casualty but when it came to him, your fist unfolds to a handshake.

“couldn’t give you a proper greeting when you were tied to a chair doused in rum but welcome to the statesman, eggsy.”

he knows this feeling well. the mask you put on just so you don’t slip any vulnerability through. the complexity of voiding your emotions to separate work from family... it wasn’t easy... so he goes along with it.

he reaches for your hand, grips onto it to give a good shake, “tied to a chair or not, it’s a pleasure to meet you, agent v. though, it hardly seems fair you know my name and i don’t know yours,”

you pull your hand back with a pleased smile, shrugging, “eh, that’s the price you pay for coming into our turf and mess with our 1963 reserve.”

eggsy scoffs, slowly putting his hand back into his pocket, “that was an accident.”

“and there’ll always be consequences.” 

at your own words, hearing them from yourself, eggsy and ginger can both see it struck a chord within yourself as it reflects almost too perfectly to your brother’s situation. you turn your attention to ginger this time, “keep me posted on his condition, will ya?”

ginger nods, “of course.”

you salute the two of them, effectively slipping past between them to get down the hallways and soon you’re turning left to disappear again.

in the midst of silence, eggsy half-appreciates how he doesn’t feel pressured to say anything. you have your drink, he has his. the two of you merely quietly appreciating each other’s company. at the very least, he’s enjoying yours. he musters up the courage to say something, in hopes it’ll ease your nerves.

“he’ll be okay,” that gets you to look up from your drink, but not at him just yet. “i mean, if he can take down two kingsman at once, he can surely overcome a virus.”

you down the rest of your drink before nudging the glass away, shaking your head. “you’d think he’d be smart enough to listen to me once in a while. guys and their egos.” reaching for the olive from your drink, you bite it off the toothpick before realising what you just said. you glance at him with an apologetic smile, “no offense.”

eggsy smiles in return, “none taken considering it’s true.”

after ditching the toothpick back into the glass, you loosely clasp your hands on the table, using a thumb to stroke over your other thumb gently. eggsy watches as you sit with your emotions, drinking in the atmospheric sounds. normally, he’s somewhat confident with his advancements but now, he’s uncertain of what to do. there’s a line he feels like he can’t cross, given the circumstances but he’s... tempted. as you turn to look at him, eyes to lips and back up to his eyes, he’s very tempted.

yet, he stops himself when you ask if you could borrow his shoulder and he welcomes it. carefully, he shifts his chair towards yours and allows for you to come into his space. he’s respectful with where he puts his hands, one over your shoulder, the other remaining atop the table as your head leans into his shoulder to rest.

he doesn’t say anything for the rest of the night and neither do you but... it felt like there was so much being exchanged without words; comfort, solace, protection all in one. and a bit of vodka, of course. both literally and... personally, in eggsy’s opinion.

vodka just might be eggsy’s new preferred alcohol.

((you manage to slip into the room eggsy’s in merely minutes before he’s supposed leave with agent whiskey. he’s stayed in one of the dormitory rooms–that ginger has graciously offered the information in exchange for putting in good word should she get the chance to get out the field.

you only knock once you’re inside, capturing his attention as he–”i said i’ll be out in a–”eggsy’s voice drowns out when he sees you standing there, hands behind your back with a crooked smile.

“hey,” eggsy ignores packing his bag, turning around to face you when you walk towards him. as you stand before him, you look up to him with a small smile, “could i repay the kindness you’ve shown me yesterday?”

by kindness, you’re referring to how you fell asleep on eggsy’s shoulder and he refused to wake you up until you came to yourself. he walked you back to your room and even though your hands were saying one thing, eggsy knows your heart was feeling another. the desperate need to find a distraction, doing something you’ll regret. eggsy peels your hands off him, kisses you on the cheek and closes your door for you get some rest, love.

now when you’re sober, seemingly better with what your emotions, eggsy nods. with your hands framing his cheeks and stepping up closer to him, eggsy’s hands finds purchase of your waist to lure you in as your lips brush against his ever so gently. he gapes, while you smile, carefully turning his face so you could press a kiss to his cheek. almost immediately, he tries not to feel embarrassed with his assumptions but when you lean back to grin at him, he can’t help but feel his heart stuck in his throat.

eggsy doesn’t let you get too far as he holds you close, resting his forehead on yours with a sigh. his eyes are now on yours as you blink up to him; both having a faded smile. idle, content. for now, at least.

“there’s more of where that came from if you get back safely.” is that a promise?

“i’ll be sure to do my best, then.” yeah, it is.))

//

(((”sorry, i’m good to go now.” eggsy announces just as he tosses his bag in the backseat and hops on over to the seat next to agent whiskey. the older man shakes his head with a tsk, revs up his engine but doesn’t take off when he glances to eggsy and notices–”son, what’s that there on your face?”

eggsy raises a brow in confusion, leaning out the side to glance at the side view mirror to catch the smudge of lipstick on his cheek. he chuckles and uses his sleeve to wipe it off with a grin.

“that, old man, is my promise to come back here once we’re done.”)))

[murryumthecreator]

Caterpillar

Authors note: This is 1/? of my Fezco series, enjoy!

Pairings: Fezco x Black! Skater!Fem reader

Summary: Reader is a skateboarder who is signed to a crew and Fez likes her and gets upset with how she addresses their ‘situation’.

Warnings: Cursing, possible bad grammar, toronto/jamaican slang, one sided love(slightly) and angst(slight), Credit card(ing/ed) is when you get a board to the crotch (i kind of took influence from the movie skate kitchen for it)

🤎🤎🤎

“What are you yute saying? Are y’all ready for me to take over the Honey Bee ‘Ig’?” You ask, grasping your phone with ring-clad fingers. This moment felt surreal, you being a face for black femme skateboarders. You were signed to a skate crew after years and years of falling and scraping your knees trying to be seen. You were patient. You had to be with the amount of rejection you had received. Every year you reached out to different skating brands in hopes of joining their team but you were only met with radio silence. The silence didn’t stop you it pushed you to learn more to keep moving, you had seen what impatience had done to your mother's dreams and her mother's dreams. Your mother had always wanted to own her restaurant but it never seemed like her time. The banks wouldn’t give her her loan money on time, pregnancy had put a hold of her plan coming into fruition, nobody had operated in an orderly manner and your mother just gave up while she was ahead. You refused to be doomed to follow in her path of quitting, so you pushed and pushed, and here you were enjoying the fruits of your labor. “Ayo Y/n chill with that Instagram shit” Fez mutters, blunt placed between his lips as his eyes look in the rearview mirror to peek at you. Ignoring his words you continue with the live, before reading a multitude of comments. You squint your eyes looking at the small screen of your phone, ‘Who Dat in the back talking🤨’, ‘ Y/n, say swear you got a man?’ standing out to you before you let a loud cackle out. “Y’all gotta chill I’m hanging out with my hb’s. Last time I checked I don’t have a significant other! I’m single till the right person asks me,” you giggle out, running your fingers across your lips. You hadn’t noticed the piercing blue eyes that were peering at you with every word you let out. Though you were oblivious to the longing glances Fezco had shared with you Ashtray, Faye and Rue weren’t. They saw the impact you had on the bearded man, your presence is the difference in how his day would go. You never tried to isolate Fez from his brother and you treated Faye like a close friend when others just pushed her around and dismissed her. And even though Fez wouldn’t admit it, Faye had started to become a sister to him and he greatly appreciated your effort to befriend her. Fez loved your passion, voice, and patience. He had always felt like his life had never extended further than the familiar business he was destined to, seeing you persevere through challenges that would kill others internally. Fez patched up your bruises from time to time, even took you to the emergency room when you got credit carded by your board and started leaking blood. He’d admit to being your biggest fan with the biggest grin making you cover your face with your hands as you told him to stop playing. You were his little caterpillar, you hid behind the challenges thrown at you, growing as you learned to push through and then transitioning into the full beauty you were. It was a cycle of growth and he loved that. Fez grips the leather steering wheel before he boasts in a low voice, “Cut that shit out”. Your face scrunched up at his response, Fez had never been one to dim your light he often was the one shining a bright light on you; you look at the ginger in disbelief for a minute before turning back to your phone, “Your mad for what?” You ask, facing Fez. Your wrist snapping in a confused manner. “Ain’t nobody mad. You doing too much,” Fez mumbled causing your eyes to narrow. Doing too much? Did he just say that shit? “Drop me off,” you said as irritation filled your body. Though your voice was clear Fez kept driving. “Fezco I swear to fucking God if you don’t let me out of this damn car!” You said voice raising with every minute that passed. The comment section went wild, wanting to know what was going on. Fez mumbled out a ‘Nah’ before glancing at the rearview mirror. Your blood pressure raised before the ginger finally pulled over to let you out. Unbuckling yourself, you get up and slam the car door walking to your house. Flipping Fez off.

[schwarmerisch]

My favorite horror movie is Ginger Snaps! It's really old (and a bit silly) but as a younger of two sisters I was terrified by it lmao. A drabble about Venti, please :D

this event has ended and i will no longer be taking requests for it! you can view the masterlist here.

notes: yandere, injuries, blood mention, gn reader

I LOVE GINGER SNAPS!!!! I remember watching it around this time last year. I have a soft spot for 2000s horror films, esp ones which deal in more female centric horror like Jennifer's Body and Ginger Snaps. 2000s horror has such a flair to it that just seems impossible to replicate nowadays. True products of their time.

Mondstadt was a broad country filled to the brim with both beauty and bounty.  The dandelion seeds that danced in the breeze were simply unable to be replicated. The cozy atmosphere of the tavern's were never same anywhere else.

Lush green valleys and verdant meadows were picturesque landscapes that all encompassed you. Such striking scenes were things you thought only imaginable in paintings, but there you were, feeling the soft tufts of grass between your toes, cool wind running through your hair as you stood in the middle of that art piece.

It was hard to explain how that was the exact reason you were so struck by wanderlust. The land of wind and song was an expansive one, yet a traveling poet such as yourself longed for more. Your stop in Mondstadt was an exquisite one, the locals were kind and you had even grew acquainted with a bard who showed great in interest in your poetry.

He was an eccentric one, but if you knew anything about yourself, you'd say all artists were. He always sung high praise of your work if he wasn't sloshed beyond his mind, yet he always grew quite forlorn when you made any mention of your inevitable departure. He always made suggestions of how you could spend more time there without boring yourself, but if you were insistent, he was more than eager to redirect the conversation entirely.

You promised to send letters of your travels, but when the day of your departure arrived, the young bard was nowhere to be found. You didn't want to up and leave without a proper goodbye, not with the budding friendship you had just struck with him. You visited every tavern in town and asked around locals if any had seen him around, or if they knew any place of address he held.

No information was given. He was more mysterious than you were first led on to believe. It left a bittersweet taste in your mouth, not only were you unable to say farewell, but with no place of address neither could send the letters you promised him. Yet, there was nothing you could do about it. With no word, you had to begrudgingly set track for the next stop of your journey.

The trek to Stone Gate proved much more treacherous than anticipated.

Emotions shaped your perception more than you knew. Mondstadt’s serenity that once flowed as cool river waters was harshly replaced by thicket and branch that tore into skin, cloth that snagged onto trees and ripped from your body.  Trees you’d once describe as heaven-spun made you jump at every corner, shadows and rustling leaves were constant agitators.

You had run quite a distance off track by now. The woods were far from your forte of navigation, especially as nightfall quickly approached you. You had intended to make a dash for Dawn Winery, if memory served you correctly it wasn’t too far from where you were headed, but based on the scenery you made the assumption you must’ve been chased into Wolvendom. Maybe you really should’ve spent more time familiarizing yourself with the nation, your conversations with young bard now seemed an ill-fated omen.

Your map was taken, along with everything else in your travel bag. Being surrounded by bandits was not the evening you were expecting. You clearly were of no status, you had no notable amounts of mora, yet they seemed more than satisfied to pillage everything you owned. Parchment and ink were the only valuable things they found. 

Taking the assumption they were unhappy with the fruits bearing of their mugging, and that was the reason they began to chase you- likely to reap what they sought from your body- simply didn’t make sense. Why didn’t they just trash your bag? Why did they treat your belongings so... preciously?

Perhaps they were budding writers themselves? You laughed cynically at the thought. There was nothing else left for you to do. A single tree root seemed to spell the end for your life, your ankle twisting in uncanny manners as you tripped over it in your primal rush. The heavy crack sound that resonated before you hit the ground cemented to you that this would be as far as you’d be running.

You dragged your body up to sat under a tree, it was the most shelter you could afford yourself. If the bandits didn’t catch up to you, then the wolves surely would. The fresh scent of blood had been spilled, likely any ravenous predators were sure to be the prowl. 

Yet you heard no tracks of any beast. Taking place of the growls of some hungry animal was a characteristic humming, too familiar to you for you to mistake it as anything else.

"Venti?"

“Ah, YN! What a coincidence!” Peeking up from behind a spiney grove, the bard approached looking as jovial as ever. Hands behind his back, you noticed his step had quite a bounce to it. "Here I was on a little stroll, lamenting your leave... Could it be you've decided to extend your stay?"

You blinked, jaw going slack in disbelief. With twigs tangled in your hair, dirt adorning your cheeks like some foul blush, outfit all but ruined-- he asked that? You knew he hadn't suddenly gone blind over night, not with how those bright cerulean green eyes zeroed straight in on the bruising and congealed blood that marred your ankle.

"...What a coincidence, huh." You hated to be accusatory from the start, especially with how friendly you had gotten over the past few days. Yet, there was no way, no feasible way he had just happened to come across you like this, right at this time.

Venti tilted his head in response, not once had you seen even an ounce of worry, pity, or anything sort of the normal reaction to seeing someone wounded so.

"I understand you're a free spirit. I'm much the same, that's why I'm giving you a choice," A sweet lilt of playfulness to his voice, you scowled at the audacity. You furrowed your brows, now he's just talking nonsense isn't he? What choice was he giving you, what was he even asking?

"A choice?" You voiced your confusion, and his smile fell, the first instance of something human coming across his face through this entire interaction. You wondered what it was, your expression, tone, or maybe it was the implication he wasn't giving you any choice at all. Though, as swiftly as it changed his cheery mannerism came back.

"Have you eaten some funky mushrooms or something? Ah, I should get you back to the city. Don't worry about walking, I can carry you just fine." He paused, seeing the confused look you made in response to him. "Hey, just because I'm a bit short doesn't mean I don't have my own strength!"

"...What?"

You had initially thought there was some sort of animosity, but the more he spoke like the two of you were still all dandy, and the way the winds gently began raise you, your resolve became less clear. You couldn't follow a thing that was happening. Venti shot you a closed eye smile, slinging your stolen bag across his shoulder.

"I'll get you to the cathedral, I know someone who'll get you healed up in no time."

[emmyhem]

right where you left me (l.r.h)

a/n: hi everybody! so this is a bit of a longer one that is inspired by the song “right where you left me” by taylor swift on evermore. it’s one of my favorites by her because i love the writing and the concept. whether you’re a taylor fan or not i suggest reading and then listening to the song with the fic in mind, it makes the song hit extremely hard. also expect more taylor inspired stuff in the future because she’s one of my all time favorite artists. this one is sad but i live for the angst so what’re you gonna do? my calum piece, “everything you’re missing” should be up by the end of the week and i’m working hard on my very first michael and ashton pieces as well, which is really exciting. anyway i hope you all enjoy and are being safe (get vaccinated if you can!) once again my messages are always open and feedback/criticism is always appreciated. hugs and kisses to all, thanks - emmy <33

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader 

summary: you met 20 year old luke hemmings in a coffee shop eight years ago and were sure your life had been decided. you once told him you’d wait for him until you were sure he was happier without you. you never thought that day would actually come.

warning(s): angst, cursing, alludes to possible infidelity, it’s a sad one so buckle in. 

word count: 6.2k

Current time - December 14th 

The familiar ring of the entrance bell pulled your attention from the worn book beneath your fingers to take a routine glance at the patrons rushing in from the early December chill. Mitten covered hands, and icy cold flushed cheeks entered one after the other. Your typical seat in the corner of the small cafe was shielded from the penetrating winds that accompanied each person in their entrance but you still shivered in sympathy at each new arrival. 

Your steaming earl grey had faded into a tepid puddle at the bottom of your mug as the hours passed on the analog clock that adorned the brick wall in the front. Olive, a barista you had become friendly with over the years approached your table with the cafe’s winter speciality, an orange cranberry muffin in hand. 

“Last one.” she said, sitting it on a pine green napkin in front of you. 

You reached into your purse for a few spare bills to cover the cost when she stopped you by placing a hand on your forearm. 

“On the house for our favorite customer.” her eyes were filled with pity as she nodded down to you, and you were too tired to feel embarrassed. 

“Thanks, Liv.” you sighed. 

“It’s my pleasure, besides I always feel like we’re robbing you when you pay full price, you only ever eat half anyway.” she added as she walked away. 

You picked at the baked good, memories flooding your brain with each bite. 

Eight years ago - December 14th 

As you clutched your books with a death grip you cursed yourself for forgetting your gloves in your dorm. The wind was picking up and it wouldn’t be long until they were numb completely, and your sweater paws were less than effective in warming your frozen fingers. 

A flickering red light glowed just a bit down the street and a sugary citrus aroma was pulling your stiff limbs towards it against the wind. The closer you got the more mouthwatering the smell became and soon enough you had reached the door, bracing yourself for the chill of the copper handle as you pulled it open. 

Sweet, warm air enveloped you as you stepped inside. The red brick walls were chipped in more than a few places, red and green christmas lights twinkle from a tree in the corner, and the crackling of the fireplace was like music to your ears. You wondered how you had never noticed the quaint cafe before as you took your place in line behind a tall man wearing only a thin black hoodie and beanie for protection from the cold weather. As you got closer to him a piney scent cut through the sweet smell of pastries and you caught yourself leaning in to get a better whiff of its freshness. 

Your eyes scanned over the menu that hung behind the cash register while he ordered and did your best to ignore the chill that ran up your spine when his soft aussie accent invaded your ears. 

Once he finished and stepped off to the side to wait for his order you moved forward and placed your books on the counter. 

“Hi, how can I help you today?” a young ginger barista with an abundance of freckles said. 

“Hi,” you paused and located her name tag. “Olive, I’ve never been here before but there's this smell that-” 

“Our orange cranberry muffins.” she interrupted pointing to a chalkboard in front of her that read, “Warm up with a wintery treat, try our famous orange cranberry muffin today!” 

Your stomach growled quietly at the thought as you nodded. 

“I would love one of those and...a medium early grey, please.” you replied, pulling a 10 dollar bill from your pocket. 

“Sadly, we have just sold our last one to the customer in front of you.” she nodded to the enticing blonde man that had caught your attention earlier, who was now staring down at his black vans as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. 

You narrowed your eyes at the muffin thief when he glanced up at you innocently while accepting his coffee from another worker. 

“We do still have our gingerbread and pumpkin muffins if you’d be interested in one of those instead.” Olive continued motioning a hand to the glass display of tasty treats to your right. 

You let out a disappointed huff, “That’s okay, just the tea please.” 

You paid for your order making sure to leave a few extra dollars in the tip jar before taking a seat on a worn burgundy couch near the fire to wait for your drink. 

Leaning your head against your hand for support you allowed your eyes to drift closed and listen to the pops and crackles of the fire meshing with the soft holiday music echoing through the place. You only opened your eyes back up at the feeling of the couch dipping beside you. 

Sitting too close to not acknowledge, was the boy from earlier who was now alternating sips of what smelled like a strong latte with bites of the muffin that could’ve been yours. 

“Are you doing this on purpose?” 

His head snapped in your direction at the sound of your voice, and he finished chewing before responding.

“Doing what?” 

“Taunting me with your stupid muffin.” you were aware of how childish you sounded but hunger had always brought out the irrational side of you. 

“It’s actually quite delicious.” he smirked, ignoring your frustration. 

You groaned in jealousy, “Don’t rub it in.” 

Realization sparked in his eyes. 

“Got the last one didn’t I?” 

You nodded. 

“M’happy to share.” he grinned, breaking off half and holding it out to you. 

“No, really it’s fine. I’m just being annoying.” you waved him off. 

“I’m not annoyed. Really, take it. I’d have to throw it away otherwise.”

Your eyebrows raised at his comment. 

“I’m stuffed.” he explained, patting his stomach twice. 

“I don’t believe you, but I’m starving and this smells incredible.” you responded, accepting the baked good. 

You closed your eyes and let out a satisfied hum after biting into it. 

“Holy shit, this is like the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” 

The boy watched you and laughed at every pleased noise that you released. 

Once you had finished your half you turned back to see him still watching you, he had scooted even closer to you and your knees knocked together at your movement. 

“Thank you, that was amazing. Although it was pretty rich I don’t think I could eat a whole one either.” 

“Your welcome,” when he paused you realized you hadn’t even introduced yourself but still stole half of this guy’s muffin. 

“I’m y/n.” you filled in. 

“Luke.” he returned. 

You nodded and repeated it, testing how it felt on your tongue. 

“Thank you again, Luke.” 

The two of you began talking about, school, work, music, your favorite movies, astrology, anything really. By the time you glanced up from the conversation the cafe was nearly empty and the fire in front of you had burnt out leaving a smoky debris hanging in the air. 

“I think they’re closing.” you said while checking the time on your phone. 

“Fuck, I’ve got a paper due tomorrow.” 

“Sorry, I kept you back.” you apologized, both of you gathering your things as you talked. 

“No, s’not your fault.” he dismissed as you both began to walk to the door.

Standing a few feet away from the exit you could already feel the nip that was permeating through the glass, it sent a chill through your spine making you wiggle your shoulders. As you stared at the floor over the books in your arms, trying to decide what the best way to ensure you would see Luke again was, you heard the buzz of a zipper. You lifted your head to see your new acquaintance removing his arms from the sleeves of his black hoodie. 

“Are you crazy? It’s freezing out there.” 

“I know, you’re shivering.” he answered, swinging the fabric behind your back until it dropped and wrapped around your shoulders. He pulled on the sleeves till they were hanging in place and you watched through your lashes, completely in awe of his concentrated expression. 

“Luke, I can’t wear this you’ll freeze and I can’t just take your clothes.” 

“C’mon of course y’can. I’m warm blooded. I'll be fine and you aren’t taking it. I’m gonna want to come in for one of those muffins tomorrow and you know I can’t eat the whole thing, so you’ll just have to be here to share with me. We meet, we eat, I retrieve my jacket, all is right in the world.” He smiled through his words, attempting to warm you up by rubbing his hands up and down your shoulders quickly. “Think you can do that?” 

“I’m sure.” 

“Excellent. Meet me here at 9:00 tomorrow.” 

You nodded as he pushed the door open and despite him trying to act unaffected you could tell from his rigid stance he was freezing. 

“I’m counting on you alright? Stay warm, y/n.” he reiterated through chattering teeth before exiting the shop. 

Current Time - December 14th 

When they talk about one moment defining your life it seems silly, and unrealistic. One day of your life is hardly even a blip so one minute defining everything seems completely ludacris. You would have never bought into it eight years ago, right up until Luke muttered those three words to you before braving the cold. 

“Stay warm, y/n.”

He said it and you had one of those moments. One of those, “and then everything changed.” moments. 

You had always been sure that your purpose would come to you later in life, maybe you’d have a spiritual awakening while in some foreign country. Maybe you’d read a book that would change your view on everything, or god forbid you’d have a close encounter with death and the epiphany would come then. You would’ve never guessed that a nearly missed encounter with the world’s best muffin and a lanky Australian guy would do it. 

But here you were eight years after the encounter, your hair was longer, the crinkles that appear by your eyes when you smile now linger, and Luke was nowhere to be seen, but some things haven’t changed at all. A half eaten muffin, the comforting cafe, and your unwavering certainty that your life’s purpose was to love and to be loved by Luke Hemmings all remained. 

Seven years ago - March 27th 

The door swung open to a positively beaming Luke, he leaned in to press a swift kiss on your cheek before hurriedly pulling you inside. 

“I have a surprise for you.” 

“You do?” you questioned, taking notice of the subtle burnt smell in the air and the smoky atmosphere of his apartment. 

He nodded excitedly pulling you by the hand into the kitchen where you were met with messy countertops packed full of lumpy and slightly charred muffins. Your mouth fell open and you turned to face your boyfriend who was smiling timidly at you, eyes scanning over your face. 

“I made you our muffins.” he smiled, proudly looking at his work. 

“Wha- how? How did you even get the recipe?” 

“Olive helped me out.” He responded, taking a seat on one of the bar stools by the island. 

“Lu, this is incredible. Thank you.” you praised, moving to stand between his legs. 

“I hope they turned out good. Y’know baking is a lot harder than it looks.” he tutted while unwrapping one for you. “Open up.” he instructed, tapping your chin. 

Your teeth struggled to bite through the dense baked good, and while your taste buds fought with the bitter crumbly substance you questioned whether Luke had actually followed any recipe at all because what you were eating tasted nothing like the warm, gooey, and tart treat that the two of you had come to love. 

You chewed slowly to avoid swallowing and kept your face as neutral as possible. 

“How is it? Good?” he spoke nervously and the little glint of hope in his eyes forced you to swallow it down and paint on a pleased smile. 

“Mmm” you moaned “It's delicious, Luke.” 

“Yeah?” he beamed. 

“Really good.” you nodded, your eyes drifting longingly to the sink. In that moment you would’ve killed for a glass of water. 

“Wow, I mean I thought they’d be alright but this is great. Lemme try.” he brought your muffin up to his mouth and in a panic you snatched it from his hands, squeaking out a small “No!” before shoving the rest of it in your mouth. 

“Babe, there’s plenty, no need to be greedy.” he laughed while unwrapping another. And you really should’ve thought this through because with puffed out cheeks full of possibly the worst muffin in history you took a step back and watched him bite into one. His face twisted in disgust and he quickly spit what he had taken back into the wrapper. 

When he looked back up to you, you were standing there with a full mouth and wide eyes. He cocked his head to the side in confusion, “You enjoyed that?” 

The second you shrugged your shoulders, feigning innocence Luke burst into a sharp cackle, his legs kicking up into the air from the force of his laughter. You took that as an opportunity to run to the trash and rid yourself of the awful taste in your mouth. 

Luke was still struggling to catch his breath while you finished pouring yourself a glass of water. 

“It’s not funny, Lu.” you argued between sips.

“Why didn’t you just spit it out?” he chortled, beckoning you closer with grabby hands. 

“Because, it was so sweet.” you reasoned. 

“Really? I would argue it was more rancid than sweet.” 

“Not the muffin you goon, the gesture.” you elaborated, smacking his shoulder. 

“I can’t believe you ate the whole thing.” 

“Shut up. I was trying to be nice.” you pouted. 

“Hey,” he said, standing and opening his arms. “M’sorry I know.” 

You waddled into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his back. 

“I love you for that.” he sighed, before kissing the top of your head. 

You froze in his hold, those three unexpected words echoing through your head. 

“You what?” 

His chest shook lightly as a laugh fell from his mouth. 

“I love you.” he repeated. It was so nonchalant, as if he’d said it to you a hundred times before. “You alright with that?” 

You nodded before pulling back just enough that you could see his face. 

“I love you.” you returned. 

Luke’s hands cupped your cheeks, a groan passing his lips before he pressed a soft kiss to your now pouty mouth.

“Say it again.” he pleaded into your mouth. 

“I love you.” you sighed, chasing his lips with your own. 

“And again, and again, and again…” he continued, rewarding you with one lingering peck for each declaration. 

“Mmm” he hummed in content when he decided he was satisfied. “Never stop saying it.” 

Current Time - December 14th 

A whirlwind romance like the one that the two of you had shared was never meant to be sad. It was the kind of love that constantly feels like a cheesy montage full of sweet moments that happens at the end of a rom-com. Unsuccessful baking attempts, cozy study dates, spontaneous weekend trips, hundreds of shared muffins, piggy back rides home from the bar, that’s what made you Luke and y/n. 

The two of you didn’t do well with the hard stuff and it worked because there just wasn’t any. Everything was easy and it felt good. It felt right. 

It had never even occurred to you that the hard stuff was part of any great love, that inevitably one day things would get hard. It really hadn’t occurred to you that pushing through the hard stuff was something that Luke may not be up for. Because you were and you always had been, all in. 

Six years ago - February 17th 

You had gotten home late after a long shift at the library you worked at part time . Luke was sitting on the couch scribbling something in a notebook and taking tiny sips of his steaming cup of tea, too impatient to wait for it to cool properly. 

You’d been listening to an audiobook while organizing the shelves that day and the somber tone of it had seriously dampened your mood. It also made you extremely grateful that you had Luke to cuddle away all your sorrows. 

He had noticed your sad expression the second he saw you and was quick to pull you into his arms and press you for information. 

“What happened baby?” he cooed as you nestled as close into him as physically possible. 

“Sad book.” you mumbled into his chest. 

“Aw, love you shouldn’t let that stuff get to you. S’not real, there’s no need to get upset.” This was something you had heard plenty of times before, seeing as you were an extremely emotional person and felt things strongly. 

“It was so sad though, bubs.” You reasoned that talking through it with someone else might dull the ache that it had left on your taut heartstrings. You explained the whole plot, how the couple had met on a plane and spent their two separate vacations together and along the way fallen in love. Luke would hum or nod every so often indicating he was listening but you knew most of his focus was on the fact that you were tearing up through your explanation. He let his lips rest along your hairline as you got to the climax of the story, speaking through cracks in your voice to tell him that they had lost each other’s numbers on their way back and while the woman was able to move on and find love later in life, the man waited at the airport for years hoping that one day he would see her again. 

Luke’s hand ran through your hair while your head rested on his chest. 

“I don’t think there’s anything romantic about it. It’s just sad.” he concluded. 

“I disagree.” 

“Really?” 

“I’d wait for you.” you confirmed, running your fingers over the fabric of his shirt. 

“Not forever though,” he added. 

“I’d wait until I knew you were happier without me.” 

“Yea, me too.” he agreed. 

“I’d never be happier without you.” 

Current Time - December 14th 

One thing that you never doubted in your relationship was whether or not Luke loved you. You knew he did. It was something that had always been casual between the two of you, it was as much a greeting as it was anything else. 

As the sun rose and broke through your curtains the words to break the silence that lingered from the night before wasn’t “Good morning” it was “I love you.” Before leaving for work instead of an impersonal “Bye!” you shouted “Love you!” through the closing door of your apartment. It was a phrase that had been repeated millions of times, and despite the casualness of it all, it never lost its meaning. 

Even now, five years since you’d last seen him you knew with every bone in your body that no matter where he was right now, half the world away or two blocks downtown, he still loved you. 

Luke always kept his promises, a million times he had promised that he would always love you. And a million times you had promised it right back. 

A hundred years apart wouldn’t change that, let alone five. 

Five years ago - December 13th 

You watched the snow fall from the living room window, what you would normally find peaceful was making you go insane. It had been perpetually silent around your apartment for the past couple of weeks. Luke was hardly ever home, when asked he would tell you that he had a big project at work and needed to teach the new intern how things were done in the office. You hadn’t thought much of it, there were times when you were busy and had to put things with him on the back burner to focus on the uncertainty of work. It had never been an issue because as far as you were concerned things were set between you and Luke. There was the unspoken promise of forever. 

Of course, that didn’t stop you from missing him tons. On this specific occasion the cold weather had left you with clogged sinuses and a bad headache, one that you would typically soothe with a cup of  earl grey from the cafe and an abundance of snuggling. Since Luke wasn’t around to fulfill your touch deprivation you decided that wearing one of his favorite sweatshirts would have to do for now. 

You blindly reached into his drawer to search for it but stopped when your hand caught on a folded piece of paper. You pulled it out and walked to the bed, flicking on the lamp as you sat. Once the light turned on you were able to see it clear as day, two airline tickets to Sydney departing on the 20th and returning  on January 3rd. The two of you had briefly discussed travelling to Australia at some point so you could finally meet his family but nothing had ever been confirmed. 

The naivety that had always been a part of who you were began to connect non-existent dots with hopeful lines. Luke was planning on surprising you with Christmas in Australia with his family. It explained why he was never home, it also explained the secretive phone calls you had started picking up on after he scurried out of bed in the middle of the night a while ago to speak to someone in hushed tones just outside the bedroom door.

That night when he finally got home at nearly eleven you had made sure to leave half a muffin with a note that read, “Miss you, stud muffin. You work too hard. Love you -y/n” on the kitchen counter. From where you laid in bed, you could hear him laugh as he read it aloud. You quickly sat up in bed when the laughs you were reveling in started to sound like sobs. 

The dim lighting in the kitchen didn’t stop you from seeing the tears on Luke’s face as he looked up to where you stood, stunned in the hallway. 

“What’s wrong?” you hurried to him. 

He made a sniffing sound before gathering you in his arms. He held you so tight that if it wasn’t so sincere it might’ve hurt. 

“Lu, what’s going on.” you squeaked out. 

He tightened his arms around you and nuzzled his face into your hair, emitting soft cries every so often. 

“I love you, y/n.” 

“I know. I love you too.” 

“I swear I’ll always love you. I swear.” 

“I know. Hey, Lu I know.” you soothed as his breaths became more labored. 

At some point you had managed to calm him down and coax him into bed, you reasoned that he was just so tired that his feelings got the best of him, something that had happened to you many times before. And honestly you were just happy to be back in his arms once again, so when he was wrapped around you in bed, his hands playing with your hair like they always did when he got anxious, you didn’t think twice about it when he said,

“We need to talk tomorrow, over breakfast. We can go to the café if you want?” 

You nodded against his chest as sleep overtook you, the last thing you heard being “I promise I’ll always love you.”  

Current Time - December 14th 

Your reminiscing was interrupted by a high pitched screech from the front of the cafe. When you followed the sound your eyes landed upon a distressed toddler, about three years old if you to guess, who was pouting up at a tall, gorgeous woman that was apologizing profusely to Olive for her son’s outbreak. You wouldn’t have looked twice at the scene if  it wasn’t for the way Olive’s troubled expression and wide eyes were directed precisely on you. 

The child was screaming through his cries “I want daddy’s muffin!” His face was red and blotchy from tears and the cold weather but didn’t completely overtake his creamy skin tone that complimented his familiar blue eyes. He was an adorable kid, a full head of blonde ringlets and chubby cheeks that you were sure turned a light pink when he smiled. 

He kind of reminded you of Luke. When the thought entered your head you were quick to dismiss it though, because if you were being honest most things reminded you of Luke. 

“I’m so sorry about this. He isn’t normally so loud, it’s just that my husband loves these muffins and he promised Sammy one.” you heard the gorgeous woman say. 

“It’s fine, the cranberry orange muffin is a big hit around here. They sell out almost everyday.” Olive responded, her eyes unbreaking from yours. 

“Yea that’s what Luke always tells me.” 

Five years ago - December 14th 

The walk to the café felt longer than it typically did and you had no idea why, for some reason you didn’t notice that Luke was dragging his feet. Maybe it was because you were sure that this impromptu breakfast date was to tell you of the surprise Christmas trip to Australia. Maybe it was because any amount of extra time you got to spend holding Luke’s hand in your own you considered a gift. 

When you finally arrived you were quick to usher him to your favorite table, one that was secluded in the corner, enough to have a bit of privacy but also allowed you to people watch on slow days and have telepathic conversations with Olive from across the room. 

You noticed that Luke wasn’t eating after a few minutes, his muffin half sat untouched in front of him and his nervous demeanor was driving you crazy. 

“I have to admit something.” you finally said, tired of the silence. 

Luke nodded for you to continue but refused to meet your eyes as you spoke. 

“I know about Australia, I found the tickets in your drawer so if that’s what you're so nervous about, there’s no need. Of course I’ll go with you, you have no idea how excited I am to meet your mom, she can finally show me all those baby pictures that she’s always telling me about.” you were so busy picturing your potential trip to Luke’s hometown that you didn’t notice Luke’s teared up eyes and anxious tapping. 

“Y/n, the tickets aren’t for-” he cut himself off before the approaching crack in his voice could prevail. “I met someone.” 

“Okay?” 

You didn’t even know what that meant, he met someone? You met people all the time, what does that have to do with the trip?  You lifted your mug to take a sip while you waited for him to continue.

“I mean I-I have feelings for someone, uh someone else.” 

You didn’t even feel your grip release, you didn’t hear the shattering noise, you didn’t feel the scorching liquid seep through your top onto your skin. 

Luke was leaving you. He fell in love with someone else. It was serious enough that he was bringing her home. Luke was leaving you. Luke was leaving you. Luke was leaving you.

“I don’t understand.” The crying had already begun, and although it didn’t surprise Luke he couldn’t bear to watch it. He stared at the spilled tea and shards of glass. The entire cafe’s eyes were on you and you didn’t even notice all you could see was that Luke’s weren’t. 

“Look at me.” you pleaded. There was a time when he would’ve seen your face, seen how distressed you were and gone back on everything solely because it hurt him too much to see you hurt. 

When did that stop? Why hadn’t you noticed? 

“I love you y/n, really I do. But I love her too.” 

“You love her more.” you didn’t even try to phrase it as a question, there was no point, you already knew the answer. He must’ve loved her more because he was leaving you for her. Luke was leaving you. 

Your acknowledgement of his feelings didn’t make it hurt any less when he didn’t deny it. Luke was leaving you. 

You sat in silence for at least five minutes, it felt like years. Luke watched you cry, fighting the urge to wrap you in his arms, and sway you back and forth until you stopped. He wouldn’t do that because it was selfish, it would ease his troubles more than yours, he deserved to see how his hurtful actions affected the one he swore to shield from any and all pain. 

“I’ll have everything out of the apartment by the end of the week.” 

The end of the week? You had planned on spending the rest of your life with him and he was telling you that he would essentially be out of your life by the end of the week. Luke was leaving you. None of it felt real. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I love you.” 

Watching him leave felt surreal, you couldn’t hear anything but your blood pumping, you hardly took any notice when Olive rushed to your table and pulled you into her embrace. 

Luke left you. 

Current time - December 14th 

You could feel his presence as soon as he stumbled out of the bathroom.

How could you have missed him coming in?

You dragged your eyes up his body from his feet, and when they fell upon his face it was like someone had pressed play after fast forwarding through the years that had been taken from you. You weren’t 23 anymore, and Luke certainly wasn’t either. He’d always had a strong build, but he held himself differently now. He was confident and collected, very sure of himself. He had a bit of scruff lining his jaw but you could tell it was well kept and intentional and a pair of black rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. You reacquainted yourself with his appearance from your spot in the corner. 

With each subtle change you catalogued in your brain, vivid images danced through your head, like a kaleidoscope of what could’ve been. You saw lazy Sunday mornings on the couch leisurely sipping coffee, the open windows next to you bringing in a sweet breeze making the house smell like fresh grass after it rains. You saw yourself pushing a stroller through a park, Luke chasing behind one of your little ones just a few feet ahead. You saw roadtrips, vacations, theme parks, crowded family dinners, trick or treating, white gowns, and wedding cakes. You saw binkies, and bottles, tangled sheets, ruffled hair, pecks on the forehead, lunch boxes, and I love you notes. 

The last scene you saw, one that felt so real you could’ve sworn you were really there, started with Luke sitting on the floor surrounded in wrapping paper a toddler curled up in his lap. He wore flannel pajama pants and a ratty shirt he had purchased at the concert you went to for your third date. He took sips from his mug of lukewarm coffee every so often, and you were sure if you got close enough you’d be able to smell it on his breath, not that you would mind. His curls were grown out more than he typically liked them, they were messy from sleep and obstructing his vision slightly. Just as you reached out to brush them from his forehead, it was like you had been thrown backwards by a force strong enough to make your stomach drop. 

Reality. 

You could still see Luke from where you stood but he was so far away now. You reached your hand out again, gasping in shock when it hit a sheet of glass, you knocked against it firmly but nothing happened. It was like a window where you watched the scene unfold. A woman you had been in the same position as not seconds ago stood up and revealed her face. It was his wife, she handed Luke a small gift bag and waited patiently as he opened it. He acknowledged the gift, a framed photo of the two of them and leaned forward to press a thank you kiss to her lips. 

“Stop!” you called.

No one can hear you. 

“Luke, I’m right here.” you yelled, slamming an open hand to the glass. 

Hot tears fell from your cheeks as you continued to knock and shout. 

“Lu, please.”

As he pulled away from the kiss a grin plastered his face. And it hit you, he was happy. He really was happy. 

Realization of the thing you dreaded the most in the world happened quickly, but not painlessly. Luke’s eyes flicked to your own, he saw you through the window. He saw you calling for him, crying for him, begging for him. He saw you and then he looked away. 

And reality snapped you back yet again, right into the present moment. You were in your café, staring at your empty mug, your face felt hot and wet. When had you started to cry? You reached a shaky hand out for a napkin to wipe your tears, but ended up knocking the mini poinsettia pot in front of you over instead. A crash echoed through the café and everyone turned their attention to you and your frantic demeanor. Everyone, even Luke. 

You forced your eyes up from the glass that sat shattered on the white tablecloth with slow movements and shallow breaths until they finally found the culprit, the reason for your pain. You could see right through the light blue of his eyes, shock and bittersweet nostalgia pooled in the cerulean waves. 

Just like you were suddenly 29 and hurt when you saw Luke. He was suddenly 20 and enamored when he saw you. 

He physically winced while taking notice of the black streaks that cascaded down your cheeks. It reminded him of leaving you. It was all his fault. 

He met your gaze with a desperate one of his own, silently praying that you could still read him well enough to understand. 

His eyes released unspoken declarations with every slow blink. 

I can’t believe I’m seeing you. I miss you. I still love you. I’ll always love you. 

You can’t be here right now. I’m with my family. I’m happy now. I’m happy without you. 

Every silent, stabbing confession all summed up into one that you had been afraid of for the entire eight years that Luke Hemmings had stolen from you. 

I love you, but somehow that stopped being enough.

The place was silent. All eyes on you. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

You weren’t quite sure who you were apologizing to or what for,  it could’ve been to Olive for making yet another mess that she would end up cleaning. It could’ve been to all the customers you disrupted when you broke the flower pot. Or Luke’s son who you had stolen a muffin from. Or maybe his wife, that you had been demonizing in your head for years, seeing her only as the woman who stole the love of your life. It could’ve been to Luke, you were sorry you hadn’t taken him seriously, he was in love and he had a family and you were still waiting around for the day he decided to come back for you. The day that would never come. 

Deep down though, you knew you were saying it to yourself. Eight years is a long time, you had stopped living for yourself a long time ago. You did miss Luke, of course you did but maybe part of the hole in your chest that you had been so desperately trying to fill, was yourself. You really missed you. You without Luke. How could you have forgotten about her? 

“I have to go.” this time you knew exactly who you were talking to and as your feet carried you to the door you didn’t even contemplate turning around when Luke’s voice broke through the silence of the café to say,         

 “Y/n, wait!” 

You kept walking, past the stunned patrons, past Olive, past Luke. You kept walking until you were sure that no one would catch up. You just kept walking because after all this time you were so done waiting.

[romioneficfest]

A Practical Stranger

Title: A Practical Stranger

Prompt/Day: Day 10 Movie/Book/TV Fusion (Grey's Anatomy - Season 5, Episode 1 "Dream a Little Dream of Me") and Day 14 Different Hogwarts Houses

Tumblr Name: 

Rating: T

Brief summary: Hermione receives assistance from someone who may not be as much of a stranger to her as she initially thinks.

Any possible triggering/warning tags: Mild language, graphic depiction of an injury

Hermione Granger strives for perfection in all aspects of her life. She prides herself in having been at the top of her Ravenclaw class at Hogwarts, and now an experienced and competent Healer at St. Mungo's.

She approaches healing magic like she did school; theoretical and by-the-book, not often straying away from wizarding methods that don’t have factual evidence behind it.

She doesn't consider herself to be an emotionally cold person — despite having colleagues describe her that way — but she also isn’t one to devote time developing personal relationships with her patients.

It's mid-January as she steps just outside of the hospital doors for some fresh air during a particularly stressful evening, and her lime-green robes fail to keep her from going numb in the cold. As Hermione reaches for her wand to cast a warming charm, her feet slip on a patch of ice beneath her shoe, sending her crashing back onto the solid, snowy pavement.

Hermione grunts in pain as she rubs the side of her head. It’s a bad day that has somehow gotten worse, and the forecast for improvement isn't faring well.

Try to focus on something calming.

Hermione’s eyes land on spikes of ice hanging above her. Little droplets of water fall from the tip of the centermost icicle onto her face. She's transfixed by the jagged, crystallized surface, combined with its pyramidal shape and transparent color.

A soft cracking sound shifts her attention, and she sees the icicle breaking free from its position. Before she can even move, the needle-sharp edge plunges down and punctures her straight through the stomach. A sharp pain ripples through her body and the intensity of the wound feels like a cold flame burning her nerve endings. The sensation numbs her to her core, stilling all movement, like she's just been petrified.

When she finally remembers to breathe, she sucks in a strangled gasp of air. Panic sets in as she realizes how difficult it is for her to breathe or even speak. Her hand flails through the white snow, searching for her wand that has somehow left her pocket.

Help. I need help, quick.

In the next moment, a tall, dark figure looms above her, and she wants to scream, but no sound comes out. All she can think about is the throbbing pain.

She barely registers her body being elevated up into the air. The unknown man hooks an arm under her knees and carries her at a swift pace into the hospital.  

His ginger hair and ocean blue eyes strike her with a sense of familiarity, and she wonders if they've ever met before.

It only takes her another second before she realizes — of course.

Ron Weasley. Gryffindor.

She knows of him from her time at Hogwarts and has certainly heard the stories of his escapades over the years with Harry Potter.

And yet, he's much different than she remembers from Hogwarts. She recalls him always being tall and lanky. Now, he has the strong build of an Auror, and the thought alone makes her cheeks redden.

A loud commotion and flurry of movement around her disrupts her inner thoughts, and she can see she is now in a full room with other Healers and Mediwizards.

"What happened?" She vaguely hears another witch call out.

"Just take it out," she moans as loud as she can muster. All she can think about is the pain and how she needs it to end.

"Leave it in!" Ron's stern voice demands beside her.

Hermione lets out the smallest of tuts, unimpressed by his attempt to call the spells when he is certainly not in the field of medicine. "Take it out!"

Ron's eyes lock on hers, and for a moment, she forgets that she's just been stabbed. Instead, the intensity of his gaze blinds her, and his clipped tone cuts through her just like the chip of ice did. "Leave it in."

Hermione decides she doesn't have the strength to argue further.

Ron speaks towards the Healers at a frustratingly low volume, and she grows concerned when they all shuffle out of the room, leaving her alone with the man who has flaming hair and a matching attitude.

"So, Hermione Granger."

"Ron Weasley."

His eyes brighten in surprise. "She recognizes me."

"It's not hard," Hermione shrugs, wincing as she tries to sit herself up on her cot without jostling the melting icicle. "Your red hair sticks out like a dirigible plum. What are you, an Auror, now?"

A small smile plays on his lips. "Something like that."

His cool tone sends a wave of heat through her body, and she doesn't think she can attribute it to her current puncture wound.

Hermione's trusty assistant-Healer, James, pops his head through the door. "Miss Granger, is everything alright—"

"Go find my chart," Hermione snaps at the young wizard. "I'll need to see a list of recommendations before I can allow anyone to proceed with any form of treatment."

He scrambles out the door just as fast, and Hermione turns her head to see Ron sending her an incredulous look with his eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"He seems pretty scared of you."

"I am not scary!"

Ron takes a step forward, then another, and then another. The pace of her heartbeat picks up, and she chastises herself for allowing this man to control her bodily reactions.  

"What are you doing?" Her breath is shaky and uneven.

Ron leans closer, so close that she smells the aftershave from his chin stubble. He's gazing at her like he's about to...

Just as fast, Ron yanks the icicle from her belly, resulting in a piercing screech from Hermione's lips. Ron flourishes his wand, and Hermione gazes at her stomach in awe as her wound grows smaller and smaller. The traces of fresh blood start to disappear, and the pain dissipates.

"What-you-just—"

"Took out your icicle? Yeah, I did."

Now that she is free of any pain aside from a dull headache, Hermione clenches her fists together out of anger. "Nobody gave you permission to do that!"

"So?"

"But you're not a—"

"Healer?" Ron finishes her thought with a knowing glance. "You know, our professions aren't so different. We both do what we can every day to save lives. It's not about being the best, or having the best marks in school. It's about the people."

Hermione closes her mouth, processing Ron's words. It's like he knows that other colleagues have gone around saying that Hermione has a "hairy heart" — cold and unfeeling.

"You needed my help, and that's what I do. That's what you do. We help people." Ron steps back, choosing instead to sit on the edge of her cot. "So, you're welcome."

Hermione chews on the inside of her lip, contemplating how to save herself from this embarrassing situation.

"You know, you're pretty tough," Ron continues.

Hermione scoffs, pushing her head back into her pillow. "I assure you, I am not."

"Really? Cause I think getting stabbed by an icicle, and still having the energy to yell at people, makes you a bloody badass."

Hermione's eyes go round from Ron's profanity. "A bloody…"

A teasing grin splits across his face. "Oh, don't tell me you're afraid to curse, Miss Granger."

"I am not!"

Ron crosses his arms, arching an eyebrow. "Then prove it. Say you're a bloody badass."

"I—"

Her hesitation only eggs him on further. "Do it."

One deep breath later, Hermione shouts out, "I'm a bloody badass!"

His pearly whites shine through, and Hermione finds the joy etched on his features. "Didn't it give you a rush of adrenaline?"

One exaggerated eye roll later, and Hermione mumbles, "Sure, it did."

"You know, Hermione, you could've been in Gryffindor."

Hermione pivots her head with piqued interest. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, you're brave, for one." Is that a blush she sees on his cheeks? Ron points to the faint outline on her stomach. "You've even got your own battle scar now to prove how tough you are!"

She has never thought of herself as brave, or courageous, or bold enough for that house. But now...

She's distracted by the sound of Ron's wand clicking the lock on the door. Her mouth opens to ask what in Merlin's name he's doing, when she's silenced by his lips on hers.

A startled gasp escapes her mouth, but she finds herself melting into his embrace, letting all rational thoughts leave her brain.

At the start of her work shift, she would've never guessed that she would end it recovering from a severe trauma while also kissing a practical stranger — yet, kissing him didn't feel unnatural at all.

When he pulls away, leaving her flushed dizzy, Hermione exclaims, "I barely even know you!"

Ron Weasley only responds with a challenging smirk and a single word. "So?"

[angrylizardjacket]

dirtbags // 5: Charlotte

Summary: High School AU. 1985. Winter. Charlotte and Razzle are officially not dating, while Lola’s not dating someone but won’t say who, though she’s contemplating sleeping with Tommy in an effort to get him to stop pining for her, which Charlotte thinks is a terrible idea. Except that Charlotte lets slip to Tommy that that’s Lola’s plan, and he doesn’t take it well. The whole pack ends up at the Drive-In, which is going great for Charlotte and Razzle right up until Nikki decides to be an ass, and Charlotte realises that Tommy has spoken to Lola about their fight. It looks like things will be getting worse before they get better.

A/N: 6655 words. long overdue sorry!! @misscharlottelee and @evaangelics my beloveds this is, as always, for you both. ft. asofterworld quotes

my sister and i both hate antique shopping. but we love hating things together.

So yes, technically Charlotte and Razzle spent the better part of Heather’s party in a dark corner being altogether gross, as an incredibly drunk Peach had informed them both before she was pulled away by a far more sober Vince, which Charlotte hadn’t thought much of at the time, herself more than a little tipsy, but hearing Eileen rant in the diner the following day had made her feel a little guilty for not paying more attention. Not that anything bad happened, but still, she felt partially responsible for the young ginger girl. 

But the point is that Charlotte and Razzle are not dating, despite what everyone in their weird and ragtag bunch of lunchtime delinquents likes to imply. If Charlotte could justify punching Nikki again, she absolutely would. It’s not her fault that Razzle’s interesting and kind and honest and funny, and if she finds herself feeling a little heady, a little good-nauseous, like she had back when she and Duff had first been dancing around the idea of being a couple, she pushes those feelings to the back of her mind and distracts herself with something, anything else. 

Right now, she’s got a terrible headache and is having a whisper argument with Lola in the middle of art, trying to talk her out of pity-fucking Tommy.

“You make it sound so crass and heartless,” Lola’s lip curled, frowning at the red pencil in her hand and the cartoon drawing of a flower in her notes, “pity-fucking,” the word sounds wrong on Lola’s lips, tone derisive, “you say it like I don’t care about him.”

“Don’t pity-fuck my cousin, you can both do better,” Charlotte rubs at her temples, eyes closed, as Lola makes a noise like she’s not too sure if that’s a compliment, “a few weeks ago, you promised me you were just friends -”

“He’s a hopeless romantic who keeps hearing about cheerleaders sleeping with people who aren’t him, lemme put him out of his misery -”

“By fucking him? What if he catches further feelings for you?”

“I dunno, I’ll kill him?” Lola suggests flippantly, and when Charlotte cracks her eyes open to level a glare at Lola, the dark haired girl is grinning, clearly joking.

“Why Tommy? Why can’t you sleep with someone less related to me?” Charlotte hisses, tone vaguely annoyed and desperate, “I thought you were getting laid? What’s up with you and Nikki anyways?” There’s a shift in her tone, and Lola makes a face, pressing a little harder with her pencil. 

“I am sleeping with someone less related to you,” Lola says, though there’s a strangely guarded quality to her voice, “not Nikki, for the record; he’s the one who suggested I sleep with Tommy to begin with. He’s too much of a bitch to fuck me himself,” she mutters, mostly to herself, a little wrinkle creasing the bridge of her nose as she thinks about it. 

“Wait, you’re seeing someone? For real? And it’s not Nikki?” Charlotte’s expression lit up, and Lola gave her a calculating looking out of the corner of her eye.

“I bet we both know another person I’m not sleeping with,” and Lola’s tone is mean and a little venomous as she deftly changes the subject, “how is our favourite exchange student, by the way?” Charlotte realises too late that her excited questioning of Lola’s private life may have touched a nerve. For all that Lola’s become more open in the few months they’ve been friends, there were strange lines Charlotte kept finding. Lola never really acted as though she cared much about Charlotte and Razzle’s vague status, so to use it against Charlotte was a surprise, and a clear giveaway that one of those lines had been crossed. It got Lola’s message across well enough, and Charlotte’s mouth snapped closed. 

Lola was a terrible distraction when she wanted to be.

“Lola’s not seeing anyone,” Nikki says flatly around his cigarette, and when Charlotte realises she’s gossiping with Nikki Sixx, she wonders idly where her life went wrong, “she’s fucking someone,” he corrected, “and she refuses to tell me who, but she’s not seeing anyone.” He sounds far more annoyed than Charlotte had anticipated, and she can’t help herself. She tugs on that string.

“Wait, so it’s actually not you?” 

“Lola’s dad is built like He-Man, Master of the Fucking Universe, have you seen him, Charlie? I couldn’t stick it in his daughter and bring myself to look him in the eye every other day; and I’m past worrying if he’s gonna toss me into space like he’s an Olympic hammer thrower,” Nikki considers for a moment, before heaving a sigh, “I just don’t wanna disappoint him.”

“You think fucking Lola’s gonna disappoint her dad?” Charlotte’s brow wrinkled with slight confusion, “why do you even talk to her dad every other day?”

“We work together?” Nikki says, like it’s the simplest answer in the world, and oh, suddenly Charlotte knows exactly why the back of the fry cook in Leo’s looked so familiar. Nikki can obviously read it on her face as the realisation, the full understanding of the situation dawns on Charlotte, but it still doesn’t stop her from bursting out with laughter.

“Oh dude, you definitely cannot fuck your boss’s daughter, no matter how much you so clearly want to -”

“Hey!” Nikki snapped, “bold words coming from you, Miss Lee; you already made sure Razz has had the full American High School Experience, or are you waiting for Prom to go full cliché about it?”

“Nikki, I’ve already punched you in the face once, so help me -”

“Yeah but now I know what to expect, I’m kinda into it,” Nikki’s grin is all teeth, and he leans across the table, into Charlotte’s space, “do it again, Miss Lee,” he teases, offering up his cheek to her, grinning from ear to ear. Charlotte makes a disgusted noise, leaning back, crossing her arms.

“You disgust me; can you please quit your job so you can fuck Lola?” 

Thankfully, this seems to take the wind out of Nikki’s sails, his expression falling to something irritated as he huffs and drops his gaze, sitting back dejectedly, and pointedly refusing, unable to come with a snide comeback in time to save face. 

“Lola would punch you in the face,” Charlotte pointed out, tone a little smug, and Nikki presses his lips together, trying very hard to keep his expression neutral as a blush creeps up his cheeks. 

“So would that leggy redhead of yours,” he’s quick to change the conversation, “isn’t she in the musical? You know my band’s still looking for a singer -”

“Lemme stop you right there,” Charlotte stops Nikki in his tracks, holding up a single hand for silence, “first of all, the only person Eileen hates more than you is Vince Neil, and she told me personally that she’d rather eat glass than join your band, secondly -”

“You talked about my band with her?” There’s something a little bashful in Nikki’s voice, and the blush hasn’t left his cheeks; the whole picture would be endearing if he wasn’t such a colossal asshole.

“Secondly,” Charlotte tries again, “you know her name’s Eileen; everyone knows her name is Eileen, stop calling her my leggy redhead,” she ordered, before taking a deep breath, trying to let her irritation subside, “and thirdly, Lola was the one who asked Eileen to be in your band, Eileen just brought it up to me because she knew Tommy was in it.” Nikki, who had already been pink all over, was steadily turning red, trying to hide it as he made a show of patting down his pockets looking for his cigarettes.

“Lola... uh, she talks about my band? She asked if Eileen wanted to join us?” He’s shooting for casual and missing the mark miserably, much to Charlotte’s delight.

“You’re so in love with her,” she smirks. Nikki scowls at her. The bell rings.

i have found a way to watch video in your head. high definition, with instant replay. it is called having regrets.

When Eileen invites Charlotte to the drive in, and suggests bringing Razzle, she insists it’s not a date, that some of the people from the musical were just getting together to watch the new horror movie, and she thought it would be good for Razzle to experience a proper, drive-in movie. That probably should have set of alarm bells in Charlotte’s mind, since everyone knew that if you take someone to a horror movie at the drive-in, you generally don’t end up actually watching much of the movie. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. 

But Eileen’s adamant, and Charlotte honestly wouldn’t actually mind sneaking off with Razzle at some point, if the opportunity arose, not that she’s admit that. 

“I should ask Lola to go,” Tommy says, tone a little wistful, when, on Thursday, Charlotte tells him her plans for the following evening; alarm bells definitely start ringing. 

They’re in Tommy’s kitchen after school, with his mom at the supermarket, and his dad at work, they’ve got the house to themselves, apart from Tommy’s sister upstairs, monopolising the phone. Charlotte’s sitting on the counter, while Tommy’s staring into the refrigerator, not actually looking at what’s in there, thoughts miles away as he considers his own words.

“Shut that if you’re not going to get anything, and no you shouldn’t,” Charlotte shuts him down immediately, to which Tommy frowns, asking derisively when she became the boss of him, slamming the fridge closed, “I thought you two were just friends,” Charlotte counters with.

“I can ask a friend to the drive-in,” though the way he suddenly can’t meet her gaze betrays him, and he flits over to a cupboard, opening it and staring at the food inside, trying to decide on an afternoon snack, “why are you here, anyways?” At this, Charlotte goes quiet and pensive, looking down at her knees as her heels kick softly against the cupboards below, trying not to think about how her mother keeps leaving college brochures out, with Law, Accounting, and Medicine courses all meticulously highlighted, or how whenever they’re in the same room, she’s treated to passive aggressive questions about whether she’s seen the brochures her parents know she definitely hasn’t touched.

“Am I not allowed to hang out with you?” Charlotte finally surfaces from her thoughts to see that Tommy is waiting for an answer.

“Not if you’re going to be an asshole.”

“If you’re going to daydream about Lola, I’m going to be an asshole,” Charlotte fired back, snarkily, and Tommy narrowed his eyes at her.

“You’ve become kind of a bitch since you started hanging out with Nikki,” he huffs, and Charlotte straightens up where she’s sitting, eyes going wide with disbelief, with slight outrage.

“I’m just fucking sick of hearing you chase after girls who don’t want you! It’s all you ever talk about!”

“Lola wants me! Lola fucking wants me, Charlie!”

“She doesn’t want you, she wants to pity-fuck you so you’ll get off her damn case! Just how naïve are you, Thomas?” Charlotte yells back, and immediately smacks her hand to her mouth, regret written all over her face. Tommy’s expression falls like his heart is breaking. “Tommy -”

“A real, fucking bitch,” there’s a shake in Tommy’s voice that is breaking Charlotte’s heart, and she tries to apologise, but he tells her to go home. 

Yes, she leaves, she shuts the door behind herself, but she can’t bring herself to go home. Her feet carry her while her mind is blank, but when she looks up, she’s pushing open the door to the gas station, seeing Mick Mars look up from his magazine. Before he greets her, she sees the way his eyes search the space around her, roam the empty fuel pumps, as if expecting Tommy to pop out behind her. Then, once he considers himself safe, he puts down his magazine, tilting his head curiously at her, at her dejected demeanour. 

“Charlotte?” She’s actually surprised that he knows her name, and Charlotte hovers in the door, letting in the cold air from outside as she deliberates. Why had she come here of all places? “Are you okay?” The words sound strange, like he’s not used to saying them, not used to showing any sort of care, but she appreciates them nonetheless.

“I was a massive asshole to Tommy,” the words spill from her before she can stop them, and she watches Mick’s expression, can almost see him fight back several sarcastic or congratulatory remarks, suppressing his own well-worn irritation for her cousin, instead, just making a noise in the back of his throat that she can’t quite decipher. Then, he looks out the window, looks to the clock on the wall, and takes his feet off the counter carefully. 

“Do you want a slurpee?” He asks, obviously a little uncertain of how to proceed.

“Not really,” Charlotte admits, and Mick awkwardly looks around, as if to offer something else.

“Do you smoke?” He’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. Charlotte shoves her hands into her coat pockets, shaking her head, looking at the floor, not quite sure where to go from here herself, “do you mind if I smoke?” 

“No,” her voice is small.

They sit on the step by the door outside the gas station, side by side, silent for a few minutes as Mick smokes his cigarette. No cars approach, but they watch some drive by as the sun sinks lower in the sky. 

“I told him Lola doesn’t want him, that she’s just interested in pity-fucking him because she thinks it’d get him off her case,” Charlotte admits, and from the corner of her eye, she sees Mick wince, a sign that what she’d said truly was a dick move. 

“That would’a broken the kid’s heart,” Mick muses around his cigarette, and Charlotte, who’d had her knees curled up to her chest, rests her chin on them, with a quiet ‘I know’. 

“He said I turned into an asshole since I became friends with Nikki Sixx, and then I just managed to prove him right,” she seethes, disappointed in herself more than anything else. 

“That’s your first problem; being friends with Nikki Sixx.”

“That was an accident,” Charlotte tried to defend herself, “and I’ve been friends with Nikki for kind of a while, honestly, but I was just so sick of hearing Tommy moon over girls who don’t even look twice at him, like they hung the stars in the sky -”

“Charlotte,” Mick interrupts her, his voice soft but insistent, and when she finally looks at him, he’s actually frowning at her, hands stilled with another cigarette half-pulled from it’s packet, “that’s not... you know why what you said hurt him, right? You know you could’a said that about any other cheerleader he was into and it would’a rolled right off his back, right?”

Oh. Oh no. Slowly, Charlotte’s expression crumbles as the full weight of her words dawns upon her, her guilt skyrocketing. Face in her hands, she actually wails, and Mick gives a firm pat on the back as a show of support. 

“They’re friends, Mick.”

“I know, Charlotte.”

“God, fuck, he probably thinks that I mean she doesn’t even like him as a friend, Mick!”

“Yeah,” he sighed deeply, giving another pat, “I know, Charlotte.”

“I just... don’t want him to get his heart broken,” she admitted, her only attempt to justify herself, which Mick didn’t accept as a proper answer for a moment.

“He’s sixteen, he’s gotta make his own mistakes, and,” at this he hesitates, lighting up his cigarette and taking a long draft as he deliberated saying his next words, “don’t ever let her know I told you this,” he adds seriously, “but the last thing Lola wants to do is hurt that kid; if anything, she’s hoping hooking up with him will strengthen their friendship, and raise his confidence for when he goes after other girls.” This... is a lot to process.

“How do you even know this?” Charlotte asked, bewildered, and Mick scrunches his face up and takes another long inhale on his cigarette.

“We’re friends,” is what he settles on.

“What?”

“Lola and I... are friends,” he sounds like he doesn’t want to admit it, and visibly cringes as he follows it up with, “she cares about that kid, and speaks very highly of him, and of you, honestly, and maybe the kid’s not as irritating as I had him pegged as. He’s still irritating, but he,” and he audibly groans, hanging his head for a moment, as if disappointed that he’s even saying any of this, “he’s a good friend to Lola.” It’s like the words themselves hurt him to admit, so he changes the topic quickly, “she told me he’s in a band with Sixx, actually,” and his tone is thankfully much less strained as he straightens his posture a little, ignoring Charlotte’s frankly flabbergasted expression, “I’ve been seriously considering joining them.”

“You sing?” Is what Charlotte hears herself say, without really registering it. Mick snorts derisively.

“Fuck no, I play guitar.”

“You sho- you should join them,” Charlotte babbles, trying to make sense of everything that she’d just learned, and now this of all things, but it’s going to take her a while. 

“I should,” he agrees with the barest hint of a smile, once more clapping her on the back. He hesitates before he stands, like he wants to say something else, but instead, he gives an awkward smile and gets to his feet, heading back inside, leaving Charlotte in silence. 

Eileen gives her a lift to school the following morning, seething about how Peach got a part-time job and their parents still aren’t happy. It’s conflicting for the older sister, who hates hearing the derisive way her parents refer to Peach as a ‘burger flipper’, while Peach herself had sneered when Eileen had asked about the job, telling her older sister that she was done grovelling at their parents’ feet just to exist, with an implied ‘unlike you’ which had been so uncharacteristic of the usually kind and upbeat Peach that it had sent Eileen spiralling. It was the third day in a row Eileen had been ranting about it, about how she just wanted to support Peach, but that her whole family appeared to be turning on each other.

Charlotte found herself relating to that particular sentiment far too well.

Half their ragtag bunch of lunchtime misfits is notably absent from their usual lunchtime hang out, so while Charlotte spends the forty minutes picking apart her food like she’s trying to deconstruct it atomically, Razzle sits diligently as Eileen carefully and meticulously braids his hair, while he asks if he needs to bring anything, or wear anything special to the drive in that Friday. Charlotte’s not paying them any attention, just letting her gaze roam distractedly essentially until the bell rings, and Eileen pulls the hairband from her own hair to secure Razzle’s braid, before taking off. 

“Anybody home in that head of yours, Charlie? The bell’s gone,” Razzle’s offering her his hand where he’s standing, and Charlotte finally returns to reality from her blank, concerned mind, wiping the last few crumbs of her sandwich on her jeans picking up her bag with one hand and taking Razzle’s hand with the other. Today he’s chosen to wear a royal purple collared shirt, several sized too big for him, with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into tight, acid-washed jeans littered with naturally-made holes, his backpack on his back, and a black, corduroy jacket slung over one shoulder; with his newly acquired braid, the whole look is quite fetching, quite -

“You look like a prince,” Charlotte feels rather foolish for even saying it, can feel as the blush rises on her cheeks, but Razzle’s beaming as he pulls her to her feet, and doesn’t let go of her hand for a moment. 

“Well then I must be truly lucky to get court a princess like you,” and coming from anyone else, it would have sounded cheesy, or the phrase princess would have been derisive or snide, but he’s sincere, almost painfully so, and Charlotte ducks her head, “not courting,” Razzle corrects quickly, and Charlotte doesn’t think about how her heart sinks at that, despite how they’d talked through this.

“Princess Charlie -” something about the way he says her name always hits her hard, because hearing how it sounds, the reverence with which he says it, the nervousness, she leans in and kisses him quickly, can’t help herself, can’t stop herself. But then she’s leaning back, getting a better grip on her backpack, but - “wait, wait, wait, Charlie, wait -” Razzle, for the barest moment, tightens his grip on her hand, and she’s terrified that she crossed a line, that she’s done something wrong, but she turns back, and he doesn’t seem to be mad or concerned, instead he drops the jacket he’d been holding, gently taking her face in his hands, “can’t spring that on me and get away with it; lemme do it proper.” 

i am going to build a new boyfriend out of garbage and dirty feathers. no one else will touch him. 

 “Did you tell Tommy we were coming here?” Eileen hissed, startling the hell out of Charlotte at the concession stand at the drive-in before the movie began. Charlotte, who had been hovering in line, nervously retucking her nice blouse into her skirt every few minutes, almost jumped out of her skin at her friend’s voice in her ear.

“Yeah, I - why?” Looking around, Charlotte thankfully can’t see Tommy’s shitbox of a car, but it becomes readily apparent the source of Eileen’s frustrations, when she spots a shiny, red sports car parked four cars past where Keanu and his good friend and well known fellow theatre kid Alex Winter were sitting on the hood of Keanu’s car, chatting animatedly with Razzle, who they had been quick to warm to him upon meeting him about twenty minutes ago. 

“Charlie!” The name came out as a frustrated noise from between Eileen’s clenched teeth, her eyes glued to Vince Neil’s ostentatious car, and Charlotte looked down for a moment, before adjusting her skirt again and retucking her shirt as she spoke.

“I didn’t know he’d tell Vince; I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday afternoon,” and she hesitates before adding, “we got into this fight and I’ve been trying to figure out how to apologise but I don’t know how, so it kind of slipped my mind, I didn’t know -”

“We’ll talk about you and Tommy later, I promise, but right now I need you to tell me three convincing arguments as to why I shouldn’t pop one of Vince Neil’s fucking tires.” Eileen’s hatred of Vince is perhaps getting out of hand, Charlotte considers, prying Eileen’s vice-like grip from her upper arm, considering for a moment.

“I know you have no qualms about becoming a felon to protect Peach,” Charlotte says with half a smirk.

“Absolutely none,” Eileen agrees without missing a beat, which was both amusing and heartwarming.

“- but your mom would probably pull you out of public school to enrol you in that strict, girls-only, future-nun-school, Our Lady Of Perpetual Sorrow,” Charlotte’s trying so desperately not to smirk, not to give her amusement away at the concept, “and you can say goodbye to any chance you had of ever making out with your co-star on or off stage.” 

Eileen turns as red as her hair, but at least she takes a moment to calm down, glancing over her shoulder at the three boys who were waiting for them. Keanu looks over for a moment, catching her gaze, waving and grinning from ear to ear, and Charlotte practically cackles as Eileen’s blush deepens. 

“Look, Eileen look,” Charlotte pointed insistently back at the boys, to where Alex had hopped off the hood of Keanu’s car, and was making his way over to the pack of kids Eileen had vaguely gestured to earlier, mentioning that they made up most of the technical theatre department, despite their leather jackets and motorcycles, leaving Razzle and Keanu chattering away, “Alex is going to hang out with the Crew boys, leaving Keanu free to comfort you during the scary movie.”

Eileen takes a deep breath, not even pretending like that wasn’t what she wanted, steeling herself to head back, and ignore Vince Neil’s goddamn car. After a beat, however, she turns to Charlotte, looking altogether stern and collected.

“I know I said you and Razzle could stay in my car, since I’m hanging out with Keanu, but don’t have sex in there -”

“What?!”

“Don’t have sex with Razzle in my car,” Eileen practically ordered, and Charlotte nervously looked to the guy ahead of her in line. He looked back at her, between the two girls, then thankfully stepped up to the counter without a word. 

“I wasn’t planning on it!”

“Well you also weren’t planning on being make out buddies after getting drunk and being the gross PDA couple at Heather’s party,” Eileen sniped back, “listen, I just want Peach to be able to sit in my car without either of your bare asses having touched any of the seats.” 

“I won’t let either of our bare asses touch the seat,” Charlotte agreed, mortified.

“And no stains -”

“Eileen!” Charlotte all but screeches, right as the messages before the movie started playing.

“Eileen, the charming Mister Reeves wants a word with you,” Razzle’s voice joins them just moments before Charlotte’s pretty sure she would have expired from embarrassment, and at the mere mention of Keanu, Eileen relaxes a little. All three of them glance over to Keanu’s car, to see the man himself leaning against his windshield, cigarette idle in one hand as he watches the first of the preview trailers. As much as he makes gestures like he’s about to take a drag, the cigarette never quite makes it to his lips before he extends his arm out beside him again, like he’s going through the motions without really following through. Eileen, as if drawn to him by a spell, practically floats away.

“She’s a strange one,” he says fondly, though Charlotte kindly doesn’t point out the hypocrisy in his words, “Keanu and Alex act like she’s some aloof, inscrutable woman; weren’t sure we were talking about the same woman,” he huffed a laugh, much to Charlotte’s disbelief.

“Eileen... she is an aloof, inscrutable woman, you just happen to live with her arch nemesis, and- you’re- we’re- you know, we’re...” Charlotte gestured between herself and Razzle, flushing, as his smile widened, “and you know, I’m her best friend.”

“Guys, are you buying food or what?” The concierge asks; a tired-looking kid Charlotte recognises from Tommy’s year. She hops forward, ordering food, and waiting for it to be prepared, all while standing by Razzle’s side, his chin on her should as they watch the preview trailers. He’s behind her, warm and solid and grounding, which is exactly what she needs as her cousin’s beat-up excuse of a car screeches into the lot, almost spraying gravel thanks to his sharp turn into the first available space. 

“Oh god, oh fucking hell,” Charlotte breathes, clenching her eyes tightly shut, “if you see a blonde-haired, six-foot stick-insect, who looks like he’d cheat on his girlfriend,” she starts, whole face scrunching with frustration, “and-or Nikki fucking Sixx, well, that would be about right; that feels like how tonight would go,” she lets out a long, frustrated breath, and she feels Razzle lift his chin from her shoulder right as he makes a noise of confusion.

“Tommy just arrived,” she clarified.

“Oh?”

“And we kind of got into an argument yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Charlotte’s name is called and she collects the bucket of popcorn she’d ordered for the pair of them, and Razzle picks up their drinks, heading back to the car as the movie opens. 

“You wanna talk about whatever’s going on with you and that Drummer Boy?” Razzle asks as they’re settling in the back seat together. Charlotte’s detaching the front seat’s headrests with possibly too much vigour, but declines, despite the frustration written all over her face. Razzle keeps a careful hold on the drinks that he’d thought were safe to balance on the centre console as Charlotte foisted herself over the back seat to pull the blankets she’d packed from the trunk. 

“You sure?” Razzle tried again, still with one hand nervously keeping the drinks in place, the other firmly holding their bucket of popcorn out of harm’s way. With a blanket securely bundled in her arms, Charlotte gives him a flat look, that quickly disappears in the face of his genuine concern.

“No, Razz,” she sighed, “I’m just mad at myself for letting this, like, fester, you know? I should have apologised sooner,” she huffs a sigh, unfurling the blanket with far more care now, draping it across both of their laps. 

“You’ve a good heart, Miss Lee,” Razzle assures her, but Charlotte’s face scrunches reflexively at the nickname, having only ever associated it with Nikki Sixx’s dreadful attempts to hit on her.

“Thanks, but please don’t call me that,” Charlotte gives a strained little smile, but Razzle nods and takes it in stride, finally getting himself comfortable and sitting back against the seat, one arm draped across the back, the other holding the popcorn in his lap.

“No worries, Love; I could call you Charlie, but I always thought it sounded a bit weird coming from me,” Razzle is rambling as Charlotte settles against him, tucking herself up close to him, “had a mate back home called Charlie, but short for Charles; absolute cockhead,” he clicks his tongue as Charlotte can’t help but giggle, “I could always keep just calling you Love, but it’s not as personal, you know? And Charlotte... it’s a pretty name, but it would be like if you started calling me Nicholas, be a bit weird, don’t ya think?” He mused, and Charlotte’s eyes drifted from the opening scene of the movie, where a menacing looking knife-glove was being created, to Razzle’s face as he chattered away. 

“I could keep calling you Princess Charlie,” as he says that, he looks to her, and seems a little startled to see her looking back at him, “like the other day,” his voice is softer, eyes wide, roaming her face, as if trying to capture her fond expression in his memory forever.

“You wouldn’t imagine your friend Charlie from back home a tiara?” Charlotte’s voice is amused, as is her expression, and Razzle’s eyes crease in the corners as he smiles; his eyes as so blue, so honest.

“You’d be the only Princess Charlie in my life,” he assures, giving her shoulder a squeeze where his arm is wrapped around her, and Charlotte doesn’t even think about how they’re less than a minute into the movie before she’s kissing him. 

At least it gets her to stop thinking about Tommy. 

Honestly, it gets her to stop thinking about everyone and everything that isn’t Razzle in this car in this moment, which is fine for her, because her life is somehow currently a stupid, complicated mess of people and emotions, and Razzle is nice to her, and a damn good kisser, and gentle, and his hands are warm -

“Miss Lee, does the Declaration of Independence mean nothing to you?” Comes shouted through the wound-up window of the car, startling Charlotte, who’s been in Razzle’s lap with his lips on her neck, so much that she jumped, smacking the back of her head into the roof of the car. Razzle reached out for her, expression concerned and lips kiss-bruised, as Charlotte held her head, wincing. Looking to the window, however, she could see Nikki Sixx pressing his face to the glass, looking altogether unsightly, with Lola a few feet behind him, drawing something in the gravel with the toe of her shoe. 

Assholes!

“I’m gonna kill him,” Charlotte says with deadly calm the moment she understands the situation, though Razzle seems to have anticipated this, and has his hands on her thighs, keeping her secure in his firm grip.

“No,” Razzle says, voice equally as calm, his gaze focused on Charlotte, and not on Nikki who had put his open mouth on the window, puffed out his cheeks, and proceeded to lick the glass. Charlotte scrunches her expression for a moment, internal debate raging between her desire to stay in the car with Razzle, and her need to beat the ever-loving shit out of Nikki Sixx for being a smartass.

“I’m gonna crack the window and inch and tell him to fuck off,” Charlotte says, looking back to Razzle, who was wearing an expression of faint amusement, and his grip became a little less firm. Reaching over, she wound down the window an inch. Immediately, Nikki looked through the gap, cheek still pressed to the window as his gaze darted around the cabin of the car, no longer obscured by the window tint. 

“I’m surprised you know what the Declaration of Independence is,” Charlotte said, tone icy as she moved to sit next to Razzle. 

“Honestly I stole that line from Lola,” Nikki admitted, and upon hearing her name, even faintly, Lola joins them, thankfully not pressing herself to the window, instead standing close to Nikki, her hip by his, hands in her jacket pockets. 

“Were they doing it?” Lola asks far too casually, almost too quiet for Charlotte and Razzle to hear, though they do, and both blush, even as Nikki pulls back, making a face. 

“No,” Charlotte calls back, and Lola’s expression turns smug as she holds out her hand, making a ‘hand it over’ gesture to Nikki, only for him to begrudgingly hand over a five dollar note. 

“Shoulda waited ‘til the end of the movie to ask,” Lola’s grin stretched wider, even as Charlotte tried to splutter a protest, and Razzle had to press his face against her shoulder to muffle his laugh at the whole situation.

“Why are you assholes here?” Charlotte hissed; strangely, Lola’s expression fell, and she stepped back again, adding more to her gravel drawing with her shoe, not looking at the car. 

“We’re at the drive in because I’ve heard this is a good movie,” Nikki goes back to staring at them through the inch crack in the window, “and we’re here-” his tone turns proud while his smile turns sharp as he taps his nail against the glass, “because we’re trying to give Tommy and Heather privacy,” he all but sings. There’s... a lot to unpack there, however before Charlotte can process any of it, Lola grab’s Nikki by the elbow, pulling him away.

“Come on, I didn’t take a night off to talk to people I can see every day, did you bring weed or not?” She insisted, tone frustrated leading him towards the concierge stand. Something about it had Charlotte’s heart sinking, even as Razzle’s still chuckling and confused about what was going on, Charlotte’s heart was sinking. 

Tommy had driven Nikki and Lola - and Heather? What? - to the drive in. Tommy and Lola had almost definitely spoken about the fight Charlotte and Tommy had had, which means Lola almost definitely knew what Charlotte had said. 

“Everything okay, Princess?” Razzle had asked gently, his arm around her once more as Charlotte had buried her face in her hands. 

“My whole life is fucked,” Charlotte muttered, and Razzle pulled her in close to him. Her legs bridge over his thighs, and he’s holding her close with both arms, keeping her warm and secure, and Charlotte takes a moment, then another, then a third, to take comfort. 

She’s going to miss this. Going to miss him. Fuck, she can’t think like that, can’t keep reminding herself of the time limit on their friendship, the reason she’s scared to call it anything more. 

Everything is fucked, but this one moment, how Razzle was holding her close, devoid of it’s context, it was pretty damn great.

a friend will help you move. a best friend will help you move bodies. but if you have to move your best friend's body, you're on your own

Charlotte goes to see Tommy on Saturday morning, but when she gets there, he’s not home. 

“He’s at a movie~ with a girl~!” Athena sings, when Charlotte asks, and Charlotte, confused and concerned, looked to her aunt, Tommy’s mother, who gave a kind smile and nod of confirmation. 

“He was so nervous and excited, spent a long time doing his hair just right,” she giggled fondly, pride in her voice, but Charlotte’s heart was in her throat. Had what she said somehow guilted Lola into dating her cousin? That could only end badly for both of them, oh fuck -

Except when she bursts into Leo’s at eleven, after most of the breakfast diners had vacated, and the lunch rush was still about half an hour away, Lola was standing behind the counter... with Peach? Teaching her how to fold silverware in napkins correctly? 

“Do you know... do know that thing where you fold it into a swan?” Peach asks, giggling, right as one of the other kind-faced staff members approaches Charlotte and asks her how many people she’d like a table for. Lola instinctually looks to the door, and Peach catches on a moment later, and suddenly both girls behind the counter are frowning in Charlotte’s direction. Lola mutters something to Peach that’s too quiet for Charlotte to hear, and the younger redhead immediately takes the silverware they’ve already wrapped, going around and dispensing it amongst each table’s silverware holder. Peach is in uniform. 

“I just...” Charlotte’s voice is soft, while her gaze is locked with Lola’s, brushing past the host who’d greeted her, “I need to talk to Lola.” The host looks over his shoulder at Lola, who looks his way for the barest moment and gives half a shrug. The kid backs off, looking past Charlotte to the street outside to see if anyone else was coming in after her, and upon seeing no-one, he heads back to the counter. 

“Hey Peach,” Charlotte says as the redhead slides past her to get to another table. Peach doesn’t even look at her when she gives a flat greeting in response. 

“How can I help you?” Lola’s painfully sweet customer-service voice hurts more than any sarcastic remark she could have come up with, and it’s eating Charlotte alive to know what Tommy told her, what Lola thinks Charlotte thinks of her to make her act so hostile. The way she’s smiling so widely coupled with her dead-eyed stare is unnerving. 

“Keola!” It comes as a shock when a firm voice comes from the kitchen, and Lola practically jumps from her skin. Looking to the source, Charlotte sees the face of the man she’s only ever seen the back of in the kitchen, taller than anyone else in the restaurant, and he looks like Lola.

“What?” Lola hisses, surprising Charlotte, and the man looks to Charlotte, giving her a warm, friendly smile, before he answers.

“If you need to talk to,” and the man pauses, tipping his head a little as he looks to Charlotte, “Charlie?” And Charlotte, kind of confused and nervous as to how he knows her name, nods in confirmation, “you can take your break, okay? Water, fresh air, outside -” and without waiting for a confirmation, he calls the kid who had greeted Charlotte to come and take Lola’s place at the counter, as Lola begrudgingly grabs a bottle of water from beneath the counter, and storms out from behind the counter, past Charlotte to the door. 

Charlotte, a little terrified, looks to the man, who gives another bright smile.

“Sorry we haven’t properly met, I’m Leo, glad to finally meet you, Charlie,” and immediately everything makes total and complete sense, and Charlotte nervously greets him, and takes off after Lola, who had disappeared down the street. 

[seokiie]

𝘉𝘛𝘚' 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶

A/N: ok so these reactions are really long lmfao (shortened for your scrolling pleasure) they're more like drabbles than reactions and I deadass think I got the definition of flirt wrong cuz these are way more sexual than they should be;; also can we talk abt how well Hobi’s gif matches the reaction ok bye

↭

Namjoon:

Namjoon was not the jealous type and you knew that. But you could tell he was getting a little more annoyed and frustrated than usual. At first, you weren't quite sure what was getting his panties in a twist. Then you realized how much time Taehyung was spending around you.

It was a dinner party and Taehyung had offered to accompany you while you mingled with the sophisticated guests. Who were you to decline? Of course, you didn't think much of it when he puts his arm around you and pulls you close to his body. He was warm and he smelt so, so good. Like... like a sweet, hunky, ginger smell, or maybe even warm milk.

More than once while you were talking to people, someone would compliment how the two of you looked good together. He'd always cut you off with a laugh when you were about to correct them. You didn't think too much about that either.

Or when another group was giving a formal speech on stage. You'd sat between Taehyung and Namjoon. You were so focused on the heartwarming speech that you barely noticed when Tae's hand found a spot to rest on your upper thigh. Right above where your fitted dress stopped. You also failed to notice the way Namjoon was giving you the death stare.

What happened later that evening seemed to push Namjoon over the edge, you think.

You'd gotten fairly tipsy, thanks to Taehyung. You learned that he'd picked up a new hobby in drinking wine. He wanted you to try his favorite flavors and god, does that man have taste. You weren't too drunk. You could still walk and think relatively straight. But by this point, you were ready to go home.

"Taehyungiiie, wheres Namjoon? I need- I think its time for me to go home." Your hand rests on his shoulder as you get up from your seat.

"I haven't seen him since the speech. He's probably busy. Do you want me to take you back to the dorm? I don't want you traveling alone tonight." You nod and he wraps his arm around your waist, his hand feeling hot where it rests.

Tae's just about to lead you to the exit when you hear a familiar voice call your name. You turn around immediately. Its Namjoon. At the sight of him, you're released from Taehyungs grasp and you sprint to him as fast as you can in wedges.

"Where were you two going?" He sounds passive but there's a slight hint of hostility in his voice.

"_____ couldn't find you and she wanted to go home. But you're here now so you should take care of her." You can't quite tell if Taehyungs smile is real or fake. Before you can even evaluate it, he's walking back to the party with his hands in his pockets.

You also don't think too much about that. That is, until Namjoon has you back at the dorm and he's pushing you against the wall before the lights are even on.

"Were you doing that on purpose? Huh? Because I don't get jealous you decided to test my patience?" You can't see how close he is, but you can sure feel it. The wine in your system only making the situation feel hotter than it actually is.

"Since you decided to torment me this evening, how about I torment you for the rest of the night and make sure you can't walk tomorrow?"

Jin:

As you had never been to an after-party before, you had clung to Jin like your life depended on it. And considering you didn't know anyone there (besides the other six members), you had felt especially lost when Jin excused himself to the bathroom, leaving you to wander around the nicely decorated venue.

"_____?" At the moment you were sitting alone at the little bar area, but the sound of your name makes you turn around.

"What're you doing drinking alone? Hyung left you?" It was Hoseok. Somehow, you were thankful to finally see someone you knew.

"He's in the bathroom right now. He doesn't like it when I drink too much so I'm trying to down as many shots before he gets back." You give him a smile.

"I'm sure he wouldn't want you disobeying him like this. How about dancing with me instead of trying to get as drunk as possible?" You don't get the chance to respond before he's taking the shot glass from your hand and dragging you to the dance floor by your wrist.

Usually, you'd be too flustered to dance in front of so many people much less with the likes of Hobi, but the alcohol had just loosened you up just enough to match his rhythm.

"You dance better than I thought, _____." His breath is hot against your neck as he murmurs into your ear, trying to talk over the heavy bass. His hands leave traces of heat on your hips while he pulls you close.

Rocking against Hoseok, you lose track of time and forget that Jin must be out of the bathroom by now. In your defense, Hobi was a really good dancer. Like, really good. The way he guided your hips against his caused heat to stir in your lower abdomen. The shots you'd taken a few songs prior made your body move with a sudden fluidity.

At some point within the sixth or seventh song, you found that maybe you were getting a little too worked up. The feeling of Hoseok's cock rubbing against you through his finely tailored dress pants made your insides rearrange more and more the longer you danced against him. If you didn't excuse yourself right now, you were gonna do something you'd regret.

Jin watches you from afar, a smirk playing at his lips. He watches as you pull away from Hoseok and he knows that look on your face. That parted lip, clouded eyed expression. It's a face he's seen so many times on so many occasions. When you start to walk towards the bathroom, he follows suit.

The bathroom is quite a distance away. The hallway leading to it is long and reminds you of something straight out a horror movie. While lost in thought, you don't notice the presence approaching you from behind, said presence then grabbing your arm and pushing your back firmly against the wall. A surprised grunt turns into a moan when his thigh presses against your heat through the sheer dress you're wearing.

"You looked like you had fun dancing with Hoseok." It's Jin. You turn your head to the side, not wanting to meet his furious eyes.

You open your mouth to respond but the words are caught in your throat. Jin's got you trapped, a hand on either side of the wall next to you. Anticipation and guilt washed throughout your body as he gets closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

"I don't care who you dance with, drink with, have sex with. But remember who you always come home to, babygirl."

Jimin:

Jimin had been rather cold to you recently. Of course, he had a very busy schedule and you knew that, but you wished he'd at least return your texts. Luckily, one Friday out of every month, Namjoon invited you over to the dorm for movie night. You took this opportunity to get back at Jimin.

Since there were so many people for such a small area, you usually took a cramped seat on top of Jimin's lap on the one person sofa. But today, you decided to take a seat on Namjoon's lap instead. He was sitting the closest from Jimin and you wanted to make sure he heard everything.

When you finally settle down amidst Namjoon's thighs, you can feel not only Namjoon's eyes but Jimin's as well, their confused stares boring through you.

"Uh, don't you usually-" You cut Namjoon's words off with a 'shhh, it's starting' and he gives a nervous glance to Jimin.

You're laughing at a particularly funny part when Namjoon's hands squeeze your waist, asking for your attention. You turn your head to look at him in response.

"_____, don't move so much when you laugh." He says it quietly so no one can hear him besides you.

"Am I blocking the screen too much? Sorry." You turn back to the TV and shift your hips back slightly, milking a vulgar growl from somewhere deep in his throat. You hear it, and feel it and you know Jimin hears it too with the way his head snaps to his right.

You don't look at him but you can feel the way Jimin stares into the side of your face. The look he's giving you makes you nervous, but you push farther. Knowing Jimin's eyes are still on you, you let your head roll back and rest on Joon's shoulder. It's an awfully seductive move and you hear Jimin scoff beside you and turn back to look at the TV.

The movie is about to end when Jimin speaks up for the first time all night.

"We're out of popcorn. _____, can you come with me to get more." It's not a question, but an order. An order that has you scrambling to your feet and following closely behind him. He leads you into the empty kitchen, completely silent while he puts another bag of popcorn into the microwave. The tension is enough to set your nerves on fire. When there's a familiar popping sound coming from the microwave, Jimin finally starts to talk.

"Listen, baby. I know exactly what you're trying to do, and you'll need to try a lot harder." He crosses his arms, leaning on the kitchen counter and looking at you, eyes darker than they once were.

"I know I've been distant lately." He stalks towards you like he's about to pounce on his prey. "Since I have a break this weekend, I was planning on rewarding you for being so patient."

"But I think punishment suites you much, much better."

Yoongi:

"Have you seen Yoongi?" You were sitting in the dorms living room scrolling through your phone when you notice Jungkook enter from down the hall.

He turns to look at you before responding. "No. What's up?"

"He's supposed to give me one of his signature back massages but I can't find him." You stuff your phone in your pocket and cross your arms, looking at the only other person in the room with a raised eyebrow.

"You shouldn't be sitting here by yourself and he might not be back for a while. If you come to my room, I'll give you a back massage ten times better than anything Yoongi could do." He grants a warm smile and your aching shoulders compel you to accept his offer.

It feels innocent enough, the way Jungkook has you laying face down on his bed as he straddles your lower body. His thumbs press into your tense muscles and almost immediately you feel your body relax into the bedsheets.

"Woahh..." You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "That's, wow, that's really good, Jungkook. Fuck."

"Aah, seriously? To be completely honest, I didn't think I'd be qualified to give you such a good massage-" His fingers press down hard and when your body cracks, a sigh of relief and pleasure slips past your tongue. "-but hearing you moaning below me has really changed my mind."

You're not sure whether you should laugh or embrace the way your body tingles at those words.

"Does this feel good? Here?" Your bones crack again as he presses his fingers harder into your skin and you let out a particularly loud plaint that's muffled by the bedsheets.

"Wah, I'm definitely going to remember the sounds you're making for later tonight. Music to my ears." You actually do laugh this time, tilting your head to the side so you weren't being suffocated by the sheets.

The longer Jungkook is working on your back and shoulders, the more relaxed you feel and the louder you get. It's only when the bedroom door opens that the fingers making you feel so good stop moving.

"Thought I heard your voice, _____." Yoongi is leaning in the doorway, eyes taking in the sight in front of him. "What exactly is going on here?"

Both you and Jungkook stay quiet, knowing just how bad the situation looks. When one of you are about to pipe up, Yoongi interrupts.

"Nevermind. I don't even want to know." He walks towards the both of you. "Jungkook. Out."

Jungkook gives a staggered and confused look to you then back to Yoongi before sliding off your body.

"Did this hyung just kick me out of my own room? Ah, seriously." The maknae curses under his breath before shutting the door behind him.

When the two of you are finally alone, Yoongi sits on the edge of the bed and turns his head to look at you.

"You couldn't wait until I got home? You're a bad girl." He has a smirk on his lips and it eases your worry of him being angry.

"My back was hurting. You wouldn't text me back so I assumed you wouldn't be home till late." You start to sit up so you can get more adjacent to the man next to you, but his hand moves to your shoulder, slowly pushing you back down as he crawls over you.

"So you had Jungkook take care of you?" You don't move out of pure anticipation and he laughs, tilting your chin up.

"You know none of the other members can make you feel as good as I can, baby. So why bother running to them instead? To be honest, it looks like I need to teach you some manners."

Hoseok:

You had just come back from the mall with a couple of your friends when Hoseok called you over to the dorm to help with cooking. You didn't have a need to change out of your current outfit, a cropped hoodie and high waisted shorts, but now that you were in the kitchen next to Yoongi and had four guys staring at you, you wished you changed into something more modest.

The outfit wasn't necessarily revealing but you'd be lying if you said it didn't make your ass look delicious.

"The food looks especially good tonight, right Kookie?" Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung had all taken seats at the kitchen island, eyes lingering on you as you and Yoongi worked alongside each other to make his special ramen.

"Mmm, it does, Jimin. I want a piece so bad." The maknae practically growls and you turn around to offer the three men a plastic smile.

"If you want to eat 'so bad', you oughta be patient." Tae glances behind you before grinning widely.

"______, how are we suppose to eat soon when you keep distracting the chef?" He points to something behind you and when you turn you see Yoongi giving you bedroom eyes.

"You too?!" You hit Yoongi with a spatula you had in your hand and he quickly offers a not so sincere apology through chuckles.

As if on queue, Hoseok appears from down the hallway. He must've been in his studio.

"Yah! What're you all staring at. Do you have any idea how to treat a woman?" Hobi scolds the younger members, his facial expression not 100% serious. You give a laugh and finish up with cooking.

When the food is finished, you wash your hands and excuse yourself to the bathroom down the hall, leaving everyone else to set the table and serve the food.

You're just about to wash up and leave when someone barges in, shutting and locking the door behind themselves.

"Hobi? What're you doing?" The bathroom isn't particularly big. When you turn around to face him, he picks up by your thighs and places you on the counter beside the sink.

"I could ask you the same thing. When you're dressed like that, I just wanna make sure the boys don't get any ideas." He plays with the button on your shorts before dragging the zipper down and shimmying the tight garments down your thighs. When those wicked shorts that Hoseok loved but hated with a passion were discarded onto the bathroom floor, he leaves a trail of kisses up your inner thigh, biting ever so slightly and intending to leave marks for everyone to see.

"Ah, you-you'll miss dinner." You sigh as Hoseok's tongue gets dangerously close to your heat, the only thing stopping him being the thin panties you'd worn today.

"My dinners right here, baby." He looks up at you with desire and want in his eyes.

"I'm not sure if you've caught on, but I'm going to edge you on this counter till you're screaming my name and everyone in this dorm knows who you belong to."

Jungkook:

"Aish, I don't deserve these compliments. I could've done better on stage today." Jimin looks at his reflection through the camera and brushes his fingers through his hair. Jimin was currently on v-live. He had requested you stay by his side for the duration of the live, something about your company being able to calm his nerves. You accepted, of course. But you opted to stay just barely out of frame, so the millions of viewers could only hear your voice.

"Jiminie! Don't say that. You did well!" You pat him on the shoulder and after he responds with a toothy grin.

"You know just what to say to cheer me up, _____." You can feel the way Jimin stares daggers through the side of your head when the words leave his mouth.

God, you pray he's not pulling this shit again.

You don't have a hard time ignoring the unrelenting glances, but when his hand finds its way to your thigh, slowly caressing the area before giving you a light squeeze, yeah. That's when it gets hard to ignore.

Jimin's hand stays on your thigh, kneading your bare skin like it was some sort of stress ball. You're so lucky you can barely be seen on screen, the way you were fidgeting under his grasp was a dead give away.

"______, can you read out some questions for me to answer?" You give a terse nod before realizing no one can see you.

"Yes, ah-" At that moment, you feel Jimins hand drifting towards your inner thigh, gripping you gently and pulling your leg towards him. The action advertently opens your legs and it nearly makes you choke on your spit.

"Yeah, I-I'll read a few questions for, uh, for you."

Jungkook hated this, hated jimin (although he did say that a lot). He knew Jimin had the tendency to flirt heavily with the people around him. It was a well-established joke but doing this sort of thing in front of fans? Wasn't this a little too far?

He'd only wanted to tune in for a few minutes of the v-live before going to bed, but ended up staying a bit longer when he noticed what was going on behind the scenes.

The way Jimin was staring at something outside the frame, the arm moving just barely out of the camera view and the way you couldn't get your sentences out without stuttering over a gasp.

Suddenly, he was regretting letting you help Jimin with his v-live and he intended to fix his very clear mistake.

Jimin was telling a childhood story when there's a knock at the door. He interrupts himself to say 'it's open' then clapping happily at the sight of Jungkook entering.

"I'm not staying." Jungkook glances at Jimin before his eyes settle on you. "Can I borrow _____ for a second?"

With the way the younger boy is looking down at you, you know you've seriously fucked up

"Sure, I'm almost done anyway. Oh, and Kookie..." Jungkook's already taken your hand and is leading you out of the room when Jimin speaks up once more.

"...don't be too rough on her, I was just teasing." Jungkook scowls at the hyung before closing the door roughly behind himself.

You want to ask him what the issue is but you don't even get the chance to open your mouth before the younger boy is pushing you flush against Jimin's closed studio door. When your back makes contact with the door, there's a loud bang and you're pretty sure Jungkook pushed you hard enough to make the whole wall shake.

"Here? Ah, Kookie, no-" His mouth is on your neck, sucking gently as his hand slips past the waistband of your shorts. This wasn't exactly the best place to have sex. Right outside Jimin's door was the hallway which led to the other members' studios.

"Seems like Jimin worked you up quite a bit, _____." You're embarrassed at how wet the situation makes you and the way Jungkook's fingers are teasing your clit doesn't help one bit.

"We can't, h-holy shit, we can't do this here. Some-someone'll hear." You can barely think straight, your body wrapped up in pleasure as Jungkook slowly fucks you with two of his fingers.

When he responds, his voice is in your ear, an indescribable feeling in his tone that you've never heard before.

"Since you wanna be a slut on Jimin's live, how about I fuck the life out of you against his door for everyone to hear?"

Taehyung:

The vocal line was doing an interview while you, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi watched behind the scenes.

You'd been helping by passing out water bottles to the staff but since they were about to wrap up with recording, you and the three other men were watching from the sidelines. At some point during the last thirty minutes, Yoongi's arm had found its way around your waist, his hand playing with the belt loops on your jeans.

"Wait, wait, wait. Can we stop for a minute?" The interviewer stops speaking and everyone's focus turns to the PD who was talking. "Taehyung, you look really mad, can you fix your facial expression, please?"

The rest of the vocal line would laugh and you would, too, not knowing that Tae's fierce expression was your fault.

"My bad." You swear you see his eyes flicker to you, a grimace on his face before his facial features soften up. Odd.

As the recording comes to an end, Yoongi's still playing with your belt loops the only difference is his pointer and middle finger slip past your waistband, his thumb rubbing circles into the area of skin covered by your shirt. You're not gonna lie, the way he's touching you seems innocent enough but it does far more than just distract you. You don't even notice when he leans over to whisper something in your ear.

"Do you see Jungkooks face?" He had a grin playing at his lips and when you turn to see what he's talking about you break into laughter.

"Why does he look like that? He looks like he's being possessed." Yoongi laughs along with you.

Taehyung sees it all and he's everything but happy. Seeing the way Yoongi's fingers easily made their way to your bare hips; the same hips he's left beautiful marks and bruises on for you to admire the next morning, made him so mad. When the interview is finally, finally over, he sees you separate from Yoongi, but not without the both of you giggling about whatever the fuck. He watches as you enter the staff lounge, probably to fetch something the writers or PDs needed. He decides to follow you.

The first thing he sees when he enters the staff lounge is you at the snack area eating various cheeses and chocolates. To be honest, he wouldn't expect any less from you.

"Ah, Taehyungie. You scared me. Do you want some cheese?" Someone comes up behind you and wraps their arms around you. You know those arms when you feel them. It's your precious Tae.

"No cheese." He takes the toothpick from your hand and places it back down on the fancy silver platter. "You did something bad to me, _____. So bad."

You tilt your head slightly, wordlessly asking what he means. At the sight of your exposed skin, he presses kisses up your shoulder and you let out a relaxed sigh.

"Yoongi." He pauses, slowly making his way to your neck.

"I was, and still am, trying to be calm. But the way he was looking at you, touching you... Why aren't you as angry as I am?"

masterlist ツ

↭ 

[adamwatchesmovies]

Ginger Snaps (2000)

Ginger Snaps is among the best werewolf movies ever made. This film takes the complex themes behind lycanthropy and uses them to their fullest potential in a story about the horrors of growing up that is alternatively funny and frightening.

Set in a small suburb that has recently seen a rash of dog killings, we find Brigitte and Ginger Fitzgerald (Emily Perkins and Katharine Isabelle). These misfit sisters are obsessed with death and repulsed by all the normals around them. When Ginger is bitten by a strange creature, she begins to change. Everyone else attributes the increased libido, hair growth, and behavioral changes to Ginger hitting puberty but Brigitte knows better.

With its connection between werewolfism and puberty, Ginger Snaps has hit a goldmine. A full moon comes around once a month; so does your period. Both concern your body changing without your control, both signify there's no going back to how things were before. In this film, the transformation is initially met with fear and misunderstanding but eventually embraced as part of the woman's identity. Sound familiar?

Though there are plenty of metaphors and allegories, it’s also the story of a young woman who begins transforming into a werewolf. People will get torn apart. But the story mostly centers around Brigitte looking out for her sister as she turns into a different person. The two already had a deceptively complex relationship before. It often felt like Ginger was more of a bully than a friend. In a way, this is the abusive relationship going even further. Ginger is turning into someone she wouldn't have approved of days ago but she can't stop. Not on her own.

There's more food for thought when we look at the side characters. Mimi Rogers as the mom seems ecstatic about her daughter beginning her transformation. It’s played mostly for comedy but look again and this time consider her last scene. She's not simply there to make you laugh. There’s a lot to be said about what happens to the one guy that keeps hitting on Ginger (Jesse Moss). Jason McCardy's fate is funny and says something about the difference between men coming of age and how differently society sees it than women's.

For several reasons, the theme of death comes back several times throughout the picture. It stars two teenage girls who are obsessed with death and romanticize suicide. Once Ginger is bitten, they’re forced to confront the idea seriously for the first time. Ginger isn't merely transforming into a killer, she could unleash a plague upon our world. What now?

This is a smart, layered story. The characters grow and reveal more about themselves as the events around them unfold. There are many funny sequences and the same amount will make you scream. If I have one criticism, it’s that there are times where it’s too smartly written, acted, and layered for its own good! Let me explain. This is a low-budget enterprise. Under $5 million, which means the big scene in any werewolf movie... is missing. The carcasses and gore look great but we don't have the big werewolf transformation/reveal. You're enjoying the movie so much it comes as a shock that all you get werewolf-wise... is THIS.

We don’t often get horror films of this caliber. Ginger Snaps has depth, scares, and some laughs. It offers everything you’d want to see in a horror film with ample blood and gore throughout and unsettling ideas. It might even unlock some profound conversations among teens and adults who watch it together. It’s got a few tiny issues in the special effects department, but we're talking minor stuff. Ginger Snaps is a cult film that deserves a much bigger fan base than it's gotten so far. (On Blu-ray, July 24, 2015)

[babbushka]

The Shape of You (1/12)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader

You do a good job of it, staying out of the way. You’re quiet, you’re unsuspecting, you’re practically invisible; just the way you like it. Until one sunny summer day in 1962, the government base where you work acquires an unusual asset, and everything you know is about to change. In the race to save this lonely, desperate, beautiful man, loyalties are shaken on all sides – and the bonds of true love are tested.

11.4k, Warnings: Mentions of blood/injury

                                                    ------------------

It’s warm, in the dream. Warm and black, in an all-consuming kind of way. You’ve had this dream before; it’s a comforting one, a familiar one. In it, you are surrounded by inky darkness, smooth and silky as it wraps around you. In it, you are walking through a grand expanse towards a light, red and glowing.

If you had not had this dream before you think you’d be terrified, think it an omen of some ominous kind. But the darkness is not something to be afraid of, you’ve come to learn. And when the red light beckons you, there is not a promise of evil on the other side, but rather one of liberating freedom.

You reach out to it, walks towards it. You’re in no hurry, in the dream, in no hurry at all. It’s patient, you find with relief as it seemingly takes eons and eons to navigate the soft velvet of wherever this place may be. As you get closer, little pricks of light begin to emerge, stars from a galaxy far far away. They twinkle as if they’re smiling down at you, and you smile back, unafraid.

You know how the dream ends; it ends the same every time. The jolt of your alarm clock bringing you back to consciousness, pulling you awake. You never seem to be able to reach the red light, but you aren’t discouraged by that – how could you be, when every time you have this dream you get closer and closer? When every time your hand seems to reach out a little farther?

It’s going to end soon, you think in the safety of your mind, in this little bubble you’ve built for yourself. The dream is going to end, and you’ll have to face the day, another day of being you, of being (Y/N). Soon enough you’ll get dressed and have breakfast with Armitage, your friend who lives next door, and he’ll complain about his students and you’ll complain about work only for a short while before you’ll need to go get ready to spend the next ten hours at the place.

It’s going to end soon, but that’s alright, because you know after those ten hours are up you’ll get to come home and hopefully, hopefully, have the dream again.

When you walk through the rich blackness of the void, when you approach the red light, this time you’ve gotten a step farther. This time you’ve reached your hand out nearly to the edge, nearly to the very edge of the red. It curls and winds around your hands like smoke, if smoke could be hot. It tugs at the tips of your fingers, wanting you to come closer closer closer, and you chuckle at its eagerness.

“One day.” You say sadly, in the dream. Or maybe you say it out loud, out in the real world too. You don’t know.

You live alone, so there’s no one to ask, no one to laugh at the way you talk in your sleep, if you do at all.

The red tugs on your hand again, insistent, but you shake your head with a sigh, you reclaim it because you have to, you have to or you’ll never wake up and then you’ll be late for work, and if you’re fired from this job then there will be astronomical consequences, consequences that you simply can’t risk.

The red seems to know this, and it’s almost as though you can feel it sighing too. It reaches out to caress your face, warmth seeping into your bloodstream through the gentle press of an invisible force against your cheek. You let your eyes begin to close slowly, savoring the feeling of the love of the universe, because that must be what this is, that’s why you’re not afraid.

As your eyes close, as the red begins to slip away, you think you see the silhouette of something – of someone, standing just on the other side of the light.

You snap your eyes open to try and get a better glimpse, because you’ve never seen that before in the dream, you’ve never ever seen a person standing on the other side, you’ve never seen anything solid and corporeal and real and –

You bolt upright in your bed, the radio crackling to life from across the room, its bright cheerful jingle alerting your brain to get the fuck out of bed and go turn it off.

“The only station for when you’re on the go, tune in to AM W-6-Z-O!” The swing singers coming through the speakers are loud enough to earn you a pounding on the wall, courtesy of your neighbor and one of only two friends you had, Armitage Hux.

“Christ (Y/N)!” Your friend says loud enough that you can hear him through the wallpaper, “It’s my day off can’t a man get some sleep?”

Your feet slide into slippers on the side of your bed, and you pad across the room naked to shut the radio off. You’re not really one for listening to all the commercials and commentary, preferring your vinyl collection much more than whatever taste some disc jockey thinks he has.

“Sorry Professor,” You roll your eyes sarcastically, “But if I have to be awake at this hour then so do you.”

It was the routine, day off or no, that you spend every morning together. Neither of you had anyone, no one to really call your own, and so you spend it with one another. It helps fight the loneliness that creeps into your soul sometimes, and even though he’s aggravated at waking up on a weekend, he still does with a hopeful, “Coffee?”

Smiling to yourself, you grab your robe and tie it tightly around your body.

“I’ll be over in five.” You check the time, before leaving your bedroom to brew up a big pot of Lyons standard roast.

                                                     ------------------

Once the coffee has brewed and you’ve brushed your hair enough to look presentable for your friend, you make the short trip next door with hot percolator in hand, and a smile. A smile which, upon the opening of his front door, is not returned to you by Armitage, who instead looks like he may crave death or violence.

“Remind me again why we wake up at two o’clock in the morning?” He grumbles, his Irish accent thick from sleep as he abandons the door, leaving you to close and lock it behind you.

You follow him further into his apartment, a chic, mid-century modern space that looks very curated, very well thought out, very Armitage. He’s changed his design taste more times than you can count really, but for the past year it’s been the same; dark teal paint on the walls and ceiling, with matching teal-stained wood on the floors. His furniture and décor are all varying shades of rich orange to provide an interesting contrast that only gives you a headache sometimes.

“Because my shift begins at five, and it’s a two-hour ride to work.” You reply, fishing out two mugs from his cabinet in the kitchen and get to pouring you both a generous helping of coffee.

“I didn’t ask why you had to be up at two, I asked why we had to be up at two.” He huffs, gratefully accepting the mug with his cold hands, humming around a healthy sip of the brew.

“Because you love me.” You wink, setting down the coffee pot in favor for rummaging through his pantry, pulling out flour and sugar, “And you love the pancakes I make you.”

Armitage sets the table with plates and silverware while you begin to measure out ingredients and raid his fridge. It was a good setup you thought, you cooked breakfast and then abandoned him with all the dishes and cleaning up. You spent enough time cleaning, you always say.

“You do make damn good pancakes.” He complimented you as you stuck some butter in the pan to melt and sizzle.

“Any plans today Armie?” You smile at the immediate groan that escapes from between your friend’s teeth as you mix pancake batter into the perfect consistency to be poured.

“Yes, regret ever telling you about that nickname.” You can tell he’s scrubbing a hand over his face, the way he tends to do when he’s annoyed.

“Drink your coffee.” You tease, using a ladle to start breakfast properly. “I was thinking, when I get back from work maybe we can go downstairs and see the new film that Boris got, it’s a Fred and Ginger musical.”

Your apartment building wasn’t really an apartment building at all – or at least, it didn’t used to be. What were once storage rooms for the cinema downstairs had become single bedroom apartments nearly ten years ago, according to Boris, the friendly Bulgarian proprietor. When the cinema began to fail due to the rise of television, he sought out extra income and became a landlord.

This was perfect for Armitage, who, as a professor for film history at the university, had an immense love for the classic older films which were only ever screened on special occasions, or at special theaters. Boris knew this, and he acquired many old film reels from the 1930s and 1940s, which he played during the week as a way to generate interest on otherwise slow days.

You paid your rent early, which had the added bonus of being on Boris’ good side, which in turn meant you got to see the movies for free whenever you wanted.

“Which musical, Top Hat or Swing Time?” He eagerly accepts the pancakes you flip onto a plate for him, before drowning it all in syrup and powdered sugar.

“The Gay Divorcee.” You tease with a grin, “Right up your alley.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Armitage rolls his eyes once again, although now he’s much less aggravated with coffee in his system and food in front of his face.

“Will you see it with me?” You put a hand on your hip, and he smile.

“Of course I will. It’ll give me a good excuse to finish grading these essays, maybe I’ll tell my students they can write something about the musical for extra credit – god knows some of these kids will need it.” He gestures to the pile of marked and unmarked papers on the other end of the kitchen table.

The stack that still needs to be graded is far taller than the stack of finished essays, and you wince when you read that the one on top of the stack has been given a D-.

“Which paper is this one?” You plate yourself some pancakes and sit at the table, making sure the stove is off and the plastic spatula isn’t anywhere near the heat where it could be left to melt.

“The midterm; an analysis and comparison of German Expressionism in cinema before and after the second world war.” Armitage sighs around a bite of the delicious breakfast.

You can’t help but shake your head fondly at your friend, that topic being so on brand for him. His father was a Navy General, and he had been even more patriotic than most. But while his father had big dreams for Armitage to follow in his footsteps, instead he became a professor, much more interested in researching and educating the new generation.

Still, he found ways to incorporate his love for the military into his love for cinema. It’s all propaganda anyway, as he likes to say.

“Show me the awful papers when I get back, we can laugh about it over lunch.” You smile as you dig in to the breakfast you’ve made, but he scoffs.

“Oh please! I’ll be crying.” He replies, a funny blend of deadpan and melodramatic.

                                                     ------------------

Once breakfast was over, you kiss Armitage on the cheek and wish him a good day, before taking the warmed coffee pot back to your own apartment next door. Filling up two thermoses, you set them near your purse right by the door so you can easily grab them on your way out.

After breakfast you typically only have fifteen minutes to get properly ready for the day, but that was alright. Dressing never took very long, not when you were provided with a uniform. Sometimes Armitage exhausted you with his fashion shows; trying on every possible combination of sweater vest and tie he owned, asking for your opinion on new trousers. You loved having one less decision to make, especially this early in the morning.

The uniform was a simple dress made of a dark grey linen. It had accented cuffs on the rounded collar, short sleeves and hem in a darker grey, and two large pockets on either side which proved themselves immensely helpful. While not required, it was often encouraged to wear the provided apron, a white thing that’s gotten so soft and worn over the years from all the bleach baths you’ve had to give it.

And though the uniform may seem drab and boring to some, you adored the anonymity of it. You liked being able to blend into a crowd, to move unnoticed. It was imperative that as a cleaning woman you were out of everyone’s way, and any flashy attire would have certainly drawn unwanted attention. That’s not to say that many of the other cleaning women didn’t enjoy the attention – your own dear friend Gwendoline among them.

With the red scare, your boss had made a push to encourage individualism within his employees – he felt that everyone looking exactly the same and wearing the same was far too much like communism, and he’d be damned if he were anything like the Soviets. So things like scarves to tie back hair, pins or broaches, nail polish colors, and shoes were encouraged to be something you made your own.

The only one of these little pleasures you indulged in were your shoes, and your daily dilemma often consisted of which pair of short reliable heels you would be slipping your now stocking-clad feet into.

You were having one such dilemma now, looking at your wall of heels. Another perk of living alone, you think to yourself, no one there to tell you to get this obsession under control.

In honor of the dream you were once again so lucky to enjoy, you picked a pair of red kitten heels off the top shelf and put them on as you hopped across the living room, grabbing your dashing out the door.

                                                     ------------------

The world is so quiet, this early. Not completely silent, as it were, because there were always people like you, always people having places to go and friends to meet. Living so close to the Vegas Strip was interesting, and you saw all sorts of people on the sidewalks and in convertibles, driving around in the dark with their sunglasses on because they think it makes them look cool.

As you descend the steps which lead out of the apartment, you are stopped by the familiar sight of your landlord up on a ladder, arranging letters on the bright marquee sign surrounded by golden lightbulbs.

“(Y/N)!” He calls to you with a hand up waving, “Good morning dear!”

“Good morning Boris, you’re up early.” You call back, making sure to be loud enough that he can hear you with his old ears. His hearing has been failing him lately, and you do your best to help him when you can.

“Early or late, eh? Will you come to the screening tonight?” He laughs heartily as he gestures to the big black letters which read the name of the musical.

“Of course I will, I’m bringing Professor Hux along – he’s going to encourage his students to come this week.” You tell him, and he gasps.

“Students! He has big class, yes?” Boris’s excitement is contagious, and you find yourself grinning.

“Yes, nearly one hundred and fifty eager filmmakers.” You inform him, and the news shocks him so much that he nearly falls off the ladder.

Thankfully he has one of his sons, a nice young man named James, holding the ladder steady. You always wonder why James isn’t the one up on the ladder, since he’s clearly in better shape, but then you remember this is Boris you’re thinking of – he’s the kind of man who doesn’t trust anyone to do anything the right way.

“One hundred fifty! When you come tonight, you get free popcorn, okay?” He is giddy, and you feel good to have made his day a happy one.

“Okay Boris, I really must go now.” You see the familiar headlights of the city bus turning the corner, so you give him another wave, “I’ll see you this evening.”

“One hundred fifty…did you hear that?” Boris is in awe, not having had so many customers in a long time.

                                                     ------------------

It takes three buses to get to work. When they had been looking for a place for you to live, you had insisted that there be a bus station as close as possible because if you were going to be spending ten hours on your feet, you wanted as short of a distance from the stop to your front door as possible. You don’t mind the two hours each way, you don’t mind the long grueling hours – but you sure as shit were not going to take any extra steps in your heels if you didn’t have to.

The bus comes at exactly three every morning, and it’s the same bus driver every time.

“Good morning Miss (Y/N).” He greets you, a kind older gentleman who probably needs his sleep more than even Armitage did.

“Good morning Mr. Henry,” You reply, taking a seat up front so you might talk to him and keep him company on the drive to the main bus exchange station. “Did you have a good evening?”

“I surely did, there’s nothing better than getting to go home to the Missus.” He gives you a dreamy-eyed smile through the rear-view mirror. “It was her birthday last night, I took her out to dinner and a show.”

“Mr. Henry you are such a romantic.” You lean your head against the window, using your small hat as a pillow to shield yourself from the cold rattling glass. “Where did you take her?”

“Circus Maximus in Caesars Palace! Damn what an evening. We only just got back home an hour or so ago, and I wanted to take off the morning to get some rest into these bones, but my boss didn’t take to the idea too kindly.” Henry shrugged, making you frown.

You wish you could encourage him to stand up to his boss, but with racial tensions as high as they were, you didn’t want to see your friend get hurt, or lose his job. Henry had been driving this route ever since you began working out in the desert, and you thought of him as a highlight of your day, a friend even if you only saw one another for the short time you did.

“I hope you have a fast shift today and that no one gives you any trouble.” You tell him honestly, only ever wanting the best for Henry. You’d offer him some of your coffee, but he’s got a thermos of his very own up at the front of the bus.

“Seeing your smiling face certainly does help, Miss (Y/N).” His eyes glimmer when he asks, “Now tell me, anything interesting going on where you work?”

You chuckle and shake your head, staring out the window as the streetlamps blur together, cutting through the dark.

“I’m afraid not, or if there were, I wouldn’t know anything about it, I just clean.” You say.

“Don’t be so down on yourself, we’re the ones they don’t ever suspect, isn’t that right?” Henry asks, and when you look back at him, he’s got a smile and that mischievous look in his eye again.

“Yes, it is.” You reply with a smile of your own.

                                                     ------------------

More and more people get on the bus as it visits the various stops, until it’s almost packed. You used to be so surprised by that, by the way so many people seemed to wake up before the world was ready, before the sun had even begun to stretch and blink away the night. But that was Las Vegas, you supposed, almost like New York City in a way, with all the casinos and hotels and shows. Sometimes it felt very much like you lived in a parallel universe, where day and night were reversed.

You thank Mr. Henry and give him a warm parting smile when the bus finally arrives at the transfer station. Everyone follows suit as they exit, and it makes you feel a little brighter to know that people are willing to be polite if only someone would set the precedent. You’re more than happy to set that particular precedent, every time.

From Mr. Henry’s bus to the next takes nearly five entire minutes, between the length of the bus station and the busyness of the crowd. You always come close to missing it, and you’re always out of breath from running. Thankfully though, you have Gwendoline to look forward to every morning, your friend who always saves you a seat on an otherwise crowded bus, always looks out for you otherwise you’d have to stand for the next hour, holding on to overhead bars that you can’t quite reach.

“Hey! Come on, what do you think you’re doing?” One of the other passengers complains when Gwen spots you and offers you the seat next to her at the back of the bus.

You both always took the very last row, because you were the very last stop on this particular route before it swung back around to the transfer station.

“You’re getting off in ten minutes you can deal.” Gwendoline snaps back, and the woman rolls her eyes, adjusts her grip on the handrail.

“Thank you.” You snuggle up against your friend on the crowded bus, your laps now filled with your cardigans and purses.

You met Gwendoline on your very first day at work, completely by accident. You were in the wrong place, lost and confused, and had stumbled across this gorgeous blonde woman who wore bright red lipstick that smeared around a sneaky cigarette. She had helped you, and you’d been inseparable at work ever since.

She isn’t very much older than you, but she has that worldly quality that makes her feel wise beyond her years, and gives her an authority over people – even strangers – that you find endlessly amusing.

“Henry was cutting it close today.” She comments, looking at her watch.

This bus departs the transfer station on the half-hour, and does not come back until the next half-hour. You’ve never once missed it, but you certainly have chased it down to get it to stop and pick you up.  

“No, it’s not his fault, I think one of the other routes is down so people were confused and no one knew where they were going.” You point out the bus window to the people nearly swarming like bees around the poor people in the ticket kiosk.

“Fuck, really? It’s too early for that.” She looks nearly offended, as if to say, how dare the world be so difficult.

“I agree.” You reply to both her words and her look, and take one of the thermoses out of your purse, offering her, “Coffee?”

She plants a big kiss to your cheek and warms her hands on the thermos before bringing the thing up to her lips for a long deep gulp. You hope that the thermos has done a good job keeping the coffee hot, because you know how much of a bummer warm coffee can be for some people, but your worries disappear when she happily sinks into her seat on the bus and smiles, content.

“You’re a saint, (Y/N), you know that?” She clutches the thermos to her chest, and you grin.

“It’s the least I can do.” You reply, because it’s true – with all she does for you, you’re more than happy to return the favor for your friend.

“Cards?” Gwen pulls out a deck from her pocket, and you light up at the sight of the bent and beat up deck.

“Cards.” You agree, the two of you twisting towards one another, shuffling and re-shuffling the pack before dealing them out onto your laps.  

                                                     ------------------

When the last of the passengers have gotten off the bus, the driver pulls over onto the side of the road, letting cars whizz past on the interstate to your left. The sun still hasn’t made her debut yet, and the driver has turned the lights off, so that the bus might blend in to the darkness a little better.

“Identification?” He asks, like he does every morning.

There is a reason you and Gwen are the last two passengers every morning, a reason why this is such an important bus to catch.

You and Gwen don’t bother getting up from the back of the bus, not feeling in the mood to walk all the way up front to only go right back, so you fish out your ID cards and flash them long enough that the bus driver can see them in the rear-view mirror.

“Thank you ladies.” He says, much less like a robot this time. “I know you’re you, it’s just protocol.”

“You ever wish you could say ‘fuck protocol’?” You ask, and he regards you, not-unkindly when he replies,

“All the time.”                                                                    

The bus roars to life once again, now that your clearance has been checked for the first time of the day. It’s a much more scrutinous process at the next bus stop, one you’re always a little paranoid over but prepared for. Bag searches, identification card and number, finger scans, the whole works. Four-thirty always seems too early for that sort of thing, and sometimes you wonder if you’ve accidentally brought something in that could be deemed dangerous, that they’ll randomly find some reason to haul you away.

The desert is dark and stretches on for miles and miles with nothing to see, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, should one need to. You hope you never need to.

Gwendoline always makes fun of you for it, but it’s all in jest. She tends to give attitude to the security guards at the bus station, but she gets away with it because she’s a bombshell. She may be just a maid, just a cleaning woman like you, but damn does she fill out her dress nicely.

“Have a great day ladies.” The bus driver says once the hour has passed, and you and Gwen have gone through ten rounds of card games, leaving you the winner this time.

“See you tomorrow.” You reply in unison, making one another laugh at your timeliness, jinxing and double jinxing one another, demanding bottles of Coca-Cola as payment.

                                                     ------------------

This bus station, much like your work and your job, doesn’t…technically…exist.

It’s a small little depot in the middle of the desert, armed guards at every door and gate. You join the pool of other employees, when you get off the bus and pass through the first gate. No one is allowed to drive their cars onto the main site, everyone – no matter rank or position – has to shuttle in from this station.

It’s always so interesting seeing everyone here, milling together and scanning their badges. You’re sure it must be a humbling experience for some of the managers and heads of department, being treated the same as the sanitation workers, but if they’re upset about it they don’t show it.

You get your pat down and walk through the metal detector while security inspects your lunch.

“Don’t you ever get tired of eating the same thing?” One of them, a young guy who is usually in good spirits, asks.

“If you want to come over and pack my lunch for me, I’d be happy for the variety.” You joke, giving him a playful wink that makes all the other security guards whistle, as you clear the metal detector with a green light.

“Don’t go giving him any ideas, (Y/N),” Gwendoline harmlessly flirts with the guy, “I might want him to toss my salad instead.”

This makes them all whistle and jeer, hoot and holler and laugh and Gwen laughs back, snatching your purse and hers back from the metal table. Some of the other employees catch ear of the conversation and they shake their heads with incredulous smiles of their own, but neither you nor Gwen really care – what’s the point of working if you can’t have a little fun every now and again?

There’s no room for playing cards on the shuttle, not this time. The small bus isn’t jam packed like a tin of sardines the way the public city buses are, but still there isn’t an empty seat, no real luxury for spreading out. That’s fine though, you think, as you shift into your professional attitude, start thinking of all the things you’ll have to do today.

It’s Sunday, and that’s a good day, a strong day, you think. It’s usually barebones crew, only the most basic staff that needs to be there. In fact, it’s usually mostly cleaning people like yourself and Gwen, getting the place ready for full operations to commence Monday morning. Of course there are still all sorts of scientists checking on their experiments and engineers testing their inventions and the like, but on the whole, Sundays are easy days.

They wax the floors on Sundays, so you know you’ll be doing quite a bit of sweeping scrubbing mopping for most of the shift. The building is huge, but more than that it’s sprawling, like a maze almost in the way that it’s constructed. That’s purposeful, you know, but in the beginning it seemed almost impossible to clean because everywhere you looked there was another hallway leading to another set of doors that all had tile and shelves and counters that needed to be taken care of.

Now though, now you were an expert at it, able to clean up even the stickiest messiest stains in twenty minutes or less. You prided yourself on your work, and always wanted to leave everywhere you went better off than it was when you got there. This job was important to you, vital, one might say.

The shuttle crosses through the gate in the desert, the gate which feels as though it has no ending, chain link splitting through the sand. The large sign boasting RESTRICTED AREA NO TRESSPASSING nearly disappears into the purple of night, and you check your watch to make sure you and Gwen will be able to punch in on time.

“We’ll be fine, we always are.” Gwen sees you checking, and you roll your eyes.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes, it takes nearly ten to get all the way to the lobby.” You show her your wrist, but she only pushes it away, not bothering to look.

“Then that leaves us with five minutes for a cigarette.” She whispers covertly, and the two of you snicker together at her secret smoking habit.

                                                     ------------------

The base never looks more imposing than it does like this, too early in the morning before the sun has come up, when there’s nothing but harsh fluorescent lighting flooding the desert. The buildings are brutal, grey cubes that jut angrily out of the earth, rock and sand cleared away for the lines of sidewalk that connect each area in Area 51 like a spider’s web of concrete.

Inside the lobby, people are busy busy busy, walking back and forth in all capacities. Some are wearing white lab coats, others are in suits, and others still are clicking their heels off to go do some typing behind their desks. Friends recognize and greet one another, strangers excuse each other they pass, and along the wall you and Gwen wait your turn to clock into work. The little hand proudly proclaims that you do have five minutes before you technically have to start, and Gwen gives you a devious little smile as you both walk arm in arm down to the ladies’ locker room.

You think it’s kind of funny, that all locker rooms look the same. Rows and rows of standard sized lockers stick out from the walls, creating little aisles almost. Gwen follows you to your lockers, which naturally are side by side, near the middle of the room. It’s perfect because it’s right near a window, and Gwen always cracks it just slightly so she can light up a skinny Virginia Slim and not stink up the place.

She’s not the only one who does it, but no one wants to get caught.

While she smokes, you stash your purse and lunch into the locker, grabbing your cardigan that you keep there at work and sliding your arms into it. It might be one hundred-degrees in the desert when the sun is up for the day, but inside the buildings they keep it at a chilly sixty degrees, and with all the water you deal with, the last thing you need is to be even colder.

“You got any plans tonight (Y/N)?” Gwen asks as she flicks her ash outside through the window, “I was thinking about going out to get my nails done when we finish up our shift.”

She glances at her cuticles, noticing the growth from the way the polish has begun to move away from her nailbed. You take a glance at your own nails, and while the invitation does sound enticing, you do indeed have plans.

“The Professor and I are going out to a movie, you should come with us! It’s not until the late evening, you’d have more than enough time to get a manicure beforehand.” You offer, making Gwen laugh fondly.

“You two and your movies, I swear. I don’t know anyone who loves them more than the pair of you. Why, I feel like you could both quote just about any musical from beginning to end.” She teases.

“Depending on the musical, we probably could.” You tease back, before you stand up and stretch the very last bits of sleep and laziness from your limbs.  “I mean it though, you’re more than welcome to come with us.”

“I’ll pass this time honey, but count me in for the next one.” She promises, and you nod. “You want a puff?”

She offers you the cigarette but you nudge her hand away.

“No thank you, you know me, gotta keep these lungs clear so I can recite scripts on command.” You grin, and she only stubs out the butt of it onto the concrete wall, before tucking the thing in her pocket so no one could find it in the trash and get her in trouble.

“And they say I’m sarcastic.” She huffs, tying her apron around her waist.

Mrs. Parker, a strict not but necessarily unkind woman, enters the locker room at five o’clock on the dot. Everyone stands at attention for her at the end of the aisles created by the rows of lockers, and she has one of her assistants pass out clipboards to each of the women in the room.

“Alright ladies, time to start the day.” Mrs. Parker takes her job very seriously, as she should. It was not common for a woman to hold a management position the way she does, and you’re proud to be under her instruction. “Boss says since it’s a holiday tomorrow if you get everything on your checklist done and signed, you can clock out early.”

“What’s the holiday?” One of the other girls asks, as a slight murmur breaks out among them.

“Presidents Day.” Mrs. Parker replies. “So thank JFK for a nice end to the day – if you get everything finished that is.”

With that, she and her assistants leave the locker room. Once the door has closed, the women all talk among themselves, eager for the prospect of getting to go home sooner than anticipated. For many of them, their weekend is just beginning, and the thought of having more time to catch up on sleep or whatever else they want, is exciting.

Neither you nor Gwen have your weekends yet, and though the holidays may apply to everyone else, the two of you will still be expected to come into work the next day. There are different levels of clearance even within maids, you’ve found, and yours are some of the highest, which means you get to clean some of the most sensitive parts of the base.

For now though, Gwen reviews your clipboards. They’re always the same, because Mrs. Parker isn’t stupid and knows that you’re more productive together than you are apart. But still, she checks to make sure.

“I’m guessing we’ve just got floors to do today.” You say, adjusting your hair in the mirror.

“You guessed right.” Gwen nods, flipping through the pages. “Where should we start, the display room, communications, or the lab?”

“Makes the most sense to do it in that order, actually. I don’t feel like back-tracking.” You say, and she’s inclined to agree.

                                                     ------------------

It’s not really called the display room. It’s got a proper name like everything else, D-3449 Exhibition Hall. This is one of the rooms that they bring all the important people to, it’s like a museum of sorts with pieces of new technology sitting on pillars and pedestals, large air craft suspended from the ceiling.

It’s more of a hangar than an exhibition hall, especially with how empty it is. The only people inside are the armed security that stand by the door, but they don’t speak. They’re instructed only to watch over the technology and that’s it.

“You would not believe the time I had trying to get new hubcaps for my car,” Gwen says as she slaps her wet mop against the marble tile, pushing suds around and scrubbing at the floor, “Remember how that piece of shit swiped my side and scuffed them something fierce? Well I figured I’d drive myself down to the dealership and ask their auto shop to replace it, and I inquired about any new designs. You know how they’re always coming out with new designs.”

“Did you ask for chrome?” You’re on your hands and knees with a little scraper, someone had tracked gum into the hanger and not bothered to wipe it up. It had hardened and now practically needed to be chiseled off the damn tile.

“Of course I asked for chrome, and do you know what the sleezy man at the dealer told me?” Gwen puts her hand on her hip, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

“What?” You look up from the gum.

“He said men love women with chrome hubcaps, because they can see up her skirt through the reflection!” She scoffs.

“No way, that’s not real.” You go back to scraping, managing to get it all the way off in one blue sticky chunk that you dump into the trash at the end of your janitorial cart.

“Whether it’s real or not I wasn’t going to let it stop me, so I bought four new ones and had them put on.” Gwen says anyway, making you laugh.

“Gwen! You’re too much sometimes I tell you.” You shake your head, grabbing your mop and walking across the great big hangar to the other side so that you can mop that half. Though you are far apart, being the only ones in the room had its perks, and your voice carries when you joke, “This is why I don’t have a car.”

“Oh but you should get one, they’ve got all different colors and you can get ones with the tops that fold down so you can feel the sun on your face and – ” Gwen starts, unaware that you’re teasing.

“We live in the desert, the sun is always on our face.” You say as you’re careful to not box yourself in with the wet tile. “Besides, you only ever talk about how expensive your car is to fix, and how you have to fix it often. I’d much rather spend my money on other things.”

“Yeah like your shoes.” Gwen points to your feet, “Are those new?”

At the mention of your new heels, you strike a dramatic model pose.

“Do you like them? I saw them in the window and had to get them.” You beamed, showing the bottoms still mostly un-scuffed.

“Don’t tell me you’re breaking them in at work, your feet are going to fucking hate you for that.” Gwen whistles low, already feeling sorry for your ankles.

“My feet are going to hate me either way, might as well look nice.” You point out, and this at least Gwen understands.

 From the hangar you move on to the communications room, which is exactly as it sounds. It’s an open office floor plan, with desks in neat lines. Two men in headphones sit at each desk, fiddling with nearly a hundred different buttons and looking at many small screens. No one pays you or Gwen any mind as you go about sweeping the floor, collecting any dust or specs of dirt that had accumulated since you’d been there yesterday.

In fact, everyone is so engrossed in their work that you’re not so sure they’d notice if you started screaming and jumping up and down. They’re monitoring the soundwaves and frequencies across the planet, right there in this room. There are enormous satellites pointed towards the sky nearly a mile away, four different ones pointing in each direction, and the communications personnel listens in on what the satellites send to their headphones.

You have your big dust broom and are walking in one direction between an aisle of desks, and Gwen is walking the opposite way on the other side.

“Sometimes I wonder what in God’s name goes on in this place, but then I think, if I want to sleep at night, it’s better to not know.” Gwen whispers, voice kept quiet so that she can’t be heard over the noise of whatever the personnel are listening to.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You whisper back, “They’re keeping aliens down in the basement labs.”

“Oh not this again.” Gwen groans, before lowering her voice again and hissing, “There is no such thing as aliens.”

“You can keep telling yourself that, Gwen, keep telling yourself that.” You grin, entirely too cheeky to be serious. “Look all I’m saying is why do we have big satellites pointing to the night sky and people listening in every second of every day?”

“To intercept the Russians, hello!” Gwen says as though it’s fairly obvious, and you grin as you sweep because now she’s really going on a tangent. “This is the United States government we’re talking about, they’re not going to waste their time on fairy-tales and conspiracies from lunatics on the street.”

“Then how do you explain the UFOs that people keep spotting?” You ask, waggling an eyebrow.

“Just because some people don’t know what a damn airplane looks like, doesn’t mean it’s something from outer space.” She says, and you put your hands up in mock-defeat.

“You’ve got to admit it is a pretty good conspiracy though,” You continue to be playful and difficult, not because you believe in any of this bullshit, not for real. But because it’s so easy to rile Gwen up with this sort of stuff, so you make a face and say, “Little green men with big black eyes and three fingers on each hand, like in those low-budget horror movies.”

“If that’s what aliens are supposed to look like, then I definitely don’t want them to be real.” She rolls her eyes and finishes sweeping the floor.

 Your last stop of the day is the laboratory. It is deep underground, and requires two elevators to get to, so generally no one ever wants to visit, and no one ever wants to clean it. It’s not the most pleasant atmosphere to be, as there are no windows and nothing but steel doors as far as the eye can see.

You and Gwen have to scan into the lab using your ID cards, as the doors are bulletproof and heavy, a double sliding mechanism that moves slowly because of the weight of it. When they finally open, you’re confronted with a flurry of activity.

The normally peaceful lab is filled with people, mostly installation workers who are hooking up wires and pumps to a big fish tank that takes up most of the room. Your eyes widen in awe, the thing is massive and hadn’t been there yesterday, meaning the install workers had been there through the night putting it together.

They must have been working so hard that they had no qualms throwing all the packing materials for the hoses and wires and whatever else, right onto the floor.

“What the hell is this mess!” Gwendoline snaps as she pushes her cart through the open doors, you trailing behind. “Are you fucking kidding me, the trash can is right there!”

The men stop at the sound of her, and quickly scramble to start picking stuff up. They look like chastised young kids, being scolded by their mother, and that’s fitting considering how some of them barely look like they’re out of college.

“Sorry Gwen, we didn’t – ” One of them starts, but she gives him a glare that would have turned him to stone if he had looked any longer.

“No, I know you didn’t you never do.” She sighs, using her broom to sweep everything up, pushing it to one side so at least the majority of the floor is clear.

You assist her, throwing away all the plastic wrappers and sheets of card stock, breaking down boxes and sweeping up package insulation.

“What’s all this shit for anyway?” You wrestle a piece of foam board into the trash can on your cart.

“Yeah really, as if we don’t have a big enough fucking mess to deal with as it is – ” Gwen shoots the boys another glare and they all duck, embarrassed.

“Watch your profanity, Miss Gwendoline, and goodness lower your voice.” Your boss, Mr. Robert appears through the double doors just then. He’s one of those overly polite fellows, one of those people who says goodness gosh golly gee whizz. You can’t ever really take him seriously, but he’s in charge, so you do as he says, and so does Gwen.

“Sorry sir.” She casts her eyes down and returns to her sweeping, and you do the same.

“It’s alright, today is just a very important day.” Mr. Robert smooths his shirt down with his palms, before clapping his hands to draw everyone’s attention. “In a few moments, we will be welcoming a new team to our base. Accompanying this team is the most highly classified asset that we have ever obtained.”

Almost as if by magic, the thick steel walls slide open, revealing in a most dramatic fashion, a tall and thin Colonel, the only indication of his rank being a pin on his suit lapel. The man looks like a skeleton, with his high cheekbones and sunken in eyes, and his lips are stiffly frowning, so much so that you wonder whether his face would crack, if he were to smile. His hair is greying, but in a dignified manner, and it is well-kept, just as the rest of him seems to be.

Everyone in the room falls silent when his polished dress shoes click across the freshly swept floor, standing with their shoulders and chin squared, you and Gwen included.

“May I present Mr. Tarkin. He is the acting head of security regarding the Asset. His office will be next to mine in the administrative wing, should you have any concerns or are called for assistance. Mr. Tarkin?”

“Thank you Robert, your introduction is most welcome.” The colonel’s voice is exactly as you’d expect it, deep and gravely and more than a little sinister, although he gives a chilling smile when he says, “I have nothing more to add, other than the fact that anything you see here, anything at all, does not and never will exist. If you think you see something, hear or even smell something – you didn’t.”

“Is that understood?” Mr. Robert asks everyone in the lab, and you all nod.

“Yes sir.” You say in unison, cogs in the machine.

Suddenly, there is a commotion at the doors, as a team of armed security guards wheel in a massive steel tank. It looks like an iron lung, only bigger, far bigger. Everyone in the room is interested in it, but no one dare steps in the way of the security. It takes ten men on either side of the tank to move it into the lab, and though they certainly aren’t weak, they are visibly struggling with the Force of it.

It doesn’t help that whatever is inside the tank, isn’t happy. There is a harsh loud banging coming from within the steel, that low hollow echo as something pounds against it, bangs against it. You’re curious, so incredibly curious – you want to peer inside it, you want to know what it is. You’ve never seen anything like this before, never seen anything alive before. So far you’ve only come across planes and engines, never ever anything like this.

They’ve wheeled it in front of Mr. Tarkin, who regards it with pride. You wonder if he’s the one who found whatever is inside, or if he’s just in charge of it. Either way, whatever it is must be some raging feral animal, to make the kind of banging slamming pounding noise it’s making.

There’s a pain in your chest for it, for the creature, because certainly something that upset must be wounded, or frightened, or both. The security team steps away from the tank once it is securely in the lab, and they leave, filing out in two straight lines. The thick steel doors open, and before they close, Robert gives you and Gwendoline the cue to leave.

You nod, knowing when you’re officially just no longer allowed to be somewhere. You both gather up your carts and silently make your way out of the lab, passing the tank as you go.

Your intrigue gets the better of you though, and as you pass the tank, you stop briefly. There’s a window made of bulletproof glass, spanning nearly the entire side of the thing. Glancing into it, all there is to see is a bright blue liquid. You can’t really tell if the liquid is illuminated, or if it’s glowing on its own with some sort of bioluminescent quality, but either way, the blue liquid is too thick to see through.

You place a hand on the glass, using that as leverage to peer in closer without falling forward, when a hand pushes through the blue liquid and slams forcefully against the glass, jolting you back.

A flash of red fills the room. You blink and you are surrounded by the soft smooth endless velvet of blackness, the very same which populates your dreams. You’re close, so close, far closer to the red veil than you’ve ever been before, a hand outstretched, a hand reaching for you, before it –

As soon as it comes, the memory of your dream is gone, and you are being held tightly in Gwendoline’s arms.

“They need to leave, now!” Mr. Tarkin barks orders at your boss, but you’re already nodding, already racing to get your shit and get out.

You wonder if you’re ill – if you’ve had a stroke, if you’ve accidentally ingested some cleaning fluid. Nothing like that has ever happened to you before, and you can’t fight the shudders that wrack through your body, nor can you ignore the sweat that freezes across your neck.

“Yes of course sir,” Gwendoline says as she leads you and the carts out of the lab, pushing you bodily with concerned panic on her face, “We’re sorry, sir.”

You keep your eyes trained on the tank, as you leave. Your heart is beating faster than it ever has, and even as Gwen nearly shoves you into the hallway, still you crane your neck to look at the tank, still your eyes widen as you desperately try to catch a glimpse of something, of whatever that thing was.

Before the doors close fully, you see a shadow of something...the shadow...of a man.

Gwendoline races you to the nearest bathroom, and you feel as though you’re going to be sick. Had it been a hand? A human hand? Or were you officially just losing your fucking mind?

Was that really a person in the tank? Why would they keep a human being in a tank like he were some new fish at an aquarium? It must have been so scared, pounding on the tank like that, over and over and over and over – and you do get sick then, just because you still have no idea why you hallucinated in the way that you did.

“(Y/N)!” Gwendoline has a soothing hand on your back as you’re hunched over one of the toilets, all remnants of your lunch burning your throat as it comes back up in your panic, “(Y/N) talk to me what the fuck happened in there?”

“I don’t – I’ve never – ” You choke out, coughing with your face against the porcelain.

Gwen leaves for a moment, only a moment, returning with a paper cup and fresh water from the tap.

“Deep breaths, here, drink this.” She offers it to you, and you eagerly take it, gulp it down as you grab a fistful of toilet paper to wipe your face. She is so concerned, you can read it on her face, and she takes the paper from your hand to get the rest of your own sick off where you can’t see it. “Are you okay? Do I need to call the hospital?”

“Gwen it,” You’re out of breath, heart still beating so quick that you’re lightheaded. “I don’t know what happened I, I think I blacked out.”

“You scared the shit out of me, one second you’re touching the glass, the next second you’re almost falling to the ground. Would have hit your head on the concrete if I wasn’t there to catch you, but your eyes were wide open.” She says, and you frown.

“They were?” You don’t know how that could be, because you were dreaming, and you can only dream when you’re asleep, right?

“Yes, wide open but blank, kind of like those sharks, it was like you weren’t looking at anything in particular.” Gwen shakes her head and there are scared tears in her eyes, “I’m going to call the hospital – ”

“No,” You stop her, not wanting to have to deal with doctors and nurses for this, not when you don’t even know how you’d explain it. “No it’s okay. I feel better now, the water helped. I think I was just startled.”

“I’ve never seen you like that.” She whispers, “And I don’t want to again. If it happens a second time, I’m taking you and that’s not negotiable.”

You agree, and after you take a deep breath, you gesture to the bathroom around you.

“Since we’re here, we might as well clean.” You say. Clearly whoever was scheduled for this section of the hallway hadn’t gotten to it yet, and you didn’t want to face the world just yet.

“I’ll clean, you sit on the counter and just relax for a minute.” Gwen instructs, and you do as she says, hopping up onto the counter.

Gwen grabs a rag and a spray bottle and begins to wipe down the stalls, where she makes the mistake of looking up at the ceiling and groaning.

“Look at this, would you look at this?” She asks, pointing up. You squint but you can see the splatters on the cork ceiling tiles. “What were they doing, having a pissing contest up here? Isn’t this supposed to be the home of highly classified information and technology? Aren’t we supposed to have the best scientists and engineers?”

The door opens just then, and you immediately slide off the counter and adjust your dress, making way to grab your cart and leave. Gwendoline does the same upon the entrance of a man, as this is the men’s room, and though it’s your job to clean it, you are expected to give them privacy when someone is using the facility.

Especially when that someone is the Colonel, the new head of security regarding the new highly classified and top secret asset.

“No,” Mr. Tarkin says, as he approaches the counter, “No that’s alright, you don’t have to leave.”

He’s carrying something, a long baton made of black metal. He rests it on the counter and sets to washing his hands, using exactly six pumps of soap from the dispenser near the sink.

“Are you certain, sir?” You say, avoiding eye contact. “Our work can wait.”

“I’m certain. Don’t mind me, I won’t take but a moment. Please, carry on with your conversation, I don’t want to interrupt.” He waves it off, fastidiously scrubbing at his palms.

Once his hands are clean, he steps to the side and unzips his pants. Both you and Gwen quickly look away, embarrassed and in absolutely no mood to catch a flash of this guy’s dick. Instead, your gaze turns towards the baton, which seems to almost be humming there on the counter.

“Nifty little toy, isn’t it?” Mr. Tarkin catches you regarding it, and he smiles down at the baton like it were his newborn baby, fondness in his eyes that is incongruent with what it is when he tells you, “State of the art, high-voltage electric shock cattle-prod. But don’t tell anyone I told you.”

You and Gwendoline exchange a glance, what the fuck were they using electric shock on?

“I saw you both in T-4, didn’t I?” Mr. Tarkin hums, as he puts his hands on his hips and pisses right in front of you, “You’re the one who touched the tank.”

“Yes sir, I apologize, I don’t know what came over me.” You reply, trying your absolute best to not die of embarrassment and disgust.

“Humans are naturally curious, don’t worry. I’m just glad you’re alright.” He says, strangely sympathetic before asking, “Doesn’t it get lonely? The graveyard shift, I mean.”

“It gets quiet.” Gwendoline answers, strangely serious in her own way. She doesn’t like this man, you can tell.

Neither do you.

He hits the button on top of the urinal to flush and zips up his pants, making his way back to the sink.

“Well, hopefully things stay quiet – if you catch my meaning.” He winks.

“Yes sir, here.” Gwendoline offers him a hot towel for him to use when he’s finished washing his hands, but he doesn’t take it.

“Oh no thank you, a man washes his hands before or after tending to his needs. You can find out a lot about a man by the way he does it, what’s important to him. If he does it both times, it only points to a flaw in character, a weakness.” He explains with logic that makes no sense. “I think you’ll find I’m not a weak man.”

You find him a self-absorbed idiot, but you’d never say that out loud.

He picks up the baton, the cattle-prod, and exits the bathroom, catching the door with his hand before it closes fully and giving another one of those chilling smiles when he says, “It was very pleasant talking with you ladies.”

The second the door is closed, Gwen has her spray bottle and rag turned onto the door, scrubbing away where the man’s dirty hands have touched the steel.

“What a creep.” She mutters under her breath, and you hum out an agreement before gasping.

“Gwen, look.” You’ve caught sight of smeared blood, blood that had come from the baton itself. It was bad enough that they were electrocuting the creature, but now they were making it bleed too?

You and Gwen look at one another, and she just shrugs and hands you a rag too.

                                                     ------------------

Some time later, you’re walking down the hall pushing your carts, reviewing the clipboard. Each and every task has been crossed off, and it was nearly only lunch time. Well, maybe it wasn’t exactly lunch time for the rest of the world, ten o’clock in the morning and all. But you were feeling good about it, thinking to yourself that if you can just hold on a little longer, you’ll be able to go out to lunch with Armitage when you get off the buses that will bring you back home.

Gwen is in an equally good mood, no doubt wishing that she could clock out early more often.

“I can see my own smile in these floors, we do such a damn good job, don’t we? Do you think Mrs. Parker will sign off on our forms so we can go?” She has a spring in her step as you both round the corner – right into Mr. Robert.

“(Y/N)! Gwendoline!” He looks frantic, looks terrified, is holding a napkin up to his face, mopping up the profuse amount of swear on his brow, “You need to come with me, now.”

“Sir, we were just about to pack up and leave actually – ” Gwendoline says, but your boss doesn’t care.

“Now!” He insists, and you have no choice but to follow suit.

Soon enough, it’s clear as to why.

Down the dark windowless halls and through the elevators you find yourselves in front of the lab once again, where there is a mess of blood all across the tile. So much blood in fact, that you’re nearly positive whatever has happened here has been fatal, because there’s just no way someone survived from this much loss.

Mr. Roberts scans in and the doors open, revealing an even bigger mess on the inside.

“You have exactly twenty minutes to get this lab spotless, do you understand me? Twenty minutes.” Mr. Roberts looks at you, and you nod, because you know you can get it done.

He leaves without another word, and the moment the doors close, Gwen groans.

“This is a lot of blood.” She states the obvious, grabbing buckets and filling them with water from one of the lab sinks. “You know, I can handle a lot of things. I can handle piss, throw up, hell, even shit. I can handle shit. But something about blood sets me off.” She shudders.

“Give me a bucket, the sooner we get this place mopped up the sooner we can leave.” You reach for one and she gives it to you.

You dump the entire bucket on the floor, and in the shallow wake of the murky water, a pair of fingers rolls out from underneath a large storage cabinet.

“No fucking way,” You gasp, bending down to pick the appendages up, “Fingers.”

“Fingers!?” Gwen covers her mouth, fully disgusted. “Okay, you stay here, I’m going to get Robert.”

The moment the steel doors close behind her, you sigh. What could have gone on here, you wonder, to have Robert in such a state? And the fingers, well clearly they had to belong to someone, which meant the blood had to as well. But there had been blood on Mr. Tarkin’s baton, the cattle-prod whatever he wanted to call it, hadn’t there?

Your stomach sinks at the thought that whatever the creature Mr. Tarkin has captured, bleeds just like all of you.

A low dull thunk comes from the tank, and you turn around slowly to face it.

Against all your better instincts, you turn to face it.

Where the tank was once empty, now there is something pushing through the fluorescent blue, something making its way closer to the glass. It is not screaming this time, nor is it banging its fists on the walls of the tank, and you drop the fingers, one hand outstretched.

You approach the glass, heart pounding pounding pounding, blood rushing in your ears, because it is a man, from what you can tell.

It’s not clear, not perfectly clear inside the tank, but you see a head and a wide torso, long thick legs and strong arms. He’s wearing some sort of breathing mask which obscures his face almost entirely, an apparatus that reminds you very much of the kinds that scuba divers wear, and he’s got a heavy looking metal collar clasped tightly around his throat.

It looks like a shock collar, but you’re not sure, you’re not sure of anything.

Though it is hard to see, there are definite wounds marking his body, fresh ones that speak to the blood all over the floor. You suck in a breath and just as you had done earlier, you place a hand against the glass of the tank.

This time when he – because it is a he and not an it – puts his palm against the glass from his own side, you don’t black out. You sigh with relief, and take another step closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at him when –

“Right this way Mr. Robert, yes two fingers.” Gwen’s voice carries into the room as the doors open for her and your boss.

You quickly yank your hand away from the tank and turn towards them, about to beckon her forward to show her the man in the tank, but when you look back through the glass, it’s empty. Nothing but the blue liquid as far as you can see.

In your pocket is a brown paper bag and you stuff the fingers inside it, folding the top down like a lunch parcel.

“Where are the body parts?” Mr. Roberts sweats, nervous nervous nervous.

“Here sir,” You give them over, explaining when he looks confused, “I’ve wrapped them for you.”

“You both can clock out and go home, I’ll sign your lists personally.” Mr. Roberts accepts the paper bag, and walks over to your carts where the clipboards rest nestled in amongst the bottles of cleaners and wipes. “And don’t worry about coming in tomorrow, the holiday applies to you as well. Go get some sleep.”

“Thank you sir! We very much appreciate that.” Gwendoline can barely contain her excitement at that.

“Well I appreciate you.” He stammers, genuinely grateful. “I don’t know anyone who can clean as well as quickly as you.”

He gives you a smile, and then rushes out of the lab with the paper bag, no doubt to the hospital.

                                                     ------------------

Hours later, after you and Armitage have shared some lunch and you’ve bathed in the Nevada summer sun on your balcony, after the home cooked dinner he makes you and the movie you watch together downstairs at the cinema, when it’s officially late once again and Armitage is asleep in his bed, you slip into the hallway.

Careful to close your front door quietly, you tip-toe down the stairs at the end of the hall, the only real sound are the dimes jingling in your pocket.

There is a phone booth right on the corner, and no one pays you any mind as you step inside it, closing the glass door behind you. You drop the dime into the payphone, and when the operator tone buzzes, you dial the number on the rotary, memorized but never written down.

The line rings once, twice, three times, before someone on the other end of the line picks it up.

“She speaks to the earth with a loud voice.” You say evenly and clearly.

You look around, check over your shoulder, make sure that no one is watching or listening in on you, making sure no one is trailing you. When you find no such person, you relax a little.

“And the earth shouts back.” The man on the other end of the line finishes the code, before switching to his mother tongue and saying, “Go ahead.”

“They’ve got a hold of something,” You cannot refrain from letting some of the awe pollute your news, even in this language which feels thick in your mouth, your Russian sticking in your throat, emotional as you whisper, “Something incredible.”

                                                   ------------------

Tagging some friends! <33  @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kyloxfem @heldcaptivebychaos  @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @taylovren-types @whiskey-bumblebee @riseofkylo @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @romancedeldiablo @helloimindelaware @elfieboxcat @laurenshit @autumnlovesadam @peterisparker @mp938368 @hidingp @goodboybensolo @intrestellarsarah @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @mauvemountains @insanita @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @pinkmoontribe-blog @shyhairdocoloralmond @i-am-lokii-of-asgard​ @loud-binch​ @flapjacques​ @celiholland​

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 3

Eddie stood looking at himself in the mirror. The sky outside of his window was darkening, on the brink of sunset right near 6:30 pm. He was dressed in what he considered his 'party clothes', or at least the closest thing he could find- he wore a brown plaid button-up tee with a darker brown v-neck sweater, finally finished off with a pair of khaki pants. It was nothing special, really, but it was probably the most, as Bill had put it, 'chillax' thing he currently owned. Living with his mother, Eddie had grown used to wearing what she bought him and only what she bought him, which only consisted of simple tees, polo shirts and, of course, his occasional button-up. The sweater he currently wore had been a gift from Stan for his 18th birthday- he has gotten a similar one for his 19th as wel.

"St-Stan? Eddie? Ruh-ready to go?" Bill's voice echoed through the house, snapping Eddie from the odd trance he'd fallen into, staring right into his own reflection. Right, of course- he had a party to go to.

"Coming!" He called, and was just about to turn and leave the room when his eye was caught by an object on the surface of his dresser- It was his inhaler. For a moment, Eddie stared, and felt as if it were calling to him. He hadn't used it for months until the fight with his mother, and already he had vowed not to use it again. He'd been trying to shake the habit of using it just as he had started faking swallowing his old placebos; sadly, however, the effects of his false-asthma still kicked in so hard he had to take a puff or two. Eddie's lungs felt tight with anxiety at the idea of this stupid party, and he only debated for one more moment before grabbing the inhaler and jamming it into his pocket, just in case. He was quick to join his two friends, and they both set off- umbrellas in tow- into the now-starting rain.

***

It had been approximately 10 seconds and Eddie was fighting back over stimulation. Shit, he hasn't even knocked on the apartment door yet, and the booming, thumping music with it's impossibly heavy base was already putting him on edge. Stan was close to his side, Bill just a few paces ahead, and though he was more than grateful for their comforting, familiar presence he was terrified. Eddie didn't know these people. He was walking into a strangers home. He'd seen horror movies, he knows what happens in big, crowded parties with alcohol and hormonal teens and what happens is they get slashed by a serial killer. Maybe it was just paranoia, but Eddie was already wishing he could turn tail and flee. Bill, Stan and he stopped in front of the door belonging to the source of the noise, and that anxiety in the pit of his stomach tripled, if that was even something that could happen at this point. Eddie tried his very best to suck in deep breaths, but they came in with a slight whistle and made his chest ache.

"Ready?" Stan said, quickly straightening out the collar of his navy dress shirt, passing a quick glance and a warm smile in Eddie's direction, "It'll be okay, Eddie, you can stick by our side the whole time." Eddie nodded his head, clasping his hands nervously together in front of him. Bill gripped the door handle, giving it a twist and pushing it wide open. Ah, yes- Eddie hates this, indeed.

"Oh, no..." The words were spoken mostly to himself, drowned out almost entirely by the speakers throbbing throughout the house. It was dark, the only illumination coming from colorful fairy lights strung high above everyone's heads. The place was packed with moving, dancing bodies, red solo cups held in the hands of nearly everyone. Eddie could see glow sticks wrapped around wrists and hanging from necks, and even spotted a woman in a too-short dress clashing lips with a man in a Letterman jacket. Before he really could give in a flee, a hand was set gently on his shoulder, and he turned his head to see Bill grinning down at him, his eyes alight with a mixture of excitement and concern. The question didn't need to be spoken for Eddie to know that Bill was nervous for him. With a simple shake of his head, Eddie dismissed his worries and motioned with one hand for the redhead to lead the way.

"Hey!" Before any of the three could move an all-too familiar voice rang through, slicing through the sounds of the party and calling all attention in that direction, "My dear friends, you made it!" Richie pushed past a few people on his route to the trio, his cheek-splitting grin even wider than usual and clearly under the slight influence of alcohol.

"Hey, Ruh-Richie! Thanks for inviting u-us, this is... a bigger puh-party then I've ever been to in my li-life!" Bill extended a hand for Richie to shake, and the host was quick to accept it with the one hand that wasn't harboring another one of those red cups. Eddie caught a glimpse of a dark liquid, along with the smell of booze and citrus.

"It sure is something," Stan agreed with a nod, and Richie gleamed with pride.

"Can I get you three some drinks? They may or may not be spiked. We also have, uh... grass, if that's any of your styles." Before Richie could be judged (Eddie was just about to scold him for drug use) he tacked on, "It's not my type of thing but I wouldn't mind if it was yours!" He started to laugh along with Bill, even Stan letting out a small chuckle, but Eddie was still hugely unimpressed with this all. Much to his demise, Stan the Polite had to go and agree to the drinks. Before he could protest, Richie was leading the way directly into the throng of people towards a kitchen. It was miserable. Dancers blocked the way to their desired destination, meaning the group had to push right through them. Not only was it impolite, but these teenagers were also drunk and disgusting. Eddie was trying so hard not to be so uptight, at least for one night, but he just couldn't do it. He pulled his arms into himself and braved the traverse, wincing as he began to attempt to weave through. He was pushed from all sides, sworn at by one rowdy man who he had accidentally bumped into and winked at by a drunken girl dancing with her friends. Though it was only momentary, it felt like centuries past where he was drowning among these bodies, afraid and struggling to breathe. Then, just like that, he was free on the other side, still right beside his two friends and the host who was bringing this treachery into his life.

"Quite the crowd," Eddie grumbled to Stan, both Richie and Bill failing to overhear. Stanley smiled and bumped Eddie gently with his elbow, yet again delivering a small form of reassurance. The kitchen was emptier than the rest of the house, but there were still a fair amount of party goers within it. Among them, Eddie recognized Mike leaned on the counter at the far end with two other kind-enough looking people- he also recognized these two from the coffee shop where they'd met Richie. A tall, sturdy man leaned against one wall, watching with obvious heart eyes as a redheaded girl seated on the counter chattered away about one thing or another. Right at their side sat a massive punch bowl, half empty but with plenty of other bottles of soda and alcohol around it to refill later if need be.

"Heya, you three," Richie greeted them with a smile and a wave, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Stan, Bill and Eddie, "I'm sure you all remember these guys." Richie spun on his heel, leaning his back against the counter and beginning introductions, "This is Bill, Stan and Eddie; and this is Beverly, Ben a Mike. Shake hands, maybe share a kiss, and give me another damn cup of punch." Eddie did none of the above, even when Bill moved forwards to do the first option. He shook hands with each new person in turn, and said his courteous 'nice to meet you'. Even Stan spoke up with a greeting and a small wave. Sure, Eddie felt like an antisocial asshole but he was having enough trouble keeping his asthma in check without touching a bunch of strangers. Speaking of his asthma, yeah, sure, it wasn't real or whatever but right now it sure felt like it was.

"Care for a drink?" Beverly hopped down from the counter, motioning towards the stack of unused cups there for the taking.

"Y-Yeah, hell yeah," Bill responded with a smile, "What... whu-what is it?"

"It smells rank," Stan grabs a cup, leaning over and staring down into the bubbling liquid, "I'd love some."

"This, my good friends, is what I call my 'Tozier Juice'- Orange juice, ginger ale, and lots and lots of alcohol, courtesy of Haystack over here," Richie patted Ben on the shoulder, sending him a friendly grin that much resembled the ones that Eddie and his two best friends shared- it was that of a close bond built on top of years and years of memories.

"Th-that actually doesn't suh-sound too bad," Both Stan and Bill helped themselves to the drink, and then they turned to Eddie. Both seemed to know that he wouldn't be interested, but a cup was offered by Bill either way. "Sh-sure you don't want any? Not even just a glass?"

"Fuck no, I don't want to ruin my liver- or my heart, or brain or-" A sharp intake of breath, it hurts,"-pancreas, for that matter. Did you know drinking too much can increase your blood pressure? Have you ever heard of a stroke?" Eddie crossed his arms, the muscles in his shoulders tensing just at the thought of what this alcohol could do to him. He could drink too much, just a little too much, and then that would be it for him. He'd collapse to the floor and he'd die right here and now. "Plus, if my mom ever found out she would kill me, like literally-"

"Hey, calm yourself, Eduardo," Suddenly, Richie's arm is sliding over his shoulders, pulling him close, too close, to that mass of tangled dark hair that could possibly be housing every louse on the planet, "This is a party, you don't have to follow mamma's rules!" Eddie shoved himself away with a grimace, his lungs closing tighter in on themselves. The contact was too close, Richie was too strange, and now Eddie was only growing more and more frightened and uncomfortable.

"Don't touch me, Richie! Jesus, that's-" Eddie shudders, his breath catching in his throat. He can feel anxiety building in his throat, climbing upwards and begging to be let out in a scream or something of the sort. Eddie hugged himself tightly, scrambling away from Richie and closer to Stan and Bill.

"Wow, Jesus, I-" Richie laughed nervously, and Eddie watched him exchange a curious glance with Stan, who only waved a hand dismissively. "Sorry, I, uh... I guess. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything." Without returning an answer, Eddie glued his gaze to the floor, feeling heat rise up his neck and into his cheeks. Now, tension hung in the air like a shroud and it was because of him. Shit. He didn't mean to ruin everything. For a minute, and then two then three then a whole fourth, no one spoke, simply sipping at their drinks and listening to the deafening music. With each second that ticked by Eddie's throat closed tighter.

"So," Beverly broke the absence of speaking first, her voice raised to overpower that music that was still so loud, so fucking loud, throat tight, head pounding, "Tell me about yourselves. Rich tells me you're going to the same Uni as us? What classes do you have?" Bill took a sip from his 'Tozier Juice', and then responded in a voice just as loud as hers- he was too loud, now, too. His words begin to blend together into a collective hum, nothing but an indecipherable murmur as Eddie held himself tighter- he could hardly breathe, oh it hurt- The weight in his pocket was tempting, so tempting, and he wanted nothing more than to pull it out and take a puff, even if it was just sugar and water. The only thing stopping him was Stan and Bill on his either side, because they were against the placebo, they were trying to wean him off of it. Overpowering that murmur now was a sharp ringing, only pierced by the sound of collective laughter, too loud, suffocating. Eddie's face drained of it's colour, and no one seemed to notice. Can't breathe. He felt frozen, all of a sudden, rooted in place as if left in the cold for too long. He couldn't move his arms, his legs, and now his throat was growing tighter. He snapped his mouth open, fighting to suck in a breath- all at once, the sound came rushing back and it was all just too overwhelming. Eddie was gasping, fighting, snapping from his trance as all air fails to rush into his lungs. All eyes turn to him, Bill, Stan, Richie, Ben, Beverly, Mike- everyone is staring at him, looking at him, as he stumbles to the counter, his legs threatening to give out, Ben hurrying out of the way as Eddie almost falls right into him. The asthma attack was so sudden, so powerful- he had reached that tipping point, and gone tumbling right over the edge. Now, his throat was swollen shut, his head was pounding, that ringing was loud and the music was louder.

"Sh-shit, Eddie!" Bill was the first one to arrive at his side, and then everyone else. Every fucking person was surrounding him. He clutched onto the counter, still gasping, face paler than a sheet as he desperately fought against his reflexes. One powerful half of his mind screamed GRAB YOUR FUCKING INHALER EDDIE GRAB IT OR YOU'LL DIE YOU'LL SUFFOCATE RIGHT HERE AND- while the other half was shouting not to because then he was failing and when you fail you disappoint and he doesn't want to be any more of a disappointment than he already is. He gasps, sputters, grits his teeth and fights to reopen his throat but it won't cooperate. Strangers gazes bear into his back. He's the center of attention. His throat his shut like a vice.

"Eddie, hey, you okay?" Stan was there, a hand on his shoulder but that was too much, this was all too much and he didn't know what to do to stop it to stop the pain and the fear and the suffocation and he can't breathe.

"Hey hey hey hey, what's happening Eds? What's wrong, what can I do?" Richie was here now too, stupid annoying Richie with his caring tone and the hand he sets on Eddie's. Just like the too-loud laughter had been what sent him over the metaphorical cliff edge towards an asthma attack, this overload of contact had been him hitting the icy waters below. Without a second thought he burst upright, both Stan and Richie falling away, and ripped his inhaler from his pocket. He pulled off the cap and stuck it between his lips, pressing the button on the top and sucking in the breath with a sudden jolt. Air passed, a minute amount, and he needed another puff, and then, finally, a third. Each one rocked through his body, trailing with it relief, euphoria, burning through his veins, his throat, down into his lungs until- he let out a gasp as the inhaler left his mouth and felt the guilt rapidly push the good feelings away. The entire group had gone silent again, until Bill stepped forwards to place a hand on Eddie's arm.

"A-Are you okay now, Eddie? Did it help?" His tone probably wasn't meant to be condescending, but that was the only emotion Eddie could get from it. No, Bill, I'm not okay and I'll never be okay because my mom fucked me up big time, Bill, is what he wanted to say but he didn't get the chance because now Stan was on his other side with that sickly sweet concern that Eddie doesn't really deserve and they probably don't really mean.

"Can I get you water? Anything?" Eddie was quick to shake his head. Stan sucked in a slow breath, and let it out in a shudder. From his peripherals, Eddie caught the sight of him and Bill sharing a glance. He didn't miss the way Stan's lips quirked down into a frown, or the feeling of Bill just slightly shrugging one shoulder. He hadn't even been here for twenty minutes and Eddie was done. They were disappointed in him. He could sense it. Jamming his inhaler back into his pocket, he shook off both hands and set off to who knows where. He didn't know this apartment and he didn't give a shit. He needed to find a bathroom, a bedroom, a balcony, a something to get him as far away from the noise as possible. He hears them calling after him, Bill and Stan and maybe Richie too but the music swallows him whole as he pushes into the crowd towards what he thinks is a door to outside. He pushes, uncaring in it's entirety, needing to get out, away, to suck in the fresh air. His lungs feel tight again, but not as tight as before and he refuses to use his inhaler. He breaks free from the crowd and lets out a wheeze of a huff, falling into the door and shoving it open and closed as quick as possible.

Just like that, it is calm. With one shoulder against the glass he can feel the reverberation, the bass shaking the building in it's place. It's quieter now, faint enough that he can feel thoughts swimming around like panicked fish. Eddie pushes off of the door and staggers towards the railing, letting himself lean on it despite what his mother would say. You're so high up, Eddie-bear, don't lean like that or you'll fall! You'll tumble right down all six floors and then you'll be done for! The mother in his mind continued on about something else, about him not loving her enough to take care of himself, about why does he hate her? What did she do for him to treat her like this? But he pushes those thoughts away and locks them in a tight little box so he doesn't burst into tears. For the first time he realizes that the rain is heavier now, pouring down in steady, thrumming sheets, blotting out the streetlights below and further muffling that music. The smell of petrichor and lightning fell around him, probing in through his open mouth and cleansing his lungs of the placebo. It was soothing, so much so that his eyes fell shut and his head tipped back. He let the utter pleasure of the weather soak into his skin, the chill biting at the tips of his nose and ears. He could catch a cold, his mother warns from inside his head, but he locks those thoughts up even tighter and tells himself he doesn't give a shit. With each deep, rain-tasting breath his lungs give way a little more until it's clear again. A few minutes pass of deep breathing, exercises he's learned through the years. Calm washes over him and now he doesn't mind the distant heartbeat of the bass. Time seeps by slowly and he doesn't mind it.

Behind him, the door opens, and the tension sets in again.

"What do you want?" Eddie's voice is cold. He doesn't know who it is, assuming it's Bill or Stan and hating that he's not right. The music grows louder and then fades again as the door opens and shuts.

"Hey, Eds," Richie shatters his peace with a tentative tone, and then he's there at his side leaning against the railing.

"Don't call me that."

"I, uh... I wanted to say sorry." The rain thrums on. Richie stands at his side. Eddie hates this party. "I... I didn't know..." Richie struggles to find the right words. The rain sounds like static, buzzing, hissing, calming. Richie should leave Eddie to enjoy this peace but he doesn't. "I didn't mean for this to happen." A heartbeat passes in time with the bass. Eddie finally answers, his words quiet, clipped, cold.

"Get lost, Richie." Richie doesn't. Instead, his movements slow, careful, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out two things- a packet of cigarettes, and a lighter. He doesn't waste his time offering one to Eddie, simply lights one for himself and takes a deep, sluggish inhale. All is quiet except for the static and the heartbeat of the bass. With an unwanted wave of vulnerability, Eddie feels his eyes begin to sting. The ocean inside of his stomach, tossing and turning and churning is made of liquid guilt. He feels horrible for failing Stan, for failing Bill, for ruining the party they'd both been so excited for. Richie takes another drag, letting out a cloud of smoke that's ripped away, sent spiraling, by the beating rain. As the party rages on just feet away, Richie stays with Eddie instead of leaving him to join back in on the fun. Eddie hates that he feels gratitude. Minutes pass, and the rain washes away the last traces of warmth. Before he knows it, Eddie is shivering, a gentle tremble that might have less to do with the cold and more to do with how exhausting it is to withhold his stinging tears.

"Here," Richie slides one arm out of his black button-up, passes his cigarette to his now free hand, and then liberates the other. Without asking, he moves towards Eddie, placing the thin fabric around his shoulders to provide as much warmth as possible. Richie returns to his place from before. A few more moments pass when Eddie finally finds the stability to answer.

"Thank you." His cheeks glow pink in the pale, black light, but Richie smiles anyways and simply nods his head. With his lungs clear and that warm gratitude calming the tidal waves of regret, he speaks in a low, quiet, shaking tone. "It seems you can keep your mouth shut, hmm?" This time, Richie laughs, a light chuckle that blends with the bass and the static in a perfect way.

"I'm making a special exception, Eddie. Don't take it for granted." Richie bites on his cigarette. He lets out another cloud of smoke. The rain slices it apart. "But, hey," Leaning on one elbow and glancing Eddie's way through his thick-framed glasses, Richie looks almost nice, "I really am sorry. If I'd known you would been stressed or over stimulated or whatever, I would have warned you." Sucking in a slow breath and letting it out in a sigh, Eddie shrugs his shoulders, pulling the black button-down tighter around him.

"It's fine. I should have handled it better.- I'm the one who should be saying sorry" At that, Richie quirked a brow.

"It's asthma, you can't really control it- unless that's some sort of super power." As an after thought, Richie added, "Pretty lame one if you ask me." Eddie held a hand out into the rain, soaking in the biting cold of each drop. It streamed down his hands, off of his fingertips.

"No, it's... it's all bullshit. Nevermind." A heartbeat passes, "You shouldn't smoke. It risks lung cancer." Silence yet again. Richie didn't ask to leave, and didn't make any move to. Once he finished his cigarette he dropped it to the ground beside him and crushed it under his heel. The two simply stood, side by side with a few feet between, looking out into the rain and soaking in the peace. The party continued on behind him, but Eddie couldn't care less. While Stan and Bill were enjoying themselves, so was he, to a degree. Richie's normally overbearing aura had calmed, dulled, softening around the edges so now it wasn't as much a bright yellow as it was a soft red.

"Eds?" Richie asked in a questioning tone, not shattering the fragile silence but rather parting it like hanging vines, "Can I make you a deal?" Eddie nodded his head. "Come by and buy coffee every once and a while and this whole ordeal is forgotten, no hard feelings. I'll make you my signature drinks on the house to apologize to you, and you come by and chat with me every few days to apologize to me." Letting out another sigh, Eddie said,

"Yeah, fine."

"And don't call me Eds."

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

A/N: Decided to test out my writing skills. Lemme know what you think and definitely let me know if you catch any mistakes!

Summary: Nightwing and Superboy find themselves stranded and alone in the future. Can they trust the mysterious stranger who rescues them?

Nightwing tried not to glare at the florescent lights that lined the hallway. Every sci-fi movie he'd ever watched dictated that they should be red and flashing. Maybe while an alarm blared in the background and the sound of marching feet approached.

They were doing no such thing. The lights stayed a steady white and the only sound in the air was the clanging of metal under their feet.

Nightwing would've preferred the theatrics.

The hallway seemed to stretch out in front of them, mocking their slow progress. Their destination was a black door labeled with some kind of alien language. The three men trudged down the corridor. The man in the middle had one arm looped under Conner's armpits, hoisting him up with difficulty and the Kryptonian's feet dragged underneath him.

The other arm had Nightwing's upper arm in a vice grip. It wasn't providing support, Nightwing didn't think the other man could hold up both Conner and him. Instead the hand on his arm was pulling him along, like he was a petulant child being dragged home from the park. Conner slumped over in the man's arms and Dick just barely stopped himself from doing the same.

The steadying hand slipped away to hold up Conner and 'Wing felt the floor spin. The door seemed to get further and further away from them, stretching even further.

Or maybe, Nightwing thought as the world swayed, he was more out of it then he thought.

Giving in Dick fell against the wall, using the cold hard metal to keep himself upright. The masked man's head snapped back and forth as he looked between Nightwing, Superboy and the door. The mystery man glanced back down the hallway they had come down and Dick could see the gears turning in his head.

Nightwing knew what he was thinking. They didn't have much time before they found them and Conner wasn't in fighting shape. Truthfully, Dick wasn't in fighting shape either but at least he was conscious. He tried to pull himself straighter from where he was slumped against the wall. If he had to fight, he would.

The man in black switched his hold on Conner, moving to a bridal hold. His arms were shaking from the effort but, to his credit, he didn't drop him.

"I have a taser in my back pocket," an achingly familiar voice said, as the man turned so that his back pocket was accessible to the former boy wonder.

'Oh great,' Dick thought as he grabbed the thin black square from the other man's pocket. 'I'm hallucinating Wally again.'

He tried to ignore Wally's voice as it came out of the masked guard and barely caught him saying that he'd be right back.

Dick flashed a smile and held up the taser in a fake show of confidence. He's getting Conner out of here, but he'll have to leave Nightwing. Dick doubted he'd actually be back for him. He wasn't going to take some stranger at his word. At least he was getting Superboy out.

'He did arm me. That's good enough,' Nightwing thought as the expressionless black glass of the helmet stared back at him.

"Alright, just-" The man faltered as he adjusted his grip on the heavy alien in his arms. He grunted slightly from the weight and it sounded so much like Wally that Dick wanted to cry. "Just stay whelmed, okay?"

There was a blast of wind in his face before he could even begin to process that.

Conner was gone and so was-

Had this whole thing been a hallucination? Had he been dreaming up Conner too? Was the real Conner still back in that lab, while Dick had been stumbling blindly following figments of his imagination?

He brought his hands up to his head in an attempt to stop the world from tilting.

Smack!

Hard plastic met his forehead as the taser he'd forgotten about made contact with his face. The weapon felt heavy in his hand as he moved it into his line of sight. He studied its surface like it held the secrets of the meaning of life. In some ways it did.

It felt real.

'This- How is-'

Whatever concussed thought he was about to have was interrupted as wind, wind that he'd never thought he'd feel before, surrounded him on all sides.

The speedster slid to a stop in a way that Barry and Bart never had to. Legs extended, body low to the ground, fighting momentum and struggling to find traction. It wasn't graceful and it wasn't fast but it was the most beautiful thing Nightwing had seen in years.

He hadn't even stood up yet before the former Robin had launched himself at the disguised man. His arms flung around him desperately like if he let go the shoulders beneath him would disappear.

"Dude!" The black helmet squawked as he flailed around, trying to keep them both upright. Dick had never hated a helmet more in his entire life. He wanted it off. He wanted that helmet off more than he wanted to escape. Sure, he was concussed but 'Wing was pretty sure that he'd feel the same way, even if he wasn't.

Batman's protege pushed back with his feet, knocking the shorter man to the ground. Nightwing went down with him, pining him to the ground as he tried to unlatch the helmet.

"How do you get this stupid thing off," He muttered and, no, he wasn't slurring his words, thank you very much. His fingers felt numb as he attempted to find a latch on the sleek motorcycle-helmet-looking mask.

"The button?" Came the way too cocky and casual reply from beneath him.

There was a click and suddenly Dick was staring into the face of his dead best friend.

"Look, we-" The ginger attempted to say.

"I want a blood sample."

The man on the floor sighed. The former boy wonder watched as his freckles contorted and moved as he rolled his eyes. He studied the placement of the little spots. Freckle placement was dependent on UV exposure and had nothing to do with DNA. A clone wouldn't have that little freckle just under his left eye that disappeared whenever he scrunched his nose. Or the three freckles scattered across the ridge of his ear.

His nose and cheeks were a galaxy of dots, seemingly undecipherable, but Dick had always sworn that he could find the big dipper on his skin. Green eyes were staring at him. He was saying something but Grayson wasn't listening.

He repeated himself like a stubborn toddler.

"Blood. Sample."

"Wow, you are out of it. So you didn't hear a single thing I just said, did you?" He didn't give Nightwing time to answer. Not that he would. He was mapping out freckles. He scowled when he found a new one.

"Okay, Bud, hold on. We gotta get back to SB,"

'Wing blinked and he was in a seat.

What?

He looked around. He was in a futuristic cockpit of some kind. A control panel filled with buttons sat below the window. Space took up the entire field of vision and Dick had to struggle to look away from the view. The straps that bit into his shoulder snapped him out of it.

Conner was in a seat beside him, also strapped down, staring at something like he was trying to activate his heat vision.

Oh.

Right.

The speedster flew back and forth, hitting buttons and flipping switches. Dick must've made a noise because he swiveled around and beamed at him.

And wow.

That- that was a better view than space.

"Hey man! Good to see you up! Had me worried there for a second when you passed out." Wally turned and pointed at Conner with finger guns. "Uh, so Superboy needs immediate medical attention. I think they injected him with synthetic kryptonite."

He was beside Superboy in a flash. He started fiddling with some kind of material cuff that was wrapped around the Kryptonian's arm.

"This will dampen his powers and lessen the affect of the kryponite. It'll keep him alive but it's not a fix, just a bandaid. He needs this flushed out of his system immediately. Tell Dox about this as soon as you see him, okay?"

Conner jerked, trying to get out of the straps. The clone tried to say something but it just came out a muddled mess.

Speaking of muddled messes, Dick's brain throbbed and spun. His eyes unfocused and when they refocused, green eyes were directly in front of him.

"Buddy, I need you to stay awake to tell Dox. He needs to know about the kryponite asap. Dick." He waited, concern splayed across his face. Wow, he loved any emotion on that face.

"Okay." The redhead said, seemingly to himself. "I'll write it down."

He left his line of sight and Dick, no longer distracted, thought about what he'd just said.

"Wait." He croaked out as the speedster tucked a note under Conner's seatbelt. Conner clumsily swung an arm out in an attempt to grab the speed demon but the attempt was laughable at best.

"You're coming with us." It wasn't a question. He's not leaving them. Dick started struggling against the straps.

"You're coming with us." He repeated louder and Conner grunted in agreement. Superboy's eyes were closed now but he didn't seem to notice. He continued to glare in their general direction.

"We don't exactly have a lot of options here." He was back at the control panel. He purposefully avoided looking at them. "The second this escape pod goes out, we'd be swarmed. This thing wouldn't get us ten feet. Not without a distraction."

He had the audacity to turn and smirk.

"And hey, distractions are my specialty." The ginger winked.

"I will kill you."

It wasn't what he meant to say. He meant to say 'you are not sacrificing yourself again' or 'I can't do this without you', even a 'think about this, we can figure out another way' would've worked.

"I swear to god, I will kill you." He didn't appear threatened in the slightest. He actually snorted. He just kept pushing buttons, inputting directions Dick realized belatedly, and that was when he started to panic.

"Leave me. I'll do it. I'll fight 'em off." He kept talking before he could be interrupted. "I'm fine, I can handle it, I'll be fine, I-"

"Even if you were fine- which you are not- I would still do this. Look, it has to be me. They kill Kryptonians on sight, Darkseid has some kind of personal vendetta against them. That's what they were trying to do with the synthetic kryptonite. They'd kill you too, the only reason they didn't last time was because they didn't know if you had the meta gene or not. They know now."

He looked back at him, faking a smile.

"They keep metas alive. They'll keep me alive."

He didn't look so sure.

"I'll be fine." It sounded just as fake as when Dick had used that same line ten seconds ago.

His freckles scrunched up with his face.

"Well, not fine. I'll be mind controlled but... I'll be alive."

He walked, at a human pace, from the control panel to just behind Nightwing's chair. He knew what that meant. Speedsters didn't just walk places. This was meaningful, this was his way of slowing down time and dragging it out. After all his zipping around, his saunter to the back of the cockpit could be seen for what it really was, an attempt to make the moment last. It was a goodbye.

Blue eyes strained to look behind him. His neck contorted to see the red head at the back of the room. He had flipped up a protective cover and was about to push the button underneath.

If he let him push that button, he'd never see him again. Nightwing had never felt so sure of anything before in his life.

The hand seemed to move in slow motion, another indication that the speedster didn't want to do this, and Dick played his last card.

"Blood sample!"

The hand paused.

"Please." Dick let every emotion he'd felt for the last few years seep into his words. "Please, I just- I need a blood sample. I just- I need to know."

His voice cracked.

"Yeah." The redhead hesitated before turning to face him. "Yeah, okay."

He stepped towards their seats, away from the button, and Dick felt his stomach leap into his chest. He needed to keep him away from it. Maybe he could-

Conner's arm swung out, clotheslining the smaller man and slamming him into the ground.

That worked.

"Owww."

Groaning came from the ground. Even without his super strength Conner packed a punch. Dick fought the urge to wince and instead fiddled with the taser in his hands.

He tested the weight, eyeing the button behind him. There were three buttons now, swirling around each other in an invisible dance.

Huh.

Not wasting time he chucked the taser at the center button, praying to every deity he knew.

Click.

The button lit up and a mop of redhair popped up just in time to see the airlock woosh close.

A countdown sounded out, barely audible over the boy wonder's cackling.

A robotic voice got to five and Dick gloated, feeling happier than he had in years.

"You're stuck with us!"

The freckled faced man groaned and looked at the two of them like a disapproving parent.

"Jeez, that hurt Supey."

He stood up and zipped over to the control panel. He pulled out a small vial of what looked like sand. He shook it and emptied it out. Vibrating in place, he collected the blood that poured out his nose in the now empty vial.

"Ugh, this is gross." He wrinkled his nose as he screwed the cap on. He zipped back and put it into Dick's gloved hands, careful not to let Dick grab him. "I'm sure Dox will let you use his lab to analyze this if you ask nicely."

"Wait-"

"Bad timing, I guess, but I've picked up some new tricks."

He was at the airlock doors as he said that and he started to vibrate. More blood rushed out of his nose as he looked at him sadly.

"Two." The computer warned, the number echoing around the small room.

"Hold on-" He had to stall him. He just had to stall him for one second. Just one second.

Green eyes met blue and regret flickered on his freckled face.

"Just promise me, okay? Next time you see me-"

He paused as he held his hand up to the door, vibrating through it.

"Take me down, okay?"

The engine roared to life, so loud that Dick couldn't hear his own scream as it ripped out of his throat. He watched, vial of blood clenched in his hand, as Wally disappeared for the second time.

[billie-ford]

1

Days Gone By

6

Houston. The biggest city in the state of Texas and the second largest in the country. But more intimately, it was the home of Billie Ford. She was known well throughout the countryside of Houston and even into the inner city as the kid that went the extra mile. A star runner on the high school track team, destined to make state. The friendly mechanic that willingly made house trips and sometimes took a hot meal as payment. The devoted wife and mother, the lively younger sister known for her exuberant energy. The street she lived on for more than half a decade was once known for it’s exuberant energy too; music bumping from almost every open window and a potluck every other week. It was now a decrepit wasteland. One of the first cities to fall when the virus broke and when it fell, it fell hard.

Every inch of public road was cluttered with debris, abandoned cars, streaks of blood and dead bodies - roaming or not. Music would not be heard on these streets ever again - unless you chose to count the mindless humming from Billie every now and again. Despite how sparse supplies had grown, Billie couldn’t bring herself to leave. Having already abandoned her once warm, loving home, she was now holed up in a strangers house on the other side of the city. Boarded up, furniture pushed against windows and a makeshift bed of sheets and couch cushions positioned messily in the center of the living room. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to call it quits, no matter how ghostly it had gotten in the last few months. Something was keeping her here, and she just couldn’t describe what it was.

(six months since the fall)

“How long will you be?” 

Despite his name, Hunter Hammond was no scavenger. He was a meek man, all five-foot-nine of him. Abraham used to tease him when their families got together for a dinner, joking that Billie had managed to fuse her bisexuality and marry both a man and woman all in one. Hunter never liked Abraham too much.

“I’ll be as quick as I can but who knows what those streets look like now.” Billie tightened the laces of her boots before standing and slinging a backpack over her shoulder. Just behind Hunter, their son Devin played with plastic cars in their couch cushion bed. His smile and bubbly laugh was a constant reminder of what the world had been once, and for both Billie and Hunter it gave them hope.

Billie cupped her husband’s cheek, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “Back before sundown. I promise. C’mere sweet boy,” she kneeled down and kissed her toddler on the head, breathing in the scent of his cloud-like curls. “You take care of your ol’ man for me, m’kay?” The boy smiled and nodded.

“Board this right back up.” She gave Hunter a stern look as she moved the furniture from the back door, their backyard a quiet enough escape to the road behind them. “I mean it. The second I’m out.”

“Don’t worry, I got you. Come back to me safe, Bill. I mean that.”

Hunter had shut the door before she could give him a second look, the sound of the couch scraping on the other side signaling she was now trapped on the back porch. She took off down the patio stairs, through the neighboring backyards and through the small line of trees that shielded the house from from the main road.

Billie liked to call them walkers. They reminded her of how her dad used to walk when he had knee surgery and ended up with a walking frame for a few weeks; hunched over, slow, lazy. Her father was an intimidating man - strong and stern, a frequent yeller who, just by cracking the buckle of his belt, had Billie stood straight and ready to accomplish any command. But even Abraham Sr. didn’t scare her as much as those things did. Her father could be reasoned with if you showed him enough respect; they could not. The howls of sorrow trapped inside distant memory disturbed her more than when they ran her way, jaws chomping and drooling for a taste of human flesh. Something she had only seen in her brother’s horror movies, and even those couldn’t prepare her for the sights she had seen. It was the humanity lost somewhere within them - that’s what terrified her. She remembered the first time she caught wind of the pandemic beginning to break across the globe; her ear just barely picking up the sound of the radio over power drills and welders.

She hadn’t been able to find Abraham since things really went to shit.

The military did what they could when things started to get out of control, but even they had families to protect and sticking around to maintain order just seemed foolish. Multiple trips were made to the Ford residence with no luck; Cupboards were barren, clothes strewn about and that picture he had on the mantle of the two of them one Christmas was busted out of its frame. Despite her excuses - he didn’t have time to come for me. they were in trouble. he did come by but I was already gone. he’s still around, we just keep missing each other. - she couldn’t kill the eating thought that he just left her. His baby sister, abandoned. He broke his promise. Subconsciously, that was the biggest reason she kept one foot in Houston - he was still coming back for her. But with every day that passed with no sign of life, the hope that he was still close - and breathing - faded further and further away...

7

The camp was far beyond the rest of civilization. And good for it. The tops of buildings looked like shoe boxes interwoven with visibly abandoned streets in the far distance, gray in comparison to what it once used to be. This flat plot of land had barely been touched by human hands when it was found; turned up dirt and rock accompanied by machinery and port-a-potties. A construction sight soon to be turned into a number of vacation homes, that much they gathered from the weathered sign stuck in the ground at the base of the hill.

Breakfast ended an hour ago; watery eggs with sparse salt and bitter potatoes. Everyone was busy now, in the full swing of their day; taking buckets of dishes to the river to be washed while another group returned with wet laundry to hang dry.

“You should let these grow so I can push them to the side. You don’t really want all this hair in your eyes do ya, hun?”

Jane Ford, forty-two, a high school swim coach in what now seemed to be another life now sat in her husband’s tattered flannel and blue jeans tucked into yellow hospital socks. With her eldest between her knees, she snipped away at the atrocious bob the child had given herself a year prior. Her bangs stuck out every which way and no amount of water, time, or prayer would set the needle straight hairs into place. Jane huffed in defeat and dropped the comb and fabric scissors into a cup at her foot.

“I like it like this, momma.” The ten year old stated while playing with the torn ear of her stuffed bunny, given to Jane as a baby shower gift from her aunt. The dirty old thing brought her comfort more now than ever, a reminder of her favorite - well, her only - aunt.

‘You hug this little guy every single night. And wherever I am I’ll be sure to feel it.’

“Leave her hair alone, darlin’. If she likes it than she likes it.” Abraham watched his girls while sipping a black coffee, occasionally looking out into the horizon to scan for survivors or otherwise. “We Fords have the tendency to look good in whatever hairstyle we’re rockin’.” He winked at his daughter who grinned.

“Tell that to your tenth grade mullet.” “You still had a crush on me didn’t ya sweetheart?” “Oh, stick it!” “Last time I did we ended up with the twins..” “Ew, dad!”

He howled with laughter and beckoned his child to come towards him. She jumped up into his lap and he tussled her wet hair, the act earning him a curse from his wife. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and took that moment to thank God. His family, all five of them, were together and secure. But every thankful thought was followed by the sudden sorrow he felt for his first family; his baby sister. Big Bad Bill. 

He was a military sergeant and when he was called to duty the only thing on his mind was getting this issue under control. He only evacuated the quarantine camps when he had absolutely no choice and by the time he reached his home in the suburbs it was too late to go the inner city. She was just too far away from him. He couldn’t count on all fingers and toes how many times he’d been down in that area since then, practically swatting her home the second he could. Empty. She had taken the photo of them from his high school graduation on her fireplace.

Despite the “no man left behind” attitude instilled in him during boot camp, he just couldn’t bring himself to believe that his sister was still alive. She was tough, but she wasn’t survive-life-or-death-situations-tough. She was just a mechanic.

A familiar shrill voice followed by marching steps in the gravel snapped him out of his pity party. With a groan, he shooed his daughter away to play with the other kids before standing to meet the five-foot-two hurricane that was Marizol Espinosa. “Dios mio Abraham! My Rosita should have been home days ago!” The group he had sent out nearly three days ago had yet to return and despite the majorities silence, everyone was a little worried about their return. Marizol was not one of the silent ones.

“Te quiero fuera. Out there. Searching for them.” A manicured hand rested on a jutted hip, the other pointing a bullet like index into the ginger brutes face. Jane’s eyes flickered between the two cautiously as she busied herself with cleaning chunks of dark hair from her lap.

“Mary, I wouldn’t have sent the group that I sent if I didn’t think they could handle their hides. Give em the day darlin’, I’ll radio in from time to time and if nothin’ still I’ll send a crew after em.”

“Oh dios- get more people lost! Or killed! You listen to me jengibre...” As she opened her mouth to grill him with undoubtedly ruthless insults, the radio on his belt crackled with life. A female voice just barely came through. Abraham gave Marizol a smug grin.

8

“I’ve always loved you, and made you happy...and nothing else could come between...but now you’ve left me, to love another...you have shattered..all..of my dreams..” Breathless, Billie trudged along the side of the road as the afternoon heat caused beads of sweat to rolled down her jaw. With daylight running low she was worried this would be another unsuccessful supply run, having already searching multiple stores and homes throughout town. “You are my sunshine. My only sunshine..you make me happy when skies are gray..you’ll never know dear- fuckin’ hell it’s hot.”

She came to a stop outside of a gas station. A run down shack of a business that she had been to multiple times for a cigarette and a beer during her commute back home after work. But with its busted out windows and disregarded hoses it looked to be a completely foreign shop.

In and out quickly was the plan, and smooth enough it went. She packed what she could; in her months of scavenging she learned quickly that if you looked for things where those things weren’t meant to be, you could find what you needed. With a bowie knife in one hand and a half melted snickers from the cash register in the other she wandered the aisles freely, skimming underneath shelves for stray cans and water bottles. As she was preparing to leave, check today off as a successful enough day, one too many walkers began crowding the door from which she came, falling through busted windows and disemboweling themselves on shards of glass. She took down what she could with her bowie, hoping to clear a way to the road but for every one she killed two more crowded in its place. “Fuck.”

Searching hastily with a newfound feeling of vertigo, she spotted the employee exit behind the counter. A pipe had been lodged into the handle and bent outwards, trapping it shut. She cleared the counter, shivering at the feeling of rotting hands skimming the back of her arms before forcing the pipe out of place and slamming the door shut behind her. Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she searched her bag for a flashlight, her knife wielding hand still raised defensively.

“Grab them!”

Billie felt the sharp pain of a shoulder in her spine as she was tackled to the ground, her cheek crashing into the cold pavement and the wind escaping her lungs as her knife slid feet away from her grasp. She was frisked for her weapons, her bag tore violently from her shoulder as a knee remained snug between her shoulder blades.

“You one of the bitches that jumped us?” “Huh!? No!”

The cool metal of a gun barrel met her temple and she stuttered, “I ain’t here to hurt no one! I’m just stuck! On the bible, man!”

“What do you mean stuck?”

“There’s an ocean of them dead fools out that door behind me- gotta be packed to capacity by now. Man can you get off my back you’re hurting me!”

She was hoisted to her feet as a lamp clicked on. The room lit up in a small yellow glow, revealing a number of people surrounding her. To her left, brunette hair was pulled back under a military cap and tan hands secured in fingerless gloves held a glock steady to her head. Latina. Her glare was strong, eyebrows knitted as she trained her sights on Billie.

“There was a group in here yesterday. They locked us in.” In front of her, a young asian boy sat on a railing. They were in a garage. “Think you can help us out of here?” The man previously kneeling on her spine asked. He was the stockiest of the group; dark skinned, a gap tooth, and a flat cap concealing a bald head. 

She didn’t have much of a choice. Either they all got out or none of them got out. “I can try once your friend gets that barrel off my cheek.” She huffed. A delivery truck sat begging to be used in the middle of the garage. A full tank but no keys, they say. Luckily for them, Billie didn’t need keys. She looked towards the latina, and only after the asian boys pleas did she lower her weapon.

After she jimmied the lock for a while, Billie got the door open and jumped into the driver seat, the latina following her every move as she popped off the connector to the ignition. She looked down to the only other woman and quirked a smile, “you wouldn’t happen to have a bobby pin would ya, hun?” Deadpanned, she dug into her hair and retrieved two bobby pins, slapping them into Billie’s hand who muttered a thank you. In seconds she had the pins poked into each hole of the connector and the truck growled with life. First the lights, brightening the room even more but she refrained from turning the engine, alas, suffocating them all with toxic fumes. Billie turned to the woman below, already used to the bitter gaze she sent her way. “You get the door open and you’re home free.”

“You should come with us.” Once stepping out of the truck she was greeted by the man that had tackled her to the ground, now smiling at her apologetically while extending a hand to shake, “call me T-Dog.” The latina huffed in protest. “She’s useful, Rosita.” Rosita.

“I would love to but uh..I got people waiting on me.” “They can come too.” “There’s no way you’re getting this truck up that road.” “We’ll wait.” “We can’t wait for some stranger, we’ve got people worried about us.”

“I could go with you!” It was the asian boy again, short black hair now covered with a baseball cap. He approached Billie with a smile that rivaled T-Dog’s. These weren’t people that Billie would coin as survivors - all but Rosita maybe - but here they were anyways. “I know my way around the city. We can pick up whoever you’re with and head back to camp.”

“So there’s more of y’all..?” “Loads.”

Rosita shook her head again. “No, no. That’s too many more mouths to feed and we’re already low on supplies.”

“Actually, Rosita, I don’t think supplies will be an issue...”

A voice echoed from within the newly unlocked truck, the sliding door disconnecting the storage space from the front seat now wide open. They followed the sounds of his footsteps to the back door where it was then unlocked from inside, flew open with a loud clang, and revealed stacks upon stacks of unopened cans, bags of chips, and soda. The man - the eldest of the group - smiled down at them, particularly Billie. “That solves that problem young lady.”

“Look at that,” the asian quipped, “we’ve got food for a few more mouths, someone who knows their way around a sticky situation, and you got us to watch your back. Sounds like wins all around to me!”

Everyone seemed to be in agreement of letting this squirrely stranger and her mystery companions join the group, all but Rosita, who had Billie wondering if she had cut her off in traffic one time.

“She helped us when we needed it, Ro,” he reasoned, “she didn’t have to.” He seemed keen on having Billie join them but she just shrugged; made no difference to her. Even the older man, who looked to have been on a fishing trip before they got locked in here, threw in his two cents. “Always room for a survivor.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Rosita squared up to Billie with folded arms. “You get that door open and you get to come back with us. Bring your boyfriend or whatever. Bien?”

“Gracias, a-mee-go.”

If you looked for things where those things weren’t meant to be, you could find what you needed. - Billie’s Law. 

Billie knew garages like the back of her hand, and she knew of the spare clicker that came with every garage system. It was a shot in the dark, hoping the door would even work if she found it, but she searched high and low despite it. Even despite Rosita’s smug bark of ‘we looked for it already’. Like a dog on a scent she overturned garbage cans and tools boxes all while she watched impassively. No clicker. But underneath a uniform coat, beneath a stack of scrap metal, was a car jack, and Billie knew more than a few ways to use one of those.

With a loud bang and a rustic whine, Billie managed to jam the jack underneath the door enough to bend it and gave the handle a few pumps to lift it all while T-Dog and Rosita readied themselves to bash the skulls of any unwanted stragglers. She managed enough space to roll under and the asian boy quickly followed, keeping an eye out for her while she finished the job. Eyes stinging with sweat, Billie picked away at the lock while disembodied moans approached her, silenced by the lead pipe her new comrade armed himself with. The door was finally freed in minutes; they were free and she had a new home for her baby boy.

“Looks like you’re ours now.” The boy smiled again. “Glenn.”

She shook his hand, her grip firmer than his. “Billie.”

[a-simple-imagine]

Clowns Lurk In The Dark

Synopsis: When the power goes out at Avengers Tower, things start to get a little spooky for Y/N

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader or Tony Stark x fem!reader (It’s kinda open to interpretation but I always had one or the other in mind)

Words: 3.4k

A/N - Not my best work but I wanted to get something out for Halloween since it’s my favourite time of year. I’ve just been so unmotivated recently 

Warning - Mild violence and swearing. Also “clowns” and spiders and blood.

"Did you sleep okay last night?" Wanda asks absentmindedly as she takes can after can of soda out of the fridge and places them on the counter beside her.

"Yeah," you nod a little. "Thanks."

"No problem I was just happy I could help," She piles the cans into her arms, flashing you a smile as she proceeds to join the others in the living room. You turn back to the microwave, throwing a piece of popcorn into your mouth as you wait for yet another ding. Watching the brown bag spin around and around, these few minutes we're beginning to feel like a lifetime. You yank the door open as the sound of popping dies down; the bag slips from your grip as you realise how hot it is. Much more carefully, you take the bag and rip it open; steam hitting you square in the face but at least it smelt good. Emptying the contents into the bag, you finally join the others. You hand a bowl to Rhodey and the other to Wanda before squeezing in between Natasha and Tony on the couch. Reaching over, you stretch for the remote but Tony grabs it first, dangling it over the edge while his other hand pushes you back.

"Tony..." you whine softly, pushing against him. He repeatedly brings it closer only to drag it away moments later. "Give me it."

"Tony," Natasha scolds. "Just let her have it."

"No, I paid for this TV I'm in charge. What are we watching?"

You huff back into your seat. He was intentionally being annoying. He could be like that sometimes often. "IT Chapter two. Just press play."

He complies and the screen comes to life. Wanda hands you back the bowl of popcorn and you position yourself comfortably against Natasha. You needed a headrest should the moment arise and Tony was being a dick. Tonight was movie night at Avengers' tower and pretty much any hero or agent could join granted they were familiar enough. It was the same night each week and with Halloween fast approaching the kind of movies had taken a turn in genre to a variety of horror films. You liked horror movies, they hardly ever actually scared you. Last week you had been given the choice of movie and had settled on It. It was a particular favourite of yours and so it was only natural that IT Chapter 2 adorned the silver screen.

Clouded in darkness, the film progressed as a thunderstorm decided to rear its beautiful head. It was the perfect setting although the storm seemed to be making you jump more often than the actual movie. Natasha put an arm around you in an attempt to comfort but it seems she's not too fond of clowns. As James McAvoy confronts his younger self and the rest of the losers club defeat their own demons a crack of lightening puts you and apparently the rest of the avengers on edge. The screen goes black and one by one all the lights in the building flicker off. Your grip on the woman tightens as you all contemplate the blackness.

"What happened?" You whisper.

"The powers gone out. The backup generator should come on any second. "

Taking some popcorn you drop it one by one into the redhead's open mouth. Sneaking some for yourself along the way as you wait for the generator. You lean back from her and set up the shot, throwing a single piece and hitting her nose. You giggle while Natasha gives you a bright smile.

"What happened to the generator?" Rhodey questions and all attention falls to him.

"Yeah Tony," you huff, scooping popcorn into your hand and chucking it at the man in question.

"Not sure." Picking up some stray pieces of popcorn, he throws them back at you. "We can go check it out? It's in the basement."

"This place has a basement?" You question. Tony nods as he extends his hand to you and pulls you to your feet. Brushing off any stray crumbs, you frown. "Come on, Nat."

"Why do I have to come?" Natasha protests.

"Because he bullies me," you explain, shooting Tony daggers before glancing back to her. "It'll be fun."

Natasha groans as she pushes herself up and you follow Tony into the hallway. He hands you a flashlight which you quickly snap on. "Do we really have to walk all the way down? There's like a billion stairs." You comment. Noticing the lift, you press the button with a little hope that by some miracle it would work. It doesn't. "This place is so creepy in the dark."

"What makes it creepy?" Natasha wonders from a few steps ahead of you.

"Things lurk in the dark." Your shoulders rise in a quick shrug. "Like ghosts and shit."

"You can't be serious,"

"Of course she is, Romanoff," Tony called back. "Y/N doesn't mess around when it comes to the supernatural."

"I know you're making fun of me but you don't mess with dark forces unless you want to be haunted."

"You big baby," Natasha sly comments. "There is no such thing as ghosts or monsters or demons for that matter."

"I'm not a big baby," you huff. "Fuck you guys. At least I'm not scared of stupid clowns."

"I wasn't scared okay," she fires back. "I just don't like Pennywise, I don't have to like a child-eating clown."

"Whatever," you shrug. Turning away from them. "I felt you jump." A part of you wanted to just head back down the hall but you didn't want to fancy your chances with the spirits. The quicker the power is back on the quicker you can get back to the movie. Looking back you're surprised when you don't see the two of them just up ahead. "Guys?" You call out softly, hoping they'll be able to hear you. They couldn't have gone that far.

"Y/N? Hurry up."

"Where are you?" You reply. A strong gust of wind catches you off guard, sending a shiver down your spine And into view swims a single red balloon. It hovers perfectly still in the air. You stare at it for a few seconds, grip tightening around the flashlight. "Haha very funny you guys. This isn't scary."

The hallway is eerily quiet. Slowly, you reach out and poke the balloon expecting it to explode or at least float away but it doesn't. With furrowed brows, you try again; a little harder this time. Still nothing. Plunging your finger into the red of the balloon, it pops as hands slap against your shoulders. A small cry slips past your lips.

"It's just me," You recognise Nat's voice but turn around to confirm your suspicions. You shake her off angrily.

"Don't do that," you grumble. Tony comes bounding down the hallway, blinding you with his flashlight.

"What happened? Who screamed?"

"Y/N," Natasha answers for you and you hear Tony laugh a little. You glance to where the balloon once was but there is no sign that it was ever even there.

"Can we go now?" You huff, barging past the two of them. "We're never gonna get there at this rate."

You push through the double doors to the stairwell. Leaning over the banister to stare at the ongoing spiral of stairs that descend into the darkness. You see the lights from Tony's and Natasha's flashlights as they pass you. The longer you stare into the darkness, the more uneasy you feel. For a split second, you're almost certain you spot two lights at the very bottom. Eyes maybe? Your thoughts are interrupted by a very bright light.

"You alright up there?" Tony calls out. You put a hand in front of your eyes to protect them from the light.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Come on then." You're kind of thankful for the darkness this time. You rub your eyes with your free hand as you rush to catch up, losing your footing and sliding down a few of the steps. You can't see them but you hear Tony laugh. It gets louder and louder becoming much eviler as it progresses. Clown-like even. Pushing yourself up, you continue walking hoping to catch up to them.

"Y/N," your head turns in the direction of the voice. It sounded like Natasha but it was coming from behind you? It was distance and hard to make out. "Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are."

Your flashlight begins to flicker as Natasha gets closer. You grip the tool tight and slap it against the palm of your hands until it completely goes off. "Fuck," you growl into the night. Now enveloped in darkness, you look around you like a madwoman. Glancing over the banister and then back up the way you came. Surely Tony and Natasha had to be here somewhat. You should be able to spot the light source. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and try to calm your nerves. It didn't work much. Eyes flicker open to the stare of a clown. White with a familiar red pattern. Familiar ginger hair. A silent scream passed your lips as you scramble back until you hit the wall. Pennywise slaps his hands on either side of the banister and jumped on over. Sliding down the wall slowly, you collapse into a puddle. Squeezing your eyes shut. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. You keep your eyes closed for a few seconds or minutes but when nothing happens you slowly dare to look again. A sigh of relief when there's nothing there. You grab your flashlight which seems to be working again. Feeling a strange tap on your shoulder, you complete freeze. Turning to look ever so slowly, the sight of the clown makes the flashlight slip from your grip, the sound of the fall echoing through the stairwell. "Looking for me."

You pat around rapidly for your flashlight, grabbing it and swinging it into the side of his face. With a strained cry, you scramble to your feet and rush down the steps to the door of the floor below you. You push but they don't open. They shouldn't lock? They can't lock? You push again and again getting more panicked each time. Glancing towards the clown as he slowly makes his way over

"They left you Y/N," He hums softly. "they don't care about you, you're too much of a coward to be an avenger."

Plan b. You try running down the steps but before you get the chance the clown is on top of you. "Fuck you," you yell but now Tony's voice filters into your ears. You open your eyes to see the billionaire staring back. You scan his features to make sure it's him, slapping your hands against his cheeks. He quickly grabs both your wrists and holds them still. "While I like my girls' hands-on, please stop." Yanking yourself free, you collapse against him. Wrapping your arms around his chest tight. Burying your face into his loose fit t-shirt.

"Wow, you two. Get a room." Natasha mumbles playfully.

"I think I'm going crazy," you grumble against the fabric. His hand runs ever so delicately over your head.

"Oh sweetie, that's not news," He teases. "You're probably just jumpy because it's dark. A lot of people start hearing things. Do you wanna go back and wait with the others?"

"No," you fire back, squeezing him extra tight. "I'm staying with you two."

"Fine can you at least let go before you squeeze me to death?"

You reluctantly release him from your grip but immediately grab his hand as a replacement. You reach back and grab Natasha's too. Now there is no possible way you could lose them. "Okay, let's go. You can't let go of my hand though, promise?"

They both share a glance before sighing. You all walk together down the empty stairwell. Natasha and Tony lighting the path with their free hands. "Who would have guessed you'd be so scared of the dark, Y/N. Aren't you into all that creepy shit."

"Loving scary things doesn't mean I don't get scared by them, Natasha."

"Yeah but like of the dark?"

"Leave her alone Nat. We can't all be heartless spies."

"Fuck you-"

"I'm not scared of the dark." You interrupt casually. "It's what lurks in the dark."

You don't even have to look at Natasha to know she's rolling her eyes right now. "Monsters aren't real."

"Tell that to the monsters," you huff. It feels like you've been walking forever when you finally reach the bottom. Pushing through the door you see the ground floor of the tower.

"I thought we were going to the basement?"

"We are, we need to use the other stairs. Should be locked since we don't want anyone just wondering down there."

Tony let go of your hand to search for the key, followed by Nat. This floor was somewhat illuminated from the world outside so you could see most things. Swaying softly on the balls of your feet, waiting anxiously for Tony to return. A crack of lightning followed by a rumble filled the silent room and you keep your eyes on Natasha who wanders around the empty space. A soft sigh makes its way into the air. You're fine here; nothing can get you. Pennywise isn't even real. This whole thing is just your imagination. Tony was right people start hearing things in the dark. Something taps against your foot, looking down to see a small red ball. You kick it away gently but it just rolls back and so you pick it up. Squishing it a few times to check if it's safe. Dropping it against the floor it bounces back up. A soft smile settles on your lips. This will distract you so you do it again. And again. And again. Until you feel your thumb brush against a crack. Strange. Eyes narrowing in as the crack suddenly gets bigger. You drop the ball and it splits completely in two and outruns millions of tiny spiders. Backing away slowly, your eyes wide as more and more tiny black dots pour from the red ball heading straight for you. You can feel the tickle as they start to crawl up your legs and all over your skin. Brushing them off rapidly but they overpower you a million to one.

"What are you doing?" Your head snaps in the direction of Natasha whose stood with her torch aimed at you.

"Uh... the spiders?"

"What spiders?"

You look down over yourself and they're completely gone as is the ball. What the fuck was happening?

"Found it," Tony calls, popping out a room. Natasha follows him towards the door. You scan the area, spotting Pennywise at the other end of the room. He waves and you rush over to Natasha. Wrapping her in your arms and pull her close to your chest.

"The fuck?" She questions. Stumbling forward.

"I'm not letting go."

"You're being so weird." the redhead comments. You groan softly, tightening your grip. Awkwardly, you both follow Tony into the deep, dark basement. You hear a quiet giggle and pull the spy to a halt. "What's up?"

"Do you hear that?"

"No?" The laughter builds.

"How can you not hear that?" You mumble quietly.

"Hear what?"

"The laughing," you state matter of factly. Letting go of her to cover your ears. "It's so fucking loud."

"There's no one laughing," she assures you. Turning around slowly to face you, your mouth falls open. Staring into the green eyes of a girl you know well but she was now covered in make-up. Pure white. Two red lines Start above her eyes, drift over her cheeks and meet at the corner of her red painted lips. "You sure you're okay?"

You back away from her carefully until you collide with another. "Watch out," Tony grumbles.

"Hey red, come help me with this." Natasha's torch shines on the iron man stood on the opposite side of the room. But if he was over there then who was behind you? You swallow hard. You take a step forward but are immediately pulled back. With closed eyes, you turn to face your fears. It's probably just Wanda or someone. Eyes flutter open.

"Peek-a-boo!" His mouth widens and row after row of teeth come into sight. You wanna scream but you don't. You wanna fight back but you can't. You just let it happen. You're completely frozen. Teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder like a million tiny needles. Sharp and precise as they pierce the skin and blood begins to pour from the wounds. Your mind goes blank as you feel your body fall and smack against the ground. You're alive as you curl your body into a ball. It aches like nothing you've ever felt before. You struggle to stay awake.

"It's not real," you tell yourself as you begin to drift off. "It's not real. It's not real. It's not real." And then the world fades to black.

Pulled back to life, your eyes snap open to see Natasha shaking you rapidly.

"You alright?" She asks her thumb swipes over your cheek. When you reach up, your cheeks are damp from your own tears.

"What the fuck happened?" She wonders. "You just started yelling and then we found you on the floor." It takes you a second to realise but the lights are back on now. Natasha is knelt down before you while Tony is stood behind her.

"What's up, kid?"

You check your body for any sign of a clown bite. Fingertips dig into your skin but Natasha drags your hand away.

"I- I... think somethings wrong," you mumble to yourself more than them.

"What do you mean?"

"It... it just felt so real. It all did b-but you didn't see anything or- or hear the laughing. I don't... I'm going crazy."

Tony looks to Nat and then back at you. Offering a gentle smile. "How about we get you to bed, yeah? Maybe a nice hot chocolate and then we can talk about this."

Natasha helps you up carefully. Supporting your weight as she takes you back upstairs; returning you to your room. You get into bed and the assassin makes sure you're comfortable. You stare straight ahead just waiting for something to happen. He's lurking here somewhere, you just know it. Tony barges through the door with Wanda trailing after him. He sits down next to you on the bed, holding out a mug but when you don't take it he places it down on the bedside table. "So I was telling our witchy friend here about what happened and we think we know what caused all this. Tell her what you told me."

Wanda walks closer. "I'm really sorry."

You glance towards her for a moment.

"Just tell her," Tony insists.

"When I used my powers on you last night I think it may have had some unforeseen side effects. I just wanted to help you sleep, I swear. I didn't think this would happen."

"What are you saying?" Natasha questions. Tony places his hand on top of your leg.

"We think whatever Wanda did fucked up, YN," Tony answers. "Her brain was playing tricks on her. The film, the lights and the storm made for a creepy combination."

"And you're sure?"

"I mean, no." He shrugs, looking to Wanda. "We'd have to run tests for that but it the only logical explanation. It also explains why neither of us could hear or see anything."

You're taking in the information even if it doesn't seem like it. You flinch as a hand rubs over your arm but it's only Natasha as she sits beside you, kicking her feet up. Tony does the same.

"I'm sorry for teasing you," Natasha apologises, pitting an arm around you.

"Yeah. We thought you were just being weird, I never thought you were actually seeing anything." Tony nudges you. You can't help but wonder if what you had seen was real. That Pennywise was just hidden shadows waiting for a moment to jump out. "Get some sleep, I think you need it."

"We'll even leave the light on."

As they both stand to leave, you grab them bringing them to an abrupt stop. "Will one of you stay with me? I... I don't want to be alone."

[kisskissbanggang]

Standby pt. 3

[<15Min. Read/3.6K Words – Bang Chan x Female Reader – Idol!AU – NSFW/Some Smut, A Suspicious Amount of Plot – Unfortunate Pining, Long Flights, Passing Notes, Blowjobs, Exhibitionism, Edging, Risky Situations, Acting Professional]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Masterlist | Feedback

So, if I’m not going to finish, we at least definitely have more than enough time to talk now, right?

You stared at the words Chan scrawled in the margins of your meeting notes from two days ago. He casually set the pen back into your hand. As if getting on the damn plane wasn't hard enough, now you had to deal with this.

Chan simpered and pulled his jacket out of his carry-on and zipped it on, snuggling into the hood now that he was safely on the plane. He saw your shaking eyes and merely shrugged. Your move, he seemed to say.

You grabbed your pen.

I'm not playing this game, you wrote, there's nothing to talk about.

Chan rolled his eyes, scoffing under his face mask as he plucked your pen back from you. What game? It's a long flight, he scribbled, I'm sure we'll find something to talk about.

Impatient and fuming, you snapped your notebook shut and chunked it into the seat-back pocket in front of you before bundling yourself into your jacket. You rifled through your bag and dug out your eye mask and, shooting Chan an indignant glare, snapped it on, pulled up your hood, and promptly tried to catch some rest on your dumbly long flight.

However, what you really wanted to do was face the more pressing matter at hand and take any time to process your feelings here as you shuffled in your seat to face away from him. Who were you kidding? Chan, or Chris, or whatever you wanted to call him -- was just a guy. Despite the wings you'd been plucking off the butterflies in your stomach, more hatched each day. You were being unreasonable. There would always be another boy with a nice laugh and a cute dimple. There would always be another boy with an adorable nose and a long neck. Just like there would always be another boy that always brought you coffee from the corner store when he went shopping for the band, or another boy that would kiss you as if he was meant to and insist on eating you out while on standby for your flight and --

You shook yourself out of it, sighing as you resettled in your seat. Who were you kidding? Maybe there wouldn't be other guys like Chris, or Chan, or whatever you wanted to call him, but this was so much trouble that you felt like the deck was on fire while you were bailing out the boat. All you knew was how much more difficult ignoring this was becoming. The first day at the cafe was simple -- he was just a customer. The first day with the group was easy -- he was just an idol. The day back at Inkigayo was a little more difficult -- he was alluring in a way you weren't sure he even meant, but he was in need of your help and even that got you going in a way you hadn't predicted before. This was a fine hole you'd dug for yourself, the perfect size for a premature casket. In fact, from all the stress and introspection, you managed to get distracted by actually falling asleep.

Some time had passed by the time you woke up, but you couldn't be sure if it were hours or minutes. You checked your phone: only one hour had elapsed. You sighed, daring to roll back over and see how Chan was doing. By now he was turned away, curled up with his headphones on as he presumably rested. You slipped off your sleeping mask and sat up, looking down to see what you were wrapped up in: one of those blankets you'd marveled to Chan once about how much comfier they were than the ones in business class. Sighing, you attempted to un-blanket yourself, nearly knocking over a coffee and a ginger ale set on your tray table: your usual order from the beverage cart on long flights. You tasted the coffee. Dammit. It was perfect with your right amount of cream and sugar. You sighed, letting your head thunk back against the headrest. Out of the corner of your eye, you spied Chan's notebook sitting on his tray table, open to a page with choreo notes and bites of lyrics he'd been mulling over when he couldn't sleep. You surreptitiously grabbed the notebook, sliding the pen out of the spiral binding and, making sure he hadn't been roused by your secret mission, set to task on a fresh page.

It's hard to say exactly what has been going through my head, other than, clearly, I really like you and this is dangerous for both of us, you wrote.

You're being nice like you're nice to everyone but I keep thinking it's about me and it drives me crazy. I like my job, and I need it. I graduate soon, and I'll be that much closer to making this a real career. I'll be able to go back to my apartment once we get back home, and maybe that'll be good for both of us, to get some space. I always said I'd do right by you, and right now that means getting back to the way things were. You're terrific, and that makes it that much harder to not want you like I do. I'm sorry I can't really find the words to say this in person, but you're so good to me. I'd rather be frustrated and have to get over you than lose you altogether.

Before you could chicken out, you set the notebook back on Chris' tray table and resumed looking like you were sleeping, momentarily terrified as you noticed him shift beside you before a short rest caught you again.

It felt like no time had passed, when in fact it had been another hour and a half according to your phone. You took a sip of your cold coffee before glancing over at Chris' notebook. A response. Checking to see if he was still resting, you gently grabbed the notebook and pulled it close.

You don't think I know how dangerous this whole thing is? For me, too? Believe me, I wasn't expecting this either, so this is amazing and awful all at the same time. I'll say what we're both thinking and I'm surprised you haven't said yet: I wish it wasn't you but here you are and this is what we're working with. I think you're right about getting some space. It's the smart thing to do. I'd rather be frustrated than not have you around.

You went to grab the pen off of Chris' tray table, not noticing he had woken up and was currently reaching for his drink. Startled, you gasped out a quick laugh before settling, fully taking off your eye mask and slipping it back in your bag. You set the notebook back on his tray table, this time just penning the quick response right there, leaned a little into his personal space over the arm rest.

Thanks for the drinks.

He grabbed the pen back from you with a smile. No problem.

You pulled your own pen back out from your notebook. So, you scribbled, we're keeping it professional.

Yeah, he replied, professional is really the only way to go if we want to survive this.

It was nice while it lasted, though.

I wouldn't trade it for anything, he responded.

Could you imagine? Secret gifts and dates and the whole shebang.

You were almost writing in tandem now, each of you filling up a column on the page.

Right? Bad secret names for KKT. "Princess" or "Boo" or

"Babygirl?"

Shut up.

You both let out a quiet laugh, settling in next to each other and just writing back and forth like this. You'd never really had a chance to talk to Chris like this before, really getting to know him and just hang out, and it was surprisingly easy to fall into line with, as if you were returning and not just trying it out for the first time. However, each period punctuated how hard reality was going to hit you once this plane landed, and according to your watch that was creeping closer and closer. Filling time on your stupidly long flight turned out to be so much easier when it was with someone you enjoyed this much. Naps filling the spaces between movies and eating and work and more talking all the while left you dumbfounded as the captain announced your upcoming descent.

Here it was. Reality. Being professional. Being able to keep each other around while keeping the careers you both worked so hard for. Was it the change in altitude or your stomach crowding your lungs from the growing pit inside you? You grabbed Chan's notebook one more time -- your exchanges filling nearly ten pages of notes in various sizes and lengths, the blank spaces filled with doodles and games of tic-tac-toe.

I'll miss this, you wrote.

Me, too, he replied.

You shared a meaningful look as the plane touched down. This feeling was familiar. You stood up straight once the plane pulled into the gate, shaking it off and getting the hell over it. You were smart. You were professional. You were capable. You were right back in management mode, getting the two of you through customs with ease and arranging for an Uber with your international phone booted up and ready to go. Quickly, you sent a quick text to Hyun-Jae-unnie to let her know you'd arrived. No replies came except for a memo in your inbox letting you know rehearsal was thankfully postponed by a couple hours. You really had to pat yourself on the back: you were going to get to the hotel with plenty of time to change and settle and head to the venue for rehearsal. You could already hear the modest praise as your Uber pulled up. Your driver offered you the front seat unless, of course, you wanted to sit in the back with your "boyfriend". Just as you were about to politely correct him, Chan slid up, thanking him and pulling you into the backseat by the hand.

You stared at him wildly before digging out your phone and tapping out a quick message.

>What the hell are you doing?

>>Oh calm down would you? I'm enjoying myself for a couple more minutes. This guy has probably never heard of k-pop and definitely doesn't know who I am. Loosen up... Babygirl.

>Shut UP.

You watched, flabbergasted and quietly impressed as Chan gladly made flawless small talk with the driver involving an entirely untrue story that he had to have been telling off the cuff: you'd met at university in Sydney, you'd been dating ever since, and you'd always wanted to travel to the States together. You nodded along dumbly, never once letting go of Chan's hand. Was this something he'd thought of already? Some alternate universe where this would not only be fine, but encouraged? Feeling so smitten felt like staring into Oblivion now. You thanked your lucky stars as the car pulled up to the hotel. You tersely thanked the driver before nearly sprinting out of the car and into the lobby to grab your room keys, not daring to look back at Chan gleefully trotting behind you.

Running into the elevator on the outskirts of the lobby, the doors barely closed before you wheeled Chan around, shoving him up against the wall. You punched the button for the top floor, well past where you were heading, but you had more important business to take care of first.

"What the hell was that about?!"

"What?" Chan laughed, "I can't have one more nice little memory between the two of us?"

You agitatedly smacked his arm. "No, Chan, you can't! It's reckless and selfish and wrong and I hate how much I want more of it! We can't just do this because we have an opportunity."

"Oh, so I'm 'Chan' again now?" You'd expected a few responses, but that hadn't been one them.

"Yes, Chan, because that's exactly what I'm talking about," you huffed, "I'm not about to treat you differently anymore just to get your rocks off." You poked a finger into his chest, shocked as he grabbed it and pulled you close. Struggling for only a moment, you found yourself soothed as Chan only wrapped his arms around you; a simple embrace that would normally be entirely innocuous. You sank into his hold, selfishly taking one more moment as he stroked your hair.

"Sorry," he said quietly, "I just realized that while we've made out, and you've jerked me off for God's sake, we've never just done... This? I just wanted to do it before we really have to stop."

"I... Okay." For once, you had no words, content to just let this be for a second.

"You have to slow down one of these days," Chan laughed softly, "I can take care of you, too, you know. Or, at least, I could've."

At this, you looked up at him, gloriously, stupidly infatuated with him as ever, and found him gazing with that same expression right back at you.

And your lips met. You weren't sure who leaned in first this time, but you seemed to silently agree that anything this stupid worth doing was worth doing until the very last second. Both your carry-on bags hit the floor of the elevator, your arms wrapped tight around each other as you kissed. You were both rudely awakened as the elevator chimed for the top floor, and you impulsively leaned over, punching the button for the bottom floor of the parking garage. The elevator doors slid shut once again and lurched into its descent as you grabbed Chris' face closer once again. This trip seemed to go by twice as fast, Chris out of breath and nuzzling your neck as the elevator chimed. He reached for the button and you stopped him, your hand on his and leading it back around your waist.

"Did you have to pick the most inconvenient place on the planet?" He laughed right below your ear.

"If we play our cards right," you breathed, "we won't be interrupted much if we just let the elevator sit. At worst we'll occasionally have to deal with an interruption if someone gets on."

"When we're trying to get off?" Chris quipped.

"Oh, is that what we're doing?" You smirked in reply.

His hands eagerly squeezed your hips. "I don't know if you're keeping score, but I didn't get to finish--" he quickly checked his phone "-- yesterday. I've been thinking about this since yesterday."

"Awh," you cooed, "is that the case? Maybe I can help you out." You hazarded a cursory grope of his stiffening member in his jeans. This had quickly crossed back into "too far" territory as Chris' head immediately leaned back against the wall of the elevator, a low groan escaping him.

"More," he begged under his breath, his hands clutching onto the hand rail as you snuck your fingers under his briefs to more firmly massage his length. You couldn't help but marvel at how much had changed since this moment weeks ago at Inkigayo, entirely awkward and tense -- to right now, halfway across the world and foolish enough to feel invincible. Chris' hand gently traveling up your arm to feel your warm breast brought you back to the present time, making you hungrier for even more.

"Hey," you offered with a sly smile, "didn't I show you something nifty the last time we did this?"

"You mean that perfect finale?" He replied, trying to keep up despite the blood draining from his head straight to his cock.

"How about an encore?" You laughed.

Chris groaned. "Oh my god," he smirked, "I thought I was the cheesy one."

"I figured you'd know as well as anyone I'm a sucker for competition." You playfully shrugged as you lifted the hem of his shirt for better access to his waistband. You carefully dropped to your knees in the elevator, now resting in the parking garage until it was called again. Chris was stuck looking for a comeback as you pulled out his erection, pressing a sweet kiss just below his navel before tentatively licking a short stripe up the underside of his cock. He cursed gruffly, his knuckles white where he clung to the handrail. "This is what you wanted?" You asked sweetly.

"Please fucking do it," he pleaded and you gladly obliged, your eyes flitting to the digital display on the wall as the elevator lurched back into motion. You had ten floors to make him suffer, and you savored every second of it as you wrapped your lips around his length. The soft head of his cock dipped further into your mouth, happily taking your time and enjoying his whines. The second the elevator hit the ninth floor, you wiped your mouth and shoved him back into his jeans. You strategically stood in front of him as he impatiently tapped his foot behind you. You made friendly small-talk to the new occupants of the elevator as you typed a quick message to Chris on your phone. You half-turned to show him.

>You alright???

Chris grumbled behind you and you felt him tap his phone against your hip a moment later. You looked down and grabbed it to read.

>>You know those things that people joke about musicians getting to enjoy? Well this is very much that and I'd really really really really like to get back to it

You barely held in a giggle. The poor guy was doomed and you'd hardly started. You both gave a friendly wave to the passengers of the elevator and he actually beat you to punch the button for the bottom floor again. He let out a heavy sigh as you eagerly dropped back to your knees and resumed the slowest blowjob you'd ever stood to give.

The elevator routine repeated two more times and by now, Chris was sweating. It had reached the point where you were now gently ordering him to keep his hands to himself, you know, so you neither of you would get distracted.

"Please, baby, come on," he urged, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He cursed thoroughly as you bobbed him into your throat, lightly gagging for just a moment.

"I wouldn't beg too much if I were you," you warned, "I might not have that much more patience for it."

"You're right," he struggled, restraining himself from thrusting into your mouth, "you're right, baby, I'm sorry."

You grinned at the compliance as the elevator chimed. It was ringing for your floor. You quickly checked the clock on the other side of the doorway; you'd had plenty of time to play. One more trip and you'd reward Chris for such a good time. You wondered what else you could get up to as the elevator rose, making sure to back up each time it sounded like he was getting close. You teasingly kissed the tip of his cock before slipping it back into his briefs as the elevator neared your floor. Chris finally caught his breath as you dusted yourself off and got up. You pressed a nice kiss to his lips and shared a small smile just before the doors slid open.

Hyun-Jae-unnie was down the hallway, making her way with the boys toward the staff member who had rung up the elevator. She was inspecting her itineraries for the day in a folder she cradled in her arm.

"Unnie!" You called excitedly, giving a wave. Chris cursed quietly behind you. His orgasm just got postponed indefinitely. Unnie's head snapped up at the sound of your voice and charged towards you.

"Unnie, I--"

"You wretched, horny, stupid girl." She growled, lunging into the elevator and getting a solid hold on your hair at the root and began tugging you out into the hallway despite your shocked scream. Chris tried to intervene, shocked as Hyun-Jae pushed him off. She was a good bit shorter than you; you'd never expected her to be so strong.

"Noona--" Chris tried weakly, still attempting to let the blood flow back to the right places.

"I'll deal with you later," she replied sharply with a glare.

"Hyuna-Jae-noona, it's not what--" he tried again.

"Oh," she laughed, crazed, "It's not what I think? Not much left to think. I leave you two idiots alone for a day and look at this forest fire I have to put out." She let go of your hair and shoved her folder into your hands. You opened it, nearly dropping it in shock.

Photos upon photos of the both of you from the past 24 hours. Naver and Twitter screenshots printed out, fans wondering who you were and picking you out from photos and footage since the beginning of your internship. Wild conspiracies that you took a separate flight on purpose. Wilder conspiracies that you got the job just to get closer to Chris. Had you really been standing that close together the whole time in the airport? Had you really looked that comfortable together? There were ten or so photos of you both in the airport lounge -- you should've known it was too crowded to be normal. Hell, there was even a photo of Chris pulling you into your Uber by the hand from just a couple hours ago.

"Noona -- " Chris started meekly.

"Not now, Chan. Go to rehearsal."

"But, Noona, I --"

"Rehearsal. NOW." She shot him a severe look. Changbin reached forward to gently pull Chris into the elevator. Everyone watched you, stares ranging from sympathy to contempt as the doors began to slide shut. You turned back to face Hyun-Jae's rage.

"You. Get in our room right now. We have to talk."

[To Be Continued.]