Not The One For You

Rodrick x Reader

Warning - Smut (don’t be too hard on it )

Summary - Rodrick’s parents don’t like you so you are having dinner with them to change their mind

Rodrick Heffley wasn't the brightest kid. It was pretty much universally known. So when you told your friends that you were dating the wannabe rock star. It's not like you two were that different. You liked the same music, both had an alternative style, both of you were older siblings, had families who only saw reasons to be disappointed in you. On the outside you two getting together seemed to make a lot a sense. However there were a lot of differences that your friends decided to focus on. Specifically that you were actually really smart and wanted a life that was normal. Well halfway normal. You were excited to keep the alt style but you wanted an actual job. Granted you were trying to be a mortician but still. You wanted the job, the house, the family and well Rodrick wanted the fame and the glory of being a musician.

"You guys are acting like me dating him now means I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him," You point out, "we are 17.... the only thing we know is that we like each other right now."

"Yeah but it's Rodrick," One of them points out, "he's incapable of taking care of himself. This is gonna be your life."

"Exactly! I mean what if you do end up getting like married?"

"Then I handle it then," You answer, "you are looking way too deep into this. We are just dating."

"Babe you ready?" Rodrick calls over.  You look back to see him a little bit down the hall from the circle of girls gathered around my locker.

"Of course Rod," You say as you shut the locker leaving your friends behind as you meet your boyfriend. He drapes his arm around you with a big smirk. Moving to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. My friends weren't the only ones who have problems with us. Rodrick's parents also found a lot to not like in our relationship. First of all Rodrick's mother is well- controlling to say the least. She saw another person in his life dressed in chains and all black, so she decided that I was just like the other people he hangs around with. Ignoring all the parts about me that aren't just my style. And whatever feelings about me his dad had all turned negative when Rodrick forgot to lock his bedroom door and his mom walked in.

"How was your day beautiful?" he asks as we head out to his van.

"It was slow- my calc teacher was riding my ass," You tell him, "deadass he wouldn't leave me alone. He sent me to the office for my outfit and they sent me back saying that it wasn't agaisnt dress code- because it isn't. And this mother fucker looks me dead in the eye and says- 'well if you didn't dress like a hooker I'd feel comfortable teaching you' which is like first off what the fuck."

"Thats gross- did you report him to the office?" Rodrick asks, "do I need to kick his ass?"

"I reported him and I called my mom- who by the way apparently is still on the phone with the principal," You say chuckling lightly, "and no you don't have to kick his ass- mostly because if you did.... you wouldn't win."

"Oh I totally could," He says, "I'm strong as hell."

"uH Rodrick babe I love you but he's the football coach and weighs 300 pounds," You say trying to explain it to him, "you'd get crushed. I still love you tho."

"I'm upset- I could kick his ass.... especially if he's being gross to you," Rodrick says. You nod unconvinced.

"How was your day?" You ask him.

"Boring - however I appreciated the pickup lines during history," He says, "it was cute..."

"I was gonna send my tittes but then I remembered your mom still reads your messages," You say smirking.

"Oh I missed out," He says, "think we can make a detour for a quicky in the car?"

"Your mom wants us there early," You remind him, "plus she's still on the fence about us being alone since she caught us in your room." He rolls his eyes lightly as we climb into his van.

"Yeah but let's say we make a detour to the store hookup in the back of the van and then grab some flowers or something for her to make it seem like we stopped for her," Rodrick suggests, "or maybe like a cake or something. To ya know show the peace..."

"Fine but you'd have to be quick," You tell him, "and you better tell me that your van is clean back there. Last time I got pizza in my hair."

"Clean... no it's not clean," He says, "but I brought a blanket and we can like spread it over the back... It'll be  fine..."

"Fine but the second I touch rotting food it's over," You say firmly. He smirks as he changes the course towards the store just up the street. He makes sure to get in the back line of the parking spots taking the furthest one from the store. He climbs in the back first shoving the trash around the back. The finally throws the blanket down across the back.

"Just like imagine rose petals and a bed and shit," He says. It's quite literally the opposite of the romance that I'd prefer but he's a giant punk dumbass so you have no idea why you would of thought this would be any different.  He sits down and looks at you with a goofy smile. "Malady would you like to join me?" You chuckle before climbing back to join him. The second you get back there he already starts yanking off his shirt. Way too excitedly for his own good. You smile as you move to pull off your layers. Finally as you both get to your underwear he looks at you excitedly. "You're so hot."

"Awe thanks cutie," You say as you climb on his lap moving to meet his lips. His hands fall to your waist. Holding on as you take full control of the situation. You can feel the excitement coursing through him. You chuckle lightly. You move to pull his member free from his boxers. The moving your own underwear to sink down onto his member. He lets out a loud moan as I set the slow pace.

"Mmm you're amazing," He says softly. You chuckle as you quicken the pace. Soft moans filling the car. You can tell you both are moving way more than you thought you would. Anyone on the outside would know automatically what was happening. All you can hope for is no one relaying the information back to Rodrick's mother. "Uhh baby," He moans loudly. You move pulling him into a deep kiss. Feeling the moans through the kiss. You can tell he's not gonna last much longer. You move laying back allowing him to take control. He smirks widely and starts at his assault. The moans filling the van. Echoing off the metal walls. Finally he pulls out. Spilling his load on your legs. "Did you?"

"No not yet," You say slightly annoyed at him finishing before you. He nods pulling your legs on his shoulders. Pulling you towards him. He latches his mouth on your clit trying his best to get you off. He's sloppy. But even the sloppiest technique when your this close could send you way over the edge. Your hand moves over your mouth as you come upon. Stifling the loud moans as you cum. He doesn't stop. He keeps going. Your body feels so good you could scream. He pulls away after a minute catching his breath.  "Come here," You demand. He complies clearly excited to see you like this. You move getting on your hands and knees. He looks like he's about to scream at the sight. He moves pushing himself in with out warning. Pounding into you as fast as he could.

"Mmmm I love you so much," He groans.

"I love you too Rod but please go faster," You moan. He complies. The van was filled with a pure moaning mess. "Oh Rod I'm gonna cum again." You can barely finish the words as you hit your second orgasm. He pulls out as you simply lay down on the blanket.

"Holy fuck," He says as he lays down beside you.

"Fuck Rodrick," You say softly, "we have to go see your parents after this."

"Yeah I guess we kinda went a little too hard," He says softly, "and we still have to actually get flowers or something."

"Ughh think you can manage that?" You ask, "I'm gonna go get cleaned up."

"Yeah what kind?" He asks.

"I don't care get something thats pretty but not a million dollars," You say as you sit up pulling your underwear back on. He nods as he follows suit in pulling on his own clothes. Once you both are fully dressed you climb out of the van. He takes your hand genteelly.

"You're beautiful you know that," He says smiling at you. You move pecking his cheek.

"Thanks Rod."

Once inside the store the two of you split up. You head to the bathroom to clean yourself up. Fixing you makeup and hair. Trying to make the whole thing less obvious. You meet him back at the entrance. He's holding two sets of flowers.

"Rodrick I know you're bad at math but I know you can at least count to thirty," You say chuckling.

"Actually I got these daisies for my mom," He says, "and these roses are for you." He hands the bouquet over to you. You take them with a big grateful smile. Moving in to pull him into a quick kiss. As you pull back he moves draping his arm around your shoulders. "Come on beautiful." As you both make your way to his van you can't help but smile. Sure he's not the most romantic boyfriend- he did just fuck you in the back of his disgusting van and instead of cleaning it to do so he threw a blanket over rotting food and old condoms. But the small gestures like the roses and the compliments. Really just prove that he's not as bad of a boyfriend as everyone thinks he is.

It doesn't take us long for you guys to reach his house. He holds your hand as he leads you both into the house.

"Rodrick is that you?" His mom calls.

"Yeah mom!" Rodrick yells back. His mom moves from the kitchen over to the doorway. She looks over us.

"Rodrick it is a 5 minute drive from the school to the house why did it take you almost an hour?" She asks him clearly not happy with you both. You smile nervously as you hand her the flowers. This dinner was my chance to fix the fact his parents didn't like me. And getting railed by their son right before this interaction was very much hurting my chances of this going well.

"We had to go to my mom's shop real quick then we picked up these flowers," You tell her, "sorry my fault. My mom wanted me to bring her a coffee." Her expression softens.

"Awe well thank you," She says, "how was your day Y/n?"

"Oh it was good," You tell her, "very productive."

"That's good! Here come with me I want you to taste this sauce for the pasta," She says brightly, "it's a new recipe." She starts moving off to the kitchen. Rodrick gives you a slightly impressed look before leading you both into the kitchen.

The rest of the dinner actually goes really well. Rodrick's mother despite her reserves after catching you and Rodrick seems to finally have forgiven you. Letting go of the stupid blame she had for you "corrupting her son" or whatever garbage she went on about.

"I hope Rodrick is being a gentleman," Mrs. Heffley says to you.

"Oh he is," You tell her, "he got me roses today. And he's always opening doors for me. Making sure to sent me good morning texts. He's actually a really good boyfriend." He smiles at you. You tighten your grip on his hand. She looks pleased with his answer. Greg starts to make a snarky comment but his brother kicks him from under the table.  

"That's good, I'm proud of you Rodrick," His mother says. His father looks between you and his son. Not completely convinced his son would act like anything other than the slob he knows.

"We are talking about this Rodrick right?" His father asks.

"Yeah actually," You say, "I know it might be hard to believe- I didn't believe it at first."

"What's so hard to believe about it?" Rodrick asks, "she's my girl and I want to make her happy-" The sweet words ending in a loud burp. Both of his parents sigh loudly. You simply chuckle. He looks over to you with a big smile. Then moves pecking your forehead.

"Yeah she's perfect for you Rodrick," Greg says, "anyone who can handle that- you better keep her around."

"Can it nerd," Rodrick says harshly.

"So what are you planning to do after school?" Mrs. Heffley asks you.

"I'm planning to go to school and studying mortuary science," You explain, "Mortician's are a job that's always gonna be there... And it helps that my grandmothers a mortician and is hiring me on her staff when I meet the requirements to join." She nods along to your words.

"Oh so you want a real job," His father says, "hmm Rodrick you could try that some time."

"No thanks old man," Rodrick says, "I'd rather stick something that actually matters. Like music... Not that I think your ambitions don't matter Y/n."

"No I understand," You tell him, "you have your dream and I have mine." You look to his parents. "Real jobs are relative... society is changing and becoming things like musicians and influencers is a lot easier than it was before." His mother chuckles nervously. You know that they have this thing against Rodrick's music. However you also know you want to support your boyfriend way more than you want his parents to like you. "I believe that Rodrick will do great in his music career...."

"Awe thanks babe-"

"If he works for it," You continue, "the music industry is hard and you have to stand out. I'm sure he'll get there but it'll take a lot of work."

"That's well put," His father says.

"She's very insightful," Rodrick says, "right babe?" You chuckle lightly. His mother looks back to you.

"So where is this school your looking at?" She asks you, "is it local? Or are you going away?"

"Oh it's local actually," You explain, "the next town over really but it's like a 20 minute drive." She nods. You give her a soft smile. "It's just a small college. I told Rodrick to check it out. They have a music production course which is apparently really nice."

"I've looked into it," Rodrick says, "and I don't know if school is for me... Considering I barely go when it's free I don't know if I want to pay to skip school all the time."

"You wouldn't be paying for all of it," His dad says, "if you actually go I might help... but you'd have to stay enrolled." Rodrick scoffs.

"School doesn't have to be for you Rod," You say to him, "but it's worth a look ya know. Maybe even a tour. You don't have to decide right now."

"Fine I'll tour it," He says, "we can tour together."

"Did she just get Rodrick to agree to tour a college?" His father asks in disbelief, "this isn't real?"

"Shhh don't say anything he might change his mind," His mother says quietly. Rodrick stabs at his pasta. He takes his last bite and then looks to his parents.

"I'm gonna drive her home," Rodrick says, "we'll probably stop to get something sweet on the way. That good?"

"Yeah of course," His mom says, "it was lovely seeing you Y/n."

"You as well Mrs. and Mr. Heffley, I hope I see you again soon," You say to them.

"Oh well how about you come to Grandpa Heffley's birthday party," Mrs. Heffley offers, "it'll be here and I'm sure the family would love to meet you... And you and Rodrick have been dating for a little bit now so I'm sure they'd love to see more than just the pictures you and Rodrick post online."

"Is that okay with you Rodrick?" You ask him.

"Sure it'll make it a lot less boring," Rodrick says, "can we head out now?"

"Yes Rodrick," His mother says clearly not loving his attitude. You wave to them as you stand. Rodrick leads you both out to his van.

"You sure that it's okay?" You ask, "If you don't want to then I don't have to go."

"It's literally fine," He says as you both get into his van, "honestly if you're there I'll actually have someone who likes me there." He gives you a smile. "I'd love it if you'd go."

"Then I'll go," You tell him, "it's nice that your parents seem to like me again."

"Yeah now I can have you over without my mom making us sit downstairs," Rodrick says, "and I don't have to hear the whole- 'are you sure about y/n?' speeches now." You chuckles.

"That's good," You say, "I love how your parents didn't like me but my mom adores you."

"Oh yeah I know," He says, "not the way I pictured that going honestly. I was afraid your mom would hate me."

"No she loves you!" You exclaim, "she thinks it's good that I'm with someone who likes to have fun... something about how I don't do that enough. And my grandma thinks you're funny."

"You're grandpa doesn't like me," Rodrick points out.

"Yeah well he doesn't really like me either," You add, "he's against anything that's different. I mean he's still harassing my mom about having two kids out of wedlock so there wasn't any hope for you babe."

"Didn't he want you to have like a chasty belt?"

"No he bought me a purity ring," You correct, "I gave it back to him saying that I don't believe in waiting til marriage and he called his priest on me... Ooo if I wear that would your mom like me more?"

"I think after she caught us having sex a thing about being a forever virgin won't really mean much," He says, "even if its a religious thing." You shrug in response.

"I tried," You say, "so whats this sweet thing you want to get on the way to mine?"

"You," He says with a smirk, "your mom home?"

"Not for another hour," You say brightly.

"Good because I think I've still got more in me."

"You're a dog Rodrick."

"And you love it," He says with a smirk.

“I really do.”

Blacksad: Arctic Nation Review: Digging Two Graves

Welcome you beautiful technicolor rainbow. And today I continue my black History Month coverage, this time with one that was suggested by Kev, my patreon on patreon and the blog’s biggest supporter, who sent me a bunch of things I could review for Black History month and, loving this comic and feeling given the events of last year with George Floyd that have had rightful shockwaves ever since, it was perfect.  

For those needing a refresher Blacksad is a spanish produced french released comic series about John Blacksad, a grim private detective in a 1950′s set world full of anthromphized animals. It has gorgeous art, endless atmosphere and utterly captivating stories. Last month I covered the first story, Somewhere in the Shadows, since this one was only number two and I could track the series evolution better, and I loved the series and could make room on the schedule so there was no real reason NOT to do it. And since i covered most of the series background that time, I can dive in quicker to this one. So join me under the cut to see how the series evolves and to see a black cat take on white supremacists with the help of a smelly weasel. 

First things first.. the cover, which is from the original version and was lovingly reprinted in my copy, is goregous and simple: John grimly and camly carrying a scared child through a bilzzard past the wreckage of a plane. It’s instantly eye catching, our black furred hero in a bilzzard of white.. and also serves as a great metaphor for a story dealing with white suprmacy as well as our hero trying to find the child he’s trying to keep safe on the cover. It’s just perfect. 

We open in the Line, a city in the arctic, with Blacksad morosely narrating how one day he’ll write his memoirs, as he figures they’ll sell well given the public’s grim fascination with murder. We soon find out why tha’ts on his mind as the comic “pans out”... to show a black bird with a long neck horrifcally and publicly hung in a hate crime. It’s an utterly ghastly sight I will not be sharing, but needless to say it sets the tone and the setting in one horrific image. 

John’s interuptted though by the introduction of Weekly. Weekly is a local journalist who true to his name, only takes a bath once a week and immidetly pisses off john by being nosey, assuming john is also a journalist and casually remaking about this horror show being a hate crime. Despite this terrible first impression.. Weekly goes on to be John’s best friend and sidekick, providing some levity in his grim world for the audience, while as we’ll soon see being FAR more useful and competent than his demeanor and lack of hygine lets on. 

For now though, John has to go meet his client: Miss Grey, a schoolteacher whose hired John to find a missing girl, Kaylie, one of her students. Those around the neighborhood are relcutant to look into it, including Kayle and the police, who as we’ll learn very soon are white suprmacists, simply blame it on the Local Black Claws gang. Miss Grey also fills us in on the line’s backstory: it was once a propserous suburban place.. until the local plane plant closed down, leading to a rise in crime and unemployment with the place slowly but surely falling into decay.  Despite this she’s determined to stay and fight.. and John is touched by her noblility and tells her he will do everything he can. And while that’s a natural thing to tell your client.. it feels genuine, that John senses this woman’s deep resolute will to keep going, and feels for her as the ONE PERSON who cares a small child went missing and isn’t either ignoring it or simply being a racist dickhead about it.  John may hide it under lairs of cynsim and grumpus... but he’s good man and as we see he’ll go to hell and back to do the right thing. 

We soon properly meet the titular Arctic Nation... who are as you would expect, a white suprmacist group, calling yesterday’s lynching a necssary thing and spouting your usual horrifying rhetoric about a white world and stuff. The Arctic Nation are also made up almost entirely of Arctic Animals.. and honeslty that’s a way to do a white supermacy metaphor I never thought of, simply having the fur be black and white, and using the fact most arctic animals are by nature predators to give us some naturally intimdating looking antagonists. One of them also is clealry not Happy John’s around, nor that John rather than be afraid or look nervous in the slightest... is simply pissed as he should be and simply dosen’t give a shit.. and given assholes like this love attention and pissing people off, it probably makes him even madder. Good. 

John runs into Weekly again, and while still not happy to see him, Weekly is nothing but friendly and offers peace and a warm drink in a cold land.. and John takes him up on it noting in narration that since they are clear outsiders here... why not? Any port in a storm and given the blizzard of white supramcey just outside, John can’t help but take refuge in a diner. There’s also a really nice touch in  their drinks with John having a simple .. alchohol ( I don’t drink sue me) and Weekly having something called a burobon mlikshake . Weekly outlines that the Line is about to explode with racial tension with two diffrent suprmacist groups: The arctic nation , who he freely and rightly mocks and the aformentioned black claws. 

Before they can continue though two of the goons from outside come in and harass an old black bird at the counter, saying can’t he read the sign.. before he’s revealed to be blind. They confront John next... who gloriously takes NONE of thier shit, wirly pointing to his patch of white fur, which indicates him as mixed race in this unverse and says does this count. 

The racist asshole dosen’t take the hint that maybe this isn’t going to work and tries provoking john by threatning ot turn him into a coat.. and john insults his, and his whiteness and we cut over to the head of the white suprmacist rally asking the owner to call the police, the owner only relcutantly agreeing when we see the supremacist asshole fly into the bar. 

So naturally we next see our heroes in the office of Karup, the local police chief, polar bear and not even hiding it white suprmacist who talks proudly about his confederate saber on the wall and asks if John knows who it belonged to. His response is priceless. 

Damn.. it takes balls of fucking platinum, on both of them, to be called into an unapolgetic white suprmacists office and roast him to his fucking face. It’s what we should all do granted but still, props to both of htem. it also shows Weekly, desipte being kinda sketchy.. is every bit as brave as his friend, and takes these fuckers every bit as seriously. That is to say they both KNOW their in danger.. they just don’t CARE, feeling rightly that simply cowtowing to Karup like he wants is not worth thieir damn time, and that he deserves no fear, no respect and nothing he wants. Just mockery for clinging to an outdated and horrific set of ideals like all white supremacists then and now. Karup is forced to let htem off with a warning as his wife shows up.. and Weekly wolf whistles at her because awesome he may be he is not a class act and this is still the 1950′s where that was okay for some reason. 

We next catch up to John that night where he’s taking in a driving movie involving giant ants. 

He’s naturally here not to take in a good b movie, nor is he being forced to watch it by mad scientests, but here to find Kaylie’s mother Dinah, who agrees to talk to him after her shift.. and John grabs a peak at her ass while she walks away.

Dinah has good reason for not calling the cops though... as she puts it, she has no faith in white justice, and given the police chief had a fucking confderate flag in his office, and many STILL do today, yeah fair point. We also find out she used to work for Karup, so she knows damn well he won’t be helpful at best or use looking for as an excuse to lynch more innocent black men at worse. Of course John, while symaptehtic brings up something about Oldsmill, and gets rightfully slapped for it. 

We next see John talking to weekly, who he’s just kind of accepted is his sidekick now. Their grocery trip is interupted by the claws, who show up, beat up the racist shopkeep.. and then harass our heroes, beating up weekly to get him to say their innocnet of the kidnapping. This however.. shows that while not AS bad as Karup, clearly.. their still not good people. Weekly GLADLY would’ve printed what they asked if they’d actually asked, and instead they beat him up to do so, and the person who did so dosen’t endear himself further by asking john “What happened to your snout brother?”. As with last time, his response is fucking perfect

He wisely backs off though is still confrontational about it. Weekly wonders if john really was going to shoot him, and my response is...

He absolutley would’ve. John asks if he’s really going to print that crap.. and of course Weekly is. That’s where the story is, and he points out he’ sa star reporter and his name apparently comes from coming in with a big story once a week. John isn’t amused.. but could use Weekly’s help and tell shim to keep an eye on Karup’s household for him since he can sneak in there and be far less notecable. And he agrees. I’ll go ahead and say it.. weekly was an invaluable addition to the story and a missing peace for Blacksad they needed: like robin to batman, he provides someone for him to talk to, a bit of badly needed levity, an dprovides blacksad an ally no matter the case or situation, and one who has every reason to help both because hteir friends.. and because it’ll get him a good story, and his background as a reporter gives good reason as to why he’s good at this.

Something else to note is John has also taken on more of a sarcastic streak as you can tell and I love it: instead of being grim all the time it gives a human touch to him.. while still making him utterly badass as he usually uses it to disarm an asshole flexing their power over him. It simply adds some shades to his already wonderful personality. 

We finally meet Oldsmill who denies having anything to do with it, as the rumor is his heavily inbred son is Kaylee’s father and Oldsmill belivies it was karup since he was apparnetly married to a black woman once. Oldsmill is also a racist ass blaming the downturn in things on black people instead of you know, the plant closing. John has what he needed.. and has a good shot at oldsmill pointing out if he actually mixed races his son might of turne dout okay instead of a braindead inbred moron. 

Weekly hides in the bushes at karups.. and soon finds his wife plowing the head of the arctic nation we met earlier,  huk, behind his back. “I love this job!”.... dude.. no just.. no. Don’t watch people have rough sex that’s just.. no. But he found out more as tailing them afterwords, he found them at a table with Kaylee’s mom, clearly wanting her to keep quite for some reason with Dinah not wanting her to suffer. Naturally she’s John’s next stop.. but instead he finds her brutally murdered, her body twisted and him lamenting that someone so full of life.. has lost hers and even if he achieves his goal now.. Kaylee lost her mother. And involved in whatevers’ going on or not.. she clearly loved her kid and whatever she got caught up in she died.. simply for proioritzing her daughte’rs own saftey and wellbeing over it. She was also stabbed with what John suspects to be.. a saber. Hmmmm.

John has no proof.. but decides fuck it, and goes to confront Karup anyway. His wife speaks up against him as does Huk... but given Weekly told john about her taking Huk in through the back door yeah... that dosen’t go great. And after Choir practice, Karup beats the every loving piss out of Huk for it, and tells him before that that, now weekly's’ actually printed the story he said he was going to, it’s open season on him and blacksad. 

So unsuprisingly, Blacksad suspects he’s been kidnapped when we catch up with John and interogrates the blind bird from earlier, whose trying to sell weekly’s camera, and successfully batman’s him into taking him to where Weekly is. Menawhile Karup confronts his wife.. who mocks him and has no sympathy and accuses him of being a pedophile like everyone else has. He takes it badly and tells her to get out and to no one’s suprise.. has an arctic nation flag in his drawer. I do not get what this was supposed to prove as we know he’s a white suprmacist piece of shit and that previous scene with Huk showed that he’s directing the nation from beihind the scenes. 

While the Bird brings john through and John laments his time as a vetran,  we find their headed for a nation meeting, complete with Klan style robes.. and Karup getting ambusehd. someone having put bloody children’s clothes in his trunk. Karup is hunt and while he clearly IS innocent, given Huk both presented the evidence and let’s face it it was either him or Karup’s wife jezebel, and I have no sympahty because not being a pedophile does not make him any less of a horrible abusive piece of  shit. 

Someone we DO actually care if they live or die next is weekly, whose terrified, the defiance from earlier gone.. which is fair as he knows he’s about ot die and dosen’t know John.. is right there, revealed via his paws as he prepares weekly to escape and has infilrated the nation in the robes. John’s next action is also utterly badass as he SWINGS FROM THE NOOSE, KICKS OVER THE BURNING CROSS THE NATION SET UP. 

Huk escapes and unsuprisingly is behind the kidnapping.. and the Magpie from earlier knew it and tires to stop him and gets shot. John kills one of the white suprmiacists and makes his wya out, finding Weekly, who escaped as john instructed and the two find the bird man.. is not dead and he takes htem to Kaylee. He dies in a really tearjerking scene, clearly senile and clearly talked into this. 

Naturally the next day, John reveals via narration that the Line’s remaining police didn’t give a shit about what happened, a racist paper actively comended it as “how justice should go” and that Huk escaped... and naturally John isn’t going to let that shit slide down the glass. Huk however is dead when he finds him having gotten his but clealry this dosen’t quite satisfy john. 

John listens to the song “Strange Fruit” while dressing up all fancy and looking damn good I must say. He’s preparing for a funeral and Weekly tries to help his pain.. by offering him the shots of Huk and Jeezebel.. only John spots something and tells weekly to get all he can on Karups first wife. 

Turns out the funeral is Karups... and John confronts the widow who tries to brush him off.. before tearing her shirt open to reveal a black spot.. which while a neat reveal.. GOD that’s fucking creeptastic. Seriously while this story is moving, brilliant and all sorts of things i’ll gush about.. it has some REALLY creepy undertones at times with John’s treatment of Dinah, Weekly taking pornographic pictures of two people without their consent, and now this.. I mean it’s not exactly unsuual for the time but you may want to not make your heroes look like sex monsters is all i’m saying. 

We finally get the full story: Dinah and Jezebel are Karups children the product of his first marriage that was geninely loving.. until Karup turned bitter and racist and upon finding out she was pregnant drove his wife out to the middle of nowhere in the middle of winter and left her to die. ...... sorry I was just fondly remembering him getting his neck snapped by the noose. Anywyays their mom did surivive long enough to give birth but the sheer pain of well.. everything collapsed on her and she eventually passed when they were young. Both sisters wanted revenge and since Jeez could pass for white, she married her own dad, and got some satstifactoin over not letting him touch her, and got Kaylee into the house. So she seduced Huk, even if clearly by the panel sleeping with that piece of shit greatly hurt Jez to do, and used him to set up the fake kidnapping scheme to frame Karup as a pedophile. 

As for why Dinah died.. if it wasn’t obvious by now Huk did it not realizing Jez and Dinah were sisters and took Dinah’s udnerstandable worry about her daughter.. as concern she’d squeal. His death and who did it should be obvious and given he’s almost as big a piece of shit as karup, only barely avoiding that because his murder wasn’t his own PREGNANT wife. Jez assures John it’s all over and her mother and sister can rest in peace.. but John cuts through this with one simple fact: “What about Kaylee?” Sure Karup deserved it.. but going so far int heir revenge cost a girl her mom, and the weight of this finally hits Jez who merley collapses saying “i’m cold” knowing that in the end.. her revenge wasnt worth it. And really that’s the center of the story: Revenge.. and how it’s ultimately hollow. To quote Mr. Miyagi from the karate kid on revenge, as I feel it’s UTTERLY relevant to this story “You might as well dig two graves”. The sisters COULD’VE had a decent life on their own, living as who they were in spite of karup, leaving the line behind when they could and taking Kaylee with them. Instead? While Karup and Huk rightfully died and those deaths are a good thing.. the arctic nation shows no signs of slowing down and likely didn’t losoe EVERYONE in the factory fire, a child is orphaned, Jez wasted her life as someone she wasn’t to get revenge on a man who didn’t even know she existed. While two very bad men died.. it cost two other lives and a child’s innocence to do so. 

So we close at Miss Greys, having taken Kaylee in for obvious reasons. John encourages Grey to keep going, that maybe with someone like her.. this region might get better. While the adults are lost... maybe the children can be better. Though John sadly looks at Kaylee, after she pelts week with a snowball, and i’ts clear from both of their faces the events haunt them. While john saved her.. he still couldn’t save Dinah. We end though on a very lovely scene: as John and Week prepare to get the hell out of dodge their job done, Weekly, seeing John’s very haunted by the events reveals the real reason behind his name: the boys only think he changes his underwear once a week. And this gets a hell of a laugh out of john... and ends a very dark story with a very grim resolution on a hopeful note: Things may of ended terribly.. but with the nation weak.. there’s some hope at least things might get better... and sometimes a little hope is all you need. It’s also a nice show of how far the two have come: From John really destesting week.. to the two being the close friends they’ll be from here on out, there for each other no matter what. And it really shows in the endings: Last album ended iwth John morosely sinking back into the shadows. Here while not much happier.. it ends with him at least.. not alone.. and with some hope things will get better. They have to. 

Final Thoughts:

Arctic Nation is a masterpice. While the sexist comedy bits have not aged well the story is THROUGHLY relevant, a story of revenge, prejudice and standing up to prejudice, and after the last four years of having a president blantly favor white suprmacists and corrupt cops while things only got worse.. seeing John stand up to that flavor of monster with bravey, wit and most importantly no fear, was UTTERLY cathartic. It’s a captivating story that keeps you hooked the whole time. 

And while on it’s own the story is very good and stands firm, as the second adventure for john.. it improves on somewhere in the shadows in every way except the art, which was already perfect last time and is just as excellent this time and is easily some of the best comic book art period. But the narrative is far more intresting this time going from a pretty standard noir setup to a fairly unique one as while “hero is stuck in a town where he’s an unwelcome outsider” isn’t new, having that blended with white supremacy is brilliant and provides an unyileding wave of tension over the story, as our hero is ONLY not lynched right away because his enimies are being careful and trying to appear resonable when their just bigoted bullies with delusions of grandeur like all whit esuprmacists. Our hero is not safe, he is not welcome, but he WILL NOT give up on a child whose been lost and needs his help. It’s a far more gripping setup and the payoffs including the awesome warehouse climax and the huge reveal at the end, all feel oh so worth it but the journey is never boring. THe additoin of Weekly was also easily the best move, as while he probably wasn’t intended to be permenant, his goofball demanour, skill beneath that, and great dynamic with John add some levity to the grim nature of blacksad’s world, and give him someone to work off of so we don’t get all the exposition via the narration, allowing it to breathe and come about when needed rather than be a constant presence. While Somewhere in the Shadows was good.. Arctic Nation is a masterpiece, and teh series would keep that level of quality and nuance from here on out. 

I’ll be taking a break from blacksad for a while, so I’m genuinely not sure when i’ll be getting to red soul as I have other projects I deserpately need to get back to in april first, but i promise he’ll return some day. For now if you liked this review, follow me for more including weekly reviews of ducktales and amphibia, a lena sabrewing retrospective and if you really like this you can chip in a buck or two a month on patreon. The more contirbutions I get, the more likely i’ll hit my stretch goals and I have some pretty neat ones so check it out, there’s a link on my blog. And  see you at the next rainbow. 

beep beep (5) - richie tozier.

@ceruleanrainblues @the-star-above-you @a-second-hand-sorrow @shockwavee @socially-unaccepptable-dameron

the usual sexy stuff and swearing and weed. y'all know the drill.

"i've never been... uh... good at the whole, um, serious thing. but, this is us. this is... our wedding. and i put real effort into this shit. so, get ready, fuckers, because this is a real tearjerker. um, yeah. okay..."

you honestly hadn't trusted richie to write his own vows, but neither of you had wanted them to feel... artificial. you wanted them to be your own. and now he was standing before you, holding your hands in his and tearing up already. big softie.

he had also teared up as you walked down the aisle on wobbly legs, mike on your arm.

"we were... we were owed more time, i think." richie lamented. "we should have done this years ago. i should have married you years ago."

---

richie had known, for a long time, that you were the one he would marry.

it was 1993, and the sun was setting over sleepy little derry, giving the quarry an orange-pink glow and bathing you all in its warmth.

you were all pruning up a little, and it wasn't as warm as it was when you'd come down a few hours previously, but summer was coming to an end, and you wanted to make the most of your last couple weeks of freedom with your favourite people in the world.

richie watched as you sat in the shallows, taking a hit of the sizeable joint between your fingers. you exhaled loudly, leaning your head back toward the watercolour sky.

shades of blush pink and peach and apricot illuminated your skin, the low sun setting a warm glow across the water, and oh, god, he was in love.

you laughed, loud and beautifully obnoxious, at something stan had said, passing him the joint and wiggling your legs in the water. your laugh just so happened to be the losers' favourite sound in the whole world, as it was one of those wonderfully infectious laughs you can't help but laugh along with.

richie had always tried to make you laugh in the hopes that you'd like him, but when you did laugh, he found himself falling in love.

eddie watched on in disapproval, sitting cross legged on the bank behind you.

"when you get lung cancer i will laugh and i will spit on your grave." he grumbled, but took the joint anyway when it was passed back around to him, just as enthusiastically as the rest of you. perhaps he was trying to protest in hopes that it would lessen the guilt he would feel later as he frantically sprayed himself with deodorant to get the smell out, and applied the emergency eyedrops he had bought.

ben, bev, bill and mike were in the middle of a very intense game of chicken. beverly had toppled off of mike's shoulders at least twice, but she had pushed bill back into the water more than four times, shrieking with laughter as, arms flailing, he disappeared under the surface of the lake.

"rich! c'mere." you had caught sight of him and held out your arms in his direction, making cute little grabby hand motions toward him. the look of utter joy on your face warmed him from head to toe, and he smiled as he swam over, dodging bill, who had once again been knocked into the lake by bev. ("stop being such a little bitch, billy.")

you came to meet richie halfway, leaving stan and eds to finish the joint and sinking into the water up to your neck. you immediately attached your lips to his, running both of your hands through his hair because you were stoned and everything felt better under your fingertips.

kissing him was like... a whole other plane of existence. you were joined at the lips, joined at the heart. the sun was going down and it was getting cold, and you were both shaking, and he noted the way you tasted of smoke as he kissed the life from you, the water rippling against his chin. you groaned quietly, and richie smiled into the kiss, ignoring everyone else's exasperated groans because ugh they're making out again ew look at them they're so disgustingly in love.

"you're both whores!" stan all but screamed, and you flipped him off, kissing richie all the more enthusiastically.

and richie broke away just to look at you.

the sun, now casting a deep orange-red light behind you, was almost set, and you were beautiful.

the quiet "hi, babe." that tumbled from your lips made him feel as if everything was right with the world, and, then, staring at you, drinking you in, in all your red-eyed, swollen-lipped, soft-grinning glory, like he was seeing colour for the first time, he knew that if he didn't marry you he would probably die.

---

"but now we're here."

richie cleared his throat, his eyes darting around because if he looked directly you he had no chance of keeping it together. "and i have you for the rest of my life. it took a lot for us to get here, too. god knows how we managed to plan all this. thanks, bevvy."

---

eddie was your best man.

obviously.

eddie was your best everything, to be honest, so it was an easy choice while wedding planning. eddie had been the essential third to your group of three ever since you were kids, and he meant so much to richie, and so much to you that you hadn't even had to think about it.

eddie was going to be the best man. that choice was a no-brainer.

all of the other choices, however, were not.

richie and yourself, apparently, were completely incompetent at any sort of planning whatsoever.

you tried, though, you really did.

you got out the big notebook and a pen and richie pulled up pinterest and you had some serious talks about colour schemes and flower arrangements and the like.

well, sort of.

("can we have, like, yknow, like, those worms..."

"worms?"

"like those worms on strings... yeah, those."

"the googly eyes?"

"the eyes.... yeah, and just..."

"hang them?"

"from the ceiling... yeah. "

"richie?"

"yes?"

"i think that's the best idea you've had since i met you.")

but after consuming copious amounts of alcohol, and only having made one useful decision, the two of you decided that you were not in any state to plan your fucking wedding.

("so... s-so if we get- richard, stop trying to take my clothes off- if we get the worms, do you want the pink- rich, i swear- do you want the pink ones or the blue ones...?")

turning off whatever true crime show was playing in the background, you stumbled, leaning against one another, to the bedroom.

"sex?"

"that's the plan."

but any attempt to undress each other only got half way before you were both asleep atop the bedsheets, snoring lightly, an intoxicated tangle of limbs.

the planner notebook you had been using to write down the essentials lay open and abandoned on the coffee table, the only thing in it being one line of richie's chickenscratch handwriting.

it read: set a place for stanley.

---

richie was really, properly crying now, and the only think keeping him from losing his shit was eddie's hand on his shoulder, and your thumb running across his knuckles.

everyone else was crying, too. not a dry eye in the room.

"almost losing you again... so soon after we had found each other... really put shit into perspective for me, yknow? hospitals, um, suck. and i was so pissed... because... fuck, sorry, fuck... i was, uh, pissed, because all i could think was that we were losing time again."

---

(before the sewer fight)

"kiss me." richie's quiet, shaky voice came from behind you, and you whirled around from the suitcase from which you were trying to put together an outfit more suitable for clown killing.

he took you in his arms almost immediately, bending down to kiss you, but the kiss almost scared you.

it was too tense.

there was too strong an edge to the way he held you close, kissing you as if it were the last time.

"what's wrong?" you murmured, centimetres from his lips, your breath ghosting across them.

"i... i don't know if we'll both come out of this." he admitted in hushed agony, kissing you again, slower. "i won't be able to live with myself if something happens to you." richie kissed you again and again, such raw emotion behind each soft crush of lips that he had to swallow the quiet, broken gasps that spilled from you.

"whatever happens," you breathed, running your thumbs along his cheekbones. "i love you."

"show me." he pleaded, red rimmed eyes locking onto yours with such intent that you almost fell over. "please, just-"

"we have to be quick." you said, and he nodded, pulling you into another long, searing kiss. there was a sort of burning desperation to the way his lips moved, now.

richie shifted your shorts down and slid his hands under your thighs, whispering a low "jump" in your ear. your legs wrapped around his waist, and you gasped as your back hit the wall.

"fuck, rich, hurry the fuck up." you mumbled, tilting your head so as to give him better access to the skin of your neck, to which he was already leaving marks.

"okay, baby." and then he was all but tearing off your shirt, immediately exploring the newly exposed skin with his mouth, teeth included. fuck.

"you're such a prick." you hissed.

"and you might just be the most beautiful thing ever to have existed, sweets." said richie, pushing his glasses up his nose and looking at you with dark, dilated, sex-me-up eyes.

"do something about it then." you challenged.

"anything for you, doll."

richie was pushing you so hard against the wall, that you were surprised you didn't go right through the drywall and topple into eddie's room.

you ran your tongue along his bottom lip and he groaned so fucking loud.

"i love you." you whispered the sentiment against his lips, fumbling at his belt buckle.

"i love you more."

---

richie took a moment to compose himself, allowing you to do the same. your eyes drifted about the room. the absence of both yours and richie's families bothered neither of you.

at the front row, the losers and stanley's empty chair, reminded you that they were the only family you'd ever need.

---

"you fucking what?"

"it was an accident!" richie held his hands up in defense, slumping down next to you on the couch.

"richie, do you ever imagine what it would be like if you'd have gotten enough fucking oxygen at birth?" you snapped, raking your hands across your scalp.

"watch it, or no sex." he said.

"i will never have sex with you ever as long as i live unless you uninvite my mother right the fuck now."

"i couldn't say no!" richie was now flapping his hands about in frustration, looking a little like a cartoon character. "she called me up yelling about the divorce and then i told her about the wedding--"

"my life would be so much easier if your dad had just pulled out." you deadpanned.

"--and i didn't know how to tell her she couldn't come--

"we have to change the venue. she's not coming."

"but that's the beach grease was filmed on, babe, there's no way i--"

"richie, if you don't change the venue, i will fucking castrate you in your fucking sleep."

---

it was raining that day, anyway, so a beach wedding wouldn't have been possible. it was okay, though. richie quite liked the little chapel you had picked out, and the coloured light that filtered through the stained glass windows danced across your skin in a way that reminded him so much of quarry sunsets. it was perfect, really.

"we could have had... so much more, yknow? a normal life. but, instead, we grew up in fucking derry... like idiots from some dumb horror book." you laughed at that. so did the losers. you were the only ones who knew what it really meant. "i promise... i'm going to, um, spend every moment of the rest of my life, the rest of however long we have, showing you how much i love you. and i do... love you, that is. every moment of the rest of fucking time, baby, because god knows we've lost enough."

and you kissed him before the priest even said the words, knocking him backwards into eddie.

your first dance was unconventional.

of course.

richie was nervous. he had practiced this dance so many times, with beverly, with eddie, with fucking bill. (that particular endeavour had been a tough nut to crack.) and you pretended you didn't know, for his sake, because he had tried so hard.

his hands shook as he positioned them on your waist where beverly had taught him.

"i can't dance, babe." he snorted.

"i know you can't." you giggled, kissing his cheek.

you held him close to you, blinking back tears as the first chords of billy joel's vienna drifted quietly from the speakers in the corner.

richie lay his head on your shoulder, murmuring the words softly in your ear and pressing light kisses to the soft skin under it.

about halfway through the song, you realised you didn't actually know how to dance either, which was a relief to him. whatever you ended up doing had to have been acceptable, because, once again, everyone was sobbing.

bev cried, mike cried, ben cried, bill cried. eddie shoved almost his entire hand into his mouth to stifle his tears, because there was no way in fuck richie was seeing him cry.

richie would sooner find himself down in the sewers again than admit it, but he could carry a damn tune.

when the song faded to its soft end, the two of you didn't move for several more seconds, eyes gently closed, foreheads together. (admittedly, richie was quite a bit taller than you, and to lean down a fraction.) it seemed almost wrong to open your eyes and join the rest of the world, but the losers' over-enthusistic applause and cheering pulled you both from the trance as they drowned out everyone else.

"you're beautiful." richie whispered, and your eyes snapped open. you had a feeling he wasn't just talking about your dress. eddie, of all people, had helped you pick it out, following you around the wedding dress outlet centres, hissing profanity at the disheveled women who got in his way and muttering furiously about how he'd sterilise the fuck out of whatever you chose to buy.

"you're beautiful." you sniffed, wiping your watery eyes and pulling him down to kiss you softly.

"why are you two like that?" eddie whined when you sat down at the table you'd put them all on. he was only half joking.

"it is their wedding day, eds." bev shrugged, remembering how gross her and ben had been at their own wedding a few months previously.

"what can i say?" you arranged the skirt of your dress comfortably around you before slinging your legs over richie's. "richie's a whore."

the rest of the party was... eventful.

most notably, the losers club's exclusive, very enthusiastic (and frankly quite dangerous) group dance to uptown girl in which your shoe ended up across the room in the wine cooler on the table you dubbed "friends from work" and bill and mike accidentally threw eddie half way across the room at the final chorus.

there was also the matter of richie and yourself insisting on recreating the "come on eileen" dance from the perks of being a wallflower, but then not remembering any of the moves. losers club exclusive group dance part 2 ensued.

eddie's best man speech was a wreck, mainly because he was absolutely bladdered.

("trash-mouth... trash-mouth fuckin tozier got the girl. nobody thought it would ever happen, i mean ever-")

---

(6 months after the wedding.)

"are we gonna pretend we have kids?" you pondered, crumpling the empty juice pouch in your hands and tossing it onto the steady-growing pile in the corner of the living room. "or are we just going to have to own up to the fact we drank twelve boxes of capri suns between us this week?"

a quiet slurping noise came from beside you as richie drained his own capri-sun, throwing it onto the pile with a flourish of his arms.

"i think that they've come to expect this of us." he said, shifting your legs out of his lap and standing up to answer the door.

"alright!" you heard him call down the hallway, as who you assumed was bev began pounding the doorbell aggressively.

and then the door swung open, and you heard a chorus of cheerful greetings and borderline yelling. ah, your best friends.

the losers came over to the tozier residence almost weekly for drunken antics and the spilling of long overdue tea.

"MRS TOZIER!" mike hollered jovially, bill in tow. they'd been seeing more of each other recently. none of you were able to miss how mike looked at bill when bill wasn't looking. it was how beverly and ben looked at one another, and how you looked at richie every morning you woke up to his face, and all throughout the day when he wasn't looking, and even when he was looking.

"MIKEY!" you yelled back with equally as much gusto, stretching your arms out for a hug, which he gladly returned.

"novelty not wore off, yet?" mike asked, gratefully taking the capri sun you offered to him as he settled next to you on the couch. "you've been married long enough, realised you don't love him yet?"

"oh yeah, no, this is purely a marriage of convenience. he's not that ugly, and i get laid like every day, and all i have to do is pick up his socks and share a bed with him."

richie wasn't impressed, storming back into the room in front of bev, ben and eddie.

"hey, um, ok, well, i actually am having a passionate affair with ben, and, ben's fucking hung. so, there."

richie slumped on the other side of you, grabbing you and blowing a raspberry on the side of your neck.

"seriously, bitch?" you whined, but you wrapped your arms around him all the same.

eddie bustled over to the towering pile of capri-sun packets, a plastic refuse bag in hand that you assumed he'd just pulled from his fanny pack.

"you guys are disgusting." he shoved the packets into the bag with unnecessary force. "you fucking deserve each other."

"tell them why we got kicked out of the drive-in theatre last week, rich." you smirked, leaning into your husband's side. he cleared his throat.

"i, uh..."

"tell them." you pressed.

"we saw titanic-" richie started, quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.

"oh, god." eddie groaned, storming out of the room in search of a recycling bin.

"-and i, uh... was yelling diving scores as they, uh, jumped off the boat."

"for fucks sake, richie." ben sighed. beverly was borderline cackling. mike and bill just looked disappointed.

"it's not my fault!" richie whined. "my beautiful wife was the one who insisted we recreate the sex scenes as they happened. hand on the window and everything."

"the toziers, everyone." eddie came back into the room, sitting on the ground on a beanbag near the coffee table. "you two should never have been allowed near each other."

"ah, but we were." you chimed in. grabbing richie's face and kissing him obnoxiously. "what say we get piss-drunk and, like, play dumb drinking games. for old times sake?" you suggested when you tore yourself from him, your lips separating with a wet pop. "it's been a while."

---

1993

"what's up, fuckers." you threw up a casual peace sign as you descended into bill's smoke-shrouded basement, stumbling slightly down the stairs and sitting between richie and stanley in the circle that the losers had formed.

richie immediately attached his lips to your neck, pulling you into his side.

"hello to you too, trash-mouth." you grinned. richie looked fucking good.

he'd only gone and got his septum pierced the day before, and you were wary at first, but the little silver horseshoe ring that hung between his nostrils now looked amazing, glinting in the low basement lights. richie wore a deep red, oversized, cable-knit sweater that you could have sworn was yours but you'd smoked a huge joint on the way here and weren't too sure. a black beanie sat on his head, a few errant curls poking out by his forehead and around his ears.

"you're hot." you mumbled.

"you're hot." he grinned against your neck, and lifted his head to kiss your lips, his glasses bumping against your nose.

"yo, whores, truth or dare." beverly said, throwing back about half of the bottle in her hand, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"i fucking hate this game." richie hissed, leaning against your shoulder, sulking.

"truth." you said.

"what's richie's biggest kink?" she leaned forward in the circle, her tongue poking out from between her teeth.

"beverly!" richie was not amused.

"he's really into hair pulling." you sniffed, taking a blunt from between stan's fingers.

"babe!" richie exclaimed. you exhaled in his face.

"is he loud?" bev asked, leaning to take the joint from you.

"BEVERLY!" richie was shouting, now, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"oh, yes. he is." you nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

"FUCK!"

"a bit like that, actually."

"this is actual abuse." richie put his head in his hands, edging away from you.

"i love you." you tried, tugging on his sweater and leaning against him.

he had crawled into stanley's lap at this point, curling up like a baby.

"i fucking hate truth or dare." richie sat up and reached for another bottle, allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

---

most of the losers were asleep, curled up in various, not so comfortable looking positions on your couch and beanbags and weird hanging egg chair thingy that you'd insisted on buying.

"where did you come from, babe?" richie sighed, snaking his arms around your waist from behind as you brushed your teeth. "you're fuckin'... perfect."

one thing richie had always remembered, if a little vaguely, was your smell. the smell of sleep and fabric softener and your shampoo. his memory hadn't done it justice, he decided. when he took you in his arms in the chinese restaurant and inhaled deeply as if it were his last breath, filling his lungs with the smell of you and trying to sear into his brain the memory of how you felt inside his arms. because he would forget again, surely.

he hated himself for forgetting you.

"we're married, rich." you pointed out, rinsing your toothbrush and dropping it into the holder. "you're not too bad, yourself."

"i mean it, though." he muttered, pressing the softest of kisses to your jaw. "you're so fuckin'... doll, i, fuck-"

"don't go all shy on me, babe." you teased. "come to bed, yeah? im cold."

he watched as you shuffled off to your shared bedroom, doing that thing you always did when you stretched, making an unnecessary amount of noise. he smiled. that's my baby.

"hey, rich." another voice came from behind him. at the door of the bathroom, small and tentative.

"oh, hey, eds." richie smiled, taking his own toothbrush from the one next to yours, continuing the conversation through the mirror. but there was a somewhat uncomfortable silence in the small room, made worse by the hollow rattling of the toothbrushes.

"i, uh..." eddie shifted his weight, leaning against the doorframe. "i, uh... gotta tell you something, rich."

"knock yourself out, eddie spaghetti."

"im getting a divorce."

"oh, yeah? good, she was a fucking-"

"im with someone. a guy."

"a guy?"

"yeah. his name is, uh, richie, as it happens. well, richard, but, yknow."

"eds-"

"i loved you." eddie blurted. quiet. barely there. "for, uh... so long."

"you-"

"when we were kids. and, and i... you were never out of my head. not for one fucking second. and my mom... god, my fucking mom, she knew. i think she knew. every time you came round she made sure to scrub me a little harder. the soap burned. fuckin, i don't even know, some carbolic shit, or something. but... it was always her, wasn't it? you and her, um, you loved her and you continued to love her for... for fucking ever. and i wanted it to be me, rich."

richie was almost choking on his heart.

"eds, you know i-"

"no, actually, i don't."

"well i-"

"im not... bitter. if that's what you think. because i think the world of her. she's... my best friend, i would do anything for her, rich. and it wouldn't have made sense for you to end up with anyone else.

and im not... pining anymore? this was uh, what i needed. and im with someone, and he loves me, and i love him. so much, i do. and i love... you... and her... "

"eddie, i loved you too, yknow."  richie muttered. the words hung in the air between them like the sword of fuckin' damocles.

"you did?"

"yeah. course i did."

"well, fuck."

"yeah. fuck."

"can i-" eddie held out his arms.

"yeah.",

richie was so used to hugging smaller people that it was natural to rest his chin on eddie's head, enveloping him almost completely. he noted how eddie gripped his shirt a little tighter than was probably necessary.

"you gotta let me meet this guy, yeah?" said richie, muffled against eddie's hair. "you're, like, small and shit. so i gotta make sure he won't break you or something."

"okay, rich." eddie laughed quietly.

when they broke apart, something had changed. there was closure. eddie could go back to his loving boyfriend and richie could go back to his wonderful wife and it was okay. all of it was okay.

it was okay.

---

"g'morning, doll." you had woken up to richie going to town between your legs. which was, um, always a good time.

after he had finished, wiping his lips, wiping you from his lips, he mumbled the term of endearment lowly into your ear, kissing the spot just underneath it, and you almost grabbed his head and pushed him back down there. however, it was cold, and he was warm, so you melted against him, pulling his arm over you.

"hey, baby." you weren't sure if the words had come from you, because you were floating. and half asleep. but they must have done, because richie kissed the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him, if that was possible. "what time is it." you continued, yawning.

"uhh, like, nine." he yawned back.

"ew."

"i know."

"why did you- and not that i'm complaining, because that was great- why did you wake me up, you fucking insane person."

"because they all left, and woke me to tell me they were leaving, and then i was awake, and you weren't, and i was bored, and i wanted to wake you nicely."

"mission fucking accomplished." you sighed, a sleepy grin spreading across your face. "but can we go back to sleep, now?"

"yeah."

"love you, stinky." you mumbled.

"love you more."

+PAIRING: Kim Seokjin x Kim Namjoon

+GENRE: SFW, slow burn, ficlet (do people use that term anymore?) mini series, it’s not exactly fluff but it’s soft i guess.

+THE ONE WHERE SEOKJIN IS A PART TIME COP AND A FULL TIME NAMJOONSITTER SERIES: Part I | Part II | Part III

+WORD COUNT: ~3k

+SUMMARY:

“You know hyung, that’s why even though you've got that face, you're still single; you can’t see a good opportunity even when it moves next door.”

“Excuse me?” Seokjin says, feeling pretty insulted. He chose to be single, single didn’t chose him.

+WARNINGS: Very brief mention of sexual harassment, abuse of italics.

Awkward is not strong enough a word to describe how meeting Namjoon in their building is.

How do you even act around your attractive new next door neighbour on which you pulled a gun on your first meeting? Jimin is laughing forever, the asshole.

Plus, Jimin keeps telling him he needs to take him out, to 'apologize', but the fucker has already guilt tripped a ride in the police cruiser out of him (without the lights, thank you very much), what more is he supposed to do?

“You know hyung, that’s why even though you've got that face, you're still single; you can’t see a good opportunity even when it moves next door.”

“Excuse me?” Seokjin says, feeling pretty insulted. He chose to be single, single didn’t chose him.

“Oh come on, you’re life’s prime example that a good face doesn’t equate having game.” Jimin says, and finds himself two second away from needing a new best friend and roof.

“I don’t know how you came to the conclusion that I had any interest for Namjoon—”

“Hyung, you wrote his name instead of yours on your last report.”

“I was distracted.”

“You downloaded all of their songs even though you despise rap songs.”

“My taste can evolve!”

“You looked him up on facebook and instagram without following or sending a friend request.”

“I—” he starts, but pauses.

Yeah, that last one made it pretty obvious.

A god given opportunity presents itself, and even Seokjin can admit this must be faith. Or fatality. He’s hoping it’s the first one.

He’s coming back home, arms loaded with groceries, and almost turns around and tuck tails once he catches sight of a tall shadow standing in the hallway.  He freezes when he hears the tell tale sound of metal snapping,

followed by a low groan that will haunt his dreams forever. He sneaks a look over his shoulder to catch Kim Namjoon, head in his hands, looking… very blond. And despondent. But blond, hi. Gone is the dark silver, his hair bleached almost white.

Seokjin takes a deep calming breath, hoping this will not go as badly as he knows it will. It’s not like it can go worse than their first meeting, so he can at least find joy in that.

“Hello there,” he says, taking slow steps towards the man.

Namjoon takes one look at him, then looks away, avoiding his eyes as red blossoms on his cheeks.

“Before you pull out your gun; as we have already established, I live here, so this is not me trying to break in.”

Ouch.

Seokjin chuckles to cover up the fact that he just got served.

As he gets closer, he spies something in Namjoon’s hand, and; yep, that’s half a key. He could bet his handsome face that the second half is stuck in the lock.

“Looks like you’ll have to call someone for that one.” Seokjin says, approaching the man carefully like he’s a wounded animal. He definitely looks like he’s about to snap.

He’s dressed in all black, and Seokjin is not in uniform, so he indulges in a quick once over while the man is looking at anything but him. Black leather jacket, black jeans, black boots, making his new hair colour stand out even more. The bad boy look is strong with this one, although the knowledge he could probably spill a sippy cup ruins the image a bit.

“You could… call a locksmith and then wait for them at my place, with a cup of tea.” Seokjin tries, and let it be known that he’s got game; Park Jimin can go to hell.

Namjoon looks at him again, this time with a self deprecating smile on his face that breaks Seokjin’s heart in a thousand pieces. There’s dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t had a good night of sleep in a few days.

“If you hold your stuff dear, you better leave me outside.” He says, taking out his cellphone and sending a quick text to someone.

Seokjin makes a quick inventory of every object and furniture currently in his living room, but can’t think of anything that would warrant leaving the blond man sitting duck in the hallway.

“If you just sit nice and tight on the couch, I’m sure I can find a plastic cup somewhere that you can’t break.”

Namjoon looks around, like he’s searching for a reason to say no, but his phone pings then, and he peeks at the incoming text.

“Shit.” He says. “Locksmith can’t make it for at least two hours. And I'm already late. Damnit.”

Seokjin decides to ignore the fact that Namjoon is on texting basis with his locksmith, balancing his groceries in one hand and unlocking the door with his other. He holds the door open, looking expectantly at Namjoon until the man takes the hint and steps hesitantly in his direction.

“Hope you’re insured.” Are his last words before he sets foot in Seokjin’s home.

He takes off his jacket —and who the hell wears a leather jacket in summer—and puts it on a hook, but the hook doesn’t hold and both fall to the ground.

Seokjin is very impressed; a very short second has yet to pass and the destruction has already begun.

“It was loose anyway.” he hurries to say at Namjoon’s blank expression. He grabs the jacket after putting the groceries away on the table and puts it on the back of a chair, then waits until Namjoon steps out of his usual black boots to lead him to the couch.

“It’s an interesting choice, black boots in summer.” He says, to break the silence and awkwardness.

“Steel toe” is the only answer he gets, and it actually makes a lot of sense. It also seems to be a sore subject, so he doesn’t ask about the leather jacket.

With Namjoon looking extremely stiff on his couch, like he’s trying to keep every muscle still, Jin leaves for a moment to put away the groceries and to try and find what he needs to make an accident-prone-person’s cup of tea. Well aware the man is most definitely not immune to spills, he ends up finding an old reusable ice tea Starbucks cup, needing a few minutes to locate the matching straw. He pours their drinks on ice and serves both of them an iced tea.

It’s summer, after all.

He drops the drink on the low table only to look up and realizes his guest is… fast asleep. His head is reclined against the back of the couch, his mouth hanging slack and emitting soft snores. The rest of his body looks locked tight even in his slumber, his hands stuck to his thighs with his legs straight. He looks like he’s used to sleeping without moving a muscle, which just mustn’t be nice. After looking at Namjoon’s sleeping form long enough to effectively feel like a creeper (the loose neck line of his t-shirt exposing a tantalizing amount of collarbone), he finds a small fleece blanket, his AC making the insides of his apartment pleasantly fresh but dangerous for uncovered throats.

As softly and quietly as he can, he covers Namjoon’s whole upper body with the blanket, only leaving his head poking out.

He looks proudly at his work after taking a step back, but the stupid smile on his face disappears once he realizes he just babied a grown ass man who he barely knows. Namjoon will probably think this is weird, right?

He’s tempted to take back the blanket to preserves his dignity, but risking the man waking up as he’s ripping it off him is not a position he wants to find himself in.

He settles for sitting on the other side of the couch, sipping at his glass quietly, trying to stop his eyes from wandering to the man’s sleeping form and failing pretty badly.

In the end, his glass empty and discarded on the coffee table, Namjoon’s even breathing ends up making his own lids feel heavy. It’s his first day off in a while, and the first few hours of it have been spent running around the city, so before he knows it, he’s joining the other man in dreamland.

“There’s a hot young man doing things to your neighbour’s door knob that will star in my wet dreams for and undetermined futu— Hyung, What the hell.” Is what Seokjin’s wakes up to.

He’s laying on his side, head pillowed on a nice and comfy surface that is sadly tensing up by the second, and that’s how Seokjin knows he will never be able to look at Namjoon in the eyes again.

He dares to crack an eye, and once he confirms his very pillowed head on Namjoon’s very thighs, he takes back everything he earlier thought.

How naive it was of him to believe he couldn’t do worse than their first meeting.

He uses every single muscle in his body to roll off the couch as fast as possible, his fight or flight response deeming it the quickest way to get off Namjoon’s lap. His body connect to the floor with a heavy thud, but not before knocking the coffee table hard enough to make Namjoon’s untouched drink inevitably topple off. His spill-proof solution proves itself insufficient as the lids pops open and the chilled tea explodes all over his chest, soaking his whole torso.

Wearing his thin and light pink summer shirt had seemed like such a good idea that morning, the sunny and clear sky promising a beautiful day. Now, as the fabric clings to his chest leaving nothing to the imagination, he curses the day he ever bought it.

As he lays still on the floor, cold liquid dripping off him and on the carpet, he takes a moment to regret every single decisions that lead him to this very moment. At the top of that list is of course, listening to Jimin’s advice. One day, he’ll take the time to think about how funny it is that every bad things that happened in his life can be linked back to that particular man.

Meanwhile, Taehyung is still staring from the and Namjoon is still perfecting his imitation of a statue on the couch.

Seokjin can’t see his face from his position on the floor, until the man reclines forward to look over the edge of the couch and down at him.

“First, abuse of firearm, and now sexual harassment? You've been a very exemplary police officer these past few weeks, Kim Seokjin-ssi.” He says, the only hint that he’s joking the small smirk stretching his lips. Seokjin covers his face in shame. “It’s always a relief to see that some people can embarrass themselves as much as me.”

Seokjin feels a warm hand on his forearm pulling it away from his face. He lets himself be pulled off the floor, Namjoon standing up with him as he helps him up.

“Hyung, cover your damn tiddies for Christ sake.”

“Shut up Taehyung.” Seokjin says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, feeling a faint blush dust his cheeks. “What are you even doing here?”. Namjoon, like a true gentleman, offers the blanket to him without a word.

“Dad told me mom told him Jimin told her you had a crush on your new-“ Taehyung doesn’t have the time to finish his sentence as Seokjin pounces on him, hands covering his mouth to shut him up, knowing very well where this story is leading. “Taehyung,” He says with an edge to his voice and a glint in his eyes, “-meet my neighbour, Kim Namjoon. He moved in a few weeks ago.” Realization crosses his brother’s features, and he looks apologetic for all of two second before he pushes the hands off his mouth. “So you might know who’s that delicious piece of man currently greasing up your knob?”

Namjoon looks a bit dumbfounded before he answers, uncertain. “Probably my locksmith? I wouldn’t use those exact words to describe his profession, though.” He shrugs.

“Would you happen to know his name? Current relationship status? Sexual orientation? Better yet, favourite colour? ” His younger brother says, hope blooming in his eyes.

“Huh.” Namjoon’s phone rings, saving him from the onslaught of questions. He checks who it is before answering, and a smile blooms on his face, his dimples hitting Seokjin straight in the guts.

“Hey! How's my baby?”

Seokjin’s heart stops and shatters at his feet; His baby.

He doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation, too busy spiralling down into self pity. Of course someone as attractive as Namjoon wouldn’t be single. Of course. He feels so stupid.

The phone call doesn’t last long, ending on a quick “see you in a few”, but it’s long enough for Seokjin to have sweared off love altogether and made a vow of celibacy, with very nice plans of moving to a desert island. He'll have so many cats.

“Soo, baby huh.” He says, barely containing the distaste in his voice. If Namjoon notices, he doesn’t show. He gives them both a shy smile, and Seokjin has had enough with this man. “Well, run along now, we wouldn’t want to hold you back too long, in case your baby gets impatient.”

Namjoon looks at him weirdly then, just catching on the tone of his voice. Nevertheless, he chuckles the awkwardness away before answering. “She’s kind of a diva I guess. And she always needs new stuff, quite the expensive girl that one.” Taehyung turns pitying eyes towards him.

Namjoon got himself a gold digger. He doesn’t even look like he has money.

“But she's the best ride there is.” Namjoon says, and Seokjin holds back a gag. T.M. goddamn. I. There’s a part of him that’s ready to cancel Namjoon for his apparent fuck boy personality. There’s also another part, one that is deeply buried inside of him, that gets a twisted sense of satisfaction from knowing that if that’s how Namjoon talks about the girl, she mustn’t be all that special to him. He’s a cop though, and an outspoken feminist, so he shuts that part up, ready himself for a nice lecture on respecting women and how to do it.

Taehyung beats him to it.

“That’s a very misogynist way to put it, mr. neighbour.”

“What?” Namjoon, says, looking confused. “How is it... misogynist to say I like to ride my bike?”

The word bike reverberate in the silence of the living room, Taehyung exchanging a look with Seokjin as the both of them realize the misunderstanding, leaving Namjoon looking nonplussed.

“Bike, as in motorcycle?” His brother asks.

Namjoon looks between the two of them, slowly putting the pieces together.

“Yes? What did you think I was talking about.... ah. Yeah, i guess that can be confusing.”

Seokjin’s relief is short lived; It only takes a few second for the meaning of it all to sink in; the sexy fucker is also a sexy biker, how is Seokjin supposed to get any sleep at night now?

The leather jacket in summer makes so much more sense.

Seokjin’s mouth feels dry for reasons he can very much explain. “Isn’t that a bit… dicey, though?” He doesn’t say for someone like you, but it hangs in the air, and Namjoon seems to hear it loud and clear.

He smirks like someone who’s used to this exact reaction.

“There’s two things I’ve never broken in this world; Music equipments and vehicles.”

Seokjin nods calmly to cover up the fact that his inside are a mess. Figures Hearts aren’t on that list.

“Alright, I need to go talk to my locksmith.” Taehyung’s eyes lights up again. “Thank you for letting me stay here.” He finishes, nodding in his direction, a shy smile on his face.

“Anytime.” Seokjin says faintly, still processing everything. “And I’m sorry for, you know, the whole falling asleep on you.” His blush must be covering him all over by now. He might never got back to his normal colour. He tries to laugh the embarrassment away, but all it does is make his crush look even more obvious.

Namjoon looks at him then, the cogs clearly turning in his head. Once he seems to finally have reached a conclusion, his expression twist into something different. Something that looks suspiciously... flirtatious?

“Don’t worry about it. Having a lap full of handsome has never been a problem for me.”

Let it be known Seokjin has rarely been rendered speechless. For a second he thinks he just hallucinated it, but then Namjoon unmistakably winks at him.

Seokjin’s mind goes blank. Where did the shy guy from before go?

“You know where to find me if you ever want a ride. I kind of owe you one.” He adds before leaving, closing the door behind himself.

Seokjin is too stunned to make a noise, so it’s Taehyung who breaks the silence.

“I aspire to have that level of game.”

Seokjin agrees.

Fin 1.1

Namjoon has already left to pick up his motorcycle from the auto shop, trusting Jungkook to lock up behind himself. After all, they’ve bonded over Namjoon’s difficulties with locks for the last few years, and can now be considered good friends.

He’s pretty much done, gathering his tools before leaving.

Somebody comes out of an apartment next door as he’s packing up. He doesn’t pay it any attention until the person clears their throat for a solid fifteen second. Turning around curiously, he catches sight of a particularly pretty man, probably around his age, locking up very loudly. He wouldn’t give it more attention if the young man wasn’t looking right at him with a weird smile. He’s locking the door with fervour, never breaking eye contact while he clearly struggles, and a particular hard twist even succeeds in making Jungkook wince.

When the inevitable happens and the key snaps under the pressure, the man lets out the fakest sound of despair Jungkook has ever heard, maintaining eye contact and looking like the cat that got the canary.

“Oh!~ What am I to do!~ I don’t know any locksmith...”

Jungkook has a feeling he should, perhaps, run.

He doesn’t.

Fin 1.2

“ My Reiki and Yoga New Free Soul Brother - Once an abuser manipulative thieve , money driven leach “

Well thats a big tittle to describe one person entirely. So my ( midle ) brother across my kid years and then teenager developing to adult, my brother was an interesting person. For example, in school my brother would pretend he didnt know me , and if i even dared to aproach him he would shame me in front of everyone, even thought they already knew i was his sister, i was bullied a lot in school so at the start i tried a few times reaching out to him , specially because i didnt have any friends and id always be alone. This motherfucker who was already a teenager completly dismissed me , BUT would actually seek me out or talk to me when he needed lunch money because he already “ spent his”, funny enough hed get mine to eat coz he didnt wanna use his, and if i didnt gave him even though i hadnt eaten , he would guilty me badly , and being the kid that i was , my brother was everything to me , even tho he didnt gave a shit about me.

So in consequence i started drawing a distance line between me and him, at home id start to distance myself and ignore him. And he started getting like a really attention whore, hed always annoye me , and force me to hangout, and i didnt he would threaten me or do some shit at the house and blame me for it , because my mother at the tinniest shit at home would beat the crap out of me , so me being the little kid that i was tired of getting beatings for no random reason , id play along. My brother would literally antagonzie me and scare the shit out of me while so. Everytime my family went anywhere , for example the beach, id try to go to the water alone for some peace this motherfucker would sneak behind me and try to drown me as a joke , like every 5 minutes, id yell in panic and my mom wouldnt do shit, eventually id end up actually chocking on water and  hit my head on the sand and cry the rest of the time. So yeah FUN ! Did my mom do anything ? ofc no , “ hes just playing around “. I had BD collections that id buy with my lunch money that sometimes id save up, disney movie cassettes and so on. Sometimes id have snacks in my room to eat when studying or something. My brother, being a full grown ass teenager that he was , would steal everything without me even catching a glimpse of it. My brother would “ borrow “ things without asking then hide them because he wanted. I had two final fantasy collectible caracters that i spent my leftover bday money on, and my brother would take it as his own. Yes because whatever birthday money i got wether it be 50 euros or even 20 from my grandma or aunt, my mom would take it “ borrowed” for herself with no justification, shed always say “ Ah lend me i need it  / or / I always buy you clothes and everythings, i buy you food , you owe me this , thats the minimum you could do / “ or / she would just take it without me knowing , she would inspect my bday gifts and take it before hand , the problem is that my grandma or aunt would always after if i was gonna save it up and id ask what and they would question what i did with the money and i would ask what money and blah blah , you get where this is going.

OH and if i didnt give my money the money she would beat me up ! wich is funny asf. My brother literally sold all my things behind my back, my original BDS, MY FUCKING POISON IVY STORYLINE BD, my disney cassetes , my collectibles, and my snacks he would steal and eat. If i had saved up money hidden, first he would try to borrow it and guilty me with the “ im such a good brother to you , you cant even lend me money ? i will pay you back, trust me “ ... ofc he never payed me back , but every two weeks he woul do this shit. And if i by any chance didnt gave him , hed just steal, or sell my things, wich regardless of me lending him , he would do it anyway. Fast forward to my early teenage years, i had to start working , i quit school because we entered that internet deth with my moms company, wich my brother also contributed to but let the blame to me ofc, i was already the punch bag of the family what is one more thing. My brothers were always my moms “ babies “ even tho one was already a full grown ass man and the other was already on his way. My brother did nothing at home , didnt take the dog outside, didnt take out the trash, didnt make food, didnt wash the dishes, didnt clean the house, basicly sit on his ass all day playing video games and eating, and selling my shit for money. My brother was unemployed for 3/4 years in between those i studied and worked at the same time , and did all the house chores, even if i had to walk the dog as 2/3 am after work i would have to, even tho my brother was in bed all day. My mom would literally yell at me and make my life a living hell and threaten to hit me if i didnt do it or even dared to complain. I would get home trying to study , trying to recorver at school ,and she would yell non stop until i didn every house chore, wich i would only manage to finish at midnight or later, and then id be too tired and unmotivated to do anything so id just sleep, and id always get late to class thanks to that. When my brothers started working, it was at my dads wearehouse, where i was forced to work too. Id work 8 to 10 hours , sometimes more, because we got payed by publicity stock packs, each pack was worth 1 euro, wich also 1 pack took 1 hour and 15/20 minutes to make. So if i wanted to make the day worth anything i had to rush , no eating breaks or pee breakes. My hands at the end of the day would literally be filled with newspaper and printed paper ink and dirk, and tons of cuts and sores , that would be leeched in paper ink, wich make it hurt even more at the end of the day, and was really hard to take it out. My brother would take breaks every 30 minutes to smoke , be on his phone or even go to bathroom or eat randomly, i wouldnt stop the 8 hours straight, and when i actually had to go to the bathroom or eat something because id get sick, my brother literally stole packs from me, or try to “ negociate my help for X “, the thing about my brother is that hed always try to negociate something , ofc it was always entangled for his own benefit and not both.

So it was like this my brother came up to me all excited and say “ oh if you do this to help me , ill split the profit that way we will make more and will be less exausting “ stupid like i was id always give in, specially because if i didnt  hed steal anyway.... Hed always change his methods and works, and guilty me if i didnt do it, so id always have to do so. If i didnt hed just change the pack registration list either way, without me even seeing it, and fake my signature, i only found out we had to sign an official paper a few months later when my dad asked, before that my brother would always tell me to note them on my phone then send the numbers by the end of the week, and since he was the bosses son , every one backed up that story ofc.  Eventually when i started to get older , i cut ties with my brothers and dad. And my ( midle ) brother was constantly trying to reach out and play nice and shit , also he was still working at the wearhouse . Anyway , fast forward when i got unemployed after the 5 star hotel due to rape attent and shit like that, i was unemplyoyed for 4 moths?! My brother tried to reach out , and even came home before my mother to try and persuade me to enter one of his schemes, i explained to my brother that i didnt have any money and that i wouldnt believe anymore of his stupid schemes and blah blah. He swore he was only trying to make up to me , and the plan was , i would pretend to work at my dads  wearehouse, but i would just be there 2 times a week and he would give me a cut of the protfit, coz if he didnt want my dad to hire some random slow guy, so he set up to do a two persons work, and give me 30 % of the monthy rate and all i had to do is show up a few times for my dad to see i was there, and then go home. That motherfucker insisted for 3 days straight promissing it wasnt a scheme and that he was serious this time. OBVIOUSLY THAT DIDNT HAPPEN OBVIOUSLY- with the last 10 euros i had, i bought train tickers to the wearhouse, the first week he actually stick to his word, a few days later the shit started, he actualy forced me to deliver shit and stuff. Wich for me was really difficult because its when i started to develop hernias, and the pain was too overwhealming, and that fucker didnt care and still forced me to, eventually i told him i was out , and found out he still used my name in his shit plan  and pretended i was still working there to my dad for two whole months , and then begged me to lie to my dad on the phone, hed literally call me before my dad trying to get me to lie, and promissing the money, and hed ask my mom to pressure my to help him. What could i do??!! what happend after you may ask? did my brother gave me the money? OFC NO ! NO! He gave me 115 euros of the cut , and he made 996 euros to himself. And told me it was only for the days “ i actually worked “  NEVER IN MY LIFE  I VERBALLY EVER SAID TO ANYONE , FAMILY OR NOT  “ I hope you die, you are shit , you are nothing to me , seriously i hope you die “ and acually meant it and wished it. For the first time in my life i actually wished so hard for my brother to just die. I was done, i was officialy done , i had never been so done with someone. I was officialy done with my family. I blocked my dad on everything, i told my dad to fuck off. I told my older brother to fuck off. I told my middle brother to go die. And the last person was my dying grandma who was a snob ass piece of shit who only gave a shit about me when i was a little girl ( because its only cute when they r kids  ), to stop trying to call me and told her to just go and die. She literally sent me a voice message of 5 minutes crying beggin me to see her, and i just told her to go and die, its not because she is dying that is gonna erase the fact that she didnt gave a shit about me after i actually grown. And the fact that i did this apparently scared the shit out my dad and brothes, specially because i did it so naturally. AND TO THIS DAY I DONT REGRET WHAT I SAID AND I STILL DONT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT HER. OH AND PLOT TWIST SHES NOT DEAD NOR WAS SHE DYING, LAST YEAR SHE TRIED TO SCHEME MONEY OUT OF MY MOM, AND BEFORE THAT SHE WOULD ALWAYS TREAT MY MOM LIKE SHIT AN CALL HER NAMES, FUNNY ! Now they try to sneak into my life really AGAIN ... ffs Since the end of last year, apparently my brother turned into reiki and yoga and shit and is now driving a motivational fuck page for people who wanna “ grow spiritually and open the third eye “ and is trying to reconnect with me again, obviously i cut him off before he could even talk to me. So he spent 3 months or so , coming here and trying, and since he didnt get anything since january and february hes trying to manipulate me behind my mother, my mother is venting to my brother about me being closed off to them , and my brother is DIAGNOSING ME AS A PROBLEM, BECAUSE HE IS SO WISE AND ENLIGHTED... WTF??? diagnosing me??? ur not a fucking therapist you asshole ! The other day i heard him tell my mother in the living room , that “ SHE CANT LIVE LIKE THIS ITS VERY TOXIC FOR HER, SHE HAS TO TALK TO YOU AND BE A BETTER SISTER AND DAUGHTER SHE NEEDS TO BLAH BLAH YOU NEED TO KICK HER OUT IF SHE IS LIVING OFF YOU  “ WHAT THE FUCK?? im living off my mother?? the woman that forced me to give her more than half of my paycheck, thats doesnt give me privacy or respect and that literally threatned me if i ever tried to leave that she would chase me down???????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OR SEND ME TO A MENTAL HOSPITAL????!!!! ... My older brother is doing the same, keeps trying to get me to go visit his kid, and to meet his kid, keeps trying to get my mother to see pictures of the kid or to call them. They keep trying to guilty me “ oh you cant take it out on the kid, its not the kids fault , he needs to know his aunt, you are his family “ BITCH FAMILY?????? FAMILY??? family doesnt mean shit. Yesterday even sent photos of his kid trought a new number LOL. I actually did went to the kids birthday, first time a few months ago, and guess what , my brother still the NO ONE ASKED- OPINIONATED asshole he was about my whole life, he literally takes one glimpse of me and judges my whole life and starts yelling shit at me ...ofc thats not gonna happend again. People dont change. People. dont. change. PEOPLE DONT CHANGE ! BITCH ?? WHAT? WHO THE FCK?? HOW THE FUCK??? In conclusion my brother is still the same piece of shit he was , and now even more narcisistic, and manipulative, he cant get what he wants from me , so now hes resourting to my mother again. I NEED TO LEAVE THIS HOUSE, I NEED TO LEAVE THIS FAMILY OMFG. Funny enough he does this shit then tries to get me to go to his house to celebrate his birthday because he “ MISSES ME AND THE OLD DAYS” ???? OLD DAYS OF YOU MENTALY ABUSING ME ? NOT TO MENTION THAT YOU ALMOST BROKE MY ARM BECAUSE I WOULDNT LEND YOU MY COMPUTER 3 YEARS AGO????? my mom literally told him we were gonna go there without even asking me if i wanted or even if i was gonna go. LOL, shes trying to emotionally manipulate me with older pictures of me and him , and games we would play together LOL. OMFG PLEASE SOME ONE, I DONT EVEN KNOW I NEED TO DIE OMFG... I CANT TAKE THIS FAMILY ANYMORE.

🎶 and jotaro and also kakyoin AND another character..whoever u want ;)

oho… you’ve sent me another message? you know what comes next bro, u brought this upon yourself….this is us now man

anyhow, AH. thos boys…god this one is gonna be so difficult because I have So Many Songs that are tied to them. as for the other character, i think i will do my boy sergio because i really need to share my brainstorming songs for him before i explode! :0 thank you again for sending these in, bro!! have a good night, ily! c:

this will be long bc i always ramble..i will be tagging this as long post for mobile gang!

Jotaro:

thom- i hate to start this off with a jotakak-themed song because i know some people Despise jk. i’m sorry for y’all who do, but ahh this song has been stuck in my head for days now! :’( In terms of the SDA, i always think of this song as like…jotaro’s bittersweet journey w his feelings for kak. it’s something about the like, ghostly windchimes in the beginning, the phone buzzing in the bg, and the “please don’t run away”s man, ahhh. I listen to this song a lot when brainstorming him coming to accept that friendship is as far as he and kak go. However,“ The pitter patter gave a rather rinse and lather feeling/ As opposed to shitty attitudes that made me bitter after laughter/ And I dearly regretted it” really makes me think of pt. 4 jotaro in any context. We only see the end result of his development from SDC, but like hhh… do you think he regrets being so gruff? I think of that 1 fanart where he’s looking at the group picture + hoping they knew he wasn’t annoyed by them (or something along those lines, i forget the exact line…ahh)

something’s missing- So, ofc not all parts of this song apply.. and truthfully, I listen to this song while thinking of the immediate period after the crusade in the SDA and how the crusaders are all left with this hole in them (..@kakyoin literally.. i’m sorry i had to. also, abdul is the hole). Out of all of them, though, I always think of Jotaro the most w this song- “My dad asks, ‘Were you okay out where you were stranded?’ How do I tell him that I wasn’t just okay… I was so much better?” LIKE DAMN THAT IS ONE (1) KUJO JOTARO… :( i think he comes back from the crusade and just feels.. severely misplaced. Going back to Japan and the girls following him to school every morning feels so alien to him.

tempest rhapsody- this song is just… *chef kiss* It makes me think of like. star platinum’s first manifestation, and of the emotions one would feel during a 50-day crusade to a place you’ve never been before, where you run the risk of death at least once a week…how would it feel to know if you got seriously injured in a fight, there would be a very real possibility that your *cough* dearly beloved *cough* mother could die? this song is my answer to that question

only in sleep- another choir song! i cannot help myself. This one is more for canon Jotaro. I’ve read a few fics about the universe reset where he’s reunited with the other crusaders one last time before everything becomes nil, and…..augh. “The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces, I met their eyes and found them mild — Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder, And for them am I too a child?“ is imo such a jotaro 4 am deliberation

softly- THIS. this was the Original jotakak song, no offense thom. i used to listen to this song on REPEAT while reading nessun dorma, ahhh. so much of the sda jotakak dynamic is shaped from that fic and this song, hghshg. Anyhow, now that I’ve worked on the development of their relationship in the sda, this song is most definitely a song for the jotaro who unknowingly pines in 3rd year and then comes to realize that ah…these are Emotions during uni. during their third year, jotaro and kakyoin do a ton of self-exploration, and spend more than one night floating in the pitch black void of the ocean talking about what they’re going to do after graduation with only the stars to accompany them. they lose this when jotaro goes to florida for uni + kakyoin paris, but they make up for it by calling each other all the time, so “Touch you softly I call you up late at night” made this song an instant hit in my book ghshghw. I adore this song, through and through. ;u;

post-published honorable mention bc i rediscovered him while i was workin on polnareff’s playlist!! DOLLY ZOOM is another really good song for pining jotaro. in the sda, he feels really Horrible about having a crush on kakyoin for a long time because he and his family (that is phrased weird, i am sorry) are the entire reason kakyoin got a hole punched right through his abdomen and spine. they’re the entire reason kakyoin spent months learning how to walk and use his legs again. he doesn’t do anything except bury his feelings because, to him, it’d be Really selfish to do otherwise. i listened to dolly zoom nonstop when i started writing Jotaro’s Decade-Long Yearn because it captures the guilt really well, ahh.

Kakyoin (it is 1:24 am as i’m starting this… let’s see how long i agonize over this part lmao)

ultraviolence- ahh, ze Mindworm Song. I really despise diokak and the fact that he had to spend like…3-4 months with the mindworm just chilling in his brain, but I can’t ignore the fact that he latched onto dio’s friendship and was initially elated to have that whole thing happen. It haunts Kakyoin in canon, and it Most Definitely haunts him in the SDA, and i think he and jotaro have a lot of conversations about how and why and what that whole experience was like. I always end up coming back to this song when brainstorming this year in the au. The beginning just sounds so lonely, and the background choir/ voices really give me the heebie jeebies. Then, there’s the build-up to the beat drop, which really make me think of like. what being mindwormed could feel like? And how it must feel to be so lost in that sauce that you become a passenger in your own mind, lost to the whim of one super manipulative vampire, augh. “You give me love, you know you give me love with your ultraviolet rays” ties into a few of FKA Twigs’ other songs where she sings about not being enough and really obsessively deriving love from someone whose attention is ultimately really harmful and unhealthy, and I think about that and Kakyoin a lot. :(

sound and color- so truthfully, this is my go-to song for any character that dies/almost dies and comes back, or goes through a Huge Life Change. kakyoin fits both of these bills to a T! this song makes me think of getting used to being around such a rowdy but tight-knit group of people who genuinely care about you All Day Long after spending your entire life in isolation. I always think of like, a happiness montage when the second half of this song comes around, and the montage i daydream about for kak during that section is *chef kiss* Sound + Color is like one of the best songs ever, and it’d be a crime to not have a kak setting for it. 

first love/late spring- fellas, here’s the kakyoin equivalent to jotaro’s softly. this song was IT, back when the sergio-divergent au and the “All the Crusaders Live” au were two separate things. back then, kakyoin and jotaro’s realization that oh, fuck, they really meant the entire world to each other happened much earlier in the plot. Looking back on that now makes me squint, but I do think that this song is still really fitting for kakyoin exploring those feelings- friendship is one thing, but romance is something entirely different and a lot more intimate. i think it’s a tug-of-war for him, between wanting to jump in to those feelings and wanting to run far far away from them because he doesn’t want to be wrong and ruin their friendship. good times in the kak hole

last words of a shooting star- I really love the bastard fucker side of kakyoin that is explored and celebrated in our fanon, but I can never shake the fact that some of his last thoughts were of his parents (and i think he was sorry for making them worry? which… baby…) and that his polite, “outwardly anxious” presentation was this big facade for like.. the Deep and Soul-Wrenching loneliness he felt because he was a stand user? The first stanza and “They’ll never know how I’d stared at the dark in that room/ With no thoughts” make me think of kakyoin deeply- if his family had never gone to egypt and he’d never met dio or jotaro, what would have happened to him? Who would he be? i’ve always been super attached to that part of kak bc fundamentally… I Relate. but also i am just fond of it because it makes me sob- he deserved so much better than to get murdered by the same man who manipulated his entire identity right at the climax of his character arc….some crimes can never be forgiven, hirohiko….

vertigo- i don’t listen to this song for kak often, but it is a Quintessential Kakyoin song. according to khalid’s twitter, vertigo is a song about “Overcoming overthinking. After every dark days, there’s a brighter outcome. Being at a super low place in your life and realizing that, there’s other people going through that same path you’re walking down. There’s always light at the end of the tunnel. It’s also a story about fear of abandonment.” which….Big Kakyoin Energies. The “Are we alive?Or are we dreaming?” part also ties back into the Kakyoin Parties in a Coma for a Month arc- your mind has a wild wild time when you’re in a medically induced coma, theoretically because it’s trying to fill in the blanks for all of the stuff you’re sensing? And coming out of a medically induced coma is a bizarre experience, where it’s hard to tell if you’re still in the coma and just imagining things or if you’re actually awake. Kakyoin has a mad time in the month immediately after SDC, one that i’m sure he doesn’t enjoy too much after the death 13 fight.

honorable mention goes to i am not yours- this has been a kak song to me for a long time as well. the context of the song is way different from my interpretation for this setting, but AH. I just think kakyoin really struggles to differentiate and understand romantic feelings. This song really reminds me of that struggle, and I think also touches nicely on like. the identity issue of it all too.. “yet i am i, who long to be” yanno? ; J ; it’s hard for me to explain

another honorable mention, my statue sinking. in the sda, after the events in egpyt, kakyoin is thrown into a coma for like an entire month while his body gets operated back together, and then he spends months in physical therapy learning how to walk w a prosthetic spine (kudos to cyborg speedwagon being a reverse engineering madman :D). i like to imagine that there’s also some degree of therapy going on this whole time, also. you don’t just get donuted + thrown into a coma for a month without some counseling to get you back on your feet..i think the lasting effects of dio’s influence are addressed here, but only briefly because it’s not something kakyoin is eager to explore. however, I think that this song captures the like... distress? i guess? of knowing that your life has been irreparably thrown off course because of dio. like yes, you met some really wonderful people that helped you learn how deeply healing friendship could be! but also.. you lost months of your life to mind control, and then another month to a coma, and then additional months to training your body to function again....there’s some psychological stress there. While I think that Jotaro and Polnareff are affected the most by the crusade, I think they all emerge from it with some degree of ptsd. Being targeted by complete strangers at all times of day cannot be good for your mental health, you know? Anyhow, I think My Statue Sinking captures that aftermath feeling really well. Everyone survives and recovers from the crusade, but there’s a part in all of them that is lost to Egypt. 

on to sergio!! (it is now 2:04 am lmaooooooo) sergio will be easy because I only ever listen to the same handful of songs when I’m writing him hdhgh

i will come to you- this is THE sergio song. i think of this song every time i write about him, whether it’s the “believe in me…” “also believe in me” lyric exchange that i imagine he has with both tomoko and holly; the “and i will pray to my father…my father…and he will abide” part being about him reaching out to joseph with his final breaths and spilling all of the beans about dio and begging him to finish things so that Tomoko and Josuke, the Kujos, and he and Suzi can be safe; the “foreeever……foreee-eever.. forever..” part being where he dies and his soul passes into the next realm.. “even the spirit of truth [golden prophet] whom the world [..yeah..] cannot receive, because it seeth him not [bc suad defects and buries sergio instead of bringing his dead body to dio]. Neither knoweth him, but you know him…for he dwelleth in you and he shall be in you [literally the entire joestar/kujo/higashikata family being so near and dear to him + his spirit being with them even after death]” and then, like.. george i, jonathan, and george ii coming to retrieve his soul during the “heeeee shallll beee in youuu” part… “i will not leave you comfortless. i Will Not leave.. You Comfortless… iiii wiiiill come…. to you.. to You” part being about his soul mingling within star platinum and crazy diamond because he has a Need, even in death, to protect them. UGH (also his essence being especially prevalent in crazy diamond, which is partially why its power is to repair things!! bc hamon! ; O ;) literally I have an Entire music video with sergio’s death set to this music. i’ve listened to it way too many times.

when david heard- so to be frank this is actually more of a joseph song, but it’s only a joseph song when sergio exists + gets murdered. :o i cried the first time i listened to this, and then months later i listened to it while thinking of sergio + like. sobbed fr fr. Joseph is asleep when Sergio calls him, so he gets sergio’s final message as a voicemail on his answering machine hours after the fact. the message itself is chilling because Joseph had no clue his son had gone on this huge mission by himself to kill Dio, and now he’s dead! however, it’s made even worse because Joseph wasn’t there to pick the call up and comfort his son in his dying breaths or do Anything. it’s just like Caesar, which is. god awful. it’s such a horrible realization because sergio, whom joseph named after what caesar wanted to name his own son, has been condemned to the same fate as his namesake. Thus this song- i’ve yet to come across a song that captures the feeling of hearing that kind of news so well. (also when i tag things as my sOOOOON or *cries my son in 8-part harmony a la whitacre*, this is the song i’m referencing :D)

zombies / terrified- ahhh, these songs capture the HORROR sergio feels upon sensing dio’s presence in Japan really well. (also “I’m going to eat you alive/please don’t find me rude, but i don’t eat fast food/ so don’t run too fast” is SUCH a dio mood…) Sergio maintains his composure about the Dio Dilemma for a good year before he flies off the handle, and his entire proto-crusade against the vampire is just. Laced with paranoia, even if he is learning a ton of useful skills. These two songs capture that feeling of something constantly watching/creeping up on you so well, and ever since i discovered them, I’ve listened to them for Sergio inspo.

the prophet- This is the only song I’ve done so far that the characters would actually listen to lmao. Sergio is a Huge fan of The Temptations, and his stand is actually named after this song! (+ the esoteric title for the hermit, which was really amazing luck on my end ; J ;) it also had a huge hand in figuring out what his stand power would be, the lyric that decided it was “God doesn’t listen to the words you pray; he hears what your heart has got to say.” However, the entire last stanza of the song ties really well into his character arc fhshgh. Also, this song just feels like it could Be the child of Bloody Stream, if that makes any sense. it’s so groovy and funky, but the lyrics are like big ominous lmao. I was super ecstatic to find this song- if sergio were to ever get an animation, this song would be the OP, yanno?

armageddon- This is another “this song would be on their personal playlist” song. Sergio’s got a lot of love for all styles of music in his heart, but jazz is his home base and always what he comes back to. I like to imagine that Lisa Lisa’s husband introduces Sergio to Wayne Shorter’s music at the age of like 8 or 9, and Sergio’s just. obsessed with the man’s music for the rest of his life. I really love Shorter’s explanation for the meaning of this song and its album as a whole: “What I’m trying to express here is a sense of judgment approaching - judgment for everything alive from the smallest ant to man. I know that the accepted meaning of ‘Armageddon’ is the last battle between good and evil - whatever it is. But my definition of the judgment to come is a period of total enlightenment in which we will discover what we are and why we’re here.” Like… wig.. I feel like that’s such big sergio energy. Armageddon itself also feels like a really nice ED- it’s lively, but in a good episode-ending kind of way. Do i dream of animating Sergio’s adventure one day? Mayhaps.

honorable mention goes to just my imagination/ my girl- We’ve covered that Sergio adores The Temptations, so it’s no secret that he would listen to these songs ceaselessly. however, i really like the broadway harmonies + instrumentals that they did for Ain’t Too Proud, so that’s what’s goin in here. these songs are THE tomoko/sergio songs…He loves Tomoko and the way she quips + teases + gets up to nonsense with him So Much. There’s a huge part of him that has No Idea what Tomoko sees in a music geek like him, but ughh he is so grateful that she likes him because she is a Goddess. he’s blessed yo..

Forget Me Not Jim Mason x Reader 50 First Dates AU Pt 7

@michael-langdon-appreciation

February had given way to May and long-weekend fair and picnic was nearly perfect. Local ranchers and farmers were done enough of the spring planting to take a moment and actually relax. The rest of Palos Verdes that could shut down for part of the day did, and the weather usually cooperated.

It was one of Y/N's favorite community events. Like hibernating animals crawling from their dens to discover the world had become shiny and fresh all over again. She was more like a bloated balloon than a thin blade of spring grass. The baby was taking up more and more room in the bulkhead that had become her stomach, but her changing body didn’t bother her too much. The kid needed room to grow, yet the timing for her due date meant she wouldn’t be hauling a huge belly around all hot, sweaty summer long.

Or maybe best of all? Jim didn’t seem to mind one bit. He'd been attentive and caring, and oh-my-gawd intensely involved for the last three months.

She'd been surprised when her interest in sex hadn’t decreased as her girth widened, but maybe the nonstop caresses and massages had something to do with that. He'd all but moved in with her. Fixed the damages caused by Rick then they'd both set out to ignore the other man. The restraining order had been a sad but necessary step.

Jim paced beside her, his fingers linked through hers as they strolled the fairgrounds, the scent of buttery popcorn and new-mown grass mixing into a sort of holiday-themed perfume.

"Move over, dude." Medina shoved her way between them, linking her hands over both their elbows. "I take it we won't be attempting any ride records on the Zipper this year, hey, Y/N?"

Oh, lord, no. "I can only imagine what that would do to the kid. If you want to challenge your stomach, sweet-talk someone else into riding with you."

Medina squeezed her arm. "Perfect. That's what I hoped you'd say." She stepped forward, boldly tugging Jim with her. "Hey."

He resisted her takeover. "Not me."

Y/N laughed. "Go on if you want to. I'll wander for a bit."

"Nope. I'm here with you,” Jim insisted. His eyes lit with mischief. "Hey, Alex. You still scared of heights?"

Her brother sauntered into view, corndog in one hand, burger in the other. "You smoke something funny over here? I'm not afraid of heights."

"Good to hear." Jim darted a quick glance at Y/N. "Then you can take Medina on the Zipper."

Medina dug her fingers into Jim’s side briefly, and Y/N attempted not to laugh out loud. She joined him in the tease, complete seriousness in her voice. "That’s a good idea. I usually ride with her, but this year the poor girl is simply lost without me."

"With friends like you two, who needs enemies?" Medina muttered. Then she turned her bright smile on Viserys. "So, whad'ya say? Shall we go flip ourselves around and show the teenagers how it's done?"

Alex gave them a dirty look before gesturing Medina ahead of him toward the fair rides set up in the corner of the grounds. Y/N and Jim managed to wait until the other two were out of hearing range before bursting into laughter. "That was sheer brilliance," Y/N praised him.

Jim caught her fingers in his. “Alex likes her. I don't know what his problem is."

“Medina's a bit ...exuberant at times. Bet they'll figure it out eventually." Y/N got sidetracked by the sight of an art display. "Come on, I want to look closer at this." One of the locals who had an art studio had displays of her work set up on easels, and Y/N slipped in closer to chat with Sandy for a while. The other woman had far more experience, with an art show or two under her belt. Y/N loved that there were people she could turn to for help as her new interests continued to grow.

Jim let her go, striding over to the next tent where a group of guys had gathered to shoot the breeze.

Sandy smiled. "Hey, good to see you again. Name is Sandy if you've lost it."

Y/N accepted a brief hug. "You're so lovely. Also, thank you for not saying,‘haven’t you had that baby yet?' People should have to give me a quarter every time they mutter that phrase."

"You're not ready to pop," Sandy teased.

"Four weeks left." Y/N admired the painting in front of her, with two cowboys sitting easily on the backs of their horses. "Your work is amazing."

The woman grinned harder. "I have great inspiration." They both turned without a word to stare across the yard. Y/N took a moment to admire Sandy’s men, Rolando and Jack, but her gaze moved quickly to Jim. "I'll say. I think I need to suggest another practice session of nude sketches. To work on my anatomy lines."

Sandy chuckled. "Dirty girl. I knew I liked you for a reason." They exchanged smiles then visited for a bit longer before Y/N wandered off. Jim was still busy talking to his friends, so she waited outside the cookhouse and chatted with the ladies there. Familiar faces-at times names eluded her, but her problem didn't bother her nearly so much anymore.

The people who mattered knew how to help her, and the people who didn't know, she got around. Life had changed a lot since the previous fall. The kid rolling awkwardly inside her was only part of it as elbows or knees dug into her bladder at the most inopportune moments.

It was bigger things. She was more confident than she used to be. More determined to do what was right for her and the baby. More in tune with the man who had come into her life in a powerful way.

HE WATCHED HER. All the time Jim laughed and joked with his friends, he kept an eye on Y/N. Loving the moments where she smiled in response to a comment, her entire face shining with happiness and joy. He got to see her like that more often these days, and her enthusiasm thrilled him.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. "You're obsessed with my sister," Chad poked.

"Not even going to deny it."

Chad grumbled. "No fun to tease you anymore. You're all Y/N all the time."

"Tease Adrian instead," Danny suggested. "He's got a cop on his tail. One more ticket, bro, and she’s going to impound your bike and slap your ass in jail for a couple nights."

Adrian didn't answer, just eyed Eli as she strolled through the crowd patrolling the fairgrounds, her uniform far more wrinkled than usual. Jim wondered briefly if something was going on he wasn't aware of.

He'd been so focused on Y/N and his conversation that he almost missed it. A familiar face popped out briefly from behind the corner of the cookhouse. "Was that Rick?" he snapped.

Chad twirled. "Where? He's not supposed to be anywhere near Y/N."

There was no one there. "I'm seeing things," Jim mumbled. Only he still left the tent, glancing around closely. He passed Alex and Medina returning from the rides.

Medina's cheeks flushed from excitement. She slowed as he passed her. "Jim? What's up?"

He ignored her, pacing forward. Fucker. It was Rick, now leaning on the outside of the cookhouse and staring intently at Y/N. The expression on Rick’s face suggested his attention wasn’t a good thing.

"Oh my God, that’s Rick." Medina slapped Jim on the shoulder rapidly a dozen times, her voice shaking as she ran along beside him. "What's he doing here? What's he doing?"

Jim wasn’t going to wait for something bad to happen. He stormed across the clearing between tents, headed straight for the troublemaker. He grabbed Rick by the back of the shirt and jerked him off his feet. "What the hell? You're not welcome here."

Rick scrambled to free himself from Jim's grip, seams shredding as he broke free and stumbled into the crowd. He used the people around him to pull himself upright and whirl toward Jon. "Bastard,” he snarled. "You think you’re so much better than me, but you're the biggest loser here. A liar and a killer, and you don't deserve to be with someone like Y/N."

Jim lifted his fists and widened his stance. Rick wanted a fight? Bring it on. Medina slipped into his peripheral vision, standing well back from them both. "Jim. I called the police and they'll be"

"Police? Why the fuck did you do that for?" Panic streaked across Rick’s face, and he surged forward, only this time toward Y/N, one hand raised threateningly in the air.

“Y/N watch out," Medina shouted.

Jim lost it. He threw himself in front of Y/N as a protective wall, and Rick bounced off him. "Back off," Jim warned.

Rick exploded, punishing Jim with a flurry of fists. He wrapped an arm around Jim and jolted forward, the two of them staggering into the crowd as people screamed and attempted to run away. Y/N cried out, his name escaping her in pained gasp. The sound barreled through him, a terrifying echo from his past when he'd been too late to make a difference.

Jim went numb. Y/N. He had to protect Y/N.

Rick wasn’t supposed to be here, not this close to Y/N, but the man obviously didn't care about the law. Jim ignored the fist smashing against his face, instead pushed forward and did his best to move Rick farther from his target. Pain ignored, the shimmer of stars floating past his eyes ignored. All that mattered was keeping Y/N safe.

Around them people continued to shout, but Jim didn't stop. Didn't stop until he was on the ground, and even then he clutched Rick tightly, refusing to allow the man to escape. He didn’t swing his fists-didn't attack. Just held on and took the assault as he kept Rick away from Y/N.

"Jim, you ass, let him go," Chad shouted from somewhere close by.

The shouting and noise seemed to be dropping, but the adrenaline racing through him kept his grip firm. "No, he'll hurt Y/N."

"No one is going to hurt Y/N." Chad’s big hands pushed down on his shoulders. "Jeez, man. The PVPD are right here. Let him go so they don’t rip off his arms."

Jim relaxed. Rick was lifted off him, rapidly pulled to his feet and away from where Jim remained on the ground.

Chad offered a hand and pulled him upright, bracing him for a moment as everything spun. Jim's eyes wouldn't focus for a minute, and he blinked hard. “Y/N. Where's Y/N?" he demanded.

"Settle down,” Chad ordered. "She’s over there."

Jim whipped his head to check she was okay, nearly falling over he moved so fast. "Thank God, you're safe. You okay?"

Her face had gone white, and her hands were draped protectively around her belly. She nodded, leaning against Medina as her friend pulled her into a hug.

A few feet away Eli stood guarding a handcuffed Rick. Her partner Trace stood beside Jim, while other PVPD worked to calm the crowd. "I’ll be back in a minute." Eli spoke softly.

"Jim, don’t leave before we talk to you, understand?"

Jim nodded, and Eli turned to lead Rick to the police car.

Trace interrupted her departure. "Wait. I hate to do this in light of what just happened, but I have no choice." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a long envelope, passing it to Jim.

This wasn’t the time. "I need to see Y/N," Jim protested. Trace forced the paper into his hand. "Read it, now,” he ordered.

"You had it coming," Rick gloated. "Stay away from my woman, Mason."

Oh shit. That couldn't be good. Jim ripped the top off the envelope and frantically opened the paper. The words made no sense, though. "This... This can't be right."

He had to be seeing things.

"What is it?" Y/N asked, stepping closer.

Trace held up a hand, undeniable reluctance twisting his expression. "I'm sorry, Y/N. You can’t come any closer than that, I'm afraid."

Jim held the papers to Chad. "Did Rick hit me harder than I thought? How can this be legal?"

It was Trace who answered. "They were delivered this morning."

"It's for your own safety, Y/N." Rick had put on the act again; all calm and mature, as if he hadn't just tried to attack her. "For our baby."

Trace motioned to Eli. "Take him away, I'll deal with this."

Everyone fell silent as a laughing Rick was guided off the fairgrounds, Eli's firm grip on his shoulder.

Jim's gaze met Y/N's-her panic and upset so clear he nearly ignored everyone around them and stomped across the space separating them, papers be damned. "Jim? What's going on?" she asked.

Chad walked over to give his sister the papers, wrapping an arm around her. The expression on Y/N’s face as she read them scared him more than the sight of Rick stalking her had.

"It's a restraining order against Jim," Trace explained to Y/N. "Using Jim's history, Rick went in front of a judge and filed a complaint. He said he had concerns that you and your baby might be in danger, especially if it’s discovered that the baby is actually his."

"That’s bullshit,” Medina snapped. "How can Rick  get a restraining order on Jim? That’s up to Y/N, not anyone else."

Trace shook his head. "Except in special circumstances. Here in PV, this is a civil-court matter. If there's a reasonable belief that a claim is valid, exceptions can be made. The judge agreed there was a possibility of danger considering Jim was involved in a violent incident as a youth."

"Violent incident ...? He was trying to save his mom." Y/N shook the papers. "This is wrong, and the only reason Rick did it was to control me and hurt Jim."

Trace sighed. “There’s nothing I can do. Jim can go in front of a judge to protest, but until it's overruled, the order stands until the baby is born and the paternity test is complete."

Chad was back by Jim’s side, offering support. Jim rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder, the world swirling between pain and frustration.

Fear still shone in Y/N's eyes, and Jim felt it to his very soul. "I can't be with Y/N?"

"I’m sorry, no. No contact over the phone or Internet either. No communication. It’s a full restriction, and if you break it, you can be arrested."

Jim wanted to shout in rage even though that was the worst possible idea at the moment. Fury against Rick shot through him like living flames, but his hands were tied.

He was trapped.

Across from him, Y/N faced Trace. "I need to talk to you for a minute." The PVPD looked confused, but he nodded. "Go on." She spoke clearly, her voice the only sound as everyone around them hushed to silence once more. “Rick  went too far. I'm going to do everything possible to make sure he gets no contact with my baby, even if he is the biological dad. He's dangerous."

Sweet relief poured through Jim. Her voice quivered for a second, those beautiful eyes of hers filling with tears, but she still lifted her chin and continued. "Tell Jim not to break the order. Contact the judge to see if he can get it lifted, but if he can't, I want him to wait it out. It's only for a little while. It sucks and it's wrong, and if Rick were still here I'd be the first one to knock him on his ass for doing this to us, but it's not worth going to jail for. I'll be fine, and within a month we'll be past this and we'll go on with our lives."

Such strength and power in her small frame, Jim was nearly overwhelmed by the display. "Hey, Trace?" he called. The PVPD turned his way. "Yes?"

Jim followed Y/N’s lead. "Tell Y/N I’m going to do everything I can."

"I know ..." she answered, not looking away from Trace. He shook his head. "Guys, you have to stop this. It's time to move on."

They faced each other across the distance that before had seemed like nothing but was now as large a barrier as the Narrow Sea. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she gazed sorrowfully one final time before walking toward the parking lot.

Jim's soul crumbled into dust. "How could this happen?" he whispered. "It's not right, to leave her all alone. I wanted to protect her. I need to protect her ..."

The murmur of voices rose as Medina stepped to his side. She laid her hand on his arm. "I'll go with her. I know it's not what you really want, but somehow we'll get through this."

"Go-” he urged.

Medina quick-stepped across the field to rejoin Y/N, slipping an arm around her. Y/N leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder, and they walked slowly, disappearing from sight around the corner.

All the happiness and joy Jim had finally allowed himself to grasp slipped away like ashes being blown from an abandoned fire pit.

BnHA Chapter 053: Shounen Life Lessons

Previously on BnHA: After making a flashy nick-of-time entrance to save Iida, Deku went one-on-one against Stain with his new One for All power-up. Iida kept telling him not to interfere but we all ignored him. Stain managed to paralyze Deku with his quirk, but before he could finish Iida off, yet another obnoxious U.A. student in a spiffy new costume showed up with a last minute save, because Deku is a gen z shounen hero and knows how to send a fucking text.

Today on BnHA: Todoroki shows up and immediately gives Deku a break from being the main character. Stain is able to wound him, but before he can paralyze Todoroki, Deku’s movement is suddenly restored. Stain’s quirk is revealed to have varying mileage depending on the victim’s blood type. Deku tries to keep Stain distracted until help arrives. Todoroki reminds everyone of his aggressive character development since the sports festival, and takes it upon himself to pass some of that wisdom down to Iida “RARRR VENGEANCE!!” Tenya. It’s good stuff.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 126 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

I love everyone’s reactions on this fucking page

Stain is all, “these little shits just keep on coming”

Iida is all WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP TRYING TO SAVE ME!?

Deku is all, “but! half-finished sentences!!”

and lastly we have Shouto, who just seems like he can’t even fathom how they managed to get themselves into this mess to begin with

-- OH MY GOD IT WAS A GROUP TEXT?? well I guess that does make sense; he didn’t know who might be in the area. come to think of it, there’s actually a chance more of them could be there, due to the Noumu attacks. oh my god if any more U.A. students show up I will just start laughing and never fucking stop

(ETA: I’m not saying this would have singlehandedly transformed this from my least fave arc to #1 BEST FAVE FOREVER!! but I’m also not not saying that)

what are the odds that Best Jeanist was on duty nearby. god I know it’s a long shot but my heart wants it so badly

Stain is so fucking screwed now. pretty sure Todoroki can still attack him even if he’s not able to move. and unlike Deku and Iida, he actually has ranged attacks

so anyway, Shouto immediately knew Deku was in trouble when he sent a text with just his location and nothing else! because we all know how much Deku never shuts up in the fucking group chat normally

Shouto says the pros will be there in a few minutes. meanwhile he’s shooting off crazy powerful ice and fire blasts toward Stain just to remind us all that he’s basically already a pro himself

not sure what he’s doing here but I love it

oh lol he used the ice to roll all of the others over to where he is. this fucking guy transported a bunch of paralyzed dudes across the length of an alley using only his ice. the control this kid has is utterly insane

he should just encase them all in ice now so that Stain can’t get to them

Deku warns Shouto not to let himself get cut, because if Stain gets a taste of his blood he’ll be able to paralyze him too

“so I’ve just gotta keep my distance.” yep. honestly if Stain can manage to get close enough to him to cut him, he almost deserves to kill him

-- !!!

!!!!!!

well it’s l like I said, Shouto, just die then you idiot

FUCK

WHY IS THE PROCEDURE FOR HIS QUIRK SO FUCKING GROSS?! PLEASE STOP LICKING THE FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD

YOU SEE?! HE DOESN’T LIKE IT WHEN YOU DO THAT!!

ALSO SHOUTO YOU COULD HAVE DONE THAT AT ANY POINT, YOU TOTALLY LEFT YOURSELF OPEN THERE FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON

but thank fuck, at least he stopped him before he got to the blood

Iida hasn’t whined about people trying to save his life for almost two whole minutes so he decides to throw in his two cents once again

Todoroki says it’s odd that he’d say that because “the Ingenium I know never made faces like that.” YESSSS TODOROKI. SET HIM STRAIGHT. DEKU WAS TRYING BUT HE GOT INTERRUPTED HALFWAY THROUGH. BUT YOU, AS ONE OF DEKU’S NEWLY CONVERTED DISCIPLES, HAVE MY PERMISSION TO FINISH THE JOB

! it looked like Deku was able to move his finger for just a second!

oh shit now Stain is slicing up Shouto’s ice barrier. oh yeah I forgot to mention that Shouto had made an ice barrier

he’s chastising Shouto for obstructing his own vision. eh, all things considered, I’d still argue that wall in between you and them > no wall in between you and them

OH SHIT

AND NOW HE’S FUCKING DIVING AT HIM FROM ABOVE

HOW THE FUCK DID HE EVEN GET UP SO HIGH

OMG YESSSSSSSSS

I guess that shit had a time limit?? but then if that’s the case Iida should also be able to move, no?

Deku doesn’t even know how he was able to do it, but he says that somehow he’s able to move again just fine. and now he’s physically dragging Stain and it looks like maybe he’s gonna toss him or something?

wha

shit now he’s elbowing Deku in the back and pulling out one of his knives again

Deku dropped him but thankfully Shouto takes advantage of Stain being temporarily off balance!

they work together so nicely! Shouto’s arm is pretty fucked up, though. of course, it’s nothing compared to Deku levels of fucked up

-- oh my god I just realized something. hold up lemme go check Deku and Iida’s blood types

yep. Deku is type O while Iida’s type A. that’s what that fucker meant

I just looked up Shouto’s blood type and he is also type O! so that’s good! but it doesn’t seem like it grants them total immunity; just that the effect isn’t as strong

literally one panel after I had this realization, the characters are confirming it lol

and here we go

I fucking love the term “bloodcurdle” for his quirk. if that’s actually a Viz-ism then I respect it even more

(ETA: as expected, Viz isn’t nearly cool enough to have come up with that on their own)

so Iida should be okay before too much longer then, right? at which point he will probably manage to fuck things up by immediately trying to go after Stain again

anyway, for now at least Shouto and Deku are smart enough to realize that they need to keep playing this defensively until backup arrives

since Shouto is bleeding a lot which makes him more vulnerable, Deku volunteers to draw Stain’s attention

oh my god yes please double team this guy. I’m so fucking here for this. dream team

now Shouto’s thinking to himself that he’s been keeping an eye on Iida ever since Ingenium was taken down, because he recognized the look of reckless shounen grudge-holding in his eyes or whatever lol

he thinks, while staring up at Deku’s butt for some reason

lol but seriously can we all just stop for a moment and appreciate just how much Shouto has grown and matured as a person in such a short span of time

apparently he patched things up with his mom. well that’s good I guess. and he seems to feel a lot more settled now

and once he had managed to sort that out, he made the decision to work at his dad’s agency. because his dad is the number two hero for a reason, and he wants to see and experience for himself why that is

but he hasn’t forgiven him. good

for someone who literally didn’t have a single line for the first ten chapters of the series, Todoroki sure did pretty much take over the manga all for himself in a remarkably short period of time! and I’m not even mad tbh

I’m fucking living for the self-awareness he’s gained in hindsight of everything that went down since his fight with Deku. good shit. four stars. 10/10 would relive this character arc again

anyway, it looks like Iida’s starting to snap out of his vengeance funk just a bit

yes, Iida. see the contrast there?

now he’s telling them to stop this and that he can’t take it

and Shouto’s screaming back, “if you wanna stop this, then stand up!”

Shouto’s all-in on the jesusing today

MY GOD BUT I LOVE WHEN SOMEONE WHO PREVIOUSLY LEARNED A LOT OF SHOUNEN LIFE LESSONS COMES ALONG AND PASSES THAT KNOWLEDGE DOWN TO THE NEXT STRUGGLING PERSON WHO NEEDS TO LEARN THEM TOO. THE CYCLE OF SHOUNEN WISDOM CONTINUES

and that’s the end of the chapter! and apparently the volume!

there’s a little celebratory page of Horikoshi being happy that the anime was just announced, and then that’s it! but that’s okay, we don’t need any bonus content. Todoroki teaching Iida the true meaning of Christmas is enough for today.

BNHA Rarepair Month - Day 11 - Laughter

for @bnha-rarepair-month

Summary: Tokoyami and Kaminari audition as guitarists for Jirou Kyoka's band. (College/Band AU part 1)

Relationship(s): Tokoyami Fumikage / Kaminari Denki (bromance, arguably) (TokoKami); Tokoyami + Kaminari + Kirishima (TokoDenShima); Jirou + Yaomomo + Bakugou + Shinsou (band!)

Rating: T

Warnings/Notes: ok this is just crack lol

Recommended listening: Master Exploder! Crappy little artwork!

Links: AO3 | FFNet

Tokoyami stares at the computer screen with a deep sense of foreboding as Kaminari looks at him with that crazy, bean-eyed look on his face. “Eh? Eh? Whaddya think of this one, Tokoyami? Think we can get away with a cover of this mind-blowing masterpiece?”

The electric blonde just showed him a rather old video of the eccentric and ageing rock star, Present Mic, on YouTube, back in his early days performing in small-time punk clubs. It consists of a lot of screaming, theatrics, tight pants and deep V-necks, and literal blowing up of electronics when the singer accidentally activates his quirk a number of times during the song. It’s perfectly balanced by the presence of the rock star’s rocking guitarist, one Aizawa Shouta, who grimly provides back-up in the form of tasty licks and surprisingly well-modulated backing vocals.

“Demoniacal,” quoth the raven, putting one of his hands thoughtfully under his chin. “Risky. Little chance of reward to be gained should we pursue this madness.”

There might be a thin line of drool at the end of Kaminari’s mouth as he waits for Tokoyami’s final response. The dark-feathered boy sighs.

“Fine. Let’s do it.” It’s utterly impossible to say no to Kaminari Denki’s face, dopey or not. The blonde whoops in victory.

“Yeah boiii! We are gonna rock their fuckin’ socks off!” He excitedly plays a mindless pentatonic on his canary-yellow Stratocaster with a manic grin on his face. He then peers up at Tokoyami, his eyelashes fluttering cutely. “I love you so much bro! Do you love me too?”

Tokoyami keeps a straight face as he takes his sweet time setting up his own guitar. After a moment of silence, Kaminari still hasn’t stopped fluttering his eyelashes at him. He sighs deeply again.

“Yes,” he relents with a persistent dark aura surrounding him. “I love you too, brother of mine.”

That’s enough for Kaminari to break the silence with another ear-piercing whoop. He’s really serious about channeling Mic-sensei, isn’t he. “Let’s do this, bro! Tokacious Denki (TokoDen for short), at your eargasming service!”

*

Soon, they’re at the edge of the stage of the large auditorium of the chateau belonging to the prominent keyboardist and mechanical engineering major, Yaoyorozu Momo. In the audience next to her are the explosive drummer/biology major, pre-med track student Bakugou Katsuki; band manager/psychology major Shinsou Hitoshi; and the woman they have to impress the most, bassist/vocalist/composer/band leader/music business major, Jirou Kyouka.

At the center of the stage is Kirishima Eijirou, sports sciences major, and one of their closest bros in UA University who wanted to be their hype-man and roadie. Everyone is looking curiously at the redhead as he clears his throat and begins his monologue.

“So… these guys told me not to read this,” Kirishima says, waving a little card with his messy scrawl over it, “But, uh… dammit! I’ll read it anyway! Because I wrote it! And it’s true!”

The band and their manager stares up at the redhead dumbly as he takes out the card. His voice rings out of his mouth and all over the auditorium, “I fucking love this band!!! They are the best band in ever… period!”

The bird sees Bakugou scoff loudly from his seat. Kirishima is undeterred and doesn’t stop shouting. “Ladies and Gentlemen… Tokacious Denki!”

Kirishima then bows with his arms out and side-steps his way off the stage. Kaminari, clad in lots of shiny black leather, confidently ambles up to the microphone, yellow Strat swinging around his scrawny body, with Tokoyami trailing grimly behind him.

“... whey,” the blonde says coolly, making Jirou Kyouka’s eyebrows raise, “This song is a cover of EraserMic’s magnum opus called… Master Exploder.”

There’s barely a quiet interval before Kaminari begins strumming out the first chords of the song. Tokoyami feels a little proud of his bandmate for overcoming his fears over barre chords. Soon, he’s joining him by playing the opening lead with his own guitar. Kaminari begins to sing:

“aaaaaah-aaaaah-aaaaaah-aaahahahahahahahahahah-AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

… well, not really singing, per se, but screaming. The dark bird sees the flustered look on the band members’ faces at the heights that Kaminari’s voice reach. If Tokoyami closed his eyes and listened, he’d be convinced that the person screaming next to him is actually Present Mic.

He certainly has the theatrics down, at least.

The blonde dramatically kicks down the mic stand after he screams with all of his might, and moves on to sing, “I DO NOT NEED!”

“He does not need.”

“A MICROPHONE!”

“A microphone.”

“MY VOICE IS FUCKING!”

“Fuckin’."

“POWERFUUUUUUUL!!!” Kaminari inhales loudly as he continues strumming madly on his guitar. “AAAAAAAAAH YEAH!”

Tokoyami plays the next notes with ease, his fingers flying over the fretboard of his guitar. He sees Yaoyorozu discreetly appraising his riff with a small smile on her face.

As they rehearsed before, this is the part where Kirishima comes running up to the stage to stand next to Kaminari and dramatically stare him down as the blonde continues to scream, “aaa-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

The voice is so shrill, it pierces through everyone like a shockwave. Kirishima flails about like his brain has exploded and pretends to drop dead on the stage.

“Sorry!” Kaminari says, not looking sorry at all. He directs his manic grin back to the flustered audience and continues the song. “I DID NOT MEAN--”

“He did not mean.”

“--TO BLOW YOUR MIND!”

“To blow your mind,” Tokoyami whispers to the microphone, earning him an interested stare from the manager Shinsou.

“BUT THAT SHIT HAPPENS TO ME, all the tiiiime!”

They do a rather complex guitar duel right there and then. He sees all the band members watch them intently. Jirou’s trademark earjacks are twitching. She seems to be hiding her mouth behind her hands, which formed a tent in front of her face. He knows that they’re judging the two of them very, very seriously.

“Now take a look!”

“Take a look,”

“Tell me what do you see?”

“What do you see?”

“We got the pick… of DESTINYYYYYY! AAAAAAAAAAAH…. AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!”

They shred the last few notes of the song in unison, heads bobbing violently in sync. By the end of it, Tokoyami’s breathless. He can only imagine how Kaminari must feel, having spent the last three minutes screeching like a banshee, but he’s got his arms out and ready to take in the praise.

“...”

A stunned silence envelopes the auditorium. Kirishima, who isn’t actually dead, scrambles up to his feet, stands next to Kaminari, and joins him in staring at the silent judges nervously.

It’s Bakugou who breaks the silence first. “Emo bird-head’s okay. Shitty Hair roadie’s okay. Hard pass on Pikachu.”

“Noooo!” Kaminari flails dramatically onstage and falls to his knees. “Y-you can’t do that! TokoDenShima is a package deal!”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want, charger-fucker!” the drummer yells, with a juicy expletive or two. “I couldn’t hear myself thinking with all the screaming!”

“No offense, Bakugou, but you do a lot of screaming yourself. Haven’t had a quiet thought since you got me on board as manager,” Shinsou deadpans, earning him his own juicy expletives. As if to drive his point home further, he rubs the space between his eyes and trains his haven’t-slept-in-a-month, dead-inside stare up the trio on the stage. “Anyway… you certainly got Present Mic’s yowling accurately, except for the part where he sets the mic on fire by screaming… to which I’m grateful for, by the way. Please don’t ruin our equipment.”

“You got it, you sexy sleepy manager, you,” Kaminari says, with two finger-guns pointing his way. He’s blatantly ignored by the purple-haired guy, much to Tokoyami’s relief.

Shinsou turns to the girls seated behind him and asks, “What do you think, MomoJirou?”

Yaoyorozu hums for a few seconds before nodding uneasily. “The rascals have… spirit, I guess? I think I can play something that’s compatible with their level of skill, so... I’m okay with whatever Kyouka has to say.”

And so, Kaminari, Tokoyami, and Kirishima turn their hopeful gazes to the fearless band leader, Jirou Kyouka. For a few tense seconds, the girl’s triangular eyes appraise them seriously, ominously even, as her fingers tighten in front of her covered mouth.

The tense silence is broken seconds later by pure, unrestrained, unfiltered cackling.

Tokoyami’s a little taken aback by how the bassist is suddenly howling with laughter. Her earjacks wave joyously in the air in front of her as she tilts her head backwards and forwards and even slaps her knees at one point in an attempt to get all the pent-up energy out. She keeps at it for a good solid minute or two before she calms down, grasping at her stomach desperately and struggling to look at Kaminari in the eye.

“S-sorry--it’s just that--you got that real, stupid Jamming-Whey look in your eyes when you’re screaming--”

“... Whey?” Kaminari repeats with that distinct empty look on his face. Tokoyami suddenly knows what Jirou means, and before he knows it, he’s chortling helplessly on the side, too.

And just like that, the auditorium is suddenly filled with laughter. Kirishima starts to guffaw and has to bend down on his knees just to steady himself. Yaoyorozu also begins to laugh heartily in the most lady-like way Tokoyami’s ever seen on a human being. Shinsou’s chuckling darkly like everything is a dark joke, but the tired look in his eyes is gone at least. Even Bakugou gives in and begins to howl like a madman from his spot on the auditorium.

In the midst of it, Kaminari’s just going, “Whey? Wheyyy??” in confusion. The laughter dies down eventually, and Jirou gets enough breaths in her lungs to start speaking properly again.

“What the fuck. You guys are in.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence among the three. Jirou just shrugs and says, “But I’m not letting you near the microphone, Jamming Whey. Stick to the guitars.”

“Yeahhhh boiii!” Kirishima cheers. In the next second, he’s lifting the two mildly shocked guitarists off their feet with his brawny arms. “You guys, we did it! The six of us, we’re gonna be the greatest band in the world, aw yeah!!!”

“Wheeeyyy!!!” Kaminari cheers, earning him another round of laughter from the band leader. He turns his dopey victory smile to Tokoyami and gives a thumbs up. “Kilt it! Love you, bro!”

Tokoyami sighs darkly as Kirishima continues to spin them round and round. He barely hears Shinsou dully welcoming them to the A-Band from below.

“Love you too, brother of mine.”

And thus begins their maddening, dreadful journey to the top, as the greatest band in the world.

Stripped - Part 2

Summary: Being a high powered publicist, the reader is hired to work with the destructive rock star Dylan O’Brien. Her task is to revamp his difficult image from the ground up. Will the reader succeed? Or will she get sucked into his crazy life?

Pairing: rockstar!Dylan x Reader

Word Count: 2,381

Part 1

~

“You must be out of your damn mind, beautiful.” Dylan’s sudden shift in attitude catches you off guard, the smugness oozing out of him giving you goosebumps.

Why does this infuriating man have to be sexy as hell? And why does he have to be your client?! You continue to focus on Dylan who’s now licking his kissable lips and it’s driving you insane. You need to shut this down. Now.

“Give me your phone.” You sternly command springing up from the couch. Within seconds you’re standing in front of the intoxicating man with your palm held out.

“Excuse me.” Dylan immediately growls slipping back into his anger filled persona.

“Hand over your phone, Dylan.” You repeat loudly, successfully holding back an eye roll.

“And why would I do that?”

“Cutting off communication. Remember? You’ll get it back eventually.”

“Just do it, man. I’ll text the important people, tell them to contact me if they need to reach you.” Tyler adds as he stands up to stretch his legs around the room.

“This is happening whether you like it or not. Just go with the flow and make it easier on all of us. Ok?” You add.

“It’s password protected ya know. You won’t be able to snoop on my ass.” Dylan huffs with aggravation, then unwillingly pulls his iPhone from his jeans front pocket.

“Oh darn. My master plan is foiled.” You sass back, not able to stop the giggle that follows. Tyler joins in himself, ignoring the unimpressed puss on the rock star’s face.

“So what’s the plan?” Tyler asks quietly, looking apprehensive but also hopeful.

You bring your attention back to Dylan who’s sporting a pout as he sinks himself deeper into the couch. He’s doing his best to watch the Friends rerun on TV but you can tell he’s too distracted at the moment.

“Let’s go talk on the balcony, Ty.” You quickly open up the glass slider door and settle into one of the cloth covered chairs. You can hear muffled grumblings from the two men until Tyler stalks outside shutting the slider behind him.

“What did you get me into, dude?” You ask slightly amused as you watch Dylan through the glass door. Talk about glorified babysitting.

“Trust me, I know. The thing that kills me is that he’s a good guy, he just…he does bad shit.” Tyler replies dragging his hand down his face. The poor guy looks exhausted and you realize that this plan needs to work not just for O’Brien but for everyone in his life.

“I just told him that he’s gonna be cut off from everyone and everything. An addict would be panicking and freaking the fuck out. Wanting to score as much shit as they can instead he’s sulking like a little kid.”

“Dylan doesn’t get high as much as you’d think. At least not with the hard stuff.” Tyler wearily admits fumbling with the hem of his collared shirt.

“What…”

“Dyl uses to distract himself when shit gets to be too much inside of his head. It happens sporadically. The bastard is lucky enough that it hasn’t turned into an addiction yet.”

“Then why the rehab?” You wonder skeptically.  

“To stop his antics. O’Brien is a stubborn fucker, Y/N. He won’t listen to anyone. I needed a way of keeping him under control. And rehab did that.”

“Tyler...“

"I know, I know. But listen…I’ve known Dylan for fifteen years. He gets into these destructive phases where any and all common sense flies out the fucking window. I know the signs by now and he was on the verge like six months ago. Hence his most recent stint in rehab.”

You can sense Tyler’s sudden hesitation, he searches your face like he’s debating if he should continue on or not. He’s praying that you make good on your word instead of abandoning this whole arrangement.

“I remember reports of him overdosing like a year ago. Was that true?” You ask curiously.

“Unfortunately. It was the anniversary of his mom’s death. He was already super stressed to begin with, everything became overwhelming and he went crazy.” Tyler sighs heavily flashing back to that awful night.

He found his friend’s bloody, unconscious body lying in a heap of broken glass. Of all the places O’Brien could have passed out, he ends up crashing down onto a glass coffee table.

“I know it wasn’t deliberate. But I also know…at the time he would’ve been fine with whatever the outcome.”

“Jesus Christ, Tyler. Please tell me you at least know the root of all this?”

“Mostly family problems. His dad specifically. They’ve had a volatile relationship ever since Dylan’s mom Lisa died. He was 18 when it happened.”

“I guess I can add daddy issues to the list.” You add softly making Tyler sadly nod his head in response.

“The poor bastard’s been dealing with the guilt and bullshit from his father for almost 12 years now. Honestly I don’t blame him for wanting a break from it.”

“Guilt about what?” You sneak a peek at Dylan to see that he’s now fast asleep. He’s slouched down further onto the couch and propped his boots up on a nearby ottoman. He looks so peaceful that you momentarily forget that he’s a pain in the ass. The moment passes though when you hear what Tyler’s about to say.

“His dad blames him for Lisa’s death and he thinks his son doesn’t deserve all of his success. It’s why Dylan has a love/hate relationship with his career. He’s passionate about it but then the remorse sets in and he almost wants to destroy it.”

“Shit. Was it…I mean…did he…” You stumble out not expecting that answer.

“Yes it was his fault but it was an accident. It’s not my place to get into details, hopefully you’ll get him to open up eventually.”

Well this is just fucking dandy. You’ve dealt with difficult situations before with your job but this one takes the cake. The fact that you have a personal history with one of the people involved makes this harder. And it definitely piles on more pressure than usual.

Deciding you’ve found out enough backstory for now, you and Tyler start nailing down details for this ridiculous operation. He fills you in on where the rockstar likes to go to relax and you have the perfect place in mind. You know this whole process will be tough enough for Dylan, so there’s no way in hell he’s going to another hotel. Too many temptations.

Heading back into the hotel room, you notice Dylan is now wide awake and shoving fruit loops into his mouth. Oh how this man kills you.

“Ok dude…we leave first thing tomorrow morning. So pack everything up that you need because you’re not coming back here.” You inform him, blocking his view of the TV screen.

“Huh?” Dylan mumbles with his mouth full, looking adorably perplexed by your words. Although his innocent act doesn’t last long once he realizes you’re on to his game.

“Do me a favor, O’Brien. Stay. Here. Do not leave this hotel room until I come and get you tomorrow. And no visitors either. Your disappearing act starts now.”

“Yeah that doesn’t work for me.” He waves you off with a defiant smile then continues eating his cereal.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll keep an eye on him.” Tyler shoots you a wink and it makes Dylan throw his head back while moaning theatrically. Drama queen.

You say your goodbyes then rush home and get to work. You don’t have much time to get your preparations in order. Fortunately this isn’t your first rodeo and you have plenty of connections that can help out in a pinch.

Your friend Veronica, who’s a realtor, sends you info on rentals that have immediate availability. You find one that sounds like a winner then continue to get ready for this lovely adventure you’re about to endure.

~

The next mornings sun shines too soon and you seriously regret checking your phone. You have a google alert setup for Dylan’s name, so anytime the fucker makes headlines you get notified. And you’ve been notified a shit ton since you fell asleep last night.

Not only did the difficult rock star go out last night, his drunken ass hit a plethora of bars and clubs in LA. The evidence of it is littered everywhere online. Thanks so much for the help, Tyler.

Apparently Dylan’s god damn chaperone needs a chaperone himself. Fucking men. They never listen. You gave one simple instruction and Dylan couldn’t keep his annoying self in line. And Tyler…well Tyler’s gonna get a god damn earful once you see him.  

You stroll lazily up to your client’s hotel room door with Starbucks in hand. After a couple of knocks, the door swings open to reveal a very large bald man who’s sizing you up.

“Victor?” You giggle remembering Tyler’s description of Dylan’s driver. Apparently he looks like a Rottweiler but has a heart of gold like a Golden Retriever.

“Yes, ma'am but you can call me Vic.” He holds out his hand. “And you must be, Y/N. Come on in.”

You trail behind Vic into the other room and what’s before you is almost comical. There’s a hungover rock star sitting next to a nervous looking manager and they both look pretty miserable.

“Hello, boys. You ready to get this shitshow on the road?” You question fighting back a yawn.

Tyler looks ready to speak but suddenly decides against it, instead he just nods in your direction. Dylan barely grunts a response, yanking his worn Mets baseball cap down further onto his head.

Everyone finally piles into Vic’s dark SUV to settle in for the long ride. Of course he’s the only one who knows where you’re all headed. You decide it’s better to keep the other two in the dark for the time being.

You let the quiet car ride go on for a bit. Mostly because you want your coffee to kick in before mentioning last night. Although the stupid cup of java is not strong enough because you’re still fucking sleepy. Screw it.

“So tell me what happened last night, people. Cause it sure as hell wasn’t what we agreed on.” You glance between the two handsome men getting different reactions from each.

“For the record, I didn’t agree to shit.” Dylan interjects earning himself a dirty expression.

“It’s my fault. I fell asleep.” Tyler looks like a poor wounded animal and you almost feel bad for him. Almost.

“You had one job, man.” You groan flicking the side of his head with your finger.

“And you…” You quickly twist yourself around towards the backseat to where Dylan’s sitting.

“Your drunken ass got around everywhere last night huh? There’s a ton of pictures circulating online right now. All of which you’re clearly shitfaced!" You exclaim as a huge grin graces Dylan’s face.

“I was thirsty, Y/N.”

“Dylan…”

“Oh relax. No one saw me punch a douche bag named Brett in the VIP lounge at Hyde. I did good.” He says proudly.

“Son of a bitch! You were supposed to stay home, O’Brien.”  Ugh. It’s too early for this shit.

“Oops.”

“Oops? You can take your oops and shove it up your ass, pretty boy.” You narrow your eyes in his direction.

“Aw you think I’m pretty?” Dylan retorts without missing a beat.

“Piss off.” You mutter grumpily shifting back around in your seat.

“Well Y/N’s definitely a morning person.” Dylan cackles, making sure to file this useful tidbit away for the future.

“Where we going?” Tyler wonders out loud.

“You’ll see soon.”

“I need my beauty sleep. Wake me up when we get there.” Dylan mumbles stretching out in the backseat.

The tension that was once in the car has disappeared and you decide to lean your head back and rest as well. You actually get some shut eye but it’s rudely interrupted by a panicked hand shaking you.

“Is this…is that a lake?” Tyler’s shocked reaction continues as he whips his head around to look at everything we drive by.

“You’re a smart one.” You deadpan.

“But…”

“Shhh. Don’t wake Dylan up yet.” You whisper as Vic turns onto a long dirt road that leads to the house you picked out.

Tyler’s eyes are now bugging out of his skull and he looks ready to jump out of the moving car. For the love of god. These guys are so friggin high maintenance.

Once the car is thrown into park, you gingerly exit through the passenger side door. Tyler follows suit and waves you over to move away from the car. This should be good.

“This is a lake house!” Tyler does his best to keep his voice low while gesturing around wildly.

“And? You said he likes being by the water.”

“The ocean, Y/N. Don’t play stupid. I vetoed the lake house idea. They remind Dyl of the one his family had growing up. He refuses to go near one.”

“Yes I’m aware.” You shrug casually.

“Are you insane?”

“Probably. Regardless Dylan needs to face this shit, Tyler. Clearly the way he’s been coping isn’t working for him.”

“I know but…”

“O’Brien is a grown man. He can handle it…he’ll have to.”

“What the fuck?!” Oh shit. The beast is awake. You twirl around to see Dylan fuming as he takes in his tranquil surroundings.

“Welcome to your new place of residence.” You saunter over to him, pretending that rage isn’t painted on his features. Normally you’d be intimidated as fuck but you’re still too half asleep to care right now.

“You’ve gone too far, L/N. I’m officially done with this bullshit. You’re fired.” He seethes through gritted teeth.

“Nope. Tyler hired me.” You counter with sly smile.

“Oh he’s fired too.” Dylan shoots back before laying his whiskey brown eyes on his manger.

“You’re fired!” He loudly shouts at Tyler before turning his gaze to his driver.  

“And you’re fired!” The rockstar points at Vic then starts to furiously pace back and forth.

“Dylan…”

“Everyone’s fired!” He barks practically stomping the hard ground with his work boot.

“And here I thought you were gonna overreact.” You smirk knowingly. “Thanks for proving me wrong, O’Brien."

~

Masterlist 

Meet Shade

Grim stood against the wall just on the edge of an alley, relaxing after getting off work. The Ren’dorei was minding his own business, lifting a cigarette to his lips to light with a flicker of void flames summoned by snapping his fingertips. In the near distance, he could hear the drunken shuffling of several steps and the laughter of men and women coming up his way. There was this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach already, but he didn’t bother moving as he looked off and stared ahead of himself.

Just as his instinct was expecting, the group of people didn’t keep walking. One had stumbled and brushed into Grim, and like the drunk he is, was already puffing up defensively like the Ren’dorei was the one who did it. Part of it could be that his drunk addled mind was more susceptible to the voices that he more than likely heard as he brushed against the man’s armor. Grim took one look at him with black eyes, then turned to simply walk away, but the rest of his buddies closed the narrow gap. A deep breath was taken, violet smoke exhaled out from his void lit cigarette as he stared blandly at the group. “Mn...” “Did’ya hear me Void fucker? My friend wants an apology from you.” One of the men stated, boldly stepping forward to get up in Grim’s face.

Grim stared blankly at the man, not even flinching as his face got inches from his. The rest of them laughed and snickered, nudging one another at the insult given to the Ren’dorei. Dark eyes swept from the man in his face to the rest of the group slowly, “Void fucker, huh?” He finally spoke, voice a deep reverberation that was altered by the void transformation. Inside his mind, a voice was getting louder and more testy.

“Yeah, you heard me. Now apologize to my friend.” The man said, puffing himself up to make himself look larger.

Grim wasn’t impressed nor intimidated. He simply looked to him, then over to the rest, focusing on the one that had stumbled into him earlier. Another human male. Then he looked back to the man who seemed inclined to be inches from his face. “...Sorry your friend can’t hold his liquor and walk a straight line.” The words were spoken dryly. The voice in his head seemed to approve of the sarcastic response, cackling.

Clearly the group didn’t find it funny, soon as their drunken minds processed what he said. The one in Grim’s face aimed to take a swing at him as his face contorted in alcohol-induced rage. These were not the kind of men and women that became better fighters when drunk, it seemed. The assassin was easily able to dodge the punch, twisting his body and catching the man’s wrist. Soon as the momentum stopped, he twisted the arm the wrong way painfully and pinned the man’s body against the wall with his other palm and his own body’s weight. The voice inside of his head practically thrashed in violent energy, and it took a moment for Grim to school himself, before growling out against the man’s ear. “Walk away, you’ll live longer.”

Grim released him as he slipped through the opening now created, turning to stare cold eyes at the others. “All of you.” With that, he turned to leave back through the alley, going into the recesses of his mind to argue with the voice.

Thunk! A chunk of broken off stone struck him from behind, the heavy weight of the strike and his thoughts elsewhere making the assassin stumble a step or two forward in shock. His armor had hardened across his back to absorb the impact and spread it out, but he still felt his muscles throb in protest. The Ren’dorei stood there silently, a thousand yard stare given to the ground as his shoulders hunched forward. The group was laughing behind him, congratulating the woman’s good aim. A stream of smoke exhaled from his lips and then he parted them to a twitchy, manic smile. Enough of one to release his cigarette, that fell to the ground in a puddle of Gods know what.

He rolled himself upward, powerful shoulders rolling like a cat just waking from its slumber and working to warm his sleeping muscles up. “Aaah...” Shade practically purred in a much less monotonous tone. “Freedom!” His head lulled back as he drew in a deep breath like it was his first taste of fresh air - not so fresh in the alley, then the head slowly turned to the side to cast a look over his shoulder at the group who seemed dumbfounded by the change of demeanor. “And whooo do we have to thank for that?” Shade turned around to face them, eying them over with dark eyes. “A bunch of piss ant drunks that are too stupid to heed a very serious warning.”

“Well, I mean, let’s not give you lot aaall the credit. There were other factors to help free me. See there’s this giiirl that my other half and I annoyingly seem infatuated with at the moment. Some strong urge to protect and shadow her pretty little head, even if her softness is also...infuriating. Makes us go all coo-coo in the head, you know? Even after talking to our friend who was a fling for awhile, who oddly seemed encouraging of us pursuing the little flower--sorry, star. Seams start widening in my prison and Grim - as much as I admire his strength - struggles with controlling my half that much more. You little shits just had to stumble drunkenly by and destabilize an already unstable entity just that little further. Tip the scale in my favor, so to speak!” Shade threw his head back to cackle like a hyena, then slowly looked back down at the men with a deadpanned expression. His hands came up to clap, slowly and clearly unimpressed. “Well done, dipshits. Weeeelll done.”

All of them looked to one another oddly, then back to the Ren’dorei. They were now second guessing themselves here. Clearly they wanted to be upset with the guy, who insulted them yet again and was talking like a condescending jackass to them, but there was a part of them - that fight or flight mechanism in people’s heads - that screamed at them to drop it. One decided to finally ignore the screaming and grump out, “You talk too much, Void fucker.”

Oh look, it’s the man with the one note insults. Shade zeroed his sights on that man and stretched a slow, toothy grin at him. Those fangs look sharp. “Do I?” The golf clapping stopped, “And you lot don’t know when to quit. You don’t listen to that primitive side of you telling you you ought to be running the other way right now, because a big ol’ predator is in the vicinity. Psst, that’s me.” The last bit was said in a loud stage whisper, hand cupping to the side of his mouth as he did it. Then that hand turned, gesturing with fingers in a come hither gesture. “Well, come on then, come teach me a lesson. Make sure to bring your friends. You might have a better chance at taking me on!”

Once again they were hesitating at the entrance of the alley, reconsidering. Shade twitched, like a malfunctioning machine, impatiently. A head jerk, the flexing of fingers, then he let a taunting grin spread over his lips in a final jab. “Pussies. I know at least one of you have one...I think.” Shade stared at the feminine one, cocking his head. “But do you all gotta act like one?”

That seemed to do it. All at once they came unglued, charging - stumbling drunkenly towards the Ren’dorei. Shade laughed in giddy amusement, deciding to toy with them at first. Let them think they may be able to get the upper hand, after all it was four to one. At first he had dodged or deflected their strikes, one had even pulled out a switchblade that he moved away from. Then, he allowed them a few blows. Those few blows turned into several as Shade hunkered down under the weight of them practically dog piling him, throwing kicks and punches and stabs. The whole time he was cackling, taunting, and grunting at the blows.

Then... “Okay! Okay! Play time’s over.” Suddenly shadows shifted, quickly skittering towards Shade from the dark reaches of the alley.

The alley seemed to have gotten all the more darker, any light source nearby dimming or being completely blocked out. A deeper sense of dread sat heavily on everyone’s chest. Enough for the drunken goons to halt their onslaught. A violent pulse around the man sent his attackers flying backwards on their asses, their balance shit thanks to alcohol. Shade pushed himself slowly to his feet, and as his hands left the shadowed ground, the shadows stuck to his hands like black ink. That ink was thick, viscous, more like tar and it was shaping into long sharp claws. In the maddening language of Shath’Yar, he cursed them all, his voice less taunting and more a sinister hiss that bounced off the alley walls. He marked their doom.

Armor and flesh started to rip off him like ribbons tangling together and vanishing to the darkness as he stretched taller, his material form growing incorporeal and monstrous before their eyes. It was then that his dark eyes actually shifted hues, violet like the void power the pulsated over him. The entity stared down at the four, now a towering mass of living shadow, maw splitting open to reveal rows of dripping black jagged teeth - similar effect to the claws. A desired effect, as all of them suddenly screamed frozen in terror. Just before Shade crashed down on top of them and started to shred violently.

Minutes later, a deafening silence filled the area after so much screaming. It’s a wonder no one in the city heard it, or perhaps was simply used to it by now when it came to certain alleyways - like this one. But now the fight was over and Krathir appeared crouched down in nothing but his tanktop and boxers, covered in sticky blood. The man released a shuddering breath, as shedding his material form was still both painful pleasure and horrifically weird to him. But, soon as he recovered, his dark eyes swept over the mess surrounding him. Gore strung from one end to the other of the alleyway, and he was left exposed thanks to sated shadows not replenishing his living armor.

Slowly Grim stood, blood dripping fingers twitching at his sides as he considered his options. He needed to clean this up, and fast. Thankfully there was a well nearby. The larger pieces of the bodies were piled together, out of the way, to be disposed of later and the blood was ushered to wash down the storm drains by use of buckets of water. It wasn’t perfect, but there was so much muck here in the alley that it’d be hard to tell what had just transpired here.

The clean up was enough for the man to recover, stoicism back into place and, while he still did not summon his armor yet, he did replenish enough of his energy to rip open a rift. Body parts were tossed in first, making certain he got everything, and then the man himself stepped through. He only knew of one person that could help him at this time, and that was Parish...

$300 Apartment by T.H. Cee

At the ripe old age of eighteen, I decided to move out and get my first apartment. Inexperienced and broke — never a good combination — I searched for the cheapest place to live, crossing out every ad in the newspaper above $300. I eventually found a place a few days later. In my mind, I’d stumbled upon the deal of a lifetime. Several units were available in a large and quaint old home converted into a two-story apartment house. From what I remember, the faded wallpaper masked an antique visage that borderlined on decay. A nicotine-stained ambience plastered the rooms with a cancerous yellow. You could almost hear the chipping lead paint crumble. Rehabbed just enough to convey the concept of occupancy, the structure appeared to be either on the verge of becoming an historic home or winning an eminent domain raffle. But the great news — the landlord advised basic utilities were included — all for $300 a month. In a hurry, I quickly leased a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor, and through a belief that my frugal search was somehow successful, mistakenly ignored the rest of the area. My naïve ears failed to warn me what the surrounding neighborhood tried to say. On a budget and motivated solely by price, the crazy taste of freedom had blinded me to the imperfections of what $300 could … and could not buy. ### The first day living there, I noticed a large hole in the bottom of a bedroom closet. A few hours later, I met my downstairs neighbor, Jizz Man. Jizz Man, when informed of my discovery, quickly held his needle ravaged arms up two feet apart. With wide eyes and a graphic vigor, he described the actual size of a rat he’d seen scurrying from his unit the day before. Somewhat of a philosopher, his potent use of simile immediately grabbed my attention. “That fucker,” he said matter-of-factly, “. . . was larger than a cat.” ### The next day, I met one of my next-door neighbors. For the record, I don’t recall his name. But for the sake of keeping things concise, being this is a story — let’s just call him “Old Alcoholic Dude” or Mr. Oad for short. It's also important to note that Mr. Oad was married, to none other than Mrs. Oad, who as my luck would have it ... was also an alcoholic. Mr. Oad banged on my door promptly at 8 a.m. With ass breath, he welcomed me to the neighborhood, and in a gruff tone, offered me the deal of a lifetime: a no risk chance to double my money, to experience high finance at its most primal level. “Just give me $10,” he said slurring his words, “and you can have $20 back in food stamps.” He then began to clear his throat with a cockeyed grin; in my mind, I watched three wet coughs form an imaginary ellipsis and introduce daylight to dark phlegm. My first impressions were that his liquid habit had washed away too many brain cells, that the man couldn’t chew a stick of gum and walk a sobriety line. I also surmised he probably wasn’t going to buy Girl Scout cookies with the proceeds — that is, unless they were somehow laced with rum. The scene played out like a dental nightmare, with Mr. Oad's breath reminiscent of a used anal thermometer thirsting for alcohol. The putrid wind expelled from his lungs hit my nose as if it were a fecal brick. In my mind, he’d become the unofficial spokesperson for the hazards of not flossing. Our conversation ended abruptly when I told him I had no cash. He quickly turned away quite frustrated, and in a welcome reprieve of sorts, spared me his next exhale. With a mixture of tenacity (and a possible case of the DTs) he started knocking on another door before I could close mine. In retrospect, I suppose many great sales motivators would have been proud. ### At the time, I had a girlfriend named Darcy. She was a Drama major and from what I remember a bit on the ostentatious side. Notorious for changing her hair color as often as her underwear, she possessed the unfortunate luck of being an eccentric bohemian. Back then, I overlooked these personality quirks primarily because of her bra size. That much I remember. As a young man in those days, I’d begun to look at many things on a sliding scale — and breasts happened to be one of them. Darcy was excited to see my place. She happily bounced from room to room and rambled on ad nauseum. “I love this. I love that,” she would say. In many ways, the girl was easy to please. Along with the apartment, we had a bed and didn’t have to use the backseat of my Gremlin anymore. I no longer needed to cover her face with a sweater attempting to keep the decibel level to a minimum. Not a huge fan of multi-tasking during sex, it was pretty much a win-win. ### Even my best friend Derrick liked my new digs. He’s been dead now for twenty years, but I still remember the first time he strutted into my apartment on that day — how he looked around a few moments before using his favorite catchphrase and part-time mantra. “Cool.” A person of few words, Derrick would always be cool to me — Miles Davis cool. If there’s a heaven, I surmise he's up there right now, fornicating with all the female angels and snorting fairy dust. Maybe even looking down at me and throwing high fives. We were kindred spirits back then, teenagers at that mysterious turning point of becoming men, keeping true to what decades later would be called the “Bro Code.” On occasion, I’d let Derrick bring women to my apartment after I left for work or school. From an economic standpoint, it became the barter system at its finest. All he had to do for me was leave a six-pack in the fridge and occasionally change the sheets. Mi casa, su casa.   ### My new life, however, did not escape peril despite these obvious perks. Enticed by the idea of saving money, I’d not yet learned how greed could inversely make things more expensive. An acquaintance talked me into taking on a roommate after a few weeks living alone. According to him, the dude “walked on water.” My main regret: finding out too late, he literally thought he could. I discovered after the fact that my new roommate, Brian, worked nights, and while not sleeping during the day, went door to door handing out his religious cult’s magazines. Unfortunately, this didn't get disclosed until after he'd moved in. Footnote for the naïve, the absolute first thing to ask before you shake hands and give anyone a key: You’re not crazy, are you? I'd always considered myself open-minded. Even somewhat spiritual. A huge fan of the “love thy neighbor” concept — especially females. If you’d asked Darcy, she would have vouched for me back then. But nevertheless, after several weeks, Brian’s proselytizing, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, took a strange and unexpected twist. With his “brotherly acceptance” stepping over into the dark side, he portrayed a different type of Passion Play, and to my surprise, soon crossed the thin bromosexual line of no return. Because he’d been my first roommate, I'd assumed it was normal to see him occasionally walk around naked. This belief, however, quickly changed when he added an erection into the mix, accompanied by garish bouts of living room masturbation theatre. Then, slinking into my room one night, his hands made the fatal mistake of moving from his penis toward mine. Not wanting to be a rape statistic, I taught him through a chokehold to speak in tongues. From the apartment to the hall, he got his ass pounded — and not the way he would’ve preferred. At the highpoint of our skirmish, my pugilistic rendition of the Last Rights almost introduced him to his maker. You would have thought he'd been thrilled. But when push came to shove, the man had no faith. Our battle ended with his baptism to the bottom of the first-floor stairs compliments of my large heterosexual foot. To summarize the moment: “‘No’ means no!” What devolved into a homoerotic adaptation of “Dante’s Inferno,” ended in forty days, and almost forty nights, if you included the evening I ended our arrangement by kicking that conflicted simian down a flight of stairs. In hindsight, the situation helped me understand a few things — like why my cousin, for amusement, always comes to the door naked when Jehovah’s Witnesses knock. ### A few days after getting rid of St. Brian (the Patron Saint for homos in denial), I discovered my other neighbor, who’d recently moved in, worked as a prostitute. This knowledge compliments of rolling paper-thin walls and a thick headboard that banged out a raunchy Morse Code. Weirdly, it was a result of this discovery that Darcy developed her own version of drama exercises to, I assume, hone her budding thespian skills. It started one night while both of us were in the throes of “enjoying each other’s company.” As we lay in bed, we overheard my neighbor on the other side of the wall working overtime. After listening to her and her John’s theatrics for a few moments, Darcy suggested, just for laughs, to emulate them. This meant, when my neighbor moaned or screamed, Darcy would do the same; when my neighbor’s “trick” made any sound, I would mimic it. We would also have to make these noises while doing what they were doing on the other side of the wall. In a matter of seconds, the moment transformed into an erotic version of Twister choreographed to an X-rated soundtrack. “Spank me daddy,” screamed the hooker. “Spank me daddy,” Darcy shouted. Et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum … If you’d asked Darcy at the time, she would’ve said the exercise had been about (in a dramatic voice): “transcending the emotion” or “being able to duplicate the acting experience.” That’s at least what she told me. This off-the-wall form of role-playing she’d concocted became hilarious. Especially, when we realized they could hear us on the other side, befuddled about what to make of it — like maybe their apartment was special in some way or had built in reverb. It also makes me wonder today if Darcy is now a porn star. When I consider all of the factors, it would make a lot of sense. “What the fuck was that?” said the John. “What the fuck was that?” I echoed. “Shut up and put your finger in my ass,” yelled the Prostitute. “That’s not your finger,” moaned Darcy. Et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum … The other thing that wasn’t so cool about my neighbor, the working girl — she had a pimp. This deduction came from the noisy conversations that often followed when he'd show up. Keeping pretty much to the same predictable script, he’d always start out yelling something like, “Aww Hell Naw!” and then make some loose reference to where his drugs were kept followed by many sentences ending in the word “bitch.” Their meetings either closed with a classic pimp ritual common to the “Slap-a-Ho” tribe or an S&M session on angel dust. After a while, it became too difficult to tell the difference. ### For most young people, one’s first apartment becomes a ceremonial rite of passage. A path toward adulthood. Mine, however, had jumped the tracks and taken a nefarious turn; before I realized what happened, I found myself trapped in what seemed a ghetto bar mitzvah — one where I'd wished my yarmulke (if I even had one) were bulletproof. To avoid the constant drama, I struggled to keep a low profile. If one tenant didn’t have the police at their door, another one did. I became the poor college kid amidst all this wild trailer trash excitement. Then, one day, everything went sideways and shitty. Mr. and Mrs. Oad began to go on longer binges where they brazenly avoided sobriety for days at a time. I’d hear them up at all hours yelling and screaming. Even crying. And sometimes around 3 a.m., I would listen to Mrs. Oad loudly whimper the following: “I’ll be your German. Let me be your German.” The deviant sounds that followed, molested my ears. Also causing me to throw up a little in my mouth. Had you been able to read my thoughts back then, you probably would’ve seen a pink elephant wearing a Speedo. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the situation did. My neighbor’s long benders bled one into another and took on a sinister dimension, becoming one never-ending event. Mrs. Oad, the more dramatic of the two, did one of two things intermittently: She would climb naked out of her second story window onto a large tree and scream at passing airplanes or she would run naked around the building with a machete. Before I realized what happened, it became a National Geographic episode outside my door. I’m not sure where she got the machete. Truth is, her charging at me with the mighty blade effectively killed my curiosity to stop and ask. Every time I heard some bimbo tell me about how grueling her aerobics class had been in those days, I’d think of Mrs. Oad, her wrinkled and gravity-ravaged body, weapon in hand, chasing me up a flight of stairs. It somehow didn't compare. The situation, over time, took on a theatrical déjà vu. When she screamed naked from her tree at airplanes, the moment reminded me of the character Tattoo on “Fantasy Island,” the little person known famously for the line “Da Plane! Da Plane!” Thirty years later, this memory remains. When flying, I often catch myself looking out the window, wondering if there are other Mrs. Oads down there somewhere, and if so, are they staring upward, challenging me in some unknown existential way. Say what you will about the woman, her movements were quick despite her obvious age. The police came out numerous times, but every time they’d show up, she’d sneak into her apartment before they could record the offense. This wouldn’t happen today, as the same circumstance would’ve easily gone viral the first hour. Viva la YouTube.   ### Along with the approaching heat of summer, however, Mrs. Oad’s psychosis escalated. Her behavior became more defiant. Everyone sensed she was moving toward an impending and inevitable face-off — one where I'd hoped to enjoy eight hours of sleep after someone carted her ass off in a straitjacket. But after several weeks, there was still no end in sight. Like a hurricane stalling offshore, this quagmire of dysfunction neither waxed nor waned. But then one day, everything suddenly changed. I remember how Derrick and I trudged our way into the local grocery store. We were there in aisle three, when Tom, an old friend from high school appeared. Along with serendipity and a giant bag of weed, he'd moved back into town. He also needed a roommate. Thirty minutes later, the three of us sat in Tom's van, and over a few beers and the occasional bong hit, a new roommate alliance was forged. He even offered to help move. My luck appeared to be changing. That afternoon, we became the Three Musketeers, local Ganja Chapter 420. Poster boys for P.S.A.'s against reefer madness. Our perspective clouded by copious amounts of THC, we could have doubled for the Three Stooges with a profound case of the munchies. Derrick and I, for humor’s sake, decided not to warn Tom about Mrs. Oad's theatrics while on our way to retrieve my stuff, and on a last minute dare, looked forward to the opportunity of watching him discover this spectacle for himself. The moment would be priceless. Of course, when Derrick and I decided to do this, we planned on only letting Tom carry the light stuff. Say what you will about my sense of humor; I am not a monster. Once we arrived back at my $300 apartment, however, the timing could not have been worse. We found ourselves staring into the pinnacle of Mrs. Oad’s latest and greatest binge. She sat perched in her tree, like a sentry at a bipolar nudist colony, babbling something about Germans again. After Tom stopped laughing and got up off the ground, we each drew imaginary straws. Our strategy was simple: The three of us would slink onto the property and take turns running into the building like wasted commandos on some secret recon mission. We hoped to avoid any confrontation, and with hands full, desired to bolt out the front door with as much of my belongings as we could carry. I’m not sure what was worse, the threat of seeing an approaching machete or Mrs. Oad’s prune-like naked body with breasts jiggling at half-mast. The circumstance nurtured in me, apart from the potential risk for retinal scarring, a rock-solid appreciation for older women who wear support bras. We’d just finished loading up the van when police arrived. In my opinion, six months too late. Mrs. Oad held the machete in her hand with her eyes locked on the approaching news helicopter while she clung screaming from her tree. Caught up in the pandemonium, I suddenly heard my landlord’s booming voice. He’d just pulled up behind the gathering crowd, seen all my belongings in Tom’s van, and realized I was moving out. As a bargaining chip, I said he could keep my deposit in exchange for early termination of my lease. I also promised not to walk over to the news crew and tell them about his many code violations. Although initially annoyed, he quickly accepted my proposition. Smart man. We ended the transaction through a quick handshake. With a firm grip, he wished me well over the windy effects of the chopper and sporadic bullhorn shouts from police. He even said he’d give me a stellar reference. In many ways, I often think of that moment as my first step toward a higher credit score. From the front passenger seat of Tom’s van, I now saw Mrs. Oad on the ground in the fetal position, her naked body tangled and sedated in a police net. A tranquilizer dart protruded from her cellulite riddled ass. I took one final look back at my $300 apartment. Immersed in the bittersweet dysfunction of it all, I sensed my residency there had come full circle. I realized someday I would hold a different perspective and have to laugh … maybe even write a story. --- T.H.Cee has had other short stories published in Black Fox and New Praxius. He also had another story that will be published this month at Oddville Press.   --- Show your love for Horror Sleaze Trash by following us and checking out the links below! --- Facebook . Instagram . Twitter . Patreon . HST Merch!

I don’t play losing games

Basically I am finally writing the begin of my fic. Please tell me if it is good, if it’s bad, if I should work on my grammar more ( which I DO but still need some pratice heh) Enjoy yourself !

“ And how do you think we will enter?” I asked. The city of Dubaï had just started her night. Dance clubs and parties had just begun to open. Loud bass was audible at long distance from any place. I should be with these people with my girlfriends. If had any.

“ Do you really think I would have wasted such a sexy dress all for not checking you out ?” Said Marcus, showing me two, probably stolen, IVC invitations. I nodded and gazed at the window. The limo was riding slowly due to the long line of fancy money people. Well having nice cars is cool but God was it annoying to wait 15 minutes only to get off a car. I huffed loudly. I was going to be a long night...

Once off the car I saw the sea of paparazzi in front of the hotel. How annoying, it will be a mess to just pass next to them. We aren’t known celebs, this morning I was taking my cat to the vet because he ate a toy. Marcus got of and offered me his arms. I took a grip. “  Are you ready Kravoushka ?” His white teeth shone in the camera flashes. His smiles and smirks looked incredibly fake and forced.I did my best to not show emotion as I looked ahead.” Let’s go. Let’s end this test as soon as possible.”

We passed successfully. Everything went smoothly and we weren't spotted yet. Yet. All those disgusting old assholes were lust after my butt. I hate this. I was wearing was an open back black tight fitting dress. Showing a little too much cleavage. Risa’s meaning of small is different from mine. I already have not boobs, like hers, why on earth did she give me such a dress? With black open stilettos. My hair were down and I had diamond earrings. All the expensive for 3 hours of mission. “Russian has really gotten rich huh ?”

I was a the buffet. The tables were full but none of what I liked was here. And I was hungry. I looked around to see if anyone had somethings good. When my gaze fell on a tall man on the other side of the table. He was handsome. Grey blue eyes and black slicked back hair. And a grey suit. He looked at me intently. He looked suspiciously at me. I smiled at him and left. Better keep a low profile in enemy fields.

I walked to Marcus who was discussing with plastic girls again. For the love of- couldn’t he concentrate ? I walked to him as fast as I could. Coming close to him I grabbed him by the shoulder. “Marcus !” He turned around slowly looking like he was about to kill me. Recognizing my face his face lightened up. It’s strange I thought he liked me ? But his drastic expressions are way too strange to ignore. “ We have to go catch the Sparrow Vladmir, remember ?” I told him sarcastically. I face twisted in a creepy smile. He leaned close to my face. Whispering in a low but alarmingly threatening voice: “Better go catch him then.”

“That’s what we should be doing now.” I told nonchalant. I had to suppress the weight that began slowly to grow in my stomach. I don’t like this. We were both send. Why would I have to find him as we already know he is in his 24/7 guarded suite. “ Go find him bring him in 35minutes at the helicopter floor. We will evacuate as fast as possible, after you catch him. Understood.” That wasn’t the fucking deal. “ Yes.” I murmured. I really began to hate this. I should be at home studying or in the army school and not fooling around because father wants me to become some damn spy. I love you father but sometimes you put to much on me.

A thunder of hand clapping had suddenly raise. And I looked above my shoulder. “ He’s nicknamed the King.” Began Marcus,” Eisuke Ichinomiya, CEO of the Ichinomiya group and member of the prestigious Japanese family. He’s only 29 and already millionaire.” He said in admiration. “Well when you have money and determination you can do anything. But the beauty inside is what counts...” I told. Not sure if it was to myself or anyone.

As I watched Mr. Ichinomiya descend the stairs, encircled by swooning plastic and circus make up women, I felt a warm breath on my left shoulder. “ This isn’t the world we live in Sumire. In this world you play and you become like him or you watch and you become like all those fuckers.” As I watched him walk we made eye contact. He was really handsome and doesn't seem real. Sadly pretty boy are either bad boys, have a different sexual orientation or are taken. Life is so much sadder when you grow up.

“ I will be going Marcus.” I told determinated. I gazed a last time at Mr. Ichinomiya, we caught each other again. I am ready to become a player in this world. But what and how much will it cost me ? I don’t care. I have the money, I have uncle Dimitri and Hausen, I have Dada and I am clever. I can make it. I will do it. And nobody is going to stop me. I f anyone tries, they’ll get bitten. As father told me: Tigers get close to their preys, but the preys do never touch the tiger. Because the tiger always bites first.

And even if I fail, I am young, rich and pretty. I might have no breast but I have a nice figure and an excellent fashion sense. But pretty isn’t everything. I am also intelligent or more clever. I still have difficulties to open a pickle jar... I will live in Siberia with my two cats and my dog alone. What’s the bad thing for wanting to live alone ? Lovbe is either a grace or a lethal poison. I also learnt the art of seduction and sex. No position or men will be able to resist me for long. Men are easy to decipher, almost like puzzles.

One piece is a secret or a feature. Each time he will give you a piece and each time you’ll place it in the right place he falls. And falls, into his own downfall. Believing you are his moon,sky and stars. He trusts you, he always wants you and wants you to be his. And when he learns he is none of all of this for you. He breaks and falls, discovers the game and how stupid he was for believing your smiles and lies. Like a snake in a nest, like a mouse in a house. You stole everything he thought was scared and secret. you intoxicated him with dreams and promises with giving or planning to give anything in return. If it wont be by love, I’ll manipulate him.

“ I don’t play losing games.”

Voilà, I needed a bad OC. Sumire isn’t a white or a black morrally oriented person. She’s a dark grey person. She isn’t fully bad, but she isn’t good either.

Stripped - Part 2

Summary: Being a high powered publicist, the reader is hired to work with the destructive rock star Jensen Ackles. Her task is to revamp his difficult image from the ground up. Will the reader succeed? Or will she get sucked into his crazy life? 

Pairing: rockstar!Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 2,429

Part 1

“You must be out of your damn mind, beautiful.” Jensen’s sudden shift in attitude catches you off guard, the smugness oozing out of him giving you goosebumps.

Why does this infuriating man have to be sexy as hell? And why does he have to be your client?! You continue to focus on Jensen who's now licking his kissable lips and it’s driving you insane. You need to shut this down. Now.

"Give me your phone." You sternly command springing up from the couch. Within seconds you're standing in front of the intoxicating man with your palm held out.

"Excuse me." Jensen immediately growls slipping back into his anger filled persona.

"Hand over your phone, Jensen." You repeat loudly, successfully holding back an eye roll.

"And why would I do that?"

"Cutting off communication. Remember? You'll get it back eventually."

"Just do it, man. I'll text the important people, tell them to contact me if they need to reach you." Matt adds as he stands up to stretch his legs around the room.

"This is happening whether you like it or not. Just go with the flow and make it easier on all of us. Ok?"

"It's password protected ya know. You won't be able to snoop on my ass." Jensen huffs with aggravation, then unwillingly pulls his iPhone from his jeans front pocket.

"Oh darn. My master plan is foiled." You sass back, not able to stop the giggle that follows. Matt joins in himself, ignoring the unimpressed puss on the rock star's face.

"So what's the plan?" Matt asks quietly, looking apprehensive but also hopeful.

You bring your attention back to Jensen who's sporting a pout as he sinks himself deeper into the couch. He's doing his best to watch the Seinfeld rerun on TV but you can tell he's too distracted at the moment.

"Let's go talk on the balcony, Matty." You quickly open up the glass slider door and settle into one of the cloth covered chairs. You can hear muffled grumblings from the two men until Matt stalks outside shutting the slider behind him.

"What did you get me into, dude?" You ask slightly amused as you watch Jensen through the glass door. Talk about glorified babysitting.

"Trust me, I know. The thing that kills me is that he's a good guy, he just...he does bad shit." Matt replies dragging his hand down his face. The poor guy looks exhausted and you realize that this plan needs to work not just for Ackles but for everyone in his life.

"I just told him that he's gonna be cut off from everyone and everything. An addict would be panicking and freaking the fuck out. Wanting to score as much shit as they can instead he's sulking like a little kid."

"Jensen doesn't get high as much as you'd think. At least not with the hard stuff." Matt wearily admits fumbling with the hem of his collared shirt.

"What..."

"Jay uses to distract himself when shit gets to be too much inside of his head. It happens sporadically. The bastard is lucky enough that it hasn't turned into an addiction yet."

“Um. Then why the rehab?” You wonder skeptically.  

“To stop his antics. Ackles is a stubborn fucker, Y/N. He won’t listen to anyone. I needed a way of keeping him under control. And rehab did that.”

“Matt."

"I know, I know. But listen...I've known Jensen for fifteen years. He gets into these destructive phases where any and all common sense flies out the fucking window. I know the signs by now and he was on the verge like six months ago. Hence his most recent stint in rehab."

You can sense Matt's sudden hesitation, he searches your face like he's debating if he should continue on or not. He's praying that you make good on your word instead of abandoning this whole arrangement.

"I remember reports of him overdosing like a year ago. Was that true?" You ask curiously.

"Unfortunately. It was the anniversary of his mom's death. He was already super stressed to begin with, everything became overwhelming and he went crazy." Matt sighs heavily flashing back to that awful night.

He found his friend's bloody, unconscious body lying in a heap of broken glass. Of all the places Jensen could have passed out, he ends up crashing down into a glass coffee table.

"I know it wasn't deliberate. But I also know...at the time he would've been fine with whatever the outcome."

"Jesus Christ, Matt. Please tell me you at least know the root of all this?"

"Mostly family problems. His dad specifically. They've had a volatile relationship ever since Jensen's mom Donna died. He was 18 when it happened."

"I guess I can add daddy issues to the list." You add softly making Matt sadly nod his head in response.

"The poor bastard's been dealing with the guilt and bullshit from his father for almost 12 years now. Honestly I don't blame him for wanting a break from it."

"Guilt about what?" You sneak a peek at Jensen to see that he's now fast asleep. He's slouched down further onto the couch and propped his boots up on a nearby ottoman. He looks so peaceful that you momentarily forget that he's a pain in the ass. The moment passes though when you hear what Matt's about to say.

"His dad blames him for Donna's death and he thinks his son doesn't deserve all of his success. It's why Jensen has a love/hate relationship with his career. He's passionate about it but then the remorse sets in and he almost wants to destroy it."

"Shit. Was it...I mean...did he..." You stumble out not expecting that answer.

"Yes it was his fault but it was an accident. It's not my place to get into details, hopefully you'll get him to open up eventually."

Well this is just fucking dandy. You've dealt with difficult situations before with your job but this one takes the cake. The fact that you have a personal history with one of the people involved makes this harder. And it definitely piles on more pressure than usual.

Deciding you've found out enough backstory for now, you and Matt start nailing down details for this ridiculous operation. He fills you in on where Jensen likes to go to relax and you have the perfect place in mind. You know this whole process will be tough enough for Jensen, so there's no way in hell he's going to another hotel. Too many temptations.

Heading back into the hotel room, you notice Jensen is now wide awake and shoving fruit loops into his mouth. Oh how this man kills you.

"Ok dude...we leave first thing tomorrow morning. So pack everything up that you need because you're not coming back here." You inform him, blocking his view of the TV screen.

"Huh?" Jensen mumbles with his mouth full, looking adorably perplexed by your words. Although his innocent act doesn't last long once he realizes you're on to his game.

"Do me a favor, Ackles. Stay. Here. Do not leave this hotel room until I come and get you tomorrow. And no visitors either. Your disappearing act starts now."

"Yeah that doesn't work for me." He waves you off with a defiant smile then continues eating his cereal.

"Don't worry, Y/N. I'll keep an eye on him." Matt shoots you a wink and it makes Jensen throw his head back while moaning theatrically. Drama queen.

You say your goodbyes then rush home and get to work. You don't have much time to get your preparations in order. Fortunately this isn't your first rodeo and you have plenty of connections that can help out in a pinch.

Your friend Veronica, who's a realtor, sends you info on rentals that have immediate availability. You find one that sounds like a winner then continue to get ready for this lovely adventure you're about to endure.

~

The next mornings sun shines too soon and you seriously regret checking your phone. You have a google alert setup for Jensen's name, so anytime the fucker makes headlines you get notified. And you've been notified a shit ton since you fell asleep last night.

Not only did the difficult rock star go out last night, his drunken ass hit a plethora of bars and clubs in LA. The evidence of it is littered everywhere online. Thanks so much for the help, Matt.

Apparently Jensen's god damn chaperone needs a chaperone himself. Fucking men. They never listen. You gave one simple instruction and Jensen couldn't keep his annoying self in line. And Matt...well Matt's gonna get a god damn earful once you see him.  

You stroll lazily up to Jensen's hotel room door with Starbucks in hand. After a couple of knocks, the door swings open to reveal a very large bald man who's sizing you up.

"Clif?" You giggle remembering Matt's description of Jensen's driver. Apparently he looks like a Rottweiler but has a heart of gold like a Golden Retriever.

"Yes, ma'am. And you must be, Y/N. Come on in."

You trail behind Clif into the other room and what's before you is almost comical. There's a hungover rock star sitting next to a nervous looking manager and they both look pretty miserable.

"Hello, boys. You ready to get this shitshow on the road?" You question fighting back a yawn.

Matt looks ready to speak but suddenly decides against it, instead he just nods in your direction. Jensen barely grunts a response, yanking his baseball cap down further onto his head.

Everyone finally piles into Clif's SUV to settle in for the ride. Of course he's the only one who knows where you're all headed. You decide it's better to keep the other two in the dark for the time being.

You let the quiet car ride go on for a bit. Mostly because you want your coffee to kick in before mentioning last night. Although the stupid cup of java is not strong enough because you're still fucking sleepy. Screw it.

"So tell me what happened last night, people. Cause it sure as hell wasn't what we agreed on." You glance between the two handsome men getting different reactions from each.

"For the record, I didn't agree to shit." Jensen interjects earning himself a dirty expression.

"It's my fault. I fell asleep." Matt looks like a poor wounded animal and you almost feel bad for him. Almost.

"You had one job, man." You groan flicking the side of his head with your finger.

"And you..." You quickly twist yourself around towards the backseat to where Jensen's sitting.

"Your drunken ass got around everywhere last night huh? There's a ton of pictures circulating online right now. I think this one is my personal favorite." You hold out your iPhone to show the photo and a huge grin graces Jensen's face.

"Kaleo! They're my boys, man."

"Jensen..."

"Oh relax. No one saw me punch a douche bag named Brett in the VIP lounge at Hyde. I did good." He says proudly.

"Son of a bitch! You were supposed to stay home, Ackles."  Ugh. It's too early for this shit.

"Oops."

"Oops? You can take your oops and shove it up your ass, pretty boy." You narrow your eyes in his direction.

"Aw you think I'm pretty?" Jensen retorts without missing a beat.

"Piss off." You mutter grumpily shifting back around in your seat.

"Well Y/N's definitely a morning person." Jensen cackles, making sure to file this useful tidbit away for the future.

"Where we going?" Matt wonders out loud.

"You'll see soon."

"I need my beauty sleep. Wake me up when we get there." Jensen mumbles stretching out in the backseat.

The tension that was once in the car has disappeared and you decide to lean your head back and rest as well. You actually get some shut eye but it's rudely interrupted by a panicked hand shaking you.

"Is this...is that a lake?" Matt's shocked reaction continues as he whips his head around to look at everything we drive by.

"You're a smart one." You deadpan.

"But..."

"Shhh. Don't wake Jensen up yet." You whisper as Clif turns onto a long dirt road that leads to the house you picked out.

Matt's eyes are now bugging out of his skull and he looks ready to jump out of the moving car. For the love of god. These guys are so friggin high maintenance.

Once the car is thrown into park, you gingerly exit through the passenger side door. Matt follows suit and waves you over to move away from the car. This should be good.

"This is a lake house!" Matt does his best to keep his voice low while gesturing around wildly.

"And? You said he likes being by the water."

"The ocean, Y/N. Don't play stupid. I vetoed the lake house idea. They remind Jay of the one his family had growing up. He refuses to go near one."

"Yes I'm aware." You shrug casually.

"Are you insane?"

"Probably. Regardless Jensen needs to face this shit, Matt. Clearly the way he's been coping isn't working for him."

"I know but..."

"Ackles is a grown man. He can handle it...he'll have to."

"What the fuck?!" Oh shit. The beast is awake. You twirl around to see Jensen fuming as he takes in his tranquil surroundings.

"Welcome to your new place of residence." You saunter over to him, pretending that rage isn't painted on his features. Normally you'd be intimidated as fuck but you're still too half asleep to care right now.

"You've gone too far, L/N. I'm officially done with this bullshit. You're fired." He seethes through gritted teeth.

"Nope. Matt hired me." You counter with sly smile.

"Oh he's fired too." Jensen shoots back before laying his eyes on his manger.

"You're fired!" He loudly shouts at Matt before turning his gaze to his driver.  

"And you're fired!" Jensen points at Clif then starts to furiously pace back and forth.

“Jensen...”

"Everyone's fired!" He barks practically stomping the hard ground with his work boot.

"And here I thought you were gonna overreact.” You smirk knowingly. “Thanks for proving me wrong, Ackles." 

~

Prompt! Hollstein and the quotes "Are you drunk?" and "Don't call me that!" ~Fox

i’m doing this as a HMT!verse prompt and it’s set somewhere amidst the events of chapter six. thanks fox!!

You’re at The Roof with the usual suspects - Kirsch and the rest of your squadron - when some drunk college idiots start making a ruckus down the bar from you. It disrupts your group’s conversation, but only for a moment. Kirsch recovers quickly and turns to you.

“So,” he starts with a smile that tells you that you won’t like what follows. “How’s the little nerd?”

“She has a name, you know,” you say, taking a long pull from your drink.

“I know that, but this is more fun for me.”

“Because it’s annoying?”

“Duh,” he shrugs with a grin.

“So how is she?” Carson asks, steering the conversation back to your ridiculous sham of a marriage.

“Uptight as ever,” you say, before motioning to Brody behind the bar. “Another, and make it a double.”

“I thought you were getting along better,” Kirsch says, leaning back against the bartop.

“We are. That’s the problem.”

“I’m… confused,” Billy says.

“Yeah,” Reese adds, “how’s that an issue?”

Just then, Brody sets down your drink and a shot.

“On the house,” he tells you, “to survive this mockery of an interrogation.”

You down the shot quickly and chase it with your drink. Your very strong drink. Brody never disappoints.

Kirsch points to you and says, “See that? That’s Carmilla for” - he puts on a voice that you think is meant to sound like you - “‘she’s making me feel things and I’m Carmilla Karnstein and no one makes me feel my own feelings!’”

“Okay, Wilson, that’s enough.”

“Dude,” he says, voice softer. “At our bar? Not cool, man.”

“Fine - just - let’s drop it.”

Kirsch perks back up. “Chugging contest?”

“Only if you get me the finest German beer this place has to offer.”

/

Too many beers and not enough minutes later, your arm is being raised in victory. You wipe the beer mustache above your lip away with your free arm and let loose a serious belch.

“Karnstein remains the queen!” Brody announces to the small crowd that’s gathered.

“As if there was ever a doubt,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet, wobbling a little as you do. “Whoa.”

You pat Kirsch’s back as he downs the last of his beer before slamming the stein down on the table in front of him.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck, man.”

“Ditto.”

“Obvs, like totally,” Kirsch adds in his finest Valley Girl voice.

“Okay, so,” Brody cuts in, “he’s done for the night.”

/

You, however, are not, so while Kirsch sips some water, you continue drinking - albeit at a much, much slower pace - and you both continue talking and laughing with your friends. The Roof clears out a little but somehow gets louder, but that’s probably because those remaining are too drunk to have volume control.

You head over to the jukebox in the corner to switch the music, as you always do on Fridays around this time, when the college guys from earlier call to you.

“What’s new, pussycat?!”

You turn on your heel, which goes more smoothly than it should considering how many drinks you’ve had tonight.

“Excuse me?”

“Come over and play, kitty,” one of them says and you feel your stomach drop.

Your vision blurs and for a moment - a split second - the dark-haired boy’s face morphs into a more familiar one, a more beloved one: Will’s.

That second passes and you see the face for what it really is: a drunk, belligerent assbag.

“Here, kitty!” he says and you stalk toward him, shoulders drawn up. “Aw, kitty’s on the prowl!”

You reach the bar, grab the idiot by front of his shirt, and say, “Don’t you fucking dare call me that.”

Just then, you feel strong arms wrap around your waist and then your feet are no longer touching the ground. If you didn’t recognize Kirsch’s cologne, you’d kick and fight, but you let him carry you a few steps back.

“Breathe, Carmilla. Breathe.”

You don’t realize until just that moment that you’d been holding your breath and you exhale sharply. The back of your throat pangs and Will’s voice seems to echo in your head. Kirsch sets you down and you turn to face him.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Whatever, I just - I’m g’nna get some air.”

“Want me to come with?”

You shake your head.

“Thank you, but no. Keep an eye on those fuckers.”

“Roger that.”

Before you know it, you’re in the alley beside The Roof, crouching, back against the cold brick of the building. You’re willing yourself not to cry, but you’ve had a lot to drink and you just - you miss your brother.

You pull your phone from your pocket and before you can think about it, you call Laura.

It only rings twice before she picks up.

“Carm?” she asks.

“Hi,” you say and to your own ears, your voice sounds weak.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, mhmm. I just - I’m at Th’ Roof and some guy - it’s just - Will’s dead.”

“Carm, are you drunk?”

“Very, cupcake. A lot. But ‘m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

You let silence settle between the two of you before you say, “I wanna come home.”

“So come home.”

“I don’t - well - I can’t ‘member how to get there.”

“Carm,” Laura says with what sounds like a mixture of amusement and sadness. “I’ll be there in ten, alright? Stay put.”

/

You rejoin your friends, if only to tell Kirsch that you’re leaving. They all pretend as if you hadn’t just tried to fight a frat boy and you’re reminded, once more, that you know some of the best people in this city. Laura comes through the door even sooner than you expect and something in your chest settles.

“Hi guys,” she says, bright and sunny as always, regardless of the fact that it’s nearing 1:00am.

“Hey Laura,” the group says, nearly in unison.

She turns to you then and asks, “Ready to head out?” You nod and Laura loops her arm through yours and tugs you gently toward the door. “Have a good night, everyone! Get home safe, please.”

“Will do,” Kirsch says, and you ignore the content grin he shoots your way.

/

Laura leads you back to the loft, arm still looped around yours the entire way, and when you get to her building, she pulls you up the stairs. The two of you reach the third floor, Laura passes it and continues up the stairs. You resist a little in confusion and Laura stop walking.

“Trust me,” she says, nodding toward the stairs. “I know a place.”

You follow Laura, who leads you to a heavy metal door that you find out leads to the roof. She pushes the door open and then holds it for you.

“Thought you could use some fresh air,” she says, shrugging. “Plus, it’s clear out tonight.”

Your throat tightens again and all you manage is a nod before you pass Laura and walk out onto the roof. The cool air hits you and you pull in the first fulfilling breath since you heard the word “kitty.” You walk out to the center of the roof and you don’t feel Laura follow. She’s right, though, and it’s clear enough to see the night stars, even with the lights of the city shining bright.

You sit down, cross-legged, eyes trained on the sky, focusing on your breathing. Laura joins you then, mirroring your position, her right knee resting on your left. The contact shifts your gaze from the sky to Laura and she’s unfolding a blanket.

“Where did you magic that from?”

Laura nods to her left and says, “Storage closet, for just such an occasion,” as she wraps the blanket around the both of you.

“Thanks,” you say, voice soft.

“Wouldn’t want you freezing to death up here.”

“No, I mean - for coming to get me, but also this - thank you.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

You look back up to the sky and start counting stars. You feel yourself gaining a bit of sobriety.

“I miss my brother. I always do, but - there was this guy at the bar being gross and he called me the nickname Will always called me and I just…” you trail off.

“I’m so sorry,” Laura says.

You shrug and say, “It’s whatever.”

“It’s not, Carm. I know you like to act like you’re tough as nails but it’s okay to be upset. It’s also okay to accept help when it’s offered, which you did tonight!”

“Silver linings, huh?”

“Silver linings.”

/

Shortly thereafter, you and Laura retire to the loft and you head straight for the couch, opting not to even bother changing into sleep shorts. You let yourself fall onto the couch and get situated on your side, back to the back of the couch. Your body feels heavy with grief and alcohol and exhaustion and you’re just dozing off when you feel a dip in the couch near your feet. 

You open your eyes and Laura’s there, looking down on you.

“You okay to sleep now?” You nod and she continues, “Okay, just, y’know, come get me if you need anything. There’s a glass of water if you need it.”

“Thanks, Laura.”

She smiles and you think her cheeks redden a bit. Then she pushes herself to her feet and retrieves a blanket from the wicker basket beside the couch. She lays it over you and fusses until she’s content that you’re comfortable. 

“Thanks for letting your guard down tonight. You’re safe with me,” Laura says, and you drift off into a peaceful rest.

Metal as Fuck

Welcome to a Zombie Apocalypse AU where Keith is suspicious and Lance is too calm for his own damn good. Featuring gratuitous cursing on Lance’s part and mentions of MANY injuries on Keith’s. Also, the undead. 

Stranger: ((Zombie AU.)) The past dreadful humid month of June, Keith has been doing well as he could, jumping from camp to camp he stumbled across trying to get to the so-called 'safe place' guarded by the military. It was really hard to survive out in the open, he was the only one who always got out without a scratch. That was untrue, a big amount of scratches. People got outrun fast, usually, too many walkers came by, made their situation worse with the loud shots of their guns. Or they ran out of supplies or got killed by others for their things. That's why he never got close to anyone. He didn't want to see anyone turn, be left behind again or betrayed. Keith used their supplies. Left after the sun rose. That simple. But it was hard. Being alone, only having the shitty walkers to keep him company. They always came running at him. Obviously happy to see a meal. It's been three whole days without food. Only a little bit of stream water he found during that time. Keith was weak, he was dragging his sword in the grass behind him as he stumbled over his own feet and little ridges on the forest floor. There was a cabin across the road, was way out of the forest. But walkers surrounded his path. He couldn't make it that far. He heard growling behind him, feet shuffling, lots of it. He huffed and stumbled around to face the noises. There were at least a dozen of walkers. Just wonderful. Using whatever strength he had left, he swung his sword around. Slicing off their heads in smooth cuts. Once the last one fell, Keith stumbled away from the bodies. At least trying to move on just a little. His body just couldn't. His legs gave out on him and he fell to the ground, landing in muddy grass. His breathing was shallow and his eyes could hardly stay open. Not having a choice as his body went limp, the walkers were gonna get him for sure.

You: Before the world had decided to go to shit, Lance had been sure he was going to follow in his parent's footsteps and end up in the military. He'd learned to shoot when he'd been old enough to walk, and he'd been excited for it ever since he could remember. After the world had ended, though, he'd given that up to guard his home. He hadn't heard from his parents in months, and it had been even longer since his older siblings had reached out to him. He didn't have any high hopes for their survival, if he was honest with himself, but he really, really hated being honest with himself. He'd grown up in this cabin, though, and damn it, if he was going to die at the hands of some of those undead fucks, he was going to do it here. But he hadn't died. Instead, he'd put his shooting practice to good use, and he'd managed to make it on his own, scavenging what he needed in the early hours of dawn whenever he got too low for comfort in supplies. The sun was high in the sky when the sound of a horde of walkers caught his attention, and the traps around the other side of the road started making noise a few seconds later. He swore and abandoned the two-way radio he'd been trying to fix for months, hiding it under the makeshift barricade at the back of the cabin and grabbing his gun. He clambered quietly to the top of the barricade and hopped out onto the roof, turning towards the horde and readying his gun to-- but he didn't shoot, because holy shit, there was blood on the dirt path and the walkers were nearly on him and Lance hadn't seen another live human in too long. He didn't even think as he slid off the roof, aiming for the walkers and taking them out, one by one. The thudding of bodies was a background to the sound of his own pulse beating in his ears as he rushed towards the injured party, scooping them easily and slinging an arm over his shoulder. He half-dragged, half-carried him back towards the cabin, ignoring the rustling of the walkers behind them, and didn't stop until they were safely inside again. He laid the prone form of the other human on his bed before hopping back up onto the roof and making quick work of the other walkers he hadn't yet shot at.

Stranger: Keith wasn't able to fight back from being suddenly picked up. He was pulled back to the cabin he actually spotted. Once he was on the bed he didn't hesitate to sleep. Well not only did he have no much choice but now walkers were trying to eat him. At least for now. Keith didn't even know how long time passed when he woke up. He slowly sat up from the bed and looked around. He was in a bedroom? Oh yeah, the cabin. A guy saved him, he didn't get a look at his face. Keith felt the bed around him for his sword, his eyebrows furrowing when he couldn't find it. He sat up completely, his eyes scanning the room for it. "What the..." He muttered, looking around. The fucker took his sword? He didn't even know if he was dangerous yet! He was unarmed, in these types people were just as dangerous as walkers. He quickly limped around the room to look for his sword. He climbed on the bed again and looked under it. Where'd he hide it? It had to be out of the room. Suddenly he heard the door open and Keith jumped. Nearly falling off the bed in the process. He glared at the male in the doorway. "Where's my sword?" He questioned.

You: Once he'd secured the area, Lance shut off the rooftop entrance and made sure the door was properly barred before heading in to deal with the stranger. He snagged his makeshift first aid kit on the way, and approached with caution, though he realised as he tugged a box over to sit on that he needn't have bothered. The other was out cold. He was pretty, in a rugged, post-apocalyptic type of way. And they were in a post-apocalyptic hell, so it made sense, he reasoned to himself wryly as he set about taking care of his injuries. Most of them were thankfully superficial, and after wrapping the last of the wounds, he picked up the sword that had clattered to the floor --a SWORD! Man, this guy was extra-- and let it lean against the wall outside the doorway to the room. It was hours before the guy woke; Lance checked on him every half or so to make sure he was still breathing. When he finally found him sitting up, Lance couldn't help a relieved, easy grin. "Woah, hey. Slow down there. You kinda had a nasty run-in with the walkers out there." He pointed just behind him, where the sword was visible against the wall. "Your weapon's there. Have you really been roaming with just a /sword/, dude? Because that's metal as fuck. Dangerous, but metal." He nodded appreciatively, leaning against the wall in an unconcerned manner, as though this was something that happened to him every other day.

Stranger: Keith raised a brow. "Nasty run in?? I've been 'running' into them for the past two weeks." He said, he didn't know why he was sharing that with him. But that's how long he's been out. At least so he knew. It was three days ago where he ran out of water and food. He looked behind the other and noticed his sword. Great, just great. "Yeah? No it's not. It doesn't attrack them. They come when there's sound. Especially gunshots." He explained. "It's faster and easier. If you know how to use it." He shrugged, plus he didn't know how to use a gun very well...other then bashing a walkers head in with it. But he'd keep that to himself. The guy was so relaxed though? It was odd. "I haven't eaten in three days. Do you have food?" He asked, looking into the others eyes. "I'll leave then." He said, he'd be out of his hair real soon.

You: "Seriously, man, calm down. I'm not going to shove you out on your ass. I doubt you'd make it, anyways." Lance looked the other up and down critically, frowning as he did. "You lost a lot of blood. You were asleep for hours, you know." The fact that he hadn't eaten anything in three days probably hadn't helped, either. Lance wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone so pale that was still alive and breathing. "Just... chill, alright? I'm not going to hurt you. You're welcome to what I have so you can get back on your feet. I'll get you something to eat. You just..." Lance gestured widely, vaguely, towards the male and the bed. "Stay there and try not to fall over." He turned, heading into the other room and kneeling, rummaging around in one of the various crates that lined the inside of the main room. He tugged out a can, peered at it for a moment, and nodded once to himself before digging around once more. He came up with a second can and a tin pie plate and set about heating the beans he'd managed to scrounge up. "Here ya go," he said once he'd finally finished, walking back into the room and offering the tin to the stranger. "Not a five star meal, but it's food." The other can was still unopened, and contained some sort of mixed fruit. "I've even got dessert." He set the unopened can down on the messy table, perched precariously atop what seemed to be a stack of books. "I'm Lance, by the way. You got a name?"

Stranger: Keith frowned, yeah he'd make it. Most didn't want him to stay and really he didn't either for too long. Made him uneasy. He knew that part, he was banged up pretty bad. He ran out of supplies so he wasn't able to fix anything. He sorta just tried to forget about it so he wouldn't feel the pain. Didn't work too well. Keith looked at the other questionably. Since when was someone so nice? It was like pulling teeth with others for food, Keith had to do a lot to get where he was. People were stingy. Also he didn't entirely believe the guy, sure. Everyone said that, 'i won't hurt you' the next thing you know you're getting shot at. He watched him leave, looking down at his injures. He was all patched up, that was generous to waste his supplies on him. Keith was greatful. He watched him walk back in with food and he eyed it down. He didn't have to do anything for it? He was just handing it over? Keith took the beans. "Thank you.." He muttered and started eating. He groaned, fuck he hasn't eaten in forever. Tasted like heaven compared to constant belly aches from hunger. "Nice to meet you Lance." He mumbled. "It's Keith."

You: The guy... really hadn't eaten in a while. Wow. Lance felt bad for him, he really did. Before he'd realised that he needed to start scavenging, he'd rationed the food that he'd had before, and it... hadn't gone well. Hunger was a shitty, shitty feeling. He huffed softly in amusement at the mumbled introduction in between shovelled-in bites of food. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but under the circumstances, nothing's ever really nice anymore." He shook his head, nudging the can of fruit. "Give it a few minutes once you finish that. If you eat too fast, your body'll reject everything and then you'll end up worse off." He knew from experience. It was nice to see colour returning to Keith's cheeks, though, even if it was only momentary. Lance had always been willing to help others, even though he'd been threatened in his own home because of it more times than he wanted to admit. It was fine. Everyone did what they had to in order to survive; Lance was more than willing to part with some of his supplies if it meant that someone else lived another day. He had backups and reserves; some people weren't so lucky. Lots of people weren't so lucky.

Stranger: Keith nodded. He used to think that too. A lot up until now, Lance saved his life and he hasn't punched him yet. Honestly a wonderful sign, he was a good person. So far. "Well in this moment it is. Saved my ass and you're not a prick." He said bluntly, he was quick to finish off eating. He didn't know that but he listened anyway, just sitting back. It made sense, that was the only reason why he was listening. Not saying fuck you and doing what he wanted. Keith was still wary of Lance. He would till he left. Keith saved people when he was out, when they were being attacked. But that would be the end of it, once they were safe he'd run off before they started asking him questions. But his journey to the safe place would be worth it. They apparently had working showers, no more washing off in the lake. He almost moaned at the thought, they had air conditioning. The place was a luctury. You got your own rooms, seperated. It was really too good to be true. It was safe. Well as safe as it could get out here.

You: There wasn't much Lance could say to argue with that, so he didn't. Instead, he found himself watching quietly as Keith ate, his gaze roaming curiously over the lithe form of this stranger who'd ended up --almost quite literally-- on his doorstep. He really was stupidly pretty, even with the various bandages and half-healed bruises covering most of his visible skin. His hair was long, a style that Lance would have labelled as a mullet, had he not been aware that it probably just wasn't possible for Keith to cut his hair with anything other than his sword. (And THAT was dangerous, even if it would be even more metal than just /having/ the sword in the first place.) "You just a roamer, then?" he asked curiously, finally breaking the silence between them, which had been broken previously only by the quiet scraping of Keith's plastic spoon against the tin plate. "Or you headed somewhere specific?"

Stranger: Keith didn't notice Lance staring at him. He was busy eating really, if he didn't take supplies with him it'd be a bit till he stumbled across something. He looked up when Lance spoke again. His head tilted to the side, that was a thing? "I guess so." He responded with a shrug. "I'm going to the 'safe place'. I'm not too far off now. It's run by military. They have everything there. Most camps that i crashed at talked about it." He explained, finishing off the fruit. The juice was nice and the stream water taste was finally gone. He would say Lance could even come with him. But he wasn't sure how well that would go, Keith wasn't the best with traveling with others. He was a loner, did things his way. He didn't like following orders and would laugh at anyone who told him what to do.

You: That made sense. Lance had heard about the safe place; he'd had several people pass by that were headed that way, although none had been within the last few weeks. It gave him a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, although he hoped that it was just paranoia and not a premonition that something had really gone wrong. It was easy to be paranoid, these days. Lance nodded slowly, taking the can from Keith once he'd finished off the fruit and the juice inside. "You won't make it if you don't have anything on you," he noted, almost absently, in observation. He checked the can and then, satisfied that Keith had finished the contents completely, stood up, leaving the room momentarily to add it to a pile in a crate separate from the one that had held the food. He would add it to the traps at the edge of the property whenever there was a quiet moment, after Keith had gone. He picked up Keith's sword by the hilt as he walked back into the room, and --very aware of Keith's gaze snapping onto him-- offered it out to him. "I wasn't lying to you. I'm not gonna hurt you. I could've left you to the walkers if I didn't want to deal with you," he pointed out.

Stranger: Keith already knew he wouldn't, why was he telling him that? It was the obvious. What was he getting at?? He watched Lance leave with the cans, but he quickly noticed him grabbing his sword. Keith was panicking a bit. Was he gonna use it against him? Fuck he shouldn't have let his guard down a bit. He raised a brow when his sword was held out to him. He hesitantly took it back, hugging it to his chest defensively. "..Most say that. But they turn on you." He said cautiously. It was stupid of him to give it back. So if Lance tried anything Keith was armed and no way Lance had a chance. Even though he wouldn't it was also stupid because Keith could take everything he owns. Turning on him instead. Restraining him or putting his sword in his face. Or kick him out.

You: Keith was around his age. He had to be. Lance hadn't really figured it out until the moment that Keith hugged at the sword protectively, but... they couldn't have been that far off. And it was weird, because Lance didn't usually get a lot of people his age. There had been that sibling pair, but one had been older and one had been younger. The little sister had tried to help him work on the radio when they'd gotten caught around the cabin during the night. Everyone else was usually older than he was. It was bizarre, but Lance found himself almost wishing that the stranger would just /relax/ so that maybe, just maybe, things could seem like they were normal again, just once. He did laugh at the statement, though, an amused chuckling that he couldn't quell in time. "Yeah, I've been there. You have no idea how many people I've pulled in, just to have them steal a bunch of shit and run." He shook his head. "I'm not going to turn on you, though, Keith. I'm just trying to survive, same as you." He glanced around the room, noting the slowly lengthening shadows on the wall. "Unless you have a camp that you're trying to make tonight, you shouldn't head out until dawn. I've got a couple extra cans you can take with you. Probably just fruit, but it's better than nothing. If you want to stay the night, the bed's yours."

Stranger: Keith stared at Lance. They were the same age. Probably. He met tons of people at camps, little kids, old people, middle aged..Everything age really. But that was him assuming, he wasn't the most social person. He didn't need to get involved with people. But Lance was pretty different than the rest. He actually really liked helping people. He wasn't gonna let his guard down though. When he got a better look at Lance, his skin was really pretty. He had freckles on his cheeks when you really stared. His eyes were just...really really nice to look at. Keith nodded. He didn't believe it entirely but half of him did. "I have no camp to head to." He admitted. "Where are you sleeping? I'll take there instead, it's your house Lance." He said, standing up. It wasn't as easy considering how fucked up his leg was. He almost feel over. It was bruised, really everything in the book. Keith smiled, just a little. "But really thank you Lance."

You: Lance immediately stepped forward when Keith stood. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, both to keep him from going any further and to steady him, since he'd begun wobbling almost immediately. "You probably won't have the option of sleeping in a bed tomorrow night, wherever you end up," he pointed out, voice soft. "Don't fight me on this? I'll still have this place tomorrow, provided that the walkers don't suddenly gain any more sentience and burn it down. Besides, it's not the softest thing in the world, but it'll be better for your injuries if you've got something between you and the floor. Trust me." He nudged his shoulder gently, obviously intending to get him to take the bed, no matter what protestation he might come up with.

Stranger: Keith flinched when he felt Lance's hand on his shoulder. He didn't shove him away which was shocking for himself. He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine. But they won't burn it down. They're a virus. Aren't smart enough for that." He said cockily. He moved back to the bed, laying down on his stomach. "You know, the safe place is for everyone. You could travel there with me. It'd be worth it. Plus it'd be like paying you back for this. I don't like owing people things." He wasn't even sure why he was suggesting it. But he did save his life. Plus if he became trouble he could just walk away. Literally.

You: "You don't owe me anything," Lance stated simply. He'd rolled his eyes at the comment about the virus; he knew what they were, alright. He'd just been /trying/ to make a point. "I didn't have to help you. I wanted to." He gazed at Keith's now-stretched out form for another moment before blinking himself out of whatever reverie his brain had been trying to kick start. "This is my home. I made the decision to protect it when the rest of my family left, when everything started. I appreciate the offer, but... this is where I belong." This was /his/ safe place. He wasn't about to give that up, especially when he didn't even know if the mythical safe place that the military supposedly ran even existed. "You should get some sleep. I'll get a pack together for you; you can just take it tomorrow morning, if I'm not around."

Stranger: Keith didn't want to admit that he was disappointed of him saying no. It was reasonable. He was better by himself anyways. Lance was at home. He turned to his side, his back to Lance. He still had his sword by his feet for easy access. "Right. I will. Night." He said simply, cutting the conversation short. He wanted to sleep to get rid of his weird feeling. He shouldn't be so upset about something so silly.

You: "G'night, Keith." Lance's voice was soft again as he shut the door once more, the way it had been when he'd allowed Keith to sleep before. He busied himself with getting a pack together for Keith, once he was certain that the other was asleep. Or, at the very least, when he was certain that Keith wasn't going to get up and try to argue with him again about who should take the bed. He emptied one of the backpacks he'd found on a fairly recent scavenging trip. It wasn't too bad off, considering that he'd found it in the middle of nowhere. Some poor sap had probably gotten ambushed by walkers and either left it behind, or... well, Lance didn't like to think about the alternative too much. That was how it usually went, though. He packed a few cans of fruit, a box of crackers, a thermos that was half-full of water. He added some bandages and a blanket before setting the pack outside of the door to the room Keith was sleeping in, and then curled up with another spare blanket on the floor of the main room, falling into a light sleep, one that he would be awakened from in an instant, were his alarm system around the property or the path to start jingling.

Stranger: Even before everything went down, Keith was a very light sleeper. But now, if even a pin dropped he'd wake up. He heard the commotion through the door in the other room. When it silenced Keith eyes shut and he fell asleep. It was still dark in the room when he woke up and rolled over. He was almost out again when he heard this annoying racket. What the fuck was that? Keith instantly got up and he grabbed his sword. He opened the door, Lance was still asleep? On the floor too? Okay, that made him feel bad. But he followed the noise, it was coming from the front door. Once he got closer, squinting his eyes in the dark. It was walkers clawing at the door. Nothing too concerning till he looked out the boarded window, through an area of wood. Outside was infested with walkers! Okay, shit. Fuck. Keith cursed loudly and limp ran over to Lance, shaking his shoulder. "Lance, Lance wake up. There's a bunch of walkers outside. I don't know if it's secure enough to hold off that many." He said, continuing to try and wake up the other.

You: It wasn't like Lance to sleep soundly. He hadn't slept soundly in... he couldn't even remember how long. But the excitement of the day, the extra body in the house... Lance fell asleep, and he was /dreaming/, and it was so nice, and even the sound of his alarm system (with the cans rattling and the sound of the walkers dragging their rotting bodies to the door) didn't wake him. He did, however, awaken to someone roughly shaking his shoulder. He shot up, disoriented and confused, and found himself speaking Spanish for several seconds before his brain caught up with his mouth. "Es no-- Fuck." He cut himself off mid-ramble and shot up, lunging for his gun on the table across the room. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he swore, attempting to control his breathing. He could deal with this. He had someone else here. They could deal with this. He turned to Keith, his eyes wide. "I'm going up there," he said, pointing to the roof. "I'll take care of as many as I can. They already seem to know we're here, so there's no point in being quiet, sword-boy," he added, sensing an argument. "I hope you can use that, though, because as soon as I start shooting, I need you to open the door and start swinging. Got it?" Lance was already working on the barricade, climbing up and tugging on the bar that opened to the roof.

Stranger: Keith flinched back when Lance shot awake, speaking in Spanish. Okay, fuck that was hot but aside from that. He had no idea what he was saying, but before he asked for english Lance changed to english. He nodded, understanding. He raised a brow and snorted at the nickname. That was new. "Of course i can. Yeah, got it." He said, watching Lance climb up to the roof. He walked over to the door, adrenaline already kicking in. He heard his heartbeat in his ears. Keith listened carefully for gunshots. When he heard a few rounds, he unlocked the door and swung it open. Walkers started trying to grab at him. Easily he stabbed the first three in the chests, going straight through the three at once. He slammed the door behind him and started fighting them off from the house. Chopping off their heads in alarming speeds. He made it look so easy. He kept close to the door, he was too weak still to get out there, even with Lance covering.

You: Shit, there were a lot of walkers out there. Lance hadn't seen this many in a horde for weeks. Hordes were fucking ridiculous; they kept coming and coming, and once you started shooting, they only came faster. Lance hadn't been nicknamed "Sharpshooter" by his dad for nothing, though, back in the day. He rarely missed a shot, and even in the dark, tonight was no exception. By nothing more than the light of the moon and stars above them, Lance shot, and he kept shooting, keeping a steady eye trained on the approaching walkers, trusting Keith to take care of the ones that had already reached the front of the house. It seemed like forever before he began to notice a break in the horde, that there were less walkers upright than not. There was light beginning to show just over the peak of the horizon, and Lance was already fucking exhausted. So much for that restful sleep he'd just had. By the time the sun had risen, the horde had been disposed of, and Lance took one more critical look around from his position on top of the house before climbing back down the barricade and looking for Keith.