“Have you ever been in love?”
The question seems to take Evan by surprise. “What?”
Barty repeats the question, shifting up into a sitting position. His hands dig into the ground, still damp from last night’s rain. “Have you ever been in love?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, looking down at his feet, Evan quietly answers, “Yes.”
Suddenly, Barty is mad at himself for asking. He can’t even say why he asked in the first place; he simply had the thought, and being the impulsive person he is, he asked without thinking. Now he wishes he hadn’t, if only to have avoided this odd burning in his chest caused by Evan’s answer. And really, he should drop the topic, based on downcast tint to Evan’s response, but he can’t seem to let it go. So instead, he presses the issue.
“When?” he asks, looking intently at Evan.
At that, Evan looks to his left, purposely avoiding eye contact with Barty. He stubs out his cigarette on the grass next to him, a thin curl of smoke rising up from it as he does so. “A long, long time ago.” His voice is dark with something Barty can’t name.
“Did it end well?”
Evan cuts him a look. “Who said it ended?”
At his words, something twists inside Barty. Suddenly there’s a lump in his throat as he works to get out his next sentence. “Well, you said a long time ago. So I thought that it was a, uh, past thing.”
“Yeah. It was a long time ago. When I… fell in love.”
Barty knows he’s the one who started this conversation, but he really hates the way Evan says love in reference to some mystery person. At least he used past tense, though, meaning it’s a thing of the past.
“So what happened?” Barty questions.
“They didn’t want me in the way I wanted them. Still don’t want me that way.” There’s something bitter in Evan’s tone, and he’s gone back to refusing to look at Barty. In contrast, Barty stares at him intently. He feels as though he’ll be able to see through Evan’s exterior and into his insides, where all his secrets are hidden, if he only looks hard enough.
“Who was it?”
“Does it matter?” Evan’s voice is biting as he sharply turns his head back towards Barty.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Barty leans back onto his elbows, tearing his gaze from Evan. It’s almost comical how their positions have changed; now, Evan stares at Barty, and Barty looks out over the lake in an effort to avoid his gaze.
“It was no one important, okay?”
“Oh.” Something settles in Barty when he hears that, even if Evan’s tone contrasts with his dismissive words. “They were—still are—an idiot, though. Just for the record.”
Evan laughs in that disbelieving way of his, as if he’s sharing an inside joke with himself. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Barty says definitively. “I mean, you’re perfect. And whoever can’t see that is an idiot.”
“Perfect?”
“Yup.” Barty means it, too.
“Yeah, well,” Evan scoffs, “it isn’t good enough for them. So it doesn’t matter.”
“Well, you’re good enough for me,” Barty says hotly. “So don’t worry about that asshole. Because and me? We’re best friends, and you’ll always be good enough for me. You know that, right?”
Evan is avoiding Barty’s gaze again. He picks at the grass next to him, focusing on that instead. “Right,” he says somewhat bitterly.
“I mean it,” Barty insists. “You are.”
Evan looks at him, smiling sadly. “Thanks, Bee. But it’s getting cold. I think I’ll head back inside if that’s all right with you.”
“I—okay. Yeah, uh, sure.”
With that, Evan gets up and begins the walk back to the castle. Barty watches him go, thinking their entire exchange over.
He’s not entirely sure where the conversation went sour enough to get Evan to leave, but clearly something must’ve caused his abrupt departure. Even if Barty had thought he had said the right things to get Evan to cheer up again. He had meant what he said, too; Evan always would be good enough for him. Barty honestly couldn’t imagine a better best friend.
So Evan shouldn’t, Barty thinks heatedly, have ever been hung up on some asshole who couldn’t even see how amazing he is.
Barty continues to sit there, close to the shore of the lake, and watches Evan’s retreating form. And as he watches Evan reach up to wipe at his eyes, trying and failing to act like it was nonchalant gesture, he resolves to find out who Evan was talking about. And he’s going to make them, whoever it may be, pay for how they hurt Barty’s best friend.
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The Witch's Apprentice - Part 5
cw: demon summoning, prolonged isolation, size difference, non-human genitalia, oral sex, agoraphobia, magical branding, more tags will be added as the story continues
male demon x afab reader
Word count: 4k
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
By your third week of being locked in your room, you felt like you might lose your mind.
Considering you’d been locked in the house for years you’d think the room wouldn’t be so bad. The actual space wasn’t that much smaller but the real problem was that there was nothing to do. Everything you’d been busying yourself with for years was locked outside, your books, your garden, your best friend.
Any pretense of freedom had disappeared. You could no longer go outside, chose what to do with your day, or see another living thing.
Well, most living things.
Eden had soundproofed all of the rooms for her own usage, so no one overheard anything she didn’t want them to. She knew how to break through it and project sound through the walls, something you’d never learned to do. However, you had no qualms about using the soundproofing to your advantage.
Lucien was less and less incredulous with every new time you summoned him. What do you want’s turned into easy greetings and his exasperation with you faded, although he seemed loathe to let you notice.
The summonings had become almost daily events.
You never made it more than an hour or two without at least giving it a shot. Your lack of actual summoning materials or techniques made it so he didn’t strictly have to come, could just decide not to show up, but he almost always did, choosing to stay with you for hours on end.
Every now and then he’d drop out, feeling a tug of being summoned by some other witch before he’d pop back, unsummoned and of his own choosing.
Today you were laying back on your bed while he sat on the floor. Even sitting, he was tall enough that your heads were roughly in line with one another.
You never did much. You would ask him question after question and watch as his answers got more and more evasive, not even to hide anything but seemingly doing it just because he could. He spoke in circles just to watch your head spin and see how long it would take before the questions stopped in favor of throwing pillows at him.
All the pillows lay scattered around him leaving you tragically out of ammo. You supposed you’d just have to hope that he’d had a change of heart in his neverending quest to irritate you.
It never worked. Not really.
Even if it weren’t for the boredom that made you cling to every word, there way something almost charming about his refusal to commit to an answer, to dance around the question and try and make you forget what you’d originally asked, regardless of whether he cared about you knowing the answer or not. It felt almost like a game.
“What does it feel like when you get summoned?” you asked, curious what happened on his end when he got that distant look in his eyes.
“Why, do you think you're getting summoned?” he asked with a laugh. “Is there another witch out there who wants to lock you in an even smaller room?”
“Stop it. She’s just worried.”
“Uh-huh. How long do you think this is going to last?” he asked, staring out at your locked door with blatant disgust.
You were less evasive with your answers. “I don’t know. If it lasts longer I might actually lose it.”
“So let me take you somewhere. Come on, I’ll have you back before you know it.”
Where the teasing and talking in circles was entertaining, this was your biggest point of contention. Lucien had become fixated on getting you out of here, on showing you the world.
You’d be lying if you said part of your apprehension to leave wasn’t fear. It had been so long, even talking to him had been such a big step. You couldn’t imagine just being somewhere new.
But you also couldn’t do that to Eden, betray her trust like that. No matter how many times he reassured you that she would never know, it left a churning feeling in your stomach. She’d been there for you for so many years, kept you safe. You couldn’t just leave her like that, behind her back.
You avoided the topic as often as you could. Other than those little arguments, seeing him had absolutely become the best part of your day.
You supposed that wasn’t hard to do. You spent most of the time he wasn’t there sleeping, What else was there to do?
You told him as much and he couldn’t quite manage to hide the flash of pity that crossed his face, the one that showed up whenever you mentioned your current living situation.
He did his best to push past it. “Have you been having fun dreams?” he asked with a grin.
You tried to brush off the comment despite his suggestive tone and allusion back to what he’d seen before. “They’re fine. Why don’t you show up in them anymore?”
“Just fine? Maybe dream me needs some pointers.”
You leaned off the bed, reaching for the pillow that lay closest to you on the floor. You managed to get a grip on it right as you started to slide off the bed but Lucien pushed you back up before you could fall to the floor.
He was rewarded for his efforts by a pillow flying towards him that collided with one of his horns as you let out a quiet harrumph.
“You’re so rude to me. And why are you asking? I’m here all the time, do you miss me?” he asked, cooing at you with faux sympathy. “Because if you want me there all you have to do is ask.”
“None of that was an answer to my question,” you informed him, well aware it wouldn’t get you anywhere.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re much more fun when your inhibitions are gone.”
“Mmhmm, I’m sure. And do you take a lot of humans to your little sin room?”
“Only the cute ones.”
You snorted. “Yeah, sure.”
“I could take you back there.”
“You are so shameless. If you want me to get all loose and flirty again just bring some wine by or something.”
“Not like that. I just think it would be good for you to get out, stretch your legs.”
“For the last time, I’m staying right here.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a huff, as if there was even the smallest chance that he’d finally give up on the idea. “If it were me, I would have killed that bitch by now.”
“Stop it! You will not talk about her like that!” Your defense of Eden was as reflexive as ever. You knew he had every right to be unimaginably angry at her but she was still your best friend, your savior.
His inevitable upcoming protest was cut off by your dinner being slid under the door, Lucien keeping absolutely still as the metal tray scraped against the floor.
He hated being here when she was nearby, even if she wasn’t interacting with you much these days. He claimed it was because he didn’t want to get you in even more trouble and get any more of your freedoms taken away.
You were sure that was part of it. But you saw the way he tensed up when she got close, when any sign appeared of her existence right on the other side of the door.
He was afraid of her. Absolutely terrified.
It made your heart ache, seeing him like that, seeing the fractures in his facade. You couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done to him to make him act like this.
Not that he’d ever tell you. You knew better than to push that point, it was one secret he was more than entitled to.
You did your best not to dwell on it too much. If you did you’d have to reflect on the way he always put himself between you and the door, the way he tensed up whenever she called out to you, knowing you couldn’t even respond unless she allowed it through the soundproofing. She never did.
You couldn’t be sure exactly when, maybe when you summoned him on your own the first time, maybe when you’d told him about all the years you’d spent stuck in this cabin surrounded by the vicious woods, maybe when you’d broken that summoning circle and trusted him, but at some point he’d decided that you were just as much Eden’s victim as he was. Some mysterious point where something switched in his mind and it moved from being you and her against him to Eden against the two of you.
You didn’t blame him for it. Eden had done horrible things to him, that much was clear. He needed her to be a villain and you could give him that.
Lucien always waited a long time before speaking after she showed up so you just lay there, attempting to sneak glances at him and getting caught every time.
Eventually his shoulders untensed and he seemed to decide it was safe to speak again, although a simmering anger still burned in his eyes.
“She isn’t teaching you jackshit.”
“Well…” you attempted to protest before he immediately cut you off.
“Not a question. I could teach you, you know. Your little witch isn’t the only one who knows magic.”
You laughed. “And what’s the price? You want my soul or something?”
“Please, if I wanted your soul I’d probably just need to ask, your dumbass would just hand it over to me.”
He probably wasn’t that far off the mark, if your history was any indication.
You shrugged as you replied. “There’s no real point in teaching me anyways, I’m not very good at it.” You weren’t even sure why he was offering, he’d already seen more than enough of you to know you were a lost cause.
“Being good at things isn't the only reason to do them. Come on, have some fun with it.”
Everything in you screamed that it was a bad idea, that you’d fuck it all up. But the way he was looking at you, daring you to say yes, managed to override those instincts just long enough to squeak out, “Fine. But you’re not allowed to get mad when I mess up.”
You weren’t sure what to expect of Lucien as a teacher. Whatever those confused expectations in the back of your head were, he certainly didn’t match them.
He was a patient teacher, letting you feel things out quietly and slowly. His jokes and evasiveness disappeared completely and every question you had was met with a careful answer.
You discovered very quickly that his sort of magic was very, very different from Edens.
Eden was all about rules, about maintaining the security and purity of her spells first. Everything was a strict ritual to be observed.
Lucien’s magic contained a freedom you thought couldn’t be afforded to humans. Instead of a list of materials and steps, what you were faced with most frequently now was instructions to shut your eyes and imagine, to put all the trust you had into the idea that when your eyes opened, whatever you imagined would have happened.
It was something you struggled with. That faith that it would work.
It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in the magic, you’d seen far too much for that. It was thinking it would work for you that you kept stumbling
Where Eden’s magic was like a recipe, Lucien’s felt more like a trust fall.
And still, you progressed. Without the same confidence Lucien carried himself with, but progress nonetheless.
He brought you little gifts every time you made progress, slivers of the outside world.
You’d been getting frustrated with yourself. The very first thing he’d tried to teach you was just the ability to reach out to someone.
You sat there, day after day, attempting it. The way he’d explained it, everyone had an aura, a little pool of energy that hovered around them. If you focused you could reach out, stretch it thin and find someone else’s.
It had to be close. Not in proximity but in a more abstract sense. He reassured you that the two of you were more than close enough for it to work.
One night, after he had long since left, you were practicing and getting frustrated once more when you felt that aura of yours he’d described time and time again bump into something warm, and a sense of familiarity washed over you.
A moment later you felt something back, a meandering sense of something winding inside of you, pulling at some part of you that made you giggle. Who knew auras could be ticklish?
The next day he came bearing an eclair. It felt like a breath of fresh air. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been able to eat something sweet like that.
You treasured the little paper doily it came on, sometimes just tracing the intricate designs that bordered it.
A few days later was a soft scarf in a bright red that had been given to you when you opened your eyes to find yourself letting off a faint glow in that same red.
The next time you managed to do something, this time it was simply to warm up a surface by a few degrees, he reached out and handed you a gift he had at the ready. It made your heart swell that he already had it, like he had absolute faith you’d be able to do something to deserve it. This time it was a tiny ceramic fox that had its little head lifted defiantly towards the sky
You kept them all buried under your pillow, terrified that any day now would be the day and Eden would come in to free you only to see mysterious trinkets that could only have come from elsewhere.
You kept the fox wrapped up in your scarf, afraid you’d roll over wrong in your sleep and it might break but still unwilling to hide the little treasures too far away from yourself.
More often than not, you woke up clutching them, a habit you couldn’t break no matter how hard you tried.
Sooner than you ever could have imagined, you weren’t even afraid to make mistakes around him anymore. When you’d begun, you’d been convinced any slip-up would ruin everything, that he’d give up on you and leave you behind. Now you floundered and messed up spells and it didn’t matter. He made sure that you were alright, that it was safe to learn and eventually you figured them all out.
“I’m running out of rewards,” he said with a chuckle as you beamed down at your fox, one you’d managed to make wobble without so much as touching it. “That’s how you know you’re getting good. How will I ever motivate you now?”
“Are you kidding,” you basically shouted, pride and excitement welling up inside you. “Did you see what I just did? That was amazing! I don’t need a reward to want to learn how to do incredible things.”
“Maybe. I think you deserve them anyways.”
The comment brought a heat to your cheeks, one that was becoming more and more common in you every time Lucien was here. Another thing you tried not to dwell on too much, lest you get swept up in it.
His head cocked to the side with a familiar look as you gave him an understanding smile. “Off to see another witch?” you asked.
He sneered. “Yes, your favorite witch, in fact. Well, I shouldn’t keep her waiting.”
He leaned down towards you and kissed the top of your head before immediately dissipating, a move that didn’t feel quite fair. At least it didn’t give him the chance to watch you flounder.
As you slept that night you found yourself having a familiar dream. The walls of colorful fabrics were a much more welcome sight than the forest that so often plagued your dreams.
A dream Lucien stood before you, per usual. But something was off this time. It took you a second to place it before you realized that even standing here, passively, you could sense his aura. You knew him too well for the trick he was trying to pull.
But after an onslaught of little tricks and his rude kiss and run earlier, you were feeling a little more mischievous than normal. Perhaps he was rubbing off on you.
Before he could say anything to tease you, you strode up to him, got onto the very tips of your toes, and reached up to pull him into a kiss.
He was too tall for you to be able to pull a maneuver like that without him playing along but he eagerly leaned down to meet you, lips crashing together. His hands fell to your waist, helping you keep your balance as you strained to reach him.
You pulled away after a moment and looked up at him with a smirk, giving his aura a little tug as you said, “You really should announce when it's you.”
He laughed. “You didn't give me the chance.”
His hands tightened around your sides, giving you a gentle squeeze as he kept you close. “We don’t have to stop, you know. I’d be a cruel man to rob you of a wet dream.”
Your boldness grew in your chest. You couldn’t remember if you’d ever been around someone and simply not felt nervous before now but these last few weeks, he’d managed to foster that feeling in you. You were eager to try out this new confidence.
You slipped out of his grasp and fell to your knees in front of him. “You know,” you said, “I haven't been able to thank you for being so kind to me.”
For once he seemed to be at a loss for words. After a moment of floundering, he managed to say, “You don’t need to do that, little one.”
“I want to,” you said, looking up at him with big eyes.
You barely caught the quiet groan that escaped him. “What did I do to deserve you,” he asked, and it too was quiet. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was a question meant for you or if it was for the universe itself.
After his little nod of permission, you were immediately undoing his pants, eager to get your hands on him after so many weeks of pining after him.
Being here, now, it felt silly that you’d denied yourself those feelings for so long. Outside of his little pocket of hell where you’d been able to do as you wished, you’d tried to force down those feelings.
But now, despite the appearance of his familiar room, nothing was here to help you along. The dam just broke, and you couldn’t help but wish you’d given in much sooner.
As you pulled down his pants you found he was already hard, his massive cock bouncing up as you freed it of its confines.
Part of you was glad your first encounter with it was in a dream because it was intimidatingly big. It fit his frame as he towered above you but you were unsure if humans and demons were meant to be together like this. You found you didn’t much care either way. You’d make it work.
You gave an experimental lick to the tip, your tongue moving lightly across it.
His hand came down to grab your jaw as you pulled off of him, squishing your cheeks as he angled your face up toward him.
“You’re too sweet, little one. It’s going to get you in trouble one of these days.”
“Wanna be sweet for you,” you said, leaning into his touch.
He released your jaw and tilted his head to the side, giving you the reigns.
You licked up a long stripe up his cock, from the very base. It felt like the most you could manage, your hands encircling him to make up for what you couldn’t do with your mouth.
His breathing was coming faster, his eyes remaining locked on your form. As your hands pumped up and down his shaft, focusing most of your attention on licking at the head of his cock, you couldn’t help but wonder how much of him coming undone so quickly was because of the actual sensation and how much was from him getting to watch you.
He seemed entirely entranced. You felt several times as his hands moved to touch you before pulling quietly away, like he could get head from you and yet was nervous to touch, as if that would make it too vulnerable.
The more grunts and whines you pulled from him, the more determined you became. You pulled back from your persistent licking, taking him in for a moment.
He might be massive, but you focused on the fact that as real as this felt, it was a dream. Surely in a dream you could do whatever you wanted. You were most certainly going to try.
You managed to fit your lips around the head, your mouth stretched wide. You swirled your tongue around the tip as your hands worked his shaft, determined to draw even more noises from him.
You looked up with wide eyes, waiting to make sure you were doing okay. You could feel them watering as you worked him over but you pushed past it as those watery eyes met his, pitch black and full of nothing but lust and adoration.
A massive hand found its way into your hair, not pushing but caressing as you tried to take as much of him as you could.
The hand tightened in your hair and he grunted out, “I’m going to…”
That was the only warning you got before he started to come.
You tried to swallow it all but couldn’t manage it. It just kept coming, it was too much. You popped off the head with a little cough, the rest getting all over your clothes and making you once again glad that this was a dream.
This would have been a nightmare to explain to Eden. You might’ve just had to burn your clothes and hope for the best.
Lucien lets out a gentle chuckle, thumb wiping some of his cum off of your face. “A little over-ambitious but I appreciate the enthusiasm.”
You snorted out a laugh and as he looked down at you fondly, you thought you could happily stay here forever.
And then something other than the contentedness and fondness crossed his face, wrinkling his brow.
His expression soured and before you could so much as ask a question, he simply said, “Wake up” and the world around you fell away.
You woke up frustrated and confused, not understanding why he sent you away. You wanted more and you wanted to stay and more than anything you wanted an explanation. You summoned him almost reflexively, the process second nature to you now.
Before any of your confusion or frustration could come out, he blurted out, “Let me take you somewhere.”
A wounded little sound escaped you as the moment soured and his obsession with whisking you away appeared once more. “Not a chance.”
“But if you could go somewhere…”
“Can we not do this? Please? I can’t.”
“Can’t?”
“Shouldn’t. Whatever word you want me to use.”
“Why, because she says you shouldn’t? I say you should.”
“I say I shouldn’t. Isn’t that enough for you?”
The fight normally petered out right about there, both of you frustrated and exhausted with the uphill battle of trying to get the other to understand.
Not today. Something had changed between the two of you and the desire to linger in it, to bathe in the affection, dissipated as he grabbed your arm and the room around you gave way to the stone walls of an alley.
The narrow, stone corridor was devoid of people but you could hear the buzz of a crowd not far off, probably not more than a few paces away. It was hard to tell exactly as the noise bounced off the walls, echoing in your ears.
Despite your anger, you found yourself edging closer to Lucien. Anything familiar was welcome in this alien place you’d been thrust into.
Your breathing got shallower and you pleaded with him. “Take me back.”
“I will if you want me to. Just not yet. Please not yet. You need to leave, you need to not be there.”
You looked up at him with teary eyes, the trust you’d been basking in being shattered in a moment. “Why are you doing this? I know it’s not for me because I don’t want it.”
“She’s made you afraid. You’ve been tricked and trapped and you need to leave. I need you to leave. You just need a push, that’s it. Just need to be away from her.”
“Listen, just because you don’t like her…”
“No, this is not spite talking, you need to listen to me, you need to figure it out.”
You reeled back. “What?” Surely if he knew something that could change this endless fight, he would have told you. What could there possibly be that you needed to figure out all on your own?
“You just, you need to ask…” his words were cut off with a yell as he doubled over on himself, runes burning into his skin as he spoke. They shone bright red and it almost looked like he was being branded.
The anger faded immediately into concern as you rushed to his side.
“What’s happening, I don’t understand?”
“You can’t say anything,” he insisted, a frantic look in his eyes.
“But you said…”
“I know what I said, you can’t ask anything.”
More than anything, that scared you. The constant pleading for you to break free and push back against Eden and now he was doing everything but that, retracing his steps after unmistakable witch marks were burned into him.
She’d done this. That much was clear.
You couldn’t keep doing this. You needed to know, needed to understand.
“Take me back.”
“I…”
You put everything you had into your voice as you said, “Lucien, take me back.”
The use of his name in his already weakened state with the ruins still charred into his skin was enough, he didn’t have it in him to fight back and you were whisked into the depths of the woods. You returned home.
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thinking about a Blast From the Past steddie au tonight. like, think about it for a second--steve as the sweet, well-meaning himbo raised in a fallout shelter and eddie as the cynic who shows him the world as it is:
The year was 1962, and an atomic bomb had just dropped on top of the Harrington household.
Okay, not really. It was actually a fighter jet that suffered a mechanical failure just above the little plot of land the Harringtons called their home, but Walter Harrington took it differently. Far differently.
See, the thing was that the man was living in a state of paranoid delusion over the Cold War--terrified of the possibility of an outright nuclear holocaust over the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Soviet Union. He had been carefully building a fallout shelter under his home for his wife and possible children to live in with the works--canned food, running water, and even a working television.
And one day they went in and simply never left. The explosion right when they closed the door was tangible proof that the nuclear war was happening right above them.
A few years later, around 1968, a baby boy was born in a fallout shelter with no one but his mom and dad to keep him company.
They raised Steve the best they could, even if Walter Harrington was a mad genius and Madeline Harrington was a borderline alcoholic. Even if the boy was living in a perfect little time capsule of the fifties and early sixties. Walter made sure to educate him right and teach him how to be a sociable gentleman--even if he had no idea what swear words or the concept of sex were. That was for another time. Although, twenty-four years came and went for Steve Harrington, his father still owes him 'another time'.
Steve Harrington grows twenty-four years in perfect seclusion, but that changes at the flick of a switch.
The year is 1992: supplies are dwindling Walter is growing sick, and Steve is tasked to bravely set foot in the nuclear fallout to retrieve more material. (The only reason why Walter assumes they can even get more stuff is because he observed the outside world when the shelter unlocked and mistook it as a post-apocalyptic mutant society.)
The moment Steve made it outside his little bubble, he was utterly fascinated by the world--how different the people were outside of his television and his little books, how bright the sky was outside, how the irritable man on the bus wouldn't accept the money he tried to give him, how the bus moved and didn't fling him right off his seat.
(He even saw an adult bookstore. Dad told him that those things were filled with poisonous gas. How were they even to operate if they were filled with poisonous gas? That's dangerous and totally inconsiderate of the general public's safety.)
Anyway, he tries to follow the grocery list that Mom and Dad gave him the best he can, stocking up on poultry and tissue paper and the works. But by the end of the day, he doesn't know where he came from. Not a single sign or building or person can give him a single clue where to go.
After a few hours of wandering, suitcase in hand, he comes across a store with WE BUY BASEBALL CARDS written on the window.
Golly, Steve loves baseball cards--could look at Dad's collection for hours, and with the collection he has, he could make a pretty penny selling them for supplies. Despite the little hobby store being beside an adult bookstore with poisonous gas, he scampers right in.
"I see you're looking to buy baseball cards," he says breezily to the gruff, scary-looking man behind the counter.
"That I am," he replies.
Steve pulls a few from his jacket's inner pocket. "Well, these are a bit old, you see, but I was hoping you still might be interested."
The gruff man yanks them from his hands, a spark in his eye. He looks delighted to see them, and it fills Steve with an excitement he hadn't felt at all today. Nobody has been this happy over something he's done today. "Woah," he gasps, then covers it with a cough. "Mickey Mantle rookie season...how much do you want?"
"I was hoping to sell all of my cards, actually!"
The man sputters incredulously. "All of 'em? Are you fucking with me?"
"I'm not sure what that means, but all I have are hundred-dollar bills and I need something smaller. Like, uh...ones, tens, fives..."
"Tell you what, I'll give you five hundred in small bills for all you got."
Steve smiles brightly. "Oh, that would be wonderful, sir--"
"Five hundred for a case-full of rookie season Mickey Mantles, Rick, are you fucking joking?" A deep voice cuts through Steve's thanks from the other side of the small store. He turns around to find a man leaning against a magazine rack, arms folded sternly.
The man is unlike Steve's ever seen before. Long, long limbs and big brown eyes that look traced with black and smudged around the edges. Pretty lips, too almost girl-ish, in the way they were big and plush like the women he'd see on the television. The strangest thing about him, though, was the curly hair that tumbled past his shoulders.
He looked mad, though. Madder than mad.
"Tell the poor guy you're fucking with him," long-hair-pretty-lips says to the man behind the counter, who bristles.
"Were you raised in a fucking barn, Munson? Who told you to interrupt on business?" Rick counters. Steve was really not appreciating the amount of f-words dropped in the conversation, it was uncouth.
"Sure I was!" Munson saunters towards the counter and Steve's eyes follow him like a moth to a light. "But my morals go past your business practices at this point. You remember the ninth commandment, yeah?"
"You shut your Goddamn mouth--"
"Excuse me sir, but I really don't appreciate how you're using the Lord's name in vain like that," Steve says firmly.
"See?" Munson smiles. It's like sunlight. "He gets it."
He plucks the baseball card from Rick's hand and holds it over his head when he tries to reach for it again. "See this little thing?" He says to Steve sweetly. "This guy costs six grand alone."
"Get out of town! Really?"
"Oh yeah, big guy. Selling the thing would give you a small fortune, and Rick over here is trying to con you out of it."
Steve frowns. "Is that true?" He asks Rick.
"Nothing but," Munson says in place of him. He slips the card back into Steve's hands and gives them a pat.
"The Hell is even keeping you here, Munson?" Rick sneers. "Did the gig you won't shut up about fall through like they usually do? Better to bum it out here than in your shithole apartment? Stop loitering in my damn store and make like a fucking tree. You're banned."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Munson says rolling his eyes. He looks at Steve, then the door, gesturing at it with a flick of his head. "I'll see you out, Beaver."
He walks them both out the door, stopping to gesture at Rick strangely--hands balled into fists with only his middle fingers up--before stepping outside onto the sidewalk.
"Well merci, Monsieur," Steve says appreciatively, because Dad taught him French was always to be used on such occasions.
"What, you're French?"
"Oh no, I'm"--he thinks back to what Dad told him if a mutant asks where he's from. Gosh, he thinks he's supposed to be--"out on business."
"And you don't even have a clue about the little business trick that Rick tried to pull?"
"No...no, I--"
"Yeah, doesn't matter." Munson shrugs. He smiles sympathetically at Steve before turning on his heel and walking off. Oh boy, what would he do without him?
He follows him like a lost puppy, that's what.
"...You going the same way?" Munson asks incredulously. Steve shakes his head.
"Well, I'm following you."
Munson stops in his tracks, blinking, and Steve almost runs into him in his state. "Me?"
"Well yes! Where are we going?"
"We?" Munson asserts. "I'm going back to my shithole apartment, and judging by that jacket you're wearing, you should be taking the next left and hop-skipping straight to the barber college."
"Oh, I'm lost, though."
"Aren't we all?"
"Say, did you just get banned from that hobby store because of me?" Steve says to change the subject.
Munson sighs. "Seems like I did, sailor. The place was shitty anyways, with that dickhead running the operation. Wayne could get better cards from a different joint."
...dickhead? Steve's never heard that leave the seams of anyone's lips before. "Dickhead?"
"Yeah, he's a real fucking loser. A walking talking penis capable of human speech."
Steve gets queasy at the image he's concocted in his head. He leans against the nearest brick wall, his suitcase tumbling to the ground as he drops into a contemplative squat.
"Dude, what is wrong with you?"
"Well, the mental image that I..."
Munson's eyebrows scrunch before he reaches out a hand to Steve. He takes it, letting the man haul him upward. "Look, man, where'd you park your car?"
"I came by bus."
"Aren't you full of surprises."
"I am?"
"Okay look." Eddie raises his hands, palms splayed in the air. "It's your first time in Los Angeles, right? Everyone wants a taste of it, I know, and you're out for business and fucking famished. You got the opportunity to see the great big world outside of your little bubble and you got excited--but you took a bus and got mixed up in the middle of San Fernando Valley without a clue in the world. Am I correct?"
Steve listens in wonderment. So far, Munson's been correct in a way. He's convinced he might be psychic. He nods slowly and seriously just to see Munson flash that lighting-strike smile.
"Great, great. Which brings us to here. Correct again?"
"Oh yeah."
"Where are you staying?"
Nowhere, at the moment. Steve opens his mouth to say so, but Munson interrupts quickly. "Holiday Inn?"
"Yes, the Holiday Inn!" Steve says totally truthfully.
"Okay, cool. Cool." Munson claps his hands together with finality and starts walking. "The nearest bus station is a couple of blocks away if you take a right--"
"Don't you have a car?"
Munson stops in his tracks again. He turns to face Steve once again. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
Something warm pools in Steve's gut at the pet name. Something about the way those pretty lips form that word sends blood rushing to his cheeks. "Steve," he says.
"Alright, Steve." Oh boy, his name sounds even better when Munson says it. "Rule number one in Los Angeles? Never let a stranger drive you anywhere."
"If it makes you feel any better," Steve says sweetly, "I don't have a gun."
Munson pales, then starts running.
"Hey!" Steve cries and makes haste to follow him. "I must've said something wrong, please forgive me!"
"Nope, nope--get the fuck away from me, man!"
He grabs Munson's wrist to pull him back, which is a bad move since the man starts writhing around in his grip. "I'm not going to hurt you, sir!"
Steve drops Munson's hand and raises his in surrender. "See?"
"...Just let me get to my car."
"I'll give you a Rogers Hornsby if you take me to my hotel," Steve reasons.
Munson stills. "...That's like four grand, don't bullshit me."
He pulls the card from his jacket and presents it as evidence. "See? I was holding it back." He wants Munson to feel safe. "I got two." He reaches for the other cards in his pockets and pulls them out. "And-and all these other ones, too!"
"Okay, okay. You'll give me four thousand dollars if I drive you to your place?"
"Uh-uh!"
"That's it?"
"Yep."
"And I don't have to give you a quickie in the backseat or anything?"
"Yes sir--wait, what?"
Munson blows past his question like it didn't even leave Steve's mouth. "Can you stop with the sir crap?"
"Well, I'm sorry, sir--"
"My name is Eddie."
Eddie...Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Wow, what a name. It's almost like something he's heard on the television.
"Why, it's nice to meet you, Eddie."
"Tolerable to meet you too, Steve."
Steve smiles shyly, then asks, "So are you a girl?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well it's just your hair...it's so long." Steve points at his as an example. "I've never seen anything like it before."
"Dude, it's 1992, every other guy looks like this--have you been living under a rock or something?"
Something like that. Steve shrugs.
"Well guys having long hair doesn't mean that they're girls, Steve, that's a given. It's not 1962 anymore." Eddie backtracks. "Well, I mean, dudes can have long hair and be chicks and chicks can be dudes too but that's not--"
"Oh, wow, my dad told me about one of those the last time he went here!"
"Oh that's fantastic, sweetheart," Eddie says, sugary-sweet. "But how about I drive you home?"
"That'd be a pleasure, Eddie."
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