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#anyway. i'm still at work gotta finish packing and i might not be able to get on until sometime this weekend MAYBE
mcalhenwrites · 5 months
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Some personal stuff! (Good, mainly?)
We signed the lease, will be moving in about a month to another state. This means I'll be busy packing! But I'm still going to be writing in-between, especially since... I started packing this summer, slowly, and it's fortunate bc my health is atrocious. I have had an ovarian cyst issue for years now, and this one isn't bleeding out and hasn't for months. It just sits there and makes more organs and my back and hip ache really badly from the pressure. Hopefully I can take care of that when I get settled in. I might post my wishlist when I'm settled in, but I also think that since it's am*zon, like... hopefully people can find the same items on another site if they wish and send them via that. :D Always an option! But yeah, going to write. Will be posting stuff on AO3 sometimes? (I cannot guarantee this.) I could really use some word-of-mouth help when the time comes, since this is my income until my health is addressed, and even then... I'm not sure what's going to happen. I have to find out if I have Sjogren's, bc it runs in my family and I have the symptoms, and if I have that, it could be pretty impactful alongside fibro and a handful of other issues. I don't want to go on disability, I don't want to have my entire life flipped invasively upside down to most likely be rejected anyway. I'm hoping I can help my roommate out with more than just cooking and cleaning when my health allows, though. So selling my books and maybe having something like p*treon might help! In the meantime, just knowing what people might be able to say about my writing helps me know my strong points. If I do have any weak points, I do accept criticism! I want to get better. :) Seriously, it'll be good for me to get out of this house while it falls apart and breaks with no repairs, and mostly? I'm getting away from family. Finally. HUGE SHOUT OUT TO MY ROOMMATE! They are covering so many of my costs and giving me the chance to get my life in order. I gotta work hard and do my best. I know it won't be all sunshine and rainbows leaving my current environment for a new and better one, that there will be stresses and I will have episodes and forget I'm not home... I've heard that happens, esp with trauma and abuse? But I bet it's easier when you aren't IN the abusive environment to deal with that... Anyway, yeah! Mostly good. Minus the health shit. Going to do some writing and laundry and packing now. Then I'll relax with some video games or smth... or more writing... I'm not doing NaNo officially this year. Don't know if it can happen, so I'm just going to finish Seasons side stories, Rascal side stories, and work on Name the Frogs and The Dragons' Cosmos! Sending good luck to everyone, sorry I'll be pretty scarce but hopefully things settle down by Jan after the holidays :D (And I'm wishing you well, I know some people are having a hard time right now for various reasons, and I know world-wise, things are fucking rougher than ever. Take care and do what you can, though. Sending good vibes.)
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sennikmoved · 2 years
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i’m re-adding my french vampire disaster oc son to this blog once i can actually be online.
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hotchley · 3 years
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heyy sumayyah! firstly: i'm so sorry you got hate asks >:( some people really can't be nice... that sucks. i'm back with my hc to (maybe, hopefully) distract you/cheer you up!! just saying, it's LONG and it's kind of angsty in the beginning lmao sorry oops, but it gets a little better towards the end!! i promise!!
tw mentions of (bad) eating habits, very briefly implied abuse/domestic violence and alcoholism, brief mention of almost-fainting!!
so my own horrible eating habits got me thinking of Hotch who already doesn’t eat that much because of how he was raised (on his father’s bad days, his mother wouldn’t even be able to get up to make food and his father would be batshit drunk anyway, so no one made food and there’s nothing at home, and Hotch is too young and doesn’t know how to cook for himself, and that just carried its way into adulthood even after he learnt to cook (for Sean, because Sean is a growing boy and still has to eat and he would do anything to make sure Sean grows up happy) and even after he gets together with Haley, who always has to check in on him to make sure he's eating properly)
like, man would throw himself into his work, sometimes not on purpose but because he just was so intent on finishing just one more document, and time just slipped by and when he looks up again it’s 8pm, the bullpen’s almost empty, and then he realises that he actually hasn’t ate anything since he had his morning coffee. and after especially bad cases (Vincent Perrotta, Carl Buford, Tobias Hankel, that case on the pig farm, Foyet, etc.) he just, avoids food on purpose, distracting himself by finishing all the paperwork he has, even if they’re not urgent, sometimes even completing the team’s paperwork (as much as he can) just because he feels like he’s failed them. the team doesn't deserve to be bogged down by all these bureaucratic issues but he does, because what good is his role as their unit chief if he can’t even shield them from the evil out there, if he has to send his team into the abyss every single time and every time someone else gets more injured/fractured, and the least he could do is to help out the team with what he’s best with, right? all those behind-the-scenes, messy, cutthroat politics, because it’s okay if he takes the brunt of the scrutiny of the brass and if he could he would not even let the team relive what they’ve been through because they don’t deserve that, they don’t deserve having to recount their traumatic experience in a bloody report that will eventually just be filed and chucked aside but will leave emotional and mental scars on his agents that will never be erased.
or sometimes he’s just stressed out and anxious and food just really doesn’t go well with his stomach, and he opts to skip meals entirely - he drinks coffee only because he still needs to keep awake, to make sure he’s paying full attention on all these cases and victims and his team who deserve his 120%, and because his stomach’s been conditioned to accept coffee no matter what (over 10 years of being in the BAU after over another 5? years as a prosecutor, where he drank coffee like his life depended on it). and sure, he’s lost weight, his ribs slightly showing when he raises his hands to reach for things/take off his sweaters, sure he’s looked a little more gaunt and tired as the years go by, sure he’s had some almost fainting spells in his office after a long day without food, where his vision just blacks out for 5 seconds after he stands up and he has to clutch onto the edge of his desk to stabilize himself, but it's okay to him, because he must be the strong, stoic, reliable leader for his team and he can’t faint in his office, not when the blinds are open and the team can look in and when he knows that Derek, Emily and Spencer are all looking in concerned because he hasn’t left his office all day
and i’m just also thinking about how the team would just, do their best to feed him??? like, when they stop for gas on long road trips to/back from cases, he always doesn’t buy anything besides a coffee (black, as usual, with just a dash of sugar and cream on good days) for himself, but then JJ passes him an unopened nutri bar which she claimed she bought earlier for herself but now 'doesn’t feel like eating anymore', Dave silently hands over a cookie (chocolate chip, his favourite) and stares at him with his eyebrows raised until Aaron accepts the cookie and actually eats it, Derek slips a wrap into his hands somehow and offers to drive because 'Hotch, you gotta finish your wrap', Spencer casually asks Hotch if he can help him finish off this sandwich which he bought but cannot finish, and Hotch looks down and sees a perfectly fine egg and ham sandwich which hasn’t even been bitten into, but Spencer’s looking at him with those eyes (he thinks of Jack and how strikingly alike his sons they are) so he takes the sandwich and eats it, Emily openly challenges him and says ‘here’s the bag of chips i owe you, you better finish it all because i took the trouble of actually getting them or else’ and he goes along with it because he’s learnt that arguing with her is sometimes equivalent to arguing with Penelope, and that mostly ends up with him going along with both their ‘suggestions’ in the end anyway, and on the rare cases where Penelope goes with the team out into the field, she always packs homemade cookies and cupcakes that are so wonderfully bright and colourful, like everything about her, and when she gets to him with those sparkling hopeful eyes and says ‘I made these myself, come on, have a taste and let me know what you think?’, Hotch can’t help but accept it because he doesn’t ever want to disappoint Penelope and make her sad, because her bubbly and innocent demeanour reminds him of Jack and he would never do anything to kill that bright light that is Penelope
aND I’m getting some big emotions. imagine all the subtle (& not so subtle) things the team does just to make sure he eats (regularly) which may include and are not limited to: inviting themselves over to Hotch’s house for homecooked meals (Spencer, Derek), inviting him & Jack out on outings or playdates which most often than not end with them at restaurants where Hotch eats because Jack needs a good role model on healthy eating behaviours and he’s got to be that for Jack (Derek, Emily, JJ), or just showing up at his house/office to leave him baked goods/cooked meals that were always somehow ‘extras’ or ‘leftovers’ (JJ, Penelope, Rossi, Spencer) i'm sorry this got so long!! it was written a little over a month ago when i was procrastinating on my literature essay in the middle of the night, so i got a little angsty LOL. i hope this distracts you somewhat from the horrible ask you got! take care of yourself! sending love and hugs <33
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Putting my answer below the keep reading for scrolling x
Aww thank you for sending it!! When I saw I had an ask, I really thought it was you, and then it was that stupid anon and I was like: Oh okay then... I have to go eat dinner so....
Ohh... his childhood... the poor kid would've been so much smaller, but so determined to do everything for Sean because that's his little brother and he loves him more than anything... I love Haley though <3
He would so do that though. He would tell himself he could eat once he's done something- which is really unhealthy, if you're reading this do not ever withhold food, if you're feeling hungry just eat something it doesn't matter what it is because something will always, always be healthier than nothing- and then he would pick something else up and the cycle would repeat...
He would convince himself the coffee is enough, that there's nothing wrong with his habits because he's never done anything different, but he would know deep down that it's not right. But he still wouldn't eat anything because he knows it'll make him naesous either way.
The worst part is what are the team meant to do in that situation? They can't force him to eat... as much as they may want to, they can't...
YES! The team would have a tally chart of who last had to make Hotch eat, so they would have a rota, and occasionally (all the time actually) they would deviate from said rota and then they would all look at each other and then laugh because eh, it's fine!
That ending was so cute, I love them <3
Noo!! Don't be sorry it go so long, I love it so much!! I might have to work it into a fic... wait... one of them may have referenced JJ giving him in a sandwich, unless that was only in my head lol
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tw-anchor · 4 years
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27. Very Busy Night
Anchor
Stiles Stilinski x Original Character
Episode: 3x02; Chaos Rising + 3x03; Fireflies
Word Count: 10,425
Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, character death
Author’s Note: I fit in the rest of Chaos Rising in this chapter because I thought it would flow with Fireflies better. I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think! Make sure to reblog and like!
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Find the masterlink where’s it pinned to my blog!
Allison pulled her bolt cutters from where she was hiding them behind her back and snipped at the chain holding the front doors to Beacon Hills First National closed. Olivia quickly grabbed the chain before it could fall to the ground and make any nose, alerting the alpha pack that someone was breaking into the bank. The last thing they needed was to get caught right away; that wouldn't make a very successful mission.
Olivia and Allison nodded at each other before they opened one of the doors and slipped into the abandoned building. It was very dark inside, which made it hard to see, but at least the subtle glare of the full moon provided a little light to guide them around. The bank was just as Olivia saw in Isaac's memories, dusty and deserted. The lobby was full of mishappen furniture that was thrown about, including chairs, desks, and teller counters that would have been nice once upon a time. The whole feel of it gave Olivia the creeps—and it didn't help that the full moon was starting to affect the werewolves in her life.
She could feel five different struggles in her mind, each belonging to the werewolves she considered pack. It was a little distracting, having to feel a loss of control while having no side effects from the moon herself. She had to make sure that she wasn't focusing on her pack but on what she was involved in. If she didn't focus, she would lose control and act like she did in the classroom on the first day of school. She wouldn't be able to do anything and she wouldn't be able to have Allison's back or protect herself—not that she could do much fighting, anyway.
She clenched her fists as she and Allison walked through the lobby, dodging the old furniture, and made their way back to hallway that would lead to the offices. They passed a couple of file cabinets on the way, but they were only a quarter of the way through the hallway when someone attacked.
Allison was quick to defend them, drawing one of her ring daggers and blocking the woman who had pushed them. Unfortunately, Allison was too caught off guard and Olivia was practically useless in defending themselves; the woman pushed both of them up against the wall.
It was then that Olivia saw exactly who it was that attacked them.
"Ms. Morrell?" she breathed in confusion. She was the guidance counselor, for crying out loud. Lydia and Stiles literally had appointments with her every week. What the hell was she doing in the alpha pack's den?
"Keep your mouths shut and listen close," Ms. Morrell warned them. "You have no idea what you two just stepped into. Right now, you've got maybe twenty seconds to get your asses hidden."
"What are you doing?" Allison asked.
"Get in that storage closet over there and lock the door," Ms. Morrel nodded at the door behind Olivia and to the right. "When you hear the fighting start, that's when you come out."
"There isn't supposed to be fighting," Olivia stated; their plan was for her to calm down Boyd and the girl and get them out of there before the alpha pack even knew they were there.
"You're wrong," Ms. Morrel said. "You'll hear it. Now go!"
Ms. Morrell let go of Olivia and Allison and ran out of the hallway. They didn't waste any time as they rushed toward the storage closet and entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind them. It was pitch black in the room and as expected, the light switch didn't work. They were blind for the moment.
And then they heard the multiple sets of footsteps. Realizing what was happening at the same time, they both nudged each other away from the door and held their breath, hoping that the oncoming alphas wouldn't be able to hear them.
That didn't exactly take care of their scents, though.
As the footsteps started to pass by the closet, Allison knocked over a jug of cleaner. Olivia didn't know exactly what it was but it sure smell strong enough to hide their scents. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too suspicious that there was a strong chemical smell coming from the closet out of nowhere. It was a storage closet, though, so who knew.
Nothing happened, though. They weren't caught. When the footsteps faded away until they were sure no one would come back, Allison shredded her jacket and placed it on the puddle of cleaner, hoping to dilute the scent that burned their nostrils. Olivia quickly pulled her phone from her own jacket and turned on the flashlight; now there was enough light to at least get their bearings.
However, when Olivia spotted something out of the corner of her eye, she wished she wouldn't have turned the light on at all. When the beam of light hit Erica's body, her stomach heaved and her chest tightened. Her eyes stung as she looked at her former packmate; her body was already decomposing, her skin chalk white with spots of decay here and there.
"Oh, my God," she breathed shakily. She grabbed Allison's offered hand and squeezed it with all of her might, trying not to freak out and blow the whole operation.
Erica was only two months older than her. She spent most of her life without friends and riddled with seizures that brought her self-confidence down to the negatives. When she was given the bite, she was okay for less than a month before she was being hunted down by the Argents. She didn't get to live the life she deserved and it made Olivia sick to her stomach. Erica was good. She was good and she deserved better than what she got.
She hastily wiped her wet face with the back of the hand that held her phone. It was no use, more tears were already slipping down her cheeks. She felt like a piece of her was missing and she couldn't believe that she hadn't even known that Erica was killed because it was clear that it had been more than a couple of weeks that her body had been in the closet.
"I'm so sorry, Liv," Allison squeezed her hand in comfort. She hadn't been friends with Erica like Olivia had been but it was still upsetting to see her dead. They were classmates and had Erica been on the right side of things, maybe they would have been friends. They'd never know now.
-
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Stiles stared out the huge window in Derek's loft, staring at the full moon in the sky. It had been maybe an hour since Olivia, Derek, and Scott left but he was already impatient for them to get back. He didn't like waiting, especially when his girlfriend and best friend were risking their lives at the moment.
"I can't take waiting around like this, you know?" he spoke aloud, hoping that Peter would understand his worry. "It's nerve-racking. My nerves are racked. They're severely racked. Racked."
Why would Peter care, though? It wasn't like his own daughter and nephew were in danger. "I could beat you unconscious and wake you when it's over."
Stiles rolled his eyes and turned away from the window, facing Peter where he was laying on the couch. "Do you think that Erica's really dead?"
"Do you think I really care?"
Stiles quickly moved on and changed the subject as he started pacing around the loft. "I just, I don't understand the bank, though, okay? What—like, why wouldn't they chain them up in some underground lair or something? They're an alpha pack, right, so shouldn't they have a lair?"
"They're werewolves, not Bond villains."
"Wait a sec, wait a sec," Stiles turned back to him. "Maybe they're living there, you know? Like, maybe the bank vault reminds them of their little wolf dens."
Peter opened his eyes and stared at him blankly. "Wolf dens?"
"Yeah, wolf dens," Stiles nodded. "Where do you live?"
Suffice to say, his girlfriend's father hadn't exactly invited him around for dinner.
"In an underground network of caves hidden deep in the woods."
Maybe that was why. "Woah, really?"
"No, you idiot," Peter rolled his eyes. "I have an apartment downtown."
Stiles almost felt a little disappointed. "Okay, fine, but still, that just proves that there's something up with the bank," he pointed out. "And why wait around for the full moon, huh? Why not just kill them whenever they want to?"
"Maybe they think it's poetic," Peter suggested casually.
He shook his head. "They've already had three full moons to be poetic."
"And here, you've only had one full hour to be so annoying..."
Stiles waited for him to go on complaining about him but he didn't. "No, go ahead and finish what you were saying. I'm—I'm annoying...What were you gonna say there?"
Peter didn't rise to his challenge. "What are the walls made of?"
"What?" Confused, Stiles looked around the loft. "Uh, I don't know, like, wood and brick, or—"
"No, the vault, the vault," Peter jumped up from the coach and headed over to the bank's blueprints that were still spread out on the table. "the walls, what are they made out of? Where would it say that?" he went through the various pages of plans. "This doesn't say anything. Where would it say the materials, the type of stone?"
"Oh! Okay, hang on," Stiles rushed over to the table and searched for the binder that held the details of the build; when he finally found it, he handed it over to the werewolf. "Here, it's gotta be in there."
He looked carefully as Peter swiped through the pages, looking for what kind of stone they used for the vault. When they finally came to the page that held the details for the vault, Stiles discovered the section of materials.
"There," Stiles pointed to the section. "That's it."
"Hecatolite," Peter read.
"Is that awful? That sounds awful."
"Get them on the phone," Peter demanded. "Call them, now."
"Okay," Stiles scrambled for his phone and quickly started dialing Scott. "why?"
"Because Boyd and that girl aren't gonna kill each other, they're gonna kill Derek and Scott."
Panic raising in his chest, Stiles pressed his phone to his ear and was relieved when Scott picked up.
"Stiles, now is not the best time."
"Scott, Scott!" he exclaimed frantically. "No, listen to me, okay? Look, you gotta get out of there. Look, the walls of the vault are made with a mineral called Hecatolite. It scatters the moonlight."
"What does that mean?"
"It keeps the moonlight out, okay? They haven't felt the full moon in months."
"Okay, think of it like the gladiators in the Roman colosseum," Peter took over explaining. "They used to starve the lions for three days, making them more vicious, more out of control. Deucalion has kept them from shifting for three full moons, diminishing their tolerance to it."
"Scott, they're gonna be stronger—"
"More savage, more bloodthirsty," Peter cut him off. "Scott, they're the lions. They're the starved lions and you and Derek just stepped into the colosseum."
"Derek, we have a problem," they heard Scott say. "A really big problem."
Then came Derek's surprised voice. "Cora?"
"Who?"
Stiles looked at Peter, wondering if he knew a Cora. The shocked look on his face made him think that he did.
"Cora?"
"Derek, get out," a female voice came from the other line. "Get out now!"
"Scott," Stiles spoke again, hoping to get Scott's attention. "Hey, Scott! Scott, are you hearing this?"
Vicious growling started out on the other line and they could hear the fighting start.
"Scott?!"
The dial tone started beeping.
-
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The fighting started not long after Olivia and Allison discovered Erica's body. They waited only five minutes before they set out of the closet, afraid that they were run into any members of the alpha pack on their way to the vault.
From the loud growling, the vicious roars, and the painted grunting, Scott and Derek had to have been having a bad time in that vault. The crashing and bangs didn't bode well for them, either.
Olivia had to get in there, now.
She and Allison were quick getting to the vault. Olivia was quick to notice the circle of mountain ash on the floor and that was good and bad. It was bad because Derek and Scott couldn't get out of the vault but it was good because neither could the girl or Boyd. Believe it or not, it was safer for Beacon Hills if Boyd and the girl were contained in one place. It wasn't so good for Derek and Scott, though.
"Look out!" Allison yelled as Olivia jumped over the seal and into the vault. Derek and Scott jumped out of the way as the mystery girl and Boyd lunged for them.
Boyd hit his target with Scott, digging his claws into his stomach and rising him up into the air. Scott grunted and searched for the strength to get out of Boyd's hold but he was unable to fight back.
"Boyd!" Olivia rushed to a stop and held out her hands toward her large packmate. He was seething and out of control as he turned away from an injured Scott to glare at her. "Boyd, control yourself!"
He roared a her, furious. Honestly, it scared Olivia more than a little bit. For some reason, Boyd was more out of control than usual and she didn't know if she could do anything about it. Yeah, she had been practicing with her abilities and they've grown stronger but Boyd was only with her for a month. She didn't even know the girl, so it'd be hard to do anything to her.
Then Olivia was on the ground, a girl her age hovering over her. The breath was knocked out of her chest and she was pretty sure she was going to die but when she took a look at the girl's face, time seemed to stop.
She knew who the mystery girl was now and she couldn't believe it. Cora, her cousin who was born only a year before her, was supposed to have died in the fire. That's what they all assumed when she didn't show up after the disaster that ravished the Hale house and killed Olivia's aunt and mother, along with other members of the pack. They hadn't seen her for six and a half years and now, all of a sudden, here she was, trapped in a bank vault by the alpha pack.
How had she even survived?
"Cora?" she breathed in shock. "You're alive."
Cora's face only slight softened as she realized exactly who she had tackled. She didn't really get to think on it further when Derek plowed into her, knocking her off their cousin and onto the floor.
"Ollie, go!"
Olivia hurriedly got up and backed away from her cousins, heading toward Boyd and Scott. She said nothing, as to not give away her position, and slapped her hand onto Boyd's back. Her gaze was tinted purple as she concentrated all of her energy into calming Boyd down so he wouldn't end up killing Scott.
"Come on, Boyd."
He was fighting her and it was hard to get a hold of him. Just as she was only a second away from reaching him and getting him into control, Derek called out, "No, don't break the seal!"
Her concentration lost, she looked over at Allison just as the taller brunette crouched down to break the mountain ash barrier.
"Boyd!" Allison called, getting the beta's attention.
As Boyd let go of Scott, Olivia tried to wrap her hands around his huge arm. "BOYD!"
Boyd only faltered for a long second before Allison broke the barrier. He ripped away from her grasp and sped out of the vault, Cora on his tail. Olivia stared after them in belief; she was so close to getting to Boyd.
Derek angrily stormed out of the vault and grabbed Allison's arm.
"Don't touch her!" Scott pushed him away as he and Olivia approached.
"What were you thinking?" Derek growled at her.
"That I had to do something," Allison shot back."
Scott immediately jumped to Allison's defense. "She saved our lives."
But she could have put many more in danger, Olivia thought to herself. She didn't blame Allison for what she did; if she were in her shoes and was watching Stiles get beaten up by a raving werewolf, she'd break the seal too.
"Yeah and what do you think they're gonna do out there?" Derek brought up the point that Olivia made in her head. "Do you have any idea what you just set free?"
"You want to blame me?" Allison scoffed in disbelief, her eyes narrowed into daggers. "Well, I'm not the one turning teenagers into killers."
"No, that's just the rest of your family," Derek retorted.
It was totally not the time but Olivia was impressed by Derek's comeback. Until now, none of Derek's betas had been bloodthirsty or out of control. Allison couldn't say the same about herself or her family of hunters.
Allison slumped a little at his comment, seeming to know that Derek's words weren't exactly a lie. "I made mistakes," she admitted. "Gerard is not my fault."
"And what about your mother?"
"Derek!" Olivia hissed at her cousin. Did he really have to bring that up at a time like this? They needed to be out there looking for Boyd and Cora.
Allison, however, wanted to know what Derek meant. "What do you mean?"
Derek turned to Scott with a daring look. "Tell her, Scott."
"What does he mean, Scott?" Allison's voice trembled. "What does he mean?"
Scott looked hesitant to tell her and Olivia guessed that it was because she and Derek were with them. If it was her telling Allison about her mother's actions before she died, she wouldn't want Derek around to butt in with scathing and insensitive comments—even if Victoria Argent deserved them, Allison didn't.
"Derek," Olivia spoke up, catching her cousin's attention. "We found Erica. We should—we should go and get her."
Derek's face crumpled as he seemed to realize what Olivia meant. Her heart ached as she took his arm and clutched it tightly before leading him away from Scott and Allison. They slowly walked down from the second level and to the hallway that held the storage closet she and Allison hid from the alphas in.
"She's dead..."
"Yeah," Olivia confirmed quietly, her eyes starting to sting with tears. "From the...her body looks more than a couple of weeks old."
She wanted to prepare him; he would take the loss of Erica harder since she was his beta. Even for her, the loss of a packmate was hard. It was like losing a limb; it still felt like Erica was there but when she reached out to find her, the blonde wasn't there to meet her.
Derek tightened his grip on Olivia as they entered the storage closet. He completely shocked Olivia when he faltered after laying his eyes on Erica's body. Derek was literally the strongest person she knew so it was tough to see him in such grief. He wasn't quite as bad as when most of their family died but it was still hard.
"This is all my fault," he whispered, taking in the decay of her body.
"No, it's not," Olivia insisted. "It's not, Derek. The alpha pack did this, not you."
"I was the one who turned her."
"And you didn't know it would turn out like this," Olivia bit the inside of her cheek. "Derek, please...please believe me. This isn't on you and Erica...Erica wouldn't want you to think that way, either."
Derek shook his head and slowly let go of Olivia before taking the few steps toward Erica's body. In one swift movement, he picked Erica up and cradled her in his arms. It was so heartbreaking for Olivia to see the pure guilt and grief he felt on display. It almost hurt worse than the grief she felt for Erica.
"Come on," Derek's voice was hoarse.
They slowly walked back to the vault where Allison and Scott still stood together, discussing what really went on the night that Derek bit Victoria Argent. They arrived just as Scott was finishing, telling Allison that he couldn't have the memory of her mother trying to kill him be the last memory she ever had of her.
The both of them turned when they noticed that Olivia and Derek had arrived with Erica's body. Allison frowned sadly while Scott's face crumpled; Olivia could tell that he was very upset with Erica's fate and while it didn't make much sense because he and Erica weren't very close, it was Scott. He felt for people so deeply that his reaction didn't really surprise Olivia.
Derek cleared his throat. "We'll come back for her after we catch Cora and Boyd," he stepped into the vault and gently laid down her body before turning back to Scott. "Are you ready?"
Olivia swallowed down the lump in her throat and spoke up, "If I can concentrate, I think I'll be able to find Boyd."
Derek nodded at her and then looked back at Scott. "You go after Boyd and I'll try to find Cora. Olivia, you give Scott any information that you find. I'll Isaac and Peter and get them to help. We need to get to them before they hurt anyone."
Olivia and Scott nodded in unison at him. "Let's do this."
-
Olivia sat at a picnic table just outside of the campground part of the reserve, her hands clasped and her eyes closed. She was deep inside her head with her focus on Boyd, mentally following him around Beacon Hills. It took a lot of energy to keep on him but she didn't have a choice. It was either this so Scott could find him, or let innocent people die. Cora had already tried to terrorize the drive-in if Derek hadn't stepped in but unfortunately, she ran off before he could catch her.
Apparently, she was much faster than Derek when she went without feeling the full moon for three full months.
She sighed when she felt Boyd take off again; she had given Scott his last location but he must have lost him.
Sure enough, Scott was calling her. Her focus now gone, she answered the phone and looked up at Derek as he made his way over to her. She put the call on speakerphone—even though he could hear it fine—just in case he wanted to talk to Scott.
"Scott?"
"Hey," Scott greeted her breathlessly. "I lost Boyd."
"You lost him?" Derek asked, disappointed.
"Yeah, I kind of had to."
"That wasn't exactly the plan."
"I know, which is why I think that we should stick together," Scott stated. "Trust me, he's too strong, too fast, and way too angry for one person to handle. We've got to do this together."
"Scott, we're at the edge of the preserve campground," Olivia spoke up, exchanging a look with Derek. "Can you meet us here?"
"Yeah," Scott confirmed. "I just got to drop something off first."
Olivia furrowed her eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"
"I'll fill you in later. See ya soon."
Olivia ended the call and locked her phone, setting it on the table before looking up at Derek. "This is a nightmare."
"No kidding..."
Olivia winced as her hearing cut off and a loud scream took its place. This had happened only a half-hour earlier but this one was much more severe and terrifying. The first time she didn't even know where it came from but as the scream died down now, the whispers started.
Lydia's there, she heard. A picture of the community pool flashed through her mind, leaving a searing ache behind. Lydia, Lydia, Lydia. She found him. She found him. Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.
What the actual hell?
"Ollie, are you okay?" her hearing came back all at once. She grimaced at her sensitivity and opened her eyes, seeing Derek's worried face hovering over her. "Ollie, can you hear me?"
"I can hear you," she croaked; for some reason, her throat felt sore.
"You screamed," he told her, crossing his arms over his chest. "What happened?"
She hadn't known that she screamed. Why did she? Was that Lydia who screamed in her head? That's what the whispers seemed to imply. If Lydia was the one who screamed, how did she hear it and why did she scream too?
"I heard screaming and Lydia's name," she hurriedly picked up her phone and tried to call Lydia. As she pressed her ear to her phone, she added, "She found something but I don't know what. I don't know what's going on."
To her disappointment, Lydia didn't answer. The line beeped rapidly, informing Olivia that Lydia's phone was currently busy. She hung up the call and tried Stiles; she couldn't leave to go check on Lydia, so he would have to.
"Olivia, are you okay?" Stiles picked up almost immediately. "No one called me after and I was afraid someone got to you guys. Are you okay? Did Boyd kill you? Who is Cora, by the way? Tell me what happened. Is everyone all right?"
"Stiles," Olivia interrupted; as much as she thought his rambling was cute, now wasn't really the time to indulge him. "We're all okay. Boyd and Cora got out but Derek, Isaac, and Scott are out looking for them now."
"Okay, good," Stiles sighed in relief. "So, who's Cora?"
"She's my cousin, Derek's little sister—"
"Derek has a little sister?"
"Yes and we thought she died in the fire—"
"You thought she was dead? How the fuck is she here now?"
"We have no idea, Stiles. All we know is that she's alive and she's been with Boyd for months," Olivia answered. "but that's not why I called you."
"What's up?"
"I need you to check on Lydia. Something happened and I heard her scream—"
"How did you hear her scream? Is she with you?"
"No, she's not," if he didn't quit interrupting her... "Look, she's at the community pool. Can you please go check on her?"
"Of course I will. I'll go right now," Stiles confirmed. "I love you, be safe."
"Love you, too," Olivia stated. "Call me when you get to her."
"I will. Bye."
Olivia ended the call and turned to Derek once again. He was looking back at her with a half-irritated, half-amused look. Clearly, he had heard the whole call.
He shook his head. "I can't believe you're dating him."
-
-
The tires of the jeep squealed as it came to an abrupt stop next to Lydia's car. Stiles quickly ripped off his seatbelt and threw himself out of the vehicle in order to get to Lydia. From the way Olivia's voice trembled when she spoke about her cousin, and the fact that Lydia had called him in a panic over finding a dead body at the pool, he was quick to panic.
Not only did Stiles have to get through Olivia's occasional episodes but now Lydia was having them too. The Martin girls would be the death of him, surely. Actually, the whole supernatural thing would be. He didn't have a doubt about it.
"Lydia?" he called her name as he ran past the pool's gate and made his way toward the redhead. "Lydia, are you okay?"
Lydia had her arms around her, tightly holding herself. "I'm okay," she trembled. "That over there...not okay."
He followed her gaze to the dead body in the lifeguard stand. He could already see without moving that there was a lot of blood; it made him sick to his stomach. "Yeah, all right," he pulled his phone from his jeans. "I'm gonna call my dad."
"I already called 9-1-1."
Stiles paused and looked back at her while blinking rapidly. "You called the police before you called me or Olivia?"
"I'm supposed to call you guys first when I find a dead body?"
"Yes!" Stiles exclaimed loudly.
He changed gears, calling Olivia like she told him to. She quickly answered the call. "Hey, Livvy—"
"Is there really a dead body?"
"Yes, there is."
"Are you sure?"
Stiles rolled his eyes as he inched closer to the body so he could check it out for himself. "Yep, throat ripped out, blood everywhere. It's like the fucking Shining over here. If two little twin girls come out of the woods and start asking me to play with them forever and ever, I'm not gonna be surprised."
"Okay, okay," Olivia said quickly; she absolutely did not like the Shining when Stiles showed it to her. "Um, can you get a little closer to make sure it was them?"
"Make sure it was them?" he repeated in disbelief. "Olivia, who else is going around ripping throats out?"
She sighed. "Please just do it."
Stiles stepped closer to the dead body, stepping around the huge puddle of blood that had collected on the edge of the pool. Like he told Olivia, the guy's throat was ripped out. He bled a lot; his whole arm down to his purity ring wearing fingers.
"It was them," he confirmed for her. "Listen, Lydia called the cops so I'll call you when we're done with them."
"Okay," on the other side of town, Olivia pressed some fingers to her temple, trying to rid herself of the horrible pain her head was in. "Thank you, Stiles. Really."
"No problem. Love you, talk later."
"Love you," Olivia locked her phone and slipped it into her jacket before turning to Derek, Isaac, and Scott.
Derek shook his head in denial. "This doesn't make any sense," he declared. "The public pool is all the way on the other side of the woods. We haven't tracked them anywhere near there."
"Derek, they killed someone," Scott pointed out needlessly.
"How are they moving so fast?"
"Derek."
"But they can't be that fast on foot," Derek insisted.
"They killed someone," Scott said firmly. "Some totally innocent kid is dead...and it's our fault."
Derek was quiet for a moment, blinking slowly. "It's my fault."
"We need help," Olivia interjected. The four of them weren't getting anything done when it came to Cora and Boyd. They had no experience hunting werewolves and why should they? They didn't hunt their own kind. That was a whole new kind of barbaric. They weren't the Argents, for crying out loud.
The Argents...
"We have Isaac now."
"No, more help," she clarified, a plan forming in her head. "Look, they're too fast, too strong, and too rabid for you guys."
"We'll catch them."
"What happens if we do?" Isaac asked his alpha in response. "We're just gonna hold them down until the sun comes up."
Derek shook his head grimly. "Maybe it would be easier just to kill them."
Olivia immediately went to protest but Scott beat her to the punch. "Killing them isn't the right thing to do."
"What if it's the only thing to do?" Isaac replied. "If we can't even catch them, what else do we do?"
"We find someone who knows what they're doing."
They turned to Olivia, curious. "Who?"
"Someone who knows how to hunt werewolves," Olivia said decidedly. "Like Mr. Argent."
Derek scoffed. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I'm not. Mr. Argent isn't as bad as the others and we all know it," she defended Allison's father. It was true; Argent was probably the mildest of the Argent hunters, including Allison. "If he knows the trouble we're facing and about the innocent people getting hurt, I bet he'll help us."
"She's got a point," Scott backed her up. "Me and Olivia can talk to him."
"And if he says no?"
"Then we make him say yes."
-
With a call to Allison, they tracked down Mr. Argent to the grocery store. Derek and Isaac stayed in the former's car and let Olivia and Scott take the lead on him. Mr. Argent wasn't a big fan of Scott and he didn't adore Olivia, but he was more tolerant of them than the other werewolves.
Olivia and Scott waited for him to come out of the store behind the car next to Argent's SUV. When he came out, his arms full of grocery bags, they came out of hiding and watched as one of his bags fell to the ground.
Argent picked it up with a sigh. "It had to be the one with the eggs..."
Once the bag was safely in the back of his SUV, he shut the hatch and abruptly turned around. Olivia flinched away as he held a gun up to her and Scott, both of them immediately putting their hands in the air to show that they didn't mean any harm.
"Hi, Mr. Argent," she squeaked.
Mr. Argent pressed his lips together. "Olivia, Scott," he greeted them cautiously. "What are you doing here?"
"We need your help," Scott said before he started explaining all that had gone on that night so far, from the alpha pack, the bank, and the wild goose chase that Cora and Boyd were giving them.
Argent didn't look happy to be approached. "First of all, why would I care about anyone related to Derek?"
"Ouch," Olivia mumbled under his breath but Argent steamrolled on.
"And second, I don't know this kid, Boyd. I don't even know his last name."
"Boyd is his last name," Olivia informed him.
"What's his first name?"
"Vernon," she said simply. "and could you put the gun down, please? You're freaking me out."
Argent shifted the gun away from her and more toward Scott; Olivia sighed in relief.
"Yeah, just curious, is there a reason the gun is still pointed at me?" Scott was offended.
"Well, there's probably still some part of me that wants to shoot you," Argent answered honestly.
Scott raised his eyebrows and nodded. "I get that."
Argent sighed and lowered his gun, putting it back in its holster. "I watched my father brainwash my daughter and almost turn her into a killer," he shook his head. "That world—your world—decimated mine. My wife, sister, father, my entire family. Why would I ever step foot in it again?"
"Because people are going to die," Olivia said bluntly. "and because you know how to catch Cora and Boyd without killing them."
Argent hesitated for only a second before shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I can't help you."
He went to enter his SUV when Scott stopped him. "Uh, do you think you could do us, like, one tiny little favor?"
Argent lifted his chin. "What's that?"
"Can you give us a lift to the public pool? We're supposed to meet Stiles and Lydia there," Scott stretched the truth.
Olivia gave him an impressed look, immediately catching onto his plan. Argent would see the police and medical examiner at the pool to pick up the body and investigate the scene and hopefully it would sway him to help them catch Boyd and Cora. It was manipulative but necessary. Cora and Boyd could kill even more innocent people by the time the moon fell if they were able to go free.
"Get in."
Ten minutes later, they were pretty close to the community pool. The whole ride was silent and awkward and Olivia was nervous, hoping that Cora and Boyd weren't out terrorizing the town while they played carpool. If Argent would agree to help them, though, they'd have a significant advantage over them.
"Left or straight?" Argent asked.
"Left," Scott answered from the backseat. "Sorry, it's right about the corner."
Argent turned onto the street on their left and slowed down, looking for the pool. Olivia could already see the red and blue lights coming off the police cruisers.
"That parking lot there," Scott pointed to them. "Yeah, just a little further up, right here."
"Thanks again for the ride," Olivia said as Argent came to a stop and parked.
She and Scott watched Argent's face as he took in the scene. There was already an ambulance there, ready to take the body to the morgue, and it looked like the kid's parents were there, too, to identify their son for the record. It was a disturbing image, how heartbroken the parents were as they sobbed over their child.
It made Olivia's chest hurt a little. Erica's parents would soon find out that their child was dead, too.
Scott went to leave the vehicle first, but Argent stopped him. "They did this, Boyd and...?"
"Cora," Olivia supplied her cousin's name. "Yeah."
Argent lifted his gaze to look at her. "Where's the last place you saw them?"
Minutes later, they were meeting Derek and Isaac back at the campground, where they stopped Cora and Boyd from killing a girl their age.
Argent stood in front of the four of them, kneeling down over two sets of shoe tracks. "You're tracking them by print?"
It was Scott who answered him. "Trying to."
"Well, then, you've been wasting your time," Argent stated. "There's only one creature on earth that can visually track footprints and that's man. And if you're not trained like me, you have no idea that this print is Boyd's," he pointed at the large shoeprint in the mud and then the slightly smaller ones. "and these—"
"Are Cora's," Isaac assumed.
"Nope, they're yours," Argent corrected him casually. "You trampled Cora's as soon as you walked over here."
Olivia raised an eyebrow as she looked over at Isaac, who looked embarrassed.
"Listen, I know the three of you are focusing half your energy on resisting your own urges under the full moon but that puts you at a severe disadvantage to Boyd and Cora, who have fully given in," Argent addressed Derek, Scott, and Isaac. "They put the pedal to the floor where you three are barely hitting the speed limit."
"So, what do we do?" Derek looked annoyed that he had to listen to Argent's advice.
"Focus on your sense of smell," Argent told him. "Actual wolves are known to track their pretty by up to a hundred miles a day by scent. A trained hunter can use scent to track them. If the wind is with them, wolves can track a scent by a distance of two miles, which means we can draw them to us...or into a trap."
Argent reached into the duffle bag that he had brought with him and pulled out a net. "The full moon does give us one advantage," he threw it at Scott, who caught it easily. "They'll have a higher heat signature, which makes them easier to spot with infrared."
Argent threw two infrared binoculars at Scott and Isaac before tossing one to Derek.
"Thanks," Derek handed them to Olivia and flashed his alpha-red eyes. "but I've got my own."
Argent nodded. "Just remember, we're not hunting wild animals. Underneath those impulses are two intelligent human beings. Don't think they can't rely on that human side. It's suppressed but it's there, reminding them how to mask their scent, how to cover their tracks, and how to survive."
They moved from the campsite to the cliff that overlooked all of Beacon Hills.
"When was the last time you saw your sister?" Argent asked Derek.
"Six years," Derek told him. "We thought she died in the fire."
Argent didn't comment on the fire. "Do you feel like you have a lock on her scent?" Derek shook his head so he turned to Scott. "Scott, how confident are you in your skills?"
Scott scoffed lightly. "Honestly, most of the time I'm trying not to think about all the things I can smell."
Olivia wrinkled her nose in disgust. She certainly didn't envy him.
"All right," Argent turned back to the overlook. "The problem is when they breach the woods and hit the residential area. Once they're past the high school, they're right in the middle of Beacon Hills."
"They're not going to kill anyone they see, are they?" Olivia spoke up hesitantly.
"No but there is an important difference to recognize," Argent answered her. "Wolves hunt or food; at a certain point, they get full. Boyd and Cora are hunting for the pleasure of the kill, for some primal apex predatory satisfaction that comes from the ripping of warm bodies to bloody shreds. And who knows when that need gets satiated?"
"We can't kill them," Scott declared.
"What if we can't catch them?" Derek countered reluctantly.
"Then maybe we just need to contain them," Argent offered thoughtfully. "There's no one in the school at night, is there?"
Derek looked at him in surprise. "You want to trap them inside?"
"If there's somewhere with a strong enough door, no windows, or access to the outside."
"What about the boiler room?" Isaac spoke up. "It's just one big steel door."
Argent paused for a moment before asking, "You're sure the school's empty?"
"It has to be," Scott confirmed. "There can't be anyone there this late, right?"
"All right," Olivia mused. "So if we do this, how are we going to lead them into the school?"
"I have something."
Argent led them back to his SUV, where he opened the hatch and pulled out another duffle bag with hunting supplies. He took a large silver stake that had some kind of light and button on the top and stabbed it into the ground.
"These are ultrasonic emitters. It's one of the tools we use to corral werewolves, pushing them into a direction we want them to run," Argent pressed the button at the top; there was a light squealing noise as the light flickered on. "It gives off a high-pitched frequency that only they can hear."
There was a slightly uncomfortable feeling in Olivia's ear but she certainly wasn't reacting to the noise like Derek, Scott, and Isaac were. They were all bent forward, their hands smushed to their ears in attempt to block out the noise.
"God, no kidding!" Isaac grunted
Argent turned off the emitter and started grabbing more of them from the hatch. He gave two to each of the werewolves. To Olivia's surprise, he gave her two, too.
"These are gonna drive them to the school?" Derek asked skeptically.
"And then it's up to you to get them into the basement," Argent stated.
"Does anyone else want to rethink the plan where we just, uh, kill them?" Isaac wondered.
Olivia rolled her eyes at him. "All right, lazy bones."
"It's going to work," Scott said encouragingly. "It'll work."
-
-
"Uh, you didn't have to follow me home," Lydia told Stiles flatly as they walked into her bedroom.
Stiles shrugged awkwardly, looking around the room. Despite the many times he had come over to the house, he'd never been inside the redhead's bedroom. "I just wanted to make sure you got in okay."
"I had a police escort."
"I know the inner workings of that force, all right? They're not nearly as reliable as people think," Stiles defended himself. "And I wanted to wait for Olivia, okay?"
Lydia gave him a displeased look as she sat down at the end of her bed. "And you're in my room, why?"
"Because it's creepy for me to wait alone in Livvy's room," Stiles made up an excuse; the real reason he was in Lydia's room was because he wanted answers. Like, how she had ended up at the pool in the first place or the fact that she found a fucking dead body out of nowhere.
"You're lying," Lydia smacked her lips together and rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just ask me the question that you've been dying to ask?"
Stiles faltered. "Well, I'm not—I haven't been dying to ask anything. I—no questions here for Stiles. Nothing."
"I can see it on your face."
"Maybe my face just has, like, a naturally interrogatory expression."
"Well, your interrogatory expression is getting on my nerves," Lydia snapped. "The answer is that I have no clue how I ended up finding that body. I didn't even know where I was until I got out of the car."
"Yeah, but the last time something like this happened..."
"I know," Lydia nodded. "Liv's dad."
"Peter," Stiles sighed; his future father-in-law was a pain in his ass. Well, he was a pain in everyone's ass. He went to say something else when his phone started ringing. "Oh, hold on."
He quickly pulled his phone out of his sweatshirt, eager to see if it was Olivia, but it was Melissa instead. He answered the phone and listened carefully as Melissa explained that he needed to show him something peculiar with the body that Lydia found.
After Lydia insisted that she go with him, the two of them headed into the hospital. They made their way to the emergency room where Melissa had a night shift and stopped at the desk where Melissa was waiting for them with some paperwork.
"Hey," she greeted them, leaving her paperwork for another time. "Over here...and if you tell anyone that I showed you this, I swear to God, I will kill you painfully and slowly."
She led off down the hallway that led to the morgue, sneaking into the room before anyone saw them.
"Why do you want to show us a body we've already seen?" Stiles asked her.
"Because you haven't seen everything," Melissa replied as she gloved up and walked over to one of the bodies displayed on the tables. She uncovered the guy that Lydia found at the pool and pointed to his neck. "See this around his neck?" there was a dark bruise that encircled the entire front of his neck. "That's a ligature mark. That means that he was strangled with something, like a cord or rope—"
Stiles furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Ah, okay, wait a second," he interrupted her. "What kind of werewolf strangles someone? You know, that's not very werewolf-y."
Melissa looked at him proudly. "My thoughts exactly," she confirmed before picking up the kid's head and turning it slightly. "And then there's this."
Stiles' stomach flipped nauseously at the sight of the kid's broken skull and exposed brain. "God, what the hell is that?" he gagged slightly. "Is that brain matter? Yeah, it's brain matter, of course."
Lydia gave him an annoyed look. "Seriously, Stiles?"
He honestly didn't know how she was so calm.
"See the indentation? He was hit in the back of the head, hard enough to kill him," Melissa stated as she carefully set down the head back on the table. "In fact, any one of these things could have killed him. I mean, someone seriously wanted this poor kid dead."
"So, this couldn't have been Boyd or Cora," Lydia assumed thoughtfully. "They wouldn't have tried three different ways to kill someone when they're that out of control."
"Maybe it's just one murder," Stiles suggested. "I mean, maybe it's a random coincidence."
Melissa shook her head. "I don't think it was just one murder."
"How come?"
"Because that boy over there, he's got the exact same injuries," Melissa answered Stiles, pointing to the table to their right.
The three of them shuffled over to the other body. When Melissa uncovered it, Stiles felt Lydia stiffen next to him.
"The M.E. said this one wasn't just strangled," Melissa started talking so Stiles didn't get to look over at the redhead. "Whoever did it used a garrote, which is a stick that you put through a rope and you just kind of keep twisting and—"
Lydia whimpered lightly, cutting Melissa off. Both she and Stiles turned to Lydia and were shocked to see that she was in tears, staring down at the body in horror.
"Lydia, are you okay?" Melissa asked her worriedly; Lydia shook her head. "Oh, my God, did you know him? I'm so sorry, I didn't even think."
She carefully pulled the sheet back over the body.
"I was...I practically grew up with him," Lydia whispered. "Liv and I were at his birthday party the other night. His name is Heath."
Stiles awkwardly patted her back, trying to instill some sort of comfort in her. His own eyes started to sting as he looked back down at the blonde boy on the table. Olivia had told him some of the conversation she and Heath had at his party after he kissed her. He really wished that things didn't turn out this way. He wished that Heath was alive and that he'd be able to drop his asshole friends and feel better. Who made fun of something because they were a virgin anyway? Dicks.
"Okay, we need to call the sheriff because you're a witness," Melissa smiled sadly at Lydia.
Wait, wait, wait...Stiles thought quickly, his mind racing. The guy at the pool was a virgin, he had a purity ring. And Heath was a virgin, too. That couldn't be a coincidence, it was just too major of a detail. And if there were two bodies already, that meant that there was probably another coming.
"Has anyone else been through here tonight?" he asked Melissa urgently. "Any—any other bodies or even anybody missing?"
Lydia and Melissa were understandably confused by his sudden behavior and question.
"Uh, no, no bodies but um..." Melissa hesitated.
"What?"
"Two girls," Melissa told him. "They brought the first one, Caitlin, in for a tox screen and then I overheard that her girlfriend, Emily, just disappeared. I mean, they were out in the woods and—"
"Nobody's found her yet?" Stiles cut her off.
"I don't know."
"Okay, the first one—"
"Caitlin," Lydia supplied for him.
"Right," Stiles nodded at her before addressing Melissa again. "Is she here? Is she here right now?"
Melissa nodded. "I think so."
"Okay, where?" Stiles went to leave the room but Melissa quickly stepped in front of him.
"Okay, okay, wait. Just wait a minute."
"I have to talk to her," Stiles insisted impatiently.
"Why?"
"Because I think I know what's happening."
-
"We weren't doing anything that bad," Caitlin, who was laying in a hospital bed with a sad expression on her face, told Stiles. "I mean, I've camped out there plenty of times."
"Right," Stiles acknowledged calmly. "but why tonight?"
"We wanted to be alone for one night. Emily lives with her mom and I have three roommates," Caitlin scoffed lightly. "Not exactly romantic settings, you know?"
Stiles smiled lightly; he did know. Olivia's aunt was a meteorologist at the local news station, so she was only gone in the morning and early afternoon and Lydia seemed like she was always home, especially during the summer when she was bringing guys home after her dates. It made getting intimate difficult there, so most of the time they hung out at his house since his dad was out at odd hours depending on what shift he took.
"I can relate," Stiles said. "How long have you two been together?"
"Three months."
Stiles nodded in realization. "And you wanted to make it romantic."
Again, Stiles could relate to Caitlin. He had been putting off having sex with Olivia because he wanted to make their first time romantic. Olivia was a virgin and he...was not. He took that swan dive the summer before. It wasn't anything special but he loved Olivia and he wanted her first time to be different than his.
"Yeah, you know, because..."
"Because it was her first time," Stiles finished for her.
Caitlin's face crumpled as tears welled up in her eyes. She turned to him with a pleading expression. "They're gonna find her, right? Aren't they?"
"I hope so," Stiles smiled sadly at her, his heart sinking.
-
-
Both Olivia and Argent met up with Scott and Isaac at the school once they were done setting up the ultrasonic emitters. After Scott and Isaac broke into the school to make sure Boyd and Cora would have a way in, Scott joined them.
"Do you see that?" Argent caught Olivia and Scott's attention, his eyes focused on a firefly only a foot or so in front of them.
Olivia furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. The fireflies in California weren't bio-luminescent, which meant that they didn't light up. It was weird that now, all of a sudden, there were some in Beacon Hills, of all places.
"Yeah," Scott gave him a strange look. "it's a firefly."
"No, no, I know that but..."
"What?"
"It's, uh, very unusual," Argent mused.
"California fireflies aren't bio-luminescent," Olivia informed Scott. "They don't glow."
Scott looked back at the firefly. "Does that mean something?"
Before Argent could answer, a loud howl broke out into the night. They immediately went into action with Argent getting into his SUV and Olivia and Scott settling themselves by the parked school buses.
"They're with Isaac now," Scott informed her quietly as they waited for Boyd and Cora. "and now they're coming this way."
Scott got ready as Boyd and Cora appeared, bending his knees so that he could lunge at them at a second's notice. However, Argent's SUV appeared and he blared his horn, causing Boyd and Cora to turn away from their direction.
"They're heading toward Derek," Scott said needlessly, as Olivia could still see them. To their shock, instead of plowing toward Derek, they jumped onto the roof. "They're not going through the school. They're going over it."
Olivia, Scott, Argent, Isaac, and Derek quickly grouped together.
"The red doors," Argent said urgently. "someone has to get them open."
Derek nodded, volunteering for the task, and started running back into the school.
"Someone has to drive them inside," Olivia pointed out.
"I'll go," Argent volunteered.
"No," Isaac shook his head. "I'm faster."
As he took off with a door blocker, Argent turned to Scott and Olivia. "You two need to get in there and lead them to the basement."
Olivia and Scott ran into the school side-by-side.
"Does this mean I'm your Robin now?" Olivia asked breathlessly as they turned into the English hallway.
"Nah," Scott shook his head. "Come on, Derek's in the math hallway."
They continued running through the school. The closer they got to the math hallway, the more they could hear the growls coming from Boyd and Cora. It sounded like Derek was already fighting with them while he tried to lead them into the basement.
They rounded the corner into the math hallway just in time. When Derek threw Cora to her feet, Scott and Olivia came to a stop next to him when Boyd looked like was going to fight. Trapped, Boyd and Cora would have no choice but to head for the basement.
That didn't mean that they were going to go willingly.
"Come and get us," Derek dared them.
At once, all three of them opened to the door to the basement and ran down the stairs. They went through the door that separated the rest of the basement from the stairs and ran in, heading over to the boiler room, which took up most of the basement and housed supply rooms.
Olivia couldn't see in the pitch-black boiler room but Derek and Scott could. Olivia made sure to stay out of the way as they did something to prepare for Boyd and Cora's appearance. The two out-of-control werewolves entered not long after and a second later, two fire extinguishers were going off.
While Boyd and Cora screeched and grunted from the ice-cold foam being sprayed over them. Olivia quickly went for the steel door. Soon enough, Derek and Scott were coming out after her, allowing the door to be slammed shut and locked into place.
They stood still, with Derek leaning against the door, as Boyd and Cora pounded on it to try to get out.
"Did that actually just work?" Scott asked, shocked.
Derek nodded at them with a relieved expression on his face. "It worked," as he answered, Scott slowly stepped up to the door, concentrating. "What are you hearing?"
"Heartbeats."
Olivia raised her eyebrows. "Two of them?"
"Actually, there's three of them," Scott's eyes widened.
"Who else could possibly in there?" Olivia hissed at him.
"Maybe a teacher," he shrugged.
Derek shook his head and grabbed the lock, preparing to open the door and run inside.
"What are you doing?" Scott asked him.
"Ollie, you need to come in with me. You and I can keep them calm until the sun comes up," Derek told his cousin, who nodded, and then turned to Scott. "Close the door behind us and keep it shut."
Scott gaped at him like he was nuts. "If you guys go in there alone, you're either gonna kill them or they're gonna kill you. And, if you haven't noticed, Olivia's not exactly like us."
"Okay, well, that's obvious," Olivia sighed.
"She'll be fine," Derek insisted, slowly unlocking the door. "Come on."
As soon as he opened the door and slipped into the boiler room, Olivia quickly followed him. Scott did as Derek told him, slamming the door shut and locking it behind them. Olivia followed Derek all the way to the teacher supply room, where Boyd and Cora were waiting for a teacher to come out.
Derek roared at them and they roared back. Olivia stumbled back as they attacked Derek. He fought back, dodging attacks and making blows of his own. Eventually, he had a hold of both of them at the same time, letting them claw at him.
Seeing Derek being ripped apart like that killed Olivia. It was time to get to work; her gaze went purple as she stormed toward the three werewolves as she sent as much calming waves over to Boyd and Cora. She was trying to anchor them and make them come down from their impulses to kill Derek, or anyone, for that matter.
"Boyd, Cora, stop," she carefully placed a hand on each of their backs. "Control yourselves."
Boyd growled viciously and then so did Cora. If it wasn't for the hold Derek had on both of them, they would have turned and possibly rip Olivia into shreds.
Control, control, control, Olivia repeated in her head like a mantra. You have control. Come on, come on, come on.
As if she wasn't already having a difficult time, the whispers started up, too.
Derek, Derek, Derek. Over and over again, her cousin's name was chanted. Derek, Derek, Derek.
She had to do something.
Gathering all of her strength, a scream came out of her mouth. "BOYD! CORA!"
She was shocked at the scream because she hadn't even been trying to do that but it seemed to work. As if a switch was flicked, Cora and Boyd fell unconscious and dropped to the floor. Derek almost went down with them is it wasn't for the fact that Olivia quickly grabbed him and let him lean his weight on her.
He was very beaten up, with horrendous scratches littered all over his whole body. His torn olive-green shirt was mostly brown from the blood he shed. Luckily, despite the fact that he was completely exhausted, the wounds on his face were starting to heal.
A ray of light coming from the window caught Olivia's attention. "The sun came up," she whispered to Derek. "It's over."
Unable to hold Derek's weight anymore, she allowed him to carefully drop to his knees. She still supported his upper body, letting him lean against her, but thankfully, most of his weight was gone.
Scott and Isaac came running into the boiler room only seconds later.
"There's a teacher. I'll take care of her," Derek breathed heavily, still trying to catch his breath. "Get them out of here."
While Scott and Isaac rushed toward Boyd and Cora, carefully picking them up and carrying them out of the boiler room, Olivia asked Derek, "Are you sure? You can go with them and I'll talk to the teacher."
"It's fine," Derek insisted as she helped him to his feet. "You go get some sleep. You have school in a couple of hours."
"Okay," Olivia was hesitant to leave but she was tired, especially after getting Boyd and Cora to control themselves. Derek seemed pretty insistent anyway, so she wasn't going to argue with him. "Be careful."
"I will," he promised her.
Olivia made sure that Derek was steady before pulling away from him. Just as she stepped out of the boiler room, her phone started ringing. It was Stiles.
"Hello?" Olivia knew how exhausted she sounded.
"Hey," Stiles croaked from the other line. "I need you to come to the hospital."
"Why?" she stiffened nervously. "Is it Lydia? Is she okay? Are you okay?"
"We're both fine, Livvy. We're okay," Stiles assured her; she relaxed, relieved that they were safe. "Just please meet me here and bring Scott."
"Okay, I will. I'll see you soon."
-
"So, Boyd and Cora might not have killed anyone?"
Olivia heard Scott but she didn't pay much attention as she sat by Heath's body, trying to control her tears. It was too much death in twenty-four hours and she felt like she was going to suffocate from the grief weighing down her chest.
She knew Heath since she was practically born. Now he was gone and Olivia had been so negative about seeing him again. She hadn't wanted to go to that party but she did and she was glad. She was grateful that she got to see him one last time but it also hurt. She didn't know who did this to him but he already had a hard life. He didn't deserve this—no one deserved this.
"You're gonna wish they did," Stiles said solemnly, letting Olivia grip his hand tightly.
"Why?"
"I'm not exactly sure yet, but...The other girl who was out in the woods, Emily? Eventually they're gonna find her," Stiles stated. "She's one of them. Emily, Heath, the guy that Lydia found at the pool. All three were virgins and they're all gonna have the same three injuries...strangled, throat slashed, head bashed in..."
Olivia sniffed and raised her head to look at him in disbelief. "The threefold death?"
Stiles nodded. "Yeah."
"So, if these aren't random killings, then what are they?" Scott wondered.
"Sacrifices," Stiles dropped the bomb. "Human sacrifices."
(Gif is not mine)
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caranfindel · 4 years
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Fic: Flies in the Vaseline
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gen, preseries | about 1700 words | PG-13 for language | characters: dean winchester, john winchester, sam winchester | warnings: gratuitous use of second person
Synopsis: The best hunters don't smoke. Inspired by a Tumblr post (waves to @road-rhythm​)
. . . . . . .
The first time your father caught you smoking, you braced for impact, literally and figuratively. You half expected him to smack the cigarette out of your lips. You definitely expected an angry lecture. But he just looked at you, so calm it was almost scary.
"That's not your first one," he finally said. "How often are you doing that?"
Emboldened, you finished the cigarette in one long, last draw, tossing it onto the asphalt and grinding it out with the tip of your boot. "Not a lot. Not every day. Just… sometimes."
"Mmm hmmm." He was still unnaturally calm. "You think that's a good idea?"
You swallowed a laugh at the possibility that smoking might be what got you in the end, rather than a claw or a fang. "I'm not letting it get out of hand," you said.
"Oh, so you think you've got a handle on it." Ah, there it was. That patented John Winchester attitude, disappointment garnished with a dollop of sarcasm. And it pissed you off.
"Yessir, I think I do. I don't think one cigarette to help me relax every once in a while is going to hurt me." Not any more than the constant infusion of Jack Daniels is hurting you, you wanted to point out, but you were not stupid enough to say that out loud.
He stared at you a little bit longer. Maybe thinking you're old enough to make your own decisions, but more likely thinking you dumbass, I don't even know what to do with you. Finally he said "All right, if you think you've got this situation under control, let's see how that works out for you. But don't let Sam see you doing it. You know how the kid looks up to you."
You replayed every word in your mind, looking for the command. It wasn't there. "So you're not telling me to stop?"
"Would it matter if I did?"
That felt like a trap, and you didn't answer.
He didn't mention it again, and didn't see you smoking again, until a couple of months later. You'd successfully cleaned out a pack of ghouls with some friends of his (no, not friends, associates; John Winchester didn't really make friends), and when Ripley pulled out a Marlboro and then waved his pack at you, you took one. Your father watched and scowled and didn't say a word.
But later, when you were in the car for the long drive back to the motel, something clicked. Or snapped. Because you were almost eighteen years old, you'd been hunting monsters since you were barely old enough to jack off, you were younger than all the guys you'd hunted with tonight and still better than most of them, and you'd just killed your first ghoul. And he didn't say good job, Dean or I'm proud of you or anything. He just bitchfaced about your smoking. And you'd had enough. You drank like a man and fucked like a man and hunted like a man and you weren't going to hide cigarettes from your Daddy like a little boy any more.
You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out the half-empty pack that had been stashed in there for a couple of weeks. And this time you didn't expect it at all, so you jumped when your father slapped the cigarette out of your hand.
"Not in my car," he snapped.
"Jesus, Dad," you said, embarrassed. "Chill out. All you gotta do is ask."
"No, I don't have to ask," he growled. "I'm telling you. Not in my car."
A couple of miles went by before he spoke again. "Dean," he said, "I know you're going to do what you want to do, when I'm not around. I just want to make sure you're making an informed decision. You know what smoking is going to do to you, right?"
"What," you said, "give me lung cancer? Like I'm gonna live long enough to worry about that?"
He sighed. "Yes, I do hope you live long enough to worry about that. But I'm not talking about lung cancer. I'm not talking about long term. I'm talking about right now. The way it affects your lungs. Do you think shortness of breath is an advantage for a hunter?"
"Didn't seem to hurt Ripley."
"Oh, Ripley." His lip curled. "So that's your goal, then? To be as good a hunter as Ripley?"
You wanted to scream that it was so fucking unfair, that you'd done every goddamn thing the man ever wanted. That you were already better than Ripley and most other hunters and the world wasn't going to end if he loosened the reins just the tiniest bit. You wanted to ask him if he was ever going to be satisfied, if you were ever going to be enough.
You didn't. You tucked the half-empty pack back into your pocket and rode silently back to the motel.
. . .
And now it's the next morning. There's no post-hunt day off, no downtime, as usual. Your father barks a reveille at o'dark thirty, and by the time the sun comes up you're shivering on an empty high school football practice field. Sam peers up at you through messy bangs, silently questioning. You shrug.
"Sam?" Dad asks. "How fast can a black dog run?"
Sam looks pleased that today's training includes a mental component, since that's the only way he ever comes out on top. "They've been clocked at twenty miles an hour," he says. "Maybe up to twenty-five. For short bursts, anyway. Not long distance."
"So let's say twenty miles an hour. Convert that to yards per second."
Sam gives him a puzzled look, then closes his eyes and furiously calculates in his head. "Um… ten. Almost ten yards per second."
"Good job." Sam practically glows in the wake of Dad's faint praise. "Okay, Dean, your turn. Couple laps around the field. Fast."
Fine. You sprint down the field, legs and arms pumping, watching Dad and Sam out of the corner of your eye. They're still standing at the edge of the field, talking. Well, Dad's talking. Sam is listening. Your brother reaches out to high-five you as you pass. The little shit's in a good mood after getting to show off his mathlete skills.
You circle the field again, fast, because you're not going to give the old man a reason to bitch at you, to give you the disappointed turned-down mouth and the narrowed you've failed me eyes. At the end of your second lap you pull up, sweaty and out of breath, ignoring the stitch in your side.
Your father gives you an enigmatic smile. "You doing okay, son?"
"Yessir."
"All right. Stay here for a sec." He puts his hand on Sam's back and steers him down the field. "Here's the scenario," he calls, when they stop. "Your brother's 30 yards away from you. His leg is broken, so he can't run. And there's a black dog 40 yards away from him, about to pounce. You're out of ammo, so you have to take it down with a knife. So you've got to get to Sam before the black dog does."
Forty yards. Four seconds. Motherfucker.
He looks at his watch and barks "go!" and for a moment you think you might be able to do it. Maybe if you'd already been in motion, you would have had a chance. But you can't sprint forty yards in four seconds from a standstill. You just can't. Even if you hadn't been out of breath to start with, it would have been difficult. You're still almost ten yards away when your father grabs Sam from behind. Sam shrieks with laughter (it's a happy noise, you tell your panicky lizard brain, a happy noise, goddammit) and his skinny legs go flying as Dad spins him away from you, out of reach.
You pull up and lean over with your hands braced on your knees, acting like you're stretching, because you don't want to look up into your father's smug smile.
"Okay, Sam," he says, "your turn. Two laps. Go."
When your brother is out of hearing range, you straighten up and try to force yourself to breathe normally. When you can speak, it comes out in short bursts.
"You know that's… a bunch of crap… right?"
"What's that, son?" he says mildly, his eyes following Sam down the field.
"The smoking's got nothing to do with… with me being out of breath right now… I hardly smoke at all… it takes me the better part of a month to finish a pack… and that's gonna bring me down like, one percent, tops… and me reducing my lung capacity by one percent isn't gonna affect anything… I couldn't have got to him in time… smoking or not."
"That's true," he says, turning to you. "Sometimes even a hundred percent isn't enough. And most days, it won’t matter. Most days, ninety-nine percent is going to do the job. But one day you're going to need a hundred percent. And you never know when that day's gonna come, Dean. So, is tomorrow gonna be a ninety-nine percent day? Are you ready to bet your life on it? My life?" He turns to look at Sam, loping back up the field toward you. "His life? Something happens to him, it's gonna be bad enough knowing you couldn't have stopped it. How's it gonna feel knowing you could have?"
You don't have an answer for that, but your father's not waiting for one. "Sam!" he yells. "Kick it into gear the rest of the way! You're in a sprint, not a marathon!" Sam ducks his head and runs, slender arms and legs frantically churning as if something dark is snarling at his heels.
. . .
(Tonight, in your nightmares, you'll be unable to breathe, running slow and sluggish like you're pushing through chest-deep water, like you’re drowning in Vaseline. You'll watch helplessly as Sam falls, screaming, taken down by something dark, something snarling, something hungry with fangs and claws. You'll wake with a pained gasp and flush the last of the cigarettes down the toilet. You’ll spend half an hour silently watching your little brother sleep, still hearing him scream your name. And you'll know you're a failure, you let everyone down; you can never, will never be enough. )
(And the next day, you’ll go out and try anyway.)
~ ~ ~ ~
The title is from Vasoline by Stone Temple Pilots, but the actual product is spelled Vaseline and therefore I insist on spelling it that way.
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gayiconwaluigi · 4 years
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Tracking the dynamic between Argo and Fitzroy from ep 5-8.
Episode 5:
Argo: So, but—but what would be the first word? Fitzroy: Butter! Argo: Butter mine!! 
Argo: What about “battle line?” Fitzroy: [gasps] Ooh. That‘s not really a phrase. Argo: Oh. I didn‘t know we were playing Wheel of Fortune. [laughs] Fantasy… Wheel…
Fitzroy: What, Slim Jims? Does anybody have Slim Jims? Argo: Maybe he wants to go to the gymnasium? He‘s hungry to work out and get ripped, maybe?
Fitzroy: Um, Ar—Argo? Can you take a— Argo: Mm-hmm? Fitzroy: Can you take a picture of the rift, and… Argo: I was just thinking that would be a good idea. I think somebody back at the ol‘ school might find that interesting.
Summary: Argo and Fitzroy are literally idiots, or Argo is only saying “Butter mine,” to make Fitzroy feel better about his bad guess. But when Argo makes a guess, Fitzroy mocks him even though Argo eventually figures it out. Argo also figures out how to get the Xorn back to his own elemental plane. This is definitely something Argo would’ve remembered for his interview with Althea--I mean, he intentionally took a picture to show the people back at school.
Episode 6:
Argo: We've still got pictures to develop off the glasses from, uh… a New Year‘s Eve party.
Fitzroy: I'd looove toooo. [sarcastically] Argo: Boy, you gotta get that cloak back.
Fitzroy: Um… anyway, I guess we should go tell the boys. Go start packing up our baby dorm and get ready to move up to the big leagues, huh?
Fitzroy: I've got… big news! Argo: What is—before you do, can I just say that I love how the three of us have like, come together? Y'know, life on the sea can be a solitary exi—no, that‘s a lie. It‘s not a solitary… in this case, to not be surrounded by so many other people, just a nice, tight-knit group of three… it‘s like we've become a… I don't know, dare I say it, a family. And I appreciate your friendship, and I appreciate you two. Fitzroy: Um… that was very— Argo: Go ahead. Go ahead, what were you gonna say, Fitz? Fitzroy: Uh… oh, I—it‘s not—y'know what? It can wait.
Argo: Yeah, I like that idea. But you're not… but we‘re our own bosses, right, Firbolg? I mean, is it—is that how this franchisin‘ works? I mean… he doesn‘t get to boss us—
Argo: Well… I… [sighs] Well, I'm—I'm not crazy about it, but… by god, if Firbolg here thinks it‘s a good idea, I don‘t—I mean, what are the options? I mean, that you guys leave, and… I… I mean… I stay? Doesn‘t that kind of break up the team? 
Argo: Y'know, I think we need to go back to that lawyer. I think we need to go see that lawyer and get something written up, like a prenup or something, because… y'know, not—just because, y'know, we have so much mutual respect for each other. But I just—y'know, I just wonder about this… and I'm willin‘ to do it! I'm willin‘ to go in there. But… are you—y'know, I'd like it on a piece of paper that says, upon graduation, you will forfeit your portion of the… franchise company to me and the Firbolg. Fitzroy: Now, hold—this is— Argo: Well, you just said it‘s just to get you through the school! Right?
Fitzroy: Uh, get that for me, will you, Argo? Argo: What? You're not the—oh, I guess you are. Fitzroy: Yeeep.  Argo: Alright… 
Summary: Argo lies about what’s on the glasses, so he knows what’s happening is suspicious. Argo also comments on how uncharismatic Fitzroy is. I think it should be noted Argo suggests he and the Firbolg go and bond, but he doesn’t seek to spend one-on-one time with Fitzroy any other time throughout the remaining episodes. Fitzroy refers to the Firbolg and Argo as “the boys,” which is endearing. Argo continues to call Fitzroy “Fitz.” Unfortunately, Argo has just said something really nice and great, but nobody responds to it. Argo is worried that Fitzroy is going to have power over them. Argo really doesn’t want to be separated from Firbolg and Fitzroy. Fitzroy pretty much says he’s gonna go off and do his own thing after graduation, which obviously hurts Argo because he immediately says, “We need a prenup...” okay, buddy. Then Argo is really not enthusiastic about Fitzroy being the villain and them being the sidekicks.
Episode 7:
Griffin: Um… [sighs] I'm wondering if we've been trying to concoct some sort of harebrained scheme to catch the… interdimensional cat, to bring it with us to the new room. Um, I know that Argo is very afraid of it still, and I think I take a great deal of delight in that. So if we can continue that arrangement, even after we move on up, um, that would be very—that would be very good for me.
Argo: Why—why don‘t we go somewhere? Why don‘t we go out, y'know, to the… are there beaches?
Fitzroy: He thinks that I don‘t see him, but I sleep with my eyes open, and so, he appears in sort of my dreamscape. And he‘s not half lobster, so I know that he‘s part of like, the actual, tangible world. And he just always seems to be creepin‘. I'm wonderin‘ if Argo has, uh, taken a lover? Firbolg: Hmm. Or… no, yours is best. Clint: [laughs] Fitzroy: I don‘t want to pry, but I just find it somewhere curious. I thought we were… y'know… friends, at this point.
Griffin: And I scribble in the back of the uh, the Notebook of Farspeech. ―What‘s… what‘s up? Where you at? Love, Fitzroy.
Clint: ―Dear Fitzroy. “How R U?”And he wrote it, “how,” and then the letter R, and the letter U. Uh, “―I am fine. Running some errands. Getting tattoo finished up down at the Hedgehog Pin. See you back at the room. Friends for life, Argo Keene.” Griffin: ―”Sounds cool. Have a cool summer. Love Fitzroy.” Yeah, I don‘t feel the need to really… press him on—like, obviously, he‘s been sneaking out at night, but I have no reason to believe that it is… anything like, below board. 
Summary: Fitzroy takes pleasure in scaring Argo. Argo wants them all to bond together. Fitzroy thinks Argo has “taken a lover” ??? He then proceeds to end both his messages to Argo with “Love, Fitzroy,” while Argo suggests they are now “Friends for Life.”
Episode 8:
Fitzroy: Uh, hey there, Argo. Uh, you've got some sort of like… y'know, supernatural thief sense, right? What‘s your gut telling you? Is this a trap? I don't know why I'm asking you this! It would be wild if it was. It‘s the front door to a place of healing. Argo: Pretty sure—yeah. Pretty sure that the imps wouldn‘t be able to put a lock on the outside. Now, if it were on the inside, maybe. But I mean, this… this seems pretty straightforward, for a change. I say we send the Firbolg up to unlock it.
Griffin: I don't know what I was doing, grabbing this bird. Like, I'm treating this like fuckin‘ Pokémon. Like, I'm not gonna catch this bird and use it later. Um, so, I'm going to… uh… I'm‘a gonna smash. I'm gonna—I think seeing Argo get so thoroughly dunked on, uh, just pushes me sort of into an instantaneous kind of rage mode. So, yeah. I go rage, and I'm‘a smash the bird that I am holding. But first, something silly‘s gonna happen.
Argo: Alright, well, I thought maybe you inherited some of these, or you got a—y'know, like it‘s a family magic or some shit. Fitzroy: It‘s all family magic. Here‘s an idea. And this is gonna sound… just super villainous. But… a controlled burn? ‗Cause I do know Fire Bolt now. We can burn this whole building down with all the imps inside it. Bada bing, bada boom. Listen, one of them just bit Argo so hard that he was nearly chopped in half. So like, I don‘t like our chances of clearing out all 20 rooms of this labyrinthine place of medicine. Argo: Except maybe that they want to use it as a hospital again someday? Fitzroy: Well, they should've thought of that before they let it get all filled up with imps and the like, shouldn‘t they have? Argo: Well, you're the boss villain. You tell us.
Argo: Y'know, he makes the Firbolg happy. Maybe we should just keep him around. Can we keep him? Fitzroy: This entourage already has an unconscionable number of pets. So, um… Clint: Well, then I stab him with my rapier.
Argo: And you did almost kill us. So…
Fitzroy: Sweet prince. You hate to see it. [choked up] We lost another one. Argo: Well, I thought you should‘a just stomped on it, but y'know, that‘s me.
Griffin: Hmm. Uhh… I—I nudge Argo, and do a little sneaky pantomime. And I point at the three birds, and I point at his sword, and I point— Travis: They are in imp form, by the way. Griffin: I point at the imps. Imps, birds, whatever. This dude stabs eyes. You got an eye? He‘ll stab it. I point at my eye, and then at them. And then his sword again.
Fitzroy: Yes, and in phenomenal form. But we've gotta work on our like… our formations!
Summary: Fitzroy trusts Argo’s rogue skills to help them out, and seeing Argo get hurt pushes him into a rage. Argo has started his investigation into Fitzroy’s past. Argo also defers to Fitzroy seeing as he is the villain although Argo absolutely knows Fitzroy is dumb as a box of rocks. Argo considers keeping the imp until Fitzroy says no. Fitzroy almost kills Firbolg and Argo with a dumb plan. Argo also questions Fitzroy’s unnecessary use of magic. Fitzroy tries to get Argo to do an attack, which the Firbolg does instead, and Fitzroy proclaims that they’re really not working together well.
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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years
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42 or 20 with indruck! Can you tell I'm a sap?? ❤❤❤
I went with 20, since I’ve actually done a variation for 42 for Indruck before.
Prompt 20 from this list: My amazing partner just dumped me. Please come home with me for the holidays and pretend to be my partner.
“DUCK I NEED HELP!”
Duck’s used to his neighbor and friend entering his house without knocking. After all, he does much the same to him. But the panicked tone is enough to send him tumbling off the couch.
“Ow. What’s up, ‘Drid?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Indrid drops to the floor to check on him, and Duck waves his hand dismissively to show he’s fine, “I’m just, it’s, I realized another horrible part of Derrick dumping me.” 
Duck sits up, facing his friend as the thinner man continues, “The few times I spoke with my parents since I started dating him, I bragged about how wonderful he was. Goodness knows they’d criticized me enough for everything else, at the very least it felt nice to tell them my relationship was going well. And now I get to go home in a week for the holidays, without the wonderful boyfriend I told them all I had. It’s going to make everything worse.”
Duck nods sympathetically. He’d been the first person Indrid told about the break up, Derrick leaving him abruptly two weeks ago after revealing he’d been dating someone else at the same time until he could make up his mind about who would make the better.
He’d apparently said Indrid needed “too much work” to be the winning partner. Duck keeps hoping to run into the guy so he can give him a piece of his mind (and tell him to be glad it’s Duck, and not Aubrey, who’s confronting him because she is pissed). 
Indrid is weird, sure. He can be absentminded, messy, can leave sketches scattered across his floor for weeks. But he’s funny, thoughtful, and Duck has pictured him without clothes more than once, wondering what it would be like if it was him drawing the high, faintly cracked noises from him on the other side of the wall. 
But more than any of that Duck always gets a strange sense of belonging when he comes home in the evening and sees Indrid’s apartment lit beside his own, still dark one. Indrid is home, next door, and that means things will be okay. 
Duck would have given anything to be in Derricks place. 
“Duck, I need you to come with me and pretend to be my boyfriend.”
Duck should have put some specifications on that statement.
“‘Drid, you full well I can’t lie well enough to pull that off. And ain’t they gonna notice I’m nothin’ like the guy you told ‘em about?”
“I kept everything vague to decrease the chances of them finding something to disapprove of. You won’t need to lie, Duck, please I’ll,” Indrid’s gaze darts around the room, his red glasses sitting on his forehead allowing Duck to enjoy the light brown of his eyes, “I’ll design your next tattoo for free, I’ll pay both our internet bills for a year, I’ll, ah, I’ll-”
“Whoah, whoah, ‘Drid, you ain't got to do anythin like that. We’re friends, we help each other out.”
“So you’ll do it?” Indrid bites the inside of his lip.
“How long would it be?”
“Five days, six if we hit bad weather coming back up here. That wouldn’t take you away from work too long, would it? Or do they expect the part time rangers to cover the holidays?”
“Nah, the center is closed on Christmas. And I’m pretty sure Juno wants a few extra hours anyway. I’ll ask to be sure, but think I oughta be able to get the time off.” He looks back at Indrid’s face. There are bags under his eyes, the result of the semester and graveyard shifts at a coffee shop. His strange, wide smile is tentatively trying to spread across his face. It’s the first time since the break up he’s looked hopeful. 
“Yeah, what the hell, can’t let my friend be lonesome for the holidays.”
Indrid makes a delighted noise, flapping his hands, “Thank you!” He throws his arms around Duck, and Duck returns the hug. Indrid loves his hugs (most people love Duck’s hugs, but Indrid’s opinion tends to take up the most space in his mind). 
He’s doing his friend a favor, and that makes the fact this is a terrible idea worth the risk. And hey, five days paling around with his friend in some fancy seaside town will be fun.
-----------------------------------------------
Juno: You know that’s a terrible idea, right?
Juno: Pretending to date Indrid is going to make for one heartbroken Duck and you know it.
Duck: It’ll be fine
Juno: How long have you had a crush on him again?
Duck: A year. And we stayed friends the whole time because I fucking knew when to keep it to myself. And I can keep keeping it to myself because his friendship means more to me than my fucking dick. 
Juno: ……..
Juno:...... Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you
Duck tosses the phone on the bed as he finishes packing his suitcase. Yes, he’s had a crush on Indrid for awhile. And yes, by the time he realized just how intense the crush was, Indrid was in a relationship that made him happy, and the strength of the crush was overwhelmed by the desire to not make Indrid’s life harder. So Duck kept those feelings to himself, focused on being Indrid’s friend, including putting in a good word on his behalf to their landlord so he could get the little studio apartment next to Duck’s one-bedroom. 
Who knows, maybe spending so much time in close proximity will get rid of the crush….
-------------------------------------
…………….Or it will make it ten times stronger Duck muses during his turn at the wheel. It’s the west coast, so there’s no snow, but rain patters on the windshield as they drive down I-5. Indrid is humming along with the playlist he put on, finishing up the last of the meal they grabbed from  Dairy Queen. He’s been intermittently hand feeding Duck fries so he can keep driving. 
He also does a thing where eagerly and licks the spoon while eating his Blizzard and Duck is afraid he might hit the guard rail if he doesn’t stop staring. 
“How did we meet?” Indrid asks somewhere near Sacramento. 
“Uh, think Dani introduced us, right?”
Indrid nods, “That’s what I thought. We’ll need to have our story straight, but it seems easiest just to describe our relationship as truthfully as possible.”
“You mean we ain’t tellin ‘em we me when I rescued you from an evil goat?”
Indrid “humphs” crossing his arms, “I did not expect to tackled at the petting zoo. But I appreciated the rescue all the same.”
“Thought Aubrey was gonna wet her pants laughin at you.” Duck giggles at the memory of Indrid flat on his back with an extremely hungry goat on top of him.
They run through increasingly ridiculous things to tell Indrids family; that they met on a botched bank robbery, they got trapped in an elevator together, their characters fell in love during a game of D&D and it spread out into their real lives, and so on until Indrid is doubled over with laughter. It would be so easy, feel so natural to reach over and squeeze his hand or stroke his face as they both come down from their giggling fits, but Duck knows better than to trap his friend in a car with unwanted affection.
By the time they reach Carmel, it’s well after ten at night. Indrid drives the last leg, explaining that the house numbers can be tricky to see. They arrive at a stately three story house four blocks from the beach.
“Right.” Indrid sits in the front seat, key in his hand but showing no desire to reach for the door, “here goes nothing.”
They carry their bags up to the house, which is all dark save for the porch light. Once they’re inside, Indrid slips off his shoes, Duck following suit and immediately spotting why.
“Who has this much white carpet?”
“My parents.” Indrid grumbles. 
They tiptoe towards the stairs, and in spite of the fact they’re expected guests, Duck feels like they’re teenagers slipping in after curfew. The bedroom Indrid leads them to is bland.
“My, they really did take it all down.” Indrid sighs, setting his suitcase on the floor.
“This was your room?”
“Yes. I wonder what they did with all the art and posters. I liked a lot of them. And I’d lay money that all of Brad’s sports awards are still up somewhere. They always preferred those to my art.” He sighs as he changes into his pajamas, then slides under the floral bedspread. 
Duck didn’t bring pajamas. He just sleeps in his boxers.
“Um” He points at himself in an attempt to indicate the problem. Indrid goes completely still, looking him up and down.
“It’s alright, Duck. That doesn’t bother me. Come on” he pats the mattress, flipping back the covers, “I’m cold and you’re a spaceheater disguised as a man.”
Duck snorts,settles beside him, “No, you’re just an icicle that got an art degree.”
Indrid barks out a laugh, sets his glasses on the bedside table “Touche. Goodnight, Duck.”
“Night, Drid.”
The light goes out and Duck nestles under the covers. Should he roll over so his back is to Indrid? No, that might seem like he’s hiding something. But rolling towards him could be too much, seem like this is real instead of a trick they’re playing.
“Duck?” Indrid whispers.
“Yeah?” He rolls over, finds Indrid on his side facing him. 
“Thank you. For coming with me. The, the next few days may be a bit awkward.”
“‘Drid, I wasn’t expectin anythin else. Not after eveythin you told me about your folks.”
“I know but, well.” Indrid takes his hand, toying with his fingers, “I’m sorry in  advance for anything they say.  Or do. Or imply. Or-”
“‘Drid.” Duck takes their joined hands, holds them against his chest, “You ain’t gotta apologize to me for shit they might do. I knew what I was gettin into when I agreed to this.”
“Thank you.” Indrid says again. He looks so tired. 
“Go to sleep, icicle.”
Indrid smiles in the darkness, and shuts his eyes. He keeps his hand in Ducks, humming softly when Duck pulls the larger quilt over them. Their hands stay linked as Duck sinks into the pillows and a deep sleep. 
-----------------------------------------------
Indrid towels himself off absentmindedly, eyeing the china-shop decor of his once lovely room. Duck volunteered to venture downstairs in search of coffee for them (Indrid trusts three people to make his coffee sweet enough: himself, his friend Barclay, and Duck). Indrid woke up first this morning, found Ducks head resting against his shoulder. He took his time studying the lines of his face, wondering if Duck would let Indrid draw him. Ideally, nude. 
Maybe asking his friend who he has a raging crush on to join him on his trip was a bad idea. 
He’d realized his feelings for Duck about four months ago. But he was happy with Derrick (well, until the last two months before the break-up, when he’d suddenly gone cold around Indrid), and knew it was common to get crushes on people even when dating someone. Besides, he and Duck were close friends; Duck made him feel safe, didn’t judge him for his quirks, was funny and charming in his own quiet way. So what if he occasionally pictured him while masturbating, imagining what it felt like to kiss him on every inch of his body?
There’d been a temptation to ask Duck out in the days after the break up. But his friend would no doubt assume Indrid was treating him as a rebound, and Duck deserved to feel truly wanted. Now it might be too late. 
The door swings open and Duck shuts it quickly behind him.
“This is a fuckin labyrinth.”
Indrid chuckles, “Couldn’t find the kitchen?”
“No! Thank fuck we got a bathroom attached to this place or I;d go to take a piss and you’d never fuckin see me again.”
“If it’s any consolation, you don’t need to worry about a Minotaur unless my brother is up.”
A silver bell rings and blinks, “Does your family use a fuckin dinner bell?”
“Yes.” Indrid finishes dressing as Duck checks his hair in the mirror, “and it means it’s time to face the family.” He holds out his hand, “stay close; I’d hate to lose you in the maze.” 
Duck hesitates, then grabs his hand, and they head downstairs. 
His parents and brother beat them there.
“Is that really what you’re wearing out today?” His mother asks when they appear. 
“Hello to you as well.” He and Duck sit side by side, and he only relinquishes Ducks hand in order to pass dishes. 
“So,” His father eyes Duck, the scrutiny in the gaze making Indrid wince automatically, “you’re Indrid’s boyfriend.”
“Yep. Name’s Duck, and it’s real nice to meet y’all.”
Brad, his brother, snorts, “Duck?”
“It’s a nickname, oh, thanks darlin.” He smiles when Indrid hands him a cup of coffee. 
“Indrid says you’re interested in...environmental science, yes?” His father continues. 
“More or less. Done a lot of work in forestry and botany and such. Goal is to be a full time ranger in a national park or somethin.”
“I don’t know why we even have those; why the fuck are we preserving a bunch of trees when that land could help enrich the economy.”
“Shut up, Brad.” Indrid glares. 
“Indrid, manners. Besides, your brother has a point. All that land could be a boon for mining and development,”
“With all due respect, uh, Mr.Cold, public lands are one of the best ideas we’ve had as a country. And they bring in lots of money to places that wouldn’t get it otherwise. Hell, back home in Kepler, most of the money comes from tourists visitin the national forest.” Duck chews his eggs thoughtfully, “Plus, screwin nature only comes back to bite us in the end.”
“At least it’s a degree that has a potential job that comes after it.” His mother stares pointedly at him and Indrid groans.
The rest of breakfast goes much the same, and Indrid pulls Duck from the table as soon as he’s done eating. 
“Right, that was awful.” Indrid sinks onto his bed. 
“And you didn’t eat anythin.”
“I had toast.” Indrid snips back. 
“One piece. Come on, darlin, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my sweetheart starve?” Duck catches the pet names this time, coughs, “sorry, figured better to keep up the game in the house, in case someone can hear us.”
Right, of course. Duck’s being practical. He doesn’t really think of Indrid as his darling. 
“There somewhere in town you like?” Duck settles beside him, voice gentle, “It’s okay if there ain’t. Can even brave the labyrinth and grab you leftovers if you need me to.”
Indrid meets his eyes, and gingerly rests his head on his shoulder, “Well, there is one place…”
------------------------------------------------------------
The outdoor mall is obscenely cheery, Christmas trees covered in shiny baubles and carols blasting from storefronts. Signs tout the perfect gift for that special someone, and Duck imagines himself wandering from salesperson to salesperson until he finds the thing that could show Indrid just how much he cares about him.
After a leisurely breakfast in a tiny, scruffy cafe (indeed, the only scruffy store amidst the pristine, wealth soaked chains and boutiques) in which Indrid scarfed two cinnamon rolls the size of his head, they wander arm in arm, window shopping and people watching. Indrid relaxes incrementally, and keeps casting strange, affectionate glances Ducks way. 
In spite of the chilly weather, they opt to go to the beach, finding it mostly deserted. Indrid shows him a patch of tidepools, and proceeds to ask a dozen questions about what he’s seeing. Duck does his best, though ocean life isn’t his specialty. 
“Oooh, hello little friend.” Indrid is on his stomach, leaning over one of the pools with a hermit crab in his hand, “your shell is so pretty.”
“Uh, ‘Drid, you might wanna keep an eye on that-”
Splash
“Wave.” Duck tries not to laugh at his friend, who now looks like a surprised, damp cat. 
“Oh dear.” Indrid looks at his soaked top half and shudders, “that is going to be unpleasant to walk home in.” 
“Here, take those off.” Duck unzips and doffs his jacket, unbuttons his green shirt and hands it to the taller man, “That oughta help until we get back.”
Indrid, skinny and shivering, takes the shirt and slips it on. His fingers fumble and Duck steps forward and begins buttoning it for him. 
“You don’t-” Indrid starts
“I want to” Duck finishes. When he buttons the last one, he looks up and finds their noses nearly brushing. 
“We should head back.” Indrid murmurs.
“Yeah.” Duck drops his gaze, taking a step back, “lead the way, darlin.”
Indrid hops off the rock onto the sand, offering his hand to Duck so he can do the same. Duck supposes they don’t need to hold hands on the empty beach. 
They end up holding them all the way back to the house. 
------------------------
It all comes to a head at dinner the next night. 
“This is low even for you, bro.” Brad grins.
Indrid rolls his eyes, “What is?”
“Bringing a fake boyfriend because your skinny ass got dumped.”
The little bit Indrid’s eaten threatens to come back up. Duck is still, save for the chewing on the inside of his lip.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Indrid responds coolly. 
“Friend of a friend on Insta said in a group text that he knows your ex.” Brad looks over at their mother, “Apparently Indrid is too stupid to know when he’s being strung along, and too much of a dud to actually keep the guy.”
“In that case” His father turns to Duck, “how did you end up involved in this?”
“Probably paid him.” Brad sips his beer and Indrid growls. 
“Actually” Duck says quietly, “I came because Indrid asked me to. Couldn’t say no to the most amazin guy I know. Indrid’s perfect and Derrick was shitty to him. Just cause we ain’t had time to put a label on things don’t mean I ain’t crazy about him. And for your information” he stares down Brad, “that ‘skinny ass’ is the nicest lookin ass on the entire coast, and you are the shittiest siblin’ I’ve ever had the displeasure of meetin’.”
“How dare you?” His mother hisses and Indrid takes that opportunity to bolt, certain Duck will follow him. As he’s halfway up the stairs he hears Duck drawl, “Mom always said money can’t buy class. Thanks for the real-time demonstration.”
By the time his friend enters the bedroom, Indrid is huddled on the bed, trying not to cry. 
“Shit, ‘Drid, I’m sorry, that was outta line of me but I can’t, I couldn’t sit there and let ‘em talk to you like that. I know you got your reasons for not speakin up, but you don’t deserve to have no one takin your side.”
“It’s not that. I can’t, Duck, how could you say those things knowing full well we aren’t together? Do you have any idea how badly I’ve wanted to believe you feel that way about me? That’s the most loved I’ve felt in months and I know it was a lie.” He buries his face in his hands, glasses denting his skin. 
“Hey, goofus.” Duck nudges him until he looks up, “you’re forgettin the part where I can’t lie.”
The gears of the world grind to a halt, and in a frozen moment in time Indrid processes a dozen realizations at once.
“You do like me.” He whispers. 
“No shit, darlin. Indrid, I’ve been into you for months, but I didn’t wanna push you away by tellin you and makin’ you uncomfortable. I meant every goddamn word, and that all barely scratches the surface of how bad I want youMOphhhm.”
Kissing Duck is a hundred times better than he ever imagined, the two of them tangled up before they even fall fully backwards. Warm fingers tangle in his hair and Duck whimpers beneath him, arching frantically into Indrids touch.
“Fuck me.” Duck pants when Indrid lets him breathe. 
“Not here. I, I think we should go somewhere else, leave early. They don’t want me here, not really, we could go home, rent a hotel room, anything, Duck, goodness please let’s get out of here.”
“It was an exclamation goofus, this room is a boner killer if there ever was one. But yeah, gettin gone sounds real fuckin good to me. I’ll let you take the lead, sugar.”
“You promise?”
Duck kisses his nose, “Wherever you wanna go, darlin. I’ll be right there next to you. I promise.”
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manunkinda · 5 years
Text
So, I wrote the first chapter for a RK1K (Markus x Connor) fic. I’m not happy with it at all, but oh well. To be fair, it is my first DBH fic and I tend to have some troubles writing the first chapter for anything, It’s an AU. It’s called Dirty Blues.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101882/chapters/47616835
Chapter One: Smoke And Vinyls
Shit!”
Markus stepped down hard on the gas, his hands gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. He was late. His bandmates, mainly North, were going to be pissed at him being late to the venue. Hell, he was pissed at himself. He didn't care if he was speeding on the highway, he just needed to get to his goddamn location.
He knew that sirens were going to tail him. He pulled over with a frustrated groan. He rolled down his window, watching the officer approach from the side mirror.
"Sir?" Markus was suddenly confronted with soft, brown doe-eyes. "You're aware that you were going 62 in a 40 mile zone, right?"
"Uh, yes..." He replied, trying to be as patient as possible given the situation.
The officer pursed his lips, as if he was thinking about something. "Why were you in a rush?"
"Gig."
"May I check your trunk?"
The driver nodded, tapping his fingers against the wheel. He glanced at the mirror as the officer opened the trunk, discovering a guitar case. He opened the case and inspected it for a minute before closing the case. He then closed the trunk and walked back to Markus.
"Nice guitar. Sorry, the department have been pulling over cars with Red Ice stashed away."
"It's fine. I understand."
"So, where's this gig?" The officer asked, thumbs hooked in his belt.
"Magic Stick. It starts at eight-thirty. My band's a regular there."
"Ah, okay." The man unhooked his thumbs and pulled out a notepad and pen. "What's your name?"
"Markus Manfred." He told him.
"You're a lucky man, Markus. I'm deciding not to give you a ticket. However, if you speed again, ticket. Got it?"
Markus smiled slightly and watched as he wrote his name and license plate number on paper. "Got it."
"Great." He put the pad and pen away. "I might see your band at the Magic Stick tonight."
"You don't strike me as someone who enjoys rock music."
“I’m full of surprises,” the officer grinned. “See you there?”
Markus could feel his face heat up, and he nodded in return. “Yeah, see you there.”
The nameless officer got back into his police cruiser and Markus started his car, integrating with the others on the highway.
The hard case felt heavy in his hands as he entered the venue. His bandmates were already setting up.
Simon lifted his head up from tuning his guitar, spotting his friend. "Guys, Markus is here."
North rushed out from backstage, holding her bass. “Where the fuck have you been?!" She demanded loudly, clearly angry.
"Cool down, I was pulled over on the highway. No big deal. I'm sorry." Markus countered, walking towards the stage.
"No big deal?" She looked at Simon and Josh, who seemed to be neutral. They knew that not agreeing with North would make this even messier, but Markus had a point.
"Yeah, seriously. Calm down, save the energy for the show." He got onto the platform and went backstage to take his guitar out. As he stepped back onto the stage with his instrument, North threatened to hit him with her bass guitar.
After doing the sound check, the band waited backstage and had a couple of drinks. Markus eyed the clock.
Eight-thirty.
It was time.
Markus found himself in the light in front of the mic, his friends also on stage. He was previously nervous, but all his fright had disinagrated away. "For the returning folks, welcome back. For first-timers, we're Jericho." He glanced at his bandmates to see if they were ready. "Josh, hit it."
The familiar harsh kick of the drums invaded his ears, and the rest of the band joined in, including him. North's bass could be felt from the speakers, and Simon's lead work added little intricacies. His voice was introduced to the wall of sound as they all played their part, yet remained in synch.
Pause.
And the sound shattered silence once again.
The show had ended and people were leaving. Markus was chatting with his friends, discussing tonight and joking around as they got ready to leave. While Carl was doing okay, he wished he was here, and he knew that Carl wanted to come; but he would be able to tell him all about tonight when he got home. He turned when he heard his name.
It was the officer from earlier. He almost didn't recognize him out of uniform.
"Oh hey," he smiled. He didn’t see him in the small crowd, but he suspected that he must’ve been hanging out in the back of the room. "Like the performance?"
The man ran his fingers through his hair, beaming. "Yeah, it was fun. You guys did a good job."
"Who's this, Markus?" Josh asked. Simon and North were curious as well, trying to figure out who the hell this stranger, who seemed to know their lead singer, was.
"This is... Uh..." Markus snapped his fingers a couple times. "I don't think you've ever told me your name."
"Connor." The doe-eyed man responded, straightening his jacket.
"This is Connor. He's the officer who pulled me over for speeding today."
North glanced at Connor, then Markus, then Connor again. Her expression could only be described as mischievous, a playful smirk tugging on her lips. “You know, Markus... You did tell me that you were pulled over today, but you never told me the cop was cute.”
Markus bit the inside of his cheek and Connor cleared his throat quietly as his friends laughed.
“Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Connor.” Josh said. “Glad you enjoyed the show.”
“Yeah, we gotta pack and get home. We all have work or class.” Simon added, wrapping up some cords that were in his hands. “Hope to see you around more though.”
"Markus, you should take Connor to our grub hub for dinner." North suggested.
Markus shrugged. "I mean, it's up to him. Do you want to go eat?"
Connor looked hesitant. "Uh, sure? I was thinking you could come over and we could order takeout instead."
"We can do that." Markus agreed, ignoring North's teasing look. "Just let me put my stuff away and then we can go."
Connor nodded and waited near the door. “I can text you the address.” He told Markus as the other man neared the entrance with his guitar case.
“Sounds good. I’ll just put this in the trunk. I'll see you guys later.” Markus told his friends. He gave Connor his number and went to his car, putting away his things. His phone dinged, and he glanced at the screen to see an address.
Markus parked in the driveway of the small, one-floor home. He stopped the vehicle and got out, closing the car door afterwards.
The yard was relatively clean, although it was desperate for a cut. The grass was not quite long, but was getting there. He figured that he was too busy with his job to mow his lawn.
The musician approached the door, climbing up the steps. He pressed the doorbell, and after a couple of seconds, the door opened to reveal Connor who invited him in.
The first thing that Markus noticed were the shelves of vinyls, CDs, and cassettes that were on display in the living room.
Damn.
The second thing he noticed was that there were no pictures of Connor’s family as far as he could tell. The atmosphere of this home was a whole different vibe compared to the large, colorful mansion that he and Carl lived in.
“So, any ideas?”
Markus was forced out of observation. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Takeout.” Connor repeated. “Any ideas?”
“Uh, not sure. Just pick whatever.”
The host nodded and took out his phone. “Thai then?”
“Sure. Vegetable Pad Thai please.”
Markus’ mismatched eyes travelled to Connor’s left arm as Connor dialed a number and turned away, his back facing him. Crimson roses, cerulean plumerias, and wicked thorns adorned his entire limb from the shoulder to his wrist.
He was in awe at the complexity of the ink.
Connor ended the call and turned back around. “You know, you can take off your jacket and make yourself comfortable.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.” He quickly took off his jacket and hung it up on the coat hanger. “Your sleeve tattoo is beautiful, by the way.”
He swore he saw Connor blush. “Uh, thanks. It was just inspired by a family friend’s garden.” Connor slipped his phone back into his pocket. “The food should be here pretty soon. Want anything to drink? I’ve got beer in the fridge.”
“A beer’s fine.” He sat down on the sofa as Connor went into the kitchen, coming back out with two beer bottles, one in each hand. He handed one to Markus and sat down.
The food arrived, and the two men dug in, chatting as they ate. After finishing and cleaning up, Connor decided to put a record on. “You know Bambara?”
Markus leaned back on the sofa. “No, actually. Never heard of them.”
“It’s a good band to get stoned to.” Connor said, rather casually.
Everyone had vices, regardless of their lifestyle. Still, he hadn’t taken Connor for a smoker. Usually, Markus was able to read a person correctly, but Connor was an exception. He would be lying if he said that the man wasn’t intriguing. “You smoke weed?”
“A little.” He replied, guiding the needle to the vinyl and turning up the volume. “For anxiety. As long as it doesn’t interfere with work, I’ll be fine.”
Markus watched as Connor opened a drawer on one of the end tables and took out a small sandwich bag and lighter, sitting back down. The music was already playing.
Connor noticed Markus watching and looked at him, opening the bag. “Want a joint?” He asked the taller man.
Markus shook his head. He personally didn’t like to smoke, but he knew people who did. He wasn’t unfamiliar. “Nah, thanks though. I’ll just stick to beer.”
Connor nodded and rolled up a joint before lighting it.
Neon glowing in the night,
Red words: Red Tide,
Shining in your eyes.
Smoke twirled in the air, the smell of burning paper and pungent leaves invading the room.
A gunshot cracked,
And streaming blood fanned out around its kicking feet.
Dead eyes staring,
Dead eyes staring.
Two bottles multiplied into four, and then eight.
“No one really leaves,”
Jimmy says through a cloud of smoke.
”Where would he go anyway?”
The sun is up and the birds are pecking
Pecking at something lying in the dirt.
Markus was sitting on the floor, lying against the sofa as he listened. Connor was draped on the sofa on his back, his legs hanging over the arm of the furniture. His red eyes stared straight at the blank ceiling, like there was something up there, or perhaps a mural. He noticed the sparse speckles of small moles, or maybe they were freckles, that were scattered across Connor’s face, neck, and hands.
Let’s make something huge and full of rust,
Rebar ‘round my handsome bust.
Broken glass like jagged flowers,
Climbing up a twisting tower.
Markus lost track of the time, zoning out and drunker than he intended to be. How the hell was he going to get home? Carl was going to lecture him on being responsible; he just knew it. The coffee table was almost covered in bottles and Connor was tired.
The town kids smoke meth and drink
Behind the scrap metal heap.
The guesthouse lies hidden...
He would figure something out.
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