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twilightprince101 · 3 years

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Mafia!Wiggle AU

So yeah, I came up with the idea of Wiggle being a mob boss a few days ago and I succumbed to the brain rot. Wrote an entire fic for this idea, introducing her and what she's like.

I got flustered myself writing the tall crime lady. Enjoy!

Mafia Boss Wiggle

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF’A ME YOU MEATHEADS!!” A lanky, roughed up grumpus struggles in the beefy arms of two well-dressed goons. They grip his arms tight with their paws, dragging his body along behind it like an afterthought. “You have any idea what my family will do when-?!”

“Shut your trap already,” the purple goon groaned. They adjust their ornate mask, brushing the sunset and emerald colored feathers out of their eyes. “Honestly, you’re lucky we caught you before openin’ hours, else we’d have to knock your teeth in to keep you from disturbin’ the patrons.”

“Don’t act like yer better than me!” The red grump kicks over a velvet chair from a nearby table as they pass. It clatters against the polished wood floor, echoing through the well-lit nightclub. A bartender--wearing a similar feathered and jeweled mask to the goons--gets up from polishing glasses to set it right. “Don’t you know who I am?! I’m from the Turnpipe family!! My boys’ll storm this place once they hear what you’se done to me! They’ll roast you all over open flames until every last strand of your fur is singed to the flesh!! You’ll be nothing but a naked mole rat for the rest of your lives!!!”

“Heya Cold-Brew, how was your kid’s party last night?” The blue goon holding Turnpipe’s other paw waves to the bartender as he sets the chair upright.

“Went okay. Park got rained out midway through the picnic, so we went to Slaker’s for ‘shakes.”

“Ah, shame. Need any help after I’m done here?” He gestures to their victim as if it were a sack of potatos. The red grump wiggles and yells while scuffing the floor they’re dragged across.

“Nah, should be good here, thanks ‘Stein. Fifteen until the doors open.” Cold-Brew waves back to the goons as he returns to his station, both wave back and smile.

“I SAID LET ME GO YOU INVERTEBRATES!!!!”

“Ugh, honestly why can’t you all say anything original?” The purple grump shakes their head. “Always just ‘let me go,’ ‘I’m with this family,’ ‘You’ll pay for this,’ if you’re gonna keep yappin’ at least say something interesting.”

“I’LL TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!!!”

“Hehey, he tells jokes!”

The nightclub’s attendants laugh together under the neon spotlights as the intruder’s yells fall on uncaring ears. Past the bar lined with high class alcohol and the grand stage lined with spotlights and the band pit, the three grumps make their way to a door labeled “BACKSTAGE: EMPLOYEE’S ONLY.” With a quick knock and faint response from the other side, the two gently push open the door and leave the main area behind.

“Heya boss,” the purple goon speaks, his voice much more formal. “Found this one tryin’ to bash the front lock open with a brick. Got him before any major damage was done, don’t worry.”

Both grumps lift the intruder up by the shoulders, leaving his legs kicking in the air. It takes the Turnpipe a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting and he coughs from the lingering cigarette smoke in the air.

“Thank ya’ darlings,” a sultry voice speaks, facing away from the three. The grump thinks that the boss is some shade of pink, but poking above the large mass of pink fluff a sort of golden orange pokes out. Despite being held in the air, the orange grumpus sitting at the table in front of them reaches just below the Turnpipe’s height. “Wouldn’t want him making a mess before our loyal customers come in.”

“Are you these goons’ boss?!” The Turnpipe screams, pointing at the grumpus. “You fucked up now! When the Turnpipes hear of this-”

“They’ll tear us limb from limb, yes hun I know.” The boss speaks calmly, comfortably while applying purple eyeliner via pocket mirror. “I could hear you all the way backstage, making me consider sound proofing.”

The red grumpus blinks. Despite the goons disregarding his threats earlier, for some reason his mind expected her to take him seriously. He takes a moment to look around the employee’s area, finding various other grumps of size and stature. Some more fancily-dressed grumps put on makeup and practice vocal exercises in large vanity mirrors, while toned tux-wearing grumps check their suits before walking out to the main club area. All of them are wearing the same mask and haven’t given him so much as a glance.

“Now tell me darling,” the boss angles the pocket mirror to address her intruder. Her ice blue iris gives off a sharp, cold gaze that clashes with the warm and comforting atmosphere before. “Why were you trying to break into our lovely establishment? Just couldn’t wait to have some fun, wanted to steal some of our booze perhaps?”

“Wh-no I’m, I don’t care about your stupid club!!” The Turnpipe yells, finding his fury again. “One’a your meatheads shook down my brother! They were on my family’s turf, and I don’t take these insults lyin’ down!”

“I can see that. So you’d rather take it in the air instead?”

Some of the other staff members chuckle as they check themselves for the third time over.

“Du-buh?!” Did you even hear what I said?!” The turnpipe explodes, his enemy’s eyes narrowing in the mirror. “YOUR goons-”

“I heard you clearly.”

The CLICK of the pocket mirror cuts through the smoky air. She places it on the table alongside the bills, fan letters and knives and begins spinning her chair around. It swivels as she sweeps her long legs along with the momentum, poking out of her dark emerald dress. The dark emerald dress’s frills flutter from the sudden movement, draping the boss from her knees to the straps on her shoulders, hidden under her flowing pink mane. With a CLACK of her deep purple heels on stone she sets her crossed legs down and stops the chair in place. Her previous playful gaze is now replaced with one of annoyance, both her icy and greyed eyes narrowed in contempt.

With her clean scar sweeping across her right eye, the boss of the Gilded Dahlias, Wiggle Wigglebottom, sits up fully and rests a paw on her chin while gazing down at her prey.

“I’m just curious as to how you thought you could barge in here and get revenge against my boys, my gang, even me, all by yourself. You certainly don’t have the physique or firepower to do the job, so my first guess is that you’re either full of yourself, or just plain dumb.”

The performers all “ooooooooh~” between them, like a class of 8th graders hearing their fellow classmate called up to the principal’s office.

“I mean-well, I…” The red grumpus searches the floor for the right words, then balls his fists and puffs out his chest. “I’d assume YOU would pay us with respect! Us Turnpipe’s been around longer than you newbies have, so we outrank you!”

“It’s stupidity folks!!” Wiggle cheers and flicks up a paw to announce the results. A few goons groan and dig into their jacket pockets, handing their smiling associates a fat wad of bills. Turnpipe’s hot air dissipates and he deflates once more.

“Damn, third in a row… I’ll treat you to a drink later Wiggle.” A brown-furred performer in a glittery red dress crosses her arms.

“Maybe a milkshake,” The boss peeks over her shoulder, “I overheard Brew talking about Slakers and my sweet tooth’s been acting up lately! Them icy sweets are ‘Callin my naaaame~’.” She sings in a wide vocal range with complete ease, giving her paw a flourish and leaning back as she hums.

“You… You know, just because you’re new it doesn’t mean you’re better than us! Don’t act like you’re a hotshot just because you did a few successful heists!”

“A few? Oohohoho!!” Wiggle peers back, sitting up straight once again. “Goodness darlin’, you are not helping your case right now. Tell me, how many bank heists has your little family done in the past year?”

“Uh… twenty five?”

A tuxed grumpus snorts as he walks out.

“Oh darling…” Wiggle places a palm against her cheek with a pitiful smile. “That’s not even cute, it’s just... sad.”

“Yeah?! Well, I’d like to see you-”

“Fifty three.” Wiggle interrupts. “In the past three months.”

“...wha-”

“Around… how much was it Abra?” Wiggle calls behind her.

“Passed the million mark just last week!” A green grumpus, wearing more casual clothing, peeks out from around a corner leading to an employee hallway.

“Got so much excess profits that even after giving everyone a bonus, I got to turn the rest to my own personal bed!” She waves a paw in the air. “Certainly wasn’t the comfiest experience, but I at least got to check it off my bucket list!”

“I… I don’t…” The Turnpipe’s words do their best to try and search for any rage or anger to grasp onto, but any attempt to feel above her hasn’t worked, not helped by the fact he’s still being held up by the shoulders like a small child. After around ten seconds of stammering, Wiggle sighs and shakes her head.

“You don’t gotta try and act tough anymore darlin’, I think I get what you’re about now…” The sunset grumpus uncrosses her legs and lets her other heel clack on the floor. The Turnpipe’s gaze goes from eye level to slowly upwards, and upwards, and upwards; the boss’s body obscuring the light from one of the vanities. She wraps one of her paws around the grip of a knife lodged into the table and yanks it out. Her prey freezes up in the arms of her trap.

“You didn’t come here so you could avenge your brother or any sappy nonsense like that.” Wiggle circles around the Turnpipe, her heels echoing their clicks with each step while fiddling with the knife in her paws. “You came here so you could try and make yourself feel big and stwong, flaunting your family name as if it were a gun in of itself.”

“I…” Clack. Clack. Clack. It becomes hard to think as each step feels like a hammer and chisel against his brain. Wiggle looks the red grump up and down, drawing invisible lines up and down his torso.

“Since you came in you’ve been talking about your little gang as if you ran it. ‘My boys,’ ‘My gang,’ ‘My my my my my.’ But all that time, being caught up in your own head? It just made your skull more dense. All you are is just some lowly lackey that probably joined, say…” She plants an elbow on the Turnpipe’s head, checking her makeup one last time in the reflection of her knife. “A month ago? Maybe less?”

The frog in her armrest’s throat nearly leaps out of his mouth. His head shrinking down is the only confirmation Wiggle needs.

“You’ve been so caught up in that little bubble of yours, thinking you’re the hottest grump on the block, just because you’re part of a gang. Think just because you have a name to flaunt around and access to guns it makes you powerful. But I’m gonna let you in on a secret little man.” The Turnpipe’s body clenches as Wiggle stands back up and Clacks her way back to his front, eyeing the knife she paws in her hands as intensely as possible.

“Having a name to flaunt around doesn’t bring you power.”

Clack.

“Having guns and knives to hold against people’s throats doesn’t bring you power.”

Clack.

“Having enough money to buy out all of Grump Vegas doesn’t bring you power.”

Clack.’

“But you know what does?”

Wiggle towers above the Turnpipe, patting her razor-sharp knife in her paw. All different rays of light are obscured by her roaring mane, leaving the grump to cower in the arms of her two goons. She Clacks forward, and her goons take a step back. Not out of fear or trepidation though; a quick glance to both of their faces shows the same devilish smile that their boss wears. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Every single step is like a jolt of ice to his heart, dragging every last little step for an eternity as his entire being trembles in the arms of the two goons. Just the slight bump of the wall on his back knocks out every bit of air in his lungs and he fights to just inhale as his natural predator CLACKS just inches away from him, casting a toothy, ecstatic smile. Her single, silver iris seems to glow in the limited light.

Wiggle grips the knife in a reverse grip in her left hand and begins to raise it. The grumpus tries to close his eyes and look away but she grabs his chin with her other paw and forces his gaze back to her. His attempts to shake his head in a desperate plea are pointless, her paw digging into his fur and keeping him from moving even a centimeter out of place. The glinted metal shines as it finally reaches the zenith of its arc, hungry to tear through red grumpus fur. With nothing left to do all the Turnpipe can do is let tears stream down his face.

With the speed of a bullet and barely giving the Turnpipe a moment to flinch, Wiggle swings down the dagger. Her victim closes his eyes and blurts out a whimper and-

THUNK!!!

…

He’s not dead. His eyes are still fuzed shut but he’s still not dead, he can hear the sounds of the backstage area around him. The Turnpipe forces an eye open to peek at the knife and his skeleton nearly leaps out and books it at the sight. The knife is only a hair’s length away from his cheek embedded into the wood beam he’s pressed against. A sting in his cheek and the running of a warm liquid helps him fill in the gap of what happened. But just a little bit away, the Turnpipe finds something else that makes his body completely shut down

It’s Wigglebottom’s face, just as close to his as the knife.

Her icy and greyed eyes peer into the Turnpipe’s irises, flickering around while high on adrenaline and terror. Her gaze looks past his false-bravado exterior and reaches further, deeper inside him into a dark pit he had tried so desperately to hide. A black, slimy, jittering piece of disgust comes out. Letting the grip on his chin go she traces his chin and speaks in a tone fitting of her now-sultry gaze. Wiggle leans in close, so close that the Turnpipe can smell her rich floral perfume, and whispers into his ear.

“Fear~”

“...”

The Turnpipe’s mind has gone blank. Despite the pounding jackhammer in his chest, the final whisper and breath of hot air from the Gilded Dahlia boss erases his mind, leaving him a whimpering and stuttering mess. A few of the remaining employees from backstage snicker and point at her latest victim, though he isn’t able to process the fact that he’s being mocked. Seeing that the usual routine has worked yet again, Wiggle leaves the knife implanted in the wall and pulls back with a satisfied smile.

“Boys,” she snaps a finger in the air, her tone returning to the playful nature it was before, “drop our newest employee. He won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, should be good to leave him back here for the day.”

Both goons do as they’re told without question, letting the grumpus slump to the floor, his knees having completely given out. He continues to stare at the ground and shake his head, crying as he trembles from the terror just inflicted.

“So what’re you gonna make this one boss?” The purple grumpus asks with a playful smile. “Waiter? Bartender?”

“Nah.” She shrugs with little effort. “He doesn’t really have the looks for either of those. Probably’ll make him our new janitor, been needing a new one after our last one squealed. Feel free to give him the old guy’s uniform, I feel it should fit pretty well.”

The purple goon nods and takes out a sketchpad, writing “Find old janitor’s uniform” at the bottom of the list as they walk past and out towards the main area.

“Alright everyone, hopefully this little show of mine was able to help you get fired up! We got five minutes ‘till the doors open, get those finishing touches done!” The boss claps her hands in the air to her employees, resuming business as usual. “If we’re able to double our profits today I’ll treat everyone to Slakers at the end of our shift tonight! Let’s make tonight a good one darlin’s!”

The warm and familiar chatter of the backstage area continues once more. As every last well-dressed employee strolls out to prepare for the afternoon they pass by their new coworker, neither giving the other a glance. As the front door opens and the excited clamoring of a new audience begins to fill the club, Wiggle peers down at her latest victim, slumped up the hole-ridden wood post on his back. She smirks and gives a content sigh.

“Maybe one day you’ll all surprise me… but until then, I suppose this is just as fun~”

Wiggle ruffles the head of the former Turnpipe like an affectionate puppy, and then walks back to her main office, her heels Clacking and echoing throughout backstage and the red grumpus’s empty mind.

#Bugsnax #wiggle wigglebottom #bugsnax wiggle #young horses #bugsnax AU #my writing #my writings #twi talks #Mafia!Wiggle #Mafia!Wiggle AU #((I... have a thing for tall and intimidating crime lady's #So yeah #*voice crack* eNJoY!!!))

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the-himawari · 4 years

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A3! Settsu Banri - Translation [SR] Stylish Gear (1/2)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Yuki: Huh, isn’t it Banri? Coming home from uni?

Banri: Yeah. Wait, that’s a lotta bags you got there. You’re out shoppin’?

Yuki: They’re materials for the costumes for this time’s “Festival of the Dead”. There were a few missing items, so I bought some additional stuff.

Banri: That amount ain’t an “additional purchase”… I’ll carry that load of fabric over there, so give it here.

Yuki: They’re the costumes we’ll use at the Theatre so that’s just expected.

Banri: Geez, I’ve got no choice, eh?

Yuki: Thanks.

-pause-

Banri: Are the preparations for the stage goin’ smoothly?

Yuki: As far as I’ve seen from the rehearsal hall the other day, aren’t they going well? The useless actor, Tsumugi and the money-grubbing yakuza are there, so it looks like they’re practising seriously too.

Banri: If you think about it, it’s full of experienced guys, huh? The one who ended up as the lead is Masumi, so I guess there’s no need to worry.

Yuki: It also feels like I can make the main costumes and then just do some fine adjustments.

Banri: Azami’s the one doin’ hair n’ makeup? The dead guys’ makeup is different from our zombies from before, right?

Yuki: …Well yeah. If you’re curious, what if you try taking a peek at the rehearsal hall?

Banri: ?

-pause-

Banri: Somehow I’ve got a bad feelin’ about what Yuki said before… …But it’s just hair and makeup, so it’s fine, right?

-pause-

Banri: Good wo~rk.

Izumi: Huh, Banri-kun.

Tsumugi: Welcome back.

Itaru: GJ.

Banri: !

Azuma: Fufu, surprised? Azami just happened to do our makeup for us.

Kazunari: It’s super fab, right! It’s totally legit and hyped up with just the makeup!

Sakyo: Don’t get too excited. It’ll be ruined if y’all fail to act so you don’t lose to the makeup that makes your facial expressions harder to see.

Azami: Oi, shitty Sakyo, quit yappin’. Your makeup’ll come off.

Sakyo: …

Banri: I was surprised at first, but won’t it look great when it’s paired with the costumes?

Azami: I’m still in the middle of adjusting it though. I gotta try doin’ it a bit more.

Itaru: Wait, really? Even though the quality is this high?

Azami: I wanna try somethin’ that has a little more impact but… I don’t have enough faces.

Banri: The member that’s appearing on stage later but isn’t here is… Taichi, huh. Won’t he be comin’ home in a bit?

Izumi: Taichi-kun said he has supplementary lessons, so it looks like he’ll be late today.

Azami: I wanna compare the face with the other guys’, so that’s why I wanna do it now… Someone that has a face I can use… Ah.

Banri: …The hell is it?

Azami: Banri-san, won’t you lend me your face?

Banri: HAA!? It seems ridiculously annoying to wash off so I’ll pass. ‘Sides, I’m not a cast member so it’d be pointless.

Azami: That’s irrelevant. Well, If Banri-san doesn’t do it then I’ll have to get Director to lend her face instead.

Banri: …

Masumi: Banri, do it.

Tsumugi: Making Director do this makeup is kind of…

Izumi: Sorry, Banri-kun! As expected, I won’t be able to go shopping for dinner with the skeleton makeup on so… Is it ok if I ask you for this?

Banri: Haa… I got it. It's fine if I do it, alright?

Azami: That helps.

Banri: I knew I had a bad feeling; so it was this, huh? I should trust my instincts...

---

| next

#a3!#a3! translation #settsu banri #act! addict! actors!#i am a changed person after seeing the contents of this card #and now you must all experience it with me #+ lots of pics cause yall need to see this

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walpurga-nacht-academy · 3 years

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Djinn’s Bride! ~A Celebration of Love~

Part 5

[Walpurga Nacht Academy]

[Prefect Meeting Room]

Marcia: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH?!

Rosa: … Hey, hey, you’re kinda going overboard with the whole surprised reaction, you know? We’re already way past that.

Marcia: Haaaaaa? Don’t treat this like it’s just an everyday occurrence!

Rosa: Huh? But shouldn’t you be happy?

Marcia: Ha?! What’s there to be happy about?! Can’t you sense the situation here?

Rosa: Grr! I can! I totally can! That’s why I thought you’d be ecstatic to have all your problems solved like this! Isn’t this what you’ve been hoping for?! That ‘rich overnight’ type of success story?!

Marcia: YOU IDIOT!

Rosa: ?!?!

Marcia: Stuff like that doesn’t exist in reality! If something is too good to be true, then it definitely is! Don’t just take it for granted that things will work out so easily!

Rosa: E-Eh? What’s with this speech?! Since when did you have such a strong moral code?!

Marcia: It’s just common sense, Rosalia. Money that’s not earned through hard work will just trickle down between your fingers.

Rosa: Th-That was surprisingly cool coming from someone like you… It’s kinda scary seeing you like this.

Marcia: These things aren’t matters to laugh at. If I don’t take them seriously the old man will get disappointed in me.

Rosa: Marcia…

Marcia: That’s why, under no circumstances, can I just throw everything I’ve worked on to get married to this guy!

......

Besides he’s totally not my type, anyway.

Rosa: What’s with these standards all of a sudden?!

Marcia: Sorry~ I just don’t go for guys that look this silly~ I want a super cool looking husband that’s also filthy rich~

Rosa: Haaaaaaa?! Then what was with that speech just now?! Make up your mind already!

Marcia: Hehehe~

Blanche: Goodness gracious. This has gone on for long enough.

June: Tch. Fuckin’ headache.

Diana: …

Cass: U-Um, in that case, you wi-will not take Mister Djinn’s offer, Miss Py-Pyroeis?

Marcia: No way, no way! Hahahahahaha! It sounds super troublesome, you know?

Vita: What a shame. To think that you would willingly discard your golden goose just like this. My expectations were surpassed. Fufufu~

Marcia: … You still sound like you’re looking down on me, heh… In any case! That’s how things stand. So as you can see, I’m gonna have to turn you down. I mean I’m flattered and all that, but our timing just isn’t right~

Rosa: Geh, what’s with that obviously fake line? And turning him down in front of everybody…

Diana: These sort of things should be blunt.

Rosa: I-I guess, but you know…

Djinn: Ah, so that’s how it is?

Blanche: … He’s taking it surprisingly well.

Cass: Se-Seems like he’s an u-understanding person. Ho-How fortunate!

Marcia: Yeah, yeah. So sorry again~

Djinn: …

Marcia: Ah, but don’t look glum! I’m sure you’ll find someone who’s just your type~ Just keep looking! The world’s your oyster!

Djinn: … Hm.

Marcia: …

Djinn: …

Marcia: Um, i-in any case! Since you won’t be fulfilling any wishes, guess you can go back to your lamp now! Ah, don’t worry! Our dorm will take super good care of it and won’t be bothering you or anything.

Djinn: …

Marcia: … Ah? Uh?

Djinn: …

Rosa: … Hey, he’s still here… What’s up with that?

Cass: Ma-Maybe he needs help returning to his lamp?

Marcia: O-Oh! Hahahaha! Why didn’t you say that, man? Don’t be shy to ask for help! Here, here! As your kind master I’ll help you get back in the lamp and-

Djinn: … Actually.

Marcia: Ye-Yeah?! What’s wrong?

Djinn: That won’t be happening.

Marcia: E-Eh?! What do you mean?!

Djinn: Well, getting back there, is kinda, you know…

Marcia: Ye-Yeah?

Djinn: A huge hassle~

Marcia: … Huh?

Djinn: It’s~ sooooo~ lame~

Rosa: Geh! He’s just lounging on the table like it’s a sofa!

Blanche: It’s not as if he was much of a charming figure before, but…

Cass: Hi-His whole personality to-took a sudden shift…

Agatha: … Annoying.

Marcia: La-Lame? I mean, I guess I understand, but still… Didn’t you say the place is great?

Djinn: Ah, that… I was lying.

Marcia: Huh?!

Djinn: Yeah, it’s kinda small and cramped. Not to mention super dark. Can barely see anything in there.

Marcia: A-Ah…

Djinn: And it’s super lonely too~ Playing mancala against yourself is super depressing. Especially since I can barely see the board in the first place.

Rosa: … This guy’s life sounds sadder the more I hear about it.

Djinn: Haaa, I guess you’re right on that part, fluffy hair.

Rosa: Flu-Fluffy hair?!

Agatha: GYAHAHAHAHAHA.

Rosa: Do-Don’t laugh so loudly! It wasn’t even that funny!

Djinn: See~ That’s what I’m talking about! I want somebody to banter with and have fun. I’m super jealous of you guys~ Aaah, to be able to enjoy the world so freely~

Blanche: … He’s deeply misread the situation.

Diana: Mm.

Djinn: That’s why~ I’m looking for a wife~

Cass: He’s ju-just lonely in the end…

Rosa: Hmm, I guess we can’t fault him for this, huh? Alright, Marcia!

Marcia: Huh?

Rosa: Just go with him!

Marcia: HAAAAA?! NO WAY!

Rosa: But I feel super bad for him! Didn’t you just hear how pathetic he is? You’d be doing him a service!

Cass: Mi-Mi-Mi-Mi-Miss Morgainne! We can’t sa-sacrifice Miss Pyroeis li-like this!

Rosa: Eh? But didn’t you get that weird pitying sensation in your stomach when you heard him talk? Isn’t Marcia going with him the nice thing to do in this situation?

Cass: Um… I-I-I…

Vita: It would certainly solve this little issue~ I for one wish to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials my dear magpie~

Marcia: He-Hey! Don’t marry me off, just yet!

Agatha: Hehehehehehehe… How… nice… you… get… to… be… a… March… bride…

Marcia: Nooooo! Listen to me!

Diana: Agatha. You’re wrong.

Marcia: Diana! You’re coming to my rescue?! I will worship the ground you walk on-

Diana: It’s June a bride should aim for.

Marcia: IS THAT REALLY THE PART YOU SHOULD BE CONCERNED ABOUT?! HAAAAAAAAAA?!

June: STOP YER YAPPIN’, DAMN IT!

Marcia: AAAAAAAAH! YOU MONSTERS! YOU’RE CASTING ME AWAY JUST LIKE THAT?! I’LL HAUNT YOU! I’LL SERIOUSLY HAUNT YOU ALL!

Vita: Oh~ What a delightful concept~ Is it not so, my dear Agatha?

Agatha: Hehehehehehe… seeing… the… chowder’s… agonized… face… would… be… fun… ehehehehehehehe

Marcia: HEARTLESS! ALL OF YOU! ABSOLUTELY HEARTLESS!

Cass: Mi-Mi-Mi-Mi-Miss Pyroeis!! Please!! Do-Don’t lie on the floor like this!

Marcia: AAAAAH, I DON’T CARE ANYMORE! YOU MONSTERS CAN JUST DO WHAT YOU WANT!

Cass: Mi-Mi-Mi-Miss Pyroeis!

Blanche: …. Djinn.

Djinn: Hm?

Blanche: I would like to make a request of you.

Djinn: Ha, didn’t you hear me, bunny? Wish granting ain’t happening here today-

Blanche: No, that is not what I’m referring to.

Djinn: Hm?

Blanche: As you can already see Marcia has no intention of following through with this arrangement. Forcing her against her will would only result in a miserable affair. This is why I believe it would be best for everybody to be done with this and move on. Don’t you agree?

Marcia: Blanche… BLANCHEEEEEEE!

Blanche: Do-Don’t cling to me like this! It is unpleasant!

Marcia: But!! I didn’t think you’d come to my defense like this! You’re an angel! A goddess! I’m eternally grateful to you!! My children will know of your-

Blanche: I understand already! So please, stop this right now!

Marcia: Blancheeeeeeeee!

Rosa: I-I guess Blanche is right after all. Forcing somebody to marry against their will is just…

Marcia: That should be common sense in the first place!! Seriously, why is your head screwed on backwards, Rosalia?!

Rosa: Huuuuuh?! Are you seriously calling me dumb right now, when I’m agreeing with you?!

Marcia: Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you almost sold me out! My only ally here is Blanche!

Cass: We-We’ve truly done something unforgivable…

June: Yer too harsh on yerself, Cass.

Marcia: And you’re not even trying to act compassionate at all!

June: HAAAA? WHAT WAS ‘HAT?

Marcia: Blegh!

June: I’MMA RIP ‘HAT TONGUE OUT RIGHT NOW, YA LIL’-

Blanche: I-In any case, I believe it has been made clear to you why I’m making this request.

Djinn: ................

Blanche: ...................

Djinn: … Gotcha.

Rosa: That was easy! That was way too easy!

Djinn: But… no can do on that one either, bunny.

Rosa: I KNEW IT

Blanche: ... Excuse me?

Djinn: As I told you girlie, sitting in that lamp is mind-numbingly boring and I don’t wanna do it anymore!

Rosa: That’s exactly what a brat would say!!

Agatha: That’s… ironic… coming… from… you… hehehe

Djinn: So given the situation, there is only one solution~

Marcia: Eh, what do you meAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

[BOOM, CRASH]

Rosa: Wh-What’s with this wind current?! It’s like we’re sucked in!!

Blanche: It’s from the lamp! Take a good look at it!

[BOOM, CRASH]

Djinn: That’s right, that’s right~ We’re gonna settle this inside the lamp~

Marcia: I DON’T WANNAAAAAAAAAAAA-

Rosa: OUCH! HEY! DON”T PULL ON MY HAIR LIKE THAT! WH-WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING?!

Marcia: THIS IS PAYBACK FOR BEFOREEEEEEE-

Rosa: EEEEEH?! YOU’RE DRAGGING ME DOWN WITH YOU?! HOW MUCH OF A VILLAIN CAN YOU BE?! LE-LET GOOOOOOO-

Cass: Mi-Miss Morgainne!

June: CASS! SHIT!

Blanche: Himalia-senpai, your grip’s too strong!

Diana: ....

Agatha: Let… go… you… dumb… land… animal… Big… Big… Sis… !

Vita: My~ I shudder to think what a wondrous adventure awaits us all~ Fufufu~

Marcia/Rosa: THIS IS THE WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORST-

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#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanschool #twisute #twist #twisute oc #twist oc #rosalia morgainne #blanche dion #marcia pyroeis #june himalia #diana arrow #cassandra delphinne #agatha voisin #vita dies #wna event #djinn's bride

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gastricpierrot · 4 years

Text

Title: Heartbeat

Series: Promare

Pairing: GaloLio

Rating: T

Summary:

Lio turns himself in after the final battle, the start of a new life he must get used to.

This is a story of how Lio Fotia navigates through the days that follow, learns that support comes in more forms than he’s ever familiar with, and deals with his alarmingly developing feelings for Galo Thymos.

Also on AO3

[Prologue][Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6]

[Chapter 7 (END)]

There’s scarcely a twitch in Galo’s expression.

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

“I’m being serious here, Galo,” Lio says, casually turning to thank the waitress as she places their food on their table as though he hadn’t said what he said. Galo runs a hand over his face, gesturing for him to not misunderstand with the other.

“I know. I... I just need a bit of time to process that.” He covers his mouth and takes a deep breath. Lio notices a wave of red gradually spreading from his ears to his cheeks. “This is bad. I really want to hug you right now.”

“It’s not the best place.” Some embarrassment is finally sinking in for Lio as well, though overshadowing that is a much stronger, much more intense sense of sheer, unadulterated fondness. “Bear with it just a little longer?”

Galo nods, but he refuses to meet his gaze. He absently shoves a forkful of food into his mouth, mumbling, “God, you’re so unfair, Lio. Why did you have to say that here and now...”

Lio doesn’t know either. He doesn’t know why he’d chosen this timing to tell him, why the words have insisted on spilling out before he even had a chance to ponder over them and their consequences. He's in love with Galo. The realization could’ve terrified him, could’ve sent him into fits of anxiety because what if that ruins everything between them? What if it’s just... not meant to be?

Yet right now, Lio has never felt as liberated. He doesn’t have to worry about what-ifs. He doesn’t have to fear anything when he’s with Galo.

They finish lunch at record speed, all the while hyperfocusing on their food and not exchanging even the slightest eye contact. Galo asks Lio if he’s got time once they’ve settled the bill, words blurred so badly together that Lio barely catches what he mutters. He responds that he’ll have the rest of the day free, he just maybe needs to get back by nighttime to do some last-minute revisions for a quiz.

Galo nods, then grabs Lio’s hand and holds on as he drags him along to go retrieve his bike. Lio keeps a bit of distance between himself and Galo when they both climb on, sensing Galo’s tension and not quite sure what he should do. He’d never imagine he’d even make it this far, honestly—much less how he should handle everything else that happens afterwards. What’s Galo thinking? How should he thread the now ambiguous boundary between them?

“Galo,” Lio begins at one point, deciding that perhaps it’s best to slowly talk it all out, but Galo only asks to trust him and wait.

There’s really not much he can argue with, so Lio listens and slips back into the strange silence.

Galo brings him out of the bustling roads of the city, into a highway, and eventually to the forests near the hills in the outskirts. He parks his bike under a tree that flowers despite the winter; its branches heavy with bloom serving as a landmark with the large contrast to the barrenness around it. Lio climbs off first, then follows Galo as they continue their way to this unknown destination by foot along some beaten paths.

It’s even colder here than in the city. Lio tugs his jacket a little tighter around his body, nose and throat stinging from the cool air. It'd snowed in Promepolis during the height of its winter, and although most of the snow in the city has melted, patches of them still remain here. Untouched, barely even melting.

It takes a bit of time, but the trees eventually clear, and they come to stand before a frozen lake.

“This is...” Lio trails off, words lost to the breathtaking scenery before him. The lake’s surface is a pristine sheet of ice, reflecting the blue of the sky and glistening wherever sunlight hits. Opposite where they stand is the slope of a hill, one covered with an even denser forest of trees sprinkled with snow. Somewhere in the distance, a wild bird cry echoes through the air. The minutes seem to come to a standstill.

Galo’s told him about this place before, in one of the many insignificant conversations they’d shared to pass time, to get to know each other just a little more. Galo used to have a favorite lake he’d go to calm down when he gets much too agitated—but it had been the very same one they’d fallen into and completely evaporated during the whole Parnassus ordeal. The one now is the second lake Galo has managed to find and taken a liking to; he’d even once promised Lio to bring him here one day when there’s a chance.

And to think that the chance would be now, under these circumstances.

Galo proceeds to step onto the ice and make a show of inhaling huge, wheezing breaths; wildly swinging his arms and slapping his cheeks. He even hollers toward the distance for good measure as he skates in wide circles, getting whatever he’s been suppressing thoroughly out of his system. Lio quietly watches it all unfold, just a tad bit worried about the way he’s acting.

He really worked hard controlling himself back there, huh?

Galo does manage to calm down enough, eventually. It’s only then that he turns around, and stomps back to shore to place both hands on Lio’s shoulders.

“Right. Now let’s do that all over again,” he says, in all seriousness. Lio, understandably, blinks at him in abject confusion.

“Do what??”

Galo's ears start turning red once more. “Say the things you said earlier!!”

Lio is still a little taken aback, but his amusement brings a lopsided smile to his lips. “You want me to confess my feelings all over again?”

“T-The previous one doesn’t count because it wasn’t in the right time and place!!”

“Do you have to be so particular?” And such a hopeless romantic, on top of that. Lio finds himself barking out a laugh, sparks bursting within his chest as Galo sputters more excuses about wanting to react timelier and properly and all kinds of nonsense. Lio’s mirth fades as he listens to him ramble on, morphing into a pleasant tingle that spreads all the way to his fingertips. He takes a step forward, shutting Galo up the moment he closes the distance between them.

“I’ll say it as many times as you want to hear, Galo Thymos,” he states, holding his gaze as he reaches out to cup his cheek with his palm. “My heart’s on fire for your love.”

His voice comes out rawer than he expects, charged with so much emotion that he can’t seem to breathe right. He has the chance to hear Galo’s breath catch, to spot his eyebrows draw together—before he’s yanked forward and enveloped in a tight, almost desperate embrace.

“That’s not what you said,” Galo protests weakly. Lio smiles, struggling to free his other arm so he could hug back with just as much intensity.

“Same difference.”

“I can’t believe you actually just blurted all that so casually back there!” Galo’s sounds unnecessarily distressed. “What if I don’t feel the same about you!?”

“Hmm,” Lio gives it a brief, halfhearted ponder. “Then I’ll just eat my feelings until I die, I guess.”

“Liooooo!!!”

Lio lets out another laugh, only patting the back of Galo's head gently in response to that. Galo is still somber when he continues, arms hugging tighter by a fraction.

“But why me? You know I’m not—”

“You’re enough,” Lio insists. “You’re already more than I will ever deserve.”

“There you go again, yappin’ about deserving this, deserving that!” Galo immediately complains, moving to part them and face him properly as if he’s one to whine. “We’re having a Moment here so can’t you stop that for one hot second? Please??”

“Sorry.” Lio shrugs. “It’s still true, though.”

“Lio, I will kiss you if you don’t stop talking.”

“Can’t you do that even if I do?”

Galo obviously isn’t expecting that brazen return, immediately getting extremely flustered and making more incoherent noises. Lio calls his name once, just to get his attention for that split second.

Then he shifts his weight to his toes, and tilts his head up to press his lips against Galo’s.

The first kiss is just a peck, his eyes shut and breath held and Galo’s frozen in place.

The second kiss, Galo leans down and chases after his lips, their noses brushing as they try to adjust better to the unfamiliar posture and contact.

The third kiss, they hold each other closer, closer, and Lio’s heart soars.

xXx

As with everything else, Lio gets used to his new schedule and all its challenges.

He gets used to the headaches, the voices of his roommates, the taste of stale coffee he’s probably come to rely too much on to keep himself awake after the long days. He gets used even to the strain on his muscles, to the burn of ice on his skin, the weight of a gun in his hands. Everything, over time, he grows used to them all.

One of the more unexpected things is, though, the fact that Lio eventually chooses to specialize in command and support. His first choice had actually been learning how to pilot Gears, him thinking it’s probably not too difficult because Galo and his team make everything seem to smooth and natural. They’ve come so far with technological innovation, surely mecha suits are designed to seamlessly respond to their pilots’ wills. Surely all pilots must do is think of a certain movement and maneuver, and computers would interpret their brain signals and command the suits to respond. Surely, it can’t be too much harder than driving a normal vehicle.

Except it is. The first time Lio sits in the cockpit of their training Gear, he immediately notices how he's surrounded by a ridiculous number of knobs and cranks and handles. The good news is that the basic movements are mainly controlled a single pair of handles and pedals; the bad news is that Lio, for the life of him, can’t seem to understand how it’s all supposed to work in coordination. He almost launches himself out of the cockpit maybe about a hundred times through the first week.

He doesn’t even blame the instructor for later walking up to him and suggesting to consider transferring into another stream. Lio might fail his way out of training at this rate even if his grades for other classes are decent. So he ends up in the command and support course instead after some deliberation, and fortunately realizes he enjoys it much more than piloting. He’s eventually one of the top scorers for most mission simulations, his ability to take charge and lead calmly not lost despite all the time he’s spent inactive. He could still be brash and rely way too much on himself at times, too, but he knows it’s a work in progress. It will take time for him to unlearn these habits.

As for his relationship with Galo, nothing much has actually changed. They still hang out together when they have the chance, they still bicker, they still goof around and let loose through impulsive pizza binges. Perhaps the main difference is that their physical boundaries seemed to have thinned out; they hold hands more frequently now, they’re less awkward about huddling close together in public when it gets too cold, and the little pecks and kisses they exchange have begun to feel more comforting than embarrassing.

It's just the little things. The phone calls made through the payphone when he misses his voice, their outings that can now sometimes be called dates. The hair-touching, the hands on waists. Yet at the very core, it all still feels the same.

Three months eventually pass, through days of hard work, of frustration and doubt and unexpected fun.

Lio goes over his parts of the room one final time to make sure he hasn’t left anything behind, before zipping his duffel bag close and slinging its strap over his shoulder. His roommates have all left earlier in the afternoon after the graduation ceremony and a quick celebratory buffet at the cafeteria. He steps out and turns around to lock the door, swallowing the sudden sense of forlornness that assaults him.

It... really is over.

Three months isn’t a long time; it’s the daily hecticness that made it feel like it would never pass. Lio had somewhat expected it to resemble his time in detention to some degree, yet he ends up enjoying himself much more here. Training activities are miles more engaging than community service, he’s got Gueira and Meis with him this time, and it had been so much easier to get along with everyone else around him. Fire training hadn’t necessarily been an experience he genuinely wanted, but it’d turned out to be something he unconsciously needed. A sense of reconnection, a chance to act and feel his age.

A chance to simply be Lio Fotia, and not Lio Fotia of Mad Burnish.

Lio leaves after returning his keys and settling some final documental revisions at the office. His brothers have gone off just a bit earlier, hurrying to deal with some sudden issues with the apartment they’d managed to find and temporarily rent. Lio walks through the deserted hallways alone, trying not to think about missing the place too much. He exits the building, crosses the courtyard, and his pace once again quickens as he makes his way towards the gates.

Galo greets and congratulates him with a hug, one that’s warm and just a little suffocating. And it’s when Lio laughs, it’s when they part and he sees the infinite pride and affection in Galo’s gaze, that he feels like he’s finally come home again.

xXx

Early one particular morning not long after Lio’s completed his training, he nearly burns the eggs.

Galo reacts faster than any fire detector, rushing in to snatch the pan out of Lio’s hands and save the food before it all goes to waste. Lio apologizes, though he never quite manages to say more than an “I’m sorry.” He realizes that his mind is filled with static, his fingers trembling.

“You okay?” Galo asks when he notices his disquiet after plating their breakfast, waiting for him to nod before walking over to where he stands by the sink and circling his arms around his waist from behind. Lio sighs, leaning into the contact while he tries to get his thoughts in order.

“Just didn’t sleep too well,” he admits. He could feel the tremors from Galo’s chest when he responds.

“Nervous about your first day?” he asks, and snickers when Lio hums affirmative. He starts swaying side to side, coaxing Lio into some strange little dance. “Don’t worry too much about it, Lio! It’s not like it’s your first time meeting the team!”

Lio idly matches his movements, shifting his weight from left foot to right, right foot to left. “It’s still my first time doing the job, though.”

“You’ll be fineeee! You’re not expected to help out in operations so soon after joining, anyway,” Galo reasons. “And I’m sure the Cap’n and the girls would be more than excited to teach you how things work.”

“I’m just hoping I won’t disappoint them.” Lio broods. He truly hopes he wouldn’t hold the team back when it matters; he can’t drag them down when they too, have done so much for his sake even when they were still virtually strangers. Lio stands here as a result of their goodwill just as much as he does from Galo’s.

“It’s normal to struggle at the start when you’re still getting the hang of things,” Galo assures as he guides him to their table. “Some might take a little more time than others and that’s okay, too! Not everyone could be as cool as your boyfriend here!”

“Not everyone’s as reckless as my boyfriend here, either.” Lio reaches to pinch Galo’s nose lightly, fully familiar with the stunt he’d pulled on the very day he joined Burning Rescue. Rushing into danger with minimal preparation and scarcely a plan, then saving someone but still ending up being burnt in the process. It's truly something so on brand for him that it’s amusing.

Galo only laughs gently to his retort, shifting out of his grasp to nuzzle against his hair. “But you love me for that, firebug.”

It’s only recently that he’s learnt to utter that as a statement and not a question. It's only recently that he’s learnt to accept that gosh, yes, Lio does love him for that. He loves him for all the heart he has to give, for all the silly things he does, and for even more, even the parts of him he still struggles to love himself.

Galo’s voice is soft, husky with a wonder Lio understands too well. Often Lio would lie in Galo’s arms, surrounded by his warmth and comfort, filled with an unrelenting sense of disbelief that he’s where he is. Often their kisses would end with silence basked in the very same amazement, with awed gazes and hushed voices followed by heated touches desperate to make sure it all isn’t just a dream.

And it’s not. They’re here, where they’re meant to be, surely.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me lose my appetite even more,” Lio protests, though they both know it’s just another excuse on his part. Lio has never quite gotten used to the pet names just yet. Galo happily obliges, nonetheless, and they finally sit down to have their toast with eggs just a little overcooked.

They’re silent as they eat, as they often are. Don’t speak while you chew or you’ll bite your tongue, Galo would nag despite doing the very same thing himself. Lio savors the present simplicity, basks in the normalcy and warm morning sunlight seeping through the windows. He listens to the idle hum of the refrigerator, the soft drone of the ventilation system. The scent of their favorite hand soap wafts mutedly in the air.

Lio breathes. His hands have stopped shaking.

“Have you gotten everything?”

Galo asks later as he waits for Lio to tie his shoelaces at the entryway. Lio pulls the final knot tight, then stands up to pat his bag and pockets. ID, documents, a water bottle. A foldable umbrella, boxed leftovers from dinner the night before to be heated up for lunch. His wallet, keycard.

“I think so.” He seems to have brought all the important things, anyway.

Galo nods, then moves to push the front door open. He turns around, and holds out a hand to Lio.

“Let’s go, then!”

And it’s like this, hand in hand with Galo Thymos, that Lio takes his first step towards a new tomorrow.

#promare #galolio #liogalo #lio fotia #galo thymos #we're finally at the end laddies!!!!#its been a ride...wow #theres a slightly longer a/n in the ao3 post so if anyone wants to have a read there hhh #the song that inspired the fic is also linked there!!#tumblr messed with my blog layout tho... hope the new one's okay i havent really done anything i just picked one #that looks the closest to what i originally had #anYWAYS THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR READING RBIGN AND LIKING!!#SEE YALL AGAIN IN THE NEXT FIC!!!#fanfiction

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itsallavengers · 7 years

Text

So this was inspired by @reioka ‘s post here, and Yeah. This is basically what I’m doing instead of all the other Important Projects in my files. Enjoy. It’s probably gonna hurt.

The whole battle had been sort of a laugh, really.

They’d attacked the helicarrier. A whole ship, jam-packed with trained agents and the Avengers. It had been destined to fail from the very beginning.

As the alarm started to blare, Steve, Tony and Bucky all groaned in annoyance. “Absolutely fucking typical,” Tony cursed, shutting his eyes and running a hand through his hair, “villains choose the one time my suit is a thousand miles below me to attack us all. Great.”

Pursing his lips, Bucky pushed his tray of food to the side and silently handed Tony a semi automatic. The other man took it with a grunt of thanks, checking the cartridge and then wincing. “Three bullets? Seriously?”

This time it was Steve who handed him the new cartridge, standing up from his position opposite both Bucky and Tony and then walking over, taking Tony by the shoulder. “Stay with us,” he said shortly, letting his hand linger against the juncture of Tony’s neck before slipping away again to retrieve his shield from the corner of the room.

There was a resounding crash from somewhere- possibly the hull, and Tony groaned again. “They’re stupid. Stupid stupid villains, trying to attack the damn SHIELD helicarrier. Do they want to die? Really? Is that their plan here? Death? Jesus Fucking chr-”

“Tony,” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes, pushing Tony in the shoulder before he could continue, “it won’t last long. You can just stay here and hide if you really want-”

“Alright, robo-cop, that’s enough of that talk,” Tony groused, cocking his gun and pulling a face. “Hey, babe!” He called over his shoulder.

Steve looked up. “Hm?”

“First to ten picks dinner?”

Steve shot him a look. “We don’t even know how many there are here.”

Tony shrugged. “Semantics. I bet I’ll take more than Bucky, anyway.”

Steve gave an audible laugh, walking forward and then bending down to press a kiss against Tony’s forehead. “Whatever you want to believe, sweetheart. Just try not to get shot.”

No one was worried as they made their way out of the cafeteria. Tony was firmly sandwiched in between two grim-looking supersoliders, both with enough weaponry and strength to take out two thirds of the ship on their own.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

(Read more, mobile users!)

According to the SHIELD speaker system which gave them all a handy overview, The Villains of The Day were using some sort of sonic device among the usual machine guns as their chosen weapon, and there appeared to be about 30 of them, all dropping on to the helicarrier from a small aircraft up above.

“Where are the others?” Bucky asked, grunting as he came into contact with the first enemy; punching him square in the face and sending him into Steve’s waiting arms, which quickly brought unconsciousness along to their attacker.

“Nat and Clint are down with the recruits,” Tony explained, lifting his leg in order to tap Steve’s hip and push him out of the line of fire, “Bruce’s in the labs with Thor. They’ll both be a while- the place goes into lockdown when the siren sounds.”

“Helpful,” Steve muttered, flinging his shield down the corridor and watching in satisfaction as it bounced on the corner and knocked three people to their feet. It appeared they had ended up on the floor in which all the thugs were descending from- useful if Tony had been fully equipped with a functioning Iron Man suit, not quite so useful when all he had was Bucky’s old semi-automatic and a sore neck from working too many nights down in the lab.

There was a sudden tremor, and whilst all the assailants appeared to remain on their feet, all three Avengers went sprawling on the floor. Tony bit back a yell, feeling the shockwave reverberate through the corridor. It was lucky he’d had his jaw unclenched, or all his teeth would’ve been smashed in by the pressure wave.

A hand curled around his waist, pulling him back from careering into the wall head-first, and Tony knew it was Steve’s grip as the man instinctively clutched Tony tight to his chest, preventing any further damage. He could see Bucky, already pushing back off the wall and firing another set of rounds down the hall, taking out the final two on the other side.

“What the damn hell was that?” Steve asked, holding Tony for an extra second to check over for injuries before releasing again when he found none.

“I’m guessing it was a sonic blast- looked like it came from the top of the ship. The whole airstrip is probably in pieces after that,” Tony replied, hurrying forward and following Bucky as he made his way down the hall again, “it should be fairly easy to dismantle, though. They’ll have to be firing it from the ship they came from; there’s no way to get a blast that big from anything smaller than that. All it’ll take is for me to hop up and pull some wires out.”

Steve glanced over to him, shaking his head fondly as he rounded the corner which led to the stairwell. “You know, I’m pretty sure that would be a big job for anyone else.”

“Do I look like anyone else, Rogers?” Tony gestured to himself and scoffed.

“Will both of you quit flirting for one goddamn second and focus on the mission at hand?” Bucky grumbled, “we’re trying to defend our ship from invasion and all you’re goddamn doing is yappin’ at one another-”

Another quake; this one even more powerful than the other, rumbled at their feet, and once more sent all three of them flying around the corridor. This time it was Bucky who grabbed hold of Tony- and in any other circumstance, Tony probably would have had something to say about all this coddling- but for the time being, he was simply glad Bucky had saved him from braining himself against the floor.

Steve was up a second later, two hands pulling both Bucky and Tony up off the floor. “You okay?” He asked Tony quietly, once again doing a cursory check.

Tony batted his hands away gently, rolling his eyes. “Right as rain. I can handle myself, you know.”

Steve grimaced. “I don’t like it when you don’t have your suit.”

Just as Tony opened his mouth to undoubtedly start a quarrel, Bucky called out to the both of them. “Got the hatch open, if either of you losers fancy actually doing your jobs and stopping this shitshow.”

Steve turned; letting go of Tony and hitching his shield up. “Try not to get shot,” he murmured, before stepping in front of the smaller man and marching on ahead.

“Already said that!” Tony grumbled, but followed on behind him all the same.

Slowly, all three of them made their way through the hatch and out into the exposed, cold air of the surface. Tony had been correct; the entire airstrip was in disarray. Aircraft and vehicles, turned on their heads; bits of the ship that had crumbled away entirely, falling a thousand feet into the Alps they were hovering over. Fire licked across the floor, and angry-looking soldiers in telltale black and red uniform let them know it was HYDRA initiating the op.

“Idiots,” Tony muttered for the fifth time, shaking his head.

“We need to stop that...thingy, from releasing another burst,” Bucky began, pointing his gun over to the main aircraft which was placed at the edge of top deck, “no doubt the other agents are on their way, but the’re being hindered by the shakes it’s giving off.”

“Well, to be honest- if we get caught in the blast now, then it’s probably gonna be the equivalent of being hit by a brick wall,” Tony frowned, cocking his head and looking over to it, “fortunately- it takes a while for it to garner all that energy. And seeing as we aren’t lucky enough to be wearing HYDRA’S reinforced uniforms, I’m just gonna have to work fast, aren’t I?”

Bucky nodded, and Steve looked less than pleased by the outcome, but didn’t speak out. “Me and Buck will cover you. There aren’t that many left anyway- it should be fairly easy.”

There was another round of agreement, and then Bucky loaded another cartridge into his gun, raising an eyebrow at everyone. “Onward and upward then, fellas?”

Wordlessly, they all began to run.

The sprint to the aircraft was relatively short, and with both Bucky and Steve shielding Tony, it was almost easy. They all reached the ship after a few seconds, and Steve quickly turned, lifting his shield up in front of Tony’s path so that the other man could leap on. With a grunt, Steve swung the shield up high, and Tony flew upward with it, landing gracefully on the wing of the ship as the momentum propelled him.

“I’ll need two minutes, max!” Tony called, before yanking open the door and quickly dealing with the pilot sat in his spot.

Steve watched him anxiously for half a second before twirling around and hitting an attacker in the face when they got too close. “Bucky, watch the ship,” Steve gritted, sprinting a few paces away in order to try and open the hatch on the other side of the deck, where their backup was undoubtedly waiting behind.

Once he’d managed to open the door for the remaining SHIELD agents to flock through, the fight was short-lived. There weren’t nearly enough HYDRA to combat the wave of defenders, and Steve knew he wasn’t needed any further in regards to the round-up of enemy forces.

He saw Natasha and Clint as he did a quick once-over of the deck, and Clint did a little salute before swinging the butt of his pistol across the temple of some poor HYDRA soldier. Steve grinned back. It never stopped being satisfying, watching Nazi’s get hurt.

He turned back, jogging over to the ship he’d started out on, where Tony was still working. “How’s it going?”

Bucky turned, grinning at Steve’s smug face and jogging over to him. “Tony says he’s got it sorted. Should be out in a few seconds.”

Steve nodded,”you had any trouble?”

“Few of the stragglers, yeah- but they weren’t a problem. They were dealt with accordingly.”

“DONE!” Came a familiar voice, and both Steve and Bucky looked up with grins on their faces as Tony stuck his face back out of the door and beamed over to them. His hair was flicking all over his face in the wind, and he had somehow managed to get yet another streak of grease across his neck from the work.

Steve could feel himself smiling adoringly over at him, but he didn’t even care. Not even when Bucky smacked him across the back of the head and called him a sap.

“You had fun?” Steve called out, beginning to walk forward as Tony started his clamber back to the deck.

“Defeated HYDRA, got to take apart a ship, saved the day? Obviously,” Tony replied, making to swing out of the door before stopping, a tiny little frown on his face.

Steve should have started running, then. If he’d been on form- if he’d been alert, he should have started running.

“Something’s wrong,” Tony said suddenly, humour gone from his voice as he looked back down to the cockpit. “Oh, shit. Failsafe.”

Steve’s eyes widened, and he felt Bucky tense in readiness beside him.

It happened in less than a second.

Tony threw himself forward- sudden and jerky, not bothering to land back on deck with the grace of before. Steve was already moving forward, but Tony looked up, hand moving, telling him to stop.

“STAY AWAY!” Was the last thing Steve heard Tony say, before one more, final shockwave blew through the air.

Steve felt himself being thrown back, landing a good few meters away and sensing the vibrations on the floor as everything was once more turned on it’s head. There were yells and cries of pain from all over the deck; agents forced to the floor, landing amongst the wreckage that was already littered there- but Steve didn’t care about that.

Tony. Tony was at the epicentre of the wave.

Rolling immediately to his feet, his head shot up, eyes wild as he threw himself forward mere seconds after falling to the floor. His wrist cried in pain, and Steve assumed he’d injured it when he’d stuck the landing, but again, it wasn’t important.

“TONY!” He called, searching through the smoke and rubble.

There was an ominous growling sound that came from below Steve’s feet, and he hurried to steady himself as the entire ship shuddered. “TONY!” He called again, sprinting forward, toward the wreckage of what had once been HYDRA’s aircraft.

That was when he spotted him.

Tony.

Getting unsteadily to his feet, hair full of dust and face smeared with blood; looking for Steve, waiting for Steve. His balance was shaky and he looked like he’d been pretty injured, but his smile was beautiful and genuine as he spotted Steve hurrying toward him.

Steve watched Tony open his mouth, readying to call out. Undoubtedly something witty or sarcastic, thinly veiled to hide the genuine relief underneath. But the words never came.

It happened as if in slow motion.

There was one last final growl from below deck, and suddenly a tremendous crashing noise cracked like a whip through the air. Everything shook; huge, violent tremors that sent Steve stumbling to his knees once more.

Tony yelled, and Steve rolled instantly, turning to face him- just as a horrifying crack tore through the floor.

Steve spotted it immediately, but lost sight of Tony as the plumes of dust shot through the opening it had made. He heard himself call out in panic, but aside from that, it was as if everything else had gone silent.

There was just him, and Tony, and the ledge that was seconds from falling away.

Steve was on his feet like a man possessed. Tearing across what was left of the deck, he ran and he ran and he ran. Even though a part of him knew it wasn’t going to be enough. Even though he knew he was too far away.

In the distance, he saw Tony’s frame, stumbling forward, hand outstretched.

Someone yelled after him, but he didn’t register it. The ground was beginning to crumble away under his feet, he had seconds left, and Tony was going to fall.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

His feet were aching at the speed in which he was running, and he could hear himself screaming Tony’s name again- but the voice was being drowned out by the sound of metal bending and concrete crumbling away.

“STEVE!”

That was Tony. Tony was calling him. He had to get to him. This couldn’t happen.

Not again.

There was one final crash, and then Steve watched, horror-stricken, as the entire ledge, aircraft and all, simply fell away.

Mere meters away, Tony hurled himself forward, hands outstretched and eyes wide, terrified.

Throwing himself down and clutching on to a jagged shard of metal that had been left exposed, Steve stuck his hand out wildly, to catch Tony- stop him falling to his death.

He felt Tony’s fingers brush against his. And then they were gone.

Steve watched Tony fall; slamming into the remnants of the ship, hands flailing wildly for purchase as the floor fell apart around him.

For a moment, Steve couldn’t tell if it was the helicarrier on SHIELD, or the train running through the mountains.

Steve felt his grip slip a little, and sensed the pain as the metal cut through his skin, but he couldn’t let go- he had to stay and get Tony, stop Tony falling, save him, dear God, he had to save him, this couldn’t happen again-

Tony’s hands found a ledge.

He stopped falling.

Wheezing in audible terror, Steve gauged how far away Tony was. “Oh god, okay- Tony! Tony, sweetheart, just hold on, okay, hold on, I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall, I won’t, I swear-”

Tony was breathing heavily, and his entire body was being slammed against the sharp edges of what had been left of the ship. Every gust of wind made him cry out in pain. “Steve, I can’t- I can’t hold-”

“YOU CAN!” Steve screamed, looking desperately for something, anything he could use to drop lower, to get to Tony, “please, love, please- a little longer, there are people coming to help us, I’ve-”

Tony looked up at him. One last time. And then his fingers slipped away.

Steve stared, silent- rooted to the spot as he watched the second person he loved more than anything else in the world fall to his death.

He had to follow.

Bucky had survived, the first time around. Steve could survive this. He could get Tony- curl around him, take the impact for him- he was enhanced, he could do it.

“STEVE! STEVE, STOP!” Someone called, and he felt it as someone yanked roughly on his shoulder, pulling him up against his will, throwing him backward on to the deck again.

Steve snarled, and rolled right back on to his feet, sprinting back to the edge, readying to throw himself back off, but someone put out an arm, catching his waist and spinning them both around, using the momentum to shove them to the ground.

That same person pinned him, and Steve lashed out wildly. He could feel himself screaming, desperately attempting to push his attacker off- he had to get back, he was running out of time, Tony was falling.

“STEVE!”

He wasn’t sure who’s voice that was- Tony’s or Bucky’s. There were images in the back of his eyes that didn’t fit the surroundings, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

Tony was dead.

“Thor’s gone after him, he’s okay, Steve, stop screaming, stop it, please, buddy, stop!”

He was on the train and they were in the middle of a war and Bucky had fallen and that was it, Steve had failed him and his best friend was gone-

“Steve, please- I’m okay, Tony’s okay, Thor’s got him. You gotta get back in the room- Tony’s fine. He’s okay. He’ll be back in less than a minute.”

His cheeks were wet, hands pressed tightly into his eyes as he curled into a ball and shook. He felt cold. In his bones, in his soul- Bucky was talking to him, Bucky was pinning him, but he was saying things that didn’t make sense; Tony was gone. Tony had fallen.

Steve had let him fall.

“Please,” Bucky whispered, and he sounded so sad, Steve looked up to him despite himself. “He’s okay, Stevie. Tony’s okay. Look- Thor’s got him, they’re coming up, right now.”

He turned his head to where Bucky was pointing- feeling somewhat as if he was in a dream as he watched the Asgardian fly through the air, rising up above the ship with a hammer in one hand and Tony’s body in the other.

That wasn’t right. Steve had let him fall.

“He’s there, Steve. He’s okay,” Bucky repeated quietly, voice laced with sadness as he looked down at Steve.

He felt like he was dreaming. Some sort of warped nightmare, where he lost Tony in the worst way possible, and then got him back, only to have him taken away again.

He was shaking like a leaf, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the ice in his heart or the complete, all-consuming grief.

“Tony,” he choked, grabbing hold of Bucky’s shoulder and looking him in the eyes, “is that... he’s...”

“Yes,” Bucky assured him, “you didn’t let him fall. I swear. It wasn’t your fault.”

Steve didn’t wait for Bucky to speak again.

Scrambling unsteadily to his feet, he gasped in a lungful of air and ran. Ran forward, to Thor, to Tony- who was being let down gently, searching the deck, looking for-

he spotted Steve a second before he was bowled over by the frantic supersoldier. Tony was warm in his arms- heart beating a little fast in his chest. He was alive.

Steve didn’t believe it.

“Steve?” Tony asked, voice a little panicked as he squirmed, “Steve, baby, I’m okay- but you gotta let go, you’re hurting me.”

It didn’t feel real it didn’t feel real it didn’t feel real.

He knew- some part of what was left of his rational mind- that he was going through a severe PTSD attack, and it was horribly dangerous to keep Tony near when he was like this.

But he couldn’t let go. He didn’t know what was real and what was a memory any more, and if he lost Tony’s warmth, the ice that had set in his bones might consume him entirely. He had to hold on. He had to.

“Steve!” Tony called again, and there was someone else, someone else calling too- but his eyes were clenched shut against Tony’s neck, and he couldn’t see who they were. They were irrelevant.

Strong hands pulled at his shoulders, but he held on. He had to hold on- that was all he knew. He had to hold on. If he let go, they’d die. Bucky and Tony and everyone he’d loved, all of them, gone, because he couldn’t catch them-

Suddenly, there was a sudden jolt, and Steve felt the pain flare up against his temple as it was hit by something sharp and brutal.

Darkness was almost immediate. The last thing he realised before unconsciousness swept over him was that the near-perpetual screams he’d been hearing since Tony’s fall had suddenly stopped.

It was only in the final millisecond that he realised he had been the one making them.

Waking up the hospital bed a few hours later, the first thing Steve saw was Bucky.

“Don’t scream, please, or you’re gonna make me cry,” Bucky hurried to say, eyes widening as Steve gasped.

There was a cool hand resting over his, and Steve looked down at it, noting how it moved, how it was attached to the rest of Bucky’s body- real and living and breathing.

“I...” Steve began, voice hoarse as he turned his hand over and clutched desperately to Bucky’s, “you...I’m sorry-”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupted, his own voice sounding almost as haunted as Steve’s as he leaned forward and rested a hand over his forehead, “it was not your fault. What happened to me, was never your fault. You did everything you could. I didn’t... I didn’t know you were so affected- I’m so sorry. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t,” he whispered adamantly.

Steve kept looking at him. His mind felt fuzzy and it hurt like a motherfucker from where he’d been hit-

“Tony,” he shot up, sitting ramrod straight and grabbing Bucky’s shoulder, “where’s Tony? Is he okay? What happened to him?”

“He’s fine,” Bucky assured hurriedly, standing up with Steve, pushing against his chest, “but you’ve got to stay here for a bit, okay, you’re hurt-”

“I need to see him,” Steve told him, his voice slowly becoming more frantic as he pushed back. He was stronger than Bucky, and if he really wanted to, it wouldn’t be a problem to get him out of the way.

He had to find Tony. And he would find Tony- whether Bucky attempted to stop him or not.

Wriggling out of Bucky’s hold, he ducked under the arm that stretched across the door and looked both ways.

“Yeah, okay, so how the fuck do you think you’re gonna find him then, bright spark?” Bucky asked dryly, leaning against the frame of the door and shooting Steve an unimpressed look.

“I’m not fucking around, Bucky,” Steve began angrily, but Bucky raised his hands and shook his head.

“He’s gone to get some food from the canteen, he’ll be back in a minute,” Bucky told him, taking his arm and leading him back inside, “you need to lie down until then, buddy, okay- Thor hit you pretty hard.”

Steve followed him; lying back down on the cot and then taking a good, long look over at his best friend. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly.

Bucky nodded, patting him on the shoulder. “Coupl’a scrapes from having to haul your ass back from that ledge, but nothing serious. I’m good, Stevie.”

Bucky sat back, lacing his fingers together and propping his feet on the bed. He looked so calm, so collected; but all Steve could see was the version of him that was seventy years younger, screaming in terror as he fell from the train-

He shook his head and took a breath. That wasn’t now. That was done. Bucky was back, and he was stronger than ever.

(It had almost happened again.)

“You’re awake,”

Steve shot up again in an instinctive response to the sound of that voice. He felt his heart hammer a few times faster as he laid eyes on Tony, bandaged and battered and wonderfully alive.

He made to move, but suddenly Bucky’s hands were there again, sharper, firmer this time, holding him on the bed. “Gently, Steve,” he warned quietly.

“Hey, it’s fine. He’s fine,” Tony told Bucky before Steve had a chance to open his mouth.

He looked in confusion between the two men as they shared a silent conversation between themselves. Eventually, Tony just rolled his eyes and stepped forward, reaching out for Steve’s hand and curling his fingers around the bigger man’s palm. “Just give us a minute, Bucky.”

“Tony, maybe I should just stay, in case-”

“He won’t do it again,” Tony argued, tone firm, hand holding tightly to Steve’s own.

Steve stared in confusion at the two of them. He had no idea what they were talking about- what did he do?

...what did he do.

“Tony,” Steve said quietly, looking up to him with a slowly growing expression of dread on his face, “I didn’t... what happened?”

Tony looked down at him, and then turned back to Bucky. “Five minutes. Then you can come back and mother hen the both of us to your heart’s content,” he told him.

Bucky grimaced, but nodded his head and gave Steve’s shoulder one last squeeze before standing and walking out of the room.

Tony watched him go, before turning back to Steve and running gentle fingers through his hair in greeting. “Hey, babe. Rough day?”

Steve didn’t bother answering; just wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist and pulled him in, tucking his face into Tony’s stomach and clutching his hands across the planes of Tony’s back.

Safe. Warm. Alive.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Steve whispered, eyes shutting in horror once more. “I thought I’d let you fall-”

“but you didn’t,” Tony said, hands cupping the back of Steve’s head, holding him, grounding him, “I’m fine. Thor had my back. It’s all good, baby, I’m okay.”

Steve wrapped his arms a little tighter around Tony’s waist, but upon feeling the squirm of discomfort Tony desperately attempted to mask, he released immediately, pulling his arms back so they were resting lightly against Tony’s hips and looking upward in concern. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Tony said, a little too fast. “Well- I mean, yes. But in all fairness, I did have an aircraft land on my head, so-

Steve delicately lifted Tony’s shirt, despite Tony’s weak verbal protest, and gasped as he saw the bruises which mottled Tony’s right-hand side. They were an angry, deep purple; running from waist to-

Steve stopped as he got to Tony’s shoulder.

“Tony,” he said, very, very softly, “they’re... they’re from hands.”

Tony pressed a hand against Steve’s jaw, tilting it back up to face him once more. “They don’t matter-”

“It was me, wasn’t it,” Steve whispered, mouth falling open in horror. “When I... when I grabbed you. I made them.”

Tony looked like someone had just run over a puppy in front of him, and he pressed a self-conscious hand across his ribs where the bruises were worst. “Steve, you weren’t in your right mind, okay, it wasn’t your fault-”

“Did I break them?” Steve choked, delicate finger tracing the outline of Tony’s ribs, a feather-light caress, before seemingly coming back to himself and snapping it away in horror.

Tony made a whining noise in the back of his throat and grabbed Steve’s hand, pressing it back against his skin, despite Steve’s initial refusal. “Baby, come on- I’m fine. They’re just bruised. Please don’t be like that, it wasn’t your fault-”

“IT WAS!” Steve yelled, absolutely stricken. “I let you fall, I let you... you fell, and I promised myself I’d never ever let that happen again, and then when I get you back I hurt you, oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry-”

And Steve just couldn’t contain it any more.

With a final racketing choke, his face crumbled and he felt the sting of hot tears as they spilled over on to his cheeks. He was emotionally exhausted, he was hurt, and so was Tony. Because of him. Because he was too strong, because he hadn’t even been able to hold it together enough to keep Tony safe-

“Oh, Steve, baby, it’s okay,” Tony said softly, dropping on to the bed and pulling Steve in again, “we are all very acutely aware of what PTSD attacks do to a person. I’ve suffered a lot worse from other people and given a lot worse myself. This will heal. It was an accident. You literally did this from hugging me too tightly, babe, that’s really the best way I could imagine getting bruised ribs.”

Steve sniffed, leaning in against Tony’s uninjured shoulder and letting his fingers grip softly against the other man’s neck. He made sure to keep his touch impossibly light- the images of what he’d done before were burned into the back of his mind, and he couldn’t rid himself of them.

“You know, it’s okay to still be fucked up about what happened,” Tony said softly, “it’s okay. And Bucky might look like you just shot his grandmother, but if you need to talk to him about it, I’m 100% certain he will be there-”

“I was supposed to be able to save people,” Steve said suddenly, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm, “the serum was supposed to... what use am I if I couldn’t even save the people who mean the most? What’s the point?”

Tony made another pained sound as Steve coughed on another sob, and his fingers gently stroked down Steve’s cheeks, wiping the tears from his face and smiling. “See, Steve- the great thing is- the people who mean the most to you?”

Tony bent down, kissing his forehead softly. “They can look out for themselves. Seriously- how many times have both me and Bucky ‘died’? We’re nightmares, honestly, it’s a wonder you keep us around, I’m pretty sure we’ve been cursed.”

Tony stopped, letting his nose fall into Steve’s messed-up hair. “Point is, you are not solely responsible for our wellbeing. You, at no point in history, have ever been to blame for either of us ‘dying’. Because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you would do everything and anything in your power to make sure that does not happen.”

Steve bit his lip, fighting back the urge to clutch Tony a little tighter as the other man leaned into him, hands pressing into the knots of Steve’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again after a while, shaking his head and pulling away, looking at the floor, “I... for everything.”

Tony made an unimpressed noise in the back of his throat and quickly pulled Steve in again, kissing him soundly on the mouth.”Please don’t be,” he said honestly, “just... let it out. You went through some shit today. It’s okay. I won’t hold it against you.”

“That a promise?” Steve asked, a watery smile on his face as he watched Tony.

“You don’t cry enough for me to be comfortable with, anyway,” Tony said gruffly, “you owe me tears, Rogers- I’m doing all the crying in this relationship right now and that is something I am not comfortable with at all.”

When Steve remained silent, Tony placed a hand on the back of his neck and smiled. “It’s okay. I’m here, baby. And I’ll stay as long as you want me. Just...let it go.”

Steve looked up at him- Tony- battle-worn and and tired and bruised, but alive. Steve hadn’t failed him, Tony was still here.

Steve let his head drop back on to Tony’s shoulder, and he cried.

#I really need to learn how 2 restrain myself when i get spur-of-the-moment fic inspiration #I HAVE SO MANY OTHER PROJECTS GHFHDSFGD DIE #stevetony #avengers #marvel #itsallavengers writes

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literaphobe · 7 years

Text

i’m in love with a girl i hate (she enjoys, pointing out every bad thing about me)

this is... the drama club AU. i honestly have no idea how to summarize this without giving stuff away so you know what?? YOU should read this and send me a summary!! (you don’t have to but it could be fun who knows) ANYHOOZLE heads up this is not a one shot,, this is chapter one (6.6k words, just sayin) of what i’m gonna call the drama club AU. jake and amy are here, this is a peraltiago AU,, the squad’s all there so just roll with this!!

(title from She’s A Lady by Forever the Sickest Kids)

“This is gonna be your what- hundredth school production?” Kylie snorts over the phone. “You might actually act yourself to death if you keep doing this.”

“It’s fun, Kylie. Memorizing lines, bringing joy to an audience-”

“You mean getting standing ovations and praise, or approval of some kind?” Kylie interjects without a moment’s hesitation. “Amy, I may have moved to a new school district, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten your validation craving ass.”

Amy huffs, but it’s light-hearted and lacking any sort of malice, because Kylie is absolutely right. She yearns for approval, especially when it comes from authority figures, people she respects, etc.

“Fine. I guess I do love all of that. But even if I hated acting, I’m attached to the club at this point. I wouldn’t leave.”

“Ah, Jake Peralta must’ve finally grown on you-”

“Shut up! He’s unbearable!”

If Amy were forced to pick one aspect of theatre she found the most tiring, insufferable, vexing, and draining to experience- it would be Jake. Hands down. She wouldn’t even have to consider it. Jake Peralta is annoying, full of himself, tells stupid jokes, and oh yeah- they’re enemies, something mutually declared since elementary school.

“Lies, lies, lies,” Kylie drawls sultrily. “Surely years of playing lovers doth drawn you close?”

Amy groans into the receiver to express her disgust as dramatically as possible. “No- no no no no no! That doesn’t even make sense!”

High school brought upon a mysterious phenomenon that was an absolute curse to Amy. For the past three years, Jake and Amy have been cast as lovers in every single school production they’ve acted in. That’s right-- Every. Single. One. Their director Raymond Holt insists he’s not doing it on purpose- they are apparently the only actors in the club exhibiting the right chemistry to portray lovers.

This knowledge appalls them both, but it’s a good thing playing romantic counterparts usually comes with lead roles. Everyone loves a good romance, but no one loves love more than their scriptwriter, Terry Jeffords, whom they mostly refer to as Terry. Terry makes a living playing in the NFL, writing plays for their school as a hobby. He’s an alumni student with a knack for language, and a degree in theater studies to back it up. His plays are witty and poetic, but most significantly riddled with romance and thus he always has his main characters fall in love with each other.

“Come on- it’s got to mean something if they keep casting the two of you as a couple. And don’t give me that enemy crap- enemies hardly talk to each other, and they definitely don’t play lovers on stage.”

“Hey, we have no say in the casting! And I wish he wouldn’t talk to me- we’re not friends, and we never will be.”

Kylie pauses, withholding response to ponder over this. Amy was being unnecessarily hostile regarding Jake- sure they were ‘enemies’, but Kylie would actually categorize their relationship as more of an off-and-on friendship.

Of course, they were nothing but vicious to each other before high school-- Jake and Amy used to go head to head for lead characters, and considered the other their biggest competitor when it came to casting. Director Holt always made sure there was no bias in his scripts, giving rise to gender neutral roles that meant Jake and Amy were always on equal footing to fight over main characters.

That was the most stark similarity about them- their competitiveness. But their shared competitiveness was matched with passion and talent, putting the two of them among Director Holt’s favorites. Eventually, he started casting them as romantic counterparts- whether this was a ploy to force Jake and Amy to overcome their differences was something only the man himself would know.

In short, Jake and Amy’s relationship became more amicable after they started high school, although they often clash resulting in bouts of annoyance and resentment (usually caused by Jake and experienced by Amy).

Kylie’s point is-- Amy doesn’t get this mad and insistent about Jake and her being enemies unless he does something to majorly piss her off, which leads her to believe…

“He made one of those 'title of your sex tape’ jokes again, didn’t he?”

“I’m hanging up.” This means Kylie is a hundred percent right.

“Hey, calm down! They’re a little funny.”

“How could you be on his side?”

“I’m not! Maybe…” Kylie smirks. “Those 'jokes’ are his way of saying he wants to have se-”

“GOODBYE, KYLIE.”

She hangs up for real after that.

BROOKLYN ACADEMY HIGH SCHOOL, 0807 HOURS, JAKE AND AMY’S HOMEROOM

Amy watches unfazed but with a rapt attention as Jake shuffles into class minutes late without a shred of urgency. He spots her disapproving frown immediately, waving shamelessly before placing a finger over his lips- as if he were worried about getting caught. Their homeroom teacher Mr McGintley is fast asleep on his desk, snores rolling out in crescendos and diminuendos.

“Hey desk buddy,” Jake greets blithe and casual as he settles in the seat next to Amy, maliciously rubbing in the new fact that they’re desk partners. Assigned to sit together. For an entire school year. It’s only for homeroom and Global Studies, but still.

“You’re seven minutes late,” she cuts in bluntly, her face burning with a glower. She hates how ostentatious his attitude towards late-coming is, although to be fair Jake’s existence generally tends to irk her in and of itself.

“Who died and made you teacher?” He teases, noisily dumping his duffle bag on the table and carelessly rummaging through it for god-knows-what.

Amy points at their unconscious teacher. “Does he look alive to you?”

Laughter bubbles in Jake’s throat, which sweetens Amy’s bitter mood. He often has a tendency to be the most annoying person on the planet, but his laughter rings and chimes, uplifting and contagious to all who hear it.

“Okay okay, I actually have a good reason for being late-” he finally pulls what he’s been looking for out his bag (which she notes with a grimace, is full of trash), revealing a large packet of gummy worms. “I bought sour candy from the bodega that’s shutting down! Their prices now are dope-ishly low.”

“That’s not a valid reason,” it’s not Amy’s job to care, but she’s stating a fact. Buying candy has never been and never will be accepted as a pardon for being late to school. “Also 'dope-ishly’ is not a word.”

“Aww, don’t frown you sour clown-” he coos mushily, which disgusts Amy. “I got you something too.”

A flash of intrigue passes over her face, but is soon replaced with skepticism.

“Really,” she says flatly. “Don’t tell me it’s candy.”

“Fine, I won’t tell you-” yet he reaches into his bag and pulls out a pen which nearly gets Amy shrieking.

Which might seem to be an overreaction, but this isn’t just any old pen- it’s a limited edition fountain pen that Amy remembers complaining about being out of stock the week before.

She’s in shock.

“Why did you- how did you-”

“Chillax. I saw it while buying candy and bought it since I had extra cash. It was the last one. You’re welcome.”

Amy looks up at him disbelievingly. “You bought this at a bodega?”

“No,” he corrects. “I was buying candy on the way home yesterday too. And it was in the stationary store next door.”

Amy forces herself not to disapprove of or form any sort of judgement regarding his addiction to sugar. He did, after all, buy her an expensive fountain pen she had been searching for for weeks. “How did you… remember? How did you even know?”

“No biggie. You wouldn’t stop yappin’ on about it, ‘course I heard everything. And don’t think I did this for you–” he waggles his finger playfully–“I did this for Karma.”

Amy snorts, straightening in her seat because whatever Jake’s about to say next is probably going to be good.

“You did this for luck?”

“Specifically, so that we won’t get cast as a couple again this year,” he explains, and this logic resonates with Amy.

“Oh, yes. I’d love for that not to happen.”

“So we’re on the same page, good. Because full offense, but I wanna do actual cool stuff this year, not practice making goo-goo eyes at you all the time.”

Amy nods her assent. “Agreed.”

“Nice. And just in case the universe hasn’t caught up-” Jake takes the fountain pen from Amy’s hands, before presenting it to her again in a formal gesture. “This is me–” he looks up at the ceiling, speaking to the universe–“doing something nice for Amy Santiago.”

“And this is me-” Amy continues, looking up at the ceiling as well, surprising Jake with how seriously she’s taking this. “-accepting his nice act of kindness.”

After a delayed pause, they break apart, Jake returning the fountain pen to Amy.

“That better work. Here’s to not being onstage lovers.”

The bell rings then, and they part ways for classes where they won’t have to sit together.

BROOKLYN ACADEMY HIGH SCHOOL THEATER, 1803 HOURS, DRAMA CLUB (AUDITIONS)

“–the role of Johnny will be played by Jake, and lastly, the role of Dora will be taken on by Amy.”

“Yes!” Jake fist-pumps excitedly, whooping and cheering boisterously as his voice echoes throughout the theater.

It seems Karma is working in his favor- Johnny’s a badass (as far as Jake can tell from the script excerpts they read for auditions), and he seems to have no interest in romantic entanglements whatsoever. In fact, none of the script excerpts seem to reveal any sort of romance in the play at all. Terry must’ve finally grown sick of the lovers thing, thank god (or Karma).

Plus, Johnny is long for John, and Terry hasn’t revealed character last names yet, but in Jake’s mind Johnny’s last name is definitely McClane.

“Please do limit your reactions,” Holt reminds pointedly, his words directed at Jake, specifically.

“Sure. But like… my passion for theater overwhelms thy?” Jake attempts, failing miserably to make any sense. It will probably be best for his pursue of theatrics to end with high school.

Thankfully, any negative reaction from Holt gets interrupted by Terry, who nearly bursts through the doors in excitement.

“The scripts are printed!” He announces, relief evident in his voice. The printing shop had messed up that morning, and thus he could only get parts of the script to school on time for auditions.

“Excellent,” Holt remarks with a slight nod. “All speaking roles in the play have thus been assigned, and I’ll start working with the ensemble in our upcoming session. We shall also be doing a script read, so kindly go through the script on your own when you return home. Gina, do send me a text message if you have any suggestions regarding ensemble work.”

“Aight,” says Gina, leader of the ensemble, and the reason why they have at least three dance numbers every performance. Holt took a liking to her years ago, seeing promise and potential in her, which he could not be more right about.

“If there are no further questions, you are all dismissed. Have a good rest.”

JAKE’S BEDROOM, 2347 HOURS, WAY PAST HIS BEDTIME BUT WHO CARES, HIS MOM STOPPED ENFORCING THAT YEARS AGO

Three-ty (so, thirty) five games of Kwazy Cupcakes later (don’t judge him, he was this close to beating Gina’s score), Jake rolls over and puts his phone down to charge, catching sight of his script and deciding to leaf through it before going to bed.

He decides he likes Johnny well enough, although he doesn’t actually turn out as similar to John McClane as Jake would prefer- he’s still pretty cool in his own way.

Jake nearly shuts his script when he notices something at the bottom of the page-

Johnny leans forth, embracing Dora in a gentle, chaste kiss.

What? This couldn’t be happening!

Jake reads through the script again and again, scrutinizing the interactions between Johnny and Dora- crap, Amy was playing Dora!

His chest tightens nervously as he flips the pages, words blurring together as he begins to full-on freak out. This can’t be, his eyes must be playing tricks on him- why was there a kiss?

The only thing that surfaces to his mind as he tosses his script halfway across the room is that Karma- is an absolute bitch, as they say, and doing anything good is pointless because the universe doesn’t care what you do. In fact, doing something nice- like getting Amy the fountain pen she wanted so badly and making her eyes widen like they always do over nerdy stuff- was only going to result in something worse- like having to kiss Amy.

SOMEWHERE IN BROOKLYN, 0758 HOURS, EN ROUTE TO BROOKLYN ACADEMY HIGH SCHOOL

Jake frantically reads through the script again, praying, hoping, that what he discovered last night was all part of a dream (or some horrific nightmare) and that Johnny’s actually just as cool if not even cooler than John McClane, super badass- and most importantly, doesn’t have to suck face with anyone.

Johnny leans forth, embracing Dora in a gentle, chaste kiss.

God damnit- no! Jake nearly rips the script in frustration, but his scripts are almost always subject to wear and tear anyway (unlike Amy’s neatly filed scripts with her lines highlighted, neatly margined with post-its containing actor’s notes), so it would make no difference, really.

What was he going to do? He has to kiss Amy, for god’s sake, and that’s (obviously) something they’ve never done. Yes, they’ve been playing lovers onstage for three years straight, but they have never, ever, had to kiss.

Until now, apparently.

Jake plods in dread, each footstep he takes slowing with every pace. He’s really not looking forward to school today.

BROOKLYN ACADEMY HIGH SCHOOL, 0809 HOURS, JAKE AND AMY’S HOMEROOM

Amy’s staring into space, not bothering to acknowledge Jake’s tardiness, not even glancing over when Jake trudges in (significantly quieter than usual). She seems to be deep in concentration, or confusion, or heck it could be happiness- Jake can’t say for sure, because he feels much too awkward about the whole situation to look at her too.

“Hey,” he finally says, because the silence wants to kill him, and they can’t not talk about this.

“Hey,” she mumbles, fiddling with her hair absentmindedly, actions Jake’s not used to seeing Amy take.

“Okay, I’ll come right out and say it because you obviously read the whole script first thing when you got home- what the hell is up with that kiss?”

“I know right?” Amy snaps and words roll out her mouth, unstoppable. “It makes no sense to me! Why in the world would a strong, independent woman like Dora be interested in someone like Johnny?”

Jake tenses. “I wouldn’t go that deep yet- my issue was mainly the smooching.”

To be fair, Amy had not read the entire script like Jake assumed. She too, got freaked out when she realized what was going to happen between their characters and could barely process any more words after that. Her impression of Dora was largely based on the material they received during the auditions, and the way she had planned to portray her.

Amy gulps, receding back to her previous disposition. “Yeah. That- I don’t- why would Terry do something like that?”

Jake shrugs. “Maybe Holt’s gonna hate it. I mean, maybe he doesn’t know about the kiss yet, and he’ll tell Terry to cut it.”

“Maybe.”

“Or we can protest- right? Holt will hear us out. They can’t make us kiss.”

BROOKLYN ACADEMY HIGH SCHOOL THEATER, 1520 HOURS, DRAMA CLUB (REHEARSAL)

They’re completely wrong- Holt loves Terry’s script to bits.

“Dare I say, Jeffords, this could very well be your best work,” he remarks, shaking his head in pride as he reads through the script.

“Thank you, Sir, that means a lot to hear.”

Jake and Amy exchange panicked looks- neither of them want to protest against the script after hearing something like that. One other thing they have in common is not wanting to disappoint Holt (although Jake would never admit this), which means they have to suck it up and… suck face.

BROOKLYN ACADEMY HIGH SCHOOL THEATER, 1525 HOURS, DRAMA CLUB (WATER BREAK BEFORE FIRST SCRIPT READ)

“Okay what if-” Jake suggests as Amy nervously gulps water. “We got the wrong script?”

Amy’s face contorts doubtfully. “How would that happen?”

“Maybe–” his fingers tap against the drywall–“the kiss was in an earlier draft of Terry’s play, but he cut it out, but it didn’t change for our scripts.”

Amy’s eyes brighten with a glimmer of hope. “It’s a very slim chance, but…”

The two break off immediately, determined to check as many scripts as possible in order to test their theory.

Jake spots Charles nearby, working on a list of props they’ll need to make, using the script as reference. Ever since he’s been promoted to Head Of Props, Charles has taken a bit of a backseat acting-wise by taking on smaller roles, which isn’t a problem at all because he’s absolutely brilliant with props. Charles has delicate and dainty fingers perfect for crafting the most sturdy and beautiful props, thus making him the right person for the job.

“Hey buddy, can I take a look at that?” Jake trails on with an air of nonchalance, grabbing the script and quickly scanning through it before Charles even realizes it’s out of his hands.

“Sure, I’ll just work on this later. You forgot your script again, huh?” He teases, but lacking any sort of judgement.

“Nah, me and Amy are just checkin’ in case we don’t actually have to kiss in the play.”

“YOU AND AMY HAVE TO KISS?!”

Charles shocks Jake, the entire club, Holt, Terry, the building, and possibly the entire world with his explosive response. He’s on his feet now, eyes wide open and fingers curled in excitement.

While his outburst was a shock, Charles’ happiness comes at no surprise to Jake. The former often tries to persuade Jake that his supposed 'hatred’ for Amy is in actual fact, a huge crush. Their repeated claims to be enemies mean nothing to Charles’ heart.

“OH, YOU PROBABLY MEAN BLUE AND CREAMY HAVE TO CHEESE, CHARLES!” Jake yells, just as loudly in a desperate attempt to cover up, which is completely useless since everyone definitely heard Charles loud and clear.

“Really, Charles?!” Jake whispers in a harsh tone which does nothing to tear down Charles’ jubilation.

“Not sorry, Jake. This is destiny!”

“No, this is not destiny, this is something that can’t happen!” Jake settles with a frustrated sigh in a nearby seat. “At least you not knowing probably means we don’t really have to kiss.”

“Uh, actually Jake- I haven’t read the whole script.”

“What? Charles!” Jake picks the script back up and furiously searches again.

“I’m sorry! I only have a few lines, and I needed to catch up on homework.”

Jake freezes in place suddenly, which gets Charles grinning wide and leaning over to read the line:

Johnny leans forth, embracing Dora in a gentle, chaste kiss.

Jake groans in denial, getting him strange looks from some, but smirks from many others that already know what Jake and Amy have to do.

Almost everyone knows by the time the script read starts, and it gets people looking at Jake and Amy suggestively, to say the least.

BROOKLYN ACADEMY HIGH SCHOOL THEATER, 1530 HOURS, DRAMA CLUB (FIRST SCRIPT READ)

It only gets worse from there. People don’t just look at Jake and Amy, they’re affected, jittery and giggly as they mess up lines, recite with the wrong emotions.

Jake and Amy, on the other hand, are awkward and their delivery is lifeless. They too, fail to maintain any semblance of professionalism.

Holt stops the script read halfway through.

“I am incredibly disappointed in you all. This childish buffoonery is something I wouldn’t dream of receiving even from actors in elementary school- of which, the few of you that I worked with then displayed better performance than you currently are. If everyone doesn’t get their act together– literally, I will cancel this year’s play effective immediately. Am I clear?”

His anger has everything. Enunciated denunciations, finger pointing, and wordplay delivered with a serious face. Everyone shrivels in shame at having let down their respected director, most of all Jake and Amy. They know they’ve caused the club to lose focus for the craft, and they themselves have also failed to keep up their standards and live up to Holt’s expectations.

BROOKLYN ACADEMY HIGH SCHOOL THEATER, 1750 HOURS, DRESSING ROOM (ONE WEEK LATER)

The past week was one of silence between Jake and Amy. Things are awkward, and they haven’t spoken since getting very thoroughly chewed out by Holt the week before. Neither has bothered striking up a conversation which makes class quiet and boring, but it’s better than having to confront the issue.

Except, things have improved from last rehearsal. Everyone takes the script read seriously, pleasing Director Holt which makes him decide to start blocking scenes. His focus this rehearsal is largely on scene transitions, as it’s too early to experiment with props and set. As a result, things are moving quickly, actors running on and off stage with their scripts and saying their lines, barely making the effort to experiment with any actions.

That’s actually the problem here, for Jake and Amy. Things are moving much too quickly, and they know their kiss scene is coming up. They won’t be 'saved by the bell’ or allowed to skip that scene because that’s not Holt’s style, and they can’t go on stage and beat about the bush about having to kiss, because it might make Holt angry again.

Everyone’s doing a great job today, including Jake and Amy, and they can’t ruin that because they’re getting all freaked out about touching lips. It’s a kiss, that likely won’t last more than a few seconds, and it’s not like they’ve never kissed other people. Jake’s had two girlfriends, like the goddamn rockstar he is, and Amy used to date Teddy, a fucking loser Jake hates, but Amy used to make out with that blob, so he’s (unfortunately) still being noted as part of Amy’s past kissing experience. Her kissing resume, or her kissing portfolio, if you will.

Point is- Jake and Amy have never kissed each other, and they’ll never want to, but they very likely have to within the next hour or so regardless of their feelings, and that’s why Jake’s now standing in the dressing room, having followed Amy in.

Somehow, she’s not even surprised and seems to have no intention of kicking him out.

“Hey,” she says, swallowing awkwardly as she leans against the corner of the dressing table. Jake fares no better in looking cool, and is so close to the door he might as well not have entered the room in the first place.

“Hey,” he says, and then he cracks because this pressure is crazy unbearable and one of them has to take the plunge and go for it, right?

“Okay so- things are moving real fast rehearsal wise, and I don’t think we can skip… y'know.”

Amy nods rapidly, picking at her skin. “Yeah, I know. We’ll probably have to be on stage soon, give or take a few minutes.”

Jake takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. He can’t believe he’s actually going to suggest this, even though it’s literally why he followed Amy into this dressing room.

“Look- we’re gonna have to do it eventually, so you wanna just… practice before we have to do it for realz? I don’t want Holt to go batshit crazy again, and if we mess this up everyone’s gonna laugh in our faces.”

Amy nods, and it seems like it’s the only thing she’s been capable of this entire conversation.

“I mean, Gina’s convinced it’s gonna be the kiss of the century in terms of sloppiness and unwillingness, so we gotta at least prove her wrong about our kiss being 'Youtube-viral’ bad.”

This gets Amy to crack a smile- it’s half-hearted of course, but her tense and overly quiet demeanor had been far too worrying to get subjected to, and although Jake’s not exactly throwing a parade in excitement over having to kiss her, he hasn’t nearly been this unresponsive.

“Yeah, let’s do this,” she tacks on with a lip bite. “Lock the door.”

Jake titters to lighten the mood. “And I thought we were leaving it wide open so everyone could watch,” but he locks the door.

They both take a deep breath. Several deep breaths.

“We’re really doing this,” he says, and it’s possible he’s never felt so anxious about- anything, really.

“Yup. We are about to kiss. To practice. For stage. Play-” she sucks in a tight breath, because she’s clearly freaking out about this too.

“Okay, we’re making this out to be too big a deal. On three, we kiss. Okay? One-”

“-who’s doing the counting?” She interjects unintentionally, eyes widening when she realizes he had already started counting and she had just interrupted him, stopping his flow and making everything worse.

“God damnit, Ames, you’re-”

“Screw it- onetwothree,” she stammers before grabbing his shirt and pulling in for a kiss.

Jake’s caught completely off guard at first and his late response is slow and cautious. Amy’s lips feel uncertain and scared against his so he decides to meet her efforts at initiation with a bit more confidence. They’re practicing kissing, right? He knows how to kiss kinda, so he’s not gonna give her half-assed snorkeling and starts properly moving his lips.

Her hands are still clutching his shirt tight and stiff, so he places his arms around her waist because he has no where else to put them, and holding them up like he’s being held hostage is probably not something he should produce on stage.

The strange thing is, they actually start getting into a little bit of a rhythm, and it’s… not bad.

Okay, it’s more than just not bad, it’s good, it’s really good and it just gets better by the second.

Jake’s insistent lips encourage a more passionate and fiery response from Amy, and that’s when things spiral out of control.

Jake sees stars when Amy shoves him against the wall, her hands no longer just crumpling his un-ironed shirt but instead grazing his sides. It’s strangely a sensation he enjoys- her hands are gentle but ambitious, they want more than they’re getting, and Jake wants to give Amy’s hands whatever they want.

By the time Jake meets Amy’s tongue, not stuck out at him in petty annoyance, but delving into his mouth, warm and playful; he’s completely lost in pleasure. Kissing Amy is ecstasy, pure heaven, and he hums in delight at the talent of her lips with each smack and lick.

Jake and Amy completely lose themselves, forgetting everything around them, the reason why they started kissing in the first place slipping from their minds. Their hearts are pounding no longer from nervousness but from the intensity of their actions. Their kiss seems to have no end, only slowing down now and then with no signs of stopping. Their minds are blank, completely blank, because somehow getting sucked into what is currently the most mind-blowing kiss of either of their lives leaves little space for critical thinking.

Jake’s hands leave Amy’s waist and begin combing through her hair, she bucks up against his lips and Jake smiles, he takes note of this for future-

“JAKE IF YOU’RE IN THERE GET ON STAGE ITS TIME FOR THE KISS SCENE!”

Jake and Amy split apart, Charles’ (very excited) voice waking them up like getting dunked in a bucket of ice. They’re panting heavily, having pushed each other away in sheer horror. Jake’s not looking at Amy, Amy’s not looking at Jake, they’re both just staring at different areas of space trying to pump enough oxygen back into their brains.

Which is when Jake starts to truly panic.

What on earth just happened? His lips, and Amy’s lips, touched and did something and it was magical and beautiful and honestly kinda sexy and she was sexy and the kiss was super hot and- Jake is a complete mess who may or may not want to grab Amy and start kissing her again.

Because holy smokes that felt good. Really good, the best damn kiss of Jake’s life. And seeing Teddy and knowing what a loser he is he probably did a crap job of kissing Amy too so heck, assuming Amy hasn’t kissed anyone else, could be the best kiss of her life too! Just saying!

“I think we have to go,” and Amy’s words descend Jake into new levels of dismay.

They were going to have to kiss now. In front of Holt, and anyone else watching- they were going to have to kiss each other.

Jake could be considered an idiot for freaking out about having to kiss Amy after just kissing Amy– but that’s the entire point. He kissed Amy. When really, he should’ve just lightly smooched Amy. Or pecked her on the lips. But no, they just had to make out for god knows how long, and he’s freaking out because the way they just sucked face is definitely not how they should suck face on stage. Or anywhere, really. Their kiss was something he wouldn’t recommend showing to kids.

Because as Jake recalls all too clearly (due to reading it over and over to make sure it was real), the script calls for:

Johnny leans forth, embracing Dora in a gentle, chaste kiss.

See? A cute, PG-rated kiss that kids could see and go aw, not their violent slamming against walls, hair-pulling mess that would make children cry, scarring them for life.

What they need (in about seconds from now) is a sweet, innocent kiss– not Thirty Seconds Before Porn. And given how they failed to do that in the dressing room, Jake isn’t sure they’ll be able to pull it off now.

They approach the stage carefully, steps loaded with dread when they realize Holt is no longer in the audience. Instead, they see almost everyone from the club, with Gina and Rosa sitting in the front row. For some strange reason, everyone has popcorn, Gina and Rosa most of all.

“Where did Holt go?” Amy asks, genuinely curious, although Jake can’t help but note a degree of relief in her voice.

“Family emergency,” Rosa explains, mouth full of popcorn. She has no business staying here right now, being in charge of both lights and sound (yeah, Rosa’s good), and it’s too early in the stage of production for her to be of use. She’s required to turn up for club sessions, of course, but Rosa’s definitely not supposed to be sitting in the front row, eating popcorn like she’s about to watch her favorite movie in theater for the third time in a row.

In fact, none of the club members are supposed to be sitting in the audience seats right now as per Holt’s rules, let alone the whole club.

“Then why are we all still here? Doesn’t this mean rehearsal’s over?” Jake questions.

“Nuh uh,” Gina explains, mouth full of popcorn as well. Where they all got their popcorn is a mystery, but not a prioritized concern. “Holt says I gotta make sure y'all get the kiss right, he says he wants to see it next rehearsal.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Fine-” he grabs Amy’s face and plants a kiss smack on her lips before pulling away, taking her by surprise. “Can we go home now?”

Some people whoop in excitement, others gasp in shock at actually seeing Jake and Amy kiss, albeit briefly. Charles starts tearing up, which Jake pretends he doesn’t see.

“NO,” Gina narrows her eyes, which only makes Rosa break into a wide grin. “Not good enough. Do you want me to tell Holt y'all ain’t taking this seriously?”

Jake and Amy protest against this apologetically. Gina’s threats hold real power because Holt trusts in Gina and her judgement. If she were to tell Holt that Jake and Amy weren’t taking parts of the play seriously, he would believe her, and that’s not something either of them want.

“How long do you even want us to kiss for?” Amy asks, her tone impatient but question valid.

“Forever,” Charles sighs with a dreamy smile, and it kind of scares Jake if he’s being honest.

“Give it at least ten seconds,” Gina relents, and Jake and Amy shrug because hey, that’s reasonable.

Except when they do kiss, it’s awkward and strange all over again because they seem to be holding back (because they are holding back), and they’re kissing weird and with restraint, something they would’ve expected from themselves if they had not practiced. So their practice session had been practically useless.

The crowd goes wild- not with applause, but with jeers and taunts. They’re being booed by the drama club, especially Gina and Rosa who hurl popcorn at them, eventually prompting them to stop kissing because things are getting way too crazy.

“COME ON, GET SOME TONGUE IN THERE!” Gina yells.

“GRAB EACH OTHERS ASSES!” Rosa adds just as aggressively.

Only Charles remains loyal and still touched by their kiss, and after all the hubbub dies down everyone slowly leaves the theatre to go home because Gina and Rosa had lied about rehearsal not being over and everyone had went along with it to see Jake and Amy kiss.

BROOKLYN ACADEMY HIGH SCHOOL THEATER, 1804 HOURS, DRESSING ROOM

Amy walks back to the dressing room (after Gina announces that rehearsal’s over) which thankfully no one is around to witness, especially since she hears Jake’s footsteps behind following her.

He locks the door, a smart move that nearly gets Amy blushing.

“So um, that went horribly,” she starts, because it really did, and she kind of wants to talk about how intense their kiss from before got but she doesn’t know how to even begin to approach the situation.

“Mmhmm, yeah,” Jake slurs in a way that Amy knows usually means he’s not listening to a word she’s saying. She’s about to chide him but when she looks up he’s very obviously staring at her lips. She’s almost surprised but the attention he adorns her with makes it hard to look away. His eyes on her makes Amy feel like the most prized possession one could only wish for.

This heated exchange of gazes snaps and Amy’s not sure who surges forth first but they’re kissing again, and it’s somehow even better than the first time– it’s more desperate, it starts much faster and needier than their last, and it feels absolutely incredible.

Kissing Jake is more than just kissing- his arms are wrapped around her more firmly now, his hands running rampant up and down her back; desire pools at the pit of her belly because his lips declare want and need, insufferable need without using words and his hands feel so ridiculously good, Amy both wishes and would hate for his hands to leave her back and touch her elsewhere.

Embarrassingly, Amy’s so overwhelmed by pleasure she lets out a wordless moan that gets Jake chuckling noiselessly against her lips. She finally comes to her senses and pushes him away.

“Okay- that, that’s just weird,” she puts it out there, because it is weird, super weird-

“Uh, huh,” he shifts, voice strained.

“We- we’re supposed to hate each other,” she says, and it comes out almost as a reminder, a memo that hey, they’re still enemies and enemies do not make out… like that.

“Oh yeah, I like, super hate you too,” he’s very unconvincing, but Amy can’t blame him for not hating her guts after what they just did. It was freaking amazing, even if she says so herself.

“So what does-”

“-but maybe this isn’t about us, or hating each other, or anything. Maybe we’re just super good actors and it shows.”

Amy considers this. “Huh.”

“Right?”

“Okay but- when Teddy and I used to kiss it was never anything like that.”

Jake grins wide and proud, and Amy almost rolls her eyes because great, she just gave him more reason to be super full of himself.

“Hmm, never would’ve guessed,” he teases, but Amy can’t even bring herself to get mad. “But like, ditto. It was never like that for me either, but Teddy isn’t an actor, and neither were my exes.”

Amy nods. “That’s true.”

“So maybe it’s just one of those actor chemistry thingies. And we’re just good at kissing. And that’s why–” his hand extends, gesturing back and forth–“this, y'know.”

“Yeah, I think I get what you mean,” Amy crosses her arms. “So since we’ve pretty much nailed this kissing thing, we should stop practicing?”

“What? NO-” Jake protests, with an intensity that scares Amy.

“Why not?”

“No, I don’t think we should stop at all. In fact, I think we need to keep practicing.”

Amy raises an eyebrow in interest. A part of her is curious about how Jake will explain himself. Another small, very small part she’s barely aware of, wants him to admit he wants to keep kissing her… purely because of how enjoyable he finds it.

“Why?”

“You think they’re gonna let us up on stage with a kiss like that Parents will sue, just like they did when Charles played Daddy Warbucks in our production of Annie-”

“Ew, no! Gross gross gross! Please don’t remind me of that,” she begs with her fingers curled up and her eyes tight shut. She doesn’t know this, but Jake finds it to be almost cute.

“Amy-” he continues, “we have to focus all our energy into making this kiss as un-sexy and school friendly as we possibly can.”

“That was sexy to you?” Amy teases, almost because she wants to hear him admit it, somehow making her worst enemy (that makes sex tape jokes insinuating that she’s a boring prude) admit that something she did/participated in was sexy is appealing to her.

Jake looks at Amy incredulously, like she’s got to be kidding him. “Amy, you moaned.”

Amy’s breath catches in her throat, because she knows she did, and she knows she was loud enough for him to hear, and she knows she pulled away specifically because she had moaned, and because of his reaction to it but- hearing him lay it all out makes it so much more real, and she’s now tongue tied and her cheeks are burning more and more with each passing second.

He knows he’s got her feeling shy, and he responds with a shallow laugh. “Relax, it’s cool, it happens. And it was pretty hot, I’ll give you that-” this makes Amy feel like convulsing, “but it’s exactly that kind of stuff that we need to get rid of before we take this kiss from the page-to-the-stage.”

Amy inhales sharply, and builds up the nerve to look up at him. “Okay, I’m in.”

“You are? Cool. Okay so- I don’t think we should keep practicing in here because people are eventually gonna find out and ask why we keep going to the dressing room together and locking the door, so we should meet up someplace else.”

“Where?”

“I’m thinking- my place? Before you say anything–” he holds his hands up even though Amy hasn’t so much as said a word of protest–“hear me out: my mom works late so we’ll get the house to ourselves. We could even do lines together, and hey- you can bring your homework! I know you’re always complaining about how noisy your place is. Seven brothers and all that.”

It’s a strangely sweet proposal, filled with details catering to Amy; how he pays attention to details about herself she doesn’t even directly share with him is frankly kind of amazing.

“I’m sold,” she says, holding her hand out which Jake shakes.

“Awesome. So it’s settled then.”

#text #peraltiago #brooklyn nine nine #PLEASE LIKE THIS IDK #AND LIKE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK

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an-outsiders-sunset · 7 years

Text

Steve Randle Prompt List No.5

a/n: This is a new imagine hope you guys like it!! Thank you guys and love you!!

Steve has been working on this one red Corvair for the last five hours. Usually it takes the car savvy boy to fix any car in, maximum, two hours and because he can’t figure out the problem he’s getting really frustrated. All day today I’ve been trying to get him to come in and eat or to at least take a break but to no avail he wouldn’t even turn his head to look at me when I talked.

“Steve, can you please come inside? You’ve been working this thing all day. Please come in, eat something.” I beg for what seems like the hundredth time.

“God, Y/n, I’m doing somethin’ when I’m done I’ll come in. Quite naggin’.” He said still not looking at me.

“Maybe if you step away from it for a moment you can come back refreshed and you will know what to do.” I said quietly trying not to anger him more.

“I know damn well what I’m doing! You just gotta come in here naggin’. Glory you get annoying after a while! God I can’t even have two minutes to myself to fix something simple. It’s your fault I can’t figure it out because you keep buggin me! Ever thought that made I’m out here because I don’t wanna spend time with your pathetic clingy ass!” He yelled turning around and throwing a wrench so close to my head I could feel the wind it created as it glided by at lightning speed, only to hit the wall and fall to the floor in a clang.

His eyes that were burning with anger before flickered to his normal warm eyes, guilt and regret washing over them. His words hurt more than anything else would, I hate to say it but, he scared me. Terrified me, making my hands shake and tears well up in my eyes.

“Angel, I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t, I didn’t mean it.” He stuttered out slowly walking towards me.

“Please, please don’t. I’m sorry. Just please don’t hurt me.” I said quickly scared he would lose his temper again and hurt me.

“It’s me, baby, it’s Steve, you know I would never hurt you. I just got a little angry that’s all, it’s not your fault, please don-don’t be scared.” He whispered shakily, afraid if he talked any louder it would scare you off.

“I’m sorry.” With that I turned around and ran quickly out of the garage then out of the house going to the Curtis house hold to hopefully calm down a little bit.

Reaching the house I knocked on the door praying for someone to be home. The door opened suddenly to reveal Ponyboy.

“Y/n, what’s wrong? Why you lookin like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“Can I please come inside? I’ll tell you everything but just please let me inside, I don’t want Steve to see me here.” I rushed out looking around to make sure Steve wasn’t running up.

“Of course come in, it’s just me and Soda home right now.” He said putting a hand on my back guiding me in.

Steve’s p.o.v

What the fuck did I just do, I am a fucking genius really, yell at someone, throw a wrench at them too, that should really knock them into loving you more. I was running after her until she started trying to lose me going through fences and alley ways and she succeeded. Running her house I pound on the door mercilessly just wanting to see her, to see my baby, to know that she’s ok.

“Steve, is everything alright?” Her mother answered the door frantically.

“Is Y/n here?” I asked getting straight to the point.

“Um, no I thought she was at your place.”

“She was and then I was stupid and yelled at her and scared her and she ran out and know I can’t find her. I just need to know she’s ok.” I explained hurriedly, walking off the steps to the house going to the next place she could be at, the Curtis house.

Running to the house, opening the gate, I repeat my actions knocking on the door repeatedly.

“Hell-oh…it’s you.” Ponyboy said with a disgusted face as he said ‘you’, once he opened the door.

“Yes it’s me, is Y/n here?” I rushed out.

“Y/n? Who’s Y/n? I don’t know any Y/n’s.” He said feigning obliviousness.

“Quite being a rotten little brat and tell me if my girlfriends here Pony I don’t got time for this.” I said with a frustrated tone.

“By the things she told us, I wouldn’t call her your girlfriend, maybe ex-girlfriend though.” He shrugged his shoulders, going to close the door, but before he could I put my hand on the door forcefully pushing it open. For a little kid he sure got some strength to him, but I was stronger and pushed the door open enough for me to get through.

“Soda lock the bedroom door we got company.” Pony yelled trying to hold me back, jumping on me.

“Would you numbskulls quite your yappin’ she fell asleep.” Soda said rushing out of the bedroom trying to quiet us down.

“I need to see her…please Soda.” I stopped fighting Pony, only to have him hangin off my shoulder.

“We heard what happened Steve.” Soda said looking at me intensely.

“I figured.” I muttered.

“Why?” Pony asked, still hanging off of my shoulder.

“I was mad I couldn’t fix the car, and the guy who gave me the car to fix, he was a soc he told me that she would soon leave greaser trash like me for some better soc. It got me thinking maybe she would leave me and I started resenting her because of the stupid idea I put in my own stupid head. I hate myself for doing it, I hate myself for making her think I would ever hurt her.” I said a tone of defeat evident in my voice.

“Go.” Soda said with a small smile starting to form on his lips.

“What?” I asked surprised.

“What?!”Pony asked surprised, the kid still hangin off of me.

“Go get her Steve, you really love her I can tell. She’s asleep right now but Pony and I will go out for a moment so you can talk to her.” He said as Pony jumped off of me grumbling unintelligible words.

“Thanks guys.” I said walkin toward the room of my sleeping beauty.

Walkin through the door I see her layin down on the bed peacefully asleep. My poor baby she was probably tired from my moodiness. Sitting next her I run my hand across her cheek gently. How in god’s name did I ever get a girl like this? She started to move as I play with her hair gently.

“Steve?” She asked gently, slightly propping herself up on her elbows.

“Ya baby, it’s me.” I whispered still stroking her hair.

“I’m sorry I was naggin you.” She said lowly, hiding her face from me.

“Ah no baby you weren’t naggin me. I’m the one who should be sorry. God I’m an idiot, I am so sorry baby, you deserve so much better than me, I understand if you wanna leave just please, please know I am so sorry and I love you so much.” I said getting soft, only for her.

“You really scared me today.” She said quietly fear still in her voice.

“I hate myself for that.” I said angry with myself.

“I forgive you.”

“What?” I probably just heard her wrong.

“I forgive you Steve. I love you, and I know you’re sorry. But if it happens again I swear I’ll be outta here so fast it would make your head spin.” She warned seriously.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I smiled at her.

She sat up leaning towards me in a hug, grabbing her waist I brought her even closer towards me wrapping my arms around her completely engulfing her, not planning on letting go either, in fear that she would sprout her angel wings and fly away.

“Let’s go back to my place baby.”

“And you promise not to go back to the car?”

“I’ll have Soda come and work on it in a couple of days, baby. Right now it’s just you and me.” I said caressing her face.

“I love you Steve.”

“I love you too baby.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

#steve randle #the outsiders #steve randle imagines #the outsiders imagines #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis #greasers #DX

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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“The ‘wait-and-dive thingy’?” Thomas asked, rolling his eyes. “Any idiot on the planet would’ve done that.”

“Don’t get all humbly bumbly on us—what you did is freaking unbelievable. You and Minho, both.”

Thomas tossed the empty plate on the ground, suddenly angry. “Then why do I feel so crappy, Chuck? Wanna answer me that?”

Thomas searched Chuck’s face for an answer, but by the looks of it he didn’t have one. The boy just sat clasping his hands as he leaned forward on his knees, head hanging. Finally, half under his breath, he murmured, “Same reason we all feel crappy.”

They sat in silence until, a few minutes later, Newt walked up, looking like death on two feet. He sat on the ground in front of them, as sad and worried as any person could possibly appear. Still, Thomas was glad to have him around.

“I think the worst part’s over,” Newt said. “The bugger should be sleepin’ for a couple of days, then wake up okay. Maybe a little screaming now and then.”

Thomas couldn’t imagine how bad the whole ordeal must be—but the whole process of the Changing was still a mystery to him. He turned to the older boy, trying his best to be casual. “Newt, what’s he going through up there? Seriously, I don’t get what this Changing thing is.”

Newt’s response startled Thomas. “You think we do?” he spat, throwing his arms up, then slapping them back down on his knees. “All we bloody know is if the Grievers sting you with their nasty needles, you inject the Grief Serum or you die. If you do get the Serum, then your body wigs out and shakes and your skin bubbles and turns a freaky green color and you vomit all over yourself. Enough explanation for ya there, Tommy?”

Thomas frowned. He didn’t want to make Newt any more upset than he already was, but he needed answers. “Hey, I know it sucks to see your friend go through that, but I just want to know what’s really happening up there. Why do you call it the Changing?”

Newt relaxed, seemed to shrink, even, and sighed. “It brings back memories. Just little snippets, but definite memories of before we came to this horrible place. Anyone who goes through it acts like a bloody psycho when it’s over—although usually not as bad as poor Ben. Anyway, it’s like being given your old life back, only to have it snatched away again.”

Thomas’s mind was churning. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Newt looked confused. “What do you mean? Sure about what?”

“Are they changed because they want to go back to their old life, or is it because they’re so depressed at realizing their old life was no better than what we have now?”

Newt stared at him for a second, then looked away, seemingly deep in thought. “Shanks who’ve been through it’ll never really talk about it. They get … different. Unlikable. There’s a handful around the Glade, but I can’t stand to be around them.” His voice was distant, his eyes having strayed to a certain blank spot in the woods. Thomas knew he was thinking about how Alby might never be the same again.

“Tell me about it,” Chuck chimed in. “Gally’s the worst of ’em all.”

“Anything new on the girl?” Thomas asked, changing the subject. He was in no mood to talk about Gally. Plus, his thoughts kept going back to her. “I saw the Med-jacks feeding her upstairs.”

“No,” Newt answered. “Still in the buggin’ coma, or whatever it is. Every once in a while she’ll mumble something—nonsense, like she’s dreaming. She takes the food, seems to be doing all right. It’s kind of weird.”

A long pause followed, as if the three of them were trying to come up with an explanation for the girl. Thomas wondered again about his inexplicable feeling of connection with her, though it had faded a little—but that could have been because of everything else occupying his thoughts.

Newt finally broke the silence. “Anyway, next up—figure out what we do with Tommy here.”

Thomas perked up at that, confused by the statement. “Do with me? What’re you talking about?”

Newt stood, stretched his arms. “Turned this whole place upside down, you bloody shank. Half the Gladers think you’re God, the other half wanna throw your butt down the Box Hole. Lotta stuff to talk about.”

“Like what?” Thomas didn’t know which was more unsettling—that people thought he was some kind of hero, or that some wished he didn’t exist.

“Patience,” Newt said. “You’ll find out after the wake-up.”

“Tomorrow? Why?” Thomas didn’t like the sound of this.

“I’ve called a Gathering. And you’ll be there. You’re the only buggin’ thing on the agenda.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Thomas to wonder why in the world a Gathering was needed just to talk about him.

CHAPTER 24

The next morning, Thomas found himself sitting in a chair, worried and anxious, sweating, facing eleven other boys. They were seated in chairs arranged in a semicircle around him. Once settled, he realized they were the Keepers, and to his chagrin that meant Gally was among them. One chair directly in front of Thomas stood empty—he didn’t need to be told that it was Alby’s.

They sat in a large room of the Homestead that Thomas hadn’t been in before. Besides the chairs, there was no other furniture except for a small table in the corner. The walls were made of wood, as was the floor, and it didn’t look like anyone had ever attempted to make the place look inviting. There were no windows; the room smelled of mildew and old books. Thomas wasn’t cold, but shivered all the same.

He was at least relieved that Newt was there. He sat in the chair to the right of Alby’s empty seat. “In place of our leader, sick in bed, I declare this Gathering begun,” he said, with a subtle roll of his eyes as if he hated anything approaching formality. “As you all know, the last few days have been bloody crazy, and quite a bit seems centered around our Greenbean, Tommy, seated before us.”

Thomas’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“He’s not the Greenie anymore,” Gally said, his scratchy voice so low and cruel it was almost comical. “He’s just a rule breaker now.”

This started off a rumbling of murmurs and whispers, but Newt shushed them. Thomas suddenly wanted to be as far from that room as possible.

“Gally,” Newt said, “try to keep some buggin’ order, here. If you’re gonna blabber your shuck mouth every time I say something, you can go ahead and bloody leave, because I’m not in a very cheerful mood.”

Thomas wished he could cheer at that.

Gally folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, the scowl on his face so forced that Thomas almost laughed out loud. He was having a harder and harder time believing he’d been terrified of this guy just a day earlier—he seemed silly, even pathetic now.

Newt gave Gally a hard stare, then continued. “Glad we got that out of the way.” Another roll of the eyes. “Reason we’re here is because almost every lovin’ kid in the Glade has come up to me in the last day or two either boohooing about Thomas or beggin’ to take his bloody hand in marriage. We need to decide what we’re gonna do with him.”

Gally leaned forward, but Newt cut him off before he could say anything.

“You’ll have your chance, Gally. One at a time. And Tommy, you’re not allowed to say a buggin’ thing until we ask you to. Good that?” He waited for a nod of consent from Thomas—who gave it reluctantly—then pointed to the kid in the chair on the far right. “Zart the Fart, you start.”

There were a few snickers as Zart, the quiet big guy who watched over the Gardens, shifted in his seat. He looked to Thomas more out of place than a carrot on a tomato plant.

“Well,” Zart began, his eyes darting around almost like he was waiting for someone else to tell him what to say. “I don’t know. He broke one of our most important rules. We can’t just let people think that’s okay.” He paused and looked down at his hands, rubbing them together. “But then again, he’s … changed things. Now we know we can survive out there, and that we can beat the Grievers.”

Relief flooded Thomas. He had someone else on his side. He made a promise to himself to be extra nice to Zart.

“Oh, give me a break,” Gally spurted. “I bet Minho’s the one who actually got rid of the stupid things.”

“Gally, shut your hole!” Newt yelled, standing for effect this time; once again Thomas felt like cheering. “I’m the bloody Chair right now, and if I hear one more buggin’ word out of turn from you, I’ll be arrangin’ another Banishing for your sorry butt.”

“Please,” Gally whispered sarcastically, the ridiculous scowl returning as he slouched back into his chair again.

Newt sat down and motioned to Zart. “Is that it? Any official recommendations?”

Zart shook his head.

“Okay. You’re next, Frypan.”

The cook smiled through his beard and sat up straighter. “Shank’s got more guts than I’ve fried up from every pig and cow in the last year.” He paused, as if expecting a laugh, but none came. “How stupid is this—he saves Alby’s life, kills a couple of Grievers, and we’re sitting here yappin’ about what to do with him. As Chuck would say, this is a pile of klunk.”

Thomas wanted to walk over and shake Frypan’s hand—he’d just said exactly what Thomas himself had been thinking about all of this.

“So what’re ya recommendin’?” Newt asked.

Frypan folded his arms. “Put him on the freaking Council and have him train us on everything he did out there.”

Voices erupted from every direction, and it took Newt half a minute to calm everyone down. Thomas winced; Frypan had gone too far with that recommendation, almost invalidating his well-stated opinion of the whole mess.

“All right, writin’ her down,” Newt said as he did just that, scribbling on a notepad. “Now everyone keep their bloody mouths shut, I mean it. You know the rules—no idea’s unacceptable—and you’ll all have your say when we vote on it.” He finished writing and pointed to the third member of the Council, a kid Thomas hadn’t met yet with black hair and a freckly face.

“I don’t really have an opinion,” he said.

“What?” Newt asked angrily. “Lot of good it did to choose you for the Council, then.”

“Sorry, I honestly don’t.” He shrugged. “If anything, I agree with Frypan, I guess. Why punish a guy for saving someone’s life?”

“So you do have an opinion—is that it?” Newt insisted, pencil in hand.

The kid nodded and Newt scribbled a note. Thomas was feeling more and more relieved—it seemed like most of the Keepers were for him, not against him. Still, he was having a hard time just sitting there; he desperately wanted to speak on his own behalf. But he forced himself to follow Newt’s orders and keep quiet.

Next was acne-covered Winston, Keeper of the Blood House. “I think he should be punished. No offense, Greenie, but Newt, you’re the one always harping about order. If we don’t punish him, we’ll set a bad example. He broke our Number One Rule.”

“Okay,” Newt said, writing on his pad. “So you’re recommendin’ punishment. What kind?”

“I think he should be put in the Slammer for a week with only bread and water—and we need to make sure everyone knows about it so they don’t get any ideas.”

Gally clapped, earning a scowl from Newt. Thomas’s heart fell just a bit.

Two more Keepers spoke, one for Frypan’s idea, one for Winston’s. Then it was Newt’s turn.

“I agree with the lot of ya. He should be punished, but then we need to figure out a way to use him. I’m reservin’ my recommendation until I hear everyone out. Next.”

Thomas hated all this talk about punishment, even more than he hated having to keep his mouth shut. But deep inside he couldn’t bring himself to disagree—as odd as it seemed after what he’d accomplished, he had broken a major rule.

Down the line they went. Some thought he should be praised, some thought he should be punished. Or both. Thomas could barely listen anymore, anticipating the comments from the last two Keepers, Gally and Minho. The latter hadn’t said a word since Thomas had entered the room; he just sat there, drooped in his chair, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week.

Gally went first. “I think I’ve made my opinions pretty clear already.”

Great, Thomas thought. Then just keep your mouth shut.

“Good that,” Newt said with yet another roll of the eyes. “Go on, then, Minho.”

“No!” Gally yelled, making a couple of Keepers jump in their seats. “I still wanna say something.”

“Then bloody say it,” Newt replied. It made Thomas feel a little better that the temporary Council Chair despised Gally almost as much as he did. Though Thomas wasn’t that afraid of him anymore, he still hated the guy’s guts.

“Just think about it,” Gally began. “This slinthead comes up in the Box, acting all confused and scared. A few days later, he’s running around the Maze with Grievers, acting like he owns the place.”

Thomas shrank into his chair, hoping that others hadn’t been thinking anything like that.

Gally continued his rant. “I think it was all an act. How could he have done what he did out there after just a few days? I ain’t buyin’ it.”

#MazeRunner

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