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randomshyperson · 3 years

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Wanda Maximoff/Reader - Land of Thieves - #ChapterEight

GIF is not mine.

Summary: When you were a child, you swore that no matter how high the reward in your head, she could always count on you. Life as an outlaw in the west is not easy, but you believe that train robberies are still easier than asking a pretty girl to dance. Land of Thieves, also know as your love story with Wanda Maximoff in the Wild West.

AO3> Land of Thieves

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit violence, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, cursing, blood. Chapters Warnings: Slightly smut, panic attacks.

Words: +40K (i can’t do math sorry)

tags: @mionemymind

Something changed in your dynamic with Wanda. There was a tension, a longing. It made you hot and uncomfortable, hyper aware of her presence everywhere.

Even now, doing an activity as mundane as washing the dishes, while you caught a glimpse of Wanda sitting on a bench, cleaning her weapons with a rag, you tried to keep your attention on the chores, but your gaze returned to the woman a few feet in front of you, who didn't even look at you.

You wanted her to touch you again. And you couldn't stop thinking about it. But Wanda didn't seem willing to ease your suffering. She was torturing you, you realized. Maybe it was revenge, or maybe she just wasn't ready yet. Either way, she had you in her hand like a lost puppy, following her around the camp wherever she went.

Deciding that you needed to reclaim a minimal amount of control over yourself, you finished your chores, and headed toward Steve's tent, readily accepting whatever out-of-camp duties he had for you. Steve was surprised at your excitement to leave, but said nothing. He just explained that he needed a letter to be delivered to Stephen, who was no longer in camp. You offered to take the letter to the doctor all the way to town, and decided that you would buy yourself a new horse while you were in Saint Denis.

On the way back to your tent, you waved hello to Bruce, who was sitting by the campfire, cleaning his boots. He looked peaceful, and you expected him to talk to Nat about the two of them. He smiled and turned his attention back to the activity.

You took a jacket, and put on your holster, and your hat. You also remembered to take the little money you had saved from the last service.

Walking out of your tent toward the horses, you stroked the mane of your temporary mount. He was obedient enough, but you would sell him to add in the money needed for a new horse. It was strange to replace Knight, but it was unavoidable.

- Where are you going? - Wanda's voice sounded behind you, curious. You were slightly startled, and tried not to show your nervousness at seeing her.

- Saint Denis. I'm delivering a letter to Stephen, and I need a new horse.

- Oh, great. I'm going to Rhodes. We can ride together halfway.

Feeling your heart racing, you did your best not to sound too excited.

- Sure thing, Wanda. - You gave her a gentle smile, but she just looked at you with a glint in her eye that made your legs tremble.

- Good. - She said, walking toward her horse. You nodded slightly, and mounted yours.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you rode side by side in silence. It's been many minutes since you left the camp, and you are starting to get a little too anxious, so I decided to make conversation.

- So... what are you going to do in Rhodes?

Wanda looks calm as she rides alongside you, and she keeps looking forward.

- Steve told me to help Carol with the two families in town. - She says - As I understand it, she needs someone to infiltrate the Braithwaite mansion while she focuses on the other family, the Grays.

You nod with a grumble showing that you heard what she said.

- Be careful. - You ask, and Wanda smiles mischievously.

- I will.

You are silent again, and Wanda starts humming softly. You ride for a few more minutes when she speaks again.

- When I finish my work here, I'll meet you in Saint Denis. - She says, and you ignore the uncompensated beating of her heart.

- All right. - You say simply.

And then you arrive at the entrance of Rhodes. Wanda stops her horse right next to yours, and leans in to give you a lingering kiss on the mouth. You sigh at the contact, but she pulls away when you begin to properly respond. She smiles, and waves, riding away.

You shake your head, trying not to look like a complete mess, and turn your horse toward the road, riding all the way to Saint Denis.

Stephen seems happy. And you quickly find out why when his wife comes home while you are on the porch talking. Christine must be about five months pregnant, and you blink your eyes wide when you notice. She smiles, kisses you on the cheek and tells you how much you have grown, and then goes into the living room to put away the groceries.

- God, Doctor, three kids! - You exclaim with excitement, turning to Stephen, who laughs, leaning on the balcony ledge.

- I know, I know. - He says. - It was a surprise really. A good one, but still a surprise.

- And how are the girls? - you ask, leaning your elbow on the edge, looking at Stephen.

- Exceptionally mischievous. - He answers with a smile. - Much the same as you used to be, actually.

You laugh, turning to look at the city. You and Stephen are silent for a moment before he speaks again, now in a more serious tone.

- Did Steve tell you what the letter was about? - he asks without looking at you. You watch an elderly couple in the street below walk across the alley.

- No, he just told me to bring it to you.

Stephen lets out a sigh, you wonder why he is being so mysterious about this.

- He wants to go back to New Austin. - he says, and you frown, turning your head to him in surprise. - He wants me to get a big enough scam to get you all back there.

You bite your lips, thinking about it.

- Why can't we stay here? - you ask.

- This region is becoming civilized very quickly. - He explains. - The government is determined to put an end to outlaws in this place. Especially here in Saint Denis. The rich are moving here after all, and they don't like cowboys.

- From the look on your face, you already have a scam for us. - You say after a moment, and Stephen gives a sideways smile.

- Actually, you've already found my tip. - He says finally turning to you. - I heard about the two feudal families in Rhodes. They are sunk in gold in that place. - He explains and you raise your eyebrows in surprise. - The Braithwaites supply nearly all the liquor in this town. And the Grays own nearly all the businesses in Rhodes.

- This also means that they are dangerous. - You counter, and Stephen lets out a chuckle, but nods.

- Of course they are. - He says. - That much gold will not go unprotected.

- Do you have any idea how we are going to steal them?

Stephen sighs, running his hand through his hair to pull it back, and then leans back on the ledge with his arms.

- I haven't really thought about it yet. - he confesses. - But it will have something to do with their Moonshine, I'm sure. You will all be able to infiltrate the farms if you use the transport wagons.

- I see. - You say. - Write everything you know to Steve, maybe he can think of something too. - You are silent for a moment before you speak again - By the way, any chance of you participating in this job?

The man laughs lightly, denying with his head.

- I don't have anything in New Austin. - he says. - My whole life is here in the south. I can't risk leaving Christine alone to take care of everything. She needs me here, and I want to stay.

You nod in agreement. You don't understand the feeling that settles in your chest when you imagine what it would be like to have something like this.

- Come have some tea while I write my letter. - He invites you with a smile, and you accompany him into his house.

You keep Stephen's letter in the saddlebag of your saddle, not wanting to crumple the paper in your jacket pocket. You hug Stephen goodbye, and tell him to write whenever he can. You end up not meeting his daughters, because they don't come home from church until the time you left, but you tell Stephen to give them a kiss for you.

Riding towards the stable, you dismount your horse as you enter the establishment, while the owner of the place walks up to you looking excited.

- Oh, hello young lady! - He greets you. - How can I help you today?

- I need a new horse. - You tell the man as you hand the reins to the other stable employee.

- Oh, great. - He says and walks over to your horse, looking at it as if he were evaluating it. - Do you want to keep this one with us, or are you going to sell it?

- Sell. - You say.

- And the documents?

- No documents. - You reply, if the man made any judgment with that information, he did not show it.

- Of course this will affect the value. - He comments. - But I'll take it, yes. Come with me, I'll show you the horses we have.

You walk toward the horses stored in the stables. There are not many, but the breeds look good.

- We have Arabian horses, thoroughbreds, and appaloosas. - Comments the man signaling to the horses in front of him. - Oh, and we also have the big one there, a Missouri.

You nod, and walk toward the horses. They are all lovely, and seem obedient. You need one that is not so easily startled by gunfire, but you don't tell the seller that.

He waits patiently beside you, whistling as you look at the horses. You let out a sigh, making your decision.

- How much for Missouri? - you ask, looking at the salesman. He smiles excitedly.

- This little beauty is yours for $250.

You whistle.

- That is expensive.

The man lets out a weak laugh.

- Yes, yes. But it's a pure breed. - He argues without sounding aggressive. You can imagine how hard it is to keep a stable running in a town like this. - This breed is strong and lives a long life. It is also tame and loyal.

- That's fine. - You interrupt with a smile. - You can deduct the value of my horse from the price.

As you leave the stable, riding your new mare, you stroke her fur as you ride toward the saloon. You haven't thought of a name for your mount yet, you try to repeat names of famous figures along the way to choose one.

It doesn't take long to reach the place, and many curious glances land on you.

You tie your horse to the palanquin in front of the place, and walk inside.

It is crowded and noisy and everyone dresses very nicely there. You don't know when Wanda will finish the job, so you decide to play a bit of poker while you wait.

You walk over to the card table and no one seems to mind if you join the game. The dealer smiles at you when you pay your entrance fee.

Many rounds later, you have probably left the table with less money than you arrived with, although you have won a few rounds.

You walk toward the bar, and as you sip your beer, a man leans on the counter beside you, a glass of booze in his hand.

- Greetings, stranger. - He says and you raise your eyebrow suspiciously, without looking at him.

- Can I help you, friend? - you ask snidely, hoping he will leave you alone. The man straightens his posture, turning his body toward you.

- Just a friendly chat. - He replies with irony, taking a sip of his drink while facing you.

- Go have a conversation with someone else then. - You grumble as you turn to him, a mock expression on your face. But then he makes an angry expression, and puts his drinking glass down on the counter.

- Let's cut straight to business then. - He says. - You stole my money.

- I beg your pardon?

- The carriage you stole in Rhodes. - He hits back. - That job was mine.

You let out a dry laugh.

- What do you want me to say? I'm sorry you're not a good thief?

The man then let out a laugh, completely losing his aggressive posture.

- Damn, I'm messing with you. - He says. - Actually, I gave up on that carriage. And you should know why.

You are slightly surprised by the insinuation, but you relax your body, leaning your back and elbow on the counter, while keeping your voice low to prevent snoopers from hearing you.

- Who gave you the carriage tip? - You ask the man, and he smiles and rests his body on the counter beside you.

- It wasn't the same guy as you, you can be sure of that. - He answers in a teasing tone. You smile, waiting for him to continue. - My contact warned me about the carriage, but I declined the service. - He tells you, and bites his lips thoughtfully for a moment. - I didn't imagine that anyone else would accept.

You shrugged.

- There is always more than one person wanting to steal the same things. - You retort, making me laugh slightly. - But why all the secrecy? Just tell me what you want.

The man laughs again, finding your impatience amusing. He takes a sip of his drink, looking serious again.

- I found out the origin of the carriage. - He explains - But I don't have a gang. And I need company.

You laugh, frowning, and then turn to him.

- Just tell me what you mean.

- You see this object hanging below my holster? - he asks, and your gaze immediately drops downward. - It is a talisman from the people of Wakanda.

- The natives?

He nods in agreement, and you look away from the small embroidered circle strapped to his holster.

- I think everybody knows them as the Panthers now. - He remarks with a light humor in his voice.

- What does this have to do with the carriage?

The man laughs.

- I'm getting there. - He jokes before turning back to a serious expression. - The American government has gone to great lengths to wipe out the natives of the region. The Wapiti people have been practically isolated in the north of the country. - He comments with a slight irritation in his voice. - And the Wakanda, well, they barely survived with oil exploration. And then, when the war happened, they recovered. They're all over the country now. - He pauses to steal some of your beer, and you cast him an incredulous look, but say nothing. - But then, the government is civilizing this area now. And they don't want to share the land with anyone else. The wagon you stole was carrying the pay of a group of soldiers, camped north of here.

- I imagine they were not happy not to be paid. - You comment, and the man laughs lightly.

- Oh yes, that's for sure. - He says. - What bothers me is what they are doing in the north. I just found out that the army is assigning soldiers to destroy the indigenous reservations. - He states and you frown - They vandalize sacred areas and shrines, and steal the horses to prevent hunting, which consequently leads to starvation.

- This is horrible. - You say, and the man shrugs his shoulders in agreement. And then you fall silent for a moment, while you ponder what exactly he wanted. You bite your lips, before speaking again. - Look, I'm sorry about the whole situation with the Wapiti and the Wakanda people. But I don't understand how all this is my problem.

The man let out a wry smile, but didn't look at you. Then he finished the beer.

- Interesting last name you have. - He remarked. - Interesting origin.

You frowned, finally understanding.

- Don't you dare talk about my family. - You strike back in a threatening tone. It takes a moment before he speaks again.

- Your people need your help.

You let out a wry laugh.

- I don't have a people. - You hit back aggressively.

- Your great-grandmother was Wakanda, and your grandfather was Wapiti, you will always be part of that people, even if you decide to walk around pretending you're not.

Clenching your fists and locking your jaw in anger, you turn to the counter again, ignoring the urge you have to punch the man. You concentrate on your breathing, to calm yourself, while you can't ignore the fact that he was right.

- I'll let you think about it. - said the man, tapping you lightly on the shoulder. - By the way, my name is Erik Killmonger. Look for me when you change your mind. - He says before dropping a few dollars on the counter and walking out.

You sink your face into your hands for a second, letting out a dissatisfied grumble. It's been so long since you thought about your parents.

You didn't remember your childhood so well. But the more you thought about it, the clearer the few memories became. You think you lived on a ranch, you remember horses and sheep. And then you have this memory of your father showing you how to make a bow. You remember dream catchers in your house, and you swallow dry.

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you think Erik has returned, and turn around with a serious expression. But it is Wanda who is beside you, she smiles, and you feel your body relax immediately.

- Hi - You greet her as you look at her. She looks beautiful, her hair hanging loose over her shoulders.

- You seem tense. - She says leaning her elbow on the counter while looking at you.

- My past is haunting me. - You playfully shrug. Wanda frowns with confusion, and when you explain it to her, she looks quite surprised.

- You never told me about your parents. - She comments tenderly. You shake your shoulders uncomfortably.

- It's a delicate topic, I think. - You confess. - It makes me sad.

Wanda held your hand gently, stroking the top of it with her finger. You smile for the touch.

- I guess... I just didn't expect it. - You say. - I didn't expect that anything related to my family would come back to me.

- You want to help them, don't you? - Wanda deduces, looking at you fondly. You smile and nod in agreement.

- But that can wait. - you say after a moment. - I'd like to spend some time with you now.

Wanda seems slightly surprised by the change of subject, and a little shy at the invitation, but she smiles at you.

- Where would you like to go? - she asks, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you think.

- We could just walk around town. - You answer. - Watch the sunset, then go to the theater.

Wanda laughs slightly at the charming smile you flash her, and then she nods.

You walk out of the saloon, Wanda's arm wrapped around yours. Your steps are slow, both of you wanting the walk to last as long as possible.

You chat softly about various subjects, mostly reminiscing about your childhood memories, like when you tried to tame Bucky's horse and he knocked you down like a bull, or when you and Wanda got a scolding from Potts when you arrived at the camp covered in mud.

Wanda's laughter made your stomach turn with nervousness, and you couldn't remember exactly when you fell in love with her. Part of you thinks it's always been this way, ever since she arrived in the gang with a grumpy face and worn boots, and an accent she'd lost over the years, you fell for her. Hard, fast, and immediately.

As the afternoon falls, you head for the theater. You are a little embarrassed when the box-office clerk asks you if you were a fan of the actors, and you tell him that you didn't really know the play, and he gives you an incredulous look. But Wanda smiles at you, and you just buy your tickets quickly.

You sit in the back, and you think you have paid attention to two minutes of the entire play. Wanda was laughing about the show next to you, and you held your breath as you watched her. She was breathtaking.

You didn't even hide that you were staring, although you felt your cheeks heat up when she turned her face to you, but Wanda smiled and matched the intensity of your gaze. The theater was dark, but you could still see her green orbs in the low light.

- It's not polite to stare. - She teases you by looking straight ahead again. You smile, and then lean toward her.

- I can't help it. - You whisper in her ear. - You're beautiful. - Wanda sighs, but doesn't look away from the stage. You step back, a shy smile on your face, and then you hold your breath when you feel her hand on your thigh.

- What are you doing? - You ask breathlessly as you feel her caress your thigh in a down-and-up motion. Wanda looks around, and then turns her face to you.

- You will be quiet for me won't you? - She asks with tenderness and malice in her voice. You feel your heart race. Wanda begins to unbuckle your belt slowly, and you look around. You are in the last row, hidden by the darkness of the theater. At least two rows are empty beside you and in front of you, and the play has just begun with a music number, and you would not be heard. Yet you shivered in anticipation.

- Wanda, for heaven's sake. - You said, but she just kept unbuttoning your pants. And then she brought your faces together and kissed you hard. Your tongue met hers at the same moment she slipped her hand into your pants, and you let out a hoarse moan against her, feeling your body tremble.

Wanda stroked your pussy with one finger superficially, making you gasp against her mouth. She smiled against the kiss, pleased with the way your body responded to her. And then she parted your mouths to deposit slow, wet kisses against your chin and down your neck, as her finger caressed you. You closed your eyes tightly, overwhelmed by the sensations.

Then Wanda penetrated your pussy, and you had to bite her shoulder to keep from screaming. As she began to move in and out of you, you whimpered as your whole body shook.

- Be quiet. - Wanda whispered in your ear tenderly, but it was hard to obey when she stimulated your clitoris with her thumb.

- Wanda, I'm goin' to... - You started to say, but your voice faltered. Your eyes rolled back in their sockets as she hit a particular spot. You were doing your best to control the spasms in your body, not wanting to make so much noise.

- I know, darling. - Said Wanda as she brought your foreheads together, and then she whispered against your mouth - Come for me.

You moaned against her mouth, and she only had to push into you once or twice more before you fell apart in her fingers. As you tried to normalize your breathing, Wanda removed her fingers from you, and lifted them to her own mouth, tasting you. You sighed at the image, and moved in, kissing her hard.

But then she parted your mouths, smiling innocently as she zipped up your pants and buckled your belt.

You were about to say something, but then the theater lights came on. The play was over. It took you a few seconds to get up, your wobbly legs not helping you keep your balance.

Wanda held your arm again as you left the theater, and you invited her to come back to the saloon, and rent a room, and Wanda bit her lips as she nodded in agreement.

However, as you passed in front of one of the many alleys leading to the saloon, you heard a noise. Wanda heard it too, and you exchanged a look as you turned your heads to get a better look. It was hard to see in the darkness of the street, but then someone was thrown forward, falling to the floor of the alley. You both let out a startled exclamation, taking a step back. But then you recognized that it was the same man from the bar.

- Fuck. - You grumbled as you released yourself from Wanda, rushing into the alley and hitting the assailant with a hard punch to the face.

You helped Erik sit up next, and grimaced at his bloodied face. He looked too injured to fight, and was leaning against the wall trying to breathe normally. And then the assailant was back, a silver knife in his left hand.

It was difficult to fight in an alley, but you dodged the man's attempts to stab you and then hit him in the face again. And when he bent over in pain, you disarmed him, throwing the knife away. The man let out an angry yell and jumped at you, knocking you to the ground by your waist. You let out a grunt of pain at the impact, and were about to raise your arms to protect your face from the punch he was preparing to throw, but then he was hit with a kick to the face.

He fell to the floor unconscious, and you looked up to see Wanda with a deadly glare in the attacker's direction. But then her expression softened, and she helped you up, a small smile on her lips.

- You're losing your touch, my love. - She teased you, causing you to roll your eyes humorously. You hurried to check on Erik, kneeling beside him.

- Hey, buddy. - You say, raising your hand toward his face, looking at his wounds. It's nothing serious, he must have been hit many times and it bewildered him. - You're going to have one hell of a scar.

He laughed breathlessly, and then coughed. And then you noticed that he had a hand on his chest. You frowned, as you lowered his hand to see what it was. An open wound was bleeding from his chest, you hurried to apply pressure.

- Oh, shit. - You exclaimed, trying to stop the bleeding. But you knew it was deep enough to have hit his lung.

- We're going to lose this war, girl. - He told you weakly.

- Who did this to you? Who are these people? - you asked.

Erik coughed up blood this time.

- Please. - he asks, reaching into his jacket pocket with his arm. He hands you a piece of paper. - Help them escape.

And then he closes his eyes, and his head drops down. You blink several times, trying to understand that he is dead. Your last connection to your family has been broken. Wanda removes your trembling hands from his bloody chest, and raises her hands to your face, making you look at her.

- We can't stay here. - She says in a serious tone, but her eyes are gentle. - We have to go now.

You nod, still in shock. Wanda drags you into the alley, and you go around the block. You say nothing, and she doesn't push.

As you get back on your horses, you hear the whistles of the city guards in the distance, signaling that they have found Erik.

You get on your horses, and ride toward the camp.

You think you are dying. One minute you're riding in silence beside Wanda, and the next, your vision is blurred, and you feel a pressure in your chest. You think you can't breathe, so you dismount, crouching down as you put your hands on your knees, reaching for air. All you can see is Erik's bloody chest and then the graves of your parents. You think you start to cry, but you're not quite sure.

And then, Wanda's hands are on you, and she hugs you tight, asking you to breathe. She brings you back to reality with gentle words and soft touches.

- I'm sorry. - You manage to mumble against her hair. Wanda shakes her head in denial, and says you don't have to apologize for anything.

She hugs you for several minutes, until you can breathe normally. When you look at her, she wipes the tears from your face.

Wanda attaches the reins of your horse to hers, and you ride Lily along with her. You hug her, laying your head on her back as she rides back to camp.

Despite the softness, and Wanda's low singing, you avoid falling asleep so that you don't fall off the horse.

When you arrive, you are feeling exhausted. And you tell Wanda that you need to talk to Steve and Bucky, but she insists that you should sleep, and drags you into your tent. And then she leaves, and doesn't come back until minutes later with a bucket of water. You are startled when you notice the dried blood on your own hands, but Wanda touches your face, calming you as she helps you clean yourself up.

When she is finished, she helps you off with your boots and jacket, only now you realize how sore you were from the fight. She gives you a kiss on the forehead as you lie down, but you don't let go of her hand.

- Wanda. Stay. - You whisper to her. You don't mind that the bed is tight.

Wanda removes her boots and you open your arms for her to lie on top of you. The pressure of her body on yours keeps you anchored, and you tighten your arms against her before falling asleep.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wandaxreader #wanda x you #wandaxyou #Land of Thieves #marvel imagines #red dead redemption au

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sheerfreesia007 · 3 years

Text

Roadside Assistance

Title: Roadside Assistance

Fandom: Kingsman

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x OFC

Author: @sheerfreesia007

Words: 2,028

Warnings: None

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell, @linkpk88, @weirdowithnobeardo

Author Notes: I blame this little fic on Sparkles, after she got a flat while driving. I told her to imagine Whiskey coming to her aide with the tire trying to cheer her up. Low and behold we now have a fic. Ugh now I’m thinking of other scenarios for Whiskey, expect more cute scenarios between these two.

The loud thumping of rubber on asphalt made you curse as you tried to correct your line of driving with the steering wheel. Easing on the brake you slowed your car down and steered it over to the shoulder of the semi busy highway you had been traveling on. Managing to pull your car over far enough on the shoulder you finally stopped and put it in park. Sighing loudly you let your head fall forward as you still gripped the steering wheel in your hands.

Shaking your head softly you blew out a harsh breath and then opened your door to step out of the car. Cars, trucks, and semi-trucks sped past you on the highway making debri fly up around you causing you to lift your arm to shield your face. Looking down to the tires on your car you thanked your lucky stars that the blown tire was on the passenger side away from the fast paced traffic.

Walking around to the back of the car you popped the trunk open and leaned inside to grab the spare tire and pull it out. Letting it bounce slightly on the ground once it touched you rolled it to the side and let it fall in the tall grass at the side of the road. Leaning back into your car you pulled out the car jack and other tools you would need to fix your wheel.

Placing the jack and tools next to the front passenger wheel that was now flat, with what looked like a large puncture hole in the top of it, you stood back to your full height and began walking towards the spare tire that you had left in the grass. You slowed your step as you noticed a sleek black heavily tinted Aston Martin slow and pulled over to the shoulder not far from your parked disabled car. Feeling the hairs on the back of your neck rise, you subtly reached into the trunk of your car and pulled out a spare hand ratchet holding it to your side as you watched the driver’s door open on the probably more expensive than your mortgage vehicle.

You watched slightly stunned as a real life bonafide cowboy climbed out of the low vehicle. He was a tall man with dark brown hair with a gray cowboy hat sitting atop, a red and white plaid button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a large gold belt buckle with some ‘s’ emblem that you didn’t recognize, a pair of well worn blue jeans, and soft looking cowboy boots on his feet. To say he was the exact opposite of what you expected to climb out of that vehicle was an understatement and you stood there for a moment stunned.

“Everything alright there, miss?” he called out concernedly over the loud traffic not far from the two of you. You gripped onto the hand ratchet tighter as he stepped closer to you and nodded towards your car. “Do ya need help?” he asked as he stopped a few feet from you. You watched as his eyes darted down to the hand ratchet in your hand and he smiled softly before holding his hands up in faux surrender. “I come in peace, honest. Just saw you blow yer tire and wanted to make sure you were alright.” he tried to ease you.

“I’m alright, I can change it myself.” you reassured him loud enough to be heard over the flow of traffic.

“Ya sure? I don’t mind!” he called out as he gestured to the tire. “Ya can even keep your ratchet while I change it for ya.” he offered and you grimaced softly. You knew it’d probably be quicker for him to change it for you since you’d only done it once before on your own. And not to mention you were running late for your first day at your new job as it was. Nodding your head you moved to the side so that he could change the tire for you.

“I need to make a phone call and let my new boss know that I’m going to be late.” you said as you held up one finger to the cowboy. He nodded as he picked up the spare tire and began rolling it towards the passenger side.

“No worries sweetheart. I’ll start changing the tire while you make the call.” he said easily and you turned to face him while raising your cellphone to your ear. You still didn’t fully trust him so you kept yourself facing him so that you could watch as you pressed the contact number for Mrs. Brew, your new manager.

“Good Morning Statesman distillery this is Mrs. Brew!” came the cheery greeting over the phone.

“Good Morning Mrs. Brew I just wanted to call and let you know that I would be running late. My car got a flat tire while I was on the highway.” you explained regretfully feeling stressed and anxious that this would be a mark against you at your new job.

“Oh no! Are you alright? Do you need us to call a tow truck for ya?” came the worried response from your manager. You were surprised by how kind she was as your eyes focused on the cowboy fixing your tire, it was a far cry from the harsh cold treatment you had grown used to in the city.

“No, there’s a nice cowboy changing my tire for me. He stopped when he saw it blow out on me. Do you mind staying on the line with me until he’s done. I don’t trust him and don’t want to-” you began to explain unsure if she’d stay on the line with you.

“Of course! Smart thinking by the way. You never know with people these days, anyone could mean to do harm.” she said easily and you smiled at knowing she understood you. “By the way what does he look like? And what does he drive?” she asked curiously. You shifted on your feet as you watched the cowboy pull the last lug nut off your bad tire and take the wheel off the car.

“He’s driving a heavy tinted black Aston Martin. He’s tall, brown hair, mustache, unsure about the eye color, red and white plaid button up, blue jeans, a large gold belt buckle with an ‘s’ on it.” you relayed to her easily as your eyes danced over the man knelt down next to your car. You watched silently as he easily changed your tire as if it was no effort for him at all.

“Oh good description. Is he almost done with the tire dear?” asked Mrs. Brew on the line. Just as she finished asking her question the cowboy cheered loudly after tightening the last lug nut on the spare tire.

“Yes he just finished.” you replied amused at his actions. Mrs. Brew laughed softly in your ear as she heard him in the background.

“Sounds like it.” Mrs. Brew said softly and fondly. “I’ll stay on the phone with you until you get back in your car ok?” she reassured you and you hummed softly in response as the cowboy walked up to you holding the blown out tire. You quickly moved to your trunk once more and let the cowboy set the tire in there for you.

“Thank you very much for helping me. I really appreciate it. It’d probably take me much longer to change it.” you said in thanks to him as you walked behind him and went to grab the tools and the jack to put back in the trunk.

“No worries sweetheart! I can now tell work that I already got my workout this morning.” he said with a wink sent your way which made your breath catch in your throat. “Are you alright to get to work now?” he asked concerned and you nodded your head at him after placing the jack in the trunk and he moved forward to grab the tools from you to help set them in the trunk for you.

“Yeah I think I should be good. Thank you again.” you said to him with a pleasant but still distant tone. You smiled softly at him trying to be kind but still not trusting him. You couldn’t help it, after growing up in the city you knew that you had to take care of yourself and there were some out there that wanted to hurt anyone they deemed lower than themselves. There was always going to be a slight sense of paranoia in you because of where you had grown up. You liked to think that it made you smart and cautious. “Anyway, thank you again. I really appreciate it.” you said and waved at him as you began walking to the driver’s side door.

“Don’t forget to get a new tire. If you work in this area you can go to Dixon’s Repair Shop and tell them Jack Daniels sent you, they’ll give you a good discount.” the cowboy said and you turned to him with a furrowed brow.

“Your name is Jack Daniels? As in the whiskey?” you asked confused as you set a hand on the side of your car. The cowboy looked down at the ground as he scuffed his boot against the asphalt and nodded his head before looking up to you. “Huh, well it was a pleasure Jack Daniels. I hope you have a good day.” you said with a soft tilt to your lips and turned back to open your driver’s side door. Slipping into your car you breathed out softly and shook your head at the notion that the man shared a namesake with the whiskey company.

“You alright sweetheart?” came Mrs. Brew’s voice in your ear and you jolted, having forgotten that she was still on the line.

“Yes! I’m so sorry. I’m back in my car now. I'll be in to work shortly.” you said quickly as you buckled yourself in the seat and started the car.

“Get here safely I’ll see you when you get here.” Mrs. Brew answered and you easily hung up the phone as a loud car horn beeps at you and you waved at the Aston Martin as it pulled back into the flow of traffic. You turned your phone onto the map app that you used and plugged in the address to the distillery that you would be working at from now on. Seeing that you were only ten minutes away you sighed gratefully and pulled back into traffic following the route as your mind turned back to the kind cowboy who had fixed your tire for you this morning. Maybe you’d take his word and find Dixon’s Repair Shop and get a new tire. Smiling softly you shook your head setting the cowboy out of your head as you traveled to your new job.

*-*-*-*

“Brew to Whiskey, ya copy?” came the sweet sounding voice of someone Jack knew very well. Smiling at the radio in the car he tapped the console and brought up the secured line she had started.

“Whiskey here.” he responded easily and waited for her to relay her message.

“Did you just fix a young woman’s tire on the highway?” came her question and Jack furrowed his eyebrows at the console wondering how that woman knew what he had just done. His mind easily flashes back to the pretty cautious woman standing on the side of the highway gripping a ratchet tightly in her hand for protection. He grinned softly at her memory in amusement.

“How’d ya know that?” he asked in a gravelly drawl.

“I have my ways. You’ll be seeing more of her soon enough so be nice.” Mrs. Brew warned him and Jack scoffed softly.

“I’m always nice.” he snipped out and she laughed amused over the line before the line went dead. Jack shook his head as he focused on his route to work before smiling brightly at the thought that he’d get to see the wary woman again. She’d certainly brighten up his day and make things interesting now.

#my writing #agent whiskey x ofc #agent whiskey #kingsman the golden circle

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter sixteen: the three droogs

“There was me, that is Alex, and my three droogs, that is Pete, Georgie, and Dim, and we sat in the Korova Milkbar trying to make up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening.” (one of many clockwork orange references)

“Isn't it fantastic?”

Belinda held up a sheet of pearly white stained glass about the size of a foot long sandwich from the shelf on the side of the room, and by the mere look on her face, Sam could see she was eager to make something out of it. The swirled milky grains shone in the overhead lights; Sam thought about the man in her dreams, and also of Alex, all by the very sight of it.

Class hadn't started yet and Marla hadn't showed up for art history earlier that morning but Belinda was eager to share some of what she had worked with over the summer term. As white as the little sliver in Alex's hair. As clean and crisp as the cool night of upstate New York.

Sam rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She sort of forgot what Alex's voice sounded like: she only knew it was so far removed from his face and little boy body. Belinda set the glass against the edge of the table and then leaned it onto the surface. She then ran her hand over the top of the glass.

“I love this opaque glass,” Belinda told her. “Back in June, I tried to convince Miss Estes to make a window comprised of nothing but this type of opaque glass.”

“And did you?” asked Sam.

“Nah, she was like 'it's too expensive, though!' But it's weird because I've been trying to make my window since August, and yet it's just on my own time, terms, and money. It just makes sense for me to do it. But she talked me out of it, though.” Belinda shrugged and returned her attention to the glass under her hand.

“Can I touch it?” Sam asked her.

“Touch it? Yeah! Besides, it's just us here.” Sam reached across the table and brushed her fingers against the edge of the glass. Indeed, it had such a rough texture and it made her think of the ridges on a piece of vinyl. Even with the glass upon the surface of the table, she couldn't hardly stop thinking about Alex and the little sliver in his hair, or the man in her dreams. She flashed back on what Cliff had said about his own hair and the little black streak on the side.

She thought of Cliff. She needed to see him again, given she only got to see him for the first day of school, but she knew they were in the studio at that point. All the way over in the impending darkness of Denmark. All he gave her prior to their leaving California was a phone call and a blow of a kiss.

“I don't know why,” she confessed to Belinda, “but when I look at this glass, I think of—this boy I met over the summer.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows and gave her blonde hair a slight toss back from her shoulder with a flick of her head.

“Yeah, well—it's actually two boys, to be honest.”

“Oh, wow. My goodness.”

“They're both musicians—guitar players, actually. One's a bassist, the other is a straight up guitarist.”

Belinda rounded the side of the table so she could come closer to her. She folded her arms over the cold metal surface and brought her face closer to hers: Sam could smell the floral perfume on the side of her neck and her hair. She dropped her gaze to the serpent around her neck as it glimmered under the overhead shop lights.

“Care to share?” she asked her in a low voice.

“It's just us here,” Sam pointed out.

“Indeed, it is. We might not even have class today for all we know.” She shrugged her blonde hair brushed against her shoulders.

“Okay. Promise not to say anything to Marla?”

“Why not?”

“I just don't really wanna talk about it to her.”

“Hm, twisted. But—yeah, I'll keep it between us.”

“Okay. The bassist is Cliff, the guitarist is Alex.” She stopped herself when Alex's name slipped out. She never really met him, but at the same time, she and Belinda were still new to one another. She could keep it under lock and key with a fresh new canvas and yet she also had a means of sharing it with someone.

“Tell me about Alex. Start with Mr. Guitarist first.”

“Well, he's—really handsome. He's already going gray, though.”

“Older guy!” she declared.

“No. Young guy. Young boy who's already going gray.”

“Oh, my.” Belinda knitted her eyebrows together. “Young boy?”

“Yeah, he's—he's still in high school.”

“Does he like you back?”

“I dunno, to be honest,” Sam confessed.

“You should ask him,” she suggested. “Does he live in New York?”

“Out West.”

“Oh my god! Sounds like a pen pal type of thing. You should write to him and tell him via letter.”

“I could pick out some nice stationary and make it smell good,” Sam quipped. “Like spritz down the paper a little bit with some of my perfume.”

“Yes, yes!” Belinda's face lit up at the sound of that. “Make it sexy and sweet, too.” She flashed her a wink.

“Lead him into it nice and good. Or—you know—when I get to see him, I can lead him into it.” Belinda's eyes twinkled at the sound of that.

“What about the bassist now?”

“He's a classical cowboy,” Sam started.

“Classical? Like—with the moccasins and the spurs on his boots?”

“Nah, that's just what I call him. He learned classical music first, and then country music. Classical cowboy.”

“Wow. That's gotta be some good pickin' with his fingers.” Belinda winked at her a second time, to which Sam scoffed and rolled her eyes at that.

“It's just friendly between us,” she assured Belinda. “I also have another guy looking at me right now, too. I dunno 'bout that one.”

“You gotta have some conversation,” Belinda told her. “Even I can tell you that—” She lifted her gaze to the stairwell on the side of the room. “—and there's Marla.”

Sam looked over at Marla, who stood on the middle part of the stairs.

“Hey,” Sam called to her.

“Hey,” Marla retorted back to her.

“I'm gonna assume—just by the look on your face,” Belinda started, “class is cancelled today.”

“Yeah,” Marla replied with a nod of her head, and she turned her attention to Sam again. “You got any more classes today?”

“Just my writing class. It's way later today, though.”

“Okay. 'Cause Charlie's here—he offered to take us to lunch.” She nodded at Belinda. “Would you like to come along, Bel?”

“Oh, yes please. I got nothing else, so I might as well.” Belinda picked up the sheet of pearly white glass and carried it back to the shelf.

“He'll take us to the rehearsal spot given it's right nearby and then we'll get some pho or something. Aurora's there.”

“Aurora Borealis,” Sam declared as she picked up her things; Belinda doubled back and fetched her purse from the back of the chair. The two of them sauntered up the stairs and they followed Marla back outside. Even though it was nearly October, New York City still basked with lingering summer warmth and the sun still high in the sky; the three of them put their sunglasses on over their faces in unison.

Charlie had posted up at the curb, not too far from the front door. He had tied his thick dark curls back behind his head to accentuate the roundness of his face; the dark rims of his sunglasses shone under the midday sun.

The three girls congregated next to him: Sam lifted her gaze over to the trees across the street, and the leaves, which began to turn from that bright summer green and into a rich shade of orange. Some of them had already fallen off with the incoming autumn. She thought of that man, Dave, and the rift he had between James and Lars, and she wondered how he was doing back out West himself.

“So are we gonna walk or—?” Belinda asked him.

“We might as well,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Our spot is right up the street here. Aurora got something already.”

“Oh, goodie!” Marla proclaimed as she gave Charlie a kiss on the side of his neck as part of her hello to him.

The four of them strode up the sidewalk, towards the corner: indeed, Sam made sight of their rehearsal spot up the street. She adjusted the frame of her sunglasses before they crossed the hot blacktop and made their way up there. A slight breeze fluttered through her dark hair and it in turn sent a shiver down her spine. Autumn was upon them: a few dried leaves tumbled into the storm drain next to them, and she thought of little cups of hot chocolate and s'mores comprised around a fireplace.

Aurora stood on the doorstep with her hands stuffed into her black jeans pockets and her face pointed up to the sky. The midday sun shone upon her sunglasses and so bright that they could see her even from the street corner. Her jet black hair glistened as though it was soaking wet.

“Aurora Borealis!” Charlie called out and his voice echoed across the street. She lowered her gaze into their direction and she waved at them. Sam spotted a few bright purple bracelets on her wrist.

“You guys are just in time!” Aurora said once they came within earshot. “There's a bunch of pizza in here that needs to be eaten.”

“Oh, boy,” Sam remarked as she ran her fingers through her hair. Zelda poked her head out from behind Aurora: Sam almost didn't recognize her given she had combed her black hair back and soaked it wet for herself. “Oh, hey, Zelda!”

“Peek a boo,” she greeted them.

“Got the whole gang here, don't we?” Charlie declared.

“Indeed!” said Aurora, and she brought her attention to Marla and Belinda.

“Aurora, this is my friend Belinda,” the former introduced her. “She's a bit of a rocker chick herself.”

“The more, the merrier!” Aurora declared with her arms outstretched. “C'mon in.”

“Yeah, c'mon in, gang!” Frank called out from inside the building. The four girls filed inside after Zelda, only to be greeted by a bit of cool air from a fan on the window sill as well as the warm aroma of pizza, and Charlie shut the door behind him. Frank had set up a table and, indeed, a dozen boxes of pizza stood in a couple of columns on the surface: meanwhile, he had brushed his lush hair back from his face.

“Ladies first,” Frank beckoned them with a gesture to the stack of paper plates. The five girls were quick to serve themselves up plates of pizza and then Charlie and Frank themselves followed right behind them.

“Danny—Lilker—and I think Billy are both gonna be here soon,” Charlie told them. “And then I think Scott, other Dan—”

“Spitz,” Sam blurted out as she took two slices of pepperoni pizza for herself: she noticed a bit of mozzarella cheese in the crust.

“Mr. Spitz!” said Marla; she plopped down next to Frank.

“The amazing Danny Spitz,” Charlie continued as he took his seat next to her with his plate upon his lap. “Scott, Dan, and Joey are gonna be here like—any minute.”

“The dudes from Legacy aren't here, though,” Zelda told them.

“Legacy,” Belinda muttered.

“Our pals Legacy,” Charlie stated, and he crossed his legs and kept his pizza close to his body. And then his face lit up. “Oh! There's gonna be another guy here—a friend of mine.” He turned to his right. “I think I told you about him, Marla. Big John.”

“Oh, yeah, I think you mentioned him last week,” she recalled; Sam and Aurora took their seats across from them.

“I hope he'll be here because he's really cool—” He turned his attention to Zelda, who hovered in between Sam and Aurora. “—and he's a drummer.”

“Oh, cool!”

Belinda stood next to her and Marla turned her head a bit to see them right behind them.

“Have a seat, girls,” Frank encouraged Zelda and Belinda.

“I've been sitting for a long time,” the former told him.

“And I've been standing all day long,” said the latter, “I'm kinda used to it at this point.” Sam turned her head for a look back at her, just in time for a view at her pulsating her fingers.

“Holding glass and tools and stuff all morning long,” Belinda muttered, and her face lit up. “Hold Alex and Cliff on either side of you.”

Charlie gagged on his pizza and Zelda burst out laughing. Frank gaped at Sam and Marla and Aurora both raised their eyebrows at that.

“Belinda!” Sam snapped as she turned around a little bit in her seat so she could face her straight on.

“I'm so sorry—that just slipped out,” she said with a wave of her free hand.

“You told me you'd keep it a secret!”

“Sam, you haven't even met Alex,” Marla pointed out, horrified.

“Well, you should talk to him when you get the chance,” Belinda encouraged her. “Get to know him.”

“But he's sixteen, though,” Sam insisted.

“Seventeen,” Aurora corrected her. “His birthday was yesterday.”

“Wait.” Sam frowned at that. “What's the date today?”

“The thirtieth. Alex's birthday is the twenty ninth.”

“Aw, happy belated, Alex,” said Belinda as she raised up her cup of coffee. “Little Libra boy.”

“That's probably why he's so graceful with a guitar,” Marla suggested.

“Probably graceful with a few other things, too,” Frank joked, and that brought a laugh out of Marla and Charlie. Sam rolled her eyes and ducked out of the room with her plate of pizza in hand, furious. She bowed out of the building and back out to the street. If she could take the subway back to her place, she would do it. Just get away from all of them for a while.

But she had her writing class later on that day, thus instead, she stood at the curb and brought a hand to her face. She need not be seen by the people of New York City that she was about to burst into tears.

“Sam?” Belinda called out the door.

“Get away from me,” Sam barked at her. “No—get the hell away from me!” She stepped down into the dry storm drain. She was about to take a seat on the curb and eat her lunch alone.

“Sam, I'm sorry—okay? I didn't mean to do that! It just—it just came out of me.”

Sam whirled around so Belinda could see the tears in her eyes. Indeed, she saw tears in Belinda's eyes. She let her shoulders relax and she held her paper plate close to her chest.

“Why did you do that?” Sam demanded in a hushed voice. “Especially when you said you'd keep it a secret.”

“I told you,” Belinda insisted as she brushed away a tear, “it just came out of me. I thought it would make for a nice little joke. I'm such an idiot, I'm sorry.”

“It kind of was a joke, too,” Sam told her. “But it wasn't very good, though.”

“Well—do you like him, though?” Belinda persisted with a sniffle.

“Like him like him?” Sam raised an eyebrow, to which Belinda slowly nodded her head. “Belinda, he's still a teenager, though. He's a senior in high school. I'm twenty.”

“You know—my first crush was a dude in high school,” she told her as Sam strode on closer to her.

“And how old were you?”

“I was in middle school.” Belinda fetched up a sigh and slipped her fingers into her jeans pockets. “He was a sophomore in high school.”

“Yeah, but you guys were both around the same age, though,” Sam pointed out.

“You guys are around the same age, too,” Belinda said. “You're twenty and he's seventeen.”

“And how old were you?” Sam asked her.

“I was thirteen and he was sixteen.”

“Younger than us.”

“Younger than you. So do you like him?”

“I dunno,” Sam confessed.

“You dunno? What do you mean you dunno?”

“I just don't. Besides, I already have a bit of a crush on Cliff right now.”

“On Cliff! I've often thought about wanting to befriend him.”

“You should,” Sam told her with a wag of her finger. “Cliff is such a sweet heart.” Belinda brought her finger tips to her lips and Sam noticed some tears rested upon her eyelashes. She opened her arms for her: she only knew Belinda for a couple of weeks but she needed that, even if it was only with one arm. Sam held her plate of pizza right behind her blonde head.

“You know who else is a sweet heart?” she began with her face lowered down towards her ear.

“Who?” Belinda asked in a muffled voice.

“You are.”

She sniffled again and then she lifted her head from Sam's chest.

“By the way, I was just joking with Alex,” she assured Belinda, even though she had nothing else to fill in for herself. “Really, if anyone in here asks, it was just a little joke between us. It's nothing serious.”

And then Belinda nodded and showed her a little smile at that; the serpent around her neck glimmered with the light on the street.

“And promise me something,” Sam started again with her face close to hers. “Like—pinky promise me—” She stuck out her free pinky finger for her to hook up. “—that you won't tell anyone about this.”

Belinda linked fingers with her.

“Pinky promise.”

Sam leaned in to her face.

“I want to draw Joey in the full nude,” she whispered to her. Belinda raised her eyebrows at that.

“Really? Does—he know?”

“I've mentioned it before but I don't think he realized I was serious about it. I have my journal in my purse, though, if you'd like to see some sketches I made. But—I don't really want to share them with you just yet.”

“Why's that—” And then she stopped right in her tracks. “—oh, right.”

“Maybe when we get a moment, I'll show you.” Sam then held the plate before her. “But anyway, let's go back inside and clear the air in there.”

They walked inside in unison, and Sam kept her gaze fixated on Marla and the baffled expression on her face.

“We were just joking around,” Sam assured her as she returned to her spot.

“I had a feeling that was the case,” said Marla with a nod of her head. “She did that with me right before Charlie and I got together.”

“Except it was with me,” Frank recalled before he took a bite of pizza.

“Bel's just got this sense of humor,” Marla continued. “You mention a guy in your periphery and she'll wanna make jokes about it.”

“Did she cry when you didn't react to it well?” Sam asked her.

“I don't think she did,” she answered as she brought her slice of pizza up to her lips. “I think we just laughed about it because we both knew we were joking.”

Sam then turned around for a look back at Belinda, who stood right next to Zelda; she flashed her a wink before she took a bite of her pizza. Indeed, she never actually properly met Alex before, but her own thoughts began to catch up with her. But on the other hand, she never met him before. As far as she knew, he didn't know she existed.

And yet, she had Cliff and Joey by her sides. She needed not a third boy before her. She had to come closer to Cliff first, and there was no way she could forget about Joey, either. Two guys on either side of her. Add to this, she had Frank and Charlie before her as her good friends.

Alex lingered in the back of her mind, much like the mysterious man in her dreams. But then she recalled what Marla had said about those sort of dreams. Everything was coming together fine for her.

With nothing more, she took a bite of pizza, which was still warm even after she went outside.

“It's all coming together for us,” Frank proclaimed, and he brought his glass up to his lips.

“Another month and we're going nuts with the new record,” Charlie added.

“Coming and nuts?” Zelda cracked.

“Coming and nuts, exactly!” Charlie said with a straight face.

“All these veggies are about as fresh as that,” Aurora declared with a mouthful of bell peppers, and Sam couldn't help but laugh at that.

#might seem like filler but i assure you it's not the case #fanfic #fanfiction #anthrax fanfic #anthrax #chapter 16 #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #deadly nightshade #frank bello #charlie benante #oc tag #ocs #breather episode #also on ao3 #slow burn #writing #text

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ben-the-hyena · 3 years

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Peter and Penelope for the ships questions please!

Oh I wasn't expecting that ask haha ! I suppose you mean reboot Peter and reboot Penelope who have wholesome potential and whom I ship, since you must know I find OG Peter and OG Penelope toxic and am glad the reboot implies they never got together !

Gives nose/forehead kisses:

Peter gives more forehead kisses since Penelope is shorter, and Penelope nose kisses on her tiptoes or when he is lower since we see she likes to boop him

Gets jealous the most:

Peter. We do see how he is about Gulliver when Penelope fangirls about him, or that Aquaman parody hitting on her even if this time she was not interested. Penelope can be jealous of his car like we see in Stud Buggy though...

Takes care of on sick days:

Both, both are very caring and determined to help their loved ones. Penelope is maternal and Peter takes health seriously (he fucking drives witj a thermometer up his ass to check if he's good I can't)

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day:

No need, they either both jump in or both just tab depending of the days and if they want to have fun or relax

Brings the other lunch at work:

None since they work in the same place, they either go to the cafeteria or bring scraps from what they had at home the day before

Tries to start role-playing in bed:

Peter as we see likes costumes as well as acting (less than Dick but he did try to have a Hollywood career at some point) if it puts his perfection into the limelight, so sex roleplays are a thing he always wanted to try with scenarii where he is either the handsome star being admired, the handsome hero or even when he feels like it the beauty in distress, he would timidly ask Penelope the first time

Embarrassingly drunk dancer:

I bet none of them are gracious when drunk but maybe Penelope would start doing some Southern dance moves if she were to find a pair of cowboy boots. Less good as usual though

Firmly believes in couples costumes:

Again, Peter since he sees the occasion everytime to put himself in the limelight with different kinds of styles. Penelope is more or less thrilled but won't spoil his fun

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas:

Peter, not because he is greedy but because as we see he tends to give too much to charity and finds himself changeless afterward

Makes the other eat breakfast:

They alternate though Penelope cooks better and I see their married relationship similar to Homer and Marge's if Homer was more wholesome, more caring and not selfish and if Marge had a career and was more assertive and energetic, and Marge is the one to cook so I tend to mentally picture Penelope in her place even if they must alternate being supportive to each other

Remembers anniversaries:

Penelope, Peter is air-headed in general

Brings up having kids first:

Penelope, as soon as they get together she immediatly thinks of that, having always wanted to be a mother one day, and brings it up some time after her nephew is born. Peter is initially surprised but he too kind of saw himself as a dad one day so being one with the woman he loves very quickly warms up to him. It would take them nearly a decade and even a miscarriage though having fertility problems. Fortunately, some help of Bella and some magical potion he himself used for having his eldest despite his hormone treatment (since I HC he's trans) had them have Piper and Parker, even if later than they could have wanted ; hence the notable age difference between them and WRF Dick

Kills the bugs:

If it crawls, Penelope just puts it outside, Peter too busing cowering in disgust. If it flies and pesters them, HASTA LA VISTA HAPPY CHARMING AND CARING ATTITUDE AND COWABUNGA IT IS FROM BOTH OF THEM

First to define them as a couple:

I admit I didn't imagine really. I suppose right after they had their first kiss they botv eagerly conclude it makes them lovers now and they happily go announce it to the other racers the next time they see them, holding hands. GEEEZ, nobody saw it coming *sarcasm* but still encourage except Dick who roll their eyes

Who hides their guilty pleasures longer:

Penelope even if Peter won't ever shame her and even if she is free and independant tends to fear to show she likes uncute/typically masculine things due to years of her mother's misogyny and determination to make her a mini her, so whenever she likes something that doesn't fit her usual aesthetic she tends to hide it

Snorts while laughing:

None of them

#moi #ask #anon #wacky races #love is here #i ship it !#penelope pitstop #peter perfect

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that70sbitchsstuff · 3 years

Text

Is it just me or does anyone want to see a crossover between That 70s Show and the ranch. Like honestly I REALLY shkp Jackie and Rooster, I mean how can I not they would make the cutest couple. Imagine this, after season 8 Jackie breaks up with Fez, gets the hell out of point place and goes on a road trip to find something better, something new. Along the way she realised that she's basically broke and finds a small town named garrison. She arrives there at 6am and finds a bar named Maggie's with a help wanted sign, she goes in, walks up to the lady behind the bar and says... "Hey, look I'm just going to be blunt and say I'm normally not caught dead in places like these, but I'm really desperate and need a job and the sign outside says you need my help, so is there a manager I can talk to or something"Jackie said in a somewhat rushed and desperate voice.

The lady looks somewhat offended but also a little amused by Jackie's desperate tone, she didn't look like someone who was strapped for cash, in fact she look really young around 19 or 20. She had, her raven hair curled perfectly,her make-up done to a tee and she was certainly dressed to impress, in nee length leather boots, blue jeans tucked underneath and a clearly expensive red off the shoulder, only slightly baggy sweater and all of this to accommodated by a very pretty face with doll like features, she had big mismatched eyes one brown,one blue, full pouty lips, high cheeks bones but you could see that the girl was hurting underneath her innocent eyes. So the woman looked her up and down, raised her eyebrow, smirked and said....

"What in the hell makes you think ANYONE is gonna hire you with that attitude. Also do you even have the qualifications to work at a bar." The lady said in a thick southern accent. She looked to be in her late 50s or early 60s, her brown hair was short and curly and she had brown eyes and thin lips. She had on a pair of black Jean's, a denim shirt jacket and lilac tee-shrit that hung loosely around her body. In all honesty she looked a little bit like a hippie but she also didn't look like the type to take shit from anyone.

" Oh please" Jackie said offended, as she thought who wouldn't want to hire her."Firstly it's a bar, what 'qualifications' could I possibly need to-

"ok I'm gonna stop you right there" The woman said interrupting Jackie." I think we've been gotten a bit off track here and I'm on the verge of kicking your ass out of here. So I would like to know your name before I do that." She said very falsely sweet voice.

Jackie was taken aback, she was always so used to the 'customer is always right' motto. When she worked in the salon, the motto was practically engraved in to her mind. Her mother had also taught her to expect no less from employees or any kind of staff for that matter because their "basically our servants Jackie, we just dont have to pay them" her mother always said, to say that warped her young mind on how to treat people equally would be a understatement.

Her eyes widened a bit as she stammered out her reply, still a little caught off guard by the woman's bluntness" O-oh umm I'm Jackie, Jackie Burkhart" Jackie said confidently" And I'm sorry if I came on a little strong there, i just haven't gotten the hang of this 'job thing' yet. So what's your name." Jackie asked curiously.

The woman eyed Jackie curiously before giving her an answer.

"Maggie Bennett, and I am the owner of this bar".

After this exchange the two women quickly became acquainted with each other but cant help but be a little stand-offish. Jackie had learned that Maggie has been the owner of the bar for over 20 year which blow blew her mind but also that she was going through some martial issues and had two grown sons. Maggie had found out that Jackie was on something of a self discovery journey (something that Maggie envied) because of troubles back home. She had also learned that Jackie came from money and didn't have alot of job experience. This had helped Maggie in her decision in wether or not to hire Jackie but finally came to a conclusion......

"well kid your only 21, have had just three short job experiences and are pretty clueless when it comes to any manual labour other than fixing a car surprisingly." Maggie said in a toneless voice, which only made Jackie even more nervous. She knew she wasn't that experience but what she lack for in that she gained in determination.

Jackie looked at Maggie visibly worried now, even though she tried to calm her self down, she was afraid that Maggie was going to laugh her out of the building.

"Well...... you've got the job!" Maggie exclaimed happily but before she could anything else out, she had an arm full of Jackie Burkhart squealing happily and hugging the life out of her.

"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!" Jackie squealed gleefully and surprisingly she was really(excuse the language) fucking excited about this job. Because to her this will be her first job out in the real world, and yes you could argue that the cheese palace, the salon and working for that god awful woman who's name shall not be spoken (purely because I forget it), as real jobs but Jackie didn't because they were in that small town, that small town that took everything she loved, that small town that had been suffocating up until she left...she fucking hated that small town.

So she was excited about this new opportunity, this new chance to make something of her self to use her experience out in the rea-" wait, I have very little experience in these types of things, you even said it yourself self! why are you even hiring me". Jackie said curiously and a little self consciously, that was something was new to her.

"Well a number of reasons first one would probably be because you know how to make some pretty complicated drinks" That's right, Jackie remember telling her that she knew how to make alot of different drinks, not only from years of watching her own mother make 'special smoothies' but also from watching Mrs Forman make all different drinks." And well..... I'm low on staff and as long as you promise to not drink any of the alcohol, you can work here." Maggie said a little sheepish.

"Oh ok, well then I promise not to disappoint you and you dont have to worry about me drinking on the job, I'm more of a smoker than a drinker" Jackie said reassuringly"So when do I start."

"Right now" Maggie said "But its only 8AM dont bars usually open at like 6 or 7" Jackie asked confusingly.

"Oh honey not in this town, alcohol is kinda the only thing they have" Maggie said in a tone that was meant to sound jokingly, but something told Jackie that she was serious.

So for the next few hours Jackie worked as a bartender. She met all kinds of different people including some of the regulars. But it wasn't until 6PM when Jackie met the rest of the Bennett family.

Jackie had looked up from her place at the bar and saw three men walk in. The first one being an old man who looked to be in his 70s he full head of white hair and a white moustache, a khaki green button-up shirt and a pair of blue jeans with muddy boots. He had remained her of Mr Forman on account of him having a natural scowl on his face. The second man was tall and build, his face was very sculpted with refined features such as a builded jaw line, he had brown hair and a backwards red cap on, a blue and red check shirt with a grey shirt underneath, black jeans and a pair of muddy uggs that he could NOT pull off. He remained her of Kelso due to the goofy look on his face and the build of his body. The third man had her doing a double take, he looked so much like steven it was almost if he was right there. He had a full head of curly hair (although alot more tame than Stevens) and a bushy beard with squirted blue eyes, he had a light brown leather jacket with a red shirt on, navy blue jeans , with a pair of muddy cowboy boots? Seriously did these men not have any sense of fashion.

"Seriously I cant even shut a truck door right" the second man said flabbergasted. "I'm sure you could why you choose not to is beyond me" the first man replied patronisingly.

Judging by the tone of the conversation Jackie could only assume they were having a fight and honestly the old man reminded her so much of Red Forman that she was waiting for a 'Dumbass' or a 'foot up the ass' comment. Also both men had thick southern accent to them, like Maggie so she assumed they were from around here.

That was when the steven look alike spoke up." Hey, I'm gonna hit the bar. But in case you guys run out of things to fight about.." He paused as if he were about to reveal something important."Colt's Jean's cost 85 bucks" He said as he took his leave. His voice sounded almost like Steven's just older and had a southern accent to it.

As Jackie seen him approaching the bar she turned around and pretended to not have been ease dropping on their conversation.

I will post an update here and on fanfiction.net, hoped everyone liked it.

#that 70s show #jackie burkhart #the range

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ahtohallan-calling · 4 years

Text

chapter 2 of don’t read the last page is here!

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

Anna sat back far sooner than she wanted to; she could have gone on kissing him like this for hours, but that was a capital B capital I Bad Idea. And so she pulled regretfully away with the dainty little laugh she'd perfected in undergrad, not in acting classes but backstage when the guys playing opposite her sometimes got the wrong idea.

"But it feels so real when I'm up there with you," they'd plead, and she'd do the little laugh and say "God, I should hope so, considering how expensive tuition is here. Good to hear my investment is paying off.”

Kristoff didn't seem as thrown off by the laugh as the others had been; he just leaned back a little and raised his eyebrows. She'd forgotten how he had a funny way of looking at a person that made you want to just open right up and spill it all out.

But she wasn't quite sure what she wanted to spill right now, and so she went the opposite direction, closing off even further. "Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way, we can stop wondering about the past and focus on the here and now. Specifically, whether you want that last spring roll or not."

There was a wounded look in the depths of his dark eyes. Good; better now than later. He gave her a familiar crooked smile anyway. "You already ate the other two."

"So you're saying you want it?"

"I'm saying I always liked egg rolls better, but I knew these used to be your favorite, so that's why I got them."

For a moment she wavered, caught between what she wanted and what she knew she should do, but his eyes stayed steady on hers all the same, still that faint hurt hiding in them. It would be awfully easy to fall in love with those eyes.

She moved away, scooting to sit beside him again where he leaned up against the couch. “So,” she said, reaching for the last spring roll and taking a messy bite, “still up to help me run lines?”

Kristoff nodded. “‘Course. Can’t say I’ll be up to par, though, I haven’t acted since our American Lit days.”

“Oh my god, I forgot you were John Proctor! ‘You’re tearing down heaven and raising up a whore’-- and everyone freaked out because they thought Mr. Martin would be pissed you didn’t leave out the cuss word but he was just like…”

She waved her hands emphatically, trying to come up with the right word. “Like...you know. You remember. He thought it was awesome, is what I mean.”

“Honestly, I don’t. I was so embarrassed I was just trying not to pass out.”

She remembered that, the way he’d turned scarlet all the way to the tips of his ears, and she wanted to kiss him again, at least on the cheek to see if she could make him blush like that again, but instead she popped the rest of the spring roll into her mouth and wiped her hands on her jeans and said around a mouthful of cabbage, “Okay, let me get this script.”

Her bag was kicked halfway under the table; she yanked it out, sending loose papers and pens rolling everywhere. “Ah-- shit, sorry.”

He scooped up the pens and handed them to her in a neat bundle while she shuffled through the papers. “God, you’d think they’d do me a favor one of these days and staple these things...anyway, okay, here’s the right order.”

Anna patted the edges neatly into place and presented the script to him. “Don’t let me peek at it, even if I beg. Oh-- and don’t tell anyone about it, either, because I don’t remember or not if I had to sign an NDA or not this time around, and I’d rather not risk it.”

He took the stack of papers with a raised eyebrow. “Okay. So who am I playing?”

“I’m a princess of some country they made up in Europe, and you’re the American journalist trying to kickstart his career assigned to cover me at the start of my...debutante something or other. Basically, I’m supposed to get married off to a prince or something, but then you come along and run into me by mistake outside the palace, and you’re super funny and down-to-earth and it’s this forbidden romance and blah blah blah, at the end I pick you but because for some reason it’s a Christmas movie I still keep the crown, too, and then you kiss me under the mistletoe and voila, roll credits. Oh, and you’re supposed to be from Georgia, so try and do that accent if you can.”

He screwed up his face, trying to-- well, honestly she didn’t know what he was doing. “Y’all--”

“Oh, god, please stop,” she said, putting a hand over his mouth with a dramatic shudder. His breath was warm against her palm as he chuckled. He was making it really hard to do the right thing, which was especially disconcerting considering he wasn’t even trying.

She fought the urge to stroke her thumb gently against his jaw and instead pulled her hand away. “Just read it like your normal self.”

“Do you want me to try and like...act?”

“Um...if you want to, yeah. Mainly I’m worried about memorizing this. But that’d probably help, so...go for it. Unless it’s weird, in which case--”

“You don’t look like you’re from around here,” he said, and it took her a beat to realize he was reading.

She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, slipping into the posh British accent they always wanted you to do for these parts even when the movie was set somewhere vaguely north of Switzerland. “Neither do you.”

“What gave it away? The accent or the cowboy boots?”

Kristoff glanced up from the script, looking vaguely nauseated. “Are people really going to watch this?”

“Tragically, yes, because it’s another Netflix thing, and it’ll get all hyped up whether it really deserves it or not.”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “This is why I stick to my DVD player.”

“You do not.”

He just raised an eyebrow, and she gasped. “Kristoff Bjorgman. You are not seriously telling me that in two thousand nineteen you still don’t have a Netflix subscription.”

“I think my roommate does.”

“Well, that basically counts as yours, then.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know, all the password-sharing and--”

She trailed off. By the look in his eyes, he actually didn’t know. “Well-- never mind. Say your line again so I can do mine.”

“What gave it away? The accent or the cowboy boots?”

“Neither.”

“Then what was it?”

She held the silence for a beat, staring deeply into his eyes, practicing her best you-mean-you-really-don’t-recognize-me face? He returned the gaze with an astonishingly good what-is-this-girl-up-to-and-why-am-I-already-into-her face, and either he’d gotten much better at acting in the last few years, or she really shouldn’t have kissed him even that one time, because there was no way that for either of them it would mean--

“Nothing,” she breathed, the line suddenly jolting its way out of her mouth. “I’m just good at reading people.”

They went back and forth through the script, and to her surprise, he didn’t give in even once when she begged him to let her peek at the lines, even when she tried to bribe him with the last dumpling. “No, Anna, you know this,” he’d said calmly, and then suddenly she had, and they’d gone right along.

The dialogue was still edging dangerously close to falling straight off a cliff into too-cringy-for-Hallmark territory, but somehow when she was reading it with him, it seemed almost-- almost-- plausible.

Except for that bit about the cowboy boots. That was unforgivable.

She took a sip of Pepsi and flopped back against the sofa, glad she didn’t have to keep looking at him anymore. Not that there was a problem with the view; it was a nice one, if she was being honest, maybe even a very nice one, but that little bit of sadness still hadn’t melted entirely away, and she knew she wouldn’t forgive herself for putting it there for a long time.

It’s for the best, she reminded herself fiercely. You know you’re a mess. Don’t need to drag him into it just for old times’ sake.

Beside her, Kristoff let out a yawn. “Oh, shit, sorry--” she said, suddenly scrambling upright, “didn’t mean to keep you up late or--”

“No, no, you’re good, it‘s only eight. I just was working a double today, got up earlier than normal.”

She bit her lip. He hadn’t made mention of that when he’d volunteered to let her come over and read lines. “I-- well. Thanks, Kristoff, so much. For your help and for letting me hang out here for a while. Let me help you clean up and then I’ll head out.”

She hopped to her feet, already collecting discarded chopsticks and napkins, trying to ignore the frown on Kristoff’s face. “Seriously, Kris, you’re a lifesaver. The audition is tomorrow, and I did my best to prepare but honestly, I just had to do a stupid radio interview about the tampon commercial so I could get an easy paycheck because I owe my sister way too much money right now so that’s what I was worried about yesterday and then before that, I was looking at other auditions online too because I feel like my agent just has to be hiding some from me but then hey it was today and the audition’s tomorrow and so I was screwed if I didn’t get help and--”

“Anna.”

She froze.

He got to his feet slowly; she let her eyes trail up his broad frame, taking in every inch of him. Had he hit another growth spurt in college?

He held out his hand, and for an absurd moment she thought he meant for her to take it, but then he plucked some of the garbage out of her grasp and led her towards the kitchen, pressing the garbage can open with his foot. “I know it’s been a while,” he said, his voice soft but somehow insistent, “but we’re still friends. I’m happy to help you however I can.”

Anna swallowed hard and forced herself to look away at the decidedly less attractive sight of a half-eaten fortune cookie tumbling into the garbage. “Well-- thanks.”

He nodded, and now that her hands were empty it was so tempting to just grab him by the collar and pull him down into another kiss, reality be damned. So she was a complete mess and he had his life together and she was terrible at relationships and he was probably, like, amazing-- what could it hurt, one more kiss?

But she’d only just run into him again, and she shouldn’t have lost contact with him in the first place, and she really didn’t want to lose him again. You only get so many friends willing to share their apple slices with you every day even though apples are their favorite and you take more than your fair share of the peanut butter, she thought morosely. Can’t just waste someone like that.

She brushed past him and swept the script into her bag, tugging it back on over her shoulders and turning to him with a practiced smile. He hadn’t moved; just let his gaze follow her. “Well, guess I’d better be getting home, then.”

“Need a ride?”

Shit-- she’d forgotten he’d driven her over here right after he’d gotten off work, and the metro line she needed had no stops near here, so it’d be at least an hour getting home, and she didn’t really have money for a taxi but if she got in a car with him again, there would definitely be more kissing, and she just really, really couldn’t do that to him.

“I’m good, thanks! I’ll just get an Uber or something.”

He nodded. “Night, then. Good catching up with you.”

“You, too. Thanks again.”

Her heart was pounding as she slipped out the door. She found herself waiting for some idiotic reason to hear the deadbolt click shut and his footsteps walk away until they faded into silence. God, this was pathetic, even for her. She’d always been awful about jumping into things head first, especially when it came to men, and that had never once actually worked out for her. Which was how she’d ended up majoring in theatre and not even doing any education classes alongside it, and moving into her sister’s place just because it was in LA even though she couldn’t afford her share of the rent, and dating a string of guys who were too into pop-up shops or vaping or Soundcloud rap or whatever the big thing was at the moment, and now, apparently, kissing her high school best friend who definitely deserved better than whatever she was right now.

She made her way down the stairs, dialing her sister’s number already. She picked up on the second ring, just like always.

“Anna? Hey, what is it?”

“Can you pick me up?”

“What’s wrong?”

That was what did her in. She found a bush by the sidewalk and crouched down behind it, feeling the tears already start to stream down her face. “Can you-- can you just come pick me up, please?”

One of the perks of having a big sister who actually had her shit together was free pickup and dropoff service all around the city, though unlike an Uber, the rides didn’t come with no questions asked.

“What are you doing all the way over here?” Elsa asked as Anna clambered into the car, still sniffling pitifully. “I thought you were just going to go study your lines at that coffee shop and then go to the grocery.”

“I was, but then I, um…I ran into Kristoff.”

Elsa frowned. “Should I know who that-- oh my god, Kristoff from high school? The one that you had a crush on for like…”

“Years, I know,” Anna said balefully. “God, I probably still have notebooks in storage full of Mrs. Bjorgman signatures.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’s a barista.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

She laughed a little at that, and some of the tension went out of Elsa’s shoulders. “Okay, fair. But he’s in vet school, too.”

“Oh, wow, impressive.”

“I know. Just imagine me trying to go back home for a visit now, they’ll all ask questions about you two and I’ll be like ‘oh, Elsa’s this super successful SLP and Kristoff’s gonna be a vet’ and then they’ll ask what I’m up to and I’ll have to say ‘doing cartwheels in a commercial where they taped some string to my shorts so it looks like my tampon’s hanging out because that’s supposed to be cute and quirky’ and then they’ll say ‘oh my god I think I saw a GIF of that’ and then I’ll have to go dig myself a hole and die in it.”

Elsa just rolled her eyes. She was used to these dramatic tirades. “Anna, you’re twenty-four. You’re not supposed to have your shit together yet.”

“You did.”

“I let you think I did,” her sister said in that infuriating older-and-wiser voice she’d perfected way back in middle school. “I’m serious, you’ll be okay. And whatever happened with Kristoff--”

“God, don’t say his name, please, or I’ll just get all worked up again, and I’ve already gotten mascara everywhere.”

Elsa sighed. “Okay, fine, we’ll save that part of this discussion for when we’re home with pints of Ben and Jerry’s. But just...I want you to know that you’re okay, Anna. More than okay. And you’re going to knock it out of the park with this audition tomorrow. I mean it.”

Anna looked away, rolling down the window and sticking her hand out so she could feel the wind smacking against it, turning her wrist so it could hiss between her fingers. Movies made it seem so much easier to have these moments with someone, to open up and cry it out and get an easy resolution. But this was her life, whether she liked it or not, and she had to put up with it anyhow. “Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

#sorry first of all for this chapter but also for neglecting my other fics and the prompt still in my inbox but i got started writing on the #tram and i couldn't stop so here ya go #drtlp #my fics

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calpalirwin · 4 years

Text

B.U.B

Summary: What’s better than your best girl and best mate getting along? Well, nothing really. If you knew the rumors were false, that is.

A/N: You’ve heard of enemies to lovers. You’ve heard of fake-dating to real dating. Might I introduce a new trope called hostility turned platonic friendship turned stand-in boyfriend? Aka my brain child with @here-for-the-uproars

Content: Swearing, general tom-foolery. Fighting!

DISCLAIMER: NOT A poly!Cashton or poly!5sos fic!!!!

Need to catch up?

Part 1

And away, and away we go!

Part 2

Ashton let out a chuckle when he pulled into Luke’s driveway and found Calum’s Range Rover already parked. Seemed like his friend had had the same idea to prepare the blue eyed blonde for his date with Sam. Ashton would be damned if Sam came home pissed off because Luke didn’t listen to reason. “Bro, we told you sunflowers!” Calum’s voice was telling Luke when Ashton walked in and found them in Luke’s bedroom.

“But roses can be our thing,” Luke protested.

Ashton sighed. Sam would cry if Luke gave her roses. Her night would be ruined before it even started.

“Ash!” Calum smiled gratefully at the other man. “He’s seriously going to give her roses.”

“Roses are romantic! What’s wrong with roses?!” Luke laughed in his confusion.

“Everything!” Calum shouted.

“Ash, tell Cal he’s being crazy. Girls love roses,” Luke said, blue eyes pleading with Ashton to give him validation that the blonde knew how to woo a girl.

“Luke, mate, if you give Sam roses she will burst into tears,” Ashton said simply.

“Because she’ll be so happy because she loves roses?” Luke asked hopefully.

Ashton shook his head. “Sam hates roses. Reminds her of her grandparents.”

“Why would she hate something that reminds her of her grandparents?” Luke asked.

“Because they practically raised her and died when she was in high school. Roses are the bad memories. Sunflowers are the good ones.”

“Well, fuck,” Luke said, frowning. “Think I got time to get sunflowers then?”

“Are you going dressed like that?” Ashton asked, pointing at the other man’s attire.

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” Luke asked, crossing his arms.

“Your boots, Luke. Sam hates glitter. Says it gets everywhere.”

Luke shot daggers at Calum. “But Cal said!”

Calum laughed.

It was Ashton’s turn to cross his arms. “Did you really tell him to wear those boots? Are you trying to ruin this for Sam?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Calum continued to laugh. “I said no to the roses.”

Ashton rolled his eyes. “Here,” he said, reaching down to tug off his own boots. “Switch with me.”

“What?” Luke asked, taking Ashton’s boots. “I have more boots.”

“Yeah, and I bet each pair is more glittery than the last, you fuckin’ eccentric cowboy. Now, put on the boots. Cal, go get him a new shirt while I call the florist to get a bouquet ready.”

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” Luke pouted, kicking off his boots.

“Too shiny,” both men told him. “Here, wear this instead,” Calum said, handing Luke a hanger with a pin-striped blue suit.

“So, now my pants are wrong, too?” Luke continued to pout but grabbed the change of clothes anyway.

“Shut up and change. Cal, grab him an extra jacket,” Ashton instructed before speaking into the phone. “Yes, hi. It’s Ash. Yep. Uh, five minutes? Awesome, thanks Bryce.”

“I’m gonna be too hot in this,” Luke said, now changed into the blue suit and Ashton’s boots, a leather jacket draped over his arm.

“It’s not for you,” Calum told him. “It’s for Sam.”

“I gotta get back before Sam realizes I left. Make sure he leaves in 5 minutes, Cal cuz he’s gotta pick up the new flowers and if he’s late…”

“Sam will kill him. I know,” Calum said, waving his hand at Ashton.

Fifteen minutes later, Luke was knocking on Ashton’s door, in his blue suit and Ashton’s boots, sunflowers in hand.

“So this is where your boots went?” Sam said, looking at Luke’s feet and up at Ashton, having wondered why her boyfriend was only in socks and knowing his boots anywhere.

Ashton shrugged and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “All of his are glittery. Have fun, baby.”

~~~

Paparazzi were hot on Luke and Sam’s trail when they emerged from the theatre, smiling. Luke because- after being cramped in the theatre seats- he was grateful to stretch his legs; Sam because she had enjoyed her evening out with her friend.

“Luke, where’s Sierra? Are you guys done? Sam, what about Ashton and Calum? Are you just making your way through the band? Can we expect to see you out with Mike next? What does Crystal think about that?”

Sam tensed at the accusations while Luke laughed. Sam had gotten used to the paps and their outlandish idea that the woman was actually dating both Ashton and Calum. But now she was a tramp working her way through the whole band? Because she went out with her friend? God, the world needed to get a fuckin’ grip. “Get me home, Luke,” Sam spoke in a low whisper, the words eating away at her. Is that what everyone really thought of her? She tried her hardest to let the words roll of her shoulders, but this particular attack was cutting her deep. Maybe if she wanted to be friends with the boys she needed to do it private. But, the very thought made her angry. She shouldn’t have to hide her friendships because the world couldn’t grasp the idea of a man and woman being friends.

“Relax, they’re just words,” Luke continued to laugh.

“At my expense. You being spotted with out with women wearing your coat makes you a player. It makes me a whore. Are you even listening to what they’re asking me?”

“Honestly, I tuned this stuff out long ago.”

Sam rolled her eyes, fighting back the tears. “They’re asking if I’m sleeping my way through the band and if Mike is next.”

It was Luke’s turn to tense up, any trace of laughter gone. “Fuckers,” he growled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Hold the jacket up to your face. Can you run?”

She shook her head. “I mean I can, but your legs are a lot longer than mine. I won’t be able to keep up.”

“You make the pace, I’ll match it. Just keep your head down and the jacket up. I got ya, sweetheart.”

Sam picked up her pace, the ground a blur as she moved next to Luke, trusting him to guide her in the right direction as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other as fast as possible. “Fuck off,” Luke growled at the paparazzi, slamming the car door shut on Sam’s side with more force than he meant to when she was safely inside. “You okay?” Luke asked, his voice soft and full of concern when he got in the driver’s seat.

Sam nodded her head, letting out a shaky breath. “I will be.”

“You wanna stop for ice cream? Or do you want me to just take you home to Ash?”

“The second one, please. There’s ice cream there.”

Luke nodded and carefully backed himself out onto the street. “I’m sorry I laughed. I didn’t realize it affected you this bad.”

She brushed him off with a wave of her hand. “Normally it’s not that bad. They got used to seeing me with Cal. But this? Fuck, I really should’ve thought about the implications better.”

“No,” Luke said sharply. “You can go out with whomever you want. Don’t ever let them make you feel bad, sweetheart. What do Ash and Cal say when this happens?”

Sam chuckled, a harsh but humorous sound. “They take turns holding each other back from knocking the paps on their asses. But, for the most part we just keep our heads down and walk fast.”

“Shit…” Luke muttered with a shake of his head. “You know we’re eventually gonna have to do a press tour just about you, sweetheart. Set the record straight. Maybe actually knock out a few people.”

Sam laughed with a little more life. “Please don’t hit anybody. Your management would flip.”

“I’m not gonna make that promise, because I feel like there’s a good chance I’ll break it. But, I’ll try.”

~~~

The front door of the house was already being pulled open before Luke had even put his car in park. “Baby, are you okay?” Ashton asked, worry on his face as he yanked the car door open.

“I’m fine, Fletch,” Sam said, pushing him out of the way so she could get out of the car. “They said nasty shit, but it’s nothing new.”

“No, they went too far this time,” Ashton said, his tone sharp, his eyes darkening.

“Fletch, please don’t. I just want some ice cream, and maybe a bath,” Sam said with a sigh.

Ashton’s eyebrows furrowed together, but he swallowed his rage, wrapping an arm around her. “C’mon, baby. Did you have fun with Luke at least?”

She nodded, holding out her hand for Luke to follow. “Yeah, we had fun. Missed you though.”

“How’d you enjoy being a bub, Lu?” Ashton laughed, the tension in his shoulders fading at Sam’s admittance of having fun. That’s all he cared about. As long as she had a good night, that’s all that mattered to him.

“Way harder than it looks,” Luke laughed.

“Aw, so you don’t wanna be my bub, sometimes?” Sam teased.

“Oh, I’ll do it,” Luke nodded eagerly. “Just say when and where, sweetheart.”

“Good, partner.”

“I call you sweetheart and I get partner?” Luke laughed.

Sam shrugged. “We find inspiration where we can, partner.”

“Consider yourself lucky. I’m still ‘Fletch’,” Ashton added.

~~~

“Wait, so when do I get a turn?” Mike asked Sam as she studied the chess board.

“Turn at what? Sam asked, moving her rook forward. “Check mate.”

Mike frowned, his green eyes wide as he looked at the board. “Fuck, that was fast.”

Sam leaned back and shrugged. “Wanna go again? Or answer my question?”

“Huh?” Mike asked, still taken aback that the chess match had lasted a whopping ten minutes.

“You want a turn at what?”

“Oh. Being a bub. Do I get a turn?”

“Will Crystal let you have a turn?” Sam asked, looking over at Mike’s fiancée.

“Only if I get a turn after,” Crystal laughed.

“Whoa, shouldn’t I get a turn first?” Sierra cut in.

“Am I ever gonna get my girlfriend back?” Ashton fake-pouted.

“Should’ve dated someone less loveable,” Sam laughed, getting up and crossing the room to him.

“And miss out on all this? Nah,” Ashton decided, kissing her deeply.

~~~

True to how Ashton had raced over to Luke’s before his first “date” with Sam, Ashton pulled in Mike’s driveway and found out that Calum had once again beat him to the punch.

He walked in as Calum was walking out, a grin on his face. “Leaving already?”

“Mike doesn’t need us. Fuckin’ nerd boy is more observant than he lets on.”

Ashton chuckled and walked back with Calum to the cars. “So, Sam will have fun?”

“Yeah, she’s in good hands. Should’ve fuckin’ figured, yeah? I mean, he is engaged.”

Ashton chuckled again and drove home to wait with Sam for Mike to knock on the door, sunflowers in hand.

He waited, phone in hand for tabloid notifications, like he did every time Sam went out. And they came. And then Mike and Sam breezed through the door, huge grins on their faces. “Enjoy the rest of your night, queen,” Mike winked at her, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. “See ya, Ash.”

“Get home safe, king,” Sam laughed, giving Mike a last hug before Mike was bounding back out to his car.

“King and queen, huh?” Ashton asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Chess reference,” Sam shrugged.

“Can I put in a request for a new nickname?”

Sam wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Nah, you’re Fletch.”

Ashton chuckled and then his typical question rolled off his lips. “Did you have fun with Mike, baby?”

Sam nodded, “Missed you though.”

“Well, c’mon. I’ll run you a bath.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “Ooo, can I request a reminder of who’s girlfriend I am, too?”

Ashton licked at his lips. “You can have whatever you want, baby.”

“I want you, Fletch.”

~~~

“If you don’t vote for Sam, I’ll kick both of your asses,” Ashton growled quietly at Luke and Mike as the three watched Calum and Sam busy in the kitchen.

Calum and Sam had been fighting constantly over who was the better cook and the gauntlet had figuratively been thrown down when Sam challenged Calum to a bake off for Duke’s birthday. Ashton knew Sam would be distraught for days if she lost, not that he believed she would lose. But he could ignore Calum pouting over the loss for a day or two. He couldn’t ignore Sam, though.

“That empathy hoodie is mine, bub,” Sam said with a glare.

“Not a chance, princess. Say hello to dog walking duty for the next month.”

“Honestly, either way this is a lose-lose for you, bub.”

“Ha,” Mike snickered. “Bub, how cute.”

“Yeah, bub. As in the original,” Calum snapped.

“Your pet names are trash,” Mike said with a smirk.

“If I had known there was a theme, I’d call her duchess!” Luke pouted.

“I’d prefer baroness, partner,” Sam told him.

“Partner! Cuz you’re a fuckin’ eccentric cowboy!” Mike laughed loudly.

“Still better than ‘Fletch’,” Luke continued to pout with a pointed glance at Ashton.

If it was possible, which is was, Mike laughed louder. “Fletch! You got middle named and it’s not even the whole thing! Ha!”

Ashton rolled his eyes. “She comes home with me at the end of the day, that’s all that matters. And at least she uses my name, partner.”

Mike was now doubled over as he fought for breath he was laughing so hard. “You fuckin’ cowboy!”

“Done!” Sam announced, throwing up her hands, and doing a little happy dance. In front of her were four cupcakes: 3 for the human judges, 1 for the dog judge.

“Finally!” Mike cheered. “The king wants his cupcakes.”

Calum rolled his eyes as both him and Sam gave the cupcakes to the men. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up and judge.”

Calum and Sam watched carefully as the men bit into the cupcakes. “Holy shit! It’s an Oreo!” Mike said around his mouthful of Sam’s cupcake. “Winner. Done.”

“Sam,” Ashton agreed, because of course he was going to pick Sam over Calum.

“Sam,” Luke nodded, because fuck Calum for being original bub over him.

Calum shot a glare at Sam. “You! You rigged this!”

“Did not!” Sam shouted, hands going to her hips.

“Bullshit! You sleep with one of the judges!”

“You picked the judges!”

Calum’s brown eyes were hard as stone as they narrowed. “Fine. Winner take all with Duke?”

“You’re on, bub,” Sam said with her own death glare.

“Bring it, princess,” Calum said with a snarl he hadn’t associated with the pet name for Sam for coming up on two years now. Ashton didn’t like it one fucking bit. Neither did Sam, but she was too busy being angry to care for his tone, her own competitive streak showing it’s true colors.

The two dog-friendly cupcakes were placed in front of Duke. Duke took one sniff of Calum’s cupcake and snorted. He carefully sniffed at Sam’s cupcake before swallowing it whole. “Rigged!” Calum declared, throwing up his hands.

“I won fair and square!” Sam defended.

“Bull fuckin shit ya did!”

“Just give me the damn hoodie, bub,” Sam said, her voice a dangerous level of low.

“No,” Calum said, his voice matching hers.

Ashton got up quickly to put himself between the two, having never seen them fight like this, and honestly both a little worried and ready to knock out Calum if he crossed the line. Which is something Calum was known to do in the heat of the moment. “Let’s just calm down,” Ashton said, keeping his voice calm and even, the way Sam’s voice usually was.

“Tell him to stop being a sore loser and give me the hoodie.”

“Tell her that the bet’s off because she’s a cheater.”

“I didn’t cheat!”

“BULLSHIT!”

“Why don’t we just forget the bet?”

“You’re taking his side?! Fletcher!”

Ashton’s eyes went wide. Sam only went full middle name when she was seriously pissed off. “Baby, I’ll buy you your own empathy hoodie.”

“I have my own hoodie, he’s wearing it.”

“Come and get it, princess,” Calum taunted, beckoning with a finger.

Sam let out a wild scream and lunged at Calum, tackling him to the kitchen floor. “GIVE ME THE HOODIE!”

“NO!”

“Give me the hoodie, or you’re not longer bub!”

“You can’t un-bub me! I quit!”

“Fine!”

“No!” Ashton shouted, his eyes wide. “You guys have tickets to see Wicked in two weeks.”

“Oh, I’m still going!”

“Like hell you are! You can’t resign from your bub duties and still get the benefits!”

“Just admit you cheated!”

“I DIDN’T CHEAT!”

“YES YOU DID!”

It took Ashton holding Sam back while Luke and Mike stripped Calum of the beloved green hoodie before Ashton could get Sam in the car, clutching her hoodie in victory while Calum screamed in the driveway.

“Fletch?” Sam sniffed, upset over her fight with Calum, but pleased with her victory.

“Yeah baby?” Ashton asked, feeling like the fight had just aged him a decade.

“Will you see Wicked with me?”

Ashton sighed deeply. “Make up with Cal, baby.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I did nothing wrong. He needs to learn to deal with losing.”

Ashton let out another deep sigh. “We’ll see what happens, okay?”

~~~

“Where’s Ashton and Sam, Calum?” the paparazzi asked as Calum walked around town alone. It was day 3 post Cupcake Gate and he needed to get out of the house. “What happened to your empathy hoodie?”

“Lost it,” Calum muttered darkly.

~~~

Day 4 post Cupcake Gate, the paparazzi spotted Ashton and Sam and went nuts. “Hey, where’s Calum? Did Calum get jealous of Luke and Mike? Is Hoodson over? Is that his hoodie?!”

“It’s my hoodie,” Sam glared.

~~~

Wicked was in three days. Calum and Sam still hadn’t made up. Ashton, in an attempt of sheer desperation, ordered five more tickets. He was going to get Calum and Sam back on track and he was going to need all the backup he could get.

~~~

“Baby, you gotta start getting ready,” Ashton said, nudging her shoulder.

Sam, curled up on the couch in a blanket, turned to Ashton with a blank expression. “Why? You don’t wanna see Wicked with me. I’ll just catch it next time or something.”

“Samantha Hudson! I have had enough of your pouting! Go. Get. Dressed.”

Sam rolled her eyes at his theatrics and use of her full first name. “Fletch, this is dumb. You don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go. Let’s just stay in. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, baby. I do wanna go.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Really? You wanna go see Wicked?”

“I really do.”

Sam smiled at him. He had been trying to make her happy for two weeks now, and she had been a straight-up bitch. But he kept trying. And now he looked downright happy to sit through a musical they both knew he didn’t give two shits about, because it would make her happy. And seeing Sam happy made Ashton happy. Plus, Ashton really needed Sam to come see Wicked with him. Half his plan depended on it. The other half depended on Luke and Mike dragging Calum kicking and screaming to the theatre. “Fletch, I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Now go get ready.”

She got up and walked to the bedroom “This is really sweet of you, but it’s not gonna be the same with- Oh, Fletch!” she gasped, stopping when she saw the dress lying on the bed and the vase of sunflowers on her night table. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

“Just appreciating my baby,” he smiled at her.

~~~

“Fletcher!” Sam growled at Ashton at the same time Calum muttered an “I’m gonna kill you both,” at Luke and Mike as the group met up outside the theatre.

“Hey,” Ashton said quickly. “This dumb feud has lasted long enough.”

“Dumb feud,” they both scoffed. Then, “Look, she’s even wearing my damn hoodie,” Calum added.

“I get cold, Thomas.”

“I’m not sitting next to a cheater.”

“Who said I wanted to sit next to a crybaby?”

“Well I want to sit by Ash.”

“Tough, Thomas. He’s my boyfriend. I’m pulling rank tonight.”

“You can both sit next to me,” Ashton compromised.

“Wow, Si, you can’t fight Mike over me like that?” Luke joked to Sierra with a fake-pout.

“I’d have to actually like you first, mate,” Mike said, clapping Luke’s shoulder as the group finally made their way inside.

“One licorice, please,” Calum told the concession stand worker.

Sam gasped in outrage. “He doesn’t even like licorice!”

“Baby, I’ll buy you a box. It’s not a big deal,” Ashton told her before turning his attention to the concession stand worker. “I’ll have the same please, and 2 waters.”

“Sorry sir, that gentleman just took the last box,” he smiled politely, pointing at Calum.

Sam let out another gasp and had to hold back from stomping her foot like a toddler. Calum however, didn’t seem to care for being mature as he sneered at her and took a huge bite from one of the pieces of licorice, chewing obnoxiously as he did so. I hope you choke, she thought viciously as Ashton mumbled some under his breath that sounded vaguely like “Fuckin hell, this is gonna suck,” and ordered Sam her favorite chocolate instead.

Ashton was right. The musical itself wasn’t bad. It was the two people he sat between that made his skin prickle. It didn’t help matters that he knew the paparazzi had spotted Calum and Sam’s preshow spat and would no doubt be waiting for more dirt when the show was over. This was why he hated musicals. He hated that everything he did was scrutinized by the public eye, every inch of his life overanalyzed and picked over. God, it was such a headache. And Calum and Sam weren’t doing him any favors by being at each other’s throats. He missed Calum being his and Sam’s paparazzi buffer. He missed Calum. Hell, he missed Sam. Things just weren’t the same without his best friend and girlfriend being best friends themselves. He didn’t want to go back to how things were in those first months he had dated Sam when Calum had been unsure of the woman.

He let his mind run it’s course of worst-case scenarios until he caught the tears streaming down Sam’s cheeks as she lip-synced to one of the songs, her eyes not on the stage but on Calum. Ashton moved his eyes to watch Calum and held back the grin when he noticed Calum was singing the song back to Sam. Yeah, Hoodson just might make it after all.

“Here,” Sam told Calum, tugging off the hoodie as they stood in the foyer after the show.

“No, keep it,” Calum said, crossing his arms. “It’s gonna be cold outside.”

Sam shook her head and pushed it into Calum’s arms anyway. “I’ll wear Fletch’s.”

Calum let out a short breath that held the trace of a chuckle. “Well, here then,” he said, accepting the hoodie and pushing the box of licorice in Sam’s hand. The box was still full, except for one piece that had a bite taken out of it. “Truce?” Calum asked.

Sam grinned and threw her arms around Calum’s neck. “I’ve missed you, bub!”

“I’ve missed you too, princess,” he replied, hugging her tightly.

“Hey bub?” Sam asked once her and Calum let go.

“Yeah princess?”

“Can I have a piggyback ride to the car?”

“Jump on,” Calum said, crouching down slightly and hooking his arms under her legs as she jumped on his back.

The paparazzi was waiting like Ashton knew they would be. And they went nuts over Sam being carried by Calum, the group’s laughs echoing into the night. And Ashton didn’t care one fucking bit what anyone thought about his mate carrying his girl. Hoodson was back on track.

~~~

What followed Calum and Sam’s two week long friendship crisis was what was affectionately referred to as the BUB Accords. It was an agreement that had a strict no pettiness policy, and after further debate, came to decide that when Luke or Mike took out Sam, Ashton and Calum would take out Crystal or Sierra. It drove the paparazzi ragged trying to keep track of “breaking stories” which only made it all the more fun for the group of friends.

It almost became a game of who could create the wildest headline in the tabloids- Cashton with a girl who wasn’t Sam, or Sam making her way through the rest of the band. A game that only got funnier when Sam started going on “dates” with Crystal and Sierra. Well, right up until the entire group of seven went out and all hell broke loose anyway.

It had started out innocent enough. The boys had dropped their newest album. Sam had gotten accepted into her school’s doctorate program. It was time to celebrate.

The group of seven stumbled out of the night club, grins on their faces, arms wrapped around shoulders, just absolutely in love with each other and their lives.

“Hey, Hoodson! Glad to see you back on track. Calum, did you finally get tired of not fucking her? Sam, how well does Calum fuck? You gonna leave Ashton for him? Have you fucked Luke or Mike yet? What about you, Crystal and Sierra? You girls gonna fuck the other 5SOS boys, too?” the paparazzi yelled at them.

Sam wasn’t sure which comment made Ashton and Calum lunge first, but when the paparazzi added Crystal and Sierra’s names to the mix, Luke and Mike both threw a punch.

It was a mix of the four men wrestling the paparazzi to the ground, fists flying, curses and screams filling the night air.

“Alright, fuck!” Ashton growled as the cops jerked him roughly to sit on the curb, his lip busted and bleeding.

“Look, I’m gonna be real with you,” Calum was saying, his brown eyes darker than the group had ever seen. “You, Mr. Officer, better book up me and my mates. Because if you let us go, you’re just gonna have to break this apart again.”

“Sir, have you been drinking?”

“A little,” Calum said truthfully. “But I don’t even have my car keys. Ashton, is designated driver and he’s as sober as can be. And you can’t arrest me for being drunk outside a bar.”

“I can arrest you for disorderly conduct and give you a hefty fine for disturbing the peace. On top of whatever they’re gonna press charges on you for,” the officer told him.

“Do it then. Arrest all of us,” Ashton spoke up. “We’re all guilty. We’re not fighting that. But if you FUCKERS” Ashton shouted loudly at the paparazzi who were nursing their wounds nearby, “wanna press charges, I’ll go ahead and press my own. You filmed me without my permission. That’s harassment. And you bet your ass I’ll drag this out and waste your time and money.”

“Same goes for us,” Calum, Luke, and Mike agreed.

~~~

“Michael Gordon Clifford!”

“Lucas Robert Hemmings!”

“Calum Thomas Hood!”

“Ashton Fletcher Irwin!”

The men held back a wince. “Hi, Mum,” they said in unison.

The phones all on speaker and on the coffee table at Ashton’s the next morning held the voices of four very angry mothers shouting their disappointment and rage at their sons. “Just because you’re an adult! I raised you better! What on Earth were you thinking?! You need to learn to control that temper!”

“Mum, you do-”

“I’m not finished!”

“Hey, Mums!” Sam announced happily, hoping to ease the tension.

“Sam! Hi, darling!”

“Look, I know on the outside this looks bad. But, I promise you there’s the side of the story that you aren’t getting.”

“Sam, honey, there’s never a good reason to start beating people up.”

“Normally I would be in total agreement, Mums. However, a line was severely crossed last night. I mean, I’m sure you’re all aware of what the tabloids have been saying about me and my friendships with Cal, Luke, and Mike, along with the accusations regarding my relationship with Ashton. It’s never been good. It’s been downright nasty sometimes. However, last night the line was crossed. I’d rather not repeat what was said. But it was besmirching of not only my name, but Crystal and Sierra’s names as well.”

“They said what?!”

Sam sighed. “They, that is the paparazzi, accused us women of… let’s use the term sleeping… our way through the band.”

“Are their hands okay?” came the worried reply.

“Your sons are fine. The paparazzi on the other hand… not so much.”

“Good.”

The BUB Accords were later amended to include a “head down, coat up” rule in dealing with the paparazzi.

____

Tag-list?

@baldcalum @cxddlyash @here-for-the-uproars @cashtonasff5sos @flameraine

#BUB #ashton irwin #calum hood #luke hemmings #michael clifford #5sos #ashton fic #technically speaking it's an ash fic #like he is the boyfriend #galcal irwin

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starringemiliaclarke · 4 years

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Press: Emilia Clarke interview: the Game of Thrones star on leaving Westeros behind to tackle the West End

Emilia Clarke interview: the Game of Thrones star on leaving Westeros behind to tackle the West End

Clarke, who now stars in Chekhov’s The Seagull, tells Louis Wise that the HBO fantasy series made her feel like a ‘small cog in a big machine’

Gallery Links:

PHOTOSHOOTS & OUTTAKES > 2020 > 2020 The Sunday Times

MAGAZINES > 2020 > 2020 The Sunday Times Culture Magazine – March 15

The Times: Emilia Clarke says she views herself primarily as a stage actress, which is a little weird when you consider that she has only appeared in one play professionally before, and it was an absolute turkey. Or, as the 33-year-old star of Game of Thrones says, in her jolly British way, it was “terrible, awful, awful! Bad! That was a bad show!” The piece was Breakfast at Tiffany’s on Broadway in 2013, and it’s safe to say Clarke’s Holly Golightly did not enchant. “I’ll never forget, someone said to me after press night the only thing they liked was the cat.”

If Clarke relays this with surprising good humour, this is part temperament, part experience. For one thing, in person she is relentlessly chipper and pukka. Whereas on HBO’s mega-fantasy series Game of Thrones, she grew in stature as Daenerys Targaryen, a still, dignified stateswoman (until that end), in real life she is a goofy motormouth chatterbox, always eager to catch the joke at her expense. And she is no stranger to what we shall politely call “the mixed review”. She has known some drubbings, whether for that Broadway show, or films such as Last Christmas or Terminator Genisys, or indeed the final series of GoT, which — euphemism alert! — didn’t quite turn out the way everybody wanted.

Luckily she never reads reviews. “Because if it’s really, really good, someone will tell you. And if it’s really, really bad — some f***** will tell you.”

We are meeting today, though, at a rehearsal space in south London, because she is chucking herself back into the fray. For only her second stage appearance, Clarke is going straight into the West End, in Chekhov’s The Seagull, and taking on the prestigious role of Nina. If she is nervous, she’s handling it in the usual way, which is to say with huge blasts of good cheer.

Two clichés about meeting starsis that they are a) smaller than you thought, but b) their features are stronger than expected. Both are true of Clarke. She is tiny, proper Kylie-tiny, nicely decked out in a gauzy beige-cream knit, some fashionably frayed jeans and pointy, well-worn white cowboy boots. Yet her eyes and grin look extra big: if she stays still, she’s a dainty doll, but as soon as she moves it’s Looney Tunes. To be clear, she never stays still.

This energy feels helpful, as we have a lot to pack in. After all, Clarke’s past decade has been particularly wild. Not only did she rocket suddenly to fame in GoT (until then, her only screen credit was an episode of Doctors), she also lost her father to cancer in 2016 and, as she revealed in 2019, had suffered a sequence of brain haemorrhages in her early twenties, just as the madness of GoT was kicking off.

In private, she experienced various exhausting surgeries at the same time as becoming one of pop culture’s favourite mascots, scrutinised relentlessly on a moral, artistic and very physical level. She recalls being in hospital recovering from an operation and picking up a newspaper. “I was, like, ‘I’m going to see if I can read it,’” she says. “And I was, like, ‘Oh my God, there’s a review of the show. And, oh God, they are just talking about how fat my arse is.’”(Which is the last review she read.)

All of which brings us to the elephant, or dragon, in the room. Over seven seasons, Daenerys, aka Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons, had one hell of an arc, going from weak dynastic pawnto all-conquering queen, a kind of Catherine the Great with sub-Barbarella hair. And then, oops! Daenerys, thrilled at almost achieving her goal of ruling the Seven Kingdoms, lost the plot, turned into a psychotic dead-eyed tyrant, massacring a whole city and essentially going the full Pol Pot. She was then abruptly bumped off by her lover-cum-nephew, Jon Snow, and a worldwide fanbase stopped and went: what?

For Clarke, it had been a hard secret to keep — she had known the ending long in advance. She admits she is still processing it all.

“When the show did end, it was like coming out of a bunker. Everything felt really strange. Then obviously for it to have the backlash it did …” Did she expect it? She slows down, a rare occurrence. “I knew how I felt when I first read it, and I tried, at every turn, not to consider too much what other people might say, but I did always consider what the fans might think — because we did it for them, and they were the ones who made us successful, so … it’s just polite, isn’t it?”

It’s clear Clarke is caught between her close friendship with the series’ creators, David Benioff and DB Weiss, and her deep awareness of what most fans wanted. In fact, she first suggests that it’s the news wot done it.

“I do think that the global temperature, how much horrific news there is consistently, goes a way to explain the enormity of the fans’ outrage,” she argues. “Because people are going, finally, here’s something I can actually see and understand and get some control back over … and then when that turns, and you don’t like what they’ve done …”

Hmm. It’s a nice theory, but with Daenerys we were just denied a happy ending, right? She nods quietly. “Yeah.” So did not getting that also make her sad? She tries to explain that “as an actor” it was actually all “a gift”, but eventually the tornado of diplomacy peters out. “Yeah, I felt for her. I really felt for her. And yeah, was I annoyed that Jon Snow didn’t have to deal with something?” She lets us out an exasperated laugh. “He got away with murder — literally.”

She also eventually agrees with the critique that the final season condensed far too much in far too little time (“We could have spun it out for a little longer”) and that it could simply have had more dialogue. “It was all about the set pieces,” she agrees. “I think the sensational nature of the show was, possibly, given a huge amount of airtime because that’s what makes sense.”

Is she at least happy it ended when it did? “I mean, ‘happy’ is a funny word. It’s a strong word. Again, the show was so big. I was a small cog in a very, very, very big machine …”

What she means, though, is that she actually liked this. The show provided a routine, a family, something to fall back on every year; it also gave her experience. “I very much feel my career is something that’s happened to me, as opposed to the other way around,” she says. But she can see that being a cog has its limits, as doesforever having to cater to fans and, yes, to the press. “Doing a show so many people had opinions about doesn’t serve your creativity on any level.”

All of which explains why she is doing this Seagull with Jamie Lloyd, the director who just landed raves for his Cyrano with James McAvoy. And, yes, although she knows it’s “hilarious”, she somehow does “identify closer with theatre”. This is mostly to do with her dad, who was a theatre engineer; her mother is a vice-president in marketing for a management consultancy firm. Clarke and her brother had an idyllic-sounding childhood in Oxfordshire. Inspired by her father’s job, she always wanted to be an actress, apparently from the age of three. “I think of him whenever I’m walking through the West End,” she says. “My dad is everywhere in the theatre, 100%.”

She says this happily; I get the impression she hasn’t finished grieving, she’s just moved on to a better, celebratory phase. How would he feel about her playing Nina? “I think he would be nervous for me,” she says with a chuckle. It is, she knows, a big role: Nina, the aspiring actress whose dreams of fame are dashed, but who plugs away regardless. “I was never your Nina at drama school, that’s for sure,” says Clarke. “I wasn’t really a favourite [there], at all.”

Instead, she got parts like Jewish grannies, or “a down-and-out, pissed-off, washed-up prostitute”. But did she always want to be Nina or Juliet? “Well, of course I did. Oh my God, yeah. So I’m in no doubt there’s still some of that in me where I’m like: ‘Oh my God, guys, check it out! Finally she got there.’”

Clarke does like to cast herself as an underdog, although, thankfully, she does seem mostly to be aware that she is coming from a place of privilege. By the end of GoT she was reportedly paid $500,000 an episode. Is money a concern any more? “I am careful,” she says. “I’m a lot more careful now than I was.” She has a lovely house in north London with a bar in the garden. She can pick jobs for their artistic content first and foremost (“I want to work with an auteur!”). So yes, she knows she has it good, which is why she waited several years before revealing her brain trauma.

“I didn’t want to turn it into this celebrity sob story. I didn’t want people’s pity or ‘Oh, poor little rich girl, your successful life ain’t good enough?’” She is now happy she did it. “It’s done a huge amount of healing for me, being able to open up about it.” Her health status is “beautiful” now. “I was match-fit six weeks after the second surgery [in 2013],” she clarifies. “But mentally …”

On the other end of the spectrum, her fame has made something else hard: dating. “I am single right now …” She says with a smile. “Dating in this industry is interesting. I have a lot of funny anecdotes, a lot of stuff I can say at a fun dinner.” She was last seen in 2018 with a film director, and before that she was linked to Seth MacFarlane and James Franco. Does she mostly date fellow actors, because that’s how the industry works? “I was, and now I’m not,” she says — more smiles.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say I’ve completely sworn off them, but I do think actor relationships that are successful are few and far between, and you have to have a ton of trust.” Now and then her friends tell her to try Raya, the dating app that is supposedly for more exclusive celeb types. When she looks at it, though, “it’s just models. What am I going to do there?”

In short, everything about Clarke’s life is still monumentally weird, but she is doing a good job of pretending it’s not. After the play, she has “any one of nine projects that could go at the end of this year, and I have no idea which one will win”. A lot, she announces, are “dark”. Would she do fantasy again? “I think, if I did, it would be me having a giggle,” she says. I take this to mean her doing a send-up, a kind of Extras take on GoT, but no: “I want to do something absolutely stupid and silly, like, you know, The Avengers or whatever. Something where I got to have a giggle with mates.”

I’ve never thought of the Marvel mega-franchise as a downtime laff with pals, but that’s the level Clarke is operating on. I suppose it’s a pretty good happy ending.

The Seagull, Playhouse, London WC2, until May 30

Press: Emilia Clarke interview: the Game of Thrones star on leaving Westeros behind to tackle the West End was originally published on Enchanting Emilia Clarke | Est 2012

#emilia clarke #game of thrones #game of thrones cast #GOT cast #daenerys targaryen #me before you #terminator

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pfenniged · 4 years

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tagged by @anathenma WOO GIRL <3

rules: tag 10 followers you want to get to know better

name: Lauren

gender: Female

star sign: Virgo Sun || Leo Moon || Leo Ascendent, which basically means I have the usually quiet reserved personality of an analytical, organised virgo on the fact of things, am usually the goofy, chill friend amongst my friends, and don’t like to take anyone’s shit, but if I am disrespected, I’m a sensitive six foot flower and withdraw from the world until I can get over it. xD I don’t like conflict.

height: 183cm/6 feet

age: 27 (YIKES XD)

wallpaper on my phone: (I had to check XD) A calendar of May 2020 stylistically arranged around ribbons

house: Slytherin

ever crush on a teacher: Both my parents and my uncle are teachers and consequently I knew every teacher in my school as actual human people and not ‘crushes’ growing up. So no. XD

coolest halloween costume: I went as the Starbucks logo one year when I was eight, a gigantic Lady Luck die one year with a top hat covered in poker chips and cards. I had some good ones I made: I was creative as fuck when I was 9-11 especially, and I had to be, because I was already around 5′7 and people assumed I was just some weirdo dressing up to get candy (Hearing ‘AREN’T YOU A LITTLE OLD TO BE TRICK OR TREATING’ at eleven CRUSHED me XD)

Favorite 90s tv show:

Okay. So there’s one’s I watched actually as a child of the 90s, and ones that were just always ON in the 90s that I ended up watching. It’s debatable whether these are actually good NOW. XD

That being said, the background ones were Saved By the Bell (ZACH MORRIS IS TRAAAAassssh~~), Boy Meets World, Seinfeld, Everybody Loves Raymond.

As a kid, I loved the Aladdin Animated Series, The Hercules Animated Series, CHIP AND DALE RESCUE RANGERS (Which didn’t really hold up sadly but still has the best theme song of all time, fight me), and Timon and Pumbaa.

One I rarely caught but really liked was All That, The Wonder Years, Sabrina the Teenage Witch- occasionally Fresh Prince.

Out of all of these, I still have a super fond spot for Saved By the Bell, especially with the ‘Zach Morris is Trash’ series on Youtube (Seriously, go watch it. It’s fucking hilarious and basically breaks down how much of a serial killer in the making Zach Morris is XD). The clothing is ridiculous and no one really dressed like that in the early 90s outside of commercials and TV (unfortunately). Maybe one shoddy item out of the bunch. Meanwhile Saved by the Bell is like LETS PUT IT ALL ON. XD It was terrible once they got to college, but it was stupid and fun and made me feel ‘cool’ watching it because I was like three and being like, “YEAH, IT’S BRIGHT AND THESE PEOPLE ARE COOL AND I CAN FOLLOW THE PLOT. I’M MATURE.” XD It’s literally still the only one of these I actively watch now in the form of Zach Morris is Trash, so I’ll go with it. xD

Last kiss: Never had a consensual kiss. Make of that what you will. xD

Have you ever been stood up: Nope.

Favourite pair of shoes:

I have terrible plantar fasciitis from sports, so I’m a shoe snob, and have to have properly fitting/constructed shoes. It depends on what I’m doing in them, really. I got a pair of trail running shoes for trail running during COVID, but they’re not the most aesthetically pleasing. I’d say the best mixture between comfort and style are either a good ol’pair of black ankle boots with a slight heel (so I can be 6′2 and intimidate people with my height muhahahaha), or more practically on a day to day basis, I have a pair of Reeboks that are 90s-styled with pastel pink and blue triangles on the side. They’re pretty dope. xD

have you ever been to vegas: No, but my parents have. Basically, they said you tire of shopping after two days, and then you’re just stuck inside hotels and shopping malls there. If you’re not a gambler, drinker, or have a ton of money to splash out on stage shows, I don’t think it’s particularly worth going.

favorite fruit: Mango or raspberry, but they’re super-expensive in the land of Maple Syrup so I usually don’t get them any other way other than frozen in smoothies.

Favourite book:

I could never choose a favourite book. It’s literally like choosing between children. It’s my microcosmic version of Sophie’s Choice. xD Tasteless joke aside, it’d honestly depend on the occasion. There’s a huge difference between entertainment reading, literary exploits, and educating yourself through books as a whole.

My ‘plane’ book (which I’m terrible at flying, so that was a joke), as in, an easy, fun, instantly rereadable read to read on the plane when I used to have super long fifteen hour flights to Australia, was always Mario Puzo’s ‘The Godfather,’ because I also had a huge crush on Michael Corleone.

But it’s also not the ‘best’ book and literally spends an inordinate and honestly disturbing amount of time on the fact that this poor woman in the story (which thankfully in the film, it gets cut down), but the bridesmaid Sonny Corleone has sex with, and how you see his wife indicating his ‘size’?

THAT’S LITERALLY AN ENTIRE SUBPLOT OF THIS BROAD’S STORY I SHIT YOU NOT BECAUSE NOTHING IS ‘BIG’ ENOUGH FOR HER AFTER HIM AND THEN YOU FIND OUT SHE HAS A MEDICAL CONDITION AND GOOD FOR HER SHE’S ABLE TO FIND LOVE AGAIN BUT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK MARIO PUZO XD IT WAS A LOT OKAY.

(Footnote: I also suffered through his horrific sequels because I love Michael Corleone and will take him in any form he comes in, even horrifically written Sicilian backhill exploits that were never told to us in the original book and were clearly just written because Puzo needed another pay check but I digress.)

Horrific subplots aside, I really enjoy The Godfather for its sheer pulpiness. The book is essentially what Andrew Lloyd Weber is to musicals. xD (Yes, I come with musical theatre burns. Fight me.)

In terms of a piece of literature that I think is amazingly well done? Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, or Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.

Stupidest thing you ever done:

Um, maybe when I was at Cambridge I tried to dye my roots to match the rest of my ‘blonde’ hair at the time, and it turned out bright orange? And because it’s Cambridge, they had this super-strict attendance policy, so I was literally trying not to hyperventilate because it was running close to class (which was across campus) and I was trying to find some way to remedy my hair without it falling out/ someone asking about it. So, I grabbed a toque-cap-thing despite it being literally one of the hottest summer on record in the UK (It was like 35 degrees, it was MENTAL), and had to sprint to class all the way on the other side of campus from my college dodging dodgy tourist groups blocking the sidewalk while I went. Then when I sat down inside, I had to be weirdly rude and wear my hat inside the lecture hall even though the professor was looking at me (it was a specialised program in German Literature) like, “Are you going to take that shit off?” xD THEN I tried to dye it back to brown, and it literally looked like mud mixed with a runny egg had exploded on the top of my head; it was AWFUL. XD So FINALLY I did my research and found a salon, but by THAT point I had done 250 pounds worth of damage to my hair (WHICH IS LIKE 400 DOLLARS CANADIAN AT THE TIME), and I almost had a heart attack and thanked my lucky stars that I had money put away so I could give my parents the ‘parent price’ when they asked why they hadn’t seen me on FaceTime or Skype for like, three weeks, and I replaced my face with a photo of John Cleese from Fawlty Towers, which they tease me about to this day. xD

The other dumbest thing I ever said was when I was so desperate for friends in grade six when I moved to a new school (and because being American was ‘cool’ at the time, apparently), I told everyone I was a dual citizen because my mother LITERALLY GAVE BIRTH TO ME ON THE BORDER CROSSING WHAT. XD And bless this poor bespectacled girl named Mara (who was actually a little class friend of mine), who just said timidly in the back, “That’s not how citizenship works.” xD It basically came out of attempting to be cool and failing, but I’m still SO embarrassed about THAT one that I’d never admit it to ANYONE besides shouting it out into the Tumblr black hole. xD I’m still embarrassed to THIS DAY.

All time favorite shows:

I’ll go for the original run of The Twilight Zone, which has some schmaltzy episodes (I’m really not a fan of any of the episodes entirely dedicated to the Space Race or the weird cowboy fanaticism of the fifties/ sixties, or anything that’s overtly like “ALIENS DID IT SO THERE”), but I LOVE their psychological horror episodes or Dystopian episodes. It’s when Rod Serling’s writing and narrative voice is the strongest and most prophetic, and the twists are usually the best. Other shows have tries to imitate it, or reboot it, but I really think the original, due to Rod Serling’s unmatchable voice, in every sense of the word. There’s lists of some of the greatest episodes, but I remember LOVING the episode ‘A Stop at Willoughby.’ The twist literally made me clap my hands in horror and delight, it was amazing. xD

Other than that? Off the top of my head, Mad Men and Band of Brothers, even though I haven’t rewatched either in ages.

last movie you saw in theaters:

Oh God, before all THIS hit? Probably Rise of Skywalker. I get agoraphobic and itchy if a movie theatre is too busy, and we only have really pokey sort of ones nearby that you’re guaranteed to see someone you went to high school with (terrible), so now that I can properly drive I go out to the big redneck theatre out in the boonies. I miss living in Montreal though, because when you live in a big city like that downtown (and can actually afford to live there), you could see blockbuster movies at like ten in the morning. xD Which would be AMAZING because I’d go to see any of the early Avengers/Marvel movies when they opened, the day of opening, and it was literally me, one old man who fell asleep halfway through and sat near the back, and maybe an elderly couple on a morning date to the movies. xD I get really annoyed with obnoxious movie-goers, and I’m really picky about just being completely absorbed in the movie, so I tend not to go unless I’m guaranteed that space.

tagging: Anyone who wishes to tag me back so I can learn about them <3

#meme #well god this was embarrassing #still hope you found something of interest in there though xD #personal #I indented the longer answers so this was somewhat cohesive

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gasoline-and-matches-story · 5 years

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Gasoline and Matches--Chapter One

Author’s notes: Greetings, lovelies--Spirit here bringing some original content for once. I’ve been working on this story for a long time, started it in high school with my friend @tiltingplanet. I hope you all enjoy the first chapter, any feedback would be lovely.

Chapter One

“I swear to fucking god--I am not skinny dipping in a random cave pool with you assholes.”

Yomi winced at the overly loud voice of her fellow classmate, pressing her back to a cave wall while everyone bickered. The tucked away corner of stone was her only solace--Hard, cold despite the sticky heat that came with a summer day. Of all the things she could have done with her Saturday, this was by far the most reckless. Idiotic. Completely out of character for the white and black-haired girl. Not one for parties or celebrations of any kind, yet here she was on private property in the middle of that god damn night. Trespassing in an abandoned cave system with seven other rowdy teenagers, trying her best to sit and not be noticed while a small bonfire flickered orange hues onto the cave walls in tantalizing patterns. As if the evening wasn’t hot enough.

To be fair, she didn’t consider herself close to any one of these people, minus Bethany--the girl who dragged Yomi to the party in the first place. A beautiful, bubbly female with dark skin and a personality that stretched on for miles. Saying no to such perseverance was impossible for Yomi, who wasn't the most assertive to begin with. One thing lead to another, someone mentioning the caves and a bonfire before piling eight troublemakers into a minivan. Yomi was, literally and figuratively, dragged into the situation. To say she went kicking and screaming was heavily exaggerated, but boy it sure felt like it. Beth was way too aggressive for her own good, and Yomi considered herself a push-over despite all the rules she set to make sure these kinds of situations didn’t happen.

Should have stayed home. Shouldn’t have come out here, but...

There was hesitation, a reluctance that clung to the walls of her skull and refused to let go no matter how much reason was thrown at it. Was it really so wrong to want to try and be a teenager for once? To be out with people her own age, kissing the final year of high school goodbye with something silly and reckless. At least, in this case, she could have done better. They could have chosen a safer, cleaner, less illegal place to kick up her feet. But alas, idiotic minds seemed to think alike in these cases--There were very few voices of reason, and the loudest ones seemed to be those aching to be as reckless as possible.

“Come on, Em,” Jack’s slightly slurred words drew Yomi out of her thoughts, the drunken creature sitting on a rickety arm chair and sipping cheap beer--issue number one? Check. Underage drinking was by far her least favorite part of the evening, “Where’s your sense of adventure? Some hot springs, a little consensual nudity...what could be more fun?”

Jack was a twin, the other member of the set being his sister Ann. Yomi peered between the two as surreptitiously as possible, analyzing the similar shades of blonde hair and green eyes. They were both equally aggravating when it came to starting grievances in school, bouncing off each other like a very bad game of pong. Attractive, but in a similar way to things like poisonous frogs. Bright, shiny, masking jagged edges and toxic skin underneath all the pretty smiles and charismatic exteriors. Yomi knew well enough not to get close, but they were friends with Beth as well.

Jack was addressing Emma, one of the other girls Yomi knew was as reluctant to be there as she was. Voice of reason number one--Closer to the fire, sitting cross-legged on a thin blanket as she tried to ignore the men imploring her to go. She was the definition of tall and curvaceous, the flickering fire light casting shadows over her form from head to toe. Yomi almost rolled her eyes at the men frothing at the mouth--judging by Emma’s figure, their flimsy excuses were pretty obviously hiding their real reason for wanting her to come.

Emma was not oblivious.

“Eat shit and drown,” She held up her middle finger at Jack, shoving his face away when he tried to make pleading eyes, “I have to drive you dumb fucks home later. I’m not letting anyone into my car while wet, and if any of you try its an automatic pass to walking home.”

The caves weren’t an extreme distance from the small town they all lived in, but it was far enough that most of the fire-side listeners actively winced.

Jack practically whined, those green eyes wide and pleading as he implored, “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Em…! Why would you wanna pass up on the healing experience?”

“You and I have very differing opinions on what is considered healing,” Emma retorted, sipping a bottle of soda and turning in a different direction, “I’m not here to dip into some glorified, stanky cave water. But by all means don’t let me stop you, Jackie. Just be prepared for the consequences of walking home on the interstate and explaining to the police chief why you’re out so late and dripping wet to boot.”

Several groans rang out, Jack flopping back in that chair and pouting like a sulking child. Drinking, as expected, turned the teen into the equivalent of a drunken toddler. Yomi still found herself sighed internally with relief, letting that curtain of hair fall forward to shield her face a bit. There were currently more girls than boys, so their dumb idea was overruled for the most part. But...she doubted that would be the case for long, not with a certain someone growing more and more intrigued with each passing second and gulps of alcohol. Bethany was the only one way too on board for her own good, eyes sparkling at the notion of even seeing a hot spring and spending time with the boys in general. She was such a smart girl, exceeding incredibly well in class and reaching top marks despite all the chaos she included herself in.

She just craved excitement far too much, compared to the girl she dragged along with her.

It seemed way too dangerous in Yomi’s opinion, especially considering these caves were abandoned for a reason. Mind you, they weren’t too far in. There was a large hole in the ceiling showing the night sky, venting the smoke so they wouldn’t spend the evening coughing and hacking. But the cave system further down had to be treacherous, carved out long ago by either flooding or miners, she wasn’t sure on the details to be completely honest. Each member of the town seemed to have their own take on just how the cave system got there. And with someone in the group walking with crutches, there was no way their desired spelunking adventure should come to pass, right?

Yomi looked at the girl in question, peering through the safety of her black and white hair to examine Mira’s face.

Sitting opposite of her by the fire was the girl in question, seeming lost in thought while the others argued and laughed. She was pretty in an unconventional sort of way, with strong features and red hair cropped short at her shoulders. Out of everyone in the group, Mira being here was the only thing more surprising than Yomi herself--exploring in an abandoned cave system on forearm crutches was a terrible idea. After a car accident in freshman year, Mira had been through a slew of surgeries to fix extensive damage to her legs. It wasn’t perfect, but she could walk with the aid of a cane on occasion, more than that on others.. Out of everyone here, she was another one not drinking, sitting in a lawn chair with her scarred legs stretched out near the fire. Just close enough to warm her skin, the flickering flames casting dancing patterns over the roadmap of surgery marks, of cuts long healed and what had to be extensive pain.

Strong.

Yomi admired her heavily, Mira had far more guts and determination than she ever could. It took strength to come back from what she endured, and even more so to keep going with an attitude of non-caring. Head held high, chin up, feet moving.

She seemed a tad bit annoyed with the boys as well, pushing her cropped red hair behind her ear and narrowing those emerald green eyes on Jack’s pouting face. He was still bitching, the alcohol making his words a bit sloppy.

“Didn’t take this lot to be a buncha pussies,” He complained, crushing the now-empty beer can against his thigh and tossing it to the side, “Came all this way and y’all won’t even follow through…!”

“Careful, Jack, your hick is showing.” Mira retorted, sipping innocently from a can of soda when he whipped his gaze over to her. She remained unperturbed, as always.

“Saying the word y’all isn’t hick,” There was a frown on his lips, mingled with intense disappointment as those rusty gears that made up his alcohol-soaked brain started to grind in thought, “That’s cowboy shit, right?”

His sister Ann, who was spread over a sheet on the dusty floor, let out a heavy groan at his words and pressed her hands to her face in absolute exasperation. It was very clear who was in ownership of the shared twin brain cell at that moment.

“Jack you are the most humiliating fucking person I have ever met,” She sighed, tone sounding so tired while everyone else cracked up laughing at Jack’s expense, “Cowboys are a southern thing you absolute twat.”

Yomi purposely looked away while the others started cackling, sipping from a can of soda and trying to focus on the sugary contents as a means of avoiding laughter herself. Jack was never the brightest bulb in the pack, and cheap beer made it all worse. Underage drinking was never a good idea, and the quiet girl hated it with a passion, so this was just proving every point she had created for herself. Bad behavior? Check. Enhancing foolish ideas to the point that they seemed like good ones? Check. Turning an already idiotic eighteen year old into a god damn man child? Two checks and a very exasperated Yomi there to write them in.

Jack puffed up like an angry cat, glaring daggers at his sister as he stammered, “W...well I knew that…! I was just, y’know…”

“Being a dumbass?” Emma provided helpfully, sitting back and leaning all her weight on her arms, “Baby steps, Jackie. You’ll reach the basic level of human intelligence someday.”

Yomi felt like that was heavily unlikely, but she kept her mouth shut, instead fiddling with the trim on her shorts while the group erupted again. There was certainly a lot of drinking going on with Jack, Ann, Beth, and Jake. Ann handled it a lot better than the boys did, but Beth was turning into a giggly sorority girl, which was definitely not a good thing. They were the loudest of the group when it came to laughing and joking, whereas Clark, Emma, and Mira were as calm as Yomi was. At least there were some sane people in the group.

How much longer was it going to be before she could go home? Beth had lost all interest in her now that she was bouncing off the others, the girl’s choice to drink not sitting well with Yomi. Alcohol as a whole always put the quiet group member on edge, an extra reason why she wanted to be free of these idiots.

They’re not idiots, She reminded herself, shoulders slumping a bit at her own rude line of thinking, They’re being normal teenagers. You’re the odd one here.

Reprimanding herself was the only way to correct her own negativity toward others, so she tried to make it a habit. Yomi also tried to force herself to relax--this was supposed to be fun, right? She was out with kids her age, doing “crimes” and nibbling on fireside food late at night. Trying to look on the bright side of it, to find good in the bad. Given the choice, however, she wished there was less underage drinking involved.

“Now now, kids,” Clark’s baritone voice pulled her out of her musings, looking up to see the dark-skinned male stand up and brush off the dust, “How about we just walk around for a bit? Some basic spelunking, no swimming involved.”

The two other boys perked up at that, practically bouncing in the orange hue of the fire as they stood as well.

“I like that word,” Jake, the other group trouble maker and notoriously horny on main, purred as he slung an arm around Emma and dragged her up unwillingly--someone was going to lose a finger, Jake the best candidate, “Come on now, kitten, let’s go spelunking. Sounds sexy, amiright?”

Em made a visible face of disgust, firmly peeling his arm off of her and gripping to the point of pain. Made obvious by Jake’s yelp of alarm.

“Call me kitten again, and you’ll be experiencing the joy of my size seven shoes up your ass.” She said in a sugary sweet tone, one that barely veiled the threat she was putting across.

He whined in response, yanking his arm back and rubbing his aching wrist. Everyone else seemed to be standing as well, easily convinced by Clark’s reasonable tone, much to Yomi’s absolute dismay. So much for not exploring the caves. This was shaping to be an incredibly nerve-wracking evening, the dark tunnels plummeting into the Earth seeming intimidating and empty when she turned to gaze into them. It made the timid girl incredibly nervous, coming to her feet as well and gripping the edges of her blouse with firm fingers. They were already in a place they shouldn’t be, so why add the extra danger to the mix?

Even Mira, the one who seemed like she shouldn’t be cave diving at all, was now on board. Not wanting to be left out from anything. Yomi contemplated giving her an imploring look, but thought against it.

“Jake, you would find the word ‘hamper’ sexy. Get over yourself.” With that, the redhead struggled to her feet, limping across the cave with both hands firmly grasping the crutches on her arms. She seemed completely determined, those green eyes sharp and gait suggesting she wouldn’t be swayed in the slightest.

“Mira, hold on! Let me walk with you.” Clark scrambled up, boy scout instincts kicking in to make sure Mira didn’t fall to her doom somewhere. Yomi liked that about Clark-- that he genuinely cared about people. Only problem was that he was a negotiator, trying to find a middle ground for what everyone wanted.

Too bad what Yomi wanted was to go home and be free of this situation. But Clark didn’t know that, especially not with her too nervous to speak up.

Jake made a face at Mira's back, sounding incredibly immature as he mocked, “Myeh myeh myeh, I'm Mira and have to be sarcastic all the time.”

He blew a raspberry, which was further evidence that not a single male in the group could handle drinking without morphing into a child. Yomi almost rolled her eyes.

“Grow up, Jake.” Several of the girls said dryly in reply, sounding like a choir of reason in the face of such nonsense. All but Bethany, who was seeming to have a great time now that the spelunking operation was back on board.

This was starting to become tiresome--Yomi would have rather not sit there and listen to the banter that cropped up when Jake got into one of those moods again. Not to mention the fact that staying with Beth would only result in her being sucked into all the horniness they were carrying around. And shockingly enough...someone seemed to notice her exhausted expression before she managed to hide it. Emma had been staring across the cave at Yomi, those stern eyes searching and missing nothing, especially not with her knowing full well that Beth had played a big part in dragging the reluctant new member of the group along.

What Yomi didn’t expect was for her to actually act on it.

“Why don’t you guys go exploring without us?” The woman suggested helpfully to one half of the group, eyeing Mira as she clung to Clark a bit for support and sounding incredibly disapproving of the situation, “I’ll keep an eye on the dumbasses while they look for water, and to prevent any potential cave ins caused by Jake and Jack’s stupidity--”

Cave-ins?

“Hey!” Both boys protested, looking thoroughly chastised--like somehow the idea of them causing trouble was absolutely ludicrous.

“Regardless,” Emma interjected loudly, rolling her eyes at their ranging expressions of insult and annoyance, “I’d rather Yomi and Clarke make sure Mira doesn’t fall in somewhere, you’re the only ones other than me who are sober.”

Clark and Mira seemed surprised to even hear Yomi’s name, turning to look at her with mirrored expressions of shock as if her presence had been lost on them both. It occurred to her that pair had probably not talked to her in school much before, outside asking for help with a question or for borrowing a pencil. Hell, Yomi hadn’t said a word the whole trip minus occasionally mumbling to Beth, replying to her constant questions and cheerful banter as much as she could handle. So those expressions they wore should not be hurtful.

Right?

“Oh, cool, the more the merrier.” Clark said, awkwardly dithering behind Mira as she sought to walk further into the cave. Almost impatiently. The redhead looked eager for adventure, green eyes sparkling in the firelight as she nudged the bigger male’s arm with her forearm crutches.

Am I doing this right? Yomi wondered anxiously, keeping her eyes on Mira like observing the girl would somehow teach her the proper ways to act, Should I be excited instead of worried? Shouldn’t I want to do something risky?

While she fretted, everyone continued on obliviously. Beth had zero complaints with Em’s demands, seeming more than happy to walk around with the other guys in her drunken state. She smiled cheerfully, giving a small finger wave as Emma locked arms with her, “M’kay, we’ll meet back up here, yeah?”

She didn’t wait for Yomi’s response, turning and practically dragging Emma down a branching path. Thank god the more reasonable woman was going with them, to make sure no one did anything stupid. All of it was all too much to bear for someone like Yomi, the drunken state of her fellow classmates a bit too intimidating. She was grateful for that at the very least, they needed one reasonable person to make sure the skinny dipping didn’t happen, and to keep Beth safe and sound from such exasperating indivduals.

Regardless, she turned when Mira pushed forward eagerly, trailing carefully behind while Clarke shadowed the redhead’s steps. The heat of the bonfire slowly started to fade as they pushed through the jagged edges of the tunnel entrance, wary not to trip on a few huge rocks and pieces of the cave wall. All the while Yomi was trying to shake her sense of worry, scrambling to figure out just what to say to her two classmates. Why was this so hard? Once upon a time she had friends, close to so many people in elementary school until...well. Things had changed, so much had happened that it sometimes felt like her head was still spinning from the stress of all of it. There was solace in silence, one she had come to rely on far too much.

Luckily...it would not need to be thought about long, because someone took the reigns out of her hesitant hands and spoke. The same someone she had started looking to for any indication on how to be a normal human being.

“Didn't want to listen to them either?” Mira asked casually as the light began to die away, sloping downwards into darkness and snapping Yomi out of her thoughts, “I don't blame you. The best people have brains in their heads...I think Jake has vodka instead.”

Clark snorted, laughing into his hand. At least he was finding amusement in this. She couldn’t help herself either--Yomi half smiled in agreement, surprised to find comfort in their company now that the more rowdy group members were separated and relieved that the other girl seemed at ease with drawing her into the conversation. Mira had the habit in school of saying the crass version of what everyone was thinking, speaking her mind at all times, but it was somehow...welcome, and accurate. Jake, best known for puking on his SAT thanks to a hangover, absolutely had a skull full of cheap vodka.

“I think you may be right,” Yomi replied, gaze turned away and pulling out her phone to light the path once it occurred to her how low the visibility was getting, “Do you guys think this is a good idea…? Maybe splitting up to go cave diving on abandoned property isn’t...the smartest.”

Mira let out a light laugh at that, leaning heavily on her cane as she replied, “This group isn’t known for their brains. Though I will say,” She gave Yomi a side-long glance, raising one delicate eyebrow at her, “Pretty surprised to see you at this little get-together. You never seemed to be the partying type.”

That made the girl wince, turning away from Mira’s searching eyes. She certainly had the knack for saying exactly what would make one squirm, which was fine when it wasn’t directed at the most nervous one of the group. There was a prolonged silence as Yomi thought over the comment in general, trying to gather the best thing she could say in response. This was the topic of the year, muttered in hallways with curious and skeptical eyes watching her. Why doesn’t Yomi “participate” in anything? Does she think herself to be better than everyone because of her family? To come out to a party such as this after three whole years of keeping to herself, trying desperately to stay under the radar--it was understandable that Mira would be curious.

Others were just too cowardly to ask.

“I...well...I wanted to try.” Yomi murmured in reply, feeling both sets of eyes on her as she stepped down over a lip in the path. She couldn’t remember ever speaking about this to anyone, keeping all the issues locked up tight without burdening another person. But in the dark of the caves, out of her element...something could change, right?

“Just for a day. To try and be... normal.”

Whether or not that made sense was the question, but Yomi didn’t think there would be anything to worry about on that front. They definitely understood what was being put across, there was no doubting that. She realized easily as she turned to watch Clark help Mira down the incline, meeting his now-sympathetic gaze and feeling a bit surprised by the serious expression he wore. It didn’t change much to send him into concerned, big brother mode it would seem. Those dark eyes were gentle in the dim lighting, reflecting the glow of her cell phone with a steady gaze meeting her own

“Is it hard,” He asked hesitantly, like the thought hadn’t entered his head before, “For you to be normal? Or rather...to feel normal.”

Mira pursed her lips, emerald-green eyes also glinting in the light from Yomi’s phone as she waited for the reply.

Yomi let out a light hum in response, meeting Mira’s steady gaze and trying to decipher the emotion there. Something akin to understanding, thoughtful in nature. Since she asked the original question, it felt only right to give such answers to her.

“Might sound silly, but...it does,” Yomi admitted, feeling strangely at ease while talking to someone like the brash redhead. There was something about her, a silent camaraderie Yomi didn’t understand--maybe due to how much the troubled girl respected and admired her? Strong, steadfast and determined in everything she did. Mira was certainly not the type to judge, nor had she partaken in all the criticizing that went around the school. She simply felt...curious, “It felt easier to just stay quiet and get through school as fast as I could. I...wanted to try and have fun for once.”

Mira snorted, saying exactly what Yomi herself had thought previously in the evening, “Hard to call that shit fun. We could have stayed at Clark’s place, watching anime reruns and covering ourselves in crumbs from the safety of his couch.”

Yomi blinked in response. She had never been to Clark’s house before--the very notion of being able to was somehow strange, a nice change of pace. Her brain created its own images of someplace nice and cozy, domestic in comparison to the big, empty house she lived in on a daily basis. It sounded pleasant.

Mira’s words made their classmate smile, a flash of those pearly whites as he laughed, “You’re just saying that because you like my dog.”

“And what moron wouldn’t?”

Yomi hid her smile at their conversation, trying to instead focus on navigating the narrow path in the dark. It was eerily quiet in the caves besides the echoing words from the other two. No dripping water, no sounds of animals or anything at all. Didn’t caves have bats? Mice? Strange eldritch creatures hungering for their flesh? Her imagination was getting out of control, which needed to be halted before it got worse. The path was starting to widen a bit, the walls looking less craggy and jagged to...smooth? Almost curved at the top like an archway, air drifting in from their backs and overcoming the stagnant smell with the one of crackling firewood. This felt...odd--why was the floor so even, the walls spaced perfectly like the cave had been carved out long ago?

Maybe these were mining caves after all?

Yomi frowned a bit, feeling along the wall and noticing what looked to be something carved into the stone and rock. It was strangely out of place on the crumbling, misshapen tunnel--everything around it had long since been messed up by the earth shifting and changing, but it was only this area that seemed to remain untouched, smooth, undisturbed by nature or anything like that. Yomi probed her fingers further, turning the light on her phone to brighten up what she was feeling for further examination. But that only increaded the confusion, amping up the surprise when she saw first hand what her hands were touching.

Not cracks, not carvings. These markings were different than that, and far more precise.

It looked almost...runic, made up of intricately curved lines and shapes. They reminded her of something she had seen in a video game, or a fantasy movie with witches and wizards. It didn’t look chiseled either--almost like it was burned into the stone with lava or a razor thin torch. That...couldn’t be right though, could it? Was cave dwelling cultists another story told in town when people spoke of the caves? The memory wasn’t exactly there, which was somehow even more concerning. Someone definitely had to take the time to make such strange markings, it was incredibly intricate and beautiful in design. Who could have such dedication, to come into a dark cave and make something no one would ever see?

Yet here they were, seeing them.

This is so unbelievably bizarre.

“What’s wrong?” Clark asked, pulling out his phone as well to shine light on their feet. He took a few steps closer, leaning over Yomi’s shoulder to stare at the marking and letting out a low murmur of, “Wow, that’s strange. Never seen anything like it.”

An understatement to be sure. It was almost ridiculous, like something she would have seen in a movie or storybook.

Mira came up on the other side as well, leaning her weight against the white and black-haired girl without a care in the world. Yomi paused in surprise, not minding the sudden contact, but...it felt weird having people be so close.

“Maybe some dumb devil-worshipping teenagers were down here,” She said dismissively, eyeing the rest of the tunnel with a troubled expression despite her laid-back tone, “Did any of you see a sheep’s carcass on our way down? Candles? Shrines devoted to the dark Lord Satan?”

Clark clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “See now, that’s not funny.”

“I thought it was hilarious,” Mira smirked, shoving his shoulder with one of her crutches, “Lighten up, Superman. Most you have to be scared of down here is Jake’s wandering hands.”

Yomi sighed at their joking, pressing her fingertips to the marks and tracing out one of the more prominent lines. Satan worshipers was one thing, but in a small town like theirs people like that would have been incredibly obvious. Even then, what the hell did they use to get the marks so precise and small? It certainly didn’t look carved, at least not to her eyes-- more like it was burned into the stone’s surface like a brand. But if there was any scorching, it was not found by her carefully searching eyes in the dark. Something about it felt ominous and strange--the hairs on the back of Yomi’s neck stood up, signalling to her that they should probably just turn back.

Skinny dipping was one thing, finding mysterious symbols in a dark tunnel was definitely outside her final walls of comfort. She had enough spooks for one day, that was for certain.

But when she turned to tell them that, Clark was pressing onward, sliding one hand along the wall and holding up his phone with the other. Mira was following slowly behind, managing fairly well on her forearm crutches and staring at what had now garnered the boy’s attention.

Yomi blinked, eyes widening when she saw more and more symbols lining the walls, different in their patterns and designs and now taking up almost every available space. What the hell was all of this? She quickened her step, keeping half of her focus on Mira to make sure the girl wouldn’t stumble, the other half on the newfound mystery. Marking after marking, curving up toward the ceiling and turning into swirling images as they danced over the curves and stone. Depicting otherworldly creatures, dragons and giant birds in flight as they clashed in the sky.

They were beautiful, but wasted in a cave such as this.

“Where did these come from…?” Yomi murmured, tracing the patterns with each step and unable to understand any of it, “You would think someone else would have found these markings, but...No one mentioned them, did they?”

She spent a lot of her time observing and listening. Even when news of these caves spread, no one spoke of something such as this.

Clark frowned, his brow furrowing as he lost himself in thought, “Now that you mention it...I was told there was one tunnel system, not two paths. There was rubble around the one we took, the edges more jagged. Maybe this way was opened by a cave in?”

Yomi blanched, taking a very measured step backwards in the direction they entered in. If there had been a collapse before, it could very well happen again. Now that she thought about it, the entry way did have a bit of debris, and Emma had spoken of something like that being possible before herding the drunken members of the group away.

Not safe. We need to go.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Mira huffed, genuine concern on her face now as she mimicked Yomi’s motion and stepped backwards, “If cave-ins are a thing, we need to bounce. Too much danger for my liking.”

That was a hard agreement on Yomi’s part. She already felt uneasy about coming to an abandoned cave in the middle of the woods, especially when it was technically illegal. Mind you, kids had done it before and generally only got a slap on the wrists. But Yomi didn’t particularly want to be arrested, especially considering who she was. If she got arrested, if her step father and mother found out what she was doing…

Bad, very bad.

"Yeah, let's head back. We can go to my house," Clark gave Yomi a welcoming smile, putting a hand around Mira’s arm to hold her steady. "You can come too, if you want--my dog Ruby is a sweetheart, loves everyone. We call her Boobie.”

His words make Yomi pause, a hesitant delight blooming in her chest at how eager he was to try and be kind to her. Clark was known for being the friendly sort, but unlike Bethany he was nowhere near as pushy or forceful about it. A gentle giant, one who respected people’s personal space. Even people in their class who weren’t his friends know that he'd be there if they needed him, and having him extend that same courtesy to her despite the reputation floating around school…

I’m not used to this.

She opened her mouth to reply, trying to formulate some sort of coherent response or maybe ask if it was really alright with them, but something made her focus start to drift.

...What is that sound?

Yomi blinked, ears suddenly hyper-focusing on the cave around them in a brief second of clarity from the racing thoughts. It had been shockingly quiet in this area before, far from the crackling fire and rowdy classmates. No dripping water, no bats, nothing but the echos of their own voices bouncing further into the landscape. But now...something was there, making all three teenagers pause and glance at each other in confusion. It was low, so low that for a second Yomi thought she was imagining it, but it brought a sensation that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, vibrating the bottoms of her feet every so slightly. A humming, like a deep bass was vibrating through the cave and growing in quiet intensity. It was the sort of thing one could feel in their lungs, loud and quiet at the same time.

Mira shot a confused look at Yomi’s face, placing a hand on the wall while her forearm crutch dangled a bit. For whatever reason, it made the other girl mimic her action--the humming sensation felt like it was radiating from the walls, below their feet and rising upwards. Clark was the only one who didn’t seem compelled to touch the cool stone, shining his light down the tunnel with a worried expression on his face. What the hell was that sound? What is going on? So ominous, so...mysterious. Surely not from her fellow classmates, they had nothing that could cause something like this, not the pulsing waves of bass that seemed to vibrate from below.

Break...shatter to pieces.

Was...that a voice speaking? The white and black-haired girl gasped, turning to look at Mira to see if she heard it too--the answer was a clear yes. Her green eyes met half-way with Yomi’s hazel gaze, filled with quiet alarm and fascination mingled in one. Clark was the only one who didn’t seem to hear it, still looking around with a perplexed gaze at the humming.

Break. Shatter.

Let us in.

I’m tired of waiting--I SAID BREAK.

A crackling sound suddenly range out, making Yomi flinch at the sudden shattering of silence and snapping her gaze to the ground. Bright, it’s bright--what is going on? A burst of light made them all gasp, the marks on the wall lighting up in a flash of purple energy that slithered through every curve, every line and circle all the way up into the ceiling with a searing howl that razed against her ears. It all happened so fast, so suddenly there was no room to react. As it traveled along her palm, Yomi yelped at a flash of heat, falling back and jerking her hand to her chest in unison with Mira. It stung terribly, like pressing against a hot brand under her skin was sizzling from the wound of it.

What the fuck was that?

Both girls stared in shock, Clark putting himself behind them to make sure neither fell onto the floor. Yomi felt her back hit his chest when she reared back, his heartbeat fast and just as alarmed as hers was as he stared in mute shock at the glowing runes all over the walls.

Quick as it came, the light left, traveling up to the images on the ceiling and disappearing in a flash of sizzling violet. Every hair on Yomi’s arms was standing on end, heart pounding in her chest and hand stinging terribly. What was that? What the fuck just happened? The air felt charged, like static electricity and smelled of something...strange, like nothing she had ever encountered before. There was no mistaking that it had happened, all three classmates stood huddled in a state of shock as the humming subsided ever so slightly. Mira breathing heavily, Clark’s hands firm on their shoulders as he held them as steady as he could with shaking fingers.

Something had just happened, something none of them understood.

“Holy shit,” Mira whispered, leaning against Yomi and wincing as she lifted her injured hand. Yomi stared in shock at her palm, seeing the same markings from the wall seared into her flesh--upon looking at her own, the girl was met with the same image. The skin around the wound tingled, charged with an inexplicable energy that made her whole hand uncomfortable, “What the fuck was that? You all saw that, right? I didn’t hallucinate some weird fucking energy burning my hand.”

Yomi shook her head, taking in a shaking breath as she stared at the stinging mass of markings now on her flesh, “N...no...we all saw it…” She turned her gaze to stare down the tunnel, hearing that same humming still radiating ever so slightly further along, “I’ve never seen anything like that...never.”

It had been...frightening, but incredible at the same time. Exhilarating, like an adventure she had never been allowed to have.

And shockingly enough, Mira was feeling the same way. When Yomi returned her gaze to the red-headed girl, she saw her own excitement echoed there, growing in intensity as she too seemed to registered that they had been apart of something strange, something beyond their realm of understanding. Injured or not, it was outside the normativity of their everyday lives, and that was...was…

I want to understand this. I want to know more.

Clark was the only one who was visibly shaken from the incident, not sharing in their excitement as he stammered, “W...we should probably go...That shit isn’t normal, and you both are burnt…!” He took a step back, watching to make sure Mira had properly adjusted her crutches before pulling out his phone, “I’m gonna call Em and make sure she and the others are alright--let’s get going and tend to your wounds.”

Mira let out a light huff, wincing when she tried to grip the crutch with her injured palm and hanging back as Clark took a few steps in the direction they came from, “Hang on now--Aren’t you even a little curious? The walls were glowing, they burned like fire…!”

The eager redhead slid past Yomi, walking a bit awkwardly now that she was trying not to grip the one half of her crutches. Her gaze was locked on the markings, barely illuminated by her companion’s phone as she moved a bit further down the tunnel. Meanwhile, the more timid member of their group was torn, watching her actions and unconsciously trailing behind. Her brain was screaming at her to go back to safety, to leave before things got even worse--the mark burned into flesh would scar, a permanent reminder of this day, and yet she didn’t care. Mira was excited about what was going on...maybe it meant she could feel that way too? Maybe it was normal to want to understand the unknown.

But Clark wasn’t convinced, the only voice of reason as he turned to look at them a few feet away, “Not a chance--not where our safety is involved…!”

Maybe he’s right. Yomi frowned, still holding her injured hand cupped with the other one. Maybe another day, maybe after talking to the others about what happened? Leaving felt disappointing, but...some things were more important than discovery, right? The need to learn more, the curiosity swirling in her gut was so strong she almost spoke up on Mira’s behalf, pleading with Clark to let them look a little bit further. She was never the type to ask for things, it always felt so selfish. Especially now, with danger thrown into the mix.

How could Yomi possible hope to demand anything if it meant endangering the lives of both the people with her? It was not fair.

She instead returned her gaze to Mira, reading the same unhappiness there that she felt and returning it in kind. Both shared a silent moment of understanding, hazel staring into green, Yomi’s hesitant desires plain and clear on her face. The redhead looked ready to speak, spurned on even more by her classmate’s fellow eagerness.

But it was short lived, Clark’s words punctuated like fate itself was scolding them for their hesitation.

A loud rumble started shaking the cave, all three letting out varying cries of alarm and stumbling on their feet. Loud, everything was so loud--stone rattling, cracking, grinding with the force of the tremors rocking the small space.Yomi heard screams echo from the other side of the cave, bouncing all the way down to their tunnel and signalling that the others were feeling the tremor too--a cave in? Earthquake? There was so much was shaking, like the stone under their feet was shifting back and forth and threatening to make the unsteady girl fall to her knees. Clark tumbled back behind them, his phone clattering onto the floor but barely heard through the chaos surrounding the fearful students.

Yomi instinctively whipped around to look at Mira, reaching out to the girl as she screamed and started to fall in the dark. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for a moment--Yomi reaching, Mira falling, room rumbling...she’s still falling, further than she should. Yomi’s finger’s gripped one of the redhead’s arms, a slow sense of dread and alarm growing when she continued to plummet. Beyond the floor, beyond the--the floor is gone. The realization came too late, the shock snapping through her as it registered why the floor was so dark. It had given way, crumbling into nothingness and sending Mira into a free-fall.

A cave in, ground subsidence, Yomi’s head screamed at her, every warning bell going off as she prepared to hold Mira’s weight, She’s going to fall, she’s going to--

But when she tried to steady her weight, she felt it--a cracking underneath her feet. Yomi scrambled, a cry of alarm lodging in her throat as the cave in shattered more of what once appeared as solid stone. It bottomed out with a loud grinding sound, sending the frantic girls into a plummeting down toward the empty abyss. There was no true way to describe it, the feeling of falling with absolutely no purchase for her hands or feet. She’s going to die--we’re going to die. There was nowhere to grab onto, no footing, no nothing. Just empty space that her free fingers clawed for, eyes locked on their descent and hoping to god that Clarke was far enough away not to be pulled into it. Her palm was flaring in pain where it held Mira’s arm, the girl’s cries loud in her ears over the rushing of blood and adrenaline.

But she still heard him as they fell, Clark’s scream of fear and horror as more stone collapsed over where they once stood.

“No…! Yomi! Mira…!”

Neither could response. All Yomi could do was cling to the other girl, heart pounding in her ears and a choked cry of terror lodged in her throat as the air rushed past.

As they plummeted into the nothingness.

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years

Text

Oblivion

Part Two: Can’t Fix Shit

A/N: We’ve seen what life of like for Logan and “Miranda” inside the park, but what about out in the “real” world?

WARNINGS: mentions and depictions of suicide, drug use, sex.

Word Count: 3,062

The room swam as your breathing slowed and the lights seemed to fade. Your head felt heavy and you couldn’t recall a time when your eyes were more tired, more desperate to close. You kept them open, trained on the thick crimson swirl in the pristine marble sink, mesmerized by the intricate patterns it made. That would be a great shade of lipstick, your barely there brain thought, I’d call it…”end it all red”. A sleepy, slightly delirious laugh slipped from your lips as your knees buckled and you collapsed to the ground, sinking against the vanity cabinet. The bottle of bourbon you’d swiped from Erik’s stash fell from the countertop as your elbow made contact on your way down, shattering and spilling what was left of it all over your legs, covering you in broken glass, little scratches and the smoky aroma of Erik’s most expensive vice. Oops... You tried to grab at the glass shards, tried to brush them off your legs, but your fingers wouldn’t do your bidding. You looked down at your hands and realized they were covered in blood. What… You watched it run down the lines of your palm and over the webbing between your fingers. You turned your hand over and saw that the diamond on your engagement ring-big, obnoxious, flashy chunk that it was- looked more like a ruby. You turned your hand over again before your eyes found the three small straight cuts running a few inches lengthwise on your pale wrist. Blinking hard against the floaters and shiners that were filling your vision, you managed to shift your gaze to the left, where next to what was left of the neck of the bourbon bottle, your mother’s pearl handled letter opener sat, the tip stained in “end it all red”.

As your head filled with static and your chest shook with each labored beat of your heart, the sound of hard soled shoes on the tile floor echoed in the cavernous bathroom. “No…” you muttered, that delirious quality still lingering in your voice. Even now, your body fighting for control of what you’d done to it, your mind slipping and your vision vanishing, the events of the evening came back to you. Your engagement party, your father’s bullshit speech about how happy he was that his little girl had found love, Erik’s stiff hold on you as the two of you danced, the way you felt like a prized pig on display at a fair, your fake smile aching your lips and cheeks. You recalled the amount that you’d drank, and how it did so little to curb the sickness that you felt when you thought about forever with Erik. His words in your ear as you danced with all the eyes in the room stuck on the happy couple; “You won’t embarrass me tonight like last time, do you hear me?” Your father taking you aside later to ensure that you were heeding Erik’s words, ensuring that you wouldn’t cause a scene or do anything to jeopardize your impending marriage... or the financial gain that merging Erik’s investment firm with his would mean. The footsteps rang closer as the static reached its maximum frequency, and a pair of arms slipped under your legs and behind your shoulders, lifting you off the floor. “No, no, no, no…” the word dribbled from your lips as Erik carried you down the hall, shouting for someone to call 911.

You couldn’t see him, eyes unable to focus on anything at all, but you heard his voice, muffled like it was travelling through water, and you could smell his cologne, burning your nostrils and choking you. He checked your pulse and brought a hand to your cheek before lowering his lips to your face and whispering your name. “You’re not doing this to me now…” The last thing you remember from that scene was the satisfied smile that crept up your lips at the fear in his voice: you knew that his firm needed the merge just as much as your father’s, and it was all hinging on the two of you getting married- keeping the business in the family. But you had no intentions of marrying Erik, and you’d do whatever you had to to make sure that you didn’t suffer that fate. Later that night in the hospital, as you lay there hooked to intravenous tubes and monitors, your father had said that he’d “fix” everything, make sure that you were relatively happy as you served your sentence as Erik’s wife. You looked at him, your face tear stained and full of pain, and answered “You can’t fix shit, dad.” He left your room then, and you didn’t see him again for a week.

That was nearly six months ago. After that incident, you had been kept on an even tighter leash than normal; under a closer eye and a more scrutinous lens. No therapy or rehab, of course, because the risk of that information leaking to the media would be bad press, but you were rarely allowed a private moment. Except for the three days a month when your father and Erik met with various Delos board members, ironing out details and working out the terms of the investment deal that they had been planning since talk of their firms merging began. Those three days were all yours, and they felt comfortable enough leaving you alone in the park while they met with people too important to bring you around, knowing that you couldn’t come to too much harm under the watchful eyes of park security. You were an asset to them, something they could trade and use to strengthen contracts, and neither of them did very much to mask that fact from you- you were used to it, having grown up with your father, having been groomed to be a prim and proper wife someday, to wear pearls and gowns at galas and smile in pictures, and perpetuate the myth that Harding Investments Incorporated was a solid, wholesome, deeply rooted American company. You weren’t sure how anyone in their right mind could buy that crock of shit. But then, you lived in a world where there existed a need for a place like Westworld- a place where you could lie, cheat and kill with no consequences; let alone the underlying interests in the technology that Harding and Delos were interested in- and you realized that in this world, no one was in their right mind, yourself included.

This was evidenced by the highly questionable game you were currently engaged in with the man who was laying ass up in the bed behind you, his quiet snores filling the room as you gathered your clothing and silently dressed. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what his story was, if he was clean or not, if he was abusive or dangerous, and therein lie the risk, the thing you craved most. He’d told you that his name was Logan after you’d made good on your promise to fuck him senseless, not stopping after that one mind blowing go, but letting him have his way with you a second time with a blow job thrown in the middle for good measure. You couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t lying about his name or playing a game like you, but something told you that he was telling the truth. You looked at his reflection in the mirror as you pulled your pants up over your thighs and noted the differences in his features as he slept. He looked peaceful, at rest, and not at all like the gruff, rough and tumble, borderline hedonistic cowboy you’d just done unspeakable things with. That’s not really you, is it, Cowboy? Suddenly you didn’t know which would be worse- if his name was a lie or the truth. You took one last look at him, eyes running over the perfect body that had just ravished yours, and quietly exited the room.

Before he’d fallen asleep, thoroughly spent not just from you but from the alcohol and the rigorous activity that you knew he was engaged in only minutes before you, he’d pulled you close and slipped his arms around your body. The feel of his skin making contact with yours in such an intimate manner was arguably more pleasurable than the last hour had been. You couldn’t remember the last time you were held like that, and you knew without a doubt that whenever it was it hadn’t felt this good. Part of you knew that this was never how he acted with the Hosts, and you wondered how much he believed your alter-ego story. You sighed against his shoulder, lips pressed to his clavicle, trying to control your breathing as he lazily trailed his fingers over your body- your hips, your abdomen, your arms...your wrists. Your eyes shot open as you felt the pads of his fingers trace the three raised pinkish lines that marred your left wrist. Shit, should have worn some kind of bracelet or something. Hosts didn’t have scars from suicide attempts. Hosts were perfect, and you were not.

“What’s this?” His voice was thick, mouth barely moving as he spoke, only half awake.

Your breath caught at his question, but you didn’t think he noticed, and you waited a few beats of your erratic heart before you answered, racking your brain for something that sounded scripted. “This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.” You twisted in his grasp and his fingers slid from your wrist to run the length of your spine, knuckles pressing into your flesh. “But let’s not talk about darkness, Cowboy.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you thought- hoped- he’d fallen asleep and forgotten about those damn scars, but then he tightened his hold on you as he spoke. “Logan...I told you, my name is Logan.”

. . . . . . .

What the fuck am I doing? It was the last thought that went through his mind as he held you and drifted off to sleep. Logan had always maintained a certain level of disconnect between himself and the Hosts that he fucked and killed, constantly reminding himself that nothing he was doing, nothing that he was seeing or feeling or experiencing was real, that it was all a very well crafted, meticulously detailed fantasy; that the power and the exhilaration and the ecstacy of it was all manufactured and meaningless- the most expensive cheap thrill around. He knew that. He’d known that from the start, from before he’d ever set his boot clad foot on that rickety train. But this one, this Host...Miranda...something felt different, and he hated the way it made him throw all that knowledge, all that acceptance of the illusion straight into the trash. They’re really making them lifelike if they’re giving them suicidal tendencies. Finally giving me something more my speed...But still...what the fuck am I doing?

What the fuck he was doing, was hoping beyond belief that Miranda...you...were real. He’d allow himself that hope for as long as he was in that room, and no further, knowing how dangerous it was to let the hope take root. Any other Host he’d been with had been submissive- sure they put up a fight if they’re prompted, they flirt and tease if they pick up on certain biometric cues, but they always ended up succumbing to whatever it was that he wanted, as they were designed to do. You, though, seemed to be operating according to your own will- calling him out on the gambling floor, taking control in the bedroom, even if it was just momentarily before you’d let him take the reins. It had been so long since he’d felt anything real, since he’d felt a reaction like the one that you invoked in him, that he’d all but forgotten that there could be more to sex than release. Outside the park, all of his conquests had been forgettable- due to the lackluster performance or the combination of alcohol, hallucinogens and speed, it wasn’t clear. He couldn’t even remember who the last person- real person- he’d fucked was: a man? A woman? Old, young? Was it someone new, a one night stand, or someone he’d kept on rotation? What did it matter- it hadn’t felt like this. He wondered if he’d ever find something real that felt like you, and for a moment he hated you for setting such an unrealistically high bar.

But unrealistic, unreachable bars weren’t new to Logan, so the hatred for you was fleeting. His father, James Delos, one of the Gods of Westworld, was notorious for dangling expectations just out of his son’s reach, and the hatred there was more deeply seeded. He claimed it was the only way to motivate a “deadbeat, drugged up, strung out, waste of time” like Logan, taking the “toss the kid in the pool” approach to teaching self-reliance and responsibility. It didn’t matter to him that this behavior, this part of his personality, this approach to life, to family, had driven his own wife to take her life. It didn’t matter that his son was never shown affection or approval. What mattered to him was his business, his legacy, and anything that could stain it was simply an obstacle that he’d find a way around and leave in the dust- even if that obstacle was his only son.

“Don’t fuckin show your face in the boardroom again until you get clean and land a deal worth running your mouth about, you hear me, boy? I won’t have you dragging down the name Delos with your foolish philandering and your weakness.”

“Weakness?” he’d scoffed, knowing all too well what he meant, but finding a sick satisfaction in watching his father actually say the words to him- in watching his father respond to him as the soulless monster that he was.

“Your addiction. Your destructive behavior…” those were answers Logan had heard time and again as he struggled to find something- anything- that he could grab onto in sobriety, something to keep him tethered to the moment and above the waves of doubt and pain and emptiness that constantly threatened to drown him. Those were the answers he expected from James Delos. The next word...just one word...was one he didn’t expect, one he hadn’t heard yet in this context. “You.” To his father, there was not one redeeming quality about Logan, nothing worthy of the legacy that James was building… nothing that told him that Logan should inherit the company one day. It didn’t seem to occur to him that that was because he’d done a piss poor job of raising him. Gods were never at fault. “And don’t tell me you’ll get clean, Logan. Don’t lie to me and tell me you’ll fix it. Show me. Because as far as I know, you can’t fix shit. You can’t even keep your own head on straight without snorting something up your nose or shooting something into your veins. So don’t waste your breath, boy, you’ll need it.”

Logan went through bouts of trying his hardest to finally catch that rabbit, but always came up short, like a tired dog after one race too many. If he couldn’t catch the rabbit, he could forget it, though, and he’d dive down the rabbit hole and into whatever vice, whatever coping mechanism, whatever poison could make him feel less like a failure; make him forget that he was reaching for something he’d never achieve. He’d nearly overdosed twice in the last four years, trying to forget that fucking rabbit, prompting the house staff to keep an accredited nurse on hand at all times- headlines announcing that the heir apparent to the Delos Corporation had landed himself in the hospital or rehab was simply something that James could not abide, consequences be damned.

Forgetting the rabbit was easier in Westworld. Sure, there were no hard drugs, nothing harder than moonshine, anyway, but there were endless opportunities to assert dominance and he took every single one that he came across in whatever form it presented itself to him. But Miranda...you... were the best distraction that he’d found in any of his many trips to the park or any of his escapades back home, and he wondered why that was...what was it about this one that made him soften his usually harsh edges, made him forget his number one rule and wish that you were real- that what he felt when he touched you, when you kissed him, when your bodies were entwined and your breath was on his skin was real? You’d gotten dressed and left that back room at the Mariposa while he slept, and he woke an hour later, naked, alone and left wanting for something that he knew he shouldn’t. Why?

He blinked his eyes open and ran his hand over the sheet where you had been, wondering if you hadn’t been a dream. Maybe he’d fallen asleep after that orgy and you’d simply been a figment of his now hung over imagination. But the tips of his fingers tingled and he vaguely remembered feeling the raised, rippled skin of your wrist and those three nearly unnoticeable scars. That wasn’t a dream...it happened...I don’t know if it was real, but it happened. Sitting up he looked out the window and saw that the sky outside had turned an inky black. He figured that Miranda had been called off to cater to the needs of another Guest. Lucky bastard, he thought about whomever that might be, as he stretched and redressed, but he felt something else rise up in his chest at the thought of your body doing for someone else what you’d just done for him, at the thought of your lips trailing along someone else’s skin, or your quiet breathing syncing with a different set of lungs- something like jealousy. What the fuck are you doing? He asked himself one more time, remembering your words when he’d asked you about the scars.

“This darkness I acknowledge is mine,” you’d said.

What did the Hosts know about darkness? Plenty, and he knew that. But the tone of your voice as you answered, the little intake of breath when he’d asked…

What are you, Miranda? Who are you?

@something-tofightfor @my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @ymariejp

Sorry if you were double tagged- something went fuckey and the whole post deleted. 🙃

#oblivion #logan delos #logan delos x reader #logan delos x you #westworld #black hat #logan x reader #trigger warnings

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Indomitable; shattering glass doesn't fix hearts (Trixya) - Dymphna

Hi! I began posting this on AO3 awhile ago but decided to bring it here as well since… well, I don’t know, it’s the fic I like most that I’ve written myself. I’ll be the first to admit it takes quite awhile to get to the actual plot but… bear with me guys! I hope you enjoy, any feedback is appreciated :) <3

You can find me at my blog @tropicaldepressionkatya

Who the fuck wears nude shoes to a hunt in the woods? Trixie couldn’t believe her own stupidity. She’d think it was her first hunt. When she glanced down at her feet, the mud was already all over the soft shoe. The fabric soaked it all up, and Trixie wanted to just take them off, preferably throw them in a fire as well. Unfortunately, she had made a choice. And the price was a pair of perfect nude colored heels.

So there she was, crouched, a once beautiful pair of shoes on her feet, her hair in a ponytail. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, eyes not leaving the tree. The tree where the demon was supposed to appear.

Everything had led her to that point, and she was prepared. Salt, salt bullets, iron, even. The thing about demons was that they responded differently to certain things. Salt always kept them out, but couldn’t always kill them. Iron only worked on some.

After Trixie had seen a hunter with angel blood kill a demon, she had cursed her own parents for not sleeping with angels. The runes, which apart from looking amazing, also made them better at, let’s say, everything. They had knives and swords that were given to them by the angels themselves, buzzing with light and slicing through the demons with ease. After a hit in the chest, they crawled back to where they came from.

Trixie was jealous, but she couldn’t change her blood type and decided to let it go. She had killed plenty of demons all on her own, without runes and fancy knives. She was an amazing hunter, even though working alone could get her killed faster than she’d like.

Her legs and knees were beginning to hurt, the demon hadn’t showed up yet. Beginning to get impatient, Trixie cocked her gun, checking the bullets, cleaning her knives.

“Did you hear that?” Someone hissed, a little too loud, to be sneaky. “Someone is here.”

Changing the position of her feet, Trixie stopped breathing, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.

“It’s probably nothing. Let’s get this over with.” She exhaled again

Two women walked towards the small open spot, the tree in the middle. Big, majestic, demonic. Probably all Trixie’s favorite things, it just missed some pink.

The smaller one, wild curls bouncing as she glanced around, reached for a bottle, which she sprinkled over the tree. Trixie caught a glimpse of a tattoo. She had no idea what they were doing. The other woman, a little taller, wearing a tight dress and black pumps, almost tripped a couple of times, before she lighted a match.

Trixie liked to think she was pretty smart, but she didn’t realize that the girls were going to light the demon tree – her demon tree –on fire until the match was thrown towards the tree.

“What the fuck?!” Trixie jumped up, her voice a low growl. “Do you have any idea what the fuck you’ve just done?!” She yelled, grabbing her gun and cocking it again.

“Oh my-“

The smallest girl also pulled out a gun, black and modern, yet not a revolver. Trixie knew her bullets wouldn’t kill a human, but the long shaft looked intimidating.

The taller blonde, apparently a lot slower than her friend, pulled a machete from her back. The fire reflected on the metal. It seemed so close, too close. Trixie might have been angry, but her job was protecting the mundane, so she lunged forwards, yanking the smallest girl closer to her. “Watch out! Your fucking fire is gonna bite your asses.”

Stunned, they looked back. Just shortly, but Trixie had lowered her gun. “I hope you know that this town is seriously fucked now, it’s y’all’s fault.”

“We actually saved the town!” The blonde called, machete loosely dangling in her hand. “You don’t know what we’re talking about.”

“Whatever,” Trixie put away her gun. “I’ll drop a flower on your grave.” She turned her back to the girls, jogging away. The girls wouldn’t hurt her. Not when she saved them from getting severe burns. Trixie thought it was weird they carried weapons, but consumed by anger and annoyance, she didn’t think to give it, or them, any attention.

“Is she wearing nude shoes? Out of fabric? Is she stupid?”

Throwing the shoes back into the sink, Trixie rubbed her eyes, sighing. As expected, those shoes were ruined. Now all she had was a pair of pink and white cowboy boots and a selection of ugly black and blue pumps. After she’d saved the town from the demons that were going to flood the town, she’d go shopping. Her formal wear was beginning to thin, all her nice clothes destroyed during working hours. So there she was, in black jeans and an orange sweater. She hated that sweater. It tickled her all the time, and by the end of the day, her skin would be red and itchy.

The sun was beginning to rise, and Trixie realized she had lost another night of sleep to working and not being able to sleep. The coffee maker was way too loud, deafening almost, in the quiet motel. She didn’t like coffee, but the lack of tropical redbull forced her to do things she didn’t like.

Slipping into her white boots, Trixie took her shoes, strutting through the hallway. The lights were on, but there was no sound, no living soul in sight.

The dumpster next to the motel doors were something that had put Trixie off at first, but it was the closest to the woods and the city. After all, it was convenient. From where she was standing, she could see a crushed wall and an obvious hole in the roof. She hoped no one was dumb enough to use those rooms.

She dropped the shoes in the dumpster, sighing once again before she turned around.

“What is a pretty lady like you doing up so early?” Trixie had almost bumped into a tall man. He had a lot of muscles, and light hair. Generally speaking, he was attractive.

“Not just appearing and scarring other pretty ladies.” Trixie didn’t mean to snap, but his gaze held something offputting and empty. She tried to brush past him, but he spoke again.

“Come on, we’re already here, let’s make the most of it.” His voice was deep, but missed the warmth Trixie liked.

“I have an appointment in two hours.”

“Oh, with a boyfriend?” He teased, and Trixie turned fully back to the man. Her face was blank, something she always had been able to do. Resting bitchface, people said. Others said she was just a bitch.

“No, with the police. I’m helping them.” Trixie was bluffing, but she had a certain confidence, one that people simply couldn’t ignore.

“Oh,” His voice dropped in volume. “What are you investigating, hm?”

“Classified,” Trixie smiled, waving. “I’m going to get ready now.” The man didn’t say anything else.

Closing and locking the door behind her, the coffee maker was done, and she poured herself a cup. The key to delicious coffee was lots of sugar and milk. A lot of it.

Walking over to her suitcase, Trixie frowned. FBI clothing. Her last formal skirt was covered in blood stains, after she had raided a vampire nest a few weeks ago. She really needed to go shopping.

Since she didn’t have much choice, she picked a dark pant suit. One of the few positive things about it was that she had a pocket for her lipstick.

Moving to the small bathroom with her mug in her hand, clothes over her arm, and shampoo bottle in her other hand, she bumped the door open with her hip.

She’d been in the motel for a few days, so she knew the water took ages to heat up. So Trixie turned on the shower, carefully hanging the clothes over the sink as she sipped the last of her coffee. The motel towels were crappy, they always were, but bringing her own was just something she couldn’t afford. She was usually on the road, anyway. The apartment she owned in California was just collecting dust. She hadn’t been there in four months.

But having a place where she could stack all of her stuff, her books, her bills, and pictures was nice. She planned on going back for some time after her current job.

She stepped into the shower, the water turning dark with dirt almost immediately. Her feet and legs had been gross, covered in dirt. She’s washed most off when she got back, but dirt was annoying like that.

Her flowery and over-expensive shampoo covered the smells of her adventure and the lack of sleep, even though her makeup was going to finish that job.

Whatever she had to do, she would. She was going to fix the mistakes of the girls in the woods. She didn’t have a choice, really. She wouldn’t run away, even though it’d probably be safer.

“Miss Johnson?” Trixie turned at the sound of her fake name. When she was an FBI agent, she was Jessica Johnson, a widow. “Your coworkers have arrived.”

“I-“ Trixie bit her tongue, offering the officer a polite smile. “They’re here sooner than expected. Delayed flight,” She explained. “Could I talk to them for a minute?”

“Of course, they’re with officer White.” He said. “I’ll take you, Johnson.”

“Please, call me Jessica.” Trixie followed the man, wondering if they were real agents. Her fake ID was convincing, but with the shoes she picked, she’d never be fast enough to outrun an agent.

“Well, here they are. If it’s fishy…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “Call me when you’re done, okay?”

Trixie closed the door behind her. The doors in the whole building were rather heavy. Trixie wondered why that was. But when she spotted the two agents, it was a good thing the doors were heavy.

She pulled her gun, pointing it at the woman with wild curls. The blonde pulled her gun a little later.

“What are you doing here?” Trixie snapped. “You set a very special tree on fire, no way they would let two idiots be FBI agents.” Trixie slowly cocked the gun, her eyes following every movement of the girls.

“We are,” The blonde spat back. “I’m going to reach in my pocket, grab my ID.”

Trixie nodded, balancing her focus over the blonde and the girl with dark hair. The blonde fished out an ID, it looked real enough. Then again, so did hers. “Isabel?”

“The one and only,” Isabel lowered her gun. “That’s Rose.”

“Sounds like the fakest names ever,” Trixie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m the FBI agent. Y’all are imposters.”

Rose scoffed at the same tone as Trixie. “Well, girl, what was a real FBI agent doing in the freaking woods at night? Alone?”

“Important stuff, but that’s-“ The door was flung open, startling Trixie, who turned to the person. It was the man from that morning. “What the-“

Even though the man only hit her with one hand, his power was enormous. As she was being thrown against the floor, she realized that it was a demon. Her vision got blurry, the air was slammed out of her lungs. She needed to get up. She needed to protect the girls.

She forced herself up, slightly dizzy, but she had fought in worse shape. The blonde girl, who Trixie had written off as not so bright and slow, had a blade in her hand. Trixie would recognize blades like that everywhere. Freaking angel bloods. Of course they were, no one else would be as stupid to burn a demon portal tree. The other girl, Rose, reached for a weapon, but the man – demon – hit her with his fist, full against her head.

“Shangela!” The blonde called out through gritted teeth. Trixie’s head was too messed up to connect the dots. She didn’t care, anyway. It didn’t matter who these girls were, as long as they would be alive when Trixie left the building, trying to come up with a great lie.

She cocked her gun, the metal cold against her warm fingertips. She could feel blood drip down her neck. The blonde girl lunged away from the demon, hissing when he clawed at her skin.

Narrowing her eyes, Trixie had trouble keeping the gun straight, seeing straight. She shot. She was pointing at the demon’s head, but missed. It hit him in the shoulder, an unnatural sound leaving his mouth. Even if he was just distracted for a moment, the blonde lady, Isabel, jumped back forwards, slamming her fancy knife into the demon’s chest. With much more strength that Trixie thought was possible for a skinny thing like Isabel, she repeated the action multiple times, until the man opened his mouth, the demon circling out before vanishing with an agonizing scream.

Isabel was panting, dropping the dead body and rushing to Rose, or Shangela’s, side. “Hey,” She whispered, so softly that if Trixie had been standing two steps back, she wouldn’t have heard it. She wouldn’t have heard the desperation, fear and slight crack in her voice. “Shangela, Shangie, are you there?”

Trixie wondered how no one had noticed a gunshot or the obvious sounds of a fight. She just assumed the walls were soundproof. She hurried to the door, seeing a few officers frown at her. She smiled politely, closing the door again. Getting that body out would be a problem.

“Is she alright?”

“Fuck no,” The blonde snapped. Trixie was almost sure her name wasn’t Isabel. “Damn it, why did I leave my Steele in the hotel?” She ran a hand through her hair, biting her lip before getting up in frustration. She kicked one of the chairs before a few creative and impressive cuss words left her mouth.

“That isn’t gonna solve anything,” Trixie bit at the woman. She moved closer, her first-aid classes coming back. She had plenty of experience with wounds. Her head had stopped spinning, and the blood hadn’t dropped onto the floor, so she knew she was good. Better than the girl – Shangela, she assumed – on the floor.

After a quick glance, she knew the woman needed a hospital, or a real doctor, at least. She remained calm, speaking slowly to not alert the other girl. “She probably has a concussion. I can’t tell if she’ll wake up all by herself. I think she needs a doctor.”

“Okay, okay,” The girl breathed out, returning by her friend’s side. “Hear that Shangela? We’re gonna call Pep for you.”

“Who the hell-”

“Did I fucking ask you anything?” The blonde snapped probably harder than she intended to. She released another shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I’m really frustrated. I can’t carry her all by myself. Could you please help me?”

“My Jeep is outside,” Trixie said, looking at the still unconscious body. “But the body. We can’t become wanted after y’all burned a demon portal.”

Isabel closed her eyes, grinding her teeth. “Fine. I’ll take care of the body. Can you cause some distraction?”

“Isabel,” Trixie smiled. “Distraction is my second name.”

From the corner of her eye, Trixie could see the younger woman drag the body behind her, doing surprisingly well for her slim and breakable form. The officers were gathered around her as she clutched her forehead. The wound wasn’t deep, but stretched long enough over her face to worry some. Her agonizing groans were rather convincing, and men were always looking for a damsel in distress.

“I- it was a man! How did you not see him?! He rushed over there!” Tears were streaming over her face, and Trixie was amazed at how amazing she was doing. “Please, he said he was going to kill me!”

Several officers shuffled away, to the direction Trixie pointed at. Two stayed by her side. “Miss, it’s going to be okay. Come with us, we’ll make some phone calls-”

“No, no,” Trixie wiped her tears away. “I- I should go home.” Trixie wiped at the last tears. “I’m okay, I’ll be okay. I just… need to get out of here.”

“I understand, miss,” One officer said softly, a soothing tone to his voice. “Should I go and grab your purse?” He already was moving towards the door when Trixie saw Isabel hurrying back inside.

“No!” Trixie cleared her throat, hoping her voice would break just a little. “It’s fine, I can do that myself. Can you please help him get behind bars?” The innocent flutter of eyelashes broke something in the man, his eyes softening. It wasn’t the best thing for an officer.

“Thank you,” Trixie sniffed, wiping under her eyes again, offering the man a smile. She got up from her crouched position, taking the offered hand before she slowly skipped back to the room. Isabel was already inside, A bright grin on her face. “Good enough?”

“Yeah,” She said, a hand pressed against Shangela’s arm. “Help me with her, okay?” Trixie didn’t even have time to brag about her theatrical skills and charm.

Trixie put the lady’s arm around her neck, gently lifting her to her feet. The other girl did the same. “So, I’m guessing you’re not Isabel?” As she groaned softly under her weight.

“Aquaria,” She muttered back, walking as fast as she could. Even though no one was walking in the main office, they didn’t know how fast they’d be back. The black Jeep was shining around the corner, and Aquaria let Trixie alone to deal with the unconscious girl as she opened the door. The two of them gently laid the girl on the back seat. She’d been out for a good ten minutes, and Trixie was beginning to worry.

Hopping in her car, the blonde was already sitting in the passenger seat, typing furiously on her phone. “Who’re you calling? We’re bringing her to the hospital.”

“No!” Aquaria snapped once again. She really seemed on edge, and Trixie couldn’t blame her. “How do you think they’ll look when they see her with all those wounds? With weirdly shaped scars? Too many questions. Besides, Peppermint can get her back on her feet in just a few hours.”

Aquaria pressed call, and was getting frustrated pretty fast. Trixie watched the girl on the backseat with caution and worry. She hoped this Peppermint person was as talented as Aquaria claimed her to be. If she wasn’t, Shangela would be dead by morning, she guessed. But Trixie felt like she couldn’t argue. Shangela had angel blood, after all.

“Okay,” Aquaria breathed out. “Here left. Pep will be there in half an hour.”

“That’s fast, where’s she from?”

“She’s in France, right now,” Aquaria glanced at Shangela, her curls decorating the last seat. “She needs to set up a portal, but she loves us. We’d do anything for her, and so would she.”

Trixie decided to say nothing. So Peppermint was going to travel by portal. Right. Sure. Whatever.

Trixie followed Aquaria’s direction, parked in front of a rather fancy looking hotel, at least in comparison to her motel, and helped carry the brunette to their room. Room 015, first floor, luckily. The hallways were thankfully empty.

“Let’s bring her to the bed,” Aquaria opened the door with a key, and Trixie was stunned. How in the world could they afford that place? The kitchen was small and neat and the dinner table had 4 spots. The table was decorated with a white tablecloth and yellow flowers. There even was a rather large lounge. “Over here.”

Trixie followed Aquaria’s lead, Shangela’s eyes sometimes opening a bit. At that point, Trixie wasn’t sure if she was affected by the hit on her head or if the demon blood had been too much for her. The burns in her legs and arms had been big.

Gently, they placed the woman on the bed, which was big and looked incredibly soft.

Aquaria brushed Shangela’s hair out of her face with a fond look on her face. “You’ll be okay, Peppermint is on her way.”

Trixie felt like she didn’t belong in that moment, too intimate and familiar. “Wanna help with the hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Pep likes hot chocolate. We’re kinda friends, I guess. We don’t need to pay her anymore, so I make sure we always gets some chocolate when she comes to the rescue.”

“Oh,” Trixie whispered, nodding her head and following Aquaria back to the kitchen. Now that there wasn’t an unconscious girl hanging between them, Trixie noticed that it wasn’t white and gold, but a soft pink cream color and bronze. The couch was one of the few shades of brown that Trixie thought didn’t look like shit, and the painting above a dresser had blue and pink tones that matched the walls and the kitchen cabinets. “I didn’t know hunting paid this well.”

She let her fingers glide over the dresser, which was spotless. Cleaned that morning, probably.

“Oh, it really doesn’t,” Aquaria smiled, opening the cabinet to grab a pan before moving to the fridge, which undoubtedly was too large for a hotel room. Aquaria’s mood had shifted, she didn’t seem too worried anymore. “You get creative, though. Lots of people die, you know. The unsaveable. We just…”

“Take their money,” Trixie finished. She hadn’t done that often, found it a rather disrespectful thing to do, and got what she wanted by lying, shoplifting, and going on dates to fancy restaurants. “I thought y’all angels were nice people.”

“Being nice doesn’t bring bread to the table,” Aquaria added some sugar to her mixture. “Can you close the curtains? Peppermint will be here soon.”

Since Aquaria didn’t say why, Trixie didn’t think it was her place to ask. She just did what was asked, muttering her questions under her breath, growing annoyed with the whole situation. In all honesty, she should probably go to her motel, try to solve the case, and forget about Aquaria and Shangela. But her curiosity was sparked, and if there was one thing Trixie knew about herself, it was that all questions should be answered.

So Trixie let Aquaria babble on and on and on. Humming or chuckling where needed. She talked a lot, stumbling over her own words from time to time, earning a genuine giggle from Trixie. It only took Peppermint about ten minutes, before she literally walked through the wall.

“What the fuck?” Trixie chocked out when she saw the light wall darken, the core so black, it looked as if nothing had ever been there. “Aquaria, What the fuck is happening?”

Aquaria glanced over the edge of her phone, an eyebrow raised. “Oh,” Aquaria dropped her gaze to her phone again, shutting it off a few seconds later. “The portal.”

Aquaria moved closer to the wall, a bright smile of excitement on her face. It was as if she had forgotten about Shangela. Or that she didn’t really care. Trixie shrugged those thoughts off, because it could just be her coping mechanism, and because it definitely wasn’t her job to judge whatever was going on between them.

A woman with black braids and pink lips stepped through the ‘portal’, smiling brightly as she spotted Aquaria. “Hello, dear,” Her voice was soft and gentle, and Trixie could imagine her hug being comforting and motherly. “What happened? Where is she?”

Aquaria led the woman to the room, and Trixie felt left out and unsure what she should do. It was a familiar feeling, even though she rarely paid attention to it. She preferred to work and travel alone, not wanting to take care of anyone, or being a burden for someone else. However, it did get lonely.

But Kim had warned her for that, yet young and dumb Trixie had been fueled by anger and fear, and she never thought about what it had meant, getting into the business. Now that she was almost ten years older, Trixie knew, and had to live with the consequences every day, sleep with it every night.

She hadn’t worked together since Kim, and even though she wouldn’t call saving Shangela’s live working together, she didn’t mind listening to Aquaria’s rambling, or the change of scenery. Sometimes, Trixie wondered if she made the wrong decision by working on her own.

“You okay?” Aquaria had her hair pulled in a high ponytail, the grey-ish tone in her hair more prominent now that she was opening the curtains again. The sun was shining, and even though Trixie doubted it would warm her skin up, it was pleasant to know she wouldn’t need a raincoat.

“Yeah,” Trixie gently shook her head, coming back from wherever her mind had wandered. It was a place she didn’t like to visit. “Is she going to be okay?” Trixie pointed at the door. The door was closed, and she swore she could hear a faint whisper.

“Pep is fixing her,” Aquaria’s hands were balled into fists. “She’s been through worse, Shangela,” The blonde let herself fall on the couch, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. Trixie could see the hint of dirt under her nails. Maybe it was blood.

“What about you?” Trixie couldn’t believe she forgot to ask that. Her social skills were rusting, that was obvious. The occasional hook up didn’t require much talking. Most of the time she was lying, anyway. She couldn’t be Trixie Mattel, often she had to be Jessica, or Isabella, or Alice. It was easy to forget who she was, even though fighting always brought her back.

“I’m fine,”

“No demon blood?” Trixie had a hard time believing that. Aquaria had been dressed in a skirt and the thinnest white blouse she’d ever seen. “Want me to take a look?”

“No, when Shangela wakes up, she’ll do it, it’s fine.”

“You sure?” Trixie carefully stopped herself from correcting Aquaria. If Shangela wakes up.

“Yeah, runes will heal it in no time.”

Right. Aquaria had angel blood. Trixie tensed up. “I can look at yours, if you want. I make killer healing runes, just so you know.”

“No,” Trixie sounded harsher than she meant to. “I mean I’m fine. I should just … go.”

“What?” Aquaria sounded surprised, pushing herself up and shaking her head. “Hell no, you’re staying. Wouldn’t it be better if we solved this case together?”

Trixie scoffed. “It’s obvious y’all need it, because you set a portal on fire.”

“Geez, let it go,” Aquaria chuckled. “We’ll work on that, it’ll be good in no time.”

“Let it go,” Trixie scoffed, pushing the tip of her shoe into the carpet, which looked too soft and expensive for an hotel. “I could be on my way home, but no, I might have to stay for weeks if it’s as bad as I think it is.”

Aquaria raised an eyebrow. “Weeks for closing a broken portal? Girl, how aren’t you dead yet?”

“What?” It came out harsher than she meant, but Aquaria seemed unbothered.

“I already texted someone from back home, she’ll bring some stuff and we’ll be done here in like, two days.” Aquaria looked at her nails, sighing in annoyance when she noticed that the baby blue polish had chipped a little bit. “I have to fix this.” As much as she tried to hide it, Trixie guessed she wasn’t fine, too restless to be okay.

The girl walked away, but Trixie wasn’t done. She often spent weeks trying to find a solution, and this freaking teen just let someone bring the answer to all their problems to them? Well, the solution to some problems.

“What do you mean? What is she bringing?”

Aquaria, who had an air of slight arrogance around her, looked at Trixie as if she was the one who figured out how to use the potty two days ago. “Some sort of dirt made from iron and salt. A few sticks with runes. I don’t know, we’ve used it for ages.” Aquaria spoke while painting her nails a cute orange, soft yet outstanding. “Where are you from?”

Dumbfounded by the simple question after Trixie had come to know something major, she just stood there for a long moment, trying to grasp the meaning of the words, before they hit her in the chest. “I live in Cali. Well, my house is there. I travel a lot.”

“I can tell,” Aquaria didn’t clarify what she meant, and when Trixie was about to ask, about to be offended, the girl began talking. “We’re from Boston. We go home often enough, Raven has a large place. Sometimes we do smaller cases in little groups, the big ones all together. We’re with a lot, you know.”

Trixie, for one, couldn’t imagine working with a large group. That only meant more people to look after, more people to protect. She couldn’t even protect one extra, how the hell was she about to take care of a group? However, Aquaria didn’t seem to have that problem.

“Sounds like fun,” Trixie rolled from the heel of her foot back to her toes. “Does this Peppermint person always take so long?”

“She won’t be ready before dawn,” Aquaria closed the bottle, blowing her nails with elegance and a certain laziness that was fascinating. “You can leave, if you want. It was really nice to bring her here.”

“I-“ What was she supposed to say? “It’s fine, I hope she’s okay,” Trixie glanced back to the closed door. “Can I come over tomorrow? Just to check if she’s okay.”

“Of course!” Aquaria stopped blowing her nails to smile. “Maybe you could help with cleaning up some more demons. You seem like a good hunter.”

It did feel indispensable to leave Aquaria, a foolish girl who painted her nails before fighting demons, possibly alone to kill maybe a dozen of demons. “Sure, why not?” Trixie scratches her nose, careful not to smudge her makeup, a strange tingle in her chest. “I’ll come over at noon?”

Aquaria nodded, giving her an awkward wave while not stopping her blowing. When Trixie left, she knew for a fact that Aquaria wasn’t looking at her.

Her fingers were shaking when she tried to open her room, the faint smell of something disgusting not bothering her for the first time since she checked in. She couldn’t stop the tremble, her heart was throbbing in her throat, and tears were threatening to well up any moment. It was weird, Trixie didn’t know where it all came from.

And yet she did.

Careless banter with someone who understood what she did. Someone who knew more than her and wanted to work together. She hadn’t worked together in three years.

When the lock finally clicked open, Trixie pushed herself in, hoping to find relief in the motel room, an empty room, a silent room. Nothing changed.

So, deciding that facing her feelings would be too hard, she kicked her shoes out with more force than intended, and moved to the little kitchen. The glasses had been dirty when she arrived, and she had only cared to clean one. Filling it with water, she took a small sip. Even though it did cool her down, she still felt like crying, like fainting.

I love you.

The words were loud and clear in her mind, she could even imagine that stupid crooked smile.

She threw her glass against the wall with a yell. She reached for the used plate in the sink, which soon followed the glass. Some of the glass hit the wall, jolting back at Trixie. She didn’t know if something hit her. Not then. She didn’t care.

See you at dinner, loser.

She leaned with her palms on the itchy tablecloth, her breathing uneven when a large tear rolled over her cheek. She never saw her at dinner.

#rpdr fanfiction #trixie mattel #aquaria #peppermint #tw blood #tw fighting #indomitable #dymphna #submission #shangela laquifa wadley #trixya #lesbian au

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