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beewolfwrites · 3 years

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Let the bombardment begin, then! Mwahaha!

We have written and read plenty of Beach-stuff and even after-Borderlands scenarios now. But what about things happening before the Beach? What if Chishiya and reader / MC (whatever feels better for you to write) somehow met before the Beach, in a game or just like that, and somehow got to the Beach together? Maybe they fell in love before as well, maybe it happened in the Beach, maybe never. It would be an interesting thought though to see some interaction before the Beach!

Sooo glad you sent this request because this character and scenario was living rent-free in my head, but I didn't have a fic to make of it!

Here, have med-student Chishiya :D

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The first time he met her, he had been staring at a handful of loose change. It was the longest shift he’d experienced so far during his clinical rotations, and Chishiya was slowly losing his patience upholding the friendly bedside manner he’d practised so flawlessly. To make matters worse, the only coffee machine in main theatre had a large ‘out of order’ sign pasted to the front, and he nearest alternative was just outside the radiology department.

Choosing a black americano, he slid his coins into the machine and waited for his drink.

Nothing happened.

His eyes scanned the instructions on the side. It definitely said to make the selection first before paying. Growing irritated, he pressed the button for his change repeatedly, only the machine seemed to have swallowed up his money.

One more try and he’d give up. This time, he followed the instructions perfectly, however the machine still didn’t react.

What a waste of space…

‘You have to put your money in first.’

The voice sounded from over his shoulder, and a young woman reached around him to slip several coins into the slot. She selected a black americano, and sure enough, there was a whirring sound as the coffee machine sprung to life.

Chishiya took in her appearance. She couldn’t have been older than himself, and he was sure he recognised her from some of his lab work classes. Her hair was scooped up in a tight bun, and she was dressed head to toe in the same dull blue scrubs that every nurse, doctor and staff member wore.

‘I suppose the instructions must be wrong,’ he said, taking the americano from the machine and sipping it. To put it mildly, it was a far cry from barista standards.

The woman was trying to hold back a laugh. ‘It’s terrible isn’t it. Apparently the best coffee machine is down in outpatients, but even then it’s still not great.’

Apparently?

‘I assume you’re doing your clinical rotations here in radiology?’ he asked casually.

Her brow quipped in surprise. ‘How did you know I was a student?’

‘You’re in a few of my classes.’

‘Ah…’ She shyly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Sorry, it’s just, I didn’t recognise you. I thought you might have been agency staff.’

He sipped the americano, staring at her until she became visibly uncomfortable. He could almost see her trying to figure out something new to say, a modicum of small talk to make the exchange a little less awkward. And when she finally opened her mouth to speak, he uttered a single word.

‘Chishiya.’

Relief flashed across her features. ‘That’s your name, right? It’s nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise.’

She told him her name in return. He didn’t bother to remember it as he was sure he’d never speak to her again. Then suddenly remembering something, she checked her watch.

‘I’m going to have to go, since my lunch break is almost over. But I’ll see you soon… Chishiya.’

As she started to walk away, a thought crossed his mind.

‘Didn’t you need to use the coffee machine?’

She had been standing behind him, after all. And judging by the way she blushed, caught out, he had been right.

‘That was the last of my change,’ she said, and nodded at the paper cup in his hand. Then shedding whatever embarrassment she felt, she grinned at him. ‘I guess you owe me a coffee now.’

It was in that lasting impression of her, as she slipped through the doors of the radiology department, that Chishiya suddenly noticed the smallest of details.

She was wearing green mascara.

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The second time they met, it was raining. Not the usual light spray, but the kind of heavy downpour that required temporary shelter. Chishiya wasn’t one for cafe bars, but for the sake of keeping his laptop dry, he ordered black tea and took a seat at a small table by the window.

The rain screamed down the glass, blurring the moving figures outside into dark, fleshy shapes without identities. The blue-brown haze was broken by a large blob of yellow passing by the window. It stopped, shifted a little, then backtracked.

He was quietly taking a sip of his tea when the door opened, revealing a smile he recognised instantly.

‘You!’ Her lemon yellow raincoat was dripping all over the floor, earning a frown from the bartender. ‘It’s Chishiya, isn’t it? Remember me?’

He was tempted to pretend that they had never met, but it was already too late. She slipped into the chair opposite him. ‘What are the chances of running into each other like this?’

Pretty high, considering the medical campus is just across the road.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if I order myself a drink?’

He shrugged. It was entirely up to her. The moment he finished his tea, he’d be gone anyway. Trusting him with her bag, she took her purse with her to the bar. From here, she looked ridiculous in that raincoat. It stood out a mile against the tepid blue walls, the steel tables and the dreary staff.

How embarrassing.

When she returned, she began talking his ear off about the latest examinations they had to endure and how much she struggled. Personally, Chishiya had breezed through the exams, but he kept this to himself. The bartender stopped by their table to set a gingerbread latte in front of her, but even the short interruption wasn’t enough to disrupt her flow. He barely responded, and she switched between different topics, sometimes asking about himself.

‘Sorry if this comes across as too forward, but do you have a first name?’

Of course he had a first name. And yes, it did come across as impudent. His given name was hardly any of her business, and yet…

‘Shuntarou.’

Her eyes creased with delight. ‘Chishiya Shuntarou,’ she rolled it off her tongue. ‘I like it. It kind of has a ring to it.’

He didn’t reply. His fingers reached for the handle of his teacup and he brought it to his lips, realising a little too late that it was empty. How could it be empty? He’d only been here with her for fifteen minutes, had he not?

No. One glance around him revealed that the cafe bar was leaning more towards the bar side of business, and the sky outside had turned dark. How long had they been sitting here?

The woman in front of him was staring out of the window into the blackness. ‘It’s getting pretty late.’

Her own cup lay empty before her, and while he stared at it, Chishiya was reminded of something. He rummaged in his coat pockets to find that he only had his debit card.

‘I guess I’ll have to pay you back another time,’ he said.

At first she looked confused, then the memory dawned on her. ‘Don’t worry about it! It’ll give me a reason to pester you in cafes.’

The two of them collected their bags and headed outside, where the rain had slowed to a soft drizzle. He found himself waiting with her as she rooted around in her bag for an umbrella. Just as he expected, the umbrella was a bizarre shade of purple.

‘It’s so dark out,’ she remarked, and gestured to the road on her left. ‘Are you walking that way?’

‘I’m going this way.’ He pointed in the opposite direction, relishing the slight hint of disappointment on her face. ‘Why, did you need me to walk you home?’

Although it came out as more of a sneer, she didn’t seem perturbed. ‘Not at all. I wouldn’t want to put you out of your way.’ She lifted her fingers in a tiny wave. ‘See you in class, Chishiya Shuntarou.’

He should’ve left immediately. But instead, he lingered in the light of the cafe bar and watched as her yellow raincoat disappeared, leaving him standing alone, drenched in neon lights and puddles.

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It was not even 24 hours later when they crossed paths again. He was sipping on hospital coffee in the break room, trying to ignore the hushed whispers from the students sitting at the table beside his. It was futile.

‘You heard, right? I thought it was strange since she didn’t turn up for class this morning.’

‘Yeah, someone told me about it. I haven’t been up to see her yet. It’s pretty scary though. I mean, what if it was one of us?’

He nursed his coffee and focused on the medical journal someone had left on the table. There was an article about cleft palate that had caught his eye, but with every word he tried to read he was interrupted by the conversation around him.

‘Apparently he stabbed her twice. Poor girl. She must’ve been terrified.’

‘Do you think they’ll catch the guy?’

He downed the last of his coffee and closed the journal. Several of the other students looked up at him, but they were too engrossed in their idle gossip to care when he left the break room.

He was just walking, and yet, it was like a force was pulling at him - tugging his feet forwards one after the other, wandering through the halls until he came to a stop outside a certain door. Even from here, he could see her limp figure through the tiny window.

What am I doing? It’s none of my business.

Except it was.

He entered at last, and there she was, hooked up to tubes, wires and a heart monitor. Her skin had paled, gaunt against the colourful pile of fruit and treats that her family had left beside her bed for when she awoke. The procedure to stitch up the stab wounds had been successful, but even someone like him knew that the true damage was irreversible.

He sat down in the visitor’s chair, watching her chest move rhythmically. Too rhythmically for someone like her. It was almost boring.

The soft lull of her breathing was hypnotic, and he hadn’t realised he’d fallen asleep until he woke up. When he did, he knew immediately that something was very, very wrong. The heart monitor was switched off, the room was crawling with darkness, and a swarm of flies had taken over the small pile of fruit.

Moreover, the bed was empty.

Chishiya stood up, peering around the room. Everything was untouched. A thick layer of dust coated the surfaces and the usual business of the hospital had quietened into nothing. He opened the door in hopes of finding a nurse who could tell him where the missing patient had run off to.

Except the whole world had fallen silent.

---------------------------------------------------

Hatter called meetings often, whether it was about their fuel supply, water, or new cards they could strike off their board. But it was rare that Chishiya ever took any interest in them. That was, until he walked into the hotel meeting room one dismal afternoon and saw that familiar face.

She was tied to a chair, staring at the carpet. Her hospital gown had been swapped for a washed out grey t-shirt and black running trousers, and her skin still held the same sickliness from before he’d arrived in this world. He was grateful that she didn’t look up. That she didn’t see him.

Hatter paraded around, throwing the usual show about the rules. She drifted in and out of the performance, occasionally asking a question in a dull, lifeless tone he’d never heard her use before. To the others, she probably seemed disinterested. But Chishiya knew exactly what was wrong. The way her eyes glazed over, how she sometimes withheld a grimace… she was still in agony.

You can’t have been here for long.

The meeting somehow dragged on more than usual, and Chishiya was gladly one of the first to exit the room. He waited down the corridor, hiding in an alcove as he watched the executives walk on by.

She was slower than the others, attempting to disguise her pain as a casual stroll, and the moment she passed his hiding spot, he touched her elbow.

Alarmed, she almost cried out, but the moment her eyes settled on him, her lips parted in recognition. ‘You’re here?’

With a shake of his head, he motioned for her to be quiet. ‘Come with me.’

He took off down the hallway, careful to walk slowly so she could keep up, and led her all the way to his room. Neither dared even to whisper until the door was closed behind them.

‘I’m surprised you’re even alive,’ he said. ‘The last time I saw you, you were in intensive care.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. Where is this place? How did we get here?’

‘Who knows?’

He searched around in his draw for his personal stash of supplies. While the medical room was far more sterile, if she went there, everybody would know the extent of her injuries. It wasn’t worth the risk. All it took was one snide teammate with a bone to pick and they could easily turn on you during a game.

‘All I can remember is that night.’ She sat down on the bed, wincing. ‘And then I woke up here, alone in the hospital.’ In a quiet voice, she added, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared.’

He threw a number of medical items on the bed. ‘I’m assuming your first game wasn’t Spades, otherwise you’d be dead.’

‘It was Clubs,’ she said. ‘I was lucky, I didn’t have to do much other than standing around.’

His eyes roamed over her body, trying to figure out where she was hiding her injuries. He hadn’t bothered reading her medical chart back then in the hospital - why would he? It wasn’t his business.

As a fellow medical student, she must’ve realised why he was staring at her, and immediately pulled up her shirt and sleeve to reveal two wounds, one on her abdomen, the other on her forearm. Both dressings were already stained with blood from moving too much. Biting her lip, she slowly lay back on the bed while Chishiya wasted no time in removing the old material and cleaning the skin.

He was an idiot for wasting his supplies on her like this. The only thing she had ever done for him was buy him a cup of hospital-grade coffee.

She kept her eyes on the ceiling, clenching her jaw as he treated the area around her stitches. She was incredibly fortunate. Whoever was behind the attack that night had somehow avoided puncturing organs or nicking arteries - the knife couldn’t have been particularly big. Her muscle would take time to heal, months in fact, but she would have the best chance here at the Beach.

‘You don’t have to feel bad.’

Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He didn’t feel bad. Why should he? It must’ve been shock or blood loss that was causing her to talk nonsense.

‘Even if you were there,’ she said, ‘he would’ve just gone after some other girl.’

He unwrapped a clean dressing from its sterile packaging. ‘Keep talking and you’re going to distract me.’

‘Liar.’ She tried to stifle a laugh, but flinched at the pain. ‘There’s no way top-of-the-class Chishiya Shuntarou could get distracted this easily.’

He deliberately pressed too hard when setting the new dressing in place - a warning. Naturally, she didn’t heed it, and lifted her head to assess his treatment. ‘It’s not coffee, but I’ll take it.’

Chishiya would have reminded her that her injuries were still critical, and infection would be a constant concern. But he didn’t. He didn’t because she was smiling. And while her skin was washed out and colourless, that smile was the brightest thing he’d seen in years.

#alice in borderland #aib #imawa no kuni no alice #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland

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positivityjediprince · 2 years

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Get to Know Me - A Tag Game

rules: tag a few people you want to know better; make a new post, don't reblog!

Favourite colour:

I'm a big yellow fan! I'm such a dork I love buttercups and suflowers and daisies and sunshine. I'm sorry, I know that's kinda cringe but yellow is just so :D you know?

Currently reading:

So much fanfic lmao....

But non-fanfic wise I'm on and off reading this book called "Even More Opera Annecdotes" which I live for, it's all like snippets of opera world drama and moments - like Janet Baker sassing Pavarotti. It makes me so happy because even the great professionals are dumb nerds!

Last song:

Apparently Dolly Parton "Why'd you come in here looking like that."

But I'm my dream I was singing/there was playing "He is an English Man" from Gilbert and Sullivan HMS Pinafore.

Last Movie:

Man I had to think hard about this one... Genuinely I think it was this terrible animated film called "The Seventh Dwarf" ...I put it on to traumatise my house mates cause it looked awful ..and it was.

Last Serise:

Last watched its Louis Theroux Forbidden America.

Last finished it's Supernatural Academy (which I do sort of recommend even tho it's stupid it's quite charming - with great rep - and I greatly enjoyed it! The soundscaping is wack af tho cause covid lol)

Sweet, spicy or savoury:

It's gotta be sweet! Especially baked goods! Give me Krapfen and brioche all day everyday!

Coffee or tea:

TEA BABY! Like not to be a stereotype but tea is life, though it has to be non-cafinated versions/herbal because my heart doesn't take caffeine well.

Three ships:

DinLuke is of course my number one and light of my life!!!

Then it's for sure Geraskier! Who I also adore with all my heart.

And third hmm it's probably quite tied it's probably between James Bond/Q (00Q) and Catadora! (embarrassingly my first thought was me and my bf ew what a sap I am)

First ever ship:

This is going to make sense to none of you but Yoyo/Crocky from this Austrian TV show called 'Simsala Grimm' - when I was small I thought they were like married I'm ngl. They're the chaotic bubbly feral himbo and sensible awkward nerdy one (who is very Done TM with the other person's shenanigans) couple - I think that was fundamental to my concept of relationships.

Currently working on:

I'm working on the last two chapter of Heaven knows I've needed someone like you for so long and a REALLY DUMB one shot - both DinLuke ofc!

And also my ever growing drabble drafts!

Favourite piece of clothing:

Probably the show hoodie from the last opera I did at university - it was the first time I got a real lead (and it was a big role) and people believed in me and I realised that I am worth something and that I can become an opera singer - which is big because if been working my butt off to recover my singing from the damage done by my ED. So yeah that means a lot to me even if I don't wear it that much.

Comfort food:

SOUP AND OR GOULASH with sexy Austrian bread.

Favourite time of the year:

Ooooooo summer but the bit of summer where it's the evening and it's still warm and you're outside with your pack and the sun is setting but you know you'll still be out here for a while being silly and having deep convos.

Fave fanfic:

Now THIS is a hard one! I'm gonna cheat a bit cause there's three from different fandoms that spring to mind.

I'm gonna say DinLuke "oh the things we left behind" because it is beyond beautiful and id say it is my number one overall.

Also close is Saoghal Tinn (00Q) which grasped me and never let me go - even if you don't know/ship them I'd recommend it if you like well written and tense zombie apocalypse stuff with gays.

And one I keep going back to for serotonin is Animal Instinct (Geraskier) I adore soft feral Geralt and when he's sad Jaskier won't eat the rats he brought him lives rent free in my head.

Thank you to @thewriterowl and @feralsunspotandtincan for tagging me you cuties!!!

And here we have the tagging dilemma of the DinLuke dorks to double tag or not to double tag!

@veradragonjedi (double tagged bestie I'm sorry!) @mandobogwitch @mando-punk @kriffinjoy @mysticmjolnir ofc no pressure guys!! ❤️❤️

#i had so much fun thinking about all my fave fics lol

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hardcasey · 3 years

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Sweet Tooth

Won't Fade into the Background - Part 2

Pairing: Toast x F!Reader

Summary: You are an owner of a bakery on Coruscant and end up running into a certain clone with a penchant for baked goods.

Word Count: 7k (I got carried away lmao)

Rating/Warnings: T, Mostly fluff again, though it gets a little PG-13 at the end. Nothing too crazy tho.

A/N: Who’s more of a background clone than everyone’s fave boy Toast? I decided to give him the classic bakery au meet-cute that he deserves. <3 Not proofread so let me know if there are any glaring errors!

“You sure you don’t need any help cleaning up?” Your employee, Vella, called from the front of the shop.

You poked your head out through the little window that separated the kitchen from the rest of the store. “I’m good, Vel. Go enjoy your Friday night.”

“Alright, night boss,” The Twi’lek woman gave you a mock salute and laughed when she saw you roll your eyes before turning and heading out the door into the busy Coruscant streets.

You turned back to your current task, taking inventory. It was not the most glamorous job, in fact it was your least favorite part about owning your own business, but it had to be done. With a sigh, you started counting, quickly losing yourself in the monotony.

You were the proud owner of a small bakery on Coruscant. It was not the most lucrative job by far, but it had always been your dream to bake for a living, and you were proud to have achieved that goal so quickly. It had taken a lot of hard work to get to where you were now, along with quite a bit of luck. You had been finishing up your last year in culinary school when you walked by a place for rent right in the heart of the city. It had been right around when the war started, and the owner wanted to sell off the space as quickly as possible. You had the sneaking suspicion that he may have been involved with the Separatists and was trying to jump ship and flee the planet. Honestly, you didn’t really care what his deal was, only that he was giving you the place for a steal. Seppie or not, you were thankful for him. There was no other way you would have been able to afford a place in this part of the city otherwise.

You had dropped a considerable portion of your savings into the purchase and renovation of the bakery, and there were times that you were subsisting off of nothing but cheap instant noodles, but everything had worked out in the end. The prime location meant there was a lot of foot traffic and it didn’t take long before you were turning a profit. And the quality of your pastries and baked goods earned you a loyal customer base, and you had many regulars that stopped in for a cup of caf and a little treat on their way to work.

Once you finished up taking inventory, you headed out to the front to start cleaning up, stacking the chairs up on the tables so you could start sweeping. You were saving up for a droid that would sweep the floors for you, but you were still a ways off from that so you had to do it the old fashioned way.

It was then that you noticed there was someone looking in through the window, clearly ogling the display of pastries and cakes that was there. The light from the setting sun pouring through the window cast their face in shadow, so you couldn’t tell who it was.

Might as well invite them in, you thought to yourself as you leaned the broom against the wall. After all, the bakery wasn’t technically closed yet, though you almost never had customers at this time.

You swung the door open and were about to say something to the figure when you saw them jump, clearly not realizing you were there.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry for scaring you! I just wanted to let you know that the bakery is still open if you want anything.” You said gently, holding your hands up in a placating manner.

Now that you were outside, you could see the figure more clearly. They were a human male, with tan skin and warm brown eyes. He was wearing a grey uniform and his short dark hair was partly obscured by a matching grey hat. He seemed very familiar to you, and you were about to ask if you knew him, before it hit you. Duh! He was a clone. You weren’t used to seeing clones in anything other than their distinctive white armor, so it took a moment for your brain to put two and two together.

“Oh, uh, I was just looking, ma’am! I’m very sorry.” He said quickly, the same way that a kid who had just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar would. He looked so sheepish, as if he was about to bolt any second. You weren’t sure why he was so apologetic, he was just looking through the window. A bunch of people did that.

“No need to apologize, everyone looks through the windows.” You said, flashing him what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I, uh, just wasn’t sure if you were gonna run me out or something,” he told you, averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Why would I do that?”

“Not many businesses are open to clones, and I wasn’t sure. I’ve never seen any clones in your shop and I guess I just assumed.”

Okay, that lowkey made your blood boil. Why would anyone discriminate against the clones? They were the ones putting their lives on the line to protect the Republic, for kriffs sake! You hadn’t interacted with many clones, but the ones you had run into were nothing but polite and respectful.

“That’s terrible! We absolutely allow clones here! You know what, come inside. There are still some pastries leftover from today. I’ll put them in a box for you and you can bring them back to your, er, squad? Company? Your friends!” You finished breathlessly, a little embarrassed you knew so little about anything involving the military.

“Are you sure? I-I don’t have any money to pay for them,” He said sadly, his eyes darting down to his shoes as if there was suddenly something fascinating about them.

“Nonsense! They’ll be going bad soon anyway and will just end up in the trash. You’ll be doing me a favor, honestly.” Without allowing him to protest further, you grabbed his elbow and tugged him into your shop. In the back of your mind you registered how big his bicep felt, which surprised you. He looked fit, yes, but it wasn’t like he was some meathead. Maybe his uniform just did a good job of disguising how strong he was. You felt yourself blush once you realised the path your thoughts had veered down and quickly pushed them out of your mind.

“It smells good in here,” he said to no one in particular as he dropped his harm and headed behind the counter to start filling a box with leftover pastries.

You smiled at him, before you realised something. “Forgive my manners, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“CT-1928, ma’am.” He replied, his back straightening ever so slightly as he did, as if the action was ingrained in him.

“Do you have a nickname? I know a lot of clones go by them instead of their number.” You said delicately. You didn’t want to offend him by asking, but it felt so strange, so dehumanizing, to call him by a number.

“Oh, uh, my brothers call me Toast.” He said, once again sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not the greatest nickname, but it’s the one that stuck.”

“Haha, I think it’s cute. And don’t worry, my parents used to call me Possum when I was little, because I used to climb around and get into the trash. It was cute until they said it in front of my friends, then they started calling me that too.”

He laughed at that, his shoulders relaxing, his posture not so stiff. “My brothers started calling me Toast because the first time they served toast in the cafeteria after I got my assignment, I ate so many pieces I made myself sick.”

“Pfft. That’s amazing,” You laughed as you shuffled things around so you could fit one last croissant inside. You got the sense the clones didn’t often get to have sweets, so you were going to make sure Toast could bring as many back as possible. “So are you here on shore leave?”

“I’m actually a member of the Coruscant Guard. So I’m here often. Well all the time. I walk by this place every time they send me off to run errands, which is often since I’m still the new guy.”

“Oh, that’s cool. That means you work with senators, right? That must be… something.” You’d read stories on the holonet about some of the more notorious senators and you doubted they treated the clones particularly well.

“I haven’t personally worked with any members of the senate, though a lot of my brothers have. Most of my day is spent staring at security cameras. So, pretty boring. Though I’m not complaining.”

You tied up the package with a neat little bow before handing it to him, another bright smile flashing across your face. Something about his earnest, open demeanor was very endearing to you and you secretly hoped you’d get to see him again soon. If not anything else, you could at least learn a little more about the clones that dedicated their lives to protecting the Republic, since your knowledge on the subject was apparently so lacking.

“Well it’s good to hear that you’re local. Hopefully you can stop by again the next time you’re running errands. And feel free to invite your brothers too!”

“T-thank you, ma’am. That is very kind of you.” He said before taking the box of pastries in his hand, holding it almost reverently. He was trying to hide it but you could tell he was very excited to eat some sweets later.

With one last nod he headed out of the store, the bell chiming lightly after him. You stood there, simply watching his receding form blend into the crowd, catching yourself smiling at the prospect of seeing him again.

~~~

Toast hadn’t made it three steps into the barracks before his vode were descending upon him. Well not really him as much as the box full of sugary confections in his hands.

“What ya got there?” Jek inquired, already tugging at the ribbon to investigate the box’s contents.

Toast shoved his greedy hands out of the way and marched over to the counter where they kept the caf machine, which was in a perpetual state of disarray. The caf machine was old, probably older than any of them, and saw high traffic 24/7. Honestly, with the amount it leaked and sputtered, it was a miracle the machine was still functioning. Toast hoped it would at least until the war was over because when it went, Fox would be in the grave right next to it.

“You know that bakery on the way back from the Jedi temple?” Toast inquired as he placed the box on the counter, starting to pick at the knot so he could open it without cutting the ribbon. It was a pretty striped pastel pink and he wanted to keep it.

“The one with the little tooka-shaped cookies?” Rhys’ eyes went wide with excitement.

“Yeah, the lady who worked there saw me looking inside and then gave me all the leftover pastries from the window.”

“For free!?” Jek exclaimed as he shuffled back towards the box, “What did you get? Did you get an eclair? Please tell me you got an eclair.” Toast nodded and handed his brother one, who promptly dug in.

“What’s this about eclairs?” Stone rounded the corner, instantly noticing the box and saddling up to him. “Did you get sweets?”

Toast spent the next few minutes divvying up the various pastries between everyone. He chose something made up of many thin layers of dough, filled with chopped nuts and soaked in honey. Baklava, he thinks it was called, or maybe balaclava? He didn’t know the difference. But he didn’t care as he devoured it, savoring each bite like it was something precious. He glanced around and saw all his brothers were experiencing similar states of bliss, if their expressions were anything to go by.

~~~

He didn’t have a chance to visit the bakery for the next two weeks, too busy running around dealing with mess after mess. One day, a prison riot. The next, bomb threats at the senate. Everyone in the guard was so exhausted and in desperate need of a break. So when Hound mentioned he was taking Grizzer for a walk, Toast decided to tag along so that he could get some fresh air. Well, fresh for Coruscant.

At some point they’d run into Rhys and Thire, on the way back from patrol duty. Neither of them were in a rush to get back to HQ to receive new marching orders, so they ended up tagging along.

Their little group wandered the streets, just walking with no direction in mind. Grizzer had his snout pressed close to the ground, desperate to sniff everything. Toast smiled at the massiff’s antics from behind his bucket, before glancing around and realizing they were just a block away from the bakery.

“Hey, guys. Wanna stop at that bakery? It’s just over there.” Toast asked, pointing his finger at the little awning in front of the shop.

Thire looked at him as if he had two heads. “Why? Do you think we’ll get handouts again? Not that I’m complaining, free is free, but didn’t you get those because it was the end of the day and she was planning on throwing them out? It’s the middle of the day now…”

“Well, she said I could come back whenever. And that I could bring you guys too.” Toast felt his cheeks heat up for some reason, suddenly feeling embarrassed. What if she was just being polite, and he wasn’t really supposed to come back? What if he brought too many of his brothers and she thought he was taking advantage of her generosity?

He was just about to suggest they should move on when Rhys piped up. “Well, what are we waiting for? C’mon.” He was already halfway to the bakery before anyone could respond. Rhys had a major sweet tooth and nothing motivated him more than some sweets. Hound and Grizzer were right on his heels, having missed out on the pastries last time.

Toast caught up to them quickly, with Thire right behind them, though they all froze as soon as they made it up to the doors. There were people inside this, lounging around sipping drinks and chatting. Could they go in? Would people get mad?

All his vode were waiting for him to do something, and his eyes searched frantically around the storefront as if he would find an answer there. And, surprisingly, he did. Sort of. Because hanging right in the window was a sign that read ‘CLONES WELCOME’. You had to have hung it after your interaction, there was no other explanation. Something about that made his heart race.

All of a sudden, you appeared in the window, a friendly grin on your face as you pointed at the sign and waved for them all to come in.

“You didn’t tell us she was pretty, vod,” Thire whispered as they shuffled their way inside. Toast could just feel the shit eating grin from under his brother’s bucket. He just gave a noncommittal grunt as a response, which only made Thire laugh.

The group of them stood awkwardly in the threshold of the store, not really knowing what to do with themselves. A few patrons looked over to see what was going on, and Toast braced for some sort of outrage at clones invading their space, but after a few seconds they all turned back to whatever they were doing before.

Toast stood there dumbly, just staring at you. He hadn’t really been able to take a good look at you the last time, too distracted by how strange the whole situation had been. But now he could see that Thire was right. You are pretty. Very pretty.

If you noticed how tongue-tied he was, you didn’t show it. You just greeted them with another smile and oh Maker that smile. It was the kind of smile that lit up your whole face and Toast wanted to see it every day for the rest of his life.

“Hi! Is this your first time here?” You asked, cocking your head to one side.

“He’s been here before.” Hound answered, shoving Toast to the front of the group.

“Oh, are you the one from a few weeks ago? Toast?”

You remembered his name! He was pretty sure he was about to melt into a puddle right then and there. It took a second to realize that he hadn't answered yet and he quickly sputtered out, “Y-yeah. That’s me.”

“I’m glad you came back! And you brought your brothers,” You turned to address the rest of the clones and offered out a hand, “It’s nice to meet you all, what are your names.”

Hound, always the people person and the one most used to interacting with the public, stepped forward and shook your hand. “I’m Hound. That’s Thire and Jek. It’s nice to meet you ma’am, I’ve heard you’re a great baker, though I wouldn’t know first-hand.”

You cocked an eyebrow at Toast, “You didn’t share?”

“He was out on patrol, I swear!” Toast stammered, holding his hands up in front of him.

“Hmmm, I guess I’ll take your word for it. Though I think he should get to pick out what he wants first. It’s only fair.”

“Really?!” Hound exclaimed. His enthusiasm seemed to rub off on Grizzer, the massiff sitting up on his back legs and wiggling excitedly before letting out a happy bark. “Down boy,” Hound ordered, placing a hand on Grizzer’s hand to calm him down.

‘Awe, he’s just excited,” you giggled as you bent down to give him some pats of your own. “Can he eat treats? I have some by the door that I give to some of the other dogs.” You asked Hound as you straightened back up.

“Yes, he loves treats. Would you mind if I took them to go? I don’t want him spoiling his dinner.”

“Of course! Now pick out what you all want. And you can put a box together to take to your brothers.”

You spent the next twenty minutes helping them pick out pastries, answering questions so they could pick out something for each of their brothers. After they had made their selections, you sat with them at one of the tables and chatted. Well, you mostly asked questions and they all talked over each other in their excitement. Still, you enjoyed the time with them, happy to provide a place for them to relax and unwind. Their jobs seemed incredibly stressful and by reading in between the lines of some of the things they told you, they seemed to be mistreated by a good portion of the senators, made to run menial errands or be the punching bags senators took their frustrations out on. You could especially see it in Toast, in the way he was so scared of offending you, how he would avert his eyes all the time and flinch if someone spoke too loudly. It honestly made you want to burn down the senate building.

Everyone had finished eating when Thire looked down at his wrist and exclaimed, “Oh kriff, it’s been over an hour! Fox is gonna kill us.”

Toast scoffed. “Correction: Fox is going to kill you and Rhys. Hound and I are off right now.”

“Bring him an extra tiramisu to smooth things over.” You said, already wrapping one up and adding it to the rest of their haul.

The group scrambled around, putting their buckets back on and grabbing the various pastry boxes you’d filled for them. Toast paused before turning to you. “Um, we don’t have any credits on us right now, but I can bring some tomorrow. The Guard has a small discretionary fund we can-”

You stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

“A-are you sure? That was a lot of food…” Toast didn’t want her to lose money because of him. After all, he was the one that brought his brothers here.

“It’s okay, seriously. I actually started a little program where customers can buy a coffee or a pastry or whatever for a clone. There’s actually a little bucket next to the register that I set up,” you turned and pointed at it so he could see. “It was actually my employee Vella’s idea. She came up with it the day after we first met, and it’s been pretty popular. There are a lot of people out there who are really thankful for what you guys do, you know.”

Toast didn’t know what to say, but he felt like he wanted to cry at such a nice gesture. “That is… really kind of you. Thanks.” It didn’t feel like nearly enough, but they were the only words Toast could form at the moment.

“Of course,” you said, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “Now go catch up with your brothers, and let the rest of them know they’re always welcome to a free drink or pastry here.”

Toast thanked you once again before heading outside to where his brothers were waiting, trying to convince himself that your hand hadn’t lingered on his arm for a beat too long. No, it was just wishful thinking.

As he and his vode made their way back to the barracks, Rhys threw an arm around his neck and said, “Wow, Toast, your girlfriend is the best!” earning him snickers from the rest of the group.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Toast tried to protest.

“But you want her to be~” Hound teased. And he was right, Toast wanted that more than anything in the galaxy right now. But he knew it was impossible. You were beautiful and kind and funny and perfect and he... was just a clone.

“It’s not like it could ever happen anyway,” Toast sighed.

Thire nudged him with his shoulder. “Psssh, we all saw how her hand lingered on you. She definitely likes you.”

“Definitely,” Rhys echoed.

Toast smiled under his bucket. It might be a pipe dream, but in that moment he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy.

~~~

In the following weeks, you fell into a sort of routine. Toast would stop by your bakery at least once a week, sometimes more depending on his free time. And you cherished every moment you got to spend with him. Sometimes he would bring fellow members of the guard along, and every visit ended with your stomach cramping from how much you’d laughed at their various antics. You were confused how such a chaotic bunch of individuals were able to come together as an effective police force… that is until you met Commander Fox. His talent for wrangling them deserved a medal in your opinion.

As much as you enjoyed his brothers, you really looked forward to the times where you and Toast were alone together. He’d always come to you with some wild story of an eccentric prisoner or a crazy heist perpetrated in the lower levels. Honestly you hadn’t expected him to be such a gossip, but you were hardly complaining.

In return for his stories you started teaching him how to bake. It started off with him just watching you work as he talked, sometimes asking questions about what you were doing or peaking over your shoulder to get a closer look. Eventually he became an assistant of sorts, spending his time grabbing ingredients for you and washing the dishes once you were done with them.

Today was the day you were going to convince him to bake a loaf of bread with you. You were going to start him off with a simple loaf of white bread, one that didn’t require much kneading and didn’t have a long proving time. You had already pulled out all the ingredients, bowls, and utensils and were waiting patiently for him to arrive.

By the time you heard the bell ring and saw him coming through the door, you were tapping your foot in anticipation. He wasn’t late - in fact he was right on time as always - but you were just itching to see him.

“Toast! You’re here!” Ugh, that was the best greeting you could come up with? you cringed internally. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind your banal greeting, a smile on his lips as he pulled his bucket over his head and placed it on a nearby shelf. You found yourself longing for a reality where he greeted you with a peck on the lips along with that sweet smile. Maker, you had it bad for him.

His eyes flashed over to the ingredients on the counter. “What are you making today?”

“I’m not making anything today. But we are. I think it's time for you to try your hand at baking. And in honor of your love of toast, we’re starting off with bread.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but the corner of his mouth still quirked up, showing off one of his dimples. “Isn’t bread kind of hard to make though? Maybe we should start out with something simpler…”

“Where’s your courage, soldier?” you teased, poking a finger at his chest. He huffed and you laughed. “Now c’mon, wash your hands and get your apron on.”

He ended up taking the top half of his armor off, in only his blacks from the waist up, his sleeve rolled up to his elbows. You were half thankful and half disappointed the apron covered the way his form fitting shirt stretched across his chest. At least you wouldn’t be distracted, but boy oh boy did you want a closer look.

The two of you chatted about your days as you started working on each of your loaves. With so few ingredients the process went quick, and soon enough you were kneading the dough.

“Now this is called the slap and fold technique. First get your dough together in a ball like this… and then you slap it down!” You demonstrated by taking your lump of wet dough and slapping it down on the table. “Then you just fold it in half and repeat. We need to do it for about five minutes.”

“I think you mean we knead to do it for five minutes,” Toast said with a cheeky grin.

“Blegh. Terrible.” You flicked a bit of flour at him as punishment. “I think you knead to be locked up for that pun.” Toast just laughed and continued working, the smile on his face never dropping.

Once you were ready, you shaped both of the loaves and put them in the oven. When you turned back to him you couldn’t help but giggle. He was absolutely covered in flour.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” He asked, face suddenly becoming serious.

You stepped close to him and brushed his face clean with your thumb. “On your face, in your hair, on your shirt. I think you managed to get flour everywhere except the apron.”

“Well you were the one throwing it at me!” came his retort as he used his hands to shake his hair out, turning it from grey back to its lovely dark color.

“Touché. Now let me help you get cleaned up. I think you got some on your back. Somehow.” You grabbed a washcloth and wet it under the sink and started using it to wipe the flour off his clothes.

“It’s one of my many skills from cadet training.” He told you, eyes twinkling, as you dabbed at a spot you missed on his face. You could feel his lips moving as he spoke. Stop thinking about how soft they probably are, you chided yourself.

“You’re just lucky you’re so charming.”

That made him blush and avert his eyes, which would have been cute if you weren’t worried you’d gone a bit too far. You didn’t want to embarrass him or anything. You had thought the two of you were flirting, but maybe you read the situation wrong. You were notoriously bad in the romance department, something Vella had told you after the third time you had missed a customer trying to flirt with you.

Toast cleared his throat before turning back to you. He noticed you’d stepped back away from him and sighed internally. That would have been the perfect time to kiss you or ask you out or something. Anything other than dancing around each other like you two were doing now. Despite the fact that his brothers believed you two were already together - no matter how much he protested - he still wasn’t sure if you felt the same as he did. He had his suspicions, but what if he was wrong? You were his only friend outside of his brothers and he didn’t want to do anything to mess that up or make it awkward.

He thanked the Maker you didn’t tease him, just turning and starting to wash the dishes. He grabbed a bowl and joined you at the big industrial sink, dunking his hands in the warm sudsy mixture and used the sponge to start scrubbing at the stubborn bits of dough that refused to come off. The two of you worked in silence, though not an uncomfortable one, Toast was glad to find. Just as he was finishing drying the last bowl, he remembered something.

“Oh, uh, I almost forgot. Do you know Senator Amidala?”

“Not personally, but I’ve heard of her.”

“Well, she is throwing a banquet or something in a few days and the bakery that was supposed to handle the desserts fell through at the last minute. Thorn suggested you as a replacement and asked me to ask you if it was possible.”

“Hmm. It depends on how long I’d have, and what kind of desserts she wants. Plus how many guests she’s having. I’m not saying no, but I’m not sure how realistic it is. It’s just me, Vella, and two others on staff.” You had started pacing, already running the logistics through your head.

“What if me and the rest of the guard helped you?”

You paused your pacing to look at him. “That could work… but would you all even be able to take off work?”

“Well, it’s been pretty slow this week and we’re spending most of our time getting ready for the party…” You responded with a noncommittal hum so he pressed on. “How about I call Senator Amidala and Commander Fox on the coms and we can get everything worked out?”

“Yeah, sure. That’d be great.”

For the next twenty minutes you hashed out the details with Senator Amidala - Padmé, she insisted you call her - and Commander Fox. Eventually you settled on an order of one large, four-tiered cake and a hundred little fruit tarts. Fox had been hesitant to lend out his troopers until Padmé had offered to replace the old coffee machine in the guard’s office. The party was in three days, so it would be a tight deadline, but you were sure you could do it. Especially with the guard’s help. There was also the motivating factor of the hefty payment Padmé was offering. It would be enough for you to buy an army of cleaning robots!

As soon as you hung up you were already placing an order of the ingredients and messaging your employees to tell them about the job. You were so focused on your task that you jumped with the oven’s timer dinged. Toast stifled a chuckle behind his hand and you shot him a look as you pulled both loaves of bread out of the oven. Both loaves were a perfect golden brown and looked absolutely delicious.

Toast hovered over your shoulder as you placed the bread on the cooling rack, and you had to slap his hand away a few times as you waited for them to cool. Once you could hold them safely in your hands, you handed Toast his loaf and took yours in your hands. “C’mon, let’s take a picture together with our bread.” You tucked yourself into his side and held your loaf up as he snapped the picture.

Once you were satisfied with the picture you relented to his puppy-dog eyes and cut into the bread. You both slathered a piece in butter and tapped them together as if they were wine glasses before taking a bite.

“Mmmmmhhh,” you both groaned in unison at the first bite of warm bread. There was nothing better.

“This is so good.” You mumbled in between bites.

“So much better than anything in the caf.” Toast agreed, his eyes half-closed in bliss. Before you missed it, you snapped a picture. Toast with his toast. It was perfect.

~~~

You stared at the sight of the twenty clone troopers in front of you, decked out in aprons and hair nets, standing at parade rest in a line as Commander Fox, also in an apron, paced back and forth, hands behind his back, as he gave them their orders.

“Now I want you all on your best behavior. It may seem like you’re on a break, but I want you to treat this as if you’re still on the clock,” He stopped pacing and turned to his men, “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” They all responded with a salute.

You took that moment to snap a picture of them all, Fox’s head snapping towards you at the click of the camera. “I want to remember this,” you told him, fighting back a smile.

You turned to Padmé, who had insisted on coming to help out herself, bringing along her two droids and a Jedi to offer some extra hands. She came complete with a chic outfit for the occasion and you envied how good she looked at six in the morning. You showed her the picture and she asked, “Can you send that to me?” Fox huffed loudly and the two of you broke out into a fit of giggles.

Once you got a hold of yourself you started listing out tasks that needed to be done to Fox. “We’ll need people to clean and cut the fruit for the tarts. Another group can help with mixing and cutting the crust. For the cake, we’ll also need one group handling the batter, and another the frosting and decorations. And we can rotate who is on dish duty.”

Fox immediately started delegating out tasks to his troops and you assigned a member of your staff to help each group. Everyone quickly scrambled to start working on their tasks, the troopers clearly very excited to help.

Throughout the day you flitted from group to group, demonstrating how to do things when needed. Your employees were handling everything so well and you made a reminder to yourself to give them a nice bonus after this. You stepped away from where Vella was showing the boys how to make flowers out of frosting and found Toast lecturing his brothers about the right way to measure flour.

“You can’t just scoop it out straight from the bag, you’ll use too much that way. You have to sift it in like this,” He started demonstrating the proper technique for them, and you noticed he had somehow managed to get flour all over himself again.

“Good job, Toast,” You said as you passed him, brushing the flour out of his hair as you went. “Keep up the great work, boys!” You gave them a thumbs up and moved onto the next group, dodging the R2 unit as it made a beeline to the fridge, a tray of freshly cut fruit balanced on its head.

The next two days passed by smoother than you could have hoped. There were only a few minor incidents. Hound tripping over R2 and spilling some batter, Thorn having to scold Jek and Rhys for eating half of their frosting. Nothing you couldn't handle. Commander Fox had everyone working like a well oiled machine, making sure everything stayed on time. Throughout both days, Padmé’s protocol droid busied himself with taking pictures of the event, and Padmé promised to send them all to you after the party.

It got down to the wire, but you managed to put the last slice of jogan fruit on the hundredth tart with forty-five minutes to spare. Your employees handled loading everything up into the speeder to take them to the venue. You watched them out of the corner of your eye to make sure things went smoothly. Padmé came up to you and thanked you profusely for rushing such a huge order and promised to promote your business to all her friends before she and the rest of her entourage hopped into the speeder with your employees and took off for the party.

You turned back to the clone troopers, who had already finished washing up most of the kitchen. “Don’t worry about the rest, guys, I’ve got it. You should probably start heading back and start getting ready.”

“Trying to kick us out so soon?” Fox mused.

You laughed. “Actually, before you go, I have a little surprise for you all. As a way to say thank you and as a pick me up before the party. I know those things can be tiring.” You went and retrieved the gift you had stayed up all last night working on, keeping it behind your back until you were right in front of them.

You held out a plate of cookies shaped like their helmets, each one customized to look like the helmet of each of the troopers there. You had recruited C3-PO to take reference pictures of all of their helmets while they were working, and the droid had really pulled through for you, even managing to get detail shots for you.

“Woah, are these our helmets?” Stone asked as you handed him his cookie.

“Look, it’s me.” Thorn said to Fox as he waggled his cookie in front of his brother’s face. Fox rolled his eyes but even he couldn’t fight his smile away.

You beamed as each of the troopers examined their cookies and thanked you for them. They all groaned as you forced them to get together for one last picture and the shutter had barely flashed before they were scarfing down the cookies.

Once they were done, Fox and Thorn started hoarding the group through the door. Before Toast could follow his brothers, Fox turned to him, “You stay here and help out with the rest of the clean up.”

Toast blinked for a moment before he responded with a “Yes, sir.”

He waited until he was sure the last of his vode were out the door before he turned to you. He planned on saying something funny or romantic, but all his words failed him as you launched yourself at him and pulled him into a big hug. “Thanks for all your help. I couldn’t have done this without you.” You told him, your voice muffled from your spot pressed against his chest. He returned the hug and rested his cheek against the top of your head.

You couldn’t be sure if it was him who tilted his head down or you who tilted your head up, but you soon found yourselves nose to nose. Maybe sleep deprivation lowered your inhibitions, because you soon found yourself raising up on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his. His arms tightened around you as he returned the kiss, letting out a groan as you both melted into each other. It started off sweet and gentle, but quickly developed into something more heated as you swept your tongue across the seam of his lips. He let out another tortured whine as he opened his mouth up to you, pulling you flush against him with one hand falling down to grab your ass while the other hitched your leg over his hip.

Eventually you needed to come up for air and reluctantly parted from him, a blush rising to your cheeks as the string of saliva that connected you broke and dribbled down your chin. He wiped it away with his thumb before bringing his forehead to rest against yours. The two of you stayed like that for a while, gazing into each other's eyes as you caught your breath.

You brought up one of your hands to brush a bit of flour out of his eyebrow. “You managed to get flour on you somehow. I don’t think we even used flour today.”

He grinned at you. “It’s one of my many charms.”

You giggled and pulled him back in for another kiss. Your lips had just met when you heard a camera shutter go off and you both whipped your heads around to the source of the noise.

Vella stood in the doorway to the kitchen, camera raised and a shit-eating grin on her face. “Haha, I knew it! Thire owes me ten credits!”

Both of you blinked at each other for a moment before joining in with her laughter.

#toast clone #clone trooper toast #toast x reader #toast clone x reader #clone wars fanfic #star wars fanfic #reader insert #won't fade into the background #fun fact: toasts ct number is the year sliced bread was invented

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galacticlamps · 3 years

Text

im sorry im sorry im sorry i know it’s been well over a year but i accidentally thought about Short Trips: Deleted Scenes (again) and it’s killing me (again) so i think im just gonna go ahead and post all these stupid thoughts that have been plaguing me about it since i first heard it & maybe that’ll help clear up some space in my head for like, real life things.

Spoilers I guess? It’s like a year and a half old but also high key the most recent 2nd doctor content i believe we’ve gotten which is like, the only negative thing I can say about it

The TLDR version is this:

I literally cant believe how sweet it is? Painful, but sweet. Like. I don’t honestly know what’s more likely - did they set out to write Jamie a nice little straight love interest and just fail miserably at it by constantly likening her to the Doctor AND paralleling the Doctor’s perspective with her ex’s AND putting Jamie’s relationships with both of them in direct tension with each other while constantly letting his with the Doctor win out?

OR - did they do a very 1960s thing and say hey we’re gonna write what’s essentially a story about how much Jamie and the Doctor love each other and release it on Valentine’s Day thinly disguised as a one-off romance with a french lady?

Now, as a general rule, my attitude toward questions like that is usually “don’t know, don’t care, doesn’t matter” - and while I 100% stand by that, I also have to admit that this particular audio seems to pay enough attention to detail that I’d kind of think I was selling it short if I assumed too many of these things were just meaningless coincidences, you know?

Anyway, that’s the most coherent/overarching thought. And here’s a disorganized list of things I absolutely cannot get over about it (they don’t form any kind of argument, mind, they just all happen to live rent free in my head):

- Celine is first taken in by Jamie being an idiot (specifically him claiming not to speak French, in perfect French); likewise, her entrance in the scene where they actually kiss is marked with a little anecdote about her hat getting stuck on a doornail and her scolding it as she attempts to fix her un-tameable appearance, and the narration says Celine “would often clown for Jamie like this” - all of which, while undeniably adorable, don’t exactly strike me as entirely original traits to have been assigned to Jamie’s love-interest (but also Celine is so cool and her perspective on film/media/time is an excellent addition to the long list of dr who characters)

- When they’re in the present, describing Jamie’s relationship with Celine in 1908, they call him her “companion” and highlight his going nearly everywhere with her, which earns a laugh from the 4th doctor (and me as well, though probably for slightly different reasons - but like, is that really all it takes to have a fling with someone in 60′s era who? bc if so...)

- Celine’s ex-fiance is still in love with her and is jealously watching when she kisses Jamie ... and then the Doctor appears beside him, evidently doing the exact. same. thing. They have the following conversation:

“You know, it’s not prudent to spy on people. But then, people in pain can’t be expected to act prudently.”

“Pain, monsieur? You mistake me.”

“Ah, do I? Good, because I rather thought you’d lost something.”

“What would you know about loss monsieur?”

- I’m sorry doc but who do you think you are, saying stuff like that and smiling sadly at the floor to boot? I 100% had to pause it here the first time I listened, just to not throw my laptop across the room.

- Then when I recovered continued, the Doctor closes the door so they can’t watch anymore and explains “Possessing things comes so terribly easily to some men that losing them can feel cruel, intolerably cruel. In my experience, only the very best of men cannot be tempted to answer that cruelty with more - I do sincerely hope that you are the best of men.” (guess who gets described as the best of men by the end of the audio?)

- Jamie and the Doctor apparently develop a habit of walking along the river in Paris in silence

- During one such walk, Jamie suggests Celine come with them since she already figured out about the Tardis - and when the Doctor’s worried by this, he says he only allowed Jamie & Celine to grow closer “because of Victoria.” Jamie takes offense at the ‘allowing it’ comment and also refuses to admit he knows what the Doctor means about Victoria, which leads the Doctor to say that he knows how fond Jamie was of her - he was too, of course, but with him, “it was different, wasn’t it?” Jamie only says maybe that’s true and maybe that’s not, but his voice catches until he changes the subject

- Jamie doesn’t see Celine for days both times that she’s recovering from the shock and depression of her work being destroyed. In contrast, when the Doctor’s not well, Jamie’s "afraid” and “guilty” and hardly seems to leave his side at all, if his being there “rushing to embrace him” the second he wakes up - after a period Jamie describes as “at least a week” - is anything to go by, anyway. so either bf writers need to learn how to write a committed straight relationship or admit that’s not what they ever intended in the first place

- Oh yeah, and the Doctor spends that week "asleep” in Jamie’s bedroom - no, there’s no explanation as to if that’s where he was when he first collapsed or if it’s where Jamie decided to take him bc why would they feel the need to explain him being there? why was it even relevant to tell us it was Jamie’s room in the first place?

- The Doctor somehow manages to control the Tardis enough to take Celine on one trip to an alien planet and then return to the correct time & place for her to use the footage she recorded there in her new film - and while the audio doesn’t do very much to explain how that was possible, it does treat this as A Pretty Big Deal, and immediately afterward the Doctor has to spend a week communing with his past self (and/or the Tardis?) debating how likely it is that the Time Lords could use this to trace him. When he decides it’s not worth the risk and they have to stop the film from ever being shown to the public, Jamie asks why he agreed to it in the first place, and all he can say is “Because, Jamie, you asked me to!” earning awkward stares from the crowd.

- Oh, but, lest we forget, that little outburst is also immediately followed by him putting his arm around Jamie’s shoulders, and, shockingly, apparently beginning to actually explain the truth about the danger from the Time Lords - until they’re interrupted, of course idk why exactly but the idea of a 60s dr wanting to come clean with a companion but not being allowed to bc the show demands the war games be something of a reveal hurts me in a very good way

- The mental image of “the Doctor and Jamie, resplendent in borrowed evening wear”

- The audio admitting that Jamie’s not very good at subterfuge, and the Doctor asking if he’s going to be alright with them having to steal the film back from Celine - and Jamie’s little “Aye, Doctor” as he feels a ‘glass arrow piercing his chest’ glad to see bf is reading all my letters about exactly how i feel any time something sad happens to james robert mccrimmon

- The Doctor’s anxious to get out of there for obvious reasons, but he hangs around bc Jamie wants to see Celine again - which doesn’t happen, because of her aforementioned shock & depression, but she does leave Jamie a note that ends “you and that Doctor of yours - look after him Jamie, he loves you dearly, as do I.” yeah, if you didn’t want people to draw a parallel there, you could’ve picked, like, any other wording in the world.

- In case you weren’t fully convinced I’ve been reading too much into this whole audio already, consider this: Celine dies in Long Island in 1968, three days before her birthday - 1968 is when this story would’ve taken place in the show’s history (between Fury & Wheel), and dying three days before/after a birthday in America seems a bit... well I had some deja vu from it, anyway

- Four of all people being the one to bring back the film - I know he does it bc Sarah Jane makes him, but personally, I often feel like despite the length of his run, 4 is the Doctor with which we might’ve gotten the fewest glimpses into his interiority, so the fact that it’s him and not one of the more overtly sentimental Doctors makes it feel like it carries even more weight somehow, to me anyway. I think I wrote a post saying roughly the same thing about 4 & Fate of Krelos/Return to Telos but maybe I only did that inside my own head lol. Still, I’m all for any opportunities for Jamie to be one of the few characters to draw some noticeable emotion out of Four, but in fairness I haven’t touched too much of his EU stuff to really be able to compare the frequency with which this happens with other past companions

- Is Four referring to Two or Jamie when he says he got the film from “an old family friend”? Two did the actual stealing, but he probably means Jamie’s involvement - either way, it’s an interesting way of describing old companions - or selves?

- When Jemima goes to call Jamie a thief, Four is “roused” to defend him: “he really was the very best of men” again, any time four freely shows he cares about someone, im over the moon about it

- Oh ha ha, there’s an audio called “Deleted Scenes” featuring the Doctor who’s most affected by junked episodes. And at the end of it, a character who’s spent her life researching and lecturing about a lost film gets to watch it be ‘rediscovered’ after it’s gone unseen for decades. I feel marginally less stupid for reading into the other details of a story like this when it ends up deciding to be to be clever & slightly meta like that

But yeah

all in all, it’s kind of amazing to me that this genuinely reads like they sat down and said okay boys it’s valentines day, let’s write an audio where jamie kisses a girl, since that hasn’t happened except as a plot device in one story in 1967 - but then when they got down to business they accidentally(?) wrote a story all about how important his bond with the Doctor is and how easily that can be compared to a legitimate love interest (even if the love interest in question is a one off character & the extent of the relationship appears to be like one kiss & then having Jamie spend most of his time around the Doctor instead)

I realize there’s something slightly illogical about writing the words “shipping aside” after a post like this but seriously - no matter how many categories you’re able to see two & jamie’s relationship fitting into, this is 40 minutes of big finish just hitting you over the head with how powerful/special/important that relationship is, and with them being two of my favorite characters, i really haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since

#jamie mccrimmon #second doctor #big finish #Short Trips: Deleted Scenes #yes i am gonna tag this #two/jamie #i think it earned it with the line from celine's letter if nothing else #and quite possibly the doctor's so-called imprudent & pain-driven spying #but i'll leave it at that #in case anyone's looking at the tags to decide if they should actually read this rambling monster of a post #also if you for some reason read this but haven't listened to the audio -#a) that's kind of you to care what i have to say but #b) you could probably have listened to half of it by now lol #did i mention it's a stand-alone audio that only costs $3?#and it's more of a traditional audio book format with one narrator who voices all the characters?#sorry i wasn't ready to do a bf pitch in the tags here #i genuinely dont know why someone who hasn't already heard it would bother to read all this #but if anyone has - thanks?#i'll shut up now so you can get on w ur day :)

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

100% Professional (Spideypool) (One)

Previously a KoFi Supporter Fic.

MASTERLIST HERE

*************

Peter doubled checked the address on his phone at least six different times before finally approaching the doorman at the high rise apartment building and clearing his throat.

“Hi. My name is Peter Parker and I am here for an appointment with a resident of your building?"

The doorman looked him over, from the hair Peter had let air dry after a hasty shower, to the scuffed converse on his feet, to the blocky, heavy massage table folded into the bag over Peter’s shoulder.

“Uh--” Peter fumbled into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “I’m a massage therapist, and he said he’d let the doorman know to expect me. The name is Mr. Wade Wilson…” the words trailed off when the doorman swiped a card through the door and swung it open immediately.

“Oh look at that.” Peter chuckled to himself and hefted his bag a little more securely onto his back. “Mr. Wilson’s name literally opens doors, huh?”

“Top floor, end unit.” The doorman informed him, motioning Peter in to the lobby. “Have a nice day, Mr. Parker.”

“Thank you.” Peter tossed the doorman a casual salute, and once inside the lobby, waved at the receptionist as well. “Hi there, I’m going up to Mr. Wilson’s--”

“Top floor, end unit.” The woman didn’t even look up from her paperwork, but she hit a button that buzzed on the other side of the foyer and Peter’s eyebrows raised in surprise when the elevator doors opened automatically. “I’ll let him know you are on your way up. Have a nice day, Mr. Parker.”

“Uh, yes ma’am.” It didn’t feel right to salute this time around so Peter settled for another slightly awkward wave and hustled over to get the elevator before the doors closed, mashing the button for the top floor.

The elevator moved with the sort of silence that only came with very expensive buildings, and even though Peter hadn’t thought he looked terrible when he left his place an hour ago, his reflection in the mirrored elevator walls was…

….well it was less than flattering.

“Great.” Peter groaned and scrubbed his fingers through his hair, trying to calm the wind whooshed fluff into something a little more presentable. “My new client lives on the top floor of an insanely expensive part of town, has a weirdly quiet elevator, a receptionist and door man and I look like Poppy the Troll Princess did my hair. Great first impression."

The movie reference made Peter smile. Harry and Mary Jane’s little girl was a two foot tall red headed terror but Peter had successfully managed to distract her with repeat showings of Trolls while Harry and MJ managed a much needed date night and now, not only was Peter a Troll movie expert, but he was also Megan’s favorite babysitter which was an accomplishment all in itself.

Of course, it was the Troll marathon and babysitting that had kept Peter up half the night, and then he'd overslept and was late to work and late getting home to shower again which had led to being late for this exact moment, where his hair looked like it had been lost a fight with an industrial sized hair dryer and the bags under his eyes were deep enough to pack clothes in.

Wonderful.

The elevator slid to a smooth stop and Peter sighed, picking his bag up and rearranging his expression into something hopefully approaching professional instead of exhausted.

This was a big client. Whoever Mr. Wilson was had paid twice Peter’s usual fee just so he would come by for a meet and greet. Something about Mr. Wilson being a former soldier and having some scars, some pain issues and nerve damage-- he had told Peter over the phone, “I don��t want you to be surprised by anything, so if you’d just come by for an appointment, then we can see if you’re willing to work with me.”

Willing to work with me.

Right. As if Peter would turn down a job when he was still struggling to pay rent most months. Squeezing in extra classes and training for his next level therapy license while juggling a free lance position at the Daily Bugle wasn’t easy and every single penny helped. He needed to pay his phone bill damn it, and if that meant taking the subway clear to the ritzy part of town and hauling his massage table to the top of the building for a meet and greet, that’s exactly what Peter was going to do.

So top floor, end unit it was, and Peter knocked at the door before backing up a few steps to wait for Mr. Wilson to answer. “Twice my usual fee.” Peter told himself, mentally calculating how much of that fee it would cost to get some dinner for his hour long trek back home. “Twice my usual fee just for talking, this will be fine. Twice my usual-- oh, hi!”

He brightened up into a smile when the door swung open. “Hello Mr. Wilson, my name is Peter Parker....”

Oh fuck, Peter didn’t mean to stop talking but there he went stopping, forgetting whatever he was going to say next and making a quiet, wheezing noise instead. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” Mr. Wilson was a few inches over six feet and filling out a fitted long sleeve with enough muscles to make Peter choke, and yet for some reason the man sounded completely uncertain, his smile just this side of anxious. “Um, thanks for coming over.”

“It’s--” Peter raised his eyebrows and made a perfunctory attempt to pull his eyes back inside his head. “Yeah, it’s really not a problem. Wow. Hi.”

“....Hi?” Mr. Wilson adjusted his hat over his head in an obviously nervous gesture. “You alright?”

“Shit.” Peter shook himself and laughed self consciously. “Um, sorry. I promise I’m actually more professional than this. It’s just been a long day already and I dunno what I was expecting when you opened the door but uh... it wasn’t you. Hi.”

“...are you checking me out right now?” Peter couldn’t tell if Mr. Wilson was horrified by the idea or thought it was funny, so he erred on the side of caution and blurted,

“No! I mean yes, but not in a weird way. More like a ‘wow look at all those muscles I definitely know the names of because I’m a professional and went to school for this’.” he nodded emphatically and tried not to feel like a dumb ass. “I was checking you out in-- in that way.”

“Ah.” Mr. Wilson said slowly and Peter mentally screamed at himself to pull it together. “Well then. Would you like to come in?”

“I definitely would.” Moment somewhat salvaged, Peter breathed a sigh of relief and followed Mr. Wilson into the apartment, shutting the door quietly behind him. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late by the way, the subway had a weird glitch and I ended up having to catch a bus and--”

“I’ll give you some extra money for a cab or whatever.” Mr. Wilson said offhandedly. “That’s not a problem, I know this is a long way uptown for you. Sit down where ever you want. Can I get you a drink?”

“No thank you, I have my own water.” Peter pulled a bottle from his bag and sat gingerly on the edge of the nicest leather couch he’d ever seen. “I also brought my table. I know you said you wanted to do a meet and greet this first time around but I’d be happy to... to you know, audition if you’d like. Fifteen or twenty minutes just so you can see how we get along?”

“I’m not worried about how we will get along.” Mr. Wilson sat down across from Peter, holding a package of wipes on his lap which was… well it was weird, but Peter was being paid a lot for this little meet and greet so he was ready to deal with a little weirdness. “So. Mr. Parker. I got your number from an acquaintance of mine--”

“Oh, call me Peter.”

“Alright then.” Mr. Wilson smiled a little, hazel eyes sparking with humor from beneath the brim of his hat. “You can call me Wade. Anyway, Matt Murdock gave me your number and had only great things to say about you. And he emphasized that uh--”

Wade coughed. “--that you are very understanding when it comes to non typical… things. He says he sent a few clients your way that had specific needs and you were really great about it. Real understanding and accommodating.”

“Definitely.” Peter said immediately, thinking about how Matt had an issue with too much pressure on his back, how Jessica Jones refused to be undressed, how Norman Osborn’s illness had warped his muscles and made even light touches painful. “Yes, I have several clients that need a little extra effort and that’s completely fine. I have no problem working around whatever you need.”

“Imagine that, you are professional when you aren’t staring.” Another flash of smile and Peter grinned right back, relieved they’d made it past that initial terribleness and into somewhat more familiar territory. “Alright Pete, so I’ve got scars um-- I told you on the phone there was some nerve damage but the scars are-- okay--”

Wade blew out a deep breath, his shoulders tensing as if he were bracing himself. “I’m just gonna show you, kay?”

“Sure.” Peter encouraged, mystified and perhaps a little nervous. Wade was fully dressed, so it couldn’t be something naked weird, and he had assured Peter at least a dozen times on the phone that it wasn’t like he was missing limbs or had a prosthetic. Just nerve damage and some scars-- how bad could it be? “Yeah, just show me. It’s fine.”

“Kay.” Wade took another one of those deep breaths and took his hat off, then opened the package of wipes and scrubbed at his hands, across his face and down his neck, wiping away what was apparently make up and ….

….oh.

Oh wow.

Wade’s skin was covered in scars, raised lines and darker patches criss crossing his hands, crawling up his neck and spreading across his face to cover his scalp. His skin looked dry, irritated where the ball cap had rubbed uncomfortably and when Wade shifted under Peter’s scrutiny, his face pinched in a grimace as if even that small movement had hurt.

“Staring for a completely different reason now, huh?” Wade tossed the wipes towards the waste basket and spread his hands helplessly. “So I’m um-- yeah. This is-- yep. I uh--” he laughed, but it was an awful, self deprecating sound. “Shit. I think I preferred the way you stared at the door to the way you’re looking at me now.”

“I wasn’t trying to stare.” Peter was on his feet before he even realized he’d moved, crossing over to Wade’s chair and reaching for his hand. “You don’t mind do you? I just want a closer look.”

“I--” Wade shrugged helplessly. “Sure?”

“Your nerve damage.” Peter ran his fingers lightly over a scar that crossed Wade’s palm, and then up to one at his wrist that disappeared beneath the sleeve. “Numb in some areas and over sensitive in others?”

“...yes.”

“All over your body?” Peter’s mind was racing, thinking about pressure points to avoid and how to incorporate something for pain relief into his usual lotion and wondering whether or not such extensive injuries had compromised muscle anywhere in Wade’s body. “How’s your skin, should I use something extra moisturizing for you? Have you ever tried a body conditioner with avocado? I have a small bottle in my bag and I bet it would help with--”

Peter’s fingers faltered when he saw the bruises at the base of Wade’s neck. “What happened here?”

“Knot in my back.” Wade was barely breathing, his gaze focused on where Peter’s other hand still held his own. “Tried to work it out using the corner of the wall but all it did was bruise me.”

“I can work on that tonight.” His want to help over riding any sense of personal space, Peter leaned further over Wade and drew gentle but purposeful fingers along the broad shoulders. “Oh yeah, I can feel it right there. Can’t turn your head all the way?”

“Not at all.” Wade forced out a slow breath when he started to get light headed, overwhelmed by the simple encounter. “Gotta say, people don’t usually see this mess and start asking how they can help. Usually they just run the other way."

“Well, I’m not most people.” Peter said mildly, feeling gingerly along the back of Wade’s neck. “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

“Okay, so in my bag I have a sorta generic diagram of a body and if you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to spend some time figuring out where your pain triggers are and where you are numb.” Peter could feel the ridges of scars all the way down Wade’s arm and he was very careful as he squeezed at Wade’s bicep to test the give of muscle. “Do you have any muscle damage? An injury like this one--”

“IED.” Wade supplied quietly. “Just about killed me.”

“---shit.” Peter shook his head. “Um, extensive injuries like this can really compromise your muscle while you’re healing. Restricted activity and all that. I’m not saying you should let me look at your medical records, but it would help the process if you could at least tell me anything along those lines.”

Peter absolutely did not think about how thick Wade’s thighs were as he tested the muscle there too, nodding in satisfaction when Wade didn’t flinch. “You sure seem solid, but there’s a thin line with massage between ‘this feels good’ and ‘holy shit I’m dying’ so you’ll need to be pretty vocal with me while I’m still figuring you out, okay?”

“While you’re still figuring me out.” Wade repeated. “Does this mean you aren’t grossed out by me?”

“Why would I be grossed out?” Peter scooted backwards so he could feel down Wade’s calves, and then stopped mid motion. “Oh by the way I’m not just-- not just feeling you up here. I just realized I didn’t even ask if I could touch you but I am just checking to see--”

“It’s fine.” Wade interrupted, and in a soft tone Peter couldn’t quite decipher, “Whatever you're doing is fine. You’re one of the first people to not act like I’ve got leprosy or something and it's--it's nice. Even my physical therapist is sorta weird about my skin.”

“That’s fuckin’ ridiculous, a physical therapist acting like that.” Peter switched to the other leg, frowning when he felt a divot in the calf muscle. “This leg is worse than the other?”

“That entire side of my body.” Wade confirmed. “Took the brunt of the hit.”

“I’ll make a note of it.” Peter sat back on his heels and reached for both Wade’s hands, pressing at the base of each finger. “I’m taking an extra class in reflexology this month and I’d love to try some on you. It’s less touch intensive in case you aren’t comfortable with that, but still has great benefits.”

“Uh, sure?”

“Great.” Peter got to his feet and went for his table. “I’m going to set up and you get undressed to whatever your comfort level is--”

“No, I don’t want a massage tonight.” Wade cut in and Peter paused with his table half out of the bag. “I just wanted to talk, to meet you. That’s it.”

“Well sure.” Peter gestured between them lamely. “But you’re hurting and I can help with that right now. At least fix the knot in your back and get you a little relief. I came all this way, I’m more than happy to work on you for a little bit.”

He grinned and added, “And not just cos I was checking you out earlier. I promise I’m one hundred percent professional once the table comes out and the calming music starts to play."

“That's great, but I’m not ready for it.” Wade flushed and looked away, putting his hat back on and shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “The meet and greet is more cos I-- I dunno if I can handle someone touching me but I had to try. You’re nice and all and it’s pretty fuckin’ amazing that you are all gung ho about this. I really figured you’d see this mess and realize it was all over my body and bail out the front door. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you didn’t but I-- I still need some time to get used to the idea."

“I see.” Peter put his table down and nodded slowly. “Okay. That’s fine. Understandable.”

"It's not understandable." Wade countered. "Grown ass man, former soldier afraid of being touched? It's not understandable, but it is what it is, so I've got to deal. I'm sorry you came all this way for just a few minutes though."

Wade dug out his wallet and pulled out some cash. “I um-- can I think about it and call you this next week?”

“Yeah, of course.” Disappointed for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, Peter nodded again. "But here, let me give you this.”

He got the diagram out of his bag and pulled the bottle of avocado skin conditioner out as well. “Use this maybe just on your hands so you get used to it, and if you have the time, mark on here anywhere I’ll need to be careful when I work on you. Numb spots, sore spots, anything like that.”

“Thank you.” Wade still looked embarrassed and Peter sort of hated it. “I appreciate this, Pete. I really do. I’m sure it was weird to show up just to talk and I didn’t know how to tell you it definitely wasn’t a sex thing without sounding like a creeper so--”

His eyes lit in surprise when Peter laughed. “Oh good, you laughed. That could’a been real awkward.��

“Can’t possibly have been as awkward as me shouting wow when you opened the door.” Peter left the diagram and lotion on the table and straightened back up to wink at Wade. “If you call me for an appointment, I promise not to be half as weird next time around.”

“I sorta like your weird.” Wade admitted with a wink of his own and Peter scrunched his nose and laughed again. “I mean, I’m sure you’re great with all your clients but this was about a billion times easier than I thought it would be. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem.” Peter pocketed the cash Wade gave him, glancing at it only long enough to confirm it was twice his usual rate, along with the promised extra so he could call a car to take him home. “Feels like I’m robbing you though, with you paying double for fifteen minutes of me being dumb and then feeling you up. How about I don’t charge you for the first real appointment?”

“There’s a pretty big chance I’m gonna freak out and not actually call you, so keep the money and don’t worry about the discount or whatever.” Wade admitted as he walked Peter to the door. “I don’t get out a whole lot and inviting someone over is about as brave as I get these days. Inviting someone over to see me in my birthday suit is basically terrifying.”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t ever stare at my clients in their birthday suit.” Peter said solemnly. “Minor peeks beneath the towel and that’s it. Five second rule, you know. It's a professional thing."

He was definitely flirting and that was definitely a bad idea, but Peter couldn’t seem to help himself. The first impression of Wade as eep holy muscles was firmly stuck in Peter’s mind, and combined with the few smiles he’d glimpsed and the way Wade’s voice had gone soft and a little unsteady while Peter was touching him…

...well shit, Peter never ever flirted with clients but he sure wanted to flirt with Wade.

“Five second rule?” Wade was asking and Peter nodded as seriously as he could manage. “I feel like there’s an inappropriate joke in there somewhere.”

“I can practically guarantee it!” Peter teased and Wade grinned and damn if that didn’t do something to Peter’s blood pressure. “Okay, I’m gonna go before I do something stupid like ask you out for dinner. I’ve got a rule about dating clients and--”

“--so if I don’t call you for a massage, you’ll take me out for dinner?” Wade challenged playfully, and then just as quickly he took it back with a hasty, “I mean, I know you wouldn’t. Sorry. That’s crazy. What I meant was--”

“You’ll call me if you decide you want a massage.” Peter waved off Wade’s stuttering. “Right?”

“I--” Wade cleared his throat, a flash of panic darkening his hazel eyes. “Yes. If I want one, I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” Peter heaved his table up and over his shoulders. “And um, if you don’t want a massage, are you a steakhouse sorta guy or a Chinese food buffet sort of guy?”

“Are you serious?” Wade looked like he was half hoping Peter was serious, and like he was half terrified Peter would laugh at him.

“Super serious.” Peter confirmed. “Not every day I meet a hunky former soldier in a high rise apartment. Steakhouse or Chinese buffet?”

“I’ll uh--” Wade held up his phone sheepishly. “I’ll let you know?”

“Sounds good.” Peter flashed finger guns at Wade because apparently he was physically incapable of ending a conversation like an adult. “Looking forward to hearing from you.”

***************

Peter called a cab and was only a few blocks from his place when his phone buzzed with an incoming message.

Unknown Number: Can I make an appointment for next Tuesday evening? For a massage, not for dinner.

Peter smothered a smile and texted back: It would have been very weird if you were making an appointment for a dinner date. I feel like there’s only certain types of people who have to make appointments for dates, you know?

He waited a beat, then took a chance and texted: Exactly what kind of massage therapist do you take me for?

It was almost five minutes before the reply came.

Unknown Number: Oh you are OBVIOUSLY 100% professional. 100%.

*****************

Wade’s phone chimed just as he was opening the lotion Peter had left behind, and with his heart in his throat, he opened it to read:

From Peter: You say 100% professional like you don’t believe me. I’ll show up in a tuxedo next time. Then you’ll see how professional I am. That'll learn ya.

Wade hadn’t laughed in a very long time, but he laughed right then. When Matt Murdock had suggested Wade call Peter for a massage, the lawyer had said it with a sly sort of smile on his face and now Wade knew exactly why that was.

Peter was all sorts of Wade’s type, all long legs and thick hair and big brown eyes that were mostly earnest but also fucking devilish. He was funny and he was smart and when he’d smiled Wade had actually felt it clear to his bones.

Plus, he hadn't flinched away from Wade's scars, hadn't flinched away from touching him and Peter had actually looked disappointed when Wade had turned down the massage, as if he really wanted to help and that--

--that wasn't something Wade wasn't used to at all anymore.

It had been both eye opening and heart breaking for Wade to realize how little people wanted to help him now that he wasn't pretty. He was a mess now, and people stared at his injuries or treated him like he was damaged and breakable or worse like they couldn't see him at all, like he was invisible.

But Peter didn't act like Wade was invisible.

The kid had all but asked Wade out on a fucking date.

A date.

“I can’t sleep with my massage therapist.” Wade muttered, then shook his head because if the thought of someone seeing enough of his skin for a massage made him feel panicky, the thought of sex was nearly crippling.

Being face to face with someone beautiful when he was a mess? Skin to skin when he was ruined after the explosion?

No thank you.

From Peter: Oh shit, was the tuxedo question weird? I swear I’m a legit professional Wade, idk why I’m being such a dumbass around you. How does next Tuesday at seven sound?

From Wade: Sounds good.

Wade took a deep breath and fired off another text before he lost his nerve and called the whole thing off.

From Wade: I can’t wait.

****************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER

****************

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @livewire28 @tulipsnbigcats @kimstark @alex-stark-rogers @bibbarnes @heeeyitskay @goindownshipping @quietgayguy @nanita90a @justaniche

@chiby-chan @thanossucks @i-am-worth-it-25 @dan4thefam

#ncts fics #spideypool #peter parker #wade wilson #non powers au

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ao3feed-geralt-jaskier · 3 years

Link

by ButterBard

“Do you allow pets,” Geralt asked dryly, “I need a place for Roach.” He gestured with his head to Roach, who was watching the thrashing drowner body with interest.

“Yes! Yes! Fine we can accept your dog, please, please Witcher I can’t die, I—”

“Deal,” Geralt said, and thrust his sword through the drowner once more, severing its head from its body. Geralt dropped the remnants of its head and neck to the ground, landing with a sickening splat, and the man wailed again.

“When’s move in?”

-x-

Geralt gets the best apartment imaginable, with free rent for three whole years, INCLUDING maintenance. Everything could, and should, be perfect. Enter: a dashing, charming, attractive, terribly annoying neighbor, a nemesis on the top floor apparently ready to strike at any moment, a brother with a crush, a viral TikTok, and the longest night at a bar he's ever had. Well, it could be worse-- it could be a walk-up.

Words: 16507, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Multi

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel (The Witcher), Coën (The Witcher), Anica (The Witcher), Fringilla Vigo, Coral | Lytta Neyd

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Meet-Cute, Banter, Fluff, Pining, Getting Together, Firsts, Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Miscommunication, We've got it all here folks!, Canon-Typical Violence, (pretty much just the first scene), Mutual Pining, Jaskier has a fear of large dogs (Roach is the large dog) but they work it out quick, Oh My God They Lived In The Same Building, Drinking, Excessive Drinking, Light Angst, Happy Ending, I am so sorry this is so long it quite genuinely ran away from me, Background relationship is Lambert/Aiden

#AO3 works tagged 'Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion'#ao3feed #fanfic #the witche

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when-to-sit-in-silence · 3 years

Note

Ok ok... I read your lovers lake post just a few seconds ago, in which Joyce and Lonnie are already dating. Please give me another one like that in which Hopper questions Joyce about Lonnie trying to make sure Lonnie is being nice to her, not pressuring her into anything like sex or heavily drinking or whatever? Like idk why but that image of hop wanting to know if Lonnie is gentle enough with her is living rent free in my head?

Jim Hopper hits the brake and his car whines to a stop in the middle of the Hawkins High parking lot. A mid-March downpour rattles against the windows, obscuring his view out of the passenger side where a number of students rush down the walk on bikes or with umbrellas they were mindful enough to bring at the overcast beginning of the day. Among them, the figure that had made Hopper stop, shielding herself from the rain with a familiar bright yellow coat, turns her head at the sight of his car and meets his eyes through the window.

Joyce.

Hopper flickers his headlights, and after a moment of hesitation, she breaks from the flow of the crowd and opens the passager door of his car.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, as she lets the rain in. Joyce drops her half-soaked book bag on the dash and sinks into the seat with a deep sigh. The door slams. Hopper watches her gather the coat into her lap, brushing damp strings of copper hair out of her face.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hopper asks.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, a little louder, apparently remorseful that she is dripping all over the seat, but Hop shakes his head.

“No, I mean why were you about to walk home? It’s pouring out.”

“Lonnie couldn’t drive me.”

“Couldn’t?”

“Can we get going? Why are we just sitting here?” Joyce demands.

Pursing his lips, Hopper presses the gas and starts making his way out of the parking lot. Beside him, Joyce picks at her fingernails, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her eyes are dim. Maybe it’s the rain clinging to her clothes and the fact that she’s shivering, but she looks small. And embarrassed.

“Lonnie was here today, right?” Hopper asks. “I’m pretty sure I saw him during lunch. He go home early?”

“No.”

“He has plans?”

A beat. “No.”

“So, what, he though it’d be funny to let his girlfriend walk a mile home in a thunderstorm?”

“It’s not storming, don’t be overdramatic.” Joyce shifts in her seat and leans her face into her fist. “I can handle a little rain.”

“A gentleman doesn’t let a lady get soaked if he can help it.”

“Oh, so you’re a gentleman, then?”

“More so than Lonnie.”

Joyce exhales sharply, shutting her eyes. “We had a fight.”

“A fight?” There is an alarm going off in Hopper’s head, a familiar blaring, hair-raising alarm that always rings when Lonnie is around, like a siren, a warning sign. Hop has never liked him. The guy’s always come off as calculating and disingenuous and narcissistic, the type to think he’s doing everybody a favor just by being around. “What kind of fight?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worried. What kind of fight?”

“You know, what goes on in my relationship is none of your business, Jim Hopper,” Joyce growls. “Couples have their ups and downs. Wouldn’t you know? I don’t see Chrissy Carpenter anywhere.”

Hopper bites back an equally defensive reply, waiting for the sting of her words to pass. More than what she said, Hopper is bruised by the lash of her tone, cold and pointed like an icy wind that can take your breath away. After a moment, however, her rigid countenance softens. She looks defeated.

“Look, I’m just saying,” Hopper murmurs following a minute of cool silence, “it’s cold, it’s raining, and it only takes a couple minutes to get you home, so whatever fight you had, it sounds bad enough for me to worry about it - as your friend.”

“Lucky for me, my friend is able to drive me home, isn’t he? Lonnie knows I don’t need him.”

“Oh, yeah? I sure hope he thinks you don’t need him. But you know what you’re really lucky for, Joyce, is that I saw you before you could stay out in the rain long enough to get yourself sick. You were going to walk anyway.”

“Yeah, because I knew that when I asked you for a ride, you’d act insufferable, as always.”

“You sure you didn’t ask me for a ride because we haven’t actually talked in two months?”

“We’ve talked -”

“In bio. Not in, you know, real life.”

“Hop.”

“Joyce.”

“Knock it off.”

As Hopper stops at an intersection, he gives a demonstrative shrug. “Fine. I’m done. Just trying to make sure he’s not treating you as shitty as he’s treating you today. Good to know I have nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t.”

“Great.”

The next couple minutes are glassy pristine quiet and nothing less than torture.

But at last Hopper pulls in front of Joyce’s house. He expects her to launch herself out of his presence as swiftly as she can, shove the door closed with a resounding bang to punctuate just how great everything is. But although Joyce reaches for her book bag on the dash, although her fingers fasten around the door handle, she does not leave the car right away.

Hopper stares at her. He has the urge to reach out, to set his hand on her shoulder, but before he can make up his mind to move, Joyce’s hand falls away from the door and she leans back into her seat.

“Joyce?”

Her big, dark eyes turn on him, and his heart sinks to find them glistening with tears. “I - I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you,” she says. “I didn’t realize how long it’s been.”

Surprised, he gives a little shake of his head. “Oh - no, it’s fine.” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Having a boyfriend must keep you busy. I’m sorry for being pushy there. I gotta learn when to lay off.”

“Well, I’m glad that somebody cares that much. None of his friends do,” she grumbles bitterly.

“What?”

“They don’t care. They were egging him on today, ‘Leave that bitch in the rain.’”

Hopper winces, shocked. Joyce bites her lip as she starts to cry, trying to shield her face from his view.

“He was pissed I didn’t want to hang out with him on Saturday. It wasn’t even because of anything he did, I just - I just wanted to be alone. But he accused me of trying to avoid him or having something to hide, and he and his friends, they were all being such jerks about it. For no reason. ‘Teach that bitch a lesson’. Lonnie said, ‘If you don’t wanna be around me then you can walk home.’”

“Joyce,” Hopper says. He takes her arm. “That’s terrible.”

“He’s not usually like that, okay? I swear -”

“Joyce.”

“It just this one time. So don’t go up to him tomorrow trying to defend my honor or some corny stupid shit like that -”

“Really? Is it really only this one time?” Hopper scowls when she doesn’t answer right away. Not wanting to overstep another boundary, he speaks low and slow, his grip on her arm gentle. “He doesn’t...he doesn’t hurt you, right?”

“Hop.”

“I just know that he and his buddies can get rough with each other sometimes. I wanna make sure they don’t - that he doesn’t - with you.” Hopper watches the rain splatter against the windshield. Joyce’s lack of a response to this troubles him deeply. She sits still, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Does he ever pressure you?”

“Pressure me?”

“He goes to a lot of parties. I know you go with him sometimes. He doesn’t make you drink too much or…anything else?”

“Hopper.” Joyce takes his hand. Finally, she meets his eyes, and the smile on her lips is so forced that it makes Hopper grimace. “One bad day, alright? One. Everything’s fine. He got it out of his system. He’ll be over it tomorrow, and it’ll all go back to normal.”

“Normal. That’s why you needed to tell me about it, huh? While crying?” he mumbles.

“I’m okay. I did it for your sake,” she insists. This time, she does open the door, and this time she does slam it closed, but not before tossing a glance over her shoulder and saying, “See you in bio tomorrow.”

Hopper lets her go. When Joyce disappears through her front door, he runs his hands across his face, sighing heavily, feeling nauseous.

He hates Lonnie Byers with all his heart.

#jopper #jim hopper #joyce byers #stranger things fanfiction

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niaoniaos · 3 years

Text

2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

thank you for the tag @therukurals (check out gil’s here) i can’t choose five bc i gif too much but i saw someone do a break down by month and u know that seems like a game changer and i’m gonna do that!!!! sorry in advance i gif too much

jan: a.c.e on and on chan’s is linked but i ended up giffing the whole group and this was just a colossal serve a.c.e are cover kings who has the dedication to dye their hair to match for just a cover??? iconic

feb: this ye ah set mostly this is straight up one of the best gifsets i’ve ever made. the coloring is so pretty on this and its so smooth i really outdid myself huh. also this astro set! took me forever and i’ve never really done negative space like this but i really love it

march: this 2gether set might honestly be one of the best show set’s i’ve ever made in my life nothing will live up to it Ever

april: find me in your memory this show honestly snapped with this scene it was meant to be an aesthetic set and i did one of my paleresque type colorings on it??

may: i literally did the MOST in may idk why i had all the creative juices this month but. wow. first this astro knock mv set i made everything purple because its what we deserve. second bear eunwoo lives in my head rent free. third the always you mv this was actually really hard because i had giffed this mv before so giffing without reusing the same scenes was SO DIFFICULT but i did it. fourth a.c.e’s anniversary gfx this was the first time i’ve done a proper gfx/gif in forever and im still really proud of it tbh. fifth this school17 set when will my inspo return to finish this lmk

june: doyoung was FEELING HIMSELF this era doyoung is also feeling himself for 2020 in general i really should gif him

july: i was feeling big performance gifs for the little i giffed in july and idk why my coloring was so good wtf was i doing

aug: this lives in my mind rent free

sept: THIS LIVES IN MY MIND RENT FREE!!!!! (also this saber set its a lil ugly but i’m still really proud of it)

oct: i love demon!a.c.e this set was so hard bc the closeups were Not It and the lighting was Not IT but demons <3

nov: this cherry magic set mostly because i am still amazed at how much curves was able to fix the terrible lighting honestly. also this saber set redeeming myself for the past two terrible ones

dec: this was a bitch and a half but its what kun DESERVES

that was all in mare gifs way too much (i apparently did not gif at all oct/nov who was i but i was also deep in school assignment hell so maybe i do have priorities)

i am tagging @chawoongs @tytrack @jukyus @lhyunjaes @yihwas @yixing-zhang @ddonghyun @she @mostlyfate @hup123hup123slapslap @taeminnomuyeppeo @baejoonyoung @s-m-entertainment @kevcob @roseband and if u wanna do this take this as me formally tagging you!!!!!

#tag games

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Text

There’s Magic in the Night

A new year is breaking, and it's full of possibilities.

⬅️ Previous

(Reminder: not Repugnant accurate.)

It’s a 15min walk from the nearest subway stop in a part of the city that hosts low-income and broke college folk, and you’re beginning to wonder if your heeled boots were the best choice—but the shiny patent of them so nicely offset your cheap pink and black tulle skirt and fuzzy black crop sweater with inlaid tinsel that you’d decided on form or function. You’d almost changed your top when Mary had knelt and given your tummy a raspberry where it hung over the waistband a little, but his cute little pout had placated you a little after you’d threatened to do just that.

“You want a piggyback?”

“Nah, I’m all right, Mare. We’re almost there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Using his chin, he indicates a house down the block with a light on in every window and that’s lit up with string lights. It’s a little run down, but not falling apart. The neighborhood is full of three-story homes that are either co-ops or rented out by various floor configurations.

You’d tried to follow his explanation on who he knew and how, but the most you’d retained was that of the 6 people who rented the entire house, Mary knew 2 of them intimately. (“Yeah, they’ve had it every year that they’re lived there. I’m pretty sure a good third of the crowd is party crashers, but the more the merrier, right?”)

The closer you get, the louder the din from the house becomes—it sounds like there are 4 different playlists fighting for dominance, and the crowd ASMR is strong. There is a gang of smokers spilling from the front porch, down the cement steps, and clumped into murders in the small yard.

Ed and Dee are leaning against the railing on the steps, shivering in their best band tees as they take drags of their cigarettes.

“Hey, man!” says Mary as he leans forward and engages them both in a sloppy approximation of a cool, secret handshake.

“Hey, Goore!”

“Long time no see, dude.”

You nod at them, and they nod back.

“Where’s the rest of the gang?” asks Ed as he strains to see behind you in the dark.

Apparently Mary usually pregamed with his bandmates and then they headed over en masse later in the night. Horrified, you’d tried to convince him to uphold the tradition, but he’d insisted he could break off one year (“I’m not gonna toss you to the wolves, Suey. I see those assholes all the time.”).

Mary blows out a breath, and it hangs in the air like the puffs of smoke.

“Still pregaming. They’ll be by later. I wanted to give Suey the grand tour.”

Mary makes a sweeping motion, then wraps that arm around you. Ed and Dee’s eyes flick back to you.

“He’s a fucking liar; he was afraid one of you would steal me away.”

Ed coughs out the drag he was taking, and Dee snorts.

“You’re killing my street cred, woman.”

“Whatever, dude,” says Dee with a smirk, and Mary glowers at him. “You wanna bum one?” Dee holds out his pack as if in contrition.

Mary’s hand twitches, but he shakes his head.

“Nah, dude. Not unless it’s that chronic shit.”

“Yeah, they got those somewhere.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool.”

A few merrymakers exit the house—laughing and screaming—and they push by the lot of you as they presumably journey on toward another party.

“All right, dudes. We’re gonna go make the rounds, get some cold ones. See you on the other side!”

“Sounds good!”

“Do it.”

Mary ushers you inside, and—despite the open door—the warmth of the house hits you, making you feel suddenly uncomfortable in your winter coat. Like the outside, there’s a general mass of bodies that are sectioned off (in the hall; on the stairs; spilling out of the kitchen; lounging in the living areas) like music notes in a run of measures. You spot a worn-looking chair that’s piled high with coats, and you go to toss yours on, but Mary grabs your arm.

“Geez, Suey. You wanna get your coat jizzed on?”

“I—what?”

“C’mere, let’s not add our stuff to the pile that’s gonna make someone a nice sex bed later.”

He yanks your coat out of your hands and opens a door that leads to the hall closet. A beach ball tumbles out and is joyfully absconded with by a trio of party goers walking by, and Mary catches one golf club in his hand as it falls out from the top shelf and another under his arm. Unfortunately, he doesn’t catch the one that hits his booted foot, but you managed to stand on tiptoe enough to prevent the entire bag from depositing its contents on Mary’s head.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Between the two of you, you manage to get the clubs back in order from whence they fell.

You can see that there’s other junk up there and in the back—whether it lives there permanently or was just shoved in there pre-party, you guess you’ll never know—but there’s an entire row of coats on a rod, which seems to be the closet’s main purpose.

“Here.” Mary rifles through the mess until he finds a free hanger. It takes some adjusting, but he finally gets his leather jacket and your coat onto the same hanger and manages to squeeze it back into the mass.

“OK. Let’s go find Shonda.”

“Not Murray?”

“Apparently he’s elsewhere tonight.” He shrugs.

There’s a sudden squeal of voices, and when you turn, you see Kara and Elsie hurrying toward you. Elsie is in a sequined dress so garish it must be fashionable and Kara sports a sparkly red sweater over black jeggings that she’s wrapped fairy lights around.

“So you’re not dead!” says Kara

“Uh … no?”

“Christ, I would have called you, but I’ve spent the last few days with my head in a toilet,” laughs Elsie.

“Yeah, thanks for that guys,” says Mary. “What I really wanted to do at the crack of dawn was take care of this lush.”

“Pffft,” snorts Elsie. “You’re one to talk, Goore. As if your head doesn’t live in the toilet.

“Yeah, total karma, Mary. Remember that time you got your stomach pumped?”

“Jesus, Mare,” you say at him with a bemused smile. He scowls.

“Look. Honey whiskey goes down easy.”

Elsie and Kara cackle before grabbing up your hands.

“C’mon, let’s get you a drink, hon,” says Kara.

“What about me?” pouts Mary.

Elsie sniffs over her shoulder at him as she pulls you down the hall.

“Sorry, Goore. Girls only. Go set shit on fire or something.”

“That was once!” you hear Mary call down the hall after you.

“Wait—what did he set on fire?”

Elsie looks at you and mimics locking her mouth and throwing away a key.

The kitchen is full of bodies. In one corner, there’s a game of beer pong set up, and in the other, people are digging beer containers out of a giant cooler. On the counter are a few bowls half-filled with various snacks—the other half of which seem to be spilled over the counter and crushed into the linoleum floor. There’s a dark-skinned woman in a black & white plaid rockabilly dress and red cardigan who’s struggling to empty a bag of ice into a second cooler.

“Here—let me help, Shonda,” says Kara as Elsie leads you to the full cooler.

Shonda looks up. “Yeah, could you? Dunno where my asshole roommates are.”

By the time the two of them have the contents of the bag in the cooler—the cubes sliding in with a rough whoosh and plinking softly over the beers in the bottom—you and Elsie have fresh beers that she’s poured into solo cups.

“Thanks, Kar.” Shonda wipes her hands on the bottom of her dress, makes a face, then fumbles for a dingy kitchen towel hanging over the fridge door handle.

“Shonda,” says Elsie, catching the woman’s attention. She pushes you forward a bit. “This is Mary’s new squeeze.”

“Oh, um, hi.” You stick out your hand.

“No shit.” Shonda gives you a once over before giving your hand one firm shake. She nods a few times. “Yeah, ok. I see it.” She pats you on the arm. “Good luck with that.” She turns to Elsie. “Is that little shit here? We need to have words.”

Elsie jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “We left him down the hall.”

“He can run but he can’t hide,” Shonda says as she stomps away in impressively high red heels.

“Do I need to go defend his honor?”

Kara snorts.

“Nah,” says Elsie, waving your question away. “She’ll probably just make him do the heavy lifting the other stooges wheedled their ways out of.”

“He is stronger than those skinny arms make him look,” you muse.

Kara leans in. “Oh?”

You grin at her.

The two of them lead you into what must be a dinning room that seems to be the official set up for the snacks and libations. A bar with liquor and mixers have been arranged in the built-in, and there’s a folding table in the corner with an array of chips, snack foods, and a pile of wilted-looking pizza boxes. There’s a center table—which looks more permanent—that some sort of drinking game is occurring over.

You make a beeline for the pizza.

“I think I need a good base.”

As you juggle the pizza slices on a plate on the top of your cup, Kara and Elsie talk rapid fire across you, sometimes asking you questions (about you, about Mary, about you and Mary), other times going into long-winded stories about people you’ve never met, but are hilarious nonetheless.

“Fuck. I’m not drunk enough for this party yet,” Kara laments.

“Well, yeah,” says Elsie. “I thought we’d get our game on.” She pokes you in the belly, and you suck your stomach in away from her touch. “You done ‘getting your base’ yet?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” You dump the paper plate and crusts into a trash bag slumped in the corner.

About the time Elsie is squeezing you three into the game at the table, Mary wanders in. His face brightens when he sees you, and he makes his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“There you are, baby doll.”

“I thought I told you ‘girls only,’ Goore,” says Elsie.

He jabs a finger at her. “I gave you more than enough time to monopolize my girlfriend, Ford.”

“Just keep your dick in check.”

“I do what I want.”

For the next half hour, you engage in a rousing game of flip cup, which you have always been terrible at, but Mary seems to dominate. By the end, Kara and Elsie are hitting their buzz—playfully shoving themselves and others—and you’re beginning to feel more at ease in this sea of unfamiliar people.

Ed and Trevor wander in and motion to Mary, but seem to address the whole crowd.

“Yo!” says Ed. “Wanna go upstairs?” He stimulates smoking a joint at Mary.

“Yeah, man!” Mary turns to you. “You wanna join?”

You shake your head. “Can’t. I get tested.”

“Laaaame,” says Kara, and you jump because you didn’t realize how close she’d gotten.

“You sure it’s ok?” Mary scrunches his face.

“Yeah, Mare. Go! Be free!”

“Don’t worry, Mare,” says Elsie coyly as she drapes an arm around you. “We’ll take good care of Suey.”

Mary looks horrified enough that you think he might change his mind, but then Ed and Trevor are pulling him away. Elsie looks down at you.

“What did you do to that boy?”

You squint up at her. “What do you mean?”

Kara insinuates her way in between you and hands you both disposable shot cups.

“She means you’ve got him pussy whipped.”

You scrunch your face further. “Mary? He’s like a stray cat that shows up sometimes for food.”

“Is the ‘food’ ‘sex’?” Kara jumps her eyebrows at you.

Laughingly, you shove at her. “Maybe.”

Elsie throws her hands up. “PUSSY. WHIPPED.” She downs her shot.

You and Kara follow suit.

“Ok, but seriously,” you half cough as you wipe a dribble off your chin. “Mary does what he wants. I don’t tell him what to do.”

“Aww, hon—we know,” says Kara. “Elsie is just giving you a hard time.”

Elsie shrugs. “I’m a Class A Bitch.”

“She is,” agrees Kara. She turns her cup upside down; a few droplets drip out. “Hey, bitch—go get us more suds!”

“Demanding,” grips Elsie, but she turns to make her way into the kitchen.

You and Kara wander over to the food table to graze, the howls from the newest drinking game dolcet background noise.

“Hey, I know Elsie tends to make people butthurt, but she just has no filter.”

“Oh. No, it’s fine.” You shrug. “People tend to think I’m an elitist snob, so I try to be, um, more open minded.”

Kara grins at you. “‘Splains why you’re dating Mary.”

You throw a withered carrot stick at her. “Don’t fucking call me out like that.”

Kara laughs as she tries to block the attack. The conversation seems to stall after that, so you try and dredge up a question.

“So you guys know Mary from high school or something? Mary was … vague.”

“Just Elsie. That’s why she’s a little protective. He’s seen some shit.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say quietly. You turn to look at Kara. “Did they ever …?”

Kara waves her hand at you dismissively, swaying slightly. “Shit, we’ve all fucked around with each other at some point or other.”

Your eyes bug out. “You and Mary?”

She snorts, and leans toward you at a dangerous angle. “Well I never slept with Mary. But I’ve been with Elsie and Dee, and Mary with her and Trevor, and Trevor and Dee had a thing with Ed.” She screws up her face. “I think I got that right. I can never keep it straight, honestly.” Kara shakes her head out; then her expression changes and she bites her lip. “Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve told you all that.”

You pop a Jax in your mouth. “Mums the word, sister”

As she’s giving you a sloppy, grateful smile, Elsie finally appears—tottering carefully—with three solo cups precariously balanced between her hands and tits.

“Shit—come get your drinks.”

You and Kara scramble to relieve Elsie of her haul without dropping the prizes as the drinking game breaks with an Awwwwwww.

“You guys wanna with another round?” Elsie throws her thumb over her shoulder as she sips from her cup.

“Fuck yeah, you know it!” exclaims Kara as she throws her hands up, beer spilling over the side.

After doing OK in a few rounds of Finger Spoof (you’re feeling the buzz nicely), you look around and realize you haven’t seen Mary in a while. You leave Kara and Elsie to their own devices and head into the kitchen. Grabbing your own solo cup in your teeth—ignoring it as some of its contents sloshes over the side and down your chin—you fish for a lite beer floating in the lukewarm cooler water for Mary.

If you can locate him.

He’s not in any of the rooms downstairs, nor is he outside with smoker’s club. You make your way up to the second floor, hoping he’ll be easy to find up there. There’s a door that’s locked and another where there’s a group hanging out on the bed and each other as Kpop loudly plays.

You find Mary in an open bedroom full of haze. He’s softly strumming an acoustic guitar—his fingers fumbling slightly on the unfamiliar strings as he tunes his way up the frets. He’s propped up in a corner, legs crossed under him, as the others in the room pass a joint around.

Picking your way carefully through the crowd, you make your way over to Mary. People shift and sway out of the way and scoot over when you smush yourself in next to him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You lean your head onto his shoulder, and Mary passes off the guitar to someone else. “Where’re Ed, Edd, and Eddy?”

He snorts.

“Went in search of snackies.”

He looks down at the beers resting in the small slick of condensation on the floor and licks his lips.

“One of those for me?”

“Yeah,” you say as you hand him the room-temperature bottle, which he takes up and chugs half of in one go. Watching his adam’s apple bobbing, you lean in to lick his neck. Mary jerks, then coughs, half spraying the beer out his mouth and nose. A few people squeal in surprise as you cackle, and Mary glares at you, wiping at his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his shirt that he’s curled over his hand.

“Fuck. You’re a pain in my ass.”

He drapes his arm around your shoulder, the bottle in his hand resting on your arm. The person who has the guitar now is strumming up a familiar song, and soon everyone is singing along (screaming or shrieking off key in some cases). Under the guise of getting his drink close to his mouth, Mary subtly maneuvers you into his lap—his other hand sneaking up under your shirt hem to rest on the curve of your belly with the tips of his fingers brushing just under one cup of your bra. You’re too loose from the drinking game to really care, so you lean back into his chest, warbling along to the tune as well.

You’re swaying, drink in hand, as you screech along to another song, when suddenly you become very aware of Mary’s erection pressing into your ass.

You turn your head. “Seriously?”

He rumbles into your ear. “Whaddya want? You’re squirming on my lap.”

Giggling, you purposely grind back on him, and he grabs your hips.

“Fuck, baby doll—keep that up and I’m gonna make a mess.”

You lean your head back on his shoulder as you circle your hips.

“You love making a mess, Mare Bear.”

He leans down to bite at your neck.

“I love making a mess on you. Not in my pants.”

“So stop me.”

Mary’s arm comes around your waist, effectively pulling you flush against him.

“FucK.”

More people wander in as the songs turn from nostalgic familiars to those of the drinking variety, and they raise solo cups and bottles in joyful celebration.

Everyone is sloppy; some sway to the rhythm of the songs, others drunkenly half mosh, spilling their drinks everywhere. You grinding your ass back into Mary—and him twitching up into you—is hardly a blip on anybody’s radar. His head thunks down onto the slope of your shoulder, his hips wanting to rut faster than subtlety or your own movements allow.

People are stomping, clapping, and spraying beer on each other as they half mutter words to drinking songs they realize they only half know.

Mary is a mess, trembling as he presses into you and mewling softly with each pass. Conversely, you’re having a grand ole time: rocking your hips as you sway and sing along to whatever the person in possession of the guitar is currently playing. Ignoring your own wetness and the growing throb in between your legs, you try to give him the pressure he needs.

You can feel his chest heaving into your back and the sweat from his forehead on your skin when it’s clear he’s getting close. His limbs shake as his arms squeeze you tighter, his movements almost stilling to nothing—and then he blows out a held breath like a drumbeat, his crotch pressing into you in pulses as he bites down into the juncture of your neck. Gasping, you spill a good amount of your drink as you jerk forward—Mary still rutting shallowly into you.

A few people cheer at your party foul—which hopefully takes any attention off Mary, who is clearly no longer hiding the fact that he’s cumming hard in his pants. He finally slumps behind you, his arms loosening and sprawling open.

“Shit,” he says.

You lean back. “Mmm … good?” you purr.

His hands sneak back under your top to sink into your flesh, and he leans up enough to whisper into your ear.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“You could’ve stopped me.”

He growls. “You know what you touching my dick does to me.”

“Was I, though? Touching your dick?”

Mary rubs his face into your neck as his hands squeeze your chub.

“Close enough.”

“Get a room, Goore!” screams someone before some of the group toss a couple of empty solos your way.

Mary looks up and grins.

“Maybe I fucking will.” He starts to stand up, bringing you with him—probably to hide the wet patch on his jeans. “See you losers later.”

There’s a general chorus of hoots and whistles, but mostly the crowd goes back to their drinking songs.

“Are we really getting a room?” you ask—arousal curling—as Mary directs you around the second floor, hands on your hips to keep you in front of him.

“A bathroom, yeah.”

There’s a slight wait—one Mary fills with his roving hands and lips—before the woman ahead of you stumbles out, wiping her wet hands ineffectually on her party dress.

Mary ushers you in, locking the door behind you. The two of you look down to inspect the damage. It’s actually not terrible. You can hardly tell at all on his jeans, and Mary undoes them so he can half shuck them down. His boxer briefs are a completely different story; they’re visibly soaked through at the top, and when he peels away the waistband, he reveals a sticky, slimy mess coating his stomach and flaccid cock.

“Shit. This may be a lost cause,” he says as he inspects the inside of the fabric.

“TP?”

“Yeah, unless you wanna lick it off …” Mary looks up at you with a smirk. “Which would be kinda hot, actually.”

“Sorry,” you say as you roll toilet paper around your hand, “but I like my jizz how I like my coffee: hot and fresh from the source.”

He runs a finger through the mess and then wiggles it at you. “It’s still kinda warm!”

You wrap your mouth around it because it’s the last thing he expects you to do.

“Uh …”

He’s momentarily rendered speechless as he watches you suck his finger clean and then smack your lips as if appraising.

“Nah. None of that reheated crap either.”

He blinks down at you. “Should I be horrified that I’m rubbing off on you?”

You give him a smile with your tongue half sticking out as you rub the wadded up toilet paper across his belly.

“I’m pretty sure I was just rubbing you off, Mare.”

Mary’s hands come up and sink into your hair. “Shut up.” He pulls you into a deep kiss. “Fuck. Love it when you tease me,” he says as he pulls away.

“I know.” You beam up at him and continue trying to clean him up.

He looks down at himself. “Fuck it.” He goes to toe off his boots, realizes that he’s wearing his “dress boots”—the less-scuffed ones that lace up to his knees—and snarls in frustration.

When he goes for the medicine cabinet, you step out of the way and toss the slimed wad of paper into the toilet. Making an Ah-ha! noise, Mary turns to you and snaps a pair of hair scissors triumphantly.

“Do the honors, will ya?”

“Wait—you want me to … cut your boxers off?”

“I’m sure as fuck not taking these boots off or spending the rest of the night marinating in my own jizz.”

You snort at him. “Whatever you want, Mare Bear.” You shuffle forward and hop up onto the sink. It only teeters a little.

“Hey! Hurry the fuck up in there!” comes a male voice through the door accompanied by banging.

“Fuck off, I’m taking a dump!” barks Mary.

“Dude,” says the voice, but the banging stops.

Mary shifts forward into the V of your spread legs as he hands you the scissors. He keeps his face close to yours. “Try not to cut off anything important,” he breathes at you.

“Of course—you’re no good to me clipped.”

His eyes meet yours, then travel down to his crotch. Carefully (willing your eyes to focus), you start from the top down, snipping the fabric—bunching it up with each shear—until you reach the end of the leg up to the crotch, Mary only flinching slightly (“Careful with the goods, woman!” “Fucking hold still!”). Once each side is cut, Mary and you work together to pull each half free.

As you ball up the front half to toss into the trash basket, Mary uses the back half to wipe up the lingering stickiness coating his cock and stomach.

“Better?” you ask when he’s finished and zipping his jeans back up, the other half of his boxers joining its twin in the trash.

He wiggles a bit. “Eh, it’ll do.” You expect him to back off, but instead he crowds closer. “What about you, baby doll? Maybe I should check on you.”

Before you have a chance to respond, Mary is shoving up the layers of your skirt and pressing his hand into your damp tights. You gasp at the sensation.

“Hmm,” he rumbles, “seems like you could use some clean up yourself.”

And then he’s maneuvering his head in between your spread legs, trying to position your knees over his shoulders. You let out an Oh, as your hands fly down to brace yourself on the edges of the sink; Mary growls in frustration as he tries to first pull down your tights, then to rip them apart to no avail. Before you can stop him, he’s picked up the shears and has snipped a slit in your crotch.

“Mary!” you yelp, but he just dives back down, tongue wiggling through the rip in the fabric to trace your seam before delving into your folds to flick at your clit. At the burst of sweetness, you moan, and your head thunks back into the mirror.

Head swimming, you lose yourself in the feel of his tongue as it swirls around your nub and then presses into it a few times before he’s sucking it in between his plush lips. He repeats this process, sometimes running his tongue down to your entrance and then back up, and at others holding the tip directly on your clit until you start squirming in frustration … only to then flick repeatedly back and forth.

A finger enters you, and you cry out, “Oh fuck,” as you tighten around it. Mary starts to slowly ease it in and out of you as his tongue continues its massage of your hardening clit. You’re really squirming now, rocking into his mouth and down onto his finger—making sure you light up every sweet spot. You feel like a guitar string wound too tight, ready to snap, and your pussy pulsates in warning.

Mary sets his tongue speed to 11, and you feel the tidal wave of your orgasm start rushing toward you. You let out a squeak as your one hand sinks into Mary’s hair right before your climax breaks, and you start bucking into his mouth. Like a good boy, he manages to follow the lead of your hips until your pussy stops popping and your body relaxes—your butt slipping down into the bowl of the sink.

After catching your breath, you look down to find Mary’s twinkling eyes staring up at you from beneath the layers of your skirt. You pet down the side of his head with an Mmm, and his eyes close as he leans into the touch.

“I think you only made me stickier, Mare.”

His head tilts to rest on your one leg.

“Not my fault you get wet as fuck. There’s only so much I can lap up at once.”

You shift up into a sitting position as Mary wipes his face—and the lower part of his makeup—onto your tights.

“Shit. Are the tights a lost cause too?”

“Stand up?”

You hop off the sink, and Mary inspects your backside. He gives it a slap before saying, “Nah, I think you’re good. Just a little damp.”

You crinkle your nose. “Well, I feel slimy. Turn around so I can take care of business.”

Mary peers into the mirror to even out his smudgy face before slurping some tap water from the faucet as you get your situation into a tolerable state.

When the two of you exit the bathroom—Mary’s arm draped back around your shoulders—there are two guys lounging on the bottom of the stairs leading up to the 3rd floor. They look up at the sound of the bathroom door opening, and one scrunches his face at you.

“Dude. I thought you were taking a shit.”

He holds up a blackened Yankee candle.

Mary shrugs at him. “We don’t kink shame here.”

The guy’s companion bursts out laughing even as you elbow Mary in the ribs. He just laughs as he says, “C’mon let’s get some suds.”

The two of you make your way back down to the kitchen where Shonda The Beer Færie has replenished the coolers again. Mary shotguns a can—foam spritzing everywhere—as you search for the elusive opener. Unable to locate it, you try—and fail—to pop the top off on the counter.

“Gimme,” says Mary—belching—grabbing for your bottle. After fishing for another bottle in the ice, he aligns the caps and pops them both with the other.

“My hero,” you say in an affected tone as you bat your curled eyelashes at him.

“That’s fucking right.” He makes an arm in an attempt to bulge his bicep.

You test it with your hand. “Nah. Too small, throw it back.”

Pouting at you, he says, “You’re the worst, and we’re in a fight.”

You shrug as you take a swig of beer. “Eh. I got what I wanted.”

Mary makes a grab for the bottle, but you twist out of his reach and bolt out of the kitchen. He doesn’t catch you before you seek sanctuary in the living room. All the furniture has been pushed against walls, the rug rolled and resting in a corner, and more bodies than there should be are packed into the center as a party mix thumps from the speakers.

You wiggle your way into the crowd and run into Kara and Elsie, who shout Hooray! and pull you into their bump and grind. The 3 of you raise your drinks into the air to avoid spilling on each other as you rock and sway, alternating who gets sandwiched.

Suddenly, Mary is at your elbow.

“Hey! Gimme back my girlfriend!”

“Sorry, Goore,” says Elsie. “Finders keepers.”

For a minute he looks genuinely put out, but then he just smirks. “Whatever, I’ll just enjoy the view.”

“Pig,” Kara spits.

Mary shrugs and starts to do a god-awful wiggle that you think is supposed to be dancing. He has the rhythm—and his ass jiggle is pretty nice—but that’s about all he’s got going for him in the moves department.

The mix must be trying to appeal to all types, but ends up being a spastic mix with no eye for continuity. Nineties Girl Pop transitions into Metal, which transitions into Country, then into Alternative, then to 80′s Power Ballad, then R&B, then Punk.

After screaming along to “Toxic”, Elsie leans in. “Fuck, I’m about to pass out. I need to get some air.”

“Want me to come with you?” asks Kara.

“Up to you, dear.”

They look at you.

“I should throw Mary a bone.”

Kara smirks at you. “Kinky.”

Elsie rolls her eyes at her friend. “C’mon you bitch ass.”

Seeing his opportunity, Mary gives a head nod as he seamlessly switches places with them. He pulls your back into him as his hands come round to rest on your hips.

“Good thing you emptied my dick earlier, or we’d have a problem,” he murmurs into your ear.

“Don’t be gross.”

“K.”

You and Mary grind or shimmy or jump depending on what the song calls for, your beer long drunk by now. At some point someone opens a window, and the chill, near-January air curls in—its icy but brisk tendrils working their way through the crowd. You shiver a little as the sweat on your skin tingles and cools at its touch, and Mary pulls you in tighter.

Meatloaf comes on—🎶 On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? 🎶—and Mary snuffles his face into the crook of your neck, you tilting your head to the side to give him access.

🎶 Will he offer me his teeth? 🎶

He worries at you with his teeth.

🎶 Will he offer me his hunger? 🎶

His blunt teeth sink into you, and you let out a pleased rumble.

🎶 And will he starve without me? 🎶

“Yes,” he whispers into your ear right along with Jim Steinman.

You roll your eyes even though Mary can’t see you do it, but you let him spin you out—jostling the other revelers—and back into him (stumbling) as the drum beat drops. He tries to twirl you, but the crowd has packed back in around you, and all you accomplish is tripping over his boots.

🎶 …I was dying just to ask for a taste 🎶 he mouths at you.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” you say.

He leans in and nips at your lips, but you turn your head to whisper in his ear.

“I gave you a taste earlier, mister.”

“Mmm, but I’m greedy.”

You let him mouth at your neck as the two of you sway back and forth, Mary’s hands dipping lower and lower.

A sudden commotion is like a record scratch, and everyone turns to the front hall. Mary’s bandmates come into sight—caterwauling with 12 packs of shitty beer held aloft—encouraging the cheers of the other partygoers.

One spots Mary and points his finger at him.

“Goore! Goore! Goore!”

The other band members pick up the chant.

“Goore! Goore! Goore!”

The crowd takes up what has become a war cry:

“Goore! GOORE! G O O R E !”

Mary points back, then puts his hand up in supplication at you as he backs his way out of the room.

“You’re a goddamned tease!” you cry after him.

He shrugs before spinning on his heel to be assimilated in the group, the chant turning into whoops and hollers as they make their way into the kitchen.

Mary had warned you that the band usually did an unplugged set, and you surmise they must need to set up.

Without Mary or the girls, the dance room has lost its appeal, so you meander around the first floor. The drinking games have devolved into “Never Have I Ever,” and while the pizza is gone, a homemade-looking mac and cheese dish in a tinfoil baking pan has appeared.

You pile some onto a paper plate (whose structural integrity you seriously question) and are content to watch the proceedings until a girl in the circles demands you squeeze in with a slurred “None of this wallflower shit!”. They shove a solo cup into your hand, which is then promptly filled with whiskey from a Jack bottle.

For the next hour or so, the guests on either side of you—Lila and Marty—become the best friends you never knew you had while you all hoot and catcall each other to the escalating scenarios. The bromance comes to a swift end, sadly, when Dee appears in the doorframe, sees you, and points dramatically.

“It is time for the festivities!” he yells in deep baritone.

“I’m being summoned!” you yell, and there’s a chorus of boos as you wobbly make your way over.

“Come, yon neophyte, and join us at the gathering spot.”

“Lay on, McDee!”

Dee leads you out into the backyard, which is done up with myriad bulb lights. Mary winks at you as you pass him on the porch—picking your way around the hodgepodge of instruments—before you join Ed, Trevor, Kara, and Elsie at one side of a well-used iron fire pit on the grass. The girls are passing a flask back and forth as they snuggle you in between them.

It should be fucking freezing out, but with the alcohol, the body heat, and the fire, you actually feel quite cozy. There’s a buzz of voices as the band arranges and tunes the borrowed instruments. You think you can see human shapes on back decks in other lots, but it’s hard to tell through the glare of the lights.

The band members take their places, there’s a countdown, and then Mary and the guys jumpstart into their first crowd favorite. While there are some general cheers at favored sections, the intimacy of the party and the lack of mics or speakers make it a quieter affair than their venue shows. You and the girls sway back and forth in your triplet, and even the guys are fist pumping and mouthing along. They play two more of their own songs before doing a few classic 80′s punk covers that really get everyone hyped.

It’s not perfect—none of them are sober, they’re unaccustomed to the instruments, and the cold air isn’t helping dexterity. At one point the lead singer forgets the words and just la la las his way through the verse, which in turn sends some of the other members into a musical stutter. Not everyone is invested in the whole set—some people went back inside after the first few tunes, and others see the band as just background to their conversations. Those who are fully invested have gravitated closer to the porch—but your group of Mary’s bffls are content to hang out by the fire pit where a few people have started roasting marshmallows.

After an … interesting … mashup of “Rudie Can’t Fail” and “Classics of Love” that sounds like a physical representation of a key smash, the band closes ranks, and there’s some whispered conversation and emphatic gesturing.

“Ok!” says Donnie, the lead singer. “We’re gonna switch things up. Usually on backing vocals, Goore is going to take lead for our last song.” There are some boos that probably have more to do with the set ending than Mary singing, but also some whistles that are probably for Mary. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s a party for us too!”

“Huh,” says Elsie.

“What?” you say into her armpit.

“Mary hates lead.”

You know. He’s mentioned ad nauseam.

Mary steps forward and takes position up front. When he brushes his forelock out of the way, he looks up briefly and catches eyes with you. You give him thumbs up. A grin breaks out on his face, and he winks at you. Slowly, he strums chords until he finds what he’s looking for, and you can tell he’s humming along quietly—it’s a familiar sight now to you, but you wonder how much of this crowd has seen Mary chart out a song.

Finding the key he’s looking for, Mary clears his throat. His voice isn’t rich in timbre, but he rasps out with feeling, and his pitch is near perfect.

🎶 So I hear you been wondering I've been wondering too Just what this crazy world has in store for me and you 🎶

You’re surprised at his choice, and you feel your face burn. Mary’s eyes flick up to you—glinting boyishly—and you stick your tongue out at him. He slows the song way down as he sings, changing the frenetic energy of the original into a soulful ballad to which he can growl along.

🎶 You scratching to find a way A tortured soul back from the grave O Baby Doll back to kill them all Now please won’t you stay 🎶

Mary pauses, looking full up at you before taking in a deep breath. A few heads turn to see who he’s looking at. You scrunch your face at him to convey your mortification, but he just shakes his head at you—he’s not going to stop.

🎶 Baby Doll whoa Baby Doll I need you I love you Baby Doll whoa Baby Doll O Please come back to me 🎶

You suddenly feel naked under the interested gazes of the curious onlookers as Mary continues on. He’s mostly singing at the guitar, but his few pointed glances at you make it clear who he’s singing to.

🎶 The tortures of your soul The rotting flesh pain never dulls O Baby Doll you will kill them all Now please come to me 🎶

You try to sink back into Elsie and Kara, who just push you forward again.

“Dude,” Elsie breaths at you.

“This is awesome,” says Kara.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” you mutter through your plastered on smile.

Some of the amassed crowd—which suddenly seems to have multiplied—start clapping to the slowed beat, and it causes a ripple of well-timed claps as well as those who can’t keep a rhythm.

Strumming in deliberate strokes, Mary looks up to hold your eyes once more.

🎶 I see you standing there In the shadows and in the rain A lifeless beauty Nothing could ever ease you of all your pain But Baby Doll the revenge you seek I dunno It will never be sweet But you'll never give it up Now come to me Come on 🎶

You shake your head as Mary continues to repeat the chorus into a soft fade. There’s a moment of silence after he’s finished, and he points out at you.

“Give it up for my very own baby doll!”

Applause breaks out and you give him double Fs.

Mary sets down the guitar carefully as Donnie steps forward again.

“All right! That’s it, motherfuckers! We’re about an hour away from the New Year, so grab a drink and sign up for our mailing list if you haven’t already!”

The crowd is whooping and whistling. A few people crowd up on the porch, as do Trevor, Ed, & Dee. Mary shakes hands, shoulder bumps, and backslaps his bandmates and some of the crowd, but his eyes are on you.

“I’d fuck him,” says Kara with a smirk.

Elsie groans. “Please don’t fuck in front of us. At least find a broom closet.”

You turn to her and give her a wolfish smile. “Who says we haven’t already christened it?”

Elsie buries her face in her hands as Kara tipsily attempts to fist bump you and ends up smushing your tit.

“Whoops! My bad!”

“Bitch, we’re cutting you off.”

“No, you’re not. Who would you do shots with?”

“Suey’s more than capable.”

You make a “who me?” face.

“Mebbe, but I think her mouth is spoken for.”

You’re about to respond, but arms suddenly encircle you, a mouth presses to your neck, and you squawk.

“If you’re not Mary Goore, you better watch your nuts!”

“I’m me, and I have to watch my nuts, anyway.”

You squirm around so that you’re facing him.

“Forget your nuts, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Aaaand on that note!” says Elsie, and she and Kara pat Mary’s arm before heading inside.

He looks down at you with hooded eyes.

“Whatever. You’re pleased. You fucking love that song.”

“Oh? Am I?”

“Yeah.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“I still have my nuts.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then point your finger in his face.

“You’re on thin ice, mister.”

“Mmm, I can think of a few ways you can take it out of my ass later.”

Your stomach flips, and you press into him, grabbing his jaw.

“Damn right I will.”

Mary bites his lip as you wiggle your hand in between the two of you to palm at his crotch. He closes his eyes and sways a little

and that’s when you step away from him.

“C’mon—my cup is empty. I need a refresh.”

Mary’s eyes pop open, and he whines while making an exaggerated puppy-dog face.

You snap your fingers at him. “That’s for earlier.”

There are still enough people mingling outside that it takes a while for the two of you to actually make it back inside—some are Mary’s friendly acquaintances he wants to say hi to and others are fans he can’t help but chat up.

“We’re going to be on Instagram again, aren’t we?” you say when you finally start your trek inside, his arm lazily resting around your shoulders.

His head turns to face you, and he gives you an impish smile.

“Tell me if I give a shit.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him. “You might give a shit later.”

His smile turns vulpine. “Promise?”

Your hand slips into his back pocket and squeezes.

It’s actually pretty close to the ball drop by this point, so you and Mary grab up two of the bargain plastic champagne glasses you find lined up in rows on the kitchen counter. When the cheap champagne starts being passed around like you’re all in a pirate shanty, you hold out the glasses (Mary’s already lost the base to his) for a fill.

There’s no way everyone is going to fit in the living room; the majority of the attendees are spilling out into the hall, up the stairwell, and out onto the porch, with you and Mary are squished in by the stairs—but the volume for Rocking New Year’s Eve is turned up so loud the speakers are fuzzing, and a few people are streaming it on the phones.

“T-Minus one minute!” someone screams, and a cheer goes up.

“Oh shit!” you exclaim and start digging around in your bra.

“What?” asks Mary as his eyes flick down to your tits.

You retrieve two silver dollars, warmed by your skin, and press one into Mary’s free hand.

“What’s this?” He holds the coin up at eye level.

“Silver dollar. If you hold onto one as the year turns over, it’s supposed to bring good fortune.”

He looks at you skeptically as he turns it this way and that. “Does it work?”

You shrug. “Can’t hurt. My grandma swore by it.”

“THIRTY SECONDS!”

“Where d’you even get these?”

You grin.

“Amazon.”

Shouts come from the living room: “10 … 9 … 8 …”

Mary turns to face you, and the two of you take up the chant.

“7 … 6 … 5…”

He crowds a little closer, the fist holding the coin draped over your shoulder with yours resting on his hip.

“4 … 3 … 2 …”

You don’t get out the “1” because Mary smashes his mouth to yours—just a hard press of lips to lips—then he’s pulling away to press his glass to your mouth. As you try to sip out of it, you fumble your own glass to his mouth. The two of you only succeed in spilling half the contents all over each other before conceding defeat.

There’s some shrieking a moment before everyone in the hall gets sprayed with foamy champagne. Since there really isn’t any room to escape, Mary and you try your best to duck and cover, laughing as the droplets come raining down. The beach ball from earlier comes out of nowhere, and you punch it back into the air, the plastic of it slick from the champagne shower.

Everyone is still screaming, separated friends are trying to find each other amidst the revelry, and some dude on the stairs is shouting Tennyson over an off-key rendition of “Auld Lang Syne”.

“Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky!” 🎶 Should old acquaintance be forgot, 🎶

Elsie and Kara are jumping up and down from where they are in the living room, pointing, and starting to make their way to you.

“The flying cloud, the frosty light!” 🎶 and never brought to mind? 🎶

The beach ball beans you in the face, and Mary takes it and lobs it onto the porch where it hits the back of Donnie’s head, causing the rest of them to cackle and holler back.

“The year is dying in the night!” 🎶 Should old acquaintance be forgot, 🎶

Like magic, Mary procures a half-full bottle of bubbly from the train of people maneuvering in the hall and takes a big swig before passing it to you. You chug the rest, coughing as the lukewarm bubbles fizz up your nose.

“Ring out, wild bells, and let him die!” 🎶 and auld lang syne? 🎶

Laughing, Mary wipes at your face with his sleeve, and you realize he’s still got the silver dollar clutched tight in his hand.

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#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #gritty girls #gutter punk #my writing #original content

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pkmnsdarkqueen · 3 years

Text

Missing Weapon

Another scene that lives rent free in my head. This is a scene that won't be written in the rp since our characters won't be around for it, but I thought would be interesting interesting be happening in the background. Basically in a plot with @nats-rp-world Karen and Lys get kidnapped by Hunter J cause Carl is a vengeful dick, and hey legendary powers. And like what if theyvwerent the only ones who want to exploit Karen's link with Ho-oh. Also may make the Oc in this a perm character on the multi muse once I get back on it. Also the amount of japanese governmental stuff I've researched to figure out her place, ugh so much.

The stacks of paper were always high at the old woman's desk. It also wasn't terribly uncommon to have the stacks all be pertaining to two individuals she had the unfortunate of being responsible for. Her title was being one of the Supreme Court judges of the Kanjo region, but in all honesty her job mostly revolved around the two individuals in the executive's, Lance's, elite four cabinet that never seemed to be far from trouble.

"W-would you like the medical records miss?"

Sato pipped in. Danuja didn't take her eyes off the window she was staring out of to answer him giving a deep sigh. Right the records. Blue was the first to expose Karen and Will. In exchange for freedom the young woman told them about the connection the two had to the legendary pokemon. When Pryce returned his freedom was bought with handing over copies of the medical records, and tests he had the two of them go through as children trying to figure out more on this link. She'd spent years trying to find something, or hell even a way to control the brats who were nothing but stubborn mules when it came to authority only to find nothing. They'd even corrupted Lance some in making him side with them more often than the league lessening her power on finding out some way to replicate their link or control them.

Now one of them was missing.

"No....it wouldn't help."

She sighed deeply finally getting around to answer him.

"Ma'm....um there must be something something can be done I know how valuble-"

"You know do you?"

The woman snapped suddenly. Her eyes ripped from the window still refraining from turning in her chair as she let her anger leak out. Well anger might be a strong word, it was how she felt like expressing her frustrations at the moment.

"Do you understand that one of our elites, one of out strongest members of our region who has a link to one of the legendary pokemon, has been missing for 2 days. The last place she was seen was with that stupid Kalosian terrorist she's apparently in love with who very well could of discovered her link and could be planning to do something with it. He may of destroyed Kalos's greatest weapon, so why not use one of ours."

She snapped to be met with the quiet reply of.

"Well....since he's missing also maybe someone has them both?"

"Oh yes that's better. If they know of her link then they have Ho-oh and with him they possibly have information on Kalos's legendary pokemon. Dammit Sato if I could just get a leash on the bitch we wouldn't be here."

She yelled having stood sharply moments before and stormed her way over to another stack filled with some new energy to look over everything again. This was nothing short of a disaster, and if that woman would just listen, hell if the whole lot of them would listen more maybe they'd be somewhere. At least that was what she told herself.

Sato went dead silent at her verbal lashing watching her scanning through another paper.

"Miss....if Will is psychic....do we even know what she's capable of?"

He asked surprised by how long it took her to answer.

"No...we know nothing, but in some ways that scares me even more. Pryce has reports of attempting resurrection of the dead with her as a test subject, so that alone leads to terrifying possibilities. I don't even think she knows....so she could accidentally unleash...well who know what. All I know is that no other region, except perhaps Unova has a link like this to their legsndaries. What separates us from Unova is that she have her and him in governmental roles. We have so much power available all it needs is unlocking and control...now one of those is missing and we need to handle this before the public notices."

With that she turned back to the papers starting to scan them again for something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Random funny scene:

@dragoncaper

@psychic-master-will

Lance finally finding out about the legendary link.

Lance: ".....So...you and Will are linked to legendary pokemon and told no one!?"

Karen: "We vowed to keep quiet about it, but that's kind of mute I guess."

Lysandre: "We can avoid letting anyone else find out hopefully."

Koga: "Are you capable of controlling fire then since Will is psychic?"

Karen: "No, and I can't raise the dead either. Well I don't think I can't, last time I tried there was this whole mess with Xerneas and Yveltal and Will was needed cause souls-"

Will: "Yeah it was this while ritual thing, but their souls were already gone, and they needed a spare body-"

Lance: "I'm sorry back up, resurrection?"

Karen: "Yeah, like but without sacrificing a bunch of lives like that Kalos weapon did. Sorry to mention it babe."

Lysandre: "It's fine, but we should never tell Az about this."

Lance: Going sheet white imagining zombie apocalypse. "Dear arceus."

Karen: "Look I think Necromancy would be alot cooler than fire power, why does everyone assume fire power anyway. It's so lame in comparison."

#(look all we knkw is in the pokemkn manga pryce had Ho-oh and Lugia for awhile before trying to go aftsr celebi.#from the logic we have of this insane man he would of tried to use ho-oh's resurrection powers ro bring nack his lapras's parenrs which was #his ultimate goal. but clearly that failed cause he then went after celebi. however gues which kids linked to legendary pokemon were stuck #to help with these crazy resurrection experiments.)#(rip Lance's blood pressure tho)#(also you know the league would HATE Karen dating Lys cause bad for image and also she's important.)#drabble #(also rip Karen wanting necromancy and just getting emotion reading powers)

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sunevial · 4 years

Text

New Beginnings

I really hesitate to call this a ‘commission’ because @dracodemortem just decided to chuck fifty bucks at me back in January with the express purpose of ‘someday write about the space lesbians’...and it’s now March.

With that being said, I do have commissions open here if you’re interested.

Anyways, this is meant to be a continuation of this piece, aka, I write so much fluff I might as well just turn this into a pillow.

---

“Go planet hopping on your own,” they said.

“The gate’s impossible to miss,” they said.

“You definitely won’t embarrass yourself by looking and acting like an out-of-place tourist with the first person you happen to meet,” they said.

So yeah, Josie was a fucking liar.

Internally sighing away about seven different layers of embarrassment away, Venny brightened her smile and followed her new ‘friend’ down the sidewalk, both suitcases firmly in hand. Sure, she had absolutely no idea who this blue and lavender haired stranger actually was, other than she apparently liked science magazines in paper form and was probably annoyed that her quiet reading time had been interrupted by a loud and obnoxious interplanetary traveller. Even so, Sol seemed nice and forthright and probably not a serial murderer. If she assumed that of everyone she met, well, that would be just ridiculous.

This was supposed to be a fresh start, after all, her first real change of pace since she graduated college. Sure, it was a bit on the drastic side to be moving to a planet she had never set foot on before, but hey, rent was far cheaper here than at home. Besides, she had always wanted to travel outside of Ylxret, and if it was on company dime, even better.

“Need any help?” said probably-not-a-serial-murderer asked, craning her neck over a shoulder. In the time Venny had been off in her wandering thoughts, and admittedly struggling with navigating two suitcases, Sol was already five to six paces ahead of her. “I’ve got two free hands, you know.”

Venny laughed a touch, putting on the most apologetic smile she could muster up as she picked up the pace until they were in step again. “I’m good, I’m good, just getting used to wheels on concrete sidewalks since, well, hover technology doesn’t work well here.”

An eyebrow raised over a stunningly purple eye. “You could just say yes.”

“I mean, I could, but that would mean further admitting that I have no idea what I’m doing and I want at least some of my dignity to not be in utter shambles.”

“That rough of a day, huh?”

“You could say that,” Venny said with a deep, defeated sigh.

“Do you want me to take one of the suitcases?”

“Yes please.”

With a slightly amused chuckle, Sol grabbed the handle right from her hand with an unusual amount of grace. Instead of pulling this sorry excuse for luggage along the broken concrete, however, she collapsed the handle into the body and put her hands back into her pockets. Pursing her lips together, she whistled, short and sharp, and kept on walking without a care in the world. As the sound dissipated, a breeze kicked up around the other woman’s feet, and the suitcase slowly floated upwards as if its hovering mechanism had been switched on.

Venny could feel her eyes widening even as she tried to keep a more socially acceptable excitement plastered across her face. Magic was accepted as a natural law of the three planets, studied as a form of natural science alongside biology and chemistry and physics, but seeing it in practice was still rare on Ylxret. It was theoretical, something that was put into place ‘elsewhere’ since it was functionally impossible to use on her home planet. Well, she was now ‘elsewhere’, and Sol had used it with about as much care as someone flipping on a light switch.

This sure wasn’t home alright.

“Okay, that’s pretty cool,” Venny said with a grin that was probably a touch too wide.

Sol shrugged, her muscles relatively relaxed and expression neutral. “It’s just air magic. Nothing too fancy.”

“Maybe for you, but magic isn’t exactly…common where I’m from. It’s all theoretical.”

“It’s not exactly common here either,” she replied, quickly glancing around the park with her heterochromatic eyes. “Though most people just see it as a nuisance over an ‘important and fundamental’ science.”

“What is it to you?”

“Well, currently how I’m making up for shitty sidewalk maintenance.”

Venny let out a loud and sharp laugh, quickly covering her mouth as the sound echoed much further than she anticipated. “Can’t argue with that.”

Chuckling ever so slightly, Sol’s eyes drifted back over the park and to a couple of buildings over the next line of trees. “So, what brings you here? Work, leisure, bit of both?”

She thought for a moment, taking in the well manicured trees and green lawns and large swaths of blooming flowers. Most of the greenery back home was inside state-of-the-art greenhouses, cultivated either for study or food production; it was so unusual to see so much plant life maintained for recreational use alone. “Does moving here as part of a company transfer count as both?”

Now it was Sol’s turn to think. “I’d say so,” she replied as the two of them passed under the last couple of trees. The rundown park pavement quickly smoothed out as they hit the main city streets, making wheeling a suitcase only slightly annoying as opposed to practically impossible. “What company?”

“Electrica.” She was met with an even more of a blank stare. “Cybersecurity. Technically, I’m just a contractor for them, but they partnered with my firm back on Ylxret, and I’m here to work on a couple of projects that can’t be done remotely. Mostly testing how resistant their work is to outside interference.”

“So you’re here to break stuff?”

She giggled. “Either break it or make it play electro-pop music.”

“I don’t know if I should feel sorry for your coworkers or not,” Sol said with a snort, shaking her head and letting out a long sigh. “That’s a pretty big first time planet hopping..”

“Yeah, just a bit,” she said with a guilty laugh, idly twirling one of her hair twists. “I…think it’s fine I missed the gate? I did all the paperwork ahead of time, I wasn’t planning on meeting anyone there, I don’t have anything explosive or illegal on me. Or at least I don’t think I do.”

“Isn’t it primarily nuclear batteries and that weird fruit that’s super invasive if it gets literally anywhere?”

“Spotted apple nuts?”

“Yeah that thing.”

“Not a fan of them anyways. Too sweet and smells like window cleaner,” Venny said, shriveling up her face in disgust. Even so, at this point, she’d take a slice of that awful stuff if it meant getting something to eat. Between grabbing documents and packing some last minute gifts and giving a million and one goodbyes, food had been the last thing on her mind for the past several hours. That, of course, was a terrible decision, but that wasn’t 9:00 am Venny’s problem. “I like regular apples and regular nuts, but that fruit is an abomination and everyone knows it.”

Sol shrugged, coming to a stop outside an apartment complex. It was well kept, the stone and metal painted in shades of blue and light gray, though it wasn’t nearly as tall as some of the buildings further on the horizon. ‘Windbreak Apartment Complex’ was printed just above the doors. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said, eyes traveling up the building. A low whistle and the gentle breeze died down, setting the suitcase onto the ground with a gentle thump. “And here we are.”

“Oh, wow, that wasn’t far at all,” Venny replied, quickly scooping up her luggage and putting on her most sincere smile. “Thank you so much for all of this, I feel really bad about interrupting your reading.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sol said with a shrug, grabbing the glass door and motioning inside. “Take care.”

“You too!” she said, eventually managing to squeeze everything through the door and into the main lobby. A quick glance back to try and wave a goodbye was met only with a slowly closing metal door and a couple of passersby on the street. First person she actually met on an entirely new planet, and she was already lost in the neverending crowd of a large city. Ah well, there would always be next time. It’s not like she had contact information to give out anyways; her com link wasn’t built for text messages or cellular calls.

One conversation with both the building manager and the landlady later, as well as some rather annoying paperwork, Venny had a key in her hand. It was a little quaint how people here still relied on paper documents and physical keys. Incredibly inefficient, sure, but there was a charm to the time it took. Up two floors in the elevator, down a hallway or two lit with harsh white lights, and she finally stood in front of apartment 305. Here it was, home sweet home for the foreseeable future.

This was real.

She was on Toven.

Millions upon millions of miles away from everyone and everything she knew.

Shaking away those inner anxieties, she unlocked the door and stepped into her new home. The inside was understandably sparse; furniture wasn’t set to arrive for another couple of days. Immediately in view were white walls, a small kitchen with linoleum floor, a couple of wooden cabinets and good appliances, and a small carpeted living room. Off to the side was the bathroom, a closet or two, and a single bedroom. Venny quickly wheeled in her suitcases, dropped her backpack on the floor, and flopped down onto the carpet.

Alright.

She couldn’t unpack, given there was no place to put the things she needed to unpack. Contacting home was an option, but that required a router that she didn’t have and wouldn’t have until tomorrow, which also limited options for Internet-based entertainment. Grocery shopping was probably the best idea, given that she desperately needed food both in her stomach and in her apartment, not to mention a boatload of dishes and cutlery and pots and pans.

A knock came from outside.

Or she could answer the door.

Peeling herself off the surprisingly soft carpet, Venny peeked out into the hallway. Standing there was a young woman with soft pink hair and black lipstick, her already short frame almost swallowed up in a large dark gray sweater. A large, welcoming smile was plastered across her face, though it was barely seen behind the box in her hands. “Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Her voice was light and airy, almost musical.

“You’re fine, I was just trying to figure out what to do in my very empty living room,” Venny said with a laugh.

She laughed in a bit of sympathy, shifting her weight until the box sat easier in her arms. “Have you tried making snow angels on the carpet? Can’t do those once you’ve got a couch.”

“That. Is absolutely brilliant and I want to do it now.”

“Well, then I won’t be here too much longer,” she said, setting the box on the floor and putting her hands behind her back. At a quick glance, it seemed to be filled to the absolute brim with pictures set into frames, some assorted pillows, and a plush corgi-like dog.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind the company. Not used to everything being this quiet,” Venny said, running a hand through her hair twists. “Oh, I’m Venny by the way.”

“Clarissa, it’s nice to meet you, just across the hall in 306,” she replied. “Um, so, there’s no way I can say this without sounding a little creepy, but you know, word gets around that someone new is moving in, and, so, um, first welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks!” Venny said with a small laugh. “And don’t worry, you’re not being creepy.”

“No, that’s not the creepy part,” Clarissa said, blushing a little and tapping the ground with her foot. “See, moving is hard and stressful and being in a new place with nothing kind of sucks, so my roommate and I do a thing for the new people on our floor where we, uh, put together a kind of care package. So, I asked around and got you some stuff to decorate the place with until more of your stuff gets here.”

She blinked a couple of times. “So…this is all for me?”

Any of the earlier embarrassment seemed to melt away in an instant. “Yup.”

“Are…are you sure?” she asked, kneeling down and hesitantly picking up the box. It was quite a bit heavier than she initially thought, which meant that Clarissa was a lot stronger than what was otherwise suggested. “I mean, this is so nice and I really appreciate it, but this is a lot.”

“Maybe, but you picked it up. Now it’s yours,” Clarissa said with a cheeky grin and a face that said ‘I dare you’.

Well, if there was one thing Venny Devesket was, it was not a coward.

She returned the smile with a smirk of her own. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Don’t fight Clarissa, you can’t win,” a familiar voice called from down the call. Peeking around the corner was a head full of blue and lavender hair, a knowing smile on her face and a number of grocery bags floating just off the ground. “She’s five feet, two inches of pure, unadulterated stubbornness and mandated hospitality, so just take the box and say thank you.”

“Sol!” Venny exclaimed, looking between the two women with wide eyes and a growing realization that she had been played like a fiddle. “So, wait, you’re…you said this place was on your way home, not that this place was your home.”

Sol chuckled, leaning her back against the corridor wall. “Yeah, I kind of lied about that,” she said, floating the small collection of bags right up to the door. Inside was a number of quick, microwavable meals, some fresh produce, a handful of spices, and a couple other odds and ends. “Here’s the other half of your care package. Hope you don’t mind Fuji, they were the only ones on sale.”

Sure enough, a bushel of beautifully red apples rested at the top of a bag.

Venny just stared dumbfounded for a moment before erupting into uncontrollable, inconsolable laughter.

#my writing #my stories #two together are always going somewhere #venny #sol

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blue-bismuth · 4 years

Text

Case #0161210

i have been egged on to post this so! here’s what i consider my tma oc’s first real involvement with everything going on. it’s formatted like a statement but pretty much everything else i post here about them will be in my more traditional writing style

tws: mentions of trans/nbphobia, people acting uncanny, animal harm/death (no pets), kidnapping, cannibalism

EDIT: here’s the ao3 link if you wanna read it there!

-- -- --

Avery

You’re sure this isn’t too much of an inconvenience? I-I don’t have to talk about it. You probably still have more statements to get through.

Archivist

If you ask me that one more time, I won’t take statements from you ever again.

Avery

Christ, alright, I’ll stop. At least I won’t get in trouble, ‘cause I got everything assigned to me done already…

Archivist

Aren’t you fast.

Avery

It’s a blessing and a curse. Curse in that I get chewed out if I’m caught fucking around on the office computer.

Sorry, sorry, getting off topic. I’ll make the statement now.

Archivist

Statement of Avery Linwood, a finance worker in the Magnus Institute, regarding their time living in the rural town of Crestfallen, between the spring of 2014 and the summer of 2016. Statement taken direct from subject, December 10th, 2016. Statement begins.

Avery

Man, okay. So, as you can probably tell, I’m not from England. I was born and raised in America, Wisconsin to be specific. I graduated college in 2009 because I had to get 150 credits to qualify for CPA exams--although I guess in the end it did jack shit, ‘cause I only ended up staying in the U.S. for five years.

Archivist

Sorry, could you clarify what a CPA is?

Avery

Oh! I-it stands for Certified Public Accountant. It basically means that I can provide accounting services to the public alongside working for companies. And since I’m here now instead of my home state, I have to do continuing education if I wanna keep that license active. I guess it makes sense, but it’s still extra work, y’know?

Sorry, getting off topic again. I feel like that’s gonna be a theme for this statement.

Archivist

I’ve had my fair share of ramblers. I’m guilty of it too.

Avery

I mean, still. Anyway, that shit kinda drove me into the ground. I never managed to get enough money to rent a decent office space so I could be independent, and the closest I ever got to that was working in assurance services. I would’ve stayed in forensic accounting, but every office I was in had a terrible culture. One of my ex-bosses told me that I, quote unquote, “had too big of a rack” to be anything but a girl. So...yeah.

Archivist

And I assume this is why you left?

Avery

Pretty much. I wasn’t too keen on moving anywhere inside the U.S., everywhere was either too bigoted or too expensive or too crowded...you get the picture. I guess I just wanted something different, something where I didn’t need to sit in an office all day and handle people’s taxes or whatever. I’ve always loved those kinda video games where you move to some old farmhouse and clean it up, start taking care of crops and livestock, making friends with the townspeople...it was a form of escapism I could never really afford--honestly, unless you’re a big dairy farmer, you’re not gonna get anywhere stable in Wisconsin.

I don’t know how I found my way to Crestfallen. I think I saw a post on Tumblr about how, if you promise to restore an ancient castle--the ones that’re all over Europe--you can live in it for free, and there was a link to some website where you could register to do that. I guess it held more than castles, though, ‘cause I saw a section for old farmhouses. The one in Crestfallen was the cheapest, and apparently I would even get a financial reward from the mayor if I helped out enough. It was a moment of weakness, I guess.

I don’t tell my parents a whole lot of stuff anymore unless they ask, but I felt the need to tell them I was moving to a different country. They must’ve seen it as odd, but they knew I wasn’t doing too well in my...current line of work. They gave me their well wishes and I left for England.

I guess the first thing that tipped me off was getting there. I didn’t think anything of it, but when I told the bus driver--coach driver for you guys--where I was going, he seemed...surprised. He didn’t know the place at first, that it wasn’t even on his map. I pointed it out on my phone, and he said that the nearest stop was Billingham in County Durham. I said that was fine, that I could probably catch a taxi the rest of the way. I don’t know if he believed me, but either way, he accepted my ticket and I boarded. There wasn’t anything unusual about the ride up, and at the time, I just guessed he didn’t know because the town was so small.

When I finally arrived in Billingham, I managed to flag a taxi down and asked the driver to go to Crestfallen. He also seemed surprised, but it must’ve been for completely different reasons. Whatever they were, he shoved it down and told me it was going to be a fairly expensive taxi ride. That was fine by me, I had already converted all of my money to pounds anyway. So I loaded my luggage and got in the back.

Thankfully, he kept silent most of the way through. He told me when we were about five minutes away from the stop, and followed it up by telling me that if I wanted to turn back now, he wouldn’t charge me anything.

I realized what he meant: I had been paying attention to my book and not to the town itself, which was covered in a heavy fog. I hadn’t noticed any fog when I got to Billingham; the skies were clear all day. Maybe it was just foggy west of the bus route and Billingham--I wanted to get away from my old life so desperately that I was denying any possibility that my new life would be worse.

I shook my head and said that I was staying. The taxi driver laughed, a short, almost bitter laugh. Told me that I was gonna die in Crestfallen one way or another before he dropped me off. I paid him and took my luggage, still questioning what exactly he meant.

The odd thing was that, after I stepped off, the fog had lifted. I mean, the sky was still overcast, but I could see clearly. I was in this...little clearing, with a path that presumably led to the town, and another one apparently leading to the farm. A man was waiting in the clearing, and he approached me. Said he was the mayor, and that he wanted to show me to the farm.

I had already expected the farm to be a mess, honestly. I saw the pictures. There were scattered branches and stones throughout the farmland, wild grass growing everywhere...if there was even a previous owner, they must’ve left a long time ago. I wanted to ask the mayor, but he just ignored me. At the time, I thought he was just busy and that he had better things to do. He gave me a random bag of seeds and told me my tools were in the farmhouse. And then he just left.

I wish I could tell you more, but I just can’t remember a good chunk of my time there. My therapist is pretty sure it’s a symptom of my PTSD, which...if there’s even more traumatic memories my brain has blocked out, that’s scarier than anything I can remember.

Everything was just so uncanny. Most of the people always moved around like robots, their eyes glazed over, until I talked to them. And then they were all too perky. Even the people I were told were grumps acted like it. There were things that were superficially different about them, but they all acted so similarly, it felt like some sort of hive mind. I don’t know if that’s what was going on, and honestly, I don’t want to find out.

I say most of the people, because there were two I felt like I could trust. There was a huge lake on the outskirts of the town, and these two people lived on the beach. One of them lived in a small cabin, her name’s Odelia Stevens. She’s a writer, and she had gotten herself in the unfortunate situation where she couldn’t afford to move out, once she realized what was going on with the town. The second was an old fisherman living by the docks, his name was Langdon Averill. I’ll...get to why I say “is” for Odelia and “was” for Langdon later.

I think meeting them was the thing that kept me from falling into the town’s clutches. They were considered outcasts, and the town seemed to pretend like they didn’t exist. I never saw any of them go to the beach, and when one of them tried to talk to me after I left, they would tell me I just appeared out of nowhere.

I didn’t end up farming much. I would buy from the general store, at first, but when I harvested the crops, they were...god, I can’t think of the words. They were mangled and sickly, even though I knew the soil at least looked good. The seeds the mayor gave me, I think they were supposed to be parsnips, but the leaves were so shriveled, and the parsnips themselves were hard and spotted, and they were so small. When the mayor came to my farm to gather the harvest, I didn’t know whether or not to give...any of what I’d grown to him. But he saw them and he was overjoyed. He took one of those parsnips and bit right into it, dirt and spots and all. And he loved it! The only things that really prospered was food that I foraged from a nearby forest, and that became pretty much my entire diet. I took a sample of the soil from the farm; I have it with me if you want to keep it for testing or something.

Odelia and Langdon told me a lot about the other townsfolk, mostly so I wouldn’t outwardly freak out. I learned that they hate that the hard way--I once saw a child, couldn’t have been more than ten years old, shove a live robin down his throat and swallow it. I screamed, and the child’s mother descended on me, scratching me with her nails. Even though they were short, they were almost deadly sharp. I still have the scars on my cheek. She was screaming at me, over and over, screaming that he was just having a snack. It must’ve drawn the attention of the other townsfolk, because I could hear more voices yelling at me, telling me that I would be cooked in “his pot,” whatever that meant. Suddenly, the clock in the center of town rang and, like a reset button, they all stopped and went back to their usual activities. Thankfully, I had already met the two at the beach, and Langdon patched me up in his house.

I learned that they ate live birds a lot. They really seemed to like raw meat, flies or rotting be damned. I liked my meat, still do, but at least I cook it first. They would eat raw chicken and vomit in the streets afterwards. I never saw anyone die, funnily enough.

They had celebrations every so often. I hadn’t properly learned from Odelia and Langdon yet, so I went to the first one in the spring. I think it was something for Easter, but all they did was crack a bunch of eggs in this huge pot and take turns drinking spoonfuls from it. When I declined, I could feel that they wanted to attack me, but something prevented them from ending the celebration in bloodshed.

After that first spring, I spent a lot of my time at the beach and in the forest. The forest wasn’t completely free of the townsfolk, as one of them ran a ranch near the edge of that, but I needed it for food. Eventually, Langdon taught me how to fish--I couldn’t exactly subsist on wild leeks and berries forever. It was a nice way to pass the time.

By that first winter, though, things started to change. So long as snow covered the ground, the townsfolk would come in the night and write things in it. Sometimes I wouldn’t see them if the snow covered it up, but otherwise...it was always things about how I had betrayed their father, more references to his pot, that I would melt and cook while they feasted on my bones with said father. I wish I could remember more, Jon, I’m sorry.

Archivist

Do you remember anything else?

Avery

Well...sometime around the first fall, Odelia taught me how to make seeds out of the food and flowers I foraged. That was how I knew it wasn’t the soil that made the crops suffer, the seeds that I had made turned out fine--sometimes they were even better than what I had foraged. I ended up farming more for myself over anything, even though one of the points on that ad was that I had to be generous and donate some of my crops to the townspeople. I doubted it would make them happy, though. And I don’t really like hurting or killing people unless they’re actively attacking me or other innocent people; if my crops were going to poison the town, I didn’t want to risk anything. Chances are it would’ve just made them madder.

I tried to raise some chickens, though. Despite how much I didn’t want to interact with either of these people, I asked the carpenter to make a coop, and I got some chickens from the man running the ranch. By all accounts, they acted like normal chickens, and I tried to feed them good hay by harvesting the grass, but their eggs were still terrible: gray yolks, incredibly thin whites...I love scrambled eggs, but I could never use those. I eventually sold the chickens back to the ranch and had the coop taken down after a few months in the summer. I didn’t even want to try raising cows.

I wanted to leave so badly by the time that second winter rolled around. While Odelia and Langdon would often visit me and we would spend time on my farm or in the forest, by that time there was some odd force preventing them from leaving the beach. I witnessed it myself; anytime they would approach that border of trees separating the beach from the rest of the town, it was like they got...stuck. I don’t know if you play video games, but you know when you reach the border of the game map, and you just can’t go any further despite there not being anything physical stopping you? It looked like that. I could come and go as I pleased, but it was like...like the townspeople had rejected their existence so hard they couldn’t even penetrate the town they had constructed so carefully.

I think the final straw for the townspeople was late spring, the last year I was there. They had this sort of dance deep in the thick of the forest, apparently only accessible when the dance was going on. One of the men around my age there was the town doctor--which I doubt he was actually licensed to practice medicine, since I don’t even think he was thirty at the time--and he asked me to go to the dance. I’d never been asked before, in Crestfallen or in general, but I really didn’t want to go. I had no idea what kind of fucked up shit would happen there, and I didn’t want to find out. So I said no.

That night, just before I was about to go to bed, my door was broken down. I don’t remember how many people were there, but it was definitely the doctor and at least four other people. They descended on me like vultures, only instead of eating me they were savagely beating and kicking me. I was crying, and...sorry, hold on a second.

Archivist

Take your time.

Avery

[They nod, silently wiping tears away from their face]

Sorry, I...I have a bad habit of going nonverbal when I start crying. That, and I sound incomprehensible when I try to talk, and that’s especially bad considering you’re recording this. Anyway, I think one of them brought a bat down on my head, and I was knocked unconscious. I woke up the next morning in this weird white dress and a flower crown on my head. I could feel thorns on the stems threatening to pierce my already sensitive head. As my vision came into focus, I could see that my hands and feet were bound with rope. Actually, I wasn’t wearing anything but that dress, but when I tried to ask where my clothes had gone, I...I couldn’t make words with my mouth. Just a gentle sigh. It was a moment later that I saw the doctor holding my clothes, all neatly folded, approaching a blazing bonfire. Before I could even try to yell out, he threw them into the flames and turned towards me, watching me with cold infatuation as my clothes burned away.

Soon enough, the mayor approached me and grabbed my wrists, pulling me to the center of what looked to be the actual dancing part of the area. It was from here that I could see the whole field: the bonfire in the middle, separating what looked to be a buffet from the dancing. Various townspeople were milling around the buffet or looking at the bonfire, but when the mayor whistled, everyone turned to face me instantly.

They must’ve all known what would happen, because without a word or even a gesture from the mayor, the doctor stepped forward and grabbed my hands in his own. I tried to look at the ground, but the mayor held a hand under my chin so I would look my apparent dance partner in the eyes.

I hated every second of it. I was basically just getting tossed around, since I couldn’t move my feet. I could hear the townspeople chanting and playing instruments, but it wasn’t anything I could decipher. That or I just can’t remember, I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. Slowly, more people joined in on the dance, although from the snippets I could see, their dance was totally different than whatever the doctor was doing to me.

It felt like hours, but the sun’s position hadn’t even moved in the sky when the dance was done and I was released. I didn’t get much time to relish it, though, because I was knocked unconscious again. When I woke up, it was night, and I was lying naked on top of my bed.

I knew at that point that I had to get out of there. But I didn’t want Odelia and Langdon to be trapped either. I needed to do something. God, I can’t believe I forgot to mention this, but the entire time I was there, I could never get a signal on my phone. And it wasn’t like I had run out of data or anything, I was on a by-the-gig plan at the time. At least I wasn’t wasting my money, but it still frustrated me. Most of my days after that dance were spent walking all around the town limits, trying in vain to even get one bar. I’d downloaded one of those rideshare apps forever ago, but I never used it, and I figured now would be the best time to see if anyone could show up. I didn’t have much faith, considering my previous experiences getting to Crestfallen, but dammit, I had to try. I did not want to die in this place, and I didn’t want Odelia or Langdon to either.

I know you’re probably wondering why I didn’t just walk the road back to where I came, but to be honest, I didn’t want the townspeople following me. None of them had cars, as far as I knew, maybe a motorcycle owned by one person, but I still feared that they could track us down anyway. Plus, I didn’t want to get turned around and end back up in Crestfallen again. So, I figured calling someone over would be the best solution. I really didn’t want to rope anyone else into this mess, but it had the highest chance of succeeding in my eyes. And well, I’m here right now.

I finally got two bars on May 31st. See, part of Crestfallen is on a huge hill, and on the peak of that there’s a train that comes through--no stops, unfortunately, and I never heard or saw one go by while I was living there. Either way, it was there that I finally found a signal. So, I told my plan to Odelia and Langdon: that as soon as I found a way to get them out of the beach and onto the single road that went out of Crestfallen, we were leaving. Langdon seemed more hopeless than Odelia, but they both eventually agreed.

As it turned out, Odelia was on her high school’s swim team, and she had kept that up. She found that, so long as she swam to where the river flowing through Crestfallen emptied into the lake and kept her body underwater the entire time, she could escape into the rest of the town. With the added bonus of this river emptying out in the forest, she and Langdon could have some secrecy coming up. Meanwhile, I could take their luggage beforehand and keep it at my house until they were ready to go.

They were ready June 7th. The three of us stood at the top of the hill, Odelia and Langdon soaked, while I got someone to pick us up. Once the ride was approved, we raced back down to my house to get our luggage and wait for our driver. Unfortunately, the rest of the town seemed to have picked up on our plan.

Five minutes before our driver got there, we could see a mob approaching us, and they had weapons. Crude ones, but I could see kitchen knives glinting in people’s hands, sharpened sticks and stones and bats. They didn’t want to just beat us up this time; they were either going to indoctrinate us or kill us.

Despite his age, Langdon was surprisingly good at defending us against the mob. While we were able to avoid things being thrown at us, and at a couple points we threw them back to keep individual members from attacking us, Langdon was actively keeping them away with his suitcase. Two minutes before our driver got here, he was able to wrestle a butcher’s knife from a woman’s hand--the same woman that clawed my face so long ago. It felt like slow motion, watching him throw the knife right in the center of the woman’s forehead.

As she collapsed into a heap, the mob paused. They looked at the dead woman, and their faces contorted into anger. One of them cried out, and the mob descended on him just as the driver pulled up. Langdon screamed at us to save ourselves, and Odelia pulled me into the car. As she told the driver to go as fast as she could, I watched helplessly as the mob tore chunks from Langdon, and he screamed in pain as they ate his flesh.

When the driver dropped us off at the bus station, I gave her a five star rating and a tip that basically doubled the cost of the ride. She didn’t sign up to see a man be cannibalized, so it was the least I could do for potentially traumatizing her.

As we waited, I asked Odelia if Langdon sacrificing himself was something he planned. She shook her head, but she did remember hearing him say that he would rather he die on this mission over either of us, his rationale being that he was just an old fisherman, that we had more potential than he did out in the rest of England. I don’t know if he was right, but I can’t exactly change the past.

When the bus drove up, we boarded. I ended up sleeping most of the way down, which gave Odelia the chance to rest her head on my shoulder. Even though it was on a bus, it was the most comfortable I slept in the longest time. She must’ve had family or something in Liverpool, since that was where she requested to be dropped off. At first, I didn’t really know where I wanted to go. I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore; all of my plans for the future had been dashed by Crestfallen. I ended up telling the bus driver to bring me to Greenwich, since it seemed far enough away from the center of London that I wouldn’t be overwhelmed. I applied for temporary housing there while I looked around for jobs to tide me over. It took about a month for me to get my own place, and as you probably know, I got a job here in August.

Archivist

That’s...certainly a lot. Do you have any way of contacting Odelia to perhaps get her perspective on Crestfallen?

Avery

I have her number, yeah. Though I’m not sure how willing she’d be to talk to you about it, considering whenever I’ve tried to bring up her time in Crestfallen, she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Archivist

Well, I suppose that’s understandable. As much as I would want to send someone up there to investigate, it would likely take a day at least, and if your claims are true, it would be very dangerous for--

Avery

What, you don’t believe me?

Archivist

You said yourself that you don’t remember a whole lot. But considering some of the...more horrific things you’ve told me about Crestfallen, I don’t want to think about what’s been blocked from your memory due to trauma.

Avery

I...I guess. I wouldn’t want anyone going out there either. Not without a weapon, and I doubt you can have those on public transportation.

Sorry. It’s just...wanting to tell someone about this was part of the reason why I applied to work at the Institute. Not all of it, but...I was kind of worried you wouldn’t believe me if I was some stranger. Although, I guess now’s not much better.

Archivist

[Sighs] Avery, I know I might act like I do, but I don’t hate you. I’m not around you enough to hate you.

Avery

I have a feeling you will if you get to know me better. It happens a lot. [Sighs, getting up from chair] Well, if that’s all you need from me, I should go.

Archivist

For now, yes. I’ll reach out if I need additional information.

Avery

Cool. [Footsteps, door opens then closes]

[CLICK]

Archivist

[CLICK]

Despite the...awkward ending to that statement, Avery has been surprisingly cooperative in regards to follow-up questions. They asked Odelia Stevens if she could come in and give a statement, but apparently her work schedule would make that difficult. However, Avery has arranged a video call with her and myself, so maybe she’ll be able to give us some more insight.

As it turns out, Crestfallen is a registered town in County Durham, despite there being very little information about...anything involving it, really. I don’t know how I could convince anyone to go there, even if they don’t know about it. I don’t think I could live with myself if I did that.

I really don’t know all that much about Avery, now that I think about it. As much as I don’t want to trust them, I’ve been trying to let my paranoia go. It’s strange, you’d think knowing them less would give me more reason to be paranoid about their intentions, but...quite the opposite, really. I don’t know what motivation they’d have for faking something on this scale, especially when their job is so removed from the more paranormal aspects of working here.

I just don’t know. And I don’t know if that’s a sign I should get to know them better, or keep them at arms’ length.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

#the magnus archives #tma #tma oc #tma fic #idk if i'll post this on ao3 or not but we'll see #i might just for the extra validation

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ancient-artificer · 5 years

Text

My Roommate is an Asshole.

Gajevy Week 2019 - Fairy Tail

You can find these collections and more Gajevy prompts on FF and Ao3 under CapAleran2.

Storyline: “Excuse me, I think I heard you wrong. What?” Her voice trembled with the last word.

The only available apartment in the complex had been accidentally rented to two different people.

GW: Roommates Suck #1 - My Roommate is an Asshole.

Well. This was certainly unexpected.

The situation was far less ideal than what was promised to Levy. She had signed the official papers the day before fully expecting a nice, comfortable little space for cheap rent, paid utilities, and on-site laundry. It was absolutely perfect. Or had been up until a few minutes ago.

“Excuse me, I think I heard you wrong. What?” Her voice trembled with the last word.

The only available apartment in the complex had been accidentally rented to two different people.

“What the fuck is this shit?” The sudden, loud rumble caused her to jump in place. His baritone voice was rough. It sounded as though he was a smoker.

With watery-rimmed eyes, Levy turned around to see him shove his copy of the legal document in the manager’s face and hold it there to force him to look at it through his square glasses. The menacing scowl deepened as his voice lowered with enunciated words.

“Fix it. Now.”

Levy found herself silently agreeing with the man, although his demand was downright frightening. Despite their obvious differences in word usage, they did have one extremely large issue in common.

“Ah, w-well, you s-see,” the scrawny man stuttered. He fidgeted under the intense, angry gaze blazing down on him. He touched the frames in front of his eyes. “I can't- there's nothing I can d-do about it. Legally, I mean.”

The taller, well-built man's arms twitched and Levy was immediately concerned that there would be an assault if the situation wasn't remedied. And quickly.

She stepped forward, careful to avoid any contact with the other apparently irate tenant and asked, “What do you mean, legally? There's really nothing that can be done for us?”

The complex manager broke free of the hold on his shirt and righted it on his shoulders. He threw a tentative glance at the other male in the office before answering.

“There are two official documents stating that each of you is now the tenant of apartment 2B, submitted the same day by two different employees. Apparently, there was a miscommunication in the availability.”

He pulled out a file from the grey filing cabinet against the back wall. Within were the separate contracts both had previously signed. Levy McGarden and Gajeel Redfox were written on the signature lines.

“A miscommunication? Is that what you're calling it? I'd say it's more of a royal fuck up on your end than anything,” Gajeel spat, crossing his arms over his chest.

His choice words and their intensity grated against Levy's psyche. Her hazel eyes briefly shifted to him in mild annoyance.

“Given that there are no other vacant apartments and the deposits have already been made, the only thing I can suggest is maybe... try to live there together. Peaceably, preferably.”

The manager winced after he spoke. He looked at Gajeel and hoped the desk that stood between them was large enough.

Both Levy and Gajeel reacted simultaneously.

“No!”

***

“Yes.”

Levy held her phone to her ear and assured her friend that she was okay. She absentmindedly tapped her finger on the top of her water bottle in the cupholder. “I'm sure it'll be fine,” she said confidently.

“But he's a guy. And one you don't know,” Lucy countered. Her voice sounded unsure.

“Yea, well he's, he's…” Levy paused.

She turned to look out of her driver's side window to see Gajeel sitting in his jeep a few spaces over. He punched the steering wheel a few times. It looked like he was talking to himself.

“...he's different.”

“Mmhmm.”

“We will just have to make the best of a bad situation. I doubt he'll be that bad. The office runs background checks before they consider who can apply.”

“If you say so.”

When she said goodbye to her friend, Levy grabbed her new apartment key and headed for the stairwell.

It was enclosed inside the brick building, which would be ideal in colder weather. A vending machine for both snacks and beverages stood at the far end and marked the entrance to the laundry area. It was all just more checks on the list of good things the complex offered.

She smiled when she saw her appointed number and letter on the brown door. The apartment was neither too far from nor too close to the stairwell. She probably wouldn't hear the other tenants coming and going, especially at night. It also meant she would have a quiet place to read and write with the windows open on the nice warm days. Inserting the key and giving it a turn, Levy happily entered her home.

The distinct new carpet smell welcomed her. A tiled floor by the door gave way to the beige carpet. Through a foyer-like space was the large front room. A half wall separated it from the kitchen. All the appliances were there on the countertops, ready to be used. Beyond that were a hallway, the bathroom and the two bedrooms.

She gazed around, mentally picturing where she would arrange the furniture, where she would place her bookshelves and her pictures. What did this Gajeel have to bring to the table to add to their shared home? Until she knew, she couldn't plan everything out quite yet.

Her hands clasped at her chest around the key, a contented sigh escaped through her nose in the quiet.

A rough bang on the half closed entry announced the presence of another. The abused door flew open to hit against the rubber stopper on the wall. Gajeel trudged in carrying a full cardboard box the size of a small microwave. A stuffed black backpack clung to one of his shoulders.

He briefly halted a few paces ahead of his unexpected roommate, his head swung around like on a swivel to survey the empty place. He didn't even give Levy a second glance as he asked, “Why've ya just been standin’ there?”

Levy's dry lips parted. No words formed. Her wide eyes slid down his tall, broad form, from his uninterested expression to the box cradled between two massive arms. He was terribly intimidating; if he had wanted to he could have snapped her petite body in half with minimal effort.

She blinked.

Gajeel left her still standing in the middle of the living area to check out the bedrooms. The toe of his black boot pushed open one and then he disappeared inside.

Out of curiosity, Levy deliberately peered in from around the wall. It was a spacious area. There were three windows that illuminated the entire room without the need for the overhead light.

The box and backpack had been set on the carpet. He was standing in the middle under the light fixture, his head turning as he seemingly looked around at nothing but the walls.

Levy kept silent as she spied. Hazel eyes moved from his shaggy mess of thick black hair to the triangular shape of his neck and shoulders.

He hummed to himself and turned his body towards the far wall, his back faced her. Large hands found the waistband of his jeans and rested there. “I think it'll fit,” he murmured.

“What will fit?” Levy asked with sudden interest.

She felt like she was intruding, but they were set up to share a small apartment. There was bound to be some future privacy issues. She shuddered and hoped they wouldn't be too crowded.

He responded as if he had known she was there watching all along, saying, “My drum set.”

Levy's heart sped up the moment she heard. Her vision of quiet, relaxing evenings was shattered with his nonchalant words about a musical instrument. “A drum set?! Like an actual big, loud drum set?”

“Relax Shorty,” he drawled. He was still standing there with his hands perched on his hips. “It's electric. The sound's through a headset.” He tapped the side of his head.

Her eyes fell, half-lidded with displeasure. Why did he call her that? She crossed her arms. “I'm not short.”

“Sure,” he dismissed with a scoff. His attention was elsewhere. Somewhere in that big -but sort of handsome- head of his. Whatever was in there.

Her apprehension subsided a bit with that knowledge that he would have a headset. She glanced towards the other bedroom and wondered what it looked like beyond the closed door. Her peripheral detected a shift in the light, and she felt more than saw Gajeel brush past her. His arm knocked hard into her shoulder as he turned the corner in the narrow hall.

“Hey,” she announced. Her hand came up instinctively to lay on her collarbone. Her mouth set into a firm line. Her eyes bore a hole in the back of his head. And he just walked away? He hadn't even said sorry.

When he didn't stop, she frowned and put effort into it. “Gajeel!” she yelled.

“What?” He asked in annoyance with an enunciated ‘T’. His boots planted there on the living room carpet and he slowly turned to look at her, his palm held up in the air.

Words that Levy had been ready to let loose on him swiftly left her at the sight of his chilling frown. Instead, she dumbly stood exactly where she had been. Was it fear? Was she apprehensive because of his dark looks or his fearsome and reckless attitude?

“Um, I- uh-”

His pierced eyebrow rose.

Levy stuttered. “W-what are you doing?”

She inwardly cringed. Why couldn't she think of something else, something better to say? That was it? She could confront assholes on the street more easily than this particular one. Her mind was completely blank.

“I'm going to bring my shit up here,” he replied steadily. His tone was notably close to condescending. “What else is there to do?”

And then he simply left the apartment, not bothering to touch the open door on his way out.

With a long, silent huff, Levy quickly shook her fist in the air after him, her anger turned to frustration. She pulled the door closed and headed down to the parking lot after him. Like Gajeel, she too had things to bring up from her car. The rest of the furniture was in the back of a small trailer.

On her way out of the building entrance, Gajeel passed her carrying another full cardboard box, almost running into her once again. It was as if he didnt see her at all. His focus was on the stairs before him as he ascended.

Levy's frown deepened and her mouth fell slightly open while she stared. A tiny sound escaped her throat. What was with this guy?

A sense of dread began to fill her stomach. Maybe she would have to find another place. But then if she did her current deposit was forfeited. She couldn't afford to shell out another moving fee and deposit.

Groaning, she did the only thing she could think of at that moment and start officially moving in. All of the items she had fit in her car she comfortably toted up to the apartment. Unlike her new roommate's, her things went directly to her bedroom, set along the back wall to make room for the bigger items later.

It was small. Smaller than the room Gajeel had claimed. It had built in bookshelves on either side of the doorway, which was a pleasant surprise. But what it lacked in initial space it made up for in a large walk-in closet.

When she strolled out from the hall, the carpet was littered with his junk. Her lip wanted to curl. Was he a slob? Random crates and rickety boxes overflowing with Gajeel's personal items. Mostly clothing, though there was a laptop, music devices, and a distasteful calendar that Levy covered over with a rogue jacket that was draped over the side of a box, among other things.

Her gaze landed on a blue milk crate full of books. It was set apart from the rest, on a haphazardly placed brown end table by the hall's light switch.

Gajeel was a reader? From what she’d encountered so far, Levy would have never pegged him. There really was more to someone than outward appearance.

Gently picking through the books, she found that most of them were classics. Their hard covers were worn from use, the pages creased on the top corners. None of them had bookmarks. She had to tell him not to dog-ear his books like that.

“What’re you doing?” his rough voice announced in question.

The three books tumbled from her hands to fall in a heap by the table. His unexpected voice had scared her. “Um, I was just looking. Sorry,” she began as she bent to pick up the downturned books. “I love to read so I just…” Trying to find an excuse, her lips fell silent.

He considered her for a moment, the drawers to a dresser occupying his arms. It seemed as though he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. His mouth shut. He didn't seem angry, but Levy was cautious.

“Don't ya have yer own things to get?” he calmly asked instead. His red eyes gave her a once over before settling back to her face.

Relief rushed through Levy at his civility. “Yes, but I was waiting for you. I need help. I've gotten everything that I could manage myself.”

He humphed and continued about his business, taking the drawers to his room. When he re emerged some seconds later, he gestured to her without slowing down. “Alright. Come on.”

Without needing to be told a second time, Levy followed her roommate.

“It's the trailer there,” she said once they were in the parking lot. A silver trailer was parked in the back. After they emptied it, she would have to notify for its pickup.

“I kinda figured,” Gajeel commented. There was only one moving trailer on the lot.

“Right.” Levy bit her cheek. Her eyes flickered up to him.

His lips were twisted, as if he was trying not to smile. He turned his head away, seemingly interested in a few birds flying overhead before she could be sure.

Standing by the ramp, Levy let him walk in and start picking things to haul out. She watched with her arms crossed over her chest as he picked up a large, clear tote of notebooks, pencil pouches, and various books with a grunt.

The sound of something rolling around inside abruptly stopped as he presented it, most likely a loose pen or pencil. His eyebrow rose and he looked at her.

“I like to write, okay?”

Her lips slid into a grin when she watched him shake his head and his confused expression give way to his own version of a smile.

Soon only her mattress and the bed frame, her bookshelves, dresser, and a long desk were the only things left. She had no idea how she would have gotten them out and up the stairs without his help. The only reason they were in the trailer to begin with is she had had help in moving out of her old place.

He took most of the weight, letting her steer them once they hit the stairwell. His patience with the desk had nearly expired when they hit the wall as they maneuvered the corner, causing the desk's edge to punch into his stomach.

“Lift it, Levy,” he commanded, looking up at her from the bottom. The legs were scraping the steps.

“I am.”

She threw her weight upwards only for nothing to happen. The wooden box drawers were on both ends, making it nearly impossible for her. They should have taken them out before they started the trek, but they couldn't now in the narrow space.

“Yer doin’ it wrong,” he roughly accused.

“How am I wrong?” She answered back just the same. One of her hands came up on reflex, her palm upwards in irritation.

He lowered his head as she spoke and blew out a quick breath in his own annoyance. He lifted his end once more, but when he did, the corner caught the brick wall, effectively halting his progress before it could really begin.

His body continued right into the stationary edge.

Bouncing backwards from it, Gajeel doubled over. A pained growl rumbled from his chest. His mouth formed around a word, but refrained from spitting it out.

“Oh my gosh, are you ok?” Levy blurted. She let go of her end of the desk.

“Get out of the way,” he ordered. Anger -probably more embarrassment- simmered in his eyes.

She did so and watched with astonishment as he gathered himself and hauled, lifting the long piece of furniture with a deep grunt. He was fast enough to use the momentum and all but throw it and himself up around the corner.

The desk was now set for a straight path up the rest of the way and to their apartment.

Levy was immediately grateful that she had Gajeel for any heavy lifting.

Giving a breath, he turned to her. His eyes were now impassive. “Can you get around it?” He asked.

Levy hummed. There was a few inches of space between the desk and the brick wall, but she knew she wouldn't be able to fit. “Only a kid could squeeze through there. But, I think I could climb over it.”

Gajeel simply stood to catch his breath and let her do what she had suggested. In amusement, he placed his hands on his hips and watched as her tiny form scrambled up and over the smooth tabletop. Her jean shorts accentuated her curves and her plump ass stared squarely up at him for the briefest of moments.

A grin spread on his face. He let himself look, but kept his hands on his waistband.

Once they were at their apartment with the desk safely in her bedroom without further incident, they shut the front door with a sigh.

The place was an absolute wreck. Nothing was organized and nothing was in a convenient setup. The couch was shoved halfway in the kitchen with her clothing totes upon it. There was one visible walkway through the living room to the hall, the rest of the floor and furniture was littered.

Levy was thirsty, but the box containing kitchen utensils was somewhere buried under the mess. It would take them a few days to sort everything out. “What do you wanna do for dinner?” she asked aloud.

“I dunno.” His voice was muffled. It sounded a little distant as he worked on neatly plugging in the tv and game consoles at the outlet behind the big flat screen. “I don't care, do what ya want.”

“You don't have a favorite place to eat?” she asked.

“I'll eat anything, just pick something.”

Levy hummed. “Chinese? There's a place a few blocks from here.”

“That's fine,” he replied, and then popped up triumphantly. He turned on the tv. On the screen was the console main logo. Without turning to Levy, he said, “After we eat, ya wanna try out yer new tv?”

Looking up from the restaurant's menu on her phone, she saw the screen as he punched in his passcode. The more she looked at the set up, the more she felt out of her element. “I don't know, I've never really played on one…”

“Really, well yer gonna learn tonight.” Gajeel cleared an area of the floor a few feet from the tv stand and abruptly sat down. He kicked off his boots and quickly took off his grey shirt, leaving him in a white tank. He picked up the controller.

“What about the mess in here?” She lifted a hand and waved it at all of the things brought up and thrown in no particular order as if showcasing a nice car on display.

Gajeel made a sound with his mouth. “We're gonna be here for at least a year. We can sort it tomorrow. Give yer'self a break.” He added with an afterthought, “Does that Chinese place deliver?”

“Uhh.” She scrolled down on her phone. “Yes.”

“Order it for delivery and then get over here.” He let a genuine smile slip up on his face. He set a black controller beside him as if to save her a seat.

Her own smile appeared as she ordered their food. Then she picked her way through their junk and slowly sat down beside him. He was at ease and relaxed as he started to explain a game he thought she would enjoy. When he presented an eye creasing smile, his red eyes warm, she found herself begin to mirror him. Maybe having a new roommate wouldn't be so bad...

#gajevy #gajevyevents #gajevyweek2019 #gajeel x levy #fairy tail #ftfanfics #ft #gajevy fic #ff.net #ao3 #andycap #andycapiswrite #gw19.1 #roommates

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