when you read a fic that gives you a hyper-specific whump scenario that you know would either A.) take forever to find in another story or B.) hasn't been written at all so the obvious conclusion is that you have to write it yourself

Fluffy February Day 2 - Movie Night

Reminder to follow @fluffyfebruary ​ to see the prompt list and that I’ll be using the tags #fluffyfebruary and #fluffyfeb for these.

Continuing the fics with day two! I’m super proud of this one; It’s dripping with fluff and teenage angst. Warning for potential secondhand embarrassment - they’re both idiots in love and have no idea how to show it.

Chapter 2: Films and Fears

Pairing: Butch/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: Dealing with life in the vault can be tough, especially for an outcast like Jamie. When he befriends Butch through his G.O.A.T. assignment, however, the two make their own safe place. Butch decides to surprise him there one day with the promise of treasure, and it leads to something more than they both expect.

Ao3 Link

Jamie tosses and turns in his rat’s nest of a bed. It’s midnight – he’s too hot, the vault’s ventilation system’s groaning is echoing around him like a damn chorus, and his sheets keep scratching uncomfortably against his clammy skin. He brings his wrist close to his face to mindlessly check his Pip-Boy for the millionth time that night, his arm feeling as heavy as lead, and he squints at the fluorescent light of the screen as he taps it awake.

Though Butch showed him a few times before, it still takes him a moment to remember the right sequence of buttons to push to unlock developer’s mode and navigate to the messaging tab the other boy set up for them. It’s only been about a month since Butch found an old Pip-Boy manual in Stanley’s locker and got this trick to work, but already there’s a considerable backlog of messages between the two.

Jamie scrolls through them with the dial on his Pip-Boy, worrying the skin of his lower lip with his teeth as he reads through some of the older messages. It’s become a new habit for him on these particularly rough sleepless nights. When he’s too exhausted to write in his journal, draw, or jump around his room in an attempt to tire himself out; he talks to Butch.

If someone had told him a year ago that Butch DeLoria, his childhood bully and teenage rival, would be one of his only sources of solace these days he would have called them insane. Turns out, giving the vault’s two delinquents deadbeat jobs with no supervision and shoving them in the same closet of a studio space could make them form a pretty strange alliance. The enemy of my enemy and all of that, right?

It also doesn’t help that Amata is forever busy with her new duties as overseer’s assistant – or whatever her job title is actually called. Jamie misses her like he’s lost a part of himself, and even though he knows she’s not locked away with her father by choice he can’t help the nagging part of his brain that is convinced she abandoned him.

Butch is dealing with the same thing, though with less consequence. His fellow Tunnel Snakes are relatively busy with their new jobs – Wally as a security guard and Paul as an engineer – but they still make some time to see each other. Butch is just one of those people who needs constant attention, which is where Jamie supposes he comes in handy. He tries not to think too hard about it.

He’s is snickering to himself while he reads some messages sent a few weeks back during one of their spats, most of which were petty insults and some pretty creative curses, when a new message blips through and pulls his screen to attention.

913473: nosebleed u up?

Perfect timing, Jamie thinks, sitting up in his bed to type. The 6-digit code is what Butch called his Pip-ID – apparently every Pip-Boy comes with one coded in by default. It was weird at first, trying to memorize the numbers and calm his own paranoia at the thought of someone hacking into their conversations, but Butch said that their numbers were for their Pip-Boys alone, so Jamie trusted him. The horrible, agitated crawling under his skin that was keeping him up all night begins to fade as he replies.

604272: didja even have to ask? 913473: just say yes or no damn 604272: k. no 913473: oh fuck off

Jamie can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him, and he grins like a complete idiot down at the screen.

913473: if ur done being an ass i have somethin for us to do 913473: if u aint busy of course 913473: meet at the place? 604272: sure. be there in 10

He switches his Pip-Boy screen off and hops out of bed, stretching languorously before grabbing his jumpsuit from where he left it earlier that day in a heap on the floor. He tugs it on leg by leg and zips it up before checking himself in the mirror.

His hair is a mop of curls on his head and he does his best to smooth it down, knowing Butch will scold him for not using the correct conditioner to tame his flyaways like he showed him. The bags under his eyes are a bit darker than usual, but there’s nothing to be done about that. He shrugs to himself and turns to the door. No point in being too self-conscious about his appearance this late at night – isn’t like this is a date or anything, he tells himself.

He doesn’t bother being quiet as he leaves his room, knowing his dad would still be working at the clinic or at the very least passed out there on one of the cots. He doesn’t come home much these days.

Jamie shoves his boots on, not even bothering with socks, and peers out of the thick window into the hallway. It seems empty, so he hits the button and creeps out through the door.

The neon blue emergency lights that run along the edges of the ceiling and floor greet him when he steps out of his apartment. He shoves his hands in his pockets, a nervous habit, and peers around the corner before continuing his path. The door closes not-so-softly behind him and he walks down the hall past the restrooms that separate his and Butch’s apartments. He stops momentarily outside the door to the DeLoria’s apartment, noticing it’s dark and quiet inside.

Butch must already be down there, Jamie thinks, picking up his pace as much as he could without making too much noise. Despite the constant creaking and rumbling of the vault’s ventilation and reactor systems the halls at night could carry quite an echo, and his boots aren’t the quietest things to sneak around in.

Patrols were lax recently but knowing his luck he’d get caught breaking curfew and would have to clean the bathrooms again. He briefly regrets not wearing socks because he refuses to take his boots off and walk barefoot on the cold steel floor, even if it is quieter.

Further down the hallway and a bit past the occupied wing of apartments, Jamie stops at the top of a short set of stairs that lead down to a small corridor with one door. A large INACCESSIBLE sign glows ominously above it, and in the corner of the hallway facing the stairwell is a single security camera. It rotates at a snail’s pace, its gears clicking audibly with every circuit it makes of the dead-end hallway.

Jamie ducks down near the wall at the top of the stairs, watching the camera as he has so many times before to study its crawling path. When Butch had discovered this place, they figured out a way to tilt the camera up ever so slightly with the handle of a broom from their shop – creating about thirty seconds of a blind spot to get them from the stairs and through the door without getting caught if they hugged the left wall.

Peering down the hallways around him one more time to make sure no patrols were coming; Jamie types a quick message into his Pip-Boy.

604272: here

He waits a few moments until he hears a couple sharp raps on the metal door down the way, telling him that Butch is there whenever he’s ready. Jamie waits a few more moments and listens to the camera click back into its blind spot before he hops down the stairs, staying low and to the left as he stalks toward the door. He hits it lightly with his palm when he gets there, and it slides open. He has just enough time to duck inside, slamming his fist on the button to shut it just as he hears the security camera restart its rotation.

“You’re still gonna act like it's some big heist no matter how many times we come down here, huh?” Jamie turns around in the darkness and is met with Butch’s grin, a bottle of beer already in one of his fists. His Pip-Boy light is on, basking them in a dim green glow.

“Keeps it interesting,” he replies, punching Butch playfully on the arm. On this side of the door is a long flight of stairs and they continue further down into the pitch darkness, hands pressing along the walls for purchase with nothing but about three feet of lighting in front of them.

The emergency lights are shut off down here, along with the security cameras – probably to save power, so Jamie turns his Pip-Boy light on as well. It’s a bit brighter, but not by much. They’ve been down here enough times by now that their bodies remember how many steps there are, but Jamie always has a nagging fear in the back of his mind that one day the staircase will just keep going forever. He shakes that thought from his head, listening to the sound of their boots stomping down the steps and focusing his gaze on Butch’s free hand as it slides against the railing.

For the past month or so this has been their escape. Butch somehow figured out how to break into the door they just passed through, and they discovered a whole wing of abandoned apartments under the ones they were currently living in. So far all they had done was clear out one room that had a ratty old couch, some blankets, a broken Nuka Cola mini-fridge, and a few wooden storage crates in it. Jamie had also rigged up a small emergency generator and they were able to find some lamps to make it a little less depressing.

Most importantly, they had booze smuggled from Butch’s mom’s liquor stash, a few cartons of cigarettes they’d traded with Stevie for some chems Jamie snuck from his dad’s clinic, their collection of comic books, and Jamie’s old BB gun for when they got bored. It’s far from perfect, but it’s space, and when you’re destined to roam the same hallways with the same people for the rest of your miserable existence – that amounts to a lot.

“So, what are we actually doing?” Jamie asks as they turn into the apartment they’d claimed as their base. Butch has the generator running and the room smells thickly of his peach pomade and cigarette smoke – he must have been down here for a few hours already.

“I,” Butch begins, stopping to pull the cork out of his new bottle of beer with his teeth before spitting it on the floor and taking a swig, “am gonna show you some treasure.” He finishes with a flourish, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and plops down onto the couch next to his discarded Tunnel Snake jacket.

Jamie snorts and pulls up a crate, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch and propping his feet up. He clicks his tongue in mock annoyance when Butch’s boots crowd his own on the small surface and, in a fruitless endeavor, they battle for leg space before giving in to sharing. It’s obvious the other boy is already a bit tipsy.

“Treasure, huh? That’s cool, I guess,” Jamie snickers, snatching the bottle of beer from Butch and downing some before he could protest. It burns in his throat and brings a comforting warmth to his chest. He continues nursing the drink and settles further back into the worn corduroy couch, his posture absolutely terrible. Butch reaches for another bottle.

“Yup.” The bottle pops open and another cork joins the pile growing on the floor. Another drink and an obnoxious burp, then Butch sits forward - feet falling to the floor, his hands on his knees, and an excited light in his eyes. His leg is bouncing incessantly.

“Listen, I was going through some rooms down here and I found an old projector – like the one Brotch has?” He glances at Jamie, blue eyes a soft, dreamy color in the low light, and Jamie can’t help but gulp at the intensity he sees there. When Butch has a plan he’s excited about, he turns into a different person – like all the stress of conforming to the monotony of vault life has washed away and he’s finally allowed to be the mischievous and passionate person hiding underneath it all. Or… something like that. Jamie’s waxing poetic again, something he can’t help but do when around Butch.

“That’s pretty cool,” is all Jamie can bring himself to breathe out as he sips on his beer. He picks at the loose threads on the arm of the couch as he tries not to think about the fact that Butch had his lips on this same bottle just a few seconds ago.

Butch deflates a bit. “Pretty cool?” he mocks, leaning closer. Okay, maybe he’s more drunk than Jamie had first thought, if the redness of his cheeks were any indication.

“Nosebleed, I found full on ho-lo-disks,” Butch emphasizes, blowing a few messy curls away from his forehead. Jamie just shrugs.

“Okay?” he begins, not seeing the big deal. They already have these things in the classroom. “What’re we gonna do, watch some lectures? Don’t tell me DeLoria wants to brush up on his studying,” he taunts.

Butch just sneers at him in response, standing up and only swaying a bit – much to Jamie’s surprise. “You have no imagination, dweeb. Stay here!” And with that, he storms out of the room and into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Jamie can see the green light of his Pip-Boy flash on through the window as he walks further away into the dark.

It’s a few minutes before he comes back, and Jamie can hear the ruckus he’s causing before he sees him. He’s startled out of his comfortable position on the couch and perks up. The door slides open and Butch pushes the projector into their base on its rolling cart. One of the wheels must be rusted because its screeching like a damn rat, scraping against the metal flooring as he drags it to the center of the room. He grabs an old cardboard box from the lower shelf of the cart and slides it on the floor over to Jamie with his foot before going back to set the projector up with their tangled mess of extension cords.

Jamie picks it up and grimaces at the box – it’s a little rank and it feels crusty in some spots. “This thing is probably covered in like a hundred different types of mold,” he complains.

“Didn’t give it to ya so you could judge the box!” Butch snaps, banging the top of the projector impatiently when the power flickers. “Open the damn thing.”

Jamie places the box on the couch beside him and sits up, peeling it open to peer inside. His jaw drops in amazement at the sight – more holodisks than he’s ever seen in his life, all with unique and eye-catching, full-color illustrations on the covers. He stares at Butch in disbelief and catches the other boy staring at him, an unabashed, beaming smile on his face when he sees Jamie’s reaction. When their eyes meet, Butch clears his throat and snaps his attention back to the projector, fiddling with some dials that don’t seem to change anything.

“Cool, right?” He says, his ears turning red as he dismisses his earlier excitement with a sheepish shrug.

“It’s fucking great!” Jamie laughs and begins to rummage through the box. There are real films in here, like he’s only read about in pre-war history classes or his cheesy novels. Aside from a whole slew of superhero films starring characters like The Silver Shroud and even some of Grognak the Barbarian, there are titles that look like they’re about pre-war animals in different parts of the world, some with soldiers in power armor, some ancient recordings of sports, and what looks like a few western and sci-fi films

Butch walks back over and sits beside him, throwing his arm over the back of the couch and leaning in to look at the titles. Jamie’s breath hitches at his closeness and he can feel his cheeks heating up. He tries not to show it, leaning in ever so slightly to let their shoulders brush.

“You can pick first, my treat,” Butch says while gesturing to the patchwork sheet he’d hung up on the opposite wall of the small apartment – Butch must have stitched it together himself out of whatever excess fabric he found. It’s hanging a little crooked and the projector’s STAND BY image is a bit fuzzy, but a bubble of excitement forms in Jamie’s chest regardless. He doesn’t want to read too far into things, but Butch had found this and made it a surprise specifically for them to share. That made him feel a certain kind of way.

He blinks those embarrassing thoughts away and nods, his face warm. Looking over their choices carefully, he finally decides and picks the western – he always did have a fondness for the freedom that seemed to come with being a cowboy – and walks to the projector to pop it in and press play.

He half expects Butch to make fun of his choice, but the other boy is oddly quiet, carefully inspecting his fingernails as Jamie switches off the lamps and kicks off his boots before returning to sit cross-legged on the couch. Butch still hasn’t scooted further away or removed his arm from the back of the couch, so their knees bump and he can feel the warmth of Butch’s arm behind his neck and it sends prickles through his skin.

Only as the movie begins do they realize they don’t have any speakers hooked up – so it’s completely silent in the room other than the whirring of the film in the projector.

“I didn’t even think of that,” Butch sighs and shakes his head in disappointment. Jamie just laughs.

“It’s still cool,” he assures him. “They used to have silent movies all the time apparently – especially back in cowboy days. It’s authentic,” he purses his lips at the end, trying to do his best impression of Mr. Brotch. It seems to work because Butch cracks a grin at him and snorts.

“Sure, it’ll work for now, but I saw some terminals in another apartment down here. We can check for some speakers there later,” Butch says and then his playful grin becomes roguish. “Push comes to shove, we can just swipe one from upstairs. Who’d notice a missing speaker?”

Jamie just scoffs and elbows him, turning his attention back to the film as the title screen fades in and he reads, ‘High Lonesome.’ He didn’t bother to read what the film was about, but it opens with a group of people in a wagon on a vast desert plain with plateaus towering in the distance.

There isn’t too much to see at first, but one thing that sticks with him is the impossible vastness of the sky as the camera zooms out to show a wider view of the prairie they’re riding along. He’s seen pictures of the sky, sure, but something about watching the tiny silhouettes of people move around under it was chilling – it was huge and incredibly empty. He didn’t know if what he was feeling was amazement or terror.

Despite the film being in black and white, the shimmer of the sun on the horses’ flanks as they gallop is bright enough to seem real and Jamie is completely entranced as he watches. And, luckily enough, there seem to be subtitles, so they’ll still be able to understand what’s going on.

Jamie’s trance is momentarily broken when Butch leans down and grabs something from under the couch. He returns with a box of fancy lads which he presses into Jamie’s hands. Jamie mumbles his thanks, his eyes never leaving the picture as he tears into a package and shoves a whole powdery cake into his mouth.

Butch just laughs at him and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He lights one just as the young cowboy on screen does – much to Jamie’s delight – and they chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

They pass the snacks, beer, and smokes back and forth between each other as they watch their movies. When the western is over, Butch picks a film called ‘Teenage Caveman,’ saying that it has to be good because the cover has tits and a giant lizard monster on it. It ends up being the worst piece of garbage they’ve ever seen – and that’s saying a lot considering they’ve only seen one other film in their whole lives.

“That dude didn’t even look like a teenager! He had to be like thirty,” Jamie says, tossing the film into a box they decide to label ‘shit.’ According to Butch, they were like pioneers and had to record their findings, so not only were they watching the films, but they were sorting them from best to worst. As Butch had put it in his best overseer impression, they were doing future vault residents a great service and fulfilling their civic duty… by saving others from watching total pieces of trash.

“There wasn’t even a single boob,” Butch mopes, snubbing out the last of his cigarette in the cracked coffee mug functioning as their makeshift ashtray. “Talk about false advertising. The giant lizards were kinda cool, though.” Jamie smacks him upside the head.

“You wouldn’t know what a boob looked like if it smacked you in the face.”

“You take that back!” Butch laughs and tosses their snacks on the floor, lunging for Jamie who’s cackling just as hard. They’re fucking hammered at this point and they roll off the couch into a heap on the floor, knocking a crate over as they grapple at each other. They wrestle like this sometimes – it’s a great outlet for Jamie’s aggressive energy and, when they’re less drunk, Butch actually teaches him how to kick ass. Now, they’re just breathless laughs and fumbling hands as they scramble for purchase on the floor and try their damnedest to pin the other down.

Butch may be stronger on a normal day, but at the moment he’s piss-drunk compared to Jamie who still has a bit of his wits about him. He flips the taller boy over so quickly it’s almost comical and pins him, pressing his knees against his thighs and holding his wrists at his sides to stop him from getting up. He laughs triumphantly.

“What’s wrong, Butchie? You’ve never lost a fight so fast!” He grins down at the boy smugly but stops short when he sees the look on Butch’s face. It’s endearing how red his cheeks are, his hair a mess and his blue eyes wide. Butch just fixes him with those piercing baby blues.

“Don’t get cocky, Nosebleed. I let ya do it,” he says in a soft voice, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Jamie’s mouth goes dry, his eyes fixed on Butch’s unbelievably pink lips. He hates himself for how much he wants to kiss him then and without thinking he begins to lean forward. He catches himself, though, and his thoughts have him jumping off of Butch and falling back against the couch like he’s been shocked, his chest heaving. He feels dizzy and he can still smell the earthy spice of the other boy’s aftershave enveloping him like a thick haze he can’t shake.

Butch laughs and pulls himself up into a sitting position, shooting Jamie a dazzling grin from his seat on the floor. “What’s wrong, Jamie?” Butch teases, his voice only a bit slurred and a shit-eating grin creeping its way onto his face. Hearing his name come from Butch is rare and it knocks the breath out of him. All he can do is stare.

Butch clambers ungracefully back up to the couch with him, leaning awfully close and whispering, “cat got your tongue?” His breath is warm on Jamie’s face and it smells like a mixture of smoke and alcohol, something he never thought would smell so intoxicating, but of course it does – it’s Butch.

Jamie’s heart is in his fucking throat and he can’t breathe. Butch is pressed against his side and his back is against the arm of the couch. There’s nowhere for him to escape to – not that he necessarily wants to, but he was never very good with facing his feelings. Either Butch is actively trying to flirt with him or he’s fucking around, and Jamie can’t decide which one is worse.

“You’re drunk, you idiot,” Jamie laughs weakly and goes to push Butch away by the chest but stops when he feels his heart pounding under his t-shirt. The other boy’s breath hitches and his body stiffens at Jamie’s touch, his lips parting as if he were trying to think of what to say.

“So are you,” Butch finally settles with, reaching up to wrap his fingers around Jamie’s wrist. His touch almost feels like it burns. They sit like that for a moment, staring at each other, eyes like fire.

The generator chooses that moment to shut off, leaving them in pitch darkness. Out of instinct, Jamie curls his fingers into Butch’s shirt, his ears ringing at the sudden silence in the room and his breathing becoming labored. Darkness feels suffocating to him sometimes, and this is one of those moments. It lays over them like a thick blanket, and the only thing that pulls him out of his internal panic is Butch’s free hand cupping the back of his head, fingers twining through the thick, curly hair at the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t even have time to think about what Butch might be doing before he feels the press of the other boy’s lips warm against his own. Though they’re unbelievably soft, the kiss is rushed and clumsy – desperate almost – and Jamie grunts when their teeth knock together. He wastes no time returning the kiss, though, his eyes fluttering shut as he focuses on the feel of Butch’s lips against his own and the rough burn of his stubble as it brushes against his chin.

It must have just been a power surge, because suddenly the generator kicks back on and the projector screen lights up the room. Their eyes fly open and they wrench apart, still holding onto each other as if for dear life. Whatever safety they felt shrouded in the darkness is ripped away and they’re left feeling vulnerable and exposed. Jamie’s breath comes out in stutters and he dares to glance up at the other boy.

Butch’s eyes are filled with a fiery heat he can’t even describe and something akin to tenderness – which is hard for him to pinpoint since he’s never been looked at like that before. He sucks in a sharp breath. For some reason, even though he’s been dreaming of this moment for months, he just feels terrified and embarrassed – like he fucked up somehow. The panic must be written clearly on his face because Butch pulls away like he’s been slapped and falls back to the other end of the couch.

“Sh-shit, I,” Butch stutters, his hand clutching his chest where Jamie’s was a moment before, “fuck, Jamie, I didn’t mean to.” His voice cracks, sounding almost pleading. Jamie doesn’t know what to say, his mouth flapping uselessly, and it’s too much for him to handle. He doesn’t understand what his problem is. Everything in his heart is telling him to leap forward and continue kissing Butch, but he’s just too fucking scared.

“It’s fine!” He practically snaps, standing up suddenly. He’s shaking and feels clammy and he’s sure he’s as pale as a ghost – is it even possible for something good to give you a panic attack?

He glances around for his boots for a moment, but it’s still too much and he can see Butch starting to reach for him with concern in his eyes. “I have to go,” he blurts out, and he turns tail and runs.

The last thing he hears before he leaves is Butch yelling his name, but he jogs up the steps in the darkness, tripping over his own feet and bruising his knees. He knows he’s acting like a child, but he can’t bring himself to care. He is absolutely not ready to face what’s happening and he needs to be alone in his room now.

When he reaches the door, he doesn’t even stop to think about the security camera on the other side, he just slams his fist on the button and rushes out and thankfully luck is on his side this time because he can hear the camera click into the end of its circuit.

He slows down when he reaches the halls, his bare feet making a lot less noise than his boots, but fuck the floor is cold and he regrets not stopping to find his shoes. Soon he reaches his apartment, and he rushes inside, thankful to see that it’s still empty. He locks himself in his own bedroom, suddenly feeling like everything is too much, and he rips his jumpsuit off, flopping onto his bed in just his tank top and boxers and pulling the covers over his head.

He wants to scream, maybe tear his hair out a little or punch the wall. He cannot believe how badly he fucked that up. He doesn’t even know what this means for their friendship – if he had tried to make a move on Butch and the other boy ran away, he would be devastated! Would Butch even want to talk to him anymore? He worries over these thoughts for a few hours until his brain feels like jelly. The last thing he’s aware of before falling asleep is how his lips taste ever-so-slightly like the sweet mint chap stick Butch always carries around.

---

He wakes up later to the sound of incessant beeping coming from his wrist. He groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes and down his face. He feels like complete shit – hungover, most likely, and his head is swimming.

He looks at his Pip-Boy to check the time and realizes he’s overslept. It’s two in the afternoon and he’s late for his work assignment at the studio but if he’s being honest the thought of having to drag himself out of bed and sit in a room with Butch all day doesn’t seem as great as it used to. He can’t help it when he opens the messaging app, biting his lip as he prepares to read whatever might be there.

913473: it was a prank haha i rly got u good

That one was sent almost immediately after he’d left last night, according to the timestamp. Something about it makes his gut twist, gives him a bit of nausea. He’s not sure if he believes Butch or not. Once again, he’s not sure which is harder to deal with. Dated about an hour later there are a few more.

913473: jamie im sorry pls answer me 913473: don’t ignore me man if ur mad just come beat me up 913473: are u sleeping? damn out of all the times 913473: its k. i kno u need it. gnight

Jamie doesn’t realize he’s chewing his lip to shreds until he tastes blood, and he curses, wiping it away on the hem of his tank top. His eyes are glued to the screen, his heart thundering in his ears. Dated even later are a handful of other messages and he can tell by their contents that Butch must have kept drinking in his absence. The thought of that tugs at his heart a little – maybe he isn’t the only one who’s terrified of his own feelings and kind of a fuckup.

913473: i know ur asleeeep 913473: gdamn typing onthis shit. fcking sucks 913473: m drunk but idc. i kissed u jamie n itfucking rocked 913473: wasnt a prank. im srry. dont hate me 913473: u can hit me all u want. ill evenlet u win the fight. 913473: jsut dont hate me

Jamie groans and grabs his pillow, shoving his face into it a few times and letting out as loud of a yell as he dares. It’s not enough, but it will have to do. Breathless and flushed, he’s about to lay back down when a new message comes through and his heart leaps so high into his throat that he nearly chokes. He peeks at it over the pillow.

913473: yo you’re late dude. like super late! 913473: i figured id let u sleep off the hangover a bit but damn 913473: i aint gonna cover ur ass if the overseer comes knocking. i have enough of a headache. 913473: so get down here!!! 913473: speakin of headache i was drunk as shit last night. dont remember a thing past that crappy monster movie. so ignore whatever embarrassing crap i sent you, k? 913473: and dont tell anyone im a talkative drunk or ill pummel you, nosebleed.

Jamie looks at the messages in disbelief and flops back onto his bed, his thoughts racing. He can’t tell if Butch is lying or not – he knows even if Butch doesn’t remember there was still something different about what happened last night but fuck if he’s going to bring it up now.

He’s relieved, but also disappointed, maybe a little angry – either at himself or at Butch, he can’t tell. He’s shaking, wracked with nerves at the sudden sense that everything might change soon. He can’t handle change – can’t handle much, if he’s honest with himself, but change is the hardest of all. He curls his fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly and trying to resist the urge to pull it out in chunks. He’s losing himself in his worries again when another message notification shakes him out of it.

“Fuck!” he shouts, wishing he could rip his Pip-Boy off his arm and throw it away.

913473: NOSEBLEED GET THE FUCK TO WORK NOW 913473: its boring alone

Jamie feels like he’s actually going to tear his hair out, but he can’t help himself from laughing. He gives in and types out a quick response.

604272: for the love of GOD 604272: STFU 604272: im on my way now 604272: and i didn’t read ur stupid messages don’t worry. too many for me to care

He bites his lip again, his heart twisting uncomfortably in his chest as he writes out one more message.

604272: i don’t even remember much of the shitty movie lol, u know im a blackout drunk

There are a few minutes without a reply and Jamie starts to think maybe he’s fucked it up again, then more messages come through.

913473: u stupid fuckin idiot 913473: what would i do without u 913473: to pick on i mean

Jamie lets out a trembling sigh and gets out of bed, shaking himself free of his worries and tugging on his jumpsuit again. His hands are quivering, probably will be all day with the way his nerves are, but he can handle it.

It’s only as he’s going to leave does he realize he doesn’t have his shoes.

913473: i have your boots btw dumbass

Jamie is terrified of change. He’s terrified of his own emotions, especially when he can’t control them. He wishes things were simpler and he wishes he could have been born into a more agreeable body in a more agreeable time, but as he walks, shoeless, out of the apartment and to the studio space he shares with Butch, he feels a bit comforted in the fact that Butch might feel exactly the same way. Even if shit is messy and he fucks it up, Butch keeps coming back - and that’s good enough for him.

You mention some jock roofied andrew and aaron beat this dick up pretty badly... i just need to know -for my own sanity- if aaron noticed before sth happened. And if you are going to show ptsd symtomps in andrew anyway cuz thats still traumatoc enough to cause them. Thx and have a great day

the story for this is kinda dark, so i’m warning you now for violence and blood and breaking bones and all that good stuff. basically how it goes is andrew gets roofied at a school dance, and since he only went with renee and aaron, aaron had a lot of time to actually register what was happening and put a very swift end to it.

the thing is, though, no one saw it coming. no one fathomed that andrew, a nerd, a kid that could be so nasty no one liked him enough to be friends with him (besides renee), would be the target for this petty cruelty.

it starts like this: something is slipped into Andrew’s first drink of the night; a cup of punch personally handed to him from behind the punch table where a few kids are manning it. this will eventually lead to the confrontation, and then the explosion, of aaron minyards very… incredible temperament.

since it was andrew’s first cup, he thought the taste was kinda off but didn’t question it. it was a school dance, after all, and he was not about to doubt the taste of punch made an hour beforehand, and he definitely was not going to suspect being drugged in such a controlled space.

it wasn’t until ten minutes later when he went to get another cup, handed to him by a different student, that he realized something was very wrong. one second he was standing at the punch table, and the next second he was standing in front of aaron, his body half-supported by renee.

this is where andrew’s memory cuts out for good. for someone with an eidetic memory, this was terrifying, and he woke up 14 hours later in his own bed with aaron asleep with just his head resting on the bed, a dark bruise forming around the little bit of collarbone that andrew could see from that angle.

from aaron’s pov, he remembers it a little differently.

andrew started acting… off. blinking his eyes rapidly, shifting facial features, twitchy hands, slight swaying. aaron tried to get his attention, but andrew was looking past him, through him, towards the punch station.

more importantly, andrew was looking at someone, a someone that was currently giggling with his friends who aaron just so happened to know was on the football team. “show me who did this,” aaron said (demanded), tapping andrew’s shoulder enough to get his attention.

“yeah.”

andrew led him towards the punch table where they were handed another drink by a different person; a girl aaron knew from his bio class. the smug bastard that did this in the first place obviously couldn’t tell which one was andrew and aaron, and aaron was damn well going to use that to his advantage.

(as i said before, this is where andrew’s memories get hazy; he doesn’t remember being passed off to renee while aaron stayed behind until after the dance was over. aaron was not having this, and he was going to knock this kids balls into last week so-help-him-god.)

now, we all know that aaron michael minyard has a protective streak in him to rival his twins’, and it came out full force that night. you see, the main difference between aaron and andrew is not how they handle situations; it’s how manipulative they can be at any given time and how they allow situations to play out after that.

so, aaron hatched a plan. he had time to go home and change into andrew’s prom clothes, go back to the school, and scope out when the bastard of a jock would dare to leave with his friends. considering this happened at the beginning of the evening, aaron had a lot of time to refine his plan; he took painkillers beforehand, bandaged up his knuckles just in case, and set aside a water bottle to find for his trek back home, all while boiling with hate.

at around 2AM, the kid comes out alone. aaron had seen his friends leave earlier, and was almost worried the guy left through a different exit, but here he was now and aaron’s good and hidden in his perch, out of sight. now, this particular jock lived close enough to the school to walk home, and aaron is quick to follow him, light on his feet and slowly losing the rage boiling in him. mind you, this isn’t enough to change aaron’s mind, but it’s enough to keep aaron aware that he’s going to beat the shit out of someone twice his size dressed like andrew joseph minyard.

since this has already gotten too long, i’ll run down the basics of what happened after aaron got the kid off of school grounds but not on his own property yet:

a sneak attack from behind knocks the kid off his feet, and goes he flying to the ground with the force of aaron’s foot to his back, half laying on a pitch-black side street

before the kid can turn around and confront his 5′0″ attacker, three kicks to the ribs fractures them easily, and that alone is enough to keep the kid out of breath

next comes the kick to the temple, which aaron unconciously registered as a kick hard enough to cuncuss 

in quick succession after the jock manages to kick his leg high enough to kick aaron’s collarbones in a futile attempt at escape, he gets another kick to the ribs for his troubles, a punch to his nose (shattering it, aaron admitted grimly), and a curb-stomp to an ankle that aaron definitely heard snap

after this, aaron only had a bruised collarbone to speak of and the jock only getting a good look at dark clothes and blond hair

aaron gathered his water, burned the blood-stained bandages, tossed them in a neighbors dumpster to be picked up the next day, and headed inside to take up post by andrew’s bedside.

renee stayed the night, and though i won’t really touch up on andrew’s emotional state after that incident, i will say that nicky got him a therapist outside of school and a confident within it: one betsy dobson, to be exact.

from that day on, however, both andrew and aaron held a deep-seeded hatred for jocks, it takes aaron forever to even consider warming up to neil and kevin.

Wings like Midnight (Ch. 10)

Can also be read here in AO3

Chapter 1     ->     Previous Chapter     ->     Next Chapter

Fandom: Supernatural

Relationships: Gabriel & Other archangels and angels

Summary:

An angel’s wings are a beautiful and unique thing, their colour supposedly signifying their owners personality and temperament. But when an fledgling is branded an ‘abomination’ the moment he’s created, will Gabriel find it in himself to help the little one? And is it possible that Heaven’s new angel could help him back?

(I promise the story’s better and more complex than the summary)

Hi guys! So sorry this took ages to be posted, I've been really busy with college and my virgin media decided to block AO3 on my computer :/ :'D Anyways, I hope you enjoy!! Sophie xx p.s. once again, thank you to my amazing beta, Dayna <3

“This is so unfair,” Balthazar howled, his arms swinging loosely by his side as he stomped towards the stairs. He whined all the way to his room and made loud thumping noises with every step. Eventually, the sound of a door slamming shut was heard, marking the end of his tantrum.

Gabriel smiled, wondering how little Castiel would turn out, when a high pitched screech pierced through his head. His hand shot up and pressed into his temple in an attempt to sooth the violent ringing.

“Gabriel? Are you okay?” Anna asked once she noticed his pained grimace.

“Yeah, I think it's just Michael,”

As if on queue, Michael’s deep voice echoed around his head, washing through his mind with a hypnotic calm.

“Gabriel, you are to report to the Gohe room… Immediately.”

The piercing screeching ceased, leaving a sensation of emptiness and apprehension.

Despite their calming quality, Michael’s words sent sparks of fear sizzling through his blood. Tiny explosions of uneasiness erupted in his head, releasing anxious thoughts that spiraled into illogical terror. Gabriel tried to reign it in, focusing on what was important.

“Would you…?” He trailed off, holding out Castiel.

“Yes, of course,” Anna said, jolting into action after a few seconds of puzzlement. Carefully, she took the little one into her arms. “What did Michael say?”

“He wants to see me in the Gohe room for a meeting.”

As he said this, Gabriel twisted around and checked his wings, fastidiously grooming the tides of golden feathers for anything out of place or messy. He smoothed them over with his fingers, gently plucking any that were spiking out in the wrong direction. “Is it okay if I leave Castiel with you?”

Anna nodded, bundling the fledgling closer to her.

“Okay, well, uh, thanks,” he said awkwardly as he headed towards the door. It was an odd feeling, to trust someone with his fledgling but not know them well enough to be at ease in their presence. The other angel inclined her head, wisps of red hair falling across her face. The last thing Gabriel saw before he closed the door was Anna gazing lovingly at Castiel, a protective intensity radiating from her.

He made his way back through the suffocatingly white hallway while trying to ignore the stabs of jealousy shooting through his body. He should be glad-- No, he was glad for Anna’s help. Exasperated with himself, he continued down the hallway towards the nest’s entrance, shaking away any thoughts of envy.

Just as his hand touched the door’s handle, a light, tickling sensation trickled up his arm, stopping at his shoulder. Frowning, Gabriel peered to the side and saw a pair of antennae twitching nervously out the corner of his eye.

“Loki!” he exclaimed, extending a finger for him to crawl onto. Once he could see the little beetle properly, he realised he wasn’t nervous; he was angry. Gabriel avoided his black, beady eyes.

“Sorry, bud, I completely forgot about you,”

Loki turned away from him and glowered.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that. I’ll make it up to you,”

“Who’s that?” came a whisper from behind him. Gabriel started and spun round to find Balthazar perched eagerly on the steps.

“Ooooh, you have some guts coming down here,” the archangel grinned, and Balthazar’s expression instantly dropped.

“I didn’t--” he started angrily before pausing and choosing to take his voice down a notch in volume, “I didn’t say.. The word. Not the last time anyway!”

“Yeah, I know,” he said sympathetically. Balthazar's angry expression turned to him and he realised he’d said the wrong thing.

“Then why didn’t you say anything!” the fledgling whispered furiously.

“You think I want to start an argument with Anna?” he said, shuddering dramatically, “She’d tear me to pieces,”

Balthazar tried to keep a straight face but he ended up giggling, and Gabriel smiled along with him. A thought struck him and he bent down to the fledgling’s level.

“While I’m out, would you mind looking after my friend here?” he said while lifting the beetle up to their eyeline, “He’s called Loki.”

Wonder replaced the mirth in Balthazar’s light blue-grey eyes and, carefully, he stretched out his palm. The beetle turned back to Gabriel, sending him another scathing glare.

“Trust me pal, you’ll prefer it here to where I’m going,”

The archangel could almost see the beetle’s brain straining, considering his options. Eventually, with a last petty antennae twitch, Loki crawled across. Gabriel marvelled at how small the fledgling's hand was compared to his, thinking of how much Castiel was going to grow. Excitement fizzled within him, mixing with the apprehension that had settled in the pit of his stomach since Michael’s message.

“I’ll look after him,” Balthazar said solemnly. Gabriel smiled, but not in a mocking way.

“I know.” For a moment they regarded each other with a mutual respect, as equals. Gabriel basked in Balthazar’s wide-eyed gaze, letting the warm feeling of acceptance envelope him.

Reluctantly, the archangel pushed away these new emotions. He has his duties, and tricking himself into a false sense of belonging would only cause more pain in the future.

With a loud sigh, he stood up, stretching his wings in preparation of flight. Light bounced off his feathers as if they were golden mirrors and the tops of his wings gently scraped the ceiling. A smirk appeared on the Archangel’s face as he watched Balthazar’s mouth open in wonder, finding the fledgling’s awe more fascinating than his wings ever could be.

“I’d get gone before Anna finds you,” Gabriel said as his hand closed around the cold surface of the door handle. Hesitating for a moment, he finally opened it, unwilling to leave the safety of the nest.

“See you soon?” Balthazar said, both a goodbye and a question. Gabriel noted the hope in his eyes and something in his heart gave way. An overwhelming wave of affection flooded his mind as he realised the fledgling truly wanted him back.

“Definitely,” he managed to croak. With a final glance at Balthazar he forced himself out the door and slammed it shut before he could change his mind.

He took a moment to look down the ethereal streets of Heaven. No one seemed to be outside which Gabriel found strange. They’re probably still gossiping at the market.

The archangel redirected his gaze upward at the bright blue. It stretched to every corner of the sky, so artificial and cold, as if Heaven were capable of no other colours but white and blue. He couldn’t understand why his Father hadn’t made it a nicer shade, why He’d settled for this everlasting blanket of weak, insipid blue.

Why had He left Heaven with this when Earth’s sky could be mistaken for a small slice of the universe, changing from orange to blue to black, unpredictable and exquisite.

What about it’s oceans? Constantly swirling, flowing, seething, foaming; Towers of blue sculpting layers of immovable rock as if they were made of sand.

What about Castiel’s eyes? Spirals of azurite, so calm and tranquil, like peering into the soul of an ancient being.

Of all the blues He has created, why had He left Heaven with this? Why had He left at all?

Gabriel physically shook his head, ridding himself of the questions spiralling around his skull that were beginning to build momentum and power.

*

“It’s a dangerous path to keep asking questions,” said Michael, once. “If you keep asking questions, you’ll become one yourself.”

“But how can someone become a question?” Gabriel had asked, still barely an angel.

“Your sole purpose will be to find answers, constantly searching for something you’ll never find. Don’t be a question, be an answer.”

“But, how am I supposed to be an answer if I don’t know any answers?”

Michael was beginning to get annoyed. “Well, you can start by not asking so many questions.”

*

He pushed himself into the cold, distant sky, his wings slicing through the air like golden blades.

It was strange, he thought, how things so powerful could be made of feathers. They were so silky and soft; pliable and weak. Take one by itself and it goes with the breeze, floating along helplessly, taken away and lost. The wind is a force of nature so much stronger than each individual feather.

But when feathers work together they become a solid wall of power, and the effortless freedom of flight is possible. They can create the breeze or fight it. They can go with the wind or devote every fiber to pushing against it. With wings, flight is inevitable. They can fly against nature, each feather rustling happily as they swoop upwards and beyond.

Gabriel was now cutting through the sky, high up and out of sight. If anyone were to look up they would see a tiny dot floating along in the blue, and that was how Gabriel wanted it. The less attention, the better.

In the distance, he spotted the Gohe room. It was a grand but simple building with a single room, held up by extravagant pillars. A narrow staircase, leading up to an entrance hole, was used mostly by his younger siblings. For some reason, Michael encourages them to walk instead of fly. Gabriel had put it down to the eldest archangel trying to create another barrier between them and the rest of Heaven’s population, as if they needed anymore of those.

The Gohe room was a meeting point in which any angel could freely talk to the archangels, whether it be about problems or ideas as to how Heaven could be run. Understandably, meetings were a rare occurrence. Raphael had once boasted this was down to their outstanding leadership, as if the lack of meetings were down to a lack of issues instead of the thick layer of distrust and fear that hung around them, repelling any sane angel from seeking help.

Tucking in his wings, Gabriel curled downwards, golden hair swept back as he plummeted. He kept going until the stairs were at a reasonable distance and he spread his golden appendages out, halting his speed enough to allow a graceful landing.

After taking a moment to collect and prepare, he hopped up the remaining stairs and passed through the entrance.

Thanks for reading, I really hope you enjoyed <33 I can't believe it's the 10th chapter!! Please feel free to leave a comment or a like I'd greatly appreciate it! Until next time ;D Sophie xx

Rogue One made me hate Star Wars

But not in the petty way that that title implies.

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story is Disney’s latest ploy to separate fanboys from their greasy fanboy money installment in the Star Wars franchise, and the first that doesn’t directly tie in to the overarching plot of the “Skywalker saga.” As such, it represented an opportunity to branch out in different directions, taking chances that the installments of the main plotline couldn’t take - or, it risked stagnation and boredom, pandering to fans in a cynical effort to shift more merchandise. Curiously enough, the viewing public can’t seem to decide which of the two scenarios outlined above actually applies. I, at least, know exactly where I stand on the issue. Rogue One tells the story of a desperate band of rebels’ struggle against the Galactic Empire, as it concludes construction on the Death Star. Years after Jyn Erso’s father is kidnapped by the Empire to serve as the chief engineer of the Death Star’s superlaser, she is recruited by Cassian Andor, an agent of the nascent Rebellion, to help track down Saw Gerrera, an extremist former Rebel turned terrorist ringleader. Gerrera has received a transmission from Jyn’s father - still overseeing the engineering project, he has intentionally built in a fatal vulnerability. Right at this moment, the Empire tests the capabilities of the Death Star by demolishing a nearby city. Jyn and Cassian manage to escape the blast, along with the Imperial pilot and two locals - on whom more later - and attempt to rescue Jyn’s father. As the stakes ratchet up and war becomes inevitable, Jyn must decide whether to cast her lot in with the Rebellion or wash her hands of the matter.

Spoilers follow. If you’re one of the five people on earth who haven’t seen this film yet, read no further.

Jyn, of course, ultimately sides with the Rebellion, wanting vengeance for the death of her father. The Alliance hesitates to commit to an outright war, so Jyn and Cassian commandeer a shuttle and sneak onto an Imperial-owned planet to acquire the plans to the Death Star. A band of Rebels launches a diversionary attack while Jyn and Cassian battle their way through the complex, eventually managing to transmit the plans to a supporting Rebel fleet. The tide of the battle turns, though, with the arrival of the Death Star, which destroys the entire facility (killing every main character - I thought this was a Disney movie!) while Rebel soldiers scramble to escape with the plans. At the last moment, they are safely taken onto a ship we all know as the Tantive IV, which launches into hyperspace with an Imperial Star Destroyer in hot pursuit, leading directly to the opening of Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. Right off the bat, the viewer is struck by how much darker this film is than its predecessors. I went into the film, having assiduously avoided spoilers, under the assumption that someone was gonna die - after all, none of the characters show up in the main Star Wars continuity and they’ve gotta up the ante over Han Solo’s surprise death in The Force Awakens - but was completely blindsided by the film’s murder of all its main characters, one after the next, in the finale. Jyn and Cassian’s final scene, in particular, is tremendously emotionally effective, as they huddle together trying to find solace in the knowledge that they’ve planted a seed of hope while the blast wave inexorably rushes towards them. The Star Wars films have always struggled to find their emotional tone, veering from moments of slapstick comedy to pulpy adventure to tragedy within a single film - and that was before the release of the really dreadful prequels, which gave us the cartoon Jar Jar shocking his tongue as well as Anakin Skywalker’s mass murder of children. Rogue One’s grim ending, then, really serves to establish the Empire as a threat and locks in the theme, paid lip service to but seldom made much of, that the (star!) wars are a desperate struggle against a near-invincible enemy. Strangely, the fan reaction has been very mixed. Red Letter Media, the deviants geniuses people responsible for the infamous and wonderful Episode One review, dissect Rogue One at length as part of their Half in the Bag series, and I found myself disagreeing with their points they raise there exactly as strongly as I agreed with their take on Episode One. The bulk of their criticism centers on the characters being weak, which I’m don’t think is entirely valid. I’ll agree that Jyn Erso, portrayed by British actress Felicity Jones, is not particularly compelling; a combination of somewhat weak writing and Jones’ staid acting result in her seeming a little lifeless. But I think that many people are missing the point when they level the same accusation at Cassian Andor (Diego Luna): he isn’t shallow, he’s sad. Andor is a man worn down by years of violence, tired of fighting but at the same time unwilling to concede. You see that resignation and pain in his eyes as he’s handed down orders to assassinate another target or take part in whatever the next mission is: a spark of humanity, struggling to stay lit. Two supporting characters have come under fire from reviewers as well: Chirrut Imwe (Donnie Yen), a Force-sensitive Zen monk type (but NOT Jedi!) and Baze Malbus (Wen Jiang), his machine gun-toting companion. The charge leveled at them is that they’re improbable and feel out of place in the film, which I suppose is somewhat valid in the case of Baze Malbus - his character design is a bit silly - but completely off the mark when it comes to Chirrut. I found his portrayal of devout folk spirituality - the first hint we see of devotion to the Force outside of the space!monastic orders of the Sith and Jedi - to be extremely compelling. Indeed, I found the portrayal of the Force in general to be one of the best aspects of this film within the context of the broader canon. We get a sense that it’s a true universal in the Star Wars galaxy, not the exclusive purview of a handful of monks. If it really is “ ...an energy field created by all living things” that “binds the galaxy together,” the extreme scarcity of interest paid to it by all but a very few in the previous films is baffling. Religion, after all, is virtually a universal aspect of human societies; especially in a setting where the Force demonstrably exists, it seems bizarre that no one pays it much heed. Rogue One does a fantastic job at restoring a sense of wonder to the Star Wars universe (on which more here) and undoing the damage done by the prequels’ “medichlorians.” As much as I enjoyed the democratization of the Force, I liked the different origins of the characters even more. Classic Star Wars operates on a more or less fairy-tale level: its heroes are space!knights and princesses, rogues and wizards. The central characters are related by blood and more or less destined to greatness, which the prequel trilogy reinforces to ludicrous extremes by making Anakin the result of a virgin birth. Nor can we escape from this in the sequel trilogy: we’re right back to watching the exploits of another Skywalker descendant, Kylo Ren. (And smart money is on the other protagonists of The Force Awakens having some other shoehorned-in connection to the Skywalker clan.) George Lucas, of course, was cribbing from the likes of Lord of the Rings and Joseph Campbell’s “monomyth” as he wrote, but something about these space aristocrats doesn’t sit right with me. Why are we only following the story of Luke Skywalker, the Space Jesus, when we have an entire galaxy to explore? What about the soldiers on the ground, who we mostly see being curb-stomped by storm troopers to establish the danger the Empire poses? What are their stories? Don’t they matter? An added bonus to this approach is that, when we do see Darth Vader in action in the closing scene, he is palpably more frightening: by placing him side-by-side with ordinary people, we see the fearful power that the Force grants him. In making all these changes to the Star Wars formula, Rogue One breaks decisively from its predecessors. War, in this film, brings out the best and worst in human nature; its heroes are ennobled and dehumanized by their experience. The characters of Rogue One face impossible odds without the benefit of plot armor or good breeding; all they have to their name is grit, determination and hope. Fans are right to say that that Rogue One is not equally as good as the other Star Wars films: it’s better.