#(just realized my Power sticker is actually a great joke... because she's Power. and she's Rad.) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

littlemonstersau-blog · 5 years

Text

The Feels Awaken Part 1: Return of the Memori

Written by @jkl-fff, illustrated by me

PART I (you are here) - PART II

———————————————————————————————–

The lone wolf sat and watched, and that was an excellent development; the creature was learning to wait patiently, even though it was a wild, apex predator and doubtlessly could have ripped the dead squirrel from the hands of a teenage boy with ease (under normal circumstances, at least). Of course, since Bill was only wearing the clone of a teenage boy, he probably had an advantage in training the lone wolf. It could sense him—the real him—inside the clonesuit, and therefore was wary of making any aggressive moves … Animals always were around Demons, unlike most humans. Another instance when instinct trumped intellect …

So, instead, the lone wolf sat and watched patiently while Bill swung the dead squirrel around by its tail. Sat and waited for Bill’s conversational monologue to end.

“You’re prob’ly wondering why I haven’t eaten your soul like I did Chatterface McBurymynuts right here. And why I’ve taken to feeding you the soulless carcasses of my victims in person instead of just leaving them out for you. Well, I got three reasons. One: I like your aesthetic; you’re nearly all triangles in shape—really angular all over your body—and I really dig that. You’re relatably triangular, and I wanna see more of that in the world. Two: you’re endangered; if I let you live, there will be more wolves (so more angular creatures) in the world … and also more werewolves, which would be weird and awesome. And three …” Here, with a grin, Bill tossed the dead squirrel high and watched as the lone wolf snatched it out of the air. “Yeah, that’s right, wolf it down—heh heh! The third reason is, I’m gonna partially domesticate you and train you to pull me around in a sweet-ass chariot! Doesn’t that sound rad?!”

Having swallowed the last of the squirrel, the lone wolf turned and padded away into the woods.

“Don’t worry, we’ll talk more about how awesome my idea is later!” Bill called after him. “Just think a bit about what a fair exchange it would be! Actually, it’s a great deal for you! Tasty treats just for letting me occasionally ride you into battle like a chaotic, Norse deity! We can workshop ideas about the chariot’s design next time!”

On a nearby branch, a bird chirped.

“No, I think the wolf’s gonna seriously consider my offer,” Bill replied optimistically. “This is all just part of the deal-making game, which you’d understand if you weren’t a dumbass robin.”

The bird chirped again, then flew away.

“… Welp, that killed some time. Guess I’d better go back to the Shack and find some other activity to pass away the seemingly endless seconds until I get to skyelp with my Dipper …”

While he was tromping back through the woods, however, Bill was distracted by an unusual, yet strangely familiar sound. Juddering and throaty, then sharp and quick, then juddering and throaty again. Repetitive, too, though intermingled with a soft noise almost like keening or … no, exactly like whimpering. Then it clicked for Bill, even though he hadn’t heard that sound in over thirty years. It was the sound of a grown man sobbing. And not just any man, either, but Ford.

Softly, Bill crept towards him, eventually looking through bushes to the stump of a felled tree. Ford sat on it, hunched over and alone, crying as though he couldn’t hold back his own tears … as though he were too weary to hold them back anymore … That was probably why he’d come all the way out here in the woods, Bill suspected, where no one could see his moment of emotional vulnerability. Or so he had believed, at any rate, not knowing Bill was out here …

On Ford’s lap was an open book with brightly—even garishly—colored pages. One of the many scrapbooks Mabel had made. In between bouts of sobs, he slowly turned the pages and murmured things like, “Can’t believe she came b-back with a whole handful of it … So t-tough, even though always so sweet …” and “Terrified, but he f-faced it down anyway … for me … And I was s-so … so proud …” and “Heh! That f-fashion show she put together for Pacifica, made us all t-take part in … Can’t remember when I laughed so h-hard …” and “Oh, here’s that Jack o’Mellon he carved like the Gremloblin … from m-memory … So t-talented … And then they went trick-or-treating together both as the protagonist from that one game series—Myth of Hilda, or something like that?—Moses, it was adorable …” to himself. With each turn of a page, he was reminiscing about something different from the past summers: family game nights, hikes and fishing, short roadtrips, and on and on and on … Ford himself summed it up succinctly when he finally closed the scrapbook, buried his face in his hands, and whimpered, “Damn, I m-miss those kids!”

For a moment, a spark of bitter satisfaction flared up in Bill (“Good. Let that asshole suffer.”). And yet, it was soon doused by empathetic pity and sorrow (“I feel the same, though—we all feel the same … We all miss those kids …”). Then came a splash of feeling surprised, because of all the pity and sorrow; they were still such strange emotions for him as to be almost foreign. Following that, a bit of meta-emotional introspection at realizing he was feeling about feelings. Fortunately, before Bill could become too confused and horrified by the idea that he had become so human as to have feelings about having feelings, Ford stood and slowly trudged back home. After a safe amount of time had elapsed, Bill did the same.

Inside the Shack, sitting on the card table in the living room, was the scrapbook (no doubt left there by Ford on his way down to his lab). Along with several more of them. Picking up the most recent one, Bill began to flip slowly through its colorful pages filled with photos, stickers, notes, and miscellaneous memorabilia.

And as he did, he began to flip slowly through his own memories …

****

Terrified screams as he burst forth from his prison of a stone statue, rose up over them out of his shell (“Did you miss me? Admit it, you missed me!”), and tried to … tried to …

Bill shuddered to think of what he had almost done—what he surely would have done, if he had had enough power at the time. “Thank all the Gods that ever were or will be that that failed …” he muttered to himself.

Making little overtures of friendship—or at least not-malice—to Mabel until he got her to listen to his spiel about wanting to understand how he lost to them and to change and blah blah blah. Ford’s utter disbelief that the others could be so easily suckered. Entering a clone that first time and devouring that delicious little bit of soul in it (“Yum! Tastes just like mangoes and fear!”).

“They shouldn’t have. Ford was right that I was plotting their doom back then … Not anymore, but they all took a huge and stupid gamble, and just happened to get lucky … We all did …”

Steel slicing through paper and ink, dumping the scraps of bodies left, right, and center and relishing the screams of surprise (“Hehehehehe! What, you didn’t like my joke? You wanna … piece of me? Hahaha! Well, take your pick, there are plenty of pieces of me there on the floor!”). Sharpening his teeth to fine points to chomp at people. Gouging out his own eye. So much edge and shock at play, cold and hot at the same time, hilarious ticklings of pain.

“Such a waste of clonesuits,” Bill sighed. “And … all for the sake of just shocking them? Taking advantage of their love of Dipper? Stupid—can’t believe I thought that was funny at the time … So much time wasted during those first few weeks of the summer. Don’t wanna remember that, not anymore … wanna remember something else, something happier …”

Jokes so bad they made everyone groan, which made everyone laugh. Fireworks made of lasers. Taking part in an impromptu fashion show for the newest line of summer sweaters. Watermelons carved into jolly grotesqueries, lit with candles, and eventually tossed from the roof to splat. Making muffins with apple and cinnamon. Uncontrollable laughter at a rock shaped like a dong and after arcs of water accidentally melted another clonesuit. Wonderous eyes aglow with uncontainable excitement and the soft light of an everadiant crystal. Warmth of a shared blanket and the fun betrayal of an ambush of tickling underneath them. Kisses snuck around corners, behind doors, within shadows, inside the safety of a Nice Place.

“Heh …” Bill couldn’t help but smile to himself. “Even when I start out with all the others, too, it always comes back to him … But maybe I should focus more, not just look at the flashes and snapshots of memory? Delve in deeper to some memories? After all, what’s the point of perfect recall if I hardly ever use it? But, um …” Looking around the currently empty (though perhaps not for long) living room, he closed the scrapbooks and stood up. “Maybe up in the attic, where there’s a little more privacy …”

****

It was one specific memory that detoured his chain of thoughts, as memories tend to do.

Dipper. Sitting on a couch with Ford standing behind him, reaching over the couch to him. Flushed with simple happiness as Ford tousled his hair and praised his monster hunting work from that day. “Good boy, m’work! Er, I mean, good work, m’boy!” he had said, making Dipper smile so big and bright that the room had practically glowed with it. Bill’s insides certainly had.

Déjà vu, though, he had felt it then, too, remembering it. Almost exactly déjà vu … So Bill decided to follow the tangential thread of it now.

A young Ford, seventeen or eighteen, maybe—not yet out of high school. Sitting on the couch of his childhood home. A young Stan standing behind him, reaching over the couch to him.

“Oh, yeah … That’s why it’s so familiar; I watched it in Sixer’s memory and then more or less reenacted it for him. With him. Whatever, twice. Back when we were still working together, back when we were still friends …”

A young Ford flushed with simple happiness as Stan tousled his hair and praised his shipbuilding from that day. “You’re such a good cabin boy! Good work, me ol’ cabin boy!” he had said, making Ford smile so big and bright that—here the déjà vu ended and became simple memory— (“Pff! Why am I the cabin boy?” “Duh. ‘cause I’m the captain!” “Why do you get to be captain?” “Heh. ‘cause I can do this!”) Stan had swung over the top of the couch to drape himself across Ford. Pinning Ford down, while both brothers trashtalked and giggled and squirmed … and then gradually began to kiss …

“Was this the first time Sixer and me …? Ha! Yeah, it totally was! The very first time I set Sixer’s mindscape stage and played a part for him to work out some of his many, many issues. First of many … How’d it go, anyway? How’d we even get to this point? Need to rewind …”

Bill blinked, and the scene formed. Ford’s mindscape as it once had been: an endless field of strange but beautiful flower blossoms stretched to the horizon in every direction, with gleaming structures like the lovechildren of marble-cut temples and glass-and-steel skyscrapers rising in the distance-yet-closeness-of-thought like the aspirations of some new deity of science-fiction-becoming-science-fact, bold and untainted by the conformist conventions of old; swirling slowly overhead, so close one could have climbed up and touched, was a vault of stars, galaxies, quasars far larger than they appeared from earth and blazing so brightly that the field below them was as illuminated as a comfortable reading room; stairways made of books and journals ascended high to viewing platforms made of solid theories, equations, and blueprints all like shining neon signs.

Bill blinked again, and he saw himself chattering away about whatever had been their project. There was Ford, a late-twenties man and cutting-edge weirdologist in a weatherworn trenchcoat. Unusually subdued that day, though … Normally nigh manic with energy and enthusiasm, overflowing with ideas and theories and observations and cornball jokes to contribute to or even to drive the conversation … but not that day … No, that day, he barely listened to Bill or looked at the images and organizing visual aids Bill had mentally conjured for their brainstorm together. And when Bill turned to see why, he found Ford’s back was to him as he gazed away out across a sentimentally altered portion of the mindscape: salty sand strewn with bits of trash at the edge of a turbulent sea, all under clouds that were dusky and dusty from reflecting the dying daylight, and a sailboat at the center of Ford’s attention and therefore of his mind … listing and sinking into dark waters, the name on the prow all but lost to the waves—“Stan o’ War” now just “Stan”.

Bill watched the rest of what had happened as one might watch oneself on camera.

“Oh boy … I smell emotional issues …” he muttered before floating up beside Ford’s shoulder. “Got something on your mind, Fordsy ol’ buddy? Besides me, that is.”

“S-sorry, I just, um, got distracted,” Ford stammered apologetically. “I’ll try harder to focus. Won’t happen aga—”

“Because of your brother? It’s the anniversary of the day he got kicked out of the family, right?”

Ford gaped in shock for a moment. “… You … You know about that? But how?”

“For one thing, all the trash ‘round here is crumpled or torn up calendar pages for the same date. For another, I’m your Muse,” Bill replied, as though it should have been obvious. “I’m literally inside your head with all your memories at my fingertips, looking for anything I can use to help inspire your success.”

Blanching white, Ford asked, “All of them? You can s-see … all my memories?”

“Yep times a thousand! So I know you and your brother were—heh—close before that incident.”

Ford blushed.

“So no wonder you get distracted thinking about him today. Wasn’t that the last time you ever saw him?” Bill continued conversationally.

“Um, I … Maybe I m-might’ve seen him once after that. During my college graduation, but … Don’t know, honestly,” Ford admitted sadly. “Might’ve just imagined him being in the crowd.”

“Wishful thinking? ‘cause you got some stuff to get out of your system with him?” Bill waggled his eyebrow, making Ford blush a second time. Before he could respond, though, Bill suggested, “Y’know, I could help you unpack some of that emotional baggage you’re lugging around. Which’d help us get back to productive work sooner—get you from distracted back to tracted.”

“First of all, that’s not a word—”

“It is now that I’ve used it! Tracted, adjective, the state of being that comes after one has been distracted but is focusing once again.”

“Second of all … How could you help with that?”

“Why, with a little bit of roleplay. I know how much you love to roleplay, Fordsy ol’ pal.”

“I don’t know …” Ford said uncertainly. “This isn’t exactly a D&D&MoreD campaign. Besides, this is hardly an appropriate setting, and … well, no offense, but your voice and mannerisms aren’t exactly reminiscent of Stan (or most humans, for that matter). I doubt I could get into it.”

“Heh. You’re just saying that ‘cause you ain’t never seen what a good actor I can be. Goes with the territory of being a MASTER OF THE MIND! Watch this!” Bill clapped once, then suddenly multiplied into a dozen more Bills.

“Whoa! What the—”

From nowhere, the original Bill pulled a megaphone, a chair with the words “Director” and “Leading … Well, Not ‘Man’ Per Se, But Close Enough” on its back, and a thick script. “OKAY, YOU SUPER SNAZZY STAGECREW,” he projected through the megaphone. “LET’S GET THIS STAGE CLEARED AND READY FOR A NEW SCENE! LET’S MOVE! AND SOMEONE GET ME A TWO-CREAMS-ONE-SUGAR COFFEE AND A MAPLE LOG! What about you, Fordsy? You want anything? Same thing, yeah? DOUBLE THAT ORDER! ONE FOR ME, ONE FOR MY COSTAR!”

Slack jawed at all the activity flurrying around him—one Bill pulled a rope from nowhere, causing the seascape (while waves continued to toss, clouds continued to billow, and the ship continued to sink) to part down the middle like a theater curtain and swish away; another Bill pulled a massive pushbroom from nowhere and cleared away all of the beach (sand, trash, and salty odor) to leave a hardwood platform beneath; several other Bills were now wheeling away the endless fields of flowers that stretched to the horizon (plus the phantasmagorical buildings standing among them) like scenery backdrops painted on squeaky canvas frames—Ford could only mumble, “Costar?”

“Well, duh, Fordsy ol’ chum. We’ll be centerstage, you and me, and in the spotlight together—me as Stanly, you as yourself. If that doesn’t make us costars, I don’t know what does!”

“BOOOOOO!” another Bill shouted from behind them, seated in a newly revealed spectator section with boxes of popcorn. “Directors shouldn’t play parts in their own productions! That’s a crass and masturbatory act of egotism that invariably cheapens the production! BOOOOOO!”

“Just ignore heckling critic me,” the original Bill told Ford. “Now, speaking of the spotlight … LET’S GET THE LIGHTING AND SOUNDCHECKS DONE, MES! TIME IS MONEY! AND WHERE’S OUR COFFEE AND DONUTS ALREADY?! WHAT AM I PAING YOU FOR?!”

Yet another Bill came trundling up with a long rack of costumes that looked exactly like the contents of Ford and Stan’s old bedroom closet. While going through them, he pointed out, “You’re not paying us for anything, babygorgeous, because we don’t actually exist. We’re just visual constructs you conjured to represent the complex yet entirely abstract process of manipulating a mindscape into a specific scenario Stanford can experience (or reexperience in the case of actual memories) so it feels to him as if it was entirely real. This whole setting is, too. Also because you’re extremely melodramatic, overly theatrical, and crave being the center of someone’s awed attention, sugardumpling.”

“One more smart-alecky remark like that, and you’re fired!” the original Bill snapped.

“No! Please, angelpie, I need this job! I need the money, or they’re gonna break my legs!”

“Fine. Just go get the makeup equipment already. AND WHERE ARE WE ON THE LIGHTS?!”

Ford looked up to see a span of catwalks and electrical equipment overhead. The Bill up there gave a thumbs up. “Good to go, boss! Same with sound, too!”

A new Bill came running up with a platter. “Here’s your coffee and donuts, sir!”

“Freakin’ finally!” the original Bill exclaimed, passing over one of each to Ford before snatching the others for himself. “I’d have you dragged into the alley behind this soundstage and shot for taking so long, except we’re not actually in a soundstage and you’re just too darn cute to kill.”

“Oh, sir, you’re gonna make me blush!”

Taking a bite out of his maple log with his eyelid, the original Bill snapped, “Stop being so cute and go find something useful to do.” Then, turning back to Ford, he continued lightly, “Yep, costars, you and me! Collaborators! Partners in … What? There something on my face?”

With a gulp, Ford asked, “Is … Is that how you eat? With your eye?”

Bill smiled despite not having a mouth. “Only when I’m in polite company.” Then he took a sip of his coffee—a long, slow sip while looking right at his weirdologist friend (who spazzed reflexively at the sight of coffee washing into sclera). “But now that mes have cleared the stage, we should really pick the scene we’re gonna roleplay. So what you wanna do, Fordsy ol’ mate? Relive a memory, act out a hypothetical conversation/argument to get some words off your chest, or experience a fantasy in real-body-stimulating intensity? Whatever you want, I can do for ya.”

“I, um …” Shaking his head, Ford admitted, “There’s just … so much. When I think about him. About everything that happened then. And before. And after. And I … I just … can’t process it enough to … y’know, make sense of how I feel about it all? Gah! Can you understand that, Bill? The only thing I know for sure right now is … is I miss him … even if I don’t know what I’d do if I saw him right now …”

Bill blinked a bite off his maple log, then chewed thoughtfully, ignoring the other Bills (“Hey, guys, wanna see something funny? MacBeth!” “Don’t say that! It’s bad lu—” A sandbag smashed into that Bill from above. “Hehehehehehe! I got more!” Then he whistled sharply. “Argh! You can’t do that either, it’s also bad lu—” A light fixture exploded, blasting the Bill on the catwalk off so that he kersplatted onto the platform. “Hahahahaha! How about this one? Good luck during the performance!” “No, you fool, you’ll kill us all if you say—” “Guys, you think this pyrotechnic equipment still works?” a different, oblivious Bill asked right before pushing a button. The bad luck would’ve been spectacular had anyone paid attention.) now milling about the visual construct of an empty stage which represented a mindscape ready for shaping. Eventually, he suggested, “Tell you what, Fordsy ol’ comrade, let me choose for you this time. I think I know what you need right now to feel better, and it’ll be an actual memory of a good time you two had together. Something … positive and fun and a little whacky to help you get out of this slump. Whaddya say? Trust me enough to follow my lead in the roleplay?”

A glum shrug. A passive affirmation. “Sure, why not?”

And then original Bill was broadcasting through his loudspeaker, “OKAY, LOOK ALIVE, TRIANGULAR TROOP! LET’S GET THE STAGE SET FOR SCENE #618: ‘CABIN BOY AND CAPTAIN NOBEARD, THE COUCH PIRATE’!”

Ford blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I WANT IT READY TO PERFORM IN—”

“BOOOOOO!” the spectating Bill suddenly shouted, spraying popcorn everywhere. “That choice is a cliché and uninspired piece of saccharine hackery! Also, it’s practically meta-theater, which always sucks because only self-inflating, pomposity-spewing fartbags think it’s clever to make plays that are ham-fistedly obvious metaphors for making plays! BOOOOOO!”

“So it’s perfect for our director,” one of the Bills stage whispered, making the others giggle.

“I HEARD THAT!” the original Bill snapped. “DON’T YOU HAVE PROPS TO SET UP?! ACTION IN FIVE, MES! AND WHERE’S THE ME FOR COSTUME AND MAKEUP?!”

“Right here, angeldoll! And ready to get Starford suited up!” That Bill wheeled a vanity piled high with brushes, pencils, and cosmetics right to them. He then pulled an outfit off the rack, scrutinized it, put it back, pulled out another, nodded his approval, and zoomed over to slap it onto Stanford’s body. Right before assaulting his face with a blur of all the cosmetic products—powder, rouge, eyeliner, etc. All of it happened so fast Stanford didn’t even have time to protest, and when the air cleared and he stopped coughing, that particular Bill was adjusting a mirror before his face. “What do you think, honeydear? Don’t you just look divine?”

Breathless with astonishment, Ford touched first the mirror’s surface … then his own face … “Incredible!” he breathed. “I look seventeen!”

“If I did my job right, teddypearl, you don’t just look seventeen. Your whole body (or astral form dream body, technically, sweetiedumpling) should be seventeen down to the smallest of details. Now, if you want, I could also do your nails and hair so you look even more divine than you did at seventeen, darlingpeaches.”

“Nope, we want his ratio of divineness to undivineness to be exactly as it was then, thank you,” the original Bill dictated abruptly. “Now let’s get me suited up for—oh, Azathoth’samygdala!” Snatching up the megaphone, he bawled, “TVS GO IN FRONT OF COUCHES, NOT BEHIND, YOU IDIOTS! AND YOU’VE GOT THE BACKDROPS MIXED UP! C’MON, YOU MES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE MORE PROFESSIONAL THAN THIS!”

Ford tore his eyes from the mirror and looked onstage. The living room of his parents’ house was being formed by a bunch of Bills pushing frames of painted canvas (reproductions of the walls) and setting up prop after prop (a couch, a rabbit-eared TV, old chairs, side tables with doilies, framed photos, knickknacks, bric-a-brac, that hideous lamp with the more hideous curtain shade he had always wanted to smash to bits, etc.); it looked exactly as he remembered … No, it looked more accurate than he remembered … He could even smell the dusty, musty carpeting and hear the tacky windchimes outside the window …

“There, treasurebear, you look ready for your big part. And divine, too! Simply divine!”

“Thanks, me. Looks like you won’t be fired today,” the original Bill decided.

“I can’t believe you could recreate the old place. Every little detail—” Ford turned to Bill, then felt his knees buckled beneath him; he had to grab onto a corner of the vanity not to fall over. Standing before him in a dissipating cloud of face powder was the seventeen-year-old version of his twin brother. “… St-Stan?”

Bill grinned with Stanly’s cocky, crooked grin. “Or close enough. Oh, sorry.” Clearing his throat, he then repeated in Stanly’s husky voice, “Or close enough. Right, Sixer?”

Stepping forward, Ford laid his hands on the shoulders of the boy in front of him. They felt real. Solid and strong through the t-shirt, with the kind of ropey muscles regular boxing gave a person. Same for the arms and the chest, although there was a little pudge on top of the muscles there (just like Stan had … or had had the last time Ford had seen him for certain) thanks to a nervous tendency to overeat … It all felt so real … so achingly real …

“Done feelin’ up the merchandise yet, Sixer?” Bill-Stan teased. “I could flex for ya, if ya want.”

“How … How are you doing this?” Ford whispered, his voice almost trembling.

As one, all of the Bills dropped what they were doing and turned to face him, then clapped and spread their hands. A rainbow spread between every set of palms. “THROUGH THE POWER OF IMAGINATION, FORDSY OL’ COMPADRE! AFTER ALL, I AM YOUR MUSE!”

Fingers clenching into the fabric of the t-shirt, throat constricting, Ford said, “Stan, I … I …”

“You’re not gonna start blubberin’ on me, are ya, Sixer?” Bill-Stan asked coaxingly. “Not before all the fun even starts?”

“N-no … No, I’m in c-control. Ahem! Of myself.” Ford composed himself, feigned brushing some dust off his clothes, then resumed, “So, um, you said something about following your lead in a roleplay?”

Grinning more widely than before, Bill-Stan took him by the hand (sending a jolt of long ignored and even half-forgotten emotions through the weirdologist) and led him onstage …

The thing about a person’s mindscape (or about a person’s dreams, since they’re the same thing, essentially) is they’re completely immersive. To the brain, they’re almost as real as reality itself; every ganglia involved in processing sensory input for the one is equally involved with the other. Which explains why dreams usually feel real enough that a person can forget they’re dreaming. Which explains why a true master of the mind can manipulate a person’s mindscape enough that, with just the right triggering image (such as walking through a conjured doorway or stepping onto a conjured theater stage), the person can believe what they’re experiencing is real, and even actually find traces of the mental experience on their physical body afterwards.

Especially if the person really wants to dream, to believe, to be manipulated by the master …

That was why Ford knew with certainty that he was sweaty and dirty after hours of working on the Stan o’ War, knew with certainty he was trudging into the living room of his family home, and collapsed onto what he knew with certainty was a sagging couch likely as old as he was (seventeen years). He also knew with certainty that he heard the jangling of the house phone in the hallway, and then the voice of who he knew with certainty was his twin brother answering it. That knowing certainty was manifest in every gesture he made; it even shone in his eyes.

A moment later, Stan was leaning over the top of the couch. Sweaty and dirty, too, since he’d been working on the Stan o’ War, too. “Heh. You look beat, Sixer. But if anyone’s got the right, it’s you. I mean, after all that hard work today? And figuring out the waterproofin’ stuff, too?” Then Stan reached over the couch and tousled his brother’s hair. “I guess what I’m saying is … You’re such a good cabin boy! Good work, me ol’ cabin boy!”

Ford beamed with pleasure at the praise and the loving gesture, yet still retorted (because having a brother means living in a perpetual argument, at the very least as a matter of principle), “Pff! Why am I the cabin boy?”

“Duh. ‘cause I’m the captain!”

“Why do you get to be captain?”

“Heh. ‘cause I can do this!” And then Stan swung himself over the top of the couch and dropped down onto his brother, draping himself over his brother like a heavy, sweaty, noogying blanket. “How do you like it, cabin boy? Huh? I said how do you like it, nerd? No, wait, cabin nerd!”

“Ghaha! Get off me—haha!—you’re gross from the beach!” Ford half-spewed and half-laughed beneath his twin. He was pinned against the cushions now, squirming but unable to get free.

“Heh heh! You don’t get to give the captain orders, cabin nerd! That’s not how it works aboard this ship!”

“W-we’re—hehehe!—not even on a ship!”

“Sure we are! The S.S. Couch, and I just boarded it! And you!”

“You did not have permission to come aboard!” Ford giggled, still squirming, now trying to push his twin back with his hands.

But Stan caught them both at the wrists and pinned them against the armrest, too, bearing down with his whole body. “That’s ‘cause I’m a pirate captain! Arrrrr, me matey!”

“Pff! W-what do they call you?! Nobeard?!”

“That’s ‘Captain Nobeard’ to you, cabin nerd! And I’m gonna be lootin’ yer booty!”

Ford threw his head back and laughed at so corny a line. But the laugh turned to a surprised gasp when he suddenly felt his brother (on an impulse) press his lips against Ford’s throat. It was like being hit by a single raindrop right before a spark of lightning—a single spot of warm, wet skin, then an electric jolt through his brain and body that left him rigid. Or perhaps made him realize he had been rigid already? And that his brother’s counter-squirming had taken on a decidedly grinding motion … Or had it been a grinding motion already? Ford moaned, “Aaah, St-Stan …”

“I told you, that’s ‘Captain’ to you, me ol’ cabin nerd,” Stan countered into his twin’s neck. “And I’m gonna shiver yer timber.” With that, he gave an extra hard grind, groin against groin.

“Mmmmoses! Oh … B-but, wait … What if … Dad and Mom walk in on us … like this?”

“Heh. You can be pretty dumb for a nerd, sometimes,” Stan teased. “They went to Grandma’s today, remember? And that was them on the phone just now, callin’ to say they made it there. Even if they head home right now, it’ll be at least two hours afore they get back. So relax, okay? Just … follow my lead …”

“Y-yeah, I can … Wait.” All at once, Ford stopped, because that phrase … He suddenly didn’t know with certainty what was really going on here, nor where he really was, nor even how old he really was. Intently, he peered at the face of the boy on top of him. Was there a golden gleam in his irises, where there should only have been brown? A twinkle in the eyes, but different than the twinkle normally there. He thought he could remember who this boy actually was. “… Bill?”

Stan grinned. “Only if you’d prefer havin’ a triangle in a tophat grind against you instead of your brother.”

Ford looked around, and remembered he was on a stage. A stage that had been set by multiple copies of Bill, and that he was now pinned beneath the original Bill who was mimicking his twin down to his cornball double-entendres, the smell of his sweat … and the exact length and girth of his hardon, currently pressing down on Ford’s own hardon (the thought of which made him blush a shade deeper than he already had been—did he really remember his twin’s member that well?). In the spectators’ seating, there was another Bill now distantly shouting, “Boooooo! You ruined the flow and the affect of the whole scene! The momentum’s gone and can never be gotten back! Boooooo!” and Ford found he desperately hoped that was not the case.

“You okay, Sixer?” Stan asked. No, not Stan. Bill. Bill mimicking Stan’s voice and manerisms. Bill mimicking Stan’s body so they could …

Ford cleared his throat. “Y-yes, I am. But, er, I just want to… to make sure that you are. This, uh, scenario doesn’t … doesn’t bother you? At all?”

“What? Why would … Oh!” Stan-Bill exclaimed suddenly. “You mean ‘cause we’re not just crossin’ a bunch of taboo lines in your meatbag culture, but went a mile past ‘em and are now buildin’ a small but charmingly perverted, summer cabin we can visit at our leisure?”

“I, um … suppose that’s one way of putting it …”

“Heh heh! It’s funny how awkward you are about this!” But before Ford could get defensive, Stan-Bill continued, “Sixer, I’m not human. I’m a Muse, here to inspire you to break through arbitrary human conventions (like the restrictive barriers they are) to something higher, purer, and truer. So all the arbitrary moral codes you meatbags make for yourselves, especially where sex is concerned? Don’t apply to me, don’t affect me. Whatever you desire, whoever you desire, however you desire (no matter how weird, complex, or how many parts it needs performed) I can play out for you here in your mindscape so well it will feel real. I can give you the psychological or sexual release you need to get tracted again on our oh so important work!”

Though overwhelmed by the possibilities, Ford still maintained, “That’s not a real word …”

“Like I said before, Sixer, if you wanna relive a memory, act out a hypothetical conversation or an argument with someone (like your brother or your parents or an ex or that one bald professor you loathed), or experience a completely new fantasy altogether … I’m down. Let’s do ‘em all.”

Ford gulped. “Y-you’re sure … it doesn’t bother you? At all? I mean, this is … er …”

Stan-Bill sighed in almost-exasperation. “Look, Fordsy ol’ friend, my true form doesn’t even have sex organs. Not that you’ll be able to tell when I change shape in your mindscape and go to town with pleasurin’ you, ‘cause I’m just that good an actor—can act like I’ve always had ‘em and got tons of experience usin’ ‘em to turn people specifically named Stanford Filbrick Pines into puddles of contented, post-coital bliss—and always happy to put on a show for a friend.”

Beneath him, Ford felt so turned on he was having a hard time breathing regularly.

“Plus, I come from a species that has roughly millions of genders, so homosexuality doesn’t bother me in the least. If anything, it radically simplifies things. You wanna get it on with a guy? I can do that. Two guys? Ditto. A guy and a gal at the same time? No prob. An entire roomful of different people? Sure, it’ll be a nice stretch of my talents. Something or somethings that aren’t remotely human? Well, if either of us can imagine it, I can make it in here for you to fuck.”

Beneath him, Ford felt so turned on that he was practically vibrating with excitement.

“And as for what you meatbags call ‘incest’, well,” Bill-Stan shrugged. “Far from the weirdest kink floatin’ around in the collective unconsciousness of humanity. But it is just weird enough, luckily, to keep me invested in any—heh heh—boldly transgressive or unapologetically perverse theatrical performances you might want to try here on the mindscape stage. So c’mon, brother,” he added emphatically, positively dripping Stanness now. “Just follow my lead … We got hours ‘til Dad and Mom get home …”

Beneath him, Ford felt so turned on that he was sorta surprised the couch hadn’t caught fire around the two of them. Another low moan escaped his lips as he felt Stan-Bill’s lips press against his throat again … as he felt Stan-Bill grind against his bulge again … as he felt Stan-Bill carry him back into a more fulfilling moment than the present reality could ever hope to offer …

“You like that, cabin nerd? Huh? You like when I do that to ya? Go on, say ‘Aye-aye, Captain’.”

Though his hands were still pinned against the armrest of the couch and his body born down into the cushions, Ford arched his hips into the grind.

“C’mon, cabin nerd, go ahead and say it … Become a part of my couch pirate crew …”

Giggling, Ford turned and offered himself up for a kiss. It was long and warm and wet and deep, and so very, very sweet. It left him breathlessly whimpering, “Mmm, Stan … Bill …”

“Who’s this Bill?” Stan-Bill asked teasingly. Then, as if to punctuate every following sentence, he humped slow and hard at the end of it. “Someone I otta be jealous of? Someone I gotta go beat up? Someone who’s gotta learn that you’re mine … my brother … my lover … and no one else gets to touch ya but me?”

“Ah! Yes!” Ford cried out.

And, distantly, the Bill in the seats shouted, “Boooooo! Going off script like this is for amateurs! Improv in an established piece is for hacks who can’t remember their lines! Boooooo!”

That was when Bill (not the original Bill playing Stan, nor any of the copies playing stagehands, but the real Bill in a clonesuit stretched out on the bed in the attic) snapped out of his fascination and decided it was time to stop reviewing memories for a while. Especially this one in particular. Not because it wasn’t nostalgic or entertaining or sexually titillating for him (it was very much), not because he couldn’t remember what had happened next (his recall was still just as perfect as the rest of him—heh heh!), but because …

Because it just wasn’t worth watching the rest. Both in Ford’s memory of the actual event with his brother, and in the slightly altered reenactment Bill had performed with Ford, it hadn’t been more than another minute or two of cornball dialogue, couch grinding, and rough kissing before they climaxed. And why not? Ford and Stan had been horny, pent up teenagers way back then … and Ford had been a horny, pent up adult back then (what with his tons of emotional baggage and sexual frustration) …

“Not worth getting wound up over,” Bill muttered to the cabin ceiling. “Not when jerking off won’t be enough to take the edge off the horniness I’ll feel afterwards … And besides, if I want to feel wound up and horny, there are much wilder memories I could perfectly recall than that. With Dipper or with Sixer …”

His hand came up wearing a sock puppet Mabel had made to look like his true form—or, at least, as much like his true form as a sock with a hand shoved in it could, (though, honestly, it looked less like a dapper triangle and more like the bastard lovechild that would result from a wild night of passion between him and Kermit the Frog)—and said, “Funny how you didn’t even realize how good a thing you had with ol’ Fordsy, isn’t it?”

“How do you figure that?” Bill asked his sock puppet. “Working and hanging with him was a ton of fun, and I missed the 79 Hells outta it after he sided with this mudball … Still do, actually …”

“I mean all that wild, limitationless, mindscape sex you had with him. Back then, for you, it was just the fun of weird playacting (and manipulating a gullible meatbag); you didn’t appreciate any of the physical side of it.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. Of course, y’know, I kinda couldn’t appreciate it back then.”

“The beginning of the summer was a lot like that, too, with Dipper and Mabel and all the others,” the sock puppet continued matter-of-factly. “You didn’t appreciate any of the emotional side of spending time with them, what with how full of hate and plans for vengeance you were.”

“… No, I didn’t,” Bill admitted.

“All that time spent with them, and you didn’t even realize how good a thing you had.”

“… I kinda couldn’t appreciate all that back then, either, in my defense.”

“You could now, y’know.”

“What, you mean … relive the memories? Actually, that could be a fun way to pass the time,” Bill mused to himself. “Might not feel quite so bored or lone … Cthulhu’s cartilaginous cranium, I could go through all my memories with Ford! Maybe there’s something I filed away in there—something I didn’t think was important at the time, something that could spark another thought—that could help get me past the bubble!” he exclaimed, bolting upright. “And back to my Dipper!”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant …” the sock puppet pointed out.

But it was rather futile; Bill was on a role now. “The bumblr crowd could even help with this … Them asking the right questions might give me some direction, instead of just prospecting—”

“HEY! LISTEN!” the sock puppet shrilled. “I meant you could be having a good thing right now with all the people here at the Shack. Emotionally and such. Enjoying it fully. But you’re not. Even though you want to.”

Looking away from the reproachful, googly-eyed gaze, Bill muttered, “Kinda hard to with Ford setting such a grim mood for everyone here any time he walks in on me and someone else.”

“You’re wasting time,” the sock puppet stated irrefutably. “Like at the beginning of the summer, when you were too busy being … being not nice—being mean—to everyone, especially Dipper. Now you’re wasting time being bitter at Ford.”

“He’s wasting time being just as bitter at me!” Bill countered defensively.

“And when was the last time you really tried to do anything about that? Huh? When you bought everybody gifts, maybe, a few months ago?”

“… Honestly? I guess so, yeah.”

“Go try again. You wanted to, anyway, since you saw him in the woods crying ‘bout how much he misses the Twins, too,” the sock puppet affirmed. “It’s the reason you turned away from remembering that time on the couch before the climax, too; you’re not in the mood for sexiness, not deep down, but for sappiness. You can appreciate that emotional side of things now, so stop wasting time not enjoying ‘em.”

“What if … What if he doesn’t want to stop being bitter? What if he doesn’t want to move on?”

“Then at least you’ll have tried. You won’t be wasting time being bitter. And you get to spend more time perfectly recalling individual memories to see if you can find something helpful to escape, so win-win for you.”

Bill sighed. “I’d argue with you, but you are me, so I know I won’t win … Well, let’s go …”

#little monsters au #billdip #bipdip #bipper #ford #stancest #billford #the feels awaken #writing #fanfiction #also i messed up the illustrations' order so some of these #will have no pics #and others will have #more than one #just a heads up #there shall be a celebratory cah game once this arc is complete!#submission

20 notes · View notes

velvet-roads · 6 years

Text

Like a Virgin: Chapter 1

I attempted to post this a year ago and It has taken me that long to finish all 30 chapters. That’s right, you have 30 chapters coming your way. This was supposed to be a one shot but putting my heart in it made it longer.

This is all pre season 12, I am in denial about Crowley (I am sure I’m not the only one). The fic is a female readerXcrowley.

Warnings: none

Word Count: around 3,700

Below I listed the music i was listening too that sparked my ideas (it’s an all over the place list. 2 songs per chapter) and the wardrobe I created for the reader. Again, I put my heart in it and got carried away. =)

Playing Cop: Hunter 's Outfit:

Music that inspired me (Spotify): Fear by Stop Making Friends/ Pauley Perrette and Electric Worry by Clutch.

“Hi, Agents Tyler, Cooper, Morrison; what do you got?” Going down the line Dean introduced himself, Sam and you to the local Sheriff. You all flashed your badges like it was second nature. In actuality, it was for Sam and Dean. You, not so much. It was still weird having to don a dark grey power suit and black stiletto heels as part of your "work attire”. You were not really that fond of the bureaus dress code but getting to play cop was sort of fun.

This was the third field case you had worked with the boys since they had saved your ass from a wendigo 6 months ago. You would usually get stuck on research duty and were only allowed to help on the easier cases. It's not that you were a bad hunter but you were really new to the whole hunters' lifestyle and were still in training. The other reason was because of how tiny you were. The boys were convinced that you were more fragile than necessary because you were just over five feet tall on a good day. You looked more like bait than a standard hunter. Regardless of your green horn status and small stature, the boys thought this instance was one you could live through. After the sheriff scrutinized your badges with hooded tired eyes, he decided that they met his expectations.

“The victim's name was Sarah Lake, she was taken some time either Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning. Her friends say that she was up late that night studying in the library for an exam. She never made it to the test Wednesday afternoon and no one has seen her since.” As the Sheriff spoke he had an expression that was a mixture of exhaustion and sadness. It was a common expression found on college campus law enforcement. The local PD would usually get a lot of crap to sort through during the week when it came to colleges. They would get calls from kids thinking that they were being funny while drunk, occasionally a serious call that ended up being a prank, and sometimes a call like this; not an easy job.

You and the boys walked over to the girl's gold Ford Focus where the Sheriff was standing next to the broken driver's side window. It was still morning so you could see the sun shimmer on the shattered glass making it glitter in the light. Mentally you chuckled to yourself as you looked the car over because this was defiantly a collage girls' car. From the Bath and Body Works scent clip attached to the visor to the Hawaiian flower sticker in the back window. There were cars like this all over Kaplan University. It made sense why it took a couple of days to notice something was amiss. With that many cars around one broken window isn't that noticeable.

“I will let you three take a look around and see if there is anything I may have missed.” With a tip of his hat, the Sheriff trudged off back to his squad car probably to down more coffee.

“How many girls is this now?” Dean let out a low growl on the word 'now', clearly getting frustrated that you guys had another missing girl.

“This is the third one in a week. Whatever is taking these girls isn't messing around.” You let out a deep sigh as you summarized the body count and walked over to the passenger side door opening it. As you leaned in and started to look around, Sam stuck his head through the broken window and took a deep breath.

“Well, no sulfur smell, so I think we can rule out a demon attacks. Plus, this abduction pattern is specific to just girls.” With a perplexed expression Sam removed his head from the car and walked to the trunk with Dean, leaving you to rummage throughout the car cabin. Dean displayed the case files of all the missing girls out on the trunk so he and Sam could have another glance at all three of them.

“What do we know that connects all three girls?” Dean asked out loud not expecting an answer. Sam grabbed the campus information and began to read. It didn't look like there was anything that connected them. One girl was an exchange student from Europe, another was a sorority brat, and the last girl was just a normal run of the mill student living in the dorms. None of them were even taking the same classes. After rifling through a few more papers Sam got an interested look on his face. There was a list of emails between the victims. Scanning through some of the conversations that he found, it became clear the girls did in fact all know each other.

“Well,” Sam said while holding a piece of paper up to Dean’s face; “It looks like all three girls did know each other. They were all part of a club called Modern Maidenhood here on campus.”

“Great,” Dean stated with an irritated tone in his voice; “a coven?” Sam let out a breathy laugh at his brother,

“Try again Dean.” As if in a cartoon, Sam could almost see the light bulb come on over top of Dean’s head.

“Virgins?” he asked in surprise; “freaking virgins?” Dean let out a small sigh and shook his head, “sorry ladies, you got a raw deal.” He moved back around to the broken driver's side window and stuck his head inside. You were still looking around the seats when you heard your name.

“Hey, Y/N. We figured out how all of the girls are connected. They are all virgins.” Dean looked at you waiting for a response or some sort of joke but you said nothing. You were somewhat surprised at what he just told you; mostly because you and these girls had something in common and the boys had no clue that virginity was your secret. As Dean relayed the new information, Sam appeared next to him watching you through the window. You stopped digging around the car for the moment and returned their gaze.

“Well, what do we know that likes virgins?” You asked trying to quell the slight panic that was running through your mind. Lucky for you, the boys didn't notice. The three of you just stared at each other while going through the mental files you all had of the monsters you battled or read about. You spoke first.

“Well, we know that the alpha vamp you guys came across liked to keep at least one around because she was considered a delicacy.” You said the word ‘delicacy’ as if it had left a bad taste in your mouth. The thought of blood drinking was quite unappealing to you. “Also, we know that dragons tend to favor them but you said that you guys haven't seen any since Eve.” you added.

“Yeah and we know it isn't that Vesta bitch, we ganked her a while ago, plus she didn't go for just girls.” Dean said. The three of you discerning that you did not have enough information decided that it is better to just keep digging around the crime scene and then more later at the bunker. Just as the boys retracted from the window you felt something in-between the seats. You reached down to grab it and pull it out. It was a cheap fake gold necklace chain with a small gold bow pendant and you were willing to bet anything that it came from Forever Twenty-one (could this girl be anymore cliché?). The clasp was broken like it had been ripped off.

“Hey guys, I think I know what we might be up against.” You said as you held up the necklace for them to see. Sam took the evidence out of your hand as you stepped out of the passenger side and shut the door.

“A vampire wouldn't care about a fake gold necklace,” he looked at both you and Dean knowing you were all thinking the same thing; “however, a dragon would.” The three of you let out a heavy sigh at the realization that you are most likely hunting a damn dragon. Sam stuffed the accessory in his pocket and you all returned back to the sheriff who, like you suspected, was drinking coffee in his squad car. The boys told him that if they come across anything new that they would give him a call and that they expected the same courtesy. Getting back in the Impala, you headed home to do some more digging. Luckily the university was only about 100 miles from the bunker which meant you would only have to listen to Sam and Dean argue over tunes for 2 hours, it could be worse.

After getting home you, all went your separate ways; the boys usually went get a beer and you had to get out of that god-awful suit. You weren't even in the bunker 5 minutes when you heard a crash from the kitchen.

You were in the middle of changing your clothes when it happened. Upon hearing the commotion, you threw open your door and ran down the hall with your knife in your hand. You stopped at the door frame to see what happened. Three pairs of eyes turned to look at you standing there in nothing but one of Dean’s old dark red flannels, a pair of black underwear, messy hair, and a knife. Realizing that there was no attack happening you noticed and extra body in the room; Crowley. A scarlet shade overtook your face as all three of them looked at you. Dean, trying not to laugh at your state and doing a horrible job, bent over and picked up the beer bottle that he had dropped when Crowley surprised him unannounced. Crowley looked you up and down, as a cheeky smile formed on his face.

“Hello, Darling.” he said in that sexy accent of his; “If I would have known this was how you were going to greet me I would come over more often. However, I would prefer that you put the knife down, love.” You turned away before your face could get any redder or hotter. The last thing you wanted was the boys and the King of Hell to know that you were harboring a crush on the demon. You met Crowley very shortly after moving in with the boys. So, you have known him for almost 6 months. He wasn’t around all the time but when he was around you had a hard time fighting with your feelings. You wanted to like him but a human and a demon was a bad idea. Your interactions with Crowley were short and usually full of innocent flirting and quippy banter, but each meeting made you feel for him a little bit more.

Running back to your room with your shame trailing behind you, you threw on a pair of grey motorcycle jeans, your black leather cuff, your black biker boots, and buttoned the shirt you were wearing the rest of the way. Taking a moment to regain your composure and letting your face get somewhat back to its normal color, you left your room to go confront your demons, well demon actually.

Upon entering the kitchen, you went past all three of the guys and straight for the liquor. Crowley made you nervous, and not in a bad way like being in a room with the King of Hell should; damn him. After pouring yourself a glass of courage you turned back to the boys; Crowley was watching you intently, no doubt enjoying the fact that he embarrassed you and saw you half naked. Sam walked over to the counter where you stood and asked if you were OK. You gave him a single nod as you took a sip. From the dining table Dean spoke, breaking the awkward silence that you had accidentally created.

“Crowley, can you please explain to me why the hell you are here?” He asked pretending to be more annoyed than he actually was. Crowley and the boys had a history, a messy one, but one nonetheless.

“Squirrel, I am hurt. Did you not miss me?” Crowley always knew how to get right under Dean’s skin, which is probably why he always flirted with you.

“No, not really. Again, why are you here?” Dean’s tone was a lot more demanding this time. He didn't necessarily hate Crowley but he definitely didn't trust him. The demon started to pace a bit, his expensive leather shoes shuffling slightly as he walked. He sauntered over to you and grabbed himself a glass of whiskey as well. You tried desperately to keep yourself together as you nervously drank your liquor. He observed that you were slightly flustered and he studied you intrigued. Before leaving the counter and turning back to the middle of the room, he took a sip and gave you a wink that would have made even a nun question her sexual morals. Damn he was adorable. Addressing all three of you he finally responded to Dean's query.

“I assume you have heard about all of the recent abductions?” He eyed the three of you waiting for a response. You all gave a curt nod showing that you understood and that you were listening.

“And I assume you know what you are hunting then?” This was more of a statement than a real question. He knew that you all had some idea. This time, you spoke.

"We are betting on a Dragon." You said, shrugging your shoulders slightly, you took another sip of your drink and waited for him to speak again.

“That’s right love, you are hunting a dragon.” Sam instinctively scooted closer and draped an arm around you after seeing that Crowley was gawking. There was nothing romantic between you and Sam, he was pretty much your brother, but he was very protective.

“We know what we’re hunting”, Sam said still keeping you close to himself, “but that still doesn’t tell us why you’re here.” Crowley surveyed the room. He was stalling. You could tell that he wasn't looking forward to his next sentence because he looked down at his drink and swirled it a bit before answering.

“I need a favor from you three.” Crowley almost wasn't able to finish his sentence before Dean stood up from the kitchen table where he had been seated. Dean placed his arms tight against his chest and moved over to you and Sam. You knew at this point he was quickly losing his patients with The King of Hell.

“So, what exactly does the all mighty King need from us?” The older Winchester's reply was dripping with sarcasm and Crowley could not help but roll his eyes in return. Crowley swallowed another sip of his whiskey, making a slight face because it was cheap stuff, and purposefully drug out his answer because he knew it would piss Dean off. As you watched the exchange you had no luck quelling your small smile. It was so easy to get at Dean.

Finally, the demon spoke; “I happen to know that the big daddy dragon is in town.” The three of you looked at him in surprise and curiosity as he continued. “All of the kidnappings are happening at his request. I want you to bring me the alpha.” He took another sip and waited for a response. You all ogled at each other in surprise and suspicion. You were shocked because up until the Purgatory mayhem dragons had been gone for 700 years and as far you knew the boys had only managed to kill one. After that they were not seen again. Crowley, however, was the sole reason for suspicion. You could tell that he was leaving out some information. What did he want an alpha for again?

“What exactly do you want with an alpha?” Sam asked the question you were all thinking.

“What does it bloody matter? You bring me the alpha and there is one less dragon to worry about.” Crowley looked at the three of you clearly exasperated at your lack of compliance. Even though you carried a torch for the King of Hell you knew better than to trust him fully, he was a cut-throat business man first and foremost.

“Crowley, you don't seriously expect us to believe that you are giving us the whole story, right? We all know you better than that.” You crossed your arms against your chest like Dean. You may be small and new to this whole hunting thing but you were smart. You knew that Crowley liked to occasionally 'forget' the fine print. He looked at you in fake shock and placed his hand over his heart as if you had just shot him.

“Dove, you wound me.” He smiled as he talked to you. With a small grin, you rolled your eyes and shook your head slightly in response. Seeing you and Crowley act so casually with each other made Sam tighten his grip on your shoulder. Crowley’s smile faded as Dean cleared his throat to get things back on track and to get the King of Hell to stop bantering with you.

“You got me. I happen to know that the alpha is planning to take out as many of my people as he can, possibly me as well. Kansas is just the first stop.” The three of you stared in confusion at one another then looked back at Crowley. The demon put his fingers on the bridge of his nose and pitched it taking a deep breath, clearly getting irritated that he had to spell it all out for you. “There is a spell...” he started to explain but he didn't get much farther than that when your confusion lifted and was replaced with understanding.

“Do you remember when you told me about the time that you got arrested by the real FBI and you guys were stuck in the prison while all of Lilith’s minions were trying to kill you?” You asked, turning to face the boys. There was an air of excitement in your tone because you knew something they didn't. One of the benefits of always getting stuck on book duty was that you had read up on a lot of creatures, and a lot of the boys' old cases that Sam had transcribed. They both looked at you and nodded solemnly at remembering that horrible day. “Ok, do you remember when Ruby told you that there was a spell to destroy all demons with in a one-mile radius?” You didn't have help carry their thoughts much farther than that before things clicked for Sam.

“She said she would have to have the heart of a virgin to do it,” Sam said finishing your thought. The three of you then turned to look at Crowley.

“Glad to see we are all on the same page now. Gold star for you, I am impressed, love.” Crowley's eyes lingered on you a bit longer than necessary and you tried to hold back a blush as he continued. “Now, he is going to keep gathering up as many virgins as he can in the hopes of wiping out any and all demons off the earth. I want you to bring him to me so we can have a little chat and then I will kill him. This is personal.” The kitchen was silent as the three of you contemplated the job. Obliterating all demons was not as positive as it once had been. Having Crowley and coincidentally his army on your team (most of the time) had paid off more than once. But of course, Senior 'Shoot first and ask later' didn’t care.

“No deal.” Dean made the statement stepping forward like a proud captain. “I don't plan on being Hell’s bitch again any time soon.” Sam looked at Dean then back at Crowley. The boys had worked for Crowley before and it didn't end well.

“I agree with Dean, it’s not a good idea for us.” Sam loosened his grip on your shoulder and went to stand next to his brother in support. You stayed where you were for the moment really thinking things through. Thinking was something you did more often than the boys. You liked to weigh and measure the situation. You felt the King of Hell’s gaze on you, he knew that you gravitated towards reason when it came to dealing with the Winchesters.

“I will help you on one condition,” as you spoke, Sam and Dean eyed you with shocked expressions, their hands dropping at their sides in exasperation that you were not agreeing with them. “We will help you get the alpha. You work with us, we don't work for you. Once we eighty-six the alpha we go after whatever dragons are left, together.” While compromising, you moved from the counter to stand next to your adoptive brothers. The boys didn't say anything because they were still surprised at you. A sly grin inched across Crowley’s features. Not only did you manage to get the King what he wanted but you also stunned the boys into silence.

“I like you pet, I think these boys should listen to you more often.” You refused to give him any inclination as to how much you liked getting his approval and him calling you 'pet'. Instead you pretended that you hated it and found it offensive.

“Don't call me pet, I am a hunter, not some play thing.” You tried to muster up as much venom as you could in your words but it was difficult to. Crowley smirked and threw his hands up in mock surrender and then turned back to the two brothers who now were beginning to resemble statues with their mouths set in disbelief.

“Lads?” He asked with a raised eyebrow and a cocky twitch of his lip.

“Fine.” Dean made the statement with disdain and a set jaw.

“Crowley if you put one toe out of line....” Sam started to add a threat on to Dean's answer but Crowley beat him to it.

“I know, I know, you kill me;” The King responded sarcastically, “Well then, where should we get started?”

#crowleyxreader #crowley #supernatural #series #likeavirgin #spnfamily #spn fanfic #fanfic #SamWinchester #deanwinchester

88 notes · View notes

brian-enthusiast · 7 years

Text

and it’s enough just to make you go crazy.

the title of this fic is a lana del rey lyric because it’s my fic fuck you. here’s around 2000 words of dadsona being in denial about being in love with brian.

contains an angery twink named harper and a soft boy named brian being in love with eachother.

1. everything he does is endearing.

Harper doesn’t think he’s ever really going to fall in love with Brian. It’ll be more of a slow dip into those familiar waters. Love is a term that was very much reserved for Alex―and therefore, a little bit of a bittersweet thing to return to.

So he figures it’ll be a bit like going to the pool when the water is too cool―only the brave and foolish jump straight in, so Harper figures he’ll dip a toe in before slowly submerging himself in the water. Except instead of water it’s romantic commitment and love, or something like that.

Or, maybe he’ll just be grateful that he’s finally back in the dating game and stop coming up with dumb metaphors to explain to himself why he’s so hesitant to use the word “love” in situations where it might be fitting. Whatever, he’s happy with Brian, and as far as he knows, Brian is happy with him. It’s a symbiotic relationship, though Harper supposes all romantic relationships should be.

Harper snaps out of his thoughts when he comes across a post on Dadbook. There’s a picture of Daisy receiving a badge from an older, sinewy girl, supposedly her scout troop leader. In the caption, Brian has written sentence upon sentence about how proud he is of her. A smile crosses Harper’s face as he reads through it.

“What’s got you all happy?” Amanda is standing in front of Harper, and he comes to realize that he’s kind of just been sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone with a dopey expression while an episode of Long Haul Paranormal Ice Road Ghost Truckers played in the background. “You’ve been smiling at your phone for, like, a full minute.”

“Nothing.” Harper presses the power button on the side of his phone, “Daisy got a new Girl Scout badge, and I was reading the post Brian made about it.” Simple question, simple explanation.

“I thought you hated it when Brian bragged about Daisy.” Amanda says, raising an eyebrow, “Something about him being your mortal enemy and a reminder that you aren’t as great a dad, despite the fact that you’re both great dads?”

Harper waves a dismissive hand. “Amanda! That was the me of the past. Now, after our time at the carnival, inevitable team-up for the benefit of our children, and my overwhelming guilt for being a competitive asshole, Brian and I are unlikely friends.” And unlikely people who are dating, but whatever.

“Uh-huh. Well, you have me and Daisy to thank for that.” She says, a sly smile on her face, like she knows something. “And Brian the Goldfish. May he rest in peace.”

“Why did we go through all that trouble for a carnival goldfish, anyway?” Harper asks, “Just so we could be that much more attached when we inevitably flushed him?”

“That, and because we’re ridiculous and over the top.” Amanda shrugs, taking a seat beside Harper. “I’m glad you could get over your petty rivalry, though. And, as an unexpected bonus, you got over your fear of rollercoasters.”

“‘Got over’ is a strong way to put it. I’m still horrified of roller coasters, and now I have that memory to prove to myself that they are just as horrifying as I thought they were.” Just thinking about heights, and dropping down from heights, and dropping down from heights at a fast speed is making him a bit queasy.

“Still, progress.” Amanda says.

Harper rolls his eyes and turns on his phone again, immediately being greeted by another Dadbook post with a picture of Maxwell wearing a trucker hat, and if that wasn’t adorable enough, Harper remembers being in the mall when Brian bought that stupid hat, and he smiles fondly upon thinking about it.

Then he scrolls down and sees another picture from Brian, one where standing by his car, smiling brightly at the camera and celebrating his new proud parent of an honors student bumper sticker.

Okay, maybe Harper’s just a little bit in love with Brian. Just a touch in love.

2. you see him in everything.

Lately, Harper’s been exhibiting worrisome behavior for someone who’s just a little bit in love.

It’s just little things. Recognizing things like “oh, this is Brian’s favorite song!” when a certain Jimmy Buffett song plays over the radio or, “this picture of a dog is so cute! I should send it to Brian!” when faced with… really any picture of any dog. Damien’s Dadbook page is full of pictures of dogs.

It’s starting to get bad when it becomes subconscious, because Harper is sure that he’s never heard what Brian’s usual Coffee Spoon order is, but he definitely knew it when he was standing at the counter, asking for an Iced T with extra sweetener by default.

(“How’d you know I love these?” Brian said when presented with the sweetened ice tea, “You’re so sweet. Kind of like this tea.” At that point he was laughing and Harper was laughing and everything was fine―except that Harper was internally panicking because how did he know Brian loved those.)

Of course, none of that is a really big deal. Harper is a chronic overreactor and has a tendency to exaggerate problems in order to fit his own narrative, but he’s still kind of panicking because even his friends are starting to pick up on his infatuated behavior.

He’d been hanging out with Robert and Mary a few weeks ago. The usual stuff, a couple drinks before Harper inevitably went home to cuddle with his pillow and have dreams about his life with far more money and far less back pain.

“I’ll get a whiskey.” Robert said, and Neil turned to Harper.

“Oh. Uh. I’ll just get a beer, thanks.” To be honest, whenever Harper hangs out with Robert and Mary he feels severely outclassed. He’s not exactly a lightweight―ok, that’s a lie, he’s the lightest weight. The last time he got drunk he was found crying about how the Skammunist Manifesto was never as appreciated as it should have been―but Robert and Mary literally bring glasses of whiskey and wine almost everywhere. And they’re also much more attractive and much better friends than Harper could hope to be, and hanging out with them sort of digs up some deeply repressed inferiority issues that Harper struggles with on a daily basis, but whatever. One time he got drunk and explained this to them and they gave him a pat on the shoulder and told him that if they didn’t like him they wouldn’t hang out with him.

“So.” Harper said, swirling the beer in his cup. “You know, I was―”

“Hanging out with Brian?” Robert said, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

“Uh… yes, actually. How did you know?”

“Wild guess. Also you talk about him a lot.” Robert shrugged, “Not that that’s a bad thing. He is the closest you’ll get to dating Mario Batali, after all―”

“Ok, one, when did I tell you about my celebrity crush on Mario Batali?”

“Same day you told me about your repressed issues with your dad, and your repressed memories of killing a man in cold blood.” Robert waited a few seconds before adding, “Kidding, of course.”

“And two, I don’t talk about Brian a lot. I talk about him a reasonable amount. Because we’re friends.” Harper said.

“Friends who have sex with each other?” Robert raised an eyebrow. “Not to say I’m against that kind of arrangement, though I have to say Brian isn’t exactly the friends with benefits type. I don’t really know him well enough to say that, but you know. I just kinda see it in his face. Kinda like I see the empty eyes of a killer in yours, you know?”

“Every time you make these jokes about me being a murderer I get more and more convinced that I am, you know that? Anyway,” Harper said, “Okay, so Brian and I are dating, but I’m not always talking about him or anything.”

“Of course not. I’d say Brian takes up a good eighty percent of subjects that you talk about, the other twenty percent being your own emotional issues and talks you’ve had with your daughter about how cool she is.” Robert said, “But it’s fine, no one’s blaming you. You’re practically in love with the guy, so―”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that―” Harper interjected, before Mary walked up from behind them, draping her arms over their shoulders.

“You guys talking about Brian?”

So, yeah, Harper’s a little on edge about… everything. He still doesn’t think he talks about Brian that much, but sometimes in idle moments he thinks about Brian’s stupid smile and it’s kind of a really nice thought so it is a topic that’s often on the brain.

He considers all of this while walking down the street, and then he sees a colorful Hawaiian shirt in the window of a store that he knows Brian would love, and he doesn’t really think about how he’s doing it again until after he buys the shirt for him.

(For the record, Brian does love the shirt. Harper is fucking reeling at how absolutely transparent he is even to himself, and also at how nice Brian looks in that shirt.)

3. you’re in denial about it. sweet, sweet denial.

It’s hard to convince himself he isn’t in love when he looks at Brian.

Because there’s just so many feelings―there’s giddiness and admiration and something very genuine that Harper can’t quite put a finger on―that it’s hard to pinpoint all of them, and he’s not sure love is a part of any of them.

(Because love is complicated and love is weird and love is so far away from him at this point that the idea of being faced with it now is kind of scary.

But it’s hard to deny that looking at Brian now―at his smiling face while he regales Harper with some story about fishing for rainbow trout or some shit―makes Harper feel a certain lightness in his chest.

“What’re you smiling about?” Brian says, “I know I’m not that entertaining.”

“Nothin.” Harper is still smiling dreamily, like he’s in fucking love, but he isn’t. Not yet. “Just listening to you talk.” Listening to him talk and thinking about how cute he is and being just steps away from falling in love with him.

“You’re adorable.” Brian says, and then he continues. And Harper listens, and maybe (just maybe) gets a little more comfortable with the idea of being in love with Brian. “I love you.” Brian says.

Oh, shit.

4. you accept it.

Harper doesn’t say I love you to Brian that night―but he does stand on his toes to press a kiss to Brian’s lips when they’re standing by the front door of his house.

Harper doesn’t say I love you to Brian that night―but he giggles like a child when they make their way to Brian’s room. He doesn’t say I love you―but he feels giddy beyond belief when tangled in Brian’s sheets.

Harper doesn’t say I love you to Brian that night―but in the morning, when he’s looking at Brian through sleepy eyes, he has a sort of lopsided smile on his face and this feeling like his heart is caught in his throat.

“Okay, fuck it.” He says, to a Brian who is clearly still unconscious on this fine morning. This’ll be a practice round, he supposes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Brian says, eyes still closed, and Harper realizes with little uncertainty that he professed his aggressively denied feelings to a Brian who was pretending to be asleep, and he’s not sure if the red on his face is from embarrassment or frustration.

“Aw, babe. ‘S nothing to be embarrassed about. I love you, too.” Brian says, and Harper squints.

“I said it first.” He says.

“Actually, I said it first. About a day before you did, so.” Brian stretches and yawns. “But nice try.” He grins, playfully.

“Goddamit. Okay. You win this time, I guess.” Harper rolls his eyes, “But listen, I think we can both agree that I―” Harper loses track of what he was arguing about when he catches sight of Brian and his stupid, soft, adorable face. “Oh, fuck it. I love you.”

They kiss and normally Harper would have a billion gripes about their morning breath, but this is a nice moment and he doesn’t wanna ruin it.

Okay. He’s in love with Brian. And that’s fine, and good, and fun, and Harper doesn’t exactly know what that means for them or the future, but he’s willing to find out.

#brian harding #ddadds fanfiction #harper is an angery twink who has difficulty expressing his emotions but thats ok because he's obvious as FUCK

4 notes · View notes

anavoliselenu · 4 years

Text

Blood chapter 2

Finally, college is here!

I can leave the mundane world of high school behind. No more mean girls and busywork; onto the exciting world of college professors and twenty page papers that would dominate my weekends. The funny thing about all of this was that I was excited about the long nights in the library and exams that would make the Loch Ness monster cower.

I have always loved school and learning. I guess you could call me a geek since I don't do much else besides studying and maybe watching a movie or two when I get bored. My two main friends that I have in my hometown of Forks, Washington always make fun of me for being so brainy but I have the last laugh, getting into Northwestern and all.

I haven't had many experiences in my short existence but I guess that was to be expected from a girl who's lived in a town with less than five thousand people almost her whole life.

My parents separated when I when I was a baby and I had lived in Phoenix with my mother for a large chunk of time. Renee got remarried when I began middle school and I wanted to let her and her new husband Phil have some alone time. I decided to move in with my dad Charlie.

Charlie and I used to not have such a great relationship but now, I couldn't see growing up without him. He was a man of few words but always treated me like an adult and never belittled me like my mother did. It wasn't that I didn't love Renee because I did but even I had to admit that she could be a little annoying. She would never let me breathe without hovering but I guess all mothers did that.

I was going to miss everything about my little town in northern Washington and to be honest, I was a slightly nervous. Hell, I had never even been off of the west coast before, living in Phoenix and Forks my whole life.

I had never thought that Northwestern was an option for me since I'm not that smart and Charlie barely had enough money to support us. I applied on a whim and got encouragement from my best friend Angela Webber who said I was too good to stay in Washington. I applied on the condition that she would stop hounding me every five seconds. When I got my acceptance letter, I nearly jumped off of the roof from excitement but I had to bring myself back to reality when I realized that I didn't have enough money to go to Chicago.

Community college, here I come!

I didn't have a problem staying local but my father wouldn't hear of it. I was in that damned section of the educational population where I was smart enough to get into a good college but not smart enough to get any scholarship money. I got a few thousand dollars here and there but not nearly enough to attend Northwestern.

At the beginning of the summer, suddenly Charlie just said that he would take care of it. I didn't know how he did it until I saw the mail one day and there was a mortgage slip for the house. He fucking mortgaged his house so that I could go to a good school. I tried to make him reverse whatever stupid deed he had done but he wouldn't even entertain my thinking. He already had three Northwestern bumper stickers and a couple of shirts that he was handing out to some of the squad members at the police station.

I relented because there was no way that I was going to win an argument with Charlie. He was just as, if not more stubborn than I was, causing our spats to be fairly heated. I could tell that he was struggling to keep the power on with his new financial woes but he wouldn't hear my protests. When I suggested that Renee put up half, he almost shot me with his gun. He said he could do it by himself and wouldn't have her doing something that he was more than capable of handling.

Thankfully, I had worked hard over the summer at a local movie theater so that I could pay for the small things like books and other necessities that I would purchase when I got to Chicago.

I was going to miss my best friend and even though she was staying here, Angela and I promised to keep in touch. I knew that we would naturally drift apart, me being on one side of the country and her, the other but I hoped that we could keep some sliver of the relationship we had.

My two small bags were packed, my tuition was paid, and I was ready to go. Charlie would be okay by himself because he was fine before I came around and he would be fine without me.

To be honest, I really shouldn't be going to a big city like Chicago or Northwestern for that matter. Northwestern was the place where rich kids go who know what they want to do with their lives. I was a seventeen-year old girl, about to be eighteen, who didn't know what to do with her life. Was that normal? Fortunately, I could just check the 'undecided' box on my application but I knew that was going to have to change soon. I prayed that I found what I liked before it was too late.

Right now, I was leaning towards literature but where were the job prospects in that?

"Bells, we need to leave in a couple of hours." My father called from the family room as I finished my cereal at the kitchen table.

"Okay, let me just go say bye." I gobbled down what was left in my bowl and threw it in the sink, "I'll be back in half an hour." I called out of the door.

I ran into the constant downpour that was Forks weather and jumped into the faded red 1954 Chevy pickup that Charlie bought me when I turned sixteen. It was complete junk but I loved it.

The engine thundered and I tried to memorize the noise because it would be a long time until I heard that sound again. With the tuition being so much, Charlie didn't really have any extra money to buy me plane tickets every couple of months. I would most likely be back in Forks for Christmas but definitely not Thanksgiving or Spring Break.

I drove through the small neighborhoods of Forks until I stopped in front of the white house on the corner, a couple minutes from mine. If it wasn't raining, I would have walked.

I made sure to look at everything while I passed so I could remember what peace felt like. Chicago was in no way like Forks and even though I wasn't necessarily a country girl, I had never been into the concrete jungles of other cities besides Phoenix. Seattle was big I guess but from what I saw on the Internet, Chicago was ten times larger. I hope I can hang with the big fish.

I pulled in front of the white house with Mike Newton standing on the front porch in nothing more than sweatpants, leaving the muscles of his chest exposed.

Damn him!

I had always had some sort of attraction to Mike. It wasn't romantic but it was definitely hormonal. He was my other best friend in this town and had been my first everything. Dance, kiss... other things. He brought out emotions in me that I couldn't even imagine but we had never tried to have an actual relationship. It just wouldn't work.

"I'm sorry I'm late." I ran through the rain and shook off the water once I was under the covered porch.

"No problem." He smiled sadly, "You all packed up?"

"I guess so. All two bags." I replied sarcastically, "I don't own much else."

"Damn, I can't believe our little Selena is off to the big city." He picked me up and spun me around.

"Mike, put me down." I laughed furiously as he tickled my sweet spot.

He set me back on the ground but didn't relinquish his hold on me. I rested my head on his chest.

"Don't you own a shirt?" I joked, not that I cared.

"I just woke up. Deal with it." His tone changed, "We'll all miss you Selena."

"I'll miss you guys too, especially you." I kissed his lips lightly, only allowing us to stay connected for a short second.

"It's you I'm worried about." He responded, "Make sure to keep the boys off. I want my Selena back when you get here for Christmas."

"I bet you do." I hit him.

He shrugged, "I'm a guy, you're a girl. Things happen."

"What are you going to do here all alone?" I asked.

"Angela and Ben and I will hang out. We're all going to the same school anyway."

I felt kind left out of the group since I was going so far away.

"Be safe Selena. I mean it." Mike hugged me closer like he didn't want to let me go.

Ten minutes later, I was back in the truck, on my way to Charlie who was waiting to take me to the Sea-Tac airport.

"Are you sure you have everything?" He asked as he looked around the house.

"Yes Dad, we can only do so many checks."

"I just have this feeling that you're leaving something." He spoke in his gruff voice and scratched his stubbled jaw, "What if you leave something important?"

"Then you can send it to me."

I only had two suitcases due to the fact that I barely had any personal items. I took some of my clothes, which mostly consisted of tee shirts and jeans and some books along with family pictures. That was it. Nothing else was worth bringing.

"Okay then, I guess it's time to say goodbye to the old house." Charlie chuckled.

"Goodbye house!" I shouted.

He cringed, "Was that really necessary, Selena?"

"Come on old man." I pulled him out of the door and to his police cruiser.

The drive was silent except for the radio, which was providing some background music but it wasn't an awkward silence. Charlie was one of those people who didn't need to say anything and you wouldn't feel uncomfortable around him. You just had to sit back and listen to silence. He would talk when he wanted.

We made it to Seattle in the perfect amount of time and I could tell that he was trying to prolong my departure by the way he was standing at the entrance to the airport. His shoulders were hunched, his hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes on the ground.

"So, you got everything you need?" He shifted his weight.

I nodded and we stayed quiet for another minute before I spoke.

"Look, I know you don't like to make big emotional scenes but I just wanted to thank you...for so much."

"You're my daughter and I haven't been much of a father for the first part of your life but I'm going to do what I can now." He said with conviction.

"But you didn't have to do that thing with the house..."

He interrupted me, "Are we going to start this again? I told you it was nothing. Stop worrying about it and go have fun in college but stay safe. Please be safe Selena." He wrapped his arms around me and I hugged him in return. We stayed that way for a long time before he pulled back.

"I'll call every other day." I said.

"That's a little much kid. How about three times a week?" He laughed.

"Deal. Do you think I can get away with the same thing on Renee?"

"Absolutely not. I'm surprised she hasn't called you yet."

"It's coming. I can feel it."

"Well call me as soon as you get there. I mean it Selena."

"Will do Dad." I hugged him again.

I was on the plane an hour later and felt the weight of my new life bare down on me as we took off.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, the plane was beginning to descend and I didn't even get to wake up fully before the seat belt sign dinged. Everyone started to get off very quickly.

Charlie wanted to come help me get set up in the big city but I begged him to stay home. He couldn't afford to take off a couple of days from work.

I made my way though O'Hare International Airport to the baggage claim and then out into the hustle of a September Chicago.

God, even the airport was a maze and for a barely one hundred pound girl with two suitcases, it was hard but I made it. I went to the line where the taxis were eagerly waiting to take people wherever they wanted to go and a happy driver helped me put my bags in the trunk.

"So, where to miss?" He said in an accent. I think it was Irish or something like that.

"Uh...Northwestern University." I said as firmly as possible.

He laughed, "This is your first time to Chicago isn't it?"

"Yeah, how could you tell?"

"I can just tell. You don't have that swagger about you. You'll learn though." He put the bags away quickly and I had to practically run into the cab before he took off.

I stayed silent and looked at my new home out of the window.

Since it was early September, the sky was a bright blue and the white clouds drifted at a leisurely pace. I forgot how beautiful the sun was since Forks only got a couple of good days a year. We made our way through the tall skyscrapers and shining glass edifices. I hated to think it but I was more of a country girl than I thought. Seattle was nothing like the pace of Chicago.

I actually gasped a small sound when we flew over the Chicago River, which was an odd shade of green that sparkled in the sunlight.

"You are too cute." The taxi driver exclaimed and looked into the rearview mirror.

"Sorry, I just haven't seen anything like this before."

"Well let me welcome you to Chi Town."

The rest of the ride was spent in my own personal tour of the city. He took me around and pointed out famous landmarks as we passed them. I didn't know where to look first and there was so much going on, I had to close my eyes a couple of times to stop the spinning.

We passed the gigantic Chicago Board of Trade building that looked like it reached up into the sky, The Chicago Theater was sitting proudly on my left as we stopped at a traffic light on North State Street and then the famed Sears Tower that had to be the tallest building in the world.

Finally, I gave him the address to Allison Hall and my heart beat steadily as we pulled up to my home for the next year. It surprised me how much greenery and vegetation there was on a city campus but I was happy to see that I could lie out on the grass if I wanted to.

"Here we are." The cabbie pressed a button on the dashboard, "The ride is free since it's your first one."

"Oh, I can't do that."

"No, I insist. Let me get your bags." He hopped out of the car and went to the back. I followed him quickly.

The whole campus was very modern with angular buildings and a strong sense of superiority. There were kids everywhere, moving in with parents, carrying boxes and picking up luggage to take to their rooms.

I gave the cab driver some kind of payment even though he fought me on it but he finally backed down. He drove off down the street and suddenly, I was alone on the sidewalk.

I let out a deep breath before dragging my suitcases behind me, into the lobby of the dorm. I carried my stuff with me until I came to a long table that you were supposed to register at. I went to the 'S' section.

"Selena Swan." I said and got a stare down from a slightly older boy with a clipboard.

He flipped through some paper and his eyebrow rose into his blonde hair, "I have an Isabella Swan."

"That's me, but I like Selena."

"Whatever." He checked my name off and then handed me a packet, "Orientation is over the next three days, classes start next week. You don't have a roommate because you fortunately lucked out. Your room is 913."

"Thanks." I took the packet and made sure I had my room key before rolling my stuff to the elevators.

I shoved everything inside and pressed the button to the ninth floor. On the way up, I stood next to a boy and his mom. He kept looking at me over the box he was carrying and was making me very uncomfortable. I stared back at him with hard eyes so he got the point that I was in no mood to speak to him.

He cowered back into the corner, shrinking behind his mother. He got off on the fifth floor and I had the elevator to myself the rest of the ride up.

The bell dinged and I pushed my stuff into the hallway, causing it to topple over. I laboriously pulled it all back up and was breathing pretty harshly by the time I was able to pull everything down the hall.

910

911

912

913...

I put the key in the lock and twisted it so that the door opened to my room.

It was pretty minimal but fairly nice as far as dorm rooms go. There was a nice sized bed up against the small window, a bedside table, dresser and like whats-his-name said downstairs, I didn't have a roommate so that was good I guess. I had a private bathroom and a closet that was just an indention in the wall, not that I had many clothes to put in there. The room was actually spacious and I was happy with it.

"Time to get to work." I threw my suitcases on the bed and began unpacking.

As soon as I unzipped my first bag, there was a rapid knock on the door and my mind raced to think about who it could be. I didn't know anyone.

I went to open the door and was attacked by a small, whirling dervish with spiky black hair.

"Hi, I'm Alice. You must be Selena. I stole the room list for this floor." She held up a folded piece of paper, "I don't even live here but my friend does and I heard you come in. I thought I'd introduce myself. I'm Alice."

I didn't know what to say so just nodded in response.

She was dressed head to toe in labels and was actually shorter than me.

"Wow, you don't have a roommate? You're lucky." She pushed herself into my room without another thought and looked around, "Do you need help unpacking. I'm bored."

Within the next hour, I truly met Alice Brandon.

She never stopped talking and took it upon herself to unpack my things because she said that she needed to see if my clothes were acceptable. Needless to say, she was less than impressed. She almost threw everything out but I wouldn't let her. I had to have something to wear. She started to make a list of things we needed before school started.

"I can't afford to buy a whole new wardrobe Alice." I said as I put sheets on my bed.

"That's okay, my stupid butt cousin works at Macy's. She gets major discounts."

"Really?" I asked, trying to make the conversation about anything but clothes.

"She sure does. Her name's Cynthia. I don't see her much since she lives in LA but she still lets me use her employee card. That's where we're going shopping."

"But do I really need anything new?"

"Have you seen your shoe collection?"

I had to admit that my supply was pathetic but I liked my shoes. They were things I could walk in and comfortable. I just let her keep talking.

I learned that Alice was twenty-one and a junior who had her own apartment somewhere on the other side of campus. Her dad was in business or something like that and was from California. She was single and ready to mingle as she put it. She took me on as her social experiment because she said that I needed help. Alice was happy, fun and genuinely nice so I took to her well although her personality kind of outshined me. Surprisingly, she made me laugh and I didn't get annoyed by her.

We got all my things unpacked for the rest of the day and I didn't have that much so we just talked mostly. We decided to take a break and ordered pizza for dinner, which I offered to pay half for but she waved me off.

We sat on the floor and discussed ourselves, trying to better know each other. I found that I really liked Alice. She was smart and witty while still having a juvenile charm about her that was refreshing. She wasn't like the stuffy, rich kid I thought she would be. She actually made me feel welcome.

"So, why Northwestern?" She asked as we sat on the floor, eating our pizza.

"I could ask the same about you." I grinned, avoiding the question.

"My mother used to be a professor here so I practically walked in. I love this city anyway. How old are you by the way."

"Uh...seventeen but I'll be eighteen soon."

"I could have sworn that you were older. You're so mature."

I shrugged, "I've always been kind of old."

"Well, I'm glad you're here. I can tell that we're going to be great friends." She reached over to hug me tightly and I just held on.

Thus, my new life at Northwestern began.

I circled Emmett once, twice, three times before I lunged, taking him down with me. We hit the mat with a thud that echoed off of the walls in the health club.

Jasper was lifting weights on the other side of the room while other people milled around, not really working out. The only thing that mattered right now was Emmett, under my forearm.

He quickly threw me off of him and I rolled over before hopping back up.

"You're getting old Emmett." I played with him, knowing it would piss him off.

"Shut up and fight." He threw himself at me, taking me down by the waist as he laid punch after punch on my body. Since I had my shirt off, my skin was the only thing absorbing the blows.

We Bieber men had a strict regiment when it came to working out partly because we needed to stay in shape but also because we had so much pent up testosterone, it was kind of a necessity.

"Come on Eddie, pick up the pace." Emmett taunted me as he laid his fists into my chest.

I lifted my legs up and wrapped them around his neck before pulling him down to my level. He let out an animalistic grunt and I flipped us over so that I was pinning him down.

"Hey, cavemen! I'm hungry." Jasper tried to pull me off of Emmett but I wasn't letting go easily. I took a couple of rough tugs before I got up, breathing heavily and wiping the blood from my lip.

"Just give me five more minutes with you." Emmett spoke as he got off of the floor.

"You two always take it too far. Look at this." Jasper hit my chest where a huge, purple bruise was developing.

"What can I say? I fight to win." I shrugged as my breathing calmed down.

"That was a good workout." Emmett held out his hand and I shook before he wrapped his huge arm around my neck in a choke hold.

Jasper eventually gave up, throwing his hands in the air and walked off to get his bag. Once Emmett let me go, I followed. I put on my shirt and we sauntered out of the gym.

"I think Dad wants us at the house." I said as I read through the text messages on my phone.

"Now?" Emmett groaned.

"You don't have anything better to do."

"I do so. Rosie and I were going to the lake. I guess we'll have to reschedule."

"What is with you? How can you have one woman?" I asked, really wanting to know because it all seemed so out of bounds for me.

"She's what I want. It's not that hard Eddie. Just look at Mom and Dad." He explained, "They've been together forever."

"Yeah but Dad's always been a little soft." I said.

"I'm not soft." Emmett defended himself, "I just don't see the need to run around town, trying to get pussy on every corner. Rose is more than enough for me."

"If you say she completes you, I'm taking away your man card." I laughed.

"It's true. I've never felt this way with any girl…ever and you know I've been through hundreds. I've tried relationships before but this is different. I think she's the one." He said and even I could see the light in his eyes. It made me sick.

"I hope I never have to hear those words coming from your mouth again." Jasper shivered.

"You'll both know what I'm talking about soon." Emmett threw his arms over both of us as we approached the parking lot, "I can feel it. I need to get my brothers respectable women."

"I like my life." I pushed him off of me, "I don't need a respectable woman."

"I hear that." Jasper gave me a high five and we climbed into one of Dad's cars that we just happened to pluck out of the garage. He had the most extensive collection I had ever seen so it wasn't any skin off of his nose if we took some of them for a joy ride sometimes.

"Do we have time to go to the penthouse and shower?" I asked as I sat in the back. Jasper drove and Emmett just fucked with the radio.

"No, we can just do it when we get to the house. We have to drop the car off anyway."

Jasper pulled out of the parking lot and sped down the crowded, late afternoon highways of Chicago. We passed all the colleges and universities that all the rich kids attended and I huffed a little sigh of annoyance or maybe it was jealousy.

I had never really had the opportunity to be a kid or a regular college student for that matter. From the time I learned about this life when I was about ten, I knew that organized crime was what I wanted to do. From then on, my life was kind of fast tracked and I never slowed down to just be…normal? I guess that's the best word to use for it.

In college, I didn't really party or do anything fun. That was Jasper and Emmett's domains. I was more focused on getting out of school so that I could get back to life behind my father. I didn't have time to waste away with frats and drinking games. That wasn't to say that I didn't have my share of fun while in school but it wasn't an everyday type thing.

I was more like my father in that way. I was more business when it called for it and even in a "laid back" atmosphere, I was always tense. I didn't like showing people outside of the family that I could laugh or had emotions. It made me seem weak in my eyes so I stayed cold and hard.

The only time I did appear to be some form of a human was when I tried to pick up girls. I knew the affect I had on women. My bright green eyes, my bronze hair, sculpted body, angular face; it was all like a magnet for anything with a vagina. I wasn't being cocky but I'm just pointing out facts. I usually didn't have to do anything if I went into a club or bar. I let the women come to me and then, with one crocked smile or hand-to-thigh contact, I was in. The rest of my night would be filled with fun sex and adventurous pillow talk.

I didn't have the energy to actually spend any time with women other than the instances I was fucking them because I had better things to do. I didn't want anything like what Emmett had with Rosalie because that just seemed like too much work. Plus, I was one who always had to be in control and I wasn't going to be run by some little bitch who thought she could change me. That wasn't how I worked.

It wasn't that I didn't know how to do romance but what was the point? I didn't want any girls sticking around long enough for that. I was a gentleman when it came to women so I guess I did have some kind of soft side to me but I hated showing it. I just couldn't get my mother's teachings out of my head.

Hold the door for a lady.

Pull out her chair.

Never use curse words.

Blah, blah, blah.

"Justin, are you listening to me?" Jasper shouted.

"Do I ever?"I replied sarcastically.

He just glared at me in the rear view mirror.

"Okay, what do you want?"

"I was saying that Vienna is going to be at Ma's dinner on Saturday."

"Shit." I said furiously, "Why?"

"Because, Dad says we have some business to deal with and the Volturis have been invited to dinner." Emmett rolled his eyes.

The Volturis were so insufferable, it wasn't even funny.

Another crime family who always tried to upstage us, they were from old money and Greek I think although I have to admit that I never really paid any attention to their family history. Our two families have been fighting since the dawn of time even though we've always been semi-cordial, especially now in a time when you couldn't just kill on the street without police breathing down your neck.

Aro Volturi was the head and just like Carlisle, he was calm and cool on the outside with a hint of frightening fire beneath. He was terrifying to anyone who crossed him but his face never contorted into anything more than a scowl. Come to think of it, I had never seen him get angry.

The Volturi bloodline was thick with evil and horrible dealings in some of history's most diabolical situations. I think the great, grandfather had something to do with Nazis and then the grandfather was in Columbia for awhile back in the sixties, dealing with the overthrow of the government. Their history was almost as bad as ours but somehow, we came out on top on many things.

The Bieber's had more money, more prestige, more fearing followers and more greatness in general. For that, the Volturi's hated us but like I said, we were always cordial. Once their family moved to Chicago in the late seventies, we were suddenly dealing with them encroaching on our territory and that was unacceptable. At that point, a young Carlisle was in command and made it perfectly clear that Aro wasn't necessarily welcome. We were like rivaling gangs of Chicago, tearing up the streets and steeping on each other's toes. Our relationship had been tense ever since.

Aro and his wife had three children; Demetri, Felix and Heidi, all of whom were the most infuriating bunch of humans alive but they were nothing compared to their cousin Vienna.

One time, I fucked her one time maybe five years ago and now she thought that we were in some kind of relationship. She clung to me every chance she got and whenever we got together, she made it a point to have me in her eyesight at all times. I usually just hung out in the office or library whenever I knew she was coming over to my parent's house for dinner.

I banged my head against the window and Jasper drove through the less crowded, rich suburbs of Chicago.

The houses suddenly turned into trees and rolling hills of green grass as we neared the house, which looked more like a castle but Esme never did anything half way when it came to decorating. She had her own design firm in the city so she was pretty well known and her house was nothing to scoff at.

On a concealed path, behind trees and brush, the road up to the residence appeared. It was nothing special from the street but once you got past the small thicket of forest, a sprawling estate presented itself like the fucking White House.

Esme designed, built and decorated the whole thing herself. It was a massive undertaking that took over five years to complete but it was home. This was the house I grew up in and no matter how many apartments or townhouses I owned; this place would always be my favorite for the simple fact that I remember it the most. This was also the place where Carlisle ran everything from so it wasn't all peaches and roses.

The granite stone of the driveway was mirrored in the façade of the house that had three floors and God knows how many rooms. I don't even think I had ever counted. Everything inside was modern while still having that old world, Victorian flair that my mother was so famous for.

There were hundreds of acres of land behind the house that stretched for miles and as a kid, I remember running through the trees without a care in the world. As an adult, I remember the forests as a place where shooting practice took place or where I had my first joint when I was twelve. A whole different world emerged out there when the sun set. Darkness brought evil.

Of course, being in the business that we were in, security was everywhere. My father basically hired his own outfit of guards, snipers, attack dogs, everything for his family's protection. There had been more than one occasion when they were needed but thankfully, we hadn't had any casualties in a very long time all thanks to my father's obsessive need to keep his family safe. He knew what he was doing.

Esme was waiting for us on the front steps of the house when we pulled up into the circular driveway.

"I wonder what we did now." Jasper turned off the car, "She looks pissed."

We all got out of the car with our bags and walked casually up to the door.

"What took you boys so long?" She had an apron wrapped around her waist and even though she was probably cooking, she was in heels that were too high and a skirt that was too professional.

"We were working out. Did we do well?" Emmett flexed.

"I told you to be home an hour ago. We're having company." She pushed us inside.

"Who? I thought it was just us for dinner?" I asked.

"The Volturis have to go out of the country on Saturday so I invited them over for dinner tonight."

I spun around quickly, "They're coming tonight?"

"Yes, is there a problem with that?"Esme had her hands on her hips and a face that was scary.

"You know how he gets with Vienna." Jasper said.

"Well you two will just have to get over that. I expect you boys to be polite as usual."

"How long do I have to prepare myself for the massive amount of hell that you just poured on me?" I set my bag down.

"Don't use that language and they'll be here in about an hour. Rose is helping me cook and you boys should be dressed soon. Move." She pointed to the steps and like we were in an army, we climbed the stairs to our old rooms.

They were basically the same as we left them when we went off to college. None of us lived in the house anymore but it was always nice to have a place to call home. My penthouse was just a place for me to stay, not really a home but I guess I could look at it the other way and say that I had the ultimate bachelor pad, which was fine with me.

I climbed the gigantic stairs to the second floor where my area was. On the way, I passed the expensive artwork, large family portraits, hanging curtains and walked on fancy rugs. Esme didn't like anything done halfway so her house was no exception. It would have put anything a Vanderbilt owned to shame.

Esme's work had been featured in so many magazines, she pretty much could do what she wanted in terms of remodels of rich housewives' homes.

"Hurry up." Rosalie shouted from the first floor and I scurried my way to the shower after peeling off my clothes.

I took a good shower, shaved and washed my hair before wrapping a towel around my waist, heading to my closet.

My room was big and looked just like I remember it from growing up. The pictures on the walls and bed sheets had changed but that was about it. Unlike Jasper and Emmett, I was a minimalist and didn't need posters or overstuffed chairs. A bed, TV, a couple books; that was all I needed.

I went into the closet and saw my clothes hanging in a perfect line along the wall. All my suits, shirts, belts, ties, and shoes were organized like they had never been touched and I had to remind myself to thank Esme later. Even though we didn't live with her, she took it upon herself to keep our things neat.

I pulled on boxers and then fingered through my pants selection until I found a pair of navy blue Armani slacks that would be perfect for dinner. I knew how to dress thanks to Esme and I knew what looked nice on me thanks to women who appraised my appearance. I just chose a crisp, white button down and rolled the sleeves up to my elbows. I put a black belt and black loafers that would complete my look.

I went into the bathroom and tried to do something with my hair, which had a mind of its own. It would stay set for a couple of minutes but as the night went on, I knew it would be all over the place. I had a nasty habit of running my hands through it so I had no one to blame but me.

Usually, dinner at the Bieber's wasn't an everyday thing and was more laid back than this but when we had company, Esme expected us to be at our best.

I walked down the steps and was the first one ready.

Esme and Rose were flitting around the massive kitchen, trying to get dinner ready while I sat at the counter drinking a beer.

"You know, you could get off your ass and help." Rose glared at me.

"I don't cook." I replied simply.

"He'll burn the house down." Esme giggled, "I still remember when you tried to make French toast and you poured syrup on a loaf of bread."

"I was seven." I muttered under my breath and almost laughed at the memory. It would have been funny if everyone would stop bringing it up.

"It's okay dear. We all can't be excellent cooks like me." Esme pulled out a superior looking pot roast from the oven that was almost as big as my whole body.

She was right. I didn't cook and the fridge in my apartment was basically naked, void of any nutrition. I eat take out if I did eat but most of the time, I went days without anything substantial when work got in the way.

"I don't know why you just don't pay attention." Rose stood at the stove and basted some potatoes, "I could educate you if you would just ask for my help."

"I've tried cooking but it doesn't work for me."

"Maybe you can find someone who can teach you." My mother said with a slight glint in her eye.

"Meaning?" I urged her on because I knew it was coming.

She shrugged, "I'm just saying. You're twenty-five and I know that's young but I want you to settle down. Find someone nice who makes you smile."

"I have you." I gave her my charming voice and she melted.

"You're too sweet but I want grandbabies." She pointed at me and I pointed at Rosalie.

"I don't think so. I don't want kids for at least ten years." She held her hands up, "That's not my thing right now."

"Well me either." I shuddered. I hated kids and my mother knew it. Her best bet for grandchildren was Rose and Emmett because I wasn't ever dipping my toe into that lake. Jasper wasn't either.

"Well, someone needs to get pregnant in here." Esme said and then crossed herself, "Forgive me for that." She spoke to the heavens. Rose and I just rolled our eyes and kept on ignoring my mother's religious antics. She wasn't too pious, none of us were but she tried the most to live by some kind of moral code.

"T-minus half an hour." My father laughed as he glided into the kitchen, regal as ever in his smart, black, suit. He made a beeline straight for Esme and they had their moment, not caring that I was in the room.

I made a fake gagging noise to get their attention.

"This isn't high school Justin." Carlisle said when he pulled away, "You want to know where you were conceived? Right here on this counter." He ran his hand along the marble where I was sitting.

"You two are sick." I felt my face screw up.

"What's going on folks?" Emmett grandly entered the kitchen in a God awful, white suit and pink shirt. He looked like something out of Miami Vice.

"Really, sweetheart?" Esme chastised, "You couldn't find something better suited for tonight?"

"You look like a pimp." Jasper laughed when he came into the kitchen.

"No, I like it." Emmett did a spin to show himself off.

Rose wiped her hands on a dishtowel and didn't even say anything as she pulled Emmett out of the kitchen. He grumbled under his breath but didn't make remarks.

The next half hour was spent in frenzied preparation for the Volturi arrival. My mother didn't like housekeepers or cooks, claiming she could do it all herself so she was working the hardest. Emmett, who had been re-dressed in something more appropriate, and I just set the table. Esme redid it after we were done. Jasper, the only one of us who could cook, made some side dishes.

By the time the gate bell rang, I was on pins and needles. Vienna brought out the worst in me.

Emmett, Jasper and I had guns in belts and I suspected that Demetri and Felix had the same. Just in case of course. Aro and my father were always talking about something whether it was business related or not but it could tend to get on the rough side when their two heads butted together.

All six of us stood in the foyer, waiting for Aro and his family to get out of the cars. Carlisle and Esme went out on the steps to greet them and even from the window, I could see Vienna's long legs that started at her chin. I hated to fact that my body reacted to the sight but I had to admit, she was hot… just crazy.

"It's nice to see you again Carlisle." I heard Aro's voice through the open door. His sound matched his look. Slightly cold, ashen, ancient and stern while having an undertone of evil.

"You too Aro, it's been too long. I should call more often." My father replied, coolly as usual.

Rose, Emmett, Jasper and I looked at each other with skeptical eyes. We knew that would never happen.

They talked on the steps, making polite conversation until they came inside. Aro's wife, Athenadora was a kind and gentle woman; similar to Esme who liked to dote on her sons more than necessary. Felix and Demetri came in with their suits on and guns clearly shown. Jasper, Emmett, and I stood up a little straighter to show them whose house this was.

They were both big and muscular kind of like Emmett but had nowhere near the amount of mass he had. They resembled almost exactly their father with their deep eyes that looked almost black and short, cropped, dark hair. They stood about my height, which was pretty tall but I wasn't intimidated by them. I never had been.

Heidi was looking as hot as ever and was Rose's main competition through all of this. Rose hated to be upstaged in anything, especially beauty and Heidi was giving her a run for her money, in a red dress to show off her ample amount of cleavage and lots of skin. And then of course, Vienna was there to give me a bright smile.

"Justin, I've missed you." She jumped and wrapped her arms around me, holding tightly to my neck.

She had long, flowing blonde hair and a cherub-like face, making her look like a Botticelli angel. She had curves in all the right places and slender everywhere else. I tried not to think of the warmth of her pussy but was failing miserably. If she wasn't so screwed up in the head, maybe we could help each other out in the sexual frustration department.

"You too Vienna. I hope you're doing well." I spoke professionally so that she would know to keep her distance.

"We should hang out more now that I'm back in the city. Are you still staying in the penthouse?" She looped her arm around mine as we walked towards the dining room.

"Yes." I said, not really wanting to give her too much information.

Maybe it was the Gods trying to punish me for my sins but I was seated next to Vienna who was more than happy when I pulled out her chair for her to sit.

The talk around dinner was normal and strained, intertwined with short snippets of mob business but Esme shut that down as soon as it arose.

A wonderful dinner was had and I was actually surprised that no one had blown each other's brains out yet. For the most part, it was a nice affair with good wine and delicious food. Everyone laughed as Aro told old stories about Carlisle and in their heyday.

As a huge desert of chocolate cake was passed around, I felt a small hand shoot directly to my crotch. I dropped my fork with a loud clang and all eyes turned to me.

"Are you alright sweetheart?" Esme asked with a concerned face.

"Yes." I squeaked out and smiled.

I hit Vienna's hand away but she was already a little happier than I wanted. My dick wasn't listening to my thoughts and shot straight up in my pants due to the fact that it was getting some attention.

"Don't fight me Justin." Vienna whispered with a snippet of lust in her voice as her hand went back in between my legs.

Fuck it!

I let her jack me off under the table while our families finished dinner.

0 notes

there-willbeblood · 7 years

Text

Chapter 3: Purity

NATALIA'S POV

Finally, college is here!

I haven't had many experiences in my short existence but I guess that was to be expected from a girl who's lived in a town with less than five thousand people almost her whole life.

My parents separated when I was a baby and I had lived in Phoenix with my mother for a large chunk of time. Renee got remarried when I began middle school and I wanted to let her and her new husband Tony have some alone time. I decided to move in with my dad Nick.

Nick and I used to have a not-so-great relationship but now, I couldn't see growing up without him. He was a man of few words but always treated me like an adult and never belittled me like my mother did. It wasn't that I didn't love Renee, because I did, but even I had to admit that she could be a little annoying. She would never let me breathe without hovering.

I had never thought that Northwestern was an option for me since I'm not that smart and Nick barely had enough money to support us. I applied on a whim and got encouragement from my best friend Maria Hill who said I was too good to stay in Washington. I applied on the condition that she would stop hounding me every five seconds. When I got my acceptance letter, I nearly jumped off of the roof from excitement but I had to bring myself back to reality when I realized that I didn't have enough money to go to Chicago.

Community college, here I come!

At the beginning of the summer, suddenly Nick just said that he would take care of it. I didn't know how he did it until I saw the mail one day and there was a mortgage slip for the house. He fucking mortgaged his house so that I could go to a good school. I tried to make him reverse whatever stupid deed he had done but he wouldn't even entertain my thinking. He already had three Northwestern bumper stickers and a couple of shirts that he was handing out to some of the squad members at the police station.

I relented because there was no way that I was going to win an argument with Nick. He was just as, if not more stubborn than I was, causing our spats to be fairly heated. I could tell that he was struggling to keep the power on with his new financial woes but he wouldn't hear my protests. When I suggested that Renee put up half, he almost shot me with his gun. He said he could do it by himself and wouldn't have her doing something that he was more than capable of handling.

Thankfully, I had worked hard over the summer at a local movie theater so that I could pay for the small things like books and other necessities that I would purchase when I got to Chicago.

I was going to miss my best friend and even though she was staying here, Maria and I promised to keep in touch. I knew that we would naturally drift apart, me being on one side of the country and her, the other but I hoped that we could keep some sliver of the relationship we had.

My two small bags were packed, my tuition was paid, and I was ready to go. Nick would be okay by himself because he was fine before I came around and he would be fine without me.

Right now, I was leaning towards literature but where were the job prospects in that?

"Nat, we need to leave in a couple of hours." My father called from the family room as I finished my cereal at the kitchen table.

"Okay, let me just go say goodbye." I gobbled down what was left in my bowl and threw it in the sink, "I'll be back in half an hour." I called out of the door.

I ran into the constant downpour that was Forks weather and jumped into the faded red 1954 Chevy pickup that Nick bought me when I turned sixteen. It was complete junk but I loved it.

The engine thundered and I tried to memorize the noise because it would be a long time until I heard that sound again. With the tuition being so much, Nick didn't really have any extra money to buy me plane tickets every couple of months. I would most likely be back in Forks for Christmas but definitely not Thanksgiving or Spring Break.

I drove through the small neighborhoods of Forks until I stopped in front of the white house on the corner, a couple minutes from mine. If it wasn't raining, I would have walked.

I pulled in front of the white house with Clint Barton standing on the front porch in nothing more than sweatpants, leaving the muscles of his chest exposed.

Damn him!

I had always had some sort of attraction to Clint. It wasn't romantic but it was definitely hormonal. He was my other best friend in this town and had been my first everything. Dance, kiss... other things. He brought out emotions in me that I couldn't even imagine but we had never tried to have an actual relationship. It just wouldn't work.

"I'm sorry I'm late." I ran through the rain and shook off the water once I was under the covered porch.

"No problem." He smiled sadly, "You all packed up?"

"I guess so. All two bags." I replied sarcastically, "I don't own much else."

"Damn, I can't believe our little Nat is off to the big city." He picked me up and spun me around.

"Clint, put me down." I laughed furiously as he tickled my sweet spot.

He set me back on the ground but didn't relinquish his hold on me. I rested my head on his chest.

"Don't you own a shirt?" I joked, not that I cared.

"I just woke up. Deal with it." His tone changed, "We'll all miss you Nat."

"I'll miss you guys too, especially you." I kissed his lips lightly, only allowing us to stay connected for a short second.

"It's you I'm worried about." He responded, "Make sure to keep the boys off. I want my Nat back when you get here for Christmas."

"I bet you do." I hit him.

He shrugged, "I'm a guy, you're a girl. Things happen."

"What are you going to do here all alone?" I asked.

"Maria, Ben and I will hang out. We're all going to the same school anyway."

I felt kind left out of the group since I was going so far away.

"Be safe Nat. I mean it." Clint hugged me closer like he didn't want to let me go.

Ten minutes later, I was back in the truck, on my way to Nick who was waiting to take me to the Sea-Tac airport.

"Are you sure you have everything?" He asked as he looked around the house.

"Yes Dad, we can only do so many checks."

"I just have this feeling that you're leaving something." He spoke in his gruff voice and scratched his stubbled jaw, "What if you leave something important?"

"Then you can send it to me."

"Okay then, I guess it's time to say goodbye to the old house." Nick chuckled.

"Goodbye house!" I shouted.

He cringed, "Was that really necessary, Nat?"

"Come on old man." I pulled him out of the door and to his police cruiser.

The drive was silent except for the radio, which was providing some background music but it wasn't an awkward silence. Nick was one of those people who didn't need to say anything and you wouldn't feel uncomfortable around him. You just had to sit back and listen to silence. He would talk when he wanted.

"So, you got everything you need?" He shifted his weight.

I nodded and we stayed quiet for another minute before I spoke.

"Look, I know you don't like to make big emotional scenes but I just wanted to thank you...for so much."

"You're my daughter and I haven't been much of a father for the first part of your life but I'm going to do what I can now." He said with conviction.

"But you didn't have to do that thing with the house..."

He interrupted me, "Are we going to start this again? I told you it was nothing. Stop worrying about it and go have fun in college but stay safe. Please be safe Nat." He wrapped his arms around me and I hugged him in return. We stayed that way for a long time before he pulled back.

"I'll call every other day." I said.

"That's a little much, kid. How about three times a week?" He laughed.

"Deal. Do you think I can get away with the same thing on Renee?"

"Absolutely not. I'm surprised she hasn't called you yet."

"It's coming. I can feel it."

"Well call me as soon as you get there. I mean it Nat."

"Will do Dad." I hugged him again.

I was on the plane an hour later and felt the weight of my new life bare down on me as we took off.

Nick wanted to come help me get set up in the big city but I begged him to stay home. He couldn't afford to take off a couple of days from work.

I made my way through O'Hare International Airport to the baggage claim and then out into the hustle of a September Chicago.

"So, where to miss?" He said in an accent. I think it was Irish or something like that.

"Uh...Northwestern University." I said as firmly as possible.

He laughed, "This is your first time to Chicago isn't it?"

"Yeah, how could you tell?"

"I can just tell. You don't have that swagger about you. You'll learn though." He put the bags away quickly and I had to practically run into the cab before he took off.

I stayed silent and looked at my new home out of the window.

I actually gasped a small sound when we flew over the Chicago River, which was an odd shade of green that sparkled in the sunlight.

"You are too cute." The taxi driver exclaimed and looked into the rearview mirror.

"Sorry, I just haven't seen anything like this before."

"Well let me be the first to welcome you to Chi Town."

"Here we are." The cabbie pressed a button on the dashboard, "The ride is free since it's your first one."

"Oh, I can't do that."

"No, I insist. Let me get your bags." He hopped out of the car and went to the back. I followed him quickly.

I gave the cab driver some kind of payment even though he fought me on it but he finally backed down. He drove off down the street and suddenly, I was alone on the sidewalk.

"Nat Romanov." I said and got a stare down from a slightly older boy with a clipboard.

He flipped through some paper and his eyebrow rose into his blonde hair, "I have an Natalia Romanov."

"That's me, but I like Nat."

"Thanks." I took the packet and made sure I had my room key before rolling my stuff to the elevators.

He cowered back into the corner, shrinking behind his mother. He got off on the fifth floor and I had the elevator to myself the rest of the ride up.

910

911

912

913...

I put the key in the lock and twisted it so that the door opened to my room.

It was pretty minimal but fairly nice as far as dorm rooms go. There was a nice sized bed up against the small window, a bedside table, dresser and like what's-his-name said downstairs, I didn't have a roommate so that was good I guess. I had a private bathroom and a closet that was just an indention in the wall, not that I had many clothes to put in there. The room was actually spacious and I was happy with it.

"Time to get to work." I threw my suitcases on the bed and began unpacking.

As soon as I unzipped my first bag, there was a rapid knock on the door and my mind raced to think about who it could be. I didn't know anyone.

I went to open the door and was attacked by a small, whirling dervish with flowing brown hair.

"Hi, you must be Natalia. I stole the room list for this floor." She held up a folded piece of paper, "I don't even live here but my friend does and I heard you come in. I thought I'd introduce myself. I'm Wanda."

I didn't know what to say so just nodded in response.

She was dressed head to toe in labels and was actually shorter than me.

"Wow, you don't have a roommate? You're lucky." She pushed herself into my room without another thought and looked around, "Do you need help unpacking. I'm bored."

Within the next hour, I truly met Wanda Maximoff.

"I can't afford to buy a whole new wardrobe, Wanda." I said as I put sheets on my bed.

"That's okay, my stupid butt cousin works at Macy's. She gets major discounts."

"Really?" I asked, trying to make the conversation about anything but clothes.

"Yes. Her name's Cynthia. I don't see her much since she lives in LA, but she still lets me use her employee card. That's where we're going shopping."

"But do I really need anything new?"

"Have you seen your shoe collection?"

I had to admit that my supply was pathetic but I liked my shoes. They were things I could walk in and comfortable. I just let her keep talking.

I learned that Wanda was twenty-one and a junior who had her own apartment somewhere on the other side of campus. Her dad was in business or something and was from California. She was 'single and ready to mingle'. She took me on as her social experiment because she said that I needed help. Wanda was happy, fun and genuinely nice so I took to her well although her personality kind of outshined me. Surprisingly, she made me laugh and I didn't get annoyed by her.

We sat on the floor and discussed ourselves, trying to better know each other. I found that I really liked Wanda. She was smart and witty while still having a juvenile charm about her that was refreshing. She wasn't like the stuffy, rich kid I thought she would be. She actually made me feel welcome.

"So, why Northwestern?" She asked as we sat on the floor, eating our pizza.

"I could ask same to you." I grinned, avoiding the question.

"My mother used to be a professor here so I practically walked in. I love this city anyway. How old are you by the way."

"Uh...seventeen but I'll be eighteen soon."

"I could have sworn that you were older. You're so mature."

I shrugged, "I've always been kind of old."

"Well, I'm glad you're here. I can tell that we're going to be great friends." She reached over to hug me tightly and I just held on.

Thus, my new life at Northwestern began.

#romanogers #twbb

0 notes