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nolovelingers · 29 days

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TELL ME YOU DONT FEEL IT ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ wes hicks !!

⋆ ★ wes has had a crush on you since what feels like the beginning of time and he’s finally determined on getting you to tell him whether the feelings are reciprocated or not. — short blurb !!

cw ᝰ.ᐟ sfw ,, talk of weed ,, readers high ,, fluff

dancing under the florescent night sky of the moon, a deep blue tarp with an array of stars scattered in groups like white paint on a canvas as laughter beamed from the depth of your body resided you and wes hicks.

a bittersweet feeling harmonized along with the two of you as you swayed to your own rhythm, not a single worry or doubt making itself present in your mind as you gave your thoughts away to the buzzing sensation vibrating all through you.

the 5’8 male had not been there initially to witness the intaking of a blunt rotation you shared between few friends, but he was quick to head over the second you asked.

there was worry that struck through his body at first as he picked up your call after only two rings, a small panic at seeing your name on his phone at such late hours of the night and it wasn’t until he heard you speak the protectiveness that ran through his veins settled only after a short explanation.

you had asked him to come and walk you back home, worried to do so alone and not in the sober mindset.

he rushed over as soon as he could, leading up to the present moment as you laughed away the cruelty of the world, stumbling just slightly as you skipped and danced without song.

“spin me!” you requested, and the hicks boy felt blood rush up to his face at the sudden odd request, your fingers reaching for his in a cupping motion.

complying with an awkward smile he lifted his arm, twirling you around and watching the way your clothes blew along with the direction of the wind, outlining the figure of your body that was just beautiful in his eyes. “how much did you have?” he mindlessly questioned, laughter threatening to poor from between his bubblegum pink tinted lips as he watched you with an intent gaze. his attention was solely on you and he was met with a shrug of your shoulders.

“why, did you wanna hit?” you didn’t even have to ask before you felt the pending answer, flipping your body around and walking backwards as you continued holding onto his slim fingers with your own.

“uhh, no, i don’t smoke.” he glanced at your hand that was still wrapped around his with a lingering look in his eyes that you were fast to mistake for him being uncomfortable, letting go of his hand and not noticing the slightly disappointed emotion rupturing over his features as he nervously looked at the pavement below the two of you.

you smiled, his response turning out exactly as you expected while continuing to walk the wrong way forward. wes eyes you carefully, prepared to shoot his arms out and catch you at the chance you fell. “i know. you’re a little mamas boy. it’s cute though, i really admire that.” there was nothing but genuineness in your voice as you spoke and the bleach-haired boy felt the need to turn his head away in a daze of embarrassment, the feeling of a rosy tint creeping over his fair skin.

there’s silence for a moment and he clears his throat, sticking his hands in the pockets of his grey-washed jeans and opting to try and switch the topic away from him. “how you feeling?” softly and with genuine concern in his ocean-blue eyes he met your vision with his, a light-hearted smile twitching the corners of just one side of his mouth up slightly.

“amazing,” you’re quick to answer him, finally flipping your body the right way round. “i feel like im one with the environment!” you giggle, so much intense passion evident in your voice while you announced your mindset to the boy; who’s blonde hair was breezing into patches with the wind, his dark brown roots becoming even more apparent.

wes watches you with a certain intensity of emotion in his eyes. like a mother watching her kid say their first words, or a doctor witnessing their patient start to walk again after being paralyzed for years.

he grins, keeping his head turned as he breaks his gaze away from you. you’re able to see the point of his canines clearly as he stays faced away, and suddenly you’re switching roles, finding yourself unable to look away from him.

you had never really seen him in this light before. not literally, the dark nightfall dimming his face; making his skin look smoother than it ever has, his jaw seemed to pop more, or maybe he was just clenching it, the yellow hue of lamplights coming and going as you walk down the concrete along with him and back to the neighborhood you both have been living in since you could open your eyes.

you had seen wes almost every day of your life. walking to school together, all the days you hung out, sharing classes and even carpooling with each others parent every once in a while.

but you had never really seen him like this. clearly.

and through the dim lighting, through the shadows of the night and the dark pallet of colors swarming the two of you you swore that you had really seen him. and there wasn’t a word to describe the feeling either. it was just like something was turning in your head, gears clicking after so many years.

he was enticing.

enticing you, and drawing you in without meaning.

he notices the quiet that fell between the two of you, and finally meets eye contact with you again. as soon as he does, he notices you had already been staring and an enormous blush immediately takes over him as he tries to figure out how long you had been watching him.

he brings his eyes back down, watching the floor and you notice as he carefully steps over every crack littered on the gray surface. finally you reach the street of your neighborhood, not too far from your friends house, and the boy instinctively grabs onto the cloth of your shirt as you cross the road to get to the right street.

you smile to yourself as you walk side to side next to him and he doesn’t once let go, watching both sides of the road for cars like one could come whipping through and cutting the corner any second to turn the both of you into road kill.

when you reach the next set of sidewalk, now down the path to your house, and he still hasn’t let go, you decide to direct the conversation. “are you gonna tell your mom why you had to come get me?”

he goes quiet for moment, turning to you with his brows furrowed like you had just asked him a really obvious question. “of course not.” a sound that sounds like a mix of a scoff and a giggle leaves his mouth. “even if i did it’s not like she’d arrest you.”

you roll your eyes, bumping your shoulder into him as you walk in sync together. “she’s the sheriff.” you slightly lean into him as you walk and he lets out a little sigh.

“yeah but.. it’s you.”

“what do you mean ‘it’s me’?”

clearly he wasn’t expecting you to want clarification on what he meant, his silence answers that for you. he looks at you, the crickets of the night being the only thing audible. “just.. you’re like my best friend. she wouldn’t arrest you over something like weed. to be honest, I think she smoked a few times when she was a teenager too.”

you hum, the drowsiness stage beginning to set in as you lean more into him, staggering just slightly. wes notices your irregular steps and drapes an arm around your shoulder, leaning you into him as an attempt to balance you.

you smile into his sleeve and don’t even notice the way he’s puffed his cheeks out or stopped breathing completely as he held you closer to him.

finally, you reach your house, the familiar structure waiting in front of you; dark and quiet.

“you’ll make it in okay?” he removes his arm, guiding you lightly in front of him so he can meet your eyes and you have to fight back rolling them at such a silly question but end up smiling at his worry over nothing.

“i don’t know, 15 more feet and im not sure ill have mine anymore.” you smirk at him and he rolls his eyes at you, a look of fondness adoring his features.“ughhh, i guess i should go. call it a night. thank you wes, seriously.” you smile at him, messing with his hair a little. he opens his mouth and then closes it again, like he’s debating saying something more; so you stay a moment longer.

he doesn’t say anything, and after debating with yourself internally for about 5 seconds you lean [down/up] and press a kiss to his cheek; which feels hot under your lips.

you could literally hear his breathing pick up, and when you finally break away from his skin he’s not looking anywhere near you but has rather zoned off somewhere behind you.

“goodnight wes.” you offer him a embarrassed smile before turning away, walking back to your door.

you make it a whopping 4 steps away before he’s calling out after you.

“stop.” there’s actual irritation in his voice, which isn’t normal, and you turn back to face him. he’s standing in the exact same spot with the same dazed look on his face only now he looks a little angry and confused as his forehead is creased and brows are pushed together while looking at you. “what is this? what are you doing?”

you’re confused, clasping your hands together to help gather warmth as a cold breeze runs through the air. “what do you mean?”

wes shakes his head, looking away and then back at you several times and it’s obvious he’s fighting with himself internally. “you know what i mean. this. us. what are you doing? why?”

you don’t look away from him once, confidently staying in your place as you cross your arms; embarrassed to address the situation but not nearly as much as he was. “can you clarify?” it’s kind of obvious what he’s talking about, but there’s some idiotic part of you in your mind forcing you to act stupid which only drove wes more mad.

he opens his lips and an estranged laugh leaves, like someone having a nervous breakdown and randomly starts giggling. it’s an agitated laugh.

“please, whatever you’re doing, stop. stop acting like you don’t know what i mean. you know what you’re doing, and- and what you just did. you must know what kind of effect you have over me or something because at this point it’s getting frustrating when you do these things but can’t even address it. it is like, physically hurting my heart at this point because all i can do when i try to sleep is stare at the ceiling and think about you and what you do to me and whether or not you know what you’re doing or if it’s unintentional and it’s driving me nuts. tell me you don’t feel it. tell me you don’t feel this!” despite how frantic his words come out, and how panicked and vulnerable he looks, he speaks clearly and strings the right words together to express himself. that’s always been a great trait about him. wes was great with his words and knows exactly how to describe how he’s feeling. he just struggled on having the courage to get them out.

you almost don’t know what to say, but there’s no time to find your words before he’s speaking again.

“and don’t give me any more bullshit about how you don’t know exactly what im taking about or how im not being ‘clear enough’ for you. i mean, seriously, i shouldn’t have to spell it out for you at this point because all of our friends know that i like you and even your family, which i tried so hard especially to hide it from, figured it out so fast. it’s not rocket science. besides my mom and tara you are the only girl i consider myself close with and there’s no way it’s not obvious to you when you ask me about the girl i like because it is definitely not tara, and it is definitely not my mom. i like them but not in the way i like you, not in the way you won’t leave my mind so much so it’s frustrating. i can hardly focus in class because I can’t stop thinking about us or if there even is an us or what could happen or if you feel the same way and it’s unfair because there has to be some part of you internally that knows I like you when you kiss my cheek or text me every morning and night or run your fingers through my hair when we hang out and I hate it so much because I can’t read you the same way you can read me and I can’t tell if you’re doing these things just to mess with me or because you might actually feel the same way.”

wes, now out of breath, let’s out quiet gasps and inhales of air after he finishes speaking. he stammers in place for a second, trying to catch his footing as he looks around the environment and at anywhere but you. trying to avoid your eyes. your face. it was all on the line now and he was terrified of what you might say.

“you.. like me?” you repeat to yourself, keeping your eyes trained on his face. this finally gets the hicks boys eyes to land back on you with a frustrated sigh; like you just asked the dumbest thing in the world.

“are you really gonna ask me that after I just finished my dramatic epilogue?”

a smile takes over your face from the way he says this, his breathing still uneven. so many thoughts churn through your head as you try to process what this all means. what this all could mean for you and the future of your friendship with wes.

“you’re right, sorry.” you awkwardly smile, taking one step closer to him as you begin to try to gather your mind and express what you were thinking.

“you’re not worried about this changing us? our friendship? what if we breakup?” all reasonable questions to ask, they come flying out of your mouth one by one and wes feels his heartbeat quicken in hope as he realizes you haven’t yet rejected him.

“youch, thinking about breaking up already?” the blonde feins hurt and places a hand loosely over his heart which earns an eye roll from you before he shakes his head. “do you even know how much I like you? I mean, clearly not. the last thing I would ever want is for us to breakup. if that happened, that’s on you. and our friendship? what do you mean? did you just friendzone me? (y/n).” wes lets out one last final sigh before grabbing for one of your hands with both of his, locking eyes with you nervously.

“please, i just need to know how you feel. if you don’t feel the same way, it’s fi-“

the feeling of his lips on yours is as soft as you could have ever imagined. they were plump and tasted of strawberry chapstick. a far too prolonged kiss was shared, and you cupped one side of his face with your hand while bringing the other behind his neck.

wes felt his knees buckle underneath him, feeling like he was in a dream. he had dreamed of this moment for so long and was now having a hard time believing it was real. the kiss almost felt too perfect.

after a few delayed seconds he gently placed both hands on your waist, holding you down in place as he moves his lips against yours as if to stop you from ever leaving.

you pull away, face burning a bright red and heart pounding an unnatural rate before you finally open your mouth to speak.

“i feel it.”

` ੈ˚ ★ a / n : i deadass started ts 7 months ago but it’s been rotting in my drafts since school started back and nasa wanted to recruit me as a potential subject in their spacial exposure severer super undercover mission

started 08.06.23.

finished 03.29.24.

( scream masterlist )

©️ nolovelingers 2024

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moonsbijou · 10 days

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i was reborn as the disposable black girlfriend of the male lead but i am taking control of the narrative now

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unknownbl0ggerr · 4 months

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Promise me

Alex Standall x Fem! Reader

What if someone talked Alex out of doing what he did?

Trigger Warnings! : mentions of suicide, mental health issues, guns, swearing, everything you expect from 13 reasons why.

——————

“come over”

that was the only text you got, it was the only thing you needed to rush over to your boyfriends house.

you got to the front door and texted him, you weren’t gonna knock it was late and you weren’t stupid. he opened the door quickly and you could see he had been crying. he shut the door quietly behind you and grabbed your hand as you both walked to his room.

“alex what’s going on?” you asked softly as he sat on his bed. he took a shaky breath before shaking his head, “hannah’s dead and it’s all my fault.” “what?” you asked walking towards him. “no honey that’s not true.” you said kneeling down in front of him.

he had his eyes closed and you could see the tears rolling down his cheeks, “it is. you heard the tape. I could’ve fucking helped her but i made it worse. i killed hannah baker.” you held the side of his face gently, he opened his eyes and looked at you, breathing heavily.

“baby there was nothing you could do. she made her choice long before you even knew she was suffering.” he didn’t answer but the tears didn’t stop. your other hand that was on holding his wiped the tears off his face, “what happened to her was terrible. she deserved better but you can’t best yourself up over this. you didn’t kill hannah baker. she killed herself.”

he nodded slowly before crying again, you sat next to him and wrapped your arms around him, he cried into your shoulder and you rubbed his back.

——————

you laid next to each other, over the covers, holding hands, breathing practically synced. “i was gonna do it.” he said softly, voice practically a whisper. you turned your head towards him. “i was gonna end it.” this time it was a whisper. you sat up, now noticing his unnaturally cleaned room. “but that’s changed now.” he said sitting up with you, “because you’re here.”

you grabbed his hand gently and got closer to him, you were face to face now, sitting crisscrossed, knees touching, “promise me.. promise me if you ever feel like this again you call me. no matter what. no matter where i am, what time it is, what i’m doing, it doesn’t matter. what matters is you.” you held up your pinky for a pinky promise and he chuckled softly before he started tearing up, but stopped himself.

he nodded and grabbed your pinky with his, “i promise.” you smiled and so did he, you kissed him on his nose then his cheek. he rolled his eyes playfully then kissed you on the mouth which you gratefully returned before gently pushing him away.

“i hate to end this sweetheart but i do have to break it to you, we have school in about..” you checked your phone then nodded. “6 hours.” “shit..” he said still smiling. “shit is right.” you laughed.

“well, do you wanna stay here tonight?” he asked already knowing the answer. “alex i don’t really have a choice do i?” she joked making him smile again, “guess not.” he gave her a shirt and some shorts to change into and they fell asleep in each others arms.

#13 reasons why #13 reasons why x reader #13rw #13rw imagine #alex standall #alex standall x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #alex standall imagine

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apparitionism · 4 months

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Bonus

Happy particular Monday! Here’s a story for it, which came about mostly because I wanted to put a couple of people into a clichéd situation, and then I had to do leadup and aftermath... anyway, it’s intended to be a two-parter (yes, I know; aspirations) set in a not-entirely-canonical season 4, in which the Warehouse did get brought back and Helena did leave without explanation, BUT Artie doesn’t go full Father Data and Leena doesn’t suffer the consequences—mostly because Mrs. Frederic has sensed some badness to come and thus sent Artie and Leena away. Because why not? Also I have Claudia jumping into Caretakering, and even a bit of Artieing, with some enthusiasm.

P.S. I know I haven’t yet finished last year’s Christmas story—that’s a pain point—but I genuinely am working to get back on various horses, including that one. Weather (in all senses) permitting.

Bonus

“I genuinely cannot believe we’re stuck in an elevator,” Myka says. It may be the most true statement to which she’s ever given voice.

****

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER...

Myka’s reasonably pleasant thought, burring along as background to her monotonous tasks, is I don’t mind this. She and Steve are in the Warehouse office early in the morning, doing file inventory, and it’s true: she doesn’t mind it. It’s a little lacking as a holiday activity, but with Artie, Leena, and Pete all away, “lacking” is pretty much the flavor of the moment.

Claudia pokes her head in and says, “Ping.” She’s unenthusiastic, speaking of lacking. Where’s the usual revving about what it might be this time? “At some midwestern accounting firm, because it’s important to have a boring Christmas.”

Ah. “An accounting artifact?” Myka asks. Speaking further of lacking: here, it’s artifacty zing. Then again, artifacty zing got Myka trapped in Alice’s mirror, among other catastrophes, so maybe boring isn’t so bad. “Balance sheets?” she ventures. “Pluses and minuses?”

“Some people at this pingy company just got extremely large Christmas bonuses,” Claudia says, “and some got their pay extremely docked. So yeah, ‘balance sheets, pluses and minuses’ just about covers it. Probably. I mean, I might be trying to manage expectations here.”

Claudia’s certainly right, in that getting one’s hopes up—about anything (or anyone)—is a fool’s game.

But still, there’s something to be said for boring-but-remunerative, even if only for some people... what a nice idea. “I’d like a Christmas bonus someday,” Myka says, “instead of a Christmas penalty. Which I think pretty accurately describes the Pete-plus-artifacts situation.”

“It’s two days before Christmas, and he hasn’t done anything yet,” Claudia says. “That you know of,” she amends.

“Because he’s been with his family in Ohio for the past week,” Myka points out, and she’s gratified when Claudia rolls her eyes. It’s practically a concession.

Steve says, “It’s inappropriate to say ‘Christmas’ bonus these days. It’s ‘end-of-year.’” The contribution suggests he’s listening with only one ear.

“I wish appropriateness mattered here,” Myka says, not really to him but in general. Who knows how a Warehouse HR department would make heads or tails of the application of employment laws—much less employment niceties? “Not that it makes a difference. Christmas, end-of-year... call it Fred, and we still wouldn’t get one.”

“If I ever do get a bonus, I’m absolutely naming it Fred,” Claudia declares.

Myka shakes her head. “Poor Fred. Doomed to be injected right back into the discretionary economy.”

“Inject-o-what are you even talking about?”

“Just a guess, but: you’d spend it on things you don’t need.”

Claudia harrumphs. “Thanks for lumping me in with the avocado-toast-and-Starbucks crowd. My fiscaling is way more responsible.”

“Really? What would you use Fred for?”

“Asus VG278HE gaming monitor. Plus a graphics card, maybe the Nvidia GTX 690, depending on how hefty Fred is.” At Myka’s snort, Claudia challenges, “Fine, where would you inject it?”

“My Roth IRA,” Myka says immediately. She’s not sure what assets her evil, crazy, or dead self will need in retirement, but given the many and varied forms each of those, or combinations thereof, could take, it seems like a good idea to have a financial plan in place. That’s another thing a Warehouse HR department might be useful for...

“You’re the actual human manifestation of an accounting artifact,” Claudia accuses. “Speaking of which, here’s the deal. I gotta stay here—some Mrs.-F homeworky stuff—and Steve’s busy reassuring all the misfit toys in the building that Leena hasn’t deserted them forever. And I’d say ignore the ping entirely, but your never know what’ll go viral, and I bet Artie’d say the last thing we need is another financial crisis. Or maybe you’d say it. Anyway, you’re it. And for your backup, when you get to Cleveland—”

Myka groans. “Cleveland? Seriously? Pete’s going to be so mad about you pulling him away from the family.”

“I’m not pulling him away,” Claudia says, blinking like she’s some innocent little lamb.

Myka groans again. “You’re making me do it?”

Claudia shrugs. “Sure. Why not. You’re partners, right? But here’s some advice: wait till you get there to call him. You know, put off the misery, if that’s what it is, as long as possible. Besides—more advice—I really think you should spend your travel time thinking about bonuses. Who gets ’em and why. Because what’s a bonus, really?”

“An economic stimulus whose nametag reads ‘Fred,’ if I’m understanding things correctly.”

“We’ll see what you think about that when you get to Cleveland.”

“On the day before Christmas eve,” Myka grouses. “By the way, that’s a whole lot of ‘advice,’ coming from somebody who’s over a decade younger than I am and not technically my boss.”

“By the way,” Claudia mimics, archly mocking, “we’ll see what you think about that too.”

“When I get to Cleveland?”

“When you get to Cleveland. On the day before Christmas eve.”

“Sounds like the title of a lesser Christmas carol,” Steve says—he’s tuned back in to the conversation. He then says, with his grin that curves so impish, “Think we could get Mariah Carey to sing it? It’s a hit if we get her, right, no matter how lesser?”

“‘When You Get to Cleveland on the Day Before Christmas Eve?’” Claudia skeptics. “Hit-wise, that’s gonna need a lot more power: Mariah dueting with Darlene Love at the very least. Plus we’ll need a Destiny’s Child reunion for at least one chorus.”

“Thanks for reinforcing my sense of how awful this is likely to be,” Myka tells them both, and Steve’s grin turns apologetic.

Claudia, however, shrugs. “Maybe you’ll sing it different.”

Myka is now the one to roll her eyes. “I won’t sing it at all.”

Surprisingly, Claudia doesn’t go with another eyeroll. “We’ll see,” she says, and Myka is struck by the Mrs.-Frederic resonance in her words. Does the homework include practicing the enigmatic tone?

Steve looks up and catches Myka’s eye. He winks. Myka would wink back, but he would probably interpret that as her saying she understands what’s happening. And that would be a lie: serious enough, probably, to make him wince and massage his temples.

So Myka just blinks—not Morse or any other code, just basic eye-moistening blinks. Then she goes upstairs to collect her always-packed travel bag for her trip to Cleveland.

****

Her flight departs late, of course; it’s December in South Dakota. But that’s this-time fine, because it allows Myka a necessary excess of opportunity to prep her Pete-placation. Under her breath, she practices the delivery of such words as “shorthanded” and “necessary,” aiming for maximum sincerity.

When she at last emerges from her Cleveland Hopkins jetway, that extensive prep deserts her entirely, for what awaits her is the manifestation of a Christmas wish she has worked overtime to convince herself would not, could not possibly be granted:

Helena.

Whose arms are crossed, and whose posture betrays that her foot might recently have been tapping out impatience with the plane’s tardy arrival. The attitude is so normal, so entirely of-the-world (rather than of-its-imminent-end), that Myka wants to reverse course, get back on the plane and redisembark, just so she might meet it again, meet it and refeel this wash of absolute relief at seeing Helena impatient in an airport.

Devious, Claudia, Myka thinks. Outstandingly devious. “Hello, Fred,” she murmurs, then tries, in the ten seconds she has before she and Helena are in proximity to speak, to engage in a far more consequential prep.

For Helena has been gone—has been, as Myka put it to Steve not so long ago, “god knows where”—since shortly after the Warehouse did not explode. She was there, in the Warehouse, but then she was gone, and Myka was told only that Helena had “matters to attend to.” God presumably also knew what those matters were, but Myka hadn’t, in the wake of that first moment of absence, and hasn’t since, been able to pry any information about matters or their whereabouts out of anyone, divine or otherwise.

And through the seemingly endless wondering, Myka’s mind and heart have gnawed themselves ragged.

Until this moment, when the wondering and gnawing end: now her blood speeds, coursing with urgency even as everything else seems to slow.... her movements, her reactions, her thinking, all are sluggish, unresponsive; only her blood matters. This blood knowledge. For all her wondering, she’s been avoiding gnawing her way to that answer.

“Claudia said you needed backup” are Helena’s words when they meet.

Myka’s attempt at prep has fallen grievously short—not that she could have risen to such an occasion, not when hearing that voice for the first time in some time, and certainly not when faced with what her blood’s embarrassing insistence has forced her to confront anew. “I... assumed I’d be calling Pete,” she says, to at least go with truth.

“Interesting assumption. Perhaps necessary, if you believe I’ll be insufficient.”

Myka’s impulse is to reassure: “More than sufficient—you’re necessary,” she would shout, or better yet, whisper. Instead, because Helena’s tone is neutral—is she in actuality indifferent?—she falls into a defensive, businesslike crouch, offering only implicit denial of the premise of Helena’s statement. “Let’s head for the accounting firm,” she says, internally cursing herself.

Cursing, but also justifying: Helena is here as backup, thanks to Claudia’s cleverness, and Myka should not assume (speaking of assumptions) that she even wants to be here. All focus should be on retrieving the artifact. Certainly on that and not on Myka’s (honestly) predictably overexcited blood.

She tries to concentrate on Claudia’s advice (while at the same time trying not to resent her success at being cryptic about it): what’s a bonus, really? Helena’s presence, the sight of her, the apprehending of her impatience, the experience of blood: whatever else may happen, these have been—must be—are!—the bonus.

****

The cab ride is quiet. Myka’s resolve to think only of backup and bonus is dissolving by the second, and she lets words reach her tongue that might start a conversation with Helena about things... but those words don’t escape her lips, for a strand of formality seems to be stiffening Helena’s spine. Does she know how Myka cherished her impatience? Is she attempting to discourage such adoration?

Myka, in regret and relief, follows that more-strict lead.

That’s a bonus too, though, for it turns the ride into unpressured, liminal time, perfect for simply basking in presence. It’s best, Myka is now thinking, to treat this reunion as something that was of course going to have happened. For backup or other professional purposes. Despite the fact that it’s the thank-god fulfillment of recurring, desperate dreams.

However: at one point in the traffic-backed silence, Helena, completely unprompted, turns and smiles at Myka.

Myka smiles back.

It’s a previously missing puzzle-piece slotting into place... yet in its aftermath, Myka finds herself having to push with force against a will to worry over other missing pieces; in particular, she must fight the fret-intensive futility of trying to count them.

****

They find the accounting firm’s lobby spacious but quiet—holiday-low staffing, presumably. Myka asks the receptionist, “Is there someone we can talk to about end-of-year bonuses? Also penalties?”

“I’m a temp,” says the young man. His tone suggests it’s his answer to every query... but then he adds, very quietly, “Unofficially, there’s this one guy...”

That has the ring of “artifact,” so Myka nods, encouraging him.

“Super-vocal about his paycheck the other day. How tiny it was. I mean, he’s the kind of guy you might have theories about what else is tiny, but I—”

“Who was that?” Myka interrupts, even as she feels Helena’s readiness to laugh. Mr. Super-vocal is thus probably not a wielder of an artifact; more likely, one of that wielder’s... victims?

“Bob,” the temp says. “I’m sure he’s got a last name, and I’m sure he thinks everybody should call him ‘Mr. Lastname,’ but my care level? Anyway he’s down the hall—one of the only ones in the farm today. Spite-working. Maybe on his anti-everything manifesto.”

“Down the hall” turns out to be a vast expanse of cubicles: definitely a farm.

Myka says to Helena, “Follow my lead?”

“Always,” Helena says.

It’s a tonally sincere utterance—and in that, admirable—but it’s also manifestly untrue; nevertheless, Myka’s blood decides to believe it, to recognize it as another puzzle-piece. I really need to function, Myka tries to explain to her interior. So if we could climb down just a couple rungs. Like to the cab-ride level, maybe?

Her body refuses the agreement.

Of course.

The occupant of the first inhabited cubicle they find is an over-coiffed middle-aged man who clearly spends far too much time in tanning booths. He’s typing aggressively, as if the force of his keystrokes will power his message. His manifesto?

“Are you Bob?” Myka asks him.

“You better be here about my money,” obviously-Bob says, clearly spoiling for a fight.

Myka finds his demand incongruous—his job has to do with other people’s money, and Myka and Helena are manifestly other people. Who could have money. Fred or otherwise.

“In a way,” she says. She follows up with “We’re from the IRS,” and it’s never not funny for that to be useful. Bob winces, as if she's about to strike him. Also never not funny. “We’ve noted some suspicious discrepancies in end-of-year reporting.”

“You have?” Bob asks. Now he’s avid rather than confrontational.

“Looks like some overreporting. Also underreporting. So you see our concern, particularly about effects on withholding.” She is making this up, as she generally does whenever she has to go actual IRS on someone. Read up on tax law, she reminds herself, as she generally does every time. Not that she’ll ever have the leisure to do that... “What we need to find out is whether it was in error, or if it warrants a full investigation.”

“Nancy Sullivan,” he says, with contempt, the name itself a curse. “She’s the one you should investigate, and then send straight to jail. She’s always been a witch about year-end, but now? On steroids. Talking about making her list, threatening to mark down people she doesn’t like, including yours truly, as naughty... and then we got our paychecks, and somehow she did it! No idea how she managed to push that garbage through, but I swear you better get her up on some kind of charges!”

He rises abruptly, clutching a slip of paper; his chair topples over behind him. He shoves the paper in Myka’s direction, his knuckles nearing her astonished nose—but in the instant before contact, Helena intervenes, her arm blocking his, stopping his forward motion.

Backup.

Helena plucks the paper from his pushy hand. “And what’s this?” she asks.

A pretty minimal manifesto, Myka thinks initially. But then she replays his screed in her head, and his babbling about Nancy Sullivan resolves into meaningful references; struck by the realization, she very nearly misses his next statement: “My pay stub. She can’t just do this.”

Helena says, “Of course not.” She’s soothing him, her voice a faux-caress. It’s enough to tempt Myka to act out, just to hear it directed her way, even as Helena continues, “But we understand some of your colleagues, to the contrary, received large bonuses.”

His “tanned” skin darkens further. “Guess she thought they were nice. To her. Suck-ups.”

Mya looks a Find out anything else that’s relevant at Helena, who nods. Retreating back to the pre-cubicle hallway—relieved that her nose is intact—she Farnsworths Claudia. She skips the pleasantries, starting with, “A very disgruntled employee says the woman who signs off on bonuses was making a list.”

Claudia chortles. “You’re hilarious. Was she checking it twice?”

“This is my point. We don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with, not yet, but I bet that’s the crux.”

“I should’ve known you weren’t aiming for hilarity. So you really think this is some Santa thing?”

“No. I’m saying words about lists because I think it’s a grocery thing.” Myka wants to shake her fist at the heavens and every deity who occupies it. Occupies them. All the heavens. “Of course I think it’s a Santa thing! I also think it’s Pete’s fault somehow.”

“Just because it’s Christmas? C’mon.”

“Christmas and Ohio?” Myka snorts. “You c’mon. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Maybe you should though. For peace of mind?”

“That’s another thing I don’t believe in. Just see if you can find anything about a Santa’s-list artifact, would you?”

“Roger. By the way, how do you like your backup?” She chortles again and disconnects.

“I like my backup like I like the sunrise,” Myka tells the blank Farnsworth screen.

“What about the sunrise?” Helena asks from directly behind her.

Myka wishes the sound of her voice were either more or less startling. She wishes also that she knew exactly how much overhearing had occurred.

“It’s inevitable,” she sighs.

In response, Helena blinks.

They take the elevator to Nancy Sullivan’s office.

In that elevator, which is aggressively mirrored, Myka can’t help but glance repeatedly at herself. So many reflections. You called this into being, thinking about Alice’s mirror before, she accuses. She tries not to focus on how her hair could really stand to be more controlled... she’d focus on Helena instead, but who knows how that would be received? Instead she allows herself one glance, then looks down.

She likes being on the elevator with Helena, though; it’s a space of relative privacy, like the cab. Have they ever before been on an elevator together? Alone or otherwise? She runs through their interactions, fast-forwarding from the Wells house to D.C., Tamalpais to Moscow, Yellowstone, Colorado Springs, Ohio (here Myka trips over the fact that Helena’ s now been to Ohio twice, if only once in physical form), Pittsburgh, Hong Kong...

The review—the speed with which she can conduct it—reminds her of how limited that time has been, so: an elevator ride. Yet another bonus.

“That fellow,” Helena remarks, and Myka looks up again; their eyes meet in the mirror of the elevator’s doors. It’s uncanny, as if they’re both holograms, so Myka turns her body toward Helena, who meets Myka’s actual eyes and continues, “He attempted to make a lewd joke about his willingness and ability to be naughty when it’s called for. I pretended not to understand.”

Myka can’t help it: she snorts. “I bet he didn’t buy that for a second.”

“I have the ability to perform ‘prim’ when it’s called for,” Helena says, and Myka has to acknowledge that statement as good evidence of itself. Then Helena’s face reshapes into a devilish grin as she says, “In a slightly different vein, his quailing at those three letters with which you assailed him? Hilarious.”

“Letters?” A little perverse-quirk makes Myka want to hear Helena say them, though she’s probably not pulling off “disingenuous” in making the request.

Helena seems fine with the perversity, for she obliges: “I,” she begins, then draws out “Aaaaare.” Then, after a beat: “Esssss.”

Myka now herself feels assailed—by how right Helena’s reading her. She tries to step it down with, “I wasn’t aiming for hilarity. I never do. Claudia can vouch.” But she does spend a little moment thinking about the context of that previous assailing: we’re from the IRS. We are here, together, from an agency. We, together, represent. It isn’t by any means everything Myka would have wanted... but it’s something: part of this bonus. “Fred,” she says, sotto voce.

The office they’re seeking is on the building’s highest floor, suggestive of Nancy Sullivan’s bonus-approving rank; it features several large windows, one of which affords the office a view of the hallway, and vice versa. Through it, Myka and Helena watch a woman, presumably that powerful Nancy Sullivan, writing with a quill-esque pen.

“It’s the pen,” Myka says, because it has to be. “It’s always the stupid pen.”

“Always?” That’s unusually tentative, like Helena’s trying not to step.

“Okay, once,” Myka concedes. “My dad and Poe and a pen, and as a result I’ve developed a severe aversion to those quill things.”

Helena takes a beat. Then: “I never liked feather pens.”

“Are you just saying that,” Myka says, because she might be, and she might admit it, and that might be good or bad or something else Myka has no way of evaluating. Why does Helena say words like this? And for that matter, why does Myka keep spending her limited time on this planet trying to parse them?

“Yes? In that I’ve... said it?”

That really didn’t help with any of the whys. “I mean, just to make me feel better?”

Helena shrugs. “The fact is, today’s ballpoints et cetera are far more reliable. Does that make you feel better?”

She’s playing at being obtuse—surely that’s for a reason? But Myka has no time to wonder further, for Helena is knocking on the office door and opening it without waiting for an invitation, and the real retrieval is underway.

Myka flashes her badge. “I’m Agent Myka Bering, and this is Helena Wells. We’re from the IRS.” She glances at Helena—all these glances!—and gets a small smirk in response.

Rather than introducing herself, the woman says, “Really? I bet that’s not true.”

“Why?” Myka asks. Have she and Helena, over the course of the elevator ride, lost their ability to perform “official” correctly?

“I have a feeling you’re here for this,” Nancy Sullivan says, and she lofts the pen, waving it like a wand. “Mostly because I also have a feeling that I want to close my fist around it, punch my way past both of you, and make my escape.”

Well. “That’s self-aware,” Myka says. “Unusually so.”

“Thank you? Although it’s less self-awareness than kind of a... sixth sense.”

Helena raises an eyebrow at Myka. “Sixth sense aside, we appreciate your good sense to refrain from attempting to punch your way past us. That would have ended poorly.”

“I wish I’d had the good sense not to use this pen,” Nancy Sullivan says.

“Is there a reason for your wish?” Helena asks. She sounds, to Myka’s ears at least, like a recently summoned, slightly flummoxed genie.

“Because of how much I liked using it—particularly when I realized nobody was going to question anything. I signed off on all these orders, and it was like...” she trails off. Then she concludes, “Magic.”

To keep her talking, Myka prompts, “Was it?”

“Having the power to reward good people has been fantastic,” Nancy Sullivan continues, “but penalizing the awful ones? I mean I’ve sort of resented feeling compelled to use the word ‘naughty’ about them, because that’s way out of character for me. But other than that? Utterly spectacular.”

“Bob,” Helena suggests.

“Oh, god, you met him?”

Helena offers a dry “Alas.”

Nancy Sullivan’s smile is as dry as Helena’s tone, astringently vindictive. “I could not have been more thrilled to hit him and everybody like him where it hurt... I admit I’ve always been kind of judgmental, but wielding this pen? Intensified. Like, the hates are more. In particular, the hates are more. I’m not saying the Bobs of this company didn’t deserve what I did, but I feel it more. Punishment. It’s satisfying, but also weirdly costly. Grinch-in-reverse costly.”

That’s a little on the nose. Myka glances at Helena again, because the satisfactions of punishment, of judgment, even of hate, are among the things they will need to talk about. Maybe. Someday. If they are to have a someday that is theirs... if that is even possible after so much time and tribulation... Myka lets the glance grow into a gaze, a resting regard, and it stays that way until Helena, too, glances, with the result then that their eyes meet and lock... such a clasp, Myka feels, could ground that potential, and potentially necessary, talk of things, if only they were not in the middle of a retrieval...

...which makes Myka think. Why are they in the middle of a retrieval?

“I wish I didn’t feel like I need to articulate this, but where did you get the pen?” she asks. Because she has a niggling sense of something larger happening, something beyond her grasp. Nevertheless, it is not—repeat, not—a vibe.

Fine. It might be a vibe.

“My cousin gave it to me,” says Nancy Sullivan.

“Your cousin,” Myka says. “Whose name is?” Now she’s knows what’s coming, and that has nothing to do with a vibe: no, it is entirely deduction based on experience.

“Pete Lattimer.”

TBC

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #fanfic #Bonus #holiday (but not Gift Exchange)#proceeding at a vaguely nonzero speed #being left in the dust by snails and tortoises #but I do still love a Myka who fights with herself about who deserves what (and why)#and of course a Helena who can be reasonably inferred to do the same #struggling against the graceful acceptance of gifts #whatever form they take

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toppersjeep · 8 months

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Jeff Atkins (When You’re Gone)

Summary: After Jeff dies you feel lost without him. You try to move on but it’s hard for you. So when they honor him for the team you decide to speak about him. You also sometimes see Jeff just like Clay sees Hannah. Who doesn’t love a ghost of there ex?

this song inspired this

Your POV

“Hey sis are you ready for today” Clay asked me. But I pretended to ignore him. I wasn’t ready. My boyfriend was dead. This year would’ve been our senior year together. Only because he was failing classes. But part of me thinks he wanted to stay back so I didn’t have to do it alone.

But now he was gone. Part of me still felt like he was here with me. I missed him more than anything in this world. I’d give anything to see his smile.

“Y/N we gotta get going” Clay said as I started at a photo of Jeff and I. A tear rolled down my cheek. “Yeah Clay” I said wiping a tear. “You don’t have to speak you know I can say you were sick” Clay said. “No no it’s okay” I said setting the picture back on my nightstand. “Alright then” Clay said.

I then looked at the necklace Jeff had given me with his initials and a little baseball bat. But now beside it was his class ring. I never took it off for anything. At least this way he was still here.

“I’m coming” I said grabbing Jeff’s letterman jacket and putting it on over my dress. Clay and I drove to the school. We parked and went inside the school. It was in the gym. I walked over to the principal were he wanted me.

Clay and our parents sat on the bleachers. Jeff’s parents sat beside them too. The principal of course said a couple words. I just sat there thinking about him. And the first time we met. Was actually when clay tutored him.

Flashback

“I brought my sister to help since she’s so good at science” Clay said as I sat down beside Jeff. “Wow there’s no way she’s your sister she’s wow” Jeff said I blushed. “And you are so” Jeff said I laughed.

“Very funny Jeff” Clay said. “So what’s your name beautiful” Jeff said I blushed. “Y/N” I said he smiled. “I love that name” he said. “Alright enough flirting” Clay said.

And after that he got my number and we talked for hours on end. He eventually asked me out on a date. Even though clay hated the idea. Eventually he warmed up to us dating.

He was my first kiss my first everything. But I never thought I’d meet someone like him. He’s perfect.

End of flashback

“And now Y/N Jensen has prepared something in honor of her late boyfriend Jeff” the principal said. I walked up. I then went up to the microphone. I just looked at everyone sitting on the bleachers.

“Jeff… I’m sorry give me a second” I said tearing up. I then pretended he was there in that room like I did sometimes. Maybe it was real and he was there protecting me. “Love it’s okay you can do this deep breaths” Jeff said standing beside me.

Even though he wasn’t there. Part of me felt his presence with me all the time. I took a deep breath and then began to speak again.

“Jeff was one of those people that you met once in a lifetime and we all had the privilege of knowing him” I said. “I had the privilege of knowing him a lot better than all of you” I said tearing up. “Maybe even more than his parents knew” I said.

“I also had the privilege of loving him and being loved by him” I said. “I remember the first time I met Jeff it was in the library” I said. “The first thing he told me was that I was beautiful” I said. “Nobody had ever made me feel as special as he did” I said as a tear rolled down my cheek.

“From that day forward he became the most important person in my life” I said. “We talked every day and night even when I didn’t want to” I said people laughed. “He even tried to teach me how to play baseball but I sucked” I said. “Even though he always told me I didn’t” I said.

“You could’ve easily beat me babe with practice” Jeff said.

“He always told me I could beat him with practice but I know he let me win” I said. “Being loved by Jeff was one of the best feelings in this world” I said. “The way his eyes lit up when he looked at me is something I’ll never forget” I said.

“I remember the night he told me he loved me” I said tearing up. “A girl waits her whole life to hear those words” I said. “We were at the dance in this very gym” I said. “Of course I dragged him to this dance like I always did” I said smiling. “And he came even though he probably would’ve preferred a movie night” I said people smiled.

“We were dancing on this very floor when he told me he loved me” I said. “It was a slow dance and I had my head on his chest and I remember how I felt in that moment” I added.

“So safe and so secure he then kissed my forehead and told me he loved me” I said. “He said “Y/N I’m gonna say something crazy I don’t care if you don’t say it back” and I looked at him” I said. “I then said “Jeff nothing you can say is crazy” I remember looked up at him and he just smiled” I said.

“He then whispered in my ear “Y/N I love you I know that it hasn’t been long but I’m in love with you” I remember feeling butterflies in that moment” I said tearing up. “I thought for once in my life I had my moment” I said.

“I then looked up at him and told him I loved him” I said wiping a tear. “From that moment on I loved Jeff everyday more and more” I said. “He promised me so much more than anyone had before him” I said. “…Jeff was… and is my soulmate and I’d give anything to have him here beside me” I said as tears rolled down my face.

“The night.. Jeff.. passed… before the party we had a conversation about our future this year” I said. “I know it sounds crazy for two kids to be thinking about the future” I said. “But we were in love” I said. “Madly in love” Jeff said. I smiled.

“He told me that he wanted to marry me” I said. “That he knew I was the one for him and there wasn’t anyone else” I said crying. “I said ask me again next year” I said wiping a tear. “And he told me he would little did I know he had the ring there that night” I said.

“I wish I would’ve known and said yes that very night.. I think all the time maybe he’d still be here if I would’ve known” I said. “But.. I do know that he’s still here with us watching over everyone” I said. “Jeff was one of a kind and he’d be so happy that this team won states this year” I said.

“And Jeff if you are somehow hear listening or in heaven I want you to know the answer is yes and it will always be yes” I said tearing up. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak about Jeff” I said.

I then stopped speaking and walked away. The principal went back up and spoke. I went outside and sat on a lunch table.

“I’m proud of you” Jeff said sitting beside me. “I wish you were here” I said. “I am here for you always right here” he said pointing at my necklace. “You know what I mean” I said looking at him. “I know baby” he said I looked at him.

“I can’t do this without you” I said. “Hey” he said side hugging me. “Remember what I always told you” Jeff said. “No matter what you’ll always protect me” I said. “That and you look beautiful no matter what” he said I laughed.

“I should’ve said yes that night I’m sorry” I said. “It’s not your fault Y/N don’t blame yourself okay” he said wiping my tears. “I need you” I said. “And I’ll always be here but..” Jeff said. “But what” I said. “You gotta move on eventually” he said looking at me. “I can’t” I said looking at the ring.

“Love.. you will always be my first love too you know that” Jeff said. “There’s nobody else like you” I said. “Really.. what about Scott Reed” Jeff said. “Jeff what about him” I said. “Remember the day you dropped your books and he helped you”Jeff said. “Yeah” I said.

“Or when he asked you for help with the team games” Jeff said. “Jeff I don’t understand” I said. “Or how he checks up on you after the trails or just texts you” Jeff said.

“What are you saying” I said looking at him. He then looked behind me. I heard some footsteps. “Hey I came to check on you” Scott said. Jeff looked at me. “H..Hey” I said Scott said beside me. “Are you okay” Scott asked.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay” I said. He put an arm around me. “It’s weird without him here but it feels like he’s pushing me towards you” Scott said. “Maybe he is here” I said looking over at him he smiled.

“It’s just like all these things keep happening and I feel like he’s putting us together” Scott said. I rested my head on his shoulder. “Your not like your baseball friends” I said. “Those guys may be my teammates but they are all assholes Jeff wasn’t” Scott said.

“Jeff used to say the same thing about you” I said. “Maybe it’s a sign” Scott said. “So why do you keep appearing every where” I said. “Because I care about you a lot” he said wiping my tears. Just like Jeff used to do for me.

“But why me” I said. “Because your special and Jeff would always tell me that” Scott said. “And I’m starting to see why he loved you so much” Scott said. “Yeah” I said. “Yeah so if you are up for it I’d like too…

He began to say I kissed him.

“Prom” I asked. “I was gonna ask you the same thing” Scott said. “So yes” I said. “I’d love to” Scott said. “Told you I got you always” Jeff said to me I smiled. “What are you looking at” Scott said. “The beautiful sunset” I said.

“Hey maybe Jeff is here after all” Scott said. “He is..” I said tearing up. “I’ll always love you” Jeff said. “I love you” I mouthed and he was gone just like that. “So prom” Scott said.

“Oh right my dress is like light purple” I said he smiled.

#fanfic #jeff atkins #13 reasons why #brandon larracuente #clay jensen #x reader #Spotify #13 reasons imagine #jeff atkins x reader #scott reed imagine #scott reed x reader #love #fanfiction #imagines

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closetfascination · 9 months

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So I went back 5 or 6 years in the 13RW fandom and was intrigued by the summary "The criminal fic no one asked for or wanted" of Partners in Crime by HighGhostwriter21. I don't want to spoil it, but let's just say I was really shocked by the ending.

It is also cool to see which ships were trending back then because there are almost no Justlex fics anymore and Monty/Jeff was definitely a thing back in 2017 as well (although still a relative rarepair)

#summer fic reading challenge #sfrc 2023 #13 reasons why #13 reasons why fanfic #fanfic #crime au #5+ year old fic

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kurottsukii · 3 months

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𝖱𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖲𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾 | 13 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖶𝗁𝗒

This is a short story based on the show 13 Reasons Why and the song Romantic Homicide by D4vd.

Please be warned that this story contains R*PE, s*icide, s*xual assault, s*xual scenes and m*rder

Introduction

Juliana Foley, the twin sister of Liberty High's most beloved athlete and heart throb, Justin Foley. Now this isn't a cheesy sitcom where one twin is popular, leaving the other twin in the dust of irrelevancy, both twins were born into the poor life. They had a drug addict of a mother and her river of abusive drug addict boyfriends that did not supply her addict but their endless trauma.

They had nothing but the dirty rags as clothes on their backs and each other, well until they met an angel in disguise Bryce Walker. He did not only befriend the Foley twins and basically helped build their nonstop relevancy today's high school popularity but he was their family, their everything. To Justin, Bryce was a best friend, a brother. But to Juliana, he was her first kiss, first love, first boyfriend, her... rapist; but we'll get to that last part later on.

Juliana Foley, Liberty High's cheer captain and class president, the boys there kissed the ground she walks on while the girls envy the air she breaths out. She was pure perfection at it's best, the most likely to succeed in life, they both were. So beloved, so admired but yet one person, and 13 tapes ruined that within seconds. Everything they built together came crumbling down their feet once a girl named Hannah Baker came into their life and shared their secrets. A domino effect has occurred....

Present Time | A week after her death

With how hard her heels slammed against the cold concrete as she stomped her way towards Bryce's house, she was surprised they didn't break under the pressure or even cause a mini earthquake.

The girl practically seething with pure anger after hearing Hannah's tapes, she was the last one Tony gave it to before giving it to Clay Jensen, Hannah's best friend. You'd think with what Hannah said about her, she'd be scared about the tapes coming out like the rest of the group but no. One, her tape wasn't as bad as the others, it was her secrets that was bad. Secrets that Hannah shared. Secrets like Bryce fuckin Walker.

After not only hearing that Bryce was cheating but that he raped Jessica, and Hannah. And to think she was the only one and she bared that constant pain for so long, hoping that he doesn't do it to anyone else and yet he did, behind her back even. Manipulating her to keep her mouth shut and just smile, making her think she was fucking delusional to even think her boyfriend would do that to her but no. She faced the cold hearted truth once hearing those tapes and that truth felt like a bullet to the face.

Upon hearing the tapes she realized something, not only does she know the truth but so does everyone in the friend group, they all knew what kind of monsters they were all while Bryce was the devil and yet...they chose to do nothing, to say nothing as if the tapes were a lie. How could they? Her friends? Her brother? Everyone.

How could they do that to her. Most importantly how could they do that to Hannah.

Her fist left a burning hot pain on themselves for how hard she was slamming them against Bruce's front door. She knew his every day schedule like the back of her hand, his parents are on a business trip leaving him alone and since it's a Saturday, he's definitely by himself; Saturdays were their 50 shades of gray kind of night. I know, so young but yet they fuck like sex hungry thirty year olds.

"Bryce Fuckin' Walker, Open The Damn Door!" Her voice sounded angry but really it withered with pain, afraid that she might cry in his presence about what she just learned. It felt like hours with how long the girl stood there, injuring her fist trying to get her so-called "boyfriend" to open the door. No luck. No luck for a good thirty more minutes and then hearing the sound of a door lock being unlocked made her stop immediately.

Taking a step back to fix her outfit and composer she watched as his face slowly emerged from being the door, looking all handsome with confusion written all over his face. It was hard, it was hard to hate him. After being involved with him for so long, after everything he did for her, for her brother. It was so fuckin hard to hate that face, she fell in love with that face. With that man and to finally come to the conclusion of what he truly is, is so heartbreaking.

Her lips trembled and then flattened as she tried her hardest to speak the words that were already formed and played out in her head. "I heard the tapes." Her tone was quiet, her demeanor was weak, she sounded pathetic, not at all mad as she was minutes ago. She hated how much control he had over her.

His face stayed the same, in fact it was relaxed. Not alarmed at all that his girlfriend now knows the truth. It was like he knew, no matter how he played it, the outcome would be the same, she won't go to the cops and she won't leave him. It was only how he was going to play it out to get that outcome and so, he played the clueless role. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

"The tapes, Bryce." Annoyance danced around her voice, "Hannah Baker's tapes. I heard them, all of them so don't play fucking stupid. Everything. I was right about everything, about who you are and you made me always feel stupid but now I got proof!" She was met with silence, in fact, she was met with a remaining calm composer as if he just knew she was bluffing.

This made her frustrated.

"Why are you not worried?" There was hesitation in her voice, she was confused, angry, and scared all at once. She didn't even recognize the boy she fell in love with. "I—I'll ruin you. I can turn you in, turn them in.."

"No you won't."

No she won't? Why did he say it so casually, so confident. Why wasn't he breaking? ....Why did she want him to?

"Yes- yes I will. You don't know who you're playing with." There, the hesitation sat at the base of her throat, giving him the go that she was bluffing. "No you won't." He stated again, this time disturbing her personal space, his eyes glued to her, his flatten lips twitching into a smirk. " You know why you won't? Because you don't have the tapes right now and your brother is on the tapes, so is your friend Zach, so is your bestie Jessica, everyone Jules. If I go down, we all do. Dominic affect."

Fuck he was right, he didn't even need to bring up the fact that she wouldn't turn him in because she also still love him, maybe that one was obvious but still, she was furious.

With one quick slap that smirk was whipped clean off, she couldn't help it.. She hated how confident he was, how right he was..How calm, like he acknowledged his sins and doesn't have remorse. How could he do that?

To her, to those girls. How could he cheat on her like that? How could he be the main reason a girl killed herself and he doesn't have remorse? She was disgusted. "We're fuckin done. If I see your face or if you even try to talk to me or look in my direction, I'll squeal and bring everyone down with me. If you don't have remorse, I won't either." Her words taste like venom on her tongue but that's how she felt deep in her gut. She hated him, she despised him but with all of that, at the same time it broke her.

He was her angel, her first everything and he turned out to be a devil in disguise and he's protected too, why? He's a rich white boy in America surrounded by money and jock friends that worship him like he's a god. It was sickening really.

Her heels clanked against the concrete once again, making a bitter melody as she walked herself home that night. Hannah and everything she said flashed in her head like a flashback. That poor girl, that poor pitiful girl. You know at the same time Juliana felt bad but she despised the girl too? She went after Jules brother and kept seeing him, she went after Zach and even Bryce. Oh Lord Bryce, just the thought of them two .....it felt like flashes of burning heat burning in her stomach.

Home, she didn't know why she bothered going home. She knew Justin wasn't there, home was the last place the twins would even be. Bryce was always their second home, their hideaway from hell, and now it's not even that for her anymore. Upon arriving at their shitty apartment, Juliana slowly upon the door, mentality cursing at how loud this door can be when they're trying to sneak in, luckily no one was there, well, until she closed the door.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Seth, Juliana and Justin's mom's boyfriend and well, shit bag drug dealer. One time he tried to make a move on her and Justin tried to protect her honor only to get his ass kicked. "I went to Bryce's house " Her words were short and bitter which was strike one to him, but before anything could happen amber saved the day by convincing her lousy, shit hole, white trash boyfriend back to their room, she didn't even bother to look at her daughter. But then again, she was always a boy mom even though she was a shitty mom most of the time.

Letting out a breathy sigh, she quickly ran to her room, locking the door behind her. Tears crept up as her eyes were now swollen with them. God, what the fuck is she going to do.

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