#do not pay twenty dollars for this nine year old game | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greenninjagal-blog · 3 years

Text

The Rumor Mill Game (pt4)

I swear I didn’t forget about this au. This chapter is just....long.

Welcome back to this mess of an au :) If you need a refresher, you can find Part Three [here!] Or if you’re new check out the first part [here!]

Summary: Logan is...dealing with the fallout of him and his coworker, Remus, having created a rumor about them being married and now apparently having a kid except not because Logan screamed at the top of his lungs that Virgil wasn’t his kid. His boss has a different definition for what “dealing” actually means.

Words: 8292 (Holy shit remember when this au was 2k words)

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up like this.

Granted when he hadn’t exactly been expecting anything. He hadn’t been looking ahead, hadn’t been making plans, hadn’t been thinking at all. Which was most likely how he ended up outside the bar in the first place.

Logan could, of course, count the number of times he had been drunk on one hand. College had been a time for experimenting, and of course for his twenty-first birthday his friends at the time had been insistent that he needed to imbibe an unholy amount of alcohol in one night. They had turned it into an experiment, where Logan documented exactly what he was feeling after each drink and he still had the notes in his desk at home, despite the fact that his handwriting had become illegible after the fifth drink and someone had spilled an orange soda based tonic on the third page. The notes themselves were worthless, but they served as a memoir to people who he no longer associated with and a younger version of himself who had still been learning.

And Logan did have a soft spot for that imbecile: Twenty-one-year-old Logan Ackroyd who still believed in the goodness of people and who wanted to change the world and who could fall in lov--

Logan pitied him-- that kid he used to be-- which he was certain that his younger self would be indignant about. Logan always did hate when people pitied him. Those emotions had rarely ever been genuine, rarely ever been helpful, rarely been productive. What was he to do about people feeling bad for him? About others being disappointed? About others making assumptions about him and how he felt?

He didn’t need pity, and he didn’t want it. Not when he got rejected to his first three colleges, not when flunked that English class and had to pay to retake it the next year, not when he had bought that ring and gotten down on one knee and made a whole carefully edited speech and--

And he’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with these types of thoughts. Or any thoughts for that matter. Wouldn’t it just be great to stop thinking?

Then he wouldn’t have to remember the looks on his coworkers faces when he storming into the office less than fifteen minutes after initially leaving for lunch and demanded that Beatrice turn in her overdue spreadsheets in twenty minutes or he’d have her fired before slamming his office door hard enough to crack that frosted glass, or the look on Remus- fucking- Prince’s face when he tried to act like everything that had happened was not his fault and that Logan had taken the game to far by himself without any sort of prompting from Remus, or the look on Virgil’s face when Logan lost his self control.

Like an idiot. Like an asshole. Like someone who doesn’t think before he acts.

Like someone who should be alone for the rest of his life, because he can’t seem to get a hold of those useless emotions of his.

And Logan wanted so very badly to blame Remus Prince for this whole endeavor, the whole production, the whole catastrophe. He wanted to say that without Remus he never would have gotten that angry, wouldn’t have had that conversation, wouldn’t have even gotten Thai today.

Logan wanted to say that, but really it's his own fault. If he had just dismissed Remus’s rumor in the beginning, if he had just told Jen and Quin that his personal business was his own, if he had just ignored the urge to get coffee and finished the spreadsheets without getting up that last night.

His fourth finger itched around the base, the area where that little silver ring had been sitting for less than a day. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Logan had never worn a ring before and now suddenly the absence of it caused his skin to crawl in a most unpleasant, unproductive way.

Distantly Logan realized that by gifting Remus such a wonderful present, he had also thrown away four hundred dollars. And perhaps ironically Logan noted that he feels annoyed about it-- four hundred dollars had been sitting in a pocket of a dress jacket in the corner of his office for over nine months and he had tossed it aside in a fit of impulsive anger.

Logan had not been hurting for money recently, with how decently he was paid, and the amount of overtime he worked, and how little time he had taken off since that disastrous night.

But perhaps he might have been able to return it to the jewelers and weathered the terrible, awful pitying looks they would give him when he requested about their refund policy or a location where he might be able to sell it himself. It was a ring that was worth four hundred dollars and he had given it to Remus, and isn’t it funny that that’s farther than he got with the one for whom the ring had been originally intended?

And as Logan downed his next rum and coke of the night, he hoped that Remus found a better use for it. Newton knows it hadn't done any good for Logan.

(Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that he had screeched “He’s not and never will be our son!” Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that Remus had hummed mischievously “I think I enjoy being fake-married to you, Logan." Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the the way his last partner had said “We should see other people”. Its stupid, stupid, stupid--)

“Hmmm,” A voice behind him said, “I thought I would find you here!”

Logan didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he heard the voice and felt every atom in his body figuratively threaten to combust. He wasn’t drunk enough to be thinking about him, and he most certainly wasn’t drunk enough to turn and look at the incessantly, perky man that had decided to sit down next to him.

Logan waved at the bartender and ordered another rum and coke and watched his freshly emptied glass disappear like the handful of others he didn’t bother to keep count of.

“And I’ll have two waters, please!” Patton Hart added with one of his peppy, happy, insufferable laughs, before turning to face Logan. “Hiya, Lo! It's been so long since we’ve seen each other!”

“Not long enough,” Logan disagreed, with a rueful smile that should very clearly, very precisely detail how much he does not want company at the current moment. “Don’t you have things to be doing tonight, Mr. Hart?”

Patton hummed, pressing his lips together as he thought-- a monumental task for someone like him, surely. Logan was partially convinced that if he removed his glasses he might be able to see the squirrels beginning to run on that rusted wheel in the other man’s brain. If Logan was of a less logical mind he might even be brazen enough to call this the first time Patton had used his brain all week.

“Well,” Patton said, carefully settling himself on the stool next to Logan. “I was graciously informed by my son that he would be enjoying the perks of being a teenager with no bedtime tonight and along with where exactly I could shove my homemade lasagna.” He laughed lightly, “Kids, these days! He really does keep me on my toes!”

Logan did his best not to roll his eyes. “I do not know the whereabouts of your son, Mr. Hart.”

“Patton,” He said easily, “And I’m not here for my son. I’m here for you, Logan.”

“If this is about the glass in my door, you are very capable of taking that out of my paycheck.” Logan told him.

The bartender placed Logan’s new rum and coke in front of him and he reached for it almost immediately, only stopping when Patton’s hand landed on his forearm.

“Mr. Hart--”

“Patton,” Patton corrected with that smile that Logan suspected was the worst thing in the world. Worse than Virgil’s blank expression when he told them to get out, worse than Remus’s smug one when he suggested that Logan did indeed enjoy the ability to manipulate his coworkers, worse than Beatrice faulty excel sheets, than broken glass of his door, than a ring he never wanted to see again and yet he still felt like it was missing from his finger.

“Mr. Hart,” Logan said again, “I am going to get horrifically drunk tonight, and I will be calling out sick tomorrow, regardless of what you say. So my advice to you is, say anything of importance now, before I am too incoherent to register and respond accordingly.”

“That doesn’t sound too smart there, kiddo!” Patton said, like he was any older than Logan was.

“I do not feel like being smart right now,” Logan said snippily. Because being smart involved thinking, and Logan had done quite enough thinking for the day. He was tired of thinking, tired of memories, tired of the lump in his chest that had formed during his lunch break and hadn’t dissolved in the eight hours since. He was tired.

“Would you like me to be smart for you?” Patton asked.

Ah.

Yes, Logan remembered suddenly with just a few words why he hated Patton Hart so much. Why he hated those too-wide brown eyes, those stupid freckles, that soft smile. Why he hated the way that Patton had tracked him down despite the fact that he had turned off his phone, the way that Patton had ordered two waters, the way that he hadn’t taken off his jacket. The way that he had taken out his keys and put them on the bar counter between them and Logan could pick out his own house key from the jumbled mess of bits and bobs.

“I heard something pretty interesting today,” Patton said, when Logan didn’t reply because he was too busy remembering why he hated Patton so much.

“Please don’t pretend like you didn’t know about my so-called affair before I did.” Logan snapped. “Honestly, Patton!” Logan dropped his arm from the glass and instead pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “Playing dumb about your own company is my least favroite thing about you.”

“I thought you hated my laugh the most.” Patton looked at him, letting the smile slip into something more serious.

“I hate everything about you.”

“Pay for the drinks, Lo.” Patton told him, “And I’ll take you home. We can have some of my lasagna and watch a space documentary, like we’re twenty years old again.”

Logan hated Patton and hated the way his chest ached at the offer. His knuckles bore into the side of his head, jabbing the frame of his own glasses into this temple. He hated the way that Patton was looking at him, soft and sweet and naive.

He hated the way his fingers itched to take Patton’s hand and go home.

“And after all that,” Patton continued so lightly, “You can tell me all about how Remus Prince got under your skin.”

Logan’s hand slammed on the counter, so suddenly he surprised himself. Patton, however, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, didn’t react other than to hold that smile.

“I am not drunk enough to be talking about Remus Prince,” Logan spat. “Especially not to you, Patton.”

Patton was quiet and at first, Logan really had thought that he had won something-- he thought that perhaps Patton would grant him mercy and let him drown his sorrows alone and miserable in a bar until he forgot his own name. But Patton was too good of a friend and Logan really should hate him less for that.

“You know,” Patton said with a cold type of humor that doused Logan with awareness. Bad awareness. The type of awareness that sunk it’s metaphorical claws into Logan’s chest and pierced straight through his heart before Patton finished what he was saying. “I think….yeah that does sound familiar. Do you remember the last time you said you weren’t drunk enough to tell me something?”

Logan did.

Logan couldn’t forget if he tried.

And he had tried so very hard for so very long-- except that Remus Prince had waltzed into Logan’s life, had called him a Robot, had smirked at him and run their coworkers around like cattle with pretty little words. Except that Remus Prince had gotten bored and decided that the only logical next course of action was to mess with Logan’s personal life.

Except that Remus Prince had played along with the rumor game, and smiled at him, and kissed him, and---

And Logan had started thinking---

And Logan’s mouth had started moving--

And Virgil face had--

Logan reached for the glass in front of him, reaching for the cool ice and the spritzy carbonation and the burn of the rum.

Patton watched him, blinking in the long, slow, dumb way of his that had fooled just about every person that he had come in contact with. With the goofy smile and the habit of deliberately misunderstanding key phrases and making puns and jokes when things were tense, it was hard to see him as anything other than a rich son who became CEO via thinly veiled nepotism.

Logan knocked back the drink, blinking back the burn behind his eyes that were from the alcohol and definitely not from the lump in his throat that had started dissolving.

He didn’t want to close his eyes, because he knew what he would see when he did: a nice suit, a fancy dinner, a walk to the bridge dotted with fairy lights of all things. He’d see that stupid ring, that stupid face, that stupid end of the night that everyone had told him would be nice, and perfect, and everything he would ever want!

And he didn’t want to think about how it had not been nice or perfect or anything either of them had ever wanted!

He didn’t want to think about how years ago he had come to a bar just like this, and tried to get so drunk he could pretend that it hadn’t happened, and Patton had shown up then and offered him a job and--

“He wants to go by Janus now,” Patton said, picking up one of the waters and taking a sip.

Logan squinted at him and tried not to be happy about the distraction from his own thoughts, “Who?”

“My son,” Patton said, like it was obvious he had switched back to a neutral topic. “He told me earlier during our phone call he wants to go by Janus, now. He said he’s hated the name Dante for forever. Can you believe it, Lo?”

Logan couldn’t actually. Because he had known Patton since they themselves were teenagers, since before Patton had brought up how empty being a CEO was without anyone to come home too, since Patton had first invited him to Sunday brunch and introduced him to the child he called “son”. Logan had babysat Dante when Patton had business trips and Dante had always been proud of himself, of his better-than-the-status-quo lifestyle, of his name that held power and prestige and weight.

Dante had been practicing saying his name in the mirror since before his voice cracked. Dante Hart, future CEO. Dante Hart, son of Patton Hart. Dante Hart.

“He’s a teenager,” Logan said, “He’s rebelling.”

“Maybe so!” Patton laughed, and it dwindled down to something that was easier felt in the air than definable in terms Logan was familiar with, “Gosh, I love him so much, Lo. My baby! He’s growing up so fast now! The other day he told me he had a boyfriend. He’s at that stage where he doesn’t want me to help him anymore!”

And despite the buffoon having not had a single drop of alcohol, Patton was tearing up. Logan gritted his teeth at the implications of a weepy, teary, so-full-of-emotions Patton. He had spent enough time in college trying to console him as he figured out the whole “Why does it always have to be about sex? Why can’t I just love hugging someone, Lo? Why does everyone make me feel so broken?” Logan hadn’t been any good back then, and he definitely hadn’t gotten better with time.

After that disaster with the last guy, Logan had decided that feeling things, frivolous things, emotion-like things, were not something he was into anymore.

Logan learned from his mistakes, after all.

Even the mistakes that started with “R” and ended in a $400 ring being thrown away.

“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Hart?” Logan asked, in that way of his that told even Patton with his squirrel run brain that it wasn’t actually a question at all. “You can’t baby your son anymore so you’ve moved on to the next best thing?”

Patton stuck his tongue in his cheek and set his water back down. “Patton.” He stressed. “And I’m not here to baby you, Logan. I’m here to be your friend.”

He said “friend” like it was a word in the dictionary Logan didn’t know. It was infuriating: the insinuation that Logan had never cracked open a dictionary before, that he was so unknowledgeable about the concept of a friend that Patton was about to show him the online Oxford dictionary definition, like someone who played dumb all day and peppered his windows with sticky notes in the shape of a game of Frogger knew more about something than Logan who had clawed his way up from nothing and was constantly needing to prove how he earned his position.

Patton nudged the second water in Logan’s direction.

Logan stared at it, at the condensation on the glass, at the ice cubes, at the refraction of the low lights from the bar counter. He stared at it like it was a portal back through time that would allow him to slam some sense into poor, pitiful twenty-one-years-old Logan before he let himself fall in Love.

Before he bought a ring or stopped taking days off unless Patton tromped down to his office himself. Before Remus Prince borrowed his cup and before Logan got it in his head that he was serving revenge rather than idiocracy. Before he let himself think too little and say too much and hurt a kid that had never deserved to be upset before in his life.

“If my son wants to be called Janus, I’ll call him that,” Patton says softly. “Because even if it doesn’t make sense to me, it means something to him. And even if my friend is struggling with emotions that don’t make sense to me, I’m still gonna try to help him, Lo.”

Patton ducked his head just a little, just enough that he managed to catch Logan’s strategically averted gaze and make something out of it: a swell of guilt, a sense of hope, a pinch of safety and unadulterated kindness.

His throat was dry, but it was the type of dry that couldn’t be fixed with a glass of water.

“I made a kid cry,” Logan said, because self loathing is a coat he had thought he’d outgrown but he can still fit his arms in the sleeves.

Patton nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He sipped his water. “I think we all have at one point or another.”

“See, the distinct difference that you are missing here, Patton, is that you are a father.” Logan snapped, “And your son will cry at the drop of a hat if he thinks he can get something out of it. And you would never harm a child! Not for any reason in the entire world!”

“And you would?”

“I did.” Logan felt himself sink into the chair, sink like an anchor in the ocean, sink like the floor below him had turned into a blackhole. “I did, I did it. What type of person does that make me?”

“I hate to break it to you, Lo,” Patton said, as kindly as he could, which Logan knew was truly, sickenly nice. He wanted to choke on the sentiment but he found that he couldn’t quite make his chest hurt the way he wanted it too when it came to Patton’s pity.

“But that just means you’re a normal person.” Patton smiled dumbly, tilting his head and shrugging. “Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” Patton countered gently, “Like when I hired Beatrice before realizing that she had lied about knowing how to use Excel.”

“Fuck, Beatrice,” Logan agreed, because if he closed his eyes too hard he thought he might still see grid patterns as much as he might see Virgil’s hurt expression and he hated it so much. So much.

“I also told-- Janus once that I would get him anything he wanted for his birthday, and he asked for a snake.” Patton shuddered, almost comically, “And you saw how that turned out.”

“I’ve always been impressed with his ability to sneak things into the school buildings,” Logan sighed. “I doubt anyone has ever forgotten that Show-and-Tell.”

Patton chuckled quietly. It was almost lost in the buzz of the other patrons in the bar. He drew a smiley face in the condensation on his glass and Logan reached over to wipe it away, like he had done a hundred seventeen times since college.

“So….Lasagna?” Patton offered. “We can make some garlic bread too.”

“I regret ever meeting you,” Logan said, even as he picked up the keys on the counter between them. He wished that Patton didn’t look so self satisfied, so pleased, so smug when the words tumbled from his lips, but Patton had never been one to pertain to the wishes and whims of Logan like that.

Settling his tab was quick; a pile of bills from his wallet that he didn’t actually check, but decided the bartender deserved anyway and then Patton linked their elbows together so that Logan couldn’t walk off the way that he used to when he would agree with Patton just to get him to shut up. Logan snagged Patton’s glasses from his head and fogged them up with his breath, before taking on the tedious task of cleaning the fingerprints off the lens meticulously while walking in a wobbling straight line.

Patton laughed like silver bells and it alone brightened the entire street with a type of magic that Logan had long since given up on trying to scientifically explain. The poet in him that Logan had buried under Calculus classes and Statistics courses and a Business degree and only let out when the alcohol out weighed the blood in his system, whispered that it was because it was Patton and his aloofness, and his kindness, and his generosity that never made any sense, and wasn’t that reason enough for the universe to lighten up?

It was drizzling outside, scattered raindrops and dark heavy clouds that whispered of a thunderstorm later. Patton skipped, Logan rolled his eyes and let himself be dragged towards the familiar pale blue punch buggy. It was the same exact car from their college time together, if one ignored the frankenstein replacements of just about every single component in it. Patton clung to the car the same way he had clung to the delusion of Logan being a good friend; sticking close through every breakdown, excusing every letdown, and spending far too much money on it when economically it would have been more beneficial to just let them go.

A wave of self loathing wrapped over Logan again when he pulled on the car door. Patton was genuinely a good person, a good friend. He was stupid at times and he made decisions that made Logan was to strangle him, but he cared so much more than other people. He offered fourth and fifth chances when Logan would have stone-walled his offender at one.

Not to mention, he had come out in the rain to find Logan specifically, probably traversing through three other bars to find the one that Logan had chosen to be his misery echo chamber.

By some sort of lucky happenstance, Logan had originally walked far enough to hail a taxi to get to this bar, leaving his car in the safety of the parking garage where Patton’s company paid a nice sum for security. Logan had tried to argue about that expense with him back in the day, but Patton had pulled out a picture of his toothy grinning son-- Janus-- and said “Lo!! What if my son comes to visit when he learns to drive?! I don’t want to worry about him getting attacked in the parking garage!”

Logan had brutally pointed out that his son would never visit him during work, and so far he had been correct in that assessment, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the slightest bit guilty about his bluntness even so much time later.

Patton had always looked for the best in people, had more strength than most of humanity, had more hope in happy endings that Logan had trust in fact and numbers.

“Is your son okay with me calling him Janus? I’m unsure of etiquette on this. Should I wait until he tells me his preference or should I just make the switch and not bring it up to him?” Logan asked with a sigh as Patton pulled out of the parking spot and set them towards Patton’s house on the other side of town. Unobstructed and following the driving laws, it would only take them about fifteen minutes, and yet Logan wondered about the possibility of Patton having Advil in the car.

The back of his head was already aching from the days events: banging his head on the keyboard all morning leading up to his disastrous lunch date, Remus, Virgil, squinting at spreadsheets until he couldn’t make out the numbers anymore, and the of course stumbling his way to the bar and dealing with Patton.

Patton giggled. “Oh yeah! I asked him earlier if it was okay to tell you. He said he wanted you to call him Janus now. He also said to tell you, you can take a hike.”

Knowing Janus, it was probably something more volatile than “taking a hike”. Most likely it had been something that might have required him to put a full five dollars in the swear jar that they kept on the counter next to the cookie jar. Not that it would matter much. Logan had stayed over at their house dozens of times and every single time he had come across Janus taking that money back out of that swear jar.

As far as Logan was aware, the swear jar had never actually been full. Patton must have noticed at some point-- probably that very first time Janus had taken the money back out-- but he was irritating insistent that he play dumb about it. Thus, Janus continued to swear in excess, Patton continued to make him put money in a swear jar for no real reason, and Logan continued to never understand either of them.

The radio in Patton’s car had been broken fifteen times since Patton had gotten it, but Logan assumed from the silence of the drive that it was now sixteen. He rested his elbow on the window and watched the drizzle turn into a steady rain and the windshield wipers flutter across their vision to occasionally bring them clarity.

The night life was somewhat dreary. The driving pace was slow, and they hit every single stop light in the city because that was just Logan’s luck. There were a few people running around in the rain: a family with a small child who was jumping in every slowly forming puddle on the sidewalk, a couple sharing an umbrella walking so close together they appeared as if to be one misshapen form, a group of friends chatting outside a 24 hour dinner in raincoats, and a few smokers huddled under an alcove with embers burning just enough for Logan to make out their forms through the downpour.

Logan realized almost immediately that the pit in his stomach was much more bearable if he instead focused on the raindrops on the window that are much easier to look at, much less representing something that Logan had always expected he might one day have, much less accusatory in wondering what is wrong with him that he can’t act like a normal human being, this isn’t working, who wants to marry a robot like you--

That was the reason why he wasn’t expecting the sudden jerk of the car coming to a hard stop at a yellow light that they absolutely could have made.

“PATTON!” Logan yelled.

The car behind them blared it’s horn and Logan rubbed his neck and reset his glasses from the sudden movement, ready to question what exactly Patton thought he was doing, because truly of all the things Logan was not in the mood for, this was one of them.

Except that before Logan could get any words out, Patton had put the car in park and whipped off his seatbelt to kick open his door. A wave of rain came pouring into the car as the man threw himself from the driver's seat like there was something wrong with the car, and for a second Logan entertained the absurd idea that they were going to blow up.

Which truly, would have just been a fitting end to his horrific day.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, grabbing after the other’s coat to pull him back inside before the rain soaked into the seats. “Get back in th--”

The other man ignored him, frantically waving to someone in the rain. “REMUS!! MR. PRINCE!! OVER HERE!!”

If Logan knew slightly less about human biology he might have been inclined to say that his heart jumped straight to his throat and climbed its way up his esophagus to strangle him. He wouldn’t have recognized the figure on the street corner on his own: Remus Prince was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with holes in the knees. He was soaked to the bone, without an umbrella, and his usual bouncy brown curls were matted to his head, as if he had been walking out in the rain for much longer than the rain had been sweeping through the city.

He was standing with the smokers under their minimal tarp, although he, himself, was without a cigarette at all. When he turned at the call of his name, there was only confusion and exhaustion in his face. None of the smugness, or the ego, or the energy that he usually had.

Logan didn’t know why that bothered him. He was hurting from earlier; that was good.

After all, it was Remus’s ridiculous game that he had dragged everyone else into.

((Logan’s finger itched and he dug his nails into his skin so deeply he was afraid to glance down in case there was blood pouring off hands.))

Remus ventured out to meet them, dodging across the lanes of traffic without a care in the world, or perhaps with a death wish. Remus didn’t seem particularly like he would mind getting run over by the way that he opened the back door, climbed in, and shook the excess water out in the interior of the car like some type of undomesticated dog.

“Is this a kidnapping?” He asked, rain dripping down his face. “A murder? Do I get to know your name before you dismember me, cutie?”

Patton laughed joyfully, even as Logan felt his face screw up at the sound of Remus calling their boss “cutie”. It was beyond unprofessional, even if Remus was apparently unaware that his career hinged entirely on not insulting Patton. It took a lot to make Patton angry enough to fire someone-- his patience was the best and worst thing about him, as Logan had been reminded every time they interacted-- but once Remus crossed that line, not even a cockroach like him would be able to drag himself out of the metaphorical wasteland Patton would make out of his life.

Cutie, honestly. Who calls anyone they’ve just met cutie. Logan could understand Remus having called him Lovebug and Lolo, but cutie?

For Patton?

Patton climbed back into the car, snapping on his seatbelt and managed to get out of park at the very same moment as the light turned green. He wiped his sleeve along his glasses, and brightly said, “I’m Patton! And you already know Logie here!”

“Logie?” Remus repeated, sitting back against the seat taking in Logan for the first time. “Oh shi--”

“Do not call me that,” Logan said. “Patton, you can drop me off at the next corner. I will walk home.”

“Don’t be silly!” Patton said, in the same tone that he had used during their college days to coax Logan into driving him to the nearest grocery store after he had successfully managed to pull two all nighters in a row. Logan hated that tone, and Patton knew that well.

“If you do not stop the car, I will throw myself from it while it is still moving.”

“I can get out, actually!” Remus said far too loud for the small car. Logan resisted the urge to turn around and scowl at him. Surely, his pea-sized brain had managed to figure out that he was the point of contention here and that his best move would be to shut up, so why had he decided to open his mouth? “I need to get home anyway. Big day tomorrow and everything.”

“Oh?” Patton said delightedly because Logan would not ever play into subject changes willingly. “What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m getting fired,” Remus said with a nonchalant shrug.

Patton blinked for a moment-- his squirrel-run brain jamming at the sudden twist of the words because whatever he was expecting from his visitor it was not that. Logan resisted the urge to reach over and give him a shake at the shoulders: of course he wouldn’t be able to expect anything with Remus Prince. The man was insufferable and illogical and he wrought chaos for fun.

With everything that had happened, did Patton really think that there was an exaggeration in there?

Remus wanted attention. And he said whatever he needed to in order to get it: a fake affair, a fake divorce, a fake child-- Of course he would say he was getting fired tomorrow if it got Patton to have to use all of his meager brain cells to figure out how serious he was.

“Is that something to celebrate, Mr. Prince?” Logan cut in coldly. “Getting fired?”

“And here I thought that you would be happy, Ackroyd,” Remus said. “Unless you think you’re going to miss me.”

“If only I would be so lucky,” Logan said, digging his phone from his pocket, and turning it back on. The screen was blindingly bright and Logan’s eyes ached just glancing at it in the corner of his vision. “Patton, pull over. I am not doing this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever again.”

“I’m not going to let you walk home after however many rum and cokes you had, Logan.”

“Patton,” Logan snarled. “If you continue to treat me like you treat your son, I will tender my resignation tonight. Pull over now.”

Patton opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was swallowed up in Remus’s empty voice speaking.

“You went drinking?”

“Do not talk to me, Mr. Prince.”

“You’re not even yelling.”

Logan wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, which may have irritated him more than the fact that he was so insistent about continuing to talk when Logan was liable to push the car to crash and kill all three of them. Remus was already staring at him, his expression dark and serious in the passing car lights and somehow Logan thought that he looked vulnerable.

Logan gritted his teeth as his headache pulsed behind his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said. “And put on your seat belt.”

“Or what? You’ll divorce me?” Remus pushed forward between the seats until he was just a few inches from Logan’s own face, grinning with all his teeth. It was at once the same smile that Logan had catalogued through every week of working with him and also something completely foreign.

Remus had pulled him into a kiss earlier that morning, and Logan remembered the taste of pickles on his lips just as well as the smirk he kept as Logan walked away. But this expression is somehow inverted, somehow shifted, somehow a weapon more than a challenge.

“Boys,” Patton said. “Please don’t fight in my car!”

“If you did not want us to fight, why did you invite him in this car?” Logan asked. “You, of all people, know my opinions on--”

“Logan, you’re drunk.”

“What does that have to do with this?!” Logan bit out. He glared at his phone: there were three missed calls from Patton and a handful of text messages from him that Logan couldn’t actually read in the combination of the bright phone light and darkness around them. His eyes were blurry even with his glasses on and the frustration of not being able to read only heightened as he made out the notification for his email which meant that Beatrice had managed to finish her work (allowing Logan to be able to go fix it) or that news of him yelling at a child made it around the office and now he was going to harassed by them as well.

All because of Remus Prince’s inability to shut up.

Patton threw a hand out and grabbed Logan’s phone from his hand and carelessly tossed it over both their shoulders to Remus.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, rubbing the irritated tears from his eyes. “Remus, give it back!”

Remus, however, was just staring at the phone in his lap like it was some type of bomb. Logan’s phone locked itself and the screen went dark, and still Remus sat inhumanely still in the seat, staring at it, with a type of blank expression that Logan oftentimes related to their coworkers when Logan asked them to perform any sort of math without a calculator.

“Remus,” Logan said again.

Remus jerked at the sound of his voice, snapping out of whatever fit the phone had put him in almost meekly-- if Logan could describe anything Remus did as meekly without it being a blatant falsehood. “Meekly” itself had never seemed to be a word in Remus’s vocabulary which was another irritating fact about him that made Logan break out in figurative hives.

Logan knew how Remus was.

He knew Remus.

It didn’t matter that he had never talked to Remus before today, that his thinly veiled contempt for his coworkers kept him from being willing to stand in their presence more than he was being paid to, that this fake affair was the first stupid relationship of any kind he had gotten outside of Patton and his son since his last boyfriend had dumped him on the night he was going to propose and hadn’t he thought he’d known him too? Isn’t that what led to all this?

It didn’t matter.

Logan was smarter, now. Logan was better now. Logan was--

“I don’t…” Remus said, trailing off as he stared at the messages popping up on Logan’s phone and Logan wondered why it felt like his lungs had shrunk right in his chest. “I don’t think you should be reading these right now.”

“He definitely should not!” Patton said, with a very convincing amount of forced happiness. “Hold that for him will you, Remus? Oh and why do you think you’re going to get fired tomorrow?”

Remus looked up at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Logan, like Logan was supposed to know what that meant in addition to every other stupid look he’d given Logan all evening. Logan shoved his glasses up to his hairline and rubbed his aching eyes, and yet somehow that still didn’t fix the pounding in his head or the exhaustion hollowing out his bones. It also didn’t make Remus disappear from the backseat, which was equally annoying, even though Logan hadn’t truly thought he was a shared apparition for him and Patton.

“You didn’t mention anything about today to your… what are you a fuck buddy?” Remus said.

And Patton laughed.

Logan grabbed the door handle and yanked on it, but of course the ridiculous safety locks were engaged, and Logan had spent far too many sober years getting locked in this car to try to puzzle out the broken locking system in order to drunkenly throw himself out of the car. He was not in the habit of wishing for miracles, or even believing in deities, but he imagined that some powerful entity was finding ruining Logan’s life to be semi enjoyable.

“See this is why I can’t fire him!” Patton said through giggles and Logan thought maybe he was being addressed for this. Patton met Remus’s gaze through the rearview mirror and shook the last bit of water from his damp hair. “You make everything so entertaining!”

“What?”

Logan grit his teeth and yanked on the door handle again. “Remus, meet Mr. Hart, the CEO and your boss. Also put on your seatbelt.”

Remus blinked at them both, leaning between the seats and definitely not putting on his seatbelt. Logan counted backward from ten, reminding himself that one of the hiring requirements for Patton’s company has always been must be the stupid beyond belief. He’d known for a while that his coworkers were idiots on a good day, hazards to his health on bad ones, and yet somehow in the whirlwind of the day he’s had, Logan had forgotten that Remus counted as a coworker still.

“I’m not… getting fired?” Remus said, acting much like a computer after being turned on. “Why do you know my name then?”

Patton shrugged, flicking on his blinker to change lanes before the next light. “You have interesting ideas for your advertising strategy! Of course I would know your name! I’m sorry about vetoing that last one. I know Logan liked it, but I wanted to stick to the family-as-a-whole angle.”

“Patton,” Logan warned with an edge.

“Logan liked…?” Remus echoed, before turning towards Logan with a look of bewilderment that annoyed Logan far more than it had any right to. “You actually look at my shit?”

“Put on your seatbelt, Remus,” he said, because wasn’t it obvious that Logan looked at his things? Before the whole Robot incident Logan hadn’t had a problem with Remus at all: he was effective and efficient and the rumors were irritating but below him to indulge in. Before Remus had dragged him figuratively kicking and screaming into this mess, Logan approved the budgets that came with the projects Remus created.

He still did that, just with more anger than before. Petty feelings for Remus himself aside, his work was objectively good.

Logan knew that about him.

“So!” Patton said over both of them, with his signature grin that Logan suspected he would still be wearing even if Logan decided to kill him right now. It must be the by-product of being controlled by rodents running on a wheel. “How was your volunteer work Remus?”

Remus froze in the back seat, going unnaturally still again. “Are you some kind of stalker-- uh sir?”

“Will you knock that off?” Logan snapped, which only made Remus’s shoulders jump straight to his ears. “And put on your seatbelt.”

“Just curious!” Patton said, ignoring Logan entirely. “Darlene is a good friend of mine! I make sure to send monthly donations to the organization since I don’t have a lot of free time to jump over and help.”

Remus didn’t say anything to that. He swallowed audibly and leaned back against the seat, dragging fingers through his wet hair and then tucked his arms in his own armpits. Logan pressed a palm to his forehead watching the street lights bend from behind his eyelids because that was easier than staring at Remus act like Patton was trying to pull his teeth out.

“You actually do volunteer work?” Logan said. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Ha,” Remus said without any inflection. Logan thought that was the quietest that he had ever been. Where was that stupid ass smirk? Where was the stubbornness that pushed back against everything? Where was that loud voice and that confidence?

“Put on your seatbelt,” Logan said again.

“Why do you care if I wear the belt or not?”

“Remus put on your seatbelt or, so help me Newton, I will climb back there and put it on for you, myself!”

The air simmered from the acid in his tone, making the silence figurative chafe against his ribs. Remus stared at him, blinking slowly, with the street lights casting roving shadows on his face. His dark eyes were just so-- so--

Logan dug his nails into his palm. Why was it Remus Prince could make him feel like this? What gave him the right?

“It’s okay!” Patton said, setting the car to park. “We’re here anyway!”

Logan reached up and pulled his glasses back onto his face properly, but it still took him a moment to realize that they were near a bunch of townhouses, double parked outside one that Logan had considered moving into all those years ago when he had first been looking for an apartment for after college.

Remus too, apparently needed a moment to recognize the area. “We… are at my apartment? Holy shit, you are a stalker.”

Patton giggled, flashing Remus with his blinding smile and reached back to pick up Logan’s phone from his hands. “Thank you so much, kiddo! We’ll wait until you get inside all safe and sound, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You will not,” Logan said. “Tomorrow you have a business deal two hours away to complete and if you miss it--”

Patton stretched back in his seat and let out a hugely exaggerated yawn. “But they’re so boring! Maybe I should bring Janus with me. He always makes my business deals entertaining. I love when he sets his snake on people. He looks so happy and he laughs and--”

Logan squeezed his eyes closed and recited the first twenty digits of pi in his head to keep from grabbing Patton’s squirrel run brain and slamming it into the steering wheel.

“Homicide is wrong,” Logan said.

“I’ll help you vouch for insanity,” Remus said. “I mean, tied together through a murder, and possibly hiding a body is much more juicy than a fake marriage that’s falling apart. We’d be the talk of the office.”

“They would not find any body that I hid,” Logan said. “Nobody would.”

Remus opened his mouth to say something more, but whatever it is he decided against it. Instead he slid over the seats and kicked open the door right behind Logan and stepped out into the night air.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hart, sir,” he said, strangely formal, then squinted and added, “Daddy?”

“I’m not firing you, Remus,” Patton said. “No matter what you call me!”

Logan ran his tongue over his teeth counting each and every one. Remus looked at him but ultimately finally adhered to that whole shutting up thing. He closed the door to Patton’s blue punch buggy and started towards the door to the apartments.

“Oh,” Remus said, and turned back at the last second. He knocked his knuckles on Logan’s window a few inches from where Logan’s gaze fixed itself on a light. Patton apparently knew more about what to do than Logan because he pressed the window lowering button and Remus reached his entire arm into the window to drop a small object right into Logan’s lap.

Logan caught it mainly due to reaction rather than skill and his skin tingled at the familiar item. Even in the dark, Logan’s fingers roll over the shape of the ring that had always reminded him of the worst day of his life. It was still warm from being in Remus’s pocket.

“I think that should stay with you,” Remus said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “You know… for the next boytoy you take to your sex dungeon or whatever nerds like you do on weekends.”

And then he turned around and fled towards the apartment building. Patton turned off the hazard lights and slipped back into traffic and Logan wondered if he would be polite enough to not comment if Logan started crying right then and there.

His throat felt swollen, his tongue too big for his mouth, and the headache thrummmmmmed painfully.

Logan knew Remus Prince.

“You know that Remus Prince isn’t gonna be like him,” Patton said to fill the silence.

“Remus Prince isn’t like anyone.” Logan didn’t whine. To whine would be unbecoming. And childish. And embarrassing.

So Logan didn’t whine and Patton mercifully didn't call him out on his not-whining.

And neither of them mention the choked tone that Logan had for the rest of the night.

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up with him clutching that ring like a lifeline, but as he ran his fingers around the rim, he wondered if it had fit on Remus’s finger at all.

(Part Five)

#intrulogical #sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #Far too many OCs gross #Rumor Mill Au #rumors #well fake marriage #sympathetic remus #Logan is bad at feelings #so bad #now with more logan angst #Patton is a good friend #This au is so old that I called Janus Dante and I decided to fix that #alcohol #drunk logan

63 notes · View notes

wish-upon-a-sapphic-star · 3 years

Note

🎵 A duck walked up to a lemonade stand

And he said to the man, running the stand

"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?"

The man said

"No we just sell lemonade. But it's cold

And it's fresh 🎵

At nine years old, Remus Lupin was a failed businessman.

A gust of wind blew past and he slammed his hand down on the flimsy poster board that was his sign before it could fly away. He read it again.

LEMONADE. 1 DOLLAR PER CUP.

He had considered marking down the price a few times, but he had only sold one cup so far, and he couldn’t buy anything with one dollar. It would be better to just wait for someone to buy another cup at the current price than settle for one dollar and fifty cents, even if it might mean a faster sale.

The park bench was uncomfortable, to say the least. The metal at the top stuck out in one spot and it kept poking him in the back, and he had lost any feeling in his butt a long time ago. Still, he held onto his sign and cups and pitcher. He had made that lemonade himself, and he was going to sell it. Even if it meant sitting out in the sun for four hours and only earning one dollar.

A laugh came from the playground and his eyes drifted towards the sound. Two boys around his age were throwing sand at each other in the sandbox, one holding his long hair back with his hand, the other squinting, though not from the sun, since his glasses were hanging from the collar of his shirt. A toddler slid down the twisty slide. A girl with bright red hair was climbing on the monkey bars.

Remus ignored the part of himself that wanted to join the others on the play structure. He was here to make a profit, and he was failing. Now wasn’t the time for fun and games.

His biggest mistake was forgetting to bring his Monsters Inc watch. His mom had said she wanted him home by sunset, though, so he guessed that he had another two hours left.

The cloud that had been covering the sun passed, and the heat beat down on him, reminding him of just how thirsty he was. His eyes flicked to the pitcher. Well, since he wasn’t selling any lemonade anyway…

“Hey, got any grapes?”

Remus stiffened, startled. It was one of the boys from the sandbox. His dark curls hung on his shoulders, clearly tangled, and his ears were even redder than the rest of his flushed face. Probably a sunburn.

“Sorry, what?”

The boy repeated himself. “Got any grapes?”

“Why the fuck would I have any grapes?”

The boy’s eyes widened. Remus vaguely remembered something about being told not to curse in front of other kids, but he didn’t really care. There was a badly drawn duck on the boy’s shirt, and it was taunting him.

Duck Boy regained his composure and gave a sideways grin. “My name is Sirius.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “Remus.”

“I like your name.”

He hesitated, not sure how to respond. “...Thanks. Why do you want grapes?”

Sirius just shrugged, shoved the pitcher to the side, and sat next to Remus on the bench. “I’m leaving the park in a few minutes to go back to my friend’s house. You should come with us.”

Remus glanced down at the duck on Sirius’ shirt, surely meant to be a warning about this boy’s sanity. “You just met me. We’re not even friends.”

“Sure we are!”

Remus was pretty sure that wasn’t how friendship worked, but he hadn’t exactly experienced it before, either. Not that he was going to tell Duck Boy that. “You don’t even know me. Name one thing you know about me.”

“I know that you’re cute,” Sirius said with a smile.

Remus bristled. The only people who called him cute were his aunt and his grandfather, both of whom would then croon about how much he’d grown since they last saw him. He stood, arms crossed. “You can’t be that much older than me.”

“No, not the way adults say it. Cute like the way boys talk about girls.”

Remus was practically fuming. “I’m not a girl, either.”

“No, but you are cute.” Sirius smiled, and his nose crinkled as he did.

Remus deflated, finally catching his meaning. His cheeks felt warm. Maybe he liked it if Sirius thought he was cute. Maybe because he thought Sirius was kind of cute, too.

Any warm feelings he had evaporated when he realized Sirius had just finished a cup of lemonade and was helping himself to another.

Remus snatched the pitcher away. “I hope you plan on paying for that.”

Sirius’ guilty smile said enough.

Remus glared and grabbed the cups and sign. He should have known better. Once he had a firm grip on his things, he turned to walk away.

“Wait!” Sirius ran to catch up to him. “If you come with me to James’ house, his mom can pay you.”

He shook his head. He had no reason to trust Duck Boy.

“In fact, she’ll pay twenty dollars for the rest of it.”

Now that made him pause. “Twenty dollars, huh?” That was easily worth double what was left in the pitcher.

“It’s really good lemonade,” Sirius said with a wink.

Remus’ face heated up again. “Hmm. Okay.”

“Yes!” Sirius jumped a solid foot in the air and turned to yell across the park to his friend. “James, we’re bringing Remus with us!”

“Okay!”

Maybe Remus’ business venture wasn’t a failure, after all.

Maybe he had made a couple friends out of it, too.

166 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Seconding the 'mob guys watching over Chris for Paul's suggestion!

CW: References to murder/mob organization stuff, references to parental death, grief, referenced past whump of a minor

Every Tuesday at 9 am, just like clockwork, Sean Malley lumbers into a coffeeshop nestled into the corner of a flat featureless strip mall. Contrasting to the pale concrete nothingness of its surrounding, the little coffeeshop is painted a warm, rich brown along the exterior, with heavy platers spilling over with purple and yellow flowers every few feet until Sean reaches the door.

It’s a welcome bit of individuality along this ring of small strip malls and larger big-box stores kept out of the city proper by a pile of zoning laws too draconian to fight. He’s been coming here for ten years now, more or less, and has seen the little coffeshop through its earliest days struggling for business right to now, where he feels reasonably certain he’ll be dead long before they close this place for good.

He moves inside, the light immediately warm and slightly dimmed. The scent in the air of freshly roasted coffee beans and baked goods. The cannolis they sell came from him, Sean’s proud of that - his wife had a favorite recipe and he’d given it to them after she passed, hoping for one batch for the service. They’d just kept making them, having one ready for him when he popped in, and... well, they’ve sold them ever since. Even call them Christa’s Cannolis, handwritten in cursive on a little placard. She’d have been tickled pink, he thinks sometimes, to see it.

One of his knees comes and goes as it pleases these days, giving his step a bit of a shuffle-scrape. He’s smiling, though, and humming as he goes.

Life is good for Sean Malley, all things considered.

Truth be told, he hadn't actually expected to live this long. Keeping close to Conor and his family had paid off in the early days - just as his instincts had kept him safe when the Garden erupted in in-fighting, too. When the Clean-Up happened, during the Garden’s most vicious in-fighting, Sean had seen half the men he’d watched start as snot-nosed dumbasses taken out one by one, clearing the way for Conor’s fucking grandson to make his play for power.

Those kids who’d run lookout gigs and then moved on to guard duty or work with the cargo coming in... one by one those kids-turned-adults, with families of their own, had been removed from the picture. Fifteen, all told, a bloodbath stretched out over six months - sixteen, of course, if you count how Paul’s murder went all wrong.

The one comfort had been watching Conor’s grandson lay the groundwork for his own comeuppance the whole time - promising favors for loyalty and then killing the ones he’d promised those favors to. That’s no way to start yourself as leader, and... well.

Trash had been taken out, in the end. Riley Higgs had gotten rid of the poison - and the poison’s friends - and his crew’s a damn sight better than Conor’s grandson’s people had been.

Riley, for one thing, understands that an organization like the Garden works, in the end, on trust. On being a family.

Don’t kill your family without a good damn reason, now do you?

Now Riley... he had a good reason. And Sean had made sure Riley Higgs knew a few very important facts that kept him on the man’s good side, and very much alive when the dust settled.

Even if he had did have to live with a bum knee. And back. And his hip’s started twinging every time it rains...

"Morning, Mr. Malley!" His favorite barista calls out, giving him a wave from behind the counter. She's a pretty thing, just cute as a button. Probably in her late twenties but when you’re as old as Sean is, everyone looks like a child playing pretend.

Still, it always brings a bit of sun in the old man's day to see her bright pink hair before he ever takes his seat. He always tells her she should move on from here, do something with her life other than serve old men their coffee and watch them while away the hours.

But I like it here, Melody always replies, giving a little shrug of her shoulders. I like our regulars, too. Besides, this place pays better than the job I’d get with my actual degree.

"G'morning to you, Melody!" He calls back, moving to have a seat in his usual spot, sinking gratefully into the plush armchair by the bookshelf in the corner. His favorite coffee table book, a heavy thing full of photos of World War II, is already laid out on the side table next to it, bookmarked where he’d left off last week. "Busy day, today?"

Melody is already heading his way, coffee in hand just how he likes it, one of Christa’s Cannolis on a small plate in the other. Sean’s doctor has been on him about cutting out sugar, and he’s done it just about everywhere else, but he still has his cannoli on Tuesdays. Christa had been so proud of herself when she’d mastered that recipe...

"Not really,” Melody says with a shrug, breaking into his thoughts. “Just the usual morning rush and a couple college kids, wandered outside but they left their drinks, I figure they’ll come back. One of 'em looks like he got mauled by a real weak bear."

Sean feigns surprise. "Oh, does he now?" He takes a sip of his coffee and sighs happily. "Not too hot. You had it out already, didn't you?"

"I saw your car pull into the lot," Melody says, giving a little it's nothing gesture. “I knew you’d be in, so I kept an eye out for you.”

"You're a doll, Melody, and this place would be lost without you." He presses the twenty-dollar bill into her hand, and when she protests, he shakes his head, adds another ten, and closes her hand firmly around the cash. "Take it, take it. I'm an old man on my own, who've I got to spend it on, huh?"

"You're not that old, Mr. Malley," Melody sighs, an old song and dance between them. “You’ve got grandkids who could use it, too, you know.”

"Ha! Trust that my grandkids never want for anything, Melody. Besides, live the life I've lived, and sixty feels like eighty-two. Go on, then. Cilly'll be along in a bit."

He sits back to drink his coffee as she heads back behind the counter, watching through the front window the cars that pass along the highway, the scattering of people getting in and out of their own vehicles in the parking lot. It's a perfect, and perfectly normal, Tuesday morning. Just like any other.

A perfectly normal Tuesday where one creature of habit makes it a point to get a quick look at another.

A flash of red catches his eye, and he frowns, watching a bright red Northern cardinal alight on the bench placed outside the shop, preening one wing briefly and then seeming to look towards the lot.

Sean follows its gaze, silently chastising himself for being so utterly taken by a simple bird, but... Northern cardinals are more or less unheard of around here, especially in the city. This one seems to cock its head in his direction.

"Someone," He mutters to himself, "is a bit lost."

There's a peal of laughter, as the door opens, the little bell on top chiming to announce them, and there they are.

Two young people walking inside, heads tilted together. One of them has thick, wavy black hair, one of those haircuts the younger people like so much now, shaved on the sides but long on top. The younger guys in the Family wear their hair like that now and then.

Sean thinks he liked it better when everyone kept things neat and tidy, but times change, and the Garden can't stagnate just because an old timer's got opinions. Riley’s take is he’d rather is people look like they could be anybody anywhere, and Sean has to admit the kind of haircut he’d like to see would stick out like a sore thumb.

Both of them are wearing all black head to toe, the black-haired one in a tank top and baggy pants, a large yellow lightning bolt on a cord settled just below their collarbone. Honestly, if he gets past the hair thing, they’re cute as a button, too.

Really, though, he’s not here because of them.

He’s here to get a good look at the young man walking in beside them.

It’s funny - it’s been nine - ten? - years since he last saw Paul Higgs alive, the day before he and his sweet Ronnie were gunned down in their own home in the night... but tears still prick at the corners of Sean’s eyes when he see the ghost of Paul in his son’s narrow face.

There’d been a joke when the little one first came into the world, that somehow Paul and Ronnie had put together a child where her genetics simply skipped out entirely. He’d been a little clone of Paulie from the start, and he’s different as a man than he’d been as a child lining toy cars up at their feet in the warehouse on Saturdays when Ronnie needed a break.

Sean pulls his phone out, idly scrolling - his daughter had helped him to get Facebook and a couple other things besides, including some kind of app that had his favorite card games. He pretends now to be fascinated by something he sees, but in truth he pulls his camera up and starts recording.

“It, it, it could change everything,” Paulie’s boy is saying, breathlessly excited, hands moving through the air in a blend of gesture and general happiness. “You see? Everything! Make it, it, it-it safer, make... make things better.”

“I know, I know,” The other one replies, deep voice warm and thick with love, and Sean sighs, missing his Christa now more than ever. He consoles himself with a bite of cannoli. “I already told you I’m in, Chris, okay? I’m going to help you. You don’t have to sell me on it.”

Tristan ducks his head with a shy smile, and boy if he isn’t Paul’s spitting image in that, too. Paulie hadn’t smiled much, not like his kid does - maybe that’s what he got from Ronnie - but in a smile like that, well... you could see where he got it from. If you’d known Paul, of course.

Which the kid didn’t, not anymore.

“It could, um, be dangerous though.” They’re barely audible now as they go back to where they left their still-steaming drinks, sitting down on a nearby couch. “Nat’s worried. And, and, and you know Jake-”

“Chris, you could walk across a crosswalk when the light starts blinking and Jake would still worry about you,” The other one teases. Sean knows their name, but right now it won’t quite come to mind, lingering on the tip of is tongue, never quite landing. “It’ll be public, yeah-”

“Telling everyone who... who, who I am.” Tristan starts tapping his fingers on his pants, a peculiar finger-twist-tap-tap-tap gesture that Sean once knew as well as anyone, when the boy was small. But it’s the words, with a hint of nervousness lining them, that get his attention. “The... the whole world’s going to, to, to to-to-... to... to know about Tristan Higgs.”

Now that gets Sean’s attention. He cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and starts a new one. It takes work not to sit up, or drop his cannoli, or in some other way give himself away.

He knows, then?

How?

Sean looks down at his phone, looking over the scar on Paul’s boy’s forehead, the only remaining evidence of what had been much more visible the first couple times they’d seen him out after it happened. Sean and Cilly had figured maybe a fight - people get into them, really. Paul wasn’t exactly gentle as a lamb, and why would his boy be?

But now... he wondered. His instincts told him the two were related, and of course he knew from the time they’d worked with WRU pretty closely under the table that those memory things they did sometimes failed. Sean had done a fixer job once for someone whose pet had recovered memories too fast and killed a servant in a panic...

“Oh, Paul,” Sean murmurs. “What’d your boy do, hm?”

“I’m, I’m going to to to t-... to tell everyone who I am,” Paul’s boy is saying, leaning forward and taking the hands of the other one in his own, squeezing them tight. “I’m... will, will, will you come with me? When, when I... so someone’s there?”

“What? Holy shit, Chris, go to the Olympics? With you?” They inhale and exhale, blowing some hair from their eyes, and smile. “You should take someone who knows more than I do about all that stuff, Chris, take Jake, or-”

“Jake has has to stay here. To, to protect the house. But... will you come with me?”

Sean cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and this time adds a message.

Olympics are in Chicago this year. What’s Paul Jr. planning?

He feels eyes on him and glances up to find Tristan looking over at him, an expression of uncertainty on his face. Sean’s been watching him for years, popping up in places, the way you sometimes see the same faces at the corner store, the mom-and-pop, a coffeeshop like this one. Now, he watches Tristan look him over, knowing he’s familiar but not knowing why. Part of him, with a pinprick of an old, old grief, wishes Paul’s little boy would recognize him now.

Most of him knows it’s better if he doesn’t.

Tristan looks away, and goes back to talking, but his voice lowers and now Sean can’t quite pick up what he’s saying beyond a few scattered words. He gets a couple photos of the lovebirds with their head together, sipping coffee, and sends those on to Riley, too.

Job done, he settles back to finish his cannoli and drink his coffee. Tristan and-... Laken, his name suddenly supplies, only an hour after he’d started trying to remember it - get up and leave, Tristan’s arm around Laken’s waist.

Good for the kid, Sean thinks, with a smile. By this age Paul had an elementary school son running around, but you know, it’s good to take your time on these things, and it’s nice to see that all the shit they’ve had to stand back and watch still wraps up nicely into Paul’s boy living a pretty nice life indeed.

His phone dings just as Cilly enters - right on time at 10, like clockwork - and he glances down to open the message from Riley.

I’ll get one of our guys to look into it. This might give us the out on the business I don’t want to be in I’ve been looking for. Kid looks good, looks like Paul. Family genes run deep.

Sean greets Cilly, even older than him but a sight more spry, and glances out the window. The bird’s gone from the bench, of course. The day is bright and shining.

In Laken’s car, they’re halfway back to the house Laken shares with their roommates when Chris suddenly sits straight up. “Mr. Malley,” He breathes out, green eyes widening.

Laken jumps - he’d been silent, preoccupied and in thought - and nearly jerks the car into a curb. “Damn, Chris! You scared me. What’d you say?”

“The old guy, in, in, in the the the the-the-... the coffeeshop, who kept looking at, at me.” Chris rocks forward, hands on the dashboard, his eyes staring ahead but not at the road, they’re looking far ahead... or behind himself, back in time and not space, when and not where. “His name’s Mr. Malley. I, I, I knew-... my dad knew, my, my, my dad, my dad-”

He winces, the headache splitting him apart, and Laken hits their turn signal, pulling into the parking lot of a generic fast food place, swinging into a parking space and turning to look at him.

“Chris? You okay?”

Chris’s face has gone pale, cold sweat breaking out. It still happens, sometimes, and when they lean over to touch his shoulder he flinches back from them, instinctively.

Laken exhales. “Okay. Ride it out, Chris. Let the memory go if it’s hurting, it’ll come back to you. They all come back now.”

“No! No, I, I, I want-... Mr. Malley knew my dad, I went to-... work, with, with him sometimes, his his his wife babysat me, I... I know him. I knew him. I knew-” He turns to look at them, and they fight the urge to try and touch him again.

Not yet.

“Do you... do you think, think, think he knew me?”

Laken swallows. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t he have said something, if he recognized you? If he was your dad’s friend? Are you absolutely sure that-”

“Yes, I’m, I’m sure. I know it was him. I, I, I know, he, he, he gave me me me Dinotopia books... for Christmas one year...” Chris jerked in a breath and let it out again, hands going up over his head, folding himself in half until his forehead rested on the dashboard, pressed to the cool molded plastic. “He, he, he, he came to their funeral, he hugged me, he said, you’re too young to to to to have to lose so much, and everyone said-... everyone said stuff I hated but but but not him, he said, he said-”

“Chris, please, don’t hurt yourself doing this-”

“He said grief gets worse before it gets better, and and and and he said-... he said... he said don’t let anyone tell you that R-Ronnie’d want you to to to be strong, she’d want you to scream your head off if you want to, your dad’d be proud if if if if-if... if you told us all to go to hell, and... and and and and it felt like he was the only person who who who knew them at all that day, everyone said, said, said stupid things but not him, not-... not him and not Mr. Cilly, not-... not my Aunt Jo, not anybody, but he-”

Chris chokes on a sob and when Laken throws their arms around him he melts into it this time, crying against their shoulder, the two of them uncomfortably arched over the center console and the gear shift.

“It’s okay,” Laken whispers, running their fingers over the slowly growing fuzz of his hair. “It’s okay. Let it ride, Chris. It’s okay.”

“He, he, he was my dad’s b-b-best friend-... Why d-didn’t he, if he saw me, why wouldn’t he-... I s-see him all th-the the the time, why doesn’t he know who I am?”

“Maybe he’s like Akio,” Laken says, and feels him trembling under their touch. “Maybe he’s always thought you were dead.”

“I w-was,” Chris whispers “When I, I, I was Baldur. When I was training. When... when I... was good. I was dead.”

“Chris-”

“I was dead,” Chris says, and they kiss his head, helpless to think of anything else to do. “When my p-parents died, I died, too. Mr. Malley made m-me feel like I I I wasn’t. Why didn’t he kn-know me? Why didn’t a-anyone know I was alive?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

“Hurts,” Chris whispers. “Why, why, why didn’t anyone help me before she she she-... before I was-... why didn’t anyone help me?”

Laken’s own eyes burn, and they draw circles on his scalp with their fingertips. “I can’t answer that,” They say, low and soft. “I’m sorry. But you know you have people who can and will help you now.”

For a while, Chris’s only sounds are sobs, and Laken can only make soft soothing nonsense noises and feel like shit that it’s not enough.

“Ev, everyone knew she-she hated me,” Chris whimpers, and sounds younger than he ever has, and Laken wants to throw a punch or scream and they can’t do either, only sit in the car and glare at people who look in as they walk past. “Everyone.”

“Chris-”

“Everyone knew, why, why, why why why didn’t they stop her?”

Back in the coffeeshop, Sean and Cilly are in the midst of an argument about a baseball game that happened 30 years ago when his phone rings. He holds up one finger and picks it up, lifting it to his ear.

“I have a job for you,” Riley says, with his cheerful hint of brogue. Funny, to remember that this part of the family only came here a few decades ago. “It’s a job I know you’ll enjoy.”

“Watching Paul’s boy is my retirement gig,” Sean says amicably. “You know I don’t do the dangerous stuff any longer, Mr. Higgs.”

There’s a silence. “I’m going to do some looking into what you sent me. But in the meantime I need to give you a job, and you’re going to do it.”

“And why is that, Mr. Higgs?”

“Because you’re going to want to do this.”

“What is it, then?”

Another pause.

“I want you to find Joanne Botham.”

Sean thinks of the dour, angry woman who had ignored Tristan in his funeral suit, gathering mourners around her while she sobbed over Ronnie’s loss, Ronnie’s own son alone on a couch staring off into space until Sean himself had sat down and told him, don’t let ‘em say your mom’d be proud of you bein’ stoic today, kiddo. Ronnie’d want you to scream if you felt the urge.

The kid had looked at him like he’d been given water in the desert, a starving man offered a bowlful of broth. Mr. Malley?

People will say a lot of real stupid stuff to you today, Sean had said. His eyes had gone to Joanne Botham, and Ronnie’s sister’s icy glare when she looked at her own nephew had made his blood run cold with anger even then. Likely in the future, too. But you just remember Paul and Ronnie weren’t saints. And they’d never want you to be, either. I’m sorry for your loss, Tris. No one on God’s earth has loved their kid like yours loved you. Should’ve seen his face when he told us your mom was pregnant with you. Could’ve lit the world with all the sunshine there.

A clap on the back, a whispered thank you, and that had been the last day Sean Malley had ever seen Tristan Higgs alive.

Until, of course, Riley had told him there was a boy living in a pet liberation safehouse who looked remarkably like Paul. Until, of course, Riley had shared that he’d known Tristan Higgs was alive all along. Until, of course, Sean had been told he couldn’t make a move because WRU was protecting all the players who had stolen his friend’s kid.

Until... now.

“Mr. Higgs?” His voice drops, and Cilly sits up, alarmed at the sudden change in tone.

“You heard me. Find Joanne Botham. I have a feeling we are about to get the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

The phone goes dead on the other end, and Sean slowly sets it down, finishing his second cup of coffee in a gulp. Then he looks at Cilly, and starts to smile.

“Riley’s got work for us,” He says, and when Cilly’s eyebrows raise he doesn’t wait for him to ask for more. “Don’t worry. You’re going to like it. Finally get to do what we should have done ten fucking years ago.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

#whump #speak out arc #chris the strawberry blond romantic #emotional whump #grief tw #referenced parental death #referenced past whump of a minor #referenced murder #memory loss #memory recovery #recovering whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #hi made myself cry during chris's part towards the end wheeeee

110 notes · View notes

gravelyhumerus · 3 years

Text

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter Ten

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Total word count: 47,939

Summary:

Emily tries apple cider, things get corny, Spencer wins a prize, and the night ends with a kiss.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months. Takes place over the span of the first semester of their sophomore year.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

“See, I told you it was good,” JJ grinned up at Emily, adjusting the blue scarf that was wrapped tightly around her own neck against the cool air.

Emily licked her lips as she held a paper cup filled to the brim with apple cider tightly in her hands.

“Ok fine,” Emily admitted, “You were right, cider is good.”

JJ watched as she took another sip, as a smile spread across her face at the taste. JJ knew she was right, that apple cider at a fall fair always tasted better than anything from the grocery store.

The two of them walked across the leaf-strewn grass, trailing behind their friends to talk. When JJ had told Penelope about her conversation with Emily about how the girl had never been to a fall fair, her roommate insisted that they rally the troops to make it happen.

Both JJ and Emily still had a lingering cough, but other than that, they had just about made a full recovery. Somehow, the others had escaped coming down with the same thing, and so all of them were able to make the trek to the other side of their college town to attend the fair. JJ had the day off from soccer, a rare thing these days with playoffs imminent, and during essay season, and she intended to make the most of it.

JJ kept catching Emily looking at her. It was the same way that a wild animal would look at her if she was offering food, nervous, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She could tell something was bothering her. But knew the more she probed, the more Emily would shut down.

She wondered if Emily felt awkward after sleeping in her bed, and worried that she had pushed things too far. JJ had been forward, and felt slightly guilty about that, but in her own feverish state, her sole focus had been to make sure Emily was alright. JJ reminded herself that Emily was here, and hadn’t run from her despite all that had happened. She could take a slightly closed-down Emily over none at all, any day.

The fair itself was located on a farm on the outskirts of the city. Their school had arranged for a shuttle bus to facilitate this wholesome entertainment for their undergrads. It deposited them on a muddy grass field filled with carnival games, a midway, vendors and miscellaneous fall themed activities.

Golden leaves shone in the sunlight, and JJ raised her face to feel its warmth. It was a nice day, the first after weeks of rain. Her wool sweater was more for the fall festivities than for warmth, as it was pleasant outside, but she knew once the sun set she would be grateful for it.

Emily was looking as beautiful as ever, wearing a maroon turtleneck underneath a black corduroy jacket that looked soft to the touch. Her lips matched, painted with a dark purple-red hue that made her look elegant and mysterious.

She hoped that today would be fun for Emily, knowing that the girl missed out on a lot of the childhood staples of the average American, and JJ wanted to rectify it. Hopefully it would also ease some of the tension between them as well.

JJ gasped when she saw the petting zoo near the entrance, which was a spacious zone filled with chickens, goats, two llamas, some sheep, cows, and most importantly, the most beautiful horse she’d seen in ages. It was, in fact, the only horse she’d seen up close since that summer, and it was quite scruffy up close.

In her excitement, she found herself reaching out her hand, grasping Emily’s and pointing as she exclaimed: “Horse!”

She internally cringed at her own behaviour, but Emily looked excitedly where she pointed and followed at her side as she veered towards the animals.

The horse was a brown gelding, with a black mane and a stripe down his nose. As JJ approached he leaned his head over the fence in anticipation of some treats. Slowing down, JJ approached, still hand in hand with Emily, quietly and calmly so that she didn’t startle him.

His brown eyes watched her, his ears forward and relaxed, and leaned into her outstretched hand as she reached to pet his nose. JJ’s cold bare hand met warm horse face and her mind flashed back to all the times she rode her grandmother’s horse as a kid.

“He looks like Socks,” JJ giggled, as the horse tried to nibble gently at her sweater, “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“Socks?” Emily asked, with a quizzical look on her face, keeping distance between her and the horse.

The others caught up with them, milling about the petting zoo and interacting with the various animals. Derek and Penelope bought some feed with a quarter from the dispenser and used the flat of their hands to feed some sheep.

“One of my grandma’s horses,” JJ explained, “His name was Socks. He was her favourite and when she got too old to ride, I would.”

“You ride horses?” Emily asked.

“Not that well,” JJ admitted, “But Socks was patient with me.”

Noticing Emily’s hesitance, JJ smiled at her, trying to reassure her friend.

“Do you want to pet him?”

Emily nodded. JJ guided her hand onto his neck, leading her as she stroked it gently. A look of awe crossed Emily’s face and JJ couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

JJ removed her hand and let Emily take over, watching as the horse nuzzled Emily, taking great interest in her hair. JJ reached her hand out—and just in time—moved his mouth away just as he attempted to take a mouthful.

“Don’t be rude,” JJ exclaimed, guiding his face away from her friends hair, “That’s not for you.”

Emily’s jaw had dropped, holding onto her hair in horror.

“They do that sometimes,” JJ explained.

Emily nodded sagely before nervously returning to give him another pat, her reservations clear on her face.

“Why Socks?” Emily asked, after a moment.

“He had white marks on his legs,” she explained, “They looked like socks.”

“Seems reasonable,” she said.

The crew left the petting zoo and walked towards the carnival games area. A wave of nostalgia hit JJ like a truck. Every fall when she was a kid, she and her sister would always beg her for their parents to take them to the fair, insisting that they play all of the games and go on the rides multiple times. In retrospect, it probably cost a ton of money which they definitely could not afford, but her parents would hand them a stack of tickets and let themselves be dragged around the fair by the two girls.

JJ closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of popcorn, funnel cake and corn dogs—not altogether an entirely pleasant smell—but one that brought her back to being six years old and walking hand-in-hand with her sister.

Emily knocked their shoulders lightly, the motion bringing JJ back into the present, locking eyes with Emily.

She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that this was Emily’s first fall fair. The other girl looked onto the attractions with apprehension, gawking at the sheer mass of fried food and the loud rides and hordes of people swarming the games.

“These games are all rigged,” JJ explained. “They’re next to impossible to win.”

“But you can win,” Emily said, a challenge in her voice.

JJ nodded.

“I’ve seen some folks walking around with that bear at least,” JJ gestured at a fuzzy brown teddy bear that sat on the top shelf of the dart game’s prize shelf. Other prizes included dangling stuffed snakes and some other plastic toys.

“It’s cute,” Emily commented, smiling up at the bear.

JJ smiled as her whole group went head to head on the water gun game, lined up in a row and shooting at the targets as if they were at a shooting range. Each played the game with the focus and determination as if it were a life or death situation, and not a carnival game.

After, they all spread out around the stalls of games, competing with each other or going it alone as they played games that interested them.

Emily’s smile kept crossing JJ’s mind as the games wore on, and the thought of that bear stuck in her mind. It’s cute, Emily had said. JJ could get it for her. She was great at darts.

JJ circled back to the dart game, slamming a five dollar bill on the table and getting a handful of darts. She tossed one. The balloon popped. Another. Pop. Another. Pop. She hit every single one she threw.

This was harder than it looked, as the balloons were barely filled, it needed a lot of force, and a wicked aim to pop them. JJ, luckily, had both.

“Pick something from the first shelf,” the employee told her.

JJ frowned, looking at the fluorescent stuffed animals on the first row. They looked cheap, and none were as cute as the bear, which sat between a monkey and a rabbit on the top shelf.

“How do I get the bear?” she asked.

“Win again,” he said, with an apathetic shrug. He was just a teenager, probably only getting paid minimum wage. JJ couldn’t help but glower at him.

JJ sighed, paying him for another round. She knew that the toy itself was worthless, but it wasn’t about that. It was about winning it for Emily.

“What are you doing?” A voice asked her from behind as she lined up her next shot.

Spencer. He was standing to her right, clutching a plastic bag in his hands. He wore a pair of sunglasses and smiled awkwardly in greeting.

“Darts,” JJ answered, “What does it look like?”

She looked at the bag. It was clear and filled with water, with a small goldfish swimming around inside.

“You won a fish?” JJ asked.

“Yup,” Spencer said, gesturing over at a game that was essentially beer pong, but instead of cups full of alcohol, it was a series of fish tanks.

He explained that he had won on his first try, and now was a proud owner of a goldfish. JJ was certain it would die before they got back to residence, but decided not to burst his bubble. The kid was smiling at his fish, looking proud of himself.

JJ turned back to the game and focused on an orange balloon that waved in the wind. She threw. Hit. The balloon popped.

“I just want that damned bear,” JJ hissed, gripping the dart tight in her hand.

“Why?” Spencer asked, his forehead furrowed.

“Why” was a great question! For my not-girlfriend because I’m just such a good friend, was the answer, but she wasn’t going to say that . Because I want her to like me, and I want her to date me, but I can’t work up the courage to ask her. Because she might be gay, but might not, and I haven’t even asked her that. Because all I want is for her to smile.

JJ sighed.

“I want to win it for Emily, ok?” JJ said.

“You could buy her a nicer bear if you wanted with this money,” he pointed out.

“I know,” JJ said, aiming her dart. Another hit. “I just have to hit three more and then I win.”

JJ was being pointedly obtuse, she knew if she began to explain, it would all come rushing out. She could handle Penelope’s teasing, but that was her limit.

Spencer began to speak, but she shushed him. She threw another. Hit. The balloon popped with a satisfying pop. Two more.

Reid held his fish up to his face, examining it close up. Just as she was about to throw her last shot, she felt a hand clap her on the back in the unmistakable gesture of Derek Morgan greeting her.

“What’re we playing, kids?” he asked.

“JJ wants the bear,” Spencer informed him. “For Emily.”

Derek grinned at her. JJ ignored both of them, squinting at a bright red balloon and taking her aim.

Pop. She did it. Both Derek and Spencer cheered for her, despite their earlier misgivings. JJ slapped the metal barrier between her and the employee in glee as he nodded approvingly at her achievement.

The employee used a telescopic grabber to lift the bear off a tall shelf and handed it to her with a smile.

She hugged the bear to her chest, elated with her accomplishment despite Derek’s probing looks. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with Emily’s best friend these days. He seemed to know something that she didn’t, and she caught him smiling at her and Emily when they spoke.

JJ was relieved when he shifted his attention to discussing the logistics of goldfish ownership with Reid.

The three of them wandered through the stalls, taking a break for Reid and Morgan to pick up candy apples, then ran back into the rest of the group. Penelope, Hotch, Rossi and Emily were still at the water gun booth, cheering Emily on as she played against a boy that looked like he was about their age.

A bell rang, and a light flashed over Emily’s head. She had won.

JJ walked up behind her, watching as Emily got to point out her prize. She pointed to the exact same bear as JJ had tucked behind her back.

“JJ will love it,” Penelope said to Emily, neither girl knowing that JJ was right behind them.

“Love what?” JJ said, confused.

Emily turned around looking at JJ, clutching the bear to her chest.

“Uh, you said you saw these bears around,” Emily said, “I thought you might want one.”

Derek and Spencer both burst into laughter, as JJ felt blush creep over her face. Emily held the bear out to her, with a shy look on her face. To her left, Penelope’s jaw had dropped and both Hotch and Rossi’s usually serious expressions were filled with bemusement.

JJ pulled out the bear from behind her back and presented it to Emily. Both girls were holding identical bears out to each other, each having independently decided to win it for the other.

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Penelope squealed.

JJ and Emily exchanged identical bears, both feeling quite silly. JJ was speechless, simply grinning at Emily, who smiled down at her.

Hotch broke the silence after a minute, pointing to what was in Spencer’s hand. “Is that a fish?”

“We should do the corn maze next!” Penelope squealed, pointing at the painted wooden sign leading towards a field with what looked like an endless maze.

“Mazes are actually quite simple,” Reid said, “You have to hug the right side wall for the duration of the maze and you will eventually reach the exit. It beats getting hopelessly lost in the hopes of entertainment.”

“That’s one way to do it,” Hotch commented, looking over to a smirking Rossi.

“Come on Reid,” Derek chastised, throwing an arm around his shoulder, “You couldn’t possibly think that’s the best way of doing it.

“How do you suggest we should approach it?” Spencer asked as he shrugged Derek’s arm off of him.

“You gotta get a feel for it,” Derek replied. “Remember where you came from.”

Spencer made a non committal noise.

“Getting lost comes with the territory,” Derek added, “It’s part of the fun.”

Emily gave him a look, but didn’t contribute to the debate.

“You won’t be saying that when you’re lost, cold and surrounded by corn,” Spencer retorted.

“He’s got a point about the corn,” Hotch quipped.

“I’ve never seen this much corn in my life,” Emily admits, “I haven’t spent much time around farms.”

Emily touched her hair absentmindedly,reminded of the horse trying to eat it from earlier in the afternoon. “Aren’t you a farmgirl, JJ?” Derek teased.

“No!” she said, “I lived in the suburbs near Pittsburgh. She lived an hour away so we’d visit on the weekends and on holidays.”

“They had cows!” Penelope blurted, “She showed me pictures once. They’re so cute as babies.”

JJ nodded, she loved visiting her grandma when she was little. She and Ros would be allowed to collect the eggs in the morning, and JJ always loved grabbing hay for the horses.

“What’s your take on mazes?” Derek asked her, “Oh farm girl?”

JJ punched his shoulder in retaliation.

“I say that you two should put your money where your mouth is,” JJ said, “See whose method works in the end.”

“You talking about a race?” Derek asked.

“That seems only fair,” Emily said, “Since both of you have such strong opinions on how to go about tackling this maze. Let’s see who’s right.”

“Shall we split up?” Hotch asked.

“Very Scooby-Doo of you, sir,” Penelope cooed, “I like it.”

Hotch did not acknowledge this beyond a glare.

As they approached the maze entrance, a teenage girl, a bit younger than them and wearing a green shirt branded with the name of the farm handed them a map and began to explain the rules of the maze. No smoking, drinking, cheating by ducking under the red ribbon that marked the paths, she told them.

She then offered them a map, a black and white printout that marked out the route.

“No thanks,” Derek said in a haughty tone, “We’ll figure it out ourselves.”

“I legally have to give it to you,” the girl said, her braces giving her a slight lisp. “It’s a safety issue.”

Derek and Spencer looked at each other, each taking a map, but folding it up and placing it in their pockets. Hotch also took a map, as did Emily.

“I call dibs on Der-bear,” Penelope said, wrapping her arms around his bicep. “And JJ will go with Emily of course.”

“I’ll follow the wall,” Hotch says, “Reid, you better be right about this wall thing.”

Rossi looked around and seemed to decide to see whether the boy-genius was onto something or not.

JJ felt a little shy at the assumption that she and Emily would naturally be together. Penelope was getting more and more bold with her attitude towards the two girls.

The teams set out into the maze, splitting up at the first fork in the road, the boys staying right, Derek and Penelope heading straight ahead, and JJ and Emily veering left.

“What do you think of your first fair?” JJ asked, fiddling with the stuffed bear in her hands.

They trudged through the muddy maze, with the sound of the fair in the distance, a pleasant hum of music and the clamour of the rides.

“It’s not what I expected,” Emily said, “I only really saw this stuff in movies.”

“Better or worse than you imagined?” she asked.

“Better,” Emily said, “but that’s probably just the company.”

“Good friends make a difference,” JJ said.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “friends.”

JJ hummed, smiling as she felt the breeze in her hair. She loved the outdoors. She spent way too much time cooped up in the library these days. Emily, on the other hand, was picking her way through, careful not to step in any puddles or trip on fallen corn stalks.

“Left or right?” Emily asked as they neared an intersection.

“Right,” JJ said.

They headed deeper into the maze, turning left, then right, then hitting a dead end and back tracking. The corn rose above their heads, limiting their vision to a few feet in front of, and behind, them at all times.

A few times, they bickered over directions, as JJ was certain that they were walking in circles.

“How long was this supposed to take us?” Emily said, after twenty minutes passed.

“Not this long,” JJ admitted.

“Where are we?”

“I have no idea.”

She stopped, and paused waiting for Emily to do the same. JJ listened hard, straining her ears to listen for the direction of the music.

“I can’t hear the carnival anymore,” JJ said, “We must be on the far end of the maze.”

“Are we lost?” Emily asked.

“I think that’s the whole point of it,” JJ said with a laugh. “Let’s head this way.”

“Should we check the map?” Emily asked.

“Sure.”

Emily looked at JJ expectantly.

“ You took the map, Em,” JJ said with a laugh.

“No I didn’t,” Emily replied. She rifled through her pockets, then held up her hands in a gesture of: see? Nothing!

She checked her own pockets, and inside the small purse hanging over her shoulder. No map.

“You sure you don’t have it?” JJ asked, hearing the stress in her voice.

Emily’s eyes widened, checking her own pockets more frantically.

Neither had it. JJ began to laugh. Of course she’d get lost in a corn maze with Emily. Of course.

JJ’s phone pinged. Penelope had texted her.

Penny G: where are you? are you making out in the corn?

JJ: no, we’re lost. are you all done already?

Penny G: yup. Spencer was a few minutes behind us

“They’re already out,” JJ explained to Emily.

“Figures,” Emily huffed.

Penny G: we can wait for you? we’re going to try the rides

JJ: i’ll text you when we get out, go ahead

JJ slipped her phone back into her pocket, noticing Emily poking at the edge of the corn with her hands, trying to peer through.

“More corn,” Emily said, sounding defeated.

JJ thought for a second, trying to weigh their options.

“Get on my shoulders,” JJ blurted.

“What?”

“So you can see,” JJ said, “I’ll lift you up.”

Emily looked flustered for a moment, opening and closing her mouth at the thought, but eventually nodded.

JJ knelt down slightly, letting Emily put her legs on either side of her head. JJ knew she was strong. She could lift more than double her own weight at the gym. Once Emily was settled, she lifted her with ease, standing straight up and holding onto her thighs with her hands to steady Emily.

“I see, uh, a highway behind us, more fields,” Emily said, then JJ turned a bit to give her another angle, “We’re almost there. We’re on the far right side, but the path is fairly clear. We go left, then it doubles back. But I think I can get us out of here.”

JJ stumbled under Emily’s shifting weight as she turned, finding herself tilting forward before she could adjust, tipping forward and sending both girls tumbling into the corn.

Emily landed on top of JJ, their limbs tangled, with a loud “fuck!” as they made contact with the mud.

JJ sat up, rubbing the back of her head where Emily had accidentally kicked her.

“Sorry,” JJ said, “are you ok?”

Emily sat up, rubbing her wrist which caught most of her weight. Both girls had come out of the fall mostly unscathed.

“The corn broke my fall,” Emily said with a laugh.

They burst into laughter, and JJ reached out her hands to help Emily up.

The girls retrieved their bears, both unsure whose was whose, and began to make their escape from the corn.

Emily navigated them out of the maze, which, despite their tumble, made JJ’s idea worthwhile.

“I don’t think I ever want to see corn again,” Emily said as they left the maze.

“I guess you won’t have roasted corn for dinner?”

“God no.”

They laughed.

For the next hour or so, they visited the midway, braving an assortment of spinning rides that bore names like The Annihilator, and The Brain Blender, that were next to carousels and other rides clearly meant for children.

JJ had a blast, she was definitely an adrenaline junky and the rides gave her the same endorphin high as sports.

Emily was clearly nervous, but was a good sport. She took a couple rides off, claiming to need to babysit Spencer’s new fish (he decided it was too cold out for the goldfish, so he had been wrapping it in his coat to keep it warm. Emily did the same during her time as babysitter as Spencer rode the ride.)

The sun began to set, and as the sky filled with colours, the carnival lights dazzled them, glowing in a rainbow of incandescent light.

“One more ride?” Hotch asked them, as he noticed their energy fading and their stomachs growling.

“The Ferris wheel!” Penelope announced, “we have to.”

“The last Ferris wheel I was on was the London eye,” Emily commented.

“We’ll miss jet setter,” Derek replied, “this will probably be a bit less glamorous.”

They waited in line for it, laughing and goofing around. JJ smiled at her friends, while her nerves grew in her stomach. She tugged on her sister’s necklace, pulling it tight against the back of her neck to calm her.

“Hey,” Emily whispered, “what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” JJ said back, quietly. “Just a little nervous with heights.”

Emily smiled down at her, with no trace of judgment on her face, and JJ softened.

“Didn’t you just ride The Bonebreaker earlier?” Emily asked, talking about a ride that locked them in a cage, and flipped them in punishing rotations.

“Those are different,” JJ said as tucked her hair behind her ears, trying to find the words to explain. “You’re strapped in, and there’s a cage. Ferris wheels have just the bar. You’re exposed.”

“Are you good to do it?” Emily asked, concern etched into her features.

“Yeah, of course,” JJ said, setting her shoulders back and gritting her jaw. “I’m not actually scared.”

JJ forced herself to relax, making good on her promise, leaning onto the chilly metal barricade. She was so happy that her little troupe of Penelope and Spencer had expanded to include all of these new people. Their dynamic was fun, and warm, and felt… right.

“This would be a beautiful photo,” Penelope exclaimed, pulling out her phone and gesturing at the whole group to get in close.

JJ turned to face the camera, smiling wide and meaning it. Reid and Emily wrapped their arms around her shoulders, and she was squished into the big group of friends. She felt the happiest she had felt in years, despite the creeping fear building up inside her.

The line moved quickly and they were shuffled into their seats, two by two. Emily and JJ were together, like before, and soon they were slowly lifted into the sky, side by side.

“It’s beautiful,” Emily gasped.

She looked down onto the fair, leaning forward as she gazed into the quickly shrinking fairgrounds.

Emily’sbeautiful, JJ thought, looking at her friend as she looked out into the night.

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, feeling a touch of vertigo, breathing deep to keep calm.

“Thanks for bringing me,” Emily said.

JJ clutched the bear tightly, as though someone was going to take it away from her.

“I told you that you’d like it,” JJ said, focusing on Emily’s face instead of the height.

“I admit it,” Emily said. “I like apple cider. Fairs are fun. I’m a country girl now.”

“Not yet,” JJ said, “we’ll work on that.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Emily said with a smile.

The Ferris wheel slowly turned as new passengers boarded, raising them higher into the air until they were at the very top, when they stopped.

Emily leaned forward, then back, making the chair swing slightly. JJ gasped as her stomach clenched, the fear of her plummeting to her death high on her mind.

JJ realized that her hand had shot out and now rested upon Emily’s. The other girl did not pull away.

“Sorry,” Emily giggled. “I had to.”

JJ glowered at her, but knew she was kidding and wouldn’t actually put her in danger. They rested at the top of the Ferris wheel, their chair swaying slightly, hand in hand for a few minutes.

JJ shifted closer to Emily, mentally telling herself that she was doing it to get closer to the warmth. Emily leaned towards her, allowing their shoulders to meet softly.

“We’ve been at the top for awhile,” JJ said, a little nervously. “Do you think it’s stuck?”

“I can’t imagine these things get stuck,” Emily assured her, “it’s probably someone getting off or on.”

This did nothing to quell the bundle of nerves in JJ’s stomach. She clutched the bar even tighter.

“JJ look at me,” Emily said, her voice soft, but stern.

JJ complied, tearing her eyes away from the ground far below her feet and focusing on Emily, sitting right next to her, feeling her warmth radiate out from her hand.

“You’re ok,” Emily said, calmly. “Don’t worry.”

JJ believed her, knowing that whenever they were together, nothing ever seemed to go wrong.

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world faded away. JJ got lost in her warm brown eyes that looked at her with concern. Emily had done a perfect wing of eyeliner, sharp on the corner, and covered her lid with a neutral brown eyeshadow. Emily was so beautiful. Her brows framed her eyes so perfectly, forming a graceful arch. Her cheekbones were sharp and her smile warm, but rare on the serious girl’s face. JJ took her in, relishing the moment to look unheeded.

JJ felt Emily’s grip on her hand tighten, and there was something about her eyes that beckoned her closer. JJ felt herself, acting almost on autopilot, leaning towards Emily as if she’d done it before.

Emily’s arm, which was thrown casually over the back of the chair, wrapped around JJ’s shoulders, pulling her oh so slightly closer. An invitation.

Without thinking, JJ found herself just inches from Emily, their breaths mixing as their foreheads touched.

Jennifer Jareau couldn’t believe this was happening, that Emily Prentiss, the girl across the hall, who she had been pining over for months, was probably about to kiss her.

She did not think of the billion ways this complicated their friendship, or the fact that she didn’t know if she could even handle jumping back into a relationship, or how she was thirty feet in the air on a rusty ferris wheel, all she could think about was the idea of Emily’s lips on hers.

Their lips met. Before this moment, JJ thought the phrase “sparks flying” was an exaggeration, but the electricity that she felt when Emily kissed her set JJ’s body on fire.

Her lips were soft, velvety, perfect. At first, it was chaste, with their hands nervously still holding onto the railing. Then, it deepened, lips moving slowly against the other. Emily’s hand moved from on top of hers up to her face, pulling her closer than before. JJ did the same, tangling her fingers into Emily’s black hair. Their matching stuffed bears were squished between them.

JJ’s mouth opened, and Emily’s tongue gained entrance, rubbing against JJ’s. It felt heavenly, and in that moment JJ decided that she didn’t want to do anything else in life but kiss Emily.

Their kiss was gentle, yet needy, with a passion that made JJ’s head spin. Emily’s hands rested delicately on her face, stroking her cheek, and wrapped almost protectively around her back.

The two girls only came up for breath, kissing like their life depended on it.

JJ felt her heart race, but a wave of calm washed over her. It felt like a kiss she had had a thousand times, and one she would have a thousand more. As familiar as something that she had experienced in her past lives, and something she knew she wanted to do for the rest of this one.

Suddenly, the chair rocked, and the Ferris wheel roared back to life.

They pulled apart, looking away from each other and catching their breath. JJ could feel a blush rise up her face as Emily tugged her arm out from behind JJ’s back.

Neither made eye contact as the Ferris wheel spun around, the carnival blurring out as they picked up speed.

They turned once, twice, a third time, before it slowed to a stop and people began to exit.

JJ no longer felt the acute fear of heights tug at her stomach, on the contrary, now it was the knowledge that she had just made out with her floormate weighing on her mind.

Her head was spinning and her lips tingled with the memory of the kiss. Her blood roared in her ears, as anxiety took over as her brain flashed with all of the million ways this could go terribly wrong.

Wordlessly, they dismounted and waited quietly for the rest of their group, who all babbled about how pretty the wheel was and how Derek wouldn’t stop swaying the chair. JJ scanned their faces, wondering if anyone could tell what had happened.

JJ drifted alongside the group, lost in her thoughts, unable to meet Emily’s eye, clutching her bear tightly to her chest all the way home.

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds tv #jemily #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #emily x jj #prentiss x jj #Jennifer John Jareau #gravelyhumerus cm college au #my post #my writing #sweater weather au #this chapters over 5k but its a good one i hope #this one lives up to the name of being my sweater weather au #dm me for tag list!!!#ill be doing one after this chapter

98 notes · View notes

shannygoatgruff · 3 years

Text

Only Fan(s) - A Thriller

Genre: Thriller

Pairing: Modern Ivar/OC

Warning: Language, sex, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, sexual assault

Rating: MA+18

Summary: Sometimes OnlyFans subscribers want a little more than internet pictures. Sometimes they want to be your ONLY fan…

Header by: @flowers-in-your-hayr

Thanks to @xbellaxcarolinax for being my beta.

Disclaimer: This story will deal with some topics that might be a little uncomfortable for some people. As always, I’ll try to tackle the hard stuff as tactfully as possible.

a/n: I wrote this months ago and let it sit on the shelf. I’m finally ready to dust it off and give it another go...so let’s see what it do...

Part iii - Trifecta

Torren Sykes hadn’t lived what anyone would consider an exciting life. In fact, in her twenty-three years, she had only just left her mom’s double-wide trailer in East Bumble Fuck less than a year ago. Not quite 365 days later, she still didn’t have a pot to piss in, nor a window to throw it out of.

Truthfully, she usually didn’t know where she would be getting her next meal - that sort of thing wasn’t really a big deal to her. She actually liked the mystery of it all. There was something undeniably sexy about not knowing what the day would bring - who she would run into, or have to take something off of to survive. If someone else had to get hurt so she could make it through another day, such was life. She’d won. Those other people just needed to be better at playing the fucking game, plain and simple.

Besides, pulling a caper or two kept her on her toes. She learned how to pull off the best of them from her mother. It’s not like adulting was one of Leslie’s strong suits.

If only her mother had been more like her Me-Maw, now that woman was a saint. For reasons that Torren never cared to ask, she lived with her Me-Maw until she was five years old. Leslie would periodically visit her to drop off the obligatory present on Christmas or her birthday if that bitch remembered. Not that they were ever good presents – just some cheap ass, unwrapped items she happened to pick up at the dollar store. Torren couldn't remember a gift that she had received wasn't still in the plastic bag with the receipt in it.

Cheap, whore.

Just once she would have liked a real baby doll from Toys-R-Us, instead of those cheap, hard, plastic dolls that the hand molds weren't cut out evenly, and the jagged edges cut the shit out of her face when she tried to sleep with it. But, that was Leslie. Torren didn't choose her; Leslie sure as shit didn't choose her daughter.

It became painfully clear to Torren that her mother didn’t want anything to do with her after her Me-Maw died. Unfortunately, she found herself as her mother’s unwitting roommate at a very young age, forcing the girl to spend a lot of time alone.

By the time she turned nine, Torren was convinced that her mother was a prostitute and she was a trick baby. It was the only explanation she could come up with seeing as how her mother never worked but always had enough money to pay the rent, keep the lights on, and have plenty of booze, chips, and hot dogs in the fridge.

Not that Torren had many other life experiences with a working parent to compare her situation to, but it just seemed pretty fucking difficult to have a job if one were passed out drunk all the fucking time. Besides, who had time to work when during your waking hours you were spending them with one of your many, many boyfriends?

Torren used to wonder if one of the multitudes of men that would traipse in and out of that trailer were her father - but the more she got to know what type of person Leslie was, the more she realized that whoever that guy was, had gotten the hell out of dodge.

Lucky son-of-a-bitch.

But for all of Leslie’s flaws, she did manage to impart her three philosophies of life onto her daughter - the three things that Torren still lived by to this day. It was the least she could do. God knows that whore sure as fuck didn’t do anything else for her.

Mama’s Life Lessons #1 - There is no such thing as too much black eyeliner

As trivial as it sounded, it proved to be a precious lesson. Shortly after she had moved into the trailer, Leslie had forced Torren to sit on the bed and watch as she got ready for another one of her "dates". She had told the little girl that beautiful eyes were the one good gene that ran in their family. “You got to learn how to work ‘em,” Leslie exhaled a long plume of smoke at her reflection in the vanity mirror, “You listenin'? This's important. This right here," she held up the black liner pencil, “is gonna be your best friend.”

Of course, Torren had no idea what she meant. How was a pencil going to her friend? She didn’t really care so much as what her mother was saying to her at the moment, it was more of the fact that she was actually talking to her that made Torren hang on to every word.

That’s why she picked up the black liner pencil from her mother's cluttered vanity table and leaned over to look in the mirror. She tried tracing her bottom lid, the way her mother had done, but at six it was a little easier said than done. She had just learned how to color inside the lines with a fat crayon; mastering the art of applying liner would have to wait a few more years.

Leslie, however, was not willing to wait that long, "What the hell's amatta wit'chu, Dumbass? You doin' it all wrong," she said snatching the pencil from the girl's hand. Grabbing Torren roughly by the chin she said, "Gotta teach you every goddamn thing. Hold still." She mumbled more curses and said something about her good-for-nothing mother not teaching her brat anything useful.

By the time she had finished cursing her name, Leslie roughly turned her daughter's head toward the mirror, "Yeah you got those eyes. Now, learn to use ‘em.” Leslie dropped the pencil onto the vanity before picking up her drink and shooing Torren away.

That was the day that Drew Watkins bought her an ice cream. It had to be the eyeliner. It was a true fact, not just another one of her mother's drunken theories. Eyeliner and her eyes...she didn’t know how she used them, but they worked.

From that day on Torren opted to never step foot outside without heavy black liner again.

Mama’s Life Lessons #2 - As long as there are men around that want to fuck you, you will never need to work

It wasn’t like she going to go out and get a real job. She wasn’t raised with much of a work ethic. She was too young to remember if her Me-Maw worked and what she gathered from her mother was that there would always be men around to take care of her.

Leslie told her that she didn’t need to work because working a man was a full-time job. If she were doing that right, she wouldn’t have time for a fucking 9-5. It didn’t matter if he was in a relationship, gay, or the fucking Pope. As long as he a dick and she could bend over, and her eyes were done, her rent was as good as paid.

If she wanted more than just the basic bills paid, she would have to rethink what all she was willing to do - but just make sure she didn’t do too much otherwise she couldn’t guarantee a steady paycheck every week.

This sage advice didn’t make much sense to 8-year-old Torren, but as the years progressed she started to work it into one of her life’s mottos. She would never want for anything. She could always rely on the kindness of strangers and when that got to be too boring, she could always take it, just to spice things up a bit.

Mama’s Life Lessons #3 - If you want something do whatever it takes to make sure you get it

As a child that grew up with the television as a babysitter, Torren Sykes knew that she was destined to love Ivar “Lothbrok” Ragnarsson since she was a little girl. Ever since that day she turned on the TV and saw this adorable blue-eyed boy drawing Mickey Mouse ears saying, “I’m Ivar Lothbrok and you’re watching the Disney Channel,” she knew that he had to be hers.

He was co-starring on a show called The Baker Boys, about three foster kids, who had come to live with a family that owned a bakery. Ivar’s character was named Simon Baker - a mischievous kid that lived with his grandmother until she died and never felt like he fit in with this cookie-cutter family.

His life was just like hers - minus the cookie-cutter family that loved him and all. She was actually with more of an alcoholic whore that didn’t give a shit if she lived or died, and not pulling stunts in a bakery with flour and messing up orders like him, but she still saw them as kindred spirits.

When the show got canceled she was devastated. How dare the world try to keep her from her man? Didn’t they understand this was love? Didn’t those people at Disneyland know that he was the only person in the world that understood her?

As if on queue, she happened to find the Season 2 DVD box-set at the library one afternoon. Her mother had kicked her out of the trailer because she had a date and couldn’t have the dumbass child around fucking things up for her. Torren had nothing else to do - at 11-years-old, she had no money, and nowhere to go. At least the library was air-conditioned.

She wanted that box-set. Slipping it into her backpack unnoticed was the easy part. Trying to get it past the alarms would be harder. She watched for a while, paying particular attention to the way the check-out system worked.

When the librarians changed shifts, she let a smile cross her lips as she picked a few random books from the shelves.

Her beautiful eyes went as big as saucers when the alarm buzzed, and the young male librarian looked down at her, still clutching the large reference book to her check. Carefully she had stepped across to the other side of the alarm sensor waiting to collect the books she was checking out.

“I’m sorry, you can’t check out reference books,” the young man said, blinking his hazel eyes at Torren, the corner of his lip tugging into a smile.

She let a pout fall on her lips as she lowered her large eyes down to the book in her arms, “Oh...sorry.” She handed the book back, “I didn’t realize I still had it.” And like that, she walked out of the library with her prize.

She had stolen for Ivar...now if that wasn’t love what was?

The only thing that had threatened their love through the years is when Ivar got married. It damn near broke Torren’s heart. How could he be so cruel? She didn’t give a fuck that the marriage was short-lived. She even understood why he had to do it. He had gotten that bitch pregnant, and he didn’t have much choice. But, he cut her deep.

Didn’t he know how much she loved him? Didn’t he know that she stuck by him when he had joined 6cess and had seen him in concert 3 times? She still had the autographed photo of the two of them from the signing at Spring Hills Mall - when she was wearing that blue midriff cardigan and ripped jeans and he had his arm around her. That shirt brought out the color in his eyes. She even wore Happy, which he said was his favorite perfume. She thought it smelled like Comet, but she stole a bottle of it from Macy’s right before the photo-op to smell good for him.

And he went and pulled this shit?

Besides, Johnny Law said that she was still too young for him and that he could get arrested for being with her. She knew that he had to pretend to have a normal life so that no one would know about their love affair. She was just understanding like that. It gave her time to grow up a little more so that when they could he be together, the law wouldn't be standing in their way. She really didn't give a fuck, but she suspected he did. Why else hadn't he come for her?

Torren didn’t even like their music. She wasn’t a boyband kind of girl, but for him, she would make the exception. She was more of the gangsta rap or heavy metal type girl. But if Ivar was serenading her, she’d listen to sappy, wrist-slitting, emo, shit rock all fucking day long, because she loved him.

She hated that he had gotten that whore pregnant, too. She understood that he had to pretend that they had a normal marriage. She knew that when he was fucking that bitch, he was really imagining it was her. The years apart had made him a master at hiding his true feelings for her. He couldn't give anyone cause for suspicion. If he let on the truth he could risk losing everything…his house, cars, job, and his kid. That whore was trying to keep them apart. But, she was just a small obstacle that posed no real threat to Torren.

She did not doubt that she would be his daughter's new mommy. The kid would probably be sad at first that she wouldn't be with that other woman like Torren had been when her grandmother died. But, the kid would get used to it. Torren was going to be a whole hell of a lot better at being a mom than her piece of shit mother was to her. That was for damn sure. She was going to teach her stepdaughter all about eyeliner, and how to dye her hair.

She was going to teach her what party clothes every woman should have in her wardrobe and how to get a man to do whatever she wanted by just batting her eyes at him. She would even share her secrets on what pills to mix and what dosages to give for submission, making a man catatonic, and if she was really good, she'd teach what to put in a drink to kill someone. Hell, she even planned on giving the child her most discrete drug contacts. That would of course have to wait until she was older – at least 13. She was going to be such a good mommy.

Ivar's daughter was going to love Torren as much as Torren loved him. They were going to be the perfect family.

Torren was as hopelessly devoted to Ivar as he was to her. He had waited for her to become legal. Just months before she was old enough to legally consent to sex, and get married without parental permission, his marriage started falling apart. She knew that Ivar was trying to make a clean break from his wife, and get his daughter used to the idea of them being apart before he could come home to her.

Torren had been thoughtful and respectful enough to give him that space to make sure everything was right before she stepped into the role of the new Mrs. Lothbrok. He had to test the waters, make sure that she still wanted him as much as he wanted her. He had to get back into the swing of things…have sex constantly to make sure he could keep up with her. She knew that "the prude" wasn't doing it nearly as often as he needed to - why else would he have an Only Fans page?

Torren was the only one that could feed his appetite, and he hers.

Now, they were both finally ready. She was mature and developed. She knew what she needed, and it was him. He had his fun before her, but now he was auditioning again and getting everything back on track for them. He had a great relationship with his daughter and his dumb ass ex-wife finally understood that their relationship was a fling that went too far.

His face told her everything that her heart already knew. He loved her.

Why else would be looking at her like that? She could feel herself blush when he smiled on Instagram like that into them. Then he gave her that smile. That was her smile; the one that he reserved for her during their private times. Yet, there he was doing it in front of an audience of millions, and he didn't care who saw it. He had to let her know that it was time for her to come home. It was like a sleeper cell being awakened.

She didn't have a choice. She did what any other woman in her position would do. She packed a bag, threw it in the car she stole a few days before and drove. Armed with her trifecta of knowledge and determination, she prepared to face the obstacles that were bound to get in her way. There was nothing that was going to stop her from getting her man.

Nothing.

Part ii || Part iv

Tags: @ideagarden-blog1 @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @a-mess-of-fandoms @didiintheblog @conaionaru @peachyboneless @flowers-in-your-hayr @heavenly1927 @zuxiezendler @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @didiintheblog @revolution-starter

#OnlyFan(s)#modern ivar #shannyland #trifecta

22 notes · View notes

amanda-glassen · 3 years

Text

The Wonder Years: Part 8

While getting ready for her first school dance, twelve-year-old Olivia starts a path toward discovering who she is truly meant to be. Parts 1-7 can be found under the the tag #alex and liv: the wonder years

Thank you @ghostwritingcabenson @imaginaryoperagloves @cabensons @oliviaswifey and my lovely anon for all of your really sweet comments and tags.

Cover courtesy of my tumblr wifey @ghostwritingcabenson

Seeing the brightly colored frozen yogurt shop put Olivia at ease because it was the setting of some of her best childhood memories and now she was going to experience it with her girlfriend.

Olivia did as Jamie had done for her mom and opened the car door for Alex. That small act of chivalry earned a big smile and a ‘thank you’ from Alex, which made Olivia feel as if she had butterflies in her stomach.

“Babe, why don’t you take Alex inside?” Jamie suggested. “I want to stay out here and talk to Ollie.” Uh oh.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Serena gestured for Alex to follow her. “We can get first pick of the toppings.”

“Yeah!” Alex said excitedly. “I want chocolate chips and chocolate brownie bites.”

“Is everything okay?” Olivia asked, worried that Jamie had a suspicion that she and Alex were hiding something.

“Everything is fine,” Jamie responded. “This is a good talk, I promise.” She pulled a twenty dollar bill out of her wallet and handed it to Olivia.

“Cool! Twenty bucks!” Olivia folded the money and put it in her pocket. “Thanks, Jamie. I was saving up to buy a－”

“It’s not for you, kid,” Jamie interrupted. “It’s for you to treat Alex.”

Olivia tried to hide her disappointment. “But my mom always pays for frozen yogurt.”

Jamie made a failed attempt at stifling her laughter. “Think about it, kid. What’ll score you more points, you paying for her frozen yogurt or your mom paying?”

“Me, I guess,” Olivia groaned. “There goes my new bat.”

Jamie shook her head and wrapped her arm around Olivia to guide her toward the entrance. “I have so much to teach you, Ollie.”

Alex and Serena were already choosing their toppings when Olivia and Jamie entered the frozen yogurt shop. Olivia noticed that her mom had gotten their usual and she was eager to get the same－chocolate flavored frozen yogurt with Oreo crumbles, gummy worms and Fruity Pebbles－a tradition in the Benson household that they had named Dirt and Worms.

“Mom, I’ll pay for me and Alex,” Olivia told her once all four cups of frozen yogurt were on the counter and ready to be weighed.

Serena took her debit card out of a pink and white polka dot Kate Spade wallet. “It’s okay, baby, I’ll get it. Save your money for that bat you’ve been wanting.” Olivia noticed her mom and Jamie exchange glances and she hoped Jamie could read her mind because she no longer had the slightest idea what to do. “On second thought, it’s probably not cool for your mom to pay for you on your first date.”

“I got this,” Olivia tried to say as smoothly as she could while she pulled out her twenty dollar bill and placed it on the counter.

“And I’m getting yours,” Jamie told Serena. “You already paid for dinner. We’re supposed to be in an equal partnership here.” After Alex and Olivia’s cups of frozen yogurt were paid for, Jamie inserted her card to pay for hers and Serena’s.

“I paid for us to eat at Hot Dog On A Stick, not some expensive restaurant,” Serena reminded her. “That’s all we had time for after Barnes & Noble and GameStop.”

Jamie picked up their frozen yogurt cups and carried them over to the table. Olivia figured she should do the same for Alex until she saw Alex already eating brownie bites from her frozen yogurt. Better not take that away from her. “I learned an important lesson today, Ser. If I value my life, I will never attempt to take one of your fries. Is it the same with frozen yogurt?”

Serena scrunched her nose. “Yours is vanilla with strawberries, blueberries, and bananas. No wonder you want to steal some of mine.”

Within seconds of sitting down at the table, Olivia’s phone started to vibrate. It was a text from Elliot confirming he'd be at their secret meeting, but Olivia didn't want to risk her mom seeing a message from her dad come through so she decided to put her phone in her pocket.

"What's this big science project about?" Serena asked them. "I've never seen an assignment have that effect on Olivia."

Olivia was in the middle of chewing a gummy worm, so she was grateful when her quick thinking girlfriend decided to answer. "It's the end of the year project which is worth 25% of our grade. Mrs. Rodriguez is supposed to give us more details on Monday, but my brother had her class three years ago and he said she lets her students pick the topic. Sometimes that's harder because the possibilities are endless. She also doesn't like us to pick partners because someone could get their feelings hurt if they aren't picked, so she puts us in alphabetical order. If she does that, it's fine because I'll get to work with Olivia. Alphabetically there's no one in between us. We should start brainstorming, Olivia."

The last thing Olivia wanted was to think about a science project that wasn't due for another month, but her girlfriend’s enthusiasm was contagious and the project was the only thing keeping her mom from asking questions about what was actually on her mind.

Olivia felt her phone vibrate again, except this time it wasn’t a text from Elliot or any of her other friends. It was another message from her dad that read, “Hey Sport. Wanna get some pizza tomorrow?”

“Who’s that, baby?” her mom asked her.

“Just Elliot,” Olivia said nonchalantly. “He’s asking if I’m still coming over tomorrow to watch the game. I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Olivia was grateful that the bathroom was a single stall so nobody could follow her in there. She pulled out her phone from her back pocket immediately after locking the door behind her and started to respond to her dad. “Yeah can we go to Another One Bites the Crust? That’s my favorite. I can meet you there at 1.”

She waited two minutes before another response came through. “Daddy/daughter day tomorrow at 1. They have those rotating basketball hoops outside. Bring your A-game.”

When she returned to their table, a feeling of guilt hit her hard and suddenly. She occasionally hid things from her mom like when she didn’t tell her she had a girlfriend, but this was the first time she had actually lied to her. It was the worst she had ever felt in her entire life and she knew that lie was only the first of many that she’d tell her mom that weekend.

Serena asked Alex about her siblings and Olivia heard Alex talk about her older brother who was fifteen and nice to her and her younger brother who was almost nine and kind of annoying. Olivia loved to hear Alex talk about her home life and her friends and her favorite movies and TV shows, but that night her mind was on her dad and how much fun the two of them were going to have the next day eating pizza and playing basketball.

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” Alex asked Serena.

With Serena distracted by Alex’s question, Jamie took it upon herself to attempt to steal a gummy worm, but her attempt was soon thwarted by Serena gently smacking her hand. “Hey! Nope. Hands off my worms. If you wanted gummy worms, you should have added some to your frozen yogurt.”

Olivia handed Jamie a couple of her own gummy worms. “Here, Jamie. You can have some of mine. I have a whole bunch.”

Jamie took the worms and held them up to show Serena. “Unlike you, your kid actually shares.”

“What can I say?” Serena smirked. “My kid is better than me. That means I’ve succeeded as a mom.” She held Jamie’s hand on top of the table before turning to Alex. “Sorry, Alex, before we were so rudely interrupted by my gummy worm thief, I was going to tell you that my brother Kyle is two years younger than me and my sister Lexie is one year younger than me. The three of us are really close, like best friends. Kyle and I live in the same building, but Lexie moved back to California after college. She lives in Santa Monica now.”

“Lexie Benson is your sister?” Alex asked, wide eyed and completely in disbelief. “Lexie Benson, the YouTuber? I’ve seen every single one of the videos on her YouTube channel! She does these really funny videos where viewers can request what era or theme they want and she does these in-character spoofs about－” Alex started to blush. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. She’s your sister so you know all about her channel and her videos. Wait, I think I’ve even seen you in some of them!”

“Yeah, she’ll force me every time I go out to Santa Monica,” Serena smiled at her. “And don’t apologize for getting excited over something. I’ll tell Lexie about you next time I talk to her.”

“Babe, your phone,” Jamie told her as she looked down at Serena’s phone and noticed an incoming video call.

“It’s my mom,” Serena groaned. “If I don’t answer, she’s going to keep calling.” She swiped across the screen to answer. “Hi, Mom. I’m out right now with Olivia, do you mind if I－”

“Where’s my grandbaby?” Mrs. Benson interrupted her. “I want to talk to her.”

Serena handed the phone to Olivia. “Hi, Grandma!” Olivia said excitedly. “Wanna see my girlfriend Alex? She’s having frozen yogurt with me. Me and her went on our first date tonight.”

“Hi, Mrs. Benson,” Alex said after scooting closer to Olivia. “Pleased to meet you.”

“You’re adorable!” Mrs. Benson responded. “And so well mannered. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alex. So, tell me, how is my grandbaby on a date? Does she hold open the door and pull out your chair?”

“She’s a perfect gentleman and she’s so cute and sweet and she got me a rose and frozen yogurt tonight,” Alex beamed. “I like Olivia so much.”

Olivia felt butterflies in her stomach and she wanted nothing more than to kiss Alex if they were alone. “Doesn’t Alex look like a princess?” Olivia asked.

“She looks like Princess Grace,” Mrs. Benson told her granddaughter. “She could be a classic Hollywood starlet. And you look so handsome and grown up, my darling grandbaby.”

“Jamie cut my hair,” Olivia said excitedly.

“Jamie,” Mrs. Benson said in a teasing tone of voice, hoping Serena would hear. “Tall, dark, and handsome, herself, the one woman I would consider switching teams for.”

“Mom,” Serena groaned and Olivia couldn’t help but laugh when her mom put her head down on the table in embarrassment.

Olivia handed the phone over to Jamie. “Hi, Melanie. You’re looking beautiful as always. Where are you? I can see the sunset behind you. Are you on vacation?”

“Oh, no, I’m just on our rooftop,” Mrs. Benson said nonchalantly. “Didn’t my daughter tell you about the beach house in Malibu?”

Serena took the phone from Jamie. “I have to go now, Mom. Alex has to get home soon.”

“Not so fast,” Mrs. Benson told her. “Since you neglected to tell me when your spring break was, I looked it up on Columbia’s website and saw that it’s the week after next. I’m booking your flight to LAX. You can bring Jamie so I can finally meet her in person and my grandbaby can bring her little girlfriend and before you object and say you had something planned for my grandbaby, I will save you the effort and say nothing you can plan in that gloomy state you insist on living in is as much fun as the kids will have at the beach and at Disneyland.”

“Disneyland!” Alex said excitedly. “I’ll ask my mom if I can go as soon as I get home.”

Olivia’s dream of riding the teacups together and buying Alex a pair of sparkly Minnie Mouse ears could finally come true. “Please, Mom. Please can we go? I’ll do anything.”

“Don’t be the bad guy, Serena,” Mrs. Benson told her daughter. “I can hear how happy the kids are.”

“It’s 9:45 over here, Mom,” Serena said in a frustrated tone of voice. “I have to hang up now so we can take Alex home. Bye, Mom. I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Serena set her phone on the table and then turned to face Jamie. “One thing I hate about smartphones is that you can’t angrily close them when you wanna hang up on someone. Nothing gave me more satisfaction as a teenager than hanging up on my mom with my pink bedazzled Motorola Razr phone whenever she nagged me about something like she is right now. She completely undermines my parenting every chance she gets. What if I had something planned for Ollie?”

“At least you knew how to use that phone because, apparently, you can’t use this one,” they heard Mrs. Benson say. “I’m still on the line, Serena. I’m booking your flight and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Olivia looked across the table at her flustered mom and at Jamie who was trying to contain her laughter. The short interaction with her grandma had made all of her negative feelings go away. Tomorrow, she’d spend the afternoon with her dad and, as long as they could convince Mr. and Mrs. Cabot, she’d soon be at Disneyland with the love of her twelve-year-old life.

#cabenson #baby cabenson #alex and liv: the wonder years #serena benson #law and order svu

15 notes · View notes

sgtbradfords · 3 years

Note

Please could you write a Chenford prompt with this: “Who were you with?”. Thank you! 💖

Thank you for the prompt hon! I hope this does what you requested some justice! It almost stumped me, but then I had an idea about the future and well lord knows my muse had enough fun with it then. ;) Enjoy!

Captain Tim and Lieutenant Lucy Bradford had both turned in for the night, laying in their king-sized bed, talking off and on about things they had heard throughout the day at the department as Tim read the book in his hand, Lucy reading something on her phone.

“He’s going to be late.” She mumbled, noticing the time.

Tim never looked up, turning the page in his book. “He won’t be late.”

“Admit it, he’s going to be late and you can finally pay up.”

Tim looked over at the clock on the nightstand. “He’ll cut it close but he won’t be late, he’s never been late a day in his life.”

“No, because he’s your son. But you may as well pay up now Bradford, he has less than two minutes.”

“Only when he walks through the door at 23:01 Bradford, will you be getting any form of payment.”

The clock hit 10:59 and Lucy began counting down the seconds in her head, making it to twenty-three seconds left when the sound of a thud, something heavy hitting the ground echoed through the house.

They both jolted, Tim’s right hand and Lucy’s left reaching for their guns in the nightstands before thinking better of it.

Heavy footsteps sounded as the person climbed the stairs, stepping on the eighth step, the wood creaking under the pressure as it always had over the past twenty years.

“You ok?” Lucy asked, arching an eyebrow as the person walked into their room. “Just learning to walk?”

“I’m fine, tripped over my feet.” He said, carefully falling onto his stomach on the bed, burying his face into the comforter.

“Did you lock up?”

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he lifted his head. “Yes dad.”

“Did you turn off the lights?”

“I think?” he said after a second “I’ll check before I head to bed.”

Lucy wrinkled her nose as a smell assaulted her senses, “Larson Wade Bradford. Did you not shower after the game?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you use soap? Because you smell like a locker room.”

“Yes mom. You can smell test me if you want.” The teen said as he stuck an arm out.

“I’d prefer not to.” She told him, pressing his arm back down. “Just shower again before bed.”

“You done good tonight. That hit in the third looked brutal, you feeling ok?” Tim asked, placing his book to the side, taking off his reading glasses.

“Conners checked me out and said I was good to go but I swear that linesman hit me right in the lung, knocked the breath out of me. I’m sore, and my head hurts a little.” He shrugged.

“Let me see.” Tim said as he got up from the bed, moving next to his son.

Larson lifted his shirt, the left side of his skin black and blue as Tim began pressing on his side, Larson wincing when it became painful.

“Shit!” he cursed before gritting his teeth.

“Nothing’s broken.”

Lucy cringed at the sight of his marred skin as she got out of the bed, moving to the bathroom, searching the drawers for what she was looking for. She came back, two small white bottles in hand.

“Here, take these.” She said, opening and shaking out two pills into her palm, as he grabbed them and threw them back, dry swallowing. “And put this on after you shower again.”

“Was she this nice to you after you almost died?” joked Larson as he sat back down on the bed.

“Which time?” Tim asked as Lucy lightly slapped his shoulder.

“There’s not been that many.” Lucy told them, rolling her eyes as she climbed back into the bed.

“I was shot on your second day, you flipped the shop, I was infected with a virus, yet another car crash, you were buried alive, another car crash, and how can I ever forget the day you had to ride with Harper and you found that bomb. All within your first year as a boot, sweetheart.”

“You weren’t there for the bomb, I threw the guy out the window.” She smirked. “Besides, look at all the fun we experienced together!”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Your mom calls getting stabbed and shot at fun.”

“No, I’m not talking about that!” She said with a look on her face. “We used to have to go undercover together all the time even after my probationary year.”

“Why?”

“Pretty sure Wade shipped it.” Lucy told him simply.

“No one says shipped any more mom.” Said Larson.

“I’m pretty sure half the department shipped it Luce, you know how much money Wesley won from that bet.”

“Uncle Wesley won over like seven hundred dollars, right?”

“Correct, each person had to bet a hundred dollars.”

“A bunch of cops betting for when two people would hook up, who would have thought.” The seventeen-year-old said rolling his eyes.

“Hey! We got nine hundred dollars to put in your college fund from a bet so no complaining. It’s go big or go home.”

“What is a bet going on right now that involves us?”

“There’s the one of whether or not you father will retire with in the next five years.”

“Not happening.” Tim said as he placed his glasses back on, returning to his book.

“That’s what he thinks.” She stage whispered. “You were cutting it close to curfew tonight.”

Larson grimaced as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking away, a tell-tale sign he had inherited from his father. “Sorry.”

“Who were you with?”

“Hailey, Tyrell, Jonas, Nyah and Max. We went to the diner on Apex.”

“The one with the smiley face pancakes? And you didn’t invite me?”

“No I didn’t invite you, you’re kinda old mom.”

“I am not, I am forty seven! Forty seven is not old! Your father’s closer to sixty than fifty, if anyone is old it’s him!”

“Leave me out of this Luce. Besides, your daughter already thinks I’m a grandpa.”

“She’s twelve, besides she’s only calling you that because she doesn’t like it when you pick her up from school in the shop.”

“It was one time. When you get a call from the principal asking you to come for a meeting because your child punched someone and broke their nose, it warrants the shop. Besides that was before I knew she had punched another kid for bullying someone. We even went for ice cream! I think she is just calling me a grandpa to spite me.”

“Are we sure she’s not adopted? Because I was an angel at her age.”

They both looked at Larson, giving him a dubious look. “Sure you were and remind me again, who broke the window with a slingshot when they were her age?”

“Don’t forget he called 9-1-1 when he was six because he couldn’t remember a phone number.”

“Why remember a number when it’s programmed in your phone!” he argued.

“Scared me to death when you came flying up the drive, I had no idea what was going on.”

“He hung up the phone! And when I couldn’t get ahold of you, not knowing he hid the phone, I freaked out ok.”

“I know honey.” She said placing a kiss on cheek. “To answer your original question Larson, I know for a fact I spent thirteen hours in labor with her, she is in fact your sister, thank you.”

“She’s just inherited your mother’s rebellious streak a few years early.”

“My rebellious streak? You were the definition of a stereotypical bad boy Mr. Bradford.”

“You would have loved it.” He smirked.

“I find it hard to believe you had a rebellious phase mom.”

“Have you met your grandparents?”

“Good point.” He said as a yawn escaped. “I think I’m going turn in for the night, coach wants us at the field house by nine to review the tape.”

“Night kiddo, love you.”

“Love you guys too.” He said as he sluggishly walked out the door. “Oh, I’m taking Hailey out for lunch so I won’t be home until sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“Ok, be careful. Text one of us if something changes.” Lucy said as he closed the bedroom door.

“You know, I think we’ve done a pretty good job with him.”

Tim smiled a twinkle in his eye as he placed the glasses and book on the nightstand. “I think we have too. Let’s just hope Angela and Wesley are ok with our son dating their youngest daughter.”

“How much you wanna bet Bradford, that they’ll both be boots by the time they’re twenty-five?” Lucy asked smirking as she walked her fingers up his arm, causing Tim to growl as he tackled his wife to the bed, his bodyweight pinning her to the mattress.

“How much do you wanna bet boot, that they’ll be married to each other by the time they’re twenty-eight?

“Wager the usual?” Lucy asked as Tim began kissing and sucking on her neck, causing her to shiver, even after close to being married for twenty years.

“As long as they don’t give us grandkids within the next ten years, it’s a bet.”

“We haven’t done this while they’ve been home in a while.” She gasped in his ear as his lower half thrusted against her, Lucy pulling down the sweatpants he was wearing. “Think we can still keep quiet and not get caught old man?”

Tim smirked as he reached for the hem of her nightgown, pulling it up as she pulled her upper body off the mattress, placing a thirsty kiss to his mouth before mumbling against his lips. “Guess we’ll find out tomorrow sweetheart.”

#the rookie fic #tim bradford x lucy chen #chenford fanfic #chenford fic #chenford #fanfic

39 notes · View notes

cloudywriter · 4 years

Note

Okay, hear me out... A Nessian carnival situation?

first, i need more prompts, send whatever & alright this one took me a sec but then i got into and i’m pretty happy with it. sorry, it’s such a long built up but it’ll come. pretty swift nessian fix here ya go:

~~~

A Tale of Questionable Carnival Rides

~~~

Nesta huffed, checked the time on her phone again, and rolled her eyes. It was only 9:32pm now and the endless stream of kids and parents was still steadily flowing and likely would be for another hour or so.

Nesta checked again. 9:33pm.

It wasn’t that she hated the annual carnival fundraiser for the school, she liked planning it and making sure everything ran smoothly, being student council president that’s usually what her job description was. But not this year, no, this year Nesta was in charge of running one of the mini-game stands as Clare, who was supposed to be managing it, came down with the flu.

To say the least, Nesta did not enjoy dealing with groups of screaming children and their hovering parents. Honestly, she’d rather slam her hand into a car door than spend another hour watching kids fail to knock down three pins then become upset because they don’t get a prize for losing.

She was able to handle the first couple of kids that shed some tears and the few parents that wanted a pity prize, but as the night wore on her patience began to run thin.

A young blonde boy, maybe eight or nine years old, was now making his way up to Nesta’s booth followed by presumably his mother.

Nesta gave her the same, plastered-on smile she’d been giving all night to the woman approaching.

“Hi, three balls please,” the mother said sweetly, handing a five-dollar bill to Nesta over the table.

Nesta gave her a small nod and plucked three red balls from the bucket beside her, handing one to the little boy.

“Alright, all you have to do is knock down all three pins and you’ll get a prize,” she stated her usual rehearsed line.

Of course, the little boy missed his first shot, his aim a little too low, Nesta passed him a second ball in response. Once again, his ball missed its mark and the boy let out a little sound of frustration.

“It’s okay, you’ve got one more shot,” Nesta explained before setting the final ball before him.

The boy swiped up the plastic, red orb and weighed it in his hand. He turned his attention back to the three pins still sitting untouched atop the table adorned with a red and orange plaid, fall-appropriate cloth; he chucked the ball, grazing the top pin enough to knock it off.

“I did it! I did it!” The boy cried punching the air in triumph.

“Hey, I’m sorry, but you actually have to knock down all three to win,” Nesta frowned, feeling a little sympathetic for the kid.

“That’s crap!” He shouted. Nesta shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, “I’m sorry, that’s just the rules.”

The mother’s mouth was set in a thin line as she rested her hand on his arm. “C’mon honey, maybe you’ll have better luck at ring toss?” She offered. However, he looked up at her unimpressed, “No! This booth is the only one with the dragon stuffed animal! I got the top pin!”

The mother’s eyes flitted back up to Nesta. “Can you just give him the dragon? I mean he did hit one and I already gave you money, I’m sure that dragon is cheaper than five dollars.”

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I can do that,” Nesta reiterated.

The mother huffed, obviously getting upset now and started digging around in her purse. She slapped down another five-dollar bill in front of Nesta, “There? Is that enough? Just give him the damn toy.”

Nesta was a little torn on how to handle the situation, the last bit of patience she possessed slowly disintegrating. “Look, I can give you another three balls for you to try again but I can’t just give out the prizes for some money.”

The mother rolled her eyes, slamming her hand down by her side; “He’s just a kid, he’s not going to hit all of the pins and don’t try to tell me that dragon is worth more than a few bucks. This is just a high school fundraiser, save me the trouble and give my kid the damn prize.”

The son looked up at his mother with a pout.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to hear that your son has no hand-eye coordination but frankly it’s not my problem. If you want to try and pay your way through another game I’d suggest the bean bag toss, my sister Elain is a softy.” Nesta gave her a sickly sweet smile and crossed her arms over her chest.

At that, the woman’s face turned a tint of red. “Okay, who is running this? I’d like to speak to one of your teachers or the principal, you’re being extremely rude.”

“I’m being rude? Lady, I’m just trying to get in my community service hours.”

The woman’s nostrils flared and Nesta could tell she was about to crack, she started to speak her voice significantly raised. “Alright, missy-”

“Whoa, hey, what is going on here?” Another voice chimed in.

Nesta groaned, her head turning to face the student council vice president who had now joined the interaction.

“Are you running this thing? This girl has been astonishingly ill-mannered,” the woman began. Cassian held up his hand, “I am not the one in charge, unfortunately, you’re actually looking at the boss right now.”

The woman gave Nesta another scowl, snatched up the five-dollar bill that still rested on the table, and grabbed her son’s hand dragging him off into the crowd. Cassian didn’t turn to leave though, “I’m actually surprised you didn’t get into a fight with a crazy mom earlier. I almost left your general vicinity thinking I wouldn’t have to break up anything, good thing I didn’t.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms, letting them rest at her side again. “My hero,” she added sarcastically.

Cassian smiled. “C’mon, sweetheart, why don’t we go for a little cooldown ferris wheel ride.”

“Really?” Nesta asked, gesturing with her head towards the sad scrap of chipped brightly painted metal that was the ‘ferris wheel’ the school decided to splurge on and rent out. “You’d get in a cart and the whole thing would topple over.”

Cassian only shook his head. “Nah, c’mon, Archeron. What, are you scared of heights?”

“Yes, I’m deathly afraid of being lifted twenty feet into the air, Cassian.”

Cassian didn’t respond, just held out his arm. Nesta sighed, deciding she’d rather risk her life on a very janky carnival ride than work that damn game. She slipped out from behind the tables and looped her arm through Cassian’s, “I hope you know you’re paying whatever ridiculous rate they have going.”

“I suspected as much,” he answered, pulling her across the high school parking lot which had been transformed into the makeshift carnival.

They stood together in the small line and Nesta closed her eyes, tipping her head back breathing in the scent of corn dogs and funnel cakes deeply. The student letting kids on and off the ride collected Cassian’s money and they stepped into their cart. It did audibly creak as Cassian and all his muscles took up residence, Nesta settled in across from him.

“How have you enjoyed working a booth? Think next year you’ll decide to do it again rather than running around making sure everything’s working out?” Cassian asked, stretching his arms behind him.

“I think if I get stuck handing kids balls to throw at pins or something like that again I will abdicate my throne.”

Cassian raised his brow. “It can’t be that bad.”

Nesta shrugged. “Why do you care? You’re probably thinking up a scheme to make sure I end up on game duty again so you can have my presidential status.”

“Nah, I’m not after your position I swear. I don’t even like being vice president.”

Now it was Nesta’s turn to raise a brow. “Then why do you keep doing it?”

Cassian hesitated a moment. “It’s the only way I get to spend time with you,” he confessed.

“You’re telling me for two years you’ve run for vice president so you could hang out with me?” Nesta asked, disbelief coating her tone.

Cassian nodded.

“You took on the extra burden of full hour meetings twice a week before school, put in countless hours of budgeting, fundraising, making posters, all that jazz just to spend time with me?”

Cassian nodded again looking as if he were trying much too hard to stay cool and calm. “Romantic, isn’t it?” He smirked like he was ready for Nesta to melt into his arms.

“No, that’s so fucking stupid,” Nesta crossed her arms.

Only then did Cassian’s built up nonchalant aura falter. “W-what?”

“Yeah dumbass, you literally could have just asked me out.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever say yes,” now Cassian was leaning forward, his face exuding a plethora of emotions.

Nesta leaned forward, her face only a few inches from Cassian’s own.

“I would’ve said yes,” she almost whispered. Cassian’s eyes searched Nesta’s face for any sign that she was playing a cruel joke, he found none. “Nesta?” he asked softly.

“Mhm?”

“Would you really go out with me?” His eyes were wide and hopeful, the innocence of it all made Nesta smile. Especially knowing how much of a goofball Cassian was, it was different seeing him so genuine and unguarded.

“I really would,” she answered at last. She and Cassian just stared at each other for a moment, the corners of their lips upturned.

“Nes?” Cassian’s voice broke. Nesta raised her eyebrows slightly, encouraging him to continue. “Is it okay if I give you my letter of resignation on the date, too?”

Nesta let out a small giggle and rested her forehead against his. “You’re such a doof.”

~~~

alright, well i hope you liked it! also thank you guys so much for all the love on my last nessian prompt fic, usually, i only get like 15-20 notes a post so all the attention that one got made me really happy. also, i promise i'm still working on my other stories!

#nessian au #nessian fanfiction #nessian #nesta x cassian #nessian fanfic #nesta archeron #a court of thorns and roses #acotar au #acotar fanfiction #acotar #modern au #carnival au #answered prompts #prompt fic #cassian #sjmaas #sjm fanfic

40 notes · View notes

kingfallsamtranscripts2 · 3 years

Text

King Falls AM Episode Twenty-One: Swimmin’ With Kingsie

King Falls AM Transcript

Episode 21: Swimmin’ With Kingsie

Run time: 23:38

First Aired: Mar 1, 2016

Summary: Reverend Xavier Hawthorne unveils his newest plan for King Falls and the boys get a worrisome call from Lake Hatchenaw.

(For a list of characters and references from this episode see the end of this post)

[King Falls AM theme plays, transitioning into mildly creepy piano music]

Commercial: Sometimes in life things don’t go as we have all planned. Sometimes in life it’s easy to get discouraged when plans change. Do you get discouraged when plans change? We don’t. I’m Leland Hill of the Science Institute. Perhaps you’ve heard of us because of the help we do for families and people in need. Locally, globally, internationally. Or maybe you’ve only heard of us because of the suppressive media attacking myself, Science Institute founder Roland Northwoods, and other Science Institute alumni. Or maybe you’re just lost and looking for help in the dark and scary world. Possibly your inner consciousness is reaching out into the unknown, looking for answers. Why are we here? What’s the meaning of life? Why is a medium drink the size of a small bucket at fast food restaurants? Whatever you seek, just know, the Science Institute can help you. We want to help you. We will help you. We are here, King Falls.

[King Falls theme plays]

Sammy: The Science Institute? Really?

Ben: Keeps the lights on, Sammy.

Sammy: You’d think they could get one of their Hollywood brainwashed pals to at least read their propaganda instead of the ghoulish Leland Hill.

Ben: He does give me the willies but he is also paying the bills!

Sammy: Absolutely! And I’m sure the advertisement budget he’s paying Merv is a drop in the bucket compared to that old compound they’re finishing on Old Bombing Range Road.

Ben: I can see that you are trying your hardest to stay on their good side, Sammy, but let’s stay on track here.

Sammy: (laughs) You got it, we absolutely can, and should, keep it on the rails, I’m sorry.

Ben: Ooh, that’s the hot-line right on time. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the good Reverend Xavier Hawthorne calling in to tell us about his new venture as well as hopefully taking calls from you lovely listeners!

Sammy: New venture? Did God start paying less?

Ben: (Clearing his throat) Good evening, Reverend Hawthorne! Thank you so much for working us into your busy schedule.

[Reverend Hawthorne dramatic organ intro music]

Deacon Reggie: Ladies and gentlemen of King Falls, please put your hands together, get those hands a clapping, like the girls asses be clappin’ up in the club, put' em together for the one, the only, Reverend… Xavier… get right with Goooood, Hawthorne! Deacon Reggie, out! (Sound of a high five) Go get ‘em, brother.

Hawthorne: (very quietly) Oh Deacon Reggie, thank you so much for that lovely introduction! Appreciate you, fam!

Sammy: Hi, Reverend Hawthorne… and Deacon Reggie.

Hawthorne: Reggie can’t hear ya, he’s going back to his bunk on the bus. He’s got the gift of God though, don’t he?

Ben: That he does! How are you doing this evening, Reverend?

Reverend: Blessed to be here, Benjamin, Samuel. Gentlemen, how are you doing tonight? I said, how are you doing?

Ben: We’re… we’re well.

Sammy: (Laughing) Not too shabby. H-how are you?

Reverend: Very well, very well indeed. I’m sorry it took so long to get this calling to happen. I’ve been a busy, busy man of God these days.

Ben: Indeed you have, Reverend. Is the tent revival business still going well?

Reverend: Where there are sinners there is always a need for salvation. And where there is salvation, there is Reverend Xavier get right with God Hawthorne’s stomping out the devil revival. You got to stomp out that nasty devil! Just stomp him out!

Sammy: You know, you should have that on t-shirts.

Reverend: Already do! Nineteen ninety-nine each or two for forty dollars. You have a keen eye for marketing, Samuel, a keen eye.

Sammy: Reverend Hawthorne, there was mention of you in the King Falls Gazette a week or two back about you possibly settling down in King Falls. Is there any merit to that claim?

Reverend: Now Samuel, I hate to speak out of turn, but let me just say that good things come to those who wait. And good old Xavier has been a waiting a long time to find a parish to call his own. And glory be I think we might have struck a deal at the King Falls First Old Baptist Church!

Ben: Oh wow, so that would-

Reverend: Can I get an amen, brothers?

Ben: A...men?

Reverend: Our prayers have been answered! Just as soon as the check clears the bank…

Sammy: So you signed a deal that would keep the road show-

Reverend: Ah! Stomping out the devil revival!

Sammy: Stomping out the devil revival with a permanent home in King Falls?

Reverend: Well, we’d still tour. That sneaky devil is always popping his head up where he shouldn’t. The ultimate game of wack-a-mole. And you’d better believe we’ll be there to whack him down every time! Every time, devil! Whack-whack-whack!

Sammy: But…

Reverend: But yes, we will have the church as our home base. Praise be!

Ben: Isn’t the First Old Baptist Church a little… what’s a good way to say this…

Reverend: Oh it’s a sinkhole waiting to happen! But that’s where we come in, Benjamin. We’re going to raise some money from the good folks of King Falls, and we’re going to build that cheeple steeple into the megachurch that the Holy Trinity, that the town of King Falls, and Xavier Hawthorne deserves!

Sammy: Huh.

Ben: A megachurch? Those are like stadium size churches, right? How will that ever fit on the corner lot First Baptist is on now?

Reverend: Where there is a God’s will, well don’t you know, there's an entrepreneurial way. Eclesiastes 1, 5 through 7.

Sammy: Now Reverend, for those residents who don’t go to church, but would still like to know that they’re helping an institution that will help out their fellow man-

Reverend: I hear the doubt in you, Samuel! And it is strong. And it is scary. I don’t want to go Yoda on you, but you don’t want none of the dark side funk on your everlasting soul, son!

Sammy: Right. Back to the question, I’m assuming that the church will be actively putting money and good will back into the town. Is that correct?

Reverend: You’d better believe it, Sammy. But there’s no other reason to do it than to help out all of God’s children.

Sammy: Some more than others?

Reverend: We’ll be doing outreach programs, food for the needy, clothes for the poor. We’re working on a deal to rent out the old dilapidated putt-putt place right next to the church as well.

Ben: Oh man! Sir Putts-a-Lot? That was the place to go back when I was in middle school!

Reverend: Sadly, I don’t think it’s seen many good years since then. But we’re going to try to refurbish and reopen as a money making venture for the folks, like you’re speaking of, Sammy, that don’t do church. Now, we’ll be Christian themed, but it’ll still be fun for the non-believers.

Ben: Oh man, I can’t wait. Sammy, the eight hole at Sir Putts-a-Lot was-

Reverend: (Loudly) Glory Holes!

Ben and Sammy: What?!

Reverend: Glory Holes- mini golf for a mighty God. We opened one in Tuscaloosa back in 2013. It’s a proverbial gold mine for God.

Ben: Okay, well that’s… that’s an interesting choice of words.

Sammy: (laughing) I can’t wait to go to Glory Holes! Do you have an approximate grand opening date? You know, that’s something that should be marked on every calendar in town. I’d like to mark it on every calendar in town, actually.

Reverend: As I’ve said, checks have to clear, hands need to be shaken, and prayers need to be answered. We’ll see, but it should be sooner than later, boys.

Sammy: I had questions, but you know what… I can’t follow that.

Ben: Reverend, would you mind sticking around and taking some calls with us?

Reverend: Absolutely! Anything to spread the good word and the gospel.

Sammy: You heard Xavier’s story, kids, now let’s hear yours. Give us a call at the studio, (424)279-358.

Ben: Uh, before we go to the phone lines! Does God ever, like, intervene in matters of the… heart?

Sammy: Ben.

Ben: You know what I mean. Rev, like, if a boy likes a girl, but the boy made a real righteous ass- excuse my language- out of himself to save the girl from another boy’s affections… creepy, creepy affections?

Sammy: This sounds familiar, Ben. Is this anybody we know?

Ben: I’m asking for a friend.

Sammy: Right.

Ben: So, Reverend, I- I don’t really know how this works, like, if my friend, uh, prays really hard will he-

Sammy: Tilt the odds in his favor.

Ben: Exactly!

Reverend: You know, Benjamin, I think it starts with having a personal relationship with your lord and savior, Jesus Christ, and then feeling it out from there.

Sammy: I think it works for wars and football teams all the time. Give it a shot, Ben.

Ben: Can’t hurt, right?

Sammy: The phone lines are lit up, Buddy.

Ben: Right, uh, right. Heh, we can talk about that later, Rev.

Sammy: Lucky line one, you’re on King Falls AM with the Reverend Xavier get right with God Hawthorne.

Caller: Hey, Sammy. Hey, Ben. Hey, Rev.

Sammy: Ron Begley! How are you doing, sir? Long time no talk!

Ron: Doing just fine, Sammy! Just fine!

Ben: Do you have a question for Reverend Hawthorne?

Ron: Sure thing. Now, Reverend Hawthorne, what would the going rate be to rent old Glory Holes for a private putting party? I got an ex-life partner Bruce looking for a place to get hitched to his fiance, Larry, who happens to be a golf pro.

Reverend: Whoa, now!

Ron: Hello?

Reverend: I’m sorry, Bruce and Larry?

Ron: Yeah! Do you know ‘em? They’re all kinds of religious.

Reverend: You know, I have to get with our finance manager. There’s a lot of moving pieces and- what was it- do y’all hear that? It’s God. He’s a calling me. I got him on the spiritual speed dial. I think I’m losing you, fellas. Let’s chat about-

[The sound of a phone hanging up cuts off the rest of what the Reverend is saying.]

Ron: Hahaha, works every time.

Sammy: I’m guessing there is no Bruce or Larry.

Ron: Hell yeah there is! And I really wanna rent out a putt-putt place named Glory Holes for the reception, but I didn’t figure that stuffed pudgery would talk about it.

Sammy: I think you’re correct.

Ben: How’ve you been, Ron?

Ron: Uh I can’t complain. But I do anyway. All’s well at the bait shop.

Sammy: And how is, uh… you know.

Ben: Just say it, Sammy!

Ron: You can do it, Sammy! How is who?

Sammy: Oh fine! How is Kingsey the lake monster doing?

Ron: All right! That’s what I’m talking about.

Ben: You did it, buddy. I’m proud of you!

Sammy: Oh, whatever. Saying is not believing, guys.

Ron: One important step closer. She’s doing just fine, by the way. But I gotta tell you, I’ve seen Kingsie more now than I ever have before. Seems like anytime I’m on the lake Kingsie comes right on up. No fear in her at all. It’s the damnedest thing.

Ben: That’s strange, Ron. Wasn’t it just a few months back that you had people out on the lake hunting her almost?

Ron: Yeah I don’t get it. You’d think she’d be more scared of the boat and the people but I’ve seen her visiting boats with my own eyes! I don’t like it.

Sammy: So no more trouble with trespassers, then?

Ron: Not a lick of trouble! I fixed those lousy poaching' sons of whores good!

Sammy: Do we even want to know?

Ron: Let’s just say I might have put some buckshot to some behinds!

Sammy: I’m not touching that one.

Ron: (laughs) That’s what he said.

Sammy: I don’t know if…

Ron: It works, Sammy! Trust me.

Sammy: I’ll just make a mental note not to be out on the lake looking for trouble.

Ben: So uh if you didn’t have a question for the Reverend, what’s going on then, Ron?

Ron: What, a guy can’t call his radio buddies to chat? Isn’t this talk radio?

Ben: Of course! I’m just-

Ron: I’m just messing with you, Ben! I actually do have a topic of discussion for both of you. A bone to pick, if you will.

Sammy: Oh wow, let’s hear it!

Ron: Well it seems that damn near every time I turn on 660 AM you two ruffians are fighting with somebody or getting tossed out of public places. I’d be proud you boys are about to level up your man cards! But I’m a little offended you didn’t come to me for help.

Sammy: With the fighting and getting kicked out of places.

Ron: I’m only partially busting balls here, but it’s partially serious too. You fellas with your fighting, as hot as it may be, ain’t the best for you or us who like listening.

Ben: Let it be known, I was not fighting! I am not a fighter.

Sammy: No, you were sabatoshing and throwing hush puppies!

Ben: Whatever, it still wasn’t a fight!

Ron: Hell, I wouldn’t classify what Sammy the mirror was doing as fighting either, you have to land some strikes and grapples to be a fight! You gotta actually make your hand into a fist to be a fight! Looked like a springtime, fully clothed, roll in the hay! I’ve had dates rougher than that quote unquote fight.

Sammy: Well, uh, obviously, you know I let my emotions get the better of me and it went arye.

Ron: Oh, whatever, Sammy! Not everyone’s meant to be a warrior. What I’m trying to tell you both is you fellas just need to do your fighting over the radio airwaves. You keep the physicalities to the professionals! You’re a bright spot in a lot of people’s nights around here and we can’t have you getting thrown of the air for rabble rousing and half-assed MMAing the jackass mayor.

Sammy: I think I get what you’re saying and we appreciate it, Ron. Believe me we will keep fighting the good fight the only way we know how.

Ron: With your sweet little mouths.

Sammy: I was going to say minds, but sure.

Ron: Alright, fellas. I can hear my radio going off like a son of a b-(beep) in the shop. Better go see what kind of damn fool would be trying to get me in the middle of the night. Take it easy fellas.

[The phone hangs up]

Ben: He’s a trip.

Sammy: He’s something. Line nine you’re on with Sammy and Ben.

[Magical twinkling music starts]

Ben: Oh no, hang it up, Sammy!

Sammy: Wait, what is this?

Ben: Seriously dude, this is bad news. Just push the button and-

Sammy: Hello?

Caller: Oh hello!

Sammy: Hello? We’re here, you’re live with Sammy and Ben.

Ben: Come on!

Caller: Oh splendid! I do love listening to you two!

Ben: Oooh, hi, Gwendolyn.

Sammy: (Amused) You know this lady?

Ben: Unfortunately.

Gwendolyn: It’s Gwendolyn! You’re such a smart cookie, Ben Arnold. So unlike your trailer trash friend Troy!

Sammy: Whoa, ma’am! If you could please not address anybody like that, we’d appreciate it. Sorry, Troy.

Ben: Remember when I asked you to hang up?

Gwendolyn: (Sarcastically) Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend your liberal sensibility! I’ll do my best to shackle my first amendment right to freedom of speech. We wouldn’t want to offend, now would we?

Sammy: Gwendolyn, was it?

Gwendolyn: Oh, it is, darling.

Ben: There’s more to her name, Sammy.

Gwendolyn: My, my, Ben I didn’t realize we were bringing proper titles into this conversation! How fancy.

Sammy: Oh, like a duchess of York or a princess situation?

Gwendolyn: Well, you could say that.

Ben: (Clearing his throat) Gwendolyn the Racist Witch.

Gwendolyn: It’s like a choir of purebred school children singing when you say it like that, Ben. Now I do prefer Gwendolyn the Hateful, but…

Ben: But one shoe fits better than the other.

Sammy: Gwendolyn, if I may be so bold-

Gwendolyn: You may.

Sammy: Obviously I’m grasping most, if not all of your title, but I’m finding myself a little… hmm.

Ben: Sammy doesn’t believe in witches.

Sammy: That is correct.

Gwendolyn: How very sad! Were you an underprivileged child, Sammy? You sound at the very least like white middle class. Do you not know what a witch is?

Ben: Uh, no, he knows what witches are, he just doesn’t believe in them.

Gwendolyn: Well I don’t believe in Muslim presidents, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have one!

Ben: Ooh, told you to hang up, Sammy!

Sammy: Ma’am, I’m sorry, but if you don’t have a topic that isn’t-

Ben: Racist.

Sammy: Right. Then we’re going to have to let you go.

Gwendolyn: Oh, but I do have a topic, Sammy. I would never call in just to waste your resources like welfare on those-

Sammy: Gwendolyn! I’m not going to let you use this as a forum to spew venom and hatred! There are plenty of other AM radio stations that will let you do that, but we certainly will not.

Gwendolyn: Oooh, strong! Forceful! I like it! You have some aryan in you-

[The phone hangs up with another twinkling sound.]

Sammy: Nope! I tried, I just can’t do it.

Ben: Try living with that your entire childhood! She lived a block over from my mom. You should’ve heard the stuff she’d yell out at little league games!

Sammy: Is that where you learned most of your large vocabulary?

Ben: (Coughing) Hardly! No, uh, line two you’re on with Sammy and Ben.

[The sound of outside night noises (crickets and wind and frogs) begin]

Caller: Oh hiya, Ben. It’s Mr. Sheffield.

Ben: Hey, Mr. Sheffield, how are you doing this evening?

Cecil: Oh I’m just swell. It’s just so good to hear a friendly voice. Let me ask you something, have you heard from Esther lately? I’ve been putting in those booty-calls but I haven't heard a thing back!

Ben: He isn’t talking about Esther Rollins, is he?

Sammy: Hi, Cecil, are you talking about Esther Rollins from Esther’s Sewing Corner?

Cecil: Ah, you betcha, bud!

Ben: We… I mean, he’s gotta know, right? She passed six months ago or so.

Another person in the background on the line: Damn it, can you hear me?

Sammy: I hate to be the one to tell you this-

Ben: Is that Herschel in the background?

Herschel: Hello!

Cecil: Oh, I know she passed, fellas! But she was still answering her secret number and moseying on over for the longest time!

Sammy: I- I’m sorry… what’s that, Cecil?

Herschel: Did you get those butternut f-(beep) on the phone yet, Cecil? Stop talking about banging a ghost! Is that the dumbass duo? Give me that!

Ben: Are you guys out together… looking for Esther?

Cecil: Oh no, I was just wondering about her and thought you boys were in the know and could help. Me and my best friend are out on the lake tonight and we’re fishing-

Herschel: Don’t tell ‘em, you no good penis wrinkle! This is Herschel F. Bomgardener’s find! Tryna take all my glory. Son of a (beep).

Cecil: I’m sorry. Hersch really wants to tell you guys something. Can you call me back though? About sweet old Esther...

Herschel: Oh Jesus, not one damn person in this town who wants to hear about Cecil Sheffield laying the old ghost post. I’m tired of hearing about it my damn self! You listening King Falls AM?

Sammy: Hi, Herschel.

Herschel: Well don’t sound so excited, Stevens. I’m just dropping the biggest old breaking news money shot all over your face.

Ben: That’s an image! Uh, what can we do for you?

Herschel: Well for starters, how’s about kissing my ass? And don’t you take a tone!

Ben: There wasn’t a tone! I swear!

Herschel: I’ll never understand your generation. If I talked like that to my elders I’d never have made it past nine years of age! The damn factory foreman would have skinned my hide.

Sammy: It sounded like Cecil was about to tell us something, and you mentioned breaking news? Is that correct?

Herschel: I’m getting to it! Damn it to hell, boys! Like I used to tell Edna; slow and steady wins the race. Better hurry up, though I’m about to fall asleep.

Cecil: Hey, Herschel, I don’t think this is Kingsie...

Ben: Kingsie? Is something wrong with her?

Herschel: Do I look like doctor f-(beep) lake monster to you, Ben?

Sammy: What’s going on out there? I assume you two are out on Lake Hatchenaw?

Herschel: That we are. Me and Cecil are out tonight trying out some new lewers. Real fancy stuff.

Cecil: Hey, I’m sure this thing ain’t Kingsie, Hersch.

Herschel: I f-(beep) heard you the first time, Cecil! Jesus Christ! Can’t you see I’m talking on the radio!

Cecil: Sorry, buddy.

Herschel: Ah if I had my gun I’d put that brain-dead dumbass out to pasture. Anywho… goddamn it, what the f-(beep) are we talking about?

Ben: (Annoyed) You’re on the lake, testing lures.

Herschel: Right, uh, so we hit secret spots, and then, erm try to feel the Cecils out. And wouldn’t you know it, we found that old serpenty b-(beep) Kingsie, belly up.

Ben: What?!

Herschel: Deader than Rock Hutchson’s affections for the ladies.

Ben: Oh man, I cannot believe that. This- This hurt. I gotta call Ron back.

Herschel: Ain’t no use calling that son of a b-(beep)! I was radioing on his bait shop the last twenty minutes to no avail! Figured he’d want to go out and say his goodbyes before Ray Chin comes out here and suzies her up real good.

Sammy: Ben, give Ron a call so he doesn’t hear about Kingsie like this.

Herschel: Ah she was a damn fine lake monster.

Cecil: (In the background) Herschel this ain’t Kingsie!

Herschel: Didn’t really mess with me and hecklewood, stayed out of my spots. I won’t miss her, but damn if I don’t salute her for knowing some boundaries.

Cecil: Turn on your damn hearing aid! It’s not Kingsie!

Herschel: Oh, what now? I ain’t too old to dump you wrinkled ass right off the side of this boat.

Cecil: No! Give me the phone!

Sammy: Hey Ben, hold on a second.

Cecil: Hello? Is this Ben Arnold and his buddy?

Herschel: (From the background) I let you have it you fardknocking old cuss.

Sammy: You’re live, Cecil. Is what you found on the lake not Kingsie?

Herschel: Let me get a good look at this thing. Hey, shine the light over here, Cecil. Get a little closer.

Cecil: That light fell overboard in Kettleton Cove.

Herschel: G-(beep)-damn it! Watch your dirty cheating crumb catcher! You don’t know what kind of eavesdropping satellites are listening in to scout bots or the bass tourney. Mother f-(beep)!

Cecil: The light is gone, Herschel! Sorry.

Sammy: Fellas?

Herschel: Hey, this may not be Kingsie. Quit whistling f-(beep)-ing dixie and get us closer!

Sammy: It’s not Kingsie, Ben.

Ben: Ohhh thank goodness! What is it?

Herschel: Jesus, I think this is a dead body!

Sammy: It’s a dead body.

Ben: That’s much better than Kingsie… so young… WHAT?! Wait, what?! Again?!

Herschel: It’s all wrapped up in something. But it smells human to me. Pull over closer, Cecil. Jesus Christ, do I have to give you a haunted hanty to get closer to the g-(beep)-damn body?

Cecil: We’re going to go closer.

Sammy: Why don’t we let you guys go so you can call the sheriff’s office.

Herschel: Eh, it’s so damn dark! Where’s my million candle lamp, you dumbass.

Ben: I’ll call the sheriff’s office. Where are you guys at on the lake?

Cecil: You know I can’t rightly tell you, Ben. Shhh, it’s a secret!

Ben: This is a little more important than the bass tournament, Mr. Sheffield!

Herschel: Don’t you tell ‘em! Tell those pansies to send the coppers to Begley’s. We’ll meet them there. Your big mouth has already broadcasted too much!

Ben: To Ron’s, got it. I’ll make the call, guys.

Cecil: Hey, what’s that noise? Do you hear that, Herschel?

Herschel: Sounds like they’re right over the treeline. We could shine the light if you hadn’t tossed it in the lake!

Cecil: Oh hush!

Herschel: Fifty nine ninety-nine at Sears and Roebuck. Don’t think you won’t replace it-

[There is a loud crashing sound like thunder]

Cecil: What the heck is that?!

Herschel: Well Charlie f-(beep)-ing foxtrot!

Sammy: What’s wrong, guys?

Cecil: Look at those lights… Oh, pretty colors… beautiful…

Sammy: Lights? Is it the UFOs?

Herschel: Gosh, those damn rainbow lights again. We’re not going to catch nary a f-(beep)-ing fish tonight. Son of a buttered up, biscuit eating b-(beep)!

[King Falls outro music and credits begin]

References:

Yoda: a fictional character from Star Wars known for his wisdom and fighting against the ‘dark side’

Glory holes: I’m sorry I’m not going to explain this one… If you’re over 18 feel free to look it up, if you are not please don’t.

MMA: Mixed martial arts

Rock Hutchson: A gay actor

Sears and Roebuck: department stores

Charlie foxtrot: military slang for a chaotic situation

Characters:

Sammy Stevens, Ben Arnold, Leland Hill, Deacon Reggie, Reverend Xavier Hawthorne, Ron Begley, Gwendolyn the Racist Witch, Cecil Sheffield, Herschel F. Bomgardener.

#king falls am #king falls am podcast #king falls am transcript #king falls transcript #king falls podcast #podcast #podcast transcript #transcript

3 notes · View notes

teddy-bear-surprise · 3 years

Text

Chapter 9: Exit

Masterlist

|| Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 Part 1 || Chapter 7 Part 2 || Chapter 8 || Almost The End || Chapter 9 ||

The past three and a half weeks had dragged Spencer through all seven levels of hell and back. All remainders of his sense of identity had been stripped away and then stuck back together with dollar-store duct tape. Even with his eidetic memory, superior cognitive skills, and years of extensive psychological training, Spencer had been susceptible to all of Ophelia’s tricks. Every single vision, thought, and emotion that entered Spencer’s conscious mind was hand-crafted and transplanted deep within his mind by Ophelia. He was stuck in a prison that he would never escape, but that was only half the story.

Ophelia was undoubtedly a bright person, though it seemed wrong to pay someone so nefarious such a compliment, and she had devised a detailed and thorough plan. That very plan was what led to Spencer’s downfall. Nothing could stop her once she had her eye set on a goal, and sinking her talons into Spencer’s mind was no different.

Many scientists liked to say that when a person is exposed to high levels of anxiety for prolonged periods of time, their brains will translate every ordinary experience into a moment of desperation. Every moment becomes life or death. Black and white. Winning or losing. And that was all Spencer could see.

Even if he did not explicitly feel his anxiety in that moment, Ophelia’s methods left him exposed to every one of her schemes. He was unaware of his extensive obedience, not complying intentionally, but with an iron fist of fear wrapped around his heart. But each time he acted in Ophelia’s favor, the fist loosened.

As the days rolled by, slowly at first, Spencer began to feel more and more drawn towards her. His fearful heart palpitations shifted into anxious flutters. When he saw Ophelia now, rather than sensing dread in his gut, he felt a kaleidoscope of butterflies in his stomach. It wasn’t shocking that three extensive weeks with an attractive captor led to Spencer’s strong case of Stockholm Syndrome. It happened all the time, and while Ophelia hadn’t planned for it, it proved to be useful.

For the first week, Ophelia would repeat the same routine every day, only modifying the temperature of the interrogation room to add a little kick to her “game”. And every day, Spencer would look at her with the same scared and confused look on his face. Ophelia, obviously, would just ignore it. Every day she would let him get a bit closer to her, making him feel like there was progress being made, that she trusted him, only to trick him and treat him like scum the next day. She tore down the very structure of his understanding of trust. Eyes wide open with fear, Spencer would learn to be wary of every movement that Ophelia made. He slept lightly, listening for the sounds of her footsteps and mentally preparing himself when they did approach him. Though as much as he tried, he was never really prepared for what followed.

Then the next week came along, and suddenly Spencer was spending every waking moment alone. He sat in solitude, hearing nothing more than the sound of his own breath and fabric crinkling whenever he moved. The closest thing to human contact he got during those days was Ophelia pushing a small tray of food into his room at breakfast, lunch, and dinner and then him pushing the tray back out to her after he had eaten. That was probably the longest week of Spencer’s life. Every day that passed by felt like months, and with no windows or clocks, the only way of keeping time was by counting how many seconds had passed between meals. On the longest day, he had counted eleven thousand nine hundred and twenty-five seconds. For each second that he counted, he made a dot on the wall behind him with a marker that Ophelia had given him, and by the end of the week, his wall had turned a whole shade darker.

During the last week, the third one, Ophelia did the complete opposite. She kept Spencer by her side every second of the day, providing him with the desperately needed attention that he craved. She would order him around, playing into his desire for purpose and fulfillment. Each morning, Ophelia would make him write reports for her. She started it as a way to gauge just how much Spencer would be willing to share with her. Unsurprisingly, the emotionally and mentally unstable Dr. Reid had lost the ability to filter his thoughts. The world-class genius labored away for hours, spilling every secret the FBI had shared with him. He told Ophelia all about her mother, he told her about Hotch’s family, he told her about his lowest moments: losing Maeve and letting Cat slip through his hands. In the afternoons, she would send the mentally exhausted man to do meaningless housework. He scrubbed the floors on his hands and knees until his shoulders grew sore, he replaced lightbulbs until his wrists could no longer twist, and he washed dishes until his hands turned pink and pruned. Reid thought nothing of the work and even appreciated the opportunity to rest his aching mind. Their nights, however, were spent together, truly together. Not the kind of together where Ophelia sat on the couch watching Spencer work, but the type where they were no more than a foot apart at any given time. He relished the praise that Ophelia showered him with. She made him feel an unparalleled sense of pride for sharing his secrets. By the end of the week, Spencer had proven himself to be so trustworthy (or brainwashed) that Ophelia felt comfortable falling asleep next to him on the couch.

Somehow, an institution dedicated to delving deep into the minds of America’s most notorious killers had made a fatal mistake. They failed to look into the minds of their own men, letting the team’s brains and hearts fall through the cracks. The BAU’s useless mandatory therapy proved to be nothing but a bandaid over a gaping wound. Because despite all of his intense FBI training, Spencer had already suffered so much trauma that he became the BAU’s weakest link.

Three Days Until New Year’s

A pair of heavy boots crunched loudly against the rocky, sandy walkway, contrasting the eerie silence that preceded it. The boots were attached to a mysteriously hooded figure that walked with confident strides. It was late at night, or maybe early in the morning– no one could say for sure. Only one thing was certain: chaos would soon have the upper hand.

The black boots continued until they reached Ophelia’s window. Peering in, the hooded figure saw Ophelia lazily draped over the couch, accompanied by a dreaming Dr. Reid beside her. An old television set illuminated their motionless figures and let out quiet dialogue as the movie dragged on. Both were in a deep, deep state of sleep, unaware of the scene that was unraveling beyond their dreamscape. The Unsub abandoned the window, tiptoeing towards the garage. The garage door panel, despite being chosen by a “genius”, took only a minute to hijack. The latch clicked open and the door slowly lifted. It buzzed quietly but steadily, and the hooded head turned towards the window every few seconds to check for any signs of Ophelia or Spencer waking up. They never did. With the garage door open, it would be smooth sailing from now on.

The Unsub quickly slid their backpack onto the empty garage’s floor, opening it slowly. The contents of the bag were highly volatile and the Unsub did not want to be anywhere near when that volatile substance lost its stability. Halfway through unzipping, the zipper got stuck, causing the backpack to jolt violently. The Unsub’s breath hitched and their mouth dried up as beads of sweat trailed down their neck and forehead.

Beginning again, slower this time, they moved the zipper smoothly. Once the bag was successfully opened, the Unsub calmed by a degree. They grabbed the flat, red blocks that lay within, careful to avoid tangling the wires attached to the blocks. These carefully packed and handled blocks were those infamous “plastic explosives” that they always showed in movies. They were highly destructive, yet much too easy to buy– considering you had the right contacts, of course. The Unsub stuck the explosives all along Ophelia’s garage walls, making sure to target the home’s main structure by using a wall scanner. They exited the garage and closed it manually to avoid the whir of the garage door motor. With still a handful of explosives left in their possession, the Unsub moved to the side of the house farthest from Ophelia and Spencer, easily boosting the damage without committing full-on murder.

From afar, the Unsub exiting Ophelia’s backyard just looked like an ordinary citizen going for a calming moonlight stroll. But their fast, decisive steps were far from calm and this citizen was in no way ordinary. They walked rapidly for two long minutes and by the time those two minutes had passed, Unsub was far out of the neighborhood’s sight. The Unsub grabbed the remote detonator from their pocket, entering the passcode and pressing the bright red button. A blast shook the ground with fierce intensity and a shiver ran up the Unsub’s spine as they felt the air’s temperature increase by the slightest degree. They turned around to marvel at the brightly lit sky above Ophelia’s house, basking in the sound of chaos engulfing the few residents of Park Ridge Drive.

Inside the rapidly heating home, Ophelia and Spencer felt adrenaline flowing freely through their bloodstreams. Panic permeated their bodies and all rational thought had been abandoned. But even as they felt the fire nearing and the smoke filling their lungs, they didn’t move. They couldn’t move. Just like two mice trapped in a never-ending maze, there was no way out and the Unsub had made sure of it. They sat in desperation, wondering if the past three weeks had all been for nothing.

About ten minutes from the house, the Unsub approached their car, opening the door as a gust of wind flew by. Their hood fell down, revealing short blonde locks and a familiar face. They perched the hood back onto their head. They could hear the sirens approaching and drove away quickly, even passing a police car a few miles later. But alas, the Unsub was already far, far gone by the time first-responders arrived at the scene.

Author’s Note: I decided to leave this chapter a bit vague at the end so I could pick it up again if I ever feel better, but still have just enough closure to let the story "stop"... I'd love to hear any theories or guesses as to what the ending means (it's kinda obvious lol). I'm also so sorry it's not better, but this was the best I could do considering the circumstances.

#Criminal Minds #CM #spencer reid #spencer x oc #fanfiction #fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

2 notes · View notes

entitycradle · 3 years

Text

A Tree Without Wind

Content warnings: mention of, discussion of, threats of, and plans to commit suicide. Panic attacks, disassociation, and paranoia are described, sometimes in detail. An eating disorder is alluded to. Characters are horny for each other but there’s nothing sexually explicit.

I promise the ending is hopeful. I genuinely am not trying to trick you, I know what this sort of thing is like, I want to respect your capacity while still being truthful to the experience and allowing tension in the story. If you’re in the right place for it, click that button.

A TREE WITHOUT WIND

I was nine years old the first time Phoenix told me he was going to kill himself. Is that too brutal? Sorry. It's where this starts. We were outside, in the morning before it got too hot, kicking around a ball in the scrubby grass. We used the long shadow of the I34Q tower to make the rules--you can't use your hands if you're in the sun, that sorta thing. It was fun because the boundaries of the shadow were always moving with the shape of the tower, and because the tower was a little scary. Phoenix lost a game and just said it, frustrated, "I'm gonna kill myself." I laughed.

When I was that age I loved looking at the shadow of the tower, because it made so much more sense than the real thing. You'd look at the dark, fuzzy stain on the ground and you could imagine it was some sort of antenna, or house, or marker. But then you'd look at the structure itself and your eyes would glaze over trying to figure it out. Unevenly rotating, stacked polyhedral structures, dark gray but covered with a rainbow film like an oil slick. Irregular pieces would be transferred between different sections with no apparent pattern. It smelled like someone you'd never met. The tower was doing something but no one was ever clear on what. That's how it is with I34Q stuff, I think.

I'm stalling. It was some stupid shit, he must've picked it up from some awful caster or something. As a kid Phoenix liked that sorta thing. He'd watch videos of mean people cursing and laughing and he'd laugh with them. I preferred my cartoons, or the I34Q casts, as weird as they were. Later I repeated what he said when I found out my dad was making squash for dinner, "I'm gonna kill myself," and my mom told me off pretty hard. Kept me from saying it again, at least in school and at home. Phoenix kept at it though.

- = -

Phoenix and I got put in the same dormitory when we went to T-school. Do they call it T-school in other places? It's the thing where 4Q tanks (as in I34Q) come and take a bunch of eleven-year-old kids to stay at "training" facilities. No one I've asked knows what T-school is actually for, same as the towers, same as all the 4Q stuff like I said before. An organic shape attached to the ground heads a classroom, gibbering except for the occasional english sentence (Phoenix said he also recognized some Cantonese). Mrs. Lough, who apparently also lives in the facility, tries to teach "formalist english," which is like english but the rules contradict themselves. You take notes on the behavior of a tank filled with inky fluid for four hours a week. One day a three-legged machine packs up your stuff and shepherds you to the gate.

I was ejected a year and a half after Phoenix. I went home on the bus and met him at burger king that afternoon. I caught a glimpse of him from outside. His hair was in long, tight braids. I felt self-conscious about the uncontrollable smile growing on my face. "Aco!" he said through a grin as I opened the glass door. A green poster advertised a meal made from "water beads," an I34Q plant thing.

"Dang," I said, grinning as I sat down. "Dang."

"You make it out? Fuck you to 4Q?" He'd stopped eating to greet me. His grin looked as uncontrollable as mine. Phoenix's nose was wide and flat, also like mine.

"Fork you, 4Q." I still felt nervous about cursing. I was fourteen. "How ya doing, Phoenix?"

"I'm good, I'm good. High school is interesting."

"Oh, man..."

"It's actually like, fucking nice to understand what's happening. But now there are actual smart kids and you actually get punished when you, y'know, mouth off. I'm like, I gotta get around to--" He swiped with his hand, bent his neck, and made a cracking sound with his mouth. I laughed. "Don't worry, I'll show you around. Maybe we'll have a class together."

- = -

We did have a class together. High school with Phoenix was fun, because I got to have a proper crush on him. Pining, sexuality, youthful obsession, yards and yards of it. It was weird, we kinda drifted--Phoenix hung out with kids that I was afraid of, I hung out with kids who played too many videogames. As our familiarity waned, I started seeing him differently. A foreign, adult desire began to penetrate me, replacing childish affection. It took me a while to realize that's what was happening.

It was a shame our familiarity waned, though, because Phoenix was really struggling, and I didn't see it. His friends were mean, when they weren't outright abusive. Not a lot of people liked him. I learned later that he started hurting himself when he was sixteen. Little cigarette burns, and then cuts. He got put on meds at seventeen--the wrong meds, for a year. He went to a psych ward when he was nineteen. His family did not have the money to pay for an extended stay. I still don't know exactly how that worked out. I do know he went into debt after his second stay two years later.

I wasn't doing too well myself, after I hit twenty-two. Something in me broke I guess. So when Phoenix told me he was going to travel to the Santitos digger and throw himself off a cliff, it didn't take me very long to ask if I could go with him.

- = -

"I... I didn't..." He paused for a long time. Ten seconds of silence feels unbearably long in a conversation, and I was quiet for fifteen. My teeth held each other tightly as his thoughts whirled. "I didn't..." He looked me in the eyes. There was an intensity to both our gazes. He'd stuck his jaw out, just a little. "I guess I did. I was, kinda, hoping you'd say that."

"Fuck," I said, looking away and down. "Fuck." I put a hand over my eyes, gripping my face as tears came.

"I'm gonna die," he said, beginning to smile and looking up. I felt the discomfort I'd felt since we were nine.

"Yeah, I wanna go, I wanna go," I said, pulling my hand away midway through and looking back at him with a force I didn't recognize.

He looked back at me and said, "I'm gonna die, and you're gonna die with me."

- = -

The Santitos digger is in northern California, in the Redwood national park. People have figured out the basic idea of what the digger is doing, unlike the towers or the T-schools: the digger is making a big hole. I'd heard that in some places it had dug more than a mile, almost straight down. Don't ask me how the digger would've done that. Don't ask me why it's called Santitos, either, since it's pretty big and not very saintly. Maybe it was the name of a town. Getting to the digger from Prince George County was about fifty hours.

"I figure we could do it in three days if we really fuck-you-pushed-it. But I'm planning on five." I craned my neck to look at Phoenix's cracked phone screen, where he'd pulled up the route.

Gas is expensive because 4Q takes most of it. Basically no one flies. Even in Phoenix's hybrid, it would be a thousand dollars to get to the west coast. But it's not like we'd need the money afterwards.

"We'll eat along the way," he continued. I bit my thumbnail. "I'm not picky, we'll just stop at wherever they won't run us out of town."

We'd sleep in the car. It was April, so temperature wouldn't be a concern. I packed a change of clothes, a water bottle, my meds, and a box cutter I'd stolen from my last job.

The next morning, he pulled his blue, dented '38 prius in front of my apartment building. I saw the car arrive out the window. There was an anxious pit in my stomach that deepened when I opened my front door. I didn't want anyone to see me. This is it, I thought, this is it, this is it. I repeated that phrase down the stairs. My landlord could fucking charge rent to my corpse, I could give a shit. This is it, I thought. That final T stretched to enrobe me. The sky was gray and wet. The sensation wasn't enough to rip me from my inwards reverie. I was about to get in the back of the car when Phoenix spoke. "That ain't it."

He was leaning out the window, regarding me coolly. "Morning. Shall we go?" I walked around the car and got in the front seat.

- = -

Virginia is beautiful once you get into the mountains, forested and rolling. I told Phoenix, "Once I read the Appalachians are millions of years old, and used to be taller than the Himalayas."

"No shit. Was there like an Everest? Where's the old Everest?"

"I don't know, I never heard anything about that. But yeah the continental plates looked totally different. And then things changed and the rain and wind and plants broke them down."

"Hah. Fucking awful. Just being broken down like that. I mean, it's better than what 4Q did to Everest."

I was quiet for a moment. "That's... the worst thing they did, right?"

"I dunno, dude, I think taking kids from their families is worse."

"No, right, right. But like... Everest was like... like everyone knew about Everest. When I was really little I had this big book about mountains and I read the bit on Everest so many times. And now it's like... they made it about them. And people lived in the Himalayas before 4Q came! It forced everyone out and carved a bunch of nonsense into it. A forever reminder that we're below them."

"Hah, literally. Hmmm. I still wouldn't say worst, but, I get what you mean. I'm so numb to it. It's good some people still care." Phoenix shrugged. "I mean I dunno. It doesn't matter much to me, at this point. But from an outside perspective it's good."

That first evening was alright. I drove Phoenix into a beautiful sunset. You hear the phrase "rode off into the sunset" and you think, what a nice ending, but it's not really an ending. If you're the cowboy you keep riding, and eventually the sky darkens and you have to set up camp and eat and sleep and wake up the next morning and eat and go riding again. A feeling of dread and desperation fills me when I think of surviving alone like that. Maybe I'd get used to it. The trip to Santitos was an attempt to write a story with a proper ending.

We didn't stop until we crossed into Illinois. We parked on the shoulder of a country road. I used the light in the car to look at the atlas we'd bought for when we didn't have cell service, and laughed. "We've been in five states today. Pretty good. Keep it up and we'll have visited every state by June."

"What the--?" Phoenix snorted, laughing. "You mean if we visit five states a day. Asshole."

I always giggled when he snorted and called me an asshole. "Hey, I'm just saying."

"Fucking dumb. Doesn't even work. You'd have to wake up in a different state than you fell asleep in." He caught my eye. The smile felt intimate, mutual. Born of sleepy exhaustion from a shared journey. I looked at the divot between his nose and upper lip.

I realized something. "Shit, I forgot to bring a blanket."

"Poor baby. You cold?"

"Hmm. I guess not really."

"Oh, you know what I do have..." He leaned towards me and reached toward the back seat. I watched his shirt stretch over his chest. Phoenix retrieved a big gray sweater. "Feel free to stretch it out."

My fingertips touched the back of his hands as I took the bundle. I did that on purpose. His skin was warmer than I expected, as skin always is. We tipped our seats back. Not the most comfortable, though the sweater would help, hopefully. I checked out Phoenix to see him on his side, looking at me and smiling. I let my own smile relax into me as I watched his eyes. His irises were a rich, beautiful brown. His skin was the color of cardboard in your childhood memories. I loved the way his smile wasn't symmetrical, wider on one side than the other. I carefully resisted scanning my gaze down his body. I actually saw his eyes flick down my form, instantaneously. His eyelids half-lowered, and then, horribly, what seemed to be a great tide of sadness overtook him. I watched him hold it back. I watched his smile mix with growing grief and fear, then bow to neutrality. He covered his gaze with his eyelids, breathed in, breathed out. "All right," he whispered, then opened his eyes. The gaze was gone. "Time to sleep." He sat up and turned off the light.

The sweater had a very particular, subtle smell to it. I guess it was his smell. I was desperately horny, yet blasted to pieces. A heady mix.

"I think I could fall in love with you, if things were a little different." He broke the silence, fifteen minutes later. "I probably would. But I'd cling to you like a fucking baby. And you're here, right?" He paused. For a response? I didn't give him one in time. "That's what I mean, codependent hell. I'd only be alive for you, and you'd only be alive for me, and then the second anything goes wrong we'd be right back here except I'd, fucking, direct all my shittiness at you... and you'd blame yourself."

I was quiet. "Ain't... ain't being codependent better than dying?"

"Hah! But that's what I'm saying, it doesn't change anything, it just leads us back here."

I fumbled for something. "Yeah but if it could... like stave it off..."

"Why is that good? The world is fucked, Acoatl, totally and truly fucked. Things don't get better from here, for me, for people. Should I beg? Stay here in misery out of some misplaced sense of morality? We're doing the only thing that makes sense."

I stayed quiet, not unconvinced. Sleep came, eventually, uncomfortably, anxiously.

- = -

The International Astronomical Union provisionally called it 8I/2034 Q1. I had to look that up. The eighth interstellar comet discovered, identified in 2034. I don't know what Q1 means. The name was briefly changed to 8I/Pasarati, for the research group that had discovered it, but by that time I34Q was clearly accelerating non-gravitationally and on an Earthbound trajectory. 8I/Pasarati is still in orbit, technically. You can see it through a telescope, it's like five miles across. But I34Q is the name for all of it, the craft that came to the surface, the life it brought with it, the structures it built, the war, all the consequences. No one can make any sense of it, except the one thing everyone knows: something else controls the world now.

- = -

I just barely remember waking up to switch seats in the morning, and then desiring nothing more than to return to sleep. Eventually Phoenix nudged me awake. "Hey." We were parked somewhere in Missouri. I'd slept all the way through the night and Phoenix's turn to drive. At least twelve hours, depending on when I actually fell asleep last night. I'd missed the big arch in St. Louis.

Phoenix was curt and reserved as I drove. I thought he was still thinking about last night, or angry at me for leaving him alone on his drive. Then he tilted his head back and began to gag. "My... heart..." Tears streamed down him face.

"Phoenix." I glanced back and forth between him and the road. There were abandoned cars on the shoulder; I couldn't pull over. "Phoenix, Phoenix, um."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, stop." He bent, heaved, and emitted a yowling, harsh retch. Nothing else left his mouth. "My heart..." He was breathing hard. A panic attack, I realized, stupidly too late.

"Do we have..." Panic attacks can be interrupted with certain intense sensations. The general goal is to increase awareness of the environment, focus the mind on the current moment rather than the future or past. Holding an ice cube can help. There were no ice cubes. I reached into the back seat for my water bottle, which would at least be cool. A truck behind us laid on the horn. I swerved back into my lane. "Sorry." Phoenix dry heaved again. It was a uniquely distressing sound.

I searched for the hazards, feeling useless. Far too much time passed before I found them and started slowing down. A different truck laid on a different horn. I was able to slip in a gap on the shoulder between an abandoned pickup and a rusting minivan.

I led Phoenix onto the tall grass beyond the asphalt, where he collapsed onto all fours. His torso flexed as he heaved. I put a hand on his back. "Phoenix, look at the trees." There were bushy, broken trees lining the sides of the highway, a vibrant green against the blue and white sky. "The, listen to the road." No, the road was stressing me the fuck out. "Listen to the grass waving, feel it." Stalks crumpled in his fists. I twisted my head and saw the tip of an I34Q tower peeking up over the treeline. "Look, a tower, just like when we were kids." Over the next few minutes, his breathing slowed, his heaving stopped. But the tears stayed. He sobbed away the panic. I read somewhere that tears actually contain different chemicals depending on the emotion causing them. Something to do with hormones I think.

He apologized to me. I would've done the same thing. I've done the same thing. So I got it, but felt indignant at having understood--he didn't need to apologize!

We got back on the road and listened to static on the radio. Sometimes the edge of a station would pass by, and we'd get fuzzy country, or christian rock. I changed it whenever there was a sermon. Sermons always come back to 4Q and they're always awful. The 4Q broadcasts are actually better than sermons about 4Q. They're kind of like static, anyway, totally unintelligible. We encountered more of them than I expected. Maybe static itself is a 4Q broadcast. I don't think that's right, I think static is like cosmic background radiation. But maybe 4Q has changed it somehow, like it used to be white noise and now it's blue noise, a different random distribution but still random.

"I'm off my meds," he said, as we rolled into darkness. The moon was a crescent, low on the western horizon. He spoke flatly and calmly. "I didn't even bring them with me. I thought you should know."

I hesitated. I wanted to voice this diplomatically. But then, we'd be dead in four days, anyway. "Is that why you had the attack?"

"No. I panic even on meds." That made sense. I remembered a few times in the past year when he'd canceled an event with little notice, or left early. "But I'm not a person right now, and that's definitely because I'm off my meds."

"You're not a person right now?"

"Yeah. It's called depersonalization. Also derealization, which is when nothing is real. Or that's how it feels, as I'm told. It's pretty freaky if I'm honest. You don't get the same emotional reaction from stuff. It feels like you're watching from somewhere else." He wasn't looking at me. He was looking down. "You're not you. You're not even real." He whispered. "Pretty freaky."

"Can I--do you--"

"Ahh, I'm coming out of it. Some of it is just recognizing that you're in it." He drew a knee up to his chest and shook his head. "Uhh, could you. Could you hold my hand. Touch helps."

I gripped the wheel with my left hand and held his palm with my right. It was warm and sweaty. I wish I could say that was okay. I felt miserable. I wanted to feel happy, holding his hand, comforting him. I didn't.

Sleep came quicker that night, though still uncomfortable, still anxious.

- = -

I slept late, again. I hadn't touched the chicken sandwich I'd gotten from a drive-thru last night. It had awful 4Q stuff on it anyway. I hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours, so I was pretty hungry, but I had no actual desire to eat. I'd deal with it later.

My own panic attack must've seemed similarly unbidden to Phoenix, though I felt it coming about an hour beforehand, and tried to stave it off. We were on I-80, driving through the hypnotizing flatness of Nebraska. Every ten or fifteen minutes I kept seeing this scarlet structure. It was like a giant, bloody caricature of a water tower, a skinny, triangular column maybe ten feet across and at least two hundred feet tall, supporting an enormous squashed sphere more than twice as wide as the column was tall. I'd watch it rise from the horizon, far too big. I'd never seen them before but guessed they must be 4Q. I started thinking we were somehow traveling in a loop, that my sense of direction was faulty and we were passing the same structure in the same field over and over again. Then I started thinking about how crazy that sounded. But I couldn't stop the thought.

I wanted to pull over but I couldn't stop anywhere in view of the structure, because it was watching me. Of course it wasn't, but I couldn't stop the thought that it was. Hell, maybe it was. Maybe only the mad can decode the purpose of I34Q stuff. I felt how hard I was breathing and glanced over at Phoenix, wondering why he hadn't said anything. He was staring down. He was probably disassociating again, I realized later, but at the time all I knew was that I was alone.

I get angry at myself after my attacks. I feel so stupid. Phoenix apologized to me that night, which made me feel even stupider. I couldn't wait to get to the Santitos digger.

- = -

The next day was bad. Quiet, lonely, and frustrated. A further reminder of the reasons. I saw patches of 4Q purple grass climbing up the Rockies. We both took long shifts and entered Redwood park just after midnight.

- = -

I read a story once about a man that was falling in the dark. He was falling so far that he would die instantly when he hit the ground. He realized that his brain wouldn't have time to process the impact, or even the few moments before. And he couldn't see the ground. He couldn't see anything. All that was left in the world was him and his death. I wondered if Phoenix had read the same story, and was hoping for a similar effect, coming here at night. Of course, we got it wrong. There were clouds, burgundy with light pollution, and every few minutes a star would gaze through; an unearthly glow was cast up from distant pieces of the digger.

Some parts of the digger looked like the towers, spinning and shifting. Some parts looked like exposed microelectronics, cables sutured to shiny terminals of minute complexity. Some parts were just made of asphalt blocks, cream-, gray-, and lime-colored pebbles tightly embedded in dark tar. Distant redwoods, many damaged by fire, ringed the horizon. The Santitos digger was less an object and more a place.

I felt wordlessly close to Phoenix as we scrambled over asphalt, looking for a pit. We touched each other frequently in our effort, to assist, to communicate. We'd have to give each other boosts, lift each other up, look for alternate routes. This place was not made for people.

Finally we came upon a deep canyon. I had half a mind to walk off the edge immediately. But both Phoenix and I stopped to regard it.

I couldn't tell if the rumors were true. You could only see maybe a hundred yards down before the walls of the abyss disappeared into ink. Or, not ink--not blackness, either. People are black. This was something else. The most prominent features were the semi-perceivable red blotches left on my optic nerve after gazing at one of the digger's glowing sectors. The unknowable told me nothing. It just revealed the flaws of my being. Maybe we would achieve our effect after all.

"This is it," I said, elliptically. The beginning is the end. If you take out the 'h' that phrase is a palindrome. "That was the first thing I said out of the door before I got into your car on Saturday. If you take out the 'h' the phrase is a palindrome. The beginning is the end. This is elliptical. This is it."

"That ain't it." He was regarding me coolly.

I laughed.

He was angry. "Are you fucking kidding me? The point of this thing, the whole fucking point is you do it in your right mind. You're letting your madness make the decision for you. You have to make the decision!"

I found that extremely funny. I laughed harder.

"Shut up! Fuck!"

"What's a right mind?" I asked, still grinning. "There's no such thing anymore. Even when it was a thing, all it meant was the most socially-acceptable, capital-promoting mind. Now? The world doesn't fit us anymore. The human condition is inconvenient to its purpose. 4Q can't even train us. The right mind is a dead one. You want a right mind, go ahead." I gestured at the abyss. That's what I did.

He stepped forward. He stepped forward. A foot hung above the end.

I don't know what I would've done if he had lowered that foot, changing his balance, tipping him forward. Jumping in after him wouldn't have felt right. Maybe I'd have gone back to those red eyes in Nebraska and begged for them to torture me. Maybe his idiosyncrasies would have been repelled by the unknowable, flowing away from his body and into me, and I'd be lost forever in a derealized paranoia. Maybe I'd have gotten in the car and driven back home.

His foot remained, hanging, the edge a gallows. "Suicide is about pain. It's the ultimate response to ongoing distress. I never wanted you to be normal. I just didn't want you to be in pain. In a twisted way, I guess I thought, if this was your way of dealing with pain, I wasn't going to stop you. That is your right. I feel like that has to be your right." His balance was incredible. He remained still, a tree without wind. "But you can be abnormal, you can be a bad fit for the world, you can be utterly broken, and you can still live without pain." We're both crying. Tears descend into the pit.

| ' , |

I do think madness is the right way to understand I34Q. I feel this mysteriously. I wonder what it would be like if I tried going to T-school while embracing my altered states, living in them. I suspect Phoenix would have more success, being more comfortable with unreality. Not that either of us would participate in whatever hegemony 4Q perpetuates. More that we'd figure out what it wanted, and how to resist. I've been thinking about this a lot. Maybe other people are, too. We need to find each other.

Phoenix and I wandered north. We found this incredible queer community in Oregon, with actual traditions and mechanisms to deal with communal trauma. I can't say anything about the world, the world is unknowable. But I think there's hope for us.

Phoenix and I are together, now, in a way I can't quite name. We did finally make love. That was beautiful. But we don't live together. I make love to other people, sometimes, and he does the same. Sometimes I'll go a week or two without seeing him, without notice. Sometimes I'll go a few days without even thinking about him. I love him, and I tell him that, and he says the same to me, though both of us have admitted that we don't know what that means.

We still panic. I still get paranoid. Phoenix disassociates. He's been using the state to make art. I think about I34Q and write down what I think. I'm pretty good at eating regularly, even if I don't feel like it. I don't know if we're living without pain. I think maybe that's a pretty tall order. But I don't want to kill myself anymore. So I think that's pretty good.

[Ed.: have this little treat. It takes me about the length of this playlist to read the story.]

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5VD5lJJqNUJsITPj3Rg8Sn?si=d262096479104d4f

#fiction #short fiction #science fiction #aliens #madness #suicide #panic attack #disassociation #paranoia #eating disorder #hopeful ending

1 note · View note

asteriismos · 4 years

Text

attention. - bill denbrough

authors note : this is the first chapter of ‘ballads 1′.

warning(s) : underage drinking, college au, swearing, drug use, no pennywise bc i say so, toxic relationship between the reader and another guy,

words : 2.7 k

based off the song ‘attention’ by joji

bill denbrough always thought of himself as a hopeless romantic.

not just in the blatant lovers romance, but in all aspects of love in his life. love for his friends, love for his distant parents, love for writing. he has a large heart, a heart that leads with a strong pride that not many people are able to have. throughout his life he has always had a sense of longing. when he was younger it was always a longing for the future, to see what really was in store for him as soon as he graduated and moved away from derry, maine.

but now that he grew older and was going to turn twenty one this next year, bill realized that he didn’t just have a longing for the future, but the past as well. he missed his friends, though they were only a phone call away, he missed the sense of nostalgia that he always got in those summers in derry. when him and his friends would swim for hours in the quarry and mess around at mr keene’s pharmacy enough to make the old man want to rip his hair out.

it was not his idea to join a frat. it really wasn’t. honestly it made bill a little bit sick to his stomach at the fact that he did. though upon realizing that he longed for that sense of friendship that he had in derry ( though the losers could never be replaced ), bill thought that maybe it would be a good idea.

he also played a lot of baseball, which landed him in one of the most popular frats at his colleges. a bunch of his teammates also were a part of it and got him to join once and for all. bill was a really good baseball player, he always has been for some unknown reason. and he loved it, almost as he loved studying english for his degree. there was just something about being on that field in the hot sunlight that made bill like he had a sense of place in the world. wearing that jersey made him feel like he was a part of something, a family, and he got the same sense with the brothers in his frat.

the same frat that he was a part of also hosted the best goddamn parties. bill never thought of himself as a party animal, and he really wasn’t that wild, but on special occasions he was. he’d flash that million dollar smile, shine those pretty green eyes, and be the life of the party.

tonight was one of those nights. it was the night of the big win anyways. bill had made the game winning home run, making him the topic of the entire party.

little did bill know, this party that he is the topic of would change his life forever.

you, on the other hand, didn’t know what the hell you were doing at a frat party. it was the least favorited place of yours. and if you had any say in the matter, you would’ve just rather stayed in your dorm to read a book, watch netflix, or do literally anything other than be where you are right now.

you used to be an independent person. coming from a small town, you were always the person who everyone admired for being so out of the social norm. you were outgoing, charismatic, the ideal friend. and still somehow you had really good grades to get you into a good college.

now that you were in that college, however, you changed. no longer were you really the outgoing type, you were still charismatic but limited, and you didn’t have many friends. this was all because of the boy you met in freshman year college calculus, his name was liam. at first, liam was the ideal guy for you. he was everything that you could’ve imagined in a boy. at first he was nice, funny, charming, someone who everyone knew. when he asked you out for the first time your heart soared with excitement for that first date. everything went perfectly planned, and you believed that you had a partner for life.

then somewhere after the first three months, something changed. liam got hotheaded, never hitting you, but lashing out with his words. he would get jealous when you talked to other guys and sometimes even your girl friends. then when you would call him out on it, he would manipulate you into thinking that it was your fault for making him angry, which after a while, you started to believe. you knew that it was a wrong relationship, but to some degree you still really liked liam. when liam was in a good mood, he was a good boyfriend. the only problem was when he was in a bad mood . . . he really wasn’t.

you were never the submissive type until you met liam. a part of you wanted to cut him out of your life forever and try to build yourself up again to where you had been before, but you were too scared of what would happen if you did. liam had connections, he would make your life a living hell if you broke up with him. so you stayed with him, despite you not loving him. liam always reminded you that he loved you, even if it took him a few insults to get there.

dressed in a black tank top and dark blue jeans, you walked into the front door of the frat party on 18th street. at first you were even surprised that liam was allowing you to go to this party with him. he loved baseball and went to all the games, but he never took you to the parties that occurred afterwards because he was too scared of you getting too much attention. though tonight he was in a good mood, only commenting on your choice of outfit. liam said that he didn’t want anyone else to see that much of your skin, but that there wasn’t enough time for you to get out of his car and go back up to your dorm to change.

he said that it would be an exception.

a few other of liam’s friends walked behind you and him, him holding you by the waist, into the crowd of people that had pooled into the large house. a few people you recognized from around the campus and in your various classes, though the only people you really knew were liam and his friends.

and then the strangest thing happened.

liam’s arm went off your waist. which wasn’t the strangest thing, no, the strangest thing was when he walked away from you with his friends. without a word, he walked away. it was so unlike him to leave you alone in a public place, though the more you listened to your surroundings, the more you heard the mention of some coke that someone had gotten. that’s what got his attention.

now here you stood, alone in a crowd. and despite the irony of it, you couldn’t have been more happy.

bill thought that you were the most beautiful woman he has ever seen in his life.

he was standing on the grand staircase when you walked into his large house. at first he didn’t notice because his mouth was on a red solo cup, taking a long swig of the liquid that would end up being his luck. as he pulled the cup away, his buddy harrison was talking about the game and how he thought that they weren’t going to win until bill made the winning hit. and usually he would accept the praise with open arms but in that moment he could care less about his baseball skills and more about you, who stood alone with a detached look on your face.

it was such a change from the normal girls that went to these parties. usually they would have giddy, almost too happy smiles on their faces to be at probably their third party this week. they threw themselves at the guys in his frat like they had no self worth, and dressed in the most skimpiest outfits that probably would get them kicked out at a restaurant for public nudity. it took bill a few drinks to find these girls attractive. and it wasn’t because they weren’t pretty, most of them were drop dead gorgeous, but it was because they didn’t have a personality outside of being a sorority girl.

you didn’t seem to be that person. and he definitely hasn’t seen you at a party before or he would’ve approached you before.

with a quick excuse, bill made his way down the stairs past the people standing and talking, all the way to where you were standing. your eyes were low so you didn’t see him until he said, “d-do you want a drink?” damn. he wished that he had payed some more attention in speech therapy as a teen because in this moment, he was more than embarrassed that he had a stutter. being the golden boy of the baseball team didn’t seem fitting for a boy with a stutter, yet here he was.

your previous gaze of the solid dark brown mahogany wood was replaced with white high top converse shoes pointing right at you, to which you looked up to be met with green eyes. and for a moment that scared you because for the longest time you’ve stared into liam’s brown eyes forever, trying to find a hint of hope in them, and now that you’re staring into the green eyes of this stranger. . . you see the hope almost like a blinding light.

liam doesn’t like when you drink.

“i'm-” you start, cutting off your words when it starts to feel like cotton is being shoved down your throat. what you were about to say is that you’re taken. and technically you are, but it wasn’t cheating to accept a drink from someone. for all you knew, this stranger is just being nice.

“i'm y/n,” you corrected yourself, giving the boy in front of you a smile.

bill, admittedly, felt like a little kid again with a crush. because the second that you talked to him, his heart started to soar to cloud nine. your voice felt like everything that he was missing in his life and the more he stared at you the more he wanted to get to know you. he wanted to know all your hopes, aspirations, your favorite color . . . everything that you would possibly let him know. and bill knew that it was wrong to think this much about someone who he has only spoken four words to, but as said before, he was a hopeless romantic.

in fact, he was surprised that you were even giving him the light of day, especially since he was staring into your eyes a little bit too long for someone you just met.

if only he knew that you had been seeking some kind of validation like this for almost two years now.

giving that same boyish grin that had been on his face when he first spoke to you, he said, “i’m bill. it’s n-nice to meet y-y . . .” he cursed under your breath too silently for you to hear. “you,” he finally got out, cheeks blazing red with embarrassment.

you only smiled, nodding your head, deciding not to even acknowledge his stutter. which he silently thanked you for.

“bill,” you said, testing how the name felt on your tongue. it felt nice, rolling off like honey. the second that you said it, bill felt like he could live a lifetime of you saying that name. he tried to capture the moment, playing it on repeat over and over in his brain. it sounded so perfect, so pure, it was everything that he wanted.

fuck off bill, you’re falling in love with a stranger, at least get to know her a little bit beforehand.

“s-so do you want that d-d-drink?” he asked again, motioning over to the kitchen where the lines of cups stood, just waiting to be picked up by another eager college student.

and, taking a leap of faith towards bill with the hopeful green eyes, you nodded your head and said, “yes.”

bill watched as you spoke with a smile, sitting next to you and admiring the light in your eyes as you spoke about your hometown. he quickly realized after hearing you talk to him even more, that he could listen to you speak forever and not say one word back. your voice was passionate, speaking with a fire behind it that you realized you haven’t had in a while.

both of you sat on a lawn chairs in the backyard of the house, where not a lot of people were so it was quiet enough to talk without screaming over the music that boomed in the inside.

now that you were without the cloud in your life for almost two hours into this party, you had broken out of your shell a little bit. it was nice. for a few moments you started to feel like yourself again.

and the more you got to know bill, the more you liked him. he was nice, funny, came from a small town just like you, and was super easy to talk to. you were patient while he worked out the words that took him a moment to say with his stutter, which you learned was something that not a lot of people did in his life. he told you about how his own parents got annoyed with it sometimes, and how the frat brothers would start talking over him while he worked out words. it saddened you that you were one of the only people who was patient with him, since bill seemed like someone everyone liked.

“so you’re telling me you’re the reason this whole party is even happening?” you asked him, a small hiccup followed soon after and a giggle.

bill rolled his eyes jokingly. “y-yes. but please it’s n-n-not that big of a d-deal. my friends a-are just over the t-t-tuh-top.”

you shrugged. “i’ve never really been to one of these before, so to me it is a big deal. i’m with the star of the party!”

“stop it,” bill joked. “i’m n-not a star. f-f-far from it.”

you didn't think so.

“whatever you say, billy denbrough,” you teased. maybe you did have a little bit too much to drink after all.

“b-b-but im glad that you’re here,” bill said, giving you a look. his eyes never left your face while it looked at his with such wonder. “it’s n-n-not every day i get t-to talk to pretty g-girls.”

now that threw you through a loop. it’s not every day i get to talk to pretty girls. talk to pretty girls, pretty girls, pretty girls. he thinks that i’m a pretty girl.

you were about to answer, but your phone buzzed, prompting you to take it out of your back pocket and look at the text. it was liam, asking you where the hell you were and that he wants to leave. you looked around the vacinity to see if somehow liam spotted you, but he wasn’t there. thank god, because you couldn’t have imagined if liam saw you talking to bill. he would never let you out of his sight again, he wouldn’t let you out of his grasp . . . suddenly your heart started to race, and you felt the borderline panic attack that washed over your body.

you need to leave before he gets mad, if he isn’t already.

“i have to go . . . it was nice to meet you bill,” you said, giving him a wave and walking towards the house to leave.

bill stood up, about to question your sudden shift in behavior. it happened right after he complimented you and now he believes that he has said the wrong thing. he’s pushed his luck too far. bill felt like an idiot. then again, your whole demeanor had shifted the moment you checked your phone, so maybe he hadn’t been the reason.

standing there dumbfounded, all he could think about is how much he longed to see you again.

#bill denbrough #bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough imagine #stanley uris #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #it #IT movie #it movie imagine #it movie 2017 #it movie x reader #it movie 2019

68 notes · View notes

jo-kuron · 3 years

Text

( LANA CONDOR, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER, VIRGO, 25 ) I just spotted JOSEPHINE KURON at the beach today. Don’t you know them? They live down by the TOWERS and usually hang out with the RICH KIDS cliques. From what I’ve heard, they can be CONTROLLING, but they’re also DETERMINED. I always think of them when i hear JUST LIKE MAGIC by ARIANA GRANDE and tend to associate them with parchment paper on a cookie sheet at 3AM, a worn copy of wuthering heights for annotations, sunglasses covering bags under sleep deprived eyes . ( bree, she.her, 21, est )

HI EVERYONE! So, this is one of my fave muses, Jo. She is an amazing and complex female who will constantly amaze, I PROMISE. This is mostly her backbone, there’s more headcanons to follow!

BASIC CHARACTER QUESTIONS

Full Name: Josephine Avila Kuron

nicknames: Josie, Jojo, Jo, Superstar, Dreamer

date of birth: September 20, 1995

age: Twenty Five

Star Sign: Virgo

Chinese Zodiac: Rat

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

hair style? Typically seen with a half-up do.

glasses or contact lenses? Black Tortoise shelled frames from time to time.

scars or birthmarks? a birthmark of a crown sits on the front of her right ankle.

tattoos? A small silhouette of her ex dancing, specifically a jump mid-air.

physical or mental handicaps? Dyslexia.

type of clothes? Typically in Alternative clothing. Lots of ripped jeans and pleated skirts.

mannerisms? When nervous, Jo will tug at her sleeves or excessively push her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

PERSONALITY

are they more optimistic or pessimistic? Pessimistic now, the past self was optimistic.

are they introverted or extroverted? Introverted Extrovert.

do they ever put on airs? Sometimes, if she feels intimidated.

what bad habits do they have? Nail biting, and joint cracking.

what makes them laugh out loud? Silly dad jokes and situational humor.

how do they display affection? Gifting small items.

how do they want to be seen by others? Strong and put together.

how do they see themselves? Weak and a mess, irredeemable.

strongest character trait? Trusting

weakest character trait? Controlling

how competitive are they? Very, she loves a challenge.

do they make snap judgements or take time to consider? She takes time to consider the majority of the time, but she will make a quick decision from time to time.

PAST AND FUTURE

Jo was a miracle baby, she was her parents fifth time trying for a child. It wasn’t for lack of pregnancy, her mother couldn’t carry all the way through term. After Josephine took her first breath, nearly every breath after that was in the vicinity of her mother. Although most kid would’ve hated that, Jo found it comforting. She was very nurtured. After her birth, Jo’s mother became a stay at home mom. This often led to her feeling like it would teeter on the side of helicopter parenting from time to time. However, the extra time with her mother led her to find her love of reading and writing.As a child Jo was a huge teacher's pet. She always loved the idea of learning, no matter who or what was teaching her. Even when she hit the age of nine and learning became hard for her, she still enjoyed someone looking out for her and trying to help her be her best self.

Even though she overcame her disability, she shies away from compliments. She finds herself undeserving of them, and openly welcomes criticism. She knows that she isn’t perfect, but she wants to work on being the best version of herself she could be.

She grew up thinking she was poor, but her parents were actually well off because they never wanted her to grow up thinking that money made anyone better than anyone else.

All she wanted was to get into college to make her parents proud of her. Yes, she could’ve done anything and got their approval, but she wanted their approval to mean something. So she worked as hard as she could to get into the top education program in the nation. She wanted to pay the experience she had in school forward. She was on her way home to tell her parents that she had did something that would actually make them proud, her mother called her and told her the terrible news. Her father had a heart attack and didn’t make it to the hospital. She was ready to drop all of her plans to be with her mother and just do school at a local college. However, once her mother found out that she had gotten the scholarship she worked so hard for, her mother demanded that she went to Yates. That’s how she ended up on the green slopes of campus her freshman year of college.

TL;DR: JO WAS A MIRACLE BABY THAT WANTED TO BE A TEACHER HER WHOLE LIFE. SHE ALMOST DIDN’T GO TO COLLEGE BECAUSE SHE WANTED TO TAKE CARE OF HER MOTHER AFTER HER FATHER’S DEATH BUT HER MOM WOULDN’T LET HER GIVE UP ON ONE OF HER DREAMS.

LOVE

do they believe in love at first sight? Yes.

are they in a relationship? No.

how do they behave in a relationship? She likes to keep everyone at a distance except her significant other. She treats them like her best friend, and more often than not they are. She loves to have a friendly relationship so she doesn’t feel like she’s a totally different person in love.

has your character ever been in love? Yes.

have they ever had their heart broken? Yes.

what is their sexual orientation? Bisexual.

FAVOURITES

what is their favourite animal? Koala

what place would they most like to visit? Pasadena, California

what is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen? The sunset in New York City. Her ex-boyfriend

what is their favourite song? Heebiejeebies by Amine

music, art, reading preferred? She prefers YA novels, loves Musicals, and isn’t the biggest fan of literal art. She just likes to look at pretty things.

what is their favourite color? She loved the color black for the longest, but now her favorite color is a sky blue.

favourite food: She loves all types of Italian food.

what is their favourite day of the week? Tuesday.

POSSESSIONS

what is in their fridge: She always keeps Apple juice and water bottles in her fridge to drink and enough random snacks to make it look healthy even though she has a stash of chips in the pantry

what is on their bedside table? She keeps a candle and wireless phone charger that looks like a glowing rune when her phone is charging.

what is in their car? She always keeps back ups to all of her bathroom items in her trunk. If you think about it, she has it in there. In her center console she keeps napkins, a reusable straw set, and a few pairs of chopsticks. In her glove compartment she has an extensive rotating collection of cds. She likes the nostalgic feeling.

what is in their purse? She keeps her debit cards, an old photo of her ex, a packet of tissues, headphones, an emergency twenty dollar bill, and a few packs of salt and pepper in a small pouch.

what is in their pockets? Her phone or her headphones

what is their most treasured possession? Her locket.

DAILY LIFE

what are their eating habits? Typically whatever is easily accessed. If it takes longer than an hour to cook, she probably won’t make it.

are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder? She would like to believe she’s a minimalist, but her closet would say otherwise.

what do they do first thing on a weekday morning? Make a cup of coffee and read a book on her kindle.

what do they do on a sunday afternoon? Yoga while their roommate watches.

what do they do on a friday night? Either hangout with her friends or play board games while getting drunk with her roommate.

what is the soft drink of choice? Dr. Pepper

what is their alcoholic drink of choice? Tito’s and crystal light. Old Fashioned

what does she do for work? An English Teacher to GED students. A Cam Girl.

#hqclique.intro #about-jo

2 notes · View notes

loserholland · 5 years

Text

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝

𝟎𝟎𝟐 ➺ 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫

Pairing ➺ Teacher!Tom Holland x Single mom!Reader

Warning ➺ fluff, talks about reader’s ex

Word Count ➺ 1,549

Summary ➺ What happens when your five year old tries to set you up with her kindergarten teacher?

A/N ➺ So, I watched far from home today and i want to write some ANGSTY peter x reader imagine where the reader and peter are dating but slowly peter begins to have feelings for Mj. I want to do it based off of Out of love by Alessia Cara but idk would you guys like that?? Send me an ask or reply if I should do this angsty piece, i really want to lol.

✿ 𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ✿ - @loveyathreethousand, @taronxfiction, @killerqueen-gunpowdergelatine, @spideyyypeter @lou-la-lou @babebenhardy @rivervixenbaby @acklesholland @zabdisamor @keepingupwiththehollands@sweet666pea @sspider-parker @jackiehollanderr

❤ 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ❤ @luvborhap @asianravenpuff @agusdoti @meg-holland @silverreading

☞ Masterlist ☜

Family fun fairs. They’re always fun to attend to, mini carnival rides to enjoy along with the food and drinks. Everyone had a good time, making fun memories with their kids.

The moment Tom had told his class full of five year olds that he’d like some of their parents to bake some yummy goodies for the fair, Audrey was quick to sign her mother up.

Audrey happily walked into her mother’s office with a smile on her face. This wasn’t any typical smile, this was the ‘Mommy I’m about to ask you something you can’t say no to’ smile.

��Hi mommy! Could you make your special cupcakes for the family fun fair this Saturday?” and there it was, something she couldn’t say no to. It’s been a while since she used that smile. The last time she did, she convinced (Y/N) that she wanted to spend her last day of summer at disneyland even though it was hot and busy.

“Hm, bubs did you sign me up to sell your favorite cupcakes at the family fair?” Audrey nodded hopping around her mother’s desk to stand in front of her with a huge toothy grin spread across her face.

“I also signed you up to help Mr.Holland sell the yummy goodies!” Audrey wanted her mom to have a special someone, because everyone should have a special someone.

She figured since Mr.Holland didn’t have a special someone and her mother didn’t have a special someone, why not have them be each other’s special someone?

Yeah, this five year old is pretty damn smart.

(Y/N) chuckled lightly picking Audrey up and setting her on her lap, “Did you now? Did you think mommy would say yes?” She always said yes to Audrey, she was her little princess never could she say no to her, except when she’s being very bratty.

Audrey nodded with a big smile on her face, of course she knew her mother would say yes.

“Alright bubs we’ll go to the store right after I get this paperwork done.”

(Y/N) pushed the cart around the store gathering all the necessary ingredients for her cupcakes, Audrey was held her attention to her ipad playing on some learning app that taught colors and shapes.

As (Y/N) looked down at her notes to check off the ingredients she had in her cart she was unaware of the cart she had just bumped into. Immediately she placed her phone back in her purse and looked up ready to apologize to the stranger.

“I’m so sor-Tom?”

“You di-(Y/N)!”

Audrey turned around and smiled from ear to ear before saying, “Hi Mr.Holland!” she clicked the lock button on the side of her ipad handing it to her mom to place back in her purse.

“My mommy is going to make cupcakes for the family fun fair!” Tom smiled at the five year old looking between her and her mother, Audrey had her mother’s hair and eyes. Audrey was basically her mini her, (Y/N) had been told many times that Audrey looked like her.

“That’s great! I’m really glad you could help, also sorry I really wasn’t paying attention early.” Tom apologized which caused (Y/N) to shake her head lightly, “I wasn’t paying attention I should be the one to apologize.” Audrey looked between the two adults giggling to herself as they just stood there staring at one another.

Truth was, Audrey was doing this for a reason. There are nights when she can hear her mother crying. She never questioned what it was but she also thought it was because she didn’t have a special someone. All she wants is for her mom to be happy.

“Well, it was nice seeing you! I’ll see you on Saturday, Audrey bubs tell Mr.Holland you’ll see him tomorrow.”

"Bye Mr.Holland! See you tomorrow!”

Tom smiled waving at the five year old before proceeding out of the aisle, he did have thoughts about maybe asking (Y/N) out to dinner but was unsure if that would be highly inappropriate. Maybe he could get to know her more this Saturday.

Kids ran freely though the open school play yard, dragging their parents to buy tickets to then drag them to the rides and smaller game stands that was out on the field.

(Y/N) rearranged the desserts onto the table as Tom fixed the e-z up. Earlier that morning she had dropped Audrey off to her parent’s house so they could bring her once the fair started at nine. She didn’t want Audrey to be grouchy at seven when setup was happening.

“Mommy!” an all too familiar voice called which pulled (Y/N) attention to look up watching as Audrey ran at full speed towards the tent. (Y/N) walked around the table crouching down as she took Audrey into her arms, “Hey bubs.” she pulled away lightly brushing the wild baby hairs they fell atop her forehead.

“Go on with papa and gma okay?” Audrey nodded giving her mom a kiss on the cheek before running back.

Tom had brought two chairs for them to sit on not wanting to stand for the next five hours. The two sat next to each other in silence watching as a few guest come and go, some stopping for a sweet treat.

“So, your from London?” (Y/N) questioned, the awkward silence between them was not cutting it for her.

“Southwest London, Kingston upon Thames to be exact.” Tom watched as she fiddled with her fingers picking at fabric of her jeans.

“When did you have Audrey?” This was a common question for (Y/N), usually when she’d see family from either her mom or dad’s side they’d ask ‘When did you have Audrey?’.

“I was nineteen. Two years into college.”

During those two years of college she barely made it through with the grades she had, and the crowd she was hanging around with. Wanting nothing but to party. I guess you could say she hung out with the rich kids. Yes, (Y/N) was also one of those kids but, her parents taught her to be humble and to work for what she wants.

Tom wanted to ask the question that has been in the back of his mind for a while, from the moment he saw Audrey’s drawing that question has been on his mind for a while.

“I-if you don’t mind me asking, um what happened to Audrey’s dad?”

(Y/N) tensed lightly remembering the night he had placed twenty-thousand dollars into her hands and said “Get an abortion, and we can go our separate ways.” When she had disagreed and said she was keeping the baby, he walked right out the door and didn’t turn back.

“Well, he didn’t want me to keep Audrey. He had placed twenty-thousand dollars in my hand and said ‘Get an abortion, and we can go our separate ways.-”

(Y/N) paused for a moment as she scanned the field to see Audrey was playing at one of the mini game booths, she never regrets keeping Audrey. It was one of the best blessings in the world.

“-so I kept Audrey. I’m glad I did, she’s one of the most amazing kid with a huge heart.”

Tom couldn’t help but agree more, he would notice how she would share her crayons with whoever didn’t have crayons. Or when she’d comfort one of her classmates who accidentally skinned their knee during recess.

Just then Audrey came running back to the booth with a huge grin, “Mommy! There’s a dunk tank!” (Y/N) placed Audrey onto her lap “Did you try it?” her daughter shook her head no.

“Why not?”

“I have to choose one of my favorite teachers to dunk, I dunno if Mr.Holland want’s to do it.”

(Y/N) glanced at Tom who was obviously listening in on their conversation, “Why don’t you go ask him?” Audrey hopped off her mother’s lap and to stand right in front of Tom.

“Mr.Holland, can I dunk you?”

Tom smiled “Sure sweetheart.” Audrey squealed loudly jumping around the booth before saying “If I dunk you can you and my mommy go on date?” (Y/N) mouth fell open at the question as Tom’s eyes widened.

“Bubs, that’s only if you hit the target.” (Y/N) reminded, causing her daughter to glance between her mother and Tom.

“I won’t miss mommy, now come on!”

(Y/N) watched as Tom climbed the mini ladder and sat on the ledge watching as he lightly tapped the surface of the water that was a bit cold. Audrey held three bean bags in her hand standing behind the line.

Audrey threw the first bean bag a little too far to the right, as a bit of relief washed over (Y/N) body. The second bean bag was a few inches off but still nonetheless, she missed again. Now for the moment of truth, she did say ‘I won’t miss mommy’

It all happened so quickly the sound of Audrey screaming with glee as she watched Tom fall into the water before quickly standing back up, as for (Y/N) who stood there in complete shock. She’s going to go on a date with her daughter’s kindergarten teacher.

Audrey walked over to her mother with a huge smile on her face along with victory written across her forehead.

“See mommy? I told you I never miss.”

#tom holland au #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #loserholland

501 notes · View notes

alsparaarchive · 3 years

Text

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑰𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅 / Alex & Sid

Date: July 5, 2015 Location: Vancouver Rooftop Bar; The World Cup Celebration

Summary: The first time they ever met.

Date Started: January 31, 2021 Date Completed: still in progress

Sidney He was still somewhere in the middle of getting the confetti that had somehow wedged itself into his right earlobe loose, when Gino had snuck in around him; two girls tucked underneath both his arms, and said something about a party? And, since Sid was still half-deafened by half-an-inch of coloured paper he was forced to lean back in and get the Russian to repeat himself. “Did you say a party?” It was confirmed with a nod and a grin that could’ve taken out the two women still standing beside his friend… “Okay… sure.” The brunette had been hesitant to say yes... First, this was Gino... the Russian had a history of getting the boys to go to parties with him only to find out that once they got there it was just a couple of girls, a couch, and a whole lot of trouble just waiting to happen. Second, his recent break-up with Kathy still felt… raw. Which he knew was why Gino and Kris had him in Vancouver right now watching the Women’s World Cup… distraction was key, right? Not something that either one of them had ever said directly to his face or anything, but the tickets that had presented themselves at exactly that time and to a sport he’d never really had an affinity for, definitely had. And yet… somehow… Gino had kept him from backing out… which was saying a lot of the Russian’s powers of persuasion and probably also a lot about why the Cold War had taken so damn long to come to an end. There was a long line out the restaurant door, but Gino said he had the gold ticket… which had Kris asking if he meant the golden ticket? Gino nodded—making Sidney laugh despite the fact he hated doing the line cut thing, but it wasn’t like they were taking up seats in the restaurant anyway. No, apparently there was some private thing happening on the roof top with their invitees tonight. The deal was, somehow Gino had scored himself an invite to the USA Women’s Soccer Team’s celebratory party via Twitter. Which of course had Sidney from the moment he’d found out till the moment he’d walked up the stairs and sighted a couple of the girls’ he’d seen on the big jumbo screen earlier, doubting. /Sorry Gino/. Suddenly, it was like most eyes in the room were on them as Sidney offered up a big of wave and Gino held out his arms and said USA, USA, USAAAAAA… and okay, it was bad. It was really bad, but at least the atmosphere had cracked, and the bouncers weren’t making any sort of headway towards them… still… Sidney couldn’t help but feel out of place as he walked over to the bar and asked for a drink… bumping shoulders with a girl as he did… “uh, sorry…” he stopped. He recognised her. You didn’t have to be a big soccer fan to recognise the face of Alex Morgan… “maybe I should be buying you a drink…” okay that had come out bad… he internally and externally cringed… “I mean for your big win today…”

Alex The aftermath of winning the World Cup was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, not only for Alex but all her teammates it seemed and almost none of them were on the same ride all ebbing and flowing at different times. There was the high of winning sure but coming to terms with the fact that it was over and finally being able to breathe a sigh of relief after how emotionally and physically taxing the journey had been made for a very strange experience the forward couldn't have possibly prepared herself for. She didn't know what she wanted to do more, party or sleep — for days! "Oh no, baby horse, you're coming!" Her teammate, mentor, and current roommate insisted when Alex even so much as hinted at the idea. She knew she would ultimately end up going but damn was that bed calling her name. "Yeah, yeah," was all she replied with while giving the blonde a smirk Abby could only see through the younger girl's reflection in the mirror as she brushed out her damp hair after showering a little bit earlier to get all the beer and champagne from the celebration in the locker room out of her hair. One of Alex's favorite part about being on the USWNT was how completely badass all the women were and how they could go from being a sweaty mess on the pitch to looking like a million dollars at the drop of a hat. Everyone looked stunning, dressed to the nines as they rolled up to the five star Vancouver rooftop bar that promised to be the perfect backdrop to a crazy evening. She was only on her second French martini when she heard some ruckus going on by the entrance, a man's voice cheering them on but she barely paid it half a mind as she was too busy being amused by Kelley challenging one of the bartenders to a game of beer pong. Only she could somehow finesse her way into getting him to push two tables together and craft the perfect makeshift set up. The defender would go on and on about how she could take out all the guys at the frat parties she went to back in college and now was her time to shine to prove (mostly to herself) that she still had it. Alex only stayed because she somehow got roped into being Kelley's partner while Chaney paired with the bartender. She wanted a chill night, no competitions, but when faced with one there was no way she was going to back down, she WAS Alex Morgan after all. To no surprise they won the first round and in a desperate attempt to get out of playing the second she grabbed their teammate Sidney who just happened to be walking by. "You play, I need to pee," was her lame excuse but at least it worked. It was that time of night where everyone was still on their way to getting drunk so no one was too crazy yet but Alex knew the line would be crossed very soon and she was making bets in her mind on who would be the first to get there as she waited for the bartender from the bar at the other end of the place to make her drink. "Oh —" was her original reaction to being bumped, bringing her mind back from wherever it had managed to go off to. An eyebrow cocked at his words as she tried but failed to let the smirk take over her features. "How very generous of you to offer to pay for me at an open bar," the striker chuckled playfully. It took her a moment in the dim lighting but she finally recognized him and while it was a nice surprise she had no idea how he managed to get himself here, to this party of all places but she figured he was Canadian and must be a fan or something. Who was going to say no to letting Sidney Crosby in the door? He was probably even more of a big deal here then in the states so it made sense, at least in her mind. "Thank you, though... for the sentiment anyway." Her hand was soon occupied by her martini glass and she wasted no time in taking a sip. "So tell me, what's the great Sidney Crosby's poison of choice?"

Sidney For those who knew him, Sidney Crosby was a bit of an anomaly. Unlike most who’d come up through the usual college/junior league pipeline at such a young age to only later be spat out by either the league or themselves for ‘poor’ behaviour choices, the twenty-eight-year-old had remained tied to his past and the straight and narrow upbringing that had come along with it. A lot of journalists had it pinned down to growing up in Nova Scotia, where the population never quite teetered pass 30,000. Or even his father—who’d had his own history with the league. What they all eventually worked out though was Sidney just wasn’t what they’d expected him to be. Young, talented … sure… but the guy that was also going to give them all some sort of titillating headline… no. What Sidney was… was hockey. There wasn’t a moment on or off the ice he wasn’t thinking or breathing hockey. So, when he’d been forced into a bit of a set-up by a couple of friends and met Kathy… things had unexpectedly taken a turn for the young brunette. It was just… one minute there was a hockey and then there was… hockey and her and it had been a lot. His sister Taylor had told him ‘that’s love,’ which was pretty weird because he was almost certain it wasn’t love… at least not yet, but she’d always been a little weird. A comment that had earned him a hit by one of his mother’s handstitched patch work pillows… thanks Taylor. It had taken Sidney a whole year to work out that she was probably right. The words escaping him one night across the dinner table while the two had been picking olives out of a garden salad the two had just ordered with a family size pizza. His stomach had done something that someone less logical might’ve compared to a somersault when Kathy eyes had widened, and her hand had found his neck and pulled him towards her… and for a moment there Sidney had honestly thought that would be it. That would be everything he’d ever need in life, Kathy and hockey… but as the years started to go by and his friends, teammates and family started to expand their families, Sidney realised he wanted more. Kids had never really been a topic of discussion for the two… they’d been young and busy and maybe it was wrong to assume that Kathy would just want them whenever he did. First, she’d pointed out that they weren’t even married yet... which Sidney hadn’t quite got, because wasn’t that all implied with the question? That marriage was part of the package too. Which had really upset her, because after nearly nine years this was how he was going to propose. It was all down here from there and before Sidney even realised what had happened it was just hockey and no Kathy again. There had been a few attempts to make amends and even a couple of goes at trying again... but in the end it was over. All nine years of it. Which is a lot in numbers. One hundred and eight months, four hundred and sixty-nine weeks, three thousand and eighty-five days… it’s a lot and despite Geno and Kris’ best efforts to cheer him up, Sidney was still not-quite feeling it… At least until he found himself next to FIFA World Cup champion Alex Morgan and suddenly there was something to smile about, because right of course the bar was an open one tonight… despite it… Sidney leaned forward, getting the barkeeper’s attention and ordering whatever Alex appeared to be drinking tonight… his hand reaching into his pocket to pull out a twenty and slipping it into the ‘tip jar.’ A smile on his face as he let it fall out of his fingers… “drink bought…” Her question had him debating a little. He’d originally slid up ready to order ‘just’ a beer, but now that he was here and consciously aware that this was a celebration, he settled with a whiskey straight, “what did you have me pegged as? An Apple Martini kind of guy?” He knew a lot of shit got talked about him. He was emotional… passionate... which had its critics. Some of it got to him… most of it didn’t. “What’s got you so hooked on those…” Whatever she was drinking gave off a fruity aroma. Definitely not something he’d usually drink, but the night was a warm one and something about the whole thing was mildly tempting… though thinking about it, if Gino saw him drinking up some pink cocktail… he’d never live it down. He could hear the Russian’s loud laughs echoing across the patio, but where the giant’s exact location was amongst everyone else was still a mystery… besides Sidney wasn’t exactly thinking of leaving his spot at the bar anytime soon. Though, maybe he’d trapped Alex here with his lame gesture to ‘buy’ her drink and all these questions about fruit cocktails when where all she really wanted to be was out there with her teammates on the makeshift dance floor. “Hey, sorry… if you need to go…”

Alex The brunette tilted her head in gratitude with a smile once the second drink was on the bar in front of her and the twenty had fallen into the tip jar. She didn't really know how to take it but she figured just accepting it and not making a big deal was the best way to go. Alex sat there, taking another sip of her martini, silently berating the butterflies in her stomach that she hadn't felt if not since college then honestly, never. She was married, newly, freshly married, the instantaneous spark and magnetism to the man next to her was completely inappropriate and yet there she was taking a step closer to him, closing what seemed to be too big of a gap for two people engaged in conversation. She had never been one to stray from any relationship but especially not the one she was eight years deep and now fully committed to. The striker had gone through what felt like everything with Servando by her side; He saw her career grow from the very beginning of when she started to become a big deal in college. He spent countless nights helping her study before a big test or running drills before a big game. It was easy to do life with him, she enjoyed it, but even at their most passionate she never felt that SPARK everyone talked about and chalked it up to being nothing but superficial and fictional anyway. Love was about friendship, the kind of bond you didn't want to let go of, (right?) and Servando fulfilled those requirements to a T. Alex had her passion and it was soccer, in her mind that's really all she needed, finding that in a man had never been a priority. "Are you making fun of my martini?" she teased after he mocked being an apple martini kind of guy. "No... whiskey. You have yet to surprise me, Crosby." Even she could barely recognize the flirty tone in her voice, which caused yet another sip of her drink. Hopefully he'd just think she was eager to celebrate her win, not that she was someone who drank her alcohol a bit too fast. "Oh, these? My sister got me hooked on them a few years ago, they're great for when you're out and want to pace yourself but still have something delicious. I was tempted to stick to the champagne but I refuse to be the first one wasted and miss out on all the amusement of watching everyone else get there first." The soccer player laughed a little at her own words. Her eyes scanned the crowd for a moment before her green-blue hues were right back on him. "No, don't worry. You're actually saving me from a very grueling game of beer pong. Kel's over there trying to relive her glory days. I think your friend might've taken over the poor bartender's spot." This team was nothing if not a good time, she was sure he would discover that in no time. "Not your thing either? Or am I the one keeping you? Either way..." Alex sat her glass back down on the bar and carefully slid it over in his direction, "you're not getting away without trying it." Her head motioned to the drink waiting to see if he would take the bait.

Sidney He laughed at her accusation. His hand lifting up in apology as he took a sip from his glass, only lowering it once she’d pointed out just how unoriginal he was for his own drink of choice tonight. It was weird but he was slightly mad at himself now, for not going against the grain earlier and ordering one of whatever she was having. Somehow ‘surprising’ Alex Morgan seemed appealing right now. Which was weird because he’d only been standing there beside her for less than ten minutes and it seemed strange to care so much about something like that… He supposed it had been years since he’d slid up next to a pretty girl at a bar and allowed himself to look… and it wasn’t even like he was doing that, right? Right. It was just— he was at a party (somewhat uninvited) and he was being friendly. That’s what this was. “Sorry to disappoint…” his smile twitched up as he watched her start talking about the drink her fingers were currently wrapped around. He heard a few buzz words that would’ve allowed him to stitch together a proper reply if she’d expected it once she was finished, but really, he’d just been watching her talk and get excited about something like a drink and he couldn’t help but think it was all kind of cute really. Here was ‘the’ Alex Morgan the girl he’d just watched own it on the soccer pitch and here she also was rambling about some drink she’d come accustom to ordering… yeah, champagne has a way of getting you to do some pretty outrageous things too…” he thought about the first time he’d filled the Stanley cup with it and drunk more than he’d ever had in his life. That had been a night. His head getting cloudy just thinking about it—though maybe that was less about the champagne and more about the fact that Alex had just said that he, Sidney Crosby, was saving the USA superstar from some game of beer pong? He looked across to where she’d mentioned it was going on... seeing not just Gino, but Kris there and two teammates from Alex’s team on either side of them and the table… of course. The twenty-eight-year-old was about as interested in the commotion happening over there as he was in the weather back home in Nova Scotia… turning his attention back to Alex instead and smiling when she passed her drink along the bar towards him. It didn’t have to travel very far, somehow without even realising he’d been doing it, he’d closed a lot of the previous space that had once existed between them… “well since you’ve had a few drinks now… I know you’re not secretly moonlighting as a Philly fan with the goal to poison me tonight, so…” he scooped it up. The glass dwarfing in his hands as he did… “mmm…” he could’ve avoided the lipstick and drank from the other side, but instead he stuck his mouth on top and took his sip. The hit was instant. The fruity taste covering most of his tongue, but the hint of her lipstick was there too… “yeah, so that’s not too bad…” he lowered the glass, sliding it back over towards her, before doing the same with his own glass… “your turn.” The thing about whiskey if you got the expensive stuff the taste had different notes to it. Something Alex might not have realised and something he decided to add to convince her, “I’m sure you’ve tried whiskey, but this one… this one is really good…” The thing was, he was pretty sure he just wanted her to drink from his glass in order to leave that tell-tale sign of lipstick behind that went ahead and reminded him with every next sip he had coming his way that she’d been there… which was insane. He knew that. He wasn’t crazy. He just… didn’t care.

#( Alex & Sid: 001. )

1 note · View note