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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

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Static (Spideypool)

(Based on THIS PROMPT)

THERE’S MORE SPIDEYPOOL ON MY MASTERLIST

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Peter...Peter heard everything.

Well, heard wasn't exactly the right word.

Peter felt....

...everything.

Sometimes it was a physical feeling, like bugs on his skin if someone around him was uncomfortable. Sometimes it was hard to swallow, hard to breathe if he was at a crime scene and the people were terrified.

Sometimes it was the feeling of being stared at even if no one was looking, the feeling of eyes watching, and eventually Peter realized that was the feeling of anxiety, of nervous.

Before the spider, it hadn't been as bad. Peter would get the buggy feeling when May would clear her throat and try to have one of Those Talks, or he'd walk through the halls at school and brush past someone and suddenly he felt like everyone was looking.

After the spider, the feeling amplified, magnified, until Peter couldn't deny something was off, something was wrong, he was feeling too much.

Empath was the word the internet gave him. Empath, he felt what other people felt. But empath didn't seem like a big enough word, not even close.

The first time Peter pulled a little girl from a house fire, she wasn't even crying, wasn't even screaming, she was just terrified and still and Peter's muscles locked up, his legs giving out with heart stopping, core deep fear.

The day he webbed a gun out of someone's hands to stop a mugging and the baddie turned to him and shouted, Peter felt the wall of rage as if he'd ran right into it.

It was too much and empath was not a big enough word for what was happening.

Peter learned to tune most of it out. He altered his suit so he couldn't really feel anything physical in case someone touched him, wore headphones that played white noise so he wouldn't have to hear the fear in people's voices, meditated so when he got bowled over by the mental noise of someone's scattered mind, he could pull himself out of the spiral.

It was exhausting.

Peter's friends assumed he stopped hanging around because he was busy with school and work, the Avengers assumed he never came by because he wanted to do the whole lone gun slinger act, and Aunt May assumed he kept his distance because he was busy being Spider-man.

They didn't know that Peter couldn't handle Harry's anxiety or MJ's insecurity or the way Gwen worried and worried and worried. He couldn't stomach the sting of Iron Man's blase attitude because it covered so much anger, and he couldn't handle the sadness in Aunt May that had always been there before Uncle Ben passed, but after Uncle Ben, the sadness was strangling and Peter--

--god, he just couldn't handle it.

So Peter retreated away behind his mask, there and gone when he had to save someone, avoiding friends and family, lonely in his tiny apartment but unwilling to step outside and risk being overwhelmed by everything everyone in the entire goddamn world was putting out in the universe.

Lonely.

Empath wasn't a big enough word to cover the loneliness of feeling what everyone else felt.

******

Deadpool was loud and proud and obnoxious on about eight thousand different levels. He laughed and he talked and he teased and poked and prodded and got on every single on of Peter's last nerves and then managed to turn around and be sweet to kids or stop to rescue animals or to beat the hell outta someone who messed with the nice lady that owned the flower shop.

Deadpool was all over the place, talking to Peter, talking to himself, talking to the voices in his head that never seemed to let him rest. And Peter felt bad about it, but he had to wear his white noise headphones around Wade, had to tune out alot of what the Merc said, had to wear his gloves all the time to dull any accidental touches.

Peter knew Wade was just as lonely, just as touch starved as he was, but he couldn't risk the strain on his mind and emotions to open up to Deadpool. He wouldn't survive feeling the pain that skittered beneath Wade's skin every day, or the awful headaches that Wade tried to laugh off, or the way the Merc swung between manic and depressed and back again for a stop along every marker on that spectrum.

Peter knew he couldn't handle it, so even though he ached to take some of the stress from Wade, ached to share some of the burden the Merc handled every single day--

Peter kept his distance. He had to preserve his sanity, his mental health, his emotional health--

Peter kept his distance.

Wade understood, or at least he said he understood, but that didn't make it any easier to stay away when their conversations turned serious and when the night fell into morning and Peter wanted nothing more than to slide over and rest his head on Wade's shoulder. Wade must have reached for Peter's hand a hundred different times, stopping himself just short of touching and one night when they were eating, Wade reached over and wiped the crumbs from Peter's face and then froze--

"Shit, baby boy, I'm sorry. I know you can't handle being touched."

"It's fine." Peter shook his head quickly, the brush of Wade's fingers too quick to even have registered. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

"Yeah?" Wade swallowed. "My skin doesn't bother you?"

"No, it's not that." Peter took another bite of his burger. "You know, it's the empath thing. I want to be able to touch you but I--"

"I get it." Wade assured him. "Normal people set off everything in your head, someone like me would probably make your brain explode. It's alright."

"Well, I mean." Peter shrugged self consciously. "It's not. Sorta sucks that I can spend every day with you but can't get closer than this. That I wear my white noise headphones to block out everything when really I just want to--"

"You're not wearing your headphones, Pete."

"...what?" Peter felt around his head, then widened his eyes. "Oh my god, I'm not wearing my headphones."

"Nah, you dropped them when you took off your backpack." Wade motioned behind them vaguely. "I figured you decided not to wear them today. The noise isn't bothering you?"

"I um--" Peter cocked his head and frowned. "I don't hear anything. My heads just sort of... sort of staticky."

"Sounds awful."

"No." Peter put his food down and closed his eyes to listen. "No, it's wonderful. Wade, you don't understand. Usually I hear everything, or feel everything and it hurts my head but I don't hear anything right now. It's-- this is-- it's so nice."

"That's great, sweet cheeks." Wade blew the web slinger a kiss and sauntered over towards the far end of the roof to get his bag. "By the way, I bought you something at a souvenir shop yesterday. Full disclosure, it's terrible, but I thought it would make you laugh so--"

Noise rushed in and Peter cried out loud, clapping his hands over his ears. "Oh my god! Oh my--"

Rage, from someone in the apartment below, fear from the other person in the room. Laughter, eyes staring, someone watching, too close too close, someone was touching, anxiety, nervous, giddy, fear--

Peter curled over into himself and shouted, "Wade! My headphones! Please!"

"Come here, baby." Wade was suddenly back at Peter's side, wrapping both arms around him and hauling him close. "Okay I know you don't want to hear what's in my head but it should be loud enough to drown out everything else, come here."

Wade yanked Peter's gloves off and shoved his own shirt up so Peter could touch skin, then flattened his palms over Peter's ears as if it would drown out the noise.

And Peter went still immediately.

He went still immediately and Wade waited with bated breath for the disgust, for the recoil, for Peter to look up with those beautifully wide eyes and wonder what the fuck was wrong with him.

"Oh my god, you feel good."

Okay well Wade hadn't been expecting that, nor was he expecting Peter to moan quietly and to press even closer, his fingers digging into Wade's side to clutch him tight.

"I-- I what? I what? Why are you the one talking crazy right now?”

"You feel good." Peter hooked a foot behind Wade's knee and took him down to the roof with no effort at all, and even though Wade oophed when he hit the rooftop, he didn't have time to care much as Peter crawled up his body and straddled his chest, tucking that adorable nose right into Wade's neck.

"...Pete? What um-- what are you doing?”

"The static is you." Peter laughed quietly and wriggled closer. "I thought I was wearing my headphones cos I couldn't hear anything, but the second you walked away, all the noise came back. The static is you."

"You're telling me I'm so damn crazy that it just translates to static when you hear it?" Wade teased and Peter pulled away to stare down at him.

"I'm telling you that you're the only person I've ever met that doesn't hurt me to be around. Whatever your mutation is, whatever you have going on-- it scrambles my senses and mutes everything else."

"Pete--"

"All I can feel is you." Peter breathed, and he looked almost close to tears. "All I feel is you babe. Do you know how amazing that is?"

Wade ran his hands up Peter's back to tangle in the thick hair and drag him down for a much a-waited, much longed for kiss.

"Yeah, baby boy." he said hoarsely. "I sure do."

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

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @lookuplaughing @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @water-colouredmemories @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @desitonystark @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii

#ncts fics #spideypool #sundays with spideypool #peter parker #wade wilson

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vanchlo · 4 years

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The Assistant / Chapter Forty-Eight, “I’m Home”

*Not my gifs*

Clickable Links:

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Hecky Playlist

- Read on Wattpad

Word Count: 7.6k words

Warnings: None

Music Inspo: Forever Like That by Ben Rector (click to listen)

SNEAKYYYYYY PEEK

His eyes find mine first and I can’t tell if the sage green is blurring because my eyes deceive me, or that his betray him. Within seconds, it seems that both of our eyes have made a mess of themselves with tears, his shed onto my hand when he brings it to his lips with a kiss. I’m certain that he could taste mine when I steal a kiss from his lips, and those that water his neck with them, sure to not smudge the sentiment that waits to become permanent above his heart.

“Harry Styles,” I giggle nervously with hot cheeks, shaking my head as I stare at the floor, our intertwined hands blocking my view ever so wonderfully.

“My Rebecca Ann.”

Lifting them, my eyes find him like they always so easily do, and so do the divots that fall into his cheeks. The three words that I feel like repeating over and over to him fall again from his lips in a hushed whisper.

I love him more than I did just a second ago. Again.

"When I’m with her, I feel happy to be alive. Like I can do anything, even talk to you like this. So, that’s what I think love is. When I’m better because she’s here.” - Boy Meets World

“Reckon ‘ve neva seen a sight mo’ beautiful in me entire life.”

“Sounds like you haven’t lived long enough then.”

“‘m serious, Becks, yer absolutely gorgeous,” I exhale all in one breath, and with so many others wanting to spill out and join. “Yer everythin’, bug.”

“Oh, hush.”

“Or else, what, Becks? You’ll make me be quiet? Hmm, ‘d like t’ see you try that one, babe,” I tease, letting my nose drag along her cheek and my laugh float over to her ears. “Reckon yer takin’ too long. ‘m an impatient bloke, y’know.”

It’s a tragedy to silence her lips budding with a bubbly laugh, but my, do they taste magnificent. Her smile does as well, and so does the song that ignites from my fingers as they run down her arms free of wires and tubes, albeit an annoying cast.

“Meant it, y’know, that yer so beautiful,” I whisper against her mouth, lifting my head to punctuate my words with a kiss on top of her head. “You look good and seems like you feel that way, too.”

“Mmmhmm,” she murmurs from below me, the corners of her rose colored lips curling into her cheeks.

The pink has begun to return to them and so has her dimple indefinitely. It doesn’t compare to the fluttering inside of my chest at the sight of her ocean eyes peering up at me, the flecks of gold glimmering in the light. Admiring her seems to grow better as if climbing a mountain, because next, I get to enjoy the familiarity replaced with her wavy hair pooled over her shoulders.

“I’m ready,” she exhales nervously, and the baby freckles dotting her cheeks blur in front of me. “Harry, don’t cry, or else you know that I will too.”

“‘m sorry, ‘m jus’ so bloody happy,” I laugh, finding it hard to stop my lips from quivering as I look at her - the familiarity of the jeans and hoodie hugging her body, the new purple Vans bright on her feet, and the flicks of mascara she insisted on wearing even though she doesn’t need it. “‘m so unbelievably happy that I get t’ bring ya home, bug. Finally.”

“Me too,” she croaks, a glistening tear falling into the divot of her dimple before collecting at her chin. They disappear from my view, both luckily and not, when she pulls me into her arms. I can’t complain about it, though. “Thank you. I could never say it enough for everything, Harry, you-.”

“Yer welcome, Becks, forever and ever. No need t’ thank me, I know ya woulda done tha same fer me.”

“I would have,” she whispers against my neck. I nod into her hair that my nose is smothered by in the best possible way, and it makes me wonder if you can overdose on the smell of orange blossoms and vanilla. It seems a happy drunkenness may come from smelling it, afterall.

It’s a feat in and of itself to leave her arms, but it shrinks in comparison to the relief I feel at wiping her tears away, unsure of the last time I felt happy to do this, or this happy at all.

“Shall we get goin’ then, love?” I ask her, thumbing at the imperfection in her cheek that could never be anything short of perfection to me.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Becks nods. “But, one thing first.”

“What’s that? I didn’t think ya wanted t’ spend anotha second in this place.”

“I don’t, but one last kiss is okay,” she smirks and quickly, I’m tasting the absence of melancholy and pain in her kisses. I know that they still sit there, somewhere near, but I choose to ignore them at this moment and to pretend that I can kiss her sadness away. “Okay, now, we can leave.”

“I know ‘ve been waitin’ too long t’ do so . . look at you being a superhero and e’rythin’, bustin’ outta here within a week . . Let’s bring you home already, bug.”

It’s rather hard to get used to - not one, but two things. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to how beautiful she is and I thought she was a sight when we left the hospital, but damn, was I wrong. She keeps doing that, proving me wrong, always has. I like it more now than I did in the beginning. Now, wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets in her bed, it really is by far the best sight.

My glowing smile sputters and almost goes out completely when I sigh with a hand in my hair. I just had gotten used to the idea of her being in a hospital and trusting the nurses, and now here I am, her nurse. I liked the thought at first, but now that it’s happened and I’m here, it scares the daylights out of me.

What if I do something wrong?

What if I, of all people, hurt her - elbow her in the stomach in the middle of the night, mess up her bandaging when I rewrap it, or worst of all, mess up her meds?

It all frightens me when I know fully well that I should be the happiest person on earth right now to have her home. But after she got over her bout of sickness, I kept waiting for something else to happen, and I’m still sitting on the edge of that seat, waiting. I never saw the accident coming, but I want to expect the next one, as if I could ever stop something like that from happening. Pffft, I’m no superhero. I don’t know who I think I am, but I know that I want to be everything she needs, and yet, deep down I never could be.

“Harry?”

“Ya, bug? You alright?” I murmur, my hand falling to my side. “Ya need anythin’?”

“Eh, just for you to watch some FRIENDS with me,” she mumbles, cocking her body to look at me over her shoulder. The eagerness taut in her features melts away, and I straighten up, hoping that I didn’t blow my own cover.

“Alright, Harry?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine, Becks. Jus’ thinkin’ ‘m gonna hafta readjus’ me rules fer fallin’ asleep in the middle o’ watchin’ sumthin’ as we might both break that rule,” I quip, leaving my watch in the doorway to join her under the covers.

Worrying away at my bottom lip, I fail to ignore how that lie went over about as well as if she would’ve told it to me. I could be a good liar, but never to her, and the thought itself cements my insides with guilt.

Her laugh fills the dark with some light inside of me, and her famous toasty body nuzzles against mine.

“You’re sure?” Becks wonders aloud, and meeting her questioning gaze is overdue as I stare off into space.

“‘Bout what?” I reply, a V belatedly forming between my brows in wonder.

“If you’re alright. I’m sorry, but I don’t think that I believe you.”

“Oh, that,” I exhale with an ironic laugh that couldn’t be anything but sad. “Ya, I dunno if I believe meself eitha,” I answer at last, feeling much too sour to keep secrets from her that sprout into lies.

No, if I’ve learnt anything recently, it’s that life can flip you on your ass in a moment. I could lose her in a blink, and I very well almost did. The very last night that I want to be thinking is, ‘why did I tell her that silly little lie when I could’ve just grown a pair and told her the truth?’

“Harry, what’s the matter?” she speaks up, lulling the monsters away with her fingers scratching my beard. “I think you need a nap, you’ll feel better after some sleep, and in a bed.”

“No- I mean, ya. Yer right, but that’s not it.”

“What is it then? You can talk to me, love,” she says, and the sentiment weeds into my thoughts and greets my heart.

“I jus’ . . I wanna be enough fer you, Becks, and I dunno if I can,” I confess gently, avoiding her intimidating gaze and instead, entranced by her twirling that braided ring.

“Harry, where’s this coming from? Why do you feel that way?” Becks sighs sadly, and within moments, I wish that I’d never said a thing.

“Nevamind, ‘s jus’ tha sleep deprivation talkin.’ Ignore, silly ol’ me.”

“No, I won’t ignore what you said, because it’s not true,” she replies firmly. The prickly wrapping of her arm cast rubs at my jaw when she turns my head to look at her. “I can’t force you to talk, and I don’t want to make you do anything, but . . I’m here, Harry. You’ve said that loads when I’m afraid or losing my shit . . and I dunno, it grounds me.”

“Thanks,” I smile slowly, feeling the words warm up on my tongue. “I want mo’ than anythin’ t’ take care o’ you and ‘m over tha moon happy yer home, but . . ‘m afraid I won’t do a well enough job, or that ‘ll mess it up.”

“You won’t, Harry,” she assures me, leaving circles drawn onto my cheek that may be invisible to everybody else, but me.

“How d’ya know?”

“Because you’ve shown me how good you can take care of me, especially this week, and the whole two and a half years I’ve known you, Harry Styles,” she insists, leading my eyes back to hers. “I know you’ve told me it a hundred times, but I think it’s time you heard it too - everything is going to be okay. I’m okay, and you’re going to be okay.”

I nod quickly, swallowing against a dry throat and feeling the slick swiping of her finger catch the tears. They don’t just stop there and proceed to drown her fingers, and then the fabric of her shirt when she drags me over to her and against her front.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she hums softly, zings of electricity left at the sight of her fingertips beside my spine. “This is the real scary part, huh? To come home and to act like everything is okay, and to return to real life . . I feel it too, it’s kind of suffocating . . but I know that we’ll get through this, taking care of each other. I’m not going anywhere, love.”

“Thank you . . fer stayin . . fer bein’ here.’”

“Always, Harry.”

“Always,” I murmur, gently breaking through the tangles found in his hair, falling like ribbons between my fingers. Licks of the vanilla and something musky waft from his hair when I press a kiss to the crown of his head.

I let my heavy sigh fall into his curls as my cheek molds to his skull, a hummed song escaping my lips. It sings itself while I drag my fingers through his hair until there are no more snarls or tangles to be found, and my fingers ache from drawing circles into his back. The sniffling and sobs have ended finally, replaced by gentle snoring. His chest rising and falling against mine brings a quiet peace to me, and only now can I let my eyes fall shut, unsure if I feel heavier or lighter now. All that time where I was trying to heal, and even now, I was numb to the fact that he was breaking at my side, further and further.

I hope that you’ll let me fix you, too, Harry.

Sunlight creeps in through the hastily drawn shades, leaving my eyes scoured with white patches in front of them. Blinking them away slowly, my gaze wanders to the covers I lay beneath and that take me a few moments to place. It all comes together, like puzzle pieces, as I watch my bedroom sharpen around me. I feel the smile tug at my lips when I find the tousled head of dark curls lying opposite of me. He’s more real than he was a second ago when his thickening beard rubs at the back of my finger, and his locks fall through my fingers. Creases form on his forehead and a light moan sounds from behind his lips.

“Shh, go back to sleep, it’s okay,” I coo against his hair with a kiss, feeling my smile widen when his arms come around my middle.

“So, this is real,” I whisper, tracing shapes through his Queen shirt, relishing the sleepy warmth he spreads across me. With a huff, my hands find new homes on his body and I let myself fall back to sleep, thinking of all of the other dreams I’d like to come true next.

Shoots and zings of pain awaken me the next time, followed by the creaking of the door and a different voice.

“Ree, you awake?” somebody whispers from behind the door, but when I see the shock of green hair, I wonder how I could forget that face for a second. “Hey, morning- well, for one of you. It’s time for your meds, and I made some brekky. You should have your pills with it, I can bring some in for you.”

“Morning . . No, it’s okay, I want to let him sleep. I think he needs it more than me, do you think you could help me up and out?”

“Sure thing,” she whispers, her pink bunny slippers making soft pat-pat noises on the hardwood floor.

“Sweet dreams,” I wish ever so softly into his hair smelling of Sundays baking with my gran. Regrettably, my arms jelly like from sleep slide away from him, and I inch towards the other side of the bed.

“That had to have been the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, it’s like living in a dream,” I remark with a happy laugh, exhaling when my bum finds the cushions of the sofa. “If you would’ve told twenty-four year old that I’d be waking up to Harry in my bed at twenty six, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me, I wouldn’t have believed you, either,” Skye giggles, setting down a plate in front of me with a soft clatter, accompanied by the tap of a glass of orange juice.

“Okay, Chef Robbins, how much do you think I can eat? I’m not bloody pregnant, now am I? I’m just injured, not eating for two here,” I quip, nevertheless picking up the fork and stabbing at a curd of scrambled eggs.

“Don’t you even, you need to be getting your appetite back. I don’t expect anything less out of you - eating all of this. You have every damn food group on this plate, thank you very much - Harry would be proud.”

“He would. What, did you blooming write up a food menu with him, or something?” I ask through a few bites of fluffy eggs.

“No, but we did come up with a list of groceries together, so I reckon that’s fairly the same.”

“You, go grocery shopping, since when?” I say, crumbs littering my fingers when I pick up the half slice of buttered toast, shoveling cheesy eggs onto them.

“Since your bloody boyfriend bullied me into doing it.”

“Hmm, I should’ve had him do that a long time ago,” I laugh, and it’s welcomed by the sound of her obnoxious one. “My bloody God, you’re going to wake him up with that honker of yours, you know that!”

“Whoops, I better shut up. I need you all to myself for a change.”

“Oh, hush up, you had me all to yourself for twenty years or so, reckon you can give me up for a little bit,” I jest, watching her wild bed head shake back and forth with her disagreement. “Also, when’d you become a cook? This is good.”

“It’s eggs and cheese, no duh it’s good and it’s easy. Is he going to have any? There’s plenty more.”

“I dunno, I want him to get some more sleep. The poor guy’s been sleeping on a sofa for the last week, for Christ’s sake.”

“Fuck,” she sighs, biting into her toast with a crunch, leaving grape jam on her lips quite adorably. “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

“What?” I say, staring at the blobs of jam on her lips until I hear my name rasped from the other side of the room. “Harry. H-hi, good morning. There’s uh, breakfast if you want some.”

“Oh, thanks. ‘ll use tha loo first.”

“And maybe put a shirt on, or, maybe not after all,” Skye jokes under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear as I watch Harry disappear down the hallway enclosed by the kitchen’s back wall. Every inch of his sleepy body regrettably leaves my eyes, including the mess of bedhead on him, the lack of a shirt, and amongst other things, those green eyes that only relaxed when they found me.

“Shut up, you creep!” I retort, failing to keep my chuckle to a low hush when her contagious laugh does its magic.

“All I’m saying is that I’m not complaining about the new house guest,” she explains with a shrug of her measly shoulders, standing to her feet. “I guess I’ll give the happy couple some privacy and eat my brekky with Buffy in my room.”

“Yeah, you go and pout, and leave my boyfriend alone in the hallway.”

“I can’t promise anything!” Skye squeals, her slippered feet slowly becoming harder to hear.

“Mmm, when’d ya wake up, bug?” somebody else asks, but I was ready and noticed him the moment his tall body walked back into frame.

“Only a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, how’re you feelin’? Did you take yer meds yet?” Harry questions, rubbing at his eyes on his way into the kitchen, too far away for my liking.

“I’m fine, but sore. Skye woke me up in the middle of the night to take my meds then, and I’m just about to take some more. How fun.”

“Oh, ‘m sorry I missed ‘em last night, Becks. I thought I set an alarm on my phone,” he yawns, his drowned out voice accompanied by the scraping of the pan.

“Yeah, I turned it off after she had done it, because I wanted you to sleep. That’s why I didn’t wake you just now, you need to sleep more.”

“I know, but ‘m okay. I woke up and saw you weren’t there, and I couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“You’re cute when you’re all worried,” I joke, chewing the last bite of scrambled eggs as the sofa cushions dip underneath me. “And shirtless.”

“Oh ya . . sorry ‘bout that. I mean it when I say yer a li’l heater, Becks, and with all o’ those blankets, I must’ve gotten too hot and taken me shirt off sumtime,” he explains with a shake of his head, the bright flesh of the strawberry contrasting to his bubblegum pink lips that surround it. Okay, Becky, it is too early and my brain is too foggy to be having these kinds of thoughts already today. “Alright, babe?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. The strawberries just look so good,” I lie, picking up one and biting into the juicy fruit. I’m unsure of how to feel about the fib going over his head, but it’s whisked away when his cold toes playing footsie with mine instead nudge mine repeatedly.

“Pills,” he insists from across me, nodding to the foreign looking organizer sat on the coffee table before me.

“Yes, yes, Nurse Styles,” I exhale, leaning forward to grab them, but I stop when a tight pain radiates through my abdomen.

“What’d I tell ya ‘bout bein’ careful, love? Ya can’t push yerself too hard now. Are you okay?” Harry coos, dropping his fork onto the plate sat on his lap, making quick work of grabbing the case for me.

“I know, Dad.”

“Now, what’d ‘d say ‘bout all that bein’ stubborn shit . . huh?” he rasps, voice framed by the clicking and clacking of the case opening and pills shaking about.

“I know, I know, you’re just fun to tease.”

“We know that too,” he answers, setting the case aside and clearing his throat a few times until I look at him.

“What, do you not know how to use your words?” he only dips his head a little lower and sighs.

“Watch tha mouth,” he huffs jokingly, dropping the slew of pills into my palm with a nod to my orange juice.

“You never said anything about toning down the sass.”

“Didn’t gather that I needed t’, Rebecca Ann, ‘ssa given,” he replies with his seesaw like shoulders helping him talk, finishing off the last few bites of his toast.

With a groan, I pick up the heavy bottomed glass and between a few glugs of juice, swallow down the multitude of pills. I chase them down with a few more bites of strawberries and hash browns.

“That betta not be all yer eatin’, Becks,” Harry tuts from my side, scraping his fork along the plate to gather the last scraps of eggs.

“I’m done.”

“No, yer not. Ya can be afta ya have two mo’ bites o’ p’tatoes, a strawb’rry, and finish yer juice,” he instructs, pointing his fork at the various food items.

“Fine, Dad,” I grunt, returning the fork to my hands and doing as he says. “You know, I’d make some joke about how you’d be a good lawyer, or better yet, a good father being all bossy, if you weren’t getting on my nerves.”

“That means ‘m doin’ me job then,” he chuckles softly from his perch on the sofa. “Hey, where d’ya think yer goin’?”

“What, I can’t go pee without you having to know that too?”

“Sorry,” he barely squeaks, looking away sheepishly from behind me.

“It’s okay, just chill on the ‘hovering dad thing’ when you’re well, not a dad.”

“I wouldn’t hafta act like yers if ya did what yer told with a li’l less attitude,” he bites back sarcastically, and I wish that he could see my eyes rolling from this far away.

“I learned from only the best!”

“Hey!” his protest meets my ears just as I close the bathroom door with a giggle, sighing when I get off my dodgy ankle to relieve myself.

“How upset are ya with me?” Harry coos, a creak heard behind him as he shuts my bedroom door.

“I’m not upset. I’d just like a little more ‘friendly nurse’ and a little less ‘drill sergeant’ from you, is all.”

“‘m sorry, bug, but we know both yer ‘bout tha most stubborn person we both know,” he explains, daring a few fingers to stroke my cheek. “C’mon, open ‘em up, Ocean Eyes.”

“No.”

“Becks,” he drawls with a feisty giggle, dragging his nose down the expanse of my cheek. “Y’know ya can’t stay mad at me fo’ too long, ya’ve never been able t’.”

“Oh, wanna bet?”

“Rebecca Ann,” he whines, bringing forth a giggle from my lips at his beard tickling my neck.

“What, Harry Edward? I swear, we’ve known how to push each other’s buttons since the beginning.”

“I don’t disagree,” he says in that breathy laugh. “C’mon, let’s have a cuddle, babe. You can’t deny me.”

“Oh, wanna bet?” I chuckle, moving away from him, finding that this stupid arm cast of mine gets stuck everywhere and on everything.

“Becks!” he scoffs with the most offended look on his face when he leaves my neck. “Be nice t’ me, ‘m jus’ tryna love on you, bug.”

“I don’t disagree,” I quip, relishing in the eye roll I receive and fully deserve, and enjoying the happiness that trickles from my lips next.

“C’mere, li’l one, yer bein’ a li’l shit again, I think I may have even missed it,” Harry says, the bed dipping under his weight as he returns me to his arms, draping the covers over us. “My bug,” he coos, following the nickname with a slew of kisses to my cheeks.

I think I’ve almost made it, almost.

“Harry, would you stop it already?!” I groan, exasperated by the sound of shuffling items and the pew-pew of the spray bottle.

“‘m almost done, Becks.”

“That’s what you said half an hour ago, Harry! Ugh, stop cleaning already and come and watch FRIENDS with me. We both know you’re not really watching it when you’re cleaning, no matter what you say,” I sigh, flipping open the covers in invitation. He stands back up and his eyes cast over to me with a raised eyebrow. Both of mine inch towards my forehead in response, challenging him. “Harry Edward, I swear to-,” I wheeze, losing my control.

“You swear what, huh, Rebecca Ann?” he responds, at last setting down the rag and cleaning spray on my desk that has never sparkled or looked so tidy as it does now, along with the rest of my bedroom. “Huh? Talkin’ a lotta shit, aren’t we? I swear t’ God, yer all bark and no bite,” he continues with a smile, the overhead light glinting on his gold cross necklace laid over his Beatles shirt that, much to my dismay, he slipped on after a shower this morning.

“You wanna bet?”

“Ya, I do,” he says, his hands falling splayed onto the mattress in front of me. My God, is he a tease with those long muscular arms, and licking those rose colored lips.

Fuck.

I can’t hold back anymore and press on the back of his neck, losing my fingers in the tight ringlets of hair sitting there, smiling into the kiss.

“Hey, watch it!” he exclaims, pulling away quickly and sucking on his bottom lip that my teeth had just sunk into. “Bloody hell, remind me not t’ doubt you anymo’, you li’l shit.”

“Your little shit,” I correct him with a smirk, pulling him closer by the neck and trying not to laugh at the shocked look on his face.

“My, you are sumthin’, aren’t you, Becks? I betta watch out. I gotta strong one here . . atta girl,” his smile is the last thing I see before his lips return to mine. “Wait a second.”

“What? I wanted to kiss you some more.”

“Oh, stop whinin’, my li’l baby,” he titters, walking away much to my dismay and opening the door to my closet. “What have I found here, hmm? ‘s this a photo album o’ baby Becks?”

“Oh, you found that?” I giggle, yanking up the covers to my shoulders and enjoying my view of him crossing the room. There is just something else about a man in joggers, sigh.

“Ya, when I was cleanin’. Looks like me hard work paid off afta’ all,” Harry says, sliding under the blankets with me. “What’re you starin’ at me like that fer?”

“Nothing,” I sigh shyly, scooting over until my head finds his tummy and his arm finds the curve of my shoulders.

“What’re you blushin’ ‘bout, li’l one?” he giggles from above me, laying his arm over the closed photo album. I only find that he’s forgotten it when I dare to peer up at him, and his eyes are waiting on me.

“I just- I dunno,” I huff with my cheeks aching from shy smiles. “This is kind of all I ever wanted, give or take a few parts. Including the waking up to you shirtless in my bed, and looking all cute in comfy clothes.”

That breathy laugh sparks his lips into a smile again, followed by his bottom lip escaping to between his teeth nervously.

“I don’t disagree,” he quips, and this time, I actually groan at how cheesy he can be. “Really tho’, Becks, I wanted all o’ this too. I dunno what t’ do with meself now that I have it all - get t’ wake up t’ you in tha mornin’, take care o’ you, spend me day watchin’ FRIENDS with you, and now, lookin’ at yer baby pictures with you. I can’t wait t’ see what our kids are gonna look like.”

“Stop it, or I’ll cry again,” I croak, swatting at his chest, but it’s nothing more than a tap.

“I hope those are happy ones,” he whispers into my hair, and a small laugh joins the tears running over my lips. “Bloody hell, think I might spill a few as well. Look at these, were you tha cutest baby or what?” Harry sighs happily after opening the book to a random page, lifting it to get a better look at a photo of four-month old Robbie and me in matching Winnie the Pooh Halloween costumes. Looking up at him, something twinkles in his eye and in his cheeks where the dimples sit lower than ever.

I hope oh so badly that our babies have those dimples of his. Someday.

Until then, I’ll soak up these days of waking up to him, hopefully shirtless, and falling asleep together watching our favorite show, and wondering how it could get any better.

Every day seemed to run into the next, and in the best way possible, don’t get me wrong. I got to wake up to Harry beside me, toasty in my bed, and due to that, absent of a shirt and I was not complaining. No, siree. Some body parts still hurt quite a bit, but slowly they hurt less and less, and through that time we got our routine down. Pills three times a day and then twice, Skye helped me with showers, physical therapy three times a week, my ankle became more steady, I could stay awake for longer periods at a time without needing a nap like a growing puppy, and quickly, I was fighting Harry for the last sausage or cookie.

He was enjoying it too, I could just tell. I would bet a lot of money that he couldn’t be enjoying it as much as me, though.

To say that I didn’t get sick of him would be a lie, because oh, were there moments. First, there was his incessant cleaning to keep him busy, which luckily was remedied by his Zoom meetings for work that he’d take in the living room once a day while I napped. Secondly, I swear he watched me and closely as I ate, and it got annoying very fast. The naps and Zooms helped loads though, as did the few times he went home to grab different clothes, do laundry and the like, and go grocery shopping, but even then I missed him a little bit. As soon as he left because I got sick of him, I wished he would come back, and that’s how it went again and again.

The cold bites at my cheeks, sure to have left them rosy and wind chapped. Not quickly enough, the car begins to warm up and so do I.

“Alright?” he says with a warmth to his voice that curls around my icy bones. Turning in my seat, I find his lips pinker than ever as he rubs the feeling back into my arm, my free one. Nodding at him, he returns it before pulling the seat belt over him and checking his mirrors.

“Are you?” I ask, a few moments after he had begun to drive.

“Mmmhmm,” he responds, kneading at his lips once we arrive at a red light, briefly meeting my eyes but not holding them.

“You’re . . acting weird, Harry,” I say slowly, unsure of my words and how he’ll receive them. “I’m the one still getting nervous about being in a car, so what’s your excuse?”

“Nuthin’ . . ,” he insists, grabbing hold of my hand when the light turns green, twirling the bracelet around my wrist absentmindedly. “‘Kay . . I was wonderin’ if we could stop somewhere befo’ we go home. Y’know, if yer not too tired afta P.T. jus’ now.”

“No, I’m good- I mean, yeah, we can. Preferably, if I can sit down at this place you’re going after that workout I just had.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Harry grins, avoiding my prying eyes that search for a hidden meaning in his words. Narrowing my eyes, I squint at him, hoping that will help me to decode his answer, but I come up empty. Sighing, I look away, unsure of why he isn’t letting me read him this one time, but forgetting it after I remember how unbelievably handsome he’s looking with the beard and ochre colored beanie pulled over his curls. “Stop starin’ at me, woman,” he titters, and I only reply with a confused shake of my head.

Sighing, I pull my phone from my pocket and find the absence of new texts, still. A smile tries at my lips when I revisit my screensaver that I gloss over at times, a giggly selfie from bed with Harry. I trace the dimples in his cheeks and the smile pinching them before letting it fall back into my pocket.

The shelves of items and hangers of clothes don’t do anything for me, nothing jumping out at me to buy it, and so I wander on to the next little shop, a bakery. Soon, a gooey cinnamon roll occupies my time as I wait, wait, and wait.

“What’s taking you so long, Harry?” I grumble under my breath, finding a seat in the corner of my favorite little coffeeshop down the street. It feels good to get off my ankle that still bothers me at times. Setting down my hot chocolate, the cinnamon roll stills in my hand when I look up and find my familiar view.

If I look hard enough, the sun is streaming in through the windows and that Bon Iver song is trickling from the speakers again. The mystery novel is sitting in front of me, beside a half empty mug of coffee, and there he is. He’s making jokes with the barista at the front, arms folded over the tall flat surface where outgoing drinks are placed for pick up. My heart could do it again, race incessantly like a horse out of its gate, and I’d likely remain glued to this seat, unwavering but not unwanting.

Dinggggg!

Blinking, I’m jolted from the memory by a sound, and suddenly, the sun isn’t leaking into the coffee shop and he isn’t standing there, belonging to somebody else anymore like I had dreamt about last night. My nightmares sure are getting creative these days, drudging up old memories from last summer, the summer from Hell. They must be drying up if they have to resort to the time I saw him in this coffee shop after he’d starting dating somebody else, the day I felt shocked in my seat dying to say hi to him, but more afraid than ever. It feels like another person then, to be afraid to go up to Harry and to say hi, but that’s how it all was. It’s how it all felt, and how I was feeling. He felt like another person entirely and so did I, as if strangers.

Shaking my head and then grimacing at the slight ache that it still holds, I glance down at my phone to find the text that I’ve been waiting for.

sorry it took me so long bug. i hope ya found something u liked at one of the shops, or coffee, knowing u ;) i’m guessing ur at the coffee shop still from ur snapchat, so if u turn the left corner, and go down to the end of that block, you’ll find me there ;) see u soon baby

I can’t hide the smile that sticks to my lips as I leave with the cinnamon roll tucked safely into my hands, but it wavers when I come across the shop he speaks of. I double check and I triple check before finding his Range Rover parked a few yards away, telling me that this is the place. How odd, I think, as the bell tinkles overhead and the classic rock music greets me.

It only takes me a few moments to find him, waiting on a brown leather sofa in a waiting room of sorts, wringing his hands in his lap. Uh yeah, I can only think of one reason why, and no more than that. I can’t tell if the anxiousness painting his body worsens or remains the same when he spots me in the doorway, standing to his feet and taking my hand.

“Hey, that’s mine!” I exclaim, grabbing for the last bite of the cinnamon roll that he steals from me. “Harry!” I sigh, watching him feed it between his lips, but he leaves one last bite pinched between his fingers.

“Oh, ya want this?” he smirks, holding it out for me. I inch forward and am surprised with a messy kiss that tastes of cinnamon and sugar, sparking a song behind my lips. “Here, baby Becks,” he coos, feeding it to me at last before he tugs on my hand to follow him.

“Harry, what’s going on? Why are we here? Why are you here, or do I even need to ask?”

“I thought ya graduated top o’ yer class, so ya should know why we’re here, Ms. Lawyer. Use yer deductive reasonin’ skills, Becks - why do ya deduce we’re at a tattoo shop?”

“Harry,” is all I say, voice absent of anything and everything as I follow him down a short hallway, and into a room that resembles a doctor’s office. It’s not much bigger, but is a spitting image with the massage parlor looking black bed-table-thingy.

“Matt, this ‘s Becks, and Becks, this ‘s Matt,” Harry says, and a tall man turns around and shines his pearly whites at me. “He’s been doin’ me tattoos fer awhile now, best artist I know.”

“H-Hi, nice to meet you.”

“You as well, I’ve heard a lot about you over the years,” Matt responds warmly, waving over to a comfy looking black office chair against the wall. Harry has already helped himself to the massage parlor looking thing, and his North Face and jumper have found their way off of him, too. “I hear you’re the reason we’re here today.”

“Wait, I am? What?” I answer, eyes flitting over to Harry’s. I’m sure of the alarm that blazes in them, and the flames only grow higher when he lets go of my hand. I can’t say that they die down when he slides off his long sleeved shirt dotted with nineties Nickelodeon tv shows, showing the entire room his sculpted torso and inked arms. The sage in his eyes warms and he scoops my hand up again, squeezing it and rubbing hearts into the back of my hand.

“Ya ready t’ see what ‘m gettin’, Becks?” Harry grins ever so proudly, I don’t think that his grin could be any more shit eating than it is right now.

The moments follow and they pass as Matt takes out a piece of what looks like tissue paper on it with purple ink, the design obscured from my eyes. The last thing he does before leaving is to press it to the blank slate above Harry’s heart, and slowly peels it away, revealing the image to me at last.

His eyes find mine first and I can’t tell if the sage green is blurring because my eyes deceive me, or that his betray him. Within seconds, it seems that both of our eyes have made a mess of themselves with tears, his shed onto my hand when he brings it to his lips with a kiss. I’m certain that he could taste mine when I steal a kiss from his lips, and there are those that water his neck with them, sure to not smudge the sentiment that waits to become permanent above his heart.

“Harry, is that-,” I begin at last after pulling away from him, my hand falling from his cheek slick with tears.

“Mmmhhm, ‘s yers,” he answers with a definitive nod, several meanings encapsulated in his words, but I take with me only a few. My fingers trace above his skin the four numbers, ever so familiar to me. “Yer handwritin’, Becks.”

“Why 2024?” I wheeze, wiping away the lingering tears, knowing that they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. As I speak them, the answer rings behind my eyes, but I wait for his answer.

“‘Cuz,” he answers, like it’s ever so obvious, willing my eyes back to his waiting pair. “I know this year’s only started, and ‘s been a bit o’ a shit show t’ say tha least, but ‘s tha year that brought you back t’ me, and let me keep you. ‘ll be grateful t’ it forever, and t’ you, Becks.”

“I love you,” I whisper, not having decided to say the words and yet, there they are, spilling themselves to his ears.

“I love you, baby, mo’ than anythin’,” he giggles happily, a tear breaking free from his eye to course down his cheek. His beard is ticklish against my temple where his lips litter kisses and love, the reason those very numbers are about to become permanent right where his heart lives under his chest. “I found a grocery list you had written tha other day, and I dunno- I jus’ loved tha way you wrote tha year and how those numbas meant so much . . and mo’ importantly, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout how I wanted t’ forget all o’ this . . yer accident. So, instead o’ forgettin’, I wanna remember this bumpy start we’ve had, by this, havin’ yer writin’ on me fer me life.”

“Harry Styles,” I giggle nervously with hot cheeks, shaking my head in disbelief as I stare at the floor, our intertwined hands blocking my view ever so wonderfully.

“My Rebecca Ann.”

“Are we ready to get this show on the road?”

Harry nods at me with a questioning look, and I nod at him, squeezing his hand.

“Alrighty then, let’s do it,” Matt announces with enthusiasm in his voice, something that wanes inside of me at the prospect of seeing Harry in pain.

If he can do it, going through about as much hell as I did after that car hit me, then I can at least do this. The insane amount of flattery and the overwhelming love that radiates off of him as the tattoo gun begins to buzz, helps to soften the blow.

I love him more than I did just a second ago. Again.

It smells the same, and sounds like before. I welcome the familiarity, but a shy nervousness sits in the corner of my mind, and deep down, inside of my gut. An excitement tries to overtake it up there, and I wait on the sidelines to see what will happen.

The thought is whisked away when there’s a whisper of a touch against my temple, and my body bumps habitually into his, seeking safety. Blinking hard and looking upwards to my left, I find a smile waiting in those molten sage eyes.

“Alright, bug?” Harry coos, leaning down to press his lips to mine briefly. I nod in reply, waving my thumb over his jawline hidden in thick facial hair, a sight I never thought I’d see inside of these four walls. “Are ya ready t’ get back into tha thick o’ it, Becks?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s about time that you let me come back, I’ve been going mad sitting at home having nothing to do for the last few weeks, and especially since you’ve been back part time since last week,” I answer, the song he sings joining that of my own when his fingers brush against my ribs that don’t ache from his touch anymore, and his nose nudges at my temple that doesn’t hurt when I laugh too hard.

“Hey, I know that, but I wanted t’ make sure ya wouldn’t over exert yerself and yer arm ‘s still gettin’ all caught up bein’ in that cast fer awhile. Also, I rememba a certain sumbody practically forcin’ me t’ come back, I didn’t have much say over tha matter. Hmmm, I can only wonder who that’d be,” he jests, and all hints of my poker face run away from me as he raises his eyebrows at me. The very pair he let me have my way with the other day, which lasted about five seconds before he started whining, even though the woosey has fresh ink on him.

“I know, you’re still being Daddy Harry,” I sigh dramatically, its ending found in a deep chuckle that he elicits from my lips with a surprise bear hug. His laugh drips with molasses too, and I feel like this couldn’t taste any sweeter, my arms hidden under his blazer and nudging at his belt.

“I’ll manage.”

“I know ya will, ya always do . . my Becks. ‘ll be there t’ help too,” Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head as the electronic number reaches to twelve above our heads. My head falls to the crook of his neck where it’s longed to be . . for such a long time. Years. His solid arms filled with safety lift from me and return once they wrap his violet blazer around me, and only do I close my eyes when his lips find a temporary home on the top of my head. “Y’know, I dunno what t’ call you now - mentee, colleague, girlfriend.”

“You can just call me either or, boss boyfriend,” I suggest, meeting his glowing green eyes while an electronic ding sounds overhead, signaling another floor passed.

“Sounds good t’ me, Rebecca Holte,” he hums, a corner of his mouth curled into his cheek and sharing that happy dimple with me. The chipped black nail polish teases at my sight when his thumb runs over the brand new scars dotting my cheeks that he’s healed with his kisses. “Ya betta make this one last fer a while now, we have a meetin’ right off tha bat,” he says firmly with raised eyebrows, but a smile teases at its corners.

Standing on my tiptoes, I lean forward and close my eyes, seeing the glinting flecks of gold in his eyes as I taste the honey on his lips. It’s hidden in the words that pass unspoken between our lips, cut short by the declarative beeps and the number sixteen waiting atop, seventeen just around the corner. With a giggle, I steal one last peck from his lips, and watch as he shakes his head after my wandering hand squeezed his bum.

“C’mon, you li’l shit,” he mutters with a roll of his eyes, adjusting the strap of his shiny, new messenger bag strewn across his chest. “Or would ya ratha I say, ‘shall we, Becks?” Harry asks, holding out a hand in front of us, and I nod.

“Let’s go, boyfriend,” I say with a large smile, catching the wink he gives me as our shoes click and clack on the marbled black tiling of the firm’s floors.

Now, I have.

I’ve really made it now.

I thought I had once or twice before, but this is it. I have it all, and more is on the way, and no longer are the dreams out of arm’s reach. No, they’re right there where I can touch them, and so is a very special one that won’t stop smiling at me, and I wouldn’t ever want to stop smiling at him.

Another thing I’m sure of is that I’d never want to stop listening to the song that flows from his lips, I could listen to it for the rest of my life.

THE END . . FOR NOW

Don’t miss Harry and Becks’ future adventures in the sequel to The Assistant, The Partner, coming soon! Until then, you can catch up with Hecky when The Firsts, an Assistant Blurb Series, begins September 14th at 12pm CST! Keep an eye out for the masterlist post for The Firsts, to be published soon! I could never thank all of you enough for reading and for sticking around this long with me. I am so excited to continue this series and for you to see what’s coming ;) See you in two weeks!

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buckyscrystalqueen · 4 years

Text

The Difference: Part 1

Pairings: Mark Sheppard x Reader

Warnings: None??? Swearing must likely...

Word Count: 3204

A/N: So I’m back..... IDK Im outta shape on posting here, y’all.... hope you enjoy it, OK?

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

In your opinion, first dates were literally the worst, but with a very involved Greek mother and grandmother, a large, extremely loud group of Italian aunts on your father’s side, and a persistent twin sister, you didn’t have a choice but to go on them. Because God forbid you say no. That two letter word was like a grenade in your household. Your mother, who you currently lived with because you were a single mother, would instantly start praying for your soul before calling your sister to pray with her as well. Your father, who was a giant instigator no matter how much he denied it, would head upstairs to ‘stay out of it’, have a brief conversation with his mother, and the phone tree would be instantly activated. Within a matter of minutes, you had your Nonna and eight aunts in your room, reminding you once again, that a single mother of four quadruplet boys, needed a man in your life.

So you simply went on the dates, used your one year olds as a ‘you don’t want me because I’ve got a lot of baggage’, and left before the waiter could even take your drink order just to sit in your car for an hour in silence. It wasn’t that you didn’t love being a mother. Shit, your boys made you a better person every single day. But there were four of them, and they were all a little over a year old now. And while you were so fortunate that they were all healthy babies, your second son, Luca, was born with Down Syndrome. Even with all the help your immediate and extended family gave you every single day, you still felt like you were drowning in dirty diapers and doctors appointments most days.

“You’re Mark?” You asked, dismissively as you stopped beside the chair the hostess had pointed out to you in Fogo de Chāo, one of your favorite Brazilian steakhouses, and took off your jacket. He looked up at you and nodded his head once as you sat down and took a deep breath. “Alright, I’m sorry you wasted your time in coming all the way here. I’ll make this quick. I’m 29, single… obviously… I work as a contract linguist for Homeland Security in the Pentagon, and I’m the mother of quadruplets that are fourteen months old and who have no father. So, while you process that, I’m going to drink my water and then head out because usually by the time that information sinks in, men tend to either get a surprise phone call or they have to run to the bathroom only to never come back. I don’t give a shit one way or another. Again, sorry you wasted your time.” You picked up your water glass and took a long swig as your date stared at you and blinked a few times.

“Quadruplets…” He said in a British accent you weren’t expecting as you grabbed your jacket off the back of your chair. “That’s four, correct?”

“Correct.”

“What’s the gender split?” You actually froze with your arm in the sleeve and looked over at him, unbelievingly, because he was the first date to actually ask that question.

“Excuse me?”

“Four boys? Four girls? Mixture of both?” It was your turn to blink a few times in shock as you let your arm fall to your side.

“Four… boys. Do you actually give a damn, or are you just trying to get laid, here?” A huffed chuckled bubbled up from his throat as he picked up his napkin, and laid it across his lap.

“I’m genuinely curious. And I happen to be gentleman, thank you. I am a firm believer in the third date rule.”

“Oh, are you now?” You laughed as you took off your jacket again and draped it over the back of your chair. “You’re that cocky you think you’ll get to a third date with women?”

“Not in the least. I believe the accent alone gets me to the third date and I was raised to respect women.”

“So waiting until only the third date is respectful?”

“I never specified the length of time between dates, darling. This could be date one, but between now and date two, we could have lunch half a dozen times at work, since we both work for the Pentagon.”

“Those are dates.”

“Those are not dates.” He corrected as he got up to start with the appetizer bar in the center of the dining room. “I never said I’d pay for your lunches.”

“Oh, you’re slick.” You giggled as you got up to follow him. “You’re real slick.”

“I try.” He chuckled. “So a linguist, huh? What language?”

“Greek and Italian.”

“Wow. And.” He said as he looked over at you, impressed. “Two languages?”

“Since I was born. See, my mother is Greek. She moved to this country when she was two years old with her twin, my Yaya, and my Papou. So she speaks both Greek and English. Now my father is from Italy. He’s the oldest and he has eight sisters. Huge family. My Nonna and my Nonno moved to the states before my dad was born but, like my mother, he speaks two languages. So when my twin sister, Emma and I were born, it became a battle with my grandparents on which language we spoke. So we speak both fluently.”

“See, I’ve worked with your sister before.” He commented as he waited for you to finish with the salad bar. “She did some translating for me at the request of Ben…”

“Oh, so are you a lawyer with Ben?” He nodded his head as he set his plate down in his spot and pulled your chair out for you.

“I do have quite a few years on him but yes, we are colleagues.”

“Oh what, like ten, maybe?”

“You’re generous.” He breathed as he took the seat beside you and flipped his card over. “I’ve been with the NSA for nearly thirty years… and don’t point out your age here. Emma thinks it’s hilarious to point it out every time she comes into the office to visit with young Benjamin.”

“She’s a bitch.” You said with a nod as you ripped a piece of cheese bread with your fingers and popped it in your mouth. “You get used to it.”

“Now, are you two fraternal twins? Because you look nothing alike…”

“You know, it’s funny you ask.” You sort of mumbled around your bite, which you swallowed quickly. “We’re identical. But it’s like fifty fifty on who can see it. My mom couldn’t tell us apart to save her life, but my dad has no issue. Half my aunts can tell, half can’t. Our boss can, Ben can half the time but I think he cheats, you can obviously tell. My sons are an even split, too.”

“Are any of them identical?” You nodded and let out a small sigh, taking a minute to take a drink of water for a break.

“Two of them are.” You started as you looked over at him, knowing that this was the second hurdle to get over with dates. “My youngest, Theo and Thomas. Evan and Luca are fraternal. And just like me and my sister, it’s fifty fifty on who can tell them apart. My mom can and she’s super proud of that.”

“I know you have photos.” He said as he nodded at the waiter that was making his round with a skewer of hot, top sirloin.

“Oh, I have thousands.” You confirmed as you, too, agreed to some top sirloin while pulling your phone out of your purse. “But… just…” You sighed the slightest bit and lit up the screen of your phone. “Sorry, I’m protective.”

“I already know.” He nearly whispered as he put his hand on yours over the phone as the screen went dark again. “Ben has an old photo of them on his desk. When he suggested this date, he told me you’d be stand-offish to protect them, and he gave me a very brief reason why. It doesn’t scare me, darling. Your strength just makes me even more fond of you.” You looked up at him and nodded your head with a hint of tears in your eyes.

“Evan is the oldest.” You started as you lit up the screen again and laid your phone flat on the table. “He is my trouble maker. That little man can get into everything and anything in the blink of an eye. Then Luca is next. He’s my little miracle; I almost lost him twice in the NICU but he is such a fighter. I can’t tell you how many times people said I should have terminated him because he has Down syndrome. But he has taught me… so much more than any school or any thing could just in this last year, and he continues to teach me more every day. Theo, then Thomas are next. I don’t think they look anything alike…”

“Really?” Mark asked incredulously. “See they look identical to me, here.”

“Photos are a little harder with the two of them for me.” You agreed as you pushed your phone across the table. “I have to take an extra second to really look. But face to face there is no question. They are two completely different personalities. All my boys are so different. And they all give me a run for my money.”

“Boys will do that.” He chuckled as he nodded at the next waiter, who had parmesan pork. “I think I can consider myself an expert and say that, as they get older, they will be even more of a handful.”

“You’re not helping here.” You giggled around a bite and behind your hand.

“You don’t think so? I think I am being extremely helpful.”

“No, now you’re just making me regret that I didn’t keep putting my coat on.”

“Oh, now why would you go and say a mean thing like that?” He asked as he put his hand over his heart. “Darling, that hurts. I thought I was doing so well.”

“Nope. You made it three steps forward and jumped eight back.”

“Bloody hell. I’m gunna have to try even harder, now. I love a challenge.”

——

You were actually pleasantly surprised with how your night went, and you were actually even more surprised that your date, which started at six PM, lasted through, an exorbitant amount of meat, salad, and cheesy bread, two amazing split desserts, and some absolutely amazing conversation. You pulled into the driveway at your house in Arlington at quarter to eleven, and you were only partially surprised to see all of the female half of your extended family waiting up for you.

“No!” You said as you walked through the front door with a shake of your head. “No, I’m not doing this…”

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) you sit down and you talk to us right now.” Your Yaya, Calliope, demanded in Greek as you walked through the front room of the house you grew up in.

“It’s late, Yaya.” You tried before your mom’s twin, your Aunt Selene side stepped in front of you in the kitchen doorway.

“You sit down and you tell us about this man or we will go down and wake those babies up until you talk to us, you hear me?” You sighed at her and rolled your eyes. It was moments like these where you disliked having a big family, because you knew that they would absolutely wake up your boys if you didn’t stop and spill.

“He’s very nice.” You started as you held on to the door frame to take off your heels. “Funny, charming…”

“Did you kiss him?”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Did you sleep with him already?”

“Did he pay for dinner?”

“Was he a gentleman?”

“OK, you guys need to just chill.” You said as you held your hand up and looked at the room of women. “I can’t answer six questions at once, in three different languages, at eleven at night. So here’s the run down. Yes, he paid for dinner. Yes, he was a gentleman. Emma wouldn’t have set it up if he wasn’t. No I didn’t sleep with him, yes, I did kiss him. Yes, he was very good at it. He’s got a British accent, he’s taller than me, he is divorced, he has no kids but wants and loves them, and he works as an attorney for the NSA with Ben.

Now, I’m going to love on my babies, and go to bed because my lovely offspring love nothing more than to wake me up at the asscrack of dawn… sorry Nonna… Yaya…” You apologized as you held your hand up apologetically at your two grandmothers for swearing in front of them. “I love you all, and I will tell you more at family dinner on Sunday. Good night, go home, please. It’s bedtime.” You waved your hand at your aunts and grandmothers on your way to the kitchen, and they started collecting their things as your mother, Zoe, came running up behind you.

“Theo’s still up with your father.” She sighed as she handed you the baby monitor. “He didn’t eat much dinner…”

“Did you try laying him down with Thomas?” You asked as you stopped at the sound proofed basement door.

“He wasn’t having it. He just wanted his Mama.” With a huff, you kissed her cheek, and opened the door.

“Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate it.”

“It was a group effort, baby.” She said as she pat your shoulder. “Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Mommy. Love you.” She repeated the sentiment to you as you stepped on to the landing leading down to the basement, which was your and Emma’s former play room when you were kids and was now the studio apartment you shared with your four babies. You smiled at the older man who was sitting in a Lazy Boy in the middle of the room by the bathroom as he stopped rocking and nodded his head hello at you. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hey… there’s mama, see?” You smiled at your little boy as he picked his head up off your dad’s chest and looked over at you.

“Mama.” Theo choked as he turned and reached out for you with tears in his eyes.

“Oh, little man. Come here.” You dropped your shoes on the carpet and tossed your purse and jacket on your bed so you could take your son from your father.

“His bed time bottle is in the fridge. He didn’t touch it and he ate maybe three raviolis for dinner. I’m going up to bed.”

“Thanks Daddy. I’ll see you in the morning.” He nodded his head, sleepily as he trudged up the stairs, as your current little cry baby buried his face in your throat. “Alright, Theo. You gotta go to sleep, OK? But you can lay with mama for a little while. Only a little while, then you have to go in your bed.”

“No.”

“You can try to tell me no all you want, baby boy but you are gunna go to bed in your own bed tonight. Mama needs her own bed.” You grabbed the green capped bottle from the shelf of the fridge in the small kitchenette that, as a child, you never understood its purpose, but you were really grateful for as an adult. You dropped the bottle in the warmer on the counter and reached back behind your back to unzip your dress with a sigh. Theo protested a bit when you walked over and set him down on your king sized bed by the stairs, and he crawled across the blankets after you when you walked over to your small closet between the four cribs to throw your dress in your hamper and put on PJ’s. He slid off the bed, which was just a mattress and a box spring on the floor for that exact reason, and toddled after you into the bathroom.

“Oh, now we’re just being annoyingly needy.” You sighed when he latched himself on to your leg while you took off your makeup and ran a brush through your hair. Theo simply continued to sniffle until you finished and finally picked him up again. With one final heavy sigh, you grabbed his bottle and flipped off the lights, which didn’t do much since you had night lights all over the room so you could see your boys in the middle of the night.

“Alright, bed time. Bed time.” You let out a relieved breath as you sat down on your bed and leaned back against the wall. Once Theo was settled in your arms with his bottle, you shoved your jacket on the floor and retrieved your phone from your bag before it followed your jacket. You glanced at the screen out of habit, looking at your sweet boy’s smiling faces, and you smiled at the text from Mark from a few minutes before.

— Hope you made it home safe. I had a wonderful time tonight. Look forward to seeing you again.

You unlocked the screen and hit the message with your thumb.

— I had a fantastic time. I’m really glad you convinced me to stay, even if that third glass of wine is making taking care of this needy little boy a little difficult.

You hit the camera icon and flipped the view toward you and your son. You choose not to care that you didn’t have make up or a bra on any more, and took the photo of you and the beautiful, blue eyed little boy laying against your chest.

— Oh the joys of being a mother.

You set the phone down on your thigh and started to hum, hoping that you could get Theo to fall asleep quickly so you could get a couple hours yourself. Your eyes fell closed and your head gently hit the wall behind you, and the small suckling sound your son made mixed in with the sound machine that helped Evan fall asleep better than anything you had tried became your lullaby. You and Theo had both started to drift off, when your phone buzzed on your thigh.

— Oh, poor thing. I hope he goes to bed quickly for you. Sweet dreams, (Y/N). Good night… I’m gunna guess Thomas.

You smirked and glanced down at the finally sleeping little boy in your arms.

— Nope. This is Theo. Good try, though. Good night, sweetheart.

You set your phone down on your pillow and very carefully stood up to put your son to bed. He fussed for a couple seconds when you pulled the abandoned bottle from his hand and laid him down, but he thankfully stayed asleep. After checking the other three babies, you dumped out the remnants of the bottle in the sink, filled it with water, and simply left it to deal with in the morning with the boys breakfast dishes. You were already half asleep when you trudged back over to your bed and you were sound asleep the moment your head hit your pillow.

Part 2

#mark sheppard x reader #The Difference

39 notes · View notes

xenoredux · 4 years

Text

The Legend of Silver Fang - Episode 3: The Soldiers

If you haven’t read episode 2 yet, you can do so here.

As mentioned before, the major story beats and overarching plot are the same. This is written under the supposition that, in fantasy land, this is a mini series with episodes that run about 2 hours in length each.

Some things to be aware of going in:

This story is violent as shit!!! CONTENT WARNING FOR: Animal death, animal injuries, and drowning. This one is exceptionally less violent then the others, but there’s still ungood things in it. Don’t read it if you don’t like dead dogs

I was trying to achieve a decent adaptation that combines the strongest elements of the anime and manga. It will not be precisely like either and will occasionally totally deviate from both

This isn’t meant to be “better” then the canon. It’s just the way I’d go about rewriting the Akakabuto arc if I had that level of ungodly power lol

Character designs made to represent several mentioned characters can be found here, here, here, and here. Others will be left up to the reader’s interpretation. A link to the next episode will also be provided at the end. If a link isn’t available, the next episode just hasn’t been posted yet!

ENJOY MY DOG FANFIC PLS

As the shadowy figure continues howling, the dog pack departs, clearly following some sort of order. They fall in line and take off at breakneck speed, quickly leaving Gin and Daisuke in the dust.

Except not Gin, ackshually, because he's going with them. As Daisuke calls out to him, Gin gallops behind the other dogs. The dogs are super fast as they make like a tree and get the fuck outta there.

But Gin, thanks in large part to his training, easily keeps pace with them. The pack is being lead by the dark fawn dane, and he casts a glance over his shoulder at Gin. A white Saluki at the dane's side mutters about the silver dude trying to roll with them, but the dane assures her the Akita will soon give up. 5 minutes later, the Akita has not given up at all, and this time a mantle dane pipes up about the intrusion on the party's flash triathalon.

The Saluki sighs and says she'll take care of him, and by take care of him she of course means "run headlong into him, smash his forehead with mine, and step on his head when he comes to a halt," which she proceeds to do.

Gin is taken aback by her quickness. Then he's taken aback by how gently she chides him. She softly informs him that only members can run with the pack. They can't be distracted. They're on a mission, possibly one of the most important in Japan's history.

Before Gin can either argue or launch into The History of Japan by Bill Wurtz, he hears Daisuke call to him. The Saluki notices and sighs. She levels with Gin and tells him she's not a fan of mankind, but Gin should go back to his boy. Children always have the chance of being better then their elders.

"You've got a good thing going for you, kid," she says wisely. "Don't throw away the happiness you have." With those words simmering in Gin's mind, she goes and rejoins the collective.

As the Saluki leaves, Daisuke finds Gin, relieved that he's alright. The child tells the dog to follow him home, and despite his desire to follow the others, Gin obeys.

It's nighttime when the boys arrive back. Daisuke's parents launch into a vicious scolding the moment their son enters the house. Gin's never been interested in people's squabbling, so he sits outside, gazing at the massive full moon. His mind wanders as he lets the moonlight wash over him. Fantasies of running alongside the dogs fill his head, as do fantasies of meeting their mysterious leader. He ponders whether or not it all has to remain a fantasy.

After he eats his ice cold dinner, Daisuke goes back outside to buddy up with his pooch. The problem is that no pooch can be found. He's not on the roof, out on the porch, or chilling with his mother. Daisuke slowly becomes worried. Could Gin have run off? Maybe back to the dogs? No, that's not like him.

Turns out Daisuke's slow on the uptake, because Gin totally went back to find the dogs. He's made his way to the forest by now, and though his motivation has yet to leave him, he's never been in the forest by himself. He's quickly coming down with a bad case of the heebie jeebies. His confidence wanes, and he startles at every unfamiliar sound. He also startles when he sees something in the dark suddenly leap out at him.

The something chortles in a most self-absorbed way, and Gin instantly realizes the only thing he's in danger of is being taunted. It's only John. The nosy bastard followed Gin into the woods to see what the deal was. Well, really it's about more then that. John has decided this town ain't big enough for the several dozen of them, so he's come to see what the feral dogs are made of.

The two frenemies are in luck; the wild fidos are just over the nearest hill. John tells Gin he's going to demand the dogs taken them to their leader, and to catch their attention he starts howling as if his life depended on it.

The dogs notice this mostly out of confusion. Most of them haven't seen John before, but the Saluki has. She tells the others not to fuck with this dude - his owner has an adult super soaker and he knows how to use it. Gin offers similar advice to John, detailing how these guys have killed and eaten bears in, like, 5 minutes flat. John teases Gin for being a wuss before descending the hill with bared teeth, clearly in the mood for a tussle. He aims for the dane who's been calling the shots and leaps square in the middle of his back.

The dane barely registers John's weight, easily flinging him off. John returns once more, this time tooth first, and bites into the dane's neck. After some eye rolling and condescending chuckles, the dane flings him off once again.

John pretends with a snide remark that his ego hasn't been dick-kicked while the dane warns him not to step too far outta line if he wants to return home alive. Just as John's about to say something that begins with "Oh yeah?" Gin anxiously tells him to take a look around. Spookily, the rest of the pack had encircled the two.

A youthful voice from atop the hill calls down to someone named Ben, asking who these two clowns are. A French Spaniel mix is the source of the voice, and it seems he's trying to look tougher then he really is. The dane responds to the Spaniel's call with the name Smith, chiding the lad on abandoning his post just to get involved in drama.

Smith drops the tough guy facade with a laugh, assuring Ben that he and his men will return to their post in a moment, but that Ben should consider testing these two. They may be cocky, but they've got spirit. Smith leads his group back to their unseen post and Gin wonders what sorta hazing rituals packs of wild dogs have.

John's had enough of these games. He demands the pack to bring their leader to him stat. Ben ignores his huffing and puffing and says that the pack doesn't have time for this. They're soldiers for Chrissakes, and they need to get back to their commanding officer. But, for fairness' sake, he tells the two that he'll let them come with on two conditions.

The first is the two must agree to be soldiers in their growing army. The second is that to become soldiers, they must prove they're worthy. He states that whoever whoops his ass gets to become Dog Soldiers (2002). John agrees to a fight embarrassingly quickly.

The shepherd and the dane encircle each other for a bit, posturing like nobody's business, until their would-be duel is interrupted by a non-sci-fi UFO. A projectile flies through the air to a chorus of screams.

The object that strikes the ground a second later turns out to be the severed head of one of Smith's gang. Smith and crew quickly double back to Ben's posse with some pretty bad news: OH FUCK ITS MADARA.

A fierce growl precedes a new arrival. It is, in fact, Madara, and she's got blood on her lips. Ben scolds an apologetic Smith for allowing his party to abandon their post. The Saluki rushes forward to avenge the dismembered doggie.

"Cross, stop!" says Ben. The Saluki pauses. Ben reminds her that The Boss doesn't want any more unnecessary casualties. Madara will get the ass kicking she deserves for killing Bazzet here, but not right now. Right now they have business to attend to. The pack scampers off.

John laughs mockingly at the departing party. Clearly these guys are pussies, he figures, because Real Badasses would've avenged their friend instantly. It takes every ounce of Gin's willpower not to tell John to shut up as he dashes after the dogs. He still wants to meet their leader, and he's sure this is the only chance he'll get to do it.

But Gin's not confident he knows where these guys are going. The pack is quickly approaching the edge of a gorge. Wind whistles up from the depths of a fast approaching canyon. The pack doesn't slow down as they advance, seemingly unafraid of the gap they're faced with.

With the stoicism of bored superheros, the entire party makes a leap for it one by one, and every single dog makes it across. Gin screeches to a stop, dumbstruck at how they've managed such a feat. He's never lept a gap like this even once!

The crew notices Gin as he examines the drop downwards. Cross calls out to him not to be stupid. He's not ready for a leap this wide. Ben calls out to Gin that Cross is right because only a dog suited to be a soldier in the Ohu army could manage this jump.

For a moment Gin doesn't seem to be paying attention, instead allowing his ears to wave wildly in the canyon wind as it hits his face. Then, wordlessly, he turns around and begins trotting away. Ben grunts, certain that this'll be the last they see of the silver kid. By now John has managed to catch up too, and he's equally surprised that Gin seems to be giving up the ghost.

But Gin wasn't leaving. He was merely getting some running distance between himself and the cliff's edge. He turns back around as everyone looks on. Memories of his past misadventures with ravines cloud Gin's senses, but only for an instant. Letting go of his doubts, he barrels towards the gorge.

Everyone gasps, certain he won't make it. Even John cries out for him to stop. But Gin's running too fast to stop. He has no choice but to try. And try he does, for he gives the biggest leap of his life the moment he reaches the edge.

Then everyone gasps yet again, because Gin's descending quickly without being anywhere near the other side. John swears aloud, his tough guy facade cracking as his frenemy plummets. Everyone is certain Gin will go the way of 50% of Disney villains, but he doesn't. Instead, the harsh winds from below give the lean little dude an extra push upwards.

As the plot spits openly on physics' face, Gin surfs the invisible wave to the other side, landing further out then any of the other dogs did. Ben praises Gin for his achievement. Gin puffs out his chest and states he's earned his right to meet The Leader, yeah?

Everyone is in agreement that Gin can come with, but first a wee small problem has occurred. Madara wasn't satisfied with just one beheading, so she followed the group so as to slap more heads off more shoulders.

A lone John snarls at her, thinking this will be the perfect time to flex on all the haters who are watching. He takes his own running leap towards her and she promptly smacks him in the ribs hard enough to knock him on his ass. John's too proud to surrender, so he keeps trying to fight as he stumbles around painfully.

Gin can't stand seeing his pigheaded compadre in danger, so he waits for another air current to whoosh its way up and coasts back over to help a brother out. He calls back to the pack that they still owe him one free meet-n-greet with their boss before he goes to stomp in some bear teeth.

Impressed by Gin's loyalty, Ben orders the other dogs to go back over and fight Madara off. After a hearty round of knuckle cracking and leg stretches, everyone literally leaps into battle.

Spooked by the sudden resistance, Madara tucks tail and runs away, a universal gesture meaning Fuck This. Ben tells everyone not to bother following as they've got other business to attend to now, like, for instance, welcoming two new members into their ranks. The dane regains his composure completely and begins initiating the two newbz with some introductions.

He is (obviously) Ben, leader of the first platoon. Cross is his second in command, a title unique to his platoon and bestowed upon her for her especially leet skills. The mantle dane is Great, leader of the second platoon. The scrappy Spaniel mix is Smith, leader of the third platoon. Gin and John share their own names despite having no platoons to speak for.

Ben further explains that the Ohu army is named after the mountain atop which their boss commands them, and that the army itself is made up of 12 different platoons of feral dogs.

Antsy as per ush, Gin asks for the billionth time when they're gonna meet the big boss himself. Ben smiles and lets him know that they're finally, FINALLY heading back to Ohu mountain to meet him. As the pack heads out in earnest, their ears are met with more powerful howls. Gin's spine tingles with anticipation. He has got to meet the dog attached to that voice.

Ben begins leading everyone to the gathering place, certain the CEO of Army Dogs, Inc. has something important to say. Ben's group isn't the only one making its way downtown, though. Several other squadrons are falling in line, coming to a stop at the foot of the forest's broadest mountain. Ben and Friends are tardy to this party, as every other platoon has already arrived.

John hangs back with Gin for a moment. He tells Gin that this is great and all, but he's not into the whole "being part of something bigger then yourself" thing. He wants to be THE big thing. So when he gets a chance to, he's gonna kick the leader's ass and take his name, becoming new leader of all his loyal servants.

Gin thinks this is the dumbest shit he's ever heard and says so as he tries to dissuade John from bouts of idiotic egotism. John ignores him and they both run to join the others.

They regroup just in time to see Ben, Great, and Smith being yelled at by a Doberman Pinscher for being late. The group crumples like guilty children at the mention of a mark on their permanent records as Ben tells General Sniper, the Boss's second in command, to lay off.

Ben says he's the one at fault here because he commanded all three platoons to save some new recruits from a bear attack. He gestures to John and Gin with the assurance that they're worthy fighters and loyal to the cause. John introduces himself with a smug grin and Gin introduces himself with a more down to Earth smile.

Sniper begins huffing and puffing about how it's bad enough Ben brought some up-his-own-ass pretty boy here, but he also brought some kid who's not fully grown yet. What does he think this is, a daycare? When Ben respectfully explains that he wouldn't bring fighters he believed to be incapable, Sniper starts throwing a hissy fit about how Ben's in no position to pull rank, sounding like the sort of bratty kid he's afraid of letting join.

Smith leans over to Gin and whispers for him not to worry, Sniper's just pissy because Ben made a sound decision without his say. Sniper can't stand the idea of Ben being more in charge then him. Truthfully, the general's started to hate Ben, probably because the dane's made a good impression on the leader and Snipey Boy's afraid of having his job stolen.

Gin's about to try faking an understanding of workplace drama when the clouds in the sky shift and send moonlight flowing down over the once unreadable silhouette of the leader.

Gin's breath catches in his throat. He knows that dog. It's his father. It's Riki! He's looking a little rough given the massive scars he's received from his one-off gig as Akakabuto's punching bag, but it's undoubtedly him. His powerful but gentle eyes meet Gin's.

Without thinking, Gin bounds up the mountain to see his father, unable to contain himself. The other dogs gape in horror at his insolence. These others excluding Sniper, that is, because Sniper is overcome with irritation. Not only did Ben bring a kid here, but the boy doesn't even know his place. Gin doesn't notice because he's paying no mind to anything except Riki. He cries out "Father! That's my father!"

Sniper's had enough, and he leaps to beat Gin into submission. As he tussles with Gin, he snaps about how that is NOT the way we act in the army, maggot! Everyone looks on unsure of what to do when Riki speaks, his voice just as booming and powerful as his howls. A well emphasized "Stop" is all it takes to break up the fight and focus all eyes on him. When he has everyone's attention, he continues with "Sniper, that's enough. Show some respect."

As everyone settles, Riki continues. The lad held his own well against the general, which proves him a capable fighter. Further, Riki is flattered that one of his newest recruits would see him as a father figure. He says he regards all his soldiers as his children, and he truly appreciates their devotion. Everyone just kinda takes this and runs with it while John tells Gin that sucking up is for losers.

Gin can't find the right words to explain himself, but he's confident that this dog is Riki. He just can't fathom how his dad has both survived and forgotten who Gin is.

Riki continues on. The dogs gathered here today share a common goal: kill Akakabuto dead. He's ruining the lives of every human in Futago pass and lbr most of the dogs' lives, too. In fact, it seems like the redheaded shithead is trying to establish a stronghold, constantly expanding his territory further and further. This has caused both he and his followers to boldly infringe on human settlements, and now they hold the countryside in an iron grip.

As everyone here knows from experience, bears are like 10x stronger then any individual dog. Even an average pack of dogs would be lucky to down a fully grown brown bear. To fight an army, one needs an army. Problem is that the surrounding neighborhoods have all been stripped of competent fighters. Given this, the plan is now to gather more dogs, experienced ones of varying backgrounds and skillsets, from other parts of the country.

And so Riki is giving every platoon 3 months to gather as many soldiers as they can from all around Japan. The pack is to rejoin here three full moons from now with as many dogs as they can manage, and then everyone will stop the Futago pass menace once and for all.

The crowd of dogs shout adulations, determined to complete their mission. Riki begins dividing the platoons into groups and sending them separate directions to cover more ground. Platoons 1-3 (and by extension, Gin and John) will head south, 4-6 will go north, 7-9 go west, and 10-12 go east.

While the troops leave to find recruits, Riki will remain here, learning about the bears' own army and, if he can manage it, shaving a few off their numbers before the final battle. Everyone will depart at dawn, so they'd better get some shut eye tonight.

In an endearing display of comaraderie, the dogs settle in to sleep by cuddling up beside each other. John and Gin lay beside one another for a moment before John gets up. He gives Gin a gentle nudge to rouse him and tells him he's blowing this popsicle stand. He doesn't wanna lead a buncha people who are dumb enough to think they can down Akakabuto with no fire power. Wars aren't won on good intentions, they're won with guns and shit. He's gonna go home to Hidetoshi to help him instead.

During a lull in conversation, the two hear someone approaching. They quickly pretend to be asleep, snoring loudly and unconvincingly.

It's Riki, come to stare wordlessly at Gin as the hamster wheel that he calls a brain starts spinning. He's not entirely convinced that the kid called him Papa out of flattery. Who IS this kid? Hell, who is HE? Gin knows him as Riki, but Riki himself doesn't even remember his name. All he knows himself as is The Boss.

He doesn't remember his past. He doesn't remember anything before waking up at the bottom of the pit. All he remembers is a seething, incomprehensible hatred for the red backed tyrant. He shakes his head and goes back to his cliff, a shooting star's tail following him in the night sky.

Without anyone's knowledge, two conniving-looking silhouettes have been gazing at both the boss and Gin this whole time. One silhouette belongs to General Sniper, still assmad about the leader backing up a newbie who's still wet behind the ears. The other is his only "friend" and henchdog, a Weimaraner named Hyena.

Sniper thinks aloud that maybe there was some truth to the kid calling the boss his dad. Hyena politely dismisses the idea, saying that all Akitas look the same. It's a good thing it's probably not true, he says, because the boss would surely pass on his position to his own kid instead of Sniper-Sama. Hyena dumbly snorts to himself about how silly the idea is as Sniper sits stewing and staring.

Gin and John stand up. They murmur to each other before approaching Ben. Gin tries to rouse the resting dane, tries to say he's going back to the village but he'll be back in a jiffy, but Ben's out cold. John gets bored of waiting and takes off alone, so Gin just whispers into Ben's ear that he promises to return before following the shepherd.

When the two are out of sight, Ben and Cross lift their heads, having been pretending to sleep this whole time. They were a lot more convincing because they weren't snoring like malfunctioning chainsaws.

Cross tells Ben she believes Gin's telling the truth about being back soon. She figures that he just wants to say goodbye to his boy. Ben teases Cross, suggesting she's gone soft on the human race. She nips at his ear playfully, reminding him that she trusts youngsters more then adults.

She gives a wistful look in Gin's direction, muttering something about how he's likely spent very little time away from his mother. Her eyes glaze over as Ben reaches out to touch her paw. He whispers that she did all she could for her own children, and she lies her head against his shoulder.

As the two bros are heading back to the village, John tells Gin he should stay home with him instead of cavorting around the woods with a bunch of suicidal maniacs. Gin disagrees. John tells Gin that he's just a kid so CLEARLY he's too young to understand that only dumdum morons put their trust in a group.

Gin stops running and tells John that he doesn't care what he thinks, it's better to try instead of standing by while their home is terrorized, and if John can't understand that, then he needn't join the pack anyway.

John stops, taken aback. He looks over his shoulder and meets Gin's glare. His eyes drift over the scars on Gin's forehead as he heaves a sigh. Despite the rocky nature of the two's relationship, John admits aloud that he can't help but respect Gin's conviction.

"Don't let it go to your head or anything," he says, "but there have been a lotta times where you've surprised me. Just come back home in one piece."

Gin nods solemnly before his crinkled brow settles into a warm smile. John chuckles and jokingly tells Gin to have a nice life starving in the wilderness. Gin teases back that he hopes John has an equally nice life sleeping on 300 different dog beds. John half jokes that he'll be too busy killing Akakabuto to rest.

Gin doesn't agree or disagree, but he grows serious for a moment and asks John to take care of Daisuke while he's gone. He knows the boy will be heartbroken when he realizes his dog is missing. John nods and wordlessly disappears into the night.

Gin heads to Daisuke's house and sniffs him out, finding him sleeping in the shed alongside his mother and siblings. He wonders if Daisuke was waiting for him to return home as he pulls a loose blanket over the dozing child. Daisuke stirs momentarily in his sleep, and Gin's face softens. Gin murmurs Daisuke's name when he notices someone sitting up in the corner of the room.

It's his mother Fuji, gazing tiredly but lovingly at him. For a moment, Gin considers telling her everything about the night; about the pack, about the bears, about Riki.

But he doesn't. He just tearfully tells her that he's going away for a while. Fuji opens her mouth as if to speak, but she doesn't. She just smiles weakly at her son. She trusts he'll return one of these days. Gin whispers for his mother to take care of Daisuke while he's away. The young akita turns to leave, suddenly overcome with emotion. It's been such a long time since he's sought connection with his mother, and he fears that he may never get another chance to.

Before he leaves he runs back and leans against her, tears streaming down his muzzle. Fuji licks her son's head for the first time since he was a baby and tells him that whatever he's going to do, she knows he'll do her proud.

Gin flees into the night. He feels like a child again, and not in a good way. His father doesn't recognize him, he's had to leave his mother and boy behind, and, truth be told, part of him is scared that he'll be leaving home for unseen lands with a bunch of strangers. He externalizes the tidal wave of emotions sweeping over him with a howl as he departs his place of birth.

Gin quietly returns to the pack and slips in beside the others, finally settling in to sleep. While he's in la la land, he begins dreaming.

He dreams of fighting the mother bear he killed with Daisuke, only now she's utterly massive. She strikes Gin across the forehead, scarring his face. As the scars bleed, they work through Gin's body, splitting him into four equally sized slices of somehow still-living dog.

He wails as Ben, Cross, and the others materialize behind him, leaping over him and tearing just as easily through the mother bear, turning her to a few dark brown ribbons. The dogs give one last battle cry as Gin is woken by a gentle nudge to his shoulder. It's Cross come to collect him.

It's time to start their journey. And oh what a journey it will be - there's a LOT of running ahead of them. Ben leads the charge as everyone follows behind him. The pack runs over rocky terrain, never halting.

Gin's a disciplined young dogman, but he's also young enough to have trouble containing his curiosity. He breaks out of formation for a moment to examine the trail alongside to road, only doubling back once Ben tsk tsks at him. The sight of the dogs galloping along makes good montage fodder, but GAWD they just keep going and going.

Hyena seems to think the same thing, and he begins bitching audibly about how the journey will be long enough without everyone having to babysit. Great rolls up beside Hyena and, in all his Greatness, tells the whinerbaby that they can always send him back to The General, his own sitter, if he can't nut up and shut up. Hyena buckles instantly, but Gin's overheard his complaints and decides to keep a close eye on the fusspot.

The dogs continue running. They don't pause to sleep all that night, and they continue into the wee hours of the morning. By now they've left Akakabuto's in-progress bear suburbs far behind, instead entering Yamanashi. Kai more specifically.

Cross speaks for everyone when she says that holy shit she's tired can they please rest oh my god. Ben agrees, making believe his lungs aren't fixing to burst, and the pack settles in the shadow of a cliff.

Everyone collapses into a dogpile of panting, wheezing bodies. Even little Gin's muscles ache like the dickens, and he's used to long runs. Ben, still pretending that his legs aren't about to liquefy, tells Gin that it's his duty as the newest recruit to find food for the pack. Gin's feeling a bit overwhelmed by the command when Cross elects to join him. She insists it's not to go easy on him, but more because there's a lot of soldiers to feed. Ben lets the two go.

Gin and Cross start poking around the surrounding forest. It doesn't take Cross long to find and maul a quail, and Gin is very impressed. He asks her if she'd been a hunting dog before, to which she responds politely but in a way that's like WELL DUH.

Cross explains that, like most of the other soldiers, she'd belonged to a hunter back in her day. When Gin asks for a bit more elaboration, Cross's face falls and she changes the subject back to bird slaying. Gin shrugs and then yoinks a bird out the sky.

After a while spent downing a flock of avian idiots, the pack has their fill. Ben lets everyone know that as soon as they're all done eating they've got to get a move. Hyena pipes up and says he doesn't understand why they're out where nobody lives when they're meant to be looking for dogs. Ben condescendingly smiles at him and explains that he doesn't owe Hyena an explanation for anything okey sweaty <333

Great agrees that Hyena sucks ass and all, but he too would like to know what they're doing here. Ben tells everyone all will be revealed shortly, and everyone gets back into, you guessed it, jogging.

Ben leads the pack to a rocky overhang, showing them all a city miles below. The city is Kofu, and it's where Ben was born and raised. He knows the ins and outs of the city and the forest, and he knows from his history here that the city dogs can't compare to an illusive lot who's set up permanent camp in the woods. Gin is about to say that that doesn't actually explain anything tbh before Ben rallies everyone to run again.

Unfortunately the dogs are forced off the path by a massive wild boar barreling towards them. They disband in an effort to get out of its way and the unlucky among them are trampled or, like Gin, flung painfully to the side.

Despite the boar's unwieldy size and propensity to beat strangers without a second thought, it's being followed closely behind by three Kai Ken dogs, all of whom are dwarfed by most of the soldiers but are notably muscular for their height. The tiger-striped trio utilized their gymrat bods to down the boar in moments, and they merrily begin tearing into the beast's corpse while it's still warm.

Everyone is confounded by the triplets, but it's pretty obvious Ben means to recruit them. Ben explains that they're known creatively among local dogs as The Kai Brothers, and they're a devilish sort.

Each brother is, funnily enough, representative of each color the Kai breed comes in: red (light brindle), brown (normal brindle), and black (heavy brindle). Akatora ("red tiger") is the red guy, Chutora ("brown tiger") is the brown one-eared guy, and Kurotora ("black tiger") is the black one-eyed guy. Ben explains that the reason the manlets are so powerful for their size is because they were abandoned at a young age and forced to fend for themselves early on.

This entire introduction has happened no more then 20 feet from the brothers, and they aren't amused at a biography written about them while they're eating. Akatora tells Ben to shut his exposition-hole and get the fuck out of their territory. Smith mutters about the trinity's lack of table manners and Kurotora shows they mean business by knocking Smith on his ass.

Cross tells Ben these guys are assholes not fit for an army, but Ben insists they need their strength. Good to his word, Ben approaches the three and asks them polite as peaches if they'd join his ranks and fight alongside him. Like, as payment for the past.

Before Ben can explain either to the bros or to the audience what he means by "the past", the short kings get pissed and start beating the shit out of him. Chutora says that maybe, just maybe, if Ben defeats them, they'll cut a deal, but nobody has ever defeated them in hand-to-hand (paw-to-paw?) combat before, so the odds aren't great.

Unwilling to watch Ben get his ass handed to him by dogs half his size and twice his temper, Gin joins the fray and catches Kurotora by the tail. Cross also tries to save her doghusband by pile driving Churotora. As the married couple busies themselves with two of the brothers, Gin spends some time taunting Kurotora while leaping around, trying to wear him out.

This doesn't work, as the little black mad lad is too vicious to be reasoned with. Kurotora is offended that another brindle dare turns his fangs against him, and so snaps at Gin. Gin dodges out of the way at the last second and the Kai Ken chomps not into him but into a hunk of bark off of a tree. This forces Gin to acknowledge that he is super fucked if Kurotora bites him.

Gin runs away with Kurotora trailing behind him. Meanwhile, Ben and Cross are dealing with their own hang-ons. Chutora refuses to release Cross's throat no matter how much the comparatively giant woman tosses him around. Ben's got the same issue with Akatora swinging from his scruff.

Ben commands his men to stay back, insisting he and Cross can handle the situation as Cross kinda disagrees by yelling Ben's name. Akatora's onslaught comes to a halt as he rolls the name Ben around in his mind. He swears he's heard it somewhere before.

Gin sprints back to his struggling friends and cannonballs on Chutora, effectively freeing Cross from his piranha grip. Cross scolds Gin for his savior complex and Gin scolds Chutora for beating up on a chick. Chutora and Kurotora are both confused and a touch embarrassed, saying they mistook Cross for a dude with a high voice. Smith coughs awkwardly from the sidelines.

Kurotora goes back to chasing Gin while Chutora questions whether it's more or less misogynistic to hit a woman in this situation. Cross responds to his moral dilemma with her teeth.

Akatora is still clinging to Ben, only releasing his grip to grab softer areas and mock Ben for being the weakest pack leader he's ever met. Ben says he has no desire to harm any of the brothers. Akatora just laughs and continues biting before Ben does something unexpected.

The dane cranes his neck awkwardly to look at the dog biting his belly and says "You really have grown, Little Tiger." Akatora freezes at the words, overcome with an emotion he wasn't aware he could feel.

Akatora releases Ben and stares at him, jaw hanging open. He runs over to Chutora and tells him to hit pause on the brawling. Chutora asks why, but Akatora ignores him and says they need to find Kurotora before it's too late. Only problem is that nobody was paying attention to where he and Gin ran off to, so the pack gets off their asses at long last to go find them.

Kurotora is hunting for his prey beside a pond. The kid ran out of sight and he's definitely cowering somewhere nearby. Unbeknownst to Kurotora, Gin isn't hiding in fear. He's standing above him on a tree branch, the months he spent leaping across houses having paid off.

The Akita jumps down on the Kai Ken, catching the one-eyed hoodlum off guard. The two tumble into the pond where Gin gains the upper hand. Killing two birds with one plot device, Gin utilizes his underwater training to slap Kurotora around under the surface. His opponent is untrained in the art of water boxing, so Kurotora ain't doin' so hot.

But Gin is no murderer, just a violent juvenile delinquent. When Kurotora's been subdued (i.e. passed out from water inhalation), Gin pulls him back out of the pond. While the two were playing splashies, the rest of the dogs have found them, and everyone gazes over Gin's shoulder as he performs CPR (Canine Pondwater Removal) on his waterboarded opponent.

Kurotora vomits up a lot of water and a little fish as he rejoins the land of the living, and he's ready to give Gin proper retribution before Akatora tells him to knock that shit off.

Akatora goes on to explain that they can't kill friends of their former godfather, the man to which they owe their lives. The pack is confused before Akatora elaborates: Ben was a hunting dog who often came to their forest with his master. During one of his last hunts here, the then-infant brothers had been oot and aboot looking for prey when they were attacked by a pine martin. The animal tried to kill them, half-blinding Kurotora in the process, before the great dane came and rescued them.

The dane continued to look after the boys when his master took them in, and he allowed them to head back to the woods when they hit adolescence and could better protect themselves.

The bros apologize to Ben for the whole ass-beating thing, to which the old dog just smiles. Everyone chills out. Gin apologizes for waterlogging Kurotora and Ben and Cross lick one another's wounds. When everyone's made peace, Ben says that he came out here to ask the trio for a favor. Could they pretty please join his platoon in the battle against The Bear Menace?

The Three Stooges say they'd be happy to help Ben with anything, especially if it involves killing something. That said, they have a personal issue with a neighbor they'd like to resolve first, and if Ben would be willing to help that'd be greeeeaaaat.

They explain that a fat bastard named Moss lives nearby with his own pack on a mountain peak called Kasume Dake ("Misty Mountain"). He's got his own army in a way, though they're more like mafioso then soldiers.

Ben thinks it over a moment and asks the three if they think Moss would be willing to lend his own strength to the cause. None of the bros can make any promises, but if given enough "persuasion" (wink wink nudge nudge wiNK WINK) they figure Moss would agree to anything. Otherwise it'd just be nice to be rid of the obese tyrant.

So it's settled. The newest recruits are The Brothers Kai, and the posse's next stop will be Kasume Dake. Everyone takes off running yet again, this time followed by the three brindle brethren. Ben praises Gin for holding his own in battle, to which the younger dog humbly smiles.

The pack continues their trek and everyone is in high spirits except for, curiously, Hyena. The dog is discreetly snorting to himself, a mischievous look spreading across his face.

----------

End of episode 3, which marks the kinda sorta halfway point of this series. This is where things really start amping up plotwise.

Episode 4: The Gang Wars

#ginga #ginga nagareboshi gin #silver fang #hopeanuoli #yoshihiro takahashi #ginga words #rewrite #fanfic

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mikenips · 4 years

Text

Together Now

Fuck. People better start showin’ up soon. Ate the tab too early. Already did my Johnny Thunders makeup. Shirt with a missing sleeve Dylan tore off. And the classic shredded denims around my waist. Even wore a dog collar this time. Jake better have been serious about gettin’ people to dress up. Hope he was able to find one of those oversized greeting cards. Went to three places and couldn’t find one for Brendan. Even rearended someone in the process. Some Vietnam vet that didn’t even bother to take the cig outta his mouth while gettin’ my info. That’s what I need to calm these nerves. A cig. Bought a second pouch in case I start chiefin’ ‘em. That’s how the acid goes.

Take a shot of etizolam. Half dose. Don’t wanna kill the trip. But definitely need to slow it down. Would’ve been fine if I had waited another hour. But wanted to peak during Brendan’s last Toeheads set before dippin’ for the Navy in Rhode Island.

Blink and the living room is startin’ to fill with bodies. Jake’s orange wool hat clashin’ with his costume. “Brendan isn’t here yet is he?”

“Nah.”

“Cool. Pass around this poster board. Have everyone sign a goodbye card for him. Couldn’t find a real card. So we’ll fold it in half. You got any good photos of him?”

Tear the one off the wall. Stimmed out in the cig room at the end of Summerfest. Tape it to the center. Not a bad turn out so far. For a show thrown together in a couple days. Luckily Wednesday is my off day at work. Devil’s Night. Fifteen minutes after start time. Hour after load in was supposed to be. Jake never did clarify what time music was gonna start. Just asked to use Belmont for the occasion.

“We’re on first right?” Chuck says from the front door behind me.

“Yeah. Go ahead up and you can start settin’ up.”

Jake hides the card in the coves upstairs where 208’s gear is already tucked away. KQ adjusts Jordan’s kit. While Owen and Ben plug in amps. Chuck sets a pumpkin on the ground. “PHARMA” scrawled over the front in Sharpie. A large pill bottle with the label torn off next to it. They dip for the front porch for a preshow cig. Cig room already hotboxed by Dee and everyone at Ham House. They do this shit everytime. Just need to step in for a minute. And the second hand smoke smothers the urge for the cig you just rolled up.

Dylan is on the front porch with a sheet over his head. Makin’ everyone guess who the ghost is. Drew and Tina drinkin’ Buzzballs in the kitchen. X’s on their foreheads. “They taste like a flat Four Loko. Not good. But named appropriately.” Pop the empties on the shelf in the kitchen with the memorabilia from after parties and other sets here. Glad people actually wore their costumes.

Everybody’s here and the benzos are makin’ the night extra surreal. Like this night is somethin’ from a dream we all avoided sleepin’ through. The King of the Scene arrives. Different pair than his normal octagon sunglasses over his eyes. Stroh’s already cracked as he walks in. Peter’s upstairs testin’ the projector setup. His hazy visuals on the ceiling and the Peanuts sheets on my mattress propped against the wall. Time to uncork the liter and a half wine bottle.

The feedback whistles from Owen’s cranked amp upstairs. Whistlin’ everyone into the dark bedroom. The neighbors only complain about the noise when the hardcore bands play. So tonight might not be their favorite show. But after this Belmont is closin’ for the season. Gotta clean the bathtub for my landlord’s property inspection next month. Can’t believe I’ve been here for two years now. And averaged a show a month this past year. Couldn’t pick a better closin’ ceremony the King’s departure.

The crowd stands anxiously against the wall as Pharma plows through their first song. Chuck pacin’ around the room with mic in hand. Scoops the pumpkin from the ground as KQ beats the sticks together. One two three. And on the fourth the orange splinters on the blue carpet. Tyriq shoves Joey mid kick as Chuck’s screams clip the speaker. Everyone’s flesh collides. Oozes against each other before slidin’ off the sweat. No amount of AC or open windows able to stop the humidity of body friction. Bones crack and disintegrate to the marrow of our lives. Rail the line and jump in. Bottle in hand. Joey’s skull makin’ contact with the base. Spewin’ a geyser onto the wall from the palm of my hand.

The red wine paints streaks on the white drywall that still stands defiantly against our chaos. Drops run down at a fraction the speed of Owen’s blurred hand makin’ the strings wail. And in ten minutes, the masochistic treatment of our eardrums unfortunately ends. Light flicks on. Showin’ a mess of pumpkin guts. Seeds. And capsules of an unknown drug woven into the carpet by our feet. When did that shit burst? “Nips, you want me to clean this up at the end of the night?” Chuck pants. Red in the face.

“Nah man. It really ties the bedroom together.”

He smiles as Kyle drags his amp from the cove for their set. Shelby adjusting the kit. Walks away as Jake towers into the room. Emptyin’ a Stroh’s into himself. “Thanks for askin’ us to play Jake. Super stoked to get to play a show with Toeheads.”

“Man. Thanks for comin’ here from Florida.”

“Well thanks for acceptin’ us into this. We didn’t know anybody here when we moved out here. But you all made us feel so welcomed into this family.”

Gotta get a cig in before this set. Once 208 starts you’re gribbed in. As tight as the stranglehold Kyle has on the neck of his guitar. The reverb slaps back with the thud of Shelby’s drums. Bouncin’ you from wall to wall. Body to body. Drowns out the thoughts reverberatin’ off the walls of your skull.

He’s gotta have the shoes off every show. Release the hounds! Let the brutalization of instruments begin. The things we do for tone. He mumbles almost incoherently into the mic behind shags of hair. “This next one’s ‘Hotel California.’” Shelby’s tom thumps in the background as Peter’s lights pulse on the walls. Kyle droppin’ to the floor. Body twitchin’ with each crunch of distortion he bends outta the amp. Until it gives out. Forcing a finale from the duo.

“I forgot the tambourine!” Drew yells to Joey.

“Fuck. Should we run down the street to grab it.”

“I got bongos.” Pass ‘em to Drew while the three Toeheads debate their setlist. Gonna play the full EP that drops at midnight. Cassettes from Remove Records comin’ soon.

Grab a beer from the fridge. Drew standin’ in the kitchen. Joint tucked between lips. Greasy hair falls on the shoulders of his bright shirt. Tappin’ the bongos surrounded by women with X’s on their foreheads. “That’s gotta be the most cult leader lookin’ thing I’ve seen in my life.” Joey passes by. Tosses a beer can in the sink. And grabs a plate to set upstairs.

The ceiling and wall covered in shots of the trio performing on the front porch. The same front porch I first spotted Brendan and Jake from at the first show I threw a year ago. Just two goons sittin’ in a red Dodge. Drinkin’ Labatt. Heavy. And the one hidin’ behind octagon shades tells me about this tape label he started. Remove Records. “King of the Scene!” Drew yells perched on the head on top of Joey’s 8x10. Jake cuts his goodbye speech off early. Don’t wanna get too heavy before the heavy music.

The chords crunch under his fingertips. The brass crashes under Brendan’s sticks. Joey gettin’ some futuristic fuzz from the bass. This is the future of garage. Happenin’ right before my dilated pupils. The noise ceases as Jake’s mumbled first line grows into a scream. Then pounds faster. Harder. Sloppier. How can Peter’s camera even handle this noise? “With a knife!”

Standin’ by the stairs the group begins a cover of “Anna (Go to Him.)” The crowd dances with each other. Belts the chorus in unison as the peak takes my brain into this dream. Everybody gathered in this sweaty bedroom. Vibin’ together. What more could you dream of? One last night for all of us to be together. Together right here. Right now. Hidin’ the makeup streakin’ under my eyes in the cig room from Rae and Kyle from the Waterheads.

The group ends the onslaught of feedback. Screeches. Of both instruments and vocal cords. Reverb. Thuds and crashes. Hi-hats through the wall. And every jarring sound your ears dream of bein’ berated by. Joey trades the bass for a second guitar. Yells for a pick. While Jake begs for some noise to stop him from continuin’ a corny speech. It is Devil’s Night after all. Brendan trades his sunglasses for the pair of octagons in his leather jacket while takin’ a bow.

“Burn down Midtown!” From Drew.

“Has anyone seen my wallet?!” From Dee.

“It’s not fuckin’ workin’!” From Joey who can’t rail a line through the humidity. Gives it up before his ode to DMT and a rambunctious cover of “Blew My Mind” to close the set.

“Don’t we have a bunch more?” Joey yells across the room.

“Well some of us working class folk have a job to go to in the morning.” Evan jokes.

“Alright. We’ll do an encore for Brendan’s last ride.” Jake plugs back in. Drew stands in the center of the room. Pulls back up the bongos in sweaty, red hands. “This one’s called ‘Demon House.’

“I’ve been livin’ in a demon house!” None of the notes are distinguishable in the final barrage of sound. But the bodies crash into each other. For one last connection to the King that gave everybody somethin’ to show their parents. I can still hear him behind the bottle of Stroh’s at Painted Lady before we bootlegged the Milk Bath gig at Outer Limits. “Just somethin’ to say ‘you guys might not be into this. But somebody out there thinks it means somethin’.’”

As the party filters out, Jordan video calls me on Snapchat to say goodbye to Brendan before he sets sail. Says the broken hi-hat stand was the least he could offer in return to the King of the Scene. Joey spills the bottle of wine next to me. Looks up from rollin’ around on the floor. “That’s the difference between me and Jay Retard. I know when not to break shit.” The words fill the holes the acid burns into my brain as he dips to prep Ham House for the after party. Leavin’ his shoes behind. The picture of me and him in his underwear will surface in a few days but doesn’t help fill the gaps in the night.

Sittin’ next to me, Brendan dents a Stroh’s can in his hand. Hood over his head. But no octagons to hide the tears in his eyes. “It’s just… For the first time… I feel like I finally got a family. And now that I have that feeling. I gotta leave my home behind. Over a mistake I enlisted in months ago.” He sniffles and kills the can. Somethin’ about the way that last drop of beer hits makes you puke it all up. “And I don’t know how long until I’ll be able to get back to that feeling.”

“But that’s the beauty of it.” Take a swig from the remains of the wine bottle. “No matter what happens now. You got the security of family. We’re all still gonna be here. And whenever you get back, the empty space you left will still be here for you. Ya know now no matter what you always got a family somewhere. Forever. Maybe the scene ends. Maybe Joey moves somewhere like New Mexico or some shit. Maybe I finally clean the bathtub like my landlord and Jake keep askin’. But no matter where any of us are or what’s different. You’ll always be able to show up and have people and a place where you belong. No matter where we are we’re all together now.”

One by one people nod to sleep at Ham House. People find their way back to their beds. And don’t have to dream about a home. Cause they got a place to be free. Like Manson sang about. Brendan hugs me goodbye. And I find my way to the after hours where my friend Josh asks sincerely if I’m doin’ alright tonight. Cause he knows it’s not just the acid and benzos makin’ everything feel surreal. But at least when I get home. There’s a pair of octagon glasses in the explosion of pumpkin seeds and prescription strength anti-inflammatories. I’ll end up losing ‘em in a few months. Life’s cruel that way. Even all the shit that means somethin’ to us will pass. But at least we got it together now.

#hail the riff #grown up fucked up #toeheads #belmont house #pharma #208 #vague glimpses of beauty #remove records #detroit garage rock #detroit diy #a vibe

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