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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

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the girl in purple (1/8) | r.b.

summary: In his mind, you’re wearing the white blouse and long purple skirt again, long riding boots covering dark pants, innocent smile on your face as you wait for him in the noon sunlight. Or, four years ago, Bertholdt asked for a favour and you said yes.

WARNINGS: swearing, ass jokes, flashbacks and flashforwards, mostly fluff and banter, pining and angst at the end, bertholdt is our soft best friend <3 pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 5.0k

a/n: pt 1 of 8 of a birthday present for the legend, the icon, the bad bitch herself, ISABEL!!@!@!@ @luciilferss ALSO, song not mine! it’s the sea shanty called wellerman.

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

You sigh, wiping the back of your hand before grabbing the next hay bale that needed to be lifted to the loft. Your back aching, you grit your teeth as you lug it towards the ladder. It’s the last one and after a sweaty afternoon, you just want to get into bed. Hopefully Annie did end up getting you supper—you had to work through it just so Shadis didn’t get your ass up tomorrow to finish the job.

“Here, let me help.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, glancing to see your savior and a warmth shoots through your body when you realize it’s Bertholdt. “You know if Shadis catches you helping me, it’s going to be hell to pay, right?” The boy smiles, shrugging, and you can’t help your own grin as he gestures for you to climb up. Skirting up the ladder, you turn around to take the hay bale and pushing it towards the corner before jumping down and dusting off your hands. Stable clean-up is never fun, but with autumn right around the corner, they all want to get a head start before the chill sets in.

“I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“I knew there had to be a reason you were in here,” you tease. “Shoot.”

“Well, we have visiting privileges next weekend,” Bertholdt continues as you walk around the stables, picking up tools as you make your way towards where the broom is leaning against the wall. The tall boy ambles after you and you shoot him an amused look, curiosity pricking at your fingers.

Half-way through their training in the corps, and Bertholdt still manages to keep you guessing. You don’t know what it is about him, but your friend’s always been the quiet one. It’s part of why you like being around him, but you just wish his friend liked you. Annie seems more than fine with you.

Reiner, on the other hand, can barely even look at you. It’s a real downer.

“I was just wondering…”

“You should ask Annie,” you cut off before he can finish, picking up the broom to begin sweeping the stray hay into a neat pile. Bertholdt’s spine goes ramrod straight and his cheeks redden so intensely you can’t help but laugh. “I’m pretty sure she would say yes. You guys are friends, right?”

“Yes, but we’re—we’re not—why would I ask Annie, specifically?” he stammers. The horses neigh as you walk past, their necks stretching out for treats but you ignore them, heading for the entrance. “She could go with a bunch of other people.”

“Yeah, but she always goes with me.” Glancing at Bertholdt, your eyes narrow when he smacks his forehead, covering his flustered expression miserably. Poking him in the gut with the handle of your broom, you continue, “And she only likes a few people here. You’re one of them, Bertl.”

“Well, if you think so. I mean, you’re her dorm mate, not me, so… argh!” he groans as you walk past him, sweeping. “You’re not helping!”

“Helping with what?” you ask innocently, not paying him a second look. You hear him let out a sigh as you brush hay to the back of the stables. “You’re the one who wanted a favour.”

“Yeah, and I still need to tell you.”

“Literally no one’s stopping you, Bertholdt.” Another resigned sigh. “Okay. Okay. Ask me. I promise I won’t tease you for the next ten minutes.” Turning around, you rest your broom against the post between two stalls. A horse nudges at your face and you scratch the stallion’s chin as Bertholdt walks closer. His eyes inspect your own expression, searching for trickery, but you only grin.

Then, he drops his crossed arms and says, “Someone wants to ask you out next weekend for our visit to Trost.”

“Er, okay? Why didn’t they just ask me themselves?” Crossing your own arms, you lean against the post, the lantern hanging above your head and casting everything in a warm glow. It softens Bertholdt’s smile as he shrugs mischievously. “Who was it?”

“Reiner.”

“Reiner?” His name is punched out of you, sharp with shock, and your broom slides off the post, clattering to the floor between the two cadets as you stare at Bertholdt.

“Mhm?”

“Reiner Braun.”

“Yep.”

“We know the same one, don’t we?”

“Blond, makes ass jokes, this tall?” he shoots back, raising a hand that comes just near his ear. You nod. “Yeah.”

“But he hates me.”

“What? No, he doesn’t. Why would you think that?” Bertholdt’s eyebrows knit together and you stare at him incredulously, not sure if he’s joking or not. Shaking your head, you let out a scoff and bend down to pick up your broom to continue your sweeping. Mind a swirl, you try to reconcile the Reiner, who has never said more to you than ‘pass the grease’ during ODM maintenance and ‘you have dirt on your chin’ after forest exercises, with the Reiner who had to ask Bertholdt to ask you out for him.

Sounds fake, but you digress.

“Okay,” you drawl, unable to help the disbelief from creeping into your voice. “This was a good attempt at a joke, but you need to try harder next time.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Why would I ever believe you?”

“Because I would never li—make something up like that,” he says, correcting himself, and you send him a strange look. “Just… when we get to Trost, you know that bakery that sells the stuffed cream buns. The one you mentioned before?”

“Yeah. Annie likes them,” you inform him pointedly, and Bertholdt’s mouth drops open to argue but he seems to think better of it this time.

“Yes, that one.” Fighting a furious blush on his cheeks, he continues, “If you’re there at noon, you’ll see I’m not lying.”

“And if I’m not there?”

“Reiner will be very sad for the rest of his life,” Bertholdt declares and you can’t help your serious expression from sliding off. “Will you please just consider it?”

Staring at your friend, you study his expression. It’s completely genuine, open, eyes wide and you feel a part of you melting at how adorable he is. For such a tall guy, he’s so goddamn gentle it blows your mind he’s a fighter. You can’t see him hurting even so much as a fly.

It’s for that reason you relent. Because Bertholdt’s never gone out of his way to scheme your downfall. He doesn’t have that in him. “Fine,” you say after a moment. “Fine, I’ll consider it.”

When Reiner steps back into the port city, he can’t help but think what he always thinks when he gets off a battlefield. Four years, and every thought is the same. Routine, almost. Or maybe, a habit to keep something alive.

And he almost takes comfort in it. That you would’ve loved it here. In Marley—Liberio, or otherwise. There are so many kinds of sweets, pastries, so many sights to see—the water stretches on for miles and miles, and you could’ve tried seafood. Maybe you would’ve liked it.

You never tried seafood. He promised. He promised—

Fucking hell.

He steps out of the barracks, insides twisting into a tight knot as the sun blinds him. Lifting a hand, he squints and blinks, trying to get used to the brightness as people pass him by. Galliard’s voice trails after him like a ghost, and he scowls to himself, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He feels like he hasn’t slept a wink, and his body aches in places so deep he can’t rub it out.

“I saw you through her memories. You acted like the tough, reliable type. Not at all like yourself. And you were with that girl. Who was she to you, anyway, Reiner? Because my brother would have never cozied up with the enemy.”

Cozied up with the enemy. It’s as much as implying fraternization as anything and Reiner had barely chained back the words that would’ve torn both him and Galliard to shreds.

Don’t you fucking dare reduce her to just some promise I broke ever again. It stopped meaning something to me years ago.

Shaking his head free of Galliard’s voice, an image of you flashes through his mind to replace it and the urge to send a fist into his own face lances down his arm, but he barely restrains himself from doing so. Instead, he tightens his hand until his nails dig into his palm.

You’re always the one thing he can’t shake, nor does he think he wants to.

Hollow, his feet drag his battered body towards the harbour.

As he walks along the water, he hear some of the fishermen whistle and sing their shanties. It takes him a moment to recognize they’re all singing the same song, and he’s thrown back to when he came to the port the first time he was to go off to Paradis, how he committed the shanties to memory so he could take something with him to what was supposed to be an Island of Devils.

It makes his entire body ache, the uplifting tune filling his body up until he can’t possibly breathe. The way the sailors all sing together, smiling at each other—the camaraderie.

“Soon may the Wellerman come, to bring us sugar and tea and rum, one day when the toungin’ is done, we’ll take our leave and go…”

He misses that the most.

The sun is hanging in the centre of the sky as you glance from your plate to your surroundings. The fountain is full of life, people milling around the edges, tossing coins in and making wishes, and you hide a smile behind your hand when you watch a group of kids trying to flick their coins to the top most basin of the structure. The tiny plink-plink is barely heard, but either way, their groans of disappointment are far more amusing.

It helps pass the time at least, while you waste away your afternoon waiting for someone you’re not even sure will come. Dressed in a white blouse tucked into a long dark purple skirt that covers your pants, you cross one leg over the other as you wait.

You don’t even know why you’re here. Bertholdt had all but avoided your questions for the past week, and Annie didn’t budge, although, it’s harder for the blonde to slip. Being bunkmates helps, but not that much.

You keep people-watching, glancing up at the sky occasionally to see if any birds pass over, your bread untouched. Glancing up and down the street, you rest your chin glumly on the palm of your hand, elbow resting on the table.

No pretty blond head in sight.

Groaning, you lift your head when one of the waiters approaches, asking if you wanted anything more. You shake your head, a warmth spreading over your face and watching him go when a shadow falls over your table.

“Oh, you got something to eat already.”

Head jerking to the voice, you look up in surprise at whoever’s blocking your sunlight. Standing upright, your chair clatters against cobblestone as you clear your throat.

“You’re actually here,” you blurt out to both of their surprise and Reiner rocks back on his heels, running a hand through his short hair. His eyebrows struggle to meet his hairline and he smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry I’m late. Uh, sit down. I just… got lost.” You sink back into your chair and he takes the seat down across from yours nervously. He’s dressed in a pale green button up and darker slacks, but for once, he’s not scowling at you and you offer a slight smile. “How… how are you?”

“I’m okay. Slow morning.” He nods. You glance at your plate and nudge it towards him awkwardly. “I got it for you. It’s my favourite. I dunno what Bertl told you about me, or… why I’m even here, honestly.”

He picks up the bun tentatively, and you look down at your boots as he takes a bite, too nervous to watch his reaction.

What if he hates sweet things? What if he can’t drink cow milk? Don’t you remember? What if it makes him shit his pants—

“Oh, wow. I need to come to this place more often,” Reiner mumbles, taking another huge bite and your gaze flits to his face as he chews. His eyes are focused solely on the bun in a way that reminds you a lot like Sasha, and the corner of your mouth pulls into a pleased hint of a smile. “This is heaven…”

“You like it?”

A noise escapes the blond and eyes jerk to meets yours as if he just remembered you were there and you tear your eyes away, clasping your hands together on the table. You close your eyes. Can the embarrassment just swallow you up already?

Reiner clears his throat, taking the cup of water left out for him after a quick point and your nod. He drains it to buy them both time, and your thumbs rub together. If you just walk away now, would it be too bad? You could probably find Annie or Jean pretty easily. Bertholdt’s probably just exploring the city with… if you had to hazard a guess, maybe Armin? They both like the architecture—stuff like that.

Honestly, you have no idea.

Porcelain rests against wood as Reiner nods. “I do. I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.”

“Er, yeah. Since I was a kid. We didn’t have much, uh, variety, so stuff like this was kinda a delicacy. I grew up at this orphanage where we worked the fields.” You shift in your seat as Reiner continues to eat, and you sigh silently to yourself. Why did you give up an afternoon looking at paint supplies with Jean for an awkward date like this?

Wait, this is a date right? That’s what Bertholdt said. Ask you out. Those were his words, right?

“Where are you from?”

“Just inside Wall Maria, so when Shiganshina was breached, we had more time to move inward,” you explain briefly. “But we mostly ate what we grew for crops. I mean, it’s not like we could buy cream buns every day, you know?” Reiner nodded silently, and you give him an uneasy smile, feeling the need to elaborate. “Ever since we joined the corps, they send me money for birthdays and stuff. I don’t know.” You clear your throat. “Anyway, I just thought you might like the bun.”

“Even though you think I hate you?”

“Wha—“ A strangled noise comes out of your mouth. “Who told you that?”

“Why would you think that, anyway?”

“Because all you do is glare at me,” you say pointedly. Crossing your arms over your chest, you shoot him a narrowed look. “And scowl. And you generally avoid being anywhere near me. I mean, do I stink to you or something, Braun, because I have news for you—“

“I don’t hate you. I actually really like you,” he tells you bluntly, cutting your rant in half, and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Reiner looks down at the empty plate, crossing his own arms and leaning forward on them.

“Y-you like me?” you stammer and his cheeks redden.

“I mean, if Annie likes someone, I’m inclined to believe that they’re worth my time.”

Frowning, your shoulders slump. Gears turning, your expression scrunches up as you think aloud. “But, you asked Bertholdt to ask me out for you. Unless this is a dumb dare—wait.” You sit upright, twisting around to see if any of the other boys are milling around the plaza. Scanning for brown hair, or grey hair, or even blond hair, your cheeks begin to burn at the idea that someone’s watching you embarrass yourself but a hand on your elbow brings your gaze reeling back to Reiner.

A smile curls his lips impishly, but his eyes are resolute, calmer. Even still, he looks like he’s trying to fight a small panic rising up inside him, just like you are as he tells you to relax.

“This isn’t a dare,” he says. “I’m not that cruel.”

“I’ve seen you do worse to Titan dummies.”

“Exactly. I just wanted to get to know you better. Bertholdt offered to help me out since you guys are already friends, and I thought what the hell.”

You turn that explanation over in your head tentatively and a part of you recognizes it makes sense. Despite your hesitation, you know you only said yes because it was Bertholdt who asked you.

Otherwise, how inclined were you to say yes if it had been Reiner stalking up to you and asking you to hang out in Trost? How likely would it have been that you would be sitting here instead of walking along the stalls with Sasha and Connie?

“I’m kinda ashamed I don’t know you that well,” Reiner continues, fighting off tones you can’t decipher laced in his voice. Your brow furrows. “But I want to fix that, if you’d let me.”

Dazedly, you repeat, “Fix… that?”

He nods and you simply stare at him, trying to get your mouth to work. It’s like he stole all the words from your mouth and time seems to slow as your lips part.

Absently, you realize his hand is still touching your elbow, fingers firm but not tight, and you swallow, studying his expression. Golden light plays on his face, sharpening the shadows of his nose and cheeks and lips, and yet everything about him seems to soften. Normally, you see him as hard rigid lines, like the shape of armour, and there is always an imposing aura around him that has become more muted now that he’s sitting beside you.

And you believe it. That he doesn’t hate you.

Maybe he really, really doesn’t, and you’d be an idiot if you don’t take up the offer.

So you stand up abruptly, and pull your arm out of his grip before slipping your hand into his.

“Fine,” you annouce, pulling him up. His eyes widen and you lead him away from the café with a small grin to yourself. A new plan begins to formulate in your mind as they step into the welcoming sun. Reiner’s long strides catch up to yours and he falls into step beside you. His stare burns into your cheek and you only tighten your grip on his hand as you lift your chin haughtily at him. “What do you say to a game of twenty questions?”

His eyebrows shoot up, but then a smug smile pulls at his mouth and he squeezes your hand back. “Sounds perfect, creampie. I promise, I’ll be perfectly honest.”

“Creampie?” you repeat dumbly, eyebrows shooting up and a horrible burning licking at your heart. Reiner gives you a vulgar smile and you let go of his hand, shaking your head and smacking his arm before looking down at the ground. Half of you wishes the ground would open up and swallow you whole—the other half thinks you’ll die of embarrassment before that. “How do you even know what that is?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You straighten up, spine straight as an arrow. Flustered, you stutter, “That’s none of your business.”

He tilts his head back and laughs. “Guess that was your first question, then, huh? Bold start. Surprised me, too, creampie, so that gets you bonus points.”

“What? Wait—no! That doesn’t count!”

Walking past the hospital every day, it feels almost ritual to look past the gates and into the courtyard. Sometimes there are patients milling around, doing their daily physical activity, or nurses and other workers walking through to get a break from all the depressing shit that must be going on in there, and Reiner always, always, wonders if he should be in there with the rest of them.

It’s why he turns his head on reflex now, peering through iron-wrought gates. No one’s inside except for a pair walking through the path and he stops for a moment, watching.

One of them is most definitely a woman, a hat covering her head and a long coat the shade of plums. A white Eldian armband is stark against the shade of her clothes. Meanwhile the other looks like he’s been dragged through hell. With one leg, he hobbles along with his crutch, black hair streaming past his shoulders, and he’s ragged, white shirt kind of messy from where Reiner stands. The Eldian armband is wrapped tight along his bicep. But he stands straight-back, shoulders set, the gait of a soldier. Pride keeps him up, not strength.

He’s too far away to hear them speak, and they stick to the shadows of the hospital, but after a short moment, the woman wraps an arm around the one not desperately holding onto the crutch, leaning in closer towards the man as if he has the most riveting thing to say.

For a moment, it is not a woman in a purple jacket and a veteran with one leg but two cadets walking the streets of Trost, sunlight shining down on them warmly. The blond boy leans to listen to the girl beside him, smiling until he thought his cheeks would fall off.

“This is your last question, Reiner. Make it count.”

“Hm… alright, if you could do anything in the world, anything at all, what would you do? No Titans, no soldiers. Let’s say there was no war at all and you had unlimited resources, yadda, yadda, yadda…”

“Oh? Hm… I’d want to live where there’s a lot of water. Like a lake or something. I’d get to try all these foods I’ve never thought of before, and I’d, uh… I don’t know what I’d do for money. I guess I’d figure it out somehow.”

“Chopping down wood sounds fun.”

“Yeah, right! I’d rather chop my fingers off. Hm… Maybe I could raise some kids, like I was raised. Give them a home.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I dunno. I like being responsible for things. It makes me feel like I’m needed, I guess. I don’t want a kid to grow up lonely like I did.”

“That… that sounds nice.”

“You could visit, you know. As long as you chop the firewood.”

Reiner blinks, and the two are gone. Not a hint of them are in sight, and a soft breath slips out between his lips. He must’ve been seeing things.

Shaking his head to himself, he turns away.

The past year and a half has been turbulent since you became friends with Reiner, but for some reason, you don’t think you would change the thing.

Not even when Connie would come at ghastly hours in the morning because “CAN YOU PLEASE TELL REINER TO STOP SNORING? We would but we’re too afraid of being crushed by the weight of his entire body. Thank you! You’re the best, seriously.”

Or when they’re studying and Reiner makes one too many jokes about how he could fuck a Titan, despite Bertholdt’s resigned sighs and you throwing a book at him, and it only gets you, “Keep acting like that and I’ll take a bite out of your juicy ass next, creampie,” and a heat that kisses at your face.

Not even after reclaiming Trost and losing yourself in his arms.

You feel something inside you shatter as the smell of ash tickles at your nose. Walking past the combat medics base they set up for the parameter of the recovery effort, you don’t even look up at any of your friends still left as you walk past. Your entire body burns from the aftermath of Trost, and you wonder if you’ll be able to even get up in the morning as you limp over to a secluded alleyway and lean against the stone.

You don’t know if you’ve ever fought for that long or hard in your life, and you can’t feel your legs anymore as you sink to the floor.

Too many bodies. There are too many bodies.

“Hey.”

Looking up, you pull your mask down when Reiner stands before you. Tearing the fabric off your neck, you draw your knees up and rest your arms on top of them, the mask hanging off your fingers limply. A strange relieving wave washes over you to know he’s still here, even surrounded by so much death.

“Hi,” you murmur. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” he agrees simply, leaning in beside you and sliding down. Their knees knock into one another as he tugs his own mask down. Sweat glistens along his skin and his sleeves are rolled up as he clears his throat. “I’m glad you made it out.”

You smile faintly at him but it flickers out before it can find a place on your face. Looking at your hands, you imagine the rough skin of calluses forming on your palms still and you wish you could rip your gloves off but every part of you is too exhausted to move now. Softly, you tell him, “I’m glad you made it out, too. There are a few of us I haven’t really caught sight of. I know Eren’s squad is dead. I—“ you stop yourself. No way Reiner is interested in the fact that you had taken their deaths in stride because you had to in the moment and now you don’t think you can feel at all— “but… Marco. I haven’t seen him in days. Jean hasn’t seen him either.”

“M-Marco?” Reiner whispers and your eyes lift to look at him. “You haven’t found him yet?” Gaze widening at the colour draining from Reiner’s face, your stomach flips and a dread fills your entire being as you sit upright, your legs sliding down, your arms falling to the ground to prop yourself up. Lungs tightening, your lips part as if to form his name but no sound comes out.

You know what his silence means. His silence is death spelt out in glaring red letters—the same shade as blood.

But Marco?

Why Marco? A caustic voice screams inside you and your nails dig into the cobblestone as Reiner turns his face away, jaw clenching. Trying to breathe, the air stalls in your throat and your gut clenches as your gaze drifts to the street full of combat medics and doctors, other soldiers who still walk. What—what do you mean Marco isn’t one of them? You want to grab Reiner by the jacket, shake him until he makes sense, but instead you search for freckles behind every mask, stumbling to your feet. Marco never did anything wrong. He was supposed to join the MPs. He was our… our leader. He never did anything wrong.

He never did anything wrong. Never. Never. Not Marco. It can’t be. The thought tumbles through your head as you push yourself to your feet but your knees nearly give in on the first step and you stumble to the other side of the alleyway with a harsh noise. Shoulder crashing into the stone, your eyes squeeze tight and hot tears pour down your face as you clench your teeth, trying to chain back the sob that’s working through your body. Head hanging, your mouth pries open as an ugly moan comes out of you, so deep inside you that you want to crumble.

Days seem to pile onto your shoulders until you think your bones will break and your fingers curl into tight fists as you try to stop the tears from falling, but they keep coming, tracing your nose, pushing everywhere and everything is so hot. Shit, you can’t even breathe—

Hands take your shoulders and you let out a ferocious scream, thrashing yourself out of your grip but fingers only slide to your biceps, pulling you away from the wall as your boots slip against the cobblestone and then hands are on your wrists, pushing away your blind fists.

“Let me go! He’s dead, isn’t he?” you scream as he lets go of you for just a second to wrap his arms around you and you let out a shuddering breath as he crushes you in his embrace. “Reiner! Tell me! Marco’s dead!”

“Yes! Yes, he is!”

His words spear through your skull, sending electricity down your spine and your entire body goes limp as he collapses to his knees, you with him. Your arms at your side, your eyes blink open and you feel fresh tears fall down your face as he cups the back of your head, holding you to him and as something wet seeps into your shoulder, it’s as if you are set on fire.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

On their own accord, your arms come up under his and fingers hook onto his shoulders. Chest to chest, you swear your heart beats in a mournful beat with his, and his entire body collapses against yours. Eyes closing, you press yourself closer, hoping that the heat of his body will chase away the cold that’s rapidly spreading through your body.

Reiner’s arm around your waist tightens. You swallow hard against his shoulder.

“Please forgive me,” he whispers against your neck, wet cheek pressing against your jaw, and your chest stutters as you try to remember how to breathe.

“Reiner…”

You barely breathe his name. It only makes him curl tighter against you.

Liberio is colder at night than he remembers. He has to pull the blankets up to his chin, and still, he shivers.

Rolling onto his side, he can nearly imagine you staring back beside him, smiling, hand reaching to touch his face, and his eyes flutter shut when your fingers seem to pass through his cheek.

In his mind, you’re wearing the white blouse and long purple skirt again, long riding boots covering dark pants, innocent smile on your face as you wait for him in the noon sunlight.

By then, he had known there weren’t any devils on Paradis, but he’d never seen an angel until he saw you cast in gold.

302 notes · View notes

writerofblocks · 3 years

Note

*sneaks this in* Bridget/Troy - things you said with no space between us (or) things you didn’t say at all

This was. From a long ass time ago. BUT ITS FINISHED NOW SO IM POSTING IT.

Sleepless in Stilwater

“Three.”

“Hmm?”

Troy held up three fingers. “That’s the third time you’ve yawned in as many minutes. And I’d be okay with that if you weren’t, you know, doin’ seventy on a forty-five mile an hour highway.”

Bridget broke eye contact with the road long enough to give him a sidelong glare that would wither a lesser man. “I’m not the only one doing their best Fast and the Furious impression out there,” she irritably shot back. A sports car rushed past them with an ear splitting squeal that made Troy jump, and she gestured at it. “See?”

Troy sunk back into the leather seat of the [insert car model here], returning her glare with one of his own. “That’s not the point and you know it. The point is I’d rather not end up a red smear on the pavement because my wheel man fell asleep at the goddamn wheel.”

“Oh, is that all I-” Her mouth cracked open into another face-splitting yawn; she barely managed to hide it behind her hand. “-all I am to you? Your wheel man?”

“Four. And don’t give me that crap, you’re the one that called dibs on driving.”

“I only called dibs cause you drive like a grandma on a broken scooter.”

“You mean I drive the speed limit.”

Bridget ignored him. “Besides,” she said, swerving around a semi-truck sharp enough to make him grab at the handle above the passenger window, “I’ve got places to be after this. Julius called me about a-” she let out another yawn. “-about a storage place, said the Rollerz keep their best wheels there.”

A smirk crossed Troy’s face. He waited until Bridget’s attention was on him before he held up five fingers and wiggled them. It was worth it to see the way her eyebrows dropped into a sharp V before she jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

“Don’t need to say anything.”

The one finger swiftly flipped upward into giving him the bird as she returned her attention to the highway. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the highway this second,” she growled, though a smile playing at the corners of her lips undercut the hostile tone.

Troy chuckled, then settled back in his seat enough to look out the car window. Stilwater was a shithole on a good day, but the oranges, purples, and blues of sunset colored the world into something more palpable to take in. Light bounced off the towering buildings of Downtown, harsh edges and cold, reflective glass softening under the gentle touch of twilight. But you could only watch buildings whiz by for so long. His gaze, as it so often did in these rare quiet moments, returned to her.

As much as he bitched about it, there was one thing he didn’t mind about Bridget being the go-to driver. It allowed him time to just… take her in. Look openly, without other people seeing and giving him crap for being lovestruck. Without her giving him crap for being lovestruck, because even after the months they’ve been together she still shied away from open affection more often than not. She cuts the sentiment with a joke, or by teasing him, or some combination of both. He doesn’t mind it- he wonders sometimes if he’s a glutton for punishment, given his career path and choice of romantic partner, but he doesn’t mind being so. Not with her around.

So he looks at her. The way her eyelids keep fluttering slightly, only for her to stubbornly hold them back open. The dark circles he’d think were black eyes if they weren’t only on her lower eyelids. She’s tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, jiggling the leg not in charge of the pedals. Any motion to tell her body it isn’t time to sleep yet. He’d make a joke about looking in a mirror if seeing it didn’t bother him so much.

That was the downside of being undercover. You got real good at seeing things people tried to hide. He had to say something. He opened his mouth, and...

“For real, though. You look like shit. Have you slept at all?”

And of course something stupid came out. Miracle of miracles, she scoffed instead of chucking him onto the highway. “Bold move to question my sleeping habits. How many used coffee mugs are on your desk again?”

Troy chose to ignore her words. “Look man, just-” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “-go home. Take a shower or something. Get some food. You need a break, Bridge.”

Bridget’s face was impassive, staring straight forward as she shifted the car into the express lane. “Can’t. Julius-”

Enough of this. “Did he tell you to do it tonight?” he asked, cutting her off before she could restate whatever bullshit task Julius had given her to do on top of everything else he’d piled on her. For fuck’s sake, sometimes it felt like she was carrying the whole gang by herself in between the tasks Julius sent down the pipeline and the duties she’d taken on herself to perform.

The glare she gave him could melt permafrost. “No.”

“Then do it tomorrow when you’re fresh.”

“I’m fresh enough,” she bit out. “You’re worrying way too much-”

The words burst from his chest before he could vet them. “I’m worrying the right goddamned amount for someone watching a person he cares about take way more shit on than she needs to.”

Bridget’s eyes went wide, whatever she’d been about to say dying in her open mouth.

Troy ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if this is some macho attempt to prove yourself or some shit, but you don’t have to do this. Slow down. Take care of yourself. Just- please.”

She was quiet for several minutes, eyes locked on the road as she slowed to match the speed of traffic. He’d almost given up on getting a response before she spoke again. “I won’t go to the storage place tonight. It’s-” She swallowed. “It’s late. Rollerz’ll be getting the cars out for races by now, there’s bound to be way more hanging around than during the day.”

He knows those justifications. Her saying he’s right without saying it directly. When she spoke again, her voice was careful. “Got anything else going on later?”

Manila folders scattered across a coffee table, a rapidly growing pile of cigarette stubs as he figures out the best way to ruin his friend’s lives-

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

When Bridget had first joined the Saints, Troy had thought her unreadable. It was easier now to read her once he knew what to look for. Her rubbing her thumb against the side of her index finger- something self soothing. Bouncing her leg- buying time to think. The lift of her head to look at him directly- she was searching him, weighing his reaction. “Feel like staying over?”

Always. “If you want me to.”

The tension in Bridget’s shoulders dissipated, and she gave him a small smile. “Of course I do, that’s why I asked,” she replied, punching him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

===

Rain tapped an improv jazz rhythm on the glass of Bridget’s bedroom window, and Troy couldn’t sleep. Blame the cigarettes, the coffee, the crippling anxiety and paranoia. The cause ultimately didn’t matter, the effect was the digital clock on Bridget’s bedside table hit 2AM and he was no closer to falling asleep than he was when he originally lay down. Bridget, though. Bridget had been asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a moment of satisfying vindication.

He rolled over, resting a hand on her arm.

It was strange to see Bridget asleep. If Bridget was awake, she was moving- tapping her foot, shifting from side to side. She bounced her heels if a meeting went too long, rattling the table until he placed a hand on her thigh to get her to stop (among… other reasons). If she chose to talk, she talked with her whole body, her hands dancing in the air. Even when she was seated and still, a part of her still seemed to tremble with energy, anticipation and eagerness. Not now, though. Now she laid there, the rise and fall of her chest the only motion. Light drifted through the cracks in the blinds from the streetlight outside her window, resting softly on the freckles on her cheeks.

His hand traveled down her arm, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip bone. Bridget wasn’t a paper-thin waif by any stretch of the imagination, but without the bulk of her sweatshirt to fill out her usual silhouette, she looked… smaller. More vulnerable. Which was ridiculous, he’d seen what she could do with a gun- hell, forget a gun, he’d seen the havoc she created with her fists alone- but somehow. Somehow that veneer was stripped away in the hazy orange light of a half-dead lamppost bulb, and the only thing left was a tired twenty-one year old who needed a hell of a lot more sleep than she was getting.

Christ. She really was twenty-one, wasn’t she? The face she wore around the other Saints made her seem older than that. It was all harsh angles and stony silences, only a twitch of a smile or a slight furrow in her brow betraying the emotions running electric through her veins. The uncertainty there at the beginning had long since suffocated under a rap sheet he hated to tally up in his head. It was a thing with no remorse, and little room for mercy.

And yet that face was forgotten in her sleep. The ever present tension slackened, releasing that hardened shell and letting it fall away in favor of something softer. She denied the existence of that softness, but he knew. He was allowed to know, he realized, warmth settling in his chest at the thought. Of all people, she’d offered that gift to him.

And it’s a gift you’ll lose soon.

The thought cut a sharp line through the haze, frozen against the warmth of the moment. Troy stilled, his hand resting on her waist. Somewhere in between the light on her cheeks and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, he’d forgotten what would be waiting for them. That as much as he tried to dodge and delay, the day Chief Monroe decided it was time to pull the plug on the Saints was coming sooner than later- and Bridget, ambitious and unknowing, was only hastening that end.

His sigh was frayed, thin and trailing off into nothing. This relationship was never going to last forever. He’d known that going in, had willingly condemned them both to heartbreak, but it hadn’t mattered then. That future had drowned in the affection in her gaze. The warmth of her laughter. The spark of her lips on his. But now…

Troy cupped Bridget’s cheek, pressing his forehead gently against hers as he closed his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered. He had to say it, just once. Even if she didn’t hear it- since she would never hear it- it needed to escape before it withered under his held tongue. It needed to exist, just for a moment, all his regrets pouring into that simple, weighted phrase.

At some point she’d wake up, either through him gently shaking her or her own merit. Either way she’d grouch at him for not waking her up sooner, blinking blearily at him in a hopelessly endearing way she’d punch him for if he ever mentioned it. She’d whip the covers off of both of them, laughing when he protests. Showers would follow, breakfast of some sort, and time would continue to march forward to that inevitable, heartbreaking point.

But that was a future they didn’t have to face yet. For now, they could stay like this- curling into each other, breath to breath and at peace.

For now, he’d save her a rude awakening.

#writers writes things #otp: troyget #oc: bridget summers #troy bradshaw #saints row

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quicksiluers · 3 years

Text

Here’s a dumb story of Grant not talking to Sherman all day and Sherman has no idea why and is stressing way too much about it and Grant is super embarrassed by it when they actually talk about it. (it’s needlessly long so I apoligize in advance) (I also posted it on ao3 if it’s easier to read there)

With special appearances byyyy Rawlins, McPherson and Comstock cause why the hell not

“And this play we saw, it had to be one of the worst things I had ever seen.”

McPherson raised a brow, a playful smirk on his lips, “Sherman, if it’s not some professional play, you always think it’s the worst thing you’ve seen.”

Sherman frowned, ignoring the low chuckle coming from Grant beside him, “It’s not my fault all these actors out here are awful.”

“Maybe you’re being too harsh?” Grant asked, rolling his cigar between his fingers, “You’re standards seem...high.”

“Should I set my standards low?” The redhead pushed back, glancing back and forth between the two generals, “If that is their job, they should at least try to be good at it.”

Snorting, McPherson shook his head and waved the older man off, “Out here I’ll just take what I can get.”

The wood in the fireplace beside them cracked, the embers filtering up through the chimney. A small chill settled through the room, the winter air creeping through the walls. Sherman ignored it, occasionally rubbing his hands together for a small bit of friction. A little cold wasn’t going to bother him when McPherson and Grant were around.

Memphis was a city he had spent far too much time in. The people were a pain to deal with, the press even worse, and the weather had been awful the past week. Somehow he found himself missing those summer months outside in the Mississippi heat.

“I’ll take anything over those balls they invite us to,” Grant grumbled, stuffing the cigar in his mouth, “Those are tedious.”

“At least the food is good,” McPherson argued, crossing his arms, “I’ve only been to a few and that’s usually the best part.”

“That’s the only good part.”

Sherman laughed, “Mac when you go to as many of those things as Grant and I have, you’ll understand how absolutely god awful they are.”

The younger general’s brows pinched together, his thick beard hiding a small pout, “Well if I was invited to more of them…”

“Trust me when I say you don’t want that invite,” Sherman jabbed his thumb over in Grant’s direction, “Grant finds a way to scurry off half the time when we’re at them, he’s a genius at finding the easy escape.”

Laughter filled the room. The redhead covered his mouth, trying to control himself. He wished he had that talent, it would come in handy in a number of situations.

“Plus, those absolutely awful people you have to deal with,” Sherman continued, “The politicians and the men who claim to be with the Union when it’s incredibly easy to tell they are two-timing snakes.”

“I”m shocked you can tell the two groups apart,” McPherson teased, kicking Sherman’s boot, “You seem to describe them the same way.”

“They essentially are.”

A small movement caught his eye and Sherman turned, watching as Grant pushed back from the table. The cigar was set firmly in his mouth, his expression clouded. Their eyes met briefly before Grant looked down at his pocket watch, the beat-up item resting in his palm.

“It’s getting late. I have some work to do,” Grant snapped the watch shut, nodding to the two of them.

“Rawlins can’t do it for you?” McPherson asked, moving to stand up before the older the general waved him down, “What could be so press-”

“Everything is always pressing with Washington Mac.”

“It can’t wait until morning?” Sherman questioned, eyebrow raised. If there was something urgent, Rawlins would have crashed the party without an invitation. The young aide had a knack for coming in at the worst times.

Grant glanced at him and Sherman was taken aback by the coldness of the stare.

“I would prefer it be finished tonight,” he replied, quickly looking away from Sherman. With a small nod and a muttered goodbye, the leading general gathered his things and made his way across the room. As he left, either from the wind or maybe his own strength, the door slammed shut.

Silence hung between Sherman and McPherson as they sat in the room, eyes glued to the door. McPherson scratched the side of his face, eyebrows pulled together, “That seemed abrupt.”

Sherman couldn’t help but agree. Grant could be blunt, but that sort of abruptness wasn’t like him. Especially towards him. The coldness of Grant’s glance unsettled him as well. Had they mentioned something they shouldn’t have?

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, “Must be something important, you know how they get on his back for anything over there.”

McPherson nodded slowly, the puzzled expression still on his face, “I suppose…”

“If Washington had to deal with me, they wouldn’t get an answer until I felt like giving them a goddamn answer.”

“And that is why,” McPherson pointed with a laugh, “they don’t have to deal with you.”

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The morning was brisk with a light flurry in the air. None of it stopped the people from roaming up and down the streets, either greeting him with a polite smile or an angry sneer. Sherman tried his best to ignore both.

The stairs underneath him creaked as he climbed up, bypassing a flushed-looking staff officer. Probably the young man’s first day at the job, he knew the look of someone given too much information in one meeting. He was sure it made the boy’s head spin.

Striding through the other aides, Sherman entered his office and grabbed the papers and envelopes off his desk.

“Anything important come in colonel?” Sherman turned, the young man glancing up from the hand full of other papers he was shuffling through, “Don’t tell me I have to look through all that crap.”

“Oh no sir,” the colonel, Williams, replied. He shook the papers lightly, “Just some complaints from the city folk, which I’ve mostly gone through and divided up.”

“And?”

“And most of it is not all that important or interesting,” he shrugged, pushing up his glasses, “the normal complaints and requests that are usually dismissed or denied.”

“Lovely,” Sherman muttered, walking around his desk and sitting in the chair behind it.

Shuffling through the mail, there was a few telegrams from Blair and McPherson he would have to review. Some requests for leaves, an invitation or two for another party one of the wealthy city folk was putting on. He’d have to come up for an excuse on those. There was no chance in hell he’d get caught up in those parties again, especially if Grant managed to sneak off. Half the reason he went was because the younger general would be around.

“Nothing from General Grant this morning?” Sherman questioned, flipping through the papers again. There was a letter from Ellen he would have to read. And it looked like John had sent him something as well.

“No sir, nothing that came across your or mine’s desk.”

Odd. Grant made it a habit to leave him a note or something in the morning. Maybe whatever he was finishing up last night didn’t leave him time to have anything sent over.

Sherman leaned his chair, pulling a cigar from his breast pocket. Ellen had tried to tell him not to smoke so much in the morning, but he couldn’t help it. With the damn cold, he needed to warm up somehow. It wasn’t as if the building was producing any heat to give him comfort.

Colonel Williams sat silently off to the side of the room at his small desk, eyes flicking back and forth over the pile of papers before him. The young man was useful, he knew exactly what Sherman did and didn’t want to see and brought only the important things to his attention. He also had a knack for reading his moods, which was something all his other aides seemed to lack.

“I’m sorry sir,” the colonel said, crossing the room, “It seems that General Grant did send something, it just came from General Rawlins. I apologize,” he placed the single sheet down on Sherman’s desk, his eyebrows pinched together.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Sherman asked, grabbing the sheet.

“No sir, just…I guess I’m used to General Grant writing to you personally.”

The redhead shrugged, “When he gets caught up, Rawlins sometimes takes care of it.”

His eyes trailed over the words, General Sherman, General Grant is unable to accompany you to dinner later this evening. He apologizes in advance. - Your Obt. Servt. Brig. Gen. J. Rawlins.

Oh. That was sudden.

Sherman frowned, chewing on the butt of his cigar. It was incredibly unlike Grant to cancel a meeting, especially this one in particular. It was just going to be the two of them, talking over potential strategies and plans for the upcoming campaign season. Putting together a framework of what going forward would entail and what Washington may or may not above.

Dread crept over him as his eyes went over the note again.

Maybe Grant decided he didn’t need Sherman to come up with a strategy. He was a man of action and came up with his own movements frequently, which Sherman would follow. Even when they didn’t agree. But they always talked things over, even if Grant didn’t take his input.

What if Grant didn’t need him to make plans? The brunette didn’t really need Sherman’s input at all. Maybe Grant somehow realized and is thinking of moving on, maybe-

He let out a small breath, the smoke blowing in Williams’s face. The colonel coughed but Sherman was lost in his spiraling thoughts. Stop thinking like that. Just try to go by Grant’s headquarters later. There was no need to make this a bigger deal than it had to be.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Sherman replied, trying to wave the smoke away, “I’ll be sure to handle it.”

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“What do you mean he isn’t here?”

Cyrus B. Comstock raised an eyebrow, annoyance creeping up into his face, “Do you need me to write it down for you General Sherman?”

He could almost feel his eye twitch. Cyrus was newer to Grant’s staff, an engineer from the east, but they had gotten along well around Vicksburg. A no-nonsense sort of man, probably from dealing with all the catfighting over in the eastern army. He appreciated that sort of attitude, just not at this exact moment.

“General Grant is usually here during the day,” Sherman retorted, trying to keep himself calm, “Did something come up to call him away?”

“Rawlins said that they had some errands to run,” Comstock shrugged. He placed his stack of books down on the desk before him, hand resting on his hip, “They didn’t say when they would be back.”

Rawlins. Always Rawlins. The boy was practically glued to Grant’s side. Sherman didn’t know how Grant stood it. If Colonel Williams followed him around like a puppy, he’d lock every door behind him.

Sighing, Sherman carded his hand through his hair. It wasn’t fair to be annoyed at Rawlins. He just needed to know everything was ok. The cancellation was just…so unlike Grant. He had to know what he said or did to bother him.

“How was General Grant this morning?”

“How was he?” Comstock repeated.

Now the younger man was getting on his nerves, “Yes, did he seem…fine?”

“He seemed like his normal self,” Comstock’s eyebrows pinched together again, confused, “Why? Is he supposed to be upset?”

This was going nowhere. The annoyance mixed with panic was making every nerve feel like it was on edge. This room was stuffy anyway. “No, I just…never mind, I’ll talk to him later.”

Sherman stormed out, passing by the other busy body aides Grant had working.

Everything was fine. He would just talk to Grant later, find out what was keeping him so busy. It had to be something extremely important. Probably telegrams from Washington, acting like chickens with their heads cut off.

Surely that had to be it.

He stuffed a cigar in his mouth, chomping down on the end. The tobacco ground against his teeth. There was something he was missing. What had brought this on? It wasn’t like there weren’t any secrets between them, but Sherman felt like Grant was always open and happy to see him. He had given him that chair at Chattanooga for god’s sake!

It must have been something he did. The sheer thought of that made the panic grow.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I think you’re overthinking this Sherman.”

“Am I?” He asked hotly, the floorboards squeaking as he paced back and forth, “Grant doesn’t just cancel something we’ve been talking about for weeks. There has to be a reason…”

McPherson rolled his eyes, chin resting in the palm of his hand. The younger general’s desk was neatly organized, papers stacked to perfection. Just like McPherson, always organized and ready to go. Calm, cool, and looking at him like he was crazy.

Maybe he was.

“Grant is probably just busy with other things and can’t make it,” McPherson explained, watching the redhead tug at his beard fiercely, “it probably isn’t more complicated than that.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

McPherson sat up a bit, crossing his arms over his chest, “I wouldn’t understand? Sherman, I was on his staff for a good portion of time. I think I know a little about how Grant operates.”

Sherman glanced at him, stopping in the middle of the floor. His fingers pulled at his beard again, his irritation building up. He had racked his mind over their conversation over and over. There was nothing he noticed that may have irked Grant, everything seemed so perfectly normal until he left.

Sighing, he dragged his hand through his hair, his other hand resting on his hip, “It was hard to schedule it as is, god knows how long we’ll stay in the same place together. And it came in this morning too, which seems…”

“Abrupt?” McPherson finished with a small smirk.

The redhead frowned slightly at that, “Yes. It seemed very sudden.”

“Like how Grant left last night abruptly?” McPherson continued, “when he said he had important things to work on for Washington?”

“He would have finished that by now,” Sherman countered, continuing his pacing, “And if he didn’t, I’m sure he would have told Rawlins what needed to be done.”

“You know Grant likes to do that stuff himself, with it going straight to the president and all.”

“Did I say something last night?” He changed the topic quickly, tired of McPherson’s counterpoints. They made sense of course, but there had to be more. Surely there was something else behind this. He must have done something to bother the younger general.

The brunette frowned, looking up the ceiling for a moment, “Last night?” he muttered, taking a moment to think about it. He shook his head, “Nothing that stands out.”

“Nothing that would offend him?”

The younger man cracked a smile, a small laugh escaping him, “Offend him? Now I do think you’re overthinking this.”

This was going nowhere. He just needed to talk to Grant, that’s all. Clear the air, find exactly why he couldn’t meet him tonight. It wasn’t too much to ask for. Just an explanation.

That was perfectly reasonable, wasn’t it?

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The candlelight in his office dimmed, casting small shadows across his desk. Beyond the window, he watched the last streams of sunlight disappear into the night sky. Winter was the worst time, with the short days and what seemed like everlasting nights. Plus the cold air that would nip at his bones, even with his warmer clothing on, was not pleasant.

Sheman puffed on the cigar resting between his lips, leaning back in his chair. Since he came back to his office, he hadn’t moved from the spot. Every single thought in his mind was racing, trying to solve this riddle. Was it a riddle? Was he making something out of nothing? Wouldn’t be the first time.

But dammit, maybe he just really wanted to have dinner with Grant.

The younger general was busier than ever. Between his new command of all the armies from the Appalachian Mountains to the Mississippi River, Grant barely seemed to have time for himself. The fact that they were able to get together last night was a miracle. He had joined last minute and like a flash, he was gone again.

Plus that rumor of him getting the rank of full lieutenant general seemed to hang over his head. The idea of losing him to the eastern theater gnawed at Sherman. That theater was a disaster. The politicians got their hands into the army’s business far too often and the men there couldn’t do anything worth a damn. And even when they did score a victory, they seemed to somehow let it slip through their hands.

Out here in the west is where the war would be won. There was no doubt of that in Sherman’s mind and he wanted to reiterate that again to Grant in their meeting. But now he wouldn’t get the chance.

It wasn’t as if Grant was going to disappear off the face of the earth. He just wanted...what did he want?

Maybe he just wanted to spend time with Grant before he was dragged off hundreds of miles away from him.

Sherman frowned, sliding down in his chair a bit as he felt his cheeks flush. What he wanted didn’t matter. It was up to Grant and for some reason, the younger man didn’t want to see him.

Which was fine. Totally fine. Nothing wrong with that at all.

A light knock echoed through the room. “Come in.”

The door creaked open and Sherman looked up, meeting the confused and slightly concerned expression of Colonel Williams. He waved the young man in, sitting up in his chair. Pull yourself together dammit.

Williams saluted before walking in, a folded piece of paper in his hands, “Sir, a message arrived from General Rawlins for you. It came in only a short time ago.”

Sherman perked up at that, rising in his seat. What could it mean? He quickly took the slip from Williams’s hands, his eyes scanning over the short message.

When you have a moment, would you please come over to General Grant’s headquarters to speak with me? There is a matter here I would like to discuss with you. Your Obt. Servt. - Brig. Gen. J. Rawlins.

Incredibly cryptic, which was very un-Rawlins-like. His frown deepened, reading over the message again. What would he need to discuss?

Sherman stuffed the paper into his breast pocket, next to the cigars, and rose from his chair. “Thank you, Colonel. If anyone needs me, advise them that I will be with General Rawlins.”

He left the young man behind before he could answer, his nerves on end. It had to be related to Grant. Rawlins would surely know what caused him to cancel. If Rawlins didn’t know, then Sherman would never find out without going to the source. And that scared him like hell.

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John Rawlins looked like absolute shit. Sherman knew he has been sick, Grant mentioned it offhandedly, but it still shocked him to see. The younger man’s back was to him, hacking into a handkerchief.

Rawlins wiped his mouth, stuffing the handkerchief into his pocket. He turned and Sherman took in his sunken cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes. It looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “General Sherman, can you close the door?”

Puzzled, Sherman obliged him and gently shut the door behind him.

“Did you say something to Grant?” Rawlins asked directly, leveling a smaller glare at the taller man.

His stomach dropped. So it was something he said. Goddammit, but what was it? “If I did, I don’t know what made him upset.”

“Upset?” Rawlins repeated, hands resting on his hips, “He’s not upset, he’s just been...so goddamn moody the entire day.”

“Moody how?” Sherman asked, stepping closer to the brunette. So he wasn’t upset?

“Like he hasn’t spoken a word all day.”

“Well you know that isn’t uncommon for Grant,” he replied, “Sometimes he can go hours without talking.”

“Yes, but he hasn’t spoken to anyone all day. Including myself, which is an issue when you’re supposed to be his chief of staff,” Rawlins responded with a hint of annoyance, “he’s been in this mood since he returned last night and you and General McPherson were the only ones to see him. And in combination with that letter from his fathe-”

“Well, why isn’t General McPherson here?” Sherman interrupted, irritation rising, “Have you asked him?”

“I know General McPherson wouldn’t say something to somehow offend General Grant.”

Sherman’s anger flared up, planting his hands on his hips, “So you just ASSUMED I said something that’s made Grant moody all day?”

Rawlins glared at him and pointed his finger, “Either something you said or something that happened in that room.”

Sherman’s cheeks flushed at that, the anger boiling up, “Well if you and Grant were together all da-”

“We weren’t together all day.” Rawlins cut him off, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I just told Comstock to tell people that so they would leave Grant alone.”

“Unbelievable!” He tried not to shout, but he couldn’t hold it back. All the pent-up anxiety and anger were going to make him lose his mind, “I just wanted to figure out why Grant canceled out goddamn dinner and you go and make Comstock, and I’m sure all the other aides I may have asked, lie! Perfect! Fantastic!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Rawlins muttered, rolling his eyes, “That’s another reason why I knew it was you because the ONLY thing Grant requested from me all day was to send that note to you and for the life of my don’t know why.”

The words stopped him cold. In an instant, the anger was overtaken but the anxiety. It was something he did to bother Grant. He couldn’t stand it, knowing he had made Grant feel like...whatever he was feeling like.

“Well, where is he?” Sherman asked, taking a small breath. His heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest.

Rawlins stared at him hard, his frown deepening. Sherman was beginning to think he was going to have to plead to the other man to know. Grant had a knack of slinking off when he didn’t want to be found.

A hard knock on the door broke the silence. Rawlins’s shoulders seemed to drop slightly as if a weight had been lifted, “Come in!”

Come in? They were in the middle of a conversation! His annoyance spiked, who the hell did Rawlins think he wa-

The door behind him creaked open and Sherman turned, eye’s widening slightly when he saw Grant’s familiar tired face. The younger general looked up and their eyes met, and he seemed to freeze for a minute.

“Rawlins...” Grant grumbled, stepping into the room more. His eyes jumped from Sherman to Rawlins, who had a small smirk tugging on his lips. The young man seemed very proud of himself.

“Now that you’re both here,” Rawlins clapped, “you can discuss whatever the hell is going on between the two of you.”

Sherman felt his face heat up and he saw Grant’s eyebrows pinch together, his frown deepening. “Rawlins, there isn-”

“Don’t you say there isn’t,” the young man interrupted, brushing past Sherman to stand in front of Grant, “because clearly there is and it’s been a pain all day.”

The two brunettes glared at one another, neither wanting to give ground. Grant’s eyes flickered over to Sherman. There was something beyond the look that he couldn’t place.

Grant sighed, holding up his hands, “Fine.”

“Good, now if you’ll excuse me,” Rawlins looked back at Sherman and then to Grant, “I’m going to get something to eat. Deal with...,” he waved his hand between the two of them, “whatever the hell is going on here. Please.”

Before Sherman could say anything, the young man slipped out of the room, closing the door with enough force to make his point.

Then it was just the two of them, standing a few feet from one another. There was an awkwardness, Grant fiddling around with a cigar in his hand. Looking anywhere that wasn’t at Sherman. It was going to drive him mad.

“Grant...” Sherman trailed off, unsure of what to say. Which was rarely a thing that happened. But he didn’t know what he was apologizing for, hell he didn’t even know why Grant had ignored him all day.

The general walked past him, sitting on the edge of the desk in the middle of the room. He continued to fiddle with the cigar, suddenly interested in the tips of his boots. Why was he acting like this? Grant never acted like this. Sure he was silent a majority of the time, but there was still a presence there. People knew he was commanding the room. But this didn’t feel like that at all.

“I didn’t realize this was what Rawlins asked me to come here for...,” Grant muttered with a shake of his head, “Should have known.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Sherman shrugged, trying to break the ice, “I just assumed he was having me come in to yell at me.”

The younger general chuckled, finally looking up at him. There was a flush to his cheeks that surprised Sherman, giving him pause. Maybe Grant wasn’t feeling good? That would explain some things. But why not come out and say that.

Grant waved his hand to the empty space next to him on the desk, inviting him over, “That is something he tends to do.”

Walking across the room, Sherman sat on the edge of the desk, a small space between him and Grant. He sighed, combing his hand through his beard, “Grant, I don’t know what I said or did but I’m sor-”

Grant held up his hand, Sherman shutting up immediately. He watched the other man as he rolled the cigar between his fingers, the flush on his cheeks getting darker. Did he have a fever?

“It’s nothing you need to apologize for, I was just...,” Grant stopped himself, scratching the back of his neck, “It’s childish really.”

“I mean, clearly I said something.”

“It wasn’t really anything.”

“Well, it upset you enough that you didn’t want to see me all day.”

Grant sighed, fiddling around with the cigar again. The flush had gotten darker and Sherman couldn’t wrap his head around it. He had never seen Grant like this, everything about this situation was completely foreign to him. Grant didn’t get embarrassed, he didn’t get frazzled. In the midst of battle, he was incredibly cool under pressure.

Sherman watched him, trying to understand. Maybe he was sick. It could be making him act out of character. That had to be it.

On impulse, he reached out his hand and placed it on Grant’s forehead, making the younger man jump. It did feel a bit warm but nothing that would indicate a fever...

“Wh-what are you doing?” Grant spluttered, grabbing Sherman’s wrist and pulling it away, his eyebrows pinched together, looking at him with confusion.

He was reaching his breaking point. Why couldn’t he just tell him for god’s sake?

“I’m trying to figure out if you’re sick or something because I can’t understand what the hell is going on,” Sherman declared, waving his free hand dramatically, “I’ve been trying to figure it out all day! Just...,” he deflated, trying to compose himself, “just tell me what I did so we can move on.”

Grant stared at him, the normally stoic expression clouded with embarrassment. Sherman felt a gentle squeeze on his wrist, a small warmth coming over him before the other man let go. Grant’s hands sat on his lap, his fingers twisting the fabric of his pants.

“I don’t ‘scurry’ away.”

The voice was barely above a whisper, Grant looking straight at the wall, away from him. Sherman blinked, trying to understand.

“You don’t what?”

Sighing, Grant looked at him, a small pout on his face. The red on his cheeks hadn’t faded away, they had intensified if anything. “You said I ‘scurry’ away at parties...I don’t I just...,” he carded his hand through his hair, messing up the small style he had to it, “I just don’t like being around that many people.”

Sherman blinked, staring at him. And then he blinked again. The information whirled around in his head, “You don’t... ‘scurry’ away,” he repeated, slowly putting the pieces together.

The younger general nodded, watching him like a hawk. As if he expected some sort of reaction from Sherman, though he wasn’t sure what. It obviously hit some chord with Grant. He couldn’t imagine why, everyone knew Grant wasn’t into the big social scenes.

“No,” Grant replied curtly, “I...,” he paused, running his hand through his hair again, “It’s dumb, I made it something it didn’t have to be.”

On the one hand, Sherman was more confused than ever. He had no idea that Grant had this side. Julia had mentioned it in passing once or twice, her little teasing making Grant blush, but he had chalked that up to their cutesy romance. He was the shyest fellow you ever saw, she told him one night over dinner. But also extremely determined, it was something Julia appreciated about her husband. And it was an aspect that Sherman also appreciated.

On the other hand...there was this flop strand of Grant’s hair hanging over his forehead that Sherman wanted to reach out and push back. His hair always seemed so put together. And those clear blue eyes were looking at him, the flush on Grant's cheeks making the color come out more. All frazzled like this, the younger general was...extremely cute.

Oh for god’s sake, listen to yourself. Sherman crushed that feeling down immediately, grabbing a cigar from his pocket so Grant wouldn’t notice his own flustered face. Acting like some fucking damsel.

“I didn’t realize that bothered you,” he stuffed the cigar in his mouth, the smoke calming him down.

“It’s...,” Grant stopped, tapping his fingers against his knee. He pushed off from the desk, back to Sherman, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “We can just move past it.”

“Obviously not,” Sherman countered, “If it’s something that bothers you, I’d like to know why.”

He could see the tension in Grant’s back, slightly rocking back on heels now and again. There couldn’t be anything like this between them, not when they were about to move into what they hoped was the final months of the war. The planning, everything hinged on them working together.

“You would?” Grant answered with a mutter, nodding a bit. Like he was coming to terms with something. He turned toward Sherman, his shoulders deflating slightly. He looked tired, worn out.

“Yeah, I would.”

“I didn’t mean to take my...annoyance out on you. It just happened to be the combination of what you said and…,” Grant paused, gesturing with his hand slightly, “a letter I received from my father. It had...more to do with him than you but he’s not here so…”

Jesse Root Grant. Sherman had met the man once or twice when he came to visit Grant in camp. The older man would be warm in greeting but there was a look in his eye that always unsettled him. Like he had an agenda while visiting.

He also happened to be an ass. Causing more problems than what they were worth, publishing Grant’s letters in the papers. Then all those journalist half-wits would pull from them and disparage Grant in the miserable little articles.

The pieces all fell into place for Sherman. It just happened to be a wrong comment, the wrong time. The nervous weight he had carried around all day lifted from his shoulders.

“Your father does have that charming personality,” Sherman remarked, pulling out his cigar, “All that talk and scheming, can’t see how that could affect anyone poorly,” he smirked, waving a hand in Grant’s direction, “such as yourself.”

For a moment there was no reaction. Grant stared back with that blank expression of his and Sherman thought this time he had taken it a step too far.

Slowly, a smile tugged onto the young general’s face. Then a chuckle and Grant put his mouth over his face, trying to hide his laugher. It was a rare sound that Sherman delighted in and his smile grew wider.

“Real ol’ shame for the papers when Jesse stopped blasting your letters for headlines, then they had to do actual work for a story to come up with.”

Their laughter bounced around the room, the tension evaporating. Grant’s face was flushed again, shaking his head as he came over and stood before him. He wiped at his eyes, a small smile on his face, “It was a sorry day for them.”

“Really made them scurry off,” Sherman jested, kicking the toe of Grant’s boot with his own, “Probably wailing in the streets too!”

Composing himself, Grant took a deep breath, that wave of calm Sherman knew so well seemingly coming over him. But the smile didn’t disappear, “Yes, scurrying off I’m sure. Heading for other camps, picking up their rumors too.”

“But really, your father is an ass.”

Grant bit his bottom lip slightly, incredibly unfair to Sherman, keeping his smile from growing. “He can be...a handful. Stubborn.”

“Impossible. He seemed extremely reasonable when he visited.” The sarcasm was oozing from the words, but he couldn't help it. The man was a pain in Grant’s side.

“You should him when he’s in a good mood.”

“Charming I’m sure.”

They shared a small laugh, silence settling over them. Sherman’s eyes looked Grant over, the tension seemingly gone. More at ease, like he normally was around camp.

Grant pulled out his pocket watch, clicking it open to the clockface. His thumb brushed over it, “Did you eat before coming here?”

Sherman almost jumped at the question but he calmed himself, trying to keep that aloof personality in place. He didn’t want to seem too eager, “As a matter of fact, I thought I had plans...but it seemed like the scheduled time for them changed a bit.”

Snapping the watch closed, Grant tucked it back into his breast pocket, “Funny...I seemed to have the same issue.”

“Well then, it seems we’re two fine men who’ve been stood up,” Sherman jested, trying to keep a serious face. He pushed off from the desk, toe to toe with Grant, “it would almost seem practical if we had dinner together.”

Those blue eyes stared up at him, a small twinkle in Grant’s eye, and goddammit if those ridiculous thoughts didn’t come back into his head. His brain never knew when to shut up.

“It would seem so,” Grant conceded, staring at him for a long moment before stepping back. He bounced on the balls of his toes slightly, “Shall we?”

Walking out into the chilled Memphis air, the two walked side by side, arms brushing together.

Grant lit up a cigar, puffing on it briefly before blowing out the smoke, “I am sorry Sherman, I shouldn’t let something like that…”

The redhead waved him off, “Water under the bridge. Your father has a big mouth. It gets under your skin.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Well, the next time you get something from him,” Sherman bumped him with his elbow, a small grin on his face, “and it says something idiotic, let me read it and we find a way to laugh about it.”

Grant smiled, “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Or you can burn it.”

“Everything doesn’t have to be burned Sherman.”

“Makes it easier to ignore though.”

#my fic #ulysses s grant #william tecumseh sherman #this is really dumb but whatever i had fun #and yes writing a flustered grant was tons of fun #i had to stop shoving other random aides in here #but i like writing about grant's staff lol

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flying-nightwing · 4 years

Text

Pink and Totalitarianism Always Go Hand in Hand

Here’s the promised crack fic. Disclaimer, this is terrible in every and any form, because it is meant to be that way. If you want quality, structure, a story that makes sense, this ain’t it chief. This is certified Crack. If you finish this and all you can say is something along the lines of “what the fuck”, my work here is done. (Besides, this isn’t edited to add to the overall crack vibe)

Enjoy and good luck, because it get worse and worse as it goes

Masterlist in bio // pinned post

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 4626

Warnings: Mention of drugs, light non-graphic violence, language

Summary: You’re stuck in a world that does not make sense, alone and surrounded by secret police and spies that will report you to the government. One early morning, Jason appears in your living room. His arrival gives you an opportunity to get the hell out of there for good.

You had taken a habit of sleeping lightly.

You, who had once cherished your sleep like it was the rarest gem in the world. Yet, you found out you had still severely underappreciated its importance in your life, something you realized only when it was gone. You missed it like an old friend who was gone to war and died on the front, leaving words forever unsaid. What would you do for just one more night in your bed, with your own pillows and that drool stain that just wouldn’t leave anymore, sleeping like a log until the late morning. Or just a nap, that even would be enough. But you were far from home now, and you didn’t have a lot of hope you’d ever come back.

When you heard a loud thump in the living room, your eyes flew open and your muscles tensed. Pushing off the pink comforter and pulling on the equally pink robe that was draped over the wooden chair, you carefully made your way down the corridor and toward the sound. A man dressed in black and red, with a red helmet complementing his strange outfit was standing there, looking around like he was trying to understand what was going on. You plastered a smile on your face.

“Hiya there” The corner of your mouth hurt from the strain of smiling so wide. “Can I help you?”

“Uh?” He looked up, and even through his helmet you could assume his eyes were wide with confusion. They wouldn’t get you this time, you’d make sure of it. He didn’t fool anyone. “Where am I?”

“Silly!” You laughed, waving your hand in a small dismissive gesture. “We’re in Happy Town, obviously!”

“Uh?” He repeated, already visibly exhausted. That one agent lasted longer than the last, you had to give him that. His confusion was credible and well played down to the last detail. “Listen, lady, I’m sorry I crashed your house but I need you to point me toward Metropolis”

“Metropolis? I haven’t heard of a city of that name” You didn’t drop the smile. The goddamn smile. “Although, you are quite illegal sir, black and red are prohibited colors”

“... What?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to change” You explained. “Luckily for you, I have spares in the bedroom. Come along”

“Wait, prohibited?” He repeated, and you nodded eagerly. A test, it’s always a test. “What colors aren’t prohibited then?”

“Well, pink, you silly goose!”

He stared at you for the longest time. “What the fuck”

You froze. Actual agents were not allowed to swear, under any circumstances. They were physically not able to, even. “What did you say?”

“I said what the fuck”

You let your smile drop and sighed in relief. “Oh thank fuck”

“Hey, stay with me” He waved a hand in your face. “What the fuck is going on? Where am I?”

“Okay, we don’t have a lot of time, but basically” You paused, looking around to make sure all of your curtains were closed. You found a way to disable your microphones, but you had only to sunrise before they turned back on again. It was less suspicious that way, when you could attribute the lack of sound to you sleeping. Besides, you couldn’t risk you saying incriminating things in your sleep. “We are in a side dimension called Happy Town, but things are sketchy here. I don’t know what they are hiding, but if you don’t stick to their gimmick to the letter, you’re going to reeducation camps and stuff. This is some serious brainwashing, and I’m talking worse than Scientology”

“Fuck” He swore, taking off his helmet. “How did I get here?”

“Some portal, I dropped in the same place you did” You spoke quickly, in a hushed tone. “I haven’t found a way out, obviously, but if you came from Earth too, I’m betting there’s something I missed”

“This is insane”

“You tell me” You scoffed. “And you haven’t even seen how bonkers this place really is yet”

“Do I really have to wear pink?” He flinched, and your eyes widened.

“Yes, you do!” You replied. “They will have you under scrutinization as soon as you step out of this house. If you want to survive, you must follow the rules to the letter. They don’t fuck around, I tell ya. When I first appeared, all the neighbors moved away and were immediately replaced by other creepier neighbors. I swear they’re spies. They’re all spies!”

“Wait, how long have you been there?”

“I don’t know, years?” You guessed. Could have been any measure of time really, you couldn’t know for sure. “I have no idea how I got through their brainwashing sessions. Either I outsmarted them, or they have no idea what they’re doing. It’s better not to take any chance, though”

“This is fucked up” He sighed and sat on the couch. “Besides wearing pink, what do I have to do?”

“Oh boy, sit tight” You began pacing in front of him. You didn’t know him, but he was your best chance at getting the hell out of here. Your bed now seemed a little bit closer now, even though you knew you’d never sleep the same. “It’s not just the clothing that’s pink, it’s any fabric, by the way, because happy people like pink”

It was like he was now aware that every couch, chair, carpet, curtain in your house was actually pink.

“You gotta smile, always. You gotta look like chuck-e-cheese on crack” You continued, pacing in front of him. “Talking of which, never, EVER eat pie. I don’t know what’s in it, but it messes with your brain. Always find an excuse or distraction to avoid eating it”

“I’m not--”

“Never allude to the microphones you might find, act like you’ve never seen them and have no idea they’re there” You added. “Also, tomorrow we’ll have to get you registered if we don’t want the secret police to storm the house. You’ll have to follow my lead or we’re both dead, got it?”

“Yeah but--”

“Don’t say anything incriminating during the day” You interrupted him again. “I tweaked the microphones so they’re scrambled from midnight to sunrise. But that’s it. Also, always assume anyone you talk to is a spy or a snitch. It’s the Stasi all over again here, you can’t trust anyone who you don’t hear swear, which is nobody”

“Wai wait” He stopped you as you opened your mouth to continue on. “Why?”

“Because the people from here cannot swear, happy people don’t swear, they smile and giggle” You felt your eye twitch as you recited the lines you were fed over and over again. “The people engineered here are not able to, only those they kidnapped from Earth. Bad news is, beside that, they are virtually non-differentiable from each other. And they all wear those stupid pink clothes, only the regular police wears a darked shade of magenta. Other than that, all the same”

Confusion and horror was evident on his face. He sat there, processing it all as your eyes fell on the clock. You had about ten minutes until the first rays of sun showed up and reactivated the mics. “There’s no way back?” He finally asked.

“Not that I know of yet” You wrapped your hands around yourself. “You know, I have been begging for help out of this hell hole. You might be the key. Anyway, we gotta change you into something non offensive before they find out you’re here”

You dragged him in the bedroom, leaving him at the threshold while you rummaged through the dresser. All those clothes had been there too when you popped in the house, as if they had known exactly what they were doing by bringing you here. However, it wasn’t clear whether or not they had planned for their new citizen to be you. Ad judging by the arsenal of weapons on the new guy, ir reinforced your theory that the actual selection was still experimental. You weren’t exactly the shut up and obey type, and you doubted he was either.

“What’s your name?” You asked as you pulled a pink cardigan out of a drawer. It occured to you that you might have to know what to call him. Polite people knew the name of their housemate. You grabbed a yet again pink pair of slacks and pushed the clothes in his hands.

“Uh, Jason” He replied, surprised at the sudden income of pink fabric. You threw him the socks, suspenders, bow tie, belt and dress shirt that was, you guessed it, the exact same color as the rest. He was covered in pink clothes like a coat hanger.

“(Y/N)”

“Hey, I’m not wearing that” He objected as he took a better look at the clothes. His face turned to disdain as he shook his head like he had drank bad milk. “Nope, no way”

“If you don’t wear pink, they’ll kill you” You said through your teeth.

“No, I’m not talking about the pink” He said, his expression unchanging. He pulled the cardigan and held it up. “This. This won’t do at all. I’m not wearing a fucking cardigan”

You stared at him, wide eyed. You didn’t have the time to deal with that, sunrise was a few minutes away!

“You will wear that cardigan or so help me” You said in a low, yet threatening voice. He recoiled. “Suck. It. Up.”

Wordlessly, he headed for the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. He changed in two minutes, coming back awkwardly with his pile of dark clothes. You picked them from him and walked to that spot just beside your bed, and kneeled. You unscrewed the floor board, which was already loose, and you deposited the bundle, weapons and all, next to a very, very dusty blue jeans and burgundy coat. You hurried to replace everything like it hadn’t been touched and stood up again to face an all pink, visibly uncomfortable Jason. He was tying his bow, a displeased frown on his face. It made you wonder what was his life before. He changed rather quickly, and didn’t seem confused by the way bow ties worked.

“What now?”

“We gel your hair”

“No” His eyes widened. The wake up siren sounded outside, and like a reflex learned through violent lessons, your face pulled into a pained smile. You still made a zipping motion over your mouth, pointing to the bathroom. With a silent sigh, he complied.

---

His smile looked unnatural.

But again, so did yours probably. So did everyone’s. Smiling that much wasn’t natural for anyone or anything but perhaps a hyena. Or a clown. You walked arms in arms with him, waving at people sending you curious glances, their smiles unwavering. The government was already aware of this presence, either because they zapped him there or because they heard your made up meeting conversation through the microphones.

“Okay, I see what you meant by everyone is a spy” He muttered through his teeth, making sure his lips weren’t moving. He was holding to his grin like it was a lifeline. And it was.

“Right?” You replied in the same manner. “So don’t slip”

“I won’t”

“Well hello there!”

You jumped in surprise at the Mayor appearing in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere. You put your free hand on your heart and laughed. “Hi there, you startled me good!”

He laughed. Jason laughed. It all seemed forced.

“I see we have an addition in Happy Town!” The mayor pointed to Jason, nodding in approval at his attire. “Where did you come from?”

His first test.

“I… Came from Earth!” He replied with enthusiasm. “Although I have to say, I looooove this place. It’s so… Happy!”

Well played, Jason. Well played.

“I am so glad to hear you say that” He placed a “friendly” pat on his shoulder, but he seemed satisfied. “What is your name, lad?”

“Dick Grayson, sir”

You swallowed back your confusion at his words, but also at the hint of genuine smile that crossed his expression. Keep smiling.

“Well Mr. Grayson, welcome to Happy Town!” They shook hands. “I see Miss (Y/N) is already taking care of you, integrating you nicely in our community”

His gaze shifted to you as a silent warning behind those cold, smiling eyes. You had your fair history of problems with them, but they had every reason to think it was over now. Still, the warning lingered. But those pink assholes wouldn’t catch you this time.

“I’ll make sure he becomes one of us in no time!” You assured, giving a light nod to Jason.

“No doubt you’ll make an amazing couple” He tipped his pink hat and you noticed Jason held back a cough of surprise. “The daily play of the anthem is about to start, I must return to city hall. I’ll see you around!”

He waved. You waved. Jason waved. He walked away with a skip in his step like the happy jerk he was.

“Couple?” He said, coming back to your public mode of communicating.

“Sorry, I should have warned you” You sighed internally.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah!” You wanted to burst out so bad. “What about it, Dick Grayson?”

“I wasn’t about to give them my real name” He defended, watching around for people noticing your hushed conversation. But everybody was preparing for the anthem, their attention directed to the morning messages man on the giant screens.

“So you gave that poor guy’s instead?”

“Poor? Nah. Relax, he can take care of himself” What you were sure was a chuckle escaped his lips. “Besides, he’s not even--”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise for our national anthem”

You elbowed Jason and stood up straight, the sun hitting the side of your face. He mimicked your posture. The music started, and you could see faltering in the corner of your eye.

“Is this--”

“Yes”

“What the fuck”

“I know”

“Whyyyyyyy”

“Stay with me” You urged silently. You really didn’t know how or why Happy Town’s anthem came to be ‘Yeah!’ by Usher feat Lil Jon and Ludacris, but even if you did, now was not the ideal time or place to get into that kind of discussion. You suspected it had something to do with the exclamation mark after the ‘yeah’. But you could be wrong. You still didn’t understand the bigger picture however, since the lyrics clearly contained the word ‘not’ followed directly by ‘happy’ in the first verse, which made ‘not happy’. It was against the party line.

“Okay, we stage a coup tonight” He decided as the song ended. “I don’t think I can do this another day”

----

Midnight came slowly.

After a day of mingling and presenting Jason as Dick Grayson and your future husband like the Mayor had most probably hinted at during your morning encounter, of slyly getting out of eating pie and avoiding the police, you were glad to finally breathe.

“UUUUGH” Jason whined, plopping on the couch. “I can never look at the color pink the same way ever again. I’m sick of it, sick of it!”

“Get it together!” You snapped. “We need to plan our coup. We’ve got one shot for it, and if it fails we’re toast. I need my bed, Jason. MY BED”

“Alright, what do you have in mind?” He asked, taking a deep breath. “You know this place more than I do”

“I say tomorrow night, we quietly follow the police after their curfew patrol round” You began, biting the skin around your nails. “How good is your stealth?”

He looked at you blankly for a good ten seconds before he let out a small, ironic snort. “Above average, I’d say”

It was like he wanted you to ask why he’d think that, but you were too busy thinking about your plan. “Good, good” You nodded. “There must be some headquarters somewhere. All we have to do is get there, threaten them at gunpoint--Your guns are functional yes?”

“Obviously”

“--So they’ll zap us back to Earth. And if not, we shoot the mayor and take control of this hell”

“That escalated quickly,” He stated. “But what the hell, sure, I’m on board. Let’s go”

“Tomorrow the sun sets at 8:07. We’ll need to be changed and ready to go by then”

“Wait, tomorrow?” He sprung up in his seat, eyes wide. “No, no. I can’t take one more day of pink cardigans and pleasant conversations with spies!”

“DEAL WITH IT” You gestured wildly before calming down almost instantly. You didn’t need the neighbors to hear and report a fight. “Patrol is already over for today. Be smart about this”

“Fine” He sighed aggressively. “But if this flops, I’m taking everyone down with me. There won’t be an after tomorrow, I can fucking tell you”

“Yeah I won’t stop you”

“Good”

“Good.”

You stayed there in silence, unmoving for a moment. This was it. The moment you’ve been waiting for. Your liberation. Your bed was less than 24 hours a day if things went as planned, which you hoped it would.

“I’ll… Sleep on the couch” He mumbled after a while, moving to lay down. YOur eyes widened.

“You can’t” You objected, knowing the government would find a way to find out the scam you were running through that detail.

“Why not?”

“If the secret police comes for a surprise inspection and your side of the bed is cold, we’re kaputt” You explained. “We’re supposed to be at the very least fiancés, remember?”

“God fucking dammit” He swore, looking up at the sky like it would help him. Ha, you already tried that and it didn’t work.

---

The next day, as you prepared the decaf pot of coffee because happy people didn’t need caffeine to be happy, a knock sounded on your door. Jason was taking a shower in the bathroom, so you went and opened the door. Like you had predicted, two men in dark magenta stood at your doorstep with dangerous looking smiles.

“Good morning ma’am” One greeted with a tip of his hat. “This is a surprise inspection, warranted by the new arrivant in your household, name Dick Grayson and title husband to be. May we come in?”

Your smile widened as you stepped aside, like you actually had a choice in the matter.

“Of course!” You exclaimed. “Coffee, officers?”

“We’ll have to politely decline, thank you” The other smiled as they came in and observed the clean state of the house. All houses were required to be neat and clean at all times. They looked around for something out of place, slowly but surely directing themselves to the bedroom at the end of the hall. You followed them a few paces away, ready to answer their question if they had some. It wasn’t your first surprise check.

They finally reached the room, from where they could hear the shower running. Their gazes caught the neatly folded pink pile on the bed, then they surrounded it. They started to feel under the comforter and drapes, on the pillows, everywhere they could spot the presence or absence of another person. You called it, oh you so called it.

The shower stopped, and both officers shared a look. “Alright, everything is in order ma’am. Have a good breakfast and a good day!”

You escorted them to the door, threw them a thank you on the way and silently sighed once the door closed behind them. You returned to your coffee, and not long after, Jason emerged from the hallway all dressed in pink.

“Ooh, who were the gentlemen here?” He inquired cheerily, but you knew what it meant.

“Some nice officers came to see if we were doing fine here!” You replied with equal cheer.

“Shucks, I missed them” He snapped his fingers, chuckling. “Next time perhaps”

“Of course!” The pep in your voice did not match your eye roll. Thank god there were no cameras.

You finished breakfast and went to town once again, like you did everyday. You felt like everyone was staring at you even more than usual. Like they all knew what you planned for that night. You might have been slightly paranoid, but Jason’s calm demeanor was helping. He was good at that, like he had practiced for all of his life to deceive people.

The mayor bothered you again after the daily play of the anthem, a song you were sure would elicit a violent reaction from you once you would be back in the real world. Then, you repeated the same daily routine you had had forever. Smile, avoid the pie, smile, talk with the neighbors-spies, smile, think about how life is amazing, smile.

Smile smile smile smile smile smile.

Eurgh.

That night, the pleasant conversations contained codes to trump the microphones. Jason pretended to dance while you unscrewed the loose floorboard and carefully placed his clothes and weapons on the bed. You picked your old clothes, quietly dusting them off. They smelled weird but you were excited to wear something other than pepto bismol dyed fabric. Making sure the curtains were drawn, you proceeded to change. Jason looked ecstatic to finally be rid of his cardigan, while you took a moment to appreciate your black t-shirt and burgundy coat. While he had his red helmet, he handed you a domino mask from his pocket. You had no idea why he had that, but you took it anyway. It looked cool and rebel. You sneaked through the back door, avoiding the spots of light by either lamps outside your house and street posts. You watched the patrol casually making sure everyone was inside, keeping a good distance in between you and them at every time. They weren’t talking, but whistling some creepy tunes. You had to make a small hike through a hill when they entered a gated tunnel, but you ended up in front of a giant factory where workers dressed in grey buzzed around with crates. YOu gasped.

“Illegal” You muttered.

“What?”

You shook your head. They had gotten to you too much, it was time you left that god forsaken place. “Nevermind. How do we go through that barbed wire?”

He pulled out a medium sized pair of cutters from… You had no idea where, but he had them. You shrugged, gesturing to him to go ahead. In a blink, you were in. You sneaked inside without being seen, navigating the building with guesses and feelings. You finally ended up in the main production room, where crates of products were opened and emptied in a giant bassin. The stirred liquid was purple and smelled strange, but you knew it was to do no good. And right beside, there was the pie filling packaging.

“I knew it!” You hissed under your breath. “They’re putting drugs in the pie! Can you see what it is? Cocaine? Heroin?

“Doesn’t seem like…” He leaned in. “Wait…”

“Al-- Allegra?” You managed to read the crate.”Never heard of it, but it must be terrible and dangerous”

Jason turned his head and stared at you. HIs helmet bore no expression, but you were sure he looked at you like you were dumb. Did he know what it was? “Are you kidding me?”

“No, why?”

“Allegra is--” He sighed. “It’s allergy medication. It’s… Not drugs per say”

“Uh?”

“God dammit--” He paused as something caught his eyes. It was sparkly, and unfit for this environment. From it emerged five armed guys dressed in earth clothes. They had a bag of white substance, which was tasted by the man who welcomed them. “Of fuck, THAT’s cocaine”

You waited as they put some of it in a vial, which already had purple liquid.

“Fuck, they mix it with allegra?” He cursed, mostly to himself. “What kind of fucking insane dimension did I step in?”

“I told you”

“Okay, so those guys will have to leave eventually” Jason pointed at the visibly Earth humans. “We’ll make sure we catch it as well”

“But they have machine guns” You pointed out, not sure how his mind worked.

“Wait for my signal” You knew he was grinning under that helmet. Before you could ask him how the fuck he would manage five armed guys, he jumped over the rail and started running toward them. You shut your eyes shut as gunshots went off, then opened them again when it was silent. There were bodies around, but Jason was still standing, wrestling with two guys. You watched for a few seconds when you noticed a pink figure sneakily approaching from behind, a frying pan in his hand.

The mayor!

You jumped over the rail too, but your landing was way less graceful than Jason’s. Actually, you were pretty sure you sprained your ankle. But still, you ran-limped to the man and jumped on his back before he could bonk Jason’s head with his weapon.

“ARRRRRGH”

He did not see you coming, as he lost balance at your attack. You crashed on the ground, where you managed to get on top and start hitting him. But apparently neither of you knew how to punch, so it was a rather pathetic looking fight. You swapped and slapped, pulled hair and scratched, until you got a hold of his pan and made a pancake of his face.

“Take that you pink fucking nightmare” You spat as you stood up. You turned to Jason, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

“Wow uh” He covered it with a cough. “That sure was an interesting fight to watch”

“Keep mocking me, mister fucking assassin” You rolled your eyes. “I stopped him from bonking your head”

“Alright, alright, thank you”

“No problem” You replied. “Let’s get out of here”

You went and stood on the platform the dealers came through, then waited. But nothing happened.

“I think we need to activate it” He spoke up. That was logical.

You scanned the room for a panel control, and you believed you spotted it on the opposite wall. You grabbed your shoe to throw at it, before Jason held back your arm’s motion.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Activating the portal” You furrowed your brows, pointing at the panel. A big red button on which was written ‘ON’ was glaring at you from the distance. Practical target.

“Don’t throw your shoe, that’s dumb” He snorted. “Let me”

Before you could argue, he cocked his gun and fired a bullet right on the button. A death sound resonated, but nevertheless sparks began to fly and not just from the ruined panel. The portal opened and swallowed you, sending you through flashes and weird colors until you were spat out in a dull, dark place that smelled bad. Jason seemed to have landed just fine, but you were another story. You pulled yourself up, whining at the pain in your ankle.

“I didn’t expect to see you here”

A creepy, unknown voice made you both turn around. It was a pale man with an unnaturally stretched smile and bad taste in clothes, and right away it made you think the worst. You had been thrown in Dark!Happy Town. Without thinking, you let out a war cry and hurled your frying pan to the more evil version of the Mayor, knocking him out instantly.

What you didn’t expect though, was the roaring laughter from beside you.

“Oh--Oh my god” He could barely talk. “I wished I filmed that”

“What? What’s happening?” You asked. Had he gone crazy? “Who’s that? We’re not back home are we?”

“Relax, we’re back” He took a deep breath, his shoulders still shaking. “You’ve just knocked out the most wanted criminal in Gotham city”

“WHAT?”

“Welcome back, (Y/N), welcome back”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #imagine #jason todd x you #red hood x you #outlaws #crack fic

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whumpbby · 4 years

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smells-like-ink-and-fire replied to your post “<p>Australian instinct not to touch octopuses is warring with the urge...”

Oh to see Bruce's reaction. I'm sensing a mild heart attack

Bruce certainly had a mild stroke.

He was just about ready to go back to his quarters for the night, filling out the last bits of paperwork, gathering his empty coffee mugs (Alfred always shook his head at B whenever the mugs started to pile up) and feeling every bot of his age... when the noise from the corridor drew his attention a moment before the door to his office burst open to reveal a red-faced intern begging Bruce to come down to the bay quick, please, you have to see this!!!

So, prepared for everything, Bruce followed the intern at a run, because the last time they’ve had this sort of commotion, the big holding tank was cracking and they needed to act fast.

However, when he stepped into the bay - a part of the centre open to the ocean, with a ramp leading into the water - he stopped and for a few good blinks didn’t know what he was looking at. There was Dick, because of course Dick was in the centre of whatever was happening, and there was Tim who was screaming something at him, and there were a dozen of the staff positioned away from the water, staring at Dick who was trying to haul a body up the ramp... a mer body. A excessively bleeding mer body.

And then Bruce’s brain decided to finally notice that what he thought was a trail of blood, was in fact the rest of the body of the creature - not a mer, not even close.

His first reaction wasn’t helpful at all.

“Dick, what the hell are you doing?!”

Wasn’t his proudest moment, that. Dick ignored it, thankfully.

“B, help me! He’s wounded and I need...!” He tripped and fell into the water along with the octomer, both slipping back down the ramp. “Fuck! Tim, come on, help me!”

“Don’t come near it!” Bruce ordered.

“B, come on! He’s hurt!”

God, that’s what he got for adopting the bright, friendly kid eighteen years ago - he couldn’t be the dad whose children brought home stray kittens or puppies, could he? No, his son brought them a goddamn eldritch beast.

“Leave it in the water,” Bruce spoke over the raising noise, toeing his shoes off and walking into the water. “We don’t know if it cans survive out of it. We’ll use floating stretchers to support it. Tim, get me the first aid box. Julia, send a message to Clark, we need his expertise!”

Together with Dick, they’ve hauled the octomer onto the floating frame until the creature was stable and they could look at the wound. It was surprisingly docile, probably due to blood loss, it was just staring ahead and twitching weakly when touched. And there was an octopus wound around its neck.

“What the hell? Is that...?”

“Yep,” Dick answered. “I’m about 99% sure it’s Robin. And call me crazy, but I am also pretty sure it was the one to bring the big guy here.”

“Why would it do that?”

“Dunno, but we’ve helped the little fella, right? It probably thought we can help the big one, too.”

That was quite crazy, yes, but Bruce’s closest friend had fins and a tail, so he wasn’t in a place to doubt possible intentions of an octopus. When it was all over, he was going to have a drink and a bit of a breakdown, because here he was, handling a damn cryptid that might have, or might have not, bee the one who saved his son’s life a few months ago...

The cryptid had to take priority. The wound on it’s side was deep and gory, as if something took a chunk out of it with its teeth. A shark? Possibly. Couldn’t have been a big one, the wound was too narrow. And a shark that small would be surely dealt with before it got a chance to attack...

Bruce carefully touched the octo’s mouth and pushed its lips apart to see two rows of nightmare-fuel teeth.

“What are you doing?” Dick was confused.

“Doesn’t look like a shark bite.” Bruce, always on the case, mused. “In-fighting?” Usual mer were omnivores, but they didn’t have a habit of taking chunks out of each other. However, if there was another octomer in the area...

“Territorial dispute, you think?”

“Maybe.”

By that time Tim had returned with the first aid kit and got to work at tending the wound. Tim was their first-aider when it came to mer, because his marine research partner was a reckless brat that tended to appear in the centre with a wound of some sort more often than not. Tim had experience with sewing up tails.

“This is so creepy,” the young man in question muttered while threading a needle. “The skin texture is... it feels like skin. If I faint, don’t let me drown.”

“Don’t worry Timmy.”

Of course, they didn’t forget that they were dealing with a wild and unpredictable creature. The octomer was strapped to the raft and Bruce had an eye on his movements, he also got two researchers to stand close by with tranq guns in case they were needed. He also had another technician film the whole encounter, because research. When Tim was sewing whatever he could of the wound, Bruce took some samples - a bit of a flesh hanging from the wound, a lock of hair, a saliva swab...

“B, really?”

“The more we know, the better prepared we’ll be when something goes wrong, Dick. How are the vitals?”

They really didn’t have a baseline for it, but the mammal-like mer weren’t that different from humans when it came to the basics, so they could only hope the octomer were similar in that respect - this one had nipples and a bellybutton, so the’re probably was a connection with mammals somewhere down its genetic tree...

“Heartbeat’s weak, but stable for now.” Dick recited with a worried frown. “We could try a transfusion, but...”

But they didn’t have a clue what kind of blood wouldn’t make the matters worse. Only after the samples were processed, they’ll know for sure. The octomer was somewhat conscious, because it kept shifting under their hands, the arms underwater were twisting around themselves inside of the net spun around them - either from pain or fear. Bruce considered sedation, but discarded the idea, as long as it moved they knew it was alive and not crashing.

Another tense half an hour passed with no one knowing what to actually do, but not wanting to leave the bay in case something happened. Bruce grilled Dick on the details of the situation that led them there while Tim worked quietly and the technicians took notes and the red-bellied octopus was swimming around them in a manner that could only be called fretful.

At a point Dick reached for it and it wound around his free hand. “It’s okay, kid, he’s going to be okay,” he spoke softly to the animal. “You did good bringing him here, he’ll get help.”

Bruce bit down on a smile tingling in the corners of his lips, because he loved his son with all he had and this was one of the reasons why. The boy was kind to every creature than needed it, regardless if it understood or not.

And he had a strange feeling that Robin somehow did understand.

#smells-like-ink-and-fire #headcanon #octo!jay

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clevercatchphrase · 3 years

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2020 Year Review~

2020. Pretty unique year, don’t you think? It’s the first year since 2002 to have only two different digits in it. After 2022, this won’t happen again until 2111. Yep. Absolutely nothing more interesting than that.

Anyway! It’s time I reflect on my 2020, look back on my yearly goals and rant about things that happened to me this year. I made a post like this last year, where I went over my 2019 goals and talked about what I accomplished and what I didn’t, and it’s only fitting I do the same again this year. Read more under the cut for a random stream of consciousness ramble!

So, first things first, let’s look at my 2019 goals;

Finish paying off that last student loan

Put more stuff on my redbubble

Illustrate my own fan fics

Sew at least one stuffed animal

Make an enamel pin

Read one new book a month

Write one page a day/Complete at least one new fan fic

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make

Finish fully scripting Ghost Switch

Boost my patreon

Paying Off My Last Student Loan: Going down the list, I am proud to say that I FINALLY paid off all my student loans! (and not a moment too soon. The last payment I made was literally days before the first quarantine rolled out). It took me roughly 4 years on my part-time paycheck to pay off all my loans, and once I finished, I had no money to my name (literally; I had less than 1k as emergency money in case of car troubles or health issues). Heck, I’m STILL living at home as a save up for a place of my own. Finally paying off all my student loans DID activate my secret 2020 new year’s resolution, which was to adopt a cat! I did this too, literally a week later! She is the best thing that’s happened to me this entire year and I love her so much and she is the snuggliest cuddle bug I’ve ever met. I’m so happy she’s in my life now~

Put More Stuff On My Redbubble: ah ha ha ha… I thought I did this, but then I went and checked, and it turns out-! I did not. I made art I intended to go on my redbubble, but haven’t put there yet. They are all drawings of some OCs from a game I want to make, but because I haven’t progressed on making the game this year, I never got around to putting more stuff related to it on my redbubble. At the time of writing, there are 7 days left in December, so I guess I could go and put it up on my redbubble right now, but without context on where the characters are from, there wouldn’t be much point, now would there?

Illustrate My Own Fan Fics: Another goal that I was so stoked to actually do… and then just didn’t. Gee, I wonder why I couldn’t find the energy or motivation to do it this year? Truly a conundrum. (Hey, you know what? If Ghost Switch counts as a fan fiction in a visual form, then I am doing GREAT on this goal. 2.5 years in, 1 of ~4 arcs done, and still going steady~)

Sew At Least One Stuffed Animal: Okay, I have a valid excuse for not doing this one. I even knew which stuffed animal I wanted to make, and had the pattern drawn out and everything, but I had no money for materials because I had just paid off my student loans. And then, by the time I did have enough money again, quarantine was in full effect and I couldn’t go out to the fabric store. I’m still trying my best to stay out of public places even if the rules are laxer now, because I don’t want to catch the plague even if everyone in my goddamn city thinks and acts like the problem is over already. Even if they’re all wearing masks, even if they’re staying 6 feet apart, I still don’t want to risk it. I will stay inside until health experts give the all clear, and when that day comes, then I will buy some fleece and make a plush.

Make An Enamel Pin: I ACTUALLY DID THIS ONE. TWICE! Halfway through quarantine, I was feeling anxious and depressed about my job and how they were planning to have me work with the public despite climbing infection rates and positive covid cases. I didn’t quit then, but in a desperate move to try and become self-sufficient, I went to madebycooper and made two enamel pins based on some butterfly dragons I drew last year. They’re on my etsy store now! I even went out of my way to open a P.O. box just to start a small business! I haven’t sold a single pin yet, and I’m actually really nervous to sell my first because I don’t trust the efficiency of the postal system thanks to the actions of the GOP that really screwed them over this year! (If you would like to see my enamel pins, click here!)

Read One Book A Month: I did this! With dragon books I bought a couple years back! In fact, I read FOURTEEN dragon books, and still have more books for next year to read! The 14 books I read this year were:

The Hive Queen

The Poison Jungle

Wings Of Fire Legends: Dragonslayer

Dealing With Dragons

Searching For Dragons

Calling on Dragons

Talking to Dragons

The Bronze Dragon Codex

The Brass Dragon Codex

The Black Dragon Codex

The Red Dragon Codex

The Silver Dragon Codex

Dragon Strike, and

Hatching Magic

To be honest, I had read The Red Dragon Codex years ago when it first came out, but completely forgotten what it was about. I remembered liking it, and I knew the reading level was on the lower side, but the whole dragon codex series was pretty good! So far, the Silver dragon codex was my favorite, and black dragon codex was probably the worst! Hatching Magic was also really slow and bad and had plot points that went nowhere, but the book was written in the 80s, so I don’t know what I expected. The Dealing with Dragons series was very charming and great for the most part, save for one line in the last book that really rubbed me the wrong way, and all the Wings of Fire Books go above and beyond in this third arc. The second legends book could be a little tighter, though (sky and wren are the best duo and I want a book solely about them, but I honest to god do not care about leaf and ivy’s stories.)

Write one Page of any story every day/ complete at least one fic: I… did this? Okay, I kinda cheated near the end of the year. I was keeping up the one page a day thing for the first four months, but then the world went to shit and my schedule and habits got disrupted and I fell off my good track record. I completed 7 out of roughly 12 one-shots I had planned for this year (my goal WAS supposed to be one short a month, but… you know how it happens) I kept trying to catch up on this goal all year, but the days kept piling up…. Until November hit. I managed to write over 250 pages for Nanowrimo, and I consider this goal a win. 365 pages of fiction in total, which averages out to about one a day~. SHUT UP IT COUNTS.

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make: Another goal I didn’t have the mental energy to commit to this year. Truly a mystery to where all our willpower went in 2020.

Fully Finish Scripting Ghost Switch: still haven’t done this one yet! The Snowdin arc is completely planned, but I just haven’t gotten around to getting the other areas. I’m not worried, though. I know all the major plot points I gotta hit, it’s just weaving them together in a way that flows nice is the final task. I’m not too worried though. I don’t expect to finish the Snowdin arc for another year and a half, at the bare minimum.

And my last goal of 2020, Boost My Patreon. I did this at the beginning of the year, but then very intentionally stopped about a third of the way through. It didn’t sit right with me to tell you guys to donate to me when suddenly EVERYONE was financially strained from layoffs or being furloughed. I told my patrons the same, and if you ever need to stop donating to me to take care of yourself first, then by all means, please do. I would feel much better knowing you’re using your money to see yourself fed and housed instead of given to me (where it is pretty much only used to buy gas for my car, honestly)

Welp! That was all my goals for 2020! I achieved 4 out of 10 goals plus 1 secret goal! Pretty much the same ratio as last year, but now this time I can blame all my failures on the pandemic! I don’t feel so bad about myself anymore~

ON TO 2021!

I have 11 goals for the new year, again some rolled over from this list, and some from even older years. They are, in no particular order;

Read 12 new books (roughly 1 book a month)

Finish the first draft of 2019’s Nanowrimo project and rewrite it

Script TDV

Finish Scripting Ghost Switch

Build A Comic Buffer

Sew 1 Stuffed Animal

Finish 1 Song Comic

Make another Enamel Pin

Finish 2 short original comics (this one counts as 2 goals)

Finish the 5 remaining one-shot fics

Now to go into depth on each one, more for my own sake, really. I want to know exactly what I have planned for each goal this year, and sometimes just looking at a short list doesn’t capture all the smaller details.

1)Read 12 new books. Same as last year! I The only difference is I might not be able to make it all dragon-related books. (I try my hardest not to buy from amazon anymore, but half-price-books doesn’t always have the obscure stuff I’m looking for)

2)Finish 2019’s nanowrimo project. If you read my 2019 year reflection, you’ll notice I said I wanted to do some original writing. And I did! The story I wrote for nanowrimo back then was a story I’ve been toying with since 2017, but it was only last year I finally got pen to paper. Now, you may find it odd that the keyword says “finish”. You may think, “but isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for nanowrimo?” and to that I say, WRONG! I wrote 50k words for nanowrimo, but the draft was only about halfway complete. I was kinda discouraged about what I had written last year, because I didn’t like how it was coming out, but I did manage to get it half done. Now it’s time for me to bite the bullet and just finish the thing so I can finally revise it and make it into something I DO like. (It’s still gonna be hella long, tho. That’s what I get for trying to write an epic fantasy, I guess.)

3)Script TDV. TDV is the abbreviation of the game I want to make. I… still need to do so much for this project OTL… In addition to getting the story solidified, I still need to draw art and game assets, and learn how to code for it, both of which are no small task. I keep having some sort of new year’s goal related to this on my list, and every year I just don’t hit this one. Will 2021 be different?

4)Finish Scripting Ghost Switch. (Or at the very least, get the waterfall arc completely written out). I have a plan to break this down into simpler steps, by focusing on just one arc for a month or two. Every major arc has 2 to 3 parts, broken up by flashbacks, and if I can just finish one section a month, then I should have the entire thing scripted by the end of the year. It’s not a difficult pace, but seeing if I stick with it will be the real challenge, as it is will all my goals it seems.

5)Build a Comic Buffer: I’m actually working on this one right now! Since I paid off my last loan and got a new job this year, my current Patreon goals are kind of out of date. They had all been centered around me paying off that last loan, and working towards full-time employment, but those are both completed now! So instead, I would love to get to a place where my patrons could read pages at least a week ahead, and to do that, I need to build a buffer. And since I’m working 5 full days a week now, I can’t afford to fall behind. But you can’t fall behind if you constantly stay ahead! I would like to have… a 10 to 12 page buffer. That’s roughly 3 months’ worth of pages to always have on hand in case I get swamped with work, or something. Right now I currently have a buffer of 3, which will cover me for half a January, which is better than not having anything at all, but still not the best. (ultimately, I would love to have a buffer so big, I could queue them up for the whole year. Wouldn’t that be something?)

6) Sew one stuffed animal: same as last year. ASSUMING the plague gets under control in 2021, I don’t expect to get to this goal until the summer at the earliest.

7)Finish 1 song comic: I have 7 song comics planned. One is a gift, one possibly for wandersong, one is a collab that’s currently in the works, but I’m waiting on a friend to do their part before I can continue mine, 2 are UT related, and 2 (well, technically 3, but one is the collab) are KH related. It’s one of the UT ones that will probably get finished, if I’m being honest. It’s completely story boarded, and now I just need to ink and color it. I would like to get it done for UT’s 6th birthday, since I made a song comic on the fly for the anniversary this year, and it was fun, and I’d like to do it again! So, look forward to that next september~

8) Make another enamel pin: I have a dolphin design I’d like to make because dolphins are cute, if not little murder machines. (need to save up some expendable income first, tho. THESE THINGS AIN’T CHEAP TO MAKE.)

9 and 10) start and finish 2 original short comics: I’ve got some comic ideas I want to do, but I need to get them written out first. I don’t think either would be too long. Each maybe a couple “episode’s” length, if envisioned on a website like webtoons or tapas. They’d both be heavy in allegory, but not overly drawn out (hopefully)

11)And lastly, Finish the 5 remaining one-shots I had planned for this year but never got around to. I’m going to try to write one every other month. Pure self-indulgent shipping fluff. If I finish these 5, then maybe I’ll ask other people for more prompts and ideas, which I’ve never done before. We’ll see how it goes~

Also, Like last year, I’d like to look at everything that’s happened to me this year, though to be honest, I’m not sure how much I remember/how accurate it’ll be. God, I don’t even remember what January was like. Who was I back then? Who were we all back then? I guess I’ll start my yearly retrospective in march because, heh, god we ALL know what started happening in march.

Firstly, I paid off my last student loan! Then a week later on March 18th, I drove half an hour out of my city to adopt a cat and I love her and it was the best day of this year for me. Spring break is just beginning this weekend, but the attendance at the zoo is shockingly low this year. Apparently, a lot of people watch the news, and they’re all taking precautions about social distancing. I wasn’t too disappointed. Fewer people at the zoo, the easier my job is for me. I was looking forward to getting some free overtime on spring break, since I’m broke after paying off that loan, and I’m a cat parent now and have a furry child to feed. Monday rolls around. My manager calls me and tells me that the zoo is going into lockdown until further notice. I worry for the birds I take care of, but understand it’s for everyone’s safety.

For two months I sleep in and watch way too much YouTube. I join a couple writing discords. I have nightmares about my birds escaping their enclosure and I dreamed one of the security guards I really like at the zoo gets covid and has to go to the ER. I woke up really upset.

I started and finished BBS for the first time. I also replayed and finished KH2 final mix for the first time. It had been about 5 years since I last played KH2 before my PS2 died, and it was like coming home~ I also finished tearaway, and played and beat Ryme for a second time (which I can’t remember if I did that last year, but it was a fun experience regardless)

Mid-June, and I’m allowed to start going back to work, be it on reduced hours. The zoo is still closed to the public, but I’m loving it! I get to work with full-time keepers and do full-time keeper things. It’s so much fun not having to deal with the public. August starts to creep up and there’s a rumor that the zoo will be opening to the public again, which I’m not stoked about. I don’t want to go back to standing in one exhibit all day, talking to guests who don’t listen to the rules or to me. 2 of my younger coworkers (who had both only been there a couple of months) get chosen for full-time positions, while I get passed up which really pisses me off. My other 2 coworkers quit when they think we might be reopening because they cannot risk catching the virus due to at-risk family. I am now the last keeper in the interactive bird exhibit.

I keep working, the zoo slowly opens, but with me as the only interpreter in our interactive bird exhibit, we can’t open because I can’t run the entire exhibit by myself. So my exhibit stays closed. September comes and goes, and then October starts. Now there is more serious talk of opening my exhibit before the end of the year because the zoo expects to bring in larger crowds for the Christmas lights event in November/December. I ask if I get hazard pay or health insurance since I’m doing full-time hours until they hire more staff. They say no.

I immediately start searching for a new job feeling incredibly indignant/hurt/slighted/insulted/used/abused/ALL the negative feelings at my job. I had been there for 4 years, but never got a chance to work full time, while the two newest hires who had only been there 2 months both got moved up. I can’t help but feel they were holding one mistake I made two years ago against me and never wanted to give me a chance. (that, or they knew I was reliable when it came to showing up for work in such a volatile position that sees a lot of new faces, and they didn’t want to bother going through the process of hiring someone new) I don’t want to risk my life working around guests who don’t wash their hands and don’t properly distance. I don’t want to gamble with my health when they won’t offer me health insurance because I’m part time.

Mid October, I get an interview for a full time job and get hired on the spot. I peace out at the zoo 2 weeks later, literally 3 days before they planned to open my exhibit to the public. It was a close call for me to escape before they opened to the public (and pettiness was only partially the reason I dipped out so close to opening). Sorry new hires who are now in charge of the bird feeding exhibit. I taught you the best I could in the short time I had. If the managers are struggling with what to do with one less person, I can’t say I feel bad. I can only hope they delayed opening/closed you down again for your own safety. You are not lightbulbs. I really hope the higher ups stop considering you as replaceable as one. Will I go back to the zoo to visit? Probably. But not for a year at least.

I started my new job the very next day after I quit the zoo, and have been there ever since, (which isn’t that long yet, tbh. Christmas day was my 2 month anniversary). It’s full time, but it’s also a small business, and everyone’s hours this year have been on the short side due to the plague. I understand, though. They don’t want us to work if they can’t afford to pay us. Everyone is nice enough, though some people smoke and it’s hard to avoid them with how frequently we have to go in and out, and I really don’t want to get lung cancer, sorry not sorry, please and thank you. Also, with such a small team, gossip is certainly harder to go undetected, so it’s a relief knowing people don’t talk behind one another’s backs.

I participated and beat my 4th nanowrimo in a row, I made TWO apple crisps on thanksgiving, and made baklava on Christmas and both of these recipes were my first time making them, and they both came out adequately! I voted the first day of early voting, and I did an art trade/collab with two of my friends for my birthday! (normally we would have done monthly “art days” where we get together and do art projects for fun because we’re adults and we can spend our time together however we want, but the plague said otherwise this year) We drew pokemon and it was fun! (hopefully I can show you all the results soon. At the time of writing, I’m still waiting for the last two colored parts to get back to me)

I reached 100 pages on my undertale comic, and finish the first arc out of…! (im not sure. It’s either going to be 4 or 5, I haven’t decided yet)

Over all, I managed to stay healthy as far as I know. I wasn’t as productive as I wanted to be this year, but then again, who was? (don’t answer that. I don’t need that kind of comparison in my life right now)

Will 2021be any better? Honestly? I don’t think so. Not right away, at least. Just because a new year is about to start does not mean the slate is completely wiped clean. The change of the calendar year doesn’t magically make all our current problems disappear. Covid will still be here and cases will still climb when January starts. Small business will still be strained when the month rolls over, police will still go on murdering innocent civilians and getting away scot free, amazon and disney will still be monopolizing all consumer goods and media, and I can’t help but feel like there’s an impending shit show about to go down on inauguration day. I do hope things will get better, though. It’ll be arduous and unpleasant, but I do hope things will improve, because sometimes hoping is all you can do.

Good night.

#long post #new year's resolutions #year review #year retrospective

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abuttoncalledsmalls · 4 years

Text

Take A Giant Step - Chapter 2

Warnings: Fluff?, Hangovers, Language.

Pairings: Frankie Morales x f!O/C

Word Count: 2,063

Updated A/N: I have done a little bit of re-editing on this fic. So yes, you have read this before. But now it’s better.

A/N: Here is Chapter 2! If you would like to be tagged in upcoming chapters, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Please enjoy. <3

“Hi. Yeah, this is Frankie Morales. We met last night at Applebee’s and you gave me a ride home?”

“Oh! Hey. How are you doing this morning?”

“I’m fine. How are you? How’s your friend doing?”

“Oh, Jeff? He is probably super hungover, but he’ll live. Despite what he’ll tell everyone.”

Frankie gave a small chuckle over the phone.

“I didn’t know if Jeff was just being nice or if he was really wasted last night, but he mentioned that I could see your show sometime. He said you were the best person to call about this.”

“While he was feeling VERY good last night, he meant it. I would be more than happy to set up a ticket for you. We have performances at 8:00 PM on Fridays and Saturdays. On Sundays we have matinees at 2:00 PM. The show is running for the next two weeks.”

I walked over to my desk and opened up my laptop. As I was logging into our box office system, I asked him if there was a particular date that he was interested in seeing the show.

“Do you guys have a show this afternoon?”

“We do! Let me see if we have any seats available.” Of course we did. We always did for Sunday matinees. Especially now that spring was in full bloom. I couldn’t fault anyone for choosing a leisurely afternoon walk outdoors over being shut in a dark theater examining the absurdities of human nature for two hours. That afternoon’s box office report came up on my screen. We had only thirty tickets sold. Seating him would be no issue.

“Awesome - it looks like we have plenty of space. Our theater is on the smaller side, so there really isn’t a bad seat in the house. Would it be okay if I put you towards the middle. Or would you like to sit closer to or further back from the stage?”

“The middle sounds great. Thank you.”

“Are you going to need one or two seats?”

“It’s only me, so just one.”

“Coolio. What name do you want me to put your ticket under?”

“Francisco Morales, if you don’t mind. I prefer my full name on that sort of thing, but like being called Frankie in person.”

Hmmm. Francisco. He didn’t necessarily take me as a Francisco at first glance, but I could see it the more I thought about it. Such a quiet and strong name. From what I could tell though, he seemed to be more on the reserved and gentle side. I caught myself getting lost in thought and snapped back to reality.

“Okay. I have you set down for one seat this afternoon at 2:00 PM. We are located at 1564 Broad Street. There is plenty of off-street parking on the weekends, so that shouldn’t be too much of an issue. All you need to do is show up at least fifteen minutes before the show starts and then go to the box office. Just tell Laurie, the box office manager, your name and she will take care of you from there. Do you have any questions?”

“Um, will you or Jeff be there this afternoon?”

“I’m there for every show as I am stage managing this particular production. Jeff just shows up during pre-show to check in with folks, talk with patrons, and give a curtain speech. Once the show starts, he leaves.”

“Oh, okay.”

“If anything else comes up, don’t hesitate to call me?”

“I will. Thanks again.”

“My pleasure. I’ll see you later. Bye!”

“Bye.”

I didn’t know much about Frankie at that moment. I knew that he had lost his job, liked Bud Lite, and was very polite. I also know that he was in the military and that he was kind enough to defend my shitty car’s honor the night before. However, my gut was telling me that I was really excited to see him again.

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

I was up in the tech booth doing my pre-show checks of the lights and soundboard when Jeff arrived. If there was ever a poster child for a hungover middle aged man, he was indeed it. His brown hair shot up in different directions. He had his Ray-Ban sunglasses on and was clutching what I could only hope was a cup of black coffee. He looked a mess, but at least he showed up and was ready to do what he needed to.

“Hi,” he croaked.

“Hey. How are you feeling, partner?”

“Like death. I am sure this is the one that is going to kill me.”

“You can’t die yet. We need to finish out the season. Then you can die.” He grumbled.

“Everything good on your end?”

“Yeah. The lights and sound are fine. The set hasn’t combusted and the actors are in relatively good spirits.”

“Good.”

“Segue - you are not going to believe who called me this morning.”

“Oh my god, if it is Amy, let her know that her goddamn check is in the mail. All that noise over a single staged -”

“No. Our friend Frankie from last night.”

“Who?”

“I thought this would happen. Frankie - you bought him a shot. We gave him a ride home. You offered him a comp ticket for the show. Gave him your business card with my phone number on it.” Jeff nodded knowingly.

“I think I remember now.”

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Not a fucking clue.”

I sighed. After explaining the previous evening’s adventure, Jeff’s hazy memory was somewhat jogged. I then went on to tell him that Frankie would be seeing the show that afternoon.

“Really? If you see him -”

“Yes, I will text you where he is sitting. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on the actors and open house.” I smiled and brought up the pre-show lights. Jeff told me to have a good show and then headed to the lobby to schmooze with patrons.

After I checked in with the actors and crew, I was ready to open the house. I sent Laurie a text letting her know that I was ready to let people in. Pulling up the QLab soundboard app on my phone, I tapped the play button to start the pre-show playlist.

I sauntered to one of my favorite spots in the theater - behind the curtains that masked the backstage. Watching patrons enter and find their seats from backstage was a bad habit that I’ve never been able to break. A small sense of excitement always jolted through me when I recognized people in our audience. That afternoon seemed to be filled with our older subscribers. I was happy to see them, but there was a specific patron I was scanning the room for. As fifteen minutes to curtain approached, I felt my stomach dip as I went and made my call. Maybe he wasn’t coming or maybe he got lost trying to find the theater. While my brain was entertaining several scenarios, my eyes caught the sight of a navy Standard Oil baseball cap.

Frankie had made it! I felt a smile stretch across my face. He was wearing an olive button down shirt and khaki pants. As he was finding his seat, I was able to notice things about him that I didn’t the night before. How could I have missed those broad shoulders, long legs, and soft tummy? Was the Applebee’s so dark last night that I couldn’t see them? Did I just not pay enough attention? Was I developing a silly little crush on this man?! I needed to find that answer out later. I had a job at hand that needed my complete focus. Taking in a deep breath, I collected myself and went on to make my ten minute call.

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

The show went well. It lacked the audience’s live energy, but it was fine for a Sunday matinee. I was preoccupied with helping my assistant reset the stage after the show. We did this after every performance as it made set up for the next one a tad easier. It was also a really good time to check in with her and see where she was in the process. My assistant, Alexis, was fantastic. I could not have asked for a better second-in-command. She was incredibly organized, funny, and always willing to help out no matter the task. We had just replaced the sofa on stage when I heard a soft, gruff voice call my name. I turned downstage to find Frankie looking up at me. He had a sheepish smile plastered on his face. I walked to the edge of the stage towards him.

“Hi!”

“Hi.”

“You made it! Thanks for coming out. Were you able to find us alright? Was parking okay? Did you enjoy the show?” It was like my brain switched over to dork mode and I couldn’t stop asking questions.

“I liked it. I’m not quite sure that I -”

C R A S H.

We both turned upstage to see Alexis sitting in a pile of wooden pieces that used to be the desk in our show. I rushed to her to make sure that she was not injured.

“Alexis! Are you okay? What happened,” I calmly asked.

“I noticed that the picture frame on that shelf was at a crooked angle. So I pushed the desk against the wall so I could stand on it and adjust the frame. I’m not hurt. I’m not too sure about the desk though… I’m sorry.”

“Desks are replaceable. You, however, are not. Don’t worry about this. I will take care of it.” I gave her a reassuring smile.

“I just wanted to help - “

“I know. I appreciate your initiative and willingness to do so. But next time, could you please use a ladder instead of a set piece? Please?”Alexis chuckled nervously and stood up. She tried to apologize again, but I went in and gave her a big hug. I made her promise that she was to go home, take some Advil, and keep me posted as to how she was feeling for the next few days. She thanked me and headed out.

Once Alexis had left, my attention returned to the desk. I was able to do small maintenance repairs, but that’s where my stagecraft abilities ended. There was no way I would be able to fix this. I was going to have to spend the next four days trying to find a new desk that matched the old one’s measurements and design. Of course this had to happen with only two weeks left in the run and with no scenic budget left.

I was so lost in brainstorming solutions, that I did not notice that Frankie had climbed onto the stage to inspect the damage. I pulled out my phone and began to text Jeff about the situation.

“I can fix this.” I looked up from my phone at Frankie. My face must have conveyed a look of disbelief and skepticism.

“It’ll take some elbow grease, but it is possible.”

“I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me. Are you positive that you can repair this? If not, I need to find a new desk ASAP.”

“I promise I can repair this. Woodworking is one of my hobbies and I’ve been doing it for years. If I am unable to fix this in time, I will personally buy and deliver you all a brand new desk.”

“I can’t really say no to that offer. Do you think you would be able to come in tomorrow?”

“Um, I don’t think I can do it tomorrow. I’ve got a meeting thing that I’ve got to go to.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as pushy. Sometimes that happens and -” His coffee colored eyes met mine and he gave a smirk.

“No. You weren’t being pushy. You need a problem fixed and you’re just trying to make sure that it gets taken care of. I can come in Tuesday morning. Would that work? I can bring in my tools and materials.”

“Tuesday sounds wonderful. This is so awesome of you and thank you so much. We’ll get lunch that afternoon. My treat. I can also be around to be an extra set of hands if you need them.”

“A free meal and pleasant company? I don’t think I could turn that down even if I wanted to.”

----------------------------------------

TAGS: @larakasser @absurdthirst @yespolkadotkitty @fioccodineveautunnale @wickedfrsgrl

#frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales #catfish morales #frankie x oc #catfish x oc #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #abuttoncalledsmalls #takeagiantstep

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rhetoricalrogue · 4 years

Text

31 Days of Wayhaven, Day 27

Prompt: Unkempt Rating: PG-ish? Nicky may have thrown an F-bomb or two around, I can’t remember. Words: 3,271 Characters: Nicolo Morelli, Elaine from Records Summary: Nicky is about to have words for some agents who can’t spell properly.

For the @31daysofwayhaven event.

Nicky was many things: a charming man with a reputation with the ladies, a loyal team member adept at technology and stealth, a man who prided himself in keeping up with the latest fashions. What Nicky wasn’t was a patient man when it came to proofreading documents, especially documents that were supposed to have been written by people who knew what they were doing.

“This is unacceptable,” he growled, swiveling in the office chair he’d been assigned to. He wasn’t much of a day drinker by any means, but he suddenly craved something to vent his frustrations on as he went through the fifth document of the morning.

It was only nine. He still had an entire stack of paperwork he was expected to complete by lunch piled high on his inbox and who knew how many files in his email. He needed more coffee. The office building he was in could only be described as bland, and even that was by Agency standards. Normally, the rest of the Facility was a uniform neutral done up in white paint and stainless steel, but this looked as if someone had gone back in time, snipped off a portion of the seventies, and whisked it back to the present day. Beige walls and dark brown carpet assaulted his sensibilities. Even the very air seemed to smell of old toner - Nicky was certain that purple ditto sheets reeking of methanol and isopropanol had gone the way of the dinosaur, but then again, this was the Agency. There was probably a reason an early era Xerox printer was still being used, and as inquisitive as he was, Nicky wasn’t going to try to investigate. He was merely lucky that there was a computer hooked up to his desk, even if it was an ancient yellow box of an Apple Macintosh from the 80s that somehow had Microsoft Word installed on it. Again, he wasn’t going to question it, even if he did nervously glance down at his phone on multiple occasions to see if there was something in the office or perhaps the office itself that would transform his latest phone upgrade into a brick bag phone.

God, he’d hated that era of early technology. Everything had been so goddamn expensive and it was comical to see the cutting technology of the day compared to now.

“Welcome to my world.” Nicky peered around the plain grayish beige partition of his cubicle - a cubicle! The demotion from Charlie to Delta was irritating enough, but to have to go through an entire probationary period before being able to get back onto the sort of fieldwork that his unit was used to performing was downright galling. - that smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and watched as a tall, sturdy looking woman sat down in the cubicle next to his and sighed. At first glance, Nicky wouldn’t have thought that she belonged in an office setting. Trolls normally weren’t the types that came to mind when one thought about what a clerical staff would look like. Yet apparently Elaine was one of the best and fastest proofreaders in the Agency, shooting up from ground level staff to managerial level quicker than anyone would have thought, troll or not. Nicky hadn’t worked with her before, but he had worked with trolls in the past, so her craggy gray skin and over seven feet height didn’t put him off. She walked and sat with a hunch, to make herself smaller in the environment or if that was purely her nature, Nicky didn’t know, but her lichen colored hair was done up in a neat bun atop her hair and the tips of her fingers were painted a bright coral color that matched her lipstick. On anyone else, the color would have looked garish, but she seemed to pull it off well.

Elaine didn’t normally have a cubicle, her glass encased office was down the hall, but one of the other proofreaders had called in sick and she had decided it was easier to complete the workload at their desk instead of hauling it over to hers. It meant that the space wasn’t quite suited to fit her, the cubicle walls short enough that the top of her head was clearly visible over them and her knees bumped the top of the desk if she wasn’t careful. Nicky had already heard her mutter curses under her breath at least four times that morning alone and hoped she wouldn’t bruise her kneecaps before the day was done. The permanent scowl her mouth was set in while she worked seemed completely out of place in the cubicle: the actual owner had a thing for bright pink office supplies and the little poster of a kitten hanging onto a branch emblazoned with a “hang in there, baby!” at the bottom definitely seemed like it wasn’t her sort of decor.

“Is it always this bad?” he asked, changing the spelling and punctuation in a paragraph that a toddler could have written better. He tisked, he knew this agent and hadn’t thought they were capable of this...this monstrosity. He was going to have to have words with them once his time in purgatory was up. Not for the first time since agreeing to this sort of punishment, Nicky wished that he had swapped spots with Cam and taken on the rookie agent field assignments instead.

“Sometimes it’s worse.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard, editing as she went. “If it makes you feel any better, Morelli, I’ve never seen any of your reports cross my desk.”

He scoffed before getting up to the little breakroom, the brown low pile carpeting making way for white vinyl linoleum spattered with black and beige speckles. “I should hope not. I look over my reports for typos at least twice with a fine toothed comb before I turn them in.”

“And you still get them done in a timely manner, I’m impressed.”

He came back with a cup of coffee. It wasn’t anything to write home about, but it was hot and at least whoever had made the last pot had made it strong. “What can I say? I’m quick, efficient, and I get the job done right the first time.”

There was a sound from the cubicle almost as if someone were crushing gravel. It took Nicky a split second to realize that was Elaine laughing. “Sounds like the ideal traits for a troll mate,” she joked. “Careful, lest I think you’re trying to come on to me.”

Nicky grinned, though he was inwardly running through his mental catalogue of supernatural mating habits and blanched at what he dragged up. Apparently trolls had a use ‘em and lose ‘em mentality when it came to their partners. The lose part was when they bit off their heads and had them for a post-coital snack. “Now, now,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “As much as I would like to, I am a married man!”

That gravel noise sounded again, even as Elaine’s fingers continued to clack on the keyboard. “Ha! Good one, Morelli! Pull the other leg while you’re at it!”

“No, it’s true! And believe me, it’s just as much a surprise to me as it is to everyone else!” It had been a week since coming back from Chicago where Isabela had apparently made her home. Communications with her were still in this strange state - how did one text one’s estranged wife romantically without it boiling down to looking like a booty call or an invitation to send nudes, especially when one’s long-lost spouse was prone to stabbing and spellcraft? Seeing that Isabela had already hexed certain body parts of his before, Nicky was careful of his wording, lest his best feature downstairs suffer a second cursed fate.

At least she was responding favorably to his texts, even if his buongiorno, Bella the other day had been answered with a slightly grumpy it is five in the morning, Nicolo. Even so, he’d treasured the picture she added: Isabela in her bedroom, hair sleep-tousled and unkempt, eyes still half-lidded and sleepy looking, lips slightly pursed and cheek pressed against her pillow.

It had become his phone’s home screen almost instantly.

He should just wear her down enough to give him her email address. At least then he could take his time and compose honest to goodness love letters to her, even if they weren’t of the pen and paper variety, instead of having to rely on quickly creating off the cuff compositions that while expressed his sentiments were still a little unpolished.

For someone who hadn’t seen himself as the type of man that was willing to settle down with one woman, Nicky was sure taking the whole matrimony against his will, being magically bound to one woman for all eternity, having knowledge that he’d fathered a child and was currently a grandfather dumped into his lap not even two months ago pretty well. Having this time away from fieldwork and actual missions gave him time for introspection and the fact that his daughter - and how that still had him reeling! - texted him at least once a day to catch him up on her life gave him a warm feeling in his heart that he hadn’t felt in a very long time, if ever. Nicky made a mental note to invest in one of those silicone wedding bands. Gold and other metals weren’t the best to wear out in the field and while his body regenerated severed limbs and whatnot, he really wasn’t interested in accidentally getting a finger crushed or torn off when his hand ultimately got stuck in a door or some other scenario that had already come up several times in the past. Fingers grew back. Fingers also hurt like no one’s business when they were lost and while they grew back. He would like to avoid either scenario as much as possible.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Would sending his wife an unsolicited picture of his hand while wearing a wedding ring count as flirting? While the tone to their texts had been amiable if not a little icy at times, perhaps the gesture would endear him to her a little bit. He grinned. Maybe it would even earn him an actual phone call. His grin widened. Perhaps, if he played his cards right, the phone call would change from talking about the weather to more steamier topics.

His grin faltered. He wondered what would happen between him and Isabela. While they had only known the other for a paltry week three hundred years ago, Nicky knew when a woman was interested in him but playing hard to get. But what would happen when she decided that he’d suffered long enough, when he’d taken another flight to grovel for her forgiveness at her front door like she said she’d wanted him to do? He was an agent, it was the only life that he’d known since being scooped up, shell shocked and horrified at being brought back to life after being murdered and left to rot in a ditch. He had a life here with the Agency, had a deep loyalty to his unit, surely she wouldn’t expect him to leave it behind to run away from his responsibilities with her? And what of her? She was settled in one spot, she had people of her own that were important to her. He couldn’t ask her to leave that life behind, wouldn’t ask her to leave that life behind, in favor of joining up with the Agency so they could share a cramped windowless room with a narrow full-size bed.

Nicky thought back to her cottage with its iron fence and little backyard garden. Granted, he hadn’t gotten to see the interior of her home very well, seeing as she had stabbed him to death in her kitchen and then shoved him out the back porch, he knew that he wouldn’t want her to trade that life for one here, even if it meant that all their relationship - or whatever this was that they were starting could be called - would ever be merely good morning and good evening texts with brief visits when vacation time was allotted and FaceTime calls filling up the spaces in between.

“You’re spacing out. Daydreaming isn’t going to get that pile of work done.” Nicky blinked and sighed as Elaine looked at him from over the partition. Then he growled, realizing that in the brief moment he had taken to think of Isabela, the work in his virtual inbox had doubled in size.

“No one deserves this kind of torture,” he grumbled, fingers all but slamming on the keys as he corrected “teh” to “the” for the umpteenth time and formatted the entire document to full justification. Did no one know how to write a proper office memo?

“Eh, it pays well.” Elaine got up, shoulders bunched up to her ears and back hunched so she wouldn’t risk brushing the white drop ceiling tiles - tiles Nicky was sure contained asbestos - and made her way to his desk. Before he could say anything, she grabbed the physical files in his to file inbox and made her way over to the wall of dark grey metal filing cabinets. She’d explained on his first day in the department that they weren’t actual filing cabinets, but magical portals to deliver each report to its intended recipient. “Some of us aren’t fit for field duty, so reading badly written reports is the closest we’re ever going to get to the action.”

“Aw, come on, Elaine.” Nicky hit print and deleted the file, moving on to the next. Sure, he understood the whole paper trail as means of securing Agency secrets from getting spilled, but really, all one had to do was get a strong enough firewall and other cybersecurity options and none of this transcribing digital to print would have to happen. He eyed the file cabinets. It wouldn’t take someone with enough skill to break through the security wards to change just where those files ended up to either.

Besides, there was a major loophole in Agency logic: if all the reports were done in the field via laptops or tablets, then what was stopping anyone from leaking company secrets at that level? Somehow, the bureaucratic nature of even having this department, even with the older technology on hand, seemed inefficient and redundant.

Oh well, at least no one was making Nicky type handwritten field notes and reports on an actual typewriter. He was a good typist, but not good enough to avoid going through his share of correction tape and white-out. The backspace key was his friend, one that he could not do without.

“What?” Elaine picked up the report from the copier and made her way towards the file cabinet again.

“I’m just saying, I bet you would be a formidable Agent out in the field.”

She rolled her eyes. “No can do, Morelli. Apparently the powers that be came to the conclusion that my aptitude tests put me at a higher risk of accidental exposure via bloodletting.” She went back to her cubicle and began typing again. “The risk of collateral damage would be too high to let me loose in the world.”

“Yeah, I could see that being a big minus on the pros and cons of getting you into field agent status.”

“Hey, I’m happy where I’m at. I’m being helpful and not causing havoc under some bridge or underpass somewhere. It’s a win-win situation.” She sat back down at the desk, cursing when her knee banged into the desktop hard enough to make the little fake plant that was activated by the overhead lighting wobble precariously on the cute clip-on cubicle wall shelf. “You though?”

“What about me?”

She paused in her typing. “You don’t belong in an office tied to a desk. Those powers that be? I say they did your unit dirty.”

Nicky shrugged. “Yeah, well, we win as a team and we make mistakes as a team. We wouldn’t leave one of us out to dry that way.”

Elaine leaned forward. “And I read the report that another unit gave about the whole incident. Hell, it was so full of typos that I’m pretty damn sure it was meant for me to read. Exiling Agent Adams, especially with no way of fending for herself when it comes to regaining her energy? Demoting your entire unit? Something smells distinctly like bullshit.”

Nicky sagged in his desk chair. “Fuck. And here I thought it was just me being my usual paranoid self.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just that I can’t find any evidence that would suggest why anyone would set Win up to fail that way. And I definitely can’t find any evidence that would suggest why, knowing the way that Cam leads our unit and how loyal we are to the other, that anyone would want to take us out of commission. It wasn’t the old Delta unit, they fought being promoted to Charlie the entire way, and no one jumped up to try to play unit ranking hopscotch either.”

“I wish I could tell you something, I really do. All I know is that my gut is saying this isn’t right.” She gave him a pointed look over the cubicle wall. “It isn’t much, but I can keep my eyes peeled for any leads.”

He nodded. “Thanks, but I don’t want to drag you into anything, especially if this turns out to be something big.”

“You’re not dragging me if I go willingly, Morelli. While I may not be busting heads and whatnot out on the surface, let me do my own sort of carnage of the paperwork variety. In the meantime, take an early lunch.”

“Elaine, it’s only nine fifteen.”

“Then take an early brunch. I’ve already got myself caught up on my own paperwork and once I get this stuff done, I’ll move onto your workstation. That report that came in? Hit up Agent Kline in Unit Foxtrot, see if they’ll give you any information.” She winked. “And I’ll understand if traffic was so bad that you couldn’t get back to the office today. Just be sure to come in at regular time tomorrow morning.”

He got up and shrugged on his jacket, stuffing his phone back into an inner pocket. “Thanks, Elaine. You’re a doll.”

She made a vague shooing motion with her hand. “Quiet, I’ve got a reputation to uphold. And if you talk to her, tell Agent Adams hello.”

Nicky made his way out of the Records Department and strode down the labyrinthine hallways of the Facility. It was a strange sense to step out of whatever time era the department was stuck in and step into a more modern hallway. For a brief moment, Nicky almost preferred the archaic, not quite retro feel of the office instead. Tugging on his jacket collar, he pulled out his phone. Cam and Penny would want to hear what he discovered for themselves.

As he strode down the empty hall, texting as he walked, he thought back to Elaine. He made a mental note to make a trip topside that evening. As thanks for helping shed some light on ideas that had been bothering him, he was buying her the best coffeemaker he could find to replace the sad, beaten up plastic and glass number that took up way too much space on the counter.

He’d even go out of his way to get her the good coffee beans.

#31daysofwayhaven #my writing #nicolo morelli #do I know where this rambling sideplot is going?#no I do not #will it get resolved before the month is over?#no it will not #listen I'm doing NaNoWriMo a month early with this challenge #and I'm in the home stretch with less than 8K words left to go #I do not control the story or the characters I just go where they want to go with each prompt

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spookyceph · 3 years

Text

I posted all my ShigaDabi Week entries on Ao3, so now it's time to catch up here.

Day 4 | Trust

Summary: Tomura and the League arrive at Deika City to face Re-Destro. But first, Dabi has some explaining to do.

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: Swearing, mild blood

Burn a Bridge, Build a Raft

“This is the place, huh? Not too big, not too small.”

Tomura knew he should look down the hill and see whether Spinner’s assessment of Deika City measured up. After all, it had been his decision to come here, both to rescue Giran and end the stalemate with Gigantomachia. If the others wound up dead, crushed by Sensei’s still-loyal servant or picked off by these Meta Liberation Losers, it would be because they’d followed him.

Well. Except for one.

“Man…why did I get dragged into this?” Wincing, Dabi clasped a hand to the back of his neck.

Though Tomura hadn’t seen him since he’d fucked off to test high-end nomus almost two months—two shittygruelingmiserablegoddamnedlonely months—ago he noticed something was amiss immediately. Details no one else would pick up on because, frankly, no one else had been waiting six weeks to receive word—just one little I’m alive, or sorry, or didn’t mean to abandon you lol—from the stapled sack of shit. Details like how flushed his unscarred skin looked. The amount of dust clinging to his coat. How his balance wavered, one boot almost tangling with the other, as he barely sidestepped Twice’s measuring tape while being hollered at for his callous attitude toward Giran’s plight. The fact he’d upset Jin to begin with proved the whole situation had gone sideways.

No one else noticed. But no one else knew Dabi like he did.

“Stop.” Tomura’s voice cracked through the air like a rifle shot. Everybody froze, gazes leaping to him. Everybody but one.

“Compress,” he continued, losing some of his volume but none of his command.

The magician snapped to attention, hastily securing his mask back over his face. “Er, yes?”

Not taking his eyes from Dabi, Tomura held out one hand. “Water.”

“Ah! Oh. Of course.” Compress didn’t even attempt to hide the relief in his voice at being off the hook. Taking a marble from one of his coat’s many pockets, he converted it back into their canteen and passed it over.

With his empty hand, he pointed to Dabi, then over at the line of trees marking the forest border. “You. Go sit.”

“Oooo,” crowed Toga. “Someone’s in trouble…”

Dabi blinked, switching a bewildered stare between her and Tomura’s finger. Some sense of meaning must’ve sunk in because, eventually, a dent appeared in the middle of his eyebrows and he plodded his way toward the spot indicated.

No one dared utter a word when Tomura stalked after him.

Dabi halted at the first tree he came to, gawking up at it like he’d never seen such a thing before. He didn’t even register Tomura holding a hand up near his cheek. Scalding heat rolled off scarred and unmarked skin alike, as suspected.

“Goddamn it, you’re burning up. Take your coat off.”

Again, like a deer in headlights. The already brilliant blue of Dabi’s eyes shone brighter still—practically incandescent. Feverish. Unfocused. Resisting the urge to just Decay the damn thing right off him, Tomura pushed the heavy garment from his wayward partner’s shoulders and helped him shrug free of it. His fingers showed blister-red after handling the leather; no doubt touching any of the metal reinforcing the sleeves would’ve earned a first- or even second-degree burn. He dropped the coat to the leaf-littered ground.

“Sit.”

This command proved easier to grasp. With no hint of his usual poise, Dabi plopped down, crumpling against the tree’s trunk. Tomura knelt beside him and held out the canteen.

“Drink.”

Slowly, as if afraid the container might bite, Dabi lifted it to his lips and sipped. Instinct took over at that point. Eyes going wide, then squeezing shut, he tilted his head back and guzzled the rest. Panting, he took a moment to catch his breath. When he reopened his eyes, clarity and personality had returned, if with weariness tagging along behind.

“Hey, mophead.”

Two words, spoken in that familiar, quiet, and currently cracked voice, nearly accomplished what a month and a half of constant fighting and sleep deprivation hadn’t. Tomura didn’t break, though. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t make a sound. He didn’t reduce the tree to splinters by smashing Dabi’s skull through it. He didn’t Decay the sheepish smile off his (stupid handsome fuckinghatehimsomuch) face. Neither did he give in to the impulse to collapse into the scarred arms that would’ve caught him and never let go. He couldn’t afford to. Every iota of rage and pain and razor-edged glee needed to be reserved for whatever Re-Destro had waiting for them at the bottom of the hill. To expend any of it now could cost him or the rest of the League their lives. So, Tomura corralled his stampeding emotions with a temporary fence of practicality.

“Can you fight?” His tone came out blander than stale bread.

Dabi’s smile dwindled. He scanned Tomura’s face for any sign that his presence meant more than an extra pair of boots on the ground. Catching none, he took a long inhale and settled into tight-lipped resignation.

“Yeah. Got a little piss and vinegar left in me. What’re we up against?”

“An army of deluded morons. The usual. We’ll need to keep them distracted for about an hour and a half.”

“What happens after the clock runs down?”

“Gigantomachia shows up and proves their philosophy is a pile of shit like everyone else’s.”

That dropped Dabi’s jaw. “You’re still fighting that thing?”

“What’d you think we were doing out in the middle of nowhere? Meditating and earning merit?” Tomura snapped before cursing himself. The sneaky bastard had always had a knack for poking his emotional pressure points—for getting him to do exactly what he swore he wouldn’t. Collecting himself, he wiped his expression clean again.

“Are you going to be any use here or do you need to sit this out?”

Blue eyes searched for cracks in Tomura’s resolve. As perverse luck would have it, he noticed the tracks of rusty red smeared down Dabi’s cheeks at that moment. They’d seeped like tears from the drooping scars that made up his lower lids. More crusted the staples in his chin and near the hinges of his jaw. Tomura’s stomach writhed like a dying animal. What the fuck had Ujiko been making him do? Had he been testing the nomu by fighting the damn things?

As if reading his thoughts, Dabi touched the bloody streaks. “Whatever you need me to do, consider it done.” A pause. No—a hesitation. “I just have a couple of things to say first. If you, uh, want to hear them.”

This asshole…Tomura had to curl his hands into fists to keep from clawing at his neck. Telling him to shove it sideways with no lube would be satisfying in the present, but Tomura knew, just like Dabi did—just like he’d counted on—the mystery would turn into a distraction he couldn’t allow. Worse, if one of them survived this battle and the other didn’t…He yanked his focus back before his imagination could drag it down into that abyss. The exasperation in his sigh didn’t need to be exaggerated.

“Fine. Out with it.” He wouldn’t go away with any regrets—let Dabi carry them all if he wanted.

“Okay. First item is my family name. It’s Todoroki.”

Every calculated reaction he had lined up imploded, leaving Tomura’s mind a void.

A grim little smile spread across Dabi’s face. “You didn’t know. I’m surprised.”

Tomura shook his head to get the gears turning again. “I…suspected. After you told me your given name. Especially watching how you acted after All Might retired.” Endeavor’s rise to the number one spot on the hero rankings and Dabi’s new habit of leaving the charred corpses of low-level villains littered around the city had started too close to each other to be coincidence. A powerful fire quirk…blue eyes in the family…an older son who vanished from the news feeds abruptly…no, it hadn’t been difficult to fit the pieces together at all once he’d realized they were there in the first place.

“Why tell me this?” Tomura asked, tone teetering between genuinely curious and accusatory. “Why now?”

That smile still pulling on the seams in his skin, Dabi stared down at his hands resting in his lap. “Just wanted you to know why I really stayed behind with Ujiko, I guess. When I saw I’d be useless against that giant, I figured it’d be an opportunity to handle my personal shit. I could look for a way to take out Endeavor without being a burden on you and the others. Go figure, I failed big time.

“Oh, sure, me and dear old Dad went toe to toe when I took the first high-end nomu out for a test run, like I said I would. But then that wannabe recruit I was looking into kind of fucked me over. And then Miruko showed up. And I was out there all alone, with no one to back me up, just how I’d wanted it.” A strangled laugh hiccoughed out of him. “So, Ujiko had to bail me out in the end. I completely overheated during the fight. My brain was so fried I even forgot the damn high-end on the field. If you hadn’t had the doc send me out here, he probably would’ve chopped me up and fed me to the rest of his pet projects. Anyway…I told you all that to tell you this.”

Dabi drew a long, shuddering breath and looked up square at Tomura. “I was wrong. I should’ve trusted you. The others too. I should’ve trusted that you would’ve helped me if I’d asked. That you’d want to. I’m sorry. I’m a reckless dick. And I didn’t leave because of you.” Closing his eyes, he let his head thump back against the tree and swallowed hard. “Just didn’t want to cash in my chips with you maybe thinking that was the case.”

Verbally eviscerating him for the sheer volume of his idiocy—take down Endeavor alone, didn’t want to be a burden, overheated to the point of collapse—should have been Tomura’s first instinct. However, it found itself blocked off before it even arose by one confession that kept echoing in his head.

I didn’t leave because of you.

The volatile energy buzzing in Tomura’s bones settled and faded out. Rather than leaving him depleted, it gave way for a new source of strength to rush in and replace it. One that set something in him right, like a dislocated joint popped back into place. The spot was still sore, still tender, but once aligned it made him whole and clear and sure the fight waiting for him was already his.

Reaching out with ring and pinky safely tucked against his palm, Tomura gripped Dabi by the chin. Those remarkable eyes fluttered open, startled but fixed solidly on him.

“It’d be easy for you then, wouldn’t it?” Tomura’s voice came out low and vicious, his dirty, broken nails digging into leathery scar tissue. “To just die here and not have to back up any of the shit you said? But you’re not going to get that luxury. I won’t allow it. You’re going to live just so I can have the pleasure of watching you beg and plead and grovel to earn my trust again. Understand?”

The tiny shiver that ran through Dabi, and the flicker of tongue over his bottom lip spawned a new reason to live that tied with Grind Re-Destro into the dirt for first. Patchwork hands landed on his forearm, petting and tickling. The smug bastard even dared to smile. “Perfectly, boss.”

“Good.” And then, because he was dangerously close to kissing him, or stripping him naked with his teeth, or something else otherwise unbecoming of the next King of Villainy, Tomura stood and added, “You look like hammered crap, by the way.” The hand that had clutched Dabi’s chin switched to offering him help up.

The smile sprawled into a crooked grin as the gesture was accepted. Dabi picked a bit of dead leaf from the hopeless mess of Tomura’s hair before tucking the locks behind his ear. “And you’re beautiful, as always.”

He snorted and tried to sneer. Really, he did. “Lying sack of shit.”

Any further attempts at flirting were cut short by an exclamation from Toga.

“Someone’s coming!”

After a final squeeze, Tomura let go of Dabi’s hand. For the first time in too long, they went to meet whatever came their way gladly, head-on, and, more important, together.

#shigadabi #shigadabi fic #dabi x shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #dabi #canon compliant #league of villains fanfiction #league of villains fanfic #also on ao3 #ao3 fic #shigadabiweek

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dothwrites · 4 years

Text

15.06 coda fic--nothing is ever enough

This is a sequel, because several people asked for it and I’m a giver. The original post can be found here if you’re interested. It might make more sense if you read that first.

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Eileen, Castiel & Eileen friendship

---

Some people get what they want, but then they act like they don’t want what they’re given. I think it’s because sometimes the form it takes isn’t quite the form they wanted. That the person giving it and the manner in which it’s given isn’t what they wanted. Or maybe the timing is simply off. Or maybe, it’s just that when you don’t know what you want, nothing is ever enough. And I think that’s the real tragedy. That life gives us exactly what we’ve been wanting but we fail to embrace it.--Trevor Driggers

---

My Best Friend was Raptured In Front of Me

Sounds as good as anything, Dean muses, and his eyes fall to his bag. Even though he and Sam have lived in the bunker now for about seven years, the habits of a lifetime are ingrained into him. He can be gone, from anywhere, within the span of thirty seconds. Yeah, some of the stuff that he’ll leave behind, he’ll miss, but that’s also the point.

You shouldn’t miss anything when it’s gone.

So it takes him about ten minutes to throw everything together in his duffel and another thirty seconds to write a quick note to Sam. Yeah, it’s on the dickish side of moves, leaving in the middle of the night when everyone’s asleep but he just...He can’t. Sam and Eileen, making those gross little soppy faces at each other, and Cas, Cas with his bloody shirt and bullet holes, Cas with one foot out the door like always, Cas with his lies and his omissions, and his stupid fucking face--

Dean stutters to a stop when he reaches the war room, only to find Cas at the table, a pile of books spread out in front of him.

Right. Angel. Doesn’t sleep.

Once Dean’s brain is over the shock of seeing Cas, again, it has another to deal with: the coat is abandoned on the table, a sad little crumpled up thing. And instead of his suit, Cas is sporting a faded green henley and a pair of jeans that’s just a little too big for him.

It’s because Cas is wearing his clothes, Dean realizes, with the same kind of detached horror that enables people to witness car crashes and train wrecks and still function. Cas is wearing his clothes and his shirt is just a shade too big on Cas, enough that the collar of the henley gaps and he can see the shallow dip of Cas’ clavicle.

Dean remembers clearly how Cas came to be in possession of his clothes: he gave them to him. You need something else, he’d said, when they were returning home after a hunt, him and Sam and Jack and Cas. You can’t be stuck in that suit all the time. Not when you’re home.

And Cas had glowed in that subtle way that he did whenever he was really pleased by something and Dean had shoved the clothes into Cas’ hands and turned around before Cas could see the expression on his face, before Cas could know, because if Cas knew, then...

Dean doesn’t even know anymore, what he was so afraid of. It seems so irrelevant, especially when all of his worst fears have already come true.

Jack evil, Mom dead, Jack dead, God back, Cas gone--It’s all happened, so what the fuck was he even trying to protect himself from?

Cas jerks in surprise, but the movement is barely noticeable. It’s only because Dean is looking for it that he catches it at all. Long seconds pass as they stare at each other, with the barrier of the table between them. Then Cas’ eyes flick down to the bag in his hands.

“You’re leaving.” Cas phrases it as a statement and Dean can’t help but bristle at the implication of judgement in his voice.

“Caught a case. Figured that Sam and Eileen were going to be too busy making kissy-faces at each other, so.” Dean hefts the bag onto his shoulder but makes no effort to leave. He’s too caught by the sight of Cas’ wrists and forearms, of Cas’ toes stark against the floor of the bunker. “What’s with the wardrobe change?”

For a moment, he doesn’t think that Cas is going to answer him. The thought crosses Cas’ mind; Dean watches it occur and then watches as Cas dismisses it.

“I told you that my powers were failing.” Cas’ clenches his hands together, seemingly peaceful, but Dean can see the strain in his knuckles. “On my hunt yesterday...” Cas’ eyes dart down to his chest. The memory of the bullet holes in Cas’ shirt sinks its teeth into Dean.

“You had to heal yourself.”

Cas nods shortly. “And a civilian. By the end of that...” He presses his clasped knuckles to his chin. “I’m drained. I don’t currently have enough power to heal a papercut, let alone fix my clothing.” Cas’ eyes close.

“Are you gonna get your mojo back?”

Dean’s question comes from a place of concern, but, as Cas’ eyes slice towards him, he realizes that’s not how Cas interpreted his question. “I’ll be ready,” Cas says, aggressive. Defensive.

And once again, they stand on opposite sides of a table. The anger has faded to a dull roar in the background, a self-righteous throb of You can’t give us radio silence, not when the world’s going to shit, and Couldn’t you just trust me once, after all these years, couldn’t you at least give me a chance to do something right, and You were sitting on top of this bomb and you didn’t think to tell us that we might all be in danger? More prevalent in Dean’s mind are the sadness and the futility, the sense of where did we go wrong? Dean’s charted it in his head and he can never pinpoint the one moment where it all fell apart, the second that he can point to and say Here, here is where my life went off the rails.

Cas looks at him and then his bag. “You were leaving,” he says, not unkindly, but it still feels like a slap in the face. Dean can remember all the times that he tried to sneak away, only to be stopped by Cas. Cas saying repeatedly, Let me go with you. I could go with you. Why did he ever take that for granted? Why did he ever let that slip through his fingers?

And Dean doesn’t have any idea how to get it back, because instead of saying, You could come with me, he says, “Yeah. I guess.” He starts towards the stairs and pauses with his foot on the first step. He looks back at Cas, vulnerable without the cloak of his suit and coat to protect him from the harsh world. “Are you going to be here when I get back?”

Cas meets his eyes, and Dean used to think that Cas was an open book, read every single expression on his face, maybe even the ones that Cas didn’t want him to read. Turns out that was a faulty impression, because now he’s looking at Cas and he can’t see a goddamn thing.

“I guess that depends on when you get back,” Cas says, voice as stiff as his posture.

Dean leaves.

---

Sam talks about finding God as if it is a task that can be accomplished, but Castiel knows better. Finding God, when God does not want to be found, is impossible, like trying to catch sunlight with your bare hands. Like trying to find the end of a rainbow. Like talking to Dean Winchester.

Impossible.

Still, he doesn’t want to kill the small spark of optimism in Sam’s eyes, so Castiel tells Sam what he knows. He speaks of the angels who were known to talk to God--Gabriel, Raphael, Michael, Lucifer. Joshua. Metatron.

“They’re all dead now,” Sam says, fist clenching in frustration. He laughs once, bitterly. “I never thought that I’d miss any of them, but what I wouldn’t give to see Metatron’s smarmy little face.”

“He was a writer too,” Castiel muses. “No doubt he could have given us some sort of insight.”

Sam grunts. It’s a sound that ends conversations, which is fine with Castiel. The harsh words spoken between himself and Sam the previous night still hang heavy over both their heads, and Castiel can’t tell if the atmosphere is made better or worse by Dean’s absence.

“I called him,” Sam says, an hour later, seemingly at random. “Dean.”

Castiel stares at Sam. In the old days that look alone would have been enough to deter him, but either Sam Winchester has grown bold in his old age, or Castiel has grown weak in his. Sam continues.

“I asked him what you told me to. About why you left.”

This is a conversation that is doomed to go nowhere. Castiel doesn’t want to be there when it ends. Absurdly, he wishes for Eileen. Sam tends to have a sort of tunnel vision around her, and he could desperately use someone else to deflect. However, as usual, his luck is terrible: Eileen is at the shooting range, practicing with the numerous weapons at her disposal.

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel says, in a last-ditch effort to stall the conversation.

Sam looks at him shrewdly through his fringe. “Funny,” he says, after a pause. “That’s what Dean said.”

---

It’s a case that somehow lands him at a roadhouse, which, awesome.

It’s a case that somehow has him running into Leo, which, awesome-r.

Dean and Leo were tight back in the good old days, the days when John had cut him loose and Dean was just some punk kid with a gun stuffed into his waistband, and a carton of salt and a lighter shoved into his pocket. He started more fights than he won, won more pool than he lost, and passed out more nights than he fell asleep. It’s a hell of a way to spend a weekend, but not a life, and that’s about where Leo found him, when Dean was piss drunk, stumbling through some alley at ass o’clock in the morning.

Leo had been in the game for longer than Dean but was a kinder teacher than John. Leo had been willing to sit through Dean’s tantrums and put up with Dean’s punk-ass attitude and for...What kind of reward, he got out of it, Dean was never really sure, but he and Leo stuck together for a few months, maybe a year, before Dad called and Dean had gone running back. When Dad decided that Dean was slowing him down and kicked him to the curb again, Dean had tried to hook back up with Leo, but no dice. Honestly, Dean figured that he’d either gotten out of the game or died. When someone with their kind of lifestyle disappears, that’s usually the only explanation.

But nope, Leo’s here, and alive, and not possessed or anything else. When Dean asks him why the hell he hasn’t be able to get in touch with him for like twenty damn years, Leo just shrugs and chugs a beer. “Cell phones man,” he says, his southern drawl coming out strong now after he’s had a few. “Fuck ‘em. You think that I’m going to keep anything that has a tracker and internet on it? You think I’m that stupid?”

He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket. “Here. You need to get in touch with me, you call this number. I won’t answer. A guy named Tom will answer. You tell him that you want to talk to Ernest and he’ll get in touch with me and I’ll get back with you...five days to two weeks. Give or take.”

“God you’re weird as fuck,” Dean says, but he slips the paper into his wallet anyway.

“Anyway, what the hell are you doing here? Thought you and Sam were off saving the world or whatever it is you do these days.” At Dean’s raised brows, Leo grins. “Word gets around man. You can’t go fighting the devil or whatever it is you do without some people talking.”

“Yeah, well the devil’s dead,” Dean mutters, forgetting for a moment that most people don’t lead his kind of life. Leo’s eyebrows go high into his hairline and he nods, half-impressed.

“Well, I’d say that deserves a beer!” he says, and hails the nearest waitress.

---

Castiel finds that he likes spending time with Eileen. He never knew her before, so there are no expectations for him to uphold and no tangled history to try and work through. There’s just her and the tasks spread out in front of them.

He finds her at the shooting range, sending bullets at what seems like a superhuman speed through a number of targets. He waits until she empties a clip before he taps her on the shoulder.

She turns around, her eyes curious. “I was thinking that I might join you,” Castiel says aloud, while his fingers, rusty from long, long, long years of disuse, struggle making the signs. Eileen’s eyes flick between his face and his hands. Surprise lights in her eyes.

You know ASL?

Castiel shrugs. I know most languages, he signs, his motions gaining confidence. It’s one of the few perks of being an angel.

Eileen shrugs and passes him a gun. Castiel’s fingers struggle with the unfamiliar hardware but Eileen guides him through with soft touches. Within minutes he’s loading the gun smoothly.

Firing a gun is nothing out of the ordinary, but his hands don’t know the motions; his body doesn’t know the correct positioning. With several adjustments, Eileen guides him into firing smoothly into the target. His aim might not be the surgically precise aim of Sam and Dean or Eileen, but it’s passable.

Afterward, Eileen teaches him how to take apart the gun to its basest parts and put it back together. Castiel follows her motions until they become second-nature. Eileen watches him, correcting when necessary.

After they’re done, she sits across the table from him, the pieces of the guns scattered between them. Why do you need to know this? she asks, face twisted in confusion. I thought that you could just...She waves her arms in a complicated motion that Castiel assumes means something close to smiting.

He pauses for a moment. The truth of the matter is a little too close to home, a little too painful to even broach, but Eileen has been beyond kind. She deserves the truth.

I don’t know for how much longer I’ll have these powers. Ever since...God, he signs the word with reluctance, I’ve been...I think my powers are failing. And if I can’t rely on them anymore, I need to learn other methods of fighting.

The admission doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Perhaps it’s because it’s to Eileen. Perhaps he’s just had more time to come to terms with the idea. Either way, when he acknowledges the loss of his powers, the words no longer fill him with either the ragged pain or the slow-creeping horror that they once did.

Eileen nods. That’s smart, she says, then pauses for a moment, before signing, slower, I’m sorry. That must be difficult for you. Another pause before she asks, Are you in any pain?

No, Castiel signs quickly back. It’s not painful. Just...strange. Knowing that I can’t rely on something that...It is a part of me. And it’s disappearing.

Eileen’s face is compassionate and understanding. Something in Castiel relaxes, which is, of course, when she strikes.

Sam thinks that you and Dean had a fight, she signs, rapid-fire, like she thinks Castiel will turn away before she’s done.

He doesn’t turn away. He can’t do that, not after this afternoon. But he does send her a scathing glare. Eileen meets it unflinching, and Castiel has to admit a begrudging respect.

We didn’t have a fight, he signs, half-heartedly. There was nothing to fight about.

Sam’s angry with Dean. He thinks that whatever happened, it’s Dean’s fault.

Did he tell you this? Castiel signs. He can’t believe that Sam would spill out his and Dean’s dirty secrets, but perhaps times have changed.

Eileen looks only the smallest bit abashed. No, but I read his lips this morning during his phone call. He was too frustrated to notice, once he saw that Dean left.

Dean and I didn’t have a fight. Castiel signs with forceful motions, hoping to end this conversation once and for all. It was just...Bitterness still clogs at his throat and chest, when he thinks about what happened--Jack, Mary, Chuck, Rowena...Dean’s cutting remarks, Dean’s apathy, Dean’s outright cruelty, Dean volunteering him to go into Hell with the abomination wearing his son’s body--Angels and humans aren’t meant to mix, he finally signs, slowly. Resigned. There’s too much that’s different between us. It can be ignored for a moment, but in the end...They were never meant to mix.

He can’t stand the quiet compassion in Eileen’s eyes, so he turns away. A gentle hand on his chin pulls his gaze back to hers. This time when she speaks, it’s with her voice as well as hands, to ensure that her point comes across. “If they were never meant to mix, then isn’t that a reason why they should? If that was never in the original plan, then isn’t that as good a reason as any to try it?”

“You’re an intelligent woman,” Castiel finally says, a smile valiantly trying to land on his lips. “I can see the reason for Sam’s admiration.”

Eileen grins at him then, warm and welcoming and a little silly in the way that only humans are. “Of course,” she says, before reaching over and resting her hand on his for a moment. “I’m glad you’re here. And I know that Sam is too.”

She walks away and leaves Castiel alone in the basement.

---

Leo tells him that he needs to get his mojo back.

Right. That’s a thing that’s going to happen.

Still, it’s Leo and Dean doesn’t want to let him down, so he downs the whiskey and beers. He plays pool and manages to hustle some poor asshole out of $250. For one thrilling moment, he thinks that the dude is going to fight him, but then he looks at Dean and decides that it’s not worth the effort. Dean almost goads him into a fight, but then Leo is there with more drinks and Dean forgets about it.

Halfway through the night, he feels the eyes on him. He’d have to be blind and dead not to. The eyes belong to a woman who might have been around the block a few times but came out the other side not giving half a fuck because she still looks damn good and knows it. Dean can appreciate that, Dean does appreciate that. And judging from the look in her eyes, she appreciates Dean, and that’s...That’s nice. It’s been a while since he’s been elevator-eyed, been a while since he’s felt that little spark of heat in the pit of his belly.

Mojo. Right.

After a few moments, Dean obeys the come-hither eyes he’s getting and saunters his way over to her. She grins at him over the rim of her margarita and swirls the thin black straw with her tongue. “Well, hey there sweetheart,” Dean tries, slinging himself into the empty chair right beside her. Easy, loose, half-grin on his face, like he could be coaxed into laughing if she knew the right joke to say (the secret is that they’re all the right joke; she just needs to say one).

“Hi,” she says in return. Dean doesn’t know how women make their eyes sparkle, but she’s been taking classes and they’ve paid off. There are bonafide diamonds in her eyes and all 24 karats are winking at Dean. “Couldn’t help but notice that you’re talking to a lot of people around here.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, because this night had originally begun as background for a case. What was his case? What was the whole reason he was here? Doesn’t matter. Diamond-eyes is in front of him, slowly swirling her straw around her glass. “Well, I was looking for someone.”

“Looks like you found her,” she says, voice low and sultry and hitting all the right spots. She leans forward at a calculated angle to ensure that her cleavage is revealed to a level that’s enticing, but not trashy, and rests her fingers lightly on his bicep.

And Dean feels...

Nothing.

A big ball of nothing.

Sure, there’s the little spark of interest in his gut, the vague stirring of a dick that’s spied a pair of boobs that could be his if he plays his cards right, but the urge is just...Gone. He doesn’t want to suggest that she finish her drink and maybe they can head out of here, he doesn’t want to sidle closer to her, wrap his arm around her shoulders, see how far she’ll let him take it right here in public. He doesn’t want to take her into a dark corner and learn the taste of her mouth.

He’s not 22 anymore and that life just isn’t...

With a pang, he thinks of Cas, sitting at the table in his clothes, a pile of books spread out in front of him. He thinks of Cas’ bare feet, his toes curling on the smooth floor of the bunker. He thinks of Cas’ face before he left, the feel of Cas’ chest, warm and smooth, underneath his fingers. His terror when he thought that Cas was hurt. He thinks about all the words between them, still unsaid, he thinks about all the things that he wishes he’d said, all the things he still wants to say. He thinks about the pain he felt when he realized that he doesn’t get to ask where Cas is anymore, that he doesn’t get to indulge in the little casual touches--a brush of his fingers over the back of Cas’ neck, a tap of his shoulder, a companionable bump of the hips.

He remembers how Cas’ face splits when he smiles, into something gummy and soft. He remembers the sound of Cas’ laugh, the indulgent roll of his eyes when Dean forces him down on the couch and makes him watch something.

“Yeah,” Dean says, before he pulls back just slightly. Diamond-eye’s hand falls away. “I, uh...I don’t think so.” Her lips part in confusion as Dean takes another step back. “I think that...You know, I’ve got somewhere else to be. I’m...I’m sorry,” he apologizes, before he hurries back to the bar.

Predictably, Leo is waiting for him and angry. “The hell man? I’ve never seen a surer thing and you just what? Want the thrill of the chase?” Leo pushes at Dean’s shoulder, a little playfully, but also with a thin thread of anger behind the gesture. “Get back there, apologize your ass off, and then go do what you do!”

“Nah, I’m just not feeling it.” Dean’s feeling like he needs to be about 300 miles away from here, feeling like he needs to start salvaging the shattered remnants of his life.

“Fuck that, you’re not feeling it?” Leo’s voice is incredulous. “Who the hell are you man?”

He’s putting a little too much emphasis and interest into the state of Dean’s pipes, and Dean’s about ready to tell him so, when he catches a good glimpse of Leo’s face.

There’s something...It’s wrong. It’s Leo, Dean’s damn sure of that, but there’s a wild sort of glaze to his eyes that Dean’s never seen before. There’s a fever intensity to his eyes and words, and it’s only now that Dean realizes how weird that is. Leo is an intense guy, but not like this. Leo is an intense guy like how he took a bullet to the shoulder and thigh and still managed to take out the shifter. Not in the way that he really cares about where Dean’s dick is going.

“You’re not--” Dean starts, before taking a slow step backwards.

“Dean, this ain’t you, man,” Leo tries, but now that he’s seen it once, Dean can spot the cracks.

“The fuck you mean? You haven’t seen me in twenty years, how the fuck do you know who I am anymore? But this--” Dean gestures to Leo. “You think I can’t recognize shitty writing when I see it?”

Chuck’s pervy obsession with you, Lilith had said, and at the time, Dean hadn’t recognized that for the odd sort of warning that it was. Now that he’s experienced the manipulation once before, he can spot the edges of it.

“I don’t know why Chuck wants me to screw around but...That ain’t me anymore,” Dean says, backing away again for Leo. “I don’t know if you’re like...the real Leo, just with his strings being pulled, or if you’re not even real, but either way, you go back to Chuck and you tell him that I’m done. He can find someone else’s ass to stick his hand up. I’m done.”

Leo tugs at Dean’s elbow. “You don’t want to do this,” he warns, all trace of accent gone from his voice, and how did Dean ever mistake this guy for his friend?

Dean pulls away and tries to shake off the lingering feeling of Leo’s fingers pressing into his skin. “Yeah,” Dean says, thinking of Cas’ voice when it said, You know what’s real? We are. “Yeah, I really do.”

Leo hauls off and punches him in the face.

---

He hauls ass all the way back to Kansas, ignoring the thin trickle of blood running down his cheek. One of his eyes is puffy, but that’s the worst of it. God, he hopes Cas is still at the bunker when he gets there. Please, please, let Cas still be there.

---

His knees go weak with relief when he sees Cas’ truck still parked outside the bunker. Dean slides into the garage and then into the bunker. His heart pounds as he makes his way into the war room and then into the library. There’s a lamp on in the bowels of the room.

He finds Cas where he thought he would find him--Cas has a favorite chair in the library that he’ll tuck himself into when he doesn’t think that anyone will find him. He’s in there now, dressed in one of Dean’s old sweatshirts and another pair of hand-me-down jeans worn so thin that Cas’ knee pokes through a hole.

Cas is...Is Cas asleep? He certainly looks the part, legs curled up underneath his body, torso hidden underneath one of their many blankets, book open on his lap while a limp hand holds its place. Cas’ head is tucked into his shoulder, his mouth slack and open.

“Cas.” Dean squats beside the chair, ignoring the creak of his joints. He reaches out to jostle Cas’ shoulder. “Cas, wake up.”

Castiel startles himself awake; his eyes dart around the room as he looks for a threat. Finding none, he focuses still hazy eyes on Dean. For a moment, his face softens, the fine lines around his eyes deepening as the corners of his mouth lift, and Dean can feel himself smiling in return--

And then Castiel fully awakens, and reality clamps its ugly jaws around the both of them. “You’re back,” Cas says, drawing the blanket tighter around himself like it’s going to help protect him.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. His knees are screaming at him, but he doesn’t pull away. “Case was a bust.”

“It was much the same here.” Cas’ voice is carefully inflectionless and Dean misses the days when he could hear the warmth inherent in his every sentence. “It turns out that it’s difficult to find God when he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Yeah, well, I think that I might have a line on that.”

Cas tries to hide it, but Dean sees the faint spark of interest in his eyes. He hastens to explain. “Turns out that Chuck is a little more interested in my personal life than I thought. He was damn interested in making sure that I screwed some bar chick. Put one of my old friends in the bar just to ensure that it happened.”

Due to the chair, Cas can’t physically pull away from him, but he does his best attempt. “Well, my apologies. It must be so difficult to garner that kind of attention.”

Anger sparks in Dean’s gut, but he tamps it down. In the past few weeks, anger has done nothing for him. “Well, when you’re not really interested in it, then yes.” Cas has his chin lifted away from Dean, but at those words, Dean catches the slow slide of Cas’ eyes towards his face.

“For weeks, I’ve been beating myself up and chasing my own tail because I can’t figure it out--What’s real in our lives and what’s Chuck. What decisions I made because I wanted to make them and what decisions I made because Chuck thought that it would make a better story. I haven’t...Until tonight, I had no clue. But now...” Dean waits long enough that Cas’ face turns back to him, jaw clenched tight with anger. “Cas, I made the choice to walk out of that bar. I did that.”

“Congratulations,” Cas says, voice tight. His hand curls into a fist overtop the blanket. “You’ve discovered what Sam and I have both been trying to tell you for weeks.”

“Will you stop for a second?” Dean snaps, before he forces the corrosive boil of his anger down. “I didn’t know Cas, that was the problem. I couldn’t trust...I couldn’t trust anything. Nothing was real.”

“Plenty of things were real,” Cas says quietly. “You just didn’t want to see them.”

“No,” Dean says. The easy agreement snaps Cas’ attention to him. “I...God Cas, I don’t...It was all so fucked up, and I never had a chance to...to just breathe, all right? Mom wasn’t there and it was Jack’s fault and...” Dean bows his head, close enough to the chair and Cas that he can feel them. “It wasn’t your fault. I know that it wasn’t your fault.”

Angels don’t really need to breathe, but Dean can hear the shaky sound of Cas’ breaths above him, rasping in and out in shaky little waves. “You were never dead to me,” Dean says. If he were a better man, less of a coward, then he would be able to look Cas in the eyes, but he’s not a good man, he’s just him, and it’s taking all of his power to just force the words out. “I...God Cas, I don’t know. I was angry and the whole thing was so fucked up and I just...I needed someone, something to blame, and I...”

“It wasn’t fair,” Cas interrupts. His voice is surprisingly steady. “None of it was fair.” He doesn’t sound forgiving, but neither does he sound like he’s getting ready to push Dean away. Dean will take that as a victory.

“I don’t want you to go.” The confession is little more than a broken whisper, croaked out on the last vestiges of Dean’s courage. “I don’t...Please, don’t go.”

He looks up at Cas to see the strange mix of anger and surprise in Cas’ face. He looks for some hint of warmth, but if it’s there, Cas is hiding it well. “I told you that I would stay until the problem was solved,” Cas finally says, slowly, like he’s working through a problem.

“I don’t...I don’t want you to go,” Dean says, hoping beyond hope that Cas will understand the implications behind his words. “Even after. I don’t...Nothing’s better if you go.”

Something shifts in Cas’ face. It’s not forgiveness, not even close, but it’s a small crack in the ice. For the first time since he’s been back, Dean gets a hint of that old warmth.

“You’re hurt,” Cas says, finally. Quietly, like if he says the words too loudly, Dean will disappear. He reaches out and Dean hardly dares to breathe, certainly doesn’t dare blink as Cas presses his fingers to the torn skin of his temple.

He feels the familiar warmth of Cas’ grace start to spread through his skin, but it’s muted and flickering. Cas’ fingers tremble against his skin and even though he tries to hide it, Dean can see the strain on Cas’ face. Cas’ breaths come swift and shallow through clenched teeth as he forces the healing complete.

When it’s done, Dean savors the feeling of healed skin and a pain-free head, but only for a moment. After that moment, Cas slumps forward, his face pale and ashen. Dean catches him by the shoulder and pushes him back into the chair.

Even though it’s not technically for him anymore, Dean passes his hand over Cas’ clammy forehead. He gives into temptation (not for him, not for him, but god, wouldn’t it be nice), and pushes his fingers through Cas’ hair. “Jesus,” he murmurs, holding Cas’ face in his hands. Cas’ eyelids flicker for a moment before he opens them and blearily focuses on Dean’s face. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“You were hurt,” Cas says, like that answers everything. Maybe it does.

“You weren’t kidding about that grace, huh?” Dean says. He can’t stop touching Cas--he holds his shoulders, strokes his thumb over the thin cord of muscle sticking out of Cas’ neck.

“It’s replenishing, but slowly,” Cas answers. “I don’t...I don’t know how many more times it will do so, before it’s gone altogether. And when that happens...”

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean says, his heart breaking open so sweet and painful, and awful. “Together.”

There’s no promise in Cas’ eyes, no absolution, but he lets Dean tuck the blanket around him, and when Dean forces himself onto the arm of the chair so that he can put his around Cas’ shoulders, Cas doesn’t push him away.

Dean will take it.

---

So I told him, “I know that we’re not meant for each other, that we drive each other crazy, and that we are so different. But that’s us. That’s what we have; a wild nonsense. We are not good together, but together we are bad for each other. I love us together this way, just like this. Because even if it’s no good, it’s what we have. It’s us.--C. JoyBell C.

#spn spoilers #supernatural #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #spn15 #15.06 coda #15x06 coda #coda fic #castiel #dean winchester #fare thee well spn #welcome to the end #dothwrites #sequel fic #this ended up being so much longer than i meant for it to become

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boxingcleverrr · 4 years

Photo

So per the votes on which post I should remake first: (also I’m using some Amazon links just cause it’s easy in most cases, shop elsewhere as you can!)

Skin Care!!!

I am, in all honesty, a basic bitch. When it comes to my skincare routine, I haven't ever gotten complicated with it, really. I am a product of some lucky genetics (women in my family don't really get SERIOUS acne as teens) and situation (there really wasn't much candy, soda, or other refined-sugar-loaded items in the house growing up, cause religious). However, I definitely have had my things: chickenpox at 15 years old has left some moon craters on my body. I am so pale I get a sunburn from said moon. And my feet...they're a whole other post, honestly.

But keeping things simple has served me well! So why not share the basics, and you can adjust as your needs need!

Also, as I get older (approaching 35), I definitely have had to add/change up some stuff. I’m not super concerned with “getting older”, per say. Sure, we’re all products of the society we live in, nobody escapes the obsession with youth, or the illusion that youth = health. But I have no illusions: when you get old, you will look older. You will get wrinkles. Getting old is a privilege many people I’ve loved didn’t get to enjoy.

That said, both my grandmothers lived tough lives and didn’t take as good care of themselves, across the board, as they could have. In my mind and pictures they both looked about 90 when they died in their early-mid 70s. Meanwhile, my mother, who is only 18 years younger than her mother, looks about 55 and she’ll be 72 this year. The difference? Much healthier habits, modern medicine, modern emotional health (most of her lines are laugh lines), and yes, some goddamn sun screen and a daily moisturizer. When you feel good, when you have confidence in the face you show the world, the energy for more healthy habits often follow.

So. SKIN.

Tools:

- Cotton balls: are, without a doubt, the superior liquid product applicator. I know those cotton pads are alluring. And their textured side certainly has its place, especially re: tough makeup removal! Which we will get to. But for your everyday makeup remover, toner, and serums, nothing beats the absorbent little angel that is the cotton ball. It holds so much, allows you so much control, they just want to love you.

- Cotton/Elastic Headbands: These are not hard to find, nor are they expensive. You can get a bundle of 6-7 scunci fabric headbands at Walgreen's for 8 bucks. Your hair didn't ask for all the potions, soaps, and goops you're about to slap on your derm, so sweep it back with an elastic-filled band. Alternately, if you're someone who styles their hair BEFORE makeup, I'm told fancy foam-lined clips exist? IDK, sounds fake (jk jk)

- Good ol' fashioned washcloths: You can get all kinds of fancy scrubbers these days, some looking like an electric toothbrush. Or maybe you’re that mythical fairy person from a skincare commercial who just splashes water on their face an somehow that cleans everything? Nothing really beats the terrycloth standby though, in my experience. Also, the average person is more apt to toss a used washcloth right into the laundry bin after use, while who knows how often you'll remember to clean that fancy scrubber an influencer told you to buy. Also, if you have extremely sensitive skin, like my mother does, actual 100% cotton flannel washcloths are wonderful! She has severe eczema and is also a sewer, so she made herself a hefty pile of them. It has made the world of difference for her.

- Q-Tips, Mini Paddles, Ends of Brushes, Etc: I know what you're thinking...."what?" So, this applies to any product you have that is in a jar/pot without an applicator - usually eye creams and moisturizers. If you use your fingers to swipe these things out of their containers, the bacteria on your fingers will gobble up the product in that container. Thus, you will run out much faster at best, and at worst, if the product is all organic? It WILL grow mold. I scoop my Dry Skin Cream out of the jar with the handle of a blush brush, put it in my hand, and THEN put it on. Those tiny pots are usually the most ridiculously expensive products in your kit, too. Don’t let your natural bacteria chow down on that shit! It’s $40 an ounce!!!

Daily Facial Cleansers:

Neutrogena Daily Acne Cleansers: Reminder that I am a basic bitch! These days the ol' drug store blemish standby has a Redness Reducer formula with Aloe, and also the lovely Grapefruit one! I totes have both. I use one or the other every few days. I don't often have bumps or zits these days, but I mean, heeeey this is probably a good reason why!

Soap! If you’re like me and have normal/combination skin, you don’t need a heavy-duty acne or oil-control wash every day. Find that good every day, moisture-rich, gentle soap your face likes. Dove is good, also see: the bodywash section of this post. The point is you’re washing your face every day, which everyone should be doing anyway, no matter what.

TRY STUFF! I am a faithful Ipsy subscriber for many years now. Very rarely do I receive a cleanser I don't like, and sometimes one I like so much I buy a full size to add to my rotation! Don't be afraid to try things, see how they work. If there are products that have made you have a bad reaction in the past, pay close attention to their ingredients. Same with if something works really well! Brands can basically charge whatever the hell they want for their potions, but if you know the ingredients that work best for your skin you'll almost always be able to find affordable, easy to buy options. That advice works across all of this post, all of these products. Unless the only thing that works for your skin is Baby Elephant tears. In which case, get used to acne, sorry, I make the rules.

Exfoliants:

Apricot Scrub: Hi hello have I mentioned in the last few paragraphs that I am a basic bitch? But really, let's be real: If a thing scrubs off dead skin good, it good. Sloughing off your dead dermis occasionally is good for you. After that, all that really matters is ingredients and if they work for you. Lots of exfoliants use microbeads, which we know are very bad for the environment. A straight sugar scrub can make you break out caaaause....duh, sugar. Say what you will, this ol' St. Ives standby has natural nut shell particles, a tried and true formula, and...it smells niiiiice. It wooooorks. I use it twice a week at most (usually in the winter), and I've only ever been pleased my whole adult life. I have no other specific one to pimp!

But, these are a good criteria when TRYING STUFF! Maybe St. Ives doesn't work with your skin. It's still good to give that derm a good scrubbin' off of gunk and skin cells at least once a week, no more than twice a week. Look for formulas with environmentally friendly exfoliant agents and low to zero sugar.

Makeup Remover: (I KNOW I FINALLY STARTED USING IT!

Cetaphil: In true Basic Bitch fashion, I've rarely used actual makeup remover til now. I just used whatever soap or cleanser I was using to take off my warpaint as well. But then, I got into magnetic eyelashes, which....are amazing. I highly recommend, as I lose more lashes the older I get. Their literal only downside is that the magnetic eyeliner sets LIKE FUCKING TAR. Which is still! Only a downside! When you want to take it off! Within the last couple of months I went through best-of lists looking for the best makeup removers. My criteria was affordable + best for the skin, and good old Cetaphil was rated super high across the board. I went from scrubbing my eyelids raw to gently swiping that tar off immediately. On a few super humid nights, even? It's been the only moisturizer I've used. It's great.

Body:

Bodywash: Oh wait you're more than your face skin? What a concept! For years I was a devote' of Aveno bodywash. I still highly recommend! The fragrance-free formula ticks so many boxes. It scrubs you clean without leaving your skin feeling filmy or tight. It just...does it. It's Good.

Soap: HOWEVER! ....if you have a few MORE dollars to spend, I must promote my workplace. And not just because I work there, The Vermont Country Store Triple Milled Bar Soap really has replaced my bodywash. I use the Oatmeal & Almond bar myself. Can I compare the two? I can! They are, indeed, comparable. The bar, however, does have the upper hand in natural exfoliants in oat bits in the bar. I also like the soft almond scent a lot. Also, employee discount.

Masks:

Dead Mud!: I use this Global Beauty Dead Sea Mask once a week. This is an example of an Ipsy sample I got that SUPER stuck, I REALLY like it. My skin feels AMAZING afterwards! I use it once a week, usually the day before my work week starts, to feel like I'm getting super clean and purged beforehand. A packet lasts a long time too, if you're using it once a week.

Again, Try STUFF! Pealy masks are fun, but I personally rarely see much difference. Also, it is worth noting that most professionals/dermatologists will tell you that pore strips/masks that claim to cling to pore gunk and yank it out....don't really do much in the long run, if anything. Oftentimes, even, they leave your pores wider open to more gunk getting in! Clogged pores are far more related to diet, your everyday cleaning, and how oily your skin is naturally. You want gunk-less pores? Wash your face every day with a good cleanser and eat less sugar. (But I get it, some people like pore-strip videos like other people like pimple-popping videos)

Toner:

Rosewater: Toner is a wonderful thing. It is meant to be used after all your scrubs, washes, masks, and removers to take off the last bits of whatever and tighten up your pores after they've been washed out. Pure Rosewater with Witch Hazel remains the very best natural toner, and it is honestly really cheap and easy to make yourself. I have made it myself for years! Now working so much for convenience I have bought the best, most simple I can find which is this Mario Badescu toner, and I really like it! But seriously. If you see a $4 bouquet of browning roses at the grocery store? THAT IS ALL YOU NEED. If you have a cooking pot with a cover and filtered/distilled water, you can make the best toner in the world. The Witch Hazel is a bonus.

(I have been making toner myself for so long I have no idea where the original tutorial I used is, this one is pretty much everything I do without being a needless rambling blog post....uh...like this one is. Oops.)

Face Moisturizers:

Ponds Dry Skin Cream: Oprah told me to use this when I was 19. I can’t remember exactly the ingredient the episode told everyone to look for! But I do know it fit the most important criteria: It did not immediately disappear into my skin, but also did not leave my skin greasy 15 minutes later. I stand by it loyally! Truly, I feel like being urged to use a moisturizer early is a big part of why my skin is so good now. In the winter especially, living with woodstove heat, I use it morning and night. As I do get older, I find I need less of it/something less creamy in the summer! Which leads toooooo...

Olive Oil Squalane: Spanish Olive Oil is the long-time secret of Sophia Loren and many other classic movie stars of olde. Squalane is a pure olive oil often mixed with other herbs like Rosemary. In the winter I use it every couple of days right before bed. In the summer, I use it a little more often as my near-daily moisturizer. I press it into my face with open palms and it's SO NICE.

Body Moisturizers:

Aveno: For my overall BOD, I generally stick to Aveno Daily Moisturizing lotion. Usually I use the fragrance free, but on THOSE DAYS, I also have the Soothing Lavender option.

Vaseline Cocoa Radiant Lotion: Also, so good!

Basically, when it comes to your whole rest of you, obviously you probably want the best for your buck. You have a lot of body that wants to be lotion'd after every shower! If you're like me, that means you want a biiiig bottle for not a ton of dollars. These two brands are usually affordable at your drug store (you really can't go wrong with Vaseline brand, period). A good rule of thumb is the same as for your face: You DO NOT want to stick with a lotion that seeps immediately into your skin leaving a tight feeling, OR something that is still greasy 10 - 15 minutes later. You want to feel smooth, a little textured but not GREASY, just silky. That's a good body lotion for you.

Eye Cream: (I AM AN OLD!)

Blah blah blah reminder that age is gonna happen to everyone. That said.

I don't want to look sad and tired when you look at me. That doesn't inspire confidence in the people I interact with. Thus, my dark circles finally met The Eye Cream at age 30.

Belief Eye Bomb: This one is my top tier! I love it. I do see a difference immediately and while I WANT my smile lines, I hate my frown lines. It is whipping them into shape! Alas, it is not always in my budget, so.

Emu Oil: Not that this option is for everyone, especially if you’re against the use of animal products. I get it (even if Emus are EVIL DINOSAUR BIRDS). You can’t deny its results on our dermis, though, and it’s an ingredient in a lot of good eye/night creams across many budgets! I use this option via, you guessed it, work.

Sunscreen: (WHICH I TAKE SO SERIOUSLY AS A MOON BEING)

Avon Anew: This SPF 50 lotion is a powerhouse, and I do rely on it for my face, upper back and shoulders if I am going out into the sun intentionally.

NYX Bare With Me: A primer made with Cannabis Sativa Seed, it has an SPF of 30 and is truly a really good makeup primer!

WHATEVER IS AT THE STORE, FUCK: For your whole body, damn, get a big bottle of something, preferably SPF 30 or higher. Anything marked “Sport” will likely stave off a lot of sweaty greasiness. Don't get fucking cancer.

Overall Tips:

WASH YOUR PILLOWCASES!: I can't stress this one enough, because so many people don’t realize! Your face touches this surface for as many hours of your life you spend asleep. I understand that not everyone washes/changes their sheets every week! But ANY time you do laundry, wash your pillowcases. I know I haven't washed mine recently enough when I wake up to bumps all along my jaw...usually a week in.

WASH YOUR MAKEUP TOOLS!: Same thought! Not only are our sponges, blenders, and brushes FILLING with product every time they’re used, but they’re just plain are all over your face all the time. Now, how often you wash them can depend on how often you wear makeup! Almost every day? Wash your tools at least every other week. A couple days a week? Wash them once a month. Not since your aunt's wedding last fall? Eh, still, your skin cells have been sitting on those sponges since then, might as well wash them now before someone invites you to a last-minute end of the world Zoom party.

NEVER sleep in your makeup: That's all it is. Don't do it. DON'T. DO. IT. The fact that you’re cementing your face paint into your pillows and your pores aside, you also feel like that much more garbage in the morning. Promise.

Avoid Sugar: Again, for me, it's that straightforward. I haven't had soda in my diet regularly...really Ever? See: growing up in a rural super religious home. We ate veggies off the farm. But I also haven’t had it with my fast food or on a pizza night since I was around 17. The only exceptions are ginger ale when I am sick, and the occasional Rum & Coke. Regarding the latter, I KNOW I will have pimples the next day! It is like clockwork. I take my favorite easy mix drink into myself with this unholy knowledge. I know so many of us grew up drinking soda/pop regularly, every day even. Treat me as the test subject I am to learn from: I don't drink soda or eat candy or sweets in my regular life at all. The minute I do (yes, even diet soda), I break out. Less so with home-baked goods like cake or cookies! But soda or candy? forget about it, bumps, immediately. Processed sugary treats are a sometimes food, my skin benefits, the end.

Drink Lots of Water: The older I get, the truer it is. I FEEL it when I'm not drinking enough water, man. Water intake can take many forms, too! Herbal tea, fresh fruit juices, and sparkling waters. Throw in fresh lemon/lime! Anything to make it more interesting while adding as little sugar or sodium as possible. I’ve been a green tea drinker since I was a teenager, I am sure this has been a big help.

Take Vitamins: THEY ARE GOOD FOR YOU! However, many people think they can hedge their bets by taking a shitton, which...is not true.

The Big Bang Theory was a garbage show it’s true. However, I cannot help that a line from the first (?) episode has stuck with me forever. As Penny is loading up on various bottles of vitamins, Sheldon comments, “While there is some benefit to taking a daily multi-vitamin, the human body can only absorb so much in a day. Anything more and you’re basically just buying expensive pee.”

All to say, all you REALLY need is a well-rounded multi-vitamin. I faithfully take my Women’s One A Day. Don’t go crazy and think that’ll give you an edge. Unless your doctor specifically says otherwise, you and I can only absorb the same amount of biotin, vitamin e, and vitamin d in a day.

The Sun Is Evil: Speaking of Vitamin D! Yes, you need it to live. You can also very easily get it in pill form! While I understand that there are those among us who mentally and socially blossom best in the light of our Evil Orb Lord, its UV rays spare no one. Hugh Jackman in all his handsome moneyed Hollywood wholesomeness has faced skin cancer half a dozen times as an Aussie directly in its sights.

I myself suffer from a kind of backwards seasonal depression? Bright sun/overhead light depresses me. So this is an easy rule to live by for me, I admit! SPF 80 and big floppy hats are my norm come the summer, and year-round sunscreen is my preferred primer. If you are NOT like me, and need that summer light and heat for your mental wellbeing, PLEASE slather on layers of sunscreen regularly. I again super stick to anything labeled 'sport' to avoid greasiness.

Skin Cancer is the most prevalent type of cancer and it spares no one. Perodt.

Get SLEEP: I know, easier said than fuckin done these days, especially. Whether you’re able to work from home or not, all our Covid anxiety is keeping us up. We're stressed out for ourselves and/or loved ones who’ve been protesting and if they’re gonna be secreted away in unmarked vans. For the world being on fucking fire in general! No one should be judging you for those bags under your eyes ever, but especially right now. Be gentle on yourself, but also take the time to find what you need to secure those 8 solid hours at some point. A SIDE perk is that it’s good for your skin. On the main, you’ll be rested to kick the rest of this year in the ass.

...That’s all? Wow this was 7 pages long.

Basically, above all, giving yourself a day at the spa in your own home is also soothing, relaxing, and hell, don’t we all need that right now?

#long post #skin care #basically people only ask me about my skin bc I am a moon creature #who never sees the sunm #blathering

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dacrethehalls · 5 years

Text

Wild Flowers

Summary: Samantha Harrington never expected to spend her entire spring break with Billy Hargrove and Billy Hargrove never expected to fall in love with Samantha Harrington.

Word Count: 9.9k

A/N: *RE-POSTED FROM MY OLD ACCOUNT* loosely based on the Chateau music video Dacre is in. credit to Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstine for the quotes in this, and shout out to all my faves who we name dropped in this.

******

"Hey....Emily.....No, Amanda? No-no, it's Laura!" Tommy H. sputtered, leaning against my locker. I rolled my eyes, grabbing my books and balancing against my hip.

"Tommy, we have literally been in the same class since we were seven and you still can't remember my name." I muttered, slamming my locker shut.

"Shit, it's Andy isn't it? Or is it...something that Starts with an R? Or is it a K? Kiki right?"

He could have gone on for hours guessing my name and would still get it wrong. I held up my hand, shaking my head,

"Stop before you hurt yourself. What do you want?" I asked, shifting the weight on my feet.

"Billy is busy today, he said his brother is in town or something and I was going to ask you to-"

"If you finish that sentence with 'ask Steve', I will punch you." I cut off, turning on my heel and strutting towards the parking lot.

"Aw, come on Regan lighten up! " He yelled as he ran to catch up with me.

"That's not my name either." I groaned, "Give it a rest will ya? And last time I checked, you and Steve are not friends...like... at all so go find someone else to blindly follow."

Tommy crossed his arms glaring at me,

"Oh my god. Yes, I'll talk to him."

He smiled at me as I kept walking,

"Thank you, Dot!" He yelled out as I stuck my middle finger in the air.

"That boy really needs to get his own personality." I breathed

I plod out to my car unlocking it,

"Maddie wait!" I let out a defeated groan. "What do you want Keith?"

"Can you cover my shift tonight?"

"I quit The Palace like, three weeks ago." I huffed, leaning on my car.

"And for the last time my name is Samantha. Like the show Bewitched"

"I thought your name was Krista?"

I rolled my eyes, getting in my car driving home.

******

"Not one, but seven. Seven different names Steve. All of which are nowhere close to mine." I grumbled laying across his bed.

"Sammy, relax."

"It's kinda hard to when you have lived in the same town your entire life and nobody can remember your name. Samantha." I drew my name out slowly, "It comes after 'Steve and'."

"Uh so i'm taking Dustin and the others to see a movie tonight. I won't be home until later."

"Way to change the subject, asshole."

"What?"

"I'm telling you that your friends are being pricks to me and you just mention going to the movies with some random kid."

"He's a good kid, Sam."

"Doesn't matter if he's the goddamn president of the United States, I'm telling you that something upsets me and you're blowing me off!"

"Sam, you can't let things like that upset you, okay? Now I gotta go or we'll be late for the showing."

"What I really need is to spend time with my big brother and just forget about this whole stupid thing."

"Maybe later!" He hollered, already out the bedroom door and trotting down the stairs.

I rolled my eyes, rolling onto my stomach and letting out a frustrated groan, blowing the hair away from my face.

Those were always the words I got from Steve when I asked if I could hang out with him; maybe later.

******

The next day at school was the usual, being ignored, people getting my name wrong, including teachers.

I had a nice cry at lunch in my car and ended my day in my favorite spot, a field full of wildflowers outside of the football field.

When the snow started melting away and the temperature went up I would spend my afternoon out there finishing homework and picking the flowers around me. I sat with my legs crossed, a pile of Johnny jump ups and dandelions beside me. I wound the stems together, finding the process relaxing.

"Samantha!" I jerked my head in the direction the voice came from, Billy Hargrove was striding towards me.

"Hi?" I questioned as he reached the blanket I was sitting on,

"Hey, so I was out of school for a few days," he chuckled, pointing at the disappearing bruise under his eye, "Basketball concussion, any way, we have third period chem together and I was wondering if I could copy your notes...and maybe your homework." He asked

Of course the only thing he wanted with me was to use me for my homework. At least he actually knew my name. I'll give him that. I leaned over to my bag, grabbing my chemistry notes handing them to him.

"Do you mind if I sit here with you incase I have questions? I know missing one of Mrs. Valentine's classes really means missing like, five classes. I've missed three so basically I'm fucked."

I chuckled, scooting over on my blanket to make room for him,

"Nah, Mrs. V has been out sick we've had a sub so you haven't missed much."

He offered me a soft smile, pulling his notebook put laying on his stomach, scribbling words on his paper,

"Man, you're pretty thorough, color coded and everything." He noticed, his eyes scanning over the highlighted words and pink gel pen. I hummed in acknowledgement, eyes focusing on the floral stems I held in my lap as I weaved them together.

"Jeez, I may as well just be reading the damn textbook... except at least this shit makes sense." He grumbled as he tapped his pencil against his notepad.

"Yup." I hummed, mindlessly twisting the stems around each other.

I still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Billy Hargrove barely gave anybody the time of day, let alone me. Sure, he had his little groupies that followed him around, but they were nowhere in sight. Even Tommy was gone.

"So, uh, you got any spring break plans?" I questioned.

"Not really. My brother is in town, though."

"Billy Hargrove doesn't have any spring break plans?" I gasped, placing my hand over my heart, "What, you aren't going back to bright, sunny California?"

"Pfft, I wish." He scoffed, "Get the hell out of here. It's April and it's still cold!"

"Yeah, that's the midwest for ya." I sighed,

I plopped the flower crown I was weaving on to Billy's head making him break his concentration.

"What's this?" He huffed, poking away his curls from his face as his eyes darted up at me. His brows were knit together in confusion, almost going cross eyed as he attempted to get a walked at what was on his head.

"It's a crown." I beamed, placing the other one I made on my own head, "The purple and yellows in the flowers really bring out the blue in your eyes."

"What kind of hippie bullshit is this?" He questioned, plucking it off of his head and staring at it. Despite his gruff demeanor, I could see the blush creeping up on his cheeks.

"Oh, come on. It makes you walked... soft..." I hummed, gently taking it from his grasp and putting it back on his head.

"Soft?" He scoffed.

Of all the things he had ever been described as, it was never soft. He was more likely to hear a string of profanities and slurs directed at him than to be called soft. Hell, I was occasionally known to call him a dickhead every once in a while. Especially after what he did to my brother. I was about ready to take that spiked bat and go after the bastard myself.

"Balances out the black eye, you know? Actually... it kinda matches." I observed, staring at the eerie yellow color that crept under his eye and in towards his nose. A sign that the bruise was healing.

Billy took his crown off once again, setting it next to his notebook.

"Question." I blurted,

Billy hummed as I laid back on the blanket, looking over at him while he continued to scribble notes down.

"How the hell do you know my name?" I asked.

He raised an eyebrow, staring at me, "I sit behind you in third and sixth period. I see you write it on your paper. Now your last name I don't know."

I let out a loud laugh, sitting up,

"You're kidding me right? Billy, you have to be joking."

The expression on his face led me to believe he was serious,

"Samantha Harrington, otherwise known as The Other Harrington, Steve's Sister, Hey You, Little Harrington, Dakota, Anna, Becca, any and every name that is not remotely close to Samantha." I huffed, blowing a strand of hair away from my eyes.

"You and Steve are siblings?" He pressed.

"He's a whopping 18 months older than me. My parents only wanted one kid, I was an accident. They sorta treat me that way too, the entire town does." I scoffed, rolling my eyes,

"They give me a credit card just so I wont bother them. But I don't use it. I don't need shit from them."

His eyes studied my features, eyebrow still raised as if he expected me to keep talking,

"When I graduate, I'm getting the hell out of Indiana." I sighed, fiddling with the stems of the flowers I had left in my lap.

"I want to travel, live in my car go on fun adventures with my best friend-if I had one. Find a house in a field of flowers. Make as many crowns as I want." I said, placing the flowers once again on Billy's head.

He let a grunt out in defeat as he moved the curls from his eyes once again,

"You know, if you got that cut off, you wouldn't have to keep brushing it out of your eyes." I commented.

"No way in hell I'm cutting this baby off." He replied, smoothing his hand over his hair after taking the crown off again.

I rolled my eyes for what must've been the dozenth time,

"Tommy mentioned something about your brother being in town."

Billy let out a disgusted groan,

"Unfortunately."

"That bad, huh?"

"That bad. He's the favorite son... Star football player, got a scholarship to some school he's way too stupid to attend." Billy griped.

"Does he have a better hair cut? When's the last time you brushed that rats nest?" I questioned, picking up the flower crown and placing it on his head for the hundredth time. Billy grunted in defeat, sitting up.

"According to everyone, he has a better everything then me." Billy rolled his eyes, pulling his cigarettes from his jacket pocket placing one between his lips.

"Bad habit." I scolded, taking it from his mouth and replacing it with a flower.

Billy grunted again, spitting the flower onto the ground as a dragonfly flew over us then zig zagged back, landing on Billy's shoulder. He glanced over at it with a soft expression before moving his shoulder so it would fly away.

"You know dragonflies are often thought to be loved ones coming to visit you after passing away. According to the Native Americans, they bring rejuvenation after hardship." I announced, watching another dragonfly zip past us.

Billy closed his book and sat up, "Thank you, Sam." He yawned, standing up.

"You're welcome, if you ever need my notes again just ask." I chuckled as Billy put another cigarette between his lips.

"I may take you up on that, Sam. Turn the B I have into an A." He laughed as he attempted to light his cigarette, "It's getting dark out, you okay out here by yourself? Or if you want I can walk you out to your car or give you a ride home."

"Thanks, but I might stay out here a little bit longer. The stars are almost out, I like watching them." I mused, earning a raised eyebrow from Billy.

"Okay. well, have a good spring break Sammie. Thanks again." He conceded, rocking back on his heels and heading towards the parking lot.

******

A tap at my window nearly made me jump out of my skin. I spun around in my desk chair, opening the blinds, assuming Steve was an idiot and forgot his key again. To my surprise, a familiar mullet-headed boy offered me a grin and a wave. I glanced over my shoulder to my bedroom door that was still ajar. I rushed over to close it, being careful not to slam it for fear of Steve finding out who was at my window.

I returned to the window sill, unlatching it and throwing it open. I watched as Billy climbed through my window, nearly knocking my glass of water off my night stand.

"What are you doing here?" I questioned.

"You want to travel? Go on an adventure? Let's do it." He panted, adjusting his jacket as he got his footing on the carpet.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Let's just forget about this shitty town and our shitty parents and step out of the shadow of our siblings."

I stared up at him, dumbfounded for a moment, only to notice a new bruise on his cheek. I furrowed my brows,

"Billy. What happened?"

"Don't worry about it, Sammie," He murmured, walking over to my bookshelf glancing at the books, various academic trophies, and my collection of porcelain horses.

He picked up my polaroid camera, pointing it towards me and snapping a picture of me.

"Excuse you!" I exclaimed, trying to snatch the photo out of his hand as he shook it.

"Not a chance, princess."

"Princess." I mumbled under my breath.

He placed the picture in his jacket pocket as he grinned down at me,

"Are you really that desperate to do something over spring break that you want to spend it with me? The other Harrington?" I questioned, crossing my arms.

"Sam, knock it off. You may be a little off your rocker but it's in an endearing way," Billy grinned, lifting the camera up and pointing it at me and getting into the frame as well.

"So what do you say? Hmm? Let's go on an adventure, use up some of mommy and daddy's money. Get out of Indiana or not." He clicked the shutter button, making the camera flash.

He grinned at me, placing that picture in his jacket pocket as well.

This boy was completely crazy, but I knew that Steve would be too preoccupied with the kids that decided he was the best brother figure they could find. He wouldn't even notice that his own flesh and blood sibling was gone. It would also drive Steve up the wall if he found out who I was with.

"Okay. Fine, let's go." I cheered, jumping up and grabbing my bag, packing a bunch of clothes for various occasions. Billy sat on my bed watching as I ran around my room gathering as many things as I could.

"I don't know if Steve is still awake or not so you gotta go back through my window. I'll meet you outside in like ten minutes." I whispered as Billy got up and started climbing out my window.

I shut it behind him, grabbing my bag and heading down the stairs.

"Hey Steve, I'll be home later." I called, walking past him and all his middle schoolers who were all yelling at one another.

Steve threw up a thumb, not even acknowledging me as I pranced out the front door. The thought of getting out of Hawkins sounded more and more appealing. I bumped my bag into Billy's butt, making him turn around.

"There you are." He grinned, taking my bag from my hands.

"We're taking the Camaro."

"No, we're taking Priscilla."

"What the fuck is a Priscilla?"

I grinned, nodding my head to my bright red 1965 Volkswagen Beetle, my baby that I had saved up for and bought myself after turning sixteen.

"I am not riding in that death trap."

"It's okay, Prissy. The mean mullet man didn't mean to call you a death trap. He's just intimidated." I cooed, patting her hood and smirking over at Billy.

"I'm not intimidated." Billy whispered under his breath.

"Then lets go!" I giggled, taking my bag from him and putting it in the back seat.

Billy shook his head, opting not to continue the argument. He grabbed his bag, placing it next to mine.

"You can park your car in the garage."

I pulled out, Billy replacing my spot in the garage with his car. I shut the door as Billy climbed into my car with a grunt.

"So, I didn't think I could actually talk you into doing this since we kinda just met, so I didn't plan this far ahead." Billy admitted, glancing at me.

"It's okay. I know a great place to go to start our adventure."

******

"What the hell is this place?"

"Some boujee country club my parents used to belong to." I replied, "It's disgustingly expensive."

"Then what exactly are we doing here?" He replied, raising an eyebrow at me.

"We're getting a room for the night. For free."

"For free? Yeah, right." He scoffed.

"You think I can't do it? What with my Harrington charm?" I drawled, twirling a strand of hair around my finger.

He rolled his eyes at me,

"Tell you what, let's make a bet." I proposed.

"Now you've got my attention."

I pursed my lips, humming to myself as I thought of what our wager should be,

"If we get in... you have to get your mullet cut off."

"Hey! No way in hell!"

"What, you worried that I'm right?"

"No." He scoffed.

"Then what's your wager if you win?"

"Priscilla." He smirked.

"You got a deal."

His smirk dropped as he realized that I had the confidence to bet my car, my baby. He knew he was getting that haircut.

"Come on, blondie!" I called as I skipped up to the front of the club.

Billy and I both wondered to the front doors, inside a fountain trickled in the background and the pristine white tiles reflected the lights from the ceiling.

"Welcome, how can we help you?" The woman behind the front desk greeted. "Hello, I'm Samantha..Harring...rove.. uh Hargrove," I chirped, glancing up at Billy who looked at me with shock, "And this is my Husband.....Billy." I snaked my arm through his, leaning my head on his shoulder hugging him into my side.

He put on an unconvincing fake grin, flashing it at the woman,

"My parents had a membership here and Billy and I are newly weds. They gifted us a membership under their names." I chided.

"Yes ma'am! What are your parents' names?"

"Timothy and Patricia Harrington."

The lady's head shot up at the sound of my parents names.

"I didn't know Timmy and Trish had a daughter! I thought Steve was their only child." She beamed as I dug my nails into Billy's arm.

He cleared his throat, slightly nudging me in an attempt to get me to loosen my grip,

"You know, your parents said this place was nice, but I hear there's a much better place upstate. Maybe we should cancel the membership and head up their instead."

"If you stay here, all of our newly weds get complimentary room service." The woman offered, startled by Billy's suggestion to take our money elsewhere.

"That sounds nice, doesn't it, sweetheart?" I encouraged.

He gave me a nod, letting out a sigh of relief when I retracted my nails from his skin.

"You'll be staying in suite 315, it's between the gym and the indoor heated pool." She instructed, pointing out the window behind her.

"Thank you." I cheered enthusiastically.

"Congrats!" She called after us as we stepped back outside. Billy pulled his arm from mine,

"I think you made me bleed." He commented, staring down at the half moon marks on the inside of his arm.

"Don't be such a baby." I retorted, going to the door of our room and shoving the key in the lock.

I let out a sigh of relief as the chilled air from the room hit me in the face. The bed was enormous, covered in crisp, white sheets with the logo of the club embroidered into them with green thread. Billy trailed in behind me, throwing his bag down on the floor by the bedside table. I slipped off my shoes, immediately hopping off the floor and landing face first on the bed.

"They're so soft!" I exclaimed, voice muffled by the sheets against my skin.

Billy laid on his side beside me, reading off the menu of the country club's overpriced restaurant,

"On tonight's dinner menu we have pacific caviar and braised lamb with whipped garlic parmesan mashed spuds." He mocked in the most obnoxious, rich old lady accent I had ever heard. And I had heard my fair share of obnoxious rich old ladies at my parent's stupid dinner parties, "Darling, I heard the wine selection is to dieeee for." I rolled over, flicking my wrist while holding my hand over my heart.

"How about we just order a pizza and go for drinks later at that bar we passed. Maybe do some golf cart races?"

"Sounds like a plan to me. But first we have to do something with that rats nest on that head of yours." I smirked, running my fingers in his curls.

Billy swatted my hand away, turning his head to glare at me.

"The mullet stays," he mumbled.

"But my dear husband, remember the bet we made in the car? The one where if I could actually get us a room here you would cut your hair." I giggled, tapping his nose.

"It's never going to happen. I don't remember shaking on that deal." He grunted.

"You lost fair and square buddy. Say bye bye to the mullet."

******

I smirked as Billy strolled out of the salon, his mullet was gone and replaced by a clean shave in the back and his natural curls still up front.

He looked even more handsome than before. I let out a whistle letting, him know I liked it.

"It looks like shit," He objected, crossing his arms.

"No it doesn't. Now come on, there's a club here we can go to. We'll have a few drinks then go back to the room and order pizza." I hummed, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the club.

"This place is obnoxious." Billy cringed, peering around at all the random couples spread throughout the bar.

"It's a country club. It's supposed to be obnoxious." I chimed, pulling Billy to a table and sitting down at it.

We ordered a few drinks and a appetizer as we people watched the rich folk around us.

The beginning of the song from Dirty Dancing started blasting through the speakers, making me gasp. I turned my gaze over to Billy with a big grin on my face.

I didn't even have to say a damn word,

"No."

"Come on please, I've always wanted to do it. Billy PLEASE!" I begged as I started swaying my hips along to the song.

I danced around his chair as he watched me with a deadpan expression,

"You're the one thing I can't get enough of!" I belted.

"No."

"AND I OWE IT ALL TO YOUUUUU." I sang as Billy groaned, standing up and walking away from me.

"Oh, come on! Where are you going?" I laughed as I kept dancing

"Are we going to do this or not?"

I let out a loud squeal, causing the people around to stare at us.

I started singing at the top of my lungs, walking towards Billy grabbing his hand as we started to twist back and forth along to the song.

"This will never happen again," He gibbed as I twirled around him.

"This is our first dance as husband and wife. We had to make it memorable." I quipped, doing a boogie away from him as the song built up. I kept swaying back and forth before running towards Billy and jumping as he caught me by the hips, lifting me above his head.

I crossed my legs, putting my arms out, smiling knowing that Jennifer Grey would be so proud.

I smiled down at Billy who had a huge shit eating grin plastered across his face. He placed me back on my feet, pulling me closer to him as we kept dancing.

"Ahem, Mr. and Mrs Hargrove, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the club for tonight. You are disrupting the rest of the customers."

Billy and I glanced over at the waiter, busting out in laughter as we ran out of the bar. "People don't know how to have a good time anymore." I groaned as we stumbled into the lobby.

Billy grabbed my hand, pulling me over to the grand piano in the corner.

"I noticed your keyboard in your room. You play?" He asked, sitting on the bench.

He cracked his knuckles, wiggling his fingers before pressing them on the keys, playing the beginning of Claire De Lune.

I glanced at him from my peripheral, pressing my fingers on the keys, playing along with him. "Been playing since I was seven. Rode my bike to my lessons every week."

Billy bit down on his lip before the corners of his mouth turned up.

"I think I started lessons at seven too."

"Who knew the Billy Hargrove has a thing for Debussy and ivory keys." I praised.

He swayed along to the music we were producing together,

"Ahem."

We both turned our heads over at the person behind the desk who was pointing at the giant sign behind us stating that the piano was not to be touched.

"Oops." I giggled, standing up, "Let's go back to our room before we get into more trouble."

"Nah, I'm sure we can find some more trouble we can get into." Billy chirped, standing up. We both shuffled outside and around the country club before coming up to a closed off section.

"You ever crash a wedding before?" I smirked, eyeing Billy as he lit a cigarette.

"Bad habit!" I scolded, taking the stick out of his mouth and replacing it with the pendant from his necklace.

"Will you stop that!" He grunted, taking the cigarette back from me, "We are not crashing somebody's wedding."

We continued our walk around the courtyard, coming across a golf cart. We both looked at each other than made a mad dash to the vehicle

Billy slid me over to the passenger side before climbing in the driver's side, pressing his foot all the way down on the gas pedal.

He drove off the sidewalk turning the wheel sharply making golf cart whip around in a circle.

Before long, the security guards pulled us over, screaming at us to stop and pointing at more signs stating boring rules for the boring people who actually paid money to stay at this place.

We laughed all the way back to the hall leading to our suite,

"Tonight was fun." Billy cackled as we walked into our suite.

"Yeah it was. I'll take the bed. Is the couch okay with you?" I questioned as Billy pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor and falling face first onto the couch.

"Mmhmm." He hummed.

"Good night, Billy." I whispered throwing a blanket over him.

He let out another soft hum.

"Good night, Sammie."

******

The next morning, I woke up and went down to the travel desk in the lobby, setting up all the things I needed to to surprise Billy with a small trip to California.

I tiptoed into the living room and over to the couch, shaking Billy slightly. "Wake up sleepyhead. Check out is in an 45 minutes and our flight leaves in an hour."

Billy grunted, lifting his head to walked at me.

"Did you just say flight?" He grumbled, his voice hoarse with sleep.

"Sure did. The in-laws bought us round trip tickets to California for the next two days." I beamed as Billy sat straight up, looking at me.

"Did you really buy tickets to go to Cali? Sam, you're shitting me."

Billy climbed over the couch, picking me up hugging me to him. "Thank you Sammie!"

I leaned in kissing Billy's nose, causing him jump a little from shock,

"Come on and get dressed!" I trilled, pushing him toward the bathroom.

******

The flight was longer than I expected it to be. Once we landed in California, I picked up the car I had rented. I eyed Billy who about fell on the ground when the blue convertible Corvette was brought to us. "That's the car you decided to rent!?" He exclaimed, almost drooling over it.

"Mmhm," I hummed, throwing my bag in the back seat and then climbing in the front.

"You know where the Chateau Marmont is?" I questioned, smiling at him.

"Did you get us a room there?" His eyes grew wide.

"Nah, it was too expensive, even for my parents. I booked a hotel overlooking the beach."

Once we got settled into the hotel, both of us were starving. We ventured out, finding some Mexican restaurant that Billy started raving about.

The food was decent and not too expensive but it wasn't like I was afraid of my parents finding out about me spending the amount of money I had in the past few days. They didn't care as long as I didn't bother them.

"Hey!" Billy yelled, catching up to me. "Uh..um.. I got you this," He panted, placing a heart shaped ring into my hand.

I examined it, smiling up at him, "Tanzanite, the December birthstone has energy for emotional healing from all worries. It brings happiness." I informed.

"Yeah..okay. I uh, just found a quarter on the ground and put it in a gumball machine. I mean, you're my wife and I didnt even give you a ring so." He grinned, gesturing to the ring.

"See, tanzanite brings happiness." I beamed as I slipped the ring on my left hand.

"So, does your mom live here?" I questioned as we made our way down the street.

"No. She passed away a while back." He sighed, a frown forming on his face.

"I'm sorry for your loss. You two were close?"

He nodded

"My mother was my best friend, she was a phenomenal woman. I never understood what she ever saw in my dad, he's a shit person." He chided through clenched teeth.

"Does he do this to you?" I asked, lightly touching the yellowing on his skin. He ignored me, walking ahead of me getting into the car.

"He does doesn't he? Are you going to be okay when we go back to Indiana?"

"Yes, Sam, I'll be okay." He retorted as we drove off into the direction of the hotel.

"Are you sure? If you ever need a place to stay you are we-"

"I'm fine Sam. Drop it." He snapped, cutting me off.

"Billy Hargrove is that you?!" Billy's head snapped to the car beside us at the red light we were stopped at.

"Sure is." He chortled, pulling his sunglasses down to his nose.

"Are you back for good?" The guy asked.

Billy shook his head "Nah, my....Sam and I came here for our spring break. We're leaving tomorrow night."

The guy in the car frowned as the light turned green.

"There's a party tonight at Olivia's place! Better see you there!" The boy yelled, driving off.

Billy's eyes lit up as he glanced over at me.

"Party tonight?" He questioned.

I pursed my lips together, rolling my eyes,

"Do we have to?" I groaned.

"Yes, I haven't seen these people in a long time!"

No matter how hard I tried to change Billy's mind, he wouldn't budge. And that's how I ended up at a party full of people I didn't know, sitting next to a Pug named Joe. Not exactly my ideal way of spending my first time in California. But I could tell that Billy missed his friends so I tried my best not to complain.

Music blared through the house as random teens danced around to Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne. I pushed past the crowd, finding Billy talking to some random girl by the keg as he poured himself another beer.

I was never a partier, when my brother dated Nancy Wheeler, she would always make him take me to parties. Most of the time it would end with me walking home or me hitching a ride from Jonathan Byers who hated parties as much as I did.

I stood next to Billy, nudging him with my elbow, frowning at him nodding my head towards the gate we had walked through when we arrived to the party.

"Sam, it's a party go have fun. Go drink." Billy shooed at me with his solo cup.

I rolled my eyes, walking towards the beach, digging my toes in the sand once I set foot on the grain surface. I plucked a few evening primrose from the steps, placing the stems into my plaited hair as I continued further down to the water. The booming music became more and more distant.

The beach was beautiful, and the California sunset even more so. What everyone considered a beach in Hawkins didn't even compare to this.

I took my time walking along the shore, picking up only the best shells and pieces of sea glass.

"Why aren't you at the party?" I heard a voice from behind me, I recognized it, so I didn't bother to look up,

"What're you doing?" He asked, watching as I scooped a sand dollar off the sand before the tide could pull it back in, "Collecting shells?"

"She sells seashells by the sea shore," I chirped, offering Billy the sand dollar. He rolled his eyes, taking it from me and throwing it into the ocean.

"Hey!" I hissed, crossing my arms.

"God dammit, Samantha can you not be weird for once? You're embarrassing me in front of my friends."

"I don't see anyone but us around," I shrugged, reaching into the water and picking up another shell.

"Sam. Please. Just pretend to be normal." He begged, reaching for the flowers woven into my braid and pulling them out.

"Excuse you!" I yelled, smacking his hands away, "Go party with your friends. I'll be okay by myself. Always have been." I fumed.

"I'm not leaving you out here alone. Just come back to the party, pretend to be normal and we'll come to the beach tomorrow."

"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."

"Are you really quoting Dr. Seuss? This is the shit im talking about. Normal people don't quote Dr. Seuss."

"If normal people don't quote Dr. Seuss, how do you know it's a Dr. Seuss quote?" I replied, and that was as close to a rebuttal as he was going to get from me tonight. I wasn't about to get dragged in to a Billy Hargrove argument. Especially not on spring break.

Billy continued to follow me as I kept examining shells and placing them into my pockets.

"Somebody has to go polish the stars, They're looking a little bit dull. Somebody has to go polish the stars, For the eagles and starlings and gulls have been complaining they're tarnished and worn, They say they want new ones we cannot afford. So please get your rags and your polishing jars, Somebody has to go polish the stars." I beamed, spinning in a small circle, kicking some water up at Billy.

He let out a frustrated groan,

"Harrington, you are really starting to piss me off." He snarled, grabbing my arm, "God, you're acting just like your brother." He snapped, "No wonder nobody bothers to get to know both of you, you're the same person."

I couldn't remain neutral any longer, I yanked my arm from his grasp and gave him a shove backward before turning on my heels and strutting back the way I came.

"Where the hell are you going?" He hollered.

I resisted the urge to turn around and scream back in his face as well as the urge to reach up to wipe the tears that had started to fall onto my cheek. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that he hurt me. My attempt at escape was thwarted when he ran up behind me, grabbing my wrist and spinning me around to face him,

"Let go of me, Billy." I hissed, straining against his grasp.

He gripped onto me with white knuckles,

"Not until you tell me where the hell you're going."

"Away from you." I spat.

"I'm not letting you leave here by yourself."

"You don't own me, you don't get to decide what I can and can't do."

"You're out here with me, I'm responsible for you."

"I'm responsible for myself, always have been. Find your own way home, asshole." I tore myself from his grasp, turning my back on him and making my way back to the car we rented, climbing in.

******

I drove around for at least two hours before heading back to the hotel. I knew that eventually the asshole known as Billy Hargrove would make an appearance, taking place of the boy I had been around for the past few days.

I figured it was from him being vulnerable with me and opening up to me about his father and mother. But the loss of his best friend and the fear of his father gave him no right to treat me or any other person that tries to get close with him the way he treats them.

I grew up almost raising myself, in a semI neglectful home with a vain mother, an absent father, a star athlete and a favorite brother. And that made me angry. That my own flesh and blood never took the time to come to my piano recitals, or come cheer me on for any academic achievement.

Hell, I doubt anyone in my family even knew that I was graduating a year early. I was counting down the days to graduation. I would be my own person, I would travel to places and do things that my brother would be too scared or stupid to do.

I opened the door to our hotel room to find Billy slumped on the couch asleep. I went over to him, taking his boots off and covering him up with a blanket.

"You're back." He grumbled, half asleep.

"Mmhm. Go back to sleep." I whispered, setting a glass of water on the table next to him then walking to the room, shutting the door.

******

I woke up the next morning to Billy shaking my arm. "Hey...Um I'm sorry about last night."

"I only accept apologies from assholes when there are pancakes involved." I grumbled, pulling the covers over my head.

"Sam..." Billy whined. I felt the bed shift as he sat next to me, resting his hand in the curve of my waist,

"Go away." I objected, kicking at his butt and wiggling out from under his touch.

A small chuckle left Billy's lips as he moved the covers from my head, "I really can't take you seriously when you're mad." He laughed.

I glared at him,

"You're a jerk. Get me pancakes and then we'll talk."

"Get up and get dressed. I'll take you to the best pancake place in town."

I wandered out of my room, passing Billy who was sitting on the counter with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

"Are you really not going to talk to me until I feed you?" Billy asked as he followed me into the elevator. I glared over at him angrily, not breaking our eye contact, pressing the button that would take us to the lobby.

"Sammie..."

I crossed my arms, examining the tiles of the elevator floor.

"I know.. I'm an ass okay? I'm sorry for what I said, you're nothing like Steve and it's a goddamn shame that nobody in that shit stain of a town doesn't see you as Samantha. You're crazy and quote Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein as a means to fight. You always know what to say and the right time to say it. I didn't mean anything I said last night."

My head still faced the opposite from where Billy was standing. I uncrossed my arms, reaching down grabbing Billy's hand.

"You're still an asshole" I asserted,

I could feel him relax underneath my touch. I glanced over at him, he was staring at me, cigarette still hanging from his mouth.

"Bad habit." I jeered, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and replacing it with a lollipop I found on the floor of the elevator.

Billy took the lollipop out of his mouth, dropping it to the floor gagging. "Gross!" "Still better than the cancer stick." I retorted, crossing my arms again and staring him down.

"You're an asshole." I repeated, skipping out of the elevator and outside to our car.

"These are some of the best pancakes you will ever have." Billy hummed as he started the car, heading in the direction of the diner he was taking us to.

He was right. They were some of the best pancakes I had ever had.

"So are you going to talk to me now?" Billy questioned, reaching for my hand and interlocking our fingers.

"I told you I would once you fed me." I quipped, pushing my plate away with my free hand.

"I'm truly sorry about last night Sam. I shouldn't have forced you to go to the party and expect you to want to stick around. And I'm really, really sorry for comparing you to Steve. You're not like him at all."

I squeezed his hand, peering up at him.

"You're an asshole. But, I forgive you."

******

Billy and I sat in comfortable silence on the car ride home from the airport. I couldn't help but have this feeling that once we got home and went our separate ways that Billy would go back to his friends and I'd go back to my flowers. Despite him profusely apologizing over our fight on the beach, I feared that he would go back to being his asshole self and only talk to me when he needed notes- maybe even to get under Steve's skin by being around me.

I pushed my feet up in the dash as Billy silently hummed to himself, tapping on the steering wheel.

"What's going to happen on Monday?" I questioned, peering over at him, "The past few days have been...amazing to say the least but once school starts back, are we going back to Billy Hargrove the king of Hawkins and The Other Harrington."

I started to nervously fidget with the ring Billy had given me, twisting it around my finger.

Billy reached over, grabbing my hand and squeezing it "When school starts back on Monday, I'll be Billy and you will be Samantha. I know im an ass, but I won't pretend this trip didn't happen, that I don't love you."

I turned my head at him in surprise over the fact that he just admitted that he loved me.

"Sammie, you make me less pissed. Not... not pissed, but I feel like I use to before I lost my mom."

"I saved that flower crown you gave me. It's in a box under my bed next to a flower crown she made for me on my fifteenth birthday."

Billy brought the back side of my hand to his mouth, placing a kiss on it.

"You promise?" I asked hesitantly. He sighed, pulling over on the side of the road.

"Sam, I'm not sure if you heard me the first time, but I'm in love with you. You somehow talked me into getting a haircut,-"

"You lost a bet and those were the stipulations." I corrected, earning an eye roll from him.

"I cut my hair for you, and I opened up to you about my father. And told you about the only other person that I knew that was as kind and loving as you are. It was a no brainer that I would fall in love with you. I just didn't expect it to happen as fast as it did."

I leaned over, kissing his cheek,

"You are an asshole with I really nice hair cut. I love you too, Billy Hargrove." I reached over, turning the volume up as the guitar riff to Highway to Hell blasted through the cars speakers. I started dancing along to the beat beckoning Billy to get out of Priscilla and join me on the side of the road.

Billy laughed, getting out grabbing me by my waist as we started dancing together. We danced and twirled around to the music, singing along to the words together.

Billy placed his hand on the small of my back, pulling me closer to him as his other hand snaked behind my neck, bringing my lips to his.

"So, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to go get dinner later? But not like friend dinner...uh like a date? And you be my girlfriend." He babbled.

I chuckled, kissing his nose,

"You're cute when you're nervous. Hasn't this week been one long date?" I questioned, intertwining my fingers with his.

Billy leaned in, his head resting it on mine. "I don't want to go home." He confessed, opening his eyes looking down at me.

"We have to go back to reality. And when graduation comes around, we'll pick back up where we left off, travel the world together forget about Indiana."

I twirled around Billy's fingers before wrapping my arms around his neck.

"So now I'm included in this adventure?"

"You are my husband, you kinda have to go with me." I retorted, resting my head on his shoulder as the song slowly came to an end.

Billy wrapped his arms tighter around me, placing a kiss on top of my head.

"Back to reality."

I pulled up in front of the Hargrove household, glancing over at Billy who was almost as pale as a ghost. "I'm going in there with you."

"No you're not. Sammie you are safe out here."

"But you aren't safe in there." I retorted, getting out of my car.

"He won't do anything to you in front of a stranger." I added, reaching down for his hand. We walked into his house to find what looked to be his father and brother sitting on the couch watching whatever game was playing on the television.

Both men drew their attention to the door. Billy's father glared at both of us his arms crossing over one another.

"Where the hell have you been?" He snarled, standing up from his recliner.

"Uh...um," Billy sputtered.

I squeezed his hand trying to give him reassurance as Neil turned his focus from his son to me.

"You were off doing God knows what with this whore weren't you?!" Neil boomed, not breaking eye contact with me.

"Um.. uh."

"That's not an answer, Billy."

I groaned,

"Yes, Mr. Hargrove he was with me. We went to my parents country club and then flew to California for a few days. It was a lot of fun. I found a lot of pretty shells. I see where Billy gets being an asshole from." I exclaimed as Billy's hand tightened against mine.

"I want you out of my house!" Neil howled, taking a step toward Billy and I. Billy instinctively took a step in front of me.

"You want me out? Fine."

Billy pushed past Neil, heading the direction of his bedroom, me following behind. He grabbed the remainder of his clothes from his closet, stuffing it in trash bags. I reached under his bed, grabbing a shoebox with his mother's name scribbled across it

"Can't forget your flower crowns." I whispered, sitting the box on the bed, helping Billy grab all of his belongings.

"You have nowhere to go." Neil laughed, standing in the doorway and crossing his arms.

"My house is big. He can live with me." I retorted, stepping in front of Neil, blocking his view of Billy the best I could.

"And your parents are going to be okay with that?" Neil challenged.

"I don't think it's any of your business how my parents react to Billy coming to stay with me."

Billy walked over to me with the trashbags full of his belongings.

"He isn't your concern anymore. You can fuck off." I spat, reaching back for Billy's wrist and bumping my shoulder into Neill as we walked in the the hallway.

"You'll be back after this slut gets tired of you." Neil yelled following after us. I stopped turning to face him.

"I can assure you, that I won't get tired of him. We got married when we were in Cali." I chortled, flashing my left hand up at him.

"Like I said, Billy isn't your concern anymore." I lifted my middle finger up at Neil as Billy pulled me out of the house and out to the car.

******

"Steve isn't going to be happy," I mumbled, pulling into my driveway.

Billy let out a small laugh, leaning over kissing my cheek. I faced him with a stern expression,

"Please be nice. I'll handle all the talking." I stressed, squeezing his hand. I placed a quick kiss on his lips before stepping out of Priscilla

"Where the fuck have you been, Samantha?" Steve gripped, walking out of our house and crossing his arms.

Billy slowly got out of Priscilla, walking around to stand behind me.

"Let me rephrase that, where the fuck have you been with Billy Hargrove." Steve seethed.

"California." I stated as a matter of factly.

"California!?" Steve blurted, his jaw dropping, "What did you do to her, Hargrove, kidnap her?!"

"He's my friend...boy," I said as Billy intertwined our fingers, "Err my boyfriend."

"Since when?"

"Since this morning."

"Sam, you don't socialize you go to school and come home."

I rolled my eyes, opening my mouth to say something only to be cut off by Steve,

"How do you two even know each other? God Samantha, leave it up to you to become friends with the biggest asshole in school. Do you even remember what happened to me in October?"

Billy stood between us placing a hand on Steve's chest. Steve quickly stepped away from Billy's touch, "Man, I know we have our issues. And I'm sorry for everything I've done to you." He began.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow and shifting his weight onto his heels, "But I actually give a shit about Sammie. And nobody appreciates her damn near as much as she deserves." Billy mused, glancing down at me.

"Stop acting like you care, Steve." I grumbled under my breath.

"You're my baby sister, of course I care."

"Really? Do you even care enough to know that most of your friends don't even know my name?" I fired back.

"What're you talking about?"

"In fact, most people don't even know my name. Not just your friends. And you know who did? Billy. You know who came and talked to me without prefacing it with 'can you tell Steve'? Billy." I defended, "He actually talks to me like I'm a real person and not just a means to get to you."

"Are you sure that isn't what this is? A means to get to me?"

"Is it really that hard for you to believe that somebody cares about me?"

"I find it hard to believe that Billy Hargrove cares about you."

Billy dropped my hand from his grasp, balling up his fist. I stepped ahead of him, blocking his path if he decided to make a move.

"Somebody has to! Mom and dad sure don't. And you're too busy running off with a bunch of middle schoolers who you call your siblings to pay attention to your actual younger sister!"

"Sam, this isn't about mom or dad or me or them!"

"Bullshit it isn't!" I snapped, "My entire fucking life I've been walking around in your shadow and I'm goddamn sick of it!"

"How many times have I told you that people don't know my name? How many times have I said that kids I've known my whole life, gone through kindergarten with, don't know my name? All I am is Little Harrington or The Other Harrington. I'm not Samantha. I'm not my own fucking person. And that's on you, Steve!"

"How is it on me that you don't do anything to get attention?"

I could faintly hear a rumble in Billy's chest,

"Because you've never taken me seriously! Never stood up for me when I needed you to. Steve, I needed you to be my big brother and protect me and you didn't!"

Steve opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but I cut him off,

"Go take care of the rest of your 'little siblings' hope you don't let them down like you did to me." I snarled.

Billy went back over to Priscilla, grabbing my bag from the car and following behind me.

"I don't think so. You are not going into my house." Steve said, grabbing his arm.

"Fuck you, Steve." I spat as Billy yanked his arm from my brother's grasp.

They squared up with each other, chest to chest. Neither of them particularly wanted to get into a fight, especially not in front of me. I intertwined my fingers with Billy's and took him inside with me.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Dustin asked as the other kids stood up in defense.

"Ask your older brother, he seems to be pretty open with you guys." I sneered, pulling Billy up to my room.

I shut the door behind us, leaning back on it and letting myself cry.

"Hey, hey, hey, baby, no." Billy comforted, pressing his forehead to mine. "No crying." He cupped my face in his hands, making me look at him

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."

I smiled softly at him as he kissed me,

"Normal people don't quote Dr. Seuss." I sassed, wiping my face with the back side of my hand.

"Well, as it turns out, I'm not as normal as you think."

******

Monday I could feel every single eye on me. The worst part of living in a small town was word got around fast.

"Christy, is it true you and Billy Hargrove robbed a bank over spring break?"

I rolled my eyes as I shut my locker door,

"No, it's not true." I grunted, walking past Carol and into Chemistry. A smile spread across Billy's face as I walked down the row of desks and took my usual seat at the one in front of him. He leaned forward in his desk, pressing a kiss to my cheek,

"I missed you," He whispered, placing another kiss on my shoulder.

"Two whole periods without me, how did you live!?" I exclaimed,

"It's not like you didn't just move in with me." I joked, leaning my head back so it was laying on his desk.

Billy chuckled, leaning forward connecting our lips together, earning various grunts and sighs from some of the girls in our class room.

By lunch people were well aware of Billy's status. People know knew who I was and who I was dating. But they still intentionally called me some random name.

Most of them probably figured that it got under my skin, so why would they stop?

"Sammie, are you okay?" Billy asked as we walked into the lunchroom together.

"Yeah, I'm just not used to being this...well known. And people are now purposely calling me different names." I sighed as I grabbed a juice and a banana in the lunch line.

"Mr. Hargrove, your new haircut looks wonderful!" Edna, the lunch lady chirped.

"Doesn't it?" I questioned, running my hand in his hair.

Billy rolled his eyes, swatting my hand away before paying for both of our lunches.

"Oh! Miss Hayley! Will you please tell Steve he still owes us money from before spring break."

I grinned at her, knowing that she didn't mean any harm by calling me the wrong name, unlike the rest of the school.

"Sure thing, Edna."

I followed behind Billy as we both sat at the lunch table with Tommy H. and Carol.

"Nicole are you lost?" Tommy H grimaced as I sat next to Billy. "No, I'm not." I mumbled. "Then why are you sitting here? Last I checked you weren't popular." Carol snorted.

The walked on Billy's face made me think he was about to kill everyone around him.

"Knock it off both of you. Samantha is my girlfriend." Billy chided.

"Ew, why would you want to date Kayla?" Tommy sneered, giving me a disgusted look "You know she's Steve's sister, right?"

In a flash Billy flew across the table, throwing his fist into Tommy's face. He then climbed on the table, placing his pinkies in his mouth and whistling.

"Just so we are all on the same page, This girl has a name, and It's Samantha. She's my girlfriend...Samantha Harrington is my girlfriend. If I hear anyone call her The Other Harrington or anything that is not Sam, or Samantha, one more time, you will really be wishing you didn't." He threatened, "Now what is my girlfriends name?"

In unison, the entire lunchroom sang out my name. I could feel my cheeks grow warm. I knew for a fact I was as red as a tomato.

"And if any of you mess with her? You'll deal with me," He yelled as one of the coaches marched over, pulling Billy off the table and escorting him out of the cafeteria.

I cleared my throat, poking at my plate as Tommy climbed back back up to the table, holding his bleeding nose.

"The chicken is really good today isn't it?"

******

The week was long and uneventful, and by Friday not only did everyone- including teachers knew my name, they also came up to me apologizing- something I'm sure was Billy's doing.

I didn't hate this new found fame but I didn't love it either. Billy made an ass out of himself at lunch, landing him a weeks worth of detention. So every day I would go sit in the field, making 2 floral crowns while I waited for Billy to get out of his detainment.

"How was detention?" I asked as Billy plopped down on the blanket next to me ,taking my floral crown from my head and placing it on his own.

"To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world." Billy sang, kissing my cheek.

"Quoting Dr. Seuss again are we?" I sassed.

"I love you," He uttered as a dragonfly flew by landing on my nose.

I chuckled, shaking my head startling the bug away.

"Looks like your mom loves me too."

Billy smirked, pressing his lips onto mine before stretching out onto the blanket, placing his head on my lap, staring up at me with the utmost adoration.

It didn't matter anymore to me that people got my name wrong, or how I would become a distant memory after graduation,

The soft boy with a hard exterior had the free spirited girl with a love for wildflowers.

We had each other, we made each other shine.

And that's all that matters.

521 notes · View notes

sunshinexlollipops · 5 years

Note

okay, that post about the super strong dude who lifted a car out of a ditch? Tell me that wouldnt be modern day Arthur. like seriously ~💚

“Need a Lift?”

—————

It’s a dark and stormy night, the blizzard that you’ve been trying to trek through rages on overhead.

You’re almost out of gas, and the nearest town is about five miles up the road. What should be an easy drive is hell, your tires losing their grip in the countless inches of piling snowdrifts and ice.

You only wanted to get home, and it’s a wish that barely outweighs the massive amount of regret you feel for trying to grant it to yourself.

You car slides, and your hands grip onto your steering wheel tightly as your poor car groans and begins to steer off the road, gliding over the snow that’s iced over like it’s skating.

“No no no no!”

Your bumper becomes friends with a rather thick snowdrift, and you feel your car sink as its front tires go past the edge of the road.

Shifting angrily into reverse, you attempt to get your car situated, but all it earns you is your wheels spinning uselessly and a nasty sense of desperation that starts to cling to you.

After a few minutes of trying, you stop, knowing you’ll only be wasting what little precious gas you have left on chasing after the impossible.

There’s no other way to put it.

You’re stuck.

Smacking your hand against the steering wheel, tears prick at your eyes as you try to look outside in the torrent of swirling white flakes. They coat your windows, but you can barely make out the extent of the road, at how it’s nearly buried under the ever piling snow.

“Fuck,” you breathe, and you look to your phone, swallowing harshly, “Please, have a god damn signal!”

At the top corner of your phone, you can see the symbol as clear as day— no service.

“God damnit!”

Of course. Of course you had to push the issue despite all the warnings from the news and anyone who happened to pass you by. This was the worst blizzard in years for this area, and you had the amazing idea to chance traveling in it because what? You’d rather go home and watch Netflix there instead of the safety of a hotel room?

God. You’re such an idiot. . .

But, you’re not stupid enough to know that walking out in this, even if the next town over with a gas station is five miles off, would be the last thing you need to do.

You’re just a little notch above empty, and if you manage to use it just right, you might be able to make this last bit of gas work until someone hopefully comes down the road as stupidly as you did.

And as you bear down in your seat, so begins the wait.

About an hour passes, and you’re quickly growing more and more fearful as what little light managed to work it’s way through the storms begins to dwindle into darkness.

The lights to your car are on, but with your headlights stuck in snow and your back ones more than likely coated in snow, there’s no telling if someone will be able to catch them glowing from the side of the road.

You look down, the gauge to your gas almost entirely on “E.”

“God, I’m gonna fucking die out here.”

As you lament, you nearly miss the glowing light coming up the road. But as soon as you notice, you freak out, spazzing and nearly flailing out of the car as you attempt to get out at the appearance of headlights.

The cold is biting as you emerge from your car, your legs sinking down into the deep snow as you force your way into what you hope is the driver’s sight. Waving your hands, you yell, your voice nearly lost over the shrill sound of the wind as it gusts.

The car, or more specifically a god damn tow truck, seems to slow to a stop, and you breathe out, thanking whoever or whatever is listening for coming through.

The truck stops completely, and the driver door opens, a man dropping from the seat and down onto the snow-laden ground to approach you.

“You stuck?”

His country baritone is audible over the storm, and you nod, breathing out as he approaches, and you can see how thick all of his winter clothing is, with most of his face obscured by a black scarf and the tips of his ears red under his cowboy hat.

You almost wanna say something, but then again, he’s your knight in a shining, blue denim coat, so you’ll take anything at this point— long as it’s not a creep or serial killer.

“Yes,” you breathe, your breath coming out in a pale cloud as you gesture to your poor sedan, “I’m almost outta gas too, thank god you came when you did!”

“Storms like this could easily kill ya if you ain’t careful. You’re lucky I was comin’ back from a call from someone else bravin’ the storm,” he walks over to your sedan, looking it over from where it’s lodged into the snow, “Looks like you’re just a little off the road. A good pull should get ya out.”

You try to ignore some of the scrathing judgement he offered— last thing you want to do is run off the one man who could save your ass. Besides, he has a point. And if anything, he’s just giving the words in your head a different voice.

And a country accent.

God, you were legit in the northeast? How did he end up here?

Well, very easily. But it’s nevertheless odd as he goes over to the front of your car.

“Get in,” he orders, “I need you to shift her to neutral and hold the steering wheel for me.”

Nodding, you go back to your door, opening it and going to sit inside.

As instructed, you grab the gear shift and slide your poor baby into neutral. You feel the car lurch some, almost rolling further into the snowbank and you glance at the man, wondering if that was going to help things. He makes a stop motion, and you realize then that he was telling you to brake to keep that from happening.

“Whoops,” you mutter, and press down on the pedal to keep your car from slipping any further.

The man then leans down gripping your bumper and lifting. And to your surprise, you feel the front of your car begin to go upward.

Eyes wide, you watch as the bastard managed to give you a thumbs up.

And your foot falls away from the brake like your bottom jaw as it falls open.

The car jolts some as he sets your sedan back on the road like it was merely a toy car, and braces both gloves hands on the hood to begin pushing you back. Your car rolls dutifully under his ministration, and your left astounded as you take in what this man has managed to do.

And then, he lifts up, holding his hand flat with his palm facing you, and you quickly catch your brakes again.

With the car freed and stopped, the man steps around the hood to come to you door, and you roll down the window.

“You said you were almost outta gas?”

“Yes,” your voice is oddly calm for the amount of confusion you feel.

“Okay, I’ll tow you. Town is about five miles up. Got a shit station but it’s better than runnin’ on empty in a storm like this.”

You nod, “Sounds great...”

“Okay. Just hold onto that brake and I’ll get you hooked up.”

He steps away from your window, and you roll it back up as he heads to his truck. He quickly jumps in, using what little road is left open to pull around you and position his truck. He aligns them perfectly, backing up close enough to start the process, and then jumps out of his truck and motions for you to roll the window down again.

“Pull forward a bit,” he instructs.

You do so, stopping once he lifts his hand.

And then, he gets to work.

Working the straps over your tires and getting the jack underneath, your car teeters a bit as he moves it.

You’re beyond curious, wondering how the hell this hick who appeared out of nowhere was able to lift your car.

You glance towards the glovebox, and allow your interest to get the better of you.

Opening it, you pull out your manual, looking for the basic information listed about the vehicle and finding the number that you were wondering about so much.

Base weight of vehicle — 2,612 LBS

You gape yet again, but this time, you look out to see the man waving at you once again.

All but dropping the manual down into your lap, you swallow, rolling your window down again to hear what he has to say.

“Shift it into neutral, then hop out.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s gotta be in neutral so I can tow it, and it’s not safe to be in a car that’s being towed like this,” he explains, “‘Sides, if you’re almost outta gas as you are, you would freeze on the way back.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Doing as instructed, you manage to shift your car into the proper gear right as your engine sputters and coughs.

“Oh.”

“Come on. The cab of my truck is warm.”

You step outside, shutting the car door behind you and following after the man. Splitting off near the tailgate, you walk towards the cab of the car while he lingers behind.

“I’ll get this hooked up. Just make yourself comfortable.”

Nodding, you continue on your way.

The inside of the cab is rather bare bones. Nothing messy nor telling of the man, really. All except for a little horseshoe keychain that hangs from his rear view mirror.

Chortling under your breath, you lean against the passenger door, setting your face on your hand. Figures you’d find out nothing more than he likes trinkets as country as him.

It doesn’t take the man long, but he’s soon entering the cab, the icy wind causing you to shiver lightly as he settles himself, knocking some snow onto the upholstery.

You watch as he sheds the black scarf obscuring his face, and your jaw continues it’s habit of dropping as you take in his face.

This man... he’s a god damn snacc.

He seems to sense your state, and slowly, his eyes move over to you, narrowing as he takes in the blush on your cheeks and the overall “deer in a beautiful man’a headlights” expression you’re sporting.

“You okay?”

“Me? Oh I’m fine.”

Oh but goddamn isn’t he fine too—

“How long were you stuck?” he asks, knocking you back out of your thoughts before that train could travel further south.

“About an hour or so,” at the memory of your situation, you do sober a little as the tow truck lurches into motion, “I honestly thought I was gonna freeze out here.”

“Well, thankfully that didn’t happen.”

The man steers the truck into what you figure used to be the correct lane in the road. But everything is buried in white, and you couldn’t tell where the asphalt ended and the ditch you got stuck in began.

Then again, this man was seemingly able to lift a three ton car so what else could possibly be impossible for him?

And so, to entertain yourself for the small drive, you ask, “You lift often?”

The man quirks an eyebrow in your direction, but doesn’t fully look at you.

“I guess,” he pauses, “Why are you askin’ anyway?”

Maybe because you practically deadlifted my car?

You shrug, “I’m nosy.”

He huffs, but doesn’t press the issue further.

After all, if he could do that to your car, what could he do to you?

Which— . . .

Oh.

The redness on your cheeks is completely unrelated to the cold. But there is no need for anyone to know that.

As the man takes the curve, he hums, “Name’s Arthur, by the way. Figure that is usually what people tend to ask instead of whether or not I go to the gym.”

Arthur. Oh.

You expected something different.

Like Cletus.

Something befitting and not... normal.

“Yeah well, I have priorities.”

“Like driving out into a blizzard in a Toyota like a dumbass?”

Snapping, you make finger guns at him, “Precisely.”

“You know, ain’t nothin’ really worth goin’ through a storm like this for,” he says, shaking his head, “I hope you learned to just wait it out instead of trying to force the issue. Not everyone gets as lucky as you do.”

“Yes. I’m quite aware of how dumb my desire to go home is,” you mutter, and when he sends you a look, you huff, rolling your eyes lightly as you add, “I’m serious.”

“You seem to take it seriously.”

“Oh, I was before I saw your little happy ass rolling down the road. I prayed— and last time I did that I was begging for strep to just kill me right then and there.”

As Arthur glances at you, staring for as long as he can before he has to refocus on the drive, you can feel the judgement in his stare.

“You’re goddamn strange.”

“Says the man who lifted my car up and held it with one hand!” you blurt.

Blinking, you settle back into your seat, the air in the cab growing awkward.

Arthur doesn’t say anything else, but your heart races a bit, and the seatbelt crossing your chest almost feels like a death trap as he drives ahead.

You regret saying anything, even if unintentionally. It was weird and strange, and while you had no idea how the man was able to manage such a feat, he was helping you.

It was like someone having a very large and distinct mole on their face. It was obvious. Sooooo obvious.

And here you had to go, pointing it out as you did.

You should’ve become a popsicle. It’s what you deserve.

“Town is just up this corner,” he mutters.

Just as he said, as his truck takes the turn, you see the glorious lights of civilization like beacons of hope in the dark.

“Oh thank god,” you breathe, nearly pressing your face against the window with the relief you feel at seeing them.

And there, right before you pass over into town, is a small sign.

WELCOME TO

V A L E N T I N E

Population 200

“I’ve never heard of this place.”

“It’s a small town. Kinda nestled away. Most people pass through, but we got a hotel in case people stay,” Arthur informs you as he pulls up to the saving grace that is this rundown, one-pump gas station, “You should probably stay until the storm clears.”

“I probably should...” you murmur, knowing you may not be as lucky if you gave this trek another good old college try.

You dropped out, after all. Should’ve been a sign.

“I can fill up one of my gas cans and put some into your car. Just enough to get you off my towing gear and up to a pump.”

“Okay.”

“Did you want anything from the station?”

Looking over to the dimly lit interior of the store, you shrug.

“Think I pushed my luck enough today.”

“Fair enough.”

You watch as he pays for the gas and comes out, filling up one of the faded red gas cans and immediately putting it into your car. When he signals you with a thumbs up, you leave the warm comfort of the cab and face the horrible cold outside.

You shiver, teeth instantly going to chatter as you meet him up by your car. He unhooks it rather easily, with you working the wheel as before.

You expect him to leave, but he doesn’t, making sure your car putters back to life before nodding with finality.

“Think that should do ya.”

Tapping awkwardly against the steering wheel, you ask, “While I know I’ve been odd company, I just... I wanted to thank you.”

“Ah, now it ain’t no problem.”

“Well, I probably would’ve frozen had you not come up the way, and I definitely would’ve if you drove past,” thinking of it then, you reach into your pocket, grabbing out your wallet, “Say, how much do I owe you?”

Shaking his head, he starts to deny you, “No that’s not necces—“

“Surely I can make it up to you some way?”

Drawing his lips up tightly, he makes a face, looking towards the road like he’s struggling with what he wants to say. A few moments pass like that, and you’re just about to settle on throwing twenties at him like he’s working a nine-to-five at Chippendales when he finally breaks his silence.

“You hungry?”

You’re about to say no when your stomach speaks for you.

It growls, loud and demanding and completely cutting you off before you can deny it.

Arthur smiles at its protest, his hands moving to his pockets as the expression grows into a smirk.

“Think you can pay me back by goin’ to dinner with me?”

Blinking, you try to hold you jaw up, but there’s no point. This man has broken it, with how he’s made it drop so many times.

Is there a warranty on this kinda thing?

“Oh, I... well... guess I could.”

“Well, we’ll get your car settled and I’ll drive ya there. Just leave our door open and set it to neutral again.”

Doing as instructed, you watch as Arthur begins to push your car forward with just one finger, and your mind only boggles further.

Completely unphased, the man grins at you.

“So, I know a place...”

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