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wicked-mind · 3 years

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Spark: Chapter One

Summary: Y/N and Damon were apart of a Hydra experiment for over a decade until they escaped. When power outages through towns along with bodies of murdered Hydra agents start popping up across the country, Y/N becomes Bucky’s mission.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Mentions of psychiatric facilities, death of enemies, heavy drinking, a hint of PTSD

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Note: Set post Endgame. Yes, Damon is based on Damon from The Vampire Diaries. Though, he isn’t a vampire, just another super soldier. Who wouldn’t want the gorgeous duo of Damon and Bucky in a story together? (: Also, whoever came up with the nickname 'Bucket' for Bucky, you are my favorite.

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Chapter One: Tequila

-7 Months Prior-

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She was admitted to a psychiatric facility by her parents who waived their rights as her parental figures when she was thirteen. The staff there found her to be completely sane as well as no harm to herself or others, so they discharged her. After she was discharged, she was placed into foster care until she was adopted four months later. Then she fell off the grid for a little over a decade.” Sam said, briefing Bucky. Y/N’s face was on the screen with details, as well as security footages of her from street cameras, “ Until two years ago. There’s been seven power surges that have knocked out the electricity in entire towns from unknown causes and her face has been seen around the epicenter of the outage at every single one before the power went out. ” Sam said, before flipping the screen to show 31 faces of deceased new-aged Hydra agents, “These bodies were also found in the towns when the outages happened. Some have their necks snapped, others have their hearts ripped out, most of them also have electrical burns. We need to know if it is Y/N doing this and how. She could be a threat. Y/N has owned a bar in Covington, Georgia for about six months.” He narrowed his eyes at Bucky, “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Bucky sat back in his chair, studying the images on the screen and listening intently. He looked like a statue, except for his eye movement. He nodded as Sam finished, “Yeah. I got it.” He said sternly, grabbing the folder with all the information on it in front of him before exiting the room. To him, Y/N looked harmless. But the evidence was stacked against her.

-Present Time-

Bucky had been in Covington for seven months. He had been doing recon on Y/N, watching and trailing everywhere he went. He even tried to get into her house once, but she had six locks on the door, the windows nailed shut, and an expensive state of the art security system that he couldn’t get passed without setting it off. He couldn’t give her any reason to suspect someone was watching her. Since Bucky had been in town, fourteen more Hydra agents had been killed, the last one was the night before.

He opens the door to The Tipsy Dog, the bar owned by Y/N, dressed in black pants with the same black leather jacket he always wore.. He had become a regular there, trying to create small talk with Y/N. She seemed too nice to be the one doing what Sam thought she was. She didn’t seem like the murdering type, let alone strong enough to snap someone’s neck or rip a heart out. Bucky took his regular seat at the edge of the bar, a cold beer already waiting for him like it had been for the past two months. He remembered when he first met Y/N, she had a warm greeting smiling at him. Sometimes he would come in and she would have mysterious bruises along her arms in the shape of hand prints. He also noted that she had three little scars on each side of her neck in shapes of triangles, but had never gotten around to asking how she got them.

“Right on time!” Y/N said to Bucky, breaking his train of thought. She stood in front of him across the bar, wearing a black shirt and jeans, a black apron around her waist, “I’m getting better at this. Had it out of the fridge, like, two seconds before you walked in the door.”

Bucky smiled, picking up the beer in his gloved hand, “Thank you.” He said, raising his beer to her before taking a swig of it. He noticed the fresh bruises shaped like a hand on her wrist quickly with his eyes, before returning his gaze to Y/N who was still smiling.

“Anything for my best customer.” Y/N said with a smile, grabbing out a white towel to wipe down the counter in front of her.

“C’mon, I thought I was your best customer.” A dark headed man appeared at the bar next to Bucky. He was wearing jeans with a dark grey t-shirt, his blue eyes watching Y/N carefully. Bucky had seem him often at the bar, always talking to Y/N. Immediately recognizing his voice, Damon. Bucky couldn’t figure out much about him. He disappeared as quickly as he appeared. Sometimes Y/N and Damon went outside the bar to bicker. If anybody was killing Hydra agents out of the two, it was definitely that guy. He seemed sketchy to Bucky. Dangerous. He couldn’t quite figure out what the relationship between him and Y/N was to each other.

Y/N’s smile faded a little bit as she turned to the man, “No. The best customers pay their bill, Damon. I have to pay for all that bourbon you drink. Five hundred dollars of bourbon for you alone in six months.” She said as she tilted her head and narrowing eyes, folding her arms across her chest.

Damon smirked at her, leaning his elbows on the counter to look up at her face, “Ah, c’mon Y/N. I thought we were even for the, you know.” He nodded over to the bruises on Y/N’s wrist with a little wink.

Y/N opened her mouth to rebuttal him, but her eyes flicker to Bucky who was watching the thing unfold next to him, taking another sip of his beer with an eyebrow raised. She turns her eyes back towards Damon, “Outside. Now.” She said through her teeth, taking off her apron and putting it on the counter. She walked around the bar and grabbed Damon’s arm, dragging him outside. She turned around and started talking loudly at him once they were on the dark sidewalk.

Bucky kept his gaze ahead, listening in on their loud conversation with his enhanced hearing.

“You can’t just come in to my bar making comments about my bruises in front of customers. You make it sound like I have a kink fetish with you,” Y/N slapped his chest before returning her arms to a fold, “We are trying to keep a low profile, remember? I like it here. I don’t want to be talked about around town.”

Damon raised his eyebrows at her again, the smirk never leaving his lips, “Okay, first off Sparky, I saved your life. Again.” He said using his nickname for her, pointing his finger at her which was immediately swatted away by Y/N, “And second, since when do you care?” He paused, looking back in the window at Bucky before looking back to Y/N, “Wait.. is that your mysterious biker boy?” His smirk widened, “What was his name again, Prancer.. maybe Rudolph. He looks more like a Rudolph.”

Y/N put her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Damon had been naming reindeer names since she had first told him about Bucky, “Bucky, Damon. His name is Bucky.”

“Ah that’s right! Good ol’ mysterious Bucket.” Damon grinned. That was his other favorite nickname.

Y/N sighs in defeat. She could never get him to stop, “Bucky.” She reminded again, “Five hundred dollars, Damon. I want it the next time I see you. Or else.” She was pointing her finger at him as she spoke, before turning on her heels and walking back into the bar while Damon walked away defeated.

Bucky chuckled at Y/N’s threat. She didn’t even sound threatening. He didn’t like Damon much though, but hearing that Y/N talked to Damon like she had a crush on Bucky made him smile a little bit. He honestly liked Y/N, she was always happy and kind. Plus this was a way to get closer to her for his mission. He watched as she came back around the bar in front of him, pulling out a bottle of half empty tequila and poured herself a shot. He watched with his eyebrows raised and a small smile as she swallowed it down without making a face.

“Sorry about that.” Y/N said to Bucky after taking the shot, pouring herself more tequila into the shot glass, “Do you want some?” She offered, holding the bottle out for him until he nodded and she placed it back down on the counter.

Bucky chuckled again as she took another shot, shaking his head no at her offer, “Boyfriend trouble?” He asks, taking another sip of his beer.

Y/N laughed a little at his comment, turning and pulling another beer out of the cooler passing it to him, “Damon? God no. We are just friends.” She paused, “Except for right now. Right now we are… Frienemies.” She determined with a small nod.

Bucky nodded, opening his new beer and taking another drink of it before speaking, “Frenemies. Got it.” He repeated, “Did he do that to your wrist?” He said, motioning towards the bruises. He was genuinely curious, Damon didn’t seem like the type Y/N would hang around. He seemed dangerous and the total opposite of her.

Y/N looked down at her wrist, pursing her lips together as she thought of what to say, “Uhm… No, I… Uhm.” She looked at Bucky, blurting out the first thing that popped into her head, “Got my hand stuck in the sink drain.” Y/N slightly winced at the stupid lie, embarrassed. ‘You idiot,’ she thought.

Bucky noticed her wince when she lied. She definitely wasn’t good at lying. He was getting more information tonight than he has in the last seven months. He watched her walk away to go help some of the last customers, leaving the two alone in the bar.

Y/N walks over the door, turning off the neon sign that said ‘OPEN’ and locking the door. She walks back to bar, pouring herself another shot of tequila, “So you don’t drink tequila. Do you drink anything besides beer?” She asks, looking at him with a smile.

Bucky smiled as he watched her pour another shot, “Occasionally whiskey.” He shrugged, bringing the bottle of beer back to his lips. He watched her pull out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass, filling it up in front of him.

“On the house.” Y/N smiled as she waited for him to cheers her shot glass.

Bucky shook his head laughing a little, “Oh no, doll. I just watched you chew out your frenemy for having free alcohol. I don’t want to be chewed out too.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, still smiling, “That’s because he owes me five hundred dollars, which makes him a bad customer. You on the other hand,” She said, pushing the shot of whiskey closer to him with her free hand, “Are a good customer. You don’t owe me a dime. And good customers get to hang out after hours and drink with the cool bartender.”

Bucky chuckled at her response and picked up the shot of whiskey, cheering her’s before downing it without a flinch, setting the glass back down. He smiled at her as she swiftly filled it back up again with the whiskey and then poured her another shot of tequila.

“Want to play a game?” Y/N asks, pulling out an empty glass and some change out of pocket, “Rules are simple. You flick the coins into the glass, you get three coins and three tries per turn. One of us makes more coins into the glass, the other person takes a shot.” She smiled, flicking one of the coins into the glass as an example.

Bucky nodded, “Simple enough. I warn you though, you’re going to lose. You better not be driving tonight.” He smiled at her, flirting a little bit.

Y/N smiles and wrinkles her nose at his competitiveness, “I’ll walk, I don’t live far. But you got some competition on your hands.” She said, taking her turn.

After six rounds, Y/N had managed to take four shots of tequila and Bucky taking two of whiskey. She was pretty sure he let her win the two times, which she was thankful for. She was pretty buzzed. Y/N cleaned up their glasses as they got ready to leave, Bucky had offered to walk her to make sure she got home alright. They walked down the street after locking up the bar, making small conversations along the way.

Bucky looked over at her curiously, his hands in his pockets as they walked, “You and Damon bicker like an old married couple. You guys must have been frenemies for a long time.” He said, trying to open up a conversation to learn more about Y/N and Damon.

Y/N nods, a soft smile on her lip, “Yeah, we’ve been through a lot together. I’ve known him a little over a decade. We share similar trauma.” She said, looking at the ground.

Bucky nodded, “I know all about trauma. Even tried therapy, it helped a little bit.” He said honestly with a shrug, “Ever tried it?” He remembered what Sam had said, Y/N had disappeared for a little over a decade. Maybe she had been with Damon all that time.

Y/N shook her head, looking over at him, “Nah. I believe for therapy to be helpful, you have to be truly honest about your trauma. And there’s things I’m not ready to be honest about yet.” She said with a small smile, stopping in front of an old looking house, “This is me.” She gestured towards the house.

Bucky looked it over, he had been here before. He knew the outside like the back of his hand from doing surveillance on the outside. He narrowed his eyes as he saw the curtains lift a little bit at the bottom of one of the windows, only to be met with a fluffy white face staring back at him, “Is that a dog?”

Y/N looked over to where he was looking, squinting to see the white fluff staring at her, “Oh yeah, that’s Sarge my dog. You want to meet him?” She asks curiously as she looked back to Bucky with a smile.

This was Bucky’s chance to see inside, maybe put some bugs in her house for him to listen to, “I’d love to.” He smiled at her, following her up the steps to the front door. He watched as she unlocked the six padlocks on the front before opening the door and clicking the security system to disarm it. She flicks on the light then opens the door wider for him to step inside which he gladly does. Bucky took in as much of the house as he could see. She didn’t have much furniture and it wasn’t really decorated. He turns his attention to the large white dog who approached him sniffing, kneeling down to rub it’s head, “Hello Sarge, nice to meet you, I’m Bucky. What kind of dog is he?"

Y/N smiled at how friendly Bucky was to her dog, “He’s a german shepherd malamute mix. I adopted him about nine months ago from the shelter. He’s a retired military dog.” She said. Just then, the lights flickered off throughout the house, “Dammit. The fuse box blew again, I’ll be back. Sarge stay with Bucky.” She said to her dog before disappearing out the front door. Y/N walked around the side of her house, opening the metal panel to the fuse box. She looks around before lifting her hand to the box, little blue electrical sparks zapping from her finger tips to the box, causing the lights to flicker back on in the house. Y/N never had to pay for power, she would just zap the power back on when it went out. She had this ability all her life, and when her parents found out they sent her away to psychiatric care and waived their rights as her guardian. Y/N shut the fuse box and made her way back inside to find her dog still sitting by Bucky, “Thanks for walking me home, Bucky. I’ll see you tomorrow around the usual time?” She asks with a smile.

Bucky had managed to place a few bugs around the house before Y/N made it back in, Sarge following him around obediently to what his owner had told him. He had returned to where he was standing originally, his hands in his pockets, “Anytime, Y/N. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said with a smile and walked out the door with a soft goodbye, walking down the street until he was out of view. He would hang around close tonight, try to learn more from the bugs he had planted.

Bucky had came back in a black car parked down the street, listening to the bugs planted around the house. It wasn’t too big, so he could hear mostly everything. He heard Y/N opening and closing the fridge while talking to her dog about how she got beat at the coin glass game against him which made him smile. She seemed so harmless. At some point, he heard Damon come over. It sounded like he had given her four hundred and fifty dollars, using the other fifty to buy a half gallon of bourbon. Y/N had accepted the money and thanked him, even if it was short. Y/N went to bed at some point, hearing her tell Damon good night and setting the security system before Sarge followed her upstairs. Damon stayed downstairs. Bucky could hear him watching tv down in the living room.

In the early morning hours, Y/N had a nightmare. Bucky could hear her breathing and whimpering from the bugs. It caused him to frown, wondering what someone who seemed so happy had something to have nightmares about. But then he remembered Y/N saying she had some trauma, wondering if that’s what the nightmares were about. He looked down the street towards her house, noticing the light in the bedroom was flickering on and off as well as some close street lights. He furrowed his brow as he watched and listened, wondering what was happening.

Y/N gripped her blanket as the nightmares started, her body feeling hot. She was stuck, couldn’t force herself awake. She was starting to grip at her neck as if trying to pry something away from it. She could feel her whole body filling with electricity, her fingers tingling as they hummed electrically. It was making her light flicker. That’s when Sarge barked, forcing her to awaken. She sat up in her bed, sliding back against the headboard as she breathed quickly, her fingers still shooting out electric sparks. She was in a panic. Damon had gotten off the couch to enter her room, sitting on her bed.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You’re safe.” Damon said gently. This was a whole different side of Damon that Bucky hadn’t heard from him before, but was thankful he was there to help Y/N.

Y/N looked at Damon with wide eyes, “Damon... I couldn’t get it off,” Her hands went to her neck as she spoke, “… we have to get out of here..” she whispered, her hands moving to grip the sides of her head.

Damon grabs onto her hands, prying then away from her hair, flinching at the shock from her fingers, “Y/N we are safe. Look, we are in your room. Sarge is here. We escaped, remember?” He asked gently, keeping ahold of her hands trying to ground her back to reality.

Y/N looked at Damon, then to Sarge who had moved to stand at her bedside, wagging his tail and leaning his head on her bed. She looked back to Damon and nodded, “Right, home. Home.” She breathed deeply, calming down slowly.

Damon nodded, “Yes, home. Now can you please stop shocking me, Sparky.” He said with a gentle smile, but still flinching a little bit.

Y/N pulled her hands away from his, the crackling electricity disappearing from her fingertips, “Sorry, Damon. I can’t really control it when my mind goes there.” She reached down, petting Sarge’s head to let him know she was alright.

“I know, it’s alright. Do you want to talk about it?” Damon asked softly with a small encouraging smile. He knew it helped to have Y/N walk through her dreams to where she was now to help her feel grounded.

Y/N shook her head, “No, not this time. I’m alright, just going to go back to bed.” She said, patting the end of her bed so Sarge could jump up to lay next to her. Damon had nodded and exited the room, shutting the door behind him. Once Y/N was sure he was back downstairs, she looked down at her dog who was staring back at her with his head tilted, black eyes staring at her, “Don’t look at me like that, Sarge. I don’t want to talk about it.” Y/N repeated, laying her head back down onto the pillow and staring up at the ceiling.

Bucky listened until there was silence again, assuming everybody had got back to bed. At least he figured out Y/N was the cause of the power outages, she had to be some sort of enhanced human. But he still didn’t think she was the cause of the murders, but she had some sort of role in them.

#bucky x reader #marvel x reader #damon salvatore x reader #universe mashup #fanficiton #marvel fanficiton #bucky barnes x reader #vampire diaries fanfiction #winter soldier x reader #damon x reader #damon x y/n #bucky x y/n #universe mashup fanficiton

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lilbabycee · 4 years

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shame on you (blame on me) // ransom drysdale

↳ summary: you find out some shocking information about your fiancé that makes you question who’s to blame.

↳ request: for the prompt: i really need some angst in my life so maybe a super angsty cheating fic with ransom? - anon

↳ relationship: ransom drysdale x reader

↳ word count: 4.7k (oops)

↳ warnings: angst angst angst!, explicit smut, cheating

↳ author’s note: i love ransom and this actually made me sad - please enjoy! x

You’ve always considered yourself a fair person.

Throughout your life, you’ve been taught that you should take a step back, assess the situation you’re in, and look at it from a different angle. But as you’ve had to learn over the years, looking at too many angles can make you dizzy and as hard as you try, those scales of justice have a mind of their own and can easily tip one way or another when your back is turned to face another perspective. It’s a tedious game to play and you can’t win all the time, but for you, it’s always been enough to just try.

And try as you might, there will always be people interfering with the balance: people with ulterior motives and nefarious agendas, people who will do anything to see themselves in first place, people who want so desperately to be able to do it all. Life is an exchange, a give-and-take that you must navigate with the precision and confidence of a synchronized swimmer trying to keep up with the shadow of themselves in an ocean of doubt and self-loathing, and you find that those who only want to take and take without giving are those who, more often than not, end up alone when it’s all said and done.

But you’ve always gone out of your way to make an attempt to steer people away from going down that path, encouraging them to give more of themselves to people who deserve it and open up their hearts up to people who may change their lives. All of your friends like to joke that you have a god complex and you can’t help but agree that maybe you do.

It’s inexplicable why you feel so responsible for the lives of others; strangers, friends, family alike, you bear the weight of their choices on your back. You chalk it up to extreme empathy and your parents insist that it’s because you’re just inherently good. Maybe it’s because you feel as if since the minute you were born, the scales have been tipped in your favor. Perhaps you’re compensating for all of the privileges that you were handed because of who your parents are and what your socio-economic class is, the silver spoon that you’ve been trying to spit out of your mouth for your whole life. All you know is that you so deeply crave justice that it makes your head ache some days.

So yes, you would - modestly - consider yourself fair.

That’s why it shocked so many when you fell in love with Ransom Drysdale.

You met him at a charity fundraiser that you were hosting to build schools in less economically developed countries all over the world, an initiative that you’d been working on for years and held so dear to your heart. Your mother has been close to Joni for her entire life and knew the Thrombeys and Drysdales because of business, so when she told you that they’d be attending, you didn’t think much of it.

“Darling,” your mother calls and beckons you over, pulling you into her side with a bright smile on her face as she stands next to a group of well-dressed patrons.

When you’re standing next to her, you must be mindful of the way that the emerald green satin of your gown sweeps the floor. With a slim diamond choker wrapped around your neck and rings that cost five-figures adorning your fingers, you usually prefer to indulge in simpler pleasures but for events like these, you give into hedonism and allow your mother and stylist to spoil you. You press a barely-there kiss to your mother’s cheek as she gently holds onto you, running her nails up and down your arm comfortingly.

“Honey, these are the Drysdales. This is Linda, her husband Richard, and their son Hugh.”

You smile politely at both Linda and Richard and are about to give their son the same treatment when you feel the heat of blue flames licking up the exposed skin of your leg that peeks through the thigh-high slit in your dress. But the fire doesn’t stop there; it spreads up your stomach and lands in the valley of your breasts. A part of you wants to be angry that this man is ogling you as if you’re a piece of meat, the prey that his predator has been waiting to pounce on, but a part of you revels in it. You know that you look good - it’s no secret to anybody at this event - but to have someone unabashedly appreciate that makes your heartbeat speed up.

Since he can’t tear his eyes off of your cleavage, you take the opportunity to give Hugh a once-over of your own.

His black loafers are designer - you can tell by the way all of the little golden g’s on the velvet of his shoes are linked together - and so are his black socks, something which makes you have to physically prevent yourself from rolling your eyes. The black, grey, and white checkered pants he’s wearing hug his thighs just enough to see the shape of the muscles in his legs and the outline of his sizable length - you don’t let yourself look at that for too long. The letters on his belt match his shoes and you’re momentarily astounded at how narrow his waist is. Under a waistcoat and suit jacket that are both printed with the same pattern as his pants, he’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck that clings to his torso like a second skin. From what you’ve seen, you can assume that he’s heavily muscled underneath his clothes, and when you see his broad shoulders and big arms, you’re proven right.

Luxury virtually seeps out of his pores and it nauseates you.

But you’re intrigued nonetheless. His eyes lock on yours and you find yourself drowning, trying to swim through a choppy sea of grey and blue. It knocks the breath out of your lungs and a shy smile lifts your lips when he extends a hand out towards you.

“Nice to meet you,” his voice is deep and his jaw is squared as if he’s biting back his words. You delicately place your hand in his and marvel at the way his palm swallows yours. His skin is warm and soft and you’re close enough that you can smell notes of bergamot and cedarwood that make your usually poised stance melt.

“Likewise, Hugh,” you manage to say, overwhelmed by the charm and class of the man before you.

“Call me Ransom, sweetness; only the help calls me Hugh.”

And just like that, your rose-tinted glasses shatter and you blink hard, rescinding your hand from Ransom’s and nodding at him briefly. You can’t help but wonder how much more pretentious this son of a bitch can get, but your mother hasn’t failed to notice the way that the two of you sized each other up. So when you’re eventually walking away from the family of three, she gives you a knowing look that you’re all too familiar with, a look that makes you scoff and avoid her eyes.

“So,” she draws out the word and nudges your shoulder with hers, “he’s cute, no?”

“Mom,” you groan quietly.

“Come on now, darling, he was a very handsome boy. And I saw the way he was looking at you-”

“Sure, Mom, but did you hear him? ‘Only the help calls me Hugh’ - he’s so far up his own ass...and what kind of name is Ransom anyway?”

Your mom shrugs, the corners of her lips twitching up into a cheeky grin.

“Doesn’t matter, love - I think he’s cute and you should go speak to him. And if you don’t, who knows? He might snatch you up in that auction later tonight.”

And he did. Every year at the benefit, you auction yourself off for a night out which you only continue to do because it proves to be an extremely valuable source of income for your charity. You’re standing up in the center of that stage, the host for the night yelling out the bids for the auction, and through the blinding lights, you’re able to see white signs flying up with ridiculously high amounts of money printed on them. You’re sure that this is almost over when you see fifty-thousand dollars stuck up in the air, but then the host says:

“One-hundred-thousand dollars to the gentleman in the checkered suit right over there!”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing and a part of you hopes that it’s not Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you haven’t seen anybody else wearing such a distinctive suit; your heart threatens to beat out of your chest. Even in the relative darkness, you meet the blazing blue of his eyes with an inaudible gasp and the sly smirk on his lips makes you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stop a smile of your own from spreading on your face.

So when he wins a night of your time for one-hundred-thousand dollars and he leads you off the stage with a large hand on the small of your back, you can’t even bring yourself to be a little irritated at the way he leans into your body to whisper “gotcha” teasingly in your ear because he does have you.

Fair and square.

---

But you don’t know how you’ve ended up here. Over three years and one marriage proposal later, you’re sitting here pitifully with your head in your hands because you can’t believe that this is what it’s come to. You’ve tried many times over the past few hours to cease the incessant shaking of your hands but it’s relentless, your anxiety and distress running through your veins and seeping through your bones.

The last four hours of your life have uprooted everything that you’ve ever believed in, everything you thought you knew about fate and order and love because it’s all a fucking mess. When Harlan handed you the flash drive, he warned you that you should only look at it if you think that you’re ready to accept that your reality will be flipped on its head and the expectations that you’ve allowed yourself to build up so carefully like tiny little brick towers will not only be knocked over, but destroyed beyond repair.

You brushed him off jovially, thinking he was just being overly dramatic like he usually is, because you and Ransom had just gotten back from tasting wedding cakes and you were in your own little bubble of serenity. With a brief kiss on his cheek, you floated out of the room on cloud nine as he watched you leave with deep despair in his eyes that you were too distracted to notice.

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have just thrown caution to the wind and plugged the memory stick into your laptop without really thinking about it first; you don’t think you’ll ever forget the way that your heart plummeted into your stomach at the images of your fiancé with his arms wrapped around a slew of different women.

Something inside of you immediately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they caught him from a bad angle, maybe the other women were the ones who initiated it. But you backtracked because who are you to blame anybody else except for Ransom? That wouldn’t be fair and a part of your brain knows that you have to come to terms with the fact that he’s more like his father than he would like to admit.

You still don’t know why you kept looking, continued to scroll through the pictures even though looking at your soon-to-be-husband’s lips on other women made you feel as if you were going to throw up your breakfast all over your laptop. The more that you stared at the candid photos, the more you realized that the actual infidelity in itself hurt, but what’s even more painful is the cold look in his eyes when he’s with them.

They didn’t mean anything to him yet he still did it, and that’s what gets you.

Maybe you deserve this: maybe it was always meant to end up like this. It’s hard not to think that this could be the way that this relationship was always meant to pan out, that maybe this is fate balancing out those scales. You knew from the moment you met him that you’d have your work cut out for you with Ransom, but you were never one to back away from a challenge. And it wasn’t as if you were actively trying to change him but sooner or later, Linda came to you with praises spilling from her lips because she couldn’t believe who her son had become within the first year of meeting you. He’d transformed right in front of your eyes, and it filled you with a glowing sense of pride to see how much more caring and open and honest he was.

Early in the relationship, you’d wanted to establish that you wouldn’t treat him like a charity case. Everyone is flawed to some extent, sure, but there are behaviors that you will always find inexcusable, and the two of you had sat down and laid them out. You had a feeling that you would need to set some ground rules with Ransom and he was surprisingly lenient, establishing his own terms and conditions in return.

The two of you had laughed hard about it later on because it all sounded like some kind of business deal or contract.

You could laugh about it now too, especially since the number one most important item on both of your lists was to remain faithful. As a couple, you think that you have a very direct form of communication. Ransom is not one to hold back his discontent and frankly, neither are you. Neither of you is afraid to argue and you do it often, but it’s never grown into anything more intense than a few hours of painful silence and is always resolved before you fall asleep.

You’d always thought that if you ever found yourself in a situation like this one, you wouldn’t be able to forgive your significant other. But never in your life have you felt such an intense connection to another human; your souls have intertwined so intricately that you don’t know whether or not you’re willing to jeopardize that.

“Princess?”

His voice echoes through your shared house and you can hear him hang up his coat, cursing as he kicks his shoes off and pads up the stairs. He stops outside the open door to your bedroom, spying the back of your open laptop and your still body lying on your stomach with your face turned away from him.

“Babe, you’re gonna flip your shit when I show you what I found today,” he drops the bags in his hand and walks around the king-size to press a kiss to the top of your head. You can pinpoint the exact moment when he realizes that something’s wrong. He freezes in place, feet seemingly rooted to the ground when he gets a good look at your face. The puffiness of your eyes, your wet lashes, and the tear streaks down your cheeks all alert him that something’s not quite right.

That’s when he sees it.

The last picture that you looked at was by far the worst. It shows him balls deep in a woman who you actually know fairly well because she’s worked closely with both you and Ransom for years on a number of your projects. She was initially hired as his assistant but soon evolved into something more like a friend to your family and his alike. You decide that it’s definitely worse when it’s someone you know.

The room goes entirely silent because the universe has pressed pause on this moment, all so he can fully realize the gravity of the situation.

“Baby, let me explain-”

“I actually don’t think I want you to, Ransom,” you respond tiredly, your voice raspy from lack of use and your head heavy as you sit up in your bed. You pull your knees into your chest as you run a hand over your face to wipe away any leftover tears.

Ransom flinches and you know it’s because you’ve called him by his name. With you, it’s usually baby or sweetheart or honey but not this time. He wants so badly to be your love again but the light in your eyes has gone out and he doesn’t know whether or not that’s even possible anymore.

You’re exhausted more than anything else. You’ve cried all your tears and are ready to never think about this ever again, but he’s sitting in front of you looking like a kicked puppy and you know that you need to be fair and give him a chance to explain himself. That’s what you’d want.

“Please, sweetheart, let me,” he begs, eyes searching yours and hand cautiously hovering right over your jaw, not quite touching but the heat emanating from his palm is enough to make you tear up again. It’s a small comfort that you know you’re going to miss.

Nodding, you hastily place your hand over his, pressing it to your face while a sob escapes your lips. He wraps both his arms around your waist as you curl in on yourself and sink into his body, taking deep breaths even though your nose is being assaulted with the familiar scent of oak and vanilla that makes you long for a simpler time.

There’s a drawn-out pause before he starts speaking, his chin resting on the top of your head as he mulls over his words.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s all he says for about a minute, letting the words hang in the air while the only sound in the room is that of your loud sniffles.

“I’m so, so sorry, sweetness.”

He’s always called you that: sweetness. He once told you that you’re like honey, soft and sweeter than anything he’s ever had the pleasure of loving, and then laughed when you returned from work that night with a bag of those pastries you like from the bakery up the street. He could never stomach them no matter how hard he tried, but you always thought that was hilarious because he inhales those biscoff cookies like air.

But you don’t feel very sweet right now as he spews apologies and excuses, spinning you sugar-coated lies and candied falsehoods with the confidence of a practiced storyteller. There’s a bitter taste on your tongue that you want so badly to spit out, tell him what you really think of him in this moment and how he’s not the man that you came to know. It was foolish of you to think he’d changed.

And when once again, quiet falls over your room in the light of the mid-afternoon, you only nod again, choosing to reserve your words for when you have something to say. Because as of right now, that sour taste still lingers on your tongue but you have no desire to rid yourself of it any longer. You’ll let it stay, allow it to fester as a reminder that you’ve been blind and naive but never again.

It ends here.

Ransom starts to stir noticeably when you don’t say anything, playing with the cotton of your shirt and your limp fingers. When you hear him speak next, something’s changed in his tone and you can feel the bass in his voice through his chest.

“Y/N, baby, please say something- anything. Scream, yell at me, just fucking do something, babe: you’re killing me here.”

You scoff at the notion of you killing him because the irony of it is too funny to resist. But you decide to put him out of his misery, finally blinking up at him and meeting his eyes. They’re filled to the brim with cold rain that sends a chill down your back, dark and stormy and wet like the English countryside and you can almost smell the petrichor.

“Can we just go back to before?”

Your voice is cracking and your request is simple, but it’s enough for the few tears brimming in Ransom’s eyes to spill over onto his cheeks. You’ve only seen him cry twice before and it tugs at your heartstrings to see him like this, so open and more vulnerable than he’s allowed himself to be with anyone else. He’s already nodding rapidly but you’re not done.

“Can we go back, just for a little while? I just-”

You have to pause because the claws of despair are raking your skin as it crawls up your throat.

“I just want it to be like before. I love you so much that it hurts and I just want it to be like before.”

He’s nodding eagerly now and his lips are already on yours, anchoring you to him because your love’s not enough to do so anymore. You push yourself up onto your knees so that you can grab his face between your hands, the face that you love so hard that it’s suffocating you. He steals your breath when he slips his tongue into your mouth and you feel lightheaded when his big hands slide underneath your shirt. Guilt plagues your thoughts but you push that aside for now: perhaps because it’s time for you to be selfish and you’ll allow yourself this, perhaps because you’d rather focus on the way that he tastes like cinnamon and the salt of your combined tears and he feels like home.

The moment he wraps his arms around you to push you onto your back, you lean further into him because you want him as close to you as possible, trying desperately to become a part of him once more. The kisses he plants on you are like sugar and you want to inject them so that maybe you can be his sweetness again. The way your lips move in tandem makes your heart soar because it’s always been so easy - except when it’s not.

Your shirt is thrown across the room, leaving you in only your panties and almost completely bare underneath his gaze. He stares at you reverently, silently worshipping you like a Madonna as rivers of tears pour from your eyes. His lips wrap around one of your peaked buds earnestly, his fingers rolling the other gently between them. The shock of pleasure that shoots through you almost makes you cry harder but you just bury your fingers in his hair, his tears hot on your soft skin. After he goes to give your other nipple the same attention, you pull him back to your lips. Without hesitation, he strips himself of his cable knit and shirt together, tossing them off the bed while you help him undo his belt. No words are exchanged when he kicks his pants off and your hand slips into his boxer briefs to stroke his hard length heavy in your hand because there’s nothing to say.

He pulls his underwear off too and after he does, he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of yours and strips you entirely. You take a beat just to admire each other, chests heaving and eyes glassy. Ransom’s face is flushed and you’re sure that your eyes are red but you’re still as beautiful to each other as you’ve always been.

He buries his face in your neck and you shiver at the feeling of his warm breath. Your nipples are pressed against his muscled chest as you just lay there, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. When he slips himself into your wet heat, the stretch of his thick cock lights your body on fire and you cry out. He rocks back and forth until he’s fully sheathed, and his entire body shakes with a sob when the two of you are completely joined together.

Your souls have fallen out of step but in this moment, they’re dancing again.

The rolling of his hips against yours is slow as he takes his time tearing you apart, molding you to his body because he doesn’t want to let you go either. He drinks in the sound of your whimpers like ice water while his body overheats with passion and when your hand tightly grips the hair at the nape of his neck, he picks up the pace, rutting into you with unbridled ardor and whispering your name like a prayer. With his lips buried in your skin, you can’t quite make out the muffled sounds of his cries until he moves them right next to your ear.

“I love you, I’m sorry, I love you.”

And he says it over and over again and each time he does, it becomes more broken and you can feel the agony weighing down his voice. You’re so close to the edge and you can feel he is too, his thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy as he reaches down to rub at your clit so that you can finish at the same time.

Broken pleas fall from your lips, a litany of “please, please, please” as he gives you exactly what he knows you need. Your nails rake up and down his back as he moves and his breath hitches. What you don’t expect is for him to pull away from your shoulder and prop himself up on his forearms to stare you dead in the eyes. You can’t handle the intensity so you try to avert your gaze, but he whines deep in his throat.

“Please, baby, please look at me - I love you, please,” he urges you tearfully, trying to catch your darting eyes.

Once your stare reluctantly locks back onto his, he laughs wetly, his quivering lips curving into a weak smile as he kisses your cheek sweetly. The sentimentality of it all is what pushes you over the edge, your entire body shaking with the aftershocks of your release and the sobs that continue to wrack your chest. A second later, Ransom stills his movements, moaning quietly as he spills into you.

The two of you stay like that for a while, crying and breathing each other’s air as the dance of your souls starts to come to an end. You wonder what it’d be like if this was different, if you were weeping with happiness instead of sorrow.

To halt that train of thought in its tracks, you extricate yourself from your fiancé and lock yourself in the ensuite.

When you come back out, Ransom is underneath the covers, eyes trained on you. You don’t say anything but you do crawl back into bed next to him, allowing him to smother you with kisses that usually make you giggle and pull you deep into his chest.

Ransom takes a breath before he speaks. “Stay. Please, sweetness. Don’t go - I want you to be here when I wake up.”

You just nod, combing your fingers through his hair as you can see his eyes start to get heavy.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here.”

---

It’s 1:22 a.m and you know you can’t stay.

Ransom’s always been a deep sleeper and you’re lucky to have woken up in a moment when he’s not holding you in a vice-like grip. You flip back the covers and head to your closet, grabbing the nearest articles of clothing that you realize too late belong to the snoring man in your bed.

It doesn’t even matter anymore. After putting them on, you grab a duffle bag from the bottom of your closet and start pulling clothes from your side of the wardrobe off of hangers, stuffing as much as you can into the bag before sliding the zipper across.

You’re on your way out but you can’t resist peeking over your shoulder to ensure that Ransom’s still asleep, and you can’t help the small smile on your lips when you see that he’s still knocked out, mouth wide open with an arm hanging off the bed. Your head pounds from all the crying you’ve been doing but a burst of glee numbs the pain at the sight of the man-child in front of you. You’re a breath away from dropping your bag and slipping back into bed with him, your baby, your honey, your sweetheart.

But you don’t because he doesn’t deserve that and you deserve some time for you. And as the door clicks behind you, you can’t help but think that this is only fair.

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buckyscrystalqueen · 4 years

Text

Ain’t Sayin’ She’s a Gold Digger: Part 1

Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Negan x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: Sugar baby relationship, swearing

Word Count: 2,298

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

Livid didn’t even begin to describe your mood as you walked out of the upscale bar you worked at for the past three years until 30 seconds prior. And the reason you were fired was absolute bullshit. You had been called in on your day off to cover someones shift, only to be told that it was your shift that you were a no call no show for, that was scheduled last minute, and that you weren’t told about by the manager that had scheduled you, who had been out to get you since your very first shift. You growled and headed toward the subway as you pulled out your cell to call your best friend slash landlord slash roommate to vent.

“Dana Gold, can…”

“That fucking bitch fired me!” You interrupted with a screech. “How the fuck is she gunna call me in on my day off and tell me she fucking scheduled me…”

“(Y/N)!” She said a little loudly, making you stop your rant before you even got into it. “Can I call you back? I’m with a client, and you are on speaker.”

“Oh, shit.” You gasped as you stopped at the corner to wait for the light to change. “Sorry.”

“I’ll call you back.” She repeated before she simply hung up the phone on you. You shook your head and crossed the road with the other busy, impatient New Yorkers and wide eyed, lost tourists, and headed down the stairs to the subway. You got in a short line behind a woman with an Hermes bag you envied that was worth at least five times your rent, when your phone started ringing in your hand.

“Well that was quick.” You said as you pulled out your metro card.

“Come down to my office.” Dana nearly demanded just as you swiped your card for the train headed up toward the Upper West Side. “Let’s… have lunch.”

“You really had to decide that shit after I swipe my metro card, brat?” You asked as you turned away from the platform and headed toward the exit since her office was only a few blocks away from your old job.

“I’ll pay you for the swipe.” She dismissed. “Just get here, I’m hungry.”

“Bitch, I’m coming.” You laughed as you headed up the stairs and hung up your phone. You moved a little quicker through the throngs of people, briefly wondering why you were still living in New York like you did everyday. It was a one hundred and eighty degree difference from your small home towns, and it had once offered you so much promise in life, but it also chewed you up and spit you out like it did most people who had dreams of grandeur. But you had learned that that was the nature of the beast that was New York City.

“Good afternoon, Ms. (Y/L/N).” Jackie, Dana’s assistant said with a smile as you stepped out of the elevator in front of her desk in the decent sized, and adorably decorated office in Midtown. “Ms. Gold said to send you right in.”

“Thanks Jackie.” You said with a smile as you grabbed a Hershey’s kiss out of the heart shaped bowl on your way past. “Yo, can I sue this bitch?” You asked as you walked through Dana’s office door, only to stop the slightest bit when you saw an older gentleman in one of the two chairs in front of her desk. “Oh. Wait, Jackie said to come in…?”

“Have a seat, (Y/N).” Your friend said with a smile as she gestured to the other chair.

“I take it we’re not doing lunch.” You breathed as you loosened the white tie of your otherwise all black uniform.

“This is Mr. Morgan.” She continued with a smile as she gestured to the man sitting beside you. “He’s come in a few times the past couple weeks to look for someone to accompany him on a cruise overseas next week for two weeks or so. But none of my girls have been up to his standards…”

“I’m looking for someone that can hold a polite conversation, and who can be a respectable in formal settings.” He chimed in as he searched your eyes. “But isn’t afraid to speak their mind at the same time. Most of the girls I’ve met though Dana are all…”

“Boring.” You finished for him with a smirk as you crossed your legs and sat back in your chair. “Conceited, self involved, gold diggers that will say anything they think you want them to so that they can keep themselves in your good graces, and occasionally suck your dick so you open your bank account as far as possible.” Mr. Morgan smirked and looked over at Dana with a small nod.

“I like her.”

“She’s a real peach alright.”

“I try.” You said with a shrug.

“Dana says you’ve never been a Sugar Baby before?”

“Never had an interest to.” You told him with a shrug as he finally sat back in his seat, and let himself get comfortable. “I mean don’t get me wrong, if this is your cup of tea, then power to you. I hope you have fun with whomever you pick. But I don’t think I have the temperament to be one.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I managed to get myself thrown out of fucking Juilliard.” You laughed with a shake of your head. “For… well I was technically drinking underage in Central Park on the weekend with some people I worked with at a catering gig I had at the time and almost got busted by the cops for being way to fucking drunk in public. But the asshole didn’t know I ran track in high school so I got away before I could get arrested. But my roommate ratted me out, so I broke her lucky violin bow before her showcase because she was a bitch, and cussed out the disciplinary committee for being mentally incapable of understanding that at twenty years old, I have the God given right to party like a mother fucking rockstar. ”

“I’ll take her.”

“Oh, I’m for sale now.” You teased as he pulled out his wallet from his inside jacket pocket.

“I’m offering an all expenses paid two week long cruise to England, Scotland, and Ireland, and possibly a continuation of the trip overseas after that, depending on how we get along and how my business venture goes plus five thousand dollars cash per week you are with me. After that, we can reconvene and discuss something long term…”

“Wait, you’re actually serious right now?” You asked as you looked at the actual metal credit card he was holding out for you. “You wanna hire me, someone you don’t even know, to go with you for two weeks, possibly more in a foreign country.”

“I want to gift you two weeks in Europe, yes.” He said with a nod, which made you reach out and take his credit card so he wasn’t holding it out anymore.

“Mr. Morgan…”

“It’s Jeffrey.” He interrupted as he put his wallet back and sat back in his chair. “Or Jeff. I’m not picky. And I’ve gotten enough information from Ms. Gold to know that you will be a breath of fresh air that I need in my life right now. I also trust her enough through years of working with her that I know she won’t steer me the wrong way. Her girls are great for dates when I’m bored. But you are someone that I think would be much more entertaining to be around for two weeks.”

“OK.” You said as you looked over at Dana, who had been trying to get you to join her ranks for years because you weren’t a typical Sugar Baby. “Are you sure about this?” You asked once more as you looked at Jeff again.

“I wouldn’t still be sitting here still if I wasn’t.” With a small nod, you sighed and looked at the credit card in your hand.

“Alright. So what’s this for?”

“A new wardrobe and the necessary luggage.” He said as he pulled out his sunglasses and stood up to leave. “Prepare for a month at least. Salon, jewelry, manicure, pedicure, lingerie, makeup… There’s no spending limit on that card…”

“I’ll go with her personally.” Dana said with a smile as she got to her feet and walked around her desk to shake Jeff’s hand. “And I’ll get her personal information to your assistant by end of day today so she can arrange transport and the fine tuning details, Mr. Morgan.”

“Ms. Gold.” He said back with a slight bow of his head. “Pleasure as always. And I look forward to spending time with you, (Y/N).”

“You’re not alone there, darlin.”

——

“OK, how is this even real?” You asked as you stood with your back to Dana so she could zip up the hundredth dress you had tried on that day.

“Are you even listening to me?” She laughed as she did the tiny snap at the top and took a step back.

“Yes, be on my best behavior. I get it.” You said as you looked at the fitted, knee length, mermaid style, purple floral Dolce and Gabbana dress in the mirror. “Shit, this thing could pay my rent for three months and then some.”

“I know.” She laughed as she looked at the dress that looked absolutely perfect on you and nodded her head. “But you need to keep your feet on the ground for me here.”

“OK, feet are on the ground.” You sighed as you turned away from the mirror to look at her. “So you were saying… his wife left?”

“Yes, his wife left him for a younger man about five or six years ago.” You nodded your head and turned around to point at the zipper as she continued to tell you her client’s back story, and continue to teach you how to be a proper sugar baby. “So he’s looking for complete and total honesty and exclusivity. Which is a general consensus in the business. But the difference with Mr. Morgan is he’s…” She looked up at you in the mirror as you stepped out of that dress and into a floor length jungle print dress that you had fallen in love with in Vogue and just had to try on. “OK, I’m just gunna say it. He’s looking to find someone to date without dating them.”

“OK, what does that even mean?”

“It means that he’s looking for someone to spend the rest of his life with.” She sighed as she turned you around to face her. “He’s wanted me to find someone that he can get along with, that he eventually wants to put up in a place, and be with most nights out of the week. But there’s a catch…”

“Ooook…” You said nervously as you started to nervously fidget with the material of the dress.

“Mr. Morgan owns the Norwegian, the Oceania, and the Regent Seven Seas cruise lines, and a large handful of hotels around the world. He’s constantly traveling, which is why he came to me to find companionship. It started as just dates but the last few months, it’s been turning more toward long term. He wants someone permanent…”

“Ok, wait, Dana.” You said as you started to catch up to what she was saying. “Wait, hold on.”

“I know.”

“Dana… wait, are you like kicking me out? Hold on, wait I’m so confused.”

“OK, no. It’s not like that.” She said as she took a step toward you and gently grabbed your wrists. “Look, I love you with all my heart. I love being your best friend, and I love having you as my roommate. I’m not mad at you and I’m not trying to break our friendship up. But I am trying to tell you you need to get out there and enjoy life. Because we both know you complain all the damn time about being lonely and not getting to do anything fun because your always so broke. Sweetie, you can’t go living life playing piano at piano bars for tips for the rest of your life, and working at the God awful bar that I am actually grateful you got fired from. And I’ve had you on my mind for months every time Jeffrey came in because every time he’s described his perfect date, it’s always been like he was describing you.”

“Which is why you’ve been bringing up me being a Sugar Baby more often than you normally do.” She nodded her head and smiled softly as she reached up and shifted the shoulder strap the slightest bit.

“And that’s why today was perfectly timed. I know you’ll like him as a person.” She wrapped up as she searched your eyes. “And I know that out of everyone I know that I could set him up with, you would appreciate him as a person, and not just as a Sugar Daddy. And I think both of you deserve that.” You sighed loudly which turned into a groan as you looked up at the ceiling in your dressing room.

“I hate you.” You grumbled with a smile as you looked down your nose at her. “And you better not put your nasty ass quinoa salad on my fridge shelf when I’m gone.”

“Listen here, it’s my damn apartment.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” You barked through a laugh as you took off the jungle animal print dress and added it to the ‘yes’ pile so you could get dressed to go to the next store. “I pay good money for that shelf.”

“And I pay good money for that quinoa.”

Part 2

#Negan x reader #Ain't Sayin' She's a Gold Digger #Negan's thirst squad #Negan thirst squad #Sugar Daddy Negan #Sugar Daddy Negan x Sugar Baby Reader

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mosylufanfic · 3 years

Text

Holding Out for a Hero

I’m so proud of myself, I finished a 12 Days of Killervibe prompt at the last minute!

Holding Out for a Hero

Caitlin pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing out against the burn in her eyes. No matter how she juggled the numbers, they always came out red in the end.

"Dammit, Daddy," she muttered.

The bell over the door jingled, and she jerked her head up, pasting a bright retail smile on her face. "Welcome to Jack Frost Toys!" she called out, quickly minimizing the accounting software. "Are you looking for anything specific?"

Usually they weren't. Usually, they came in, wandered around a little bit, and left. If she was lucky, they bought something before they left.

But the man standing just inside the door, snow dusting his hat and shoulders, said, "Yeah, please, I'm begging you. You're my only hope."

She cocked her head and guessed, "A . . . Star Wars toy?" There wasn't any particularly hot Star Wars toy this year that she was aware of, and she followed every toy blog and website she could find.

He laughed, tugging his gloves off and shoving them in his pocket. "No, just a desperate nerd looking for a Puffy Penguin. My niece is three and she watches the show on repeat. I know Leo Lion is like the hot toy this year, but Maya knows what she wants. For her it's Puffy or nothin', and I couldn't tell if you had any from your website so I came down here just in case and please?" He widened his eyes at her. "Please."

Her heart melted. One of the best things about this store was seeing children find their new best friend. Second on that list was adults who cared enough about the children in their life that they moved heaven and earth to find, not just the latest hottest toy, but the toy that was just right.

She slid off her stool. "I've got some ZooFriends toys right over here. We're sold out of Leo, of course -" Everywhere was sold out of Leo. "But I've got Puffy in a variety of styles."

"Oh my god," he breathed, snatching a Puffy Penguin stuffie off the shelf and holding it as if it were the Holy Grail. "You've got them all. Elly and Slowpoke and Skyhigh - " He stared at the elephant, sloth, and giraffe toys lined up next to the penguins.

She smiled brightly. "Now this one says phrases from the show, but this one is a lot huggier if you ask me -"

"I'll take them both," he said, grabbing the talking Puffy. "Holy shit. Nowhere has ZooFriends anymore. How do you?"

She bit her lip. "Lucky, I guess." She stepped away and grabbed one of the plastic hand baskets printed with the store logo. "Would you like a basket?"

He took it. "Really? Because it's three in the afternoon on the first Saturday of December. A toy store should be wall-to-wall. Where is everybody?"

She turned away. "Amazon," she said. "Walmart. Websites, chain stores -" She shrugged and tried to laugh. "The plight of the modern small business owner. Is there anything else I can help you find?"

"I'll keep looking around," he said, studying the shelf. "So you're the owner?"

She nodded. "This store has been in my family for five generations."

He almost dropped the basket. "Five - Did they even have toys that long ago?"

"Oh, toys have been around as long as humans have had childhood! Did you know they've found marbles in Egyptian tombs? And dolls in archaeological digs. Toys are how children learn about the world, and how they start to decide their identities and practice interactions with others! They . . ." She trailed off, blushing. "Sorry, my major was psychology and I did my senior thesis on the role of play in early childhood development."

He held up a hand. "Hey, I'm the last person to shame anybody for nerding out. That's pretty awesome. You're in the right business."

"For right now, anyway," she murmured.

"What?"

She smiled brightly. "I don't suppose you have any more nieces or nephews that need Christmas presents?"

He studied her for a moment. "Do you have any action figures?"

"Collectible or to play with?"

"Collectible?" he said hopefully.

She led him down the aisle and to the back wall. His eyes went wide. "Oh my god, you've got Max Mercury, black series." He grabbed it off the wall. "And Brainiac? This is a great section!"

She smiled. "My dad invested in these because he was hoping to bring in the collectors."

"Well, he made good choices." He picked the Braniac from its spot and turned it over in his hands, studying it closely.

She left him to it and went back to the counter. She didn't feel like agonizing over the accounts when he was still here, so she cleaned the counter, dusted the book corner, and rearranged the ZooFriends shelf to fill in the empty spots he'd left when he took the two Puffy toys.

After half an hour, he came up to the counter with an overflowing basket, most of it action figures. With her heart singing the song of small business owners, she scanned them briskly. His purchases came out to well over two hundred dollars. It was a drop in the bucket of her costs, of course, but it was a bigger drop than most.

He handed her his credit card without a wince. When she ran it, his name popped up on her screen. She handed it back with the receipt. "Here you go, Mr. Ramon."

"Cisco," he said. "Please. Mr. Ramon is my pop."

"Cisco," she said. "I can wrap these if you want."

"Just the Puffys," he said. "The action figures are for me."

She grinned at him and selected a print of happy reindeer to wrap the stuffed animals. "Naturally."

He laughed self-consciously. "I'm not sure whether to be insulted or not. I promise I'm a grown-up man."

"Of course you are," she said, hands busily folding and taping. A really nicely grown-up man, too. She battled back her blush and hoped he hadn't noticed. "But I'll never look down on any adult who still likes toys."

"Well, sure, that's a good hundred and fifty dollars of my total."

"There's that," she acknowledged, setting aside the first perfectly wrapped box and picking up the second. "But toys are important to children's imaginations. And children grow into adults, who still need their imaginations." She nodded at the Max Mercury he held. "I don't think any of us ever really outgrow the desire to be someone's hero."

"Well," he said, "you're my hero today."

She met his eyes and felt the blush rise again. "Thank you."

He grinned and accepted the bag with the two wrapped presents inside. "And come Christmas morning, I'll be Maya's hero."

She smiled. "She's lucky to have an uncle doing his best to find her the perfect present. I'm glad you came by today."

"Yeah, well, it was coming out here or spending a hundred and seventy-five dollars on eBay and hoping like hell it made it here in time." He fiddled with his wallet. "I really don't mean to be that guy, but your website is . . ."

Her face went hot and she made a business of putting away the scissors and the tape and rolling up the rest of the wrapping paper. "Archaic?"

"I was going to say behind the times," he said tactfully. "If you had web ordering, you'd be sold out of ZooFriends and a whole bunch of other stuff."

"I know," she said. "But I really haven't had the time to get a good system set up since I took over the store. I need inventory software that integrates with ecommerce and for that I need technical skills, money, and time, and I don't have any of those."

He leaned on the counter. "You don't have to tell me, but how did it get this bad? You clearly love this place and I really don't feel like you would have let it fall behind like this if you had a choice."

She chewed her lip. "My dad died in September."

Sympathy spread over his features. Not the plastic, practiced sympathy she'd seen so often, but real compassion. "I'm sorry. Was he sick?"

"He had MS," she said. "He'd had it since I was ten, and he'd always kept on top of his medication and his therapy and everything. So - " She looked down at the perfectly clean counter and wiped it off again. "So when I was away at school and he told me he was doing fine, I believed him."

"He wasn't doing fine," Cisco guessed.

She shook her head. Tears burned in her eyes again. "It probably started small. Just little things falling through the cracks. Then the cracks got bigger, more things fell through. . . ."

He nodded. "They tend to do that."

"Mhm. Then last spring, he had an assistant manager who embezzled a lot of money - "

"What!"

"They caught him!" Caitlin assured him. "But most of the money was gone, and the stress of that just sent my dad's health into a tailspin. I'd just graduated so I moved back home to take care of him."

"And I'm gonna guess you were so wrapped up in that, you didn't even realize what was going on with the store until you took over."

She sighed. "Got it in one." She mustered up a smile. "I didn’t mean to dump that on you. It's bad now, but things will come around. They always do. The holidays are the best time of year to be a toy seller."

"Yeah," he said. "They sure are." He smiled back and gathered his purchases. "I'll tell people about this place."

"Great," she said. "Here's my card, by the way."

"Caitlin Snow," he read off the little rectangle of cardstock.

"That's me. Let me know if you have any particular collectibles you'd like me to obtain."

"Hmm?" He was looking at his phone. "Uh, yeah, if I think of any, I'll give you a shout. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," she echoed, watching him leave. The jingle of the bell over the door echoed in the toy store's emptiness.

Walking back around the building to his car, Cisco snapped a pic of the business card Caitlin Snow had given him. Then he dialed a number on his phone and wedged it between his shoulder and his ear as he pulled on his gloves. "Hey, Iris? Got a moment?"

"Hi, Cisco. Half a moment. My editor's breathing down my neck again about finding some heartwarming story to fill up Sunday space."

"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that. What would you say to a struggling fifth-generation local toy store owner who just took over the business after her dad's death, carries everything from ZooFriends stuffies to high-end collectibles, and knows toys backwards and forwards?"

Iris paused and he could practically hear the gears clicking. "Tell me more."

A week before Christmas, Cisco finally found a good excuse to drop by Jack Frost Toys again. With the name of a rare collectible action figure in his pocket, he turned into the parking lot and found it jam packed. He finally managed to wedge his little car into a space half on the gravel and climb out.

This was a good sign, right?

When he walked in the front door, the girl behind the counter wasn't Caitlin. "Welcome to Jack Frost Toys!" she called out before returning her attention to the grandma-looking lady at her counter. "We absolutely do gift certificates. How much would you like that for?"

The place was transformed. There was no other word for it.

When he'd come in the last time, it had been neat and bright and colorful, but empty and somehow sad. Now there were people in every aisle, voices ringing off the rafters. He cut down the doll aisle and almost stepped on a kid sprawled out on his belly, leafing through a colorful picture book. A little girl was staring at the Barbies as if she were deciding the fate of nations. A couple of moms were talking to each other over the Lego sets.

"It's just such a cute little place! It was getting so run-down there for awhile, but this new owner’s really spruced it up."

"I used to come here when I was Mandy's age and it always seemed like the most magical place to me. I'd forgotten all about it, honestly, but we're coming back."

Cisco smiled to himself and edged around them to the collectibles wall.

The door to the stock room opened and Caitlin came out, arms loaded down with what seemed to be flat-folded gift boxes. She stopped short when she saw Cisco. "Hi!"

"Hey," he said, smiling at her. She was wearing reindeer antlers and her hair was up in a bouncy ponytail. "You're busy."

"We are! I'm sorry, I've got to -"

"Yeah, go ahead."

She went to the front counter and stashed the gift boxes underneath. "Allegra," she said to the girl who'd greeted Cisco as he came in. "I just got off the phone with our supplier and they'll have more wrap here tomorrow. Can we hold out?"

"It'll be tight, but we should be okay."

"Great. I'll be back to cover your break in a few minutes, okay?"

"Take your time, I'm good."

Caitlin edged back around the counter and paused to check in with the moms. She considered their questions, looked around, and plucked a few sturdy wooden toys from a lower shelf. "I really like this designer for the textures they incorporate," she explained. "Babies enjoy being able to experience different kinds of material as they explore the toy, and it stimulates their brain development. Have a look at these. I'll be right here if you have any questions."

"Thanks so much."

She beamed and moved on.

Cisco watched her consult with the little Barbie lover and pick out a second book for the reader, as well as four or five other small interactions. It was like watching Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel or Einstein doing calculations on a chalkboard. She was in her element.

She came around the end of the aisle and spotted him again. Her face lit up. "I'm so glad you came by again." She threw her arms around him.

"Uh," he said. "Hi again to you too." He gave her a quick hug back.

She pulled away, blushing. "Sorry. I - I just wanted to thank you. I know the article in the paper was your doing."

"Oh," he said. "No, that was nothing. I just called up a friend. She's the one who did the interview and that great photo - "

Iris had been savvy enough to pose Caitlin by her display of the coveted ZooFriends toys. Cisco had noticed how bare the shelf looked now.

" - and you were the one who made this shop so amazing that once people knew it was still here, they came."

"But none of it would have happened if you hadn't put it in motion. You said I was your hero that day for having the Puffys, but you’re my hero now.

“Pshaw,” he said. “Like you said, nobody grows out of that.”

“But not everybody does something. So. Thank you."

"Well, you're welcome." He looked around. "So you're doing pretty good, it looks like."

She nodded, beaming. "People started coming in after that article, and PalmerTech asked me to purchase toys in bulk for the families at their company holiday party. All my part-time workers are doing as many hours as they can, and I'll be able to pay the rent for January and February, and if it keeps going like this, I can hire somebody to revamp the inventory system for ecommerce."

She ran out of breath and panted for a moment, her eyes bright.

Cisco had to smile back at her. "That's amazing."

She nodded. "I mean, we're still competing with Walmart and Amazon, and we still took a real hit from what Jay did. So we're not out of the woods, but this - " She looked around, eyes still bright. "This is going to give us some breathing room.

"I'm really glad."

She turned her smile back on him and stole his breath. "Sorry, I'm just chattering away, and - did you come by looking for something else? Another collectible?"

"Ah - well, I was planning to ask about the limited edition Star Wars figures they're talking about for next year."

"I don't think I'm going to be able to order any of those until March, but I can definitely get your contact information."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But actually it was an excuse."

Her brows crinkled. "An excuse?"

"I really wanted to come by and see if you wanted to go get coffee or something. Sometime." He looked around. "I mean, maybe not right now because it's still December and you're slammed, which is great, but - "

"I'd like that."

His stomach filled up with warmth, like drinking an entire mug of hot chocolate. "You would?"

"Very much."

They smiled shyly at each other until Allegra called out, "Caitlin? A little help?" She had a line that stretched halfway down the doll aisle.

"Oh!" Caitlin said. "Uh, I should - "

"Yeah! Go. I'll hang around until you're free, and then I'll get your phone number."

"Okay." She gave him one last smile before rushing up to the counter and opening up a register. "I can help who's next over here! Oh, sweetheart, that's a great choice. Your best friend is going to love it."

Cisco watched her for a moment, smiling to himself, and then turned to browse the collectibles. She'd been right, he mused. The holidays really were the best time of year to be a toy seller.

FINIS

#Cisco Ramon #Caitlin Snow #killervibe #12daysofkv20 #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #fluff #toy store AU #I know December is retail hell #allow me this fluff okay #the flash

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justnerdthings · 3 years

Text

Never Again Ch. 8

F!OC x Raiden/Shang Tsung

Heeeere's Johnny!

okay. that was lame. i'm sorry.

@shang-hung @mammondaughter

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. You’re telling me you have a wife? A wife? A real wife?”

Raiden sighed. “Yes. She is real.”

“And how come you haven’t told us until now?”

“Because I did not want any of you searching for her.”

“Alright. So, back up. She’s some evil sorceress—”

“She was not evil when we took our vows.”

“She’s currently some evil sorceress, who’s pissed off with you, and is now shacking up with Shang Tsung?”

Raiden glared at Johnny. But truth was, he wasn’t sure what Helena’s intentions were with Shang Tsung.

“The hell did you do to piss her off like that?” Johnny asked, dumbfounded.

“I ignored her needs in favor of Earthrealm,” Raiden said simply. He was growing tired of explaining it.

Johnny stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed. He then nodded and sighed with agreement. “That’ll do it.”

“Can you help, or not?” Lao asked.

“The hell do you expect me to do?” Johnny asked. “What? Just because I’ve pissed off my fair share of women, you think I’m an expert?”

All four of them just stared at the former playboy.

“Alright,” he put his hand up in defense, then leaned on the counter with a sigh of defeat. “Fair enough.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you just tried apologizing? That generally works.”

“Apologizing?” Raiden’s brows knotted.

“For pissing her off.”

“It was not my intention to anger her, Johnny Cage. I did what I had to.”

“I get that. We all get that. But women don’t. They’re weird like that. Everything is our fault.”

“That is nonsense.”

“Yeah? Then why is she pissed at you?”

Raiden’s jaw clenched. She was angry because he had locked her away. The Elder Gods demanded her punishment. Death or imprisonment. He couldn’t bring himself to execute Helena, so he imprisoned her. It’s what The Elder Gods demanded of him. He had no choice!

“Uh-huh. Look at that, guys,” Johnny pointed to Raiden’s troubled face as he tried to reason with himself. Liu, Lao, and Fujin all looked at him--watched him. “That is the look of defeat,” Johnny told them.

“I had no choice,” Raiden defended. “The Elder Gods—”

“Ooo.” Johnny feigned hurt, then shook his head. “No. You did have a choice.”

“I do not believe you understand, Johnny Cage.”

“Oh, I understand. Trust me.” Johnny turned towards his fridge, opening it to grab a beer. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this whole situation. He never thought he’d be the one schooling Raiden. Much less about women. “It doesn’t matter if you were forced to do it. You did it. She’s going to blame you.”

“That is ridiculous. Why would Helena blame me for what The Elder Gods demand?” Raiden could simply not wrap his head around it.

“Because you did it.” Johnny popped open his can of beer and took a swig. “Women don’t care about the fine print.”

“She is well aware of my duties. She knew the risks before we shared our vows.”

“Yeah, women will say anything to get in our pants.”

“Look who’s talking,” Sonya quipped as she walked into the kitchen. Johnny nearly choked on his beer.

“Babe. Hey! I was just—”

“Being an idiot?” She lifted a brow as she stopped at the end of the counter. Johnny frowned, but didn’t protest. Okay, he wasn’t the smartest guy. But he knew he was right. Sonya looked at all five men. Each one of them had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. She then focused on Raiden. “Have you talked to her about why you did it?”

“She knows The Elder Gods demanded her punishment,” Raiden told her.

“But did you tell her why you did it?” Sonya pressed, earning her a confused look from the god. She nodded, realizing she would have to be more specific. “Did you tell her why you chose to imprison her instead of kill her?”

Raiden was silent for a moment. “I… I could not bring myself to do that. I told her that once Earthrealm was safe, I would return for her.”

“And how did she feel about it?”

“She understood it, of course.”

Sonya wasn’t convinced. She glanced to Johnny, who also didn’t seem convinced.

“She hated it,” Fujin answered as he helped himself to a seat at the counter.

Raiden looked over to his brother, then away. “Yes. She did not like it. But she understood it.”

“Did you visit her?” Sonya asked.

“Not as often as I could have.”

“Oh, dude,” Johnny sighed at Raiden’s obvious fault. “You gotta visit her.”

“I could not bear to see her like that.”

“That doesn’t matter, man. She probably thinks you don’t love her anymore.”

“Impossible. The bond—”

“Women always find a way,” Johnny told him, pointing at him with his beer.

Sonya rolled her eyes. “She may know that you love her. But actions help reassure. You not visiting probably fed into some deep rooted doubt she’d already had.”

“I gave her my vows. How could she doubt my love for her?”

Sonya shrugged. “She’s human, right? We’re not perfect.”

Raiden opened his mouth to protest, but promptly closed it. Sonya was right. Helena, while a powerful sorceress and the wife of the thunder god, was still only human. She could not always rationalise her emotions. Neither could he, but he knew when they were false and destructive. That is why he always dismissed them. That was how he was able to stay away from Helena for long periods of time. He was always forced to go to her after too long, but if he hadn’t of blocked his guilt and longing for her, he would have sat down there in the tomb with her the entire time. He would have ignored Earthrealm for her. Raiden sighed and rubbed his face. Even after a few centuries, he was still struggling to understand his emotions. How had Fujin managed this?

“I need to see her,” He admitted, turning and taking leave out the back door.

Johnny watched Raiden leave. Once he heard the crack of thunder and knew Raiden was gone, he looked to the others. “Hundred grand says he fucks it up more.”

An apple whizzed by his head that he’d barely dodged. “Hey!”

“You’re unbelievable,” Sonya told him. “We’re supposed to be helping him, not profiting off his misfortune.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Lao said.

“Ah-ha!” Johnny pointed to Kung Lao, then looked back to his wife. “See?”

“Where do you have a hundred thousand dollars?” Liu asked his shaolin brother.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lao dismissed.

Fujin grinned, but shook his head. “Please do not bet on my brother’s love life.” He sighed and stared at the counter top. He wasn’t sure exactly how they were going to save Helena. The Elder Gods were not fond of her anymore. The only one that would have been fond of her, would have been—

Fujin’s eyes widened in realization of the fallen Elder God. Of course!

#Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat 11 #Raiden #Lord Raiden #x oc #oc x #raiden x oc #oc x raiden #fanfic #mortal kombat fanfiction #fic #fanfictions #shang tsung #oc x shang tsung #shang tsung x oc #never again

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lethbians · 5 years

Note

alright but... reddie + a kissing booth

richie tozier is running a kissing booth.

eddie knows because it’s plastered all over the walls on hundreds of crudely cut pink pieces of paper: little posters of richie’s grinning face and the words RICHIE TOZIER KISSING BOOTH, $1, 3PM-4PM printed in bold block letters. (‘for charity’ was hastily scribbled on some of them, like richie had forgotten to mention it initially and scribbled like a madman to get it on at least most of the pink slips.) some of the kids walking by in the hallway only give them a cursory glance, a few giggles, a whisper to their friend. most of them ignored it, used to richie tozier’s obnoxious public stunts and pranks.

eddie doesn’t do any of those things. instead, he rips off one of the stupid little signs, nearly crumpling richie’s beaming smile in one hand, before storming off to find beverly.

“what is THIS?” he demands, waving the sheet of paper in front of bev’s face, and she has the audacity to smirk at him.

“looks like a kissing booth. you going?”

“no! first of all, gross, and second of all, ew.”

bev snatches the paper from his grasp. “but it’s for charity, eddie!” she points to the small print — the bit eddie hadn’t seen before. “and it’s two for the price of one. what a steal.”

eddie scowls. he’d rather pay someone a dollar to shove dirt directly into his mouth than kiss richie tozier twice. sure, they were a lot more civil now than when they’d first met — bev kept dropping the word friends which made eddie’s stomach turn like the time he’d eaten too many rocket pops. eddie was not friends with richie: yes, they hung out with the same people, and yes, sometimes eddie forgot to argue when richie pulled him close during movie nights and called him eds. but that did not make them friends. no matter how sly the looks bev and stan exchanged were.

eddie and richie were not friends, and he was not showing up to that kissing booth.

richie had built a literal booth. actually, eddie had a sneaking suspicion that ben had built the booth, as the craftsmanship was impeccable and richie couldn’t even build a stable sandcastle. but it was there, wooden planks and nails standing outside the baseball field, “kissing booth” painted in even red letters across the top.

and that wasn’t even the worse part: the worst part was the line of ten, twenty, god, forty people snaking around the fence and it wasn’t even five minutes past 3pm yet. the fact that more than just a couple of greasy nobodies had shown up to swap spit with richie was possibly the worst thing that had ever happened in the history of ever.

eddie thought he might throw up.

“is that an eddie spaghetti i see? come to check out heartthrob richie tozier’s charity kissing booth?” richie’s smile is blinding and it only gets wider as eddie approaches, the poster still tucked in the palm of his hand.

tucked beneath the poster was a folded up dollar bill that mike had surreptitiously slid into his hand on the way down the hill, but eddie was trying not to think about that.

“how the fuck did you get this germ terminal approved by the principal?” eddie steps directly in front of a bouncing blond girl, ignoring the fact that it looks like he just cut the entire line. he also ignores the annoyed noise she makes, and the feeling of satisfaction that settles somewhere inside him because of it.

richie just smiles like he always does when he’s looking at eddie. “i didn’t.” which isn’t surprising at all, considering richie had a penchant for doing stupid things right under principal gray’s nose and (usually) managing to get away with it unscathed. he was a troublemaker, and obnoxious, and dramatic, but at least he was smart about it. “i’m hoping he doesn’t notice. i’ve got a lot of customers who’d be very angry if the booth had to be shut down prematurely.” richie’s eyebrow quirks. “your mom’s supposed to be dropping by later.”

eddie ignores him. it’s habitual. “doesn’t notice? you put up, like, 80 billion of these stupid posters,” he points out, slamming the pink sign onto the wooden counter. “and nice going, you know, wasting hundreds of trees like that, like our planet isn’t dying every day and we’re all on the way to total annihilation by overheating—” but richie’s not listening (which eddie isn’t used to, because normally richie’s hanging on to every word that comes out of eddie’s mouth with soft eyes, no matter how feral and vile they were). richie’s looking down at the poster; or rather, the dollar that eddie had inadvertently laid down alongside it.

“well well well —“

“that’s not—“

“a paying customer and everything. oh eddie, i’m swooning.” and eddie should be throwing out an insult, or yanking the money back, or letting the earth swallow him whole but instead he’s looking at richie. and richie is looking at him. richie is looking at him the same way he always does, like eddie hung the moon and strung the stars, like he’s not some too-loud hypochondriac loser; like he’s not just eddie kaspbrak.

“PISS OR GET OFF THE POT,” comes a shout from the line — a shout that sounds suspiciously like beverly marsh’s voice. eddie’s still frozen in place, and he knows if he had a mirror he’d be flushed from ear to ear.

“whaddya’ say, eds?” richie pushes forward the little plastic donation bin. “for charity?”

it only takes a fraction of a second to decide any diseases richie tozier carried were worth it, so fucking worth it, and eddie’s grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing him with everything he had inside him. he kissed him like he’d been waiting for this for weeks, for months, for years, because he had. and richie kissed him back, because he’s been waiting, too.

eventually there was a whoop from behind them, and cheers, and laughter, and eddie pulled away wide-eyed and breathless because richie had stolen all the air from his lungs. the only consolation was that richie looked just as dazed as eddie felt.

“are you done?” came a voice from behind them — the blonde girl — and before eddie can weigh the pros and cons of giving her a nice little punch to the throat, richie interrupts.

“yes, actually,” he says brightly, and carefully sets a ‘closed’ sign on the counter before calling to the rest of the crowd. “richie tozier’s kissing booth is officially bankrupt. everybody go home!” there’s some disappointed groans and eddie would kill to see the look on that blonde’s face but he’s too busy watching richie. he always is.

“how many people did you kiss?” eddie asks. he knows the answer. richie shakes the empty bin.

“just you, spaghetti.” eddie’s heart gives a traitorous thump: he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to how fucking fond richie sounded. eddie shoved him weakly, trying to keep all his smiles and heart-eyes at bay.

it’s not working.

they’re still just standing there, looking like dumb, lovesick kids, when richie gets this mischievous glint in his eye.

“you know,” he starts, and eddie hadn’t even noticed one of his big, stupid hands was curling around the side of his neck like it was made to fit there. “it was a two-for-one special. you’ve still got —“

kissing richie is just as incredible the second time, maybe even better. eddie thinks he could absolutely get used to shutting richie up like this.

—

“i can’t believe you lied about donating to charity to get me to kiss you.”

“oh no, the charity was real,” richie says seriously. eddie raises an eyebrow. “it’s the ‘get richie tozier laid fund.’ 100% of proceeds go to ravishing you like the dreamboat you are, eds.”

“give me my fucking dollar back.”

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #some edbev friendship too #have this oneshot that i literally could not stop thinkin about until i wrote it #my writing #Anonymous #mp

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter one: double deuces

chapter one of book three, of course ;)

"tell me a story (will ya, will ya) a real good story (I won't leave till ya) spill your guts old man; leave out any secrets, hiding in the... any skeletons, and all your other sins any skeletons, in the closet! any skeletons, any misfortunes any skeletons, hiding in the closet! any skeletons, any skeletons in the closet!"

“Happy birthday, my dear friend.”

Aurora had taken Sam out to that Vietnamese restaurant for lunch on her birthday. Twenty two years old and she could feel the very essence of age over her head. In New York for two years and it all felt like a blur and the clear real thing all at the same time. In a year's time, she would be on the brink of her mid twenties: it all felt so ephemeral and so quick at the same time. It felt so odd to think that not even four years ago she was still in high school and she had gone into a strange brand new place in the meantime.

Four years felt like a lifetime ago, especially since she looked on at her black hair and she swore it was growing lighter over her temples. It could have just been the reflection of the glass in the mirror for all she knew, but when she went to brush her hair, she swore there were some light tendrils near the crown. As long as it didn't turn into a striking pearly white silver color, she knew she would be fine.

Aurora raised her white china tea cup for a toast to her. The soft aroma of the green tea comforted her, and she followed suit with her own cup.

Ever since she and Emile had gotten together, and ever since she had gotten that dress for Kirk's wedding the next weekend, Aurora had been dressing up more nicely: at the moment, she had a rich deep purple velvet sweater wrapped around her body and a little red rose tucked behind her ear. Despite the bitter New York cold, she started wearing more floral print tights to go with her skirts; Sam had to take a second look at her face to make out the sight of the black eye liner about the smooth edges of her eyes.

Sam herself meanwhile found herself drawn more to black—Aurora said it was because of her hanging out with Testament the past couple of weekends as well as Joey on certain days after school.

“I think it could also be because I'm in the arts,” she told her the day before. “Marla wears a bunch of black and Belinda has been wearing a lot of it, too.”

“Hangin' around the arts and hangin' out with a bunch of heavy metal dudes,” Aurora chuckled.

The art scene seemed so far away from her given she was a student and she even began to struggle with classes in recent days. Indeed, the thought of forfeiting college itself to live down in the real bohemian side of New York City was more tempting than ever to her. But she had nestled in the Bronx, three floors over Frank and down the block from Charlie and Marla. It was either pick up and go live alone in another part of town or stay there and continue to do what felt like spinning her wheels day in, day out. Sam tried to not let her thoughts cast a shadow on her own birthday, but she couldn't help but look at her own reflection in her tea cup and frown.

“Maybe it's all the doing stuff after school that's getting to you,” Aurora told her. “We haven't really seen Marla in the past few weeks.”

“No, we haven't,” Sam confessed as she gazed out the window at the snow drifts along the sidewalk.

“Well, if it's any comfort, I've been getting antsy myself,” Aurora said. “Emile wants me to move in with him but it's gonna be hard to do it especially if it's just him who's helping me with the move.”

“And you're going from Long Island up to the Bronx, too,” Sam added, “it was bad enough for me to get my bed up the stairs in that building.”

“It was tricky for me, too,” Aurora continued. “And you and I also moved across country, too.”

“And how—from around the same area, no less. Well, San Diego is way further south in comparison to Lake Elsinore, but it's near the same range, though.”

“It's all within range of L.A., that's for sure. L.A. and Riverside.”

“Hey, if Greg, Eric, and Louie can talk nonsense while they're in the studio, we can, too,” Sam pointed.

“Makes sense—Southern California exiles, the both of us.” Aurora raised her cup again to her and they clinked them together before they took a sip in unison.

“When's your birthday, by the way?” Sam asked her as she held her cup close to her mouth. “I can't remember if you told me or not.”

“May twenty ninth.”

“Oh, I see. I kept thinking it was in October for some reason.”

Aurora chuckled at that. “Well, I haven't really made it much of a point because my parents always treated birthdays different in comparison to that of American culture. I always wanted an American style birthday party growing up in San Diego but that's probably the one thing they brought over from the Korean peninsula is the way birthdays are treated.”

“And how's that?”

“When we reach a certain age, they have different celebrations for them. Like your first birthday is 'dol' or three hundred sixty five days since you were born, and that came from the fact Korea didn't have as good of protection on their newborns as we do here: so when you made it to your first birthday, it was significant. The family says a prayer for the kid and then they eat rice, seaweed soup, and rice cakes—my mom has a photo of me from my 'dol', I'll have to show it to you if and when we go out to San Diego together. They have cake and candles just like Americans, but the cake is far different—it's a lot more savory than it is sweet. And on New Year's, they eat a soup so they can finish up the age they are for the certain year. So you're actually considerably older on the peninsula than you are here. If you're ten years old, in Korea, you're considered eleven or twelve.”

“Wow.”

“And when you reach fifteen years of age, and you're female, you're considered an adult. That said, I'm glad I'm a born American because I can't imagine coming to New York City as a fifteen year old.”

“I can,” Sam said.

“You can?”

“As a boy.” She thought about Alex right then.

“Now, boys have to wait 'til they're twenty before they're considered adults.”

“So Alex would still be considered a boy right now?” she asked her. “Being eighteen?”

“Yes!” Aurora then burst out laughing and clapped her hands at that. “Oh, god, I just pictured him in the traditional horse hair hat that boys have to wear on their twentieth birthday, and I also just pictured him picking up a giant rock and lifting it over his head, too.”

“How giant are we talking, exactly?”

“One that dwarfs his entire body.” Aurora raised an eyebrow at that.

“I dunno, Aurora,” Sam confessed with a shake of her head, “—he's pretty thin but he's also got that little bit of baby fat left on him. He looks pretty soft.”

“Bet you he's way stronger than he looks.”

“Joey is,” Sam continued as she brought her cup back up to her lips.

“Joey is!”

“Mr. Hockey Player—yeah, that boy's tougher than nails.”

“Well—we are going to be in the Bay Area next weekend,” Aurora pointed out. “A whole weekend of doing stuff while Kirk and—Rebecca, I think is his fiancée's name?—while they're getting married. We all can just hang out and be a bunch of genuine friends together for a couple of days.”

Sam squinted her eyes at that.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked her in a low voice.

“You'll see. And maybe Exodus and Death Angel will want in on the fun, too. Fun with the 'little four'.” She flashed Sam a wink as she sipped from her tea once again. Right then, the sole waitress in the restaurant showed up at their table with their bowls of pho: chicken for Sam, vegetarian for Aurora. One more toast and they both dipped into their bowls of fresh hot soup.

At least that night she was to have cupcakes courtesy of Marla, forty dollars courtesy of Belinda, and a jovial phone call from her parents that night. Nothing more, nothing less, but at the same time, she wished for more and she knew that her flight back out to California that next Friday was the start of something for her. Something big and grand, like that next weekend in the Bay Area. It would take place on a day that wasn't her birthday, but it would be something.

Since it was Wednesday, after lunch, she headed back to school for the rest of the day and then back to her place in the Bronx. She stepped in through the front door: the first thing she noticed was the vase of yellow tulips on the table. They had lasted so long, and for so long in the heart of the first winter following Cliff's passing, but she noticed the wilt as it began to settle in on the yellow petals.

She would keep them there on the table until the pure yellow color vanished and they lost their smell, much like with the black hat Cliff had given her.

Sam took her seat on the couch with her drawing pad rested upon her lap. She was an artist in New York City, and yet she lived so far from the actual art scene. The boots still on her feet and yet she had no means as to how to look for it outside of her school work. Marla and Belinda had their way, for sure, but there had to be something more. There had to be, especially since she began to put her head down and put more work into her art for her classes. The struggle still came down on her, even as she gave her fish tails more scales and her humans more of a shading around their heads. It all seemed to slip away from the in between her fingers.

Everyone seemed to be doing better: her classmates received more praise, even Belinda who, at one point, admitted that graphites were a challenge for her as well. And yet, when Sam drew a self portrait surrounded by roses and water lilies, one of the comments Miss Estes left for her on the back side of the heavy grained paper was “lots of effort.”

She was eager for the flight out to the Bay Area by the time that early Friday morning rolled around, and she and Zelda were seated next to each other. She had packed that copy of Siddhartha with her but she had no idea as to when she would get to crack it open over the weekend.

Zelda had put on a plain white T shirt and fitted black jeans, and she had combed her short bob of black hair back for the flight. Apparently all she had packed with her were white shirts and black jeans.

“Don't you wanna look nice like at Cliff's memorial?” Sam asked her with a chuckle.

“I've got some suspenders and a tie to go with them,” Zelda replied. “It's a wedding for a friend of ours, and he said that we can wear whatever we like. So I told him that I'm gonna be full punk chick there. I'm guessing you'll be the artist?”

“Of course,” Sam replied, “the full black, baby.”

Zelda raised a hand to her for a high five and the light for the seat belts flickered on right then.

“I'll tell you this, Zelda,” Sam began.

“What's that?”

She peered over her shoulder to make sure Marla and Charlie paid no attention to them, given they were right across the aisle from them. Sam then gestured for Zelda to move in closer to her: beyond her and outside the window, she noticed the first few flurries of snow against the pane. She hoped they would take off soon.

“I'm getting kind of bored of New York,” she whispered to her.

“Really?” Zelda raised her eyebrows at her.

“Yeah. It's just—falling into the whole 'same old, same old' thing. I'm an artist, I should be able to go places with it all.”

“Absolutely, absolutely.”

“And I just—” Sam shook her head. “It's a great big city but I feel like there's nothing for me there anymore. Two years there and I'm not feeling it anymore. I'm glad we're going back out to the Bay Area for just this one weekend because I feel myself slowly going insane.”

“And why are you telling me this in a whisper?” Zelda asked her in a soft voice.

“Because—I don't know how to break it to Marla yet, or Belinda for that matter. Aurora kind of knows, but not in that sense, though. I made note of it to her but she didn't really suggest anything to me.”

“You can come to Providence,” Zelda suggested, “there's tons to do in Providence. Narragansett and Natick, too.”

“I guess what I'm trying to say is I feel trapped. Two years ago, I came here to the Northeast for a change of pace and it feels like it's trapped me sideways. There's no way out unless I really genuinely leave. The downside of course is—leaving you ladies behind and leaving Anthrax behind.”

“Yeah, and—we kinda like you, Sam. I do, especially. And I know Aurora does, too. And Marla.”

“Aurora is one of my best friends. Her and Frankie. They're my best friends. I don't know how I would handle leaving them both behind for a change of pace. I feel me and Marla drifting, if I'm honest. Can't really blame her, though—school's getting hard on her.”

“Well—whatever you do, Sam,” Zelda started again, “I'll support you on it. If nothing, you'll get the full support from me.”

“Thank you, Zelda. That—that means a lot to me.” Sam showed her a friendly smile.

Zelda shrugged. “I'm from Rhode Island,” she replied. “Moreover, I'm a punk rocker from Rhode Island. We look out for each other more so than these metal boys.”

They touched down in the Bay Area at five in the morning, and right as the sun began to rise right behind them. The thick fog surrounded the airport and Sam thought about the one and only Christmas she and Cliff spent together.

“Looks like San Francisco,” she muttered. “Feels like it, too.” She closed her eyes as they rolled up to the gate. She and Zelda stepped out of the airport first and she breathed in that marine air. She swore that New York was in fact her one true home, but there was just something about California that brought her more so into that feeling. That feeling that she needed to be there. All the fleeting thoughts led up to that moment there on the sidewalk.

Cliff's remains were not very far away from there, either.

She, Zelda, Marla, Aurora, and Belinda all stood at the curb as Charlie and Emile fetched their rental cars. All those men awaited them not too far from there, and Sam was eager to see Joey again given he flew in from Syracuse. That morning in which he and Belinda woke up before her and flirted with each other went through her mind every now and again. She never realized how much she wanted him until he put his arms around her and they locked eyes with each other. She needed to at the very least see him again: he also promised her a birthday gift.

Within time, Emile showed up with the little black car for himself and Aurora, while Charlie rolled up to the curb in a short dark green van. The four remaining girls piled inside away from the damp cold; Sam wanted to refer to him and Marla in the front seat as “Mom and Dad” again but she decided not to as she shivered under her jacket.

It wasn't New York, but Sam had forgotten how cold San Francisco could feel once the winter time set in.

“Okay, so we're going to a place called Marin Heights,” Charlie told them. “I think that's where the guys—Metallica—got the loft for us.”

“I've heard of it,” said Belinda from the middle seat.

“Me, too,” Sam added from the way back; Zelda huddled next to her and shook her head about. Sam had no idea as to why she didn't bring a jacket with her given it was winter in California. But instead, she peered out the small notch of a window to the Bay itself. She remembered that Testament were to film a music video out in Alcatraz, and those cold yellow lights from the island itself pierced through the foggy darkness. She wondered if they had finally wrapped up the recording of their first album since she wasn't able to sit in with them over the past couple of weeks because of school. She also wondered if she would receive any credit on it like with Stormtroopers of Death.

Charlie wound through the city until they reached the freeway, which in turn brought them up to Marin Heights, nestled back in the hills on the north side of town: they reached a switch back on the hillside so Sam was able to see the very top of the Golden Gate Bridge as it rose through the fog. The clouds themselves split apart so as to let the first rays of sunlight through and the metal of the bridge shone that bright amber color with the sunrise.

No wonder Cliff loved it there.

She sighed through her nose and turned her attention back to the road ahead of her as it turned away into the hills. Within time, they reached the top, and a small villa of little brick two story houses nestled back in the trees. She wondered if the wedding was going to be there as Charlie pulled up to the gravel driveway and stopped before the one closest to the street.

“I think this is us,” he informed them. “Or it might just be check in, I dunno.” He climbed out and then Sam and Zelda followed suit. The latter raised her lanky arms over her head and closed her eyes. Meanwhile, the former spotted a tall lanky boy with long black hair perched on a stone post on the other side of the driveway. He faced the other way but she knew those rich jet black curls anywhere.

“Joey?” she called out.

“Hm?” Zelda asked.

“Joey's over there.”

Zelda peeked around the rear end of the van and she nodded at her.

“Yeah, he is! Go get 'em!”

Sam then ducked around the end of the van and hurried over to him.

“Joey!” she called out. “Joey!”

He turned to face her with his eyebrows raised. He had lost a little weight so his waist was rather slim like Joey's, and the black hair dye held up, but she knew those deep eyes anywhere.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted him as she skidded to a stop before him.

“Hi,” Alex replied back to her with a thoughtful look on his face. “What's happening?”

“I thought you were Joey for a second.”

“You thought I was Joey?” he laughed at that.

“You have similar hair to each other.”

“His has more of a pile, though. Like right on top of his head. That big pile of ringlets atop his head.” He gestured to the crown of his head. “Even though I'm sitting down, I think he's a little bit shorter than me, too?”

“I think so?” Sam shifted her weight right there. Stray strands of his black hair lifted off of his shoulders in the wind and he ran his hand over the back of his head. He shivered from the feeling over his skin.

“God, it's cold out here,” he muttered as he adjusted his jacket.

“Yeah, it's pretty nippy. Not New York, but it's that California cold, though.”

“You know, both my parents are from New York,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Both obscenely smart Ivy League professors. They came out here before I was born to teach over at Berkeley.”

“Is that why you had the gray streak?” she asked him.

“Nah, I have no idea where that came from.” He shifted his weight yet again on that post. He seemed uncomfortable sitting there but Sam had no idea where to go right then. Charlie's voice behind her caught her ear and she peered over her shoulder at his talking to James.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Alex told her as he shifted his weight a fourth time. “Aurora told the five of us last week that it was her assistant's birthday and she didn't know what to get you.”

“Aw, thank you—it was back on the twenty first, though.”

“Happy belated,” he corrected himself, and she swore he winked at her. Someone called his name and he looked off to the distance.

“Hang on—” he said, and he darted past her towards Charlie.

“Sam?” Zelda called out to her, and she jogged back to her. Aurora had climbed out of Emile's car right next to them and she shivered inside of her windbreaker.

“What's up?”

“Apparently the wedding is today,” Aurora announced.

“Today?” Sam was stunned.

“Yeah. Three o'clock. I guess Kirk's lady couldn't wait for it a second longer so they're doing it today.”

“So we get a full weekend of good ol' fun,” Zelda added as she clasped her hands to her upper arms.

“Exactly!”

Sam turned her attention to Alex, who was talking to Charlie about something. His black hair twirled in the cold winter winds. Even from a distance, he had such a grave expression on his face that it made Sam think he was much older than in reality.

Belinda had the right idea: he was very precocious. But now she had a little bit of insight into the boy in that he was raised by intelligent parents. It was a start with Alex and she could only wonder from that point onward.

Aurora and Emile led her, Zelda, and Belinda into the cabin behind Charlie and Alex, and once they stepped inside of the cozy foyer, Zelda was eager to turn on the heater.

“Terrible idea not to pack a coat,” she muttered as she hurried down the front foyer in search of the thermostat, “terrible idea not to pack a coat!”

Sam and Belinda meanwhile took to the narrow stairwell in front of them, and they made their way up to that second level: to the right stood a couple of rooms, while to the left was the bathroom and two more rooms. The door at the far end stood slightly ajar, such that when they reached the top, they spotted that head of black curls outside the doorway.

“Hey, Joey,” Belinda greeted him. That lopsided grin and those big brown eyes returned the favor, and Sam's heart skipped a couple of beats at the sight of him. He didn't appear to be ready for a wedding at all with his plain white shirt, extra tight blue jeans, and ragged white socks.

“There are my girls,” he said as he padded closer to them.

“Oh deary me, you're gonna be down the hall from us?” Sam teased him.

“Yup, me, Frankie, and Charlie and Marla. We're gonna be all here at the end of the hall if you need anything.”

“You know the wedding is today right?” Belinda told him.

“Oh, shit, is it really?” Joey raised his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah, Aurora just told us,” Sam added, and her heart sank at the thought of him barely being in the know of these things. “Three o'clock. So Bel and I are gonna get settled in and get dressed.”

“Oh, damn, thank you,” he told her, and his brown eyes sparkled at the sight of her. Cold as the earth and as engulfing as venom. He doubled back to his room and Sam pushed open the door in front of her. Inside stood a small bunk bed and a heavy wooden dresser underneath the window.

“Top or bottom?” she asked Belinda.

“You're older and got way more inside, so top,” she replied as she lay her purse down on the faded blue comforter upon the bottom bed. Even though they had plenty of time before the wedding, Sam wanted to clean up, and change her clothes and look her best. She hadn't been to a wedding in what felt like forever: there was one from when she was three years old, but she had no memory of it and she had no clue as to who even got eloped then, either.

Belinda offered to curl her hair and do it up extra nice, but she promised her there was very little to actually do up given her hair sat flat on her head. If only she could make curls into a crown like with Joey, but she had what she had in the form of a red wine colored dress and a thin black sweater over the top: the dress was a bit snug around her hips but she need not obsess over something as trivial as that when she remembered what Joey wanted to give her.

She was about to head on back inside of their room when she spotted him on the other side of the hallway with the five men from Death Angel, if she recalled correctly. Once again with the quintets and she would learn all of their names in the meantime. But he had a box wrapped in old faded red wrapping paper tucked under his arm and she hoped it wasn't just a wedding gift, especially since he still hadn't gotten dressed.

He laughed at something one of them said and he turned around.

“Oh, there you are!” he called out to her, and he scurried towards her. The tape on the edges of the box and the crooked look of the paper itself told her he wrapped it in a hurry, but she didn't mind at all once she slid her fingers under the edge of the paper closest to her. Careful not to tear it, she unwrapped it and lifted the lid. Inside was a pair of black leather gloves and a red and white knit scarf, the latter of which she ran her fingers over to find it softer than anything she had felt before. It was as soft as a cat.

“It's your own pair of gloves plus a scarf,” he declared. “I just think about how cold you always get upstate.” He shrugged at that.

“I love it, Joey! It's so soft.”

“It's cashmere.”

Sam gaped at him. “Cashmere,” she echoed him.

“Yeah—it was marked down, though. But it's cashmere. I wanted to give you something nice and good and good and nice.”

She slipped the gloves on and they fit around her fingers as if they were made for her. Joey offered to put the scarf around her neck; he stood before her, a country boy in a plain white shirt before a California girl in a dark red dress, and he wrapped the scarf around her.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered to her. “Happy birthday. Double deuces as of ten days ago!”

“Thank you—” She put her arms around him and she held him close. His slender little body was as soft as that scarf, and he smelled of fresh baked bread, something she would be willing to experience as long as he didn't have a drop of alcohol on hand.

Maybe there was in fact something more to life than being in that groove all the time. Maybe she could find a way to break out of her shell, and she could owe it all to him.

And she still hadn't told her parents about him.

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palettes-and-prompts · 4 years

Text

Dialogue Prompts Based on Parts of the Body

I was saving these for when I had to leave for a week but it looks like we’ll all be quarantined for a while so I figured now would be a good time to post these. Especially since my sleep schedule is all messed up (Not your fault, corn anon! This one’s on me.) so I don’t know when I’ll be awake or asleep. I just wanna have something out.

Head 1) "I keep seeing things and it's getting harder for me to tell what's real anymore." 2) "Shit, your head's bleeding. No, hey, keep your eyes open for me. Don't go to sleep." 3) "I think they're seeing someone behind my back, but maybe it's all in my head." 4) "I can't remember who I am or how I got here. Do I know you?" 5) "My head feels like it's splitting right down the middle." 6) "I can't think, my head hurts so bad, everything is so loud. Can you just make it stop, make all the noise stop!" 7) "You can see them, can't you? No one else can see them and I thought I was going crazy but you can see them, can't you? You can!" 8) "What do you mean the crash might cause them to be different? Are you saying they wont be able to walk or something?" "I'm saying they might not remember some things." 9) "I think I remembered something that happened to me a long time ago." 10) "I can't remember how I got here but I'm covered in blood. I'm covered in blood and I don't know whose it is or what I did. And I think if something doesn't happen soon it's going to happen again."

Neck 1) "It would be so easy to snap your neck like this." 2) "I can feel your heart beating against my hand and all I want to is rip your throat out." 3) "Oh my god, is that a hickey? Ew, what's their name? Tell me everything!" 4) "The fuck is that on your neck, is that a hickey? How can you have a hickey if I've been gone for weeks?" 5) "I think I have a crick in my neck, I don't know how much couch hopping I can do." "You can always go back to Person A." "I'd rather have the pain in my neck." 6) "You have bruises on your neck, you keep telling everyone they're hickeys but I can see it, the pattern, they're finger prints. Who's doing this to you?" 7) "What are you do with your hand around my neck? You going to kill me, just like you did them? Huh? Cause if you're going to kill me get it over with already." 8) "Fuck, you sound so good when I kiss your neck like that." 9) "Jesus Christ, what's with the huge bandage on your neck, you get bit or something?" 10) "Choke me." "What?!" "Just choke me a little, I'll tell you when to stop. Come on, you choke me and I'll do that thing you like later."

Shoulders 1) "I hate him, he's always putting his hands on my shoulders." 2) "Come here, baby, let me rub your shoulders and help you relax." 3) "Fuck, hold onto my shoulders and spread your legs a little more for me." 4) "You keep digging your nails into my shoulder." 5) "They're always sitting beside you, putting their head on your shoulder, you must think about them too, don't you?" 6) "You got shot." "In the shoulder, barely even feel it." 7) "Your bed's killing my shoulder, you need a new mattress." "Well, you're the one with money, why don't you buy me a new one? Or maybe next time we meet it can be at a hotel." "My husband/wife would kill me." 8) "I didn't want you to leave me here! I didn't want that at all. I wanted you to put your arm around my shoulder and tell me it was going to get better even if it wasn't! I wanted you to be there for me!" 9) "Head held high, shoulders back. Wonderful, you all look lovely, make me proud out there." 10) "My shoulder hurts from carrying these bags." "I know, mine do too. But we're almost there. Just a little further and we'll be home."

Heart 1) "Lay them back, we need to restart the heart." 2) "My heart hurts when I look at them together." 3) "Your heart is beating so fast, are you scared of me?" 4) "I don't hear a heartbeat. I don't hear anything." 5) "This is your heartbeat, and this is your baby's hear--oh. My apologies, the sound of both of your babies heartbeats." "Twins?!" 6) "Don't trust them, they know just how to wrap their manicured nails around your heart and rip it from your chest." 7) "Something's wrong." "Your clutching your heart, are you okay?" "It's not me, I'm linked with Person B, it's them. I can feel them. Something's wrong." 8) "I heard your heart stop when they entered the room, do you know them?" "No." "Liar." 9) "Say a single word and I'll put a bullet in your partner's heart. And you know they aren't wearing a vest right now." 10) "Help! Help!" "What's wrong?" "I think they're having a heart attack!"

Ribs 1) "Oh my god, you're ticklish! Wow, who knew someone so tough could be taken down by just a little bit of tickling." 2) "The car hit them hard, they could have some broken ribs, possible internal bleeding, we need to get them to the hospital now!" 3) "I can't be here, I need to find Person A." "Easy, tiger, one of your ribs punctured your lung, you're not going anywhere for a while. We'll find them." 4) "Make a sound and I'll put my hand through their rib cage and eat their heart in front of you." 5) "Break open the ribs." "What? Break them open?" "Yeah, how else are you going to harvest the organs?" 6) "I heard tattoos on the ribs hurt the most." "Yeah, they can be painful, are you sure you want it there?" "I'm sure." 7) "Do you think human ribs taste as good as regular ribs?" "Stop being so fucking morbid, Person B." 8) "Stabbing someone can be hard, what you wanna do is aim under the ribs for the heart, then they'll bleed out pretty quick." "Thanks, mom/dad!" 9) "Am I dead?" "No, you're alive. You got your ass handed to you by a group of twelve year olds. They managed to break eight of your ribs just by kicking you." 10) "If you're going to be annoying I can always have my monster crush your rib cage. But if you're good I'll let you call your family."

Stomach 1) "Look at you, you're getting bigger and bigger every day. Soon we'll get to meet our baby." 2) "Hi, I'm Doctor [Insert name here.] We finished your surgery. We're going to try everything to keep you from scarring, but you'll most likely still have a scar on your stomach." 3) "Your stomach keeps rumbling, you need to eat before you pass out again." 4) "Doctor, can you please tell me why my stomach keeps hurting?" "You have a parasite, the only weird thing is it's definitely not from this earth." 5) "Your stomach is so soft." "Gee, thanks." "My soft marshmallow girl/boy. So comfy, so soft. I love you so much." 6) "I don't know if I can watch this. I don't think I can stomach it." "Watch or I'll hurt them even more." 7) "I don't think my stomach can take much more of this ride." 8) "You might not want to drink blood, but you need to. It's the only thing your stomach can handle." 9) "Here, drink this, it'll settle your stomach so you wont be sick again." 10) "Dude, your stomach just growled and sounded like 'Help me. I'm hungry, help me!'" "Shut up!"

Arms 1) "Oh wow, your arms are so big, do you work out?" 2) "Fuck, my arm is broken, my arm is fucking broken." "What'd you do?" "I jumped off the roof." "WHY WOULD YOU JUM-" "I wanted to see if I could make it into the pool!" 3) "I've got their arms behind their back, they're not going anywhere." 4) "Person B?" "Yeah?" "I can't feel my arms...I-I can't feel anything." 5) "My arms are killing me." "Hey, finish digging this hole, we've got a couple of guys coming to dump a body so we gotta be quick." "This is so boring though." "Do you want five hundred dollars or not?" "...yeah." 6) "My arm feels like I got hit like super hard. Like, by a superhero or something." "Oh my god you've been shot!" 7) "That cut on your arm is deep, if we don't clean it you could get an infection." "I'm glad you're okay." "I'll be even better when you're patched up." 8) "Hold my arms behind my back with one hand and pull my hair with the other." "You're into that?" "Just do it already!" 9) "Hold their arm out, I've been waiting too long to taste their blood I'm not waiting any longer." 10) "Relax, I'm just putting an IV in your arm." "Is Person B-" "They're fine. You saved them."

Hands 1) "Next time you put your hands on my boy/girl I'll break them." 2) "Your hands feel good in my hair like that." 3) "Do we have a deal? You stay in your territory I stay in mine and we inform one another when we need to cross into each other's territory?" "And if any strays walk in without permission?" "Both sides are allowed to kill any strays." "We have a deal? Shake hands on it?" 4) "Your hands are so cold, here, put them in mine and I'll warm them up." 5) "Your hands are all cut up." "They didn't like it when they found out I was trying to steal from them." 6) "You know, now that your handcuffed and I can finally see you up close you're pretty cute." "Bite me." 7) "Hands in the air!" "Shit, I-I was just looking at the car!" "Hands in the air! Now wave them like you just don't care!" "Huh? I--Person B? You piece of shit, I thought you were a cop!" "Nah, there's no one around now hurry up and break in. I've never stole a Mercedes before!" 8) "Hold out your hands, I've got something for you." 9) "Give me your hands, now close your eyes and repeat exactly what I say or the spell wont work." 10) "Put your hands on me again like that and I'll fucking kill you." "You used to like it when I put my hands on you." "Yeah, well, not anymore."

Hips 1) "I didn't give you those so who did? Who gave you those bite marks on your hips?" 2) "Jesus, look at you, move too hard and you'll break a hip." "I'm not fucking old!" 3) "Are you okay?" "I just hit my hip on the edge of that table so fucking hard, holy shit." 4) "Don't bump me with your hip, you bitch, I'll kill you!" 5) "Grab me by my hips and pull me closer." "Really? This is happening?" "Oh my god, I have to do everything." 6) "I think you should get a tattoo of my name on your hip." "So we can break up and things be weird and then I have to fork out money to get it removed? No way." 7) "You've got bruises everywhere, shoulder, wrist, hips-" "They just get a little rough when we're in bed, that's all. It's nothing." "They're in the shape of hand prints. That's not nothing." 8) "Come on, harder, put your hips into it!" 9) "Don't laugh but I fell really really hard and I actually think I broke my hip." "Oh my god, you're young, why do you have the hips of an ninety-seven year old woman?" "Just fucking help me!" 10) "God, they did it so hard one night I swear I thought they were gonna break my hips."

Thighs 1) "Your thighs are so fucking soft. It's cute." 2) "Talk shit and I'll use my thighs to crush you like a watermelon." 3) "Keep your thighs spread open. Yeah, just like that, baby." 4) "I think I pulled a muscle in my thigh." "Doing what? You don't even exercise? How did you pull anything?" 5) "You should see what they do when you're not around you girlfriend/boyfriend. They get super touchy. They're always putting their hands on Person A's thighs." 6) "Fuck, I can't go swimming this weekend, look at my thighs. You left so many bruises." "You weren't complaining at the time." "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" 7) "Your thighs are fucking thick. In a good way, it's hot. I like it." "Just shut the fuck up and kiss me, dumbass." 8) "I know it feels good, baby but if you don't stop closing your thighs I'll have to hold them open." 9) "I love watching you sit on my lap. Especially when you put my hand between your thighs when you get needy." 10) "Fuck, you been working out? You've got really nice thighs." "Uhh...thanks?"

Legs 1) "If you're not between my legs in the next thirty seconds I swear I'm calling someone else to come here and do it for me." 2) "Been busy?" "No." "That's not what the bruises on your knees are saying." 3) "My leg, I think it's broken." "Help them up." "No, go on without me." "No." "I'll only slow you down. Go before they catch up to us!" 4) "I need a hand over here." "How about a leg?" "If you throw your prosthetic leg at me one more time I'm gonna come over there and beat you with it." "...fine, never mind, do it yourself." 5) "Break my chair and I'll break your legs!" 6) "You've got to stop wearing tight jeans like this, they're so hard to get off your legs." "Yeah, but you like how I look in them." 7) "I can't move, my leg's broken." "I'm coming back." "No! No, just stay there, I'm gonna talk you through how to do it, okay?" "Okay." "Find the control panel." 8) "We have to stop moving." "We can't, the second we stop is the second they catch us." "My legs are so tired, I don't think I can keep running." "Listen to me, you wanna see everyone right? Right. So keep moving or we wont ever see them again. We just have to make it to the border." 9) "Legs apart, hands on the vehicle." "If you wanted to feel me up, officer, you could have just said so." "Shut up and put your hands behind your back." 10) "Don't put your hand between my legs in public." "I didn't hear you complaining earlier." "Shut up."

Feet 1) "Jesus! Your feet are all bloody, what did you do? Walk on glass?" 2) "These heels are killing my feet." "I don't care, I'm not calling off the biggest job of our career because your feet are tired. The richest people in the world are here and I plan on taking every dime from them tonight. So you can suck it up and go flirt with that guy over there, you look like his type." "Fuck you." "Make me proud, baby." 3) "Ow! What the fuck, you shot me in the foot!" "I thought they were blanks!" "THEY CLEARLY WEREN'T!" 4) "Damn, look at this footprint. Whoever the murderer is they've got some big ass feet." "Those aren't the murderer's footprints, those are mine." "Oh shit!" 5) "I don't get this whole Cinderella thing, like, she clearly couldn't have been the only person in the whole kingdom with that size foot. Also, like, the people checking everyone's feet were there! They know what Cinderella looks like, how did they not just narrow their search to blonde hair and blue eyes? These royal people have foot fetishes and just wanted to look at everyone's feet. That's the only thing that makes sense unless everyone just has shitty vision." 6) "Toe socks are just gloves for your feet and I don't fuck with that." 7) "Why are you two covering your feet? You two get matching tattoos? Because if you handcuffed your feet together again I'm going to be very, very upset." 8) "What are you doing?" "I'm crushing grapes to make wine. You should try it. It kind of feels like I'm crushing little tiny people so I can squish the blood out of them and drink it." "Dark! But I'm glad you're having fun!" 9) "You know that song that goes 'And I would walk five hundred miles!' The people who wrote that have never walked five hundred miles in their fucking life because if they had they would not have wrote a song about doing that for someone because no one would do that! I wouldn't even walk fifty miles for someone. My feet are killing me!" 10) "If you don't tell me where the money is I'm going to hang you up by your feet and dunk you in a pit of sharks. And if you think I'm joking... PERSON B OPEN THE TANK!"

Sorry the asks are taking a bit, I wanted to get all the prompt asks out of the way first though before I started with the character palettes because they were sent first. But I hope you enjoy these while I wait and if you like these I might make a part 2.

#dialogue prompts #120 dialogue prompts #body prompts #prompts based on body parts #lightly nasty #ns/fw prompts #angst prompts #tw mention of abuse #slightly smutty #prompts #fic prompts #writer #write #dialogue #if you want me to tag anything let me know

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the-writing-mobster · 4 years

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What If: Frisk and Sans chilling out on beds and couches at a furniture store.

Ah this one was so cute! And so fun to write!

What If Frisk and Sans went to Ikea? Suggestive flirting????

"We've been in here for hours—"

"—THIS ROOM IS BEAUTIFUL!" Sans sighed and watched as Frisk took a picture of the minimalist "city-living" kitchen display. They had really only been there for an hour and a half, but they had come to get a bed… not to take pictures of the display rooms. However, he had to admit; seeing Frisk, a woman who took herself very seriously, act like a child at a toy store was quite endearing.

"Could you see us in an apartment like this?" She breathed as she stepped inside the display to look at all the pretty decorations. Sans chuckled quietly and crossed his arms.

"I could see myself uh… eating those swedish meatballs," he grunted. She shot him a look and he snickered boyishly.

“Oh tais-toi, connard,” she teased with a playful snicker. Sans chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. Frisk laughed as he nibbled on her neck.

“I’m hungry, and you’re over here showing me display kitchens. Not helping, sweetheart,” he murmured into her ear. That familiar tingle ran down her spine and she smirked.

“Be good. We’re in public,” she whispered coyly as she shrugged him off and continued down the yellow marked path. He watched her with a growing grin and shoved his hands in his pockets with a smug air about him. He glanced over to see an older couple shooting them dirty looks, which he returned with a nonchalant wink. The old woman’s jaw gaped and Sans quickly turned away and chased after his fiancé.

“I’m surprised Papyrus isn’t here, what did you say he was holed up doing again?” Asked Frisk as she ran her hand along a dark wooden armoire. Sans shrugged absentmindedly and glanced down her body as she walked in front of him. Sometimes he was taken aback by how surreal it was to be with a woman like her.

“He had to go to the bank to deal with…uh… a fraud charge on his card. It got locked cause he tried to buy a some candles from Bath and Body Works. Apparently Bath and Body Works is a—tch—a hotspot, and he’s such a fuckin impulse buyer. The moment he discovered online shopping, I swear to God.” His words dissolved into a fit of boyish chuckles at the memory. Frisk joined in his infectious laughter.

“Oh my God. Oh my God! I remember!” She had been shopping with Alice, Bonnie and Charlotte when Papyrus had called her in a fit of rage about never shopping at “that deplorable perfumery” ever again. They both giggled together as they walked the endless maze of home decor.

Finally, they arrived in the bed and bedroom section of the gigantic furniture store and Sans sighed with relief.

“Think I can actually sit down for a change?” He teased. Frisk rolled her eyes and scanned the room. They needed a king. As... nice... as it was being pressed together in a full, she knew having space would be better, especially since they both took up a lot of space, Sans from sheer size and Frisk by spreading her limbs to each corner of the mattress. She knew the longer they lived together, the more being tangled in each other’s arms would get claustrophobic. Claustrophobia would cause tension, and tension would cause fights…and Frisk never wanted that to happen. Not after everything they’d been through together. No, a couple needed their moments of space. A bed was the perfect place to have it.

Frisk glanced over her shoulder when she felt Sans’s eyes on her and she pursed her lips to hide a smile. Besides, with the way their sex life was going… there would be plenty of time to be entangled together. Her soul flickered at the notion and she let out a heavy breath. A bigger bed has so many more possibilities…

“Oh, look at this one,” she hummed as she gestured to a bed with a solid, black headboard. Sans glanced down and read the name. KVALFJORD. He grumbled to himself something along the lines of crazy-Swedish-bullshit before shrugging and pushing his hand into the mattress.

“It’s nice, that’s for sure,” he murmured thoughtfully. Frisk grinned and checked the price. She grimaced at the four hundred dollar price tag but Sans shrugged it off. Four hundred dollars was nothing to him or his brother. She was still surprised at how well they had transitioned into the American workforce after years of being military operatives for Asgore. Granted it wasn’t standard work. Frisk had never been an ambassador before in her life, but the position was proving rather rewarding, and Sans worked alongside her as her own personal bodyguard. She smiled softly and spared him a small glance.

“Hey… I love you,” she hummed, toying with the hem of his sleeve. Sans glanced back at her and his grin widened. He quirked a brow teasingly and ruffled her hair.

“I love you too, babe,” he said. Frisk smiled as he rolled himself onto the bed and rested his hands behind his neck in thoughtful surrender. It held his weight pretty well, considering the sheer size difference between humans and monsters.

“Is it good?” She asked. He hummed contentedly. Granted, with how easily Sans could become comfortable, she was sure anything would work for him and he would have little to no complaints. She gasped as he pulled her onto the bed and she giggled. The two laid side by side and Frisk splayed her arms out. Sans grunted as her hand slapped his face and they snickered.

“It’s a king for a reason, kid,” he joked and she chuckled and turned over onto her stomach. Sans watched as she propped her head up on her hands and they smiled affectionately at each other.

“I love Ikea way too much.” Sans burst out laughing at her words and she grinned. He sighed lazily and pulled himself up to sit against the headboard.

“Is this the one?” She asked. He glanced around the large industrial cavern at all the other options. None of them really fit his taste. This one was more modern, and -he shuffled his weight- not squeaky, unlike his old bed.

“What do you think?” He asked as he got up to lift the mattress and check out the support beams. Frisk slid off and came to stand by his side.

“Think it could handle us?” She whispered with a suggestive twinkle in her eye. Sans smirked and glanced down at her.

“Well there’s only one way to try that out and… as much as that idea entices me, I don’t think that would be very appropriate. I mean you’re the one who brought up the fact we’re in public,” he murmured back. She leaned against the bed and gave it a hard shake. Sans laughed at the move. It held firm and she shrugged and looked back up at him.

“I think it works. As long as we build it correctly.” Sans groaned at the reminder that yes, they would have to build it themselves.

“Oh fuck me,” he groaned. Frisk stifled a smirk and gave him an innocent smile.

“I will once we build it,” she purred. He shook his head in amusement and wrapped an arm around her waist.

“What’s gotten into you? Actin all… frisky,” he uttered as he kissed her forehead. She giggled and ran her hand down his chest. He sucked in at the move, pulling her closer to him.

“It’s your fault,” she hummed with mock disapproval. He scoffed with baffled amusement and grabbed her hand when she reached his pelvis. His entire body was burning with her touch.

“If you keep this up, I don’t think I’ll be able to wait until after the damn thing gets built,” he growled. She bit her lip and pulled away from him. Sans watched her walk around the bed and ran his tongue along the edges of his fangs. She always knew how to get to him.

“So do you like this one?” She asked, pretending that nothing had happened. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her.

“I do.” She smiled and took a picture of the tag for when they would need it in the warehouse.

“Perfect. I do too. Now! Let’s look at the mattresses,” she chirped as she skipped down the aisle. Sans growled with a titillating lust and followed after her. This woman.

When he came to her side, she reached for his hand, which he readily surrendered and she smiled with contentment. Her hand was so small compared to his, but in it, she felt safe. No one could touch her as long as he was by her side. That knowledge was enough to put her ever alert mind at ease and make her soul hum.

They spent another hour or so trying to find the right mattress, sparing each other flirtatious looks along the way. Every so often Frisk or Sans would notice other people staring at them out of morbid curiosity. After all, Sans was a reaper who stood at six feet and six inches tall, and she was just five foot six. However, she was happy to find no one being blatantly rude to them. Most of the employees were helpful, even if they did tremble a bit at the sight of Sans. She had to remind herself how she felt the first time they had met. That was of course, under very different circumstances.

When they finally made it past the furniture department, and into the home decor, Sans had to corral Frisk away from all the shiny decorations. It was like herding cats. They didn’t exactly need a new salad bowl. Or new cups or dishes. Or fake potted plants.

Frisk did end up piling a bunch of pretty throw pillows and abstract art prints into the cart, along with the necessary bed sheets and comforter that would fit onto the bed. The duvet itself looked like its own abstract art piece, with mottled black, white and blue colors. Truly, Sans wasn’t much of a designer, so he let Frisk pick out anything. He was happy with most all of her choices, except for when she expressed interest in a flowery, grandmotherly type duvet.

Once everything was picked out, they spent the last hour in the warehouse finding, retrieving and paying for the bed and all of their items. Sans followed through with his wish of grabbing some of the famous Swedish meatballs.

Once they were all finished and ready to go, one of the employees cautiously approached them.

"Do you need any help loading…?" asked the employee. Sans glanced down at Frisk and grinned as smoke began to pour out of his eye sockets and circle the two and their boxes.

"Nah," he said as the employee looked on with a mixture of terror and strange fascination as the mist covered them. As the red smoke cleared, the employee gasped and stumbled back. They were gone!

⁂

"Was that really necessary?" Frisk asked with a breathless laugh. Sans rose a brow as the boxes thumped to the ground around them.

"Probably not, but you know what is?" He growled as he snaked an arm around her waist. She quirked a brow and shot him a challenging smirk.

"What?" She breathed. He clutched her chin in his large hand and leaned her head back as he kissed her. She let out a heavy breath and wrapped her arms around his neck. He nibbled her lips and heat shot down her stomach.

Sans pressed her against the wall as his hunger for her overcame him. She hummed as she pulled his head away from her and bit her lip with a sultry gleam in her eyes.

"Not yet…" she sing-songed. He growled under his breath and she tapped his fangs. She smiled and slid out from under him. He snatched her hand and pulled her back to face him.

"Just one more kiss?" He purred. She smiled sweetly and cupped his face with her hands. They shared a gentle kiss before she patted his cheek bones and pranced away to gather the heavy boxes. We're gonna have a great time tonight.

#underfell frans #underfell sans #underfell frisk #ikea #slice of life #what if oneshot #fluff #domesticity #wdyw #what do you want #fanfic #I’m definitely putting a scene like this into the continuation of wdyw #my inbox is open #ask my characters #ask me for what if oneshots #I love writing these #don’t be shy give me more

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aspaceformyselffics09 · 5 years

Text

A request for my princess: Part one - Youngjae

A/N: So, Hi there guys! First off, so sorry I’ve been MIA (Missing in action) over the past couple of weeks. I’ve been loaded with work, almost working for 14 to 15 hours a day. Plus, my depression had hit me at it’s worst. One of the reasons I couldn’tpick myself up to write at all. But I’m so glad I found some time to do that now. And secondly, I normally don’t write for other fandoms but GD had been one of my favourites since a long time and I also made a little exception for my dear princess @little-dragon-stories as she requested this wonderful scenario ages ago. Sorry love, I took so long to write. I hope you like it. Also, guys she’s amazing! Please do check her out when you have the time to.

Summary: As a part of a birthday surprise, you take your little 6 year old friend to a G - Dragon fansign event. But what happens when you loose the said kid in a huge crowd and then find yourself run into the man himself?

Pairing: Kwon Jiyong x reader

Genre: Fluff, fluff and fluff

Warnings: None here

Word count: 1.8k

OH MY GOD THAT’S G - DRAGON!

Those were the first words that left Youngjae’s mouth the moment you stopped your car. The six year old sitting next to you was bouncing and rocking up in his seat, his eyes glittering like sparkles, darting everywhere around the area, breathing it in. It was a bright sunny day. The morning sky was clear with a few occasional clouds hanging here and there while the breeze felt fresh on your face. Youngjae now excitedly pulled off his seat belt, opened the door and practically bolted out of the car without waiting for you.

“Youngjae!” You called after him, but the kid paid no heed, “Wait for me!”

Sighing to yourself, you turned off the ignition, pulled your seat belt off and hastily got yourself out of the car. After making sure your car is locked and secure, you scurried after the hyper excited kid. By the time you caught up to him, he was standing in front of a life sized poster hung near the entrance of the building, clapping his little hands in excitement.

“Auntie!” He squealed, his voice bubbling with excitement, “It’s G - DRAGON!!”

“Yes sweetie,” You said, stopping next to him, trying to catch your breath, “That’s your dragon there.”

Youngjae’s face lit up like a thousand suns and he rushed forward to hug the poster. You laughed delightedly at his antics and brought out the camera to take some pictures. It was a camera his mother handed to you before you left, asking you to get lots and lots of pictures of her little munchkin meeting his favourite star. And through the lens, you gazed softly at the boy in front of you. He was running around the open area, his face erupting in bright delightful smiles. Giggling and stumbling on his feet, his eyes delirious with elation. He was wearing a shirt that proudly showed off a G - Dragon print written in bold letters, a pair of shorts and some shoes.

“I want him to know I’m a huge huge huge fan!” He insisted as he pulled his tee on and puffing out his chest, “I want him to know I love him a lot!”

“Oh honey! I bet your dragon already knows you love him,” His mom cooed as she got him ready.

“He does?!” Youngjae exclaimed, his face set in determination.

“Of course Youn!” You offered from where you were standing at the door.

Youngjae’s mom would love to see her boy so happy, you thought as you brought the camera down. It had been a while since the kid had the freedom to run around like that, or laugh like that or eat or do whatever the kids who are his age normally do.

That’s right Youngjae was special.

He always was.

Perhaps for kids like him, playgrounds, schools or hobby classes were their normal habitats. But as for Youngjae, ever since you’ve known him, it was always either the hospitals or the four walls of his house. He came to you, his attending physician when he was just a baby, suffering from a bad heart condition that left him unable to enjoy a typical childhood. But, Youngjae was a strong kid. He never complained, he never cried. Whatever life threw at him, he embraced it wholeheartedly. Sure there were times, he was confused why he couldn’t do things other children did, there were times it frustrated him to no end and he would cry a lot. But then again, anybody in Youngjae’s position would do the same. As the days passed by, with every visit and all the time the boy spent in the hospital, you found yourself getting attached to the boy. Beyond just a patient and a doctor. You now cared for him like family, as if he’s your own little nephew.

And today, as a part of his birthday you brought him to this special solo event by Big bang’s leader G - Dragon. Youngjae always loved Big Bang and especially G - Dragon. He first came across the leader’s voice through a radio that was playing softly in your room. You had just gone out to speak to your colleague regarding work and came back to Youngjae sitting quietly on his chair while bouncing his legs and softly humming the tune to himself. The scene in front of you instantly put a smile on your face. It isn’t that Youngjae never reacted to music but it was the fact that this particular voice calmed him. It made him serene. The boy who would otherwise ask you a hundred questions or keep jumping around everywhere is sitting quietly by himself humming a tune. And that was when you knew it. Whoever this voice belonged to, it impacted this little boy somewhere deep inside. It resonated in a place where no one was able to reach. Ever since then, Youngjae took to listening to the voice like a ritual, he gushed about G - Dragon at your every visit or bounce around everytime Big Bang or GD appeared on the TV screen.

“Auntie!” Youngjae chirped, during one of your sessions. He was sitting on the edge of the examination bed, his legs dangling down.

“Yes sweetie,” You looked up from where you were going through a couple of your patient files.

“Do you think I can someday meet G - Dragon??” He asked, staring off somewhere into the distance.

“You want to meet him honey?” You ask him, your voice tender, your eyes softly gazing at the boy in front of you.

“Yes!” He perked his head up, a bright glint forming in his eyes, “I’d like to if I can one day.”

And that was all it took for you to immediately book some tickets when the leader announced his solo event in Seoul along with a fan sign event. This was a perfect opportunity to let the kid have his wish come true.

It seemed that you were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice the crowds that began to pour into the venue. Shoving the camera into your bag you absentmindedly reached for Youngjae only to realize he’s not around you anymore.

It didn’t hit you at first. You just stared at the empty spot beside you, blinking once, twice and thrice. Around you, the crowds grew while people blended into each other. And that was when it hit you.

You just lost Youngjae.

A six year old kid.

In a huge venue,

Filled to the brim with crowds.

Dressed in a black overcoat, sunglasses and a black mask covering his face, Jiyong carefully peeked from behind the clothes rack he was hiding at, to scrutinize his surroundings. Turning to his left, his eyes swept over the area, scanning the place for any manager, crew member or anyone he can recognize. When he spotted no one in sight, he turned to his right and inspected once again. No one, area clear. Sighing in relief he tiptoed his way out of his hiding spot only to quickly duck behind an open closet nearby when a random manager along with a staff walked by.

“Is everything set?” The manager asked while scribbling on his hand book, not really sparing a glance at the staff following him.

“Yes Manager - nim, Jiyong - ssi’s wardrobe is all set,” The staff relayed, “The makeup artists are ready and the stage is all done too.”

“Good,” The manager nodded continuing to scribble, “Make sure there are no set backs anywhere, so that Jiyong - ssi can go through his set routine with the utmost ease and comfort.”

“Yes sir, we’ll make sure to give him our best care.”

Once the manager and the staff are out of earshot, Jiyong slumped to the ground in relief. Thank goodness! They were not looking for him! Huffing out a breath, he pulled himself up and rushed out of the venue through the back door.

Freedom!

At last!

Fresh air and sunshine!

It’s everything he needs right now.

The past few weeks had been really hectic for Jiyong. With all the back to back meetings, recordings, rehearsals, photoshoots, dress fittings, interviews, TV shows, travelling, etc. All in all, it’s safe to say that there had not been one day where Ji felt like he could breathe, not one day where he properly had time for himself. Hell, he barely even stepped inside his own home in the last five days. His million dollar apartment, his safe space, his comfort. He missed lazing around on the sofa, he missed painting whenever he wanted to, he missed his cat, he missed everything. So, to say that Ji is desperate for some peace and tranquility is an understatement. He’s very, very, very, very, desperate.

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Jiyong checked the area around him once more to see if there’s anyone searching for him. When he found no one in sight, he turned around and began to stroll around the place with no particular aim in mind, breathing in his surroundings and simply enjoying them. It felt rejuvenating, the atmosphere, the cold wind whipping across his face, the tranquility, peace, It felt good. It felt nice, almost similar to paradise. Soon, it wasn’t long before he found a bench to settle upon. A brief glance at his watch told him that there’s still an hour before the event officially begins. Which means, the more time he can spend dilly-dallying around.

Thus thinking so, he made himself comfortable on the little bench and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Perhaps it was the exhaustion that finally caught up to him or perhaps it was the warmth in the atmosphere that finally eased itself into the very pores of his skin. As he felt the tension in his shoulders fade away into relaxation, his eyes began to drop lulled by the breeze that blew past him, while softly caressing his hair. It was warm, the calmness engulfing him like a warm fleece blanket. His eyes finally closing and his very being carried into a world of dreams.

Barely had he closed his eyes, Jiyong felt a slight tug to the edge of his sleeves. Unsure of whether he really felt it and also unwilling to open his eyes, he decided to ignore it. He is too deep in dreamland to care. But then, the tug came again. This time making him wonder if it’s time already. But something isn’t right. If an hour had already passed by, his crew would have turned the whole place upside down looking for him. And they sure as hell won’t just be tugging his sleeves but shoving him towards the dressing room by now. So, to conclude, this isn’t a manager and he’s not going to bother.

A heartbeat later.

The tug followed again, this time a bit more consistent and persuasive. Jiyong huffed, blowing out a breath, disgruntled. Who dares disturb his sleep? He slowly opened his eyes and blearily eyed the figure standing in front of him. And to his surprise, standing in front of him was a 45 inch tall, huge G - Dragon T - shirt wearing, proudly standing, little boy staring right back at him!

Youngjae...

#kwritersworldnet #gdragon x reader #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon fanfic #gdragon #kwon jiyong #jiyong x reader #jiyong fluff #jiyong fic #bigbang

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himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

Jet lag & Webgott. I know the theme is PAIN but can I request something mildly to very funny??

a little fall of meme can hardly hurt me now ( accepting )

‘make it funny,’ you say, at which point i instantly forget the concept of humor

By this point, David has become fluent in Joe’s bitching, whichever language it’s voiced in.

It’s an acquired skill — frankly, one he could have lived his entire life without acquiring — but knowing where Joe stands makes navigating their relationship a lot easier. When it comes to the little things, Joe wears his heart on his sleeve. If he doesn’t like a particular TV show, he’ll say it… loudly. When it’s snowing, he’ll agonize about it until David’s tempted to shove him outside and lock the door; when it’s too hot, he’ll strip without shame, hissing like a disgruntled cat all the while. By now, they’ve been dating long enough that David knows Joe like a familiar book, leafed through a hundred times over. Sure, sometimes he could do without all that context, but a working knowledge of Joe’s quirks makes dealing with him that much easier.

Joe Fact #263: He can’t stand long flights.

It’s not like he’s a nervous flier. He’s just… a lot to handle. Part of it has to do with Joe’s inherent restlessness, a genetic predisposition to never hold still for more than a minute; part of it is just Joe’s talent for being annoying. And he can be… really, really annoying. Damned obnoxious. He doesn’t read, he’s hardly interested in the movies — he just spends the entire flight complaining. Why can’t he get WiFi? Why can’t he order another gin and tonic? Why are the seats so lumpy? Why do you want me to close the window, Web, look at this view, it’s priceless —

Having the window open makes him air sick. Joe knows this.

It’s not a massive problem, but during any long flight, it becomes an inevitable one. Queasiness is just another thing Joe gets to complain about on long flights. Part of David thinks it’s all a ploy; an excuse to get up and move around the cabin, even if it’s just to hide out in the bathroom and try to get WiFi signal.

To be fair — on their trip to the Amalfi coast, when Joe had to sprint to the bathroom mid-flight and stayed there for over an hour, he probably wasn’t faking it.

Flying with Joe is unbearable for everyone involved… so when Joe announces his new solution, David’s optimistic. They’re two days out from a trip to Hawaii when Joe reveals a bottle of air sickness pills — apparently “the best they sell on the whole Internet, Web, I checked.”

David’s skeptical. “Are you… sure you can’t just make it?”

Joe huffs, genuinely offended by the question. “Fine! This time I’ll just blow chunks all over you. In-flight entertainment’s gonna be The Exorcist. How about that, Web? Fuck.”

David rolls his eyes — but he doesn’t argue anymore. At the time, it seems like a testament to his self-control.

Oh, how naive he was.

The pills make it through customs in their carry-on bag — something Joe gloats about for the next half hour, like he’s just pulled one over on the government, even though David looked it up and medication is allowed on planes. While waiting for their flight, Joe insists on Cinnabon. Insists, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He pouts, he pleads, and finally he just tows David over to the stall without any forewarning and sits him down at one of the tables. (Joe Fact #312: Arguing with Joe while he’s got a pastry craving is like reasoning with a brick wall.)

The cinnamon bun in front of Joe is larger than your average infant. “You ever heard of ‘tempting fate’?” David can’t help but ask around his own mouthful of pastry.

Joe reaches over and smears frosting on his chin.

Without any delay, they make it on their flight in record time. Joe waits until they’re sitting, buckled in and watching the flight attendant go through safety procedures, to dig the pill bottle from his bag. A strange sense of unease churns David’s stomach, though he can’t for the life of him say why. Joe glances over, smirking; as David watches, he pops the two pills and swallows them dry.

“There. This flight’ll be smooth sailing.”

With four and a half hours of airtime ahead of them, David can only pray.

Joe’s not the researching sort — that goes without saying — but David has always been. He never takes a medication without looking up the full list of side effects in advance. When, twenty minutes into the in-flight movie, Joe’s head starts to loll against his shoulder, he’s not surprised.

“You alright?” he murmurs, turning just enough to speak the words softly into his boyfriend’s temple. Joe shifts, sighing heavily, and tries to straighten up again. It’s more effort than it’s worth.

“Might just end up sleeping through this thing,” he mutters. “Movie’s a snorefest anyway.”

It’s some movie about a dog. Neither of them have been really paying attention. “Okay,” David replies, keeping his tone casual. “That’s fine, just… get some rest.”

Joe shifts in his seat, making himself more comfortable. For about ten minutes, David stays very still. He doesn’t move; he doesn’t fidget; he doesn’t even breathe loudly.

When he looks over again, Joe’s dead to the world.

Oh, thank god.

David tilts his head back to grin at the ceiling, fist pumping the air without a sound — definitely earning a few sideways glances from other passengers, but he doesn’t care. Finally. After all this time, all this anticipation —

There’s no time to waste. He rummages through the carry-on at his feet, emerging with three large books, and headphones dangling from between his fingers. David drops his tray table, sets up his classical music Spotify playlist, cracks open the first book, and orders a Bloody Mary.

Peace at last.

The amount of long flights he’s endured through Joe’s whining… the amount of poking he’s had to deal with, the amount of dirty jokes whispered in his ear, all the times Joe’s stolen his books or drained his phone battery… he’s earned this, okay? As David leans back in his seat, it’s impossible to keep from grinning. Slumped against the window, Joe’s soft snores are easily drowned out by his headphones. They’ve got another five hours of flight ahead, and David plans to enjoy them.

Which he absolutely does, for the first hour. By the second, Joe’s got a specialty airline pillow under his head and a blanket tucked around him; David’s wallet is thirty dollars lighter, but it’s worth it. He runs his fingers through Joe’s hair absently, still engrossed in his book; after a while, he finishes it, and starts another one.

Somewhere around the third hour, Joe stirs, face smushing up against David’s shoulder. Gently, David repositions his head, only to find his boyfriend blinking drowsily at him.

“Hey, Web…” Joe’s voice is raspier than usual, thick with sleep. “How long’ve I been out?”

“A little while. We’re about halfway there.”

Joe hums, head flopping back against David’s shoulder. After a minute, he becomes aware of the blanket around him; a small huff escapes him, turning into a chuckle halfway through. “Aww, Web. Knew you cared.”

“As though I’d ever hear the end of it if you woke up with a sore neck.”

As though just to spite him, Joe cranes his neck at an unnatural angle to look up at him. “Wouldn’t be the first time we woke up sore together.” He pauses, thoughtful, then grins. “Wanna renew our mile high club membership?”

David shakes him off.

“Okay, okay, shit —“ Joe straightens up, disgruntled. Even sitting up in his seat, he sways a bit, as though rocking to turbulence no one else can feel. Davis observes as he gradually slumps against the window again, all the energy drained out of him. Mile high club — uh huh, very likely.

“These pills have any weird side effects?” Joe asks after a moment, brows furrowed. David rolls his eyes.

“How many times have I told you —“

“Read the fine print, yeah, damn it, Web. I get it.” Joe’s eyes scrunch shut. “They’re just not gonna — gimme an extra toe, or turn me green or anything, right?”

“No.” David diverts his attention, recommitting to his book with new stubbornness. “Orange, maybe.”

“That’s a color I can live with.” Without looking, Joe reaches over. Whatever he’s trying to grab, he ends up smacking David in the jaw. Hard, damn it. As David draws back with a muttered curse, Joe’s hand finds his chest; he gives it a few solid pats, maybe as an apology. “Mind if I sleep the rest of the way?”

“Please,” David rolls his eyes. “Be my guest.”

After a while, Joe’s snoring picks up again — and David is left to read in peace. He makes it through about a quarter of the next book before his eyes start hurting, and he finally has to set it aside. He orders a snack. He watches some late-night show. He doodles a bull shark on his napkin and daydreams about the white sands of Honolulu.

By the time the plane’s begun its final stretch, David is more than ready to start vacation. His pulse thrums with muted excitement, mind racing with all the things he wants to do as soon as they step off the plane. Every slight jolt of the plane as it descends kicks his anticipation a little higher.

By all rights, it should also jar Joe awake… but when David looks over, he’s surprised to find his boyfriend still sleeping.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Rip Van Winkle’s blanket-clad shoulder. “Nap time’s over. We’re almost there.”

Joe groans, shifting in his seat. When David tries again, he blindly smacks him.

“Jesus — will you —“ With a huff, David yanks the blanket away, leaving Joe bare. Suddenly exposed to the plane’s crisp air conditioning, Joe’s face scrunches up. He writhes in discomfort for a moment, fumbling around for the blanket, before at last cracking an eye open to look at Webster.

“You’re a sadist, Web.”

“I’m tired of watching you drool,” Webster retorts, busy packing up his carry-on. “Come on, rise and shine. We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes.”

Joe gives a drawn out sigh, as if it’s the greatest inconvenience in the world to ask him to be awake. Still, he props himself up. Over the next few minutes, as the airport tarmac slowly comes into view, he pulls himself from the syrupy haze of half-sleep, back into the land of the living. By the time they’re on the ground, he’s still blinking hard and rubbing his head, but awake.

“At least we’re had an easy flight,” David chirps as they make their way up the aisle.

“I dreamed I was on some tropical island, with a buncha pool floats, and the local girls were letting me eat fruit slices off their chests.”

“I already told you, we can’t do that in public — plus I have to wear sunscreen! I burn! Why do you want to eat fruit that tastes like sunscreen?”

“Just leave a spot bare —“

“I can’t stand tangerines,” Webster declares, cutting the argument off before it can take root. “Find a better fruit. If it’s pineapples, I’ll consider it.”

“That’s because you, like pineapples, are disgusting.”

Joe suddenly stumbles, bracing himself against the ramp. On reflex, David catches him by the arm — but Joe isn’t falling, apparently, just steadying himself. When David raises his eyebrows, his boyfriend rolls his eyes and brushes him off.

“I’m fine, quit lookin’ at me like that.” A second later, Joe is on the move again. “Just a little jet-lagged.”

To be fair… David did enough research on the motion sickness pills in advance to know they made you drowsy. He just… didn’t look up how long it would last.

By the time they’re collecting their luggage, Joe is lounging on a nearby-bench, half-asleep; David has to haul every suitcase off the conveyor belt on his own. He also has to hail a taxi by himself… and, when they pull up in front of the hotel, with Joe dead to the world against his shoulder, pay for it.

“Come on,” David mutters, dragging his boyfriend out of the car. “Home, sweet home.”

Joe wakes up just enough to blink at him in amazement. “Wow, that was some vacation, Web!”

The bellboy who comes out to greet them blinks at the sight of David, two suitcases braced against one arm, a comatose body against the other. With barely a word of apology, he deposits Joe on the luggage trolley. Joe, who seems delighted with this turn of events, just pulls his legs up.

Hopefully the hotel has a big bed, because it seems like they’ll be spending their first night in Hawaii getting to know it well.

#webgott #so this is 60% just an excuse to write sleepy joe being adorable #20% therapy for my vitrolic hatred of long flights #20% an Actual Thing that happened to me #i went to sleep on the plane that afternoon and woke up at 2am in a puerto rican hotel room #my writing #Anonymous

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

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Cerebus #8 (1979)

This cover doesn't help me remember what this issue is about.

Having only ever read the first half of Cerebus via the collected stories in the Cerebus phonebooks, this is the first time I'm seeing most of the early covers of Cerebus. I probably started reading the monthly issues during "Flight" but had purchased the "Melmoth" back issues. So I'll be getting a lot of new material in the covers and the Aardvark Comments section all the way up through "Jaka's Story." In Note from the Publisher, Deni explains that Cerebus is currently selling 4,000 copies a month. That's four thousand dollars a month! Of course, Dave probably has to sell at half the cover price, so maybe that's more like two thousand. And then there's the expense of paying for your own printing and shipping. I have no idea what that might cost but let's pretend it's another thousand dollars. That leaves Dave and Deni with one thousand dollars per month before taxes and art equipment! And I know I'm being way too optimistic so let's say it's more like $750. In Canadian dollars! That's probably about five hundred American dollars! But then again, this was 1979 dollars and cars were about six thousand dollars back then. You could buy a house for twenty grand. So by Issue #8, Dave was either really starting to make a lot of money or heading toward financial ruin. I'm not sure why I even began this paragraph when I have no idea what I'm talking about. Although, four thousand copies of an independent comic book by the eighth issue? That's good fucking marketing. No wonder Dave Sim became the God of Self-Publishing. In his Swords of Cerebus essay, Dave Sim continues to explain how he was growing as a writer and artist. It's the kind of thing a fan of Sim's work enjoys reading but not the kind of thing that I can make entertaining in a brief synopsis. So fuck off to the next paragraph already. We're done here. At the end of the last issue, Cerebus escaped his battle with a gigantic Black Sun spider god. But he did not escape as unscathed as I maybe led everybody to believe. He was actually bitten and poisoned by the thing and now he's wandering the desert (unless it's the tundra (which is probably a definitive desert but what am I? A reader of The Farmer's Almanac?!), hallucinating and probably dying. Some Conniptin soldiers find Cerebus and take them back to their Commander's quarters. The Commander isn't the main leader of the army; the main leader is some cocaine snorting prince who thinks he's a god. He wants Cerebus made into a bath robe which would mean Cerebus would get the last laugh. Because remember how badly Cerebus' fur smells when it gets wet? Ha ha! That joke was so funny Dave used it five or six times in the Bran Mak Mufin issue. The Captain and the Commander make plans to oust the young Lord and take over the army themselves. But they need Cerebus by morning for their plan and Cerebus isn't healthy enough. So they take him to the army's doctor for a few Star Trek jokes that seem cheesy and overly done (but maybe not so much in 1979? Or is that the whole point of the running joke here? Because it's a tired format that Sim subverts at the end?) but which ends with a pretty fantastic punchline.

To really appreciate this joke, I think you have to remember what the world was like in 1979. If you weren't born or cognizant of the world at that time, I can't explain it to you. It's like trying to explain Ringo's obsession with the hole in his pocket to somebody who has never seen The Yellow Submarine and who also doesn't know who The Beatles are and has also never heard music or seen animation. Yeah, the 70s were that fucking cool.

The Captain and the Commander take Cerebus out later and point him in the direction of a campfire. They tell them the men around the fire drugged him and they should pay. Feverish and sick, Cerebus runs up to the small camp and begins slaughtering the four men around it. He hallucinates that three of them are Elrod and one of them is Sophia. So what the reader learns this issue is that Cerebus is ready to kill all of the other characters of his comic book at a moment's notice. How The Roach and Weisshaupt and Elrod and Rick and Astoria and Cirin last as long as they do is a miracle. Or it's just part of the contrived story. I guess if it were real, it would seem like a miracle. But since this is all written by Dave Sim, it's just the way it was meant to be. I'm not sure what their eventual plan is for Cerebus as this just seemed to be a test. I guess he's their Manchurian Candidate? The four mercenaries Cerebus killed were Hsifan. The Commander and Captain are Conniptin. I have no idea what these things mean. I think Hsifans make really good ninja assassins though so killing four of them is pretty damned impressive.

Like I said. Killing twenty-five Hsifans is pretty damned impressive.

This story highlights one of Cerebus' bigger life problems: he's constantly being pulled into other people's stories. If he's not trying to steal some treasure to get more gold crowns so he can drink more ale, he's slaughtering other mercenaries to get more gold to drink more ale. And when he's not doing either of those things, it's usually because he's gotten caught up in somebody else's story. I suppose that's what you need to expect when you're some kind of prophetic Messiah. Your story has already been told and you're just time's puppet. But — and I think this is the most important part — something about being an aardvark allows Cerebus to tell destiny and fate to fuck off. So quite often, Cerebus just walks away from the story he got sucked in without a care to its resolution. It has something to do with aardvarks being soulless and less with aardvarks being hermaphrodites. Because I think maybe that's just Cerebus. The Commander and Captain want to make Cerebus their new leader because they can't stand the selfish, greedy fops who rule. The Conniptin motto is "Might makes right! Fight, fight, fight!" Which you really can't argue with unless you're a talented fighter. So Cerebus is offered the job which he can refuse if he doesn't mind having his guts spilled on the floor.

Seems like Cerebus' future is pretty cut and dry. If you forget that he's an aardvark.

Cerebus decides he'd rather escape than be a puppet of the Commander. But after knocking out the guard and trudging some way across the snow, he thinks twice. He decides having a warm place to sleep and free food are a better deal than running for his life from vengeful Conniptins. He also likes the idea of leading an army. If you're not into Cerebus as a mercenary captain, don't worry. It won't last more than one issue!

Damn, I'd forgotten about this line. It used to be one of my favorites to quote whenever being offered some payment or reward of some kind. "What's better than X? Mayhap two Xes!"

Fred Hembeck writes in to Aardvark Comment this month as well as, if not as famous as, David R. Wooten. Pretty sure I've seen David's name in quite a few letters pages of DC comics. The Singles Page is a strip by John Barclay called "Small Potatoes!" It's twelve panels of a couple of guys singing "Dude Looks Like a Lady" on, I guess, a street corner. They sing, over and over again, "DooDuckGlackaLayda!" It's social commentary of some sort. I think. Maybe he's just making fun of the repetitive nature of the song, or any song you're forced to hear out in public by buskers and bucket drummers. Who can tell?! Humor was different in 1988 (the Singles Page is only from the Bi-Weekly! That's why the date is different from the comic). Cerebus #8 Rating: A. There's something happening here. What it is ain't a standard comic book. But it's not what a lot of people thought of as an underground comic book. For one, not once has Cerebus walked around with an erect penis. What was this nonsense not being published by DC or Marvel but also not being weird animal porn that is also personal confessional?! I wish I hadn't been so ashamed of purchasing adult material that my mom might raise an eyebrow at but then say nothing at all. One time she cleaned my bathroom where I had a playboy under the sink. Instead of saying anything, she just straightened it up and left it. I couldn't look at her for weeks. Although I was pretty relieved because at least a week before that, I had about twenty Playboys in there! I can't remember why I moved them but at least she didn't know the extent of my wanking! She probably thought, "Oh how cute. One magazine! And the centerfold is an African-American lady. My boy ain't no jerk off racist!" instead of thinking, "How many fucking porn mags does he need? Does he do anything but jerk off? Oh God! I'm not touching anything of his ever again! Plus isn't this copy of Penthouse the one with an underage Traci Lords?! I wonder how much that will be worth in thirty years?" Of course she thought that last thought not realizing that thirty years later, it would be considered child porn. No, I don't own it anymore, you pervs. I threw out all of those porn mags when I went to college because I didn't know where to hide them! Also I was underage when looking at the Traci Lords' Penthouse so it wasn't weird. She was older than me in those pictures!

#Dave Sim #Cerebus

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leoswritingcorner · 4 years

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an oracle in olympus pt. 3

i’m sorry for how long this took, but i’m back at it again! shout out to @headcanonsfromanelfblossom for being my beta and all of you for inspiring me! <3 part 3 of ?

Olympus, the home of the gods. Mighty and grand, and in all its splendor!

...basically looked like something out of a vintage Aspen postcard. There was no plumes of clouds swirling over golden roads. Chariots and pegasus weren’t racing across the skyline. There wasn’t even a single Corinthian pillar in sight.

Lucky shoves her hands into the pockets of the 90’s print neon windbreaker Lucy lent to wear over her party dress from the night before. The wind is chilly, even for late Summer. She looks around, taking in the sight of the mountain ranges in the distance, and the closer rolling hills lined with pine trees. In the center of it all, a simple looking town laid there.

So far off from what she would draw of Olympus as a kid.

“Luce, just take Avernus Lake Boulevard, it’s the easiest way.” Jamie says, fishing her phone out of a glittery clutch bag.

Lucy shakes her head. “Alkyonian Lake Drive is what I used before, so I’ll use it again.” she argues. She swings the door of her Volkswagen open and looks to Lucky. “Ready?” She calls out. “We gotta hurry, traffic is a killer around the breakfast rush.”

Lucky looks away from the town with a pout. “Olympus is just like Aspen?” She asks a bit disheartened. “That’s another thing, why aren’t y’all in Greece?” She questions, climbing into the car.

In the front seat, Jamie buckles herself in. “We go back, like, now and then. But ever since mortals lost sight and belief in us,”she trails off and shrugs. “We just roam around, but Ran- er, Zeus took a real liking to Colorado so, we’ve been here for, like, the last hundred centuries.” She explains easily.

“Oh.” Lucky says nodding. “Looks like y’all like keepin’ it modern, too?”

Lucy starts up the car, pulling out of the driveway. “Well yeah. You’d expect us to just be in the Bronze Age forever?” She asks back. “We like a bit of modernism, too.”

A sheepish look crosses Lucky’s face. “I guess that makes sense.” She says quietly. Lucy chuckles, catching Lucky’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“But sometimes Zeus feels nostalgic and we’ll have a day or two when this place looks a bit more how it used to.” She adds.

It would have been a quiet ride into town if it hadn’t been for a Gary Newman song blaring on the speakers.

Lucy taps her fingers in beat to the song on the steering wheel. Jamie’s own fingers tap rapidly the screen of her phone. Lucky leans up slightly, catching a glance of the name of who she was texting ‘A❤️💖 💝💘💗💞💕💓😍’

Smiling slightly Lucky slumps back down. ‘A’, she had a slight idea who that might have been. Absently, her hand lifts up and her fingers brush the lines of the splotchy birthmark on her chest.

What if she really was some reincarnated oracle from Ancient Greece?

‘No.’ Lucky pushes away the thought. ‘No, I am not Tyche. I’m Lucky.’

For the briefest and scariest second, a sense of uncertainty fills her.

‘Aren’t I?’

“So.” Lucky speaks up to stop her thinking from going any further. “Y-Y’all have mentioned some guy named Clyde. Who is he?”

The song comes to an end and finally silence fills the car.

Lucy draws out a long “Uuuhhh…”

Jamie pats her friend’s shoulder a few times as if to reset her. “He was, like, a good friend of Tyche.”

“He was a really good friend of hers.” Lucy adds, her voice dipping a little at ‘really’.

Before Lucky could respond, Jamie claps her hands. “Oh, let’s stop at Tweek’s!” She suggests. “We need to, like, make change and I could go for, like, some pastries.”

Lucy nods, flipping on the turn signal. “Good idea.” She agrees. They pull into a small plaza that sits nestled in the shadow of a mountain. Lucky leans forward, peering from between Lucy and Jamie. She hadn’t even noticed they passed by the town and were nearing a mountain range, a more shadowy looking one of all of them. Lucky starts to feel a heaviness grow in the pit of her stomach as they cruise by various shops in the rundown plaza.

‘Grief Counseling by Penthos’ read one sign. Next to it, another sign read ‘Geras’ Old Age Vintage Shop’. Lucy pulls up to the end of the shops, passing into a drive through. ‘Tweek Bros Coffee’ was painted across the window, the word ‘Curae’s’ had clearly been scraped off.

Rolling down the window, Lucy leans out as a static voice yelps from the drive thru.

“Gah! H-How can I help you?”

Lucy lifts her sunglasses. “Hey, Tweek. Give me and Jams our usual, please.” She orders. Turning to Lucky, she asks. “Want anything?”

“Uh.” Lucky blinks. “N-No. I think I’m okay. Don’t have much of an appetite right now.”

Lucy shrugs, calling back out. “And that’ll be it.”

“Y-Your total is f-five dollars. Aw, jeez!” The voice exclaims. Lucy zooms around the corner and plucks the ten dollar bill Jamie hands to her. At the window, a young man with wild blonde hair stands twitching and trembling.

“How’s it going, Tweek?” Lucy asks politely, taking the cups of beverage and bag. Tweek shakes, looking over his shoulder.

“Awful!” He cries. His head twitches and his eyes shut tight. “Pete!” He points to one of the shops in the plaza. “He’s going to kill me and take my shop, I just know it!” The girl follow his finger to look to the store front simply marked ‘Phobos’ where a sullen young man with dark hair stood, staring right at them.

Unblinking. Unmoving.

All three grimace and look away.

“I’ll try and talk to him.” Lucy offers. “We’re gonna see Cherry, Tweekie. Can I get coins as my change?”

“Rrgh.” Tweek replies, taking the money. He fumbles with the register before dropping three silver coins into Lucy’s hands. “Here!”

“Thanks, Tweek.” Lucy says sweetly. She gives a wiggly-fingered wave and drives off. Lucky finally finds her voice.

“That...that was Curae? Anxiety?” She asks, her voice pitching slightly. Lucy sips at her drink.

“Mmhm. Not a lot of mortals know that.” Lucy nods, making a check shape in the air with her finger. “Another point for the reincarnated Oracle!”

Lucky scoffs. “I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in Classical Studies, majoring in Greek Mythology. I’m also working on earning my PhD in the field as well. And!” She lifts her pointer finger. “I was just hired as a docent at the Denver Art Museum heading the Greek Mythos exhibit so…” She makes an exaggerated air check mark. “Point for Lucky Siddalee Day, girl who worked her ass off in college!”

Lucy and Jamie peer at each other.

‘Nerd’ Lucy mouths.

Lucky folds her arms over her chest, looking out the window as the mountain comes closer as the Volkswagen drives on. “But, um, those names back in that plaza.” She says hesitantly, pointing over her shoulder “Those...guys are the ones you’d kinda meet before…” Lucky trails off, unsure if she wants to even think of finishing the sentence she was about to speak.

The looming shadow of the mountain covers the car. Lucky looks out the window and feels her heart leap into her throat.

An immaculate sign made of white stone greets them. It’s black letters carved meticulously, into it, reading;

Welcome to Underworld Co.

A cool chill seems to settle over the Volkswagen as they drove further down into the cavern of the mountain. Any traces of the sun vanishes completely, and only the light of torches lit with flames guide them along. Rows and rows of cars occupy the parking spaces; cars ranging from decade to decade. Lucky swears she sees a Rolls-Royce 10 hp as they drive by.

Lucy turns the steering wheel left, then right, then left again. “Dick!” She exclaims when a wall comes up. Lucky blinks and rubs her eyes. Was that wall there before? Lucy shares a few choice swear words in modern English and ancient Greek as she throws the car into reverse.

Again, she turns left, then right...right one more time. Jamie shakes her head as another wall seems to magically appear. Lucky looks around. “What is all this?” She asks, ignoring Lucy’s agitated grumbling.

Jamie looks over her shoulder to her. “Parking garage. If Lucy, like, took, Avernus Lake Boulevard like I told her, we would’ve had valet parking.”

“Jamie.” Lucy rolls her eyes. “The last time I used valet, the harpies practically tore my car to shreds. And- aha!” Lucy veers the car to a sharp left into an empty spot. “See? Barely took us even twenty minutes.”

The three climb out of the Volkswagen and Lucky looks around the parking garage. It was a maze. Literally. The ramps shifted and turned, while walls appeared and vanished. A car zooms by them and screeches as the road turns and sends it crashing into a dead end. Lucy winces. “Hope they got insurance.” She comments lightly. The three avoid more cars speeding by and make their way to an elevator.

A wispy ghostly figure of a man is there to welcome them as the elevator doors slide open. Lucky yelps, covering her mouth. He turns his head and Lucky winces when she sees the gruesome way he met his end, with a long slash stretches across his throat. Lucky is sure her chest is pulsing visibly with each pound of her heart. Jamie easily catches her from tumbling off the curb.

“Going down?” The ghost asks politely. Lucy nods, as they step in. She passes a silver coin to the ghost who smiles. “Ah, going way down. Elevator Styx to Main Lobby!” It calls out, cranking a lever. The doors seal shut behind them, and Jamie grips onto the railings, bracing herself. Lucy does the same and looks to Lucky.

“Better hold on tight.” She warns.

Lucky isn’t sure what is more terrifying, the elevator plunging downward or the sound of the muzak cover of Lady by Styx blaring over the speakers. Either way, her screams echo the entire way down.

Lucky can barely appreciate the Corinthian columns she thought she would have seen earlier. She clings tightly to Lucy’s arm as they walk down the hallways of white marble walls accented with ebony and gold designs.

It was all so elegant, and yet, so cold.

“Oh, poor Lucky.” Jamie says, gently trying to push down the curls of Lucky’s hair that stuck up on end from the elevator ride. “It’s, like, taken me over, like, a thousand years to get used to that drop. Are you going to be alright?” She asks

Lucky nods. “J-Just waitin’ for my soul to catch up with my body.” She replies weakly.

A high pitched nasally voice speaks up as they step into the main lobby. “Welcome to the Underworld Co, what d’ya want?”

Lucky jumps, and looks up to catch sight of a harsh looking woman sitting at the front desk. Her hair seemed to slither, but not with snakes. Her skin was a pale grey and her hallowed eyes stare the three visitors down, as if they interrupted something very important.

“I said.” Comes her nasally voice again. “What. Do. You. Want.” She bites out, pointing her nail file at them with each word. “All My Demigods is on and you’re wasting my time!”

“Hey, Erinyes, um, One?” Lucy greets. The woman’s eyes seem to darken more. “Two.” Lucy corrects herself quickly. The woman relaxes a bit and goes back to filing her claws. “We need to see Cherry.”

Erinyes Two snorts. “Yeah? You and half of Olympus and the Mortal World. You’ll need tah schedule a meeting with the boss like everyone else.”

Lucy frowns slightly. “Listen, can you just tell her that Dionysus and Aphrodite are here to see her?”

At that Erinyes Two gasps over dramatically and puts a hand to her chest. “Oh, we have name-dropping gawds here! I’ll get right on that!” She nods. Lucy narrows her eyes as Erinyes Two smirks. “Sit down, wino-head. I’ll see if the boss can squeeze you in.”

Lucy takes one, two, and three breaths as Jamie guides her away from the front desk and to the waiting area. The chairs- actually, chaises were comfortable at least. Lucky sits down between Lucy and Jamie. Lucy sat nearly seething.

“I can’t stand dealing with Erinyes. Any of them.” She says, snatching up a magazine titled “Better Hearth and Home”. Across the room a wide screen flat TV showed the scene of a gorgon woman, slapping a Minotaur across the face.

Erinyes Two cackles. “He had that comin’” She says mainly to herself.

Lucky sits back. Lucy wasn’t kidding when she said that Olympus was keeping up with modern times, maybe even a bit more advanced. A wisp of another ghost floats down the hallway, a woman who appeared to be from another time and age, followed moments later by a man who looked like he stepped out of a 1950’s movie set. At the desk Erinyes Two sighs dreamily as he passes.

Lucky’s jaw drops slightly and she turns to Jamie. “Was that…?” She whispers in astonishment.

Jamie glances up from her phone and nods. “Yeah, that’s him.” She replies, there’s almost a hint of a sigh in her voice as well. “Who knew a ghost of a mortal would be such a star here in Olympus too?”

Another hour passes and Lucky begins to feel restless. There’s only so much daytime television that one can watch, in the Mortal world and Olympus. She feels like she’s read through all the magazines on the table; Demeter’s Fine Gardening, Chronos, Olympus Weekly. But Lucy and Jamie seem barely fazed by the dragging of time. That must’ve been one of the perks of being a goddess.

A loud banging of a door opening wide shakes the room. Erinyes Two jumps and stands at attention. “Good Afternoon, sir.” She greets politely. Any and all traces of the rudeness that she had greeted them with early disappeared entirely.

Lucky leans forward to see a man coming in. As wide as he was tall. He wore a black suit, designed with tiny floral prints of blood red roses, and twisting green stems. If one looked quick enough, hints of skulls could be caught between the prints of flowers. Was...was this Hades?

“Ooooh Koooore.” Lucy sing-songs teasingly, standing up.

At that, the man blisters and whips his head around towards them. There’s an angry color on his cheeks as his eyes narrow.

Oh. Oh no. Oh no freaking way.

Lucky giggles in disbelief, and covers her mouth to hide the sound. It’s too late, Persephone heard her.

“Who the hell are you?” He demands, storming over. Lucky stumbles, dropping her purse as she goes to stand up. Persephone is before her, practically towering above Lucky. There’s a light scent of flowers followed quickly by almost metallic smell. Lucky holds her breath and peers up at him.

Persephone pauses, his eyes widening slightly before his steely glare returns. “I said who the hell are you? Speak up, mortal!” He snaps- literally snapping his fingers with each word.

“Oh come off it, Kore.” Lucy cuts in, gently tugging Lucky away from his imposing figure. “Where’s Cherry?”

Persephone grunts in frustration. “Stop callin’ me that, you dumb drunk. Did you come here just to bother me?”

“Dear.” Comes a new voice. Soft and light. It’s spoken in a tone almost above a whisper, but it carries so well across the marble walls. At the voice, Persephone’s anger melts away, replaced with a charming smile and light in his eyes.

“Darling.” He calls back. “Your friends came to visit, seems they brought us another stray.” He shoots them a secret look, just before a woman comes around the corner.

Lucky stares in awe of the god of the underworld. Hades.

The very picture of elegance in a black dress of lace and satin, designed to match her lover’s; twisting patterns of vines and skulls. The red curls of her hair twisted carefully into a pilat crown.

Her gaze is slow, careful, and observant as she looks over Lucky. In that moment, Lucky isn’t sure if she should bow or curtsy. Or faint. That’s what she really felt like doing.

“Cherry.” Lucy greets, smiling. She’s standing by Lucky now, hanging an arm over her shoulders. “This is our new friend. We need your help.”

Persephone makes an agitated grunt. “You know we don’t spare mortal souls.”

“Eric.” Cherry says. So that was his name. Lucky thinks it suits him a bit more than Persephone. However, Persephone did have it’s darker meaning. Cherry gives her husband a gentle smile. “You are right. We do not spare souls so easily, however, she is not dead.” Her eyes look to Lucky again.

Lucky smiles weakly. “Well, guess ya wouldn’t be the ruler of the underworld if ya didn’t know that.” She jokes, hoping to ease the growing tension. Eric seems to bristle again.

Cherry doesn’t laugh, but her smile doesn’t falter either. “What is your name?” She asks.

“It’s…” Lucky begins. Her tongue nearly betrays her when she feels the letter T forming on her lips. “Lucky.” She says quickly. “It’s Lucky. That’s my name.”

At that, Cherry lifts her eyes to Lucy and Jamie. Lucky doesn’t see the way the two goddesses nod.

Jamie speaks up. “Cherry, do you think, like there may be a chance, like, she could be…”

Cherry turns her stunned gaze back to Lucky. “Tyche.” She says in a whisper.

Eric’s eyes grow wide. His body seems to freeze on the spot. He barely hears the way Cherry asks the three visitors to follow her to the Archive Room. He watches the short brunette follow after them. It could not be her. He regains feeling in his body and finally his brain begins to think again, saying the first thought that came to him.

“Oh, shit.”

The Archive Room is not unlike any other office space. Save for the floor to ceiling filing cabinets, long ladders and winged monsters soaring back and forth.

Lucky sits across from Cherry, watching as the goddess takes a box from one of the monsters, nodding her thanks. “I apologize for the mess.” Cherry says. “We are beginning to go...digital.” She finishes with a sigh.

Eric is not too far, drinking a large cup of mead. “It’s going to really help us be more organized and keep track of all these souls and more.” He points out. “It was my idea.” He adds grinning.

Lucy snorts. “Humble as always.”

Eric shows her a view of one of his fingers in a quick motion.

“These are the T files. Tyche’s name should be here.” Cherry’s fingers barely seem like they even graze the tips of the file tops. Lucky glances to Jamie and Lucy nervously. They smile back to her, and Jamie takes her hand, giving it a small squeeze.

“Don’t worry.” Jamie assures her.

Lucky watches as Cherry wordlessly scans the file from top to bottom. Her eyes moving in a swift but steady motion. Eric downs his mead and swallows loudly, watching the scene closely.

Cherry inhales sharply, her movements coming to a halt. “I do not...understand.” Cherry says. “Tyche is not listed here.”

“What?” Lucy, Lucky and Jamie all blurt out at once.

Eric is quick, he comes to Cherry’s side and takes the file box in his arms. “We’re in the process of going digital remember?” He points out. “Maybe her file was just taken out of order.”

Lucy doesn’t seem to accept the answer. “She has a mark. The one mortals carry if their souls return.”

Cherry opens her mouth, but Eric is the one to reply. “That rarely ever happens. Even then it takes a mortal nearly thousands of centuries of penance.” He explains quickly. “Your friend is...just some coincidence.”

“Yeah, I think we came here to talk with Cherry.” Lucy growls. “You know, the actual ruler here?”

Eric’s face goes red. “What makes you so sure about her anyway?!”

Lucky shoves away from the table, and stands. All eyes turn to her as she snatches the windbreaker up, “If no one has answers. I want to go home. Oracle or not.” She says. With a swift turn, she storms out of the room.

Jamie and Lucy begin to follow before Cherry lifts her hand to stop them. Wordlessly, she follows after Lucky.

Lucky leans against the wall, her head tilted back. Her eyes trace the patterns of gold traced through the marble. She counts to ten and closes her eyes. Still a strong unease racks her body.

What and why the hell was this happening to her?

This week began so, well, normally. Now all of a sudden…

“Dear, will you be alright?”

Lucky gasps and opens her eyes. Cherry is standing beside her. There’s a concerned look on her face. “I am sorry about everything that happened back there.” She continues. “I can only imagine how overwhelmed you may be feeling.”

Lucky grunts. “I am beyond overwhelmed.” She mumbles, crossing her arms. “Nothin’ is makin’ sense anymore. In the span of nearly 24 hours, I feel like I’ve been thrown into a bad dream I can’t wake up from. Suddenly, I can’t stop...doubting who I am.”

Cherry listens carefully. “You are having doubts. Do you feel less like yourself?”

“Ever since I heard Tyche.” Lucky sighs. “Tyche...Tyche. Lucky…” She pushes a hand to her head. “I can’t be some ancient oracle. It’s just ain’t possible.”

“Yet, you are here. The Underworld, Olympus…” Cherry says, motioning around. “Lucy says you are clear of drunkenness.”

Lucky laughs dryly. “My stars how I wish I was.” She rubs her arms and looks around the hallway before looking back to Cherry. “Do ya think I’m...I could be her?”

“It is possible. Yet, I would not understand how. Eric may be...severe. But he is correct. The way souls can return is quite rare.” Cherry explains. “However, something does present itself as odd.”

Right, the whole issue of Tyche’s name being missing. Maybe her file was replaced or lost in the transition. Lucky hums and closes her eyes.

“There is a way.” Cherry speaks up. “If you truly wish to find out if you are Tyche or not.”

Lucky looks to her again. “How?” She asks.

“Drink from the River Mnemosyne.” Cherry replies.

Lucky breathes in. Of course the River Mnemosyne could help. If she was Tyche, her memories would come back. She’d…

She’d no longer be Lucky.

“No.” Lucky says quickly. “No, no. I can’t” She shakes her head.

Cherry nods in understanding. “I respect that. Yet, you should know...word spreads fast in Olympus. Oracle or not. Your presence here is known.”

Lucky pales as Cherry finishes her warning. She seems every bit of the goddess of the underworld as her eyes seem to darken and her voice sends trembles through Lucky’s very bones “Some gods and goddesses will be eager to know the truth, my dear. Take care.”

Lucky breathes in the scent of her apartment. Cinnamon and worn books.

It’s so comforting.

Jamie thinks so as she lounges across the couch. “I’ve never stayed a whole night in the mortal realm in, like, years!” She says happily. “Or been to a sleepover!”

Lucky rolls her eyes and presses the popcorn button on the microwave. “Let’s not make it a habit.” She says. Lucy opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of root beer.

“I can make this wine, you know.” She offers. Lucky goes green slightly at the memory of the night before. Lucy shakes her head. “I guess not. Hey…”

“Hm?” Lucky prompts, fishing in a cabinet for a bowl.

“I’m sorry.” Lucy apologizes. “I got a bit extra with Eric and the news. Also, kidnapping you to Olympus.” She adds sheepishly. Lucky turns to Lucy and smiles slightly.

“Thank you.” She says, coming up to Lucy. “Promise you’ll ask me next time? And...keep helping me find out the truth? Slowly.”

Lucy grins tugging Lucky into a tight hug. “Promise.” She says. Lucky laughs, pulling away as the popcorn finished. They all pile onto the couch with Jamie and start the movie. Back to the Future.

After a while. Lucy lifts her hand. A long slender blunt is balanced between her fingers. “So...we’re against getting drunk. But, what about high?”

Jamie and Lucky share a look.

“Oh, what the hell.” Lucky sighs with a shrug. “I may or may not be some reincarnated oracle.”

Lucy lights it up, smiling. “That’s the spirit.”

Lucky sits on the floor and at the TV, the credits rolling. Behind her on the couch, Lucy and Jamie lay deep in their sleep. Their high being slept away slowly. They miss the way Lucky’s green eyes cast a slight glow in the darkness.

“Alas.” Lucky speaks up, her voice distant, reaching across time. “How mistrust will lead to misfortune. A great shadow hovers over Olympus. Ruin and dust shall be the gods kingdom.”

The TV goes dark and Lucky slumps over.

#lucky day #lucy montgomery #jamie jameson #cherry hayes #an oracle in olympus

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fakesurprise · 5 years

Text

One Jaysome Day: midnight

Midnight: Anya

The witching hour starts with silence. I listen, breathe it in. The town has no sirens this late into the evening; even ambulances have gone to rest as I slip out of the bed as quietly as I can. I’ve slept clothed for months now, so this would not have drawn attention. I didn’t unpack either travel bag this morning; I don’t think he noticed that. Sometimes, it’s impossible to say what he does notice.

He sees too much, but not in the way we do. I take a breath, another. Calm is important. Nothing to wake him. Nothing to get his attention. We won’t get away if he’s awake. We might not get away at all. One backpack. One duffel bag. My entire life for several months now compacts so quickly. It means everything. It means nothing.

I open the door to my motel room. The moon is a sliver of regret in the sky. Enough to see by. I close the door and lock it, not that such things matter. Seven steps brings me to the door of Noah’s motel room. He opened it before I even knock; everything he has fits into just the one backpack; some of that is because he cheats when packing it.

He nods to me wordlessly and steps out, closing and locking his own door. We make our way quickly; shadows won’t matter. Neither would stealth. One can’t hide, not from him. But he should be sleeping. An hour, perhaps two. Enough time to get away, if we can at all.

The woman at the motel front desk had been reading a book when we first arrived. She isn’t anymore. Just sitting straight up in his chair, scanning the cheap cameras the owners gave the night manager to watch things. There is a twitch under her left eye. We hand our keys in. She takes them, hands shaking a little.

“The car belongs to my son,” she whispers. “I was just borrowing it. He –.”

“Racing stripes do mean a car should go on fire whenever you want,” I say. “It might be best if you never tell your son this is possible.”

“The car will be faster, even after being fixed,” Noah offers softly.

The night manager nods, offers a glassy smile. “I was told it wouldn’t fly. Despite what the boy claimed.”

I nod. He will hear his name; this has been risk enough. I thank her and we leave, heading through a parking lot lit by only two working lights. The car the night manager drove in rumbles, the racing stripes on it glittering in the darkness still.

We make it past without incident, walking quickly to the town’s lone inconvenience store that’s open all hours. They don’t have anything like a taxi service, but I talk to the older man behind the counter and two hundred dollars gets someone he knows to arrive in under five minutes and drive us to the airport; it’s an hour normally. We’re paying for speed, which is almost ironic given the car we left behind in the motel.

I don’t think this means he knows we’re trying to leave. It’s impossible to know. I do all the talking with Raoul, who drives us to the airport. Noah gives the man at the store a fifty; we’ve made sure to get a lot of cash from our credit cars the last few days. We couldn’t prepare too far ahead. Couldn’t even plan properly, not without risking being caught.

Raoul drives us in silence to the airport; two hundred dollars gets that, and him speeding the entire way. I use my talent, just a little, to push him toward that. I can hurt people; the glamour about me hides that a little, but not entirely. Raoul is scared, without knowing why, and pushes the speed limit of the car that moves faster than he is aware of.

Noah just sits beside me, focused on the vehicle. His talent lets him push and pull at things. He doesn’t talk, and not just because he’s shy. He has enough freckles for four people, but I know him well enough to know he’s pale under him, can judge the tone of his silence. He’s scared we won’t get away. Scared of what might happen once we’re missed.

I squeeze his right hand gently in understanding. That wins an almost smile and nod. We both understand that this might not work. We’re trying not think about what we risk by doing this.

“We’ll need to drop the glamours the fae gave us entirely at the airport,” Noah says softly.

“You think so?”

“Governments are paranoid, and we’re going into another country. Something would notice.”

“It might make it harder for him to find us,” I offer.

Noah doesn’t even respond to that. Neither of us believe it; it slipped out of me like a prayer might have. Not that I have any of those to offer. I’ve seen Charlie talk to gods. I’ve seen her eat them. I don’t think there is a single god that could help us, and nothing we could pray to that would stand against him.

Not that he would ever understand it if they tried.

I almost force Raoul to drive faster, but Noah squeezes my hand back in turn. Three years of friendship and some tight situations have let him read me just as easily. We’re both terrified. We can’t say way.

He’ll wake up if we speak his name, maybe. Probably show up if we say it. If he wanted to be in this impromptu cab, not a single thing in the universe could actually stop him. Not that he believes that. Charlie keeps him in line. The wandering magician does even more, often without seeming to. He listens to us, but only to a point.

We’re not the centre of his world.

But we are his friends.

And he may not understand why we can’t travel with him anymore.

The woman at the motel was shaken out of herself by a mere conversation. By a little help. We’ve travelled with him for months on end. At some point it became too much for me. I didn’t even notice how bad it was for Noah until he asked for a drink as well. Noah doesn’t drink, for reasons that make a lot of sense given his talent.

I drink despite mine. And because I needed to take the edge off of – him, off of adventures, off of the barely contained chaos our lives had become.

“He won’t understand.” I whisper as we see airplanes, the airport coming into view as more than a wish.

“Charlie has left travelling with him before,” Noah says. “She told us about that. Several times.”

He probably knows exactly how many, and when. Having a step-father who is an ex-secret spook for the Metric Commission and a step-mother who is an ex-magician is some of why he pays attention so well. I think the rest is just Noah. Right now it helps.

I nod, and our ride ends ten minutes later outside the airport. It is two planes to get home. So much could go wrong, especially if he decides to find us. Or to help us. Or has questions to ask.

But we can’t turn back. If we do, we won’t leave until – I shake the thought away. He’s not a monster. He’s our friend.

But he isn’t human, for all that’s it’s hard to remember that.

Raoul gasps as we let go of our glamours; I exit the vehicle first, and Raoul does not even try to ask for a tip. I could make every single person in this airport hit the ground in pain, and people know that without knowing why.

Noah’s glamour hides his face, and despite the danger and menace about me, it’s Noah Raoul is focused on.

The freckles are one thing. Noah also has enough acne for several other people; it’s definitely better than when I first met him. He’s been using the ones he was given, and bought more.

It has been a few weeks since I’ve seen him without the fae glamour. “It is getting better.”

“Thank you,” he says, and we head into the airport to print off tickets and get on the plane.

And try, as hard as we can, to not think of him at all.

This isn’t escape. This is just a break. We’re both telling ourselves that.

I have no idea if we believe it.

#writing #prose #magician series #one jaysome day

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

How Far I'll Go - Chapter 3 (Nina West/Monet X Change) - Meggie, Mia Ugly

A/N: They aren’t REALLY writing an entire season of All Stars, are they?

Thanks to everyone who’s been reading/liking this so far, as well as the Branjie discord for being awesome on the daily. This is a long chapter, almost 10k, so settle in. The link to the original song will be posted later today; I wish I could say that was a joke but it isn’t.

Chapter Three - Heart ablaze, banners high

“Hey y’all. I’m here to show you how the West was won.”

Nina struts into the Werk Room, poses briefly with his hands on his hips before firing a round of bubbles into the air. The first thing he hears is “Bitch!” in Vanjie’s unmistakable voice. After he crosses the floor to meet the other queens, Vanjie is the first one to hug him.

“Yaaas!” Vanjie says with his arms around Nina’s neck. “Come through, girl.”

Nina introduces himself/has a small meltdown over the other queens. Asia O’Hara is perfection on legs, dressed in a very short, sexy caterpillar costume which shouldn’t work but does. Blair St. Clair has ditched the Broadway baby look for full-on seventies supermodel. Nina Bo’nina Brown is padded for the gods and serving I Dream of Jeannie realness. She and Vanjie are all over each other; Nina had forgotten how hilarious they are when they’re together. Also there, also sickening, is Shea Coulee (Nina resists the urge to immediately kiss the crown goodbye. This queen, this fucking queen).

The next through the doorway is Laganja Estranja (“Is it four-twenty up in hurrrrrr?” DEATH DROP) who hasn’t changed. At all. Following her is Ivyyyy Wiiinters who is - a lot hotter in person than Nina expected. He knows he should be strategizing already but he’s so overwhelmed and grateful to be back in the game that it’s hard not to feel anything but excited.

He needs to put himself inside the head of - someone like Brooke. Brooke would have clocked everyone’s weak spots by now, would be thinking about who he’d want on his team and who the first girl home was going to be. Nina - frankly hasn’t got a clue. It won’t be him though, it absolutely cannot be him.

The next queen to enter the room is - oh.

Lovely.

Miz Cracker. Fan favourite and smart as hell. Nina smiles at her, hoping that whatever happened at Drag Con was a one-off. Cracker looks past him like he’s wallpaper, even as she shrieks and laughs and hugs all the others.

Not good, Nina. He can already feel the weight of rejection on his chest. It’s stupid, problematic, and familiar. That need to be liked rises to the surface any time he feels insecure or out of his depth. Like now. Now is exactly that time, and it’s also the time he should care about making friends the least.

Head in the game, he tells himself. It’s not RuPaul’s best friends race.

There’s only one queen left to arrive. Nina watches Vanjie watching the doorway, waiting for the last entrance. Nina has a couple predictions in his mind, but nothing he’d feel confident betting money on.

And then -

“Oh bitch.” Vanjie exhales sharply. “Fuck.”

Because Brooke Lynn Hytes has strolled through the door, wrapped in black and red studded straps, reminiscent of his Orange Alert runway and the bondage fantasy from the finale. It’s full on dominatrix mode, right down to the black stilettos and riding crop in his hand. It’s a look and the bitch is turning it, but… God, Nina feels bad for Vanjie. Because apparently, even the happiest exes alive don’t share everything.

All the color is gone from Vanessa’s face.

“You didn’t… He didn’t tell me either,” Nina says softly, but he knows it isn’t enough. If this surprise hurts him this badly, he can only imagine what it feels like for Vanessa.

Vanjie shakes his head and studies the floor until Brooke makes his rounds to greet everyone. Brooke embraces Nina tightly (and okay, Nina loves him, is happy to see him) but pauses in front of Vanjie, as if unsure of what to do. Vanjie bristles a little before pulling himself upright and stretching his arms out to Brooke.

The cameras are on and they are both professionals.

They hug, but Nina can feel the tension between them, and wonders if the rest of the queens can as well.

It’s going to be an interesting season for sure.

He doesn’t have time to speak again, however, because the door opens and Ru’s voice rings through the Werk Room. “Hello, hello, hello!”

Everyone cheers, but Nina’s smile feels a bit false. He’s got to put this whole thing with Brooke and Vanjie to the side; he’s here for himself, not to be a supporting character in their story. Focus, Nina.

“Welcome to All Stars! My darlings!” Ru comes down the stairs, smiling. He’s dressed in a powder blue suit with tiny feathers printed on it and looks exactly like he did when Nina last saw him.

“When I look across this room at all your beautiful and familiar faces, only one word comes to mind: security!”

The camera crew moves in to catch the queens all laughing. It’s kind of scary how quickly you get used to it, the scurrying motion of people and technology like insects. Nina chuckles like he knows he’s supposed to, trying not to look at Brooke and Vanjie out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh.” Ru mimes getting a note in his ear piece. “You’re all supposed to be here? Even better! To recognize the charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent that got you past the metal detectors, I’m throwing the event of the season and your first maxi challenge: an All Star Talent Show Extravaganza!”

Nina knew this was coming. He’s ready for it.

“But - there’s one more thing.”

Nina feels Vanjie reach down and grab his hand, nails digging into his wrist. Ru makes a show of counting the girls up, and Nina’s heart fucking drops.

“Ten queens. That’s a nice even number, but - as it is All Stars Season five, I think we’ve got room for some more. Oh laaaadiiies!”

One of the side doors opens, and Vanjie starts murmuring, “no no no no,” under his breath. Nina doesn’t even have the time to imagine who might be coming in before - Chad Michaels? - steps through the door. He’s not in drag, looking ageless and wiry in a faded t-shirt and jeans.

“Hi Chad!” Ru exclaims, fake-surprised and delighted. “So nice to see you! Did you come alone?”

“Not since the Uber. Oh! You mean -” Chad glances back at the doorway. “I’m sorry, I tried to lose them.”

“Hiiiiiiiieeeee!” Alaska sticks his head out.

The queens around Nina lose their collective shit, jumping up and down, snapping and cheering. Alaska is followed by Trixie fucking Mattel (out of drag like the others, looking adorable in a vintage cowboy shirt and bolo tie. Nina might have tears in his eyes all of a sudden - but look away, it’s fine).

Clearly, the winners of previous seasons are back. Which means -

Fucking hell, don’t -

Shit.

Trinity the Tuck comes through - followed by Monet Goddamn X Change.

The room erupts in cheers. Nina immediately glances away, but he’s not fast enough to avoid the fact that Monet looks objectively -

Monet looks -

Great. Obviously. Smiling in his round teal glasses and a sweatshirt covered with roses (Nina always had a weakness for thick-rimmed glasses, it’s his tragic flaw, it doesn’t mean anything). He carefully keeps his focus on Vanessa, makes a ridiculous “O” of surprise with his mouth, instead of risking eye-contact with the handsomest man in the room (who was also probably the best sex Nina’s had in an unfortunate length of time and whose number he never called and -)

Enough, Nina. Do some mindful breathing or something.

Monet and Trinity play up the jealous sibling angle as they cross the floor, holding hands while getting into each other’s space and jostling for attention. They come to stand in a line up beside Ru, who looks them over.

“Y’all look different than I remember. What is it? Oh right, you’re old.”

There’s laughter but it’s a bit weak. Clearly none of the competing girls have any idea what’s going on. Nina doesn’t think Ru would throw five new queens into this season, but - worse things have happened. And the returning queens aren’t in drag. They look good, though - some of them look extremely good and… probably taste like mint and… Jesus Christ, get it together.

“For the first time in All Stars herstory, I thought I’d give you girls a little professional help. ‘Cause from where I’m standing, you need it.” Ru gestures to his returning queens. “Ladies, for this season, each of you will be matched with one of our reigning All Stars. Now, these All Stars are here to act as your mentors only; they will not be competing for the crown. And you will still be judged individually, regardless of how your other teammate performs. As always, All Stars rules do apply.”

Okay, okay, this situation is still salvageable. They’re here to act as mentors, Nina can handle that. She’s not going to have to go toe to toe against Monet in some sort of horrifying lip-sync. They aren’t going to be the Branjie of the season, led to the slaughter for ratings, laid bare at the reunion for the entire world to rub salt in the wounds. It’s okay.

“However. Mentors, if one of the queens on your team wins a lip-sync, you will receive a cash tip of five thousand dollars.”

Nina wonders how long is too long to look at Vanjie. It’s probably been too long already - he’ll look at Ru. There, that’s fine. Just keep your eyes somewhere - safe. And smile. Or don’t smile? What’s the appropriate reaction right now? Nina is missing pieces of this conversation.

“And if a queen from your team is the winner of All Stars Season Five, not only will she win one-hundred thousand dollahs and a spot in the Drag Race Hall of Fame, but you will win a bonus prize of twenty-five thousand dollars. So choose your team wisely - cause some of y’all clearly need the money.” Ru eyes up Chad Michaels, who nods and gestures at his face.

“I won’t say no. All of this is about to expire.”

“Girl, we can tell,” Trinity shouts over at him.

“Oh, I just love these family get togethers!” Ru laughs and clasps his hands together as he studies them all. “But however shall we pick teams?” He presses a finger to his chin as he pretends to ponder the situation.

Nina’s stomach churns, but - Ru doesn’t know. No one knows. Unless -

“A draft!” Ru announces gleefully. “That’s something from sports, I think. Nina West, you know about sports right?” Ru makes a broad-shouldered motion with his hands, and Nina smiles tightly.

“Ask me anything at all about locker rooms.”

“Come find me on the break,” Ru says very seriously. “Now, mentors - each of you will get to choose one queen for your team twice. I think it’s only fair to go in order.”

There’s bickering between the mentors - Trinity and Monet are of course pressed that they’ll have last pick - but Trinity eventually relents, after Monet reminds her that age should come before beauty.

Nina steels himself as the draft starts. He’s never been the kid that gets picked first for anything, and it’s hard not to immediately go back to that middle school shame-place that still lives somewhere in his lizard brain. He just hopes he isn’t picked last. And deep, deep down, he kind of hopes that Trixie chooses him. They’re similar, he’s always thought. Campy, musically inclined. He’d love to learn from her, really pick her brain, score a guest appearance on UNHhhh, where he’d sit with her and Katya and they’d all be best friends and - that’s enough.

Chad makes a show of looking the queens over before he makes his selection and it’s so obvious. “Brooke Lynn Hytes,” he announces with a grin. Of course Brooke’s first.

Brooke claps and smiles, but Nina doesn’t miss the way Vanessa’s eyes roll back in his head. Honestly? He feels kind of the same way.

Alaska chooses Nina Bo’nina which makes total sense. They’re both quirky queens who are all about their brand, and it feels like a good fit.

Trixie’s pick is next. Nina feels himself straighten involuntarily, but Trixie barely hesitates before she trills, “It’s time for Crackerrrrrr!” and holds out her arms to the smaller man.

So that’s - that.

There’s the next round, of course, but does Nina really want to be on a team with a queen that hates him for no apparent reason? He sighs, the tension in his shoulders building. It’s going to be Grade Six kickball all over again.

The Tuck chooses Blair (also not surprising). Then it’s Monet’s turn, and, oh God, he’s looking past Nina, which is… Probably for the best. Definitely. Definitely probably for the best.

Then Monet’s eyes narrow behind his glasses. He crosses his arms over his chest, purses his lips together (and Jesus, what Nina remembers about those lips on his own and wrapped around his - not the time).

“Nina West.”

Nina’s head snaps up. He doesn’t move because - surely this is a joke. But Monet is standing there in front of him, the most neutral expression on his face, watching him.

“That’s you, girl,” Vanjie whispers beside him.

Nina nods. Nods again. He got chosen before Vanjie? In what alternate universe is this All Stars season happening?

He plasters a smile across his lips and walks forward, embraces Monet, plants air kisses on both of his cheeks. (His skin tingles where their faces brush. He should have called. At the very least texted.)

The draft starts from the beginning again while Nina awkwardly frets over what to do with his hands. Chad chooses Shea Coulee (clearly), and Alaska chooses Laganja, which is… Well, it’s a choice, certainly, but Nina believes in giving people second (and third and twentieth, most of the time) chances. Then it’s Trixie Mattel’s turn and she doesn’t pause a second before calling out, “Miss Vaaanjie.”

Nina isn’t jealous. Genuinely, he isn’t. The look on Vanjie’s face when Trixie calls his name is like the opposite of jealousy. Nina can’t help but glance over at Brooke to see if he notices it too (he does. Nina can tell. Brooke thinks he’s being cool but the way his eyes shift when Vanjie smiles is just - it’s kind of sad. And kind of obvious. And it makes Nina wonder why he ever thought he had a chance with this blonde goddess when - the way Brooke looks at Vanjie is something completely different).

Monet hassles Trinity into letting him pick next and is practically vibrating with excitement over drafting Asia O’Hara for his team. Which leaves Ivy Winters, who does not look pressed at all about being chosen last and bounds over to join Trinity and Blair.

“All right ladies. Now you’ll have time to meet with your mentors and plan your act. And tomorrow night, you’ll perform in front of a full house in my All Star Extravagaaaanza! Gentlemen, start your engines. And may the best All Star… win!”

* * *

“Okay, Team X Change. I’mma call you the X-Queens, what do you think? The Tuck is calling her girls ‘The Holy Trinity,’ and we can do better than that.”

Monet has pulled a chair over to Asia and Nina’s stations, which they’ve set up beside each other. Nina is trying to be the least embarrassing version of himself possible. He might regret bringing bubble guns.

“Obviously, I’m Professor X.” Monet gestures to his bald head. “You can be Storm,” he says to Asia (who seems extremely happy about that, and justifiably so). “And you -” He looks at Nina, who swallows anxiously.

“Wolverine?” he manages, and Monet laughs.

“Girl. Nah, you’re a Jean Grey. Just use those powers for good, okay? Don’t want no Dark Phoenix up in here.” Monet smiles but the smile is a bit forced, charming only on the surface. Underneath it, there’s something else. “So what you all thinking for this challenge? I got money on the line, remember that.”

Cool, flawless, beautiful Asia laughs, but Nina’s laugh doesn’t quite squeak out of his throat.

“I’m just going to lip-sync,” Asia says. “What I do best.”

Monet nods. “Yes, I live. I’ve seen you girl. What about you, Nina West?”

Nina was counting on this challenge coming up at some point in the season. He’s got an idea but - he’s not sure how well received it will be.

“I was thinking of maybe doing… magic?”

Asia stares at him.

“Like last season we did a magic show. And I thought -”

“Like real magic?” Asia asks, dubiously. “With wands and shit?”

“Girl! She’s not a fucking wizard.” Monet laughs. “Well, that sounds - unique. That’s something I want to see. You going to cut someone in half or something?”

“Maybe. Depends if I can find a saw.”

“And we already know you can make yourself disappear, so -” Monet stops. He meets Nina’s eyes with a sudden look of panic - but the look is gone just as quickly. So quickly Nina thinks maybe he imagined it, because Monet’s smiling widely again, poised and professional. “So we’ve got a plan. Good job team, mentoring done. Cut the cheque!”

They spend a bit of time talking about Asia’s dance number before splitting up so that Nina can practice a couple of the tricks he’s learned since Season 11. He was feeling pretty confident about it initially, but now that he’s surrounded by some of the most talented queens working today, he’s wondering if it’s too little. Or too much?

Fuck it. He puts on shows for a living, it’s what he does. The judges were in love with his magician character last season. He just has to build on it. And - no shade, of course - but at least he isn’t lip-syncing and dancing to his own single like ninety percent of the other queens seem to be planning. A magic show will stand out. In… some kind of way.

They break for lunch a bit later, lining up at the craft services table. Nina checks in with Vanjie and also tries not to ask too many questions about what Trixie Mattel is like in real life. He was worried he might start fangirling like an idiot when he saw her, but as soon as they called for a break, Trixie made a very intense sounding call on her cell phone (which apparently the mentors get to keep on them) and disappeared.

“She’s good,” Vanjie tells Nina as they eat some sort of lettuce wraps that keep falling apart in their hands. “Though just you try to get her off her phone. She on that grind twenty-four seven, maybe. How’s Monet?”

Um. (Really cute. And sweet. And an astonishing kisser, Nina’s feeling a bit dizzy just thinking about it.)

“Great,” he says.

Vanjie gives him a look.

“That sounded fake as hell.” For all that Vanessa is a terrible actor, he’s pretty good at clocking lies in other people. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Nina stammers. “He’s - it’s great.”

“Why you being all weird and shit? You talking ‘bout him like he’s a snack cracker. It’s great! Kids love it!” Vanjie does his best cool dad impression, and Nina almost chokes on his wrap.

“Oh my God, please stop with that voice.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this voice, ho. I’m -” But before he can say anything else, Brooke comes into the break room. Every muscle in Vanjie’s body seems to stiffen. Nina watches it out of the corner of his eye, a slow tightening of Vanjie’s arms, straightening of his back. Defenses going up.

“I - I gotta have words with your girl,” he says softly. “Catch you later.”

Nina watches him cross the floor to Brooke, watches Brooke’s face go through a weird and painful series of expressions as Vanjie gets closer (hopefearlustlonging).

Those two idiots, Nina thinks, and the thought is so loud in his head that it should basically be telepathy (is that a Jean Grey thing? Or is that telekinesis? It’s been years since Nina dug out his old comic books).

As he scans the room, he accidentally makes eye contact with Monet.

Shit. Abort, abort. Look anywhere else. Pretend that you’ve gone blind.

It’s too late, however, because Monet is nodding at him. Smiling. And oh fuck, oh God, he’s coming over.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the wall beside Nina (who has suddenly forgotten how to eat, is just moving his wrap around on his plate as it falls to pieces). “Can’t wait to see your show tomorrow. Magic!”

He does an impression of Nina’s ridiculous catchphrase, and Nina laughs awkwardly. Nina is doing too many things awkwardly right now; pick another adverb, Mary.

“Feel good to be back?”

“Still, um, getting used to it. But yes.” Just fucking say it, just - get it over with before there are cameras on them again. “Listen, about - that night. The - uh, finale -”

“Girl.” Monet holds up a hand, stopping him from saying anything more. “I get it. I ain’t pressed about it. So just put that outta your head, okay? We’re cool.”

And Nina might be imagining it, but Monet seems - a bit redder than usual. The edge of his cheekbones, the tips of his ears.

Nina looks away.

“Just you focus on the crown, right?” Monet continues quietly. “It’s yours if you want it. I know what you can do.”

The quietness is - unusual. For him. Nina knows Monet as this commanding presence at the centre of every crowd, able to hold court in a packed bar, able to revive a dying audience with a wave of his hand. The weird fragility is a side Nina hasn’t seen before, and he has no idea what to say in response. Silence stretches between them.

And then Cracker runs across the room and throws herself into Monet’s arms.

“Cracks!” Monet cheers. “How you doing?”

“So much for friendship, dick,” Miz Cracker says with a smile as she hugs Monet. “I thought you’d want me on your team for sure!”

“It ain’t my fault Miss Trixie scooped you up, though I can’t blame her.”

“Well, you should have won an earlier season!” Cracker responds with a smack to Monet’s arm. She glances at Nina, looks him up and down with cold brown eyes. “Then you wouldn’t have gotten - stuck with the questionable choices.”

Nina takes a step away, and then another. Pulls a Miss Vanjie, walks backwards until he’s not so up in Monet’s personal space, and Cracker’s weird hostility. Neither of them are distractions he can afford right now. Monet said they were cool. So they’re cool, right? And whatever Cracker’s problem is, Nina’s got to put it out of his head.

He tries. As he rehearses his act on the main stage, he tries. But Cracker is there, too, just out of the corner of his eye. Her head is bent low, talking quietly and intensely with Monet, who looks… Annoyed? Maybe? It could be wishful thinking.

That night, he and Brooke eat cold pizza in Nina’s room (the door is open at the P.A.’s insistence, and Nina feels a bit like a teenager, but whatever).

“You should have told him,” Nina says and Brooke doesn’t even have to ask what they’re talking about. He nods.

“I literally couldn’t.” He repeats Nina’s own words back to him. “If he knew - everyone would know. The moment I stepped into the Werk Room. He’s - both of us are - not the greatest actors.”

“Hmm, not the greatest, bit of an overestimation -”

“Fuck off. You know it’d be obvious as hell. And - I didn’t even think I’d say yes. I kept thinking - but then after the finale, when they asked -”

“So why did you? Say yes. They’re going to make this the Branjie story again, right? Of course they will. Is that what you want?”

“No. I mean - I don’t know.” Brooke pauses. Sighs. “I guess I just felt like I couldn’t say no. He’s fucking furious, by the way.”

“I’m sure he is.” On some level - Nina gets it. He’s glad Brooke’s got another chance, of course he is. Brooke’s perfection and he deserves it. But it’s hard for Nina not to feel like he doesn’t stand a chance with Brooke in the mix. Brooke almost won last time. That last lip sync was so close, it could have been either of them. (Nina might have a theory as to why it wasn’t Brooke, and the fact that Brooke’s sitting across from him in the hotel with Vanessa a few doors down is doing a lot to confirm it.)

“So you said yes because you felt like you had to,” Nina says slowly, “but you already knew Vanjie was coming. You knew I was coming.” (Though Nina doubts that would have affected Brooke’s decision at all.) “Why didn’t you tell them you’d come for the next season?”

Brooke tosses his pizza crust onto the paper plate on the bed and shrugs. “You never know if you’re going to get next season. If I’d said no, they could have written me off, or—”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it. You’re golden. They love you.” He normally isn’t this firm, not with Brooke, but Brooke also isn’t usually this avoidant of the truth. And Nina knows he isn’t getting the truth from the man sitting across from him. It bothers him. He’s good at reading people, great at reading Brooke after a decade-long friendship, but there’s been a boundary up ever since the season ended. Really - ever since he broke things off with Vanjie.

Nina might have been too firm, because Brooke lowers his eyes and shrugs. Starts to shut down. So Nina tries a softer approach.

“Why are you really here, Brooke?”

“Maybe - I’m just tired of always being the first runner-up. Never being enough,” Brooke finally says, and there’s pain there; a real, raw ache that is palpable from the timbre of his voice. “I won Continental and then…” He shakes his head. “First runner up. Always. Almost, but never quite - I just… I thought maybe on All Stars I could…” Brooke meets Nina’s eyes again, gives him a self-deprecating smile. “Show them I’m enough.”

For God’s sake. Nina hugs him, pulls him tight to his chest. “You’ve always been enough for me.”

“Thanks.” Brooke sniffles.

“But, and I need you to hear me very clearly,” Nina says, “even though I love you, you’re going to have to work, bitch. Because I fully plan on sending your ass back to Canada the first chance I get.”

Brooke throws back his head and laughs. “Just try it.”

“Oh, I’ll do more than try. I’m taking the crown this season.”

“Not so congenial anymore.” Brooke is still laughing, so Nina laughs too. And just for a moment, with the cold pizza and laughter between them, he could almost forget that they’re back at Drag Race, back in the (second) most important competition of both of their lives.

That night, when Nina lies in bed with his headphones in - listening to the potential lip-sync song for the next day, not that he’s counting his chickens or anything - he feels like maybe he can do this. Maybe he should be here, even in the presence of all this greatness. Even if - even around - someone like Monet.

(“If I’m shining everybody gonna shine,” Lizzo sings in his ear, and Nina closes his eyes tight. Hopes that he can be shiny enough to stay.)

* * *

The mentors aren’t in the Werk Room the next day, but they’re going to be in the audience at the show. That’s - maybe for the best. For all that he tells himself to focus, Nina is still acutely aware of where Monet is in the room, and it’s - unsettling. He doesn’t need that weird sixth sense distracting him right now. (He’s pretty sure that isn’t a Jean Grey thing.)

He paints in the mirror between Asia and Brooke, only half listening as Laganja and Vanjie’s conversation gradually gets louder and more snarly. There’s something off about Vanessa today. It’s clearly nerves and Nina kind of wishes he could go over there and hug him, but he’s not going to step between Vanjie and Laganja and risk getting an acrylic to the eye.

Nina takes in a few deep breaths, blocks them out, focuses on blending his eyeshadow. Purples into pinks. Pinks into whites. Black liner wings. Thick. Thicker. Thickest.

Then it’s frighteningly quiet all of a sudden, and Brooke is gone from his side.

He shifts his focus in the mirror and sees Brooke holding tightly to Vanessa’s shoulders, speaking quiet words to him. And while Vanjie still looks pressed, still shoots death glares across the room where Laganja has stormed away (and is, naturally, still talking), he isn’t vibrating with rage anymore.

“So use it,” he hears Brooke say softly. “Channel it. Win.”

And Vanjie nods, shrugs out of the hug Brooke tries to pull him into, and walks straight out of the Werk Room.

Brooke returns to the mirror at Nina’s side and heaves a long sigh.

“All good?” Nina asks, gluing on his lashes.

“Sure,” Brooke says with a smile that seems a little forced. “All good.”

When they’re finished painting, the P.A.s come by to grab them, take them to the main stage. Nina is the ninth act up, and so he gets to sit with the audience in the meantime. The mentors are there as well, in full awards-show drag, and it - only knocks him one step backwards when he sees Monet in black sequins. Sheer panels down each side. Purple lipstick.

“Hello, my X-Queens.” Monet smiles broadly as Nina and Asia walk past to find their seats. “Asia, look at you girl! Stunning. And Miss Nina West -”

Nina flinches a bit, not knowing what to expect. He’s going for campy, not glamourous, and compared to Asia - or Monet - well, there’s no comparison. None.

“Gorgeous,” Monet says simply, smile turning soft.

Nina swallows. “You too,” he chokes out through a throat that is suddenly completely dry, the Sahara Desert. He sounds more like Harvey Fierstein than he did during Snatch Game.

Abort, abort. Nina gets away as fast as he can, grabs an empty seat without really caring if it’s his.

“You okay?” Asia asks him, and Nina nods, doesn’t dare try to speak again. He’ll grab some water before his act.

A second later, Vanessa slams into the seat beside Nina, legs folded and arms crossed. Nina gives him an anxious look and decides to risk it.

“What’s going on with you and Laganja?”

Vanjie just blinks his eyelashes.

“Bitch is just running her mouth about shit that don’t concern her, like who gets to come back and when. Shit like that.”

“Oh.” Nina thinks back to Brooke’s hands onVanjie’s shoulders, voice quiet and intent. “Are you all right?”

He hears Vanjie take a deep breath. Sees his chest rise and fall in his peripheral vision.

“I’m gonna use it.” He casts a pressed look over at Nina, pursing his lips. “But don’t tell that blonde bitch I said any of this.”

Which one? Nina wants to ask. Brooke or Laganja?

“Never,” Nina swears, and then the rest of the queens file in beside them and the show begins.

Blair St. Clair is up first, singing. She struts slowly toward the standing microphone in the middle of the stage, dressed like a sixties songstress. As the torch-song instrumental track kicks in, Blair looks up and catches Nina’s eye.

And starts to sing:

“This is awwwwkward.

He’s seen you naked, now you’re on TV.

I’m pretty sure the other queens can see

How obvious you’re being,

Nina…”

Nina - cannot be hearing this right. He looks at Asia and Vanjie beside him, but neither one of them seem to think anything is weird about Blair’s song.

“This is awwwwkward.

You have to work together on this show

Now it’s a countdown ‘til the judges know

That you got drunk and made it awkward…”

Someone has turned on a disco ball, and the stage is covered with spinning flecks of mirrored light. The music picks up, beat growing harder.

“You can’t blame tequila for this.

Blame it all on a kiss.

Blame the night, the mood

The way you were feeling….

You can’t say it was a mistake

Cuz girl I see your hand shake

When you push it down inside you

Though you try you cannot fight the -”

At this point, Blair stretches out her arm, fully pointing at Nina in the crowd, while she takes the melody up an octave.

“Awwwwkward

You thought you left it in the past somewhere

But good God girl don’t let him see you stare

Nina West I swear

You’ll make it awwwkward…”

People are clapping, but Nina hears it coming from another room, as if there are walls between him and the rest of the audience. That couldn’t have been - that wasn’t -

“She kinda all over the place, huh?” Asia whispers to him

Nina has momentarily forgotten how to speak. He tries to clear his throat.

“What was… Um. Her song was called what again?”

Asia laughs. “Girl, I don’t even know. ‘Heathered’ or ‘Flickered.’ Some shit like that. Why, you wanna buy it on iTunes?”

“Not, um. Not ‘Awkward’?” Because he knows what he heard. A song directed right at him. Because his instincts were right and everyone knows what happened the night of the finale.

“No.” Asia narrows her eyes. “Though that could probably be a song about her career since Season Ten. Oh, bitch - ‘Ganja’s act’s up.”

It’s… An act. It’s supposed to be some kind of lyrical dance piece, and Nina knows that Laganja is an incredible dancer, but this is… Well. Not great, to be honest. It’s an excellent distraction from his incoming panic attack, and Nina almost sighs in relief. He can at least do better than this number, if nothing else.

Nina Bo’nina Brown shocks the hell out of everyone when she produces a silver flute from underneath a caftan and skillfully plays a rendition of Sissy That Walk. Ru looks impressed, if maybe a little bored. Nina tries not to bite off his acrylics.

The real wildcard is Ivy because everyone remembers her stilts and everyone remembers her voice, and if it were Nina, he’d sing an aria while parading around on stilts because hey. Work what you’ve got.

But instead they cut almost all the lights, and Ivy performs a shadow puppetry show full of jokes that Nina’s sure he could process if only he wasn’t so damn nervous.

Shea lip-syncs, and fucking slays it just like Nina knew she would. There are three reveals, if he’s counting right. Vanjie’s fingers have gradually tightened around Nina’s wrist, and by the time Shea’s act is over and Vanessa is up, Nina’s fairly certain he has bruises.

Vanjie stands, straightens his silver beaded gown, and sucks in a deep breath. Then Brooke leans forward and fixes a strand of fringe that’s snagged on Vanessa’s pantyhose. Vanjie jerks away like he’s been scalded.

“Break a leg,” Brooke says softly, trying his hardest not to look hurt by the reaction.

Vanjie nods and sets his jaw before marching backstage.

Nina shakes his head, focuses on his own routine instead of the drama playing out in front of him.

Whatever’s happening between Vanessa and Laganja, whatever’s happening between him and Brooke, Vanjie absolutely channels it. Nina can’t remember how many times he’s seen Vanjie perform, but this is unparalleled. It’s like lightning set loose on the stage. He’s a whirlwind of silver beads, white feathers, peach hair, spinning-melding-mixing to the throbbing bass of a Lorde song Nina’s heard but can’t place. Despite his nerves, Nina can’t turn away. Behind him, Brooke is steadily tearing his copy of the lineup into confetti.

That’s a legitimate fucking All Star.

Asia dances the house down, then Miz Cracker has Ru and Michelle hanging onto each other and crying from her standup. Whatever weirdness is going on between Nina and Cracker is beside the point. The bitch is hilarious and that could be a problem for him.

He knows there are acting challenges to come (All Stars is infamous for them), and it would be nice to have Cracker on his side. Whatever this rift is, he needs to mend it and quickly.

So when Cracker comes off stage, Nina reaches for her hand and congratulates her. “You were great!” he says with enthusiasm.

Cracker gives him a terse smile, flips her hair, and takes her seat next to Blair. Nina guesses a terse smile is better than a look of pure vitriol. Progress. Progress is good.

Blair… Blair’s been crying quietly ever since she came off stage. Apparently she’s very upset with her number. To be honest, Nina’s pretty upset with her number also. He knows what he heard. What he can’t figure out is why no one else seems at all shocked about it. (Okay, so maybe Nina might be hallucinating. What’s a bit of light hallucination between friends?)

A couple of P.A.s set up Nina’s props for him while the cameras are resetting. He feels himself spiraling, but shakes his head, refusing to be rattled. He tries to focus on his character, on the challenge that he’s about to fucking slay. He tries to focus on the crown.

But as he walks out onto the stage, blinking at first against the lights, the only thing he can see is the corner of Monet’s mouth, lips curling as he says “Gorgeous,” eyes warm and intent like - like he means it (which he doesn’t, which he can’t, which -)

“Ladies and gentlemen and gentlemen and ladies and gentlemen!” Nina greets the audience.

He takes a breath -

- and by the time he exhales the act is over. He’s walking off stage, hands trembling with adrenaline.

They laughed, right? He’s pretty sure they laughed. Did Ru laugh? He might have. Nina can’t remember most of it.

As he moves on autopilot back to his seat, some of the other queens congratulate him. It couldn’t have been a complete disaster then? He catches Monet’s eye, and Monet smiles. (Nina feels that smile like electricity, running through his nervous system and lighting it up like a Christmas tree.)

Stop it.

Vanjie squeezes his arm when he sits back down. He’s beaming.

“Bitch, it’s over. That’s the show, sis. Cut the cheque.”

“I - really? Thank you, I mean. Really?”

“Don’t be all modest and shit, you must’ve heard the judges laughing. Thought Ru was gonna die, I’m serious. Trixie probably already dialing 9-1-1. Bitch is on that phone enough.”

Nina has no idea what Vanjie’s talking about, but he hopes to God it’s true. Especially because Brooke’s up next, the final act of the evening. (In all honesty, the one that everyone has probably been waiting for.)

The Canadian has gone full Black Swan for this performance, right down to the black feathered pointe shoes and jagged wings that look like they’re protruding out of his skin. As Brooke starts to dance, Nina hears Vanjie swallow.

Sees him look away, turn his head slightly to the left (it’s like the sun, maybe. You’re not supposed to look at it directly or it will blind you).

Brooke’s beautiful and vicious and fatal on stage, and Nina’s pretty sure Vanjie is holding his breath. His hands are clenched together in his lap, knuckles turning white. Nina still feels the ache of Brooke’s beauty sometimes. It comes and goes, especially when he’s been drinking. He imagines that it always will.

He reaches out, puts his hand over top of Vanjie’s. Vanjie flinches in surprise. Then he lets out a quiet breath, and Brooke finishes his routine, falling gracefully to his knees.

Perfect. Flawless. Everyone else here is completely fucked.

“Meh,” Nina whispers in Vanjie’s ear, maybe to reassure himself just as much as Vanessa. Maybe.

But it makes Vanjie laugh just the tiniest bit, and it settles Nina’s stomach, and it’s the least he can do for now.

* * *

He’s lost track of how long they’ve been standing on the runway, but he knows his feet are numb, and he doesn’t think Monet has blinked once. He’s just… looking at him. At all the queens, probably. Clearly.

Shea, Ivy, Asia, and Miz Cracker are all declared safe and sent back to the Werk Room. Nina’s heart sinks a little. He wanted to think he was in the top if Vanjie’s glowing comments meant anything, but he isn’t sure he was better than Cracker. That’s terrifying because if she’s safe that means Nina’s… potentially… not.

But there’s Monet again, smiling at him from the audience. Nina takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the critiques.

“Ladies,” Ru says. “You represent the tops and the bottoms of the week. Now for the judges’ critiques. We’ll start with Nina Bo’nina Brown.”

Michelle says it fell flat. Ru says it was flat. Ross loves everybody and finds the silver lining (literally - Nina’s wearing a pink gown with silver lining). Either way, they aren’t impressed. Nina West relaxes a little.

They gush over Vanessa, and they should. Ross says it’s some of the best work he’s ever seen from him. Ru agrees. Michelle says she’s just so happy to see a dress and not a bikini and cape. And, oh yeah, she tacks on, the dancing wasn’t bad either. Passionate, fiery. This is the Vanjie they wanted all last season and didn’t quite get. (To Nina’s left, Brooke ducks his head, accepts the blame silently.)

Laganja’s critique is the opposite of Vanjie’s. The judges are confused to put it lightly… Offended if they’re being honest. And of course Laganja can’t keep her mouth shut.

“I guess I just don’t understand why some people are getting third and fourth and fifth chances while the rest of us are up here working our asses off–”

“Ain’t none of us getting fourth chances, Mary,” Vanjie interjects, and Nina prays he keeps his cool because after a critique like his, the challenge is as good as won.

“I’m just saying that this is your third season in a row, and it might be oversaturation.” Laganja shrugs.

“That’s a big word,” Vanessa retorts. “Where’d you learn that word?”

“Vanj…” Brooke says quietly, which is maybe the worst possible thing that can happen.

“Don’t.” Vanessa’s voice is low, threatening. “I need you to not talk to me right now.”

Brooke physically wilts, collapses in on himself. Nina focuses on the spot on the wall just above Michelle’s head.

“Moving on,” Ru says and diplomatically ends the conversation. “Nina West!”

“So glad to have you back, Nina.” Michelle smiles (she smiles!) “You are still a delight.”

Nina could melt into the stage. Could just become a puddle of vaguely Nina-shaped goo and it would be okay because Michelle is beaming at him, praising him for his newly acquired magic skills, and Ru is nodding along.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in years,” Ru admits. “You really can tell that you’ve taken our critiques from last season and applied them. It absolutely shows.”

Ross also has kind words (when doesn’t he?), but Nina’s lost in the high of hearing Michelle and Ru praise him, lost in the feeling of success.

They move on to Brooke, whose black eyeliner has run just a little. You could hardly tell from the way he’s holding himself upright, one leg behind the other, perfectly poised. Perfectly Brooke. Perfectly perfect. With the exception of that one streak of eyeliner, a single tear track down his face that he quickly wipes away.

The judges don’t seem to notice, praise instead his going out of his comfort zone, the grittier performance of his Black Swan instead of the grace he was known for on Season 11. Nina guesses they’re right; Brooke seemed to let go on stage, throw himself more into the performance. It was still flawless, every move calculated and textbook, but there was more emotion behind those grey eyes today than Nina thinks he’s ever seen from Brooke on stage.

Brooke thanks them, bows his head demurely, clasps his hands in front of his body.

Then they come to Blair.

“Oh, Blair.” Michelle shakes her head. “It was just a mess.”

Blair nods. Blair nods through most of it. Nina tries to listen, but still can’t reconcile the fact that apparently the entire room heard something completely different than what he did.

“I know I let you all down,” Blair says through tears. “And I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll do better.”

Ru smiles, but it’s tense and forced. “Based on the judges’ critiques,” he says, looking up and down the line, “I’ve made some decisions.”

Nina’s heart is in his throat. He can’t breathe, can’t focus, can’t keep himself upright.

“Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, Nina West: you are the top two All Stars of the week.”

Nina’s heart bursts. Actual sparks are shooting from his chest (okay, not actual, but you couldn’t prove it by the warmth that radiates through him). He ventures a look out towards the mentors and sees Trixie and Monet on their feet high-fiving each other. And Monet’s looking at him and smiling, smiling, smiling.

Down the line, Vanessa is laughing. His hands are clasped together in front of his chest and his head is thrown back like he’s praying, but he’s laughing.

“You’ve each won a seven-night stay at the Atlantis Hotel in Nassau Paradise Beach, Bahamas,” Ru says, and Nina almost faints. “Nina Bo’nina Brown, Brooke Lynn Hytes: you are both safe.”

Nina hears Brooke exhale before he lifts his head and smiles up at the judges.

“That means Laganja Estranja and Blair St. Clair: I’m sorry, but you are in the bottom two.”

Blair cries even harder, and Nina kind of wants to hug her.

“Vanjie and Nina,” Ru continues, and oh shit, Nina might have forgotten this part of winning in All Stars. “Each of you needs to decide which one of the bottom two you will eliminate if you win the lip-sync.”

Nina’s heart is in his throat. He’s got to send one of his sisters home.

“While you deliberate backstage, the judges and I will… perform trust falls.”

It gets a laugh, but when they all file into the backstage lounge, Nina realizes he’s shaking. A couple of the girls grab cocktails (not Vanjie or Brooke) but Nina doesn’t need anything affecting his focus right now. He feels simultaneously sick and elated. Also a bit worried this might all be the result of a head injury or something. Maybe he tripped and fell on the very first day, and everything from then on has just been in his mind. It would explain whatever the hell happened with Blair’s performance.

“Congrats Top Two!” Asia raises her glass at Nina. “X-Queens represent. How you feel girls?”

The producers have been very clear that they’re supposed to talk this whole thing over, but Nina is having trouble finding the words. Vanjie’s quiet too, and he catches Nina’s eye from across the room, gives him a small smile.

“It’s good, you know. First challenge win, right. It’s gotta feel good.”

Brooke’s watching him, silent, with eyes that are so soft.

“Congratulations Vanjie,” Nina says the thing that Brooke would clearly say if his nerves would let him. “You deserve it.”

“So how are you going to decide?” Nina Bo’nina asks. “Every year they ask that, you gonna follow some rules or -”

“Hell no.” Vanjie cuts her off. “I don’t think that’s somethin’ that works out. You gotta listen to the judges but also - listen to yourself, right? I ain’t gonna just lay it all out now -”

“So I guess that means I’m fucking going home.” Laganja’s voice is shrill and sudden, and she stomps away from the group, heading towards the mirrors.

“No,” Vanessa calls after her. “I ain’t saying that, bitch. Listen -”

“Well you’ve already made your mind up!” Laganja shouts back. “So fuck me, right?”

Nina wants to make himself as small as possible. He knows that his eyes are probably wide, and his smile is probably crooked.

“No one is saying that, Laganja!” Shea doesn’t turn her head, but says it loud enough to be heard across the room.

“Yeah fucking right!” Laganja screams back, and Nina is - above all, a ‘nice’ person, and he’s not going to keep a conversation going like this, so -

He takes a deep breath and crosses the room to go talk to her.

They end up sitting in a corner somewhere that a P.A. has set up big velveteen chairs specifically for the purposes of these conversations. Laganja isn’t crying but her eyes are watery, and Nina can’t help but feel sympathy.

“Listen,” he says, because that is a respectable way to start a conversation. “I think you’re a great performer, I think you deserve to be here.”

Laganja sniffles miserably.

“We don’t have to talk about anything, but I wanted to - if you wanted to - give you a chance -” To what, Nina? “State your case. Or make an argument. Whatever you like.”

Laganja looks up at her.

“Or we can just sit in awkward silence, that’s fine too,” Nina says with a shrug. “I did attend a lot of waspy family dinners in the Midwest. At this point, I have a PhD in awkward silences.”

Laganja - actually smiles at this. Then she sighs.

“It’s sweet that you think you’re going to win.”

Oh.

Okay.

After that, the conversation dies a pretty natural death. Nina doesn’t know what else to say. She wishes Laganja luck, and then Laganja straight up refuses to talk to Vanjie. Fine. She’s making her choices.

Blair cries through most of her time with Nina (which is too bad because Nina is trying to figure out the least alarming way of asking her what the hell she sang about). Nina doesn’t know if Vanjie talks to Blair, but - really, it probably doesn’t matter. Maybe Laganja will be ready for a later season of All Stars (hopefully her edit will be kind) but she’s clearly not there yet. Even though she was kind of the worst, Nina almost feels bad for her. She’s talented, she just needs to get out of her own way.

They film him and Vanjie as they pick out their lipsticks. Nina plays up the conflict, but he can’t imagine it’s a huge choice for either of them. He smiles at Vanjie, squeezes his hand as they prepare to go back on stage with the rest of the queens.

The lights feel brighter than they were before. Nina hasn’t been this nervous since the last time he stood on stage waiting to lip-sync against Silky. It doesn’t make any sense when he thinks about it, because the stakes were so much higher that time. He knows he’s safe this time around, knows he’s coming back for another week regardless of how this whole thing with Vanjie plays out. The $10,000 would be nice, but is it worth it to have to send someone home Week One?

Fuck it. He wants the validation. Wants to prove that he is a good lip-syncer. Wants to shove aside all the shame that still burns hot in his belly when he thinks about giving his everything to stay on this stage and having it not be enough.

Production stops him and Vanjie just behind the stage and lets the other girls get into position before they walk onto the runway. Vanessa takes the opportunity to turn to Nina and pull him into a hug.

“However this goes, girl,” he says into Nina’s shoulder, “there ain’t no one else I’d have wanted to share this win with.”

“Same.” Nina breathes a shaky sigh into Vanessa’s hair.

Then production waves them in and they walk down the runway side-by-side. Nina blocks everything else out, tries not to see the other girls (especially Laganja and Blair, who stand to the right of the stage, barely visible in the lighting.) Nina doesn’t risk a glance at the mentors. He can’t handle seeing Monet and that perfect Goddamn smile right now.

Nina holds his head up high, focuses on Ru, runs the lyrics over and over in his head.

“Welcome back, ladies,” Ru says quietly. His entire demeanor is different now that it’s time to send the first queen home. “Two top All Stars stand before me. Ladies, this is your chance to impress me, win ten thousand dollars, and earn the power to give one of the bottom queens the chop. The time has come for you to lip-sync for your legacy. Good luck, and don’t fuck it up.”

The lights flash (Nina knows they will make this look far more dramatic on TV than it does on the stage, but it doesn’t help settle his stomach any) and the feel-good, pop beat of Lizzo’s “Juice” blares through the speakers.

Nina – goes insular. Doesn’t focus on Vanjie, doesn’t focus on anything other than the words of the song, the rhythm, the moves he’s making. Spin here. Dip there. Prance across the stage and pose. Hip rolls.

He couldn’t tell you what Vanessa’s doing, not until they reach the bridge, when Vanjie grabs his shoulder and points at the back of the stage to Brooke Lynn.

It takes a minute, then Nina realizes what part of the song they’re on.

“Somebody come get this man

I think he got lost in my DMs, what? My DMs, what?

You better come get your man

I think he wanna be way more than friends, what?

More than friends

What you want me to say?”

Nina shrugs, so Vanjie waves him off and they finish the song together, egging each other on through the last chorus until Vanessa ends with a triumphant death drop.

RuPaul, Michelle, and Ross are clapping and laughing, and it’s the exact opposite of the “meh” Nina got the last time he finished a lip-sync. He feels like he could fly. The mentors are on their feet, applauding, and there in the center is Monet, nodding and looking at him with eyes that are far too beautiful and soft.

Nina makes himself look away, looks at Ru, at the judges’ panel. There’s a brief camera break while production hands back their lipsticks and they secure them deep in their outfits. Vanessa opts for his bra; Nina goes with the sleeve of his leotard.

Once Ru is given the cue, he clears his throat. He looks them both over for a moment. And then:

“Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, you’re a winner, baby. You’ve earned a cash tip of ten thousand dollars. That means Trixie Mattel – you are also a winner, baby.”

“Oh, yay!” Trixie yelps from the mentors’ seats in the audience.

“You’ve won a cash tip of five thousand dollars.”

Vanjie’s doing that clasped-hand-prayer thing again, so Nina immediately walks over and hugs him. (He’s a hugger, even if Vanjie isn’t. Vanjie might be. Nina isn’t sure. Today, it would appear, they all are.)

It’s okay that he lost, Nina tells himself. There will be more lip-syncs, and he’s safe for another week. So he didn’t win ten thousand dollars, so what? He’s going to the Bahamas! And he doesn’t have to make an enemy yet. Everyone knows how that worked out for Shangela…

“Nina West,” Ru says, glancing at him, “you are safe. You may join the other girls.”

Nina pulls away from Vanjie, squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, and takes his place beside Brooke.

“Congrats,” Brooke whispers, reaching for his hand. Nina just nods in acknowledgement. His head is still spinning too quickly for him to think clearly.

“Will the bottom two queens please step forward?” Ru asks.

There’s a pause and the room goes deathly quiet as Blair and Laganja walk to the center of the stage, grasping hands. Blair has cried almost all of her makeup off. Nina’s heart aches for her. If she stays, Blair is the next person Nina’s going to hug. He’s drafting a list.

Ru shifts in her chair. “Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, with great power comes great responsibility. Which queen have you chosen to get the chop?”

Vanjie swallows hard, takes a deep breath, steels himself. “I just wanna say that the person I chose is fierce as fuck. I was so excited to see her back in the Werk Room because I think she didn’t get a real good shot last time. I wanted to give you another chance, I really did, but you still letting your personal opinions about people and things get in the way and there ain’t room for that on All Stars.” Vanessa reaches into his bra and pulls out his lipstick. “So I’m sorry, but I gotta send you home, Laganja.”

Laganja just nods, tilts her head with a bit of a wry smile. (She did know it was coming, even after everything they did to assuage her fears. But Laganja’s always been a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy.) She turns to Blair, gives her a quick hug, and then Blair practically runs to the back of the stage.

Nina opens his arms immediately, and Blair practically melts into him. He cradles her head, wipes the runny mascara from beneath her eyes.

“You’re still here. It’s okay.” If he’s got to be the mom of this season, so be it.

“Laganja Estranja,” RuPaul says, “as it is written, so it shall be done. You are and will always be an All Star. Now, sashay away.”

“Thank you so much,” Laganja says. Then she presses her forefinger and thumb together, brings them to her lips, and mimes taking a long drag from a joint. “It’s always four-twenty when ‘Ganja’s in the house, okurrrrrr?”

They clap and bid Laganja farewell (Shea rolls her eyes a bit, but not in a super obvious way). Nina feels himself relax for the first time all day.

“Con-drag-ulations, All Stars,” RuPaul says to them with a broad smile. “And remember, if you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else, can I get an amen up in here?”

“Amen!” the queens chorus in unison. Nina takes Blair’s hand and leads her back onto the runway as “Kitty Girl” plays over the speakers and the mentors join them on stage.

Trixie and Brooke both head straight for Vanjie, but Trixie wins the race. She embraces Vanessa, begins a slow, hilarious two-step that doesn’t match the music at all, but makes them all laugh.

Then there’s a tap on Nina’s shoulder and Monet is standing behind him. It catches Nina by surprise because he smells the same. Like mint toothpaste and sandalwood and hairspray.

Monet doesn’t speak, doesn’t have to. He just hugs Nina.

And Nina swallows down the stupid, pointless ache in his heart, and lets him.

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