My Top Aaron Quotes
men who are just constantly tired of everything>>>>>
“Well buckle up, wiz kid.”
“So yeah, I am gonna miss you. I’m really gonna miss you.”
“Sue me. Except don’t. My brain is already fried from the financials, I don’t need to throw legalese on top of that.”
“Fuck it. There’s nothing in here I can’t replace. I want you."
“Oliver”
“I didn’t say I wanted to spend the day with you, I asked if you wanted to spend the day with me. I asked first.”
"Ell"
“Hey, stop it. Because you know how much I like you running your fingers through my hair. Makes my brain go all fuzzy.”
“I appreciate it. And you.”
“Oh, it’s not playing dirty. It’s just me making you feel good.”
“I didn’t realise I was apparently dating an anthropomorphic backpack.”
“H-hey—stop it. You—no, your kisses are just… it tickled. Shut up. So what if my sides are ticklish, it’s not like that’s weird, you shit.”
“Oh, and now you can’t even find the strength to lift your head out of my lap, hmm? You poor thing. Who knew that being lazy could be so exhausting?”
“I love you very much. Now get off me.”
“You talked a big talk back then. But it turns out you’re just a cuddle-hungry softy after all, huh? Yes you are. At least when you’re still sleepy, anyway.”
“I also know you’re probably the kind to fly off half-cocked and make me chase you down with the SPF 50 like a madman. If for no other reason than to infuriate me.”
“Come here. Come closer. Because I said so.”
“I love you. And I love rain. And I love being with the person I love while it rains. Isn’t that a fun little combo?”
“You are very cute looking up at me like that.”
“Or is the thought of a few more minutes in my arms that much of an imposition? Asshole. Mmm. I love you too.”
“I can’t even try to say a nice thing without you having to get some snark into it, can I? No, I wouldn’t have it any other way. You brat. I love you just as you are.”
“You make me better. And that’s no small order when you’re talking about me, given the high level I already started at.”
“A man’s gotta eat. And you’ve always been my favorite thing on the menu.”
“Oh yes, you’re so put upon. Your evil boyfriend only makes you a whole breakfast spread, he won’t then also let you sleep in even later than you already have.”
“Eli”
“Yes, in a shocking twist, I do find your absence unpleasant. Perish the thought, right?”
“Time spent with the people I care about is important to me. It doesn’t have to be time doing anything special, it doesn’t have to be conversations about our future or some greater purpose or any of that shit, I just want to be with the person that I’m with.”
“Sure, there are plenty of ways to sleep on a couch just fine. It’s your hybrid approach that lands somewhere between gymnast and pretzel that tends to get you in trouble.”
“You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
“If it feels like it's coming on again, come tell us, okay?”
“I only met them a handful of times. They're sweet. They laugh a lot. They spent most of the time giving Elliott shit, it was funny. Not in like a mean way, like the way you do when you love somebody that much. They were a good balance for one another.”
“God I sound old. And I feel old. And I’m not, but it feels like it. A grumpy old man. Might as well start yelling at kids to not play so loud in the neighborhood, really complete the image.”
“Stop calling me an old man, only I’m allowed to call me old. Don’t be mean. I’m in a vulnerable state. I need baseless praise.”
“Yes. Holding you feels very productive.”
“Yeah. Let me just rub it on that pretty face for a little bit…”
“ It’d be fine. Almost as fine as you. I’m tired, I’m allowed to be stupid.”
“El, I have never hated you. You’re my little brother, I love you.”
“No the windows are mirrored glass. You should know that, you worked here.”
“Whose is it? Louder”
“Thank you baby. Yeah, thank you for trusting me like you do. […] All I wanna do is prove myself worthy of that trust.”
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4TH GEN LEADERS -
[ ot7 x reader ]
taehateclub
8 participants - 8 online
———————————
tae: y/n i’m coming for a sleepover tn
y/n: are you sad or something?
tae: no?
y/n: ok good
no thanks then ❤️
tae: um wtf
y/n: ???
tae: the disrespect i face on a daily is not right and should be studied
jimin: don’t care
yoongi: didn’t ask
jin: L
namjoon: 10 years…
of this
jk: time flies when ur having fun
hobi: i want to blow my brains out tbh
jk: oh
tae: jungkook do you want to see a magic trick?
jk: YES
jin: do pretzels make you fat?
jimin: have you been eating them?
jin: yeah
jimin: yeah they make you fat as fuck
jin: somebody push him off a cliff before i do
jk: show me the magic trick before i kill myself
y/n: this really is my safe space ❤️
namjoon: guys we should all go to therapy
tae: i won’t
i tried therapy and the lady laughed at me
A THERAPIST LAUGHED AT ME LIKE TO ME FACE IS THAT NOT SICK?
yoongi: real
y/n: icon tbh
jimin: my therapist tried to fuck me 😞
jin: why is he lying like omg get a life…
jimin: 30 years of age and still bothering young men like me LEAVE ME ALONE FREAK
yoongi: here they go
namjoon: one day we will all laugh and hold hands
y/n: i got 50 on jin
hobi: 50 on jimin
jin: namjoon pls don’t let him come in here and lie like that it’s actually heartbreaking watching the people closest to me be so fucking delusional and deranged think about the bystanders joon
think.
jimin: END UR LIFE
jin: you first 🤭
jimin: ignoring you
y/n: i win
hobi: aw man
namjoon: are you guys all coming to the party later?
jk: what happened to the magic trick??
yoongi: 👍🏻
hobi: yes yesss
y/n: YES
tae: yup
jin: yes
jimin: NO
jin: don’t care 🥱
jimin: i’m leaving this group and leaving this country
yoongi: k?
hobi: when something is a foot long whose foot are we measuring it off?
y/n: if it’s by yoongi’s then a foot long as hell
jk: tae can you show me now?
namjoon: kook pls let it go…
jimin: i’m jumping of a bridge
hobi: how many of yoongi’s feet tall is the bridge?
jin: one foot could honestly kill him
tae: feet?
namjoon: MOVING ON MOVING ON
jk: there is no magic trick is there
y/n: it’s okay you’ll get over it my love
jk: i don’t think i will
tae: that was a life lesson
learn from it and become stronger
jk: how about you die.
hobi: WOAH
namjoon: no fighting i’m literally begging you guys
jin: didn’t know you were submissive like that
jimin: fr it’s gross as hell
he’s gonna tell us he kisses men next
jk: are you a homophone?????
jimin: are you fr rn
yoongi: wow
namjoon: don’t say anything
y/n: at least his heart was in the right place!
tae: namjoon likes men?
namjoon: no
jimin: yeah
hobi: like a stickerrrrr
jk: congratulations
tae: let’s make a song with drake
y/n: ew
yoongi: no thanks
hobi: pushing p
jimin: pussy
jk: where
y/n: ew again
jk: bts 4th gen leaders!
namjoon: ?
hobi: we are not 4th gen
jk: what?
jimin: we are 3rd gen
jk: oh my god
we are old as hell
y/n: that is actually so gross
3rd gen IS SO GROSS WE ARE OLD AS HELL OH MY GOD IMMA THROW UP
jin: ur both being dramatic
jimin: he’s only saying that because he’s been old since birth
like how you 84 out the womb???
hobi: jimin ur going to hell
jimin: we were all thinking it
jin: everyone deny that rn
…
hello?
y/n: bts 4th gen leaders i agree with jk!!!
yoongi: this does not change the reality
tae: can i be 4th gen it boy
jimin: LMAO
tae: what’s funny?
jimin: nothing
jk: i would like to be best 4th gen rapper
hobi: i’ll be best 4th gen singer
y/n: fair
ig i’ll be the 4th gen it girl
jimin: i’ll be THEE 4th gen visual
y/n: yoongi for 4th gen it boy
yoongi: :3
tae: i wanted to be 4th gen it boy wtf
jk: joon the father of 4th gen
y/n: and jin the 4th gen ace
namjoon: u guys actually delusional
tae: i agree
namjoon: pls don’t agree with me ur making me uncomfortable
tae: sorry father
namjoon: don’t be mad u didn’t get a title
y/n: tea the girls are fighting
tae: i’m not mad
i don’t even care fr
namjoon: sure
tae: sUrE
namjoon: you seem mad
tae: if you died i wouldn’t care
hobi: 4th gen loser
tae: hoseok wtf
hobi: who said that?
y/n: 4th gen furry
tae: ummm?
jimin: 4th gen broke boy
tae: i asked for money ONCE
yoongi: 4th gen bitch
tae: LEAVE ME ALONE
jk: i’m glad we all have titles now
4th gen is not ready for us
y/n: FR!!!!
—
kinda short pls forgive me
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tiny little leon thing you can totally tell i forgot it was supposed to be about his tummy hurting
[tummyache, emotional anguish, tummy rubs]
Leon laid his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He felt awful. He'd just finished off a cup of hot chocolate that had been a bit too much and a bit too rich, and the jalapeño cheese-stuffed pretzel he'd decided to pair it with probably hadn't helped any. His tummy bulged under his loose pajama shirt, occasionally letting out a soft gurgle. He forced up a tiny burp, but it didn't help much.
In retrospect, he should've known this would happen. Hot chocolate, despite none of its individual ingredients ever causing problems for him, always gave Leon a bellyache. It didn't seem to matter what was in it; it always left him feeling bloated and queasy. And in retrospect, he should've known the greasy cheesy pretzel wasn't going to do anything to soothe his already doomed stomach. Still, he'd gone and had them anyway, and now he was paying the price. He sighed miserably, and a pitiful little moan came out with it.
As he sat there, feeling awful, Leon found himself desperately wishing he had somebody to comfort him. For a split, foolish second, he almost longed for his ex-husband's arms. No, not almost--he did long for him. He quickly shook that thought out of his head; Bill wouldn't have cared about his poor upset tummy. He'd have been more likely to call him a fat pig and leave him to suffer on his own. Still, Leon ached to be held. Feeling cold and alone, he cautiously laid himself down on the beaten old couch and curled up, hugging a pillow against his chest. His eyes dampened, and he buried his face in the pillow. His soft sniffling and the occasional gurgle of his queasy stomach were the only sounds accompanying him as he lay there in miserable silence.
Leon was startled by a knock at the front door, followed by the sound of it opening. If he hadn't already known it was Shel--nobody else walked into his home unannounced--the familiar click of his cane would've given him away. Leon heard him pause, presumably wondering where his friend was, and remained silent. He was ashamed of himself, of his stupid eating habits and his pathetic crying and his failure to do anything right. He didn't want Shel to see him like this. He heard him move again, this time approaching the couch, and a shadow fell across him as Shel peered over the back.
"Leon!" Shel came around to the front of the couch, concerned. "Hey, what's the matter?" Leon shrugged, not making eye contact, and Shel sat down beside him. He placed a gentle hand on Leon's shoulder.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want," Shel said gently. "I'm staying with you, though. No sense in suffering alone."
"You don't have to," Leon mumbled.
"I want to," said Shel. Leon looked up, his eyes still wet.
"You're a good friend, Shelly." His voice cracked as he spoke, and his breath hitched in his throat.
"Come here," said Shel, opening his arms, and Leon pushed himself upright and fell into his embrace. He blinked back tears for a moment, then, unable to help himself, he sobbed against Shel's shoulder. Shel hugged him tightly, gently stroking his hair.
"I know, baby, I know," Shel said softly, rubbing Leon's back. "It's okay."
"I'm sorry," Leon hiccupped, wiping his eyes. As if to give him away, his stomach let out a sickly gurgle, drawing Shel's attention to it. Despite his loose clothing, his belly was bloated enough to notice.
"Hey, your stomach sounds pretty upset," said Shel, placing a hand on Leon's tummy. "Are you feeling alright?" Leon shook his head.
"Dinner isn't sitting right," he mumbled, laying his head against Shel's shoulder.
"What'd you have?" Shel gently rubbed his belly, and he hesitated for a moment, not wanting to answer.
"Hot chocolate and a stuffed pretzel," he admitted quietly.
"Oh, Leon," groaned Shel. Leon let his gaze fall to the floor, and his stomach answered with a miserable gurgle. Still rubbing his belly, Shel kept his other arm around Leon and gave him a gentle squeeze. He didn't ask if that was what he was so upset about; he supposed he could put together the gist of it. Leon was terribly lonely. He hadn't been in a relationship since before his transition began, and that had been at least a decade ago. He'd confided in Shel that he was too afraid to try again, and Shel knew it ate at him, particularly during those lonely moments when he longed for comfort. It made his own heart ache to know Leon was so miserable.
The two friends sat together in each other's arms, Shel softly rubbing Leon's upset belly, Leon curled up against Shel's chest, listening to his heartbeat. They were quiet, not needing to speak, until Leon broke the silence.
"You don't have to stay, Shelly," he said quietly, not looking up. Shel looked down at him sympathetically and gave his shoulder a reassurring squeeze.
"I want to."
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Yes I'm going to continue with this.
21st March 2020
Brother, Juxtaposition, Xylophone [school friend], I think Jail [someone I went to school with], and I were having breakfast at the kitchen table, but all the food was hidden in this grid so that what they ate was a surprise. There was a loaf of pretzel which was tasty and had pink icing, but they all started eating melon, and so did I, and I really didn't like it or the way that it dripped everywhere.
Dad said it was time for me to get rid of my GCSE art chairs [I decorated two chairs for my art exam], and was angry that I hadn't done this sooner. I looked out of the window and the chairs were there, but there were about 5 of them stacked up, and this was incredibly distressing to me (possibly because I was concerned it was an obstruction for other people on the street). I said that we should just take them to the tip and Dad and Brother got angry and said that if I wanted that then I should have said something earlier, even though I had been saying this for the last several months.
Then I was in the Local Shopping Centre, but it was also a sort of outdoor adventure park. Baguette was looking after a monkey that was living there, but this creepy janitor let it escape. I went to look for it and had a really good conversation with some indistinct people from School I Went To, who actually listened to me and made me feel like I was clever for understanding what it was I was saying. I also made friends with somebody else called Baguette (possible Jam's friend Baguette), but he kept merging with my friend Baguette and I couldn't work out if he was older or younger than me.
We found this monkey, but this time my friend Ben was covered in mud from looking for him, so he had to go to the toilets (but not the ones in the Local Shopping Centre for some reason) to clean himself. He took ages, and when he got back, and when he got back I was getting on really well with the new friend Baguette and the people from School I Went To, and new Baguette gave me a very nice hug.
It then got a bit meta when I had a dream within this dream that the same group of people and I went on the Great British Bake Off. Some contestants (possibly Insect and Amphibian [close friends of mine when I was in primary school]), so I had to read their announcements. D*nald T*ump came over and took me to another table to read them.
He put me in a headlock and I immediately expressed my discomfort with this, before progressing to scream for him to let me go, but he didn't, and none of the other people in the tent came to help me. I remember thinking that this was a meta dream and that I had a lot to write in my dream journal.
I then woke up in the dream thinking I was awake in real life, and I realised that New Baguette's water bottle and Tube's BMO wallet were on my drum stool, and Baguette's water bottle had a crack and was somehow flooding the whole room, including my sketchbook and dream journey. I picked them up and luckily they weren't too wet. I tried to stem the flow with Jam's Dig Out Your Soul t-shirt, but this was quickly soaked. Eventually it ran out of water, and I woke up for real.
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Dinner Diary #7
Trying a different method so this is a longer one!
On this fine night, I hunt with a companion. Mister Morgan took time from his busy schedule of brooding and looking at me like he wants to peel me like a boiled peach to join me on the streets tonight. He follows my eyes to an open window that seems just beyond my reach when I’m standing and before I can wind to leap up, he’s already hoisted me up by the knees. I slip in and I lean out the window to give him a big stupid smile and a thumbs up.
From this point on, I scritch and scratch through the belongings of my meal. Another old man, seemingly on his own. And Morgan goes to pick off some drunk from the alleyway below as he typically does. He stands like a stone and feels like one to climb on.
He snatches them off the ground like a hawk does a bunny rabbit, which is kind of impressive to watch. He’s killed one before. He’s more malicious than I am. I wouldn’t want to be crumpled into a husk by big bitch like him but he makes good company, believe it or not. Especially in these nights where people know where I fucking live. There was a time where he was less inclined to boost me into windows or onto posts so I can steal the signs off of them.
We happened upon each other by chance about two years ago now. By that point I’d been living alone for a while and my Sire had finally ceased his harassment, trying to get me to come back to him. It was just me and The Spirits those nights.
I remember waking up that night distinctly. And that something was going to happen that night and that I would have no say in it. It was going to happen. What? It. Whatever It means.
Cautiously, I went about the night to do what the dead to when there are no waking bodies. Stalking around until the early hours of the morning, stealing and eating and stealing. I was wearing a red tank top that night, it was cool out, it was a waning crescent, the air smelled like boiling meat, and I saw a small black dog sitting in somebody’s window. In the time where the nights all melded into one, I remember all of this.
Into the early morning hours, I’d wandered and waited for It to happen, whatever It was. Sometimes the Mockery just likes to jump your rope so I turned to head home.
And then the smell changed. It smelled wet. . .and creepy.
Close to sunrise by now, he was crouched down against an old wall. His presence wasn’t subtle. The guy was physically fucking huge and even curled up like that, you could see. Unmistakably Kindred as he was visibly tense. Reminiscent of a cornered animal. Gangrel.
Noticing and watching with one black eye, one silver, and a firm brow as though I was a fly flying, fucking, and shitting in his kitchen. The way skittish street dogs eyeball passersby, with the assumption of ill-intent.
I crouched down to his level, “You look spooked, friend. Lost?” To which he stared on and on, surveying my physical being which he later admitted to noting my seediness-weediness in case he needed to rip me in half like a phone book.
He looked away off to where the sky was becoming milky with light and I joined his eye, “The sun will swallow us here. Up to die with a stranger? I’m up to die full stop.” I told him. “Lost?” Trying to pry again.
Moody huff, he nodded and I snorted which he didn’t appreciate.
“Do you need a place to stay?”
He nodded.
“Only for the day, okay?”
He nodded.
OH, HOW SURE OF HIMSELF HE IS. Surely he could twisted me into a pretzel and thrown me in a river. Between the sunrise and me, he chose me. We’re all cagey motherfuckers so you know that’s how dire it must’ve been for him. Then again, I let him into my house. What does that say about me?
If he tried to kill me, I’d at least bitten the eyes out of his skull is all I’m saying. I say that affectionately. Mostly. . .
Walking behind me the entire time so he wouldn’t risk turning his back on me, I walked fast and glanced back at him as if he were following me with a meat hook. I led him through the dried cadaver of the neighborhood I live in and into the old house.
For the next few months, I would attempt to evict this big lumbering Irishman. There’s only so much you can do when a 6’7” tower of muscle and anger sits his enormous ass on your living room floor without the intention of moving. You try to push the fucker down and he just. . .doesn’t go down. Leaving every conversation with with “Okay, you fuckin’ weirdo!” and your ego a little bruised.
I don’t know. We just got used to each other over time and suddenly I’m telling him about being a kid and he’s telling me about being a kid and you realize how fucking awful everything is. But at least you get each other.
He doesn’t care about the things I say, do, or feel sick over but he’s there and listens. And now we keep each other company on the hunt and go about this existence with each other, never a sincere judgemental glace. I’m not sure what he gets out of it other than a place to stay but I think it’s more than that now. He’s my best friend. I think I’m his best friend.
I never got his name for the first few months and I was scared to ask. He still makes fun of me for it. At least I can read but whatever, man.
And with full bellies, we make our way back down the road: “—baker had gravy on his vest, gravy on his tie, gravy on his pants, gravy all over him! So he went to his grave, with gravy on his vest, gravy on his tie, gravy on his pants, gravy all over him. That dirty old man!”
I can spell him out before he does it: brow furrowed, eyes squinted, hands in his pockets. He realizes, then grimaces, lip coiling back, “Eugh.” and his hand collides with my back and throws me forwards as I cackle. The same every time. He’s consistent. He is a stone.
-- Good morning, Morgan!
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it just occurred to me that i’m not invincible. now i’m sad.
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the batfamily is stupid as hell and they're self isolating because SOMEBODY got covid (steph) and then SOMEBODY (cass-- who also has covid bc uh stephcass) sneezed on tim who drank from jason's cup without knowing it was jason's cup and anyways everyone in the manor got covid so ✨self isolation for 2 weeks✨
ANYHOW they were all bored out of their minds and jason was about to throw damian out the window bc siblings right
SO BASICALLY cass came up with the big brain idea of a competition (prize being complete immunization of sibling interaction UNLESS they ask for it-- eg. "hey can you open this for me")
teams were made (just two people per team-- duke/damian, jason/cass, steph/harper, dick/tim)
there were "rounds" and these consisted of
round 1: person a has to feed person b a whole jar of peanut butter and they could switch places ONCE (team to finish last was disqualified)
round 2: they had to recreate this picture and had ten minutes to do so, at the end every team compared pictures and alfred decided whose was the worst and that team was out
round 3: they had to run five laps around the manor with their team member on their back, first person to get through the finish line (for the fifth time, there was a picture taken each time they crossed it) won.
simple, right?
WELL NO
first round basically went like this:
jason: NO FUCK YOU AND YOUR STUPID PEANUT BUTTER
cass:
jason: okay okay ill go first
tim went first, harper went first, and duke went first (duke didn't want to go first but he lost to rock paper scissors so)
tim puked in the first two minutes but alfred had forgotten to clarify that if you puke you're out so basically he kept eating
cass and jason were the first ones to switch
dick and tim switched immediately after (they were waiting for someone else to switch)
steph and harper fucking DIED
"im never eating peanut butter after this"
"by GOD EAT FASTER ITS NOT EVEN A SOLID"
"CAN YOU NOT SHOVE THAT SPOON DOWN MY THROAT"
"IM NOT GOING TO LOSE IN THE FIRST ROUND FUCK YOU"
duke and damian finished first and when ppl asked how (they're the youngest ones, people were sure they couldn't handle it) damian was like "i simply moved all my internal organs to the side" and duke was like "tf you literally ate two spoons and a half"
STEPH AND HARPER LOST and tim laughed (his team got to the next round by literally a second) so harper and steph both threw him the containers and spoons
second round:
tim thought he had a big brain for calling dibs on being on the pool mat but nOOO (duke was on the pool mat, damian was the lightest so yeah--- jason was on the pool mat solely because cass called dibs on jumping and crushing him-- imagine all the chaos)
literally they(jason/cass) took 14 pictures total and all of them were fucked up because of jason (his hands weren’t in the right place, both his legs were picked up)
duke and damian couldn’t do it skjdfhskfh they were D Y I N G (every two minutes you heard a really loud scream/groan with a sudden splat and yeah)
steph and harper had never laughed harder
cass was so done with jason she literally shoved him off the pool mat
tim was literally dead they had taken the shot around 20 times and none of them looked good it was horrible (dick didnt even apologize for crushing tim 90934757894 times -- not every shot was decent so they deleted around 40)
when the timer went off, alfred carefully took all the phones (jason’s phone was somehow at the bottom of the pool and jason was tired(tm) so he asked cass to get the phone pls and cass just got in the pool and shoved the pool mat over (and then got out)
after around 20 minutes of alfred going through the pictures, he decided that the best ones were dick and tim’s (how i have zero idea but)
and then the worst ones were duke and damian’s (so jason and cass made it to the third round)
cass asked alfred why theirs weren’t the best, and alfred said “well master jason’s arm looks very off and he looks genuinely scared” and cass was like “GODDAMNIT JASON” and lost her shit
LAST ROUND:
so they did think this through and basically cass on jason’s back and tim on dick’s back
jason: HA! YOU’RE NOT FASTER THAN I AM!
dick: i don’t need to be??? you’ve got CASS on your back. you know what that means?
jason: .... you wouldn’t..
tim, on dick’s back: *snorts* YEAH OKAY
cass: what are they talking about?
jason: NO NOTHING
jason: you might want earbuds or something to like... block the sounds... they’re gonna be wanting to distract you
cass: yeah well. I’m not distracted easily
the timer goes off, tim on dick’s back, and they’re pretty even for the first two laps, but then tim’s shoe falls off and tim’s like “WAIT MY SHOE” and dick goes “WHAT THE FUCK”
and tim is like “whoa youre right KEEP RUNNING”
cass on jason’s back: HEY STEPH CAN YOU PASS ME THE PRETZELS
update: cass does get pretzels and gives jason a few
jason: CASS THATS MY NOSE
cass: OH OOPS LOL
dick: tim i think its time to pull out our secret weapon
tim: yeah you’re right
tim:
tim: HEY CASS *starts humming to ‘levitating’ by dua lipa*
tim: 🎶 if you wanna run away with me- 🎶
jason: NO
jason: NOOO CASS COVER YOUR EARS DONT LISTEN TO THEM
cass: 🎶 IF YOU WANNA RUN AWAY WITH ME I KNOW A GALAXY WHERE I COULD TAKE YOU FOR A RIDE 🎶
(you may ask how this distracts jason but it just DOES)
dick takes this as a head start and runs faster (theyre on their third lap now- both)
tim gets a bit too excited and leans too much and makes them both fall over (they were abt half a lap ahead)
tim: GET UP GET UP
dick: THIS IS YOUR FAULT TF YOU MEAN
cass: 🎶 YOU WANT ME 🎶
jason: 🎶 I WANT YOU BABY 🎶 *runs past them*
dick: HOW
jason: JUST DONT FIGHT IT
karma’s a bitch (and dick paid steph) and jason slipped, causing them to fall almost the exact way that tim and dick fell
dick and tim have now caught up to them, as jason and cass pick themselves up
jason: we should switch
cass: yeah alright do you want me to momentarily kill you so we can distract the others and then you wake up and we run
jason: ...no
cass:
jason: ... maybe
*two seconds later*
cass: HE’S DEAD! MY POOR BROTHER HE’S DEAD!
steph: YEAH WE KNOW YOU MOMENTARILY KILLED HIM GET UP
cass: ok jason lets go stand up
they keep going and dick stops for a second (theyre ahead)
dick: hey its your turn now
tim:
dick: yeah i know you cant cmon climb on
COMEPLETE HEADCANON jason and cass won anyways thank you for coming to my ted talk
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Rink Ready
And to finish off the trio of Christmas fics, we have Coops and Jules at a winter market. Enjoy! And I hope you have a fantastic New Year.
CW: food, Christmas
Rating: G
Credit for these characters goes to @lumosinlove. I'd like to take this opportunity to say thank you for another year of fabulous fun with this bunch of wonderful beings (imaginary though they are).
Remus was fairly certain he could make a map of the market from memory at this point. Julian was insistent on finding the perfect gifts to take home with him, which apparently meant careful perusal of every single stall. It shouldn't have taken quite so long, but there were light displays, carousels, and (oddly not the most unusual sight they'd seen that evening) a troop of dancing elves to be distracted by. Thankfully, Julian had finally settled on something.
"Jules, let me hold those while you choose," Remus gestured to the bag of churros his brother held. He hadn't believed his brother could possibly eat any more after the bratwurst, the bag of chocolate coated almonds, and the pretzel, but Julian was steadily making his way through them. "We don't need to be getting your grubby little fingers all over the merchandise."
Julian rolled his eyes, "Alright, Dad."
"Just pick," Remus laughed, tapping Julian lightly on the back of the head.
“I like this one for Mom,” Julian hummed, and at Remus’ nod the vendor plucked the felt decoration from its spot and nestled it softly into a paper bag. “And this one for Dad.”
“Good choices, they'll look lovely on the tree,” the vendor smiled, her voice one of those that managed to be soft and welcoming without condescension. Occasionally the thick Gryffindor accent made way for something less familiar. If Remus had to guess, he’d say it was something Slavic.
“I need one more, please?”
“For Rory?” Remus asked. Julian and Rory had met at summer camp this year and had been inseparable ever since. He had never met the famous Rory, but he felt like he had from the amount Julian spoke about her. Still, sometimes he got a sad, twisting feeling in his stomach when he thought about how much of his brother’s life he was missing.
“No,” Julian’s expression fell into the same exasperated thing he took on when Remus was no more help than their parents in explaining some new, modern math technique. “For Regulus."
Of course.
Remus reached for Sirius' churros too, smiling at the slightly stunned, very fond look on his face. "I think Sirius can help with that."
***
“Re?”
Remus slowed his walk, turning towards the source of the questioning utterance. His little brother looked up at him all doe eyed and pink cheeks. The beanie he wore was too big, constantly falling into his eyes now that his hands were too occupied by a steaming cup of hot chocolate to keep pushing it up. Remus had tried to buy him something new, but this hat had once been Sirius, and Remus was pretty sure Julian hadn’t taken it off even once since he’d been gifted it three weeks ago.
“I lost my gloves?”
“Is that a question or a statement, buddy?” Remus huffed a laugh.
Julian pulled his lower lip between his teeth, a habit he’d had since he was toddler. He twisted his whole body as she scanned the floor around him, almost knocking a tankard of mulled cider clean out of somebody’s hands.
“Watch it, kid.”
“Oh,” Julian squeaked. “Sorry.”
Remus felt himself stand taller, squaring his shoulders. The incident had been Julian’s fault, but the gruff admonishment had been entirely unnecessary. He watched as the broad-shouldered man glared at Julian. Just let it go, dude. It’s Christmas. Don’t make me ruin it.
“Yeah, well, watch yourself in -”
“He said he was sorry,” Sirius bit out the words, his arm remaining firm around Remus’ waist as he spoke.
The man looked up properly, eyes widening as he took the two of them in. “Oh, Shit. Sorry, man. I -” he stammered. Remus didn’t need the quick glance at his fiancé to know the steely gaze set on his face. Seasoned hockey players struggled not to cower under it, and this man was no different. “Hey! Could I get an -”
Remus was glad Julian wouldn’t recognise the string of expletives that left Sirius’ mouth.
“Come on, Julian. I will buy you some new gloves.”
“You’re going to spoil him, Sirius.”
Sirius grinned, “And what are little brother’s for, if not for spoiling?”
***
“Look!” Julian said, stabbing his finger towards the ice rink, his hands now clad in a brand-new pair of mittens – scarlet to match his beanie, of course. “Can we go? Please?”
Remus gave a tight smile as he took in the crowded rink. People of all ages stumbled around, pushing off on their blades with a precarious wobble, each step uneasy like a new-born fawn. “We have ice all to ourselves at home,” he tried.
"It's not the same." Julian looked past Remus to Sirius and Remus knew the argument was already lost.
"It's not the same," Sirius agreed. Remus raised an eyebrow, barely containing a knowing shake of his head. "Don't be a Grinch, mon Loup."
"So is that a yes?"
"Ouais," Sirius said. He shifted, adjusting the trinket laden tote on his shoulder. "I can take him if you really don't want to come?"
Remus set his eyes back on the rink, the line to get on growing steadily by the second. The loud, high pitched warbles of an overly embellished cover of Jingle Bell Rock blared from huge speakers, and the blue hue of artificial lighting was giving him a headache even from this distance. "No," he said with a resigned sigh. "I'll come."
It was exactly the nightmare Remus had envisioned, but Julian's beaming smile was worth it. He tried not to think about how many sweaty feet had been squeezed into the skates as he tugged them on.
"I always forget how uncomfortable these things are," Sirius grumbled.
"Regrets?"
"Non." Sirius tipped his head in Julian's direction. He stood a few feet away, practically vibrating with the effort it seemed to be taking to obey Remus' instruction of not running off. "He deserves these memories."
"You do too," Remus said, already scanning the ice. There had been several notice boards as they'd wound through the long line - No cameras on the ice. Professional photography available. He was well aware the photos would be overpriced and taken by underpaid college students, but he wanted one. "Let's go and show these amateurs how it's done." He clapped his hands together, raising his voice for Julian to hear.
"Sirius! I can skate so fast now, I've been practising!"
'We're still working on the modesty," Remus muttered with a small laugh. Sirius' nudge caught him off guard, making him stumble on his skates.
"Thought you were a pro," Sirius teased. "I bet you're faster than your brother now, Jules! I'll race you."
"You can't race here! You're going to get us kicked -" Remus let the sentence trail off into silence, Sirius long gone. So far they'd mostly managed to navigate the crowds with some anonymity, most people weren't looking out for Sirius Black and Remus Lupin on their annual trip to the winter markets after all. Remus had a funny feeling they were about to bust their own cover. Maybe he could just cut that photo of Sirius and Julian from the morning copy of tomorrow's newspaper.
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NSFW Alphabet // Damiano David
words // 1468
warnings // clearly smut
pairing // Damiano x Reader
author's note // if you want to be on the tag list let me know. sorry if this feels rushed but i want to escape the heat and the laptop brings too much of it
request // yes, through a reblog i cant find
summary // self explanatory
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
I feel like Damiano is pretty good at taking care of you after but a lot of the time he is the one to require the aftercare. He gets kind of insecure after sex, like I don’t know… He will require some kind of confirmation that he did well, that he did not hurt you, that you loved him. Generally he needs reassurance sometimes.
His hands were now wrapped around you, after everything that went down, all the spanking and the harsh words, he needed to feel you close, to let you know that he didn’t mean all that.
“Are you ok, mi amore?” His voice was soft, tone ever so gentle, his fingers rubbing small circles on your arm.
“Exhausted, but yes, I am perfect.” The little smile you gave him was all the reassurance he needed.
Suddenly he became a little more confident, small ‘I love you’s escaping his lips as he tucked you under his arms.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
I feel like Damiano’s favorite part of himself would most likely be his face. Honestly it might sound a little weird for me to say this but I feel like that's it, ok. Like, he can convey all his feelings through his face, he can lure you in so wonderfully with his facial expression and oh well he’d love it if you sat on his face or simply used his face to get off, regardless the position.
Now as for his favorite part of you i feel like it would probably be your thighs. No matter gender, he would find your thighs to be such a turn on, any time and anywhere.
(this will refer to pussy-bearing reader lol so yeah, sorry for that, I can’t think of a gn scenario with thighs)
He was being driven insane all night. He knew it was a bad idea to take you out after that stunt you pulled that morning with the ‘accidental’ not-wearing-underwear-under-his-shirt incident. He had not given you what you wanted then so you were planning on getting it now.
Your thighs were adorned with thigh high stockings, garters and all accompanying them. You knew his weakness and you’d play with it till the end.
For the whole night, Damiano tried to not react. He did not want to seem like he’s possessive or overbearing or whatever else, so he let it be for a while, but after one point it had gotten too much, he could not take it anymore.
“Amore, I think it’s time to leave,” he said, loudly enough for your friends to hear as well.
“Oh, but why Damiano, I want to stay a little longer,” you whined, receiving a little spank on the back of your thigh, thankfully the music could cover it up.
“If you want a chance to ride my face, you’ll come with me, or else you can wait to have an orgasm for another week.” this time his words were quite enough for your ears only, the idea of what he’d do later was not something he wanted your friends to have.
“Yeah, now that you said it, I’m getting a bit tired. Ooof my feet hurt from dancing. Goodnight.”
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
He’s pretty big on seeing him cum on you. I think I said something similar for Ethan but Damiano is full on messy cum. He does not care where you are, what you’re wearing, whatever, he will cum on you. On your face, your shirt, your underwear. It does not matter. He’s like the type of guy that goes like “oh you want it, amore? You want my cum? Tell me where you want it,” and then will come where you direct him to.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He kind of wants to see you get fucked by somebody else while he watches… He is kind of scared to express that, not knowing how you’d feel
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
I’d say a good medium. He’s experienced, he’s surely not new to this, but i don’t think he has had that many sexual partners. He feels like the guy that needs a connection before he can have sex, at least most of the times. So he is experienced enough.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
I feel like he’d enjoy mostly well you riding his face, your legs up his shoulders as he fucks into you or kind of entangled, your right leg over his right hip and your left between both of his (its called ‘pretzel dip ffs)
he want to be able to feel your thighs all over him
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He some times is goofy when he is close to cumming and he starts the whole “where do you want it”. Some times he would crack jokes.
Generally i feel like he is goofy in bed
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He does not care to much but he could possibly trim it down if its too bothersome when you suck his dick.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He can be very romantic if you want him to but most times he’s kind of goofy as i mentioned. The very intimate moments are very specific. After a romantic date, on an anniversary, your or his birthday and so on and so forth
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He masturbates a lot, cause he thinks about you a lot. Some times he’ll see old photos of you two before he left on tour and he gets turned on by your thighs
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
well as i said he thinks of you being fucked by someone else and him seeing you, so id say a bit of voyeurism and cuckolding. He’s a switch so he’s only dominant when there is no one else to be dominant, so the idea of someone fucking you and shaming him while doing so is kind of a hot idea some times.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
He will go anywhere you guys are if he can’t stop it. Seriously quickies at club bathrooms are too common for you two
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
As I already mentioned: thighs. If you are wearing thigh high anything, short tight dresses, short shorts that are tight around your thighs, garters, tight jeans, tight dress pants… Anything with your thighs kills him
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He prefers giving it. Like yeah, he loves it when you give him oral but he seems like the type of man that for example eats pussy for his own pleasure. I can seriously imagine him coming home from working at the studio and he’s stressed as fuck and (after getting your consent of course) he’d lay between your thighs and start giving you oral.
“But Dami I’m reading a book.”
“So? Continue. This is not about you. I’m stressed, it’s about me.” You’d simply just laugh, knowing very well you won't be able to concentrate on your book.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
he is usually quite fast. he doesn’t exactly love the slower pace. the slower pace is for when you guys are extremely intimate, as i talked about before, or if he is teasing you
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He is down to experiment with most things. He is very comfortable with his sexuality so he does not mind most things, except some few ones that he finds a bit disgusting (no offence)
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
I feel like he would buy you a toy that he can control from far away and he’d get one for him that you’d control so you kind of mutually jack off each other while he’s on tour or either of you is away for days.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Enough to show you punishment but also enough to receive one at times
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
He’s pretty big. Not too much (overwhelmingly much like Ethan) but big enough to be considered big. Above average
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
He gets horny pretty easily ig. With all the adrenaline from shows the moment he sees you he’s ready to jump your bones.
tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina @the-killer-queenie @makapaka11 @teenyweenynightghost
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Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1
Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
(Y/n) stands in the kitchen of her mother and step-father's apartment, making the bean dip Smelly Gabe liked so much.
(Y/n) fixes her gaze on the counter but then she lets out a yelp as something hits her in between her shoulder blades.
"Hurry it up, girl!" Smelly Gabe snarls.
"Yes sir," (Y/n) murmurs.
A few minutes later, Gabe stalks into the kitchen, takes the dip without so much of a thank you.
(Y/n) fixes her gaze on the shoe on the ground before she moves to her room. She climbs into her bed, getting under her covers. (Y/n) turns, facing the wall.
She closes her eyes, falling to an uneasy sleep.
(Y/n) watches, disconnected from the others in the dream, as one of her brother's teachers turns into something that reminded her of a demon, or something similar that she'd read books about. The woman had bat wings, claws, and a mouth of yellow fangs.
Then (Y/n) looks around, her eyes widening in shock as she sees her brother holding a bronze sword.
Percy swings the sword, the demon exploding into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot.
A hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder has (Y/n) jolting awake. "Honey? Are you okay?" Sally Jackson asks.
Catching the wide-eyed look of horror on (Y/n)'s face, Sally wraps her daughter in a hug.
(Y/n)'s breathing steadies, and she breathes in her mother's familiar scent - chocolate, licorice, and all the other things she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central Station.
"Did you get all your work done?" Sally asks softly, her thumb brushing over a slightly visible bruise that had appeared at the base of the back of her neck.
(Y/n) hums in reply.
. . .
The next day, (Y/n) is once again lying in her bed, not wanting to have to deal with Gabe throwing more shoes or glass bottles at / near her.
. . .
Percy walks into the apartment, dragging his suitcase behind him, hoping his mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe is in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blares ESPN; chips and beer cans are strewn all over the carpet.
Hardly looking up, he says around his cigar, "So, you're home."
"Where's my mom? (Y/n)?"
"Mom's working," Gabe says. "The girl's in her room. You got any cash?"
"That's it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?
Gabe had put on weight since the last time Percy had seen him. Gabe looked like a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He has about three hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp.
"I don't have any cash," Percy replies.
Gabe raises a greasy eyebrow. Gabe could sniff out money like a bloodhound, which is surprising, since his own smell should've covered up everything else.
"You took a taxi from the bus station," he says. "Probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, he ought to carry his own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"
Eddie, the super of the apartment building, looks at Percy with a twinge of sympathy. "Come on, Gabe," he says. The guy just got here."
"Am I right?" Gabe repeats.
Eddie scowls into his bowl of pretzels. The two other guys pass gas in harmony.
"Fine," Percy says. He digs a wad of dollars out of his pocket and throws the money on the table. "I hope you lose."
"Your report card came, brain boy!" He shouts back at Percy. "I wouldn't act so snooty!"
Percy slams the door to his room, which isn't really his room. During school months, it is Gabe's 'study.' He doesn't study anything in there except old car magazines, but he loves shoving his stuff in Percy's closet, leaving his muddy boots on the windowsill, and doing his best to make the place smell like his nasty cologne, cigars, and stale beer.
Percy drops his suitcase on the bed. Home sweet home he thinks.
Gabe's smell is almost worse than the nightmares about Mrs. Dodds, or the sound of that old fruit lady's shears snipping the yarn.
Percy sits, lost in his thoughts.
Then he hears his mom's voice, "Percy?" She opens the bedroom door, and his fears melt. "Oh, Percy," she hugs him tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas."
Sally had brought Percy a bag of 'free samples' the way she always did whenever he'd come home.
The two sit together on the bed. While Percy attacks the blueberry sour strings, she runs her hands through his hair, demanding to know everything that he hadn't put in his letters. She doesn't mention his getting expelled. She doesn't seem to care about that.
Percy tells his mother that she is smothering him, but secretly, Percy is really, really glad to see her.
From the other room, Gabe yells, "Hey, Sally - how about some bean dip, huh?"
Percy grits his teeth. My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should be married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.
(Y/n) pads into Percy's room, and the dark haired boy brightens at the sight of his younger twin.
"I've got the dip, Mom," (Y/n) says softly. Sally gazes at her daughter for a moment, her gaze sad.
"Wait, (Y/n)," Sally says, and (Y/n) turns back to face her mother. "I've got a surprise for the two of you," she says. "We're going to the beach."
Percy's eyes widen. "Montauk?"
"Three nights - same cabin," Sally replies.
"When?" (Y/n) asks, looking excited.
She smiles, "As soon as I get changed."
(Y/n) can't believe it. Mom, Percy, and I hadn't been to Montauk in the last two summers because Gabe had said that there wasn't enough money.
Gabe appears in the doorway behind (Y/n) and growls, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"
Percy wants to punch him, but he meets his mother's eyes, and understands that she is offering him a deal: Be nice to Gabe for a little while; just until she's ready to leave for Montauk.
"I've got it, Gabe," (Y/n) says.
"Sorry, honey," Sally says, looking at her husband. "We were just talking about the trip."
Gabe's eyes get small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"
"I knew it," Percy mutters. "He won't let us go."
"Of course he will," Sally says evenly. "Your stepfather is just worried about money."
(Y/n) turns to face Gabe, smiling as kindly as she could. "What if I make a seven-layer dip that'll last the whole weekend?" she asks. "Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."
Gabe softens a bit, then turns back to face Sally. "So, this money for your trip . . . it comes out of your clothes budget, right?"
"Yes, honey," Sally replies.
"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back."
"We'll be very careful."
Gabe scratches his double chin. "Maybe if the girl hurries up with the seven-layer dip . . . and if the boy apologizes for interrupting my poker game."
Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, Percy thinks. And make you sing soprano for a week.
"I'm sorry," Percy mutters. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important power game. Please go back to it right now."
Gabe's eyes narrow. His tiny brain is probably trying to detect the sarcasm in my statement, Percy thinks.
"Yeah, whatever," Gabe decides; he goes back to his game.
"Thank you, Percy," Sally says. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about...whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"
For a moment, (Y/n) can see anxiety in her mother's eyes, but then her smile returns, and (Y/n) figures that she must've been mistaken.
. . .
An hour later, the three are ready to leave.
Gabe takes a break from his poker game long enough to watch (Y/n) and Percy lug the bags to his car. He keeps griping and groaning about losing her and (Y/n)'s cooking - and more important, his '78 Camaro - for the whole weekend.
"Not a scratch on this car, brain boy," Gabe warns Percy as he loads the last bag into the car. "Not one little scratch."
Like I'd be the one driving. I'm fourteen, Percy thinks.
Watching Gabe lumbers back towards the apartment building, Percy gets so mad that he does something he can't explain. As Gabe reaches the door, Percy makes the hand gesture he'd seen Grover made on the bus, a soft of warding-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over his heart, then a shoving movement towards Gabe. The screen door slams so hard it whacks him the the butt and sends him flying up the staircase as if he'd been shot from a cannon.
. . .
(Y/n)'s POV
Our rental cabin is on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It is a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There's always sand in the sheets, spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea is too cold to swim in.
I loved the place.
Mom, Percy, and I had been going ever since Percy and I'd been a baby. Mom had been coming even longer. She'd never exactly said, but I know why the beach was special to her.
It's the place where she'd met my Dad.
As we get closer to Montauk, Mom seems to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turn the color of the sea.
We get there around sunset, open all the cabin's windows, and go through the usual cleaning routine.
Mom, Percy, and I walk on the beach, feed blue corn-chips to the seagulls, and munch on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples Mom had brought home from work.
I guess maybe I should explain all the blue food.
Gabe had once told Mom that there was no such thing. They had had this fight, which had seemed like a really small think at the time, but ever since, Mom went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes, mixed blueberry smoothies, bought blue-corn tortilla chips, and brought home blue candy from the shop. This - along with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano - is proof that she isn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, just like Percy.
When it gets dark, we make a fire. We roast hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom tells Percy and me stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents had died in the plane crash. She tells us about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop.
Eventually, it seems that Percy gets the nerve to ask about what is always on our minds whenever we come to Montauk - our father. Mom's eyes go all misty. I figure she would tell us the same things she always did, but neither Percy or I ever got tired of hearing them.
"He was kind, Percy," Mom replies. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle too, like you, (Y/n)." Mom says and I soften. "You have his black hair, Percy, and you both share his green eyes.
Mom fishes a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you two. He would be so proud."
I wonder how she could say that when I'm the girl who cowers from her stepfather. The girl who hides in her room to get away from said stepfather.
"How old were we?" Percy asks, pulling me from my thoughts. "I mean . . . when he left?"
Mom watches the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."
"But . . . he knew us as babies."
"No, honey," Mom replies. "He knew I was expecting twins, but he never met you. He had to leave before you were born."
I try to square that with the fact that I seem to remember . . . something about my father. A warm glow, maybe a smile.
Percy and I had always assumed that our father had known us as babies. Mom had never said it outright, but still, I'd felt that it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen us . . .
I feel angry at my father. Maybe it is stupid, but I resent him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry Mom.
"Are you going to send me away again?" Percy asks. "To another boarding school?"
Mom pulls a marshmallow from the fire.
"I don't know, honey," her voice is heavy. "I think . . . I think we'll have to do something."
"Because you don't want me around?" Percy says and I flinch, avoiding both his and Mom's gazes.
I glance up to see that Mom's eyes had welled up with tears. "Oh, Percy, no. I - I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."
"But you never send her away," Percy says and I look up, eyes wide with surprise.
Mom looks at Percy, eyes wide with shock.
Finally she says, "I have to keep both of you away from each other as much as possible. I thought you'd finally be safe."
"I tried to keep you as close to me as I could," Mom says. "They told me it was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy, (Y/n) - the place your father wanted to send you two. And I just . . . I just can't stand to do it."
"Our father wanted us to go to a special school?" I ask.
"Not a school," Mom replies. "A summer camp."
My head spins. Why would my dad - who hadn't even stayed around to see me and Percy be born - talk to Mom about a summer camp?
"I'm sorry, (Y/n)," Mom says, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I - I couldn't send you two to that place. It might mean saying goodbye to you for good."
"For good?" Percy asks. "But if it's only a summer camp . . ."
Mom turns towards the fire, and I know from her expression, that if we asked any more questions, she would start to cry.
Word Count: 2413 words
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can you do a stark reader x peter on a rainy day in the compound?
requests are open (hope u like this)
—
You groaned as you looked out at the view of the large, thick window. The sky was dark and the atmosphere cold. The city acted as if somebody had died.
“It’s raining,” you hollered, irritated.
“It’s New York,” Peter chuckled. “What did you expect?”
You rolled your eyes, plopping down onto the couch beside him. He set his phone down. “I expect New York to be exciting through the rain. Everything’s either closed early or shut down.”
He laughed again, tilting his head as if to say “really?” You rolled your eyes again, sighing dramatically as you leaned back.
“What am I supposed to do all day?’
“I mean,” he chuckled. “You have me. We can always do our training session together, maybe finish up in the lab or fig-”
“I don’t wanna do Avengers shit for the day!” you huffed. “It’s bad enough we’re stuck in a giant compound, you don’t have to act like dad.”
“Your dad happens to be a very smart man, you know.”
“Not smart enough to include a trampoline room like I suggested.”
Peter sat stunned for a few seconds before breathing out another light chuckle. “You’re so spoiled.”
You gasped, feigning a look at him. “I am not!”
“You literally just complained that you don’t have a room entirely for the purpose of jumping on a trampoline.”
You crossed your arms, eyebrows furrowed. You didn’t want to let him win, so you opted in staying quiet. Peter laughed at your lack of response.
“C’mon, we can still have fun.”
“No, we can’t.”
It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“Because it’s literally fucking raining out, Peter. I literally just told you that, why is it tha-” He cut you off with a quick peck on the lips. He was blushing when he pulled away, but he laughed at how you seemed to have lost your ability to talk. Grabbing your hand, he led the two of you down a corridor and into the sunroom, the gardening area.
“Peter,” you whined. “It smells like rain in here.”
“I thought you loved rain,” he pouted.
“No,” you huffed. Leading him inside, the two of you were met with Steve and Bucky cooking in the kitchen.
“What’s up, kids?”
“We’re bored.”
“Isn’t your dad like- rich?” Bucky asked between bites of his pretzels.
“What about it?” Bucky shrugged in response. You grabbed Peter’s hand again.
The two of you decided to play video games for a while, wasting time while you tried to think of what else you could do. By the time the second hour of video games struck, you groaned just as you had when it first started raining.
“What is it, baby?” Peter paused the game, setting the controller down.
You stood up to look out of the large, door-sized window. “It’s raining out! There’s nothing to do when it rains!”
“We have tons to do-”
You groaned again, turning to face him. “I hate the rain.”
“Well,” Peter stood up. “I happen to love the rain.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he reached for your hands, wrapping them around his neck as his arms took home on your waist. “I get to spend the entire day cuddling with my beautiful girlfriend. And I get to watch movies and eat all the good foods with her.” He smiled as you started to give in too. “And I especially love how unlimited the kisses I get are.”
You nuzzled into his chest, sighing. Peter rested his chin atop your head and you hugged him tighter. “I’m sorry, Peter.”
“Sorry for what, baby?”
“I’ve been a grouch all day. I’m a total buzz-killer.”
He chuckled, moving strands of your hair. “It’s okay, baby. We all have those days.” You hummed. “Can we cuddle now? I feel like binging Star Wars and eating soup.”
You laughed, nodding. “We can totally do that.”
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Dear Ms Liz: you're a certified adult so I was hoping you might have some advice for a hs senior such as myself who's in full blown paaaanic mode over college admissions. how do i *not* anxiety??
ok disclaimer that i did have to drop out of college so i feel like i may be unqualified to address most of the SPECIFICS re: higher ed, but i AM a certified adult and pretzels are the same, etc - meaning anxiety is anxiety is anxiety & i've had like 20+ years of practice managing it so maybe i am qualified for that much. this is a very sweet ask actually im honored anybody has this much faith in me
anyway first of all address the root of the fear. what EXACTLY are you scared of? not getting them done in time? of doing badly on them? of picking the wrong schools? i've had..."a lot"...of "therapy"... & the most helpful part so far was learning the skill of figuring out WHY you feel a particular way, bc that helps w/ addressing it. if you're worried about not getting them done in time, try to work on them a little bit at a time instead of letting dread paralyze you and then getting into a cycle of fear-based procrastination. if it's doing badly on them, maybe you can get a teacher or guidance counselor* or older relative or friend to look them over for you and give you validation. it's about figuring out what you need to feel less overwhelmed and scared, and then securing that for yourself. it's a good skill to have!!!
(*i might be talking out of my ass here but i feel like unless you go to a completely garbage public school you should be able to find SOMEBODY in that building willing to be a pair of second eyes for you. if not, try online. i just checked and r*ddit has a sub called r/applyingtocollege. bad website yes but as long as you don't venture into the wrong parts you can get advice from all kinds of people bc normies use it. source: i have gotten good advice there before! it's never a bad thing to ask for help or ask questions - at the very least it shows other people that you're taking shit seriously and being proactive, yk?)
secondly i CAN tell you this will NOT be your only opportunity at higher ed. my brother had to drop out at the same time as me (money, sigh) and eventually he saved up and went back. and it was no big deal, and now he has a job in his chosen field! so in the absolute worst case scenario that your cat eats every one of the applications & none of them get turned in, it is still not the end of the world. idk, sometimes i like to hash out worst case scenarios and make contingency plans - this can turn into catastrophizing if you aren't careful, but sometimes i find that doing that makes me realize, logically, how unlikely a worst case scenario is and how recoverable it can be. like, i doubt my house will ever catch fire, but having a plan to get me & the pets to safety and knowing that even if my house is gone me & the pets would still be ok still makes me feel BETTER? if you're playing disaster scenarios in your head anyway you may as well give them happy endings.
AND finally. wow sorry this got long. please remember that emotions are temporary. actually everything is temporary but especially feelings. people are sort of like computers in that if you turn it off and turn it back on again they work better. make sure you are getting enough food, actual water, sleep, deep breathing, enrichment in your enclosure, etc. you'd be amazed at how much seeing to your physical needs will make the mental stress seem less dire and all-consuming. a lot of the time if the FEELING seems too big and too much and you can't handle it like you can just...wait it out. bc it's temporary. like literally sometimes you can just take a nap and suddenly it seems a lot more manageable, yk?
ok this has gotten long enough but GOOD LUCK!! i think youre gonna ace those admissions, but i also think even if you dont youre gonna have a great time doing other stuff and that you'll be ok <3
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An Untitled Original Work Goes To Pride
happy pride!! the auow crew is gay so ofc i had to do something for pride!!
i’m realising now that i’m basically writing fanfic for my own writing but it’s fine somebody’s gotta do it
this takes place the summer before auow actually starts, so no Sammie content (or Logan, Benji, or Ellison)
disclaimer: i've never been to pride so most of this came from google and a vague memory from walking through a Christopher Street Day festival in Germany two summers ago
masterpost
trigger warnings: biphobia, swearing, light violence mention, ask to tag
word count: 1018
tagging: @fire-sapphics @damischs @zoyyanazyalensky @love-pyramus @ketterdamkid @pencilwritesshiz47 @tiergan-andrin-alenefar @mermistahawk @dirty-racoon @tommyinnitt @enbies-and-felonies @sophia-not-sofie @imaramennoodle @littlemisscupcake @cadence-talle @knifescythe @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @completekeefitztrash and lmk know if you wanna be added/removed!!
They could see the mass of people from blocks away. Thousands of brightly dressed people, with all sorts of signs and accessories to help them stand out in the crowd. Music blared louder than any concert Mally had ever been to.
Gina had swapped her all-black look for black jean shorts and purple converse to go with a t-shirt she’d tie-dyed and cropped. Leo had been slathering on sunscreen, but was growing increasingly more distracted as they drew nearer to the crowd. Andre’s fanny pack was covered in buttons and pins that the group had applied the night before in preparation for the event.
“Woah, Mally, this is insane,” Leo said. “There’s so much going on!”
“I know, right?” she said gleefully. “Come on, we can’t be late to watch the parade!”
She led the group of friends through the crowded streets of the festival, weaving past vendors and corporate booths. The crowds were thick, but she expertly dodged people, making sure to hold onto Andre's hand so the chain wouldn’t be broken. Finally, they arrived at the curb where they would have an unobscured vantage point.
“They’re starting!” she pointed. “Look!”
There it was, in all its glory. The Philadelphia Pride Parade was just beginning, and they’d arrived just in time.
“I can’t believe we’re actually here!” Gina said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I never thought I’d be able to go!”
“I know, right? My parents are so chill. I never thought they’d go for this idea.”
“Where are they today?”
“Uh, they took my sister to a museum, I think. But come on, let’s watch the parade!”
The four kids watched gleefully as the parade went by, waving at performers and screaming along to the music. They collected beads as they were thrown into the crowds, collecting several dozen and putting them all around Andre’s neck.
Partway through the spectacle, Mally turned to Gina and said, “Hold this.” She thrust the little flag she’d been holding at her friend and pulled her backpack off. She unzipped it, reached inside, and pulled out a bisexual flag. “This is for you, I totally forgot about it this morning.”
“Oh my God, Mally, thank you so much!” Gina exclaimed, hugging her friend. “I love it, thank you!” Her excitement was infectious as she unfolded it and wrapped it around her shoulders as a cape.
Mally whipped out a lesbian flag and followed suit while Gina showed her new accessoriy off to the boys. Leo grabbed a little container of bubbles out of his pocket and started blowing them in Gina’s face while Andre threw some of his beads around her neck.
When the parade ended, their chain linked up once more as they visited different booths and got countless freebies. Rubbery wristbands choked their forearms, while Leo’s shirt became plastered with stickers. Andre suddenly had not one, but four pairs of bright orange sunglasses on his face, all sporting a logo for a company none of them had ever heard of. After a bit of wandering, Gina stopped to buy a snack.
“You spent eight dollars on a pretzel?” Andre asked.
“What?” she defended herself. “I was hungry! Plus, I got a sticker,” she added, peeling off the backing and adding it to the collection that had amassed on Leo’s shirt.
“That’s still a lot,” Andre said skeptically.
“Yeah,” Gina agreed, her mouth full of pretzel. “It’s not even that good.”
“I’ll eat it!” Leo grabbed at it, but she dodged him and left him to stumble to catch his balance.
“Mine,” she said, grabbing Mally’s arm and moving on to the next vendor.
They continued in this fashion for nearly an hour, wandering the market-like plaza that had been erected on the grass. The energy level of their friend group dropped, but the party kept going stronger than ever. They passed all sorts of people, from kids younger than themselves to people who looked old enough to be grandparents. There were too many flags to keep track of, and dozens of outrageous outfits.
As the group made their way through the park, they came to an open, grassy area, where people had spread out blankets and were eating food, watching their kids run around, and just relaxing. The friends sat down on a patch of soil under a tree, soaking up a bit of shade. As excited as they were to be there, they had to admit their energy was dwindling.
Just then, a tall man in jeans and a baseball cap came up and stepped on Gina’s flag, knocking her backwards onto the ground. “Hey!” she yelled. “What the fuck!”
“Bisexual is just attention seeking,” the man said gruffly. “Pick one or the other. Don’t be greedy.”
“What the hell, dude?” Mally cried, standing up. “What’s your problem?”
“Bisexual isn’t real,” he spat. “She’s just a straight who’s trying to feel special.”
“Oh yeah? Think again,” Gina said, untying her flag and standing up. Before anyone knew what was going on, the man was on the ground, spitting curses at her.
Mally knew what was happening next before Gina could tell her. She gave a small nod before Gina grabbed her face and kissed her square on the lips. Andre and Leo’s cheers in the background only boosted her confidence. After a moment, Gina backed up and spat in the man’s face.
“Straight my ass. I’m here, I’m queer, and I strike fear into the hearts of my enemies!” she yelled as the man scrambled to his feet and ran away.
Mally turned to her and gave her a high-five. “Didn’t think we were gonna have to use that trick. Good thing we were prepared.”
“That was awesome,” Leo said. “You pushed him really hard.”
“Yeah, I was not expecting that,” Andre chimed in. “And yeah, good thing you guys were prepared.”
“Team effort,” Gina smiled at Mally.
“Yep,” she laughed back. “Is your flag okay?”
Gina bent down to pick it up. “Just a bit dirty, I think. Your gift isn’t ruined.”
“Awesome,” Mally said. “Now, who wants ice cream? It’s on me!”
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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS
Percy Jackson X Reader
-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.
CHAPTER 11: Prepare For Trouble And Make It Double
In a way, it's nice to know there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you're walking away from a bus that's just been attacked by monster hags and blown up by lightning, and it's raining on top of everything else, most people might think that's just really bad luck; when you're a half-blood, you understand that some divine force really is trying to mess up your day. Which was actually what's happening.
So there we were, Annabeth, Percy, Grover and I, walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses. Percy and I walked side by side with our hand still connected.
Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once.
I was pretty much in shock myself. The explosion of bus windows still rang in my ears. But Annabeth kept pulling us along, saying: "Come on! The farther away we get, the better.
"All our money was back there," Percy reminded her. "Our food and clothes. Everything."
"Well, maybe if you hadn't decided to jump into the fight—"
"What did you want me to do? Let you guys get killed? I was not going to leave Y/N."
"You didn't need to protect me, Percy. I would've been fine."
"Sliced like sandwich bread," Grover put in, "but fine."
"Shut up, goat boy," I said.
Grover brayed mournfully. "Tin cans... a perfectly good bag of tin cans."
We sloshed across mushy ground, through nasty twisted trees that smelled like sour laundry.
After a few minutes, Annabeth fell into line next to Percy. "Look, I..." Her voice faltered. "I appreciate your coming back for us, okay? That was really brave."
"We're a team, right?"
She was silent for a few more steps. "It's just that if you died... aside from the fact that it would really suck for you, it would mean the quest was over. This may be my only chance to see the real world."
The thunderstorm had finally let up. The city glow faded behind us, leaving us in almost total darkness.
Do you want to see?
Yeah that would be nice.
It was as if it was morning, I could see everything clearly. I wandered my head to make sure I could see everything. This is cool.
"You okay?" Percy asked.
"Yeah," Not really a fan of the current silence I turned to Annabeth.
"You haven't left Camp Half-Blood since you were seven?" I asked her.
"No... only short field trips. My dad—"
"The history professor."
"Yeah. It didn't work out for me living at home. I mean, Camp Half-Blood is my home." She was rushing her words out now, as if she were afraid somebody might try to stop her. "At camp you train and train. And that's all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That's where you learn whether you're any good or not."
If I didn't know better, I could've sworn I heard doubt in her voice.
"You're pretty good with that knife," I said.
"You think so?"
"Yeah maybe you can teach me some tricks.
"Anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay by me." Percy smiled.
I couldn't really see, but I thought she might've smiled.
"You know," she said, "maybe I should tell you... Something funny back on the but..."
Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted by a shrill toot-toot-toot, like the sound of an owl being tortured.
"Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried. "If I could just remember a 'find path' song, we could get out of these woods!"
He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff.
Seeing a tree coming up I tried to pull Percy to avoid it but Percy immediately slammed into a tree and got a nice-size knot on his head.
I suppressed my laugh by covering my mouth which made Percy glare at me.
After tripping and cursing and generally feeling miserable for another mile or so, I started to see light up ahead: the colors of a neon sign. I could smell food. Fried, greasy, excellent food. I realized I hadn't eaten anything unhealthy since I'd arrived at Half-Blood Hill, where we lived on grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph-prepared barbecue. This kid needed a double cheeseburger.
>We kept walking until I saw a deserted two-lane road through the trees. On the other side was a closed-down gas station, a tattered billboard for a 1990s movie, and one open business, which was the source of the neon light and the good smell.
It wasn't a fast-food restaurant like I'd hoped. It was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos and wooden Indians and cement grizzly bears and stuff like that. The main building was a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of statuary. The neon sign above the gate was impossible for me to read, because if there's anything worse for my dyslexia than regular English, it's red cursive neon English.
To me, it looked like: ATNYU MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROUIM.
"What the heck does that say?" I asked.
"I don't know," Annabeth said.
She loved reading so much, I'd forgotten she was dyslexic, too.
Grover translated: "Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium."
Flanking the entrance, as advertised, were two cement garden gnomes, ugly bearded little runts, smiling and waving, as if they were about to get their picture taken.
I crossed the street, following the smell of the hamburgers.
"Hey..." Grover warned.
"The lights are on inside," Annabeth said. "Maybe it's open."
"Snack bar," I said wistfully.
"Snack bar," Percy agreed.
"Snack bar," Annabeth joined.
"Are you three crazy?" Grover said. "This place is weird."
We ignored him.
The front lot was a forest of statues: cement animals, cement children, even a cement satyr playing the pipes, which gave Grover the creeps.
"Bla-ha-ha!" he bleated. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!"
We stopped at the warehouse door.
"Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters."
I turned to look at my knife. It had a light glow emitting from it. Probably because it was sheathed.
"I think there's monsters." I was now reluctant and sided with Grover.
"Grover's nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth told him. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?"
"Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian."
"You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," Percy reminded him..
"Those are vegetables. Come on. Let's leave. These statues are... looking at me."
"Percy, I don't think---"
"It'll be fine." Percy took my hand and went in.
Be careful and don't look.
Then the door creaked open, and standing in front of us was a tall Middle Eastern woman—at least, I assumed she was Middle Eastern, because she wore a long black gown that covered everything but her hands, and her head was completely veiled. Her eyes glinted behind a curtain of black gauze, but that was about all I could make out. Her coffee-colored hands looked old, but well-manicured and elegant, so I imagined she was a grandmother who had once been a beautiful lady.
>Her accent sounded vaguely Middle Eastern, too. She said, "Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?"
"They're... um..." Annabeth started to say.
"We're orphans," I said.
"Orphans?" the woman said. The word sounded alien in her mouth. "But, my dears! Surely not!"
"We got separated from our caravan," Percy said. "Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we're lost. Is that food I smell?"
"Oh, my dears," the woman said. "You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area.
We thanked her and went inside.
Annabeth muttered to Percy, "Circus caravan?"
"Always have a strategy, right?"
"Your head is full of kelp."
The warehouse was filled with more statues—people in all different poses, wearing all different outfits and with different expressions on their faces. I was thinking you'd have to have a pretty huge garden to fit even one of these statues, because they were all life-size. I was anxious so I tighten my grip on Percy.
It's stupid for walking into a strange lady's shop like that just because we were hungry. For a child of Athena, Annabeth sure isn't making wise decisions. I mean yeah I agree, you've never smelled Aunty Em's burgers. The aroma was like laughing gas in the dentist's chair—it made everything else go away.
But Grover's nervous whimpers, and the way the statues' eyes seemed to follow me, to add the fact that Aunty Em had locked the door behind us. Made me more cautious.
Sure enough, there it was at the back of the warehouse, a fast-food counter with a grill, a soda fountain, a pretzel heater, and a nacho cheese dispenser. Everything you could want, plus a few steel picnic tables out front.
"Please, sit down," Aunty Em said
"Awesome," Percy said.
"Um," Grover said reluctantly, "we don't have any money, ma'am."
Aunty Em said, "No, no, children. No money. This is a special case, yes? It is my treat, for such nice orphans."
"Thank you, ma'am," Annabeth said.
Aunty Em stiffened, as if Annabeth had done something wrong, but then the old woman relaxed just as quickly, I had to turn to Annabeth to check if there was something wrong with her..
Quite all right, Annabeth," she said. "You have such beautiful gray eyes, child."
I wonder how she knew Annabeth's name, even though we had never introduced ourselves.
"Percy, I want to leave..." I whispered.
"Just a few bites Y/N. Don't worry." He gave me a reassuring pat.
Our hostess disappeared behind the snack counter and started cooking. Before we knew it, she'd brought us plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, and XXL servings of French fries.
I wasn't gulfing down my food like Percy was. Grover picked at the fries, and eyed the tray's waxed paper liner as if he might go for that, but he still looked too nervous to eat.
Annabeth slurped her shake.
"What's that hissing noise?" he asked.
I listened, but didn't hear anything. Annabeth shook her head.
"Hissing?" Aunty Em asked. "Perhaps you hear the deep-fryer oil. You have keen ears, Grover."
"I take vitamins. For my ears."
"That's admirable," she said. "But please, relax."
I don't like it here. I'm scared.
Be wary of all things.
Aunty Em ate nothing. She hadn't taken off her headdress, even to cook, and now she sat forward and interlaced her fingers and watched us eat. It was a little unsettling, having someone stare at me when I couldn't see her face, and I figured the least I could do was try to make small talk with our hostess.
"So, you sell gnomes," I said, trying to sound interested.
"Oh, yes," Aunty Em said. "And animals. And people. Anything for the garden. Custom orders. Statuary is very popular, you know."
"A lot of business on this road?"
"Not so much, no. Since the highway was built... most cars, they do not go this way now. I must cherish every customer I get.
My neck tingled, as if somebody else was looking at me. I turned, but it was just a statue of a young girl holding an Easter basket. The detail was incredible, much better than you see in most garden statues. But something was wrong with her face. It looked as if she were startled, or even terrified."Ah," Aunty Em said sadly. "You notice some of my creations do not turn out well. They are marred. They do not sell. The face is the hardest to get right. Always the face."
"You make these statues yourself?" Percy asked.
"Oh, yes. Once upon a time, I had two sisters to help me in the business, but they have passed on, and Aunty Em is alone. I have only my statues. This is why I make them, you see. They are my company." The sadness in her voice sounded so deep and so real that I couldn't help feeling sorry for her.
Annabeth had stopped eating. She sat forward and said, "Two sisters?"
"It's a terrible story," Aunty Em said. "Not one for children, really. You see, Annabeth, a bad woman was jealous of me, long ago, when I was young. I had a... a boyfriend, you know, and this bad woman was determined to break us apart. She caused a terrible accident. My sisters stayed by me. They shared my bad fortune as long as they could, but eventually they passed on. They faded away. I alone have survived, but at a price. Such a price."
Annabeth gave me a look of worry. I knew she realized something.
"Percy?" I shook him to get his attention. "Maybe we should go. I mean, the ringmaster will be waiting."
Grover was eating the waxed paper off the tray now, but if Aunty Em found that strange, she didn't say anything.
"Such beautiful gray eyes," Aunty Em told Annabeth again. "My, yes, it has been a long time since I've seen gray eyes like those."
She reached out as if to stroke Annabeth's cheek, but Annabeth stood up abruptly.
"We really should go."
"Yes!" Grover swallowed his waxed paper and stood up. "The ringmaster is waiting! Right!"
"Please, dears," Aunty Em pleaded. "I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won't you at least sit for a pose?"
"A pose?" Annabeth asked warily.
"A photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children."
Annabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I don't think we can, ma'am. Come on, Percy—"
"Sure we can," Percy said. "It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?"
"Percy, I don't want to..."
"It's just a photo guys."
"Indeed it is just a photo Y/N," the woman purred. "No harm."
I could tell Annabeth didn't like it as well, but she allowed Aunty Em to lead us back out the front door, into the garden of statues.
Aunty Em directed us to a park bench next to the stone satyr. "Now," she said, "I'll just position you correctly. The young girls in the middle, I think, and the two young gentlemen on either side."
"Not much light for a photo," I remarked. But joke's on her I could see quite clearly.
Don't look.
"Oh, enough," Aunty Em said. "Enough for us to see each other, yes?"
"Where's your camera?" Grover asked.
Aunty Em stepped back, as if to admire the shot. "Now, the face is the most difficult. Can you smile for me please, everyone? A large smile?"
Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, and mumbled, "That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand."
"Grover," Aunty Em chastised, "look this way, dear."
She still had no camera in her hands.
"Percy—" Annabeth said.
"I will just be a moment," Aunty Em said. "You know, I can't see you very well in this cursed veil...."
"Percy, something's wrong," I insisted.
"Wrong?" Aunty Em said, reaching up to undo the wrap around her head. "Not at all, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?"
"That is Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover gasped.
DON'T LOOK.
Annabeth turned to my direction, "Look away from her!" she then shouted. She whipped her Yankees cap onto her head and vanished. Her invisible hands pushed Grover and and I pulled Percy with me.
We were on the ground, looking at Aunt Em's sandaled feet.
I could hear Grover scrambling off in one direction, Annabeth in another.
"Percy, we have to move!" I shook him. But he was too dazed to move.
Then I heard a strange, rasping sound above me. My eyes rose to Aunty Em's hands, which had turned gnarled and warty, with sharp bronze talons for fingernails.
Percy was about to look higher then her hands and I instinctively covered his eyes. "Don't look!"
More rasping—the sound of tiny snakes, right above me, from... from about where Aunty Em's head would be.
"Run!" Grover bleated. I heard him racing across the gravel, yelling, "Maia!" to kick-start his flying sneakers.
"Percy we have to move please!"
"Such a pity to destroy a handsome young face," she said soothingly. "Stay with me, Percy. All you have to do is look up."
"Percy please!"
Percy pushed my hand away and looked to one side. I turned to look as well and saw one of those glass spheres people put in gardens— a gazing ball. I could see Aunty Em's dark reflection in the orange glass; her headdress was gone, revealing her face as a shimmering pale circle. Her hair was moving, writhing like serpents.
Aunty Em.
Aunty "M."
How did Medusa die in the myth?
But I couldn't think. Something told me that in the myth Medusa had been asleep when she was attacked by my namesake, Perseus. She wasn't anywhere near asleep now. If she wanted, she could take those talons right now and rake open my face.
"The Gray-Eyed One did this to me," Medusa said, and she didn't sound anything like a monster. Her voice invited me to look up, to sympathize with a poor old grandmother. "Annabeth's mother, the cursed Athena, turned me from a beautiful woman into this."
"Don't listen to her!" Annabeth's voice shouted, somewhere in the statuary. "Y/N carry Percy!"
"Silence!" Medusa snarled. Then her voice modulated back to a comforting purr. "You see why I must destroy the girl, Percy. She is my enemy's daughter. I shall crush her statue to dust. But you, dear Percy, you need not suffer. We won't even hurt, Y/N."
I swung Percy's arm around my shoulder. But he was too heavy.
"No," he muttered trying to make his legs move...
"Do you really want to help the gods?" Medusa asked. "Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain."
"Y/N!" Behind me, I heard a buzzing sound, like a two-hundred-pound hummingbird in a nosedive. Grover yelled, "Duck!"
I turned, and there he was in the night sky, flying in from twelve o'clock with his winged shoes fluttering, Grover, holding a tree branch the size of a baseball bat. His eyes were shut tight, his head twitched from side to side. He was navigating by ears and nose alone.
"Duck!" he yelled again. "I'll get her!"
I tackled Percy to the other side.
Thwack!
Then Medusa roared with rage.
"You miserable satyr," she snarled. "I'll add you to my collection!"
"That was for Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover yelled back.
Pulling along an out of a dazed Percy we scrambled away and hid in the statuary while Grover swooped down for another pass.
Ker-whack!
"Arrgh!" Medusa yelled, her snake-hair hissing and spitting.
Right next to me, Annabeth's voice said, "Y/N! Percy!"
Percy jumped so high his feet nearly cleared a garden gnome. "Jeez! Don't do that!"
Annabeth took off her Yankees cap and became visible. 'You have to cut her head off."
"What? Are you crazy? Let's get out of here."
"Medusa is a menace. She's evil. I'd kill her myself, but..." Annabeth swallowed, as if she were about to make a difficult admission. "But you've got the better weapon. Besides, I'd never get close to her. She'd slice me to bits because of my mother. You—you've got a chance."
"What? I can't—"
"Look, do you want her turning more innocent people into statues?"
She pointed to a pair of statue lovers, a man and a woman with their arms around each other, turned to stone by the monster.
Annabeth grabbed a green gazing ball from a nearby pedestal. "A polished shield would be better." She studied the sphere critically. "The convexity will cause some distortion. The reflection's size should be off by a factor of—"
"Would you speak English?"
"I am!" She tossed him the glass ball. "Just look at her in the glass. Never look at her directly."
"Hey, guys!" Grover yelled somewhere above us. "I think she's unconscious!"
"Roooaaarrr!"
"Maybe not," Grover corrected. He went in for another pass with the tree branch.
"Hurry," Annabeth told him. "Grover's got a great nose, but he'll eventually crash."
Percy took out his pen and uncapped it. The bronze blade of Riptide showed. He turned to me and gave the glass then offered a hand.
"Percy you can't be seriously bring her along!?"
"I'll go with him." Taking his hand, we followed the hissing and spitting sounds of Medusa's hair. I raised the glass so I could guide us.
I kept my eyes locked on the gazing ball so I would only glimpse Medusa's reflection, not the real thing. Then, in the green tinted glass, I saw her.
Grover was coming in for another turn at bat, but this time he flew a little too low. Medusa grabbed the stick and pulled him off course. He tumbled through the air and crashed into the arms of a stone grizzly bear with a painful "Ummphh!"
Medusa was about to lunge at him when I yelled, "Hey!"
We advanced on her. I had let go of Percy's hand to bring out my knife. So if she charged, I could help Percy.
But she let us approach—twenty feet, ten feet.
I could see the reflection of her face now. Surely it wasn't really that ugly. The green swirls of the gazing ball must be distorting it, making it look worse.
"You wouldn't harm an old woman, Percy," she crooned. "I know you wouldn't."
I could tell he hesitated.
From the cement grizzly, Grover moaned, "Percy, don't listen to her!"
Medusa cackled. "Too late."
She lunged at him with her talons.
I ran and raised my knife to block her talons, Percy then swung his sword, then we heard a sickening shlock!, then a hiss like wind rushing out of a cavern—the sound of a monster disintegrating.
Something fell to the ground next to my foot. It took all my willpower not to look. I could feel warm ooze soaking into my sock, little dying snake heads tugging at my shoelaces.
"Oh, yuck," Percy said. His eyes were still tightly closed, but I guess he could hear the thing gurgling and steaming. "Mega-yuck."
Annabeth came up next to us, her eyes fixed on the sky. She was holding Medusa's black veil. She said, "Don't move."
>Very, very carefully, without looking down, she knelt and draped the monster's head in black cloth, then picked it up. It was still dripping green juice.
"Are you okay?" Percy asked me, his voice trembling.
"Yeah," I decided. "Why didn't... why didn't the head evaporate?"
"Once you sever it, it becomes a spoil of war," she said. "Same as your minotaur horn. But don't unwrap the head. It can still petrify you."
Grover moaned as he climbed down from the grizzly statue. He had a big welt on his forehead. His green rasta cap hung from one of his little goat horns, and his fake feet had been knocked off his hooves. The magic sneakers were flying aimlessly around his head.
"The Red Baron," Percy said. "Good job, man."
He managed a bashful grin. "That really was not fun, though. Well, the hitting-her-with-a-stick part, that was fun. But crashing into a concrete bear? Not fun."
He snatched his shoes out of the air.
"I didn't know Grover got Luke's shoes."
Percy recapped his sword. "I can't fly." He shrugged.
Together, the four of us stumbled back to the warehouse
We found some old plastic grocery bags behind the snack counter and double-wrapped Medusa's head. We plopped it on the table where we'd eaten dinner and sat around it, too exhausted to speak.
Finally Percy said, "So we have Athena to thank for this monster?"
Annabeth flashed me an irritated look. "Your dad, actually. Don't you remember? Medusa was Poseidon's girlfriend. They decided to meet in my mother's temple. That's why Athena turned her into a monster. Medusa and her two sisters who had helped her get into the temple, they became the three gorgons. That's why Medusa wanted to slice me up, but she wanted to preserve you as a nice statue. She's still sweet on your dad. You probably reminded her of him."
"Oh, so now it's my fault we met Medusa."
Annabeth straightened. In a bad imitation of my voice, she said: "'It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?'"
"Forget it," I said. "You're impossible."
"You're insufferable."
"You're—"
"You're both loud and stupid." I growled.
"Yeah!" Grover interrupted. "You two are giving me a migraine, and satyrs don't even get migraines. What are we going to do with the head?"
I stared at the thing. One little snake was hanging out of a hole in the plastic. The words printed on the side of the bag said: WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS!
I was angry, not just with Annabeth or her mom, but with all the gods for this whole quest, for getting us blown off the road and in two major fights the very first day out from camp. At this rate, we'd never make it to L.A. alive, much less before the summer solstice.
What had Medusa said?
Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Percy and I shared a look.
We got up. "I'll be back."
"Percy, Y/N," Annabeth called after me. "What are you—"
We searched the back of the warehouse until I found Medusa's office. Her account book showed her six most recent sales, all shipments to the Underworld to decorate Hades and Persephone's garden. According to one freight bill, the Underworld's billing address was DOA Recording Studios, West Hollywood, California. I folded up the bill and stuffed it in my pocket.
In the cash register I found twenty dollars, a few golden drachmas, and some packing slips for Hermes Overnight Express, each with a little leather bag attached for coins.
"Found one." Percy called.
We went back to the picnic table, packed up Medusa's head, and filled out a delivery slip:
The Gods
>Mount Olympus
600th Floor,
>Empire State Building
New York, NY
With best wishes,
PERCY JACKSON <3 Y/N L/N
"They're not going to like that," Grover warned. "They'll think you're impertinent."
I poured some golden drachmas in the pouch. As soon as I closed it, there was a sound like a cash register. The package floated off the table and disappeared with a pop!
"I am impertinent," Percy said.
I looked at Annabeth, daring her to criticize.
She didn't. She seemed resigned to the fact that we had a major talent for ticking off the gods. "Great, well Fred and George," she muttered. "We need a new plan."
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UwU
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🙊💬+ First Aid? (first-to-aid)
Send 🙊💬 + a name, and my muse will share their true, unfiltered opinion of that person! No sugarcoating!
“I love the little guy. He’s like a little brother, or a nephew, to me. Like family, is what I’m trying to say. I care about him a whole lot, though he does get annoying sometimes, always worrying about me and trying to lecture me on health stuff like he’s not a whole two years old. I get that he’s training to be a medic and stuff, but I’m fine most of the time, and he gets twisted into a pretzel with concern over nothing. Yeah, my eating schedule’s a bit of a mess, and yeah, I get into fights, but I can take care of myself. I’m not some kid, and it gets on my nerves when he tries to lecture me like he’s some wise elder medic.” Fulcrum’s kibble flared out angrily, and he crossed his arms.
“And— I know it’s his personal choice to be a pacifist, I’m not judging the little guy, but I don’t like how he’s all dedicated to helping everyone and never hurting. Sometimes, you’ve got to go apeshit. You can’t just bottle up your emotions and be this perfect little pacifist medic all the time. One has to get angry, and let out those emotions. Not everyone’s all punchy like me, I get it, but you’ve gotta at least yell at somebody. Scream at a wall. Punch said wall. Throw a plushie into oncoming traffic. Stab a cupcake. Set a punching bag on fire. Something!” His biolights glowed angrily for a second, before calming.
“But I really do care about him. How could I not? He’s sweet, first thing he said to me was ‘are you okay’? Most people treat me like I’m unhinged by default, which— yeah they’re kinda fair to do that. But Aid didn’t, and while I was kinda mean to him at first, he’s grown on me. Like some adorable, tiny fungus that won’t leave. And is beneficial. Okay, maybe less like a fungus and more like a flower. Or— y’know, that was a bad analogy. I’m attached, now. He’s my tiny friend. And he’s got a good stomach for horror, which is kinda surprising. I don’t get how Coraline can give him the spooks, but he can handle Halloween and Friday.”
“Uh. Yeah. I care about him, but I want him to go apeshit. He deserves it.”
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Connect (Con Man AU; Chapter 3)
Characters: Meyer Lansky, Charlie Luciano, Benny Siegel, Frank Costello
Pairing: Meyer/Charlie
Word Count: ~5,000
(also on ao3)
“How’s it looking?” Meyer’s voice—though he seldom raised it—echoed louder than usual as he entered the empty room. The ceiling wasn’t high, but the exposed concrete and beams made everything sound louder than it was, his footsteps sharp and distinct.
Benny sat perched on the windowsill before a wide expanse of tinted glass, the large Citgo sign behind him. He looked up from the wad of cash he was counting, a plastic spoon dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Not great,” he said around the spoon.
Meyer stopped in front of him and bristled. “Not great?”
Benny offered a toothy grin, plucking the spoon from his mouth. “The clam chowder, I mean. Not all it’s cracked up to be, you know.”
Meyer let out a sigh that was equal parts relief and frustration, rounding instead on Frank for a straight answer. “What about you?”
“I didn’t have any. Seafood doesn’t agree with me. Besides, my wife’s got me doing this cleanse, so I’m only supposed to eat—”
“Will somebody—” Meyer said sharply, “please tell me about the damn Red Sox.”
“Oh, yeah, them. Probably gonna win,” Benny shrugged. “Unless they all get sick from this clam chowder. Chowdah,” he amended, adopting a mocking accent as he tossed his half-full cup halfway across the room into an open box.
Meyer smiled wryly, clasping his hands together as he looked out the window. It was early afternoon, the sun still high in the sky, but he knew that soon those stadium lights would be burning hot and bright around the green edges of Fenway Park. “Well, don’t go slipping them any. We need them to win the World Series.”
Frank scooped Benny’s chowder cup out of the box and set it on the ground. “And don’t go messing up the merchandise, alright?”
“And this location. It’s secured?” Meyer asked as he cocked his head and peered down into the boxes. Frank was good with logistics—he knew people, knew which palms to grease, plus he had out-of-town connections in several major cities outside of New York. But, for as reliable as he knew Frank to be, Meyer knew it was better never to rely on anyone else.
“Secure and discrete, with a backdoor in case of emergency,” Frank confirmed.
From the windowsill, Benny laughed. “Sounds like a Craigslist ad.”
Neither Frank nor Meyer paid the comment any attention, as Frank continued rattling off a list of checks and information.
“Good. I want everything set up before Game 1,” Meyer said as he and Frank finished talking over the finer points.
“Where’re you goin’?” Benny asked, jumping down from his perch. The sound of his turquoise sneakers slapping the concrete floor reverberated around the room.
Frank handled moving the merchandise, buying, reselling, underselling, overselling. He took care of the practicalities of the operation with the same care that Meyer took in the planning. Meyer handled the numbers, the details, all the information they needed. They didn’t need to worry about encryption when they had the most secure data storage in the world—Meyer’s memory. Betting, selling, scamming. Credit cards. Even hacking when things got slow. Gambling was the big money-maker for sports, but any large event brought all kinds of other opportunities with it. It was all about volume. Keeping as many fingers in as many pies, but never an entire hand—so to speak. Enough to get by, to keep moving, to afford the next round of jobs, but not enough to be noticed. Not enough to raise suspicion.
“I need to crunch some numbers in peace. No distractions.” He pointed a finger at Benny as he turned back towards the door.
Benny fixed him with one of those looks that used to mean his mother was about to get a call home from the principal’s office. “When have I ever been distracting?”
Fortunately, it was a short trip back to the hotel—only a few stops by train. He had been advised by everyone to avoid driving in Boston at all costs, which was a shame. Meyer had so little opportunity to get behind the wheel back home that it was one of his favorite parts of out-of-town jobs. Certainly better than the little bars of soap he still felt wasteful leaving behind in hotels.
The hotel itself was an ornate building downtown. It was fancier than suited Meyer’s personal tastes, but this wasn’t about his preferences. Besides, he noted as he crossed the street from the train and walked across the brick plaza, the hotel was right next to the library. Not that he would have much time for reading during the World Series, but it was nice to have close by all the same. Maybe he could bring his notebook across the street for some quiet.
The doorman held the door as he entered; Meyer nodded and thanked him. It would always make him a bristle a little, being treated like some kind of big shot when he was more than capable of opening his own doors, thank you. His ego didn’t need someone to do it for him—but this was a “big shot” kind of job. The World Series was a big deal. He had a part to play.
He fished his key card from his wallet as he entered the lobby, but the woman behind the front desk waved him down. “Sir? Excuse me, sir? Your husband wanted me to let you know that he’s waiting for you in the hotel restaurant.”
“My… husband?” Meyer hesitated, keeping his face neutral.
“Yes, he said that his phone died and you’d already checked in, so he’d wait for you for dinner.”
Meyer managed a tight smile. “Thank you,” as he reversed direction from the elevators and through the doors into the plush, maroon-carpeted hotel restaurant. It was early enough in the day that there were not many people inside. A couple at the bar, one or two tables filled. At the far side, by the window, a familiar face sat with his knees up against the table, typing away on his “dead” phone.
So much for no distractions.
He walked over, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “When exactly did we get married?”
“You’re so bad at rememberin’ our anniversary,” Charlie teased, looking up at him with a smirk. He dropped his feet back to the floor, grinning, but Meyer was all business.
“How’d you find me?” he asked, giving Charlie a steady stare. Running into each other by chance in Manhattan was one thing. Charlie finding his hotel in Boston—when he had no reason to even know Meyer would be in another state and city altogether—was another matter. He needed to figure out which security breach he had to close.
“I’m lucky,” Charlie answered with a cheeky grin. Meyer raised an eyebrow; he caved. “Alright, fine. After you disappeared on me without givin’ your number, I asked around,” Charlie explained, shooting Meyer a fond-but-grudging look that almost made it seem like they actually were a couple. Meyer had to commend his commitment to a rouse.
“I figure, Meyer ain’t exactly a common name, but nobody’s got any idea who I’m talkin’ about. For bein’ the best in the biz, you’re either way under the radar or you got everybody too scared to talk. But finally, I find a guy who tells me you work big sporting events. I’m thinkin’, 2013 World Series got your name all over it.” Charlie paused and took a sip from his glass of water. “Besides, I ain’t ever been to Boston before. Never been outta the five boroughs, actually.”
He looked at Meyer expectantly, who nodded as he digested the information. Charlie was right about one thing—he did operate under the radar. It was safer that way. He had other people who could be the front, who could strike the deals, shake the hands, meet the contacts. Meyer organized it all. “So you’ve just been wandering the streets of a major metropolitan area in the hopes of running into me by chance? You do know how many people are coming in for the game, right?”
“That’s the thing, though!” Charlie said, emphatic and excited, sitting forward in his seat. “That’s how it happened.”
Meyer raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to offer a retort, when the waiter appeared to refill their water and take their orders for drinks. Charlie—practiced and confident—ordered a cocktail involving peaches and vodka that made Meyer’s teeth ache just thinking about it. Meyer opted for pernod, while Charlie tacked on an order for pretzel bites and beer cheese with an award-winning smile.
Meyer took a sip of water and looked out the window at the people passing by in Copley Square. “Really? Pretzel bites?”
“If you don’t want any, more for me,” Charlie teased.
“I’m just surprised that a place like this even has pretzel bites.”
Charlie flipped open the black leather menu book. “What, so I should order some ‘olive oil poached octopus’ when he comes back?”
Meyer grimaced. “Pretzels will be just fine. But don’t think you’re getting out of this easily. I believe I’m still owed an explanation.”
Charlie leaned against the high-backed leather chair; he seemed to be enjoying this, retelling his detective work. At least it wasn’t hard to get him talking. Useful flaw. “Alright, so I get here, figure next step’s gotta be Fenway, maybe start askin’ around, see if anybody who’s in the business here knows anything about you.”
“Seems doubtful, considering you didn’t have much luck with that on our home turf.”
“Hey, I gotta plenty of luck, thanks. ‘Cause there I am, gettin’ a slice of pizza, courtesy of some guy’s wallet—and it ain’t New York pizza, I’ll tell you that much—”
Meyer smirked. “I don’t hear great things about the clam chowder, either.”
“That’s just it! There I am, eatin’ my shit pizza, and there’s these two guys. When’s Meyer meetin’ us, and suddenly I’m all ears.”
“I’m not the only person in the entire world named Meyer, you know.”
Charlie ignored this point and kept talking. “So the one guy—beanpole, can’t stand still—he’s all, how come Meyer gets that swanky Copley hotel and we’re in a Best Western. And the other guy—looks like an Eddie Bauer catalog—he’s sayin’, well you know Meyer, all cautious, wants to stay separate. So now I’m here and I was right.”
Charlie grinned in satisfaction, evidently quite pleased with himself and his work, even though it was nothing but stupid dumb luck and stupid dumb Benny and Frank. Meyer clenched his teeth; he’d be having a word with them about being so cavalier with their details in public, where anyone could overhear.
“Well,” Meyer said, brushing a few lingering crumbs from earlier patrons off the table and into the palm of his hand, “I’ve never had a stalker before. Is that standard in your repertoire, or are you branching out?”
Charlie scoffed, indignant. “I’m not a stalker!”
“What do you call following me all the way to Boston?”
“Skill.”
Meyer snorted, which seemed to get under Charlie’s skin.
“Come on, admit it. You’re impressed!”
He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction so easily. “Maybe I’m just creeped out.” It was unbelievable, after all, that he could come all the way to Boston and Charlie could still track him down in one afternoon all because of some goddamn clam chowder. And more than a little worrying. If Charlie could do it, who else?
“Listen,” Charlie said, sitting forward and drumming his fingers against the menu. He spoke quickly in a lowered voice, a look in his eyes as he met Meyer’s. “If I’m honest, I didn’t think it’d work, but then I found you and—and it’s like what you said. Things connect. Like us.”
Meyer sat back. “You’re twisting my words. That’s about strategy, you’re talking… fate.”
Charlie cocked his head. “You sayin’ you don’t believe in it?”
Meyer scoffed. “No, of course not. Do you? Fate is nothing more than what you make of it.”
“And I made it here.”
They fell into silence as the waiter set their drinks down on the table. The moment he was out of earshot, Charlie raised his glass with a winning smile. “So what do you say?”
“About fate?”
“About me. Whatever you got goin’ on, I want in.”
Meyer paused, tracing a finger along the outside of his glass. “I’m not sure it will work.” Rather than look at Charlie’s face—like someone had killed his puppy—Meyer riffled through his bag instead. “If you come onboard… Something tells me you’re a Yankees guy, but we need someone to be the idiot fan,” he said as he pulled out a Red Sox cap.
Charlie’s face split into a grin as he reached for the hat. “Anything for you, honey.”
Despite himself, Meyer laughed and clinked their glasses together.
*****
They didn’t order the Prime New York Strip, despite Charlie’s insistence that they have a full dinner instead of drinks and appetizers. Really, he just wanted to order the most expensive thing on the menu.
But, Meyer had said, there were better cuts.
Charlie couldn’t tell if he was being a snob or offering to buy him a nicer steak dinner later. Either way, he planned on sticking around to find out.
A short while—and several people’s wallets—later, Meyer was leading him into a building across from Fenway Park. The wallets weren’t part of the plan, per se, but Charlie wasn’t about to cram his ass onto an overcrowded, stopping-and-starting, screechy excuse for a subway without making it worth his while. Meyer noticed, of course, and said nothing; he only smirked. And maybe Charlie liked showing off a little, liked the way Meyer kept his lips in a stern little line, but his eyes crinkled in the corner as Charlie lifted a pair of designer sunglasses from a stuffy business type with a bit of bravado.
He liked the way Meyer moved through the crowds like no one could touch him, as though the sweaty ambling bodies around them were water he could part effortlessly with the angle of his shoulder. He didn’t walk into the building like he owned it—none of that swagger or arrogance. But no one was going to stop him. He looked like a Boy Scout who got a law degree in-between volunteering at the orphaned puppy shelter and helping little old ladies cross the street. But Charlie also saw that look in his eyes, the calculations, the assessment, the darting glances taking in all the details, underneath the unassuming veneer. The ultimate con man.
And here Charlie always thought he was a pro because if he smiled nice enough, no one noticed what his hands were doing. It worked, sure. But Meyer was next level.
If there was one thing Charlie learned in this business, it was to move when you saw an opening. And this was a chance he wasn’t about to let slip away.
“I still think you oughta put that table on the far wall—” Eddie Bauer Catalog was saying to ADHD Beanpole.
“Why, in case Batman repels in and steals our shit?”
“No, it just doesn’t feel right. Y’know, the feng shui.”
“Jesus, Frank, we’re only gonna be here until the end of the World Series—whoa, who’s the homeless guy?” Beanpole said as he noticed them approaching.
“I been on a bus all day!” Charlie snapped back. He wasn’t about to surreptitiously smell his armpit in front of people he didn’t know, but was he that much of a mess? Beanpole and Eddie Bauer were looking at him with uncertainty, wary in a way that had nothing to do with what he looked like.
“This is Charlie,” Meyer said, matter-of-fact. “He’ll be working with us.”
They exchanged another glance.
“Who the fuck is he?” Beanpole looked Charlie up and down; he didn’t seem impressed.
The other cut in for him. “What Benny means to say is, we didn’t think that bringing anyone else in—especially day of—was part of the plan.”
“It wasn’t,” Meyer said, a small smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes as he clasped his hands behind his back. “But he stalked me to my hotel all the way from New York because a certain set of people—and I’m not naming names—decided to announce my whereabouts in a public place.”
“I didn’t stalk—we worked together before. Once,” Charlie explained in a hurried grumble. Okay, so maybe he did stalk Meyer. A little bit. But that’s how it was in their world.
The Beanpole—Benny—scoffed. Like Charlie wasn’t even there, he turned to Meyer and said, with disdain, “Since when do you work with anyone else?” The besides us didn’t need to be said.
This was a dumb idea. This was stupid. He shouldn’t have come all the way to Boston on a fucking hunch. He’d been beyond lucky even crossing paths with Meyer again, but he didn’t picture Meyer having a little gang like this. Which was stupid, he should have figured. After all, Meyer wasn’t gonna be a big player all on his own. But somehow, he figured he was like Charlie. Maybe a shitty subpar partner here and there, the Toninos of the world, but at the end of the day, all on his own.
“Fine,” he snapped. “Looks like you got it all covered.” He turned to go, but Meyer grabbed his arm.
“He’s good,” Meyer said with such finality that even Charlie believed he meant it. He fixed the other two with a firm stare. “Any other questions?”
He was a head taller than both of them, but it was clear that when Meyer said something, they listened. The one who couldn’t stand still didn’t look happy about it, but he also wasn’t going to argue. The other one was still looking at Charlie kind of funny, and Charlie prepared to square up, when he said—“Oh! You’re that Lucania kid!”
Charlie did a double take. “How the fuck d’you know that?”
He swore he’d never seen this guy in his life, but he just laughed warmly and shook his head. It reminded him of a grandparent with little kids, like he was about to start saying shit like yea high. “Yeah, knew you looked familiar. Got my start runnin’ errands for those old country types in the neighborhood, worked the corner store on East 11th. You were always givin’ your mother agida.”
All Charlie could do was stare at him and then laugh. “Just what everybody in this business wants, huh? Doin’ a job with somebody who knows your mother.”
The other guy waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her.” He paused. “For her sake, of course. Not yours. Don’t want to put her through the stress.” He extended his hand to Charlie, with a shake that seemed to belong more in the halls of Congress. “Frank Costello.”
“Oh yeah. Rings a bell.” He couldn’t have told you anything more about him, but it was a name Charlie remembered hearing around the neighborhood. Everybody liked Frank, he knew that. He solved problems. You just weren’t supposed to ask how.
In an undertone, he nudged Meyer in the side with his elbow. “Guess you was right about one thing, huh?” He flashed a grin and pointed his two index fingers together. “About it all connectin’.”
Meyer returned the look with a wry grin. “I think I was right about more than just that.”
Benny misinterpreted the gesture. “Oh eugh. Look, I’m happy you finally got laid, Meyer, but this guy?”
“What’s your problem?” Charlie snapped back with an entirely different finger gesture. Even in his annoyance, however, the word “finally” lodged itself into his brain. From what he remembered—and Charlie did remember—Meyer wasn’t such a bad kisser for a guy who apparently wasn’t getting laid.
“Don’t take it personally, Benny’s goal in life is to get under people’s skin,” Meyer explained in a tone of voice that suggested he was used to explaining away the other’s behavior. Then, with a sharp point at Benny, said emphatically, “And no, we are not—It’s just business.”
Benny snorted. “Always is, with you.”
That was all it took. Before Charlie knew, Meyer was running through their jobs with the precision of a wartime general. Frank moved the merchandise—and no, Charlie, it wasn’t petty theft; it was more what you might term a grey market. They handled sports betting of all types, card games, credit card skimming, and some more complicated jobs that Charlie didn’t fully follow as Meyer spoke with meticulous quickness.
“And if he doesn’t keep me busy enough,” Benny interrupted as Meyer wrapped up the basic overview, “I get bored and jack a car.”
Charlie hadn’t known him long, but he already knew that wasn’t a joke.
“For the record, I hate it when he does that,” Frank said with a sigh.
Benny smirked. “Yeah but Meyer loves a good chop shop more than anyone I know.”
That Charlie didn’t believe, but the small fond smile on Meyer’s face said otherwise. He didn’t argue, instead saying, “Just as long as you’re careful about it.”
“Is there anything you guys don’t do?”
Silence filled the office space. Finally, Frank said with a considering expression, “Not murder. Usually.”
Charlie squinted. He didn’t have a good read on Mr. Eddie-Bauer-for-Senate yet. “Is he kidding?” he asked Meyer.
Meyer didn’t answer, too busy staring out the tinted windows at the glowing lights and milling crowds in baseball caps below. “C’mon. Let’s get out of Frank’s hair before the local hires show up.”
*****
By the time they left the game after the sixth inning—Meyer had work to do before the game actually ended—the sun had long since set and a chill hung in the breeze outside of the bright stadium lights. Benny and Frank split off for their hotel in the neighborhood—Benny protesting all the while that Meyer got the nice hotel for this gig. But neither of the other two paid him much mind, so Charlie figured the kid was just like that. Besides, Meyer had to fit the important businessman role for this. And he did.
“You clean up pretty nice, by the way,” Charlie said, motioning to Meyer’s clothes—slacks and a button down.
“Thank you. You look like shit.” Meyer flipped through his phone while Charlie’s face fell into a scowl.
“Alright, look, I spent six and a half hours on a Megabus, alright? Cut me some slack. You wouldn’t believe the traffic.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against some restaurant, huffing. He could clean up nice, too. Maybe not nice-nice, like a real somebody, the way Meyer looked, but he had his own kind of nice. He wouldn’t be able to do the kinds of cons he did otherwise.
The smirk at the corner of Meyer’s lips was the only sign he noticed Charlie’s pouting. “Well, you should get some rest then. Where are you staying?”
Charlie hesitated. “See, that’s the thing…”
Now Meyer looked up from his phone. They looked at each other—Charlie pulling on that puppy-dog charm, while Meyer raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Come on,” he said. He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it, but at least it was an agreement.
Charlie didn’t steal anything on the short ride back to the hotel, but he did slip his hand through the crook of Meyer’s arm as they walked into the lobby. He flashed a winning smile to the woman at the front desk, who returned a polite wave and reiterated the company line to enjoy his stay. Meyer tapped his keycard inside the elevator as the doors slid closed and hit the button for 12.
“Only 12?” Charlie chided. “You didn’t spring for the penthouse for our anniversary?”
“I’m saving it for the Golden Anniversary,” Meyer replied evenly.
“Well we ain’t gonna make it that long if you don’t spoil me every now and then.” He flashed a winning smile, but Meyer looked away. The tips of his ears were pink. Huh. So he could get flustered.
Charlie grinned to himself about that as Meyer swiped open the door. He dropped his backpack—crammed with his own belongings and those of a half-dozen people who had the misfortune of taking the same train as him—onto the carpet.
“Not a bad room after all,” he said, taking it all in. More of a business suite. The walls were crisp hotel white, the leather desk chair stiff and uninviting, the modern furniture chic but obviously un-lived in. “But I gotta warn you,” Charlie grinned as his eyes fell on the king-size bed against the wall, “I’m a bit of a blanket hog.”
Meyer looked startled, but regained composure quickly. He grabbed a notebook from his luggage and settled into the uncomfortable leather chair. “I don’t plan on sleeping much, so feel free,” he said, non-committal and not looking at him.
Okay. That worked, too.
“I’m gonna shower,” he announced, a little awkward, because standing in the middle of the room and not knowing what to do with himself was getting to him. And because Benny wouldn’t stop calling him a hobo all afternoon, so maybe he did need a wash.
When did he get bad at this? Had he always been bad at this? He made a living off a combination of petty theft and seduction cons—he knew he wasn’t bad at this. Meyer was just different from everyone else. Not that he was trying get anything from Meyer the way he did marks. Sure, he wanted someone to show him the ropes, pull him into something bigger, so he wouldn’t have to operate on his own anymore. But that wasn’t a con. That was just how people worked—everybody always wanted something, otherwise why bother? But what Meyer wanted remained a mystery.
By the time he scrubbed his curls with the little bottle of free hotel shampoo and washed (and rewashed) every part of him with the unscented soap, Meyer still had not moved. Steam billowed out of the bathroom door after him as Charlie emerged from the bathroom, damp, in only a pair of fresh boxer-briefs. He padded barefoot across the carpet, rubbing the towel over his hair and tossing it aside.
As he knelt by his backpack to find a shirt, he noticed Meyer looking at him, then quickly glanced back down at his notebook. Charlie smirked. “Y’know,” he said, a little too loud, just to make Meyer look at him again. “We seem to go back to each other’s hotel rooms a lot,” he said, with slow and easy grin.
“Mm. Twice,” Meyer agreed, maybe sarcastically.
He meant the comment to be flirty, but Charlie couldn’t help glance over his shoulder at the door. “Benny’s not gonna bust in and hold a gun to my head, is he?”
Meyer laughed. “Oh, he might. That’s not the plan or anything, you just never know.”
“Great. That makes me feel better.”
He pulled a shirt from his bag, but slung it over his shoulder instead of putting it on. He sauntered over to Meyer, perching on the arm of the chair. “Y’know, if you’re gonna game the whole World Series, you might wanna get some sleep.”
“Do you mind not dripping on me while I’m working?” Meyer asked with a smirk, not looking up.
Charlie swung his shirt into Meyer’s face, and they both laughed.
Meyer worked all through the evening while Charlie sat up in bed, scrolling his phone and watching the TV with the sound turned low—even though Meyer insisted it wouldn’t distract him, after his years of practice tuning Benny out. He ordered room service for dinner and insisted Meyer eat something, even though he said he wasn’t hungry. As the hubbub of honking cars from the street below finally faded into a sleepy 2 AM haze, Charlie switched off the TV.
“Will the light bother you?” Meyer asked, speaking for the first time in hours as Charlie slipped into bed and pulled the comforter up around himself.
“Nah. Got used to sharin’ a room, growin’ up,” he said back, barely stifling a yawn. The whole bus trip up to Boston had really taken it out of him.
It didn’t take long until the room slipped away, sleep starting to pull him under. But even through the haze settling around his mind, he heard the click of the light and the tread of careful feet. He dipped back into a doze to the ambient sounds of the water running in the bathroom.
The bed creaked beside him as Meyer carefully arranged himself on the other side, a wide gap between them. Charlie flipped over to face him. He blinked his heavy eyes in the darkness. “Does this mean you trust me?” he asked, voice groggy already, as they lay on opposite sides of the king-size bed.
There was a long pause. He could feel Meyer’s slow and steady breathing through the mattress in the darkness. “No,” he answered quietly. “I don’t even trust Frank and Benny.”
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