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athenasbloodyspear · 3 years

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Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.

MASTERLIST

Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)

You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!

Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character

Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.

She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.

Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.

This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)

Chapter Under the Cut

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

The tiny bell on the door to “The Edge” clanked as Jake pushed his way in, followed by Josh, Sam and Danny. The afternoon sun streamed through the slats in the windows at a harsh angle, illuminating the swirling dust. The boys all immediately took a deep breath. They all loved the smell of this place. A mix of dusty old vinyl's, incense and weed.

The Edge was the shop owned by an old friend, Levi, who had been a longtime family friend of the Kiszka’s. The boys had made the near three hour drive to the shop whenever they had a spare weekend in their younger years. They bought Levi out of his guitar strings and drumsticks and always looked through the boxes of vinyl's hoping to find treasures. Levi sold an eclectic mix of music equipment, records, books, home goods and comically horrific coffee.

The Edge is where they had each bought their very first instruments, had their first beers and even smoked their first joint. It was a special place for them.

The old wood floors creaked with every step, the wood walls were covered with old articles from Rolling Stone, photos Levi had taken and autographs from the artists who had cycled through the place over the years. There were stacks upon stacks of vinyl's. Shelves of old autobiographies and music theory books. There were speakers stacked from floor to ceiling, and the whole right side of the store was jam packed with basses and guitars. The back corner had a few keyboards and a drum set, but plenty of catalogues to pick even more instruments from. There were cases of drumsticks and guitar picks and strings. The middle of the store had tables full of incense, candles and interesting home goods. There were tables where local artists sold jewelry, art pieces and furniture. It was full to the brim, most shelves rising way up to the ceiling. Most needed a ladder to reach the top. The basement had a sound studio with even more equipment set up to be used to record, or to test out.

Levi had inherited the place from his father, who had built up quite a legendary roster of friends over his years. The shop was just off Front Street on the main drag of Traverse City. Levi’s father had made a name for himself as a great host to bands looking to escape to northern Michigan to hole up in cabins and write albums. Levi continued the tradition and took it a step further by buying the space next door and turning it into a club with live music on the weekends.

If you were lucky, you could catch some super huge bands playing for only about 100 people in the dark side room of The Edge.

“You bastards finally made it!” Levi called out as he came sauntering out of the back room. Levi looked the exact same as the last time the boys had seen him. Tanned skin from his days paddle boarding and hiking along the Lake Michigan shore, sandy blonde hair that was brighter in the summer, perpetual 5-o-clock shadow because he just couldn’t be bothered to shave, shell necklace around his neck, light wash jeans low on his hips with the same old cowboy boots he’d been wearing since the boys were 12.

“Is that grey hair I see Levi?” Josh leaned forward with an exaggerated squint. Levi laughed, snagging Josh’s head to give him a noogie.

“I may be older than you punks by a few years, but I’m not greying yet.” Levi released Josh from his headlock and gave him a shove.

“I’d say 37 is more than a few years older than us, grandpa.” Sam snarked.

“You’re makin me regret extending my hospitality, kid.”

Jake felt himself relax fully for the first time in a really long time. It was just like old times. Exactly what the boys needed.

“Welcome back dudes. I’m surprised I’m still cool enough for you Rockstar types.” Levi crossed his legs and leaned back against the front counter.

“We’ll never be too cool for The Edge. This place will always be way cooler than we could ever be.” Danny piped up, walking forward to wrap Levi in a hug.

“It’s been too long man.” Levi commented as he smacked Danny on the back.

“We know.” Sam said “Way too fuckin long.” He hugged Levi next. Josh and Jake followed up with hugs next. The room was heavy with a tinge of melancholy. Old friends who had missed each other finally reunited.

“Well, have you guys been to the house yet?” Levi stepped around the counter and started pouring four cups of the famous nasty coffee.

“Yeah we dropped our bags off before we headed into town.” Danny spoke up.

“Isn’t it sweet?” Levi asked enthusiastically.

“It’s wicked man. Thanks so much for getting that set up for us.” Josh grinned as he snagged a cup off the counter.

The house was a mid century modern cabin right on the east bay shore. It came equipped with a huge garage studio, front deck and a dock out into the bay. Levi had bought the house in foreclosure and along with help from a bunch of locals (in exchange for beer of course) they turned the house into a perfect getaway for any artists looking to come take a break up north. The place had five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a giant living room with overstuffed couches and velvet chairs. The walls were covered in art and the shelves were full to bursting with plants. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and textures, with mix matched rugs and lamps. It was Levi’s pride and joy.

“I’m so glad you guys like it.” Levi smiled even bigger as he passed coffees to the rest of the boys. “Once you’re a little more settled, feel free to send me a list of equipment you want me to set up downstairs and you can start coming in whenever to work. But also, I think you should probably take a week or two off first. You all look about two seconds away from collapsing.”

“Yeah we’re pretty fuckin beat dude. But we’ll send you a list ASAP.” Jake said, taking a burning sip of the coffee. It singed his nerve endings and he couldn’t have been happier about it.

Levi opened his mouth to speak again, when a voice filtered through the window to the loft above the store.

“Yo Levi!” the person shouted “Can you please get off your fuckin ass and pick music to play? I know Wednesdays are your day to pick but if you take forever I’m just gonna put on whatever I want and you can suck it.”

All four boys' heads snapped up to the window to the loft, but whoever was up there couldn’t be seen. All they could see was that the loft had clearly gotten a makeover. What used to be an upper level where Levi stored surplus supplies now looked like it had a plush velvet couch, lava lamps and plants in it.

“Alright alright! I’ll get on it.” Levi called back up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he walked toward the central sound system behind the counter to scroll through Spotify playlists.

“Who the fuck is that and what have you done to the loft?” Josh asked, hopping up to sit on the counter.

“That would be the very best thing that’s ever fallen into my lap. A.k.a my new store and venue manager Maven. She moved back to the area after living in Hollywood for a few years managing bands and she completely changed my life. We finally have consistent stock, a longstanding line up at the club and I have had the time to start photography again. Truly a godsend, if not occasionally a pain in my ass. She turned the loft into a breakroom of sorts. There’s a couch and table up there now. She practically lives up there sometimes.”

“Damn she must be some woman if she finally got you to get your shit together with that club.” Sammy piped up.

“She’s hellfire, I’ll tell yah that.” Levi chuckled, finally hitting play on a playlist. The first bars of Surfin USA by the Beach Boys came on the surround system and matching groans came out of Jake downstairs and Maven upstairs.

“Not this shit again!” Maven yells. Jake chuckled to himself. Hellfire indeed.

“It’s my day to pick so suck it!” Levi called back before faux stage whispering to the boys “I mostly just play this to piss her off.”

Levi clapped his hands together once “Well boys, It’s close enough to five o'clock and I owe you a beer. Let’s head over to Little Fleet for some grub and beers and we can catch up.”

Josh grimaced as he sucked down the last bit of his coffee before lobbing the empty cup into the trash at the end of the counter. “You still make shit coffee Levi.”

“It’s the one thing I wouldn’t let Maven fix.” Levi said with a grin as all five men exited out the back door.

~0~

The boys took a week to relax, as per Levi’s request. They spent the days hiking the shore, kayaking and drinking beer around the fire. It had been way too long since they’d done this. The release of The Battle at Garden’s Gate had been exhilarating and the fans' response had been everything they’d hoped for. People seemed to love the album and they were all so proud. But with press interviews and touring, they hadn’t gotten more than a day or two to relax at a time. And they certainly hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to their favorite old haunts in years.

They stopped by the store almost every morning for a cup of coffee strong enough to jumpstart their hearts. Sometimes Levi joined them on their escapades, and sometimes he stayed behind to help out at the store. The boys spent a few afternoons sifting through albums and strumming on some of Levi’s vintage guitars.

Mostly they caught up on each other's lives. The boys recounted their more personal lives that happened outside the coverage of the album and Levi talked about the past few years of his life in Traverse City. Levi told them all about Maven and how she was practically his little sister. They laughed. They drank. They had a blast.

The boys noticed Levi was a little on edge occasionally, typically when they heard someone shuffling upstairs or equipment moving around in the backroom of the shop. They assumed it was Maven but weren’t sure, since they had yet to see her in the flesh. A week from their arrival they were all sitting in lawn chairs in the alley behind the store, smoking cigs and drinking their coffee when Sam finally asked.

“So, why haven’t we met your precious Maven yet? Hiding her from us or something?”

Levi shifted a bit in his chair. “Um..” he coughed out a laugh. “I am actually. Yes. But it’s the other way around, I’m hiding you from her.”

“Afraid she’ll fan-girl or something?” Josh commented as he ashed his cigarette.

“In… a sense.” Levi coughed. “But in quite the opposite way you’re imagining.”

“She’s a fan then?” Sammy piped up.

“She loves your music. A lot.” Levi sniffed and coughed again. “It’s a real safe haven for her. When she’s having a bad day I catch her upstairs laying on the floor smoking a J with sound cancelling headphones blasting your albums as loud as she can.”

“Exactly how it’s meant to be enjoyed. With a joint in hand.” Jake chimes in.

“Yeah..” Levi toes the asphalt a bit with his boots, but doesn’t continue.

“Soooo” Sammy drawls “Why can’t we meet her? We’re no stranger to super fans. I’m sure she’s cool.”

“Um, well. It’s a bit complicated.” Levi heaves a sigh before flicking his cigarette butt into the coffee canister at the center of their little circle. “I suppose I can trust you guys. You’re friends. Do you remember the huge lawsuit that the band Undercover Heart went through last year? The one about the um” He coughs again, “Rape of one of their staff members by the lead singer Ryan?”

“Yes. That shit was horrific man.” Danny spoke up. “I read all the details I could. They kept the poor girl's identity private but goddamn I felt so bad for her. She was a badass for filing that suit though.”

“Yeah. She was.” Levi breathed. “So, this is strictly off record and if you repeat this to anyone I will skin you all alive, famous rock stars be damned.”

“Jesus Levi.” Jake said.

“It was her.” Levi choked out. “Maven. That’s why she ran back from Hollywood and ended up here. That dude messed her up and she just… she struggles with meeting famous bands now. You know how many people cycle through this joint writing stuff. She just… has a really fuckin hard time with it sometimes. Particularly bands she likes. I think it’s because once you meet someone, and in her case, discover how much of a monster they can be, their music isn’t… safe anymore.”

“Fuck.” Jake said, flicking his cigarette into the canister.

“Well I feel terrible for joking about her being a fangirl.” Josh mutters.

“She just genuinely loves you guys a lot. I never really told her I was an old friend because I didn’t want her to be worried about y’all stopping by. I just know that if she knows you’re here she’ll take off and avoid coming by the shop as much as she can and not only do I need her here, but I think she needs the safety of the shop too. I didn’t want to wreck it.” Levi sighs again. “I know she’ll find out you’re here eventually, it’s inevitable. I just was a coward and didn’t want to break the news to her.”

“She was a pretty well known band manager wasn’t she?” Danny asks. “She like… completely made Undercover Heart what it was. Before they hired her they were slated to be a one hit wonder but she hauled them into relevancy basically by her will alone.”

“Yeah. She basically built that man's career for him. She gave him everything, and he took everything from her. If I ever see the man I’m liable to get my ass thrown in prison.” Levi mutters.

“I’ll help.” Danny says immediately.

All five sit in silence for a few minutes, smoking the last of their cigarettes. When they’d all finished, they stood and stretched to head back inside the shop.

“So yeah. Anyway, If you see her that’s fine, just… well now you have context for… her.” Levi says as he yanks open the door.

A few steps into the back hallway, Levi suddenly halts, causing all four boys to nearly bash into each other. The front door to the shop had crashed open and there were footsteps stomping across the store toward the front desk.

“Listen Levi,” Maven’s tense voice carried down the back hall. “I know Wednesdays are usually your day for music but I’m having an absolute shit fucking day so I’m playing Greta all day and there’s absolutely nothing you can fucking do about it, kapeesh?”

The very opening chords of Edge of Darkness scratch through the speakers after she finishes her sentence and the boys all exchange a slightly amused look, grins spread on all of their faces.

“Kapeesh.” Levi calls out to her. He spins and silently nods to the boys to head toward the back door. The boys attempt to be as quiet as they can as they creep toward the door.

“Also, Levi?” Maven calls again. Everyone halts in their tracks. “You said there was a band coming in soon. Are they here yet? Do you need me to set up the backroom?”

“Uh, yeah they’re here.” Levi squeaks. All five men share nervous looks. “They’re uh… up at the house.” He cringes at his lie. “I’m getting an equipment list from them today and then you can get started.

“Cool cool.” Maven calls back. “Do you think I’ll like their stuff?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Levi grins then. “I think you will.”

“Wicked.” Maven calls back.

All five men repress giggles as they skedaddle out the back door and into the alley.

~0~

The next morning the boys wake up to a group text from Levi.

COME BY THE SHOP ASAP. COME IN BACK DOOR. HEAD DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE BOOTH. BE AS QUIET AS YOU CAN.

A weird request, but they did as they were told. They all piled into the SUV they had rented and headed to the shop. Danny peeled open the back door as quietly as he could, and Sammy opened the door to the stairs. They tiptoed down and through the door at the end of the stairs that opened into the booth of a sound studio. Levi sat in front of all the mixing boards with a cup of coffee to his lips. He glanced over at them and softly said “coffees on the table.”

“Why the weird text?” Jake asked.

“Because of that.” Levi responded softly, pointing through the dark glass into the soundstage.

The sound stage was littered with mismatched rugs, and a few milk crates that doubled as tables. There was a gorgeous seafoam green drum set toward the back wall and stands full of various guitars and basses. Along the left wall was a piano and a Mellotron set up exactly to the specifications Sam sent over. However, with all these beautiful instruments to look at that would normally catch their eye, it was the woman sitting on stool in the center, cradling a dark purple Fender guitar that made Jake stop in his tracks.

Maven, Jake had to guess that’s who it was, was wearing checkered distressed pants, with a ripped up old band t-shirt cropped at her ribs, revealing a sliver of the rounded part of her stomach. Over top she was wearing an orange leopard print cardigan that ran down to her thighs. Around her neck was a series of long necklaces, and her wrists were adorned with interlacing leather bands.

She was plucking out a melody with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the stool. Jake had seen countless numbers of people playing the guitar before. On the road, in the studio, studying old masters on YouTube. There was nothing overly special about the way she was sitting or playing, but he felt a little bit like he couldn’t breathe.

“She never fuckin plays anymore man.” Levi whispered. “It felt like magic hearing music coming out of the basement this morning. I just felt like you should see it.”

The melody she was playing was sad. Haunting is a better way to put it, and Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when Sammy placed a cup of burning hot coffee into his hands. She was moving her head along with her playing, the strands of her dark messy hair shaking back and forth. The group watched in silence as she played out the riff a few times, Levi cranked the volume of the mics in the space and they could hear her humming softly.

“She has a strong presence.” Josh murmured.

Maven suddenly stopped. Everyone froze as she heaved a sigh and stood from the stool to put the guitar back on it’s rack.

“You in there Levi?” Maven said then. The boys still didn’t move a muscle. Jake’s head was spinning, having finally seen the face that went with the voice he’d heard in the loft for a week. She was beautiful. He couldn’t even really put his finger on why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even seeing her through the thick dark glass of the studio.

Levi hit the button to the mic in the booth and responded “Yah.” He paused before adding. “Sounded good.”

Maven snorted in a self-deprecating way and said “Thanks.”

Levi hit the mic button again and said “You should play more.”

“Don’t push it Levi.” Maven snapped back. Levi released the button to his mic and let out a heavy sigh. “Can you check some levels on the lines for me? I think I have everything pretty good but I want to make sure before they get here today.”

“Sure.” Levi replied.

Maven pulled the amp cord out of the Fender she had been playing on and plugged it into another guitar, one more similar to the guitars that Jake regularly used while they wrote.

“Are we looking for a punk or a rock-y sound?” Maven asked.

“Um.” Levi hesitated. “Rock. Their sound is like…” He tossed a small smile over his shoulder at the boys. “Like Greta’s actually.”

“Dope. I hope they’re not just copying the boys. They’ve got a mellotron in here and everything.” The boys smiled. She pounded out a few chords on the guitar. “Good?”

Levi looked over at Jake for confirmation. Jake, who still had not taken his eyes off Maven, nodded.

“Yeah, that should be good for raw sound. They can play with stuff too. They’re a pretty well educated bunch.” Levi called back.

“Thank god.” Maven snorted. “Not like that indie punk bunch you booked last month who needed me to do fucking all their sound mixing for them.”

“Maven, I don’t think they kept asking you down here because they need help with their sound.”

Maven just rolled her eyes at that.

They repeated the process with each instrument, Levi silently asking for confirmation from the respective Greta member until they were sure the sound lines were all functioning properly.

“Great work kid.” Levi called into the studio.

“Ew don’t call me kid. I’m a 27 year old woman.” Maven called back.

Levi chuckled. “You’re a kid to me.”

“Whatever.” Maven muttered. “I’m gonna go take a walk along the beach. Smoke a little. Text me if they need me.”

“Will do.” Levi called back. The boys all tensed, looking for places to hide, or to run up the stairs and back into the alley. Luckily, Maven took the back door out of the studio and up another hallway instead.

“Well boys, it’s all you.” Levi said. “Text if you need anything.”

Sam piped up and said “Yeah actually, can you pick my brother’s jaw up off the floor?”

“Jake see pretty lady play guitar and Jake brain break.” Josh teased.

“You guys suck.” Jake grumbled.

Levi cackled. “I thought you’d like her.”

~0~

Maven walked along the coast of the bay and absentmindedly smoked a joint. It was an overcast and drizzly day which meant there was no one around, which she preferred anyway. She was feeling on edge. The drizzle was very slowly building a small sheen of water on her arms and hair, but she didn’t mind. The cool water and gentle breeze combination was perfect.

Maven sat her butt down in the sand and stared out at the waves. She normally wore headphones on her walks, her world was a near constant stream of music, but she had opted for silence today.

Levi was being weird. He was edgy around her all week, sending her out every morning for tasks and disappearing without saying where he was going around 4:30 every day. She had come to the conclusion that whatever band was in town this week was a pretty big name. Or big enough that he was nervous about her being around them. She sighed. She hated when he tiptoed around her. Maven didn’t blame him. When she first started working at the shop she had had a couple pretty bad PTSD episodes that had scared the shit out of him. She owed him everything for staying with her, talking her down and making sure she was fed and had water when she got into one of her states.

Levi was her best friend, to put it mildly. He cared for her, kept her safe and in return she busted her ass at his store making sure they had the best products, the best shows and that their artist getaway was something that people would go back and tell their friends about. She loved Levi like an older brother, and he cared for her like his little sister. She would forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe made her stumble into The Edge two years ago.

She had been high out of her mind, as she had been most days after she came running back to Michigan with her tail between her legs, and Levi had been struggling with an amp in the shop. She had walked in, spotted his struggle and didn’t even say a word to him, just walked over and fixed the wiring so that it was functional again. Levi had looked up from where he sat on the floor and said “You don’t happen to need a job do you?”

The rest was essentially history. It only took two months of seeing him every single day, and him not letting her sour moods go by unnoticed, for her to spill her guts over some bourbon one night. About Ryan and Undercover Heart and how badly the whole situation fucked her up. How after she’d recorded her testimony she’d boarded the next flight to Grand Rapids and hightailed it up north. She came crash landing into Traverse City because she’d always loved it as a kid, and figured it would be a great place to start over. The small town she’d grown up in had too many people who knew her.

He was extra careful with bands for a while. Never letting her be alone in a room with too many male band members, and carefully vetting everyone who came through. Eventually she told him off about treating her like a porcelain doll and he backed down a bit, giving her free reign over lots of the equipment set ups and giving her plenty of hours in the shop by herself. She was happy to do so, so Levi could focus on fixing up the artist house and starting his photography again.

But he was still very gentle with her sometimes, and she’d always love him for it even when it pissed her the fuck off.

Once she’d smoked the joint down to the roach, she tucked the end into her pocket. It was sacrilegious to litter near the lake. It was too precious to be fucked with. She meandered back toward the shop. Her plan was to grab her bag and head back to let her Pitbull, Stacy, out for a walk and pee. The girl had been cooped up all morning and Maven felt bad.

She threw her whole body against the front door, as the latch often stuck, and the loud sound of the chimes clanged in the empty space. She rolled her eyes. Of course Levi left the shop unattended and unlocked. It was Traverse City, no one was gonna rob them, but what if someone wanted to buy something?

She was humming softly to herself as she made her way around the edge of the counter and plopped down on the stool by the register. She whipped out her phone to ask Levi where he was. She had the message halfway typed when the door behind her, the one that led to the staff restroom, popped open.

“You know, crime is especially low in this town but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t come in here and try to steal your precious coffee maker.” She tossed over her shoulder.

“Oh.” Was all that came back. It was decidedly not Levi’s voice. Maven spun back quickly.

“Sorry I…” But that’s as far as she got. She was suddenly face to face with Jake Kizska and all thoughts quickly left her brain.

They both stared at each other for a long moment. Maven couldn’t quite figure out why he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He also almost looked afraid for some reason that Maven couldn’t figure out.

He was dressed in an outfit she’d seen him wear plenty of times. A black button up, half unbuttoned, loose fitting light wash jeans and a pair of well worn boots. His wrists were full of bracelets and his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen footage of their concerts, well past his collarbones at this point.

“Hi.” Jake finally broke the silence. “I’m Jake.” He reached out his hand for a handshake.

“I know.” Maven replied, and then coughed. Why did you say that you freak?

Suddenly the front door bell chimed again, and Maven whipped her head to see Levi coming in the front door. She stood abruptly from her stool, skirted around Jake’s outstretched hand, and out from behind the counter. She scooped up her leather satchel on her way.

She headed straight at Levi. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an apologetic Jake looking forlorn and lowering his hand back to his side.

“Oh hey Maven-”

“Hey dumbass, don’t leave the store unattended again. I’m going home to check on Stacy. Probably won’t be back for the rest of the day.” Maven spit as she stormed past him toward the front door.

“Maven wait-”

But she was already outside, the hinges bringing the heavy wood crashing back into the frame. The chime of the bells rang through the space.

“Sorry.” Jake muttered.

“Not your fault. I knew she’d find out eventually. Right now she’s probably just pissed I didn’t tell her. Which she has every right to be.” Levi sighed.

After a few more beats of silence Jake spoke again. “Who’s Stacy?”

Levi huffed a laugh. “That would be her Pitbull.”

“Oh.” Jake said again. He felt crazy because his brain couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She was prettier up close. She smelled like the Lake and weed and sandalwood. He really wished she’d taken his hand. He shook his head trying to find his brain in it somewhere.

The other three boys came clambering up the stairs and into the store. They all looked between Levi, who was still standing in the middle of the shop, and Jake behind the counter.

“Are you two playing freeze tag or something?” Sam quipped.

“Jake met Maven.” Levi responded. The boys' heads whipped toward Jake.

“And… I’m guessing it… went well?” Danny questioned.

Levi finally walked back toward the counter. “She left for the day. This is on me. I should have told her y’all were here.” He snagged his keys from below the counter and walked toward the front door to lock up. “I’m closing early, boys. Let’s go get a beer.”

“Kowabunga baby.” Josh said with a grin.

~0~

Maven sat curled up on her velvet couch, Stacy was her little spoon. There was incense burning, a bottle of wine open on the side table and a lit joint in the ashtray. She had changed into a giant t-shirt and boxer shorts. The soft sounds of John Denver playing off her record player.

However, none of these things were easing her mind.

She was pissed, mostly. At herself. At Levi. She was pissed he didn’t tell her they were coming. She was pissed that he felt he couldn’t tell her. She was pissed that she had acted like a freak in front of Jake.

The anxiety was an endless pit in her stomach. She couldn’t go back there tomorrow. She couldn’t see any of those people. Not when she felt like this.

She whipped out her phone and quickly shot a message to Levi, before chugging her whole glass of red wine and snagging the joint out of the ashtray.

~0~

Levi’s phone dinged on the table where all of the guys sat drinking beers and chatting. Levi glanced at it and quickly picked it up when he saw her name.

“It’s Maven.” He said.

“What did she say?” Jake asked, sitting up a bit in his chair.

“Fuck.” Levi said, tossing his phone on the table, still unlocked.

All four boys leaned in to read the screen.

CASHING IN ALL MY VACATION DAYS. I’LL BE OUT FOR TWO WEEKS.

“Fuck indeed.” Josh said, pounding back the rest of his beer.

#jake gvf #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta fic #jake fic #gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta fan fleet fic #peaceful army

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thanksjro · 3 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #29 - The One Where Everyone Gets Super Shiny

Our issue opens up with Swerve laying down the Story So Far in the Exposition Dimension.

Fantastic, you funky little man.

If Swerve looks like he’s been tossed through the car wash a few dozen times, it’s because this is where our new colorist comes in! Everyone, please say hello to Joana Lafuente- known for her love of gradients and attention to light sources, this actually isn’t the first time we’ve run into her. Lafuente worked on colors for several issues of The Transformers (2009), Last Stand of the Wreckers #3, and a few issues of MTMTE Season 1. However, she was matching the styles of her co-colorists on a majority of these, so we haven’t seen her style properly until now.

Getting into the story proper, Cyclonus is busying himself with staring out the window at a PNG of space, as he is wont to do, when he hears the tell-tale sound of tires squealing down the hall towards his room. Oh, goodness, whoever could that be?

Nearly forgot about him, didn’t you? Yeah, it’s a little difficult to follow up on things like a character’s recovery from a horrific disease when you’ve got comic event contract obligations to deal with.

After getting tackled by Tailgate, who reminds us all about the time he stuck his dirty little fingers into a dude’s brain meat, Cyclonus takes the little nerd on a walk through the ship.

You’re not going to convince me to reread “Dark Cybertron”. I don’t care how much of a marshmallow you are, it’s not happening.

They’re passed by Megatron and a bunch of crew members carrying that coffin we saw at the end of last issue down the corridor, Tailgate has a moment, and we get a taste of Cyclonus’ distaste for the Autobots as a whole. Tailgate is mildly offended by this, as he gropes his chest in distain, showing off his shiny new Autobot badge- a gift for not dying a terrible, gruesome death.

Good job, Tailgate. Proud of you.

They’re also passed by an absolutely blitzed Jackpot and Mainframe, the former singing Tailgate’s Tyrest-stopping praises as the latter carts him over to the Medibay to deal with the almost alcohol poisoning he’s got going on. Cyclonus remarks that Tailgate was missed, though Tailgate can’t help but wonder if that’s really true.

Y’all like slowburn romance, right? Because these two dumbasses have been roommates for two years, and we’ve just gotten to the point where physical contact can happen without one of them needing to be dying.

Anyway, it’s been a good day for Tailgate so far. Let’s hope it stays that way for the little dude.

...And that’s a series wrap on Tailgate! Let’s give him a hand, folks!

Hopping back in time to Megatron’s trial, things get underway, as Optimus Prime takes a nap in the judge’s bench as Gripper- whose name you don’t need to remember, as he’s not actually important- tells everyone about how brutal the Decepticon Justice Division is, even to Autobots. Which isn’t really supposed to be their deal, given their, y’know, name, but I suppose nobody’s perfect.

Up in the stands, in an… opera box, I guess? Rodimus is watching the proceedings, when Atomizer walks in. Which I guess you can just do in a Cybertronian court case. Sure.

Atomizer, in case you forgot, is the dude who has a bow and arrow, and used to be an interior designer.

Say, didn’t Whirl has a bow and arrow in the last issue when he attacked Megatron? Mighty curious, that.

Rodimus and Atomizer briefly reflect on the DJD, recalling the horror that was Vos- not that Vos, the other one. Rodimus would really just rather this all be over with so the Lost Light can get back to finding the Knights of Cybertron, and it’s at this point that Atomizer breaks out a thing he really ought not have- the count for the vote on whether or not Rodimus should stay on as captain. Rodimus doesn’t want to look at it, because it was supposed to be anonymous for a reason, and tells Atomizer to destroy the list entirely.

Hm, that’s not a terribly determined face there, Rodimus.

Back in the present, specifically in Swerve’s, Groove is threatening to break Streetwise’s arm, as we get the downlow on just what exactly our Legislator buddy’s deal is. Turn’s out, Swerve got one of the things reprogrammed, so that he follows not the Autobot Code, but something else entirely.

Hey, Swerve?

I don’t expect you to know this, because I don’t think you were present when they revealed this information to the readers, but… your new bouncer is made of people. He’s a dude made of other dudes, namely the Circle of Light. There’s a chance that you reprogrammed a sentient being, my good bitch.

Anyway, Swerve’s in a fucking mood because his shoulder hurts, someone’s stealing his shit, and Megatron has joined the narrative. Over at a nearby table, Skids, Nautica, and Riptide take a gander at the tabloids. Trailcutter, who is positively smashed, to the point where he’s just leaking booze out of his face like it’s his job, isn’t terribly interested in that, however.

What an astute observation, Riptide. And people say you’re stupid!

Trailcutter wants to drink some more, because it’s very likely he’s got a problem, but the mention of “Megatron’s super fuel” makes him feel like it’s time to stop hounding Swerve and start performing crimes.

Back during the trial, we get to Starscream’s testimony. He’s wearing his crown. He’s acting like a self-righteous asshole, as he defends Megatron.

Well, “defend” in the technical, legal sense, I suppose.

But really it’s more about him insulting Megatron’s intelligence, strength, and courage, in front of a LOT of people, while also trying to make himself look better in the war crime department. Megatron doesn’t appreciate this very much, if his murder-face is anything to go by.

Megatron lets Ultra Magnus (his defender, if you’ll recall) know that he wants a private word, and court goes into a brief recess.

Back in the present, Nightbeat’s busy looking at a pin-up of Rung’s alt-mode, when someone knocks on his door. That someone is Chromedome, who’s trying to solve the mystery of The Missing Declaration of Love. Not that he says that specifically out loud.

You two were married, why- okay. No point in yelling at this digital copy of a comic book.

Anyway.

So, the whole screaming thing only happened the one time, and everything was back to normal on subsequent plays of Rewind’s message. Nightbeat seems to be leaning towards the depressive isolating getting to Chromedome, which Chromedome responds to by telling him to get the fuck out. Alas, someone’s blocking the door!

YO WHAT THE FUCK-

Back with Trailcutter’s subplot, our drunken friend is in the middle of breaking into the Medibay. Our trio of cool-colored pals watch him from back at the bar, by way of a laptop that looks like it was built the same year I was born.

As Trailcutter attempts to commit a crime, Megatron, Ultra Magnus, and Ratchet pass by, trying to figure out how to handle the whole coffin situation. Trailcutter’s about to punch the locks off a door, and Nautica decides that this is where she’s going to draw the line today, leaving the gaggle of fools to their shenanigans. Then Tailgate glomps Skids, throwing the computer to the ground and breaking it, as Trailcutter finds the door to the Medibay magically open.

If you don’t know what glomping is, there’s a 60% chance that you’re not old enough to vote in the US.

Trailcutter sneaks into the Medibay, we get a reminder that Ambulon is super dead, and Trailcutter commits theft from a food bank. What a guy.

This is the point where security shows up, armed with a great deal of guns, one of which is Megatron himself. Trailcutter, instead of feeling super powerful, actually feels positively awful after consuming Megatron’s rations of “super fuel”. Because he, as an Autobot, doesn’t want to be within 50 yards of Megatron, Trailcutter breaks out the forcefields the moment the guy approaches him. And oh, what a doozy this one is.

Trailcutter’s gotten himself a fancy new trick- this forcefield he’s broken out lasts for a solid half-hour, and he can’t turn it off. I’m sure that won’t bite him in the ass at any point in the near future, no-siree!

Back in the past, Rattrap is commending Starscream on playing the field and getting the public slightly more on his side, but Starscream’s too busy patting himself on the back to really pay attention. He knew damn well that Megatron wouldn’t like what he had to say on the stand, and now things are finally looking up for ol’ Screamer.

Over with Optimus Prime, Slamdance is showing off how the general public is really into this whole “folks being held accountable for their actions” thing.

In the present, Chromedome and Nightbeat seem to have remembered they have alt-modes and are driving down the hall back to Nightbeat’s room- wonder what the speed limit for the Lost Light is?- and discuss just what the hell happened. The current theory is that the Rewind they saw was a Data Ghost- a collection of information so dense, it had a not-quite-physical presence that wasn’t 100% removed when he died.

Which is a little fucked up, but let’s see where this goes.

Nightbeat undoes the 40,000 locks on his door while Chromedome bleeds guilt all over the shag carpet over the fact that he hasn’t been looking for Dominus Ambus like he said he would.

C’mon James, gimme that Chromedominus endgame.

Nightbeat finally opens the door to find a small problem.

Hm. That’s… not normal.

Over in the Medibay, Trailcutter’s bubble has burst, allowing Megatron to slap him in the back of the head. This head-slapping induces his FIM chip permanently, making it so that he can never get drunk again.

Weird party trick, Megatron. Kinda shitty, really.

Megatron then gives Trailcutter the job of director of security, because he needs direction in his life. Trailcutter just sort of takes what he’s given, because I suppose you can’t really argue with a guy who can literally slap you sober, and also threatens to destroy you if you fuck up even once. Nice, Megs. Nice.

MEGATRON THAT’S BEEN SITTING LIKE THAT FOR OVER HALF AN HOUR YOU FUCKING WET NOODLE

So, since there’s mystery juice all over the floor and no one’s died, Megatron assumes that the coffin ought to be fine to crack open.

Please note that Megatron is not a medical professional, and his views are now peer reviewed by medical professionals. Megatron is in no way endorsed by the WHO.

Anyway, Rodimus is in there.

Pretty fucked up.

Back in the past, recess is over, and Ultra Magnus comes bearing bad news- Megatron wants to change his plea to “innocent.” This gets about the reaction one would expect from just about anyone.

Well, except Rodimus, who’s too busy reading that list that he wanted destroyed. He’s very sad about it.

I know, what a bummer!

#transformers #jro #MTMTE #world shut your mouth #issue 29 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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writethehousedown · 4 years

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Conflicted Looks Good On You (Crystal x Gigi) - Mina

A/N: Hi everyone, i’m so excited to finally get to participate in one of these challenges! I worked really really hard on this so I hope you enjoy it, this is possibly my best fic yet? :> Please go say hello on my blog @goodemornting !!

Crystal works as a lifeguard for the scariest ride in the entire waterpark, The Vortex of Death. Gigi hates scary things, but might make an exception for the pretty woman who keeps on saving her.

The first time Gigi met Crystal, she’d been dying. No, literally dying.

There was water in her lungs, and it felt like she was drowning from the inside. Her feet were somehow stuck to something that felt like clammy plastic, almost suffocating against her skin. The sky was blurry above in bruised shades of purple, great swathes of orange cutting across it, and it looked like the skies in those terrible indie horror movies Jackie sometimes made her watch. There was a procession of skulls above her as well, faces grotesque and grimy with tongues protruding from bony cheeks and dripping drool into a pool of flames, and Gigi couldn’t help but wonder whether the devil had finally gotten the best of her and sent her down to hell.

Her first coherent thought was thighs. Good thighs. Nice, strong, tan thighs with a soft layer of muscle. The kind of thighs she’d like to see walking around the house on lazy Sunday mornings, blue shorts attached to them and a tacky, overlong red T-shirt hanging down just below the waistline. Water-drops clung to wet skin and ran down in interesting little rivulets, creating intricate lines that could be traced most efficiently with a tongue.

Pair of Thighs had to have a face up there somewhere, Gigi hoped, but then again this was hell so was she really sure?

She chocked at the feel of hands intertwining with her own, grip tight and unflinching as they struggled to lift her up. The gaping skulls and fire became spirals of blood-red spots, scrunching her eyes up and letting herself be lifted from the water. She tried to breathe in and felt her lungs burn, throat tight and painful.

A hand thumped her back hard.

Gigi sputtered, dribbling water. She almost managed to cough out a sentence but then someone’s mouth was on her own, knocking any coherency straight back out of her with the feel of soft lips pulling harshly to get a better grip. She startled, shoulders tensing, but her arms didn’t have the strength to pull away. She tasted sugary peaches, like the kind that filled the cakes and pastries in cafe windows, warm fingers on the back of her head offering the lightest pressure, before they pulled away with a quiet gasp. Gigi scrambled back, and in her daze, managed to kick someone squarely in the chest.

“Holy shit! Holy shit, Gigi!”

If this really was hell and peachy-tan-thighs-girl was a demon, then Gigi was screwed because somehow she’d also brought her best friend into this equation.

“J-Jackie?”

The Persian woman crowded her field of vision, shoulders slumping in relief at the brunette’s words. She looked pale, a wet towel slung over her neck and brown eyes comically huge behind her glasses. Her hands were pressed against her face, squishing up her cheeks in nervous panic, and Gigi thought she looked like a twelve-year-old.

“Oh my god, what were you thinking? Why did you do that?” She screeched, hands clutching her heart as though it might beat right out of her chest “Did you get water in your head or something? I thought you were going to die!” Gigi looked back at her hazily, almost apologetic for how nervous the older woman looked.

“D-do what?” The younger gasped out, shaking slightly from the cold water hugging her skin.

“Jump out of the floatie!” Jackie hissed, turning to speak to someone out of Gigi’s vision. “I’m sorry, are you all good?”

“I’m fine.” A honey voice laughed gently, breathing heavily, “Is your friend alright now?”

“She seems to be alive,” Jackie trilled, high and panicky. “And talking. Is that bad?”

“Oh, no, that’s great. Maybe you can head to the cafe, get some sugar in her.”

Gigi floundered to sit up and get a full look of peach girls face, rubbing at her eyes that were stinging from the pool water. The lifeguard was still clutching her chest in pain, but her grin was square and wide and her striking orange hair was pulled back from her face in a messy ponytail. A jarringly purple headband covered half her forehead, keeping her curly hair off her face, and Gigi saw manicured brows, soft lips and golden, tan skin. The top lip was thicker than the bottom one, which was interesting, and the brunette told herself she was only staring so hard because those lips had been on hers just a few moments ago.

Because Gigi had - apparently, in panic - jumped off her floatie in the midst of the scariest ride in the fucking park, the Vortex of Death, and proceeded to injure the poor lifeguard.

She felt her heart stop again. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, “I’m really sorry, oh my God. I kicked you. After you saved me. I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I like saving lives.” The woman grinned like it was nothing, waving a hand nonchalantly which the brunette noticed had fingernails painted in rainbow colours. “Not often that I have to climb up half the ride to do it, but it shook up my day a little.”

Jackie tried ineffectively to dry Gigi’s hair with her wet towel, scoffing under her breath. “Don’t you usually save people lower down?”

“Yep. Most pass through the shark dive before they panic and flail and I have to go pull them out.”

Gigi frowned. “Where was I?”

“Still in the flame thrower part.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed. At least you didn’t drown.”

Jackie was nodding, though she looked like she was trying to convince herself that everything was okay more than Gigi. She still looked horrified, patting the brunette’s head with that towel and biting down on her lip so hard that Gigi was afraid she’d tear right through.

“It’s okay, honey,” The older whispered, “You can get stuck in the shark dive next time.”

The lifeguard girl giggled loudly at that, shoulders shaking gently. Her voice was a pretty, smooth thing, sling-shotting itself straight into Gigi’s veins, but her laughter itself was heady and adorable. Her one piece swimsuit showcased an embroidered burning skull with the words Vortex of Death beneath it, hardly fitting of the bright brown eyes and gummy smile the taller woman possessed. Her name-tag badge said Crystal, which was a weird one, but who was Gigi to judge? Her blue shorts looked tight and stuck to her skin way too snug, hugging her toned muscles. It wasn’t fair, because even in her tacky lifeguard clothes, Crystal looked like she belonged in a summer fashion catalog. She didn’t look real, much more suited to a beach in the Mexican coast or a hip village in the south of France or something, working on her perfect tan skin.

She certainly did not look like she should be giving CPR in a shitty waterpark in a tiny corner of southern California, and Gigi was immediately mesmerized - cartoon heart eyes, dry mouth, shaky hands - the whole package.

“Do you feel like you can stand up?” Peach girl - Crystal - asked with a tilt of her head. She looked concerned, warm eyes fixed on Gigi’s own and large palm held out for her to hold.

“Y-yeah.”

“Awesome,” She grinned. “Come on, then. Take my hand.”

The younger woman grabbed at it, ignoring the way her heart jumped at the feel of her long fingers closing around her palm, strong and promising. Crystal yanked her up and off of the concrete, catching her neatly after she yet again stumbled into her arms. Gigi gaped up at her, halfway dead again from mortification, but the tan woman’s smile was warm and kind, carving deep laugh lines into her cheeks.

She swallowed hard and felt her insides flutter.

That had been the beginning of her doom.

***

“Nicky says she’s imprinting on you,” Jan grinned when they met at the entrance to the park, under the palm trees surrounding the ticket booth. “Like baby ducks imprint on mom ducks. Only your mom is a hot lifeguard who’s mandated to wear those teeny shorts.”

“She’s not my mom,” Gigi hissed, but Jan didn’t paying attention. “What’s up with this dumb park and teeny shorts, anyway?”

The blondes head turned as a woman passed them by, gaze lingering on the same uniform swimsuit. Gigi had been at this park enough times now to recognize the broad shoulders and dark hair of Jaida, the girl who handled the Lazy River. She spotted her sometimes with Crystal, fooling around when the crowds were less and they had nothing to do. She low-key resented the woman because it was absolutely impossible not to, Jaida was gorgeous, like, beach model, I-do-runway-shows-for-fun gorgeous, and they were super touchy and flirty and annoying all of the time. Once, at Gigi’s insistence, Nicky had asked Jaida if the two were dating. The dark haired woman’s response had been loud, deep laughter, and a pat to the top of Nicky’s head.

“Her name’s Jaida, if you want to know,” She told Jan with a frown, hoping she didn’t sound too aggressive, “She’s really pretty, huh.”

“Jackie told me her name,” Jan replied thoughtfully, craning her neck to keep gazing at the older lifeguard. “Your Crystal is pretty too. Doesn’t she sing as well?”

“She only does one direction songs,” Gigi muttered, shouldering past the older girl to pay for tickets, “She’s a real pro at those, though.”

A loud snicker from behind her told her that Nicky had finally joined them. “She’s a weird one, huh?“

“She’s not weird,” Gigi pouted, crossing her arms, “She’s just…she’s different.”

The French woman snorted, “You act the sun shines out of her ass.”

The brunette pinched the bridge of her nose exasperatedly, “Why the fuck did I bring you guys?”

“Because you know it’s too lame to come to water parks alone.”

Nicky added, “Do you really think we have nothing better to do with our weekends?”

Gigi raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t.”

The French woman frowned, “Well, yeah, fair. But it wasn’t me who decided to crush on the lifeguard that strictly works at the scariest ride in the entire water-park, while having the biggest fear of water.”

“Will you ever let that go?”

“I don’t know. You might have to actually get the girl before that.”

They passed through the entrance to the park, Gigi’s feet acting on their own as they dragged her to her inevitable destination, the stone pathway leading up to the scariest ride in the entire park. Jan laughed once they arrived, nudging the brunette’s shoulder, “Hey, how many times do you think we’ve come here in the last six weeks?”

Gigi didn’t reply, she didn’t know if she was ready to acknowledge the number yet. She knew exactly how many times.

Twenty.

Twenty fucking times she’d come to the water park in the last month, and twenty fucking times she’d climbed into the Vortex with her heart beating out of her chest. It never stopped being terrifying, she never stopped feeling like she’d puke, but somehow, she’d conditioned herself at a Pavlovian level to look forward to it.

To look forward to Crystal meeting her at the bottom of the ride, beaming smile preemptively in place and warm hands waiting to yank her out of the water.

Crystal. Gigi tried out the name nearly every day since the lifeguard had told it to her. Tonguing it around in her mouth, getting a feel for it. Crystal.

Crystal was always there, waiting at the end of the ride like a little guardian angel dressed in her teeny shorts and sometimes that purple headband, reaching out to help the hapless souls flailing in her pool after being spit out by the hell-ride.

What’s up, Gigi would ask, cool as you please. And Crystal would reply excitedly, did you have fun? She would nod, very cool, as if she hadn’t just spent the last one minute screaming her head off like a banshee. As if she hadn’t felt her soul fly up all the way to her gullet, hanging on by a bare thread for the entire duration of the ride. And how was your week, busy yeah? She’d ask, swallowing down her nausea. And Crystal would say something cute, something funny, like oh, I had to dig two people out of the slide today. No big deal.

The lifeguard always smelt like something citrus and tropical, only slightly layered with the chemicals in the water. She always had those peach-shine lips, and Gigi wondered how much lipbalm the lifeguard must go through because they’re more likely to become chapped with all the chlorine she was in contact with. Gigi would stay for a few minutes, chatting with her, asking her things. Do you like pizza? I like pizza, and Do you like sewing? I like sewing. She learned that Crystal likes dancing, and eating Italian food. That Crystal’s accent is colored with the heavy Spanish she picked up from growing up in Mexico. That when she’s not saving lives in the dumb theme park she moonlights as a bartender in some tiny club.

Crystal had even come to expect her, always asking where she’d been if the brunette hadn’t shot down the Vortex for a few days. It lit something fierce in Gigi’s heart when she did that, knowing that the older girl thought of her when she wasn’t around. She would absolutely keep coming back, waste her money on tickets and climb into a ride that scares the soul out of her, just to hear the older woman say what have you been up to? I missed you this week.

It’s a potent sort of crush. Puppy-love strong, blood on fire, wanting-to-serenade-with-roses-and-tulips sort of thing.

Gigi is so gone.

“You okay to do the Vortex alone today?” Jan asked, bouncing giddily on her toes, “Nicky and I are thinking of doing the Lazy River.”

Of course they were. They were going to spend most of that Lazy River ride falling out of their floaties and scraping their heads along the side and bumping into others - general incompetent nonsense that’d get Jaida to follow them exasperatedly along the edges of the entire course. “Sure, try not to get yourselves killed.” What she wanted to say is please don’t go, I’m so terrified, but the idea of getting some precious alone time with a certain tan skinned lifeguard has her holding her head up confidently, walking through the fiery entrance alone like she wasn’t about to faint.

The line dwindled. The Vortex’s head was shaped like a screaming man, tiny red and black striped boats sitting in lines ready to escort people through the horror show. No matter how many times Gigi stood there, waiting to be launched down the steep throat and into the spinning, spiraling slide, she still got awful butterflies at the thought of it. There was only one more person in front of her, and then she would have to go, and the worst part was waiting for the safety-guard to rise and for the beep to sound and for her to be launched down that deep, dark tunnel like a rocket into space.

The person in front of her was thrown down the slide, a scream rising from their throat like cold murder. Gigi shuffled forward, grimacing at the ride’s technical controller who offered her a sympathetic smile. Why do people make these things? Who wants to be scared out of their wits while being sling-shotted into a dark, amniotic chamber full of echoing sounds and slick, red walls? What is this fascination with knowing what it’s like to possibly be swallowed by a giant whale or something? Why are people so intensely entertained by—

“Fuck!” Her hands scrambled for purchase as she was propelled forward, the ride making a terrible screeching sound as the plastic slid against the slide. The skulls leered at her from every turn, the disgusting laughing sound that seemed to have been recorded in the pits of purgatory itself cheering her on from the speakers hidden in the walls. Gigi shrieked, the sound echoing off the walls and bouncing through the chamber along side her.

She could almost see Crystal now, sitting on her lifeguard chair, peering down the tunnel to see whether Gigi would get stuck inside the exit. “A lot of people get stuck on that part, y’know,” The older woman had told her once. “It’s a structural defect. But most people find it hilarious and it adds to the experience, so they don’t fix it.”

Gigi hadn’t had the heart to tell her that most people probably also appreciate the sight of Crystal climbing up to get them, pole in hand, to poke them out of position. Crystal - narrow yet broad, big yet small, a mess of contradictions and odd features and little flaws brought together into the perfect person. Gigi could hardly believe she wasn’t a fever dream.

The redhead’s sunglasses were bright green and heart-shaped that day, reflecting the afternoon sun and doing wonders for her tan skin. Gigi barely had time to glimpse before she fell right out of her floatie and straight into the pool, the splash sound reverberating through the water. She went under and spluttered for a while, bright blue in her eyes and burning water in her throat, before familiar arms dragged her out and greeted her with a tight embrace.

“You never stick the landing right,” Crystal hummed, looking down at her through a teasing smile, “Hi, Gigi.”

“Hey,” The younger woman replied breathlessly, holding up a weak thumbs up. “What’s shaking?”

“You tell me,” The taller woman raised an eyebrow teasingly, “Pretty nasty fall you had today, looked like you were about to cry.”

Gigi pushed the hair out of her eyes, trying to appear dignified, “Are you making fun of me?” Crystal’s eyes widened, shaking her head frantically.

“No!” The taller woman assured, hands flurrying to deny the statement, “You looked graceful, almost! Very pretty. Do people ever tell you how pretty you are? Because I think so.” She spoke very quickly, that heavy accent dripping honey-like into every word, and Gigi could hardly catch what she was saying. That was endearing too. Crystal’s lashes fluttered excitedly. “You’re really something, Geege.”

The brunette peered at her, trying to make out if all of this had a layer of hilarity to it. The redhead didn’t look like she was joking, just gazed at Gigi happily - so earnest and serious, eyes round and lamp-like, a one thousand kilowatt smile. Skin all supple and tan and pretty, hair drawn back from her face, standing there knee-deep in chlorinated water fangirling over her. Her big, bubbly lifeguard crush. Gigi sort of just really wanted to kiss her head.

She cleared her throat. “I thought it must look kinda weird, falling off every time I get on this ride,”

“No, it isn’t! You look cool, dramatic. You look like an actress.”

“Really?”

“Really. Your clothes look cool, too. I love your swimsuit!.” Crystal beamed, gesturing down at Gigi’s white lace bikini. Her hands were still resting on Gigi’s shoulders, big palms squeezing gentle, so soft that a butterfly couldn’t get away with it. “You should be confident.”

“I am.”

“That’s good, then.” The redhead licked her lips - a quick pink swipe, leaving her mouth glossier still. “Wow, I can’t believe I know someone so gorgeous. It’s

awesome.��

Crystal smile was pearly and bright, starry-eyed, mouth that cool blush tone that reminded the brunette of fresh strawberries and fluffy blankets. “That’s pretty lame,” Gigi laughed, cheeks getting warmer by the second.

“Five people have gotten stuck since morning,” The lifeguard grinned, “One was this girl, she screamed the funniest things ‘till I got her out of there, you should have heard it. Sometimes I think people hate this ride. They do it once because it’s so famous and everyone wants to look cool, but they secretly can’t stand it.”

Gigi glanced back at the Vortex and shivered, her heart still pounding from the twists and jumps of the tunnels packed inside. All of what the taller had just said applied to her, too, but she’d left out the one variable that kept bringing her back.

She wondered if Crystal knew what she looked like.

“You come back, though,” The redhead observed, peering around Gigi in preparation for the next person screaming their way through the stone chamber. “You seem to love this ride. You must be a really brave person.”

Gigi chuckled weakly, her stomach flipping. “I like to live dangerously,” She lied through her teeth.

“Yeah?” Crystal lit up. “So do I! I’ve been wanting to go to the summer festival so bad. There’s this crazy roller-coaster this year, did you see it?”

She’d seen it. She’d seen it many, many times, all over her Instagram feed no matter how many times she told the app she was Not. Interested. It was a monstrous thing, must be the size of two baseball pitches, at least three times what the vortex was. Just looking at it had been enough to make her want to melt into the floor, so of course Crystal was absolutely enamored by it.

“They brought it in from Australia or something. I keep asking Jaida to come with me, but she says she’s scared, which is weird because normally she’s good with this stuff-“

Sometime in between Crystal opening her mouth and closing it, Gigi had begun to nod violently. She’s not sure when it started, but her mouth twisted into a warming smile. It felt like she was no longer in control of her own voice as she hummed, “I can go with you, if you want.”

The redhead looked at her, wide-eyed, a little daze of possibility sparking in her gaze. “Really?” She asked, and then frowned skeptically. “I mean you don’t really know me, and I wouldn’t want to pressure you..”

“I’d love to go, promise,” Gigi beamed, earnest. “I - uh - I love roller-coasters. Who doesn’t?”

“Right.” Crystal brightened, cheeks puffing up from her wide smile. Excitement made her look soft, even softer, actually, lit her up from the inside like a little doll that smiles when you push at its tummy. Gigi heard a swoosh of blood rushing in her ears. “What reason is there to be scared? You go on the thing, you have the time of your life, you feel alive. You know?”

The brunette could think of at least five hundred reasons to be scared. “Alive.” She mumbled, clenching her jaw, “Alive. Yep.”

The lifeguard giggled happily. “When do you want to go?”

There was a little kick in Gigi’s gut, a last ditch attempt to get her out of something she knew she shouldn’t be doing. “W-whenever. I’m free…Monday night?” Too bad, she had done it anyway.

Crystal near vibrated in excitement, bouncing on the heels of her toes. “Okay! Okay. Monday night. I’ll meet you there.” Her eyes twinkled, round pupils gazing into Gigi’s more piercing ones, and the younger woman felt as though she was going to faint yet again.

The splash of someone else landing in the pool startled them both, a quiet scream following it from underwater. The redhead shot her an apologetic look, - gotta go now - and padded her way over to the flailing person, warm-voiced and gentle and smiling as she helped them up.

The brunette climbed out of the pool, looking back once, and then started to move towards a different ride before she made another decision she’d regret.

“Geege!” Crystal called, waving dramatically back at her, “Monday, don’t forget. It’s a date!”

Gigi nearly stumbled into a bush.

***

In all matters not involving math, scary rides, and one particular tan-skin lifeguard, Georgina Goode was very competent.

She made and designed clothing, with some help from Nicky. She liked to cook, and she liked living alone, and she liked women. She liked some fun with her sense of organization, too, so on most weekends that she didn’t have to work, she ended up in a club with Jan.

“Cute girl at eight o’clock,” The blonde slurred, happily pulling Gigi this way and that in vaguely the rhythm of whatever song was being played, “She’s been looking at you all night.”

She turned to look, but it was like her mind’s eye had shrunk to develop an omnipotent focus only on Crystal. Her gaze found the new girl and slipped away quickly, disinterested. She turned back to Jan with a shrug. “Not my type.”

“Oh, you have a type now?” The older woman’s smile was knowing, “The type that makes you go on scary rides? Loud, smiley, tan?”

Gigi shook her head, groaning, “I’m going with her to the autumn festival tomorrow.”

Jan’s eyes went wide, stopping in her tracks and mouth gaping wide, “Really? You finally asked her out? Lifeguard Crystal?!”

The music changed, some pop anthem, and Jan lit up and tugged on Gigi’s arm to pull her further into the dance floor. The brunette grinned and shimmied closer. She liked dancing with Jan, because Jan was the rare breed of person who’d recite all the properties of antibiotics or whatever she was studying at nursing school while performing a slut-drop. Jan never made things weird. Even then, she was probably contemplating Gigi’s potential future with “Lifeguard Crystal” as she swayed her hips enthusiastically to the rap music.

“Well, she’s not bad looking, I guess.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Fine, fine. She’s fucking hot. Like. Ridiculously hot.”

“That’s more like it.”

Jan’s brows creased, offering a sympathetic smile. “But you don’t know her very well, babe.”

“I know her better than that girl over there you were suggesting I take home.”

“Fair point,” The blonde frowned, reaching around Gigi to grab her drink from the table. “But what if she’s…Oh, fuck it. Enjoy your date with Crystal. She of the life-giving mouth and tiny blue shorts. Just be safe, okay?”

“Yeah, well,” Gigi hesitated, dry-mouthed, ignoring the patronizing tilt of the older woman’s head. “I don’t think this date is ending that way.”

The blonde narrowed her eyes, “Why? What are you two doing?” She asked skeptically, downing a sip of her vibrantly coloured cocktail.

She took a deep breath, “Going on the roller coaster at the summer festival.”

Jan spat out her drink, looking back at the younger woman with eyes the size of saucers. “What?” She spluttered, loud enough that club goers around her startled and looked in their direction. “Have you seen that thing? It’s monstrous. It’s abominable. It’s an absolute atrocity, Gigi.”

“We want to feel alive.”

“You sound really dead right now.”

“I know.” She sighed, hiding her face behind her palms, “She just, Crystal, she’s… special, y’know? I want to impress her so bad, it’s insane,”

“Of course you do.” Jan put her small hand to Gigi’s jaw, furrowing her brows. The younger woman leaned into it, taking a deep breath. “God, it’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Maybe I just need to see her out of those shorts for once. Break the spell.”

The blonde shook her head. “It’s bad,” she whispered, nodding to herself and patting Gigi’s cheek gently. “So bad.”

“Janet,” the brunette whispered hoarsely, “How much do I need to pay for you to come to the summer festival and drag my body away if I die on this thing?”

***

On Sunday evening when Crystal messaged her to ask are we still on? with a flurry of heart emojis and a mermaid, the brunette didn’t have the slightest idea of how to respond.

She scowled at her phone for a minute. Yes? She typed, and then deleted the question mark. She wasn’t a stumbling middle school girl with a painful crush on a senior way out of her league. She was smart. She was confident.

She could do this.

Yes, she sent, and then couldn’t bare to look at the phone for a while. Crystal’s reply wasn’t much to go on when she finally gained the courage to peek.

“Cool,” The brunette read aloud, turning the word about in her mouth to gauge its true meaning. “Cool.” She pouted at the lack of any smiley faces.

She let it go. Ran late anyway because she kept looking at pictures of that roller coaster and having mini heart-attacks. There was a chain lift and a steep drop and many, many points where both the contents of Gigi’s stomach and her heart were likely to leap out of her mouth.

Still. She could do this. She wasn’t a baby, she rode the Vortex of Death every week - she could do this.

Crystal’s hair was ruffled in the wind when Gigi finally caught up to her, already smelling of daffodils and ice-cream. She was finally out of those fucking shorts too, dressed all pretty in a yellow sundress and patterned necktie, still with that soft-shine balm glossing up her lips in a more shimmery colour this time. She wore round glasses, pushed up to the top of her head and intertwining with her red curls, with bunches of colourful bracelets decorating both hands. She looked straight out of a painting, maybe a character escaped from the most beautiful art museum and on the run through the summer festival.

“You look - you look nice,” Gigi stuttered, all verklempt, and Crystal beamed back with her eyes scrunched up.

“You too! There’s a penguin pin on your shirt.”

Gigi looked down, almost gasping at the sight of said penguin pin in the middle of her pale blue blouse. She hadn’t meant to wear that one, but by some psychobabble-subconscious-wizardry, she’d still managed it. It’s even a dancing penguin.

“Oh,” she chuckled, feeling slightly sick.

“It’s cute.” Crystal poked a finger at it, all easy, like all her dates turned up wearing penguins on their shirts. Gigi jolted back in surprise, shocked at the sudden contact. The redhead laughed and stuck her hands in her pockets, “Sorry. Should we go find the line for the roller-coaster?”

The younger woman squirmed a little, grimacing, “Y-Yeah,” she replied, finally, “I guess so.”

The festival was pretty and thrumming, all glimmering blue lights and palm trees, smell of tropical fruit and salt water, luau music. There was smoke and surfboards and the luster of gaudy-pretty streamers, fluttering silver and aqua and yellow. Spots of glitter constellated on Crystal’s cheeks like freckles whenever she looked up.

“I love the summer festival,” The redhead muttered in awe. “Where I grew up the carnivals were smaller than this, but it was my favorite time of the year.”

Gigi only spent the first minute feeling clammy-palmed and sick with worry, because Crystal turned out to be a ridiculously excitable person. Five steps into the festival and her hand came tight down on her wrist, dragging her off because puppies, oh my god, they have puppies, and Gigi went along because what the fuck, she liked puppies too.

The air was caramel-thick and the close press of bodies made the space hot. Crystal watched the puppies jump through loops with wet lashes and a beatific expression, fingers itching forward to grab, to hold. Gigi cooed at a fluffy poodle with curly gray fur and liquid eyes. The older woman pet the top of its head, looking overwhelmed. “I miss my dog,” she whispered quiet, and Gigi felt the sweetness in that sentiment all the way to the tips of her toes.

In some time she asked, a bit hopefully, “Are we going to stay with the puppies forever?” She wanted the answer to be yes, fuck the rollercoaster. Spending the night getting ice cream and playing with dogs sounded much better to her.

Crystal blinked, “Oh,” she shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly, “Sorry. We should go.”

Gigi would’ve much rather stayed. But she dug this grave for himself, and now there was really no choice but to lie in it. She did manage to distract Crystal a little more on the way, which wasn’t much considering Crystal was extremely easy to distract.The brunette only had to wave her arms and say look over there for the tan woman to wildly pick any random direction and find something to look at. They inspected the painted surfboards and wander through a maze of mirrors. They buy a weird little ship in a bottle that Crystal randomly fell in love with. They followed loud pew-pew sounds into a neon-lit, temporarily constructed arcade, where the lifeguard demolished Gigi in some annoying car race game. There were Pokemon in the arcade claw machines that they spent a few minutes trying to win.

“I like Pokemon,” Crystal grinned, and she filed that away, thought of herself saying it to her friends - my girlfriend likes Pokemon. The redhead was focused, tongue peeking out the corner of her lips and eyes narrowed as she navigated the claw. “I have a lot of these”

“I think they’re cute.”

“You do?”

Gigi faulted, colour rushing time her cheeks. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think you were the type of person to like plushies.”

“What type of person did you think I was?”

Crystal shrugged, not looking away from the claw. “Very cool.”

“Oh.”

The older woman didn’t seem very bothered by this change in perception but Gigi was, she wanted to clarify, the itch to make herself clear rising and suffocating her until it came out in a fast rush. “My friend says liking soft things doesn’t make you any less any less cool.”

Crystal glanced up, leaning forward to pat Gigi’s chest lightly. Weirdly, when she did it, it wasn’t patronizing at all. Just Crystal letting you know it’s fine. “It makes you more cool, I think.”

“Cooler,” She corrected, feeling her insiders shrivel up at her lameness. “Not more cool, cooler. I mean—that is—never mind.”

Gigi felt like a little moth drawn to a lamp - herself the moth, night-black and dirty with lies. Crystal’s the lamp, warm and sparkly like Christmas stars and fairy lights and she is so gone.

***

The Hurricane Dominator was exactly as Jan said: an atrocity. It climbed steep above the rest of the festival, and just the one visible loop of it made Gigi want to find the nearest trashcan to hurl into. It looped and curled and the cart practically hung suspended upside down at some point. She felt the integral parts of her system begin to shut down already, but Crystal rocked back on her feet, eyes wide and fists clenched, a soft wow shaping her mouth into a little O.

When they got closer, it was obvious that the line stretched all the way around the festival. Crystal’s face dropped a little. “That’s a long queue.”

Gigi tried not to let the relief show on her face. She tugged gently at the taller woman’s sleeve. “Maybe we should go on the smaller rides.”

“No, I can probably bribe someone into letting us cut the line.”

And she proceeded to do just that. Gigi stood back, slack-jawed, watching as Crystal walked up to a random guy and started promising him enough money for burgers and a drink. She threw in the little Pikachu, too, pressing it to the guy’s chest in that universal bro-thing where you slap the shit out of the other dude as hard as possible. The guy grinned and hi-fives her, proceeding to give Crystal her number, and then he and his girlfriend walked right out of the line leaving space for the older woman and Gigi.

“That guy was nice,” The lifeguard smiled, off-hand, when Gigi rushed to join her. “He has a restaurant near the water park. Said he’d give me dumplings on discount if I go there.”

The brunette huts his mouth quickly, trying to hide her astonishment. “Do you.. is that how the world usually works for you?”

“What do you mean?” Crystal asked. “Oh. Yeah, I make friends fast! But look, we’re right at the front now.”

Gigi could feel herself start to sweat. Panic crawled up her spine, many-legged like spiders, locking up her muscles and breaking out of her in little shivers. She occupied herself with the mole on Crystal’s nose while she chattered happily about previous roller-coasters she’d tried. “There’s a TV show on an Australian channel that’s only about theme parks,” The redhead was babbling happily. Gigi really had to lean in to hear her over the death-screams of the people riding the Hurricane Dominator. “That’s how many theme parks they have. That’s my dream job.”

“Working in an Australian theme-park?”

“No. Having a show about theme-parks.”

“You must really like theme-parks.”

“I like all the rides except that thing that does the vertical drop,” Crystal muttered. “I’m scared of those ones.”

Gigi was scared of everything. As a kid, she was scared of the fucking monkey bars in the neighborhood’s jungle gym. Now that she was older she was afraid of spiders, snakes, foreclosure, unpaid credit cards, roller-coasters, ghosts, and her own truth. If she didn’t get on this thing, how is she going to tell Crystal what she was doing visiting the Vortex of Death multiple times? She imagined that conversation: I think you’re hot, so I took the death-ride twenty-one times so you could pull me out of the pool. How’s that for a meet-cute? Her palms felt clammy and sweat beaded on her brow.

The discomfort must’ve shown on her face, because Crystal asked, suddenly, “Are you okay?”

Gigi felt her soul slowly edge its way out of her body. “What?”

“You look pale. Are you okay? Do you want to sit down?”

She managed to hold her tongue through climbing onto their seats, and even pulled the safety-guard down. The older woman hummed contentedly, ready to go, and turned her head to look at Gigi. Her face fell so abruptly it was like she’d decelerated from mach speed to zero.

“Hey, uhm,” Crystal hesitated, eyes nervous and twitchy, “you look really faint.”

“I feel—I feel like I might,” Gigi flinched at the sound of the rollercoaster creaking, “You know.”

“What?”

“Faint.”

The redhead wriggled a little in her seat. “Do you want to get off? We can get off. We don’t have to-“

“No, no, you wanted to do this.”

“I don’t want to do it if you’re scared,” Crystal whispers, eyebrows furrowing, “There are other rides. We can go on that Twisterado thing - or the Space Pistols-“

The brunette giggled, a bit hysterically. “I’m scared of all the rides”

“You’re not scared of the Vortex,” Crystal said authoritatively, reaching out to pat Gigi’s thigh. “You love that ride.”

And it was at that moment - with that syrupy-orangey light still playing on Crystal’s skin, with her brows on display and confusion clearly written on her face - that Gigi realized she really couldn’t do this. She couldn’t ride this roller-coaster. She was going to fucking die. All the energy sapped out of her, siphoned through some invisible port and fed to the demonic force that powered the ride.

“I’m fucking terrified of the Vortex,” Gigi gasped, death-bed-confession heavy. “I have nightmares about that thing. When I die and go to hell, all they’ll need to torture me is to make me go on that thing again and again, get me stuck in the bottom every single time, and—”

The tan woman looked like a confused puppy. “What are you talking about? You keep coming back to go on it.”

“Yeah, well.”

“I see you literally every week.”

She shuddered. “Crystal,” he says. “I only go on it because I get - I get to see you.”

The lifeguard looked flabbergasted, eyes the size of saucers and mouth gaping wide. She opened her mouth, like she wanted to say something, and then pursed it shut again. “What?”

Gigi looked at her shoes miserably. “I only g-go on the Vortex of Death because of you. Because you–uh, you save me, and you’re cute, and I…like seeing you.”

Crystal blinked violently, head tilted, puzzlement spilled scatter-shot across her features. But now they were moving, the roller-coaster slowly pulling backward, and she could feel all of her insides clench up in horrific anticipation of what was to come.

“I know it’s pathetic,” Gigi mumbled, hating how small she sounded. The redhead still wasn’t saying anything. Crystal was probably too nice to say how lame this was. The brunette wanted the ride to start so her soul could fly out of her body and take her out of the older woman’s range. “It’s so pathetic. I’m sorry.”

Crystal took in a shuddering breath. She opened her mouth again.

And then, with loud music and a horrible tug at Gigi’s stomach - the ride began.

#rpdr fanfiction #crygi #crystal methyd #gigi goode #jackie cox #jan sport #nicky doll #mina #summer lovin' 2020 #day 4: heat #submission

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bardic-inspo · 3 years

Note

Hello I am here with a mega ask! (If it's too much please feel free to only answer parts). So: ♫ for Deacon, and for the OT3 asks: 3, 17, and 26. 💜

Ahh thank you so much my friend! <3 <3 ♫ for Deacon

“Marching Bands of Manhattan” by Death Cab for Cutie

This feels like Deacon’s brand of melancholy to me. This part especially:

And it is true what you said That I live like a hermit in my own head But when the sun shines again I'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say?

I had a hard time with these! But they were fun to think about.

Deacon to Mac

“Best damn shot in the Commonwealth, and the best man to have in your corner. Loyal to the last. If you’re with him, then he’s with you. Not bad looking, either ;).”

(I can imagine Deacon saying this in front of Mac, about him, but as if he’s not there, and Mac just sort of scoffing with a lil blush hehe).

Mac to Deacon

(In direct response to the above)

“Smartest guy I’ve ever met. Smart mouth, too, but don’t let it fool you. I’d trust him with everything.”

Deacon to Natasha

“Chutzpah made human. She’s not a survivor, she’s a fighter.”

Nat’s not crying, she’s not, she’s a fighter!! But Deacon notices a sniffle and adds something corny like:

“...she’s fighting the limits of human sexiness. Look at her go! :D”

Mac to Natasha

Said super soft:

“She’s like something out of a comic book.”

Natasha to Deacon

“He’s gentle at heart. He doesn’t see it half the time. I mean, maybe if he didn’t wear sunglasses in the dark he’d see a whole lot more. But it’s why he’s so careful and cautious. And it’s why I’d trust him through anything.”

(Deacon isn’t sniffling either, darn it. But she’ll still hold his hand about it.)

Natasha to Mac

“He’s warm. His heart his warm. Head’s usually hot, and the rest of him always is ;). Like sunshine.”

(I feel like Mac wants to bit a little grompy but ends up soft after this.)

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

Reminders of Nat

Red wine, coffee, vanilla, flowers, music (especially folksier type songs that Nat will sing around the house in her real voice as opposed to doing an imitation of someone else’s.) Fire. Small but tender/lingering touches.

Reminders of Mac

Cigarettes, scarves, comic books strewn around as well as general clutter/disarray wherever he goes, army green, his signature duster and cap, little trims of his facial hair around the sink. Soft humming of whatever he last heard on the radio (and then later, memories of a song he hummed). The blip sounds off a PipBoy game. Bolder, firmer touches.

Reminders of Deacon

Sunglasses, faint powder/chemical smells leftover from his disguises, his vast wardrobe in general and the strange, disparate clothing items sometime left around the house. Railsigns. Eggs cooking in the morning. Old movies (I imagine he likes to dub them with his own made up dialogue). Lighter, subtler touches.

Some shared reminders of the three of them:

Blankets strewn around from last evening, dirty dishes from breakfast, sitting by a fire, sitting up on a rooftop or tree stand.

26. What are their favorite parts about physical affection/sex?

Hehe, well, I think collectively there’s an appreciation for things they can achieve as a throuple that are not do-able as pairs. Particularly, the ability to (literally) surround a partner with affection. I think for Deacon, his instinct might be to give or control rather than receive or be more submissive. But (see above), being confronted with two partners ready to love him is enough to get him out of his head for a little while. I still think his favorite part is feeling like he can give peace and pleasure to people he cares about. It’s sort of an extension of what I see as his protective instinct. Making sure his people are taken care of in every sense, and seeing that happen, or having it happen at his behest. For Mac, who’s primary love language is physical touch, it’s reassurance and proof that they’re there, and they’re his, and kind of a manifestation of a protective instinct, too, but I think it’s a different form than Deacon’s. I think he takes a lot of pleasure in taking apart any type of front/composure his partners might typically keep (which, considering who he gets into bed with, seems appropriate hehe). I think he gets a lot out of getting his partners to be vulnerable, or to a point where that feels like a good way to be with him. For Nat, I think it’s safety. The feeling that, no matter what bad has happened or will happen, whatever they’re sharing is safe and sacred and good, and that’s something she gets to keep. She feels entirely at ease with Mac and Dee and is generally a pretty responsive partner which I think plays well into Dee’s want to give, and Mac’s want for reassurance. She puts absolute trust in them and has a good time showing that where she can. [Send me a ♫ and a ship/character and I’ll tell you a song I associate with them]

[OTP(OT3) Ask Meme]

#ask meme #spicy ot3 #deacon x maccready x natasha #ot3 #fallout

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past-perfect-future-tense · 4 years

Text

Jake On Weed

Pairing: Thor x OC (sort of OC, sort of Reader Insert) Loki x OC Friend of Main Character

Warnings: Fluff, Comedy, Fangirling for Middle Aged Ladies

Word Count: 3799

Summary: You are a huge fan of a-ha, you are going to their concert with your best friend and well, you never know who you’ll see.

A/N: This was written for @captain-rogers-beard One Hit Wonder challenge. Thank you for giving me an extension. This thought for a story has been in my head for a while now, so I had to take the opportunity to write it down. My prompt/song was Take On Me by a-ha. A-ha is my favorite band in the world! Plus I saw a comic of Thor wearing an a-ha tshirt and being that I love both, they all had to go together. Also this was inspired by my life events and by my dear friend who had some of the events in the story happen in real life. This is also my tribute to the fact that I have tickets to see them in LA this August, although with the pandemic going on, that may not happen. I kinda left Infinity War/Endgame out and obviously Loki is alive. Also tagging my Thor’s Whores as well.

Enjoy!!

@thorfanficwriter @lancsnerd @saviorsong @queenoftheunderdark @lovesdarkness @fictivefrolic @michelehansel

The lifelong, not quite obsession but bordering on fanatic for the band had started when you where 11 years old. It started when you had first heard ‘Take On Me’ played on the local radio station. As the song became more popular, it was played more regularly until eventually it became a #1 hit single for the band. Due to the songs resounding popularity, subsequent music video that is still one of the best ever made, and this had catapulted the band into worldwide stardom.

The more popular they became you knew more about them. Being the first group from Norway to have this kind of international success was a big deal. You always had a special place for Norway in your heart as that’s where your maternal ancestors were from. Each band members were all extremely cute, and the lead singer could sing. I mean his voice was amazing. Within a short time they had more videos on tv, more singles on the radio, you had their posters on your walls, and so that love was cemented.

It was so much so that when it seemed as though the band had disappeared from the airwaves in America after their amazing second album, you had to buy their music from record stores at import prices. You didn’t mind because you knew their music was worth the price and the time you waited, however that didn’t make it easy to be a fan of the band.

Being that when they toured the US the last time, you were too young to attend their shows, so sadly you missed out on seeing them in concert. It was something that you would always regret and that you’d hope to one day change making that dream become reality. Now that dream did come true 10 years ago when the band had decided to go their separate ways and did a final tour including many places they hadn’t toured in more than 20 years.

That concert was a dream come true. Something that you never thought would happen and you remember it like it happened yesterday. You and your best friend, Bridgette, who also loves the band the way you do, still talk about it. In all actuality it was your mutual love of the band that brought you too each other. That bond is stronger than ever and the fact that this would be the one and only time you’d see the band perform live was a bit disheartening however sharing the experience with her made it hurt less.

So imagine your mental state when the band announced they be touring again, in support of their first albums release, ‘Hunting High And Low’ playing the album in its entirety on the 35th anniversary of its’ release, as well as a setlist full of their hits and fan favorites, you and your bestie had already decided that if they toured here, you both would be there.

Nothing would stop it.

Nothing.

Nothing short of a global pandemic.

So, when the actual global pandemic happened and the tour was postponed, you two were devastated. What was one more year to wait when the first time you waited 25 years? You had both prayed and thanked Asgard for bringing the band back to you and keeping those that you loved safe. The time had gone fast and you two were planning another weekend that included the concert and hanging out with other friends that were fans too.

The day of the show was a whirlwind. Meeting your friends for a late lunch prior to going to the preshow fan party. The party was fun. You got hangout and see people that you’d only meet online. A few you had met the prior show and were happy to reconnect with over your shared love of the band. One friend in particular, Elizabeth, who you talked outside of the fan boards and shared life experiences with was there and you were so happy to see her. The following day the three of you were scheduled to go to the fabric district to hang out before the next show the following night.

However tonight was what you were focused on. You and Bridge had found your seats. They were in the third row from the stage, just to the left of the stage. Elizabeth and a few of your other friends were in the front and second row just ahead of you. You weren’t sure how you were going to survive but you knew you would. As you two were waiting you were looking around the theatre and the two seats next you were empty. It was getting closer to show time and you were wondering something to yourself, however you said it out loud because that was your mental state at the moment. The energy of the entire place was electric! “Do you think Thor likes A-ha?” You asked Bridge.

She looked at you and a pensive look crossed her face, a momentary change from the 15 year old fangirl smile you both had been wearing the entire day. “That’s a good question. I mean, why wouldn’t he like A-ha?” She asked you back and you thought about it. You did see that one drawing from the Loki, Agent of Asgard comic and it always had you wondering. In the drawing Thor was wearing an A-ha t-shirt. So maybe??

“Maybe he does. I mean the band are Norwegian and the ancient Norse did worship Asgard.” You thought about it and so did she. “Wouldn’t it be funny if they sat next to us for the show?” You say and your friends face breaks into a smile before a face of utter shock passes over it. Since you were turned to look at her away from the empty seats on your left you had no idea what was making her react that way. In responding to her you scrunch your eyebrows together, you were perplexed. You mouth ‘what?’ to her and she motioned with her head behind you. Turning to see what got her in awe, you turn to look and into a nearly brick wall of a chest. Slowly turning your gaze up, you see a sight you never thought you would.

Thor. Thor, the God of Thunder. Asgardian King.

There he stood looking down at you. His smile as big as you had seen in photos and on tv. The bluest blue eyes looked at you and they held nothing but joy. You mentally say what the actual fuck, however you realized you actually hadn’t when Thor says to you, “Pardon, I didn’t quite hear you.” You look at him and then you feel a hand on your shoulder as you turn to see your friend standing up next to you holding on for support.

“I’m sorry, did I say something?” You ask him back.

He begins to answer you when from behind him immerges his brother, Loki. “You said what the actual fuck, with a question on the end. You heard her brother; we have much better hearing than the Midgardians do.”

“I know we do, but I try not to make them feel bad about Loki. It’s not their fault.” Thor had turned to his brother and made a sad face at him. Loki rolled his eyes.

“Did I make you feel bad Ms?” Loki asked you and you stood there looking at them both.

Your bestie squeezed your shoulder and you responded, “No, not at all. I mean I know I’m Midgardian and have no powers.”

“See Thor, she’s perfectly fine.” Loki says in his smooth as silk voice. He smiles at you, but you see the mischief in his eyes. “Are you alright?” He asks but you see he is looking at your bestie now. You looked back to her and she’s looking at him.

She nods her head at him and says, “Yeah, I am.” Her eyes don’t look convinced but you’re not going to point that out. She did stop shaking or was that you? At this point it was possibly both of you.

“Are you excited for the show tonight?” You hear that big voice again and turn your attention back it from Loki and your bestie.

“Oh yeah, we’ve been anticipating it for a while now. Especially since they postponed it from last year. How about you guys?” It felt weird referring to them as just guys but in all honesty they were dressed in casual clothes. Loki in a leather blazer, black with dark jeans, hair slicked back, and this air of magic around him. It was tangible. You were positive everyone around them felt it. Thor was wearing a wine colored bomber jacket, dark blue jeans, black boots, long braided beard, and his hair was pulled back into a ponytail. It had grown out since they had founded New Asgard in Norway after Hela, their sister destroyed Asgard in a jealous fit of rage. A simplistic yet accurate description of events.

Occasionally you see them on the news and other online outlets. Thor helping the New Avengers and Loki keeping mostly quiet. Mostly. “We have been long time fans of the band. Actually, Loki brought the band to my attention within his time travels and being that Asgard is in Norway, well it’s not difficult to be a fan.” Thor answered you and smiled. You smiled back and suddenly the lights dimmed in the theater and you knew the show was about to begin. Thor turned towards the stage after you did. Someone over the sound system said hello to the crowd and you and your friend cheered, loudly. A spotlight came on and Magne stepped out into the light, walking over to his keyboard, Morten followed and stood center stage at his microphone, and Pal Walked out last standing at his mic on the left side of the stage, guitar already slung, ready to play.

“Hello LA” Magne says and the crowd cheers. Your friend Elizabeth turned around and smiled at you and Bridgette. You both smiled at her and then you turned to your left and there was Thor and Loki, Thor cheered along with the crowd, Loki applauded earnestly. You and Thor smiled at each other, you thought you’d died and gone to heaven, maybe you did but who cared? You certainly were in some sort of heaven and you’d be damned if you had to return to whatever life you lived prior.

The band began to play and started with, “Take On Me” The audience was singing along. This may have been their breakout hit but it certainly wasn’t their only one. You turned to Thor and he was singing to the song as well. When the chorus comes on and you swear he and Loki are both singing ‘Jake On Weed’ and not ‘Take On Me’. You and Bridgette both look at Thor and Loki as they sing loudly, ‘Jake On Weed’ during the chorus.

“Sing it with us, ‘Jake On Weed’.” Thor says loudly into your ear as he leans down.

You look at him and ask loudly, “Why?”

“I’ll tell you after the show over drinks, okay my lady.” Thor says and you look at him albeit a bit stunned but you start singing ‘Jake On Weed’ instead of ‘Take On Me’. Now you knew a certain story behind those lyrics, but you had no idea how Thor and Loki knew those exact same ones. You were definitely going to ask him over drinks. Hopefully, he didn’t forget or find the company of another instead. Elizabeth heard you four singing the lyrics and turned around stunned. She knew the story, it was her story after all. She knew that Bridge and you knew, the other two were a huge mystery to her as well. Before the end of the song several people around you were also singing ‘Jake On Weed’ instead of ‘Take On Me’. The band laughed at the audiences’ antics to the lyrics and continued on with the rest of the show. Bridge and you sang along to every song, dancing too, and you tried not to bump into Thor, although it was hard not too. He didn’t seem to mind though, as a matter of fact he loosened up and swayed to the music too. You wouldn’t call it dancing however if you were him, you’d be a little self-conscious too. The first set was the entire album ‘Hunting High and Low’ in the order of the tracks on the album.

You and Bridge couldn’t help but be teary eyed when the band played the title song as you did the first time you saw them live. You tried not to let Thor see but he leaned down, “Are you okay my ladies?”

You nod yes and answer him, “Yes, we just get a bit emotional at the song.” He put his hand on your shoulder and gently squeezed it. You tried not over analyze the interaction, he was just being nice. You both smiled at one another and turned your attentions back to the show.

Set List:

Take On Me

Train Of Thought

Hunting High and Low

The Blue Sky

Living A Boy’s Adventure Tale

The Sun Always Shines On TV

And You Tell Me

Love Is Reason

I Dream Myself Alive

Here I Stand and Face The Rain

The second set was a mix of their hits from their other nine albums as well as new track that hadn’t been released called ‘Digital Rain’.

Set 2

Analogue (All I Want)

Foot of The Mountain

The Swing of The Things

Crying In The Rain

Sycamore Leaves

Digital River

I’ve Been Losing You

Stay on These Roads

Encore

Scoundrel Days

The Living Daylights

You and Bridge got teary eyed during ‘Stay on These Roads’ however Thor didn’t say anything, but sang along with you as you put your arm around him this time. You were not sure why you did but you felt he needed the reassurance and a connection. He understood the lyrics; if anything they spoke more to him than most. With everything he had been through over his lifetime, he knew that you had to stay on no matter how bad it got. That better things were ahead. The band closed with their Bond Theme, from the movie of the same title, and it was the perfect ending to an amazing night.

You were sad to see it end, however Thor and Loki turned to you, “So I offered to buy you a drink.” He says to you.

“You did offer but you don’t have too.” Trying to let him out of the obligation he set for himself.

“No! Now, we are not ready for the night to end just yet and besides, we promised to tell you the story of the song.” Thor smiles. “Now I know you know who we are but let me introduce myself and my brother. I’m Thor Odinson and this is Loki Odinson, my brother.” Thor extends his hand towards you and you offer yours in kind. Expecting a handshake and getting a kiss on the back of your hand instead. You tried not to blush, but Loki saw it and he made a smirk at you. You rolled your eyes at him and he laughed. Thor kissed Bridge’s hand too, ever the gentleman you thought. She blushed and the blush furthered when Loki winked at her. Again you rolled your eyes at him. He smirked at you and you turned back to Thor.

“My name is Elora and this is my dear friend Bridgette. We are heading out to an after party in Hollywood with other fans. Would you like to join us? Then you can buy us a drink and share your story about Jake On Weed.” You say trying not to sound like you just had one of the best nights of your life but you couldn’t hide your happiness. The smile on your face was too sincere to wish away.

“Loki, what do you say?” Thor asked his brother. Loki looked to you and Bridgette.

“Only if she let’s me buy her drink.” He looks as Bridgette and winks at her.

“Of course he can, right Bridge?” You answer for her because you knew that’s what she wanted. If you considered yourself a Thor’s Whore, well then she was a Loki’s Loose Lady. “I’m going to order a car for us.”

While you were ordering the car, Elizabeth walked over to your happenstance group of the evening. “Hey! The show was fantastic!” She paused and reached out to hug you. You hugged her back and then she continued with what she was saying. “You all are coming to the party, right?” She looked to Bridge, Thor, and Loki.

“We’re all going to be there. Oh, let me introduce you to out newest friends?” You say with a question. You look at Thor and he nods yes to your question. “This is Thor and Loki Odinson, Asgards biggest A-ha fans. Who knew?!”

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Jane says and waves at them from where she’s standing next you. “Okay, do you have the address to the party?”

“Yes. I already ordered a car to come and pick us up. It should be here in about 10 minutes, so we should probably head out to meet it soon.”

“Good. I just ordered our car as well, so we’ll all head out together.” Elizabeth said and then continued her train of audible thought. “Can I ask you two a question?” She looked at Thor and Loki as she asked.

“Certainly. We’ve nothing to hide.” Thor says smiling at Loki who just shakes his head at him.

“Fair enough. So why were you singing ‘Jake On Weed’ instead of ‘Take On Me’?” Elizabeth asked them with a bewildered look on her face.

Thor and Loki exchange glances. Loki actually chuckles before he speaks. “Well it was record store day and upon my travels throughout the realms, I’ve come to discover the love of vinyl. I have quite a collection and I enjoy listening to it. Our mother would’ve loved it, right?”

“Oh she’d love to sit and listen to music with you. You always did have the arts in common.” Thor says with a fondness in his voice to offset Loki’s hint of sadness.

“Upon learning of record store day, I took Thor shopping with me in the DC area to look for the releases. Now we happen into a store, with a young man as the clerk. He is on his phone, managing his social media accounts or whatever it is they do. The phone rings, the store phone not his cell phone, and he answers it. Of course you know he’s trying to be helpful. I can hear her talking to the clerk on the other end of the line. Good hearing, Asgardians have good hearing.”

“We’ve already established that Loki.” Thor interjects and Loki smiles.

“Yes, we have. So She asks him for a specific Record Store Day release. “Take On Me”. Of course he can’t understand her and looks at me. I whisper to him, “Jake On Weed” So repeats it to her, “Jake On Weed?” She replies, “No, Take On Me by A-ha” He answer’s her, “Is that A H A?” She replies “Yes”. He say, “Um, no, we don’t have that one. Sorry.” So that was the end of that conversation. Now you have to understand 3 other individuals called asking about it while we were there. You got the ‘Jake On Weed’ and to the others I told them ‘Spank My Knee’, ‘Pee On Me’, and ‘She Just Teed’. Yours was my favorite.” Loki smiled his mischievously charming smile at Elizabeth who looked amazed and in awe.

“So, it was you who did that?” Elizabeth shook her head and laughed. We all did. Bridge and you had heard her talk about this and sadly you never did get your copy of ‘Jake On Weed’ that Record Store Day. Elizabeth did and she had an unknown interaction with the God of Mischief himself.

“It was and look at how it has brought us all together.” Loki added.

“We should probably head out front, our cars are probably waiting.” You say to the group who has now become a bit larger with Elizabeth’s party joining in on the story you all knew but from one point of view.

“After you.” Thor says and let’s you lead the way out of the front lobby of the theatre. He places a hand on the small of your back as he leads you through the crowd of fans waiting. Loki walks with Bridgette behind the two of you. You spot your car waiting for you.

“We’ll see you there!” You say to Elizabeth.

She’s walking the opposite way to her ride. “Okay, be safe! See you in a bit.” Elizabeth replies with a huge smile.

The four of approach the minivan and the driver roles down the passenger window. “Elora?” He asks.

“Yes, party of four to West Hollywood.” You say to him and he smiles.He opens the side door automatically and Loki grabs Bridgette’s hand.

“Trouble makers to the back of the bus, right?” He askes her and she looks at you then back to Loki.

“It’s the best seat in the van.” Bridgette says to him and helps her in first and slinks in after her. You watch in almost utter amazement as they get into the rear seat of the minivan.

Suddenly you feel the hand move from the small of your back to you right hand. It was large, calloused, and warmly electrifying. You looked over and Thor motioned for you to get it. “After you, Lady Elora.” He bows a bit and you duck inside sitting in the far captain’s chair behind the driver. Thor sits in the other captains chair and the driver closes the door.

“Are we all ready?” The driver asks.

“Yes, my good sir.” Thor answers and turns, smiling at you. “So you ready for that drink?” He asks you.

“Oh yes and you may get a dance if you’re lucky!” You tell him and wink.

“I do feel lucky.” Thor says and reaches over taking your hand. You look at your hands, fingers intertwined. You can hear Loki from the rear seat whispering in Bridgette’s ear. Your hearing wasn’t as bad you pretended. Of course, you didn’t have to hear whatever Asgardian sweet talk he was telling Bridge. Thor wasn’t the only one feeling lucky.

‘We’re talking away

I don’t know what I’m to say

I’ll say it anway

Today’s another day to find you

Shying away

I’ll be coming for your love, okay?’

#mimi's one hit wonder challenge #captain rogers beard #marvel fanfic #marvel au #thor #thor fanfic #thor fanfiction #thor god of thunder #loki #a-ha take on me #a-ha #jake on weed #norway #Past Perfect Future Tense #team thor’s whores #take on me

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rawbiredbest · 5 years

Text

It’s All in Your Head

Contains: Fluff, Angst, Unconventional Relationships, Telepathy, Demons Fandom: Marvel (comics) Relationships: Stephen Strange/Victor von Doom Characters: Stephen Strange, Victor von Doom, Wong, Boris Word Count: 6103

Out of the blue, Stephen Strange and Victor von Doom find themselves telepathically connected.

No squealing, remember that......

Content warning for canon typical violence, profanity, implied sexual activity, and a single usage of homophobic language by a very bad individual.

Graciously commissioned by @osheets! Wanna do the same? Check my info!

Read here or on AO3!

- - -

The breakthrough comes with rapturous spontaneity. It’s like Victor von Doom has been standing on the shore of a Latverian loch, and in the blink of an eye, the grains of sand have become an orchestra, the surf their masterful conductor, and he the sole audience. He has captured their forms in glass and steel, multiplied ten million fold in the casings of complex machinery, and the entire laboratory sings the path to a bolder, brighter future. In all of his years of experimentation, innovation, desperation, he has never heard this music before. It pours from every screw and bolt, vibrates along every copper wire, thunders out of every piston and valve. The engineers below him, controlling and monitoring the device, are Gods of melody and time. Doom himself has transcended divinity, rising high on sublime notes of praise. He is Emperor, Encapsulated Universe, and his feet do not touch the floor as he glides to the heart of his machine, his veins coursing with silver beauty. Hydrogen atoms dance into the arms of their palladium partners, and their heat is love, love for each other, love for nature, love for him, and it is a primordial force unlocked from decades of ridicule and shame, and he has set it free. Genius. Monarch. Ultimate.

And then it goes. Slowly, a receding tide. It slides from his bones, leaving them aching. He braces himself against a panel, cold sweat sticking to his brow. His heart hammers in his chest, a lone drum holding a marching beat long after the band has departed into the moonless night. The engineers gape at him, oblivious to the miracle that has deafened their ruler.

Doom touches the shielding glass of the operating CMNS reactor, and its vibrations are an idiot hum. He blinks salt from his eyes, breath condensing on the machine.

Four thousand, five hundred and six miles away, a doctor and his best friend leave Madison Square Garden, wearing concert merch, beaming like loons.

- - -

To Stephen, it’s a tsunami.

He’s watching TV. The nightly news. He could tap into the Eye and view the entire world as it turns, but he doesn’t want to. It isn’t very often he feels human, let alone vegetable, so any opportunity to vegetate he takes with gusto. Stretched across his couch, he tugs down the hem of his shirt, leans his head on his hand, and waits to absorb the country’s woes.

He gets a sharp pain on the nape of his neck instead. He swats at the spot, looks at his palm. “Ow.”

Wong looks up from the email he’s writing. “Are you okay?”

Strange frowns, settles back down. “I think there’s a mosquito in here.” They’re talking about the Amazon fires. Stephen’s heart aches for the birds who will drop from the sky, their lungs full of smoke, voices forever silenced.

And then pain rips down his back, like his spine is torn out by an iron hand from his neck to his waist.

He can’t help but yell then, clutching the cushions. A heavy ache lingers in his vertebrae. Gingerly he sits up, breathing hard, eyes clenched shut. Something a bit like petrichor, a bit medicinal, a bit hot fills his nose.

Wong runs to him, but Strange raises a hand. “I’m fine,” he says, though he already braces against the thick lump rising next to his heart. As it crests, it dissipates throughout his body. He forces his eyes open, expecting to see the black trails of tiny spiders beneath his skin. Nothing but unmarked flesh.

“Should I call Doctor Carter?” Wong asks, thumbing toward the antique phone. It’s enchanted to call anywhere, anytime, any-plane.

“No, no.” Stephen leans on his knees, rubbing his temples. The pain is moving, changing. “This isn’t exactly her--”

--forte, he wants to say, but he is cut off by trees. Huge trees. Trees that consume the sky in fractal tangles of evergreen. Primordial, pristine trees, the definition of trees. The little things that crawl beneath and flit between, some carrying light, some with rigid jaws.

It’s a psychic attack. Strange has weathered them before. This one is weird. As he waves for Wong to get the Eye, he endures the spikes of pain that impale his senses to grab a closer look. This entity is lumbering, gigantic in scope yet wet around the edges.

It’s being born, he realizes. It’s waking up.

It hurts, it hurts but he’s curious. He sees New York now, its spires and streets lined up like so much circuitry. He feels the rough brush of concrete, hears the car horn concerto, smells the burn of rubber, and all throughout are rules, parameters, reasons. The thing is learning, feasting on information, and gathering more at an exponential rate. A tidal wave of green descends on the city, picking and plucking at this imaginary world.

And as it eats, thousands and thousands of hungry mouths devouring America, it hates. It hates the excess, the cruelty, the inefficiencies. It roars, barreling down the Sanctum, thousands upon thousands of tons of incomparable loathing.

Wong presses the Eye into Stephen’s hand.

“Pardon my French, dear friend,” Strange says.

The Eye bursts open, and the Sorcerer Supreme throws every ounce of his mystic might at the slavering invader. The living room cascades with dancing whorls of light as he raises his arms, funneling a solar flare, and cries a spell that every New Yorker knows by heart.

“FUCK OFF!”

Utter obliteration. When he opens his eyes, glittering motes trickle from the ceiling. The pain is gone. The TV has gone to commercial.

The phone is ringing.

Wong answers it as Stephen sinks to the couch. He slips the Eye around his neck, and its weight comforts. He thinks he’ll sleep with it tonight.

“It’s for you.”

Strange massages his ear. Vulgarity is embarrassing, but faced with an immaterial infant in the depths of an unholy tantrum doing everything in its power to cram a fork in a magic electrical socket, seemed like a good idea at the time. He takes the phone. “Hello?”

“Doctor! The master -- Victor -- something has happened, I do not know-- I--”

“Boris?” Stephen sits up. “Boris, it’s all right. Slow down. What’s going on?”

Behind the old retainer’s words, a siren wails. “The master--” He hesitates. “His newest Doombot. He turned it on for the first time. All was well, and then it exploded! And now Victor -- he is breathing this flame, this plasma! It burned through his mask! Doctor, what do I do!?”

Strange inhales deep. Counts to three. Lets it go. “He’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I do not mean to doubt you, but--”

“It will pass. Give him an ice pack and put him somewhere dark and quiet for a few hours.”

“I trust you, doctor, but please, when you can, come and see him. The violence of it, it scares me.”

“I know. It’s fine. Just something he ate.”

Boris thanks him and hangs up.

Stephen wishes the couch would eat him as he heaves a sigh. “Wong,” he asks, “Is it too late to rescind discovering my bisexuality at the ripe age of however old I am now?”

“I don’t know,” Wong replies, “To both parts of your question. I lost count in the five hundreds.”

Strange curses again.

- - -

“So. We have a telepathic link. Any idea how it got there?”

He may as well be speaking to a wall of granite. Doom, arms folded, sneers at him across the table.

Stephen links his fingers together. “I have nothing. It’s rather disconcerting. I don’t believe it’s malevolent, which is always a plus, but it’s unremarkable, which isn’t. So I’d appreciate any insight, Victor. Whatever you’d like to...you know. Get off your chest.”

Doom’s eyes are cold.

“Anything at all. Need to vent? I know you can get heated.”

The table weighs over three hundred pounds, yet Doom flings it at him like a feather. Strange cuts it in half with a bolt of solid light as Crimson Bands constrict around his other arm. They serpentine and splinter into smaller tendrils, their tips unhinging into fanged blooms, and a thought comes to Stephen as the king charges him: he was born in a forest. It’s nature’s fury that fills his head, a cacophony of hellish noise, the wild hunt calling for his spilled blood. Doom’s rage in concentrated, psychic form, howling down their link.

The Daggers of Denak, blades spinning, do an admirable job trimming the vines, their severed heads still snapping, and Strange summons the Winds of Watoomb to push Doom away. The gale staggers him yet he presses forward, arcane runes flashing a ice blue aegis on his gauntlet. Step by step, forcing him back towards the wall.

He lunges. Strange is ready for it. Doom’s arm comes up, Stephen’s arms fan out. Before the king grasps his throat, he calls a pair of razors into his palms. Victor’s grip is suffocating. Strange holds his head between two guillotine blades. An impasse.

Doom’s voice rasps, thin and scorched. “That. Hurt.”

Stephen sips the tiny breaths he can. Something’s pressing into his belly. Sweat beads on his brow. It’s a gun. It’s the stupid gun Doom carries in the stupid pouch on his stupid belt. Why does he even have it? For shooting idiot sorcerers, he thinks. He swallows hard, knows Doom can feel it through the metal. Not so evenly matched as he thought.

And then he notices it. Hiding deep under the screams is a layer of fire. Reaching through the link, he touches it. Color rushes to his cheeks.

“Seriously?” he ekes out, “This is turning you on?”

Doom’s grip loosens. A minuscule amount, enough for Strange to squeeze a few more words. The fire leaps into his psychic palm, eager, aggressive.

“There’s no shame in it. You’re good at what you do, Victor. Very few people can put me in check. Look at you. You’ve pinned me to a wall like a butterfly. That’s impressive. I--”

The king leans closer. Stephen smells ashes on his breath.

“Hoary hosts.”

The gun is holstered. A steel thumb strokes his cheek.

“Reap what you sow,” Doom mutters.

- - -

The aches and bruises will last for days, but the coolness of Doom’s armor against the carpet burn on his back is soothing. He rests a hand in the king’s own. Anything else feels too strenuous. “Was that your first time having telepathic sex? It’s intense, isn’t it?”

Victor takes in the state of the room. Paintings smashed, furniture so much firewood, stone walls fractured and cratered. How much destruction is his? He has no idea. One or the other had to have held back. The castle is still standing, after all.

Neither man speaks. Stephen ventures a glimpse down their link and gets only an image of black curtains. Doom’s already set up defenses. Though some of his own are raised, he lets some satisfaction flow between them. An olive branch.

A quiet, amused huff. “At times, Strange,” Doom says, and already his voice sounds better, “Your physical merits outweigh the strenuous mental exertions you put me through.”

“I never much cared for the medieval aesthetic myself, yet here we are.” He grunts as he looks over his shoulder, thighs twinging. “How drunk were we that night?”

“Doom was sober.”

“Oh no, your golden goblet saw plenty of refills. You were, at the very least, tipsy.”

“You question Doom’s memory?”

Stephen cups his chin, looks deep into dark brown eyes. “I question, my lord, why you claim to remember, with crystal clarity, a night you could have easily decreed never happened at all.”

Nothing comes. No biting remark, no caustic humiliation. Doom only holds his gaze, and under the black curtains flashes something bright, something strong. It lasts for only half a second before the king gets up, using Strange’s shoulder for support. “This link shall be insufferable. Do your part to get rid of it.”

Stephen frowns, annoyed that his legs work. He wonders if Victor left any of his clothing intact. “Right. Ground rules. Stay out of my head, and I won’t make you cough up another star. Deal?”

“Stay out of Doom’s head, and you shall not know pain unending. You have a deal.”

- - -

This lasts for two months.

- - -

On Day 51, a current of malicious satisfaction slithers through Strange’s mind. Gooseflesh rises up his back. The half-chewed wad of pastrami and egg in his mouth goes sour. He spits it out, bracing himself on the dinner table, and without thinking of thinking, he thinks: what have you done now?

The smirk on Doom’s face reminds him of the crocodiles at the Bronx Zoo. The thing Victor is smiling at reminds him of shop class. He can’t begin to make heads or tails of it. Like many of the king’s devices, it could have come off the set of a sci-fi movie. Sleek and chrome, rigged with multicolored wires, pumps, and gauges, a porthole reveals the heart of the machine, a vile purple light. Stephen’s gut tells him that color would eat him alive if it could, tear into his flesh and drip his blood from its teeth. Stephen trusts his gut.

Strange, Doom replies, smile quickly fading into a scowl, We had an agreement.

You broke first. I felt you. My spidey sense tingled.

Victor’s gauntlets ball into fists, and he sends a wave of serrated anger barreling toward the magician. A chained wolf, barking and snarling. An executioner waiting for the condemned to dig his own grave deeper.

Stephen curses. He didn’t mean to think that out loud. Look. Just tell me what it is and I’ll leave you alone.

The black curtains rustle, then lift like a wing. Swimming in the purple light are mathematical equations, coiling around metal rods. It makes perfect sense to Doom, but to Strange it’s a form of gibberish undecipherable by any eldritch tome.

Then he hears it. It’s not coming from the machine. It’s from Doom. Subvocalized lyrics. A silent song. He could recognize the tune anywhere.

He bought its album at the concert.

This is cold fusion.

Stephen snaps back to attention. Cold fusion. Should I be worried?

Victor folds his arms. That I built a safe, eternal form of energy for myself and my people? Yes, Strange, cower and quake. Your country shall never have it so long as I draw breath.

There are many dangerous rebuttals to that he could say. Names he could drop. Yet Doom promised pain unending. Fifty-one days into their connection, Strange has no leads into its inner workings. Finding out if he could make good on his word is a risk Stephen is unwilling to take.

I don’t like this, the sorcerer thinks, but I have to believe you. Don’t misbehave.

His own mental defense is a never-ending subway express train, its doors and windows a veil of golden thorns. Sighing, he sits back down. What’s left of his sandwich has the appeal of wet newspaper.

Doom was right. The link is awful.

- - -

On Day 60, despite the blazing fire in the hearth, Victor’s feet send ripples through a puddle.

He regards it from his antique armchair throne with indifferent curiosity. Through the filters in his mask, he smells the green, pungent scent of foliage rot and seawater. In the puddle itself swim millions of plankton. A frenzy of eating, fucking, dying, and birthing unfolds beneath his alloy soles.

From the corner of his eye, he watches the puddle extend an arm of water across the floor. Sliding under a wall, a line of slithering damp turns the paint a moldy gray. Moisture fans across the entire side of the room in a pattern like falling stars, like skeletal hands trailing through a river. The scent grows stronger as the puddle expands. He rises before it consumes his chair. The leather sinks until it is a speck of mahogany in the brine. Gloom washes over it and it is gone.

Doom folds his arms. A breeze teases the tail of his cloak. Murmuring a quiet word, he puts out the fire with an arc of a finger, and turns around into another world.

It is eternal night. It has no sun, and what few stars can be seen are lucky glimpses through a lush canopy of branches and black, web-like leaves many hundreds of feet above. The grass under him has a sticky grip, but gentle. If grass could want for anything, it would like to give the king safe passage on his journey. He isn’t the sustenance it’s looking for. That comes on the wind, in the form of tiny shards of detritus falling from forest layers high overhead. It shimmers as it tumbles down, the only source of light in this hadal garden.

He doesn’t need to go far. Half-concealed behind a root far taller than he, Doom watches himself and Stephen Strange on the next mound over.

The magician talks with grand gestures, sweeping an arm over trees as dark as ink. Doom remembers himself speaking little, allowing Strange to tell him the highlights of the world. No recorded examples of predation. Negligible changes in evolution for millennia. A slow world. A place of peace.

Stephen steps into the water. Waist deep, he holds out his arm. His garb drips off him, revealing pale skin. He smiles, bare and inviting.

The other Victor undoes his belt.

“And you complain when I get you out of the house.”

Doom peers at the Stephen Strange sitting in lotus position beside him. “You drag me into your affairs with no concern for my well-being or sanity.”

“Please. The times you dig your heels in are cursory, at best. And then we end up doing things like this.”

Across the mound, the other king’s armor sits in a neat pile, and the two doctors stand in each other’s arms, their lips meeting and parting only to inhale.

Victor kneels on the grass. “Even you are capable of stumbling onto a good idea.”

Stephen’s lip curls upward. “I think about this often. This place is beautiful. This memory pleasant. I took effort not to broadcast this to you. My apologies if I disturbed you.”

Doom looks away. “You did not.”

“Oh? Your Royal Highness, we had an agreement.”

“Am I not allowed to reminisce myself?”

“Ssh. Meditate with me.”

He closes his eyes. Strange’s hand creeps into his own, and he lets it stay.

Perhaps he was wrong. The link isn’t so bad.

- - -

Wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!

Stephen rolls molasses slow toward awareness. The bedroom is pitch black, swimming in unholy hour of the morning disorientation.

Your wife is in trouble!

He cracks an eye open, shifting in the sheets. “Clea?”

No! Your big green wife! Get up, right now!

Those aren’t his thoughts. It’s a voice he’s never heard before, coming from inside his head. He holds very still and feels something slither over his brain.

He snaps wide awake.

I’m sorry we have to meet like this, the voice says, but we must hurry. The whole world is at stake!

In any other circumstance, Strange would interrogate the voice within an inch of its life, but its fear is genuine. Swinging out of bed, he yanks some pants on, startles the Cloak of Levitation from of its own sleep, and pulls open a portal to Latveria.

Curse me for a novice! the voice squeaks, That can’t be good!

Enormous rends in reality drape over the castle. Shimmering in the air, some bisect the stone in clean, monomolecular cuts. One vomits a steady stream of magma, causing a massive fire in the castle courtyard. Through each of them Stephen sees other dimensions. Another hole fans out from the keep itself and drops a mass of red crystals that crush an entire rampart.

Please! Hurry!

Stephen slams the portal shut, imagines his destination, and wrenches open a new one directly to Doom’s lab. The room is bathed in sunset colors and thick, acrid smoke. At its heart lies the fusion reactor, which is now anything but cold. The purple light pounds waves of energy, reverberating off its containment and magnifying a new tear in the world.

Victor stands in front of the machine. His motions are jerky, abrupt, a marionette controlled by a mob of children. He lifts a twitching hand and the tear throws itself through the castle to join the others outside.

Sister-Brother! the voice cries, Stop!

Doom’s arms drop, strings cut. The voice that comes from his mind is higher than the other.

No, I don’t think so, it says, I think I’m going to continue. You’re more than welcome to burn.

“You’re the link,” Strange says.

Just figured that out now? Sister-Brother asks, Wow, Brother-Sister. You sure drew the short straw. My host is incredible. I’ve mapped every gyri and sulci in here and it’s gorgeous. I’d stay forever if I could. It’s almost a shame he has to die.

Stephen glares, raising his hands, fingers glowing with magic. “As Sorcerer Supreme, I command you to release Doctor Doom!”

The laugh that echoes down the link is nails on a chalkboard. You have no idea what we are.

“You’re playing with fire. You’re threatening the dimensional stability of all of Doomstadt. And when I find you, you’ll have hell to pay.”

This host has already seen hell, Sister-Brother chides, What better place to grow up than in a body demon-touched? Have you considered that I’m doing him a favor? This is how it plays out. This is fate.

Doom turns around without his mask.

A bloodcurdling shriek ricochets across Strange’s mind, his hand thrusts forward with a will not his own, and a thunderbolt connects with the king’s head. Victor flies against a control panel, smashing it with the weight of his impact. Groaning and creaking, the reactor starts to power down, sprinklers in the ceiling damping the flames.

His face, Brother-Sister whispers, Gods, oh gods, what’s wrong with his face...

Stephen contains his screams until he kneels at Doom’s side, hefting his body into his arms. The scent of burning meat fills his nose. He howls for someone, anyone, to help him, royal blood seeping onto his chest.

- - -

He awakens to the beeping of the heart monitor.

Doom feels like mountainsides have taken residence on his eyelids. Slowly sliding them open, he takes inventory. The room is bright, sterile, no windows. He’s propped up in a bed. His hands are bare yet weigh like continents. He looks to his left.

“Hello,” Stephen says.

The sorcerer looks terrible. Ashen skin, reddened eyes, a frown threatening to rip his mouth off. The clothes he wears belong to any servant of the castle. The hands clasped together between his knees shake worse than Doom has ever seen.

“You’re on a morphine drip. You’ve been unconscious for the past twelve hours. You’re in the castle. We set up a makeshift triage room. For a while...” He takes a deep breath, steeling his voice. “We didn’t know if you would make it.”

Doom thinks, and his head is wonderfully quiet.

“Thank every deity you know that your skull is almost as hard as your armor. You’re going to be in a lot of pain for the next few days, but the alternative...I don’t want to think about. And I got rid of the link.” Strange picks up a jar from a nearby stand. “Meet Brother-Sister and Sister-Brother.”

Floating in cerebrospinal fluid are two worms. One is storm cloud gray bracketed by navy blue. The other is dark yellow-green with flecks of red. Flat as ribbons and only an inch long, they give each other a wide berth.

“Pineal parasites,” Stephen continues, “Stuck to the undercarriage of our minds, learning how to be through our eyes. They talked together through us. Saw magic through us. Deciphered grand machines through us. And now they’re ready to go home. That’s what yours was trying to do. They were looking for a place where nothing changes and nothing happens because all who go there are hijacked and killed. Not such a good idea after all, was it?”

Doom blinks.

Putting the worms down, Strange digs his wrists into his eyes. “Victor, I swear to you on everything I am I had no idea. I thought you’d like it. I thought you could forget being so angry, forget the Four if only for an hour, and be happy. Now you--”

He stares at the door, fist to his mouth. Swallowing his heart, he says, “I’m bringing them back. They’re not at fault. They’re just following their life cycle. Despite what they’ve done, they deserve to live.”

Birds that will choke on ashes, he thinks, Countless trees turned to dust. No more. No more death.

“The best doctors in your kingdom are here for you. I’ll be back.”

“Doom will go with you.”

Victor’s voice is quiet but steady. Stephen shakes his head. “No. You’re in no shape to get out of bed, let alone travel dimensions.”

The monarch shuts his eyes. Heavy footsteps pass through the door. A doppelganger in emerald and steel, the Doombot bows its head to its ruler.

“Doom will go with you,” Victor repeats.

Strange blows a ragged breath. By Doom’s creased brow, that wasn’t easy. “Okay. Rest now. Don’t do anything until I return.”

Victor says nothing. Stephen waits until he drifts to sleep, presses a kiss to rough lips, and departs, robot in tow.

- - -

Q-4301 is indistinguishable from the real deal, from its ramrod straight spine to its folded arms, yet there’s no look of wonder in its lenses, no human, if royally restrained, sense of adventure in its copper and silicon heart. It doesn’t care about the bits and pieces of gold falling from the alien canopy, the grass patting its boots. It stares at Strange, emotionless, and that very lack of feeling gnaws at the pit of the sorcerer’s stomach.

They’re on the same black water island mound as before. He can pick out the tree Victor pressed him against from all the rest. Had the microscopic eggs that birthed the parasite twins been attracted to their sex, or had it been sheer luck? He doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know.

In his hand is a candle made from the blood of priests. “Do you have them?” Stephen asks.

Q-4301 lifts a corner of its cloak. Sewn into the cloth is a glass vial. Brother-Sister and Sister-Brother are inside.

Strange nods. “I don’t know if Doom programmed you to feel fear. Either way, let me do the talking. If all goes well, you won’t have to do anything.”

The Doombot says nothing. Taking a deep breath, Stephen snaps a spark between his fingers and lights the candle.

The world goes silent. The wind ceases, and so does the steady fall of golden bits and bobs. The grass curls into tight nubs. The only indication that time has not stopped entirely is the gleam of flame like an undulating eel on the surface of the water. Stephen’s breath is deafening in his own ears.

The voice that speaks is low and obsidian slick. “Well, well, well. Look what the fags dragged in.”

The demon, descending from the trees, blends perfectly into the dark. Its teeth are yellowed and pitted from a diet of rot. It moves on long, soundless talons. Its eyes are cherry red, pupils like mouths.

“Doctor Strange,” the khat murmurs, “You honor me with your presence. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re a cautionary tale among khat-kind, you know. A warning about too much power in frail, mortal meat. Like stuffing a sun into a stomach, it’s only a matter of time till it bursts.”

Stephen purses his lips. “Cut the shit. I have something for you.”

The khat’s grin splits up to its ears. “A gift? Is it your heart? Your humanity? Your soul? Please tell me it’s your soul. I would so like your soul.”

“Come closer and I’ll show you.”

The demon pads on water, leaving no ripples in its path. “Is it the thing beside you?” Nostrils flaring, it sizes up the Doombot. “Not the usual breed of lost lambs you lead to slaughter. What sort of lies did you tell it to follow you? An offer of redemption, perhaps? Anything desperate enough to flaunt about in a green skirt would listen to you.”

“Desperation is for the weak,” Q-4301 snaps.

Strange swallows the ball of curses on his tongue and hopes it doesn’t show. Doombots fall for bait. Exactly like the original.

The khat stops. “Everything has weaknesses. You were once a babe in your mother’s arms, no? Look at your companion. The Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, can barely keep a friend around, let alone alive. No, no, no, there has to be a reason he wants you here.” It lies on all fours, rests its cheek on its fist. “What sort of gift was it again?”

Stephen starts to speak. Q-4301 beats him. “The only gift a demon like you deserves.”

Red eyes narrow in amusement. “Oh, it’s too much for a single khat to bear! Let me call my brothers. We shall find out together.” Rising into a crouch, it takes a deep breath.

There’s still time to salvage the plan. Strange shouts, “Do it!”

Q-4301 lunges into the water, tears the vial from its cloak, and thrusts its arm out. As predicted, the khat opens its toothy jaws and swallows the punch up to the Doombot’s shoulder. Payload delivered, they need to flee.

The portal spell is halfway done when Stephen spots Q-4301 motionless.

For a second, the khat too is still. Then, beaming around the steel in its mouth, it bites, and tears Q-4301′s arm off.

No robot could replicate the spray of blood and scream in agonized terror.

Strange doesn’t realize he’s also screaming. The khat snatches Q-4301′s shoulder and slams it beneath the surface. The water boils in the struggle. Shadows like hellish stalagmites reach for the leaf-choked sky as the sorcerer calls his magic. Black muck splatters the trees, the grass, Stephen’s legs as he gathers flame in his shaking palms.

The blast turns the water to steam as the garden sees more light than it has in billions of years. He looks for a target, finds nothing but the bare riverbed quickly flooding to fill the void.

The khat geysers up behind him, grabs his leg, and wrenches him into the water. The Cloak of Levitation has enough time to flip him face up before a heavy paw pins it down. Eyes stinging, heart hammering, Strange fends off the khat’s snapping jaws with novas in his palms. It takes all his training to anticipate where the teeth will be, vision obscured by plumes of bubbles, and not lose a limb.

Claws curl in his suit and drag him through the brine. His head connects with a tree root and all of reality goes sideways. His breath whooshes free, and sour liquid fills his throat.

The demon hauls him out, shoves him against a tree. Three blurry khats grin in Stephen’s eyes. Dozens of fangs.

“The gift is all three,” it says, “Your heart, humanity, and soul. Why were we ever warned about you? You’re nothing.”

It opens its mouth.

LEAVE HIM ALONE!

Stephen shakes water and blood from his eyes. The khat is frozen save its eyes, which widen in shock. Two voices erupt from its gullet. One, higher-pitched, screeches an incoherent string of profanity.

By the hoary hosts of Hoggoth, the other cries, I demand you let him go!

If he squints, Strange can see two ribbons in the khat’s belly. One yellow-green and red, the other gray and blue.

“What have you done,” the demon barks, “What have you done to me!?”

The claws pry open. Stephen beats a hasty retreat, flying to the unfinished portal. As he works to complete it, something moves at his feet. The grass scuttles bits and pieces of shattered human along pathways only it knows. He reaches down, grabs a fragment, and rage flows through him hot enough to make his skin glow, heat radiating from him in convection circles.

The khat breaks free of the parasites’ control, smashing its head against the tree for good measure. Screaming, it leaps for him. Strange sidesteps into another world -- home -- closes the portal, and waits until his ears stop ringing.

His anger he keeps. He storms through castle halls, eager to strike while the iron is hot.

- - -

Doom must really try this relaxation thing more often. It isn’t bad. Balcony doors open, letting in sunshine and a floral breeze, he reclines in his seat, sips his tea, and listens to the vinyl spinning on the antique phonograph.

I’m coming down, coming down like a monkey, but it’s all right Like a load on your back that you can’t see, oooh but it’s all right

The song has been in his head for months. It’s nice to hear it in the open. Doom smiles. Stephen has good taste in music.

“Bastard!”

The chair spins around and Doom is confronted by a feral magician. Strange notes the king’s simple garb: no steel in sight, just a cotton shirt and pants. He aims for Victor’s face but his quaking hands botch the throw. It bounces off his chest and lands in his teacup. “You’re not white!”

Doom looks at his tea. The blue eye in the tea looks back. “About time someone noticed,” he deadpans, extracting the orb by its optic nerve and setting it on a napkin.

The chair bucks like a bronco and Victor spills out. Stephen catches him with magic, hangs him in the air. The cup breaks into a thousand pieces and the king’s disappointed frown makes Strange want to throttle him. “Who was in the Doombot?”

“A nuclear engineer working on the CMNS reactor.” Doom sounds bored. “He tweeted about the parasite-induced euphoria I experienced. Called it an episode. Implications of weakness are illegal. Justice -- and the parasites -- were served. Two birds with one stone.”

“You killed a man for a tweet.”

“Whatever creature you encountered in the garden slew him, not I.”

Stephen drops him, relishing Victor’s grunt as a shard of teacup cuts his foot. It’s a slimy pleasure, and his face contracts. “Bastard. There isn’t an ounce of goodness in you.”

The king pulls the porcelain out of his flesh and points the bloodied end of it. “I have my ways just as you have yours. Until you grasp this concept, we shall always be at odds.”

“Be at odds? I saved your life!”

Doom brushes back his hair. Black stitches stretch from one ear across his head to the other. “You scarred me.”

They’re on thin ice. Strange dials back his fury, fists clenched. Monstrous tyrant or not, Victor is recovering from brain surgery. “You had a worm in your head.”

Tossing the shard aside, Doom sinks back in the chair in a position Stephen calls the regal slouch. “The sentence for weakness implications is community service. The engineer served his community. The sentence for injury to the royal person is death.” A scowl darkens his face. “I have half a mind to not let you leave this room alive.”

The sorcerer shuts his eyes.

“However.” Doom thinks, picking his words. “The extraneous circumstances surrounding the crime cannot be ignored. A different punishment is called for. It shall be made at a later time.” He draws a holographic display before him. A tigress pants in her den, lozenges squirming at her belly. “Three cubs were born at the Latverian Zoo this morning.” He looks at Stephen. “I find myself preoccupied with some wildlife conservation of my own.”

The sigh comes from the bottom of his heart. One day Victor will come out and thank him. Today is not that day. It will have to do. Strange rubs his eyes. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Speak.”

“Exile. A break. Another two months, or two years, or two hundred years. I’m not picky. I just don’t want to see you for a while.”

Doom looks back at the panel. “Your suggestion carries weight. So be it. Begone.”

That’s that. Another story concluded. Feeling empty, feeling light, Stephen turns to go.

“Strange.”

Fuck, so close. The sorcerer looks over his shoulder. “What?”

“When next we sojourn, for Doom knows we shall--” Victor’s lip turns up, the smallest hint of a smirk. “--I shall pick our destination.”

#doomstrange #doctor doom #doctor strange #victor von doom #stephen strange #rawbi's writes #commission a small bird

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theotherbloodfart · 4 years

Text

Token Part 2

This is part 2 to the request made by @craftygoateeprincess

WARNING: VIOLENCE

27 years later

Ellie clutches the small wooden box tightly. She hasn’t opened it in years. Only opens it when she’s very stressed or needs to remind herself that magic is real. That miracles are possible. And things have been going well enough. But ever since she’d returned to her childhood town, Derry Maine, she’d felt the old stress returning.

The town itself is in turmoil. Children had started going missing in the past few months. Just like they had when she’d been small. It was all so like it had been. But her case had been different. She’d been saved.

She opens the box and gazes at it’s contents. A shriveled, desiccated piece of rubber. An old deflated balloon. Papery and nearly faded to pink from it’s old rich color of vibrant red.

Ellie can remember the one who'd given this balloon to her. Her guardian angel, tho he’d claimed he wasn’t. “Angel of the sewers.” He’d said. She smiles as she gently closes the box, and slides it into the pocket of an errant shirt in her closet. To keep it hidden. To keep it safe. Then she turns to gaze at herself in the full length mirror upon the inside of the closet door. Studies herself before heading out.

Derry is hosting a large carnival and she is looking forward to it. It’ll be nice distraction from her hectic life. She chooses to ride a bike and, as she pedals, she can’t help but think about why she is here. She would have never wanted to return to this place yet, that childhood memory of being saved by……. Whoever Pennywise is……… holds her here.

The carnival is a grand time. She wins a stuffed clown. Carries it with her as she munches on a corndog and enjoys the sights. She is completely unaware of the violence being enacted on a young man not far away. Has no idea what she’s heading into as she leaves the carnival and heads down a dark street, pushing her bike along, the clown plush tucked into the basket of her bike, enjoying the night air. Doesn’t realize she’s on an intercepting course with the aggressors of this brutal act.

She hears them before she sees them. Once brutal beasts, now reduced to frightened children, they are running, shoving each other out of the way. Not far from splitting up to hide from their own implication. It is dark, and they are moving so fast, she has no time to react before the largest of them, a run down brutish male, knocks flat into her, causing her to flail the ground, the bike clattering atop her as he falls atop the bike. His weight causes the cold steel of the bike frame to bite into her flesh. The clown plush sails away and lands softly in the gutter. The other aggressors, not seeing their comrade fall, continue off.

“Get…… OFF…….. of me.” She gasps, pushing and clawing at him.

“HEY! FUCK YOU! YOU WERE IN MY WAY!” Her vision shatters into bright stars as his fist connects with her temple.

……………………………………………..

It moans with pleasure as It slurps the blood from It’s fingertips. As always, the salty sweet of human terror leaves It sated. Not fully satisfied. Never fully satisfied. But it dulls the aching hunger for some time.

Turning It’s slender hands, It uses the cleaner portions of It’s silken gloves to slowly wipe the gore from It’s lips and cheeks. Crouching there, near the sewer pipe, cleaning It’s face with It’s hands, the glowing orbs of It’s eyes flashing about and occasionally disappearing as It’s eyes close, It looks feral and cat like. It doesn’t need to do this, could easily will Itself clean, but It relishes in the wildness of this action. Of both dirtying and cleaning Itself. Enjoys the mockery of the actions of living things that this represents.

It crouches lower, leaning It’s weight onto It’s finger tips upon the ground, tilting It’s head, then becomes motionless. It’s pupils wander in opposite directions. The yellow light from a nearby street light reflects off of a thin line of saliva running from It’s drooping lower lip. It is listening.

It can hear a struggle, smell animal like fear. An inhuman fanged smile splits It’s face.

…………………………………………………

Ellie is still conscious, but almost wishes she isn’t. She registers the tickling warm sensation of liquid running from her nose. Blood. The vision of the male above her swims. The blurry figure pulls back his elbow, as if he intends to punch her again. She struggles to lift her face, her vision clearing, yet the weight of both man and bike crush the air from her lungs.

And suddenly, the weight is gone. The bike is still there, but the man is no longer upon it. His face is also no longer in her vision. She struggles up to support herself on one elbow.

When she sees where he’s gone, her entire body reacts. Freezes. Her eyes widen. Her mouth dries. It’s him! Her sewer angel!

The clown seems bigger than she remembers. And dirtier. The ruff around his neck is blood stained, as is the front of his suit and the orange poofs are sodden and limp from it. His chin and cheeks also have several obvious smears of blood upon them as well.

He’s holding the male by his neck by one hand, his glove appearing brown from dried blood. His fingers grasp so tightly that she can see the male’s flesh puckering around his fingers. He’s flailing and kicking, clawing uselessly at the silver clad arm. His actions make the strings of tiny bells here shimmer and tinkle. His face is turning purple, his tongue lolls out of his slack mouth. The whites of his eyes are visible as he gazes upon his aggressor in utter terror.

“Hello Webby.” The voice is just as she remembers as well, only he isn’t talking in the same sing song way. He’s gleefully snarling his words. Hungry.

“Whatcha runnin from?” The clown purses his lips playfully, his brows raising. He looks like an inquisitive painted child for the barest of moments before speaking again. “You afraid of a lil gay boy, Webby?” The clown makes a loud wet kissie face at the male before he throws his head back to roar laughter at the night sky.

Webby, or so Ellie now believes the male is called, chokes out, and reaches out a desperate hand to try to strike the face of the clown, but his arm doesn’t reach. The clown now stares at him mildly, before opening his mouth. Wide, wider. Webby makes bubbling noises, trying to scream, as the clown’s teeth lengthen and sharpen. His gums push past his lips, more teeth blossoming from the red flesh with wet popping sounds. He leans forward with comical slowness. He looks as if he’s about to bite directly onto the face of the man.

Ellie is in awe of him. He appears as some alien bipedal lion. She should be afraid. She SHOULD be. But she’s not. This Webby had HURT her. Had intended to hurt her even more. Yet here was her friend, rescuing her again. He was a lot dirtier and far more fearsome than she remembered. Vicious and terrifying and brutal. He is beautiful.

“Pennywise.” This is barely more than a whisper. She hasn’t even realized that she’s murmured it. But the clown freezes, his mouth splayed wide around Webby's face, a few of the longer teeth already puncturing his skin.

He slowly pulls his face away from the man’s, his gaping maw slowly retracting, before slinging it around to finally look at her. His lips are set in an irritated sneer, the rows of scalpel teeth still quite visible, his buck teeth apparent in the display, though longer and sharper. The dried blood on his chin is wet again from the deluge of saliva, which drizzles down onto his stained neck ruff. His eyes are a bloody red that she’s never seen before, and they glow like dirty neon.

Webby is still flailing miserably, still moving the clown’s bells in a desperate rhythm. Yet Pennywise doesn’t seem the least bit taxed from holding him suspended in one hand.

“You know ole Pennywise?” The tone of his voice is wicked and raspy and dark. His irises twitch and one drifts back to gaze at Webby as the other remains focused on Ellie. His nostrils flare and his head jerks. His mouth hangs slack and he’s making animal snuffing noises as he takes in her scent on the light breeze. Reads her thoughts.

Then his lips spread again, revealing impossible rows of teeth as he grins at her.

“Elliiiiiieeeeee.” It’s a low, drawn out hiss. Without moving the rest of his body, the clown tosses Webby carelessly away, both eyes now focused on her own eyes.

Webby splutters and struggles to stand.

“Better leave that light on in the hallway, Webby.” The clown’s eyes remain fixed on Ellie as he speaks. “I most certainly WILL be in your linen closet next time.” A low hiccuping growl leaks from his mouth. The most evil and quiet laughter ever imaginable. Webby’s face recoils in horror as he turns and runs soundlessly away.

Ellie is now completely alone with Pennywise for the first time in 27 years.

#pennywise #requests #my writing #violence #john webby garton

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nymphl · 5 years

Text

Lie to Me - Hux x Reader x Ch. 9: Cheap & Expensive

A/N: Hello xD Reading the spoilers for the Hux comics I still didn’t read the entire thing, made me realize that although I couldn’t come up with new chapters for any of my stories, I should update Lie to Me here on tumblr. So here it goes. Starring in this chapter my fav characters to write about and my fav relationship Aurra and Hux hehe. I hope you like it xD

Story Summary: Falling for the enemy… That’s probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Letting him live… for he should be dead. And you should’ve been the one to kill him. You had him, right there… and you let it escape through yours fingers. He lived. And now only the time could tell if you made the right decision — more likely wrong — by saving the amnesiac General of the First Order and telling him he was your husband. [Hux x Reader - Hux x You]

Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.

AO3 Tags: from enemies to lovers; eventual romance; memory loss; fake marriage; fake marriage becomes real marriage; rebellion; married couple; canon divergence; slow burn romance; politics; rebel alliance; resistance; first order; OOCness; eventual smut; eventual sex; power play; power dynamics; syndicate; lies; you lie; Hux lies; Hux backstory; manipulation; political alliances; political betrayals; secret organizations.

Wordcount: 4903.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER *** NEXT CHAPTER

ARMITAGE HUX HAD DARK CIRCLES UNDER HIS EYES. Even if he did not remember, he looked pretty much like his old self — of not even three months ago.

Besides that, he sported a busted lip and — he wondered how many — a few broken ribs. At least, he managed to put his nose back in place — or the guys who broke it in the first place did. The pain was not nearly unbearable, but he could not recall the last time he felt so battered.

Probably a long time ago, he mused, spitting the blood in his mouth. He closed his eyes and let his head hung low. Albeit the scalding sun of Dantooine was not up there in the sky to hurt his clear irises, the darkness made it almost impossible to distinguish the path they were taking him.

It did not mean he was unaware of his surroundings.

He had trained all his life in the Academy of his home planet — and although he knew from the beginning he was destined for great things, he did not miss even one of the trainings, Rae Sloane made sure of that — for situations like this. Arkanis Academy was known to push their soldiers harder than any other planet loyal to the First Order. Simulations in which the cadets were deprived of one, sometimes more, of their senses were almost a daily event. By the end of the last year, only the best were fit to serve the Order. And obviously, he graduated at the top of his class.

Later, as he climbed the steps to the very top of the First Order, he never turned down a mission in which he had to risk his life. He was not sure he could trust anyone who could not risk their lives for the cause.

Of course, to be beaten like that bruised his ego. It had been a while since he last saw himself in an analogous situation. But that had to be done.

Hux was a never someone who expected immediate results for anything in life — and even less when it was something of greater importance. Unlike Ren — and even Phasma —, he was a very patient man. Now that he had some of his old memories back — not all of them, but some very important ones — he recalled how this trait came in hand when he needed it the most. Hell, it took him almost twenty and then some years conspiring in the shadows to have his father killed and rise to the very top of the First Order.

And if he could wait so long to get rid of his sire — his darkest, deepest desire — he could wait to talk to the head of the Dantooinian Syndicate.

It was with a sharp intake of breath that he firmed himself on his knees when the four men escorting him threw his battered form to the rough ground. He spat the bitter earth from his lips and cursed when one of them threw a bucket of cold water on his face.

“What is the meaning of this, morons?”

Hux opened his bluish eyes only to be met with an alabaster, wrinkled face of someone he — and the entire galaxy — thought to be dead.

You’re not afraid of intimacy. You’re afraid of enjoying it… With me.

A sigh left your lips as soon as you opened your eyes. You could not sleep even a bit and when you finally started to doze off, you heard your husband leaving the house.

You could have asked where he was going; you could have tried to stop him. Instead, you let your head hit the pillow and sleep claim you. Only to wake up not even half an hour later worried about him.

Honestly, you knew that whatever he was doing, there was no stopping him. Besides, you were not sure you wanted to see his face anytime soon. And you had to get some rest if you were to even live for another day.

But it was getting increasingly difficult. His words — his voice — would not leave you alone.

You’re afraid of enjoying it… With me.

Right now, what scared you the most was not the fact he was right. The prospect of getting intimate with him and enjoying it still terrified you. Enjoying what he could do to you. A small, silly part of you thought of that as cheating on your late husband — even if he was dead. However, what made you lose sleep at night was the idea of him getting closer to the truth at each passing day.

For the Maker!

You got his pillow and brought it to your face, smothering a frustrated scream.

Earlier, when he said those words, you could not bring yourself to give him an answer. He did not seem to expect one — actually, he probably thought you to be sleeping and you let him believe so. It took him some minutes to lay you carefully on the bed, leave the room and, shortly after, the house.

Part of you wanted to just give in and get him out of your system. But you were smarter than that; that notion of getting over someone after getting physical with them was ridiculous, not to mention impossible. You had feelings for him; the depth of them was still unknown even to you — and you had no idea if you wanted to know. To acknowledge you felt something was already too much. To think about their nature would be torture.

If you just… if you gave in, you knew there would be no going back.

Kriffs!

You let go of his pillow — his scent was making it difficult for you to think straight — and sat on the mattress. You should go to work. That was the only and definite way to get him out of your system for at least a few hours.

If the cold water they threw at his face had not washed whatever drowsiness he may have felt, the sight of Aurra Sing certainly had. An infamous name in the underworld, everyone believed her to be dead back in the early days of the Empire.

Hux, however, did not let the shocking news take control of him. It was no surprise that a bounty hunter outlived those who wished them dead.

Still on his knees, hands tied on his back, he eyed her with rapt attention. She had aged — not that he had met her before, but both in Arkanis and in the First Order they had files concerning the most famous criminals of all systems, mainly those who had served the Empire —, her face was wrinkled and her once auburn hair was tinted white. As white as her alabaster skin. The sharp planes of her face, however, remained. Her green eyes were as cold as his and the glint of pure arrogance they sported almost made Hux snort. But that was just the surface. There, in the depths of those orbs, he could distinguish it.

Fear.

That was how many of his enemies stared at him in the past. That was the feeling he enjoyed seeing in them the most. Only those who had never seen it — and savored it —in his enemies’ eyes, would ever consider respect and loyalty above fear.

But he was not there to make new enemies.

“Beckett died believing he had finished you off,” he said, his voice firm and controlled. He did not show an ounce of fear. His reaction — or lack of expected reaction — seemed to please her.

She threw her head back and laughed.

“Oh, hon, many of my enemies did.”

There was silence for a second. It was thick and tense. Hux would have squared his shoulders, if the pain of moving even a bit was not excruciating.

“Uncuff him,” she ordered, leaving her throne.

It took him less than a few seconds to notice what they were made of. As white as her skin, it was clear the throne in which she sat — in which she commanded the very Syndicate in Dantooine — was made of bones. Her enemies’ bones.

The shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Rae Sloane would like her — the woman hated whomever did not follow the rules and thought that people like Aurra Sing were an unnecessary evil in the Galaxy — if not her illicit activity, at least for her audacity.

“I said uncuff him,” she repeated, using a walking stick to firm herself on her shaky legs. Hux stared at her through narrowed eyes. “I swear, you get stupider by the day.”

Her voice made all four of her thugs to tremble in fear. And just like him, Hux discovered she reveled in that feeling. It made her feel powerful.

They obeyed her, nonetheless.

But not without pushing him towards the ground. Amirtage used both hands to support his weight, preventing his face from meeting the soil. The action made his entire body ache. He straightened his back and grimaced; he could bet he had more than three broken ribs.

“Help him to his feet and bring him to the dining room.” She had already turned her back on the five of them. “And give him something to clean his face. I would hate to stare at his blood while I have my breakfast.”

“Mother!”

The four interjected at the same time. But their plea fell on deaf ears. Aurra Sing was certainly not a woman to give any man power over her. And that’s exactly why she lived to see another day when most of her friends and foes alike met their deaths.

“You can’t trust him,” one of them pleaded. He, a specimen of the Duros, had his hand on Hux’s shoulder, pressing his fingers hard on his flesh. He pursed his lips into a thin line. Being held in place by a cybernetic limb hurt more than he thought at first — that or he was truly out of shape.

Rae would be extremely disappointed in him.

“Right now, I trust him more than I trust any of you!” She turned to face them, her walking stick pointed to the one who spoke. She opened fire against them and in no moment looked any closer of losing her balance.

That made Hux’s lips tilt upwards slightly.

As expected.

So far, everything was happening exactly as he had planned.

“Firstly, you bring him to our hideout, risking everything Cad Bane and I worked for the last few decades, and now you expect me to trust you over him?”

“He killed one of ours!” the Duros replied. His voice was slightly louder. High-pitched. And Hux realized that he was no more than a boy.

He could have added that he had killed three of them. The one who invaded his house and threated his wife, and, later, two of them while he searched for some information concerning the failed attempt of the First Order at ruling Dantooine.

You can be at ease, I did not kill anyone.

He lied.

Not exactly. But he did not tell the truth either.

He had not killed anyone that specific day — and her question referred to that day alone — but that was not the first time he had gone out and looked for the missing pieces that could help him restore his lost memories. Of course, he could do it without killing someone, but he wanted to draw attention to him and drawing attention he did.

And here he was.

“Any man stupid enough to seek a member of the First Order when I clearly told him not to, is not one of ours.”

Her answer left them agape. Out of respect — and fear — they fell to their knees. At the same time, Hux rose to his feet, flexing the fingers of his right hand. They were still numb; he could feel the blood slowly returning to its place.

“You’re all stupider than I presumed you to be if you think you captured him and brought him to me.”

The four of them were silent. But it was not necessary to hear their voices to know they were confused; her words did not make any sense to them.

“He. Kriffing. Played. You. All.” She threw her hands up, as if silently asking for a lightening to come and strike everyone in the throne room. That made Hux smile openly. “You brought him here because he wished to be brought here and not the other way around.”

As she pushed past them, she could not help but hit them with her walking stick — a blaster actually.

“Get out of my sight!”

His face was clean and even though his lips were swollen, he still could taste the strong taste of the Corellian Rum offered to him. The alcohol made the cut in his skin burn, but he brushed it off. It has been some time since he last had some proper Corellian Rum and he was not about to dismiss it that easily.

Not when his host was watching his very movements carefully.

“I hope you do have a hidden weapon with you,” she started, placing both hands under her chin. Her green eyes were narrowed; their intense color sufficient to make a grown man tremble, but not Hux.

Not someone who had been stared at that way since he could remember.

“Oh, darling.” Aurra laughed, and the sound was slightly annoying even giving their distance. “I am highly disappointed in you now.”

They were currently in a vast room with a huge table. They both were seated on the extremities of it and domestic droids rushed from one side to the other to serve them. He brought his glass to his lips once again and sipped his drink.

“You think because I’m all wrinkled and old I am unable to defend myself.”

She shook her head and snorted. She chewed her food slowly, taking her time to analyze Hux and his very movements. She knew she was being analyzed as well and that different from her soldiers, he did not fear her in the tiniest bit.

“Beckett believed so and here I am now and do tell me, General, where is he?”

There was no answer from him, which made her lose some of her composure. He mimicked her action of a few minutes ago, chewing his food slowly and then bringing the cup of rum to his mouth in a leisurely pace.

Part of her did want to say he was committing a mistake — seeking her out and trying to undermine her forces in front of her men — but she was not stupid enough to believe he was alone. Surely, someone of the First Order was backing him. As for the girl — Aquilla Syndulla’s wife —, he was most likely using her to gain information on the Resistance. Only a fool would think he had feelings for her. A man who had decimated an entire system did not know the meaning of such word.

Aurra almost felt sorry for the girl. And she would have, if she did not have her own Empire to take care of. She had no time for a stupid woman who decided to save a man who should be dead by now. A stupid woman who refused her help when it was offered. Aurra still recalled how she asked to be left alone when she offered a shoulder for the girl to cry on after the passing of her husband.

No.

The damned girl could die for all she cared. She had an Empire to rule and rule it she would. But part of her admired the girl. It took someone courageous — or very naïve — to help a General of the First Order. Did she have no fear at all?

Aurra, for one, had never feared anything. She had fought in the Clone Wars, she had worked for the Empire — she had seen that same Empire fall — and had become a fugitive when the New Republic took the reins of the Galaxy. She had survived it all, but she had never seen something like the First Order. An organization with so much power and money that building a weapon capable of destroying an entire system seemed child’s play. A force unlike any other she had ever seen in her long life.

For the Maker, they had invaded Dantooine and they had almost conquered it. Did they plan on conquering it at all? She had her doubts.

“I have known men like you my entire life, General.”

She expected him to say she did not, that he was different and some bullshit like that — men always enjoyed showing how much powerful they were; it only got more noticeable when they dealt with a much older or younger woman. It was with some surprise that she realized he would not say anything to contradict her.

He was playing her. And he was enjoying it immensely.

“You think you have all the cards in your hands and that you can bend the rules of the game.”

He lowered his glass to the table. The sound echoed in the empty room, making Aurra flinch slightly.

“It is because I can.”

It was pitch dark outside when you finally opened the door of your house, removed your bag from your shoulders and placed it over the dining table.

A contented sigh left your lips as you looked at the food on the plate, the steam leaving it made your mouth water. You had not realized you missed having a droid so much in your life. The house was clean — cleaner than it had ever been — and the smell of freshly made food was surely a good point about owning them.

Your stomach growled, and you lost no time to get a spoon and taste the soup D-Five had prepared. Or was it Hux? As you tasted it, you knew the answer.

Definitely Hux.

You furrowed your brows. You thought he would be mad at you after yet another refusal of… well… bedding him.

“Oh, Lady Hux! There you are!” The droid’s robotic greeting startled you. “Welcome back!”

You placed a hand over your heart and let a sigh leave your lips.

Kriffs!

“Thank you, D-Five.”

“Why would you thank me, Lady Hux? I merely did my job.”

You even thought about explaining yourself, but decided against it. You brought another spoonful to your mouth and thought about asking where Hux was, but again, decided to leave it alone. He was either in the refresher or outside.

Perhaps it would be best if he were outside. You would fall asleep before he returned and there would be nothing to discuss.

Perfect.

It is, till you noticed D-Five holding a small recipient with a clear and gelatinous substance inside.

Bacta.

“What are you doing?” you asked; spoon halfway towards your mouth. You lowered it back to the plate and straightened your back. “D-Five…”

“General Hux said I should not tell you anything.”

“Where is he?” You took some steps towards him and he mimicked you, stepping backwards. It would be funny, it is, if you were not worried-sick. You were out of bacta for a while now and if the General did have it with him, it was because something terrible happened.

“The refresher?” the droid said, his tone that of a question. “For the record, I did not tell you anything, Lady Hux!”

Your heart was thundering in your chest as you entered the bedroom. It was empty. The General was nowhere in sight. It took you a while to hear the shower running over the sound of your loud heartbeats.

His privacy was the least of your concerns as you tried to enter the refresher, only to find the door locked. You were not surprised to see the trail of blood on the floor.

“My Lord?”

There was no answer from him.

“Amirtage!”

You were ready to break the door when he opened it. He stood by the threshold, his nude form only covered by a towel hanging on his hips. You looked for any signs of a missing limb, but apart from his busted lip, you could not find anything.

Subconsciously, you threw your arms around him.

A small hiss escaped him, but he kept silent. He placed both hands on your shoulders and moved you slightly away. His cold stare made a shiver run up your spine.

“I saw your blood all over the floor,” you said, touching his face. His busted lip. “What happened?”

He did not give you an answer and instead moved away from you. He walked towards the wardrobe and got some clothes. You followed his movements with furrowed brows. He pulled a shirt over his head and it was impossible not to notice how he flinched slightly. Soon, he let the towel fall to the floor and put on light trousers.

This time, you did not close or eyes or turned around. Your eyes remained on his back, staring at the scars that graced the extension of his shoulders and continued down, till they disappeared in the limits of his waistband.

He turned to you, but instead of looking at you, he brought his fingers to the point right under his chest.

“Are your…” You bit your bottom lip. “Are your ribs broken?”

His lack of answer was answer enough.

You shook your head and started searching in your belongings for something to give him. The bacta D-Five was holding just before would do it — and you thought that a medical droid would come in handy one of these days.

A sigh escaped your lips as you approached him and pulled his shirt, trying to get him out of it. He helped you, his face showing just a hint of discomfort. That was a mask, you knew. It was impossible for him not to feel at least some pain. Not with the extension of his past and recent injuries.

You touched his ribs as if he were the most fragile thing. It was easy to tell he had two broken ribs and at least two or three more were slightly bruised. The area was a bit swollen, but he had had worse. It would take only a few days for him to be in perfect condition. It is, if you got him to have some of the bacta in D-Five’s possession.

As you examined him, he remained impassible. Part of you wanted to scrub his skin raw, so you would get some reaction of him.

“It’s nothing.”

“If you bled then of course it’s something.”

There was a moment of silence between you two. It was obvious he was analyzing you through those thick ginger lashes of him. His cold stare made a shiver ran up your spine.

You guided him to the armchair and forced him to sit down.

“You went to the Syndicate, didn’t you?”

His lack of answer made you get angry with him. You pressed your fingers against the swollen area more forcefully this time, yanking a loud gasp from him. He trapped both of your hands between his and pulled you to him.

“Armitage!”

You were the one to gasp as you fell over him. As if aware he would not let you go, you adjusted yourself over his lap, placing both legs around him and cautious about not letting all your weight press him down. He let go of your hands and touched your face, his thumb over your bottom lip.

“Until yesterday you would not say my name,” he said. He was so close you could feel his fresh breath. “Today you have said it twice.”

“You did not answer my question,” you reminded him, squirming in his hold. He grimaced, and you recalled he was hurt. “Sorry.”

“I did,” he replied in a low voice. He placed his hands on your waist and leaned against the armchair, his eyes closed. “My ribs will heal. D-Five made me drink some bacta already.”

A relieved sigh left you. You would have to thank the droid later.

“I asked you not to go,” you whispered, running your fingers on his face. His eyes snapped open. “I told you they would do worse next time.”

“You never said why.”

Do I have to?

“Why did you do it?” You barely noticed your palm was on his chest, right over his heart. You could feel his cadenced heartbeats and it somewhat calmed you. “Why did you look for them?”

He took his time to reply.

A gasp left you as you felt his warm hands inside your clothes, his fingers running over your belly and the small of your back. He did not seem interested in taking your clothes off, but the intimacy of the moment made your heart accelerate.

You bit your bottom lip.

“The man who entered our house was not a part of the Resistance,” he said running his fingers through your clothed thighs now. You drew in a sharp breath. His lips were on your neck, lavishing it with kisses and love bites. “He and the stalker were part of the Syndicate.”

This time, you were the one to take your time to reply.

“I thought so.” You did not give him any time to say anything else. “But you paid a too high price looking for them.”

He snorted.

“There is no such high price to keep you safe.”

You barely realized the two of you were now sharing the same air. He moved his lips from your neck and was now almost kissing you. His lips were almost on yours.

“Kiss me,” he demanded, his eyes fixed on your lips. “Kiss me, (Y/N)”.

You did not know what possessed you, but your lips fell on his in a passionate kiss. You bit his bottom lip, seeking entrance, which he gladly conceded. This time, he let you dominate the kiss. Dominate him. Your fingers found their way to his ginger locks and you used the opportunity to angle his head to your better pleasure.

His hands were working to remove your upper clothing. You were so concentrated on his lips — and what you wanted to do with them; where you wanted to have them —, you barely noticed his fingers over your nude skin.

A gasp left the both of you — you from pleasure and he probably from pain — as he forced you to grind against him.

“I want you,” he whispered when you broke apart. He gave you no time and his lips attacked your neck, biting the skin slightly. His hands moved to your ass, griping you forcefully and set a punishing rhythm between your hips.

A moan left you. Your fingers were on his shoulders, your nails breaking his fair skin. Part of you wanted him to feel pain and stop — for you were not sure you could stop him —, but that only served to yank a groan from him and actually encourage him to remove your bra.

“I want you so much.”

You did not give him an answer, for his lips were back to yours. You could feel him through his trousers. So. Kriffing. Hard. You knew he could feel how wet you were as well. How needy.

“I know you touched yourself yesterday,” he whispered before enclosing his lips around your right nipple. You felt your face warming all over. How did he know? No, that was the wrong question, why did you do it to begin with? All coherent thought left you when he nibbled your left pearl with a bit of force — the right being manipulated by his expert fingers — and later blew some air into it. “I know you want me too.”

“I do,” you admitted in a whisper. Your breath heavy against his ear. “But we can’t. You’re hurt.”

The General let you go. Begrudgingly but he did — he always respected your wishes, even if he wanted nothing but to continue what you were doing. You stepped away from him, both arms covering your breasts; they were smeared with his saliva. It made you shudder.

He watched you through narrowed eyes. He, too, was breathing heavy. It was not needed to look down to know how tight his trousers were. You felt it before — and you did not know why you stopped him when all you wanted was to feel him inside deep of you — there was no need to see it.

“That’s not the only the reason.”

You furrowed your brows. Your heart was thundering in your chest. You shook your head and stared at his face — you did not realize you were actually staring at his… well… cock. You licked your lips and shifted your attention back to his eyes. His pupils were full blown with lust.

“Of course it is,” you whispered, this time staring at the floor with interest. A gasp left you when he approached you, his warm fingers running over your arms and removing them from over your breasts. He did not touch you in such way — mindful of your earlier request —, but he lifted your chin, forcing you to face him. You bit your bottom lip as his hands found their way to your nude waist and pulled you to him.

“You’ve been avoiding me, because, in truth, we’ve never been intimate.”

A/N - Okay, that will be all for today. I hope you have liked this chapter. And until... Well, I hope I can update soon xD Both the earlier chapters of LTM and new chapters as well xD Ah, I know some things are not exactly what happened in canon, but keep in mind that it’s canon divergence, so I chose some things from his past to best match this story okay?

#hux x reader #hux x you #armitage hux #general hux #lie to me #ltm #fanfic #star wars fanfic #general hux x you #general hux x reader #armitage hux x you #armitage hux x reader #hux imagine #hux #star wars #fanfiction #sequels fanfic

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golden-redhead · 5 years

Text

OUMOTA WEEKEND #2 - Hogwarts AU

The Prefect Badge

Pairing: Ouma Kokichi/Momota Kaito

Word count: 10520

Read on AO3.

“Prefect?” exclaimed Momota staring incredulously at Ouma.“You are a prefect?!”

Momota’s jaw was hanging low, the look on his face completely dumbfounded as he gaped at Ouma with almost comically wide eyes. His grip on his wand loosened, threatening to slip out of his hand right into the cauldron full of boiling potion he’s been working on for the last half an hour. But none of that mattered as he just stared at the shiny prefect badge resting against the other student’s chest, gleaming in the dim light of the Potions classroom.

Ouma feigned innocence, continuing to hum tunelessly under his breath. He didn’t even look up at Momota, instead focusing on stirring the boiling contents of his cauldron with his wand with apparent disinterest.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Momota-chan,” he responded sweetly, flashing Momota a quick smirk and batting his eyelashes in a way that was supposed to look innocent but was anything but. “Me? Prefect? Puh-lease!”

There was a playful note in his voice, his eyes sparkling mischievously and long shadows cast by the dancing flames of the candles lined up along the length of the wall framing his pale face with a warm glow.

Momota’s brows furrow in irritation. He reached out his hand to poke the badge resting neatly at the front of Ouma’s dark purple robe with a little bit too much force than necessary, making the smaller boy stumble back slightly.

“Cut the shit,” he spat as he leaned in to look at the badge closer, as if making sure that it was real. There was nothing that would indicate that it wasn’t the case, however, as the badge looked like any other prefect badge he’s seen before, a simple silver letter 'P' engraved on an emerald background.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously as a new idea hit him. “Did you steal it?”

For a split second, Ouma’s face went completely blank, perfectly wiped of any trace of emotion, with his unnaturally still, doe-like eyes looking at Momota.

Then something in his expression shifted and it was gone as soon as it appeared, emotionless slate giving place to a teary face that Momota was all too familiar with. Ouma lips trembled and lilac eyes filled with big fat tears that gleamed in the corners of his eyes, giving them a glassy look and threatening to spill all over his cheeks.

“W-why would Momota-chan a-accuse me of such a heinous act,” he sobbed, throwing a choked up hiccup here and there. He looked up at Momota with such raw misery written all over his face that it would almost fool him if only he hasn’t seen it too many times to count.

The words of protest started to form on Momota’s lips, but before he could voice any of them Ouma already blinked the tears away, his eyes dry once more and a smile creeping on his face.

“Ohh, or maaaybe big dumb Momota-chan is just jealous of lil old me,” giggled Ouma, dragging the vowels in this annoying way of his that never failed to annoy the other boy. He seemed to be vibrating in place as if he was enjoying it immensely, his own potion long forgotten in favor of teasing the fellow Slytherin.

The smug smile stretching on his lips made Momota feel like wrapping his hands around his thin neck and squeezing, squeezing until his face turned blue. He could feel Saihara’s worried stare on his back all the way from where the Ravenclaw was sitting in the far corner of the classroom, the potion in his cauldron matching the description from their potions book perfectly, its deep emerald color mesmerizing to look at.

Feeling a pang of embarrassment at the poor state of his own work Momota turned his attention to his own cauldron which looked as if he dumped all the ingredients he had on the table into it, bubbles forming on the surface. It looked nothing like Saihara’s potion, more like someone threw up inside. Twice. And then there was the stench, like unwashed socks stuffed with rotten eggs and soaked in lemon juice.

Momota scowled at his cauldron, hands curling into fists at his side. He could feel a familiar prickle of irritation, though what it was directed at he couldn’t tell. He sent Ouma a sharp glare as if the smaller boy was to be blamed for his academic failure, but the gleam of the flames from the nearby candles reflected on the polished surface of Ouma’s new badge distracted him. He let out a huff of annoyance and brought his attention back to his cauldron in hopes of salvaging his mess but he quickly found out that no matter how much he tried, he simply couldn’t focus on the task. Now that he knew it was there he couldn’t stop but let his eyes wander to the badge adorning Ouma’s chest, annoyed with how it was catching the light of the candles or how it looked like Ouma was puffing his chest proudly whenever he caught him looking at it. He tried to focus on his assignment, but he knew it was hopeless, his thoughts a scattered mess. He refused to give up, however, hoping against hope that he can still turn things around. It was only after the contents of his cauldron almost exploded in his face that he finally resigned and accepted his fate. Murmuring a quick spell under his breath he vanished the embarrassing proof of his failure from the cauldron.

He was already at the door, long robes swishing and curling around his legs with every step, when he felt a small and cold hand wrap loosely around his wrist making him stop in his tracks and look behind him.

Ouma again.

“Aren’t you gonna congratulate me?” He teased. He didn’t specify what Momota should congratulate him for. He didn’t have to.

Momota’s eyes flickered back to the badge on his chest, that somewhat familiar burst of irrationality burning inside of him once again. He couldn’t quite place where it was coming from, but he knew that he had to get out of here, had to escape Ouma’s weirdly piercing gaze. He couldn’t stay here any second longer.

“Congratulations,” he managed to spit out through gritted teeth and then jerked his arm out of Ouma's loose grip and stormed out of the classroom before anyone could stop him again.

A few hours later Momota found himself in the Great Hall around the dinner time. He usually loved being here, loved the enchanted candles floating above the students’ heads creating a well-lit atmosphere and a chance to catch up with his friends in the warm hustle and bustle of it all. But for some unexplained reason the room lacked its usual charm and the effort required to chew the food in front of him didn’t seem worth it. Akamatsu took the empty place next to him. It was typical for their group of friends to migrate between the tables of different Houses and about everyone in Slytherin was used to having their table swarmed by Momota’s friends. Barely anyone batted an eye anymore.

Akamatsu immediately sensed his bad mood. At first she tried to distract him, chattering about her holidays and sharing her thoughts about the first classes of the new academic year. But when all he did was respond with grunts and laconic half-assed comments, she finally gave up and with little coaxing on her part he ended up reporting what happened during his Potions class and how he found out that Ouma became one of this year’s prefects.

“At least that explains why I couldn’t find him anywhere on the train,” he grumbled nudging his potatoes with a fork and following them with his eyes as they rolled across the plate. He didn’t really feel hungry anymore. It was a real shame considering how delicious the food at Hogwarts was.

“Oh, that’s right!” Akamatsu perked up and raised her hand to rest it gently against his shoulder, offering a single comforting pat. “Prefects are required to go into the prefect carriage. They usually have to patrol the corridors during the ride to Hogwarts. That’s too bad, you two usually ride the train together, don’tcha?”

Oh.

Oh, right.

He didn’t think about it, but now that she mentioned that, Ouma’s yesterday absence on their way here suddenly made much more sense.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, the familiar prickle of annoyance resurfacing again at the reminder. He managed to forget all about his ride here and the foul taste of disappointment when it became clear that Ouma won’t be joining him. His friends kept him company, so he couldn’t complain, but it was still so unlike Ouma to not even try to find him and at least say ‘hi’.

He wasn’t sure why it bothered him exactly but he couldn’t help but feel the bitter feeling rising and swelling in his chest whenever he thought about it.

He opened his mouth to ask Akamatsu what she thought about Ouma becoming the prefect but it was then that he noticed Ouma’s familiar figure in the corner of his eyes, heading towards them followed by a string of first-year Slytherins trailing two steps behind him.

“And here we are, my faithful minions!” he announced once they reached the main dining area, puffing out his chest and gesturing to the Slytherin table with a sweeping arm motion that reminded Momota of a Muggle magician presenting his successful trick. His long robe swished along with the movement. “Be sure to remember the way here tomorrow because I won’t be there to help you, nishishi!”

A chorus of giggles and thank you’s came from the first years and then they scattered to sit at the table and eat, leaving Ouma looking after them with an expression not unlike that of a proud parent letting his children into the world.

“They grow up so fast,” he sniffed, raising his hand to wipe imaginary tears from his eyes.

“Hello, Ouma-kun!” Akamatsu’s entire face brightened as she smiled at him and gestured to the free place next to her on the bench, offering him a seat. “How have you bee-?”

“What are you doing here?” The one who interrupted her was Momota, face scrunched up. His stare was fixed on Ouma.

Ouma turned to them as if only now noticing their presence.

“Oh, Momota-chan, Momota-chan, my beloved Momota-chan,” sing sang Ouma skipping closer to where Momota and Akamatsu were sitting, an annoyingly wide smile plastered on his face and dark hair bouncing along with every skip. He ignored Akamatsu’s offer to sit next to her and plopped down on the bench next to Momota and leaned against him, batting his eyelashes. “I’m just doing my job as a prefect!”

“Then why are you calling them your minions?”

“‘Cuz they are, duh! Minions, subordinates, underlings. I tell them what they have to do and they do,” he beamed. “I call them DICE!”

“That sounds rather rude, Ouma-kun,” interjected Akamatsu, a small frown playing on her face.

Ouma shrugged. “It’s not if they like it! And now please do excuse me, I have urgent prefect matters to attend to. Nishishi, see ya!”

Momota watched him skip away, staring wistfully at the prefect badge.

He felt relief washing over him when the time to head for his next class finally came, forcing him to focus his attention on something other than Ouma.

Throughout the next three months Momota did his best to focus on his studies and catch up with friends he hadn’t seen the whole summer while spending the holidays with his Muggle grandparents. Their fifth year at Hogwarts quickly proved to be much more challenging than any of the previous ones and soon he found himself drowning in assignments, homeworks and studying sessions for Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations that would decide about his future. He was determined to get the best grades possible and prove himself.

He was determined to prove that even a Slytherin could succeed and do something good.

During that time his relationship with Ouma grew colder, even if only barely so. He didn’t think much of it, though, it was just the natural order of things. Everyone was busy in their fifth year as it wasn’t easy to find some spare time between studying and quidditch practices. When he actually had some free time he prefered to spend it just hanging out with his closest friends, who happened to be from different Houses, and only coming back to the Slytherin dormitories to sleep. He never liked the cold interior of the Slytherin’s common room and the sounds of the lake water lapping against the windows spooked him upon his first arrival to the school. He felt more comfortable among the stars rather than under the ground, trapped in an underwater cage.

It’s not that he was actively avoiding Ouma, they still shared most of their classes, the same House and slept in the same room. But they didn’t talk quite as often as a year before, both of them focused on their own devices.

And then there was still that unpleasant churning sensation in his stomach whenever he caught a glimpse of Ouma’s badge. He had no idea what that was about, so as he always did with most things that he didn’t know how to deal with - he ignored them.

Ouma and him were close but there always was certain animosity between them, their personalities clashing in the most spectacular of manners. During the first year at Hogwarts they argued constantly, Ouma’s petty pranks rubbing Momota exactly the wrong way. Somehow Ouma knew perfectly how to rile him up and he never hesitated to use this knowledge. Throughout the years they reached a truce of sorts, some thin bond of trust and sympathy. Momota wished to believe that there was a part of Ouma that, despite his best attempts to prove him otherwise, was honourable and that he deserved the trust that Momota had put in him.

Ouma was… difficult.

Momota could never understand his motives, as if he was functioning in some different kind of reality where the values and logic that Momota was used to simply didn’t work. He always wanted to believe in the best in people, believe in their ability to change and do better.

Ouma was his exact opposite in almost every aspect, deaf to Momota’s reasoning and not conforming with any rules set in place.

An immovable object against Momota’s unstoppable force.

But the worst was the way he acted ever since he got the prefect badge. If Momota thought that he was insufferable before, always pulling pranks left and right and never respecting any kind of authority, then now it went up to an eleven in intolerance. The list of Ouma’s shenanigans was long and still ongoing despite gaining his respected title.

He looked for books that were not returned to the library in time only to curse them so the person who borrowed them would have some weird writing on their face or a ridiculous hair colour until the book is returned. He was constantly breaking into other common rooms under the suspicion that something illicit could be going on in there (which, admittedly, happened on an occasion or two). When he was caught and chastised by the Gryffindor’s Head Girl he sneaked at night and casted the Caterwauling Charm at the entrance to the Gryffindor’s common room in revenge, so she couldn’t bring her Ravenclaw boyfriend there anymore unless she wanted everyone to know. By far the worst, however, was sending Howlers to people who were late to class (with detailed instructions how to get there for dummies) or out of the common room at night. Almost every day there was at least one unlucky student who would get a red envelope containing a shrieking, angry message that was impossible to ignore. There was also this one incident when he poured someone's secretly brewed illegal love potion to their own drink instead of telling one of the professors. From what Momota’s heard it was a beautiful disaster that ended up with one trip to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and the longest detention any Hogwarts student faced in almost two hundred years.

Momota was bravely putting up with all of Ouma’s bullshit (which in this case meant that he would complain about it to anyone who was willing to listen at every chance he got) but then came the moment when he could no longer ignore Ouma and his prefect fuckery.

One day by the end of November Momota left the dungeons early, heading to the Great Hall to grab something to eat and then hurry to watch Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff’s joint quidditch practice. On his way there he had to pass the House points hourglasses looming impudently on both sides of the Entrance Hall. He almost passed them at first, only to realize that something didn’t quite look right. He frowned, turning to investigate them, confusion swirling on his face. In the corner of his eye he could spot a group of Hufflepuff third years pointing at the hourglasses, specifically at the Gryffindor one, and discussing in hushed voices.

Momota scratched his head, intrigued, but then his stomach grumbled angrily. He let out a quiet chuckle and with one last glance at the House points headed to the Great Hall.

It was still early, so he wasn’t surprised by the lack of anyone at the Slytherin table, only a few students scattered between the benches of other Houses and trying to not fall asleep over their breakfast. He was just about to give up and sit alone when he spotted a familiar face at the Gryffindor table.

“MAKI ROLL!” He hollered loud enough for a few startled faces to turn, already striding in her direction.

He plopped down next to her with a wide smile on his face. She barely acknowledged his presence, merely turning her head in his direction and sending him a stoic look from underneath the long bangs of her dark hair.

“Yo, Harumaki!” He greeted her, already reaching for the porridge over her shoulder and not waiting for her to greet him back. “Do you know what happened to Gryffindor’s points hourglass? You guys lost like, one hundred points since last night, what’s that about?”

A deep scowl crossed her face, lips clamped tightly. For a long moment it looked like she wasn’t about to respond and simply continue her breakfast as if she hadn’t heard him. But then finally she opened her mouth, a rare look of hesitance crossing her face before she spat a single word.

“Ouma.”

Momota froze in place, spoon stopping halfway on its way to his mouth.

“Wait, what?” He straightened, sending her a disbelieving look. “What the hell has he done this time? He’s not even in Gryffindor!”

“No,” she agreed curtly, raising a cup of tea to her lips, her expression as stoic as ever. “But he is a prefect.”

Momota still stared at her incredulously, unable to process this new information.

Harukawa took a sip of her tea, slender fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic, purposefully trying to ignore the look he was giving her. When he continued to stare at her, however, she let out a barely audible sigh and tuned to him, irritation drawing deep lines in her forehead.

“Ouma caught me yesterday night past curfew doing… something.” Her eyes flickered shut for a second, the hand resting on the table twitching slightly as she thought the urge to comb her fingers through one of the ponytails cascading down her shoulders. “He docked about eighty points from Gryffindor.”

“What? WHY?!”

Harukawa shifted in her place, her lips tugged upward and a dangerous glint plating in her blood red eyes.

“I had a small… disagreement with some kid from Ravenclaw.”

Momota’s brows furrowed together.

“Yeah, but-”

“Leave it, Momota.” She commanded, the tone of her voice definite, leaving no space for further discussion.

His mouth snapped shut obediently as he was still trying to wrap his head about what he’s heard, Harukawa’s explanation somehow leaving him with more questions than answers.

He let the silence envelope them for a moment, lost in his own thoughts for once. He almost didn’t notice as Harukawa put her cup back on the table with a quiet clank and then turned to face him.

“I’m leaving,” she announced, not waiting for his response.

She stood up, grabbing her wand and bag. Momota raised his hand to wave her goodbye and ask if they’re still going to study with Saihara later when he caught a glimpse of something… worrying. Unusual.

When Harukawa stood up her robes parted, revealing a patch of skin that neither the skirt she was wearing underneath nor the long red stockings could hide. There, nestled on her thigh was a nasty wound, its striking red shade standing out against the skin. It looked fresh, unlike other pale scars scattering her skin in an almost decorative pattern.

“What the hell?”

Unconsciously, he reached out his hand to brush his fingers against the wound, as if to make sure that it’s real and his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him.

Her head whipped around, as if sensing his intentions and before he could grasp what was happening his arm was already being pulled, clutched in a painful grip, a choked up yelp escaping his lips at the intensity with which she trapped him in her grasp. He fought to catch the breath that was knocked straight out of him, his eyes prickling with tears.

“Do you want to die?” Came a threat that sent a shudder crawling down the length of his spine.

“N-no,” he managed to rasp out and her grip loosened slightly but didn’t let go. “It’s just… your leg…”

A look of surprise crossed Harukawa’s face as she quickly looked down. She quickly spotted the wound. Her stupefied expression made it clear that she had no idea of its existence.

“It must have been where Ouma’s spell hit me,” she muttered quietly, more to herself than to Momota whom she seemed to forget all about at the moment. Her grip loosened, taking Momota by surprise. He fell on the ground, letting out a short hiss when his knees hit the floor.

Blaring siren alarms went off in Momota’s head as he slowly lifted himself from the ground, red hot anger bubbling in his stomach as her words started to sink in.

“Ouma did it?” He growled, anger flaring up in his chest violently.

She turned to him, eyes gleaming threateningly.

“I told you already. Leave it.”

Momota shook his head, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He was fine with his bullshit up until now but now the little shit crossed the line.

“I’m gonna have a talk with him,” he snarled through bared teeth and raised to his feet, ignoring Harukawa’s protests and rushing out of the Great Hall as if he was being chased.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to look for him long as he found Ouma at the Entrance Hall just as he was heading to the Slytherin’s common room hidden in the dungeons, his hair pulled into a low ponytail and dark bruises decorating the pale skin under his eyes.

“OUMA!” Momota roared angrily, approaching him quickly with long sweeping steps, almost tripping over his own feet in the hurry.

By the time he reached Ouma he was panting heavily, his eyes screaming fury and hand wrapping around the wand in the a deep pocket of his robes and pulling it out, ready to use it if need be.

Ouma turned to him, slamming his usual cheeky smile in place, as if he didn’t see Momota’s disheveled state and anger almost emanating from him in waves.

“Good morning, Momota-chan,” he chirped cheerfully. “How can I help you today?”

“Can you explain that?!”

He gestured to the Gryffindor’s hourglass looming above their heads, almost spitting saliva in Ouma’s face.

The smaller Slytherin looked up, his face pulled in an innocent smile.

“Hm, if I’m not mistaken it’s one of the House points hourglasses,” he responded cheerfully. “It is used to record the number of points that each House gained or lost during the academic year. It’s been here ever since Hogwarts was created. I’m pretty sure Professor Binns can explain it in more details during his classes, Momota-chan, but I’m afraid it’s in the first years’ syllabus so you might have to go back a few years. Don’t worry, though, there’s no shame in it! We all know you’re a big dummy!”

He grinned, satisfied with Momota’s momentarily dumbfounded expression.

It took him half a minute to snap out of it, angry at letting Ouma play him like this.

“Harumaki says you are responsible for this!”

Ouma hummed tunelessly, lifting his hand and inspecting his fingernails.

“Oh, did she?” His lips twisted into a smirk. “Welp, maybe I did! Ooor maybe I didn’t! Nishishi, take your pick, Momota-chan.”

“Stop messing with me! I have no reason to not trust Harumaki. And I’ve seen what happened to her leg!”

Ouma stared, all traces of emotions vanishing from his face within seconds, leaving just a blank slate and wide lilac eyes staring at Momota with an intense detached look that didn’t match his round childish face.

“Hey, Momota-chan,” Ouma questioned, “did Harukawa-chan even tell you what actually happened?”

“No.” He retorted without thinking. “Not that she needed to!”

Ouma laughed, a weird bitter note rescounding in his voice.

“Figures. Then I suggest that you ask her.”

Momota’s never heard Ouma sound so cold, so curt. It only infuriated him more. He had no reason to not trust Harukawa. Meanwhile, Ouma was famous for being a liar, his skills putting him in the trouble’s way constantly. Momota was pretty sure that there was not a single honest bone in his body.

“You are going to go to Harumaki and apologize,” decided Momota. “Now.”

Taking away so many of Gryffindor’s points, even if in the heat of the moment, was bad enough but hurting another student? That was low, even for Ouma.

Ouma’s expression hardened, eyes sharp.

“No. Harukawa broke the rules and she knows what she did. She should be glad that I didn’t report her to one of the professors and made sure that the other kid won’t say a word.”

Momota gritted his teeth, practically seething at this point. He didn’t like the accusatory tone in Ouma’s voice. He had no right to put all the blame on her when he was the one responsible for her injury.

“Oh yeah? Should she also be glad that there’s an ugly scratch on her leg? This is what you call justice, Ouma?”

“Hm? Since when is Momota-chan a specialist on justice?” Ouma tilted his head to the side, a mocking tone coating his words. “You barely spend time in your own common room, always sneaking away with Harukawa-chan and Saihara-chan at nights and violating Merlin knows how many rules. You helped Hagrid drag a dangerous magical creature to the Hogwarts grounds in our third year here. A magical creature that almost blew out half the school because none of you knew what it even was!”

Momota’s mouth parted, eyebrows furrowed so deeply that his face looked as if twisted in a permanent scowl.

“And don’t think that I don’t know about how you cheated on your last Herbology test,” exclaimed Ouma before Momota would get a single word out, making the other Slytherin’s eyes widen in surprise. “Or how you cheated on every single History of Magic test and paid some seventh year Ravenclaw to do your homework!”

“How did you-?”

Ouma giggled, rocking on his heels, hands folded at the back of his neck.

“Oh, did lil dumb Momota-chan think that I don’t know about it? Geez, you aren’t even half as smart as you think you are,” mocked Ouma.

He wasn’t about to let Ouma insult his intelligence.

Momota’s fingers instinctively tightened around his wand, a gesture that didn’t escape Ouma’s attention.

“Oooh, is Momota-chan gonna hex me now?”

“Yeah, if I have to!” roared Momota, slowly reaching his limit. The last traces of his patience were slipping away more and more with every minute. “I work so hard to change people’s views about Slytherin and then all you do is drag our House down! At least Harumaki is trying to do better, she’s trying to improve! All you do is prank everyone around and act as if it’s for good! I have no idea why the professors thought that you deserve this badge but it’s pretty clear that they made a mistake!”

Momota stopped for a second, the ringing in his ears nearly deafening. He could taste blood in his mouth. He glared at Ouma’s smaller form drowning in his Slytherin robes. He missed the moment when something in Ouma’s face shifted, his expression turning blank and pale, the smirk for once wiped out of his face.

“I don’t think it’s about Harukawa-chan anymore.”

Ouma’s voice sounded quiet in the wide hall. Hollow.

But Momota wasn’t done.

“Like hell it isn’t! It’s about you being an insensitive brat who never should have been chosen as the prefect!”

By the end Momota was practically screaming, his chest falling and rising rapidly as he tried to catch his breath, panting. At the edges of his vision he could spot a not-so-small crowd of students observing the scene. Most of them were wearing shocked expressions and some of the younger ones looked outright horrified. But Momota couldn’t care less, all of his attention focused on Ouma who was standing there and not talking, not reacting in any way other than stare at him, lips pressed tightly together.

“Don’t make me dock the points from Slytherin,” spat Ouma quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His whole small body was shaking in silent fury, posture stiff and eyes narrowed into two cold slits.

Momota’s eyes momentarily darted in the direction of the House point hourglasses standing proudly on both sides of the heavy oak doors, the gems inside gleaming in the shadows of the hall.

“You can’t take the points from your own House!” snapped Momota baring his teeth, nostrils flaring. He could feel another wave of anger surging through his veins. He stifled the urge to punch something --- Ouma’s face looked exceptionally punchable today --- and bit his nails deep into the skin of his palms, hands curled into tight fists.

“Watch me.”

Something in his voice carried a dangerous note, one that Momota’s never heard before.

Momota turned to face the hourglasses fully just in time to see as the emeralds trapped inside the Slytherin’s hourglass began to retreat back into the upper bulb, one after another until exactly ten were nestled there, successfully reducing the amount of points earned by their House during the semester. He could feel the swirl of emotions trapped in his gut, dulled by the pure shock of what he has just witnessed, unable to comprehend that Ouma did it, he actually did it---

He turned back to Ouma, disbelief mingling with anger written all his face, mouth open to shout and fists rising only to realize that Ouma was no longer there.

Momota would have never threatened his own House like that. It was like a betrayal. Sure, he wasn’t always happy about ending up in Slytherin, even after so many years his House had a bit of a… reputation, but like any other student he felt pride and sense of belonging. To betray one’s House was one of the greatest crimes a Hogwarts student could commit in the eyes of his fellow students and it was a rule that Momota held especially close to heart.

His argument with Ouma was widely discussed by other students of Hogwarts for the next few days after it happened, some of them even going as far as to declare with whom they decided to side on, making them members of either Team Ouma or Team Momota. Harukawa hadn’t spoken to him for almost a week, furious that he made such a scene and got her involved. The news of their argument seemed to be known even to the teachers as the Charms Professor took mercy on Momota when he anxiously approached him and asked if would be possible for him to change a partner.

For the next few weeks he and Ouma have been avoiding each other. Or, more accurately, Ouma was avoiding him, always vanishing the moment Momota appeared in his proximity. During their shared classes he would retreat into the far corner of the classroom, as far as possible from Momota, not even gratifying him with a single glance. Whenever they happened to end up on the same corridor he would always magically disappear, to the point where Momota started to wonder if maybe by some miracle he came into the possession of the cloak of invisibility or illegally learned how to Apparate. He acted just like he always did, laughing and teasing and being obnoxiously Ouma but there was certain cold aura around him, a foreign glint in his eyes.

At first he didn’t think much of it, enjoying his Ouma-less life to its full extent now that there was no one to make fun of him, mock him, belittle him. He turned his attention to his school work, slowly drowning under the pile of assignments and homeworks. But as it was, all he did was nurture the grudge, spikes of irritation coursing through him whenever he thought back to their argument and to the long ugly scratch on Harukawa’s thigh.

“I think you really hurt his feelings,” Saihara commented on the situation during dinner time when the Slytherin approached him and Akamatsu at the Ravenclaw table, plopping down next to him a few weeks after the incident when everyone else seemed to finally forget about it. The look on the Ravenclaw’s face was solemn and the unvoiced ‘this time’ lingered at the end of that sentence but it went completely unnoticed by Momota who only waved his hand dismissively and shrugged.

“He’ll get over it,” he said easily, snorting at the idea. “It’s Ouma, I doubt he even has any feelings. Besides, he deserved it. Serves him right for treating Harumaki like that.”

He reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes and after dumping half of its contents on his own plate he started to eat with gusto, barely paying attention to what was going on around him. He wanted to forget about his fight with Ouma as fast as possible, the pangs of irritation making themselves known whenever he thought about the annoying little fuck and his smug expression.

He didn’t notice the exchange of concerned glances between Saihara and Akamatsu.

It took him almost three weeks to realize that the quiet he initially so enjoyed at some point became too loud, too out of place.

If he took his time to actually look at the whole picture he could realize that there was more to it, though, something under the surface that’s been blooming ever since their third year, subtle and persistent and too scary to acknowledge.

He couldn’t help it but his thoughts were drifting to Ouma more and more often, the sudden quiet no longer comforting. Sure, he was mad at Ouma, even after all this time, but in a weird twisted way he also missed the guy. As much as his pranks were annoying, they were a constant that he was used to at Hogwarts and until now he never realized how integral a role the other Slytherin played in his life.

Ultimately it was Saihara who finally took mercy on him and decided to bring up the issue with Momota during one of their evening studying sessions in the library.

Saihara closed his Charms book with a quiet sigh and put it on the table, pausing in the middle of Momota’s rant about the homework he was supposed to finish due the next Wednesday.

“Momota-kun, don’t get me wrong,” he started, fidgeting slightly in his seat, “but why are you really so angry at Ouma-kun?”

Momota blinked, surprised. He was pretty sure that he made it clear. Still, he didn’t pass up the opportunity when it presented itself and jumped right into another rant.

“He’s been insufferable ever since he got that stupid badge,” he complained. “He’s been bugging everyone around and he hurt Harumaki,” the last two words came out louder, his voice speeding as the more words were spilling from his lips, anger blooming low in his gut. He slammed his fist against the table for emphasis with a dull bang, earning him disapproving glares from the students studying a few tables away.

Like on command, the face of the librarian emerged from between the stocked with books shelves, eyes furious and framed with an angry frown on her face for disrupting the sacred quiet of the library. She pressed a finger against her mouth and let out the most deprecatory and passive-aggressive “shhh!” Momota has ever heard.

“Sorry,” he mouthed to her, a red tint of embarrassment coloring the tips of his ears.

He turned back to Saihara who was looking at him with this half-smiling and half-worried way of his.

“And he’s a little shit,” added Momota after a short pause, as if only now remembering what they were talking about just moments before.

Saihara smiled faintly.

“Yes, that’s true, but he’s also right. He’s only doing his job. Even if, um” his face scrunched up momentarily, “his methods are a bit… unorthodox.”

Momota grumbled something unintelligible, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t understand it, Shuichi. Why did he even get the badge? There are so many people who deserve it more than him.”

“...Like you?”

“Yeah! Anyone would be better than that little shit.”

“You don’t seem to be angry that I got one and it’s not like Ouma-kun asked for his badge,” reasoned Saihara patiently. “If he got one then professors must have thought that he deserves one. Maybe they figured that it would be beneficial for him, having this kind of responsibility. And…” he hesitated visibly, flashing Momota a worried glance before continuing. “I don’t think he’s doing a bad job? Um, I mean, sure, some of his practices might be questionable, but technically he hasn’t broken any serious rules? And as weird as that sounds… his methods are actually effective. I asked Madam Pince and she said that people actually started to return the books to the library. And Professor Sprout said that this redhead from Hufflepuff, the one who fell asleep during the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam last year and got almost expelled from Hogwarts for constantly being late to classes so often and forgetting to do her homework hasn’t been late ever since she got a Howler almost every day in a row.”

Momota scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He still took points away from his own House!” He protested.

He knew that Saihara had a point, maybe even knew for a while now, but even though everything he said was technically true he couldn’t help but be stubborn about it.

Saihara kept quiet for a moment, as if mulling over something or having an internal battle. “Have you thought that maybe this is why he got the badge and you didn’t?”

His voice was quiet but firm, every word deliberate and thought out.

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

Saihara took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. He locked his eyes with Momota’s.

“It seems to me like Ouma-kun was able to overcome his personal House-bias and put his prefect responisibilies above it. Don’t get me wrong, Momota-kun,” he hurried to explain, as if worried that he offended the Slytherin. “I wasn’t there when that happened, so correct me if I’m wrong, but... from what I’ve heard it looked like, um, you were threatening him? In a situation like that it was his responsibility to act like a prefect.” Saihara’s eyes flashed to his own badge peeking from between the layers of his robes, pride pooling in his eyes. “The main objective of being a prefect is to react when there’s any kind of commotion and not let things escalate until a professor gets there.”

Momota still didn’t look convinced but he seem to consider Saihara’s words, mulling over them for a while.

“I think you would make an amazing prefect, Momota-kun,” confessed Saihara, a soft smile playing on his lips. His words rang with truth and it made Momota feel a little bit better. “But I don’t think letting Ouma take this position was a bad decision at all.”

He let Saihara’s words sink in. So fine, maybe he did get needlessly worked up over the little things. Maybe he couldn’t look past his House-bias, as Saihara put it, and threaten to take the points for his fellow Slytherin’s behavior. And maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that was jealous.

As much as Momota didn’t want to admit it, he couldn’t ignore the pang of disappointment whenever he thought about why Ouma got the badge and he hadn’t. Before this year he never even realized that he wanted the badge and the responsibility coming along with it but now that Ouma got one he couldn’t help but feel disappointment.

He took a deep breath, deciding to, for now, focus on what was more important here.

“It still doesn’t mean that how he treated Harumaki was right.”

Saihara sighed heavily, casting him a look more determined than any others, his muddy gold eyes gleaming in the dim light of the library. He quickly looked around, as if trying to determine that no one’s there to eavesdropping.

“Look, Momota-kun, about that,” he was speaking quietly but with clear intent, his gaze serious and hands folded in front of him on the table. In any other situation Momota could have felt a rush of pride at seeing the Ravenclaw who used to be so withdrawn and anxious speaking with such confidence. “Have you asked Ouma-kun what happened during that incident with Harukawa-san?”

Momota opened his mouth to confirm but Saihara cut in before he could say a word.

“As in, asked what exactly happened?”

“Harumaki got hurt and that’s what’s important!” he protested, instantly going into the defensive mode. “And Ouma didn’t say that he didn’t do it!”

“Yes, but did he say that he did?” Pressed Saihara.

Momota opened his mouth… and then closed it promptly, shaking his head, a weird combination of still-present anger and guilt swirling in his stomach.

Saihara nodded thoughtfully as if he expected that.

“I suggest that you talk to Ouma-kun. Hear his version of what happened.”

Momota could feel his anger slowly fading away into nothingness at Saihara’s words - everything he said this evening - started to settle in.

His brain replayed the scene from the Entrance Hall in his head, reminding him of all the bitter words that spilled from his lips, Ouma’s flushed with anger cheeks, the senseless anger bursting in his chest at the time.

‘I don’t think it’s about Harukawa-chan anymore.’

Maybe it really wasn’t. Maybe it never was about Harumaki.

Momota gulped.

“There’s… one more thing,” he said, a slow embarrassed flush crawling on his cheeks despite himself at the memory. His hand automatically moved to rub at the back of his neck and he could feel the tips of his ears burning.

Saihara nodded, uncertain what he was getting at. Nonetheless, he let Momota continue.

“He knew that I, err, cheated on my tests. I didn’t think about it until know but now that I think about it… The last time Ouma caught someone cheating he used the Pullus Jinx to transform the guy’s bag and quills into into chicken and geese! He’s been chasing them all around the school for hours.

Saihara blinked. “Oh.”

“I don’t get it, Shuichi. He knew what I did and he didn’t do anything. I mean, I’m not a fan of having my stuff turned into fowl,” Momota made a face, “but it’s still weird.”

Saihara’s expression softened, a hint of understanding flashing through his muddy gold eyes and a gentle smile sneaking on his lips.

“Um, I’m not sure how to tell you this, Momota-kun, but… Ouma-kun likes you.”

Momota’s face twisted in confusion, brows furrowing in skepticism.

“Could have fooled me.”

Saihara shook his head stifling a quiet chuckle with his hand. “No, I mean… He really likes you.”

Momota scratched his head, still lost as to what the Ravenclaw was getting at. He could barely call himself and Ouma friends after everything that happened.

“Right…” he trailed off, deciding to let it go. For now. “Anyways, I guess I should do something about it, shouldn’t I?”

He sighed heavily. Fixing this wouldn’t be easy. He still was struggling with accepting Saihara’s words after so much time of being stuck in his own head but… he wanted to find out what happened and he wanted the things between him and Ouma to go back to normal.

Saihara was right, whatever happened between Harumaki and Ouma... he didn’t have the right to judge without knowing the full story.

The other fifth year nodded, his expression soft and sympathetic, the warm light of the candles framing the curves of his face with a golden glow.

Momota groaned internally, bending down to grab his bag and dump his quills and sheets of parchment into it, homework long forgotten. He pushed his chair back, its wooden legs screeching against the floor and stood up.

“Thanks for the advice, Shuichi. You are a great sidekick!”

Saihara smiled faintly and waved him goodbye, watching as the Slytherin left the library in a hurry.

As it quickly turned out, the apologizing part wasn’t nearly as easy to execute as he would have wanted. First, with the current state of events it was nearly impossible to catch Ouma one on one and strike a conversation, what with Ouma still avoiding him like the plague.

After a week of unsuccessful attempts passed frustration started to kick in and he convinced himself that there was no way to patch up the reluctant friendship he developed with Ouma over the years. The thought made him sadder than he ever would have expected. It was as if all the anger and frustration and bitterness that piled up over the weeks simply vanished, as if someone used Evanesco on him.

It was hard to focus on his school work anymore, his thoughts constantly drifting to Ouma. Harukawa called it sulking. Momota preferred the term brooding.

But to his utmost horror something else started to be painfully apparent, something he hasn’t noticed - or simply shoved at the very back of his consciousness - before.

He missed that little shit.

He really genuinely missed him.

It was as if the world turned upside down and nothing made sense anymore, the revelation hitting him far stronger than it should have. And now that it was there it simply proved to be impossible to ignore, his useless chest tightening whenever he caught a glimpse of the other Slytherin.

So it was by some miracle when one day during the short break between Charms and Potions Momota spotted a familiar figure in an empty hallway. Ouma was standing with his back to him, his nose buried in a book and completely unaware of what was going on around him.

Momota looked right and left anxiously, pretty sure that no one would approve of him abducting another unsuspecting student in the day of the light (or any light, really), but miraculously it was as if any sentient creature - be it human, House Elf or ghost - wasn’t around.

He ran to catch up with him, determined to make the best out of this chance. Ouma’s head whipped around in alarm at the sound of footsteps resounding loudly in the empty hallway but it was already too late, Momota’s big arms already pulling him forcefully in the direction of the nearest door.

“You are going to let me apologize,” Momota informed the smaller Slytherin, pushing him into an empty classroom before he could realize what was happening.

It might have been his only chance. He wasn’t going to waste it.

“Aww, did wittle Momota-chan think he hurt my feewings?” mocked Ouma, tilting his head, a malicious smile stretching slowly on his lips. “You shouldn’t worry about it, I’m the supreme leader of evil and I don’t have any feelings. See? Anyways, I gotta go!”

He was just about to run out of the classroom when he felt a big hand close around his wrist, calloused fingers digging into his skin. He whipped around with alarm only to face Momota’s face, scowl embed in the lines of his forehead, lips curled up in a grimace.

Ouma tried to wrestle his arm out of his hand but Momota’s grip only tightened, so much so that it was nearly bordering on painful.

“No,” Momota protested, the familiar feeling in his stomach churning anxiously reminding him of his nervousness and was slowly getting unbearable. “Not until you let me apologize!”

“You’re off to a great start,” hissed Ouma giving his wrist a last weak tug, but he wasn’t quite meeting his eyes.

It’s only then that Momota realized how strong his grip on Ouma’s arm was, nails biting into the pale skin and leaving little crescent-like shapes. He could feel the wave of guilt washing over him, the knot in his gut tightening uncomfortably. His grip on Ouma’s arm loosened, letting the smaller Slytherin go.

Ouma still looked apprehensive, his expression carefully devoid of emotions as he slipped his arm from as soon as he could and took a few steps back, putting some distance between the two of them. For a second Momota thought that he’s going to run. He wouldn’t hold it against him, he was an ass and it would make perfect sense for Ouma to not want to have anything to do with him. But then Ouma just raised his chin and looked at him expectantly.

“So?”

Momota perked up.

“So… what?” He repeated, uncertain. He could feel a nervous laugh forming on his lips and pressed them into a tight line.

Ouma sighed noisily, rolling his eyes with exasperation.

“Didn’t you want to apologize?”

“Oh! Oh--- shit, right!”

Ouma didn’t say anything, waiting with his lips pressed in a thin line and arms crossed across his chest.

Momota sucked in a breath and braced himself for whatever was to come. “L-look, I’m really sorry. I didn’t think you would be a good prefect and…”

He trailed off, unsure how to put into words all the things he wanted to say, how to make sense of this mess that were his thoughts. Momota closed his eyes and thought back to his conversation with Saihara, to all the good points he made about Ouma and why he became the prefect.

“Why?” pressed Ouma. There was no bite in his words and for the first time it occurred to Momota that maybe he knew why. Maybe he was just waiting for him to say it out loud and admit what was bothering him. He knew that Ouma valued honesty above anything else, something that was hard for Momota to understand considering how the other Slytherin was a notorious liar. It just felt contradictory.

“I didn’t have the full picture,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I still don’t.”

Ouma huffed, staring at Momota with an expectant expression.

Momota swallowed hard and continued.

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about you. Or about what happened between you and Harumaki. You said that you should have reported her to the professors… I still don’t know why or how your spell ended up hitting her, but... It wasn’t my place to judge without having the whole story.”

Ouma merely nodded his head. His whole posture looked stiff and Momota was worried that he would bolt out of here if given the chance.

He swallowed his pride and spoke again, his voice small but firm.

“Can you… Can you tell me what happened? That night, I mean. Between you, Harukawa and this Ravenclaw kid.”

Ouma’s eyes widened just a fraction, jaw going slack.

Momota could feel desperation coiling in his stomach. He wanted to know the truth. The whole truth, whatever it was.

“Please,” he added, looking Ouma straight in the eyes.

The other Slytherin let out a long exaggerated sigh, as if Momota has been the source of the greatest suffering and exasperation he’s ever experienced in his short life.

“Fiiine,” he whined. “If Momota-chan insists.”

He didn’t seem too happy about the situation, nowhere close to forgiving him. His posture closed off and eyes still flickering with mistrust but he was willing to humor Momota and honestly, it was all he could have been hoping for, everything considered. He sat on the nearest table and cleared his throat, planting both of his palms on his knees.

“Sooo, Momota-chan knows that Harukawa-chan was raised in a Muggle orphanage, riiight?”

Momota simply nodded. He found out during their third year. He sat more comfortably, a little confused by the unexpected question and intrigued where this story was going.

“Apparently one of the girls from the orphanage got a letter this summer,” continued Ouma.

Momota let out a short surprised sound. “But Harumaki never said anything!”

“Nishishi, somehow I’m not surprised,” he laughed, much to Momota’s irritation. “Anyways, she started attending Hogwarts in September and got sorted to Gryffindor just like our precious Harukawa-chan herself.”

Momota frowned, ready to defend his friend, but thought better of it. House animosity was a normal thing and he knew that Harukawa and Ouma had a past. He let Ouma continue his tale, determined to find out what happened.

“I don’t know all the details,” admitted Ouma, swaying his legs back and forth from his place on the top of one of the table, “but apparently the girl was bullied by one of the third year Ravenclaws.”

Momota grimaced. He hated bullies with all his heart and Muggle-born wizards and witches still had enough bullshit to deal with.

“After some time Harukawa-chan found out about the bullying and decided to take things into her own hands,” Hummed Ouma, his eyes turning distant and a little cloudy. “Not the wisest decision she’s ever made but that’s Harukawa-chan for you.”

The taller of the two could feel his blood going cold, freezing in his veins as the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. Oh no, he thought, suddenly feeling like he knew where this story was going and definitely not liking this direction.

“She sneaked out shortly before the curfew. One of the portraits told me - I have a small spy network with the portraits, you see - so I went to look for her and found both of them, just as she shoved him into an empty bathroom.”

Ouma suddenly bared his teeth in a Cheshire cat-like smile.

“Just like Momota-chan did to me, actually. You sure sure are a great influence!”

Momota grumbled angrily but bit his tongue to keep any comments to himself.

“Welp, anyways, I didn’t know what exactly she was plotting but since it was almost curfew and it was at a part of the castle she shouldn’t be in, and especially not at this hour, I went to investigate.”

Ouma fell silent for a moment to exhale quietly. His lips twisted in an ugly grimace and nose scrunched up, as if he smelled something foul.

“I opened the door of the bathroom just in time to see Harukawa-chan casting a spell. It was some kind of cutting curse, I don’t know. From here everything happened really quickly so it’s kind of a blur. I hit her with Expelliarmus before she could hurt him.”

Momota’s mouth moved but no sound came out, Ouma’s words slowly registering in his brain.

“And the worst part,” spat Ouma angrily, clearly struggling to keep his emotions under control, “is that she got the wrong kid.”

Momota’s eyes widened impossibly as he gaped at Ouma with shock.

“What?” He managed to choke out, his voice weak as he could feel his head spinning at this new revelation.

“Yeah,” confirmed Ouma bitterly. “It was dark and he was wearing his House robes, they all look the same from behind. Harukawa-chan was too focused on her sweet sweet revenge to pay attention and never realized that she got the wrong Ravenclaw until it was too late.”

There was still one thing that didn’t make sense, one thing that was nagging somewhere at the back of his head, impossible to forget about.

“But Harumaki’s leg…”

Ouma laughed bitterly, suddenly hopping off the table and entering Momota’s personal space, making the taller boy lean back in surprise, blinking at him rapidly when he suddenly found himself face to face with Ouma.

“Err…”

“She was hit by her own spell,” he informed Momota coldly. “And me, too.”

Ouma lifted his arm, the wide sleeve of his robe rolling down, revealing his pale hands and bony wrist. There, curled around the curve of his index finger rested a half-healed wound, the skin around it all reddened and irritated.

Momota knew that he was staring but he couldn’t help himself, the guilt and shock and disbelief tugging at his insides.

All this time he thought that Ouma hurt Harukawa on purpose. All this time he was sure it was an act of malice that resulted in the injury.

He felt like he got hit in the stomach.

“But you said that you disarmed her...”

“I managed to disarm her but I was a second too late,” continued Ouma, his voice quiet. ”Harukawa-chan already managed to cast the spell. It didn’t hit the intended target and bounced off one of the mirrors, splitting into two and hitting both of us.”

Momota stood there, motionless, feeling as if someone hit him with Petrificus Totalus.

“Why won’t you heal it?” He asked finally.

“It’s a magical injury caused by a powerful curse,” Ouma frowned, tucking his wrist back under the heavy layers of his robes. “I can’t heal it with a simple Episkey. And I can’t exactly go to Madam Pomfrey with this kind of injury, she would start asking questions.”

Momota snorted, amused. “Aren’t you the master liar around here?”

Ouma flashed him a cheeky smile.

“I sure am, my dear Momota-chan! But,” his expression turned grim, the striking contrast with the face he was making merely a few seconds before, “you underestimate a nurse on a mission.”

Momota seemed to consider his words and eventually nodded hesitantly, unable to deflect this logic. He’s seen what Madam Pomfrey was capable of when determined to investigate how the students obtained their injuries. He couldn’t help the shudder that crawled down his spine at the memory of certain quidditch incident he was involved in two years prior. Still, though… Ouma went through a lot of trouble, all to protect Harukawa’s skin. And she wasn’t even from his House.

Suddenly he could see the whole scene with striking clarity, Harukawa sneaking on an unexpecting Ravenclaw, Ouma rushing to prevent the inevitable catastrophe, disarming Harukawa two seconds too late, the spell ricocheting and striking both of them.

Ouma looked up to see Momota’s face, concern and worry still pooling in the taller Slytherin’s dark mauvish eyes.

“It will heal,” added Ouma with a faint smile. “Eventually.”

Momota gave a hesitant nod, still worried.

He needed to have a talk with Harumaki. He knew that her heart was in the right place but what she did was wrong. Horribly and painfully wrong.

Momota swallowed thickly. “What about the girl?”

“Hm?”

“The Gryffindor girl… The one Harumaki tried to protect.”

“Oh.” Ouma waved his hand dismissively. “I took care of that already.”

He didn’t elaborate and Momota didn’t press.

So there he had it. The whole truth, laying bare right before his eyes.

He felt shame coiling in his insides, the guilt over getting so worked up over something so silly, over the story he made up in his head to justify his senseless jealousy and irrational resentment.

He told Ouma that he trusted him, that he would always believe in the best in him, just like he always did in Saihara and Harumaki, that he would believe in him even if Ouma didn’t want him to.

Momota lowered his head solemnly.

“Look, Ouma… I’m really sorry.”

Ouma didn’t say a word, which Momota took as his cue to keep talking.

“I was jealous and irrational and stupid. I shouldn’t have said any of those things I said that day and… and I’m sorry.”

He kept his eyes low, unable to meet Ouma’s. Suddenly the last few months felt wrong, felt like something he wished desperately that he could fix and re-do, never let things escalate this much. All this unnecessary drama and jealousy and anger eating him alive for months… What was all that for.

Ouma cleared his throat. Momota’s head instantly snapped to attention, mouth open and eyes wide.

“Momota-chan is so dumb,” he commented insultingly but his voice carried a playful note, lilac eyes sparkling with something suspiciously fond. “Tell you what! You take me on a date during the next visit to Hogsmeade and all is forgiven!”

“A… a date?”

“Yup~!”

Oh. Oh!

Suddenly Saihara’s words, the ones he couldn’t understand before, make so much more sense. Momota can feel his heart speeding up, thumping in his chest as heat crawls on his cheek and colors them with a pinkish tint.

“Um…”

Ouma snickered, eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Come on, Momota-chan, didn’t you want to make it up to me?”

Momota swallowed and made up his mind. He owed him that. Besides… they went to Hogsmeade together before, clutching between the shops for hours, inhaling the sweet aromas of the Honeydukes and letting the Butterbeer warm their insides after too many hours spent outside in the cold.

It would be just like back then, right?

“Alright.”

Ouma clapped his hands, bouncing in place.

“Great! You’re paying then!”

Before Momota could react Ouma’s warm hands were already resting on his shoulders, supporting his weight when he stood up on his tip-toes and pressed a quick kiss against Momota’s cheek.

And then the pressure was gone and so was Ouma, only his horse-like laugh echoing in the classroom.

Momota stared at the place occupied by the other Slytherin only seconds before, dazed and confused. The blush raised on his face, sudden heat stretching over his nose and cheeks. He lifted his hand, shaking fingers brushing against the spot where Ouma’s lips touched his skin.

Well.

It looked like he had an interesting visit to Hogsmeade ahead of him.

#oumota #ouma kokichi #kaito momota #ndrv3 #shuichi saihara #maki harukawa #kaede akamatsu #danganronpa v3 #my writing #hogwarts AU #oumotaweekend2019

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alexboehm55144 · 5 years

Text

Alex Final Wars 2: Dark Alex, Chapter 4 - Old & New Friends

Before we get into the story I want to say one thing: I would like to dedicate this chapter to Stan Lee, the father of Marvel comics. Thank you for making us all true believers, and for touching so many people with your work. You will forever live on in our hearts.

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After arriving in Zootopia, the typhoon landed in a large, designated landing zone within the city. Alex, Toothdee, Kion, and Jasiri were going to be getting in a car, and Alex would take them to a location of significance regarding the wolf everyone was confused about. Right now Alex was waiting outside, getting some fresh air, while his companions were using the bathroom or doing other things before leaving.

As Alex waited, he spotted a figure, a snow leopard, walking up to him.

"Excuse me, Alex Boehm?" The snow leopard asked.

"Yeah, who's asking?" Alex responded, noticing that the snow leopard seems oddly familiar to him.

"I'm Fabienne Growley, from Zootopia News Network"

"Oh yeah! Now I remember you!"

"Anyway ZNN wants frontline coverage of this war with China, and I was assigned to be stationed on a US warship to report on its operations, and I was hoping that ship could be the typhoon"

"Really? Hmm..." Alex looked back towards the ship "I mean I hope you know that we aren't going to be in the background doing a support role. The typhoon is a purpose-built warship, it's gonna be right in the thick of the action"

"I understand the dangers, that's why ZNN sent me, due to my experience. I've reported on wars and conflict before and been in dangerous situations. Besides, your warship is probably the safest place in this entire war"

"Well, then I think we have an open bunk you can use. Frankly, I must say it's an honor that you chose the typhoon"

"Well, I'm honored that you said yes. Thank you so much" Fabienne said, shaking Alex's hand.

"You won't find a safer or more interesting warship to be stationed on, so good choice. Now if you have any equipment or personal effects you need to gather up, I suggest getting them and moving in"

"Of course, thanks again" the snow leopard started walking away, presumably heading back to her car so she could drive home and gather up things like reporting equipment and clothes.

"Who was that?" Toothdee said as her, Kion and Jasiri joined Alex.

"Fabienne Growley, from ZNN. She wats to be stationed on the typhoon so she can report on this war"

"Really?" Jasiri asked "That's amazing"

"Get ready to see yourselves on the news a lot" Alex laughed "Now then, let's get going"

"I still don't know where the heck you're taking us," Kion said with a quizzical look. "Or what this has to do with the gray wolf we encountered"

"You'll see, just be patient"

The team got into a bright red and sporty looking car before Alex began driving them to an unspecified location. No one asked any questions, trusting Alex knew what he was doing, but they didn't exactly like being in the dark.

Soon the car pulled up outside a building with a large pink neon sign that said "Howlers Moon"

The group got out and Alex walked right up to an old man who was standing near the door. The doorman had a neatly combed head of hair, along with a name tag sporting the initials 'S. L.'. He scanned over at the group through his tinted aviator sunglasses, before waving them into the building. It was loud inside, with music blaring and bright lights flashing. Mammals of all sizes were drinking and chatting with others.

"And the reason you've brought us to a Zootopian club is...?" Toothdee asked, not understanding the significance of this endeavor.

"You'll see" Alex responded, gesturing for the group to follow him to the dance floor.

Alex scanned the crowd of mammals on the dance floor before his eyes lit up as he spotted what, or rather who he was looking for. The group drew closer to their target, who was a female wolf in her early 20s, with long flowing hair that was dyed a light pink, along with her fur that was dyed blue. She was dressed in a bright red dress that appeared to be ripped at the bottom as part of a stylistic choice. She moved at a rapid speed around the dance floor, all while singing along to the music.

"There's the wolf I know!" Alex said cheerfully.

The blue wolf's tail shot up straight in surprise before she turned around and saw who had called to her.

"ALEX!" The blue wolf yelled, jumping into Alex's arms.

Alex picked her up and spun her in a circle while the pair laughed, before setting her down and turning towards Toothdee, Kion, and Jasiri.

"Guys, this is Jay Burdell, but you can call her JayJay. Jay, this is Toothdee, Kion, and Jasiri" Alex said, pointing out the individuals as he spoke their names.

"Nice to meet you," JayJay said, shaking Toothdee's hand, before doing the same with Kion and Jasiri.

"Nice to meet you too," Toothdee said, before looking at Alex and asking something. "How long have you known her?"

"A while" Alex responded, while JayJay complemented Jasiri on something she did with her hair.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Alex shrugged "there was no reason to. And no one ever asked"

In Toothdee's mind that wasn't really the best reason for not telling anyone about a new friend, but at least the secret had eventually made its way out.

"Now, onto important business..." Alex said, gesturing for the group to follow him outside so they could talk about sensitive matters.

000

"Dark counterparts?" JayJay said in total disbelief after seeing the footage captured from Chima, as well as some explanation from those who were there when the footage was recorded.

"That's what they said they were, and we have no real reason to suspect otherwise," Alex said.

"Wha... I don't... how is this possible?!"

"You know as much as we do. We're totally in the dark, we have no clue who they are, where they come from, or how they are tied to China"

JayJay looked at the footage again, paying particular attention to the gray wolf, which was her dark counterpart.

"Darn," The wolf said, pointing to her counterpart, "I think she wears the color gray better than me"

"Well technically that person is you, so it would be impossible for her to wear that color better than you" Toothdee explained.

"Yeah, but it might go better with her personality. If what you say is true, they have more of a 'darker side' than I do. As such the color gray goes better with them because their personality is more sinister than mine. Also, I don't really wear gray that much."

"Ok, enough about fashion," Alex said, "what matters is that whoever or whatever these people, they still have to be stopped"

There were murmurs and nods of agreement from the rest of the group.

"Then it looks like I'm joining you," JayJay said, handing Alex back his phone, which had the footage on it.

"Joining us?" Toothdee questioned.

"Yeah, she has a dark counterpart as well, so I think she has as much stake in this as we do," Alex said, coming to Jay's defense.

"Eh, that's fair," Toothdee said.

"And don't worry," Jay said with a slick smile "I can handle myself"

000

While the team, now including JayJay, were heading back to the typhoon, Alex got a call from Eris.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Alex where are you?"

"We're just a few minutes away from the typhoon, why do you ask?"

"Because this black car pulled up, and a striped bunny and an arctic fox got out, and they're saying they're from the Zootopia Intelligence Agency. Laval is currently outside talking with them"

"Ok, well just hold on, we'll be there momentarily"

A few minutes later the group pulled into the designated landing zone and spotted the strange characters Eris had described. The rabbit was dressed in a formal suit, and the fox a formal suit with a skirt, and both of them spotted sunglasses.

"Can I help you?" Alex asked.

The striped rabbit took off his sunglasses and flashed a badge that said ZIA on it before speaking. "I'm Jack Savage, this is Skye Winter, we're from the Zootopia Intelligence Agency"

"Oh yeah," Toothdee said "I forgot Zootopia had an intelligence agency, it's like a city-state"

"Anyway..." Jack began "...the ZIA wants to make sure Zootopia stays safe during this war. They want us to join you on your ship, to help you fight the Chinese, and make sure Zootopia stays safe. We will act as an arm of the ZIA working with you"

"Ok..." Alex thought over this for a moment, before a familiar looking car pulled up.

"Give me a sec," Alex said, walking over to the car as a gray rabbit in a pink shirt and jeans got out of the driver's side door, and a red fox in a green Hawaiian shirt exited the passenger side door.

"Nick! Judy! What are you guys doing here?"

Alex bent down so he could hug the pair.

"Well..." Judy said, Toothdee texted us and said you were here in the city, and what's been going on with you guys lately. I'll be straight with you Alex, we want to help."

"Help?"

"Yes, we fought alongside you against the meterex, we want to fight alongside you again, only this time against the Chinese. Sometimes protecting Zootopia means doing more than patrolling the streets"

"Don't you 2 have to go into work though?"

"We have a lot of vacation days saved up, and we were hoping you could put it in a good word with Bogo that we're doing our part to make the world a better place"

"Well, you know I'm never one to refuse help. If you want to join us again, then move back into your rooms on the typhoon. I'll put in a word with Bogo"

"Should me and Skye also find a room to bunk in?" Jack asked.

"Jack? Skye?" Nick said, just now noticing the 2 mammals.

"You know each other?" Alex said.

"Yeah, we're great friends!" Judy said as she embraced Skye "Nick, you've known Jack since you two were kits, right?"

"Correct" Nick said as he exchanged a friendly greeting with Jack.

"Why does everyone have some sort of secret friends?" Toothdee said.

"Well, Jack and Skye want to be stationed on the typhoon, acting as an arm of the ZIA to make sure Zootopia is safe during the war," Alex said.

"You should definitely invite them on board. You won't find mammals more determined and experienced than Jack and Skye" Judy said, making Skye smile as her friend praised her.

"Well then, Jack, Skye. Judy has put in a good word for you, so gather up your belongings and move into some rooms. I'll give you a tour of the ship later so you know where everything is"

"We only need one room," Jack said "but thank you for bringing us onboard"

The 2 fox and bunny pairs began to remove suitcases from their cars, presumably filled with items they'd need for their stay on the typhoon. Fabienne Growly also pulled up in her car with a suitcase and camera equipment and began to move onto the ship.

"Look at all these great people," Alex said to Toothdee "Seeing all these faces, all these mammals that are going to be working together, I don't think the Chinese stand a chance"

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I would like to thank Vivziepop for giving me permission to use her character JayJay. I hope everyone liked the addition of so many new characters to this story! In the next chapter, things heat up again as the team enters another battlefield! See all of you next week! Excelsior!

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zillanewt · 6 years

Text

What’s In Your Head?

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five

summary: So, the year is 1999. Eddie is 23 years old, telepathic, and lives with his childhood best friend, Bill, in Portland, Maine. He meets a young musician with a knack for speed named Richie at a bar. Based off @trashmouthloser‘s mutant!loser club headcanons!!

pairing: reddie

words: 2.6K

warnings: alcohol, pretty s*xual flirting (but no s*x)

A/N: i wrote a lot this time?? i think it’s because we’re getting into the good (gay) parts of the story and it’s so much fun to write. i realized that i forgot to write bill’s stutter in the first chapter, whoops. it’s really mild in this fic bc he has more control of it as an adult but he still has it. thank you so much for reading, liking, and reblogging!! Please message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!

A slight sting ran through Eddie’s head as he stirred from sleep. He faintly began to remember the events of last night and groaned at the thought of his forwardness. Quietly, he cursed Mike and Bill under his breath for not stopping him, but he checked his answering machine anyway - mentally prepared for either nothing at all or a disastrous rejection voicemail.

Nothing.

He supposed it was better than, “hey, fuck you. I’m not interested in bar-hookups.”

Only slightly, though.

Normally, he has to know a guy for months to even consider holding hands with them (which is the reason why most of his relationships fizzle out, but he prefers not to talk about that). But, he felt some sort of magnetic pull last night that he wants to blame entirely on a mixture of physical attraction and alcohol, which isn’t all that difficult.

Eddie got out of bed to take a couple aspirin only to find Richie sitting at his kitchen table, reading one of Eddie’s old Spiderman comic and sipping black coffee from one of the mugs Eddie’s mother sent him. His heart dropped from his chest into his stomach, as he stood there wide-eyed staring at him.

Dear fucking god, what did he do last night?!

He doesn’t even remember Richie coming home with him last night. There isn’t a pain in his lower back and his bed seemed to be stain-free, so they couldn’t have slept together. But, it doesn’t explain why a man he clearly saw get into a van with his band and drive off was sitting at his kitchen table.

Maybe, he was having a fever dream.

Richie sensed Eddie and glanced up from his comic book and coffee. When he laid eyes on him, he broke out into a smirk and had dark hooded eyes. Eddie didn’t have to be a mind-reader to know what Richie was thinking when he saw Eddie’s shocked stare and slightly agape mouth.

“Hey, princess,” he drawled, making Eddie’s face heat up in anger and embarrassment. Maybe, he didn’t like Richie as much as the alcohol did.

“Don’t call me that!” Eddie snapped. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

Richie tsked, with a faux frown. “You’re certainly being rude to a house guest,” he scolded.

“I don’t even remember inviting you into my house!”

Eddie’s face was as red as a Coke can, and Richie could clearly tell he was seething, as his stifled laughter indicated.

Suddenly, a huge roaring laugh burst from him and he yelled out “I can’t, Bill! I can’t do it!”

Bill entered the kitchen, laughing just as hard as Richie. But, when he looked back, Richie wasn’t Richie. He was Mike, pounding his hand on the table as he laughed so hard he was nearly in tears.

After a heated moment of confusion and fear, Eddie realized Mike used his shapeshifting abilities to trick him. If he was angry earlier, he was twice as angry now.

“You guys are assholes!” Eddie shouted, quickly turning on his heel to storm upstairs.

“Y-You should’ve seen the l-look on your face,” Bill shouted after him.

When he got up to his room, he immediately breathed out a sigh of relief that he didn’t fuck anything up last night. But, he also cursed himself because even a fake Richie could get him so riled up.

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

Silently, Eddie stewed in his irritation and anger long after Mike had left to go home. Not speaking to him as they picked up around the house and finished various chores.

When Eddie heard the phone ringing in the kitchen, he bolted from the living room to answer it, ignoring Bill’s amused giggling. He swears to god that if this is his mom, he’s going to lock himself in his room forever.

“Hello,” he said slightly out of breath.

“Uuhm, hi,” the person on the other end says awkwardly, “Is Eddie there?”

“This is Eddie,” he tries to say with the utmost calmness but winced slightly at how enthused he sounded.

“Oh hey!” the voice says excitedly, “This is Richie.”

Eddie mouths the words “yes, thank you, Jesus” a couple times, pumping his fisting. He could totally hear Bill giggling in the living room and making kissing noises, but he really didn’t give a fuck.

Clearing his throat, he begins as nonchalantly as possible, “what’s up, Rich?”

Unknown to Eddie, Richie preens at the nickname on the other side of the line.

“A couple college students my bandmates know are throwing a party in the suburbs, and I was wondering if you and your friends wanted to come?” Richie said in an excited rush. Eddie could barely understand was he was saying, save for “party” and “wanted to come.” Typically, Eddie didn’t go to parties during his years in high school and college. When he did, he was always dragged there by a friend, namely Bill. But, this was an attractive musician he almost kissed last night.

This was all Eddie needed to know before he enthusiastically said “yes.” Though Richie couldn’t see it, he was vehemently nodding his head and bobbing up and down like an excited child. He could barely contain himself as he wrote down the address.

“Great! I’ll see you tonight, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie drawled in his normal raspy voice, feeling slightly more relaxed.

Before Eddie could reprimand him for the nickname, he hung up, leaving Eddie under Bill’s intense gaze.

“S-so?” Bill asked.

“So, we’re totally going to a college party, tonight,” Eddie stated, pointedly avoiding Bill’s shocked stare.

“E-Eddie, you hate p-parties,” he deadpanned while looking at Eddie as if he had stepped out of an insane asylum.

The other man shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, still avoid Bill’s eyes. He mumbled, “I don’t hate them that much.”

“In y-your own words, they are ‘smelly, loud, and a b-breeding ground for g-germs and STDs,’” Bill recited smugly.

“This is different.”

“How?”

“Cute boy,” Eddie stated simply. Bill shook his head in disbelief and relented to Eddie’s wish.

********

The house was far out in the suburbs and looked like something from those coming-of-age movies Eddie would watch obsessively as a kid. There were university students strewn out on the lawn, making out and drinking carelessly. A strong pulsing bass came from the house, coursing through Eddie, Bill, and Mike’s bodies as they stood on the sidewalk.

“I-I hope one of these kids don’t f-fuck up my car,” Bill confessed.

“Kids?” Mike laughed, “you only graduated just last year, Big Bill.”

Ignoring their bickering, Eddie walked away from them towards the house. It was exactly everything Eddie hated about parties: smelly, loud, and a breeding ground for germs and STDs. Belatedly, he realized he must look out of place once again, as he was dressed like a ‘80s rich boy with his striped long sleeve polo and khakis.

Maybe tonight was going to turn out to be a John Hughes movie after all.

He uncomfortably wandered through the crowd of college students, looking for the boy with dark grey hair. Just as he was about to give up hope, he spotted Richie sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging and singing along to Guns and Roses, while a redheaded girl, the band’s drummer if Eddie can remember correctly, giggles at the motion of his long gangly limbs. Richie was wearing the same grey leather jacket and silver boots as last night, but he swapped the pink tank top for a Pink Floyd shirt.

Eddie smiles fondly to himself and approaches them. The girl instantly notices and tells Richie to turn around with a smug grin. Richie whips his head around and his eyes go wide whenever he spots Eddie standing there and giggling. First, he gives Eddie an obvious once-over, then he grins wide and motions Eddie to come over to them.

“Eds!” he exclaims. “The cutest boy in the Portland area! You’ve made it!”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says as Richie places his arm around his shoulder. “And, you must be blind if you think I’m the cutest boy of anything.”

“Well, Edmund,” Richie says in a posh British accent, “I am legally blind according to the state of Maine, so I have to wear these babies.” Then, he pulls his eyelid slightly down, pointing towards the obvious contact lenses in his eyes. “But, you don’t give yourself enough credit, Eddie.”

Meanwhile, the girl is still watching this exchange, smiling as if she knows something they don’t. She clears her throat to get Richie’s attention.

“Oh yeah!” Richie said, “This is our drummer, Beverly.”

“I’m Eddie,” he says in response, sticking his hand out.

She takes it. “I heard quite a bit about you in the van last night, Eddie. Oh, what were you saying again, Richie? ‘God, he’s so cute. I want to eat him up like a Twinkie. I would’ve paid five billion dollars to have him pin me to that sta-’”

Richie quickly interrupted her in a British accent, “whoa, Bevvie! You insult my fair lady’s honor!”

Beverly just shakes her head and takes a cigarette out of her pocket. “I’m going to leave you two lovebirds alone,” she said as she placed the cigarette in her mouth, lit it with a small flame at the end of her finger, and exited the kitchen.

“So, do you want a drink?” Richie asked, jumping off the counter.

“Yeah, but I probably shouldn’t drink too much tonight,” Eddie said, biting his lip.

Before Eddie could say what he wanted, Richie got two beers from the fridge. They were both the cheap brand that you could get a 6 pack of for 5 dollars. But, Eddie wasn’t about to complain. He was with Richie, so tonight was already a pretty good night.

Richie made what was considered a pretty bold move in Eddie’s book and grabbed his hand, leading him towards the living room where the stereo was. Everyone in the living was circled around one person, Bill, who was using his powers to make the keg float. People cheered and shouted as if it was one of the coolest things they’ve ever seen.

“Your friend seems pretty popular,” Richie leaned in and said to Eddie, matter-of-factly.

Eddie took a sobering sip of his beer as he leaned against the wall and watched big jock-like guys slap Bill on the back. It was high school all over again.

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugged. “Bill’s always had a pretty cool mutation.”

Glancing in his direction, Richie noticed how Eddie’s shoulders were slumped and his eyes were trained on the floor, silently nursing his beer.

“I bet you have a cool one too! Or, if you don’t have one, that’s also awesome! You don’t need to compare yourself to Bill,” Richie yelled over the loud music.

“Not really,” Eddie said quietly.

Richie encouragingly nudged him to share, because he genuinely thought Eddie didn’t need to be insecure.

“Ok, ok,” Eddie relented. “I’m a mind-reader. It’s nothing special, really.”

He lifted his head to look at Richie who looked positively lost for words.

“W-What?” Richie asked dumbly, growing hot in the face. “So, have you read my thoughts?”

A smirk grew on Eddie’s face as he watched Richie squirm under his gaze.

“Why Rich?” he asked in the best “sweet and innocent” voice he could muster. “Have you been thinking naughty thoughts about me?”

Eddie leaned into Richie playfully and got a good whiff of cheap cologne, feeling the heat in the pit of his belly when Richie unabashedly said “yes.”

Quickly, Richie’s eyes grew dark and hooded, as he kept glancing at Eddie’s lips without even trying to hide it. He leaned closer in, and Eddie didn’t feel the same courage coursing through his veins as last night. In the back of his head, he knew that if he started to kiss Richie, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Truthfully, he didn’t want this to be some one night stand, so he wouldn’t let it turn into one.

“Don’t worry,” Eddie whispered softly, aware of the little space between their lips, “I don’t read people’s minds without asking. It’s an invasion of their privacy.”

“You can invade my privacy any day, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie said.

At this point, Eddie’s back was against the wall, while Richie leaned one arm against it. Before now, Eddie really never noticed the height difference between the two of them, but Richie simply towered over him, and Eddie could only stare at Richie with big brown eyes.

“What about you?” Eddie asked, awkwardly trying to change the subject, “What’s your mutation?”

Richie took the hint and backed away from Eddie, slightly disappointed. Little did he know, Eddie was also disappointed.

“I’m really fast,” Richie said proudly, taking a sip of his beer.

“What does that even mean?” Eddie sputtered.

“I could show you,” Richie drawled with a wicked grin.

But, it wasn’t an innuendo this time.

Richie actually grabbed Eddie’s hand and dragged him from the house. Once they got outside, Eddie felt the cold bite of the fall temperature, as he shivered slightly. Quickly, Richie took off his jacket and put it around Eddie’s shoulders, then hunched over.

“Get on,” Richie said impatiently.

Mentally, Eddie resented that he was small enough for Richie to give him a piggyback ride, but he didn’t voice it.

As soon as he was one, the world around him became a blur as he clutched on to Richie for dear life. And, in an instant, it was over. They were 5 blocks away from the house in front of an all-night convenience store. Eddie was ready to vomit all over the pavement while he dug around in his pocket for his inhaler. He took two quick inhalations, before turning around to glare at Richie.

“You could’ve got me killed!” he scolded, still trying to calm his insides.

“But I didn’t,” Richie pointed out, rubbing Eddie on the back as he worried his lip between his teeth.

Truthfully, he felt very guilty for making Eddie this uncomfortable and worried, but his mouth replied before he could stop it. Eddie looked at Richie’s face and took his earlier words to heart, reading Richie’s thoughts. His anger almost immediately dissipated.

“I know,” Eddie said calmly and quietly. “I’m not mad at you. It’s ok.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Richie didn’t make Eddie get on his back again, but instead went into the convenience store and bought him a ginger ale. They walked the whole five blocks back to the house party (with Richie’s hand on Eddie’s waist), bickering and arguing. When they got back, Bill and Mike were laying on the hood of Bill’s car, blanking staring up at the sky.

“E-Eddie,” Bill hiccuped and then slurred. “You’re clearly the most s-sober, so you are the d-designated driver.”

He lazily tossed his keys in Eddie’s direction, clearly not worried whether Eddie caught them or not. (He didn’t).

After Eddie fished Bill’s keys from the gravel, he turned to Richie, whose arm was still around his waist, and said goodnight.

“Thanks for inviting us,” Eddie spoke softly as if he’d ruin the moment if he spoke any louder. “I had a really fun time with you, Rich.”

“No problem,” Richie replied. “You’re still the cutest boy in Portland, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Before Eddie could scold him for using that nickname, Richie leaned down for a quick peck on the lips. The same kind of kiss you’d give when dropping off someone after a first date. Eddie met Richie’s eyes when he pulled away and saw nothing but pure adoration there.

After they broke away and Richie was walking back towards the house, Eddie noticed he was still wearing the leather jacket.

“Wait, Richie!” he called. “Your jacket!”

“Keep it!” Richie yelled back.

Tonight truly did turn into a John Hughes movie.

taglist

@asteroidbill, @ttrxshmouth, @lukemybieber

#reddie #my fic #what's in your head?

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

Le Cirque des Reines (group fic) - Ch. 1 - Debbie

A/N: I was just writing this for myself to begin with, but then I started putting a lot of effort into it so I thought some other people might enjoy it too! It’s pretty inspired by this fic written by The Wolf which I read a while ago, but with enough differences that they aren’t too similar… Plus I’m just also very interested in circuses right now! Everyone are still drag queens in this, but I use she/her pronouns in and out of drag for all of them (except for Major Scales, who by the way is an amazing drag king/performer who works with Jinkx very often, if you don’t know). Excuse me being a bit vague about certain things (like when this is taking place… I’ll just say it isn’t present day at least) and for any mistakes (English isn’t my first language). I don’t know how many chapters I’ll write, but I’m already working on chapter three so if people are interested there’ll be more! There’s a few pairings in this, but they aren’t the main focus of the story (Major and Jinkx aren’t together in this for starters, just best friends). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Jinkx couldn’t help but excitedly grab Major’s hand and squeeze it when they finally saw the tents appear in the distance. He squeezed back before speeding up a bit, pulling her along through the crowd of people heading the same directions.

They had spent hours getting ready in the back room of the small cabaret they worked in (well Jinkx had spent longer obviously and so Major had been stuck pacing around and making sure his tie was straight at least a hundred times or so while she was finishing up).

It had been months since they first heard about Le Cirque de Reines… The rumour going around was that the circus was made up entirely of drag queens and queer performers, so as soon as they heard that the circus was coming to town, they had started preparing.

The pair was, as they so often were at this point of their lives, disguised as man and wife. Jinkx was in the only drag outfit she owned herself, but that she loved very dearly: A ginger wig (slightly lighter than her natural hair colour), a long white lacy dress that had belonged to her grandmother once, her corset, stockings and the jewellery she had stolen from her mother before she ran away from her home in Portland and traveled with Major to Seattle while they were in their teens.

Major was wearing his trusty old suit that he had spent almost all of his savings on several years ago and have treasured ever since, along with an old white shirt, hat, tie, plus some old black shoes he had attempted to shine up as much as possible.

They had heard that one of the old performers at the cabaret (also a drag queen) had left to join the exact same circus, long before Jinkx and Major got the job, but it was quite possibly only a rumour. Most of their returning audience there were queer (all the performers certainly were) and they had been happy working there for a while, even for the rather small amount of money they made from it. They could be themselves backstage and were allowed to stay there for most of the day (which they often did), but they were both big dreamers and dedicated performers so they had decided to take a chance and (if all went to plan) join the circus.

As they bought their tickets, Jinkx felt the ticket lady’s eyes on her and suddenly got worried about how much she was passing. She rarely had any problems fooling people when she had to, but this lady was looking her up and down like she could see her dick clear as day right through her dress. Jinkx forced herself to uphold her confident persona and told the lady “Thank you” in her most feminine voice when they were handed their tickets. She only got a knowing, but not unkind smile in return.

“She was giving me a weird look… do you think she could tell?” Jinkx whispered worriedly as they entered the slightly crowded carnival space surrounded by colourful tents in various heights and sizes.

“Maybe she could tell because she’s a queen herself? If the rumours are true that is…” he whispered back and gave her a comforting pat on the back.

“Perhaps… I couldn’t see her very well… but we’re here now! Where should we go first?” Jinkx asked excitedly, grabbing her best friend’s arm so they wouldn’t get separated.

“How about that one?” he said pointing to a small silvery tent near them.

They cautiously stepped into the small dark room which was only lit by various candles.

“Well… It’s about time! Hello darlings…” greeted the figure sitting in the middle.

“Uhh h-hello… What do you mean?” Jinkx asked, taken aback by the forwardness of the mysterious woman.

“Sorry dear I didn’t mean to startle you! Don’t worry, I’ll explain, I promise. Come sit down! have a biscuit!” she told them and smiled brightly, putting Jinkx and Major more at ease.

They both did sit down and took a biscuit each from a tray on the table (neither of them were ever known to say no to free food).

The pair then took a moment to look around and take everything in. The woman was pale and slim, presumably rather tall, but since she was currently sat down at her low table you couldn’t tell for sure. Her hair was grey despite her young appearance. Jinkx couldn’t help, but notice her rather flat chest under her black dress and started wondering for a second before her thoughts were interrupted by the woman speaking again.

“My name is Max, what’s yours darlings?”

“My name is Jinkx and this is Major” Jinkx told, Major adding a cheesy “Pleased to meet you” and a brief handshake that made Max’ smile widen.

“Such good manners…! It’s very lovely to meet you too sweethearts! You see, I’ve been expecting that some new faces would join our little family soon… and I think I’ve found our pair” she explained, gesturing vaguely at them and nodding particularly in Jinkx’ direction, giving her that knowing look again.

Jinkx felt herself blush a bit under her many layers of makeup. Was she really that obvious?

“Does that mean you’re looking for new performers?” Major asked eagerly, seemingly not having noticed Max’ gesture.

“Well… We’re usually always open to people joining us, but we rarely seek them out ourselves these days. When I was reading my tea leaves the other night however, they told me that some new, but kindred-spirits would arrive soon and my cards said the very same thing… And judging from your energy and attire, I assume it’s you who I’ve been waiting for… You’re hoping to get a job here, correct?” she finished, grinning confidently.

“Y-yes we are” Major confirmed, looking surprised.

“So what do you do then?”

“Oh a lot of stuff really! We both sing, Major plays piano and writes music… Some burlesque, commedia dell'arte and comedy! A-and we’d like to learn more stuff too!” Jinkx rambled, trying her best to sell their abilities as effectively as possible.

“We’ve worked at a cabaret for a couple of years now and have studied commedia dell'arte in our free times” Major explained, sensing Jinkx’ nervousness and taking over before she started rambling too much. They were always fooling around trying to learn new tricks backstage so they had a fairly lengthy repertoire at this point.

“That all sounds very interesting! I’m sadly not the one who gets to make the call, but I’ll take you to Bianca after we’ve closed off and put in a good word for you! I’ve got a very good feeling about this” she promised cheerily.

“Really? You’d do that for us?” Jinkx asked incredulously. Max just nodded.

“That would be incredible of you…! We’ll see you later then I suppose” said Major.

They both thanked her gratefully before heading out of the tent again, baffled over what had just happened.

“Well that was unexpected…” mumbled Jinkx.

“It sure was…! Do you think they’ll actually let us in?” he asked, leaning in to hear her better.

“I don’t know… I sure hope so, but I’m scared of getting my hopes up too early… she said that she wasn’t the one we had to convince” she answered.

Major squeezed her hand comfortingly and grinned at her before speaking.

“This is already going better than expected though! You know what? I think this calls for a celebratory treat!” Major said, already dragging her towards a colourful food stand.

“But we already spend a great deal of our money on the tickets!” Jinkx argued worriedly, but couldn’t help staring wide eyed at the beautiful cakes and sweets as they got closer.

“Don’t worry about it! We’ll share… and we have to eat something today anyway! I promise it’ll be okay” he begged.

“Oh alright…” she said, her face lighting up instantly.

The lady in the food stand smiled widely at them. She was rather tall and was wearing a gorgeous lavender costume on her fuller figure, despite of it being hidden somewhat behind the counter. Her makeup was unlike anything Jinkx had seen before and she was completely mesmerised for a moment until the woman asked them what they wanted, her voice lisping slightly in what Jinkx thought was a quite endearing way.

They ended up buying a bag of caramel popcorn which they both agreed was the most delicious thing either of them had tasted in their lives.

The next tent they entered was bigger and already had some other spectators gathered inside. In the middle of the tent, on a slightly raised platform stage, were three clowns in very contrasting clothes and makeup.

One of them were tall, with big painted lips and a gap between her front teeth. She had big frizzy hair and wore a colourful bodysuit with a bizarre and complicated design.

Another was mainly in pink, with huge blond curls and face paint that looked reminiscent of a porcelain doll. She was wearing a big poofy dress with loads of tool sticking out from underneath and a big poofy collar to match.

The last one was bald, but had a big felt crown resting on her head. Her big purple coat was almost comically too large for her, swallowing up most of her body. She had painted her eyebrows dramatically geometric and added some painted hairs in between them.

They seemed to be wordlessly acting out a dramatic comedic scene, only ever gasping animatedly as a reaction. They used multiple props and had several interventions of tap dance, unicycling and other strange acts in between the fake arguing and visual comedy, all to the rhythm of instrumental tracks playing from an old gramophone.

Jinkx and Major watched the performance for a while, both impressed at how involved and convoluted it was, but eventually dragged themselves out and into another tent.

This one was in the classic red and white colour scheme and of a fairly average height and size. Inside was a beautiful blonde woman on a smaller raised platform, juggling several knives like it was the easiest thing in the world. The small crowd of audience in the room kept their distance from the spinning weapons, but all had their eyes glued to the performer throwing them. She was clad in a sparkling silver costume, crystals seemingly dripping off of her.

The number finished and the juggler let the knives hit the wooden scene floor one by one, just barely missing her feet before bowing elegantly.

Major was about to turn around and leave, but Jinkx grabbed his arm before he could, still watching the woman closely as she picked up some strange sticks from a table and then lit the end of them up with a candle.

She smirked at the audience before putting the flaming end of the stick into her mouth and holding it with her teeth for a good few seconds, then took it out to show the still burning flame.

Jinkx was mesmerised, both watching in awe and slightly in fear of the woman’s safety. She didn’t realise her hands were still tightly holding Major’s arm before she finally broke out of her trance and glanced at her counterpart who was grinning at her.

Jinkx kept talking about how incredible the previous performance had been and how much she loved this circus already until they entered the next tent. Inside this one was a row of burlesque dancers in gorgeous costumes that made the old one Jinkx borrowed at their cabaret look boring in comparison. Half of the group wore white and the other half black, their corsets and feathers contrasting beautifully as they danced.

“This is nothing like the show we usually get to see” mumbled Major, Jinkx nodding in agreement.

Tent upon tent they went it completely dazzled the pair. There was a brilliant blonde contortionist, a stunning aerialist, an eery looking snake charmer and many more. They truly wanted to visit every tent, but had trouble tearing their eyes off the performers and leave once they had entered. Jinkx noticed that many of the performers received cash tips from the audience and wished she could give some herself, but wasn’t willing to gamble anymore with their remaining bit of money.

Suddenly a bell rang somewhere nearby and a voice informed them that the circus would begin closing up in half an hour. Jinkx pouted, but suggested to Major that they visited the biggest of the tents lastly.

Above the entrance was a sign reading “Menagerie” in golden letters against the thick red and black fabric.

In the middle of the hay covered floor stood a woman in an elegant ringleader suitjacket over a short black dress. She watched the audience playfully from under her big lashes while calling for her assistant in a surprisingly deep voice.

The doors of a wagon at the edge of the stage suddenly opened and out came a younger girl with messy black hair riding on the back of a lioness. After taking a quick stroll around the edge of where the audience was standing, the girl brought the lion over next to the first woman and hopped off. The lion sat down obediently in between them and they begun their tricks.

The ringleader and lion trainer had a charming playful energy, the former ordering the other around, but the girl kept snapping back sassily as she helped the animal up on platforms and showed it where to run around.

The lion was then brought back into it’s wagon and the crowds attention was directed towards a bigger wagon at the opposite side of the tent. The doors opened and out came an elephant and a beautiful blonde woman with a baby elephant trailing behind her. The younger of the girls finished locking up the lion’s wagon and came over to take care of the baby, while the adult elephant lifted the blonde up onto it’s back. She was wearing a light blue ballet inspired costume and posed easily on the elephant’s back like it was nothing.

The tricks continued and so did the slightly teasing banter between the women, the elephant trainer joining a bit in as well in an accent Jinkx didn’t recognise.

The audience laughed along at their jokes in between the “oooo’s” and “aaaa’s”. Time flew by them quickly and Jinkx was almost shocked when the ringleader announced that ththeir last performance of the the night was over and told people to start heading towards the circus exist. The three women helped gather the two animals back into their wagon after waving goodbye to the crowd.

Jinkx and Major headed out of the tent as well, searching for Max in the crowded space outside.

Just when they were getting a bit worried they heard an “Oh there you are!” called out by a familiar voice behind them. The two turned around, relieved to see Max smiling at them and that she hasn’t forgotten about her promise earlier in the evening.

“Come on, I’ll take you to Bianca!” she said and pulled them both by the hand into one of the larger tents.

Inside sat several of the performers, some already beginning to de-corset and take their makeup off. They all watched Jinkx and Major curiously, but didn’t question Max on why she had brought two strangers with her backstage.

“Have any of you seen Bianca?” she asked them. Most of them shook their heads, but a blonde woman in a tight red bodysuit, that Jinkx recognised as the contortionist she had seen early, raised her hand.

“Da! I just saw her and Adore talking near Ivy’s tent” she told her, a russian accent touching her words.

“Thank you Katya!” Max said, Katya smiling wide back at her before the three left the tent again.

Max snickered at Jinkx and Major’s slightly bewildered expressions.

“We’re an odd bunch” she stated simply before pulling them around a corner over to a red and white tent that the pair had gone in earlier.

In front of it stood the ringleader and lion trainer, who Jinkx and Major presumed were Bianca and Adore. Neither of them could say that they were surprised that the stern ringmistress also was the circus’ leader.

Bianca was seemingly in the midst of untying Adore’s corset and raised one eyebrow as the she noticed the three of them. She finished unlacing the garment and turned to face them fully.

“Thanks Bee” said Adore while eyeing the newcomers curiously, but walked off nonetheless.

“And who are these two?” she asked Max. Jinkx and Major glanced nervously at each other. The woman didn’t sound so inviting to say the least… Max didn’t seem faced by her unimpressed tone however.

“Remember I told you that I saw some new people joining us soon? I think I finally found them!” she explained excitedly.

“I knew it was them the instant they walked in! And they’ve got experience too!” she continued, Jinkx and Major confirming her words by nodding eargerly.

“Alright alright! I’ll consider it.” she told Max who thanked her and walked off again, Jinkx watching her leave nervously.

“So what are your names?” Bianca asked, finally turning her full attention to Major and Jinkx.

“My name is Jinkx Monsoon”

“And I’m Major Scales”

Bianca looked Jinkx up and down quickly and forwardly asked “You’re a drag queen, right?”

Jinkx nodded again, a bit flustered that she’d been seen through once again tonight.

“Y-yeah… I also go by Jerick if you want, but I usually prefer Jinkx” she explained, still not dropping her slightly higher, feminised voice.

“And my real name is Richard, if you prefer that” Major jumped in, likely trying to divert a bit of Bianca’s attention on Jinkx as he could tell it was making her more nervous. Jinkx appreciated his thoughtfulness, but was still determined not to get freaked out by the stern looking woman.

“No that’s alright, we usually all go by our drag names around here” Bianca said nonchalantly, confirming the two’s suspicion without having to ask.

“I used to do full drag too and I’m willing to do so again, but we seem to convince more people this way” Major added.

“What do you two do then?” Bianca asked.

“We do a lot of things. We’ve worked at a cabaret for a couple of years now, where we do music performances, some burlesque, comedy and a bit of commedia dell'arte when we get the chance” Jinkx explained.

“Could you show me an example?”

“…Do you have a piano by any chance?” Major asked.

Bianca led them to yet another tent which had a beautiful piano located in the middle of it. Neither of them had seen the performance that had happened here, but they were certainly curious about it.

Major sat down and started playing one of their pieces, making sure to pick one that showed off Jinkx’ opera-esque notes and their performance energy.

They were both so focused on the song and on doing their best, that neither of them noticed that Bianca was smiling until they finished, both of them breathing heavily.

They both turned and looked expectantly at Bianca, who nodded and raised both her hands in mock defeat.

“Alright, I like you. I could see you fitting in our circus family just fine, but… Are you really prepared to do this? Understand, we’re leaving this city tomorrow and then you’d be permanently on the road for a long while. I’m pretty sure the pay is higher than at a cabaret that allows drag queens to perform, but it isn’t exactly luxury living…” she told them, her face falling back into her serious expression.

“Oh trust me, leaving isn’t the problem. We’re currently staying in a dirt cheap hotel room and we usually stay in a small messy dressing room all day…” Jinkx promised her, trailing off. Major jumped in instead.

“We’re prepared. We aren’t scared of difficult living conditions and we’ve always wanted to see the rest of the country anyway! We’re already pretty much done packing in fact.”

“Alright alright… Well we do have an extra wagon at the moment… Yes okay, you’re hired! Be here tomorrow morning and I’ll get you properly officiated” she told them, a wide smile back on her face.

Jinkx made an excited noise and they both thanked Bianca endlessly.

“Yeah yeah that’s enough” she said, but still smiled and accepted a brief hug from the both of them.

“Now get home and get some sleep in your shitty hotel room for the last time, we get up early around here” she advised them.

They ran into Max on their way out, who was now out of makeup and had shorter blonde hair without her wig, and she got a hug and “thank you” from each of them too.

Once they were outside the circus, Jinkx squealed excitedly again and pulled Major into a tight hug.

“It’s finally happening…!” she said, letting an accelerated breath escape her lips.

“No turning back now… But we can do this!” he answered, sounding determined.

Jinkx turned to look at the circus one last time for the night, before they started walking the long way back to their tiny hotel room. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow…

#jinkx monsoon #group fic #circus au #au #max malanaphy #bianca del rio #tw homophobic slurs #tw poverty #debbie #rpdr fanfiction #submission #queen au #le cirque des reines

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