#dont fucking drive drunk stop putting peoples lives at risk

[castielfucks]

people who drive drunk im booing you. tomato tomato tomato tomato.

#youre a piece of shit #dont #dont fucking drive drunk stop putting peoples lives at risk #stop deciding your detriment is worth killing people #oh my god the people trying to defend and justify why its okay they drink n drive #because at least they know theyre bad or theyre good at it or they dont care abt themselves #these are not good or excusable reasons to put people families children at risk #like youre okay with the possibility of literally killing people...... how. #sorry guys. american holidays and events get so ugly. people are being stupid and it makes me mad #we lost kids in high school to drunk drivers. you cant leave town without seeing their faces. they were so young and so so kind.

[ashfantasyworld]

Jack Ironshield

I look up at the kingdom I have served for so long, there is not much I can say nor express in how disappointed I am in the cause I have been fighting for. Rebeca puts her hand on my shoulder “it will be fine big guy lets go there is nothing more we can do”. The reason I am writing this is I can not speak, and therefore I hope that writing my story can help people see me for who I really am.

Well to say that I have been anything other than a soldier my whole life would be a lie, i used most of my life serving the kingdom. But as soldiers we are not just fighting, sometimes we have to be involved in civil matters, and what happened I will always disagree with as long as I live. But before we get into that I think I need to introduce myself, my name is Jack Ironshiled. I am 27 now and have been a soldier for 9 years now, a mute 6 years after I almost got killed in the line of duty. After that I swore to become a protector. I had gotten a second chance, and that is how I did meet Rebeca. 

I had one mission to go and stop a bar fight, I went there and found a very drunk lady beating up a much bigger guy than herself. I tried to calm her down without much use, but I felt for her because she was drunk and angry at the guy touching her. So I decided not to toss her in jail for the night and carried her home. She was kicking and screaming most of the way before she fell asleep. As we got home to my place I put her to sleep in my bed, while I found a bed roll and slept on the floor. I did not think much of it. 

The very next day i wake up with a knife to my throat, “who the fuck are you” I look at the lady from the night before, fuck i cant say anything. I try to move my hands to make a sign, “Hey i asked you a fucking question who the fuck are you”. She is now shouting at me, “Hey can't you talk ANSWER ME”.... I nod gently, And move my hand slowly pointing at the scar over my neck. “Oh you can not actually talk”, I nod gently. “Well fuck why i am here”? No, what to do now I look around frantically and see a liquor bottle, and point at it. She looks up, “Oh it was that bad of a night?” I clench my hand into a fist and punch my other hand making a gesture of fighting, “oh i see and who are you?” I look around once more, and point at a big shield with the kingdom's mark on. “Oh fuck your a soilder or knight well im fucked”

I smile some but nod, as she removes the knife, and looks at me. “Hey i am sorry i did not mean to” I lift her up and put her in a chair, and move over to the kitchen. “Hey hey be calm big guy i don't want any” I turn around with a cup of tea and some bread and meat. And hand it to her. “Oh you're not mad” I shake my head and hold forward the food. “Is that for me?” I nod and place it infront of her. She looks at me and drinks the tea and eats the food, “damn big guy it tasted amazing but why are you so nice to me? Soldiers usually don't help people like us” I clench my fist and put it to my heart. “Oh you believe in protecting people '' I nod and smile. “Well I hate to burst your bubble but big guy, i think that you might be in the wrong line of work for that.” I tilt my head and look confused at her. “I guess you have not been home since the war started, and been out fighting.” I nod and show off all of my scars, she takes her hand and runs her fingers along them. Her hand feels so soft against my rugged skin, “I can't imagine how bad it has been. How long has it lasted now 7 years? Have you been deployed  all of them?”. I nod and look at her with big eyes, “yeah i can imagine a king wanting to use someone like you for fighting no words just a fighter.” I look down as she says that, i hate it that i can't speak and tell her i am not only that. She stands up and put a hand under my cheek and lift my head up so my eyes meet hers, “hey now i know you have a big heart, and you are soft even tho you look like big soldier if you weren't you would never have taken me home instead of jail” She smiles and sit back down, “its fine i know you had to do your job” she looks at me and smiles, “i hope big guy that you won't see the worst of it. But your king is treating us all like criminals after the war” she looks down. “But hey it might turn around ehh?”. I look at her disbelief and shake my head, she shrugs and pat me on the shoulder and hands me a note with an address. “If you ever need someone big, I am here for your name is rebeca by the way.” I grab a paper and write my own name on it. “Jack Ironshield, I have seen your father once but never spoke to him. So long jack I hope to see you again,” Rebeca walks out and disappears into the town. I am happy to have met someone like her, and I'll make sure to keep the note safe.

After some weeks back home I started to see what rebeca was talking about, collecting taxes from people who barely have money. We get people who do crime or just dont have money to pay, and put them in jail. I am starting to struggle with doing my job, this is wrong, it's not what I fight for. One day I am summoned to an event by the king to keep people in line, when I get there I am disgusted it is an execution. I stand and look at the people, as they are looking a lot and are cheering it on, some are crying. They start one after another is killed, some for crimes that deserve death some for crimes that don't deserve punishment. But I hear someone cry, it sounds like a child. I turn around and look in disbelief as I see a 12 year old boy in the ropes. And the guy starts to read as he drops and hangs, “this boy was caught stealing food from the king's stores and is therefore hanged by orders of the king. Anyone who is caught trying to steal from this city will meet the same faith, thiefs do not deserve to live” I look up at the boy as he hangs lifeless in the ropes, tears start falling down. I have had enough. I will not protect some king that will punish a little boy for trying to feed himself, I will not protect a corrupt king who only looks out for himself. I walk off on the way I drop off my armour i and weapons, and walk home. I open my closet, and take out my old weapons and armour from the war. The longsword has dents in it from how many times I have slayen or beaten down enemies, and the shield has marks after enemy weapons. My trusty dagger that always keeps me safe when most needed. And my old chain mail, rugged, dirty but a good armour. I pack some things and move to get going, but I want to say farewell to Rebeca. I look at the note and start walking towards her house, as I walk there I get into a poor part of town. I can see how people here are struggling just to survive, children working trying to feed their families. People look worn down, and near a breaking point. As I come to the house I see rebeca kneeling in front of her house, with a guard holding a sword to her neck while another one looks through her stuff. “So where is the money little girl, we know you have some” ‘. She looks at them and shouts “I have paid this month I am in the clear” One of the soldiers hit her, “this is the soldier tax for us to be nice”. Something in me snaps. I can feel the rage I had back in the war coming back, I walk towards them and they don't hear much. As they are busy trying to shake down Rebeca, I walk up behind one and drive my dagger through his chest, twisting it, killing him. The other one try to reach for his sword, but I grab him by his head and slam it into the ground. I keep slamming it back into the ground, blood goes everywhere, how could he. Soldiers are supposed to protect their citizens not hurt them, I keep slamming his head into the ground, I did not go to war for this. I did not risk my life for people to be abused. I feel a hand grabbing my shoulder. I turn and clench my fist ready to hit to kill, rebeca looks at me. “Hey hey big guy he died a long time ago, calm down now we need to leave and that fast.” She moves her hand to my face and wipes off some blood, “now calm down you need to think now.” I look around me seeing people looking, I hurry up and help her grab some things before we hurry and walk out of the city. I look up at the kingdom I have served for so long, there is not much I can say nor express in how disappointed I am in the cause I have been fighting for. Rebeca puts her hand on my shoulder “it will be fine big guy lets go there is nothing more we can do ''. This is part one of 2, i am helping a guy from my server writing his char. I think it came out pretty good so far hope u all like it. @erik-jj char

#dnd #dnd character #dnd oc #stroytelling #dnd campaign #fantasy

[askthiscpblog]

I'm coming from the creepypasta vigilante AU blog and I was wondering since they're shipped on that blog,,, could this blogs Imani and Jeff meet? I wonder how these versions of them would interact. I dont know if this blog does those kinds of requests at all because I'm very very new and just know that she's here and obviously so is he... if you dont feel free to ignore this. I hope you have a wonderful day!!

Imani’s eye was closed, her hands in the air as she moved her body to the beat. She could feel in the air surrounding her, and she felt people’s sweaty bodies touching hers. She would shy away from people touching her usually, as it reminded her of the night that made her what she now was, but tonight was special. She was out on a mission, a mission to find a target. She was in one of the shadiest nightclubs she had ever been to, and by that alone, it was her favorite. The horny, drunk, and high people surrounding her weren’t bothered by her scars being that they were too faded to give a fuck and that’s what she liked about it. Not only that but they didn’t ask for an ID.

She moved from the center of the swarm and to the edge, finally breaking through the throng of bodies and she walked over to the bar. She smiled at the bartender, a friend of hers from a few nights ago. The woman on the other side of the bar poured Imani a shot of whiskey and Imani tilted the shot to her out of respect- that woman was a real one. Downing the liquid, it was like ambrosia to her and there was a familiar warmth that came with it spread throughout her body. She placed the glass upside down on the bar and then turned around, sitting on a stool with one leg crossed over the other with her short dress riding up. Not that she minded. She eyed the crowd with interest, a determined and manic glow in her eye. She was going to find someone to amuse her tonight.

In the crowd, a white dot was moving through the dark, almost as if it wanted to be found. It weaved its way in and out of sight until it disappeared. That’s when Imani heard a slap on the bar and a voice calls out to the bartender.

“A single barrel of the Knob Creek.” The bartender took a 50-dollar bill off the bar and hands the whiskey with a shot glass to a man. He was in a bright white hoodie with its hood up over his head, not letting too many people see his face. At least, what haze most could see though anyways.

“Ah, the good stuff.” He pours himself a shot and downs it. His head shakes with satisfaction and proceeds to pour another shot.

Imani turned towards the man in the white hoodie, a small but amused smile on her face. She watched him pour another shot and then determined then and there that he was going to be her entertainment tonight. If he knew it or not, after all, you don’t dress like that unless you were a drug dealer or into some shady shit. Either of those was good enough for her. Imani beckoned over the bartender once more and slid cash over to her with a smile on her face as the redhead opposite of her poured her another shot of whiskey. Without hesitation, Imani leaned her head back and downed it, closing her eye and relishing the feeling of it traveling down her throat.

“One of the gods’ best gifts to man.”

“Amen to that sister!” He yelled and takes another shot, then follows up with another, then another. Jeff paid no mind to the woman. He is out to relax and not deal with shit at the mansion. Being the person who everyone picked on was a bore. Even more so when he couldn’t gut them like they deserve for making him as irate as he is.

Imani, meanwhile, twirled one of her coils around her finger, eyeing him with interest. She’s bored and wanted entertainment for the night. She chuckled a bit and looked over to him, a smile on her crimson lips. Her accent coated her words as she spoke to him.

“You look like you can handle a few rounds. So, I challenge you,” she pointed one finger at him, “to a drinking contest. Because I’m trying to get fucked up and I need a valid reason. Winner gets…” She reached into her purse and pulled out two 50-dollar bills and set them on the bar, “one hundred dollars. Loser gets to wake up tomorrow with a headache and no hundred dollars.”

Jeff was not listening to the woman, thinking she another drunk cunt. That was until he heard her say drinking contest and the winner gets a hundred bucks/

‘Not a bad idea. Free cash is free cash. Not to mention I could get a free kill when she is knockout drunk.’ he thought to himself. A real smile on his face formed, unseen by the woman sitting close to him. The thoughts only became more devious. He took one more shot, turning the glass upside-down to signal he’s finished. For now, anyway.

“Sure. Why the fuck not? I’ve been having a shitty fucking week. I could use a little fun. What’s our poison of choice?” his voice is a bit raspy from the whiskey and excitement. It is unsettling to anyone who isn’t in the crowd that he goes with. Or to those who are not used to the underworld. He puts his hand in his hoodie pocket and grabbed his knife. He lets go of it right away and grabs a wad of cash close by. He pulls out a 50 from it and slams it on the table. He’s known as the legendary drinker at the house for a reason. Now he is going to show this bitch that. Imani called out to the bartender, a smile on her face, one that was unusual for her.

“Gimme a bottle of Jack, please and thank you…” The woman Imani had fucked a couple days ago set the bottle down on the bar. Imani poured the liquid into her shot glass, holding it up to the man she had challenged. He may be the best drinker wherever he’s from, but Imani had a trick up her sleeve. That trick being her god tier level alcohol tolerance. Whether it was from being brought back from the hands of death by a supernatural being that she couldn’t exactly comprehend. Or not, she didn’t know, and as she downed the liquid she didn’t care. If she couldn’t beat him, she was going to match him drink for fucking drink. And after? She was either going to sleep with him and then tear his innards out and spread them across her home like decorations or do the latter. She’d see where the night took her. And with that, the game began, and to her delight, she wasn’t disappointed.

Jeff takes two shots at the same time, one in each hand. Jeff can’t lose when it comes to Jack Daniel’s with a full stomach of food. He was here to have a long night and relax. This contest may shorten it, so she better put up a fight if she is going to interrupt his night off.

As Imani took shot after shot, she realized something. Whether it be the alcohol in her system or what have you, her paranoia was flickering. Something was off about this man, and she wasn’t sure whether she liked it or not. Part of her was screaming fun, fun, fun! The other part of her wanted to retrieve the gun from her purse and blow his brains out for making her feel even a little on edge. Ultimately, she decided to relax. She had plans for tonight, and the plan was to relax and then kill someone, and she would do both. She hummed as the game ended, and they polished off the bottle and she spoke, her accent coming out strong.

“It seems we have a tie, huh?” she had to admit, she’s impressed by how much he could put down. Maybe she wouldn’t kill him. She thought about it for a second. No, she was going to slit his throat regardless of his amazing drinking ability.

“I’ll let you have the hundred, for buying that nice bottle of Jack. Ciao.” She hopped from her stool, heading towards the door of the nightclub. If he didn’t follow her, he would live she decided. If he did? He’d either eat a bullet or get his throat slit.

In the contest, Jeff saw a moment of panic in her body movement. That made him grin during one of the shots. This caused the liquid to pour out of the slits in his mouth. When she started to leave, he waited for her to leave sigh.

“Not bad…not bad at all.” He said to himself. He grabbed the money he won and decided to tail her. This girl might provide a good night after all, either as a kill or even more money.

“Now for the real fun.” He started to follow her 50 feet away making sure he blends in the crowds of people. If not then the shadows. She never left his sight as he caressed the handle of the blade in his hoodie. It felt natural in his hands, all too natural.

She could feel his presence, she didn’t have to see him know he was following her. She could feel her whole-body humming, and her breathing sped up. Her pupil dilating in excitement as her body adjusted to the chemical changes it was making as her brain tipped into a psychotic episode. She knew this night would be a fun one. She exited the club, breathing in the night air and feeling it fill her lungs. She walked down the street, to her car, her steps rhythmic. She wasn’t wearing heels tonight, she wanted to be silent. And silent she was. The night was still, and she ignored the man’s presence as she walked. One, two, three, pause. In what seemed like no time at all she reached her car, and as she was walking, she adjusted her body in little ways. She swayed a bit, made her steps more uneven, less polished and perfect. She had to play the part, didn’t she? In all honesty, she knew she wasn’t fit to drive and wasn’t going to risk damaging her baby. She had friends a few blocks from the club that she was going to stay with. But this brought the perfect opportunity and she opened her purse, feigning looking for her keys. What she touched was the cold metal of her pistol. No. She shifted her hand a bit and touched the wooden handle of her favorite blade. He had provided her with entertainment, he would get the knife. In her mind, it was much classier than using the gun. And so, she wrapped her fingers around it, taking it out of her purse, as he got closer and her strength, and high, peaked.

He stopped almost on cue when she grabbed the handle of her weapon. He stands under the street light and behind her. Jeff finds it funny that she tried to act drunker than she was. With his years of drinking, he has become an expert of the drunken movements and language. It’s also funny she can’t hide the blood lust of hers. No woman in their right mind would challenge a guy to a drinking contest unless she has friends with her. Although she will say she has balls. She pulls a weapon in public and ready to kill.

“Well…what are you waiting for? I’m ripe for the taking.” He taunts to her, trying to get her to attack first.

As she turned, she couldn’t control the wide smile on her face, and she let out a chuckle. She wasn’t scared, no, she was very interested. Who exactly was this man? She didn’t know if she would consider fucking him now, after all, he looked like the Joker had sex with Deadpool and he happened to be their lovechild. Imani didn’t know if she was into that. She also wasn’t sure how she should let her behavior swing, manic or calculated she eyed him, sizing him up, an occasional manic chuckle escaping her lips as she did so. It was then that she decided to let her fucks blow in the wind and dropped her purse on the ground with a thud.

“Oh, darling. I know you are. You wouldn’t follow me out here for nothin’ would ya?” Then, she launched herself at him. Well, not at him at the street lamp he was standing under. She didn’t know who she saw him as, the many men who had raped her in her lifetime or a plain enemy. But she was going to give him something to fear at night if he made it passed tonight, and with the way she was moving and advancing and toying with him, some may doubt he would.

Jeff stands there as she heads her way. He grabs her knife arm at the last second.

“Must be hard to see with one eye.” he chuckles and with unnatural strength punches her in the gut and goes to try and same here on the ground. Jeff is going to have fun tonight the best way possible and if the cunt is lucky he’ll do her a favor and make her beautiful like him.

Imani felt pain radiate through her torso when he punched her, and the breath knocked from her lungs. He was strong, she’d give him that. Unnaturally strong, like a woman she met in the alleyway of Denny’s one time. She had to admit as she looked at him that she was impressed. But not impressed enough to spare him a left hook. For once she didn’t know if she was going to win this one or come out mostly unscathed and that was what made this fight fun. And oh, was she having the time of her life as her fist connected with his face faster than he could block.

He got knocked back, letting go of her as he stumbled, putting a hand on his cheek. He had to give it to her that she could throw a punch, but that was it. It was only a simple punch in the face. He looks at her with eyes of glee but with worry in them. The worry is because he hopes that this won’t be a letdown like the last few kills he’s had.

“Come on. Is that all you got? I want to have fun and take my time with this. I was expecting to fight a wolf, not a puppy.” He mocked her, hoping to rile her up.

“Here.” He pulls a knife out of his hoodie. Dropping it on the ground, he kicks it towards her with precision. Imani watched him kick the knife over to her, and she kicked it to the side away from herself, tossing her own knife next to it. She preferred hand-to-hand combat anyway. Chuckling to herself before speaking, knowing damn well that he was baiting her. She had grown up with seven stepbrothers, she knew that game well. She also knew that he was a being of brute strength, but she didn’t doubt that he was fast as well. But she knew how to beat someone stronger than her, it’s how she beat her daughter without fail. Turn all their strengths against them.

“I don’t fight like a wolf or a puppy, nguruwe, I fight like a woman. Now make your move, big man.”

‘Interesting.’ Jeff thought to himself. Not taking the bait mean she been through this type of game before. No matter, he had met people who played this game. He always won in the end anyway, no matter the other person’s experience.

Jeff took a step, then two, then he made a mad dash at her. Going low below the stomach to knock her on the ground. If he could get on top then it would be game over for her, but that’s no fun. So, he shuddered at the last second to see if she can counterattack. No point on ending this so soon.

The scarred woman knew he was holding back as he charged at her but didn’t mind it. After all, he was still proving to be rather entertaining. She was hyper-aware of everything going on around her as she feigned to the left. She then changed her movements at the last moment, going right, drawing her fist back before slamming it into his side. She backed out of his immediate range of motion, she knew he was stronger than her. So, she knew that she had to use her speed. She had places to be, and sugar daddies and mommies to leech money from.

The blow knocked him off balance but he was able to catch himself by putting his left hand on the ground to form a sideways three-point stand. He pushed himself back up and charge at her again, with more speed this time. His arms are wide open ready to grapple the girl like the bug in a Venus-flytrap. Still not going all in. Still making his assault flawed. Although he looks a bit aggravated despite his smile.

She analyzed him for a brief second before meeting him head-on. One step, two steps, and… three. She delivered a fast kick to his chest, her right foot flat against his sternum, leaning into it to make sure the kick didn’t roll off him. He was leaving himself wide open when he rushed at her. Why?

“You deliberately leave yourself open. Either you’re an idiot, or you know that if you kill me right now, you’ll get bored after. Or it’s a little of both. Either kill me now or stop stringing me along. I’ve got shit to do. And I’m cold.”

He snorted with aggravation, responding, “I was hoping you were holding back, but now I see you aren’t-”

He pulls out the second knife from the seat of his pants and stabs it in her leg as he recoiled back from her kick.  He then shoves her off and get on top of her and aim the knife at her face and strike and yells, “You should go to sleep then!”

She felt the red-hot pain and uncomfortable near itchiness of the knife entering her leg and she gritted her teeth in frustration, drowning out the pain. That was going to be a bitch to heal. Before he could plunge the knife into her face, she jolted her head to the left, seeing it go right next to where her head had before been. She was fine with getting stabbed and dying. But by a knife that already had her leg blood on it? No sir. She reached into her mouth, getting the razor blade under her tongue and slashing at his hand that was holding the knife, aiming to force him to drop it. She didn’t want to kill him. She knew someone who would adore tearing into him. Especially after he had, you know, fucking stabbed her.

He was not expecting a for a razor from there, so he had no time to mentally ready himself. The blade released from his grasp and it dropped next to her head with me the sound of metal hitting the concrete. This made his mood changed like a coin flipping over. His smile grew wider, almost too wide.

“That’s more like it!” He goes to grab the knife again and puts his right hand on her throat to makes sure she can’t move her head again.

She had to resist the urge to scream like a banshee when his hand wrapped around her throat. She did not like that, no she did not. Fuck that noise. Her eyes darted to his other hand reaching for the knife by her head. She balled up her left hand into a fist, swinging as hard as she could in the awkward position, aiming for his jaw. She hated not being on top, she really, really did.

It hits, although not very effective it did stun him for a second. She felt his hand loosen around her throat and felt slight relief. But he still wasn’t from her, and she wanted him off. She counted each hard thump of her heart as she became too anxious for logic. This situation was all too familiar for her comfort. That’s when she heard it- sirens. Police sirens, close by. She didn’t know if they were for her and her opponent, and she didn’t care. She didn’t want to be here if they came, that’s for certain. So, she settled on the last resort. Her nails. If she couldn’t get him off, she was sure as hell at least going to take at least one of his gross eyes with her. She wanted out.

He looks away seeing the red and blue lights coming their way and a sigh of disappointment came from his lips. It then turned into a loud groan of annoyance as more air fled his lungs.

“Well. Shit fuck that sucks. Just when it was starting to get fun. Sorry to eeeeeeeeeeeend!?” He sees the nails coming for the nope zone. He hopped back and stopped her chest hard.

“BITCH!!!”

“FREEZE!” An officer points a gun at Jeff.

Jeff smiles at him and b-lines at him. Bullets shoot at him, some hitting their mark, but it doesn’t slow him down. He scooped up the first knife he dropped earlier and tackles the cop. His knife plunged down on him many times. Hearing metal pierce flash, then hitting bones as the cop fell to the ground dead from the impact. He then looks at the girl on the ground showing her on how much he was holding back.

Imani saw this as an opportunity to get up and book it. Yanking the door open, she jumped into the car peeling away from the cops and the parking lot. This was already a stolen car, all she needed to do was ditch it in a lake or something. Yes, it was her baby, but her life was more necessary than anything else. It’ll get rid of the evidence for a while, and she needed to duck down at a friend’s place. That’ll work, for now.

#mod.a #Mr.E.C #creepy pasta #creepypasta #ask creepypasta #jeff the killer #Imani #cpoc #creepypasta oc #fanfiction #fanfic #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #creepypasta fandom

[macbookpro-hard-drive]

unlonely [michael m. x reader] pt.2

like what i do? consider buying me a coffee!

accidentally spends the last three hours writing this. whoops.

the good part of having fics planned out is that u dont have to sit around for nearly as long like “uGHHHH WHAT DO I WRITE” story-wise. writing wise? still hell. 

also dont expect this please sdfhkjdsfh i only managed this because its a saturday and i dont have anything else to do rn because homework??? ill do that later

warnings: sad michael. more than once. a hospital is here. cool. reader is a bitter fuck. if i need to warn for anything else pls tell me.

            Michael had the habit of talking himself through things. With you there, he excused it off as him explaining it to you. The first time you caught this little habit was during the first dissection the two of you did together, listening to him give himself a pep talk through the first few minutes before shutting up at the slightly worried glance you shot his way. During video games, you caught him muttering his plan to himself. And now? Now you had Michael Mell in your backseat, talking over the directions your phone gave you, filling you in on the same plan you’d heard for the past week. Every now and then, you’d shush him long enough to hear where you were supposed to turn, and then he’d start back up, saying how he was going to find Jeremy, go through his speech - something he spared you from, on the account of the fact it was pretty personal, which... you couldn’t lie, you weren’t complaining about that - and then maybe the three of you would go out somewhere if Jeremy saw the light and immediately shed that dickish persona he’d taken on (Michael’s dream situation) or if Jeremy realized he was a dick and figured maybe he should apologize to Michael not in the middle of a party (your dream situation). A weight stayed in your stomach the entire time you were driving to Jake’s house - and then it lightened upon seeing shifting behind you.

            Slowing to a stop at a red light, you finally took the chance to steal a glance at Michael in the backseat. And you couldn’t help but fucking stare at him, before the light flickered green and you tore your gaze away. He kept babbling, not noticing the look you’d given him. Maybe the two of you would watch horror movies when you got back to your place - that’d be dope, wouldn’t it?

            “Michael?” You finally said, breaking him out of his endless rambling.

            “Yes?”

            “What the actual fuck are you wearing?”

            “What?” He asked, “look, I needed a disguise! I don’t get invited to parties,” he said, “no one will ever know it’s me!”

            “Michael, you could have literally put a hood up or put on a mask and done the same thing-”

            “That’s too simple!” And then, he paused. “Eyes on the road, [y/n],” he said, and you could hear his fucking smirk.

            “They are, Mell.”

            “Yeah, right.”

            For a split second, you debated slamming on brakes. The thought tempted you for another moment, and then you finally decided against it - you couldn’t risk breaking his nose or something. Besides - fate had other plans, as you finally turned into Jake’s neighborhood. If your phone hadn’t informed you that your destination was on the right, the cars lining the street definitely would have. A few houses ahead, you could see plenty of cars pulled onto the front lawn of a pretty damn nice looking house - and you sort of stare, wondering how this many people would show up to one high school party. You glanced back to Michael, the car moving at a snail’s pace down the street. 

            “I’m gonna circle back around,” you announced. He gave you a quick nod.

            Ten minutes later, you’re sitting alone in your parked car and Michael’s left you with the promise that he’ll be back in maybe and hour or two. You reclined your seat, turned up the radio, and just sort of waited - not wanting to burn your phone battery anymore, because your dad had stolen your charger out of your car earlier that night - for the next few hours. You watched people filter in and out, like Brooke Lohst finally showing up in this handmade dog outfit that looked like an attempt for a sexy dog (and, honestly, you couldn’t say that it wasn’t - but that was more Brooke than the costume); or this little group of people running back out to their car and leaving, laughing the entire way, and you started hoping that they weren’t drunk; and then you saw Jeremy fucking Heere, pulling up in a slightly beat up car (and for a moment, you’re confused - you’d never seen him drive before, had you? You didn’t know if he could) but that washed away the moment he stepped out, dressed in this fucking dorky cyborg-looking costume that made you stifle back a laugh because of how damn cheesy it was, like he was some kid in a middle school play.

            An hour later, you saw Michael crossing the front lawn to your car. That god-awful costume is discarded somewhere, leaving him just in the shirt and shorts he’d been wearing when you picked him up, and you could see him shaking as he made his way over. He pulled the car door open, sliding into the passenger seat and shutting it all in one fluid motion. He didn’t speak to you. He just sat there, plucking at his shirt or clicking his phone on and off to glance at the time - half past ten, you noted - or running a hand through his hair, already a mess from the thousands of times he’d done it before.

            You didn’t ask what happened. All you did was pull the car into reverse, and slowly eased your way out of your spot, making a quick U-turn to leave Jake’s house in your rear-view mirror.

            But after a few minutes of silent driving, you finally speak up. “My family should still be out. We can go to my room and watch movies, or listen to music or something.” You paused for a moment. “Oh, fuck, Michael - you haven’t even tried my kick-ass hot cocoa. I put mini marshmallows and whipped cream and whatever you like, I guess.” You paused once more, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel. “If you want peppermint, I think I have some candy canes stashed away somewhere that I can crush up. Or we have cinnamon stll - oh shit, Michael, we have the stuff to make cinnamon rolls. That’d be fucking dope.” You stopped, keeping your eyes pinned to the road as you pull your right hand away, extending it to Michael. “We’re gonna be okay, Michael.”

            And after a moment, Michael’s hand was in yours, squeezing it tightly without a word. And when you steal another glance, that look in his eyes is back: like he’s a thousand worlds away from you. He was so distant, like maybe he fell through this reality into another - and maybe, in a way, he did. Maybe Jeremy and that supercomputer-thing and everything was a world away from you, something foreign to you - but that wasn’t going to stop you. Michael might have been up in the clouds, but you were going to try your fucking hardest to ground him again. You weren’t going to tell Michael that you hated Jeremy Heere. He didn’t need to hear that - Michael needed some sort of security, and you were going to try and give him that as best as you could then.

            Michael had never been to your house before. The lights in the front yard reflected in of his glasses as he followed you up to the house, the chirp of your car locking behind the two of you as you fumbled with your house key. You kicked off your shoes as you stepped inside, giving Michael the most general tour you could - the living room off to the right, the small dining room to the left, and the kitchen behind that - before guiding him into the kitchen. He leaned against the kitchen island, watching you gather your ingredients, throwing quick glances back to him every once in a while. You reached over the stovetop, turning the oven on before pulling out one of those Pillsbury cinnamon roll tubes, shooting him a quick smile.

            “Dad likes to make them from scratch. Mom and I don’t have the patience for that sometimes,” you said, before returning to the hot chocolate.

            Milk, brown sugar, cinnamon, a block of chocolate - which Michael watched you chop the entire time, wondering how you had the patience to deal with that shit, because he probably would have given up halfway through - and he watched you fish through cabinets, pulling out three different bottled: vanilla, ground cinnamon, and... ground cayenne pepper? He walked over to your side, leaning against the counter wordlessly as he watched you work, taking a bowl to mix all your dry ingredients together.

            “You wanna help?” You asked, looking up at him.

            “What’s the cayenne pepper for?”

            You only shot him a quick smile. “Baking spray should be in that cabinet,” you motioned with your elbow, “and the pans are in that big bottom drawer.” You extended the cinnamon rolls to him, “you can break these open, if you want.”

            You ignored the rough hit he took to his palm once the tear-away shit didn’t work, the pop! of the tube greeting him a second later. 

            “Do you do this often?” Michael asked, the hiss of him greasing the pan greeting you a minute later.

            “... Hot cocoa?” You asked, before shrugging. “When it’s cold enough, yeah.”

            “No. I mean... this.” He said, “the whole, uh... cheering up thing.”

            You paused, turning your attention to the milk on the stove. “I...” You started, before pressing your lips together. “No.” You poured in cups of milk, mixing brown sugar in before you put it over the heat, keeping a close eye on it so that it doesn’t burn. “I don’t.” You pressed your lips together.

            “You’re really good at it,” he said softly. Stealing a glance, you found his attention on placing each cinnamon roll, and you were glad for that. He didn’t need to look at you - not when you were starting to drop the facade you’d kept up of happy, nerdy you who just wanted to talk to him about music and video games and maybe see him smile again. 

            He didn’t need to see just how lonely you were.

            Thirty minutes later, the two of you are in your living room, watching old movies on Netflix and sharing a blanket. Michael liked to make snarky comments during movies, pointing out stupid effects or making fun of the stupider lines (which, you couldn’t lie, you’d mimic them too). Cinnamon rolls cooled on the coffee table, stacked high and iced graciously, and the hot cocoa had been drained the moment the two of you took sips - which made a warm, cozy feeling of satisfaction bubble through you when Michael practically glowed at the taste before admitting you’d been right to gloat earlier. Which one of you fell asleep first, you weren’t sure. What you were sure of was waking up the next morning, curled up next to Michael with your head on his shoulder, his arm curled around you securely. The TV screen had been shut off, the cinnamon rolls on the table a few less (and you imagined that it had been your parents coming in, not wanting to disturb you and Michael since you’d been sleeping), and Michael’s soft breathing ended up soothing you back to sleep. He’d taken his glasses off at some point. You fought back a small smile at that - he still looked nice without his glasses, which was unfair because not everyone could look nice with and without glasses. You nestled back into his shoulder, growing slightly closer to him as you shut your eyes. His arm pulled you slightly closer, and you could feel his face against the side of your head.

            It was nice. Michael was always warm, and it was comfortable since you knew that, without Michael and the blanket, you’d be freezing your ass off on the couch. Even with the way your neck and back were positioned, you were comfortable with Michael - and even though you knew that your body would be aching tomorrow, hating you for not moving, you were okay with that. That moment had been worth it.

            “Jeremy.” He looked up, the little voice in the back of his head, bringing him back down to earth once more. Jeremy couldn’t really lie - he was glad to finally have a distraction. It was cold outside, and there he was, leaning against Brooke’s car with his fingers intertwined with hers while she was deep in conversation with this guy from the swim team and his girlfriend - some art student, Jeremy noticed, as she had graphite and paint smudges on her hands - about... something. He ended up tuning them out, having lost interest in the conversation - and besides, he didn’t need to pay attention. He had the SQUIP there to fill in the gaps when he needed to speak.

            The SQUIP spoke once more. “Look at the building.” He obeyed, and in a flicker, a familiar shade of red met his eyes. Michael. One hand at his backpack strap, the other holding his phone as he stood outside. A minute later, another person walked out, greeting him before Jeremy watched Michael push his headphones down and around his neck, immediately starting up conversation with this stranger. And then he watched the two of you laugh together, chatting happily as watched both of you made your way to Michael’s car. 

            Then Jeremy recognized you. He’d seen you in his math class, quiet and always keeping to yourself - and now you were with Michael, laughing about some story Michael must had been dying to tell you, judging by how animated he grew. The two of you fit well together, laughing at the same stupid things, you playfully shoving Michael at one point before the two of you approached his car, parked close enough that Jeremy wouldn’t have had to turn around to watch the two of you get into Michael’s car and leave. The fact that the two of you got along was a sweet sight, but... he couldn’t fight the pit in the bottom of his stomach of anger, of sadness- because that was Michael. His former best friend.

            “It looks like Michael’s moved on fast,” His SQUIP said, as Jeremy watched Michael’s car disappear out of the parking lot.

            “Jeremy!” Brooke’s voice snapped him back to reality, “are you okay?” She said, worming her hand out of his, stretching and popping her fingers. “You were hurting my hand.”

            He didn’t realize how tightly he’d been squeezing her hand. But he nodded, making up some bullshit excuse that he’d just been thinking before shrugging it off as unimportant. Just as he always did nowadays.

            Fridays were always your least favorite school days - purely because it was an countdown to the freedom of the weekend for you. Mondays also sucked - but Fridays? You’d fucking kill for a school day to be over already. But you were glad to confirm your plans with Michael tomorrow to just sit around and binge Queer Eye on Netflix at your house - because at least that gave you something to look forward to on Saturday - and make your way home, so that you can lie down and die a bit internally in peace. The heavy thump of your backpack made you frown, as you threw yourself onto your bed, falling face-first into your comforter and letting out a soft groan of oh thank god when you heard your bedroom door open, and the familiar chuckle of your father sound out.

            “Tough day?” He asked, and you let out a grunt of confirmation, not bothering to move. He chuckled again. “I made some cinnamon rolls earlier.” You snapped up, looking to him. "Save some for Michael, [y/n].”

            You beamed, rolling over and sitting up. That’s when you noticed he’d dressed up nicely, redoing his tie for what what probably the tenth time. “Where are you going?” 

            “The Murphys invited us out for dinner tonight,” he said, “thought I’d take them up on the offer. I’ll let them know you wanted to be there,” he shot you a quick smile. “Thought you could use the rest, kiddo.” He paused, lowering his voice. “But if they offer, I’ll bring you back something.”

            Sometimes you were glad that your family had rich friends. That was definitely one of those moments. He made some other comment, talking about how they’ll probably get back late so don’t worry or wait up for them or anything. The door shut behind him as he left, and you fell back onto your bed, debating whether you should go get a cinnamon roll or to take a fucking baller nap that you deserved because high school sucks. 

            And then you woke up a few hours later, the sound of a car horn blaring outside. You grabbed your phone, expecting maybe your dad had texted and called you and upon not getting any response, figured that maybe that would have woken you up - but you were greeted with nothing. So you made your way to the front door, pulling the door open with the expectation of yelling at some asshole that other people live in this neighborhood, only to be greeted with the sight of a familiar P.T. Cruiser in your driveway. No wonder it sounded so loud.

            “Michael, what the FUCK-” You yelled out, only for him to sort of lean out his window.

            “I’ll explain on the way!” He called out. You scowled slightly and hoped that this was something important enough to literally disturb the entire fucking neighborhood, and snagged your keys, sliding into your shoes before leaving your house and hopping into the passenger side, narrowly avoiding smashing into Michael’s bag in the floorboard.

            He barely had pulled out of your driveway before he started talking. Jeremy’s dad had ended up at his house, talking to him about how Jeremy had basically disrespected him and he realized just how absent he’d been as a father - causing him to seek Michael’s help, because Jeremy would listen to Michael if he tried harder to talk to him. So he launched into this whole talk, about how if maybe he tried to be a better friend to Jeremy, he could get through to him - and the whole thing stung. Jeremy abandoned him, not the other way around, and there Michael was, talking about how he needed to try harder and reach out to him again. Mountain Dew Red was supposed to deactivate the SQUIP, according to some dude that Michael played Overwatch with, and he had managed to get his hands on a case of the stuff a few weeks back, and he luckily had a bottle left in his bag - so maybe if he talked to Jeremy before the play, he could help him-

            You finally spoke up, having watched Michael run out of breath while speaking a thousand miles an hour. “Woah, shit, Mikey, slow down.” He barely had a chance to glance over to you, before you spoke again: “eyes on the road, Michael.” He looked away, giving a single nod. “So. Why am I here?”

            He didn’t answer immediately, flicking his turn signal on long enough to change lanes. “I didn’t want to go alone.”

            “I don’t have any money on me, dude-”

            “I’ll pay for you!” He said, cutting you off, "or you can stay in the car if you want, I just - I need you there.” He breathed, before finally tacking on a soft, “just in case.”

            Upon reaching the school, the two of you were lucky enough to snag the two seats closest to the backstage door. Michael talked to you idly, his leg bouncing restlessly as he kept debating going then or waiting until the lights went down for the show. Eventually, you watched him reach down to the floor beneath his seat, grabbing his bag and sliding forward enough to throw it over one of his shoulders. When you reached for his hand to stop him, he reassured you it was just so that he could get back there faster when he needed to. Maybe it’d be better if he waited until after the show to see Jeremy - give him a chance to maybe not fuck up the show and have Christine Canigula angry at him.

            So he relaxed, the lights going down as the two of you watched Christine come to the edge of the stage, giving some announcements about how it’d been a hard few weeks for Middleborough and how important theatre is to bring everyone together for basically what’s supposed to be a good time. As if on cue, you and Michael glanced at each other the moment she made a comment about what Rich would say - cracking a small smile at each other before listening to her final comment about the costumes from Hobby Lobby. The show started, the lights on stage letting up as you watched a couple students fumble through their lines a bit, before... changing. Newfound passion flooded into them, the show rivaling Broadway plays - and you leaned back, looking to Michael, who’s grip turned vice-like on his bag’s strap.

            “This... is way too good for a school play,” he whispered to you, before realization hit. “Oh god. Oh fuck,” he started, “I need to get in there.”

“Wait, Michael-” You placed your hand over his, “hold on - I don’t know if that’s a good idea since-”

            “I’ll be fine, [y/n].” He shot you a quick smile, “I’ll be back. Just... stay here.” 

            “Michael, they just started the show,” you whispered, ignoring a shush from behind you. “If you go now-”

            “I’ll be fine!” He said, voice raising slightly. He stared at you, and then - all in a quick moment - he leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours for a split second before dashing away, leaving you dumbfounded by the sudden move.

            “... What the fuck?” You mumbled, sinking back into your seat before turning your attention back to the play as best as you could, ignoring the burning in your cheeks. Eventually, the scene ended, the lights doing down long enough for actors to slip off stage. You watched the lights come back up, Brooke coming on stage and completely blowing everyone else away with nothing but raw energy. And then you watched as the stage slowly fell empty.

            That was when you moved, slipping to the backstage door, barely getting a hand on it before a screech rung out. You threw the door open, letting it slam behind you as you head up the steps to hear several thumps hit the floor, and then you saw Michael, letting out a scream as he stepped back, staring at all the bodies unconscious before him. Something inside of you jumped to action, as you found your phone and immediately called 911. Holding the phone between your face and shoulder, you found Michael standing there in shocked silence, and guided him over to somewhere to sit - him practically falling into the chair you found. 

            Later, you stood beside Michael, a orange shock blanket draped over his shoulders as the two of you watched a teacher and your classmates get wheeled out on stretchers, a paramedic standing with the two of you. Her questions felt lost on Michael, because while you tried to help him answer, you didn’t exactly know what was going on. She knelt down beside him, trying to comfort him, slowly dropping her questions before finally the police arrived. You were permitted to leave before Michael was, because while you didn’t know much, you still sort of counted as a witness. Leaving Michael alone in there was tough, because you could see how shaken he’d been, but you found yourself sitting on the curb next to his car. Your mind fluttered back to that kiss, as quick and impulsive as it was, and you started to wonder whether you should bring it up to Michael - in the end deciding that yes, you should, but not that day. Too much had happened to just casually approach Michael and ask about what the fuck that kiss was about.

            Eventually, footsteps approached you, and you were greeted with the sight of a slightly more calm Michael. His hands still shook slightly, and he fumbled with his jacket and his bag and everything he could get his hands on, but he wasn’t as he had been inside, no longer on the verge of tears or a panic attack. You stood to greet him, about to speak when he stopped in front of you.

            “I’m gonna go to the hospital,” he said, voice quiet. “Y’know, uh... wait with Mr.Heere, I guess. I’ll drop you off-”

            You didn’t hesitate. “If you think I’m not staying with you, you’re an idiot, Mell.”

            He cracked a small smile at that, insisting he was okay to drive as you reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat. Taking the chance to call your mom, you explained everything you could: that you were going to stay with Michael at the hospital after something happened at the play and he was worried about his friends, saying that he needed someone else there for support and you wanted to be that someone. For a moment, you thought she was going to say you had to come home - but then she agreed, understanding as always, and asked if you needed anything. You rattled off a list of general stuff - water, maybe a phone charger or two if they could bring them - before thanking her. She told you she wouldn’t be able to bring it immediately, since they’re at dinner - although saying she was willing to leave early if it was needed, and you coaxed that away. You didn’t need any of this stuff immediately. You only thanked her again.

            You’d never seen Jeremy’s dad before - and, well, you never had a reason to. But... he wasn’t like what you expected. He looked like he was slightly taller than Jeremy, but heavier and more tired. He had this thick, ginger beard, and a balding head, and you noticed how he had soft, gentle eyes. He greeted you and Michael with a small wave, a cup of shitty hospital coffee on the table next to him. Michael introduced the two of you, and part of you felt guilty for hating Jeremy all of a sudden. His dad treated you so kindly, as if you were also one of Jeremy’s friends. As if you were here because you were worried about fucking Jeremy Heere, and not because you wanted to make sure Michael was okay and had some extra support.

            An hour later, you received a text from your mother saying that she was waiting outside. So you told Michael where you were going, and you wandered your way out of the hospital, taking note of everywhere you went so that you could get back to where you were without wandering like a lost puppy without Michael. Your mom handed you your bag, giving you a hug and a kiss on the forehead, saying that she was always a phone call away if you wanted to go home or talk or needed anything else. Your heart swelled in your chest, and you fought back tears as you hugged her and told her you loved her, before you left her and your dad to return to Michael.

            Exhaustion hit you on the way back, and you plugged in two chargers for you and Michael’s phones. Eventually Michael fell asleep, head on your shoulder, and it’s just you and Mr.Heere and a few other people in the waiting room, questions filling your heads. You watched Jeremy’s dad stand, offering to get you coffee if you wanted, and you politely refused. Your head fell against Michael’s, as uncomfortable as it was for your neck, and eventually, against all the discomfort of that day, you fell asleep.

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