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mr-smith-stories · 2 years

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Mr. Smith #22: History Class

It was a beautiful, albeit cold, February morning, and Mr. Smith woke up at 4AM and rolled tiredly out of bed, because he had forgotten how to read the time on his digital alarm clock, setting it for a random time. Mr. Smith’s alarm unfortunately woke a very annoyed Simon in the other room, who began to yell at Mr. Smith, who then came in to talk to him.

“MR. SMITH!” Simon shouted. “It’s FOUR AM!”

Mr. Smith scratched his head. “What does AM stand for again?”

Simon sighed, exasperated. “It means it’s four in the morning!”

Mr. Smith began to count on his fingers. “So it stands for A Morning?” Mr. Smith asked.

Simon sighed. “No. Just go back to bed!”

Mr. Smith crossed his arms and sat criss cross applesauce in the middle of Simon’s room. “No! I’m staying here until it’s time to go to college.”

“Mr. Smith!” Simon yelled. “I’m tired! I want to sleep.”

“We don’t always get what we want,” Mr. Smith said. “You’re stuck with me. I want you to help with my History homework NOW, or I’ll never let you sleep again!”

Simon glared at Mr. Smith. “If you don’t leave right now, I’ll… tell your mother!”

Mr. Smith gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

Simon picked up his phone and called the number- Patricia Smith. “Hi, Mr. Smith’s mom? Mr. Smith won’t leave my room! He wants me to help him with his homework and he won’t let me sleep!”

“PETUNIA!” Mr. Smith’s mother yelled.

Mr. Smith covered his face with his hands. “Yes, Mommy?”

“You know you should be asking your FATHER’S help with your homework, not Simon! Simon’s not a TRUE genius like your father! Your father writes beautifully crafted, lengthy Wikipedia articles! Most of them are at least one paragraph long!” Patricia said. “I’ll wake your father now!”

Twenty minutes later, Mr. Smith was facetiming Harold Smith, with his one page history assignment laid out in front of him as well as his “supplies”- a protractor, a calculator, a number line, a ruler, gummy bears, and fifty pages of scrap paper he had been using to “show his work.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Mr. Smith said. “I’m sure Professor Donalds will be impressed with my mathematical interpretation of the history of our great nation.”

“I’m sure he will,” Harold beamed at his son. “I’m proud of you, Mr. Smith. You ARE a TRUE genius!”

Three hours later, Mr. Smith and his friends made it to History class at exactly 8 AM, which Mr. Smith still thought stood for A Morning. Mr. Smith had read in one of Harold’s wikipedia articles about the importance of Observation and Deduction from a fictional detective named Jason Bourne, who solved crimes with his trusty sidekick William Shakespeare in the year 1100 AD, which Mr. Smith knew from the article stood for A Damnlongtime. Mr. Smith practiced by taking note of who was in his class, but froze when he saw who sat in the front row.

Mr. Smith gasped. “YOU! My arch nemeses, the gay geniuses and co.! Oh no! Where on EARTH did you come from, you FIENDS!”

Leo sighed. “I guess the grace period is over.”

Ritchie turned to Alex. “You owe me ten bucks. I told you he’d notice eventually that we were here.”

Alex sighed. “Shit. Here you go.” He handed him the money.

Mr. Smith gasped. “WHEN did you… you… JERKS enroll in this class? I was here FIRST!”

Leo rolled his eyes. “We were here before you. We just didn’t say anything because we didn’t want you to notice and have to deal with you AGAIN.”

Mr. Smith gasped again. “YOU need to leave this class… or else!”

Ritchie snickered. “Or else what?”

Mr. Smith took out a calculator and began typing in random numbers, pausing many times as if deeply lost. After five minutes of doing this, he gasped. “I found the answer!”

Leo looked dumbfounded. “How would a calculator help you find the answer to that question?”

Mr. Smith began to gesture with his hands and mouth things. “I don’t know, I just like typing in random numbers. It’s fun to me. Anyway, the answer is… if you don’t leave, I’ll challenge you to a duel of wits.”

Gerald grinned. “I challenged Evan and Dominic to a duel of wits last night. We had to see which one of us could spit the farthest.”

Leo giggled. “That’s not a duel of wits. You’re just gross and stupid.”

Evan peered at Leo. “Gross? My Mama says that word sometimes. I still don’t know what it means, and I’m 32 goddamn years old.”

Dominic spoke up. “I ain’t sure what gross means either. If I ain’t able to find it in the puppy farm dictionary, it don’t exist.”

Amy squealed. “Oh. My. God! I can’t find words in the dictionary sometimes TOO! One time someone told me there used to be these creatures called dinosaurs on Earth, but I couldn’t find that anywhere in the dictionary because I couldn’t spell it! This is soo exciting!”

Susan gasped. “OMGG! I can’t spell either! I came in last place in a spelling bee because I couldn’t spell the word bee, even though the words ‘spelling bee’ were written all over a banner! I wasn’t sure it was the same thing, but I know it is now! So cool!”

Leo looked confused. “Why did they ask you to spell a word that was right in front of you?”

Susan shrugged. “They said they forgot it was there! I thought that was so cool, I gasped and said, ‘OMG, I forget things too!’ And then they gave me a lollipop.”

Simon began to cry. “I never got a lollipop when I was in a spelling bee last year!”

“You did,” Philip replied. “Mr. Smith just bullied you into giving it to him.”

Bob gasped. “Bullied? Bullied? Bullying is just a government conspiracy to oppress the working class and more importantly, the fundamental American right to freedom of speech! It goes against that document! What was it called again?”

Ritchie looked annoyed. “The constitution?”

Philip scratched his head. “Isn’t that a building?”

“That’s an institution,” Alex said. “Not the constitution.”

Mr. Smith scratched his head. “Do either of those words have anything to do with tuition? I bullied Simon into paying my tuition to come here, and to dig up dirt on the professor so he’d let us in this class. Harold and Grandpappy Smith were so proud.”

“That’s not the same thing either.” Alex giggled.

Finally, Professor Donalds entered the class. “Hello, class! Did everyone do their homework?”

Mr. Smith raised his hand. “I completed my homework for the first time in my life! I’ll show you.” Mr. Smith pulled out his one page History assignment, then his fifty pages of work, all in a messy disorganized pile and slammed them down on the professor’s desk. “Do I get a reward?”

Professor Donalds looked on with a dumbfounded but horrified expression. “What’s this?”

“My answers and work shown.” Mr. Smith said smugly.

“You didn’t need to show your work.” The professor said.

“Then how do you know if my answers are correct?” Mr. Smith scratched his head.

Leo glanced at the paper. “Why are the professor’s questions handwritten?”

The professor sighed. “I gave him easier questions hoping he’d get a better grade. I was wrong.”

“WRONG?!” Mr. Smith yelled. “How are my answers WRONG?! I have fifty pages of work for all six questions!” Mr. Smith pulled out the homework page with his answers. “For question one, what is the name of the country we are living in, I put giraffe. Do you see my work, Professor Donalds?”

Professor Donalds looked at the paper. “It says 2x + 19= giraffe, and your work says 19 = x plus giraffe, minus a b and c, carry the x, divide by 2, and you get giraffe? I’m confused.”

Mr. Smith began to gesture and mouth things, pointing to places in space. “What about question two? What colors are the American flag? I put pink, green and yellow, with a bear in the middle, after my ancestor Frederick Smith, who founded this country and was one with the bears until they ate him. His wife and son Sandy held a memorial in the great man’s honor, and then called Frederick’s friend, the president of the United States, who said he changed the flag. Then his son Sandy started the puppy farm in his father’s honor to teach the truth about the world to genius children.”

Professor Donalds looked confused. “I still don’t understand your work. It says 2 plus 2 is 89, divided by the puppy farm equals bears on a flag. I think you need help, Mr. Smith.”

Mr. Smith scratched his head. “I don’t need help, I finished my homework! You jerk!”

Professor Donalds read the next question. “For question three, do you have any pets, it says Titanic and the work shown has a drawing of a banana. Why a banana?“

Mr. Smith scratched his head. “A banana? I don’t know what that is.”

Professor Donalds sighed. “Question four asked what is your favorite color? You put Simon’s face when he’s angry, with a picture of Simon yelling at you for waking him up at 4 AM.”

Mr. Smith smiled. “It was pretty funny.”

Professor Donalds read the next question. “For question five, what is your middle name, you wrote ‘Idk.’”

Mr. Smith scratched his head. “No one ever calls me by my middle name, so I forgot what it is.”

Philip spoke up. “It’s Will Wilford. You have two middle names.”

Leo giggled. “Will Wilford? Your parents must hate you.”

Mr. Smith pounded his fist on the desk. “Shut up, devil spawn! Will Wilford is better than LEO- NARD! You sound like a SQUARE and a NERD!”

Professor Donalds glared at Mr. Smith. “Please pay attention. For question six, spell your last name, you wrote ‘Yes’ with a squiggle like you were trying to write that goes off the page.”

Mr. Smith scratched his head. “Oh no! I must have forgotten what I was doing! I thought I wrote it down! Uh oh!”

Professor Donalds lowered the paper. “Mr. Smith, I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation.”

Mr. Smith pouted. “Yes I do! Do not insult my infinity level IQ, devil spawn!”

Professor Donalds sighed. “You were already failing this class with a 2 on the first test and a negative 40 on the midterm. This was an extra credit homework assignment. It was worth 99% of your overall grade. You scored a zero. You now have no chance to pass this class. I really hoped these questions would be easy enough for you to get a 100 on the assignment and boost your grade. I feel I’ve failed as your professor.”

Mr. Smith smiled. “I know you WON’T fail me. You CAN’T. I worked HARD on this assignment! Harold helped me use Puppyfarmsearch.com to find all the answers! I needed him to tell me what letters to type in to look up my answer! When I see a lot of options it’s confusing.”

Leo looked horrified. “The puppy farm has its own search engine now? That’s absolutely terrifying.”

Mr. Smith scratched his head. “Grandpappy Smith created it. Harold and I both tried but it was too confusing to read all those big words on how to set it up. Grandpappy Smith even did some of it by himself! But he still got confused and had to blackmail his best friend into making it for him. He really shouldn’t have stolen that sheep from his neighbor’s farm.”

Ritchie chuckled, and Leo and Alex giggled. “Where does it even search from?” Ritchie asked. “All your information is always wrong.”

Mr. Smith waved his hands animatedly through the air as he spoke. “Why, the puppy farm database of course! It has thousands of articles written by a secret faction of the government that funds the puppy farm in Massachusetts and all the other puppy farms around the nation! Without a search engine to go on, teachers at the puppy farm might forget what to teach their students in class each day, and then the students would be under educated idiots! A danger to society!” Mr. Smith explained.

Leo, Ritchie and Alex’s eyes were the size of saucers. “You already ARE a danger to society! Just how many puppy farms are there?!” Leo demanded.

Mr. Smith scratched his head. “According to my father’s government worker friend, there are hundreds in the United States alone.”

“Alone?!” Ritchie exclaimed. “You mean there are more all over the world?!”

Mr. Smith scratched his head. “There are thousands of puppy farms. They all teach freedom of information and unique forms of literacy and education! Without the puppy farms, the world as we know it would not function! It’s how I get away with all my crimes. That’s how I know I’ll pass. The puppy farm has influence. They’ll just blackmail this professor into passing me. Right, Professor Donalds?” The professor looked uncertain. “Answer wrong and I’ll tell the dean about that treadmill you shoplifted last night so you could stay in shape, or the time you let those chickens loose on campus when you were drunk.”

Professor Donalds’ eyes widened. “Fine. You’ll pass with an A.”

Leo huffed and Ritchie looked irritatated. “Mr. Smith doesn’t belong in this class!” Leo insisted. “This isn’t fair!”

“I can fix this,” Alex said. He pulled out a bag of potato chips. “Here, professor. Fail Mr. Smith and these are yours.”

Professor Donalds’ eyes widened. “I’d lose my job!”

Alex shrugged. “But if you don’t help us, you won’t get these delicious potato chips.”

Professor Donalds shrugged. “I don’t like this job anyway. Mr. Smith, you are officially failing my class.”

Mr. Smith turned beet red. The three (actually) intelligent boys snickered. “Here comes the temper tantrum.” Leo giggled.

Mr. Smith’s whole face went blank, a calm seeming to pass over him. “Not this time. Today… I will leave this class with dignity and respect.” He turned to his friends. “Come on, guys. Let’s allow Leo and Ritchie to enjoy their class without us disrupting it.”

Mr. Smith walked out solemnly, followed by his friends. Leo, Ritchie and Alex looked on with disbelief. “I guess he’s finally maturing,” Leo said, blinking in shock.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Ritchie replied.

“I don’t know about that,” Alex said. “Look outside.”

They looked out the window- the class was on the first floor, so they could see Mr. Smith on the field outside the class, making quite the spectacle. Outside, Mr. Smith grabbed a girl’s backpack, dumping the contents all over the floor and stepping on her notebook for good measure. Then he found two boys playing football, and he grabbed their football and threw it at Simon. “Take that!” He yelled. Then he yelled, “You want football? I’ll show you football, you assholes!” Then he picked Simon up and threw him at one of the boys, who ran out of the way. “Damn!” Mr. Smith yelled. Then he ran over to one of the class’s windows where a man was now spraying a hose, and grabbed the hose, chasing people on the field outside with the hose and spraying them with water. “Take that!” At some point while he was doing this, he tried running back to the window, but slipped in a puddle. “Oh no!” He yelled. He tried to get up by grabbing the wet window, but kept losing hid grip and sliding back into the puddle. “Help!” He yelled.

Finally, Philip came over and offered Mr. Smith a hand, which Mr. Smith accepted. However, Mr. Smith didn’t anticipate his own strength, pulling Philip into the puddle with him. “Shit!” Philip swore. They spent the next five minutes trying to figure out how to get out, until finally Susan and Amy carefully helper them out.

Mr. Smith turned to the shocked class and addressed them. “YOU!” He yelled. “This is all YOUR FAULT! If you had just let me PASS, none of this would have happened! Screw all of you! YOU are NOT geniuses! NONE of you! Not geniuses at all, I tell you!”

Then Mr. Smith and his friends left the college and went home, snorting coke from a straw in Mr. Smith’s living room.

Fin.

***

#mr smith #that awkward moment when you don’t notice your worst enemies are in your class #for a month too #that one friend that wakes you up at 4 AM to help him with his homework #cute gay couple #leo and ritchie #original story #silly stories #funny story #simon and mr smith #alex #amy and susan #fiction #gerald evan and dominic #mr smith has trouble with his homework

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sparetimeimagines · 3 years

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Shush | Sawamura Daichi

Tags; Smut, Secret Sex, Sneaking Around, Oral

Masterlist

Your chest heaves, the covers shifting between the dips of your breasts.

A head bobs underneath the sheets as you throw your own back into the pillow. Eyes rolling into your head, the sensation is overwhelming. The wet muscle slides in and out your velvet walls, your hands brushing his hair back, gripping the strands to steady your mind.

You fight back a moan, letting your hips buck at the feeling of your high so close you could taste it.

“Oh my God, Daichi.”

He pulls your legs in closer to him, his tongue fucking you deeper than before. The smirk on his lips is what edging you on.

“Sweetheart...” he mumbles against your smooth skin, kissing the inner part of your thighs. “Your dad is gonna kill me if he knows I’m here.”

You had pulled the sheets off him to see the captain’s lips covered in slick.

“Now behave for Daddy, or I’ll have to stuff your mouth.”

“Shut up, Daichi.” You giggle and he shoves his tongue in your hole forcing your head to slam back against the pillow. His thumb generously rubs circles into your swollen nub with the slightest touch. Those soft touches force you to focus on his finger tips as they pad you in between licks.

Your breathing is heavier than usual, Daichi knowing your high is building.

Is it his tongue or the thrill of not getting caught?

“Mmm you’re gonna cum for me baby, aren’t you?” He mumbles in between your legs, letting the slick coat him completely.

“Mmhmm.” You hum as he slides his single index finger into your overstimulated hole.

Your jaw drops without warning with a gasp slipping your drawl.

“Shhh.” The captain slowly pumps into your body, adding one more thick digit to stretch your walls.

Another moan louder than you expected runs by your mouth.

Daichi pulls the cover from his head, fingers still inside you and shoots you a look.

“Baby please.” He warns.

Nodding your head furiously, you whisper on to him.

“I’ll be good. I promise.” You gasp. “You just feel so good.”

He kisses your clit, continuing to feed your fleshy walls his long fingers. The way they swiftly moved in and out of your body as you muffled your moans made Daichi’s cock stiff into his sweatpants.

Your hips arch against his arms, you sucking in air through your teeth.

“Daichi...” you moan catching his attention. “Let me feel you.”

Your whiney moan makes his cock convulse, he sliding completely out of you, working his way up the sheets to see you face to face.

“Say that again. Just like that.” He whispers kissing your lips, his hidden hand freeing his cock to your entrance.

“Daichi...” you whine, your innocent eyes pleading with him for attention. “Let me feel you.”

Your pout pleases him, his swollen cock clearing room for himself along your tight cunt. His thick length closes each inch of your needy hole, those lips attaching themself to yours.

Thrusting in his thirsty manner, Daichi focuses a steady stride, allowing himself to feel your abused hole selfishly.

His teeth nibbles against your bottom taking it captive, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. The intense state he shares as he fills your cunt is enough to make you weak.

A burning sensation builds in your groin as he thrusts himself into you. Your hands read his muscles through each curve his body provides.

“You’re so tight, Baby.” He whispers. “It’s been forever.”

“Too long.” You whine pulsing him.

Daichi grips your hips pulling you into him with a clean smack.

“You’re so pretty when you take me. Such a good girl letting me fill you up.” His raspy voice pants into your neck. “I told you, you can take me.” Those perfect teeth graze your neck leaving bites, one stronger than the rest making your cunt ache.

He then pulls himself back, slowing his pace rubbing your clit.

Your walls suck him in tight, contracting around his girth, breath shortened by each thrust.

“Oh, my... shit baby.” He cups your mouth continuing to watch you quiver.

The way he takes control has your body reacting in waves of pleasure.

“That’s right. Cum for me. Cream on my cock baby.”

Your pussy swells on his cock, self control out the window with your gasp muffled by his large hands.

Those long strides don’t last for him; he already losing focus feeling your warm honey against his length.

“I’m gonna cum.” He moans. “Where should I cum?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer, white spurts dressing yourself from core to sheet. He tried to pull out, for the most part he being successful.

His body convulses as he watches you come down. Laid back, your arms cease your stomach letting the cool feeling of cum slide down the back of your thigh. Your pussy drips with creamy white fluids matching the cock he wipes with a towel. A puddle underneath your ass on the sheets, Daichi admires the mess he made of you.

“You look so pretty dripping in cum.” He leans forward, dabbing your folds with the piece of cloth.

Your chest heaves once more as you ride your high. “Those pretty lips... my baby feels good doesn’t she?”

He rubs your thigh making you take a peak at the athlete before you.

“I love it when you fuck me like that.”

“Like what?” He raises a brow, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“You know...” you flush while he chuckles.

“Like I love you?”

You nod sheepishly covering your face with an arm thrown over your eyes once more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He coos an awe, lying beside you.

“I don’t know... it just feels different when you do it... like that.” Your voice is soft and sweet, your shyness getting the best of you, one thing he always found adorable.

Your legs spread out in front of you, knees risen just enough for your sweet pussy to make an appearance after being all fucked out.

“You’re cute.” He kisses your temple pulling you into him. “Ugh how much longer will you be home for?” His frustration masks his face whilst you lie against his chest.

“For the end of the holidays, then I have to go back to the dorms.”

Daichi let’s out a groan, his two forefingers tilting your chin in his favor.

“Come live with me.”

“What?” You blush at his sudden suggestion.

“You heard me. I have a place a little closer to school than here.” You sit up in his arms, leaning into his chest inches away from his face. “I can’t stand being away from you.” He kisses your nose. “You’ll get to see me everyday.”

“Daichi, I still have a few semesters.”

“I know, I know. But listen. It’ll be worth it. I’ll take care of you and we won’t have to sneak around like this.”

You balance yourself on his hips, he lacing his fingers in yours with a smile.

“Ok. Ok let’s do it.”

“You will?” His eyes perk up and you nod. “Oh my goodness.” He breaks from your hands, grasping your naked body into his. “That makes me so happy!” He shouts with his lips kissing your temple. “God I love you.”

He combs his fingers through your hair on a brief moment of silence. The serenity you felt in his arms was cut short by a brash round of knocks hitting the door.

“Y/n, ask Daichi if he’s staying for breakfast.” Your mom calls from the other side of the door, the red lights of the alarm clock reading 5:42. The drop in your heart and the ring of your ears overpowers any word said after that.

The red blush creeps to his ears to match his eyes enlarged with shock and embarrassment.

“Err thanks... I will.”

“Perfect. I’d advise you shimming down the drain pipe so her father won’t ruin your plans.” Your mother laughs leaving you two with your embarrassment.

“That was all you, Sawamura. They’re gonna kill me.” You poke him chest and he shrugs.

“Oh shush.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re not the one who has to crawl out the window.”

#haikyuu smut #daichi #hq daichi #sawamura daichi #daddy daichi #daichi smut #haikyu smut

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olivia200312 · 3 years

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Accident~ RID2015! Optimus x Human! Reader

Plot: Y/N got into an accident in her house.

So, this is a true one-shot. This is NOT a lie. I got into an accident this morning. I woke up normally like every other human but when I wanted to move my head, I felt a massive intense pain at the back of my neck and head area. When I stood up, I felt dizzy. I moved a bit but it got so worse that I wanted to lay back down. But I collapsed and my face made contact with the floor. Luckily not hard but I did get a bloody nose. I felt very hot and was pale. But this all stopped when I laid down and slept a bit. My grandmother called my mom and she arrived s fast she can. The ambulance was called and they took me to the hospital. They checked my health and I was allowed to go. I also bit my lip a little bit hard so it's swollen when I fell. I wear a case around my neck and have to take it easy. This all happened on July 16th.

This continues after You're No Alone and Author! Check them out!

Author: one-shot where I became a self-published author on July 10th.

You're Not Alone: on February 5th, my grandfather passed away.

Head area:

Brain: Processor / Brain Module

Head: Helm

Face: Face plate

Ears: Audio receptors / Receptor Orifice / Audials

Nose: Enstril / Olfactory Sensor

Eye brow: Optical Ridge

Eyes: Optics

Mouth: Intake

Lips: Dermas

Teeth: Denta/Dentas

Tongue: Glossa

Chest area:

Chest: Chassis / Thoraxal Cavity

Back: Hexa-Lateral Scapula

Spine: Bipedalism cord / Back Strut

Chest and back armour:

Chest plate

Back plate

Mid-section plating

Neck guard

Side plating

Arm area:

Arms: Arms / Restarlueus

Forearms: Bitarlueus

Hands: Servos

Fingers: Digits

Arm armour:

Gantlets

Shoulder pads

Arm guard

Lower area:

Pelvis: Pelvis

Butt: Aft / Skid-Plate

Thighs: Tibulen

Calves: Cadulen

Feet: Pedes - the high heel bits are called Struts or Heel Struts.

Lower armour:

Skirt plates

Aft plate / Skid plate

Thigh guard

Ankle guard

General/Internal components:

Muscles: Cables / Pistons - It depends on the area in question.

Veins: Fual lines

Stomach: Tanks

Lungs: Vents - used to stop the con/bot from over heating.

Heart: Spark

Tattoos: D-con/A-bot Insignias and the lark

T-Cog: The thing that allows all Cybertronians to transform, be that their arms or their whole body.

Bonus:

Penis: Spike

Vagina: Valve

Body: Frame

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

The alarm clock went off through Y/N's phone. She groaned and reached to put it off. Just as she wanted to move her head, she felt an intense massive pain at the back of her neck and head area. The pain was so intense and aggressive that it paralyzed Y/N to move. She nearly cried because it was very painful! But she managed to push the tears down. She moved her head very carefully. She then managed to stand up but she felt extremely dizzy and hot. She even was pale! Just as she grabbed her things like her phone, the charger, her wristwatch, and her headphones, it got far worse. She wanted to lay down again. She really tried to reach the bed but then... she collapsed. Her face made contact with the ground. It wasn't luckily hard, but she, either way, felt her nose drip out blood. She bit her lip a little bit hard that it will be sure swollen later. She even felt hot! Due to collapsing, she dropped her stuff, creating noises.

There were fast footsteps heard and the door of her bedroom opened. It was her grandmother. The poor woman looked panicked once she saw her granddaughter laying on the floor. "N/N, are you ok?" She immediately helped her up and made sure that she laid down on the bed.

"I f-feel weak."

The grandmother then saw blood drops on the floor, the carpet. She picked up her granddaughter's stuff that was dropped and laid them on the table. "I'll call your mother and clean the blood. Oh my god..." She immediately left the bedroom to call Y/N's mother and once it was done, she started cleaning to get the blood off. Once it was done, she sat down on Y/N's bed and kept an eye on her.

There were noises heard since Y/N's granny lived in an apartment. There was an elevator. Y/N heard the elevator clearly and it stopped on the floor where Y/N's granny lived. The doors opened and she entered the place. She immediately entered the bedroom. Her eyes widened when she saw her daughter in a weak state. "What happened?"

"I-I don't know. She collapsed on the ground. She has a high temperature."

That's when Y/N heard that her mother will call the ambulance. Oh no... Please no needles! Y/N didn't have enough strength to respond she took small naps until the ambulance arrived. It was two grown-up adult males. They were friendly. At that time, Y/N managed to sit up on her bed, her feet touching the carpet floor. She explained everything to the men while her family watched worriedly. They checked her blood pressure and her temperature. Like this one thing where you put your finger in. Y/N's temperature went down back to normal quite fast and she even stood up! She even moved and she felt no dizziness! Huh, looks like her body took the action quickly. Y/N wanted not to get tested but her mother wanted her to. God... She's an overprotective mother since she's single and loved her child dearly.

Y/N's grandmother helped her granddaughter to actually put her pants on before the ambulance arrived. She carefully stood up while the men made sure that she didn't collapse again. Y/N's mother packed like Y/N's phone, wallet, and the book she published. She had to wait for a few days to finally hold her book in her hands. What's stupid was that she had to pay for her own book instead of getting it for free since she's the author after all. The world was so stupid sometimes...

For the first time in her whole life, she rode in an ambulance car. One man was driving while the other was with Y/N, writing important information of Y/N's mother's card ID. Y/N herself was 17, almost 18. Let's just say that the accident happened on the day when her mother was supposed to come over and hand her daughter the book. It was honestly a very sad day for Y/N... She was excited to hold her book in her hands but look t that... a freaking accident.

The ambulance finally arrived at the hospital and Y/N was checked this time by a nurse. Everything went fine. The doctor came to check on her and Y/N explained everything. The doctor explained that the pain might be caused due to sleeping positions or other reasons. And the attack of dizziness, it could be caused by stress.

"Ever since my father's passing, she had a very hard time accepting that he's not here anymore. I see her constantly trapped with her feelings and emotions. She might have possible autism but it's not sure yet because the tests didn't happen yet. She even confessed that she wanted to commit suicide by taking pills. We are going to a psychiatrist but it doesn't help sometimes." When Y/N looked at her mother, she had a sad and soft look.

The doctor looked shocked by Y/N's mother's story. He couldn't help but feel sad for the teenage girl. She suffered a lot and still does. No one deserved to go through this, especially a kid. He looked to Y/N's mother and told her that it's better to continue to go to a psychiatrist. That's when Y/N was finally letten go with her mother. But however, before they can ride fully home, she heard her mother make an appointment with the doctor for a blood test. Oh, come on!

Later~

Optimus heard the news of what had happened. He got very worried when he heard that Y/N fainted. In his processor, he knew that it could be from the stress. Ever since her grandfather's passing, she never got better. She would cry for days, she didn't eat for 3 days which caused her to feel dizziness and headaches. She nearly landed in the hospital because of this. She started having trouble with her emotions and feelings. Not only that, but 2 months later after Y/N's grandfather's passing, her mother had a discussion with her, and guess what she found out, Y/N's other grandfather passed away on December 23th! Y/N never met her other grandfather before. She never saw him but she did saw how he looked from photos. His death was kept a secret for 2 FREAKING MONTHS! Y/N's father went to live in England with his new 'family'. Y/N's father did everything, especially paying the bills but he found out that his girlfriend had enough money to actually pay the bills! She lied the entire time! Y/N's father quickly broke up with her so he lived alone now. Y/N remembered the day very well when she heard the news that her other grandfather passed away in December. She cried. Yes, she may have never met him but she's sad that she lost someone that she could never meet. She wanted always to meet him! But he mysteriously disappeared after Y/N's parent's wedding day! Y/N had so many questions at that time. Had he ever heard of her? Did he know that he had a granddaughter? And many other questions. Y/N was right to be mad at her family. She was furious for days and there's still anger in her, she just doesn't show it. She rather keeps it hidden.

On the 3rd of July, just as summer vacation began, Y/N traveled to Poland with her mother. Since her grandfather passed away in Poland, both mother and daughter had difficulties traveling. Corona was still out there and the airports were controlling the passengers. You need to have important documents and proof that you are fully vaccinated or negative. Y/N was not vaccinated so she had to the test and let me tell you, it was disgusting! You know, the long thick thin stick in your nose to get the cells? Y/N's mother was also not vaccinated so she had to do the test as well. On the 4th of July; she went to visit her grandfather's grave. It was so painful... Y/N's mother believed that it would ease the pain, but she was so wrong, it didn't ease at all! Y/N wanted badly to talk to her grandfather alone but her two aunts and her mother stood close by. She didn't get privacy at all. She was mad. Y/N refused to eat for hours as well. But eventually, she came to eat when it was time for dinner.

2 days later, she returned back to the cemetery. She was alone this time with her mom. She had one minute of silence with her mother and FINALLY, Y/N got the privacy she needed. She must have at least talked for 1 hour to her grandfather's grave because she spoke a lot. She was thankful that her mom understood her. She said at the end her goodbyes and wanted to hug his grave, but she felt ashamed, shy, and embarrassed so she only touched the cross and cried. She cried the whole time.

At that time, Y/N was fighting was depression for months now. It was not easy due to the loss of a loved one instead of an animal. She missed of course her pet friends she lost, but with people was very different. When you lose someone for the first time, it's so painful. It can take a long time to get over with or part pain will stay forever inside of you. Depression cannot be 'cured' but you can control it with your power. It's not easy and it can be stressful, exhausting, and painful as well. Pain can be felt in your heart. What's one of the most important things to NOT ever do to a depressed person was yelling. It happened to Y/N. Her aunt, or her second mother, who lived in Poland, texted her and asked how she was doing. Y/N responded that she's fine. But she also told also that texted if she doesn't get better because of her possible autism or mental illnesses, then she will not go to work. But what Y/N's second mother send next, made Y/N mad. She responded like she doesn't have mental illnesses and that she needed only more explanation. Seriously? That made Y/N cry! Why was she reacting fast? Why was she quickly angry? Why was she having bad days? Why was she losing interest in her activities sometimes? Why had she dark thoughts? Why would she cry a lot? Why was she having trouble with emotions and feelings? Think about other symptoms. Those were clear signs of depression. According to an American's website where the experts knew everything about the loss of a loved one and what can happen further in the future if you don't get better in like 5-6 months after you lost someone, the chances were high that you had depression but it's important to go to a doctor where it helps you and asked questions. It's important, to tell the truth. once it was done, the doctor will finally give you the diagnoses that you were waiting for what's happening inside of you.

Y/N had to wait sadly. Still waiting. It can take up to almost 1 year or 2 to meet the doctor where the diagnoses can be finally revealed. She had possible autism as well. It was very possible Asperger's Syndrome. It's autism where people have difficulties communicating with other people but also having trouble understanding. The person can talk very well but sometimes can be quiet as a mouse too. People who have it were very unique. They even don't like to be touched all the time and don't like to make eye contact. Y/N's grandmother was the first one to notice the symptoms and told her daughter, Y/N's mother, to bring her to the doctor but Y/N's mother didn't notice anything until finally years later when her father passed away. So, they're on the waiting list. I mean, they had to be.

But anyway, Y/N's mother caught her daughter crying after she was done chatting with her second mother. Sometimes, Y/N doesn't want to talk about why she's crying but she's sometimes being pushed a little bit too hard which was not smart at all. When Y/N explained why, let's just say that later, Y/N's own mother, started to yell at her. Yes, Y/N had been fighting for months but seriously? Y/N wanted to scream and fight back but she couldn't! But when the fight was finally done, Y/N's heart was full of pain and felt hopeless as well. Y/N's mother should have never yelled at her! The results will be only crying! Sometimes, it can give results of an attack or worse...

Later~

Y/N walked carefully while not wearing a cervical collar around her neck. The doctor said that she didn't have to wear it all the time and recommended to at least sometimes move carefully her neck. Y/N felt pain sometimes but it's healing. She couldn't laugh hard, not yawn widely, etc. It was so annoying! She still couldn't forget her mother's yelling inside her head and those memories will probably haunt her. She already got her first corona vaccine and tomorrow, she needed to take a blood test because ever since the accident, her health was getting suspicious. Y/N decided to confront her mother at the doctor tomorrow and teach her a lesson that yelling at a depressed person was not smart at all. Now that she's a self-published author, she's busy writing about her life to inspire and teach others. Her mother needed to learn too.

"Sweetspark, when I heard about your accident, I was very worried," Optimus said, who randomly appeared behind her.

Y/N turned around fully to let her neck heal. "I am fine now. Just giving my neck time to heal. Sorry about worrying you..." She felt ashamed.

Optimus wrapped her arms around her waist, causing her to relax and lean gently against him. "Please remember that you're not alone, sweetspark. We all are here to help you. What your carrier did was not smart but I am proud of you that you'll confront her about it."

Y/N only hummed and couldn't help but smile when she felt him leaving soft kisses where she felt pain at her neck and head area. She giggled and Optimus smiled.

P.S. when Y/N became an author, only her second ex, her family, and her followers on Wattpad congratulated her. None of her friends did. Do you consider this disrespectful rude or heartless?

Yes, readers. Every detail left there is all the truth, including the yelling as well. I got the first shot of the corona vaccine and I feel still small pain but it's not bad luckily like the HPV vaccine I got once. So painfully... But my mother feared that soon the entire country will force everyone to get vaccinated, except kids under 12. Sorry to disappoint you all about the shot... The part at the end of my friends not congratulating me is also the truth :(. Darn blood test tomorrow! I have a phobia of needles...

#optimus prime x human reader #optimus prime #x human reader #x reader #reader #romance #tf rid2015 #rid2015 #transformers robots in disguise 2015 #transformers

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katsukikitten · 3 years

Text

Part one, no real warnings yet. Enjoy!

Bakugou's personal phone rings from the pocket of his hero costume for the umpteenth causing his skin to pop. All the while Kirishima allows his ruby gaze to fall over the hot head, having a good guess about just who is blowing up his phone. Worry snatches at Kirishima's heart for a moment forcing the question from his lips, even if it meant regretting it.

"Are you sure your mom is okay?" Bakugou freezes in his step, inclining his head to fix a garnet glare at his so called friend. He sucks in a breath to yell, body tense and in a fighting stance before his phone blares again.

"FUCK!" He shouts into the night with only Kirishima and the moon to hear. The trees swallow his frustration as he rips his phone from his pocket, answering it so harshly the LCD beneath the screen ruptures.

"What?! What the fuck do you want you God Damn hag?! I'm WORKING! Saving LIVES!" It had been a long time since he had called his mother hag, long enough there was silence on the other line for a moment.

Then much like her son she takes a deep breath and now Kirishima, the moon and the trees know why Mitsuki was calling at such a late hour. Kirishima sighs with relief nothing is so dire as life and death, although for Mitsuki it is.

"IF YOU DON'T BRING THIS GHOST OF A GIRLFRIEND OF YOURS I SWEAR TO KAMISAMI THERE WILL BE NO MORE NUMBER ONE HERO WHEN IM THROUGH WITH YOU. IM GETTING OLD I NEED FUCKING GRANDKIDS. THINK OF YOUR SWEET OLD FATHER HE AIN'T GETTING ANY FUCKING YOUNGER!"

"That's what this was about?! Ma for the last fucking time I don't-"

"You don't what? One of those hoes you sleep with has to like even your rude ass. Bring a decent one home." And with that Bakugou is left with the sound of three tones and a ringing in his ear. He grips the bridge of his nose, having no earthly idea of how to get his mother off of his back, let alone find a woman. The phone rings in his hand again, the screen filled with dead pixels and rainbow lines causing him hot to be able to see. Somehow it registers his touch as he goes from memory to answer.

"What you fucking hag?!" He screams into the receiver.

"Wow. Rude." You reply with a bite, "Just calling to tell you boss that I'm clocking out, dickhead."

"I-I thought you were my mom."

"Oh and that makes it better?" What an ass!

"Fuck you." He growls, looking at Kirishima's watch, "You're clocking out way too early."

"No, fuck you. I requested to be off by this time MONTHS ago. You can ask Eijirou-san, you approved it so he made the schedule accordingly." You quip, twirling one of your knives in your hands, "Besides I've been working waaay too long today. Oh and I found that perp hours ago."

"What the fuck?! Why didn't you tell me hours ago?"

"I fucking tried, you ignored my call. This was my third attempt." You slam the knife through the paperwork on your desk wishing it were the hot head's thigh. You rise as your eyes glance over the clock. If you didn't hurry this stupid phone call up, you were going to be late. You needed to sneak in before midnight.

"Still too early for you. Normally you want the OT." He bites, causing you to roll your eyes.

Gods you hated this guy.

"Yea, well tonight is different." You'd pay in the long run for leaving so soon but tonight was special. She asked you to be there the last time you saw her and you promised.

You never break a fucking promise.

"Some subordinate you are bitch face." He growls then an idea pops into his head.

Subordinate.

As in you reported to him, as in Bakugou Katsuki was your boss. And well you had to listen to your boss to some extent and he knew you needed money, you tell him day in and day out it's the only reason you would even dream to work with him.

Although he has no idea why you are so hard out for cash.

So he sets the bait, offering you a deal you can't refuse.

"Tomorrow is your planned day off right?"

"Yea what fucking of it?!"

"I've got a special mission for you-"

"No." You interrupt, already feeling the exhaustion of your seventy hour work week stacking up.

"You didn't even let me finish you ungrateful brat. It will be three times your pay for half a day's work. Cold hard cash." The other side of the line goes silent. Licking your lips you think over his offer, fuck, that would actually help get your head above water.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

If only you knew how dark this tunnel was going to be.

"Fine. I'll take your stupid fucking offer."

"Promise?" His voice sounds a bit different, a little bit of a tease to it, as if he knows something you don't.

"What are we in kindergarten. Yea I promise, fucking headass." With that you hang up, rushing down the steps of the agency building and into the cold air.

Your phone buzzes with a text

BakaBoss: Meet me at the agency, 11am sharp.

You roll your eyes, turning your phone to silent as you watch the nightly set of nurses do their normal routine. Barely making it in time for the security guard and head nurse to make their way outside by the one way back door for a smoke. Both too lazy to walk around to the front of the hospital, sticking a thin splintering wood block between the jam and the door, giving you easy access to the stairwell. When they were far enough away you slip into the door, sure to place the wood where they left it before climbing the stairs two at a time, racing the clock at the top half of the 11th hour. The janitor would have already mopped her floor and the only nurse on floor six was currently on the ground level half way through the small tobacco stick, she wouldn't be sticking her head into room 609 anytime soon.

You draw in a deep breath, collecting yourself and forcing back the tears as you picked the lock, a skill set that not only were you amazing at but the very same skill that landed you here.

And by here you mean stupid ass hero work all thanks to some "reforming" program by Izuku Miydoria. Still it was better than having to break out of jail in order to make cash, her bills weren't going to pay themself.

You stick a stolen credit card in between the door jab and the door, right at the locking mechanism, although you could break out of just about anywhere, this would be the faster method of escape.

"Hey, sis, I made it!" You say softly but with excitement, watching as she keeps her back to you. Her eyes wide from a mixed cocktail of chemicals and trauma, she stares out into the sky, counting the stars.

It would be one of those nights where she was too warped to tell you were there. With a sigh you sink onto her mattress. If you could even fucking call it that. It was more like a box spring with a fitted sheet over top of it, you were still figuring out how you could sneak a mattress in.

"I got you something." You say crawling to sit next to her cross legged, she turns to you and it's like looking in a mirror. Except one of you is covered in visible scars and the other is not. Hers are more than skin deep. Seeing her dull gaze never gets any easier, she stares through you for a long time before she does as she always does.

Lifting her hand gently to cup your cheek so her thumb can slide over your scar.

"How'd you get this?" Her voice is barely hers and it grabs a fist full of your guts pulling them downward. Everytime she asks that question you see the shine of a blade, a swipe of a strong hand and vision filled with blood.

Yours, there's but never hers. You like to tell yourself that's what counts but maybe you had a hand in breaking her.

You clear your throat, pulling a bag onto your lap.

"Nevermind that." You gently guide her hand away from your cheek and to her lap. When she makes no motion for the gift bag you force a smile as icy guilt collects in your chest.

"It's for our birthday silly! Can you believe we are 26 today?" You place the pillow on her lap and her hands slowly go to the plush material.

For a moment she has returned, flashing you a smile as she pushing into the soft material before she flickers out again. Like a light with just enough current to wink in and out of existence.

Time passes and the clock strikes midnight, white clad shoes stomp against the polished floor signaling it was time to leave.

"I'll try to see you soon okay?" You lean over kissing her hairline before grabbing at the old, flat pillow. Shoving it into the gift bag as you silently bound the room. Pushing the door open slightly as you slip the stolen card into the back pocket of your black jeans. With that you are down the hall and through the backdoor without raising any sort of alarm as usual.

Suddenly your phone weighs heavy in your pocket as you think of what kind of stupid errand that asshole was going to put you on. The stolen card sings in your pocket, begging to be used. So you slip into a bar to give it a good use.

&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*

A blaring alarm yanks you from the bed in a sweating panic. Knife instinctively slashing the air before you send the blade into yet another digital alarm clock. Falling back into the mattress for just a moment's peace.

That peace doesn't last long once you show up at the agency. If anything is sours as you see Bakugou leaning against the bright white brick and in civilian clothes no less.

"What's this?" You pick at his black dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his banded forearms. He's paired it with a pair of black jeans, one knee ripped. Oddly it looks good together. Not overly dressed nor too dressed down. His vermilion eyes glide over your figure in your black body con hero suit. He sucks his teeth, hating this next part.

"Called clothes dumbass. Speaking of we need to get you something fitting."

"For what? What exactly is this 'mission'?"

"I'll debrief you later. Right now we need to get you new clothes." You laugh in his face before your rich expression turns deadly

"With what money?"

"Calm down, it's my treat Princess." He says with satire, the name sits odd on his tongue and even more odd in your stomach. He snatches at your wrist, "Come on before the stores get crowded and we get noticed."

You find yourself in a shop filled with dresses and fancy blouses. All of which you hate. Bakugou seems to hate them too, too guady for his taste. Still he shifts through the soft silks because he knows his mother will love it.

"Oi, you can't find a single decent thing here? I thought women loved shopping."

"Yea for shit we like asshole." You hiss to him, having only found a pair of dark blue jean's.

"Heh." He scoffs, rolling his eyes until he finds the perfect top. It looks decent and it could be your style. The one thing he learned about being undercover was to not stray too far from what looked natural or from the truth.

"Put this on. While I find a necklace." He shoves the silky top into your hands and you look at the price tag. Suddenly anxiety burns in the soles of your feet soaring up to close your throat.

"Bakugou. This is too much." Katsuki stops to glance over his shoulder, this is the first time you've used his name since he hired you three years ago. He sees your hand gripping at your bicep and he watches the rare tell sign that you're nervous as you chew on one of the scars that creeps onto your lip. He comes up to you, closer than he ever has been before, your senses flood with spiced caramel.

"Oi." His voice is smooth, almost soft as he touches a ringed index finger to your forearm. You fixate on the shining black ring and your old habits have you thinking of six different ways to get it off of his finger. The thought soothes you as much as his voice surprisingly does.

"I said I'm buying, remember you brat?" The teasing returns back to his voice before it turns gruff, "Now go change to make sure I like it. I'll be back in a second."

A woman unlocks a small dressing room for you and once inside you hold your breath. Counting as you remind yourself that you cannot and will not steal anything of value while your boss was here.

If you were any other person you would tap this Prohero's account dry, really rack up that platinum card you know sat in his wallet and sell the clothes marked up for a profit later.

But even as much as you hated Bakugou, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Instead you slip into the the outfit adjusting yourself this way in that as the neckline says enough without saying too much. The jeans curving against your figure in such a way doing as good as a job as your hero suit. You keep your steel toed boots as you step into the small hall with the three mirrors. As you turn this way and that Bakugou appears behind you, almost earning a knife to his gut. He forces the silver blade away before pulling out a necklace from a bag he just bought. The gold chain is dainty, going through the top of the garnet making it seen as if it were a suspended droplet of blood.

It marches the eyes that roll over you as he takes a step back before his harsh mouth breathes out a word.

"Fuck."

Instantly it kills your mood as your lip pulls back over sharp teeth.

"Tsk. It's not that bad, God how do you get any pussy." You grumble, smoothing down the black blouse.

"No, dumbass. You look...you look perfect." He stares into your eyes through the mirror, his smile growing wider as they wander over your scars and finally land onto that minimalistic drop pendant necklace.

Over something you've never been able to have, something you always had to swipe from an unsuspecting neck and then pawn.

"Now. I'm going to tell you here, in this store of crowded people so you don't cause a scene."

"What?!" Anger already begins to bubble in your blood. The blades that kiss your flesh start to scream for relief.

"From now on you have to pretend to be my girlfriend. Paparazzi are starting to swarm outside of this fucking boutique and my mom follows this particular trash tabloid since they love to use me as click bait. You just have to make it through dinner tonight and if shit goes south I'll pay you even more."

#bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha au #katsuki x reader #bakugou x you

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copias-thrall · 3 years

Text

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

#mary goore #longfic #gender neutral insert #aurelio voltaire

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haddonfieldproject · 3 years

Text

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

1.3.6. SATURDAY NOVEMBER 1st

Warren County, Illinois

There was a knock at her bedroom door.

Leighton lifted her head and puffed the blond hair out of her eyes with her mouth, taking a glance at her Hello Kitty alarm clock. ‪8:57‬.

Fuck Diego, I told you to text me. She thought as she cleared her throat.

“Come in.”

Mya walked in the room.

And as if it wasn't weird enough for Mya to be walking in the room---seriously, she wasn't even on Leighton's radar of people who would be walking into her bedroom at that moment---it was even more weird that Mya appeared to be dressed like some sort of leopard. Even the remains of some face paint was smeared all over her round brown cheeks and streaking down her neck.

“Mya?” Leighton croaked as she turned over in her bed, “What are you doing here? Who even let you in?”

Mya plopped down on the end of Leighton's bed. “Your mom did. What are you still doing in bed?”

“My mom is awake?” Leighton lay on her back and looked at the ceiling.

“Yeah, she's up and watching the news like everyone else. Seriously she starts drinking really early. Not even ten and she's got her a bottle of wine.”

Leighton sat back up on her elbows and frowned, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Why aren't you watching the news?” Mya asked, “I heard about it on the radio. I was on my way home but I didn't want to go home just yet. I don't want to hear any shit from my mom and with what went on last night, I'm sure I'll hear my fair share.”

Leighton shook her head with exasperation, “What?”

“Girl..haven't you seen all the trucks parked outside? Turn on the news! Where's your remote for this TV”.

Leighton pointed to her vanity and swung her legs off the bed, sitting up. “It's over there, knock yourself out I guess.”

Mya padded across the room and scooped up the remote. Leighton yawned and trudged out of the room toward the bathroom. A few minutes later she found Mya at the end of her bed glued to the television.

Leighton sat at her vanity and began to brush her perfect hair on her perfect head. What she saw on the television in the mirror's reflection made her stop. She turned around.

Mya had switched to the local news. An aerial shot showed Haddonfield's hospital in flames. A banner at the bottom of the screen read: HALLOWEEN HORROR IN SMALL TOWN. The news anchor's voice was droning: “So far twenty people are confirmed dead by Warren County Sheriff's office but when pressed if this twenty persons all came from the hospital or from other unconfirmed incidents we were told by our contact within the police department that they, and I quote, 'could not comment at this time'. Someone who may have answers we need however is Channel 7 reporter Holly West who has been covering ‪this night‬ of terror for this small Illinois town all night, she is down there live outside the hospital, Holly are you there?”

Leighton's mouth gaped open in a state of shock and amazement. She slowly put the brush down on the vanity and sat down on the bed next to Mya slowly.

🎃

Valentina Sequera sat on the shabby futon inside the trailer, cellphone in her hands, eyes glued on the old fashioned square television. She pushed her curly black hair, going gray in some places, out of her face, and watched as the news switched from the aerial shot of the burning hospital, to the pretty, albeit tired looking blonde news anchor on the ground.

Channel 7 Reporter Holly West stood in the parking lot of the hospital, the smoking building in the background. Beside her was an Hispanic woman that looked very familiar to Valentina.

I think we go to the same church, she thought.

“Holly West here, live from outside the scene at Haddonfield County-General Medical Center. I'm here with Rosalita, she was inside the hospital having just given birth to her new baby boy...first of all, are you and your baby okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Rosalita answered in an accent not as thick as Valentina's. “Thankfully to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, and all the Saints me and my new baby boy Rogelio are doing just fine.”

“Glad to hear that,” Holly replied smiling, “Now you were inside the hospital. Can you tell us what you experienced?”

“Yes ma'am,” the woman replied respectably, “my son was born ‪around 11:30‬ and we were resting in our room around 2, close to ‪2:30‬ when I hear a gunshot.”

“A gunshot!?” Holly looked surprisingly at the camera and then back at Rosalita, “We haven't heard reports yet of a gunshot, are you sure it was a gunshot?”

“Si..uh..yes ma'am,” the woman smiled knowingly, “mi husband...my ex-husband that is...he used to shoot guns...so I know the gun sound...and I would have to say it was definitely shotgun.”

Holly West's eyebrows did not fall, “Well you heard it here first ladies and gentlemen, shots fired at the hospital. Then what happened?”

Valentina couldn't pay attention. She picked up her phone, scrolled down into the contacts to the very common pet name hispanic mothers give their sons: MI GORDO and then hit CALL.

Straight to voicemail.

“Hola, dis' Diego, leave a message por favor... dejame un mensaje...”

She cut him off and dropped the phone in her lap. Her legs shook nervously.

Diego and his stupid Spanglish, she thought to herself in Spanish. She glanced at the clock on the wall. The bright green iguana mounted to the disc decorated in cacti and hues of southwest teals, purples, and pinks had his tail on the one and his head close to the nine indicating it was ‪9:05‬.

No need to worry really, she thought, it hasn't been that long. He may still be at the shop. He may have went to a friend's house. Her mind thought of the names of any of Diego's friends. Quinn...was that one? She asked herself. She glanced back at the TV, Rosalita was talking.

“Then Sherriff Brackett came in and took me and my baby to hide in a closet...”

Holly West cut her off, “A closet?”

“Yes,” Rosalita smiled nervously, she was searching for the right words in English, “like for medical supply and stuff.”

Holly West smiled and nodded, “Oh ok, a big supply closet.”

“Si..uh..yes. And then he go look to for help.”

“And then he went to go look for help?”

“Si...yes.”

“And did you see Sheriff Brackett again?” Holly asked.

“No.”

“What time was this?”

“Not long after we got in room, maybe 2...2:30.”

Valentina could only think of one more thing to do. She picked up the large white old fashioned cordless landline phone that lay on the couch beside her. Quickly, she scrolled through the history on the small digital display screen, found the number she wanted, and hit the CALL BACK button.

🔪

Leighton and Mya had moved to the living room. Leighton sat on the small sofa, wrapped in a quilt. The temperature outside had dropped considerably over the night. For the first time in several months the air conditioning was off and the house had a drafty damp feel. The world was gray and misty outside of the large regal windows of the mayoral mansion's living room.

Mya sat on the floor in front of the sofa next to the large glass coffee table. She had swiped Leighton's disposable make-up removal wipes from the bathroom, and now had a nice pile of gold and black stained wipes on the surface of the glass, right next to a large cup of orange juice.

Leigh Ann Roderick-Dodge, Leighton's mother and the wife of Haddonfield's unhonorable mayor, lay on the opposite, but matching sofa. Her head at one end, her feet on the other. She was beautiful, a former model in her twenties, she still looked gorgeous even with no make-up and her blonde hair tossed up in a messy bun at the top of her head. She was still dressed in a robe, and indeed, she held a large goblet of chardonnay in one hand and the television remote in the other. At the moment, all were fixated on Holly West's interview with Rosalita from the hospital.

“Did you notice when the power went out?” Holly asked.

“Si..there was big lightning strike and then...boom. No lights.” Rosalita made hand motions to illustrate the lightning.

“So you think the lightning knocked out the power?”

Rosalita nodded exhuberantly, “Definitely.”

“About what time was this?”

“We were there..about two hours...4 maybe..4:30.”

Leighton's phone went off. She looked at the screen: DIEGO HOME. She smirked to herself and hit the green button.

“What's up fucker? Thought you'd be sleeping.” She answered.

Mya laughed. Her mother glared at her. “Leighton Michelle!” She hissed, and took a sip of wine.

There was a pause on the other end and then she heard a woman's voice, in a thick hispanic accent say, “Um...yes..this Leighton? This is Diego's mom...Valentina.”

Leighton sat up on the couch and put her hand to her mouth to suppress a gasp. “Oh Miss Sequira, I'm so sorry, I thought you were Diego.”

“Is okay,” Valentina said, “So he not with you. You know where he is?” Leighton frowned. Why would Diego not be home. “No ma'am, I haven't seen him since he went into work yesterday.”

“He no tell you where he is?” Valentina struggled to say.

“No ma'am,” Leighton said, pushing her hair out of her face.

“Si..ok...thank you.”

Leighton clicked the red button and looked at the television. The banner at the bottom of the screen that moments ago had read: TERROR IN HADDONFIELD...now read: EYEWITNESS: SHOTS FIRED AT HOSPITAL.

Diego should have been home and in bed by now, she thought. And he said he was going to text me. She looked at her messages. No texts.

He probably went drinking with that guy Quinn from work.

She looked back at the TV. She read a part of the ticker at the very bottom of the screen: ...ITNESS REPORTS POWER WENT OUT AT HOSPITAL AFTER LIGHTNING STRI...

The storm, her mind exploded. He probably didn't go home after work because of the storm. He probably spent the night in the break-room. He had done it before, a few times, mostly when business got slow and he and Quinn had gotten drunk. She thought about calling Diego's mother back to set her mind at ease. She would have definitely called his work first, she thought. At least I hope.

Leighton picked up her phone and scrolled down into her contacts where it said DIEGO SUPERFUEL and hit the green button again.

She got a three chord tone. “I'm sorry but the number you are trying to reach is not in service.”

“Ok that's weird,” she said to herself as she ended the call.

“What?” Mya asked, eyes still on the screen which was now dominated once more by overhead shots of the burning hospital.

“Nothing,” she said to herself. But now she was beginning to worry.

🎃

Valentina had indeed tried the work phone number first and had gotten the same operator message. She got up from the couch and went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of lemonade from the fridge. The news reporter droned on from the television after her.

“If you are just joining us, we now have a witness account from inside the hospital stating that they heard shots fired before the power went out and before the explosion. I believe we now have to consider the possibility that some act of terrorism may have occurred in Haddonfield last night. We are going to replay that interview with a young mother who was in the hospital celebrating the birth of her new baby boy---”

Valentina sat down, took a sip of the lemonade and picked up the cordless phone once again. She dialed her son's cellphone number.

“Hola, dis' Diego, leave...”

She threw the phone down on the cushion next to her in disgust

NEXT>>

#halloween #halloween franchise #michael myers #horror #haddonfield #horror writing #horror film #fan fiction #fan writing #spooky

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lluvguts · 3 years

Text

“...secrets?” // byler

pairing: eleven / mike wheeler & will byers / mike wheeler

warnings: none!

word count: 2693

summary: Where Eleven snoops around Mike's house and finds a peculiar journal entry.

Eleven grew tired of sitting in the blanket fort, waiting for Mike’s watch to say the three numbers he told her earlier— ”When this read 3:15. Three, one, five. Got that, El?” Mike adjusted the digital watch to her wrist with soft, sweaty fingers— and letting her stomach settle the burnt Eggos he snuck back from breakfast.

“Just stay here in the basement, Eleven. So it’s a secret. And eat these waffles, understand?” Mike was staring at her with intense eyes, ones Eleven knew were filled with curiosity at her; those deep brown eyes; they were fixed on her face, on her puzzled stare, only belonging to the boy who saved her. Her friend. But Mike’s eyes led her to believe that maybe he found something more than a friend there, in her gaze. His looks were too deliberate and his gestures too sudden and eager—of the three boys who had rescued her, Mike was the only one willing to communicate, make her feel at home—and even if the other two thought she was stupid, Eleven knew better than to assume this boy sitting next to her thought of her as only a friend.

She herself was unsure what she felt, what she thought of him. No words came to her aid. A blank, soundless mind.

Eleven understood his words. Stay. Eat. It was but the one sentence that made the bite of waffle she had chewed off cling to the back of her throat.

“Secret?” She asked, letting the packaged Eggo return to her lap. Mike’s expression changed, once kind and assertive; now confused. It was a look Eleven had often recalled on the many faces of those around her—before. Especially her Papa, the white-haired man that occupied every vacant space in her mind, breeding intrusive thoughts of other places and nightmares she had no way of forgetting. A gentleness painted on the man that was quickly met with irritation when she did not comprehend a task.

But these new people, new faces, were different. Mike was different, she was sure of it. His thoughts and emotions were obvious for anyone to see. Sensitive and on display.

Too exposed.

“What?” Mike’s voice broke her from the memory. He leaned forward, just barely. From this close Eleven could discern every one of his freckles, on those pale cheeks tinged with blush, lashes dark and just as visible as the straight, raven-colored hair that framed his face.

“What is secret?” Eleven repeated the question, the word was familiar on her tongue, but had no meaning, no flavor. Dull and lifeless like the many things she found herself unable to remember.

Mike’s legs shifted on the blanket, searching the wall for an answer, as if it had one.

"A secret is something that no one else can know about,” he replied slowly, making sure she caught everything.

“I am a secret?”

“No! Of course not. Well, not exactly—” He assumed a body posture she did not like: too quickly did his shoulders rise to shrug, his face a notch above where it should be—looking at her—and mind clearly elsewhere. It made her feel unwanted—a weirdo, a stray dog—and that she was wasting his time with her questions. Did Mike not want to explain? Why must she stay in the blanket fort? Eleven wondered with hidden frustration. The bad men couldn’t infiltrate the confines of this house, the stability that Eleven needed it to have. Not even the other things, the screams she heard in her sleep from the Upside Down. Not yet.

All of her questions were lost past communication: so many words and phrases and meanings entirely taken from her, unable to speak them aloud.

“Michael! You better be up here right now if you don’t want to be late for school!” A voice shouted from upstairs, making Eleven flinch and cast wide, frightened eyes at the ceiling.

Mike set a hand on her sleeve to reassure her—and she paid careful attention to the fact that he did not touch her. Was he afraid of her abilities, that could stun an entire room? Like everyone else was?

“It’s just my mom. I’ll see you later, okay? Remember: three, one, five, El.” And with that he was gone, only leaving Eleven to reflect on his words—even the unsaid ones—and finish her breakfast.

But by that time Eleven was no longer hungry. More sounds echoed from above, she listened intently under the cover of blankets to every thud of footsteps and pinging clatter of dishes until the house settled into a comforting silence when the watch read one-zero. The only thing that stilled her racing heart was the repetitive blink of that watch, its numbers flashing in red light. A color that made Eleven’s eyes burn when she stared at it for too long, too closely, her pounding vision ringed in scarlet.

She didn’t want to stay in the basement, even if Mike said so. She wanted to discover other foreign things in the house, like whose voice accompanied what room, what his family looked like, where Mike slept. The image she constructed of his face shrouded in sleep—innocent features undisturbed, not a sign of worry or a frown—made her blush. Eleven smiled down at the Eggo’s crinkly plastic in her hands, surrounded by the speckled grey of someone else’s sweatpants; her shirtsleeve crusted with a coppery red from the ghost of old blood.

Not now. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on it, her “superpowers.” A term the boys often used for it—either in amazement or fear she did not know. Eleven shook her head, if only they knew it was anything but a gift. They were right to be afraid.

Out of habit, she checked the numbers again: 12:37. Too early to leave out the back door, but just enough time to creep upstairs with no one home yet. The stairs were carpeted, mysterious blue steps that led her up into the house, soothing her bare feet. Once above ground, Eleven stood at the base of the kitchen’s hard tile and stared in awe. Many things reminded her of Mike, and possibly the other voices she heard during her stay: dirtied dishes, a child’s plaything, an old house phone suspended on the kitchen wall and backed by creamy floral wallpaper. Signs of life. Family.

Home was a far off place, invisible to her reach. She searched her mind for a taste of it, trying to force the past out of her, but the emptiness was inescapable; it only brought a blistering headache and the all-too-familiar faint feeling Eleven often adapted to for the past twelve years.

Somewhere in the living room a clock trilled the time: 1:00. How long had she been standing there? Eleven wiped her face, her sleeve returned wet with tears she did not know where there and the speckled dots of a nosebleed. The smell of blood burned in her nostrils, salty and pungent. It made her sick.

She spun on her heels and went to the staircase, hoping Mike’s room was somewhere up there. It felt wrong in some ways, like a burglar stepping into a stranger’s house; her stomach twisted with guilt but still she climbed up the stairs until she reached the landing, it’s walls covered with photographs. Mike’s face popped up in random ones, surrounded by people Eleven did not recognize. His smile was etched into the lips of other people, an older woman with thin brown hair she assumed was his mother. Sister with her arms around a much younger mike. Her pretty face, her prettier body. The final photograph stopped Eleven dead: the three boys, all standing around a podium, joined by a fourth.

Chestnut brown hair that curved around a kind face. Shy, expressive eyes stared back at Eleven. In a sudden moment of realization the face of the boy matched his voice, his shrieks of pain. The remnants of her time in the Upside Down were already fading but even still the sounds of his screams resonated with her, weeks after. The boy trapped in the other world. Will Byers.

It all began to make sense. This was who went missing, who the others were searching for. Eleven shuddered with emotion, with empathy for this boy: having to survive with the torment of the monsters in the Upside Down, the constant disillusionment, fearful frustration of not being seen. Completely alone.

Eleven’s finger landed on Will’s face in the photo, covering it.

“Hide,” she whispered.

Across the gallery was a series of bedroom doors, mostly shut but some left open. One final look at Will was enough; Eleven left the memories suspended in time, and headed towards the hallway.

Mike’s room was first, it's door left cracked. She knew this mainly because of its assortment of comic books and small figurines that matched the ones in the basement—and partially due to the smell: Mike had given Eleven his navy blue crew neck to wear that first day, it filled her blood-caked nostrils with his boyish scent. Again she caught her cheeks flame, standing at the threshold of his room, on the outside looking in.

With a cautious step she set a foot on the carpet. Apart from the mess the room was very intriguing to Eleven, with the exciting posters tacked on every available space, school books left in a haphazard pile by the bed, clothes strewn about, a lone mirror leaning against the wall. She crept inside the room completely and stood at the mirror’s length.

What was peering back left her speechless. A thin, androgynous figure with slouched shoulders stared ahead, hair shaved, a look of horror and alarm crossing its face. Eleven knew it was her—the borrowed clothes, the grime of tears and blood. It was her own eyes that startled her: dark and off-balance, like she did not trust herself. Like she was staring into the soul of a stranger.

She let her eyes trail across the glass until they landed on something tucked at an odd angle under Mike’s bed. Turning around, she knelt beside the bed frame and touched the corner of the object—cool leather met her curious fingers, inviting her—until she found herself holding the item. It was a notebook. Eleven flipped the pages, poring over every passage undeniably in Mike’s handwriting. Although she was incapable of understanding some of the phrases, the entries were easily read until Eleven’s fingers stopped on the final page.

The latest entry, dated a few days ago. She read carefully, tracing the letters with the pad of her finger to feel them as she went, fascinated by the indents in his disorganized scrawl.

I won’t let myself believe he’s gone. Gone as in dead. He isn’t dead. He can’t be. But why is everyone acting like he is? Are they searching for Will because they feel bad? It’s the only excitement this town has had in years? That’s pretty shitty.

On the way to find Will, to find answers, we met a girl. I thought she was a boy at first. Her hair was cut really short. It was pouring buckets and Dustin was still arguing about turning back when we found her. Damn, did she look scared. Shaking like crazy. We took her back to my house, even though Lucas and Dustin didn’t want to. They said she was a freak, a weirdo. I wasn’t sure. She seemed nice enough for a girl who doesn’t talk. Eleven. That was her name. How weird? Who names their kid some number? Even more reason for the guys to be worried. I didn’t think it mattered, when she was cleaned up she looked really pretty. What’s that word on the vocab test in English? Stunning.

I tried to tell them she just needed a place to stay but they said I was crazy, that Eleven was crazy too. Just because Will’s gone and everything, now I have someone else to obsess over, they said. That isn’t true. I don’t obsess over him. It’s not like that.

But maybe I did? That day after school, when it was just him and I. Will was telling me about how the older kids were pushing him to the ground, calling him names. Faggot. Queer. He hated them for it. I almost said, ‘But Will, you aren’t a queer’ but as I started to talk he turned on his bike to stare at me. It made my stomach flip, why did it do that? Like stupid butterflies and crap. He looked at me like he knew I was lying. Like maybe I was lying too. To myself. But that’s a secret Will couldn’t tell, not to anyone except for me.

And now Eleven’s here. She’s asleep down in the basement. As I write this I don’t know what to think. I miss him in a way I didn’t think I could. Like a piece of mt is gone. God, that sounds sappy, huh? Great, now the kids are gonna call me names worse than Frogface. Say I like one of my best friends, the boy who might be dead.

But do I stop them? Are they wrong? I can’t get his face out of my head and it’s messing me up. I wish I could have said something that last night, when it was just Will and I. He was keeping a secret too.

The words ended there, but Eleven reread the page to make sure she didn’t miss what she thought she read. Mike Wheeler, the boy who found her in the rain, had secrets? Elven thought they were friends.

“Friends don’t lie,” she told herself, and the pages that said Mike liked Will. They also said that Mike liked Eleven too, and her heart hammered out a disjointed beat at that. Could you like your friends? In a way that was more? Eleven squeezed her eyes shut in concentration, trying to form the words that would make sense of it all. Mike was friends with Will, but there was something to his journal that was laden with different emotion too foggy for Eleven to fully grasp.

She opened her eyes. It was the same way she felt for Mike, that distant feeling. She relished in the fact that she knew something no one else did, but was shocked as well: are friends allowed to hide things like this? Keep locked away the shy smiles, the stares at one another, the rapid hearts? Friends but different.

A echoey toll sounded from downstairs, and for a shaky moment Eleven forgot about the time; she jumped at the noise and the notebook fell from her hands. It clattered to the floor with a soft thud and a rustle of paper. Eleven stared down at the black notebook for a long while, pondering over what she had read. Was it a secret she had snuck upstairs? No one had to know she was up here at all. But an outside grumble of a motor rolling up the driveway sent Eleven frantically back down the stairs, jumping the last few steps, and dashing into the basement. She retreated into the blanket fort and wrapped the sheets over her body. Her heart pounded with dread at the opening of a door, the preceding footsteps. A lively voice on the phone.

“Oh no, I don’t have to pick up Michael today. Stop by anytime. Yes, he’s with his friends,” the woman chattered. Eleven was trapped.

The numbers read: 3:08. It was too late now. She found herself once again stuck with her thoughts, staring at the same Eggo waffle wrapper. Wondering how she got stuck in a house she didn’t belong in, reading things that weren’t for her, feelings she couldn’t put into words.

Now Eleven knew two things: friend feelings, but ones that can be twisted into something else. An old word, with new meaning.

Maybe, Eleven thoughts, Mike hiding her in the basement was a secret, and Mike liking the boy in the other world was one, too.

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #byler #byler fanfic #soft angst #eleven stranger things #fanfiction #some fluff

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aoyama-division · 3 years

Text

Jet Set Trio Drama Track 1 - Another Day, Another Dollar

Pt. 1

-- Chōten Residence --

*Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep*

[As the clock had struck exactly 12:35 P.M., the alarm in the bedroom clock on the nightstand went off, awakening the young socialite known as Tomi Chōten from his slumber. Hitting the alarm clock until it shut off, he groaned as he groggily sat up from his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Remembering his events from last night, he looked over his shoulder and saw that the other side of his king-sized mattress was empty, save a single note. Rolling his eyes, he picked it up and half-heartedly read it.]

???: Thanks for the great night, Tomi-san! Looking forward to seeing you again! 💋

Tomi: Tch.

[Crumpling the paper up, the socialite threw it in a random direction in his room, not caring where it landed. Groaning once more, he stood up, grabbing his large emerald green robe from the rack atop his bedroom door. Tying it firmly across his waist, he opened his bedroom door and walked into the corridor where a group of butlers and maids were busy going about their business. As he crossed their path, they all immediately stopped what they were doing, bowed their heads, and greeted one of the heads of the family.]

Maids: *In unison* Good afternoon, Master Tomi!

[The young socialite did not dine to respond to any of them as he proceeded to the end of the hall where the stairs were. Proceeding downward two stories to the first floor, he looked as his family's head butler, Akiharu Hino, was digitally dusting a large vase his father had brought during one of his many voyages overseas. Hearing someone descend downstairs, the old butler stopped what he was doing and turned towards the stairs. Upon seeing it was the young master of the family, he placed his left arm over his chest and bowed his head.]

Hino: Good afternoon, young master.

Tomi: *Groggily* Morning, Hino.

Hino: It's actually afternoon sir, but thank you for the greeting.

Tomi: *Rolls his eyes* Details, Hino. It is far too early.

Hino: If you say so, sir.

[Groaning, the young socialite turned and made his way to the living room.]

Hino: Your morning coffee and cigar are waiting for you on the second end table, sir.

[Tomi did reply, instead simply waving his hand in 'thanks' as he continued towards the large brown doors to the living room.]

Hino: Ah sir, before you enter, I feel that I have to warn you that...

[Before the seasoned butler could finish his warning, the young master pushed opened the doors to the family room. He was prepared to see no one present save the maids he may have been cleaning up here. But instead, what his eyes took in was something else entirely. He looked as standing a ways away from his family's large flat-screen television that was hanging atop one of the room's walls, was his friend and associate, Karada Kessaku, busy following some sort of aerobic exercise that was on TV. But what caught Tomi's attention was the fact that his friend was wearing nothing save a pair of tight green exercise briefs, showing off his entire muscled body.]

[Staring at the display for a couple of moments longer, the young socialite, having had enough of the display, looked around for the remote control. Finding it atop the large glass table in the middle of the room, he quickly grabbed it and hit the 'Power' button, turning the television off.]

Karada: Hey!

[Turning around upset, the bodybuilder stopped and looked as it was his friend, Tomi, who was responsible.]

Karada: Oh, hey Tomi. Bout time you woke up. Thought you were just going to sleep the day away again.

Tomi: *Barely containing his rage* Karada, what do you think you're doing?

Karada: Huh? *Looks down at himself* Oh. Well, I was doing my daily aerobic exercises until someone interu...

Tomi: No! I mean, *Waves his hand at Karada's wardrobe* What do you think you doing in my house, in my living room, half-naked?!

Karada: Huh? *Looks down at himself again* Oh. Well, this is how I always do my aerobics. It helps my body to breathe.

Tomi: But why in my house?!

Karada: *Shrugs* I don't know. What's the big deal? It's not like I'm hurting anyone.

Tomi: You're hurting my eyes! Just put some clothes on, for God's sake!

Karada: All right, all right. Sheesh. *Looks over at Hino, who was silently watching the entire display with nary a word nor a hint of emotion* Do you have my clothes anywhere?

Hino: Right here, Master Karada. *Seemingly out of nowhere, he pulls a fresh pair of clothes from behind his back* I took the liberty of having them washed and cleaned for you.

Karada: Wow, thanks dude! *He quickly throws his clothes on, which consists of his green muscle shirt and a pair of long blue gym shorts before looking back at Tomi* There. Happy?

[The young socialite didn't bother to reply instead of walking to a corner of the room where he had spotted a white teacup full of black liquid, which was coffee from the smell of it. Beside the glass was a large light brown cigar that was currently unlit, but was ready to be smoked. Sitting down on the large sofa in the room, Tomi picked up the glass, before taking a quick sip, sighing as the liquid made its way down his body, quickly rejuvenating him.]

Tomi: *Raises the cup in Hino's direction* Good as always, Hino-san. Well done.

Hino: *Bows with his left arm over his chest* My pleasure, sir.

Karada: *Frowning* I don't see how you people can drink that stuff.

Tomi: *Takes another sip, not bothering to look at him* Try it, you might like it.

Karada: Hard pass. Give me a protein shake any day of the week.

Tomi: *Rolls his eyes* Whatever. *Looks up at him, setting his teacup down* What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be at the gym, 'pumping iron' or whatever it is you meatheads call it?

Karada: *Frowns again* Okay, one: I take offense to that. Meatheads are known for generally not being smart. And I like to think I have a good intellect as far as most people go.

Tomi: *Scoffs and speaks under his breath* Keep telling yourself that...

Karada: *Chooses to ignore whatever it was his friend just said* And secondly: if you must know, today was your mother's training day.

Tomi: *Frowning as he picks up his cigar* Again? What is that, the third time this week?

Karada: *Shrugs* Hey, do you have any idea how hard it is to squeeze people into my schedule? Your mom, no offense or anything, is just a few of the many women here in Aoyama who pay for my services.

Tomi: Aren't your services exclusive to only women anyway?

Karada: Well I sure as hell aren't selling them out to men if that's what you're wondering! *Flexes* These muscles are only for the women of Aoyama to partake in!

Tomi: Well you might want to be careful there, Mr. Muscles. *Smirks as he lights his cigar* If these women's spouses or significant others find out that it's a man giving their ladies 'private lessons', you might very well find a mob on your doorstep one day.

Karada: *Smirks* My clients and I have a very strict teacher/student confidentiality act in place. I disavow any knowledge of what goes on during our sessions.

Tomi: *Grins* Hmm, must be nice. *Takes a puff of his cigar*

Karada: *Smirks* Besides, are you really in any position to talk?

Tomi: *Looks up, confused* What are you talking about?

Karada: *Continues smirking* I'm talking about that girl who left early this morning.

Tomi: *Still looks confused, before realization hits his face* Ohh. Her. *Scoffs* Just a one-time thing, I assure you. Nothing more, nothing less.

Karada: You really should take my advice, and meet a real girl for once.

Tomi: And why pray tell, would I waste my time on that? *Takes another puff of his cigar* One-night stands get me all the fun of being in a relationship without the hassle of actually being in one.

Tomi: And F.Y.I., the women I sleep with are real.

Hino: Is that why I always see them leaving the house in the morning with a large bag of money, young master?

[Karada starts laughing out loud, while Tomi scowls at his butler.]

Tomi: You're supposed to be on my side here, Hino.

Hino: My apologies, Master Tomi.

Tomi: Whatever. *Takes another puff of his cigar before snubbing it out in an ashtray nearby* So Hino, what exactly is on the agenda for today?

Hino: Well... *Takes a note out of his shirt pocket, giving it a look over* ...You are free up 4:00 P.M. At that time, you are needed to relocate to the clothing store at the Aoyama Shopping Mall to get fitted for your attire for tonight's banquet at 7:00 P.M at the Aoyama Park Tower.

Tomi: *Groans* Great, another soirée to go to. *Sighs before standing up*

Karada: Hey, since you're free until four, how about we go get some grub over at Luis's place?

Tomi: Good idea. I've not eaten since I woke up.

Karada: Maybe you should try not sleeping past noon.

Tomi: *sarcastically* I'll give your advice serious consideration.

Hino: Shall I prepare the limousine, Young Master?

Tomi: Yes please, Hino. *Begins walking back upstairs* I'll be down in five minutes.

Karada: I'll time you!

Tomi: *Answers without looking back* You do that.

-- Thrilling Heart Restaurant, Aoyama District --

[After about a 10 min. ride, Tomi and Karada finally arrived at Luis's restaurant. Upon arrival, both men looked as there was a line leading out of the restaurant.]

Karada: Sheesh, Luis's place is as busy as ever. And it's only lunchtime.

Tomi: *Scoffs as he begins walking towards the restaurant, bypassing the line of people* I don't know why Luis has to have his restaurant open to everyone.

Karada: *Follows behind Tomi* To make more money?

Tomi: He'd make more if he only catered to a certain kind of people.

Karada: *Frowns* You mean, people like you?

Tomi: *Shrugs* Don't see why not.

[The duo continued passing the crowd, ignoring the looks and complaints they received. Upon entering the restaurant, Tomi looked at the server who immediately recognized who the two were and hastily bowed her head.]

Server: G-good day, Master Tomi and Karada!

Tomi: *Rolls eyes* Spare me the fake hospitality and just get us a table. Far away from the peons, please.

Server: Y-y-yes, o-of course!

[Obeying the young socialite, the server led him and Karada up onto the second floor of the restaurant, which was completely empty. She then lead them to a table close to the back with a sign on it that read 'Reserved for Special Patrons'. Pulling the seats out for both men, the nervous server then stood off to the side, pulling out a pen and notepad.]

Server: W-what would you like to drink?

Karada: I'll take a glass of ice-cold water, thanks.

Tomi: A glass of red wine.

Karada: *Frowns at Tomi* Dude, are you serious? It's like one in the freakin' afternoon!

Tomi: *Cocks an eyebrow at Karada* Your point?

Karada: *Sighs* Whatever. Do what you want.

Server: *Nervously writes the men's drinks on her notepad* A-and for your meals?

Karada: I'll take a couple of those greasy tacos that you guys were serving the other day. Those things were awesome!

Tomi: *Looking at the menu with a frown* Why is everything on this menu so damn hard to pronunciate?

Karada: Well, it is all Hispanic.

Tomi: *Sighs and tosses the menu on the table* Just give me whatever it is you guys called 'grilled goat' or something.

Server: Y-you mean our cabrito?

Tomi: *Looks at the server, annoyed* Do I look like I care what it's called? Just bring it here!

Server: Y-y-yes sir! My apologies! *Starts to run off to take the men's orders*

Tomi: *Holds up a finger* Hold it.

Server: *Stops mid-step, and looks back at the socialite, scared* Y-yes?

Tomi: When our food gets here, tell the owner/chef that we'd like to speak with him.

Server: Y-yes! I-I-I'll make sure t-t-to tell h-him.

Tomi: Good, then get going.

Server: Y-yes! *She then runs off to the first floor to the kitchen*

Karada: *Frowns at Tomi as the server disappears from view* Seriously, dude?

Tomi: *Looks at his friend with a bored look* What is it now?

Karada: What was that?

Tomi: *Looks at his friend, confused* What was what?

Karada: That! *Points to where the server was formerly standing* With the server! Why were you acting rude to her?

Tomi: *Sighs, while rolling his eyes* Karada-san, I don't know how many more times I have to explain this to you before you understand it. *Sits up, giving his friend his attention*

Tomi: We... *Points to himself and Karada* ...are a cultured people, my friend. We are special people. Why? Because we have something that those peons down there... *Points to the people still waiting in line* ...do not have. And you know what that is, correct?

Karada: Uhh...

Tomi: *Continues without waiting for him to answer* Class, my friend. Class. We are on an entirely different level from the peasants down there still waiting to get inside. The fact that we were able to get seated before them is proof enough.

Karada: Isn't that just cause we know the owner?

Tomi: *Sighs* Missing the point, entirely. The very thought that we have to treat, or, Heaven forbid, be treated the same as those peons down there, is not only wrong but also foolish.

Karada: *Frowns* Isn't that kinda arrogant?

Tomi: Arrogant? *Scoffs* This coming from the guy who earlier stated that his 'services' were exclusive to the women of Aoyama only?

Karada: *Opens his mouth to respond, but fails to* …Fine, you win this round.

Tomi: *Shrugs with a grin* Hey, those were your words.

Karada: Yeah, yeah.

[As the two men were talking, they looked as the previous server returned carrying two glasses of liquid: wine and water. Nodding to the gentlemen, she placed the glass of water in front of the bodybuilder.]

Karada: *Swiftly grabs it and drinks half of it, finishing with a satisfying 'ahh'* Thanks, yo!

[Nodding at the bodybuilder, she then placed the glass of wine in front of the socialite, who said nothing in response.]

Server: *Keeping her head down* Y-your meals will be ready in a bit.

Tomi: Did you remember to give the owner our message?

Server: Y-yes. He said he'll personally bring your meals to you.

Tomi: Thank you. You're dismissed. *Waves his hand at the server in a 'shooing' manner*

Server: Y-yes. Thank you.

Karada: *As the waitress leaves, he grins at his friend* You were a lot more polite that time around.

Tomi: I'm not trying to be polite or rude. I'm simply being me. *Takes a sip of his red wine*

Karada: You know you're going to regret drinking this early later on, right? Don't you have a party to go to tonight?

Tomi: *Shrugs* Yes. And your point?

Karada: Just saying. That alcohol's going to hamper you later on.

Tomi: The alcohol is the only reason I attend those parties in the first place. *Takes another sip*

[After a few minutes of waiting, the duo looked as walking up the stairs, carrying two plates of food, was the owner of the restaurant, its executive chef, and their friend, Luis Kōkyū.]

Luis: I have two special orders for a Mister Chōten and a Mister Kessaku?

Karada: Luis!! *Gets up and prepares to hug his friend, but looks as the chef slightly tips his plate of food over a bit*

Luis: Do you want to wait for your food to get made again?

Karada: *Looks in horror as the tacos on the plate begin to slowly slide downward* N-no.

Luis: Then do not touch me. *Lifts the plate back up again, before placing it on the table in front of the bodybuilder*

Karada: *His eyes light up like a little boy* Thank you!! *Begins to dig into his food*

[The executive chef rolls his eyes before placing Tomi's order in front of him, and sitting down in the empty seat at the table. He then takes a cigarette from his back pocket, along with a lighter, and lights it, inhaling the smoke before exhaling.]

Karada: *Frowns as smoke begins to fill the table* Ugh, come on dude, really? Do you have to do that while I'm eating?

Luis: *Looks at his friend, complaining* Look, I've been busy since I first opened up shop today. This is the first smoke I've had since I woke up, so spare me the agony, okay? *Takes another puff before blowing the smoke out into the air*

Karada: *Waves the cigarette smoke away* Whatever. Why is it so busy today anyways?

Luis: Today? It's always busy in here. You two just happened to come during the worst time: lunch hour.

Tomi: *Cutting up his grilled meat with a fork and knife before eating a piece* I was just telling Karada how you need to start selling to a certain kind of people.

Luis: *Looks at his friend with a skeptical look* And who would these certain types of people be, pray tell? People like you?

Tomi: *Shrugs as he holds onto his glass of red wine* I'm just saying. If you started only allowing upper-class people here, maybe your shop wouldn't be so busy.

Luis: *Grins* Yes, but then I wouldn't be making as much money as I am now.

Tomi: *Shrugs* Fair point. *Takes a sip of his wine, before looking at the glass, spinning the glass in his hand, watching the liquid swirl around*

Tomi: People seem to have this misconception that being rich is easy. But it truly isn't.

Luis: *Grins as he closes his eyes, his cigarette between his middle and index fingers* No, it really isn't.

Karada: *Shakes his head 'no'* Not at all.

[All three men look up at each other before a small grin appears on each of their faces.]

JST: It's great!!! *All three men laugh out loud at their inward joke as their lunch continues*

-- Prime Minister's Office, Chuohku Ward --

[Far from Aoyama division, in the Chuohku Ward, the building where the Party of Words made their home base was a steady flow of activity, as everyone in the building was going about their daily activities. At the very top of the building in the main office, behind a grandiose desk, sat the figure of Otome Tohoten, Japan's current Prime Minister and the leader of the Party of Words. By her side stood the figure of Ichijiku Kadenokoji, her trusted aide and Japan's Deputy Prime Minister.]

Otome: *Looking through various papers, her eyes scanning every word and image on each one she looks through* Hmm.

Ichijiku: *Senses something amiss with her leader* Is something wrong, Lady Otome?

Otome: *Doesn't answer at first, still sifting through the papers* Not exactly. *Looks at another paper, before placing it down on her desk*

Otome: We've sent out invitations to every known team or person in all of the Divisions for the upcoming Division Rap Battle tournament thus far.

Otome: *Picks up a paper detailing all the Divisions* Harajuku, Shinagawa, Saitama, Kyoto, Ueno, Ahikabara, and more. *Lays the paper back down on her desk* But it is still not enough.

Ichijiku: Would you like me to send my men out to scout for more teams?

Otome: No need. But... *She, again, picks up the paper detailing the divisions before realizing something* Has the spokesperson from Aoyama arrived yet?

Ichijiku: *Nods* Yes, I believe she arrived several hours ago.

Otome: Good. Have her sent to my office, at once.

Ichijiku: *Salutes* Yes ma'am!

[Putting her fingers to her ear, the Deputy Prime Minister began speaking to someone over a radio. Whilst she was doing that, Otome began swiftly writing something on a piece of paper. Within a couple of minutes, she finished before neatly folding it up and putting it in an envelope, sealed with the official seal of the Party of Words. As she finished, the door to her office slid open, revealing the figure of Okawa Chōten, Aoyama's spokesperson for Chuohku, dressed in the official Party of Words uniform.]

Okawa: *Bows her head in respect to Otome and Ichijiku* You summoned me, Prime Minister?

Otome: Yes. Come in and have a seat. We have much to talk about.

[Obeying, the middle-aged woman walked further into the Prime Minister's office as the door to the room slowly slid shut...]

To be continued...

#hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic oc #drama track #tomi chōten #karada kessaku #luis kōkyū #jet set trio #another day

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baroquebucky · 4 years

Text

bad weather

in which you give Bucky house warming gifts

masterlist

a/n: hey guys ! here’s a short little bucky fic i thought of last night its kind of a mess but idc its sweet hehe <3 send in requests for our beefy boy

You finished stuffing the little basket with a couple small things and closed it, smiling as you texted bucky;

im walking over w your house warming gift !! <3

aw doll i could just pick you up :-)

no >:(

You quickly sent the text and headed out the door, a smile on your face as you walked down the street, headphones in. However your music wasn’t loud enough to cover the loud thunder from the sky. You jumped slightly, looking at the sky and noticing the flash on lightning, the sky quickly darkening.

You sped up, hoping to beat the rain, you were only a couple blocks away when the thunder cracked, a flash of lightning lit up the city and rain began to pour. You squealed, cursing yourself for not bringing an umbrella as you continued to rush down the street, taking your sweater off and wrapping the basket in it so your gifts wouldn’t get wet.

You tried taking shelter under a roof for a while but the wind only blew the rain in your face, you huffed, mentally preparing yourself to sprint the rest of the way. By the time you turned the final corner you were out of breath, your side hurt and you probably looked like a wet dog (smelled it too).

You quickly knocked on buckys new door, shaking slightly from the cold water, you envied the basket seeing as though it was perfectly dry since you covered it with your jacket.

Bucky swung the door open, a smile on his face that quickly turned into a frown when he saw your soaked frame. His frown turned back into a smile as he began to giggle.

“I told you i should’ve picked you up” he teased and you rolled your eyes, pouting a little as you let yourself in. “I never said come in!” He joked, closing the door as you stood by the doorway. “I’m soaking wet and I’m cold, dont test me Buchanan” you threatened, unwrapping your now wet jacket from the basket and setting it down on the table.

“oh doll why’d you wrap the basket in your jacket! You’re gonna catch a cold” he spoke, pulling you into his chest. You let out a content sigh as his body warmth radiated onto you. “you sound like a mom” you joked causing him to scoff and push you away, which resulted in you whining and him hugging you once more.

“let me get you dry clothes to change into doll face” he smiled, kissing the top of your head before going to his room. “come look at my new room! it’s so cool” he giggled, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

As you took in his new room he rummaged through his closet, mumbling to himself as he tried to remember where he put his long sleeves. After a couple unsuccessful attempts he found the right drawer and pulled out a soft long sleeve shirt along with a pair of boxers.

“you can change into these if you wanna, so you aren’t dripping all over my new carpet” he teased and you scrunched up you face, sticking your tongue out causing him to smile. “you’re so cute” he replied, kissing your nose before heading to the bathroom to get you a towel for your hair.

As he handed you the towel he spoke up, “I’ll wait for you outside doll, tell me if you need anything okay?” you nodded, blushing at how respectful he was.

You quickly changed, his shirt fitting very loose and comfy, it smelled like him and it made your heart swoon. You pulled on the boxers and dried your hair a little with the towel, putting it back in the restroom when you finished and walking out with your wet clothes in hand.

Bucky felt his breath hitch in his throat when he saw you in his clothes, a blush on his face when he checked you out. “You can put your clothes with my dirty ones doll, I’ll give them to you when i wash” he smiled softly, and you nodded, tossing them into his dirty clothes basket and going to grab the basket as you set it infront of him.

You looked at him excitedly, eager for him to see the gifts you had bought him. “okay it’s not much honestly, but i just wanted to help warm this place up! i know how brooding you can be” you began to ramble, nervous that he wouldn’t like the gifts you got him.

“brooding?” he looked at you offended, you only rolled your eyes at him causing him to chuckle softly. “okay okay open it!” you urged, a smile on your face as he quickly opened the basket.

After tossing out the tissue paper his eyes first landed on a small planter with an arrangement of fake succulents. A small smile on his face as he noticed the bright blue planter with a yellow sun on it and a heart.

“i painted the planter myself, you always said you wanted a pop of color and you always wanted plants but you can never keep them alive because of your missions but these won’t ever die” you explained, Bucky smile only widened, excited to see the rest of your gifts.

There were a couple more things, a digital clock, some plates, and a framed picture of the two of you, he had tears in his eyes as he looked at all the gifts, each one with an intricate meaning behind them. He felt his heart melting as you had explained everything, always talking about how he had mentioned something and so that’s why you got it.

Bucky had only ever had steve remember little things about him, and now here you were, a basket full of gifts for his new house because you had remembered every little things he had mentioned.

He smiled at you, tears in his eyes as you looked at him to see what he thought. “what do you think?” you chewed the inside of your cheek nervously, “i love it” he chuckled, putting everything down and moving to wrap you into his arms, you smiled and threw yourself into his embrace.

the two of you wiggled around for a moment, shifting so that the two of you were now cuddling on the couch, the sound of the rain hitting the window roughly, thunder causing car alarms to go off.

You helped Bucky arrange your gifts around his place, taking some things out of boxes and setting up the living room while listening to music, singing and dancing around with smiles on your faces. Soon enough the two of you were tired, the living room and kitchen were finally finished and the only things left to unpack were half his clothes and some stuff for his room.

You both threw yourself on the couch, cuddling into each other and turning the tv on, flipping through channels until you found something good to watch. Finally settling on just switching to Disney+ and watching Star Wars instead.

Soon enough you started to yawn pulling your selves over your knuckles and cuddling a little more into buckys chest, he looked at you with a soft smile, pulsing the movie and moving a bit.

“are you tired doll? we cam go to bed if you want” he spoke softly and you Hummers din response, “I kinda don't wanna get up though” you mumbled against his chest, he smiled, turning the TV off and picking you up swiftly.

“I forgot you were a super soldier for a second” you remarked and he shook his head. Soon enough the two of you were cuddled up under the sheets, the soft patter of the rain hitting his window followed by the occasional flash of lightening that would light up the room. You cuddled him a little closer during the claps of thunder, mainly for his sake, you felt the way he would grip you a little tighter.

“goodnight buck I love you” you would mumble, placing a gentle kiss on whatever skin was close to you and closing your eyes. His face would heat up, a smile quickly overtaking his features. “goodnight doll, I love you more” he’d reply, kissing you right back and holding you close, falling asleep quickly to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #soft!bucky barnes #Bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x you #soft Bucky barnes

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scullydubois · 4 years

Text

Only the Light: Ch. 8

Scully deals with the trauma of her nightmare when she and Mulder meet BJ in the park; a migraine leads Scully to breakdown to her sister.

[this is an especially angsty part...TW for mild implication of rape]

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

The rest of their breakfast passes without fanfare. After their conversation about love languages, neither feels like diving into particularly deep topics. Mulder spends their meal providing commentary on the songs other customers picked off the jukebox, turning Scully into a captive audience who occasionally nods, chuckles, or otherwise utters a phrase of approval. It’s not that they’re bored of each other, but that they feel they should preserve their energy for the taxing conversations sure to come along with the case. The electricity between them lingers in the air, waiting for a match to spark it. When the waitress asks if they want to split the bill, Mulder gallantly insists that he will take care of it, then pulls out the Bureau credit card with a wink his partner’s way. To Scully, his wink feels like a lighter flaring into flame. A brief moment of blaze, there and then gone again. One day, she swears to herself, one day she will let him ignite her heart.

Back in the car, they buckle up and reacclimate themselves with 1994. The local country music station hums in the background, too low to make out any lyrics. It’s just a few stoplights to the park, not even long enough to get through an entire song.

They find BJ at a picnic table nestled among Aubrey’s fall colors. She notices them first, waves them over. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Mulder says as he and Scully take a seat across from the detective.

Scully is struck by reality’s intrusion on the version of BJ she met in her nightmare. BJ is not heavily pregnant; she does not even show. She’s not covered in blood either, but looking polished in a pantsuit. Yet the sight of her conjures up vivid images from the dream, ones that Scully hoped would stay hidden in her psyche forever. The resolute darkness of Duane Barry’s eyes, like his soul had been sucked out of him. The way droplets of blood splattered when he pulled BJ by the collar. And the image of her own body, how it had been desecrated and she hadn’t felt a thing. She felt nothing.

“How are you, BJ?” she asks, her voice stiffer than intended.

BJ rests her hands on the wooden table. “I’m okay.” Then-- “I’ve made some decisions.”

Scully nods, not wanting to pry. The three of them sit with the silence. Sometimes this is all you can do. Her courage gathered, BJ looks to Mulder.

“I don’t know if Agent Scully told you, but I’m pregnant. It’s Tilman’s. It’s made things...complicated.”

“I’m sure,” Mulder replies, not particularly moved by this announcement.

“I don’t think it will impact the case in any way, but I wanted to be open with you. Staying quiet about it was only making the situation tougher.”

“Well, thanks for sharing.”

Scully shoots Mulder a look, as if to chastise his blase attitude toward BJ’s courage. He doesn’t see it, which makes her feel oddly guilty, like she had talked about him behind his back.

Across the park, a little girl plays with her dog. They run through a pile of leaves together, and she takes a tumble.

“Ow!” the girl exclaims loud enough to be heard throughout the park. BJ stands up, her gaze snapping toward the sound. Scully turns, fighting the urge to join BJ. The girl’s mother bends to check the girl for injury and seeing that she’s okay, sets her on her feet. BJ exhales, joins the agents back at the table.

“The mothering instinct,” BJ monologues. “I've been feeling it a lot lately. I used to hate it when my mother hovered over me. I swore I'd never be like her.”

Scully’s throat tightens. She felt the gravitational pull too. I mean, she’s always liked kids, but she’s not sure she would be a good mother and so she’s tried not to think much about it. Certainly her situation is unfavorable for motherhood. What kind of life would it be for a kid to have their mother gone all the time? She knows what it’s like to tuck herself into bed without a goodnight kiss and a bedtime story...to feel like an afterthought in a parent’s life. It made her push herself harder, trying to shed the inadequacy her father must have seen in her. And still she fell short. Is it all in her head, this fledgling maternal instinct? Or is it a sign of changing brain chemistry?

“I think we all feel that way at some point or another,” Mulder says. For a moment, Scully thinks he’s read her mind. She’s about to ask him whether there’s such thing as a paternal instinct when BJ continues on--

“My father was a cop. A good cop. That's all I ever wanted to be. He'd say what we're doing here is nonsense. That you can't solve a crime from a dream.”

Scully is somewhat relieved to know that she’s not alone in failing to measure up to a father’s expectations. This is not the point of the conversation, but this is what her mind latches on to. Her own father felt that the X-Files was a waste of time,, and she could never put into words why the work was so fulfilling to her. It’s not medicine; the results aren’t as obvious. Yet she can’t help but feel like she and Mulder are tuning into a rarely heard frequency, listening to its message, and passing it on. Little by little that will change the world, won’t it?

“Well, I've often felt that dreams are answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask,” Mulder offers, rising to meet the gravity of the moment. Scully wonders what question her nightmare was answering. She shudders at the thought.

---------

Her skull feels like it’s being cut in half with a chainsaw, there is no other way to put it. She’s lying stretched out on her motel bed, a washcloth over her eyes, praying the pain away. Migraines aren’t a common occurrence for her, but she recalls all the times her mother would turn off the television, pull the curtains, and lay flush in her recliner in an attempt to ward off the pain. As little as she was, Scully would pull a step stool over to grab a glass from the cabinet, then fill it with water and bring it to her mother like a dog itching for a treat. She’d get a ‘thank you’ from her mom’s quiet, steady voice and sometimes a pat on the head, but nothing she could subsist on. She always wished for a little more to fill the deficit in herself. Now she understood. Pain chips away at your capacity for love.

What had started as a dull roar now felt more like the scream of a banshee. It came on suddenly around 4 while she and Mulder were reviewing the evidence of the 1942 murders. Their day had been pretty slow, one of paperwork and manila folders and bureaucracy. Not a lot of progress on the case. It’s as if her brain weren’t working hard enough, and so decided to punish her by making work impossible. She let on nothing of her plight until the way back to the motel when she leaned her head against the window and Mulder asked if she was okay. She responded nonchalantly, saying it was just a headache, and he in his savior complex offered to stop for Aspirin, but she insisted she had some in her suitcase. She did--a bottle with only two left--and she took them both. So far they’ve done nothing to combat the pain.

It occurs to her that her ardent desire to avoid coming off as a damsel in distress doesn’t exactly mesh with Mulder’s tendency to be the hero. What is she to make of that? Nothing, not in her current state of mind.

She lies there, wonders if it’s reached a late enough hour to change into her pajamas. She can’t deal with the monotony of the shower tonight, not even if Mulder’s on the other side. She turns, glances at the digital alarm clock. 8:09pm. Certainly that’s appropriate pajama time, right? She can never be sure that Mulder won’t come knocking on her door with a new interpretation of the evidence for her to shoot down or a theory somehow more outlandish than his original. She likes that they keep each other on their toes, but tonight that’s not where she wants to be.

Her head berates her for sitting up. She figures that if that’s wishful thinking, changing clothes will be too, so she lays right back down. She has gotten very used to ending up back where she started.

Seeing as modern medicine is failing her, she decides to try meditation. Missy swears by it, but Scully doesn’t see the benefit of willingly turning off your brain. She can hear her sister now: “It’s not about turning off your brain, it’s about transcending your thoughts and being present with the world.” Since when am I not present with the world, she always wants to reply. She can’t afford not to be present with the world.

But the older sister always has some semblance of sway over the younger one, so Scully closes her eyes and listens to the nothingness of the room around her. Well, it’s not exactly nothing, but nearly so. The mini-fridge, which she doesn’t dare touch even if the bill isn’t her responsibility, hums like it has something to prove. The remaining leaves on the trees in the parking lot rustle with the wind. In the adjacent room, Mulder’s TV is on. She can hear the droning chitter-chatter of sports commentators. Baseball, probably. That’s played in the fall, right?

She slips out of active listening and into mindless musing on her lack of sports expertise. Her father was never a sports junkie himself, but her brothers were. She was often made the referee of their wrestling matches or t-ball games, having been deemed more impartial than Melissa. And yet her understanding of plays and pitches and batting averages never progressed from there. She could name all 206 bones in the body in alphabetical order, but she couldn’t tell you what 3rd down meant. Usually she doesn’t care, but at the moment, this is making her indescribably sad.

Overcome by her isolation, she grabs the phone off hook, dials her own number. Melissa picks up right before it stops ringing.

“Hello?”

“Missy…” she doesn’t know it’s going to happen until she opens her mouth and tears fling themselves down her face.

“Dana, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you safe?” Missy’s voice is concerned but controlled, like a 911 operator.

“I-I’m okay,” Scully manages, in probably the least convincing delivery ever.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the motel. Mulder and I are safe, we’re okay,” she stammers.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Melissa says with utter calm.

“My head is pounding, Missy, and I know mom used to get migraines, but I’ve never felt anything like this before--” Her voice catches, a sob slips out. “And I’m scared, Missy. Something’s wrong with me.”

“It sounds like you need medical attention, honey.” Melissa always knows when to slip in a term of endearment. “Can Mulder take you to the hospital?”

“No, no, it’s not like that.” She squeezes her eyes shut, sees stars. She hopes Mulder can’t hear her crying. The embarrassment of hurting is almost worse than the hurt itself. She pulls the bed sheet over her head like some over-dramatic teenager. She wouldn’t be able to look Mulder in the eye if he heard this next part.

She sniffles. “I’m six days late, and I’m never late, and I can’t be pregnant unless…” She wonders what would happen if she just stopped the sentence there and never spoke of it again. Could she do that? Would Melissa mind?

She lets the bottom drop out from under her. “...unless they did something to me.” The words are barely audible, she hates to have them on her tongue. Worse still, she’s not even the subject in her own sentence. She’s the object, of course.

She hears Missy take what she’s deemed “a cleansing breath.” Then--”Can you come home? Tonight, tomorrow morning?”

“I...What would I tell Mulder?” Her tears have stopped flowing, but her brokenness still lives in her voice.

“Anything. That I locked myself out of the apartment, that it’s mom’s birthday, maybe the truth. That man will listen to whatever you say. He’s not gonna stop you.”

“Well, I have to tell the FBI something.”

“Say you have a family emergency. Or that you’re experiencing trauma from work-related events. You don’t owe them anything, Dana.”

Scully knows this, but could never operate as if she actually believed it. The FBI is her job, her duty, her choice. How can she be up in arms about something she wished upon herself?

She takes as deep a breath as the pain in her head will allow. “I’ll fly out tomorrow morning.”

“Call me with the deets before you take off. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay.” Scully feels a rush of safety, of being held & supported. “Thank you,” she breathes. Missy has saved her from herself.

“You’re welcome. And Dana…?”

“Yes?”

“We’re gonna figure this out. Whatever it is, we’re gonna figure it out.”

Scully flutters her eyelids shut, feels the temptation of tears at the back of them. “I know...Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Missy echoes. “Get some rest, and try not to worry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Scully wonders what gene her sister has that gives her such a distinct ability to say the right thing every time. She wishes she hadn't missed that boat. How much easier would life be?

She notices that Missy has refused to hang up first. “Goodnight, Missy,” she says into the phone.

“Goodnight, Dana. Sleep well.” Her words are a balm to the soul.

Scully puts the phone back on the hook, feeling like Missy just put hope back in her vocabulary. Hope or belief? Which is stronger?

#the stakes...they are getting higher #the x-files #txf fic #missy & scully fic #only the light fic #mine #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully

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emmy-writes-sometimes · 4 years

Text

Sneaky

You’re Chris’s daughter. When he tells you that he’s going out for the night, you take the opportunity to have your boyfriend over and hope that he doesn’t find out.

“Why are you on your phone during school?” Your dad asked as you picked up your phone. You rolled your eyes.

“You’re the one who called me,” you scoffed.

“I know, I’m just messing with you. Cheadle’s in town and asked me if I want to get dinner, so you’re on your own tonight. I’ll bring you something on my way home if I don’t hear you’re throwing a wild party.”

“That’s fine,” you shrugged. “Have fun.”

“I’ll be home around nine-thirty. You know the drill, lock the door, feed the dog.”

“Yep.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You clicked the call shut and locked your phone, prepared to put it in your locker so you didn’t get in trouble with the school, who insisted everyone put their phone in their locker during classes. And then you turned to your boyfriend, who was standing beside you.

“What was that about?” He asked.

“My dad’s going to dinner tonight, so you can come over,” you relayed. You lied about the last part – your dad was very strict about letting boys come over, just because he knew how he used to be with girls and you were exactly like him and the last thing he wanted was to have to take you to get a pregnancy test at the age of seventeen.

“He said I could come over?” Your boyfriend, Jack, raised an eyebrow. Your dad loved him, really, but if he knew you’d asked him to come over he’d say no. He would give you a hard, fast no.

“Well, he’s going to be gone, so it really doesn’t matter.” Jack laughed.

“You’re crafty. I’ll bring homework so when he comes home and I’m still there, we won’t be doing anything he wouldn’t approve of.” You rolled your eyes. Jack was a good kid, and that was probably why your dad loved him so much. Jack wouldn’t so much as touch your lower back unsupervised.

“Oh, come on.”

“He’ll find out, and I’d rather not get yelled at,” Jack responded. The bell rang for your third to last period and Jack looked up at the ceiling, kissed your cheek, and left for his own class. You walked to your own, grateful that at least you’d have some company.

You pulled into the driveway at half past three, knowing your dad was already gone, and were greeted by Dodger waiting for you at the door. You kneeled down and pet him before letting him out to the gated backyard. And, knowing Jack would be over right after football practice, you went and took a long, hot shower. You weren’t trying to seduce him, you were seventeen, but you still wanted to look prettier than you did earlier. You knew your plan was working when Jack walked in the back door, since he parked his car at the park down the street so your dad wouldn’t figure it out. Honestly, he probably would, but Jack would be gone by the time he got home.

“Can I borrow your books?” He asked as he walked up behind you, kissing your shoulder.

“You actually want to do homework?” You pouted a little, watching as he kneeled down to pet Dodger.

“That’s why I’m here,” he winked.

“Come on. I’m setting an alarm for nine so you can be long gone by the time my dad gets back.” You walked up the stairs, watching as he picked Dodger up to bring him too. You swore both your dad and Jack loved the dog more than they loved you. He dropped the dog down at your bedroom door, watching as the dog made his way over to the little dog bed beside yours.

“I’m getting in bed,” you announced, crossing your arms. “Feel free to join me.” Your boyfriend laughed.

“You do that. I’ll be over in a second.” You gave him a sly smile, knowing you were about to get what you wanted. In a few minutes you had your headphones in and were avoiding homework by watching Netflix, while he was beside you using your lap as a way to prop up a textbook.

You must have fallen asleep, because the next time you woke up, Jack was shaking you. It was dark outside, your phone was dead, and you glanced over at the digital alarm clock on your nightstand. You sat up, hearing the familiar noise of your dad shutting a car door. Jack looked alarmed, probably because there was no way out of the house if your dad was there. The only way to get back to his car was to go out the front door, where your dad was.

“Oh my God,” you sighed. “You should’ve plugged in my phone or woken me up, or…”

“I forgot what time it was! And you were sleeping really well,” Jack tried to say.

“Ugh, just get under my bed! And pull the skirt over you!” You shoved him away and stood up, listening as the key started fumbling in the front door. Even after living in that house all your life, your dad could still not work the keys. You watched Jack crawl underneath the bed, saw his backpack, and threw a folded blanket over it to hide it. And then you sat in the middle of the bed, plugging your phone in, and tried to act innocent.

“Sweetie?” You heard your dad call up to you. The smell of fast food wafted to your nose, making you realize how hungry you were, and you heard his footsteps on the carpeted stairs. You looked down again, hoping that Jack underneath the bed wasn’t noticeable.

“Hey!” You called at him as he entered the doorway to your room. You could smell Jack’s cologne a little bit, but you were wearing one of his old t-shirts so it could have just been that. If you didn’t stop acting paranoid, your dad would definitely find out. Your dad appeared in the doorway to your room holding a bag of food and a drink.

“Hey, how was school?” He asked.

“Fine,” you shrugged. “How was Don?” Your dad walked over to you and handed you the bag of food. You tipped your head when you realized there were two burgers and three sets of fries in there, almost like…

“Good.”

“Why’s there so much food then?” You asked, confused.

“I was halfway home when I realized I forgot to get you anything. And I drove past the park and saw Jack’s car. By the way, Jack, how’s your mom doing after the surgery?” You froze, eyes going wide, as you heard motion under the bed.

“She’s good!” Jack called. You shut your eyes, sighing, ready for punishment. “Thanks for the food, Mr. Evans.”

“Yeah, just ask me next time instead of sneaking guys into your room and under your bed that I know you haven’t cleaned in ages,” your dad sighed. “Jack, if you’d like to come out, you’re welcome to eat here before I drive you back to your car.”

“But… but we…” You stuttered. “What?”

“You’re talking to the king of sneaking girls into his room,” your dad said. “Oh, by the way, Jack, you can park your car in the driveway next time. Just make sure there’s room for me.” He winked at Jack, causing you to look over as he emerged from the bed. You felt your cheeks going pink.

“Yes, sir.”

“Also, did anyone feed the dog? Or were you two busy taking naps?”

#chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans x daughter!reader #chris evans x teen!reader

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

Note

Okay, I love a little angst, and I could see Faust visiting Faith at work and some prick keeps flirting with her and she’s very oblivious and doesn’t realize it. Or she has a tutor for college, and Faust walks in on him teaching her something, but the guys clearly flirting with her. Or lastly, her father setting her up with a family friends son who’s picture perfect and Stan making Faith go out with him for the night. But all these scenarios lead to a good banging lol.

Warning: 18+ anti-religious/anti-Christian themes/angst etc. **jealousy, angst and possessiveness in this part**

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

Faith awoke with a sharp intake of air. She glanced at the digital clock on Faust’s desk through misty eyes and paled when the late morning hour came into focus. She was due to meet her father in twenty-five minutes, and he expected her at the campus—not a half-hour bus ride from her dorm in an area of town known for its street crime. Even if Faust borrowed his roommate’s car to drive her, she wouldn’t have time to shower and dress before her father arrived.

A text from her dad warned of his impending arrival. She should have known better than to spend an entire Saturday evening humping her boyfriend, or at least set an alarm to wake up with ample time to get back to her dorm. In her panic, Faust woke up, looking ruefully unconcerned while she rushed to get dressed.

“What’s your deal?” Faust grumbled as Faith slipped on her black tights and lilac blouse, a worried expression on her face.

“We slept too late! My dad’s supposed to pick me up at school in like twenty minutes!”

Faust rolled onto his side, propping his head on his elbow as a dreamy smirk snagged his lips. Faith clicked her tongue. When it came to disappointing her father, Faust had nothing but encouragement to give, but his playful stare could not snuff her genuine panic.

“You won’t make it to school on time. Why don’t you just ask him to pick you up here?” Faust suggested.

“Hell no!” Faith exclaimed. “You don’t realize the amount of shit I’ll be in if he finds out I spent the night with you. Premarital sex is... No, I just can’t.”

Faust rolled his eyes. “It’s not like he’ll kill his own daughter.”

She rolled on one sock, then the other, grimacing when she noticed one was on inside-out. “You still don’t realize that he can and will pack up everything and move us away. Or he’ll make me go to a different school next semester. Trust me. You don’t get how strict my parents are. They’ve already made me read several pamphlets from church about the sin of fornication.”

“Well, clearly, you’ve learned nothing. We fornicated all night, babe. I fornicated all over that shirt, too,” he snickered.

“Faust! I’m serious. Now is not a time to joke. Wait... What?” Faith stopped in the middle of the room and stared down at her top, gasping. “Oh my god! There’s cum all over me! I’m so screwed.”

He got out of bed and went to the low-boy, pulling open the third drawer while Faith panicked.

“I am literally covered in your jizz! Why did you have to blow on my shirt?” Faith groaned.

Faust stifled a laugh as he pulled out a black t-shirt from the drawer. “Babe, you’re the one who wanted to suck my dick first thing after you got here. I can’t be responsible for where my unborn children go to die. Maybe you need to catch my loads a little better.”

She scoffed then scoffed again when he held up a faded t-shirt with a macabre design on the front and an illegible logo cresting the imagery.

“Wear this,” Faust offered.

“I can’t wear that in front of my dad. What does that even say?” Faith asked.

“Obituary.”

Faith shook her head. Faust shrugged and stuffed the shirt back into the drawer before grabbing a different one. “How about this? No pictures on it or anything.”

She grimaced again. “It just says Death. I’m going to church, Faust.”

“All right, all right. Give me a minute,” Faust said, rifling through another drawer.

The phone buzzed in Faith’s hand, warning her that time was running out for her to make herself presentable and come up with an excuse as to why she was nowhere near campus grounds. Faust pulled out a plain black t-shirt, offering it to her with round, sympathetic eyes.

“Will this work?”

She took the shirt and gulped. “It will have to do. It’s still all black, and my parents won’t be happy.”

Faust nodded, seeming to understand her predicament. “Why don’t you say you’re sick?”

“The only time I ever got away with missing church was when I had Chicken Pox,” Faith said.

“Say you have too much work.”

She frowned. “There’s never an excuse large enough to appease them. I appreciate the suggestions, but I’d rather you just help me with a plan.”

The man towering over her nodded, turning to select his outfit for the day. “I’ll take you to the diner down the block. You can say I picked you up for breakfast.”

“I’d rather not tell them I was with you at all,” Faith said as she gathered her purse and stuffed her soiled blouse inside.

“Ouch,” Faust flinched.

“I’m sorry... That was rude,” Faith replied, covering her mouth for a moment, eyes wide. “You’re right. We should do that just to make it look like I didn’t spend the night.”

Faust ducked into a dark long-sleeve shirt, pulling his black hair out to fall over his shoulders. “Might want to wipe the dried cum off your chin then.”

When Faith slid her fingers through Faust’s as they walked down the street, his grip fell limp. He stared ahead and didn’t take any casual glances at her. In fact, Faust had been silent since they left. Worry piled on top of anxiety over what she would tell her dad, and she dropped her gaze to the sidewalk, counting the cracks as they walked. She doubled her steps to keep up with Faust’s until they reached the front doors of the quaint diner he and his buddies went to after nights of partying and hungover mornings. He let go of her hand and stepped away from her.

“See you later,” he said, spinning on the heel of his boot.

She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Wait! You’re not even going to kiss me goodbye?”

Faust shrugged, his leather jacket bemoaning the gesture. “Wouldn’t want your dad to catch you kissing your boyfriend.”

“Faust... Please. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He snorted, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. “If that’s what you think.”

His pointed response stung, but Faith wouldn’t let him walk away without addressing the tension. “Seriously... I’m sorry. I wish you understood how hard it is for me to navigate this. You think I’m exaggerating when I say my father will stop paying my tuition and make me go to a different school, but I’m not.”

“No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do,” said Faust, inhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke. “You just let them run your life.”

Heat built up behind her eyes. She took in a deep breath and sighed hopelessly. “I don’t have the income to be independent. It’s not as easy as you think. Not for me.”

Stan’s car pulled up at the curb, and Faith’s heart dropped. Faust glanced at the vehicle, then back at Faith fidgeting with the hem of the black t-shirt he gave her. He nodded toward the street.

“I should go before your dad gets the wrong idea about us.”

“Faust—” she whimpered.

“We’ll talk later.”

Faith hurried to get into the backseat of her father’s car, staring out the window as they drove off and passed Faust on the street. Her mother sighed and shook her head.

“Smoking is a disgusting habit,” she muttered.

Faith’s sisters stared at her from their seats, then looked away when she met their eyes.

“What?” Faith asked.

“You’re in trouble,” one of them sang.

Stan glared at his oldest daughter in the rear-view mirror. He didn’t keep his indignation quiet for long. “Since when is it okay to wear all black in the house of Christ? We’re not attending a funeral, Faith. We’re going for worship.”

“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It was the only clean outfit I had. I haven’t done laundry because I’ve had too much schoolwork.”

“Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time with that man, you’d have a proper outfit to wear on Sunday.”

“That man is my boyfriend. Am I not allowed to ever fall in love? It’s not like you and mom didn’t date before you got married.”

Reneta continued shaking her head. “Your father was a respectable man. He didn’t smoke and listen to evil music.”

Faith scoffed as her sisters listened with wide eyes and mischievous smirks. “What are you talking about, mom? You had nothing but nice things to say about him when he came over for dinner!”

“He was our guest, and a lady is always a kind host.”

“So, you don’t like him either?” Faith asked.

“Sweetheart, that’s not what I said. I just wish you would find yourself a nice boy. One who knows the importance of God—”

“If I smell smoke on you or catch you making a mockery of His word, I promise on His good name, I will make sure you never see that boy again,” Stan vowed.

Faith clammed up. Though she had plenty to say, she knew better than to push her luck. Her sisters whispered next to her, but Faith ignored them too. She fished her phone out of her purse and sent a text message to Faust.

You’re right. These people are fucked. I have to get away.

The service dragged for what seemed like hours, and when it ended, Faith was eager to leave. But instead of piling into the car to go home after the last prayer, Faith waited as her family mingled with others. As a revered minister of the church, Stan often welcomed conversation from those who sought his guidance and blessings. She sat in an empty pew, sighing with impatience as the churchgoers waited their turn for a private conversation with her father.

Faith peeked at her phone to see if Faust had replied, but the message remained unopened.

Though he hadn’t said much that morning, she feared her err had caused Faust to reevaluate his interest in her. A troublesome mass weighed in her stomach. Texting him again might result in him dubbing her “clingy,” Faith decided, so she turned off her phone until it was time to leave.

They piled into the family car and turned down the road in the opposite direction of the school campus. When Faith noticed, she perked up in her seat.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“We’re having the Esders family over for dinner this evening,” said Stan.

Faith tried not to voice her displeasure, but nothing prevented the furrowing of her brow. “Well, that’s very nice, but I have to go home to work on my paper.”

Stan glanced back at his oldest daughter. “Your home is under our roof. And you can spare a few hours for your family.”

“Dad, I can’t spend the entire day doing nothing. It’s due tomorrow!” Faith whined.

“I won’t hear anymore, Faith. Bobby is your age, and you’ll be kind and cordial.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about? You want me to spend time with another boy?”

“Faith, you’re helping host the Esders’, and you will be on your best behaviour.”

Faith kept to herself during dinner, helping set and clear the table, answering questions with curt replies, and after dessert, she stepped onto the veranda to call Faust. The line rang and rang until it cut off. Faust didn’t have voicemail, and he still hadn’t replied to her message from earlier. Dejected, Faith sighed as she looked out over the suburban street, the stained glass crosses hanging in bay windows and wind chimes tinkling in the cool breeze. The sound of footsteps rounded the corner, and she turned to find Bobby Esders approaching.

“Hey, Faith. What’re you doing out here all by yourself?” The flaxen-haired boy asked.

She forced a brief grin and leaned against the handrail. “Being by myself.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted. I was getting sick of all the church-talk in there.”

Faith nodded. “Same.”

Bobby tucked his hands into the pockets of his beige chinos. “I noticed you haven’t been to group in a while.”

“I have a lot of schoolwork. It’s a little more important than making arts and crafts and babysitting kids while they cry over which Veggie Tales movie to watch.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Bobby snorted with amusement, stepping up to the handrail beside her. “So... What did you do all Summer?”

The only voice Faith wanted to hear was Faust’s whispering in her ear, gently poking fun at her, calling her babe and stating interesting yet useless facts about his favourite bands and horror movies. Though she was polite, she turned to Bobby with a tight smile and sighed impatiently.

“I don’t know... Stuff? What everyone else does during the Summer.”

The boy accepted her response with a solemn nod. Bobby Esders was not oblivious. He sensed her discomfort and unspoken need for solitude the moment dinner began. With a nod, he backed away.

“Well, I hope you have a good night, and good luck with your schoolwork.”

Faith frowned. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I shouldn’t be so short with you. My parents have been treating me like a child lately, and it’s getting on my nerves. I should be studying, but instead, I’m here—”

“Pretending like you give a shit about church?” Bobby said with a secretive smirk.

“Um... Well, yeah,” she replied, blushing.

Bobby chuckled, maintaining his distance but relaxing his shoulders. He was tall like Faust, with zero body fat, bony arms, and a mop of blond curls. Faith hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to Bobby since joining the church, but she always smiled at him when they passed in the corridors. He was pleasant and had one of the best singing voices in the congregation. His parents were wealthy business owners who donated large sums to the church and took a liking to Stan the moment he commanded the podium for his first service. Since then, Faith’s parents cultivated a friendship with the Esders family. Faith even heard them discussing how perfect it was that the two respective families had a daughter and a son of the same age, as though it was some kind of miracle. She dreaded the day Stan might suggest she try spending time with Bobby. And perhaps if she had never met Faust, she might entertain the idea of Bobby courting her, but that chance was long gone.

“Don’t worry, Faith. I might look like a goody-two-shoes, but it’s just the clothes my parents make me wear for church. I don’t really buy into any of this bullshit either.”

Stunned by his admission, Faith tilted her head as Bobby’s expression turned sly.

He continued. "And I know what our parents are trying to do with us. They’re trying to play matchmaker like it’s the eighteenth century or something. Trust me; I wouldn’t be out here bothering you if your dad hadn’t encouraged me. I can tell you want to be somewhere else, and I don’t blame you."

Faith looked up at him with a growing appreciation for his honesty. His bluntness still took her back, but she smiled with relief.

“Well, I appreciate your observation. My dad doesn’t seem to realize that I’m a person capable of making my own decisions.”

“I’m in the same boat. Do you think I want to spend all my free time doing church stuff? Right now, my friends are at home playing Call of Duty together, and I’m here, pretending like I give a shit about this stupid religion and all its oppressive rules.”

“Wow. I never pictured you as anything but...” Faith trailed off, flushing pink.

“But a Bible-toting nerd? Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Reneta called for Faith from the side door. She sighed, smiled at Bobby again, and smoothed her hands over the black T-shirt that still smelled like Faust’s bedroom. Bobby stepped aside, motioning for Faith to go first before he followed.

Faith turned on her phone after she collapsed in her bed in the corner of her dorm room. To her shock, Faust still hadn’t answered her message from earlier. She called him, but the line rang until the call dropped. Fighting back an onslaught of burning tears, she rolled over, stuffing her face under her pillow to absorb the sounds of her whimpers.

She worked an evening shift at the bookstore the next day. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she decided that morning if Faust didn’t want to answer her, she wouldn’t press. If he couldn’t accept her apology and saw silence as an acceptable form of punishment, then she would return the favour.

However, by the time Faith made it halfway through her shift, her heart had grown twice as heavy, and she longed to hear Faust’s gravelly voice more than ever. She ducked away for a minute here and there to stifle her tears, returning to the floor with watery eyes and a sagging expression. Even her boss noticed her sunny disposition trampled upon by something she refused to disclose.

The only relief she found was when Bobby Esders strolled into the bookstore, surprised to see her working behind the counter, sorting discarded books to return to their proper shelves.

“Faith! I didn’t know you worked here,” Bobby said with a broad smile.

“Yeah, I started here in the Summer,” she replied, returning the grin.

“This is my favourite bookstore. I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before.”

Faith forgot her melancholy for a time. With twenty minutes until close, she focused her time on helping him locate a copy of a novel he’d had no luck in tracking down. He purchased the book and offered to wait until Faith punched out to walk her to the bus stop. Her first impulse was to decline, but Bobby was too kind to allow her refusal, claiming he was going to the same stop, and he might as well accompany her there.

The last thing Faith expected to see was Faust parked outside of the mall’s entrance, leaning against the side door of his friend’s car, waiting. She flashed a concerned look at Bobby, who stared at the leather-clad man with a touch of disdain.

“Oh, that’s um... That’s my boyfriend,” Faith pointed out as Faust glared ahead.

“That’s your boyfriend? That mean, scary-looking dude with the hair?” Bobby scoffed.

By the time Bobby took another breath, Faust had launched forth with long strides, clearing the cobblestones in a second. His glare burned hotter as he approached them.

“Who are you?” Faust asked Bobby with an air of mocking disinterest.

“Uh—”

“This is my friend from church,” Faith stepped in. “His name’s Bobby.”

Faust narrowed his eyes on the man who was only an inch shorter than himself. “Your friend, huh?” He asked.

“Faust, don’t start. He was just walking me to the bus stop.”

Bobby took a step back, relinquishing the closeness with Faith he had enjoyed for the last half an hour. He’d heard stories of Faust and his buddies, as they had beaten up and antagonized his friends throughout high school. Anyone associated with the church was subject to the circle’s cruelty, and despite Bobby’s size, he was no exception.

“I don’t want to see you sniffing around my girl ever again, you got it, bible-beater?”

Faith frowned as Bobby cowered from Faust’s smouldering contempt. She pushed on his leathered arm and stepped between the two men, glaring up at Faust with her own scorn lighting her features.

“Stop it, Faust! He didn’t do anything. We were going to the same stop, anyway. Stop being such an asshole!”

Faust pushed his jaw forward, swiping his tongue over his teeth as she challenged him. He’d never seen Faith look so angry, and though she was laughably small in comparison, her scowl was enough to make him take a step back.

“Let’s go, Faith,” he muttered.

“No. I’m not going with you. I’m going home,” Faith refused.

“Fine, I’ll drive you,” he insisted.

“No! I’m taking the bus. You can’t return my messages or answer your phone when I call? Then I don’t need your help getting home.”

The city bus pulled around the corner, rumbling to a stop at the depot to pick up the people leaving the mall. Bobby watched, frowning, then looked back at Faith.

“Sorry, Faith. I have to go,” Bobby said.

Faust sneered. “Yeah, get lost. She’s fine.”

“I’m leaving too,” Faith said, turning, shouldering the strap on her purse before stepping away.

Before she crossed the road, Faust stepped in front of her. His expression softened when he noticed hers hadn’t. Faith was angrier than he thought. When he showed up to intercept her, Faust assumed she would drop everything and run into his arms, happy to see him despite the tension he’d allowed to rise. But her disgust was potent. She wasn’t about to be pushed over by his feeble attempt at soothing the situation.

“Don’t,” Faust punctured his firm stance as Bobby crossed without her. “Please.”

“Why would I go with you? You’re not even nice to me. I tried texting and calling you, but I guess you were too busy doing your own thing to care.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you pissed me off!” Faust hammered. “That whole ‘I don’t want my dad to see us together’ was a real dick thing to say.”

Before Faith launched another complaint, she closed her mouth and looked to the ground, then back up, glaring harder. “I said I was sorry. It’s not like you haven’t said awful things before. The only difference is you never apologize for them. I’m just expected to accept your unsolicited opinions about my life and my family.”

Faust offered no rebuttal. The couple stood staring at each other until Faust relented, scooping his hand into her hair to kiss her firmly. He hated that she was right, and he refused to admit it out loud, but the kiss acted as his justification.

It wasn’t good enough for Faith. She pushed him away.

“You can’t just act like a total asshole, then kiss me and expect it all to be okay.”

Faust rolled his eyes to the darkening sky. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. An apology might be a good start.”

“Why would I apologize for you pissing me off?”

“Apologize for making a scene in front of my friend. Apologize for not answering me. Not accepting my apology when I had the maturity to realize I was wrong.”

“All right, well, I’m sorry. Happy? Now, let’s go.”

“No, Faust. I don’t think we should hang out tonight.”

Her refusal hit him hard. Faith always jumped at the chance to spend time together, so her steadfastness came as a shock. His shoulders slumped as he sighed.

“Please,” Faust said.

“Why? You seemed happy ignoring me yesterday.”

“I wasn’t happy. I was upset. What you said really fucked with me. Now, I’m over it, and I want you to spend the night.”

A flicker of sympathy sparked in Faith’s chest. She noticed his green eyes reflecting something she had never seen in him before: sadness. Faust reached out for her hand, and she stared at his outstretched palm, heart aching. Maybe what she said had hurt him more than she realized. She always figured Faust was above such emotions, that the only passion that lived inside of him was menacing anger that only came out when somebody threatened him or his territory. The regret tugging at his mouth proved her theory wrong.

She took his hand and he pulled her close. Streetlights illuminated as the parking lot emptied. Stars poked through the violet sky in clusters. They stood wrapped in each other’s arms for a minute before he held her out before him, staring into her eyes beseechingly.

“If you really don’t want to come over, I’ll take you back to your dorm.”

Faith shivered. When Faust noticed the goosebumps on her arms, he let her go and shrugged out of his jacket. Underneath, he wore a black t-shirt with a severed head spewing forth a waterfall of blood and entrails. The carnage spelled out the name of a band whose logo was utterly unintelligible. She smiled as he swung the heavy leather jacket around her so she could push her arms through the sleeves. The hem ended at her thighs, and only the tips of her middle fingers poked out from the armholes, but it was comfortable despite being several sizes too large for her body.

“Fine. I’ll come over. But I wanna have sex, and I don’t want you to hold back.”

“Faith—”

“Those are my terms. I don’t want you to treat me like a little flower. I want to fuck... hard.”

Faust snorted, biting his bottom lip as he rolled his eyes again. He placed his hand on the leather at her back, guiding her toward the car. “You might regret that request, you know.”

Faith smirked. “We’ll worry about that in the morning.”

#faust x faith #faust stuff #valter skarsgard fanfiction #Valter Skarsgard imagine

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jawlinedolan · 4 years

Text

Sugar Cane Nymph (G.D.)

Sugar cane nymph (G.D.)

disclaimer-> i’m colombian so english is obviously NOT my first language. i’m fluent and generally have non-terrible grammar but I usually just write academic stuff in english. i have only ever written fiction in my mother language before this so please bare with me while i get used to this.

this took a while to write omg it wasn’t supposed to be this long, anyways enjoy and PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE let me know what you guys think about it?💓💓🎊🎊

TELL ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE A PART TWO

summary: Grayson meets his mom’s new neighbor after an unexpected for legged visitor ivades Lisa’s Garden.

word count: +5k

warnings: some minor swearing, a whole buch of flustered grayson and hopefully a bit of humor? also i did not proof-read this sorry

Poor Grayson. For the millionth time that night something was disturbing his peaceful sleep. First the frogs and now his mom chooses this moment to do laundry.He thought half asleep. His hazy mind couldn’t for the life of him imagine any other reason for the incessant rumbling that was currently penetrating the walls of his tiny bedroom. He was mad. All of that crunching and crashing outside had taking him out of his amazing dream.

Oh, and was it an amazing one. So beautiful, just like her. He didn’t even know her name yet her image had managed to plague his every waking moment and now it seemed his slumber too. Not that he minded though, his dream had brought them closer.

He needed his sleep because he needed to wake up early, otherwise he would miss it, miss her. He had discovered her on his first morning run ever since coming back home. He always thought that Jersey had the prettiest countryside in all of North America and now he was sure of it. How could it not be with such a gorgeous nymph galoping around bareback on top her trusty steed. She was out there every morning at exactly 5:50 a.m.

Dammit. When had he became such a sap? Grayson knew he was attractive and he definitely knew how to use it. He had never encountered trouble wooing the ladies before. But this one, oh this one was different. There was something about her, he didn’t even knew her name but he just felt a certain way when he was around her. Well, more like spying behind a particularly dense bush that surrounded the little clearing where she ended her ride every morning. And that he had found on pure coincidence . If you could count trying to conspicuously keep up with a galloping horse for a quarter of mile as coincidence, that is. In his defense he just couldn’t let her get away, it was like she was pulling him without even knowing.

Each morning she would ride up there and he would be waiting behind the bush to watch the show. He could hear it’s powerful hoves before he could devise the big black stallion. Even her horse was different. It had a beautiful shinny black coat that the women at his mom’s beauty salon would envy. It’s mane and tale cascaded down his body in actual curls. Just like hers. He had never seen a horse that didn’t have straight hair.

It was sort of funny, one of the first things he noticed about the mysterious girl was her long and lucious curly hair. And she looked so in sync with the beast. With the dark curls and big brown eyes they almost looked like family.

She was short thing, as he noticed when he saw her stading next to the horse for the first time. He reckoned she would reach to his chest or his shoulders, at best. Her thick thighs hugged the animal’s torso right before she jumped off its back, squatting on her landing which made her delectable ass stretch her jeans. It all looked pretty profesional and innocent, still, he couldn’t help but imagine those beautiful legs wrapping around his waist while his big hads supported that delicious bottom.

Was he seriously getting exited at a half asleep memory or was it just morning wood?

He ignored that thought and kept his eyes closed, continuing with his hazy recollection.

Their conection was amazing, it was just her and her beast. She didn’t use a saddle or tack. She simply spoke to it, like one would another human being, and then she would scratch it’s neck. After that the thousand poud animal did everything she asked. It reared and bowed at her comand and, sometimes, she would let her hair down and they would spin and jump around almost like they were dancing.

No matter how many times he hid behind that bush to watch them, Grayson was in awe at every single thing she did. To him, she was completely mesmerizing.

So mesmerizing, in fact, that he could never bring himself to step out from behind his reliable bush to say hi. She seemed nice enough, surely she wouldn’t think he was some sort of creepy stalker, right? Except, at this point, he kind of was. But his little nymph didn’t need to know that.

Giving up on sleep he decided that if his mom felt the need to do the laundry two days in a row he better find a way of his own of being productive. But upon opening his eyes he was surprised to be greeted by darkness and those stupid frogs chirping outside. He tapped around until his long fingers got a grasp on his cellphone and squinted when the damned thing nearly blinded him with it’s brightness.

Then suddenly the laundry room was shaking again.

“The fuck” he groaned sleepily.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the light emanating from the screen of his Iphone he let out another groan, silently cursing the digital clock that read 4:25 a.m.. His alarm would be ringing in less than an hour for his morning run and he was super tired because some frogs had decided to serenade him until one in the morning. How come they aren’t sleeping yet?

Then there was that rumbling again. But when he realized that his mechanical roommate would be empty of dirty clothes at such unholy hour he began to worry. It’s not like the house was near the street, whatever or whoever was causing all that ruckus had to be in the property. He crept out of his room barefoot trying to be conspicuous and stealthy, even though the cold floor was torturing his toes.

He reached the front door after a quick stop at the kitchen to grab his mother’s big trusty iron frying pan in case he needed to attack. He made a mentan note to not leave everything that could be a potential weapon inside his building shed next time.

After taking a fortifying breath he grabbed the doorknob and turned it as delicately and silently as man his size could manage.

At first glance nothing on the porch seemed out of the ordinary, but when he turned the lights on he noticed it. An overturned plantpot which used to contain an colorful flower that, according to his mom, was an exotic plant that her friend had brought her from her vacation in the caribbean. His mom couldn’t stop talking about her colorful little flower when they showed her her new garden and how she was going to give it a special place in it. And now some rascal had savagely munched on it leaving only the dying stems amongst the dirt.

Suddenly the early morning was eerily silent again. Grayson tried to slow his breathing while straining to hear anything tha would give away the position of the invader. His heart was just about to beat out of his chest, the house was in the middle of nowhere, anything could be out there.

When he finally heard something he couldn’t believe his ears. High pitched and clearly irritated he barely recognized it.

Was that a neigh?

He followed the sound and finally got his answer upon glancing at Lisa’s Garden. The animal that appeared tu be stuck near one of the flower beds looked like a horse, kind of. It had a mane, a tail, four hooves, pointy ears and it was distinctly neighing, everythig pointed that it was a horse. Except for the fact that it couldn’t be any taller than three feet. It seemed he was in presence of a miniature horse.

Quickly running to his building shed he grabbed his diagonal pliers to cut the wire that had most likely trapped his hoof. But when he came back to help the little guy found him with his head deep into the nearest flower pot casually having a 5 a.m. flowery snack.

“Hey! Stop that!” he yelled trying to separate the little beast from it’s colorful victim. “YOU LITTLE FUCKER” Grayson yelled when the animal actually bit him for trying to take away his meal. Weren’t horses suposed to be vegetarian? Well if it liked flowers so much who’s to say it didn’t have other bizarre tastes... like fucking human flesh.

Waking up from all the noise Lisa walked outside to see her 6ft tall 200lb son wrestling a mini horse for a pot of half munched flowers. And she knew their equine visitor very well.

Grayson looked up from his struggle to see his mom walking out of the house with her phone in hand. He looked at her pleadingly and she just chuckled.

“Don’t worry sweetie I called his owners, Emperor’s mom is coming to pick him up as we speak” She told him.

“Wait you actually know where he came from?!” He let go of the animal and marched up to the woman comfortably clad in whool robe and warm slippers while he was out there shirtless and barefoot, hair stuck in every direction, trying to defend their home.

And of course in that moment his beloved brother decided to join in the fun from his bedroom window. Ethan let put a loud snort at his twin’s dishiveled appearance.

“Dude, what happened to you?” he asked in between laughs.

“Shut the fuck up E!” Grayson yelled looking up to his brother. “It could’ve been a murderer or some shit” At that Lisa couldn’t contain herself anymore and let put a loud laugh. She walked towards him with his coat in her hands that she had retrieved while the boys bantered.

“Oh realx sweetie! I don’t think you can die from cuteness overload” She paused while Grayson snatched his coat and glanced at the small black horse. to speak to it in a baby voice. “Ain’t that right Emperor?”

He put on his coat over his otherwise naked torso and and ran his hands through his unruly hair, exasperated. His mom speaking to the little monster briefly reminded him of his beautiful nymph and how her horse actually seemeyto listen, unlike this urchin that had breakfast on his mom’s flowers. He sneered at the animal before speaking.

“So you know the owners, ma?”

“Yeah, they’re sugarcane farmers. Our neighbors up north.”

“Up north? That’s dairy farm?” Grayson replied maliciously. Of course it would be dairy people that would own this mini horse devil. It just made sense.

Lisa just chuckled again at the grave look on Grayson’s face. Ethan just observed carefully from above how Emperor finished a pot of tiny purple flowers and was stretching his little neck trying to reach the next one containing daisies. Or at least he thought that’s what those were, either way it was simply hilarious.

“That’s north of the road, Gray. I’m talking about north of the property, they grow sugarcane organically. ” She explained exitedly.

“Oh... well whoever they are they better come get their poor animal soon.”

“They are already on the way, I just sent Denisse a text” She replied sternly, her sons could be the biggest men-child sometimes. “And even though they’re not vegan, I can assure you they take real good care of their animals.” Since Grayson didn’t seem all that convinced she continued, “Especially their horses, Denisse’s daughter has wall full of horsemanship thophies and first place ribbons, that girl spends hours everyday tending them.”

“Well apparently not enough” He grumbled brooding. “This one is clearly not that educated”

“Oh, Emperor is just a bit... energetic”

Oh hell no. She was actually gonna deffend it.

“ENERGETIC?!” He snapped. “ He ate your exotic flower and destroyed the garden! He’s a monster in a small package!”

“Gray it’s okay. And you’re exaggerating he didn’t destroy anything he just turned a few flower pots.”

“What about you exotic kayacka or whatever it’s called!” He kept on yelling. “HE ANNIHILATE IT”

Grayson was seething at this point. He loved animals and nature, he had gone vegan for God’s sake. But this was just too much, nature had basically trampled him in the last 12 hours. First the god forsaken frogs screaming their slimy little lungs out kept him up half of the night and now this!

This annoying piece of horse flesh had not only awoken him at the fucking asscrack of down, but it had also destroyed the garden he had busted his back to buid for Ma, who was currently laughing at his missery. And as if that wasn’t enough he was more than likely going to miss his secret appointment with his beautiful nymph.

“It’s called a cayena and he didn’t do it intentionally , Gosh, calm down” She pinned him with a stare “And it’s not that big of a deal, there’s more where that one came from I’m sure Denisse wouldn’t mind. Plus her daughter will more than likely begg to help picking up this mess, like I said she always looks out for the horses” She pursed her lips starting to get a annoyed at his irrational fury. “As mother would, she’s always picking up her childs messes”

“Well if she is such a great horse mom, how come her child is a freakin flower eating tornado” Grayson replied grudgingly, feeling like a scolded child for something he didn’t even do. Was he seriously talking about this horse like it was a person?

In the middle of his ire he looked down. Now that the sun was starting to illuminate the early morning he could see it had a kinda nice chesnut color and his beady ayes were staring eagerly at the daisies, that were just a few centimeters out of reach. If it hadn’t been such a nightmare Grayson could almost see himself looking for his allergy pill after petting the cute tiny thing. But it had messed with his garden and managed to get stuck, now he was going to have to ruin the chicken wire to cut him free. So no, Emeperos wasn’t all that cute anymore and after looking at the redish bite mark on his hand he definitely didn’t want to pet it. Lisa’s voice interrupted his musings.

“Listes, go put on you shoes, get yourself some breakfast and try to calm down. Denisse’s daughter shouldn’t be more than a few minutes away, I’ll look after him in the meantime”

“Oh no no, I’m gonna have a word with this chit and she’s gonna fix this immediately.”

Lisa was about to stop Grayson’s angry rambling until she spotted a rider and horse closing in on the house from the north trail.

“I mean, who the hell does she think she is? Letting her animals trample around and how long tilll-“

“Oh my Gosh! I’m so sorry Mrs Dolan I can’t believe he’s done this again.” A female voice rung melodically behind him accompanied by the resounding thudding of heavy hooves on grass. “Emperooor” the voice groaned “ what was it this time?”

Grayson knew that voice, and even if he had never heard her giving soft commands to her intimidating black stallion he would have recognized the feeling she stirred in him. That fluttering on the left side of his chest, the earthquake of butterflies in his stomach, that familiar sense of calmness that only her could bring him.

Lisa´s voice brought him back from his momentary day dream.

“Well son it looks like your wish came true” she said so only he could hear and the raised her voice to greet the girl rapidly approaching them on horseback. “(Y/N) , sweetie, hello!”

Grayson turned around utterly speechless. Astounded by her beauty and awed by the mere sight of her as she dismounted gracefully from the familiar black stud, who was actually saddled this time.

She stepped away from the huge beast and walked towards where they were standing near the garden. With every step closer that she took Grayson felt his lungs closing up on him. What was I supposed to say to her, again? The mini horse, right.

“I’m so sorry Mrs. Dolan. I don't know what to do with him anymore, ever since we moved up here he seems to find new ways to scape stalls and squeeze to fences daily” (Y/N) kept babbling out her sincere apologies while she come to hug the older woman whose garden had been vandalized by her favorite Shetland.

“(Y/N) I’ve told you a hundred times it’s Lisa, and don't worry about it I understand you mother is always telling me how hard you try to keep Emperor in check” She replied glaring slightly at Grayson whose jaw had fallen slightly ajar, she elbowed him discreetly bringing him back from whatever dreamland he was in. “Can't speak for the big man here though, he was a little distressed earlier”

As if he wasn't having a hard enough time (Y/N) shiny browns eyes peered up at him shyly stilling his lungs once again, and a lovely blush spread on her chubby cheeks. He followed the rosy trail with his eyes to the top of her round breasts wondering how far down her body would it reach. And when she spoke softly to him, he was a goner.

“Oh... I’m so sorry, I promise I will fix it up right away” When he didn't reply she added “I'm not as great as Lisa but I’m a pretty decent gardener, I swear its gonna look brand new” Gosh, this was embarrassing. He was so handsome and she has just let her mini-horse ruin his mother's garden.

Lisa’s elbow once again spooked him out of his catatonic state.

“Oh don’t be modest, I bet it’s gonna look better than before. Right, Gray?” Seeing the look in his eyes, she quickly decided that (Y/N) would have a little help fixing her plants. “Sweetie, I know you've made good friends with Cameron but I don't think you've met my sons before”

“No ma’am, I don't think I've had the pleasure” (Y/L) replied in a low voice very unlike herself.

“Okay this is Grayson and that nosy one with his head stuck out the window is his twin brother Ethan” (Y/N) glanced in the direction Lisa was pointing and sure enough there was buzz cut head sticking out the second floor window with a smirk plastered all over his angular face, ready to yell a greeting to his brother’s dream girls. Gray had described her so many times with so much detail that it was scary but it also allowed him to tell right away when he saw the curly haired girl atop the black horse.

“Why good morning Miss Horsey Neighbor (Y/L) it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance” Ethan yelled with a flirty smirk that he knew was sure to infuriate his twin.

“The pleasure is all mine, good sir” (Y/N) replied with a laugh, following along on his joke. Ethan seemed like a funny guy, she could see them becoming friends. The other brother though, they had the same sharp jawline and handsome features, but Grayson’s intense stare was definitely something else. She felt intimidated yet...exited?

Grayson stuck his hand out dumbly trying to get her attention back from his brother.

“I’m distressed and it’s okay, I wasn't Grayson” he vomited his words while trying to produce a smile that ended up looking like a grimace. (Y/L) offered him a blushy smile back none the less.

“It's a pleasure Distressed”

“Huh? Oh, fuck!” Nice job champ let her think you're fucking retarded “ it’s Grayson! I’m Grayson and was not distressed. I was just um...” He trailed off looking to his mom for help bur she merely shrugged “I was uh... worried! For the mini! Poor little guy just wanted a snack and ended up stuck in the chicken wire.”

He stuttered and stumbled trough his explanation but (Y/N), who was usually very perceptive, was still so embarrassed and flustered that she didn't notice he was lying.

“Okay. So, he shouldn’tbe snacking on flowers, anyways, he knows that” (Y/N) mumbled walking towards Emperor who had stopped struggling towards the white daisies and was now waiting for attention from his favorite human. “Alrighty pal, what did you get yourself into” She kneeled on the ground and started inspecting Emperor’s little hoof stuck on the wire. She tried to pull it out but it was too tight, the wire had tu be cut.

Meanwhile Grayson stared amazed at how the little horse devil had turned into horse putty in (Y/N)’s hands. His ears pointed towards and he rubbed his furry neck on her arm looking for scratches. No sign of the Shetland that had rudely attacked him earlier. He looked down at his hand and noticed that the bite mark was barely visible now, maybe Emperor wasn't that bad after all. Maybe.

“It’s too tight if we don't cut the wire he could hurt himself” (Y/N) announced looking up towards Lisa but the taught about it and directed her glance towards her son, who already had a cutting plier in his hand. “Do you think I can borrow that?”

“Yeah, sure, here you go” He was about to hand her the tool when Lisa widened her eyes at him at pointed her chin to the girl crouched con her garden. “Actually, let me do it” He corrected, kneeling down right next to her so that his strong shoulder thighs brushed against her blue jeans. He heard vaguely a big impatient snort behind but paid no mind to de large stallion that stood where (Y/N) had tied his reigns to the garden fence. The thing was so big it could probably pull the fence right off the soil, but instead stood patiently waiting for his master.

“I live in farm y’know I think I can manage a pair of pliers” She replied slightly annoyed that he wouldn't hand her the damned thing.

“Oh, don’t mind him honey he just loves playing with his tools” Lisa pitched in from above them. Grayson prayed nobody noticed his flushed face, but his nymph was deliciously close to him for the first time. Never before he had had the chance of perceiving her intoxicating scent, it was sweet almost like melted sugar right before it turns into caramel.

“I don’t play, ma! I build stuff” He looked up at his mother with a look half annoyed/half pleading. “Besides, I’m sure you're more than capable of cutting some measly chicken wire, I just thought you could keep him calm so that-”

“Oh my God! You're totally right.”

“I am?”

“OF COURSE, he could run around as soon as he's free and continue to dismantle this poor place. Good thinking, Grayson”

Was that even his name she just pronounce? He didn't remember ever sounding so good.

“Yup, yeah. That's it” Yeah I totally wasn't trying to show off for you, nymph.

(Y/N) resumed scratching Emperor with one hand while the other pushed on his neck to give Grayson as much room to cut the wire as possible. Since the kids seemed to be getting along quite nicely Lisa decided to make herself scarce.

“Well guys I’m gonna get inside and make some breakfast” She received two distracted hums and with that she left, not without throwing a pointed glance up at Ethan who immediately stuck his head back inside.

A few minutes later Emperor was a free and happy Shetland. Since he had already eaten, clearly, she decided she could get a head start on the mess the mini had made before riding back home for breakfast. She attached a lead-rope she had brought to the his halter, that he was miraculously still wearing, and tied him to the fence. Grayson just watched her, still kneeling by the dirt bed, she moved so naturally between the mess.

“I’m so sorry, really. For the life of me I have no idea how he came to eat flowers on the first place, I will bring over some seeds later but I’m gonna start cleaning this now, do you have some gardening tools I can borrow?” She was a little breathless after spurting out all of that, she was so nervous now that they were alone.

He got up and dusted his sweatpants.

“Sure, they are in my building shed” He replied puffing out his already beefy chest, his building shed was his pride and joy. “Just let me grab my boots real quick”

“Oh that’s okay I ca-” but he was already running inside.

A few minutes later after running a hand through his hair numerous times to tame his bedhead in front of the living room mirror, they were walking a bit closer than necessary to the shed.

“So, you like building a lot?” At that Grayson put on full display his million dollar smile.

“You could say that” He said looking around the shed for the gardening toolbox.”I build my mom that garden, I mean me and my brother did it but he was more like an.. assistant” Grayson could have swooned when he heard her laughter but instead focused on grabbing the box from the top shelf.

“Are you kidding? I could have sworn that was made by a professional?” She replied, seemingly impressed while they walked back.

“Why thank you, n- (Y/N)” He put the box down next to the first overturned plant pot “I appreciate that” Oh he appreciated it, alright.

“You know, you don't need, it was my horse after all” she sat criss- cross and started rummaging trough the box.

This was it, Grayson needed to pull his shit together if he wanted to make a good first impression on this gorgeous nymph that was eagerly staring up at him, waiting for an answer that his dumbass was unable to produce. With his shaking hands conveniently hidden inside his pockets, he stared confidently into her deep brown eyes and pulled his most charming smile.

And then they got to work. All coquettish smiles, blushing faces and casual hand brushings. They talked about building, horses, video games and even the process of cultivating high quality sugar cane without using pesticides. Grayson was over the moon being the sole focus of her attention, he had waited so long for this. He watched as she pulled away from her face the rebel curls that scaped from her ponytail wishing he could run his hands through the luscious strands and wondering if her round cheeks would be as soft as they looked if he were to touch them with his rough fingertips. He was so immersed in her that didn't realize that their work was done when they picked up the last of Emperors victims, the cayenne on the porch.

Standing on the recently clean porch steps they took a minute to admire their hard work. Or at least for Grayson they were to admire her.

“Well, this is it, thank you so much for you help Gray, you didn't have to” Did she just called him by his nickname? He had to be dreaming.

“It’s okay” he murmured observing how she had to crane her neck up to look at him, she was such a shorty yet when she spoke she appeared larger than life. She was simply amazing. “Time flies when you're having fun” He replied while they started walking towards the horses that were snorting impatiently.

“It was kinda fun, wasn't it?” she untied the big black horse and with one hand she held Emperor’s lead rope while the other pulled on the saddle Horne making for a swift effortless mount. Grayson stood a few steps away looking at the stallion curiously. “You can come closer, Spirit is a perfect gentleman, he likes firm pats like this” He smiled at her demonstration and brought his own much larger right hand to Spirit’s thick neck and let his left one rest cheekily above her knee.

“Spirit” he tested the name on his tongue “Is that his name?” he was looking up at her, for a change, and its was making her breath speed up.

“Well his registered name is actually Indomitable Spirit, my grandma rescued his mom with a poachers arrow on her side” (Y/N) cringed at the memory of the beautiful mare covered in blood “She didn’t have any hoseshoes and her teeth looked like they had never been floated, she was skittish around people... but not as much as the tipycal wild horse. It was like she was scared but she still wanted something from us. Then we realized it was because she was heavily pregnant, it only took us a couple of days to figure out she was close to due date. A month later she gave birth to the most adorable foal with a coat as black as onyx stone” Grayson basked in the glow of her radiant smile remembering how her horse came to this world. And when her face fell, his did too.“It was a difficult labor and she wasn't fully healed yet from her old wounds. The blood loss was fatal, she was too weak to even stand but she pushed through until she was done and the she just closed her eyes and never opened them again. Later on we confirmed she was a mustang so we named him in her honor. You know, most pregnant mares are nightmares, but not her, it was like she knew we would take care of her baby.” She paused at the dreamy look on his face ”Sorry, you probably didn't need the whole pony tale story, I blabber a lot sometimes... a lot of times, actually.”

“No its fine its fine,” he replied hurriedly “I love it, I mean, the story- its quite beautiful,”

“Glad you liked it” She blushed again and Grayson could have pulled her down from the saddle right then and there to cover her cute ass face with kisses, but he contained himself and tried to focus on what she was saying. “Again I’m so sorry about the garden”

“Actually, now I’m looking forward to Emperor’s next great scape if that means i get to hang out with you ” There it was, he had laid out the bait, he could only pray she take it.

“That could very well happen, but I would hate to destroy your garden again” She chuckled nervously

“It would be worth it if I can see you again, soon” The hand on her knee squeezed and his eyes stared hopeful into hers. “Or maybe, we could just grab some vegan ice cream sometime”

“That sounds nice” She started turning her horse around to hide her very obvious blush, but he saw it and it had his heart fluttering and a big cheesy smile appearing on his face.

“Vegan ice-cream it is, then”

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