Barbie had been mulling in her apartment with a cup of water for the past twenty five minutes. She’d promised herself that as soon as she was done with the cup of water, she’d make her way to the park where her and Dylan had agreed to meet. It was the wonderful thing about New York. Even though they were very prominent figures in the media, a nice bucket hat and a pair of sunglasses and you could kind of course through the streets virtually undetected. Her nails tapped at the glass as her anxious mind went through the conversation they’d had in the past, and the one they could possibly have in a few minutes, wanting to have a comeback for everything he said.
She looked at her watch. It would get dark if she didn’t leave soon, so dropping the glass by the sink, she texted Dylan swiftly. I’m on my way. Magnus’ dog park? xx She tucked her phone in her light bomber jacket and just like that, away she went. It took her not very long to make it to where they’d agreed to meet, and the model found a bench kinda far away from everyone to sit and take deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. @glorydylan
WHO: Mason McCarthy ( ft. indirect mentions of @teecohenc )
WHERE: The Double C Diner
WHEN: 3/6; night.
SUMMARY: After receiving specific instructions from his partner in crime, Mason goes on to teach one specific individual that all tasks are mandatory. No exceptions.
The message he received was simple. Granted, the actual plan itself was simple. But everything was easier said than done through the pixelated screen of a smartphone. Mason expected there to be a little complexity to it; the planning, the sneaking around to make sure he wouldn’t get caught. What he wasn’t anticipating was having to wait around at god-knows what time, attempting to figure out a way to get inside.
It was cold. He barely had any light to go off of; only a few street lamps here or there that radiated from the main road at the front of the diner. He hadn’t even bothered taking his car; he’d need some sort of alibi and his car still being parked in front of his apartment building was enough for the moment. But now, as he stood far enough from the building where he wasn’t seen, but close enough that he could actually see through the windows if he tried hard enough – he was wishing he had brought his car. Stupid Maine and it’s stupid weather.
He was about to just say fuck it and try and pick one of the multiple locks when his saving grace opened the back door – a worker. He ducked behind the bushes, allowing the trees and shrubbery to cover him as he pulled his hood over his head. The last thing he wanted was for someone to see him and he get questioned again.
That didn’t stop him from moving closer, inch by inch.
He would have to be quick, of course. The dumpster was only so far away from the building; quickly and quietly was the only way to go. As the man tossed one of many bags into the dumpster, puffs of cigarette smoke leaving his mouth as he heaved, Mason made his move. He moved closer, hunched over to be hidden the best that he could. He could hear cars leaving the parking lot; could see the headlights of the other workers leaving the lot. They were officially closed; almost completely done for the night. Perfect.
It was almost too easy. The man finished off the bags of trash; letting the dumpster close with a loud twang as the plastic lid hit the metal box. Mason leaned against the dumpster; keeping his breathing as quietly as possible as he slowly snuck around the corner. He was blocked by view as soon as the man opened the back door again – Mason sprung. Just before the door fully closed, he grabbed the handle with his gloved hand, thinking quickly as he slid a card in place of the closing mechanism. It slid into place easily, mimicking the sound of the door actually closing while still giving him access to the inside. And now, all that was left to do was wait.
It wasn’t that long, of course. He could hear the jingling of keys on the other side of the building before too long; the revving of a car engine not long after. And soon enough, he was left in the quiet peace of the night; a perfect backdrop for dubious decisions. He slipped into the back door of the diner unnoticed, and suddenly he was inside.
It was dark to the point where Mason had no choice but to pull out a flashlight, keeping very certain to keep the light away from his face. He didn’t know what kind of security system the Cohen-Chang’s had, but he didn’t want to take any risks.
He found the cooler with ease. All it took was a couple presses with his latex-covered fingers and the cooler was down, confirmed by the sudden stop of the whirring sound that came within. A smirk appeared on his face; the job was complete. And he slipped out of the diner just as easily as he slipped in – cutting through the trees until he was on a completely different street.
He pulled out his phone, sending off a quick text – “it’s done.” – as he walked, discarding the gloves in his back pocket.
He knew it was only a matter of time before people started to truly listen to instructions.
Kelly was quick to note the signs of aggression, which meant that she had to be even more careful about her choice of words. At least, Shepard was giving her the chance to speak. “Like I had mentioned earlier, I was hoping to get to know you better. Nothing more than that."
She was a part of Cerberus. To make matters even complicated, she answered directly to the Illusive Man. The mental state of the crew, including Shepard’s, was information that he requested on an occasional basis. If she was an Alliance marine who was not a fan of Cerberus’ actions in the past, she was certain that she’d be unwilling to quickly give up any information, no matter how trivial.
"I understand your hesitation, Commander, and I understand why you’d be hesitant to tell me anything, but I promise that any information that should not be mentioned to the Illusive Man will not be brought up in any of my reports.”
@yeomandr
That was rich. A promise from a Cerberus lackey. And she spoke so earnestly that it almost seemed like she meant it. Either Yeoman Chambers had absolutely no genuine idea of the situation she was in, or she just wanted Shepard to think that was the case. It seemed impossible to her that a woman so qualified in human psychology could fail to see the Illusive Man's obvious ploy. Chambers wasn't stupid. Naive maybe, but not to such a degree that she couldn't understand what was going on.
Shepard squinted, trying to decide where to even begin. "First, every conversation we have is being recorded by EDI to begin with, so that's a moot point. Second, no personal information ever at any time should be mentioned to the Illusive Man. And third, I would like to reiterate that I am here to save lives, not make friends. You and I are never going to have sleepovers in the captain's cabin where we braid each other's hair and talk about boys. You can ask me whatever you want, yeoman, but you may not like my answers."
@elcvates // Chandler Dean Burton had spent his entire life traveling. His first words were uttered in the back of a run down, rust-ridden 1965 Chevrolet Nova. He learned to walk on the stained carpet of a motel somewhere in Alabama. He fell in love for the very first time when he and his father 'settled down' for six months in Louisiana and he actually attended public school. There wasn't a moment that he was not on the road and he couldn't imagine his life without the hot asphalt beneath his vehicle.
It had been that way since he was about five months old, at least that's what he was told. His mother, Laura, had died while giving birth, and left him the hands of his broken father Jimmy. The idea of living at home without his wife drove the man absolutely insane, to the point that he just picked the bare necessities up, and took off with his son. For the next nineteen years, Chandler and his father were absolutely inseparable. He followed in his father's footsteps and did odd jobs, construction, yard work, the occasional farming -- anything to make ends meet. The had traveled all over the country at least twice. And then it happened. The old man eventually fell dead to his battle with alcohol and his inability to sleep. While it shook Chandler to the very core, he followed in Jimmy's footsteps. He picked up what he had left and took off.
Just five years later, Chandler found himself in Charleston, South Carolina, loosely contracted to help on a few building renovations. It was a rare thing for him, staying in one place for too long, but his contract gave a time -- he'd be in town for at least three months. Just long enough to get to know the local haunts and see the local girls. None of them had really caught his eye just yet, though. He hoped, secretly, that none of them would. It was always a pain in the ass to explain why he couldn't stick around. He was a rambling man, never destined to settle down.
It was around ten-thirty in the evening when he finally stumbled into the local bar, his clothes caked in dirt and grime for the day. He had just finished cleaning up the job site and packing his tools and quite frankly, the only thing on his mind was getting a drink. Chandler never once though of going after a girl after such a long day. Hell, had he even known anyone attractive would be there, he would have at least gone back to his motel and changed his clothes before heading out. Yet, as he sat there at the bar with his whiskey on the rocks, his dark brown eyes couldn't help but follow the silhouette of a beautiful brunette. He'd offer to buy her a drink, but he thought better of it. What if she's with friends? What if she doesn't drink? What if she thinks you spiked it or are a fuckin' creep? he thought to himself. Against his better judgment, the tall brunet stood up from his stool and slowly made his way over to her. His heavy steel-toe boots clunked against the floor with each step he took, only adding to the rough look that seemed to drape across his enitre being. "Hello there, Ma'am," he said in greeting. A bright, cheesy grin stretched across his face, causing the small dimples hiding beneath his scruff to finally show. "I don't think I've ever seen ya here before. Call me crazy, but I reckon I'd remember ya. Do you, uh... D'ya want a drink or somethin'?"
all five feet and four inches of valerie rothschild was bubbling with teenage-girl-eagerness. she didn't associate it with anything in particular, instead opting to affiliate it with having a much-needed night out with her girls. her friends, of course, weren't totally convinced. the hours spent getting ready in the brunette's childhood bedroom were filled with knowing looks and unceasing teasing about a certain dark-haired boy that she'd been texting for the majority of the afternoon. six o'clock came faster than anticipated and, after checking her reflection in the mirror more times than she'd ever own up to, val had taken her rightful place at the driver's seat of her car. without fail, she was always conned into being the 'designated driver' when she and her friends went out; if there was a mom friend out of the lot of them, it was certainly val. the car ride was spent giggling over inside jokes and singing along to the radio, and it wasn't long before the vehicle was pulling into the driveway of their destination. she was sure to check her make-up once more in the rearview mirror before making her way out of the vehicle and following her friends to the front door. with butterflies in her stomach, one of her nimble, manicured fingers pressed on the doorbell. as she waited, she pretended to listen to her friends speak excitedly about god-knows-what.
feat. kurt hummel. & noah puckerman ( @pvckerstud ).
summary. puck says he’s not gonna bully kurt anymore but he has his doubts and decides to test the waters.
when. monday, 15 april 2019.
where. william mckinley high school hallway.
warnings. mentions of bullying.
The possibility that Noah Puckerman had finally decided to stop bullying Kurt didn’t seem entirely genuine or plausible, at least in his opinion. They had gone through the same routine for years: morning tosses into the dumpster, being shoved into and inside of lockers, stealing his shampoo in the locker room, stuffing his locker with feminine sanitary products, and the list continues. Nothing particularly creative, though, always hurtful. But only when it was Puck. They had a past and one that he didn’t forget about. The other guys could do whatever they wanted and he’d look past it, blame it on pee brains and small packages. But Puck had been his friend for years and then, when hormones started pumping through their systems at high speed, everything changed.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if Kurt only knew why. What could he have done to lose his friend and gain a tormentor? The kinship they’d had died quickly as middle school progressed and they transferred to McKinley High. When it came to Puck, he had conflicting emotions.
So when he got the text that said he wasn’t going to be bothering Kurt anymore, he was surprised. It didn’t seem likely and he couldn’t understand what prompted the change. Blaine surely would have spoken up sooner if it was just the fact that he held some kind of authority - over Puck or the student body. But he couldn’t piece together what Blaine would have over the boy that would make him stop. He wasn’t ungrateful and it certainly changed his perspective on school and the span of time left until graduation. It held promise of being easier, at least in some way. There were still bullies and those that would do anything to make him feel small. But one card pulled from the stack was better than none. And this card had always had a way of making words cut deep.
Even though he’d been assured that he was in no danger of a morning in the dumpster, Kurt avoided wearing anything that would stain too easily. He still had his doubts and it was better to be safe concerning the precious fabrics that he wanted to wear. Those could be saved for the weekend and after school events. At least until he was sure that things were really going to change.
The hallway was crowded as the school day was just starting and Kurt moved through his peers, side-stepping lockers and weaving between freshmen. He found his locker, spun the dial to unlock the padlock, and pulled the door open to stuff his bag inside. The crashing of metal around him made him jump and Kurt glanced around until his eyes landed on Noah Puckerman leaning against those lockers across from his own. Turning, with a hand on the door of his locker to keep himself steady, Kurt took a deep breath. He needed to test the waters. See if the words in Puck’s text had actually been genuine.
“Nice shirt,” he mused, nervous, placing his hands on his hips as he fumbled to gain the courage. “Which dollar store reject pile did you pull it out of?”
feat. kurt hummel. elizabeth hummel. burt hummel. margaret standish.
when. 13 may 2011, junior year.
where. memorial park cemetery; lima, oh.
warnings. parental death, cemetery.
word count. 935
summary: kurt’s annual mother’s day routine.
The ground was wet with spring rain under the soles of Kurt’s boots as he navigated the familiar path from his car in the cemetery’s parking lot to the plot where he’d spent a significant number of Mother’s Days. Stones were always significantly more decorated this time of year, much more than they were at Christmas or Thanksgiving when the ground was hard and cold and fewer people made the time to visit. Some were covered in flowers, photos, wind chimes, and mementos, while others stood stark and blank; whether it was because they were forgotten or the families lived too far away, he was never quite sure. Kurt had always preferred a more minimal style, though the rainbow pinwheel lawn ornaments had always made the place feel less devastating.
They’d gone with a granite stone: pink specked with orange, white, and black that hadn’t faded much in the time that it had been there. Her mother had wanted something tall and white, elegant like much of the rest of the family, but Elizabeth had never been one for putting on a show in life and no one knew her taste better than Kurt - even at eight when he was helping his father pick out something that she’d love and they’d be able to afford. Maggie had convinced them, though, to have the image of Elizabeth’s face carved into the stone above her name and date range; matte black and granite capturing her face in an almost cartoonish fashion. Kurt had never been a particularly big fan of it, preferring photographs and his own memories.
“I promise, I’ll be back soon,” Kurt sighed, his cellphone pressed between his ear and his hunched shoulder, hands occupied by the large terracotta pot in his arms. “Yeah... tell her to stop worrying. Everything is ready. If she insists on bringing something, tell her to pick up potato salad on her way in. You know she’s a terrible cook and I can’t deal with another baked potato monstrosity this year.” His father’s laugh echoed through the speaker and Kurt could picture the broad grin on his face and the shake of his belly. “Everything has to be perfect, dad. You’re perfectly aware? Good, thank you. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back. Love you too.” Kurt was thankful for his waterproof phone case as he heard his father hang up the phone and let his own fall into the pot that he was carrying. It would take days to clean out the dirt, greenstone, and blood meal from the cracks without it.
Reaching his mother’s plot, Kurt dropped down, ignoring - at least for now - the damp grass on his knees and the dirt that was inevitably collecting on the denim as he set the pot next to the stone. He pulled his phone out from where it had lodged in the stems and dirt and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. Every May, just before Mother’s Day but with enough time to properly perform the transplantation, Kurt dug the tulips out of the back garden of the Hummel house, re-potted them, and prepared to plant new bulbs in their place. Elizabeth had always favored the tulips over the other flowers she’d taught Kurt how to grow and he knew that she would have loved to see how they came out every year. So, as per routine, he carried the large pot full of tulips and dirt and fertilizer down to the Memorial Park cemetery. This year, at least, he’d been able to drive and didn’t have to drag his father away from the rest of the family preparing for dinner in order to make it down.
“I’m almost finished with junior year,” he spoke softly, shifting from his knees to sit with his legs tucked in front of him. “My grades are good, you definitely wouldn’t be disappointed.” Kurt smiled as he dug the dirt out from under his nails and brushed more of it from his knees. “I’m thinking about running for senior class president next year. I know it’s early and summer hasn’t even started yet, but it’s never too soon to prepare, right? Preparation is important, after all. I’m sure I’d have the glee club’s vote at least. We can make buttons and everything. Speaking of glee - we’re going to nationals this year and I’m pretty sure we’re going to win. Mr. Schue has us working a pretty regimented schedule. I don’t have any solos, which I’m definitely not happy about, but who knows? Maybe senior year will be my year.”
Kurt was silent for a moment before nearly jumping out of his skin at the buzz of his phone. “pick up salad” came through under his father’s name and he groaned, pushing himself up off the ground and pressing down on his father’s face to call him again. “Dad? Yeah,” he circled the place where he had been sitting with the phone now at his ear. “No, I told you it’s in the fridge. Yes. Behind the milk. No? Okay, fine, don’t touch anything. Don’t let grandma touch anything. Dad? No, don’t - I’ll be right there.” He hung up, shoving the phone back in his pocket. Burt was great in the garage but when it came to the kitchen and dealing with his mother-in-law, he wasn’t exactly suave. Kissing his fingers, Kurt touched the top of the stone, rough and unpolished.
“Love you. Happy Mother’s Day,” he smiled a sad smile and turned on his heel to climb back in his car and head home.
