#satellitemind

“THE choice is yours, don't be late.” 

"Are you goin' out with him?" Nathan gawped at her, unable to hide a sharp note of something like jealousy. "Really? Are you two gonna-- y'know? Do it?" He followed after Kelly with an eager hop. "Well! Good! Use condoms and, hey--" Squeaking trainers brought him right in front of her. "Here's a tip: Always start out with a blowjob, yeah? But before you go down on 'im, put a whole packet o' Fizz Wiz in yer mouth. His dick'll feel like it's gettin' a ton of tiny electric shocks. To-tally orgasmic!"

@satellitemind answered:

    The first thing she does is roll her eyes when he opens his mouth. There’d been a reason she hadn’t told Nathan she was seeing someone and this, this was precisely the reason why. Her face scrunches up at the last part and she smacks his arm.

    “Ugh tha’ sounds nasty! Do ya’ honestly like shit like tha’? Cuz if yor tryna be a dick or somethin’ I will fookin’ kick the shit outta ya!” Of course it was horrible sex advice first ask questions about him later, god he was insufferable sometimes.

          Even though he should have known what was coming, Nathan dances away from Kelly’s hand too late and he’s left cradling an arm. It doesn’t hurt, ‘course not, but the warning slap gives him pause enough to consider dropping the matter.

          ...Right until he thinks about that bloke making googly eyes at Kelly and snogging her how he’d like to snog her. The acid burn of jealousy roils in Nathan’s stomach. He and Kelly were “just mates”, and “mates” didn’t snog. Not unless you were friends with benefits, but he’s pretty sure that door of opportunity closed the second he stuck his hand down her jeans.

          Nathan groans inwardly, dithering. Fuck, he’s hung up, and that’s the worst of it.

             another day, another mission. one which vanya was carefully left out of, the sound of violin strings drawing silent as alarm sounded and the rest of them got suited up. it went well.

   though it is not lost on him, the unfairness of her situation. the way they bond over saving each other in these dire situations, the smiles exchanged and the sense of accomplishment. the way glances are shot her way when they come in if they see her, but it’s not the same.

   ❝ hey, ❞   five’s voice carries to her as he appears in the doorway of her room. it’s late now and lights out is ten o’clock. it’s already past nine. his knuckles dance over her door frame.

   after a pause, deliberation, he looks up and smiles.   ❝ feel up to an adventure? ❞

"Try focusing more on your life and less on mine!"

---

He wasn’t going to go over there. He was going to go out to Emma’s. Strictly. Dylan preferred being around someone who wasn’t a toxin in his otherwise almost normal existence.

But, this article.

He had the most recent issue of People magazine crumbled on the passenger seat of his truck. Jensen had some magazine subscriptions so he managed to get his hands on it. It was difficult not to notice- his mother gracing the cover, smiling mouth ingenuine to those who knew Norma- the grin sort of appeared like a grimace. He could just see the discomfort. She really wasn’t one for attention and he assumed she likely got a lot of it at a magazine photo shoot. He pictured them powdering her nose and fluffing her blonde hair and offering her kind words about her struggle being the mother of a young man who awaited his trial on his charges of having murdered three women. 

He knew he wouldn’t like what he read. Yet, how could he not read it? It was her first debut in the media storm that swept up their tiny family since Norman’s arrest. Why wouldn’t it be big news? A young man, seemingly sweet, if not a little dorky, being found guilty of butchering three women in a small, nowhere town like White Pine Bay?

Dylan slowed on the highway towards Emma’s and then veered off- hopping off of the bypass that would take him to the Bates Motel. 

The gravel crackled under his truck as he pulled into the parking lot. He shifted his gears aggressively, practically tearing off his seatbelt.

He reached over to the passenger seat and snatched the magazine, holding the damning evidence of her still defending her precious son, her favorite son. The son she preferred. The son whom she refused to snip the cord to. 

Dylan climbed the stone steps to the house and once he got to the door- he didn’t bother knocking. He shifted through the keys on his keyring and pushed it into the lock and opened the door himself. 

“Norma?!” He called once he got inside, his hold on the magazine tightening with his impending anxiety on what he knew was going to be an explosive situation. 

“Who’d you rather be? The Beatles or The Rolling Stones?”