#I do have unpredictable work and my energy is slowly creeping back up but I wanted to throw this out there ...

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xxxix // The Midnight Talk

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A change in the light wakes Conrad up. Slowly, at first, until his tired eyes manage to focus on the texture of the painted wall. It’s a softer, warmer light than the LEDs in the ceiling. Maybe Davin turned on the little desk lamp.

He’s comfortable and warm under the duvet, but Conrad knows the sooner he can swallow the pills, the sooner he can go back to sleep. So he lets out a low groan against the haze in his body, the way his senses blend together into a blurry, washed out image. Fighting that feeling of ethereal calm takes effort, but he manages to push himself up to sitting, and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand while the other keeps balance. Shudders slightly in the cold air.

When he finally looks up, he freezes in place, suppressing a sharp inhale. Because the man across from him is not Davin.

It’s Renee.

He’s sitting in the desk chair with one ankle resting across his knee, hands clamped tight over his shin, foot tapping an irregular rhythm in the air. Faint sweat stains mark the neck and chest of his t-shirt. Tiny flakes of dried blood dot the skin above his upper lip, as if he didn’t quite manage to clean up after a nosebleed. There’s something hungry in the way he takes in Conrad’s reaction to seeing him, something unnatural about the intensity of his stare. His eyes are too wide. His breathing is too quick. “I won’t lie to you,” he mutters seriously. “I am off my fucking shit right now.”

And his demeanor cracks, bleeds into a crooked smile. Traces of laughter are expelled from his nose, like he’s trying to hold it in.

Conrad lets out a bewildered string of syllables before he finally manages to stutter out an uncertain sentence. “What t-time is it?”

“Nighttime, dumbass.” Renee snickers. He leans back, kicks out his legs, resting his feet against the edge of the bed, one foot to either side of where Conrad is huddled. “What, you got places to be or something?” Laughs a little. “Where are you gonna go this time? Hm?”

Conrad’s stomach sinks. He shrinks back fully against the cold wall, like a cornered animal, as the first threads of fear start to creep up his spine. “What, what do you want?”

“I just wanna chat, dude, I’m in a talking mood. It’s been a while, no?” Hands folded across his abdomen, Renee taps his thumbs together. He makes continual little adjustments to how he’s sitting, like he’s bursting with energy, but has no real way to release it. Rocks slightly with the backrest, scratches at his arms, jaw working. “We used to have fun, you know? Where’d that go, hm?”

Conrad swallows, dumbfounded. Renee is always unpredictable, but this feels dangerous in a different way. Like a more severe loss of control, something you can’t begin to approach without the risk of tipping the scales completely. Is he supposed to say something? His eyes flicker to the door.

Renee instantly follows his gaze, then lets out a chuckle. “Mhm,” he hums. And then something happens - his eyes trail out over the black nothingness beyond the window, his expression becomes slack for a moment, maybe ten seconds, as the constant fiddling fades to a halt - before his gaze snaps right back to Conrad, and he starts rocking in his seat again. “I like when you’re scared, you know,” he says, smiling. “It suits you.” Sniffs. “Davin told me about the little lockpick you made. Bet you felt real clever about it, didn’t you? I bet you thought you were real fucking clever.”

He stands up suddenly, chair scooting across the floor, cocks his head to the side. Conrad flinches and leans further back against the wall. Something about the man’s eyes is alarming, not normal - the way he’s barely blinking, the dark voids of his pupils. His teeth glisten in the low light.

“How’s that workin’ out for you, huh? Do you still think you’re smart? You’re a fucking cripple now, aren’t ya?” And he lets out another low laugh, leaning down, hands against his knees, to look at Conrad eye to eye. “Life catches up to you, eh? Always fuckin’ does.”

In the cold rush of his building fear, hands clutched tight in the fabric of the duvet, Conrad returns Renee’s stare with wide eyes, because he’s pretty sure the man will snap if he doesn’t.

Renee lets out a snort, shaking his head slightly. “You’re such a fucking pussy, you know that? Spineless fucking… choir boy.” His smile veers off into a sneer, a crease of disgust. “I know who I am. That’s what you don’t seem to get. You can’t get it through your thick skull. I thought you were naïve at first, but you’re just goddamn stupid. I’m the guy who can do whatever the fuck he wants.” The last sentence is hissed through gritted teeth, eyes burning, breathing somewhat labored. He hammers his index finger at his own chest. “I’m the guy who fucking made you.”

Conrad grits his teeth. He silently counts to three and takes a quick, deep breath. “Dav—”

His shout is cut short as Renee’s fist connects to the side of his mouth, upper lip splitting on his own teeth, and the back of his head thunks hard off the wall. Dazed, Conrad ignores the instinct to stop and collect himself, just pushes off the wall with his hands, thigh searing in pain as he tries to gather his feet under himself and dart past Renee –

An arm wraps around his neck and pulls him back down, choking out the cry on his tongue. Conrad’s back hits the bed, soon followed by the weight of Renee’s upper body, centered Conrad’s chest, and a hand clamps so tight over his mouth, his head is pressed into the mattress. Conrad digs his heels in to try to twist his body free, pushing Renee with both hands, clawing, balling his hands into fists and hitting whatever he can as hard as he can, but none of it seems to faze Renee. He just shifts the weight pinning Conrad down incrementally, until he’s almost lying directly on top of him. The nauseating heat of his body, the weight. At one point, his knee digs into Conrad’s thigh, and the bandages there shift, and it feels like something tears. A cry, partly out of pain, partly out of panic, is muffled against a palm.

“Shut up,” Renee growls. There’s three red scratch marks on his cheekbone, another along his jaw, two of them bleeding enough for it to start rolling down his face. Once he finally manages to get in a position where he can straddle Conrad, he coils a hand around his throat, closing his airway. His other hand leaves Conrad’s mouth to join the chokehold. Wild eyes burning with contempt, excitement, teeth bared in a grin. “I’m a god to you. Do you understand that? I’m fucking divine, bitch.” And he lets out a high whistle through his teeth, leaning the full weight on his upper body onto his hands.

The pain in Conrad’s throat skyrockets as his Adam’s apple is forced down on his windpipe. His fingers claw desperately at Renee’s arms, legs kicking uselessly against the mattress, until his feet tangled in the duvet. His heart drums against the inside of his skull, he can feel the way the blood pools in his face, mouth open. The spasms of his diaphragm as his chest tries and fails to expand. Renee’s figure, looming above him, is clouded by a mess of sparks that begin to dart across his vision.

“Calm down. Do you want to breathe? Look at me, asshole. Do you want to breathe?”

Body convulsing, Conrad fumbles for Renee’s wrists, forcing his eyes to focus on the blurring silhouette of Renee’s face. He never manages to nod, but the pressure on his throat eases slightly, allowing him to draw in a fraction of a breath, before it returns, just as unforgiving as before.

“See? I can do whatever I want,” Renee says breathlessly. Laughs, sticking his tongue out between his teeth. “You can talk shit, but I can kill you if I fucking feel like it. Stupid bitch. I can do anything.”

The edges of Conrad’s vision are beginning to darken, a numbness spreading in his limbs, a prickling sensation in his face, when the pressure suddenly stops altogether.

As he gasps for air, he’s vaguely aware that Renee has grabbed both of his wrists, pinning one arm into the mattress next to his head, but raising the other toward himself. Conrad is so busy heaving for breath, trying to collect the strength to struggle again, he barely realizes what Renee is doing before the man’s teeth sink into his forearm.

Conrad lets out a wordless shout, back arching against new pain. There’s zero inhibition in the bite, he can feel the skin breaking, the relentless force as flesh is pried apart, the way sinew seems to get pushed out of the way, the sharp pinpricks of disbanding tissue. “Stop!” he screams. “Stop! Please stop, please stop—”

But his feeble attempts to pry his arm free only seem to strengthen Renee’s resolve. His jaw sort of locks on Conrad’s arm, teeth steadily sinking deeper. The pressure brings with it a blinding, piercing pain, and a fear in the part of Conrad’s mind that is still capable of thought, that Renee might actually reach the bone, that he might actually bite all the way through and tear a large chunk out.

Beneath Conrad’s cries, a loud thunk fills the room, one that finally makes Renee pause, and the piercing pain in Conrad’s arm ceases, leaving him to gasp in its aftershocks.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?!”

Renee’s grin is stained red as he straightens up, rocking slightly. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Davin blinks. His hair is down, tangled from sleep. “Are you high?”

Renee giggles, looking back at Conrad. “Hell yeah,” he says, letting go of Conrad’s arm only to firmly pat his cheek. The blood dribbling out of his mouth, staining his chin, is beginning to extend its fingers down his neck. “We’re just chattin’.”

“He bit me,” Conrad pants, voice shaking. “H-he bit me. He bit me.”

The disbelief is painted on Davin’s face. For a moment, he just stands there staring, brow furrowed.

“You look pissed,” Renee says zestfully. He’s still breathing hard, as if he just exercised.

“Get out,” Davin says.

Renee snickers. Pats Conrad’s cheek again, a little harder this time. “He’s definitely pissed.”

“Out,” Davin repeats, pointing to the door for emphasis.

Renee rolls his eyes, but he does shift his weight then. As soon as he has swung his leg over the edge of the bed, Conrad scurries up, crawling backwards on the bed until his back hits the corner between the wall and the headboard, drawing his legs up in front of him and clutching his forearm tight. His blood stains the bedsheets, drops and smears scattered in different places, absorbed by the fabric. His arm is throbbing.

Renee’s nonchalant steps circle Davin in the middle of the room, until he starts walking backwards toward the door. “You guys are so fucking boring, you know? I’m just here to have fun.”

“Leave,” Davin says firmly.

Raising a brow, Renee throws both hands up in defeat. Spins around, chuckling to himself, grabbing hold of the doorframe.

Davin turns his attention back to Conrad just a fraction of a second too soon. He doesn’t see the way Renee freezes on the threshold, stopping with one foot still in the room, the other in the hallway, hand still clutching the frame.

“Show me what he did,” Davin says gently.

Conrad swallows, eyes flickering between Davin and Renee’s back. “H-he…”

Davin follows his gaze. Sneers in frustration. “I mean it, Renee, get the fuck out.”

But Renee doesn’t react, doesn’t even turn his head. Just stands there, swaying slightly with the rhythm of his own rapid breathing.

Davin hesitates. “Renee?” he says, and the edge of his voice is gone. He slowly walks over to him, puts a hand on his shoulder to turn him around. Renee follows the movement, feet automatically dragging back to keep his balance, but although his grasp on the doorframe is broken, his hand doesn’t drop; it just hovers in the air, unmoving. His expression is empty, mouth hanging slightly open, gaze unfocused.

“You alright? Renee…?” Brows furrowed, Davin waves a hand in front of the man’s face. Renee half-blinks, but it seems more like a reflex than any real sign of life. His gaze stays blank. Davin shakes Renee’s shoulder a little, then holds the back of his hand up against Renee’s forehead. It prompts no reaction, but Conrad sees the muscles in Davin’s jaw working. Eventually, he steps back and lets out a sigh, casting his head back. “… three in the fucking morning,” he mutters at the ceiling. Looks down at the watch on his wrist, then back to Renee, as if he’s waiting, counting the seconds.

Suddenly, Renee blinks, gives a minute shake of his head. Frowns at Davin. “What?”

“I’d like you to sit down,” Davin tells him, nodding at the desk chair.

Snorting, Renee throws his hands out. “You literally just told me to leave.”

“I changed my mind. Sit down.”

Renee rolls his eyes again. Trots back to the chair, hasn’t sat down for a second before his leg starts bouncing. He looks at Davin expectantly, one brow raised.

“Sit there while I get my things. Twenty seconds, alright? You don’t fucking touch him.”

Renee snickers. “Chill, dude. I’ll be nice, I swear.”

His eyes follow Davin as he leaves, and then he shakes his head, mindlessly picking at his jeans. “Fucking weirdo,” he grumbles. “Everybody’s so pissed all the time.” He wipes at his chin, and seems surprised when his hand comes away red. Spends a few moments drying his face in his t-shirt, gaze sort of mindlessly drifting, until it reaches Conrad, still huddled in the corner of the bed. “Show me,” he says then. “I wanna see it.”

Conrad nervously clutches his arm tighter to his chest. The pain has faded by now, but his arm is pulsing, and he still feels warm blood seeping through his fingers, making his skin sticky. He has yet to even look at it himself, but the last thing he wants is to let Renee revel in whatever damage he caused.

Renee smiles a little, but it fades just as quickly. Eyes wide. “Show me.” He’s rocking in his seat again, a tiny back and forth, which along with the bouncing leg betrays how much he’s struggling to contain his energy.

Davin comes back with his shoulder bag, and Conrad suppresses a sigh of relief as Renee’s attention snaps to him instead.

Renee stuffs his hands in his pockets, almost like an attempt to stop fidgeting. “What do you want me to do? Hm?”

Davin dumps the bag on the desk, starts filtering through its contents. “Just try to relax.”

Renee grimaces. “I’m not gonna just fucking sit here, dude. I’m vibrating, I’m high. If you’re not gonna fuckin’… give me the Leave-Conrad-Alone talk or whatever, I’d rather just leave, you know?”

Pulling out a syringe and a glass vial, Davin nods. “I’ll let you go in a bit,” he says. Pops the cap off the syringe and lets it fall on the table.

“What’s that?”

Davin shoots him a look. “Rabies shot for Conrad.”

Renee bursts out laughing at that, leaning forward in the chair, until he’s almost folded over completely, head between his knees. “Good one,” he chuckles. And then the smile fades, and he just stares at the floor for a minute, jaw working. “God, everybody in this house is so fuckin’ dead,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “You guys don’t get it. It’s killing me, you know? It’s boring as hell. You’re boring. I’m just tryna make a living, you know?” He looks up at Davin, sneering. “I don’t even know what the fuck you’re here for. You don’t give a shit. You’re just…” He trails off, gaze drifting off to the side. “… y-… you…” And his eyelids begin to flutter slightly, restless movements fading to an uncanny stillness. The only thing that remains is that labored breathing, the occasional twitch of his mouth, almost like a wince.

“Right,” Davin mutters. He pauses drawing liquid into the syringe to check his watch again.

Conrad swallows. “What, what’s wrong with him?”

“Seizure,” Davin says simply. “He’s overdosing.”

Somehow, the thought hadn’t even crossed Conrad’s mind. He looks at Renee’s limp form in the chair, the way his body sways somewhat, the way his head slowly, slowly rolls back, exposing a throat still smeared with Conrad’s blood. His eyelids didn’t flutter before, but they do now, small bursts in between an empty gaze levelled at the ceiling.

Conrad watches as Davin sets the vial down, pulls up the sleeve of Renee’s t-shirt and injects something into his shoulder. Renee doesn’t seem to be aware of it whatsoever. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. He’s just absent.

Throwing the needle in a trash bin, Davin stands back and checks his watch again. “Come on, Vaughan,” he mutters under his breath.

 It takes a while longer than the last one, but Renee eventually blinks, straightening his head back up. Swallows, fishing a hand out of his pocket to scratch at his shoulder, right at the spot where Davin injected him. His knee starts bouncing again. “I forgot what I was thinking,” he says.

Davin snorts. “I bet.” He takes a deep breath before he turns to Conrad. “While that’s cooking… Come sit on the edge of the bed, yeah? You don’t have to get up, but I’d like to see it, alright?”

Conrad grits his teeth, eyes flickering to Renee. “Not when he’s in here.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not leaving for a while. C’mon, I can tell it’s bleeding. I’d like to get this over with.”

Renee snickers, resting his chin on his hand, a smug smile on his face. “Yeah, Connie. Show him.”

Davin looks on the verge of snapping something at Renee, but he composes himself. “If it’s any consolation,” he tells Conrad, “he probably won’t remember more than bits of pieces of this come tomorrow.”

Renee lets out a low chuckle. “Davin’s a liar. So there’s that.”

A knowing sort of smirk flashes over Davin’s face, just long enough for Conrad to catch it. So he takes a moment to collect himself, and then, still clutching his arm, uses his good leg to inch across the bed, wincing as the movement stirs the pain in his bad one. Maybe the pills are wearing off. Can adrenaline make that happen faster? He keeps the bad leg bent, crossed under the one he swings over the edge of the bed. Davin crouches down in front of him, and Conrad reluctantly holds out his arm, taking an anxious breath before he uncoils his hand from the wound.

He's not sure what he expected. His skin is smeared with blood, and the edges are hard to make out, but it looks like a bite mark. Two half-circles, fading before they meet. Faint indentations of molars which didn’t quite pierce the skin, but left enough of an impression to still be visible. As Davin carefully pulls the skin apart with two fingers, the wound gapes, revealing the depth of it – deep enough to need stitches, Conrad can tell already. The other side is just as bad.

Renee lets out a whistle, which breaks into laughter. “Damn. I can’t believe I did that.”

Conrad clears his throat, avoids looking in Renee’s direction. “I think something happened with, with my leg, too,” he says uncertainly. “I’m not sure, it just felt like it.”

Davin nods his understanding. “We’ll check that, too.” And he gets up to grab his supplies, throwing them on the bed next to Conrad. Pulls on a pair of disposable gloves before he crouches back down. “You know the drill by now,” he says softly.

Conrad doesn’t answer that.

He sits in pensive silence, just watching as Davin cleans his arm, feels his skin break out in goosebumps at the coldness of the saline solution. When Davin pulls apart a packet containing a syringe, he looks away. He knows where the lidocaine goes, he doesn’t want to see it.

The tight sting of the first injection makes him lock up his jaw, although he manages to keep his face neutral. The second one isn’t so bad either. But at the third one, Conrad feels the muscles in his back seize up, and he draws in a sharp breath through his nose, curling both hands into fists. Against his better judgement, he glances at Renee. But the man isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s slumped a little in the chair, staring at the ceiling, leg still bouncing a small rhythm on the floor. Even still, Conrad looks away again, turns his head. Silently thankful for the fact that although he’s in pain, at least that pain isn’t being exploited.

The lidocaine is over relatively quickly. Conrad knew it would be. When Davin starts the actual stitches themselves, there’s no pain. Just that strange, tactile feeling of the needle poking through, of the thread being pulled together. The warmth of Davin’s hands through the gloves.

Two minutes have passed, maybe three, when Renee’s low groan resonates in the room. “Hah, fuck.” He’s still slumped in the chair, but his chest has fallen a bit, hands slack over the armrests. No fidgeting, no restlessness. He just stares at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes, breathing slow and even. “Fuck,” he says again, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Davin pauses what he’s doing, raises a brow. “You alright?”

Renee’s gaze slowly drifts down to meet the other’s. Even the way he blinks seems to lag somewhat. “Mh,” he lets out.

Smirking, Davin nods. “It’s late. Maybe it’s time to go to bed, hm?”

“Yeah,” Renee concedes. Doesn’t move, just keeps looking, in a way that doesn’t really suggest he’s paying much attention to anything.

“Do you need a hand getting there?” Davin asks.

Renee frowns a little. “Where?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Oh…” Renee sniffs, swallowing. “Nah, ’m good,” he says. Slowly, very slowly, he manages to pull his legs under him, pushing off the armrests with both hands. He staggers slightly for the first step, but then seems to catch himself – until he bumps his thigh into the corner of the desk, almost knocking over Davin’s shoulder bag in an attempt to steady himself. “Shit…” And then he trots along, feet dragging on the floor as he walks past the threshold.

Once Renee has left, Davin turns back to Conrad. He looks on the verge of saying something, but it falters. Instead he just lets out a long sigh.

“Just get it, get it over with,” Conrad mutters.

Davin smirks. “Exactly.”

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[hyunnieshannie]

Walking On Glass

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅Master List⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅

I : Yang fucking Jeongin.

♥: Yang Jeongin x AFAB Reader ★: The author is prone to adding tags as they go, Mentions heavily of death, Mentions of Murder, Anxiety, Past Trauma, and Nightmares -- It's a dark fic.

“There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion” -Edgar Allan Poe, Ligeia, 1838

The piercing sound of your alarm jolts you awake, another day passed you by yesterday and now a new one calls out to you. You can’t help but groan, at the idea of having to leave the comfort and warmth of your bed. Reluctantly and with a heavy sigh you finally muster the energy to get up and drag yourself through the apartment, still half-asleep. Gathering your things, you prepare yourself physically and mentally for the day ahead. 

 Your walk to the bus stop was rather uneventful, with cars whizzing past you, and the pedestrians hurrying along in their daily rush to work. You nod in appreciation to the bus driver as you step onto his bus, immediately drowning yourself out from the world by placing your headphones on, in hopes to avoid any sort of conversation. 

A couple of stops pass, and just as you settle into your music-induced bubble, May boards the bus in a rush, her bag half-open in her hands. Spotting you, she waves frantically and quickly pays her fare. Without delay, she darts towards the seat next to you, yanks one of your earphones out, and places it in her ear, as if inviting herself into your private world.

Surprised by May's sudden intrusion, you offer her a half-hearted smile, unsure of how to react. She always had an unpredictable energy about her, and you knew resisting her enthusiastic company was often futile.

“How’d I know you’d be listening to this song?” She laughs,

“Woke up late again?” You sigh.

May chuckles and tosses her hair playfully, her confident demeanour shining through. "Oh, you have no idea! Looking this good takes some serious effort," she teases 

“If only you’d put as much effort into your studies as you do your looks; you’d be unstoppable.” You smile back at her as she sits down.

“Not everyone can be like you, Y/N. I can’t be pretty and smart, that's too much work!” She giggles, as she pulls out a hair brush and begins to tie her hair back into a loose ponytail. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

As you arrive at the school May turns to you and says, “I hear we have a new student coming in today; I hope he’s nice.” 

He of course it's another boy, another distraction for her. 

“Great.” You sigh. 

You make your way slowly to your morning lecture, quickly finding your spot as May turns around in her seat to face you as everyone else files in, 

“He’ll probably end up falling madly in love with me an-”

“Madly in love with you?” Seungmin scoffs as he sits beside May. “I got a look at him, and you’re totally not his type.”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT,” May’s flustered face says it all, she doesn’t want to be his type anyways Seungmin. 

“Trust me, you’re not his type. He looks like he’s dropped out like five times- actually, honestly, he kinda looks like the type to shoot up the-” 

“Not funny Seungmin.” You sigh, “School shootings are an actual problem, and people who do those kinds of things are mentally ill. You can’t just go and label someone you don’t know as someone who would do something like that, just because of his appearance.” 

“My bad little miss ‘I’m going to study murderers for fun’, All I’m saying is he’s the type to want to be alone. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was some creep though. He has these like-” leave it to Seungmin to remind you of your goals in the most condescending way. You love your best friend you truly do, but at times you wonder if he truly understands why you set the goals you have. Not that he would ever fully get it. Not that anyone in the room would truly ever understand your fascination with the inner workings of the mind of a killer.

“ALRIGHT CLASS SETTLE DOWN.” Professor Wade says as he walks in, adjusting his glasses and placing his books on the podium at the front of the class, “Today as you’ve all heard we have a new student. Please come in and introduce yourself to the class.” he gestures for the student to come in from the hall. 

“My name is Yang Jeongin.” He says coldly as he stares toward the back of the class. “I transferred here from another country. That’s all you need to know about me.” Your professor stares blankly at him. Seungmin was right though, the guy is offputting. Sharp brown eyes, and long black hair. Dressed in all black, and topped off with a dead look in his eyes, anyone would think he was some ‘weirdo’ - a loner. 

“Alright, now why don't you go and sit beside Y/N.” Jeongin smiles at the teacher and makes his way up the lecture hall stairs to the seat next to yours. 

“Hi, I’m May!” May whispers excitedly to him, 

“Don’t talk to me.” He says looking annoyed as he finds his pen. May looks at him with a confused expression, she reaches for her phone and sends a text to your group chat.

Jeez, what's wrong with the new guy? He was so mean… she pouts. Seungmin put his hand on her shoulder and laughs

“I told you, you aren’t his type” He whispers, May turns to him and lightly punches him, 

“SHUT UP!” she yells, the silent class looks towards her, her face turns a bright shade of red from embarrassment “Sorry.” 

You study the boy next to you as your professor recaps the last lesson. As you noticed earlier, Jeongin wears all black. He’s got long black hair, but you can see the glint of silver jewelry shining through it. Piercings. He wears a silver chain around his neck, but the pendant is hidden under his shirt. Silver rings, and black boots. Sharp eyes that stare coldly towards the front of the room. He’s pretty but rude. Arrogance, radiating off of him. Does he think he’s too good to be here? 

“Staring is rude, if you want something- ask now or leave me alone.” he deadpans, looking at you as if he was looking through you. Almost as if he was reading your mind, “Whatever it is your brain is thinking about me, forget it. Whatever assumption you’re making about me is wrong.”

“I- was just admiring your outfit” you mutter, bringing your eyes back to your notes. 

“Don’t lie to me either. I can see through that shit. You’ll do better by being honest with me.” he slowly places his pen down and shifts so that he’s leaning closer to you, “Listen. I don’t care about whatever your first-year psych brain is attempting to say about me, I’m not your patient. So stop trying to analyze me.” he turns away from you and continues on taking notes. Whatever issue Yang Jeongin has, you want nothing to do with it. You can only hope the semester passes by quickly, and that you won’t have to ever interact with the person beside you.  

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After a few excruciating hours of listening to Professor Wade go on about the psychological effects of trauma you’re finally released from prison. “Let's go to the cafe to study today.” You say with a smile, Seungmin nods in agreement and May follows along. You enjoy going to the cafe after classes, the warm evening breeze and the smell of fresh coffee is relaxing after class and the cozy environment of the cafe provided the perfect atmosphere to study in. Seungmin heads towards your usual booth, with May tailing behind him as you go to make your coffee orders. 

“One large Strawberry coconut refresher, one Large iced americano, and one Caramel Macchiato with extra caramel please” You smile at the cashier who punches in your order, 

“Three drinks for one person? Are you that thirsty?” A voice says from behind you, you turn around and look up at  Yang fucking Jeongin. 

“I'm here with May and Seungmin actually,” you smile, it was better to be civil than to give him the actual expression your brain so desperately wanted to give. He looks down at you seriously.

“Hm. Excuse me, could you add a second large americano please.” the cashier nods as he steps in front of you and pays for the order, he was so rude to May and now he’s paying for our drinks. What’s with him? “I’ll help you take these to your friends.” he picks up the Americanos and looks to you to guide him to your spot.

“Would you like to sit and study with us?” you ask with an awkward smile,

“Sure.” you walk up the steps to your booth where Seungmin sat watching May take selfies. You hand May her strawberry drink, and Seungmin his caramel drink, then slide into your spot on the opposite side of them. Jeongin sits next to you and places your coffee by you; May makes a confused face and looks back at her textbook. 

“He paid for our drinks so I asked if he wanted to study with us. I hope you don't mind.” You kick Seungmin  lightly under the table and force a smile at him notifying him to get May to cooperate 

“Oh. OH No we don't mind at all right May?” He smiles awkwardly and May only let out a huff. You spent the rest of the evening studying and joking amongst each other, though Jeongin stayed silent for most of it, only ever talking when it came to studying. Most of the time it felt less like he was studying the curriculum and more like he was studying the group the entire time, by the end of the night you could feel he was bored of your company. 

“I should head out guys, I have things to do around the house,” You say as you begin packing up your books, 

“Your apartment is in pristine condition, what could you possibly have to do?” Seungmin laughs 

“Tidying mainly” you sigh, “Chores don't get done themself you know” You let out a small sigh, 

“Chores? You live alone and you give yourself chores?” Seungmin looks at May and laughs at the confused look on her face “What I'm serious! If I lived alone I’d be free and live as I wanted!” 

“That’s why we always go to Y/N’s place. I can't imagine what your room looks like.” Seungmin laughs, Mays's face burns red, as she looks down to hide her clear embarrassment.

“Shut up.” Seungmin you idiot.

“I should head out as well.” Jeongin says abruptly, “Thanks for letting me stay.” He gets up, grabs his things and walks out. 

“He’s so strange,” May says, as you all get up to leave. Soon after you say your goodbyes and head out. 

The bus ride back to your apartment was quiet and short. Your brain was doing its best to wrap around something you didn’t quite know. A feeling you’d never had before. Some sort of familiarity but from what? You wouldn’t be able to tell. 

After a hot shower, You sit yourself on your couch and turn on the tv. “I should eat,” you mumble to myself, you walk to the kitchen as the news plays on the screen in your living room, 

“Reports from [your city]’s 11th ward state another young woman has been murdered,” the tv blares, “The woman was found in her home with a gunshot wound to the chest, [Your city] police say they have no witnesses and no leads.” The newscaster reads out,

Another one. This is starting to get closer to home too. It makes me sick to my stomach. You close your fridge. I'm not even hungry anymore. 

Tags: @chanlixiiee @amalieworldidk @jaebaebaegot7 @maeleelee @iadorethemskz @maenijw @hangin-out-with-the-street-rats @jinniespuppy @painstakingly-juno @lethallyprotected @elizalabs3 @jisungsbff01 @seungminslittlepup @lieghscloud @foxinnie8 @scarletbedlam @kpoppin-to-the-beat @stay-berry @bbymatz @kurxxmi

[seodami]

Dearest treasure | KTH

|PART1| |PART 2| |PART 3|

Summary: Every kid in town was afraid of Kang Taehyun, the old -slightly creepy- man living alone for years and years in the same run down house. Every night he would go into his backyard with a shovel and dig a hole into the earth. No one knows why and there are kids rumouring about him burying people. Jungwon was a bright kid, wanting to find out the truth behind this widely spread rumour for a school project. And what he found out would change his life forever.

Genre: fluff, angst, flashbacks, story of life, snippets of life, tiny bit humour

Warning: old Taehyun, mention of death, mention of suicide/suicidal thoughts, death

Word count: 10152 (all 3 parts)

Pairing: Kang Taehyun x reader, (Yang Jungwon)

Note: Wow okay so this story took me a while to write and I listened to hours of das music to finish this🥺 this was honestly an emotional rollercoaster. But I’m so glad it’s finally finished so I can post it on here yayyy!!! I hope you like it an enjoooyy (please tell me if you cried I would really appreciate your responses haha bc I did)

Main masterlist

2089 (present)

Deathly silence hung in the air as thick as smog. In Jungwons eyes pooled tears, ready to spill over the edges to fall into free fall and drop heavily onto his trousers. His heart was burning, not finding any suitable words of comfort or understanding for the old man in front of him. His throat felt like it was tied up so tightly, he couldn’t breathe. Oh, how didn’t he know? Oh, how could anyone talk bad behind his back? So much hurt…

Mr. Kangs head hung low, not daring to make any other noice than his sniffling nose. Hot tear drops were silently dropping down, it felt suffocating just watching him so full of hurt and sorrow. Suddenly Jungwon felt sorry to let him relive his whole life together with the terrible pain even the young boy could feel.

“I- I…I never could…forgive myself. It was my fault-“ the once handsome mans face was dark and the wrinkles now seemingly even deeper full of regrets and unspoken words. “You wouldn’t understand, boy-“

Jungwon couldn’t form any appropriate words at that moment and let the sadness let him take away just for a little longer. His story was heavy… he felt like he just heard something he shouldn’t have heard. Something so private and fragile. It had touched him more than he had thought.

“I didn’t want to live anymore… it was all worthless since then… I had no motivation to keep going.” His voice became a tad more stable, yet still quiet and weak. His tired eyes met the innocent boys and for a second the old man could see his younger self inside his big brown eyes. Sadness and nostalgia rolled over him and he averted his gaze.

“I tried ending my life many times since that day- it never worked no matter how much I wanted it… and then I just…I just mouldered…alone, broken- and just a shell of my old self. I wasn’t the once happy, bright, clever boy anymore. I could never be that again…”

Jungwons heart felt heavy, breathing wasn’t bearable. His hands unconsciously reached forward to the tiny lost figure sitting in his sunken mould. It was a simple touch but for Mr. Kang it was the first reassuring and comforting gesture he had received in a long long time. It made him tear up stronger, still staying silent. The young boy wanted to be there for the old man. He wanted to show him that he wasn’t alone in this.

Moments of depressing, yet healing silence passed, just the ticking of the old clock in the dark living room was heard. “I’m so sorry Mr. Kang…” Jungwon finally whispered, unsure if the man spoken to even heard it. He couldn’t do much but be there in this moment. Quite honestly he felt like crying himself. But he wanted to stay strong for him.

“One day-“ Mr. Kangs voice shook a little but he kept talking. “-I remembered the time capsule. My dearest treasure. So long ago. And I made it my life mission to find it. One last moment to hold onto and…look back to.” A thick single tear slowly rolled down Jungwons cheek. So that was it. That’s why… and everyone had dragged the vulnerable man down, putting even more dirt into his deep wounds.

“I-I searched everywhere. But…but i just…forgot. It’s my last wish before I finish this…” life he wanted to say. Finish his life. It made the school boy unbelievable sad. Oh how much he must’ve suffered his whole life. And before Jungwon could’ve decided differently, a strong feeling of wanting to help and support creeped up to him.

“I’m gonna help you Mr. Kang. We will find your treasure.” Jungwon reassuringly took the heavy, wrinkled hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. It was the first time since that day, that he felt hope again. Just a tiny tiny splinter but it was there. Hope.

The next hours, both of the males digged holes through the whole garden, not saving any sweat, too focused on finding the mans greatest desire. Mr. Kang had already reached his limit after three holes, following with the 14 year old boy leading him towards an old wooden garden bench to rest on. Jungwon on the other hand was full of verve and energy to fulfill his dearest wish. To find his dearest treasure. Mr. Kang watched him with surprise and thankfulness, never had anyone gone all the way out to help him with something so important to him. There was never someone who he could’ve went to. After that day, he had broken off all the contact with his old friends. He wanted to feel alone at some point. He deserved the pain. That’s what he had always told himself. But now he was old and weak and just wanted nothing more than to be finally reunited with his beloved family. He missed you everyday. He heard his daughters laughters everyday. And he saw his son running around outside in the garden everyday. He finally wanted to be with his family everyday.

It had already gotten dark and cold at this point, Mr. Kang had brought the hard working boy a jacket and a warm tea. The sun was already long gone, just the small lights from the veranda and from the street shined over towards them. Jungwon was still digging, his once tidy school clothes now full of dirt and dust and drenched in sweat. He couldn’t give up. He knew that. So he kept digging and digging. The moon was fondly watching at the pair below, shining just a tad brighter tonight for them. Short friendly small talk about school went quickly over to heartfelt conversations about life and this and that. Nobody, not even the moon, would’ve thought that the bitter, lonely 87 year old Taehyun and the bright, cheerful 14 year old Jungwon would’ve ever even crossed paths, yet life showed again how unpredictable and full of surprises it could be. This night, a tight bond between the two men was woven. So unexpected but yet so lovely.

The clock already told them it was 6 minutes before midnight when another noice cut through the silent night air. A metallic sound. Gasping, Jungwon threw the shovel away, excitement now rushing through his veins. He fell onto his knees, not caring about the moist soil on his trousers. His hands digged through the last part, brown earth now sticking behind his nails, and moments later, he pulled out a medium sized metal box, securely wrapped in plastic. Jungwon felt like he just won the Olympics, he felt like he did it. He did it…

A quick gaze onto the bench showed him the sleeping old man, now seeming even tinier than before. With shaky steps and a weird feeling of proudness and fulfilment, Jungwon waddled over to the sleeping form, gently waking him up. The box in his hands was tightly in his grasp, not letting go. Mr. Kangs heavy lidded eyes flew open in an instant when he saw the metal box in the boys arms. Tears burned in his thankful eyes, reaching towards it with shaking arms. Everything felt heavy, yet his heart felt the lightest it had felt in a long long time.

“Thank you…so much.” Tears were now unstoppable rolling down his cheeks. It squeezed Jungwons heart, knowing he could make this man happy again, fulfilling his last wish. The both of them moved up to the house again, warmth engulfing them with its now familiar scent. Comfort. The old man reassured the boy to stay but seeing the box being opened, Jungwon felt as if he got to see something way too private. But he stayed, looking over the sniffling mans shoulder when he pulled out a small pink toy dolphin. His hands were shaking. “This was my daughters. It was her favorite toy when she was…two years old.”

Taehyuns heart clenched, seeing all his treasures in front of him. He desperately pressed the small toy against his chest, letting all his emotions in. It was intense, yet it was all he ever wanted. Seeing the familiar drawings of a green giraffe, sitting on a cloud with a family next to it. He could read all their names above the figures. Oh Taehee…

Looking through the photographs, old memories surfaced and made the man tear up even heavier. He didn’t knew how much he really had missed them. It was as if his empty shell was slowly filled again, reliving all of your best and worst moments. He saw a picture on his old friends Hueningkais 18th birthday. All of his friends were there, cake smeared all across your faces, the brightest smiles someone could ever see. The day he had first met you… Another picture had all of your friends sitting around a small bonfire, being cuddled inside blankets. Taehyun saw his younger handsome self smiling unsure into the camera with you sitting beside him. He could only laugh sadly at the memories of your camping trip where he first had kissed you, the guilty feeling just as clear.

“She looks so happy here…” Taehyun noticed with a testy smile, gently touching your face on the picture, seeing you and him laying on a bed, arms tightly slung around your frame, as you held the camera. His large eyes showed nothing but the purest form of love as he looked over to you. Oh he was such a lovesick fool. “You were a pretty couple…” Jungwon whispered, glancing over the handsome young man and the pretty women. He wished to find someone in his life later, he could look at with just as much love as he did. Taehyun nodded, pulling out the next photo. It was the two of you kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, big smiles on both of your faces. Taehyun remembered, it was when he courageously decided to fly around half the globe to you to fix your relationship. He didn’t want to give you up, thank god he didn’t. Another photograph showed you holding your first ultrasound picture, tears streaming down your face. You were both so young and already on the way to becoming parents. It was scary, yes it was one of the most scary moments in life but it was all worth it. The next picture showed you in the hospital bed, looking weak, yet happy. Taehyun was kneeing down next to you, his gaze focused on you and the tiny newborn baby in four arms. A tear dropped down onto the photo but he quickly wiped it away. “Our little Taehee…”

The next picture showed a kissing couple dressed in a gorgeous white dress and a neat black suit. The priest between them was smiling fondly at the newlywed couple. On another one he could see the couple dancing in midst of their guests, white petals laying all over the place. Taehyun sobbed, holding a hand over his mouth. Jungwons hand reassuringly squeezed his shoulder. He was there for him. Taehyuns and your parents were dancing next to you, he could see his friend Yeonjun and Beomgyu dancing with each other playfully and many more of their closest circle. It had been so long. And he missed it. It was such a happy memory.

There were other photographs with you being pregnant, both of your baby pictures, your friends and your parents and a ton of little Taehee running around bubbly in her adorable dresses and overalls. Taehyun hadn’t seen these pictures in a while and it tore his heart into a million pieces. The last picture was inside your new house, the house he never could bring over him to leave. You were all sitting on the carpet, smiling into the camera. The little baby boy snuggling closer in his blanket and the girl pressing a soft kiss onto his tiny head. Taehyuns arms were slung around your frame, head laying on your shoulder relaxing. They were so happy. So happy.

He pulled out an edition of your favorite book with a hand written text inside: ‘For Taehee and Taejun- may they find wisdom and happiness in their long lives. From mum and dad’ Taehyun remembered. Oh he remembered everything. You two would always read this book together since your honeymoon, where you discovered it in one of the local bookstores. Since then it had always be your favorite book. And it hurt him seeing his children never got to read it. Their future was just robbed because of one moment. It was unfair. Why did he get to live when they couldn’t? He never understood.

The last thing Taehyun pulled out of the box was the pink letter littered with dozen of glitter stickers. ‘To my love’ stood on top of it in your cursive handwriting. He gulped, knowing exactly this was made for him personally. It was the letter he dreaded reading. The moment he waited for. The reason he wanted to find this box in the first place. His love. Jungwon stood stiff and still next to him, not daring to say a word. With shaking fingers, he carefully opened the envelope without tearing it. He could immediately recognise your pretty handwriting and already teared up when he read over the first sentence. ‘To my dear love Taehyun, whom I always love’ with another nod, he dared reading through the heartfelt letter.

‘So this is where life led us, what? To be quite honest with you, my 17 year old me would’ve never thought about marrying the handsome boy from Hueningkais birthday party, let alone have his children and buy our first house together. Life went wild with us, am I right Tae? But I regret nothing. Not even when I stole your favorite hoodie out of your closet without you knowing. Everyone was so done with my reckless personality and I often felt misunderstood in my younger days as you know. But you just always seemed to just see the best in me. Even when I felt like giving it all up. You were always there for me. And you were the only one to fully understand and accept me how I am. This is something I never told you in person but I can’t remember how life was without you before. In my mind, you were always there and I know that you will always be there for our family in our long future. I hope when you read this, we are both still happily married, watching our children and grandchildren laugh about all our ridiculous photos inside this box. And Taehee, oh she must be so happy to see her favorite toy again haha. Taehyun, you are my best friend, my first love, my first heartache, my true soulmate and the best husband in the whole world. You are and will always be my love, no matter how time will turn our lives around. We are always together. I love you always,

Your dearest wife Y/N

(P.S. don’t worry about getting old, you are still my handsome prince I fell in love with!)’

At this point, Taehyun was a sobbing mess, not caring what the young boy might think of him. This letter had touched his soul, his deepest heart. He felt every word you’ve written just as if it was you whispering each of them into his ear. He never felt the urge that strong before to be by your side, hug you, kiss you all over your face, tell you how beautiful you were and whisper how much he loved you and would forever. His life made sense only with his family by his side. There was nothing left to live anymore for Taehyun. And he knew that for a long time already.

Jungwon in this moment didn’t knew what to do anymore. He felt like he had fulfilled his mission, making the old man happy for a last time. With quiet steps, he took his video camera, he totally had forgotten and put it in his backpack laying on the floor abandoned. It was his sign to leave, let the man dwell in his emotions and memories. He was done here. With careful steps he went closer to the sobbing man again, softly putting his hand on his shoulder. He looked up as if he knew what the boy was about to say.

A small smile was on his wrinkled lips, clenching on the boys heart. He weakly pushed himself up just to pull the sweaty, in dirt covered student into a warm embrace. It was the first hug since ages it felt like. The hug remembered Jungwon of his own grandmother and tears stuck in his throat. He missed her. “Thank you so much, Jungwon. You are a wonderful kid. You’ve fulfilled my dearest wish. I will forever be thankful to you. May you be blessed forever. You were the only one willing to listen. Thank you.” Jungwon nodded in his shoulder, trying not to burst into tears on the spot but failed nevertheless in the end. He was so glad seeing the happy man in front of him, now seeming even younger than before. The deep sunken eyes didn’t seem frightening anymore. They were warm and welcoming. He could see sparkles of youth inside them. Yes, Jungwon did the right thing.

When the clock showed sharply half an hour past midnight, Jungwon bid his farewell to the man, he weirdly would consider his friend now, knowing he could sleep well tonight. Taehyun insisted on him keeping the jacket he gave him as well as one of the pictures inside the box for his school project and as a token of gratitude. On his quiet walk back home, he smiled endearingly down to the old photograph he carefully held in his hand. It was the last picture. Where the family of four smiled happily into the camera, sitting onto the fluffy rug Jungwon recognised now. He would treasure this picture forever. It was a generous gift, knowing how important it had been to Mr. Kang. He was so thankful.

The next day, Jungwon excitedly presented his project in class. Even though his mother yelled at him concerned where he was until this late, he managed to edit the video for his project, tearing up in the process but still felt motivated to keep going. It was important that he made this his best project. Not for him or his grade, no, it was for Mr. Kang. He was determined to change everyone’s horrible opinion about the old man.

It was eye opening for everyone. Even Park Jongsong, the scary older student, couldn’t come up with a counter attack and stared wide eyed at the screen in front of the class. It was freeing, knowing that just a bit of courage and kindness could lead you to such wonderful moments. He changed everyone’s opinion about ‘Killer Kang’. And he managed to make an old sad man happy again.

After school, the kind student hurried over to Mr. Kangs house. In bright daylight, the garden looked like a battlefield with tons and tons of freshly digged soil laying all around. Now with a much happier feeling, Jungwon crossed the chaotic lawn, knocking energetically onto the old wodden door. After a while he still hadn’t heard any steps so he tried knocking again. “Mr. Kang? It’s Jungwon. I wanted to show you the finished project. It went amazing.” The boy excitedly bounced on the balls of his feet, too giddy to stand still. There was still no answer, so Jungwon made his way towards the backyard, now being familiar with every inch. He had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomache.

And when he saw the open veranda, the old man sitting in his mould on the old couch, Jungwon let out a relieved breath. With careful steps not to step inside one of the many holes in the ground, he made its way over to Mr. Kang, not without knocking on the wall outside. Still no answer. Maybe he hasn’t heard it or he was sleeping. Jungwon waddled over to the familiar couch, seeing Mr. Kang sitting in his usual spot with his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful, Jungwon first thought the old man was sleeping tightly. Yet when there was still no answers or reactions from his side and when he noticed there was no movement of his upper body, he understood…

Mr. Kang passed away last night. Tears welled up in Jungwons eyes and he heavily let them flow when he saw all the contents of the metallic box scattered around the small desk in front of him. The photos, sorted into time accuracy, the book untouched, the adorable drawings of his young daughter, the green giraffe smiling cheekily at him. The pink letter was open and the neat handwriting was still the same as yesterday. And in Mr. Kangs hands, layed the pink toy dolphin.

Jungwon went onto his knees beside him on the fluffy carpet, letting his hot tears fall freely without restrictions. He may had lost a friend today but he knew deep down, the old kind man was happily reunited with his family. He had gained everything he lost. And for that…how could Jungwon still be sad?

For now and forever, the courageous 14 year old boy, who acted righteous and kind, carried Kang Taehyuns life story out into the wide world, spread his last words so no one would forget the once mysterious man everyone feared to look at. Kang Taehyun, a man who got everything he wished for and then got it taken away from him. A man, who loved dearly. A man, whose story would never be forgotten.

[paper-n-ashes]

The Late Shift - Part 2

Characters: Paul Sevier x Female Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings/Tags: Little inklings of sexual themes. Otherwise we’re still in PG territory. Oh and mutual pining from two idiots. My favourite kind.

Authors Note: One shot? I don’t know her. Honestly, I don’t have any excuse. I just felt the urge to continue on with this dumb fluffy story because it makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside and I needed that. Will we drive this car straight into smut town afterwards? Ah you’ll just have to see. 

Catch up with Part 1 here

*

Paul always considered himself a smart guy. Perceptive, knowledgeable, with years of grueling education behind him to be where he is today.

His schooling, work, almost every minute of his waking moments was spent in the realm of artificial illustrations of correspondence. He could happily spend hours sifting through the words and numbers that made up all types of message transmission, might even admit he had a talent for decoding their significance and origin. Exchanges born from machinery were easy to analyse – they had set rules and gave little room for differing interpretation. He was comfortable in that world. Knew how things worked, what paths data and carefully devised information would take.

Human communication was infinitely harder to navigate. It was a skill he knew he was lacking in, compared to others at least. His words never came out the way he wanted, he struggled to say exactly what was wished to convey and agonised over the fact expression and tone could morph any remark into something with a whole different meaning.

Every day, he encountered people who used this as a tool - a weapon to obscure the truth and conceal hidden agendas. It was hard not to, working for the US government. In time, he’d become cynical. Wary of what people spoke aloud, assuming it was all said without much sincerity or reliability unless proven otherwise.

And then after another arduous day, there you were. Out of nowhere. Kind. Honest. Genuine. Within such an excruciatingly short interaction, you’d exuded all these traits so effortlessly. A breath of fresh air after being smothered by the smog the rest of his life contained.

Paul would easily admit his attraction to you was surprisingly swift. The rapturing smile you wore when you’d looked up from your notepad had him snared from the moment it appeared, an aura of natural vibrance and radiant energy shimmering out from your animated expression. What he’d expected to be a dry, tedious endeavour turned into a spark-filled scene, where an excited stranger made him feel both horrendously nervous and unusually at-ease. It had been a long time since someone made him feel like that.

It had also been a long time since he’d asked someone out on a date, for more than a few reasons. The more prolific Paul became in his job, the more unpredictable and unstable his life outside of it was. It took him across the country at a moments’ notice and consumed most hours of his day, meaning forging even short relationships was fairly difficult.

Plus… he just wasn’t good at it. Putting himself out there. He was shy, paralyzingly so. It’s not exactly something he could refute. His confidence was always born from experience and understanding, in knowing the reasons behind why things worked the way they did, along with being able to calculate what would happen next. No textbook could ever cover the entire spectrum of human personality, and there was no way to truly predict what a person might do or say. 

So, without the security of knowledge behind him, uneasiness and apprehension took over in most of his social interactions, particularly with those he felt a magnetism to. It’s exactly how he thought he seemed during his time with you. Awkward and floundering. Not exactly the most charming attributes for a man to have. And yet, the longer he was in your presence, the more he sensed those foibles fade into the back of his mind.

Talking to you was easy. Easier than it had been with anyone during a first meeting. What hadn’t been easy was enduring the seconds your touch grazed over him in your delicate workings while taking each different measurement - his heart beating a little faster, his muscles becoming a little more tense. When you’d eventually let your stare reach his, he’d seen how your eyes moved to trace the lines of his mouth, and it set his insides on fire. He’d been frozen by the unique type of burn, his body locked in place while a rare impulse begged him to sink his lips onto yours. In the past, he struggled to kiss a woman even after several dates, unable to push past the fear and doubt to turn his desire into action. However, in that moment, he’d been all too eager. His hand had moved on its own accord, fingers slinking up your waist, about to pull you closer when interruption instantly shattered his resolve.

The urge was still there in the dialogue that followed, although the promise of seeing you tomorrow made it easier to walk away, safe in the knowledge he had another opportunity to ask you out when his confidence was properly steeled. For once, he could be smart about this. Use his natural intellect to plan and act accordingly, giving him the best odds of securing more time with you.

Oh, but that all went to shit when your text message popped up on his phone screen. Seeing those words, even if they were meant for someone else, made his excitement reach an unfathomable peak, and in turn made him recklessly send a response without taking a second to think about the consequences.

And now, Paul had never felt so stupid in his entire life.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, the phone in his palm lit up with your conversation on display, he felt his stomach spasm with anxiety. Were you going to reply? What would you say? What if his bluntness freaked you out? What if you weren’t even talking about him? Was this all something his mind conjured up?

As the minutes passed without any sign of a response, the initially minor sense of panic began to compound, weighing heavy on his chest, the chaos of his mind soon melting into one certainty - he’d totally fucked this up.

About to slump his forehead into the steering wheel in a display of despondency, Paul suddenly felt a flash of courage at remembering the view of your face peering up at him. He knew the image of it would haunt him if he didn’t do something. He had to fix this. Explain himself. But it needed to be in person. He wouldn’t let technology mess this up for him again.

With a purposeful breath, Paul exited his car and began to retrace his steps past the other shopfronts, silently rehearsing what he wanted to say to you. He hoped to surrender himself to a collectively embarrassing situation, laugh off the turn of events, having it all culminate in an offer of dinner once your shift had finished. He already had a place in mind, only a street away, a little dumpling house that was always open late. Perfect for a cosy, quiet date after a chance meeting.

When his eyes latched onto your figure through the glass window, he stopped his hand from reaching for the door handle. You were crouching down in front of a small boy, his mother behind him cradling a newborn baby, your hand gesturing towards an array of child size suits. Paul couldn’t help but watch as your warming smile beamed, guiding the boys hands to touch and feel over the material, your words evidently making him feel more at ease as his expression slowly relaxed out of its worried frown.

Creeping backwards to make sure you didn’t catch him in your periphery, Paul felt a wave of relief wash over his skin, having evidence that your lack of reply wasn’t due to any of the worst case scenarios he’d been fretting over. You were just busy, concentrated on your work, giving your time and expertise to others in the same way you’d given to him.

The realisation was enough for him slink away, still impatient for your next encounter but assured in it being set within the next day cycle. He just had to wait.

Although, waiting wasn’t exactly a talent of his either.

 *

You were dying inside.

A friendly grin was plastered on your face as you conversed sweetly with the woman in front of you, making idle chit-chat while her son changed out of the suit you’d picked together, but the smile had never felt so insincere. Usually you loved when children came in to pick out ensembles for weddings and similarly formal events, but at the moment your mind was stuck on a small battery-powered rectangle sitting at your desk with a half-written message remaining under your lock-screen.

In the time before Paul’s response came through, you’d never felt more humiliated in your whole existence. Evaporating into thin air would have been a welcomed miracle. But when the returning text slid into focus, your whole mindset shifted.

He felt the same. He wanted you too.

You’d been in the middle of typing out a hasty invitation to come back and make true on his intentions when this overwhelmed mother with a fussy baby caught your attention. Her eldest son had done his best to iron out his only formal suit for the role of ring bearer in an aunt’s wedding this coming weekend, unfortunately resulting an a house full of smoke and a clump of burnt wool.

Personal matters withered into the background at the comprehension of her drained, exhausted demeanour, all your focus pointed back towards the job you’d been distracted from. Well, mostly.

You couldn’t avoid the thoughts and questions glinting in the back of your mind. Of what might have happened if this woman never appeared. What might be happening in an alternate timeline where you’d been able to send that waiting reply. Without intention, your wonderings turned into moving pictures – leading Paul into the back workshop, being roughly picked up onto the cutting table, his lips and yours finally connected in a heated clash, shedding all of his clothing until that heinous mustard shirt was crumpled on the floor-

The high pitched beep of the receipt machine snapped you back into reality, noting the relieved smile the mother wore while her son excitedly grabbed at the bags containing his dashing new suit.

“Thank you!” he hollered without needing to be prompted, waving his hand vigorously before skittering away to the door.

“You’re an absolute lifesaver,” the woman echoed, taking the receipt from your outstretched hand. “I’m really sorry for keeping you so late.”

“Oh don’t worry about it.” The time on the monitor screen just ticked over to 8:17pm, long after you would usually shut up shop and head home to your empty apartment. “I've got nowhere special to be.”

You each said your goodbyes, waiting until the precise moment her silhouette was out of sight before jumping to your phone. The same half written message was there, but now it felt impossible to finish. All traces of adrenaline had long since worn off, and the bravery that made you type out the risqué proposition was reduced to almost nothing. Your timid nature rushed back in full force, a thumb pressing hard on the little x button to erase all evidence of your out of character impulses.

Who were you kidding. You weren’t this person. Unashamed and brazen enough to dive into a fiery entanglement with a handsome stranger in the same evening you’d met. You wished you could be. There was never a time the concept was so enticing. But… it was a fantasy not meant for you to live out. They were destined for the outgoing, the cool and composed, the bold and sure-footed. You rarely felt like any of those things. And Paul, like most men, probably reserved their interest and attraction for those types of women. It was so silly of you to think any different. Getting your hopes up was foolish, and would only end in-

The tingle of the shopkeepers bell sounded, internally groaning as you slid your phone back onto the desk. “We’re closed,” you hawked, a coldness in your tone you couldn’t hide. Eyes snapping up to the intruder, a bolt of lightening shot through, barely able to stop the delight mixing into your blood.

“I just, uh, figured out something more that I needed,” Paul said softly, scratching the back of his neck, clearly nervous.

“You did?” you breathed. “W-what was it?”

His chest rose and fell with a calming exhale, making sure your stares were secured before giving his answer. “…You.”

*

Tagging some lovelies who might want to read. Feel free to let me know if you don’t want to tagged in future works!

@tlcwrites @roanniom @princessxkenobi @hopeamarsu @blowthatpieceofjunk @mariesackler @leatherboundriot @foxilayde @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @direnightshade @mylifeisactuallyamess @caillea @jynz-andtonic @paterson-blue @miraclesabound @prismaticpizza​ @millenialcatlady​ 

[singingmice]

energy & how water moves,

[I’ve not done much I’ve loved too little And I’m tired of running] - Frank O’Hara, from ‘Lines Across the United States’, Poems Retrieved Tin, It's past midday, Energy has been low for a while and I tell myself, is it just - to go more slowly, or is that - death shows its shadow and shows us what it is not to live? I try to go deep, but energy dictates everything. One wants to run down the mountain but moves like a sloth, turning the pages of a rain drenched book, an old rusted train unused for centuries. Then I think: spirit wants me back. Nature calls for me. It's there one must go rather than the endless productivity that dictates our times. Perhaps it is not the time for finishing writing, instead to clear through...to open up after this last year and a half of constraints, of collective fear and hesitation. I remember how water calms. I've been spending time recently with those who struggle to notice or appreciate poetry. Os spends most of her time inside or at work and there she is content. I cannot name where our attraction to each other came from, but feel a little foolish for it now. Perhaps loneliness accumulates. Perhaps one sometimes goes exactly in the direction where one is not heading in order, for the millionth time, to know what it is that one needs. I don't understand her at all, or perhaps I do, and this worries me more. The mechanisms of comfort, of predictability - ways to ward off the chaos that attacks us from all angles. And in that ruin, I find strength, and in it - she cleans and scrubs and tidies away that which can creep in unexpectedly. I led a yoga session yesterday and she said, "I feel nothing" and my heart sank. "Mr Duffy lived a short distance away from his body..." - James Joyce But I had missed / being held. And I've been with C in the north of Catalonia, who's living beside a large lake. At least with him we've been heading out to nature, having emotional talks at night. But I confess I miss literature. I miss the challenge to intellect. There is so much safety, routine...soon, I tell myself. Soon all of that will disappear and for the next month slow travels will await. Hiking, meeting some friends. You, snorkelling. How is it to live so close to such a vibrant sea? Have you noticed differences over the years of the life that can be found there? I went to the sea last week with C. Speedboats everywhere. Back on the island where I've been living since April it's much better for wilderness areas, but even then - boats everywhere. I long for a sea too rough for sailing, or too cold, too unpredictable. What happened with your March? We have much to catch up on... I often make Kombucha just with like it is, but sometimes add things like mint. I find it interesting to experiment with the kinds of tea... Fear. There is so much of it everywhere. I will have to go far, far from the city to get away from it. Here in Barcelona I feel it immediately. It's far different from the lake where C lives. I suppose it's my first direct confrontation with it. Fear attacks the immune system, the health inside, all the good we carry. Survival instinct kicks in, but when it never has an off button, because it's constant - exhaustion comes. I've been doing a lot of breath work the last months. It's helped a lot, though I have to be careful to keep up with it while travelling, as it's easy to resist all kinds of routine when away from it. Sometimes I just focus on releasing all the poison from the body and mind with the outbreath. The longer I can go the better. But I feel time also slipping away, as if all this period of inactivity...events to separate the days - brings time into a collective soup of which is there is little escape routes. The lentils cling to us and then there is no way out. The spontaneous is more important than ever but can that be forgotten, or is there some secret stash of the wild left in all beings? Those monitoring lizards are crafty...here it's bats, instead. The stories that best serve us... Perhaps it is just those that go towards

understanding, wisdom. But how to select them? I'm reading a book of a man's walk across Afghanistan currently. I found it in the garage of C of books travellers had left. I walk in the streets of Barcelona and see donkeys and deserts. Perhaps there is little worthwhile news stories, and what has worth is the personal, the way back to our origins, to the nests of where we belong. And breath, the body, the wind, gleaming eyes, animals. The rest - media seems to be stronger and stronger and leaves me weak. Little by little, disentangling, giving it up... My heart would be full of underground passages, some accessible, some not so much. C told me that I'm so much more open about my past than we last met seven years ago, on the way down to Morocco in his camper van. That I speak of my childhood without hesitation, of my father and the darkness there that envelopes. I keep reminding myself of gratitude. It helps a lot. My brother is becoming an ordained Hindu monk next week. It's like getting married / only to an elephant god (amongst others) rather than to another person. Been doing a lot of ancestral work recently, of the past - but I'm somewhat allergic to people romanticising the ancestors. For some of it - this is where trauma gets passed down - all the unresolved - the conflicts, the turned away from, that which is repelled. I for one am not particularly proud of my blood...but it's good to imagine some that are. I prefer, when offering a drink to the land, for it to be pachamama and not my ancestors, who likely had enough alcohol in life and don't need it in death too. You're in rain season now? On the island there are continuous floods even in summer. The lands are changing and people refuse to believe it. For years it brought me great despair to witness the extinctions, the loss of habitat. Somehow now, though the sadness and despair still remains - it almost rejoices, for perhaps now people finally realise. And we will not be forever. And some beings can take our place, and perhaps they will take better care... Well, a hug. One last day in the city, and more and more it makes less sense. Jass

[afictionaladventure16]

Upon The Sweetest Flower (Chris Evans x Daughter!Reader)

Chapter 1

Upon The Sweetest Flower Masterlist

Warnings: language, light mention of bullying

Word Count: 1,510

You sat in the far back corner of the classroom, it’s where you liked to sit. Where you could see everyone and they really couldn’t see you. If they tried hard enough, they could turn around and spot you. If you whispered loud enough, your voice would be heard through their ears. But you didn’t. They didn’t. You preferred it. 

You were born to an outgoing yet introverted father with an anxious heart. A mother with a sly smile and a vicious talk. You never knew how they worked together but the way they smooth-talked their way into their own little conversations, the small loving touches they placed on each other while in public, the eye contact that they made while they feet apart, you just knew, they were made for each other. Or so you thought. You had been wondering how two people who loved each other so much could just… stop. If life was so unpredictable, what else could happen?

“Good morning class!” Your principal said loud enough for everyone to perk up, she stood tall, her hands in front of her grasped together as she held her head high. “I would like for you all to meet, Mr. Firth, he will be your permanent teacher for the rest of the school year,” she said as a man who you assumed to be, Mr. Firth, walked in. He was Caucasian, bald with a mustache and a small beer belly. You instantly knew that some of the students were bound to speak about his appearance while in the lunch hall. “Good luck, Mr. Firth,” the principal said softly before she walked out of the room. 

Mr. Firth cleared his throat, “Good morning class,” he said in a husky voice, “I bet you are all wondering who I am as much as I am with all of you.” Something about him seemed off, you weren’t sure if it was the energy he gave off or the look in his eyes as he looked around the classroom… you just didn’t like it. “How about we all go around the room, state our names and a fun fact, I’ll start,” He said with a small smile, “My name is Daniel Firth and a fun fact about me is that I am from Houston, Texas.” He then pointed to the first row of desks. 

“Um, Collin,” you glanced over to the boy who was speaking, he was what people considered, a jock. “I uh, play football.” 

“Thank you for telling us the obvious,” Mr. Firth, said as he gestured to Collins clothing. The class erupted in laughter making the boy blush from embarrassment, “I’m just pulling your strings, Collin,” Mr. Firth smirked, it was a sort of apology for the class laughing towards the boy. 

The “game” continued on, students said their name and a small fun fact about themselves. 

Then it landed on you. You sighed, “I’m Y/N and a fun fact about myself is-” 

“Her dad is Captain America!” A voice yelled out. 

Mr. Firth shushed him immediately, “sorry, love, you were saying?” His eyes pulling their attention towards you and for some reason, you didn’t like the way his eyes were on you. 

“Um, a fun fact about myself is that I like to paint.” 

You heard a couple of stifled laughs, you rolled your eyes and drew your attention back towards your notebook you were doodling on, “that was quite rude,” Mr. Firth whispered, “thank you, Y/N, for sharing that wonderful fun fact with the class.” You could already hear it, your classmates weren’t going to let go of the fact that Mr. Firth defended you. You knew they were going to call you “teacher's pet” which was quite childish. 

The bell rang, alerting everyone that class session was over and you couldn’t be more thankful. You quickly threw your books into your bag and sped walked out of the classroom, feeling a sense of relief once you were out of Mr. Firth’s sight. 

You walked over to your locker, grabbing what you needed for your next class before closing your locker. You looked up, only to find your best friend looking at you with the biggest grin, “fuck!” you exclaimed as you placed a hand over your chest. “What the fuck, Genny? You scared the shit out of me.” 

She chuckled, “sorry!” She linked her arm with yours as you both begin walking down the hallway, “I heard that Ms. Daniels got replaced since she’s not coming back anytime soon after having her baby.” 

You sighed, you had actually liked Ms. Daniels, she was a sweet teacher yet strict. As long as you followed her rules, she would be pretty lenient. But did the other students ever follow the rules? No. Causing them to always get in trouble, the main reason why she wasn’t a well-liked teacher. You gave Genny a small nod, “Yup,” you said softly. 

“Well?” You furrowed your eyebrows in a confused manner. “What’s he like??” She added. 

“A huge ass creep,” you mumbled.

“What?” 

You shrugged, “I don’t know, the vibe he gave off was just… I don’t know, Genny, I just don’t like the vibes I’m getting from him.” 

“You don’t like any vibe anyone gives off,” you chuckled at her comment. It was true.

“Not my fault people give off bad vibes,” you remarked, “you’ll see what I mean when you go to your third-period class.” 

She sighed, “Anyway, we still on for this weekend? I could so use just a night of binge-watching movies and eating popcorn.” 

“Yes, the weekend is still a go, my dad said he can take us to the grocery store in the afternoon.” 

“Bless you, Mr. Evans!” she exclaimed, “he’s the sweetest.” 

You smiled, “I know.”  

The school day soon finished, you walked out into the pick-up area, spotting your dads Cherokee Jeep. You quickly made your way over, opening the door only to hear him blasting Shining Star by Earth, Wind, & Fire. You got into your seat, closing the car door, “Dad!” you said loudly but he was still jamming out to the song, “Dad!” You said louder, he looked at you as he sang along to the song. “Ugh,” you groaned in annoyance as you placed your seatbelt on, you let him continue to jam out to the song as he drove out of the pick-up zone. 

The song slowly ended, your dad sighed with content as he lowered the volume to the radio, “how was school?” He asked as his eyes focused on the road. 

“Good,” you said softly as you watched the city life pass by. 

“Just good? Come on, tell me about your day, I want details!” he said with a pleading voice. 

You couldn’t help but smile, you loved how he wanted to hear about your day, how he always made the small things in your day important. “Well, we got a new teacher to replace Ms. Daniels since she had a baby.” 

“Oh yeah, I saw her the other day! She told me to tell you hi,” your dad said with a smile, “she seems happier now, doesn’t she?” 

You nod, “yeah.” 

“Having kids will do that to you,” he said softly as he turned into the street of the neighborhood you guys lived in, “tell me about your new teacher.” 

You sighed, “he’s alright, I guess.” 

“You guess?” Chris furrowed his eyebrows as he gave you a side glance, “what do you mean, you guess?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “he’s like my Freshman science teacher Mr. Foster, awkward and monotoned.” 

He hummed in response as he pulled up into the elementary school pick up zone, he placed the car in park. You looked over to the gate, waiting for the teachers to walk out with the children, “Second grade,” you pointed to a room that you could see from the car, “Mr. Diaz,” you stated. 

“Mhm,” Your dad said as he remembered the room, “what about him?” 

“I wonder where he’s at now,” you thought, “I know my second grade year was his last year teaching at the school.” You turned to look at your dad, “I saw Mrs. Henderson the other day, remember her?” He nods, “she recognized me! Can you believe that? My preschool teacher recognized me!” 

“Well, aren’t you the same grade as her daughter?” Chris then spotted some of the kids walking in a line with their teacher towards the gate, “there they come.” 

You sighed as you unbuckled your seat belt, “be back.” You got off the car and walked over to the gate. Chris watched you in silence. He watched as you smiled at your little brother. He watched as his son smiled with glee at the sight of his older sister, the way he ran to her and the way you held his hand on the walk back to the car. He could see his son's lips move so quickly, he knew that he must have been telling you about his day. He was so proud, so happy to have you both in his life. You both are his pride and joy.

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[takeiteasypeasybaby]

Save Me: Chapter 56 - Blame Me

~Hey guys! Chapter 56 is out now :) Check it out and lemme know your thoughts. Have a great week <3~

Molly reunites with Lydia as they talk about their lost loved ones while Negan shows an act of selflessness when he saves one of the Alexandrians.

Once the meeting was over, the snow fell heavier and heavier with every increasing minute so there was no time to waste.

I had to trust that Gabriel would keep Negan safe and unharmed while I went to Hilltop.

I couldn't even kiss him goodbye but instead we all parted ways, running in different directions to our vehicles.

Michonne and I hopped in a car together and drove for Hilltop, while Yumiko and Daryl drove in the opposite direction for the Kingdom.

Petrol was becoming more scarce these days so we anticipated that our car wouldn't make it the entire journey and we were right.

After about an hour's drive, the snow made the wheels slid and it became more unsafe than necessary.

We hopped out of the car, grabbed our bags and treaded through the storm.

Michonne and I linked arms as the snow began to blind us.

I knew that we weren't far from Hilltop now but I stopped dead when I heard a scream and we saw shadows running across a hill in the distance.

'You go! I'll see what the scream was' I yelled to Michonne as we parted ways.

I held my knives out and tried to shield my eyes from the ice as it cut against my face.

'Agh' I grunted as I felt pellets of ice cut my skin making it bleed.

The scream got louder so I knew I was close.

I crossed a bridge and it wasn't until I was inside it and sheltered that I realised this was where I first found Lydia and then it hit me.

'Lydia!' I screamed as I ran towards the sound.

I came across an icy lake where a couple walker bodies lay frozen.

Blood seeped from their heads so they were freshly killed, Lydia must be close.

Just as the blizzard started to subside, I saw her.

She was knelt down and her arm was uncovered hovering in front of the mouth of a snapping walker.

'Lydia' I said softly as I saw her intention.

She wanted to end her life.

She turned her head briskly to look at me, tears flowed down her face as she shook.

She started to slowly lower her arm as she pulled her gloves back on.

She stood back up slowly as I just stood still, she walked over to me, guided the knife in my hand to position over her heart.

'Please just kill me, everything will be better once I'm gone' she said tearfully.

'This is how you keep from losing anyone else. Please Molly, please just do it. Do it for Tara, I'm sorry it has to be you but it does' she pleaded as she moved the knife closer.

I just watched her in disbelief, tears flooding to my eyes when she mentioned Tara.

'I'm too weak, just like my mother says' she begged.

My heart broke when she said this, little did she know that she was one of the strongest people I knew.

I gripped the knife firmly, seeing a walker approach from behind her, I moved Lydia out of the way and plunged it into its frozen skull.

I turned back around as we both cried.

'You're not weak Lydia, you're one of the strongest people I know. I need you to know that I don't blame you. T-Tara's death is not on you' I cried as my voice stumbled over saying her name.

Lydia ran to me in relief and wrapped her arms around me as she cried into my chest.

I stroked her hair as I smiled weakly through my tears and said softly, 'shh everything will be okay'.

'But Carol hates me, if only I'd left with Henry when he asked me too' she said sobbing.

I crouched down in front of her and put my knives away.

'Carol does not hate you, do you hear me? No one blames you for this, you're family now Lydia' I said seriously, wanting to make it clear that she never had to feel that way again.

She smiled gently when I reassured her.

I could tell she was starting to get cold so I said 'c'mon, we should get out of here and find Michonne' as I held her hand and we ran out back over the bridge to the hill.

Once we made it to the hill I saw a group in the distance and ran with Lydia to meet them.

It was Michonne, she had found the others.

I greeted Earl, Adam, Luke, Cindy, Alden, Magna, Kelly, Connie and saw the truck of other residents close behind them.

'Alright, I'll do a headcount then we're golden' I yelled to they could hear me through the harsh wind.

'Lydia, you stay with Michonne okay?' I said smiling at her as she nodded.

I made my way through everyone and found that all my people were there and accounted for.

'It's good to have you back boss' Luke said as he smiled at me.

'Good to be back' I replied as I ushered everyone forward.

'Alright, everyone link arms with someone. We'll walk two by two' I shouted as everyone linked up and followed my lead.

'Weapons up at all times, just in case some of the assholes decide to ambush' I said sternly which made Michonne smile slightly to see my energy back.

I don't even know where it came from, I just felt like Tara was somehow guiding me or standing by my side.

I didn't need to link with anyone because I felt her next to me and that gave me the strength to carry on.

Daryl's POV//

I walked next to Carol once we found the Kingdom people.

'Molly wanted Lydia here, when no one else did. She's a good kid' I said.

I could tell that losing Henry had destroyed her.  

'Every time I look at her, all I see is him' she replied sadly.

'What do you see when you look at me?' I asked as I turned to look at her.

'I see you' she said as she linked my arm.

'What about Ezekiel?' I asked quietly.

'I just can't, he reminds me of Henry too' she replied.

I looked straight ahead to see Ezekiel and Jerry both turned around on their horses to look at us.

'Hey boss, winter's taken a nosedive, we got a mother of a storm coming' I heard Jerry say.

'We gotta travel through the night if we have any hope of getting to the waste station before it hits' Ezekiel replied.

We would have to stop at the Sanctuary to rest before we carried on back to Alexandria and by the looks of the snowfall, the storm was gonna come on strong.

Negan's POV//

We made it to the church.

Judith happily dredged through the snow with Dog on a leash as we almost made it inside, the damn thing darted forcing Judith to let go as it ran off barking at some shit.

Judith was about to run after it but I stopped her and brought her inside.

I sat down on a chair as we sat for what felt like hours.

'I swear to god, I have memorised every square inch of this room' I said in complete boredom.

'Yet it still feels like a party!' I shouted as a smile creeped across my face.

I chuckled to myself as Rosita came over to fasten my ties to the wooden beam.

'Yeah, a never-ending party from hell' she said smiling sarcastically.

I chuckled more to see that I had gotten to her.

'I mean sure alright, it smells like a goddamn barn and y'all are bored shitless but-' I started until Judith interrupted.

'Language!' Judith yelled from her seat by the window.

I smiled.

'Sorry, sorry kiddo, but I mean, we've got ourselves this hot little love quadrangle here to entertain us. It's like Christmas to me!' I said chuckling as I saw all of their unamused faces.

'Maybe they're just as miserable at Aaron's or Barbara's' Siddiq said mockingly.

'Mm' Rosita chimed in.

'Gabe, your girl's doc is also your girl's baby daddy which begs the question, you ever wonder what the hell is goin' on in there when she has her 'appointments'' I teased.

Gabe came closer and said 'you could try and be a little less predictable'.

I touched my chest mockingly and said 'ahh that hurts Gabe, truly'.

'You know we're all grownups here and none of us would ever let that ruin the longstanding friendships and mutual respect we have' he said seriously which made me laugh.

I sighed and faux looked serious, saying 'you know what you are right, that is a very mature attitude father...not the father'.

I chuckled to myself, saying 'is that unpredictable enough for you'.

Judith rolled her eyes as she kept looking out the window, while Eugene smiled a bit at my comment.

'Jude, don't sit so close to the window' Siddiq said to Judith which made her come over as Rosita wrapped a blanket over her and RJ.

'Hey kiddo, you still worried about that mutt?' I asked softly.

'Daryl told me to take care of him while he helped the Kingdom. I don't know where he is' she said sadly.

I was about to suggest I look for him until I smelled something odd.

It was like gas or alcohol.

'Anybody else smell somethin'?' I asked worriedly.

'Can you stop being such an asshole?' Siddiq threatened.

I ignored him, knowing I was right.

'No he's right, something does smell funky in here' Rosita said as she looked around the room.

Eugene suddenly smelt it and shot up.

'Get away from there!' he yelled as he pulled Gabriel and Siddiq away from the fireplace.

It exploded a large flame as an eruption vibrated through the room.

All light was taken out, only leaving our torches.

Eugene stood back up, Siddiq and Gabriel were unharmed and went to inspect the flute.

He examined it with a torch and said 'as I suspected, chimney flute's completely gunkified, what singed your nostrils earlier was no doubt a toxic mixture of creosote and H2O. Blizzard's done some tearing and blaring. Chimney's ventilation capabilities are null to none, it'd be unwise to spark up another blaze lest we plan on ceasing all respiratory functions aka smokin' and chokin'.

I smiled in admiration, saying 'God I missed you Eugene'.

He breathed heavily and said nervously, 'can't say the same'.

'You know without a fire, we'll never get these people warm enough' Siddiq said to Rosita.

She sighed and replied 'yeah we should leave before the temperature drops any lower'.

'Okay folks, contingency plan, we're going to Aaron's house. It'll be tight quarters but we'll make it work' Gabriel shouted gathering the attention of everyone, including me.

They all started to walk out of the church as I said 'seriously?! Not one of you assholes is gonna untie me?!'.

'We could tell Michonne it was an accident' Rosita said happily as Gabriel rolled his eyes and untied my hands.

We were all made to walk single file across the compound but you could barely see shit in the storm.

Judith was just in front of me and she darted when she heard Dog.

'Judith!' I yelled after her as I instinctively ran after her.

I couldn't see my own feet in this blizzard and I could only hear the whistling of the wind.

I continued to yell after Judith as I paced around aimlessly.

Other's yelled 'Judith!' as they also searched for her.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Lunch Buddy: Chapter Fourteen

Masterlist

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 14: Thankful

Chapter Summary: Steve spends the holiday with his grumpy friend. His grumpy friend realizes something.

Chapter Word Count: 2867

AN: ‘Why does this start at Halloween and end around Thanksgiving’ well unfortunately Thanksgiving was when I always imagined a certain part taking place and I don’t want to stretch this out for another two months. It feels right to have this here, chapter-wise. So without further ado… (ノ✧ ω ✧)ノ*✲ﾟ*

    “Wow.”

“Huh.” Steve put his controller down and changed the channel . “I thought you’d be more upset.”

“You wrecked me in the most convoluted way possible,” I said. “I can’t be mad. That was stupid impressive.”

“Thanks,” he said and sat back. “And thanks again for saving me from Tony’s costume party.”

“I didn’t save you; I just invited you to my party first.”

Steve looked around the room. “Do two people count as a party?”

“I’m sorry; where can I find the requirements to call something a party? Are they online? Maybe there’s a National Party Registry where I can–”

Steve shoved some popcorn at my face and I smacked him away, but I still had to dig some of it out of my shirt. Steve was, at least, decent enough to get the ones off the floor.

“Point being– there’s food, there’s fun, and if you don’t like it you can go and I will party by myself,” I said and turned my nose up at him.

“Touchy,” Steve chuckled and ate the pieces he had dropped. Well, the floor was clean enough. He added, “I am having fun though. Thank you.”

“Hm.”

“All I said was ‘thank you.’”

“Yeah, too sappy; I’d rather you go back to dumping popcorn down my shirt.”

His face turned red. Too easy. “I did not.”

“Did too.”

“Nope.”

I had the popcorn in my hand and, well, if life gave you kernels… “Oh, okay then. Here,” I said and held it out to him.

He, of course, recoiled. “No; you eat it.”

“I don’t want it,” I said and kept going. He scooted away like I had cooties, so I scooted closer until he was up against the arm of the couch. Short of leaping off of it he wasn’t getting away from me. “Come on; eat it.”

“No!” he said and shielded his face with his arm.

“Why not? If it didn’t go down my shirt then it must be perfectly fine,” I said and leaned over him.

Steve apparently disagreed, and we tussled. The fact that we pushed back and forth meant he was seriously holding back but it was funny, especially when I managed to drop the popcorn on him and he snapped. Gently, but I ended up on my back on the couch with him pressing down on my arms. Again, lightly, but he was making real sure I couldn’t get that popcorn back (wherever it had gone).

“You are such a wuss,” I said, still laughing.

“And you’re gross,” he chuckled.

“Hey.” I frowned. “I shower. I shower more often than I clean the floor.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean you were dirty, I–” He stared down at me, like he was realizing where I was for the first time, and he jerked away off of me– and the couch– like I was fire.

It happened so quickly I didn’t know what the hell to make of it. “Are you okay?” I asked and slowly sat up.

“Are you?”

That didn’t clarify why he wouldn’t even look at me. “I’m okay. Why–” Oh. Was that it? “You didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re worried about?”

He looked blank for a second, but then– “Yes. That.” He sat back down on the other end (on the very, very edge) of the couch. “I forget sometimes, how…strong I am.”

He still sounded weird in a way that made me wonder if I was missing something, but I sat up and gave him the space he apparently needed. Even watching TV felt awkward. At least, at first, until an unfortunately familiar image flashed on the screen. Awkward mood or not didn’t stop me from gagging when that stupid fucking turkey commercial came on.

“Not a fan of Thanksgiving?” Steve asked dryly as I raced to change the channel.

“I like Thanksgiving fine, I just hate that fucking nightmare mascot,” I said and sat back, safe now with c-level horror nonsense. “Also I’m tired of holidays creeping on other holidays. Stay in your month.”

Steve laughed a little and as much as I hated it, I had to be thankful (ugh) to that awful commercial for breaking the weird tension. “Thanksgiving is okay though,” I said. “Terrible history, but I get two days off and an excuse to gorge myself. What’s not to like about that?”

“Are you going anywhere?”

“Nah. There’s a place I usually order from. I’ll get some good food, put something on the TV, and just dick around for the day.”

He smiled and nodded, like that was exactly what he had expected from me. Well, I never claimed to be super unpredictable. “What are you going to do for it?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged and looked genuinely troubled. “Everybody else is pretty busy this year. I’ll probably just…do what I normally do. Where do you order from?”

Interesting. My plans were something I liked but it figured he wouldn’t be thrilled with that– he liked people, and being around people. I wasn’t the best company…but I was people. And Steve, somehow, always managed to be an exception to my rule.

“Hey,” I said. “Why don’t you come over?”

He looked a little stunned. “No, that’s– it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will,” I said. “But we hang out all the time and Thanksgiving is boring, if for no reason other than traveling is kind of a pain in the ass.” Admittedly I hadn’t really cared before the one time I’d needed to get to Manhattan, but I doubted I would ever forgive Macy’s for that nightmare. And Steve had to get around there sometimes, so maybe he found it annoying too. “We can order a lot of food together and just sit and eat and do what we’re doing now. And if Tony gets snide you can tell him you have plans.”

“I tend to make sure I do have plans,” he said and ran his hand through his hair. “Volunteering, mostly; there’s always something that needs to be done and I’ve got the time, so why not me? And it’s good, but maybe…” He looked up and stared at the wall like there was something worth considering. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have the day off.”

I was maybe too happy about winning that little debate, but hey, at least I had won something that night. Later, after having insisted that he could see himself out while I was too drowsy to argue, (the jerk), I tried to cement our plans. In my own way.

“Hey Steve?”

He stopped. I leaned on the arm of the couch to stretch out my back. “If anybody asks why you're not at a soup kitchen or any of that bullshit,” I said, “Just tell ‘em that you know someone who was gonna be real lonely at Thanksgiving and begged you for company. Clinging, crocodile tears– the works.”

It got a smile and a chuckle out of him, but he also looked mildly offended. He gave me a wry smile and said, “Soup kitchens aren’t bullshit.”

“They’re not,” I agreed. “But the idea that you don’t deserve a day off with the rest of us is. You do a lot, Steve. If you want to take care of anyone else, you have to take care of yourself too.”

He looked hesitant. I cleared my throat. “And there’s no better way to do that than to slip into a food coma.”

He laughed– so loud it surprised us both. His smile was easier when he said, “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You’ll get to test it out, actually,” I said. “I’ll bring a menu around sometime this week and as soon as we sort out food I’ll place the order.”

“Sounds great.” He slung his pack over his shoulder. “Good night.”

~

Picking the food was easy enough. Mostly. Steve thought he was more boring than he actually was and I made a mental note of some of the things he looked at the weirdest that I knew he would end up stealing if I gave him a chance. He also wanted to figure out how much the food would be so he could give me the money right away, but when he insisted on calculating out the ratio of portion sizes to price I checked my watch and gave up.

“Oh my god; if you make me do this much math on my break I’m going to make you pay for all of it,” I groaned into my hand.

“Okay!” Steve replied, blatantly unbothered by the idea.

I opened my mouth to argue but then I thought about the energy it would take, and the smug look currently on his face, and how much did I really care about any of this? “Fine,” I said, to his obvious surprise. “I’m hosting, and actually getting the food, so you can take care of paying for it. We’ll call it ‘The Asshole Tax.’”

“We’re not calling it that,” he said, but he was sort of smiling. Because he was totally okay with being an asshole. So I ripped a page out of my notebook, wrote down the total, titled it ‘Asshole Tax,’ and dropped it in front of him as I stood to pack and leave.

“That is a lot of food,” he said, frowning at the menu as I stowed it away. “Maybe I should go get it too.”

“Do you want to explain to some random cashier why you’re picking up food under my name?” I asked. He frowned further and I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered. In the meantime–” I shook my drink and took a sip. “Enjoy your boba.”

He scowled at me but pulled his drink closer. Just before I left I heard him mutter, “Just because I like it doesn’t mean it isn’t weird.”

I rolled my eyes and walked away, already mentally doubling at least two of the dishes.

~

The weeks passed like I was living the last month of high school all over again, but finally the day came. Steve came over about noon and I gave his jeans the stink-eye, until he brought his backpack around and partially pulled out a pair of drawstring pants.

“Do I fit the dress code now?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said and let him in. “I’m not going to be the only one in my PJs, but I’m also not dressing up.”

“I know better than to ask that,” he said and narrowly dodged a swat from the spoon I had been using to stir the gravy. Pro of going with traditional food: this place made it so good. Con of going with traditional food: there was some reheating involved. Ultimately it was all worth it though. I couldn’t wait to hear what Steve thought; I really hoped he didn’t regret this.

“Go get changed,” I said and waved it threateningly. “Food’s almost all ready.”

He grinned. “Okay, but, uh…” He leaned forward. I moved back, not sure why he was suddenly so close, until he reached in and…wiped some gravy off my cheek.

“You might want to watch out for karma,” he said with that stupid fucking smile.

I chased him to the bathroom but he was too quick to slam the door on my face. I stalked back to the food and, manners be damned, started loading up my plate first. He came back in comfy pants and a too-tight t-shirt that I immediately snapped the sleeve of.

“Hey!” he said and bumped into my side.

“I’m not the one buying shirts tight enough to double as rubber bands,” I said. I gestured at the food spread out across all available counter space. “Eat up. Cold stuff is still in the fridge and snack stuff is on the coffee table.”

“This looks great.” He hugged me with one arm. “Thanks for getting it.”

“Yeah yeah, get your stuff and sit down,” I said and took my food over to my little corner of the couch. I had a blanket for me and a blanket for Steve, a selection of nonsense to watch on the TV that was not parade-related, and a view of grey skies from a warm and brightly-lit apartment.

It was going to be a good day.

I even got a little vindication when I went back to the fridge to get something to drink and saw Steve very intensely eyeing a casserole he had pooh-poohed on the menu when we were picking things out. He glanced at me, glanced at the food, and I took in the sight for several seconds before telling him, “Fine, you can have half,” and before I even finished the sentence he had scooped his entire portion right onto his plate. It took up almost the whole surface. “You should trust me by now when I tell you things are good.”

“I wish I could agree with that,” he said and gave me a disapproving look.

“Hey, you said pick a lunch place and I took you to a burger joint,” I said innocently. “Sure it had a weird name, but the food was good, right?”

“You knew what you were doing,” he said, staring down at me.

I lasted about two seconds before I broke and laughed.

And the day was good. Steve was someone I could hang out with without fear, and I had only been half-joking about the dress code– because he brought clothes to lounge in, I didn’t feel self-conscious in mine. And the way he looked so enviously at my unicorn slippers even gave me an idea for a good holiday gift.

And since we were hanging out on the couch, it was natural that we gravitated closer together. Natural, but when I finally noticed just how close we were, I froze up a little. Was it okay for me to–

“You can lean back if you want,” he said.

“Really?” I asked and eyed his chest.

“I’m more comfortable than I look,” he said. “Or so I’ve been told. By Natasha. And Maria. And Bruce. Even Thor, one time.”

Well, if that was an okay thing to do then I was going to do it. I felt…probably more excited than I should have, but I figured it was just nice to be so comfortable with another human being. I didn’t know if I ever had felt like this before.

But I played it cool. “Hm,” I said and lay back. He was warm, firm, and yes, surprisingly comfortable. I felt a little thrill of anxiety when he wrapped his arm around my stomach, but it was just for a moment, and then I was able to relax into him. “I can see how people say that.” I felt so good. “You’re pretty cozy.”

“An excellent commendation,” he said. I sighed, perfectly content, and shut my eyes.

~

I woke up to darkness, with only the light of the TV.

Steve shifted suddenly behind me and I jerked away, ready to apologize, when I saw his eyes were shut tight, and his motions were short and twitchy. He mumbled nonsense but his face furrowed in anguish.

“Steve.” I shook his shoulder. “Steve!”

He didn’t wake up right away. Tears actually started spilling from his eyes and at the sight of that I panicked and shook harder. “Steve!”

His eyes snapped open and he jerked up and grabbed my shoulders. It didn’t hurt but I couldn’t move while he took in his surroundings. He gasped but didn’t say anything, though he did loosen his hands so he could put them to his eyes. I gently wrapped my arms around him while he rode out the shockwaves, and soon enough he put his arms around me. “I got you, Steve; it’s okay,” I whispered and rubbed his back. He clung to me and we sat just like that for a little while, until Steve’s short breathing evened out and he was able to take a deep breath.

Even still, he was reluctant to let go. “You wanna hear a secret?” I asked him, not intending to let him go until he was ready.

“Sure,” he said weakly. But he relaxed and stayed right where he was.

I cleared my throat and admitted, “I think I like hugs.”

He chuckled. “The resident miser? Likes hugs?”

“I know. You can’t tell anyone,” I said. “Also, sorry if I suck at them; I’m not exactly practiced.”

“I think you’re just fine. But I’m not well-practiced either,” he said. He pressed his face into my shoulder and my stomach did a somersault. It felt so good; I wanted to wrap him up in my arms forever and–

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no.

“Maybe we should practice more.” He pulled away, smiling, but that smile hit me in a different spot. Harder. “Together.”

Fucking hell. “That sounds nice,” I said before Impulse Control could kick me in the face. Because it did sound nice. It sounded so nice it would have made him uncomfortable by how much I loved the idea. I loved the idea.

I loved him.

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

[lililiyababe]

sweet like syrup || h.v.c

→ paring: hansol vernon chwe x reader

→ genre: suggestive fluff

→ warnings: suggestive/sexual themes; steamy make-out sesh

→ word count: 1.5k

→ summary: as a birthday treat, you make vernon breakfast in bed.

→ a/n: ahhhh i can’t believe it’s already my baby’s birthday!! vernonie, i sincerely hope that you had a birthday full of love and laughter; it’s what you deserve! i love you to pieces.

The sizzling sound of the skillet and the chirping of songbirds filled your small kitchen that morning when you decided to make breakfast. Slipping around on the tile floor with knee socks covering your feet and an excited grin plastered onto your face, you flipped pancakes and munched on a piece of buttered toast all while humming along to the tune that played quietly through your phone speaker—a light, upbeat ukulele song that helped energize and prepare you for the special day ahead. You already knew that Vernon would more than likely want to see a movie or visit the town today, and while you hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, the prospect of celebrating and spending the day with him and his friends invigorated you. That same enthusiastic energy, coupled with a cup of coffee, was what propelled you forward that morning, even though you were awake much earlier than you were used to. Still, as you slid the last of the pancakes off of the pan and tended to the bacon, your exuberant smile only widened. For someone who typically poured themselves a cup of orange juice, grabbed a granola bar, and called it breakfast, the array of food that laid before you was an impressive feat. Placing a few banana slices on top of the pancakes as a “finishing touch”, you slowly picked up the two plates and began creeping toward your shared bedroom.

Glimpses of the sun’s rays painted the cream-colored walls of your bedroom a soft yellow as they began to peak over the horizon. You had left the blinds open last night, you released much to your delight, for now you had the pleasure of witnessing the sunrise streak the sky with purples and oranges. The quiet hum of the oscillating ceiling fan and Vernon’s even breaths acted as the only sounds in the room, the atmosphere of sleep weighing heavily on your chest as you glided the bedroom door closed. A tinge of guilt grappled at your heart when your eyes landed on your boyfriend’s sleeping figure; he was on his back with his arm draped across your side of the bed, his fingers curled and dipping past the edge of the mattress ever so slightly, and you truly contemplated not disturbing his state of slumber. He stirred, however, somehow sensing your presence before you could decide whether you wanted to make it known or tip-toe out of the room and allow him to rest. Instead, you set the plates down on the bedside table and opted to place small kisses on his outstretched fingers until his eyes fluttered open and you were met with a luminous smile. 

He inhaled deeply before speaking, stretching his torso slightly with the action. “Hi,” his hoarse voice and heavy eyelids, a result of his deep sleep, tugged your cheeks into a smile, and the desire to slip back into bed with him for a couple moments was overwhelming. However, you had a goal to complete, and you weren’t going to allow yourself to be tempted by Vernon’s sleepy afterglow. 

“Happy birthday,” you whispered in a sing-songy tone, afterwards pulling the plate off of the table and onto the bed in front of him. “I made you something.”

He sat up only somewhat and rubbed his eyes. “Are those...pancakes?” He squinted, shuffling toward your end of the bed to get a better glimpse of your surprise. “Everything still looks fuzzy right now,” he admitted with a chuckle.

“Oh!” you reached for his wire glasses, which he slipped on with practiced ease. There was something incredibly endearing about Vernon’s glasses, particularly because you were about the only person who ever saw them frame his lovely features. He much preferred his contacts, he would often explain to you, but, in your eyes, he looked beautiful regardless, particularly whenever his entire face lit up with childlike delight whenever he saw the food stacked on the plate. 

“Ah, really? You made this for me?” He was touched, almost incredulously so, as he stared up at you with dancing irises and a wide grin that only brightened as you proudly nodded in response. Carefully and much to your confusion, Vernon slipped the plate back onto the table, only to grab ahold of your arm and pull you onto the bed instead. You allowed yourself to climb on top of him, amused laughter illuminating your features as his arms snaked around you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He peppered your skin with kisses, his drowsy lips pecking your cheek, neck, and shoulder while you continued to chuckle in adoration. 

“It wasn’t that difficult, really...” You were blushing slightly at all the attention and gratitude you were receiving because, to you, this mini-birthday present was only the beginning of a wonderful day of spoiling your boyfriend. Nevertheless, he kissed your skin tenderly, his long eyelashes brushing and tickling your neck with the action. 

“Nuh uh,” he hummed, “I think...I have the best girlfriend in the whole world.” His lips continued to graze your neck as he muttered with a sleepy drawl. You merely shook your head with a sheepish smile, but as you began to protest with a small “no, you’re the best,” you were interrupted by a kiss. Slow and sensual, Vernon chased your lips with his own, and you could feel the smile tugging at their corners as he did so. 

“You’re the best,” you whispered against his lips, only pulling away for long enough to finish your statement before slipping into another gentle kiss. His chest rumbled with a small chuckle, for he was endeared by your determination to compliment him back. With a small shiver, you curled even further into Vernon’s chest; goosebumps were starting to rise on your arms due to the draft from the spinning overhead fan, and your pajama shorts and old t-shirt were doing practically nothing to shield you from the cool air.

Vernon must have noticed because, as his hands ran up your arms and felt the chills that harrowed your body, he pulled away and placed his forehead against yours. “Cold, babe?” His eyebrows were raised in concern, but there was something in his gaze that made your stomach flip as you nodded in response. With a sudden depth to his voice, Vernon simply leaned forward into the shell of your ear, his heavy breathing causing yet another shiver to run through your bones. “Can I help you with that?” 

You didn’t quite know what you were agreeing to, for your boyfriend had his unpredictable moments, but you were also left slightly drunk off of the feeling of Vernon’s lips against yours—you craved more. “Mhm,” you didn’t even bother to give a coherent answer, instead allowing your eyes to flutter shut as Vernon’s lips connected with the delicate skin of your neck once more with the intent of leaving more marks this time. A shaky sigh escaped your lips almost immediately, and your head rolled back so as to allow him easier access as if it were second nature. “N-not that I’m complaining or anything, but how is this gonna help, exactly?” Your speech was playful, but even you could detect the needy, unstable undertone that was hidden within it. 

“Your face is red,” he replied cheekily while his thumb ran over the blush that dusted your cheeks. “Unless it isn’t working and you want me to stop?”

Again, you didn’t know whether it was your pride or the fact that Vernon’s lips sent you to your own personal heaven that prevented you from providing him with a response, but you found that you could only shake your head and pout at the proposition. With a satisfied hum, Vernon quickly went back to work, making use of his tongue and teeth on your collarbone while his hands slid back down your body, starting from the base of your neck until his fingertips were gently massaging your hip bones. And when you believed your sweet, loving boyfriend couldn’t get more brazen, he placed a soft, affectionate kiss on the hallowed-out part in the center of your collarbone before licking a slow, long stripe up your neck and catching your lips in a sloppy kiss. 

“’Nonnie,” the nickname rolled of your tongue as a whine with a sense of urgency behind it. “Your food is getting cold.”

He simply pouted in response, his hands never halting in their teasing of your hips as he smirked at you, “But now I have something else that I wanna do...”

You scoffed at him playfully, “After all that work I put into making you breakfast?”

“Please?...” If you didn’t know any better, you would have said he was begging with his big, brown puppy-dog eyes, but his facade was instantly ruined by the roguish grin that decorated his slick lips. “It’s my birthday.”

“Okay” you allowed with an embellished sigh because, truly, his insinuation only made your heart pound. “But only because pancakes are microwavable.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, starkly contrasting his actions that were anything but casual. “Fine by me,” he muttered as he pulled you toward his mouth, arranging you so you were practically sitting on his neck so he could leave small kisses on your inner thigh as he spoke. “You taste much sweeter anyways...”

[gloves94]

White Holes [Cassian Andor] [6/10]

Warnings: Language Pairings: Cassian Andor/OC Summary: Captain Cassian Andor was an Officer of Rebel Intelligence for the Alliance. An emotionless tool. There was nothing more to his life than following orders and working for the Resistance. Hell! His only friend was an Imperial droid named K-2SO. So what happens when he is struck by a love at first sight and meets Dr. Lya Stryker? Will their story has a happy ending? (CassianxOC)

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

A whole new set of trainees were arriving at Yavin 4. Supporters of the Rebellion and the cause everyone had pledged their lives to. Cassian observed them. Most were children. Barely over the age of 14. Each one of them traveled from beyond the reals of the galaxy to provide their services to their cause against the Empire. Striving mechanics, soldiers, technicians, fighter pilots, and medics all crammed the main building of the headquarters. The base's commander greeted each one of them and dismissed them to a post. Today would be the day that Lux and Adair graduated from Dr. Stryker's training. They weren't quite ready to be professional medics yet; however, they had graduated from their mentorship. They would now serve to check up medics. They would assist doctor's and keep busy with clinic hours aiding those with malaise and minor injuries, then work their way up the ladder. "I'm proud of both you," Lya said looking at both of her apprentices her violet eyes reflected the pride she felt for them. "I am more than certain that both of you will be excellent medics, and don't be strangers. I'll still be around the base." She smiled at both of them. Both smiled back at her, the young couple held their hands with their fingers intercepted. Both were either very brave or very stupid to show their affections in public. The Doctor was so caught up in the moment that she failed to notice someone bump into her from behind almost making her fall over, "Excuse me," the voice retorted sarcastically. She merely glared at the man who walked away; there was plenty of space for him to walk around. That had been so unnecessary.

"I don't like that new doctor," said Adair, Who eyed the man suspiciously with his dark eyes. There was something- odd about him. "He's in charge of the clinic right? So we'll be seeing plenty of him," chimed Lux. "What's his name again?" "Dr. Aztin Cyder. He was transferred here from the base in D'Qar," Lya spoke not removing her eyes from the creature's back. He was a Khajiit from a distant galaxy. A brown, copper colored lynx with humanoid features. His eyes were the color of ambers, and every inch of his body was covered in thick fur, he even had a long tail which crept from under his lab robe. Feeling the glares from the other medic his long whiskers twitched and he turned to glare back. "Unfriendly creature.…"Adair muttered under his breath, "I hate cats." "Dr. Stryker," a young male Togruta approached the trio. Colorful tones of lime green marked his skin and his large montrals and head tails were white and a grayish shade of blue. His eyes were a matching shade of ocean blue. "You must be Seena N'Aviid, correct?" The doctor greeted the young man politely. Behind her stood another human young man. "And Forrest Ramsenn." "You're the new interns correct?" Dr. Adair Habibt acknowledged them. The medics all became acquainted with each other. Lux Nova and Adair had no problem filling them in with their new tasks and duties and showing them the strings around. "I'll be in my office getting some paperwork ready for you, come to meet me whenever you're done socializing. Doctors," She excused herself acknowledging the new position of her former apprentices.   "Dr. Stryker seems alright," Seena commented. "She's strict, very hard working, but she makes sure you learn. After all, we play one of the most important roles in the Rebel Alliance's task force." Their eyes trailed the Doctor, that's when they saw it. "Adair. Str-Andor interaction at 3 o'clock," she spoke in an excited tone. The interns all eyed the doctor confused as she crossed paths with the tall, dark man. Both of their expressions remained stoic. Their eyes didn't even meet. They continued their way as strangers. "Such a shame those two didn't work out," Lux sighed disappointedly. "I wonder what happened that night they both left together, he still seemed interested in her and well the Doctor, her behavior is very unpredictable." Adair pondered. Both of the interns had witnessed the beginning, and quick collapse of their mentor's relationship with Captain Andor and both were eager for something to blossom, however, to their disappointment their relationship instead wilted. XXXX Lya closed the door behind her and leaned against it. In her own blessed privacy, she pulled out the small note from her lab coat's pocket. 'That cat touches you again. He's going to make a nice fur rug.' She couldn't help but chuckle at Cassian's note. It was scribbled in his own messy handwriting. It was a simple gesture, regardless she treasured it. Both had decided to keep their relationship under the wraps. It was what was best for both. 

Besides, it was nobody's business. 

Cassian was a spy. Thankfully, discretion came easily to him. Lya on the other hand- she still had some work to do. He was so good at what he did she barely even noticed that he had snuck something into her pocket until later. 

It was only a while later that Dr. Stryker's newest apprentices joined her in the office. She spoke little with the two young men and got to know them some more. Seena seemed optimistic and eager to learn, he had a lot of energy and wanted to focus on treating burn victims. Forrest, on the other hand, was composed and analytical, his hazel eyes were sharp, and his interest lay in surgery. She could see that both had potential. With a quick nod and many forms and papers signed she dismissed them for the day. Lya stood up and evened out some papers against her desk when there was a knock on the door. 

"Yes?" She said automatically without lifting her gaze. "Doctor," a weak voice came in. "I'm afraid I've got a terrible illness." The door closed behind the individual. The Doctor raised her bored gaze to meet the Captain's jovial smirk. "If it isn't my favorite patient," she said with heavy sarcasm dripping from her voice. "As much as I enjoy your company, I've asked you not to come distract me at work," she said with a small frown. "You don't see me showing up at your work." "That's different," he said wondering around her wooden desk. "If you showed up at my work, you'd be dead." He reached for her hand. "Right, because the medical ward is so safe, right?" She pressed her index finger against a particular pressure point in his hand. "Ouuuch," he grumbled pulling his hand back. "Friendly reminder that I can take care of myself." She nodded with the slightest of smile and continued gathering her documents. "But troopers wear armors," he pointed out. He did have a point. He wrapped his arms around her and held her in place. "Cass- I have to go make my rounds. My new apprentices are waiting for me." She protested against his embrace. "Wait- you're not taking me seriously." He complained. "You didn't even ask me what I was sick with this time!" She rolled her eyes. She loved yet at the same time hated how damn clingy this man could be. "You're such a hypochondriac. What are you sick with now Cassian?" She turned to eye him an eyebrow cocked expectantly. "I'm lovesick." He said before planting a fat kiss on her nose. "I think I��m the one who is going to be sick," she laughed while cringing. Lya would never be able to understand where the root of his infatuation came from. "Doctor Stryker?" a third voice suddenly piped in. Lya could've sworn she jumped three feet in the air. Cassian, on the other hand, played it cool and nonchalant shoved his hands into his pockets. It was the new cat in town, Dr. Aztin Cyder. "Dr. Cyder!" The Doctor greeted. "H-How can I help you?" She asked nervously. Cassian eyed the man carefully. There was something odd about him, something unsettling. He wasn't sure if it was his fixed glare on Lya or the way his massive feline teeth glistened whenever he spoke. "I knocked, but you didn't answer-" He began. It was a lie, Cassian knew better. He debated if it was best to confront him about it or merely witness and analyze his faux charade. It was apparent he had witnessed the romantic interaction between the couple. "I wanted to discuss my clinic hours with you," He spoke in a serious tone, his voice also carried an accent a distant land. One in which he would pronounce his Ks hard and his Ss would drag, and all of his Rs just sounded odd. Just the way he said Dr. Stryker as "Dr. SsstRAaicKerR,"gave her the creeps. "Right," she pursed her lips and swallowed her breath. "I think you'll be alright," she nodded towards Cassian awkwardly and stretched out her hand for him to shake. His mistrusting eyes shifted between both Doctor's and with no choice he took her hand in his. "Thank you, Doctor," he said briefly. He walked out slowly, his eyes combing every inch of the Lynx man before them. Lya flashed him a pleading look as he left. Once outside Cassian closed the door behind him. A scowl was noticeable on his features. "You seem, distraught Captain," commented K-2SO. "There's something odd about that Khajiit," Cassian said as they walked out of the ward. He adjusted his leather jacket and scratched his beard bringing the note that Lya had handed him to his close eyesight. 'Come back to me.' It was a simple note; regardless it brought a smile to his face. "Perhaps you are jealous Captain?" K-2SO suggested. The Captain shook his head slightly. He would get to the bottom of this. Meanwhile back in her office, Lya dealt with Dr. Cyder. "Boyfriend?" The man asked as Cassian left the room. "What can I do for you Aztin?" she said with a polite smile ignoring the question. He didn't falter. "I want more hours in the emergency ward, as well as my own assistants." The man said in a demanding tone. Lya clapped her hands together and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry, but- I'm afraid there's not much I can do for you." "Back in Naboo I had eight apprentices and was the head of the surgical ward-" He raised his tone, which she interrupted. "Although your qualifications were outstanding, I hope you understand we can't do that just yet- to begin with we are short staffed and you've only been in the Yavin 4 base for a couple of weeks. Let's see how you do and then we can discuss it again, yes?" She spoke in a hurried tone as she once again gathered her notes, and charts amongst other documents. "Thank you for understanding," she opened the door for him. The lynx remained in his seat not even flinching. He didn't even bother in turning his head to acknowledge the Doctor. "That was Captain Cassian Andor, no?" He spoke in that eerie tone he had. Lya slowly retreated closing the door. "I can only assume, it could be… dangerous to be involved with an officer like that. With so many enemies, who knows what could happen if word got out." He carefully attempted to read her expression from the corner of his predatory vision, his teeth gleaming in the dim light of her small office.

  "Get out," Lya slammed the door of her office behind the man. A Cheshire cat grin played on his feline features. He had gotten what he wanted, almost. More hours in the ER and two new assistants.

"I'm glad, you're a reasoning woman," he said satisfied. Lya clenched her fist tightly at her sides as she fought the urge to sock him in the face. This would not end like this.

He wanted assistants? Then he would have assistants. He wanted an apprentice? Then he would have an apprentice and if he wanted an office- oh he would get his office. 

Lya didn't know what to do. It had been a little more than a week and Cassian hadn't returned from his mission. Then again, it was his fault this was all happening to begin with. She had assigned both Lux and Adair as his assistants. His apprentice would be Forrest since he was interested in surgery just like Dr. Aztin. "I want you to report everything to me," She had instructed her former students. Both nodded and discretely continued with their missions obediently. 

It had been weeks, and Cassian still hadn't returned from his mission. It was an unusually rainy night, and Lya was presently leaning on a mountain of pillows on one of the sofas of her small round living room. The sky thundered making the window tremble and rattle. The yellow light in the room coming from the corner lamp was dim, and she ran a hand over her loose shoulder length hair as her eyes narrowed at Lux's handwritten notes. The notes were observations of the new doctor in the office, Dr. Aztin Cyder. Everything was perfectly ordinary. He treated the interns firmly but with respect. He checked in on time and performed his rounds and hours to perfection. Regardless of this, there was still something about it that rubbed her wrong. "Dammit!" She slammed the stack of papers against her crossed knees and shook her head a frustrated exhale escaping her lips. Continuing with the reports she read over the new interns. Forrest was progressing at an average pace. He was always stoic and composed. Seena, on the other hand, was being educated on different types of tissue injuries and what the best prevention and medical care worked with each. He seemed to catch on quickly, way too fast. Perhaps this child was a prodigy in medical care? Lya saw much of herself in the young Togruta. Lya tapped the end of her pen against her chin in a serious matter. She momentarily became distracted by the rain desperately tapping on the window. Having come from a dry climate, she couldn't comprehend how it was possible for it to rain so much in this forest. Thunder rumbled above in the darkness of the jungle and lighting momentarily flashed through the window. SLAM! It was then that the heavy wooden door at the entrance came apart. A violent gust of wind tossed her notes into the air; the air chilled her skin. She looked at the dark shadow outline that stood in her doorway. Water spilled inside the warm home. Alert she braced herself digging her fingers into the arm of the sofa. Her jaw clenched, eyes wide, teeth grinding tightly as adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her heart stuck on her larynx. "A-Aztin..." She managed to speak. She was ready for the attack. Her closest weapon was the pen she was currently gripping in her clenched fist. From the darkness stumbled forward Cassian instead, K-2SO followed suit. He slammed the door shut behind him catching his breath. His body soaked from head to toe. Kaytoo's metal body was slick cold. "Cassian!" She jumped to her feet tossing her remaining notes aside. Dark circles hung heavily under his eyelids. His eyes had turned into slits and remained focused on her. "Dammit! You scared the hell out of me!" She screeched, her face twisted into an upset scowl. Regardless he approached her, he didn't waste a moment in engulfing her in his drenched arms. His lips thirsted for hers as they attacked her. 

"Get off me!" She allowed a sharp exhale as she pushed him away. He looked at her perplexed. "Stop." She held her breath, a stern warning in the back of her throat. Her heart was hammering in her throat. He looked at her still confused. She felt light-headed and leaned on the nearby kitchen counter. Her hand on her racing heart. "I-.…" She lowered her head slowly. Shame filling her. "I'm sorry." She sighed. "You just- you scared the crap out of me Cass."

She got a good look at him. At how drained and exhausted he really was and the way his shoulder's hunched over in defeat.

"Should we get going, Captain?" K-2SO suddenly piped. Without a second thought and with pursed lips he turned leaving the humble house. The Doctor felt the guilt weigh down on her shoulders.  "Cass-" She ran out of her house after him. She ran into the rainforest barefoot wearing a loose tank top and mid tight length cotton shorts. The rain consumed her. She could feel her wet hair sticking to her face. "Cassian!" She reached him and wrapped his arms around him, holding on to his blue parka. "Now you want me?" He removed her arms from his body. "I come, tired, drained, and the only thing I want is to see you and this happens-" he raised his tone. "Cassian- I was scared! What do you expect me to do when someone comes in barging in the middle of a storm?" The thunder resounded above them. They both stood in the rain. Kaytoo stood along with them. Besides the heavy pouring of the rain, there was not a single sound amongst them. "Let's-Let's just go inside." She asked in a kinder tone. Her eyebrows arched upwards in concern.

"Y-You're soaking wet," she said nervously as she wrapped her arms around her own cold body. He remained silent. "I'll make tea," she said quietly in an attempt to keep busy. "I will now be powering down Captain," K-2SO announced a sudden beeping sound he emitted allowed both humans to know he was out. Lya could feel Cassian shuffling around the apartment. The Captain unzipped his wet parka and laid it on a chair. Luckily he remained dry underneath.

"Make yourself at home," she said dryly as she walked past him handing him a cup with tea. He responded with an unfriendly look. She casually removed her shirt as she made way to her room, sipping some tea on the way. A couple of moments later she returned wearing another loose blouse and plopped down amongst the many pillows on the sofa. She pretended not to mind him. However, he remained where he stood. His eyes were fixated on a blank spot of the dull wall. Lya kept her eyes on some notes she had been formerly leafing through. In a couple of moments, she heard Cassian shuffling about. She didn’t raise her gaze. His socks standing before her suddenly filled her vision. Raising her head, her eyes traveled across his bruised naked torso. Patches of hair adorned the middle of his chest and trailed so the south of his navel. She looked at him sadly, sighing her fingers reached for his sides which she caressed lightly. "Does it hurt?" She asked after a moment leaning forward and brushing his hot skin with her tender lips. "I'm sorry," She whispered meeting his eyes. "It's just…- hard for me when you leave." Tightening her grip on his hips, she pulled him down to the sofa and embraced him as if it were the last time. Both embraced some moments later. His head on her chest as he existed in romantic gaze. He found comfort in her touch and held one of her hands against his heart. Cassian didn't say much about his mission, then again, that was highly confidential information. It's not as if he was allowed. Lya mindlessly read over her reports with her free hand. "I think there's a spy in the quarters," he said suddenly. "Hmm?" She asked half not listening. "I think we've been infiltrated." He said turning his head up to face her with a severe expression. Her eyebrows furrowed confused. Her mind wondered for a moment, and the sudden image of the new feline doctor filled her vision: Dr. Aztin Cyder. She slightly sat up. Cassian looked at her confused. If Cyder was a spy, there was no other reason why he would want control of the medical ward, and his own assistants to do his dirty work for him. "I think I know who the spy is…" She said when the realization hit her.

Prev: 5 Next: 7

[curious-fools-howl-to-the-moon]

CHAPTER 1.

I’m posting a chapter to my story and not immediately deleting it???? Don’t worry, there’s still time!! Lol

This is the beginning of my fic, so it does move slowly and it’s pretty long! But if you decide to read it, I hope you like it!!

                                        -BRIDGTON, OHIO. 2011-

"Hey Delilah, ready for the lunch rush?" her boss Pam asked with her usual unimpressed tone and a raised brow. Pam was the owner of the diner and always made sure Delilah knew it when she got in one of her random moods, which never had a consistent pattern. 

She was a redhead, which Delilah thought was rather fitting given their typical stereotype. Hot-headed, unpredictable and at times she even wondered if the soulless trait was true. She always wore her hair up in a bun with a pen in it, like she was dropped in straight from the 60's or something. She could be a real piece of work when she wanted to be, but Delilah couldn't really complain, or at least not to her face anyway. She literally took her in off the streets and gave her a job when she had nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"Am I ever ready for the lunch rush?" Delilah replied with a sigh as she wiped off crumbs from the bar counter with a rag and swept them into the floor. She hated this time of day, it was always so busy. People were hungry and when people were hungry, they got rude. Sometimes even downright just hateful. The names she's been called working in this place might floor some outsiders, but it was a typical every day for her.

The bell above the front door chimed as voices of teenagers entered the building. Delilah's spirits lifted a little, the teens were usually always nicer than the older customers. She grabbed the pen and paper from her apron and waited for them to be seated before walking over to them. She noticed one of them, Jerome Robinson. He was a regular here and she basically had his order memorized no matter what time he came in. The other three people that sat with him she didn't recognize. "Hey, Jerome." she tried to muster a smile but it came out like a smirk, as per usual. "Same as always?" she asked.

He nodded. Jerome was younger than Delilah, probably by 8 or 9 years. He was darker complected and pretty damn adorable. When Delilah first started working here he would hit on her a lot, almost every time he came in. He'd lean his arms on the counter and ask how her day was going and she couldn't help but to laugh at him. It was pretty obvious he had a crush, but after she told him she was 27, the flirting magically eased up. That is, unless he wanted to try to get a free meal or drink for his friends and sometimes she would amuse him by bringing him a soda on the house.

"The usual for me, and some fries for my friends please." he grinned to her and she scribbled it down onto her notepad. Jerome looked to his friends, muttering something that received a few nods and whispers back before he turned to face Delilah again. "And 5 sodas too, if you don't mind." he added. He was always so polite, something that Delilah admired. She could be pretty snappy with people, and sometimes it wasn't all their fault but most of the time it was.

"Coming right up." she said with a nod as she turned away from them and started towards the counter. Those three words have become a reflex to say, like saying 'excuse me' when walking through a group of people or 'bless you' when someone sneezes. It was annoying to her but it was the only thing she could think of to say to a customer that couldn't be met with a snarky or sleazy remark.

"Jerome's order and a large fry." Delilah said as she slid the paper through the small window between the kitchen and the counter. "I'll get the sodas if you'll cook." she paused, "Please?" she heard Pam mumble a 'ok' like reply and that was good enough for her. She hated cooking but especially in a place that served meat. It made her sick to her stomach. Most of the time Pam would just tell her to get over herself and do her job, but there were other times, like today, where she wouldn't have the energy to argue with her.

Delilah grabbed five glasses from counter and lined them up. "Ice." she mumbled to herself before walking in the back to grab the bag of it from the freezer. It was heavy but more cold than anything else, her hands started to feel numb as she carried it through the room and back to the front. "So, what's been going on with you guys lately?" she asked in a grunt as she placed the bag onto the counter.

Jerome was quiet for a  few moments and for a second Delilah thought he hadn't heard her. But then he bounced back as if nothing were wrong at all, "Not much of anything, really." he said casually and shrugged. She didn't think too much of his pause, she was too focused on trying not to spill ice all over the floor.

"Still mowing lawns?" she asked as the ice clanged against the sides of the glass cups.

"Yeah." he answered a bit shameful, "Like I've said, it's just a Summer job. I'll be leaving for Harvard by the end of it anyway, it's just to keep my pockets full for a while." he smirked and nodded, Delilah did the same as she sat the bag of ice right side up. It was nearly empty now so she placed it in the nearby sink. Jerome spoke again, "Should stop cutting Mr.Hodges lawn though, he's barely paying me worth my time."

She grabbed the liter of soda and began filling the cups, "Who?" she asked, her brows furrowing. Bridgton was a small town, everyone pretty much knew everyone. Maybe not by name, but definitely by faces. Even so, she had never even heard of a 'Hodges' before.

"Bill Hodges." Jerome answered matter-of-fact as he rested his arm on the back of his chair. "He use to be a detective down at the station." he shrugged, "He's retired now though, has been for a couple years." Now he looks confused, "You haven't heard of him?"

Delilah shakes her head, "I haven't. I don't really keep track of the uh...law enforcement around here." she mutters as she straightens herself up and finishes pouring the drinks. She glances to Jerome and his friends to see that a few of them are now wearing worried expressions. She can't help but to laugh, "Relax, I'm not a criminal." she says and their shoulders fall a little. "Not after I got my reports sponged anyway..." she mutters with a smirk and their eyes grow wide.

"She's joking guys." Jerome says with a smirk as he tries to reassure his friends. It's barely working and he looks back to Delilah, "Tell them you're joking." He says with a smirk, but she doesn't. Instead she just shrugs her shoulders and leaves them with an uneasy feeling. Trying to hold in laughter, she places the drinks on a tray and brings them to the table.

"Here ya go." she says as she places them in front of the teens. "Your food should be out soon." she says and turns away from them to walk back to the counter. Within seconds the five friends began conversing, filling the entire diner with their voices. 

Delilah leaned against the counter and took out her phone, checking her text messages. She had one, which was surprising considering she didn't have any friends, or parents as far as she was concerned. If your Dad ditches you before you were even born and your Mom leaves you on the steps of an orphanage like in some old black and white film, they're not very good parents, are they? Pam was the closest thing she had to any kind of parental figure, and she almost found her too late.

Pam found Delilah at around the age of 19. She was into smoking and even dabbled in drinking from time to time, despite being under-aged. She was living on the streets and whatever she was wearing is what she found in the dumpster or if someone was nice enough to give it to her. Which most of the time, they weren't. Pam felt sorry for her and took her in to work at the diner part time. Part time turned into full time and that led in to her basically living here for almost 8 years. Delilah was thankful but always had an odd way of showing it. Sly remarks and sarcasm were usually the way to go for her. But being raised by the streets of Ohio will do that to you. She knew she wasn't exactly normal, but she tried her best for those who she thought deserved it.

She didn't really like to reflect on her old life, before she started working here. It brought up too many memories, way more bad than good. She just liked to focus on the now, work towards the future instead of feeling sorry for herself in the past. But sometimes those memories would creep up on her, right when she was least expecting it. And when that happened, she dealt with it. Usually with drinking, a habit she's been trying to break for basically her entire life. She's been better at dealing with it, she'll admit. It's definitely better than it was 9 years ago.

She opens the text to see it's from Heather, a girl she barely knew who came into the diner a few months back. She was new to Bridgton and was looking for anyone to cling onto for a type of security, or at least that's what Delilah assumed. She was as nice as the typical stranger and when her food was served to her she insisted on getting Delilah's number. So they could 'text and hang out' sometime, which occasionally happened. With Delilah's work schedule it made having things like a social life pretty difficult. She mostly heard from Heather when there was new town gossip or if she wanted her opinion on the guys she was dating. Delilah's brown eyes scan over the letters in the small green bubble in the left side of her screen.

'Have you heard of Under Debbie's Blue Umbrella?' Was all it said. She checked the time to see it was sent just a few minutes ago. Her brows furrowed as she texted back, saying she had never heard of it and asked what exactly it was about. Within 30 seconds there was a reply.

'It's basically just a new type of chat room. It's not like FB or anything like that, so I thought you might like it. All they'll see is your username, no pictures. I'll make one too, so we can keep in touch besides texting.' she wrote. Delilah's lips pursed at the message. She always liked the idea of chat rooms. Nothing too personal, but still a way to communicate with people from around the world. Her fingers found her keyboard as she wrote back.

'That's cool. I'll check it out after work. Thanks for letting me know.' she wrote and then she hit the send button. Pam had been nice enough to buy her a cellphone when she first started to work here. Mostly to only use in emergencies, but that rule didn't last long. Before she knew it Delilah was texting as fast as any teen, despite being a  little late to the party. Seconds later her phone buzzed, another message. She opened it to see it was Heather, again.

'Gross, you're still working there? We gotta get you someplace better. Upgrade in your future. TTYL.' Delilah smirked to herself and shook her head, not even bothering to reply to the text. Instead she just pushed her phone back into her pocket. She was fine where she was, or rather, she knew this was as good as she was gonna get so she was fine where she was.

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It was finally closing time. They had been so busy that Delilah thought the day would never be over. It seemed like just as she started to put a plate away, someone was already asking for their order to be taken. The last customer left close to 5 minutes ago and now she was cleaning off the last booth, well 'cleaning', she was really just sweeping crumbs into the floor. She leaned up and felt the muscles in her back and arms tense, she got a decent work out today. She walked to the counter and tossed the rag into the sink. "Ok, Pam." she said, clearly tired from the day. "Tables are clean and I'm heading out."

Pam's displeased voice came from the kitchen, "Give me about 15 more minutes and I'll drive you there." she said. Pam was her neighbor and it wasn't just convenient, she made Delilah buy the house nearest to hers as a way to keep an eye on her. Delilah knew she meant well, but she could be a bit overprotective at times for a woman who doesn't even have a real daughter.

"That's ok." She replied, "I'm just gonna start home now instead." She appreciated the offer, but she didn't wanna sit here for 15 more minutes with angry Pam and then have to take a car ride with her. She'd take her chances with Ohio's weirdos of the night.

"Suit yourself. Have a good one." she said, sounding a little less angry but a little bit disappointed that Delilah had rejected her offer. She knew she was just looking out for her, but she was 27 years old and there were most things she could do on her own now.

"Night, Pam!" she called out as she pushed open the doors and walked out onto the streets, hearing the bell ring above her head for the last time tonight.

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She was already a few blocks from the diner now and the night had been surprisingly quiet aside from the occasional car that passed by. That was something she wished she had, a car. Even if it was some run down old model, so long as it ran and got her from point A to B, that's all she would ask of it. It would sure beat walking home at night and definitely beat taking a ride with Pam. She sighed to herself, she probably would have had enough money saved up by now to buy her car had she not been so Hell bent on getting her own house. Every check she gets goes directly to paying it off, which meant giving basically her entire check to Pam, who was the one who bought her the house in the first place. But she'd take privacy over walking home any day.

A slight breeze blew through the air and she breathed it in. She had missed the Fall and Winter, it seemed like it went by so fast and now it was Summer. Her most hated season. She looked up to the sky as she walked, "Can you make it a little colder?" she asked the air, "Just so I can breathe comfortably during my work shifts?" she scoffed and turned her attention back in front of her. Seconds later she heard a rumble of thunder and almost instantly, it started to rain. 

No, it started to pour.

Delilah quickly pulled her hood from her jacket over her head as she started sprinting towards a nearby awning. "This is not what I fucking meant!" she yelled to no one but couldn't even hear herself over the pit and pats of the rain. She approached the awning and stood underneath it, her hood still sitting on top of her head. 

She looked ahead of herself to see everything being drenched in rain, including other unlucky people who were trying to run to some type of shelter. She glanced beside her to see someone else who had just barely escaped the downpour, he was on his phone. Lucky guy, must be waiting for a ride. She looked back down the street to her left, she wasn't too far from home now, maybe just 5 minutes if she really booked it. She pursed her lips as she tossed the options around in her head. "Fuck it." she said as she started to run when a hand grabbed her arm and stopped her in her tracks.

She whipped around to look and noticed it was the guy who was on his phone, or at least pretending to be.  She squinted at the stranger but it was way too dark to make out any features. The only thing she could tell was that it was a man, a huge man. He wore a hood over his head, which helped cover any hair he might have had. He spoke and his voice was deep and threatening. "Where are you off to?" he asked.

"None of your business." she said as she attempted to snatch her arm out of his grip, but to no avail. "Get your fucking hands off of me!" she yelled, but was mostly muted due to the rain. His hand tightened around her arm, his fingers digging into her sleeve.

"A pretty girl like you don't need to be out here by yourself." he said as he stepped closer to her and his other hand landed on her other arm. He leaned his face near hers, she could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. "Let me take you home..." She felt sick, nauseous. She had heard of this kind of thing happening before but never thought it would happen to her. He had her restricted, pinned. It was now or never, her heart was racing and her body was shaking with fear. She had to try something, anything. It was fight or flight. And she was in fight, completely.

She slammed her head forward with as much force as she could muster, sending the predator stumbling backwards. He muttered something under his breath she couldn't quite make out but had a feeling she knew what it was. She swung her leg back and then forward again, the steel toe of her boot making full contact with his groin. He fell onto the ground, holding his privates and she turned around and ran. Her heart still raced in her chest as she pushed down the vomit she felt creeping up in her throat. The rained poured down heavy on her and she didn't even stop to look back herself.

She didn't stop running, even when she was sure he wasn't even remotely close to being behind her anymore. She couldn't stop, her legs wouldn't let her. She approached the door to her house and stopped long enough to clumsily fish her keys out her pocket and open it, running inside and slamming the door closed behind herself. 

Her breathing was rapid, her chest rising and falling faster than it ever had before. She turned around and attempted to lock her door, her fingers trembling as they fiddled with the locks. After a few seconds she finally managed it and tried to breath out a sigh of relief but it was caught by the vomit she pushed down earlier. She stumbled to her kitchen and barely made it to the sink before she threw up, her whole body tense and curling inside itself as she did so.

She reached blindly to her left and grabbed a towel to wipe her mouth as she leaned away from the sink. She breathed out and ran her hand over her forehead up to the top of her head. "Fuck." she muttered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She breathed out again, "Calm down, Lilah. You're good." she tried to convince herself. "You did it, you got away, you're ok." she swallowed and felt another lump but pushed this one down. As much as she kept telling herself she was ok, it was hard to shake the feeling of it all.

She made her way over to her couch and sat down on it, trying to catch her breath. Her legs felt like jello as they basically gave out the second she sat down. A million thoughts ran through her head, what if she hadn't had the strength to fight back? What if he had a gun? Or a knife? What if he just shot her there and kidnapped her? No one would've known where she went or where to look. She leaned her head back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. "I should've just waited." she said to herself, feeling the rain drops slide down her face. She breathed out again, this breath much more stronger than the rest.

"Fuck."

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She had been home for more than a couple of hours now and once she finally managed to lift herself from the couch, she grabbed dinner. A microwave mac and cheese meal that she scarfed down, whether her body wanted to let her or not. She knew she had to eat and she didn't have the energy to make anything. She threw what was left in the trash and headed over to her fridge. She opened it and looked inside, seeing a bag of water bottles which was obviously the best choice right now but then her eyes landed on the last 6 bottles of beer she had stuffed in the back. She told herself once she was finished with those, she was done with it completely. She saved them, for special occasions or nights when she just really needed them. Tonight was one of those nights. Definitely.

She collapsed on her couch again, her laptop opened in front of her. Her 2 beers sat straight up on the coffee table, one was empty and the other was getting there. She had a video opened, 'funniest fails' compilation she saw on the homepage. She had her head rested on the couch pillow as she watched it. She wanted to make herself laugh at least once tonight, try to bring some calmness back to her body. If that meant getting shitfaced and watching people fall on their faces, so be it. She took another swig of her beer when her phone rang in her pocket. She sat the drink down and paused the video as she fished it out of her pocket. She looked to the screen and sighed, it was Heather. She answered and held the phone to her ear.

"What?"

"Well, hey to you too. Where are you?"

"Home, where the fuck else?"

"Um, maybe Under Debbie's Blue Umbrella ring any bells?"

She didn't sound upset; not at all, she was just teasing. Something that Delilah wasn't sure she was in the mood for right now, but she didn't bother snapping. "Oh, yeah. I..I totally forgot about that. Tonight's been kinda crazy." she said, hoping the vagueness would deter her, but of course it didn't. It was Heather.

"A crazy night? YOU? What happened, did you blow up a microwave dinner?" she laughed and Delilah rolled her eyes despite being on the phone.

"No, just...crazy shit." she said as she hit the speaker option on her phone and sat it on the couch, "I'll go to the website now...Debbie's umbrella?" she said as she closed her video tab and opened another, typing it in as she spoke.

"Under Debbie's Blue Umbrella, Lilah." she emphasized every word. "You're not already _that_ drunk are you?" she said, sounding a bit concerned.

"No. It's just a fucking long name." she said as she typed it in, correctly this time. "Ok, I'm here. I'll make my account and call you back."

"You better. I miss chatting with you, you never go to Facebook anymore." she sounded like she was pouting and Delilah couldn't help but to scoff.

"Yeah, yeah. Cya."

"Later."

She hit the end call button and turned her attention back to her screen. There were two people standing under a blue umbrella on the homepage, all huddle together like a couple. All while rain drops slid down the screen at an lagging pace. She clicked on the 'register now' button.

"Name and password...." she said aloud to herself as her eyes scanned over it. "Hmm....." she picked up her phone to look up names but noticed her reflection before anything else. The rain had taken a huge toll on her makeup. Her eyeliner was smudged and her mascara was smeared, she was thankful to herself that she didn't wear lipstick today. She stopped herself and furrowed her brows for a moment. Then she tossed her phone back onto the couch beside her and clicked on, 'name/password:'. Her fingers glided across the keyboard as her new name appeared before her eyes.

[SMEARED_MASCARA]

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[ailithnight]

A fanfic heavily influenced by the world and heacannons on @anxceit-and-others, run by the lovely @chemically-imbalanced-romance. That is all.

Title: It’s Not Anxiety Word Count: 3800 (On the dot.) CW: Abuse, Past Abuse, Panic Attacks, Hypothermia, Unhealthy Thinking? (Not sure how else to word that one.) Deceit Tagslist: @moose-squirrel05, @didsomeonesayprince, @readeatfightlove13

Virgil struggles to stay upright while his body trembled. Cold. Tired. Hungry. Sore. Virgil felt like at any moment he might collapse under the weight of his own body. Words were spoken around him that he was only half aware of. His vision blurred and it felt like the whole world tilted. By sheer will power alone. Virgil managed not to tilt with it. He didn’t want to faint in the commons. Virgil had only been with the Light Sides for a few days now. And while it’s true, in that time they hadn’t done anything bad to him, in fact, they had done nothing but try to help, Virgil still didn’t trust them. No. Trust wasn’t the right word. Virgil doesn’t think he’ll ever trust anyone. He doesn’t know what to expect from them. Virgil misses Deceit. Deceit was familiar. A single static in Virgil’s otherwise tumultuous existence. Virgil knew what to expect from Deceit and he knew how to deal with it. But here, in the house of the Light Sides, where Anxiety most certainly did not belong, Virgil felt like he was flying blind. Deceit had been scary in his own right, but this was a level of terror Virgil hadn’t felt in years. So, he fought, desperately clinging to consciousness while everything else inside him just wanted to shut down.

“Anxiety?” Virgil lifted his head to meet the gaze of the four others standing around him. Huh. What was Thomas doing in the mindscape? “Are you alright, Kiddo?” Virgil managed to focus his eyes on the paternal character for a brief moment before dropping his eyes back down. He hummed vaguely, the only kind of sound he could manage to produce in that moment. “You don’t have to be afraid you know.” Virgil almost wanted to laugh at that statement.

“I’m Anxiety. I’m always afraid. It’s kind of my whole purpose.” The words came out dry and breathy. Virgil felt winded just pushing out those three sentences. His vision blurred again but at this point, he just couldn’t bring himself to refocus his eyes.

“Well,” Logan began, “if there is anything we can do to alleviate some of your anxiousness, all you have to do is ask.” Virgil hummed again. He briefly considered telling the truth. That general anxieties weren’t the real problem right now. The problem was that Virgil felt like he had been awake for the better part of two weeks, starved for nine days, slammed into a few walls, thrown through a closed window, and locked outside in the cold for four days. Of course, that wasn’t exactly far from the truth. A few omissions. Virgil’s body had reached its limit. Surely, any moment now he was just going to drop dead on their carpet. Hopefully, he wouldn’t bleed. It was bad enough to leave the Light Sides with the problem of his corpse. He didn’t need to leave a stain too.

Still, it sounded nice, tempting even, to just fall asleep now and not plan on waking up. How much does Thomas need Anxiety anyway? He probably didn’t. Without Virgil around, Roman could go off and chase any dream he wanted. He could stop being mad at Anxiety for getting in the way. Patton would have less weighing him down and making him afraid. He could let Thomas relax and enjoy the things he loves. Logan would probably be ecstatic, not having to constantly combat Anxiety’s skewed reasoning. His job would be so much easier. All Virgil had to do was drop off. He could fall asleep right here on the stairs. He might bash his head though. That wouldn’t do. Blood. Stains. Burdens. Maybe if he came off the stairs first. Stood on level ground, away from walls and tables. The front hall might work. It would put his body closer to the door anyway. Virgil tried to shuffle his feet forward, but they felt full of lead. He put his awareness back into the real world, trying to focus on his feet, but his attention was immediately stolen by a flurry of sounds. His vision, now refocused, was still practically vibrating with Virgil’s own uncontrolled shaking.

“Shit, Logan.”

“Language, Roman.” Roman ignored Patton.

“What’s wrong with him? Is it some kind of attack?”

“This is unlike any panic or anxiety attack I have ever researched.”

“Mmmmm fine.” Virgil slurred, his tongue and mouth failing him. “Juss go outside.” Outside. An even better place to die than inside. Maybe he could get himself in a trash can. Or far enough away that they could just light a match. Maybe he could get back home, across the street. Then he’d be a problem for the Dark Sides instead. Hell, Deceit would probably take pleasure in it.

“Anxiety!” Roman sounded aghast. “Why could you possibly want to go outside? Last I checked, it was storming!” Virgil liked storms. They could be unpredictable and violent, but they were good. Storms brought rain. Rain brought change and growth and refreshment. They washed away the old and unimportant, leaving more room for something better.

“Oh home now.” Virgil couldn’t feel his feet anymore. Or his hands. His torso. He felt like a disembodied head and even that felt too heavy to hold up anymore.

“Kiddo. You don’t need to go back. This can be your home now. Remember?” Patton sounded sad. So, so sad. Virgil was making him sad. Unacceptable. Virgil’s vision was darkening around the edges. He wasn’t even going to make it off the stairs, much less out the door or across the street. Oh well. He guessed here was as good a place as any other. Virgil stopped clinging to consciousness and pushed all his remaining energy to his voice and mouth, trying to make his last word as clear as possible.

“Sorry.” Virgil was swallowed by darkness. His last distant thought was someone screaming. Then nothing. No sound. No sight. No feeling of cold, tired, hungry, sore. No worries. Virgil let out a heavy sigh, finally met with peace and comfort and relief at last.

Roman ran a hand through his hair, once more glancing out the window to the storm raging outside. It had been raining for three days straight now. Coincidentally, that was when Roman had brought Anxiety over to their house. Before that, it had been freezing cold outside. Roman considered it a stroke of luck that the rain hadn’t broken until the temperatures raised above freezing, or else this storm may have been a blizzard. Roman glanced over at the side sleeping on the sofa while Roman watched over him. So many coincidences and strokes of good luck. If the storm had broken sooner. If the temperatures had stayed cool. If Roman had been 2 seconds earlier or 2 seconds later. He wouldn’t have found him and Anxiety would be dead.

Roman had just been taking the trash out. That was all. It had been too cold the last few days to go questing in the subconscious. Roman and Patton and Logan had all been huddled inside, staying warm with baking and board games and movies and good company. Their inside activities had accumulated a bit of waste and Patton had requested someone take the trash out. And Roman, ever the valiant knight, he volunteered to brave the forces of nature in the name of cleanliness. He had just deposited the bag in the bin, which would magically evaporate the waste once the lid closed, and he was walking back around the front of the house to go inside. He was on the front porch when the faint sound caught in his ears. The tiny sneeze was carried over by a fierce gust of wind that tore straight through Roman’s warm clothes and heavy coat. He paused, foot in mid-air, pondering the sound. Patton and Logan were both inside. Roman could even see their silhouettes through the curtains on the window. Neither one of them could have made that noise and been heard. Which left only…

Roman turned slowly around to face the house on the opposite side of the street. It was a sickly-looking shade of blue-grey compared to the homey, pale yellow of their home. The windows were all darkened and the building looked to be in all sorts of states of disrepair. Roman couldn’t fathom why they chose to live like that when all it took was a flick of the wrist to bring the dwelling back to life. Once, he had even done it for them. Within two days, it was back to its original, run-down appearance. Roman had forced himself to shrug it off, accepting that the house’s occupants were all creeps who enjoyed living in a house that was falling apart, like the bunch of degenerative monsters they were. But the house itself wasn’t Roman’s primary focus right now. It was rare for one of the Dark Sides to go out unless they were doing so to cause trouble. If one of them was up to something, Roman intended to find out what. Perhaps they were even the cause of the sudden cold that had gripped Thomas’s psyche.

Roman stepped back off the porch and stalked silently towards the house. He stopped at the edge of the yard, scanning and listening for several moments. But, nothing could be seen or heard other than the occasional gust of wind whooshing down the street. Still, Roman waited. A minute passed. Then two. Three. The cold was sinking in to Roman, causing him to shiver. He was almost ready to give in and go home when he heard it. Another sneeze, soft and delicate, followed by a sniffle and a grumble. Roman squinted his eyes at the holly shrubs. He summoned his sword and creeped forward, ready to fend off whatever vermin was hiding out in there. Roman held his weapon at the ready and inched forward until he could peer over the prickly vegetation to the small space between the bush and the corner of the concrete steps and the house’s foundation. What he saw made him freeze on the spot.

Anxiety was huddled there, back pressed against the steps, facing perpendicular to Roman. His hood was up, his eyes closed, and his head tilted back. His mouth was open, releasing small puffs of condensation with each labored, shuddering breath through his cracked, blue lips. Most of the rest of his face was pale, save for his nose and ear tips which were a vibrant shade of red. The smudged eyeshadow Anxiety liked to apply had been wiped away, revealing deep purple shadows under his eyes. Every few seconds, a light shiver would pass through his body, but would quickly fade away. Roman could see the sheen of the viscous, almost frozen snot framing his mouth like a disgusting mustache. In any other situation, Roman would have been absolutely sickened by it. But, as it stood, he found himself sickened for a whole other set of reasons. Anxiety looked to have mild to moderate hypothermia. Given the natural resilience and rapid healing that comes of being a Side, Roman knew that meant he must have been out here for anywhere between hours and days. And while Creativity may not be fond of Anxiety, no knight worth his salt would ever leave another person to suffer or possibly even die. Certainly not like this.

“Anxiety?” The side in question’s eyes shot open. Suddenly, he was on his feet, though the movement was stiff and clumsy. Had Roman not pulled his sword back, Anxiety very likely would have hit himself on it. His eyes, looking dull and lifeless, roamed around wildly for a moment before landing on Roman. Or, more specifically, Roman’s sword. Roman took note of the immediate fear that overtook the Dark Side’s expression. Pure terror and, maybe, Roman thought, just a tiny but of hunger. Something about the intense gaze Anxiety was giving the sharp blade was hungry and unsettling. But Roman blinked and Anxiety had brought his gaze up to Roman’s face and the hunger was gone, replaced by only fear, and it was easy for Roman to believe he had imagined it.

“R-r-roman! W-wh-hat are you doing here?” Anxiety’s speech was thick and slurred. He attempted to swallow, but judging by the harsh grimace, Roman guessed he was unsuccessful in producing enough saliva.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Roman said pointedly. Anxiety forced a perplexed expression.

“I live here?” Roman was not deceived by the feigned innocence.

“Outside? Behind the bushes?” Roman kept his tone unaccusatory, but serious.

“Sure. Why not. S’a great place to shelter.” Anxiety squirmed under Roman’s skeptical gaze.

“Seriously, Anxiety, why are you out here?”

“Why are you?” Anxiety shot back petulantly. Roman sighed.

“I was taking the trash out when I heard you. I came over to find you huddled behind a bush looking like you haven’t seen a scrap of warmth in a week. Now where’s your explanation.” Anxiety didn’t say anything for a long moment. Roman began to get frustrated and was tempted to walk away. But he couldn’t do that! What kind of hero would that make him? Instead, he fixed his jaw, held his head high and determined, and he waited. Eventually, Anxiety mumbled out a response.

“I got locked out.” Roman blinked, honestly surprised by the genuine answer.

“Is no one awake to let you in?” Anxiety returned to that stubborn silence. Roman looked him over, taking in the filthy state of his ripped jeans and torn jacket and his fingers, a color and shade similar to that of the house behind him. His clothes had deep wrinkles in them, his posture seemed permanently hunched. A sudden gust of whipped Anxiety’s jacket tight around him and Roman could glimpse just how thin his frame was, far thinner than it should be for someone whose body is derived from the stockier form of Thomas. The wind seemed to blow Anxiety over and Roman watched in a state of horrified shock as the other tumbled over into the holly bush, too uncoordinated to even catch himself on his hands. He grunted roughly and, with some struggling, managed to push himself out of the bush, back into the corner where he curled into a tiny ball, tiny red scratches becoming apparent across his face and hands. The more Roman looked him over, the less Roman believed Anxiety had only been out here a few hours.

“Does no one want to let you in?” Silence. “Anxiety, how long have you been out here?”

“Oh, why do you care?” Anxiety hissed, leading Roman to pull back, shocked. “Just go back home Princey. Leave me in peace to -” Anxiety suddenly clamped his mouth shut. He glared angrily and threateningly up at the royal character. Or, he tried to at least. To Roman, he looked more like a disgruntled kitten than a viable threat. Roman tried to pretend he didn’t hear the start of the word die before Anxiety clammed up. Roman checked his phone. He had been out here for no less than 8 minutes. He glanced back at the Light Side’s house. Patton and Logan would surely notice his absence soon. He looked back at Anxiety, who must have been out here for days now, perhaps even since the cold set in four days ago. Anxiety, who had developed hypothermia and was slowly freezing to death. Anxiety, whose own fellow Dark Sides didn’t care enough to left him inside. Perhaps they didn’t even notice his absence. Perhaps they locked him out on purpose. Roman didn’t know. But he did know that if he walked away from him now. Anxiety did not stand a good chance of surviving. And while the Creative trait didn’t often agree with Anxiety’s impact on Thomas, he certainly was not conceited enough to truly believe Anxiety deserved to die. Certainly not like this. He was as much a part of Thomas as any of them. He couldn’t, wouldn’t leave Anxiety here to suffer any longer at the careless hands of his compatriots. A plan formulated in Roman’s head. He dispelled his sword and nodded.

“Okay, Anxiety. I’m going home.” Anxiety slumped and nodded before letting his eyes slide close and his head lean back to the position Roman had first seen it in.

“Good. That’s where you belong.” Roman hummed in agreement. He shuffled his feet for a moment, trying to figure the best way to go about what he needed to do. But when one of Anxiety’s eyes cracked open to glance at him, Roman knew he was out of time. Without hesitation, he bent over the bush and scooped up the frail side with as much gentleness as he could manage. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!” The shriek tore its way out of Anxiety’s throat, scratching and cracking and sounding all together unpleasant for speaker and listener alike.

“I said I was going home. I didn’t say I was leaving you behind.”

“You don’t have to do this you know. I’d be fine.” His voice was hoarse now.

“You’d die.” Silence. Anxiety didn’t even try to deny it. That worried Roman. Anxiety seemed perfectly okay with the prospect of dying and Roman feared that was indicative of a greater problem.

“Thought that would make you and everyone happy.” Yes, Roman decided. There was something deeply wrong with Anxiety. Something the Dark Sides must have had a role in causing. But that would have to be addressed later. Priority one right now was to get Anxiety home and warm. They reached the front door and Roman shifted Anxiety around, managing to support Anxiety in one arm for a moment while the other pushed open the door. Roman walked inside, noting how much worse for wear Anxiety looked in the warm inside lighting.

“Patton, Logan! We have a guest!” Roman called/sung lightly.

“What was that, Kidd- Oh my goodness! Anxiety!”

Getting Anxiety warmed up had been… a process. For most of it, Anxiety had seemed to be in a state of semi-consciousness. Logan said that that was to be expected given the severity of his hypothermia. Had they been real, physical beings, Anxiety would have been hospitalized. With the snap of a finger, Roman had transferred Anxiety into something warm and soft. It took a few hours, but they finally got Anxiety’s temperature back up and he became more responsive again. But that’s when the real trouble had started. Anxiety almost immediately ended up in a harsh panic attack which was mirrored by Thomas. No one believed that was a coincidence. Everything they had fed Anxiety ended up in the toilet bowl. Patton tried to comfort him, tried offering light touches and hugs. But contact made Anxiety scream and be sick again. He became a shaking, sobbing mess on the bathroom floor and none of them knew how to help him. Logan threw himself into research about anxiety and anxiety attacks. Patton took to the kitchen trying to find something they could get him to eat without it coming back up. Roman hovered around outside the bathroom until Anxiety passed out, then took him back to the sofa which had become his temporary bed and hovered protectively over him there.

Anxiety was out for a couple hours, but when he woke up again, it seemed he was already half way to another attack. Logan had come down then with all sorts of breathing exercises and grounding techniques and those seemed to help. But afterwards, Anxiety wouldn’t talk. Or couldn’t talk. Logan said that was possible. Patton came in with a light meal, some soup and crackers, and Anxiety looked at him seeming absolutely petrified. He started crying and shaking and curling in on himself. It took another hour to get him to eat just half the bowl, then he refused the rest. Worst of all, at first, none of them understood it. They couldn’t figure out where Anxiety’s anxiety was coming from. Or maybe, maybe they were blinding themselves to the signs. Maybe they didn’t want to believe the truth. After all, that’s where his power comes from. Roman sighed, running his hand through his hair again. He glanced to the kitchen where Logan and Patton were talking with a very dazed looking Thomas.

Thomas had summoned them, hoping for some answers as to why the sudden ramp up in anxiety. But Anxiety still wasn’t talking much. He had stood on the stairs trembling in what they had all perceived to be anxiousness. If only they had been paying more attention. Roman wished he could say they noticed when Roman had first brought Anxiety in. They didn’t. He wished he could say they realized it after the first panic attack. They didn’t. He wished he could say the saw the truth when the ‘attack’ started after Thomas summoned them. But they didn’t. They didn’t even think about the possible causes of Anxiety’s terror and illness and trembling. Not until he started swaying. Not until he started talking about going outside. Not until he collapsed on the staircase, his chest slamming into the stair edges with an audible crack.

Roman was ashamed to say that they were blind, he was blind, to Anxiety’s true suffering until they had to pull of his shirt to check his ribs. Then it all became painfully obvious. The fear and the trembling and the frailty. Anxiety’s story was bared before them as he was. All those years displayed before their eyes. The pain. The suffering. The fighting. The abuse. It all made sense now. And even though Anxiety was still there, resting peacefully for once, Roman couldn’t help but feel like they were still too late. Years too late. The others came back in. Patton and Logan both brought chairs. Thomas went to the sofa. He gently lifted Anxiety’s head and the pillow underneath it and slid into the spot, letting Anxiety’s head rest in his lap so he could card his fingers through his hair. No one questioned it. Thomas was Thomas. And this was his Anxiety. Thomas knew what he was doing. Even though they all wished they could do the same, only Thomas could get away with what he was doing. Roman ignored the pang of envy and instead, chose to voice his earlier thoughts.

“We should have noticed sooner.” Thomas looked up, meeting Roman’s eyes. His gaze then travelled to Patton, then Logan. He spoke with the certainty and authority that only Thomas could.

“We know now. And now we can help. That’s what’s important.” They sat in silence as the let everything sink in. Anxiety sighed contentedly as he rested. Across the street, Deceit scowled at the sudden turn of events. And somewhere outside, the storm finally passed.

[shardclan]

The principle behind the saying "familiarity breeds contempt" wasn't entirely lost on Arcanus. He'd served the old dynasty since the fifth, and seen the entire lineage since grow from sinless hatchlings to adults with a broad range of personalities. Some, like the Sixth, meshed well with him. The blood was strong enough between them that it was simple for them to get along. Others, like the Appointer, were fine when they were hard at work, but privately had the personality of a tail rash, while fore others this was inverted. The Economist, for example, openly had a the personality of an opal cobra with a toothache, and yet she was easily among the least abrasive of his many charges.

The problem Arcanus had was that "familiarity breeds contempt" was the bedfellow of "absence makes the heart grow fonder"--a concept that went in the exact opposite direction which made infinitely more sense. Why shouldn't one miss someone they are fond of? It felt obvious. But then, it also felt obvious to Arcanus that comfort should be the only thing bred by familiarity in any type of cordial relationship.

There was a lot Arcanus might have once held in contempt about Carnelian, for example. The man wasn't accountable to anyone. His temper and proclivity for violence meant he was more or less a paid vigilante. Or, in the recent case of Hitth's wings, an unpaid one with great publicity. He got in moods--GODS did he get in moods. He was unpredictable and aggressively kept himself untethered to places and people around him even when he obviously cared about them. He was... he was like a bigger, angrier, less disciplined Smoke Gyre, when he truly didn't need to be. Maybe he still held those things in contempt, just a little, but for the most part those were all things Arcanus had come to like about Carnelian.

Telos and Techne's relationship was more like a continuous stream of contempt peppered with only the most fleeting moments of familial care. The latter's recent absence had done little to make either of them fonder of each other.

"He's using you," Techne hissed.

"He should be," Telos shot back. "He should use everything he's got to keep Junior out of this."

"You've been away from the House too long. That's not how we do things--it's not Xannite." She took a short but intense drag that would have burned a less dedicated smoker, her horns vibrating all the while. "Are you not getting that your son threatened the House with war?"

Arcanus kept perfectly still, barring a single flick of his eyes toward the corner of the room. Bestealcian was glancing back at him with the same carefully blank expression.

"I get it just fine. What I don't get is why you think I care? Why do you think I'm going to call him out or reign him in?" She whipped her arm around the room, drawing attention to both the finery that had amassed as the result of gifts and the mounds of paperwork on her desk. "Does this look like a place you'd find a Xannite who is still about the House first?"

"Maybe, just a thought, I expected you to care about the kid's well being a little more since you built this whole fucking kingdom all because you were so hung up on his father!"

Arcanus saw the punch shoot up from Telos lower back up to her shoulder where her muscles bunched dangerously and coiled down into her arm like a snake readying for a deadly lunge. But it died there. She choked it back somewhere between elbow and wrist, refusing to dignify Techne’s words with so much as a clenched fist.

"You don't know anything." The words were firm and assured.

"I know your son is more attached to the House than you are," Techne insisted with an accusatory jab of her cigarette. "You may have checked the fuck out because you're untouchable up on your throne, but he isn't. I want you to just--” 

She squeezed the cigarette between her claws, her tongue flicking rapidly as she rubbed at her crest. “Just think about this. Think about it for more than 5 fucking seconds, Telos, what's going to happen to him if anything happens to you. I did you a favor helping you with Hitth, but clearly something happened to both of you in there. I understand he’s trying to get married but next thing he'll be claiming he's a fucking prince just cause you're his mother."

Telos didn't answer immediately, and Arcanus saw the anger in her eyes cool. Her thumb rubbed, as it often did, at the spinel ring, and her words came slow and measured. "I have known since the beginning that if I failed as Aphaster's queen, the House would reclaim me. It was you who thought I should be taken back in spite of it all to begin with. So don't think that I haven't considered that Zo has put himself in a dangerous position. The House is patient and we remember--that's our purpose. The moment they sense an opening, they will send an enforcer."

"And yet..." Techne prompted impatiently.

"And yet that is the choice he made. And it would spit on everything we teach our own to tell him to make a different decision."

Techne threw her hands up in agitation. "It's a decision that that relies on you to begin with! That's the problem! How can you be fine with being dragged into being his living shield?!"

Telos' brows drew together and she crossed her arms. "Aren't you being a bit hasty to assume I'm going to be dragged anywhere? Zo can say what he wants, and the House can test me if it likes, but I don’t actually have any obligation to do anything."

"Cut the shit," Techne growled with a tired loll of her head. Her tone was unimpressed at best. "You love your son like a skydancer loves flight, you're not going to stand by and do nothing. I know it, you know it, everybody fuckin knows it."

"Then you're all wrong," Telos countered.

Techne stared at Telos, but her expression wore down the coatl's skepticism. She drew her cigarette slowly from her lips, her expression drawing in tight as she waited for a joke that wasn't coming. Finally, after finding no purchase, she peered over at Arcanus and pointed weakly at Telos.

The knight met her eyes, looked again at his queen's expression, and gave a single slow nod.

"You're...." Techne began suspiciously. "Not... going to help him...?"

"There's no need for me to." Seeing Techne confused, Telos sat on the edge of her desk in decidedly unladylike fashion with her elbows propped on her thighs. "What exactly did Zo say to the Librarians?"

"He said he was offering a complete memory transfer of everything that happened to him when he was with the Outsider, in exchange for  the right for him and his own to live out-of-house." Her eyes narrowed, and she jabbed the cigarette back in her mouth, sucking bad-temperedly. "And then that those were his most generous terms and any attempt at retrieval would lead to the House's destruction by Aphaster and its allies."

Telos rubbed at her nose, if only to hide a creeping smirk. "That little snitch..." She leaned back, shaking with barely suppressed laughter. "Now I'm definitely not going to lift a finger for him. If what you said is true, Zo is going to throw my standing with the House right into the Wyrmwound."

Techne's crest rose while her cigarette drooped, and she tiredly rubbed at her eyes. "What did you do this time?"

"Take his offer and find out," Telos teased blithely. She wiped the bit of mirth from her eyes, and tried to put on a serious face. "Techne, I know have tunnel vision when it comes to Zo sometimes--"

"All the time," the coatl muttered.

"--But true to the codes of the House, I treasure his identity and the life he is trying to live with it above all else. I advised him to use what he has, and he's using it."

"Which is apparently something stronger than you."

"Oh, absolutely. I'm just a politician who knows how to throw a good punch and swing a rapier in a bind. I have to think about this clan's well-being. Can you imagine me trying to make this clan go to war just for my son? It'd be like if the Auditor came out and told us to dismantle the Machine."

Both of them shared a slight shudder at the thought, but Telos pressed on. "Have you ever met Junior? Really met him? Has the House begun looking into him now that Zo has given his ultimatum?"

"I've warned them against trying to get close by the usual method. The Enforcers are weighing my proposal to just have me go talk with Dreamweaver and the relevant party."

"Parties, Techne, I promise you that's going to be plural." She shifted sideways onto the desk to better face Techne and pressed a hand sincerely to her chest. "I'm not the shield in this. I never was. The thing that will destroy the House is not really Aphaster or even Feldspar. It's Junior himself."

“...What?”

"Zo has chosen to marry one of the most beloved young men in Southern Sunbeam. Junior is a powerhouse of barely stable Arcane energy. He's the treasured son of a once-king--a man who was beloved by my husband's father and who would get dangerous and unpredictable if you tried to take Junior away. He is nephew to a still-king, grandson to a loving and highly dangerous progenitor, and recently he is a father to Jorah." She laughed, a little frantically. "And Jorah alone would tear the House apart with his bare hands if he thought for even a second that being there made Junior or Zo sad."

Techne blew smoke very slowly from her nostrils--her way of expressing an impressed silence. Telos leaned in close, and whispered conspiratorially. "And Junior is considered part of the dynasty even more so that Zo. Lutia is Zo's aunt by blood, but she Junior's aunt by proclamation, and we both know we don't have Enforcers who can deal with her."

Techne's cigarette lifted with her brow. "They made up?"

Telos rolled her eyes and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "They made up eons ago, Techne. That's what I mean. You're not in Aphaster often and you dont read the paper or catch up with local gossip when you do come here. You don't have a pulse on the relationships peripheral to this marriage at all or you would know better."

Techne plucked the cigarette from her lips and leaned against Telos' desk. Arcanus was at both their backs now, so he couldn't make out their expressions but he could see the slight circular turn of Techne's crest where she must have been rubbing her temples. Telos reached out to lay a hand on her back, but Techne was quick to raise her claws to preserve her personal space.

"As a keeper of the Machine, and Inquisitor of House Xanna, I demand a truthful answer from you. Did the events that occurred when you faced Hitth include anything that would be considered treason against us and our way?"

"They did," Telos answered truthfully.

"From what party?"

"Subject C."

Techne's crest stood, and the feathers around her chest near doubled in size. "No end to the fuckin troubles that wildclaw caused us..." she snarled under her breath. "Was any forbidden knowledge exchanged?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"I see. Then I've no cause to act as an Inquisitor in this situation and I get to make this merry report about how two epochs in a row an Arcanite is going to be living out-of-House due to a bunch of marital bullshit." She went to flick the stub of her cigarette, and caught Arcanus' glare. With a petty glare back, she ground it out on the marbled edge of Telos' desk and smeared away the ash with her tail before lighting up a fresh one. Still grumbling, she excused herself, and the last thing they heard before she slammed the door behind herself with a distinct mutter of "Un-fuckin-believable..."

Arcanus inspected the edge of the desk and wiped it with his thumb just to be sure it was as clean. Beastealcian materialized between him and Telos. “Soooo...”

He gave a distracted hum.

"Do you think she noticed the new make up?"

They both looked at their queen. Telos' fingers wandered up to her cheek. Very shortly after finally laying her mourning lace to rest, she rang in the anniversary of her coronation and the official formation Clan Aphaster by also letting the trail of golden tears be laid to rest. She had replaced them with 4 rays of gold shining down from under her left eye.

Telos laughed and shook her head. "She was so preoccupied with Zo, I don’t think she realized anything was different at all."

[kzbrandt]

The Custodians

The Custodian’s an Introduction

    Times are tough, but aren’t they always? I can’t remember when life was ever easy, where the universe allowed me one moment to catch my breath. A mother who never cared, a father who lost himself to his demons, the Darkness was everywhere. I was feeling thankful, as I slopped fresh water across the lunchroom, swirling figure eights repetitively. Happy to drown it all out and just mop, there was only the suds, only the sloshing sponge, squelching water, reflecting the fluorescent lights. Above all, I loved the solitude, the quiet hum of nothing, it was completely euphoric.

    EnvivoClean tended to attract a certain type of person with their standards, but there were a couple who made it worthwhile. Most of this crowd acted like they were in high school, concerning themselves with petty and irrelevant squabbles that don’t even matter. No one tells you the whole segregated cliches didn’t disappear once you graduated, you just traded it for another corporate triangle ruled by popularity. My personality didn’t exactly scream customer service, which is why I love this job so much, the independence and the separation from the human race... I’m not saying that every single person out there is bad, but most of them suck and will do what people always do, rip your heart out bleeding and broken. Diagnosed with chronic insomnia I always ran on invisible fumes. It takes a lot for me to get burned out.

    I’ve seen my share of weird things here at Brick Elementary, but recently things have been getting extra crazy. Bats flying during the day instead of at night throwing their natural patterns out of whack. A balance was shifting, everyone could feel it. It wasn’t just the pandemic, the unpredictable mutations and the new strains that popped up everyday, something sinister was behind it all, I’m sure of it.

    When it first hit, I was numb, nobody had seen anything like this before. First it came on like the common cold, then after twelve days of pure agony and near asphyxiation, the darkest parts of you take over and become reality, there's no more hiding, the Darkness consumes you. First she was known Covid-19 and then her name changed to Covid-Black, referring to the blood that rots in your veins when infected and runs black instead of red. Doctor’s can’t explain or make sense of it. This virus is a mystery, almost mystical, it couldn’t be rationalized.

    A few nights back I was rummaging through lost storage in the attic, and found this strange volume, in an even stranger language. There was only one word in English, Colloqúgarou. Through extensive research, because I’m a nerd and have no life, I was able to find a translation. In modern tongue, it meant Darkening, to be darkened or corrupted. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any connection? The hoops I had to jump through just to translate one word, the internet never heard of it, no books mentioned it anywhere, just this crazy old man with starling eyes, a white I'll never forget. He warned me to be careful tonight, a bad moon was rising. In my heart his words carried weight, even though he did seem slightly unhinged.

    “Hello Annie, how are you today?” Beth was sporting wild, frizzy hair braided in a cute fishtail, with the most obnoxious glasses ever conceived. It wasn’t her fault of course, being blind was never a choice.

    “Eh, just as good as ever,” flinging my crimson stained hair over my shoulder, I placed a freckled hand across my hips. The one thing I hated doing in these conditions now, was wearing face masks, the itch that only seemed to happen when it stretched across my face was absolutely unbearable.

    “I swear, the level of laziness in this building is infuriating!” Even when she was mad, Elizabeth had a knack for saying everything in a perky, high pitched tone, forever wide-eyed.

    “What can you do?”

    “Oh yeah, there was a complaint about the boiler room, do you mind checking it out, I have my hands full here,” snapping on fresh rubber gloves and wielding a plunger like the ultimate weapon, she took a deep breath and walked into the boys bathroom wreaking something awful.

    All of my life, at least as far back as I can remember I’ve hated my body. I’m sure the media is to blame or maybe it was the absence of any real parental figures to tell me all the things a little girl needs to hear. Everything about me is too small, too understated. I yearned for thicker hair, plumper lips, a bigger bra size. Maybe I’ll just pack up and leave. This next paycheck could buy me a one way ticket to Hawaii and I could set sail and leave Belleville behind and never look back. What is keeping me here anyway?

   Nothing. No one would miss me, except maybe Beth, but she has a kid of her own, her own life to live. Maybe it was time I lived mine. Walking through a large empty gymnasium, just before the break room was an ominous looking stairwell, leading down to the basement.

    “God, this place gives me the creeps…” What was it down here that revolted me so? As my sneakers scrapped against the dark, concrete steps my heart raced a little.

    It was natural I suppose, this building was over 150 years old, that's a lot of history. With so many different human impressions there was bound to be some residue left behind. Venturing deeper into the belly of the beast, I could feel every hair on my arms stand up, possibly warning of something below. Finally reaching the bottom, it was pitch black, swallowed in blindness. I had to feel my way to the light fixture, but the switch was dead. How strange, could it be faulty wiring? Before I was able to brainstorm my next move, the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut locking me in, possibly indefinitely.

    “Ok. Okay, I’m stuck in here, no one is coming in for hours and the big bad wolf might be down here with me. No problem, we all have to die someday, right?” Suddenly remembering the flashlight attached to my belt loop, a small swell of relief fell over me like a pleasing waterfall. Unclasping the clip, I firmly clicked on my only beacon of light, partly feeling like an involuntary character in a cheesy horror flick. Rest assured, there were no naked bimbos here, I do possess at least a microcosm of common sense.

    The first thing my bright, white light revealed was just another broken down piece of equipment, EnvivoClean apparently couldn’t even be bothered to keep functional tools on site. None of this of course was surprising, around here you just worked with what you had and hoped it didn’t break down, cause who knew when it would be replaced.

    “Poor guy, you were much too young, just sitting here gathering dust…” Chuckling to myself as I grazed the peeling tape connecting the red backpack vacuum, I heard a rustling up ahead in the shadows.

    Quickly flicking my wrist I could see a strange envelope sitting alone but ebbing with a peculiar energy. Inching closer, looking around nervously, I picked up a letter addressed to me personally.

    “Um, this isn't’ weird or anything.”

 Concerning Annie Mctavish,

    1,000 years ago a great crime was committed, one unknown to the Children of Earth. Because of this obscenity a Darkness ascended to all the realms as tiny spores, which grew as we did in corruption.

    Do you have what it takes, Annie? Would you like to be a part of something much bigger than yourself? The Custodian’s are more than just cleaners, but purgers of the first dirt, the supernatural scum that clogs the plumbing mortal eyes can’t penetrate. Will you lead us into a new era and fight in the coming war, or run away in search of what has been waiting here for you the whole time?

    Only a true Custodian can see what lies beyond. If you’re ready to embark on the quest of a lifetime, a purpose, then sign below and open the door, we will be waiting.

Annie Mctavish_____ : Crew lead of The Custodian’s

    I didn’t hesitate, I couldn’t explain it or make sense of it, but this was real, it was happening. I’d book my psychiatric hospital stay later, but first I had to satisfy my curiosity. After I finished signing my name a door literally appeared, Tim Burton style.

    “What is happening?”

    Walking closer to the pulsing doorway, the copper door knob felt warm against my hand, vibrating almost coming alive. What was waiting for me beyond? As the latch broke free from the strike plate, slowly creaking open, any doubts that I had were evaporated just as quickly. There are no words for what came next…  

To Be Continued

[ravensinsanity]

King Of The Poisoned Youth - Chapter ONE

King Of The Poisoned Youth is going to be a series of chapters set in an alternate reality version of Once Upon A Time, focusing on Peter Pan and Captain Hook. It’s told in the point of view of Raven, who is (unbeknownst to her) Hook’s daughter.

Take note that the title might also change.

Plot: Raven has lived her whole life on the Jolly Roger, aiding her father and the crew on their many voyages and expeditions. Hook loves her deeply, and she is the thin tendril that keeps him from spiraling into a bloodthirsty need for revenge on the one who killed her mother. Hook has kept Raven secret from Peter Pan; Pan doesn’t even know she exists, and Hook plans to keep it that way for good reasons. But luck isn’t always on his side. One night during a very bad storm, the Jolly Roger was unknowingly steered into Neverland’s waters. Raven was blown from the ship and she crashed into the raging sea. In the struggle, she nearly drowned. The waters beat her around like a ragdoll so viciously she was knocked unconscious. Fortunately, as fate was to have it, she survived. Her body washed ashore of Neverland overnight. But she awakes with no memories of who she is or where she came from. That’s when Peter Pan finds her, and he figures out pretty quickly who she is. He takes a liking to how defiant, confident, and skilled she seems to be. And in a way to get back at Hook for keeping Raven a secret, he decides to indulge in playing a game, and Raven is his pawn. He never intends to fall in love with her though. Surprise! Turns out, Pan is capable of loving someone else other than himself. In his own twisted way. And after Hook comes to Neverland in search of his missing daughter, Pan will do anything to make sure Raven stays his.

CHAPTER ONE

I awoke with a start, sucking in a huge gulp of air. Frigid water lapped over ashen skin, slightly pushing and pulling my body back and forth with each roll of waves. I heaved myself onto my side, coughing and retching as salty sea water spurted from my mouth. Panic surged through me and I struggled to sit up. I was in shallow water that was only a few inches deep, and it felt arctic. I coughed, tasting nothing but salt in my parched mouth.

Though a warm breeze washed over me, I was unforgettably cold. A grayish-white sky stretched into the distance, meeting in a straight line with the ocean. The sound of waves crashed over each other against large rocks met my ears.

My head throbbed and I pressed my hand against it, briefly shutting my eyes at the pain. Within a few moments it lessened. I stood, which made me realize how weak I was. I felt drained. My legs shook slightly, I was dizzy—mostly with confusion. My soaked clothes were freezing and sticking tightly to my body, therefore I shivered visibly.

As I splashed to the shore, I noticed how battered and bruised my body really was. I was sore all over and my legs felt as heavy as stones.

Out of the water now, I hurried over the pebbles and onto the sand, hugging my body in a feeble attempt to warm myself. The white sand I was standing on ended about fifty meters from the water, lined by tall, sinister looking trees that faded into darkness.

Where was I? How did I end up here?

I racked my brain for any memories but found nothing.

Raven, I thought suddenly. How random. But that….that was the only thing I could remember about myself. The only thing I could remember at all. Raven. The word echoed in circles inside my throbbing head. My name is Raven.

I didn’t understand how this could be possible. My mind functioned without flaw, trying to calculate my surroundings and predicament. Knowledge flooded my thoughts—well, more like hazy details of the world and how it worked. It all came to me naturally. And yet I didn’t know where I came from, or how I’d ended up lying in the water, or even who my parents were. I couldn’t recall a single damn thing about myself or who I was; just my name. I didn’t even know my last name. All I knew was that I was standing alone on this seemingly-desolate shore, and that my name was Raven.

I slowly eased myself to the ground, hugging my knees to my chest. I was so cold. I looked down at my clothes: I was wearing a black boned corset with strings pulling it together in the front. My white gypsy shirt was ripped along the sleeves as if a giant bear had clawed them. My tight black pants also had a few tears.

I took off my brown leather knee-high boots and dumped water from their soles before putting them back on. I had a belt with a satchel and sheathe—I pulled a dagger from the sheathe and felt along the blade. It was sharp. At least I had a weapon.

That’s when I noticed I was wearing a large, curved, black claw tied to a string around my neck. I held it in my hand, feeling its sharp point. What kind of gigantic animal did this come from? Frustration made me clench my fists. Why couldn’t I remember anything?

I sat there for a while, shivering, trying to remember something. Anything. My mind was blank. I racked my brain until it hurt and still came up with nothing.

Eventually, when my clothes had dried enough to be only damp, I began walking along the shore, looking around. I saw nothing but trees and thick vegetation on one side, and the minacious ocean on the other. For some odd reason I can’t explain, the forest radiated a menacing feel. I wasn’t ready to go in there yet.

I kept going till I found some low, flat rocks that spilled from the sea. I sat on one, relishing in the warmth the surface held. And I put my mind to work. Right now I had hardly any options. I was out in the open, exposed, vulnerable, hungry, parched, cold, bruised, and I couldn’t remember a damn thing about how I ended up here. Were there other people? Was I in danger of being attacked by some kind of lurking predator hidden in the trees? Minutes ticked by as I weighed my options.

Groaning in frustration, I let out a big sigh. If only I could remember! I slowly rose to my feet. What I really needed was water. I decided that’s what I would go after first, before doing or thinking of anything else. Drinkable water.

“And who may you be?”

Startled, I spun around at the voice to see an older boy standing behind me. He stared at me with idle curiosity; yet his gaze held iniquity to them that made my skin prick. A feeling of gloomy darkness seemed to slide like a shadow over me. It vanished in an instant, but it was undeniable. His smile wasn’t friendly. It was a smile that spelled trouble. With a promise.

He was tall and lean, with rich chocolate hair tousled in griminess that promised finesse. His strong arched brows really brought out his eyes—they were deep and catastrophic, a dark green that was the color of the forest. His fair skin made him look devilishly handsome. But there’s a dark energy about him that ebbed and flowed as unpredictably as the waves of the ocean. I could almost feel it. And my gut instinct was screaming he’s extremely dangerous!

I yanked my dagger from its sheath. “Who are you?” I demanded, unable to look away from those eyes—they seemed to be holding me in his piercing gaze even though that was physically impossible.

“I’m Peter,” he said nonchalantly, taking a step closer. “Peter Pan.”

I didn’t reply, but I continued eyeing him. How did he even get so close without me noticing him before? Surely I’d have heard him?

“Sound familiar to you, laddie?” he asked.

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes, lifting his chin, as if not pleased with my answer. “How did you get here?”

“I don’t know.” I flicked my dagger to indicate the sea. “I literally just woke up here on the shore. No memories of anything else.” Immediately I wanted to smack myself. I had just made myself even more vulnerable than before. Why would I just tell this strange, dark boy I had no memories? I’m such a fool!

“Looks like you had a nice swim,” he noted, his gaze travelling up and down my body.

I looked down at my battered, sandy, wet clothes. “Yeah, that’s what it looks like.” I don’t want to look away from him for long, out of fear that he will do something. There is a weird light in his eyes, a way he looks at me, that sets me on edge.

“What’s your name?” he pressed.

“Raven. That’s all I remember: Raven.”

He smiled, cocking an eyebrow. “Raven?” he tested. “I like the sound of that.”

I frowned, unsure of the compliment. “Okay…um, Look, Peter Pan,” I cast a glance at our surroundings. “Where are we? What is this place?”

“Why, it’s Neverland, of course.”

“Neverland,” I repeated, a little too enthusiastically. That sounded familiar, like I’ve heard it before. “Is there a village near?” I could get some answers there. Some food, maybe.

“A village?” Peter Pan scoffed. “No, I’m afraid you won’t find any villages here. Villages mean a kingdom, and a kingdom means a king. We don’t have any kings in Neverland.” He paused, then smirked. “Just me.”

“Oh?” Despite my feelings of weariness, I mocked a bow. “My apologies, your Majesty, I wasn’t aware that I was in the presence of such….royalty.”

Peter Pan rolled his eyes. “And I wasn’t aware I was in the presence of such a dweeb.”

“Fair enough.”

Was he like a leader of some sort? He did seem have an aura of authority. And I just knew that this boy knew a lot about Neverland, everything, maybe. I needed to get information from him.

That’s when I saw he had a sheath around his waist, and it was longer than mine. If he had a weapon, that means there’s something on this island that he needed to defend himself from. This sent dread creeping through me. Was it animals? Or other people? He sure as hell looked as if he knew how to fight.

Peter Pan watched me with one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed, the faintest hint of a smile edging his lips.

“What?” I said wearily.

He shrugged. “What?”

“Is there a way to get off this island?” I pressed.

“Yes,” he answered vaguely. “There’s a way.”

“How?”

“You’ll need my permission.”

“What?” I frowned. “What do you mean?”

His expression suddenly grew sinister and he stepped closer, his dark eyes boring into mine. “No one gets off this island without my permission.”

Anger and defiance washed away my fear. “Who are you to decide if I can leave this island or not?” I retaliated.

Peter Pan suddenly pulled out his knife, which sent panic fluttering through me. I gripped my dagger tightly, raising it in a defensive stance.

“Do you want to find out? Let’s see what you’re capable of, Raven.” Before I could say anything in response, he lunged at me. As I leaped out of the way his blade painfully cut my arm. I had no time to linger in shock at his sudden attack. Furious, I slam my dagger toward him but he blocked it with his wrist hitting mine, and kicked me hard in the stomach. I doubled over, in which he took advantage to kick my rib cage and send me crashing to the ground.

Outraged now, and refusing to be humiliated like this, I nimbly rolled over and pop back up to my feet, bringing my dagger down on him in a slashing motion.

He narrowly avoided it and his knife almost plunged into my side before I instinctively knocked his arm away and kicked him hard in the knee. He fell back but just as he hit the ground his legs swept out and rammed into mine. I stumble backwards. Peter Pan was up on his feet again in an instant. I barely managed to block another blow with my arm and slice my dagger at his torso but it never connected. He vanished into thin air right before my eyes, and my blade cut through nothing.

Bewildered, I looked around wildly. What the hell?! Suddenly, a knife was pressed against my throat, and I could feel him standing behind me. I narrowed my eyes, lowering my weapon in defeat.

“That’s not fair,” I growled. The word magic popped into my mind. This bloody demon had magic. And though it should have surprised me, it didn’t.

“You’re not bad,” Peter Pan noted. His breath was warm on my ear. “I’ve got to say, I’m not disappointed.”

“Are you going to kill me?” I was panting hard, glaring at him as best I could without turning my head. I was defeated and completely at his mercy because he cheated, and that made my blood boil.

To my surprise, Peter Pan’s knife left my neck and he stepped away. “Actually, I’m not,” he said as I turned around to face him, smoldering. “You interest me. I’ve got a game in mind I’d love to play with you, so I can’t have you dead just yet.”

A game? I stared at him, puzzled and dreadful. What in the devil’s name did he mean, a game? I forced myself to repeat, “Yet?”

“Yet,” he confirmed, staring at me with those goddamn intimidating, piercing green eyes.

“So you still plan on killing me, huh? After playing a game with you? Like what, tag?” I scoffed. “After you just attacked me like that? I’m not doing anything with you! You’re crazy, and no help at all.” I pointed my dagger at him to show him I was ready in case he tried anything.

“I can be plenty of help,” Peter Pan assured.

“I just met you and you attack me out of nowhere,” I spat, cupping my hand over the cut on my arm. “I don’t want your help anymore.”

Peter Pan let out a breathy chuckle. “Oh boy, you have a lot to learn about this island.” He arched an eyebrow. “And me.”

“Oh, I’ve learned enough,” I said, throwing it like an insult. “Your name is Peter Pan, you’re ‘king’ of Neverland, you’ve got magic, and you like to attack people with no warning or reason.”

“Are we listing the obvious?” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Okay, my turn, then. Your name is Raven, you’ve lost your memories, you can fight well, and you’re attractive.”

I opened my mouth for a fiery retort but stopped dead at that last past. Did he really just—

“Oh, and you’re wet,” he added. “Soaked through-and-through. Come to think of it, Raven, I know I’m hot, but that’s a little too much; I mean we just met. Though I’m flattered.”

My mouth fell open and my eyes widened at his wildly inappropriate comment. “I cannot believe—”

“Sh, don’t say that,” he interrupted. “This whole island runs on belief. You’ve got to believe everything, laddie.”

“Wow, you really are crazy,” I hiss.

“That’s one way to put it.” He twirled his knife in his hands and I took a step back, eyeing it warily as he slipped it back into its sheathe. “Call me Pan.”

“I’ll call you narcissistic.”

“And I’ll call you captivating, love.”

Something ringed in my head from what he just said, something I couldn’t put a finger on. I frowned, my mind frothing with frustration. Why did I suddenly feel something, like a little crack to my lost memories?

“What is it, love?” Pan asked, saying ‘love’ with a bit of charm because he thought it annoyed me.

There it was again, that spark of memory, but I couldn’t quite grasp what, and it scuttled away before my mental fingers were even around it. “Nothing,” I said flatly.

Pan was gazing at my dagger, and all the teasing in his face died. “What’s that?” He pointed to the handle.

I moved my hand down it slightly, revealing a skull and crossbones etched into it. “It’s a marking,” I answered in a duh voice.

Something sparked in Pan’s eyes, and he looked at me with furrowed eyebrows and a taut jaw. He seemed to be studying my face now, before his eyes moved down to my clothes, then back to my dagger.

“Is something wrong?” I demanded, uneasy.

His face spread in a smile. It made the hairs on the back of my neck raise. This grin was nothing short of twisted.

“No, nothing at all,” he assured, both eyebrows raised. He turned and scanned the sea, then looked back to me. “Raven, are you thirsty?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I can quench your thirst. If you want.”

I stared at him, knowing there was a hidden innuendo meaning to it. “With water,” I said. “Then go for it.”

Pan faced the trees, pointing with an outstretched arm. “Head northwest into the jungle, just keep going straight, and you’ll find a river within a couple miles.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? I can’t trust you.” I said.

“I guess you’ve got no choice.” Pan flashed a grin at me.

I uneasily walk toward the trees, to desperate for freshwater to give myself time to poke around and try to find out more. “If this is a trap, Pan, I swear on the devil I’ll—” I turned back around and stopped myself, realizing he was gone. Nowhere in sight, without even leaving a trail. Where did he go? Why did he just disappear? And why was he helping me?

More questions added to the list of things I had no answer too. I looked up at the sun. I had a couple hours until dark. I best start my trek so I’d make it to the river before nightfall.

With my dagger in hand, I entered the jungle. The trees swallowed me up more and more until I could barely see the ocean between the trunks. My eyes were met with every shade of green imaginable. Broad, glossy leaves hovered over and around me, dotted with brightly-colored, large flowers. But just as unmistakable as the beauty here is the feeling of danger so thick it stirs the air. 

I stood still for a while, listening to the muffled sounds in this vast jungle. I was on edge.

Then I started my trek. I found myself cutting my way through the dense, suffocating undergrowth, fighting through the very air, which hung heavy, moist and still. Trees so tall I couldn’t see where they ended surrounded me, and a strange green light shimmered through the vast canopy of leaves. This jungle seemed to have an intelligence of it’s own. It was an assault on all senses. The virescent hues were the foreground, the background, and as high up as I could see. The heat and humidity pressed in on my skin, making sweat pointless. The sounds of the insects, the birds, and the larger animals, created a symphony of nature calling me deeper. The leaves brushed up against me, some soft, some rough. The air tasted both sweet and fresh, like flowers blooming on my tongue.

I became lost to my thoughts. Was I stupid to trust a boy who attacked me? Who had a dark energy about him that set me on edge? Yes, I am stupid. Very stupid. But I also felt like I had no choice. Maybe after getting some water I would think more clearly.

But for now I knew one thing for sure: I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but something about Pan wasn’t right. Wasn’t normal. Wasn’t….safe.

[interruptedbyfluff]

Closing Statements

Pairing: Anxiety/Logan

Genre: Hurt/comfort, some angst, some fluff, happy ending

Words: ~2700 (how did this happen whAT)

Warnings: negative self-talk, cognitive distortion, I think that’s it?

Summary: Anxiety thought “My NEGATIVE Thinking” went well, but…what if it didn’t?

Update: Anxiety now refers to himself mostly by name :D

~*~

“You did a good job.” The words rolled around Anxiety’s mind, and a gentle warmth bloomed in his stomach. “All that is commendable.” Logan had given him credit for sitting through that mess of a debate, gone out of his way to make sure Virgil knew he was liked, too. He'd even smiled, something the logical character never admitted to doing (even if it happened all the time anyway), and that smile had been for him. “I don't necessarily mind your company.”

Wait. What was that supposed to mean? No, Logan had meant that despite their disagreements, he still wanted Anxiety around. Verge burrowed a little deeper into the mound of stuffed animals on his bed. Logic had always struggled with emotions, and anything approaching affection would definitely scare him, which meant a lot of double negatives. He had been vague so he didn't have to admit he liked someone out loud. That was all. ...right?

“Well, you are wrong about a lot of things.” The warmth was gone, replaced by a creeping chill. Logan was up front and honest. It was his thing. If he actually enjoyed Anxiety’s company, wouldn't he have just said so? But instead of anything approaching a real compliment, Logan had dodged the topic, relying on double negatives and subtext to make Anxiety feel better, to get him to a “standstill.” Logan “didn't necessarily mind” him. He was wrong all of the last video, and the whole of this one, and now Logan was telling him he was “jumping to conclusions” because he was wrong about that too, and his pain was clearly all in his head and his own fault for being irrational. God, how could he have been so dumb. After all, what was more likely, Logan dancing around his volatile moods so as not to set him off again when they'd just calmed him down, or someone genuinely wanting him around? Virgil was willing to bet it wasn't the latter. Thomas didn't. Thomas flinched whenever he popped up. Logan startled less, now, but he'd probably just gotten used to it. Or he'd started predicting when Anxiety would show up, so he was expecting the sudden onslaught of darkness. Or he just bottled it up with the rest of the feelings he pretended not to have, Verge didn't know. But he did know he wasn't really wanted.

What was it Logan had said, that he “couldn't imagine having a debate with the other two” because they were sunshiney and “unbearable”? He didn't actually like Anxiety, he could just stand Virgil’s negativity slightly better than than Sirs Dashing Dunce and Puppy Puke. Look at that cheap, plastic participation trophy. Which, by the way, he had earned in the debate as well, “participating even though he didn't want to,” and “reasoning in his own special way.” Ugh, the special snowflake award you get when teachers can't think of anything genuinely good to say.

The debate. There was a sneaking, traitorous ray of hope worming its way into Verge's gut. No, no no no, he couldn't get his hopes up, that would hurt even worse when they were inevitably shredded. But he took out his phone anyway, typing in the beginnings of a text to Logan.

“hey i might just be ‘magnifying’ again or whatever but,” he began. He couldn't get past that. But what? He sighed and went to erase it. … Why was the enter button so close to the backspace?! Erase, cancel, delete, anything! But the message sent, and the damage was done.

Silence, for a few moments. Maybe Logan had the volume on his phone turned off? Or he was reading? Maybe he wouldn't notice and Virgil could sneak his phone out of his pocket later and delete the message and no one would have to know-

Bzzt. Never mind, too late. Verge crammed his phone under a pillow. Plan B: hide until the problem went away. It didn't really work, but it usually delayed the first problem long enough for a new one to pop up and distract everyone. And besides, optimism, right? First time for everything. Logan might even let it go. The whole thing was that he probably didn't care anyway.

Bzzt. He wasn't answering. He wasn't even going to look. Virgil scooted down to the far end of the bed, nestled back into his plushie pile, and pulled out his laptop. Desperate times called for distraction, and the best place for that was tumblr.

Verge was about five minutes down his dash and dangerously close to sending someone anon hate just to stir things up when there were two sharp knocks on his door. It had to be Logan - Roman would have just barged in, and Morality would have done one of those half-phrase knocks that came with the urge to knock back before opening the door. No, this was businesslike, no-nonsense and to the point. Definitely Logan. Virgil ignored him.

Two more knocks, followed by, “Anxiety?” Nope. No one home. Don't come back later. The door cracked open and Logan poked his stupid, bespectacled face in. “Hey. Can I come in?”

“It looks like you're going to regardless, so why not,” Virgil scowled.

Logan blinked at him. What, was he expecting Anxiety to still be happy after the video, lulled into complacency by a few kind words? Well, news flash. Verge knew they were faked. He knew better and Logan would not get the upper hand on him again and oh god he was crying.  Big, wet tears that were just as messy and embarrassing as the disaster in his head, and his makeup was definitely going to run. Why? Why was it always him, why couldn't he keep his stupid tears inside his stupid face, and of course it was right in front of Logan. He flopped as far back as he could on his mountain of squish and threw his arm across his face, letting his laptop fall to the carpeted floor. It was probably fine. Unlike him.

***

Logan was getting mixed messages. Anxiety had appeared happy at the end of the video. He had not only realized his defense of his isolation was flawed, but recognized the implication that he was liked. Appreciated. Logan should have anticipated how short a time that would last, with Anxiety’s recurring tendencies toward cognitive distortion; that was why he'd focused his energy on researching the topic, after all. The aborted text message he'd received seemed indicative of distress, especially when Anxiety failed to reply after two decently-spaced responses. So he'd gone to check on him and been greeted with sarcasm and a sneer. Again, Logan had failed to account for previous trends; Anxiety was known to become hostile when uncomfortable. But now he was crying, and Logan didn't know why.

Anxiety would do that to Logan; he'd behave in ways that made no sense. Hissing mid-debate, for example. He was a puzzle that didn't quite fit together right, and Logan found him endlessly fascinating. But that would not help solve the current situation.

***

The bed dipped, and after a few moments, Verge risked a glance over his sleeve. Logan was laying next to him, or as close to laying down as was possible. He said nothing, didn't even look at Virgil, just...laid there, gazing up at the ceiling. Virgil tucked his face back into his arm and refused. Refused what, he wasn't sure, but the crook of his elbow was dark and safe and there were no confusing, unpredictable adorable doofuses in there. His eyes continued to stream, dampening his hoodie sleeve, probably smearing eyeshadow everywhere. Black on black, it would look the same anyway.

Verge became very aware of Logan next to him. Not moving, not stirring. Just breathing, deep and slow and even. Calm. In, and then out, and again. It was a while before Virgil could match it, before his lungs stopped heaving and hiccuping. His sleeve was cold. His eyes felt puffy and his throat was sore. The anger was gone, drained out of him. So was most of the sadness tsunami that had plucked him right off the beach and tossed him around without mercy, leaving a lightly throbbing ache behind, like an empty old bruise buried in his chest. And Logan was still here.

Somehow, impossibly, Logan was still here.

***

Logan stared up at the ceiling, picking constellations out of the thousands of glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to its surface, listening as Anxiety's sobs ebbed and eventually subsided. Tracing out familiar stories from the stars that matched the world outside. Trying to make shapes from the ones that looked nothing like the actual sky. Wondering if Anxiety did the same when he couldn't sleep.

It was good, he supposed, that Anxiety was letting himself cry. For someone as tense as Anxiety, crying was likely an important release of emotion. Catharsis was allegedly instrumental to both physical and non-physical health, though Logan still needed to find a few more sources before he really believed it. Tears carried excess hormones and even toxins out of the body, allowing emotional recovery after extreme spikes. This made it no easier for Logan to hear.

He listened as Anxiety's breathing slowly steadied out, gradually synchronizing with his own. He pretended not to notice as Anxiety settled, no longer shaking with sobs that wracked his body. He simply watched the stars and waited for Anxiety to make the first move.

And eventually, he did.

"You-" Anxiety rasped. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You stayed."

Logan turned his head to meet Anxiety's eyes. Hurt still lingered there, but so too did a kind of amazement. And something else, something he couldn't parse, made Logan swallow and shift his focus back to the ceiling as he replied, "yes. You're important."

***

"You're important." That was loaded, probably, but Virgil didn't have the energy to pick it apart. Would it be so bad if, just once, he took it at face value? The air was so soft right now, quiet and heavy like a thick blanket. Comforting. Not stagnant, though, because there was someone else there, breathing it with him. Someone who thought he was important.

Scratch that, not just someone. This was Logan, who couldn't deal with feelings and stayed while he cried anyway. Logan, with his endless curiosity about the world and sparkling excitement about poetry and processes. Logan, who probably knew which of the constellations on the ceiling were real, and which ones Virgil had just made up, and the stories across multiple cultures about each one. Who, after several minutes of putting up with Verge and his feelings, only now looked uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil prodded, gently.

Logan wouldn't meet his eyes, letting the question hang in the air between the for a moment, two. Finally he replied, “I'm not very good at this.”

“At what? You have an unclear antecedent there, Teach.”

That pulled a smile from him. It was small, and gone again as he next statement rolled in on top of it, but that was twice today and Verge immediately decided he needed more of Logan smiling at him in his life.

"...feelings." It took a moment for Logan to begin, but once the words started flowing they tumbled out in a torrent. "There's so much I just don't know. I don't know why you're in pain, or whether saying anything will help or hurt, or what to say. I don't know whether I said something wrong in the video today, or if it actually helped you at all, or if I just came across as insensitive or even snobbish. I don't know how to make sure you feel important and loved because that's not my department but it doesn't seem to be happening and it's just wrong. I don't know if this dissonance is rooted in spending too much time with Morality or if it's innate. I don't know why my heart rate increases when you're around and I don't know what to do about it and honestly I'm terrified."

Fear was his burden, not Logan's. Virgil needed to fix that immediately. "I don't have answers to everything. But let's take them one at a time, okay?" Logan nodded. "The first one you said was you didn't know why I was in pain, right?" Another nod. "Inference-observation confusion." That brought the tiny smile back. It was wobbly, but it was there. "As to whether saying anything will help or hurt, you did amazing. The quiet was exactly what I needed. You didn't push or try to get me to explain, but you also stayed. It was perfect."

Logan's face relaxed, thank goodness. Verge wasn't sure what the right words were, here, but something seemed to be working, to be helping. "Sometimes I need to be reminded that what I'm thinking is way out of proportion to what happened, and that means talking. Sometimes it means just being there. I don't know have an algorithm or anything to help you figure out which I need when, but I can try to tell you. Does that help?" It was weird, acknowledging that he needed help. But Logan was scared, and if facing the unpleasant parts of himself would make Logan feel better, Verge would take on his darkest demons in a heartbeat.

Logan made a face, but replied, "it does. It's not optimal, but it does help."

"As for the video today, yes, it did help. Knowing there are real things like magnifying and mental filtering, and that this stuff isn't just in my head, helps so much. I'm not very good at dealing with them yet, but putting a name to them was huge." Virgil could almost hear the relief in Logan's breathing - nope, that was probably just him projecting. But Logan did look slightly more comfortable.

Here was the hard part. Virgil wanted to gloss over the video, to skip the parts that had freaked him out because he was trying to make Logan feel better, not worse. But Logan would want facts more than he would want platitudes. "You did seem like a bit of a know-it-all, but that's par for the course."

"Golfing, Anxiety?"

"Expression. It's normal for you."

"Ah."

He may have used the metaphor on purpose because he knew it would trip Logan up, but now Verge was out of stalling tactics. "The part that got to me was when you were vague at the end. You were trying to cheer me up, but then all you said was that you didn't not like me? It left a lot of room for...conclusion jumping."

And Logan's face fell. "So when you were crying, that was my fault?"

Oh god. No, this wasn't how this was supposed to go. Deep breath, he could save this.

"A little. Mostly it was the cognitive distortion, coupled with...previous data, I guess? But hey." Virgil nudged Logan gently with his elbow. "I needed that. I feel better than I've felt in a while; that storm was brewing one way or the other."

"Rain metaphor, because of the tears?"

"Yep, you got it." Even though Logan didn't look like he entirely bought it, Verge didn't know what else he could say that would make things better on that one. So he moved on.

"I don't really know what you're feeling, or whether it's because of hanging out with Morality, but I can tell you it's okay. You don't lose who you are just because something feels wrong. Not even if you're Logic incarnate," Virgil emphasized when it looked like Logan was about to protest. "As to the heart rate and the dissonance, would it help if..." he trailed off, nervous. Logan was looking at him with such wide eyes, as if he could tell Verge was about to drop something big. Verge swallowed and reached out, tucking his hand into Logan's. "Would it help if I tell you I like you, too?"

The huge, goofy, totally out-of-character smile that spread across Logan’s face was all the answer he needed.

~*~

A/N: Oh my gosh this took so long, plz feel free to come talk to me about it! Any fixes? Anything that stuck out, good or bad? Better title suggestions?