#[sorry about the dust and rust :D]

[deathchained]

@throned sent: ∗ 22﹕ sender  finds  receiver  [ injured / bloodied ] . / from darion, since this just feels right for koltira!

This was a disaster.

For a time, the Ebon Blade held the line against the demons, wave after wave of the creatures crashing against their blades and faltering. But even in the face of their continued success, Koltira had felt something...off. A hint of intuition that hadn't left him in death, telling him that the tides were about to turn, and not in their favor. For a time, he had tried to ignore the feeling that hung over his head like a guillotine, but that proved to be a mistake, as a Legion ship suddenly just appeared overhead. Koltira had barely had time to yell at those around him to find cover before the blasting began, fire raining down from the ship above.

The line broke at the arrival of that ship, sending both Horde and Alliance racing for cover, Koltira counted among that number. While the Ebon Blade had no qualms about fighting the worst of things to give others time to flee, there was no fighting a ship like that, not from the ground. Koltira raced towards cover but found himself short of protection as another shot impacted the ground not far behind him. The resulting explosion sent the Death Knight hurtling through the air, crashing some fifteen yards ahead of where he had been standing, and dazed to boot. It took him a moment to haul himself to his feet, ears ringing so loudly that the battlefield was eerily quiet.

Deciding things had progressed too far in the Legion's favor, Koltira threw up his hands, dark energy pouring from his fingertips. This was no offensive spell though, for quickly the dark energy coalesced into a gateway, a Deathgate, and Koltira stepped through before another shot could send him flying. Stepping into Acherus, it was plain the battle had gone wrong, Koltira covered in dust, debris, and no small amount of blood. He had barely gotten both his feet on the stone floor of the Necropolis before finding himself face to face with none other than Darion Mograine, Highlord of the Ebon Blade. "Highlord." Koltira addressed the other, straightening himself as much as he was able after what he had been through. "My apologies, but the front has been broken. A Legion ship appeared overhead and began to bombard our forces, forcing a retreat." Koltira paused, wiping some of the viscous blood from his face, oozing down from a wound on his scalp. "What are your orders, Highlord?" That was all that mattered. The fight, the mission. They would do what the living could not.

[tiredlilguy]

" Is This... Ok?"|DILFTOBER W4

lost? main masterlist. / dilftober masterlist. / PM masterlist.

a/n: SO SORRY FOR THE DELAYYYY!!! It's been a crazy busy week, and I haven't had time to just sit down at a cafe and just... write TT-TT On top of that, I was really brain dead like all last week, so Saturday I couldn't find myself sitting at my computer. I had to lay down for a while... to be honest I needed the rest. Anyways, ENJOYYY THIS HOT REDHEAD I LOVE HIM >:D this is also on A03! :O

pairing: Oda Sakunosuke X GN!Reader cw: NSFW 18+ (if you are a minor, you will be blocked), proofread, but there may be some mistakes desc: with a small talk over dinner (and with much thought), you decided to allow your boyfriend to take you v card. ~~ kink this week: virginity loss

A warm hand slid under your shirt, making you shiver at the touch.

Oda’s hands were… rough, but at the same time, they were also quite gentle. That tenderness never failed to make you melt, the blush on your face only getting worse.

“ Is this… ok?” Oda’s eyes looked down at you with concern. Well, his usual blank expression stayed the same, but his eyes spoke his true emotions.

You lightly nodded, placing your hand over his to reassure him that you were okay. You looked up at him with sultry eyes and god damn, he was so hot.

The tired eyes looking back at you, the stubble, the messy bedhead, the calloused roughness of his hands combined with his gentle touch.

It never failed to make you fold over, eyes hazy with a clouded mind as you got lost in his eyes.

But then again… How did you get here?

…

You and your boyfriend were sitting across from each other at the kitchen counter in his apartment after a long day of work. There wasn’t anything particularly on your mind as you both ate curry across from each other with the television playing as background noise. Oda never exchanged many words with you around this time, enjoying the shared silence between the both of you. However, as he looked over at the TV, his other hand moved to slide under yours, intertwining your fingers with his with your palm facing down. His thumb trailed over yours as he let out a sigh, placing his spoon off to the side and swallowing the food that was in his mouth.

“ Oda…,” you called out, placing your utensil down and leaning your cheek over your other hand.

“ Mm…,” he only responded with a hum, his eyes still fixated on the illuminated screen.

You hesitated for a second, a certain question on your mind, but relaxed as his thumb swiped over your hand again. You continued,” I got a question to ask you.”

Oda hummed once more, his focus wasn’t towards you, but you could tell he perked up as you spoke to him. You knew he was listening at least. He picked up the beer can that was beside his plate and took a sip.

“ Have you ever had sex before?”

The alcohol that was just about to go down his throat was spat out back into the can immediately as Oda was about to gag on his drink. He beat his chest in an attempt to stop choking, eventually being able to clear his throat.

His voice was a little shaky, as he sighed,” Quite the question.”

“ Well?” you smirked up at him, finding his reaction to your question entertaining.

“ Well… yes, I have,” he answered, a light blush dusting his cheeks,” Though, it wasn’t anything other than just a one-night stand or… no hard feelings attached I guess. Why do you ask?”

You hummed as he answered your question,” Hm… I only ask because I haven’t before.”

Oda nodded, placing the beer can down,” Am I your first love then?”

Shaking your head, your gaze moved down to your empty plate with a blush,” No actually… I’ve never actually gotten to that stage yet, maybe just out of fear or something, but I’d been thinking about it for a while and…”

His rust-red eyes looked over at you, a hint of curiosity and excitement swirling in them.

“ I think I’m ready,” you blurted out nervously. You were unaware of your hand that gripped onto his tighter. He returned that pressure calmly, his thumb running over the skin of your hand.

“ Hey, relax,” he reassured you, rough voice bringing you out of your thoughts as he smiled at you,” It’s ok, don’t worry… I’ll take good care of you.”

You only nodded. The two of you silently agreed, cleaning up after yourselves and placing the dishes in the sink with a certain tension.

…

You followed him into the bedroom, his hand holding yours as you both walked over. All the while, your mind was a little flooded, asking yourself whether you should even be doing this. However, that all went out the window when Oda opened the door to the bedroom, walking over to the bed to sit you both down.

“ I just wanna make sure…,” his other hand moved a strand of hair out of your face,” You’re okay with this?”

You nodded, less shy than you usually have before,” Yes… I want to do this with you. I trust you, Oda.”

“ Hm…,” Oda hummed under his breath as he moved his face closer to yours,” You’re very pretty like this…”

“ Then come kiss me,” a small smirk formed on your lips.

Oda wasted no time, moving his lips on top of yours in a sweet kiss. You kissed back, hand moving around his back as he moved to your waist. The tension in your shoulders and back seemed to go away as you kissed him. You could… relax for once: the trail of thoughts running through your brain started to go away. Kissing him was relieving, you felt as though you didn’t have to think about anything else. His thumbs caressed your waist, sending a shiver up your spine as he kissed you deeper. You relaxed in his cold, as his hands gently placed you down on the bed.

However, the motion makes you jump slightly, causing Oda to stop. He did so, lips moving away from yours as he looked down at you with concern. His hand moved to your cheek, trying to make you comfortable.

“ Hey… you’re ok,” he spoke softly,” Did you want to stop? I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“ N-no… I uhm,” you played with your fingers nervously,” I’m just not used to it. I don’t really know what to do, I guess. Or think about…”

“ I see,” he leaned over you, mouth to whisper in your ear,” How about you just focus on me…? Don’t think about anything else, just focus on what I’m doing to you.”

As he continued to speak, one of his hands caressed your side again.

“ Focus on how you feel, love… How does this feel, hm?”

“ G-good…,” you stuttered with a small gasp.

His hot breath trailed down to your neck, nuzzling his nose under your chin. You felt his knee come in between your legs as he left a small kiss on your neck.

“ You still ok?” he asked, wanting to make sure you were comfortable.

You nodded, letting go of your hands and placing them down on the bed,” I just feel a little hot, I-I guess.”

“ Good,” he smirked, licking a stripe up the side of your neck.

“ Is that good?” you shivered at his actions but tried to relax again.

“ You’re supposed to feel a little hot, sweetheart. Don’t think too much, ok?”

You only nodded in response, letting his continue to touch you: moving to your sides to your shirt to lift it up slightly. He was enjoying taking his time with you, seeing you squirm under his touch. It was cute… watching your eyes become more clouded with lust the more he touched you. One of his hands hooked under your shirt, pushing it up slightly. You lifted your waist, letting him push it up further and eventually helping you out of it: a small hiss came out of your mouth as you felt the cold in the room. However, that feeling was quickly gone as you felt his hands around your waist.

“ So pretty,” he leaned down, placing a kiss on and around your stomach,” So beautiful.”

“ O-Oda,” a soft moan left your mouth as you reacted to his kisses.

“ You’re so beautiful like this, love,” Oda praised, looking up at you with desperate eyes,” Will you let me touch you?”

You nodded again: that heated feeling filling you with desire. You had no idea what he was going to do to you, but you trusted him… and if anything, you almost felt as though you were begging for him to touch you.

Calloused fingers ran down to your pants, hooking over them and tugging them down cautiously. You let out a small yelp, arching your back in nervousness.

“ Shh… my love, you’re ok,” he reassured again, moving up to kiss your forehead. You closed your eyes, scrunching your nose as he did so. His lips moved to kiss your cheek, your nose, and eventually another one of your lips.

“ I’m just gonna take off your pants and underwear, ‘k?” Oda reassured you, before kissing your jaw and moving back down.

Both of his hands tugged the waistband off your hips.

“ Up,” he gently commanded to you. You did so, lifting your hips up so he could easily slide them off of you.

You felt shy, moving your legs together so that you could somewhat hide yourself. Oda frowned, a hand moving to your knee.

“ Don’t be shy,” his voice was like honey in your ears,” Open your legs for me, love.”

You took a second, letting out a breath of air before opening your legs. Oda smiled.

“ So pretty.”

“ Oda… mm,” you whined, a cute pout moving to your face.

“ What is it, love?” he looked at you.

“ Touch me,” you said pleadingly,” P-please…”

“ Ok, love,” he softly laughed,” Sorry, just got caught up in you… You’re beautiful>”

He scooted down, warm hand cupping your side as his other met your hole: at first dipping a finger in. You whimpered once again but relaxed soon after.

“ Is this… ok?” Oda looked up at you, a blush dusting his cheeks.

“ Feels good, Oda,” you muttered, the blush on your face getting redder.

Oda watched as he took his time, dipping a finger into you. You let out a moan as he did so, feeling slightly embarrassed at the noise that came out of your mouth. However, before you knew it, your mind was clouded as he fully inserted his finger.

“ G-gah… Oda,” you moaned, writhing under his touch as he moved his fingers inside your hole: touching your gummy and tight walls. You felt that heat in your stomach get warmer as he did so, fingers dipping further into you. Before you knew it, another inserted itself inside you.

“ Ngh-hah!,” you jumped, moaning a little louder this time. The hand on your hip held you down though, making it harder for you to move.

“ Hm? Does my baby feel good?” he moved down to your ear, licking up the shell. His actions made you shiver once more.

“ Y-yeah,” another moan slipped out of your mouth.

He curled his finger into your hole, making you arch again. The heat only getting harder to hold in. You felt your release coming up.

“ Mm!,” you shifted,” Hah- I… I-“

You released onto his fingers without warning: your liquids spewing out onto yourself and his fingers. Your hands moved to cover your face, wanting to hide yourself once again.

“ S-sorry! Shit- I-I couldn’t hold it in,” you apologized desperately.

“ That was hot,” he commented, before moving down to kiss your stomach once more.

After releasing, the more he touched you, the more sensitive you felt. You couldn’t stop yourself from shaking at his feather-like touch.

Oda’s other hand moved to your wrists, moving them out of your face.

“ Don’t be shy, my love,” he whispered again,” It’s just me.”

“ O-ok,” you placed your hands down at your sides.

Oda let you relax for a moment… Well, it was really just a moment, until you felt his tongue dip down to your stomach, getting closer to your core.

“ F-fuck-! Hah,” you arched your back at his sudden again. You looked down, noticing him stick his tongue out closer to your core.

“ ‘M a little hungry… I’ll have my dessert.”

[also if you want, please consider getting me a coffee or commissioning me ;) no pressure ofc!!! i understand that we're all in different circumstances/situations, any support of any kind is appreciated <3]

[tomatoswup]

Maybe... ☼ 3

summary: a meeting with the priest reveals a bit more information about a certain individual that has you distraught. Vash plushie here to defend!

warnings/tags: reader and wolfwood sibling dynamic, mischevious plushie (biTE HIS ANKLES BESTIE!!!),, wolfwood is giving concussions with the way he rides a motorcycle.

A/N: ....hi? :'D sorry for the late updates hehehe,, i usually write late nights but i've been late night gaming with friends these last few weeks hehe,,, i'VE COME TO DELIVER ANOTHER PLUSH FIC THO☝️☝️

p.s yes this was a scheduled post :p

<previous

Encounters with the priest were those you weren't really that big a fan of.

Although he bullied you like a close sibling, he often got on your nerves with the slick remarks he would shoot at you. But how long has it been? Two years?

Has it really been that long?

It just felt like yesterday when you told him that his grey button up looked like shit and you two wrestled in the sand dunes.

Lovely memories!

"Woah! Look at this!" The Vash plushie gasped out in awe as he ran circles around the modified motorcycle, peeking at the shiny surface of the hot metal.

"Hey be careful!" You called out to the plush as you took slow steps towards Wolfwood as he pushed himself off the ground and brushed the sand off his clothes. Oh look! He changed the grey to white!

...hehehe...

"Well aren't I glad to see you! How long had it been since we last saw each other? Two years now?"

You couldn't help but chuckle, crossing your arms around your chest "Now why is it always whenever we meet you're stranded in the desert? Seems like a memory."

"You know God's timing is sadly always right haha!"

Yikes! You heard the tinge of pain in that one!

"I was making my way to town just a few ways from here. Need help from an old friend of ours." He smirked, putting those shades of his up from his nose and to the top of his head as you gave him a hard stare.

"Alright now enough with the bluffing.." You sighed, putting a hand on your hip.

"Bluffing? What makes you think I'm bluffing?"

...

...

...

"Okay yeah maybe I lied to you the last time about not being a part of the Gung-ho guns but it wasn't that bad-"

"Maybe?! Leaving a PRETTY important piece of information out there buddy! Why should I even still be talking to you, ya know what!-"

"Maybe if you listen to me, you bet your ass you're gonna wanna hear this." You watched as Wolfwood straightened his back and looked out into the desert plains.

"I heard from a few townsfolk around that a certain someones in town."

No.

"You're playing with me Wolfwood, there's no way-"

"He's alive." He breathed out, scratching the side of his neck "The idiot's just hiding."

Hiding.

He's...Hiding?"

HIDING!?! AFTER THINKING HE WAS DEAD FOR THE PAST TWO YEARS!?

You really were gonna kick his ass when you saw him.

You scoffed, putting a hand up to your forehead "Hiding? Got any evidence?"

"HEY!" The squeak of the plush rang out from behind Wolfwood, making the both of you turn your attention to him.

And with that, you met with the sight of the small plushie trying to lift the pistol above his head, fumbling as the gun was clearly too heavy for him "LOOK!" The little nibs of his feet stumbling around the bike seat.

It was Vash's pistol.

Your mouth fell agape "Y-you-"

"This is the only evidence I could give ya' right now." Wolfwood said from behind you as you marched over to the bike past him, softly padding the top of the plushie's head before grabbing the gun.

"Thanks lil' guy..."

You couldn't help but just observe the weapon he always held. Moving it around in your grasp as the sun shined down on it, you saw the dents and cuts of the metal on the surface of the gun. Not too much damage and in honesty, it was in pretty good condition.

The dirt, and sand it had been dusted with had given it a rusted look sure, but with some cleaning, it'll look good as new. Tilting it to the side, you caught sight of the bullets still in the gun's barrel.

Seriously...

Your mouth felt dry and as if they were shut with glue as you tried to push back the growing pressure in your throat. No need to cry now, you can't cry here.

The gun felt hot in your hands, each waking moment you held it felt as if it held the world, and maybe his own.

"Hey you!" Wolfwood's eyebrow rose in wonder as he turned his head to the little thing of a plushie on the seat of his motorcycle, giving him a stern eye and an angry hop. "Don't make them cry!"

Aw he was trying to protect you! Such a cutie~

Wolfwood held back the urge to laugh out loud lol "Now this thing was gonna be my next question!"

He leaned down towards the seat and grabbed the plushie by the hoodie of his poncho, the discontent on the plushie's furrowed brows made the scene more funnier.

"Looks like you've come a long way! I'm surprised you don't have a loose stitch if you're traveling with sunshine over there!" He pointed a thumb in your direction and just maybe you said an unflattering word back.

maybe~

"No offense!"

"All taken!"

"Well! It's nice to meet you! I'm Vash!" The plushie chirped out, swinging his little legs forwards to hug Wolfwood's forearm, before sliding down his arm and up his chest to reach his shoulders.

"Woah there! He's a happy one alright!"

Putting Vash's gun away in your bag for safe-keeping, you watched on as the plush messed around with the priest. Ultimately climbing and just standing on top of his head, he gave you a cute ":P" before jumping up and down.

Pft...

"But who would make plushies of him?" Wolfwood snapped his head towards you with a raised eyebrow "Was it yo-"

"No!"

You leaned on his bike, staring at the plush's shenanigans "I found him while I was traveling. Apparently someones' making them and he was the only one that was um..alive per say."

The plushie now hung off Wolfwood's necklace as you saw the practical 'irk' mark of annoyance on his forehead "Well if god decided to send a little angel down, I'll say you're lucky to have a good companion!"

He shot you a soft smile, one you really rarely saw besides of his usual smirk "You needed one, didn't you?"

You didn't respond, and just watched on as the plushie hung off his ear.

"Ow ow ow-"

Maybe you did...

Time passed and before you knew it, the priest offered you a ride to town on the bike, to save time and as a "team-up" in his own words.

And who were you to decline?

Bag secured on the back of the bike alongside Wolfwood's cross that you had gracefully booted out of the seat, you sat in the little sidecar holding down your cowboy hat with your hand.

"Could you drive any faster!?" You shouted over the sound of the engine roaring, your hair messily getting blown back.

"YOU WANNA DRIVE? BE MY GUEST!" Wolfwood retorted, keeping his eyes forward and his hands on the handles.

Resting your back into the seat, you kept your free hand cupped over the plushie that was sitting on your lap.

"This is so fun!!!" He wiggled around excitedly, having used a scrap of cloth he found as a small scarf that flowed backwards with the wind.

"Careful! I don't want you flying out!" You cried as the two of you almost jumped out of your seats as Wolfwood ran over a large rock.

God please let the both of you live and get to town in one piece, okay maybe you'll have a few scratches here and there but you still had a tall blonde to beat half to death!

You exhaled at the thought. You didn't know how you'd react if you saw him. Mad? Relieved that your lover was still alive? Maybe you'll pop a vein and faint.

Who knows?

Only time could tell...

[1864reruns]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤimmortalised friendship⠀౨ৎㅤ3k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2023 ©1864RERUNS

synopsis. After you meet your bestfriend's girlfriend, you feel content with your decision to give up your feelings for him━ nevertheless, it hurts all the same.

warnings. gn! reader, angst, unrequited love, onesided crush, highschool besties, non idol au, hurt/kinda comfort?

from vyon. not edited at all!!! sorry ab it. anyways, vyon angst debut :D hello to all the followers i got from my svt crack oneshot, i think it's funny that this is content im posting after that but this has been a wip longer than the reddit confession 😸 ❲trc blew up so i might make it a short smau or smth, maybe after i get a few more chapters of npc out❳

do not repost / copy / translate.

It's strange to say you felt relief when Lee Seokmin introduced you to his lover, the love you had for him cracking like rusted 18th century armor. Over the years of knowing the boy, you've been collecting pieces of him to fill yourself up━ immature and eager to have him in any way you could, romantic or otherwise. Every platonic exchange that frequented between you two was churned into hope that you held carefully in your palms like water from a running stream and gulped down like air, it's not surprising to you nor anyone that knew the two of you that you drank yourself into sickness. You can't say for sure when these feelings started, all you know now is Lee Seokmin, who has forced you to don your love for him like a metal suit so that you are safe from his attacks even though your bones ache and creak with every move. Lee Seokmin, who you are so full of want for that it oozes out the cracks of your armour and turns silver to rust, making it hard to move.

Lee Seokmin, who was known to everyone as akin to the sun. In the way that his entire face would shift through phases when he'd smile until he was practically beaming, his personality made to soak in the imperfections of those around him and break it apart to reflect it back in ways to be loved. Something as mundane as your name leaving his mouth is spoken in a way that you've never heard: dusted in gold, dripping with ichor, punctuated with the breath of a shooting star━ like the sun, you remember, just like the sun. Syllables making up your name orbited around him as everything of yours did as soon when they left his mouth, letters forever strung into a line and stuck in that heliocentric orbit until gravity wastes away.

"Y/n━" He speaks your name and it's the first time it's ever felt so empty, stripped of its previous greatness; your name has lost its shine, turning from silver to a copper, turning flesh into colours of zombie-ish hues. ❲Still, there's something inherently freeing about this moment.❳ Then he shifts to her, his entire body moving just to accommodate his eyes to her in her great entirety and even with just a glance, he's already beaming. '"━ Eunhye," the way he says her name, you have to imagine its the way the sky has always encompassed the sun, taking on its light even at the risk of burn. Her name is one you've heard several times, in both passing and long anecdotes when Seokmin would share intimate stories of the two of them on their latest endeavours. Her name leaving Seokmin's parted lips is different to the way he says yours each syllable of her name making his lips open in an exaggerated, twisting his tongue into the oddest shapes just so he could have the taste of her name on his tongue for longer. Her name leaves his lips and then he, the sun, starts orbiting around the word that encapsulated her being, you can see it in his eyes now━ even though you're the one he's meant to be speaking to. His lips are tugged into a smile directed towards her, he stands with one arm prominent on her waist and you can't help but stare until he calls your name again.

Eunhye is pretty, she has that softish air about her that you think suits Seokmin; her eyes are round, her lips are pink, she has long hair━ you don't know what else to think other than she's pretty. You smile and extend a hand, repeating your name to her. She takes your hand, breaks out into a similar smile and then her name is spoken for the third time; you test it in your mind, chanting it slowly so that you can try to speak it as pretty as Seokmin does.

"Eunhye, it's nice to finally meet you," the words feel like a breath of fresh air and her name is awkward around your swollen tongue, there's an itch that grows on the roof of your mouth when your tongue hits it to say her name, it shoots down to your throat and lodges somewhere near your heart. From then on, Seokmin is uncharacteristically quieter as he lets you two get to know each other, often chiming in with comedic comments that embarrasses either of you or to defend himself when your conversation derails to stories about a much younger him, from either high school or from just yesterday. Eunhye is not someone you can hate━ you can practically feel why Seokmin fell in love with her to the point that you're frustrated.

If he was the sun, she had to have been the sky; everything about her was simply mundane. You won't deny that she was a girl with boring visuals, perfect to the point of blandness but once you fell in love with her, you irrevocably fell. You could only imagine that Seokmin fell in love with details that made her up, her sweet gestures, how easy it was for her to care for someone who was a mere stranger only an hour prior. Walking around aimlessly with her felt like you were meeting up with an old friend you had not seen in a long time, awkwardness and shyness contaminated your every word and interaction but still, you were full of affection for the girl. It's nice that Lee Seokmin had found a girl that suited him.

The day you meet Eunhye━ the day you decide to give up on your feelings, is a day comfortably slotted right in the middle of spring. That time where the trees have completed their transition from winter, where the flowers that have died the year previous have began to blossom again, shedding beautiful colours amongst the sea of green, where each unbearable ray of sunshine is accompanied with a gust of wind and the shadows of never stopping clouds. Far away from it's last cycle of winter and its next. It's the same as every other spring, with its vague brightness and warmish days all bleeding into each other, accompanied with the voices of friends and their laughter.

By the time the hour is over, you have not a single thing to hate about Eunhye from the way she stomps her feet when she laughs and covers her smile to the way she is uselessly stubborn and made Seokmin physically carry you off into a corner whilst she paid in that cafe you guys rested at. The close interaction between you and Seokmin made you flush━ how natural it came for him to simply touch you as if you were his, how your arms instinctively snapped around his to keep yourself safe as you were dragged away from the counter. The intimacy of it all made you feel guilty but when Eunhye returned and her and Seokmin shared another look, you knew you were nothing but an overactive fool. Because Lee Seokmin does not see you any more than a friend and Song Eunhye knows, she relishes, in that fact; she knows you are no competition to her and that's why she had turned around and simply laughed when she saw Seokmin's arms around your waist as you tried to wrestle your way out of his hold.

He's never been one to shy away from physical touch, it comes to him all too naturally like he was made to hold another person; it was all comfortable to him: holding hands with people he was walking with, hugging anyone whenever he felt a burst of emotion from either himself or them, to even repeatedly patting someone as he laughed, he seeked out touch in the same way the rays of sun would seek out the earth━ maybe that's why Eunhye didn't care too much about the way you two were wrestling. Either way, he's always been like that.

It was during highschool that the two of you met, spring it was. Except you remember this spring so much more vividly, full of beautiful flowers all the same but always drowned in rain; even on days where the rain would ease up for the sun, it was impossible to ignore the puddles that had collected on the paths, the roads, how sunshine would split into halves as they reflected off the droplets that hung from leaves. On the day that you and Seokmin met, it was not a day where there had been an allowance for the sun. The sheer amount that it rained that day led you to the belief that God had been trying to drown you; it had interrupted the cram school session you were at, your head turning towards the windows as the other students did, gasps falling out their mouths and eyebrows creasing as they thought about the way back home in the unforgiving weather when the rain began a faster, harsher descent, like it were trying to unearth something. The sound of thunder cracking against the asphalt interrupted your thoughts, a frown displayed on your face as you substitute mathematical expressions in your mind for the rounded corners of your walk home, worrying over the possibility of getting wet and sick over the missing 'x' plastered all over your work sheet. You pray for the rain to ease up for the journey.

Your prayers are not heard. By the time cram school ends, it is still raining heavily and you are holding your bag under your blazer, stuck at the door of the building where you've yet to become a victim to the weather. Several of your classmates were smart enough to have umbrellas stuffed in their bags or absent-minded enough to always leave an umbrella in their bag from the rainer seasons or were comfortable enough with the adults in their life that they'll call anyone they know with a car to come and get them. Maybe Lee Seokmin was sent your way as an apology from whatever greater entity there was out there for the shitty day you'd been having━ the idea of it honestly makes you laugh. You're still stood outside the building of your cram school, looking out uselessly into the street as rain continued splattering the puddles infront of you and seeping through the split of your shoe and its soles.

The sound of his shoes hitting against the pavement melodically make a nice beat with the rain, thudding against the asphalt, you'd soon learn enough about him to know it's strange that such a bright human would make such a good baseline with the dreary blues. The first time you meet Lee Seokmin drenches your socks in rain water; he skids to a stop right infront of you, his feet striking the large puddle you've been entertaining yourself with for the last ten minutes. Watching the sole of his boxy school shoes send a dramatic ripple through its body and breaking droplets away it as the small bullets of water attacked everything around it━ including your feet.

"Oh━" The stupid sound that leaves you when you feel the water seep into your shoes replayed in your head again when you look up to see the boy who has just half drenched you. He apologises so profusely that you start to get annoyed and then suddenly, you are no longer alone as the rain continued splitting the earth open.

Your eyes slowly move over to the boy stood beside you, attempting to wring all the water out of his shirt. Water clings to his hair like the sea swallowed the hues of the setting sun, stuck to his temples and forehead like streaks of fresh paint. Unconsciously, you follow the tracks of a water droplet that falls from the hair that's curved so that it has fallen onto his nose and slides down the steepness of his nose. It catches at his cupid's bow and you think it's stuck there for a second before it moves again, taking his face as an amusement park of slides until he puckered up his bottom lip; you watched as his bottom lip moved over the top, effectively catching the rain water and you accidentally snort.

The sound is just as noticeable behind a hand, you can see his embarrassed smile in your peripherals. Though maybe embarrassing himself was enough to make him feel comfortable around you because he somehow shuffled his way from the little corner he'd huddled himself into to the middle, closer to you and further away from the rain. Your eyes glance over just to check what he was doing and then quickly snap back to ahead of you when he thinks to do the same as you.

"Horrible weather, huh?" He speaks for the first time without lowering his head repetitively.

You can't help the way the corners of your mouth began tugging upwards at his attempt of conversation, "you don't have to make conversation, y'know." And then you find there might be something wrong with you because you suddenly have enough confidence to tease this guy like you've known him a while when you couldn't even answer a question in a class full of people you've known for years. If someone had passed you two now, they might have thought you were friends.

The guy doesn't seem embarrassed, "but I should be allowed to, no?"

The answer leaves you impressed, eyes blinking wide as your lips tugged downwards into an amused smile. "Sure," you shrugged; you're still talking to this boy like you have a immature crush on him and you're trying to impress him and the thought of it later that night when you're in bed will make you want to rip it your hair.

"Lee Seokmin," he timely introduced himself. His head turns to you, his entire body swivelling so that he could dedicate his entire front to listening to you introduce yourself.

"L/n Y/n," you indulge in the strange boy whom you felt the strange need to impress. The urge doesn't ever stop, it grows and grows, hitting against your bones and dribbling through the system in your body that was meant to carry your blood. It had started off with tickling your feet, the sand uncomfortable between your toes until Lee Seokmin continued his reign in your life and completely drowned you with the need to always impress him.

By the time you truly are fortunate enough to get know Lee Seokmin, the time you spend with him is but a constant of needing to impress him━ not because he is just an attractive guy on the street that may remember you whenever the rain gets a little heavier and his shirt clings to his chest uncomfortable but because you know him and you want him to know you.

The lie that you don't remember when you fell in love with Lee Seokmin was only that: a lie. In truth, it was a rehearsal for a universe in which you didn't need to remember when you started loving him because it wouldn't have ended, it was you preparing for that pretty fairy tale retelling in which you told your friends that you didn't remember when you fell in love with him, when you came to the realisation he was 'the one'; in a universe in which Lee Seokmin loved you back, you wouldn't have remembered that dreary spring day in which you began loving a boy that would never love you back.

Perhaps the universe had always been in favour of Song Eunhye because her and Seokmin live near each other so you split off at the road with the cofffee shop where you watched the barista try and get Seokmin's number. You cross the road, thinking that you love Lee Seokmin, even though he is currently walking away from you whilst holding another girl's hand. You're on the other side of the street as you think about how much you love Lee Seokmin and you think about how much you'll think of him when it rains, when it's spring, when you look at paintings with texture and remember the way his hair streaked against the tan of his skin. When you stop and turn to glance back at the two, you think about how much you'll forever love Lee Seokmin, even when you don't love him and your affections go towards someone that will love you the way you loved him.

When you turn around to finally go home, you think about a day when the rain will be just rain and spring will be just another season that will pass; you'll think of the relief you felt when Song Eunhye became an obstacle in your affections for your bestfriend. You'd think about the way your lungs swelled with air from the world, turning larger than your heart and you'll remember that the reason why humans don't go staring at the sun is because it will hurt. And finally, instead of thinking that the universe favoured Song Eunhye, you'll remember that the universe loved you the same and could not bear to watch you fall like Icarus. You'll finally, finally take off that rusted armour that you've been wearing to protect your fragile heart from the boy always beside you and fall in love with the way the rain falls on your skin instead.

When that time comes, you'll confidently say that you no longer love Lee Seokmin but you'd still go the long way round to avoid the places you two used to frequent, where everyone who knew you two, knew that you liked him. You'd look down a familiar road and turn around to avoid that ramen shop where the owner's daughter knew that there had to be something going on and would press even when you two corrected your relationship as platonic, where you two had been forever immortalised as friends and just that.

[hazel-of-sodor]

What's Lost is Found

Ch.12 Left Behind

Other Chapters

The former sheds of the narrow gauge line were a sorry sight, the roof having collapsed years prior. The trackbed was lost in the grass, marked only by what stood around it. A line of slate wagons stood crumbling on a siding, a few had collapsed under their abandoned loads. A small pile of coal stood next to the sheds, which Gwyn began shoveling into an abandoned wheelbarrow, Screech emptying it into her tender.

A rickety water tower stood between the two lines, Mali helped Freda swing the hose over to Screech. 

Screech thrummed contentedly, a deep pulsing rumble that shook dust and soot from the nearby roof.

Soon the station team joined them, walking up the road.

Miss Morgan glanced at the slumbering lorry on the flatbed. "I see we have a new fleet member." She said as she walked up to face Screech.

Screech opened an eye, "I wasn't about to leave her. I'm a monster, not the other railway."

Miss Morgan snorted, "If you know any more 'monsters' let me know. I could use more sensible, hardworking, well-behaved employees" She patted a surprised Screech's running board and walked to inspect what remained of the narrow gauge sheds.

Screech was about to doze off when she thought she heard a faint noise.

She tilted her head, trying to listen, again the almost noise came, barely registering even to her.

"Stop." She didn't shout, but nonetheless, the others froze at the barked command.

She unfurled as much as she dared with the crews so close, straining to listen.

She had almost dismissed it as a figment of her imagination when she heard it.

"Please..."

More than a few crew shrieked in surprise or fear as her tendrils lashed out, but they were not her target.

Tendrils wrapped around the remains of the fallen roof with an iron grip and heaved with all her might.

The once seemingly immovable roof flew through the air, pieces tearing off from the force of the air racing against them before it slammed into the side of the mountain with a thunderous crash.

Even Gwyn and Freda were staring wide-eyed at the disintegrated remains of the rood as Screech's tendril probed back into the shed.

She felt around carefully, before gently wrapping around something large. It had been rusted to the rails, so her tendrils burned through the rails around it and pulled the severed rails out with her prize.

She brought the object to herself and gently set it between the rails in front of her.

As her tendrils withdrew it, or rather she, was revealed. A small tank engine rested between the rails. Her funnel was bent and her cab squashed from the collapse of the roof. Her once black paint was worn and chipped, where it was visible at all. Her motion had been removed at some point, along with her tanks and whistle.

The Baldwin 10-12-D stared at Screech wide-eyed.

'Oh, good another stray.' The whisper muttered, Screech ignored it.

"Hello, Little One."

"Hello." The narrow gauge engine rasped back, her voice stolen by years without water. Screech placed a tendril lightly over the tank engine's mouth.

"No more speaking little one. I would not have you damage your voice any further."

Screech reached out and grabbed a bucket that a workman was holding.

He yelped as he was lifted with the bucket up onto her tender. Freda took the bucket and workmen from her and began filling it from the hose. Gwyn began inspecting the little engine, checking her over for further damage.

Mali took the filled bucket and stepped carefully onto the waiting tendril, allowing it to swing her around to Screech's front. One of the workers helps her hold the bucket up to the battered engine so she can drink.

It takes five buckets before the engine can speak without it hurting, ten more before she can manage more than a whisper.

Her voice is quiet, and likely will be until her steam is raised again.

As water flowed through her once again, tears had begun to flow.

"How long was I in there?" She asked.

"Over ten years." Miss Davies said quietly.

"They said they'd come back." The little engine said. "That they just needed to unload the lorry to make room for me."

Mali had gently wiped away the engine's tears with her rag. "We're here. We came back, and we're not leaving you here."

One of the abandoned trucks chittered with coughing laughter, "There's no room on your flatbeds, you'll have to leave her behind."

One of Screech's larger tendrils smashed through the truck's rotten frames with enough force to bury itself several feet in the ground.

"We are NOT leaving her behind."

The other remaining trucks, rather than upset, were cheering and catcalling at Screech’s display.

The lead workmen hesitated, "Miss Gwyllgi, the Flatbeds are full. we could leave some workers with her so she's not alone, but we currently don't have a way to take her back this trip."

Screech glared.

"She will not be left behind at all."

Tendrils wrapped gently around the smaller engine's frames and lifted her.

"I will carry her if I must, but we are not leaving her behind"

Miss Morgan approached and looked at Screech searchingly, "You are sure? It's miles back to Llogeran, then even further to Uman."

"I am certain."

Miss Morgan nodded then turned to the work crews, "Check over the buildings for anything we missed then report back. I want us back at Uman before dark."

As the workmen scattered, Miss Morgan and Freda joined the efforts to clean the tank engine as best they could. 

"What is your name, little one?"

"I never had a name," she said, wincing as Freda scrubbed a particularly rough section. "I was called by my old number 590."

"What would you like to be called?" Maki asked from where she had squeezed into the remnants of the cab.

The engine blinked, "I am 590." She said self-consciously.

"Well, that will never do," Gywn had taken advantage of Screech lifting 590 to clean the undercarriage. The whisper was attempting to convince Screech to fake dropping her to scare him.

The little engine looked hurt at his statement.

Screech rolled her eyes, "They believe all engines deserve a 'proper name' little one. They will call you by 590 if that's what you wish, but good luck convincing them to not give you a formal name."

"Really?" The engine nervously asked.

"Really," Freda said as she popped Gwyn with a rag, causing him to yelp. She pointed at Screech. "Screech is officially named Gwyllgi, but everyone still calls her Screech."

"What's going to happen to me when we get to Uman?" 590 asked nervously.

"You're being taken to our works for restoration," Miss Morgan said, "if you know where any of your missing parts are, it would speed up your restoration."

The engine blinked, "my tanks were left beside the workmens’ shed."

"Then the crews will find them." Miss Morgan reassured her.

Soon the workmen returned, some carrying newly found tools, others carrying 590’s tanks between them, and the lead foremen's team carried boxes of documents from the main station.

Miss Morgan did a head count, and upon confirmation that none were missing, they set off back down the line.

[haddonfieldwhore]

richter tcm(2022) x oc | imagine (part 1/?)

‼️ SPOILERS texas chainsaw massacre 2022‼️

i saw online somewhere that melody is 25 so let’s roll with that and make rebecca (oc) 25 as well

warnings: age gap, language, mentions of a past school shooting (brief), slight nsfw themes?

the car slowed to a stop next to the gas station, the gravel crunching under the tires and then halted next to the old rusted pumps. i wasn’t too sure how i had been roped into tagging along on this trip, but somehow ruth had convinced me that it would be a good idea, and now i found myself moving to the middle of nowhere in the heart of texas with her. ever since we met as children, she had always found a way to convince me to go along with her latest grand idea. along with us were her boyfriend dante, his business partner of sorts melody, and her younger sister lila. even though the was a few years younger than me, lila was the person on this trip i enjoyed the company of most, and honestly- i don’t think she wanted to be here either. melody, dante and ruth had acquired some properties in an abandoned town and were planning to auction the buildings to growing businesses and live out there, and here i was along for the ride.

i opened the car door and got out, both to stretch my legs and to let lila out of the middle seat and run into the store. i stretched my arms above my head as the other three got out of the car. i kicked at the gravel below my feet, causing dust to fly up and mark my black boots. i sighed, running my fingers through my dark hair.

“can you at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself?” ruth laughed, leaning against the passenger door of the car. “for me?” she added. i smiled at her.

“nope,” i teased, to which she flipped me her manicured middle finger before slinging an arm over my shoulder.

“c’mon bec, you might like it out here if you give it a chance,” dante suggested, returning the nozzle to its pump after the gas tank was full. i sighed. maybe they were right. maybe this won’t be so bad.

“i’m gonna go see what’s taking lila so long,” melody said, heading into the gas station to collect her sister.

“i think i’m already getting sunburnt,” i laughed, running my hands over my arms that were being warmed by the blazing sun. ruth and dante talked about the auction some more as lila and melody came walking back to the car, a bag of snacks and drinks in each of their hands. hopefully enough to last the five of you until you reach our destination.

a large truck sped into the lot and up to one of the pumps opposite the one we were at, and a tall man in jeans and a flannel shirt stepped out. from his appearance he was clearly a local, and i had to admit- he was damn good looking. our eyes met as he walked around his truck and up to the gas pump, and he looked me up and down. i took in his appearance, the way his jeans hung on his hips and the way the muscles in his arms slightly strained against the fabric of his shirt when he moved them, his sleeves rolled up just above his elbows. he seemed to catch me staring but didn’t seem to mind, instead sending a wink in my direction, which no one else noticed. it seemed something other than his appearance caught melody’s eye however.

“look at this guy. who has such a small dick they need to walk around in public with a fucking gun? like, i mean is he compensating for something?” melody scoffed.

i rolled my eyes. one thing about melody is if she had an opinion on something, she was gonna tell you about it; whether you wanted to hear it or not. the man had in fact heard her, and turned to our group with a smirk.

“there’s wild hogs in these parts, young lady. they’re an invasive species,” he explained, before laughing to himself. “i’m sorry if a big gun makes you uncomfortable,” the man teased, glaring at melody before his eyes looked over the rest of us, pausing as his eyes met mine. my hand covered my mouth to stifle a laugh and he smiled at me before melody scoffed and got in the car that lila had already returned to her seat in. dante and ruth also got back in and the man winked at me before i opened the door and sat back down as well. before we drove away, melody rolled down her window and threw a jab back at the local.

“i’ve seen bigger.” another thing about melody is that she always had to have the last word.

////

after leaving the gas station, we continued on our route to the town, lila shrunken a bit in her seat. melody apologized to her for what happened at the gas station. i could understand where she was coming from- she was fiercely protective of her sister ever since the shooting at their school. i couldn’t imagine what that must have been like, and i didn’t want to.

lila plugged in her headphones and i silently wished my phone wasn’t dead so i could tune out my friends talking about the property auction again. since i wasn’t so lucky, instead i closed my eyes, and my mind drifted back to the handsome stranger; his honey coloured hair that peeked out from under his worn baseball cap, and the way the tank top under his plaid shirt exposed his toned chest-

a loud engine noise broke me out of my thoughts, and the truck from the gas station sped past us, spilling black exhaust and no doubt greatly impairing dante’s vision as he tried to drive.

“what a fucking psycho,” melody scoffed.

“texas mating ritual,” ruth joked.

“seriously, what is wrong with that guy?” melody asked rhetorically.

“he's just a f***ing coal roller,” ruth replied. they continued their conversation from earlier, and i closed my eyes again, before i heard dante swear under his breath and i felt the vehicle start to slow down.

“why are we …” i opened my eyes to see a police car and two officers on the side of the road. one walked over to the driver side window, and dante rolled down. always butting her head in, this time quite literally, melody leaned into the front seat to join the conversation with the cop. after explaining (or trying to at least) our reason for heading to the abandoned town of harlow, the cop seemed to relax a little, but i could tell he still saw us a nuisance.

“listen, some of us were born here, you know. saw it in its prime. so please, be respectful for the town,” the older cop explained.

melody told him that her and lila had a relative who used to live here and he seemed to perhaps warm up to us a little more. he let us go and we continued on our way. i decided to try and sleep through the short remainder of the ride, and couldn’t help but wonder if we would see the man with the truck again, and a small part of me couldn’t help but hope we did.

[gentlemancrow]

OH MAN I MADE MYSELF SAD WITH THIS ONE OH NO OH JEEZ OH CROW WE'RE REALLY IN IT NOW. But this one was FUN. 83. I mean the prompt also just SCREAMS for something truly fucked up for Jmart and UHHHH I HOPE I DELIVERED? ENJOY EVERYONE!

Oct 5th: Nightmare/ “It’s not enough anymore.” (CWs for major character death SORT OF? References to major character death?? unreality and dreams!)

The Archivist surveys his domain from a broken throne. Crimson cast in the long fingers of light from a dying sun, what was once a wonderland, a cornucopia of horrifying delights, is now just a gutted-out carapace, gnawed clean and bleached red. Everything is sand and rusted girders and shattered glass and bone and hungry silence. What few things that still exist to shiver and be afraid are wrung dry, lifeless creatures more of sorrow and resignation, of defeat and yearning for oblivion than of fear. Sorrow still tastes of fear, in a way, but it is thin and malnourishing, a placebo to glut distended bellies on limbs too thin and weak to carry them on through the wasteland.

He has never had need to leave his ivory tower to wander, however. He can see everything, after all. The mylar veins and nerves of him root him to the core of the Earth and had drunk their fill for countless eons. He had watched from ocular buds and many-eyed vultures feeding the green dandelion iris of him sitting high in his panopticon as all of existence knelt and cracked open their skulls and chests and spilled their secrets unto his waiting pastures. There is nothing now.

No secrets, no history, no science or art or books, just the fluttering of crumpled black strips of mylar tape. The sky falls, piece by piece, and there are no stars in the wounds left behind, only the void of nothingness and crouches with wide-open jaws ready to breathe in the dust of them when they are gone. Something else bellows out, a foghorn headed thing echolocating blindly in the emptiness, searching in the hollows of a lonesome world for that feeling which cannot exist within itself. There is no one left to miss, no one left to watch, no one left to stalk in the dark, no porous flesh to make a home, no stories left to tell. No one even to bury. Their time is ending. His monarchy crumbles around him and all he has left to do is bow his crown and weep.

Tears flow from countless eyes to water the newly fecund soil beneath him and in a few scraggly, achingly defiant bursts of color, fearless primordial life makes its final stand, heedless that it too, will soon blink out of existence. The delicate, starry petaled blooms trace out an ancient shape and memorialize a long-forgotten form in final repose beside him. Always beside him, no matter where he went. They grow between eternally reaching fingers, up through the cathedral of crumbling ribs, in a halo around the head laid forever in reverence and love at his feet, lively pink and sky blue and purple for him. He lays what once must have been a head, a blushing cheek, the corner of a mouth full of teeth like marble commandments, down upon the crumbling cage of bone. If he searches long enough through the endless annals of his knowledge, he can find the sound of the heart that once beat there. There must have been a voice once. Laughter. A smile. But they’re so far away, buried so deep, and he is so weak.

He wonders if maybe he will be waiting for him, wherever he is going, wherever things like him go, if they have not exchanged existences too many times to do so just once more. He wonders if maybe one day he will close all his myriad eyes for the final time and open them again into a sea of cobalt blue. He wonders if maybe there is peace beyond the stars, if they can both lay their heads down in the silken crystal fires of creation and sleep at last, together. There is a twinge of old excitement in a thing he does not know. There is hope again in that word, maybe. Just maybe. Maybe he can see him again. For now, The Archivist just curls against the remains of that thunderous, bright chest, winds a few tendrils of tape around the half-buried fingers, and waits for extinction. Or a dream. Whichever comes for him first.

And then Jon wakes up with a strangled cry from where he was snuggled into Martin’s chest, eyes wild, streaming with sweat and fighting to fill his lungs with air. Martin catches him immediately, envelops him up in his strong arms and blankets and love and softness, peppers kisses all over his face and brings him back down into the comfort of their bed.

“Shhhh, shhhh… it’s alright, you’re alright, Jon. It was just a nightmare. I’m here, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice a cosmic hymn in the wake of such complete oblivion.

“S-Sorry… I’m sorry,” Jon whispers tremulously into his chest, “It was just… it was awful.”

“I’m sorry, too. D-Did you want to talk about it…?”

Fingers glide through his hair, shedding warped images like sand into the sheets.

“Maybe. I-I… It’s hard to… put into words. Feelings mostly. Not good ones… E-Everything still feels a little fuzzy.”

Martin chuckles a little.

“They say you can tell if you’re dreaming if you try to read. Can’t read in dreams, you know.”

Jon manages a lopsided smirk.

“Is that so?”

There is a stack of books on Martin’s nightstand. Jon does not allow their titles to catch his eye.

“Aren’t you supposed to know everything now, hmmm?”

“What is there to know about dreams? We don’t know why we have them. As far as we know they serve no discernible purpose, they may as well not even exist,” he replies, tetchy academia bleeding into his still sleep-thick voice.

“But they do exist, they are something, a memory, a feeling, a fear…”

“Or all of them at once.”

Silence swells between them, punctuated by the ticking of the clock on the wall. A chaffinch sings an aria somewhere unseen.

“…Are you afraid, Jon?”

“…All the time.”

“Why don’t you have a peek at the clock, then? Clocks can tell you, too. Time doesn’t work right in dreams,” Martin continues sweetly.

Jon does not look.

“You don’t work right in dreams,” he teases instead as the edges of unreality begin to crumble.

“Oh, very original…”

Jon pays for his crimes by being tackled into the mattress and tickled, and he forgets for just a moment, the smell of desiccated plastic and sand in his nostrils and the cool touch-polished bone against his cheek. He forgets with his fingers tangled in russet curls, forgets in their tussling and kissing and laughing in the billowy cloud of their comforter, their bed, forgets until it all bleeds together into a muffled blur in his ears. He steals a furtive glance at the clock on the wall as Martin kisses his neck and shoulder and envelops him utterly.

The second-hand ticks backward just once.

And Jon no longer knows which one of them is having the nightmare, and which one of them is the nightmare.

[harrypotter-imaginess]

Part 2 Here!

Commission info for a Love Letter from you favorite character here!

- You’re probably someone on his morning routine, or who could easily become apart of his daily routine

- Maybe a friendly barista at a café he’s curious about on the way to the his store

- But I like to think you’re someone that works at the local flower shop

- He catches you on his way to work one morning, choosing to walk that day to stretch his legs

- Apparating is convenient, but if he’s not careful he’ll get out of shape pretty fast.

- He see’s you across the street, watering the plants you keep outside the shop, talking to each of them, a smile across your face as you do

- The morning light hits you just right, the golden glow spreading across your face

- “Well aren’t they quite cute?”

- He starts walking to work everyday from then on

- It’s on the fourth or fifth day you notice him-

- Well really you notice his hair, it’s such a rich red

- A livelier shade than any rose or hibiscus you could grow

- “I bet it’s hair dye.” Your co-worker tells you “you know how these city boys are-“

- Well your store is in the heart of the city, on the Jump Street, sandwiched between a book store and a boutique

- And yeah, most of the guys around here do seem impeccably dressed,

- one of your very handsome regular's who comes in to get flowers for his husband every Tuesday even admitted he has a running bi-monthly appointment at the spa, he gets a spray tan, dye job, eyebrows tweezed, the works.

- “It’s just what I have to do to compete, there’s so many young CEO’s now, you’ve got to keep up appearances.” 

- And you’re sure he’s not the only one

- Still.. you can’t help but believe that a shade of red that vibrant- that beautiful- can’t be from just hair dye

- “Maybe” you mumble, turning your attention to the peony’s

- You wonder if you’ll see him walk by at the end of the day when all the offices close

- But even though you keep your eyes glued to the store front window, he never shows up

- You see him again the next morning, walking across the street

- This time you take a little more of him in

- He’s pretty tall, though you can’t make out much of his build when he’s wearing that rust colored coat

- And a splatter of freckles across his face, almost like constellations

- He’s got a long nose, but it works with his face

- He’s pretty handsome

- What comes next shouldn’t surprise you, but it does

- Perhaps he felt your eyes on him, silently assessing him- studying him

- Because his eyes lift up to meet yours

- They’re the deepest brown you’ve ever seen, especially when the morning light hits them just so

- Oh sh*t, he caught you staring

- Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t.

- Okay, it’s fine

- Just okay- Just play it cool

- So, you pretend like you weren’t just staring at this handsome stranger admiring his features

- And shamelessly offer your best smile and a wave

- To your surprise he grins, smile spreading across his face

- A light pink dusting his face as he waves back

- And so you become waving friends

- Waving to each other every morning

- Which slowly evolves into trading morning greetings

- “How’s your morning going?” He asks from across the street

- Miffed commuters give him disgruntled looks as they walk around him rushing to work, but he stays rooted to the spot

- “It’s alright can’t complain!” You shout back from your spot by the gardenia bush, earning several looks as well

- “How about you?”

- He gives a teasing look to all the angry passerby’s and gives a “so-so” hand motion

- You almost laugh so hard you cry

- This goes on for a few more days, and your co-workers take notice

- “Flirting with the red head (Y/N)? On company time?” Your co-worker mock gasps and you roll your eyes

- “Oh hush, I’m just being friendly to a neighbor.”

- Your co-worker doesn’t look like they’re buying it, but they don’t say anything else

- It’s late in the afternoon when the shop bell rings

- You’re up to your elbows trimming and re-potting the hydrangeas

- You figure one of the others will get

- You hear some footsteps but ignore it, 

- This part is tricky, if you damage any of the roots the plant might not be able to make it

- “Um excuse me, I was wondering if you might help me with something?”

- Ugh, don’t they see you’re in the middle of something

- You’re about to turn around and tell them that customers aren’t supposed to be in back room-

- When you catch a glimmer of vivid red in the corner of your eye

- No that can’t be right, he doesn’t even walk back this way in the afternoon

- Your heart stutters in your chest, face growing hot

- Your crush is getting out of control-

- When you look up, there he is

- His adorable freckles face in all its glory

- Here in the homely, rather dirty, back-plant room at your flower store

- A hesitant smile curled on to his lips

- “I’m sorry, it looks like I’m interrupting, the clerk in the front said you would be back here-“

- Of course they did

- So well what’s he here for?

- Is he here to ask you in a date??

- You might just combust from joy at the thought

- Or maybe he’s here to order a large bouquet for his lover, and the rest of your co-workers think it’s time you get yourself out of this little crush of yours

- The thought fills you with both embarrassment and despair

- Only extreme highs and lows with you, it seems

- “- I’m a business owner a few streets over, and I thought some flowers might add some atmosphere, they said you’re the expert”

- He gives you a boyish grin, his hands shoved into his pockets

- So somewhere in the middle then

- Aright you can work with that

- “Do you have an idea of what kind of flowers you might want?” You’re already moving towards the sink, washing the fertilizer off your arms.

- George blanks, he hasn’t really thought that far

- “Not particularly, do you have any recommendations?”

- You nod, lips pursed as you grab the order form

- “Well what kind of store do you have? Peonys’ and orchids’ are always good with boutiques”

- You figure he owns an upscale boutique or maybe a restaurant, those tend to be the places that do the best in this area.

- And by the looks of his taupe coat, his store is doing very well

- “Hmm well-“ his hand rubs his chin

- Technically it’s a joke shop, but it’s grown to be more than that isn’t it?

- He sells potions, charms, stationary, prank goods (of course), muggle novelty’s- it makes sense to him- but his store has grown to be quite eclectic over the years

- Besides he doubts he can explain it you

- He’s still on the fence whether you’re a muggle or from magic like him

- You’re plants have him suspicious, no way a muggle could grow a gardenia that would put Neville Longbottom to shame-

- Still, if you were a witch there’s no way you wouldn’t have recognized him by now

- The Weasleys have all become some sort of warrior clan war hero, he’s even on a chocolate frog card now.

- Well, he would rather not risk it

- He’s always been the cautious one

- “It’s sort of a hobby store? Well it started out as one, but now we’ve been expanding and we sell a bit of everything.”

- “So kind of like a department store?”

- Department stores are a bit more tricky, each room has a different vibe, but the overall tone has to be neutral

- Hmmmm

- “Maybe some white roses? Orchids might be nice too, and if you’ve got a bit of a green thumb I might recommend succulents or some devils ivy?”

- This is all going straight over George’s head, he never did pay much attention in herbology

- But you’re talking to him as if he’s an equal and he doesn’t want the cutie who works at the local flower shop think any less of him because he doesn’t know a d*mn about plants

- “Those sound lovely”

- He’s not entirely sure how it happens, but by the time he’s left he’s got an armful of plants, and a rolling order at your store to pick up plants every Tuesday

- “Are you sure you’re alright? We deliver for free you know?”

- “No no it’s fine-“

- The tall leafy plant shakes every time he shakes his head

- “Besides I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to see you again” he winks before turning to leave

- You feel your heart skip a beat

- “Did you ask if it was a dye job?” You co-worker yells from the other side of the store as soon as he’s gone

- “Of course I didn’t Ainsley! For one that’s awfully rude”

- They nod knowingly

- “Yeah that’s really fifth date talk”

- They laugh when you throw one of the cards at them

- And like clockwork George comes in every Monday afternoon, and leaves with a handful of arrangements and plants

- You still talk to each other on the street

- “How are the hydrangeas working out for you?” You ask and he gives a ‘ditto’ hand gesture

- “They’re class! I was wondering if I could get a few more?”

- You nod

- “We’ll have more ready for you on Monday, are you sure you don’t want delivery?”

- He manages to carry them off every time, but it sure makes you nervous, just one tumble and they would be ruined

- “We’ve been over this, how would I get to see you then?”

- He gives you a lopsided grin and you find yourself reflecting the expression

- “Oi! Would you two stop flirting in the middle of the street, you’re blocking traffic!” Someone shouts

- He just laughs and offers you a wave

- “What’s with all the plants?”

- They’re the first words out of Ron’s mouth when he steps inside the shop, he’s already shrugging off his coat making his way to where George is fiddling with a new contraption

- “I thought they would make the place livelier”

- False.

- He just wanted an excuse to talk to you.

- He does like the plants though. The white hydrangeas you recommended for the potions section are absolutely lovely

- Though he did use a few charms to make them larger, and stay fresher longer.

- He’s basically got a wall covered in hydrangeas now

- Still lovely though

- “It does look nice” Rob admits

- “So where are the products you need help fixing?”

- George groans waving towards a few oddly stacked boxes

- The packaging on his restock of the portable swamps came in the wrong color, not a big deal he can always change it with a spell

- But it is tedious work, especially when you have to do it one by one, otherwise it might upset the contents.

- And he does not want a swamp in his store

- Ron only nods, unpacking the box

- “You want purple right?”

- There’s a moment of silence between the two

- Purple was Fred’s favorite color

- He used to joke it was because that’s the color Snape turned when he was mad

- But George knows it’s because purple’s the color of the first fireworks they saw.

- He, Fred, Ron and Ginny had snuck away when they were younger to a muggle festival in the village, awestruck by the shapes the fireworks took.

- Fred would have carved that moment into his bones if he could.

- George clears his throat

- “Yeah, purple, same shade as the shop sign”

- Ron nods, pulling out a products wordlessly, motioning with his wand

- “So what’s really the deal with all these plant?” Ron asks, and George sighs

- “Nothing I just thought it might be good for business”

- “Did you get swindled by an attractive salesman?”

- “I wouldn’t say swindled” you gave him a pretty generous discount, and you were even offering free delivery

- That’s kind of a lot to give for a muggle shop

- “So they were attractive then?” Ron says with a grin, he’s only ribbing

- But George’s inquisitive look and the pink flush across his freckles nose makes Ron think he’s on the nose

- “(Y/N)’s fairly attractive”

- Fairly is putting it mildly though, George thinks your adorable

- Ron stutters halfway through the transfiguration spell

- “(Y/N)? Like hot (Y/N)? From the flower shop?”

- George is puzzled but nods

- “You went to hot (Y/N)‘s shop?!?!? WITHOUT ME?” Ron looks like he’s about to cry

- “How would Hermione feel is she heard you talking about another person like that?”

- Ron just gives him an incredulous look

- “She would say ‘I can’t believe George went to hot (Y/N)‘s shop and didn’t invite us’!”

- Apparently you’re quite popular in the shopping district. Your flowers have won the city award twice, before you opened your shop you won a contract as the city’s horticulturist.

- “Last Valentine’s Day Harry and I stood in line for two hours to pick up our bouquets” Ron tells him, he’s already done with the first box

- He figured business was good, it’s almost impossible to run a flower shop in the middle of the city if it isn’t.

- But he didn’t imagine you were award winning or anything

- He sighs so you are a muggle, and you’ve got no need for magic, you make up the difference in talent and skill

- He likes that, maybe he should get some shirts or art prints that say something like that

- He feels a small smile creep onto his face

- Oh well, probably for the best, he’s not sure he has time to date what with how busy things have been

- “Free for dinner? We can go wherever you want, my treat.” George says, slipping on his coat as they finish with the last of the products.

- “How about (Y/N)‘s flower shop?”

- George laughs

- “I’m pretty sure they close at 5....also they don’t have food Ron”

- Ron sighs like he’s just been told Christmas is just cancelled

- “The leaky cauldron is fine too I guess”

- But George can’t stop thinking about you for the rest of the weekend.

- It’s not really that big of a deal if you’re a muggle, but-

- Well how would that even work?

- The closest thing to a muggle he’s personally known is Hermione- who’s a witch and just muggle born

- He wouldn’t be able to tell you about being a wizard- not until you were married, or at least serious enough that he knew you both were going to get married. Which he doesn’t know how he feels about

- So he would have three full time jobs

- Taking care of the store, being your boyfriend, oh and hiding his magical powers from you

- Lovely

- But Merlin- wouldn’t his family love it if he brought you home?

- His Dad would be over the moon, and his Mum, well she’d be happy he found anyone at all. But she wouldn’t mind the pointers you gave her on how to get pinker roses.

- Percy wouldn’t really care either way. He might even like it, a muggle in the family might help his political agenda.

- Good for optics and all

- He already knows Ron likes you

- He and Hermione will be quite pleased they get to ogle you all they want at holiday dinners

- Ginny will like having another person in the family, she would personally give you a tour of the burrow

- Fleur will like having another in law in the family- and Bill will be happy that she’s happy

- Charlie would love it, asking you all about what kind of plants his dragons might like, and if you might plant a few for him, come visit in Romania- the port key’s always open for family-

- Actually he might have to watch out for Charlie, his older brother might legit steal you away from him

- .

- ...

- Fred would have loved you

- Fred would have never let it go on this long

- Fred would have seen George’s lovestruck expression the first time he saw you and said-

- “Well are you going to ask them out?”

- Fred always was the bold one, George was just following his lead most of the time.

- That fireworks thing in their last year was entirely Fred’s idea. 

- George would sputter and shrug in response

- ‘I was just lookin’, a man can look can’t he?’

- Fred would have given him one of his wicked grins and said:

- “Look if you don’t ask them out now, then I will”

- And pushed him across the street, holding him to it

- And then when he was halfway across the street towards you Fred would shout:

- “And see if they’ll give us a friends and family discount for the store!”

- George is grinning just imagining it

- Fred wouldn’t have cared at all that you were a muggle.

- All he would care about is that you would make his brother, his best friend, happy.

- “Honestly George, you get hung up over the dumbest things-“ Fred would have said

- “You like them don’t you? They make you feel good about the world and life?”

- And George would just dumbly nod

- “Then that’s all that matters doesn’t it? That you care about someone, and that you can see a future with them. All that other stuff- it’s just noise”

- Alright he’ll try then

- Not just for Fred, but for himself too.

- George strolls into your shop on Monday, an hour before you open-

- “Oh hello George! You’re a little early, I’ve got your hydrangeas trimmed I just need to get your potted plants ready and-“

- “Would you like to go out sometime?”

- “-then I’ll fix up the roses for y-“

- Huh?

- You freeze for a moment, almost dropping the plant in your hands

- Did he just ask you on a date?

- “If dinner is too much, maybe just tea- or coffee?”

- Maybe it’s not exciting enough for you

- Ugh! He knew he should have suggested something more fun like the zoo or maybe a botanical garden?

- But you’re around plants all day, he didn’t want to make you think he only knows one thing-

- “Friday?”

- His eyes shoot up to look at your face, he hadn’t even noticed he was staring at his shoes

- “What?”

- “Friday” you repeat, you’ve got a smile that seems lovelier than any of the flowers you grow.

- “Is Friday good for dinner? I close up at six”

- He grins so wide he’s afraid his face might break

- “Friday is perfect”

[bostongirl13]

A SINGLE SHOT OF LOVE

Chapter 1 

Summary: She is a federal agent and he is the boss of one of the most powerful mafia.  Fate wanted their paths to cross, which could cost them both more than they were willing to sacrifice. 

Words: 1.5+

Chapter warnings: murder, a description of a dead body 

18+ ONLY CONTENT! 

A/N: I know that two more people wrote to me to tag them, but I forgot. I'm very sorry....😭😓

New York City was a vast, intricate, labyrinth of noisy, streets and alleys. You could hear the incessant honking of the vehicles even before the sun rose. Impatient businessmen who had to get to the office, mothers who had to leave their children at their schools, facing the puzzling challenge of navigating through the crowd of parents and children; even some of the teachers who had stopped at the local bakery to get a bagel or two before their morning classes. After every person had reached their respective destination, the traffic congestions cleared significantly as if humungous snakes had eaten their fills and were retracting back into their dark and eerie caves. All this made you know that the city is coming to life. And in all this chaos you were. For several hours you've been awake and just entering your office building.

You greeted the security guard at the front desk, handing him a cup of coffee like you did every day when he finished his night shift and you were just starting your day. Dave was a nice man and always ready to help so you didn't mind buying one more drink.

In the elevator you took a deep breath getting ready for a hard day at work. You tweaked the badge on your belt and took your phone out of your pocket to make sure you didn't get any new information on the new case.

As the elevator door opened, you were struck by the smell of carcass, dust and what you called office odor. You couldn't name it, but it was so specific that you wouldn't mistake it for anything else. In addition, it was only noticeable in the offices of the FBI. But not only that was characteristic here. Most of the people, except for undercover agents, wore suits or very formal outfits. You didn't know how to convince yourself of it, and since you started working as an agent, you wore jeans, T-shirts, sweatshirts, sweaters, etc.

After saying hello to a few people along the way, your boss stood on a dais, something like half a floor, waiting for you, still glancing at his watch. Your boss was the kind of agent who'd been born in a suit. He was never a baby or an infant. He was a serious man with a serious gun who rolled off the assembly line in Quantico, Virginia. He was shaved 24/7 and he spoke with a baritone voice and clipped legalistic words. Life had no color for him, no shades of grey either, it was all black/white right/wrong legal/illegal. He was the perfect FBI agent.

"Y/L/N" only greeted you by saying your name, and immediately moved towards the conference room.

When you entered a large room with a large table in the center, where several agents were sitting and with whom you had the opportunity to work, you realized by their expressions that it was not an easy case. So you took your seat at the table and looked at the image projected by the projector.

First it was a case number, then a map, a few photos of the city, a few criminals, and finally photos from the crime scene. Your eyes widened, surveying every smallest element of the projected image. You noticed one of the agents covering her mouth with her hand and running out of the room. It must have been new, or this was the first time she had dealt with this type of thing.

The photos showed a lantern on the docks by the port, with fragments of a woman's body hung on thick butcher's hooks.

"I invited you here because each of you, well, almost everyone worked to some extent on similar things. However, in other cases, we did not know who was the culprit. The situation is different here, because this kind of cruelty is characteristic of only one person. As you can see Vladimir Elistratov is back, which means we have a lot of work to do.”

The term "murderer" was now reserved for psychopaths.  There were those that took life and crumpled under the weight of guilt, even if they'd no choice. There were some who killed when necessary and never lost a wink of sleep over it, that's pretty much where you sit. There are others who have made it a whole new hobby, look at them the wrong way and they attacked with lethal force. That last group are the only ones considered murderers now. Vladimir Elistratov belonged to the latter group.

After explaining, assigning tasks, and settling all the details needed for the moment, the agents went their way. You stayed for a while looking at all the photos from the beginning.

"Memories are coming back, aren't they?"

You looked up at your boss.

"You could say that," you laughed nervously. "Elistratov ... It will be a tough business. You know that well, Jack. ”You got up from your chair and put your hands in your jacket pockets.

“I am not saying that it is not. I want to be sure you can do it. Last time…"

“The last time I had less experience and acted in the dark, not knowing what I was doing. Now, well, now I can do more. "

Jack - your boss - said nothing, just nodded, agreeing with what you said.

"Just remember that you can talk to me at any time."

Although everyone thought him to be a cold, typical FBI agent, not expressing emotions, they were wrong. Jack had a heart and soul, and you saw it perfectly well when you dealt with Elistratov for the first time. However, this is not a story for now. What was over and no one will turn back the time. The mistakes were made and you can only pray not to make them again.

Your first task for today was to go to the docks to look around at crime scenes, see if the technicians missed any traces. Not that you didn't trust their abilities, but it must be admitted that each person pays attention to something else. Especially if they work in various positions.

Upon entering the underground garage, you saw a man standing by a black Mustang. He had a paper bag in one hand and a telephone in the other, typing intently, judging by his frown.

"Clint?"

"Y/N" the man immediately put the phone away and came over to greet you. "It's been a long time," he laughed and hugged you.

"What are you doing here?"

"I help. Jack didn't mention it? " You shook your head, "Well, maybe he forgot. He is no longer a teenager. Well. Get in. We're going to the docks. The technicians must have missed something. "

You haven't thought about it now, but your boss hasn't forgotten anything. Never. However, you trusted Clint too much to question his words, so without unnecessary words, you got into the car and drove to the indicated place.

Clint was a rather remote FBI agent. He was only summoned for important matters, and so no one ever knew where he was or what he was doing. A real secret agent after all.

When you arrived at the place, you immediately saw yellow tapes separating a certain area, suggesting that this area is forbidden for unauthorized persons. But now it was no longer necessary. Both of you broke the tape and started to circle the area, each one on a different side, looking for some traces.

“Something's not right for me. Why docks, why not a park? There are more people in the park, and as we know Elistratov loves the audience. "

“I also think it's a bit off his style. It's as if the copycat did it and not himself, ”Clint agreed with you. "Fuck, I have to pick it up, ”he said, looking at the screen of the ringing phone. You let him know it was okay and indicated with your hand that you were walking towards the hangars.

At first glance, everything seemed normal. A huge hangar, riddled with years of etching rust and bullets after numerous shootings. In the past, fishing boats were repaired here. Now it was a large building with a lot of metal. You went over to the other side, seeing that you wouldn't find anything here anyway, but still wanted to be sure that you checked every millimeter of the terrain.

And then you saw him. A tall man dressed in an expensive suit - or so you thought - hair combed back and sunglasses. He was leaning against a car, a black Audi, and talking on the phone. You didn't hear what the conversation was about, though, but judging from his clenched jaw, it wasn't pleasant. You took out your phone and took a few hidden photos and sent them to Clint. You looked again at the man who seemed to be staring right at you….

~ To be continued ~

Tags:  @worksby-d @sweetflowersforthebroken @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @patzammit @ivettt @ozarkthedog @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @a-moment-captured @buckysteveloki-me @denisemarieangelina @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

Series tags: @kelbabyblue @a-moment-captured @wayward-blonde @peaches-roses-sins @cynic-spirit @redhairedfeistynerd @stargazingfangirl18​ 

[riacte]

oooooh if your making a playlist i can recommend sidelined by the garages and love runs out by one republic!

Sidelined made me speedrun through the hermits + S tiers’ journey… it’s a little angsty, sad, but hopeful and… cheerful?

I guess I shouldn't be surprised // I guess I've seen a few // Revivals in my time // And you don't choose whether // You're in or out of your prime

Oh God. This reminds me of the end of Petebomb’s glory days and people doubting Fruit after MCC7 🥺 because people thought they had “peaked”

You can lead a team to water // But you can't control the strike // And then you're sidelined // You're on the sidelines

“You can lead a team to water, but you can’t control the strike” THAT DESCRIBES MCC IN GENERAL SO WELL… MCC is so unpredictable. This whole bit reminded me of Lime11, Lime14 (again), and also Yellow8… the imagery of the four of Yellow8 watching the legends battle it out in DB on the sidelines, not knowing they’ll get into three DBs consecutively after MCC8… 🥺

Can I embrace a brand new era? // Say my rituals in time // Before I'm sidelined?

HELP this line is especially painful in S2 when regulars like False Ren Cub are getting rotated out… it’s a new era after all…

Also I feel this might deal with insecurity, like False winning MCC9 and saying she’s peaked (she’s just beginning), them wondering if they’ll fade into obscurity but Scott keeps on putting them in teams lmao.

Love Runs Out immediately reminded me of Grian’s MCC journey, how he got frustrated with not winning and asked to be teamed with Fruit and Pete again and again—

“I'll be your ghost, your game, your stadium” this feels relevant to MCC somehow lmao.

The song is upbeat and quick, showing Grian’s determination. “Cause we’ll work it out // I’ll be doing this, if you have a doubt // til the love runs out” Grian has one goal and it’s to finally win MCC. “I got my mind made up, man, I can't let go // I'm killing every second 'til it sees my soul” He struggles, he tries, he got to DB in MCC13 and lost, he got third place again and again, those two points in Pride, he lost DB again, and then—

We all run for something // Run for God, for fate, for love, for hate // For gold and rust, for diamonds and dust

… Maybe Grian’s been tryharding too much. After all, victory is fleeting (gold + rust, diamonds + dust). He’s been slaving so much for the coin and getting so worked up about it, maybe he should just chill.

And that’s exactly how he got his win.

He’s the “burning sun.”

Man I really love all these songs, they’re the kind that instantly appeals to me from the get go :D sorry for making it an entire analysis though but it’s so much fun :D thanks for the recs! <33

[bush-viper-cutie]

sMuggled Art

Pairing: young muggle!snape x muggle!reader

Word Count: 5, 262

Rating: E for Everyone

Plot:  Severus is forced to take work in his father’s coworker’s wife’s store where he meets (Y/n). Severus’ view of the world seems dark, and you don’t really make things any better, but there is yet hope to change his mind! 

Warnings: None

A/N: Another request completed for anon! Since Severus doesn’t go to Hogwarts he has (my best attempt) at his North England accent. Hope you like it and the next on the list is the long awaited Crystal Ball part 4! :D

Posted: 8/31/20

Masterlist

---

(Y/n) = Your Name

 ~ * ~ * ~   = time skip

 ~ * ~ * ~

~ * ~ * ~ = POV switch

---

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

The front door slammed and shook the walls; Severus and his mother both jumped knowing what was soon to follow. His father was home and it didn’t sound like work had gone well again. His father walked into the kitchen where Severus was eating, his mother was wafting the cigarette smoke out the window before hastily dropping it into a water-filled pan in the sink and turned to her husband.

“They cut our pays. Again!” His father pulled on the fridge door so hard the entire thing moved forward several inches, scraping the tile.

That was Severus’ cue to escape to his room. He didn’t like being in the same room as either of his parents, though he could tolerate it when they were sober. All they ever did was order him around or ignore him on good days and yell at him on bad ones. Drunk, however, he knew what awaited him. He gathered his books and left his half-eaten cheese sandwich on his plate and turned to leave.

“You.”

His father’s gruff voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned, staring up at him as he took a long swig of beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“You need to start earnin’ for this ‘ousehold.” He stepped closer and stared down at him over his large, hooked nose. His black eyes looked hazy and dark circles made his face look much older than he was. Anyone could look at his face alone and guess an age ten years older than he was, except his large square shoulders and huge bulging muscles would make anyone second guess themselves. He slid his jacket off himself and let it drop to the floor, flexing his arms and leaned over the doorway, blocking Severus’ exit. “T’morrow. I’m takin’ you ‘round to Malv’s wife’s store. They’re lookin’ for an extra ‘and.”

“Doin’ what?” Severus squeezed his eyes, regretting having spoken.

His father smirked and bent down to Severus’ hunched height. “Doin’ wh’ever they ask s’long as it pays.” He shoved him out of the kitchen and slammed the door.

Severus straightened his shirt and cursed to himself, heading upstairs. He closed his bedroom door and sat on the edge of his bed. He had plans tomorrow to do the homework he’d been putting off for the week. He was already falling behind in school, which wasn’t a good enough excuse to get out of doing work. It wasn’t like his parents cared whether he stayed in his disgusting school. His father had, on more than one occasion, talked to him about quitting and starting work in the mill, but there was no bloody way he was throwing out his only chance of leaving this horrid town.

He kicked his nightstand in frustration and winced as the leg snapped with a crunch and the whole thing came toppling over. Pencils and loose paper fell out, along with his black leather-bound journal. It was the most expensive thing in the house, given to him for his eighth birthday by his grandfather before he died.

His father had wanted to sell it, but it wasn’t even worth the cost of gas it took to get to the pawn shop across town. His grandfather had paid good money for it, and in the end, it stayed in Severus’ possession, used to hold his rubbish drawings throughout the years.

He picked it up and started sketching out the broken furniture and shading it as best he could. He sighed and closed it, throwing it back on the pile of loose doodles.

~ * ~ * ~

The next morning he picked out anything that didn’t have obvious patches or holes to wear. He even combed through his hair, per his mother’s orders, and brushed his teeth, ready for work. He dumped out his school supplies from his bag and packed his journal and a few pencils. He hated having nothing to do and carried it with him everywhere. He liked drawing in public because normally no one talked to him when he did, and if they did, he could ignore them with ease and pretended to be too focused on his art.

“Severus! Get down! Now!” His father’s deep voice roared through the house.

He growled to himself and slammed his bedroom door shut, marching down the stairs to where his father stood waiting with his arms crossed.

“Don’t make me late for work,” his father growled.

He was always late for work.

Severus nodded and slipped on his shoes, tucking the laces inside and pulled the door open. His father pushed him aside and walked out first, heading to his old grey car with the paint coming off the sides. He looked around for his mother but she was in the kitchen, smoking again.

“There food I can take? …For breaks?” he called out.

She didn’t respond and he headed out. He walked around to the passenger side and did his best to unjam the car door, finally needing help from his father to get it open. He sat down, hugged his bag to his chest, and buckled in.

~ * ~ * ~

He stared at the rain droplets racing down the window as they drove a few minutes into town. The shops were just opening as the car pulled up to the curve of a street of small and old looking store fronts. The most immediate store had a metal sign with their store name stamped on and rusting on all the edges. It was still in better condition than the wooden sign from the store next to it with bloated letters from all the years of rain.

His father slammed the door closed and walked around the car, pulling the passenger door open with such ferocity the car wobbled in place.

“I’ll pick you up after work. ‘Round seven. ‘ere’s your papers.” His father handed him three folded pieces of paper and pulled him out of the car, slammed the door closed and walked back around. “Don’t mess this up, Severus. Or you’ll be dealin’ with me.”

Severus nodded, clutching his papers and watched his father’s car pull into the street and head back around towards the large looming factory in the distance. The smoke from the factory mixed with the grey clouds, hiding any hints of the sun outside.

He covered the papers from the rain and walked the few steps to the door and pulled but it wouldn’t budge. He pressed his forehead to the window and peered inside, watching as a silhouette of a short woman approached.

He backed away as the door unlocked and a pale, sunken-faced woman with big bushy brown brows stared up at him through golden glasses. She pulled on her string of waxy pearls around her neck and looked him up and down.

He stared back at her and extended his hand with his papers his father had given him. She unfolded and shuffled through them, humming affirmatively after each one.

“I can use you.” She stepped back and let him in out of the rain into the yellow glare of the ceiling lights. “Was ‘oping you’d be… more like your father.”

She squeezed his arms and he recoiled into a shelf, hitting his head against the sharp wood.

“But I s’ppose jus’ your height will do.” She led him through several tight spaces between shelves of porcelain figures and around the front counter into the back room.

The back room was brighter than the main store, using whiter light, and there were larger stacks of boxes piled in the corner behind a single round table where someone sat reading.

“This is (Y/N). Do what you’re told. I’ll be back ‘round noon to check up on things ‘ere. Or might be back sooner. Don’ know yet.” She eyed him up and down with squinted eyes and exited the back room.

After a few awkward seconds the front door creaked open and closed. Severus stood there doing his best to avoid looking at (Y/n), instead looking down hoping his hair would hide his burning face.

~ * ~ * ~

~ * ~ * ~

A tall boy with long inky hair stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking at his shoes, glancing up at you every few seconds, and clutching his beige tattered bag in his arms.

You set your book down and stood. “Sorry about my mum… She can be a bit…” you shrugged, not knowing exactly what word best described the creature that was your mother. “What’s your name?”

His eyes flashed to your face and back down to his shoes, a light blush spreading over his cheeks. “Severus.” He turned his head to look at the wall of advertisements for new porcelain figures and let his hair fall over his face.

“Welcome, Severus. It’s pretty easy what you’ll be doing. Just… restocking and opening boxes while I dust and sit at the counter.” You turn to face the boxes and brought one down on the table with a grunt. You pulled on the tape and opened it up, taking out the little porcelain figure wrapped in tissue and plastic. “You can just set them on that cart over there and wheel it out into the store.”

Severus looked over at the cart and nodded.

You stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to say anything or ask any questions but all he did was hang his bag on one of the hooks on the wall and avoid your eyes.

“The sheet there says what number box to open and how many figurines to take out every morning. Just… let me know if you have any questions or can’t find something… I’ll be in the front.” You closed the box and headed out, closing the door to the back room and went to flip the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’.

~*~*~

You spent the hour dusting the figures all over the store before finally sitting down on the stool behind the counter – a little high for your liking – and opened up your book once more. Severus had begun restocking the figurines, preferring to wonder around the store like a lanky giant than ask for your help. You tried concentrating on the words beneath you but watching him struggle to find the shelf full of porcelain ducks while carrying a glossy yellow one with a blue umbrella was entertaining enough.

The first customer of the day came through and bought about six of the forest series figures. As they walked out you spotted Severus’ look of disgust and laughed, catching his attention.

“You should see them over the Holidays. The shelves need constant restocking.” You watched a tiny smile grow and felt the air around get significantly lighter.

“But what are they for?” He stepped closer but avoided your gaze.

You shrugged, “They collect them.”

“Waste of money,” he mumbled and continued finding where the last of the figurines went.

~ * ~ * ~

It was around noon now and like she had said, your mother was back. She pushed the door open with her pink faux-leather purse and sneered at Severus in the corner as he replaced some figures a customer had just bought moments ago.

“Got anythin’ nicer to wear? You’re drivin’ down the prices with those pants of yours. They’re too short.”

“Mum,” you cut in before she could embarrass him further. “No one’s even noticed him.”

She turned back to Severus. “Ever think to tuck in that shirt?”

“No,” Severus snapped. He crossed his arms over his chest, somehow looking smaller than before.

Your mother scoffed and headed to the counter, shooing you out. “Go eat your lunches.”

You jerked your head to the back room, inviting Severus to join you. He shuffled in ahead, going straight for his bag.

You unwrapped the brown bag in the corner and took out your sandwich, turning back to Severus. He was bent over the table scribbling in a journal. You pulled the other chair out and sat down, peering over and seeing it was the beginnings of a doodle.

You watched him for a few minutes until he looked up and closed it.

“What were you drawing?” You finished one of your sandwich halves and waited for his reply.

His eyes flickered to you and he licked his lips, getting ready to answer. “Its… Just nothin’.”

“Your tongue was sticking out… You looked pretty concentrated.”

“I wasn’t drawin’ nothin’,” he growled and put his stuff back in his bag. He laid his head down, letting his hair spread out on the table.

You stretched out your finger and snuck a feel, smiling to yourself. You wrapped your last sandwich half and pushed it up to him. “Want my sandwich? I haven’t bitten it.”

He dragged his face up and looked down at the sandwich half next to his elbow. He looked back up at you and raised his brow.

“Take it.” You nudged it closer.

He took the sandwich and began eating. “I don’t take bribes, just to inform you.”

You gave a giggle and enjoyed the slight blush that spread over his cheeks. “You think I’m giving you my sandwich so that u can show me your art?” You leaned forward and grinned. “I’m just being nice.”

“Nice?” He shook his head, “No one’s just nice.”

“What?” You laughed. “People are nice all the time!”

He turned to you, furrowing his thick brows and leaned in. “Everyone wants somethin’. Even if it’s just to feel good ‘bout themselves.”

Your grin shrunk and you looked deep into his eyes, seeing he was speaking his truth, even if you disagreed. You sat back and mulled over what he said, seeing a bit of where he was coming from. What you didn’t understand is how someone could actually think that.

He set down his sandwich and got up from the table, walking over to the bathroom and locked it. You looked at his bag and thought back to the doodle he had been working on. You looked back at the locked door and back at his bag. What sort of stuff did he draw with a mentality like that? He frowned when he restocked, snapped angrily at people, and believed the world to be selfish.

You reach in his bag and pulled out his black leather journal, opening it from the back forward and flipped through pages until you found the first doodle. It was a scribbled mess, but it had begun to take shape into one of the tiny lamb figurines, cowering from a large grey wolf with an open drooling mouth.

You flipped to the next page and saw a broken stand and a few shattered bottles. The next page was a broken mirror and the next a burning house. The page after caught your eye. It was a swing set in the foregrounds and a group of teens talking by the slides of the playground he’d drawn. All of the teens had smiling faces and ice cream cones or popsicles in their hands. Were these his friends? But why did they look so far away? Regardless, his skills were amazing. Everything looked so detailed and precise.

“Couldn’t resist?” A cold low voice spoke from above.

Severus’ hands came down above you and snatched up his book. You turned around and stood to face him, red in the face with embarrassment and shame.

“I-I’m sorry I… I just… It was only a few pages.”

He was fuming, lips turned down with bared teeth. His eyes glistened as he clutched onto the journal. “You can keep the rest of your ruddy sandwich.”

“No, please. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking… I was just curious and I let it get the better of me… I really am sorry. I swear I only looked at a few drawings. I’m sorry. Really.” You were a fool for not realizing how upset he’d be. You’d thought worst case scenario he’d be annoyed, and once the band aid of you looking at his art was torn off, he’d be more open to going through it with you. Best case you’d put the journal back before he came back and your curiosity would be settled.

He stepped forward, towering over you. “No. You’re not. You got what you wanted… So why would you be sorry?”

“Because I didn’t consider your feelings. I thought you wouldn’t care so much about your art. I didn’t think you’d really care.” You hugged your arms closer and watched his expression change.

His furious black eyes took in your figure and he looked down at his book. His frown turned softer. “I don’t care. It’s pointless to care.”

He turned away from you and walked into the bathroom. Within seconds he was back out with empty hands and left the back room to continue stocking the shelves in the store. You made your way to the bathroom and saw he had turned the faucet on the book, soaking it in the sink.

Tears coated your eyes as you blinked, turning the other pages of the journal and seeing nothing but smeared figures and smudged faces. You hadn’t expected such an extreme reaction… but it was still all your fault. You should have realized some people could be very sensitive about their art… even if you hadn’t seen anything that personal in it.

~ * ~ * ~

The next four hours was spent in silence as you helped in the front desk and occasionally restocked some figurines. Severus had refused to even look at you, keeping his eyelids half closed in boredom the rest of the time and responded to only your mother.

The last customer left, and the shop was ready to close. The next hour was spent dusting and counting money until finally your father’s car pulled up on the curb.

“Time to close,” your mother pushed you and Severus out as she locked the shop door and dropped the key in her pocket.

Severus’ bag was noticeably more empty than it had been when he walked into the shop. You clutched your bag closer and felt the journal you had slipped into your bag. You weren’t really sure what you were going to do with it… but you wanted to make things right with him.

You father honked and your mother and you got in his car, leaving Severus standing outside the shop in the rain. You watched him sit against the door and pull his legs in, resting his head on his knees. Your father pulled away from the curb and you sat back, wondering what to do.

~ * ~ * ~

The night air was cold but the rain had stopped shortly after dinner. You gripped onto the handlebars of your bike and squinted at the signs as you rode passed. The torch in your hand kept flickering and the rows and rows of identical houses made biking all the way to Severus’ house in the dead of night seem like the worst idea of the century.

You kept your feet still as the wheels turned on their own down the hill, taking you to the last neighborhood of Spinner’s End. You stopped a few houses away from the house you believed to be Severus’. You took out the note where you’d written his address and shined your torch at the letters written sloppily on his dented mailbox.

You ditched your bike in a bush across the street and headed to his house. You placed your hand on the gate and breathed out, pushing it open and walking down his cobblestone walkway and up the two steps to his front door.

You knocked a few times and heard a door close inside and then quick footsteps. The front door swung open and a tall woman looked down at you. Her eyes made her look cross, but her down turned mouth gave off a sullen air about her. She looked you up and down and crossed her arms.

“S-sorry,” you stammered. “Can I speak to Severus?”

The woman’s sad mouth turned up at the ends. “Severus? And what would you wan’ with him?”

Did she find it funny you wanted to speak to him? “I’d just like to.”

Her smile pulled up higher to show her yellow crooked teeth. “Run ‘long back to where you came from, brasser. Come back when we ‘ave the money to spend.” She slammed the door.

Your mouth fell open and you backed away, shaking with anger. If you could go back several second you’d’ve hit her long pale face square in the nose. She may not have realized who you were and the fact your mother was currently employing her son, but that still didn’t giver her the right to talk to you that way.

You headed out of their property and noticed a shadow on the pavement coming from the house. You turned just in time to see a dash of black hair as Severus pulled his head back inside his window. You looked at the windows at the front of the house and made sure no one was watching you from there before heading around the brick wall to the left side of the house. Severus was hiding under the windowsill, only the top of his head was visible from down where you stood.

You climbed the low wall and shined your torch on the dead dried grass, spotting a ladder. You jumped down and dragged the ladder, pulling it out as long as it’d go, and propped it up on the side of the house. His window wasn’t that high up and the ladder seemed sturdy enough so you climbed, clutching your bag under your arm as best you could.

You reached the top and looked down into Severus’ eyes as he sat under his windowsill still with a red face. You sighed and looked around his room. His door was closed and it looked safe enough, away from the eyes and ears of his horrible mother.

“Are you going to invite me in?”

Severus nodded and moved back awkwardly, still on the floor of his room.

You threw your bag in and ducked inside, doing your best to not fall on your face. You sat in front of him and pulled your bag close. “Severus, I wanted to talk to you and apologize.” You looked around his messy room. “Though I was hoping to do it at your front door but… I suppose this is still the least weird apology I’ve given in my life.” You smiled hoping to lighten the mood.

He shook his head and pulled down on his hair. “I heard… I-I mean…” He pressed his face down into his hands, hiding his red face. “I’m sorry my mam called you a… She… She ‘ates everyone. Please don’t…” He sighed.

You laughed, “Don’t worry. It’s not like you called me that.”

He looked up and watched you behind his hair as you pulled out his black journal.

“I… was a jerk earlier. I got curious and went behind your back… You don’t deserve that… So… Here.” You extended his notebook out to him.

He pushed his hair back and frowned. “It’s ruined. I soaked it.”

You nodded, “Well… The art is no longer in there. It was really smudged. But I cleaned it off as best I could and spent all evening drying it… The pages are dry and hold pencil led well enough again… See?” You flipped to the first page where you’d written:

‘I’m Sorry I’m Awful

Please Don’t Hate Me.’

He took it and flipped through it, feeling the paper with his long fingers and rubbing at the occasional left over smudge. He looked back up at you with still furrowed brows. “But why? We aren’t friends… What d’you expect to get from this?”

You raised your brow and pushed your hair aside. “Still so cynical. But you’re right. I do want something – Two things actually. One, for you to forgive me. And two, to be friends. You seem pretty alright and your art was really good, from what I could tell.”

His face softened and he looked back at his journal, closing it and placing it between you both. “Friends?”

You laughed. “Yeah. What? Have too many to squeeze me in?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just…” He gripped his knees and bit his lip. “D’you know we go to the same school?”

You blinked, taken completely aback. “We what? Really? I’ve never seen you around.” How had you not noticed him ever at school. It wasn’t that big of a school, and most students knew each other through their parents who most all worked at the mill.

He nodded, bringing his head lower and letting his hair cover his face again. “You’re too popular t’even know I exist.”

You laughed at that word. “Popular? I’m not popular.” You couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“You’re always around all those people…”

You giggled, “They’re just my friends…” It suddenly struck you that he’d been watching you before. As you were cleaning up his journal you had noticed several groups of students he’d drawn. Besides the one at whatever park, some of the settings were school settings. But it hadn’t clicked that it was your school he had drawn. “Severus?”

He looked up, his face was no longer red, but a light pink blush remained on his pale cheeks.

“Did you want to be friends with me before? At school I mean?”

He shook his head.

You frowned, confused about what he was trying to say. If he didn’t want to be friends why was he watching you? Why did it seem he had an interest in you if he wanted nothing to do with you? “Then what? I don’t get it.”

He shook his head again. “Nothin’… I forgive you. You should go before my parents catch you in ‘ere. My mam will lose it… and you wouldn’t want to see that. Things get weird when she does.”

You nodded and stood, zipping up your bag and turned to the window. You wanted to stay longer, figure out what the hell was Severus’ secret. Why was he so secretive!

You swung a leg over and felt for the step, ducking through the window and finding the step again with your other foot. You looked down to make sure everything was okay and took a step down. You turned back and froze. Severus was back to kneeling next to the window and his face just inches from yours.

“S-sorry! I thought I should be close enough to catch you if the ladder started tiltin’…” His cheeks reddened even more and spread to his neck.

You nodded and looked into the deep wells of his eyes, seeing yourself reflected in their dark depths. He got closer, letting you stare at him longer.

Another explanation popped into your head, for why he’d been the one to know you existed despite never having met him. Why he’d observed you with your friends. Why he cared about your social differences….

“Do you have a crush on me, Severus?” you smiled.

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly. The blush that had been spreading down his neck turned red again, and he looked away, giving you a curtain of inky hair. He turned back with more composed features. “Of course I don’t! Why would I? I-I just met you today and… and I was just sayin’ that stuff about school because I-I noticed you once. That’s all!” His voice was deep and harsh.

You rolled your eyes at his weak attempt at intimidation. “Just admit it! Why else would you be acting so weird about being friends and caring about how ‘popular’ I am even though I’m not?” You climbed back up the ladder and pushed him aside to climb back through the window.

He stood and squeezed his hands into fists, no longer cowering. “Just because I’ve seen you ‘round doesn’t mean I ‘ave a crush on you!”

You scoffed. “Do we have any classes together?”

“No.” He crossed his arms.

“Do we have the same lunch together?”

“No.” He started tugging on his sleeve.

You smiled again. “There are over a thousand students in our crummy school and hundreds during lunches and somehow you know I’m not part of those hundreds in your lunch?” You laughed again. “Explain that.”

His face got even redder. “Well.. I-I… I-it…” He shut his mouth and clenched his jaw. “Fine. I DID. ‘appy?”

Your smile dropped. “‘Did’? When… Why did you stop?” Why did you care?

He huffed. “I told you. It’s pointless to care… about you…”

You looked down at his greying socks. You weren’t sure why his words kind of stung.

“Why d’you look like that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know…” You bit your lip. “I think I… Liked? That you had a crush on me?”

He scoffed, “Why? S’you could feel good about yourself?”

You shrugged again, feeling tears grow in the corner of your eyes and wishing you could escape such an awkward turn of the argument.

There was a long pause.

“D-d’you like me?”

Your head shot up and your faced burned hot. His eyebrows were raised and his crossed arms were loosening the longer you took to respond. “I… might have taken an interest in… you.”

“You’re interested in me?” His face pulled up into a grin suddenly. “Is that what you’re sayin’?”

You scoffed, “I didn’t say that exactly!”

He laughed and stepped forward, still towering over you. “I felt you feel my hair! I was right! I knew it!”

Your jaw dropped and if your face wasn’t red before it was now the color of a tomato. You did remember doing that. “I… I don’t know why I did that!”

“That’s why you want me to admit I ‘ave a crush on you,” he shrugged and stepped back, looking as if he’d won.

“Aha!” You quickly put your finger up. “You DO have a crush on me!”

He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I’ve already won. You ‘ave a crush on me – and you didn’t even realize it.”

What had this day turned into. Being suddenly told this morning you’d have to train someone knew at the store and now it was passed midnight and somehow you’d accidently confessed a crush you’d also gotten today? The day was as messy as the clean up for his journal that now lay forgotten on the floor.

You held your hands up in defeat. “Fine… So maybe I do… But you do too!”

He curled his finger and pressed it to his lips. “Alright… I do…”

You smiled down at your shoes and stood there awkwardly for a minute before decided to just go for it. You stepped forward and kissed his cheek, accidently touching the corner of his mouth and pulled away.

Your face burned. “Ok… Bye – !” You turned and headed out the window, quickly climbing down and let the ladder down on the ground gently.

You climbed the brick wall and looked back up at Severus.

He was touching his cheek as he smiled and waved. “S-see you t’morrow!”

You put your hand to your mouth and giggled. “See you.”

He looked smug suddenly and you rolled your eyes playfully.

You quickly jumped down and ran to your bike, hopping on and peddling back up the hill, trying to pull your giant smile back to normal.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Masterlist

Request: “may I request a muggle young sev x muggle reader please idk a story or headcanon really anything you want I just love the way you write young severus okie dokie thank you for reading 🥺❤” – Anon

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Welcome to General Taglist!!:

@bionic-otp​

@severuslovebot​

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[rebelscoundrel]

Calm Before the Storm

Before the best X-Wing pilot in the Resistance goes off gallivanting for the map to Luke Skywalker, he steals a moment of time with his favorite flight deck operator.

Poe Dameron x reader

Warnings: fluff, secret relationship, getting hot and heavy for 0.2 seconds, set right before TFA

Masterlist

The graveyard shift had never been this exciting.

The air was thick with coffee and fuel. It was a maddening dance to cross the crowded concrete floors but you managed all the same, barking stats on landing and departures to your superior. On this particular day, the goal for flight deck operators was hacking a path to the skies for the best pilot in the Resistance fleet. Poe Dameron had plenty a solo mission before, but this was the first directly from General Organa herself. 

Your fingers grazed over the screen rested on your forearm, gently prodding the pilot’s name when it popped up on your list. A memory flashed by — his hand cradling your neck, a bruising kiss on your lips — though none of the familiar warmth accompanied it. Thankfully Poe wasn’t due on the flight deck until closer to his takeoff so you’d be free from his more tangible distractions. 

But you should’ve known better. 

You heard him before you saw him, as per usual. Loud, confident footsteps were only drowned out by his voice booming down the corridor. 

“There they are! Just about the only faces I wanna see this morning.”

Poe clapped an arm on the nearest engineer as he strode up. His eyes snagged on yours and softened, grounding the two of you like a cliff among the waves of people sloshing around. Only when he was swarmed by the mechanics officers did his gaze finally abandon you. Even the sky-high pilot knew to fly under the radar. 

He turned to rallying the small crew by trading quips and high-fives in between a status check on his X-Wing. It had to be magic, you always teased, the way he could work an entire hangar with a few jokes and a smile — as if you weren’t the one to fall deepest under his spell. 

You nonchalantly tapped away on your datapad, still managing to answer duty’s call while listening to Poe’s antics. You grabbed a passing officer to relay an order and by the time you looked up again Poe was finishing his routine by hollering words of encouragement to the dispersing crowd. It was dust settling from his magic show and you strolled through it, eager to at least flash him a smile.

Poe turned and intercepted your approach like it was choreographed.

“Lieutenant.” 

“Captain. Good to have you on deck this early.”

He returned your grin and nodded left down the corridor. Your brows furrowed quizzically as you fell into step beside him, a red sea of other pilots and mechanics parting before you. This was a surprise detour, familiar though it may have been. 

“How’s my flight path?” he asked, gaze still locked forward.

The question could fall on innocent ears and go unnoticed, just like you and Poe intended. Nobody would blink an eye at a pilot and flight deck operator talking strategy. 

“Crystal clear.” Yes, came your answer. 

The walk down the corridor felt longer than usual. The distance between you and Poe was reinforced by a stiffness in your arms and a carefully calculated pace that kept him a half-step in front. Passersby would clap Poe on the back or shoulder to wish him luck and you could only hide your proud grin so much.

Finally the stream of people thinned out and a nondescript door to an empty set of quarters came into view. Poe stepped in first and once you made sure the coast was clear, you followed and locked the door behind.

“So how are –”

You captured his lips, cutting off the conversational question. Poe returned the fervor and locked his arms around to curve you closer. You cradled his jaw in both hands, stealing the kisses you couldn’t have in plain sight. The heat of his mouth and teeth scraping your lip made you sigh and finally pull back.

“Uh, hi. Sorry,” you gave his chest a sheepish pat.

“Hello to you, too.” He pecked you again before shucking off his jacket and settling onto the couch. “Glad I showed up when I did or you may have jumped me in the hangar.”

The gleam in his eye gave away his teasing and how much he actually enjoyed the attention. You followed the magnetic pull and sank next to him on your usual side of the couch, tossing your legs over his lap.

It was night and day, really – the curt, professional manner you kept with each other in public and the relaxation that melted you into the other’s touch within the confines of these quarters. It wasn’t necessarily unethical for the two of you to be together, but the optics were better if you weren’t. So the relationship only existed between the walls of this ten-by-ten room.

And every inch was worth it.

“You can kiss me again but at least lemme get my question out first.�� Poe chuckled against your shove and slipped an arm around your back. “How are you? How’s the flight deck holding up?”

“The graveyard shift is antsy because we’re the ones sending you off. But they’re good, they’re ready.”

“Even the officers who scratched my flyer last week?”

You laughed and Poe basked in it, gently playing with the tips of your hair as you continued the small talk. This was what he needed – a moment alone to let loose, his hand in your hair, your thumb rubbing his other knuckles. Like you were the most normal pair in the galaxy

Like you don’t have a war to fight every hour of the day.

Poe cleared his throat when you brushed the stray curl on his forehead. “And you?”

“Hm?”

“How are you, remember?”

You scoffed and waved him off. “You’re the one going on a dangerous mission and you’re asking about me?”

Poe’s hand slowly intertwined with yours and squeezed, a warning you were used to. Please don’t deflect like we always do. So you braced yourself and finally looked into his eyes again.

“I’m fine, really.”

“You’re fine? I mean, I guess I am the one that’s going on the dangerous mission.” He was teasing again, delicately prying you open.

“Yeah, I’m fine. We’re all prepared. It’s just…”

Poe smiled knowingly and pulled you closer. “There it is. What’s wrong?”

“Is Leia sure about this?”

“Is she ever not sure about something?”

You knew he was joking. Both of you were, you’d never underestimate or distrust your general. But the gravity of the mission was finally weighing on you now that you had Poe in your arms. Your resolve crumbled, showing the cracks underneath that you’d wanted to keep hidden.

“Poe, I’m terrified,” you whispered. “For you, for the whole Resistance…”

Poe sighed and tugged you into his chest. His hands cradled your neck and shoulders as he closed his eyes, memorizing every touch and smell. The crook of your neck muffled his words but you heard his confession all the same.

“I am, too.”

The planet seemed to freeze for a moment, giving you respite to breathe each other in. Only when an announcement from the comms system blared just outside the door did the trance break.

You leaned back, heart and mind clearer as you pushed an accusatory finger into Poe’s chest. “I need you back alive and well, Captain.”

“Wouldn’t dream of otherwise, Lieutenant.”

***

“Hey Lieutenant, we’ve got an unauthorized craft incoming.”

You turned sharply, striding over as the officers cleared away from the flight deck command desk. A battered freighter popped up on the green display showing no Resistance markings. You nodded at the comms officer to make contact.

“Incoming VCX-100,” you enunciated into the microphone, “identify yourself or we will be forced to take action. I repeat, identify yourself or we will be forced to take action.”

The reply transmission was rife with static and you only caught the last few words. “…clear the goddamn runway.”

Your heart stopped.

“Was that Captain Dameron?” the comms officer asked.

Datapad tossed aside, you sprinted to the hangar entrance and punched the main deck comms unit. “Clear a path! That freighter’s landing, get outta the way!”

The flight deck sparked to life and people scrambled back and forth around your unmoving stance. You were enraptured with the freighter and the dark line of smoke streaming behind it as it moved closer. Ever since the Resistance lost contact with Poe on Jakku, X-Wings had plagued your dreams as your every fiber prayed for his return.

The freighter wasn’t expected, but it would do. You took off down the runway.

The craft finally landed with a crunch and the rusting door came screeching open. With the tattered shirt hanging off his frame, Poe emerged and took a relieved gulp of D-Qarian air. Your boots thundered with your approach and he split into a mile-wide grin.

“Poe! Oh my god.”

You crashed into his waiting arms, laughing in disbelief. His curls were caked in dust and the blood streaking his cheek probably rubbed off on you, but who could care when he was back in your embrace. He buried his face in your neck and sighed, gripping you like you were a mirage that could disappear.

Turns out you feared the same thing. Without thinking, you kissed him hard. Like no one was watching.

Even though the entire base was watching.

“Shit…” you murmured.

Poe shook his head, smiling an inch from your lips. “I think it’s a good welcome home present.” He kissed you again with a hand on your cheek as a guide.

You were so wrapped up in each other that you missed the muttering down the runway and in the hangar. “I told you,” “finally,” “wait, since when?” A few handfuls of credits were passed back and forth, settling bets laid long ago.

Though with your forehead rested on Poe’s, you would contend that you won the grand prize.

[janekfan]

Stipulations

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366131/chapters/64217887

(Kind of heavy? Maybe? If you've experienced some of these themes? Or all of them? At once? I just love to project all over these characters soooo...sorry Jon. You must bear the brunt of my emotional ills :D

Basira is an interesting character to me. Like she's been kept in the dark, Jon has lied and been weird and is "eating" people's fears and I get it? But 177, oof. Take your victim blaming elsewhere! Especially considering she's used him for his powers before and is hypocritical when it comes to Daisy. So yeah. Got feels. Here they are all spilled over a page :D )

Weary, the avatar of the Beholding slipped between shadows in the Institute’s dark corridors, lingering at the door behind which were the key to relieving his acute suffering. He didn’t even notice that his trembling fingers were gripping the handle so tightly they ached, or that his face was pressed against the rough surface of the wood until a sharp sound from behind jolted him out of his ravenous longing.

“Jon.”

Basira. Judging from the livid expression on her face, she’d been repeating his name and was not well pleased with what she saw if the hand on her gun was any indication.

“Step. Away.” And the only reason he did, he could was the whisper of fear the Eye could sense, and he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. “Stop.” Whatever was left of Jon obeyed, his own fear of her very real consequences overriding the desire to takefeedriptearsatiate hunger pangs so deep and ingrained that a part of him he couldn’t remember what it was anymore to not feel starved. Who was he without this need?

Who was he that Basira needed to be afraid of him?

“Ba--”

“Shut up.” He did, with the muted click of teeth and a dry swallow. Without the singular focus of what lay behind the door he felt shaky, weak. Like at any moment his legs would give way and he’d be left here on the floor. It happened sometimes. “What are you doing?” What was he doing? She turned from him. “Nevermind. Come with me.”

“Wh’where?” The fierce glare over her shoulder made him flinch and he followed her without any more questions into his office.

Oh.

“Sit down.” Gratefully. The last time she’d had him stand and, well.

“B’Basira.” He tried again, ashamed of the pleading note that crept into his voice. He wasn’t well. He. He didn’t want to do this but even so, her disgusted disappointment was cutting. He didn’t need to Know to know that she thought him pathetic, that she thought if only he was stronger they wouldn’t have this problem, this inconvenience. This was the only thing he was good for. If he could turn his powers into a tool for them then it proved there was still something human in him, right? Basira was helping him hold onto it, that’s why she asked this of him, because it was helping. From a folder under her arm she pulled a mugshot, sliding it across the desk. Jon didn’t look. He didn’t have to.

“Where is he?” He tried to resist, like she was the one who held the power of compulsion and not him, but he wanted to help. More than anything, he wanted to help fix what he’d done. The headache behind his eyes worsened when the Eye opened, demanding payment he didn’t have to give and dredging up what he needed to Know like drawing water from a depthless well. Static rose in a tide, angry, loud, greedy and he didn’t, there wasn’t enough left, like wringing blood from a stone.

Feed your god, or your god will feed on you.

Basira’s lead pooled on his tongue and fell from his lips and it tasted like ash and ink as the static finally overwhelmed him, rising in a wave, deafening, roaring, punishing him for daring to demand Knowledge for free.

Later. Minutes. Days. Weeks. Years later Jon woke to the rasp of a statement slipping under his door and he descended on it like a vulture, ugly and clawing, weeping with this taste of relief, no matter how small. He read it again and again, the metaphysical equivalent of licking his plate clean and when the static faded and the green was gone from his eyes, Jon jerked back to awareness with a sharp gasp, nauseated with dread realization. Curling up right where he was, Jon covered his face in both hands, stifling his noise and hiding his tears even though no one was left but him.

Hollow in his very bones, like a bird, Jon wished more than anything to fly away from this prison, to somewhere, anywhere, that did not hurt. He wandered familiar halls as an apparition of hunger, subsisting on sips of air and the dust of infinite statements and it felt like punishment. To be kept alive by the Beholding even as it killed him letter by word by sentence by paragraph by--

The tea kettle. Cold. Like him. Frozen and shivering and missing so badly his heart throbbed painfully in his narrow chest. Jon ended up here more often than he wanted to admit. It was a comfort. Security. The last remnant of someone who tolerated him, proof someone had once known him enough to care for him.

Someone else he’d thrown away.

Despite their strained relationship, he was so thankful he still had Basira, that she hadn’t left him in this place alone, even though he knew she couldn’t leave because of him. But he’d always been selfish; there was no reason would that change now. But he could make it up to her. If he was good, if he was helpful, she would reward him and that was more kindness than he deserved. Because he wasn’t supposed to have statements anymore. He was beating this “addiction” she called it. If he could be strong, she wouldn’t have to keep them under lock and key and she knew he wasn’t. He was lucky she was there to do this for him. To protect him when everyone else had gone.

On the days where he couldn’t make it to the tea kettle, Jon lay as still as possible in his office, the migraine caused by demands he didn’t have the resources to spend and spent anyway so bad it took up all the space he had left for worrying about other things. On those days, the hunger was almost quiet, body too full of aches for any one part of him to direct his attention.

Then he lost his ribs. No. Not lost. He had one. Gave the other away. For Daisy. For Basira and he walked into the earth with every intention of rescuing a very important person. The Buried, the Choke, took all the hungry away and replaced it with fear and when he found Daisy and hooked their fingers together in the damp filth of this place, this eternal coffin unending, he never let go.

And still he failed her.

Until he was saved by the familiar hum and hiss of the tape recorders burrowed into his ears and refused to be ignored and they walked out.

Mostly whole.

Daisy. His salvation. His chance to prove he could still be good, passed triumphantly into Basira’s waiting arms. Despite himself, Jon knew he was beaming as much as he still could, hoping for a morsel of praise, the yearning for it almost as debilitating as the emptiness inside him. There was nothing, as he knew there would be, as Basira whisked Daisy away for medical attention and assessment which of course, was a much higher priority than soothing the ego of a monster. The room reeked of the Lonely, made his skin itch and his blood burn because he recognized a familiarity, had laid unconscious claim to it as an assistant. He was the Archivist. It was his job to protect his assistants and though he’d done a piss poor job of it thus far, it didn’t stop him from wanting to unleash his latent power on such a brazen entity that dared touch what was his. He would very much enjoy taking it apart when the time came.

Shaking his head to clear it of these new and aggressive thoughts, Jon stumbled away to clean up, ready to retreat into his sanctuary and rest for a little while until he could be useful again.

It was no longer the kettle he visited. It was the door.

Locked.

Barred.

Basira had forgotten him in favor of Daisy. Of course, she needed her. And didn’t need him for leads and without that slim hope he might get a statement out of it, he found himself going a bit mad with hunger. He Knew where they were in the building, none of them could leave it for long, and the last ounces of his dwindling control were funneled into stopping himself begging for her help.

Basira didn’t, she wouldn’t like that.

Calm. Quiet. Useful. Out of the way. He could be those things. She liked those things.

Jon couldn’t leave the door. Not now when the proximity quelled the myriad whispers overlapping in his mind like a thousand trains of thought. If he listened hard enough, curled up close enough, he could hear them tucked away in their folders and envelopes nestled in boxes, rows of boxes, so many boxes he could eat and eat until, until maybe--

“What are you doing?” With sore, heavy eyes Jon looked up into Basira’s harsh and unforgiving stare and wished for a glimpse of understanding or kindness. “What have you done to your hands?” His hands? It wasn’t him examining his torn up fingers, skin slowly knitting back together, it wasn’t him feeling the twinges of splinters dug in under his broken nails or noticing the smears of red, ruby, rust blood adorning the door like an animal tried to claw their way out. But it was him. Wasn’t it? Trying to claw his way in.

And he didn’t remember doing it.

“I...I, I d’d’dunno.”

“You “dunno?”” She didn’t believe him. And why would she when all he’d done is lie. Like a cat, he was lifted by the bunched up collar at the back of his neck, pushed, stumbling, down the corridors and held at arm's length. Even so, the warmth from her hand, the electric shock her touch sent racing down his spine was heady and distracting. He hadn’t been touched in so long and far too soon it was over as she shoved him into his chair in his office in his wing in his cage of his own making before backing away and locking the door behind her.

Quiet, quiet, quiet.

If he was quiet she would let him out. He just needed to be patient. That’s all. He was selfish, taking time away from Daisy when she needed it most. Basira did the right thing, protected him from himself. He was lucky to have someone who cared like that, to make the hardest decisions for him and so sorry that he kept causing her problems.

He curled beneath his desk, the small space comforting and contained, keeping all his pieces together as he lost hold of them one by one. So tired, so sick, he tried to sleep and it just wouldn’t come where he was huddled around the aching empty abyss in his body. It was all he could think about, a statement, just one. Please. Anything, a taste. Pacing like a caged tiger when he had a rare burst of frenetic energy, laying on the floor of his office when he collapsed, tugging listlessly at the handle of the door. Crying, crying, crying in his hiding spot but always silent. It wouldn’t do to be heard. Unseen and not heard. That was the best way. And then she would let him out.

She always let him out.

[nekoabiwrites]

Type Found - Chapter 2

I currently have a migraine. Sorry for any errors. Not linking just yet, will tomorrow. :D

This is the comfort part of hurt/comfort :D

AU: Slight Pokemon AU (Basically everything is the same, they just have a partner pokemon for funzies) Pairing: Platonic Chocobros Words: 3963 Warnings: Injury, bleeding, crying, implied that Prompto knows about his past. Anything else, please let me know!

Summary: After clearing out yet another empire base, Prompto is ready to celebrate. An unfamiliar sound grabs his attention, however, and draws him into a cramped room on the far end of the base. He knows its stupid and dangerous, but upon finding an injured animal locked in a cage, Prompto decides he needs to get it out of there. The question is... how?

--

It had taken a while to get the creature out of the cage. The sun had just started to set when Prompto finally was able to have the creature step outside of the room. He started leading it towards the exit, making sure that the others were remaining out of sight for as long as possible – the last thing he wanted was it going off and attacking them. However, his injuries were starting to catch up with him and Prompto was having difficulties walking.

Thankfully, they made it outside the base with few difficulties and made the short walk back to the haven the group had already set up camp on. At least, that’s what Prompto aimed to do. Instead, he ended up standing beside the creature as it took in the surroundings.

It was still, watching the trees sway in the breeze and listening to the birds cry as they flew overhead. It cautiously pawed at the dirt and grass below its feet, lowering its head to get a closer look. Prompto wondered if it could smell anything with that helmet on. It took longer than expected, but they did end up seated at the haven and Prompto began to clean up the wound on the creature’s hind leg. After covering it with bandage, Prompto sat cross-legged beside the creature’s head and enjoyed the light wind as it ruffled his hair.

One at a time, the others joined them.

Ignis was first. He simply offered a nod of acknowledgement when Prompto greeted him. The creature locked its gaze onto Ignis and watched him as he went about his usual return to camp business. It was only once he started to approach Prompto, a box of medical supplies in hand, that the creature started to curl in on itself and growl lowly.

Prompto slowly pet its mane, trying to calm it down, “It’s okay. It’s just Iggy. He’s not gonna hurt you.” He’d long since finished helping out the creature and was now just relaxing alongside it.

Ignis ignored the creature’s threatening nature and simply set himself down on the opposite side of Prompto, holding his hand out for Prompto’s injured arm which was quickly placed in it. He said nothing as he looked the cut over, adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose slightly. It wasn’t an extremely deep wound, but it would take a day or two to fully heal. Ignis let Prompto’s arm fall as he rummaged in the box for the cleaning solution. It was eerily quiet.

“This will sting a little.” Ignis’ voice was quiet once he finally did speak. Prompto’s arm had been brought back into his hand. The gunner nodded and took in a breath to prepare before the cotton dabbed against the wound. Prompto hissed and a pained whimper inadvertently fell from his lips as the fluid did its job. However, the sound had the creature beside him raising its head, ready to protect its saviour.

Ignis did not stop. He shifted his gaze from the cut he was cleaning to the creature’s watchful gaze and back. He was making a bit of a show of his actions, moving more than was strictly necessary.

“Uh, Iggy? What are you doing?” Prompto asked, head tilted in question.

“Cleaning the wound.” Ignis simply responded.

“Okay… s,sure…”

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“No! No, no! Of course not!” Prompto gestured wildly with his free arm, trying to search for the words he needed to explain what he was thinking, “It was just that, y’know, you were doing it, like… weird?”

“How so?”

Prompto groaned in frustration. He knew that Ignis knew exactly what he meant, but the advisor always wanted to hear it from them. “I dunno! It was like, you were, doing it… bigger for some reason!”

Ignis only hummed a noise in response. Prompto was going to ask again when a weight rested upon his knee. He looked down to find the creature resting its head almost in his lap. Its eyes were still trained on Ignis’ hands, but it seemed far calmer. It was only watching curiously. That was when it clicked in Prompto’s brain. Ignis was making a show of it so that the creature could see that he was helping Prompto. Warmth bubbled in Prompto’s stomach, untying some of the knot that had settled earlier in the day, and he relaxed as Ignis started to wrap bandages around his arm.

Ignis was getting to his feet when Noctis arrived. The prince was avoiding looking in Prompto’s direction entirely.

“Hey Noct!” Prompto called out, trying to gain his best friend’s attention. He only got an odd grunt in return before Noctis entered the tent and pulled the flaps down, effectively shutting out the world. Prompto’s already weak smile dropped completely. “Oh, uh, yeah, okay. Um… see you, later?” His voice trailed off. The knot tightened again and, absent-mindedly, his hand began to run through the creature’s mane again. Prompto’s focus narrowed to the rock floor of the haven, suddenly finding the glowing blue runes one of the most interesting sights he’d ever seen.

Prompto didn’t see Ignis’ exasperated look towards the now closed tent flaps, nor the moment as the advisor descended from the haven for a brief moment. He could vaguely hear something that sounded like Ignis was calling someone over, but Prompto’s mind was too far away to truly know or care. It wasn’t until heavy footsteps started to approach him and the creature began to growl lowly once more that Prompto looked up.

He forced a smile and tried his best to sound casual, “Heya.”

Gladio grunted in response. He easily ignored the growling creature beside Prompto and got close enough to crouch down to check on his arm, “How’s it?” Gladio asked, his voice quiet enough that it was more rumble than speech.

“Good. Iggy cleaned it up all nice.” Prompto sent a grin over to the aforementioned man who’d settled himself into one of the camping chairs. Ignis simply gave a gentle tilt of his head and small gesture with the can between his fingers in acknowledgement. “I’ll be fine!”

“You sure?” Gladio’s large hand rested on – or rather, engulfed – Prompto’s shoulder. There was a light air of threat as Gladio tapped one of his fingers against the muscle at Prompto’s back, waiting for the gunner to say something.

Prompto swallowed hard, “I’m good. Promise. Like, there are aches and stuff, but nothing all that bad, I swear.”

“Okay. Just don’t push yourself, alright?”

“Yessir!” Prompto playfully saluted with his uninjured arm.

Gladio snorted in amusement before dropping his gaze to the creature that remained by Prompto’s side. Its eyes were narrowed dangerously, its growl now quieter. Gladio seemed to almost be sizing the creature up. Prompto shifted his eyes between the two, waiting to see what was about to happen.

“So, how does this thing eat?” Gladio suddenly asked.

Prompto’s face scrunched up in thought. He hadn’t considered that. Everything had happened so fast, little details like that didn’t exactly matter when all that was on Prompto’s mind was escaping with the creature, but the shield had brought up a good point. Prompto looked down at the creature, taking in the almost rust-coloured helmet that covered its entire head. His fingers tangled back into the light grey mane, “Not sure… Dunno if this thing opens…”

“Knowing them, probably not… This thing’s probably welded shut or something…” Prompto watched as Gladio’s lip twitched in disgust. The shield then sighed and stood back up to full height, dusting his hands off, “But let’s not count it out just yet. Iggy’s looking over the papers that were all over that room, seeing if there’s anything there to help us figure it out.”

That had Prompto’s gaze turning back to the advisor. How he hadn’t noticed the small stack of papers in his hands previously, Prompto wasn’t sure, but now it was all he could look at. He desperately wanted to know what was written on the pages. He wanted to know all he could about the creature that was resting against his side. He wanted to know its given name so he could change it immediately, resetting its life then and there. Prompto leaned down – ignoring the aching protests from his back – and buried his face into the creature’s neck. “Hopefully, its good news…”

The creature’s body was warm, its mane incredibly soft. It was solid beneath Prompto and the gunner allowed himself to truly relax. He shifted slightly so he could get into a more comfortable position before laying more of his weight against the creature. It didn’t seem to mind too much, if the way it settled itself down was any indication. Prompto closed his eyes with a gentle exhale.

Prompto really didn’t mean to fall asleep.

He must have been out for a good few hours. The sky was dark, and the fire was now crackling away in the pit. Prompto rubbed his eyes and stretched, glancing around the haven for the rest of the group.

It was easy to find Ignis. The advisor stood at the camp stove as usual, clearly in the middle of preparing the group’s dinner. Prompto watched for a while, admiring the way Ignis’ hands moved with such grace. He went to say something when a soft grunt of effort drew Prompto’s attention over to Gladio, who was only a short ways away. The shield had evidently removed his shirt earlier in the evening before he began to do push ups. Prompto stared, still in awe at Gladio’s ability to do them one-armed, switching between each arm with ease even after seeing it easily a hundred times. The creature that he’d been resting on sharply lifted its head, causing Prompto to jump in surprise. It started growling again, bringing its head in closer.

“Hey, it’s okay, buddy.” Prompto scratched the creature’s neck comfortingly, trying to calm it down. His eyes flicked over in the direction it was staring to find Noctis standing awkwardly just in front of the tent. The prince looked as though he was trying desperately to look unphased by the growling, but the fear in his eyes gave him away. “It’s okay. It’s just Noct.” Prompto shushed the creature quietly.

Noctis cautiously took the smallest step towards where Prompto and the creature were sat, only to flinch back when the creature huffed out a breath. He seemed to be reconsidering whatever he was going to do when a large hand clapped his back and Gladio’s weight started to crush the prince. “Get off.” Noctis attempted to pry himself out from under his shield.

“Nah. Not until you actually go speak to Prompto.” Gladio said casually, able to completely ignore the light force of Noctis trying to push him.

“I was going to. I can’t if you’re crushing me.”

“Didn’t look like it to me. Looked like you were about to chicken out.”

Noctis scowled harshly, “I was not about to chicken out.”

“Sure, princess.”

Finally, Gladio lifted his weight off of the prince. He pressed his hand harder into Noctis’ back, essentially shoving the smaller into Prompto’s space. Noctis almost tripped over his feet at the sudden movement but managed to keep himself from landing face first into both Prompto and the creature that was seated half on Prompto’s lap. It was continuing to growl protectively but was making no movements that indicated it would attack. It seemed that it had realised the men were not immediate threats, or at least were trusted by its saviour – a thought that had a pleasant, warm feeling settling into Prompto’s stomach.

Prompto keep quiet as he watched the awkward interaction. Noctis shuffled around, keeping some distance from the creature, while their eyes were locked. The prince ended up coming to sit behind Prompto, gently tossing his arms over his best friend’s shoulders and resting some of his weight onto his back.

“Is this okay?” Noctis whispered as he fidgeted. Prompto could tell he was trying to be cautious but not outwardly obvious; the last thing Noctis would want would be to hurt Prompto anymore than he already had. Noctis was reserved but was easy to read when it came to those he cared for.

Prompto let out a short laugh, “Duh, ‘course is it!”

“No, like… does it hurt?”

“Nah, I’m okay. You can relax, I won’t break or anything. I’m not made of glass, dude.” Prompto replied with a grin.

Noctis only let out a huff before burying his face into Prompto’s shoulder. The gunner didn’t press him for anything. Instead, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his usual apps, seeing what he’d missed during the day. Prompto was about to open up King’s Knight to check on his dailies when Noctis’ finally spoke again.

“’m sorry…” Noctis mumbled.

Prompto put his phone down into his lap and reached up with his good arm to pat Noctis’ mess of black hair, “Thanks. It’s cool though, I don’t blame any of you for it. It was kinda stupid of me…” He chuckled softly.

“No, seriously. I’m sorry.” Noctis raised his head from Prompto’s shoulder so he could make eye contact, “I didn’t want you hurt, but you got even more hurt from what I did.”

“I’m sorry too.” Gladio echoed from across the haven, now sitting on his knees as he threw a towel over in the direction of the tent, “But it was pretty dumb of you to get in there.”

Prompto’s gaze dropped to the creature below him. He ran his hand down from its neck, over the length of its body and back again, “Yeah, but I couldn’t just leave him there…”

“We know, Prom…” Noctis tightened his hold around his best friend’s shoulders for a moment before relaxing once again.

An odd silence spread across the haven. There seemed to be so much more that each of them wanted to say, but they just weren’t quite sure how to say it. Prompto simply continued to pet the creature he’d saved. He knew he’d taken a crazy stupid risk getting into the cage, he knew he could have died, but it was worth it. The chance to use the freedom he’d been granted to give another the same was worth all the bruises, cuts, and aches. Prompto couldn’t stop the sappy smile that tugged on his lips. He suddenly had an idea.

“Hey Noct, wanna pet him?”

If Noctis hadn’t been leaning on something, Prompto thought he’d probably have fallen over. The prince started spewing half sentences about how he couldn’t and shouldn’t, but Prompto ignored them. He grabbed Noctis’ arm and pulled it down, gently placing his hand upon the creature’s mane. The second his fingers made contact, Noctis snapped his mouth shut. Prompto held his breath as he watched Noctis’ fingers cautiously begin to move slightly.

“It’s soft…” Noctis finally said.

“I know, isn’t it?!” Prompto grinned, almost bouncing as he went to turn around. He winced and let out a soft grunt of pain as his back protested the sudden movement.

“Careful. As much as I’m sure you are excited, you need to be cautious of your injuries.” Ignis’ voice cut through the last of the tension. He approached the trio and crouched down low, inspecting the creature’s form. Ignis seemed to encourage it to watch as he joined Noctis’ hand in carding through its mane for a moment before bringing his touch up to the helmet.

The creature had given up growling long ago. It seemed simply lost in terms of what to do with all the attention it was getting. Prompto wanted to throw himself into its neck and nuzzle it until it responded in kind, but he refrained. Instead, he watched as Ignis inspected the metal contraption.

“The reports said very little about feeding and care, unfortunately.” Ignis said, “However, it was easy to find that they had given this creature the name of Type:Null.”

“Type:Null..?” Prompto let the name drip off of his tongue. It felt so cold and clinical.

“Yes. It seems the empire managed to find some foreign research notes from an unknown location and began their own experimentations to recreate the results. Apparently, it is powerful enough to slay creatures from other dimensions, the helmet helps to contain some of the power, making it unlikely to lose control…” Ignis trailed off as he leaned in closer to Type:Null’s helmet, his gloved fingers now tracing along some of the indents and lines. Prompto wanted to ask more questions, but a loud clunk had all thoughts fleeing from his mind.

The bottom half of the helmet was now hanging slightly open.

Immediately, Prompto’s mouth was mirroring the helmet. “How’d you-?” He started to ask.

“A simple combination of observation and intuition.” Ignis curtly cut Prompto off before he could make too big a scene. “Dinner is almost ready. I believe that you and Noct should probably clean your hands before you eat.” With an almost imperceptible smile, the advisor turned on his heel and walked back over to the camp stove.

The two younger men did as they were asked, even if it did take a moment for the Type:Null to allow Prompto to leave. As fast as they could, the pair dropped down from the haven and took the very short walk to the nearby lake. They washed themselves up as fast as they could; Prompto hadn’t realised he’d had some dried blood on his cheek until Noctis splashed water in his face to clean it which led to a brief water fight. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes when they clambered back up to their camp, yet somehow things seemed to have shifted fairly significantly.

Gladio was as dressed as he would be with his open shirt, helping Ignis plate up the food. The camping chairs had been moved about a little, bringing them closer together. Between two of the chairs, the Type:Null had settled itself down. It wasn’t growling, wasn’t watching every movement as intently, wasn’t snapping its head around at every sound. It was relaxed. Prompto couldn’t help the swell of his chest and the tears the pricked at his eyes. He rubbed them harshly for a moment before skipping over to see if he could help with anything while Noctis simply took up one of the chairs.

A few minutes later, all four of them were sat in chairs, chatting happily, and eating their way through the delicious food. Type:Null was between Prompto and Ignis, the jaw of its helmet still hanging awkwardly open. It was happily accepting the meal that was carefully being slipped into the gap by Ignis. It was comfortable and rewarding.

“So, Prompto, what are ya gonna call it?” Gladio asked.

Prompto glanced back down to the Type:Null who immediately made eye contact with him. He stared into its eyes for a short while, thinking.

“How about… Nullie?” Gladio snorted in amusement while Noctis almost choked on the bite he was taking. Prompto pouted, “What?”

Noctis shook his head, trying to recover, “N-nothing. Just,” he coughed a few times, “wasn’t expecting it.”

“I happen to think its wonderful.” Ignis complimented, brushing his fingers across the odd axe-like shape that protruded from the top of the helmet. They’d learnt it was likely an extension of the Type: Null’s mane.

“Definitely cute.” Gladio admitted, though he was still clearly amused by the choice.

Prompto stuck his tongue out at the shield childishly, “Well, he is cute. So it’s perfect then.”

The rest of the evening passed with relative normalcy. Ignis collected up their plates and Gladio got up to help wash up. Noctis reclined further into the camp chair and pulled out his phone, challenging Prompto to several rounds in King’s Knight. It was getting to that point where they’d need to retire for the night when a hand rested on Prompto’s shoulder, distracting him, and causing him to ultimately lose to Noctis.

“Doesn’t count! Iggy distracted me!” Prompto protested as Noctis rubbed the victory in his face.

“Apologies. However, there is something rather important that you must see to.”

Prompto tilted his head questioningly, “Uhhh, there is?”

Ignis gestured to Nullie, who was laying at Prompto’s feet, sleepily watching the two young men banter back and forth during their gaming session. The advisor then held out a box to Prompto. The realisation hit Prompto, and he let out a shaky “Oh yeah…”

With the lightest of grips, Prompto took the box. He carefully lifted the top and stared down at the colourful array of balls inside. He reverently stared at each of them for a moment before his brow creased slightly and he counted them. Suddenly, Prompto snapped his head up, “What? Iggy, I can’t just-”

“You can pick whichever you like.”

“There’s no way I could-” Prompto started to protest again but was cut off once again. This time, it was Noctis.

“We’ve been holding those for a while for you…” The prince said quietly. His eyes were locked onto his phone, but it was clear Noctis wasn’t really looking at anything. His cheeks were slightly pinker, though Prompto knew that he’d say it was from the heat of the fire.

“For me?” Prompto asked in a whisper.

“We all have our own partners.” Ignis tapped absent-mindedly at the red and white ball that sat at his hip, “With how this trip progressed so rapidly, we all came to the assumption that you might find yourself one along the way. Thus, we made sure that you would have the option of choice.”

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Prompto felt his eyes starting to swim with tears. His gaze dropped back down to the box in his hands. Each of them were labelled with their names, all brand new and shiny. It was too much. After a few minutes of agonising silence, Prompto gingerly reached in and pulled out a green ball with red tear drop shapes – it had been labelled as Friend Ball, and he couldn’t get it out of his mind after first reading that. The lid was lowered carefully and Prompto held the box back towards Ignis, who took it from his grasp.

Prompto slipped out of the chair and to his knees, ball in hand. Nullie raised its head to watch him, eyeing the new thing with interest. Prompto swallowed hard and held it out, “You can stay here with me, with us. This can be your home. You don’t have to, obviously, but… I would love it if you did.” Prompto felt the words just tumble out of his mouth without his control.

Nullie’s gaze flicked between Prompto’s hopeful gaze, Noctis’ attempt at bored disinterest, Ignis’ watchful eye and the ball being held out before it. There was a moment where the creature seemed to consider its options. Then its helmeted head lowered so it tapped against the ball.

A shock of red light burst out from the ball as it opened. It engulfed Nullie and seemed to suck the entire body of the Type:Null inside. The light faded after the entire creature entered and it snapped shut. Prompto couldn’t bring himself to breathe as he stared at the ball in his hands. The light on the front pulsed rhythmically and it rocked from side to side for a few seconds before it stilled completely.

It took a second for everything to catch up to Prompto. When it finally did, the tears slipped from his eyes finally and he grasped a hold of the green ball tightly, hugging it to his chest. “Thank you.” He murmured as quiet as humanly possible, “I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

--

Previous Chapter

[spectre-of-communism]

I made a way too detailed interpretation of “The Mill” from PAFL

I'm using the transcript and the doc as well as Ferry's tumblr for reference. A lot of my interpretation is based on the video as well, so best watch it alongside this post :D

This is just my personal interpretation and probably wrong ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Okay, let's do this. I'll be numbering the with timestamps as they are in the transcript for easier reference.

0:41: " “Two do the job, the third one is witness / Don’t shoot the guards, no need for guns” " not much to analyze in Sergei's briefing

0:44: "Check this / “Don’t go across, the longer road’s safer Watch as the bolt’s trajectory wavers” " going by visuals the bolt is used to find the objective of their mission (2:36 in the video)

0:48-0:55: "Learn in by heart, now the hardest part comes when / Staggering doubt paralyzes you and then / You fall apart like a house of cards, might as Well disregard it as a / cursory mantra" Yura should push trough the anxiety of going into the zone, it will go away

Starting from this line, I think Olya is the narrator for the first part of the video.

0:56: "Ah, my head feels heavy once again" She has been in the zone before and is haunted by her experiences there

0:59: "I wish I could dissolve myself in this rusty air" The Grinder is said to dissolve flesh and people. During the Grinder incident, in which she lost her right eye, Sergei saved her instead of Nikita's brother, Kolya. She is unsure if Sergei made the right call and thinks she should be the one who died there.

1:03: "It’s getting harder to act like I don’t really care" She sees the careless way Nikita and Yura interact, and is reminded of her younger self first exploring the Zone. She is struggling to keep up the cold facade she shows most of the series.

1:07: "I’m sorry but these earnest words of yours are just too much to bear" see above

The following part was in Russian, I used the translation from the transcript

1:11: "(I see you, the haze lingers above The pink arc of breaking dawn, A light just as distant as it was when we were children) "I strongly think the haze is connected to the grinder (see 2:30, message lost and my previous posts). Combined with the image of Kolya in the background that means she is remembering the Grinder incident. They were in their early twenties when it happened, still children in her eyes. The current mission reminds her of then.

1:16: "(And dirt, black dirt is spilling from our hands)" the black dirt is related to either to the Zone in general or the Grinder in particular. Compare also message lost: "To scour the blackened, soot-covered earth"

1:19: "(Wrapped in blue cloth, her pale ghost follows me Fog on the water -)" this is the line I am most unsure of, but here is my take, far-fetched as it may be: based on the video showing a younger Olya, I think "her pale ghost" is her past self, haunting her in the form of the trauma she experienced in the Grinder, clouding her vision.

1:23: "(The dawning haze lingers Like a gray duvet, above a quiet, quiet river) " another reference to the dead Kolya. "quiet river" might a reference to the proverb "quiet rivers run deep", either referring to Kolya as a person or, more metaphorical, to them underestimating the dangers of the Grinder

1:27: "I’ll draw a circle in the sand" the "circle in the sand" metaphor escapes me, although it might mean accepting her past and moving on, or maybe it is referring to "line in the sand" which she is not willing to cross. I find the second one unlikely without further context. Lastly. it could mean the opposite: her moving in circles and clinging to the past, not willing to let go yet. In my eyes the last interpretation is the most plausible.

1:29: "Drive myself around the bend" she is driving herself crazy, depending how you interpret 1:27 either trying to accept her past and move on, or desperately clinging to that what is gone

1:31: "In a desperate attempt to hold onto your battered hand"again, depending on your interpretation of 1:27 two possibilities spring to mind: either the "battered hand" is Kolya's, and she is trying to not forget him, or it is Nikita's or Sergei's, and she is trying to be as good as them at moving on

1:35: "Rocked to sleep beneath the snow" a metaphor Ferry likes to use for death (e.g. The Faulty Feline Philosophy, Dead Hand)

1:37: "She is bathed in youthful glow " I am pretty sure "she" is Nadya (gets clearer in the following lines, her face flashes at 1:49 in the video)

1:39: " "Strong enough to let it go" he says" Nikita claims to have gotten over her death

1:41: "but, darling, I don't know" but Olya doubts it

1:43: "This isn't my first time sinking lower than the low" Olya has had mental health problems or emotional outbursts due to the loss of Kolya

1:47: "How hard can it be to never let it overflow" so she thinks it's unlikely that Nikita could be unfazed by the loss of his girlfriend, his bottled up emotions need to be released at some point

1:50: "Oh, I've gotten used to being haunted long ago"doubles up on her not being able to move on from the loss of Kolya

1:54-1:56: "All I need to hear’s a simple / "hello"  " not entirely certain what this line refers to, but she connects "hello" either with Kolya or the incident

2:05-2:27: "Maybe it's because Olga is a woman, but... / You know, she actually has no Talent. / At all. / You mean... / Wait... Then how does she... / How is she even alive? / Well... They like to call it intelligence. Careful planning. / Though, really, all of those are just pretty ways of saying... / She lucks out."

I don't think there's a lot of deeper meaning here, Nikita's resentment that Olya was the one who returned is showing, and "Maybe it's because Olga is a woman" might be a reference to his girlfriend. That is just wild guessing at this point, tho.

From here on: Nikita's PoV. This part I am not too sure on, so if you have alternative ideas, let me know

2:28-2:33: "Right through the arc of breaking dawn / Through the haze and through the maw / Of the grinder I won't find her, but I'll guide you through them all" he knows that he won't ever find Nadya again, but he is still faithful to his mision

2:36-2:38: "No more circles left to find / In the windmills of this mind" he has thought about the past so much there is nothing else to do but move on

2:40-2:41: "Rest your members / Now, remember, dear, you’ve always been too kind" as the perceived leader he tells the group to rest, not sure who "dear" is

2:44: "Oh it’s nothing new, the visionless leading the blind" he calls Sergei visionless, he has no greater goal. He calls Olya blind, both in a literal sense after her loss of an eye, as well as metaphorical, as Olya never developed the sense for the Zone that makes a good stalker.

2:48: "It’s easy to say, “why don’t you leave it all behind” " he mirrors 1:39, he thinks Olya has moved on and he is the one stuck in the past. He thinks Olya is condescending towards him

2:52: "And this moral compass is forever misaligned " his perception of Olya is forever tainted and skewed,

2:56-2:59: "All I need to hear is that you’ll be there / By my side" but he still needs her support on missions

3:01: "But you can never know that" he does not want her to know that he relies on her, though.

3:03-3:05: " “Too strong to die” / Or was that me again?" not sure on this one. One possibility is that he mocks her cold attitude. Another is that he is projecting his own emotions onto her. Take this one however you want.

3:07-3:10: "I know that / There has to be some hope that’s / Just out of sight" he is hopeful that the future will be better

From here on: Sergei's PoV.

3:17: "I won’t let myself lose it again" He feels guilty for letting Kolya die and realizes he lost control and almost died himself

3.:19: "And now my only hope is that one day you’ll understand" He decides to keep Sanya under lock to protect her

3:23-3:24: "I’ll wrap the chain / Round my heart and her hammering neck" He will keep her metaphorically chained up to protect her from danger. At the same time he realizes that this will poison their relationship with his sister. Even so, he is willing to put her safety first, even if she will hate him for that.

3:27-3:29: "And save what’s left, though I know that / One day this weight will come to break my back" he is aware that his attempts to safeguard Sanya will one day backfire

From here on: Nikita's PoV again.

3:32:  "Once again we were left in the dust " Nikita thinks Yura and him are alike

3:34: "Self-hating ones like us crack when we betray someone’s trust" they are alike, and both feel like they violated somebodies trust (Nikita: Nadya, Yura: KT) and that is something that breaks them emotionally

3:38-3:40: " So if you must / Shield your heart with these layers of rust" Yura is distancing himself emotionally from those he loves, also note the parallel to False Disposition

3:42: "The sun will rise, until then I’ll" but better time will come

3:45: "Be waiting for you on the other side" Nikita will take a sort of mentor position for Yura

After seeing Nikita, who understands him so well, get shot, Yura overreacts and shoots the guard

[septic-dr-schneep]

JSE - Given Time (Part 10)

Part 1: [X] Part 2: [X] Part 3: [X] Part 4: [X] Part 5: [X] Part 6: [X] Part 7: [X]

Part 8: [X] Part 9: [X]

A/N: Some people missed Part 8 before reading Part 9. Make sure you’ve read Part 9 before this, as the ending of 9 sets up all of Part 10!

After a long night of fitful stops and starts, Chase awoke yet again to the gnawing, snarling and howling of his hollow stomach. Grimacing against the complaints, he curled into a tighter ball and stuffed his face into his pillow, trying to re-smother the emptiness in dejected darkness.

What little snippets he could recall in his sluggish state were dreams of food, slipping out of his grasp just when he was about to bite down on it, and Marvin perched on the edge of a full table in the far distance with a malicious grin on his face. Now even those dreams were less than forthcoming; his stomach would settle for nothing but the real thing.

With a deep sigh he let heavy eyes crack open, chewing on the inside of his cheek as the gurgling and groaning continued. What would he do if Marvin refused to bring him breakfast, as he had lunch and dinner yesterday? Maybe Chase would stay here all day, huddled away in bed, feeling sorry and spiteful. His stomach lining felt like it was seizing up in knots and—was that turkey he smelled?

Any remaining notion of sleep vanished without a trace as he bolted upright in bed, zeroing in on the source of that aroma: a halfhearted sandwich on a plate by the door. Pain, shock and gratitude soared through him as he lunged for it.

The bread was soggy, the meat was sliced too thin, the mustard was in salty globs and Chase devoured it just as eagerly as he had the premium waffles. He hadn’t felt this sick and frantic since he’d refused Marvin’s food the first week, an eternity ago. How had he brought himself to endure it so long the first time?

What was the point? Why’d he go and starve me? Some kind of exercise in obedience: ask no questions and you get to eat? he wondered bitterly he licked the last of the mustard from his fingers. Well, if that’s the way you want to be, Marv, I’ve learned my lesson. But screw you anyway. With what small rebellion he could muster, he kicked a foot at the door—and promptly stopped dead when it clicked softly under the force.

No way.

Openmouthed, he ran his hand along the seam, a shaky gasp escaping him as probing fingers found slight purchase on the edge of the stile. It was cracked open just half an inch, even less, but it was open!

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t truly be happening.

Head spinning with a combined rush of euphoria and terror, he gripped at the edge. Thoughts of fresh air, the sky, the sun, freedom, home swept over him, swelling in his chest even as his mental voices clamored.

What if this was a setup? Chase could open this door and fall right into a greater trap but if this was his one and only chance, after so long…Whichever the case may be, he knew in his very soul that this would never happen again.

The door groaned softly as he coaxed it open little by little. A wash of air, musty but cool, raised goosebumps on his arms as weak light bathed him from above. He was faced with a hallway.

His heart thundered like a racehorse’s hooves as he clung to the doorframe and leaned out, peeking his head perilously at one end of the hall, then the other. Marvin was nowhere in sight.

Trap, trick, trap, trick.

Knees weak, he took his first quaking step beyond the threshold and froze, expecting something to spring or snatch at him. Nothing did.

Make a mad dash, scurry to the nearest door! his voice of vulnerability cried, piped down by his voice of caution guiding, Slow. Silent. Find out where you are.

Sweat beading down the back of his neck, he crept to the left, approaching what looked to be an open floor. The closer it loomed, however, the harder his chest clenched and his lungs threatened to give out.

It was unrecognizable yet somehow unmistakable. This was their home. This was Egos Incorporated—dimmer, distorted, like a reflection in a mud puddle.

The carpet muffled his steps but barely gave under his feet, matted flat and ingrained with fallen hair, mud and dark splashes that Chase didn’t want to identify. The ceiling fan hung still, dust clumped in chunks to strings of cobwebbing that dangled from its blades. Paper and paint peeled from the fissured walls, some of it faded, shriveling, some seemingly ripped away.

The kitchen was the only area remotely maintained—the counters discolored but dusted, the sink rusted but still offering water. The intermittent dripping, combined with the sputtering hum of the light fixtures, was the only noise to fill the silence.

The burnished wood dining room table was rotting, bowed in the center, and the former coffee table was nothing but a warped frame and broken glass. The TV screen was scratched and spotty and the piano sank sideways, propped on two hobbled legs and half-hidden under a torn sheet. Yellowed ivory keys were scattered around it in every direction.

In a numb, twisted reverie Chase turned away, only to flinch at the muffled crunch of glass and paper underneath him: a photo, bent and tattered in its frame. His mouth went dry.

His own face smiled brightly back at him…Marvin’s too, but there were other bodies in the picture standing with them, scratched and scribbled into obscurity from their chests up. Chase didn’t need to see their faces to know; even through the damage he could make out the stark red jumpsuit, the white lab coat.

Why?

Other pictures had been disfigured and littered nearby, some shredded into halves and thirds, others scorched to black ash. The few frames still on the walls were the ones that held pictures of him and Marvin alone.

Why? Why is it like he wants to erase any memory of them? They’re our brothers! They’re—

His voice of safety barged in, startling him out of his daze with a thrill of hope. Backdoor!

Heart leaping into his throat, he dodged the table and fallen chairs, sweeping the dust-laden curtain aside to see a gray, storm-sick sky through the smudged glass. The backyard was a ruin, every flower strangled and overrun by weeds, but he hardly gave them a thought. There was a lock bar strapped across the door, thick, rounded steel—the one piece of metal that wasn’t rusted.

If he could jump the fence, he’d be free to run for it. He could start the journey to the city, find some help there, someone to hide him until Marvin gave up.

H̴e̶ ̛n͏e͡vȩr̡ ͡wi̧ll. Panic provoking him, he snatched at the lock bar with both hands and strained, muscles quivering in vain. Fo͜o̴l! Loathing snarled. F̧i͘n͡d͘ so͟me̷thi̶ng͜ t̨o s͞hatte͞r ̡the ҉g̸lass!

Another frantic pan around the room revealed nothing immediate. The furniture was too decayed to hold up; it would probably break against the door rather than the reverse. Praying for a miracle, he jogged to one of the other closed doors and jostled the handle, relief bursting through him as it gave way.

It was a bedroom, three walls coated in gray, the other red. The bed may be stripped and the closet empty but the bookcases and their contents were untouched, not at all like the rest of the house’s unseemly state. Graphic novels, figurines, picture frames, awards—Jackieboy’s trinkets, all cleaned and preserved.

Throwing a set of novels from the top shelf onto the floor, Chase seized the stone block bookend, weighing it in his palm. If his aim was true and he put all his force behind it, this could do the job.

“Chase!”

“Ahh—!” Chase stumbled in his fright, falling against the bookcase and lobbing the bookend in the same motion. Marvin deflected it with a fling of his arm, magic embedding it in the far wall with a crash.

“What are you doing here? How did you get out?! Do you realize what you could have done?!” he bellowed, eyes wild as he charged in.

“No, s-stay away from me!” Chase yelped, diving under his outstretched hands for a reckless lunge to the door.

“Go back to your room!”

___________________________________________________

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