#2) paint if just putting it in your mouth but eventually spitting it out also counts as drinking

[river-bottom-nightmare]

an (incomplete) list of things kon can do because lex luthor is his dad that people always forget about:

#1 : math - he's fifteen, and math comes easy to him (unlike a lot of people his age, or at least, his visible age.) a lot of things come easy to him, because when you have all knowledge in the known universe downloaded into your brain, things like advanced math don't bother you very much.

but it bothers his friends, because bart loses interest about three seconds into the assignments, cassie groans anytime "homework" is brought up in general, and tim hates the concept and execution of math so much that he'd rather hide in kon's room where he thinks no one will look for him instead of even cracking open a textbook.

but kon's pretty sure being a hero means you don't need any real world skills, and after his initial hesitation and disagreements, he realized that he genuinely wants these people to like him, to be friends with him. their math homework is easier than a breeze to complete.

#2 : tying a tie the ~fancy~ way - he's nineteen, and his fingers flow through a silk tie like a fish through water. the motions are beyond familiar, he could do them in his sleep. so is the action of pulling on a suit, pressing his collar, arranging his hair into a neat style. he's timothy drake-wayne's date tonight, and he needs to look the part. fortunately, luthor taught him how to look the part a long the ago.

the party itself is,,,,pleasant, he supposes. he spends most of the time as arm candy, tim's pretty little thing as his boyfriend sweet-talked investors and networked. but they both know that the tipsier people are, the easier they let slip secrets to someone they believe won't understand them, and kon gathers a wealth of information by the time he meets up with tim by the appetizer bar right before dinner.

tim tugs him close by his tie and kisses his cheek, then laughs when kon discreetly but disgustedly spits out the pickled salmon cracker toppings.

#3 : educated debating - he's sixteen, and in an argument with tim that's gone so off the rails that kon can't even remember what they were fighting about in the first place. wherever they started, they were here, now, kon on top of a table in an ice cream parlour screaming about how a socialist approach to taxes would boost the lower class, tim on top of a barstool screaming right back about how the middle class are the only ones paying taxes and socialism would only put more weight on their shoulders.

both of them are this close to busting out laughing, and the only reason they haven't been thrown out is because the employee behind the counter is frantically taking notes. kon can see it in tim's eyes, see the way the younger boy didn't expect to hold such a passionate and intense debate with him, didn't expect kon to be capable of it. it's a pleasant surprise, though; that much is evident in tim's barely-hidden grin.

the debate comes to a pause when bart smacks him with a spoon and tells him off for stepping on the speedster's ice cream, and the tiredness with which he collapses back into the booth is a good one.

#4 : efficient + effective workplace supervision - he's twenty, and wondering how in the hell people hadn't murdered the entirety of young justice when it was first founded. bart had graduated to being the flash's full time sidekick, and though he came to visit often, it wasn't the same. gotham was almost always on the verge of imminent disaster these days, and tim was one of the few ropes holding it together. kon missed him like crazy, but his few visits were all the boy could spare. cassie was in charge now, and she was a wonderful leader, but busy, always smoothing over relations between the team and the justice league and civilian offices.

so, somehow, that left kon to be the den mother to all the new younger kids, and somehow, kon was good at it. he knew exactly what to say to get people to listen to his commands, telling them to work on this or work on that, train for this and practice that. he tells them when to get some sleep and let the weight of the day roll off their shoulders, and when to push themselves to raise them higher than they ever thought they could go. unexpectedly, he finds himself liking it.

#5 : the splits

#6 : colour schemes + interior decorating - he's twenty-one, and tim's finally deciding to turn the nest into a home. bart, who had spent the last couple of years bouncing between allen-west-mercury households and was therefore accustomed to a home with a fire of love reaching every corner and every member of the family, was appalled. so was kon, honestly.

the penthouse that tim worked out of was cold and impersonal, sleek lines that angles that matched the limbs and contours of tim's body. but the shadows around tim's eyes had lessed over the past few years, his smile coming to his lips almost as easy as when young justice first learned how to work together. all it took was a little encouragement from cassie, and suddenly, all four of them were involved in a home renovation project.

cassie churned out ikea furniture like it was nothing, the three of them taking a break from their jobs to just watch her as she lifted one of their hardwood bookshelves with one hand. bart bought home goods and essentials from various department stores and ran around, stocking the house with them wherever he felt a saucepan needed to be hung (near the coat hanger) or a candle holder needed to be placed (on the kitchen barstools, because apparently those were decorative anyway).

kon, meanwhile, decorated. he painted rooms and bought curtains and pillows, yes. but he also sorted through every single souvenir and memory the four of them had managed to accumulate over the years, photographs and hacked-off pieces of giant robots and saved movie tickets and broken weapons. he gets his hands on everything he can find, then fills up tim's nest until it's brimming with a cosy warmth made up of the four of them.

still, it's an obnoxiously large penthouse, so there's empty and open space left over even after redecorating. it's tim who takes a breath and works up the courage to tell them, not ask but tell them, that he wanted each of them to have their own bedroom. so bart takes the largest guest room and turns it into an explosion of colour, and cassie spends too much time decorating a room that she won't even live in most of the time. kon conspicuously notes how tim doesn't bother giving kon a room, just dumps kon's backpack on his bed and clears room in his own closet. he does wrap tim in a ttk hug though, from all the way across the room, and drinks in tim's red flush.

#7 : speed reading (no powers) - he's seventeen, and just now realizing how competitive his best friends are. cassie had long since resigned herself to being the judge and the hander-outer-of-prizes (candy from the nearest convenience store) for the speed-reading competition, but tim, kon, and bart were still in the running.

eventually, though, the pressure from holding back his powers grew too strong, and bart slumped against the back of the sofa, mournfully opening his mouth so cassie could drop a candy into it.

and then there were two.

kon thought back to the confrontation that had started this contest in the first place, robin's offhand comment about how he had to be the one to collect the data files from the company office they were infiltrating, because he was the only one who could speed-read and retain information. that had spiraled into an argument, then a challenge, then a competition, with a clear rule not to use any powers.

kon darted his eyes across the page, soaking up every word, the pages like tiny knives on the pads of his fingers as he turned them. he lost track of the page count, just reading and reading and reading until he tried to turn the page and realized there wasn't a next one. he yelled in triumph, reveling in tim's defeated groan, and settled in for cassie's quiz on the contents of the book.

#8 : sophisticated meal and wine palette - he was twenty-two, and discovering that he really, really liked tim's shocked face. they'd been friends for years now, childish hatred turned into playful bantering turned into knowing each other inside out. still, every now and then, kon did something that forced tim's eyebrows high on his head, his eyes widening just the barest bit.

right now, kon was at a dinner party with the words moral support written across his forehead. tim could handle himself remarkably well, but there was tiredness lacing the smaller boy's frame, and kon could practically see the way the tips of his soul were frazzled. so kon let tim lean into his arm and whispered jokes about luna-with-the-big-ugly-purse and martonio-who-can't-do-a-combover into his ear. or, at least, he was.

somehow he'd been drawn into a good natured argument with the man sitting just two seats down from tim and kon. friendly opinions of food had been tossed back and forth, growing more and more heated until kon looked him right in the eye and said he liked prosecco with his prosciutto, internally crowing with satisfaction at their shocked silence and sighing with pity that none of the guests here would ever try that combination out of fear of deviation. once the man had regained his sensibilities, he shot back, saying the sixth course should never serve salmon, instead regaling the fish to the amusebouche or the cheese course. kon snorted and told him fish itself was going out of style, and if he wanted to impress guests at the next dinner party he hosted, he should try serving octopus.

tim's shocked face was a pleasant surprise, but seeing the stunned, controlled blinks of everyone around him as they realized he wasn't just a pretty face was satisfying as well. even more satisfying was when he and tim said their goodbyes; while waiting for the valet, tim pressed up onto the tips of his toes and whispered promisingly in kon's ear, i fucking love your competence.

#9 : manipulating people into hating him to justify his actions - he was eighteen, and he was screaming, crying, tearing his hair out. kon didn't know what he had expected. lingering fondness? grudging acceptance? maybe a small leap for a chance at love?

it didn't matter. clark didn't want anything to do with him. and he was eighteen now, which meant clark didn't need to take care of him anymore, didn't need to pretend to pay attention to him anymore. he'd made it quite clear.

maybe that was why he found himself hesitating before saying no to amanda waller's offer. he forgot about the warnings tim gave him, though, and waller pounced on that hesitation, quicker than a panther. it was easy, it was oh so easy to let himself go with her.

besides, they had a reason to hate him now. he hadn't done anything to clark. he hadn't asked to be made. but clark had wanted nothing to do with him anyway, and didn't that sting. so if people were going to turn him away now, it was going to be for something he did.

he didn't realize how bad he was spiraling, how close he was to stepping off the lighted ledge he'd been balancing on his entire life and tumbling into the darkness below. but cassie had a stronger punch than most grown superheroes, and bart had tenaciousness written into every strand of his ginormous hair, and tim gripped his jaw so hard his fingernails dug into kon's skin and told kon that he was getting his best friend back, no matter what the hell he thought he was worth.

maybe it was madness that made him throw himself forward, still wrapped in the lasso cassie borrowed from diana, practically mauling tim's lips with his own. he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to break down crying after he kissed someone, given past experience, but the three of them, his wonderful, wonderful friends, just hugged him tight, let him fight and shake and sob until all the rage was gone. it was the first time in a long while he'd done something in hopes that someone would look at him with love, not hatred.

#10 : waltzing - he was twenty-three, twenty three and giddy with how much time he had left. conner was with tim drake-wayne publicly now, so expectations were thrust onto him, expecting to be met.

kon tended to have more fun at events than tim ever did. granted, kon didn't have to deal with all of his coworkers drinking too much and exchanging money with secrets faster than drugs and asking tim whether or not his relationship meant he was open for still-young and handsome men who needed just a small escape from their wives. but tim wasn't trying very hard to enjoy himself either.

so kon was completely justified in tugging him towards the center of the room, in a patch of floor sparsely occupied, then pulling him as close as he dared. tim's panicked whisper of what!? was overridden by kon's laughter, but he muffled his sounds for a minute, letting tim hear the quiet music playing in the background (prerecorded and playing on speakers, not live).

understanding broke over tim's face, and he arched into kon's hold as easy as breathing. kon moved one of his hands to grip tim's wrist, and he twirled the two of them effortlessly, breathless at tim's flabbergasted expression. the rhythm was simple, and tim caught on quickly. one two three, one two twist, one two three, one two step, one two three, one two switch, one two three, one two three.

kon couldn't say they danced the night away, because a little while later tim took a break for a drink, then speeches were made, then dinner was served. by then, they were both entirely too tired to dance, longing for just a bed and a soft blanket and each other. but for those few minutes in the middle of a packed yet empty ballroom, kon and tim did lose themselves in the music, just a little bit.

i don't know shit about taxes or socialism. this got way longer than anticipated whoops. i'm tagging this "long post," but if someone asks me to put it under a cut, i'd be happy to

also jesus christ this thing is almost 2.5k words. im uploading it to ao3 later if i'm in the mood

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridg @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy

[peachbear88]

Fight For It: Not Just a Pretty Face

Summary: Everything was fine and dandy between Wanda and Natasha until you joined. What measures will the two go to to have you for their own? Part 2 of the series.

Series Warnings: Angst, fluff.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader/Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.342k

-=+=-

"Y/N? Y/N! Where are you?" Natasha frantically searches the bunker. It's an absolute shit show in there, papers all over the floor, TV's flipped, lying face down on the ground and a sickeningly red color painting the walls.

Wanda bursts into the room, her eyes jumping all around.

"Oh god. Is that-" She claps a hand to her mouth as if to stop herself from puking.

"No, it's not blood. At least I don't think so," Natasha responds offhandedly, still scanning the room for clues.

"Where is she?" Wanda demands, storming over to Natasha.

"I don't know.

"Where. Is. She?" Wanda screams, grabbing Nat.

Big mistake.

Nat calmly grabs Wanda's left wrist, twisting it. Wanda screams in pain. A leg sweeps her own out from under her and she lands on the concrete floor with a painful thud.

"I told you, I don't know."

"Even if you did, you wouldn't tell me." Wanda mutters under her breath as she picks herself up off the floor, gingerly rolling her wrist. Natasha whirls around.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She takes a step towards the brunette. Surprisingly, Wanda holds her ground, matching the redhead with a terrifying glare of her own.

"You know what I mean. You wish to be her knight in shining armor. Swoop her off her feet as the Americans like to say," Wanda growls, circling around Natasha in an aggressive stance, her fingertips glowing red.

"I wish for no such thing. I just want her back safe and sound," Natasha replies coolly, watching as the younger girl eyes her warily.

"Sure. Safe and sound in your arms." Wanda snorts.

"I won't deny, I have my personal reasons for rescuing her," Natasha admits, "but that doesn't make this rescue mission any less professional. If we want to get her back, the only way we can do that is if we work together. So if you could stop passively aggressively attacking me every chance you get, that'd be great."

That shuts Wanda up.

"Fine." She agrees reluctantly and Natasha lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Let's get back to the team. I've got a clue." She spins on her heel. exiting the room sharply.

"Wait what? When did we do that?"

"We didn't do that. I did. Found it while you were distracted by your impressively lame monologue."

"Hey! What happened to working together!" Wanda exclaims, jogging to catch up to the redhead.

"Only applies to you. Now let me get my fun in." Wanda smiles to herself briefly as they exit the ancient castle that had been turned into a HYDRA base. This was what life was like before. Before you came along. The two of them, exchanging lighthearted banter, together, inseparable.

She shakes those thoughts from her head, forcing the memories back down. Now was not that time for nostalgia. They had to find you and fast.

-=+=-

"You've grown to be quite the pretty thing haven't you?" A gruff voice sneers, rough fingers gripping your chin harshly. You bite at his fingers aggressively, catching his pinky. He cries out in pain. "Get off you crazy bitch!"

He rips his hand from your mouth, delivering a slap to your face which has your mind reeling.

"Stupid bitch." He mutters, cradling his finger with his other hand. You spit at his feet, a drop of blood mixing with the spit. He surges forward, kicking you in the stomach which sends your chair crashing to the ground. "Not so tough when a man puts you in your place huh?" Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he exits the room, slamming the door behind him.

Gingerly, you feel your abdomen through the loosely tied ropes, wincing as you touch your ribs. Definitely broken.

Where was the team?

-=+=-

"This is how we're going to find Y/N."

Tony examines the tiny pebble dramatically.

"You're joking."

"I'm not. I took it to a friend, a geologist to be exact and he ran some scans. This rock is from Italy. More specifically, Rome." Wanda perks up.

"So what are we waiting for? Let's go!" She cries desperately but Steve grabs her arm.

"Not so fast. Even if we know where she is, we can't just bust in there with nothing. That'll get us killed."

"Waiting will get Y/N killed." Wanda growls, slamming her fist on the table. Natasha places a calming hand on her shoulder.

"We're not leaving this room without a plan." Steve retorts, his eyes boring straight into Wanda's, daring her to make a move.

"Ugh!" She groans, throwing her hands in the air and storming out of the room.

Nat slides down in her chair, a hand draped over her eyes. A reassuring hand squeezes her arm.

"Don't worry. She'll understand eventually."

-=+=-

Wanda silently creeps through the dark hallways of the compound, her body illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the massive window of the living room.

The lights flick on and she stops in her tracks, like a burglar caught breaking into a home.

"You can't do this." Natasha steps forward into the light.

"I'm going no matter what. Even if it means I'll have to fight all 3 of you." She gestures to Bruce and Clint who also emerge from the shadows.

"Who said anything about stopping you?" Wanda's posture relaxes but her hands are still tense, ready to throw any one of them out the window at moment's notice. "We're not going to let you go and snatch all the glory now are we?" She smirks, tossing Wanda a parachute. "Come on. We're going to have to hit the ground running."

-=+=-

"When you said we had to hit the ground running, this wasn't what I had in mind," Bruce gulps, nervously wringing his hands.

"Scared of heights Banner?" Clint teases, an underlying tone of reassurance in his question. Bruce nods vigorously. Clint pats him on the back sympathetically. "Well, too bad." Banner's eyes widen as Clint pushes him out of the plane, watching to make sure his chute deploys.

"You didn't have to push him," Nat nudges Clint playfully. He scoffs.

"As if. He wouldn't have jumped if I didn't." He salutes to Natasha before jumping out of the plane, whooping as he goes.

A parachute smacks Natasha in the face as she fumbles to catch it.

"Wait, where are you going? You need the chute to land." Wanda smirks, waving her hand in front of her.

"Do I?" She leaps out of the plane, gentle red mist wrapping around her and guiding her downwards.

"Showoff." Natasha mutters, checking the straps of her pack before leaping from the plane.

-=+=-

Bullets rake the sides of the wooden crates, sending wood chips everywhere. Clint fires an arrow, sending a gunman down as he writhes around on the floor, electricity wracking his body.

"Where's Y/N?" Natasha yells over the roars of Bruce AKA Big Green.

"She should be on the 2nd floor, 4th hallway to the right," Clint answers, swiftly reloading his bow.

"I'm on my way," Wanda sprints past the Russian assassin, leaving her in the dust.

"Jesus," Natasha mutters, pulling her gun from her holster before running down the hallway after the young witch.

-=+=-

"I suggest you put your hands up before I blow her pretty head off," a deep voice echoes. Wanda watches as he places the barrel of the shotgun against your skull. You don't react, you eyes half closed.

She slowly raises her hands, watching as he smirks and signals for his henchman to grab Wanda.

A bullet pierces his skull and a second embeds itself in his friend's head before the first man hits the ground. Wanda whirls around to find Natasha, gun still smoking.

"You just couldn't wait," Natasha chides, nudging the dead man before hurrying to untie you.

Wanda doesn't respond, instead opting to cradle your broken face in her hands.

"Y/N? Y/N. Can you hear me?" One of your eyes opens, just barely and you mutter something, so faint that they almost miss it.

"Traitor."

-=+=-

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain-likes2read

[another-fantasy-world]

hi could you please make another alice cullen x fem!reader?? i really really love your last one you made, it was so beautiful <3

||AN|| Thank youuu! I'm happy you enjoyed my last one, also, thank you for requesting!

 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆      ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Pairing: Alice Cullen x Fem! Reader

Summary: Alice with a human girlfriend who’s more vampire-like than her.

Warnings: None? Fluff. Happy Couple.

Word Count: 2,084 words

GIF isn’t mine

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆      ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You were always the night owl, lived off coffee and good books and you only wear dark colors. Your routine includes waking up at 10 pm, Cooking and eating your dinner at approximately 11:30 pm, Studying until 6 am, Taking a shower, Make your coffee, and be at school at 7:00 am where you meet up with you too-bright-and-jolly girlfriend, Alice Cullen. After school you then either head home to your own house, or to the Cullens household, either way you crash into anything soft and just ultimately pass out, and your cycle repeats. Sometimes your girlfriend would join you in studying even if she didn’t need it, Sometimes you’d do other things with your girlfriend, some of the things you do aren’t appropriate for a house full of vampires with super hearing, and not to mention her nosy brother who had the ability to read minds. 

“Get out of the way before I pummel you to the ground asshole.” You grumbled to the guy who’s blocking your way and was staring at your girlfriend like she’s a piece of meat. You hated that but you couldn’t do anything. One, pretty sure it’s illegal to kill someone even if you’re thinking about all the ways you could and Two, you miss you girlfriend’s cold hand holding yours.

You see him shiver before grabbing his things and scrambling away, his goons hot on his tail. 

“You have the most creative mind I have ever come across. Really? Using his blood as paint after you use gamma rays to blow up his uhm. Yeah. Where would you even get gamma rays?” Edward scrunches his face as they all approach you.

“Pretty sure Carlisle would hook me up with some.” You smirked then kissed your girlfriend’s forehead, You held her hand in yours as she giggled, getting out of her trance like state.

“Carlisle denied.” She kissed your cheek before dragging you inside the school, where they all separated like the goddamn sea in that one bible story.

Safe to say, you were pretty feared in the whole town. Socially isolated, always has a cup of coffee in hand, dark marks under your eyes, a blank looks often settles on your face,always had earphones in, glared at people who made your family uncomfortable, scared people without trying and a student could’ve sworn he saw you drink someones blood which he says was inside your coffee cup. It was beetroot juice since you ran out of coffee but needed something hot to drink, so you made beetroot juice, with lots and lots of sugar. You were dubbed as a vampire or a witch, which was hilarious considering your girlfriend is a vampire. A bright, happy, sparkling vampire who doesn’t sleep in coffins whatsoever. 

“Have a good day baby, see you at lunch.” Alice kissed your cheek before bouncing in her classroom followed by Emmett who winked at you and Rosalie who raised her brows at you and told you to behave.

“I always behave!” You argued with a small pout on your lips, barely noticeable but Rosalie just smirks before walking gracefully into the room, sitting in between Emmett and Alice who just shooed you away. 

“It’s never a good day.” you whispered while walking away, fully knowing that they could hear you.

Lunch came so slow that by the time you sat at your usual spot, you already had thoughts on murdering your history teacher who ‘unintentionally’ spat at your face and drizzled her spit on your face like a waterfall.

“It’s only been half a day Y/LN, You’ll get through it.” Rosalie slides her tray of food over to you while petting your head.

“i don’t understand why you choose to go through this over and over again.” You groaned, laying your head on Alice’s shoulder. They just laughed and proceeded to talk about things that you don’t even bother to listen to.

“You’re coming over today right?” Alice asked you with that bell like voice that you so loved

“Hmm? Oh yeah, Cuddles?” You whispered to her, internally groaning at how soft you’ve become for your girlfriend. 

“Yes please. You’re warm.”

“And you are freezing cold.” You retorted, stealing some of her fries

“It comes with the package. Now come on, I’ll walk you to your room.” She pats you head while moving away, packing her things. Which low-key made you whine.

“But I always escort you to your room.” You complained

“That’s true, but I figured you wouldn’t be opposed to change.” She smiled, offering her hand which you took.

“Edward?” 

“Nope. Not telling you. I am not going on another shopping spree with that little devil of yours.” He sped walked away, dragging Bella with him

“I think you traumatized him real bad, Ali.” You chuckled

“Good.” She exclaimed

12 midnight, and you just woke up to Alice holding you while reading a book, She smiles at you before tapping her lips, asking for a kiss. You shook your head no, trying to get out of her arms to brush your teeth.

“Nope, kisses first before brushing.” She grips you tighter

“Eww. Morning breath. Alice please!” She just grins before showering your face with kisses.

“There. You can go now, Esme just finished your dinner.” She beamed at you, pushing you into the large bathroom that she has before sitting on the sink.

“Uhm...” You stare at her, confused

“What?” 

The both of you took an hour long shower, you didn’t even need to shower, Alice just persuaded you into doing so. Earning you different looks from different vampires the moment you walked down the stairs.

A suggestive smirk from Rosalie and a laughing Emmett A smirking Jasper A confused Bella with a disgusted looking Edward A smiling Esme holding a bowl of food  And lastly, A laughing Carlisle.

“Oh my God.” You groaned, walking to the dining room, thanking Esme for the food. 

“Really Y/N?” complained Edward who’s cuddling a still confused Bella

“What? Just because you decide to wait until marriage does not mean I have to.” You smirked, winking at Edward who would be blushing if he was human.

“Don’t talk while your mouth is full.” Scolded Esme who’s also trying to keep her laugh in

“Yes Mom. Anyways, Bella I love you, but you look like you’re about to shut down and ready to be pawned like an old computer.” You told her, biting into a chicken leg

“i’ll take her home.” Edward says, grabbing his keys and waits for Bella.

“Why is she here anyways” Grumbled Rosalie, who everyone ignored while you just tapped her head

“Let’s play chess when you get back!” You shouted after him

You finish your food quickly and washed your plates, much to the distaste of Esme, leading your giggling short girlfriend to the couch beside Jasper.

“Jasper~ Wanna watch documentaries of wars and judge everything they did wrong?” You ask Jasper who’s nodding at your request. Alice plopping herself on your lap as she stares at you laughing and smiling with her family.

She’s really happy to have found you the way she did, She reminisced the time when the two of you first met. You were browsing racks and racks of clothes, taking black colored blouses, shirts and button-ups that are your size before walking into a dressing room. While you were in the room, she started to have a vision about the two of you together, having dates and you carrying her shopping bags in this same store, making her all giddy. She was with Rosalie at that time, who just stared at her with a look of slight confusion as she basically bounced to you. You at first was taken aback that someone was actually talking to you, and it was a cute girl at that. Alice greeted you with a smile and a hello before handing you a green blazer and tie, telling you emerald green compliments your eyes and outfit before paying for what you were buying, writing her name and number on the receipt, leaving you dumbfounded at the store

At first she thought that the both of you wouldn’t work out, especially because of all the chaos that recently happened to her family and leaving forks. But you made the effort of always texting her little notes and telling her how your day was, even if she didn’t reply, slowly she felt herself fall more in love with you, letting herself reply and indulge in the visions that she had that involved you. Once she told her family about you, they were a bit skeptical, especially since Carlisle tended to your knuckle wounds one too many times. But upon seeing the love sick look on both your eyes and the loud complaining of Edward at how sickeningly cute your thoughts were of each other, they eventually accepted you as one of their own despite being human. 

And now she stares in awe as you spent about 2 hours criticizing documentaries with Jasper before Edward comes home, and when he did, you played a couple rounds of chess (You always lost, which made Edward laugh every time.) before she decided that she’s bored with you losing to her brother every round and just decided to pick you up and dash to her room. 

“What was that for love?” You ask her when she settled herself in your arms

“I just. I was bored and I realized that it’s been too long since we cuddled.”

“It’s literally been 4 hours since I woke up bumblebee.” You ran your hand through her hair

“I missed you. 4 hours is too long.”

“Awe. I missed you too. Want to pick up where we left off on How to Kill a Mockingbird?” You ask her

“Yes please, I love hearing your voice.” She puts her face on the crook of your neck as you read to her, one of your hand intertwined with hers.

Even though she can’t fall asleep anymore, she loves the way your voice sounds, it calms her down and she could easily compare the “peace” she feels right now to the “peace” she could remember feeling when she was asleep. She really did love you and she doesn’t hesitate to let you know. In multiple various ways. 

Like now, she cut off your reading when her soft lips touched yours. You immediately let go of the book to hold her face lovingly as you put all your feelings into the kiss like you always do. You always felt like your words are never enough, so you always try to express your feeling through physical affection.

As if remembering you need your air, she slowly pulls away, her forehead touching yours as you catch your breath.

“I love you” she whispers, kissing your nose

“I love you too.” You smiled, pecking her lips

Your moment was then ruined when Emmett started banging his fists on the door, loudly exclaiming that you all have to get ready for school. You growled lowly, rolling your eyes.

“Alright! Geez.” You grumpily picked up the book that was tossed to the floor before walking to Alice’s closet where you also keep some of your clothes in...

Only to see that they weren’t there.

“Uhm Alice? Darling? Where are my clothes?” You ask her

She walks to where you are, peeking in slightly before pecking your lips.

“Oops. Accidentally sent all them to your house. Guess you have to wear my clothes then.” She smirked at you, pulling out a lemon yellow trench coat, a rosy pink turtleneck and hot pink pants with a blue belt.

“Baby, Alice. Love. Darling. Bumblebee. Please don’t do this to me.” You pleaded but she just shook her head, handing you the clothes before threatening you with no kisses and cuddles for a week if you refuse.

Your shoulders sag with defeat as you change into the clothes Alice gave you, pouting while walking down the stairs of the Cullen Household. Alice smiles brightly as she hooked her arm around yours. Chuckles and giggles erupted the moment they saw you which made you grumble and murmur underneath your breath as you sip your cup of coffee made by Esme.

“You-” 

“Not a word.” You growled out, blushing furiously as you laughing girlfriend holds your hand while walking through the halls of Forks High school. 

Your girlfriend can be annoying at times, add that to her chaotic family, but you would never trade it for anything. Ever.

[wristpockets]

Can I throw some prompts at you? All fluffy but with potential for Deep Emotional Talks™ if that's what you're after. Anyway: 1. Essek and jester trying to cook/ bake for the first time (two rich kids who have never been in a kitchen while food has been made) lots of potential for comedy but also ways to explore the differences and similarities in their childhoods?? 2. Caleb and Essek teaching each other dances from their homelands, (I feel like Essek probably had to learn formal dances in his youth and absolutely despised them until he realized that dancing with someone you actually like can be fun) Anyhow, happy writing!

Thanks for the suggestions! Going with the first one!

(If anyone else has any fic prompts/ideas/requests feel free to send them my way!)

This kind of got away from me 😅 Ended up a lot longer than expected. Not going to spend too much time proofreading or editing bc this was supposed to be fun. Anyway

Essek is leaning over the railing on the Nein Heroez, a glass of wine in his hand. He can hear the party going on behind him - the rest of the Nein get together every month for dinner - but he needed to get away for a moment. He watches the moonlight reflect off the waves as he swirls the wine in his glass.

He doesn't notice Jester until she's right next to him.

"What's wrong, Essek?" she asks, her voice laden with sincerity and sympathy.

He sighs, takes a long sip of his wine, and says, "I feel inadequate."

"Oh no Essek," Jester says. She moves closer, until she can bump her hip against his. "You're so powerful. And!" She lowers her voice conspiratorially, "I saw the way you floated in Cognouza. You were faster than Caleb, which I think means you're even smarter than he is."

Essek actually smiles at that. Lets out a little laugh. "You're not wrong. But I'm not concerned with my power or intelligence."

"Then how do you think you're inadequate? In what way? Is it-" Jester cuts herself off, looking over at him while wiggling her eyebrows.

"No," he says quickly, his ears heating up. "Everyone else is so..." He looks for the word and comes up blank. "Caleb and I see Beauregard and Yasha for dinner quite often. Yasha will have freshly baked bread, or even cake. Beauregard works all day, and Yasha stays home and cooks."

"I think she's happy though," Jester says.

"I think so too," Essek says quickly. "Caleb works all day too, and I stay home and do nothing." He lets out a little laugh. "I cannot believe this is my problem. Feeling bad that I cannot cook dinner while my - while Caleb is working."

Jester's eyes light up. "Okay," she says. "Okay okay. For our next get together, we're making dessert. Me and you."

Beauregard and Yasha are hosting the next meetup. Essek had collected Jester, Fjord and Kingsley early that morning, to give Jester and Essek time to make dessert.

They sent Caleb and Fjord out of the house and set to work in Caleb's kitchen.

But when Essek takes the third batch of cupcakes out of the oven - burned on the outside, somehow raw inside - he's ready to give up.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong," Essek says quietly. He floats there, uselessly, staring at another failed attempt at a fairly simple baked good. "Is this how you normally make them?"

"Hmm?" Jester says, looking over at him. She dips her finger into the frosting she'd been working on. "I've never made cupcakes before."

Essek turns toward her. "What? You've never-"

"Nope," Jester says, matter-of-factly. She puts the icing-covered finger in her mouth, tasting the frosting, before scrunching up her nose. "This is awful."

Essek deflates a little. "So we are currently lacking both edible cupcakes and edible icing."

Even Jester's smile falls. "I'm sorry, Essek."

"It's not your fault," Essek says. "We still have some ingredients - what do you know how to make? What could we make quickly that's simpler?"

Jester looks down at the floor. "I don't know."

"Anything," Essek pleads. "Anything you've baked successfully-"

"I've never baked anything," Jester admits quietly.

"Oh," Essek says.

"Yeah."

Jester turns so her back is to the counter, then slides down, sitting on the floor. "I know how you feel. I feel like I should know how to do this."

Essek floats over, then sits down next to her. He can't bear the look on her face. "Two powerful adventurers, brought low by mere cupcakes," he jokes.

"I wanted to do this," Jester says, still quiet. "I wanted to bake something for everyone, something delicious! Something everyone would eat and say, 'oh Jester, your baking is so delicious,' and then maybe I'm not just the girl who draws dicks on things."

"You're a lot more than that," Essek tries.

Jester nods. "I know. I just feel bad."

"I feel that way too," Essek says. "All this power and knowledge and ability - for what? What good is it doing me here, now? And I know it's not an either-or thing. Caleb cooks. Even Beauregard does sometimes. I've never so much as fried an egg."

"Neither have I," Jester admits. "When I lived at home..."

"I understand," Essek says, and he knows he does.

"It's just embarrassing," Jester says.

"Yes," Essek agrees.

They sit like that for a moment, until they hear the front door open.

"Essek? Jester?" Caleb calls from the entryway. "Am I allowed in the kitchen yet?"

"Not yet!" Jester yells. "Almost done! Fifteen minutes!"

Essek looks at her in shock, and she just shrugs her shoulders.

"I do not possess the arcane ability to create cupcakes," Essek says blankly. "And I am unsure of how else we might make a dessert in that time."

"I panicked," Jester says apologetically. "Maybe some of the cupcakes aren't so bad-"

"They are," Essek says as Jester leans over batch number two, tearing off a piece of cupcake and trying it cautiously. After a few bites she scrunches her nose, then spits it out into the garbage.

"It looked good," Jester pouts. "I can't believe cupcakes would lie to me."

Something connects and Essek can feel his eyes widen. "I have an idea."

Several hours later, Jester and Essek are ready to present their cupcakes to the rest of the Nein. At the very least, they look nice - frosting is apparently close enough to painting for Jester to have some skill at it.

"These look delicious," Caleb says, smiling up at Essek. The compliment in front of their friends makes Essek's cheeks heat up, and he's grateful his complexion doesn't let it show.

"I might need to get some pointers from you," Yasha says as she carefully peels off the cupcake wrapper. "I wish I could frost like this."

"Don't eat that!" Beau shouts, quickly leaning over to slap it out of her hand.

Everyone stops to stare at Beauregard, Yasha's mouth still open, the cupcake discarded on the floor.

"What's wrong, Beauregard?" Essek asks nervously.

"They've been tampered with," she says. She picks up Yasha's dinner plate. "These plates are enchanted. They change colour if any of the food on it is fucked with. A few crumbs fell off of it." She points to a few speckles of bright purple on the plate. "I watched the plate react to the crumbs."

"Tampered with?" Fjord asks. "Tampered how?"

"I don't fucking know, man," Beau says. "It doesn't like, tell me."

"Um," Essek says carefully. "Would a magical alteration to the dish set off that reaction?"

"I should fucking hope so," Beau says, "since that's the whole point."

"In that case," Essek says, shooting Jester a worried look, "then yes, they were tampered with. But they will not harm you."

"Essek," Caleb says, looking at him worriedly.

"It's just prestidigitation," Essek says hurriedly. "We used it to flavour the cupcakes and the frosting." He takes a bite of his own cupcake. "See? They're safe."

"But why?" Veth asks. "Surely it can't be any worse than that fish stew Fjord made us all eat last time."

Essek looks at Jester again, who looks resigned. He waves his hand, dismissing the spell. "See for yourself."

Caleb is the first one that takes Essek up on that, tearing off a piece with his fingers and tasting it. Essek can see Caleb trying very hard to keep his expression neutral. He eventually - with some difficulty - swallows the bite of cupcake. "Ja," he says, eventually. "It's not that bad." He offers Essek a warm smile.

"Well that's obviously a lie," Veth says, pushing her plate a few inches away from her.

"Sorry guys," Jester says. She's looking down at the table and looks absolutely lost. "We just wanted to make something nice."

"Have either of you ever baked anything, ever?" Veth asks, picking up a tiny piece of the cupcake and trying it. "This is awful. I love you Jessie, but who taught you to bake?"

Jester looks too crestfallen to answer. "Both of us are, ah, new to this," Essek admits instead.

"Maybe cooking lessons are in order," Fjord says. "I used to cook on the ship, back when I was getting started. I could show you a few things, Jester."

Jester nods, still looking down at the table.

"And I could teach you," Caleb says to Essek.

"That would be appreciated," Essek says.

"Okay," Jester says. She sighs, then looks up at everyone. Forces a smile. "Okay. Me and Essek are going to learn how to cook, and then we'll make something for next time."

"Maybe not cupcakes," Beau says.

"Maybe nothing for anyone who complains about my baking again," Jester retorts.

"There are some desserts from Rosohna I'd like to recreate, if possible," Essek says. "If I can find a recipe."

"That sounds nice," Caduceus says.

"I am not much for sweets, but I do like some of the ones in Rosohna," he continues. "They're, ah, made with cinnamon. I don't think they do that here in the Empire."

"They don't!" Jester almost yells, smiling. "I know! It's crazy!"

[featherthiefdean]

Bruiser and the Yellow Bee Bin

Inspired by this hilarious video where a bulldog tackles garabge cans. Also, check it out on AO3 here.

It had been Sam's idea to adopt a dog.

"You'll need someone to come home to when I move in with Eileen," Sam said.

"I found a cute bulldog that would be perfect for you. Bulldogs are low energy and need like one walk daily max. I’ll even come over and walk him on your Saturday shift," Sam said.

"Dean, he has already been returned to the shelter twice. It can't hurt to go meet him," Sam said.

Sam talks a lot.

And that was how Dean found himself at the local animal shelter four months ago, face-to-face with Bruiser the Bulldog.

Bruiser was 60lbs of low-to-the-ground mass. A white stripe went down the left side of his face which offset the snaggle tooth poking out from his underbite on the opposite side. He breathed loudly, snorted often, and waddled like a pregnant penguin. About 2 minutes into meeting Bruiser, he flopped on Dean's feet with a big huff. Drool trickled out of his mouth onto Dean's shoe. Bruiser wagged his stumpy tail as both Sam and Dean bent down to give him belly rubs.

Dean hadn't been sure what to think of Bruiser but Bruiser clearly liked him.

When Sam asked why he had been returned twice, the adoption counselor grimaced.

"He has a lot of... quirks," she had said.

She was right. Bruiser had a LOT of quirks. The first night Bruiser huffed, snorted, and barked until Dean lifted him onto his bed. Satisfied, Bruiser plopped his basketball-sized head on to the pillow next to Dean's, smearing drool across the pillow cover. Bruiser apparently liked comfort.

On the second day, Dean found out that Bruiser would take a mouthful of food out of his bowl, spit it out two feet away, eat the pieces one-by-one, and then go back to the bowl to repeat the cycle.

Bruiser wouldn't eat treats that were green Dean found out on the fourth day.

Sam discovered when he came to visit on the fifth day that Bruiser had stolen Dean's used work socks and hid them under the couch. Unfortunately, the way he found out was when he went to retrieve the ball they had been playing with from under said couch and pulled out one of Dean's crusty socks instead. Dean thought Sam's face and screech of despair was hilarious at the time until he discovered the other 9 socks hidden under the couch.

All these quirks were manageable and, frankly, a little cute if Dean were being honest. Sam and Dean had discussed them each at length and they couldn't believe Bruiser was as much trouble as the shelter seemed to think he was. Dean didn't understand how two families had returned Bruiser after less than two weeks in each home.

Until Day 6: Trash Day. Then, Dean understood.

"Dude, you need to come over after work. It's Bruiser. I don't know how to explain it."

"Is he hurt?"

"No, he seems fine now."

"What happened?"

"This is gonna sound crazy."

"Just tell me, Dean."

"He attacks trash cans."

"He attacks trash cans?"

"Yes dude! We were walking on the sidewalk and then out of nowhere he hurls himself at a trash can and knocked it over. Like a full body slam. I pick it up and put it back just thinking that was weird and a one time thing but he did it three more times before I dragged him back home."

When Sam came over three hours later, Dean was waiting onside on his front step absent-mindedly scratching Bruiser's head with one hand and holding his leash with his other. Dean silently handed Sam the leash when he approached and held up 1 finger as a signal to wait. Dean dragged his large green recycle bin from it's location in the garage near the Impala to the middle of the driveway.

"Try to walk past it."

Sam thought his brother had been exaggerating but when Bruiser went to pass the recycle bin by something shifted. Bruiser rushed forward, tugging at the end of his leash, and launched himself at the container in what could only be described as an All-American football tackle. The bin toppled over a few feet from where it sat originally and Bruiser continued on like nothing had happened.

That "quirk" was the reason Bruiser had been turned into the shelter the first time and returned both times the receptionist told Dean when he phoned the following morning. His first owner thought it was hilarious when Bruiser did it as a puppy and encouraged it for a long time. When Bruiser reached 60lbs, it apparently lost its charm and took him the shelter when he wouldn't stop. Both of Bruiser's adopters thought that this quirk was just too much on a list of weird quirks and brought him back after short stays. The shelter receptionist said they didn't know how they were going to get him adopted at this point with his track record.

When the receptionist asked Dean when he would like to return Bruiser, Dean said he wasn’t planning on it. That was the truth. He never planned to return Bruiser to begin with but he had called the shelter looking for answers. After hearing more about Bruiser’s life, Dean knew he couldn’t abandon the poor guy like all the people did before.

Dean enjoyed snuggling on the couch with Bruiser after a long day at the fire station. Bruiser didn't destroy the house or have accidents when he went to work. Bruiser waited by the bathroom door for him every night while Dean showered before stretching out beside him on the bed. Sam adored him and Eileen loved his slobbery kisses. They loved coming over Saturdays to walk him while Dean worked his longest shift of the week. Sue him, he grew attached to the big lug and his quirks.

And wouldn't you know it, the neighborhood grew attached to Bruiser and his quirks too.

Every Wednesday, neighbors would move their trash cans and recycle bins to the curb for trash day. Every Wednesday evening Bruiser would tackle every trash can and recycle bin he would come across on his evening walk. Dean would hastily collect anything that fell out (trash and recyclables were collected in the morning thankfully but sometimes one or two were accidentally skipped) and right the trash can. Well, as much he could anyway. Bruiser would tackle it immediately once it was upright again.

Three weeks after adopting Bruiser, the neighborhood kids would gather to watch Bruiser demolish trash cans. Some would even walk and chat with Dean to witness the destruction up close.

Two months in and it was practically a weekly neighborhood event with Bruiser and an embarassed Dean serving as entertainment. Neighbors would come out to their front steps to watch Dean and Bruiser on their path of destruction. It was unusual but most people seemed to enjoy watching the bulldog in his element.

One of his neighbors even painted a bullseye on the side of his trash can.

Dean did try to avoid the bins at first but both sides of the street were lined with cans and bins. He tried every trick and tip he found online but Bruiser could not be swayed, bribed, or persuaded not to tackle. Dean even tried walking down the middle of the street which caused him to have to pull/drag his slow-moving bulldog out of the way every time a car came and Bruiser would tackle the closest bin anyway.

Only once did Dean not take Bruiser on his evening walk on trash day and it was then that he discovered another one of Bruiser’s “quirks”. When the bulldog had figured out he wasn’t getting a walk that evening, he started screaming bloody murder and did not stop until Dean picked up the leash.

Four months after adopting him, Bruiser found his sworn enemy at a newly purchased house just four doors down from Dean. The flimsy, yellow recycle bin with yellow bees and the quote "Bee Friendly!" painted on the side deserved the wrath of God Bruiser had decided. Bruiser didn't just want to tackle this bin. He sought to destroy it.

The first week, Bruiser tried to drag the recycle bin from the curb after tackling it. Dean fought to extract it from Bruiser's mouth and had to carry Bruiser away much to the delight of everyone watching.

The second week, Bruiser did the same but this time he tried to run away with it and Dean had to trap Bruiser between his legs to free the poor bin.

The third week, Dean walked on the other side of the street but Bruiser still growled as they passed.

The fourth week Bruiser succeeded in his mission. Which is how Dean found himself in his current predicament.

Dean would never let Bruiser destroy someone else’s property on purpose and steered clear of neighbor's trash cans and recycle bins who didn't enjoy Bruiser's antics as much as the rest of the neighborhood. But today had been a practically long day at the station. He had been called in for an emergency hours before his shift was scheduled to start. He is more tired than usual on their evening walk and isn't paying attention as Bruiser plows through the first neighbor’s plastic trash bin with glee. He didn't even change out of his station t-shirt because he had made plans with Sam and didn’t want to miss Bruiser’s evening walk.

It was only after Bruiser launches himself at the yellow bee bin and manages to crush it with a single, well-placed tackle that Dean remembers Bruiser’s hatred for the thing. Bruiser, satisfied his foe had been vanquished, picks up a large piece with his mouth and starts walking away like he had just successfully hunted a gazelle on the Serengeti.

Dean knew that something like this would happen eventually but did it have to be with a neighbor he hadn’t even met yet? He feels his pocket for his wallet and prepares mentally to write a check to replace the bin while apologizing profusely.

Dean checks his watch and realizes that he was going to be late to meet Sam back at the house. Sam had arranged a blind date/double date with Eileen, Dean, and a mysterious stranger. According to Sam, he doesn’t get out and date enough. Spurred by the success of getting Dean to adopt a dog, Sam had decided the next thing he would fix is Dean’s love life. Sam talks a lot so it didn’t take him long to secure him a date. Dean shoots off a quick text telling Sam what happened and promises to be home soon.

He stalls for a few more minutes while he thinks about what he wants to say. It’s probably going to be something along the lines of Please don’t call the cops on my asshole dog. He likes to tackle trash cans because his first owners were idiots. Here’s a check for 100 bucks.

Finally, Dean can’t avoid it anymore. He gathers the remains of the yellow bee recycle bin and walks Bruiser up the pathway of the two-story family home. After knocking on the front door, Dean is greeted by a pair of bright blue eyes and messy hair.

Dean stands there staring at the man in front of him. The man had obviously just gotten home from work because he is wearing a tan trenchcoat and suit. His tie is backwards and pulled down away from his neck. The man glances down at Bruiser and seems to notice what the dog was carrying in his mouth. He then smiles at Dean and Dean feels his brain short circuit.

"Hello, Dean. I take it you’re here because your dog was finally able to destroy my recycle bin?"

Dean is shocked. He has never met his new neighbor so how did he already know his name? Dean would have remembered meeting someone that looked- well like that.

"Yeah," Dean starts, clearing his throat, “Sorry, about that. I-um- well Bruiser- wait no- I’m sorry that my jerk of a dog-”

The man continues to smile as Dean fumbles through his apology. He steps onto the front steps and closes his door behind him with a soft click. He is only a few inches away from Dean as he bends down to say hello to Bruiser.  

For as much as Bruiser hates the man’s yellow bee recycle bin, he sure seems to like this guy. Bruiser sits immediately within the man’s reach and happily leans against his leg to get attention.

“My name’s Castiel by the way but you can call me Cas. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Sam.”

“You know Sam?”

“Yes, he and Eileen stop by with Bruiser to chat on Saturdays when I am working in my front garden. I’ve heard all about Bruiser’s escapades including his hatred of my recycle bin.”

Sam never mentioned meeting his new neighbor but then again sometimes Dean didn’t always listen the best after his double shift. Usually, Sam would drone on and on about how great Bruiser is, the boring cases at his law office, and that Dean needed to get out more. Most of the time Dean would try to listen before zoning out and nodding occasionally.

“Cas, I really am sorry about all of this. Please let me pay for the replacement.”

“I have a better idea,” Cas says as he stops petting Bruiser and straightens up. He meets Dean’s eyes with an intense stare before continuing.

“You can buy me dinner tonight instead.”

Yep, Dean’s brain is well and truly fried.

“Yeah sure, I can totally buy you dinner. Wait not tonight. I kinda agreed to this thing with Sam... So raincheck maybe?” That was as smooth as crunchy peanut butter, Dean thinks to himself.

Cas smiles even wider, “Good to know you weren’t going to skip out our date tonight. Sam warned me that you were unsure if you wanted to go at all but now that you owe me dinner, I’m almost positive that you’ll show up.”

“You’re my date tonight?”

“Yes. When I mentioned I was single last weekend, Sam asked if I would be interested in joining him and Eileen on a double date with his ‘single, firefighter brother who has a cute dog.’ You can, of course, back out if you are uninterested now that we’ve met.”

Dean had only recently come out as bisexual but trust his little brother to ally-up right away and secure him a date with the first single, attractive man he stumbled upon. Not that Dean is complaining.

“Cas, I would love to buy you dinner tonight and not just because of Sam- or Bruiser.”

Cas accompanies Dean and Bruiser for the rest of their walk after disposing of the remains of the murdered recycle bin. Bruiser carries his stolen piece of the yellow bee recycle bin with great pride and only knocks the occasional trash can over as they make their way back to Dean’s house. Conversation flows easier the more they talk and they seem to hit it off. Cas laughs as Dean works to straighten up the bulldog’s path of destruction and Dean laughs when Cas recounts Sam’s first loud conservation in his garden.

Sure, Sam talks a lot but Dean doesn’t think it’s quite so bad now that it got him a dog and a date.

[jojoboisimagines]

Johnny Joestar x Reader :: Wait for It :: Chapter 5

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Summary: Gyro is hospitalized, and now Johnny has no one to turn to. That is, until a former female rider shows him a little compassion.

A/N: I’m sorry but Johnny being a teasing lil shiz gives me life-

.::.

The orders had been set on the table, now you and Johnny had something else to focus on rather than the previous embarrassing subject. You see him bowing his head and muttering something before digging in. You raise an eyebrow at him, which he catches at the corner of his eye.

“What?” He asks, not sounding as offended as you thought he’d be.

Words failed you at the moment, you didn't even think he would have noticed to begin with. 

“I didn’t think...you were religious?” 

He scoffs, even with a little smile spread across his face. The irony of that statement isn’t lost on him. He is looking for the Holy Corpse parts after all. For obvious reasons, he wouldn’t let you know this, but it was a funny inside joke for him.

“Guess I don’t seem like that, huh?”

“It wasn’t meant to be offensive, I just--” “Nah its okay, I didn’t take it with a grain of salt or anything.” He cut you off, resuming eating his food. What kind of guy even is this, you thought. The two of you ate in silence for about 30 minutes. You had finished your meal, while the jockey was taking his time.

“You’re a pretty slow eater.”

“It’s called savoring. When you’ve tasted dirt from lying on the ground for weeks, you don’t take meals like this for granted. Besides, this tastes...like home.”

The home Johnny was referring to wasn’t his family household, of course not. There was only suffering back there. The ‘home’ he was talking about, was the familiarity of being famous, constantly traveling to fancy places, being able to freely ride his horse and walk around doing whatever he wanted, when he wanted. At least then he was sneered at for being a jerk and not over something he couldn’t control. It was only 2 years ago that was his life, but it might as well have been 20 for as much as he’s longed for it back. 

“Johnny.”

Your voice sparked a flicker of life in his eyes again, realizing his head had been tilted downwards towards the plate of food that hadn’t been touched in about 3 minutes. Looking up at you, he muttered a ‘hm?’

“So...your Italian friend. What's the deal with him, if you don’t mind me asking.” You hoped it wasn’t a hard-hitting question that would make him upset, you were just curious.

The ex-jockey wasn’t sure how to answer that question. You hadn’t noticed his bullets earlier, so he was inclined to believe you weren’t a stand user. Finally someone he wouldn’t have to worry about, but that would make Gyro’s situation all the harder to explain. The only way he wouldn’t sound insane is to keep it as vague as possible.

“A couple of robbers ganged up on him, kinda similar to how they were about to get you earlier.” His fork toyed with his food.

“Ah. I guess this city isn’t so friendly.” You remarked, to which Johnny agreed with a nod. “I hope he makes it out alright. Are you really...gonna let this jeopardize your standing in the race though?”

“I’m not leaving without Gyro.” He replied, all too quickly. In almost a snapping manner, even. That was all you would say on the subject.

“I see..What made you pick up horse riding again though?”

“What’s with all the questions? I just agreed to make you a better horse rider, not some two-for-one deal where you’d force yourself to be friends with me.” Johnny retorted. 

You felt slightly offended. ‘Force’? Was he implying you were being fake with him?

“I’m not forcing myself to. Didn’t you get that I pretty much hated you before? I see that it was pretty childish now that you’ve shown me my weaknesses in riding.” You let out a sigh before continuing. “Listen, you’re a lot easier to talk to than i thought you’d be, and well, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if we could be acquaintances.”

 You had to swallow your pride to admit that to his face, but it was the truth, and he deserved to hear it since he had taken a chance on you.

His expression was..different from any you had seen before. His eyes were slightly widened, he finally took his hand off of his cheek. The man seemed a bit desperate and hopeful even, just from hearing that.

“...(Y/n), I--”

“Is that Johnny Joestar?” A girl clearly yelled from across the restaurant. As you turned your head, she was already bolting for your table. She looked young, maybe 14 or 16, with messy blonde pigtails and a red frilly dress. Her eyes were filled with stars just by getting a closer look at the ex-jockey.

“Oh my god its so exciting to meet you! You’re in third place in the Steel Ball Run right? Your face is all in the newspaper with those other guys! Keep this between us but, I’ve always thought you were the hottest one!” She burst into muffled giggles, her hand bashfully covering her mouth.

Johnny kept nodding as she went on and on, at some point he lost track of what she was even saying. It had been a while since he ran into an eccentric fangirl like this, he almost forgot how annoying they could be. 

The girl pulled out a pen from her bra, causing both you and Johnny to raise an eyebrow. She put it in his hand and bent down to hold her face uncomfortably close to his. A painted fingernail tapped on her right cheek.

“Could you sign my cheek? Pretty pleeaasee!” She fluttered her eyebrows. It was enough to make you sick.

The man sighed, agreeing to do it. He put a thumb under her chin to hold her face still in order to sign it. You didn’t know why, but you felt this strange twinge in your chest as he held her cheek while the girl was smiling, clearly well pleased with the situation. He eventually lets her go when he finishes signing, putting on a fake smile before telling her to shoo in a ‘gentle’ way. She happily skips away, showing her friends who were also possible fanatics.

There was the usual bout of silence at the table before he spoke up again.

“No, this doesn’t happen often. That’s the first time anyone’s ever asked for an autograph throughout this whole race.”

You replied with nothing other than a quiet ‘oh..’. After that, he goes back to eating his food (which he didn't really want anymore, but the check was too big for him to let it go to waste). He sneaks a couple of looks at you while you waited for him to finish. Your attention is finally caught when he points his fork at you.

“Stop doin’ that.”

You blink. “Doing what?”

“Mean-muggin’ me.”

The phrasing made you scoff, but brought a smile to your face for a second. “How’d I do that?”

“You’ve been given’ me snake eyes ever since that chick walked away.”

“Are you implying that I’m jealous or something? I could care less.” You crossed your arms.

“Whatever you say sweetheart.”

You grip your sleeves at the nicknames again. When’d he even pick that up?

“...”

“Jeez, you’re gonna need more of a backbone. Not like I’m gonna tear you down or anything, but getting offended at somethin’ like that is kinda just….really?”

A growl is let out under your breath. 

“With that attitude I’d assume you’re a fan too. Thought you hated me?”

Oh boy he was testing you right now. You stood up from your chair in anger, before catching something else at the corner of your eye. The girl from before was talking to a tall man in black clothes. The man had turned in you and Johnny’s direction, with a murderous expression. He pushed the girl aside, eyes red hot with fury while trudging over to the table. 

“Hey!” He barked. Sweat was starting to build at the corner of your face.

“Johnny, we should get out of here.” The ex-jockey didn’t even notice the man coming over before you alerted him. As he looked to his side, it was already too late. His neck was caught in the man’s grasp, being harshly pulled from his seat into the air.

“Who said you could talk to my girlfriend you bastard?!” The spit was visible as it got onto Johnny’s face, his eyes tightly squinted.

This was bad. You had left your gun on the satchel of your horse. You cursed, needing to think fast about what your course of action should be. Could you please go a few hours without being attacked in the past two days?

Your mentor was clawing at the man’s rough hands, the color swiftly leaving his face. Your fists clenched, no one else was trying to stop the fight, only useless screams and people running out of the building. There was no other option but to trust your instincts.

Taking a few steps back to prepare yourself and earn momentum, you rushed forward and thrashed your body against the attacker’s to save Johnny.

[ku-ro-kai]

Darling, you’re different

Woke up in the middle of night thinking about dabi as a plug yesterday, wrote a fanfic about it during my entire day at school

edit made by me : )

Your usual plug wasn’t responding,using excuses to go pick up his kids or his baby mother was giving him a hard time. This was the time to be looking for a new plug for sure but how the fuck are you supposed to find one in the first place,camie was your best friend who smoked weed and was a blonde bimbo, she invited you over to smoke with her and offer you a new plug

“You made it! Come smoke a dub with me right quick then we’re gonna go meet him okay” she pulled you into her car

Camie was holding your hand walking through apartment complexs "your sure you know where this guy is?" " of course, he's been my plug for 3 years, he hot too" she stopped at a door and knocked "ever fucked him?" the door opened to a Raven haired man littered in tattoos, piercings ranging to black to silver, gray sweatpants hanging from his waist and a black T-shirt."You brought me a new client" she wasn't lying about him being hot.

His place was pretty tidy for a drug dealer "you can call me dabi by the way, camie gave you my number yet?" his eyes were like pools, you didn't have the guys to look him in the eyes "no" you said in a soft tone, he reached his hand "lemme see your phone for a second baby" you handed it to him "remember my apartment number is 306,don't forget because I'm only telling you once" "yes sir" he looked at you handing you back your phone "you don't have to hit me with that formal shit babe" "sorry,right" he chuckled walking to a hallway "camie come to the back with me" camie grabbed her bag walking to the back but she peaked her head out "I'll be right out, wait in the car for me".

"How long is it gonna take her to get some weed!" after that you heard a knock to the window "what the fuck!" dabi waved with a shit eating smile "fuck you!" ,you saw camie unlock the doors as she she was limping over "scoot over" dabi picked you by your waist and got in the passenger seat "dabi,what the hell are you doing" " what does it look like, gotta go to work" "yeah I see that but not with me on top of you, we might get pulled over" he slapped your shoulders pulling you back on his chest" not if you sit up like that, just enjoy the car ride for a few" you tried to get out of his arms but he was way stronger than you thought "come on camie back me up!" she put the keys in the ignition "he job is right around the corner (name) , trust me you'll be fine" you just relaxed in his hold. "Why are you so warm"

You shuffled neck to side of his shoulder "hot box" he didn't really smell like weed, more like ashes and feminine perfume "you smell weird" he bit your earlobe "pretty rude for someone who couldn't even look me in the eyes" you felt embarrassed, you just stayed quiet the entire time.

"See you next time,Blondie and you again?" you tried to ignore him but you spit out "(name)" he pulled your ear "how about sugar tits since you have-" "hell no!" camie leaned forward waving "bye dabi!" he stuck his tongue out, he had three piercings going in a straight line"you like what you see" you smiled rolling up your window "no".

"Hey you ever get the weed?" camie turned to you "of course but I didn't come for just the weed" she winked at you, you connected the dots in your head "you pay him with sex!?" "hear me out, free weed, good dick, hot boy blows my back out what's not to like?" you just rolled your eyes at her"let's just spark up before you go home"

-Next day-

Camie was too busy hungover from all the alcohol she decided to drink when she got home so you just did this on your own, can't be that hard can it?

____

You : hey

Dabi: what is it sugar tits

You : how much for a gram and stop calling me that

Dabi: A 20 and no ;)

You: fine,I'll be over

____

You knocked on the door twice, before you could pull out your money he dragged you inside "the hell?" catching yourself from stumbling over the mat "I was in the middle of rolling up" he was naked and wet, you could see his tattoos covered in certain areas,his stomach,his v-line,even his legs, only thing covering him was a black towel "put some clothes on first" "last time I checked it's my house so walking around naked shouldn't be your little concern babe" you were always annoyed by this asshole, how can camie do it. You looked in your bag twice, still couldn't see it, dumped out all belongings, nowhere to be found "where's the money?" dabi spoke walking in with some jeans on but still shirtless also he was holding a plastic wrap bag of weed, you let out a soft breath of air "I lost my wallet" he just stared at with bored eyes before busting out laughing "your being dead serious aren't you!" he rubbed his hand through his hair "look I'm sorry for wasting your time dabi, can I just pay you back next time " he shook his head throwing you the bag of weed "this is on the house except for one favor" "I'm not fucking you" the expression painted on your face let you knew exactly what he wanted "damn your good at reading people or what" "camie told me she pays you with sex so she can get free weed, don't lie either she was limping when she walked out your apartment" he smiled leaning against the wall next to the hallway "how do you expect to get it free then? Paying for it tomorrow isn't gonna cover how much I put in the bag for you sugar tits" she he was right this was way more than a gram" so what's it gonna be, you leaving empty handed or limping with weed in hand".

You heard a lighter flash on and off "you on a pill or something because I don't like pulling out" he was sitting on the couch smoking the blunt he just rolled a couple minutes ago "yeah,I have some at my house" he started unzipping his pants "come here" you walked off undressing yourself but keeping your shirt on "it's you hiding your tits for me" he pats his thigh signalling you to sit on his lap. "Open" "what?" "your mouth sugar tits" you slowly opened your mouth, he took two fingers shoving them down your throat "your not wet enough for me"he finally took his fingers out of your mouth "why do you say that.." "I'm to big and definitely haven't been stretched out, piercings might rip a new hole in you" piercings? He reached down taking off your panties in one tug,he turned you facing his wall with you against his back "what your last dude's dick size" that is really personal "A 6 I think" he opened your folds looking at some slickness beginning to gather "did he make you cum?" "no" he showed you a bright grin, placing a thumb on your clit, rubbing circles into it "a clit piercing would look good on you" he left a kiss on your cheek. "Your ready" dabi turned you back around facing him,"hold this for me baby" he pushed his blunt between your lips, he pulled his pants down by his ankles, there was ball piercings going down his length.

You held on to his shoulder for comfort, your walls weren't used to this feeling however dabi wasn't moving, too busy taking small puffs from his blunt with his head leaned back into the sofa "your a great cockwarmer sugar tits" he lifted his head back up "ever shotgun?" "No?" he grabbed you by your shirt pulling you into a kiss, you inhaled the smoke up your nostrils "your a good kisser" dabi gripped your ass, the friction of the piercings against your walls had you clenching down every thrust, dabi had no true goal besides aiming for that special spot, this position at any rate wasn't gonna him nowhere close though.In the meantime you were leaving small moans here and there, you didn't wanna give dabi that satisfaction of making you cum so easily, suddenly dabi got up off the couch immediately turning toward the couch, you could feel his cock poking your ass,eventually he pulled both your arms,sinking back into your velvet walls.

Dabi forced your face into the plushy part of the leather couch,although you promised yourself to contain your moans, dabi was ruthlessly rutting himself into you,he was progressively becoming more rough with his thrusts, your eyesight became dark blurs,you knew were close to cumming.

There was a sharp pain on your shoulder, you looked over to find dabi biting down on you, you felt his thumb rub against your clit,afterward that was the last push to send you overboard. Dabi came after you

You lazily slouched down,coming from your high, dabi left hickies on your neck to your shoulders before calling out "Wanna spark up before round 2"

Thank you for reading :) - I don't know what came over me for writing this to be honest . Though him progressively becoming an asshole was my main goal at some point. Follow me for more❤️

[goodomensblog]

Afterward - Part 16

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

(#1 is our winner! The votes for this one were the equivalent of the kids in the schoolyard circling up and chanting FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT lmao)

HEY ALSO - tw: blood, minor gore, psychological manipulation.

Afterward - - - Part 16

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

Entropy climbs over Crowley, its white, spider-thin legs all but encircling him. The demon’s thigh is speared by one of the creature’s cruelly twisting claws, and is pinned to the floor.

Beelzebub should go.

The smart choice is to go.

“I do want the angel,” Entropy says, looming over the felled demon and angel. “but don’t you worry demon - I’ll mercifully end your miserable existence.”

A clawed hand curls over Crowley’s head, and Beelzebub can’t help but recall the cracks that spread over the angel Sandalphon, fracturing the powerful angel like cheap ceramic.

Crowley gasps, and Beelzebub twitches, looking from Crowley, to the unconscious Aziraphale, and finally, to the archangel Gabriel, collapsed helplessly over the fountain, his golden blood mixing with water.

“Fucking shit,” Beelzebub breathes, hating everything. Steeling themself, they turn their back on the door.

Taking one limping step, then another, Beelzebub lifts a clammy hand, pressing it against their chest. Beneath curling fingers, they feel the trembling pool of infernal heat at their core - and with a strangled shout, pull.

The lamps lining the courtyard flicker - then pop - exploding one by one in storms of sparks and glass. 

Gasping, Beelzebub doubles over, hunching as midnight wings unfurl. From clenched hands, nails harden into claws, razor’s edges slicing into skin. Around the prince of Hell, flies swarm in a black, biting cloud.

The creature looks up as Beelzebub roars.

Entropy rises, but Beelzebub is already across the courtyard, shattered flagstone exploding in their wake. The creature’s doll white face swivels - and Beelzebub’s black claws slam into its forehead and twist. Snarling, Beelzebub wrenches, flinging the creature into the nearest wall.

Beelzebub is burning from the inside out, the last vestiges of Hellfire crackling beneath their skin. They feel light, delirious, and very, very angry.

“Beelzebub?”

Panting, Beelzebub glances back.

Crowley, one hand braced on his bloodied leg, stares, open mouthed and wide eyed. “How’re you-”

“I’m going to destroy this bitch,” Beelzebub says, staggering. “And you,” they stab a finger at him, “are going to grab the idiot angels and get all of your dumbasses out of here.”

Crowley’s yellow eyes are studying them, and he looks alarmingly like he wants to say something. 

Beelzebub, who doesn’t have time to deal with Crowley and his bloody useless words, turns away, jabbing their middle finger over their shoulder. Putting Crowley and the angels and every single other pointless distraction out of mind, Beelzebub stalks toward the Entropy shaped hole in the wall.

By Beelzebub’s estimation, the Hellfire fueled energy surge is going to last a whopping three minutes maximum. They’ll have to eviscerate the creature before that time is up.

“No problem,” Beelzebub says, spitting blood.

Blade-sharp claws slither out of the hole in the stone. The pale creature glides out of the cracked wall, spindly limbs driving them forward. It’s white forehead is ripped with jagged wounds; jet black ichor pours forth, painting smeared lines down it’s porcelain face. Tilting its head, it smiles, and the wide, terrifying void of its mouth swallows up the bottom half of its chin.

“Shoo fly,” it says, black eyes gleaming.

Beelzebub attacks. 

They don’t bother thinking - not when Entropy moves faster than even their demon eyes can follow. Wings spread and claws raking, Beelzebub defers to instinct. When one of Entropy’s limbs lands too close, Beelzebub lunges and bites. Using teeth and claws, they rip the pale limb from its body.

It shrieks and Beelzebub leaps back, spitting black ichor.

Void black lips curl over stained incisors, and Beelzebub’s grin is part animal and all teeth. “You came into my Hell. Used my leader. Hurt my demons,” Beelzebub rasps, drinking in the creature's screams.

A limb shoots out, fingers raking. 

Beelzebub leaps back. They’re one hundredth of a second too slow.

Fingers like razors punch through the demon’s shoulder and out the other side. 

Dark blood spays the flagstone, and Beelzebub wrenches up and back, tearing the narrow appendage out of their flesh. Around the wound, Beelzebub’s skin flakes into black dust.

Clutching their shoulder, Beelzebub launches back, narrowly avoiding Entropy’s next strike.

Halfway across the courtyard, Beelzebub skids to a halt. Heaving shallow, uneven breaths, they survey the creature, assessing.

One limb down. Seven to go.

They’ll need to get in close.

“So much anger,” Entropy says, it’s layered voice horrible and saccharine. Across the courtyard, it’s pale face tilts to the side. Round, unblinking eyes study Beelzebub as the thing says, “Though I understand why you’re angry.”

Beelzebub presses a burning hand to their shoulder, grimacing as their flesh sears together. “Yes,” they growl between clenched teeth, “dickwad, I’m angry because you-”

“Oh no no no,” Entropy interrupts with a laugh like shattering glass. “Not me. At yourself.”

Beelzebub’s shoulder gives a final sizzle and they let their smoking hand fall. “Enough bullshit-”

“Tell me, Beelzebub, prince of Hell,” Entropy croons, “who really, honestly cares about you?”

“The fuck?” Beelzebub spits, and shakes their hands until they ignite.

“No no, hear me out,” the creature says, laughing. “First, your all loving God decides they don’t care to forgive you. So you go and forge a place for yourself in Hell, rising up in Satan’s army, fighting and killing your way to power. Only once you’ve got the power you spend centuries fighting again and again, always looking over your shoulder, always knowing that any one of those demons would happily destroy you for just a taste of power.” The thing grins, black streaks of ichor twisting in a horrifying mask. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

Beelzebub rocks back, pain blossoming, taking root not in their shoulder, but in that insidious, narrow space behind their ribs. 

Fuck.

Snapping back onto the balls of their feet, Beelzebub pants, letting the flames climb their forearms. “I’m tired of waiting to rip you limb from fucking limb,” they snarl, and ravenous flies burst from between the black feathers on their wings. 

Beelzebub follows the flies. As their pets bite at Entropy, burrowing into it’s skin, Beelzebub launches into the air with a blood curdling cry. Claws aflame, Beelzebub rakes two brutal slices down Entropy’s macilent sides.

Beelzebub snaps a sharp look up, eager to revel in this monster’s pain. 

The screams don’t come.

Beelzebub stares into an eternities wide smile.

Two hands punch out. One spears through Beelzebub’s good shoulder, and the other goes through a leg.

Entropy shoves Beelzebub into stone. It cracks around them as the creature’s two limbs pin them to the ground, like an insect on display. Their skin flashes hot and cold, and Beelzebub shakes because everything is burning.

Entropy climbs over them, long limbs pinning them in. When it’s pale, laughing face looms over them, Beelzebub spits.

The creature doesn’t react, apart from a slight tilting of the head.

Beelzebub heaves another shuddering breath and jerks to and fro - which only serves to shift the hands spearing their flesh. Back arching, Beelzebub screams.

And the creature is laughing, shaking with mirth.

“Oh this is precious. You know, I’d keep you. But at this point, you’re nowhere near strong enough to survive as a vessel. I’d tear you limb from limb.”

Beelzebub spits again. “I’ll kill you,” the say, and mean it - because they’ve never lost a fight and they can’t they can’t they can’t -

Needle-like fingers slide up Beelzebub’s face in a mocking caress.

“Darling,” Entropy breathes, “You have known nothing but pain. But everything falls apart. Everything spreads until it is eventually nothing. Let me dismantle you. I’ll save you from the pain of miserable existence.”

“Fuck you.” Beelzebub lunges up, swiping at its face.

Entropy casually knocks the hand aside, and a bladed appendage stabs through Beelzebub’s palm, pinning it above their head.

Beelzebub bites into their tongue to hold back the scream. 

Entropy leans in. Mouth gaping, they hover over Beelzebub as fingers like needles hold the demon’s face.

“Whatever the fuck you want from me-”

“What I want,” Entropy says, soft as a breeze, “is to understand how you’ve kept from falling apart - knowing that no one in all this wide, wide universe loves you.”

“What?”

The white face tilts. “Oh come now. I can see right through you. You know God doesn’t love you. The demon’s don’t really even trust you. And the angels certainly don’t care for your existence. So,” it stops, licking its lips. “When everything in the universe - every inch of energy - is spread to nothingness, there will be no pain, no loneliness, Beelzebub. All will be nothing,” it breathes, rapturous. 

Beelzebub isn’t listening. They’re not - they’re not.

“Yes you are,” it says, laughing again, and it’s big black eyes are staring down, practically swallowing Beelzebub up. “Oh it’s going to be delicious smearing you across the universe.”

Beelzebub shudders, snarling and kicking, but it’s no use because that mouth is stretching and the needle sharp fingers are prickling, digging in and - and - and -

Cold metal flashes and the creature’s head tips and rolls, bouncing grotesquely off stone.

The cold, alien body sways, then topples, following after the head.

Beelzebub stares blearily at the cloven head, gaze sluggishly shifting to the rich brown loafers cautiously prodding the thing’s jaw.

“I don’t know about you, but I was getting really tired of that voice,” Gabriel says, leaning heavily on his sword. One of the archangel’s arms dangles, bloody and useless and a thick gash runs down the side of his face - all the way from forehead to chin.

Beelzebub blinks, and since coherent thoughts don’t seem to be making themselves available, settles for a few more moments of blankly staring.

In a detached sort of way, Beelzebub watches as Gabriel’s dumb face does something complicated. And then he’s kicking the head aside. The sword clatters to the ground as he kneels reaching-

That snaps Beelzebub out of it.

“Don’t touch me!”

Gabriel actually jumps back.

Gritting their teeth, Beelzebub hauls their free hand up. With a savage scream, they tear the spear out of their shoulder. Panting, they get the one in their hand next. And finally, their leg.

Forcibly ignoring the fact that every inch of them is a pulsating mass of pain, Beelzebub shoves up, rising into an agonizingly uncomfortable crouch. They grit their teeth.

Gabriel is looking at them and his expression is still complicated and Beelzebub hates it.

“How much did you hear?” Beelzebub says, flat. Hand pressed against their shoulder, Beelzebub draws shallow, uneven breaths and waits.

Gabriel blinks twice, and then he’s shaking his head. “Nothing,” he says, light.

Beelzebub’s lip curls because that's a load of shit if they’ve ever heard one. “You-”

A sharp voice interrupts them.

“Hey Beezy! You alright there?”

The voice is Crowley’s and Beelzebub honestly can’t decide if they hate Gabriel or Crowley more at this very moment.

Whipping around, Beelzebub hisses, “You were supposed to run. And I said no nicknames!”

Crowley is at the courtyard’s edge. He’s got an arm around Aziraphale, who finally seems to have awoken, and is holding him upright.

“Well, you see - I was going to,” Crowley calls back, “And then you started getting the living shit beaten out of you. So I slapped the archangel till he woke up.”

At that, Gabriel cuts a frankly murderous look in Crowley’s direction.

Aziraphale, who does seem to be slightly more conscious than not, grabs a fistful of Crowley’s shirt.

Beelzebub is gathering the energy to tell the lot of them to fuck right off, when the ground begins to shiver.

Stiffening, Beelzebub snaps to attention.

From the creature’s severed head, ephemeral tendrils spread. When the first tendril touches it’s body, Entropy gasps, and the body rapidly begins knitting itself together. As Beelzebub watches, a new limb sprouts, replacing the one they had torn off.

“I don’t think….it can be destroyed in….the usual ways,” Aziraphale says, hoarse.

“Shit,” Beelzebub breathes, watching Entropy slowly rise.

“Again! Cut off the sucker’s head again!” Crowley shouts.

“We need to go,” Aziraphale calls. “Now.”

Gabriel reaches for the sword. “I’ll smite the sonofabitch.”

Entropy, black eyes gleaming with renewed life, smiles.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Beelzebub, despite managing to put up a fierce fight against Entropy, was eventually defeated. Gabriel, awoken by Crowley’s repeated slaps, saved Beelzebub, though not before Entropy cruelly laid bare the demon’s fears. The survivors are weak and Entropy has revealed regenerative abilities. As Entropy repairs itself, a slew of suggestions are shouted, and Beelzebub decides….

To listen to Crowley. Grabbing the sword from Gabriel, Beelzebub attempts to cut off the damn thing’s head. At the very least, it will give them time to come up with a better solution - and probably won’t make anything worse?

To listen to Aziraphale. As much as Beelzebub hates to admit it, this thing is way out of their league. They need to run, rest, and regroup. Though escaping may not be easy...

To listen to Gabriel. Beelzebub knows not to get in the way of an archangel’s smiting. And while Beelzebub doubts a smiting will do the job, it probably can’t hurt to let Gabriel give it a try. Right??

To listen to none of them because they’re all idiots and at this point, Beelzebub is running on pure spite. It may not be the best choice, but Beelzebub is going to punch the creature in it’s jackass face. They’ll figure the rest out from there. (Note: for my anxious voters! This option will NOT kill Beelzebub (nor will the other options). The last chapter was definitely a rough one, and I honestly just wanted to give y’all the option of seeing Beelzebub just straight up deck this dude).

Please comment or reblog to vote! :) 

Things are dark now, but I promise I have voting options to add some much needed humor, levity, and team bonding planned soon!

Part 17

[king-finnigan]

- The Walls of Kaer Morhen - Part 2 -

Also on AO3 Part 1

_._

“What happened to the west wing?” he asks at dinner, a few days later. He’s roamed in there once or twice over the past week, and every time, he couldn’t help but notice the dilapidated state of it – the stones of the walls chipped and scarred, the windows broken in several places, some doors even shattered to bits – right before Vesemir had found him and shepherded him out of it soon afterwards.

Vesemir always finds him, somehow.

The dinner table grows silent, and Jaskier gets the sneaking suspicion he asked the wrong question.

“The sacking,” Geralt replies eventually. “I’ve told you about that before.”

He frowns, then nods. He remembers it well, the night Geralt told him what happened to most of the Kaer Morhen Witchers: killed- slaughtered by an angry mob in their own home, their blood painting the walls of Kaer Morhen. He remembers the way Geralt’s face had seemed to age a lifetime in the light of the dying fire, and he remembers holding him close afterwards, trying in vain to sooth the greatest loss Geralt’s ever had to endure.

“Right,” he says. “You did tell me about that, about what happened and…” his eyes drift to Vesemir, who’s also fallen quiet, staring daggers into his untouched plate of food “and that Vesemir was the only one to survive.”

The kitchen is quiet, the silence almost palpable.

“Aren’t you going to ask, little bard?” Lambert eventually says, venom in his voice, and the tension in the room sets Jaskier’s nerves on end. “Aren’t you going to ask how he managed to survive? You’re smart, surely you’ve realized how odd it is that an entire keep of Witchers couldn’t make it, but somehow, he could.”

Jaskier clears his throat, looking down at his lap. “It’s uh… it’s really none of my business-“

“Tell him, Vesemir,” Lambert spits out, “tell the little bard how you ran while the others were being slaughtered, tell him how hid like a fucking coward until you were the only one left standing.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Tell him!” he barks out.

“That’s enough!” Eskel snaps, and Jaskier looks up to see that he’s bared his teeth in a snarl at Lambert, who’s growling back. Geralt has his jaws clamped together, his hands fists on the table as he glares at Lambert.

Vesemir stands up. “Excuse me,” he mutters, walking out of the kitchen.

Jaskier curses, scrambling out of his chair, following Vesemir into the main hall, intent on apologizing to him for the scene he caused – no matter how much he didn’t intend to. But when he steps foot into the hall and looks around, Vesemir is nowhere to be found.

---

He pushes open the door, sneezing when it sends a small cloud of dust into the air, waving his free hand in front of his face, his other occupied with the blanket and the book.

He’s decided to explore the keep, finding different reading nooks in different rooms. After all, he doesn’t want to spend the entire winter cooped up in the library – hell, if he wanted that, he would’ve just gone to Oxenfurt.

And maybe it has something to do with that one time he was walking through the library, and out of the corner, he’d spotted someone sitting in one of the chairs at the end of the aisle. He’d stopped in his tracks, taking a few steps back, only to find the chair very much empty.

Or maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with that. Maybe he’s just getting tired of the library. It doesn’t matter.

He looks around the room. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like much, with a few beds pushed against the walls and a curtain at the far end, but Jaskier knows not to judge too quickly, by now, and closes the door behind him, walking towards the curtain.

He lays down his blanket and book on the floor next to one of the beds, and pushes the fabric to the side, grinning when he finds an alcove with a bench behind it. It’s the perfect little reading nook, and Jaskier can already picture himself lounging there in the winter sun, surrounded by pillows, his book in his lap as he dozes.

He turns back to fetch his things, but finds his blanket gone.

He frowns. Strange. He walks over to the side of the cot where he left his stuff, lowering himself on his knees next to it.

He finds the blanket underneath the bed, and he frowns again, reaching under to pull it towards him. He must’ve accidentally kicked it when he walked towards the alcove, he supposes. It’s now covered in dust, though, which is less than ideal but it’s nothing a good shake can’t fix.

So, he shakes it out and folds it again, laying it next to the book once more before walking out of the room in search of pillows, smiling to himself as he hears the familiar clanging of swords in the courtyard.

His quest is forgotten, though, as he walks into the main hall, finding Eskel standing there, staring at one of the tapestries. Jaskier goes to stand next to him, taking in the scene stitched on the black fabric in vibrant thread.

It’s a Witcher fighting a wraith, his hand on the ground as a purple circle glows around the monster.

“The first Yrden,” Eskel explains to him.

Jaskier hums thoughtfully, eyes trailing over the details in the tapestry as he waits for Eskel to speak again.

“You know,” the Witcher eventually mutters, “I used to be able to sit here for hours as a kid, watching the older Witchers work on these tapestries. It was mesmerizing.”

“I bet,” Jaskier mumbles back.

They stand there in silence for a while, until Jaskier moves on to the other tapestries – the next few ones depicting the birth of every sign.

He startles when the front door slams open, Lambert grinning wildly as he walks inside, pausing momentarily to stomp the snow off his boots. “First snow’s here!” he announces cheerily and, quite frankly, a bit unnecessarily.

“Does that mean you can’t train outside anymore?” Jaskier asks, and Lambert shakes his head, grinning, still.

“No! As a matter of fact, it’s now that we start training! Nothing’s better than watching Geralt slip in the snow, I’ll tell you that.”

“Actually, there’s nothing better than putting snow in the back of your shirt,” Geralt retorts as he also walks into the hall, pushing the front door shut behind him.

“That’s just cheating.”

“Hmm. I don’t think it is,” Eskel replies in Geralt’s stead, following Lambert to the kitchen as they continue to bicker.

Geralt chuckles softly, walking over to Jaskier, standing beside him as they look at the first Quen, the Witcher on it fighting off a griffin. “How are you doing?” he asks.

Jaskier smiles softly. “I’m doing wonderfully.” He feels Geralt hesitate and turns his head to look at him. “What is it, dear heart?”

“Do, uhm… do you like it? Here, I mean. Kaer Morhen. Because I know you haven’t been sleeping well, and… if you want to leave… I understand. We still can; the snow isn’t too thick yet-“

“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupts his ramblings, brushing the back of their hands together for just a second, ignoring the sparks that dance across his skin as he does so. “I love it here. The keep is beautiful and your family is delightful and… I really do love it here.” He chuckles softly, turning back to the tapestry. “Gods, sometimes I find myself wishing I might never leave this place.”

He looks at Geralt again, meeting soft amber eyes and slightly upturned lips. “You know,” he says, voice low, “my teachers used to say that no one ever truly leaves the walls of Kaer Morhen, as long as it’s their home.”

“That’s endearing.”

Geralt snorts. “It’s ominous, is what it is.” He jerks his head towards the kitchen door, Eskel and Lambert’s voices drifting towards them. “Come on, it’s nearly time for dinner.”

---

He wakes up in the middle of the night, unable to move.

His breath immediately speeds up and he squeezes his eyes shut, fear coursing through his veins as he desperately tries to lift his hands, wiggle his toes. A part of him urges him to open his eyes, to assess the situation, but a larger part of him screams not to, because he might see the one-armed man again – though reasonably, he knows that if the man is there, it doesn’t really matter if Jaskier refuses to look at him or not.

The chair in the corner creaks. Jaskier sobs.

Wheezy breathing joins his own gasping and shaking one, footsteps slowly falling on the floor, making their way to the side of Jaskier’s bed.

He sobs again, chest convulsing as tears run down his cheeks, pathetic little whimpers escaping his throat as fear takes a hold of him.

“Shh.” He sobs again, louder this time, as he hears the one-armed man right next to him. “It’s alright, little bard.” The voice is reedy and soft, words barely understandable.

He whimpers, desperately gulping in stuttering breath after stuttering breath, his throat seizing up, blind fear making him unable to even scream.

“I won’t hurt you, little bard,” the reedy voice next to him says. “It’s just been a while since I saw a new face. Especially one as pretty as yours.”

Sword-calloused fingers slide across his cheek, wiping his tears away.

Jaskier screams.

The door slams open but Jaskier keeps his eyes squeezed shut, even as he hears quick footsteps padding towards his bed, even as he feels Geralt’s arms pull his upper body up, into the Witcher’s chest.

“Hey,” Geralt whispers to him, “hey, it’s alright, Jask, it’s alright, I’m here.”

He sobs, still, bitter tears of pure, unadulterated fear streaming down his cheeks, the memories of the hand on his skin too fresh to ignore.

Geralt continues to hold him like that, one hand rubbing soothing circles into his back, the other holding him close as Jaskier cries, his arms and legs useless and limp.

“Did you see the man again?” Geralt asks eventually, and Jaskier manages to shake his head.

“I-“ he slurs, tongue heavy and loose in his mouth “-heard him. Felt him.”

He can practically hear the frown in Geralt’s voice. “Felt him?”

“Touched me.”

The hand on his back stills momentarily, before it continues its soothing circles. “It’s alright, Jask. I’m here, now. No one can hurt you.”

“Can… can I…” he swallows around his thick tongue “sleep with… you?”

He feels Geralt nod against the top of his head, before he shifts, picking Jaskier up the way he did last time. Jaskier lets his head lol against Geralt’s shoulder, able to peek over it as the Witcher carries him out of his room.

Right before they turn the corner, Jaskier spots the black silhouette of a large man with only one arm next to his bed, amber eyes catching the moonlight falling in through the windows.

He doesn’t have enough energy to scream.

---

“Whose room am I sleeping in?” he asks over breakfast, the next day.

Vesemir frowns, staring off in the distance, lost in thought. “Hmm. Suppose that was Wulgrim of Rosberg’s room.”

Lambert snickers into his porridge. “Wheezy Wulgrim,” he mutters, eliciting a chuckle from both Eskel and Geralt.

Jaskier frowns. “Wheezy Wulgrim?”

Vesemir nods solemnly, stirring his still uneaten bowl of porridge. “He had an… unfortunate encounter with a griffin. The beast managed to take his entire left arm and lung. He survived, but he could never walk the Path again.”

Lambert snorts. “Gods, I remember him parading around Kaer Morhen all day, pointing at everything and everyone with his one arm, commanding us around. ‘Go clean the kitchen’,” he imitates in a familiar, reedy voice that makes the hairs at the back of Jaskier’s neck stand up, “’stop playing around and do something useful’.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, brow furrowed with worry. “Are you alright?”

He nods quickly, swallowing back the porridge that’s threatening to rise again. “I’m fine. Excuse me for a moment.”

He stands up abruptly, practically fleeing from the kitchen, into the main hall. He takes random doors and turns until his lungs are burning in his chest, until his knees are cracking painfully, and he takes one last door, slamming it shut behind him.

He’s back at the room he found yesterday, the windows of the alcove showing the beautiful sight of the mountains in the distance, his book still on the ground next to the cot. He walks towards it, bending over to pick it up, pulling his blanket from under the bed, shaking the dust off and folding it, putting it down again.

He turns, walking to the alcove, kneeling on the wooden bench in front of him, taking in the sight of the pale, blue sky and the snowy mountaintops littered with pine forests. It’s definitely a sight he could get used to, and it helps calm his frayed nerves after what happened last night, even though it is a bit chilly in here.

He sighs, turning back around to fetch his book and blanket, mentally preparing himself for an afternoon of relaxing and forgetting all about goddamn wheezy Wulgrim and his missing fucking arm.

Only to freeze when he sees a small hand peeking out from under the cot, dragging the blanket underneath it slowly.

Jaskier’s breath catches in his lungs, before speeding up to small gasps, eyes widening as his heartbeat thunders in his ears, fear coursing through his veins as his hands clamp around the edge of the bench, nails digging into the wood, arms trembling.

And he watches. Watches as that little hand drags the blanket underneath the cot, watches as it disappears into the shadows, watches as… nothing happens after that.

His muscles unfreeze, as if a spell’s suddenly been broken, and he staggers to the cot on shaky legs, knees cracking painfully as he lets himself drop. He braces one trembling hand on the mattress, the other digging into his thigh as slowly – ever so slowly – he lowers his head down to look under the bed.

There’s nothing there. Nothing but the crumpled blanket and flakes of dust.

With a shaking hand, he reaches under the cot, retrieving the blanket and standing up again. He barely manages to shake the dust off the blanket, fold it loosely and drop it back down on the floor next to his book, his movements jerky and forced.

And then, he takes a step back. And another. And another. Until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bench and he sits down heavily, pulling his feet up to hug his legs to his chest.

He sits there. And waits.

Seconds turn into minutes and still, nothing happens, nothing moving in the room besides Jaskier’s chest and the flakes of dust floating through the air lazily.

He’s about to give up, about to shrug it off as a figment of his overworked imagination, about to walk away and pretend he didn’t see anything, when something moves in the shadows under the cot.

He watches, once again, as a child’s hand emerges from the shadows, grabbing the blanket in a tiny fist and dragging it under the bed slowly.

He swallows thickly. “It’s-“ he begins, his voice weak and wavering, and he wets his lips, trying again: “It’s not nice to take things that aren’t yours.”

The hand lets go of the blanket, slowly retracting under the bed. Suddenly Jaskier feels a bit guilty. After all, the child – because it definitely is a child – is just taking the blanket when they think he’s not looking, nothing more. They’re probably just cold.

He knows there’s two ways he can go from here: he can take the blanket and his book and walk out of this room, never to return, or…

Or he can stay and see what happens.

He makes a decision right there and then.

He sighs deeply, trying to push the fear out of his lungs. “It’s alright, though. Just this once. You can have the blanket.”

He waits, again, and for several long minutes, nothing happens.

He sighs again, pushing himself up and turning around, settling on his knees on the wooden bench, looking out of the window at the beautiful sight without really seeing anything.

“I’m not looking,” he calls over his shoulder. “If that’s what you’re scared of. I’m not looking.”

He waits again, the clock in his head ticking steadily as the minutes pass, his feet slowly growing numb from his own weight.

And then, he hears it: the soft slide of fabric on the stones, dragging through the dust. He takes a few deep, calming breaths, willing himself not to panic, pushing the fear that’s threatening to consume him down. And he waits.

The soft rustling of the blanket, and his heartbeat picks up.

Tiny, little footsteps on the stone floor, and his breath stutters in his lungs.

The very vague shape of someone standing behind him appearing in the glass of the window in front of him, and his eyes widen.

His hands are trembling where they’re lying on his thighs and ever so slowly, he starts turning his head, giving the person behind him plenty of opportunity to flee or disappear or – and he really doesn’t want to think about that – attack him.

But they don’t. They stand there as he slowly turns his head to look over his shoulder, heart racing in his throat.

It’s a child. Jaskier slowly turns around completely to look at them properly, to make sure he doesn’t startle the little kid.

He can’t be older than four – if that, even – his black curls framing his round face adorably, shoulders hunched up to his ears as he looks at Jaskier with big, brown eyes, the dusty blanket pulled around him like a shield.

“Hi,” he says softly, making sure not to scare the boy. “I’m Jaskier.”

“Hi,” the boy whispers, and Jaskier has to resist the urge not to coo at him, fear-frozen heart melting at the sight of the child.

“What’s your name?”

“Elias.”

“Nice to meet you, Elias.”

“Are you a mage?”

He cocks his head, curiosity stirring in him. “No, I’m not. I’m a bard.”

“What’s a bard?” Elias asks in that adorable little voice of his, brown eyes looking at Jaskier with curiosity.

He smiles softly. “I make music. I have a lute in my room- that’s an instrument. If you want I can bring it here, later, and show it to you.”

Elias nods eagerly, greedily, brown eyes wide as if he’s drinking up every bit of kindness Jaskier has to offer. “I’m going to be a Witcher,” he offers shyly.

“Oh, I bet you are,” Jaskier says, “you look like you’re strong enough to be one already.” It makes Elias giggle, and Jaskier has to resist the urge to gather him in his arms and protect him from all the evil in the world.

But he can’t help but wonder what the boy is doing here. Did he sneak inside when the Witchers weren’t looking? How’d he even make his way up the mountain? And how has he been surviving? Surely someone would notice food going missing, right?

He shakes the questions away. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that he’s got a little boy right in front of him, all alone in a near-abandoned wing of a dilapidated keep.

“Elias?” he asks. “Are you hungry? I can get some food for you if you want.”

The boy shakes his head, curls bouncing around his face as he rubs his eyes with one tiny fist, yawning widely. “No,” he mutters eventually. “I’m tired, mister Jaskier.”

He smiles softly, fondness spreading in his chest, warm and fuzzy, and he lowers himself to the ground, stretching out his arms. Elias takes his silent invitation, crawling into his lap, burying his chubby face in Jaskier’s shoulder, thumb making its way to his mouth.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” Jaskier mutters as he stands again, carrying the toddler to the cot he’d been hiding under, gently lowering him down on the mattress.

He tugs at the blanket a bit, rearranging it so the boy’s tucked in, nice and snug under the soft fabric, blinking up at Jaskier sleepily.

“Goodnight, my little Elias,” he whispers, tucking a few wayward curls behind the boy’s ear.

“Goodnight, mister Jaskier,” little Elias mumbles around his thumb, brown eyes drifting closed, slipping into sleep.

Jaskier can’t help but smile at the sight, and takes a few steps back, lowering himself on the wooden bench, eyes trained on the strange little boy in that old bed, sleeping peacefully in the near-abandoned Witcher keep. Gods, how he wonders what brought this little child all the way up here, what horrors he was fleeing from that caused him to take the dangerous passes up to the keep, hiding and fending for himself like no child should have to.

Jaskier sighs, leaning his head against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest.

He’ll let the boy sleep, for now, and in a few hours, he’ll try to convince him to have something to eat in the kitchen. He’ll prepare a room for him, somewhere warm and safe where he doesn’t have to sleep in a dusty, cold room with an even dustier borrowed blanket. He’ll protect the little one against all the evil in the world – with his life, if he has to – to make sure he’ll never have to face what drove him here in the first place again.

Yes. He’ll do that, and so much more, for his little Elias.

He doesn’t notice that his eyes are starting to drift shut.

---

He wakes up with a start a few hours later, disoriented and confused, and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he looks around the room.

Right, yes, now he remembers: the room filled with cots and with a lovely reading nook, his blanket dusty as it kept getting dragged under the bed by a little hand-

Elias.

He sits up straight, sleep completely chased away, and notices the dusty blanket in a heap on the cot Elias was asleep on. The boy is nowhere to be seen.

Jaskier curses silently, sliding off the bench, crawling to the bed on his knees, peeking underneath it, finding only dust and cobwebs. “Elias?”

He looks under the other beds as well, and when he doesn’t find the boy there, he starts pushing open the chests at the foot of each cot, heart racing in his throat the longer he goes without a sign of the boy.

“Elias?” he calls frantically. “Elias? It’s alright, you can come out, now, no one’s going to hurt you. Elias!”

The door swings open and he looks up, equal parts startled as hopeful, sagging a bit when he sees Geralt.

“You missed dinner,” Geralt says in lieu of greeting.

Jaskier huffs, letting the lid of the chest he was looking into drop back down. “Yeah, well, as you can see, I’m a bit busy.”

“I was worr- What are you doing?” Geralt asks, as Jaskier drops down to his hands and knees, looking under the cots again.

“Well, my dear Witcher,” he mutters, “you’ve got an unexpected visitor.” He sits up straight when the silence continues for a few seconds, finding Geralt frowning at him, still in the doorway. “A little boy,” he explains, “can’t be more than five, goes by the name of Elias. He was here earlier, but now he’s gone.”

Geralt blinks, shaking his head minutely. “A… a little boy?”

He huffs impatiently, pushing himself to his feet and walking to the door briskly. “Yes, and he’s out there on his own, and we need to find him.”

But before he can push his way past Geralt, into the hall, the Witcher’s strong hand wraps around his arm, keeping him in place. “Jaskier…”

“What?”

“We would’ve… noticed. If there was someone else in the keep.”

He clenches his jaws together, rolling his eyes. “Well, yes, I suppose, but he was right there!” He points to the dusty blanket, lying on the cot in a heap. “I tucked him in!”

“Jaskier…” Geralt says again, something sad and resigned in his voice, and Jaskier’s eyebrows knit together, tears springing to his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he whispers, voice breaking slightly, “don’t you fucking dare tell me that that little boy I saw- held in my arms, wasn’t real. Don’t you fucking dare tell me I’m crazy.”

Geralt’s hand tenses slightly around his arm, thumb rubbing soft lines into his doublet. “I believe you. I believe you, Jaskier, I really do…”

“This is the part where you say ‘but’, isn’t it?”

“But…” Jaskier’s chest cracks open like a rotten egg, tears spilling down his cheeks, and Geralt sighs. “I… It’s…”

He shakes his head, taking a step back, trying in vain to tear his arm from Geralt’s grip. “Just… save it, Geralt. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Do you know what I smell, right now?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier frowns at him, shaking his head. “I smell you and Kaer Morhen. I smell lemon and ginger, and I smell stone and dust and leather.”

“Where are you going with this, Geralt?”

“Every human has their own, unique scent that lingers in a room days after they’ve been there.” He pauses, staring at Jaskier intently. “I smell no one in this room but you.”

He clamps his jaw shut again, looking away as tears start to spill over once more, sliding down his cheeks in fat droplets, chest aching aching aching and his mind suddenly scattered as he feels his reality come crumbling down around him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says softly, reassuringly, the sound of it only making Jaskier hurt more, “I believe you. When you say that you saw a boy and held him in your arms, I believe you. But…”

“He was never really there,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m losing my mind, aren’t I?”

Geralt sighs, pulling him closer, and Jaskier buries his face in the Witcher’s chest, trying in vain to keep his sobs in.

“You’re not,” Geralt whispers. “You’re just… you’re just tired, probably. You haven’t been sleeping well.”

We both know that’s a load of horseshit, he wants to say, but he nods against Geralt’s chest instead. “Yeah,” he mutters, “it’s probably that.”

Geralt sighs again. “How about we get you some dinner, and get you to bed. Get you a good night’s rest.”

He shakes his head. “I’m… I’m not hungry. Just…” scattered “tired.”

“Alright,” Geralt says, pushing him away slightly to turn him towards the door, gently laying his arm around his shoulder, leading him into the hallway. “Then we’ll just get you to bed. Alright?”

“Hmm,” he agrees, feet dragging a bit as he walks. As they pass one of the dark windows, he hears the familiar clanging of swords in the courtyard. “Geralt?” he asks. “Lambert and Eskel are in the kitchen, aren’t they?”

Geralt frowns at him but nods. “Yeah, they are. Why?”

“No reason.”

[enkelimagnus]

Pork

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1777 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, pre TFATWS, post Endgame

Coming out of that disastrous therapy session, Bucky comes home and tries to deal with some of his feelings.

TW: mention of torture and death, of family member deaths.

Read on AO3

Part 6 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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

The door slams behind him as Bucky storms into his house.

He has lunch plans but Raynor’s words and eyes and behavior stick to the corners of his mind, sickening like too-sweet candy he shouldn’t have eaten. Except he didn’t even want to eat it. It was shoved into his forced-open mouth. He tried to spit it out but he couldn’t. It was too late. It was already clinging to his teeth.

He rips the gloves off of his hands, then the jacket off of his back. There is light in the room, the light from the outside streaming in through the one window he keeps unshaded. There is the tv, playing an endless loop of soccer. The green and the gold bounce against the glass protecting the Smithsonian postcard he put up on the wall.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, laughing at some stupid joke he can’t remember. He’s looking at Steve like he hung the moon, and in that moment, he knows that’s exactly how he felt about this sun-kissed Brooklyn kid.

It hurts to think about this picture. To see himself smiling like this. To know he was already Hydra’s, even if he thought himself free. To know he’d probably already lost Steve.

He forces himself to take a deep breath. The expanding of his lungs is uncomfortable.

Why is this upsetting to you?

Because I don’t get to have secrets. I don’t get to be a person. My mind is yours to tear apart and put back together and you’re just Hydra wrapped in star-spangled banner paper.

This isn’t the first time he’s come back from seeing Raynor feeling like there’s a vice-like grip on his heart.

She doesn’t care enough to do her job properly. She doesn’t care enough to do the paperwork to get him someone who will be good for him. So he’s stuck, because she can’t be fucked to make life less terrible for him.

No one fucking cares enough. Not Raynor, not the people at the VA, not his superiors in the taskforce. And not Steve.

The Smithsonian postcard is an insult. 4 dollars and change for a snapshot of a memory. 4 dollars and change and you can bring home Captain America and Bucky Barnes, and look at the card and think you know what it was like to be either of them in 1944. Best friends since childhood. Inseparable. Bullshit.

Bucky wants to tear that card from the wall and throw it away with all of his strength. But he doesn’t. He knows he’ll regret it. He knows he’ll hate himself for it. He’s supposed to keep loving Steve even if he’s gone. He’s supposed to think of him as this… beautiful, glorious, perfect man. He’s supposed to be okay with this.

He told him he’d be. He told him he would be fine, that he could go, that he’d manage.

And now it’s been a little over 2 months and he’s not fine. He’s not managing. And he wants to slap himself. He should have told Steve to stay. He should have told him he needed him. But he hadn’t. Because Steve wanted to leave, and Bucky’s always been the one to tell Steve to pursue what he wanted. Because he made sure he could afford those art classes by taking that second job on the docks, because he kissed his cheek and told him he was going to be famous one day. That he was going to be respected, too.

Bucky’s never been an obstacle in Steve’s way. And he wasn’t going to stop now. So he told him to go.

And now he wants to scream for him to come home to him. To come get him. To come rescue him from this horrible fucking life he’s made for himself.

He knows Steve won’t come though. He didn’t come in ‘45, when the Soviets got their hands on him. He didn’t come in ‘50, when Zola bought him from the Soviets, in the same breath he bought a bomb. He didn’t come in the following years, and eventually, Bucky forgot the name Steve.

Some nights, he hears his own begging. Steve, Ma, HaShem. No one came. No one saved him. And no one is going to save him now, in 2024. He’s going to drown in the sorrow of too many lifetimes.

What else can he do? Once his brain stops coming up with names to add to the list, what will he do?

He has no idea. And he doesn’t want to think of it. Once he’s not useful anymore, what will he be? The list is his expiration date. Sometimes, he hopes the names keep coming.

There is pent-up energy in his bones, but he doesn’t know how to get it out. It’s broad daylight, and he can’t go on a proper run right now. People will see. He has no desire to go into the military base’s gyms right now. He can probably go into the guest room and pull out the punching bag and rip it to shreds.

He doesn’t have a lot of time. Lunch is coming up. It’s Wednesday. One of the names on his list is waiting. He needs to do that. To fulfill the promises he made. It’s his purpose now.

He feels like an open wound, standing in his living room, bleeding out everywhere, burning and stinging with every miniscule spasm of muscle, every brush of air.

When he shows up at Izzy’s, Yori will ask what’s wrong with him, and he’ll lie. He can’t tell him. Yori thinks he’s just a sweet, if a little lost, guy. Moved away for a while, only recently came back to Brooklyn. Ex-military. All things that aren’t exactly lies. They aren’t exactly truths either.

Izzy’s a Japanese restaurant. The building it’s in is old, the kind of old that Bucky actually remembers. In his day, it was a butcher shop, a non-kosher one. Before his mother died, Steve would sometimes be sent to get some leftover pork trimmings from there, to thicken the soup. It smelled bad at the end of the day.

Now it’s a clean and chic place, all painted in dark colors. It’s busy at lunch time, every day. It’s also busy at dinner time, when he walks by on his way back to work. Sometimes, he grabs something to go.

He’s starting to know his way around a sushi restaurant’s menu. He’s not an enormous fan of the rice, so he usually orders those thin slices of fish, the sashimi. Izzy’s has this plate, red tuna and salmon with a side of seaweed salad. The red tuna has a meaty quality that surprised him at first, but he really enjoys it. It tastes thick and fat on his tongue. He surprises himself with the diverse arrays of foods his palate accommodates.

Thinking about the food, about Yori, and Leah, the lady that serves them at Izzy’s somewhat feels good. They’re relatively untouched by the horrors of his mind. At least for now. One day, he’ll have to tell Yori he killed his son.

For now, he wants to be a little selfish. Yori’s old. The kind of old that makes Bucky feel comfortable.

He still has to watch himself, make sure he doesn’t talk too much like an old man, that he doesn’t tell stories he shouldn’t know about. When he says things about the old Brooklyn he grew up in, he says they’re his grandfather’s stories. If no one looks too close at the details, it works.

It doesn’t help the weird distant feeling he has sometimes when it comes to his life. It pulls him away from it. As if it wasn’t really his life.

He guesses he has little in common with the James Barnes of the 1930s. A name. Some memories. Nothing else. His family’s gone, his neighborhood’s gone, his friend is gone, his shul is gone.

He eats sashimi now, with that spicy green paste - wasabi. He watches soccer on a tv in color that he can afford. He has a computer - that he doesn’t use - and a mobile phone. He’s a soldier. He never went to college.

He was smart, back when he was James Barnes. He could have gotten into university despite the quotas. That was what his father used to say. And then he died.

He departed years before Bucky lost his mind to Hydra. He was 16 the first time he led the family in Shabbos prayers. He remembers the quivering of his voice as he stood at the head of the table, in his father’s place, and recited kiddush. He remembers the tears in his ma’s eyes.

He remembers his father teaching him how to shave with steady hands. He asked him to shave him when Bucky was barely a man, before even his bar mitzvah. His hands still remember how to use both the safety razors and the straight-edged ones. Even with decades of Hydra, he remembers it. He’s thankful for that, because the clippers and electric razors people use now are out of the question for him.

The clock ticks and tocks, minutes melting away as he stands there lost in feelings and memories.

Suddenly, he’s late to meet with Yori and he almost runs to the restaurant where the old man sits at the counter like he always does, saving a seat for him.

“You’re late,” Yori points out and Bucky finds himself sheepish.

“Didn’t see the time.”

He takes his seat by Yori’s side. They talk about sports and the papers, and the obituaries. Bucky finds himself looking through the names and wondering if he knew any of them, if they were the loud kids from down the streets when he was a teenager.

Leah comes over with a smile. Today’s special is subuta.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks in a hushed voice to Yori as Leah walks away with a smile and lets them think through their options.

Yori leans back towards him. “Sweet and sour pork. Very tasty. Izzy’s the best in town. You should try it.”

“Ah,” Bucky sighs softly. “I don’t eat pork.”

It’s a lie. He’s eaten a lot of pork in his life. Pierce loved his bacon. But it’s also true. He hasn’t touched pork since he’s left Hydra. The smell of it cooking makes him think of Pierce. And there’s something inside of him that avoids it, even if he doesn’t keep kosher in any other way. He hasn’t ever announced it that way.

Yori nods quietly, not realizing what those four words mean.

There’s no way he can know. It’s Bucky’s secret.

[leo-gold-hotchner]

Running Duo -2

Never intended to write a second part but I got several encouraging compliments so here’s the second and last part. Sorry I can’t tag you as I don’t know how to find you as I’m not yet familiar with tumblr system…

I deliberately limited description, though it might not be good, bollocks… I think I forgot how to write a long long text on tumblr… how odd.. i tried to make break between sections but whenever i edit the breaks are gone after I post. so sadly i used ----- 

Warning: Blood, UnSub Hotch, Death

Word Count: 1645

Running Duo - 1

“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster.”

“Nietzsche.” Aaron said, without looking up from his newspaper. “Gideon used to say that.”

You hummed as you thought of the veteran profiler, a straw for your milkshake still in your mouth. You never met Jason Gideon, one of the famous FBI agents in history. But you’ve heard enough of Gideon and knew Aaron studied under Gideon and Rossi since he joined the BAU.

“They’ll catch up to us soon.” He looked up from the grey paper, glancing at the muted television in the corner. The news once again was showing you and Aaron’s photos, the BAU hotline on the bottom. “The news is all about us, and I believe even a child will remember our faces with such drilling.”

It was groom news, but the former agent was enjoying this sickening hide-and-seek as much as you were.

After you met Aaron, both of you had been on killing spree, never resting a day without killing someone. You were predators, and it was easy to find preys. It was as if you two had radars to spot your preys.

“We already knew our fates,” you shrugged nonchalantly. Then spit the straw and rolled on to your belly, pillowing on the Aaron’s leg. “What do you want to do before they catch you?” Aaron raised his brows with a teasing smile. He looked down at you and brushed your hair lightly with his fingers.

Both you and Aaron never did try to hide evidence and crimes. They were already on your tails and knew who you were. Why put any effort to hide the murders? You two just left all of your DNA traces everywhere as if to taunt them. The two of you even left a video camera for the BAU, Aaron leaving a rather happy greeting message to his former team. He was no longer the man BAU knew, he was a killer, craving for blood, just like you.

------

They were on you tails now. They were just right behind you and you two will be caught in any days. But that didn’t stop you from finding your preys.

You were passing through a small town after killing an abusive man. You two laughed and called it pure luck when you killed the guy who happened to hoard sunglasses. Both of you wore sunglasses, laughing like two silly teenagers. With sunglasses, at least you will be less recognisable.

You were driving the stolen red SUV and Aaron watched the scenery hooded in darkness. It was your choice to get a striking red coloured SUV. Aaron protested about the colour being too bright for his liking, but you didn’t care one bit. Red was one of your favourite colours, and driving a red SUV had been on your bucket list since young.

Aaron suddenly asked you to pull over, and you stopped the SUV. Before you could even ask, Aaron got off from the car and entered a small but serene building. You frown at the sign saying ‘church’, but you eventually followed him into the building, muttering even a church should be locked at night.

No one was inside of the building except him. He was standing tall, but his back seemed to be so smaller in the church.

“Didn’t know you were a Christian.” You asked quietly as you move closely to him. Feeling a bit uncomfortable standing in the sanctuary with sins you committed. You never had a religion, but it still was uncomfortable as if the church knew what you’ve done. It felt like the eyes of saints were crawling on your skin.

“I’m not,” Aaron muttered, “are you?”

“Nope,” you shook head. “Never had religion.”

The duo stood there quietly, a cloak of silence surrounding them.

“My parents were.” Aaron said, breaking the silence. “All my family was good people. My parents, Sean, Haley, Jack. I want to see them again, but I will never be with them with everything I’ve done.” While saying his part, he never looked at you. He only stared at the large crucifix in the middle of the hall.

“Here to ask forgiveness?” You ask harshly than you intended. You felt a bit of betrayal. You and him never planned to become partners in crime, but you two were together in this now. You’d never regret your choice of becoming a murderer from law keeper, you never intended to ask forgiveness for what you’ve done in the past months. “I thought you’d never regret what you chose.”

“I don’t,” he finally looked at your eyes. “But I’ll never forgive myself for not being a good man for them.” His usual passionate brown eyes were dead, surrounded by a storm of sorrow and sadness.

“It’s a different story, you know Theseus killed villains and gained a hero title.”

“That’s what, millennia ago?” Aaron snorted.

“I’m just saying there might be people who think you’re their hero.” You stood next to him, closing your eyes. “The history will always remember us as blood lust killers, but to some, we’ll be heroes.” You remember one of the interviewees from news, the young man told you two were hero to him because he was helpless with an abusive father and the law wouldn’t do anything for him.

“That doesn’t change we broke the law.”

So that was Aaron’s dilemma. He wanted to keep the law, keep people safe from harm, but he turned into a law-breaking blood thirsty beast who he used to find and catch.

“It doesn’t,” you gave him a small smile, looking directly at his darkened pupils. “But you at least thought once that the law is unfair.”

“The law is made to be fair to everyone.”

“I know but we both also know the system doesn’t work like that too.” You quietly wrapped your fingers around his. “Do you want to stop?”

He stared at you intensely. As you quietly returned his stare, passion slowly lit in his eyes once again. You smile at him. “Any last wish, Agent?” You ask him mischievously.

“For one, I want to see my BAU family, you?”

“Same,” you shrugged. “But, unlike you, they aren’t federal, so I’ll never see them again.”

“I’ll be there with you till end.” Aaron tightened his grip on your hand.

“I know,” you smiled back at him broadly, not fearing you’ll be alone again. You won’t be alone again this time.

------

It only took two days when they finally caught up to you after the night at the church. Aaron was driving when the familiar siren rang behind them. He glanced at you and you just shrugged.

This was the day.

Despite how you resigned your fate, your heart was skipping incredibly fast.

It was infutile to run away, and Aaron knew what you were thinking. He slowly pulled the SUV, but didn’t step out.

“So, they’re here,” you said slowly, watching the side-mirror where armed agents closing up.

“Morgan,” Aaron smiled rather proudly. His eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror as several black SUVs and police cars approach them from behind.

Agent Morgan pointed his gun towards them, his face stoic and professional. Aaron opened the window a little and fine breeze entered, calming your heart.

“Derek,” Aaron greeted the agent friendly.

“Show me your hands, and step out slowly.” The agent didn’t return the greet.

“I was hoping to see more of you.” Aaron ignored Morgan. “Ah, there they are,” his face broke into a happy smile as if he was back to being Agent Hotchner with the BAU.

You sighed as you see more agents surrounding the SUV, police officers waiting behind the cars with their guns waiting. You wondered if the BAU agents asked the officers to wait where they were. Perhaps they thought they could persuade you.

You once worked with the BAU while you were still in the force. As the agents walk into your view, you could recognise a few faces, though you couldn’t recall their names.

“Dave, Emily, Spencer, JJ,” Aaron listed the names of the agents and paused as he saw a face he never thought he’d see again, “Jason.”

Unlike other agents, Jason Gideon wasn’t pointing his gun at you two, but only watching you blankly. But you could see sadness in the older man’s eyes.

“Aaron, F/N step out from the car,” Rossi called out to you calmly. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know.” Aaron called out, then he faced you. “You sure?”

“You promised me you’d be next to me till end, and you’re here, Aaron.” For the last time, you looked around the agents. Just like you predicted, your former family wasn’t here. But that made easier. It would’ve been hard to leave in front of them, them watching you leaving as a murderer.

“But, are you sure?”

“I failed them.” He shrugged. “At least I don’t want my blood on their hands.”

“Alright,” you replied. Even with everything, you were calm now, strangely peaceful.

“Thank you, Aaron, you made my last day.”

“Thank you, F/N.”

------

In horror, the BAU watched Hotch and L/N pulled their respective trigger towards each other. The blood splattered and they couldn’t see the inside of the car due to the red liquid mercilessly painting the inside of the windows. The silence filled the area, only hearing wind howling ominously.

Reid trembled down on his knees.

JJ’s hands shook uncontrollably.

Prentiss clenched her teeth tightly.

Morgan clenched his fists.

Rossi and Gideon sighed deeply. They already knew this. They knew Aaron Hotchner wouldn’t want to live once they caught up to him. Gideon stood next to his old friend who was staring at the bloodied car and shocked teammates.

“You saw it too, didn’t you?” Rossi sighed heavily.

“Yes, I saw them smiling at each other.”

[edelwoodsouls]

all roads lead  - ch. 8

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 3,212 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,

Chapter 8: PACK

They end up at the ice-cream shop.

Whilst its outside is nothing but peeling paint and a flickering neon sign that now only reads ' C   R AM', the inside is a hidden gem of smooth pastel surfaces and large booths, paired with upbeat 80s music and the heady scent of melted chocolate and burnt sugar.

Going in, Stiles knew he was about to be submerged in enemy territory. Still, walking in to the scent of wolves heavy in the air brings back memories of the supernatural cafes and bars in New York, of the stink that had surrounded Peter when he came back from alpha meetings. He has the sudden urge to scrub his skin raw or spray perfume; he shifts closer to Malia.

The booth by the window is filled with what Stiles assumes is Scott's entire pack. There's Isaac, beside a girl with dark hair that Stiles recognises - Allison, who lives in his old house, who of course is connected to all of this, because everything in this fucking town is.

He can't help but frown at how close she sits with everyone, how easily she laughs with them, despite the stink of wolfsbane and iron that clings to her. They don't even seem bothered by it. Stiles has seen packs with humans in them before. But hunters?

The thought flees quickly as he notices the last two of the group. A girl with straight brown hair and an etched frown, and an older guy - maybe twenty-five. Both with Peter's jawline and bright blue eyes.

Stiles forgets how to breathe. Scott is talking, the others sliding into their seats, but the world is ringing, tunneled upon these two, so achingly strange yet familiar.

"Stiles?" The sound rushes back to the scene, and he looks down to see Scott has put a hand on his arm. He sees the tell-tale snake of black veins disappearing quickly up the other alpha's sleeve, so fast he could have imagined it. "You okay?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry. It's been a long day. What were you saying?"

"I was just introducing everyone."

"Cool, cool," Stiles slides into the booth at the edge beside Malia, facing Scott. His beta leans against him, her shock a far less visible force, but just as shaking.

Scott introduces everyone. Allison gives them a grin that is so sweet it almost hides the sharp edge behind it. Stiles barely registers that her surname is Argent, that he should probably be panicking at the fact that he has her family's blood clinging to his hands, but the information settles somewhere in the back of his mind for later, far less important than his current panic attack.

"And this is Derek," Scott says, confirming what Stiles is already acutely aware of. "And Cora. Hale."

Derek, for his part, appears distant. His mouth is permanently curled down, his eyes staring at a point on the wall opposite. He nods noncommittally in their direction. The table goes uneasily silent for a moment, and Stiles feels he must be missing some important context to this scene.

"Nice to meet you, I guess," the girl says, tone as biting as Stiles would expect-

What had Scott said? Cora Hale. Cora Hale, not Laura. Cora, who was listed as one of the casualties of the fire. Who had been in their year at school until she had vanished that night in a puff of smoke and flame.

"Guys," Scott breaks the silence, "this is Stiles Stilinski, and Malia Tate. They just got back into town and are living with me and Isaac."

Everyone leans in with interest at that. There's a question in their eyes he knows he's not supposed to see, a less-than-subtle shake of the head from Scott. No, this silent conversation says, they're human. Not a threat.

Not pack.

Thankfully, Stiles is saved from trying to bridge a conversation by the arrival of the waitress. Money isn't an issue for him or Malia, not with the exorbitant funds Peter left behind. Between the stress of the day and the ADHD in the back of his brain screaming for sugar, Stiles goes absolutely ham, and even Malia orders a few waffle cones without the ice cream- she still hasn't gotten used to being cold without her fur, let alone inflicting it upon herself on purpose.

He watches the other pack, feeling more than ever like a wolf in sheep's clothing. He can't help but study them as an enemy - just in case, he tells himself, ignoring the rational part of his brain that accuses him of paranoia. It's not paranoia if someone's out to get you, and Stiles is sure that between the mess they left behind in New York, and the mess they've discovered here in Beacon Hills, it's only a matter of time.

Eventually the blood will find them.

But for all he knows of the current situation, this pack does not seem like one in crisis. They laugh easily with each other. They lean towards each other, towards Scott, as if he is the sun, and they are just planets orbiting around him. Allison and Isaac trade comebacks across the table. Lydia inputs with sniping comments and imperious facts, switching it up with forceful compliments so genuine that the whiplash makes his head spin. Even Derek manages the occasional deadpan remark, and Cora tries, too, though she looks as awkward as Stiles feels - a new addition to the pack, he assumes.

He wouldn't guess, watching this family through the window of an ice-cream shop, that so much death and blood hangs over their heads.

Of course the peace can't last long. The conversation turns to him and Malia like an inevitable landslide Stiles can only watch rushing towards him. He feels how out of place they are in this scene, how Lydia in particular watches him as if she can see the death that weighs down his shoulders.

"So where did you say you spent the last seven years?" she asks, as if the question has been building momentum on her tongue all this time.

Uneasy, intensely curious silence drops like a weight over the table. Scott shoots nervous glances between the two of them, but everyone else watches with a hunger Stiles feels devouring him from afar.

"New York," he says, allowing a confident smile to settle on his features, as if this is all he needs to say. He has a suspicion that Lydia has conversations like chess matches, and tipping his hand with nerves is something he cannot afford.

"How'd you end up in New York?"

"I got a bus, how else would you get there?"

Lydia's eyes narrow. "Why did you end up there?"

"Getting lost in a city is easier than a town like this."

"So you left of your own accord."

"I didn't say that, and I don't think it's any of your business."

"How come you're back now, then?"

"Circumstances changed. There was nothing keeping us there anymore."

"You said you were here to pay your debts," Allison chimes in, pointing at him accusatorially with her ice-cream spoon. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Stiles curses silently, taking a moment to weigh his options. "I owe my dad for not being here," he says slowly. "I owe Scott for not being here. Whether it was my choice or not. Me and Malia just want a chance to live a normal life. To finish high school. To leave the past in the past where it belongs and where it should die. If that's okay with you?"

He spits the last question at the table, satisfied when he sees the ripple of uncomfortable guilt across their faces. Lydia's eyes remain narrowed, but he feels the tension ease somewhat. After all, for all intents and purposes he's just declared his allegiance to their pack - to Scott. That's really what this conversation is about, all other curiosities aside. Are you a threat to our alpha? Are you planning to hurt him more than you already have?

"Personally I fucking hate school," Malia says, crunching down on a waffle cone and snapping the remaining tension in an instant. "Stiles is the real nerd here. I just highlight everything in the textbook and hope for the best."

"You can just borrow my notes," Lydia sighs. "Everyone else does."

Malia grins at her, though Stiles can see the moment her thoughts wander back to Kira, to their study sessions together, and the enthusiasm turns sour.

"Maybe we could help you guys prepare for the aptitude test?" Scott asks. "Lydia's a certified genius, and I'm only failing French at the moment."

Stiles manages a smile. "I'd like that."

~~~

"Can't sleep?"

Stiles is sat on the roof that evening, staring up at the nearly full moon. It always pulls at him like this as it grows - he used to sleepwalk in the early days. Now, keeping his wolf under lock and key so often, he finds the urge, the gravity tugging him out into open sky, irresistible.

He nods silently, and Scott pulls himself up onto the roof to sit beside him. For a moment, they simply stare at the moon, transfixed.

"Nervous about going back to school?"

Stiles snorts. "School is the least of my concerns."

"I feel that," Scott nods. His voice is so heavy, so tired, that Stiles looks up immediately to examine the other alpha's face. In the moonlight, the sunshine that usuallt radiates from him seems diminished. There are deep purple bruises beneath his eyes. His shoulders slouch as if they hold the weight of worlds upon them.

For all that Stiles avoided questions during the day, now he finds his own bubbling up inside him. "What..." his voice hitches unexpectedly. "What happened when I was gone?"

Scott's heavy expression turns guarded for a second, before dropping, as if those walls are unnatural to erect, their weight too much to bear on top of everything else. He really is just a naturally open book, all too genuine.

"A lot, Stiles."

"Tell me." He knows anything he learns now will be a filtered truth filled with holes, but he wants desperately to know that he didn't ruin this boy's life by leaving. That the blood of another future isn't on his hands.

"You... you left. Theo left not much after."

"I was wandering where that guy got to."

"His sister died in the preserve; his family moved to start fresh, I think."

No death in the preserve comes without a half dozen red strings attached to it. Stiles files this information away for later.

"Your dad... Stiles, it was bad. Really bad. He got suspended from work. He went to rehab. Relapsed. Got put in the cells a couple times to sober up. Everyone tried to help him, but..."

"He'd lost everything," Stiles whispers. He doesn't want to hear this, the confirmation of his worst fears about his father. All of this is his fault.

"If you- if you ran away, Stiles, I wouldn't blame you. Your dad at his worst, he wasn't a great guy to be around. I can imagine how scary that must have been. I just wish you'd told me what it was like. I could've helped. You could've stayed with me. You didn't have to leave."

Stiles says nothing. Scott's hand inches towards his as if he wants to rest it on his arm like he often does with Isaac, to give that tactile support that pack relies on, but it falls short, resting unsure on the roof tiles.

"Anyway, my mom kinda staged an intervention, along with the old sheriff, and a couple of the deputies from work. She has experience with, y'know, after my dad. I don't really know what happened, but somehow he got back on his feet. Started going to AA meetings. Got promoted to sheriff. Started dating my mom. They've been married a year now. It was a really nice ceremony, actually. Low-key. You would've hated it."

Stiles lets out a soft laugh. "They seem good together."

"Mm," Scott replies, his mind a thousand miles away.

"Can't help but notice you're avoiding talking about yourself, though, Scotty."

"Says the guy."

"Touche."

They lapse into silence. Scott's heartbeat is steady but his scent is awash with a mixture of melancholy and regret that Stiles is intimately familiar with.

"You seem to be doing well, now, at least," Stiles says eventually, as the energy pent up in the quiet begins to itch at his skin.

Scott sighs and nods, both gestures at odds with each other. "Isaac and I became friends a bit after you and Theo left. Both the kids with no friends, y'know?" Stiles cringes. "He moved in in the spring after his dad died. And Allison moved here in January. She became friends with Lydia, who became friends with us."

The information in this story is so sparse Stiles can feel the tidal wave of details slipping in between. But how can he ask for more? How can he ask how did you become a werewolf and who did you kill to become an alpha and how long has it been, how are you so good at it, what am I doing so wrong?

"Derek and Cora aren't usually as rude as today. Well, they are - I think being a dick runs in their genes. But their sister was killed a couple weeks ago - animal attack - and it kinda fucked them up a lot. She was a really great- person."

A really great alpha, Stiles thinks, as another of the puzzle piece slots into place. He feels an unexpected pang at the thought that he will never meet Peter's older niece. He wanted to see what made the Hale pack so special. He wanted to look that woman in the eyes and ask her how she could sleep at night knowing she abandoned her pack.

"A lot of death in this town," Stiles notes as nonchalantly as he can. "Animal attacks. And my dad mentioned something about a serial killer. That's insane, man."

"It's a lot, yeah," Scott says, that heaviness returning to his shoulders like Atlas reclaiming the sky. "There was this guy. He fucked us all up in a lot of ways. But he's gone now, and somehow I think we're all better for it? I mean, we've been through so much shit. I've seen my own blood on my hands more times than I can count in the last year. But without him, I never would've become who I am. Never would've become friends with Lydia, or Derek and Cora, or..."

The names of ghosts linger on Scott's tongue before vanishing like smoke.

"Sounds like some guy," Stiles laughs, all-too aware that Scott has told him more than he probably should have. These are not the official stories, the normal stories of a teenager. And yet he doesn't seem surprised that Stiles isn't horrified.

"That's certainly one way to describe Peter."

Stiles' world shivers to a stop; shatters into a thousand diamonds all reflecting the stillness of this night, this moon.

"Peter?" he manages to choke out. His heart, he knows, is racing too fast, betraying his racing thoughts, but the world is turning to ice and dust before his eyes, and he can't bring himself to care.

"Peter Hale," Scott says slowly, eyes narrowed towards Stiles in concern. "He's Derek and Cora's uncle, but they're nothing like him. He came back to town to settle some old score with his family and got a bunch of us tangled up in the process."

There had been two months, at the beginning of the year, when Peter had vanished. Business trip, he'd claimed, as if he had a consistent job and didn't simply pull cash out of his family's obscene inheritance.

Stiles' curiosity had burned, but he'd been too busy nursing Malia back to health from the gaping hole in her head, the screaming nightmares she had to claw her way from drowning in, to care about much else.

The Peter who returned had been so quiet. His temper shorter, his remarks snider and crueler. Reckless. It had taken months for the tension, the weight, to ease from his body, and by that time the three of them had found themselves hunted for sport and chained up in their own apartment. The beginning of the end.

"Sounds rough," Stiles manages a half-strangled laugh.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I just-" The night has become cold enough to freeze his skin, and yet he feels heat rising like a fever in his chest. His thoughts are too fast, his lungs too small to contain the world. The moon above is little more than a haze of silver, glaring down at him in judgement. "Today's been a lot, I think. Seeing everything I've missed, everything that happened because I left-"

"Nothing is your fault, Stiles-"

"You don't know that, Scott. You don't know what might have been different." You don't know what I've done. That everything you've suffered might have been because of me. "And I'll have to live with that every day."

"You're back now," Scott says, a fierceness in his voice Stiles hasn't seen before. The other alpha finally reaches up and places his hand on Stiles' shoulder, the skin-on-skin contact like electricity grounding him to earth. "And I don't care about the past. You wanted a new start, this is it. Here, with us. You just have to let us in."

"I want that more than anything. I just... how do you ever stop looking over your shoulder? How, after all the blood you've seen, how are you so happy?"

Scott purses his lips, thinking about it. His eyes leave Stiles and find the moon above them. This thing they share, that tethers them together more than any past or rivalry might. They are both wolves in love with the stars.

"I'm not happy," Scott says quietly. "Some days the world feels so heavy I can barely stand. You should have seen me earlier this year, I was a total mess. But I put a lot of work in over the summer. I take every day as a new start. I talk to people when I can't carry the load alone. It helps, to have someone to share with. I'm sure you know that from Malia."

"I don't know if I have the energy for that work," Stiles admits. He refuses to acknowledge the burn of tears beginning in his eyes.

"So take it one day at a time. School. Social life. Life, in general. Each step is a good one, even if sometimes you feel like you're sliding backwards. It's all a journey, and it can't always be a race. Sometimes you just gotta rest."

"Wow. You should write a self-help book, Scotty, that's some motivational shit."

"I try."

They lapse into silence, staring at the sky, and somehow Stiles finds his head resting on Scott's shoulder. He hasn't been this physically close with anyone except pack, isn't sure how to feel, how to reconcile how his heart aches for touch and his skin crawls at the thought of it.

His wolf whines silently inside him at how good it feels, and how wrong it should.

[100storiesin2020]

Chapter 2: The Raven Boys

Come find me on AO3!

***

Fortunately for Wymack, the boys were, in fact, waiting by the front door. Unfortunately, Henry Cheng had joined them.

Henry noticed the coach’s approach and his jaw fell open. “Is that Coach Wymack?” he asked incredulously. “As in, Coach David Wymack of the Palmetto Foxes? Who learned Exy under Kaleigh Day? The coach of the team with the most incredible turnaround in NCAA Exy history?” He rocked on his heels, looking like he was either going to faint or jump through the roof in excitement.

Gansey put a hand on Henry's shoulder. "Easy there, man. Can we help you, Coach?" He asked in his most presidential voice.

Wymack's hackles rose a bit. That voice reeked of money and power, of authority and privilege, and went against everything the Foxes were. He could tell that it was a mask, and there was something decidedly off about this boy, but even so this boy in front of him was not the kind of kid he would choose to be a Fox. But, he was out of options now, and was going to have to make the best of it. He sighed. This was not going to be fun for him. "Yes, actually. I'd like to talk to the three of you, if you have a minute." He gave Henry a pointed look.

Henry had many faults, but an inability to take hints was not on the list. "I'll meet you guys at Ninos, then." Only Henry could be honestly described as waltzing away, but he did so whistling.

Wymack sighed just a tiny bit in relief before turning back to the three players. He appraised them for a minute, trying to figure out the best approach with them. 

The three of them painted an interesting picture together. Richard Campell Gansey the Third stood tall and polished, the picture-perfect product of his upbringing, presidential and almost imposing despite his age. Ronan Lynch was full of angles and edges, his strength and ferocity outlined in black. Adam Parrish was muted, somehow, as if half of him was far away or he was half asleep. Half asleep, Wymack decided, judging by the bags under his eyes.

He could feel a very strange aura surrounding the three of them. It whispered of forests, of magic, of beauty in creation and a threat of destruction. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, and he couldn’t determine which of the three it came from. Maybe it was all at once. Beneath it all, he could sense darkness within each one of the boys. They all had different shades of it, and they were all on the way to mending in their own way. He decided it would have to be enough. If he hadn’t sensed even a little bit of that, he would never have been able to bring himself to add them to his Foxes. That was his criteria, after all: he took broken people, those who needed a second chance. These boys may not all need him to get that second chance, but at least they were all broken.

Eventually Wymack resorted to his default style: gruff no-nonsense, straight to the point. "Here’s the thing, boys. I didn’t come here for the three of you, but I was impressed with what I saw. I’m in desperate need of two dealers and a goalie. Each of you can have a full-ride scholarship if you’ll sign to my team.”

Adam did not hesitate. “I’m in.”

Gansey and Ronan both looked at him in surprise. “What happened to Harvard?” Gansey asked.

“I didn’t get a scholarship,” Adam replied coolly. “Palmetto isn’t my first choice of school, but I’d get the chance to play more Exy, go to school for free, and not have to work.” He looked wistful. “I’ll be able to sleep.”

Ronan glared. “I’m not going with you.”

Gansey turned to him, eyes pleading. “But why not?”

“You know why. I have to stay here.” Ronan nodded towards Wymack to indicate why he wouldn’t go into more detail. “And I can’t leave Opal alone.” He stomped off.

Gansey looked chagrined, and then sighed. “May we have a night to think about it, Coach Wymack?” Wymack nodded. “We may be able to work something out for him. If I can convince him to sign, then I will too.”

“Well, I’ll be here until tomorrow morning.” He pulled out a blank sheet of paper from one of his files and wrote “300 Fox Way” on it before handing it to Gansey. “I’ll be visiting an old friend at this address, so you can stop by when you’re ready to sign.” Gansey read the paper and laughed, handing it to Adam, who also laughed. Wymack’s eyebrows rose. “Are you familiar with it?”

Gansey grinned. “Our good friend Blue lives there.”

Well, that explains a lot, thought Wymack.

****

The five of them finally convened at Ninos later that night. Henry had already ordered enough pizza and breadsticks for a small army by the time Gansey and Adam had arrived, and Ronan had probably eaten half of it himself.

“What took you so long?” asked Blue, in between bites. She was out of her jersey, wearing possibly 4 different shirts that had been stitched together into a dress before going through a woodchipper. “Wymack doesn’t talk that much.”

Gansey laughed. “I knew he was here to recruit you. You’re an excellent striker, and apparently he’s an old family friend. You’ve been holding out on us.”

Blue grimaced. “I’d never heard my mother mention him, but apparently they go way back.” She took another bite of pizza, chased it down with some soda, and then gave in. “I saw his face change when I walked into the room. He’s very clearly a psychic; that must be how they know each other.” She laughed then. “I will never be free of them, will I?”

“I hope not,” Adam muttered around his mouthful of pepperoni. Blue was a bit chagrined; she tended to forget that he was technically a psychic now too. 

“Sorry, Adam,” she said gently. “You know I don’t lump you in with the others. Anyway, I signed on. Full scholarship, five years. I think I might be able to study abroad in the summers if I work it out with Coach before hand. What about you guys?”

“We all have offers,” Gansey began.

“I signed with them,” Adam butted in. “And I know you want to. Ronan shot them down.”

All four of the others turned their attention to Ronan. “Spit it out,” Blue said. “Why did you say no?”

Ronan just glared at her, but he had never won a staredown with her yet, and this was not his chance to start. “I can’t control my dreams off the leyline,” he muttered. “It’d be dangerous for me to leave. And I can’t leave Opal by herself for that long. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Blue nodded in understanding, and the table was silent for a moment. Gansey broke it. “I’m pretty sure Palmetto is on a leyline,” he mused. “I’m sure any leyline would work, not just this one.” He pulled his journal out of his pocket, and Ronan rolled his eyes.

“We already found Glendower. Do you still need to carry that fucking thing around?”

“Yes, Ronan,” Gansey replied with his ever-infinite patience. “Look. We will be right on the line.” He spun the book around so that the other at the table could look at the map. Blue reach out to trace the line that clearly passed through Palmetto. Henry grabbed her wrist and handed her a napkin before she could get grease on the book. 

Adam tilted his head to the side, his sign that he was thinking about what to say. “It may not be as strong as our leyline, but if it is it may work. I can do maintenance on it too.” He looked at Ronan for confirmation and got a glare in return. “That solves only half the problem, however.”

“I have an idea,” said Henry, who had been astonishingly quiet so far. The table looked at him in surprise. “You’ve been planning to revive Cabeswater, right, Ronan?” The dark boy nodded, eyes wary. “Dream it tonight. Your mom can stay there with Opal, and you can come back and visit every weekend that we don’t have a game. It’d be a long drive, but doable.”

Ronan nodded. “I will try tonight. I’ll need some help, maggot.” Blue nodded. “Adam?”

They looked at each other, Greywaren and Magician. To them, nobody else mattered in that moment. They could read each other in a way the others couldn’t, as if they moved to a rhythm no one else could hear. An unsettling grin spread across Ronan’s face at the same moment that Adam’s mouth twitched into a small  smile. “I’m in,” Adam said.

Gansey grinned and then finally settled into the pizza. “Looks like we have a plan. Blue? You better call Fox Way.” 

Blue was already pulling her phone out of her pocket, and she laughed. “I’ll tell them I’ll be gone all night. Let’s do this.”

****

They gathered that night in the spot where the entrance to Cabeswater had been. Blue, ever the sensible one, had packed a few bags full of blankets so they wouldn’t freeze in the spring night. She'd also brought a few candles, a bowl, and a jug of grape juice for Adam to meditate with. 

The five of them set up the site quietly. Gansey and Henry's presence wasn't necessary, but at this point in their adventures it would have been beyond useless to ask them to sit out, so they'd joined under strict orders to be as quiet as they could be. It was a tall order for talkative Cheng, but the somber feel of the night finally got through to him.

Ronan had a makeshift bed set up, and Adam sat next to him. Between them was the candle, now lit, and a bowl full of grape juice. Blue settled herself there as well, and the three of them made a circle. Adam and Blue linked hands, and each rested a palm on Ronan's head, which made him curse. 

"Did you have a better plan?" Blue snapped. Ronan cursed again before shifting around so he could have both his hands free and within reach of the others. Ronan closed his eyes and Adam settled his gaze into the bowl.

After a few minutes it became clear to Henry that Adam was zoned out and Ronan was asleep, so he felt safe to whisper a bit to Gansey and Blue. "I know this was my idea," he started, "but do you think it will actually work? I'm still new to this aspect of everything."

Blue didn’t remove her gaze from Adam's face. "I'm not sure," she murmured, "but I think it's our best bet. I'd feel better if we all went to Palmetto together. I know Ronan can take care of himself, but he shouldn't have to. I don’t want to leave him alone." Henry shifted around uncomfortably. He didn’t want to be left behind either. He was the newest piece of the group, and it seemed like he would never quite fit in right. Perhaps it was because he was stepping into the shoes of a dead boy who he had never met. Perhaps it was just that he had missed the bulk of the drama. He was happy to be here, but sad that he didn’t feel like he would ever really belong.

Blue seemed to sense his thoughts, as she was wont to do. "You belong with us too, Henry, but you don’t need to give up Venezuela for us. You'll come back to us." She turned her head slightly so he could see her ghost of a smile. "And this way, I'll be able to afford to come visit you on spring break."

Henry smiled. "I'll hold you to that then." A silence stretched between them. "Though if it doesn't work-"

"It will work," Gansey declared. His voice was full of command. It was the voice that had woken the creatures in the cave, the voice that had demanded that Cabeswater give up Glendower. His voice seemed to ripple through the air, leaving Blue and Henry shivering in its wake. "It will work," he said again, "and it will be stronger than ever before."

At that instant Adam snapped his gaze up to Blue, eyes wild. "It's here." A bolt of lightning shot down from the cloudless sky, striking the ground right in the center of the group, and the world went white.

***

They hiked out of the forest in silence that night, hesitant to break the spell that had surrounded them. Their dream forest was back. It was not the same forest, with different trees and streams and animals, but it still spoke Latin. It recognized them all. Greywaren, Treedaughter, King, Magician. It even knew Henry, though none of them had a translation for the dream speak word that had been used.

It was still a place of beauty, and, as always, a place of dreams. The crowning gem had been the clearing where it always rained and the rain made you feel both happy and sad. 

Blue had cried, thinking of Noah and how much he would have loved it. She knew he was gone, knew deep in her heart that he had let go and moved on. He'd always understood her more than any of the others had. She knew it was a ghost thing. But she had understood him in return. She knew he had held on in fear- not for himself, but for his friends. For the life he had saved on the leyline 7 years ago. For the family he had created after death. He knew they were safe now, and so he had gone.

They arrived back at Monmouth as the sun went up, having silently agreed that they needed to be together. But before they could sleep, Blue borrowed Ronan's phone and called Fox Way. "Put Coach on the line," she told Orla. She looked at Ronan, eyebrow raised, and he glared back for awhile before grinning and nodding. "Hello, yes, Coach." She continued. "This is Blue. Ronan and Gansey are in. Leave the paperwork with my mother, they will send it in later. We are going to bed." She listened for awhile before handing the phone to Gansey.

"Hello," Gansey said, bringing out the President Cellphone voice. "Yes, we are both in. No, she didn’t bully us into it. We had to work something out together last night to make it possible for Ronan to join us. Yes, he is in too. No, he doesn’t want to talk to you," he told Coach without even asking Ronan, who grinned even wider, leaning back on the couch. "See you in July then." He hung up. "Guess that's it then." He grinned. "We're going to Palmetto." Blue and Henry cheered, waking up Adam who had already passed out on the couch. Ronan grabbed Adam and dragged him toward his room. Blue went to Noah's old room, leaving Gansey and Henry alone in the front room together.

Gansey looked at Henry for a moment before reaching out and clasping him on the shoulder. "I wish you were coming with us."

Henry shook his head and tried to smile, but it was obviously an effort. "You won’t be rid of me forever," he said. “I’ll miss you, but I can afford to come visit. And I’ll be there next year, if not in the spring.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Gansey relaxed. It just wouldn’t be right until they were all together again, but for now this was good enough.

[baepsaetan]

Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters:  pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11  -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Smut, main character death, swearing, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, cancer.

Length: 8k

A/N: Another one! Already! Ideally this frequent posting will become a Thing but if we’re being honest Maybe Not. Still, hope some people have a chance to read this! Also shout out to @samwithham​! It really has been a hot second, but I’m grateful you’re still reading <3 

---

The last short finishes with a melancholic flourish that’s a little campy but still effective, and applause fills the theatre. Unlike at normal showings, there’s no immediate mass exodus; almost everyone stays to watch the credits, and even as they roll to a close, only a few people drift out. A low murmur arises from the crowd, and Hoseok hears snatches of opinions on the piece.

“Can you believe he said that?”

“… still caught me by surprise. I liked the depiction of family as…”

“Weren’t you crying? I thought…”

They wash over him, and he drowns in the ideas and impressions bleeding their vivid colours into existence even after the film is done. It doesn’t matter that the lights are coming on, that the screen is black, that people are slowly finding their feet and their car keys and getting ready to leave. There’s something comforting about his satisfaction, something tangible and unquestionable and honest, and Hoseok wants to bury himself in that emotion until he can’t see or feel anything else, forever.

He wants to, but he can’t.

During the presentations of the films, especially as they’d gotten into it, he’d managed to submerge himself in the experience, yet now that it’s over, Hoseok is drained, exhausted. Yoongi had kept hold of his hand for most of it, they’d eventually banished the arm rest and curled up together, and if the artist had dozed off once or twice during the four hour showing, well, Hoseok isn’t in the mood to hold it against him. At least he’s awake now, watching the black screen with a furrowed brow that makes Hoseok think he might be creating some tattoos off of what they’ve seen.

Hoseok eventually rises from his seat, unexpectedly stiff, and Yoongi is much worse, cursing and standing up so slowly he may as well have claimed a senior’s discount. Watching the grumbling sight, against his inclination Hoseok smiles.

“Such an old man,” he comments gently.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Yoongi replies, and laughs at the instant flood of red across the face of the other man, the quick glance to see if anyone heard.

Once he’s sure there’s no one within earshot, Hoseok relaxes, though he’s not necessarily keen on keeping up this line of conversation. Not in public, anyways. As they file for the exit, he asks, “What was your fave? Film, I mean.”

Yoongi pauses by the garbage at the entrance and throws out the wad of Kleenex he’d shoved into his pocket when his nosebleed had ended, a few minutes into the first film. “The one with the girl who gets lost,” he replies. “Though it’s fucking bullshit she never finds her way out.”

Hoseok chucks away the now-empty bag of candy that his boyfriend had impatiently refused every time it had been offered. Remembering the picture Yoongi’s talking about – the editor had gone crazy with the light filtering, but the tracking shots were gorgeous – Hoseok frowns. “You’re calling the ending bullshit but it’s your fave?”

A shrug. “I think we’re supposed to be pissed off about it. Mad no one helped her or something. It being bullshit is the point.”

That… is deeper than he’d expected Yoongi to go, and Hobi probably shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. It’s not like his boyfriend isn’t a thoughtful person – not in the least, actually – but he tends to get impatient trying to explain what he means, and it isn’t often he sounds so calmly certain about a point he’s trying to make. And Hoseok finds himself agreeing. There had been something demanding about the end of the short, about the way the camera spiralled away in an ever widening shot, something that asked why she was left standing alone in that barren space.

“Didn’t look at it like that, but I think you’re right,” Hoseok says quietly, and can’t quell the swell of guilt that washes over him. Had Yoongi been able to see it so clearly because he feels equally abandoned?

The other man glances at him, eyebrow raised. “I’m glad a soon-to-be famous film director agrees with my theory. Maybe I should publish a thesis paper or something.” Sardonic, but lightly so, and Hoseok may or may not be imagining the searching concern hidden behind that sarcastic gaze.

“You can put my name on it, if you want.” Hoseok smiles as he says it, but turns away from the worry his conscience might be making up. If he’s right – if any of the thoughts skittering through his head are right – it isn’t Yoongi who should be looking at him with that veiled compassion. If he’s right, he thinks his heart might just break under such a look.

“I’ll take you up on it,” the tattooist promises. “Until then… what was your fave, Mr. Expert?”    

Did he even have one? It’s not that he can’t remember them all individually, but it’s as though Hoseok had tried so hard to submerse himself in the films that he had accidentally pushed too hard against them, smudged the colours and details of their wet-paint newness into a blur. There’s nothing that truly stands out, and that’s… well, that’s just a shame.

“They were all so good. I’m not surprised any of them were included in the festival.”

Head ticking to the side, Yoongi sucks on his spit, opens his mouth, seems to think better of it. He looks down as they push their way through the doors and out into the early evening, his hands crumpling the beanie he’d taken off long ago into a tight ball before shoving it into his hoodie pocket. From the corner of his eye Hoseok catches him chewing on the inside of his cheek, the motion almost savage. Throwing up a hand to shield from the sudden sun, eventually the artist mumbles, “I just – I hope you enjoyed it, yeah?”

“Of course!” The reply is immediate, fervent, because Hoseok can’t bear the tentative way he asks that question. “Especially – man, that you thought of me at all. That you got the tickets for me. That’s so cool, Yoongs.”

The other man relaxes. “Well, like I said, they were free. Really wasn’t much.” That had been such a relief the first time Hoseok heard it, and even hearing it again has him sighing gratefully. He knows Yoongi doesn’t have money to spare – he makes a respectable amount tattooing, but almost everything goes into the rent for Born Tiger – and the thought of him paying had put Hoseok’s throat in knots. At least Yoongi had set that straight during the first intermission between showings.

It suddenly occurs to Hoseok that he knows that Yoongi isn’t lying about getting the tickets for free. Knows, not assumes or believes. It’s like knowing a fact is true because he’s seen it for himself. Where does that certainty come from? Where did–

He jerks his thoughts to a hard stop. He’ll figure it out, one way or another, but for now… for now Yoongi is watching him with gentle, tired affection, and if his eyes are bruises and his skin too blanched, at least he looks happy. Hoseok would do a hell of a lot more than play dumb to keep that expression in place, if only for a little while longer. They stop a little way down the street, keep out of everyone’s way. “You wanna get something to eat?”

Yoongi considers that for a moment, but eventually shakes his head. “I don’t want to take too much of your time – it’s already cool you agreed to spend some time with me today.”

“Y’know, I’m not a celebrity just yet. It’s not like my time is worth gold or anything.”

“Nah,” Yoongi replies with a wry twist of his lips, “just worth something else. Let me start paying you?” Then he reaches over, catches at the back of Hoseok’s neck, and Hoseok is already grinning at the familiar joke, but his smile becomes softer under his boyfriend’s mouth.

This kiss is quiet, almost too timid, so he throws his arms around the other man, pulls him closer, anything to cement their contact. His boyfriend responds with a low hum, the sound a reverberation of appreciation that pulses through Hoseok’s bones, replaces his marrow with a contentment that’s too airy to hold the weight of everything else. But – for a moment, it can manage. And it does, as they break off and Yoongi presses his face against Hoseok’s chest, though not quickly enough to hide the expression on his face, so tender it appears a mere breath from falling apart. Tightening his arms around the small man’s shoulders, as though that alone could hold them both together, Hoseok kisses the top of Yoongi’s head. Was there a way, some magic of filmography he hasn’t found yet, to extend this moment forever? Not freeze it like a photograph, but just… keep it going, keep all the affection and warmth and the way the sun burnishes Yoongi’s blonde hair into feathery gold?  

“I love you,” Hoseok murmurs, and for once there’s no anxiety in those words, no uncertainty or fear of rejection. He and Yoongi – together, like this – is so right. Maybe only for a minute or a moment, but for as long as it lasts, he can close his eyes and feel that rightness like music in his ears, like honey on his tongue, like a shot of some view you’d climbed miles to see.

For a long time, there is simple quiet in response, but Hoseok is aware of Yoongi’s shoulders trembling as he struggles to draw in breath after breath. Eventually the artist clears his throats, whispers shakily, “Yeah. I love you too, Hobi… so much,”

They stay as they are for several minutes, secure, linked by touch and something so much heavier, something Hoseok can’t name. Eventually though, Yoongi stirs in his arms, eases himself away. His mouth is a reluctant slash when he looks up, but nonetheless he says, “We should go. You got too much shit to do to be standing around.”

In more ways than one, he’s right. Hoseok can hardly think about the various project deadlines and exams coming up in the next two weeks, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. And besides, if he’s actually going to make himself go through with the plan…

It’s his turn to take in a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I’ll drive you home first.”

“It’s not that far,” Yoongi snorts dismissively, already turning to walk away.

Hoseok catches his wrist. “You set all of this up for me. It’s the least I can do.”

“Aish… okay.” The surrender comes quickly, more quickly than Hoseok expects it to, and he finds himself wondering at it as they begin to stroll to Hobi’s car. For all of Yoongi’s dismissive tone, it is a pretty far walk to Born Tiger – is that why he’d agreed so promptly? Because a walk like that is hard for Yoongi nowadays?   

Jiggling his keys to keep the electric tension at bay, the warmth dissipating like water through his grasping fingers and leaving something cold in its wake, Hoseok can’t stop himself from chatting as they walk, but his heart isn’t in it. Neither is Yoongi’s, to judge by the distracted responses, and he keeps expecting there to be a sudden crack, a sudden halt, a sudden outpouring of whatever is welling up inside the both of them. It never comes, though. The thunderous clouds just swell without rain, and he’s no god to know how to change this weather pattern.

He has to try, though.

By the time they’ve slipped into the car and Hoseok has pulled into rush hour traffic, that knowledge has hardened into resolve. When the other man takes out his phone and starts fiddling with it, he glances over – probably too intently – and asks so casually that it’s not casual at all, “Are you gonna call your doctor for an appointment now?”

Yoongi fumbles the device, drops it into his lap. “What – right now?” he asks, picking it back up.

“Not everyone works ‘til two in the morning, Yoongs. Pretty sure doctor offices close soon.” His companion is frowning at him, and Hoseok just hopes Yoongi assumes he’s nervous about bringing up something that was close to starting an argument a few hours ago. Which he is. Amazing how even a lie can rest on a foundation of truth. Clearing his throat when the other says nothing, he coaxes, “It’ll only take a moment.”

“And you get to see me doing it,” the artist observes flatly.

Hoseok flinches, can’t deny the implicit accusation. But neither can he backtrack, so he keeps his eyes on the road and sits a little straighter. “You put this off a lot, Yoongi. I’m just – I’m trying to help.”

A violent exhale from the man beside him, and Hoseok flinches again, more from the guilt of what he isn’t saying than anything else. After a moment of fraught silence, another sigh, considerably softer than the first. “I know you’re trying. I’m trying too. It’s just, this,” he touches his nose like it symbolizes all the misery he’s been going through, “this ain’t anything until someone tells me it’s something y’know? And I think I would have preferred… I mean, that I’d prefer not knowing. Easier.”

“But not necessarily better,” Hoseok says quietly, and wonders how much of this is real and how much is just more of the same.  

“Maybe…” A few seconds pass in torn silence, and then abruptly Yoongi snorts. “Fuck. I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Without waiting for a reply, he scrolls through his phone, has it up to his ear before Hoseok can doubt if he’s actually going to call. “Hello? Dr. Cho? Yeah, this is Min Yoongi calling. No, not – not about that.” It’s impossible to miss the tension in Yoongi’s voice, the coolly impassive look plastered across his face when Hoseok risks a glance, but Hoseok can’t make out anything the person on the other end is saying, just hears an incomprehensible voice.

“No, I don’t want that. I just wanted to schedule another appointment….” A pause as he lets the other person talk, and if anything, Yoongi’s expression grows colder. Or maybe not colder, maybe just… rigid. Eventually he seems to interrupt. “I know all that. Thanks. Like I said, just want an appointment. Some time next week? Yeah, sure. Uh huh. Mhm. Yeah. See you soon. Thanks.” His hand drops to rest limply on his thigh, and it takes several more seconds before Yoongi hangs up the call.

He turns to Hoseok. “Three o’clock on Tuesday. You satisfied?”

Refusing to rise to that combative tone – it’s obvious this call has unnerved his boyfriend, and in between his guilt and his pity, Hoseok can’t feel anything else – the film student just smiles as brightly as he can. “Sounds like just what the doctor ordered. Thanks, Yoongs. Seriously – thanks.”

His voice has lightened into something closer to grumpiness than anger when he replies. “Yeah, whatever. Now I get to spend an hour having her rip into me for not scheduling sooner.”

“Do you not like her?” Hoseok asks in surprise. He’s always assumed Yoongi’s aversion to getting a checkup was an internal issue, but maybe it was partly his doctor’s fault? That makes him hope. Maybe he is overreacting. Maybe it really is as simple as that. Maybe…

Yoongi grimaces. “It’s not like that. She’s just… pushy. Doesn’t like putting up with my bullshit.” His laugh isn’t very amused. “Guess that makes two of us. Anyways, no, I’ve had her for awhile now. She’s fine. I’m just being a bastard.”

“Good to hear.” Although it isn’t, not really.

They don’t talk much for the rest of the trip, Hoseok sweating over somehow giving himself away while Yoongi seems withdrawn and comfortable staring out the window without speaking. When they pull into a spot a short distance from Born Tiger, Hoseok feels like he’s about to have a heart attack. Hands pressing into the steering wheel until they ache, he almost doesn’t manage to make himself do it. Yoongi’s gathered up his stuff, hand on the door, before a surge of desperation rips the words from Hoseok’s tongue.

“Uh, hey! Could I borrow your phone for a sec? Mine’s dead.”

“What do you need it for?” Yoongi asks, but he’s already handing it over, nothing but distracted amusement on his face.

“I forgot I wanted to text Jimin, tell him I’m just gonna grab some fast-food for dinner. Ask if he and the other guys wanted anything.” The pads of his fingers are sweaty, and he has to try a few times to type Yoongi’s password – genius – before getting in. He hovers for a moment over Contacts, struggling to make himself move.

Meanwhile, Yoongi scoffs. “Dunno why you even need to ask. Tae and Kookie would eat out of a garbage bin if someone told them it was free.”

Hoseok cracks a weak smile. “Probably not out of it.” He still can’t make himself do what he’s been planning since before the films.

“Yeah, you’re right. They’d get plastic plates first.” It’s the fondness in Yoongi’s voice that does it. Pushes him into leaving Contacts untouched and pressing on Phone History. Because that gruff, protective affection for the younger boys… Hoseok can’t lose it. He can’t stop having those rough, secure words in his life, not when everything before Yoongi was too smooth to hold onto. He just can’t. And if this isn’t what he dreads it might be, well, Yoongi will be pissed, but he’ll also be forgiving, sooner or later. Haven’t the last few months proven that?

Phone tilted away from the other man, Hoseok taps into the most recent call, made to a Dr. Cho Jiyoo. Moving his fingers like he’s texting, he just stares at the number there instead, committing it to memory to the best of his ability. A few seconds later, he actually goes to Jimin, sends the message, and then hands the cell back to Yoongi with an empty hollowness in his stomach. It’s a good thing his boyfriend has his own things to worry about, because Hoseok isn’t exactly doing this with picture perfect guile.

It doesn’t take hardly any time at all for Jimin to reply, which is a blessing. Hoseok can only repeat the numbers in his head for so long before he’s bound to mess them up, especially while encouraging Yoongi to do most of the talking.

Breaking off a story about a guy who fainted dead away within five minutes of his first ever needle, the artist checks his vibrating phone. “Jimin says Taehyung is eating with Jin, but he and Jungkook could go for something.” Another buzz of an incoming message, and he barks a laugh. “Jungkook votes for McDonald’s, so I was right; he would eat out of a dumpster if it was free.”

Shaking his head at that – 4, 53, 67, 32, 08 – Hoseok asks, “Did Jimin get a vote?”

“Subway. You roll with the most high-class people, hey?”

“Oh, ‘cause your choice would be so much better.” When Yoongi opens his mouth, Hoseok adds, “Starbucks isn’t that classy, Yoongs.” 67, 32, 08…

“You would know,” Yoongi shoots back, with a gummy smile that’s nothing short of breathtaking, and it lurches through Hoseok’s throat until he almost lets go of the numbers and plan altogether. He can hardly breathe through his shame about not speaking honestly to Yoongi, and with that trusting grin right in front of him…

“Yoongi,” Hoseok says, and the man across from him dampens his smile at the strangled tone, leans forward a bit.

“Yeah?” the artist asks quietly, brows furrowing in miniscule tension.

Please tell me the truth. The words are so easy – so impossible to say. What is the truth? What is the nagging feeling that drags like oil across Hoseok’s brain whenever he looks at his tattoo? What is the crumpled expression Yoongi wears when he thinks no one can see him? And what the hell could Hoseok do if Yoongi refused to answer any of those questions?

And what if he didn’t?

His fingers drum against the steering wheel, and when he can’t get them to stop, Hoseok wrenches them off, buries them in his lip. He smiles, or tries to. “I’ll call you later tonight, okay? You can listen to me cry about how behind I am with everything.”

“My favorite mixtape,” Yoongi jokes, though the furrow across his forehead doesn’t really disappear. “I’ll be expecting that call. Don’t skip out.” His way of saying that he’s around to listen, that he doesn’t want Hoseok to keep it to himself. If they don’t get away from each other soon, Hoseok really is going to start crying.

Keeping his breath shallow, he shakes his head. “I won’t. Don’t worry. I’ll see you later.”

He’s actually relieved when Yoongi doesn’t make any move to kiss him goodbye. It’s not the usual – just another signal of how off things are between them – but Hoseok’s pretty sure if they touched right now, everything would come spilling out. Not necessarily through his lips, but maybe through his skin, or his head, or his heart… or wherever this aching connection is anchored, somewhere beyond his mere body.

Hand against his neck, Yoongi hesitates before he opens his door. “Happy belated b-day, Hobi,” he says, and the humour is so pale it might as well be invisible. All Hoseok can do is incline his head and murmur a tight thank you. Fingers still stroking across his neck, there’s another breathless pause before Yoongi shuts his eyes and heaves himself out of the car, movements stiff and pained. “I’ll see you later,” is his low promise, and then the door is thudding closed between them.

Because the spikes of restless agony are threatening to drive straight through him if he doesn’t move to avoid them, Hoseok doesn’t wait to watch his boyfriend walk to Born Tiger. Because there’s something ripping him apart already and anything added will splinter him into even smaller pieces, he doesn’t look in the rear-view mirror once he’s beyond the other man. Because the only thing he can do right now is go forward, Hoseok doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t go back. He sets his jaw, looks up a number and an address on his almost fully charged phone, and puts it into the GPS.  

---

The office looks as conventional as any medical company Hoseok has seen, at least from the outside. Short and insistently rectangular, the building is painted a sandy brown, while the double doors of the entrance are white, and plenty of windows dot the squat structure. There’s a little bed of flowers and some potted plants out front. It doesn’t look like a place where people go to learn they’re dying.

But it is. This isn’t the doctor’s office Hoseok had expected when he looked up the name and the number he had taken from Yoongi’s phone. He isn’t really sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t an oncologist’s office. The CL Courage Clinic is, according to the website, a specialty cancer clinic that deals with various kinds of chronic leukemia. There aren’t all that many cars in the parking lot, but then again, it’s kind of late. He wonders if Dr. Cho is still here. He wonders what he’s doing here.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat, and when Hoseok swallows it feels like his heart is about to burst through his trachea. He knows what the doctor looks like – the website had all of their pictures – but there’s a layer of static over everything he sees and he’s not altogether confident he’ll even be able to recognize her. Breath so harsh he can’t hear the music playing on the car radio, eventually Hoseok shuts it off, anything to reduce the unrelenting everything that’s crushing him into a panicked nothing.

What am I doing here? He’s falling to pieces so quickly he can’t put himself together again. Am I really about to– He can’t think about it, he can’t, he can’t. He has to do it.

He has to, but for a long time Hoseok just sits in his car, shifting constantly, rubbing his fingers raw against anything that comes under his hands. He’d thought he’d go into the building, ask for the doctor, but now he’s starting to wonder if maybe he should just wait for her out here. Maybe she’s gone home already. Maybe the thought that has him caressing his collarbone and then jerking away as if stung is more ridiculous than anything else he’s managed to think up. After so many months – after what feels like a lifetime – would Yoongi really not have told him?

By now, Hoseok isn’t really sure what he’s talking about, even within his own mind. Told him what? About sickness? Or soulmates? Or are they somehow the same thing, now?

Minutes pass and doubts churn trenches through Hoseok’s head, ruthlessly treading the same paths over and over again until it feels like there’s no way to think outside the ditches, no way to leap beyond their bounds. He thinks, and only manages to dig himself deeper into paralysis.

For the seventh or eighth time, the clinic door opens, and someone steps outside. He looks towards them, empty of expectation. That might be why it takes him a moment to recognize the lady in a flora summer dress as she hitches a purse over her shoulder and walks with quick, short strides. When he does, everything… collapses. The fear, the doubts, the shrieking, formless anxiety, they don’t disappear, but they contract into a place somewhere just behind his sternum. It’s almost as though the sheer weight of his breakdown has finally ripped a blackhole into existence, and it’s dragging his heart and lungs and stomach into a mangled mess of impossible heaviness. What emotions could escape the gravity of such dread?

He forces his door open too hard, has to wrench it back to avoid smashing into the truck he’d parked next to. Clambering out of the luxurious car feels like a confession of sin, and his jerky steps are quick to leave the sleek vehicle behind.   

“Dr. Cho. Umm, Dr. Cho!” The second time he calls she hears him, turns his way. His immediate impression is thinness – thin black hair, thin lips, thin eyebrows, thin shoulders… thin patience, if the expression on her taut face is any clue. He’s not sure how old she is – maybe fifty, though the exasperation makes it harder to be sure.

“May I help you?” she asks, in a slow way that suggests she’s hoping the answer is no. He can’t entirely blame her, given the time and the way he’s accosting her outside her work.

Bouncing his weight back and forth from foot to foot, Hoseok nods several times as if the motion alone might shake some words from his head to his too-dry mouth. It doesn’t, but the compression in his chest hasn’t managed to swallow his tongue quite yet, and so he manages to push out a quick introduction. “Uh, hello, Dr. Cho. My name is Jung Hoseok. We haven’t – I saw you on the clinic website, and I, umm, was hoping we could talk.”

If anything, her eyes narrow even further. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jung, but I generally only meet by appointment, and only during office hours. You could have phoned the clinic and scheduled a time to talk.” ‘Should have’ is more than implicit in her words, but the doctor’s displeasure hits his chest and – dissolves. It can’t gain any purchase in the flattened landscape of his feelings.

“I’m really, really sorry, but I couldn’t – I only just, uh, found out I need to talk to you.” Because I’m stupid. Because I’ve failed him.

Dr. Cho sighs, adjusts the purse on her shoulder. The motion makes her seem less annoyed and more… tired. “Did you receive a referral from your family doctor? I know it’s always very terrifying to receive a possible diagnosis, but it really would be better to schedule an appointment, so I have the opportunity to look at your information and –”

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok interrupts, the pressure mostly squeezing embarrassment into oblivion. He doesn’t even flush at accidentally giving her the wrong impression. “It’s not about me, it’s about one – one of your patients.”

Immediately her back is a little straighter, her brow a little more creased. “One of my patients?”

“Yes. His name is Min Yoongi. He’s… I think he’s been seeing you recently?”

She mouths the name, not as if it’s unfamiliar, but rather as though it surprises her to hear someone mention it. The tightness behind his ribs contracts even further, to the point of pain. He’d thought – hoped, prayed, begged – that she wouldn’t know what he was talking about, but she definitely knows Yoongi. Everything had suggested that she would, but if it had been a misunderstanding, if he’d gotten the wrong doctor… It’s getting a bit hard to breathe.

For a second, it looks as though curiosity might impel Dr. Cho to speak further, but the inclination is quickly suppressed, and her wariness comes back. “We’re not permitted to discuss our patients without their permission. It’s best if you ask him about–”

“He won’t tell me.” Even to his own ears, the toneless certainty is too flat to be anything but despairing. Hoseok tries to picture it – tries to imagine a conversation between he and Yoongi that leads towards them understanding each other more, and not breaking apart – but he can’t. He believes Yoongi loves him, but now, with the open chasm of truth before him, Hoseok knows his boyfriend would do anything to avoid pitching him into its consuming blackness. That must be why. It’s the only reason he can think of for why they haven’t taken this plunge together.

It doesn’t make him feel better – if anything, it just makes it worse. He had thought honesty was white, was open, was a bridge between two trusting people, but this – this isn’t that.

Her eyes flick to his face and then quickly away again, embarrassed or uncomfortable with whatever she finds there. When the doctor speaks, her voice is kind but without an inch of give. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you with this. It seems best that you talk to him directly. If he gives permission for me to disclose information…” By the way she trails off, Hoseok isn’t the only one who knows that won’t happen. How long has Yoongi been seeing her for, that she’s so aware of that fact?

Straightening her shoulders, expression apologetic in face of his hopeless silence, Dr. Cho inclines her head. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I hope everything works itself out.” And with that she moves to leave.

It turns out there’s one thing strong enough to escape the blackhole nestled in his chest – desperation. “Wait!” Hoseok reaches out, jerks back his hand before he catches her. Nonetheless, she pauses. Hardly knowing what he’s doing, he finds himself scrabbling at the high neck of his shirt, yanking it down with enough force that it sounds like the fabric is ripping. Ignoring that, he pulls it even further, baring the wilted flower there. The way her eyes widen, the way she leans forward with a mixture of revulsion and reluctant fascination, tells him it’s exactly as it’s been for the last few weeks.

He knows what she’s wondering as her gaze traces the withered lines, the tones that smudge more towards ashen rot than any real flower would ever experience. Why would someone get a tattoo like this?

Why did he get a tattoo like this? And God, doesn’t he know the answer?

“This belongs to him,” Hoseok blurts out, still only half sure of what he’s saying.

She doesn’t look away from the decaying image, but there’s no dawning awareness on her face as she replies, “Yoongi is a tattoo artist, isn’t he? He did this?” Can he blame her for not understanding? How long has it taken him to finally grasp what’s been hovering over this mark? How many times has he been on the verge of holding it, only to let go at the last moment, afraid that comprehension will make it into a reality too heavy to carry?

He takes too long to respond, grappling with what to answer. Dr. Cho straightens, finally pulls her eyes away. “It seems you’re good friends, and he’s obviously very talented, but that… I still can’t help you.”

“No, I don’t –” Just what is he trying to say? The pressure crushing his insides is finally too tight; cracks are ribboning through the blackhole, fissures of agonized acknowledgement that his whole existence isn’t enough to suppress. Guilt, terror, rage, grief – what are those words in the midst of the detonation blossoming it’s frenzied heat up his throat?

His hand finds the tattoo, presses against it. Too hard, his nails digging into the skin, but the heat remains, and so does the flower. It will continue there. He can’t rip it off. Nothing can. Nothing can separate the mark from the flesh. Hoseok finds a sudden, bracing relief in that thought, as though, with everything spiralling out of his hands, this alone will remain as it is. No matter what he says, no matter what he does – this bond is going to remain.

He breathes through his clenched teeth, as if the air burns his lungs, but there are a few words that haven’t been immolated in the fire. “This tattoo belongs to Yoongi,” Hoseok repeats, his tone almost too shrill. “It belongs to him, because–” There is a small falter, another hard inhale, before he continues, voice picking up force and certainty. “Because he belongs to me.”

Caught up in the torrent of his declaration, Dr. Cho understands what he means immediately, and her expressive eyebrows jump up in startled incredulity as she takes an involuntary half-step back. He almost wants to do the same, with the words still searing his tongue and blistering his lips. Saying it feels like releasing a spell, like casting some kind of dreadfully powerful incantation that he couldn’t undo even if he wanted to. At the same time, there’s a shuddering throughout his whole body, as if his muscles and bones are snapping into their proper places, for the first time in forever. He belongs to me. Hoseok wouldn’t unsay that, even if he could.  

This time, when her gaze lands on the mark, it tears along the lines like a surgical knife, trying to separate the bleak colours from the skin, to see it in a different light. And see it she does, as the understanding settles into something deeper, sorrowful realization mingling with heavy pity. Hoseok doesn’t want to see that – he wants to shut his eyes – but that won’t stop the sensation discharging through his arteries and carrying liquid anguish to the rest of his body.

“You two are bonded?” Dr. Cho all but whispers, and it’s so easy to ignore the way his eyes are aching and simply nod instead, as though he’s known all along. So easy to acknowledge that blood is red, tears are clear, Hoseok has a tattoo, and he and Yoongi are soulmates.

Why is it so easy? After months of refusing to believe, embracing this truth feels like holding onto Yoongi; light, warm, and altogether too real to be doubted. Hoseok finds himself mouthing the words, though he can’t quite say it yet. We’re bonded.

The doctor’s lips twist, her head tilting slightly, but nonetheless her examination doesn’t let up, body angled unwillingly forward to get a better view. “It hasn’t always looked like this?” she finally asks, and he wonders suddenly if there’s some kind of medical practice that takes the condition of soulmate tattoos into consideration. If she could have used this earlier.

It’s not so easy to shake his head, but Hoseok forces himself to do it anyways. “No, it hasn’t. Just – just recently. It’s always been – it’s never been absolutely perfect, but never this bad.”

“He really hasn’t told you anything?” Her disbelief hurts him, ashes and cinder burning along his throat as he’s reminded of how wrong this is.

Swallowing the embers, he replies, “No, he… I didn’t ask him enough. I should have pushed harder. I should have…” There’s too much to write in this column, not enough ink to jot it all down. He should have, he should have, he should have. “Please, I don’t know what else to do. Please, just…” Help me. Hoseok doesn’t know how to say that to this stranger, this woman who may well have been keeping his soulmate alive, who is undoubtedly judging him for his severe deficiencies now.

But if Dr. Cho is judging him, that judgement doesn’t overwhelm her sympathy. Eyes rising from his tattoo to meet his frantically imploring stare, the thin woman taps her forehead, where thoughtful creases have appeared. She doesn’t seem like the type to agonize over a decision for very long. And sure enough, far before the apprehension can do more than constrict his throat, the doctor turns away, begins to walk back to the clinic. Hoseok stares after her, not daring to expect anything.

Over her shoulder, she calls words that give him the barest hint of a reason to hope. “Come. We should discuss this in my office.”

Injected with something resembling relief – but not that, never that, not while Yoongi’s reality is still so twisted from what it should be – Hoseok hurries after her.

---

He’s collapsed on the couch, back pressed into the armrest, knees drawn up, a sketchbook resting on his abdomen and balanced against his legs, his coloured pencils on the table next to him. Yoongi is hunched over the drawing, almost curled around it, as though it’s an open wound that needs protecting. And maybe it is. He’s made several dozen strokes of his pencil along the page, but they’re just aimless slashes, split seams with nothing in between. He’d wanted to put his feelings down – on paper and otherwise – but his ideas keep slipping away, and if Yoongi knew what he wanted to draw when he sat down, he certainly doesn’t know now.

Hoseok’s face keeps intruding. That isn’t unheard of – and typically it’s more of a pleasure than a pain – but today is different. The sun without its rays is stark. Hoseok’s face without its smile is bleak.

Today had gone so fucking wrong.

I am so tired of this fucking bullshit.

It’s true, but it’s truer to say that Yoongi is tired of his own bullshit. Whether he means his body’s slow deterioration or his constant lying to hide that decline depends on the day – hell, it depends on the hour. Right now, he pretty much means the lying part. Pulling himself together enough to accompany Hoseok to the film festival after the news Dr. Cho had given him hadn’t been all that difficult – even Atlas had to get comfortable with the world on his shoulders, sooner or later – but had it even been worth it?

More and more, when Hoseok looks at him, Yoongi senses that the other man is… searching. Looking beyond the barriers he throws up, even looking beyond the concrete comfort that they feel when they’re together. His sun tattoo has been looking off recently, too. The colour isn’t draining, but the rays of light have become sharper, more defined, almost painfully distinct. Little spikes of anxiety. The overall tone has also shifted to a redder hue, more like a dying sun than a brilliant one.

Brushing his thumb over the inside of his elbow, he can’t stop the twist of his lips. Today, with Hobi all but demanding he call the doctor, Yoongi wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or smack him upside the head. The concern is touching, a heart-hurt that he can only be grateful for, but it can only lead one way, the one way Yoongi can’t accept, and he suspects they’re getting closer to that path.  

In fact, as Yoongi had shut the car door and walked away, that feeling solidified into certainty. Hoseok found something. That’s what his demand was about, that was why he was acting so shady. The realization had been all altitude and dizziness for Yoongi, and even now, there’s nausea cringing at the corners of the artist’s stomach, like he expects the floor to collapse at any second and send him plummeting straight down. What had Hoseok found? Which secret? Any? Or is this just paranoia stacked on pain?

Another rough line added to the rest of the strokes, and it’s still a mess. Nothing clear. No answers. Just the wild apprehension teeming like termites through his wooden brain. Mumbling to himself, Yoongi tears out the page, holds it in his hand for a moment before, with a low exhale, he casts it aside.

He can’t start over anywhere else in his life, but isn’t that half the appeal of what he’s doing now?

This time, when Yoongi begins to draw, he has a better idea of where he wants to go. He’s borrowing from the film he’d liked. The concept, not the actual image. A single stem of soft blue orchids, floating in a black expanse that’s barely discernable as water. It looks more like ink. Some of the flowers are already partially submerged in the dark substance, the gentle petals streaked with oily shadows. There’s no ripple across the water, no sign of movement or change. Just the orchids, alone, slowly sinking.

It takes him a couple of hours, and during that time he can pour everything into the long funnel his focus creates, splattering the page with his loneliness. The fear, the anger, the guilt, the grief, it’s all there in that limitless lake of black. It’s nothing more than a sketch; he needs a table and a better setup to draw something worth showing to others. It is what he wanted to draw, though. As he finishes he knows that, yet… when Yoongi looks at it, his pencil falling into his lap, the itching, frantic feeling is already beginning to squirm to life again. He can’t exorcise it with this torrent of truth.

What if Hoseok does know? What then? Where is the beaming man in this picture?

Yoongi glances at his cell, checking the time. He’s only a little surprised to see that it’s a bit after 7. Time is a construct, after all, and it’s especially unstable when creativity and emotions come out to play together. A direct quote from Namjoon. Yoongi scoffs at it even as fondness makes him smooth the page against his knees with more gentleness than he might have done otherwise. The despair is demanding he crumple paper and shatter glass, but the artist shoves it down. Remembers the look on Hoseok’s face when he saw the theatre and realized where they were going.

His pencil – a yellowy gold tone – hovers uncertainly over the corner of the drawing. Can he add this? Does he deserve to add it?

Before he can make up his mind, there’s a knock on the entrance downstairs. Hard. It comes again, and then again, no regularity to the sounds. Again, like stuttering breaths or crippled steps. The pounding sets his nerves alight, and against any rational thought, Yoongi freezes, his fingers curling into fists. It’s probably some drunk messing up where they are; there are enough of those on Skymont, even if it is kinda early. Or maybe it’s a customer who forgot something, even though he’s meticulous about cleaning the studio and hadn’t found anything recently. It’s probably nothing. Maybe he doesn’t even need to answer.

It isn’t any kind of rational thought that has Yoongi casting his eyes down, half-flinching at a new round of knocking. It isn’t even intuition, the kind you laugh at during the day and heed while walking down dark streets. Something more forceful, inexorable, makes him drag his gaze back to the tattoo he had been considering only a few hours ago. A tattoo that is, before his eyes, slowly but surely dissolving through a slew of sickly colours, like diseased flesh across his skin. Yet, even as Yoongi watches in numb, detached interest, the form begins to solidify in an explosion of brighter, harsher tones.

As it does, he hears someone call in a voice stripped to its ragged core, “Yoongi!”

The sun loses its colours, finds them again, shot through with waves of distortion that look like a mirage. Repeat. And repeat.  

The entire process takes about five minutes, and the knocking doesn’t stop, and still Yoongi can’t make himself move. He watches the tattoo, waiting for it to fade into nothing, or at least go dead and black. It doesn’t, the jumbled swirls of colour continuing, but the person at the door calls again, “Yoongi! Yoongi – open the door.”

Yoongi’s complained about his thin walls before. Hoseok knows that he can hear. It wouldn’t even matter if he hadn’t. The tattooist – feels his soulmate. All the time, yes, but more so now, the awareness closer to a deafening noise than any kind of conscious recognition. And the wavering lines of the tattoo mean… just exactly what he’s suddenly terrified that they mean. The numbness is washed away in a flood of ice through his stomach, and Yoongi realizes that he’s trembling.

Almost too hard to make it down the stairs, hand on the wall for balance.

Stumbling off the last step, the artist makes his way down the hallway, through his tattooing parlour. The scents and sights of his chairs and equipment aren’t reassuring; he’s alienated from them, as though he’s become a ghost, just drifting through an existence that’s no longer his. Each knock jars him further from reality. He can’t seem to formulate any thoughts. No words or excuses or apologies to set his slanted world back on its straight axis.

The dread is a far stronger impression than anything else, coppery on his tongue, and by the time Yoongi gets to the front of the store, he can even feel it coating his fingertips. Lifting a too-heavy arm, he pauses at the lock, watches the way his hand shakes in front of it, and abruptly feels contempt. He’s so afraid. Does Hoseok deserve such a cowardly person?

“…Yoongi?” Quieter now, as though he knows how much closer Yoongi is, Hoseok’s voice wedges into the icy fear, sends little cracks shuddering through it.

His other hand comes up to press against his neck, almost hard enough to cut off air and dread altogether, and in the same motion, Yoongi throws the bolt. He can’t make himself open the door. He doesn’t need to. The other person must hear him fumbling with the lock – or maybe they just know – and a second later the door is jerked open.

The bell rings. Yoongi flinches. Hoseok doesn’t.

His crumpled mouth hurts more than even the red, frantic eyes, though those are hard enough to meet. It’s just, Yoongi hasn’t ever wanted to be the reason Hoseok frowns like that, like he’s going to crumple at any second. Hoseok is the most beautiful person on the planet when he smiles, and right now his mouth looks like it will never remember how to smile again. Yoongi caused that misery one too many times already, and he’s literally sacrificed everything to avoid doing it again.

Looking at Hoseok’s foundering expression becomes too painful and he wrenches his eyes down only to see his hands, running feverish tracks along the seams of his jeans. Faced with the silent, screaming pain of those fingers, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say.

[forwhycas]

Oh What a World (part 2)

So this part is wayyyyy longer than the first part, but it super cute and we find out a bit more about Charlie, super fluffy and swearing since who doesn't love a beautiful girl who swears like a trucker! This picture of Joe gives me life (even thought its blurry, if anyone has a better quality version, please send it to me) I hope you enjoy:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you got home you immediately hung up the clock and put the matching towels out as well. You snapped a picture and sent it to Joe.

 Charlie: Be jealous!

Joey: I’m not, but I’m glad you like it. I have a lot of pictures from today, did you want me to send them?

Charlie: Yes please!

 20 pictures later, and your favorite one was Joe holding you from behind your arms up pretending to be jack and rose from the titanic on the red steps. You zoomed in on somebodies face you noticed in the background, this woman’s face looked so annoyed, you screenshotted it and sent it to Joe.

 Charlie: This woman’s face is how I’m going to feel waking up in the morning, because my shift starts at 8 L

Joey: So call out, I’m sure wherever you work can handle a day without you.

Charlie: Well, I wish they could but I work at a group home, so if their one person down the place kind of runs awkwardly. Which can cause some pretty pissed off kids.

Joey: You work at a group home?

Charlie: Yea it’s part time, and definitely the most interesting job I’ve had. I might see if someone can cover for me though, I can feel myself already struggling to get out of bed tomorrow morning.

 You txt your coworker Emily, reminding her that she owed you.

 Charlie: Remember when I covered your shift that week you went on vacation with your friends?

Emily: Yes, do you need me to cover you this week?

Charlie: Yes please, final exams start next and I’m stressing L

Emily: I got you, I’ll txt Eric to let him know what’s going on.

Charlie: Thank you!

 You sighed with relief, while yes finals were next week, you were fully prepared! You just really haven’t had a day off from work in a long time, and you mine as well use the favor. You smiled at the fact that you could hang out with Joe tomorrow, he was easy to be yourself around and it was refreshing. Your phone vibrated.

 Joey: So?

Charlie: A whole week covered, and this week my classes are online because finals are next week, so basically all I have to do is a bunch of practice quizzes.

Joey: So what are you going to do with your new found freedom?

 You had so many ideas but the first one was to cover the tattoo you had on the side of your arm that had your exes initials. You facetimed Joe. When he picked up he was in bed looking super cozy, you kind of wished you were still with him, laying on his couch.

 “Sorry to interrupt, but I have the best idea! See this tattoo right here?” He nodded. “I want to get this covered up tomorrow.”

 “Who’s initials are those?”

 “My ex’es.”

 “Ah, well then I’m all for that.”

 “Want to come with me?” He yawned and nodded. “Awesome, do you have any tattoos that need covering?” He snorted.

 “I don’t have any tattoos Charlie.” He yawned again.

 “Well I have…” You started to count on your free hand. “10? No 14! Yea 14, catch up! Anyways go to bed grandpa! Meet me at mine for 11, I’m on the 5th floor, my last name is on the door. Do you even know my last name?” He nodded.

 “Everleigh? Right?” You nodded and said goodnight, he waved then hung up. You hopped in the shower and towel dried your hair the best you could before falling asleep. You awoke to pounding on your door. You checked your phone and you had 3 txt’s from Joe.

 Joey: I’m up, and heading over with coffee.

Joey: Warning I’m out of breath and I’ve only walked up two flights of stairs.

Joey: Your still asleep!

 The last txt was 10 minutes ago. You sprung up out of bed, realizing you slept in just underwear you grabbed your bath robe and wrapped it around you. You unlocked the door, and Joe was holding a tray with two coffees, an annoyed look on his face. You smiled, “Morning sunshine!” his face softened when you spoke, he pushed past you, you could feel the coldness radiating off of him.

 “Good morning, glad you got some extra sleep.” He smiled and slumped down onto your couch. Placing the tray of coffee on your end table. You sat down next to him and reached over him to grab one, placing it in his hand and then grabbing the other one.

 “Sorry, I guess I forgot to set an alarm. Thanks for the coffee, do you want something to eat?” You got up and went to your cabinets, you remembered the muffins you bought from the bakery down the block 2 days ago. “I have blueberry muffins!” You turned around to look at him. “I’m trying to cure your morning grumpiness with delicious muffins and you look like you want to kill me, has this friendship already run its course?” He chuckled. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He got up and came over to you.

 “You have a piece of hair sticking up the opposite way…there.” He was so close to you, not moving. “Also yes, I’ll take a muffin please.” You reached up to grab the container and put them on the counter, you got a pan and started to melt some butter on it. Joe was leaning against your counter on his phone.

 “Do you want a whole one, or a half one?”

 “I’ll split one with you, I’m not super into eating this early.” He nodded then went back to his phone. “There’s a really good tattoo shop called village tattoo, it’s by Washington Park. I went there with my friend Sebastian once, they do some good work. What are you getting to cover that up anyways?”

 “I think I’m gonna get some daisy’s and roses, It’ April’s and June’s birth month flower.” You cut the muffin half and through them on the pan, it sizzled slightly. You took a sip of coffee.

 “Who’s birthday is it in April and June?”

 “Well my dad’s birthday was April 17th, and mine is June 16th.” You grabbed some plates and grabbed one half of the muffin handing the plate with the muffin on it to Joe. You grabbed yours as well. “Try it.” You smiled weakly at him. You took a bite and you moaned. “Oh fuck this is good…” Joe took a dramatic bite, and his eyes rolled back into his head. “See it’s delicious! Your welcome for warming it up for you!” You nudged him in the side. “Right while you make love to that muffin I’m gonna get dressed. Make yourself at home.” You winked at him and walked across the living room to your door, you left it slightly open. You went through your closet and found a NYU long sleeve, you contemplated putting on a bra but did so anyways, you then contemplated putting on actual pants, you did that as well. Joe was walking around yourliving room, looking at all the paintings, mostly landscapes, and the family photos of you and your dad.

 “Are you an only child?” Joe yelled.

 “Yup!” You yelled with a mouth full of tooth paste. “You?” You spit it out and rinsed with some mouthwash. You washed your face and moisturized. Joe yelled another question.

 “A brother and a sister! Just you and your dad?”

 You took a deep breath and walked out of your room. “My mom dipped when I was about 10, I don’t remember much of her.” You walked over to your shoe tray and started to tie your nikes. “How far is this tattoo shop? Also is it grossly cold outside?” Joe put his still cold hands on the sides of your face. “Yea it’s grossly cold outside.” You pushed his hands away and wrapped the purple scarf you bought the day before, and the matching gloves. “Wallet!” You went to your cabinet above your fridge, where you always put it. Joe gave you a weird look. “The dead lock on this door sucks so I figure if someone’s going to break in the last place they would look for money is above the fridge.” You shrugged.

 “I have never seen a woman get ready so fast in my life.” You were zipping up your jacket and putting your wallet in your inside breast pocket. “Impressive, really.” You smiled at him and grabbed your coffee from the counter, grabbing your keys from the hook next to the door.

 “Ready?”

 “Yup.”

 Joe convinced you to take the subway for once. You just hated confined spaces. Which you expressed to him, but he told you that you had to get over your fear eventually. You sat so close to him your thighs touched. “Are you for real right now?” You turned your head towards him, not realizing how close you guys really were. You glanced at his lips for a split second. Then darted up to his eyes.

 “Yes, I’m claustrophobic, and I’m not just saying that.” He rolled his eyes and he put his hand out on his thigh, motioning for you to grab it. You hesitated and decided to just rest your head on his shoulder instead. Closing your eyes, taking a deep breath. He ended up grabbing your hand anyways. “Ugh Joe! Why are your hands so sweaty!”

 “Because it’s hot in here, I can’t help it!” He let go of your hand, wiped his hand on your jeans, then grabbed your hand again. “Better?” You snorted and gave him a disgusted look.

 “Yes, now that I have all of these Joe germs on my leg. Much better, thank you.” He rolled his eyes at you and reached in his pocket for his phone, he was scrolling through Instagram, you looked over his shoulder being snoopy. “I forgot to tell you, I started to watch Dear Sidewalk the other night with Dean.” You paused.

 “And?” He stopped scrolling and he looked at you from the side since your head was still on his shoulder.

 “Your very cute as a mailman…” Joe shook his head and continued scrolling.

 “Wait till you get to the end…”

 “I will say it’s odd having an actor as a friend, because while I’m watching Gardner going through all of this lovey dovey shit, all I can think about is you snorting orange juice out of your nose the other day at breakfast…”

 “Just when I thought you forgot…”

 “I wish I got it on video, I’d show it to every news outlet, make so much bank!” You chuckled to yourself, Joe turned towards you fully. “I’m joking!” You rolled your eyes and rested your head back on his shoulder, you grabbed your phone out of your jacket pocket and started to scroll through your Instagram as well.

 “So you do have social media…”

 “You’ve probably been spelling my last name wrong, I don’t know how though since it’s on my apartment door…” You grabbed his phone from his hands and looked up your Instagram account everleigh.charliee93, you followed it for him.

  “Do me a favor and stalk me later though.”

 “Who says I’ll stalk your Instagram?”

 “It’s human nature to be curious, I’m a psych major remember?” The train stopped and your breath hitched, squeezing his hand in the process.

 “Relax, this is our stop anyways.” He got up, putting his phone back in his pocket, his hands still attached to yours. You let it go once when you got back onto the streets, you saw the tattoo shop sign a few minutes later and squealed with excitement! Once inside you took your gloves off and waited at the front desk. A girl came out from the back with bright pink hair and gave you guys a cute smile.

 “What can I do for you guys today?”

 “I’m looking to get some letting covered up with some floral creation.” You stripped off your jacket and put it over Joe’s shoulder, then pulled up your sleeve, she took a look and asked what you were thinking for flowers. You told her your idea and she nodded and went to go get another artist.

 “This is Nick, he loves a good floral piece. Nick this is…”

 “Charlie! Nice to meet you.” You gave him a warm smile and he smiled back. Joe noticed how he wasn’t the only one who was effected by your smile. Nick’s face almost dropped when your face lit up.

 “So what kind of flowers are we talking about?”

 “Roses and daisies, just enough to cover this, not too much.” You motioned to the side of your left forearm.

 “Color?”

 “I think I’ll keep it black and white for now.”

 “Right let me take a few pictures and then size up the area and then I can get you a price range.” After doing so the damage was 200$

 “Yea that sounds about right! Do you have time for it today?”

 “I have the whole afternoon open, give me about 45 minutes to do a few sketches, then we can get going on it! Have a seat and I’ll come grab you when I’m ready. Rider can grab a copy of your ID and have you sign a few things in the mean-time.” You pulled out your wallet and started the process. You finally sat down on their huge couch in their waiting area, putting your legs over Joe’s lap.

 “What do tattoo’s feel like anyways?” Joe asked as he rested his hands on your legs.

 “The only way I can describe it is like a sunburn jabbing into your skin over and over again. Some places hurt a lot, others don’t. It also depends on a person’s pain tolerance, I have a pretty good tolerance for pain, so it doesn’t bother me too much.” You looked back down on your phone, smiling a little as you txted a potential date. “Is a paint and sip a good idea for a date?”

 “I would enjoy that, I have no artistic ability what so ever, but I’m sure someone would enjoy that. Why?”

 “I think I’m gonna ask this guy from my stats class out to do a paint and sip next weekend after finals are over.” Joe appeared great from the outside but in all actuality he was annoyed.

 “Friday or Saturday night?”

 “Ummmm, Friday night.” Joe was actually annoyed now, he had asked you to go out with him and his friend that night.

 “I thought you were coming out with me and my friend that night?” He tried not to outwardly appear pissed.

 “Well the paint and sip is at 6, I’m not meeting you guys till 9, right?” You looked up at him from your phone still smiling giddily.

 “True, but I wanted to pre-game with you!” He frowned like a child.

 “Well, pretend I’m their in spirit, I’ll be pre gaming with wine, so I’ll be showing up slightly buzzed.” You looked back down at your phone, and giggled when he said yes. “Ha, he said yes!”

 “You make it look so easy!” Joe crossed his arms, turning to face you.

 “That’s because it is…” You rolled your eyes, then felt bad for being bratty. “Look if I can casually ask someone out, anyone can! Who are you interested in right now?” You, he thought. He was shocked that he thought that, but then realized it was probably just because you were new in his life, he was fixated on you. He was blushing though.

 “Nobody? Yea no one.”

 “Nobody? Everybody is interested in someone.”

 “I mean, one person, I think?”

 “You think?” He shrugged.

 “Alright Charlie, let’s get you started!” Nick came out and he motioned for you follow him. Joe was relieved he was saved from the conversation going any further. You sprung up and grabbed Joe by the arm. Rider was right Nick enjoyed a good floral tattoo. He came up with 4 solid layouts in just under an hour. You loved all of them but went with the third choice as it flowed better with the shape of your arm. “So who’s initials are these anyways? I love getting a good story from new clients.” He was shaving the peach fuzz away as you got comfy in his chair.

 “My ex-fiance’. Quinten.”

 “Wow, well he fucked up!”

 “Royally.”

 “I see you have some other tattoo’s, but I always like to break a tattoo session in half, give the client a break for a smoke or some food. Where did you get your other tattoos from?”

 “I’m from the cape, so mostly black pearl and coastline. I like to keep it local.”

 “I love the cape actually, I’ve been to black pearl, where’s coastline?”

 “Provincetown, all the way at the tip of Mass.” He put the stencil on and gripped it with his hand.

 “I’ll have to check it out! So about the flowers, just your favorite flowers or?”

 “Oh, well my dad passed about 6 years now, and his birth month flower are daisies, and mine are roses, so I figured I’d cover up this assholes initials with something meaningful.” You shrugged. Joe didn’t know this but had a hunch since there weren’t many recent pictures of you with your dad back at your apartment.

 “Well I’m sure he would love it, my dad passed away a while back as well. Fuck cancer.” Nick frowned.

 “I’m so sorry, your right fuck cancer!”

 “How did your dad pass, if you don’t mind me asking?” There was always something about opening up to a tattoo artist, they made it so easy, they were like your therapist.

 “Early on set dementia. Very early…” You frowned but gave him a faint smile.

 “Oh god, I’m so sorry. Fuck Dementia!” You chuckled.

 “Fuck dementia!” You responded and looked over at Joe, who looked like his whole world had crashed and burned. He was thinking about you being sad and it made his heart sink. He just wanted to wrap you in his arms and tell you how sorry he was. But instead he said ‘fuck dementia’.

 “Alright darlin, gonna start off with some outlines, then we’ll break and do some shading! Sound good.” Nick questioned.

 “Yes sir!” After an hour of outlining and he got to one spot where it just felt like shit, your free hand grabbed Joe’s thigh, you bit your lip. “Wow that’s a tender spot.” Joe was brought out of his day dreaming session when your hand collided with his thigh. He was a year into your Instagram, you were right stalking someone else’s social media was just human nature. His free hand grabbed yours and he gave it a squeeze and a reassuring smile as he continued scrolling, he hit the post where you posted about your engagement. He didn’t even realize you had started to talk to him. “Earth to Joe?”

 “I’m sorry what?” He looked up from his phone fast.

 “I said you should get me some McDonald’s when Nick here is done with the outline. Pretty please.” You gave him the cutest smile ever, squinting your eyes together.

 “Well I can’t say no to that face, you’re lucky your cute when you do that.”

 “Oh my god, was that a compliment? Did I hear cute come out of that mouth?”

 “Yes, it was, don’t get used to it. What do you want?”

 “Everything off of the menu! Just kidding, I have to be stoned for that. Maybe just some McChickens and a large fry.” Joe was learning so much about you today.

 “Right, well I’m make sure not to go on a McDick’s run for you when your stoned then.” Nick was finished and wrapped your arm up. You stretched and let out a squeal, then yawned. Another thing to add to the list of cute things you do, he thought. You gave him your card, and he fought with you about how it was just McDonalds. “Well maybe Nick want’s something?”

 “I could go for a happy meal, mostly for the toy, my daughter loves those!”

 “See Nick’s kid wants a cute toy, take the plastic square!” You waved it in front of his face, he was un-amused. “Do it for the kid Joe, unless you hate kids!”

 “Definitely don’t hate kids, kids are great.” He zipped up his jacket, and left. Nick already had a cigarette between his lips and was gearing up to go out to have a smoke. It’s been months since you had one and just looking at it you already knew you were gonna ask to bum one off of him.

 “Nick can I trouble you for one of those bad boys?” he nodded and handed you one.

 “Didn’t think you would be the type, but yea kid here ya go.” You got your jacket on and headed outside with him, you sat on the bench that was right outside of the shops window, and sat down with him, he lit it for you and you guys got to talking about each-others dads and laughing about funny times you’ve had with them. Joe was walking back towards you and he crinkled his nose when he saw you take a drag. Not cute when you smoked, but it was somehow hot when you did. He was annoyed with himself for thinking that you looked hot when you did that and he finally approached you guys. 4 bags in one hand.

 “Alright so we got not one but two happy meals, because kids are great,” he glared at you “four McChikens, 3 large fries and a big mac.” He was staring at your lips as they curved around the cig and then blew out the smoke.

 “Thanks Joe!”

 “Thanks man! I can’t wait to see what toys these things have.” Nick put out his cig and you did to and you guys all chowed down before going back inside again. The shading seemed to go by faster and before you knew it, it was done. You got up to look at it in the mirror, you could cry, it was so pretty. You just nodded your head and hugged Nick. He blushed when you did so, catching him off guard with such a personal gesture. He took a few pictures and Joe took some for you on your phone.

 “Alright 150$.”

 “You said 200 before?”

 “Yes but your cool and sat so nicely for me, also your friend here got me some food. So 150$.”

You pulled out your card and paid and then slid him a 20$. He thanked you and you and Joe said goodbye to him and Rider.

 “So what now? It’s almost 4…”

 “I don’t know about you but I really could for a good nap.” You shoved your hands in your jacket pockets.

 “I’m always ready for a nap.” Joe smiled at you. You convinced him again to walk since you had enough of the subway. “If were gonna walk can we nap at my place, it’s closer and my legs hurt from walking yesterday.” You nodded and 20 minutes later you were in his kitchen cracking open a beer, annoyed that he was still deciding what to watch.

 “Joe! You’ve been searching for something for ages, just pick something, I’m really not picky, I’ll watch anything.” He ignored you and he kept searching. “Family guy?” he nodded. “Finally!” You yelled from the kitchen. He was laying on the couch. And you couldn’t help it, you snuggled up next to him, he didn’t mind at all. “This is fine right? Because I wanted to lay down first but your long ass legs took my spot first…” he rolled his eyes at you.

 “When you fall asleep don’t drool, this is a new sweater.” You rolled your eyes this time. Family guy was playing in the background and you closed your eyes. Between Joe’s laughing and the rising and falling of his chest you passed out quick. When you woke up Joe was wrapped around you, one of his arms draped over your waist, the other wrapped around your shoulder, your head resting on his bicep. He smelled delicious, his sweater heating you up, his bicep soft and comforting on the side of your face. You could stay like this forever, you shut your eyes again and tried to fall back asleep.

 When Joe awoke he realized he completely attached himself to you, but you looked so warm and cozy to him, one of your arms was underneath the pillow his head rested under and the other over his chest clutching at his sweater, he stretched his free arm and watched as you shivered so he grabbed the blanket that was draped over the side of his couch, he gingerly moved a piece of hair away from your face and watched you snuggled back into his arm, he could feel your soft breaths tickle it. He wrapped his arm back around your waist and fell back asleep.

 You awoke to the smell of coffee and something greasy. You had the blanket still wrapped around you and it smelled like Joe, you smiled and got up to stretch. “So did I drool on you?” Joe jumped a little as you entered his kitchen.

 “Nope! Much appreciated.” Joe was in sweatpants and a hoodie, which reminded you of the sweatpants you bought the other day.

 “MY SWEATPANTS!” You ran to the bathroom and put them on, along with washing your tattoo and finding some lotion on the top shelf of his medicine cabinet. You walked out and smiled while hopping up onto his counter. “I feel so much better, sleeping in those jeans was the worst! Also falling asleep in a bra is disgustingly annoying as well.”

 “Is that what was digging into my rib cage all night?”

 “You think it was digging into your rib cage all night! I have marks from the underwire!”

 “Well I’m making pancakes, so hopefully that’ll cheer you up.”

 “I fucking love pancakes! My dad always used to put m&m’s in them for me!” You smiled at him.

 “Sadly I don’t have any, but I’ll make a mental note for next time.” After breakfast you continued to watch some more family guy, before you started to get ready to leave.

 “Alright I guess I should head out, I’m already pre stressing for finals next week, make sure to txt me every once and a while to make sure I’m alive.” He chuckled.

 “I don’t miss college, but I will try to remember to shoot you a ‘are you still breathing’ txt.”

 “You’re the best! Alright wish me luck I’m gonna take the subway.”

 “Wow, all on your own! They grow up so fast!” He wiped away a fake tear.

 “Shut up!” You gave him a quick hug and you were on your way home. Subway wasn’t too bad, although you missed your stop twice, so it took you an extra 30 minutes to get home.

 Charlie: Finally home, I missed my stop twice! But I did it! Also I’ve finally taken off my bra and my boobs feel ten times happier!

Joey: So proud, glad your boobs aren’t angry anymore.

 You chuckled and took a long shower, right when you got out someone was knocking on your door. It was either Dean or your neighbor asking for something. Dean lived on the third floor and always came knocking for something. And your instincts were right, an out of breath Dean in half drag was standing there, hands on his knees.

 “I need to borrow some hair spray and hair gel to lay these edges, help!” You pulled him by the arm and sat him down on your toilet as you helped him style his edges.

 “Where have you been! I’ve been txting you for like 2 days and nothing!” He was using your mascara and a few other of your scarce beauty supplies.

 “Oh I was with Joe! He took me on a tour of the city on Friday and then yesterday we went to get a tattoo, I just got home a few hours actually.” Dean smirked at you. “What!”

 “You like him! You were with him for two days straight? Don’t answer me, or anybody in the group chat. You totally like him!”

 “I do not! He’s just a new friend and he helps me navigate the city, still a newby remember!”

 “Have you slept with him?”

 “What! No! Don’t get any craze ideas either, nothing is going on between us.” He was still giving you that same look. “Stop it! Finish up or you’ll be late!”

 “Charlie if you haven’t noticed, you have an effect on guys. You bat those long eye lashes of yours or give that cute cheesin smile and they are hooked.” You looked at him baffled.

 “I don’t know what youre talking about.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

 “Your fucking gorgeous and you don’t realize it, it’s a tragedy.” He was shaking his head and gave you a kiss on the cheek before he put your makeup bag away and started off for the front door. “Joe is gonna fall in love with you I can already tell…” he pulled you in for a hug. “Don’t forget to txt me tomorrow around 3 so we can take that online practice quiz together!” You nodded as he started to gingerly walk down the stairs in his glittery red go-go boots.

 “Please be careful in those shoes! Have fun tonight!”

 “You know it girl! Dinner is on me tomorrow night!” You chuckled and closed and locked your door again. Doing your nightly routine, and finally passing out around 3am, shortly after Dean sent you a ‘I’m alive and home safe’ txt. When you woke up it was 1pm, and you were scrolling through Instagram. You decided to post the picture of your new tattoo, ‘daisies and roses and permanent ink, oh my!’. You finally got out of bed a half hour later and txted Dean to make sure he would be up in time to take the practice quiz in time with you.

 Charlie: Your bitch ass better be up! T-1 hour till practice quiz.

Queen Dean: My bitch ass is up and doing a facial, counting my cash, I’m thinking Chinese food for dinner?

Charlie: I’ve been eating like shit lately so I mine as well keep the trend going!

Queen Dean: That’s my girl! Order it now by the time it get’s here I’ll be over, make sure to get extra egg rolls!

Charlie: Of course!

 Dean came barreling in 20 minutes later, green face mask on and everything.

 “I brought a sheet mask for you, and some undereye treatment, because those under eye circles are DARK! Don’t worry this will help though chica!” You chuckled at him and shuffled over on your couch.

 “I lit some candles, put your fave musical on and I have tissues just in case we cry, I think were set for this practice quiz.”

 “Your like my mom, stop it! But thank you, you know I have that test anxiety, I wish I could take all of my exams with you, you definitely know how to calm down a hysterical gay man.” He kissed your cheek, and set up his computer on your coffee table, your phone buzzed.

 Joey: good luck on your practice exam!

 You smiled and put your phone down. Dean of course picking up on your classic wide eyed smile. “Are you sure you don’t like him just a little bit?” He cocked his head to the side.

 “Dean I’m sure, he’s just wishing me luck on my practice exam, simple gesture, calm down.” Just then someone started to knock on your door. “FOOD!” Dean laughed at your excitement and got up to pay, all singles. “I see you had a goodnight.”

 “I’m convinced it’s because of the new fishnets you bought me, so thank you, now please shove these crab ragoons into your stomach, I can hear it yelling at me from here.” He placed all the food out on your coffee table and you two counted down the minutes till the exam. It took you an hour and a half out of the 2 it gave you. After demolishing all the food you were exhausted. Dean was already asleep in your bed but you were wired, and also too full to function. You decided to txt Joe.

 Charlie: While Dean is passed out after that hour and half torture, I’m over here in a food coma ready to do 5 more exams, any tips to tire me out?

Joey: Tea? A nice run? Sex?

 You snorted when you read that last one.

 Charlie: I do have tea, I’m in no shape to run, and sex? Well, I have no one to really do that with at the moment, sadly.

Joey: Well what about Dean?

Charlie: Dean is very much gay.

Joey: Did not know that. Well what about tinder? Isn’t that what every young person uses these days?

Charlie: Joe you do realize you are also young, right?

Joey: Well yes, but 33 years old’s on tinder is weird, for you though it’ll be easy.

Charlie: Maybe I should call up Bradley from my stats class, I mean I was gonna wait till the paint and sip to try to get some action, but…

Joey: You’re going to fuck a guy named Brad?

Charlie: BRADLEY! Also sex is sex, who cares what the person’s name is, you’re the one who suggested it!

Joey: I mean you’re right.

Charlie: Alright I’m done talking sex with you, I think I’m just gonna stick with tea for now, Bradley can wait till Friday!

 After a week of practice quizzes and a lot of fast food courtesy of Dean, you had come down with a nasty cold, probably due to stress, just in time for actual finals. You had to not only cancel your date but also going out with Joe and his friend.

 Charlie: I have a cold, I just had to cancel on Bradley:(

Joey: Well there goes your opportunity to get laid! Are you cancelling on me and Chase as well?

Charlie: If I didn’t have finals next week, I would push myself to go out, but I can’t. I’m sorry Joe L

Joey: Hey it’s ok, I think I might just cancel on him and reschedule to when you’re feeling better, I saw him last night anyways.

Charlie: I was looking forward to getting properly fuck up with you and him, but yea it’s gonna have to wait till next year.

Joey: Next year?

Charlie: Yea after finals, I’m out of here and I’ll be home for 2 weeks. Which reminds me, I got you a gift!

Joey: Oh did you?

Charlie: Nothing big, just a little something.

Joey: Well now I have to go get you something epic.

Charlie: You really don’t need to, I just saw it and I was like ‘Joe would like this’ so I got it.

Joey: Yea I’m gonna get you something now.

Charlie: I wanna see you before I leave though, maybe a movie night?

Joey: Sounds good to me, when were you thinking?

Charlie: Well I’m taking all my finals on Tuesday and Wednesday, so Thursday?

Joey: Sounds good, I’ll see you then.

Charlie: Remember to check up on me to see if I’m still alive, because I’m gonna need all the luck I can get!

Joey: Don’t be so dramatic, but I promise I will.

 You laughed, as you made your way to your kitchen to make some tea. After a long couple of days and a lot of cold medicine by Wednesday your cold was almost gone, just in time for your stats exam, the one you were nervous for the most.

 Charlie: I’m about to take my stats of psych exam, if I don’t txt you by at least 7, I’m dead on the floor.

Joey: lol, you’ll do just fine.

 You chugged some water and took a caffeine pill to keep you alert. 3 hours later you were half asleep on your couch and your phone chimed.

 Joey: It’s 7, are you dead?

Charlie: Nope, but I feel it, I’m actually tired and ready to fall asleep at a normal time, this is odd.

Joey: Go to bed then, I’ll see you tomorrow night. My place or yours?

Charlie: Mine, I don’t want to leave this apartment till I have to drive home Friday night.

Joey: Alright, so I’ll see you tomorrow night around 7. Also why did you drive into the city, it’s going to be a nightmare for you to get out of here with all the tourists!

Charlie: Yea 7 is good, also I didn’t feel like shipping all of my stuff from Mass to here, so I stuffed my car with all of my shit, and I’m an aggressive driver so it’ll be fine. I’m gonna drink some tea and pass the fuck out, see you tomorrow night Joey!

Joey: Ugh. Stop with Joey, goodnight Charlie.

 It was 1 in the afternoon when you awoke, you checked your phone and there were 5 txts from Dean.

 Queen Dean: Charlie, I need to borrow those sequined tights you have.

Queen Dean: Is your bitch ass still asleep?

Queen Dean: It’s noon, you never sleep this late, have exams really killed you?

Queen Dean: I miss you!

Queen Dean: Come out with me and the gang tonight!

 You smiled, and finally opened your eyes enough to txt him back.

 Charlie: Me and Joe are doing a movie night, so I can’t, when I get back though I promise I’ll go out with everyone.

Queen Dean: Ughhhhhhhh, I’m coming down for those tights, so put clothes on.

 You groaned and wrapped your robe around you, you unlocked the door for him and made your way to the kitchen to start making some food. Dean came in a few minutes later with a plate of pancakes and bacon. You moaned when he sat them down in front of you.

 “Ed just woke up too, so he made a plate for you. Where’s those tights!” You shoved some food in your mouth and got up to go to your dresser pulling them out for him.

 “Please don’t rip them, I haven’t worn them yet!” Dean was about the same build as you, just much taller. So he borrowed a lot of your basic essential wardrobe.

 “I promise! Enjoy that food, I gotta do a dry run of my outfit for tonight. Speaking of tonight, you and Joe?” He wiggled his eye brows.

 “Me and Joe hang out all the time just us two. Although last time I did fall asleep on him…” You thought back to his arms wrapped around you and you started to blush.

 “Oh my god! You did not tell me about this, how was that? He does have some nice arms.”

 “Well I told you about how he took me to that tattoo shop, after that we went back to his and watched some family guy and I fell asleep on top of him and when I woke up I was gonna skip out but his arms were around me so I stayed. And your right his arms are quite nice…”

 “Oh my god you do like him!”

 “Nope, but he’s nice looking I’m not gonna deny that.”

 “Would you sleep with him?”

 “Jesus Dean!”

 “I bet you he’s lar…”

 “I really don’t want to think about Joe’s dick! He’s my friend, just like you’re my friend, nothing more!”

 “Well that’s too bad you would look cute next to him, sure he’s a little bit older but you two would be cute together!”

 “I’m not really looking to be in a relationship with anybody for a while, last one really fucked me up.”

 “Well don’t date him then, just fuck and be friends.” Dean shrugged.

 “Not really into casual sex these days.”

 “Ugh! Your lame sometimes, I’m gonna leave you to eat your food, have fun with Joe, tell him I said hi!” He left with your tights and you devoured the pancakes. You ended up falling asleep again, and woke up around 6:30. You checked your phone, and you had a txt from Joe.

 Joey: Heading over now, I picked up some snacks.

 Shit! You hopped in the shower and just as you were getting out you heard a knock on your door. You quickly wrapped a towel around your head and secured your robe around your body. You opened the door and Joe looked so cozy in his sweatpants and Yankees hoodie.

 “Sorry I fell asleep again, but I’m up!” You moved aside so he could come in. Joe tried his hardest not to eye you up and down, since your robe was way too short. “Make yourself at home, I’m gonna put some clothes on.” You closed the door behind him and made your way back to your bathroom. You got on your usual attire and tied up your hair in a bun.

 “I got skittles, pop-corn, chocolate covered almonds, and m&m’s!” Joe yelled from your living room. You smiled as you rubbed your moisturizer into your face. You came out and plopped onto your couch next to him.

 “You know I’ve gained a whole 7 pounds since I started to hang out with you.” You said as you grabbed the bag of m&m’s.

 “Hey I just like good food, you’re the one who always eats whatever I get.” He stuck his hand in the bag and devoured whole hand full of m&m’s.

 “So I’m thinking Wizard of Oz, it’s my favorite, but I will cry when Dorothy says goodbye to everyone in Oz, so fair warning on that.” You grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and through it over you and Joe.

 “I mean that is a very sad part, I’ll probably cry as well.” You turned the t.v on and started the movie up, you couldn’t help but sing along with Judy Garland as she sang somewhere over the rainbow. Jo stared at you in disbelief, he didn’t know you could sing. Another thing to add to the list of cute things he thought. “Oh wow.” He was looking at you.

 “What, I can’t not sing along.” You shrugged.

 “Yea but you can sing, like good! Is there anything you can’t do?”

 “Run, I cannot run to save my life.” You laughed.

 “Ha! I can run, so I have one thing over you, that and my height!” He had a smug look on his face.

 “Well congrats on being a giraffe.” You rolled your eyes and grabbed the bag of kettle corn, and through some pieces of it at his head. “Don’t you dare throw any at my hair, it’ll get lost!”

 “So you can throw food at me but I can’t throw food at you? That seems very unfair.”

 “Life’s unfair!” You shoved some of it in your mouth and then snuggled up next to him. He welcomed you with open arms. As the movie went on and it got to when Dorothy was saying goodbye to everyone in Oz, you tried your hardest not to cry, but the tears poured out. You looked up at Joe to see if he was crying as well, he wasn’t but he did look super sad, he caught you staring and you smiled at him as tears ran down your face.

 “Jesus Charlie you weren’t kidding.” His free hand reached for the side of your face and wiped them away, his hand lingered just a little bit too long and you began to blush at the contact, it was sweet and you almost melted into his touch. When his hand moved away you turned to look at the tv again. “Any other movies that make you cry?”

“Marley and Me, Pride and Prejudice, Titanic, The Persuit of Happyness, My Girl, Awkenings, The Green Mile, ummmmm oh and Finding Neverland!” You looked up at him, eyes still glossy.

 “Right well, let’s not ever watch any of those! Although those are all great movies, don’t feel like seeing you cry anymore.” You got up from leaning into his side and reached for the remote.

 “Here, you pick something.” You handed him the remote then assumed your position next to him.

 “Your like a cat, you know that?” He motioned to the way you were curled up next to him.

 “You should see me when I go home to my dog, he get’s annoyed so fast when I make him sleep in my bed and I’m all up in his personal bubble.”

 “What kind of dog?”

 “Jacks a Chocolate lab, he’s 4, and he is the absolute love of my life, I’m so excited to go home to see him.” Joe looked down at you and you had that wide smile on your face, the one you make when you talk about something that makes your extremely happy.

 “Who takes care of him when your gone?”

 “My Aunt Sherry, she lives a town over, which means when I pick him up he’s going to be even more excited to see me because I’m taking him on a car ride, and those are his favorite!” Joe was in awe of how happy you were right now, and his heart was racing just imagining how cute you would look sleeping in bed with your dog next to you. “If I remember I’ll facetime you when I get home Friday night so you can see how fucking crazy he get’s when he’s in my car.” Joe nodded at you and finally decided on Dunkirk. “Oh this is the one with Harry Styles in it! He’s so pretty, I’m pumped now.”

 “Harry Styles?”

 “Yea he was in one direction? You know that song what makes you beautiful?” He looked down at you with his eye brows furrowed. “Ugh I keep forgetting your older than me, hold please.” You reached for your phone and looked up all the members for him. “This ringing a bell?”

 “They’re all English right?”

 “Yup! And Harry was always my favorite, so I am pumped! Even though it’s a sad movie I’m ready to see this man’s perfect face.” A few minutes in and their he was. “Ahhhhhh look at him, that’s my man!”

 “So your into older English men?”

“Well fist of all, I’m the same age as him and second of all I don’t have a type. But you’re going to look at me in the eyes and tell me he’s not an attractive person?” He looked at the screen again and paused it.

 “I mean he’s not ugly.” He shrugged.

 “You should here him sing, he’s a fucking angel!” Joe pushed play and the movie continued. You ended up falling asleep an hour in, per usual. Joe nudged you and you buried your face further into his side.

 “Well hello, you were so excited to see Harry that you fell asleep and missed the ending.”

 “He didn’t die did he?” You yawned and slowly sat up straight.

 “No, you missed so many good parts though, promise me you’ll re-watch it when you get home.”

 “Promise.” You yawned again and stretched your arms up, Joe got up and headed for your door, he started to tie his shoes, you gathered all the leftover snacks for him.

 “No keep them, eat them on your way home tomorrow, think of it as a filler Christmas gift, because I’m still figuring out what to get you.” You wrapped your arms around him going on your tippy toes, he wrapped his arms loosely around your waist and buried his face into your neck. You pulled away slightly, your arms loosening their grip, however his arms were pulling you closer. You could hear your heart pounding through your ears, he glanced at your lips and you found yourself moving closer to his. His breath fanned onto your lips and you closed your eyes, you’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

 “Charlie!” your eyes snapped open and both you and Joe jumped away from each other. You leaned your head out of your doorway to see a drunk Dean staggering towards you. “Shit was I interrupting something?”

 “No!” You and Joe stated at the same time. “Um no, were just saying goodbye.” You smiled shyly at Joe. Dean was clearly drunk.

 “Hey Dean! Fun night?” Joe was blushing and thank god Dean was too drunk to pick up on anything.

 “Yea! You guys should have been their!” Dean smiled at Joe and you.

 “Well next time I’ll gladly go out with you guys. Promise…I’m gonna head out, you guys enjoy your winter break! Bye Charlie.” He gave you both a small wave and you watched him head down the stairs. You let out a sigh, and turned your attention to Dean, you helped him to his apartment and then went to bed thinking about Joe.

[shoelacedracoandneville]

Chapter 2

As i walked home from school i couldn't shake off the fact that someone was watching me. I kept turning back to see but only saw the school slowly fading away. I sighed "Come on Y/N who would just stalk you in an open place, well, apart from Richie" I giggled at my thought as i passed the Neibolt street sign. I always hated that place, i always felt as if something evil was lurking in the house. I shivered as i walked past the creepy ass house, as i almost completely walked past it i heard a faint giggling noise, i turned towards and my eyes widened in fear as the door opened slightly. In the doorway was a red balloon.12

"What the fuck" I mumbled as i stared at it, as if expecting it to like dance or something. Suddenly the balloon was gone, i started walking again when i heard the giggling again, except this time it sounded older "Oh Y/N where you going? Come stay with me, you'll float down here" I turned towards the door again to see a fucking clown, it was wearing a white costume and had red fiery hair. I screamed and started running farther down the road when i heard it's laughing "Y/N, come float with me don't be shy, down here, it's never dark" It growled as i screamed again and ran to my house, which was across the street from Richie's and slammed the door.

"No no no no please be gone please be gone" I pleaded as i looked out my window. It was gone. "What the fuck was that" I said, still shaking. I quickly turned the lights on and saw a note on the table "Be back soon sweetie, there's leftovers in the fridge, -Mom" "And that means she is not going to be back for a while" I groaned, knowing that she's off getting drunk somewhere. "Great now i'm alone" I said as i started shaking a bit, i hate being alone, and i also hate the dark, it just scares me. I went into the living room and sat down, rocking back and forth a bit when suddenly the phone rang.1

I jumped off the couch and ran to the phone "This is the L/N residence, may i ask who is speaking" I said in a snooty tone and i heard laughter at the other end "Well this is the famous Trashmouth speaking, is this the amazing sugar tits on the other side" I hear Richie say in a british accent and i giggle "I told you not to call me that, and why did you call me". Richie stopped talking for a second and i heard mumbling coming from the phone, Richie picked up the phone again "Well Ms.L/N, i called you because my friend Eddie Spaghetti here- "Don't call me that" I hear a voice say and i immediately know it's Eddie. "Okay, well before i was rudely interrupted by Eds here-" I hear groaning and i giggle "Eddie would like to invite you to his house to take a look at his mom, and so we can grab food then head to the barrens". I immediately nodded even though he couldn't see it, i didn't want to be alone in my house anymore "Okay i'll be there in ten". I said and I hear Richie say yes "Okay milady i'll miss you in those ten minutes" then he hung up.14

I grabbed my bike 

62

And headed down the road to eddie's.

When i reached it i rang the doorbell three times to which i hear a voice yell "Eddie, dear answer the door" Which followed to another voice saying "Yes mommy". The door swung open and Eddie smiled at me, "Hey Y/N" I smiled at him and said "Hi eddie, can i come in or am i just gonna have to wait outside" He chuckled and swung the door open for me so i could walk in.

"Take everything but the delicious deals, guys. My mom loves them. Hey, first you said the barrens and now you're saying the sewer. I mean, if we get caught?" Eddie asks as Richie and I immediately start stuffing food into our backpacks, what? I love food don't judge me. Bill turned around to look at Eddie "We won't, Eds. The sewers are public works. We are the public, aren't we?" Bill said as i stuffed some chips in my bag, Richie walks over to a cabinet and pulls it open to reveal a bunch of medicine "Eddie, are these your birth control pills?" He asked and Eddie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I'm saving it for your sister. This is private stuff."1

As we started to walk out the door Eddie's whale of a mother stopped us, i'm only nice to her because if not she won't let me see Eddie. "Eddie, dear, where you kids off to in such a rush?" She said as she painted her nails a sickly pink color, i never liked pink, it was way to bright and girly. We all looked at each other as she asked that question, trying to think of an excuse until Bill blurted out "Uhm, just m-m-my backyard, Mrs. K. I got a new..." He kept trying to pronounce the words and i started getting worried she would call our bluff when Richie exclaimed "A new croquet set. Jeez spit it out b-b-Bill." Eddie's mom somehow bought it and said "Okay. Oh and sweetie,don't go rolling around in the grass,especially if it's just been cut. You know how bad your allergies can get." "Yes mom." " Come on." I said. already starting to get uncomfortable when the whale once again spoke "Aren't you forgetting something?"19

I saw Eddie sigh a bit and walk up to his mom to kiss her on the cheek, i snickered at him and he playfully rolled his eyes and punched me in the shoulder "Do you want one from me too, Mrs. K?" Richie yelled to Mrs.K as we pushed him out the door while Eddie apologized "Sorry mommy."

Eventually Stan met up with us and we went to the Barrens "That's poison ivy. And that's poison ivy. And that's poison ivy." Stan stated pointing at random plants, which made Eddie freak out "Where? Where's the poison ivy?" I rolled my eyes as Richie yelled "No where, not every fucking plant is poison ivy, Stanley."

As Eddie quickly walked to the edge of the sewer Bill and Richie, and I started walking into the sewer, i groaned in disgust at how warm and squishy it felt in my shoes. "Ok well I'm starting to get itchy now and I'm pretty sure this is not good for me." Eddie stammered as Richie looked at him with mock concern "Do you use the same bathroom as your mother?" He asked as Eddie nodded at him, not seeming to understand he's messing with him "Sometimes, yeah." Richie nodded like a doctor hearing someones symptoms and stated. "Then you probably have crabs." I tried to hold in my laughter but one small giggle escaped my throat "Dammit" I said as Richie smirked at me "HA, i knew you found me funny!" Meanwhile, Eddie looked like he was ready to strangle Richie "That's so NOT funny." he stated as Richie started to notice Stan and Eddie weren't in the shit water. "Aren't you guys coming in?" He asked as Eddie shook his head vigorously "Uhuh that's gray water." "What the hell is gray water?" I asked as he looked at me and pointed at the shitty water "It's basically piss and shit. So I'm just telling you... You guys are splashing around in millions of gallons of Derry pee. Are, are you serious?" Eddie yells as Richie picks up a stick from the water "Doesn't smell like caca to me, Senor." he said in a spanish accent and another giggle escaped my mouth again.17

"O-o-okay I can smell it from here." Eddie gagged as Richie pointed the stick at him "It's probably just your breath wafting back into your face." Richie stated to which Eddie put his arms up in a what the fuck pose and glared at him "Have you ever heard of a staph infection?" "i'm also your staff infection." Richie stated and flailed the stick around while eddie gagged again "That's so unsanitary. you guys are like swimming in a toilet bowl right now. Have you ever heard of listeria?" "No what's listeria?" I said sarcastically as Richie threw a plastic bag that was in the gray water at eddie. "aghhh!! Are you retarded?You're the reason we're in this situation.-" "Guys!" Bill yelled and we all turned to see him holding a shoe "Shit. Don't tell me that's..." Stan said shakily as Bill shook his head "No. Georgie was wearing galoshes." "Who's sneaker is it?" Eddie asks as i looked at the shoe "It's Betty Ripsoms." I stated and Eddie of course started freaking out "Shit, oh god, oh fuck I don't like this." "How do you think Betty feels... running around these tunnels with only one freaking shoe." Richie joked while hopping around, but we all glared at him and he quickly shut up.20

"What if she's still here?" Stan asked and Richie rolled his eyes and motioned for Eddie "Eddie, come on!" Eddie shook his head and looked at us with a frightened expression "My mom will have an aneurysm if she finds out we were playing down here. I'm serious. Bill?" We all turned to Bill again and he spoke "If I were Betty Ripsom, I would want us to find me. G-georgie too." "What if I don't want to find them? I mean, no offense, Bill, but I do not want to end up like... I don't want to go missing either." Eddie said quietly and I glared at him "He has a point." Stan mumbled and all hope in Bill's eyes were gone " You too?" he said and Stan looked up at him "It's summer... We're supposed to be having fun. This isn't fun. This is scary and disgusting." He said and i gave them both a death glare "Guys don't be such assholes and get in he-" I was interrupted from my rant by a loud splash in the river, we all turned to see a boy with an H cut into his stomach and multiple scratches and bruises on him, i ran to help him up as Richie yelled "Holy shit, what happened to you?"14

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