#BOY HOWDY DID I TEAR UP WRITING THIS

[starrystevie]

hi can I request the valentine prompt for steddie with: I could marry you right now

thank you :)

"i could marry you right now."

steve freezes, his fork halfway to his mouth, and looks at eddie over the candlelight. he has his eyes closed while he comically over-chews to show how much he loves the pasta with his curls bouncing around every time he turns his head for dramatic flair. eddie grins and opens his eyes, flashing a wink over to his boyfriend before taking another bite.

he knows his own eyes must be as big as the dinner plates on the table with eddie's words bouncing around in his now empty head. the ring box that's felt heavy in his pocket through the whole evening feels even heavier now.

"i take it it's good?" is all steve can come up with, muttering out the question before shoving his own forkful of fettucine into his mouth. it is good, he knows it is, he's been working on perfecting the recipe for weeks now. this whole valentine's day has been in the works for the last 4 months, starting with the dinner plans and ending with finally paying off the silver band that's currently burning a hole through his slacks.

"good? steve, i would have your babies if i could and tell them as soon as they're old enough that they are only here because of this pasta."

eddie slurps up a noodle and steve chokes on his own. something burns bright and fierce in his chest, like his last bite held a star that found a home in his heart.

he can see it, is what it is. he can see them with a couple of kids running around their too-small house, eddie chasing after them, curls of all different colors flying in the wind. he can see eddie shushing a tiny little thing in his arms while steve helps another with math homework at their kitchen table, something bubbling over on the stove. he can see all of them piling into their bed one stormy night, someone tucked under his arm and another curled up on his chest with eddie telling tall tales to scared faces in an attempt to distract them from the thunder booming outside. he can see it, and it's all he could ever possibly want.

"i love you," steve blurts out, suddenly a bit more teary than he expects. eddie looks up, his teasing face smoothing into something softer, something lovely.

"i love you too, baby."

steve's fork drops onto the plate with a loud crash as he fumbles to stand up on his hopefully still functioning legs. eddie startles and flinches but steve's there just like he always will be, a hand on his shoulder to sooth him back down. he bends down and places the smallest of kisses to eddie's lips, thumb stroking over the bit of skin at his collarbone that he can reach.

"i hope it's not just the pasta or the wine talking," he starts as he lowers himself to one knee, his free hand tugging out the velvety box from his pocket. it's now eddie who's eyes grow big and beautiful and god, steve could stay on his knees like this and look at him everyday for the rest of his life if eddie would just keep looking at him like that-

"steve," eddie breathes out, watery smile and all.

"you said you could marry me, so i hope the offer still stands."

the band is small, shiny silver with a few miniscule diamonds for eddie and alexandrites for steve inlayed in the vine going though the center of it. the candle light gleams off the gems sending broken specks of shimmering light to dance over eddie's flushed cheeks. the ring shakes in his hand as he pulls it out, holding it up for the love of this and every life to see.

the small but there nod eddie gives steve is the only answer he needs as he grabs eddie's hand, slipping the band onto the only finger it could ever fit, sealing it with a kiss that starts the rest of their lives.

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 01. IN DREAMS WE REST

a/n: i've been stressed about this fic probably more than any other i've ever written. not because it's logan per se, but because wade wilson makes me want to rip my hair out. i love that bastard, but writing him feels like pulling teeth. i'm in love with this concept solely for the angst, so if you see more throughout and wonder if they will ever get a happy ending, please know i'm dead inside. enjoy!

summary: stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, angst, cussing so much cussing, alcohol consumption, grief, pain, a broken man pretending he's not broken, chance encounters, awkward conversations, hope.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He can hear it when he sleeps.

Their screams.

The constant ring of agony that chimes out like a bell, an alarm he never set for himself. A joke once told to him in the midst of World War II, as bullets flew by him and soldiers lost their lives each second of each day. There's no escape from hell. No running from the devil that nipped at his heels the faster he went, the longer he tried to navigate a way free.

There's no escape from the memories that ate away in his mind. Multitudes of them, of the faces he once called family, the people he used to love. They were his punishment. The boulder he continued to roll up the hill, day after day after day. Until eventually...he was crushed by his own self-hatred.

"Logan." The voice whispered long enough for him to grasp who it might be, yet never louder than a mere breath of air.

He clung to it some days. Sunk his claws into what little of his past remained good and allowed it to fill him with some amount of peace. At least then he'd be able to bear this weight, this grief he could never quite name.

Something light brushed across his cheek. Tickling the skin enough to send a flare of irritation down his spine, but the dreams held him in their grasp. What came next never surprised him. He expected it at this point—longed for it. The distant pain of losing what once made him whole; the entirety of his life now defined by one single moment he could never change.

"He sleeps so sweetly. I just want to curl up in his arms and have him read me bedtime stories."

"He's not gonna like that when he wakes up."

"Zip it Al. If I wanted an opinion, I'd go see a Hollywood therapist."

A scoff echoed in the background. "No therapist wants you on their couch."

"Not true. I hear Ryan Reynolds has a great one."

"Who?"

"Not the point." The feather dusted across Logan's face again, soft enough to keep him asleep yet annoying enough to bring a smile to Wade's face. "I wonder if he's dreaming about killing bad guys. They say it's good for the soul."

"Who the fuck is they?"

Wade laughed. "Oh you know. Them. The readers. And boy howdy do they love their blood."

Every day he was forced to listen to Wade's voice became another day Logan dragged his claw through a tally mark of his sanity. "Do you ever shut the fuck up," he growled, gripping Wade's wrist until he heard the satisfying crack of bones.

"Only when I swallow."

"I'll tear your fuckin' arm off."

The smile on Wade’s face only added another tally. "Nice kitty. No need for the claws."

Anger washed across his skin in a familiar wave as he released Wade's arm, watching it go limp. Trying to kill the unkillable walking irritation was like trying to swat a fly that never quite died. It still buzzed incessantly. Until eventually madness was the only viable option of dealing with it. In his case, he seemed to be driving head on with no brakes.

Logan wasn't sure he possessed enough sanity left within him to keep dealing with this. Sleeping on the couch didn't help the way his body never rested; always stuck in that permanent fighting mode. He'd give anything to find some peace. A small sliver of it carved off the past that continued to call him—that begged him to come back and try again.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he planted a swift kick to Wade's chest that sent him across the floor. The lack of caffeine in his system left everything hazy and half coherent. If he focused he might have caught the keys thrown at him, but being exhausted and sober didn't make for a good combination with him. An empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor from last night; the memories of how he passed out barely tinged on the edge of his mind.

He could recall stabbing Wade in the leg.

Nothing beyond that.

Dried blood—now an ugly brown—stained his white shirt. He nearly stripped himself of it, prepared to throw it in with whoever was washing next, but his flannel being chucked at his head caught him off guard.

"Fuck off," he snapped, stumbling to the kitchen.

Wade sighed, following him. "Get dressed, peanut. We have to go do human things today."

"Human–”

"Food," Al retorted. "We're out."

Even in a new universe, he couldn't see himself acting normal. For so long he did what had to in order to survive. Yet now...he wasn't so sure. Accompanying Wade Wilson in order to complete household chores left a bad taste in his mouth. But the thought of fresh coffee and an unopened bottle of whiskey sounded like sweet silver bells in his head.

With reluctance, he buttoned up half of the flannel before he became annoyed with the small size of the holes punched into the fabric. There was only so much he could do with the life he had now. And sometimes shit really sucked.

"Don't scratch my fucking car," Al pointed her words towards Wade, thankfully ignoring Logan's existence for a brief moment.

"Is it safe for her to own a car?"

The door shut behind him with a bang, echoing down the vacant hallway. He was surprised people actually lived here given Wade's antics. They could hear the loud mouthed fucker across the street—if the angry notes in the mail were anything to go by. He didn't bother asking if he should be concerned with any of it. Not when he had no say in how the house was run. And choosing to insert himself where he wasn’t needed, rarely went well for him.

"God no. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet."

He yanked the keys out of Wade's hand. "Yeah well I don't trust you either Bub."

The car didn't leave room for his legs as he squeezed into the driver's side. His body practically folded in half as he turned it over—the rumble of the engine rattling against metal. How Blind Al managed to pay for this vehicle went beyond even Wade's knowledge, and in all honesty…he was too fucking scared to ask.

Too much seemed to be happening for him to ever catch up. While this Earth felt similar to his, small things were different. And when they began to add up...he began to wonder if he was drowning.

"Turn left to merge onto the asscrack of traffic."

He barely heard the directions as he drove, his mind drifting the further they went. Part of him sensed the grief from earlier begin to claw up the back of his throat. It begged him to fall, to be swallowed whole by the darkness he'd been stuck in before. And he nearly gave in; could feel his body shift into its constant mode of fight or flight.

The steering wheel cracked under his white knuckled grip as Wade's voice became an afterthought to the war he fought in his mind. Terror trapped itself in his throat and he slammed his foot on the brakes a foot away from a parking spot in retaliation. The car lurched forward, his claws descended. A snarl rumbled in his chest the longer he sat there thinking.

"Woah..." For the first time in days, Wade fell silent. "You alright?"

Logan ripped himself free, shoving his body out of the car before he even threw it in park. He gulped in breath after breath and did his best to wait for this fucking feeling to leave his system. The nightmares only came as he slept. A constant familiar horror show after two centuries.

Yet now he was left like this. Leaned up against a car, his eyes closed shut, and heart racing.

All because he couldn't do his fucking job.

"Logan–"

He snapped, shoving past Wade and his pity that choked him with a vengeance. He didn't deserve anyone's pity. He didn't want it. But people couldn't help but hand it over unconsciously. As if they could see the layers of broken pieces beneath his false expression of strength. Logan never pretended to be okay. Why bother with something people could see right through?

He merely wanted others to ignore he was there. Walk past him, look through him, do whatever it took to pretend that him and all his tragedies weren't standing before them. Because one day he would die and fuck how he couldn't wait for that time to come.

A small hole in the wall dive bar sat in the corner of the shopping center. He barely caught sight of it. But the unmistakable scent of alcohol poured out the door as someone stumbled out—their eyes squeezed shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. He could understand them in a way.

His world didn't have sunlight this bright. Or perhaps he never noticed it ‘til now.

Maybe his body wasn't acclimated yet; unsure of what the fuck was still happening. Everything seemed to be turned up to eleven for him, yet no off switch existed.

The dark hazy glow of the interior sent a wave of calm through him as the door swung shut with a soft thud. Four people sat scattered around the place and a bartender with white and graying hair stood cleaning a glass so foggy it was probably better to throw it out. He found himself letting out a breath that'd been trapped in his chest since that morning. Finally some peace before he had to listen to Wade yap about bullshit he didn't in fact give a shit about.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked, his face screwing up in a wince as he limped towards Logan's spot at the end of the bar.

A quick glance down let him see the brace wrapped around the man's knee. "Whiskey on the rocks."

He nodded, slowly heading towards the center of the wall—a lonesome half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Logan shifted, taking the center seat directly behind the man.

"I can't say I've seen you around before son."

He grinned, his finger tracing a random carving that'd been placed in the wood. "I just moved here. Living with a coworker."

"Coworker huh?"

The word didn't sound right to Logan, but he couldn't exactly call Wade his friend. Although they were more than people who fought together, more than men who shared blood during the same battle. That was the thing about Logan though. He'd never be able to put a label on something like that. To him...things weren't one or the other as much as he wanted to pretend they were. There was nuance to his life.

Complications which made living that much harder.

The man turned, surprised to see Logan so close, but didn't make note of it. Logan could see the gratitude in the way his drink was slid carefully to him. The small silent thank you in the bowl of pretzels placed beside it.

"You look lost."

Logan grunted, biting into the salty and dry snack. "Do I?"

"More than some of the others that come around here."

"And who comes around here?"

The man laughed. "No one as of late. You're the first young man I've seen in a while walk through those doors."

He bit back his laugh at the word young. The stories he could tell would leave the man baffled. About wars that no living person had witnessed. About when the world was far different than today—when mutants were freaks of nature and humans were far less forgiving. He could list it all and then some.

But whether or not someone would listen was another thing entirely.

"This place that old?" he inquired, sipping on the amber liquid with a contented sigh.

"Oh you bet." A weary laugh filled the space. "I bought this place in the sixties. When my wife was still my girlfriend. She almost left me because of it."

Logan huffed, his lips curling slightly. "She wasn't a fan?"

The man shook his head, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Still isn't. Well she...wasn't." He pressed his thumb to the worn gold band on his left hand. "When she was alive she used to host a book night. Helped bring in the men's wives. Kept them outta trouble."

"Book night huh?"

"She loved to read."

Before he could down the final sips of his drink it was topped off. Logan nodded his head in thanks, his thumb digging into the thumbprint shape of the glass. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost see himself coming here every night. He pictured a life far different than his own, a past where he might have been happy. With someone who might have even made him smile.

"I'm not much of a reader," he replied, his voice hoarse and eyes fixed on the ice that floated to the surface.

"Ah me too," the man laughed. "I just liked seeing her smile."

A soft remark was on the tip of his tongue before an entirely new image began to take shape. The face of someone lost. Of a smile he'd known better than his own. Hands that once held his face with the tenderness of a lover—a voice that sent the hair rising on the back of his neck. He could see it as clear as he did the man.

You in all your beauty. Lost to a past he could no longer rectify.

He swallowed thickly, beating back every emotion that crawled under his skin. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

Raising his glass, he tipped it towards the man with a tight grin. "Logan." The alcohol went down with a quick and biting burn. A feeling he'd grown familiar with. One he counted on.

"Nice to meet you Logan."

"Yeah you too."

He dug out some cash and tossed it on the bar as he stood with a slight grunt. He may heal quickly but the ache in his bones still existed. As if something resisted against how his body moved with each slow shift.

Fighting meant he could ignore it.

Existing is what made it worse.

The sun practically burned his eyes when he stepped out, the heat of the day encompassing his whole body quicker than he would have liked. For some unknown fucking reason, summer here felt worse than on his Earth. Then again the alcohol didn't help. He stood in the shade of the building next to the bar, searching the parking lot for any sign of Wade.

Going into the store wasn't an option and as much as he wanted to leave the annoyance behind, he didn't want to feel like a piece of shit. That is...even more than he already did.

"Fuck," he hissed, leaning against the brick wall. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

One option would be taking a walk to work off the energy that ran through his veins. At least then he'd be able to sleep at night. And the temptation almost worked. If it weren't for the shop doors that opened to his left, effectively distracting him from the chance of leaving. He could have ignored the person, probably should have given everything he'd been through.

But then his heart dropped to his stomach as you walked out. He'd never seen you in such a soft sundress before, the off white fabric draped off your curves in a way that floored him. As if you were an angel floating by without a care in the world. You were busy shoving a small piece of paper in your purse, your face furrowed in frustration, and Logan smiled. Because he'd traced each line of that face before, he'd kissed those cheeks, your eyelids as you slept.

He'd loved you in ways that would scare a normal human.

And there you were.

"Honey?" he called, unconsciously following you quicker than he intended to. "Honey."

You glanced to the side, completely unaware of the giant lumbering man trailing after you with a soft look on his face and hope in his hands.

That alone tore him in two more than the memories from before.

"Baby, it's me."

The breeze finally went through the air, pushing the skirt of your dress a bit higher on your thighs. Except that's not what he latched onto. Your scent was different. Unlike any he'd encountered before. Honey still sweetly caressed his senses, but flowers overlayed that—peonies if he guessed. Delicious enough to have his mouth watering; his body already aching for you to be closer. To look at him in the way you used to.

He wanted to call out to you—gain your attention properly—but your name wouldn't leave his tongue. Because you were there and you finally caught sight of him and you were looking at him as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

You saw him as a man.

Not a disappointment.

He willed himself to stop and breathe. Take in his surroundings; realize that you weren't who he once knew. You weren't even the same fucking person.

But before he could think straight, he'd already followed you halfway to your car. His eyes were dazed, heart nearly throttling him alive as he stood there dumbly. Waiting for you to finally speak.

"Oh..." Your heart rate spiked quicker than he expected. He couldn't find it in himself to feel bad though. "Hello?"

"Honey," he sighed, the weight on his shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

He caught the way your fingers tightened around your keys, the defense mechanism an instinct by now. And Logan realized what he looked like. A strange man standing too close for your liking. So he took a step back and gave you some space. In the hopes that you wouldn't see him as a threat. That maybe...you'd listen to what he had to say.

"Can I help you?" you asked, eyes darting around the parking lot in case you needed help.

What he wouldn't give for the opportunity to reassure you. To explain that he wasn't here to hurt you. That he'd kill himself before even laying a hand on you. Yet the correct words were lost and all he seemed to get out was an incoherent babble that had him wanting to dig his own claws into his chest.

"You smell different."

You straightened your spine, eyes narrowed into a glare he felt burn across his skin. "Look, I don't know who you are. But fuck off."

Something akin to pride flared in his chest at your tone, your words. But he couldn't show it externally. How would he explain that your fight—your fire—is what drew him to you in the first place? How could he tell you about a version of yourself you'd never know? A person he thought would be with him until his last breath exhaled into the world.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in an attempt to prove his point, but like your variant counterpart you were willing to bite first and ask questions later.

"Yeah. Sure asshole." The shopping bag in your other hand was lifted up, until you had a tighter grip on it in case something happened. You didn't know him. You probably never would.

But Logan had to try. He owed it to you to give it all he had this time around.

Otherwise...what was the point of living?

"My name's–" He made the wrong move stepping forward and knew it the second his boot hit the gravel. With a wince, he watched you stumble back against your car, your arm coming up to protect yourself. "No. Look I'm not gonna do anything–"

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit.

He moved back as if approaching a wounded animal—his body finally on edge in a new way. The fact that you didn't know him wasn't what broke off another chunk of his heart. He could handle that. He'd been through that.

You were afraid of him.

That realization dug in too deep for his body to heal.

That...he couldn't live with.

"WOAH hey!" He'd never appreciated Wade's irritating ass more than in this moment. He jumped between the two of you, the cart of groceries forgotten as he blocked Logan from your sight. "Step away from the nice lady wolf boy." Wade regarded you with a smile. "Hi! Sorry. This is my uncle and well as you can probably tell he's lost eight of his lives. So we're going on little old nine. And well the mind just goes to shit first."

Seconds passed by like minutes and Logan watched you visibly deflate. "Wade," you greeted him, visibly calmer than before. Logan felt his stomach twist violently at the thought. "It's good to see you. How's the job?"

"Oh yup you know. Left that. But I'm really pushing through. I've got an Etsy store where I sell miniature paintings of Michael Angelo's David's penis. So there's that."

Your laughter sent a hole through his chest and Logan bit back the growl that rose up the back of his throat. What the fuck was Wade doing making friends with you? Why were you laughing at his humor?

He couldn't count how many days he'd spent longing to hear your laugh again, the shine in your eyes that always came around when joy flooded your bloodstream. He could smell the honey off your skin, the warmth of what no doubt lay beneath your thin dress. And he wanted to rip Wade to pieces knowing that he was the one making it happen. That you were comfortable with a man who's mouth ran at a mile a minute.

"Did your sister have the baby yet?"

You brightened and Logan felt his heart stutter. "She did! A boy."

"Named Wade I hope."

Another peal of laughter had Logan's claws itching to descend as you ignored he was there. "Theo actually. A cutie."

"Aww." Wade moved closer, head bent to see the small polaroid you pulled out of your wallet. "Wow, he looks like you'd find him in a Gerber's advertisement."

Your eyes drifted up, past Wade's shoulder, until you finally caught Logan's gaze. And he felt like he could breathe. Every ounce of fear was wiped from your face; interest now creeping in as you dragged your eyes down his form. Past the slight peek of chest hair and down to how his jeans hugged his hips. Logan stood taller for your benefit, as if he needed to make a good impression.

He wanted to linger in your mind for days. Until the curiosity ate you alive.

"We're gonna go," Wade announced, after grabbing your bag and placing it in your trunk for you. "Someone has to feed the blind woman in my apartment. She tends to root through everything looking for food." He gripped Logan's arm, shoving him back a good few feet. Even as your eyes still remained glued to his face. "Glad to see the Hyundai is still working. You know you could take the fattest fucking nap in the back of that puppy. Makes you feel like an Egyptian mummy."

"Bye," you said, a dazed look in your eyes as Logan smiled in your direction. At ease with the knowledge that even in a different universe, he could still fluster you with a look.

Dragging himself away from you was hell, but Wade's grip remained unbreakable as they clambered to the car. The groceries stacked in the small backseat.

He could glimpse you driving off and suddenly the nightmare from earlier was the last thing on his mind.

Wade's back hit the wall with a crack before the door could shut properly. The groceries in their hands toppled to the floor. He barely had time to duck before Logan's claws were aiming for his head—a snarl ripping from his throat.

"What the fuck?" Wade shouted, grabbing the paper bag and gently setting it on the table. "Next time just say you need to stay home and find some joy in an empty room and your hand."

"How do you know her?"

Wade smiled, assessing the furious state of chaos Logan was now left in. The tatters of his stability falling to the floor around him. For as much as he held himself together, it certainly remained easy enough to tear him a part.

"Got an eye on someone, do we honey badger?"

Logan grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Would you just fucking tell me?"

"Let me bask in this Logan. I'm about to watch a romcom come to life and need some popcorn." He rummaged through the bag, yanking out some chips. "Salty and sweet. That'll do."

"Wade," he bit out.

"Stick with us girls, we're about to get to the good stuff."

"WADE!"

He tossed the bag to the table, eyeing the way Logan never quite settled. "I'm gonna take a guess and say we know her more than just friendly hellos."

Logan couldn't answer because his grief did it for him. He did what he could to catch his breath, to stop seeing his version of you. The disappointment on your face, the pain in your voice. You'd been so angry with him. To watch the person he loved be reduced to a screaming crying mess wasn't something he wanted to relive, but Wade's question seemed to send an avalanche toppling to the ground.

"She's..." He sucked in a breath. "On my world. I...knew her."

"Knew her? Or knew her."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey Wade threw in with the rest of the groceries and popped it open before he spoke again. "It didn't end well between us. None of it did."

Wade fell silent and Logan found himself loathing the quiet more than the sound of his voice. If he was joking Logan could ignore it. He could pretend nothing happened. That you weren't here, you couldn't be hurt by him again.

You were safe from his destructive tendencies as long as you were in another universe.

"She lives across the street." Logan's head rose and whipped to see the window that faced the building across from them. "The old uncultured shit whistles that keep complaining about WHAM! the greatest thing to happen to music. They're her neighbors. Live right next door."

"Neighbors."

Wade nodded, offering him a chip. "She found their note and angel that she is, she very sweetly threatened to get them evicted. I offered to let her borrow my katanas but was rejected like younger me on prom night. You've really got yourself a catch there buddy."

Logan didn't need Wade to tell him how fucking lucky he was. He knew that the second you walked out of that store. You were everything good in his life at one point, everything he couldn't save. There wasn't much keeping him going on his old Earth, but having you made all the suffering he went through—all the pain he endured—worth it.

If you were waiting for him at the end, he'd do it all over again.

"So you want to take a dip in that honey huh? Taste that rainbow?"

His claws would have sunk into Wade's throat if a knock hadn't sounded at the door. With a huff, he stepped into the kitchen, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever decided to give Wade some luck was of no concern to him.

Or so he believed.

"I didn't mean to accidentally take your groceries," you laughed, handing over a overpacked paper bag.

Stuffing the bottle under the sink, he met you halfway to the living room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you still in that dress. Still delicate enough for him to rip if he tugged it right. Heat curled along the base of his spine when your eyes met his, wide and glimmering with your laughter. He felt himself crumple at the sight of your lips parting, the surprise at his size still enough to make you speechless.

"Good to see you again," he greeted you, voice low and soft.

You didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, but something about the way his gaze devoured you within seconds left you breathless. The swooping sensation in your stomach became too much to handle. Desire and attraction weren't unknown concepts to you. But this felt like more. You could sense him right down to your bones and it scared the shit out of you.

"Oh right!" Wade scooched past you to swing an arm around Logan's shoulders. He did what he could to not stab him in the stomach. "This is Logan. My hunky new roommate."

Logan groaned. "Alright–"

"No, no it's good. You remember when I was declared basically the savior of the universe?"

Your face screwed up in confusion. Logan had never wanted to kiss someone more.

"Marvel...Jesus right?"

"I prefer MJ. Since I've got a Peter." Wade's head whipped to the side. "Suck it Tom Holland." His grip on Logan tightened. "This walking People's Sexiest Magazine helped. We're talking big claws, abs you just want to lick whipped cream off of–"

Logan's elbow slammed into Wade's stomach—crimson slowly tinting the tips of his ears. "That's enough."

"AND the Wolverine."

Surprised etched itself onto your face even further. Until you finally regarded Logan with a look he'd seen once before. Awe. When you first met one another in the halls of the mansion, you stared at him that exact way. As if you couldn't quite believe that iconic figure the X-Men made him out to be actually existed.

He couldn't tell if he liked it. Or if he'd rather you view him as a stranger.

"Logan," he said, offering his hand to you politely. Your skin remained as soft as he remembered.

Warmth bloomed in your body at the feeling of his calloused palm overwhelming yours, the scars across his knuckles old and ancient. Yet you found yourself wanting to trace them over and over, until the sight of them seared in your mind. You fought the urge to press your lips to them, etch your own mark into his skin. Something told you he wouldn’t mind.

Logan could see the intrigue on your face—the distracted gaze he wanted to keep in place. You were still curious. Still willing to learn about him. To pick him a part with soft words and even softer touches.

"Logan," you murmured under your breath, your eyes catching his. He felt his stomach leap at the sound of your voice whispering his name. Memories flooding his mind quicker than he expected. Of mornings spent in bed, your skin pressed against his. Of nights alone in his cabin—your stories lulling him to sleep.

Everything he willed himself to forget, yet could never truly let go of.

"I've got to head back." Disappointment filled your heart at the thought of not getting a chance to talk to him more. He had yet to let go of your hand and you found you liked his touch on your skin. "I'll see you soon Wade."

"Logan will be more than happy to walk you back," Wade replied, waving drastically behind your back. "Can't have you getting hurt now can we? Right peanut?"

You smiled. "I'm just across the street."

"I don't mind," Logan cut in, glaring at Wade to shut the fuck up.

"Okay," your voice was soft. Happy.

Logan would have done anything to keep it that way.

The walk back wasn't long enough for him to explain his actions from earlier, but you seemed to be just as smart as your variant self. Shutting the building's door, you turned to him—your dress fluttering in the breeze. Logan choked on his spit at the slight peek of your ass before you pushed the skirt back down around you.

"Did you know me?" You lead him to the corner, waiting for the traffic to die down. "On your Earth."

He paused, his eyebrows pulling together, and for a moment you wondered if you asked the wrong question. Wade told you bits and pieces of what happened since you last saw him, but Logan's background wasn't a discussion you tried to seek out. All you knew was that Wade acquired a new roommate. Not even a name.

Certainly not that he was Wolverine.

"Yes," Logan muttered, glancing at the change in lights.

You started to walk. "In what way?"

His hands curled into fists—echoes of his past rising to the surface. "We were...friends. You're a professor."

"A professor?" you exclaimed, a smile tugging on your lips. "Am I a mutant?"

He nodded. "You're able to bend time. Or control it." He snorted, following your lead towards your building. "I could never understand it. But Charles did."

The walk up to your apartment was silent, your thoughts filled with the new information he'd given you. And no matter how hard you tried to picture it, you couldn't see yourself as a mutant. A powerful being that held the ability to manipulate time who just so happened to be a professor. Somehow even thinking about it made you wonder why Logan was bothering to entertain this version of you. When the better one existed on his Earth.

"You said were."

Stopping at your door, he nearly knocked into you. "Hm?"

"Were friends. What happened?"

The answer he couldn't give you. The words he wouldn't even admit out loud to himself.

He felt his heart twist as if a knife slowly carved through his spleen. "We uh..." He coughed. "You..."

"I don't have to know." Grasping gently onto his arm, you offered a warm smile he felt down to his toes. A look he hadn't seen in quite some time. Logan could picture the last day you were happy in his head. Laughing with Charles in his office as you shared dinner, working on theories of your powers late into the night.

A week before they came.

"It's good to see you like this," he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek before stopping midair. "Happy."

Your eyebrows knit together. "I wasn't happy?"

"No." What he wouldn't give to take that information back, but it was out in the open, and as always—he remained too late.

"Why?" you asked, your hand sliding down to his much to his delight.

"I made you a promise." He sucked in a breath, his body begging him to start running. You'd be better off if you never knew. If you never remembered him in the first place. "I couldn't keep it."

I'll always keep you safe.

Words he refused to say again.

How could he promise this version of you that? How could he look you in the eyes and lie again? Breaking his Earth's you would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't fathom doing it all over. It would kill him.

Except you weren't the person in his mind. You weren't the mutant who hated him with every fiber of your being. You were you. A continuous surprise that left his heart stuttering in his chest each time you looked his way. An enigma he found himself wanting to unravel.

"Maybe this time around you can," you said softly, letting him go with a smile as you entered your apartment, effectively opening the wound in his heart so wide there was no saving him.

Although he now knew something he didn’t know before.

He didn’t want to be saved.

[saintrvckwell]

There'll be no rest for the wicked (au)

joel miller x platonic!teen!reader AU

summary: more than enough of your mother's vices waltzed into your life unannounced, leaving without a trace. but then, then there was joel.

warnings: heavily implied father-daughter dynamic, joel grows protective for the reader, father-daughter bond, platonic stuff and thangs, angst as well (what else i would write, lol), but man the fluff, joel works as a cop (lol howdy), trigger warning mentioned into story (there is a warning before the scene! -- nothing happens, but the nature of it implies the boy's intentions, so i rather chose to give a warning)

wordcount: 4.6k

a/n: hi! lately i found myself enjoying the joel x platonic reader stories again and figured, i could contribute myself, again. treat the daddy issues strugglers like me, ha. enjoy!

splitting this into more parts, please, be patient with me.

Your mother was never the nurturing type. For her, this word did not exist in her vocabulary. She loved you, you supposed, because there was never a clear sign. You were left to wonder. Whether she really cared and if so, where was she?

Throughout your childhood, your mother seemed like a visitor. Someone who, once in a while, passes through. There was never a holiday, spontaneous trip or even a lunch. She had lunch, just not with you. Her friends, her social life -- it was everything for her.

And it seemed, as though, you were not part of that list.

From time to time, as you were growing up, the idea of your father popped in your mind couple of times. Your mother never told you his name, went as far as to not include him in your birth certificate. There was no clue. So, for a child, who's yearning for a presence of loving parent, your imagination stepped in.

Whenever your mom would be on a business trip or simply out with your friends, you would sit on the windowsill, counting the threes below your apartment window. Until you fell asleep. Until the dreams, the wishful thinking, the cycling imagination, gave you what you had been looking for.

A father.

It was natural, you thought. You wished to be saved from your mother's claws. Unmaternal claws that suffocated you. The desire in your eyes, she saw it. But never bothered to do something about it. Your mother never cared, she never listened. She never came to your recitals, school races or when you gave a valedictorian speech.

You put your sweat and tears into it -- trying to figure out that your message will be received. It was a significant moment in your life, or so the teachers kept saying. The praises were coming from every direction, except for the one you wished for the most.

This was the moment you were hoping for -- that she would finally acknowledge your achievements and efforts. And she would come, sit in the first row and cheer you on.

But the reserved seat stayed empty.

And you found yourself standing in the middle of the parking lot, diploma in your hands; your mother nowhere to be found. You waited, for almost an hour, before pulling out the keys from your backpack and setting off, walking the streets in your graduation robe, wiping away the tears you promised yourself not to waste.

Not on her.

When instead of trying, she stayed at home.

With a man.

The anger was running through your veins and the patience was standing on the edge of a cliff.

You could go ballistic.

Who would have blamed you anyways. Your mother's attitude gave you enough reasons to scream it out of your lungs and lose control. But, perhaps, the anger was the one, standing on the top.

The bittersweet taste of disappointment, there it was again.

"Hey, how was school today?" she asked, casually, as though it was an ordinary day -- to be frank, she probably had forgotten about your ceremony anyways.

The man, standing by the kitchen island, with a glass of brandy in his hand, turned around.

Compared to what had travelled through your apartments over the years, he looked decent. Well-dressed, without an awful cologne and more importantly -- without a fake smile. Most of your mother's short-term partners would always pretend wanting to find out more about you.

When they only wanted to find out what was under your mother's clothes.

Still, it would not last forever, you thought.

"Good," you mumbled, putting the cap back on your head. "Same stuff as usual."

There was an urge to leave this uncomfortable setting but before you made a move, the strange man had noticed the clothes you had been wearing and smiled, again. As if though it was contagious.

"Congratulations," he spoke.

Your mother looked up, eyeing your appearance.

"Oh, you had the thing today, right?" she mumbled, grabbing her glass of vine.

You couldn't help but chuckle. Somehow, the bizarre kept getting worse.

"Yeah, the Valedictorian thing, if that's what you mean," you mumbled, holding onto the red case of your diploma.

"Cool," she nodded, "Hey, how about you go pick us up some celebratory dinner? Noodles down the street?"

The anger crawled back into your mind.

"It's raining outside," you shook your head.

"Ever heard of umbrella?"

You never attempted to lash out at her -- solely because of knowing the fact that she would not care. But now, when she stood next to her latest boyfriend, vine in her hand and disinterest in her eyes, you just wanted to scream.

Every symptom of emerging emotional breakdown was on its way, and you knew, you had to get out of there. Not another word said, as you departed into your room. There was no energy to slam the door -- to give a little statement.

Throwing off the robe, along with the diploma, you laid down on the cold, wooden floor and closed your eyes. Five minutes, you just needed five minutes to gather your thoughts. You got four years left, in the same household. Then you would be free.

You never understood her stance. Why was it so easy to show to all of her dates and parties, but never to yours? When you stood on the stage, reciting your speech, you could see the numerous pairs of eyes of those proud parents.

You did want her to sit among them and weep.

You just want her there.

At this point, you would be grateful for anything. For the tinniest amount of your mother's affection that she so graciously gave to her boyfriends.

"Can I come in?"

The voice on the other side of your door pulled you out of your thoughts.

There he was her boyfriend.

You did not know why he knocked on your door and frankly, you did not care. He was going to be here long, there is no point in getting to know a temporary vise.

He could not overlook the redness in your cheeks and how swollen your eyes had gotten.

At that moment, you were thankful he decided to not care either.

Or perhaps?

"So, what food for the celebration?" he asked, trying to cheer up the mood, after a minute of an awkward silence.

You frowned.

"I was thinking, since it's raining, we could take a drive and pick up something for dinner."

There was an urge to leave the house, without a doubt. And you could either take a walk and come back soaked and cold, and mainly, hungry. Or you could follow him to the front door, watch him grab the cars keys and make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat.

The further the house had gotten, the lighter your shoulders had become. The burden of your frustration kept following you everywhere, like an unwanted traveler. But now, you had a moment to breathe out a little, after everything that had happened today.

Even if it meant taking a ride with mom's newest obsession.

For a moment, you cursed yourself for not taking your phone -- since the first few minutes of your drive seemed awfully awkward. You could have at least pretended to read something profoundly engaging instead of staring out of the window, visibly trying to avoid his sight.

He was not very talkative, but still, had this odd aura that floated around the car. There was no tension, especially once he put a cassette in, having the tunes of Billy Idol fill out the space between the two of you.

He had a good taste, you thought. But still -- he was not going to be here longer than two weeks. Why invest your time, you thought.

"So, valedictorian huh?"

After ten minutes of the drive, he finally decided to break through the initial awkwardness.

You looked up from your sneakers, staring at him.

"It's just a stupid red diploma case, nothing else," you shrugged your shoulders, whilst rubbing your fingers, nervously.

He chucked, shaking his head.

"You cannot be so modest, c'mon," he so exclaimed enthusiastically, you found yourself staring at him, little taken aback. "I mean," he gave you a quick look, before locking the eyes with the green light, "You should give yourself a little credit. It is an achievement."

Somewhere, in the pits of your heart, under the walls you were forced the built, there was laying a part of you, wishing to hear this. Only if the source could have been your mother. She had these sweets words for everyone, but you. There was never an applause to be given -- not that you would be asking for it. But a little pat on the shoulder never hurt anyone.

But she never cared enough to do it. So, you settled yourself with the determination to do more, to try more. The desperation ran through your veins like fuel.

Despite the desire to hide it, his words brought a smile on your lips. With that, the awkward silence vanished, as you drove through the suburbs, with Billy Idol's White Wedding.

That evening, somewhere in the middle of ordering your victory dinner, you learned that his name was Joel. And for the first time, you caught yourself thinking that, perhaps, it would not be so bad if your mother's newest vise stayed for more than two weeks.

Over the summer, to your surprise, your mother and Joel had grown significantly closer, travelling almost all the time. You found a job at your local cinema -- with too much free time on your hand, you could have used it for something practical. Saving money was always a good choice. You spent your days watching the same comedy three times in a row, covered by the smell of cheese popcorn and splashes of coke on your sneakers.

Of course, your mother would stop by -- although, mostly to just repack and set off, again. Throughout the summer holidays, you hardly ran into each other. Usually, she left before you got home from work. She would leave a concise note on the fridge (or, if she was running late, a text message) stuck together with a small chunk of money.

As the days went by, you happened to notice the uneasiness that suddenly settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew the source very well -- the good, old, fear of missed opportunities.

It was supposed to be your last summer before high school, naturally, there was the teenage urge to do something memorable. Something, perhaps, completely out of your comfort zone.

And, as it turned out, your empty house presented an incredible opportunity.

Before this sudden urge to fit into your generation, you had never thrown a party. Frankly -- you had no clue how to throw one. Clueless to arrange but eager to learn, the help of your friends seemed as the best fit. As people more fitting for the extrovert description, it posed no issue for them.

Thus, the curse landed on your shoulders.

Certainly, you had no idea how quickly these thinks can come together. It took bunch of your friends, pack of plastic cups, one text message and before you knew, the beer was lined up by the front door and your suburban house was filled with at least thirty people from which almost a half of it were high schoolers.

Seniors, if you may add.

Quickly, they managed to turn your dining room into beer pong game hall, with liquid spilling all over your mother's expensive rugs. Only then, the feeling in your gut started to cry out for help. There were the warning signs, hanging in your mind -- but each one was followed by a cup of beer, until you found yourself looking for a balance.

You lost the track of time, somewhere between your cups, as well as of your friends. It was supposed to be one, welcoming drink. But the more your house turned into a trashcan, the bigger was the urge to kill the voice in your head, cursing you.

For being so reckless in the first place.

Before this spontaneous get together, you had not encountered alcohol -- certainly not in form as large as this one. Rules of drinking were unknown to you; not that you would be too intrigued about them, in your state.

In that moment, the only think you cared about was to stand on your own for more than two seconds. The world around you had become a little dizzy -- this state of being was completely new for you which was quite noticeable for the ones around you.

So, it happened to be a matter of time before one of the seniors posed himself as the knight in shining armor.

If only.

You were aware of his presence but paid no mind at first. After another lost round of beer pong (with no surprise, against him), you had decided to get yourself some water to freshen up. You had no desire whatsoever to lead a conversation with him, let alone anyone else. You wanted to stumble back to your bedroom, lock the door and sleep this off.

Unfortunately, in your current state, path to your bedroom down the hall felt like a ten-kilometer-long hike.

trigger warning for the part below

"Are you okay?"

He could not have asked more useless question. The false concern almost made you chuckle.

"I am absolutely perfect," you grinned your teeth at him.

"You should get some rest," he spoke, unsettling smile on his lips as he brought himself closer to you, locking your possible ways out.

He was much taller, undeniably stronger and determined.

Without a doubt, that was the worst combination.

"Thanks," a forced smile landed on your lips. You had to be smart about this, given his advantages. "But I should actually go and look for my friends."

There was an attempt to make a move, quick slip out of his claws.

You have not even fully tried it, he was already in your away, again.

"I can help you look," the creepiness of his smile imprinted on your brain. "We can search your bedroom first."

The gulp in your throat grew so big, you thought it was going to explode in your stomach, pulling everything out as well. The anxiety was circling throughout your body, up and down, the sweat was running down your shoulders, despite how cold the room had become. Every bone in your body, every nerve sent a signal into your brain.

The fear was going to swallow you whole.

You have never encountered a situation like this. The uneasiness that suddenly held so tight on you.

You could have screamed but what that be good for? Everyone around were too drunk to notice and too unbothered to care, anyways.

Or perhaps, there were exceptions.

end of the trigger warning part

Just not exactly those you would ask for, voluntarily.

You always knew that the universe had its ways to fuck with you.

But this time, this time, came the cherry on the top.

When the scream echoed around the house, buying you an escape from this situation, leaving him too shocked to notice, you ran into the shambles that once used to be your living room, coming face to face with universe's sense of humor.

Dressed in a police uniform, wearing your mother's boyfriend's face.

There he was, catching the sight of your drunken appearance.

"Oh, fuck."

Your stunned reaction came louder than you initially intended, reaching the wrong ends.

His end.

"Officer Miller, we arrived at the scene of disturbance, over..."

You mother's never mentioned his occupation -- not that you would be dying to know, but having this intel beforehand, before you had decided to tarnish your and your mother's reputation, could have been a little useful.

Now, there was no way back, as you watched three other police officers enter your nearly-destroyed house. The number of scenarios lined up in your anxious mind, one coming off worse than the previous. Frankly, just the idea of your mother receiving such phone call, interrupting her annual girls' trip, the wrath would be horrid.

After that, you would wish to be invisible, in her eyes.

You had no idea how these things work. Couple of your friends once mentioned how a party, they attended, ended being busted but the process was never shared. So, you stood there, as though your limbs had frozen, watching the cops escorting all of the kids outside.

He could have been an asshole -- with all due honesty, part of you thought he would be. Your self-made catastrophe presented an incredible opportunity to turn himself into a hero in your mother's eyes. Her brave vise that had stopped her adolescent daughter from drinking her brains out.

But when the distance between the two of you decreased and his hand landed on your arm, you founded yourself letting a sigh of relief escape through your lips.

You were not out of the woods yet.

As inconspicuously as one could, Joel walked you out of the filled living room and back into the kitchen. He was aware of the liquid courage running through your veins -- after all, he was a cop. This, most likely, was not his first rodeo.

Also, he was not an idiot.

Or so you thought, for now.

It all depended on the events that were about to unfold.

"Here," he mumbled, handing you a glass of tap water, "get some more, I will be right back."

Within a second, he was one foot out of the door.

"What now?" you called out, curiosity prevailing the fear for a glimpse of second.

"They'll do search up, so unless you wanna get your ass busted, you better stay here."

With that, he departed into the hallway, as you dissolved into your anxieties, chucking one glass after another, naively hoping the sobriety would arrive sooner.

Despite the conditions, your foggy brain was capable of holding onto the ends, getting the grasp of what was going on, from the pieces you had gathered. There had to be an advantage he had found in helping you out, you thought. The possibility of him acting on the goodness of his heart seemed too absurd to even consider.

All at once, every partner your mother had brought into your life was a copy of his predecessor. One shallow as the other, hollow and unauthentic as the one before. None of them, especially those who you once had decided to give a little faith, succeeded.

So as exaggerated as it may came to be, you could not let yourself get easily fooled. Despite the part of you that wanted to.

Undoubtedly, there was something about him, the warm your mother never had.

But once that you started building castles in the air, you knew it was over.

So, you had to snap out of your liquid-influenced thoughts and stood stern on the ground.

There was no time to be naive.

Especially, once the so-thought, banished glimpse of danger entered your space, again.

just in case, (last) trigger warning for part below

In all directions.

It still baffled you how tall and buffed he was -- he could surely pass for an adult. Adult that should have no interest in girl your age, but here he was. With that intense gaze, sheepish smile and hands that quickly found their way to your hips.

"Brought you something," he whispered, reaching into his back pocket.

He slowly reached closer, his breath brushing against your cheeks, as his hand slipped in the back pocket of your jeans, tucking something in. Only then, he pulled away, hands still resting dangerously close to your body.

"Your friend told me you're coming in September," he smiled. "Figured we could finish what we started."

In that moment, you were stone cold sober.

"I think you should go," you mumbled, rubbing your fingers. "The cops and everything.."

You had to find an easy way to let him down. Words from people like him, especially the fabricated ones, travelled faster than one would have wanted.

But he turned out to be too persistent for your abilities.

"Seriously, you're gonna get in trouble," you chuckled, as forcibly as one could, to shake off the fear.

He laughed, shaking his head.

The false care was the right string to pull, as he became more curious of the sounds coming from the living room. The voices layered over each other, mostly coming from the cops and their walkie-talkies.

He turned around, one last time -- and the second his face lowered to your height, the worst flew over your mind, as the fear squeezed you like a ball.

For the first time in your life, you found yourself wishing to throw up.

Right into his face, right all over him.

end of the trigger warning part

"What the hell are you doing here?"

But perhaps, digestive problems could have been postponed.

When you found officer Miller standing by the kitchen entrance.

Officer Miller.

You were not sure whether it was the alcohol or the bizarre nature of this situation, but there was an urge to laugh over this phrase.

How absurd, you thought, that of all people, your mother would decide to date a police officer? The more you thought about this, the more you reassured yourself that he, truly, was not her usual type.

Whether it was a good or bad thing depended on the following twenty minutes.

The obtrusive boy gave you one last, nightmarish smile, before he followed your mother's vise out of the kitchen. You could not shake off the feeling his intrusive actions had left on you -- the eerie look on his face, the smile of winner. For awakening the fear.

You wished for this situation to disappear, cursing yourself for ever having such ideas.

After a while, the house fell into silence. The sirens outside the front door started to disappear, along with the heavy steps and chatters. You could not even think of the consequences that would follow this dreadful idea.

The urge to throw up arrived again.

And the kitchen sink turned out to be the only available option. So, naturally, within a second, every liquid your body had absorbed tonight, ended up exactly there.

There was no point in asking if this situation could have gotten any worse.

Because it could.

In the middle of cleansing your organs, whilst your hands were gripping the edges of the kitchen sink, you heard the slam of the front entrance, before a set of footsteps headed towards you.

It really could get worse.

Hair disheveled, mind on a rollercoaster and balance slowly disappearing into the night. Your already skilled friends knew how to throw a party -- just did not give you the manual of processing one. For a moment, you wondered whether your cheeks were splashed by the water, or perhaps, if those were tears, running down your neck.

Nothing about this night you wished to treasure. And you knew that what was about to follow -- was right behind.

Literally.

The pat on your shoulder startled you, almost hitting your forehead against the kitchen cabinet above. Slowly, turning off the faucet, you took a deep breath, trying to keep your existence in one place -- in all senses.

Knowing your current state -- Joel chose to be careful with the physical closeness, moving his hand away as soon as the room felt quiet again. Letting you turn away on your own, he stepped back, remaining focused, just in case your balance would decide to betray you.

"Get some more water," he mumbled, hands on his hips, as he watched you jump up on the cabinet. "That ain't smart, doin' this, y'know."

"Do I look like someone who makes smart decisions?" you hissed, wiping away the drops on your chin. Perhaps, the liquid courage was awaking, you thought.

Sigh escaped through his lips, now formed into thin line.

"Where's your mom?" he asked -- stepping into his police officer demeanor, frowning.

You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders, leaving him more confused than before.

"You don't know?" you looked up, mockery tone now swallowing your voice. "I'm surprised, considering you know more about her whereabouts than I do."

The sentence left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

The frown has disappeared, as he stood there, noticing the shift in your attitude.

"Does she know?" he asked, after a moment.

The look in his face almost made you roll your eyes. It was the typical look of someone who was about to offer you a lecture no one had asked for. Considering your experience with your mother's temporary better halfs, Joel was just passing through. None of your mother's relationships passed the three months mark. He was about to be gone in a blink of an eye.

"Look, I am trying to help you--"

Now, there it was.

The sentence, all of them had practiced. The sweet-caring tone of his voice, the pitiful look in his eyes -- all of them were the same.

Or perhaps.

You could not bet on him.

"Okay," you mumbled, chuckling again. "Good for you."

Joel's frustration started to arise. You did not make it easy on him.

He shook his head, trying to maintain his patience.

"Listen, smart ass," he stepped closer, as the frown arrived again. Although, this time with disaffection. "An ounce of gratitude would not hurt you."

Bitting your lip, you got off the kitchen counter, now standing face to face with Joel. He was much taller, with broad shoulders -- he was the epitome of someone who tried to play the good cop.

"Okay, Joel," you whispered, deadly sarcastic.

It was a risky situation; you were well aware. But the events of this evening emptied the rest of your decency.

"Thank you for being such generous police officer, even though we both know your true intentions," you smiled and curtsied.

Now there it was.

The thin ice had been broken and Joel's patience ran over the edge.

"Excuse me?" he asked, offended.

"Excuse me," you whispered. "I've got a house to clean. So why don't you go ahead and give my mother a call? She'll be delighted."

Part of you knew that being this harsh could come back and bite you in the ass. Perhaps it was the defense mechanism -- your mother had never brought an exemplary man into your life. And if they happened to resemble one and you chose to believe it, they vanished into the thin air before you knew it.

You could not settle with the thought of Joel being an exception.

For your own good -- for the high hopes you would be willing to give him.

Joel stared at you for a little, without uttering a word. Which, you chose as an opportunity to leave this conversation for good.

But it took one step in your condition, for you to fall on your knees.

Howls of pain escaped through your lips.

And two steady hands pulled you back before you managed to smack your face against the cold, kitchen tiles.

"Fuck!"

Curse words were flying left and right, though Joel had decided to ignore that. He could have paid you back -- which you were kind of expecting. Instead, with one swift move, you were back on your feet, with Joel being the one responsible for your balance.

The world around became slightly dizzy. And, for a moment, it felt as though your limbs were made out of Jell-O. The funny bubbling in your stomach made you laugh.

"I think I am gonna throw up."

Was the last thing you whispered, before leaning against the floor, letting the remaining bits of alcohol depart on the tiles.

It was Joel who, once again, caught you in the last minute.

"You really are a fuckin´ pain in the ass, kid."

It really, really, could get worse.

[tending-the-hearth]

Howdy! Could you write about Darry getting sick and needing to be hospitalized because he tries to “big-brother-power-through” it? Mans needs some rest and brother appreciation.

i am SO sorry this has sat in my submission box for ages and i'm just now getting to it 😭😭😭

Darry had felt it coming on.

It had started off as just a cough, a tickle in his throat that had him pausing to take a breath in the kitchen as he prepared for the day.

Sodapop's face immediately filled with concern when he heard the sound of his older brother coughing. "You feeling alright, Dar?"

"I'm okay, little buddy. Just a cough, that's it." Darry replied with a smile as he cleared his throat. He ignored Dally suspicious look, and ruffled Ponyboy's hair as he walked behind him, a genuine grin forming on his face as his youngest brother yelped and playfully hit his hand away.

Darry didn't have time to focus on himself.

Johnny was finally out of the hospital. Albeit, he was using a wheelchair, but he was out, and had moved into the Curtis house after his parents had all but abandoned him.

Dally's arm had finally recovered, and he had all but moved back into the Curtis house as well.

Things were peaceful, and Darry did not want to ruin the good times his family had finally fallen into.

Of course, that wishful thinking didn't keep his cough from worsening.

A few days later, after his cough had first begun, Darry woke up feeling as though he was dying. It was a fever, because of course it was, and it took him extra time to catch his breath as he stood up from the bed.

Ponyboy, Johnny, and Sodapop had all gotten the concerned looks on their faces when he entered the kitchen, obviously noticing his dark circles, and the slight stumble of his steps.

"Darry, you shouldn't be going to work if you're not feeling great." Ponyboy said, and oh, how Darry loved his baby more than anything. His brothers were wonderful, and sweet, and the best part of his life, but they were more perceptive than anyone he had ever met.

He wrapped an arm around Ponyboy, squeezing him into his side. "I promise, I'm okay, baby. I'm just not sleeping too good."

Ponyboy leaned into him before sighing and stepping back, deciding that he was appeased by his brother's words.

Darry lasted all of two hours at work before it all hit him.

He lifted a bundle of roofing onto his shoulders, felt a wave of dizziness rush over him, and his vision went black.

-------

Darry woke up to the sound of voices.

"Bilbo knelt on one knee filled with sorrow. 'Farewell, King under the Mountain!' he said." Ponyboy's voice came from his bedside, and Darry kept his eyes closed a little bit longer, contentedly listening to his baby brother read to him. “'This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad that I have shared in your perils—that has been more than any Baggins deserves.'"

Tears welled in Darry's closed eyes as he listened.

Pop's favorite book series in the entire world had been "Lord of the Rings", and it had been a tradition that he'd read a chapter to the boys before going to bed each night.

Ma had eventually joined their tradition, and they had been making their way through "The Hobbit" when the accident had happened. None of the boys could muster up the ability to pick up the book and finish, but after the events of The Rumble, Darry, Sodapop, and Ponyboy had made an effort to get through a chapter each night together.

Darry couldn't keep his eyes closed any longer, and he opened them to see Ponyboy crouched in the chair beside his bed, the book propped open in his lap. Sodapop was sitting at the end of the bed, his eyes on Ponyboy as their youngest brother read.

"How much trouble am I in?" Darry rasped out, his voice rough from the amount of coughing he had been doing.

Immediately, Ponyboy stopped reading, and both his eyes and Sodapop's snapped to Darry.

"I told you not to go to work." Ponyboy said accusingly.

Darry mustered up a weak grin, and Sodapop reached out, smacking his leg. "Not funny, idiot." There was a glimmer of fear in his eyes. "The doctor said you have pneumonia. It should clear up in a few weeks, and you can leave the hospital in a few days. Your boss told us he's giving you the time off to get better."

Darry let out a sigh, sinking back into the bed, and looking around. "Where are the rest of the boys?"

Ponyboy marked his spot in the book with his finger. "Two-Bit and Steve are with Ace and Penny at the park. Johnny and Dal are down getting lunch for us."

"Dal's pissed to high heaven." Sodapop added helpfully, making Darry wince. They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Ponyboy spoke up.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Oh, Darry hated the quiet hurt in his baby's voice.

The three brothers had made a pact, after The Rumble, that they wouldn't hide things from each other. It was what had caused so many issues before, and they didn't want that happening again.

Darry reached out, taking Ponyboy's hand that wasn't holding the book, and squeezing gently. "I'm sorry, Pony. Honestly, I didn't think it was anything. If I had felt worse, I would have told you, or I at least would have told Dally, I promise."

Ponyboy's hurt expression faded, and he nodded. Sodapop relaxed back at the end of the bed.

"Hurry up and get better, Dar. I hate this place." the middle brother said, and Darry grinned even wider at him, poking him with his foot, and laughing at the yelp.

He then moved, careful of the needle in his arm, and made a baby brother-shaped spot beside him on the hospital bed. Immediately, like the little leech he was, Ponyboy moved into the space, curling up in Darry's space, and reopening the book.

Darry wrapped an arm around Ponyboy's shoulders, and closed his eyes. He felt Sodapop's hand wrap around his ankle, and he relaxed as Ponyboy began to read.

“No!” said Thorin. “There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!”

[themurderofcrowscollective]

I do not care how many proposal writings or fanart there is, I'm writing it.

When Soap had the balls and the ring to propose to Ghost, he did it during Ghost's birthday at his favorite restaurant. Ghost bluescreened for a moment before laughing slightly and then loudly as he holds up one finger to Soap and takes out his own ring box before responding to Soap's 'Will ye marry me?' with 'Not if you don't marry me'.

I shit you not, tears were had and they start laughing with wheezes as the two are congratulated by anyone around them.

Now for the wedding.

Because of a fucking bet, Soap had to wear a dress and Price became a richer man. But also Ghost had to wear a dress and Gaz became a richer man. So they both went out to get fitted for wedding dresses and were shocked to find each other in the same wedding gown boutique. They both decided to just not look at each other to save it for their wedding day and boy howdy was it a surprise. By the time the wedding came to be, it was perfectly decorated to Soap's and Ghost's likings and everyone was curious about what their suits would look like only to discover Ghost at the altar in a beautiful black wedding dress that made him look 100 times more stunning. Surely they thought Soap would be wearing a tuxedo too, but NOPE, he was also wearing a white wedding dress with a fucking veil. As his dad walked him down the aisle, you could tell Soap and his dad were trying not to burst into laughter but as Soap locked eyes with Ghost, he saw Simon and Simon saw Johnny. Johnny really tried not to get emotional and it worked, but his dad was already tearing up. By the time Johnny got to the alter and the vows were said and done, he and Simon went in for the kiss before grabbing each other by the waist and ripping off their dresses to reveal secret pants and dress shoes underneath. Funny enough they planned that bit and everyone was wowed! Was it a bad idea to make a bet with Gaz and Price? Yes, but was it worth it? Oh yeah.

[afreakingdork]

I would like to share something that happened to me I thought was funny.

I was just going about my day when I started thinking about Weak Spot sequel, Soft Spot(? I hope I got that right, I can’t remember atm), how I’m eager and giddy waiting for its release. Once again reminding myself to be patient, the thought popped into my head that this feels like waiting for Donnie and Reader to return from their honeymoon 😆

I got a giggle from it I hope you do too. I also hope your break is going well and am sending you lots of love

(Disclaimer: I am strongly expressing that this is absolutely in NO F*CKING way asking for when you’ll be releasing it. There is no need for even a comment on it so once you’ve finished reading this disclaimer, tear it up, burn it and forget it.)

Howdy-o cringey!

Soft Spot is indeed the name of Weak Spot's sequel! Great job remembering! Omigosh, you are so freaking right; it's totally like we're waiting for them to get back! I love that! I'm stealing that!

My breaks been something! I just finished my mega 3 week birthday gauntlet (/pos) and my best friend was then here for two more weeks past that (/posx3) so I've been going non-stop and only just this week did I have my first break! I did have a minor meltdown (all good) but it was because I wasn't working on fics, which is hilarious. I've always said that I don't write because I want to, but because I have to! I've been doing a lot of editing on a mysterious (only because I haven't talked about it) teen rated Donnie x reader that I have a feeling will be clearing it's final hurdle and will start posting soon! It's basically done and will be 20 chapters.

For Soft Spot, I need to re-watch a few movies to make sure I've got my facts and inspiration down. I've already done a whole bit where I watched Father of the Bride one and two and had some folks who know more about the whole pregnancy song and dance and were super gracious let me absolutely annihilate them taking notes (y'all are the best @morning-sun-brah @geminiforest @grumpytheunicorn and @thepinkpanther83 sorry I'm in a shout out sort of mood!) I've assembled the timeline (mostly) and have a feeling that bad boy will start coming out next month!

Thanks for checking in and I'm sending that love right back! Also I love being the yellow birb struck with love!

P.S. I didn't feel pressured at all 😉

[galdiarie]

꒰🎀 Step 1 Qiu with a male!Reader shy and a fan of paranormal things!

Banner by @sakurango

HOWDY!, welcome to my Homespace!!

Cassidy is here! <3

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Fanfic at the request of

Howdy! @bluepianokeys Thank you for your request! <3

HOWDYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!, it's been a long time since I've written anything at all, but aside from that topic, I NEVER BELIEVED I WOULD BE ASKED TO WRITE FOR OUR LIFE N&F, this can be taken as a Halloween special....?, I don't know, but it's great anyway!

Sorry in advance if the writing is kind of weird, I suck at writing fanfic even more in English which is not my native language, I did the best I could, I hope you enjoy it.

TW: Ghosts, serial killers and dead get mentioned, but nothing detailed.

Qiu met you one night when he saw you wandering alone in the forest while hugging your beautiful porcelain doll, at first he thought you were a lost child wandering in the dark forest, this worried him a little, so many bad things could happen to you if you walk during the cold night in a forest, at first I followed you, so I could help you, but he noticed that you seemed to know the forest well, so he decided to keep following you to make sure nothing happened to you, but you noticed the presence of someone behind you, you thought maybe it was a ghost, so you quickly turned your head excitedly expecting to see a scary ghost, but you only saw a cute boy, Qiu was a little surprised when you suddenly turned around, but he still gave you a nice smile and greeted you kindly, you just blushed as you buried your head a doll's hair, he kindly told you his name hoping you could tell him yours, but he only saw how you looked at him, and then you looked at the floor with little tears in your eyes, he tried to calm you down while you kept hugging your doll, later that night he accompanied you home and promised to pick you up the next day, so you could go to school together, and from there you became good friends, he noticed that you were very shy, but he found that very sweet, he helps you to socialize when it is difficult for you, but one day he discovered your little obsession with paranormal things, it all started when you started to tell him that your pretty doll was possessed by a ghost of a girl, he found it funny at first, but then he realized that you were serious, he found all the paranormal topics very cool, he even helps you to expand your collection of spooky things, he can stay hours listening to you about serial killers while you have a little tea party with all your "possessed" dolls, and when you started going out of the most unimaginable places to scare him he really loved it, now when he notices your absence you try to guess where you are going to go out to scare him even though he never manages to guess it, he has even encouraged you to scare more people, now you have a list to be able to scare all the people at school, and he helps you by giving you ideas to hide in more creative places, you can say that little autumn started to have a crush with the boy with the possessed doll, he-he~!

[daxieoclock]

Tactica Impressions Part 6, No Plot Spoilers

Toshiro continues to bring the entire plot down. I need him to stop being here. Please. Please, I'm dying and the only cure is No More Adult Man Party Member In Persona Game.

Erina is a fantastic character and her development is fantastic but it DRAGS that she's so fixated on being nice to Toshiro and sucking up to him and giving him unearned authority over her rebellion and the Phantom Thieves.

They've even co-oped Futaba into buddying up to Toshiro and it sucks so bad. Futaba. Futaba, cyber criminal and prodigal hacker, compares her being autistic and talented to Toshiro's...having experience deescalating cabinet battles. It's SUCH mischaracterization.

Complaining aside. All The Girls (And Ryuji) Love Erina's Flag and I feel like that's very gay of them. Everyone likes the cool girl.

RYUHARU SIDE QUEST with bonus Futaba and Haru sister moments, and Ryuji calls Haru "senpai." It's fucking amazing. Haru fans keep winning.

Even though Yusuke and Makoto are my least fav Thieves on average, I do love how they're animated this game. They both have fantastic poses, and there's even some good bits of characterization, though Makoto gets really robbed by most of the big planning stuff being handed over to Toshiro instead so he can show off. Stolen valor tbh.

There's one random moment where it looks like Haru and Makoto are holding hands. Yay! :)

The marriage fantasy scenes kinda sucked on average? The Makoto and Yusuke scenes were deeply unfunny jokes, the Ann scene felt like it was copy-pasted from Lovers 10, and the Ryuji scene was surprisingly earnest even through the attempt to play it off as a joke. Like...it felt like yet another case where Atlus accidentally wrote them into genuine bi subtext, as opposed to the "my friend is a weirdo" of the Yusuke scene.

The Haru scene almost made me tear up. Yes I'm a Harufan, yes I'm biased towards Shuharu. Don't care, it was so fucking genuine and played into her themes of overcoming romantic/sexual abuse and it was just AGHHGG I LOVE THESE STUPID KIDS.

How does Joker STILL have the grappling hook from Royal, what the fuck. We're playing X-Com over here, you didn't think that would have been useful EARLIER???

Anyway Erina continues to be an absolute badass, it's unreal how cool she is.

...I wrote most of these points as I experienced them, and now I may need to take a step back. Because the projection room scene in the castle has left me genuinely reeling. I'm not sure what to say beyond...that I am taking another look at Toshiro as a character. Because I might be starting to appreciate him. Metatextually, his role as a pseudo-party member is a fucking nightmare, and his writing is so inconsistent and uncharismatic that the most entertaining parts of his presence so far has been other characters dunking on him. His personality sucks and I don't like WHY Atlus put him in this game. But as a character, as a foil to the Thieves and an individual narrative...I am starting to be compelled. There is absolutely an opportunity for Atlus to absolutely dumpster this good faith they've got from me, but...I said "if they want to make Toshiro compelling, they need to do these things" and like fucking clockwork, they did. So now I'm putting my money where my mouth is. I don't have to LIKE Toshiro, but I will give his arc the benefit of the doubt. (Also if people want to read my specific thoughts on the scene, let me know, I'll definitely write them up if there's interest.)

Anyway pls look at this meme from @lilyhoshikawa

Haru / Ann Close Read Lines: 21 (and boy fucking howdy what a handful of good ones we got this time)

[thelanor-s-astame]

Episode 4 (CLOTH GANG!!!)

So here we have Sly changing in to his Modern Form. That happens with a lot of reoccurring characters, like they'll have a proto form and then the second time they show up they're The Guy They'll Be The Rest Of The Time, because both me and the voice actor will have a little more time to think about the dude and what we want them to be. And that's always fun But now let's talk about The Bottom So I had already started thinking about the outward world building, I'd gotten started on that on the last episode. I also started on how our little guy was going to change, how he'd go through phases. Like The Murderer, The Warrior, The Gardener etc. And I'd mapped all that out and where it would end. (and that stuff hasn't changed that's still where were going)

But after that episode I started thinking about Where The Story Would Go From Here. And of course, at this point, just following Hollow Knights story was more than enough! Our little guy needed to descend farther down into the Abyss for some unknown reason, so here he goes! I started a rudimentary plan for what he would find down there, and how I would handle that, and then I beefed it up as I went.

But, I came up with a lot of it in the middle of editing this episode. That's why it's the first time our little guy mentions "Getting to the bottom" And That was something I added, like, in post. Those lines with sly I went to dalsson a few days before it released, and the scene where our little guy talks to himself on the elevator about his motivations for doing anything I recorded the day before it released.

So all that stuff was a super last minute addition that lead to the rest of the story! You know how it is! But some stuff I did have solidified when I started work on the episode is how the Myla stuff was going to go down. This was also the first real glimpse into how I was going to expand on Pre-Infection Hallownest and it's collapse. This was also where I added, I think my first clue to anything that would happen in the last episode. At this point I had essentially one major twist planned for it, that major twist is essentially a minor twist at this point that is a piece of the major twist. I keep hyping up the last episode, and a lot of that is me jsut being really excited to get to it! It's gonna be a hell of a lot of fun! Frezon's performance as The Hunter is probably my favorite out of all the ones he's done. I told him "Just voice him like he's Einhar from Path of Exile" and boy howdy did he give me just that!

Millebelle being like that Is just because I thought the idea of a character who who attempts to explain the reason she's wearing a bank robber suit and is carrying a giant sack that says $$$ is due to macroeconomic necessity, is really funny. I need everyone to understand 50%-75% of all the jokes I write are for me but you can laugh to if you want.

For Instance, Cornifer refers to the mantises as a "Proud warrior race with an interesting culture" who "relegated themselves down here when the city of tears expanded" Because I wrote conifer to be a guy who kinda gets stuck in his biases. Not because he's a jingoist or anything, more that he hears the school yard version of Other Cultures and kinda just assumes that's how it is for the rest of his life. Mostly because Cornifer looks a hell of a lot like a dude I knew in High School who was like that. The paragraph I wrote about conifer in The Lore bible was Sympathy For The Unimpressive White Guy or something like that. He's coming to the end of his arc soon. Big things coming for him!

So the Cloth recording session was a lot of fun. Me, Dergo, and Dalsson were all in the call while we were doing those lines, and those lines included the argument with Hornet about the fighters she liked that we're of course also directors. Pidwess = Paul W.S. Anderson, Zide = Zach Snyder, and May = Micheal Bay. And, of course, Hornet argues that these guys suck ass, and refers to them as The Vulgar Artists because I have heard those guys refereed to as the Vulgar Auteurs, and that's the most pretentious possible way to refer to these guys and I think it's really funny.

And so we're recording this argument Dergo who voices Cloth goes "Cloth is totally in the right here Hornet is a dumb nerd! Cloth Gang!" Dalsson responds "FUCK YEAH CLOTH GANG!!!" And the rest of the conversation went Me: "Well you see hornet is trying to point out that-" Dergo: "SHUDDUP THEL CLOTH GANG!" Dalsson: "WHOOO CLOTH GANG! YEAH!" Me: "But you see-" Dergo: "CLOTH GANG! CLOTH GANG!" Dalsson: CLOTH GANG! CLOTH GANG!" Me: "h-hornet gang-" Dergo: "CLOTH GANG! CLOTH GANG!" Dalsson: "CLOTH GANG! CLOTH GANG!"

And it was extraordinarily funny. That's why we have an Emote in the discord (which is here btw and anyone can join! https://discord.gg/vT9brYHgu7) just called Cloth Gang And also why it's in the description! also, a thing I am surprised no one has pointed out. Cloth is the first person who mentions the Iridescents! And we'll talk about that more when the grim video comes around!

[narnianvalkyrieofberk]

Boy howdy did I get extremely lucky a few days ago.

Be me, a bored adult at work with access to little more than a pen and a note book to entertain myself with between tasks

Starts writing Aurora fanfics at work because why not

Make a joke about making a Dainix/Falst arranged marriage ship fic

Realize Erin's position in canon makes him far more likely than Falst to be in an arranged marriage

Somehow end up deciding to make a fic where the canon lore has been beaten to bloody pulp and put in a blender with some random stock tropes and other things I enjoy just to see what happens also I decided Falst has two hands and all three of the bois are engaged now

It's barely started yet is somehow already my longest fic on AO3 (this is not a surprise, I write very short fics)

End up thinking "What if Erin/Falst/Dainix but omegaverse?"

Sit on that idea for a while

Go to work

Can't work on A Ferin, an Elemental Magus, and a Fiery Carrot Walk Into a Chapel because I'm stuck on a scene that I need to do some research to finish

Finally give in and start working on the fucking polyamourous mpreg omegaverse fic. AT WORK.

Thankfully, not the smut bits. But there are very clear references to omegaverse and the fact that there is an M who has been Pregged on the page

Keep notebook closed when around other people

Get hit with a bunch of work

Run around the building with my little wheeley-cart putting out metaphorical fires

Realize my notebook is missing

PANIK

Realize I can see it on the floor up ahead

KALM

Realize it's open on the floor and my manager is about 10 feet away

PANIK!!!!!

Thankfully, grab notebook before anybody else notices it and quickly stash it away where this won't happen again as I finish up putting out fires

Do my usual tear the page out and stuff it in my pocket to smuggle it home at the end of the day so I can transcribe it onto my computer later

[roadkillraat]

Just got home and I came up with this while drawing and practicing TvT (oc x Oc) (edited because i'm fucking tired as it's 6am hehehe <3)

(i don't write alot so i apologize if this isn't the best been a minute since i last did one of these. I also figured out how to do the funky colors hehe) [Spencer is working alone in his lab as Party music is shaking the walls, there is a party being thrown at his facility by the calypsos to gather the bandits in the area to join the cause of the calypsos. They would ask for stuff like this in exchange for him to study them.. one way or another they always convince him to help them in some way..] he looks up at the celling as small debris fall. He began to narrow his eyebrow before going back to work.. or... the best he could at least... Spencer: why do i f*cking anything for those spoiled brats.. does his best to continue to work through the noise as he was getting comfortable His door opens causing him to quickly turn with and Irrited look his gaze becomes confused Felix: u-um.. howdy?..*thick hic accent* the bright colored cowboy with tears in his eyes eyes slowly tips his hat with a faint smile and shaky hands Felix: I-I-I'm sorry- i s-shoulda knocked- who Knows what typa.. crazy contraptions you could... be um... working on.. Spencer:... were you...- crying? felix's eyes widen before he wipes them and shakes his head

Felix: N-No just gliiter... in...my eye?... Spencer: this is pandora.. what bandit is wearing glitter..- felix: The fem ones?..

the two of them stare intently at each other before spencer gets irritated and puts down what he was doing before walking over with a glare almost causing Felix to jump lightly spencer: okay listen kid- I don't care what happened.. but i'm not one forcing someone into a goodtime. It's good when both party's are having fun... spencer presses a button next to felix's head. The back wall behind spencer had opened. feilx looks between him and the doorway.. spencer: I am a mastermind not a monster. i know that look- If i would kill you, i wouldn't had said a word to you Cowboy..That door leads upstairs to my space, which should be abit quieter, there's food and water up there.. and some Tv if your into that sorta thing.. spencer walks over to his table and starts fucking with gadgets again. felix looks at the door, walking towards it stopping before the first step and looking over at spencer who was already working felix: I hate asking questions.. but w-why are you being nice to me?..- spencer: 3 reasons 1. you came in crying, you were already having a bad time, 2. i like the colors of your hat.. bright but suiting, and 3. i'm tired and I'm getting to old to dump bodies.. felix:.... I- thank you- spencer: yea yea- fuck off... don't eat all my food and don't trash it-... *felix nods and soon runs up the stairs and the door closes to the lab. spencer continues to work as he thought* spencer:... *he looks over at a picture frame and his eyes narrow* spencer: huh.. that boy almost looked like... goes silent before shaking head and flipping the frame down and scoffs spencer: who am i kidding...he didn't have the birthmark.... then again he was wearing a bandana.

It woulda been hard to tell..

I would Like to start doing more stuff like this, It would be good bases for comics later down the line :^ idk i'm yapping this is my borderlands yap blog now. Deal wit it UvU

[ghost-proofbaby]

Howdy! I woke up and chose violence!

catastrophic blues, eddie munson, with the dialogue prompts of "holy shit, that's a lot of blood..." and "stay with me... please." :)

Sorry in advance everyone, because I truly hope you catch onto which specific scene I'm hoping you write lmao. Do your worst.

checkmate, nonnie. you said do my worst, and this? this... is my worst. because i refuse to write eddie actually dying haha.

fair warning - if you have not read my fic 'the shire is burning' or the first chapter of 'so mordor it is', this won't make much sense to you/probably won't affect you like it did me. the oc here is willow from that series.

and now, a fair warning to those of you who have read - this is not canon. this is not even in the realm of canon. this is not an excerpt from that fic and this will not be a scene in that fic. i repeat - this is not canon. but an awful part of me has always wanted to write this scene with willow inserted so.... idk. i'm stupid. i'm also saying sorry because... well, bleh. at least i got it out of my system, yeah? also, i may or not be running on spite from that anon, hence me dragging eddie and willow onto this hellsite. so if that anon is reading - this is my big middle finger to you of sorts. (i already thought of this before the celebration, and i also considered this scenario when i first got the request before the slew of hateful anons. but.. yeah)

WARNINGS: MAIN CHARACTER DEATH (OC, NOT EDDIE), descriptions of blood and extreme violence, severe angst and absolutely no comfort. seriously. this is heavy, 3k words heavy. if it's not for you, it's not for you. that's okay.

which is why if you'd rather not read this scenario, i have written a shorter and less intense reply to this request that you can find here.

alright. sorry. rant over and warnings over. please take the warnings serious.

1k celebration - come party with me! (requests are not normally this sad unless angst is requested, i swear. we actually were having fun over here.)

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

There had been a plan. There had been clear instructions. The three of them were to distract the bats, capture their attention long enough for the others to follow through with their missions, and then get the Hell out of there. 

They weren’t supposed to play heroes. Not today. 

There is no shame in running.

So why wasn’t he running?

Dustin had already pulled himself up through the gate, toppling to safety on the other side, back in their world. He’s waiting expectantly for the two of them with wide eyes and shaking breaths from adrenaline. 

She’s already halfway up the rope when it hits her. The wave of deja vu, the wave of familiarity. 

She’s been here before. 

Eddie still stands beneath her, hands anxiously pressed into her thighs as she dangles against the make-shift rope, encouraging her to hurry. Her arms are burning, muscles shaking with strain. If she doesn’t make quick of lurching through, her body is sure to give out and lose strength. 

“Why did you stop? C’mon!” Eddie gives another shove to her thighs. His hands are sure to leave bruises at this point. 

She’s been here before. 

Her dreams. Her nightmares. Her visions. She’s been here before, hanging onto the sheets and looking down at her beautiful boy beneath her. She’s been here before, throwing herself back through a gate to the background symphony of screeching creatures trying to tear their way into a trailer that is a distorted mirror image of one she’s grown to call a second home over the last several months. Nearly a year now. 

“Red!” Eddie snaps as a bang sounds somewhere in the trailer, “Go.”

His voice is strained, tight and desperate and terrified. That’s all they’ve felt this week: fear. Unbridled fear that has chilled her to her bones without relent. 

None of that fear has penetrated through her chest quite as painfully as the one that strikes her now. She’s been here before, and this is not how it is supposed to go. 

She finally drops from the rope, losing her grip and falling backwards. He’s quick to press his palms into her shoulder blades to keep her upright as she gets lucky, landing on her feet, chest heaving as her muscles now scream with relief.

“Willow Victoria Jenkins, get up that fucking rope or I’m dragging you up there myself-”

“You go first,” she begs, cutting him off effectively, “Go before me. Now.” 

She’s been here before. 

“What?” his eyebrows furrow, chest heaving as he keeps glancing over his shoulder, over to the poorly boarded up door, “No, I- what? No, I’ll go after you-”

“Eddie, climb that rope before me or, with God as my witness, I won’t so much as touch that thing again-” at her words, he’s shaking his head furiously, thrusting the sheets back into her hands, but she only lifts them up and steps away to emphasize her point, “No. Go, now.” 

If she goes up the rope before him, he won’t follow her. She can’t let him do that.

There is no shame in running. 

He was an idiot. An idiot who couldn’t take his own advice. She should have known better — she did know better.

“Red, I’m not going without you-“

“I’ll be right behind you.”

“Then why not go before me? Please, I’m begging you,” another bang, and they both jump. It’s then that he looks into her eyes, and he sees it. That fear digging its claws into her. That memory of a nightmare she can’t let come true. The realization settles heavily across his face, “You don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that-”

“You don’t trust that I’ll follow you up the rope.” 

She doesn’t know what he wants her to say. It’s not a matter of trust; it’s a matter of knowing he won’t follow her. 

The tears that burn her eyes must be enough to convince him that she has her reasons, that it goes beyond something petty like that, because he lays his armor down instantly. His shoulders sink, the corners of his mouth turn downward, and his eyes close in defeat as he sighs, “Fine.” 

He’s faster than her when he has his hold on the rope, tugging himself up with significantly less effort. He doesn’t look back at her to make sure she’s already reaching to follow him – he trusts her. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, but she should know better.

She has every intention to follow him, the same faith placed in him that she’s had since day one, back in trivial times of pretend and make believe. When she had faith he was the right fake boyfriend. When she had faith he’d make a good friend by the end of it all. When she had faith that her path was always supposed to cross with 

Her hands have barely curled around the worn sheets, not quite as soft as the ones she’s slept in time after time due to the caking debris from this world, when she gets it.

Watching him in her nightmare let go of the rope had infuriated her. It had torn her clean in two, watching as he’d severed their connection and sent them down different paths. She didn’t know how he did it so easily – how he left her so easily.

She knows now.

The fear has subsided as she watches him land onto the mattress on the other side and watches Dustin rush to grab him eagerly. He’s safe. He’s okay. 

But the bats are still vicious against the trailer. She can hear them breach his bedroom down the hall. 

They don’t have a way to close the gate. Not yet. 

She gets it. If she follows them, if she doesn’t continue to serve as a distraction, they’ll follow them into the real world. All her efforts and all her love, all her care and all her months spent getting to know the two boys on the other side will be in vain. 

There are some stories in which the endings never change. You can shift the circumstances, you can swap pawns, but they will always end the same. Just because she had spared Eddie from the doomed fate of her dream doesn’t mean she’s spared them all. Someone still has to play the role of the distraction. 

Her heart is beating in her ears, and she’s glad for it so she can’t hear Dustin or Eddie’s screams as she grabs one of their discarded weapons and slices at their rope.

Severs the ties. Severs herself from Eddie. Severs herself from all that she cares for, in order to save it.

The blame that had twisted in her gut at him before dissipates. There’s no longer a question of if she’d do the same for him if the roles were reversed; they stand in opposing positions now, and she is doing as he had. 

She won’t look up at them once she does it. Unlike Eddie in her dream, she won’t face the reality of her decision. 

The sheets seemingly fall in slow motion into a crumpled pile. An edge of them falls over her sneakers. 

She’s never been here before, but she knows what she has to do. 

“Red!” 

She’s never heard his voice like that before, and she can’t face him. She can’t face the look she knows he wears, the broken expression and the twist of pain, the sheer panic as the last eight months flashes before his eyes. She can’t let the knife of it drive into her chest, because if she does, she won’t go through with it. If she doesn’t go through with it, they all die. 

“Willow, what are you doing?” Dustin’s broken voice comes through next, and it hurts as much as Eddie’s shaken tone. 

Dustin has Eddie. If she plays her cards right, he’ll have Eddie, and Steve, and Robin. He’ll have Max. He’ll be alright. 

She only responds once she’s grabbed the shield of nails that Eddie had tossed aside, echoing words that have haunted her since she first watched them fall from Eddie’s lips in the nightmare.

“Buying more time.” 

It’s only then that she risks looking up to the boys, taking one final glance at the two of them. 

Dustin Henderson, a young boy who had continued to exceed her expectations at every turn, who she would die to protect from any more harm. 

Eddie Munson, the boy she loves. The boy she would die in the place of. 

She hardly catches sight of his face before he’s a flurry on the other side, rushing to find a way to get to her, to get her back the same way she had rushed to do in the vision. But in that brief second, she locks his details to memory one last time. The soft pink of his lips, the soft curve of his nose, the freckle below his right eye. Details she isn’t sure she can catch sight of in full focus with the distance between them and the fleeting moment, but ones she’s seen enough times to play them like a movie behind her eyelids. Her boy. The one she’s leaving her heart with as she turns and lets the story continue to play out. 

She has an advantage Eddie didn’t. She knows where the holes in the road will be as she hops onto the abandoned bike and pedals so hard that her entire body is lit aflame. The scream of the bats are on her back, but she still misses the hole that had sent him flying in her dream. She makes it several paces farther, and for a moment, she thinks that she’ll make it far enough that the ending might change. 

She’s a fool. She supposed she picked that up from Eddie.

There’s a vine, a part of the hivemind, she swears she will miss on her current path. But then, it’s as if it reaches out and grips the front wheel of the bike, latching on with intent as it sends her flying and toppling into dirt and gravel. Her knees are now scraped, and if she survives this, she knows that bruises will be blooming across her torso. 

She can’t stop now. She has to get up, has to try and run as she balances the shield and spear. If she stops now, she won’t change the ending. 

None of it matters. It never did. 

The bats still catch up with her. The spear and the shield are still useless against their advances. And screams, human screams, still echo through the Upside Down as a body is pulled into a cloud of dust.

This time the body is not Eddie’s. It’s Willow’s. 

She can’t think through the pain as they tear through her clothes, her skin, seemingly her bones. All she can do is scream herself hoarse and fling herself about. 

When it’s over, when the bats begin to drop one by one in the tell-tale sign that her friends have won, she can’t move. She’s motionless on the ground and each breath is ragged, wet with blood and gasping shallowness. 

She hears Eddie before she sees him. 

“Willow,” he sobs out, collapsing to his knees at her side as his hands begin to flit over her wounds, “No, no, no.” 

It was always going to end like this, wasn’t it? 

“Please, please, fuck-” he gasps out as his hands turn crimson with her blood.

A distorted mirror image to her dream. 

She can see the freckle now that he’s closer. She focuses on it, unable to feel the warmth from his palms through the chill. 

His hands still work in a useless effort. She can hardly decipher the pressure he applies to a particularly deep wound as she watches tears begin to fall. Shining tears, forming as constellations in his eyelashes before they become falling stars across his cheeks. 

“I- No-” he stutters, unable to form a sentence, “You said you were going to follow me. You��� You said-” 

She catches sight of his hands. As red with her blood as hers had been with his in her nightmare. 

If it were any other circumstances, if she didn’t know the ending, she would have tried to comfort him. But her head is swimming and she’s lost all feeling in her torso now. 

All she can muster out is, “Holy shit,” a shattering gasp fills her pause, “That’s… that’s a lot of blood.” 

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile. There is no joking in a time like this. He just continues meaningless efforts through his cries. 

She hadn’t even heard Dustin following him. When the boy is on her opposite side, speechless, trembling, she barely notices the movement. 

“Willow…” Dustin whispers, hands reaching to join Eddie’s before he thinks better and retracts them, “I…”

“Henderson,” Eddie is a crazed man as he suddenly rips the bandana off from his head, thrusting it to the younger boy, “Wrap her leg in this now.”

And Dustin doesn’t have to be told twice, not when Eddie is the way he is now. Her blood is now on the boy’s hands as well. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispers, feeling blood trickle out the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t even feel when Dustin tightens the make-shift tourniquet on her. 

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. But she had no choice. 

“Don’t be sorry, stay alive,” Eddie snaps at her, not looking at her. It kills her. Ironically, more than the wounds. 

A sharp pain shoots through her as he tries to apply pressure to one of her chest wounds. He’s beginning to mutter to himself, breaking hysterical now. 

“I can fix this,” he repeats to himself on loop. Dustin only stares, “I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix-”

“Eddie, please look at me,” she pleads with him. A dying wish he can’t deny her. 

Big, brown eyes look into hers. A million unspoken words and fading moments. And all she can think is she’s glad it’s her and not him. 

So she tells him as much, “I’m sorry. I-If it wasn’t… If it wasn’t me… It w-would have been you. And I- I couldn’t, I couldn’t…” 

I couldn’t watch you die. Not again. Not for real, this time. 

He immediately knows. He deflates, but he knows. She knew what was going to happen when she cut the rope. She knew how it ended. 

His anger is kept beneath the surface, because they both know if this is the last moments between them, he doesn’t want to spend them angry with her. Angry for her doing for him as he would for her. 

“You knew,” if it weren’t for the tears still streaking his face, the words would have come out flatly, “You fucking knew. You… you idiot… You…” 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats herself. Her tongue peeks out to swipe across her lips, and all she tastes is copper, “I love you.” 

She has to say it now. She has to make it be know to make up for all the times she bit her tongue, all the times she waited. Thinking they had more time, thinking she’d have a lifetime to remind him of it. 

They don’t have any more time. The hourglass is nearly empty. 

Those three words break him, and she can make out his shoulders shaking as her vision starts to blur. 

“I love you,” he returns, the haunting voice of a desperate man, “I fucking love you. Stay with me, please.” 

She wants to. God, she wants to. His arms wrap around her and he tugs her into his lap, beginning to simply cradle her, his efforts finally surrendered. 

Dustin finally speaks up, “W-We can still get her to a hospital. We can take her back to the gate. We can get her to the hospital, and they’ll help her. They’ll save her. It’ll be fine. It- It has to be fine.” 

It won’t be fine. She knows it, but she finds herself too weak to tell Dustin that.

Even if she had the strength she wouldn’t be able to. 

“Re-” Eddie starts, abruptly cutting himself off as if he realizes that right now, while she’s still with him, the last thing he wants to waste precious breaths on is a nickname. She wants to insist he call hers it, though, as it helps spread warmth through her bones as it always had. She loves when he calls her that. She always did, even when she would fight him on it.

 “Willow,” he finally corrects himself. She wishes she could feel his thumb swiping at her cheek, slow and surely gentle, soft as it always had been when it came to her, “Please, baby, stay with me.” 

More words might have been exchanged between Dustin and Eddie, but Willow can’t hear them anymore. 

She stares at his face, at the freckle. At the cheeks and lips she had kissed countless times. At the eyes she had seen entire undiscovered universes countless times.

It was worth it, she decided. It all was worth it to have known and to have loved Eddie Munson. 

He had once told her that to die at her hand, to die from and to die for her, would be a heavenly way to go. For her to be the death of him was a way he’d be proud to go. 

He was right, she thinks, fading, fading, fading. What a heavenly way to die. 

Eddie Munson’s face is the last one that Willow Jenkins sees.

[brainfilehasstoppedworking]

Just some stuff from an AU don't mind me, y'all.

《~~~~~~》

Takaaki looked up from his book to see Toko watching him. She seemed shocked and a bit embarrassed. Ah, right.

He'd known a bit about Toko prior to him adopting her. He'd known about her abusive household and how her parents were awful. They'd been called from family and some neighbors about it, but with a lack of evidence, they couldn't do much. But Takaaki knew they were hiding something. Sadly, he couldn't do anything about it.

He'd also read some of her published works. She was an excellent writer, a prodigy. From such a young age she already had a great knack for writing. He felt proud of her. And he always wished he could do something. He knew what it felt like...

So when he found out about his son having the same class as her, he knew he had to do something. He calmly approached her as to not scare her. He had told her about what he knew about her home and that he empathized with her pain. He of course told her that she can come live with him and Taka and they can all work everything out. Get her away from her horrible home.

He remembered how hostile she looked. She seemed upset at him, at his proposal. What did he know?

She did hesitantly accept it.

And he did everything he could to gain custody of her or at least get her somewhere better. Away from her family. They didn't have much, but he wanted her to have a safe environment. Even if it meant he couldn't provide much to her financially...

He won the case, of course. And he was able to adopt her, make her part of the family.

Though, he never told her he was actually a fan of her books. The way she writes everything is perfect. She truly was a prodigy. He was so proud of her, genuinely.

He looked at the cover of the book, smiling. "It's a good book. I've been re-reading it recently because I really liked it a lot." Takaaki said, smiling still.

Toko looked down at her feet. She seemed very embarrassed, "Y-You're probably saying that b-because I'm now your kid..." Toko said, not believing his praise. He sighed, putting his bookmark between the pages and closing the book.

"I'm not saying it because you're my kid. It's actually genuine. I've read all your books. You've got great talent, Kiddo." Takaaki said.

Toko's cheeks turned red, she was fiddling with her fingers. "You don't mean that..."

Takaaki got up from his seat and made his way to her. He hesitantly hugged her, "You know, you can take a compliment. Just for once." Takaaki rubbed his thumb on her shoulder. Toko sniffled, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

He sighed again, holding her more tightly. "It's okay, one step at a time. It takes a while..."

Takaaki planted a small kiss on her head and let go of her. "Just know that I do mean what I said, I really like your works. Though you do have to tone down at some of the more...romantic scenes. I know you're a teen with hormones...but boy howdy, Toko!" Takaaki said, he was concerned about how she could write something like *that* so well.

He was very concerned. Especially since she had been doing this at a very young age...

Toko seemed to find his concerns amusing. She giggled into her hand. Takaaki grinned, at least he could make her giggle.

Just one step at a time.

《~~~~~~》

I'm done with this after it was in my drafts. I wrote this on Tumblr because Idk where else to put this. I mean, Ao3 definitely, but Idk yet.

Also, Takaaki saying "boy howdy" is the funniest shit to me and that's why I wrote it. I even thought of him saying it in a southern accent.

[hidefdoritos]

I've been put on a steroid to help me beat this infection and boy howdy I hate it.

mental breakdown, food mention, SA mention, dysphoria, giant text wall, and a lot of relationship rambling under the cut. feel free to scroll. I am safe.

it feels like my brain has been lifted out and placed in a hot air balloon that is also a carousel. the balloon is piloting my body around. my body is extra sweaty and also jittery and little nauseous. the carousel of my brain is so anxious and cannot focus and is going Nine Million Miles Per Hour spiraling So Hard. i have 4 quizzes and an exam to do. i can't find an empty classroom without A Couple hanging out to "study" (in adjacent chairs, all but sitting in each other's laps) so I'm doing the exams from one of the music practice rooms and I can hear two pianists playing in different keys and it's driving me crazy and also I'm typing so much faster than I usually do and speaking fast too I think. i can't go back to my room because if my roommate is there and asks me what's wrong with me I'm gonna just cry because I'm spiraling SO HARD right now especially about how I'm single and my roommate is just gonna feel awkward and bad because she has a boyfriend and her entire identity is wrapped around him and she knows I envy that. oh gosh someone is playing a sad song and i'm actually going to cry about it. can't tell my other friend because she got broken up with Brutally over the summer and I don't want to make her sad. can't tell the other friend because she just got engaged. can't talk to the other friend because she asked a boy out for coffee and is texting the play by play about that. it's the same boy I wanted to ask out for coffee but i can't ruin her fun by saying so. i don't want to talk to a single person about it because I don't want to make them sad too but I don't want to talk to a dating/married person about it because they can't relate. don't want to talk to my ace friend because he can't relate. can't tell the other friend because that would require reaching for my phone and if I get on my phone I'll never get the schoolwork done. my screentime is over 8 hours today and I'm still not done. i have the world's most unmotivated group for my group project and I'm supposed to be leading and I've been sick for a month and the interview just fell through and nobody has stepped up to help. I'm so far behind I need to either get better or drop out. the costumes crew is waiting on me. i have paperwork due. everybody is better than me at everything. i scheduled work during the Thursday dress rehearsal. i'm in no way ready for the Friday concert. my stomach hurts from the antibiotic. i want to burst into tears but I'm so congested that I think a gallon of fluid would come straight out of my head and I've been trying so hard to hydrate. my laptop is in my lap and every time I look down I can see my chest which I usually don't feel dysphoric about but I guess that (and also sense-memories) decided to crawl out of the woodwork just for the heck of it because why not kick Moss while she's down I guess. my thrifted boots aren't actually leather and they're peeling. i'm wearing my split skirt and it looks incredible. i did such a bad job of painting my nails. why is there a mirror in this practice room. ironically the bottom of it cuts off between m neck and my shoulders, which is where I feel disconnected right now. my foot is going to sleep. i feel manic and depressive at the same time. my laptop is hot. i've been writing this post for 12 minutes and i think it helped. even if stuff isn't done it's helping to put all the thoughts out there. like venting a rice cooker. oh gosh I should be asleep already. i need to shower and go to bed. i already got a one day extension for this midterm i just need to go do it. i need to shower still. nooooo I have to deal with my naked body. i'm crying. why is this sending me over the edge? i'm gonna have to sit down in the shower tonight. oh no. on the one hand right now i have all the feelings of This Is Getting Bad Again that usually precede a serious low point in my life. however to be fair this is the first time i'm letting myself process any of the emotions from the last month of being sick. i just kept carrying on and collapsing over and over. ah, poor kid. i've been trying so hard.

[littlecornerinbrooklyn]

trying to make plans to go to the march for Palestine later because i can't just keep bursting into tears throughout the day and then do nothing with that energy (besides write to my government people and BOY HOWDY did Gillebrand get some Strong Words from me after her Brian Lehrer interview) besides sit with it and I just--I'm genuinely at a loss for words with what we're witnessing and the spinelessness of world leaders. Thankfully Ireland isn't afraid to speak up for human rights but like...holy shit it's been just catastrophically bleak on all fronts

[chrissylives929]

Uhh howdy I’ve never used Tumblr before but I’m giving it a shot- as my first post, I give you my first ever attempt at writing a story… Critiques are appreciated

“Crimson”

“It happened on a Monday night,” he said, “I was only home for maybe an hour, it was a long day, a lot of exams, I was so ready for this year to end. Didn’t realize how easy we had it…”

“It was almost midnight when I heard my sister scream, she was so easily startled,” he laughed. “There was one time the dog jumped on her bed in the middle of the night, I swear, she probably woke up the whole neighborhood, good times.” His voice grew weaker. “I miss her.” He said, tears growing in his eyes.

“I grabbed my little slingshot, expecting some rat or spider was what scared her, the house wasn’t the cleanest, always had a pest problem. Anyway, I quietly strode over to her room, making sure not to scare whatever came out back to its den. I got to the room and saw some kind of red liquid staining the carpet under the door, thought it was Kool-Aid… thought she had the last packet and wasn’t going to share. Assumed she dropped it when she got scared.”

“The door slowly opened, and out stepped Cait. Her white pajamas were slightly torn and heavily stained. I could see her neck was kind of crooked, as if her spine was trying to escape through the side. I yelled at her for potentially waking up our mom, who had gotten home just before I did. All I got in response was silence. She just looked at me. And that’s when I noticed her eyes were gone, in their place was just a dark, blood-like crimson ball, slowly rippling. I stepped back in horror, looking at her once again from afar. I saw now that her shirt wasn’t simply torn, there was a softball sized hole in her chest.”

“Once I realized what had happened, it was too late. What looked like a tentacle shot out of her chest in my direction. I jumped out of the way, only to tumble down the stairs. I didn’t hit anything important, thankfully, i got up, ran to the pantry to grab a bag and some supplies. I knew I wouldn’t be able to come back here, at least, not for a while, so I grabbed everything I could carry and left. When I got outside I saw a red blob slowly rolling up the side of my house towards my mom’s room… I wish I could've saved her.”

He cuts his story short at the sound of rustling in the bushes. The young man jumps over the campfire and runs behind me. I stand in front of and plant myself to the ground, ready to protect him as if he were my own child, even though I’ve only known him for a couple days. I stand at the ready with my machete in one hand, and a smoldering stick in the other. I wonder to myself what kind of horror I’m about to see, and to be honest, I wasn’t disappointed. The head was a deer’s with antlers made of severed human arms, each twitching in their own sporadic pattern. The head was halfway rotten, but the hands have no sign of decay, almost like some disgusting, flesh trophy. My eyes gaze down, beholding the rest of this godforsaken creature. The body is made up of a human torso linked to the withers of a stallion, both with holes where the hearts used to be, and the hindquarters of a goat with the tail chopped off. A mismatch of moose, bear, and horse legs hold up the revolting thing in front of us. Taking what little time I have before it attacks, I can guess it’s been searching for a new husk for a while. Damn. Just my luck. These… things, invade whatever living thing is around and take what they need as a vessel. Judging by what the kid said about his sister, I’m willing to bet “Cait’s” head is somewhere on a Hog’s body or something. Not that it would change much, the boy was relentless on those descriptions.

The monster stares down at us, huffs, and lets out a shriek that, as far as I know, doesn’t naturally come from deer. How do i even describe this? It doesn’t even make any sense. The scratch was like every donor cried at once, hoping for the salvation of death. Two spear-like tentacles shoot out each of the eye sockets of the buck, coming straight at me. I throw the kid out of the way, step back, and strike the bloody blurs with my burnt branch, causing them to shatter like glass. The beast screams out in pain, and rather than using another tendril to strike, it jumps towards us. I kick it in the “chest” and it fell into the fire, sadly it grabbed my shirt with its antlers and ripped part of it off. That was my favorite shirt. Come to think of it, that was my only shirt.

“I’m gonna kill this goddamn thing, don’t you dare stop me, kid,” I snap at him.

“Yes sir.” He sheepishly responds.

Just as I turn around, another red spear rushes towards me. I jump back just in the nick of time as it lodges itself into the ground, only inches in front of me. In a state of what I can only describe of blind rage, stupidity, and vengeance for my shirt, I throw my machete into the fire, leaving it to cook, and start a full-on assault against this ugly beast. It had already gotten back up and started to burn, letting out another terrifying screech. I’m pretty sure its goal is to make me deaf, ‘cause all I hear is ringing, but I’m a man on a mission, and a little tinnitus ain’t gonna stop me. The beast lunges towards me. I step back and grab my machete from the fire, which, in hindsight, it probably wasn’t necessary for me to shove it in there like that, y’know, because hot metal + skin = big ouchie, at least I got a cool scar now… still… yeowch.

As the monster comes towards me for another strike, I slice the human torso in half, causing the upper part to tumble down and hit the dirt. The moment it hit the ground, the arms, deer head, and torso started to solidify into rock. That half of the monster is dead, even down to the original form, horse half’s still up and at it though.

Good news, it’s blinded since I removed the head. Bad news, it’s in a blind rage kicking around… blindly. I grabbed another smoldering stick, which, in my professional opinion, hurt like shit, and looked for an opening. Once I saw it, I leapt onto the back of the horse, honestly I’m surprised the rotting corpse didn’t crumble under my weight. I clamped my legs around it’s body, I took the stick and shoved it into the open hole, burning the parasite inside. I got off it as quickly as I had gotten on, tumbling as I hit the ground.