#I don’t wanna imagine what they’d do if they saw my scars from cutting

[bluequeerio]

someone said thinking abt their fictional blorbo helps them sleep at night and same

this app genuinely makes me feel less lonely

[ragingbookdragon]

If All Of The Kings Had Their Queens On The Throne

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4K Warnings: Explicit Language, Slight Angst, Mature Themes

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of the previous fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

When the door to The Haunt didn’t immediately open, she frowned and clicked the button. “Hey! Lemme in!”

For a moment, there was nothing, then she heard, “Apologies Miss Wayne. Ghost-Maker is busy training. Shall I alert him?”

She sighed. “Nah, just let me in and I’ll get him.”

“Of course.”

The doors split open, and she walked into the base, immediately rolling her eyes at the colors, or better yet the lack of color at all. She had no idea what spurred him to pick white as one of the main colors in everything he wore and used, but God if it didn’t make him look like a psychopath. A snort passed her lips at her little joke, and she wandered around the desk setup and through one of the curtained areas until she heard boxing gloves meeting a punching bag.

Gently tugging the curtain aside, she paused, leaning against the doorway, and watched his back. He was shirtless and had headphones in, as he usually was and did when he trained alone, and his muscles rippled each time he threw a powerful strike. She couldn’t help but watch him; he’d always been so diligent when it came to his training, and if she hadn’t known him better than she did, she would’ve assumed all he did was train. She was very fond of it though. Very fond of him.

“You going to stand there or are you going to get a set of gloves and spar with me?”

She shook herself from her thoughts to see him rounding the bag, throwing a devastating kick; she snorted. “No thanks, Ghost. I just got over having a cracked skull.” Walking over, she neared the space, but stayed just far enough that she wouldn’t get struck.

“I’m actually here to invite you over to the manor tonight.” She said, watching as his eyes flitted to hers behind the mask. “I take it you know.”

“About the little pool party Bruce throws for everyone? Yes. I keep hearing about it over the Ghost-Net.”

She smiled. “It’s a lot of fun, Ghost. You’d have fun.”

He scoffed. “What? Being surrounded by every single hero this side of the galaxy? No thank you, (Y/N). I’d rather not.”

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the punching bag and held it, looking at him. “You’re not going to make any friends if you spend all your time cooped up in here.”

“I’m not looking to make friends,” he retorted, throwing another punch that sent shock-waves through her arms to her core. “I’m here to clean up Gotham.”

(Y/N) gazed at him. “Sure I can’t persuade you?”

“Positive.”

She shrugged. “Then you leave me no choice.” Leveling him with a strong expression, she warned, “As the newest member of the Batfamily, you have to attend the pool party. It’s tradition and anyone who doesn’t, has to take patrol routes for everyone for a month straight.”

Ghost-Maker stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her. “You’re lying.”

(Y/N) sucked in a breath dramatically, “Ghost, I never lie.” She looked to the ceiling. “Icon, run the conversations from my phone named, ‘Bat-Chat’ and tell him I’m not lying.”

After a moment, the AI’s voice came over, clear and positive. “Miss Wayne is correct, sir. Record texts have shown that those who do not attend the parties thrown by the family for the other superheroes are subject to various torture techniques.”

“What!” (Y/N) shouted. “No, we don’t!”

“You said on June eighth that your brother Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be swirlied for missing the party.”

She sputtered. “I was joking! We don’t swirly each other. We just force our patrol routes on each other.” (Y/N) glanced at Ghost-Maker. “If you don’t come, you’re going to take patrol from me, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke, and Damian. You really wanna patrol all month by yourself? All that territory? Think of the time and energy it’ll take, Ghost.”

Ghost-Maker stared her down for a minute, mulling over his choices, then he finally sighed, resigned to his fate. “Fine. I’ll come over tonight.”

(Y/N) grinned. “Nope, you gotta get ready now. We’re arriving together.”

“You annoy me.” He griped, bypassing her to the doorway, and she followed him towards the stairs and to his bedroom where he entered the bathroom and got in the shower. She waited on the bed, gazing around his room while he showered.

“Who all is attending this party? That you know for sure.”

(Y/N) blinked, taking a moment to think. “Uh, all of the Justice League, the Titans and Teen Titans, the Outlaws, a few Green Lanterns…and probably a few anti-heroes but we’ll see.” She shrugged. “So pretty much everyone we interact with on a normal basis.”

“I heard Harley is coming too.”

“Yeah, she’s technically part of the family at this point.” (Y/N) said. “She’d be upset if we didn’t invite her over.”

Ghost-Maker stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and she stood from the bed, wandering in behind him as he lathered his face in shaving cream.

“Trying to show out in front of everyone, Ghost?” she joked, leaving back against the door-frame of the small cabinet behind them.

“Bruce doesn’t keep himself kempt all the time. I do,” he remarked, flicking out the straight razor; he raised it to his jaw, and she hummed warningly, causing his brown eyes to meet hers in the mirror. “What?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “I’m just worried you’ll cut yourself.”

“I’ve been shaving my face since I was fifteen, (Y/N).”

“So that scar on your cheekbone isn’t from cutting yourself?”

He gazed at her. “You know why I have that scar.”

“I do.” She answered, then leaned away from the wall, shifting until she was sitting on the bathroom counter in front of him. Taking the razor, she tilted his chin up and carefully, scraped it down his cheek before rinsing it. “I gave it to you when you called me a coward.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to hit me that hard.” Ghost-Maker replied, coffee eyes focused on her face; she felt exposed under his knowing gaze.

She chuckled. “I think that was the first time I really surprised you that I wasn’t just my brother’s twin sister following him around to make sure he was safe.”

“You can’t blame me for thinking you were. You never joined in the training.”

“I learned better watching then doing.” (Y/N) rinsed the razor and tipped his head back as she drug the instrument down the exposed skin of his throat. “Most people are fearful when someone holds a razor to their neck,” she murmured, carefully shaving his Adam’s apple.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Her hands stilled ever so slightly as she gaped at him. Normally he would’ve said, “I don’t feel fear” but now he said he wasn’t afraid of her. She wanted to hope it was because of what had occurred the last month, her confessing her feelings, him replying that he couldn’t love her like she did him—he’d not totally ruled out caring for her, at least that’s what she saw his words being. They’d not talked about it more than that night, merely going back to work, but she could tell that Ghost-Maker’s demeanor towards her had changed a minute amount. He watched her more. Was…softer with her.

(Y/N) smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.” She rinsed the razor and looked over his face for a moment, then she grabbed the towel and wet it, gently brushing over the shaving cream still on his face. Patting his face dry, she nodded. “Looks good. No nicks.”

“Thank you,” he approved, but didn’t move, keeping his eyes on her and she couldn’t help but look down, suddenly nervous under his gaze.

Her eyes widened when she saw the expanse of his chest though and she reached up, fingers delicately tracing a jagged and raised scar in the middle of his chest. Even healed it looked angry and a bolt of sadness hit her in the heart.

“You’re sad.” He noted. For a psychopath who didn’t feel empathy, he was actually good at discerning when people felt sad—or maybe it was just because he’d known her so long.

(Y/N) nodded, whispering, “There aren’t many scars on mine and Bruce’s bodies that look like this one.” Her fingers moved to one on the right side of his ribs and she frowned. “We’ve always had someone to stitch us up, or we did it for one another. But I can’t help but wonder…” her eyes met his. “Who did it for you? Who stitched the ones you couldn’t reach and do yourself?”

Her chest hurt. “Who was there for you when I wasn’t?” she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the center of his chest. He was so warm, and she sighed, willing herself to not tear up. “I’m sorry, K.”

“For what?” he questioned, a hand coming up behind her, palm resting against the back of her neck.

“For leaving you behind,” (Y/N) answered, deciding then to wrap her arms around his waist, turning her face so her cheek rested to his chest. “I should’ve stayed with you.”

Ghost-Maker made a noise in his throat, and she wasn’t sure if it was agreement or bitterness. “And if you had, you wouldn’t have raised your family.”

She sighed. “Yeah…I know…but even during that time I couldn’t help but wonder how your journey was going. How you and your tech were evolving throughout the years.” (Y/N) pulled back slightly and looked at him. “I used to imagine what it’d be like to be there with you. To fight beside you. To live out your dream with you.”

His hand shifted from the back of her neck to cup her cheek and he tilted her head up, leaning down to kiss her. She closed her eyes, arms shifting from around his waist to wrap around his neck and his free hand gripped her waist, pulling her against him. Ghost-Maker shifted, pressing his lips to the underside of her jaw as his fingers dipped under her thigh, pulling it up until (Y/N) got the hint to cock it around his hip.

“K,” she breathed as he sunk his teeth into her neck, biting hard enough that it had her inhaling sharply, fingers twisting in the dark hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him smile against her skin.

“What do you want?” he asked, pressing surprisingly gentle kisses to where he’d bit as the hand that was on her cheek lowered to push up the blouse that stopped at her waist. His fingers dipped underneath, rubbing against her skin and he asked again, this time firmer, “(Y/N), what do you want?”

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she could barely think, could barely form words. “I—”

A shrill beeping startled the two of them, well, her more than him, and she finally got herself to breathe. “That’s Bruce calling.” She uncurled one of her hands from his neck to reach for the phone in her pocket, but he caught it.

“Call him back.” Ghost-Maker said, grabbing a fistful of her blouse, starting to pull up.

(Y/N) shrugged his hand off. “If Bruce’s calling, it means he needs my help.” He pulled away and giving her a look, one she met firmly. “I need to take it.”

They gazed at each other for a moment and then he harrumphed, pulling away from her, and walked from the bathroom to his closest.

She sighed and pulled out her phone, answering it. “Hello?”

Are you on your way yet? The party’s already started and everyone’s asking where you both are.

Clearing her throat, she replied, “Yeah, he’s getting his swim trunks.” She glanced out the doorway. “You own trunks, don’t you, Ghost?”

“Do I somehow give you the impression that I’m incompetent?” he shot back, and she rolled her eyes.

“Ass.” She put the phone back to her ear. “We’ll be there in fifteen.”

Be careful. Love you.

“We will. And I love you too.” She ended the call and hopped off the bathroom counter, flicking off the lights as she walked out, seeing him throwing a bag over his shoulder.

“I’m ready to be bored out of my mind.” He grunted and she rolled her eyes again.

“Oh, shut up. You’re going to have a great time. I promise.”

Ghost-Maker glared at her as he pulled the white and black mask over his eyes and nose. “And how do you know?”

(Y/N) grinned, shoving him in the stomach as she walked past him. “Because I’m going to be there all night.”

***

“See!” she chirped as he sunk into the hot tub. “This isn’t so bad.” She handed him a drink. “Free drinks, laughter, and swimming. Fun, huh?”

He grunted, sipping the margarita she’d given him. “Your family and their friends are loud.”

(Y/N) looked over his head towards the other pool, grinning as her eldest nephew threw her youngest into the pool, then turned and threw his best friend. Laughter peeled from the entire group in the pool.

“Yeah…but that’s how you know they’re having a good time.” Her eyes drifted to Bruce who was fondly watching Jason and Roy grill, occasionally laughing as one of them told a joke. “Feelin’ good, Bruce?”

He took a sip of his brandy, sinking until his shoulders were covered by the running hot water. “Feeling great, (Y/N).” he held out his drink. “Put some ice in there? Please?”

She smiled and pulled her legs out of the hot tub, and really, it wasn’t exactly a hot tub because most were above ground, but Bruce being who he was, had redesigned it so that it and the pool were both in ground and connected.

Taking his glass, she rose and wandered over to the bar where a few of her friends were pouring drinks and chatting. “Hey Clark. Diana. How are you both tonight?”

Diana smiled and raised her wine glass. “I am well, (Y/N). How are you?”

“Can’t complain.” She said. “Clark, put an ice cube in here, would you?”

He did as she asked and dropped one in with the tongs. “I’m still surprised you got Ghost-Maker here. I assumed he wasn’t going to come.”

Her eyes flicked back over to the hot tub, and she watched Bruce tip his head back as he laughed, Ghost-Maker chuckling too; she smiled. “He’d never admit it, but he’s glad he came tonight. Anti-social as he usually is, he likes being included in things.” (Y/N) smiled at them and winked, walking back over.

She took her seat back on the side in the middle between Bruce and Ghost-Maker, handing her brother his brandy. “Clark licked all over the rim of your glass, Bruce. Just letting you know.” Feeling particularly childish, Bruce raised the glass to his lips and licked all around the glass. “You’re a child.” She remarked, then glanced to her side, seeing one of the Green Lanterns coming down the way.

“Kyle!” she greeted. “Join the fray!”

The artist smiled, then looked at the men in the hot tub. “I don’t want to intrude,” he said, and Bruce waved.

“Come on in.”

(Y/N) patted the wall between her legs and Kyle walked down the steps, shifting until his back pressed against the wall and she dropped her legs over his shoulders, fingers carding in his hair. “How’s it been going on Oa?”

He shrugged, sipping his beer. “It’s good. Can’t complain too much about saving the universe.”

She smirked. “Uh huh…and what’s this about you and Soranik?”

Kyle choked a bit on his beer, coughing slightly as she giggled. “It’s uh—complicated.” He tipped his head back, resting on her thighs so he could look up at her. “What about you? How’ve you been?”

(Y/N) sighed wistfully, combing back his hair. “Ain’t nothing changin’ but the weather…and the usual telling off the men in front of you for continually betting each other who can do the more stupid shit.”

At that, Kyle’s head tipped up and he first looked at Bruce, then to Ghost-Maker who merely drank from his margarita. “Uh…who’s that?” he asked quietly, and she snorted.

“Kyle, this is Ghost-Maker. Ghost, this is Kyle Rayner, the torch bearing Green Lantern.” She smushed his cheeks. “Isn’t he adorable?”

Ghost-Maker gave her an amused puff. “He is handsome, I’ll give you that.”

Kyle was glad the water had already flushed his skin because the way the man had flirted had made his cheeks warm. “Thank you.” He glanced back at her. “Is his name…?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he takes anonymity to a whole new level.” She tugged at a strand of his hair. “Did you know that only me, Bruce, and a few others know what he looks like and what his entire name is?”

He blinked in response. “That’s…hardcore secret identity, right there.”

“That’s because he doesn’t have any friends.” (Y/N) shot Ghost-Maker a grin. “But you can call him Ghost for short. It’s easier than the mouthful of Ghost-Maker.” The vigilante in return merely rolled his eyes and sipped his drink. “So, Kyle, have any new graphic novels in the works?”

“I do actually. Haven’t written them down but here’s an idea.” He brought up his hand out of the water and a green flash appeared in everyone’s vision. “See how you like it so far?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh in disbelief. “This is so cool.” She grabbed the construct comic book and flipped through it. “Who’s the main?”

“Haven’t named her yet. But she’s a transgender, pansexual Native American who solves crimes as a superhero.” His cheeks flushed. “I know it’s ironic because we’re superheroes, but I couldn’t help it, you know?”

She nodded, seemingly impressed. “Figured out which tribe yet?”

“I was thinking possibly Cherokee. Or Mohawk.”

“I’ve got a MTF Kanienʼkehá꞉ka friend who lives in Quebec.” She said. “I’ll give her a call about working with you on this.”

Kyle lit up like the morning sun. “Really, (Y/N)? You’d do that?”

She looked down at him and shifted her thighs a bit, bumping his head. “Of course. You’re one of my best friends.”

“I love you, (Y/N).” he grinned, and she chuckled.

“I love you too, loser.”

Suddenly the speakers thumped, and her head shot up, looking towards Tim and Bart who were giggling. She pointed at them. “HEY! THIS IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG!”

They merely giggled more and suddenly everyone was singing along to the raunchy song, well, the teens and young adults were but not her and the older people.

(Y/N) shoved Kyle off as she got up and ran towards the speakers. “WAP IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG TO PLAY AT A POOL PARTY! THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT! TIMOTHY JACKSON, YOU GET BACK HERE WITH THAT IPHONE! TURN IT OFF!”

***

She smiled sweetly at her family and friends passed out in the living room, pillows and blankets thrown everywhere, arms slung over bodies, heads on stomachs and backs. It was nice to see them all so comfortable with each other, so tightly knit; it reminded her of a better time.

Most of the adults had gone home though some had stayed in extra rooms. She was sure that her brother and him had gone down to the cave to have it out just for the hell of it, but she was rather tired and decided to call it a night—though it was actually one am.

Closing the door behind her, she didn’t bother to go shower, planning to do it in the morning as she started stripping. First went the swimsuit cover, then the top and bottoms. She kicked her flip-flops off into the corner of the room and stretched her arms above her head, a quiet groan passing her lips as her joints and bones popped.

As she lowered her hands, a hand clamped around her mouth and another wound around her waist, tugging her back and she gasped against their palm, starting to struggle when she heard them chuckle. The sound, combined with the familiar smell of sandalwood wafting up her nose told her who it was, and they smiled against her ear. “Worried?”

She reached up and yanked his hand from her mouth, hissing, “You’re lucky I didn’t turn around and punch the shit out of you, K.”

“Promises, promises,” he murmured, pressing a kiss behind her ear and she shivered against his chest.

“What are you doing in here? I thought you and Bruce went to go spar?”

Ghost-Maker hummed, the hand around her waist starting to squeeze the flesh of her side. “We did. He said he was tired and went to bed.”

“And you didn’t go home?” her voice kicked up a notch when his other hand slipped from her grip and slid down her front.

“I didn’t want to go home.” He pressed his front against her rear and she gasped, one of her hands coming back to grab at his thigh, digging her nails in to keep him there. He smirked as she ground back against him. “Seems like you don’t want me going home either.”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly. “Something’s up with you tonight. You’re being a lot more…passionate than usual.”

He nipped at her neck, fingers delicately dancing over her abdomen. “I don’t like that Green Lantern friend of yours.”

“Who? Kyle?” she questioned confusedly. “Why?”

“He’s very free with himself towards you.”

At that, it was crystal clear, and she spun in his arms, looking at him, though she had to strain to see his face. “Are you jealous?”

“No.” He griped, though the way his jaw set, told her the truth.

“You are!” she laughed. “You’re jealous that I’m close with other men. That’s adorable.”

Ghost-Maker stared at her for a split moment, then he bent down and grabbed her legs, throwing her over his shoulder. (Y/N)’s gasp turned into a laugh as he marched towards the bed and tossed her onto it, watching as she rolled onto her back and laughed some more at him.

“God, you’re green, K.” she giggled, watching with hooded eyes as he shucked the swim trunks down to his feet and crawled onto the bed.

“I’m not envious of a glow-stick who’s never gotten this far with you.” He countered, grabbing her ankles; he yanked her down the bed and underneath him and she gazed up at him.

“Do you wanna know how many men have gotten this far with me?” (Y/N) challenged and Ghost-Maker stared into her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter how many because once I’m done with you, you won’t remember anyone but me.” He lowered his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her stomach, trailing downwards and she panted in anticipation when,

CRASH!

They started, and this time, he did too, both turning to the door, then to each other.

“What the hell—”

“OH SHIT! SOMEONE PUT OUT THE FIRE!”

(Y/N) grunted. “Oh my God, what did they do?”

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE! OH MY GOD SOMEONE CALL NINE-ONE-ONE! OR THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!”

“AUNT (Y/N)! DAD!”

She rolled out from underneath Ghost-Maker, ignoring his grabbing for her and she hurried to her door, yanking the bathrobe from the hook on the back. Slinging it on, she turned and pointed at the man. “Once I’m done out here, I’m coming back and you’re not going anywhere for a few hours.”

He smirked as he collapsed onto his back, taking himself in his hand. She almost burst into flames at the sight, and he purred, “You might wish to hurry, (Y/N). Wouldn’t want to miss anything.” His words tipped into a groan as his hand shifted along himself, and she scowled at him as she pulled the door open, his erotic frame illuminating in the hall light.

“You’d better watch it, K. We both know how mean I can get when I miss out.”

[bleachbleachbleach]

Fic: Away, Away

This was written for Day 13 of @hitsuhina-week! If you prefer, you can also read this on AO3. Which is my preference, because Tumblr keeps eating my spacing whether I use Rich Text or HTML so it looks absurd on here. >.>

Aftermath / Going on a Trip Together Hinamori Momo + Hitsugaya Toushirou Pre-Series

--

This will be the last time. 

(Whisper it, so he won't hear.)

--

Every spring, Junrinan finds its way to the western mountains. (The souls of Rukongai wander.) There is no grand procession: They disperse across the vast range, often alone and sometimes in twos. They are always careful not to cause disruption, because while one soul in a forest full of spirits generally isn't worth the effort, seven is a meal.

They are three. 

Soon, they will be two. Hinamori can't stop whispering her new name, hi na mo ri. It's early to be out here, but the snows were mild this year and new growth is already peeking from beneath the thick, rich leaf rot. She feels an affinity with this year's tender saplings, a feeling that grows hotter with every whispered repetition of her name. Her grandmother had given it to her, showed her how to write it. She'd studied her name harder than she had the exam.

Hinamori has an acceptance letter. In April, she is leaving. 

Hinamori nearly walks straight into a nettle spirit--the hair-eating kind--draped across the game path plain as day.

"Do you wanna be bald?" Toushirou grouses as he yanks her back just in time. "I guess it fits. You're acting like a blind old man." 

Hinamori blinks, brushes imagined hair from her face. It's the fifth time she's tried to walk straight through a spirit in as many days. 

"Studying is bad for your eyes," says Toushirou. He doesn't care for moony Hinamori. Momo had paid a lot more attention to what was in front of her. But she's Hinamori now. At least, that's the only name she'll write, dragging her thin stick through the dirt outside the house. So that's what he calls her.

Toushirou squeezes through a bumble of pot-bellied mushroom spirits and Hinamori follows him, stepping carefully into his tracks.

"You'll need to keep reading even when I'm not around. It'll go if you don't practice," she says.

Toushirou makes a noncommittal sound.

"I'll send you letters full of kanji and quiz you on them when I visit." I'll learn how to write them pretty, she promises, just like Baachan does.

"Will you write me back?" she asks.

"Probably not."

This hurts her. But Toushirou plans to go the rest of his life without writing a single thing. It's not personal.

"Why would I need to tell you what happens in Junrinan?" he says. "You already know."

--

And if I forget?

--

Life in Junrinan doesn't change. That's what Toushirou was promised. The winters are quiet and slow, and in spring they go to the mountains. Summers are for farming, and autumns for harvest. Then winters are quiet and slow again.

Spring passes with bracken and angelica in hand. It is counted in the spirals of ferns as their number grows in the baskets. Some are dried; some are steeped. Mostly, they are sold. Many of the men in Junrinan spend springtime waking before dawn to sprint to the mountain, forage the lowlands, and return to the village for evening revelries, but Toushirou and Hinamori and their grandmother have always spent the whole of the season between the trees. The mountains prefer it when you stay. 

This will be true no matter how long Hinamori is gone.

April 12th through July 20th, then our first break, she says, scratching numbers in the dirt. But Junrinan doesn't have dates the way the Academy does. She draws the way the trees will change. The change happens in a long straight line, and beyond July 20th there is an emptiness rather than a repetition. How do you draw an unwritten future?

Hinamori writes her name again.

--

In the spring, everything is full: Toushirou enjoys the wet green of it, the late snows and vernal flooding. The water flows down from the mountains ice cold and the forests are loud and thick with spirits.

The spirits have no names that are written and no faces that have ever stayed the same, unremembered but immemorial. They are loud. Most of them respect the borders of his body. They brush against his legs with thick wet fur or scrape his cheek with leathery wings. They coil around his throat, treating him like a tree or rock. Some of them are trees and rocks. They are the mountains and forest, just like the wandering souls of Junrinan. They all belong here, more or less.

Toushirou can see most of them. When the blurry ones pass through you, it's feverishly unpleasant for the split-second it happens and then is nothing at all. The blurry ones, Toushirou figures, aren't actually in this forest. They are like shadows at sunset, cast long and far from their bodies. Their true bodies roam a different world entirely.

That's what Hinamori wants to do. 

Hinamori used to clamor for shinigami stories any time one of them passed through town. She'd been told one time that all travelers carried stories and now expected it.

The shinigami never expected her. Unless commerce was involved they didn't tend to acknowledge souls, or even look at them. So they always seemed surprised by Hinamori, like it hadn't occurred to them that they'd meet a real, full person out here. Which is fair enough, Toushirou grudgingly allows--there are plenty of souls in Junrinan so old and staid they cannot move, nor speak. (Don't touch them. It's unlucky.)

We don't talk about those.

The shinigami talk story: The story of black dye. The story of a tall bathhouse. The story of grilled meat on sticks. The story of the time they saw a noble. The story of a big fish. The story of a bigger fish. The story of the bullet train. The story of my sister, who isn't very interesting but is the only thing that comes to mind right now sorry. The story of 19th seats should be paid more. The story of the soul who wanted a story. 

Almost none of the stories are about death.

"Little girls shouldn't go into those mountains," one shinigami once said, which is as close as a story ever came to it. "Nasty stuff in there. They're called Hollows, you know. Real bad guys."

The shinigami patted the sword at his hip. He'd just told Hinamori a story about the third son of a lesser noble whom everyone loved and thought deserved better than the shadows of his elder brothers. And how preposterous is it, really, that he should have to prove himself when his brothers never did? Pushed out here into the boonies, seeking honor and fame. He really feels for the guy. Don't you? Don't you?

"You seem to know a lot about 'this guy,'" Toushirou offered.

"I'm a master storyteller," said the shinigami.

I've killed a Hollow before, you know, boasted the master storyteller. He'd led a unit of twelve men into those mountains out there, which were so quiet you could hear your own heart beating. When you can hear your terror--that's when you're on the cusp of valor. His eyes lit up. I was the one who cut the mask, he said.

Twelve is obviously far too many (seven is a meal), and those mountains have never been quiet. Toushirou didn't think he'd really been.

In the spring, though, there's a dark scar where once there'd been a copse of trees. Shattered branches and burned ground. His grandmother says it smells like Hollow. 

"They see things differently," his grandmother half-explains, of the shinigami and their Hollows and the silence of their mountains. Of course this would seem a different place to them.

"They're idiots," says Toushirou, though suddenly he's not sure. The scar is hair-raising, and his stomach roils. Maybe they really shouldn't be out in the woods.

"The shinigami know more than you," says Hinamori, taking his hand in hers. She grips it tightly, reassuring, or maybe annoyed. Both. She has a lot of school spirit for someone who hasn't even been yet.

But she doesn't let go of his hand, even after they've returned to the cover of the live trees, kitsune fire nestled in the brambles at their feet.

Toushirou makes the mistake of noticing a spirit that tends to linger just out of sight. It feeds on your instinct to look, and it grows higher and higher the more you crane your neck, so sure you'll be able to sneak a glimpse of it. By the time you realize the trick, you've always been had. It's very annoying.

--

This will be the last time.

(Scream it.)

--

"It's so dark out here," says Hinamori, in spite of the kitsune and all the rest. Lots of spirits glow. She is still holding his hand.

Toushirou thinks of the small lamp Hinamori had bought to study by, the wild shadows it cast on the interior walls and the way it had made all hours bright. He thinks of all the hours she hadn't slept. All because some shinigami had told her a story about a school. 

Anything would seem dark by comparison. He can't remember the last time she hadn't had her lamp on when he went to bed.

Hinamori is going to snap the bones in his hand. He yelps. Tears prick in his eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

She doesn't let go, and then she doesn't let go.

"It's so quiet," she says faintly. Her free hand wavers over her heart protectively.

It's so dark. It's so quiet. Quiet enough to hear your terror.

Except it's not. It's not dark.

It's not quiet.

The forest is full, air thick with chirrups and buzzing, screeching, hooting, chittering. Bodies clack and bones shudder. Reeds whistle and something large makes a whomping, resonating tone. Foxfire hisses as it makes sparks, throws phosphorous motes that dance high above. A heartbeat glow marches up the ridged spine of a lizard spirit. The forest is as it has always been.

Toushirou's eyes widen. 

"You can't hear them anymore."

To Hinamori, it is all darkness and silence. 

She sinks to the ground, burying her head in her knees as though to hide from the quiet. From the black. She drops his hand.

"Momo--"

She shakes her head. She opens her hands to the sky like she's waiting for a bird to land. For a split second, a small warm flame billows from her palms. 

Then the entire forest catches.

The thought had been innocent enough--to be her own light in the darkness, conquer her fear. But the forest only hears the conquering. It's the kitsune who don't take kindly to Hinamori's light. Their fire screeches up and outward and then all the spirits are in frenzy. A meal! scream some; and others, a threat! A danger to be expunged. A strange thing not of this forest, these mountains.

Outsider! the world around them hisses. Away.

away, away

Hinamori screams as the flames leap forward--the claws, the vines, the terrors and all in between. She throws herself in front of Toushirou. 

Toushirou can't find his voice at all. The wide whites of his eyes feel the propulsive gust of the forest coming down on them. On Hinamori. No! he can't shout, cold fear coiling over his frozen legs and pricking at his shoulder blades. Something serpentine rushes past him and he's on the ground. His head smacks hard against a writhing tree root and he tastes bile, feels nothing. 

Hears everything.

away

When he wakes, snow is falling, wet and sloppy. Kitsune are nibbling at the singed edges of a hanafuda. Hinamori is in her grandmother's arms. She's crying.

--

Before Hinamori started studying, with her bright lamp and her long nights and her feverish poetry scratched into the ground, before the hunger came, she'd woken one morning to a futon streaked with her blood. Her grandmother said that this was womanhood.

"The tea will stop the bleeding," she assured a tearful Hinamori as they scrubbed at her futon, pinking the waters. Toushirou beat at the stain with his feet, splashing everywhere.

"You don't have to touch it," Hinamori had said quietly, her eyes fixed on the water. "It's my mess."

"Baachan said I have to help," Toushirou objected. "Besides, am I supposed to just sit here and watch you bleed?"

--

Just one last time.

--

Hinamori isn't hurt, but she is in pain. The forest doesn't want her anymore. (She is leaving.)

"The forest sees them differently," his grandmother says, the other half of her earlier explanation. "Them," meaning shinigami. "Them," meaning Hinamori, now.

Shinigami see and are seen differently. They belong differently. Toushirou had only ever distinguished them by their black clothes, and sometimes their attitude. But his grandmother talks about reiryoku, about reiatsu, about the realms the shinigami travel through and the spirits they are blind to. The spirits that belong to different worlds than theirs, even when they're side by side. Some worlds are bound to one another, tied by fate and duty; others are repelled.

As Hinamori's reiatsu blossomed with her womanhood, slowly folding outward past her skin, beyond her body, her worlds were chosen for her. Like the bleeding, there's a tea to help this, too, but it's not the same. 

There is no going back.

"What're you looking at," Toushirou scowls at her. He's not sure what to do with her pain. There's nothing he can do for her pain. But she's looking at him differently, a little less like Hinamori and a little more like the rest of Junrinan does, and that scares him.

She asks him if he'd felt anything. Something cold.

She's asked him before. Every day since the incident, she's asked him.

His answer is always the same. No. Just fear.

He should be helping his grandmother. They're here in the forest for a reason, and that hasn't changed; they have foraging to do. But he doesn't want to leave Hinamori alone. 

"Don't be afraid of it, Shiro-chan," says Hinamori. Hinamori, who's now afraid of the dark.

Hinamori, who is leaving.

--

She doesn't have a choice. When her power comes into her she knows there is only one place she can go. It's a place she has always wanted to go. (She has always wanted to go places.) But now she has to.

She smiles. 

If she is going to go, she's going to fly. She will love, and yearn, and cry. She will give all of herself to the future before her, even when it means that precious things can be only memory. If there is something Hinamori leaves in him when she goes, it's flight. 

Someday, Toushirou will remember to remember that.

--

"Will you write me?" she asks.

--

--

(You will be written.)

--

She returns for the summer, then is gone again. Winter, then gone again. But she doesn't come home for the spring. They'll be going to the realm of the living. They will fight Hollows, just like the Gotei 13. She explains the meaning and stroke order of the characters, go tei,  though she doesn't explain what the Gotei 13 actually is. That part must already seem obvious to her. Shinigami stuff. That's all Toushirou will ever need to know. Seems pretentious.

When Junrinan returns to the mountains this year, Toushirou and his grandmother stay behind. "It's dangerous," she says. She squeezes his shoulders.

It's dangerous now. 

There is no going back.

Junrinan may not change, but life does, and by the second summer, Hinamori has mostly forgotten the shapes of the forest spirits. Toushirou is forgetting them, too. 

The difference is, Hinamori has found replacements. She talks about incantations and sword stances, friendships and histories. She has been to the realm of the living. It's only been a year, and already they have nothing in common but their memories, ever-receding. 

Sometimes she wakes up screaming. She doesn't say why.

--

Toushirou dreams of a chill ripping through him. He dreams of a place where there are no mountains as far as the eye can see.

--

He wakes to Hinamori.

[potatotrash0]

Hey idk if youve done this alreadh but im curious about your body headcanons for the sdr2 cast!! An anon sent some in for characters previously (the one where they said things like angie has vitiligo and stuff-i love them and they really stuck with me haha) and i wanna know your headcanons!! :D

Hmhmm this one I might be listing off the spot lmao. I feel like my hcs are mostly just. Common hcs but hey I never said I wasn’t basic skdjksjdks

cw for. Everyone. Yeah kdjfksjdks

Hajime…..I like to think he’s slightly buff? Maybe that’s not the right word. Toned? Idk, I hc that he jumps around hobbies a lot because he wants to find something he’s good at, so that includes sports. I like the idea that a few stick with him, like swimming and basketball. I imagine he also has light scrapes and scars on his legs from falling, both with skateboarding and general Clumsy Shit.

Also this one switches a lot but with Trans Hajime, I can see him with top surgery scars.

Oh ah, I like freckled Hajime!! It’s cute. This one goes with the sports hc, but I like the idea that he’s kinda tanned. Entirely unrelated but I also like the idea that he has calluses from playing guitar.

Chiakiii!! She’s soft bc I said so. Specifically her thighs, arms and stomach + some stretch marks. And moles all over. Projecting big time onto a cute fictional girl, call that self care <333 /j

uhh other than that, I imagine she has bags under her eyes from staying up late gaming. Also tan Chiaki my love. Shh I know she probably doesn’t go outside for days on end. In my defense I tan easily and I imagine she does too. Again with the projection. Shhhh

Oh oh!!!! I forgot to mention but!!!! Chiaki gets a ton of moles. I saw the boob mole and went !!!!!! fellow mole haver!!!!!! and went nuts. This is the one weird niche entirely irrelevant thing that can get me to like a character, just. Being able to point at them and jump up and down with joy over them also having moles. Idk why it’s just therapeutic <33

Nagito’s bony. Skinny mf. Could probably cut cheese with his elbows. Maybe grate it on his collarbones. Cuddling with him would be a fight to see if you can find a position that doesn’t end with something poking you in the gut. I mean this affectionately, he’s bony as shit but he’s my bony fucker <3

Pale asf, sunburns if he’s in the sun for more than two minutes. His eye bags could hold the entirety of his life’s trauma. Sharpest features ever. Sometimes I hc that he looks greasy, and other times I hc that he looks ethereally pretty in a ghostly way. Either way he always looks like he’s had the soul sucked out of him by a Dementor.

You can probably definitely see the veins in his hands. They’re. Very There. Also I’ve brought this up before but he definitely has big ass hands. L a r g e hands, all the better to head pat you with. This was originally so much more pining but I decided no I’ve exposed myself enough on this blog skfjksjdkd

Oh last minute thing, I think he’d be tall as fuck. Specifically 6’0 or taller. Also he probably (definitely) has at least a few scars from his childhood, particularly that plane crash. And I like to think he has glasses when he’s older. I’m so sorry that his section is so long I have so many thoughts about him ;;;;;

Okay uhh Imposter? Mmm. Idk actually. I do think they’d have callused fingers but soft hands. Probably from having to adapt to using a ton of different talents for their Imposter Agenda. Also stretch marks probably, all over their body.

Teruteru uhhhhh. God. Can you tell I don’t think about some characters ;;;;; Idk I don’t have much that differs from canon. I like him. Oh but he probably has cook hands? Chef hands, whatever you wanna call them. Probably faint scars from cuts and burns from when he was still learning how to cook from his mama.

Mahiru……hmm well freckles obviously dkjfksjd. I think she’s tanned as well since I feel like she likes sunlit shots. Idk I don’t have much. I like to think she’s got a stockier body type though.

Also not necessarily her body but I like her with an undercut!

Peko’s buff <3 it’s canon <333 /j

N ee way yeah. Buff Peko my love. Also she probably has a few scars from handling her sword when she was younger and less experienced. I also feel like she would have contacts she wears when she trains bc fuck exercising with glasses

I don’t really have anything for Hiyoko until she gets her growth spurt. Afterwards, I imagine she’s tall and kinda thin? Mainly bc of fast metabolism probably, though when she’s older maybe she’d be a little less spindly.

I don’t know if her hair would be bleached or not, but if it were, I like the idea of her letting her actual hair color grow in. If not, I think Ibuki might help her try a few sections of dyed hair? Idk I just like the thought

Ibuki is a fellow bony bitch. I mean this lovingly. She’s skin and bone. Skeleton rocker lady

Probably tan, I imagine she spends a lot of time in the sun. She strikes me as a summer person. Oh, I also saw some art of Black Ibuki with vitiligo and loved that!! Also calluses from shredding guitar, obviously

Hmmm I like the idea that she rollerskates? So possibly some bruises or scars on her arms or legs from falling on concrete when she was still learning. Oh oh I imagine she has a ton of piercings!!! On her ears, nose, lips, brows, tongue, belly button…….maybe she has a split tongue too idk. Also she totally gets a ton of tattoos when she’s outta Hope’s Peak, prove me wrong.

Mikan uhhh. I like tall Mikan. She deserves the height. 5’8 to 6’0 Mikan good 👍

Hmm she probably has scars all over, particularly on her arms and legs. Uh. Idk I imagine she’s curvy probably. What do I say for her I don’t have anything skjdksjdks

I’m not even gonna lie I don’t have a damn thing for Nekomaru. Or. Wait nevermind here’s a concept: buff Nekomaru but like. If you’ve seen those wrestlers who have fat on them that hides some fucking crazy strength? Yeah that’s him. Also hairy asf.

Gundham……tall vampire vibes. I’d say he’s a stick but also I feel like he’s the slim type of muscular. Idk how to describe it. Shigaraki type muscle? Male gymnast. No nevermind those guys have visible muscle. Shigaraki type it is

Hmmm I think this is canon but probably a few scratches from his pets. His arms and legs mainly but I’m sure the Devas have scratched up his neck at some point or another. Just a little though. Also piercing fiend Gundham my beloved. I also like him having a couple tattoos when he’s older. Ibuki probably helped him heheh

I’m torn between Fuyuhiko being skinny as shit and Fuyuhiko being tiny and buff. I like both………hhh

His hair is probably bleached. Peko probably helps him re-dye it when his roots start growing in. I also like him having glasses

Uhhh tooth gap Fuyu’s cute. I used to have a super small one before I got my braces, I imagine it’s the same for him. Him, Ibuki, and Gundham are probably Tattoo Buds.

Kazuichi…..I want so bad to say he’s a weakling just to make fun of him but he’s a mechanic that probably works with heavy machine parts a lot and he probably has some sick biceps. But he probably also smells like hair dye, oil, metal, and Monster Energy. Win lose situation I guess.

I like to think he has a couple piercings? Not as many as Ibuki, but maybe he’s got like. Second or third place in the class. Also he totally filed his teeth to be sharp like that

Akane!! Buff lady, could probably deadlift me or something. She’s definitely got some scars from running around, especially when she was first learning parkour. Ummm oh, I like to think she has a chipped tooth or smth like that from falling roughly as a kid.

Soniaa <33 in my heart she will always be tall and have at least some muscle. Novoselic is a war country if I remember correctly, she’s definitely got some military training in her.

Idk why but her with heterochromia just popped into my head. That pretty greenish blue gray that she has + maybe brown or hazel? I think that’d be cool. And hip dips.

[mypoisonedvine]

First Chanukah Together (Night 6) | Ari Levinson x reader

(mini-series masterlist)

summary: you and Ari honor a sixth-night tradition and take some time to help those in need.

word count: 1153

warnings: none, just fluff and adorable kiddos and the reader getting a slight baby fever, lol

Ari had told you that in his family, it was tradition to dedicate the sixth night of Chanukah to social justice and work for the less fortunate— whether that be a donation, volunteering, or advocacy of some kind.  Luckily, you didn’t need to come up with a charitable cause on your own, because his synagogue was having a volunteer event at a local children’s home.  Playing with adorable kiddos for a few hours was the perfect way to spend an evening, in your mind.

When you arrived, the woman who had helped organize the whole thing decided Ari would be the most help playing sports outside, while you offered to help with arts and crafts.  The kids were busy coloring, and you weren’t sure exactly how to initiate conversation with them until you noticed some construction paper and mini-scissors.

“Hey, do you guys know how to cut out paper snowflakes?” you questioned as you took a seat around the table with them.  When a few looked up and shook their heads, you offered to show them how: folding the paper in half and creating shapes with your scissors, you unfolded it to reveal the final product as they ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed.

“I wanna try!” a little boy piped up.  

“Sure, just be careful with the scissors, okay?” you reminded him as he picked up a pair and got to work.

“I wanna make a green snowflake!” a girl decided.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a green snowflake before,” you pondered aloud.  

“You’re about to,” she grinned, making you laugh.

Time seemed to fly after that, conversation flowing as you helped them with their snowflakes and dutifully nodded in awe of their various designs.  They’d taken to coloring them in differently and adding stickers, and you offered to stick them on the big window nearby so the people outside could see their beautiful art.  As you did it, though, you took a moment to watch Ari play in the yard with the boys, falling onto the ground as they all tackled him and climbed all over him.  

“Is that your boyfriend?” one of the girls asked you as they all giggled at the question.  You could hardly remember being that age and being so shy about boys and relationships, back when everybody had cooties and the last thing you wanted was to be accused of sitting in the proverbial tree.

“Um, yes,” you answered, causing them all to gasp and whisper.  

“Are you gonna marry him?!” one of them immediately pressed.

“Uh, maybe,” you shrugged.  

“Are you guys gonna have a baby?” another chimed in.

“Woah woah, slow down,” you chuckled nervously, hoping to change the discussion before they inevitably asked something even worse.  Thankfully, they started gossipping about who liked who within their own group rather than continuing to scrutinize you.  

That went on for a while before you were called away to help with something— and you could use the break, honestly.  You’d forgotten how scary it could be to talk to kids, always afraid you’d say the wrong thing and somehow scar them for life.  And with scissors involved, you were also afraid one of them would literally be scarred for life!

On your way back to the table, you stopped to admire the enormous Christmas tree in the foyer of the building, stacked full of presents underneath.  You were glad that donations gave these kids a chance at some really nice gifts.

“That one’s mine,” one of the boys— Charlie, if you recalled correctly— informed you suddenly as he pointed to a large box wrapped in blue sparkly paper.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it’s from Santa,” he explained confidently.

“That’s cool!  What do you think it is?” you asked curiously.

“I asked for a bike, so that’s what I’m hoping it is at least,” he shrugged.  “What gifts did you ask Santa for?”

“Um,” you paused, “well, I didn’t ask him for anything…”

“Why not?!” he questioned incredulously, like he was incensed that you wasted an opportunity for gifts.

“I… uhh… I don’t celebrate Christmas,” you explained.

“WHAT?!”

“Well, we’re Jewish,” Ari swooped in to wrap his arm around you, making you sigh with relief.  “So we celebrate Chanukah.  In fact, today we’re celebrating one of the nights of Chanukah.”

“There’s more than one?”

“Uh huh, in fact there’s eight.”

“Cool!” Charlie announced, his attention suddenly torn away as he ran off to go play with the other kids.

Ari laughed at your exhausted sigh, pulling you into a quick hug.  “You’re a natural,” he praised.

“Are you kidding?  Kids are terrifying,” you shuddered.  “You missed out earlier when the girls were giving me a third degree about our relationship.”

“Really?” he laughed.  “Like what?”

“Like if we’re gonna get married, and if we wanna have a dozen babies and stuff!”

“I mean, maybe not a dozen…” he trailed off, making your cheeks warm.  You and him had had a few talks about the future of your relationship, but you hadn’t realized he was so serious about you to not even question the idea of marrying you.  “The boys just wanted to know how I got a girlfriend in the first place.”

“And what’d you tell them?”

“I told them the truth: you just can’t resist my rugged, masculine charms,” he smirked, brushing his fingers through his hair dramatically as he puffed up his chest.

“Mm hmm, I’m sure they saw right through that,” you chuckled.  

“Yeah,” he agreed, deflating a little.

“Mr. Ari!” another boy appeared, tugging at the leg of your boyfriend’s jeans.  “Are you gonna play football with us?”

“Yeah, I’ll be outside in a minute,” he answered before the kid scampered off.

“You’re so good with them,” you noted.

“So are you,” he responded, “really.  The snowflakes are cute.”

“Oh wow, I can teach kids to cut paper, I’m basically Mr. Rogers,” you scoffed.

“No, hey, they love you,” he assured.  “You’re there for them.  You’re nice to them.  That goes a long way with these kids.”

You smiled a little as you realized he was right, although it broke your heart that so little would mean so much to these children.  “Yeah,” you nodded.  “Thanks.”

As you went back to the crafts table hoping they hadn’t broken into the glitter and made a huge mess, you watched Ari dash outside, scooping up a kid into his arms and carrying him for a moment.  You smiled to yourself— maybe it was just because of the conversation you’d had with the kids earlier, but you couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if that was your child with him, how incredible of a dad he would be.  And apparently he thought you had some talent in that area as well, which was comforting.  Sure, it was a little soon to be worrying about that… but maybe it wasn’t too early to secretly fantasize about it.

[misc-headcanons]

Hello dear! I see you opened askbox so here I am :3 May I ask for a scenario (or headcanons) with Zoro and big breasted chubby fem s/o trying something sinful for the first time, but boob gravity gets a bit in a way and it not only it embarasses her, but also her issues with body image start to show up? Thank you! :3

Zoro/Chubby!F!Reader: Show Me

(Started writing this, got sucked into it, might be making a part 2 because I got too hyped :3 NS.FW BELOW!)

Zoro didn't have any problems with showing skin, but there was something about seeing his s/o clad in just a tank top and shorts that had left him speechless as he stared at her on the deck of the Sunny. He'd always found ____ pretty, but seeing her exposed shoulders and soft-looking hips and thighs was just...hot. While the next few days had gone by without incident, he couldn't get the image of her in that outfit out of his head, and he finally decided to do something about it. The two of them had been taking the physical aspect of their relationship slowly, only going as far as they were both comfortable with; at the moment, that meant nothing further than some under-their-clothes fondling while making out. But after seeing her like that, Zoro was itching to try and take things further.

Were he a man of romance like say, Sanji, he'd have gone about this path of seduction in a subtle way. But this is Zoro we're talking about, so it isn't too surprising that he simply walked up to ____ when they were alone and bluntly asked if she wanted to meet up at their "usual place" in the crow's nest later tonight. He added quietly (with a slight redness to his face) that he was wondering if she wanted to take things further with him, holding her from behind as he rested his chin against her shoulder and let his eyes wander downward to the curve of her breasts.

____ froze up for a split second before turning her head to look at him. "Are...You mean you want to…have sex?"

"Only if you want to," Zoro replied simply, resting his hands on her sides. "I don't wanna rush things if you aren't OK with it. I was just thinking about how...um. A few days ago, when you were wearing those shorts while we sailed past that summer island. And you looked really...good."

____ glanced down at herself. She looked good in shorts? She'd only worn them because she didn't have anything else to wear, and the heat outside wasn't worth trying to cover up her rolls and flabby thighs with something that'd leave her sweating like a pig anyway. But Zoro actually liked seeing her like that? Not only that, but he liked it so much that he wanted to sleep with her for the first time...If she didn't know what kind of man he was already, she'd have thought he was playing a cruel prank on her. 

She felt him rub up against her from behind, and bit her lip when she felt a slight bulge gently prodding at her backside. Truth be told, she'd also wanted Zoro for a while now--hell, how could she not when she was with a man that looked like him? The only thing stopping her was...well, her. Any time her thoughts would wander and she'd fantasize about being with him, she'd feel a creeping wave of anxiety and disgust wash over her. He'd never seen her in her underwear before, much less naked. He'd never seen her rolls, stretch marks, little dimples of cellulite along her lower stomach, thighs, and ass. Any feelings of arousal and excitement would turn into shame and revulsion towards her body; he may say that he wanted her now, but that's only because he hadn't seen what she really looked like underneath her clothing, careful posture, and slightly sucked-in stomach whenever they were together.

____ looked back at him again, and her negative thoughts fell to the back of her mind as she saw Zoro's face. For someone who could be so terrifying with his swords, he just looked so warm and loving and sweet. And the longer she stared, the more she wanted to find out if all of him tasted as good as he looked. She nodded and turned around to return his embrace, and the bulge in his pants was even more noticeable against her upper thighs. "Yeah," she replied softly with a smile. "I...I want to be with you too."

The two of them continued their day on the ship with a strange sort of excitement and anxiety in the air; when the two of them had dinner with the rest of the crew, every time their fingers brushed against one another they'd immediately move away with a flustered look on their faces. After eating, the two of them made their way to the crow's nest and spent their first few minutes alone together with a bit of their usual kissing and caresses.

Zoro pulled away from ____'s lips and looked down at her chest as she panted lightly. "And...You're still okay with this?" Zoro cupped her cheek and brushed her lower lip with his thumb. "With us doing more than before?"

____ responded by sticking out her tongue to flick the tip against his calloused finger and smiled. "M-hmm," she replied softly. Zoro leaned in to kiss her again, and she linked her around his neck. He moved his lips lower to nip at her soft skin, and then grabbed the hem of her shirt to help her pull it off. The moment he started to lift up her shirt, ____ felt a rush of panic. Shit. Shit. He was finally going to see her bare stomach. This was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, he's going to be so disgusted--

Her downward spiral was cut short when she felt Zoro's lips against an ever-so-sensitive spot of skin near her collarbone, and her hands flew to his so she could help tear off her shirt. It was so warm and humid all of a sudden, and if losing her shirt meant Zoro could easily reach that spot again, then she was happy to get rid of the damn thing. When he pulled away again, ____ let out a small whine. She saw him pull down his pants and kick them aside--leaving him in a pair of boxers and nothing else--and she quickly followed suit; they had barely moved things forward and she was already so hot underneath her clothes. Zoro could feel his cock straining against his underwear the moment he saw ____ in only her bra and panties, and he pounced on her to feel every inch of her newly-exposed skin while kissing and biting at the sensitive spot near her neck. ____ felt his calloused fingers creep up behind her back and curl around her bra, trying (and failing) to unclasp it. She quickly undid the ends for him, and it was only when the cloth fell to the floor and she felt the cold night air against her nipples that she realized what she'd just done.

While her eyes were closed as Zoro continued to kiss her, she imagined the look on his face when he saw just how droopy and saggy her breasts were without a bra to support them and fool him into thinking she had a nice chest. The more she felt his skin rub up against hers, and the more she felt her stomach and breasts jiggle with his movements, the more ugly and disgusted she felt. Why was he doing this with her? Why did he want to do this with her? Why did he want her, when she looked like this?

When Zoro pulled away again to get a proper look at her bare breasts, he immediately heard her sniffle and saw that she was on the verge of tears. A wave of guilt immediately washed over him; he pushed her too far when she wasn't ready, and now he'd made her cry. Shit. Shit. He reached down to take her hand. "Oi, oi," he said quickly, squeezing her hand to try and comfort her. "It's okay, we can stop if you want." He leaned down to try and hug her, but was surprised when she simply shook her head and tears spilled down her cheeks.

"No, it's not that," she said shakily, sniffling. "Just…" Every breath she took made her stomach jiggle a bit, and she curled into a fetal position and hid her face as she began to cry. "I'm so disgusting and ugly and...and…"

Zoro stared at her, completely shocked. "What the hell are you talking about?" He tried to rest a hand on her shoulder, but she flinched. "Who told you that?" He wasn't as chivalrous as that Ero Cook crewmate of his, but he was not going to let someone insult his woman like that and get away with it. 

"Nobody had to," ____ muttered weakly, turning to look up at Zoro with an uncomfortably hot face stained with tears. "Zoro, why do you even want to be with me? I've got all this...all these stretch marks, and rolls, and fat," she said bitterly, grabbing a handful of her stomach fat and pinching it harshly. 

Zoro watched her with an even greater look of confusion on his face. "Okay," he replied slowly, "...and? Why's that bad?" 

____ looked at him incredulously. "Because,' she insisted, "I'm fat."

"So? You're still pretty," Zoro replied simply, slightly irritated by her line of thinking. "Who gives a damn if you're bigger or you have some marks on your skin? I've got scars all over, but you're not calling me ugly or disgusting or any of that crap."

____ sighed. "That's different," she sighed. "You have scars but you're still--"

"Attractive," Zoro finished. "Because it doesn't matter, right?" He moved one hand and rested his palm on one of her hips, letting out a small sigh through his nose as she stared up at him in stunned silence. "You know what one of my favorite things about you is?"

____ shook her head slightly, and Zoro ran the calloused pads of his fingers over her smooth velvety skin. "You're soft," he replied quietly. "I've got calluses and scars and all that. But when I touch you, all I can feel is how warm and gentle and soft you are." He moved his hand to her stomach and then dragged his fingers down to her right thigh. "It's why I like taking naps with my head on your stomach. It just feels good, falling asleep with you and feeling how warm and soft you are." His hands wandered to her lower thighs and he gently squeezed them, making ____ gasp quietly. "And when I saw you in those shorts," he murmured, lowering his head until he was inches away from her plush skin. "All I wanted was to grab you like this, to see if all of you was that soft and warm." 

He trailed a series of kisses around her inner thigh while reaching up with one hand to fondle her breast. The two of them moaned at the same time, and Zoro started to gently rock his hips as he made his way to her clothed--and noticeably damp--underwear. "And I wanna…" He hesitated a bit, his cheeks flushed as he tried to actually talk dirty to her for the first time. "I wanna feel what it's like to have these soft thighs around my head while I make you cum." He felt her clench her thighs around him a bit and let out a small shaky groan as a bit of precum left a wet spot on his boxers. "Fuck, I've wanted to do this with you for so long…"

____ looked down at him and felt a rush of warmth pool between her legs when she saw his expression. His eyes were clouded with lust as he stared at her lower body, and he bit his lower lip for a moment before he nuzzled her clothed entrance with his nose and slightly parted lips. God, he really did want her, didn't he? She smiled and wiped a stray tear from her face before reaching down to run her fingers through his hair. "Show me, Zoro," she murmured. "Show me just how much you've wanted me, baby…"

[the-blind-assassin-12]

June Prompt #1- Belvedere

A POINT OF NO RETURN FLASHBACK

A/N: Oh would you look at that? I’m finally getting around to posting these! This fits into the PoNR timeline somewhere in the second year that Ezra and Clara had together before he left that final time for The Green Moon. It includes my HC for what the Ephrate looks like (loosely inspired by the image of Pismis 24 below!), and I fully enjoyed getting the chance to finally flesh that out. 

Request: “falling asleep in the sun” and “fireflies” from @paracosmenthusiast​ 

WC: 2.7k 

Warning: Ezra is in LOVE. 

That feels amazing. 

Clara took a deep breath in through her nose. Eyes closed as they had been for at least the last hour, she lay on the double wide lounge chair, a sluggish, sunbaked smile curving her lips. Even with the thick, heavily filtered glass shield that enclosed the entire observation deck, the glow from the Ephrate’s brightest star blanketed her skin in a way that felt entirely different from the heat of the Harvest Star on Kamrea.  

Letting out a hum, she rolled onto her left side and shifted closer to Ezra, right arm falling over his torso as she settled into him. His shirt was soft, worn and washed countless times over, and a part of his life for far longer than she had been. The black fabric was faded, but still dark enough to absorb and retain some of the star’s warmth, and it made her smile spread as she pressed her cheek against his chest. She felt the rise and fall of his breathing, and then the arm that had been bent and tucked beneath his head was curling around to corral her more tightly to him.  

Not as good as this though.  

Ezra dipped his chin and turned to drag his lips over her forehead, right hand trailing slowly up her ribs and down her side. “You gettin’ tired, Huckleberry?” 

From the tone of his voice she could tell that he was wearing a smile similar to the one still stuck on her own face, content and unhurried. Clara shook her head slowly, her muffled no cut short by a yawn. She felt a quick burst of air on her shut eyelids as Ezra chuckled, the sound surrounding her and keeping her just as warm as the glow from the celestial bodies they were lying under.   

He kissed her near her hairline again and then both of his hands were settled at her waist. “Now I don’t mean to label you a liar, my Clara-” His. Every time he referred to her as his she felt her breath catch, felt her heart skip and jump before fluttering back into rhythm. I am yours, Ezra. “But right now, I’m not convinced that you are being entirely truthful with me.”

Clara laughed and tilted her face up, finally prying her eyes open to look at him. Staring down at her through his lashes, he brought a hand up to trace his fingers along her brow, snatching a few stray hairs between them and swiping them out of the way. “Hmm, you caught me.” She tried to stave off another yawn by forcing her lips to stay closed, but it broke through regardless, her right hand flying to her mouth to cover it in a force of habit. 

Ezra caught her fingers in one of his large hands and pulled them away to expose the yawn and the smile that was still trying to form around it. Through narrowed eyes, the apples of her cheeks going even more round and rising to make her squint, she watched him lift her captured hand. Using just his index finger, he bent all of hers so that he could press his lips to her knuckles. “We could turn in for the night, if you want.” He released his grip and returned his hand to her waist, but she kept hers where it was, unfolding her fingers to rake them through his beard, the coarse, patchy hair there just as warm as his skin and his shirt. She felt his jaw clench, the muscles pushing against her palm as he swallowed. 

“Mmm, not yet.” Clara slid a little higher up on the lounge so that she could rub the tip of her nose along the misaligned ridge of his before kissing the silvery white scar on the left side of his face. She heard the low, gravelly groan in the back of his throat, his hands pressing flat against her as she pulled back to look him in the eye. “Wanna stay out here a little longer with you.” Sighing, she fit herself against him again, this time high enough so she could rest her ear on his shoulder. “All this light, these stars, this v-” He squeezed her, both arms tightening with gentle pressure as he waited for another yawn to pass. “This view.” She lifted one hand upwards to gesture lazily at the open expanse of space that surrounded them, bringing her eyes up to the dusty purple nebulous clouds swirling and stacking on top of one another, the brilliant orbs of light burning through and around them. “It's… Ezra, it’s…”

I never knew anything like this was even possible. 

“It’s a sight to behold, a real marvel of the universe.” He looked back down at her. “But it would mean nothing to me if I saw it alone, Huckleberry.” 

Clara blinked her heavy eyelids, trying to keep them open and focused on Ezra’s. There was still a hint of a smile lingering in them, lightening their color to sepia. She could always tell what was going on behind them by the shade and the shine. When he was angry or upset they would sharpen fiercely, going almost coal-black like a starless night. Worry and fear caused a watercolor effect, the dark leaching from them as his pupils dilated. Now though, his eyes were shimmering, the innumerable reflections of the twinkling dots on the other side of the glass highlighting each individual thread of color woven in the tapestry of his irises- umber, gold, ochre. They were bright with happiness in spite of how tired she knew that he was, their light only adding to the warmth spreading through her being. 

Kevva, I love this man so much. 

It wasn’t just the incredible view from the observation deck built on top of the Bowsum Conservatory’s lodge that she had previously thought impossible. The way that Clara felt about Ezra blew her mind to pieces whenever she tried to fully understand it. It was strongest when they were together, like they were now, the thing swelling in her chest. But it was still there when they were apart, when he was away for weeks at a time, cycling through his days on a distant moon in a separate system, it was still there, taking up the same amount of space in her heart as it was when he left. And upon his return? The second she was in his arms again she could feel it expanding, pushing beyond its former bounds to reach for any space not already full of the sure, confident, certainty that he brought out in her. 

A low hum vibrated in the back of her throat as she raised her hand up to the shock of platinum blonde at his hairline, brushing through it lightly before her languid fingers slipped down to the helix of his ear. “Not alone, Ezra…” She yawned and didn’t even attempt to stop it as she nestled back down against his shoulder, fingertips still moving over the skin behind his earlobe, wandering into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Never alone…” her voice trailed almost completely off as a thick swath of sleep swept over her, but not before she finished, “never gonna be alone again.” 

--  --  --  --  --  --    

No, we will not.

She was only conscious for a few seconds longer, but Ezra used that time well.  “My Clara, I will be yours until every last one of these stars goes dark.” 

His words hit her ear just as she sunk beneath the warmth of the starlight. He knew the moment that she gave over to the exhaustion she’d been fighting since they left Kamrea, her limbs going slack and her weight settling against his body, grounding him in a way that nothing, no being or entity had ever been able to before. He rested his temple atop her head and spoke   “Until they all go dark, Huckleberry, and then for all eternity after that.”   

He peered out at the supernova sea and the expanse of wild space beyond it, his touch traversing over her hip and up to the hemline of her shirt, fingertips seeking her skin. Though he had traveled to the Ephrate before, it was only in passing. He hadn’t made a point to stop at the Conservatory on Bowsum, the last in a chain of small planetary islands before the Fringe. He had heard what he thought were tall tales about the majesty of the view from fellow floaters as he made his way through the galaxy, but he never thought that they’d be true. 

People have overactive imaginations and exceptionally low standards. I’m sure it would be a let down. 

Those were the excuses he fed himself for not bothering to spend a few hours basking in the sublime, raw beauty he was sharing with Clara now the last time he had been there. Shutting his eyes on the view before him, he focused on the way he could feel the Ephrate’s sun coming off of her. It was like she was the source of heat and light and energy, like the star was soaking in her glory. 

For once I am happy to be found a fool. 

There were plenty of less than intelligent choices in Ezra’s rear view, and most of them had cost him in some way. This one instance however, had paid him a dividend when it allowed his first time appreciating the wonder of this view to be Clara’s first time as well. She had mentioned once or twice that she had always dreamed of making the trip to Bowsum, but that the only vacation or adventure she had ever taken was simply to the Lakelands on the opposite side of Kamrea. So when his last rotation up on The Green had been a fortunate one, garnering him additional time off and a substantial bonus, he knew immediately what to do with it. When the freighter dropped him off on Central for the short transfer back home, he used one of the comm stalls in the shuttle station to call her. 

“Pack a bag, Huckleberry, because as soon I get home I am whisking you away.”   

It was breathtaking, from the moment that the elevator doors parted and a sliver of lavender white light pushed through, but he was unprepared for how her reaction to the sight would stir things in him that the stars never could. He recalled her gasp and the way that his name slipped through the fingers of the hand that wasn’t laced with his as she brought it up to cover her mouth, eyes blinking themselves wider than he’d ever seen them, the stars and the sun glowing in their tawny-golden depths. She mouthed something inaudible as her hand fell away from her face, and Ezra had to tug her out of the open elevator doors before they slid closed again, her feet seemingly stuck in place. By the time he had guided her to the lounge chair that they still occupied, tears streamed silently down her face, and when she turned to him all she could say was his name. 

Ezra sighed as he opened his eyes again to see the way that she fit so perfectly against him and the way that the glimmering lights above them and all around them seemed to exist only to illuminate that fact. It was in that moment that he decided that he wanted to give her everything that he possibly could; everything she needed and dreamed of, all of himself, an entire life filled with moments like this scattered throughout their story. If he could give her moments like this, if he could continue to see that look on her face, he would know what it meant to live a full life, to die a happy man. 

Not for a long, long time though Huckleberry. 

He kissed the concern away from her mind where he knew it would start swirling had he spoken that realization aloud, promising her that he would scratch and claw for every second with her that Kevva deemed to grant him with. As though the mythic deity were there herself, listening to his whispered vows and waiting for him to finish before allowing any interference from the outside world, an attendant from the observation deck made their way towards Ezra and Clara. There was no impropriety to the way that they were tangled, so he knew that they weren’t about to be scolded for a public display, but he’d neglected to notice that all of the other lounge chairs were vacant; that the two of them were the only ones present on the top deck, and it struck him that he had no idea how long that had been the case. 

The attendant cleared her throat as she neared their spot to announce herself, and Ezra sat up as best as he could without disturbing Clara, meeting the young woman’s clear, kind eyes. “Good evening, sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask the two of you to head down now, the observation deck is closing for the night.” 

Ezra gave the woman a sheepish grin and a small nod. “Of course, my apologies for prolonging your shift.” He gestured up at the sky, unbelievably bright above their heads. “Easy to forget that it isn’t high-noon up here, and my Huckleberry was enjoying the starshine on her skin.” 

The woman’s smile warmed as she told him that it was alright, that she would begin shutting down the other side of the deck so that he could rouse Clara and see her out and back to their rooms on the other side of the lodge. He thanked her before she turned away, and then he leaned down to press his lips to Clara’s brow, softly speaking her name. It had the opposite effect, only causing her to slink closer to him, and he smiled, dropping another kiss before sliding his arms beneath her legs and around her back. “Alright, have it your way.” 

Rising from the lounge, he tilted her weight into his chest to keep his hold on her secure as he carried her to the elevator and down to the ground floor. When the doors opened again he laughed to himself, the enclosed atrium showing a sky much darker down here and on this side of the building. It really is closing time. He strode through the lobby watching as tiny yellow lights blinked near the dark grass outside, and before his brain could make the connection, he heard Clara mumble his name. “Hmm? What’s that?” 

“Ezra, the stars are moving.” 

Her voice was syrupy and surreal, only half awake, and it made his arms tighten around her with how endearing her sleepy confusion was. “Those are fireflies, Clara,” he told her, using his foot to open the door to the hall that lead to their room. 

“Oh…” she hummed and wound her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder, making his heart spin in dizzy circles. “And where...are we going?”

He chuckled again, nuzzling the end of his nose into her hair. “We overstayed our welcome upstairs, it’s nighttime now, Huckleberry. I’m taking you to bed.” 

She let out a sigh and then he felt her lips pressed to his throat, his pulse doubling against them. “Thank you, Ezra.” She kissed him again as he reached their door, and he knew that she was thanking him for more than just carrying her from the observation deck. Before he could respond though, she mumbled something else. “Love you…” 

He stooped down to the height of the keypad near the door to enter the code without having to put her down, and he answered her without hesitation. “I love you, my Clara. To the moon and back.” The door lock beeped and it slid open, Ezra stepping through. “Until all the stars go dark.” He carried her over to the bed and laid her down, bending forward to whisper the next words into her ear, even though he knew she was already asleep again. “And forever after that.”

.

.

.

*taken from Merriam-Webster:  Given the origins of the word, belvedere is the ideal term for a building (or part of a building) with a view; it derives from two Italian words, bel, which means "beautiful," and vedere, which means "view." The term has been used in English since the 1570s

Thank you for reading!! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know! :) 

tags:  @something-tofightfor​ @alraedesigns​ @pheedraws​ @shoopidly​ @fific7​ @valkblue​ @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​ @cannedsoupsucks​ @tobealostwanderer​ @paracosmenthusiast​ @gracie7209​ @dihra-vesa​

[obwjam]

thank you thank you thank you for submitting this!!!!!!!! soft gentle peter is the best peter, skdjdkskd i love this so much 🥺🥺🥺🥺❤️ UR THE BEST

———-

New Beginnings

Wrote a FemBorrower!ReaderxReader one shot for obwjam because she amazin, have mercy, I tried here we go. 

1,617 words,

6 minutes and 28 seconds reading time

......................................................................................................................................................

Peter was almost finished helping Mr Delmar un-pack into his new store. He set down the last box and waited for Mr Delmar's further instructions. Suddenly there was a faint growl coming from outside that sounded like Murph (Mr Delmar's cat). Peter knew it would take a while before Delmar would be finished upstairs, so he decided to head out the door to see if Murph was alright.

  You were limping on your way back home, maybe taking the shortcut through the sewers wasn't the best choice. It had been over a month since the accident, where you lost your brother to human carelessness. 

You remember how he talked about this sandwich store that was moving to your old apartment. You knew it wasn't safe roaming out in the open, but ever since the humans living in that apartment moved out, you really needed something to eat.

  You had just arrived at the store. Exhausted, you sat against a wall to take a break from that long walk. You took out a piece of ripped cloth from out of your bag in an attempt to start wiping the blood off your leg. But Suddenly, From the side of the store crept the biggest rat you have ever seen, or at least you thought it was a rat. It had huge pointy ears, You could barely see its eyes because of all that fur, but you knew it was a threat as soon as you heard it hiss at you. 

  You felt your stomach clench, your leg was busted, and you were so exhausted. You really didn't think you could outrun that thing.

“This is it,” you thought as you fixed your eyes on the creature, covering yourself with your arms, braced for impact. 

Just then the huge door of the shop flung open, followed by what looked like a boy.

The cat lifted its paw and went straight for you. Although you were expecting it, you were shocked at the impact. 

  You swallowed your scream, but you couldn't hold in your tears. As soon as the first one escaped, a whole river flowed down your dusty cheeks. 

"shit, shit, shit, fuck, this can't be happening," you whispered as you tried to control yourself. Now wasn't really a great time for panic attacks.

You rubbed your face hastily trying to define your emotions. You pushed yourself up from the wall and prepared to run, you couldn't let another human see you, not again. As you turned your back and started sprinting, the creature's huge paw flung straight for you and pushed you back to the floor. You groaned in pain hoping that this was all just a bad dream. 

Peter bent down to pick up Murph, barely noticing you. “What's wrong Murph,” Peter said as he stroked the Murph's fur. 

"That thing has a name?" You thought as you pushed yourself back up.

The cat turned to you and hissed down at your little form. The human turned its attention down to what or who Murph was hissing at. 

  You stared at the towering human hoping he wouldn't notice you, or just leave you alone. But then again, one look at your bloody ass foot and you decided you were a literal recipe for attention. 

All those late-night stories about how you should be extra careful around them. never take any risks, they'd keep you in a jar on their nightstand for all their friends to see. They wouldn't hesitate to pick you up without your permission. You always thought it was kind of insane the way your brother described them, but once you let that thought slip to your head you started sweating. 

You weren't exactly against human's existence, you just didn't want to deal with them.

It took a few seconds for Peter to comprehend what he was seeing, but as he slowly bent down again and let Murph go, he could make out an actual real-life borrower.

There had been several reports on capturing these little things on camera over the past few years, but Peter never imagined himself actually having an encounter with one. 

She looked so scared. She was covered in dust, dried up bruises and scars. Her ankle looked like it was bent in an unnatural position. That huge scar on her waist looked fresh. Did Murph do this? did she- was she crying?

"H-hey bud, are you ok? you look really torn up"

yeah, no shit sherlock.

You forced yourself to look up at his huge empathetic face. You didn't like how he was looking down at you like you were some weak little shit in desperate need of help. 

You tried to force words out of your mouth, but all that came out were weak whimpers, you felt unsteady, the bright sun behind the human made you feel dizzy.

Peter noticed this and used himself to block the sun. "That's ok you don't have to talk, d-do you maybe want something to eat?" Peter said expecting maybe a nod or anything indicating "yes". But you couldn't even hear him, white dots covered your vision as you grabbed your head trying to stop everything from spinning.

And then you blacked out.

You woke up on a cold smooth surface, you turned your head around trying to adjust your eyes to the light. you felt tired and your stomach felt empty and weak. you sat up slowly rubbing your eyes, suddenly a familiar voice filled the room.  

"Thanks, May, but I'm stuffed!" Peter said with a small laugh as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

You turned your head towards the noise, and once you set your eyes on the large room and the human you saw from before, you started panicking again. What time is it? Where am I? What the hell is going on.

This time there was no one to save you.

"you're awake," Peter said surprised. "I got u some leftover pizza, figured u might be hungry," Peter said as he strolled across the room towards you. You immediately stood up ignoring your aching leg but fell back down in an instant. 

"WOAH Slow down, that leg's not gonna get any better if you keep putting pressure on it, trust me, I've had experience," Peter said with a small smile. 

He set down a piece of pizza on a folded tissue and carefully slid it towards you. You scooted back a little but once you laid eyes on the piece of food he offered, you thought that maybe it wouldn't hurt to have a little. 

You grabbed the piece of food like you hadn't eaten in days. You were still having your doubts though, like why this human was giving a shit about your wellbeing, but once you took the first bite, you were in heaven. An unforced smile spread across your face for the first time in a while, Peter couldn't help but smile too. He always felt good helping people. 

"Hey is that leg okay?" Peter said as he shifted his gaze down to your bloody ankle. You looked back up at him again. You were a little scared to make converstation. I mean this human could crush you in seconds, but it had been a real long time since you actually talked to someone, so not wanting to make this any harder you cleared your throat and responded. 

"Well, nothing has changed, still hurts like hell," you said with a weak smile. You tried speak as calmly as you could, panic attacks were a real common guest nowadays. Peter frowned, he didn't think anyone like you should suffer like this at such a young age. borrowers have it real hard huh.

"M-My name's Peter by the way," He said scratching the back of his head. "What's your name?" 

You were a little surprised he even cared, "Oh uh, It's y/n". 

"What are you going to do to me?" You said, sounding concerned.

Peter hadn't actually thought of it that way, he only brought you in because you looked like you were in really bad shape, and considering what Murph might have done, he naturally thought he owed you something.

"I- I just wanna help, just until you can get back on your feet again." He stood up and ran across the room to pull out a box from under his bed. He came back with some gauze and wipes. "I-If you'd let me".

You thought it was crazy he even bothered to help you. Still, you weren't sure you wanted to be handled by a human, If he was anything like the other human...

Peter noticed the doubtful look on your face. "I promise I'll be careful," He said almost whispering. You did have nowhere else to go, the dried up blood was starting to make you feel really uncomfortable, and if this human's intentions really were to help you, you're seeing humans in a whole new light. 

you gave a weak nod and sat up straight so Peter could see the cuts. He rubbed the cold wipes gently on your leg. You jumped a little at contact and pressed your lips together, the wipes were a little too cold. But after a few seconds, you could handle it. 

You stared at Peter, it was almost unbelievable how gentle he was. Usually, you would pay attention if someone was wiping your cuts, but something was comforting about Peter. When was the last time you could rely on someone other than yourself?

When he finished, he glanced back down at you. "T-Thanks Peter," you said with a smile. Peter beamed back, he was just happy you trusted him to help out. 

......................................................................................................................................................

still cant believe this piece of shit took me 2 days wow.

[foxtophat]

i dont have much to say about this one!!! it’s just a story about carmina’s tenth birthday, and how the town of fall’s end is coping a decade after the collapse.  uhhh there are some random children in it?  bean is there! and of course john shows up, too, because that’s KIND OF THE POINT of mercyverse lol

technically there’s a story that comes before this, but i don’t have the vibe yet for it so i haven’t worked on it in a while. instead, i’ll probably just keep moving forward and throw up that one if the rest of the plot becomes at all relevant to the real main storyline.  uhhh the next one will take place in the spring of 2029 and we’re going to start getting into some fun stuff that i’ve planned out for a while!!!

until then, uh, the usual: love you, please like/share/reblog/kudos/comment, whatever you feel good about doing, because i sure do love to share my universe with other people!  hope you’re doing well and hopefully i’ll see you with another fic in a few weeks!

also as usual: the story text is below the cut for those of you who wanna stay on tumblr :)

It's Carmina's tenth birthday, and there's a party in town. The two things aren't exactly related, sure, but Carmina's used to sharing her birthday with the Collapse, and she's not about to turn down a bunch of free food. How can she not go to a real Hope County barbecue after her parents had hyped the experience up so much in the bunker? She'd hoped that her ninth birthday would have gotten a similar treatment, but the town just didn't have the food or people for it at the time. Her parents had told her that next year would be better; Carmina does her best to keep her imagination from blowing the whole thing out of proportion.

They leave a little bit after breakfast. Since John is coming along, mom has no excuse not to let Carmina ride in the back with him. He's not excited to be heading into town, but then again, the town isn't usually excited to see him, either. And considering what day it is, they're likely to be extra rude to him. Carmina doesn't get it, honestly, but she's just glad that she can ride in back without her mom grabbing onto her at every pothole and bump in the road.

The first surprise of the day comes as her dad parks just past the church, giving her a chance to stand up and look out over the town. She hasn't been here in a while, and so she's surprised to see that they've cleared out a lot of the dirt lot behind the usable buildings — and there are a lot of people hanging out there. Carmina's never seen so many people at once — she loses count around twenty and can easily guess double that. It's enough to rattle her nerves for just a second, before she catches the looks on her mom and dads' faces and realizes that this is probably a good thing. Sure, John looks like he wants to hop back in the truck and go home, but he always looks like that around strangers. Her parents, on the other hand, actually seem happy for once, and that's what matters to Carmina.

The second surprise is just how many of the adults seem to know her. Her parents move slowly through the mingling crowd, usually coming up with names for faces before Carmina's even looked at the strangers who call her by name. She gets lots of comments like, "I remember when your parents were expecting you!" and "I was wondering how the Rye's little girl turned out!" and even a few, "Glad to see you made it," comments that make her parents side-eye each other pretty fiercely. She doesn't need to introduce herself to anyone, not even people who her parents don't know so well — it's like everybody's always known her, and her family. It's kind of cool — but also kind of weird. Pastor Jerome always said that their family was a pillar in the community, but this is first-person evidence, right here in front of her.

Plenty of the adults wish her a happy birthday, too, but she knows their hearts aren't in it. It's one of the big drawbacks to sharing her birthday with the end of the world — nobody asks how old she is, nobody wants to know what she did on previous birthdays, and all of them have to make some kind of depressing comment. Like trying to get her to relate to birthdays before the Collapse: all they want to do is tell her about all the things she could be doing, or would be doing, if only the world hadn't ended. They want to share their birthdays from the past, but Carmina's never been to the movies, she doesn't know who Disney is, and she has no idea why they'd need a cake and candles for it all. Somebody tells her she should be graduating to the fourth grade, and she just stares back because what even is the fourth grade? What does that mean?

They mean well, so Carmina does her best not to upset anybody, but she knows that nobody appreciates how little she cares about life before the Collapse.

At least there are other kids in town today. Her mom had been telling her about some of them — kids who don't have families, who the town looks after — but Carmina's only ever met one of them, and that had been only for a few minutes. But Carmina can see them hanging out in the field, and as soon as her mom lets her, she heads right out to them. It's about time that she met people her age — she's getting tired of only ever talking to old people.

Of course, meeting strangers is still difficult for her, but she's saved from too much embarrassment as she recognizes the chicken brothers hanging out in the small group. She can't remember which one is Tom and which one is Matt, but they seemed really nice when they helped her pick out her chickens. She also recognizes the oldest boy in the group, although she can't remember his name at all. She's never seen the others before — two teenage girls, another boy her age, and a kid a couple years younger than her — but hopefully she won't make a total fool of herself.

"Hi," she says as she approaches, waving.

"Hey, Carmina," Matt-or-Tom says, stepping aside to make room for her in their makeshift circle. "I thought we would see you today."

"Yep," Carmina smiles, "Here I am!" She sees the teenagers' curious looks and tells them with little fanfare, "Today's my birthday."

"Oh," the oldest boy says. "That sucks."

One of the girls elbows him. "Don't be mean," she says.

"No, he's right," Carmina says. "It does suck."

"Well, happy birthday anyway. How old are you now?"

"Ten."

"Wow," the girl says. She looks at the boy, then back to Carmina, and says sympathetically, "You weren't kidding. That's rough."

Giggling with relief, Carmina waves once more. "It's okay. My name's Carmina, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

Being polite works like a charm, and the oldest boy is quick to go around with introductions. "Well, I'm Jason — this is Caroline, and this is Flower. The little kid there —"

"Hey!"

"— Is Bean, and... Sorry, man, what did you say your name was again?"

The other ten-year-old looking boy frowns and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. "Luke," he says.

"Okay, Luke. And you know Tom and Matt."

"We were talking about the bison out in the field," Tom-or-Matt says. He points in the direction of home and asks, "Did you guys see the big one when you were coming into town?"

"The one that's all white?" Carmina asks, "With the big scar over its hump? We see that one all the time when we come out this way —"

"No, no," the other brother says, "Jason says there's a bigger one."

"I told you guys," Jason says, "I only saw it once, and it was late at night while I was up in the crow's nest. I don't think it comes out during the day."

Carmina frowns. "What big one? What do you mean?"

"Oh, boy," Caroline sighs, "Don't listen to him, Carmina, he's full of shit."

"Hey, language," Flower laughs.

"Look, I was pretty far away, but I had the sniper rifle and I wasn't sleeping on the job. Uh, so..." He points out over the field, towards a squat set of huts surrounding a tall, busted silo that's still standing. The view from up there must be great. "Jerome has me sit up in that tower sometimes, you know, to practice. So I was up there, looking around, and it was probably midnight or so... and I just see this glow out in the field. I think it's a fire, right? Maybe somebody made a camp out there on their way to town or something. So I look out through the scope — and it was a bison."

"A glowing bison?" Carmina asks skeptically.

"Yeah. Like, a monster bison. It was all dark and scaly looking, except for the way its belly glowed. I thought about shooting it, but..."

Caroline laughs. "He got scared. Or it wasn't real, and he's making it all up."

"I wasn't scared, and I'm not making it up! It's not like it could've hurt me up in the nest. It... just didn't feel right. You know, it was just grazing with the rest of the herd. And it moved off over the hill before I could change my mind or call anybody up to confirm it."

"Sure, Jason."

"I'm serious," Jason insists, "I really saw it, okay? I told Jerome about it and everything." He frowns at the dirt. "He said it might've been mutated after the bombs. Then he told me not to go looking for it."

"He's right," Flower says. "Even regular bison are pretty dangerous." She smiles. "That's why I like deer — they won't hurt you. If you sit really still, sometimes they'll even come up and lick your face."

"Oh," Carmina says. "I usually just shoot them. They eat all our vegetables otherwise."

"Yeah," Flower sighs, "Sometimes I do, too. But they're also nice to watch."

Tom-or-Matt looks to his brother. "I wonder if that's what we see outside at night?"

"What, deer?"

"No, dumbass." He turns to the group and explains, "Sometimes, when it's real late and I gotta use the bathroom, I'll see something glowing out in the woods. Dad's cut back a lot of space so it never gets very close, but... maybe it's another mutated animal."

"At least you'll see it coming when it tries to attack you," Carmina suggests.

"Gee, thanks."

Carmina knows he's probably teasing, but she still feels guilty for being so blunt about it. The least she can do is try to reassure him. "Well... most animals don't attack near houses, I don't think. When we first came out of the bunker, there were wild dogs and wolves that would watch us, and my dad was real worried about them — but now they mostly stay away from the property. I think it's because of the fence. You guys have a fence, right?"

"Yeah, plus a butt-load of chickens that freak out over anything out of the ordinary." Matt-or-Tom grins at her and asks, "Don't they wake you up with every little thing?"

Carmina briefly considers mentioning John being attacked, then decides against it. She also doesn't want to tell them that the chickens live mostly indoors at night now — the last thing she wants to do is kick off a whole big thing about the cult on her dang birthday! It's already hard enough pretending to care about them around her parents; she's not sure she could even force herself to bother here. And if she's not careful, the kids in town might start to think about her and her family the same way all the adults do.

"They're pretty docile, actually," she says, "And we only really see deer around our place... It's not like they eat chickens."

"Well.... maybe there's a mutant deer out there that wants to eat you," Tom-or-Matt teases.

Carmina rolls her eyes. "I'll shoot it before it gets past the hangar," she replies.

Of course, her dismissive confidence leads to a sprawling discussion on who might be the best shot out of the group. Carmina does her best to defend her skills, considering she can't prove any of it right now, but all three teens insist they're dead-eyes, and even Bean says he's "getting pretty good at the aiming part." On top of that, the kids from the town have gotten pointers from Aunt Grace herself, which means they might actually be better shots than Carmina expects.

"Maybe we should have a competition," Caroline suggests. "I bet Pastor Jerome and Aunt Grace would be okay with it."

"Sure," Jason laughs, "But you know they'd make us spend forty minutes disassembling and cleaning our rifles before and after. Like I don't know what I'm doing — I'm almost fifteen!"

"Have you guys been to Aunt Grace's?" Carmina asks. "She has a shooting range there."

"Maybe she'd let us use it!"

"I've never been to a real shooting range," Bean says.

"It's not a real shooting range," Jason points out, "Those all got blown up. Do you even know how to use a gun, Bean?"

"I just said I do! My dad taught me! I... just don't like the loud noises it makes."

Matt-or-Tom boasts, "We learned to shoot in our bunker. Mom collected Airsoft guns — they don't use bullets, so they can't kill you."

"What's the point of that?"

"I dunno, I guess practicing underground?"

Tom-or-Matt laughs. "Dad was convinced the Peggies were gonna get us, so he wanted us to know how to shoot."

The quiet kid, Luke, finally speaks up. "Lucky," he mutters, "Easier to learn underground, I bet."

"What about you?" Carmina asks. She tries not to cringe away when he stares back at her like he didn't expect anyone to hear him. Maybe he doesn't like people talking to him? "Um... my mom and dad had a bunch of gun magazines in the bunker, but I never got to shoot a real gun until we came outside. Mom and Aunt Grace have been teaching me, though, and I'm way better than my dad is."

Luke hesitates. "Kind of the same. We came up early, though. Had to."

"Me, too," Jason replies. "It was just me and my brother. I was five when we got stuck in the bunker — we went through our supplies in about three years, so we had to come back up."

"We... only stayed down until I could walk," Luke admits. "It was still really cold when we came up. And mom got real sick for a while."

"Yikes," Bean says, "That sucks!"

"Come on, bean," Jason snaps, "You don't say that."

"You just said it to her!" Bean shouts, pointing at Carmina.

"He's... right," Luke mumbles. "It sucked. It... still sucks. But things are getting better now." He looks up at them, then drops his eyes back to the dirt. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Carmina insists, "I asked first!"

"That's kind of the mood today," Caroline adds. "Don't worry. We can talk about something else."

The change in topic comes abruptly as Bean points towards the Church and asks, "Who is that with Pastor Jerome?"

Carmina doesn't need to look, but since the rest of the group does, she might as well too. John has his hat pulled low over his eyes, as usual, which makes him look suspicious, as usual. Knowing him, he probably didn't even leave the truck — just waited there for Jerome to come talk to him.

She can only hope that Tom and Matt keep their mouths shut since they're the only other kids who know what John looks like nowadays. Unfortunately for her, that hope is pretty quickly dashed.

"Oh," Matt-or-Tom says, like a jerk, "That's John, I think. Right, Carmina?"

"Wait," Jason says, "You're that Carmina?"

Carmina ducks her head. "Um... it depends, I guess?"

Flower, looking too sympathetic for Carmina's liking, tries to mediate. "He just means, well... Jerome talks about you sometimes."

"And he talks about that guy," Jason adds, pointing without any subtlety at all.

"Everyone talks about that guy," Caroline says with a sigh. She gives Carmina a sympathetic shrug as she does, as though she wishes she could stop the conversation from happening, too. That only makes Carmina worried that this isn't the first time the teenagers have sat around gossiping about John and the crazy people who decided to take him in.

"Wait," Bean gasps, way too loudly, "That's John Seed?"

"Oh my God," Matt-or-Tom sighs, "You gotta keep up with the conversation."

"Wait, what's he doing here? Why's he going into the church? I thought he wasn't supposed to come to town? I thought he was locked up!"

Carmina groans. "It's my birthday," she whines, "I don't wanna talk about John today!"

"We don't have to," Caroline says. "Guys, come on."

"I mean, he did kill a lot of people. Isn't he, like, a psychopath? Isn't it weird to live with a murderer?"

"Jason!"

Luke mutters, "I heard he used to cut off people's skin."

"That's true," Jason replies, "My brother has a huge scar from when it happened to him. Boy, I hope he doesn't see that jackass is here..."

Matt-or-Tom finally seems to realize what he's started, frowning as the conversation spirals crazily out of control. It's too late to stop it, though, and so he shuffles his feet and looks apologetically towards Carmina.

Fine. If she can't get around the subject, she's just going to have to tackle it head-on. Even if that sounds really scary. She doesn't think that these guys are going to flip out like the caravan last year did, but she's still a little worried that she might be in for a fight if she says the wrong thing about John.

"I know John used to be a bad guy," she says. "Like, really bad. My dad's got one of those scars, too. But he's not like that any more. All he does nowadays is help my parents with chores and stuff. And he's just like everybody else — he doesn't talk about what happened before the Collapse to me or anybody. So I really don't know anything more than you guys.

She probably knows less than them, honestly, but she's not about to say so and get a brutal lesson in everything John's ever done wrong.

"So he's just... different, now?" Jason asks, frowning unhappily at the church.

"I guess so," Carmina replies with a shrug. She looks over to make sure that John and Jerome are inside, just in case. "He's not... scary, or mean, or anything like that. Just quiet. Kind of... lonely, I guess. Ever since he found out his brother is alive but still crazy, he's been really beat up about it." He's also been literally beaten up over it, but now's not the time to try and make the others feel sorry for him. John would probably be irritated at the idea of a bunch of kids pitying him.

Matt-or-Tom is quick to help her out, which is nice. "She's right," he says. "The Father is still out there in the woods with all those crazies, but John's repented. Dad said he made amends with God, whatever that means. He... uh, still doesn't like us being around him, but when we helped him load the chickens in he seemed okay. Just real quiet."

"That's John, alright," Carmina sighs.

Bean looks seriously disappointed by the news. "You mean he doesn't talk about it at all?" he asks.

"No," Carmina says, snapping for good measure, "And he gets really upset when you ask about it, so don't."

"I'm not gonna go talk to him!" Bean gasps.

The idea that a kid might be scared of John is pretty funny, considering how uncomfortable he is around her, but Carmina's not about to say as much. John probably wouldn't like her sharing a weakness like that with a bunch of strangers, and she wouldn't want them using it against him later.

Flower slowly lifts her hand, looking embarrassed. "Some of the adults in town say the Bliss messed him up. Is that... true?"

Well, at least she's trying to be nice about it. "I dunno," Carmina admits. "He was super weird when he first started living with us, but that might've just been because he was stuck in his bunker for so long."

"Oh, that happened to a guy my dad knows!" Bean supplies helpfully. "Dad calls it bunker shock. Says living underground too long is bad for you when you're all alone!"

"Glad I didn't live in one long enough for that," Luke says. When everyone looks at him, he clams up for a second before continuing on. "A neighbor came up just this year. He's... real weird. I don't like him much. He still sleeps underground, hoping he'll wake up and it'll all be a dream." He scuffs his boot against the dirt, sniffing loudly. "That's what my mom says, anyway. I try not to be around when he comes by."

"He wouldn't be the first adult to be like that," Jason says. He gives the church one last look before nodding his head towards the party. "I mean, that's why we're all the way out here, instead of hanging out around the food. Right?"

"No," Bean replies, "I'm out here 'cos I can't eat another bite! I didn't know you could be this full."

Caroline laughs. "Yeah, the adults have been stockpiling for weeks, it looks like... I guess everyone was really looking forward to it — or, well, I guess that's what it is."

Flower gazes over at the gaggle of adults. Carmina recognizes her dreamy smile from the way her mom looks around the house sometimes, like she's getting a new, better look at the place.

"It feels like things are starting to look up," she says. "Maybe they can all be happier now."

"Hey, don't jinx it!" Tom-or-Matt laughs.

Bean looks around at the rest of them and for a second, Carmina is worried he's going to ask more about John and restart the whole ugly conversation. Thankfully, it looks like he's still a baby, so he's quickly distracted.

"So, what do we do now?" he asks, pushing his too-big glasses up his nose.

Carmina has never actually played with other kids before, so she doesn't have any good suggestions — especially when shooting is off-limits. Thankfully, she isn't the only one. The teenagers don't know where their soccer ball went, and Luke says he doesn't even know what soccer is. Bean says he usually plays word games by himself. When Tom-or-Matt suggests they play something called "capture the flag," it manages to make its way to the top of the list just because Jason and Caroline have both heard of it before.

Well, at least something is better than nothing. The older kids explain how capture the flag works, using Jason's shirt for their team's flag while the other kids band together around Matt-or-Tom's sweaty tank top. Carmina imagines that one of them should sit out for even teams, but the older kids seem confident that they can handle it. Too confident, in Carmina's opinion — maybe they need to be brought down a peg.

Capture the flag turns out to be more fun than Carmina had expected — and a lot harder, too. Trying to outmaneuver the older kids is tough work, but she and Tom-or-Matt figure out how to flank them pretty quick. There's nothing better than the moment when Carmina manages to dive out of the way when Jason tries to tackle her, and even if she gets dog-piled by Flower halfway back to Bean at home base, she holds Jason's shirt up for another teammate to take.

Unfortunately, the game ends without a winner as a sharp whistle pierces the air. Bean looks up and shouts, "That's my dad! I better go!"

He runs off at full tilt without so much as a goodbye, and Carmina has to squint against the setting sun to watch him go. She hadn't realized how late it had gotten.

"I should probably get going, too," Luke says, sweaty and almost smiling for once. "I want to get another plate of food before we go home."

"Ugh," Carmina sighs, "And the chickens need feeding."

"Just make John do it," Matt-or-Tom says, apparently not learning his lesson about mentioning John.

"It's supposed to be my job," she says. "And anyway, he already feeds them in the morning when I don't get up in time."

"They're gonna like him more than you," Tom-or-Matt laughs.

Jason frowns. "He feeds your chickens?"

"I mean... yeah. He does whatever we need him to." Carmina shrugs, glancing back towards the church. She hasn't seen Jerome or John leave — maybe she should go see them before she rounds up her parents? Nah, it's better to leave them alone until the very last minute.

"Just... didn't think you'd let him near livestock, that's all."

"What's he gonna do, poison the eggs?" Carmina huffs. "He's good with them. I think he likes them 'cos they aren't judgey."

Caroline frowns, which tells Carmina she might've been a little rude. But Jason's been rude about John all day, so she's not going to feel sorry about it!

"Well, I guess if your parents trust him..."

"Sure they do," Carmina replies, even if that's not... exactly right. She knows her parents trust John enough to help around the house, but she thinks they only want to trust him with all the other stuff.

"I really better go," she says, pointing towards town.

"Sure," Flower says. "It was nice to meet you, Carmina."

Carmina gives them her best grin, relieved when it's returned from the others. Jason even waves like there's no hard feelings. "It was nice meeting you guys," she says.

"Happy birthday again!" Matt-or-Tom says, "And be careful!"

"Yeah," his brother laughs, "Wouldn't want to have a glowing deer attack you in the outhouse tonight!"

Carmina laughs away the dumb attempt to scare her, waving goodbye before turning to head for the party. Halfway there, she glances over her shoulder and sees the group turned back to one-another in conversation. None of them are looking back, but as she continues on, she's chased by an unfamiliar sense of discomfort. She can't help but wonder if they're still talking about John in the church.... If they're talking about her.

At least she can distract herself while looking for her parents. There are plenty of adults who say hello; some of them even point her helpfully towards her mom's last known location, or towards the table with the cookies her dad really liked. Some of them check in to make sure her birthday has been going well, too, which is nice of them, but a lot of adults are pretty drunk and deep in their own conversations.

She eventually finds her mom and dad standing around a grill with Marjorie, one of the adults in charge around town. Carmina's met her a couple of times. She's nice, but she can talk a lot. There's no telling how long they've been talking for, and if Carmina doesn't interrupt, who knows when they'll finish. While she could probably grab some food for the road, first she has to make sure that they're actually going to be leaving sometime before the next Collapse.

Besides, it looks like her dad's already got a box of leftovers in his hands. If Carmina wants to eat, she's going to have to interrupt.

"Hey dad," she says as she comes up to them, "The chickens are going to need dinner soon."

Her dad grins at her before handing over the squat, open cardboard box. There's chicken, ribs, corn and roasted potatoes, and even a handful of cookies and flatbread; it takes everything in Carmina's power not to make a desperate grab for more food. She doesn't have to worry about going hungry tonight, so there's no need to eat everything put in front of her.

"Here," he tells her, "You take this, alright? My arms are gettin' tired."

Yeah, right. As soon as she takes the box, he uses one of those tired arms to grab one of the ribs. When Carmina frowns suspiciously at him, her dad only shrugs.

"I coughed on it."

"Uh-huh..."

Laughing, her mom reaches out to give Marjorie a hug. It might've run a little long, but her mom obviously enjoyed the talk. "We'll be back in a week or two with the tractor parts," she says. "You're going to get the fields back in shape in no time."

"Already got a good start," Marjorie replies. She shoots Carmina a warm smile. "Happy birthday, by the way! Don't think I got to see you much. Hope those kids weren't giving you a hard time."

"No," Carmina replies., "They're all really nice. We want to practice shooting together, maybe have a contest. Jason said he's better than anybody else."

"I bet you're gonna give him a run for his money!" Marjorie laughs. "Well, the better a shot you are, the better off you'll be. You won't see anybody here stop you kids."

"Yeah, but tonight, I have to feed the chickens," Carmina says, just in case her parents need another chance to get out of here.

"We've got a few other people to say goodbye to," her mom tells her. "Why don't you take the food back to the truck? We'll meet you there."

"Should I get John, too?"

As soon as she asks, Carmina decides she probably shouldn't have brought it up. Too late, though; by the look on Marjorie's face, there's no way to pretend she didn't hear it.

Her dad shrugs. "Probably oughta," he tells her, as if he doesn't see Marjorie staring at them like she is.

Marjorie definitely doesn't like that, judging by the way she squints, but she doesn't say anything about it. "Well, I hope you had a decent enough birthday for once," she says, "Hopefully we'll be having a party around this time every year from now on."

"That would be nice," mom says.

"Just you wait, we're gonna turn this ship around one way or another." Marjorie gestures with her hands and says, "Alright, you better go, before those chickens of yours eat each other."

Carmina frowns. "They don't do that, do they?"

"Uh, let's get moving," her dad says. "See you soon, Marg."

"Take care!"

Her mom and dad have to stop a few more times to say goodbye to people Carmina doesn't know, but she pushes on without them and nobody stops her for more than a quick birthday greeting. She catches sight of Luke packing up some food with his parents, but he's too distracted to notice her. At least she isn't the only one carrying a box of leftovers out of here; it would feel selfish of her if they weren't sending leftovers home with other people.

Her parents haven't caught up with her by the time she reaches the truck, and John is nowhere to be seen. She figures he's probably still in the church — he and Pastor Jerome always take forever when they're talking. They'll probably be there until dad goes in and breaks them up.

Eating by herself in the back of the truck doesn't feel right, especially not within walking distance of the church. Leaving the food tucked in the corner by the cab, Carmina heads for the building herself. Even if nobody was in there, she'd probably go wander inside for a few minutes; it's a comforting, quiet place in the dry, dusty town. But right now, she's pretty sure John is hanging around inside, and he probably hasn't eaten anything all day, either. She should at least let him have first pick.

She knows a lot of the adults dislike the church, but Carmina personally enjoys how its sun-bleached siding stands out against the sky. Besides the house, the church is one of the few places Carmina wishes she could have seen in one piece. She's seen old, faded pictures from ancient newspaper clippings, but it's just not the same.

The doors are open wide enough for Carmina to slip in without a sound. The air inside is cool, almost chilly, and it smells like dirt and grass. From the entrance, there's only a narrow gap keeping Jerome and John out of sight. She doesn't mean to hide, but she doesn't want to interrupt Jerome mid-sentence...

It's too late, she's eavesdropping.

"It might not be much, but it's something," Jerome's saying. "He even stayed a few nights, when the wind got bad and brought too much pollen over the river."

"It would be better for everyone if he stayed here permanently," John replies. "Wallace went further down the path than the rest of them, and they clearly don't know what they're doing."

"They're trying, John. And we don't have a say in the matter. It's got to be his choice. Remember?"

John grunts, clearly annoyed. Carmina doesn't think she's ever heard him say so much before. Does he talk to her mom and dad this much? Is he really only quiet around her?

"I don't like it," John says.

"For what it's worth, neither do I. But Sharky's taking things seriously — they all are. You're going to have to trust them."

"Trust isn't exactly one of my virtues," John grumpily admits.

Jerome chuckles. "You just need practice."

Well, Carmina definitely feels guilty now. She had only been waiting for an opening, but if she waits any longer, she's really going to be breaking John's trust. Pastor Jerome's, too, for that matter.

Thinking on her toes, Carmina pushes on the already open door as though she's just showing up. Of course, the hinges squeal in protest as soon as she does, so she stops before she breaks something.

"Are you guys still in here?" she calls. She's pretty convincing about it, in her opinion.

"Yes, Carmina," Jerome responds, apparently none-the-wiser, "We're here."

John regards her neutrally as she steps into view, but he's always wearing his poker face around her. She needs to get better at reading it.

"I guess it's time to go, then," he says.

"Yeah. Um — I mean, I can meet you back at the truck. Mom and dad will be here soon..."

Jerome speaks up before John can get the chance. "No, you two go on. I think we were just about done ourselves, and I'd like to sit here for a little while, before it gets too dark." He and John shake hands, and then he comes over to give Carmina a hug. "Happy birthday," he tells her. "You be good for another year, alright?"

"I'll try," she says.

"That'a girl," Jerome laughs. "Keep an eye on her, John."

Sometimes, it seems like Jerome is the only adult in Hope County that doesn't think John is a bad influence on her. Even her mom and dad, who are basically the only people on John's side, get uncomfortable if she tries to talk to him too much. But Jerome is a special case. He used to be weird about anything John-related, but nowadays? Honestly, Carmina's pretty sure he's John's only friend at this point — well, okay, other than mom and dad, but they don't count.

John waits until they've left the church to speak. He's chilly and dismissive, as usual.

"How long were you listening for?"

"I wasn't," Carmina begins — but she can't lie to him. Lying only ever makes things worse. So she corrects herself reluctantly and admits, "It was only a minute. I didn't mean to... it just sort of happened."

"Hm."

Normally, Carmina can't get a read on John's poker face, but... huh. She can't help but feel like she might've... hurt his feelings? She definitely wasn't being trustworthy, that's for sure. And now he's trying to casually out-pace her on the walk back to the truck.

"I'm sorry for eavesdropping," she says, picking up her pace to match his. "I promise, I won't do it again."

John glares at her, but she's pretty sure he's not angry. Maybe just confused? She's not sure, he's never looked at her longer than two seconds before.

"I... appreciate it," he replies instead, which makes it the first time he's ever accepted an apology of hers. Usually, he just tells her not to worry about it.

Carmina grins at him, but he's already looked away, so of course he doesn't see it. Instead, he looks to the field, where the three teens from town are still hanging out. Carmina can't tell if they're looking this way or not. She sure hopes they aren't; John would know immediately that they gossiped about him, and she's already messed up with him once today.

"Have you ever played capture the flag?" she asks, hoping to distract him. "The chicken brothers taught us the rules but I think they maybe made some of it up."

John cracks a small smile. Well, Carmina will pretend it's one, anyway.

"The chicken brothers," he repeats.

"You know, Tommy and Matt."

"Do they know that's what you call them?"

"I mean, I've never said it to their faces..."

"That's probably smart."

They reach the truck, which marks the invisible barrier that keeps John out of town. Of course, mom and dad still aren't here. If Carmina climbed up on top of the truck, she might be able to spot them, but it's not like she could get their attention from this far away. So, she's going to have to kill time until they get back.

"Did you eat?" she asks, climbing up into the truck bed.

"I'm fine, Carmina," John replies, a little wearily. Like she's not the first person to bug him about it today — or, maybe like he lacks energy from not eating all day.

She rolls her eyes, but John doesn't see. "Uh-huh." She sits down, pulling the box of food into her lap as she leans back against the cab. "Dad was surprised that there were cookies. Um, not exactly the same, I guess? But still really good." She's not going to give him a chance to turn it down, grabbing one and shoving it in his direction. "Here, try one!"

John, leaning against the side of the truck like he is, is clearly more interested in looking for her parents than humoring her. He definitely looks like he wants to say no. But to her surprise, he actually takes the offered food. It would be weird to stare at him while he eats, so she goes back to debating between a chicken leg or one of the last ribs in the box.

"Not bad," John comments, which is like, crazy, because Carmina definitely isn't goading him into talking.

"They're kind of crumbly," Carmina says, "I dunno if that's what it's supposed to be like. But all the food is really good." She counts the chicken legs out again, just to make sure there's one for each of them. "Um... hey, John? Uh... do chickens eat each other?"

John frowns, chewing the question over with the rest of the cookie. He swallows, then says, "Most animals cannibalize their own if they're desperate enough."

"Oh."

"They would need to be left alone for a lot longer than a few hours," he points out. "Or they would have to be sick. It's more likely a dog will get them before they turn on each other."

Well, at least Carmina can trust John to tell her the truth, even if it's probably not the way her parents would want him to do it. She doesn't even mind him being so blunt about it, either; she's just surprised he's willing to talk to her. She can't help but wonder if this is going to be a normal thing, now that she's ten — is he going to stop being so weird around her? Or is this just a special treat, because of the day? She sure hopes not. It'd be a lot less awkward if John didn't act so scared of her all the time.

Her parents finally join them at the truck. Her mom wrinkles her nose at Carmina sitting in the back again, but she doesn't say anything. Her dad doesn't seem to mind; once he spots the box in Carmina's lap, he reaches over to grab one of the shortbread cookies for himself.

"Sorry about that," he says, "We got held up a couple times. John, you try one of these yet?"

"I did."

"Crazy having home-baked goods again, right?" Her dad waggles the cookie in John's face; John rolls his eyes and circles back around to the tailgate, climbing up into the bed. "Here, Carmina, give me that box so the food doesn't get too cold on the way home."

"You're just gonna eat everything," Carmina objects, handing over the box anyway.

"Nah, come on. Here, you guys grab something for the ride home." He nudges Carmina's shoulder with the box. "You probably worked up an appetite bullying all the older kids out there — and I bet you didn't eat much of anything, either," he adds in John's direction.

"I had a cookie, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I'll bet nobody forced you into it, either."

Carmina grins as her dad winks at her. Her mom rolls her eyes, but doesn't keep dad from bullying John a little. "Grab something so we can get going," she tells John, "And make sure she doesn't stand up once we're in drive."

John reluctantly takes a towel-wrapped ear of corn and a single rib, while Carmina goes right for that piece of chicken she'd been eying from the start. That helps her make peace with sitting safely, at least this one time. Next year, she's definitely going to get to ride in back by herself, she can feel it, and she is going to do it standing up!

As Carmina watches the town shrink behind them, she congratulates herself on another successful birthday. It'd been better than she'd expected — she was a little uncomfortable around so many people at first, but now she's pretty sure she can say she's made some friends? And seeing the town full of food and laughter and music... It had been sort of what Carmina imagines Fall's End used to be like. Her parents probably wouldn't agree, but maybe that's okay. Maybe when she's older, she can try and prove to them that things can be just as good as they used to be — even if it's a different kind of good.

[anotherhargrovebitch]

i’m not your baby anymore : b.h

part three of don’t call him baby mini series! thanks for all the love and support - i hope this does justice (2.2k) 

oh and shout out to @belledawnidk who asked to be tagged!

o n e //  t w o //  t h r e e 

* stranger things writing *

bold/italics - past events 

“Come to think of it, there’s a good pool at er, Motel Six. It’s very quiet, very private.” Billy focuses on Karen’s lips, watching as nerves rise in her expression as she darts her eyes from his growing smirk. “Shall we say tonight, eight o clock?” He chews his gum, meeting her doe eyes. 

Karen shifts her weight from one foot to the other, fiddling with her towel as she averts her gaze. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” She states calmly, ignoring her heart rate increasing as Billy raises an eyebrow, his face still in close proximity to hers. 

“Can’t have fun?” Billy chuckles, and the two continue to flirt ignoring everyone else around them. 

As Karen Wheeler walks away, Billy can feel that familiar pit in his stomach returning, knowing he’s got one more thing to do before he can put everything aside for the night.

*

Taking a deep breath, Billy pulled up down the street. It was a spot he had gotten used to, even if your neighbours opened their curtains and stared at him. Sometimes he’d have the courage to wave and force a smile, but other times he ignored them in the hope they’d allow him some privacy. 

This was the last chance he told himself. One more time of giving himself the opportunity to talk to you, rather than watch you from a safe distance.

“Come on, dick.” Billy mutters under his breath as he lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply before exhaling, filling the car with smoke. 

It was becoming harder to ignore you as Summer was progressing. He felt like he could no longer avoid you like he once did in the corridors of the school. Billy saw you everywhere, small details or things you had mentioned. Every time it happens, Max finds out. 

Seeing Billy so lovesick isn’t something Max ever anticipated witnessing. She knew Billy as a bit of a dick to girls, a womaniser or something slightly perverted. But when you came along, everything seemingly changed for the better and now, now everything has come to a halt in his life. 

“You know, she asks about you sometimes,” Max rests against Billy’s door, keeping her eyes trained to the pieces of ash buried in his carpet. 

She knew she was edging close to dangerous waters, unsure whether to take the leap or let the currents rise. 

Billy shuffles, taking his fingers away from the locket he still wears. “She does?” He questions, forcing himself to sit upright as he faces Max. Biting his lower lip, he tries to stop his heartbeat racing inside of his chest. “What, what does she ask?” He stumbles over his words, something Max smiles at. 

“She, she asks if you’re doing alright. Like, with the lifeguard job and if you’re seeing anyone.” Max says quietly, listening to Billy huff as his whole demeanour changes from something soft to more aggressive.

Clenching his bedding tightly, Billy refuses to meet Max’s eyes. “Dumb bitch.” He mutters forcefully as he rises to his feet, looking down as Max’s face is filled with fear. “Move, Maxine.” He spits and she complies, rising to her feet and leaving the room. 

“Billy, don’t do something you’ll regret!” She yells after him as he grabs his keys and jacket, slamming the front door behind him. “Shit.” She whispers as she runs down the stairs and opens the door, only to see Billy already speeding off down the street with his music blaring. 

He shouldn’t be angry at you, but he can’t help it. 

You got to move on, you had the chance to restart but he couldn’t. Billy didn’t want to. Yet, despite it being over a year, you still ask about him? 

Slamming his car door, Billy throws his cigarette butt to the ground as he grinds on it with his boot. He locks the door, taking one last look at his reflection in the side mirror. 

Licking his lips, Billy runs his fingers through his curls before shrugging his jacket and walking down the path he could follow in his sleep. He takes a look up to see only your bedroom light illuminated inside of the house, and no sign of Harrington’s car. 

“Now or never.” Billy tells himself as he nears your house, this having been the closest to you he’s been in months. 

Looking down at his feet, Billy stands on the welcome mat. It’s Thursday evening, and some things never change about you or your family. He can still hear the wind charm blowing, the sweet notes it produces from the side of the porch whilst your dog barks at the sound of Billy’s movements. 

He raises his fist, forcing himself to knock as he turns around, wondering if it’s too late to make a run for it. 

“I’m coming!” You cheerfully yell from the other side of the door, oblivious to whom you’re about to be faced with. 

Billy tenses as he listens to the locks turning, all three being unbolted as you open it with a bright smile, only to have it falter as Billy stands in front of you. “Hi.” He manages to breathe out, his mind clouding over as you hide most of yourself behind the door, barely looking him in the eye. 

“Billy, what’re you doing here?” You question coldly as Billy blinks rapidly, hearing his name being muttered in sorrow as opposed to joy.

“I was just passing,” He looks back over his shoulder, feeling all of your neighbour's eyes watching him closely.

In his head, he imagines they’ve all heard the stories about him, that your Mom would’ve gossiped about how he broke your heart by cheating. He didn’t have your Mom down as a bad person, but she definitely would be the sort to twist facts like your breakup. 

You raise an eyebrow to him, your smile remaining dormant from his view. “You were just passing through this part of town, where nothing is?” You respond, crossing your arms as you open the door a slither more. “What’re you really doing here, Billy?” You reiterate your former question, knowing he can’t avoid the truth forever. 

Billy exhales loudly, burying his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket. “I wanted to talk to you, Y/n.” He admits, the pet name so close to rolling from his tongue but he bites it back. “I know it’s been a long time, but can we just talk about some things?” He asks you calmly, hiding his pent up anger as he grips the cigarette box in his left pocket. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you focus on the time. You know there’s enough time for you to both talk, for you to scream and cry and him to leave before Steve comes. But you want to be selfish and say no. 

“Come in, Billy.” You lower your head as you step back, pulling the door toward you as he walks in. 

His eyes roam around, noticing small changes decorating the hallway. 

“You changed it up in here.” He comments, looking back as you nod softly before walking into the living room.

Billy remains on his feet as you take a seat in the armchair, watching as he seems unsure of himself for the first time. “You can sit down, Billy.” You tell him, and as soon as you state that he obliges. “So, what’d you wanna tell me then?” You get straight to the point, not wanting to dance around the topic. 

Shuffling in the seat, Billy sits on the edge of the three-seater sofa. He focuses on his shaking knee, unaware of you watching intently at the small details that have changed about him.

Your eyes roam over his face, picking up the freckles that always reappear in the summertime. How that slit in his eyebrow as scarred from one of Neil’s punches. There are fewer cuts and bruises for once, but you know that they must be concealed beneath the layers of his clothing. 

“I wanted to apologise to you, Y/n.” He starts, still unable to look you directly in the eyes. “As I never did properly, I mean, I tried but understandably, you didn’t wanna talk.” He states, glancing up to see you nod in response. “And, and Max says you ask about me sometimes?” 

Billy looks over, seeing your hand grip the arm of the chair as he mentions his stepsister. “I, I just wanted to know if you’re doing okay.” You shrug your shoulder, playing it down from what it really is. “Just, I see you around Hawkins but I never know if you’re putting up a facade.” You comment, and Billy swallows the yell in his throat. 

“That all you ask her?” He toys with you, dangling it in front of your face. 

A loud huff leaves your lips as you mirror his body language. “What’re you asking me, Billy?” The words leave your lips with venom. You never liked the games he played, especially when it came to your emotions. 

“Do you still care about me? Ask about if I’m seeing anyone?” His voice rises as you rub your temples. “Seriously, Y/n?” He scoffs as he stands up, pacing around the room. “After all this time, you still care about me? After all I did, I’ve sulked over losing you, only to see you all over Harrington of all people! And yet, you still have the audacity to ask about me!” He yells, unaware of you standing in front of him with glossy eyes. 

“No, Billy.” You state coldly, trying to keep yourself composed. “I was a mess when you broke my heart. Steve, Steve is my best friend. He’ll always be my best friend, even if we’re dating- which is none of your business anymore by the way. You, you lost the privilege to be apart of my life when you slept with another girl.” You spit at him, feeling those old wounds being reopened. 

“So why ask about me then?” He retorts, moving closer toward you. 

“I ask because I still care, Billy!” You yell. “I’ll always care about you deep down, no matter how much shit you do or how much you hurt me. I’ll always fucking care you piece of shit.” Your yells mix with tears as you hit his chest repeatedly, only for him to take a hold of your wrists. 

“Hey,” His voice lowers, close to whispering as you cry. “don’t.” He says, only for you to look up at him as tears stream down your cheeks. 

“You ruined me, Billy.” You whisper, forcing your wrists from his grip as you take a step back. “And yet, I still care.” You laugh to yourself as you wipe your eyes. “How that works I do not know.” 

“Y/n,” He mutters your name, reaching out as you collapse down to the ground. “I’m so sorry, for everything.” His voice is soft, the delicate tone you once heard in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. He would’ve curled up into you, his lips against your ear as he’d whisper sweet nothings. 

“You should be.” You look up, focusing on those blue eyes you once got lost in. 

“Do, do you still love me?” His eyes search yours, desperation oozing from his lips as you shuffle away from him. 

“Billy, don’t.” You ask him quietly, shaking your head. 

But Billy can’t help it. He moves closer as your back hits the armchair. “Do you love him like you love me?” His eyes remain fixated on yours as the tears continue to glide down your cheeks as you blink, knowing the answer will break his heart.

“I, I’ll always love you, Billy.” You lift your hand, resting it against his cheek.

Naturally, Billy leans into your soft touch, missing your delicate hand against his rough skin. 

“But,” You continue, breaking Billy from his dream, bursting the bubble of what he hoped to be the end of that sentence. “you were and always will be my first love. I, I’ve moved on.” You explain quietly, watching as he pulls away from you, your hand dropping from his face. “You need to move on, Billy. You, you’ll always have a place in my heart, but I’m still healing.” Your hand rests over your chest, and Billy simply nods. 

“I, I should go.” He mutters as he stands up, looking at you briefly. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” He says, knowing you understand that he truly means it. “I, I’ll leave you to it.” He heads toward the front door, knowing you won’t follow him. 

Deep down, you wish you could. That part of you will always wonder what would happen if you ran after him. 

Instead, you listen as the door closes quietly, leaving you in solitude as you cry into your chest over the boy who broke your heart, and whose heart you broke in return. 

Billy sits in his car, glancing down to see the time as he wipes his face. It is seven O’clock. He pulls away, knowing the exact route to Motel Six from your house, having spent many nights there with you but tonight and like every night from now on, he won’t spend it with you. 

Deep down, Billy knows he’ll willingly spend it with anyone just in hope that the hole in his chest might heal up someday. That the heart you broke will heal, and he’ll have another chance at finding someone else.

[aiden-png]

to celebrate the end of 2020, I’ve decided to share the highlights of the writing I did this year! I’m going to share a few of my favorite snippets from 2020, and I think this could be a fun tag meme to invite friends to join in on so they can appreciate their progress and hard work too! I couldn’t have written so much if it wasn’t for the great online community supporting me and all my wonderfully talented friends!!

I’m gonna tag @freshie-writes @silverdragon-imagines-blog @st0rmy-writes @fuckit-hero-of-trains @no-themes-just-memes @timeturner-jay and anyone else who wants to join in, feel free! you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but you all wrote amazing things this year and I’m gonna appreciate you for them!!

snippets below the cut (please do this or make a new post if you wanna join, just so we don’t flood everyone’s dashboard lol!)

it’s difficult to count for certain, but across 7 google docs from April to December 2020, I wrote 324,782 words just of Legend of Zelda fanfic! it’s been a crazy fun year and I think my writing has improved a ton since I started writing fic again in April! thank you all for supporting me through the last 9 months!! <3

here’s a highlight of some of my favorite excerpts from fics I wrote this year! Smoke on the Wind and Dream With Me are two of my favorite pieces I wrote this year for angst, while Four Feet of Pure Flirtation and Lessons in Love are my favorites for crack/fluff :D the other snippets are featured bc I’m proud of how the fics turned out !

Dream With Me: June 28, 2020 Legend and Hyrule sat on the beach, a mere two feet separating them. It felt like much more. Farther than they’d ever been apart before. The other heroes stumbled onto the sand, frozen in shock as they took in the scene before them. Legend, knife drawn and hands shaking dangerously. Hyrule, knees buried in the sand and hands held over his chest, trying desperately not to reach out again. The sun was rising, pinks disappearing into vibrant gold and crushed purple and bright blue. As dawn broke, their vision wavered. Hyrule gasped, Legend blurring before him, the sand beneath him fading, the roar of the waves diminishing. Magic hour was ending. “This isn’t a dream,” Hyrule whispered, and Legend’s shoulders shook with silent sobs. “I’m real. I’m here. Legend, come with me.” Hyrule stretched out his arm, fingers splayed, eyes begging. Legend flinched back, dagger slipping from shaking fingers. He stared, disbelieving. Vertigo consumed Hyrule’s senses, his vision clouding with black dots. “Take my hand, Legend!” Hyrule cried, and Legend jumped. He sprung forward, hand grasping. Hyrule felt nothing as Legend’s hand passed through his. “Hyrule!” He blinked, and found himself in an unfamiliar field, reaching towards sunrise.

Smoke on the Wind: August 7, 2020 Wind hadn’t always had this ability, but before his second adventure, before the ghosts became tangible to his skin and visible to his eyes, he still had a sixth sense of sorts to rely on. Back then he’d called it instinct, but now he called it a curse. It never helped him do better on his adventure, never showed him the way, never allowed him to prevent someone’s demise--only forced him to bear witness to it in all its excruciatingly gory detail. Some spoke of death like a mercy, others like a boon. Wind knew death like an old friend and he despised it with all the rage contained in his tiny body. Some feared death, some prayed for its delay. Wind feared no man, god, or figment of imagination. There was no reason to fear something he couldn’t prevent, there was no reason to pray to something that would never hear or listen. Some ran from death, some hid. Wind stared death in the eye and spat in its face. He thrust a magical fucking sword through its head and banished it to a watery grave.

Four Feet of Pure Flirtation: June 26, 2020 Maybe he should have shared just a tad bit more with them, but that was a regret for future Four to deal with. And really, he hadn’t been expecting it himself, so they couldn’t exactly blame him when Dark Link materialized in their camp one morning and sent Four’s heart racing in an unfamiliar-familiar way. Four felt the heat crawl up his chest, felt his tongue loosen, felt his eyes trail over Dark’s lithe form just a bit too slow to be innocent. No one had told him Dark was attractive. Although, Vio reminded him, we are the only ones attracted to villains. We are most decidedly not! Four shot back. The denial was empty. They most decidedly were.

Hero Through the Ages: June 19, 2020 Wild sighed, chin resting on his knees. He glanced over at Sky, feeling anxiety buzz within him as a question pushed at the back of his mind. “Hey, Sky… does the sword still recognize me?” Sky froze at the unexpected question, eyes searching Wild’s carefully schooled expression. Wild felt his anxiety rise but he held his ground as the older hero tentatively reached back and unsheathed the Master Sword. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Wild tried hard not to notice the new eyes on them as he waited for Sky’s response. He knew what the answer should be, but when the other slowly opened his eyes and held the sword out for Wild, it was still conflicting to feel the familiar weight of it in his hands. Not too heavy. Not burning. Perfectly at home, as if he’d just begun his adventure and still had many years left before the Calamity struck. Wild felt a pit in his stomach as he handed the sword back, Sky’s concerned gaze not helping. “How old were you when you pulled the sword?” Sky asked quietly, and Wild stared at his hands as they trembled slightly in his lap. “Too young.”

A Shower to Remember: July 4, 2020 Enter Twilight and Wild. TWILIGHT     I can see thee up th’re.     Come hither.     I simply wish to speak with thee.

Enter Legend to Shower Crashers. LEGEND     all’s well that ends well, I believe our plan hath been a success. cheers to thee all. FOUR     didst thou not see     Wild running     for his life not     a minute past? LEGEND     that is’t his problem, not mine.

Lessons in Love: July 9, 2020 The offer though, that’s what truly made Legend pause. Show you the ropes, he’d said. He should be insulted that Ravio thought he was that hopeless, but the man wasn’t wrong. Legend was absolutely, positively hopeless, evidenced by the situation he now found himself in. Should he say no and move on? Should he accept--and then what? Maybe he should laugh it off, say he was joking, or perhaps he should come clean now and tell Ravio how he felt? But he still didn’t know if Ravio felt the same, those dark eyes betraying nothing in the fading light of sunset. So, naturally, Legend continued to panic. “What do you mean by ‘show me the ropes’?” Legend asked, quick, defensive enough to pass as insulted. Ravio snorted, tasting the hot chocolate, and Legend’s eyes were drawn to his lips once more as if under a spell. “I mean no offense, Link,” Ravio laughed, seeming not to catch the blush on Legend’s face as Ravio used his name. “I just figured you might want some pointers. Flirting, hand holding, relationship advice, y’know? You don’t have to accept the offer by any means!” Flirting? Hand holding? Legend gulped. He was already an idiot. Maybe he could play dumb for a little while longer…

Scars: June 2, 2020 “I used to try and cover myself in public--I didn’t like the way people would whisper or stare when they saw. But eventually I came to accept the scars as part of me. I remembered how I got them, and I realized I wouldn’t be the person I am today without the journey that led to me getting these scars. And I like who I am…” Wild trailed off, sifting sand through his fingers as Warriors listened. “I’ve come to love my scars, because they hold such important memories for me. Even if some of the memories aren’t so great, I wouldn’t be who I am today without them, you know? And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Beneath the Surface: July 13, 2020 For the first few months he had lied to himself, blaming the others or the weather or Shadow or Vaati or anything rather than admitting he had a problem. But Blue did, in fact, have a problem, and fighting and yelling it out wasn’t the healthiest solution. For the others it was easy. Green had Vio, for Wind could rarely move Earth, and Red got along with everyone he was so full of love to give. But Blue wasn’t good at teamwork, he wasn’t good at strategizing, and he wasn’t good at showing affection--he was good at being angry, and that was it. He was the protector, the toughest of them all in strength and will; but when you’re always protecting others, no one protects you. Not like Blue made it easy for the others to approach him, and he didn’t blame them for giving up. They were all struggling, they all had their own issues, and while Wind was a gentle breeze and Fire a warming comfort and Earth a steady rock--Water was impossible to hold down. He was forever changing, flowing, and while it meant that he could adapt well to new situations, it also meant that every time he felt close to getting a handle on his emotions they would slip from his grasp once more. His magic ebbed and swayed and his emotions followed their tide, not his, and so he pushed others away rather than admit he couldn’t handle himself. If protecting them meant distancing himself, then so be it.

The Point of No Return: June 19, 2020 He turned back to Four, brushing the back of his hand across his cheek. He’d wanted to share a meal with his partner. He’d wanted to see Four’s small smile--just for him--as he tried Hylian food for the first, second, hundredth time. Long ago, they’d promised to travel the world together. Four wanted to share everything with him; wanted to show him the forge, wanted him to meet his Grandfather, wanted to take him to see the Minish. After the adventure, Four had promised. He’d be free to go and do whatever he wanted, right by Four’s side. Well, he was at his side now. And this was not what they’d promised each other.

A Major Test of Strength: May 7, 2020 Even being worthy of the Triforce of Courage didn’t mean he was brave enough to act on, or even think, about how he felt about Sidon. He reasoned it was better not to say anything, especially now. He was going off to a battle he may not return from. Even if he burned to know if Sidon felt the same, it would be selfish to ask knowing he may be leaving for the last time. Link would rather go to the grave with his feelings then leave Sidon alone with them. At least if he died before confessing, Sidon would be able to move on, he hoped. Sidon was his best friend, and that was enough for now.

[hellsfanatic]

TW: talks of fights, blood, non-graphic fighting, alcohol

—

“Hey Dal!” Johnny called for me as I walked out of Buck’s. I turned back. His face was bloody and bruised and he had a real bad limp to his walk. My heart dropped, I hadn’t ever seen Johnny this hurt, not even from his old man.

I walked to Johnny so he didn’t have to struggle anymore. “Hey, kid, what happened to ya, man?” I asked, looking at the blood dripping from the cut on his cheek. Gosh, whoever did this was in for a h*ll of a ride when I found them. Maybe they’d end up dead, but I wanted them to suffer more than they made Johnny.

“I don’t know, man,” he murmured. He brought his arm to his cheek, wiping the blood off. I swear I thought he’d faint any second after that. He really did have a nasty cut, real deep into his face, too. “I just,” he paused for a moment, “some d*mned Socs saw me, I think they were dr*nk. They sure acted it if they were. I tried yellin’ for y’all but I guess they shut me up pretty quick huh,” he spoke, almost like he could feel each hit he was remembering again. Maybe he could, because he winced in pain every now and again.

Slinging my arm around his shoulders to keep him up, I said, “C’mon John, let’s get you to my room, we can use one of Tim’s old shirts to clean up that cut. Got any others?” He didn’t say anything, just nodded. Of course there were more, of course. Boy, those Socs sure were building a reputation for themselves, they’d be dead before they knew it. Man, they might as well be dead now, it’d be better for them.

We got to my room, and honestly it was pretty hard. Johnny’s limp didn’t get any better, and gosh, those stairs were anything but fun to help him up. “Kay John, where’s the rest of ‘em?” I asked, pressing a cloth with some alc*hol on it to the cut of his cheek. He flinched, but let me keep going. I know that stuff burns, but I had to do it. Keeping his silence, he pulled off his jacket. His shirt was covered in crimson red blood around a slice in it. It reached from his lower rib to his waist, but it wasn’t too deep.

“The other’s on my leg,” Johnny mumbled.

“I’ll get that one in a second, man. I gotta fix this one up first. Stay right here, ya hear?” I cocked an eyebrow. He nodded. “Good. I’m gonna go ask Buck somethin’. Hold that cloth right there, got it?” I moved my hand from the cloth I was pressing on his cut so he could get a grip on it. “Don’t you go takin’ that thing off. I don’t wanna clean up more blood than I gotta. Keep pushin’ down too.”

Johnny was holding it to the cut like I said, so I left. Everyone downstairs was real loud, especially compared to Johnny. Buck wasn’t dealing with anyone just then, so I pulled him to another room. It was still loud, but this was the best we were going to get. Closets aren’t usually used for partying anyways.

“Whatcha need Dally?” he almost had to shout. At a party this wild, he knew something had to be wrong since I wasn’t out talking to one of the pretty girls at the bar or drinking. Well, I probably wouldn’t have pulled him into a closet if I didn’t need something either.

I looked around the closet, trying to see what he had. “You got any of those bandages, man? I was gonna use a cut up shirt, but I don’t know if that’ll work for this one. It’s uh, it’s a pretty gnarly cut. Right down the side, man. Like that one kid the town over. Rusty? Rusty-James, I think. His was deeper, though. No bones showin’ on this kid, thank God.”

“Bad cut huh? That why you was bringin’ that kid up there? Yeah, man, he looked pretty beat up,” he said, starting to walk out. “Might got some upstairs. I don’t know how much yesterday’s brawl took. They were both pretty messed up. Man, you shoulda seen it. ‘Betcha could’ve won if you were there. They were pretty big guys, though,” he continued, heading up the stairs with me.

We looked over what he had and grabbed the bandages. “I’ll put ‘em back when I get what I need,” I told him, already making my way out the door. I had left Johnny alone longer than I wanted to already, I couldn’t keep using my time like this.

I got back to my room, seeing Johnny resting his head on the wall. Man, he looked like he could see the d*mn Grim Reaper standing in the corner, waiting for the exact moment he was gone. “Hey, John, take that rag off the cut will ya? I got some bandages so you don’t gotta hold that thing there the whole night,” I told him, unraveling the roll. He listened real well, not like it was much to do, but he sure did it. Getting him wrapped up was pretty easy, probably because he didn’t make a huge fuss like a little kid. There were a few hisses of pain when I pulled them too tight, but he tried to keep them back.

“Man, you almost done?” he asked, sounding tired.

“Yeah, Johnny, almost.” I wrapped the bandages around him a couple more times, then backed away. “There. Now don’t go messin’ that up, ya hear?” He just nodded. Not like Johnny would purposely mess it up. I cleaned up the rest of his cuts, which wasn’t that hard. It was pretty bloody, though. That one on his cheek would scar, I knew it. Kind of made him look like a pal I had back in New York, that guy would get in fights even if he knew he’d lose. He just wanted the thrill. Man, he was fun.

Johnny seemed just about ready to fall asleep. If he had the chance I’m sure he would. His eyelids were tugging themselves down and he was leaning his whole body on the wall. I’ll bet limping all the way to Buck’s didn’t exactly boost his energy. I tried to get his attention after a minute or two, but he didn’t even look at me. He must’ve fallen asleep. He was already on the bed, I just laid him down. I wasn’t too thrilled about the blood from his shirt getting on the mattress, but what was I going to do? Put him on the floor? No way.

There wasn’t much to do, so I left. Johnny could stay put until I came back, anyways. He told me a couple things about those Socs, like the car they were in and that one of them had some rings. D*mn, he wouldn’t shut up about those rings. They were the things that cut his cheek. The guy punched him across the face. For rings, they went deep.

The air was cold, it matched the silence of town. There were a couple people, but they weren’t being loud. It was late, too, so most things were closed. That’s probably why it was like that. The corner store’s light was on, brightening up the sidewalk and street. I went in, just to look around. I couldn’t afford jail time when I had to find those guys who got Johnny. I’d go to jail for k*lling them, sure, but not some stupid shoplifting now.

The car.

That was their car. Johnny said it was a blue Mustang. This was a blue Mustang. Those aren’t just everywhere around here. I pushed past the couple looking at magazines together and went straight out the door. I was following that car. I wasn’t stopping until they did and I’d get them. I’d get them real good.

It slowed down after not too long in some alleyway. They must’ve seen me or heard my shouting. Three guys got out. The guy from the driver’s side, some preppy guy, had big rings on his left hand. Rings that could definitely cut up someone’s cheek. He took a drink from his flask, tossing it in the car and slamming the door. A dopey grin grew on his lips. Man, I’d knock that right off. It’d be the first thing I’d do.

“Lookie here, boys, we got that kid’s guard dog. Someone’s mad his little friend got beat up,” the first Soc sneered. The other two snickered. “I think Winston here’s lookin’ to match his pal, ain’t he boys?” he said as the three of them took a few steps forward.

That’s all I remember from them. I could maybe recall a couple blurred moments of fighting and them driving off, but I could never give details about it. I guess I had a busted lip and some bloody knuckles to show for it, though. I got away better than the Socs did, they could barely get themselves back in the car. That could’ve been the alc*hol too, though.

I was making my way to Buck’s, which definitely felt longer than normal, probably since I was pretty hurt. I can’t imagine what it was like for Johnny, he was banged up even worse than me. I wonder how long it took him to get to Buck’s. I doubt he’d know the answer if I asked him. He was probably just focused on finding one of us and trying to stop his bleeding.

The noise only got louder as I opened the door, leaving a pounding sensation in my head. It eased as I made my way upstairs, opening the door to the room I was staying in. Johnny was still out, good. He seemed like he could sleep for a good while if I let him. I closed the door, making sure not to let it slam. Doors slamming always scared Johnny.

His bleeding had stopped, but I had a couple cuts I wanted to take care of. For a three on one fight, I’m surprised I only got a few. These might not even scar too bad. Grabbing a new cloth and wiping off the blood that ran from my forehead to my cheek, I looked in the mirror. Man, I did not look too great. My face was pale, my eyes seemed tired, and my hair was in a jumbled mess of blond. One look at me and you’d think I either just got out of a fight or rose from the grave. I mean, I had enough blood on me to match one of those over-exaggerated zombies from a movie.

I heard the sheets move, so I looked back. Johnny was up. “Hey kid, you oughta go back to sleep, I bet you need it,” I told him. He yawned quietly, stopping halfway through and holding his stomach. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, opening slowly as he pushed himself to sit up straight.

“Nah man, I ain’t gonna be able to sleep much anyways. Dal, you try sleepin’ with a split down the middle of ya,” Johnny groaned. Now that I think of that, it probably hurt real bad even just laying down. He looked at me, freezing up almost immediately. “Gee Dally, what happened to you? I don’t remember hearing a bar brawl downstairs.”

I let out a small laugh. “C’mon John, don’t worry about it. Don’t go worryin’ ‘bout them Socs neither. They ain’t gonna hurt you,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. Strands of hair wrapped around my fingers, some darkened by blood, that were getting pulled out of my scalp.

“Well why wou-” he cut himself off, realization settling on his face. “Dallas tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t go after him man, please,” he said, seeming at least a little worried. “Man they’ll kill you I swear it. Dal they ain’t gonna give up, tell me you didn’t do it.”

I tugged my shirt down at the collar, showing some of the cuts they tried to land on my neck. “Johnny I ain’t gonna lie to ya, I did it.” His expression fell.

“Dally,” he sounded a little annoyed as he tried to get up. He let out a groan of pain, but pushed through and stood. “Dally, that’s probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. You do a lot of stupid things Dallas. Think about this. Just for a second, man. Think about it. They’ll– They’ll get a bunch of guys and they’ll hunt you down Dal! They’ll get away with it too! I don’t want ‘em cuttin’ you up like they did me, you savvy?”

I tried to get him to sit back down. “I’ll be fine, kid,” I mumbled, putting my hand on his arm and gently pulling him down. He tried to keep himself up, but gave in after only a few seconds.

“Yeah I know,” he murmured, leaning his back against the wall. “I just, you go gettin’ roughed up like this so much, one of these times you’re gonna get killed Dally. You are.” He seemed genuinely worried, like he actually thought I’d get myself killed. No way, no day. He probably just wasn’t thinking about all the fights I had won. I had a reputation for winning, so if I lost, it wouldn’t be to the extent of death. I guess I couldn’t prove it to him until I died for real, and I still had a good twenty or thirty years before that happened. Yeah, twenty or thirty years.

[cherishingstydia]

Hi, I don't know if you are taking prompts but I love your 5+1 fics and I would love if you could write a 5 times buck wore a crop top + 1 Eddie wore one. If you can't it's ok. Thanks ❤️

1.

The first time Buck wore a crop top around Eddie it wasn’t really intentional. He’d ordered a new shirt online and went to try it on and he’d originally just ordered a T-shirt, but they’d mixed up his order.

“Look at this.” Buck grinned walking out abs on display wearing a Tie-dye crop top and sweats hanging low on his hips. “So should I have them fix my order or just stick with this.”

Eddie looked his boyfriend up and then licked his lips.

“I think you look really good in this one, but you look even better out of it.” Eddie said as he pulled Buck into his lap before kissing him.

“Hmmm you wanna test out that theory.” Buck smiled before heading towards their bedroom.

“You know what actually...I want you to leave it on.” Eddie said as followed behind Buck.

2.

Eddie looked at Bucks old LAFD shirt and laughed.

“What?” Buck groaned.

“You know your shirt has a big tear right?” Eddie said before reaching over and pinching his boyfriends side.

“Guess there’s just one solution.”

“Throw it away because it’s ruined?”

“No?! Make a crop top obviously!” Buck said before grabbing the scissors and beginning to cut.

“Why don’t you let me do that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Go for it.” Buck said handing over the scissors.

“Perfect.” Eddie smiled after he had cut off all the excess material.

“Me or the shirt?” Buck winked.

“The shirt, but you’re not so bad either.” Eddie laughed.

3.

Eddie watched the way Bucks abs glistened with sweat during his workout. Some days were a lot harder to focus during Bucks work out at the station. Today’s work our attire which include a crop top and bicycle shorts were definitely giving Eddie some NSFW thoughts.Buck looked at Eddie who was staring intently.

“So I’m sweating up a storm working out and you’re just sitting there staring? Unfair.”

“No what’s unfair is how good you’re looking right now because I can’t even do anything about it for another 10 hours when our shift ends.” Eddie let out a deep breath.

“So what I’m getting is you want me to wear crop tops more. Got it.”

“No.”

“No you don’t want me to?”

“No.”

“Ok Eddie I’m lost?

“I like when you wear them.” Eddie said before leaving the gym before anything embarrassing like a boner at work happened

4.

Eddie watched as Buck washed off Abuelas car and of course he was wearing yet another crop top. This one was white and in black letters it said “be kind”. Buck was really careless and his shirt was drenched leaving even less to the imagination. Even tho Eddie already knew what he looked like underneath the layers.

“Edmundo!” Abuela yelled as she came out the door.

“Huh?” Eddie jumped.

“Making sweet Buck do all the work while you sit here doing nothing.”

“It’s ok.” Buck nodded.

“I’m getting you a lemonade.” Abuela insisted.

“I’ll take one!” Eddie smiled.

“Lemonade is for workers not sitters.” Abuela laughed before going back inside.

Eddie rushed over to Buck. “First you try to give me a boner at work and now at my abuelas? Just please stop.”

“Fine, but only because I don’t wanna scar Abuela from seeing her grandson with a boner.”

5.

Eddie sat at the booth in the bar wondering where Buck was. They always ride together even before they started dating. Buck was pretty easy to spot once he got there. Eddie waved and he made his way over to the booth removing his denim jacket. This crop top was one Eddie hadn’t even imagined Buck wearing but he liked it. It was a black fishnet crop top. Eddie just sat there in shock staring at Buck.

“Do you like it.” Buck smirked.

“You know I do. Pretty sure you could wear literally anything and it would look good.” Eddie said admiring his boyfriend.

“This is is why we drove seperate. I wanted it to be a surprise. Well actually I took an Uber that way we can still leave together.”

“Yeah if we drove together I don’t think we would have even made it out of the house.” Eddie licked his lips.

Buck leaned over lips brushing against Eddies ear. “Glad you like it. I bought it for me, but it’s as much for me as it is for you. I knew you’d like this one.”

Eddies hand made its way to Bucks cheek before pulling him closer for a kiss. “You’re such a considerate boyfriend, but do you have to keep turning me on in public? I mean I can deal with seeing you in croptops in public because I mean you’re always hot. It’s the things you say and you know exactly what to say.”

“You like it don’t you? I know I do. Knowing how bad you want me, but knowing you have to wait until we get back to one of our places. All this teasing is definitely worth what happens later.” Buck said nipping at Eddies ear before palming him through his jeans. “Oh yeah it feels like you definitely like it.”

“Let’s go.” Eddie demanded.

“We didn’t even drink anything yet.” Buck said trying to act innocent.

“I have beer at home, or we could always take this to the bathroom, but last time we tried that you were too loud, and I wanna hear you. So do you wanna go?”

“Yeah lets go!” Buck said with flushed cheeks.

+1.

Eddie brought a bag of clothes to keep some at Bucks place that way when he sleeps over he has stuff to wear rather than just borrowing Bucks all the time. He put the clothes in the empty drawer Buck had made for him before joining Buck in the kitchen.

Eddie got himself a glass of water and “accidentally” spilled it. “Oh well good thing I have spare clothes.” Eddie laughed as he made his way to the stairs.

A few minutes later he descended down the staircase. Buck did a double take when he saw what Eddie was wearing. It was a crop top, but it was one Eddie must’ve gotten himself it was neon green. He stood there speechless watching Eddie.

“What did you think only you got to wear these. You seem to wear them all the time now, so I thought I’d give it a try, and it’s really comfortable.”

“No you look good. You should wear those more often. Buy more or borrow mine I don’t care.” Buck smirked.

“Ok anything to please my man..” Eddie grinned as walked over and pinned Buck against the counter connecting their lips.

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 7

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles​)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: When you’re done with this chapter, here is information about Elijah McClain, whose murderers are back on the job. I hope you are all well, and that you’re not losing momentum. I know it’s exhausting learning about the endless violence, but imagine the exhaustion black people feel. Change is happening. Stay healthy, stay safe. Xx

Harry was snoring when Melody woke up. Not heavily, just a whisper in the back of his throat. His shoulder was beneath her cheek, his fingers resting atop her thigh, just above where her knee met his hip. And his face was turned toward her, his lips parted, his hair spilling across his forehead.

Melody felt like she was dreaming at first. It wouldn’t have been unusual. She had dreamed about waking up to Harry countless times since the last time she actually had, before he’d even been shot. But he never snored in her dreams.

She felt like everything after the bath with Harry the afternoon before was just a hazy blur, like she had stumbled drunkenly through the rest of the day. She’d washed Harry’s hair for him, scrubbing at his scalp with her fingertips until his head smelled the way she remembered his pillowcases. She’d avoided the round scars, one just above his temple, the other behind his ear. Then she’d rinsed and conditioned, and stole a kiss or two while she let his hair soak in the moisture it was probably craving.

They’d watched some films on the couch while sharing a sub and some fries. At least, they’d tried to watch the films. Melody had fallen asleep during the opening sequence of the second one. She wasn’t sure how long Harry had lasted, but he was asleep when she woke up and she’d had to stir him before she helped him to the bedroom, where neither of them had had the energy to strip out of their clothes.

Now, she pushed back the hair from his face and slipped her hand down to the side of his neck, where she could feel his slow, strong pulse. Her lips found his collar bone, and then she lifted herself forward and they found his chin, his cheekbone, the tip of his nose, his eyelid.

Harry grumbled beneath her as he woke. His eyes split open just enough to see her lower her cheek back onto his shoulder.

“What’re yeh doin’?” he murmured.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He took a deep breath as he turned toward the ceiling. Sunlight fell across his face, into his eyes, bright even when he closed them. He really hated that.

“What time is it?”

Melody rolled away from him to check the clock by her bedside. “Almost ten.”

Harry grunted. “Feel like I’ve been hit by a movin’ vehicle,” he muttered.

“Really?”

The bed creaked beneath him, jostling his sore limbs and pulsing through his aching head. He groaned.

“What hurts?” Melody asked. He felt her hands on his shoulders, running down the length of his torso, sliding back up to cup his chin. “Harry?”

“I dunno. All of it. ‘M just sore, Mel. ’S not a big deal. Did a lot of movin’ yesterday.”

“Okay,” she conceded, but her voice didn’t sound nearly as calm as the word. “Do you want some meds?”

“What? No, my head is fine.”

“I was just making sure.” She laid back down beside him and pulled the sheets up to her chin. Her nose was pressed up against the edge of Harry’s pillow, and it smelled like the bedding at his apartment. She let her eyes drift back shut.

Harry didn’t feel nearly as comfortable as she did. Not just because her bed was a bit smaller than his was—though that was part of it—but because he’d only slept here a handful of times, and this was usually about the time that he would be leaving, when Melody would be off to her classes.

He frowned. “Yeh have classes today?”

Melody shifted closer to him and hummed. “No, I’m not taking any this semester.”

“Why?”

“I needed some time off.”

Harry shook his head almost imperceptibly and then pushed himself up.

“Why are you sitting up?” Melody grumbled into his empty pillow. “Lay down.”

“’S morning,” he told her. “Tha’s typically when people get out of bed, yeah? Unless I missed somethin’.”

“You don’t have to get out of bed unless you have something to do,” she countered.

“Great. I wanna go through my stuff.”

Melody groaned. They never did start opening up the boxes of his things that she’d stacked up in the corner of her room, right next to her sunlit shelf of succulents. A few of the boxes she’d sifted through occasionally over the past few months, but some she hadn’t opened since she’d moved them out of Harry’s apartment.

“Right now?” she asked.

“Well, not at this exact second. We could eat first, yeh know. And maybe I could brush my teeth.”

“Maybe?”

“Unless yeh wanna kiss me right now.”

“No, thank you.” Melody grinned against Harry’s still-warm pillow and then finally sat up, combing her fingers through the knots in her hair.

“What the fuck was that?” Harry shouted as something white skittered into the room and across the floor before disappearing beneath the bed.

Melody laughed. “That’s Bea’s cat, Queenie.”

“Cat?”

“Yes. Four legs, whiskers, meows.”

“I know what a fuckin’ cat is.” He tilted forward to peek over the edge of the bed, but there was no sign of the kitten.

“What do you want to eat?” Melody asked.

Harry sighed, still staring down at the floor. “Fruit, a bagel, cereal. ‘M not picky.”

“I need to go grocery shopping.”

Harry heard footsteps out in the living room before he could respond. The door to Melody’s room wasn’t closed. Bea appeared there moments later, snuggled into a robe and her hair wrapped meticulously. Her eyes were squinted when she first peeked around the corner, as if she was preparing to clamp them shut, and she seemed relieved that both Melody and Harry were fully-clothed.

“Mel, your smoothie’s all ready,” she said.

“Thank you.” Melody grinned at Bea and then slid her feet down to meet the rug beneath her bed.

“I have a screening in an hour but then I thought maybe I could cut your hair?”

It took Harry a few moments to realize that Bea was speaking to him. He blinked, dazed, and then frowned. “What?”

“Oh, that’s a great idea,” Melody interjected. She reached up pointedly to run her fingers over the shorter side of Harry’s hair. “You know, even it out.”

“Yeh won’ mess it up?” he asked, and he was more than apprehensive. Harry didn’t like his hair cut. Hated getting trims, even when it was at its longest, and now there was so much room for error.

Bea grinned, and for a moment he thought her teeth looked sharper than the average person’s, like she could tear into skin with very little pressure. “We’ll see,” she said as she turned and left the doorway.

Harry pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth. He looked at Melody out of the corner of his eye. “Screening?”

“She’s a film major,” she answered. “Also women and gender studies, but mainly film. They watch one as a class every Friday.”

He added this to his very short list of facts about Bea. Really, he had no interest in growing that list, but it was inevitable when he would be living with the girl. At least Melody would be there to watch when she came at him with a pair of scissors.

“So, breakfast.”

Melody helped Harry to the bathroom, which he found uncomfortable, although it wasn’t the first time she helped him and it wouldn’t be the last. Then she led him to the dining table, where he ate toast and bananas and she drank a large green smoothie that she blended up. And he hated it. He felt like an ornament while she toasted bread for him and poured him coffee and talked to him about a paper Bea had written that analyzed Blue Velvet. He couldn’t have been more relieved when they finished eating and Bea left. They moved back into Melody’s bedroom to open up his things.

“This top one is just clothes,” she said, laying her hand atop the ripped tape. There were a few nights over the past few months when she’d slipped a t-shirt out to curl up in. All of his clothes still smelled like him, though he hadn’t touched any of the fabric in nearly half a year. But she’d left most of the clothes in their boxes in case he woke up and still wanted nothing to do with her. She was incredibly thankful that he hadn’t said anything of the sort. “Do you want me to put them away while you open the next box?”

“Sure.” Harry watched her from where he sat on the floor as she slid the cardboard onto the ground by the closet doors. He peeled back the tape from the box that had been beneath it. This was a collection of random items—coffee mugs and bottles of pills and the painting Melody had gifted him. And a hand-carved rectangular box, rich chestnut, with a large A etched into the lid. Harry knew what it contained, and he hated the thought of Melody touching it when he wasn’t around, let alone looking inside. He wanted to ask her if she’d opened it, but it wasn’t fair for him to be angry.

Actually, he was relieved that it wasn’t still hiding in his flat, where he’d tucked it away beneath his bed. So, he thanked her instead.

“For what?”

“For findin’ this.” He held the box up, smoothing dust from the lid with his thumbs. And, God, he really wanted to know if she looked inside, but he didn’t want to ask.

“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “You’re welcome.” She was distracted, her hands busy folding up jeans and tucking them into a drawer.

“Did yeh open it?” It slipped out. He blinked in surprise at himself.

Melody glanced at him again, and when she saw how intensely he was watching her, she pressed the pair of jeans she was holding to her chest. When she’d found the box tucked far into the recesses of his closet, her first thought was that it would be another gun—there had been many guns in his apartment. But it wasn’t. There were bracelets and rings, a pair of cross earrings that looked to match the necklace that he always wore—the one that hung at his chest even now—and underneath them she’d glimpsed a battered greeting card. The box was deep and there were surely more things packed inside, but it had all felt too personal for her to pick through without his permission.

“I mean, I took the lid off,” she said, “but I didn’t go through it. What’s the 'A' for?”

Harry set the box aside and pulled at his lower lip with his fingers. He didn’t know where he would keep something so precious in this apartment, in a place that he shared, that wasn’t his. Here, nothing was private.

“My mum, Anne.”

“Oh.” She left it at that. If he wanted to add anything else, he would, and she wouldn’t press him, not when he already seemed on edge. But he didn’t say anything more, only stared at the closed box for another few moments and then continued pulling out more of his things.

“Sean told me Goodman’s been payin’ her bills. That true?”

Melody’s lips twitched. “Yes, actually.”

Harry didn’t like this. He didn’t like to owe anyone, and if he made a list of people he could tolerate being indebted to, Goodman would be very, very close to the bottom. But there wasn’t much he could do about it, now.

“Yeh have room for these?” Harry asked as he unpacked the last of the mugs.

“Yeah,” Melody assured him, “we have an entire empty cupboard.”

He nodded. Melody closed her drawer and began hanging up some of his sweatshirts. She watched him from her periphery as he opened up the next box and pulled out the photograph that he’d received on his birthday earlier that year—the one of him and Melody, where she had her hand clamped around his chin and was pressing a hard kiss to his cheek, when he’d been trying desperately to claw his way out of her hold but still he’d been grinning between her fingers. But the glass pane that protected the photo was shattered. Cracks spidered out from a large fissure right down the middle, and shards of glass were missing.

“I didn’ do this, did I?” He still couldn’t remember anything that had occurred between the Tuesday when Melody had come to talk to him at training and the day that Colton had found him home alone. He would probably believe anything, if someone were to tell him what he’d done during that missing week. The anger and—admittedly—sharp pain that he’d felt when he broke up with Melody was still poignant in his memory, although somehow distant. A bandaged wound that still smarted. It was strange, the way that they’d ended up.

“No,” Melody answered finally, shaking her head. She hung up the last of Harry’s sweatshirts and then folded her arms across her chest, lounging up against the corner of her dresser. “I think it broke when you and Colton were…”

“Oh.” He pressed his thumb to the corner of the photo, where the glass was still intact. “It needs a new frame.”

Melody hadn’t known it before, but she was waiting to see how Harry would react to that object in particular. Perhaps he’d been planning to tear the picture into shreds the day that Colton had shown up and spoiled all of his plans. Now, she’d never know, and he might never know, but this was better. Her chest constricted painfully in relief.

“I can look for one when I go to get groceries.” She smiled at the way his fingers gripped the edges so gently. And then she pressed her lips together, nervous. “Also, when I’m done,” she began, “I have a match tonight, so I have to meet Sean. Will you come?”

Harry lifted his head to stare at her, at the defensive cage that she’d made of her arms, at the way she held his eye contact, but twitched as if she’d like to break it. She knew that he wouldn’t say yes, and still she’d asked. And he felt himself coil up.

“No, Melody,” he said firmly. “‘M not goin’ to your match.”

“I wish you would just—“

“I am not going.”

Bea chose that moment to burst into the apartment, rambling about how much she’d hated the film they’d been forced to watch today. She reached the edge of the couch, where she could see into Melody’s room, and then stopped abruptly. Harry and Melody were staring daggers at each other, stock-still, their bodies tense.

“Everything okay?”

Melody broke that uncomfortable eye contact, finally, and looked up at Bea.

“Yeah, I was just about to go grab some groceries. Do you want anything?” She was already slipping her head into a hoodie, stepping around Harry, pointedly not asking him for any food requests.

“Uh, I need flour and raspberries for this muffin recipe I wanted to try.”

“Great, see you in a bit,” Melody said. "Oh, why don’t you cut his hair while I’m gone? In fact, shave his whole head while you’re at it.” She shot Bea a sarcastic grin as she pulled open the apartment door, and then she slammed it shut behind her, leaving Harry and Bea alone again.

Chapter 8

[that-fannerd-with-the-glasses]

We’re Superheroes, What Could Happen? - Chapter Six

Pairing: Wrightworth/Narumitsu

Rating: Teen and Up

Back in the day it hadn’t been so bad, and they could usually resolve things a lot quicker -- like the time Phoenix hadn’t been paying attention during a neighborhood cookout, and had accidentally cut down on his fingers with a meat cleaver -- instead of the actual meat he was supposed to be cutting.

Naturally he hadn’t been injured, but it’d taken a lot of fake stitches and scarring to convince their neighbors otherwise. And sure, Miles might’ve scolded him for being careless and hadn’t let him live it down for months, but even then it hadn’t escalated to a full blown argument.

Not like that first argument after they’d had to move that one time. And the next. And in between. What had changed during that time?

Oh yeah. They’d had kids. Kids who’d been uprooted from several schools, past friends. Kids who could be taken away from them should the truth ever come out.

That might be it.

His coffee now tasting bitter in his mouth, Phoenix set the mug back down and moved slightly away from the counter, taking a careful step towards his husband. Another look at the clock showed no time having passed.

“Hey…about last night...uh...did you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Miles responded quicker than Phoenix had expected him to, which meant that he might’ve been anticipating this question. Especially when this was how every other morning post-fight had begun, they were well rehearsed by now.

“There’s nothing else to discuss. We’ve clearly run ourselves into a dead end, and for that reason I fail to see the point in continuing.”

“I--what--we continue so we can come to a resolution, isn’t that the point?”

“Not in this case.” He turned over another sausage, which he then placed on one of the plates he had set out. “How many times have we had the same argument and not resolved it? No, I’m afraid trying now would be completely pointless. Especially since you’re failing to see reason--”

“And you’re failing to see my reason!” Phoenix huffed. “Shit, Miles, how many times do you want me to say it? It was dark, nobody saw me, and that’s that. We’re fine, we don’t have to move again, end of story.”

“End of this story, perhaps. What about the next one, what’ll happen then?” Phoenix was about to respond, but was cut off by an abrupt raise of Miles’ hand.  “No, don’t answer that. We’re done discussing this, at least until you’re ready to be sensible about it.”

“I--” Phoenix faltered, another excruciatingly long minute passing. By now all the sausages had been cooked, and Miles had switched to the other pan to start on the eggs. He still didn’t look at him, so Phoenix could only imagine the expression on his face. Or not. Maybe he didn’t want to, because the one he was seeing hurt too much to think about.

“...would it help if I said I was sorry?”

READ MORE ON A03

[imagine-loki]

Dasher -Trigger warning Suicidal thoughts, self-harm

TITLE:  Dasher

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One shot

AUTHOR: @cre8iveovadose

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki keeping you safe after you admit to feeling suicidal. 

RATING: Mature

NOTES/WARNINGS: Suicidal ideation, bloody imagery, depiction of depression, references to self-harm, references to medical procedures. Written from Loki’s perspective. Title and lyrics from Gerard Way’s song “Dasher” (which I love to pieces). I’ll also cross-post on AO3! 

* * *

DASHER

“‘Cause I feel safe in your arms

And she’s got dashes in her stars

Let’s run away, fast and far…”

I had watched her mind plummet to its darkest depths over the last two months. I had been with her on the train the day she’d seen the boy with his scars and short sleeves, out in the open for everyone to see. No matter how I’d tried to distract her from the itch of want that caressed her arms, I couldn’t stop her once we were home again and she could have a locked door between us. 

Oh, how I regretted agreeing not to use my magic in the house. 

Every single night, after dinner but before bed, I watched with apprehension as she skulked off to the bathroom and shut the door. I sat on the couch trying to focus on the television or trying to read at our rickety kitchen table, perched to rush to her aid if I heard her scream or the sharp jangle of a blade falling to the tile floor. But I never heard a sound until the faucet ran, washing away whatever she’d done to herself. 

She’d stopped getting dressed in front of me even though I’d assured her I didn’t mind seeing her bandages. I could still feel them under her clothes when she hugged me and I saw the packaging for the dressings in the wastebasket when I cleaned the apartment while she went to work or visited friends. 

It fascinated me that she could still function around other people when all she did at home was curl up on the couch with me and sleep. When I’d had to return to Asgard to handle some business, she admitted to spending the entire three days in bed, something she had never done before. Even when she caught the flu she got out of bed, choosing to convalesce on the couch. 

There was something different about this episode and I was not looking forward to finding out what it would be. 

On Day 58 of her relapse, when her depression was coinciding uncomfortably with Christmas, I woke to find the bed empty beside me. Sitting up, I skated my hand over the chilly sheets. She must have gotten up an hour ago at least. I climbed out of bed and crossed to the vanity to find a tie for my hair. As I tied back the tangled mess, I saw in the reflection of the mirror that there were bloodstains on her side of the bed. 

I walked down the short hallway to the kitchen and living area but she wasn’t there. The closed bathroom door beckoned. I took a steadying breath as I walked towards it, summoning up a dram of magic in case I needed to force my way in. 

I knocked, the sound of knuckles on wood punctuated by sobs, and called her name. “Are you alright?” I asked when she didn’t respond. 

“It’s open,” she called, her voice small and fractured. 

I twisted the handle and swung the door in, braced for the worst but expecting the best. She sat on the floor in a bloody t-shirt with her knees drawn up and her arm pressed to her chest. There was no fear or urgency on her face - only resignation. 

“What happened?” I asked as I sat down across from her. A blade rested on the basin and I could see the crisp white of a new bandage tucked between the tap and the faucet. 

“I woke up and it was still bleeding,” she said, her voice muted and dull. 

“And you came in here to..?” 

She tried to meet my eyes but her face crumpled and something inside her fell apart, spilling tears down her cheeks and shaking her shoulders as she sobbed again. 

I shuffled closer and reached for her arm, feeling my stomach twist as I pulled it away from her chest to check the wounds. They’d stopped bleeding but they were numerous, beyond measure. Casting my senses out, I could see she had come within millimetres of the arteries. In multiple places. 

“It would’ve been so easy,” she said through a grimace of pain as I grabbed the bandage from the basin and wound it around her arm. “It would’ve been so easy to press down.”

My fingers fumbled as my head snapped up. “You don’t mean…”

She shook her head, fresh tears slipping down. “I don’t wanna be alive, Loki,” she cried. “I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

I pulled her into my arms, holding her head against my chest as she grabbed a fistful of my shirt. I rocked her back and forth as her breath hitched and tried to figure out the best course of action. 

“I wanna die,” she whispered. Again and again. 

I took a deep breath, knowing I would make or break her life with my next words. 

“We need to go to the hospital, my love. You need help.”

She shook her head against my shoulder but she didn’t pull away. “No, they’ll take it away from me. They’ll make me stop.”

“You need to stop,” I said. “You’ll die whether you mean to or not if you keep going like this.”

“I won’t. I’m in control.”

“No, your depression is in control. And I’ve let this go on far too long.”

She pulled away to look at me properly. “Don’t make me go. Please. They’ll lock me up, Loki. I’ll be gone.”

“Not as gone as you will be if I let you kill yourself.”

“I’m not ready,” she whispered. “I’m not ready to let it go.”

I reached out to tuck her hair back behind her ear. “You have to, before it destroys you.”

She looked away from me, staring down at the tiled floor. Her fingers twitched in her lap, a side effect of the damage she had done to the nerves in her arm. That single motion made me shake with fear. Could she have severed nerves, tendons, muscles? Was there more damage to be done than just blood loss from this toxic habit? 

“Let’s spend the day together,” she said quietly. “Let’s have breakfast and go to the park - see the Christmas lights or something. I’ll feel better if I’m not just sitting around here, I promise.”

“It’s not just about feeling better, my love. You’re injured, you’ve lost so much blood - going out could make you worse.” 

“Then heal me.” 

“My knowledge of human anatomy isn’t that good, I’m afraid.” 

She cupped my cheek. “Let’s just go, Loki. I’ll be fine. We’ll have fun.” 

There was an eagerness in her eyes now. She’d found her solution and she wouldn’t let up until I gave in. I knew I was being manipulated, I knew she shouldn’t treat me like this, but I also knew what could happen if I refused. 

I nodded once. “We’ll get dressed and go for a walk.” 

I reached around her for the bandage she’d tucked in beside the faucet. I grabbed a dressing from the cupboard beneath the sink, ignoring her look of surprise as I reached into the hidden stash of medical supplies I’d discovered two months ago. I gently dressed and bandaged her wounds, wincing when one of the more minor cuts pulled open and bled bright droplets through the bandage. 

“I’ll wear a jumper,” she said, “it’s fine.” 

I helped her to her feet and we went back to the bedroom to get dressed. I swiftly pulled on clean trousers and a black shirt but when I turned back to face her, she was holding her arm against her stomach and trying to unfold a t-shirt one-handed. 

“Are you alright?” I asked as I fastened the last button on my shirt. 

“My fingers, they aren’t working properly.” She looked at me sadly. “Help me?” 

I nodded as I stepped around the bed. I helped her into a clean t-shirt, jeans, and a thick hoodie. She put her left hand in the pocket but a grimace twisted her features. 

“It hurts too much,” she whispered. 

“Enough to let me take you to hospital?”

She glared. I wilted. I crossed to our dresser. From the top drawer, I took out a bandana she’d bought me to keep my hair out of my face on blustery days. I’d never worn it but knew now it would suffice as a sling. I folded it and tied it behind her neck before carefully bracing her arm among the material. 

There were tears in her eyes but when I met her gaze, she looked away. She picked up her scarf and tossed it around her neck before she headed for the door. “Let’s go.” 

It was a mild enough day outside but when the wind funnelled through the apartment buildings, it cut to our core. We huddled close as we walked along the city streets towards the main drag where shops were brightly decorated with lights and garlands and trees and reindeer. 

“Is this anything like how you celebrated Yule on Asgard?” She asked as we paused at a set of traffic lights. 

I laughed. “Not at all. The only similarities are the trees and the mass consumption of food - and you Midgardians don’t even come close to us on that last point. But I think I enjoy it.” 

“What do you enjoy about it?” She asked as we crossed the street. 

“I thoroughly enjoy the lack of a hunt. My father and Thor used to drag me along on those. We’d ride through the forests tracking bilgesnipe. I’d transform into a snake to hide from them.” I smirked. “One day I played a little trick on my brother.” 

She laughed a little but she wavered on her feet. I curled an arm around her waist until she regained equilibrium. 

“Are you alright?” I asked. 

She nodded. “Just, um, take my arm, maybe?”

I linked our arms together without question and we kept going. We wandered past a bakery where the smell of gingerbread filled the air. We passed a gaggle of carol singers singing “Silent Night”. Our meandering pace slowed to a crawl when we joined the crowds outside a department store. 

The display windows were filled with a tableau of Father Christmas and his reindeer. The figures were exquisitely made, with clockwork or animatronics, and they slowly moved in time with a Christmas carol playing through the speakers. 

“I love the reindeer,” she said as we paused in front of the window. Children nudged past us to get a better look. “They were always my favourites.” 

“They’re certainly a majestic creature.” 

“I like Dasher best,” she said, leaning her head against my shoulder. “Don’t you think it would be nice to be able to fly away from all your problems? Dash away across the stars into the crisp, winter night?” 

“I tried that, remember?” I forced a laugh but felt a twinge of regret as I remembered falling from the Rainbow Bridge. “It’s not as appealing an idea as it’s made out to be.” 

“It’d be better than feeling numb all the time.” 

I held her arm a little closer. “Unless it only led to more numbness, more misery. Who’s to say your problems wouldn’t follow you?”

“True,” she breathed, still staring at the tableau. 

“Shall we keep going?”

“Mmm.” 

I stepped away but she did not follow. I turned back just in time to see her eyes roll back. Her legs gave way and our linked arms dragged me down with her. My knees crashed to the concrete and I pulled her to my chest to shield her from the fall. The crowd parted around us and I heard gasps of surprise echo around us. 

I patted her cheek and squeezed her hand but she didn’t respond. I felt for a pulse in her uninjured arm, finding it thready, barely perceptible. I quickly untied the sling, pulling away the bandana to find a wet patch on her sleeve. I only had to push it back to her wrist to realise her entire arm was drenched in blood. 

“Someone call an ambulance!” I shouted as I rolled up the bandana to tie it around her upper arm. More of the cuts must have opened or the tiny margins between the cuts and her major blood vessels must have ruptured. I tried to sense what was happening but I couldn’t concentrate. 

I pulled her scarf from around her neck. I pushed up her sleeve the rest of the way and wrapped the scarf around her arm as tightly as I could. She groaned a little and blood squelched out around the fabric but I had to stop the bleeding. I couldn’t let her die. That was one wish I would never grant the girl I loved. 

When sirens wailed in my ears, I slumped back on the footpath and watched paramedics descend upon her. The two of them checked her vital signs while someone else landed their hand on my shoulder.

“Sir, what happened? Are you alright?” 

I looked up to see a police officer crouched beside me, her red hair peeking out from beneath her cap. 

“Do you know this girl?” The officer asked. 

“Y-Yes, we live together. I tried to - she wouldn’t - she needs to go to hospital.” 

“I understand that - the EMTs are working on it. What happened, though?” 

“She hurt herself,” I gasped, finding it hard to catch my breath. “Last night. And this morning. I wanted to take her to hospital but she wouldn’t let me. She wanted to - to-”

“Breathe for me, bud. We’re gonna take care of the both of you.” She patted my shoulder and we turned back in time to see the paramedics lift her onto a stretcher. 

“She’s losing blood quickly,” one paramedic said. “We need to get her to an ER before she goes into shock.” 

I scrambled to my feet, following them to the ambulance and climbing in behind them. I heard the police officer say she’d follow us but my focus turned back to the fragile figure of my beautiful girl. The colour in her cheeks was fading and I felt sick as I tangled our fingers together, feeling how cold she was. 

“She’ll be alright,” the paramedic beside me whispered.

I didn’t believe him but I didn’t bother saying it out loud. 

At the hospital, I watched them whisk her away again, her hand falling from mine as I stood in the waiting room. The police officer joined me, trying to coax me into a chair, but I could only pace around the room. 

It was hours before anyone came out to tell us how they’d gone. A young doctor who stood a whole foot shorter than me approached with a morose expression. 

“What happened?” I ground out between gritted teeth. 

“She lost a lot of blood, almost forty percent of her total volume,” he said, sounding a little out of breath. “She’d nicked an artery - the exercise she’d gotten strained it and made it worse. Any longer and she probably would have died.” 

“Where is she now? Were you able to repair the damage?”

“We’ve done our best. She may need further attention when she’s recovered her blood volume. We’ll also need to do a psychiatric evaluation when she’s regained consciousness since the wounds were self-inflicted.” 

His words soured my stomach and I shook my head. “I should’ve just brought her here this morning. I shouldn’t have listened to her.” 

“You knew about her injuries?” 

I nodded, putting my hands on my hips. “I tried to bring her here. She admitted - admitted to feeling suicidal. I told her she needed help. She wouldn’t listen. I was going to try to convince her, warm her up to the idea. I wasn’t quick enough.” 

The doctor frowned a little. “I’m sorry. But we can get her the help she needs now. Better late than never.” 

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Can I see her?” 

“She’s sleeping but it won’t hurt for you to sit with her. Come with me.” 

I followed the doctor through the brightly lit hallways. He led me to the intensive care unit which bustled with activity and where, in a small room in the corner of the ward, I saw the love of my life again. 

She was swathed in white and had tubes and wires weaving all around her. Several IV bags hung from a pole, dripping medication and fluid and blood into her veins. Her arm was wrapped in gauze and tucked against her side. I took her other hand and felt tears slip down my cheeks as I looked to her closed eyes. 

“She can probably hear you,” the doctor said. “She won’t be able to respond but you can talk to her if you’d like. I’ll just be outside updating the nurses.” 

I dragged a chair closer to the bed and sat down, careful not to knock any of the wires or the machines crowded around her. I glanced up at the monitor that showed her heart rate, still too weak but showing improvement. 

I looked back to her face and shook my head. “We can’t do this again, my love,” I whispered. “I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore. These doctors are going to get you the help you need and I’m going to make sure it works.” 

I shuffled to the edge of the chair and leaned in closer, stroking her hair with one hand while I rubbed a thumb over her knuckles with the other. “I need you here,” I whispered, my voice cracking a little. “You make me feel safe and I want to help you feel the same way. But I can only do so much. I need you to meet me in the middle. We can do this together, my love, and we need to. Because I love you, so much, and I can’t let this happen to you again.” 

I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Stay with me,” I whispered against her skin. 

Her eyes flickered but they did not open. I felt her fingers give the most minute of twitches. It wasn’t much but I took it as a sign that she wanted to stay. I had tried so hard to keep her safe but it was up to her now. I couldn’t keep her feet on the ground; I could only stop her from dashing away into the stars. 

“And no matter where you are

I hope you know that we can show this world

It just can’t bring us down

From these clouds, when we come

This way.”