#I thought it would be funny if a pair of scissors came alive in front of red and he just flipped out

[scaredofstyrofoam]

Sketches I did of @bunnieswithknives twooofus!au in class today cuz I'm sick and have art block so I didn't know what else to draw.

[the-iceni-bitch]

A Warm Fire

Pairing: Valkyrie/Brunnhilde/Fem-Reader

Word Count: 3876

Summary: Val helps you warm up after you get caught in a storm.

Warnings: Fluff, Spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame (erring on the safe side with this one), Explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex- f receiving, scissoring, fingering) SMUT, 18+

A/N: I’ve decided for my b-day week I want to bless all you sweet bitches with a brand new smutty fic each day. My holes are worn out from all the rough himbo sex I’ve been throwing at you, so today I wanted to soften things up with something for my WLW ladies. I sub for no man, but Val could spit in my mouth and turn me into a housewife!

“Well, fuck.” You sighed.

You had hoped you’d be able to outrun the storm you saw rolling in off the coast on your weekly trip to New Asgard but hadn’t even been driving for an hour when lightning started streaking across the sky and the clouds let loose a deluge that had your ancient pickup’s wipers maxed out. You couldn’t even see 20 feet in front of you and slammed on the brakes suddenly when you came upon a massive tree blocking the road. The engine stalled out and you had now been trying to turn it over for 10 minutes with no luck.

You had thankfully been able to contact Aud and Sigurd and have them bring your animals in and batten down the barn, but there was no way you were making it back tonight. You resigned yourself to sleeping in your front seat when a pile of rocks reared out of no where and tapped on your window, causing you to let out a shriek.

“Everything ok in there?”

“Jesus Christ, Korg, what are you doing out here?”

The massive Kronan straightened back up and you thought you saw his brow furrow before his face split open in a wide grin.

“Y/N, excellent! Some of us got concerned once the storm rolled in and Val sent out a group to make sure you made it off of the Fjord ok.”

“Ok, well clearly this piece of shit is not cut out for Skagerrak storms.” You told him as you stepped out into the deluge, pulling your parka around you tightly as the wind tried to whip your hood off. “I don’t suppose you drove here in any sort of vehicle?”

“As a matter of fact, Miek drove the Jeep.”

“I’m sorry, Miek drove?” The thought of the Sakaarian larval creature driving a vehicle filled you with equal parts horror and mirth. “Do you mind if I drive us back?”

“Probably for the best. I told him that knife hands are not conducive for steering but you know he doesn’t listen to me.”

You let out a laugh as Korg lumbered into the large trailer hooked to the back of the Jeep, causing it to sink into the mud a bit. Miek scooted into the passenger seat as you turned the vehicle around and started to head back to Tønsberg.

Your cautious driving extended the trip by a good 45 minutes. The thunder had stopped but it was still pouring as you parked the jeep in one of the converted stables. Korg and Miek gave you a wave as they headed back to Thor’s, Korg carrying 3 of the pallets of Aquavit you had brought with you earlier.

You headed towards the town square and saw Brunnhilde leaning against the posts in front of her small brick house, watching the storm that was still raging out at sea before she saw you and broke out in a grin.

“Y/N, I told you not to head out in this! That piece of shit truck of yours give out on you?”

“What do you think, Hilde? I just decided to walk all the back to your house for fun in this?” You shook out your hair as the two of you stepped inside, spraying her with a thin mist of rainwater.

“Ah, you bitch! Get out of those wet clothes, I got a fire started and some dry towels and blankets set out for you. Want a hot toddy?”

You winced at the thought as you started peeling yourself out of your soaked jeans. “I’d like to be able to wake up tomorrow hon. Your hot toddys are literally just a hot mug of Aquavit with a slice of lemon.” You cursed yourself silently for introducing the Asgardians to the spicy Scandinavian liquor that you now had to truck in every week. While it was extremely lucrative, they now put it in everything.

Hilde sauntered back into the main room carrying two steaming mugs as you wrapped yourself in a wool blanket and settled in front of the fire, wearing only your bra and panties.

She rolled her eyes at you and handed you a mug, which you took a wary sniff of and were pleasantly surprised to find it was just peppermint tea.

“You’re just a lightweight.” She said as she curled up in her armchair, wrapping one hand around her mug while the other picked up the worn book that was sitting on the end table.

“How do you like it so far?” You asked her, sipping your tea slowly as you waited for it to cool.

“The writing is lovely, but it’s pretty inaccurate.”

The friendship the two of you had built over the past 3 years was something truly lovely. When she and the rest of the refugees had landed, after the snap, they were all hollow shells of grief. Thor shut himself away almost immediately, and Hilde found herself thrust into a position of leadership she had never wanted. All of them wanted nothing more than to be left alone with their sorrows, doing just enough to keep themselves alive.

The first storm off the Skaggerak had almost devastated their new home though, and when she contacted Banner for help, he called you. You still kept in touch after your years together at university, and he knew you had settled somewhere in Norway and could arrive to lend a hand faster than he could.

Your arrival brought some much needed distraction to their sleepy town. You had managed to round up a group of your Norwegian neighbors, along with some fellow expats, and set about making the necessary changes to assure that New Asgard would be a thriving community. While the rest of your group set to restructuring architecture, and teaching the town’s new inhabitants the necessities of a seaside existence on the windy Fjord, you began the slow process of helping the refugees move on from their sorrow.

Your anthropology doctorate was specialized in Norse culture, after all, and you would often bring small reminders of their lost home with you whenever you came to visit. Whether it was a collection of replicated Talharpas, Skalmejens, and Lurs to give to the children to learn music or a large cache of drinking horns to stock their taverns, every time your truck came lumbering down the hills, Brunnhilde watched the faces of her citizens light up with anticipation for some new pleasant surprise. When you arrived with your first load of Aquavit and spent the night drinking with them and singing the drinking songs they knew well, you were all but confirmed as an honorary Asgardian. Your haunting rendition of Lilja actually brought tears to a few eyes.

Brunnhilde made sure to let you know how grateful she was as much as possible. She would always have some small gift for you when you arrived, but all you asked her for was to sit and talk, discussing the history of Asgard and the nine realms as you scribbled copious notes. She loved watching your face screw up in concentration as you bent over one of your notebooks, one stubborn lock of hair falling into your face.

She laughed to herself softly now as she remembered the visit a few weeks ago when she had first introduced you to her winged steed, Aragorn. Your look of awe had been replaced quickly with uncontrollable laughter when she had told you his name. You refused to tell her what was so funny, but she was determined to get it out of you at some point.

You had brought your original copy of Snorri’s Edda the next week, and she had read it through 3 times already.

She ran her hands softly over the spine of the book before tossing back the rest of her toddy and setting the book and her mug back on the end table before sinking to the floor behind you and nuzzling herself into your hair, sighing as she inhaled the scent of fresh rain.

You leaned back into her slowly, giving a soft hum of contentedness. She slipped the blanket off of your shoulders to pool around your waist as she left a trail of soft kisses down your neck, before softly raising a bruise into your collarbone with her mouth.

The moan you gave her made her grin against your skin, and she slipped one hand into the front of your bra, softly drawing her fingers across your nipple.

“Fuck, Hilde!” you pressed your chest further into her hand as her other moved behind you to unhook your bra and slip it off your shoulders, freeing your breasts. She felt your nipples harden against her fingers as she turned your head and slowly teased your mouth open with her tongue.

“Eyes open, pretty girl.” She whispered as her left hand continued to palm at your breast and roll your nipple between her fingers. You stared at her through your lashes as she brought her right hand up and put her index and middle finger in your mouth. You gave them a soft nip before sucking and swirling your tongue around them slowly.

She grinned at you wickedly as she dragged her soaked fingers down your torso at an agonizing pace, leaving a thin trail of your saliva before she tucked them under the edge of your panties and dragged them over your sopping cunt, separating the soft folds there to tease against your entrance.

“Oh, poor baby, look how much this pussy missed me?” She said as you let out a thin keen, screwing your eyes shut and dropping your head against her neck. She slapped your tit suddenly and tweaked your nipple hard, making you gasp. “You better keep those eyes open if you want me to let you come sweetheart. You want me to stretch this pretty pussy around my fingers and make you feel good?”

“Yes, god” you let out breathlessly, forcing your eyes open as she studied your face.

“Ah, ah, ask nicely.”

“Yes please.” You hissed as her fingers continued to tease at your folds, lightly brushing against your clit.

“Good girl”

She slipped one finger inside of you slowly and you immediately clenched around it as she pressed it against that soft spongy spot.

“Ooh, honey. You’re so fucking tight, I’m gonna stretch you out so good.” She whispered against your lips as she kissed you softly.

Her second finger slipped in easily and she started fucking them into you slowly, pressing her palm against your clit as she did so and your arousal seeped all over her hand. Your breath was hitching in your chest as she increased her pace.

You felt yourself flutter around her and it took all of your willpower to not screw your eyes shut and drop against her shoulder. You ground yourself against her hand as she suddenly slowed down, hungry for more friction.

“You want me to add another finger, sweet girl?” She asked slyly, teasing her promise against your entrance.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak so you nodded at her, your chest heaving as she continued palming your breast and you felt a resounding shiver in your core.

“You’re lucky I’m soft on you sweetie, I should be making you beg for this.” She murmured as she shoved all three of her fingers in suddenly, causing you to let out a small cry as she started fucking them into you at a rough speed. “I’m just finishing you off so I can feel this sweet mouth of yours on my cunt. You want to taste me baby?”

“Shit, Hilde!” The thought of her taste on your tongue sent you over the edge as she drove her palm into your clit one last time and you released around her, fluttering as you soaked her hand. Her strong arms held you still as your orgasm wracked you and every muscle trembled. Once you had ridden it out, she drew her hand out of your ruined panties to suck on her fingers.

“Mmm, you taste so good honey. Don’t you think?” She placed her mouth on yours and pressed her tongue against yours and you moaned as you tasted your own release.

“Help me out of my clothes baby, I need to ride that pretty face.”

She climbed around you and settled into your lap, kissing you deeply and making happy little humming sounds. You drew her sweater up over her head and tossed it aside, and were pleasantly surprised to see she wasn’t wearing a bra. You gave her a wicked grin before lifting her up and pressing her chest to your face, latching your mouth to one of her nipples as your hands cupped her ass through her leggings. She gave a light laugh and tossed her head back as her fingers carded themselves through your hair. You brought one of your hands between the two of you, shoving it down the front of her leggings and drawing your fingers through her slick, making her gasp.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking greedy.” She laughed lightly as you peppered her chest with kisses, occasionally creating some light suction with your tongue to raise a light bruise. “Mmm, you know just what to do, but I want to come all over that beautiful face of yours.”

You smiled against her chest as you gently nuzzled yourself between her breasts before falling back abruptly and making her gasp.

“You are being such a trouble maker, today, Y/N. Fine, I’m going grind your pussy so good before I rub that smirk off your face with my cunt.”

She sat up between your legs a drew your soaked panties off before removing her own leggings. She stretched your right leg off to the side and lightly drew her fingers up the inside of your thigh, removing them right before she reached your quivering pussy and making you whine.

“Don’t be a brat baby. Look at this pretty pussy, just weeping for me.” She stared at your swollen cunt with a grin as she hooked a hand under your left knee and positioned herself so she was straddling you, her soft folds just kissing yours as she hovered there. “You want to feel my pussy on yours, baby? Want me to grind that clit so good? You better fucking beg for it.”

“Oh god, pleasepleaseplease…” you let out in a hiss as she pressed herself down and ground herself into you.

“Mmm, I feel that sweet pussy quivering for me. God, you’re like my own fucking vibrator.” She kept twisting her hips into yours, hitting you at that perfect angle each time and making you mewl and whimper unintelligibly as she edged you closer to your release. She unbent your right leg slowly, running her thumb up your calf before nipping at the pad of your big toe, making you arch into her. “No no, sweetheart, isn’t it so much better when you hold still? You know I’ll take care of you.”

She stretched your right leg out so you were wide open and pinned your thighs down with her hands as she picked up the pace. She bit her lip and gazed down at you through hooded eyes and you felt her core twitch against yours. One more drive of her hips and you came apart at the same time, your releases mixing together to coat the insides of your thighs. You let out a scream while she just gasped, still managing to hold you down as your pleasure wracked through you and you wound your hands into the blanket beside you for some kind of anchor.

“Fuck baby, this pussy is so good to me. I wanna run my tongue over this pretty cunt while I ride your face. You better be good for me.”

She twisted herself around to straddle your face. You softly nipped at her left cheek then gave her ass a slap, making her yelp, and she responded by smacking your pussy twice before grinding into your face.

“Oohh, are you going to be a bad girl?” She scolded you as you wrapped your arms around her thighs and teased her folds with your tongue. “Am I going to have to edge you all nigh… Fuck!!” Your tongue found her entrance and you moaned into her cunt, causing vibrations that made her clench against your face. “God, baby, you’re so good at that. Your miss this pussy so bad, look at the mess you’re making.” She separated your folds and softly blew against your clit before shoving three fingers into you with no preparation. “Mmm, you’re fucking ready for me sweetheart, I’m barely even stretching you now. You want me to add another finger?”

She gave your clit another soft slap and you came suddenly, legs and core trembling as you clenched and released around her fingers. You tried to come up for air, but Hilde just ground her hips into your face.

“Na-ah.” She scolded you. “You wanted to get fresh with me and now you better make me come if you want to breathe. You get to work. I’m going to wring every ounce of pleasure out of this pussy until you give me what I want, I don’t care if you pass out.”

She inserted a fourth finger into your canal and started to fuck them all into you, flicking soft kitten licks against your small bundle of nerves before she latched onto it, sucking hard.

Tears started streaming down your face as another orgasm ripped through you. You were starting to feel light-headed from a mixture of pleasure and oxygen deprivation. She drew her tongue slowly up and down your entrance while her fingers kept moving inside you, doing her best to lap up your release before her tongue went back to massaging your clit.

You barely skimmed your teeth against her clit and she let out a soft cry against you, slapping your pussy in response and making you come again. You shook your head to bury yourself deeper into her folds and fought off the urge to pass out before shoving your tongue into her pussy and bringing your fingers up to rub harsh circles into her tiny apex of pleasure.

She collapsed against you at the sudden change in sensation with a gasp before she rose up to really grind into you.

You started fucking your tongue in and out of her, making sure to press it against her g-spot each time and felt her thighs tense around your face.

“God baby, don’t fucking stop. Fuck, just like that, right there. That tongue of yours is so fucking good. You’re so fucking good. Feels so good.” You knew when she started babbling breathlessly like this she was close. She brought one of her hands up to palm her breast as her other gripped the wrist of the hand you had working her clit, making sure you didn’t move away.

Just as the edges of your vision started to close in, you felt her core vibrate and her cunt clenched around your tongue as her release gushed into your mouth. The only sound she made was a rapid breathless pant and she rolled off of you slowly, finally allowing you to suck in oxygen as stars swam behind your vision. You did your best to catch your breath as you felt her stretch languidly beside you before she sat up to stare at you.

“Fuck, baby. I don’t know why I let you take this pussy away from me. I know you just lay there by yourself every night dreaming of my fingers buried in you.” She slowly drew a hand along your slit and you groaned when she brushed against your overstimulated clit. “Just swollen and crying for me. Whose pussy is this baby?” She asked you, curling her fingers against your mound.

You knew if you didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, she would wring it out of you, and if you had any more orgasms you were going to pass out. “Yours, baby.” You murmured, staring at her through your eyelashes.

“Good girl.” She patted your cunt twice, making you twitch, before she bent down and kissed you softly.

She stood up and collected your mugs and brought them back into the kitchen, wiggling her ass at you when she felt you watching her, making you laugh.

“Can you throw some more logs on the fire, Y/N? I’ll grab us some clean blankets and pillows and we can sleep out here.”

“Yes ma’am.” You called back to her, breaking the current logs apart with the poker before adding three new ones and stoking it. You gathered your discarded clothes and the soiled blanket in a bundle and headed to the bathroom to put them in the hamper and run a damp towel against your sex to clean up, bringing another out with you as you headed back to the fire, where Hilde had piled a ridiculous amount of blankets and pillows in a massive nest for the two of you.

You sank down next to her and she drew your face to hers for a kiss. You smiled against her lips as you gently drew the soft towel you had brought with you over her cunt and along her thighs to clean her off as she gave a contented sigh.

“Stay.” She said softly, nuzzling softly into your neck as you held her against her chest and slowly sank back against the pile of cushions, giving her hair a soft kiss.

“Hilde, the road is out, I’m not going anywhere until tomorrow.”

“No, Y/N. Stay. Move here with me. I need you.” She looked up at you with genuine pleading in her eyes. You had never seen such open emotion on her face before.

You only had to think about it for a minute. The weeks between your trips were always spent planning your next visit. Thinking over what you wanted to talk to Hilde about. Your bed felt empty without her there.

“I need you too baby. I love you.” You whispered to her, tipping her chin up to look into her eyes as you gave her a gentle smile.

Her face split into a grin. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course, Hilde.”

“Oh god, Y/N, I love you too!” She drew your face down to hers and kissed you deeply, clutching you to her needily before releasing you with a grin. “I miss that pussy almost as much as it misses me.”

You laughed at that and laid back with a sigh. Hilde rested her head between your breasts and brought her hands close around your sides, pulling the thick wool blanket around the two of you tightly.

“Just make sure Miek doesn’t try to fight my sheep again.” You whispered to her, running a hand softly up and down her back.

“That was a misunderstanding.” She smiled against you as her breathing slowed and deepened, and she sunk closer to sleep.

The two of you laid there intertwined for the rest of the night, drifting off as the fire crackled and died. You had never felt so content in your life.

[batarella]

I Don’t Hate You - Part 1 (Jason Todd x Reader)

It’s finally finally here! The first of my new series! Check my last post for the overview if you haven’t seen it already. Thank you so much for the support! Love you all!

WORDS: 3087 WARNINGS: UHHHHH I’M NOT SURE IF THIS IS FLUFF

Masterlist

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

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

What is comfort? Does it have to do with familiarity? How you smell, see, hear the same things so much that you wouldn’t bother to be curious at anything new? Never mind how you feel, or what you thought of the place. Or was it supposed to be something that calms you, takes you out of that rope coiling around your limbs, as if you were stretched out on a large enough bed?

Because the waiting room outside the disciplinary office was something you were far too familiar with. You didn’t feel uneasy or uncomfortable on the steel chair that was too cold for you to rest your arms on. The room was the same, stuffy humid that made you want to take deeper breaths, and there was that lingering smell of either strawberry or lemon perfume. But did it bring you comfort? Not exactly.

Arms folded over your chest, you stared at the Vice Principal’s assistant on her desk. She avoided looking at you, busy with her own paperwork. And it was all too telling that she didn’t want to start a conversation even if she wanted to. But she knew who you were. She looked up, caught your eye, and you looked away without so much as a greeting.

Her phone rang, and you knew it came from her boss. She stood up from her desk and walked over to the VP office’s door right beside you. Only giving you a single look. Not of shame, or pity, or even annoyance. The assistant’s face was blank when she pushed the door open for you. “Ms. Y/LN.”

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you bit on your gums and slowly walked into the office. The door closed behind you, and Vice Principal Watson looked up at you from the edge of her glasses. She had her own set of paperwork on her desk, and with her free hand, she motioned for you to the chair in front.

“Have a seat.”

You kept your arms folded in front of you and looked at the woman, up and down. VP Watson let out a gentle sigh and placed her pencil into her holder to take out another pen. She placed her hands on top of the other over her mouth and kept staring at the chair you didn’t take. She wasn’t too old. A little over her 40s. But she looked exhausted enough to not want to deal with this shit anymore. Your shit, specifically. She wasn’t talking, so you rolled your eyes and reluctantly slumped onto the chair.

“Y/N.” Her voice was soft. “This is a new low. Even for you.”

“He deserved it.”

“What was it that Mr. Maxwell did to you then? Enlighten me.”

You guffawed beneath your breath and your eyes trailed around the room, your tongue pressing behind your teeth. Leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, you spoke.

“He spilled coffee all over my project.”

“I see,” she started writing down onto a form of some sort. “When did this happen?”

“This morning.”

“And what was it that you did to retaliate?”

You couldn’t help but smirk. VP Watson looked tiredly at you like she wasn’t anticipating a response she wasn’t already expecting.

“I threw a pair of scissors and it landed on his arm.”

She muffled a slight ‘mhm’, taking down notes without so much as another glance. “Were you aiming at his arm?”

You slumped back against the chair. “Probably not.”

Watson put the pen down and covered her face with her hands with a deep sigh. You held onto the all-too familiar chair and looked around at her desk, at the lack of a framed picture Watson usually had on top.

“I see you went through with the divorce.”

“Enough. You’re not funny.”

But you laughed, your hands folded on your lap. Ms. Watson rested her face on her hands. “You have to give me more details. I can't rule this out as an accident again.”

“It wasn’t.”

“But it clearly was an accident when he spilled his drink, Ms. Y/LN.”

“I don’t care,” you said, enunciating every word clearly. “Maxwell has to do my project all over again. For me.”

“That’s not how it works, Y/N. Not after you’ve impaled him.”

You groaned indefinitely and looked up at the ceiling.

“For the past month you’ve sent five kids to the councilor crying about the horrible things you’ve said to them.”

“Oh, ‘cause it’s my fault they have the skin thinner than a bald cat?”

“Don’t you have friends to hold you back? Someone you hang out with? Maybe then you can practice just a tiny bit of empathy.”

“I have friends.”

“I’m worried about you, Y/N.” Her arm reached out to the edge of the desk, but you didn’t hold it. You simply stared at it with your raised brow that you’ve drawn high enough to make you look like you were permanently sneering at everyone you meet. “You can talk to Mr. Cadwell. You know our councilors are always welcome to help you.”

“I’m not interested in some heart to heart.”

“You need someone.”

You scoffed so eminently it would’ve probably have been heard from the other room. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Ms. Watson.”

She shook her head. “I no longer know how to help you, Y/N.”

“I said I don’t need help.”

The last time you were here, VP Watson skipped the lecture and handed you the punishment right away and you made your way out of the office after just five minutes. Why couldn’t she just do that every time? Why does she have to drag it out knowing it never ends the way she wants?

“Can’t you imagine the people you’ve sent crying to my office as your friends? Or someone you care about?”

“No.”

“What if it were you? How would that make you feel?”

Your scowl was loud enough to be heard by her secretary outside her office. You could only smile, staring anywhere else but at the Vice Principal with your tongue pressed to the side of your mouth. “I don’t know why they gave you this job, Ms. Watson.”

She chose to ignore the insult. You’ve said worse things. Far worse things.

“You cause permanent damage. It would help if you would… soften up.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Language, or you get another demerit,” she pulled out more of her forms. You scoffed and threw your arms in the air. “I don’t need a lecture.”

“I am doing everything I can to help you. Haven’t you ever had someone you cared about? Someone you wouldn’t get hurt by the things you do? If they were your friends, you wouldn’t want to hurt them, right?.”

“I have friends. As I said.”

“And yet, they’re all afraid of you. Everyone is afraid of you.”

“So?”

“So,” she pinched the middle of her eyes and closed them. “I think you need someone you care about. To make you feel better. A boyfr-“

“A boyfriend?” you almost screamed. “What kind of Vice Principal are you?!”

“I am running out of options. And things to say. You’re not exactly driving me sane here. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never had one, Watson. And I don’t plan on having one. Boys are stupid and annoying and dirty.”

“And every guy you meet is terrified of you, Y/N.”

“That’s how I like it.”

“That-“ VP Watson took her glasses off, wiped them with her shirt, and grabbed her coffee mug from the side of her table. Taking long sips, she placed it back down, hands over her mouth.

“That shouldn’t be the case.”

“I want to go now.”

“I am here to help my students. No matter how personal it can get. It’s part of my job. And my job is to make sure you’re okay and not terrorizing half my other students.”

You shook your head and stared out the window, not even sparing the VP a glance.

“Someone can really help you, and he’ll be someone you’ll want to change for.”

“I’m not interested.”

“It will be difficult, but you need someone who wouldn’t be afraid of you, not even if you tried-“

The door suddenly opened and it crashed right against the hard wall. A small man with glasses and a tie was hauling a young boy with his one hand by the arm, who flinched and was cursing vilely under his breath. His face was newly bruised and his cheek looked sore. He didn’t struggle. He just stood there, glaring at the man, VP Watson, and once he met your eyes, you.

“Ms. Watson-“

“Jerry, I’m in the middle of something.”

Jerry. Your science teacher. He was severely out of breath and the sweat was practically pouring out of his skin. He leaned against a drawer, still holding onto the boy with his hand.

“I’m sorry. But I couldn’t take it. A fight broke out right outside at the cafeteria. I barely made it out of there alive.”

You looked out the window to see if anything else was going on. You’d have loved to watch that fight. Dammit.

“Calm down,” Ms. Watson stood up to hold Jerry by the shoulder. “Who started the fight?”

“Jason Todd,” the teacher pulled on the boy’s arm. “This young man right here.”

Shit. This was too good to witness. Almost amusing even. You watched as the Vice Principal had a surge of yet another headache and you didn’t even bother holding back a light smile. You turned to Jason, who kept his eyes on the ground shamefully by now.

“Mr. Todd. Is that true?”

Todd didn’t look her in the eye. He looked like a guy who could win a fight. He was large. And you’ve seen this kid silently brood around in the hallways. His dark hair was almost always covering his eyes, though he was constantly studying or reading in the library. His eyes had that same darkness when he gritted his teeth and mumbled his response. “Yes.”

“Jesus,” Ms. Watson silently breathed. “Ms. Y/LN. I’m gonna need you to wait outside.”

“Can’t I just go-“

“No. I have a whole new array of punishments for you. Mr. Todd. Take a seat.”

You scoffed again, slamming your hands on the arm rests and pushing the chair back. The Vice Principal pressed onto her telephone and called her assistant. “Jen. Make sure Ms. Y/LN doesn’t leave.”

Slamming the door behind you, you crashed onto the cold seat outside the office again mumbling obscene insults at the Vice Principal who could no longer hear you. Jen, the assistant, managed to glance at you, but the moment you returned the look with a piercing glare, she shrugged and looked away. You laid your head against the wall and closed your eyes.

There was someone else at your side. Another boy you didn’t know. One from the football team. He looked beaten up and his brown hair was an absolute mess. Probably the guy that Todd kid picked a fight with. He looked just as large as Todd was, but he had more bruises than just on his cheek. He held up a bag of ice to his purple eye, his lip was bleeding, and his nose looked like it might need some work. He noticed you stare at him. “What are you looking at, sweet cheeks?”

You widened your eyes, nostrils flaring, and your eyebrows raising almost to your forehead. That glare was enough to make him swallow his words, even with his throat all sore, and look immediately away from you. “S-Sorry, Y/N. Pretend I’m not here.”

Your eyes trailed at him for longer before you closed them and went back to leaning against the wall. Not long after, the door opened, and the Vice Principal looked at you with her arms tiredly motioning for you to come in. “Y/N…”

Walking back inside, this time not taking the seat no matter how long she was going to offer it to you, you stood with your back leaned against the door and looked at Todd watching you with his eyes all hooded. You glared back.

He slowly looked back at the VP. He didn’t flinch when he caught your stare. He looked unbothered, then Ms. Watson gathered her forms and folded them in a nice, neat pile.

“Both your behaviors are simply unacceptable. No amount of detention will cover it. Especially not when it’s neither of your first times here in my office.”

Ms. Watson looked like she was preparing herself. “I have a special task that will surely bring both of you to your needed discipline.”

------

Three pm. By now you were supposed to head home, take a nap. Not stand in the fucking school library with some kid with a bruised face while the librarian hands both of you a monstrous pile of books on two unorganized carts. You pressed a finger down the line between your eyes and nose.

The Librarian, Ms. Peterson, was an old woman far beyond her prime, her back arched so low she was standing right up to your chest. Her white hair was falling intensively onto the books, and you had to brush off a strand that fell on your black sleeve.

“Place these back on the shelves. By genre. Alphabetical.”

“No one reads books anymore. Why the fuck is there so many of them?”

Todd. Jason. The kid you were sentenced the next ten weeks with to be library assistants until 4:30 pm. He snarled at you like you’d insulted his mother.

“People still read them.”

“There are computers right there,” you said, pointing to the array of school computers lined up in a long table. “Why can’t they just use them!?”

“Most people of culture find comfort in books.”

Oh. Oh. This guy.

“Tell me what that was supposed to mean before I have to force it out of you.”

“Better start placing those books on the shelves, Y/N.” He said your name far too sneeringly. Todd took his cart and reeled it over to the shelves. You gritted your teeth, forcibly pulling on your own cart, of which the wheel was squeaking and almost falling out of the socket, and parked it right beside Jason, glaring at him even when he wasn’t even giving you another glance.

“What are you in for, anyway?”

You chucked a book way too harshly into the shelf. “None of your goddamn business.”

“I’d have seen it myself if I wasn’t in my own conundrum.” Conundrum? “Come on. Tell me.”

You took out another book, and without even looking at the cover, placed it on the first available space you could see. “You know that Maxwell kid?”

“The guy who spills his coffee on the table all the time?”

“He spilled it on my project. I worked on it all day.”

“What was it?”

You paused. “Just some collage for art class.”

“Oh,” he watched you arrange a book. “That’s rough. What did you do to him?”

That’s when you smirked like you took pride in what you did. “I threw a pair of scissors. It landed on his arm.”

“Jesus.”

One after another, onto the same shelf. Jason looked over and visibly sighed, stepping closer to you and taking the books you just placed back into the cart.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Be quiet. This is a library.”

You were growling, and your head was starting to boil. “Get the hell away from me.”

“You’re arranging them all wrong. These are classics fictions. Which belong all the way over there,” he pointed to the shelf beside you. “This shelf is for poetry. See?”

You grabbed the cart, making sure he could see the look on your face. Eyes widened. Teeth gritting. Nostrils flared. Eyebrows raised.

And Jason just stared back at you with an equally disgusted face before turning back to his books. “Stop wasting time, Wednesday Adams.”

“You little sh-“

“SHH!” Mrs. Peterson’s shrill voice was loud enough to be heard by the whole library. Everyone looked up from their books, then turned to you. You stepped back and grabbed your cart, cursing when you saw Jason laughing beneath his breath.

You just went to work. Classic fiction. Most of your books were in that genre. You stayed by that shelf, placing them just a tad softer onto the spaces, your boots on their tippy toes when you had to reach the highest shelf. Minutes. An hour. More than an hour.

The light outside the window had started to dim. It was almost 4:30, and you barely arranged half the books in your cart. You peered over at Jason at the other shelf. More than halfway done. You growled, placing the book on top of the spines of other books even when you knew that wasn’t allowed.

The highest shelf was far beyond your reach. Even on your toes. It was five minutes until 4:30. And you just wanted to put this last book before you’d get the hell out of this place.

“Need help?”

You almost slumped too hard on the ground and slammed the book against your thigh. Craning your head up, you looked at Jason, jaw clenched, before rolling your eyes and handing the book to him. His taller frame was able to place the book onto the shelf without much effort. You kept your arms folded while he turned his attention to you with his large arm against the shelf.

Jason was cute. Really cute actually.

“Look, if I’m gonna be stuck here with you for the next ten weeks, we might as well stop hating each other.”

“Don’t take it personally. I’m horrible to everyone.”

“Well, they don’t have the blessing to spend two hours with you in the library every day, which I know you just love doing.”

You cocked your jaw. “I’d rather slam my tongue into a car door.”

“I’m not a fan of this either. We might as well tolerate each other.”

Tolerate. That was much easier. You rolled your eyes just as he stuck his newly bruised hand out for you to shake.

Putting on the biggest fake smile, you grabbed his hand, shook it, and gripped it with enough force to hit his bruises for him to wince away.

“Mother fucker.”

“Hmm.” Another fake smile. “Nice to meet you.”

4:30. You stormed out of the library before anyone else could even look at you.

-----

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

------

  Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur  @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive  @lucy-roo  roseangel013bf

[crowryes]

dr hunger games au

as you may or may not know, i just finished tbosas a few days ago. though of an au where the thh survivors are victors of the games so uhh yea!

this is a big mess

-  Togami Byakuya-District 1

Togami was a big hit during his games, gaining popularity from the moment that he got chosen during the reaping. He acted so capitol like that people had a genuine hard telling if he was district or not. 

Byakuya refused to ally any of the other tributes from the stronger districts( 1, 2, and 4) and somehow made it through the games alone. This made him gain even more fans and sponsors He sat tight for the majority of the games, being showered in gifts by sponsors. However, when it came to it, he killed the last tribute that stood between him and victory. With an extremely intricate plan set up, he killed the last tributes with only a few strands of rope and some of those rations he’d been saving up. This proved him a true capitol man, refusing to get his hands too dirty.

- Asahina Aoi- District 4

Asahina gained popularity through voluntering for her little brother. Most of the capitol thought she’d die early in the games (getting only a 8 during her session with the judges), but her friendship with Oogami Sakura, a tribute from district 2, showed itself to be usefull. During training,the two bonded over their hate of the games. It seemed almost as Oogami actually cared for Asahina’s wellbeing (she did). Their alliance made them gain many sponsors. But at the end, with only 4 tributes left in the arena, Oogami sheilded Asahina from a fatal blow. Asahina was then gifted a trident, the most expensive gift ever given in the games and, full of rage, killed the remaining tributes with it.

- Hagakure Yasuhiro - DIstrict 8

Hagakure was extremely unlucky. He was picked at the age of 18, only a few weeks away from being away from the games for ever. He didnt come from a remarkable district, not much attention to himself. He did have a quite charming sense of humour, as seen during his interview. Other than that, he had nothing going for him. As soon as the games started, he rushed into the wilderness, hiding there for almost the entierety of them. Hagakure showed an aptitude for finding food in the wild. He foraged vegetation and the occasional fish for most of the games, hinding either in trees or in caves.

After most of the wilderness burned (apparently, some district 12 girl was burned on a stake  burned by a bunch of crazed tributes), killing some of the tributes. Hagakure just hid behind the cornucopia as the few remaining tributes fought it out, all bleeding to death.

- Fukawa Toko - district 10

It’s an understatement to say that Fukawa as disliked by the capitol. Such a raggedy, disgusting girl was not worth the capitol’s attention or money. Even during her interview, she barely spoke, mumbling nonsense the whole time

However, unkown to the public, Toko had decided to not stop her alter, Syo, from surfacing. 

Gaining a 12 after her time with the judges (mostly because Syo threw daggers with terrifing accuracy at them), the capitol couldnt help but wonder what this terrified district 10 girl could of done to earn such a high score.

Her hunger games where the shortest that there had ever been. During the first day, she ran straight to the cornucopia and stole as many daggers and knives as she could get her hands on, and slaughtered three of the tributes from the stronger districts.She would actively seek for people to kill through the arena, ending up with 5 murders on the second and third days.

Sponsors loved her, giving her food and water through her time at the games. Syo simply ignored the ressources. When toko would go back to normal, she always felt too guilty too eat anything and would simply curl up in a ball, crying herself to sleep

After seeing her craft makeship scissors with her daggers, she was gifter a pair of silver scissors, with blades like rassors,

She, in total, killed 11 people during the course of her games. Rumors say that upon arriving on the airship, she simply collapsed, almost dying from lack of nuttrition

- Naegi Makoto - District 12

Naegi’s victory truly was only caused by a string of fortunate events. The capitol warmed up to the small, charming boy. Ladies swooned when he made his way upstage for the interview. He seemed timid and sweet during his interview, however... he was exactly like that, much to the audiences surprise.

Naegi gathered a few allies that were much like him, unlucky tributes who came from much poorer districts. Those included and were limited to; A district 8 girl with a beautiful voice, a bashful girl from district 3 (who, later on, much to the audience’s shock, turned out to be a boy) and an angry redheaded boy from district 6.

He believed in his allies, even stopping one of them, the district 8 girl from killing him by calming her down with soothing words, telling her how she was able to get out of here alive. Sadly, the same night, that same girl killed her ally, the redhead, and he did the same.

With only one ally left and despair slowly infecting the duo, Naegi still held onto hope. He believed that he and his ally (who he now knew was named Fujisaki) could win the games. This shocked and slightly angered the audience, who knew there could only be one victor. But he kept talking about victory as if they could win together, as a team. 

Fujisaki devised a plan. She’d run wires around the cornucopia, connecting them to all of the surounding lakes in the arena. If they were lucky, lightning would hit it, the remaining tributes, who were camping it out by the lakes, would be shocked and would die a short and almost painless death.

Much to the audience’s confusion, that was something that the two held to heart. Not making anyone suffer for too long.

Fujisaki’s plan worked, but not without it’s consequences.

Standing too close to the wires, she was electrocuted by the current going through them. Her feet covered in soot, markings running up her legs, she somehow looked peaceful. Like her plan had, in fact, worked the way she wanted it.

Inspecting her closely Naegi was shocked (funny pun go zzzzzzzzzzzap). The girl- no boy- he knew so well was a guy. He shed many tears over his dead boy, closing his eyelids and putting him to rest in a field of tall grass.

Only 3 tributes were left. He was going to win this. For Fujisaki’s sake, and for his own.

He sat next to the cornnucopia, waiting for the others to show up. Two rogue tributes ran out of the wilds, both obviously wanting his death. One of them threw a spear, flying towards him.

A girl threw herself in front of him, piercing her. Tears running down her freckled cheeks, blood on her lips, whispering her last words in his ear. 

I want you to win. I’m unworthy

Naegi grabbed a mace from the weapon stash and bashed the other tributes head, blinded by the tears in his eyes.

---

watch as i progressively get out of writer’s block while writing these lmao

also can you tell i spent my daily bikeride exclusively thinking of naegi’s victory and how much he hates the fact that he had to take a human life

totaly didnt crash when i thought of making chihiro his ally no no nope

[corpse--diem]

Pain Demands To Be Felt | Marley & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @detectivedreameater & @corpse--diem SUMMARY: Marley and Erin struggle to decide who is to blame for Roland's death. CONTENT WARNING: Some medical discussion involving stitch removal.

Something didn’t feel right when Erin found herself standing in front of Marley’s door. She’d been here before. Once, maybe twice. Seeing Marley never felt weird. Today it did. Everything felt different since the fire. Losing your home had that effect, she supposed. But something didn’t feel right between them. She had a feeling Roland had meant more than Marley had let on. Throughout this entire dangerous venture, Marley had been her number one confidante. Her second-hand. A source of comfort and protection all at once. They were in this together. And now? Nothing about that had changed, not really. They were still in this. They were still fighting towards the same common goal. But it didn’t feel right. Maybe it was in her head--most of the last week had been spent in her head and not a whole lot to distract her. She’d find out today, she figured. Bit the bullet and knocked sharply on the front door. If anything, maybe the bottle of whiskey under her arm could wedge some truths from her. Lord knew Marley wouldn’t give it willingly. Erin smiled anyway when Marley opened the door, her eyes immediately going right to the four large gashes across her face. Winced a little but pushed through it to keep her own expression light hearted. “Hey, stranger,” she nodded towards Marley. “Or should I say--Scarface?” She grimaced, teeth temporarily clenching together. “Too soon?”

“Too soon,” was all Marley said when she opened the door and found Erin standing there, whiskey in one hand, that lopsided grimace on her face. She hadn’t expected to immediately feel anything when she saw Erin, but as soon as she did, her mind flashed back to her last conversation with Roland. To the papers she’d found on his desk. To the files he’d been working on. After the evidence had gone missing-- no, after she’d taken the evidence-- he’d taken on Erin’s case all by himself. That’s why he’d been at the funeral home. That’s why he’d been alone. That’s why he-- “Come inside,” she said, cutting her own thoughts off and stepping in, leaving the door for Erin to close. She made her way over to the living room, where she’d cleared a spot for them, with anything she thought they’d need. Which really only included a towel, a bowl of water, and the one bottle of alcohol she’d gotten to clean her face with. The bag on the kitchen counter had some tacos she’d ordered from the local place down the street, and they grew cold by the minute. “If you hurry, the tacos might still be warm when you eat them,” she said, finally looking back over at her.

Too soon. Yep. The smile dropped quickly from Erin’s face as she followed Marley into the house. This felt different. She felt it for sure the moment she stepped inside the house after Marley’s slightly brusque welcome. It made sense though, the longer she let those feelings creep in. She glanced at the bag and set down the bottle of whiskey beside it. “Right. Sorry,” she smiled over at her briefly, then reached into her own bag. “Do you want to just get this part over with first?” she asked, pulling out a few supplies she brought on her own. Grabbed the bottle of alcohol and rinsed off the small pair of scissors over the kitchen sink. “How are--” she paused, stopping herself when she remembered their last conversation. Gestured towards her own face. “How’s it feeling?” she asked instead.

“Let’s just get it over with,” Marley answered, wondering why every time she opened her mouth, only curt, snipped words came out. She wasn’t mad at Erin, not really. Or maybe she was. Or maybe it was like how she was “mad” at Jane. How many times had Erin almost died now? Last time it had happened, Marley had felt like the floor had dropped out beneath her, looking at Erin’s unmoving body on the ground. And the flood of relief when she’d moved, when she’d sat up. So why didn’t she feel like that now? Was it because someone had died? Marley shifted. “It hurts,” she said quietly. And it was the truth. Even if she was mad, Erin deserved the truth. Erin was important to her. She looked down as Erin approached. “Nothing I can’t handle though.”

Those two words--It hurts--were more comforting than they should have been, especially given the context. Erin could work with that. It was honest. She could navigate through this obvious awkwardness too but it felt better to have something, even a little something, to be real to work with. “I’m sure,” she smiled softly over at her and started setting up a work area on the table. It was pretty rough but she’d try to keep it as sterile as possible. She didn’t know how mara anatomy worked or if infections were possibilities, but she wasn’t about to take that risk. Wouldn’t that be something? They survive a bugbear attack, home invasions, fires--but it was a dirty speck from a pair of scissors to take her out, here and now. She decided to keep that to herself when she thought of Roland and the irony became considerably less funny. Dragged a chair to rest directly across from her own before pulling on a pair of gloves. “Ready when you are, ma’am,” she teased, a tired smile accompanying a lousy faux-doctor impression.

While her face did hurt, Marley was aware that the pain wasn’t the part that was making her drag. Everytime she closed her eyes, she could see the bear claws. She could see the creature in the hallway. She remembered being upside down, watching the bear retreat. Why had he left? One more good swipe and he couldn’t killed her, easy. What had been the point if not to kill? Whenever her side throbbed, she remembered being throw into the table, remembered leaping across the bar and toppling over it. How had she gotten away with just a scratch? Her eyes watched Erin sit down in front of her and she turned to face her. “Go for it,” she said, turning her head to the side to give her a better angle. Had she been left alive because she knew? Because she understood the supernatural world? Her hands curled into soft fists. It should’ve been her at that funeral home. Drew in a breath and braced herself for the pain.  

Even now, it was still a little jarring to see the blue blood that dried darkly along Marley’s sutures as she got to work. Seeing the raw gashes when she’d patched her up originally had left Erin more unsettled than she expected too. Not squeamish. She wasn’t squeamish, not even the slightest. Concerned was more like it. And afraid. A deep, uncomfortable fear--both at Marley’s clear physical pain and the overwhelming ‘what-ifs?’ that hung in the air. The most prominent one obvious but unsaid, even now. What if she hadn’t made it out of that bar at all? Is this what Marley had felt the handful of times Erin very nearly almost died in the past few weeks herself? It sucked. It really sucked. She understood why Marley wouldn’t want to talk about it though. It wasn’t something she was comfortable expressing either. Not now, not when they still had so much to do. But they were allowed to feel things. Allowed to let a little bit at a time out. Her eyes flicked over to Marley’s, gingerly snipping away, slowly but surely, leaving a small pile of cut thread on a napkin beside them. “Since I have you here,” she started, the hint of a smile touching her lips, as brief as it was. “And because you can’t run away from me right now, I’m going to ask you how you’re doing. Again.” She glanced away again as she wiped the scissors on the napkin, then brought them back up to her face as she got back to work. “How are you doing? For real this time.”

Marley stayed as still as possible as Erin started working on removing the stitches. Little by little, snipping each strand with her scissors. Each little bit of pressure cause a spike of pain, like needles being stuck into her skin-- but she remained still, only furrowing her brows whenever it became a little too much to sit stone-faced for. The awkwardness hung in the air between them, thick and heavy. Marley could feel it as if it were something palpable, hanging over her shoulders. She didn’t like it. Erin’s voice split her thoughts, but she stayed unmoving, not even looking over at her. “Don’t ask me that,” she said, making sure not to move her lips too much. She could feel her chest getting tighter, her breaths coming in heavier and she had to draw in a deep breath and close her eyes to calm the pounding. Let it out slowly before opening her eyes again. “I don’t want to talk about any of that.”

“Too late. I asked,” Erin snapped back. It was uncomfortable, probably more painful than the dozens of tiny snips she still had left to go. But just like this, it was necessary. She had a feeling Marley would hit her for actually vocalizing that metaphor but it didn’t make it any less true. And Erin knew Marley better than this--knew there was something sitting tightly on her chest that she didn’t want to confess, but it was there, and even maras needed to breathe. “You almost died. I almost died.” She paused and swallowed thickly. Made another cut and pulled the suture out, wiping it on the napkin. “Roland did die.” She kept her eyes on the napkin before forcing herself to look back at Marley, and not just at the wounds. “And it’s really obvious that you’ve got something to say.”

“Don’t,” Marley hissed, suddenly turning in her chair and grabbing Erin’s wrist before she could lean in to start snipping again. “Don’t say his name. You don’t get to say his fucking name.” Something rushed into her and stole her breath away-- it felt ironically just like how she took other peoples’ breaths-- and she shuddered, trying to catch her breath, blinking away a searing pain in her eye. “He’s not-- he’s not--” she let go of her wrist and turned back away. Took several large, deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. To stop the shaking in her hands. Swallowed the sand in her throat, on her tongue. Kept her jaw clenched, holding back whatever wave of whatever was trying to crash its way through her. “We’re not talking about this. Just finish the fucking stitches.”

There it was. All it took was a gentle prod and for Erin to say his name for it to boil over. When she grabbed her wrist, just for a moment, she was afraid of Marley. Marley’s emotions were raw, her anger struck hot and Erin felt like she’d finally gotten confirmation on what had been simmering between them. Why she was acting so weird around Erin, why it was different. That wasn’t in her head. Marley didn’t want to talk about her feelings--that wasn’t new. But Roland meant something to Marley. And Roland was dead. Just saying it outloud had caused Marley’s composure to break. “You blame me,” Erin finally said when Marley had calmed. The words hung heavy in the air but she felt lighter for asking it, even if it stung something fierce. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she paused, holding the scissors on her lap. Fuck this. They were talking about it now. “You do, don’t you?”

Marley turned sharply again. Her breaths were still coming up in ragged heaves. She suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about the last thing she’d said to Roland-- how cruel she’d been. How he died thinking she was mad at him. How she’d tried so hard to keep him away from that side of the world and then tried so hard to help him understand and it had all culminated into the worst possible scenario. He was dead, and he died because this world took people like him and it chewed them up and all Marley had wanted was to protect him from that. He deserved better. He was no monster, he was just one man, trying to make this city a better place. She only realized she was crying when it burned hot streaks down her face and mixed with the dried blood in her cuts. “He was only there because of you!” she choked, “He was investigating you. On his own. Because he didn’t trust anyone else. Not Jane, not Agatha-- not me.” She felt her arms shaking, clenching her own knees stiffly as she fought to stay composed. “He was there because of me. I brought him into this world, I told him about the supernatural, I took him to that house, and now he’s--” she clamped her jaw shut, teeth clicking angrily together. “It should’ve been me.”

Erin knew how grieving worked. Knew that Marley was feeling a mixture of the stages right now and that stifling them had only worsened her condition, made her a ticking time bomb. It made sense for her to unravel like this. Erin knew how to handle that--the unraveling. The grief. Six months ago, that was a problem she still knew how to solve. Six months ago, she also wasn’t the person who indirectly helped lead the deceased to their death. But deserved that. Nodding slowly, she had to drop her eyes to her lap, fidgeting where she was, looking the angry, crying consequences of her actions directly in the face. She fidgeted with the scissors in her hands. “I know. It’s my fault. I know,” she cleared her throat, trying to fight back the knot growing there. Something about seeing Marley like this tore her apart in ways she couldn’t have anticipated. “I’ve done a lot of things wrong here and Roland--” she froze when she mentioned his name. She hadn’t been close with him, not like Marley, but she knew enough to consider him a good man, and that wasn’t a term she used lightly at all. Not anymore. A good man that had treated her kindly, and the same one she deceived the short time she knew him.

“Roland deserved better,” Erin agreed. Before Marley could yank away, she reached for her hand with both of hers, gripping it tightly. “He wouldn’t have wanted that to be you. I wouldn’t have--” she paused when her voice cracked a little. “You don’t deserve that either.”

Marley couldn’t help but wonder how much of her pain was justified. If she was the one that had lied to him, if she was he one that had hid things from him-- if she was the one who had betrayed his trust-- then how much of this grief was she allowed to feel? Maybe she wasn’t supposed to have any of it. It wasn’t like they were best friends, they didn’t go out for drinks or talk about their lives or feelings, but he had always trusted her on cases with him. He had always listened to what she had to say, her crazy theories. He had never looked down on her use of profiling, had never told her she was any less of a detective. For the short amount of time that he had been in White Crest, Marley had inexplicably let herself grow close to him, even if it was just on a professional level. There was no one she trusted more with the job. He just wanted to keep the city safe, to keep the people safe, and his stupid altrusitic nature had dug into Marley’s walls and found her one soft spot. She could still remember seeing him trapped underneath that stupid monster, yelling at her to leave, knowing he was going to perish if she did. And she still remembered the feeling inside of her that made her pick up that axe and barrel straight for them. She couldn’t leave him behind. She wouldn’t.

But he’d left her behind this time. He’d left her behind and Jane had left her behind, and it felt like everything she was trying to hold onto was slipping through her hands. “It’s not your fault,” she finally said, all of the anger suddenly exhausted, the pain making it overwhelmingly hard to concentrate on anything. “I stole the evidence, I broke his trust. If I hadn’t made him feel so alone, he wouldn’t have been there by himself.”

Erin shook her head, more adamantly this time. “It’s not your fault, Marley,” she insisted, trying to make sure she heard her.  “It’s not. Your. Fault.” She squeezed her hand harder now, unable to pull her eyes from the clear pain drenching every part of Marley’s features. “There was nothing you could do. He was the kind of guy who would run into a burning building. That’s just who he was.” That was partially a guess--she didn’t know him long enough to know him truly, but if he was the type of guy whose last words included an apology to a woman who very literally lied to his face? She could only assume it to be true. “This whole thing is really fucking messy. It’s all muddled and everyone’s done something wrong trying to do the right thing. I-I know that doesn’t make sense but--if you need someone to blame, blame me or blame the fucker that actually did this.” Roy’s smirk flashed behind her eyes again. “Please. Please, don’t blame yourself. This isn’t all on you.”

Marley looked down at Erin’s hands squeezing hers. She wanted to pull it away but found she didn't have the energy. She didn’t know what to do anymore, what to say anymore, what to feel anymore. She stiffened, pulling at her hand and looking away. “I don’t blame you,” she muttered, “I wanted to blame you. I wanted so bad to blame you, it would’ve been easy.” She gave a hollow chuckle, reaching a hand up to wipe at her face, wincing when her fingers collided with the open wounds. “Fuck,” she hissed, recoiling. “I’m going to fucking rip Tommy’s head off and dump it at Roy’s feet.” She tried to draw up her composure, and turned to look back at Erin. She didn’t want to sit here and sob about her feelings, she wanted to get out and do something and that started with getting these damn stitches out. “That’s all that matters now,” she recomposed herself, turning her face to give Erin access again. Swallowing stiffly. She didn’t need to talk anymore. She didn’t want to break down again. Her hands squeezed her knees so tight her knuckles turned white.

Erin wouldn’t have blamed Marley. Even now, she blamed herself. It wasn’t entirely her fault, she did know that. Roy put the torch to the house but Erin technically ignited that flame. Forced his hand. That’s what a man in his position would do. He didn’t get where he was by taking threats and attacks against his business lightly. This was the kind of collateral damage they’d both agreed to take on with this kind of fight though, wasn’t it? It didn’t make it feel better or justify it but that was the agreement. Accepting it and actually feeling the weight of that on their shoulders was an entirely different thing. “Do it,” she nodded, her eyes jumping back to the claw marks etched into Marley’s skin. “After what he just put us through, I’d do it myself if I could,” she added, and she meant every bit of it. But she got the hint and finally let go of Marley’s hand after a final reassuring squeeze. Picked up the scissors again and went back to work, brushing away a few stray tears that still lingered along her cheeks as she went. “It’s all that matters, you’re right. And we owe it to everyone who’s suffered through this to end it.” They would make this right. They had to make this right.

Something heavy still hung on Marley’s heart, but it wasn’t something she knew how to voice yet. So she sat unmoving and let Erin do her work, wondering if she’d ever find the words. She felt almost cold, numb again, even against the burning in her cheek and around her eyes. It pressed at the inside of her chest, but she quelled the feeling with a few deep, held breaths. Grounding herself and reminding herself that she was still here and she still had a purpose. It was clear and concise-- there was nothing gray about killing Tommy. About killing Roy. They were going to die, it was inevitable, now it was just about which lives were lost before that happened. And if Marley had any say about that, it would be none. No more lives uselessly lost to that evil bastard. When Erin seemed finished, Marley reached up quickly and caught her hand, this time much gentler than before. “Erin.” She wasn’t looking her in the eye as she spoke, her voice soft, almost nervous, “I need you. So whatever happens just--” a pause, as she tried to figure out the words that were tumbling around in her head, “--make sure you stick around.”

It was quiet for a long time. Not entirely an uncomfortable one but a necessary silence. Erin worked diligently and as quickly as she could and before long, she was pulling the last thread out and placing it into the small pile with the rest. “That’s… definitely going to scar,” Erin grimaced. “But you’re done.” She’d done her best when Marley had showed up at her doorstep,  and she’d done better than some Joe Shmo on the street, but suturing for a clean outcome on a live person wasn’t her area of expertise. She’d just finished pulling off her gloves when Marley grabbed her hand again. This time she didn’t flinch. She only nodded, gripping her hand back tightly. Wrapped her hand around the nape of her neck, urging her to look at her. The pain of the reality this plan created was impossible to ignore now, trickling out and overflowing into everything they did. It was no wonder it was happening now--it was truly a wonder that it hadn’t happened before this. Erin swallowed hard, raising a brow at her. “You too, okay? After everything…” she shook her head and sighed. “I need you too.”

Marley felt like her heart was going to pound itself straight out of her chest. The words she’d just said to Erin mirrored the ones she’d said to Anita not a week or two ago. Even if their intention was different, it still made her body clench with an anxiety that was new to her. If Erin didn’t return the sentiment, what did she do? How could she have let herself get attached to someone that didn’t feel the same back? But then Erin broke the silence, and she was clasping her hand back and Marley finally turned to look at Erin, eyes a bit wide and surprised. She held her gaze though. Marley wasn’t exactly a tactile person, she didn’t always like touching people outside of those she brought into her bed. Even hugs and handshakes made her feel strained. But now, it felt easy. It felt...comfortable. She let out a long breath, leaned her head forward until their foreheads were touching and closed her eyes. “We’re in this together,” she said quietly, “we started this together, we’re going to finish it together.” Drew in a shaky breath. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That was a tough thing to promise, on both of their parts. Erin’s especially. She didn’t have any supernatural strengths to shield her from what could possibly come their way. But Marley was right. They started this and they’d end this. Together. That was the goal, anyway, and Erin tried like hell to keep her promises. That was what Roland wanted, right? To end this? To find a way out. Those were the man’s literal last words. So that’s what they’d do. It was the only way either of them could ever pay lasting homages to his sacrifice. “You better not,” she said, giving Marley’s hand one last squeeze. Pulled away gently, feeling her eyes starting to burn with the promise of more tears. God, she’d cried enough this week. She knew Marley needed it but was she ever fucking tired of crying. It felt like the only thing she’d accomplished since coming home from the hospital. Taking a deep breath in, she mustered a stronger smile, brushing the hair from Marley’s face with both of her hands, being careful not to graze the tender skin still trying to heal. “How’s it feel?” she asked, dropping her hands when she felt a weird lurch in her chest after staring too long. Whiskey. They needed to insert some normalcy into what had quickly become an emotionally taxing conversation. “Cups?” She asked, grabbing the bottle.

“Fine,” Marley answered shortly, her voice quiet as she watched Erin closely. Her skin felt hot where Erin’s fingers had brushed along her cheeks and it took her a moment to realize she was beginning to flush. “It hurts, but that’s normal at this point.” Erin leaned back and Marley did, too, taking the opportunity to stand up and get away from the moment that had just clutched the two of them. She wasn’t used to emotionally charged conversations, and it was making her arms feel like they were vibrating with electricity. “Cups,” she repeated, heading into the kitchen and grabbing two tumblers from the cabinet. She dropped some ice in each of the glasses and brought them back over, setting them down on the table for Erin to fill. “Oh! And the tacos,” she said, turning on her heel before Erin had a chance to say anything else, realizing that she needed another moment to gather herself. She stopped at the counter, hands pressed against the cool countertop, and took in a deep breath. She could be okay for the rest of this conversation. She had to be okay. She was fine and everything was going to be fine. That was what she had to believe, otherwise Tommy and Roy would win, and she couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let Roland’s death be for nothing. Grabbing the bag, she headed back over to Erin, setting them down on the table next to their drinks. “Hope they’re not too cold,” she said, sitting back.

Erin let out a long breath as Marley disappeared, running a worried hand over her mouth. That was weird. Painful and necessary but something stirred uncomfortably in her stomach all the same. She’d never seen Marley quite that vulnerable and she wasn’t sure what to do with it or where to put the feelings watching her breakdown made. Fuck. Whiskey. Tacos. Erin’s eyes jumped to the bag next to her as she twisted the bottle open. “I’m not all that hungry right now, actually,” she laughed dryly as Marley entered the room again. “Make it a double,” she said as she handed the bottle off to Marley before cleaning up the rest of the mess from the stitches. She watched her out of the corner of her eye though as she dumped it into the trash, a small smirk finding her lips. “You could always save those tacos for Anita, though?”

Marley frowned. “You do know that I don’t eat, right?” she said, even though she already knew Erin’s answer-- she did know. “I got these for you.” Ruffling her nose-- and instantly regretting it-- she picked up her glass of whiskey instead and took a long sip. It tasted nice going down, even if she preferred tequila. And she just about spit her drink out when Erin brought up Anita, choking on it for a moment. She sat up, swallowing roughly, and wiped her face on her sleeve. “What? Why would you say--” she paused, remembering what she’d asked Anita a week or so ago. Her cheeks grew warm again and she glanced away, bringing her glass back to her mouth to hide the expression. “She doesn’t eat tacos, either,” she grumbled, sitting back, giving Erin a small smirk after a moment. “But I’m sure she’d appreciate you thinking of her.”

Erin let out an actual laugh when Marley choked and it felt like a gallon of pressure released from her chest, so much so that she felt her shoulders deflate as she sat back down. These moments were important, the little ones in between the bad, heavy ones that felt like they took up your entire life. Kept you going. Reminded you why you had to keep going. “And you know I just like teasing you,” she tacked on, bringing the glass to her lips. She settled back into the chair, letting that momentary calm that came with the first sip trickle down her torso, watching Marley with a small but sincere smile. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked, her eyes first jumping to the jagged scars already forming on her cheek before searching for Marley’s eyes. “And even if you aren’t, because I wouldn’t blame you--you’ll still tell me?”

The whiskey was cold as it slid down her throat and Marley enjoyed the feeling. The coolness of it reminded her of the cool touch of Anita’s hands. It had been so strange at first, but now Marley was so used to it, the cold cup in her hands was a comfort. Erin was laughing and she refocused, looking over at her. The world felt...lighter in that moment, as Erin’s laugh sat between them and she had that stupid little, soft grin on her face, telling her things were okay. For now, they were okay. She finished off what was left in her cup and held it out to her to refill. “I’ll be okay,” she answered quietly, wondering if Erin would believe them, “I always am.” She always had to be. That was the lesson growing up alone had taught her-- Marley was a survivor and whether she was okay or not about something that happened to her, she had to keep moving. “I’ll try though,” she added on after a moment, “if you ask, and I’m not. I’ll try.” She thought on it for a moment. “But you have to tell me, too. This isn’t one sided. I’m not good at comforting or support or whatever, but I want to know.” Satisfied, she shifted, looking Erin square in the eyes. “Deal?”

I always am. It was a sentiment Erin could relate to. Maybe it was part of the reason the two managed to get on as well as they did. They understood what it meant to pick yourself off the ground and keep going. Erin nodded slowly, circling her finger along the top of her glass, the motion creating small, auburn ripples. “All I ask is that you try,” she said, her lips tightening against her teeth. Asking for reciprocation was fair, even if it made her seize up a little inside. But if that’s what Marley wanted and allowed Erin to keep that window into Marley’s life cracked open, she could manage that much. There were only so many people who could relate to what either of them were going through right now. “Fine. Fine. Deal,” she confirmed, lifting her glass up and clinking it gently against Marley’s. Criminals had to stick together after all.

Marley couldn’t help the smile that pulled onto her face-- one side of it, at least. She sipped her glass again before setting it down and standing up without a word, and a little strain. She went over to a cabinet by the stairs that led up to her bedroom loft and pulled open a drawer, digging around for a minute. When she found what she was looking for, she held it tightly in her hand for a moment. This was definitely something she’d never done, but she felt right now, it needed to be. So she turned back around and walked back to the couch, sitting. After another short moment, she held out her hand and opened it, revealing a key. “I know you’re staying somewhere already, but I heard it’s a little crowded, so if you ever need like...a moment to yourself, you’re welcome here,” she muttered quietly, unable to look Erin in the eyes as she spoke. “I’m hardly ever here so you’ll practically have the place to yourself. Just make sure you play with JD.” Grabbed Erin’s hand and pressed the key into her palm, knowing that this gesture was more than just a kind offer-- it was an offer of trust. Her full and complete trust.

Erin sat quietly, hiding a curious smirk behind her glass as Marley left the room to rummage for something. Narrowed her brows when she shoved the key into her hand. She stared at it, turning it between her fingers, slowly absorbing what the cold metal meant. Had a feeling it wasn’t something Marley offered to many people. Felt good though. Knowing it was for her, that she’d earned that trust. “I’m not playing with JD,” she finally said when she felt that familiar burn behind her eyes, trying to laugh through the small knot building in her throat. But she pulled herself together quickly, holding up the key for a moment, before slipping it into her pocket. “Thank you. This means--well, you know,” she laughed nervously. “It means a lot. I’d offer the same but, uh” she shrugged, clasping her hands together, a more solid laugh breaking the silence.

Marley hadn’t realized it, but she’d been holding in a nervous breath, wondering if Erin would take the gesture. And when she did, she let it go heavily, visibly deflating with relief. “What?” she asked, suddenly indignant. “Why not? He just wants attention!” she frowned, furrowed her brow. She sat back, finally letting her body relax. Absently let a hand go up to touch her face, prodding the wound softly. It was healing well enough. It was going to scar, but what was one more mark on her body. Tommy was going to pay for what he did, and then it wouldn’t matter. It would just be something that happened. Something...always visible. She drew in a breath and held it to keep the burning in her eyes back and looked at Erin. “We’ll be okay,” was all she said, but she was smiling, as much as possible, and she meant it this time.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

addiction, m | myg, ksj | 3

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader, ??? x reader

summary: Min Yoongi is falling hard, but he’s not making much progress. Kim Seokjin is lovable is a weird way. Jeon Jungkook makes bad choices and we try to keep him alive, until he’s too intuitive that is.

warnings: non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug and alcohol use, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts

--

When Yoongi heard her door open, his head whipped around from the kitchen. He had been in the middle of cutting some green onions. She emerged from her room like an animal from a cage. Black long-sleeved shirt, black jeans, carrying a tan shopper’s bag. She didn’t seem to notice him, engrossed in her thoughts as she rummaged through the bag for a moment.

He felt he had to say something. Anything.

“Do you know where the scissors are? I can’t find them,” he called.

She looked up, blinking at him. Her hair was half-tied back, lashes dark and smokey but her lips were a peach-pink instead of the red she commonly wore. And those dark, dark eyes. He looked away from them, fixating on the wall next to her head.

“Ah, Yoongi, you didn’t use the kitchen scissors for a package, did you?” she replied, somewhat exasperatedly. “Or maybe I misplaced them…”

She hurried over, opening the drawers one by one. He noticed her nails were red and black striped. They weren’t before – she must have done them herself. She opened each drawer hurriedly but delicately, accentuating her long fingers. He had a sudden image of those nails raking down his back, pinpricks of pain clouding his mind–

“Here they are.” She placed the scissors next to the cutting board and he nodded hurriedly to make the image disappear.

“Thanks.” It came out terser than he wanted it to but she seemed not to notice. She was slipping black gloves on her hands as she turned away.

“Don’t forget to open the window when you cook meat,” she reminded. She must have seen the steak on the counter.

“I’ll remember.”

He could hear her putting on her shoes. His heart pounded mercilessly in his chest. He took a deep breath and turned around, her name falling from his lips breathlessly.

She raised her eyebrows at him as she put on her black face mask.

“Do you… know how to sing?”

-

Listening to the weekly rundown as a lot like listening to a teacher’s lecture. She stood in that room once again, except Seokjin was pacing, reading off his notebook as he recited the names, times, and places she needed to be. How much to bring. How much they would give.

She could remember it all quite well at this point, but that didn’t mean she needed to look at him. She didn’t need to look at his pretty dark hair covering half of his forehead or his well-fitted pale pink shirt and tailored white pants that were mysteriously not see-through. Just focus on the people. Times. Places. Not Kim Seokjin.

“Are you listening?” he was saying sharply.

“Of course, I am,” she replied automatically. “You just said Jungkook, 2300, at that god-awful club I hate going to.”

A small smirk appeared on his lips. “That’s my Moon.”

Please stop, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. She did not like these mental invasions and conjuring ideas in her head. He was doing it on purpose. He was planting them in her mind on purpose.

“Moon.”

She jumped. Somehow, he was right next to her.

“You seem to be on autopilot today,” he observed. He was wearing a pair of round glasses that he definitely did not need. Aesthetics, he would say if she asked.

“I’m not.” It was a stubborn response. He raised his brow at it.

“I cannot have you airheaded. I’ll have someone else pick up your week,” he said sternly.

Her eyes went wide and she grabbed his left arm, shaking her head furiously. “No. No, Seokjin, I’m fine. I can do it.” She squeezed his upper arm, looking up at him. Don’t take this away from me.

And then, Seokjin did something uncharacteristic.

He winced.

She let go immediately. She had felt… something under there. And then, through the light fabric, she realized there was a bandage wrapped around his bicep. Even a bump of flattened gauze.

“You… got injured?”

He scoffed. “It’s just a scrape.”

She looked up at him. No one bandaged scrapes. Not like that. She hadn’t managed to feel it enough to determine if it was a gunshot wound or a cut. He seemed annoyed and his features hardened. He wasn’t going to say what it was even if she asked. 

“Who did it?”

A small smile appeared on his lips. “I’m fine, my darling. Are you worried?”

“I wanted to know if I should be worried,” she snapped.

He chuckled and placed a hand on her head. She tried to angrily swat it away but stopped as soon as his sentence finished.

“I’m trying my hardest to stay alive for you.”

-

“It’s just a demo, there’s no need to–”

“No, no, I want to do this right. It should sound good if you’re going to present this to a company.”

Yoongi readjusted the headset on his ears and sighed. They had been at it for a little while now. He had helped her warm up her voice, match pitch, recorded a little, but all in all, her voice sounded a little too robotic. It wasn’t her fault – she wasn’t a singer after all, only his roommate helping him out for one song. He could have attempted to sing it himself but he knew it wouldn’t have the feel he wanted.

Their makeshift setup was a table between them, her face right in front of the mic, his computer and monitors beside him.

She had the lyrics in front of her, hand on her lips, mouthing the words.

“Yoongi… is this about you?” she asked quietly.

A sudden embarrassment came over him. He bit his lip and looked away, fixating on the floor.

“Well… yeah,” he confessed. “It’s about how I feel. About the push and pull of dreams, what it means to have a dream, feeling trapped because maybe my dream wasn’t what I thought it was. Or maybe… maybe I don’t have one anymore.”

It was hard to say out loud what it was really about, but his lyrics were crystal clear.

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Remembered her whole world, her sunshine and her planet, the one she had turned into her reason for living. The beautiful heart-shaped smile, the silly laugh. The times when she sat next to the record player and watched him dance to the music. Who needed a sofa when a dance floor was more important?

He sensed a shift in her demeanor. He looked up from the floor to see her closed eyes, clenched hands on top on the papers he had scribbled his lyrics on. He wondered what she was thinking about.

Music, she had always thought, was fun. It had brought her joy until it didn’t. She had agreed to this because, to be honest, she had been curious about what he was working on. But she hadn’t expected Min Yoongi to write something so vulnerable and relatable.

She opened her eyes.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

It was the strangest thing. Her eyes were like black glass, shimmering. When she sang, it was clear and heavy at the same time. Heavy with emotion, a longing he couldn’t place.

“So far away…”

-

“You wear glasses?”

Yoongi looked up from the kitchen counter. He had been staring at his phone, a yellow notepad on the counter as he scribbled notes. “Oh. No, I just thought…” He shrugged, taking them off his face. “I thought they would get me into the lyric writing mood,” he trailed off awkwardly. “They were cheap and I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.”

She gestured to him as she took a glass out of the cabinet. “Put them back on. They make you look studious.”

He laughed dryly, putting them back on hesitantly. “Yeah, but do they make me look attractive?”

“Yes.”

He froze. That was not the answer he expected. He stared at his notepad pointedly. For some reason, he couldn’t bear to look up and see her expression. He didn’t want to see her stifling a giggle or smirking at him.

“Are you not finishing the song we were working on?”

He chewed on his lip and lifted his head, seeing her standing on the far side of the kitchen, looking at him curiously. No teasing smile on those pink lips. As far as he could see, she wasn’t making fun of him.

“I am finishing it. It… takes time.” And I don’t like confronting that part of myself. He tried to play it off, but he knew it wasn’t working. It was making everything more awkward.

She nodded, her dark flowy waves spilling over her shoulders. Then she gestured to the space between them, looking apologetic. “Oh, I’m not avoiding you or anything,” she said hurriedly, rubbing the back of her head. “I don’t want to read any of your unfinished lyrics… I know that stuff can be private. You might not want me to see them.”

“Oh…” He continued chewing on his lip. It was a bad habit. “That’s respectful of you.”

She cringed a bit as if she hadn’t meant to say anything. “Ah, well, you know… I don’t want to accidentally see anything you’re not ready to share yet.”

It was the strangest feeling of déjà vu. It was almost as if he was looking into a mirror, but that was impossible, because her eyes were dark glass that reflected nothing. It came and went, leaving him wondering what he was supposed to infer from that moment. Then he realized the hands holding the glass were black gloves. Ripped straight leg black jeans and a huge black hoodie with a black sweatshirt underneath. She suddenly reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

“I’ll wash my glass when I get back, okay? I have to go.”

He cleaned her glass after she left. There were no other dishes. He washed it carefully, looking into the clear crystal, seeing through it but also seeing nothing at all.

-

Something was wrong.

“Come on, Moon-noona.”

Hands clawing at her sweatshirt, dragging her closer in the cramped private room of the club she hated, but she was too distracted with something else. She grabbed his hands before they could slide up.

“Jungkook, what have you been taking?”

He chuckled, sliding across the wall, batting his lashes at her. His pupils were unfocused, brown irises quivering.

“Fun shit.”

He laughed and laughed, as if it was the funniest thing he had ever said. The music was so loud that the bass seemed to be vibrating the thick smoky air. Either that or it was the bodies hitting the walls as they drunkenly danced and humped each other.

He hooked his fingers on the belt loops of her jeans and pulled her close. He reeked of alcohol.

“Let’s have some fun before we get to business, yeah?” he murmured breathlessly, grinning.

“What did you take?” she asked sternly, ignoring his words.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, some of something?”

She did not like this one bit. She had to pry his fingers off her. “No transaction today.”

“Aw, come on,” he whined, wrapping his arms around her waist and yanking her back to him.

She swore. His arms were like a vice. He pressed her against his dark green satin dress shirt, and even through her layers she was reminded the guy was fucking ripped. Ripped, drunk, and high on who-knows-what. Probably ecstasy. Great. She kept her waist away from his, planting her feet on the floor.

“You’re too uptight, noona.”

He was not supposed to touch her, but he was not supposed to be this drunk or this high either. If it was anyone of her other customers, she would have left without saying anything. But he was basically a kid. A kid who was trying to take even more, who probably thought he was invincible.

She had Seokjin on speed dial. She could reach into her pocket and call him with one hand and his lackeys would come handle the situation immediately. She could.

“Jungkook, look at me.”

He tried to, brain trying to compute as the battle between stimulant and depressant waged on.

“Let me go.”

He pouted. “You don’t like me? Everybody likes me.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

He let her go, slowly, still frowning. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

She drew back, watching him closely. “There is no guy,” she said absentmindedly.

“There’s always a guy,” he said exasperatedly. “Or girl, or whatever. Even if they’re imaginary.”

She would have to report the cancelled sale to Seokjin. He would be pissed. “There’s no imaginary anybody,” she replied dismissively, trying to figure out what to say so Seokjin wouldn’t go apeshit on this poor kid. Definitely wasn’t going to mention any touching.

“There is; you just refuse to admit it.”

A chill went up her spine. “What did you say?”

He shrugged, sliding to the floor, holding his shoulders. “You’re in your head, Moon-noona. In there all day, letting them dictate you like a puppet.”

Her eyes narrowed. She reached into her hoodie and threw the tiny plastic bag at him. It hit him in the chest and slid down onto the floor. He blinked multiple times, looking at the packet of white powder and then her retreating back as she left the room.

“On the house.”

-

4.

--

masterpost

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Pretty Gertrude Stein

PART NINETEEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions family issues, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 3.9K

Summary: To congratulate Jess for an award, Ella gets him a lucky bouquet, and arguments over the future ensue.

A cozy, aged smell filled the bookstore, aisles lined tightly with weathered pages. Ella ran a finger along the ancient, dusty spines. She didn’t have a massive budget, exactly, but they’d stopped in partially because of the Edgar Allen Poe decorations. The author’s fan society had begun rolling into town the day before, and all the Stars Hollow businesses were taking advantage of the possibility for sales, the bookstore only one of many. Sighing heavily, she pursed her lips and decided she should move on to the next shelf. There, she found Jess with a couple dystopian novels in his hands. Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451. He was on a masochistic kick, as always, but instead of heartbreak it was now the fate of the world.

“I’ll have to give you The Handmaid’s Tale next. Probably scarier than both of those combined,” she said, gesturing to the books in his hands as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Jess shrugged. “Not everyone reads things for the terror factor, Morticia.”

“Well, not everyone can handle it,” she quipped, smirking.

He chuckled, then turned away from the various volumes and held the books to his chest. “You ready to go?”

Ella nodded.

“Really? Not even the Poes are striking your fancy?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at her empty hands as they made their way to Andrew at the register.

“Trying to save up. Textbooks and whatnot.”

“Very wise of you, college girl,” he said, nodding at Andrew as he put his choices on the desk.

She breathed a sigh through her nose. “Besides, master of horror or not, Poe was still a creep who married his thirteen-year-old cousin.”

“Fair enough,” Jess agreed, digging in the pocket of his jeans for some crumpled dollar bills.

“But, when you consider the time period-” Andrew began as he placed Jess’s books in a paper bag, but Ella immediately cut him off and raised a hand.

“His wife was a child who was a victim of oppressive patriarchal norms. I’m not even entertaining this conversation, Andrew. Good luck with the crazies this weekend,” she said, bidding him goodbye as soon as Jess had the bag in his right hand, grabbing his left and leading him towards the door.

Jess smirked proudly at her as they exited the store into the April evening. Squeezing her hand, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. The air was still slightly warm from the sunny afternoon, even as the pinkish evening came. Ella breathed in the night and glanced over at the town square. The gazebo was empty below the twinkling lights. She and Jess were set to study for the evening, with Jimi Hendrix on the record player. Though they both were aware the night would probably end in distraction.

“You wanna hang out tomorrow?” she asked. “We could go to the movies or something? Or we could watch those fake Poes butcher ‘The Raven’ at Patty’s?”

Jess shrugged. “Actually, I’ve gotta go to Shangri-la.”

“Really?” she asked, eyebrows furrowing. “I thought they didn’t schedule you for Saturdays anymore?”

“The exception that proves the rule.”

Snickering, she stopped walking and turned to face him with a smirk. “If you’re mixed up in something, you can just go ahead and tell me, Scarface.”

He rolled his eyes. “Very funny, Daria. I just…”

“What?” she asked, face falling into a frown of concern.

Heaving a sigh, he finally locked eyes with her again. “I’m employee of the month and I get two hundred dollars for going to this stupid ceremony.”

A wide smile blossomed on her face, and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, hands winding into his hair. Jess paused in surprise for a moment, then sunk into the moment with her. His skin tingled beneath her fingers, and he felt her lips turned upwards against his own. Pleasant giggles bubbled from her lips as they separated, though she kept her palms on his shoulders.

“That’s great, Jess.”

He shook his head humbly. “It’s not a big deal. I’m only going so I can get the money.”

“I’m serious, Mariano. I’m really proud of you,” Ella said earnestly.

“Thanks,” he replied quietly, cheeks tinted pink, gaze cast downwards.

“You’re welcome. You’re the fucking best.”

She planted one last peck to his lips before grabbing his hand again. There was a moment of comfortable silence before she nudged him playfully with an elbow.

“So, what time’s the ceremony tomorrow?” she asked.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he shook his head slightly. “No way.”

“C’mon, James Dean! I’ll sit in the back.”

Sighing again, he rolled his eyes. “Fine. If you promise not to bring ridiculous balloons like you did for Rory’s birthday.”

She scoffed. “Of course not.”

“You gotta promise.”

“I promise. Cross my heart,” she said, kissing his cheek.

.   .   .

Three knocks sounded on the door, and Jess finally pulled himself away from the Twilight Zone episode on the TV near the kitchen table. The Sunday afternoon crowd chattered in a monotone hum down below, and the smell of burgers filled the apartment. Sighing, he ran a hand through his ungelled hair and trudged over to the entrance. A small look of surprise crossed his face when he saw Ella, in a faded green dress and her battered converse, hair falling loose around her face. He hadn’t seen her since the ceremony the previous day, after which he had picked up a shift. Luckily, she had sat quietly in the back, alongside Luke. She’d had time to give him a quick peck on the lips in congratulations before he had to go move stock.

He couldn't help but be rendered silent when she told him how proud she was. It made nauseous butterflies rise in his stomach and up his throat, and a blush spread on his face. Often the way she made him feel was new and pleasant, but when she praised him it was undoubtedly an uncomfortable feeling. So foreign he couldn’t decide whether it was positive.

“Hey, Mariano,” she greeted him, nodding slightly. “Do you have a vase?”

“What?”

She shrugged, smirking. “Well, I got you these flowers,” she said, bringing a bouquet of red roses from behind her back, “but I’m concerned now that you won’t have a vase.”

He couldn’t help the doubtful laugh which escaped his lips. “You...got me flowers?”

Ella sighed through her nose, then brushed past him into the apartment, placing the flowers on the table and searching through the cabinets. Standing on her tiptoes, Jess watched her dress rise up, her legs in full view. He bit at his lip, brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Since I promised no fanfare at the ceremony yesterday, I thought I’d give you something today. And I know you have a hatred of balloons, so flowers seemed like a natural option. But now that I’m here I’m worried about the vase situation. I certainly can’t take these flowers back to my house; they’ll die within a day! I mean, why do you think I only have cacti? I can’t keep anything else alive!”

Jess, eyebrows raised, nodded along with her rambling, amusement growing on his face. His hands were shoved in his pockets. Eventually, Ella gave a frustrated huff, crease between her brows, and took a beer stein from the cabinet near the sink. She filled it with tap water and placed it down on the table, wiping her hands on her dress and tucking her hair behind her ears before going to work on the bouquet.

“Can I have some scissors?” she asked suddenly, locking eyes with him again.

“Oh...yeah,” he said, grabbing some from his desk. After handing them to her, he leaned against a kitchen chair on his palms.

Ella found her eyes flicking up to the TV a few times as she cut the bouquet open and trimmed the stems of the roses diagonally. A dying man dealt masks out to his family, which would end up disfiguring them all in the end. “I love this episode.”

“You like all the macabre ones.”

“But of course,” she said, smiling over at him for a moment.

“I can’t believe you got me roses,” he said slowly, a smirk still present.

She shrugged. “Why not? I mean, it’s no two hundred bucks, but I just...thought you deserved them. A rose is a rose is a rose.”

“Huh.”

“And I didn’t go full Lloyd Dobbler with the boombox outside your window, so you’re welcome.”

He chuckled breathily. “Thank you.”

After arranging them to her liking, Ella stepped back and regarded the stein. When she decided it was good enough, she balled up the crinkly clear plastic the bouquet had been wrapped in and threw it away.

“Pretty Gertrude Stein of you, Stevens,” he said, still slightly flabbergasted at her move.

Again, she shrugged, hands on her hips. “A little saccharine, but it seemed fitting. And I got you the bouquet with thirteen instead of twelve. My mom always said those were lucky.”

“But you don’t believe in luck.”

“No, but I think it’s good to cover all your bases.”

A full smile broke out on his face, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her in for a long kiss. Pulling away from her, Jess kept his smile. “And you say I’m the romantic.”

Ella rolled her eyes at him. “If I bought you all the bouquets in the world, it still wouldn’t match your love of Hemingway. The bigger Hemingway fan is always the bigger romantic. It’s a universal law.”

“I disagree wholeheartedly.”

“Of course you do.”

“But thank you,” he added quietly.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

.   .   .

The Replacements played over the boombox, Ella on the end of the bed and Jess leaned up against the wall at the head. Golden, dusky light streamed in through the windows of the apartment. Ella’s history textbook sat open in front of her crossed legs, as she scribbled on a notebook in her lap. Biting at her thumb nail, she glanced up at Jess. He wrote something in the margin of his Huxley novel, already nearly finished. It made her want to roll her eyes; she could never even come close to matching his reading speed. A long afternoon of making out with The Twilight Zone as background noise had bled into an evening of studying. Ella almost always had various homework in her bag, in case of a random study session at Luke’s corner table.

“Jess?”

“Hm?” he asked, eyes still on the words.

Hesitating for a moment, she put down her pencil and ran her fingers through the ends of her hair. “Are you...going to school?”

Brows furrowed, he marked the place in his book and tilted his head at her. “What kind of a question is that?”

She sighed, trying to formulate the right words. “Just...we don’t have any classes together and I’m always in the art room during lunch. Your manager mentioned something about you working forty-five hours a week yesterday...and you’re always so tired.”

“Jeez, Big Brother,” he snapped. “Need my alibi for a specific date and time?”

She scoffed, doubling down. “Fuck, Jess, I just wanna make sure you’re not working too much. I mean, if you don’t graduate, you can’t stay with Luke anymore.”

“I’m aware.”

“I’m glad,” she shot back. “Forgive me for not wanting my boyfriend to end up homeless!”

“I’ve got it under control.”

Nodding doubtfully, she sighed again. “Fine. But if you need help or-”

“Stop it, Eleanor. I don’t need you to worry.  I don’t need your help. I think I can handle my cursive practice and my arithmetic,” he deadpanned. “If I need help, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse will be a satisfactory supplement.”

Her jaw tensed and she bit the inside of her cheek. Then, so quickly Jess could barely even register what was happening, she was packing up her stuff and over by the door, tugging on her shoes.

“You can be such a dick sometimes,” she said, shaking her head to herself.

“Taking your dramatic exit now, Norma Jennings?” he asked, his voice dripping with angry sarcasm.

Licking her lips, she tucked her hair behind her ears in frustration. “Maybe I’ll go to the library and study, so I can graduate and get outta this town someday. And not think about how all the work I’ve done the past four years is some joke to you. Holden fucking Caulfield.”

“Elle, I didn’t mean it that way,” he sighed, getting up from the bed, ready to run after her if necessary.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then how’d you mean it?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I just...I’m doing fine! If I need to catch up, I will. All I need to do is pass! You can stop worrying!”

“You can’t stop me from worrying, Jess! It’s what I do!” she insisted, gesturing wildly with her hands. “If Luke kicks you out, what are you gonna do?”

“He won’t kick me out!” he replied, voice raised. “I’ve got school under control. So I take a few shifts, who cares? It’s not your problem!”

“I just…” she began uneasily, shaking her head. “You would tell me? If you were falling behind?”

“Yes.”

She arched an eyebrow at him, still obviously annoyed. “Really? If you were one step from not graduating, you would actually tell me and let me help you?”

Jess rolled his eyes. “My god, you’re like a broken record! I would tell you!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why does graduation have to be such a big deal, anyway?”

“Because it is!” she shouted back. “I know you don’t like it, but if you don’t graduate, you won’t have a place to live! Why can’t you just grow up and realize it?”

Brows furrowing, Jess took a step back at the accusation. “What? Grow up like you? End up getting some bullshit job I don’t even like so that maybe, someday, I’ll end up where I wanna be?”

Ella scoffed. “At least I have a plan! At least I can actually handle thinking about the future! I mean, Jesus, Jess, bad things happen and you deal with them! You don’t just avoid them, and run away, and wait for them to solve themselves!”

“Getting to be valedictorian doesn’t make all your problems go away, Eleanor! They’re still here, in that house you never wanna go home to, where you’re trapping yourself for the next four years! I hate to break it to you, but no amount of sad music is gonna change that!”

Biting the inside of her cheek again, she looked down at her shoes. A charged silence hung in the air before she looked back up at him with fiery eyes, though full of sincerity. “You really wanna get kicked out of here? Fine. Fuck it! But, God, Jess, why can’t you just talk to me? Tell me the truth? What are you so afraid of?”

Heaving a sigh, Jess tried to come up with something to say. He ran a hand over his mouth, searching his mind for an answer, a witty retort, an accusation to deflect from the core problem, but nothing came. A blank drew in his mind; he was speechless, looking back at her expectant gaze.

When she realized he was done with the argument, shutting her out completely, she gave one last roll of her eyes. Her shoes were still untied as she left the apartment, bounding down the stairs. Jess waited for a moment, pondered going after her, but didn’t. If she hadn’t let that last question slip out of her mouth, he would have. He would have run after her down the street, found a way to convince her he knew what he was doing, he was sure of it. But he knew then that he couldn’t fool her. She could see right through him. Instead, he switched the music to some angry screamo, cranking the speakers up as far as they would go. He flopped down onto his bed, bringing the pillow over his head to block out the world, focusing only on the ear-bleeding music. The stein of roses sat alone on the kitchen table, stagnant and unchanging in the unhappy air.

.   .   .

Notes of “Für Elise” drifted from the dance studio out into the town square. Ella could hear it, making her feel nostalgic, as she sat reading Dorothy Parker in the gazebo. The Poe society packed the diner, having been forced to leave the Independence Inn after a fire the night before. Though she had tried more than once to get behind the counter, Luke told Ella it was already too crowded with Sookie having taken over the kitchen and brought the inn employees. She’d already done all her homework, in preparation for an evening of work, so her forced freedom was proving difficult to fill.

After a couple hours of sketching angrily in her room, Stevie Nicks on the record player, she decided she was too moody to face Fiona. Her stepmother was humming country music in the kitchen, making her tuna salad. Usually, she could stomach the small talk. But as she was still fuming about Jess beneath an outer layer of indifference, it was ultimately too dangerous. She didn’t need to add another screaming match to her recent hits. The night fell chilly as dinner time approached, but the twinkling lights offered enough, so she could still see the words on the page. Even if Fiona was upset she didn’t show up for the awkward, sit-down meal, Ella knew her father didn’t care. It would be easier to deal with.

The soft music floated around her, Mrs. Rothschild apparently taking advantage of the Poe crowd off for dinner to practice in solitude. Ella thought of the piano bench, the girl with the short red hair and vibrant blue eyes, who now danced on some stage in New York City, tuition paid with family money. Before meeting Veronica, Ella had known she found both men and women beautiful. After all, her first fictional crushes were a tie between Kevin and Winnie from The Wonder Years.

But she hadn’t thought of kissing Veronica before it happened, and when it did, she felt some piece of her heart falling into place. Even Rory and Lane didn’t know she was bisexual (a word she hadn’t known before reading it in a biography about Virginia Woolf). She wasn’t exactly scared of backlash, or open criticism. But she knew Stars Hollow well. She knew there were lingering eyes and judgmental whispers. She had decided it would be easier to label herself when she got away, got to a city where she could be whoever she wanted. Sometimes she wondered if she felt so out of place in her hometown more because of her mother, or because there was a part of her she couldn’t fully embrace there. If anyone asked, she would tell them, but no one ever thought to ask. She wasn’t ashamed, but she certainly wasn’t forthcoming.

Only Jess knew that part of her. Her mind wandered to the night she’d played “Rhiannon” for him, the way she’d decided on a whim to tell him the truth about her first kiss. For some reason, with Jess, it was easy. It was comfortable. She’d never met anyone who understood her the way he did, who knew what it was like to be out of place, to feel like there was something missing. No matter how much she loved Rory or Lane, or even Lorelai, she knew they wouldn’t quite get it. But Jess did. Jess always did. Breathing out a sigh, she tried to swallow down her thoughts of him and concentrate on the poetry in front of her instead.

Fiddling absently with her necklace, she tucked her legs underneath her and wished she had brought more than just her jean jacket.

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here too long, Stevens,” Jess drawled at her side, stepping up into the gazebo with an unreadable expression.

Startling slightly, Ella looked up from her book with a scowl. “You have no concept of weather, but thanks for the concern. It’s duly noted.”

“Anytime,” he said, taking a seat next to her, leaving a careful distance between them. They both stared ahead, into the bustling diner.

“Pretty chaotic in there, huh?”

He nodded. “Luke kicked me out.”

“And Lorelai slept in the apartment last night, right?” Ella asked dryly.

“Yeah.”

Uttering a quiet scoff, Ella shot him a momentary look. “Now the whole town’s gonna know you snore.”

“Avoided the press as long as I could.”

Ella quietly hummed in acknowledgement, nodding. An unusual awkwardness filled the space between them, and it took Jess a long moment before he mustered the courage to venture a look over at her. Her hair, pulled back messily, glinted with gold beneath the lights. Arms crossed over her patterned dress, she looked chilly and defensive. He could feel words choking his throat, but he swallowed them down and turned back to the diner.

“Are you gonna talk, or can I keep reading?” Ella asked, having felt him staring and fidgeting.

Blowing out a long sigh, he rubbed at his mouth. “I understand what you said.”

“Good,” she said shortly.

He chewed his bottom lip, brows furrowing in frustration. “I just...I can handle it. And I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Okay. I’m sorry too,” she replied half-heartedly. As much as she wanted to lose the tension in her shoulders, to let the topic drop, she couldn’t find it within herself. “Look, I’m not trying to...you’re eighteen, you can make your own choices, whatever. But I care about you and I want you to, one: have a place to live, and two: be able to have money. You and I both know how much it fucking sucks to not have money.”

“I do have money. I get it from working the way I do,” he argued.

Ella nodded slowly. “I know. Just...I want you to have everything you need. To write your novel and do whatever else, y’know? And I’m gonna worry, no matter what.”

“Believe me, I know,” Jess said, cracking a tiny smirk. Words from Lorelai echoed in his mind, and he gave a hesitant shrug. “But I know what I’m doing. You just have to trust me.”

She offered a small smile back. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“I’ll try too,” he said, bringing an arm around her shoulders. “And I want you to have everything you need, Stevens. Some studio with very organized art supplies and horror-movie-caliber sketches.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“It will be. I really am sorry,” Jess said. “But I want your someday to not just be a someday.”

“I know,” she sighed, bringing her head to his shoulder. “I’m really sorry, too, Jess.”

“Glad we sorted that out then,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Ella cleared her throat and nodded against him. She leaned into him, warmer with his closeness. “Me too.”

Running his fingers gently up and down her arm, Jess took a deep breath and felt his heart relax.

[sincewereahoe]

Lovesick - Part 1

Topic: Shawn X Nurse. Shawn ends up in the E.R. Super soft and playful fic. 

Shawn never understood the whole 'hospital smell' thing that everyone always complained about, which he told his friend as his stupid ass sat in the triage chair.

"It's always so clean, I hate it." His friend explained.

The nurse examines the roughly three-inch wound in his left and Shawn turned to her with a smile wanting to make a joke. He only imagined that being a nurse was rough and hoped to maybe crack some jokes with her to help her day along.

"You probably get that a lot, eh?" She looked up from under her glasses.

"Yeah."

She wasn't having it.

Shawn decides to shut up and just let her examine him and take down her questions. Having to explain his stupid accident only added to the feeling that she was judging him, she likely was, it was pretty stupid.

The triage was only a few more minutes before he was told to wait in the general waiting room, and that he would be taken in shortly. He there for only a few minutes when suddenly he heard his name.

"Shawn... Mendes." Someone called. Looking up at the source of his name suddenly he forgot everything, including what his name was, which made it impossible to respond it.

Standing with a clipboard there was a girl, but not just a girl, she was so much more that. Her eyes were scanning the room looking for Shawn and it was silly but he was nervous. His heart jumped and then ran off knowing that her eyes were looking for him, she just didn't know it yet.

Still failing to respond she looked down at the clipboard and checked the name again before saying it a second time, looking ready to leave.

"Shawn, yes, Shawn is right here," His friend said quickly standing up so they wouldn't be passed off. He gave a quick look of confusion to Shawn before grabbing his wheelchair and pushing him towards the girl.

She was smiling to Shawn, she already felt so much warmer than the first nurse, or maybe that was the feeling radiating from his whole body. He did feel warm.

"Had a bit of stage fight there did we?" She said turning and leading them to the hall.

Shawn tried to give a nice chuckle with a 'yeah' but he was so nervously intimidated by her that his throat closed up and a weird snoring sound of agreement came out instead. He wanted to pretend that she hadn't heard it, but the fact was she probably had.

They followed her along into another waiting room, one with at least twenty beds not even half of them filled. Directing them to the bed and she took over and pushed his chair into the position she wanted so he could get into the bed.

There was a lot of awkwardness. Shawn was still unsure of what to do with himself. He was trying to look good in front of her, not that she cared, but the fact of the matter was he did have a 3 inch deep cut on his thigh and there was no way he was getting up on to that bed alone.

She touched his shoulder. "Oh no, honey, don't try that on your own. I'll get you up properly."

She came around and then positioned her body and then reached to touch him. Her calling him honey and then touching him was like magic. He felt it in his chest and then it crawled up his arm and shoulder was her hands on him placed. Her voice also sounded so much more beautiful when it was closer to his ear.

She was looking down at his leg when he was looking at her. "Now I'll get you to put your weight on the good leg. If it hurts too much let me know okay?"

Shawn nodded and listened to her. It stung like hell, but he didn't dare show that in front of her. His grandpa never had said it himself, but Shawn could hear some grandpa somewhere saying "not in front of the pretty girl Shawn". So he didn't dare as her arms and handheld him gently but firm enough as she helped him onto the bed.

"All good?" She asked leaning up quickly once done.

He nodded and she grabbed his chart and began to read it.

"So clearly," her eyes lowered to his leg for a brief moment with a smile, "you have about a 3-inch laceration from..." her voice trailed off and he died a little inside that her, as smart as she likely is, was reading about how stupid he was.

Her brows raise and then she looked up, her eyes twinkled a little, and she put the clipboard away. She seems amused.

"Well," she said giving a cheeky grin, "good to know that you should be kept away from heavy machinery then."

Shawn felt warm again. "Ah- ah yes, we go out to the farm sometimes and I'm a klutz."

She grinned grabbing a few things. "It's because you're tall."

Shawn beamed, someone understood his struggle. Looking to his right he gave his friend a quick look before returning to her."Yes, thank you."

"Well Shawn, the doctor will have to come and see you, but I'm going to clean you up first." She held up a pair of scissors. "I hope you aren't fond of those shorts?"

Now that there was a huge rip in them from the cut, no he wasn't.

"I don't know, I thought the blood and cuts made me look pretty badass. I kind of wanted to keep them."

She smiled and narrowed her eyes in a playful way. "I don't know about that, you don't look very tough to me."

He scoffed, as she began to cut the shorts so the wound was easy and accessible, his flirting coming out naturally. "Excuse me, I have a three-inch cut in my leg, I'd say I'm pretty badass right now."

She leaned over looking at his chart, pretending to read it again. "Oh, is that so?"

He shut up quickly. "Okay just pretend I said nothing."

She gave a gorgeous half-hearted chuckle and then began chatting with them both. She kept things light and friendly, and Shawn felt himself falling for her as she cleaned away the blood all over his leg and then began to work on the actual wound.

"Now on a scale of one to ten how much does that hurt?"

It did hurt pretty bad as she cleaned. "Maybe six or seven."

She pulled away. "I can get the doctor to give you some numbing, but you'll be here longer waiting. "

In reality, Shawn could have probably made it through the pain, but if he was here longer he would see her long, right? His friend wasn't happy when he said they'd wait.

Shawn was stupid though, and when she got up and excused herself he realized just because he was here didn't mean she would be at his bedside. She did have, like, a job to do...

It didn't stop Shawn from watching. His eyes followed her around the room as she made her rounds from patient to patient and to the nurses' desk. She was like this hyperactive bunny, but sweet. She was quick and throughout, clearly she was smart and quick on her feet but never rushed. She took the time to be with a very patient, and watching her across at the other bed with an elderly man made Shawn go even softer. If his grandpa was still alive, he would feel much better knowing a girl like her was taking take of him.

He liked watching her work, something about her was just so consuming. Which was probably the best thing because the next hour's wait was long.

"Dude, why you keep looking over there?" He turned over his shoulder to look at the nursing station.

"I don't know, just something to do?"

His friend didn't question it because there were about three nurses sitting there, but when she moved across the room and his Shawn's eyes followed his friend caught on.

"Are you checking out that nurse?"

"No." He said as his eyes pulled away quickly.

"You so are."

She walked by but didn't stop at his bed and Shawn wanted to quickly put his friend in place. No funny business.

"If you say a damn word I can make that chair of yours turn into one of these beds really quick."

Finally, a doctor came to his bedside to check for the go-ahead on numbing. She quickly came over and was at the bedside listening intently. Something was so attractive when she didn't give a shit about Shawn and was focused on her job.

"Okay so I'm going to go get it and I'll be right back."

Sure enough a few minutes later she had the numbing and was prepping the needle, he gulped at the sight of it. Not in front of the pretty girl.

"Want me to hold your hand, Shawn?"

"Shut up." He snapped.

Looking up he found her smiling as she took up some into the vile, she found them amusing, which was a good thing because he kinda forgot about the needle for a moment. That was until she was about ready to stick it in. He closed his eyes and began to joke, his nerves from the needle were almost a strong as the ones for her.

"Go on," he said closing his eyes like a child, "I'm a big boy."

He only heard a chuckle before he felt the pinch. The first one pinched a lot, it was such an odd sensation in a place that was never exposed but within a few seconds, it was gone.

As the numbing worked she grinned and Shawn watching her lashes as she blinked looking down as she worked.

"Mr. Tough Guy."

He said nothing but only watched on as she worked quietly. He wanted to joke and flirt, but just couldn't. She was so focused as she poked into his skin and then began to clean it up that he just wanted to watch. He just wished it he could have more time to watch her. Preferably outside the hospital and not while she was clean up his wound.

"Perfect," she smiled. "You have very nice healthy skin."

She was complimenting his open wound which was so odd, but he kind of loved it. He almost wanted to turn to his friend and beam saying 'I have nice healthy skin', but of course didn't.

Leaning up and cleaning her tray she informed that there would be more of a wait until the doctor came in to look. Another few nurses came to buy in the wait time and checked up on everyone but Shawn was still locked in on her. Trying to watch as much as he could without being creepy.

"Oh deary, you're not the first to be smitten with her," another nurse said as she checked the numbing for the stitches that were to be done soon.

Shawn looked up, alarmed, and she smiled. He turned to his friend. "I am I being that obvious?" His friend shrugged to say yes.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You told me to shut up."

Groaning Shawn turned away and looked down to his wound as the nurse touched it. He leaned a little to speak only to her quietly.

"Is she seeing anyone?" He asked politely.

"I don't think so, but good luck my dear. I have yet to see one of you make it happen."

Shawn didn't feel good hearing he was one of many, he wanted nothing less than to be one of the men, but regardless he was still really interested in this girl.

A few minutes later he felt someone at his bedside and smiled when he saw who it was.

"Heard you need more numbing." Quickly she numbed him a little more and then patted her legs standing up and setting up a tray clear for stitches.

"The doctor should be here soon to do those, just a little tide up with other patients."

Shawn completely ignored he would be waiting longer. "Oh... you're not doing the stitches?"

She gave him a peculiar look and smiled. Something about the way she was looking made him feel self-conscious. "No," she answered slowly with a smirk. "Only the doctors do that."

"Oh," Shawn blushed.

"If I was able you would have had them done a very long time ago instead of waiting so long." She laughed and Sawn smiled softly at her, because fuck the other nurse was right, he was so smitten with her.

"If I did them you might end up with an ugly big scar."

"That's okay, it would add to my tough guy mantra."

She chuckled before walking away. "Yes, Shawn, you clearly are a big tough guy."

Shawn liked the way she teased him but loved hearing his name again from her pretty voice. It felt special and yet comforting, like the call from an old friend.

He only had to wait a little while longer before a doctor came to his bedside and Shawn was over the moon that his nurse was assisting. The doctor was friendly but too friendly, talking way too much for Shawn to enjoy how much time his nurse was at his bedside.

At first, he just wanted to watch them work but then used to the talking to his advantage.

"Can you maybe do a crappy job with the stitches? I need to look tough."

She began to laugh, which was exactly what he wanted.

Twenty minutes later and many stitches later he was finally fixed. The doctor smiled at her work and then told Shawn he was free to leave whenever he felt like it. He wanted to stop his nurse but she was gone with the doctor. She was quick cleaning up the area, much quicker than he could come up with something to say.

He was free to leave and expected to so reluctantly he stood up but waited at the bedside. Unable to leave without doing something.

"Dude," his friend said nudging him. "Let's go..." When Shawn looked from him to the girl, it was obvious why he wasn't leaving.

"Oh come on dude, you had three hours to make a move and didn't."

"I know," he whispered but he just couldn't leave without really trying. Making his way over to the nurse's desk he found the nurse who had come and visited him earlier.

She looked up.

"If one was to try and ask her out how would one do that?"

There was a long pause and he wasn't sure if the lady was going to help him out but then she rolled her eyes and grinned as she grabbed a chart.

"She gets off at eight."

Shawn's friend had enough that day at the hospital and refused to wait with Shawn so he could ask her out so he drove Shawn home. Shawn waited the few hours until it was close to eight before getting into his car and driving back to the hospital again. In the parking lot, he wasn't sure what to do so he got out and went to sit at the bench near the exit because his leg did hurt.

The sun was coming down and there a warm yellow heat all over him, but he barely enjoyed the weather because he was fidgeting nervously when he heard her. Looking up he almost jumped up but felt the tug in his leg and slowed down.

"Hey!" He called as he approached her. A sudden look of alarm and panic came across her face which was not good.

"Ah, uh...Sh- Shawn," she said almost like she'd forgotten his name, " are you okay?"

He smiled. "Yeah yeah, I'm okay!"

"You're not hurt?"

"No, I mean only the one injury." He smiled.

Her eyes narrowed but not in a playful way. "Are your stitches okay?"

He swallowed, the look on her face made the smile on his face drop. "Yes."

There was a very long pause as they stood on the sidewalk. "So... uh...why are you still here?"

Immediately he didn't have words. A mute, but yet odd sound began to flow out his lips. "Ah, ah, I well - I," he stammered.

She turned her head to the side and gave him a look. Nothing about the expression on her face was warm or inviting and he felt like a little boy trying to ask out a grown woman.

"I - well I, oh fuck, I'm sorry I really didn't think this through." There was a long pause and he could tell by her body language she was defensive and closing herself off. "I just - I just wanted to see if maybe sometime you'd like to go out?"

Her facial expression said it all. "So you waited outside until I came out?"

"Oh no, one of the other nurses let me know you got off at eight.," he smiled trying to keep the conversation light and positive. "I went home and then came back." While he was trying to put himself in a better light, the moment he was done explaining he knew that answer was even worse than a simple yes.

"So let me get this straight. You asked my co-worker when I was getting off so you could leave and then come back and wait outside my place of work to approach me in the parking lot and ask me out?" She was glaring and there was a heavy sinking feeling.

This time he answered with a slow yes. "I'm so sorry," he babbled, "I didn't realize how creepy this is and I'm so sorry. I swear I'm not that guy but you were gone and I couldn't find you and..."

Her look made him trail off.

"I'm sorry." He said quickly, like a child in trouble.

She looked him up and down, her face hard. "So you waited until I got off shift to ask me out on a date?"

He took a breath that shook with anxiety. "Yes..."

"That's weird."

"Yeah," he looked down and cringed, "you're right. I didn't really think that through."

"No, no you didn't."

He nodded knowing exactly how bad this now looked. Approaching her after coming back to her work suddenly asking her out in the parking lot like a creep. He was simply a patient nothing more and his actions where so uncalled for now that she was pointing it out.

"Listen, I'm so sorry. I really didn't think this through but I just really wanted to ask you out. You seem very smart, much too smart for means you're also very nice. I realize now that you being nice is just you doing your job and being good at it, which you are, and I shouldn't have taken that at a reason to think this was okay. I understand you being weirded out and saying no to me, I probably would too if I had some weird guy approach me in the parking lot. I'm sure you get weird guys asking you out all the time that come in and just doing gross crap. I didn't want to be that gross guy asking you out, but now I realized with you standing in front of me this is even weirder. So I understand."

There was a long pause and she refused to say anything.

He looked down to the ground knowing this was slightly hopeless but he was also a hopeless romantic.

"Again I'm sorry I don't really know how to do these things. I just really liked talking to you today and wanted to take you out to try and talk to you more and I just didn't think. I'm sorry I went about this in the wrong way."

She nodded and something made her relax a little, maybe he didn't seem like such a threat anymore, which hopefully was a good thing.

"Well, just never do this to me or anyone else again." She finally spoke.

He laughed nervously and looked to the emergency sign above them. "Oh trust me, I'll never do anything this dumb again."

"Good because it was pretty dumb."

He put his hands in his pocket. "It kind of goes along with most themes in my life. I mean look how I ended up in here."

She smiled again, which made him feel much better. Her expression was closer to what it had been earlier in the way but Shawn still saw the slight discomfort.

"Yeah I won't lie, that story is the highlight of my day."

He ran his fingers through his curls and shrugged. "Well hey if least I can do."

She nodded and there was a long pause, he didn't know if he should press anymore. He really didn't want to seem aggressive or pushy.

"Ah, so," he started, waiting for her to look and when she did she didn't seem mad anymore but more amused at how awkward he was. "Could maybe only if you're okay with it, don't feel obligated, could I get your number?"

She continued to look at him, it was clear she was debating. She didn't look mad anymore nor alarmed, but like she was making a very calculated choice. Her face was blank and clam as she looked up at him, seeming to be going over his expression and body language. He tried to make himself seem as normal and inviting as possible. It was silent for so long that Shawn wanted to crawl out of his own skin until she finally looked up.

"Okay."

Shawn almost jumped. "Okay? Okay!" Frantically he reached for his phone and pulled it out to open up a new contact. He handed it over and she eyed him before typing it away and handing it back.

He looked at it quickly and then smiled at her, he was beaming and she could see it which she found interesting. He gave a quick grin.

"So, listen," he began putting up his hand, "I'll text you in two days or something. Hopefully, by then you have forgotten how weird I was about this and so I don't seem so creepy."

Her brows pulled together almost like what he was saying confused her.

He looked down at his phone and paused. For whatever reason, he didn't stop the words that came out of his mouth, even if he really should have.

"I hope you didn't give me a fake number..."

Immediately he knew he'd fucked up again He just kept pulling himself out of a grave only to jump back into it. Beginning to blush again he stammers profusely.

"I mean, shit, fuck. I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that. Oh my god, I didn't mean to call you out like that. Please forget I said that." He touched his forehead, distraught. "I was just thinking that I would be sad if you had given me a fake number... but after this, I totally understand why you might. I literally look like an idiot." He held his forehead. " I'm sorry, I'm a mess right now. I'm just going to leave. I'll text you if you don't reply... well, I don't blame you."

She was stone cold.

"Okay," he said taking an awkward step backward and pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "I"m going apologize one last time and then go now." There was a quick pause.

"Sorry." He looks a step backward and tripped over the edge of the curb slightly, the wound in his leg stung a little as he quickly caught his footing but he caught himself nonetheless.

As quickly as his leg would let him he booked it back to this car, shaking his head in disbelief at how much of an idiot he was with her. Did being smitten with someone make you suddenly an idiot? Clearly, it did.

Shawn had almost reached his car when he heard his name. He couldn't get enough of that sound from her.

"Shawn?"

Turning he looked to her and she uncrossed her one arm and curled one finger to tell him to come back. He made his way over again and approached cautiously, waiting for her to speak.

Her hand came out and expanded open, Shawn looked at it. He was terrified to make another wrong move.

"Your phone," she said with a cool but casual tone.

He was confused but he reached for it in his pocket. There was the sound of it unlocking and then he gave it to her. Quickly she typed into it and then gave it back, he didn't understand at first but then he put it together.

She had in fact given him a fake number.

Giving a meek smile, the warmth that he'd seen earlier in the day had returned and then pointed to the phone now in his hand before pulling down the sunglasses on the top of her head to block out the sun.

"I don't have time for playing games, so," she said giving a soft smile, " you can text me whenever you want."

Shawn's eyes bulged out as she gave a smirk before stepping backward and brushing past his shoulder.

"Have a good night Shawn."

[swarkler]

Hero

in which Nico is lowkey jealous of Xavin and Karolina reassures her with stories from when they were kids

Karolina waltzes into her bedroom, thrilled to finally have a chance to lie down after a long day of fighting her evil alien family. Once again, she and her friends have barely made it out alive and their fight was far from over, but right now she’s just way too tired to think about any of that.

She sees Nico already lying in bed, which is very unlike her. Nico hardly ever slept, especially these past few days. Karolina takes a seat beside her, running her hand up and down her girlfriend’s spine but getting no response.

“Are you okay?” She asks softly.

“I’m fine.” Nico groans. They have been together long enough for Karolina to know that meant she was Definetely Not Fine.

“Hey, look at me.” She pleads, and Nico finally turns her head to face her. Her makeup is intact, so Karolina knows she hasn’t been crying, but there’s still some sadness in her eyes. “Tell me what’s up.”

“It’s nothing.” Nico replied quickly, always trying to avoid talking about her feelings. “I just wish I could’ve done more today, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Karolina furrows her brow. “You guys totally saved me and Chase back there.”

Nico avoids Karolina’s eyes as she speaks. “Some of us contributed more than others.”

Suddenly, Karolina knows exactly what’s going on, and the mere idea of it is so ridiculous she can’t help but laugh, much to Nico’s desmay. “Is this about Xavin?”

“Of course not! She was the one who got you to safety, you know that’s all I wanted.” Nico’s voice breaks a little, and Karolina realizes how much her girlfriend was hurting while she was being held hostage by Jonah. “I just… I wish I could’ve done more.”

“Hey, you did more than enough, okay?” She reaches out to grab Nico’s hand reassuringly. “You came back for me. You led the rescue mission that got me and Chase out. I know you wish you could’ve fought more, but now that our parents have that brain-jamming thing…”

“But that’s the point, isn’t?” Nico sits up, her tone louder now, angrier. “I couldn’t use my staff, so I was pretty much useless back there. You were right in front of me and there was nothing I could do to help you. Xavin, on the other hand…”

“Nico.” Karolina stops her, cupping her girlfriend’s face with both hands gently, trying to get Nico to look into her eyes. “You don’t have to worry about that! The important thing is I’m home now, and I’m safe, and I’m with you, okay?”

“I don’t know…” Nico is still looking down, her whole expression screaming heartbreak. Karolina wishes she could somehow squeeze the sadness out of her. Nico had suffered enough, she deserved to be happy. “I just can’t help but think that maybe you would be better of with someone else. Someone who doesn’t need a creepy magic stick to be there for you when you need it. Maybe… maybe someone from the same planet as you.”

“Okay, no, I’m not having this.” Karolina says decisevely, knowing damn well that this is the only way Nico will listen when she’s like this. “I’m not gonna leave you for Xavin just because she doesn’t need props to use her powers or because she comes from the same planet as I do.”

“You forgot to mention the part about how you two are apparently destined to be together by some sort of ancient alien prophecy.” Nico adds sourly.

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit about that either. I mean sure, it’s cool to have someone in my life that knows what I am and where I come from other than my sociopathic father, but you…” She smiles as she plays with a loose strand of Nico’s hair tenderly. “Nico, I’ve loved you since we were 6 years old. And these past few months we’ve spent together? Somehow, in the middle of all of this chaos, you and I managed to build something beautiful, and I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life. You have nothing to worry about, okay?”

“Okay.” Nico blushes, grabbing Karolina’s hand from her cheek and kissing her fingers. She is clearly still a tiny bit insecure, but they can work on that later. Karolina pulls her girlfriend in for a hug and the two of them cuddle in silence for a moment, just appreciating the feeling of each other’s company.  

“Hey.” Nico’s raspy voice breaks their comfortable silence. “Did you really mean that thing you said? About when we were little?”

“Well, yeah.” It’s Karolina’s turn to blush now. She has never spoken to anybody about this, especially not Nico. The two of them hardly ever talked about the times before their lives fell apart. “I remember this one time in first grade when this kid Jenna McNamara asked to borrow my scissors for a school project. I knew she was kind of a bully, but I genuinely thought she was just asking for a little help, you know? Anyway, the second I handed her my pair of scissor she cut my ponytail right off, no warning. I was devastated.”

“And then I grabbed your chopped-off ponytail and I hit her in the face with it.” Nico laughs, and it warms Karolina’s heart. She wasn’t sure if Nico would remember. “We were called into the principal’s office and everything. My parents were furious, but at least I got to take her down with me.”

“You were always such a tough kid, even before...” She doesn’t finish her sentence, leaving the circumstances unsaid. There’s no point in bringing up old wounds, not right now. “You protected your friends, whenever they needed you. I had no idea that having crushes on girls was even a possibility back then, but I knew I thought you were the coolest person in the whole world. I guess I never stopped thinking that.”

“Not even when I fell on my ass in the middle of the school cafeteria and injured my tailbone?” Nico teases, finally reverting to her usual self.

“Nope.” Karolina shook her head vehemently. “I remember that day, you and Amy were showing us your karate moves, I actually thought it was kind of badass. I mean, you injured your tailbone and you didn’t even shed a tear.”

“What?!” Nico raises her eyebrows, clearly not buying it. “C’mon, it was super embarrassing. I had to carry that stupid special tailbone pillow with me everywhere.”

“And I thought it was adorable.” She reaches closer, planting a soft kiss to her girlfriend's lips. “You even let me bedazzle it, remember?”

“How could I possibly forget?” Nico rolls her eyes.

“Well…” Karolina shrugs, grinning tauntingly. “I know it wasn't exactly my best fashion work, but at least it was funny. You could've bought yourself another one if you didn't like it, but you never did.”

“Of course not.” It's Nico's turn to lean in for a kiss. “A pretty girl made that one for me, I wasn't gonna throw it away.”

Karolina is more than used to people calling her pretty, so used to it that most of the time she'd prefer it if people could just compliment her on literally anything other than her physical appearance. Still, there's something about the way Nico says it that never fails to make her stomach flutter. She knows that the beauty Nico sees in her is about a lot more than the blonde hair or the blue eyes.

“Anyway, my point is…”  She backs away from Nico's lips just enough to be able to speak, still keeping their faces less than an inch apart. She loves watching Nico from up close, being able to see all the little details that are usually hidden by the heavy makeup. God, she loves this girls so much. "I don't care what any prophecy has to say. You've always been my hero, Nico, even before you found your staff, and I'm sure that if there's anyone out there I'm destined to be with, it's gotta be you.”

“Good.” Nico responds seriously, wrapping her arms around tightly around Karolina and planting a kiss to the top of her head. Karolina had known Nico her hole life and she never imagined her tough goth crush would turn out to be such a soft girlfriend. If anything, this surprise only made her love her even more. “Because you're my hero too, and I never want to lose you.”

[porscheczar110]

Another Modern Rayllum AU

Been looking for a Narcos Rayllum AU? Probably not. But my sister in law wrote one anyways. This is a series of comical vingnettes im which Callum comes to terms with the fact that 1) he was born into a Narco family and 2) his best friend/girlfriend is a sicario.

Summary: Sicario- Noun. sicario (plural sicarios) hitman, hired killer (especially when referring to Latin American drug cartels).

A collection of snippets that offer a glimpse into the life of Callum after the mysterious assassin, Rayla, barges into his life. He may not have signed up for it, but he wasn't going to complain.

Read Part 1 here.

1. Of Meeting

“I’ve come to kill you.”

Callum looked up at the woman standing over him in awe. She was framed by the light of an abnormally large full moon, silvery hair tied up and swaying in the wind. He scrambled back from her, confused. His interest was piqued. This had never happened before.

She advanced on him, and he jerked to his feet with a snort of laughter. His fear seemed to dissipate as adrenaline spiked through his veins, giving him a clear head. “Okay, very funny. Who hired you? Was it Soren? How much did he pay you? His jokes are getting worse and worse.” Callum was no stranger to his friend’s wild antics. The blonde lived to torment him, although it was mostly good-natured. This was a bit morbid, even by Soren’s standards.

“I—Soren? Who’s that?” she asked in confusion. “I can’t just give up my employer because you asked . Now, lay down, and take your death like any honorable person would.”

“Oh, you’re a real hoot. I’m sure you’re a great hit at parties. Here’s the deal,” Callum said, wiping dirt from his shirt. “I’m going to go home, and you’re going back to your ‘employer,’ and let him know the job has been done. I’m spooked! Yay for you. I have an exam tomorrow. That’s why I’m walking home so late. I don’t exactly have time for a punk prank right now. We can meet up later, and try this again, okay? See you soon!”

“But I—”

Callum spun on his heel and continued toward his house.

He would think back on the interaction later when his grade wasn’t on the line.

2. Of Kingpin

Callum pushed his textbook and notes away in disgust. His groan echoed around the study room he and Rayla were currently occupying. “Enough, enough! The numbers aren’t making sense anymore. I can’t do this, Ray.”

She laughed, continuing to copy down equations from the PowerPoint in front of her. “Don’t you have a tutor for everything?”

“No,” he denied vehemently. “My father tried to get one for everything, but I refused. I wanted to do this on my own. I’m going to ring the cook up. Did you want anything to snack on? I’m thinking jelly tarts.”

She finally paused her writing and pinned him with a stare. His breath caught at her amethyst orbs. No one should be as lovely as she. It had to be some sort of crime, being so deadly and beautiful. Although, if he called the cops, he was pretty sure they would be in more trouble than her.

“Tutors for days. Personal chefs and butlers and nannies and—”

“Do you have a point?” He felt his cheeks heating. It wasn’t his fault he was born into money. And he wasn’t very conscious about it. His life was as it was, and that was that.

“Cal...”

“Yes, Rayla?”

“Do you even know what it is your dad does?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. Something with oil? Or was it pharmaceutical distributions? Maybe both?”

Rayla smacked her forehead and looked as if she wanted to shake him. “Your father is the biggest drug distributor in the continent . And you’re telling me you don’t know?”

“So he does work in pharma?”

“No, Callum,” she sighed heavily, clicking onto the next slide on her laptop. “Not pharma drugs. I’m talking about illegal, recreational drugs. Your dad is a king pin. A drug lord. A narco . Where do you think all your money came from?”

He sputtered, grasping for an answer. “Investments?”

She snorted and gave him a sardonic smile. “Oh, he sure invests alright. Invests in all sorts of things. Like guns and drugs and lawyers and—"

Callum cut her off, not wanting to hear the extensive list of places his father funneled money into. “Don’t you think I would’ve found out by now?”

“Yes. Hence why I’m surprised you didn’t know until I brought it up.” She raised a brow, and damnit if his heart didn’t skip a beat. Did she have to be so magnetic?

Stop it, he chastised himself. Gotta focus.

“If my dad is the head honcho of some big baddie drug operation, why were you sent to kill me ? Shouldn’t you go after him?”

She suddenly stiffened, hand twitching against her laptop arrow keys. Callum scanned her face, looking for a slip in her mask. The slight twitch in her eye gave away her stress.

“You were going to be bait. Your death wasn’t going to be on that sidewalk that night.”

“Oh,” he said weakly, not really understanding what she was implying.

She failed to meet his stare, shifting to fumble with her highlighter.

He glanced down at her backpack, cringing slightly at the barely concealed handgun peeking out from a slightly unzipped pocket.

Oh .

She was talking about extortion.

Torture.

Hostage.

She was, after all, a sicario .

And Callum found he minded that less and less.

3. Of Sicario

“So you’re telling me… You’re a what ?”

“ Sicario . I’m a hired hitman. Or I guess hitwoman? Or maybe hired assassin is easier for your brain to process.”

“Call it whatever you want. It’s not like I’d be able to pronounce the word.” Was that him laughing? It sounded borderline hysterical.

“Repeat after me. Slowly. See .”

“ See .”

“ Car .”

“ Car .”

“ Eeo .”

“ Eeo .”

“ Sicario. ”

“ Seecareeo ?”

“Eh, close enough. Not much we can do about your accent, really,” she teased.

“Okay, okay. So then… You’re a sicario ?” Callum couldn’t help the way his voice cracked at the word. It didn’t help that his Spanish was nonexistent.

Rayla barked out a laugh and shook her head at him. “The first thing I ever said to you was that I was going to kill you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry that my first thought wasn’t ‘ hitman’ ! I was running on no sleep and stressed out of my mind. What the hell, Ray? You were going to kill me!”

She shrugged and unlocked the car doors, and he hurried to the passenger’s seat. “Multiple times actually. I didn’t decide to keep you alive until Janai tried to kill you, too.”

“ What? That was months after we first met!”

Rayla gave him a wicked smirk. “Yup! You are very good at annoying me. Too good. What else was I supposed to contemplate?”

He shook his head in disbelief. She knew exactly how to get under his skin, too. The only other person that could get him riled up so quickly was Ezran, but Callum attributed that to a sibling kind of thing. “You could’ve contemplated a million other things.”

“Are you… Are you butthurt?” The disbelief in her voice was obvious.

“No,” he snapped, staring out the window.

“I was just doing my job,” she reminded him. There was no mistaking the glee in her voice.

“Oh, yeah! You did a fantastic job seeing as how I am still right here.”

She snorted and patted his shoulder. The contact had him whipping around to watch her profile as she drove. “Just know I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She leaned forward and turned up the volume of her music, mouthing the words along as she sped along the highway.

Now what did that mean?

4. Machetes

Callum kicked a rock away from his path, muttering obscenities into the dark. He’d lost three out of five rounds of rock-paper-scissors-lizard-Spock, and he was not a happy camper. Rayla had a bunch of junk in her car, and he was the lucky one now tasked with shifting through it all for some obscure USB. He glanced down at the pen marking on his hand, unable to help the small smirk at her chicken scratch.

And the drinks , the barely legible words reminded him. He also had to carry a too-heavy pack of drinks back to the party which was too far away for his comfort. He was an artist by trade, not some beefy powerlifter. Normally, he would’ve dragged Soren out with him to do the transporting, but his friend was out of town that weekend, watching some type of sports game.

He grumbled as he unlocked the car, digging around through her junk. He must’ve been outside for at least half an hour before he moved onto the trunk. And with some more extensive searching, he ran into a pair of really rusted machetes.

“Rayla really is strange,” he muttered to himself, slowly sliding them out of the trunk. He couldn’t decide if they were real or not, and he didn’t feel like touching the blade to find out. The handles were like a mix between plastic and wood which was more than enough for him to make a judgement call.

Eh, fake then.

He twirled them around clumsily, and a plan began to form. A devious little smile began to spread across his face, and he closed and locked her car. He snuck back to the house, careful to stay in the shadows. As luck would have it, it seemed like Rayla had stepped out to take a call.

Perfect.

With her back to him, he began rustling the bushes. She whipped around, free hand slipping to her back. He jumped out, hollering and floundering with the blades.

“Holy hell , Callum! Put those down! No, no— Stop waving them around. And take them back to the car! Jesus , dude. Are you trying to kill someone?” She stayed tense for a moment more before sliding back into a regular, if not enraged, stance. She pulled the phone from her ear, presumably muting it to yell some more at him.

Callum couldn’t help but laugh at the horror and redness creeping across Rayla’s face as he finally let his arms fall to his sides. “It’s just a joke, Ray. You’ve gotta relax.”

“You are so lucky I’m the only one out here! What if someone had seen you? I just—” She ran a hand through her hair roughly, and Callum felt like maybe he was the only one that found the situation funny. “Whatever. Go take them back to the car right now. Then go say bye. We’re leaving.” She turned back to her phone and continued speaking sternly at whoever was on the other line.

He couldn’t understand a word she was saying, but he knew it wasn’t good. He stayed rooted to the spot a few more moments, unsure of what to do. It was getting late, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to go just yet. It was the most logical thing to do, but he hated that she was dictating his actions. Although she was the one with the car today. And he didn’t really know anyone inside anyways. He’d much rather have another movie night with her, Ezran, and their dog, Zym.

“ Seriously , dude. Go .” She jerked her finger in the direction of her vehicle, and he tried his best not to pout. At her worsening glare, he probably didn’t do a good job at schooling his features.

“Fine, fine ,” he snapped. “But I’m going to pretend to be fighting off a wicked dragon the whole way back,” he called. She opened her mouth, but he hurried off before she could get another word out, slashing at invisible enemies with the machetes and tossing in an occasional theatrical grunt.

“ Callum,” she roared, and he heard rushing footsteps behind him.

Oh, heck no! He thought stubbornly. She wasn’t going to catch him, and she sure wasn’t about to ruin the fun for him. If he wanted to run around and flail with her machetes, he was going to. And she was going to be powerless to stop him. “You can’t catch me!” he hollered back, darting forward into the night. He had gotten too much of a head start, even for a trained assassin. She’d catch him eventually, when he was too tired to do much else but sway around.

For now, he’d enjoy the chase. And something told him she did, too. Regardless if she’d ever admit it or not.

[missmelpcmene]

The Breaking Point —Chapter 5

Originally posted on Fanfiction.net in January of 2009.

DISCLAIMER: The places and characters featured hereinafter are the property of Warner Bros., Joel Shumacher, Janice Fischer, James Jeremias, and Jeffrey Boam and no attempt is being made by the author to claim ownership or profit from the use of the aforementioned characters. The views represented herein do not necessarily represent the views of the original authors and any character names or places mentioned in the original works belong to the copyright holders and are used in this story for nonprofit entertainment purposes by an amateur writer. The original characters used in this story are the creative property of Miss Melpomene and are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

"It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything. "

"Missy."

It's a funny thing, waking up the first morning in a new environment. There's that first moment after opening one's eyes, when nothing seems familiar, and one's first instinct is to panic. It is never a wise decision, naturally, to be the person standing over someone when that moment of overwhelming, sudden panic strikes.

The first thing that Missy was aware of after opening her eyes wasn't that her blanket seemed to have fallen or been ripped from her body in the middle of the night. It wasn't that Alan was standing, well, was doubled over, beside her bed. It wasn't even that Alan's lip seemed to be bleeding.

No, the first thing she noticed was that she was hungry. That painfully deep, gnawing variety of hungry that can only come from being too frightened to eat for a day and a half. It turned her insides so viciously that for a moment, Missy mistook the feeling, and feared she was about to be sick. "You kicked me!" Alan's hand appeared in her line of sight, and his finger waved in front of her face.

"You shouldn't have been standing over my bed." Missy said, but she grabbed the hem of the shirt she'd slept in and lifted it away from her stomach. "It's already stopping." She dabbed at his lip, frowning. "You're going to have a split lip for a couple of days, though." Alan was adamantly avoiding looking at her, glaring instead at the wall behind her head. His face was red, and she thought he must have been embarrassed about a girl giving him a bloody lip. "Look, see, it's finished now." She let her shirt drop back down and smiled.

Alan just grunted at her. "Edgar's getting you up from now on." He turned around and headed for her door, leaving Missy to fight off a smile once his back was turned.

A good portion of her first night in Santa Carla was fuzzy, and the events of the night before were blurred together in her mind. She wasn't sure if skunk head or the boys in front of the video store had been real, or just a product of her exhaustion, but one thing was abundantly clear to her as she listened to her angry stomach snarl. The tour that the Frog brothers had given her hadn't included a kitchen. "Hey, wait!" She called out, and from the hall, past the door where she could no longer see him, Alan's voice came back.

"What?"

"Do you have a kitchen?" There was a moment or two of silence on Alan's part, and Missy worried he might still be sore about her hitting him, and was ignoring her . "Alan?"

"Sort of." Missy stared at the door across from her bed, her sluggish morning mind trying to process what it had just been given.

"Wait, sort of? Alan!" She rolled off the bed and ran through her door. Alan was at the top of the stairs now, and her hand shot out to grab his bare arm. "That doesn't make any sense!" He turned his head and glared at his elbow. Her eyes followed his to her pale hand on his darker skin, and she let him go. "How can you sort of have a kitchen?"

"I didn't say we sort of had a kitchen." Alan corrected her, and as much as he was frustrating her, she waited for him to continue without comment. "I said it was 'sort of' a kitchen."

That made, if possible, less sense to her, and Missy frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"See for yourself." Stupid cryptic Frog brother. "It's in there." She followed his finger and found herself staring at the closed door to the Frog brothers' parents' bedroom. She heard the stairs creak behind her and knew Alan was gone without looking. She wasn't sure how she felt about going into the Frog parents' bedroom without their permission. She didn't want to walk in on them sleeping, or worse, awake. It was a lot easier, she was realizing, dealing with Edgar and Alan, who were closer to her own age. What if the Frog parents experienced a, from what she could garner, rare moment of lucidity and realized her for what she was? Would they throw her out, or worse, would they call the police who'd, in turn, call Renee?

"What are you standing in the middle of the hallway for?" Life with the Frog brothers was going to take some getting used to, Missy realized as for the second time since waking, she found a Frog had snuck up on her. Living with Renee, they had each of them done their part to avoid the other. It had been a lot like living alone, really. It wasn't the same with Edgar and Alan. She couldn't seem to shake them if she tried.

Edgar was standing in the bathroom doorway, watching her, with a blue toothbrush in his right hand, a tube of Crest in the other. He was glaring, an expression that Missy was becoming used to seeing on him. She was surprised to see him with a toothbrush, though, because from everything she'd heard about teenage boys, she hadn't thought that they had the initiative to brush their teeth without being told to. "Are your parents in there?" The younger Frog sneered at the word, and she made a note in her head not to use it around him anymore.

"They're down in the shop already." He disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. She heard the water in the sink start running and glanced at the parents' door again. No time like the present, she figured, and it was better that she learn the state of the sort of kitchen before she went grocery shopping. Her hand wrapped around the knob and she took a breath for courage before turning it. The door swung inward, and she felt along the wall for the light switch, flipping it. The room was only a hair bigger than hers, and she found it hard to believe, from the state of it, that anyone lived in the room. The bed was made, but the comforter was wrinkled like someone had been sleeping on top of it. The curtains were drawn, and made of a thick, heavy material that blocked out the light from the windows. If she had been half as paranoid as Edgar and Alan, she might have been concerned that the boy's parents were vampires.

To her a right she could see a short wall that jutted out from the other, only partway into the room. She walked around the partition and she realized at once what Alan had meant. It was a kitchenette, like the one that had been in their room the time that she and her father had stayed at a hotel to be closer to her mother in the hospital. There were two cabinets up high and a shelf beneath them, with a microwave on it. Beneath the shelf was a counter with a small sink on one side, and an empty box of cereal on the other. Set in the counter, closest to the floor, were two more cabinets, and a small white fridge. Kneeling, she pulled open the fridge and looked inside. A carton of milk, expired. A container of beef and broccoli, a half eaten burger with a handful of fries, and something fuzzy that might have once been a piece of fruit. Disgusted, she shut the fridge and turned to the cabinets instead. The two lowest cabinets were both empty, and between the top most ones she found an unopened box of cereal, and three bags of chips.

She shut the cabinets and left the bedroom, jogged down the stairs and cornered Edgar and Alan behind the counter. "You don't even have bread!"

They glanced at each other, and back at her. "What are you talking about?" Edgar asked her, and she turned and pointed up the stairs.

"How are you two still alive? You've got nothing at all up in that kitchen." Alan snorted and Edgar rolled his eyes.

"We're on the boardwalk." The younger Frog grunted at her and hoisted a box of comics up off the floor. "Go get something if you're hungry."

"You can't honestly expect me to believe that you survive on nothing but cotton candy and corn dogs." When neither of them answered her, she groaned in disgust. "Oh my god! I'm surprised you both are still breathing! It's not healthy to eat nothing but fried food all day!"

"Stop lecturing and go put some pants on." Edgar snapped at her, and she winced. Alan looked up from his box and zeroed in on her bare legs, turning red again. "This is a business, you can't be running around half naked."

Missy folded her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. "Fine, do you have a pair of scissors I could borrow?" The boys looked at her like she was on something.

"What do you need scissors for?"

"It's hot." Missy said, slowly, like she was talking to a pair of five year olds. "I want to use the scissors." She made a cutting motion with her left hand. "To cut my jeans." She ran her hands down her legs to symbolize pants, and pulled them back up her thighs for shorts. "Into shorts." Edgar grunted at her and leaned over to open a drawer. He came back with a pair of scissors with black handles. He held them out to her, handle first, and she took them from him. "Thank you." He nodded and Missy turned away from the brothers and jogged back up the stairs, humming.

She dropped the scissors on her bed and opened the armoire. She wanted to see what Santa Carla was like in the sun, but first, she knew, she wanted a shower. Bad. She was grateful that as big a hurry as she had been in when she left the house in Seattle, she hadn't forgotten to take a few essentials from the bathroom. She doubted the Frog brothers even knew what conditioner was. She shook her head and threw a pair of jeans over her shoulder at the bed. She'd packed for cooler weather out of habit, and the balmy beach air was warmer than she was used to. She was sure a cool day in Santa Carla could rival Seattle's hottest scorcher, no trouble. While she had always been a summer sort of girl, and was certainly enjoying the new climate, it spelled bad things for her wardrobe. The only thing she'd brought with her that didn't have sleeves was a yellow, floral print camisole, and she weighed her options. She could cover up, and be miserable for the rest of the day, or she could show a little more skin that she was used to, and be somewhat comfortable. She tossed the camisole on the bed with her jeans and shut the armoire. Heck, she thought, when in Rome…

A shower had been just the thing she needed, she realized, to feel like herself again. No, she felt like a brand new person, and as she ran her brush through her hair, she was impatient to get out on the boardwalk again and see the world with the new Missy's eyes. Cutting the legs off of her jeans hadn't been as difficult as she had feared it would be, and when she was finished, she pulled on the edges until they frayed. "Perfect." She buttoned her new shorts right as her bedroom door came open, and she whipped around to glare at the intruder. "It's called knocking," she discovered that the intruder was Edgar. Figures.

"My house." He snapped.

"My room." She shot back, and he grunted. "Look, I don't want to fight you, Edgar, did you need something?" She didn't like how cranky the younger Frog made her. She wasn't used to being so disagreeable to someone who wasn't Renee, and she decided then that she would make an effort to be more amicable with Edgar from now forward.

If Edgar thought that her radical change in demeanor was unusual, it didn't show. "We wanted to know if you were going out."

"I wanted to see the boardwalk." Missy replied. "I didn't really get a chance to look around last night, what with the running around and trying to find a place to stay, and I think I'd really like to ride the carousel-"

Edgar waved his hands at her and stopped her. "If you're going out, can you pick up something to eat on your way back?"

Missy scoffed. "If you think I'm going to perpetuate your foul dietary habits you're crazy." Edgar made a face like he was either going to interrupt her, or ask her what perpetuate meant. Either way, she shushed him with a wave of her hand. "I wanted to go grocery shopping, anyway. There's tons of things you can make, even without a stove, and I'm not going to eat myself into an early grave just because you two don't know the difference between corn and a corn dog."

"Whatever, here." He tossed something at her, and when she bent to retrieve it, she realized it was a twenty dollar bill. "Try and get stuff that we're going to actually want to eat."

Missy just smiled. "Burgers and hotdogs are fine on occasion, Edgar, but not to live on."

"Yeah, well, we've survived just fine until now, Mom." He grunted the last word at her and walked away. She stared at her empty doorway for a few seconds before she let herself smile. Life with the Frogs was going to be difficult for all of them, she realized, but the twenty dollar bill in her pocket said that maybe, just maybe, Edgar and Alan were willing to try and make it work with her. She fished a fifty from between the pages of Oscar Wilde and it joined the Frogs' money in her pocket. She slipped her feet into her sneakers and laced them up, patting her thighs once and pushing off of the bed with a renewed sense of adventure.

She found Edgar behind the counter, ringing up a customer, and Alan, milling around the racks, putting out new comics. "I'm off." She called to them, her whole body itching with the excitement to be out on the boardwalk. Edgar looked up from his clipboard and she heard Alan stop. Edgar's eyes met hers, and he nodded once.

"Be careful."

Missy rolled her eyes at him and smiled. "Now who's the mom?"

Edgar glared. "You think we're kidding around with all the monster stuff, but we're not. Santa Carla is crawling with vampires."

Missy nodded her head, waving her hand dismissively. "I saw the memo, I got it."

"No, you don't get it." Edgar growled, and his sudden animosity paralyzed her. He came around from the counter and stopped in front of her. "You need to start taking us seriously, or you're going to get yourself killed out there." A shiver went down Missy's spine, and despite the fact that she was standing in the sun, she felt cold.

"Look, Edgar, Alan." She added, when she noticed that the darker haired Frog had snuck up behind her. "I hear you guys, I do, and I'll be careful. It's daylight, right? And vampires can't come out in the day." The Frog brothers stared out at the world beyond the door, bathed in sunlight, and visibly relaxed. "So I'm perfectly safe."

"Until sundown." Edgar amended, and Missy sighed.

"Right. I'm going now." She backed out the store, hesitating just outside the door. "If the Wolfman calls, take a message for me, would you?" She winked and turned away, but not quick enough to miss Edgar's last word.

"It's always funny until somebody gets eaten."

Missy wasn't going to let the Frogs' paranoia get to her. Vampires didn't exist, and even if they did, why would they come to California of all places? Wouldn't they be living some place where the sun didn't shine so vehemently?

The boardwalk was a different place during the day. It was like someone had flipped a switch, and Missy realized that things didn't seem quite as magical with the lights turned on. There was still something charming about the daytime boardwalk, and there were twice as many people during the day than she remembered there being at midnight. People heading to and coming from the beach, bathing suits everywhere she turned, and the roar of the roller coaster as it dipped and winded, its passengers screaming around every turn. She rode the carousel twice, and decided that she would try to ride a different horse every time until she'd ridden them all. Judging from the number of horses, and it was difficult to count them all when they were spinning, it would take her quite a while to ride them all.

The beach was packed with people. Adults with young children, and several groups of young men carrying surfboards under their arms. She walked the sand for ten minutes before she found a place that wasn't occupied, and sat down, undoing the laces on her shoes and wiggling her toes in the sand.

It was hard to relax. Even on a beach, with the sun warming her all over, all she could think about was what sort of progress Renee and the police might be making. She wouldn't be eighteen for another couple of months, and in the meantime, Renee could come along and take her back as soon as she was able to find her. Hiding was essential, she realized, but she wanted to enjoy her new life. How was she supposed to enjoy being away from Renee for the first time since she was twelve if she was constantly checking over her shoulder for her?

"Ugh!" She cried, kicking out at the sand and flopping onto her back, glaring up at the clear sky. Renee wouldn't give up, she knew that. Not until she turned eighteen, maybe not ever. How long would she have to keep looking over her shoulder until she finally saw Renee there?

She wondered if the Frogs had a television, she hadn't seen one, but it would be nice to be able to watch the news. By now, Renee had to know where her bus had been headed, and before long, the Seattle police would be in contact with the Santa Carla police, and they'd be looking for her. She would just have to hope that the local police wouldn't take the search for her too seriously.

Edgar and Alan didn't seem as happy to see her with grocery bags as she would have expected, and neither one of them seemed to appreciate the fifteen minute walk away from the boardwalk that she'd had to take to find a grocery store. She also noticed, as she struggled with the bags, that neither one of them seemed to have a chivalrous bone between them. "Um, help?" Alan was the first to react, coming around the counter to take the bags from her that were cutting the circulation off to her hands.

"You did see the fridge right?" Edgar asked her as she handed him a bag to carry. "All of this isn't going to fit."

"Oh, it's mostly dry or canned stuff, you'd be surprised." Missy led the way to the small kitchen and dropped the last few bags on the floor. "Okay, dry goods, top cabinets, canned goods, bottom cabinets. That way, if something falls out of the top cabinets and clonks you on the head, it won't be a can!" She chirped, and the brothers winced at her cheery nature.

"Did you get a lobotomy while you were out?" Edgar raised an eyebrow at her, and she glared.

"Shut up and help your brother put the groceries away."

"You're not helping?" He asked, and she scoffed.

"I carried them all the way here. But you two have fun!" Missy slapped him on the back and left, leaving them to stare after her back, and wonder what exactly they'd gotten themselves into.

Thank you for reading.

[haystarlight]

@rainbow-angel110

@secretly-art

@celestialtoxophilite

They had been staying with Camila for almost half a year now.

Half a human year anyway. According to Luz, the human calendar seemed to have way shorter months than the Demon Realm. But, either way, they had been staying with Camila way longer than Willow would've liked.

Not to be mistaken, Willow adored Camila. And she was having a lot of fun learning about the Human Realm with the others but..... She couldn't help but worry about everyone else. Eda, King, Hooty.... Principal Bump, Skara, Viney, her dads..... She didn't even know if they were alive.

Most nights, she was able to sleep soundly (a little too soundly, the other girls kept complaining about her snoring and she couldn't help but feel bad) but, some other nights, she couldn't avoid the nightmares and they kept her awake. This was one of those nights.

Bored with staring at the ceiling, she left the bed and got up, with the intention of going to the kitchen and making herself a cup of tea. On her way to the kitchen, she passed by the downstairs bathroom and heard him.

She'd recognize his voice anywhere. And she recognized the signs of a panic attack better than anyone. She could hear his ragged, terrified breathing through the wooden door. She could hear him whispering "Nononononononononono" like he couldn't really process what was going on and could barely form a complete sentence. She heard him tripping over himself, probably slipping and breaking things, and she heard the sound of something sharp and metallic cutting through something soft.

Worried and scared out of her mind, Willow knocked on the bathroom door.

"Hunter? Is that you?"

No response. Not that she needed it anyway, she had just knocked out of fear that bursting the door open would scare him.

"Hunter? Are you having another attack?"

Again, no response.

"Okay, Hunter, I'm coming in."

And she opened the door.

The sight before her was surprising but not as scary as she expected.

Hunter was standing in front of the sink, a pair of scissors on his right hand and chunks of hair on the wet floor. And his hair was a nightmare, all un-even and filled with split ends and one strand shorter than the other. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he had been doing.

He looked at her like a deer in the headlights (Luz taught her that expression), as if he'd been caught doing something bad and was about to be punished. She hated when he did that.

"Hi," she said, almost too quiet to be heard.

"H-hi," he breathed. It seemed that her presence was enough to calm him down at least a little bit (nothing to dwell on).

"Are you hurt?" Willow asked, getting closer but not daring to touch him without permission.

"N-no, I was just.... I thought..... it was..... too long...."

He looked at the floor in shame. She didn't know if he was just scared of looking at her or if he was looking at something else instead. But it didn't matter.

"You didn't like your long hair?"

Willow decided not to mention how much she loved his long hair. All silky smooth and handsome and breathtaking. Often she had wondered what it would've been like to run her hands through it but she obviously never tried....

But that would've been selfish. Hunter was barely allowed any freedom before and was still learning how to be himself. If he said he didn't like his long hair, then he shouldn't have to have it long. It didn't matter how anyone else felt about it, it was his hair.

Besides, Willow would've loved whatever haircut he chose.

Hunter shook his head.

"I don't like it long but.... I think I made it even worse," he tried to laugh, tried to pass off his recent panic attack as something silly or funny to make it less important.

Willow would be hard pressed to find something less funny.

And then, she came up with an idea. And, maybe, perhaps just a little... an excuse.

"I think I could help make it even. Amity and I used to style each other's hair at sleepovers when we were kids," Willow explained "I'm not nearly as good as her but I can make it look less... uh..."

"Terrible?"

"I was going to say 'messy' but...."Willow tried for a reassuring smile but she couldn't help but let a little of her nerves show.

Thankfully, Hunter seemed reassured and slowly handed her the scissors with shaking hands.

"Okay, I'm gonna need you to get your hair wet and then sit down on the toilet, please," she let her Captain persona take over. It was always easier to give other people instructions when she thought of it as a game strategy.

"Yes, Captain," Hunter answered automatically. He was used to taking orders, he had been taking orders most of his life.

She loved when he called her Captain. The others also used it but, coming from Hunter, the word sounded more like a loving nickname rather than a title.

Hunter wet his hair under the sink and then sat down. She opened the bathroom cabinets and searched through them. Thankfully, in a house of two women with naturally curly hair, there were lots of different hair products and tools. Hairbrushes, hair pins, hair clips, hair bands, scrunchies, razors, etc.

She took what she needed and started working her way through Hunter's locks. It turned out to be more difficult than she thought. In his panicked state, Hunter had haphazardly cut himself in odd places, leaving some chunks with not enough hair to work with and others with too much. She tried to use the hairbrush to move it all more carefully but she couldn't help but freak out a little bit herself.

Willow couldn't stop herself from thinking it. She was styling her crush's hair right now! In some ways, this had to be an amazing dream. In others, it was a complete nightmare. What if she cut it wrong and he looked bad? What if he hated it and got mad at her? What if he didn't talk to her anymore because she screwed up too much?!

She told herself to stop being so irrational. This was Hunter, for crying out loud! Hunter adored her.... as a friend. He wouldn't stop being her friend over one tiny mistake. He would understand that she did her best to help fix an.... Honestly? Deplorable situation.

Why did he have to make it so messy?

Maybe it was better to ask.

"Why didn't you wait until daylight? You could've told Camila, I'm sure she would've helped you or we could've found you a human hair salon, Gus could've hidden your ears with an illusion and-"

"It wasn't exactly a logical decision," Hunter admitted "it wasn't planned, I just looked at myself in the mirror and...."

He paused. He got sad.

"I saw Belos. I looked.... like him. I couldn't bear to look like him so I started cutting."

He sighed. Willow resisted the urge to drop the brush and scissors and hug him.

"Better to look like a disaster than like a monster," he concluded and then added "I'm sorry for troubling you, Captain."

"What? No! It's not trouble at all!"

She decided it was best not to tell him she was enjoying it.

"I don't mind. I just figured; next time you get a haircut, it'd be best if a professional did it and not some 15-year-old girl with very little experience."

"You're not very experienced but you are talented. You're great at almost everything I've seen you do."

He was always complimenting her like it was a fact of life, like it was a true thing everyone knew. The rain was hot, the sky was purple, and Captain Willow Park was amazing. It still caught her off guard no matter how many times he did it and she never knew how to react. He saw her like she would like everyone to see her, he saw what she wanted to be. It was overwhelming at times.

"Thank you, Hunter," she smiled.

"Can I ask why you were awake?"

Her smile left as soon as it appeared.

"I was dreaming about my dads, again."

"You're worried about them."

It wasn't a question.

"I don't even know if they're alive."

"I know it's hard to be optimistic, under these circumstances," Hunter said "but, if they're anything like their daughter, they'll survive whatever the Collector throws at them."

The smile came back.

"You think I'm a lot stronger than I really am, I couldn't even fight off Belos by myself."

"But you protected me from him while I was injured. Thanks for that."

"You don't need to thank me," she tried not to shout "I protected you because I lo-.... care about you. I want to protect everyone I care about. I want you all to be safe and happy. I don't know what I would do if I lost one of you."

"Me neither."

They went back to the silence, only interrupted by the scissors.

Then, Willow collected enough courage to say:

"You have really beautiful hair, you know that?"

Hunter didn't respond right away. He blushed bright red and his left foot moved a little bit. It almost looked like he was kicking something behind the toilet. But that's silly, what could he be kicking? It was probably just a nervous tick.

Willow loved complimenting Hunter. She always meant it and he always lit up when he heard her. She knew he wasn't used to hearing compliments very often. Not without having to work hard to earn them. But by the Titan, she was going to spend the rest of her days reminding him of how amazing he was until he believed her.

"Thank you, Willow."

"And, I know he's your uncle but, I've never thought you looked like Belos," she continued "you've always looked like Hunter to me."

"Except for when I looked like Caleb?" He asked, guilt and shame in his voice.

He was talking about the day they met. They met under an alias, a fake name. A stupid, fake name that shouldn't have tricked her so easily. But that was in the past. He wasn't Caleb Jasper Bloodwilliams. He was just Hunter.

"A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet," she said, simply. As if that wasn't the most romantic, horribly sappy thing she'd said in her entire life.

Hunter blushed even more. He blushed a lot around her. She figured he was just a very blushy person who went red quite easily, at the slightest provocation.

She didn't think it had anything to do with her. Why would it? Hunter thought of her as a friend and nothing more. It would be silly to believe otherwise. No matter how much more confident she became, Willow Park still didn't believe it was possible for someone she had a crush on to like her back. Because it had never happened before.

a couple more snips later, the hair was done.

"Okay, I'm finished," she announced "you can see yourself in the mirror, if you want."

He got up and did exactly that.

His hair was a lot shorter, kind of choppy on the back, where she'd shaved most of it off. It stuck up near the front, giving him a fringe. It looked spiky, kind of similar to Luz's old haircut. It weirdly suit him.

Hunter kept staring at himself. Turning his head around to see it in different angles and touching it with his hands to get a feel of it. The suspense and the delayed reaction was killing her.

Please don't be mad at me.

"I know, I didn't do that good but I think it looks fine," she tried defending herself "I'm sorry if you don't-..."

"I love it," he said, his voice a lot happier than before.

"What?"

"I said I love it," he turned around, she saw him smile. Tooth gap and all "it's great."

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

"No, no," he reassured. And then, he hugged her "thanks, Willow."

They had hugged before, obviously. But it was almost always group hugs with the others and Hunter had never initiated one before. It was nice. Willow knew he was touch starved, so she was happy to see he was getting better at it.

The hug lasted a little bit longer before she remembered it was 4 am and they had stuff to do tomorrow.

"You're welcome. I'm glad I helped you. And next time, just come to us for help first."

"I will."

"We need to go to sleep now, tho."

"Oh yeah," he said like he had forgotten.

"Goodnight, Hunter."

"Goodnight, Captain!"

Willow went back to Luz's room and lied back down on the bed, all thoughts of making herself tea completely forgotten.

She stared at the ceiling processing the events of the past hour.

Hunter blushing at her, Hunter giving her compliments, the hug, his smile with the tooth gap, running her fingers through his hair.... 'Captain'.......

She really wasn't getting any sleep tonight, was she?

Y'all think Hunter got nervous when Willow cut his hair? Think how nervous Willow must've been! She's a 15-year-old girl and the person she likes is letting her cut his hair! She must've been panicking the entire time like:

"OKAY! okay okay! Alright! Don't ruin this! Don't fuck it up! Give him a nice haircut or you'll never be able to look him in the eye again! Don't screw this up, Park!.... Oh, Titan, it's so soft.... fuck! Focus!.... I can't focus! Abort mission!"

Like, she got a perfect excuse to run her hands through his hair, you think she wasn't going insane?!

[alia-turin]

Title: Broken Bonds [Chapter II] Previous chapters: Chapter I 

Characters: OC, Libertus Ostium, Cor Leonis, Luche Lazarus (mentioned), Titus Drautos | Glauca (mentioned) Warning: SFW for work, next chapters might not be but there will be warning. Notes: Second chapter takes place right after the first one. Not much happening here but gives more insight on the OC and how things are running in Lestallum (thanks Square for not going into these details). 

Tagging: @birdsandivory  @yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy @jojopitcher @fromunseeliecourt @xanxusthot @lazarustrashpit @littlestfangirl

If anyone wants to be tagged (or untagged, I won’t take any offence I know it might not be your cup of tea) in the future please let me know.

The Marshal was called away at the gates due to some sort of trouble and Libertus was kind enough to take her to his own ‘home’. He was living in one of the buildings within the barricade, a small apartment that probably before all that was a bigger apartment but now was split so it can accommodate more people. Even with that he had pretty much everything needed. Bedroom, a bath and even a small kitchen which he said he never uses since food is usually distributed to everyone and people ate together in improvised canteens as much as possible.

“Can I take a shower?” she needed that badly and the idea of just being around water made her more than excited.

“Sure. Just have in mind the water is cold. We don’t have enough power to heat it.” He said apologetic. “I will see if I can find you some clean clothes. I doubt anything I own would fit you.” He gave her one of his cheerful grins. He was just this type of guy, capable to take every situation easy without stressing so much. The first time she had seen him probably really angry was after what happened with Crowe…

He left her alone and Ada sighed in relief. Part of her enjoyed having company, especially someone she knew, however the funny thing about being alone was that eventually you get used to it. It becomd so familiar that it hurt you when somebody was dragging you out of this bubble of loneliness even if you wanted to be free from it.

The water was cold, but she didn’t mind. It was better than nothing. Once she was done she looked herself in the cracked mirror in the bathroom. She had lost so much weight. All the muscle had fallen from her body, and she was just skin and bones. She hated it. The scar that Luche was given her just below her collar bones was still there, with time it had just changed its colour from red to white. Her fingers clenched the sink unintentionally. Few inches up and he could have cut her throat. He obviously had been willing to kill her why didn’t he do it? It was pointless to think about that now. She had thought about it every single day since Insomnia fell and she still didn’t have an answer. What troubled her more was the question would she have killed him if she had the upper hand. She certainly did, but if she had been in situation where her knife was at his throat, what was she going to do then. Part of her was happy she never found out the answer to that question.

In one of the drawers she found pair of scissors and she used them to cut her hair. The red hairs falling in the sink reminded her of blood drops and as soon as she was done she cleaned them almost hysterically. At least now she was a bit happier with her look. Her hair was shoulder long, the front part a bit shorter and she proceeded into birding few locks and tying them at the back. She almost looked like her formal self, minus some sleep and significant weight loss.

Ada wrapped a towel around herself and walked in Libertus’ bedroom. He was back there and pile of clothes was on the bed.

“They should fit. With the way things are, we cannot be picky about things like size and colour.” He tried to give her a warm smile but then his eyes fell on the scar under her neck. “What happened there?”

“Luche.” She responded quickly and grabbed the clothes closing the bathroom door behind herself. He had brought her pair of black jeans, a red t-shirt and a jacket. It was more than sufficient and the only issue was that the jeans were too long, but it was the misfortune if a short person.

“He didn’t hold back, did he?” Libertus shouted from the other room.

She didn’t know the answer to that. He didn’t, but yet she was alive. So maybe he did.

Ada walked out of the bedroom all dressed and looking more like herself than a muddy orphan.

“Now you look amazing!” Libertus gave her a friendly wink and she responded with sad smile. That did remind her too much of home, her second home, Insomnia. They all used to joke and laugh during training, make fun of each other or tease each other. When she looked back at that time, it seemed like everyone got together and they were really like family. Of course, that wasn’t truth. They had their differences and conflict but every family did.

“Is the Marshal back?” she asked trying to stop thinking about how things used to be.

“Yeah, I saw him while I was picking the clothes for you. He should be in the Leville, he has made his office there. He would be expecting you.” Libertus offered her an encouraging smile. “Maybe we can grab some food after that? To catch up.”

Ada didn’t answer but nodded in agreement. Food right now seemed amazing especially since her stomach was hurting from hunger.

 Cor the Immortal had made the manager’s office of the Leville his own. As she walked into the room he was staring at a map placing pins at what she assumed was important locations for whatever he might be planning. She never had the honour to meet the man before, although she had seen him around the Citadel. She didn’t think about it when Libertus told her he was working with the Marshal but now that she was with the man in the same room she felt intimidated. He was after all the Marshal and she was just a Glaive no one cared about.

“Yes?” the Immortal final asked since she had not opened her mouth for probably two minutes after she walked in.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. Libertus send me to introduce myself.” At the back of her head she was freaking out. Since a child she knew who the man was and admired him and now she was here with him talking like an idiot. “My name is Adelais Ardens I used to be with the Glaive. You can call me Ada.”

“The new girl Libertus told me about.” He turned toward her, his arms crossed. “He says you are pretty good with magic.”

“He probably exaggerates my abilities.” Ada wasn’t selling herself short, but the truth was she lost probably the most important fight she ever fought. What good were skills if she couldn’t do her job?

“We will see about that. Monica is one of my Crownsgards, you can find her in the city center. Speak with her about accommodations. We are a bit short on equipment, but if you need anything, ask her she might be able to provide. Most stores work with cash or for exchange so if you run into something valuable during your hunts you might want to bring it with you. We have few main objectives for now: finding more meteor pieces, saving refugees, opening as many outposts as we can sustain and looking for the Prince. The hunters and the crownsguard are looking for the prince so you don’t need to bother with that, focus on the rest.”

“You don’t trust the Glaive?” the words just came out of her mouth without thinking.

“It’s a work in progress.” He answered dryly.

It was amazing how much he reminded her of the captain. Same no-nonsense type of aura, straight to the point, not holding punches back. Then it hit her. These two have probably been friends or something similar enough. The Glaive didn’t just betray the King and the kingdom. The Marshal was betrayed as well. That at least put them in the same boat.

“You up for some work?” he asked her.

“I need to grab some food I haven’t eaten in days, but after that I am free.” Ada didn’t like the fact she had to admit a weakness, but the idea of venturing out now when she barely stood on her legs seemed terrible.

“Good. There is a group of refugees, south of here.” He made a sign for her to come closer and look at the map. Just now she realized how much taller than her he was. “We will leave in two hours to pick them up.”

Ada was sure he had other things to do and that somebody else could be send to pick up these refugees. There was no need for Cor the Immortal to do it personally, but he didn’t trust her and she didn’t blame him. At that point it was probably easier to trust someone who was in the Niff’s armies than a Glaive that just randomly appears half dead. Libertus vouching for her has earned her the right to stay here for now, but the Marshal was pulling the strings of hunters, crownsguard and glaives and it was understandable if he wanted the last word on how reliable somebody is. Ada was surprised he wasn’t beheading them all given that even their Captain was involved in what turned to be the end of the kingdom.  

[threeorphanpilgrimage]

Chapter 84 - A Separation

"Devlin?" said Clem expectedly. "Can you hear me?" Clem waited for a response, then sighed when she didn't get one. She took a deep breath, then held the talk button on her radio again. "Patty, Jet, if any of you can hear me, Sarah and I are at the meeting place, the one we all talked about if we couldn't meet anywhere else and had to move again. We left the code on the road signs so you can find us. Just please… please say something if you can hear me." Again, Clem waited for a reply, and again, she didn't get one.

In the days following Anthony's death, Clem had realized if Devlin was still alive, he would know to try to contact them over the radio and warn them what Anthony did, and yet they had heard nothing. Her first thought was she had been wrong, and that despite all of Anthony's lying he wasn't lying about Devlin's fate. Then she remembered, he somehow lost his radio after returning from the farm, and Clem wondered if he didn't somehow 'lose' Devlin's as well.

Clem changed the channel on the radio and repeated her message, always waiting for a reply at the end of it. For two weeks now she had done this, every morning after she woke up, every afternoon after she ate lunch, and every night before she went to sleep. And for two weeks she hadn't received an answer, on any channel, at anytime of the day, from anyone. Yet she persisted, holding onto hope that her friends were still out there, if just because there was little else for her to do while she lay in bed every day.

When not trying to contact the others, Clem was forced to sit and think about everything that had happened. The more time passed the more confident she grew had made the right decision. If Anthony could so easily try to murder her after pretending to be friends with them for so long, she couldn't imagine what else he could do if left alive. But Clem wouldn't have believed he was capable of that if she hadn't seen it herself, and Sarah hadn't seen that, but she did see Clem kill Anthony right in front of her, and that had changed everything between them.

Sarah still tended to Clem's needs; bringing her meals, reminding her to take her medicine, and occasionally checking on her wound, which she said appeared to be healing properly. But that's all she would say, and her words had become cold and detached. Clem barely saw Sarah during the day anymore, and despite her assurances that she was getting healthier, Sarah always remained in the other half of the Brave, sleeping on the foldout couch and leaving Clem alone at night.

The changes were most obvious when they were around Omid, who had become the single source of joy to both girls in these bleak times. It had been a lot like there time back in Spokeston, spending all day and every day playing and talking with the boy they loved. The difference was they never spent time with him together anymore, practically taking turns being alone with Omid. Sarah was with him right now, and Clem had little to do but call into her radio until it was her turn to be with Omid again.

Clem changed the channel and prepared to repeat her message, but couldn't summon the will to do it this time. Every time she said their names she was forced to think about them, and how much she desperately wanted them back, and every time she used her radio, they felt even further away. After two weeks of this routine, Clem finally couldn't bear to go through the motions anymore and set her radio aside.

Sick of lying in bed, Clem stood up and looked out the window. After snaking their way across the backroads of Kansas, Sarah had found an isolated intersection in Nebraska that connected with Interstate Eighty. She had taken the time to paint the word 'Ceres' on road signs several miles in both directions, pointing the way to a large truck stop. The abandoned semitrailers there helped to camouflage the Brave from sight, while painting the word 'CERES' on a nearby billboard would signal the others where they were, if the others were indeed still alive.

Clem wasn't sure what she was expecting to see. After a week with nothing but a parking lot to stare at, Sarah was kind enough to turn the Brave around so Clem could at least watch the intersection. Sometimes, when she wasn't with Omid, she would just stare at the road and hope she'd see the Sunseeker driving by, but it never happened. Nothing ever seemed to change in fact. Every day just rolled into the next one.

With no signs of hope out the window, Clem sat down. She groaned as she felt a stinging sensation in her side. The pain was less severe now, more of an irritation than a handicap, but a constant one when not medicated. Clem grabbed the bottle of painkillers but a pill didn't roll out when she tilted it forward. Looking inside, Clem saw there were still pills but not many, just barely enough to cover the bottom of the container. This unnerved Clem, but not as much as the pain did, so she carefully removed another pill and popped it up her mouth.

She reached for the bottle of water, only to discover it was empty. Clem groaned, then headed for the door. She inched quietly out of the bedroom, not wanting Sarah to notice her. Clem saw her on the couch with Omid, making the boy laugh with funny faces. Clem couldn't help smiling as she listened to Omid's giggles, but then frowned a little as she remembered she couldn't join them. Instead, Clem quietly snuck into the bathroom, hoping they didn't notice her.

Clem went to the sink and turned on the facet. Water started spurting out in tiny intervals and kept splashing out of Clem's cupped heads. With no signs of the problem abating, Clem quickly swallowed what little water she had along with the pill in her mouth, grimacing as she felt it nearly getting stuck in her throat.

Wiping her lips, Clem spotted the bottom of her bandage in the mirror. The bit sticking out from under her shirt was peeling and Clem could see a bit of reddened flesh underneath it. Finding her curiosity getting the best of her, Clem lifted her shirt and slowly peeled the bandage off, grimacing as she felt it tugging at her skin. Tossing away the dressings, Clem was relieved there was almost no blood on them, but still hesitated to look at her wound.

When she finally summoned the courage to examine it, Clem was most surprised by how small it was. It wasn't much bigger than a quarter, and just looked like a faded red dot that had been sewn shut by a couple of crude stitches. Noticing the black threads stuck in her flesh, Clem realized the stitches were probably more of a source of her pain than the wound anymore. She located a small pair of scissors they kept in the bathroom for their hair and took another breath.

Snipping the threads was painful, and pulling them out of her side was even worse. She could feel them tugging on her tender flesh as she removed the stitches one at a time. She had to bite her lip to keep from yelping out in pain, and anytime it felt like she was nearly done she'd discover there was more thread to remove. Finally tossing the final stitch away, Clem breathed a sigh of relief, then noticed the several more stitches on her back and the larger gash in her back.

"You want more?" giggled Sarah as Clem stepped out of the bathroom. "Tell me if you want more."

"More!" cheered Omid as Sarah made another face. Clementine thought about just returning to bedroom, but just turning in place caused her to feel the stitches in her back stinging the area around her injury. Instead, Clem took a breath and approached the pair.

"Kem-men!" Clem's blood ran cold as she watched Sarah's smile disappear. Slowly she turned her head and looked over at Clem.

"Hey," spoke a nervous Clem.

Sarah turned away. "Hi," she answered. "Are you okay? Do you need something?"

The tone of Sarah's voice hurt Clem more than her side. "My… my stitches are bothering me. I took out a couple of them out, but—"

"It's probably time to remove them" Sarah paused for a second while she stroked Omid's hair. "Let me find something to keep him distracted for a minute and I'll come into the bedroom and take care of you."

"Okay."

Sarah turned back to Omid while Clem stood there awkwardly for a second before shuffling back to the bedroom. She sat down on the bed and waited patiently as she could hear Sarah and Omid laughing in the other room. Eventually, the laughter stopped and a little while after that Sarah entered. She instructed Clem to turn onto her uninjured side, and then she spent the next several minutes trying not to yell out in pain while Sarah removed the stitches.

It was far from the worst thing Clem had endured, but only because she had suffered so many terrible things by now. The sensation of tweezers pulling on a thread that then yanked on her already sore flesh was yet another miserable experience Clem added to her growing list. The only thing that made it a little better was Sarah's occasional apologies. Every time she said she was sorry, Clem could tell just meant it, and that made it clear she still cared about her.

"Okay, that's the last one," said Sarah as Clem felt a final painful tug. "How do you feel?"

"Better now," said Clem as she took a breath. "And I think the painkiller is working, so it's not so bad at this point."

"That's good."

Clem rolled over and looked at as much of her injury as she could see. Small or not, it still unnerved her; the red circle of misshapen flesh and the uneven gash dotted with small holes from where the stitches used to be. Despite feeling better, staring at her uncovered wound made Clem feel like she had just been shot all over again. In addition to being yet another reminder of how close she came to dying, it also forced Clem to think about the damage the bullet did just below the skin; the damage that could still be there, and that Sarah couldn't fix.

"All right, if you need me just say something." Sarah quickly headed for the door.

"Wait." Sarah stopped but didn't turn around.

"Is something wrong?" asked Sarah, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. "Are you okay?"

"We…" Clem bit her lip before saying anything else. "We're running out of painkillers."

"Yeah, I know, and we're half out of Xanax too," said Sarah with a sigh. "But there's nothing we can do about that, so we'll just have to make them last until you're better."

"Can't we get more?" asked Clem.

"I wouldn't even know what to look for."

"We can't just go to a pharmacy and—"

"They didn't sell painkillers in regular stores, you'd need a prescription, same for the Xanax. And their real names are really long and weird, and not always the same one."

Clem picked up a bottle and looked at the label. Someone had written 'XANAX' in marker at the top, but the actual name printed on the faded label was 'ALPRAZOLAM'.

"That… that doesn't make any sense," spoke a baffled Clem. "Why would they put a name on it that's different from what it's called?"

"I'm not sure. I asked Patty once and she said something about there being 'generics' and 'name-brands'. I wish I'd paid more attention to what she told me…" said Sarah as she lowered her head.

"And there's a lot of different types of painkillers, but I don't know the names of any of them but the ones in that bottle. Devlin said someone in Tulsa knew and had labeled them for everyone else, but I don't know how they knew and none of the books I have are about medicine itself."

"I didn't know it was that complicated," said Clem as she set the bottle down.

"Yeah, me neither until recently," spoke a weary Sarah. "Anything else?"

"Um, yeah… we… the sink—"

"Is acting weird," finished Sarah. "I know, I looked at the water pump, as much as I can see of it, but I don't know what's wrong with it."

"Maybe the water tank is just running low?"

"No, I checked the tank and even used a few bottled waters to make sure it wasn't empty, it's just… acting up, sort of like the shower has been for a while now," said Sarah, sounding more tired with every word she said. "Maybe if Sin was still here, or Jet even."

"Oh…" said Clem, feeling even worse for having asked.

"Anything else?"

"No."

"All right." Sarah opened the door.

"Wait," said Clem. "We… we need to talk."

"I don't want to talk," answered Sarah immediately.

"Well we need to," demanded Clem. "We can't just wait here forever."

"We're just waiting until Patty and Jet get here," asserted Sarah.

"And Devlin," added Clem.

"Devlin's dead," insisted Sarah as she spun around. "You know that."

"We don't know that. He—"

"He's dead! Just like how Patty and Jet are probably dead, just like how Anthony's dead… because of you!" Those last three words stung Clem as Sarah suddenly covered her face with both hands. Clem had been dreading this conversation for a while and had hoped if she just waited long enough, Devlin would arrive and explain everything to Sarah, but he hadn't.

"How… how could you do something like that?" Sarah sobbed at Clem. "After everything that's happened, everything we've been through, and everything we've lost, you killed the only person we had left… why?"

"I told you, he—"

"There's no way he tried to kill you," dictated Sarah.

"You think I'd lie about that?" asked a shocked Clem.

"Of course not," assured Sarah, her tone softening slightly. "But… but that can't be what happened. It doesn't make any sense."

"Well, then what?" asked a nervous Clem as Sarah stared at her. "What do you think happened?"

"I think… I think you were confused."

"I wasn't—"

"Or having a nightmare."

"I wasn't."

"Yes, yes you were, like the one you had after we caught Pedro, or that other one the morning we left Spokeston. You remember that? It was so bad you just ran out of the house and when I found you in the yard, you were yelling about someone breaking in." Sarah's glare suddenly morphed into a look of concern. "I… I know how much you worry about us and… that wouldn't have been the first time you've woken up with someone pointing a gun at you. Things are so bad that… even the worst nightmares can come true now."

Clem was surprised to hear Sarah actually sound sympathetic to her again, but it lasted only a moment before Sarah scowled at her. "But because you didn't like Anthony, you didn't even think it was a nightmare when he told you."

"That's not true."

"And you wouldn't listen to me when I just told you to put the gun down!"

"Because you weren't listening to me! He was going to kill me!"

"He was leaving, because he actually listened to me!"

"Then he grabbed you!"

"And then you shot him!"

"Because he was going to take you away from me and Omid!"

A loud shrieking suddenly cut through the air. Clem and Sarah looked over to see Omid standing at the door, choking for breath as tears and snot ran down his face.

"Omid, we—"

Omid took off screaming into the other room. Clem and Sarah both hurried after him as he tried to climb into his crib.

"Omid," said Sarah. "Don't cry, we—"

Omid shrieked at Sarah when she touched him, clumsily swatting his arm in her direction before falling onto the carpet. He started crawling forward towards the front of the Brave next, trying to escape the pair as they pursued him.

"Please, Omid, just—"

"Nooo!" Omid yelled at Clem, practically choking for breath as he pulled free from her grip. The pair watched in horror as Omid started crawling down the steps and to the door.

"Omid, no!" Sarah moved forward and grabbed him, prompting Omid to start screaming in protest.

"Noooo! No! Nooooo!"

"We're sorry," pleaded Clem as she moved in close as Omid thrashed about like mad in Sarah's arms.

"Please stop crying, we're not mad at you."

Omid opened his eyes and his crying abated slightly as Clem placed her hand on Sarah's shoulder.

"Don't," said Sarah as she pulled away from Clem's grip, which prompted Omid to start crying louder.

"Wait," said Clem as she moved in closer to Sarah. She put both hands on Sarah's shoulders and after a few seconds, Omid started crying less. "He wants to know we're not going to fight anymore." Clem wrapped her hands around Sarah's waist and felt Sarah briefly try to pull away. Omid stopped crying and Clem felt Sarah wrap an arm around her, or more specifically, Sarah moved her arm around Clementine while holding it just far enough away to not make contact.

The illusion was enough to pacify Omid, who finally stopped crying. The pair then worked together to clean Omid up, give him something to eat, and just be as friendly as possible to get him to calm down. It was a bittersweet experience for Clem, this was the first time she had gotten to be with Omid and Sarah at the same time in a while. It felt great playing with Omid together again, but there was a forced enthusiasm in the way Sarah spoke that made it clear she didn't share Clem's view of the situation.

Eventually, after countless games of peek-a-boo, funny faces, and stacking things for Omid to knock over, he was finally tired enough to be put down for a nap. Watching Omid sleep in his crib was a relief at first, but the sight was also a concerning one. He barely fit in his old crib anymore and Clem couldn't help noticing he still looked distressed even while asleep, like he was having a nightmare, not much different than how he had looked after she shot Anthony.

Eventually, Sarah yawned and headed off to the bedroom with Clem following behind her.

"You can't keep avoiding me like this," said Clem as she shut the door behind them. "Omid doesn't—"

"Don't bring Omid into this," dictated Sarah in an angry but hushed voice. "We're not gonna fight in front of him again, but that doesn't mean I just have to forgive you."

"Forgive me?" repeated Clem, finding it hard to conceal her irritation at Sarah anymore.

"You just shot Anthony right in front of me, in front of Omid! I… I don't even know if I feel safe around you anymore."

"Sarah…" spoke Clem, utterly devastated by her words. "I love you. I'd never hurt you. You… you have to know that."

"You love me…" repeated Sarah.

"You don't believe me?"

"It's just, you sound like my dad anytime I asked him about stuff he did that I knew wasn't right."

"It's not like that."

"It isn't?" snapped Sarah. "I still remember him pointing that gun at Christa because he was supposedly protecting me."

"Christa wasn't Anthony."

"Yeah, she was pointing a gun back him," retorted Sarah.

"I was holding Anthony's gun," reminded Clem through clenched teeth. "How do you think I got it if he didn't have it out?"

"I… I don't know." Clem watched as Sarah's face suddenly twisted to one of pain, as if that question physically wounded her. "What… what did you think Anthony was going to do me? What… what could've been so bad that you thought you had to shoot him when he grabbed my hand?"

"I don't know Sarah, that was what was scaring me."

"That's not good enough. Anthony would never…" Sarah bit her lip. "We could have worked it out, whatever happened or whatever he did, we could have worked it out; you didn't have to shoot him."

"I'm sorry Sarah," apologized Clem with utter sincerity. She didn't regret killing Anthony, but she regretted how much it clearly hurt Sarah. "I know you liked him and—"

"This isn't about me liking him," insisted Sarah. "You think I haven't noticed the sink is messed up or that we're running out medicine. Not to mention we're not getting any more food, and the food we do have is probably going bad."

"It is?" asked a frightened Clem. "I thought canned stuff never went bad?"

"I did too, but lately I feel sick after eating it and can't stop thinking about what if there's something wrong with it, some other horrible thing no one has told us about yet," rambled Sarah. "And those cans are all the food we got. Once that runs out, then what?"

"We'll get more, together, like we used to."

"You mean like how we used to almost got eaten by lurkers all the time, or like how someone almost stole our RV, or we nearly broke it running away from more lurkers, or all the other horrible stuff that went wrong when it was just us? And that was all before Omid started walking."

"What does that have to with any of this?"

"He's getting bigger and he hates being in the RV all the time. That wasn't the first time he tried to use the door, I caught him trying to do that just yesterday, and eventually he's gonna be tall enough to use the handle and he'll get out like… that one time he actually did, except there won't be anyone but us now, and whatever's out there probably won't be as nice as those people we met in Texarkana."

"I… I hadn't thought about that," admitted Clem.

"Even with Anthony and you getting better it was going to be really hard, and now he's gone and you're still hurt and… I have no idea what to do." Sarah started crying into her hands and Clem moved into to comfort her, but again she just pulled away from Clem's touch and looked up with a renewed anger. "I'm not stupid Clem, I know Anthony could say mean things, and be really annoying, and do things that he... he really shouldn't have, but we needed his help right now."

"Sarah…"

"And whatever he did, he didn't deserve to die for it."

"What if he did?" This question disturbed Sarah, and Clem watched as the anger in her eyes disappeared in a single blink. "You say I was confused or having a nightmare, but what if I wasn't, and everything I said happened really happened? Then what?"

Sarah turned away suddenly, but not before Clem got a glimpse of her face; she was utterly horrified and Clementine felt guilty for saying what she said, even though it was true. Clem had never even gotten along with Anthony and even she had found the revelation of who he was terrifying. For someone like Sarah, who always did try to see the best in people, Clem couldn't imagine how much more painful it would be to face that.

"If…" Sarah turned back to Clem, her eyes quivering and her face racked in pain. "If you can look me in the eyes, and honestly say that Anthony, all this time, was just… lying to us, and didn't care about us at all, and was just… some… monster… who tried to kill you one day for no reason, then… then I guess… I… I…"

Clem looked deep into Sarah's eyes. It was clear she was beginning to process the possibility of what Clem had told her, and it was tearing Sarah apart. Her eyes were wide-open in anticipation of Clem's answer, while her breathing was getting shorter and faster every second, like she was on the verge of a panic attack. And with every passing second, her face grew more twisted with pain, until it looked like she was ready to scream out in agony.

"I…" Clem turned away from Sarah suddenly, unable to bear the sight of her suffering anymore. "I could have been wrong…" lied Clem in a quiet voice.

"God Clem…"

"I didn't like Anthony, but that's not why I shot him. I was scared, and I really thought he was going to kill me, and when he grabbed you I… I was afraid of what he might do to you." Clem explained hastily before turning back to Sarah. She was relieved to see the agony that had been gripping Sarah's face was gone now, but that had been replaced with a stern look of condemnation directed right at Clem. "I'm sorry. It was a mistake but—"

"That's a pretty big mistake Clem," spoke Sarah in a harsh voice. "You killed someone, because you were scared."

"I… I know…" mumbled Clem as she found her chest tightening.

"I mean, how do you kill someone by mistake?"

"It… it just happened," confessed Clem without thinking as Sarah's words brought to mind a different murder.

"How could you just—"

"I was scared, okay!" cried Clem. "I was so scared I was going to die, and I was even more scared that then you and Omid would die, all because I didn't do and so I did and… I wish I could take it back."

Clem started crying into her hands as she thought back to the day before they moved. Sarah was judging her for Anthony's death, but everything she was saying applied to the woman she shot. As she wept, Clem kept hoping Sarah would finally comfort her, take her into her arms and forgive him, but it didn't happen. Eventually, Clem wiped her eyes and looked up at Sarah. She wasn't angry anymore and looked sympathetic even, but there still was this hint of disappointment hanging on her face that Clem couldn't ignore.

"Well... what's done is done," mumbled Sarah under her breath. "So now what? What do we do?"

"We…. we can't stay here forever," concluded Clem.

"No, but, we could probably wait a bit longer," reasoned Sarah. "We don't know, maybe Patty and Jet are still coming."

"They could have forgotten about the interstate," suggested Clem. "We barely remembered it, so maybe we should go back to Tulsa, see if they're waiting for us there."

"No, that's not a good idea."

"Why not? They may have forgotten about the plan, or maybe they missed the code we left for them." Clem had suspected Anthony never actually left the code on the Sam's Club door, but didn't dare say that out loud. "We didn't even check the Citadel, and—"

"It's too dangerous," insisted Sarah. "We don't know who took the food from Tulsa, but whoever they were they didn't care at all about the signs we left telling them to wait. We left instructions, guides, and a big banner saying we'd come to help them, and they didn't wait for us."

"Yeah, that's true, but maybe they were afraid of us, afraid it was a trap."

"Maybe, but whoever they were had to be a really big group to pack up so much so fast," added Sarah. "I was thinking about what Sin and Jet said, about Houston, and also what Devlin said about the army from Oklahoma City; what if the troops in Houston had to leave, and they were the ones who found Tulsa? Do we want to risk running into them?"

Clementine thought back to her time in Mobile, and the ghoulish sight of an entire arena of people melted into a mess of wailing charred corpses. Then she thought back to the time they fought their way into Tulsa, and the image of Devlin beating the corpse of one of the soldiers. He was always such a calm and understanding person, except in that moment; he was filled with nothing but rage.

"You're right, it's not worth the risk," realized Clem. "I guess we should just go then."

"Go? Why?"

"Like I said, we can't stay here forever."

"Yeah, I know," spoke Sarah, sounding nervous suddenly. "But I figure we could wait a little bit longer."

"There's no point," said Clem. "If Patty and Jet are out there we can leave codes on Interstate Eighty for them to find us. It's possible they're already on the interstate ahead of us, and might be leaving signs for us to find. I mean, this wasn't the only road that led from Tulsa to Nebraska, right?"

"No, there were a lot of them actually," admitted Sarah. "I wanted to avoid going near any big cities and—"

"Patty and Jet could have taken a different road, and be waiting for us further west," suggested a hopeful Clem.

"What if they're not?" asked a less hopeful Sarah.

"Then… we just need to go already, because no one is coming."

"But where? Where can we go?"

"Like we said, we'll go west, hope there's something still out there while stopping to look for food along the way," explained Clem.

"You mean, I'll need to stop and look for food, by myself." Clem could hear the terror gripping Sarah's trembling voice. Her eyes briefly darted down towards Clem's side, then sighed. "I guess… I guess I don't have a choice; you're still hurt, and we're gonna need it."

"Well, we don't need to look right now. We have enough for—"

"It'll run out and when it does we'll regret we not looking for food when we could." Sarah took a deep breath as she slumped over, like she just felt the great weight being placed on her shoulders. "So we're just gonna wander around and hope we find something? Somewhere safe, and not somewhere terrible, like we usually find. We're… we're right back to where we started."

"We… we are." Clem felt herself becoming sick as she realized what Sarah said was true.

"What's the point anymore?" mumbled Sarah. "Everything always goes wrong, no matter what we do."

"We… we can't give up," Clem forced herself to say. "You told me that just a few weeks ago."

"Well, maybe I was wrong," said Sarah with a shrug.

"You… you weren't," insisted Clem, finding it difficult to muster much conviction in her words. "And…"

"And what?"

Clem thought hard, then stood up. She pulled open the door and walked over to Omid's crib, where the boy was still sleeping. "We both promised Christa we wouldn't give up on the world before it was over," said Clem as she rubbed Omid's hair.

"That doesn't matter." Clem was shocked to hear Sarah say that. She turned and watched as Sarah knelt down to get a better look at Omid. "Even if we hadn't, we can't give up on him. Like you said, he deserves better than just living in an RV his whole life." Sarah reached down and gently stroked Omid's face. "I'll go update the code I wrote for Jet and Patty to see, so they know we're going west if they're still alive. We can update the other ones I made west of here along the way to point them the right way, and then… we can start looking again."

"Okay."

"Just watch Omid, I'll be right back." Clem watched as Sarah retrieved a can of spray paint from the closet, then headed outside. Clem went back to Omid's side and watched him sleep. He still looked bothered, but also so sweet and innocent as he slept. With all the tragedy and loss she's had to endure over the last few weeks, Clem only now realized they also had lost the future they had been building for him.

All the time they spent tending fields, carrying water, and building things, she hadn't time to really think about what it all meant for Omid. That he would have had a home, could eat well, be safe, and live happily. It was everything Clem wanted, and now she realized it was also everything she wanted to give Omid, and losing that for him hurt even more than losing it for herself. And as she watched him sleep, Clem struggled to think how she could possibly give him all that ever again.

Sarah returned and put the spray paint back in the closet. She then turned to Clem, as if she was expecting guidance, but Clem had no idea what to do, neither of them did.

"Are… are you done?" asked Clem, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yeah," confirmed Sarah with a slight nod.

"So… now what?"

"Now… we go I guess," Sarah sounded more like she was asking a question. She stood there for a second, as if she was expecting an answer from Clem, then headed over to the driver's seat. "There's no reason to stay here," said Sarah as she grabbed the keys off the dashboard. "There's no reason to stay anywhere right now."

"Yeah, let's just… keep moving."

Sarah turned the key, which produced an uneven rumbling sound for a few seconds before becoming quiet. She had to turn it twice more before the engine finally started. Sitting down next to Sarah as she pulled the Brave out of the truck stop, Clem caught sight of the billboard she used to signal the others. It still said 'CERES' in giant yellow letters painted over whatever faded ad used to be there. Sarah hadn't underlined any of the letters before because they were staying here, but now there were two big lines under the first 'E', where the 'W' in Owens would have been, signaling they were heading west.

After watching the billboard disappear into the horizon, Clementine turned around to once again find herself looking out over an empty road that went on seemingly forever. She only just now realized how much she hated this sight. No matter how far they traveled, the road had only led them to reprieves from danger or danger itself. All Clem could do is pray this time would be different as she couldn't bear the burdens of this voyage for much longer. If the road didn't end soon, it would end her, and all she held dear.

Previous Chapter - First Chapter

[ecotone99]

[TH] Stuck on You

I'm staring at myself in the mirror now. I've been here in my own reflection for the last hour, as everything has come back to me. First it was in short flashes, then the memories became longer, or the gaps shorter. I've always had this problem, events from my past being mostly blank when I try to remember things. My family, my childhood. I would nod along when my brother complains about how I used to steal all of his toys, my father would laugh about how I would shape mud into castles after a heavy rain in the backyard. None of it felt real. It railed against other memories that I had simultaneously, such as the rows of dresses that I used to own, the dolls that I would play with for a time, before I got bored and my mom told me off when I went back to playing with the neighbor's cat. They all ran together and got stuck. Then I recalled the long hair that would get caught in the toilet, asking my mom if she remembered how she stopped me when I tried to chop it all off with a pair of scissors in the bathroom. I had a laugh, as I thought it was mildly amusing. She would look away, as if she were uncomfortable. Oh well, I think I'm funny, I thought. Still, the cognitive dissonance between those conflicting memories wore on me slowly. I wondered, why is it that my family and friends grew more unapproachable every time I would bring up these events?

You were the only friend that I ever had who understood, who was apparently only in my mind, too. You were my best friend, yet you were so vague in my memory, I couldn't even remember your name, up until now. I remembered that late summer afternoon as being one of the best days of my life. There you were, sitting all alone from the other kids reading. You were always such a bookworm, you know that? I tipped the pail filled halfway with sand in front of you to get your attention. My sandals filled with the stuff. I sat next to you, then folded my arms over my knees. "Hi, what's your name?" I asked. I grinned, then giggled as your face turned red over your freckles. They drew me to you. I wanted to tell you how much they reminded me of the ants that I poured sugar over, and watched them carry it back to the queen into their hill. Then I thought you might not like ants as much as I do. You shifted away and buried your face between the pages. I tilted my head, then blew a raspberry and dug my now bare feet into the sand. I stared down at the leaves that fell from the tree overhead, a few yellow ones in the pile of mostly green. I remembered then what my father told me about how it's polite to introduce oneself first. "I'm Robert," I offered. You pulled your attention away from your book.

"Bonnie," I said. I glanced at your face and smiled slightly. You had the biggest smile. At first I thought you hadn't heard me. Then you inched closer. You asked me what I was reading, Bonnie. I can't even remember what it was at the time. You offer your hand and I take it, your skin like a stone gripped in warmth. You wanted to play hide and seek, you said it was your favorite game. We played rock, paper, scissors for who was it first. You then covered my hand even when I drew scissors, and told me that you can't cut through a flat rock. I shrugged, covered my hands over my eyes. Three, two, one. I open them and of course, you're not there. I thought, for a terrible moment, that you just wanted a way to get away from me. That you were tired of me, like all of the other kids. Then you gave yourself away when I came closer to the tree. I remarked flatly that trees don't laugh. The leaves fell and the branches shook. You fell somewhat of a distance to the ground with a snort, as if it didn't even hurt. I thought you would have been harder to find, your pale skin and light blond hair. You were like an unfinished drawing in my coloring book, but only on the outside.

"Your turn!" I laughed. I closed my eyes and folded my hands over my face, a huge grin plastered over it. Eight, nine, ten! You were hard to find. I would have thought this would be easy. Your fiery red hair and flowered dress were so colorful, not hard to spot against the rocky dirt ground and gnarled roots. Yet you were nowhere to be seen on the small playground. I asked the other kids where you had gone, if they'd seen you, but they only shrugged and went back to their game. I don't recall what they were playing, I was too busy with finding you. I walked more carefully past the big tree and farther on the walkway, toward the wood chips and past rubber curb. There you were, hiding deep inside the slide. I ran under the shade of the red plastic and climbed up the ladder. It was one of those funnel slides, not as good as feeling the air on my face as I slid down, but kind of neat because your voice makes an echo. "Boo!" You screamed and lost your grip, then slid the rest of the way down. I sat and followed after you down the tunnel. I landed on top of you face first. "You're it."

"My mom is going to kill me!" I cried. We played until I hadn't realized how long past it was that I had to be home. The sun was already gone past the cliff. You told me that you would see me tomorrow, if I was still alive. A cut on your cheek glistened in the waning light as you waved a bruised hand. It was like nothing affected you, as if you paid no attention to your body. You collected your shoes and ran in the other direction, I assumed back to your own house. My mom told me off that night, and grounded me for a week, but I survived. The next morning, you were right outside my bus stop. I gave a nervous smile. I asked if you were new at our school. You nodded effusively, then told me that you were so excited to start school again. You said that you hoped you were in all of the same classes as me. Your smile was almost unsettling, when it wavered. I asked what was the matter. You dug your tattered sneaker into the sidewalk. You wouldn't look at me. The school bus rumbled in the neighborhood, still out of sight. You dug your hands into your pockets, but not before I noticed the cuts on your fingers.

"Hey!" I blurted. You pulled my hand from my coat pocket. You affectively demanded that I tell you what they were. I let out a sigh. "I get bored sometimes." You waited in silence, a funny look on your face. "Yesterday after I went home, it was so quiet in my room." I pinched my face in frustration. "My dad never lets me do anything after dinner, so I jammed my fingers into my pencil sharper." You ask me why, why would I do that. I threw up my hands. "I don't know! I just have to feel something. I feel like, like nothing all the time. It hurt but it was kind of, I don't know." I looked at the ground. Now I knew you thought I was weird, like all of the other kids, but you tell me to please don't do that anymore. The bus rolled to a stop and we got on together, then even sat in the same seat! I would keep my promise to you if it meant I got to be this close. It turned out that we had the same math and science classes together! I was so happy to be your lab partner. I remember now, how fast I ran over to your station. Ms. Bea wasn't happy that I tripped over a stool and made the whole class laugh. I felt something then, but it wasn't the physical pain that thrummed dully through my body as I hit the hard surface of the floor. No, above all I finally had a new feeling, and it was definitely entertaining.

You told me to come over to your house a week after that, to start our new project for the semester. You had already convinced your dad to let you use his laptop, as long as there were no 'funny searches' as he put it. I uncapped a container of dark green glitter from my bag and drew on the poster board with a dark purple marker. The smell filled my nose, and I had to turn away. I hated that I was so sensitive to the smell. The glitter clung on my hands and flecked abrasively between the webs of my fingers. You noticed when I made a sound. You asked what was wrong. "There's glitter stuck all under my nails and it's everywhere!" I groaned and stood. You show me your bathroom. It was dimly lit, with a stale water smell, but it was clean and the water feels good, as the glitter is washed down the drain of the sink. I dried my hands on the one threadbare towel on the rack and come back out into the narrow hallway. You hummed some tune as you smeared glue with your fingers onto the poster board. Suddenly I wished that I could be a bit more like you. The thought came to me as I wicked the subtle leftover moisture on my palms onto my pale blue skirt.

"How do you do that without getting completely disgusted? I would want to run to the bathroom and wash it all off," you said. I glommed my sticky fingers together and laughed. I had a devious thought cross my mind, but then quickly abandoned it. I thought about what it would be like to pin you to the carpet and smear the bright blue stuff on you. I don't know why these thoughts enter my mind. What I noticed about you, is that you were far too sensitive to be subject to that. I was careful with you, while our relationship went further on and grew, as it was essential to maintain our friendship. I didn't understand why, but it was important to me. You were so special. I never knew why you continued to hang around me, but the weeks turned into months. I waited for you to eventually leave, but you stayed. There you were every morning at the bus stop. I waited, unaffected by the cold on my fingertips, as I gripped onto the worn nylon strips of my backpack, until your door cracked open and you joined me there. I fought back the thoughts of wanting to relieve my boredom with some sort of physical sensation. One day, I suddenly thought about what it would be like to be like you. How good it might feel to be so...I don't know, feeling of everything.

"Do you want to come over to my house today? My mom went out to get groceries and I'm alone-" There was a thud on the other end. Not even a minute passed and the doorbell rang. I let out a laugh, then bounded down the expansive steps of the front foyer. There you were, your wide grin and bright eyes that peeked through the glass of the front door. You waved, then hugged me as I opened the door. You told me how much you'd wanted to see the inside of my house, but felt that it wasn't polite of you to ask without being invited. I almost say that of course you can come over, but then I immediately tell you to take off your shoes. They're caked in gravel and wet sand. You pull them off, then slide on the marble in your socks. You tell me that your brother is getting his driver's permit with your dad, and that it was perfect timing for you to sneak out of your house. Not that they would care much, anyway, you added. I told you that this probably wasn't true, but you shrug. You suggest that we play outside. The clouds had cleared and the storm from last night passed. It was an early day in March. The snow had melted and there was more mud than grass.

"I don't know," you say hesitantly. I can't help but frown slightly, my hand loose on the knob. Then, something I didn't expect happened. You smile and then nod. "Okay, let's go!" You push past me and light fills the kitchen as you open the door to the backyard. I start for the door, then catch myself and turn back around to grab my shoes. I stand on the deck as I slip them on again, and then follow you down the steps. Your yellow dress is matted with mud as you sit on the ground next to me. To my surprise and delight, you make the best mud castles! They're so neat! Nothing like mine, which slope off at odd angles or fall apart altogether. "This soil is too dry," I complained. Then I spotted something white, a puff ball in the corner of the fence. I stood and walked toward it. "Wishing flower!" You look up from your castle and watch as I blow on the thing. Tufts of white float delicately through the air. You ask what I wished for. "Well I can't tell you or it won't come true, but obviously I wished for wetter mud." My face turns slightly warm. I kicked at the dirt in mild embarrassment. I could swear it feels different on my shoes.

"I want to make a wish, too," I said. I stood and looked for more of the things in my backyard, but it's mostly bare. The ground had begun to feel icy between my toes. I stepped over a fallen branch from our tree and there, behind it, were more. I gasped. "They're over here!" I plucked one out of the ground. I inhaled sharply, when you come into my sight. I blink at you. Then, I take a step closer. "Robert, I-" I closed my eyes, then let go of a breath. I made a silent wish. When I open them, you're right there in front of me, another dandelion in your hand. You stood there, almost hesitantly, a restrained smile on your lips. You blow it right into my face and giggle. "What did you wish for?" I asked. I hoped. I wanted it to be the same as mine. You told me that, like you said, you would never tell. "Me neither," I said softly. The moment passed like it was nothing, the memory faded like the dull colors of the mud in the backyard. The dirt came loose from under my fingernails, in my desperate attempt to undo what was done, as I splash cold water on my face over the sink. I blinked my eyes as I contemplated myself in the mirror. I looked down at my hands again, and the memories flashed through my mind.

I tilt my head, as a funny laugh bubbles from my chest, along with the feeling that I had before when I rushed toward you in Ms. Bea's science class. I look into my eyes, bright blue and deep amber flecked together. I comb my fingers through my short, strawberry blond hair, and then run my hands down over the freckles on my equally soft face. My voice is raw from when I screamed. I screamed in uncontrollable terror, but now I'm...numb? No, that's not the word, not anymore. I can't even comprehend what I am now, as I stand in front of myself. The door has opened, in the front hall. Mom and dad are home, my brother, too. They were taking him out to get his driver's licence today. That's right, I remember now. My family was gone for the day, and I was on my bed, nothing but alone with my thoughts. That's when it hit me, when I remembered. "Bo, honey? We're home," my mother calls. I inhale softly, then blow out in the mirror. I wished that I could be like you, that we could spend all of our time with each other, and that we would always be together. I nod to myself and then touch my face one last time. "Okay, mom," my voice cracks.

​

Originally posted on Wattpad December 10th, 2019

Link to my story on Wattpad here:https://www.wattpad.com/814456963-stuck-on-you

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