#and got her to recite the whole damn thing

[proxycollective]

Being a plural fanfic writer be like (part 2)

so we write fanfic right? and we got some friends (who do NOT know that we're plural) who are in the same fandom as us and also write fanfic so a lot of times we're writing the same characters at the same time

sometimes those friends or other commenters on our fics look at some of characters we write and go "wow! you captured their canon voice so perfectly! i dont know how you make their characterizations so perfect"

cue me sideglancing at the fictives we have of those characters

i dunno man- must just have a talent for it or something! totally not because we look at the fictives and ask "hey how would you/source you react to this" noooooo...

-dust

[oliversrarebooks]

a good grade in being brainwashed: wants and needs

Masterlist > Next

tw: pet whump, bbu-adjacent, dehumanization, conditioning, references to drugging, references to dubcon

He was getting a good grade in being brainwashed, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

"He seems a little clingy, though."

B211's heart sank into his knees. He knew that was one of the absolute worst things a prospective owner could say about him, the very thing his handlers had spent so much time trying to train out of him. Don't cling. Don't be needy. Be affectionate, but only when your owner desires it. Be silent and still and obedient otherwise.

Don't be needy. Don't need. Don't want. Wants are for people. Your only wish is to please your owner.

He didn't miss the nasty glare that the salesman shot him before putting his customer service smile back on his face. "Yes, this one is very affectionate, which isn't to everyone's taste. Perhaps you'd be more interested in this Romantic…"

B211 fought down the whine in his throat as the customer removed her hand from his chin and walked over to one of the other Romantics, A797. He watched as A797 flawlessly executed each position, all with a smile that was just loving enough without seeming desperate. Just the way they'd all been taught.

God, B211 hated him.

B211 knew he could be the best Romantic in this whole damn showroom, if only he could be given a chance. He'd worked so hard at his training and conditioning, absorbing everything thrown at him, always striving to be the best in the room. He knew his quality -- he was eager to please any sort of master in any way they wished, ready and willing to become whatever they wanted him to be. Their lover, their fantasy, their toy, their shoulder to cry on. He was confident he could do it all.

And yet, here he was, left in the lurch yet another day. If things didn't look up, he'd spend another night in his cold bunk. Another night where his training headphones whispered to him about how much he craved touch and affection. Another day where he had to fight down his cravings so he didn't scare off potential owners. Another failure, another denial.

It was enough to make him want to pull his hair out, if that wouldn't absolutely ruin his appeal.

"I think I'm going to talk to your handler about another course of conditioning. I don't know how it's possible, but you've still got too much willfulness in that head of yours."

B211 scrambled down into a kneel, touching his head to the floor, as soon as he realized that the salesman was addressing him. "My sincere apologies, sir. I will endeavor to do better," he said, reciting one of his hundreds of programmed phrases.

"I can tell when a pet's more concerned with his own needs instead of the customer's," said the salesman disdainfully. "Honestly, you could probably do with another round on the Drip, wash that right out of your head. I think that's what I'm gonna recommend."

"Yes, sir," said B211, his inner elbow twinging with the feel of a phantom needle. He knew very well that he should accept whatever medication, training, or punishment he was given, as it was all to make him a better pet. But he hated the way the Drip made him feel, the way his mind was so slow and dim now, compared to --

No, that wasn't right. His mind had always been slow and dim. That's why he was well suited to being a pet. That's what they'd told him, why he'd signed up. He was slow, and dim, and unable to cope with life, unable to pretend to be a person. So he'd done the right thing and signed up. Instead of an endless cycle of pain and disappointment, he'd receive unconditional love and affection from an owner who truly wanted him. All he had to do was follow his training. Simple instructions. Practice these poses. Recite these mantras. Speak politely. Let go of your wants. Let go of your needs. Be perfect.

That was all he had to do.

He didn't actually remember signing up, of course, because the Drip had erased his memories (how many times). It was best for a pet to not remember (what didn't they want him to remember) so he could be blank and empty for his owner to fill with love (what was he before he was blank).

(was he ever loved)

He shouldn't be thinking those thoughts. That's why he wasn't getting bought. Stupid, stupid.

"Well, B211? Do you have a problem with that?" the salesman demanded, pulling him back to reality.

"No, sir."

"Oh, I think you do. I can tell you have something to say. Out with it."

It was a trap. It was always a trap. He'd fallen into it before, he thought, although his memories of those times were hazy and tinged with pain. "I think whatever you and my handler decide for me would be best, sir."

He was being hauled upwards by his shirt, the salesman glaring down at him. "That's your problem. You shouldn't think. You should just get it right."

B211's mind searched for a better answer. Slow, too slow. "I want whatever training I'm given, sir. I want to be the best possible pet for my owner. I trust in my handlers to make me the best pet I can be."

"Better," he sneered.

The ring of a bell indicated another customer had arrived, sparing B211 the salesman's wrath for now. This particular salesman always liked to take it out on the pets when they weren't selling like he thought they should be.

All he wanted was to be touched and loved. Wasn't that what he had signed up for? He couldn't remember, of course, but that's the only thing it could have been. Why didn't anyone see that? Why didn't anyone pick him?

Maybe the salesman was right. Maybe he should go back on the Drip. He was thinking too much. Of course he was right -- his handlers always knew what was best for him.

"Oh, I'm not sure a Romantic is what I'm looking for, exactly," said a voice that was so strangely familiar. "I don't need -- I mean, I don't really have those kinds of needs."

B211 strained to hear the conversation in the other room, beyond the curtain separating the Romantic showroom from the rest of the pet store. That voice. He didn't know why, but wanted to hear more of that voice.

"There are a lot of unfortunate misconceptions about Romantics, and I'd say that the primary one is that they're only for sex," said the salesman. "That's absolutely not the case -- maybe ten years ago, but modern Romantics are so much more. They actually have much of the same programming as our platonic Companions, and even some Domestic capabilities. They're the perfect choice for a busy man who wants a little love in his life."

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to take a look at them…"

The customer pushed aside the curtain leading to the Romantic showroom, and B211's heart stopped.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark skin and darker curls, and large, sparkling eyes that he could get lost in. He was handsome, very much so, but that wasn't what caused B211's breath to catch in his throat -- he saw many handsome customers. No, there was something about this one that ran deeper than his looks. B211 was seized with an inexplicable, undeniable desire -- this man absolutely had to buy him. This man should be his owner.

(But pets weren't supposed to have desires.)

The customer was staring at B211, too, but not in the way he would prefer. He looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend that one," said the salesman. "He's a bit more high maintenance than our other Romantics, and you're looking for a pet that's very independent, right? I'm sure a lawyer doesn't have that much time to spend entertaining a pet, which is why I'm going to recommend this model…"

The customer, the lawyer, let himself be pulled away from B211's case, and B211 was filled with bubbling rage towards the salesman. Something flashed in his mind, a memory, perhaps, of fighting, of kicking and screaming, of having to be held down by four people as the IV was inserted into his arm --

No, that wasn't right. That wasn't right at all. He couldn't hate the salesman, or the handlers, who only wanted the best for him. If the lawyer wasn't a good fit…

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Why was this so important? He'd been passed up by so many people, what was one more to him?

B211 couldn't help but watch the lawyer out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he seemed bored with the other models the salesman was showing him. Distracted. He glanced back at B211, who quickly lowered his eyes to the floor.

"I think I have just the right fit for you!" said a bubbly saleswoman, emerging from the front of the store. She was leading along a man in a slouchy t-shirt and jeans, who was looking around the Romantics showroom in awe, as though he'd never seen so many pets. The saleswoman stopped in front of B211's case. "He's a refurb, so he's available at a discount! He's very affectionate and quite intelligent for a pet."

"Well, he's not bad looking," said this new customer. "Pet, introduce yourself."

B211 snapped to practiced attention. "Hello, sir, my designation is B211, and I'm a Romantic designation with additional Companion training. I enjoy cooking, old movies, and cuddling, and I'm always open to new adventures!"

"Hmm, I'm not sure. He's not really my type. I was hoping for something a little more… demure, do you have anything like that?"

"Certainly, sir, right this way!"

Normally, B211 would be devastated at losing another prospective buyer, but this time, all he could think about was the lawyer. The lawyer who was currently standing in front of the showroom's most expensive pet, being given the hard sell.

"…and he can do anything you want, sir. He'll be there for you when you need companionship, and quiet and out of the way when you need space. He's fully automated and intelligent enough to serve as a personal assistant or run a household. And when it comes to his Romantic skillset… he's very easy to please, and very eager and capable of pleasing others. If this pet is within your budget, I think he'd be the best suited to your needs, sir."

His needs. What were the lawyer's needs? Pets didn't have needs, couldn't have needs. B211 knew he could do whatever that so-called premium model could. But the lawyer probably had more than enough money to go premium, and why would he buy a discounted refurb when he could buy a brand-new luxury model?

"He does seem like an ideal fit…" said the lawyer.

"Would you like to spend a little time with him? I'm sure once you do, you won't be leaving this showroom alone."

"Well… maybe… but I'm still interested in that one. The one I saw when I first came in."

And the lawyer looked straight at B211.

It was impossible, wasn't it? Why would he be interested in B211 when a premium model was an option? Did he actually recognize B211's value? Was that why he'd been so drawn to this man as an owner?

The lawyer walked his way. B211 tried his hardest to read the expression on his face -- an essential skill for Romantics, to be able to read their master's smallest emotions -- but came up short. He couldn't tell what this man was thinking at all.

But his eyes looked kind. And B211 felt…

It was a feeling he couldn't place. It wasn't happy, or aroused, or quiet, or agreeable. B211 suspected it was one of those feelings he wasn't supposed to be having, one that the Drip was supposed to wash out of him.

"Are you sure, sir?" said the salesman, trailing after him. "This one is a refurb, you know. That's why he's on a discount."

"A refurb? Do you know why he was returned?" The lawyer's eyes never left B211.

"Ah, his original owner simply found a new relationship, and was displeased with the amount of attention this Romantic required. He's been wiped of those memories, and we've done our best to train out his unfortunate need for attention, of course, but he'd be a risk compared to our premium models, which can all be customized just for you for only a small additional fee…"

The lawyer wasn't paying attention to the salesman at all as he continued his pitch. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind.

And B211 finally placed what that strange feeling was. Safe. The lawyer made him feel safe. It wasn't something he had felt in training. It was something much older, something he shouldn't remember.

"I want to buy this one," said the lawyer abruptly, cutting off the salesman's patter.

The salesman couldn't hide his shock. "Are you sure, sir? There's no rush. We'd be happy to put a model on hold for you for a small deposit if you'd like more time to make up your mind."

"I've made up my mind. I want this one." The uncertainty on his face from a moment ago was gone, his voice firm. Firm enough that B211 dared to hope.

"If you're certain, then… I'll draw up the paperwork. But keep in mind that we don't accept returns on refurbished pets."

"I won't be returning him."

And the lawyer smiled at B211, actually smiled.

And someone had finally seen him. Someone wanted him. Someone was going to love him.

All he had to do was not screw it the fuck up.

Masterlist > Next

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - I Saw You In The Water

Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, very light fluff, mutual pining, Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: You and Sam try something new to help Dean with the Mark of Cain. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: I'm trying to distract myself from life, so here. Have a miniseries!

Title from Cringe by Matt Maeson

Word Count: 3.7k

Read on A03!

“This looks kind of stupid,” you mutter to Sam, and he makes a small nod of agreement, neither of you looking away from the scene before you. Rowena reciting a bunch of words that don’t sound real, and Dean sitting in a kiddie pool, scowling with his eyes screwed tight.

“It’s not just stupid,” Dean snaps your name, and you flush. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. “It’s pointless, and I am not getting adult baptized. You know what? screw this-“

He starts to stand, but Rowena pushes on his chest and sends him back into the water on his ass.

“No moving, or you’ll make me have to start over. And none of us,” Rowena looks Dean over with a dramatic shudder. “Want that.”

“Does it, um, does it have to be an inflatable pool, Rowena? Can’t we just put him in the shower?“

Rowena scoffs, dismissing Sam with a wave of her hand. “That is not how magic works, Samuel. We’re already making a gamble by hoping the spell counts this as a communal bath filled by the clean of soul, and a motel shower would be far worse.”

“Clean of soul-“

“That wee little bellhop.” Rowena gives you a sweet smile, a glint in her eyes that makes your stomach turn slightly. “Only dirty thoughts in his head were about you and your lovely breasts.”

“What.” Dean’s head shoots up, his scowl somehow more violent. “What do you mean, her breasts-“

“I mean her tits, you dimwitted boy.” Rowena gives you a disbelieving eye roll. “Men.”

“Who the fuck was looking at her tits-“

“The bellhop, Dearie, keep up-”

“Can you just do the spell, Rowena?” You cross your arms over your chest, half folding into yourself in a play to get the conversation off of your boobs. “Now?”

Rowena rolls her eyes, but nods and goes back to all her incoherent mumbo jumbo as Dean begins to look violent.

You bump Sam’s shoulder, standing slightly on your toes to whisper, “What if this doesn’t work?”

“It will.” Sam shakes his head, and his hair hits you slightly in the face. “Rowena’s the best in the game, and we’re only stretching a few of the ingredients. It’ll be fine.”

Neither of you believe that, but you’re also running out of options. You’ve lost all your leads on the Book of the Damned, and Dean can’t keep killing people. It’s killing him, and Sam, and you, and also the people. And this is, in a roundabout way, a solution. And Rowena says it will work, and you’re not stupid enough to trust her, but you’re also desperate enough to make a deal with her. She’ll do a spell to make Dean’s bloodlust refocus—make it more about things that make him happy, and less about murder—and you and Sam will stop trying to kill her for three whole months.

If it works, it’s a win for everyone. Rowena doesn’t get shot, you and Sam get Dean back, and Dean can maybe, hopefully, be happy again.

Rowena draws back up from Dean and walks over to you and Sam, extending her hand. “Hair.”

“What-“

“Hair, lass. The spell needs your hair.”

“Sam’s hair?” You frown. “Or my hair?”

“Preferably, both.”

You and Sam exchange a look of what the fuck, and Sam keeps his voice low—inaudible to Dean—as he mutters, “Why our hair?" Why not the, uh, the bellhop guy-“

“The bellhop is of no significance to Dean’s life. You two are the people he loves most in the world, so unless you want him to remain under the Mark’s corruption,” Rowena flexes her hand, her voice becoming stern. “Hair.”

Sam pulls out his hair quickly, but you’re a little slower. You’re not someone Dean loves. You’re someone Dean cares about, but you’re not Sam. You don’t belong on the spell’s weird ingredient list, you barely belong in this room. Watching Dean in such a strongly vulnerable position, making decisions about his life for him. He’d resisted this, you’d said please, and he’d caved almost immediately, but you mostly think he just didn’t want to argue. You've all been arguing a lot lately—Sam and Dean arguing about most everything, you and Sam arguing about next moves, and you and Dean arguing about you sticking around, near him, through this—and it’s getting exhausting.

But Rowena gives you an impatient look, and you pass your hair into her hand. If it doesn’t work, you can just start over and only use Sam’s hair. He has a lot of it to spare, he’ll be fine.

When the spell finishes, Sam and Rowena go outside to talk and you sit on the bed, watching Dean in silence. He’d insisted on wearing his clothing in the pool—jeans, boots, flannel and all—he’s cross-legged in the water, and he still hasn’t opened his eyes.

He still looks good. There’s an expression made of deep lines and tense frustration on his too-handsome face, and you want to touch him. You want to touch Deanwherever he’ll let you. Run soothing hands over his frown, find out of his grown-out scruff is soft or prickly, kiss his full, pink lips until he smiles, and drift down his body. Over his chest, his stomach, lower and lower until you’re wrapping your mouth around him, and he knows that you care. You really, really care about Dean, and he’s not a burden, and if this doesn’t work, you’re going to stay right at his side until you find something that does, because you like to think you’d look up at him under your lashes and he’d see that you love him, and throw his head back and groan, and maybe his hands—big and rough and so carefully skilled—would touch you-

“Be honest with me, Sweetheart.”

His low, deep voice pulls you out of your fantasy, and you blink at him with a flush that you pray he won’t notice. “What?”

“Be honest,” he repeats, and his eyes open right onto yours. He doesn’t look to be in pain anymore, he mostly looks tired, so you nod.

“Yeah, okay. What-“

“This is dumb.”

You huff a soft, dry laugh. “It’s a little ridiculous. But it will work, Dean.”

“No spell that I know of calls for an inflatable kiddie pool.”

“Well, you’re not a witch.” You shrug. “And think of it this way, we bought that forever. We bring it back to the bunker, that’s fun.”

“Bought my ass.”Dean drawls your name, giving you a pointed look that makes you squeeze your legs together a little. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you and Sam stole this thing.”

“It was like, $40.” You mumble, staring at the floral patterns of the motel carpet. “I am not paying that much for some plastic.”

“Even for a spell to save my damned soul?” Dean’s teasing, but there’s something in his voice you hate. Something that make you look up at him with a frown, unable to hide the slight desperation in your voice.

“You’re not damned, Dean.”

He just shrugs, refusing to meet your eyes, and before you can push it Sam returns, tossing Dean the keys and announcing that it’s time to figure out what the Mark wants.

So now, in an old, dusty bar, Dean’s smiling. He hasn’t really, really smiled in a few months, and it’s incredible to see.

It aches a little that he’s smiling away from you. Across the bar with his I can show you the world, sweetheart stance and expression. The one where he’s leaning the counter with one arm, and his eyes have a promise of fun while his every word is charming and drawling and teasing. You think he learned it from movies—he’s told you he likes the charisma of old western heroes, and there is something about his whole show that says cowboy—but there’s a pretty strong chance it’s just Dean. It’s how he is. Who he is. All he does is be handsome and stupid and annoying in a way that makes you want to punch him and then immediately kiss him after.

He’s hasn’t been Dean like that in a while, though. It’s been mostly frowns that turn in on his face, and a refusal to look in the mirror that he tries to hide, but you’ve still noticed. But right now, this is your Dean. The Dean who follows you into countless dreams with his pretty lips and eyes and strong hands and body, the Dean who’s managed to haunt you while you're awake and plant an ache in your heart when he’s in pain, and the Dean who you might know a little better than you know yourself. It’s why you ordered a cheeseburger when he went to sulk at the bar, and why you’re facing the door in the booth—Dean always faces the door—and why it hurts something deep and hopeless inside you that the grace of Dean’s smile is all focused on a pretty girl that isn’t you.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Your attention turns to Sam—who’s looking at you with a sympathy that is not welcome—and you give him a flat glare. “What am I supposedto say to that.”

“Um, the truth? I think?” Sam turns in his seat to look over at Dean, and you kick him. “Hey!” He yelps your name, whipping back around with an almost pout. “That hurt-“

“Don’t look at him.” You hiss, jerking your head to Dean. “He needs this.”

“Yeah, but-“

“No but, Sam. The spell is supposed to make him crave things he likes, he likes sex, let him have sex.”

“I don’t…” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “It’s weird. I read the spell-“

“Of course you read the spell-“

“Shut up, I always read the spells, it’s safer. And this one,” Sam looks you over with a frown and tight-lipped, grimacing expression. “This one’s odd.”

“Oh no,” your voice is sarcastic and cold, and it makes Sam flinch a little. “An odd thing. If only we knew some people who knew how to handle odd things.”

“This is why I wish you would just talk to him.” Sam mutters, giving the waitress a kind smile as she hands out the food. “You get mean when things like this happen. And I don’t think it would be as horrible as you’ve decided it would be.”

You pull the cheeseburger to your own side of the table in a blatant Dean-trap. “That is very easy for you to say, Sammy. Worst case for you, you become a child of divorce.”

He shrugs, poking at his salad with a fork. “I think that’s the worst case for Dean. You’d win custody.”

“Fair.” You look back to the cheeseburger, small smile threatening to pull at your lips. “I do have a higher rate of income.”

“No, you don’t,” Sam frowns. “You make exactly what he does. Nothing.”

“Wrong. I’m a better pool hustler than he is, so my return rate is higher.”

Sam laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t let him hear you say that, we’ll be stuck here until he beats you in a game.” He makes a mock face of disgust. “We’ll die here.”

You let yourself fully smile, even as you mutter, “kiss ass.”

Sam just shrugs, grinning himself as he takes a long drink. You really miss smiling. You really miss easy jokes, and you really miss making fun of each other without being consumed by too much grief or pain to do so.

You really miss Dean. He’s just across the room, but you still really miss him. And you want him—your Dean, the one that’s a little ridiculous and overly charming and the strongest, best man you’ve ever known—back. Over here, smiling at you, teasing you, or saying something shockingly genuine that makes your heart his even more than it already has been.

You look back to him in the bar—you can’t really help it, you think Dean and you always start to look for him in any crowd—and for a second you could’ve sworn he was looking at you. His smile has faded a little, and there are lines on his forehead, so if he was looking at you it wasn’t because you’re something good to him. He probably just saw his food, and then saw you, and now he’s antsy. His foot is tapping on the floor, and he’s fidgeting with the cuff of his flannel, so either Rowena’s terrible at her job, or the Mark is eating at him again.

You’ll fix it. Whatever Dean needs you to do for this, for him, you’ll do it silently and without asking for anything in return. No matter how many lectures Sam gives you about being selectively observant and kind of an idiot, you’ll just help Dean, and he won’t have to think twice about it. Helping Dean is what you do, it’s what you’ve done. Your whole life, in some way, has become how can I help Dean. How can I do something for this person who does everything for everyone else, and maybe he’ll turn his attention to me, and maybe he won’t, but no matter what I’ll have helped Dean.

It’s not like he doesn’t help you. Dean opens doors and saves your life and patches your wounds, and he never asks for anything back. But that’s why you want to help.

And this is helping Dean. It might be killing you a little, but it’s helping Dean, so you’ll still fix it, and then drown your sorrows with ice cream, strong drinks, and small moments of his joy when he’s better.

——————

Dean is really, really conflicted. It’s ripping him in half, because he knows he’s supposed to be polite to chicks—like the one in front of him, with the sweet smile and sweeter words he doesn’t deserve to hear—but her voice sounds like nails on chalkboard. She doesn’t feel right, she doesn’t feel good, and the bloodlust inside him doesn’t want her.

Bloodlust is the wrong word. It was the right word, but over the past few hours it didn’t feel like it anymore. Dean’s not great with words—he’s great with guns, and cars, and sometimes drawing, but not words—and even he gets that bloodlust really isn’t the correct word for wanting something in a way that’s clean. Pure and raw, but not innocent. It’s still a craving, it’s still insatiable, but it doesn’t feel tainted. It’s driving Dean to things he couldn’t really hate being dependent on. It had started softer and abstract, right after the spell, with drinks and food, so he’d driven to a bar. Then it had asked for care and love, and Dean didn’t have either of those things readily at his disposal, so he looked where he usually found something close to it. In a pretty girl, with a big rack and unburdened smile.

Then his attention had wandered for half a second, and now it couldn’t come back. The not-bloodlust—that wasn’t a good term for it either, he’d need to come up with a better, catchier one later—had tugged his gaze over to Her and Sam, and suddenly everything had been sharper and a lot more specific. Dean should go back to the booth. The booth had beer, and a cheeseburger, and Her and Sam. Mostly Her, but Sam was cool too. Dean was allowed to love two people.

And that’s where the conflict came in. Dean needed to be over there. His stomach was turning, and his skin was growing itchy and hot the longer he wasn’t there. But if he went over there, not only would he not only be leaving this very sweet girl, who seemed fine, but he might be in real danger of telling Her things he was not supposed to tell her. Things Sam kept telling Dean to tell Her, and things Dean kept having to remind Sam weren’t any of his business. He would not lose another good thing because he couldn’t keep himself in check. He would not poison something that didn’t deserve it, no matter how much the bloodlust kept telling him to. Kept telling him that She was caring and lovely, so Dean should drag her down to his level and kiss her in the grime and guts.

The not-bloodlust wanted Her too. The not-bloodlust really liked the idea of just being closer to Her, because she usually helped things. She helped everyone—Dean wasn’t special—but the not-bloodlust seemed to think that simply breathing air that had been inside her more recently would fix a lot of things that were boiling and cracking and hissing in Dean’s body.

That’s what won the conflict. He wouldn’t have to say things for this to be better, they just would be. So Dean gave the pretty girl an apologetic goodbye—she’d be fine, there were other men who were better than Dean and weren’t overtly craving their best friends in the bar—and almost ran back to Her and Sam.

She looks up at Dean as he scoots into the booth, her brows furrowed and mouth tugging down. “You’re back.”

“Well done, sweetheart, I am back.” Dean grins at Her, and that only makes her frown more.

“Did you, um,” She looks over to Sam, who shrugs. “Did you strike out?”

“Nah, just hungry.” It wasn’t a lie. Dean had been hungry. Dean had been starving, but he felt better now. He’d still eat the cheeseburger, but the hunger had dulled from a mind-numbing desperation and withdrawal to just a growl near his throat of cheeseburger. Cheeseburgers are good.

“Well, how are you feeling?” Sam’s voice is insistent, and Dean rolls his eyes, because he knows where this is going. “Do you want to kill someone? Rowena said the spell might take a few hours to work-“

“Workin’ now. I feel good.” Dean takes a large bite of his cheeseburger, and She and Sam exchange looks.

“Good?”

Dean nods, shooting Her a wink. “Real good,” he says Her name through his mouthful—crumbs falling out of his mouth—and she sighs. Her hand twitches on the table, and Dean wants to hold it. He can’t hold it. He’s not even supposed to be talking right now—that was the deal he’d made with himself—so holding hands if defiantly off the table. It would probably freak her out, too, and that’s the last thing Dean wants to do. He’s freaked Her out enough for a whole lot of lifetimes, so she should be smiling instead.

Dean’s usually really good at making Her smile. He’s proud of that, because She worries more than Sam and has more nightmares than Dean, but he can always make her smile.

She’s not smiling now. She’s tense, and she keeps looking between Dean and the girl at the bar.

“You’re good.” She repeats his words slowly, but it doesn’t sound like she believes them. “And you think the spell worked.”

“Did work.” Dean swallows, and immediately takes another bite. Cheeseburgers are good, the not-bloodlust had decided, so Dean should eat more cheeseburgers. “Don’t think it did, I know it did.”

“How do you know?” Sam asks, pulling the cheeseburger across the table, away from Dean.

“Hey!” Dean reaches for his plate, and Sam moves it away faster. “What the fuck, Sammy, do not touch my burger-”

“It’s distracting you, Dean, and this is serious. We really need to know if the spell worked-“

“It did work. I don’t want to gank anything, I just want my cheeseburger and-“ He has to cut himself off, because that is exactly why he wasn’t supposed to talk. “Look, man, it worked. Trust me, I feel good. No bloodlust, just, uh, not-bloodlust.”

Sam glances at the cheeseburger, then at Her, then at Dean. Dean gives him a very winning grin—all teeth and bright eyes, and give me back my burger, I’m not going to kill anyone—but Sam’s attention just moves back to Her. She mostly looks confused and tired—Dean still needs to make her smile—but she nods, making a loose gesture of surrender, and Sam, finally, slides the food back to Dean.

“If he’s really good,” Sam’s pretty clearly talking to Her, but Dean listens anyways. They’re a team, he’s allowed to hear this stuff. “We should get back to Kansas tonight. It’s not smart to linger in a town after a hunt finishes-“

“I know,” She glances back to Dean, and he offers her his widest, most reassuring smile. She doesn’t smile back, but her face relaxes a little, so Dean counts it as a victory. “Do you want to finish that, or-“

“Gimme three-“

“Chew, Dean.”

He does, holding up three fingers in a silent signal, and inhales the rest of his cheeseburger.

“Holy crap, dude.“ Sam blinks between Dean and the empty plate. “That was really fast, even for you.”

Dean shrugs, standing out of the booth. “Don’t blame me, blame the not-bloodlust. Cheeseburgers or murder, Sammy, gotta be one.”

Sam rolls his eyes, starting to the door, and Dean lingers until She’s on her feet and they can follow Sam together.

“Not-bloodlust is a bad name,” She mutters, staring at the floor as she walks. “What about, uh, what’s the opposite of blood?”

“Dunno.” Dean watches Her carefully, raking his brain for a good answer. “Water? Waterlust?”

That gets him a small, huffed laugh. “That doesn’t make sense, Dean.”

“Doesn’t have to. It’s my lust.”

“It is.” She meets Dean’s eyes, and her attention is soft, but it feels strange. Like she’s trying to find something on Dean’s face he doesn’t know how to get for her. “And if you really want, we can call it waterlust, but I like betterlust.”

“Betterlust?“

“Starts with B,” Her attention turns back to the floor, and Dean feels something sour twist around his heart and forearm. “Fun to say. Makes sense, too, you’re lusting after better stuff.”

Dean was lusting after better stuff. It was a good name—better than not-bloodlust—and he was willing to concede waterlust to Her. It was, overwhelmingly so, the least he could do.

“Betterlust it is, Sweetheart.” He tried his most charming, cocky, look at me, I’m a cowboy and I can be yours if you offer me just a few kind words because I’m a pathetic, worthless wet dog that barks and bites, but man am I good at sex, smile on Her, and this time, he got a real smile back.

End Note: Wow what's this something I write that's actually going to be short? We'll see!

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@artemys-ackles @brtodd @panicking-outside-the-disco @megara0224

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — yonsei

SEMI-QUALIFIERS: Seoul's Univeristy of Multi-Arts (SUMA) VS. Yonsei University

WARNINGS ; mentions of cheating, sports injury, mentions of sexual acts, toxic relationships, love bombing, manipulation, borderline physical abuse, implied threats of suic*de (6.5k)

the last time jimin had played yonsei in her own gym, she had torn her acl.

it wasn't anyone's fault but her own. she hadn't slept or eaten properly since she had found out about her dad's infidelity. she threw herself into training and conditioning harder than she should've, and she could see the rubber on her shoes starting to come off, but didn't have the heart to ask for a new pair while her parents were sorting things out.

she knew what the risks were, she just never thought it would've happened to her.

jimin heard the pop before she felt it, and it replayed in her mind like some sick melody. it played on repeat as she got into the car. it lulled her to sleep after the surgery and it kept her awake the night before physio.

jimin wondered if her parents would still be together if her injury never happened, if she'd still get the girl in the end.

but it didn't matter now that she could hear the drums beating inside the changing room, shaking the trophy case inside victor's hall.

jimin was gonna ruin yonsei, just like they ruined her.

y/n could feel the bass shaking her insides like gelatin.

she had almost forgotten how big of a sport volleyball was. she was so used to the flashiness of football, and the pace of basketball that it was hard to remember the sport existed without a constant reminder of it.

volleyball was silent, but it held an intensity that she couldn't ignore. there always seemed to be an energy surrounding the sport, and stepping inside the gym, she could feel the tension hanging in the air, like smog entering her lungs. the dread and excitement overtook her senses and paired with the nervousness that she was feeling, y/n felt like she was going to explode.

"i can't breathe." y/n held onto the edge of the bench, gripping it like her life depended on it.

"you'll be fine." minju whispered, patting the younger's back as the loud crowd tried their best to out-cheer each other. "just focus on wonyoung."

yuri nodded, holding a yena cut out as she leaned over. "it's not like jimin could say no."

"oh shit," chaewon butted in, her cut-out of yena waving in the air like a flag. "you're breaking up with jimin?"

rei perked up. ever since wonyoung had found out about her whole 'speech' (she had made rei recite it to her to the best of her abilities), the middle blocker had completely shut her down when it came to anything related to y/n and her.

her only source had become jiwon, but recently, an ugly feeling had settled in her chest whenever she spoke about it.

"you are?" the japanese girl's eyes widened. "does wonyoung know?"

minju looked over to her sister, watching as the younger kim's smile slowly faded. if rei didn't get the message from their first talk, minju was glad to do it again.

"i don't think you should care this much, naoi." minju snarled.

"sunbaenim," rei cleared her throat. "with all due respect-"

minju rolled her eyes. it was almost comical how rei thought she had a say in anything related to jiwon, especially after she tore her heart into a million pieces and scattered them around.

"with all due respect, you can shut the hell up." minju glared before earning a slap from chaewon. she turned to her with a pout. "what?"

"be nice."

"but-"

"be nice." chaewon looked at her before smiling sweetly, her cheeks rosy from the heat of the gym. "please?"

minju couldn't help but nod, feeling herself nearly melt into a puddle on the ground.

the student council vice president turned around, bowing slightly with a faint blush on her cheeks. "sorry, rei."

"damn," yuri chuckled behind the cut-out of her girlfriend's face. "chaewon-unnie's got you pussywhipped."

minju gave y/n a pat on the back, rubbing it in soft circles as she scowled at her roommate. "i'm gonna choke you until you pass out."

"woah," yuri held up her hand, using the other one to pass y/n her cold water bottle. "that's yena's job?"

it took everything in minju not to strangle the girl sitting two spots from her. she needed to put up a good front for her girlfriend, and as annoying as yuri was, she knew that her constant teasing was a way to ease y/n and make everything feel normal.

the truth of the matter was they were all terrified. jimin was volatile, almost heartless when it came to y/n's safety, and they didn't know how well she was going to take the break up.

the fluorescent lights stuttered before coming to a close. the entire gym, both blue and red, stood up and cheered, shaking their banners as the drums on both sides began to beat louder and louder. y/n could feel the rhythm reverberate in her chest, her palms sweating as if she were the one playing tonight.

she kept her head down, her breath shallow as she thought of every possible scenario in her head.

she had to do this now. y/n didn't know if she had enough life in her to keep being with jimin.

love was supposed to be hard, not horrible.

"the lights are dimming..." jiwon spoke softly, looking at the top of the bleachers as suma's av club readied the spotlight. "does that mean they're coming out?"

y/n looked up, her eyes scanning the court before stopping on a familiar face.

"is that minjeong-unnie?"

the girls looked across the gym, watching as a minjeong-like figure walked in nervously with two girls in tow. her head was down, and she was wearing surprisingly nice attire considering who she was watching.

"i thought she didn't get tickets?" minju muttered, her mind trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

yuri shrugged. minjeong had always been secretive, especially as of late. "that's what she said, but she's next to aeri and alex."

y/n watched as her nerves tripled. she didn't know if she could handle minjeong being in the same vicinity as her when she broke up with jimin later. anything could happen, and it made her gut wretch in terror.

"you think they're finally together?" chaewon smiled, remembering the two when both of them were just freshmen.

"i hope so." yuri muttered, trumpets sounding in the background as a group of (self-designated) fangirls held open a paper banner. "otherwise, i filed a noise complaint on a ghost."

alex was a good next-door neighbor. she would occasionally give them extra food, and considering she and yena were close friends, paid no mind to the loud noises that were coming out of yuri and minju's dorm.

unfortunately, aeri seemed to be the loudest out of all of them.

the drums beat harder, the rhythm of both sides merging into one, as if it was a well-taught tradition that had been passed down from generation to generation. y/n could feel her heart syncing to each thump, and she could hear the blood rushing to her ears as the screams got louder and louder.

behind the sparkly banner, the faint outline of ahn yujin could be seen, shaking all her nerves away as she took a deep breath. she could see the scattered faces of her teammates across the sea of people, and the crests of red invading her eyes.

with a bounce in her step, she ran through the fragile poster, ripping it as the spotlight made its way onto her.

the crowd roared.

jiwon cheered along with the crowd, standing up with all her schoolmates. her hand twitched as she felt something cold grasp for her hand.

"rei?"

kim jiwon was beautiful.

"i'm sorry."

jiwon looked down, and rei could feel the heat of her cheeks, and the warmth of jiwon's fingertips.

"for what?"

for everything.

the crowd roared once more.

wonyoung had many dreams.

at the age of five, her dream was to be a knight in shining armor, helping the pretty princesses down and slaying the big scary dragon. at ten, she wanted her parents to stop yelling at each other, to at least pretend that they were a happy family.

and at thirteen years old, when wonyoung first watched jimin during her high school tour, she dreamt of one day playing alongside her idol.

"watch where the fuck you're going."

idols were meant to stay idols, no matter how much you looked up to them.

it had been the first set, in favor of yonsei.

suma hadn't been sloppy. they had been playing better than usual. their receives, thanks to chaeryeong and yena, had been perfect, and their reads had been accurate. jimin and wonyoung had been playing well alongside each other, the two performing like a tight-knit duo, stopping any spike that would get in the way.

but it wasn't enough to go against a well-polished team like yonsei.

"time out!" wonyoung could tell that her coach was stressed, her voice straining over the crowd. "time out!"

the whistle blew, and the girls hurried as they gathered on the sidelines.

"take a breather." seulgi muttered, clutching the board in her hand. "you girls are doing well. i'm proud of you."

if wonyoung hadn't been so tired, she would've cried on the spot.

"yujin." seulgi turned to the captain, her eyes boring into the students as she whispered. "what do you notice about yonsei right now?"

"um," yujin took a sip of her gatorade, stretching her shoulder. "they jump really fucking high."

seulgi nodded, tightening her grip on the board. quickly, she flipped it over, taking out her dry-erase marker and scribbling on the edge.

"chaery, i need you and yena to stay in the back as much as you can." seulgi marked the corners of their side of the court. "don't worry about receiving so close. all they do is hit as hard as they can."

chaeryeong nodded, earning a light tap on the butt from yena. the taller girl rolled her eyes, giving a playful smile at her defensive specialist.

"yujin, i need you to stay close to the middle, okay?" seulgi looked at suma's captain, yujin's eyes hardening to a serious look. "gaeul needs someone with her just in case they tip again."

the opposite hitter nodded. they needed this win. she wasn't gonna get the girl on a loss.

seulgi turned to gaeul, and the setter could feel her nerves kicking it, trying to guess what she had to adjust before her coach had said it out loud.

"gaeul, just keep doing what you're doing." seulgi smiled. she could always depend on the third year to be consistent. "don't be scared of their height. they're tall and they're fast, but they're fucking dumb as rocks."

gaeul nodded, avoiding yujin and yena's teasing eyes.

seulgi turned to the remaining two, both of whom had their eyebrows furrowed into a ball of frustration.

she sighed, looking at the other teams domineering height. there was no way jimin could out-jump them, even in her peak condition.

"jimin, switch positions with wonyoung." seulgi sighed. she hadn't trained wonyoung to be anything but a middle blocker the entire season, but she all she needed was that gut feeling to solidify her choice. "we need that extra height in right now, and i can tell your knee is starting to bug you."

jimin gawked.

"you want me to be middle?"

she had worked hard for her position. for her title. she was the 'ace of korea'. she was suma's ace, jimin was their outside hitter. without her, they would be nothing.

"coach," wonyoung swallowed. "i haven't played outside at all this season."

seulgi winced, listening to the whistle blow in the background.

their time out was done.

jimin had the speed. she had the finesse. she was everything that seulgi should've needed right now, but the ace was quick to anger, and a simple block could ruin her whole game.

wonyoung, on the other hand, was slightly slower than jimin. her hand would drop just a little too late for seulgi's liking, and she always seemed to get to her spot a millisecond later than she should.

but wonyoung had the drive, and she had the power jimin seemed to lack.

that was everything seulgi needed right now, and then some.

"i said what i said." the whistle blew one more time, one last warning to the girls before they scattered to their spots. "now, hurry the fuck up, and don't stress. we got their asses."

jimin glanced at wonyoung with a sneer.

the girls took their places, yujin hovering close to the middle as yena and chaeryeong stayed back. jimin stood next to wonyoung, their arms ready for the ball. gaeul glanced at them, ignoring the swirl of anxiety laced in wonyoung's eyes. she turned, waiting as the other team took possession of the ball.

the whistle blew, setting the ball in motion. the crowd came to a hush as yonsei began to serve.

"one point!"

jang wonyoung was a hero in suma's eyes.

she had done what hwang 'free fall' yeji and yoo 'the ace of korea' jimin couldn't do at the finals last year.

wonyoung had taken down yonsei with her barehands.

she looked at her hand, red and stinging as she played through the events of the game. each rally, she found herself spiking harder than before, slamming the ball down as hard and as sharp as she could.

it felt right. it felt like her.

she had been a little shorter than the girls on the other team, but she jumped just as high. her form was a little rusty, but by the start of the third set, wonyoung had got into a groove that she didn't know she had.

it didn't matter if the other team tried to block her. it was the fact they couldn't.

wonyoung's spike kept ripping through their hands, like a sledgehammer through drywall. every time they had gotten a read on her, she would swing with every emotion she felt. all the pent-up anger and sadness came flowing out like a river.

she couldn't care less about the surprise that was etched on her coach's face, or the slight fear that jimin had harbored each time wonyoung had jumped in the air.

she was tired of idolizing someone who couldn't give a shit about her. she didn't want to play like someone she wasn't, someone who let their emotions control them.

she was jang wonyoung. volleyball was her sport, and she was gonna play it like a dance.

suma had won three sets in a row. 3-2.

her teammates cheered as she sat outside the multi-purpose room, smiling and thanking every passerby who congratulated her for her game.

yujin stepped outside, looking around before her eyes met wonyoung's slumped figure.

"wonyoung." yujin could look for gaeul in a second. "you good?"

"unnie," wonyoung could feel the tears threatening to spill out of her throat. "i played so bad..."

yujin wanted to smack her across the face. she would kill to play the way wonyoung had, yet here she was, sulking for some unknown reason as their team celebrated their victory.

(inside, seulgi had gotten water gunned by yena and hanni at least four times.)

"no, you didn't." yujin sat next to her friend. "you don't even play outside. you demolished them, wonyoung."

the captain gave wonyoung a look, and her tears overflowed and didn't look as if they were stopping soon.

"you did well." yujin nudged the younger girls shoulder. "we won."

wonyoung could hear the music from the gym, her eyes clenched tight as she kept track of all the faces she saw.

uchinaga aeri had looked at her, nodding along with furrowed eyebrows each time jimin slammed the ball down. shin ryujin had stood up during one of chaeryeong's serves, yelling at the top of her lungs as she got her sixth service ace. l/n y/n, beautiful as ever, cheered for her, and only her.

but then there was jang jiyoung, standing emotionless in the crowd.

"we didn't win enough."

("you didn't win by enough. how do you think your father will feel about this?")

"is this about something else?" yujin frowned, wonyoung's phrasing suddenly sparking deja vu. "do you want me to stay? i'll talk to gaeul-unnie on a different day."

"no." wonyoung wanted anything but. "i'm fine."

yujin sighed. "wonyoung-"

"i know you used to like me, unnie." wonyoung muttered, her watery eyes opening to meet yujin's. "and i know that gaeul-unnie still thinks you do."

the older girl looked away with a blush, too embarrassed to look at her best friend. she always knew her feelings were loud, and deep down she hoped that wonyoung would've never found out.

wonyoung glanced at the washroom door. she wasn't gonna let yujin mess up again.

"don't keep her waiting, unnie."

slowly, yujin stood up, her eyes trained on wonyoung's figure. she didn't want to leave the girl alone, but something told her that a simple talk wasn't going to fix whatever wonyoung was thinking at that moment.

"call me if you need anything, yeah?"

wonyoung nodded, listening to her captain's footsteps as they entered the washroom.

when was jang wonyoung ever going to be enough?

"jimin!"

the locker room door opened with a loud thud, and the uchinaga hugged a shirtless, sweaty yoo jimin.

"hey, aeri." jimin sighed before looking at the girl accompanying the heiress. "baek."

aeri frowned. she figured that jimin would be in a sour mood after switching positions (at least that's what alex told her), but she didn't think she would be so pissed.

"minjeongie is outside, i think." aeri smiled, trying to calm the volleyball player down. "she'll be here in a bit."

jimin rolled her eyes. the last person she wanted to see was the girl who was in love with her girlfriend.

she turned to alex, face stoic as she put on a sweater.

"why is she here?"

"i have a name," the former player scoffed, her eyes hardening. "you don't even have the outside position anymore, yet you still have the audacity."

jimin took a step towards the shorter girl, and alex swore that she could feel her hand itching to slap the ace across her perfectly sculpted face.

aeri stepped in between the two, looking between the both of them as she pleaded, "can't you guys just try to get along?"

"babe," alex interjected in a serious tone. "she told the coach i was sleeping with yeji."

"because you were!"

jimin tried to push through aeri, but the uchinaga held her ground.

"no i wasn't you, dumb fuck," alex could feel her blood boiling, and if she didn't love aeri so much, she would've socked jimin square in the face. "you'd think you'd have brains in there somewhere."

"aeri." jimin clenched her eyes shut. "can you please get your girlfriend out of here?"

"babe," aeri smiled, batting her eyelashes. "can you wait outside?"

alex placed a soft kiss on aeri's cheek before sparing a glare at her former friend.

"gladly."

alex walked out, the door closing with a slam as the tension in the air lifted.

two years ago, if jimin had found out that she hated her childhood best friend, she would've thought of it as a lie, but now, she wished nothing but injury on the younger girl.

"she's fucking horrible."

"no, she isn't." aeri rolled her eyes. "jimin, can't you just forgive her?"

jimin shook her head, taking her shoes off to switch to her crocs.

aeri scratched her head. jimin was never this stubborn, especially when it came to people she loved.

"it didn't even happen when you were around."

"but she knew!" jimin shouted as aeri flinched back, not used to having jimin's voice raised at her. "she was my best friend and she knew about me and yeji."

aeri took a deep breath.

she reminded herself that jimin was currently upset, and there was no way that this angry, vile person was her best friend. this jimin was just a rare occurrence, not an ongoing phenomenon.

"no, she didn't." aeri lowered her voice, trying to control her anger. two angry people made things so much worse. still, she couldn't help but let it slip through the cracks. "yeji never told her. she never told anyone. the only reason i ever found out was because i walked into you two fucking!"

jimin looked at her with a blank face before sitting down.

"yeji never told anyone?"

jimin's voice was soft, and it was like aeri could hear jimin telling her about yeji for the first time.

"you thought she did?" aeri asked. "jimin-"

jimin looked up, wiping her eyes as she tried to shake off every thought she had of her former captain. jimin didn't need yeji burdening suma's star player, even if it still kept her up at night.

"whatever."

aeri listed to the soft sniffles of her best friend, smiling as if they were two kids playing with sand on the beach.

no matter what happened to jimin, aeri would always be proud of how tough her best friend was.

"you played well."

jimin shook her head, putting her shoes and jersey in her bag. "coach seulgi switched our positions around."

"and you still played well."

"playing well isn't good enough." jimin didn't want to lose to someone who had everything. for once, she just wanted the spotlight on her. "i have to play the best."

alex had told her about the sports mentality that she held, and the reason it was so easy for yeji to brainwash her into thinking the younger girl needed her.

she just never imagined it would affect jimin.

"jimin..."

"what aeri?" jimin scowled, hating the pity that was emitting from her best friend. "i don't want to fucking talk to you right now. you're fucking pissing me off."

but aeri was slowly starting to realize that it didn't just affect jimin, it consumed her.

"okay." aeri suddenly felt like a stranger, staring at the girl who once helped her overcome her hardships. "sorry."

"just leave." jimin sighed. "i'll call you once i've cooled down."

aeri nodded, leaving to go find her girlfriend. she wondered if jimin was ever gonna call, and aeri wondered if she was willing to answer a stranger.

minjeong could spot y/n from any distance you'd give her.

it didn't matter if the younger girl was on the other side of the world. minjeong would find a way to her.

she was y/n's until the end of time.

"y/n." minjeong gripped her wrist softly, stopping the girl before she entered victor's hall.

"minjeong-unnie."

minjeong could blush every time the younger girl said her name.

she looked around at the faces in front of her, stopping at one she didn't expect.

"why is rei here?" minjeong remembered the pale look the girl had the last time she was around minju.

"my question exactly." the older kim muttered, before getting a soft thwack on her arm. "what?"

chaewon frowned. "i told you to behave."

minju pouted. there was no way she could go against her girlfriend's wishes, even if she tried.

"what are you doing here?" minjeong turned to y/n, her eyes filled with anxiety. "you didn't tell me you were gonna watch jimin's game."

"i didn't." minjeong sighed in relief, watching as yena came barreling down to lift yuri in the air. "i watched wonyoung's."

"oh shit?" yena muttered before putting her girlfriend on the ground. quickly, she placed a kiss on her cheek. "what did i miss?"

"yena... baby." yuri looked at her with doe eyes, immersed in the scene that was unfolding. "shut up."

yena smiled, wrapping an arm around yuri's waist. "i love it when you tell me to shut up."

"wonyoung?" minjeong scoffed, her face scrunching up in anger. "are we really gonna fight over this again?"

y/n rolled her eyes, trying to push past minjeong. "i'm not fighting with you, unnie."

minjeong extended her arm, stopping the younger girl from entering. "why are you here?"

"why are you here?"

minjeong looked at her, a plethora of emotions flashing through her eyes.

"it doesn't matter." she shook her head, trying to dismiss all suspicions anyone had. "y/n, you better tell me right now or-"

"i'm breaking up with jimin."

yena gasped, covering her mouth with her free hand. "oh shit..."

"babe."

"sorry, baby."

"wh-" minjeong could almost scream from the excitement that rushed through her body until she looked at a looming figure standing idly next to the suma changing room. "right now?"

"yeah," y/n suddenly felt like she had been dipped in a pool of lava. "right now."

"can't you do it, like, over text?" minjeong could feel like she was going to vomit. she didn't want jimin anywhere near y/n. "i don't feel comfortable knowing that she's gonna be around you when that happens. what if she hurts you?"

"she won't." y/n muttered. "i'll be fine."

minjeong shook her head, refusing to let the younger girl pass. "y/n-"

"you don't have a say in this, minjeong." y/n couldn't take it anymore. she needed to see jimin. "you aren't my girlfriend."

"oh fuck." yena gasped once more.

minjeong had known y/n for two and a half years. she stayed with her when the younger girl had gone through her break up with wonyoung, and let her cry on her shoulder through the infidelity of jimin.

it wasn't fair. it should've been her in the first place. she should've been y/n's from the start.

"fine." minjeong glared at y/n, and the younger girl almost didn't recognize the girl in front of her. "if she fucking hurts you, it's your fault. don't say i didn't try."

y/n steeled herself, ignoring the pain that spread across her chest as she pushed past her best friend.

minjeong could wait for later.

aeri could count all the times she had missed the signs of her mom's infidelity.

she remembered the texts that would pop up whenever her mom handed her her phone. she ignored the times when the older uchinaga would call her the wrong name. she even let it slide when her mother had said she was gonna meet up with some relatives, knowing full well that her mom was the only one left on her side.

aeri wondered if she had done the same with jimin.

"aeri-unnie," aeri looked up, meeting face to face with the one and only l/n y/n. "have you seen jimin?"

aeri wanted to say no, but the girl looked desperate.

"she's inside." the older girl said.

y/n bowed, aeri noticing her wiping her hands. "thank you, unnie."

the door creaked open with a gentleness that seemed familiar to the athlete inside. her tired eyes latched onto the door, finding a smaller frame entering the room.

aeri let the door close, listening closely to the conversation.

"jimin."

y/n could feel her heart beating in her ears. she wanted to melt into a pool of water, and she was willing to do anything to avoid confrontation with jimin.

the volleyball player's dark irises landed on hers, and y/n wished she had taken jiwon's offer days before.

"baby? why are you here?" jimin was angry. y/n could see the veins on her neck, and the whites of her eyes red with tears. her knuckles were bruised, and everything felt all too familiar. "what did i tell you about visiting me in here? are you fucking insane? did anyone see you go inside?"

aeri's eyes widened as she heard jimin scream through the steel door.

"jimin..."

the girl took a step towards her, her fist clenched into a ball.

"how many times do i have to keep telling you?" jimin gritted her teeth. she hated the way y/n always disobeyed her. it made her feel weak. "are you fucking stupid?"

y/n stared at her, trembling at the gaze of her lover.

she just wanted it to be over with. y/n wanted all the hurting to stop.

slowly, y/n looked up, taking in every feature jimin had. she took note of her harsh, firey eyes and how they only seemed to be filled with love at times when they were alone. she traced the scowl on the older girl's face, wondering what violent thoughts had sprung up inside her head.

y/n wondered if this was the jimin she fell in love with, or if she was just trying to find someone to stick to during her time of heartbreak.

she took a deep breath, her heart suddenly caught in her throat, but she needed to do this. if not for herself, then for her love for wonyoung.

"i'm breaking up with you."

aeri took a step away from the door, shock filling her features.

"what?"

"i should've never taken you back in the first place." y/n felt free, like this moment was hers and only hers. she could feel the breeze of the ac as jimin took a step back. "you treat me like shit. you're always insulting me. you act like you own me. you try to control who i hang out with. you even cheated on me, jimin."

jimin shook her head, scoffing at the thought of even disrespecting the girl she loved.

she wasn't her father. she was a good person.

"you're making up shit." jimin didn't want to listen anymore. she was done. "did minjeong tell you all of this?"

aeri's ears perked up at the mention of the girl. she pressed her ear closer to the entrance.

"no."

"then why?" jimin was exasperated. she's been nothing but good. she did everything and more. what more did y/n want? "because honestly, i treat you better than anyone ever has. i was there for you. i helped you, y/n."

y/n just wanted to go home. she didn't want to explain every single thing jimin had done wrong in the past eight months of their relationship.

but she let her anger get the better of her.

"you're a horrible person, jimin." y/n clenched her jaw, taking a shakey breath. "and i can't love a horrible person."

"i..." jimin was a good person. she had to be because that meant her pain was worth something, that she was able to be saved, and good people like jimin deserve to have a good life.

she couldn't be like yeji. it was impossible. she couldn't be like her father.

"baby." tears started to pour down jimin's face before she realized what was happening. "no, please."

jimin took a step forward, her eyes seemingly flowing nonstop.

she had never felt this much pain in her life, not when she had ripped her tendon in half, and not when her father didn't want her anymore.

she was supposed to get the girl. she was supposed to get her girl.

"i'll be better! i'll change." jimin's body shook as if everything she had held back had burst through. she wasn't gonna lose the one good thing in her life. "please, we can go to couple's therapy. i'll even pay for it myself."

y/n could feel her heart clenching at the sight of her now ex, sobbing and breaking down in front of her.

any other time, she would've taken her back, letting jimin repeat the cycle over and over again, just to feel loved by someone similar to wonyoung.

but y/n didn't know if she had any life left in her.

"jimin..."

"you can't break up with me!" jimin gripped her wrist, shaking her head as she continued to blubber. "please! i love you."

y/n wanted to love her back, but she wasn't jimin's anymore.

she never was.

"i'm sorry."

"please!" jimin's grip tightened, and she felt like she was begging her parents to stay together for her sake all over again. "i've done so much for you. all i'm asking is for you to love me back. baby, please."

y/n could feel everything.

she could feel the thrum of the ac, and the fading cheers of the students outside. she could hear muffled talking through the vents, and the socks on her feet.

she could also feel how tight jimin's grip had gotten, even tighter than minjeong's at the uchinaga's party.

"jimin," y/n gripped the older girl's wrist, trying to pry her away. panic burst through her chest. "let go of me."

"i love you." jimin shook her head, dead set on not letting y/n go. "i only love you. please, baby. you're my everything. i can't live without you."

any other day, y/n could read between the lines, but jimin's grip was tightening more and more.

"let go, jimin." y/n felt the older girl squeeze at her words.

"what am i supposed to do?" jimin asked sincerely, as if she was doing nothing wrong. "baby, i need you. please."

"jimin, seriously!" y/n bit the bottom of her lip. jimin's blunt nails were starting to dig into her wrist. "it hurts!"

the door slammed open, yena leading the charge with yuri (holding a cardboard cutout of yena), minju, and chaewon.

yuri set the cardboard down slowly, leaving it in the corner as yena approached jimin.

"leave her alone, you walking std."

"yena-unnie." jimin smiled as she saw her teammate. there was finally someone on her side, someone who would understand her.

yena put a hand on her shoulder.

"she said to let her go, dude." yena shook her head. "just do it."

jimin could feel the betrayal setting in her chest. she didn't understand why everyone was suddenly ganging up on her. she had done nothing wrong except love the girl. perhaps she had been mean at times, but she still loved her.

"but, unnie..." jimin looked at y/n who winced lightly. "i love her. you don't understand."

yena shook her head, grabbing jimin's wrist. her actions only prompted the volleyball star to grip onto her harder, making y/n yelp out in pain.

rei and wonyoung had come running into the room, the outside hitter still dressed in her jersey except for a pair of sweats that she wore over her spanx.

she looked over to y/n a grimace covering her face. wonyoung looked down as her eyes darkened in anger.

she walked toward jimin, her nails digging into the older girl's shoulder.

"back the fuck off, jimin."

jimin winced, letting y/n's wrist go to grip wonyoung's.

wonyoung had held back. she knew how messy it would've gotten if she decided to beat the living shit out of jimin (she could only thank yunjin for doing it a month before).

the ace glared. wonyoung was disrespectful as she was shit at the game.

"don't fucking talk to me like that."

wonyoung had hated using her student body president privilege. she hated how others looked up to her, not knowing that she had sacrificed her time, her relationship, and her life for a header on her future resume.

but jang wonyoung hated yoo jimin more.

"back off, or i'll tell the dean."

wonyoung gave jimin a shove, sending her flying backward towards a bench. the taller girl looked at y/n's wrist, suddenly reminded of that stupid party where everything had hit the fan.

"y/n!"

y/n whimpered, looking at the crescent creases on her skin. "minjeong-unnie..."

"is it wonyoung and friends today or something?" jimin stood up, glaring at the older girl looking at her with worry laced in her eyes. "i didn't take you for a fucking simp, yena."

there were many things that jimin called yena; stupid, idiot, a fucking rock who couldn't jump if she tried, but the older girl wasn't gonna let it slide when it came to her girlfriend.

"i'm your sunbae." yena muttered, holding back the urge to spit at jimin. "speak to me like that again and you'll see what happens."

(yuri covered her mouth to squeal.)

"what the hell is going on in here?"

yujin stood at the door, hair messy and pissed off, next to a disheveled kim gaeul and a very flustered kim jiwon. the captain hated getting interrupted doing important things.

"holy shit?" yena looked at the dark marks scattered along yujin's collarbone. "did you just fuck someone?"

"i-" yujin blushed. "it doesn't matter. jimin-sunbaenim, finish getting changed somewhere else. i don't want to ask again."

jimin gritted her teeth, only relenting to the one person who had more power than her. she grabbed her stuff, slamming the door closed, ignoring aeri in the process.

"are you okay?" wonyoung turned to y/n, watching as minjeong tended to her injury.

"yeah." y/n could almost laugh. despite how bad it hurt, it left a much lighter mark than minjeong's did.

perhaps minjeong was stronger than jimin.

"let's go get ice for your wrist."

y/n had never felt more safe next to anyone.

"okay."

minjeong stared at the pair, ignoring aeri watching her every move.

"i'll go with you."

she had missed everything.

aeri felt like she should've stayed and helped instead of running to go find minjeong.

she had never dealt with someone as strong as jimin, and it sickened her to think that her best friend could potentially hurt her if she had tried to stop it.

the uchinaga looked at the group, huddled around the actress. to the side, she saw wonyoung, staring lovingly at y/n.

"is she okay?"

"aeri-unnie, hi." wonyoung smiled, tilting her head. "she should be. it doesn't look that bad."

"how long have they been together?" aeri cleared her throat, her eyes landing on minjeong's figure. "jimin and y/n, i mean."

wonyoung knew it like the back of her hand. she knew the exact date that jimin had asked her newly-ex out, right in front of their dorm blasting some stupid love song about how in love she was with her.

(wonyoung could've picked a better song. she would've done a dance number too, but whatever.)

"since april second of last year." it's been so long since her and y/n had broken up. "they broke up for like a day last month... and they got back together again."

aeri could feel the nausea bubbling up in her throat. she needed to find alex before minjeong realized she was there. fast.

she turned to wonyoung to bid her goodbye, only to find the girl sulking.

aeri raised an eyebrow. she couldn't have been this dense, right? "do you like her?"

liking l/n y/n was an understatement.

"i guess you can say that." wonyoung smiled, looking at yujin's arm wrapped around gaeul's waist and wishing it was her and y/n.

aeri nodded, too frantic to reply as she texted her girlfriend. she understood how wonyoung felt at that moment, but the guilt was starting to eat her up.

she didn't understand why she couldn't see the signs,

kim minjeong was never jimin's girlfriend.

y/n was.

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!!

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[sseniita]

i pledge allegiance to dumb blondes

idk what to name this grrrrrr !!!!!!

 As the villain stood tall, surrounded by barbed wire fences with a friendly red dot on his forehead; courtesy of the sniper commanded to shoot if provoked, he saluted the flag and began planning his escape. 

 His commander had quickly taken a liking to him, after months of perfect drills, attendance, and behaviour everyone’s guard was down and trust was beginning to form. He was first to show up in his ugly green jumpsuit, first to volunteer, and was always first done in every obstacle course. Of course, assuring that there was enough uncooperation at the beginning to track an improvement in attitude and ability as time went on. He whistled at the playboy magazines the other soldiers would show him at lunch time, feigning interest at the same photos of a bare chested men and woman and half clothed celebrities for the third time that week, but most important was what he was doing now, showing an unwavering and determined loyalty to a battered banner on a flagpole. Every. Damn. Morning. 

Once he noticed the target on him had become lazy and the other men patted him on the back as if he hadn’t killed hundreds, he knew it was time before someone got a little too friendly and his act slipped. Last time that happened the villain was sleeping standing up and reciting the national anthem for hours on end. 

He was so close to finally ending the Hero Corp when he was ultimately caught. Being too great of an asset, the judge decided military training would be preferred compared to the alternative of a lethal injection. The judge’s speech was heartwarming and almost convincing. She used buzzwords like ‘rehabilitation’ and ‘wasted potential’ that made the Mayor cream their pants at the opportunity to have a new and shiny hero in their hands. Hell, the whole courtroom gave her a standing ovation and she was promoted to the Supreme court. The villain scoffed, remembering the ridiculous hope she had given the city. As if he muttered when his final verdict was announced. But the villain played along, snooped to find weaknesses and had made connections, it was a matter of time before he was out of here and finally took down the Hero Corps- and this time he would succeed. 

The villain was on their way to their commander’s office, rumours had been going around that the villain was about to get a new parole officer. A minor setback, with the reputation they had gotten at the military camp, it would be too easy to get the new officer off their back and wrapped around their finger. They reached the door with the kindest of smiles and most innocent of eyes, just for it to be immediately wiped off as they met their new parole officer. 

Even with their back turned to him, the villain would be a fool if he didn’t recognize the hero by their curly blonde hair and light blue and meticulously scalloped cape, flowing in what seemed to be a calm wind that only preferred to lay at the ankles of the hero. The commander was gushing over them, hunched over subconsciously and smiling from ear to ear in the grace and radiance that was the Hero. 

Now, the villain had heard of the hero. Mostly things he’d scroll past on social media and an occasional staged fight televised on screen. Last they had heard they were dating a movie star and released a line of kid’s lunch boxes. They had a streak of being a rather scandalous hero, but had recently been rebranded to be more kid friendly and profitable. Demonstrated by shorter boots and their suit that came up to a mock neck (a universally hated decision considering their suit didn’t leave much to the imagination previously). All this to say the villain considers the hero more of a brand rather than a human and much less a hero. 

He had to admit though, he assumed the hero’s good looks were chalked up to professional makeup and maybe even plastic surgery, looking at them now in a brightly lit room he no longer considered this to be true. 

“Villain! Please, allow me the honour of presenting to you our Hero!” The villain now noticed the signed picture of the hero the commander had in his hands, he quickly threw it in a drawer. The villain pretended he didn’t notice and began a staring contest with the hero. 

“No need for introduction, I met you in a porno magazine the soldiers keep under their pillows.” 

The hero laughed, and the villain hated how it sounded like a breath of fresh air in this grey and dusty corner of the world. “I don’t regret that shoot, y’know. My manager told me it was a bad idea but I’ve never had so much fun during promos! Gosh, I’m so embarrassed! I’ve lost my figure, haven’t I?” The hero turned to the commander who only blushed and complimented the hero insistently. The villain couldn’t help but trail their eyes down the hero's incredibly tight suit, growing increasingly annoyed at Hero’s obvious fish for compliments with every attractive dip and curve his eyes brushed over. He paid extra attention to the way their fingers fidgeted and how they shifted their weight from leg to muscular leg. 

Why was everyone complaining about this suit? It shows the same if not more. 

“Nevermind that, Hero. You look like a million bucks- and Villain please, behave.”  The commander said with a rub on the hero’s back, one that lingered a little too long. After a scoff from both hero and villain the commander let go of the hero and went back to resembling his stoic self. 

“We have business to attend to! Villain, the hero will be taking over your progress! As your final goal is to become a hero yourself, Hero will be supervising your progress and reporting to Hero Corp.”

“I figured, Commander. I just don’t see why this is necessary.” 

Before the Commander could speak, the hero interrupted. “If I may, Commander?” He nodded, giving Hero the floor. 

“I was sent by SuperHero. You are like our first trial for villain rehab. I hear it’s going well and SuperHero wanted to confirm. And besides, Villain, with all due respect, I don’t trust you.” It almost sounded like a compliment coming out of the Hero’s mouth. “No one’s ever gotten so close to what you were able to do. And frankly, I don’t believe you to be rehabilitated in as little as a few months.” The hero’s ease in speaking was very casual, constantly as if they were speaking to friends at no stakes. 

Given that Hero was popular and the Hero Corp’s shining star, their powers were somewhat shrouded in mystery, more often than not the Hero was used for promotion and recruitment. That mystery wasn’t something the villain was willing to solve carelessly. Besides, something told the villain this wasn't over. The hero didn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed and was probably following orders- From what he knew from tabloids and drama news; no way they’d rather be here than at some cushy penthouse party, this could maybe be over soon. Just maybe. The villain forced a smile, a kind and innocent smile- one’s he’s practised and perfected over the months. 

“Touche, I guess I’ll just prove myself to you, Hero.” 

“So we’re on the same page!” The hero clapped their hands, an unusual display of excitement in such a case. “Great!” 

With a quick goodbye to the commander the hero grabbed the villain’s shoulder and led him out. It was getting dark and the base was quieting down. The grip on the villain’s shoulder felt ice cold yet red hot, a sick feeling overcame him which only worsened when the hero leaned in and whispered to him. 

“You’re kinda dumb.” Things immediately clicked. 

“Care to elaborate?” 

“You didn’t notice a thing! Too distracted staring- jesus. Get yourself together, pervert.” They almost sounded disappointed. The villain smiled. 

“What can I say? You play the sexy, dumb blonde very well.” 

“Tell me about it.” The grip lightened. “After seven years, I'd better have gotten good.” 

The continued walking, the villain puzzling everything together as fast as he could. His ego was based on how many steps ahead he was of everyone, and in this case he was a step or two faster. He analysed the hero’s body language intently before, he smirked when he finally figured out why they cracked their fingers and put a leg in front of the other when they mentioned SuperHero previously. 

“SuperHero doesn’t know you’re here.” 

“Not yet.” They stopped for a tick. “How’d you know?’ 

“Being a pervert has its perks. And you have an obvious tell.” The hero stared for a second before laughing. They reached a secluded area, and night had already fallen. The hero had snatched a bland dinner roll from the cafeteria on the way and was stuffing their face while explaining. 

“So, basically. I’m sick of this. Being seen as weaker or useless just because I’m hotter.” They scoffed. “Teach me how to fight- properly, and I can get you out of here.” They said between bites. The villain only watched, hands inside their jumpsuit staring, unimpressed at the World’s Hottest Hero™ and their manners.  

“You want me to teach you how to fight- so you can prove yourself as a hero?” summarised the villain. 

“Deal or no deal?” 

“And in return you’ll get me out of here.”

“As soon as I can throw a punch, you’re outta here.” The hero finished their dinner roll. 

“They never trained you?” 

“Ever heard of a personality hire?” 

The villain hummed in understanding. “So why the sudden need for vengeance? You do understand I’m going to kill SuperHero once I’m out of here, right? Or did that movie star dump you or something?” 

“First of all, that man has it coming. If I could, I’d kill him myself. Besides, while you do that- I’ll be sipping margaritas in a hammock. Somewhere sunny. Once I’m back I can use his death as a reason why I suddenly got so strong and brooding! I’ll be an inspiration instead of a let down. Second, that’s none of your business.” 

The hero reached inside their utility belt and pulled out another dinner roll. 

“You shouldn’t eat many of those. They’re a bitch to burn off.” 

“Good. So, deal or can I go home? I got a new pair of boots I’ve been wanting to buy before they sell out.” The hero continued eating the roll, they held out their free hand in an expectant way in front of the villain. 

The villain couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. With the hero, they could set their targets strictly on the Super Hero when they get out- not only that but with the hero's shining report on the villain’s progress they'll be esteemed and trusted. After a while of gaining SuperHero’s trust as the first successfully rehabilitated hero, killing him will be a piece of cake. Without the SuperHero at the Hero Corps’s head, the rest of the godforsaken corporation would take less that huff and puff to crumble. As for the hero, the villain had complete control over their training, taking them out will barely call for effort.The pieces fell into place, the villain wasn’t religious, but this truly was a miracle. He smiled and warmly shook the hero’s hand. 

“Deal.” 

‘Perfect! Oh, I can’t wait to get out of these tight spandex suits! I get a wedgie every time I walk.” 

“You’ll look marvellous in our famous dirt stained green.”

“Oh, you know I will.” The hero winked. The worst part was, the villain did know. 

“Ok. I’ll follow.” The hero said. 

“Follow?” 

“Lead the way! We’re new bunk buddies!” 

Hero seemed to have a way to wipe the villain’s smile off his face. 

[grandeoatmilklatte]

All Hallows Eve 👻

Jumping on the Jackdaw smut train here. Ever since @greedyforgarreth wrote her Jackdaw smut I've been thirsting hard for this damn ghost. 😭 But honestly as a certified spooky girl™️ it was only a matter of time before I started thirsting after ghosts. This one is for you darling hope you like it! 😘 @ask-richard-jackdaw

Also yes, I know it's July, but Halloween is the next big commercial holiday so it's basically Halloween season now. Sorry, I don't make the rules.

All Hallow's Eve - Richard Jackdaw x House Neutral F!MC

Summary: MC summons Jackdaw for some Halloween activities - 1.5k words

Warnings: Smut!/NSFW/18+!, MC is aged up and in 7th year!, Spectrophilia, mentions of voyuerism, f!nger!ng, she has sexy time with a ghost lol

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

“The veil is always thinnest on All Hallows Eve” MC always heard people say, both in the muggle and wizarding worlds.  On this night, it was said that it was easier for things from the other side to pass over, and it was easier for those things to interact and communicate with living beings. MC was eager to test this theory out tonight. 

Everything was ready. Her candles were lit and arranged around her in a circle, as she sat cross legged in the middle. The room was dark, the candles being the only light, and she was wearing her robe with the hood up. In front of her was a worn out spirit board and a small jar of dirt obtained from his final resting place. It was what she planned to use to summon him. 

She took a deep breath and placed her hands on the planchette before reciting the mantra needed to start this session. “Spirit, I’m opening the door to thee, on this All Hallows Eve, please speak to me.” She repeated this two more times, waiting a moment before she asked her first question. “Are you here?” Her eyes darted around the room. The planchette immediately moved to the “yes” position. A smile formed on her face. 

Just then, Richard Jackdaw floated down from the ceiling. “Darling, you know you don’t have to do all this, right? You can just call out to me, you know I’ll come to you right away.” His voice was sweet and gentle. 

MC ripped off the hood of her robe and sighed. “I know! But this is fun! It’s Halloween! It’s spooky!” She replied excitedly. “I’m sorry, I know it’s silly, I’m just nervous.” She stared up at his ghostly figure. He could see the nervousness in her eyes. It was strange for him to feel this way, but he was feeling nervous too. 

MC blew out the candles and restored the room to its normal state - her bedroom in the Room of Requirement. Once the room was restored, MC sat on the edge of the bed staring at Richard. It wasn’t until that moment that he got a better look at what she was wearing, or rather, what she wasn’t wearing. Under her robe peaked a lacy set of black lingerie. She undid her robe and sat back on her arms, Richard taking in her beauty. 

This wasn’t the first time he had seen her in this level of undress. They actually spent time like this quite frequently since they started this little rendezvous in her 7th year. He always found her fascinating, her confident and adventurous attitude impressing him ever since they met in her 5th year. It was only recently however that they found themselves having romantic feelings towards one another, as confusing as that was for them to admit to each other. Had he been alive, he would have swooped her off her feet by now. But he couldn’t. So they did what they could. 

He’d watch her, encouraging her as she came undone under her own hands. He was unable to really touch her, his only contribution outside of his words being the freezing cold air he provided her whenever any part of his body touched hers. It felt good for a brief period of time, but it was never enough. Tonight was supposed to be different, though. Supposedly, they could both actually feel each other, the whole “veil is thin” theory. He tried to innocently ask the other ghosts in the school if this was actually possible, but none of them cared enough to interact with the living to know for sure. So there was only one way to find out. 

“Oh darling! Look at you! You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Richard eyed her body. No matter how many times he stared, he was always mesmerized by her. “Are you ready, my love?”

MC gave Richard a soft smile before she beckoned him towards her. He floated over to her and placed each hand on her shoulders over the straps of her bra, before he leaned in, his lips meeting hers for the first time. MC gasped. “I…I still feel the cold, but I also feel a bit of pressure. Almost like instead of being touched with cold air I’m being touched with a piece of ice. Still cold, but I do feel something. I can feel your lips and fingers, but the feeling is just very light, even when you apply pressure” She smiled up at him. “I can feel the same, but instead of cold you feel warm. Remember, we can stop at any time if it gets too much” He smiled back at her, and she nodded. With the confirmation that there was at least something they could feel, he removed her bra and panties, shivers running up her spine the whole time, which she ignored. Once she was fully undressed, she moved herself backwards on the bed so that her legs could rest on the bed before she spread them, wetness already present between her folds. He positioned himself hovering over her.

His hands navigated down her body, his one hand coming between her thighs as he began to rub hard and fast circles into her clit. She let out a soft moan, her eyes locked on Richard. She tried not to focus on how cold she was, letting the pleasure she was feeling overtake her, her moans getting more frequent. “You’re doing so well, my dear. I’m sorry it feels so cold, but you’re taking it so well.” He was well aware that his voice had an effect on her, and if he couldn’t do anything else, at least he could bring her to orgasm with his words. “You’re being such a good girl for me. You look so beautiful moaning for me.” 

MC was breathless when she spoke. “I want more! Please!.” Her voice was soft and the look in her eyes was desperate. Her teeth were practically chattering, but he couldn’t deny her, not when he was finally making her fall apart in his cold ghostly hands. “Oh darling, I know this might be hard, but would it be alright if I slid my fingers into that pretty little hole of yours?” He felt naughty asking that of her. He had never spoken to a woman like this before, always preferring to be a gentleman to the women he courted while he was alive. But MC brought this naughty side out of him, and he loved it, and he knew she did too. 

MC nodded as she watched his fingers pass through her entrance, she could still see them, but she was immediately hit with that freezing cold pressure once again. She let out a loud moan. ”Oh Richard! It feels so cold but it feels so good! Please don’t stop!” The combination of the coldness of his fingers in contrast with the heat she was starting to feel from her impending orgasm was strange, but she was enjoying it. Her moans were so loud they could have been mistaken for screams. He pumped his fingers into her hard, knowing she was only feeling a fraction of that pressure. He could feel an ever so slight squeeze around his fingers, and although he had never experienced that before, he could tell from the way she was breathing and the way her body arched that she was close to an orgasm, having watched her have one multiple times before.

“I know you’re almost there, come on, darling!” Their eyes were locked on each other, both of them refusing to break eye contact.

MC let out a long drawn out moan as her orgasm hit her. He waited a moment before pulling his fingers out of her, not wanting to subject her to that cold feeling any longer. He didn’t feel much of anything on his fingers in terms of an orgasm, but he knew she got there, her movements, noises, and her increased wetness being telltale signs of it. 

Once she had come down from her orgasm, she made herself comfortable on the bed, wrapping herself in her thick blanket to warm up and scooting over so that he had a spot to lay, or rather hover over. He joined her on the bed as he always did after an evening together. They lay facing each other, staring at each other. For the first time that night, MC leaned in and kissed Richard, his lips giving her a cold kiss in return. He would never understand how she could love someone like this, someone she could never have a life with, but somehow she did. And he loved her. They both knew this couldn’t last forever, but they were enjoying it while they could. He watched her as her eyes started to droop, tiredness clear on her face. 

“You should get to bed darling. The night is almost over. Everything will be back to normal tomorrow.” He felt heartache saying this, despite not having a beating heart.

“You’re right.” She let out a yawn. “I love you, Richard.” She said sleepily. “I love you too, MC.” He leaned in for one last cold kiss, the two of them savoring each other’s lips before she closed her eyes. He waited until her breathing turned soft before he floated away. “Happy Halloween, my love.”

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

[pedges]

heavy are the open hearted

pairing: jackson era joel miller x reader (mostly gender neutral)

summary: joel broke your heart, and his own in the process. this is how he tries to fix it.

or, just a song fic

content: song fic, angst, joel sings a song, allusions to 18+ themes (mdni), happy ending if you look at it a certain way. 2.2k words.

a/n: another drabble. i know this version of joel is cliche but. the song. the song. this is paired with this version of "these days" by nico! sorry for this, there's something nasty in the air rn.

The last person you’d expect to, walks onto the little makeshift stage in the Tipsy Bison. 

You’re not sure who suggested it a few months ago in this never ending strive for a sense of normalcy again, but having open-mic nights (without the mic) at the bar every couple of weeks didn’t sound too bad at all. In fact, they’ve been quite fun. The doctors, and the carpenters, and the farmers all have their respective, important duties. But remembering that people had lives, and hobbies, and talents beyond the ones that were necessary for survival anymore is hard nowadays, so it’s more than refreshing to hear someone play a nice song, even if the piano is untuned, or recite a poem that recounts the leftover beauty of the world. There definitely is some left, you think, most people just aren’t looking hard enough.

It’s just that, when you’re sitting at the bar, and you see Joel Miller step onto the stage with the most timid wave to the crowd, something stutters in your chest. 

He’s got his guitar slung over his shoulder and his hair looks real nice. You wonder if he’s wearing that cologne you made him. (“You seem like a lemongrass kinda guy,” you’d told him. “Do I?” he asked. You weren’t really sure until he wore it day after day. He was a lemongrass kind of guy.) Part of you doesn’t want to get close enough to figure out, the other part is aching to do nothing but that. You watch him sit down on the edge of the stool placed on the stage and bring his guitar around to his chest. It looks so natural there, like if it replaced his beating heart, nothing would change. He might even smile more. 

There’s something in the air now, at least for you. In fact, you know you’re the only one that feels it, because you know what this means for Joel and there’s only three other people in the room who do too. But it’s different for you, because Tommy is Joel’s brother, and that doesn’t count (and Maria knows by proxy). Ellie has seen him play his guitar, once, she said, but she doesn’t look anywhere nearly as shocked as you feel. As a matter of fact, when you glance her way, it shows you the little smile she’s sending you until she notices you looking and turns away. 

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. 

“Uh, hello,” a familiar, gruff voice says that turns your attention back to the stage. “Don’t got much to say. Been thinkin’ about this song a lot lately. That’s it.” 

Joel finishes tuning his guitar, and poises himself for that first strum. It hits you like a freight train. 

You haven’t talked to him in weeks. Not since he said some horrible things, and you said some terrible things back. There’s a tiny little voice in your head telling you to get up and walk out, because whatever this is an attempt at, you don’t want to see it. But then you realize, it’s not an attempt at anything. It’s just Joel, doing what he said he couldn’t do for you, for the whole damn town. 

Joel starts to play—your heart plummets. 

Well I've been out walking,

I don't do too much talking these days

It’s not about the guitar playing—it never truly was. But when you’d asked him to play, and he refused, and you thought he was joking until you realized that he wasn’t—well, it struck something in you. It was a small thing to tip you over the edge, you see that now, but what is it they say about the straw and the camel’s back? Except you’re not a camel—you’re a human in a fragile world with a fragile heart. Maybe you should have gotten over each time Joel seemed to purposely shut you out. Maybe it was your fault, you think, letting delusions fester in your mind for well over a year, after the first year of you two dancing around one another. 

These days.

But when your first kiss turned into several more without a word being said about it, you really should have seen it coming. You both found each other carrying enough baggage to last a lifetime. You never asked to look into his, he never asked to look into yours—but there was an unspoken understanding that every time you crawled into his bed, there was a certain tenderness behind every kiss, every touch, something that could lead to a greener road. At least you thought there was. 

Theses days I seem to think a lot

about the things that I forgot to do,

and all the times I had the chance to

You thought he wore a smile reserved just for you. You thought when he told you about Sarah, that one and only time, or the way he almost lost Ellie in the worst way possible, that it was because he trusted you. You thought when he said, “I’m all yours, darlin’,” as he made a home between your thighs, he meant it. If you’d known that giving your heart to Joel Miller would have it end up shriveled at his feet as he strummed a guitar for all of Jackson to hear, you’d have shackled it to your ribcage. 

And I had a lover.

You thought you loved him, and stupidly, you thought he loved you too. If only you hadn’t asked him to play for you, or if only he had. 

It's so hard to risk another these days.

"I’m startin’ to think this isn’t about the fuckin’ guitar,” he’d said three minutes into your argument, void of any care you thought he might’ve had for you. It wasn’t. "So I’m gonna have to stop you right there, because whatever you think there is between us—" 

These days.

He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to, confirming your worst fears. It isn’t there.

And instead of crying, instead of begging him to take back what he said, you just spat back just as coldly, “Did you ever think that if you actually let someone in, instead of acting so apathetic, and boorish, and mean, you might be a little less miserable, Joel?” 

Now if I seem to be afraid,

“If there was somethin’ worth lettin’ in, I’d do it, darlin’.” 

to live the life that I have made in song—

For the first time, the name he usually wore so tenderly on his tongue was sharp, and thorny, and painful—and you refused to let him see how much it stung. 

“Fuck you, Joel.” He started to backtrack, some Wait’s, and something like I didn’t mean—but your mind drowned it out. Because it was the only thing it could do. You left without another word. 

Well it's just that I've been losing so long.

There are two things you don’t realize right away. One—there are tears brimming your eyes as you watch Joel, watch him use a delicateness he once used to touch you, to play his guitar. And two—he’s looking right at you. Now would be the perfect moment to get up and leave, you think, but you feel absolutely paralyzed. Like the magnetism he used from the moment you first saw him has you stationed on that creaky barstool of yours. 

“Well, I'll keep on movin’,” he sings with a melancholy you understand far too well. You can feel your throat threaten to collapse in on itself, to suffocate you if you don’t make the necessary moves to survive. But you can’t, and Joel keeps singing. “Things are bound to be improvin’ these days.” 

You had told Joel once that you wondered if they’d have found each other without the apocalypse, in the quiet aftermath of another night spent in his bed. He didn’t say anything for a few long beats. You thought it was because he had nothing to say, and if he did, he just didn’t want to say it. But then he’d hummed, and ran a calloused hand up and down your arm. 

One of these days

“Think we would’ve,” he’d responded, in an unusually tender voice. “Think we would’ve in a thousand timelines.” 

That’s when you realized, in retrospect, if you had shackled up your heart, he would’ve found a way to set it free anyways. It was never yours to keep—and always his to have. 

These days I sit on cornerstones,

and count the time in quarter tones to ten, my friend

Your ears are starting to ring. There’s not a sound to be heard in the Tipsy Bison except those resounding from Joel’s guitar, and his voice. You wonder briefly if anyone else is as enraptured as you are. You know what the town thought of Joel at first, know that some of them still look at him as if he’s an enigma, because he is. But no matter what you think, what he thinks, he isn’t—not to you. 

“Don’t confront me with my failures—” You might be imagining it, you have to be, but you swear Joel’s voice cracks. His playing has slowed, and he sounds distant, yet simultaneously the closest he’s ever been. You think you might cry. “—I have not forgotten them.” 

As the last note Joel plays fades out, that silence in the room becomes deafening, just an echo of that last strum bouncing off the walls. No one speaks, or claps, or moves—like he has truly and utterly stunned the crowd because he didn’t just stitch his heart to his sleeve—he served it on a goddamn silver platter. It’s silent, until it’s not, because the scratch of your stool against the floor jostles the quietness as you make for the exit. You don’t care that everyone is about to tie two and two together, you just care about getting the hell out of there.

Surprisingly—or, unsurprisingly—Joel follows. 

As you stalk down the main dirt road, faster than ever, nothing but the lights up above leading you far away from the bar. You think for a moment you might let them lead you out of Jackson. Facing the horrors beyond these walls would be better than facing the ones within them. It isn’t long before you hear your name. 

“Wait,” Joel is saying when he gets close enough, and his hand finds your arm. It doesn’t sting the way you expect it to. “Please.” 

“No,” you grit out, turning around with a speed that shocks the both of you, and makes him draw his hand back. “No, you don’t—you don’t get to do that.” 

“I know, darlin’, I—“ 

“You don’t know, Joel, you don’t.” You hadn’t realized it, but those brimming tears finally managed to find a way to fall, staining your cheeks. “If you think for a second you can just—just sing a song, and I’d forgive you, or let you back in, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.” 

“Querida,” he says, and for a moment, he reaches out for you once more—but decides against it at the last second, and god, you can’t believe how bad you want him to. The name is enough, enough to drain your heart and fill it back up, and you think for just a second that you’re lying to the both of you. It is that easy for him, isn’t it, to drag you back in. “I’m not askin’ for your forgiveness, I’m not, I just—“ 

It briefly seems like Joel didn’t expect to make it this far, like he didn’t think you’d give him the time of day, but you are. Because you love him, you think. And the realization makes your heart cinch. You don’t respond, but you don’t walk away either. You see Joel’s throat flex with a gulp. 

“I hate the way we ended things.” 

Me too, you think, but instead you say meekly, “Didn’t think there was anything for us to end.”

There’s a flash of something in Joel’s eyes, but you feel like you’d be a fool to think it’s regret. But then again, you never wanted to let your ability to hope die in this world. That’s what got you here in the first place, but at least it reminded you that your heart still worked. Finally—finally—though, he reaches out for your hand, and you let him. He holds it there, just your fingers, gentle and a little scared. 

You realize something then. 

The song wasn’t for you—neither was the guitar playing. It was for him. Always had been, now more than ever. 

“Think you and I both know that isn’t true,” he says then, and you’ve never heard him sound so small. Your tears are dry on your cheeks now, your eyes chilled from the cool night air. You can’t help but look down at both your hands. 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you tell him, and he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he just clears his throat. “I am sorry.” 

“I know,” you say, because you finally do. You kind of figured it out as soon as he stepped on that stage, you just had to wrestle with it for a little bit. He brushes his thumb across the back of your hand. “I—I just don’t know when I’ll forgive you,” you continue, then look up to meet his eye. The regret is still there, but then there’s something you thought you might’ve seen in him a few times before. The hope. 

“When?” he asks. “Not if?” 

“When,” you repeat. 

The smallest, most minuscule hint of a smile draws upon his lips. Yours twitch a little too. 

“I’d like to take you on a date when you do.” For the first time in a long time, you let out a quiet laugh. 

“When I do,” you say, “you’ll be the first to know.” 

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thanks for reading, friend

[bellysoupset]

Hi Soup! For a shorter fic, I'd love to see Leo sick at work or because of something stressful at work! We've seen him sick from something that happens at work (damn cake!), but not actually not feeling well at the office - maybe because he ate too much at lunch and it's just not sitting well. Does he hide it because he's got something that needs to get finished? Does he need to go puke quickly so he can keep working? Do people realize and make him leave? Your choice. Only request is that there isn't actually any publicly embarassing throwing up - no puking in court or in the middle of a meeting. Thank you so much!

Leo was over the moon about being a Real Lawyer, as he childishly called himself. It was no secret to his loved ones just how excited he was to be able to defend cases himself, instead of running after another lawyer with all their research and watching them recite a defense thesis that Leo was pretty sure had been partially written by him.

His boss put a lot of trust in him. Sure, Mrs. Mitchell only gave him small cases so far, but she was slowly handing him more and not only were they more frequent, but the difficulty was increasing.

Thus, Leo had easily blamed the uncomfortable churning in his stomach on nerves when it started. Today he had a big court day and no matter how many times he had gone over his notes - and ranted about the case enough that Jonah was probably a liability - he still felt jittery all over.

He was the defense today, to a woman who was being accused of plagiarism by a relatively well established script writer. Normally the Hollywood cases would stay in California and Mitchell's claws, but this one was small and unimportant enough to make it to Maine. The script writer was from the state and probably thought he could play on the local's sympathies, after all he had gone out and made it.

Leo wasn't feeling very sympathetic.

He was feeling almost queasy as he looked at the smug face of the script writer, who was accusing an ex-girlfriend of almost ten years ago of "stealing" his intellectual property.

Had no one learned a thing for Fitzgerald? Or Tolstoy?

Apparently not.

"You know," Dean leaned his way, "we're in court, you might wanna brighten up a little and stop glaring bloody murder to the opposition."

"Sorry," Leo shook his head, trying to physically shake off his frown, "I wasn't glaring at him, I was just frowning, he happened to be in the way."

"Brilliant save," Dean grinned, "they're gonna call break in five."

Leo was aware of that, he was the main defense lawyer and he was actually listening to the prosecutor's flimsy claims that Gwen was a plagiarist only because she happened to use the same first name in one of her published short stories.

Leo almost wished the opposition had a decent defense of their points, so he didn't have so much time to focus on the burbling going inside his belly. The lunch he had forced down wasn't sitting well at all and little sickly belches kept bubbling up his chest and fizzling out in his throat.

He felt like his whole body smelt like the greasy burger he had eaten and like everyone could tell... His mouth was watering.

Forty minutes recess.

"They're fumbling by the seam of their pants," Dean started to tell their client, in a low, collected voice, "they have nothing, you don't need to worry."

Right, Leo thought bitterly. She was a librarian, who published exactly one book with short stories just for fun, being prosecuted by a Hollywood script writer. Sure, the man was far from being a big shot of anything, but compared to the woman's position...

"Ms. Peters, you have a solid defense, please trust us," Leo promised her calmly, "take the recess, get some coffee, it'll be a long day."

His own words were mockery to him. Normally he existed on coffee and today just the thought of drinking a drop of anything made his stomach flip on itself and he hastily got up, muffling a little burp on his fist and excusing himself. No one had heard, although Sandra did throw him a puzzled look.

"Ms. Peters," Sandy stepped in, "let's take a small walk."

Sandra, like Leo, normally was one of the lawyers with the softest touch. Usually Leo didn't have all his coworkers with him, but he had his boss sitting right behind their desk, judging his every move. It was a huge tell of respect and trust that Mrs. Mitchell had only sent his peers today, instead of coming herself. Almost as if saying go and show them how its done.

He couldn't mess this up.

"The man is a misogynistic bully," Dean continued to speak, following Leo into the public bathroom. His coworker could talk with a tree if left to his own devices, "I'm excited for your part, the evid-"

"Shut it," Leo glared at him, handing Dean his suitcase and removing his suit jacket, "hold this, please."

"No one's listening to us."

"Dean," Leo scoffed, "no. Last thing I want is for you to blow the case by lack of decorum or by giving the prosecution a ti-URP-Fuck," the larger belch that slipped into his last word caused Dean to raise his eyebrows. The other man opened his mouth, about to ask about Leo's wellbeing when the blonde turned around and entered a stall, quickly pushing the lid up and planting a hand on his chest to keep his tie in place as a chunky stream of vomit hit the water.

"WhOA! Wagner, what the fuck-"

Leo hung his head in shame, bracing his free arm against the tiled wall in front of him and panting, trying to get his stomach in check. The queasiness had been on the backburner all day, but the face-prickling, hand sweaty, mouth watery nausea had hit him like a brick and out of nowhere.

"Fuck..." He breathed out through his mouth and swallowed some air, forcing up another burp and then coughing when that brought up some more chunks- He gagged and a much more watery, acidic mouthful of vomit fell in the toilet.

"Wagner, oh my-" Dean was fretting behind him, frozen in place and stunned, "shit, are you sick? We can call for a recess-"

"No," Leo's voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat, spitting a mouthful of thick saliva and flushing, as his sudden nausea went back to the mild queasiness, "No, I'm fine."

"Fine?!" Dean was still holding his suitcase and jacket, seemingly unaware Leo had passed the items to him, "You don't seem fine, you look white as a corpse-"

"I'm fine," Leo stumbled to the sink to wash his face and gargle with water, "lunch just wasn't sitting well-"

"Oh... Are you sure...?" Dean was older than Leo by at least five years and yet he sounded like a scared teenager. Leo nodded, meeting his coworker's eyes on the mirror and patting his own pale cheeks until they were a little rosy instead of spoiled milk white.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, then fixed his tie and reached for his jacket, "I can't go home, I have a case to win."

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Number 3 with Yae but the kicker is the reader just blurted it out after she helped them with a problem they’ve been struggling with all day (Also it’d be cool if the reader was close to immune to Yae’s teasing)

“Will you just marry me already?”

Characters: Yae Miko x gn!reader

warnings: none

a/n: I got three different messages requesting Yae with this one, so I guess I had no choice but to write her /hj

I hope this matches what you wanted, if you don't like it, just tell me and I'll try again once I have the time/motivation

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Yae Miko

Growing up with parents that liked teasing you as much as they liked to breathe air left you quite resistant to others trying to do the same. And while Yae was definitely on a whole new level, causing you to constantly struggle with trying not to lose your composure, with enough time you had gotten used to her methods to such a level that it took her quite some work to get a visible reaction out of you. Not like that would cause her to stop, instead serving as a challenge to her that she wouldn’t let pass by.

You couldn’t exactly remember how long you had spent on your little “pet project”, although you weren’t too sure anymore if you could even call it that anymore, the calming feeling it once provided having long been replaced by nothing but mild frustration at your inability to finish it, the only thing keeping you from just abandoning it being the idea of not actually finishing something. 

This all began a week ago when you thought it might be a great idea to build a small birdhouse, only for the project to increase in size with every stroke of your pencil you made while trying to draw a plan. And while the planning phase and most of the actual construction went pretty well, it just wouldn’t stand on its own, threatening to or just straight up collapsing when you let go of it. 

“Still working on it?”, Yae's voice cut off your trail of thought, forcing you back into the real world as you quickly turned your head to look up at her, your mood immediately improving as you finally weren’t alone with that damn thing. “Why don’t you let it be, seeing as all it does is cause you distress?”

“I can’t. I get the feeling that I’m really close to finally figuring out what was wrong, but I just can’t find my error”, you responded, sneaking one more look back at the not so finished birdhouse.

“Never took you for a person that likes inflicting pain onto yourself, but I guess even someone my age learns something new every day”, she joked only for you to let out a sarcastic laugh afterwards, watching her grab the plan you had made before glancing over both the paper and the actual construction.

“Now I’m not a professional, nor do I have any interest in becoming one, but don’t you miss this little thing here?”, she asked while pointing at a specific part of the plan, watching you as the cogs slowly started to turn in your brain, only for your eyes to widen in joy as you jumped up and threw your arms around Yae.

“You are a genius! Oh, will you just marry me already?”, you praised her before quickly trying to go back and finish your project so you wouldn’t forget anything, only to freeze up after a few seconds, your face turning slightly red as your brain backtracked to think of what you just said.

“No wait, that wasn’t a proposal or anything, I was just really happy”, you quickly tried to correct yourself, only for Yae’s smile to only increase in size.

“What? And here I was, thinking you actually loved me. How naive I was for actually thinking you meant it”, she recited in a dramatical voice only to let out a chuckle shortly afterwards.

Suddenly you felt like an idiot for even considering she might have misunderstood your comment as an actual proposal, your reaction only giving her an opening to finally tease you, the first one she got in weeks.

And by the gods, was she going to use it.

[slocumjoe]

companions react to sole being really sick but insisting to work anyways. they literally won’t sit down and they’re probably gonna fall out in a few minutes if they don’t

Companions react to Sick Sole that is In Denial

Aka the prompt that called high-school me tf out

Cait; Wrestles them into bed, hunts for cough syrup, force feeds. By wrestle, I mean "gently pushes until they fall over." Gives them alcohol and keeps away. Cait doesn't often get sick, but when she does, oh boy...Sole would never hear the end of it if she caught their shit. Will find spicy snacks for them to eat, to accommodate their lost sense of taste. Because Cait cares like that.

Codsworth; Absolutely not. Will use as colorful language as he can stomach to convince Sole to retire for a bit. Follows them around Sanctuary throwing a hissy-fit. Well...as much as Codsworth can throw a fit. Gets increasingly indignant. If Sole passes out before he can shepard them back home, he will consider duct-taping them to their bed, just for safety. He makes them soup and hand/claw-feeds them. Good luck sleeping with three robot eyes watching you like a hawk.

Curie; Pesters. Following them around with a rollup mattress for when they inevitably collapse. Recites a monolog about wellness and self care until they do. Very cross. Sole thinks they're hallucinating, seeing her glare and scold them. Makes their medicine herself; doesnt trust wasteland 'doctors' enough, and worries about such old, Pre-war medicine. Might start sticking things up their nose, or something, for samples.

Danse; A soldier refusing to seek attention and rest is not going to last long. He will also manhandle them, but not until they're already falling over. Makes a nasty ass...tea thing, that's great for colds/flus. Its. So. Gross. Danse knows how to make it because he himself refuses to stop working for sick rest. Hypocrite. If on the field, will personally tend to them. If not, leaves it to Cade, or any other doctor. Pesters said doctor enough he might get a clipboard thrown at him.

Deacon; Makes a similar, nastier tea thing. Spikes it with soda. Not to make it taste better. The soda is punishment to remind himself to never get sick again because it makes it fucking demonic. It makes Sole throw up and the force knocks them out. Rolls them up in a blanket burrito, raids the nearest pharmacy, and prepares a disguise. When Sole awakes, 50/50 chance they'll recognize its him.

Gage; What, is he their fucking mom? If they want to crack their head open passing out, that's their idiot choice to make. Except no it isn't, because he needs them alive, so Gage bitches the whole time, but he drags them kicking and screaming to bed. Throws medicine at them and tells them to quit being a baby. He's not getting too close to them right now. Hell. No. Also a baby himself about getting sick.

Hancock; Hancock isn't the type to tell someone how to handle themselves. He'll privately worry, and maybe hint that they should take a damn break, but until it gets bad enough they're half-way down to the floor, its not his business. When they're faceplanting, he'll step in. Also gives them some booze. He'll try to cook for them, but...uh. Chips and soda is good for colds, right? Right? [SOUNDS OF CURIE SCREAMING IN THE DISTANCE]

MacCready; Lucy was a doctor. He's got this. Or so he thinks, right up until Sole refuses to acknowledge their own illness. Okay. Shi–uuucks. What did Lucy do when he was being stubborn? Uh...that's not appropriate with Sole...what if he—Sole...? Sole–! Oh. Okay. That works. Just has to drag them into bed now. Spends extra caps for the good medicine, and for once, makes proper food. Sole remembers learning that he knows how to make his own noodles during this incident. MacCready tells them they were hallucinating.

Nick; Stands straight, crosses his arms, looks at them expectantly. Just waits. Grabs them before their legs give out, hauls them up over a shoulder, and straight to the doc's. Doc says bed, Sole is in bed. While they're out of commission for the week, plans out his lecture. It's not healthy for the brain nor body to keep moving when everything is telling you to quit. He's sarcastically coddling.

Piper; Also guilty of trying to power through. Piper is also an opportunist, however, and the moment she sees their guard fall, sees a moment of weakness, she's shoving them into their bedroom. Sole barely notices the change of environment. Canned soup, crackers, tea...and because Piper is just the best, she'll make them a dessert she often makes for Nat. Rice pudding, tarberry shortcake, she's even made honey custard. Something sweet and easy on the stomach.

Preston; Like Codsworth, chases them down begging them to just go the fuck to bed. Grabs them by the scruff of their neck before they hit dirt. Like Nick, sasses them the whole time, even if he is doting on them like a fussy mom. Remember Cait and her spicy snacks? Preston throws whatever spices he has into their meals. Hope Sole has a high spice tolerance.

X6-88; Grabs and warps to the Institute. If the Institute is gone, grabs and drags them to a doctor. He could try tending to them, but similar to Hancock, you will quickly regret asking. It's better to just have him go get medicine. He's somewhat fascinated over the concept, though. Cousers rarely get sick. And the once or twice X6 was, it was just an irritated throat or a headache. Sole is melting and yet they're expected to recover. Fascinating.

[whizzinpast]

Lord, Give Me One More Chance

Prelude: Final Prayers

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Ivan (Alien Stage)/Till (Alien Stage), Ivan (Alien Stage) & Till (Alien Stage)

Chapter Warnings: Major Character Death

Chapter Summary: Till had only seen him as a corpse.

Read on AO3 / Prelude (you are here) / Chapter 1

Till didn’t believe in gods until he saw his first flower in Anakt Garden.

Gods were forbidden. Systems of belief were foundations of solidarity, and the segyein didn’t need human solidarity unless it tastes like entertainment. If it’s a big story broadcasted live across the entire supercluster and makes the skies rain money, you could worship the fish for all they cared.

Not Till, though. Till didn’t care about Anakt fish and their jagged, metallic teeth or gods. He scored himself a drive with the wildest tracks of human cries. He got smacked around for it, but it was still on him, so it was worth it. So worth it. Anakt Garden only ever taught the classics; pretty, resonant sounds smoother than nebulas that Till reiterated only because he had to. The theory was boring, the songs were boring, and his vocals were average.

What Till truly liked to do was hidden in the trees— crumpled paper wrapped around the thinner branches. He’d carry his writing tool everywhere, glued to his arm with medical tape under the sleeve of his shirt. He’d take it out when he discreetly plugs the small archive into the nearest system, and he’d listen to sounds that made him shiver. He didn’t think that humans could sound like that, like scraping tiles with the needle of a syringe, or that music could be the shriek of an electric, stringed instrument accompanied by beats so intense they’d rattle a spaceship. Bright, colorful lights, shiny boots with sharp heels, nets and flying tongues. It defied everything Till was taught about being human. These sounds, whatever they were, were alien.

He decided that this— this was music, and swore he would replicate it on paper.

Problem was, it never worked. Till never translated screams and groans and growls before. He had gotten so upset with himself he dug his teeth into the collar on his mouth for hours before he fell asleep in his confinement chamber. The lights would turn back on, his muzzle would be removed, and he’d scurry back to his tree where he’d scribble for hours. It was rinse repeat until his very first recital with the children of Anakt Garden.

Till was held back because they thought he would bite off someone’s hand if he joined, but he’d been more docile lately. Unbeknownst to them, it was largely because of his archive of ‘rock’n’roll’. It worked better than putting him under, so the caretakers read his behavior as a sign that he was ready to join the group. The muzzle was removed, and for once, Till didn’t run.

It was boring. It was painstaking and long. It was the best thing that happened in his life.

The children were lined up in a straight, horizontal row so their instructor could observe their movements and correct them if needed. Four kids down was a girl that belted out the chorus like it was her lifeline. She made the same old song sound like something Till could listen to a thousand times over.

Her hair was colorful and vibrant. It was pink, a diluted tint of the red blooms that crowned her head. He’d only seen the flowers on pictures, and nothing that colorful grew around his tree.

Till chased the petals that fluttered in her wake. He chased the whole damn crown when it slid off her silken head. It fell into a dark section of the Garden, a restricted area where hologram repairs were taking place, and he got smacked around real good for that.

It didn’t matter to him anymore because her name was Mizi. And if a god ever existed, then she was one. If belief was entertainment then Till was going to be the biggest act in the entire Virgo Cluster.

He returned to his papers invigorated, and the chaotic cries of his once Earth-bound brethren spoke to him like never before.

Day in, day out. Write the sounds. Draw the soft, divine lines of her face. Worship through song. Bite through the medical examinations. Build his way towards his first album. Draw her again when he needs inspiration. Bite Urak’s hand. Draw her one more time when the bruises make his head spin.

“You drew her wrong.”

Till jumped in place, bumping his back against the bark of the tree. Looking back, he noticed a kid looming over his shoulder, radiating warmth like a living boiler. He didn’t even notice him.

“What are you talking about?” He spat at him. His fingers tightened on his stack of drawings.

The boy raised his hand. He mercilessly pressed a finger against the outer lines of Mizi’s face and traced her jaw. “This part is longer now. It slopes down like this.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It does. She’s growing, so her bones grow in this direction—“

“I know how her face looks like.”

“Then why are you drawing her wrong?”

“I’m not drawing her wrong. That’s how she looks like.” Till twisted around to face the intruder, glaring at his black, black eyes. He was leaning, but Till could tell he went through a growth spurt. He’d grow to be tall enough to look larger than life if he straightened up.

He didn’t look phased by Till’s response. He wiped Mizi’s jaw with her finger, smudging the line.

Till slapped his arm. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“I’ve never seen you in my life.”

The boy bore his empty gaze into the drawing. Then in a quick motion, he pulled his pencil and a paper out of his grasp. He sprinted before Till could snatch his things back.

“Hey!” Till shrieked. Really shrieked. Like the shriek he made when Urak dragged him around by his hair.

He rose to his legs, his drawings fluttering out of his lap, smudged and forgotten as he chased the black-eyed bastard across the picturesque plains.

“Come back!”

They ran past the trees, past the children. The bright, saturated colors of Anakt Garden faded. The grass fractured. The sky lost its vibrant hues. Till found the thief at the glitched opening of the restricted section where he got into trouble. It was where illusion met reality. Green bled into gray, electric hums whirring from the maw of a tunnel that led somewhere beyond the Garden. Framed by its opening was the boy, laying on his belly, hunched over the stolen piece of paper.

“It’s just a pencil! Give it back!” It was the only one he had. He could’t get another one because the only gifts Urak gave him were claws and needles. The papers and the pencil were all he had until someone feels generous again. “Give it back—“

The thief rolled onto his back to raise his masterpiece above his head. Till could barely see it, but he felt his heart drop into his stomach when he saw a sketch of Mizi on the back.

The boy said nothing at first, too distracted by his creation.

“I practiced my signature for autographs, since I don’t have anything to write with except my fingers.”

Liar, Till sneered.

He looked around for signs of segyein, smelled the air for their scent. Red flowers littered the floor. Smashed red petals haloed the boy’s body as he continued to turn the paper around. When he was done, he straightened, then turned to show his work to Till— strange letters written in fancy script. Red blotches smeared the upper corner, faded and thick red strokes of segyein symbols.

“I tried using different means,” the boy explained. His grin was small and modest as he looked down at the pencil. “But I find the graphite much better.”

Till ground his teeth. The red against his paper was sending shivers down his spine. “Why did you do it?”

The thief blinked at him as if the answer was obvious. “I’m a needy believer. What else am I supposed to do?”

His answer didn’t make any sense. Till’s eyes were on the drawing in his hand, something that did make sense. One side had the repeated signatures filling the paper top to bottom. The other side had his smudged sketch of Mizi’s profile, and the bloody smudge bled through the paper, tainting her face like a terrible, mortal wound.

Till clenched his fists. He stomped towards the thief, smacking the paper out of his hands and slamming his foot against his chest. Now he was starting to look more familiar. Did he punch this kid before? Did the kid punch him back?

Till grabbed the front of his shirt. “I was fine. I was drawing her right. I was doing everything right. Why did you—“ The kid pushed him. Till lunged, his fists flying. He felt a crack. “Why aren’t you talking? You wanted a fight? You’re getting it! Look, you’re—getting it!”

He wasn’t fighting back. Till remembered he always fought back. The only time he had ever seen him smile was when he had his fist buried in Till’s side.

“Answer me! What’s your damage—“

The kid’s lips moved. Till paused. “What?”

“Smile for the cameras, Till.” The boy croaked, red dripping down the ends of his lips. “The stage is your altar.”

Till paused.

With a whopping score of eighty-nine points, Till is set to join us in the finale—

Red in the water. Red blooms on a white suit. Till’s fist was in the air, frozen after the third punch.

The boy’s jaw was sharper than he remembered. His shoulders were broader, and he would still be taller than Till if he stood up to his full height.

He was dead long before Till laid his hands on him, punctured by three bullets. Cold, wet and bloody, he laid under him like a fallen monument. Not even his fists could make him move again, even if it’s to block a punch.

Till watched the beaten corpse of a believer, his believer, as sentinels dragged it across the flooded stage.

He remembered his name.

“Ivan,” he muttered numbly. “The pencil, Ivan. You didn’t give it back. Hey. He has to give it back.”

But nobody listened. Nobody. No mortal or god.

“Give it back. Give it back.”

AO3 / Prelude (you are here) / Chapter 1

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 28: Achilles Heel

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M? (Still figuring out the rating system) (might eventually be M anyhow)

* Warnings: language, angst

* Word count: 1,867ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all

Author's note: Okay, I lied. One more because I have an uneven number queued. Then I’ll follow the rules. Scouts honor lol. 🤓 Things are starting to ramp up, Kayce and Stella are finally coming back to some kind of normalcy. It’s been rough, but we’ll get there. Also, this is shorter than normal, but it worked well for splitting these events up. I hope y’all don’t mind, I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well!

“What! You told me you ran into him!” Ryan cried out.

“Okay I bent the truth! I’m sorry. I knew if I told you that 30 minutes ago, you would have burnt the whole state of Montana to the ground!” She defended herself.

All the men moved closer to her instinctually. Rip started in on her hard. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me when I picked you up?!”

“Because I wanted to tell everyone all at once, Rip!” Was he even listening?

He came back at her even angrier. “Bullshit! Were you gonna say anything at all?!”

“Yes! My god! I’m here aren’t I?”

Kayce targeted her next. “You’re only here because your brother and I made sure you’d come talk to my dad.”

John interrupted. “All of you quit!” He locked in on Stella. “What did he want?”

“I asked him and he said something about liking my property, yadda yadda, and got insulted when I asked who he was again and told me I work for a ranch that has started to annoy people. Then read me like an open book almost to every little detail about my life.” Stella crossed her arms and shook her leg. The memory of Malcolm’s unnaturally blue eyes staring into hers as he recited her information sent a chill up her spine.

“I told him I wasn’t interested in anything he had to offer. He said I was a soft spot for people here, which I beg to differ,” she focused on the floor, “but whatever. Then he said he would be seein’ me real soon. Whatever that means.” She looked back up at John and shrugged.

“So long story short, what I wanted to say was, I’m not sure Jenkins is our culprit for those cows being dead. Somethin’ about Malcolm and his brother doesn’t sit straight with me. He was fishin’ for somethin’, but I don’t know what.” Her cheeks were flushed by the time she was finished. Stella felt like she was on trial. Especially with the way everyone just looked at her angrily and didn’t say anything. “You can choose to believe me, or not, but I’m tellin’ you right now somethin’ ain’t right.”

“Damn it.” John looked to his son. “Kayce, what did you find out from Jenkins?”

Kayce watched Stella, who focused on John. She turned her body to face the patriarch, trying to pretend she was anywhere but in the room with them. He announced. “Wasn’t Jenkins.”

Rip mumbled a cuss to himself. That meant they were dealing with a different player; and that player was bigger, and seemingly interested in Stella.

“How do we know it wasn’t him?” John asked.

“I looked him in the eye and it wasn’t him.” Kayce made direct eye contact with his dad.

“I can also attest that he wouldn’t know the first thing about cows or how to kill them.” Stella added.

She finally locked eyes with Kayce. He looked tired. “You okay?” Everyone could tell there was something deeper behind her question. Even though it seemed like she wanted to be out of any room Kayce was in.

“It went fine.”

Stella scowled at him for ignoring her actual question.

“Let me talk to my son please.” John excused the three of them. Stella wasn’t sure what was going on, but if it meant she could escape, she’d take it.

Kayce stayed behind to talk to his father. At first they talked about something Kayce had done in war that had changed him forever. His heart raced just reliving the memory. If he could go back and have it happen differently, he would in a heartbeat. Kayce wanted to leave, but John stopped him.

“What’s going on with you and Stella?”

Kayce sighed. “Nothing dad.”

“Her looking like she was about to claw her way out of the window to get away when you went in on her says otherwise.” John leaned back against his desk smugly. He was almost certain he knew what was coming.

“There is nothing going on between Stella and I. Nothing.” He tried to be stern in his answer to get his dad to stop asking. He was confused as to what was going on himself. He had fucked up. Simple as that.

John stayed quiet and examined his son. Kayce’s face was flushed, and his voice let John know he was confused. If he didn’t know any better, he would say Kayce looked like he was going to panic. He looked like he was in love. That’s how he had looked when he found Evelyn.

Kayce couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Okay fine! We slept together. So what?”

‘Ah. There it was.’ John thought to himself as he breathed out a chuckle. This wasn’t when or how he thought this conversation would come up, but he knew it would cross him one day. “And when was that?”

Kayce looked down. “A few days ago.” He refused to tell his father that it was more than once.

“And you just got back from visiting with Monica? Now I understand why she wanted to leave so badly.” John worked out. He watched as his son squirmed. “How did things go with Monica, by the way? Especially with this new,” there was no real way for him to say this delicately, “development.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it dad.”

“But you’re gonna have to sooner or later.”

“She wants a divorce.”

“What for?”

“A lot of things.”

John crossed his arms. “What are you gonna do, son? Because that woman out there has stood behind you through thick and thin. Even after you broke her, she still made sure you were okay. Didn’t like that you ignored her actual question, but she still did it.”

Kayce got frustrated and slammed his hand against the door. “I don’t know! On one hand Monica is my wife, the mother of my son, the lov—,” he stopped himself. He didn’t know if he was choked up, or if he couldn’t actually bring himself to say it.

“— But?” John interrupted.

“I don’t know, dad. I just — I don’t know.”

Making it to the door, Stella started to pick up her pace. She thought she was home free when her feet hit the porch. She would have been if Rip’s rough hand didn’t grab her elbow. Her shoulders sagged. “Listen I know you’re both angry I didn’t tell you right away, but can one more person not be mad at me today?” She looked down at the floor of the porch. “I have Ryan double mad at me, you, probably Mr. Dutton. Kayce and I are weird right now…,” she trailed off. The list could go if she thought about it hard enough.

“Yeah we noticed.” Ryan informed her crossing his arms.

Stella pulled her lips in. She hoped she had hidden it better than that. ‘Great.’

“Was it really that noticeable?”

Ryan scoffed. “You looked like you wanted to be anywhere but where Kayce was.”

“You didn’t wanna be around him the other night. You were upset about somethin’.” Rip started to put two and two together out loud for Ryan. He didn’t want to be the one to spill the beans. “Somethin’ about you broke your own heart.”

“I was really hoping that you wouldn’t have remembered that.”

“What happened between you two?” Ryan asked. Stella remained quiet with her lips pulled in. “C’mon Stell. You gotta lay it out there at some point.”

She looked out along the dark horizon line and wished she could shrink herself. It was embarrassing enough to have the thoughts run through her own head, let alone say them out loud. Especially to her brother and a man she considered a brother.

“I thought something might have changed between us, but it didn’t. I was just a hopelessly hopeless romantic caught up in my own delusion.” She moved her hands in a ‘giving up’ motion. Her voice came out more quietly than before. “It doesn’t matter.” She stepped toward the stairs. “Can we be done here? Please?”

Kayce came out of the house looking flustered. His gaze landed on Stella and both of them seemed to stop breathing. “Can I talk to you?”

Stella breathed in. “I mean, no,” she blew the breath out, “but you’re gonna keep tryin’ until I let you. So I guess.” She crossed her arms and looked at the other two men. “Can you guys give us a minute? I’ll be right behind you.”

Ryan stepped forward and Rip reached out to stop him from getting too close. He threatened the man responsible for hurting his sister. “You hurt her even more, and everything else you’re going through will be the least of your worries.” Rip grabbed his shoulder to direct him to the horses.

Stella watched them trot off. Ryan gave her one last look and she nodded to him. It was quiet behind her, and she was half expecting Kayce to be gone when she turned around. Holding her head as high as she could, she pivoted around to face him. She fixed her glasses and sniffed. “Well, let’s have it.”

Kayce got a good look at her face. She looked humiliated. He had hurt her badly. He was afraid it was past the point of repair. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too Kayce.” She looked down, sullen.

“I shouldn’t have come onto you like that. We shouldn’t have done it at all. I ruined a perfectly good friendship.”

“Yeah I know it was a mistake. Is that all you wanted to say? Because I could live without the embarrassment of hearing, let's just pretend this never happened.”

“No. I wanted to tell you Monica and I decided to co-parent, but we can’t go back to each other.”

“Okay that’s great, but now I feel dirty. Like I was just a distraction, which I mean I was. A distraction for you at my expense. I just don’t know if I can get past that.”

Unbeknownst to the two of them, John had snuck out onto his porch to hear how this would play out.

Kayce started, “I understand, but—,” and Stella interrupted him.

“— Do you really have any grounds to stand on to place a ‘but’ in there? I was blinded by the feelings I’ve had for you since we were kids and somehow, whether you realized it or not, you used it to your advantage.” Her eyes stung. “I thought I was always safe with you.” She said in a small voice. “And to find out I wasn’t, hurts. I let you past everything I had put up.” John tilted his head to the side. She had a point. “So I’m gonna go. I just wanna be left alone.” She spun around to make her way down to the bunkhouse.

Kayce stood there defeated. He knew he’d fucked up big time. If she ever talked to him again, he would be surprised. He heard footsteps on the porch. He turned and saw his dad.

“So how are you gonna make this right, son?”

“I’m gonna respect her and leave her be. I’ve already done enough damage.” He walked off and hopped in his truck.

[reigningqueenofwords]

Baby Teeth

Part 5 of Dad’s Back

It was a week after your seventh birthday when John got the call he was dreading. He was sitting in a motel, researching for a case, when Ellen’s name lit up his phone. Glancing at the time, he knew you’d be at gymnastics. “Hello?” He hoped that maybe there’d been another competition announced that Ellen wanted to give him a heads up. She knew he would do everything to make it to any dance recitals or any gymnastic competitions.

“We got a problem, John.” Her voice was hushed, and his heart sank. She was talking so that the others wouldn’t hear her. “I smell sulfur at the gym her lessons are in.” She explained. “I don’t have any information beyond that, but I had a feeling you’d want to come get her. I called Ash first. He’s gonna come meet us after her class so we can get something to eat. The more people around her the better.” She wouldn’t let anyone, or anything, get to you.

John groaned. You had managed two school years. Which, he should have been grateful for, but he’d been hoping you’d luck out. That you’d be able to go years there. “I’ll drive out first thing in the morning. Give her one more night.” He knew you’d be heartbroken over this. As much as you’d fought over even living with Ellen, you’d grown to love it that much.

“She’s a good kid, John.” She assured him. “She’s a tough cookie, too. She’ll be okay. And I expect to see her now and then. I look at her like my daughter now.” How could she not? She was there for you losing baby teeth, the one to bring you to your lessons, the one to meet with your teachers, to tuck you in at night, and everything a mother would do.

“I know you do, Ellen. I’m thankful we had you. For her and for the boys.” He told her. “See you tomorrow.” 

After they hung up, he let out a breath. Dean was out getting dinner, and he knew Dean would feel the same way. Thankful to have you around, bummed to have to drag you around in this life. 

You’d cried when Ellen explained things to you that night, and she held you until you’d cried yourself to sleep, your small hands gripping her shirt. You were really upset about leaving your friends, dance class, gymnastics, her, and Ash. She hated that there was nothing she could do for you. After she’d held you a bit, she went and tucked you in. Looking around your room, she planned to tell you this was your room wherever you passed through, and to not take a damn thing down. You could update it as your tastes changed over the years, and if John ever wanted to try to let you live there again…you had this room.

You, John, and Dean left the following day after lunch. You’d packed yourself a few bags, including your dance gear. You couldn’t take lessons, but you still wanted to dance at motels. You were quiet the whole time you made your back to where their most recent hunt was taking place. 

Once back at the motel, Dean grabbed your bags for you. “It’ll be okay, princess.” John told you. 

“I can’t do dance anymore, daddy. Or gymnastics.” You sighed. “That’s not okay.” You said, flopping on one of the beds. 

Neither man knew what to say to that. You were right, it wasn’t okay. But it also wouldn’t have been okay for John to leave you there, risking your life. It was a lose-lose situation, but at least this way you were safe. 

“How about we hit up the movie store? You can pick a movie, we can get a pizza, and we can take a few hours to relax?” Dean suggested. “Make it our thing. One night in each town. Movie, pizza, relaxing. I know it’s not dance class, or gymnastics, but it's something.” Anything to lessen what you were feeling right then.

You shrugged at that. “You guys are always busy with hunting stuff. We won’t have time.” You pointed out. Rarely did you stay in a town once a hunt was over. You were in, whatever monster that was there was dealt with, and then you left. That was it. It was the same, town after town.

“We’ll make time, princess.” John promised. He hated hearing you like that, and he had a feeling that you’d be the one to rebel the most out of his kids. 

“Yeah, okay.” You didn’t believe it. Maybe they’d keep it up for a town or two, but then things would get hectic. John would rush the three of you out, saying it was an emergency. 

Tagging: @ilovetaquitosmmmm

[likeapriceless-wine]

The Lotus Casino

This is a continuation of the last C.J thing I wrote!! Forgive the uncreative name lol

⚠️ heavy sa, alcohol, and abusive parents tw. I'll put a warning before the sa as well if you want to read up to that point

@cabin-12-resident-daddy-issues @dawn-lovelace @dionysus-god-of-all-things-wine

Las Vegas, 1989

C.J had never been so grateful for pocket money

It'd been two days now since his mother kicked him out onto the streets of Vegas, and he was living on benches and convenience store snacks

His stomach grumbled and he only had a couple bucks left, and dark clouds were starting to cover the sky

Just his luck. He was barely scratching the surface on getting the hang of this whole street rat thing, and it was going to rain

He didn't know if he should call the cops or not. If he did they'd probably take him back to his family, who no doubt all hated him by now

He knew his mother would tell his father and siblings what he'd done. In fact, she'd probably play it up so that they all thought he'd done something far worse than kissing with that boy

And even if he wanted to call the police, he wasn't about to waste his ever diminishing food money on a payphone call

He wandered around, his eyes perpetually puffy from all his crying the past few days

And eventually he saw his salvation, a casino

They let kids in those places, right? It was a building with a roof, and probably food, and if he knew one thing it's that his mother would have his head for ever stepping foot in a casino

That being said, it was perfect

He could hear music blaring as he walked up to the door. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open and was immediately blasted with music so loud he almost took his hearing aids out

'All I know is that to me, you look like you're lots of fun'

'Open up your lovin' arms, watch out here I come'

He stepped inside, letting the door swing closed behind him. People were dancing and drinking, playing video games and having the times of their lives

He saw a woman in what looked like a 1920s flapper dress, dancing her heart out as the radio chanted a near hypnotic chorus of 'you spin me right round baby, right round, like a record baby round round round round'

His mouth was agape as lights flashed and music blared, and a girl a little younger than him ran by, her skirt flowing behind her as she was closely followed by an even younger boy who was yelling "Bianca! Slow down!"

The array of video games caught his eye, and so that's where he went first

By the time he'd beat a few rounds of a pacman game his head felt fuzzy. He moved onto the next game, then the next, and the next after that

He was damn good at this, but he was starting to feel...weird, to say the least. His brain felt foggy, like he was just waking up from a really good nap

He looked over at the pacman game. Had he played that already? Some other kid was working on beating a level on it now, and he wanted to give them a pointer, but for some reason he couldn't remember what he wanted to say

He decided to walk around some more, and hopefully clear his head. He was horribly confused by the time he reached a bar, where he sat down at a barstool

He didn't feel good, and he needed to sit down and shake some sense into himself

"Your name is Cooper, but you like to be called C.J" he whispered to himself, the way he always did when he was convincing himself that a scary dream or some horrible monster he saw out of the corner of his eye wasn't real "You're fourteen years old, and you're safe"

Was he really safe, though?

Just as he was reciting his little affirmations, the bartender handed him a drink

He was so consumed in his thoughts that he didn't even think before chugging it, wincing at the taste

Gods, what had come over him?

But, it didn't stop him from doing it again minutes later, when he'd forgotten that he'd already chugged one

He got up from the stool, stumbling a little as he tried to walk away. He was dizzy as hell, and he hadn't realized how gross his stomach felt until now

Soon, the combination of the lotus and the alcohol took him over, and he couldn't remember why he was here, or what he was doing

He wound up playing the same video games over and over, walking around the casino in giggling fits as everything was funny to him in this state

The effects of the lotus were like nothing he'd ever felt before. He probably wouldn't be able to tell you his own name if you asked him, and he didn't recognize songs on the radio that he'd heard a million times

Days, months, and years were passing outside the casino, but time was a blur to C.J. He had no idea how long he'd been in here, or who he was, or where he was from

It was already the mid 90s the first time he met some odd man

(Author's note!! Please click away now if you don't want to read the sa bit of this story)

He said his name was Hermes, and that he was a god, and C.J thought that was hilarious. C.J was hardly listening to any of the shit this guy was saying, and barely conscious enough to form words of his own, but he knew he didn't really like the way he was being touched

He opened his mouth to protest, but instead his head spun and everything went dark. He woke up in a different part of the casino, propped up at the wall next to the door that lead to the men's bathroom

Suddenly he felt more conscious than he had in years. He looked down and his shorts were unbuttoned, and he felt gross and used, like he was covered in dirty handprints that he couldn't wash away

But then the lotus in the air wore his memories away, and he obliviously smiled as music blared and people laughed and danced

And years passed, and people came and went from the casino

He heard a young boy run by and yell "Bianca!", and it almost sounded familiar

Almost

[sixty-silver-wishes]

more caligari hcs because its 2 am and Somebody has to make them

Cesare is missing some back teeth. How he lost them is better left unexplained.

Jane can play the piano, but she's not very good at it. She had to take lessons when she was young, but they never went anywhere. The best she can do is a few basic parlor songs, but she's even worse as a singer.

Francis has a very tense rivalry with Jane's mother. Dr. Olsen likes him enough, but Mrs. Olsen is frustrated by the fact that a commoner like him is so easily welcomed by the other members of her family, as she spent a long time socially ascending to marry into wealth. Jane has been brought up to think highly of her family and takes offense if they're insulted, so while Francis is very critical of them, he tries to restrain himself around her- which does not always go well.

Every year, Caligari celebrates March 12, the day Cesare was (canonically) brought into the asylum. Usually this means Cesare gets to spend the day outside of his box- but he's asleep the whole time, so he's not exactly doing any celebrating. He might also get a sprinkling of sugar on top of his usual porridge. as a treat

Alan is actually very, very afraid of death. This is because he's so in love with life, he's terrified at the prospect of leaving it. He was orphaned and raised by his grandfather, so part of his fear comes from being familiar with death from childhood. He loves his two best friends, but frequently gets unwanted thoughts about their potential deaths, which he doesn't want them to know about.

Alan and Francis went to school together as children; Jane was privately educated by a governess. Whenever they met up, she was always excited to ask them what was happening at school, which usually involved some account of Francis getting into fights with whoever made the mistake of bullying Alan in front of him.

Caligari actually hates the fairs. But he's gotta commit to the bit

Before he ended up at the asylum, Cesare was a talented yet amateur dancer who was poised to advance his career from clubs and dance halls to a professional ballet company. Unfortunately for him, his institutionalization meant he missed the audition that could have been his big break. He was very sickly as a child, but got into dance at a young age in order to strengthen himself.

Francis' main hobby is spying on everyone else in town. He keeps a notebook detailing as many people's schedules as he can, and loves to gossip.

Jane was always bad at eye contact, and often overcorrects this by staring at people for long amounts of time. This is often misinterpreted as either romantic interest or rudeness.

Kids in Holstenwall regularly dare each other to knock on Caligari's door and run away. They don't actually know he's Caligari; they all just think he's creepy.

Most people in town expected Alan and Jane to end up together, which made Francis feel insecure about himself. However, Jane wasn't interested in either of them, and Alan was only interested in Francis.

Francis prides himself on being logical and observant to detail. However, he cannot pick up on the hints that Alan is constantly putting down. In all fairness, Alan is so damn nice to everyone that it's impossible for anyone to tell whether or not he has platonic or romantic feelings for them.

Francis was asked to recite Alan's poetry at his funeral, but couldn't do it, as he was grieving too hard and too focused on solving his murder. He'd come to regret it, and kept Alan's poetry journal in his house, which he'd be very protective of.

Jane likes to pretend she's a ghost when she's bored. She wanders around the mansion in her long white dress, making weird noises and doing things like rattling candelabras. It's gotten to the point where a few maids are convinced there is a ghost, and she's scared away at least one prospective suitor.

Jane's mother is weirdly obsessed with England, which is why her daughter has an English name although they live in Germany. Mrs. Olsen always makes a point of following English etiquette and clothing trends, and always tries to work the fact that she has a distant relative in England into conversations. The relative in question does not want to contact her.

Speaking of English contacts, Caligari claims to have once co-authored an academic paper with a certain Dr. Seward. Nobody can confirm or deny this.

[kuichihimei]

“Valentine's Day

We decided we would do the whole damn thing

But I played to an empty gym in Iowa State

I guess I owe you that too...”

0:41───•─────── 04:46

             ↻      ◁ II ▷     ↺

Looking back, freshman year was one hell of a ride, considering the frequent monster attacks and killer robots that terrorize Norrisville High.

Sophomore year is no different.

Killer robots still attack the school like, every other week, compared to every other day, and while yes, Randy DID get rid of the Sorcerer for good, there's still the Sorceress running about wreaking havoc around Norrisville.

The Sorcereress, better known for her human disguise as Amanda Levay, still manages to blend in with the crowd, despite almost every student in Norrisville High knowing who she truly is and what she's done.

We don't know much about her just yet, but based on the monsters Randy had to fight these past few weeks, she primarily targets female victims.

There's also been a spike in the amount of stanked kids during the weeks leading to February 14, and when Feb 14 rolled around, multiple people were getting stanked left and right, which lasted all morning long.

The teachers had to cancel our morning classes and made us evacuate the school so the Ninja could fight the monsters properly and we wouldn't get hurt.

Then, during the afternoon, when it all quieted down, Randy was nowhere to be found.

I tried asking Howard, and he said something along the lines of how the Ninja found the Sorcereress' lair, it was underneath the school in the old abandoned gym, and that he might not be able to make it in time for Valentine's Day since he had to destroy the Sorcereress for good while she was still close by, and that he'll make it up to me next year, along with a bunch of apologies that were conveniently recorded inside a tape recorder so Howard didn't have to recite it all.

After receiving the news, I thanked Howard and walked myself to Mr. Bannister's class, hoping that I could bury my disappointment in schoolwork.

It didn't help that the seatwork he made us do was write an essay about someone/something we love and why we love them so much.

I spent the rest of the afternoon watching couples in our school being all lovey-dovey with each other. Heck, you could even say I got jealous of Mrs. Driscoll, atleast she had her husband's skeleton to accompany her on Valentine's Day.

By the time the last bell rang and school was over I was all alone... I couldn't even have a Galentine's with Heidi or Debbie! Heidi had a date and Debbie was busy hosting a couple's event for Valentine's Day for the NHGTTWDPC online edition.

It's safe to say I was quite disappointed... And I felt really pathetic too, since I had a boyfriend, but was celebrating Feb 14 all alone...

I felt like I was on the verge of getting stanked myself, maybe then I could spend time with Randy... Sighing, I sat down on the very same I spot that I sat on during New Year's Eve.

Of all the days the Ninja could've had a fully-booked schedule, it just had to be on Valentines Day... Not to mention this was also supposed to be our very FIRST Valentine's Day together as a couple...

Don't get me wrong, I find it a HUGE honor that I am dating the Ninja, and an even bigger honor that he trusts me enough to reveal his secret identity to me. I just feel a little dejected whenever he misses out on a major event that we should be experiencing together during the course of our budding relationship.

The time was 4:53 in the afternoon, everyone (atleast those who had a date), already left the school about half an hour ago. If Randy didn't show up within the next 15 minutes, I was going home.

5 Minutes Pass... No signs of Randy...

‘I'm sure he'll show up soon...’

10 Minutes Pass... Still no signs of Randy.

‘Maybe I should wait a little longer, he's probably wrapping up the fight right now.’

25 MINUTES PASS! AND THERE IS NOT A SINGLE SIGN OF RANDALL HONKING CUNNINGHAM OR THE NINJA ANYWHERE!!!

THE SUN IS ABOUT TO FRIGGIN' SET AND HE'S NOWHERE TO BE FOUND! THAT'S IT I AM GOING HOME! Standing up, I marched towards the nearest bus stop.

Fortunately for me, there was already a bus nearby so I immediately got a ride home.

When I got to my house, I locked myself in my room, bawled my eyes out and went to bed, even though it was only 6:03 in the afternoon. I just wanted Valentine's Day to end at this point, I'm just done with everything today.

Meanwhile somewhere else in Norrisville:

“What do you mean you're all out⁈” An exasperated Randy yells.

“Sorry kid, but I can't help you. All of my flowers have been sold out this morning, it's Valentine's Day after all...”

“It's fine sir, thanks anyways...” The younger boy turns, walking away, feeling defeated.

All of the sudden a young girl who looks about six approaches him.

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing... Chocolates, flowers, not even a honkin' stuffed animal, it's all sold out...”

“Well, we can still steal some Tulips from the park if you're that desperate...”

“Aira, I won't steal Tulips from the park, and neither of our parents taught us to steal— Who taught you that?”

“Well, you want to make it up to Ate 'Reese right? And she also likes Tulips right?”

“But still— Oh who am I kidding, let's go.”

“Ha—”

“But stealing is still wrong, don't get used to it. You can't always steal the things that you want, ok?”

“Ok Kuya!”

Fast forward almost 5 hours later, the time was 10:13 at night and the ninja could be seen outside the Fowler household watching from a tree.

Everyone in the neighborhood was fast asleep, which meant Randy couldn't call Theresa from her front yard, since he might wake up the whole household if he did so, he couldn't call her from the backyard either since... That's where they kept their chicken coops...

He was pinned between two bad options:

Wait it out 'til tomorrow so he could give her the flowers, but miss Valentine's Day and face a disappointed Theresa, or try entering her room through the window as the Ninja, so he could give her the flowers and she could be happy and have a gift for Valentine's Day, but face the consequences of being seen as a creep since y'know, he's breaking into her room through the honkin' window!

‘Was this what the Nomicon meant about choosing between the greater good and the lesser evil?’

After some careful consideration, he chooses the latter of the two options, which was to break in. He didn't want to disappoint Theresa more than he already did today, this was his chance to try and make it up to her.

This was one of those go big or go home moments. One slip-up, and it might be over  for the both of them.

The plan was simple: try to enter the window that was facing the tree in her backyard, fiddle with the lock, place the flowers on her nightstand and leave, simple right?

‘What could possibly go wrong?’

Everything. Everything went wrong from the get-go. The moment he lost his footing on the ledge of her window and fell into one of her family's chicken coops, was the moment he knew, he was done for.

Theresa was woken up by a loud thud, she immediately went to open her window to see what was going on. She was quite shocked to see her boyfriend all suited-up and highkey panicking at all the chickens that were waking up and surrounding him.

“Randy! What the juice are you doing here⁈” Theresa whisper-yelled from the second floor.

“H-hey Theresa! Nothing, just passing by!” Randy replies, trying to play it cool, even though he was about to pass out from all the chickens that were surrounding him.

“It looks like you can't move, did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I didn't!”

“Wait— Are you afraid of the chickens?”

“Wh-what?”

“I said, are you afraid of the chickens? Because Aira told me you had a fear of them when I babysat her last week.”

“Well that little—”

“Hang in there, I'll come and get you!”

Theresa went downstairs and came into the backyard, she threw some corn kernels to divert the chickens away from her boyfriend, who was shaking like a pair of maracas.

“Thanks for saving me 'Reese, I owe you big time, again...”

“Why are you here Randall?” Theresa asked, helping him up.

“I uh— I wanted to—”

“Actually, save it for later, come inside, you must be exhausted. Don't worry, Howard told me everything.”

“Uh, won't your parents/brothers mind?”

“Well you can stay in my room, we just have to be sneaky about iiiiiiiiii—” Theresa's mind went blank for a second.‘Oh shoot— Guy, guy in my room. I AM LITERALY INVITING A GUY INTO MY ROOM!’

‘Girl, room, sneak— A GIRL WANTS TO SNEAK ME INTO HER ROOM?! IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING I—’

Cue internal screaming from the both of them.

After that predicament was quickly settled, Theresa led a now de-suited Randy upstairs to her room and gave him a bowl of instant noodles and a spork.

“Look, I know it ain't much, but I have a feeling you've most likely never ate anything since this morning. I didn't even see you during lunch.”

“Thanks for the noodles 'Reese, I really appreciate it.” Randy said, before slurping the noodles.

“Why did you come here this late? It's like, 10:54 at night!”

“Wait, hold on—” Swallowing the noodles, before answering. “I wanted to give you this.” As Randy presents a small bouquet of pink and yellow Tulips, handing it to Theresa.

“I know, it's not much either, you won't believe how we got that bouquet.” Taking another gulp of broth. “Aira suggested we should steal it at first and I was like— bla blah bla blah...” Randy continues to blabber on and on, while Theresa spaces out after receiving the gift.

‘He didn't forget about you. He even got you the same flowers he used to de-stank you back in freshman year, how sweet...’

“Theresa? You okay?”

“Yeah... I'm great. Thanks for the gift Randy...”

“Well I'm glad you like it 'Reese! Happy Valentine's Day!” Randy said with a smile on his face.

“Happy Valentine's Day too, Randy...” Theresa smiles back.

“Where's your kitchen by the way? So I can wash the bowl and spork in the sink.”

“No need for any of that, you can just leave it here!”

“Really? Here? It's kinda rude if I leave the bowl lying around. Are you sure? It's just one bowl, I can wash it.”

“It's ok, you can leave it here, and like you've said it's just one bowl...”

“Okay then... Well, I've gotta go now! It's getting late and we have school tomorrow.” Randy said, placing the bowl on the nightstand and heading towards the window.

“Wait— Before you go, did you manage catch the Sorceress?”

He comes to a halt. “No, I didn't catch her. She wasn't even in the old abandoned gym... I got baited...”

“Oh...”

“Yeah, I'm sorry Theresa, I missed Valentine's Day and didn't even catch the Sorceress...”

“It's ok Randy, I understand, but you didn't miss Valentine's Day! Atleast you still tried to make it, most guys just give up at this point!”

“But still, I feel really stupid for not choosing to spend time with you today. I'm really sorry for that, I'll make it up to you next year, I promise.” He was startled when Theresa hugged him all of the sudden.

“Like I said, it's OK. I understand.”

“I'm still very new to this whole boyfriend thing... I'm sorry if I'm doing anything wrong...” Hugging her back.

“It's ok, you're doing your best and that's enough... I'm pretty new to this girlfriend ordeal as well.”

They were hugging for like, 2 minutes until Theresa lets go.

“It's really late, you should get going.”

“Oh yeah, What time is it by the way?”

“11:23 p.m.”

“Yup, I am definitely gonna sleep through first period tomorrow, I've gotta go!”

“Ok Randy, take care!”

“See ya at school tomorrow 'Reese! Goodnight, I love you!” Bidding his girlfriend goodbye while jumping out of the window mid-transformation.

“I love you too Randy, Goodnight!”

What a nice evening... If only Randy knew the Sorceress was under his nose the whole time...

❈ Sidenote: Ate and Kuya are used by younger children to refer to someone who's older than them in the Philippines. ‘Ate’ is the term for older sister, while ‘Kuya’ is the term for older brother.

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