#and they’re told it over and over again and they’ll never have to second guess it

[pink-lemonadefairy]

My darling, keep on 🌱 @/raekua

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [27] - Midnight

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Some arguments have more tension than others.

Word Count: 2500

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship (I'm serious, they have issues), mentions of sex and fighting. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Well then.

As it turned out, your plan to make your cousin look weak was working.

The first hit was an absolute success, and Ian was already crumbling. It was lucky for you that your father wasn’t getting involved and was giving him a chance to prove himself after the first attack to the shipment, because Ian was acting exactly the way you thought he would act.

Good.

It was going to make things much easier.

Bucky had dropped by to the apartment in the middle of the day to go take a shower which was quite surprising but judging by the blood stains on his shirt, it was needed. You were sitting comfortably on the couch, resting your feet on the coffee table with a book in your lap when he came into the living room and made a beeline to you to fling himself on the couch as well, pushing your book away to put his head in your lap. You pulled your brows together, tilting your head.

“Can I help you?”

If you didn’t know it better, you would’ve thought he was pouting.

“I need like five minutes to rest my eyes,” he murmured with his eyes closed. “How someone can be so goddamn stubborn, I’ll never understand.”

“Ah,” you said. “This can only be about—”

“Becca.”

You nodded your head. “What happened?”

“Mom wants to meet her girlfriend and Becca is acting like that’s a natural disaster.”

“Hurricane Winnifred,” you muttered and Bucky opened his eyes to look up at you, but then closed them again when you absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair to play with it.

“Can you tell her she’s being nonsense?”

“I don’t think she’s being nonsense,” you told him. “Have you met your mother?”

“She’ll be nice.”

“Like fuck she will.”

“She’s nice to you.”

“Because she knows I won’t be nice if she won’t,” you told him. “Leila on the other hand…she’s way too polite.”

Bucky hummed and looked up at you again.

“Is Becca serious about her?”

“Oh absolutely,” you said. “Picket fence house and all that nonsense.”

“With a civilian,” Bucky mumbled. “That’s going to be fun.”

“Becca would never get with someone in the business, you know that.”

“Oh I know that, but I don’t think my parents do,” Bucky said. “They still hope it will happen.”

“Winnifred and my aunt would get along well,” you muttered. “Both boy moms.”

“So are a lot of people.”

“No there’s a difference between a boy mom and a boy mom.”

“You make zero sense, Charm.”

You shrugged your shoulders, still playing with his hair but his phone buzzed, making him let out a groan.

“No!”

“You’ll be fine,” you said and he sat up with a sigh, his eyes darting over the lines before he chuckled.

“Jesus, he really is the worst heir ever.”

“Ian?”

“Guess where he’s routing the next shipment.”

You frowned. “Where?”

“West side second dock.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Has your father never taught him anything, seriously?” he asked and you covered your mouth.

“West side second dock, Jesus Christ…”

“I’d better have a decoy shipment then,” Bucky murmured. “Just in case.”

“Yeah that’s a good idea,” you said. “The cops will follow that shipment and bust it with any other shipment that day.”

“I’ll talk to my guys in the force, let’s see how that plays out.”

“Both us and the cops winning,” you mused. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“They’re not winning, it’s just going to be their small victory so that they’ll shut up for a while,” Bucky said as he stood up. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Sure,” you said as he kissed the top of your head. “I’ll meet my dad but I’ll be home around dinner time.”

“Have fun,” he said and walked out of the apartment, and you heaved a sigh.

“Yeah,” you muttered. “I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

                                                    *

Your lunch with your father was pretty interesting, because you knew he was trying his hardest not to let you know about the so-called attack, but he was way too tense for you to think everything was going well. You took a look at the bodyguards in the restaurant, then sipped your rosé, leaning back.

“So,” you said. “How is everything with the business?”

He shot you a look.

“You took longer than I thought you would,” he commented and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m just making small talk—”

“Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Fine,” you said. “I heard about the attack.”

“Of course you did,” he muttered more to himself, then sipped his drink. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

You tried to control your expression.

“I know,” you said. “Doesn’t mean I’m not curious. Do we know who’s behind the attack?”

“Not yet,” he said. “We’re searching for it though.”

Tension churned at your stomach but you nodded your head calmly.

“What shipment was it?” you asked. “You normally have multiple men around the perimeter, but Bucky said it looked like a sneak attack. How did they get past your people? Did they kill them?”

Your father licked his lips and heaved a sigh.

“Ian was responsible of that shipment,” he said, making you arch a brow. “He must’ve—Y/N.”

“What?” you asked innocently and he licked his lips.

“He will stumble a bit, everyone does when they first start taking responsibilities.”

You hummed.

“Funny,” you said. “I didn’t notice that with Bucky. Or Sam. Or Steve.”

“Ian is a bit more…enthusiastic to prove himself than they were, perhaps.”

You tried not to grimace at the blatant lie and took another sip so that you could control your expression.

“I’ve been told he’s fixing the situation,” your father said. “He’s much more angry at the situation than you or me.”

“But are you angry?”

“It happened in my territory, and it was my shipment, my business that they attacked,” your father said even though his voice was calm. “Of course I am angry.”

Guilt burned at your stomach but you knew you couldn’t let it affect you; what you and Bucky had done was necessary.

It wasn’t just your father’s business, it was going to be yours one day and you had to prove that Ian was a terrible option.

For the business, and the city.

One of the bodyguards came closer to mutter something to his ear and he nodded, then wiped at his mouth.

“Duty calls,” he said and you took another sip of your wine, then put the glass on the table.

“Alright.”

“Want me to drop you off?”

“No need, my driver is here,” you said as you both walked out of the restaurant. He hugged you and you kissed him on the cheek.

“Be careful.”

“Always am,” he said and one of the bodyguards opened the door for you, but before you got in, you heard your father’s voice again.

“Y/N.”

You turned around to look at him better. “Yeah?”

“How would you prevent it?” he asked. “If it was your shipment?”

A smug grin threatened to pull at your lips but you bit inside your cheek, then heaved a sigh.

“Twenty men around the perimeter,” you said. “Additional ten in every half mile, three hour shifts in rotation. Couple of cops under our pay in the outer skirts, preferably by the bridge and at least three people watching the street footage so that we would know the license plates of every car that gets a bit too close for future reference.”

He blinked a couple of times, the impressed expression on his face impossible to miss and you felt your stomach do a happy flip, then shrugged your shoulder, forcing yourself to focus.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you told him. “I’m not your heir, am I?”

With that, you got in the car and the bodyguard closed the door, the driver starting the car immediately. You grinned to yourself and leaned back in the seat as the car started moving through the street smoothly and you closed your eyes.

“Yet,” you corrected yourself. “I’m not your heir yet.”

                                            *

Bucky had texted you, saying he would miss dinner because of a meeting taking long so you had ordered some takeout, curled up on the couch with Alpine in your lap. Towards midnight he still hadn’t come home so you texted him only for him to text back the meeting was still going on, and you picked a show to bingewatch in the meantime.

For some reason you liked it when Bucky was beside you on the bed when you went to sleep.

You were so focused on the episode that you hadn’t even noticed when your phone buzzed, so when you saw the text notification from Ian, you frowned slightly.

You and Ian didn’t really text each other.

You touched the notification and sat up straighter much to Alpine’s meow of protest the moment you saw the picture of Bucky and Anna by the docks. Bucky was leaning back against the car with Anna right beside him, laughing at what you could only assume something he said.

From: Ian

Ouch. Didn’t last long huh?

Fury spread through you so fast that it made your head spin and you stood up from the couch, Alpine jumping to the floor as well. Your jaw clenched as you zoomed into the picture, then ran a hand over your face.

Of course.

The so called meeting was just a fucking excuse.

You didn’t even know why you were getting so angry, after all this whole thing was just a business deal but that was the thing; you two had a deal. That was his only request going into this marriage, that you two wouldn’t see anyone else behind each other’s back but there he was, breaking the same rule he had implemented. A mob boss not being faithful wasn’t supposed to be a surprise; you had grown up seeing it over and over again, Bucky’s own father included but this?

This was disrespect, and the fact that Ian was the one telling you about it made it so much worse.

You tried to see through the fury pounding in your head, tossed the phone aside and dug your fingernails into your palms, gritting your teeth.

That motherfucker.

How dare he?

By the time the front door opened, you had been pacing in the living room for the last half an hour, still lost in your own anger but Bucky’s voice made you stop dead in your tracks.

“Honey I’m home,” he joked as he walked in and you narrowed your eyes at him, making him tilt his head.

“What happened?”

Even if anger was radiating off of you and you knew that he could tell, you managed to smile but you had a feeling it was more of a snarl.

“How was the meeting?” you asked, your voice eerily calm and he licked his lips.

“It was fine?” he said like a question. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m about to be shot?”

You walked to the couch to grab your phone, then found the pic, your hands nearly shaking as you tossed him the phone with more force than necessary. His gaze fell on the screen before he looked at you again.

“You put people on my tail?”

“You fucking asshole!” you lunged at him but he had the same training as you had – probably heavier considering the cage fight- because he caught you basically in mid-air and twisted your arm, then pushed you before you could grab him.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “You know what the psychiatrist said about open communication, let’s talk about this.”

“You’re going behind my back?!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, it was a business—”

“Bullshit!”

“A business meeting,” he said as you took off your earrings to toss them aside, making him pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“Charm baby, let’s not.”

“Oh no, let’s,” you said as you jumped over the coffee table but he caught your leg before you could reach him and threw you easily to the corner of the room. You landed on your feet just as easily but the vase by the corner fell off its stand to smash into pieces. Bucky’s bodyguards by the hallway must’ve heard the noise because the door slammed open, Hannah and Paul walking inside with their guns raised.

“Mr. Barnes?”

“Leave,” Bucky ordered, rolling his shoulders back as you gritted your teeth and pulled the pocket knife out of your waistband, flipping it open.

“…Sir?”

“Everything is alright, me and my wife are just having a small disagreement.”

“Mr. Barnes, are you—”

“She’s not going to do anything to me Paul but I can’t guarantee the same thing for you,” Bucky said. “Leave, close the door behind you.”   

Hannah and Paul lowered their guns, exchanging glances.

“Leave!” you snapped and they both rushed out of the door, closing it behind them in a hurry. Bucky gave you a smirk and opened his arms as if inviting you.

“It was a business meeting, princess.”

“In the middle of the night?” you asked as you stepped closer to him, both of you circling each other. “By the water? Are all your meetings that romantic?”

“We had to go check the shipment’s security because I don’t want to raise any alarms when Ian’s shipment gets busted—”

“Do you seriously think I’m that much of a gullible idiot?”

“Nah, I think you’re just jealous. It’s adorable, really.”

“I’m not fucking jealous!” you exclaimed as you lunged at him again, this time wrapping your legs around his neck to slam him to the ground even if he managed to knock the blade off your hand in the meantime. As soon as you two hit the ground, he caught your leg and flipped you two over, his hand shooting up to grab you by the neck, not putting any pressure but still strong.

Oh—

Oh fuck, this wasn’t supposed to make your heartbeat faster.

The only sound in the room was both of you breathing hard while you glared at each other for a moment, desire roaring through your veins, making your head spin.

Then his lips crashed into yours.

All your senses were too full of him for you to even think it wasn’t the best idea and to be completely honest, you couldn’t give two fucks whether it was a good idea or not, especially not when he was kissing you like this. You had no idea when you two had started ripping each other’s clothes but it was only when you felt his fingertips brush your bare waist, awakening fire underneath your skin did you realize you were only in your bra. You pulled at his crisp button up shirt until the buttons scattered around the room before you impatiently pushed it down his arms and bit at his lip, making him hiss for a moment to pull back to look down at you.

“Behave,” he warned you, smirking slightly and you tilted your head, arching a brow.

“You first.”  

He let out a chuckle, then winked at you and leaned down to kiss you again.

Chapter 28

[runninriot]

written for the @steddiesongfics may prompt

(David Bowie - Absolute Beginners, 1986)

wc: 1986 | rated: t | tags: Steddie in love, newly established relationship, fluff, background characters, Good Uncle Wayne Munson | also on ao3

As long as we’re together, the rest can go to hell

Waking up in Eddie’s arms for the first time feels unreal. Like maybe he’s not really awake after all. Maybe Steve’s still stuck in a beautiful dream and the sound of the other man’s peaceful breathing is just a fragment of his imagination. But he can feel Eddie’s chest rise and fall beneath his head, can feel the comfortable weight of Eddie’s arm on his back, the soothing warmth of his skin.

Maybe it is real.

Maybe they actually, finally got their shit together – as Robin would say.

    God, Robin would be so smug if she could see him right now, nuzzling Eddie’s skin, sinking deeper into the sleeping man’s arms.

She’d known there was something going on, told him so but never pushed. Even before that night Eddie came out to them a few months back. Where Robin told him her secret, too, and Steve didn’t even know he had one of his own to share.

Before Steve realised what that funny feeling was. What it meant to have a riot of butterfly wings create a storm in his stomach, to have his heartbeat set the rhythm to a song he’s never heard before.

Man, she will be so proud of herself when- if they tell her.

They will tell her, right?

They’ll them all – Robin, Nance, the kids...

Dustin.

    Oh God, what will Dustin say if they tell him that they’re-

Together?

Are they together?

Is this- Is this what they are?

It must be, right?

Eddie told him he loves him. Kept repeating the words over and over again between kisses. Said it so many times, Steve had no reason to believe it wasn’t true.

It must be true because Steve wants it to be true.

Eddie is-

This isn’t just a stupid crush, some made-believe infatuation with his high school sweetheart. Steve isn’t a stupidly naive teenager anymore. He knows the difference between simply searching for affection and truly wanting to be with someone.

He is in love with Eddie. That’s a fact. Unshakeable like the fact that water is wet, the sun is hot, and the moon is 238.700 miles away from earth (yes, he does listen to Dustin ramble about his stupid nerd interests sometimes, thank you very much).

He’s in love and although this is all very scary and new, he wants their friends to know about them. Wants them to be happy for them.

But what if they’re not?

What if the fact that he’s in love with another man gives Mike one more reason to hate him? What if Lucas refuses to let Steve coach him because of it? What if it doesn’t work out and Dustin has to choose between him and Eddie? What if-

   “I can hear you think.”

Steve startles when Eddie tightens his arms around him, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. And when he looks up at Eddie, Steve finds two sleepy eyes blinking back at him.

   “Morning, baby,” Eddie says through a smile and-

Steve’s heart immediately does that thing again and there’s this familiar feeling in his gut, and Eddie looks so soft in the warm morning light that Steve just can’t not kiss him.

   “Morning,” Steve finally answers when they part – Eddie’s hand still holding his face, beautiful eyes looking right into his soul, and Steve feels like flying.

   “Hm, so that’s not what it’s about, huh?”

Steve’s confused, doesn’t know what Eddie is talking about and it must show on his face because Eddie chuckles before he continues.

   “For a moment I was scared you’ve gotten all nervous and fidgety because you were- I don’t know. That maybe you had doubts. About this?” He moves his free hand between the two of them, pointing at himself and back at Steve.

   “But I guess you kissing me despite my morning breath must mean you-“

Steve shuts him up with another press of lips, morning breath be damned. He won’t give Eddie any reason to even think for another second that he doesn’t want this. Because he does. He wants this, them, together. Probably more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

He shakes his head, doesn’t know how to express all those things that are rattling his mind. How to tell Eddie what goes on in his head without stumbling over the words, without twisting his tongue, without making a fool of himself because-

They’ve only just woken up and it’s the first time they’re in bed together and instead of just enjoying the moment, instead of being in the here and now, Steve is already like, 238.700 steps ahead.

   “Talk to me, Stevie. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Steve slowly relaxes into the pleasant feeling of Eddie’s fingers gently scraping along the back of his neck like he’s trying to coax the words out of him, trying to help slow down his racing thoughts. And somehow, it works.

   “I was just-“ Steve takes a deep, grounding breath, “I was just wondering if we should tell the others. About us. A-about us being... boyfriends?”

Steve feels heat spreading in his face, feels the blush creep from his cheeks to his ears.

He didn’t mean to make it sound like a question but they haven’t really defined what they are, yet. They’ve been way too busy making out, kissing, touching – God, how could he not have been completely distracted by the way Eddie kissed him. The way he painted his neck in love-coloured bruises. How he worshipped Steve’s whole body with his lips like he was something special, something worth taking his time with.

And oh, his time he took, that teasing bastard. Made it his mission to kiss every goddamn mole and freckle on Steve’s body. Started counting them with his lips, his tongue, tracing his fingers over every inch of his exposed skin. Kissed him where no one had ever kissed him before, his touch so careful and gentle it only made Steve crazy for more, more, more.

By the time Eddie finally put his mouth on him, Steve was already so far gone that it took not even 30 seconds for him to lose it. But then Eddie didn’t give him a chance to feel embarrassed about it, just kept kissing him, touching him, showering him in sweet little nothings that meant everything to Steve.

   “Steve? You with me?”

    Hm? Oh.

   “S-sorry. What did you say?” Steve smiles apologetically, relieved when Eddie chuckles lightly.

   “I said. Yes, boyfriends. If you want that? And yes to telling people. God, I can’t wait to see Dustin’s stupid little face when he hears that I, Eddie Munson, get to date the hottest guy in Hawkins. Hell, the hottest guy in the entire fucking world!”

Eddie balls his fist and punches the air like he’s just won a competition, and the excitement in his voice is infectious, startles a loud and very unsexy snort out of Steve.

   “Take that, Dustin! So much for teasing me for my lack of success in the dating department. Ha! Oh, but Mike will be devastated. Everyone knows he’s got the biggest crush on you.”

   “What?! Shut up, he does not!” Steve is screeching now, tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.

   “You think I’m lying? Ask Lucas! He was the one that told me. Said he doesn’t quite get it but Lucas only has eyes for Max so, of course he doesn’t.”

   “Eddie, stop! I don’t believe it. Mike hates me! Sometimes I could swear he’s doing his best to pretend I don’t even exist.”

   “Tell yourself whatever makes you feel good, baby,” Eddie winks, smiles so bright it’s like he’s the sun himself. Bright like the sun and just as hot.

(How hot is the sun? Dustin will know, he’ll ask him next time he sees him.)

   “Robin will be a tough one, though.”

   “Huh? Robin? She’s literally one of us, Eds. Why should she of all people have any problem with us being together?”

Eddie must sense his concern, because he glides his thumb over Steve’s furrowed brows to smooth out the worry lines, kisses him on the forehead like that’s gonna stop his mind from reeling.

Weirdly enough, it does.

   “Well, duh! She’ll be so happy for you. It’s me I’m worried about.”

Eddie winks at him and that’s when Steve finally catches on. He huffs out a laugh, rolls his eyes in fake-annoyance, can’t not smile when Eddie offers him the saddest, most convincing puppy eyes he’s ever seen.

   “She’s going to kill me if I ever so much as make you mad or, god forbid, sad for whatever reason.”

   “Oh that’s easy to avoid. Just never make me mad or sad and you’ll be fine,” Steve mocks him, knows deep down Eddie would never anyway.

   “What about-“ Steve realises he hasn’t even thought about that before.

They’re at the trailer. Steve heard Wayne come home from his night shift a while ago, knows the man’s still awake, considering the noise coming from the outside Eddie’s bedroom.

   “Do you want to tell Wayne? It’s okay if not. We don’t- We can just pretend nothing has changed. I don’t want him to get mad. Or, or worse.”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to look worried and Steve gets it. He couldn’t even think about telling his own parents. His father would- No, he’ll just have to keep this from them. Not like they ever really care for what goes on in his life anyway.

   “Come on.”

    What?

Eddie throws back the blanket they shared, leaving them both naked and exposed to the light of the day, the reality of the night before hitting them both with a rush of childish embarrassment, sending a deep blush into both their faces, both not used to being so vulnerably bare in front of each other.

But Eddie seems to regain his composure quickly, untangles from Steve’s arms and jumps out of the bed.

He grabs two pairs of boxers and sweatpants and shirts from his dresser, tossing half of them at Steve who’s still too stunned to speak.

   “Eddie, what-”

   “Hurry up, sweety! I smell coffee.”

Steve follows Eddie, nervously fussing with his hair in a weak attempt to make himself more presentable, less... ‘spent the night making out with your nephew’, hiding behind Eddie when Wayne catches sight of them.

   “Morning boys. Coffee?” The man grumbles, not even batting an eye when Eddie abruptly turns, grabs Steve by the face, and plants a kiss right on his mouth.

   “Yes, please. Me and my boyfriend would love a nice cup of coffee. Don’t we, Stevie?”

Eddie beams at him, a teeth-flashing grin on his face, and Steve wants to kill him. Wants to kiss him even more. Doesn’t know what to say, what to do. Just stands there, frozen in shock, dumbly nodding to answer the question he only vaguely remembers has been asked.

   “I see.” Wayne stands up from the armchair he was sitting in, walks over to them, blank expression on his face.

He exhales deeply and Steve holds his breath, not ready for whatever comes next.

   “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

Eddie shoots his uncle a look, rolls his eyes, scoffs – and Steve feels the weight of a thousand worlds fall off his shoulders.

(How much does one earth weigh? He’ll ask Dustin. Maybe he-)

   “You better treat him right, son. You do not wanna get in trouble with me for hurting him, you hear me?”

Steve’s mouth falls open in disbelief when he realises those words are directed at Eddie and not at him.

That’s what finally cuts the tension. Steve starts laughing, loud and whole-heartedly, feels lighter, better than ever before.

He kisses Eddie again, because he can. They’re in love, and that’s okay.

And as long as they’re together, the rest can go to hell.

[britcision]

Okay so I’m well aware that this is probably my own fault, but a lot of people seem to have gotten the idea that Bruce is in any way important to this story

This is not a story about Batman

This is a story about the many and varied disaster gays he has trained to commit bigger and more epic disasters than any other gay in history

So let’s fix it and get back to the second most important thing in the story! Timker (and bonus Connor)

——————

Field Trips Without Permission Slips part 1

Tucker was still firmly in his happy bubble, floating along after Tim Drake-Wayne even as they left the Bat Cave.

Connor, Kon, Superboy, he’d be there soon. Tucker wanted to make a good impression; this was Tim’s boyfriend, Tucker really wanted the guy to like him.

That way they could all be friends, and he wouldn’t worry if Tucker and Tim hung out, and talked tech, and maybe got to have a hackathon…

Because of course, even notorious ladies’ man Too Fine Foley would never make a move on a taken man. That’d just be low.

He was just trying to work out what to say when Tim got a buzz on his phone. The excitement dropped off the younger man’s face in an instant, his expression immediately shifting to worry and determination.

“Something’s come up,” he said tersely, and Tucker frowned, wondering if he was about to hear about a second rogue attack in almost as many days.

Gotham… Gotham was kinda exhausting. No offence, obviously, even he could feel the Curse lingering on the back of his tongue.

But trying to keep this city safe was like bailing a sinking boat with a sieve. No wonder they needed the best of the best.

“How can I help?” Was all he offered, trying to make himself look ready and eager.

Tim’s eyes widened as he looked up, like he was only just remembering that Tucker was actually even there at all. That yeah, he definitely could help.

Actually, it turned out he was their subject matter expert when Tim explained the problem.

“Superman just told B he can’t hear Jason’s heart anymore. I don’t suppose there’s a reason you’d know of?” He asked hopefully, and Tucker’s jaw clicked shut.

Because… yeah, he could guess exactly why Jason was now out of range of super hearing. But the bats weren’t cleared to know about Jason’s halfa nature yet, and Tucker was pretty sure Jason couldn’t transform.

It’d be a wild time for him to give it a first try if Superman was listening in. He’d have to warn Danny and Jason, though that might have to wait if they’d… gone… to the Ghost Zone.

And yeah, okay, Tucker maybe shoulda thought of that first, but in his defence Danny died on a regular basis and occasionally just to show off.

Shoulders sagging as he relaxed, Tucker blew out a long breath and grinned at Tim, relief making him lax. And yeah, sure, he didn’t know why they’d gone, but he could bullshit something if they asked.

“Oh, yeah actually… they’re probably in the Ghost Zone,” he explained with a slight shrug, because really? It wasn’t a big deal.

Some of the tension leached out of Tim’s shoulders with the presence of an immediate answer.

“The Ghost Zone? That’s the Infinite Realms, right?” Tim asked and Tucker nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets.

It was always nice to be the guy with all the answers, but having all the answers for someone like Tim Drake-Wayne? Yeah, that felt extra good.

“Yeah, same place. It’s mostly only the Ancients that call it the Infinite Realms, and Danny and Jason probably won’t bother them.”

Not unless Clockwork chose to make another visit, but that would be an Ancient going to bother Danny and Jason.

Tim nodded thoughtfully, making some quick notes on his phone.

“Any idea why, or how long they’ll be? Bruce has probably convinced himself Jason’s dead again by now,” he added dryly, sounding neither impressed nor concerned.

Well, maybe a little concerned. Tucker had kinda gotten the stage door tickets to Batman’s opinion of Danny.

Tucker shrugged again, thinking back quickly over what Jason had told him he’d told his family. He was gonna make himself a cheatsheet if (hope of hopes) hanging out with Tim became a regular thing.

Frostbite? Yeah, they probably mentioned Frostbite. No need to mention he was an Ancient, the yeti certainly never brought it up.

“They’re probably going to see Danny’s doctor. Check Jason’s ecto contamination, see how Danny’s doing away from his haunt; that’s Amity Park,” he added as Tim’s brows furrowed momentarily. “Technically halfas don’t need need one, but Danny claimed it so we dunno what leaving will do to him.”

Which made it sound way more dramatic than it actually was; even full ghosts could leave their haunt if they wanted to. Not all of them even kept haunts in the Zone.

They’d asked last year, before Danny finally took the plunge (and yeah maybe coming out of puberty was why he’d waited a couple extra years - not that he’d gotten the promised Fenton Growth Spurt).

Frostbite had just asked if they even knew where Ember’s haunt was.

News to Tucker and the gang that she’d even had one, with how much she wanted to go on tour.

Danny’s haunt would always be his place of power, but with the power Danny wielded? He never needed it anymore. Tucker was pretty sure that when he actually became king the whole Ghost Zone was gonna be Danny’s haunt.

Not cuz anyone had explicitly said so. Just interpreting a lot of the flowery bullshit around Pariah. And no one had told him no yet either.

Tim just nodded, typing a moment more before sending off a quick reply to Bruce.

He did feel a little bad tattling on Danny and Jason like that. If they’d wanted anyone to know where they were going, they coulda just said.

But they also probably hadn’t known Superman would be listening, or notice Jason’s heart disappearing. Really Tucker was doing everyone a favour; making sure no one came back to Batman in a panic attack.

He just hoped Jason would see it the same way.

And then the single hottest person Tucker had ever seen in his entire life popped his head around the door, perfectly windswept black curls pushed back with one hand.

A smile of perfectly white, perfectly even teeth flashed as gorgeous blue eyes like the heart of the ocean landed on him and Tim.

On Tim.

Tim was smiling back even before the other entered the room.

Tim’s boyfriend.

Tucker raised Ida to cover his face without even thinking, cheeks burning and really really really hoping neither white boy knew enough about dark skin to tell.

Tim’s brother Duke was Black too.

Tucker was going to fucking die.

He could not go weak kneed at just the sight of Tim’s boyfriend!

He was only vaguely aware when the walking Adonis spoke, striding quickly into the room.

“Hey, any reason I should be worried that Jason and Danny just disappeared from Gotham’s airspace?”

Ancients even his voice was perfect, rich and smooth like dark chocolate, with just a little bass that made Tucker’s heart flutter. If that voice said his name Tucker was going to fucking die.

Tucker strangled most of the whimper in his throat because he was a fucking adult goddamn it. Jumped and almost smacked himself in the face when Tim called his name from right next to him.

Loudly.

Like he’d said it a couple times already.

And the World’s Hottest Man was looking at him too, the absolute cutest worried little frown marring his perfect brows, and oh ancients just the littlest pout on soft, full lips…

Yeah, no, someone get the headstone, Tucker would just bury himself out back.

———————

Note: I’m genuinely still turning over which name our dear Superboy Prime is going by as his regular name, since it’s… about 1000% going to depend on his relationship with Clark

I cannot fucking imagine anyone but Clark gave Kon El his Kryptonian name. Just. No fucking way. (Kara could but then we’re back to Too Many Characters and tbh she has more tact than that)

So their relationship has to be good enough that Clark offered this very personal piece of himself, and Connor’s accepted it

But Connor is the name his first friends gave him

And his civilian name, so it’s not like he can whole hog the switch

Atm the Bats call him Kon in uniform as the world’s shittiest cover but we’re getting his POV next chapter and I need to know what he calls himself, so… poll!

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara a @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife e @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer writer @chaoticmistake e @the-legal-shipper r @bun-fish @aroranorth-west t  @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon on @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 1 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan n @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 7 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook  

For anyone wondering, the reason the tag list looks like it’s having seizures is my phone has decided that letting me scroll around is far too convenient and it’s just going to randomly jump around if I try and move the cursor

You cannot tag a bitch on tumblr mobile without scrolling to the end of their name and selecting them on the search

If you are not at the end it will autocomplete what’s left and thus *gestures vaguely* happy WIP Wednesday

[cha-melodius]

Fic Pride Weekend

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

@kiwiana-writes tagged me for "Fic Pride Friday" but let's face it, no one is actually doing this on a Friday anymore and Fic Pride should go the whole weekend.

So I decided to try to give some superlatives—my favorite action sequence, my favorite kiss, my favorite love confession, my favorite comedy moment, etc etc. But the problem was I came up with a LOT of superlatives! Oh well. A few up top, and the rest below the cut. Oh, and there are some spoilers below, so be warned!

Favorite Shouted Love Confession: Love is a Losing Game

“Then what, Illya?” Napoleon demands sharply, frustration heating his face. “What exactly was the problem?” “I love you, Napoleon!” Illya nearly shouts, the words ringing loudly in quiet of the club, and the silence that follows is only broken by Illya’s ragged breaths as Napoleon stares at him in shock. Illya closes his eyes, as if trying to steady himself, and when he opens them again the raw vulnerability in them is startling. “I love you,” he says again, with something like resignation in his voice, “and when they told me you quit I thought I would never see you again, and— and that was not something I could bear.”

Favorite Action Sequence (Duo): This Hell of a Season

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the headlamp rapidly approaching. He’s not sure if it will be fast enough. Henry watches as the dark shape of the man, little more than a shadow under the meagre moonlight, shifts slightly out from behind the hedges again. A few more shots, fired near where the shadow lurks, buys Henry some time, but Alex’s approach feels impossibly slow, as if he were travelling through treacle. One heartbeat passes. Two. Three. Four. The motorbike gets close enough to bathe Henry in a wash of yellow-tinted light; he’s now far too tempting a target, and the man shifts out from behind his cover again. Alex nearly puts the bike on its side as he skids into a stop, cutting the lamp at the last minute and plunging them into darkness. “Here!” he yells, and Henry flings himself in his direction, nearly blind after the brightness of the headlamp.

Favorite Action Sequence (Solo): A Good Man is Hard to Find

Pulling a rope off his belt, Mobius ties it securely around the empty window frame then measures out what he guesses is the right length before attaching the other end to his belt again. On the other side of the table, the guards have stopped firing, but he has no doubt they’ll be advancing on him now that they’ve realized that he’s not shooting back. He’ll need to stand up to be able to jump out far enough, which unfortunately means making an easy target of himself for at least a few seconds. He peeks around the table and sends a couple of bullets toward their feet, which succeeds in making them scatter and retreat backwards. Then, holding onto the window frame for support, Mobius takes a deep, steadying breath and rises to his feet. In the second before he jumps, the guards start shooting at him again and a bullet tears through the outside of his upper arm, but he barely feels it past the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He launches himself out as far as he can until he feels the rope snap tight at his belt, punching the breath out of his body. The line starts swinging him in an arc down toward the window, and he twists wildly as he tries desperately to orient himself in the air. Just before he smashes into the huge sheet of plate glass, he manages to fire twice into it and, in a rain of glass, crashes back into the building two floors down. The shouts of the guards are audible from above, as is the sound of running feet; no doubt they’re already heading back down the stairs. Mobius scrambles up and over toward the delivery entrance where he and Sylvie first came in, smearing the blood that’s dripping down his arm along the floor and doorway in a trail. Satisfied at the feint, he takes off toward the utility room and gets through the door, closing it carefully behind him.

Favorite Car Chase: The Hardest Cut (continues from here, hard to put the whole thing in!)

They turn again, away from the courthouse, and Mobius can unmistakably feel the horrible cocktail of adrenaline and dread that floods into his veins. Loki doesn’t answer his question, but his hands tighten on the steering wheel as he stares fixedly out the windshield, knuckles going painfully white. “You’re starting to worry me, you know,” Mobius says with a nervous chuckle, like it’s a joke. “Little heads up on what we’re doing would be great right about now.” Finally, Loki glances sideways at him—once, twice, then a third, lingering look—then he takes a deep, shuddery breath like he’s coming to a decision. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears emphatically, then jerks the wheel hard to the right, sending them fishtailing into a wild skid and down an alley that looks entirely too narrow. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

Favorite Moment of Slapstick Comedy: The Makings of a Perfect Christmastime

Waverly, on the other hand, looks surprisingly unperturbed. “Oh, I know,” he says, incredibly. “Because what it looks like is that my war hero is playing home-wrecker to my star author’s marriage.” He looks pointedly at Illya, who’s mouth opens wordlessly as he flushes a deep scarlet, before his gaze slide back to Napoleon. “But that’s not actually what’s happening here, is it?” Napoleon’s mind is whirring as he tries desperately to figure out what the hell is going on, but before he can think of anything that might offer some kind of reasonable explanation, the door to the kitchen opens again. “I’m hoping that the fact that you didn’t come back to the room means you were getting laid and not in here cooking all night,” Gaby says as she comes in, so focused on the coffee that she doesn’t even see Waverly standing off to the side. For a moment, no one moves, until she turns with a mug of coffee in her hand, spots Waverly, and proceeds to drop it on the floor.

Favorite Wrestling Scene: Double Dutch with a Hand Grenade

Two can play, and all that, and he is not having this conversation on his back. Not when Illya has been seemingly holding all the cards to this point. He cants his hips under Illya—slowly, deliberately—and is gratified when his partner’s eyes go wide. More importantly, the distraction makes his grip on Napoleon’s wrists loosen. Napoleon yanks his hands down, out of Illya’s hold, then slams the heel of his palm hard into his sternum. Illya grunts in pain and surprise, shoulders curling inward, which gives Napoleon enough of an opening to grab the front of his t-shirt and roll them both sideways until Illya’s back thunks hard against the mat. It’s Illya’s turn to glare up at him, still grimacing. Napoleon has effectively reversed their positions, pinning Illya’s wrists to the mat over his head, though he hasn’t managed to secure his lower body. Instead, Illya’s legs are wrapped around his waist, preventing him from maneuvering or getting any better leverage for a subsequent attack. Of course, that also means Illya’s legs are wrapped around his waist, which is something he’d been valiantly trying not to imagine ever since that encounter at the café. So much for that. Neither of them is completely in control of this situation, and it’s rapidly starting to seem like that’s true in more ways than one.

Favorite Emotional "Confession": Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood

“Yeah, I mean, it hurts,” he says with a nonchalant shrug he’s pretty sure doesn’t land. He wants to ask, ‘what makes me different? why are you friends with everyone but me?’, but that would give up the game for sure. Instead, he aims for something close. “Sometimes it feels like you’re more distant with me than with other people at the office.” “You’re right,” Henry replies with shocking matter-of-factness. “Casual friends are easy, Alex. There’s no risk when you don’t want anything more from someone than the ability to hold a five minute conversation over coffee in the break room. It’s different when it’s… someone you might truly care about. You’re different.” Alex doesn’t really know what to do with that. It’s quickly becoming difficult to tell where the lies end and the truth begins. “Oh,” he says, floundering a little. “I guess I can see that.”

Favorite Flirty Email: Class(room) Warfare

To: Alexander Claremont-Diaz <claremontdiaz@mcquiston.edu> From: Henry Fox-Mountchristen <foxmountchristen@mcquiston.edu> Subject: Re: your shirts Dr. Acerbic Cocky-Disaster I am quite certain you’ve never given anyone a break in your life. Regretfully, Henry Assistant Professor of What Did I Do To Deserve This

Favorite Seductive Spoon-licking (yes, I have more than one): All the Old Showstoppers

Locating a clean tasting spoon, he scoops a bit of the buttercream out of his mixer and holds it out to Alex across the top of his station. Their fingers brush when Alex reaches out to take it, and an image of Alex holding a very similar spoon up to his lips flashes through Henry’s mind. His mouth goes slightly dry at the memory, and that’s before Alex proceeds to stick the spoon deep into his mouth and draw it slowly out between his lips. Alex’s low hum, which skirts dangerously close to a moan, is somehow audible over the buzz of activity in the tent, and his eyelids flutter slightly as his pink tongue slips out to lick the back of the spoon in a manner that is far too seductive for their current setting. Who could have guessed that giving Alex a spoon would be such a massive mistake? Because Henry can see a camera currently filming them out of the corner of his eye, but he still can’t seem to force his own bloody mouth closed, nor can he hope to control the flush that is no doubt painting his cheeks a rather lurid pink, if he knows himself. The best he can hope for is that he just looks stunned rather than incredibly turned on by the display before him. “Ok, yeah, that’s good,” Alex says, snapping him out of the daze he finds himself in. He grins, and the mischief sparkling in his eyes is enough to make Henry believe he did that on purpose. “Guess you’re gonna make things hard for me, huh Wales?”

Favorite Movie Adaptation Moment: False Dichotomy

“Sometimes I wonder,” Alex says, staring up at the leaves fluttering in the breeze over the sidewalk. “If you hadn’t been Mountchristen, and I hadn’t been Under the Rainbow Books…” “Alex,” Henry breathes, a little unsteadily. Alex keeps going because he is, as previously established, an idiot. He can’t quite bring himself to look at Henry, though. “Maybe I’d have gotten up the courage to ask for your number.” “I’d have asked for yours,” Henry says firmly, surprising him. That does make Alex turn back toward him again. “That first day in the shop. Wouldn’t have been able to wait even twenty-four hours before asking you out to dinner.” “We’d never have been at war,” Alex continues. “The only thing we’d fight about is what to watch on Saturday night.” “Only because you have terrible taste in Star Wars movies,” Henry teases.

Favorite Angsty Kiss: So Close to Something Better Left Unknown

Alex hesitates a moment too long for it not to be an answer. Henry’s eyes are dark and wild with primal desire and something else, something more terrifying than even that, and Alex murmurs, “It doesn’t matter.” “Alex—” Alex turns in his arms and drags him into a kiss that catches like dry tinder, lighting such an inferno under his skin that Alex feels like he’s the one who’s been drugged. This is a fucking mistake, he thinks desperately, then his mind goes blissfully blank as Henry’s tongue slides into his mouth. It’s rough, demanding, as much as sparring match as a kiss, particularly when Henry sinks a hand into his hair and tugs hard, then bites down on Alex’s lower lip when he gasps as stars burst in his vision. Alex gives as good as he gets, though, finally getting his teeth on those sinful fucking lips and swallowing Henry’s answering moans.

Favorite Almost Kiss: White Knuckles

When he comes out of his last spin, Napoleon joins him for the final movements, an expansive trip across the ice that usually ends with Illya hunched over, almost on one knee, as if clutching an apparently dead Juliet. Now, though, there is an actual body in his grasp: Napoleon is underneath him, back bent into a graceful arc, being held off the ice only by Illya’s grip on his hip and his palm splayed between his shoulder blades. As the music comes to its grand conclusion he meets Napoleon’s eyes, and suddenly Napoleon doesn’t seem so unaffected anymore. He’s certainly breathless, all right, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted, and it would be so easy for Illya to flex his arms and draw him upward until their lips meet. Illya considers it a true testament to his self control that he doesn’t do it. “Wow,” Napoleon breathes, after a long moment in which he has made no move to disentangle himself from Illya. Then one corner of his mouth quirks upward into a smirk. “Now that’s more like it.” It is also a testament to Illya’s self control that he doesn’t drop him on the ice.

Favorite Cliffhanger: Nova, Baby

A couple of officers with red crosses on their helmets hurry forward as Raf grabs Alex’s arm and tries to pull him to the side. Somewhere deep inside, Alex knows that he has to let go, that Henry’s only hope is the medical team. The panic choking him has fully taken over now, though, and he only clutches Henry more tightly to his chest. “N-no, Raf, please,” he pleads. “You have to let go of him, kid.” “No, no, I can’t, I can’t—“ “Alex! Look at me!” Raf commands sharply. The order catches Alex full in the chest and he responds instinctively, his gaze snapping up to meet dark, worried eyes. A face much like his own, but lined and careworn after years at the agency. A face that has seen more than its share of hopeless situations. A face that is telling Alex, now, to trust him. “You have to,” Raf says again, his voice gentle but firm. Alex lets go.

Favorite First Meeting: Cold Light

“That doesn’t sound good,” the man replies as he straightens up again. Whatever he was doing he seems to be done with, even though he hasn’t touched a thing. He stares up at the sky for a moment, as if lost in thought; in the silence that follows, Mobius watches ribbons of what’s shaping up to be a rather spectacular display of the aurora borealis begin winding their way across the night’s sky behind him. “So? What do you think?” “Hm?” “About the engine.” “Oh, I don’t actually know anything about engines.” Mobius stares at him for a beat in disbelief. “Then why’d you want to see it?” The man shrugs, a vaguely amused expression playing on his features. “Seemed like a thing one does when your vehicle breaks down.”

Favorite Outsider Perspective: That's What Other People Do

“You know me so well, Peril,” Solo says to him before taking a huge bite. He briefly looks, somewhat bizarrely, like a chipmunk. “I know you are somehow always hungry,” Kuryakin returns. “And you get as excited about greasy diner food as gourmet restaurant.” Solo swallows and grins broadly. “Sometimes there’s nothing better than greasy diner food. If I’m gonna have to go to Jersey for this mission, I might as well indulge. Gimme some of your milkshake, would you?” Kuryakin lets out a put-upon sigh, but his mouth is unmistakably tugging up at the corners as he slides the half empty glass over toward his partner. Robin chews slowly as she watches them continue to banter about the food as if she wasn’t there at all. Kuryakin stretches an arm out along the back of the booth behind Solo’s shoulders, and when Solo finally polishes off the burger he settles back against it, almost but not quite tucked against Kuryakin’s side, looking immensely satisfied.

Favorite Angsty Confrontation: Little by Little

“How many have there been?” Napoleon whispers. Suddenly his proximity is unbearable. Close enough that Illya could lean in and kiss him in an instant, and wouldn’t that just be the perfect cap on all of this misery? He can almost imagine the slide of his lips and the heat of his mouth for a moment before the fantasy threatens to choke him. Illya drops his arm and turns away, striding across the room as he scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t know,” he says into his palms, and it’s nearly inaudible to even him so he knows Napoleon did not hear the answer. “How many, Peril? I mean are we talking a one or two, or a handful, or—” “I don’t know!” Illya bellows, wheeling back toward him. 

Tagging @orchidscript, @historicallysam, @leaves-of-laurelin, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @three-drink-amy

@loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @nicijones, @justabigoldnerd, @magicandarchery, @14carrotghoul

@mirilyawrites, @eusuntgratie, @cactusdragon517, @violetbaudelaire-quagmire, @magicandarchery

@myheartalivewrites

So that's the number of snippets I posted, but PLEASE if you see this and want to do it, jump in!! Be proud of your fics!

[wulvercazz]

Local History📖

Next part to 13's adventure in the Haunted Forest~! ;w;💕 (previous)

"I’m guessing you got curious, walked in, and one wraith later… you got lost. Didn’t you?” The pretty guy says with a light smile. Clearly amused by them.

“A bit.” Thirteen scoffs out a shy chuckle, “is that what those tall scary things are?” They get a gentle nod, before the reigns on the large mountain of floof-mount are pulled in such direction and the creature trots closer, shifting so Thirteen gets a good view of its pretty patterned flank and colorful gear.

“Come on, I’ll get you out of here.” And he extends a hand their way— but… as exciting as it may be to ride on such a creature…

“Do I really have to go?” Thirteen blurts suddenly, scaring the guy’s eyes wide open and his welcoming hand to retrieve with confusion.

“You– like– being here.”

Despite the sure tone, thirteen answers it as a question nevertheless, nodding their head excitedly; “I mean, sure, there’s been quite a few scary moments, I’m not made of stone… But I’ve never seen things such as this– I… I’m so curious still. Are there other large insects here? And the horse- dog- things… with the bare skulls, what are they? And this tree–”

Clear, honest laughter interrupts them from their ramblings, “you’re something, I’ll tell you that.” And Thirteen’s not quite sure if it’s a compliment or not even with that silky way of speaking of his; a thin, awkward smile fills in for their silence. “I can’t in good faith allow you to keep running around like a curious kitten, setting off predators wherever you go. But… it has been quite some time since I’ve spoken with anyone so, I’ll make this offer once: Would you like to see the palace-?” And he rushes in to finish his sentence when Thirteen’s eyes seem to pop out their face with glee, “With the promise- of leaving and not coming back once the ‘tour’ is over.”

Thirteen seems to mull it over for a couple seconds, before immediately going back to good old anticipation; sure, being kicked out to never return isn’t fun… but they’ll probably never get anywhere near the more interesting parts of the kingdom without a guide. “Wait a second though, you haven’t told me your name.”

There’s an unreadable silence, “didn’t get past you, did it? … I’m Zaphkiel.” He introduces himself with a little nod, pulling the attention to his ride with a gently tug on the reigns; “and this is Lila. A Giant Nycto Moth, species endemic only to Nyctos; she’s far from her birth home, I know. She was a gift.”

Thirteen notes the way Zaphkiel pushes the attention from his own identity… but even they know when to stop pushing. And, well… gift horse. Nyctos is going right on the “Places-to-visit” list. If there’s a Giant Nycto Moth– are there other differently-sized species? Thirteen’s hands run through the beautifully patterned fur, so soft there’s barely any feel to it.

Zaphkiel stretches out his hand and Thirteen takes it without a fuss this time, pushing themself up to sit behind him on Lila. “Thirteen.” They say to the air once they’re settled, watching with mild amusement as Zaph’s back goes stiff with confusion, “my name.”

It doesn’t ease his confusion one bit, but Zaphkiel deals gracefully with the odd piece of  information. Lila makes her way to the royal city through paths stretch and hidden and covered in bramble that her fluffy toes have no trouble crossing over; and Thirteen is once again happy they took the deal. Even foggy and dusty and gray– it’s an outstanding view, Thirteen leans to the side to better see around Zaphkiel; the carefully crafted rock pavement tracing dulled circles in a clear space before the palace, a thicket of bramble and deliberately placed chunks of repurposed wood covering the wide gates that once led from the public square up to the royal city.

What happened here? The citizens had probably barricaded themselves here at some point… it must’ve been pretty bad before it simply got quiet.

Zaphkiel hummed softly, catching their attention, “don’t go mulling over tragedies,” Lila quickened her step at his command. “This kingdom was sent into darkness over a thousand years ago. It’s history now.”

Thirteen tried thinking of a way to ask more that wasn’t too intrusive, when they couldn’t find any, they chose quietly observing the architecture around them instead. All overrun by roots so old, they’d grown from between the rocky pavement and through walls and around pillars; and dried to death in place. Zaphkiel and Lila walked through with familiarity, entering the palace through a side, unblocked, short gate with an entrance that looked much cleaner than everything else.

“Are you… alone here?” Thirteen finally dared to ask, while Zaphkiel dismounted from Lila and helped them to do so as well.

“I have Lila.” Zaphkiel was quick to answer, but then added; “none of my people are left. If that’s what you’re asking…”

Thirteen felt cold, they really liked asking dumb questions didn’t they– “hahahaha~! I’m sorry, you should see your face.” Zaphkiel broke the silence suddenly clearly finding enjoyment in making them squirm. “As I said… this all happened plenty of years ago, I’m not offended by your curiosity.” He was… a bit mean, Thirteen realized. Probably product of living alone for so long.

Zaphkiel went about unsaddling Lila, removing the reigns and the blankets, and a careful covering over her colorful folded wings, that stretched out and flapped once released. He stashed away the bags and provisions from her saddle inside a stable-looking, dry foliage covered, structure, and petted her goodbye as he closed and locked the place behind her too.

The already imposing entrance had nothing on the actual Palace. It was dusty and the wide halls and tall ceilings were echo-y lone, but the masacre that time and fog and darkness had created of the rest of the kingdom hadn’t reached behind the locked doors of this fortress. Zaphkiel disposed of his armor and a small weapon, leaving him down to his simple slate garments and long, skinny body, and showed him the empty rooms. The rooms where the town had clearly all settled to sleep in and cook and look after each other, the rooms frozen in their once royal service.

“When the fog first blocked the sun and natural disasters hit at least half our population perished, when the first monsters appeared is when my people first hid away in here–”

Something wasn’t right- “you– were here when it all began?” Thirteen turned to Zaphkiel suddenly, stopping short their admiration of the painted ceilings. “Does– do your people live–?”

“This long?” Zaphkiel smiles like he’s in on a secret. “Not usually. The punishment that befell us actually froze time for us; which is why I’ve taken it upon myself to keep people away… it’s easy to get lost in here when you can’t tell time is still running out there. Not many are dumb enough to actually come in deep enough to run into any actual danger, but every few years…” And Zaph throws them a pointed look that has color coming to their cheeks.

He leads them to a wider, glass-ceiling, room with pillars and long tables and chairs. A room that feels colder than all others, with floors and walls overgrown with foliage just like the outside, except here there’s actual greenery and life. Rich roots and thick leaves filling the space they’ve carved into the stone and the luxury; all guiding up to an elevated space where a figure sits on an ornate throne, two smaller, empty sits beside it. Is this…?

Zaphkiel guides Thirteen along still but ditches the storytelling for a reverantial silence, making his way up to the thrones in greeting, “Father.” He bows to the quiet, root-covered man.

As Thirteen gets closer they start to truly see the resemblance; the man looks clearly older and more square-bodied, but everything else is there. “You never told me you’re a prince.” Thirteen mutters suddenly, wondering if they’d been out of place in any way in the past hour or so since they met.

“Was a prince. There’s no kingdom left to rule, and… the royal family paid their dues. The people paid our dues.” Zaphkiel’s tone is more solemn now, still unfazed even as he traces a gentle hand down his father’s frozen cheek. “I’m just Zaphkiel these days.”

They continue with their touring through the palace as it had before, but Thriteen finds they’re even more confused now than they were before they came into the forest at all. Paid what dues? Who punished these people? What exactly has the power to do this to a whole town?

“The love I have for my father doesn’t bury his misdeeds. We were prideful, and pride suffocated all of us.” Is all he ever bothered to say, and, this time, Thirteen couldn’t fathom asking further.

It must’ve been hours before Zaphkiel announced he had nothing left to show them; after stories of the palace’s construction, and the grandiose events held upon the townsquare, and a quiet mention of a Queen lost far before the fog.

Zaph prepared Lila back up and took them both outside the royal grounds through the same hidden passage they’d entered; Lila trotting happily along the wider expanse of the forest as they made their way through. Answering all types of creature-related questions from Thirteen, no less; but the ex-royal seemed to mind little, answering as best as he could as each creature they saw from afar fueled their curious mind further.

“...they only feed off old cadavers, however, so they’re almost harmless… well– so far as you stay away from their eggs–”

A small whimper interrupted them, or Thirteen, at least; Zaphkiel’s tail had flicked in reaction but nothing more; while they searched the branches for the source.

“Probably a common bat,” Zaphkiel attempts to fullfill their curiosity, “leave it–”

…be. ‘Leave it be.’ Zaph intended to say, before Thirteen dropped off Lila’s back to bolt in a thick, concave tree’s direction. “This boy–” Zaph rolled his eyes at the not-there sky, prepping himself for a rescue that would be stopped short by the lump of muddish fur and bone in Thirteen’s arms.

“It’s… a rot-hound pup.” They explain unnecessarily, given that Zaphkiel’s the very one who’s just taught them about the species. “Didn’t you say they’re not safe left alone?”

Zaph sighs, calmer now that nothing too bad is about to happen; “there are plenty of predators in this forest… perhaps its pack got hunted down.” He observes Thirteen for a second before adding; “I don’t suggest you keep it.”

“Can’t another pack take him?”

“I’m no expert, but rot-hound pups are left behind a lot for other reasons, they have plentiful litters I imagine the parents aren’t too worried about losing a few. Or adopting any more for that matter.” And he sighs when Thirteen’s hold on the yipping pup doesn’t budge, “we can try if we see another pack… but it could take days to find and that guy doesn’t have that time.”

Thirteen frowns down at the soft skin of the pup, Zaphkiel’s probably just urging him to leave it behind to its luck to avoid them any pain of seeing the little one die… but they don’t seem to be lying. They didn’t see a single other rot-hound on their long way back, except for this guy, and they do seem to be lacking the rowdiness a youngling should have. It’s crazy to think nature would give this guy another chance.

“I want to help it then.” And before Zaph can say anything more, Thirteen continues; “I know its chances are low, but if its gonna die anyway… I guess I got nothing to lose trying.”

There’s a pause, where Zaph’s blue eyes seem to observe the area around Thirteen in a fresh light; “you’re really something, aren’t you?” This time it really feels like a compliment.

Thirteen’s wrapped the pup up with a thin blanket from their travel bag, securing it to their shoulders and back so it doesn’t move much on the way back out; Lila makes a quicker way to the edge. Zaphkiel makes little conversation now, to focus on the quickest route to the exit, only throwing a couple questions Thirteen’s way that get him little explanations to who they are; what with their amnesia and everything. Understanding seemed to finally settle in about Thirteen’s odd name, at least.

There’s a few voices coming from afar, and as Lila trots on, and the light starts finally reaching in through the trees, it becomes clear that Chromo was a lot more worried than he let on.

“A rescue party,” Zaphkiel muses as they close in within their sight, Chromo and a few other townspeople clammoring when they notice them approach. “I’m more intrigued by you by the minute.” He adds in with a little smile thrown over his shoulder.

Chromo meets them halfway with stompy hooves, much to Zaphkiel’s relief; his darkness-accostumed eyes squinting already as the sun starts to reach them. The centaur’s jaw clenches as he seems to analyze the situation, and exhales with annoyed relief once he sees Thirteen perched, and in one piece, behind the stranger.

It doesn’t hide his, or anyone in his party’s, alarm at learning the forest’s inhabitants aren’t down to zero like they’ve believed all this time.

“Thank you,” Chromo stresses, reaching back to grab Thirteen under the armpits – a tad more forcefully than strictly necessary, in their opinion – to pull them off the moth, “for not allowing them to die.” And the centaur makes a point to send an angry look their way. Look that becomes puzzled the second they noticed the live lump of cloth on their arms.

Thirteen smiles wide before stepping out of reach, “this is Za–” they try to change the subject, before their voice falls, uncertain if Zaphkiel would like to be known at all.

“Zaphkiel,” he introduces himself, after all. And Thirteen watches with a lightly pinched brow as realization, surprise, confusion and then a quiet resolution to simply not question anything anymore all happens to Chromo’s face.

“Chromo.” He reaches out his hand, decided to make this a simple introduction and not get pulled into Thirteen’s search for hidden truths.

“Don’t worry about Thirteen, they’re not coming here any longer, they promised.” Zaphkiel looks their way with the face of one who knows curiosity’s bound to bring them to danger eventually. Thirteen tries to look as the most trustworthy– won’t get in trouble kind of person they can be, until another question comes to mind.

“Does everyone just call this ‘Kingdom’? Surely it had a name, once.”

Zaphkiel has to lean in, covering his face as if to hide the secret from the centaur; “that’s the point of an extinguishing curse, no one seems to be able to remember, not even me.” He reincorporates with a satisfied grin, letting Thirteen to wonder as they retrieve with the rest of the party.

“I’ll make damn sure they keep their promise, at least.” Chromo declares, attempting at thankful appeasing.

All seems to end well, when Zaphkiel takes back his hold of Lila’s reigns, seemingly readying himself to leave; before he stops short with a mischievous glint to his eye. “Can’t say I’ll completely disapprove of them coming around again… could give us some time for a proper chat.”

And the wink Zaphkiel sends Chromo’s way ruffles the centaur's feathers so deeply, he doesn’t even question the rot-hound in Thirteen’s arms on the way back to the village.

~✨~

What can I say uwu I like shipping my ocs together in all sorts of ways✨ Also, idk if I mentioned this, but there's no linear story to this whole universe. My intentions with this is to draw/write separate stories about 13 travelling the world, all connected of course but I may jump around in the timeline a whole bunch depending on what kind of place and creatures I want to write :>cc

Anyway! There'll be more of Zaph (and even Zaph x Chromo 🤭) in the future, but for now,, this is it on the Haunted Forest :>cc Hope you enjoyed this longer piece of writing💕

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (173-174)

In which we prepare for the end by going back to the beginning.

If you'd like to follow along, the series page is here.

Final LBTE the day after tomorrow -- the epilogue itself is tomorrow.

173. Lodestar

He’s already talking about taking next year’s rookies under his wing — taking them out for lunch, inviting them over to play video games, making sure they feel welcome.

Jared terrifying the rookies might put a crimp in Bryce’s rookie mentoring plans.

And — fuck, is Jared going to have to host shit? Jared doesn’t want to host shit. Letting people into his space sounds horrible. Hopefully they’ll get a pass, since there’s no way the team could all fit in their apartment, let alone significant others and kids. They had a few preliminary discussions about getting a house after they re-sign this summer, but no way is that happening if it increases the likelihood of Jared having to endure guests.

Refusing to buy a house solely so no one makes him host anything is the most Jared thing possible.

You’re co-hosting a wine night with me he receives from Stephen, who continues to have the uncanny ability to say the thing that Jared would like to hear least. Jared guesses Gabe told him the news.

Wine nights happen when the Canucks are on the road. Jared replies, rather than ‘I would rather die’, just in case Stephen takes him literally.

Very smart not to tell Stephen your worst fears: he’ll make them happen. Also: you’re co-hosting a wine night with him. It’s inevitable. The rookies may fear Jared, but the WAGs will love him.

The Scouts are flaming out against the Kings, earlier than their typical Stanley Cup Final choking.

This is the Red Wings’ year. So Kings vs Red Wings in the WCF (yes, this 'verse shunted Detroit right back to the west when they finally thought they were safe), then Red Wings vs Lightning in the Finals. Sorry Seb.

Bryce is, but he’s been busy with other things — getting a crash course on what’s involved in wearing the A from Gabe, babysitting the Kurmazov spawn while Dmitry and Oksana pack up their own place for the offseason, bringing some of their extra food over to Elaine’s, and somehow coming home with more shit than he left with, though thankfully all the childhood shit Elaine’s unloading on him is nonperishable.

Seriously, Bryce is 100% living the dream. Mentoring, babysitting, hanging out with his mom.

In one of the boxes is a battered stuffed bear with a bow tie that Bryce greets like an old friend, and now sits with the minor Winnie the Pooh collection in the sulking room. He doesn’t fit thematically, but Jared figures he gets extra points for making Bryce’s eyes light up. His name’s Mr. Bear. Bryce was apparently not a creative child.

Because Bryce was Bear, the Mr. was included to avoid confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Jared asks.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bryce says.

“Is it your shoulder again?” Jared asks.

“It’s not my shoulder,” Bryce says.

“Is it somewhere else?” Jared asks.

Jared is not a very good listener when he’s panicking.

He’s suddenly terrified Bryce is going to propose or something. Demand they get married again, but in public this time. Fuck, Jared doesn’t want to marry Bryce again. He embarrassed himself in front of enough people last time, and is frankly extremely grateful no video evidence exists. He can’t deny that he cried if there’s a video of him doing exactly that. Not that he’d cry, but—

You’d fucking cry, don’t start.

Also if Bryce knew he could make everybody hold a party for his relationship with Jared? On one knee in a second flat. So Jared will just…never mention the existence of vow renewals in his presence. And quit bugging Gabe and Stephen about when they’re getting married so Stephen doesn’t snap and mention it himself.

Bryce hasn’t shown any signs of stopping to breathe, but Jared doesn’t interrupt him, knows Bryce won’t be able to gather the threads back together if he does, and, more than that, that he’s nervous about this for some reason. Nervous about telling Jared this.

Bryce rambles when he’s nervous and when something’s really important to him. This is both.

Mostly he’s trying to figure out how Bryce did all this without Jared knowing. Like, Jared knew Bryce was keeping busy, but how did he miss a whole ass project? Bryce did financials? He talked to Marc Lapointe?

He had a lot of spare time. Especially during road trips. It wasn’t particularly difficult to keep it on the DL, considering.

“We started in like, January,” Bryce says. “I wanted to have like, a real idea before I told you, make sure I was still like, serious about it. And everyone says to do the research so, like, mom and I did the research. Gabe and Stephen helped too. Stephen was only like, kind of mean about it. Though he kept saying shit about my hair.”

“Babe, saying you have Disney prince hair isn’t an insult, I told you that,” Jared says.

“He says it like an insult,” Bryce says.

Because he’s offended that your hair just DOES that. Stephen is very vain about his own hair, he hates having a competitor.

(It does not just DO that, there is great time and financial investment involved in Bryce’s terrific hair)

“He says everything like an insult,” Jared says. “That’s just the way Stephen communicates.”

“He’s nice to Gabe,” Bryce says.

“Have you ever met anyone who isn’t nice to Gabe?” Jared says. “Even I’m nice to Gabe.”

Er. Nice(r).

But seriously, who’s mean to Gabe? Stephen will kill them.

“I wanted it to be like, fully planned out before I told you,” Bryce says. “You’re always so like — you always think shit through, you know? So I wanted to make sure I thought everything through first. And that took like, way more time than I expected it to. And help. This stuff isn’t like, my thing, you know? But it matters to me, so.”

Bryce trying to make sure he got ahead of every road block and set back so it would be perfect by the time Jared found out about it kills me a little.

“It isn’t?” Bryce says. “I mean, I know it isn’t, I just — you don’t think it’s dumb?”

“Of course I don’t think it’s dumb,” Jared says, and it kind of breaks his heart, how relieved Bryce looks.

Mine too.

“I just don’t want anyone thinking they can have hockey or love but not like, both,” Bryce says. “Like, I’d be a fucking mess without you, and I was kind of a mess without hockey too, and I just—“

Bryce going from someone who can’t even say the word gay out loud to willingly becoming the face of an organization meant for LGBTQ youth athletes — this boy.

“I can’t believe you made a secret club just so you could hang out with your mom,” Jared says.

That’s just a BONUS, Jared.

“I’m not—“ Bryce says. “It’s not a secret club!”

Note there is no denial about the hanging out with his mom part.

“You can join the club,” Bryce says, then, quickly, “But you don’t have to or anything. I know you’re not a joiner.”

“Obviously I want to join your secret club,” Jared says.

“Really?” Bryce asks.

“Duh,” Jared says, kicking Bryce’s foot, and Bryce kicks him back, grinning.

Jared’s evolution has been subtler, but of course he makes an exception for Bryce.

Bryce goes to grab his laptop with this jaunty little trot Jared doesn’t think he’s ever seen him do before, and he smiles down at his hands so he isn’t grinning at Bryce when he returns, just in case Bryce thinks he’s laughing at him.

Another evolution: Jared’s awareness of how easily Bryce’s feelings are hurt, and his efforts to make sure he isn’t the one doing it.

“We can take a break,” Bryce says quickly. Jared decides it wouldn’t be constructive to point out they haven’t actually done anything, form-wise. Certainly wouldn’t get either of them what they want, unless what they want is to be frustrated by bureaucracy.

Excellent work NOT cockblocking yourself with forms, Jared.

For the second time Jared gets to see the jaunty run. It’s a little dorky, but Jared won’t tell Bryce that. If he does, he’ll never see it again, and he’s already fond of it.

Jared getting to see parts of Bryce nobody else does, and being SO SO fond of them.

Jared decides to speed up just a little. If Bryce is going to put on a show, he doesn’t really want to miss it.

Like, yes, this is about sex, but also very much a dynamic that plays out across their relationship, which is great, because Jared doesn’t mind that Bryce is the better player/higher profile/bigger name. In fact, all the extra stuff Bryce deals with because of that is shit Jared is very glad not to deal with. But he loves getting to sit back and watch Bryce do his thing.

174. Starstruck (Redux)

There are so many callbacks in this part it might be easier to point out what isn’t one. One of the great things about doing this liveblogging (I reread the first 102 before I restarted this endeavour) — everything is very fresh when it’s time to wrap things up.

It’s also a really nice way for me to come to terms with finishing things — I get to go back and honour every part of the process, which helps, because this part always hurts. This series has been in my life so long it’d be a first grader by now, so it's been particularly hard to say goodbye to it.

It always feels a little strange now, travelling commercial. Well, strange is putting it nicely. Terrible. It feels terrible. Jared has had five hours of sleep and his Starbucks is burnt and his husband is wearing a toque indoors ‘so people won’t recognise me, J’. He looks ridiculous, and if his coffee’s burnt he can’t taste it, probably because there isn’t much coffee involved in that concoction.

Who says Jared isn’t a morning person (everyone who’s met him, and many would say he’s not an afternoon, evening, or night person either)

“You’re that guy from the Canucks, right?” she asks, inexplicably looking at Jared rather than Bryce.

Guess you should have worn a hat like your genius husband, Jared.

“My friends all think you’re really cute,” she says, then runs back to her group without asking for an autograph or anything, greeted with yells and cheers like she just scored them the OT winner.

She is a god among them.

“Don’t look so douchey in my hat now, do I?” Bryce asks.

“You still do,” Jared says. But he looks like a douche with a good idea.

Shoutout to the time Jared wrote a heartfelt card on his first anniversary that used the word ‘douche’ twice.

“I packed an extra,” Bryce says. “Just in case you changed your mind.”

Jared continues to underestimate how often they’ll be recognized, particularly in Vancouver. Bryce prefers to be prepared so he doesn’t have to take pictures and sign shit when he’s just trying to get a coffee.

Once the plane door shuts, Jared rips the hat off his head. “Is it fixable?”

“I don’t know how you can say I’m vain about my hair,” Bryce murmurs. Jared would tell him it’s because he is, but Bryce is fixing his hair for him at the moment, so it doesn’t seem like the most opportune time to argue.

Jared’s less vain about his hair and more vain about his so called dignity, and messy hair is not dignified. But then, neither is Jared, a lot of the time.

Training with you. I come back to Canada in June.

Absolutely not. Jared texts back.

Chaz and Raf already said OK. So did Arvan. So I’m coming.

Too bad Jared texts back. You’re not invited.

“What’re you so happy about?” Bryce mutters.

Julius officially in the crew and Jared is visibly delighted about it.

“Jared!” Bryce says, grabbing his arm.

There’s a few instances of physical communication between the two of them in this part. Big because it’s always in public/in front of others, and that’s something they’re only recently grown comfortable with.

“Did you know Julius was coming?”

“What, Julius is coming to train?” his dad asks. “That’s news to me.”

“I didn’t mention training,” Jared says.

“Shit,” his dad says, and Jared snorts.

Jared got his terrific lying skills from the best.

“Great,” Jared says. “Wonderful. I’m so happy to be home.”

“We’re as happy to have you as you are to be here,” his dad says.

His chirping skills are mostly from his mom, but sometimes Don comes through.

“Is that where Erin’s taking Bryce?” Jared asks.

“As far as I’m aware,” his dad says.

“Well,” Jared says. “Then I guess that’s where I’m going.”

These two. Two planets orbiting one another.

“I tell you I’m proud of you yet?” his dad asks.

“Not in as many words,” Jared says.

“Well, I am,” his dad says. “Proud of Bryce too.”

Look at Don growing too!!

“Me too,” Jared says. “Next season he’s going to — actually, I’ll let him tell you about it over brunch.”

“The charity thing?” his dad says, then, “Shit.”

“Oh for—“ Jared says. “Come on.”

Elaine got ahead of herself, she’s sorry!

Ashley has a ring on her finger. Grace doesn’t, but judging by Raf going red and hissing ‘shut up’ when Jared asks him about it, that’s changing very shortly.

Raf’s trying to find the perfect moment. Chaz did it in their living room and almost wiped out on one of Maia’s toys when he went to kneel.

“You're pregnant," Bryce says.

"No," Ashley says. "Okay, yes, but—"

Everyone had a couple beers (or spritzers) but her over the afternoon. Bryce noticed, Jared, of course, did not.

“To keep the numbers even we thought that maybe Bryce could be on my side?” Ashley asks. “And you two could partner up. But we don’t want to do that if you’re not—“

“Can I wear a suit that matches the bridesmaid dresses?” Bryce asks.

Ash and Chaz worried he’d feel emasculated, being on the bride’s side. And once upon a time he would have, but now he’s just hyped about a pastel suit.

“So it was Chaz you were hiding it from,” Jared says.

Ashley’s mouth flattens. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It is an excellent instrument,” Chaz says. “You’re just haters.”

If he plays twinkle twinkle little star on that thing one more time…

(And it is always twinkle twinkle little star. Because that is all he knows.)

Jared leans over to Chaz as Bryce and Ashley put their heads together. “Did you steal a toy from your own child?”

“We’re teaching her to share,” Chaz mutters.

Can MAIA play twinkle twinkle little star? No! It’s wasted on her.

Raf proposes, but only after weeks of making everyone around him miserable. To the surprise of absolutely no one but Raf, she says yes. Jared would be more smug about calling it if he hadn’t been the only one blindsided by Raf asking him to be his best man.

Just wait until Jared remembers there’s a speech involved.

Jared’s volunteered to help, mostly to make sure that Julius doesn’t mistake Jared telling him he’s not welcome, and explicitly uninviting him, for actually not wanting him here.

Taking Jared at his word would obviously be a mistake.

“Oh my fucking god,” Jared mutters. Bryce had finally gotten rid of the convertible when he left Calgary, and Jared had figured that was that, because Vancouver’s the opposite of a good place for one. Maybe that was naive. “You’re too old for that car! Also too young!”

Bryce gets out of the front seat, sliding his sunglasses off and tucking them into his polo. He looks like bad porn. Right in front of Jared’s parents, too. Jared glowers at him as he walks up the driveway.

Jared’s anti-convertible gripe turning into ‘how dare you look hot enough that I now want to ride in your dumb car’. In front of his parents, to boot!

“Nice looking car, Bryce,” his dad says.

Bryce grins. “Want to come for a spin?”

“Watch my pots!” his dad says, then literally jogs down the driveway to get in the passenger seat.

Don has dibs though!

Jared exchanges a look with his mom.

“Well,” she says. “It’s nice to see he’s finally gotten over his Bryce related car trauma.”

Growth!

It’s another half hour before Bryce and his mom come back. It doesn’t involve anyone shouting ‘what a rush’ as they come inside, so it’s more subtle than his dad’s return

I love Don.

Jared scoots over, and Bryce lies down beside him. They don’t fit. They never have, really, but now Jared has to put his back against the wall, tangle their legs together so Bryce doesn’t topple right off the bed.

Back in Jared’s high school bed. Every time they do it gets more and more cramped.

“I thought we could get some pizza,” Bryce says. “Sit around at a park or something. It’s a nice day for it.”

“You got a blanket in the trunk too?” Jared says.

“Maybe,” Bryce says. “Not a Flames one, but.”

This boy. This ridiculously romantic boy.

“Absolutely,” Bryce says. As soon as they get outside he jogs ahead. Jared’s about to ask him what he’s in such a hurry for before Bryce opens the passenger door for him, and then he just has to stop everything, take a moment and watch him, golden in the late spring light.

Jared’s still so gone for him.

“You coming?” Bryce asks.

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Yeah, of course I am.”

So gone.

[ilguna]

☼ the lakes (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you can't help dreaming of running away with your muse.

warnings; swearing, mention of violence, derogatory language, and death threats.

wc; 1.6k

notes; this is a songfic. the lakes by taylor swift.

–

As much as you hate to say this, with how everything is going right now, you can’t keep doing this.

There’s nothing that makes you second guess your choice of staying with Finnick more, than going to the Capitol together to mentor every year. You’ll go as a happy couple, without a single issue between you two, only to come home completely miserable, questioning whether or not it’s the right choice to stay together.

They know exactly what they’re doing each time you arrive. It didn’t bother you in the beginning, because you thought that tough skin never wears, but you were wrong. When they’re clawing at the same spot every year, it’s hard not to get sensitive over the topic, even with Finnick.

They’re hoping that you’re going to finally call it quits, and you’re getting close.

You don’t know how Finnick does it anymore. You get that he’s in the Capitol eye all the time, so he’s got experience when it comes to them fucking with him, but you thought that by now, there would be some urge to bite back and push them away. Especially when he sees how upset you get by their comments.

He likes to tell you that you need to stop worrying, and focus on the relationship more, that it’s easier to ignore them when you don’t care. His go-to question is, “What are they going to do about it?” Recently, you’ve been asking him, “What haven’t they done about it?”

You said you get upset by their comments, which is more than just words on the street, which you’ve gotten as well. They started off innocent enough at the start, where they told you to break up with him, you’re not good for him, they like him better single. And it turned worse, when they realized it wasn’t working.

You’re every vulgar name under the sun, apparently. And they own Finnick, which means that you’re not allowed to have him. If you don’t give him up soon, then your entire family’s going to be killed, while you watch. After that, they’ll kill you too, in front of everyone, where they’ll celebrate and throw a festival in Finnick’s honor.

You have received so many death threats, that you don’t bother to leave the Tribute Center without the Capitol escort or the stylists. You know that you’d be safer in numbers, and you stopped bothering to try and get away from that. 

They have smeared your name across every platform possible, picking out every single one of your insecurities, and ensuring that the magazines and newspapers got to you somehow. So that you’d have to see what the latest rumor there is about you inside of the Capitol.

There’s only so much Finnick can do. He had a conversation with Coriolanus, in hopes that he’d get his people under control. It worked for one summer, by the time you came around the following year, it’s like it was a contract that lasted for a single month. You were back to being afraid.

Finnick can’t stop mentoring, per Snow’s rules, and even though you’ve tried dropping out a couple times now, Finnick won’t let you. He wants you to be there with him, because you’re his partner in crime. You’re the person he wants to work with in the Capitol to bring tributes home. He doesn’t want anyone else.

“Come here, baby.” Finnick murmurs, pulling you into his side. He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t let them do this to you again, please.”

“I can’t do it again, Finnick.” You tell him, “I won’t survive another Capitol trip. We won’t survive another trip.”

“It’s not that bad.” He says, you meet his eyes for a few seconds. He’s got his head tilted, mouth pulled into a frown.

“They threw a drink at me this time.” You emphasize, “During their interviews, I had to sit with wine on my dress. How am I supposed to help them when I can’t even go talk to sponsors without ruining their chance? It’s not fair for them!”

Finnick stares at the gravel wordlessly.

“It’ll be one summer, you can take Mags with you. They love her.” You watch his face.

“What happens when you decide you don’t want to do it the year after that? And so on? I’m going to be left alone to deal with those people.” He shakes his head, “You can’t go there without them hating you, and I get eaten alive every night. I don’t like it either, (Y/n). I’m just asking you to suffer with me.”

“They want me dead.” You stop walking, “That’s my safety, babe.”

“I’m sorry.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, “I really am, (Y/n).”

You gather your hair into your hand before tossing it over your shoulder, “I’ll meet you at home.”

“Where are you going?” 

“To clear my head.” You take a step toward him, he holds your jaw still to kiss you. When he pulls away, he gives you a half-smile before turning and walking away, going to Victor’s Village. You watch him go for a few minutes, before you turn to the left, and head straight for the woods.

It’s overgrown, the bushes and grass reach your knees easily. Your fingers brush over the top of the leaves, pulling them away from their position. When you move on, they spring back into place, bouncing from side to side until it eventually settles.

You like it out here. There are times you wish you grew up somewhere with more trees and less water. You’ve gotten lost here a few times, spending whole days wandering back home. The fences that were put up during the Dark Days are pushed back far, likely anticipating that the trees would get cut down and be replaced by houses or factories.

You’re glad that the forest has gone untouched here.

There’s a vague path stomped into the grass, one that you’ve taken before. You have two spots you like to go to, depending on which is closer and how far you want to go into the woods. Every time you come here, you’re upset in some way, and you unintentionally take your anger out on the flourishing plants that conceal you.

You love Finnick, you really do, but you can’t continue to sacrifice your happiness for him. And you are so genuinely afraid that you won’t be able to continue to be with him, if something doesn’t change, soon. The Capitol might treat him harshly at times, but they also praise the ground he walks on. He has no idea just how much you bottle to keep from upsetting him while you’re there.

If it were up to you, you’d leave and never come back. You’ve got nothing to lose, everything that had mattered to you is gone now. Snow took them from you to punish you for saying no to him. Finnick was the only one of the victors who bothered to check up on you after, because he knew what it was like to be isolated like that. 

Finnick is the only person you have left, without him, you’re nothing. You can’t afford to lose him to the Capitol. 

It’d be so easy for you to come out here and disappear, you’re sure that no one important would notice, like the mayor or the peacekeepers. They hardly care that you show up to the reaping each year, it would be Finnick that they’d be looking for.

There’s got to be some place to hide out here, beyond the fence. The trees are tall and thick, creating a dense forest. The leaves provide shade and shelter from the hovercrafts that fly by. There’s wild plants, and animals that you haven’t seen close up in a long time.

The further you go, the harder it would be to find you. 

It would be just you and Finnick, forever. There would be no Capitol, no one following you around with an opinion, trying to pin you down and pull you apart. Every moment could be yours, without someone coming along and ruining it. You could live longer in peace, than in violence.

Those windermere peaks could be a perfect place to cry without someone turning your tears against you. It could be home, instead of some distant fantasy. And you’ll go, but not without Finnick, holding your hand the entire way there. Your future, so close and so far at the same time.

There, the air is crisp and clears your mind. The shade is cooler, you could sit in it for hours. The grass tickles every inch of skin that it can reach. The sun shines brighter, no clouds there to hide it. The birds sing louder, there are no threats to quiet them anymore.

You could be there for years, no one would come to bother you. You’d stay so long that the wisteria would grow right over your bare feet, locking you to the earth for the rest of your life. 

You could finally be who you are without people telling you that you aren’t good enough for him. There’s no one to judge you, as you and your muse sit beside the lake, where all the lovers went to die before you. And you’d live in a small house, you and your family, where roses sprout out of frozen ground because the love you have to give is insurmountable.

You wish you were somewhere other than here.

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - chapter 42

It’s a rather eerie evening and by that I mean I feel an unsettling presence nearby; then again, it could be my disturbing amount of anxiety that never leaves my body nowadays. With Fanden spying on us before, I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re actually being watched. Our friends, except Astarion and Shadowheart, are visiting tonight to discuss the venture ahead of us tomorrow and the plan to get rid of this vile situation for good. The last thing I want is confrontation with Gortash. Each time I visualize his face, I clench my fists and feel my heart about to burst into flames from the hatred I feel toward him. I thought I hated him before, I thought he was just a tyrant. He’s my father, someone who could have changed, someone who had the opportunity to choose love over power… But that’s too much to ask of him. Secrets were kept from me my entire life, and I’m still upset with my mother for not telling me the truth ages ago. Right now is not the time to feel this rage and overthink it; we need to go into action and prepare for what’s ahead.

Astarion is at home with Shadowheart and their toddler. With him being immortal and not being directly involved with our scenario, it’s safe to say they’ll be alright. If either of them need us while we’re away, I told Tara to let them know where we are and what we’re doing, and that neither of them need to be directly involved.

“Okay, so the plan is that we get all the explosives – yeah, WHIZBANGS! – and blow up Moonrise? Isn’t this, like, crazy illegal? Then again, what those fucks are doing is much worse and it’s best to put an end to it… Okay, I’m in,” Karlach chimes in enthusiastically as she cracks her knuckles as an attempt to be intimidating. I crack a light smile, still worried about the circumstances that we’re about to face. I’m just glad I’ll have Gale with me through it all. I hate that this is all happening; a string of horrifying events one after the other. Maybe this is it. Maybe our lives will go back to normal when this is said and done.

Confronting my biological father, who I didn’t realize was my father… Who would have thought?

“It’s a shame it has to come down to such a devastating circumstance since it was once such a beautiful place. The place will forever be corrupted by the, uh…corrupted, it seems,” Halsin adds. He’s right. It’s tragic that such a once-lovely piece of architecture ended up corrupted, and will only hold the horrible memories and lost souls within it. How unfortunate.

“I couldn’t agree more. Now, either Emmy or myself will have Jenevelle, but will stand far away from the explosives. All of us will be invisible so we won’t get caught. Once we arrive, it shouldn’t take long at all. Go in, boom, out we go,” Gale explains with a hushed tone.

“I hope once those bastards are dead, they’re dead for good.” My voice is full of worry, though I’m relieved we’re getting this over with. Gale rubs my back gently with his hand, giving me a reassuring look. The twinkle in his eyes brings me a sense of comfort somehow.

“No kidding! I’m sick of seeing Gortash’s stupid mug! No offense, Em. If it makes you feel any better, you look nothing like him.” Karlach always knows how to brighten someone’s day, that’s for sure. Gale sits down next to me on the sofa, wrapping his arm comfortably around my shoulders. If he’s nervous or anxious in any way, he’s doing a fantastic job at masking those feelings. Maybe it’s to keep me calm and collected.

“Baby, we’ll get through this like we always do. Jenevelle will be alright.” He’s right. Perhaps I’m second-guessing everything, or just letting my antsy mind get to me. I can feel my mind fogging, losing all recollection of previous thoughts from the past five minutes. An unexpected tingling sensation is causing me to feel drained.

“I wonder what he’s going to say to me. I know it won’t be an apology, that’s for sure.” Everyone in the room stares at me with puzzled expressions, as if I made no sense just now. “What?”

“Good thing you won’t find out, Emmy. We’re going to blast his ass before he’s aware we’re even there. Remember?” Wyll reminds me. What the hell. Am I losing sight of the plan now? Did I just have a huge moment of weakness where I completely lost track of what we’re doing? Get it together, Emmy.

“Right. Yes. I won’t have to say a damned word to him.”

“Say, when this is over with, can we go to the circus? I hear they hired a new clown, a professional this time. He has a background in stand-up comedy,” Karlach says excitedly, and I chuckle as I nod my head in agreement. “We all deserve a treato.” She’s always so positive no matter the circumstances. Wyll rolls his eyes and kisses her cheek, admiring her goofy and authentic self. It seems she’s not the only one that wants to see clowns. Their alignment with one another is perfect, and I love to see it after all this time. From enemies to unconditional lovers.

After our friends leave for the night, I steep myself some chamomile tea to relax before going to bed. I hold my cup, inhaling the soothing scent of fresh herbs, and feeling the calmness greet me as the steam is absorbed through my nostrils. Gale stands next to me in the kitchen while in his night time robe.

“Hey, I love you,” he murmurs, smiling at me with that particular smile that made me fall in love with him. The way it lifts his cheekbones and the sincerity of love it shows me causes my heart to throb with intensity, and I never want the feeling to fade. I smile, trying to hide my face as I blush but he chuckles, taking my chin with his fingers and moving my face toward him. “Ah-ah, you know I love to watch you blush.” He did that to me on purpose!

“Grr. I love you too,” I finally respond, fighting laughter. “Thank you for putting my mind at ease.” As he places his hands on my waist, I place my tea on the counter and proceed to wrap my arms around his neck, which I can hardly reach.

“Allow me to hold you for a moment, please?” He gently kisses my forehead, leaving his lips there for a moment. I close my eyes as I feel the endless warmth of his lips upon my flesh, feeling him rock me as we stand here in the middle of the kitchen. “I know you’ve been feeling so tense and that it feels like we’ll never catch a break. We will, I promise.”

[atinylittlepain]

Of Saints and Sinners - Chapter 6

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

The team starts their journey home and things start to change between her and Joel. Will she finally start letting him in? Or will he have to forget about her and whatever they had shared?

warnings | 18+ angst, canon-typical descriptions of injuries, smut-adjacent (finally)

The group spends the rest of the night in the old gas station. In the morning she tells them she wants to get back to Jackson in one trip. Joel keeps his mouth shut after their conversation last night, and it’s agreed that they’ll all keep moving, five days until they’re back home. 

Alex and Steve might be fooled by her confident attitude, but Joel can see the way she winces when she hoists herself up onto one of the horses, Steve swinging his legs over behind her. One night wasn’t going to heal the damage she had been dealt, and Joel can see she’s feeling it. Regardless, the group sets off on the highway back towards Wyoming.

The days start to pass languidly by, long stretches of squinting highway and nights spent hunkered down in withering buildings. She hasn’t been talking much to any of them, only sharing faint whispers with Steve that Joel pretends to not be curious about. He’s trying hard to not be such a guy about it, but honestly that’s never been an issue until her. For the first time since the world ended, Joel Miller is jealous.

He tries to hold onto what she had told him, that Steve wasn’t her man. And the further along the journey home they got, the more Joel was starting to understand their relationship. This was an intimacy past whatever Joel was getting worked up about. This was two people who had been through everything together. Something deeper than sharing love, or blood, or a name. They had shared life, or whatever there was left of it. 

He was still trying to figure out how Alex fit into this equation. They treated him like a little brother almost. Someone a little less worn than them, but still dear. What Joel saw before him was a family, the only kind that could arise in a world like this.

They’re two days out from home, settling in for the night. Her and Joel stay up while Alex and Steve get some rest in the first leg of the night, hunkering down in another cleaned out gas station. 

They sit shoulder to shoulder, backs against an old beer cooler. 

For maybe the first time, she speaks up first, “what kinda records do you have?”

“Don’t have many, you’ll have to share whatever you’ve been stashing. A buggy Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Hank Snow.”

“A real country boy, huh?” She quirks up her mouth in a split grin at him. He thinks to himself, this is new.

“Well what would you prefer?” He’s playing along. It feels weird to him.

“I’m guessing you weren’t listening to much Mazzy Star before this all went down?” He looks at her blankly, she smiles.

“That’s one I did manage to find, their 1993 album, seemingly intact. I’m gonna play it until it’s worn out when we get back.” He likes the sound of that, the promise of her presence.

“Anything else?” She turns her head, resting her cheek on her shoulder as she looks up at him. “You know Elliott Smith?” Again, Joel’s got nothing. She lets out a short laugh. “How about the movie Good Will Hunting?” 

“Robin Williams, right? A bunch of therapy talk.” He’s rewarded with a wide smile. “Yeah, Elliott Smith was the soundtrack to that.” Joel nods, afraid to admit he can barely remember the movie in the first place.

“He was big in Portland, where I was from, at least in the indie scene. My dad - he was a disc jockey, always on the up and up on music, always bringing home good shit for me to listen to. Elliott Smith was my favorite artist he showed me. You might like him, he’s folk-adjacent, lots of guitar.” He’s never heard her say so much at once, and even though he has no idea what indie or folk-adjacent means, all he wants is for her to keep talking. For just a second, Joel feels like he’s in a different world with her, a world in which none of this ever happened. Just two people talking about music on a normal night. And then he blinks back into reality, the still fading bruises on her neck, the bandage wrapped firmly around her arm, the way she talks in the past tense. She seems to snap back into this world at the same time, clearing her throat and looking down at her hands in her lap. He hates it, the sudden drop.

“Anyways, gotta get home first. But I’ve got one of his records too, I’ll play it for you.” Just like back in that field, Joel doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s already done it. He reaches out, sliding his palm under her own, interlacing their fingers. Her lungs catch on an inhale, turning her face to look at him from under those damn eyelashes. His other hand ghosts over the hinge of her jaw, thumb brushing the arc of her chin. While his brain blares the what the fuck alarm, he’s leaning into her, twisting in until she does the rest, leaning up and forward into him, and it’s a kiss that could only be shared between two broken people. It’s a trembling brush, a frightened test. She squeezes his hand and he closes the gap this time. The second one is a little more certain. I want this. I want you. This is real. I’m terrified that this is real.

They freeze before slowly unfurling from each other, resting their heads back against the wall. He’s afraid to look back at her and see regret, but she breaks the silence first, “was that alright?” He thinks his head’s going to explode. She’s asking if that was alright for him?

Joel swallows, “uh-hum, yeah. Was that alright to you?” Neither of them have looked at each other yet, just glancing at each other out of the corners of their eyes. He sees the sliver of her smile. “Yeah, that was alright, Joel Miller.”

… 

Over the next two days of travel, she gets quiet again. Joel thinks he royally fucked up, that maybe the more she thought about what they shared, the less alright it became to her. He feels selfish, downright ridiculous, that this is what he’s worrying about. He can see that she’s still in a decent amount of pain in how she moves, sudden, wincing jerks. She won’t let any of them look at her ribs again.

Mercifully, it’s an uneventful return home. They make it back through the mountains, and their appearance on the edge of town causes a serious stir, people gathering to watch the ragged crew ride in. They dismount, and Maria is quick to take her under her arm and out of the crowd to a former doctor’s house. Joel can hear hushed whispers regarding “the saint’s” return. Back home, back to all her secrets he still doesn’t know.

Steve and Alex look at Joel, both nodding to him, before walking off towards their home. The job is over, and Joel heads home too.

Ellie is begrudgingly happy to see him return, asking too many questions that he refuses to answer. He wonders if things will return to the way they had been, an icy distance, Steve’s warning. He hopes they won’t.

…

That night, there’s a knock at Joel’s door. It’s Alex. Joel steps out, sitting with the man on the porch.

“Thought you’d wanna know, she’s doing alright. Doc did a full checkup. No broken ribs, just some serious bruising, have her taking freezing cold baths to reduce the swelling. She’s at home now, sleeping like the dead. Think she’s already feeling a lot better just being back.”

Joel nods at this, not realizing he needed so badly to know how she was doing.

Alex takes a sharper inhale, “Steve also told me to tell you he was sorry for being a dick. He’s a hard one to get an apology out of, just a little too proud.” Joel huffs at that.

“Don’t have to apologize. I get that, wanting to keep someone safe. I was happy to help you do that.” Alex rubs his palms on his thighs before standing up, turning to leave before thinking twice and looking back at Joel.

“Don’t tell her I told you this, but she told me she likes you, Miller. That’s a high compliment. Thinks you’re one of the good ones. Please don’t prove her wrong.” Before Joel can respond to this, Alex is already shuffling off his porch, walking out into the dimming night.

…

Joel tries hard to get back to business as usual. Picking patrol shifts back up, working with Tommy. He doesn’t see her around at all that first week back, figures they have her laying low while she’s still recovering. He sees Steve at the bar one night and the man nods at Joel, a silent extension of peace, a thank you.

He wonders to himself if it’s better to just forget what happened, that it’d be best to let it lay dormant, to stop thinking about her. But he can’t, the feeling of her hand in his is what he falls asleep to and wakes up with.

Joel certainly isn’t a romantic now, nor was he before. He learned not to be the hard way, with Sarah’s mom, who left him and his babygirl before he knew love was capable of hurting, of destroying. And then he lost Sarah, and with her, whatever he thought was left of his heart. 

Something seemed to slide back into that space with Ellie, but now, he can feel it filling out to the brim with her, this wild, strange, dangerous woman that he still doesn’t know, not really. He tries to tamp it down, drown it out, but the thoughts of her keep pouring in. She’s ten years younger than him, and while Joel knows time doesn’t count for much in this world, it feels like a chasm, one big enough for her to not want him at all. But then he remembers that night, that shared moment, and he has to believe he’s not being a fool for feeling this way.

His mind rolls like the tide with these wonderings, these worries as he moves through the days. And then, it’s two weeks since they’ve returned, and he gets another knock on his door on a Tuesday night.

She’s wearing the same thing he saw her in that day at the childcare center, soft, faded t-shirt, grubby jean shorts, and duct-taped sneakers, a zip-up hoodie hanging loosely over her frame. He can see that she’s got two vinyls tucked under her arm.

“You owe me a turn with your record player, Miller.” A ghost of a smile in the corners of her lips. He opens the door wider, letting her slip inside.

“Yes ma’am. Was wondering when you’d be coming for a listen.” Joel can handle patrol shifts, clickers, raiders, general danger, without much anxiety. But having her here, in his space, is making him nervous in an embarrassing way.

“Doc finally cleared me for daily activities. First day of freedom since we got back. Been thinking about this the whole time though.” He knows she means the record player, but something in him still flips over at her words.

She holds up both records for Joel to see, “I brought Mazzy Star and Elliott Smith, the ones I told you about, think we can listen to both tonight?” 

He nods, “Ellie’s out wreaking havoc with some other kids, won’t be around to give us any grief. We can listen to whatever you want.” She gives him one of those rare, cracking smiles. He thinks that’s all he really wants these days.

She lets him lead her upstairs, and he only now starts to realize he keeps the record player in his bedroom. Jesus christ, man, calm down. She lets out a sigh when she sees the player set up, tentatively walking over and thumbing through the sparse crate of records Joel has. 

“Man, feels like Christmas morning,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. The record player is set up on an old end table, Joel sits down in the armchair next to it, elbows on his knees, watching her carefully kneel in front of the player. She lays her two records down on the floor, seemingly trying to decide which to play first.

“I think I have to go with Elliott Smith first. Haven’t heard him in twenty fucking years.” She slips the record onto the table, letting the needle catch. The opening chords of “Speed Trials” kick up and she smiles until her cheeks are rounding up under her eyelashes, eyes closed.

Joel’s only half paying attention to the music, his focus more intently on the seeming ecstasy she’s in, nodding her head with the drums, letting out a sigh as each new track begins. She opens her eyes a squint, catching him staring and he looks away, trying to listen closer to the music.

She just keeps smiling, “ah man, this last track is so good.”

I'm in love with the world

Through the eyes of a girl

Who's still around the morning after…

She’s mouthing along to the lyrics, Joel feels like he’s going to combust.

I could be another fool

Or an exception to the rule

You tell me the morning after…

She looks at him, her smile slackening as she slowly stands. She shuffles over in front of him and offers out her open palm, he takes it and squeezes lightly. 

Crooked spin can't come to rest

I'm damaged bad at best

She'll decide what she wants

I'll probably be the last to know

No one says until it shows, see how it is

They want you or they don't

Say yes…

Joel stands, his and her feet shuffling until the toes of their shoes skim. She splays her other palm over his chest, fingers grazing just below his collarbone. He lets his hand furl around the curve of her neck, thumb resting on the aching roundness of her cheek.

They both jump when the needle catches the end of the record, warbling off. She huffs a laugh, eyes still caught with Joel’s.

He swears he hears his voice crack when he asks her if this is ok but he doesn’t care because she’s smiling and then she’s nodding and then she’s leaning up and in and the first kiss is soft, a remembering, a test. The second is a bit firmer, more confident. The third, she slides her palm up from his chest, to his jaw, drawing into him a bit closer. The fourth, they untangle their hands, his going to the hilt of her spine, hers draping over the tops of his shoulder blades. The fifth, he lets his palm rest heavy on her back, pressing her body fully against his. She swipes her tongue across his lips and he’s already letting her in, tasting into him. They can feel their battering heart beats where their chests press against each other, shaky and unsure of where they’re going next until Joel is cupping her hips in both his hands and gently walking her back towards the end of his bed. The backs of her knees hit the sheets and she’s stumbling back onto the bed, taking him with her as he awkwardly tries to hold himself up. She lays back and he’s hovering over her with his knee between her legs and his palm beside her temple and he laughs, really truly laughs. She brings her hand up, thumb brushing over his lips.

“What is it?” He sighs, “it’s nothing, it’s just — kinda feel like I’m back in highschool right now.” She giggles and Joel thinks it might kill him, “Joel Miller, are you blushing?”

“Mm, shut up,” and with that he’s diving back down to meet her and this kiss is different. It’s desperate, licking into each other, teeth bumping, huffed breaths, and the clicks of spit. She starts to work at the buttons of his shirt and once he catches on, he sits up for a moment, yanking the thing off over his head by the collar before settling back into her. He shivers as her palms run over his bare skin, nails grazing his back, his sides, up his chest. He dips his head into her neck, leaving nips along her throat as she gasps under his touch. She lets out a strangled whine when he brushes his lips at the hinge of her jaw. He presses back, pulling her hands with him to bring them both standing. His hands grasp at the edges of her hoodie, he sees a flicker of something in her eyes, but she still lets him shrug the jacket off her shoulders. Joel runs his fingertips down her bare arms and she shudders. He stops at the bandage around her left forearm, she looks down at the floor.

“Almost all healed now. You still gonna like me with another scar added to the list?” He frowns at that, dipping his head to meet her gaze, swooping in for a swift, hard peck. “Don’t even say shit like that,” he murmurs, bringing his attention back to the task at hand, fingers ghosting along the hem of her shirt. He doesn’t miss her flinch this time.

“I just – well, you’ve seen my back. Kinda a mood killer,” she laughs lamely at this, swallowing hard around an ache in her throat. 

“Hey, no. I — I want you, however you are, however you let me.” Joel feels like his mouth is full of cotton and he speaks before he can even think, “you’re – you’re wild, you know that? Make me feel like my head is gonna explode everytime I look at you.” She lets a small smile spread at that, still gazing down at her shoes. He brings his palm to her jaw, coaxing her face up towards him. 

“Don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to, but you gotta know I want all of you, if you’ll let me have it.” She nods slightly, eyes a bit teary as she catches Joel’s gaze. What she says comes out as a hoarse whisper, “Think I need some time. I know you’ve seen them. I’m just not ready, but I want to be. That ok?” Joel takes hold of her hand, squeezing. She squeezes back.

“It’s ok, darlin. Give you all the time I got.”

[rhondafromhr]

Finished the second chapter of my ‘nerds corruption au’ story!

I have way too much free time right now and I’m also having way too much fun writing this so here’s another chapter, this idea has me in an absolute chokehold.

Link to Chapter 1: https://www.tumblr.com/rhondafromhr/738099850581835776/i-ended-up-writing-it-after-all-ill-probably

“We’re Gonna Become the Bullies”

Chapter 2: They’re Walking a Very Fine Line

Paul’s been Richie’s guardian for going on four years now and in that time, Richie’s never given him much of a reason to worry. He’s never been sent to the principal’s office or the police station, he keeps his grades up, he chose the math club over the smoke club and the most rebellious thing he ever does is stay up late on a school night watching anime. More importantly, he tells Paul everything - when he gets bullied at school, when he’s struggling with a class, when he has a fight with Ruth (Oh God, Paul remembers, he promised they’ll go see The Barbecue Monologues to show her their support. Ugh. He does not like musicals). If he’s going to be out late, he always texts Paul to let him know where he is, what he’s doing and about when he thinks he‘ll be home.

At least he did until Friday night. He said he was going to Pete’s after school for a D&D session and he should be home around eleven. But then eleven o’clock rolled around and Richie didn’t appear, nor did a heads up that he was going to be late. Paul ignored the slight gnawing anxiety. There’s no reason to worry, he told himself, they probably just got really caught up in their game. From the few times Richie’s hosted D&D night at their place, he knows how intense they get with it.

But then it was a quarter past eleven and still no sign of him. He texted: hey, haven’t heard from you, everything okay? No answer. Ten more minutes passed and eventually he caved and called. Nothing. He tried two more times and still nothing. By eleven forty-five he was desperate enough to call Ted and ask if he’d heard anything from Peter. He hadn’t and he was none too pleased with Paul for interrupting his favorite pastime (“screwin’ around with another man’s wife”). Apparently, Ted had him on speaker, because Charlotte heard and she was much nicer about it. She told Paul they’d notify him if they heard anything and asked him to please let them know once Richie got home safe. Just when he was on the verge of a panic attack, he heard the lock clicking on the front door as Richie let himself in. By now it was almost two in the morning. Paul exhaled and the tension left his body. He’d never felt this relieved in his life. Obviously, Richie had some explaining to do, but at least he was here. At least Paul finally knew he was safe.

“Hi, Richie. Did something happen? Usually you at least shoot me a text if you’re going to be out late.” Something was definitely off. Richie’s clothes were disheveled and the way he rubbed his arm was subtly different from the way he usually does it - his hand rested on his shoulder rather than his forearm and he winced as if there was some physical pain he was trying to relieve. Did he get hurt? Why didn’t he call Paul for help if he got hurt?

“Oh, uh, sorry, Paul. We just got super into the campaign and I guess the time got away from us. Won’t happen again. I’m pretty tired now, I think I’m going to head to bed. Goodnight!” He rushed to his room before Paul could ask any follow-up questions.

“Goodnight, Richie,” Paul said with a sigh. He wasn’t convinced, but maybe Richie just needed time to open up about whatever actually happened. He always did eventually.

That night still weighs on Paul’s mind as he drives Richie to school Monday morning. Richie seems distracted, too. Without his usual enthusiastic rambling about the merits of subs versus dubs or why there should be a copy of the full Attack on Titan box set in the library of congress, the car feels eerily quiet. Paul turns on the radio to try and fill the silence, but the cheery, up-tempo song that comes on somehow creates an even weirder atmosphere. They finally pull up in front of the school and say their goodbyes.

Just as he’s about to take off, Paul notices a tall boy in a letterman jacket waving to Richie. Richie waves back and approaches him. Wait, isn’t that Max Jägerman? The kid that’s been bullying Richie and his friends for years? He watches as they walk towards the school entrance together. Why is Max being so friendly to him out of the blue? Is this the setup for some horrible, mean-spirited prank? Paul’s heart sinks, but there’s nothing he can do. He’ll just have to trust Richie’s judgment and be there for him if anything happens. He’s definitely going to Beanie’s on his lunch break today. He desperately needs a coffee and Emma will probably be happy to let him vent and maybe even provide some surprisingly thoughtful advice. Knowing her, she’ll welcome any distraction from her usual degrading job duties of making coffee, serving “cold, shitty pastries” and singing for tips.

“Hey, Richie! How was your weekend?” Max greets him enthusiastically. Huh, he’s been upgraded from Shitlips. Not only that, they’re on a first-name basis now. So they’re actually doing this. That night at the Waylon place wasn’t some weird fever dream.

“Uh, it was okay, I guess? My Uncle Paul didn’t seem too happy with me for staying out so late on Friday, but he didn’t, like, ground me or anything. Other than that I didn’t do much, just rewatched Attack on Titan again.” Friday was the weirdest, most stressful night of his life and he had no idea what to expect on Monday, so the comfort and familiarity was much needed.

“Oh, cool. My dad was pretty upset when I told him what happened, too.”

“That makes sense, you did almost die.”

“Yeah, he’s really pissed I didn’t. Wanted to collect the life insurance payout or whatever. You know how dads are,” Max says with a shrug. Richie actually doesn’t know how dads are, but he’s pretty sure that’s not normal.

“Oh, uh, sorry. That sucks.” What else can he say to something like that?

“Anyway, I gave Kyle and Jason the rundown over the weekend and told them to spread the word. Everyone should know by now that you and the rest of the group are not to be messed with and from now on they’ll be answering to all of us. And if anybody tries it you just let me know, it’s a swirly and a flick-it ticket for them. We’ll do it together. I have to teach you the proper form, anyway.”

Oh, right. That part of the deal. It’s not just being cool with Max Jägerman, it’s being “on his level” as he phrased it. Which means joining in on the bullying unless they can use whatever influence they now have to talk Max out of it. Grace did say she thought it was possible back at the Waylon place. Richie agreed at the time. Does he still believe that? Did he ever, or was he just trying to justify their decision? If they can even pull it off, it’s going to be a lot more complicated than just going “Hey, let’s not bully anyone!” and Max being like “Okay, sounds good!”

“Will do, Max, but uh, what if it’s somebody who doesn’t have nuts?” Richie asks. He may or may not be speaking from experience. Truthfully, flick-it tickets have never worked on him, but convincingly faking like they’re the most painful thing in the world has probably saved him from Max inflicting actual pain countless times. Ruth’s acting tips have been really helpful for that.

“Oh, good point! Two swirlies, then. Love your inclusive way of thinking!”

The bell rings, providing Richie with a convenient exit from this conversation.

“Oh, gotta get to honors English, see ya later!”

“Bye, Max.” He hurries to Physics, wondering how the hell Max is in honors English.

When he joins their usual group (plus Grace and Steph) at the lunch table, it seems like everyone else is reeling from the changed dynamic, too. At least Ruth is having a good time with it.

“She actually said hi to me!” Ruth says, her eyes lighting up “Then she told me my headgear is fire today! It was so hot, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife!” There’s only one person at school who still says things are fire unironically. Brenda must have gotten the memo.

“Isn’t she dating Kyle?” Pete points out “I know Max won’t let them, but clearly they’d just go behind his back, right?”

“Yeah,” Richie chimes in “If anything, sneaking around would make it hotter. ‘Forbidden fruit’ and all that.”

“Duh! Everyone knows that, watch some porn! But also, watch some romcoms - I’m the nerdy underdog, obviously she chooses me in the end.”

Before Grace can admonish Ruth for being so lewd or Stephanie can rant about the problematic tropes and implications of the romcom comment (the collective word count of her Twitter threads on the subject rivals War and Peace), Pete raises the question that’s been on all of their minds:

“Can we really be considered underdogs anymore?”

“I don’t know. The vibe is definitely different from before,” replies Richie “God, this morning was so weird. Max just walked up to me and started the most normal ass ‘how was your weekend?’ conversation ever. I mentioned anime and he didn’t even make fun of me, it was fucking surreal!”

“It’s definitely weird, but I have to admit it’s been kind of nice to be able to walk down the hallway without constantly watching my back,” Pete says “Brad Callahan called me Micro-Pete earlier. I told him to back off and he actually did!”

“He called you what?” Startled, they all look up to find Max looming over them at the end of their table. When did he get here? “I fuckin’ told him not to bother you guys, but it looks like my instructions were unclear. C’mon, Pete, let’s go find him. We’ll make sure there are no further misunderstandings.”

“What, like, beat him up? I don’t know, Max, he’s twice my size. And he did back off, maybe we let him off with a warning this time?” Pete protests weakly.

“It’s okay, dude, I’ll be right there with you! Nobody who knows what’s good for them is going to jump in to defend him, either, so it’ll be two against one. And I know pummeling people seems intimidating if you’ve never done it before, but I’ll show you the ropes. I bet you're stronger than you think you are!” Ignoring the subject matter, Pete has to admit Max gives a pretty solid pep talk. Now that they’re sort of friends, maybe Max will send some of that energy his way before the AP Physics exam.

“Okay,” Pete says, still uncertain, but also acutely aware that he’s not getting out of this one.

“Can I come with?” Stephanie asks “I’ve actually always wanted to slap Brad across his stupid, smug face, but this is the final straw. Nobody’s going to disrespect you like that on my watch.” Pete turns beet-red.

“Oh, awesome, three against one!” Max says “Let’s roll out!” Stephanie grabs Pete’s hand and the three take their leave. Max and Steph walk with a menacing, determined stride like predators stalking their prey. Pete trails behind them, a little more hesitant, but still follows.

“Slapping Brad in the face has always been one of my fantasies, too! Probably not in the same way, though,” Ruth says “I should’ve joined them! Life is but a series of missed opportunities.”

“Ruth,” Grace says “have you ever considered taking a vow of chastity? Resisting the temptation you’re feeling until you’re safely married could save your immortal soul.”

“No, of course not! Why would I do that now of all times? I’m not a repulsive loser anymore, somebody might finally touch me!” Ruth sighs dreamily. “I’m telling you guys, me and Brenda, there’s something there.”

“If you’re so worried about our immortal souls, why didn’t you try to stop them just now? I don’t spend my weekends at bible study, but I’m pretty sure wrath is a sin,” says Richie.

“Well, Brad has it coming. He’s always been a no good sinner. It’s not our wrath, it’s God’s wrath. They’re just carrying out His will.”

Richie’s surprised to find himself entertaining Grace’s point. She’s right about Brad, at least. He has always been kind of an asshole. He was picking on Pete earlier, too, and it certainly wasn’t the first time. Then there’s the whole “long-con” aspect of it all - once again, things aren’t going to change overnight. They all need to play along if they don’t want to lose their new status ruling Hatchetfield High by Max’s side. Maybe if the next target is less deserving than Brad, he can test the waters and try to get Max to lay off. For now, Richie will just head to his next class and try to make it through the rest of the school day without being roped into roughing somebody up.

[signoraviolettavalery]

Finally posting what is (sort of?) the next part of vampire!Bojan and hunter Jan - I'm skipping over the bits where they're brooding and missing each other after the Big Reveal. I'll post those later but for now I just want to get this posted. It rewrites a scene from an earlier part because of the way it resonates with a later scene (this is what happens when you serialize your work and post in installments as you're writing!)

this part is dark, with trigger warnings for blood and torture, so, ya know, proceed at your own risk

[Kris has noticed the bite mark on Jan’s neck and realized that Bojan fed from his neck]

“It’s fine, I can wear a sexy little scarf,” Jan says.

“that’s not the point and you know it,” Kris snaps. “We have rules for a reason.”

Bojan starts agreeing with him, he got carried away, it was irresponsible and dangerous, he shouldn’t have – but Jan won’t hear it.

“Don’t even start,” he snaps back. “I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions. I chose to trust him, and I was right.”

Kris opens his mouth to argue but Jan plows on. “And I don’t understand why you think Bojan is a ticking time bomb in the first place! He’s never lost control, never hurt anyone, never fed on anyone without permission. Ever. He’s the most disciplined person I’ve ever met, and acting like he’s a second away from killing us all the time isn’t doing anything for his self-worth!”

A heavy silence follows this.

“Jan has a point,” Nace ventures. “I know I’m the newest to all this, but I’ve never been afraid around Bojan.”

“We’re all new to this,” Kris insists. “We don’t know everything about vampires, and we’re under so much more scrutiny now with all our success. If we make a mistake it could end very badly. I just don’t want us to lose what we’ve worked for so hard, or for anything bad to happen. I’m just trying to take precautions.”

“There’s taking precautions and then there’s treating him like he’s radioactive. Maybe let’s act like we’re all adults with self-control and the ability to make our own decisions?”

“Okay. What would you suggest?”

[following this, Bojan discovers Jan is a hunter who originally came undercover to kill him, but then came to care for him. He feels betrayed, asks for space, they're both sad and brood and miss each other].

Jure gets kidnapped, and Bojan gets a very direct message: they’re hunters, and they’ll let Jure go if he surrenders himself.

Bojan doesn’t even give it a second thought. He writes a note to the group, telling them not to come looking for him but to call Jan if Jure doesn’t return safely, and he goes where he’s told.

“Do you think your friend will come? I’d wager 50-50,” one of the hunters ask Jure.

And, as if on cue. Bojan appears. “I’m here,” he says. “Let him go.”

“Guess you lost your bet,” Jure mouths off, despite the knife that’s appeared at his neck. They’re clearly not taking any chances.

“You first. You surrender peacefully and don’t try any funny business, and then we let him go.” The hunter directs this at Bojan, pressing the knife more firmly to Jure’s throat. A bead of blood appears.

“If you kill him, you lose your leverage, and I’ll tear you two to pieces,” Bojan points out. “Let him go.”

“You’re right,” one of the hunters says. “He’s no good to us dead.” He takes the knife away from Jure’s throat – Bojan breathes a sign of relief – and plunges it into his stomach instead.

Jure screams. (It’s a sound Bojan’s never heard before and never wants to again). Bojan screams too. Wants to tear them to pieces, but knows he won’t even get close. There’s two of them, and even with his superhuman abilities, he has no chance of subduing them before the knife does something a little more permanent to Jure.

“This won’t kill him immediately. He’ll bleed out slowly, but your blood can save him. You surrender peacefully and we’ll give it to him. It’s you or him. Choose.”

“I already did!” he practically shouts. “I’m here. What else do you want from me??”

The other hunter – the one who didn’t do the stabbing – throws a pair of silver handcuffs at him. “Put them on,” he says. “Behind your back.”

He knew it was too much to hope for that they’d merely kill him and get it done with. Still, he winces as he picks up the shackles. Silver burns, and though he’s wearing long sleeves, they don’t fully protect him. It’s bearable for now, like a low-level current on his skin, but it’ll get worse with time.

It’s funny how he doesn’t feel different as he manacles click shut. Yet the silver also tempers his abilities, rendering speed and strength like those of a normal human. Practically harmless, with men as trained as these.

He turns around, showing them that he hasn’t cheated, turns back.

“Come here,” they order, and he obeys. Lets himself be shoved unceremoniously to the floor and chained to a pole. Lets them rip open his button-down – the buttons go flying, and a hysterical part of him remembers ripped sleeves and delighted screams – and a knife slices open his chest. He bites back a hiss. The hunter is holding a vial, but the wound heals itself before he gets more than two drops into it. Not nearly enough.

“Hmm. I don’t think the silver tempers healing ability. Let’s try this.”

The next knife is a silver one, and Bojan grits his teeth as it slices him open and burns. This one takes longer to heal – long enough to fill the vial with precious liquid. Which they make no move to give to Jure.

“You have me, just give it to him.” He tries to sound less pleading and more forceful.

One of the hunters shrugs. “He has a few hours left. He’s here to ensure your continued cooperation. But don’t worry, we’ll give it to him before we finish you off.”

“You fuckers. He’s human. Do you get off on this or something?”

They don’t answer, just proceed to what they probably think of as their experiments, which start with a knife in his shoulder, over and over again. It heals every time, but as soon as it does, they plunge it again into the tender, perfectly healed skin until he’s screaming.

And Jure’s still here, across the room, bleeding. Bojan can hear him trying to bite back his whimpers. Wishes he could comfort him.

“He’s dying,” he tries to reason with them. “Please. Just give him my blood.”

“Cooperate, and we will.”

“I am, what else do you want – “

He’s silenced as a silver knife replaces the regular one in his shoulder and he screams again. Soon enough, he’s going to completely lose his voice from the screaming, and the part of him that’s a singer can’t help lamenting it, while the other part of him reminds him that it doesn’t matter anyway, because soon he’ll be dead.

“How’s that feel?”

He just groans.

“You agreed to cooperate. Tell me how that feels.” And he did, and Jure is behind them, lying on the ground now, curled up and whimpering and -

“Like you’re stabbing me with a poker, how do you think it feels?” he spits out. It’s too many words, what with a knife in his chest, and he groans, the room swimming. Blissfully, it’s over for now. He leans his head back and wishes desperately for it to be over. He can feel the wounds healing, slowly, but the memory of the pain stays vivid.

“Please,” he whispers.

“Begging already?” One of them sneers.

“Please. Let him go.” If only Jure is safe, this won’t have been for nothing.

They probably exchange glances – he can’t spare the effort to open his eyes and look – but he can hear footsteps, and a body being unceremoniously shoved.

“Brought you a little treat,” the hunter tells Jure. “Drink up.” The sounds of Jure drinking, presumably healing, and of course, a knife undoing Jure’s bonds.

“Go. Walk a mile west, you’ll find a road and a rest stop. And don’t you even think about playing hero. You’ve seen what we can do. You try to get back in here, we should you in the head.”

Bojan forces his eyes open and his head up.

“Go,” he tells a wide-eyed but definitely no-longer-bleeding Jure. “Leave me. Tell the others I love them, and not to play hero, okay?”

“You fucking monsters,” Jure snarls instead. “Does that look like a monster to you?”

They only shrug. “Go. Or stay, and join him where he’s going. Your choice.”

Bojan’s relieved when Jure chooses the former option. Sinks back, both relieved and resigned. There’s nothing to fight for anymore. If only they’d end it.

“Just finish it already,” he says as they pick up another knife.

“You want a quick ending? All the people you killed didn’t get one, did they? They got to die slowly, while you drained their blood. This is justice for them.”

“I’ve never killed anyone!” he protests uselessly, because clearly his stubbornness will die along with him.

It gets him a knife in the ribs. It’s silver, like a poker inside him, sheer agony, and they leave it there. The room swims again, and he wishes he’d just pass out. He hates his fucking pain tolerance.

“I think you have. Tell me how many.”

“I haven’t – I – fuck – I haven’t.”

He twists the knife and Bojan doesn’t have it in him to be ashamed of how pathetic his scream must sound, ending in a whimper.

“How many?”

“Zero, I swear, zero, I feed but I’ve never killed anybody!”

“Maybe he’s telling the truth,” the other one pipes up. The one with the knife doesn’t seem to agree, but he at least takes it out. His body doesn’t heal, can’t heal anymore, but at least he’s no longer on fire from the inside.

He slumps sideways and wishes he were dead.

Somewhere, an alarm blares, which doesn’t make sense.

“Someone found the perimeter,” the first hunter says, before there’s footsteps and then –

“Don’t shoot. I’m one of yours.”

Jan’s voice.

Jan. Is he, finally, fully delirious? Has the pain driven him mad? And if he’s imagining Jan, why has his mind conjured up a Jan that’s on their side? Is that what his subconscious really thinks?

There is probably clarity in death, he thinks.

“What are you doing here?” one of the hunters demands.

“Heard you were having some fun with a vampire I’d been tracking. You’re having the party without me?”

“You should’ve gotten to him first,” hunter two sneers.

“Or maybe you could let me join for the last bit of fun? This one and me have a bit of a personal history.”

Bojan doesn’t even open his eyes. Doesn’t want to see him, that beloved face looking back at him with empty eyes and a look of hatred.

Why is he surprised? Jan was a hunter above all. And yet Bojan feels his heart break a second time.

It’s a shock when he feels arms shove him upright; his eyes flutter open. And there’s Jan’s face, so dear to him, those deep, dark eyes, but they aren’t dead and full of hatred like he’d feared. They’re not full of – anything.

“You’re late to the party,” he says, bitterness coloring his voice. After everything they’d shared, he wants to throw it back in Jan’s face. “Couldn’t stomach it? Or did you just come to do the honors?” It would be poetic, after all, if Jan was the one to kill him. It’s what he’d intended to from the beginning, wasn’t it?

Jan doesn’t respond. One of his hands is on Bojan’s shoulder, holding him upright as he appears to examine his injuries, but the other is slipping something cold and metallic into his hands.

The key to his handcuffs.

Bojan’s eyes widen in surprise. Surprise that seems to make Jan’s eyes cloud with pain and confusion. Because Jan – Jan thought he’d just been playing along?

He stands, turns to the hunters. “So, what’s next on the menu?”

Bojan desperately undoes the handcuffs while Jan keeps them talking. It’s blissful relief to have the silver off. It doesn’t heal all his wounds, but it gives his body the strength to heal some. Gives his body back strength.

Jan’s eyes meet his. There’s a moment of acknowledgement.

Jan takes one hunter while Bojan lunges desperately at the other with the last of his strength. Grappling with each other, they roll to the ground and stumble back to their feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Bojan sees that Jan has dispatched his opponent quickly.

Bojan’s opponent, however, has a gun that he’s pulled out.

Beyond that, it’s a blur. He registers movement out of the corner of his eye before the gun goes off, the bang too loud in the silence. Then Jan’s body is in front of him, and he’s falling, and Bojan smells blood, and –

With his last ounce of strength, he uses the seconds Jan has bought him to tackle his opponent again, and this time he doesn’t hesitate to snap his neck. Not when Jan’s life is on the line, Jan is bleeding out next to him, and Bojan has spent the last of his strength. He has this one last chance, and beyond it, neither of them will be in any state to fight back.

So, now he’s killed. Ironic, he supposes.

He makes a beeline for Jan, who is on the ground and very much bleeding from a shoulder wound. Cradles his head and mumbles nonsense, Jan’s name and “you’ll be alright, you will, why did you do that?”

“Had to – keep you safe,” Jan mumbles, head lolling.

“No no no, don’t you dare pass out on me, you’re going to be fine, you’re going to take my blood, here – “

“Can’t – need to get the bullet out first – “

“Okay, how do I – “ he looks around. This place is hardly sanitary. There’s certainly no anesthetic, no tools. If there’s an infection, can his blood heal that?

“Get me home,” Jan mumbles. “Nace – getaway car – call him.”

It turns out Jan has a phone on him, and Jan – who’s parked a mile away – is there in minutes. Bojan collapses into the backseat, holding Jan, while Nace disregards all speed limits.  

“Why did you do that?” he asks hysterically, though Jan is hardly lucid enough to give him proper answers. “I can heal. You can’t.”

“Not from a silver bullet, and he’d have aimed for the heart.”

Which means – Jan saved his life. Jan threw himself in front of a bullet without thinking, and it saved his life, and now Jan might not – might not –

“You’re going to make it,” he says firmly. “You’ll be fine, we’re almost there.”

“I know,” Jan agrees. “’s just a flesh wound.”

Nace joins in with the hysterical chuckling at that.

When they arrive, it’s Nace who picks Bojan up, carrying his injured body – so small by comparison to the bassist’s tall frame – bridal style. Jan insists he can walk, stumbles out of the car, and promptly faceplants. It’s Martin who runs forward to support him.

Martin. The last thing he’d said to Jan had been “I don’t care what you do, but bring him back.”

“He’s safe,” is all Jan says to him.

Martin hums in acknowledgement, clearly distracted. He gets Jan inside, but his first priority is Bojan, who’s been deposited on the couch and is attempting to sit up while wincing. And Martin takes it all in - the unbuttoned, bloodstained shirt, and all the still-bleeding wounds scattered around his torso, the angry burns from holy water.

“Mother of god,” he breathes. He’s on his knees, Bojan’s face cradled in his hands. “What did they do to you?”

“Don’t worry, chicks dig guys with scars.” Bojan tries to give a cheeky grin that makes Martin bite back a sob.

“Here.” He offers a wrist. “You need to heal.”

Bojan shakes his head stubbornly. “Is Jan okay? I have to make sure he’s okay.” He looks over to where Jan is being held upright by Nace, while Kris collects what they’ll need to remove the bullet. “Don’t we need anesthetic?” he asks.

Jan shakes his head. “Just give me the whiskey.”

Bojan wants to cry. “You can’t be serious, that’s not – you don’t have to be the tough guy and prove anything!”

“For fuck’s sake, can we stop talking and just get this over with,” Jan growls.

Kris – of steady guitarist fingers – does it. Jan, being a fucking hunter, makes no other sound than a valiant groan, and then passes out. Bojan tries to get up and run over to catch him, but only gets as far as attempting to stand up before he falls back down. It’s Nace who catches him instead.

“He’ll be fine,” Martin insists. “Now drink, because he won’t appreciate it if all his efforts have been for nothing.” He offers a wrist again. “Take as much as you need.”

Bojan takes it, clearly too worn out for protest, though he does add “I need more than one person can give.”

“Good think you’re surrounded by snacks,” Nace grins.

“Did you just call me a snack?” Kris demands.

“In more ways than one,” Nace replies, wiggling his eyebrows.

It’s the lighthearted banter, more than anything else, that soothes Bojan enough that he allows himself to drink.

It’s been a long time since he drank from Martin – now that he’s no longer part of the band – but the taste is familiar and soothing. It’s warmth, home, safety. He wants to drink and drink, and he’s in no state to stop himself, but thankfully Martin is, with that ever-gentle voice saying his name. It takes gargantuan effort, with his body craving the sustenance, but he drags himself away from that sweetness and warmth, only to see Martin looking shaky. It hadn’t seemed like he took that much, but in his state, his ability to judge that is off. And clearly he’s been drinking for long enough that Jan has regained consciousness in that time.

“Here,” Nace is quick to offer. “One gluten free dinner, coming right up.”

Bojan laughs weakly, but isn’t that something? He’s laughing. His friends are here, around him. He’s safe. Jan is safe. They’ll be okay. He feels that hope for the first time, as he takes the proffered wrist and feasts on gluten-free blood. He doesn’t even need Nace’s gentle encouragement to pull away. His injuries have knitted together, but his body is full of the memory of pain, and he doesn’t think that’ll go away for a while. But for now, he’s at least strong enough to walk, to take care of the biggest priority: Jan. Jan, who is still bleeding, teeth gritted, watching him feed attentively.

“Here.” He offers Jan a wrist, even though they still feel raw and he wants to wince as he bites it open, and watches as the healing blood does its work. Jan’s skin knits together perfectly.

“No sexy scar for you,” he says, and Jan chuckles.

Behind them, the others have silently and tactfully made their retreat, leaving the two of them alone for a much needed talk.

“You really thought I was with them? That I’d do that to you?” Jan asks.

“I  - “ Had he really? “I was a bit delirious by that point. Thought you were a hallucination at first, and when you played along – “ he shakes his head. “After what they did to Jure, I didn’t have a lot of trust or hope left over.”

Jan takes his hands. “I’ll never hurt you. I swear. I will always protect you.”

Bojan laughs weakly. "Taking a bullet is an overdramatic way to earn back my trust. Maybe let's not do that again?"

Jan smiles cheekily. “No promises.”

And Bojan cries. The weeks of missing Jan, Jure’s kidnapping, what the hunters did to Jure, what they did to him, almost losing Jan – it’s too much. He buries his head in Jan’s neck and sobs, and Jan holds him while he gets it all out. He soaks Jan’s bloodstained shirt with tears, but what does that matter? “I missed you so much,” he confesses between sobs.

“I missed you too,” Jan admits. “But I’m here, and you’re safe, you’re always safe with me, and I’ll never give you a reason to doubt me again.”

Bojan refuses to let Jan out of his sight that night. They’re all exhausted, worn out, and nothing seems more tempting than collapsing into bed. Bojan refuses to sleep without Jan next to him, curling around him and passing out into a deep, blissfully dreamless sleep.

In the morning, Jan wakes up first. Bojan is still wrapped around him, tight as a barnacle, nose buried in his neck. A year ago, he’d have been terrified by the thought of a vampire’s fangs so close to his jugular while he was unconscious, but now, all he feels is warmth and familiarity and relief. Bojan is here, safe. He hadn’t failed.

He shifts slightly, and Bojan mumbles something in his sleep and clutches him tighter. Jan smiles.

“You’re not a monster,” he tells a sleeping Bojan. “You couldn’t be if you tried. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, and I love you.”

Bojan’s lips curve in a smile. “You love me?” he repeats.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Jan admits.

Bojan blinks his eyes open. “You don’t want me to know you love me?” he asks. He’s sleep-ruffled and gorgeous and how could Jan ever deny him anything?

“No, I do,” he admits.

It’s strange, to wake up here like this. As if they were simply lovers, nothing chasm between them. Like they did this every morning. The moment hangs heavy between them, and to lighten it, Jan asks “how do you feel?”

Bojan groans, stretching and wincing slightly. “Like I got to be a hunter pincushion a few hours ago,” he admits. Now that Bojan’s not curled around him, Jan can see what look like scars from where he’d been injured, over and over. Perhaps they’ll fade with time – or maybe there’s a limit to even vampire healing.

“In that case, can I offer you breakfast in bed?” Jan suggests, extending a wrist.

Bojan frowns. “You got shot yesterday.”

“And you fed me your blood, so I feel literally better than ever. But you could clearly use some help in that department.”

And for once, Bojan gives in without protest. Leans forward to bite, but by then Jan’s made his decision. He pulls his wrist away, and Bojan pauses, frowns in momentary confusion before he sees Jan tilt his head back, offering his neck.

The moment hangs heavy between them. The last time they’d done this, there were secrets between them. Now, Jan knows Bojan is a vampire, Bojan knows Jan a hunter who’d come here intending to kill him, and they both know Jan offers freely.

Jan can read his face like a book: the hope that this time, this is real. How badly he wants it to be real. He can see the moment when Bojan lets himself have what he wants for once.

He feels the fangs sink into his neck and closes his eyes, relaxing. The bite hurts – nothing a hunter can’t handle, of course, and certainly nothing compared to a bullet through the shoulder – but beyond that, he feels blissfully calm and safe. He likes this, trusting Bojan with his life. Being at his mercy. Bojan will know when to stop. He doesn’t have to worry about it, can just lie here, in the warmest bed he’s ever known, and let the vampire take.

People always think that when a vampire feeds, they’re unaware of how much they’re taking, consumed by the bloodlust until their victim is beyond saving. That’s not true. The blood in Jan’s body sings to him, and as he drinks, there is that savage bloodlust, yes, but he knows how much is still there, calling to him. Can feel the blood pumping through veins, the pulse growing sluggish, unconsciousness coming.

It’s an intimate thing, to feed on someone. The hunters never realize that.

Bojan takes Jan to the edge of consciousness. He can sense it, the lethargy of the limbs, the feeble protests of a human body trying to protect itself. Jan’s eyes are still closed, the hand in his hair making no move to pull him away.

If he kept going, Jan would let him. Would trust him with the point of no return.

That is a moment of revelation. That this is real.

He pulls away and Jan makes a sound of protest. His eyelids are sluggish, slow to open, as Bojan licks the last drops of blood from Jan’s neck– the wound closes neatly, leaving a day-old bite mark – and licks his lips. Jan just smiles dumbly at him.

“I’ve missed this,” he admits.

Bojan frowns.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

Jan gives a small shrug. “Little bit. Worth it, though. I’ve missed being someone you trust enough to show that part of yourself to. Missed trusting you with myself in return.”

And that – that is another revelation. He’d always hated feeding on his friends, felt so guilty about it that he went too long without feeding. The fact that Jan seems to like it is almost incomprehensible to him in this moment. He’s not a burden. He’s loved, trusted – accepted for everything that he is.

“I think it’s your turn for breakfast. Get some vitamins in you after that.”

Jan makes a half-hearted protest, but Bojan’s already out of bed. “I’ll be right back,” he says, making his way to the kitchen with vampire speed.

Where he happens upon Martin, Kris, Jure, and Nace. He’s already opened the fridge and pulled out half a breakfast by the time he registers their presence.

“How are you?” Kris asks.

“Good,” he says, and feels it. Yesterday’s memories are like a fever dream, and he has no doubt they’ll come back to haunt them, but for now he’s clearly repressing them. He probably looks better, too, less pale and half-dead (ha); he can see the others take in his obviously improved appearance, the makings of breakfast he’s holding, and put two and two together.

“Ah,” Kris says. Martin just smiles.

“Yeah, I’ll just – “ Bojan gestures, then speeds out of the kitchen, blushing. Why does it feel like he’s brought a girl home without asking his roommates?

Later that day, he makes his way into the kitchen again, climbs gingerly onto a stool. It’s obvious there’s a lot to discuss, but they wait for him to broach the silence.

“I forgive him,” he says tentatively.

Predictably, Kris frowns. “You’ve been through a lot. You’re not thinking clearly – “

Bojan shakes his head. “That’s not what this is. I stopped being mad at him a long time ago. Mostly I was just grieving, because I missed him and I didn’t know if any of it had been real for him like it was for me. But now I know it was, and I don’t want to waste any more time not having him in my life.”

“Okay,” Nace agrees. “If you can trust him again, I can too.”

“I don’t think I’m capable of trusting anyone after what I’ve been through,” Jure admits softly. “But I missed him too. And I do want him back.”

“I told him to bring you home no matter what he had to do, and he did,” Martin says. “I’ve seen how happy he makes you, how it broke you when he was gone, and what he’s willing to do for you. I think you deserve someone like that in your life.”

“I know he took a bullet for you,” Kris says. “I don’t think he’d hurt you. But that’s not the same as not lying to you. In that department, as far as I’m concerned, he’s on thin ice for now.”

“That’s fair.” Jan’s voice comes from behind them. He’s appeared with catlike silence, but stands in the doorway, hunched and small. He’d clearly showered, hair damp, and is now wearing one of Bojan’s white t-shirts, which leaves the bite mark on his neck starkly visible.

Bojan can see Kris’ eyes find it, his inaudible “oh,” the shift in his expression.

“Welcome back,” Jure offers.

“It’s good to be back,” Jan says. “I missed all of you. I know I didn’t show it the right way, but you’re like family to me. And I’ll earn back your trust.”

[spinningintheshadows]

Lyric Prompts Volume 7!

A fresh round of prompts! Bringing my total number of lyric prompts to well over 300. Hope you enjoy!

“I have questions for the pharmacies and questions for the church”

“One phone call from you and my entire world was changed”

“Sailed shore to shore, learned a little bit more and found your way back home”

“I have crossed some broken bridges in my time”

“You and me got a whole lot of history”

“Are we just a stepping stone for taking back the throne?

“Planned it all out for the middle of June”

“She kept the hotel key, slipped it in her purse. I guess it makes her think of me”

“I’ve had one too many “come take me home”s”

“Standin in the screen door watching her whole world head towards an old ford”

“Son, there’s things I haven’t told you. Your mom and me couldn’t get along”

“I’m only one drink away from the devil”

“How you gonna say that? Take it all back, fuckin with my head will make my heart attack.”

“And I’ll dream each night of some version of you that I might not have but I did not lose”

“I kind of wouldn’t mind if she ruined my life”

“I’ve waited all my life to find a love that feels this right”

“If only you loved me like you love getting high”

“You’re never gonna get, I’m a hazard to myself”

“So love me right now before you leave me.”

“Thought she’s fragile like a flower but she’s fragile like a bomb”

“They said he hit that guard rail at half-past three”

“Maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much”

“You keep his shirt, he keeps his word, and for once you let go”

“It got slammed last night and now it don’t close right”

“Still looking for a feeling half of us haven’t found”

“You’re crazy but I like the way you fuck me”

“You’re a memory I don’t mess with”

“I forgot I had dreams, I forgot I had wings, I forgot who I was before I ever kissed you”

“And if we’re meant to, I’ll meet you there”

“Lord, I’m still not sure what I stand for”

“We’re stopping and stalling, we’re running in circles again”

“Know you’re trying to do you but I heard you fell off, just a couple bad nights

“She rolled her eyes, and then she said “I know your dying wish is to be baptized in my spit” and then walked away, I didn’t get her name”

“People treat me like I’m an asshole, but I don’t text when I drive though”

“Making mistakes that were made for us, we brushed them off like paper cuts”

“You’re a power bottom at rock bottom”

“And the nights you don’t remember are the nights that you’ll never forget”

“Some settle down, some got out, either way we were raised by this town”

“I’m tired of second chances, and these sad ass circumstances, he’s your problem, good luck”

“They’ll make you cuss and wear your patience thin, but next thing you know they’re all grown up”

“Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey, they know me and Jack Daniel’s got a history”

“When sun goes down and his hazel eyes go blue, that’s when I understand cowboys cry too”

“But when my fairytale went up in smoke, I packed up the only life I know and I told her I’m afraid to be alone, she stayed”

“Can’t believe I haven’t figured out by now. Every time I call you up, all you do is let me down”

“Baby, don’t waste your time on me. I’m so damaged beyond repair.”

“So pack up your car, put a hand on your heart, say whatever you feel, be wherever you are”

“Back when I was gasoline, and this old tattoo had brand new ink.”

“I know that nobody’s listening to a prophet who still can’t turn a profit”

“Even though my dizzy head is numb, I swear my heart is never giving up”

“I know I could do better but better’s just whatever.”

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Chapter 83: Games

TWs in the tags

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Kitty does not like this game.

Jane’s always playing games, and she’s always playing games Kitty doesn’t like. But this one… this one is the worst she’s come up with so far.

She brought someone new home. She calls him Bunny when he’s not around and Liam when he is.

Liam is completely clueless. It’s not his fault, of course, but Kitty wants nothing to do with him. They can’t afford to care about him; if they do, Jane will have one more way to hurt them.

But they can’t just stand by either. So they play the stupid game.

Kitty pulls Liam aside the second day. “You have to leave.” They say. “Get out of here and run and maybe, maybe she won’t follow you. I can’t get away, but you can. You have to go. Anything is better than being here.”

Liam’s eyebrows raise. “Why?”

“She’s not who you think she is. She tortures us. You have to leave.” Kit rolls up their sleeves, showing their scars. “She did this to me. She’ll do this to you if you don’t leave right now.”

Liam’s eyes widen at the scars. “I don’t- Jane said you were paranoid? I guess saying ‘you’re paranoid’ probably doesn’t help you much. But she said you got hurt a lot before you came here. I’m sorry, that sucks.”

“She lies!” Kit grabs him by the shirt and leans in close. “You have to leave. You can’t stay here.”

There is a hand on their shoulder, pushing them away, and it is not Liam’s.

“What’s going on?”

Kitty recoils from her touch and backs away. They’ll be punished for that, but they don’t care.

“I don’t- Kit seems scared, and I don’t know what to do.”

Jane approaches them slowly, as if they’re a spooked animal. Her face is a perfect picture of concern. “Did you take your medicine this morning?”

Kitty ignores her and looks at Liam. “You have to believe me. I can’t- I can’t do this again, you have to leave, maybe you’ll be safe. It’s a better chance than if you stay.”

“You’re safe.” Jane says softly, carefully. “Everything’s okay. You’re not there anymore. You’re safe. Have I ever hurt you?”

“Yes!”

“You’re thinking of someone else. Take a deep breath. It’s all okay.”

Kitty is not more persuasive than Jane, despite being right. But it’s not really a matter of being persuasive. Bunny doesn’t want to believe that this is all a lie, so he won’t. Not without very strong evidence, stronger than the scars all over Kitty and Puppy.

Kitty scowls and turns around, off to their room. If Jane punishes them, they’ll have recent wounds. Maybe that’ll convince him.

—

Kitty and Bunny are putting together a puzzle.

It’s slow work. Both of them are having low energy days, Kitty because Jane’s been more consistent with drugging them and Bunny because his brain has never worked quite right after what Jane did to him. Some days are better than others, but today is a bad energy day for him.

Everything is slow and foggy. Kitty will have to take a nap soon. But for now, they’re enjoying the puzzle, and knowing that Bunny is also having a hard time makes them less frustrated with being slow.

Knowing Bunny is struggling shouldn’t make them feel better, but it does. It’s hard to put into words, but if Bunny is tired and slow and foggy and still himself, Kitty is still themself too. It’s less scary, to think of it that way. They don’t feel like they’re dying, like Jane is killing them. Not now. Maybe later, they always seem to panic as the drug wears off. But for now, everything’s okay.

Kitty is sorting the pieces (by color now, they’ve got the whole outside put together) and Liam is carefully placing them in the puzzle.

There’s no better use of their time. Nothing more worthwhile they could be doing. It’s just this, until Jane decides to hurt them again.

Don’t think about that. They told Bunny not to give up on life, so they can’t give into hopelessness either. Just… do the puzzle. Play the games.

Puppy sits next to them and helps once she’s finished her chores. She’s also having a low energy day, she wasn’t given permission to sleep for the past two nights. She puts together pieces that don’t fit in the bigger picture quite yet.

No one says anything. Kitty likes that they can work together so well without even talking about it. A teamwork learned through trauma and torture, but teamwork nonetheless. They know how to support each other, how to help without getting in the way, how to lighten the burdens the others carry. It’s nice. Kitty didn’t have that kind of closeness with anyone before they met Puppy and Bunny.

It’s not worth the cost. But it’s nice.

—

Jane appears in their room that night, holding a knife.

“Give me your arm.”

Kitty obeys. Jane begins making deep, even slices in their skin. Their eyes water.

“You can cry. I put sleeping pills in Bunny’s dinner. He’s not going to wake up.”

Kitty grits their teeth and says nothing. They’re not going to give her the satisfaction. Maybe if she doesn’t get what she wants, she’ll hurt them worse, and Bun- Liam will have the proof he needs to get out of here.

“You can show him, if you want. Then I’ll say ‘Kit, did you do that to yourself?’ and the next day you’ll be in the basement, and I’ll tell Bunny I took you to the hospital because you tried to hurt yourself again. Understand?”

Kitty nods. Jane digs her fingers into a cut, and Kitty finally cries out.

“Good Kitty. Do you want salt in these cuts, or lemon juice?”

—

Kitty and Bunny are playing Ticket to Ride. Bunny is winning, as always.

“…Kitty? Remember the other day, when you said you wouldn’t mind if your parents died?”

“…yeah?”

“Um, do you want to talk about that? You don’t have to. Just if you want to.”

Kitty draws two cards and sorts them into their hand. “Not much to say.”

But even thinking about their parents makes hot anger bubble in their chest, so that’s not entirely true, is it? “Not that I want to get into now, anyway. I’m… too tired, honestly.”

“That’s fair. You know you can talk to me about anything though, right? At any time.”

“Yeah… and you too. You can talk to me at any time.”

Bunny plays six pink cards, gently places six trains, and adds 15 points to his score. “I just feel like I don’t know that much about you, even though we’re so close. I would trust you with my life, but I don’t even know, like, how many siblings you have.”

“Seven.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yep. Three older, four younger.”

“Geez. I can’t imagine. I was an only child, if you couldn’t tell.”

Kitty laughs. “I could tell.” Honestly, they wouldn’t have been surprised if Bunny had siblings either, but the idea of him as an only child makes sense.

“…Do you miss them?”

Kitty doesn’t really want to get into this right now. “It had already been a while since I’d seen them when Jane took me. None of us were super close. I was kind of… what’s the word? Like, the scapegoat. Jane taught me that, I think, so it might be the wrong word.

“I think a lot of them thought that if I was just good everything would be fine, but… that’s not what my parents are like. There was no pleasing them. At least when I was doing stuff like- like dying my hair orange, they weren’t freaking out about smaller stuff.”

“Yikes.”

“…Yeah. I do wonder what my siblings are like, now. It’s been so long. I’m… never going to see them again…” Kitty’s cards fall from their hands. They’re never going to know what happened to them. If they got out of there. Kitty’ll never know.

“Don’t say that. You don’t know for sure.”

They do. But… they don’t want to have that conversation with Bunny yet. He can keep hoping, so long as he doesn’t do something stupid.

“I…I’m going to go take a nap.”

Kitty drags themself to their room and passes out on their bed.

—

“If you’re so scared of me, why are you still here? You can leave. I won’t stop you.”

Kitty got caught trying to get Liam to leave again. Even knowing who Jane really is, Kitty can’t detect any malice in her words. She’s a good little actor. She’s had lots and lots of practice, Kitty’s sure.

“Do you want to leave?”

Kitty wishes they could say that they thought their answer through, and decided strategically. But the truth is that they’ve played the escape game too many times to still see escape as a possibility. They’ve lost too many people to still see escape as a possibility.

“I don’t want to leave.” They say, before they can even think.

Jane doesn’t give a smug smile or gloat. She looks genuinely relieved.

“Then I want to do everything I can to help. What can I do, to make you feel safe?”

“Stay away from me. Leave me alone. That’ll help me feel safe.”

She can’t really say no to that and maintain her facade. She smiles sadly. “If that’s what you want.”

Jane vanishes. Kitty scowls at Liam. “She’s not going to keep that up for long. You need to fucking leave.”

—

Kitty drops a handful of dice. They’re supposed to pick which dice to re-roll, pick which combination to aim for, but…

Tears are sliding down their face. When did that start happening? They stare at their hands. Something- something’s crawling on them-

“Kitty? What’s wrong?”

“I- I can’t- I can’t think!” Can’t think and there are things too small to see crawling on their hands and they’re never going to be allowed to think again because they’re bad bad bad bad-

“I know that’s hard. Maybe you’ll feel better if you take a nap?”

“I’m never going to feel better, I’m never- I’m never going to be good enough-“

Bunny reaches out to them, then changes his mind at the last minute. “What brought this up?”

“I don’t- I don’t know!” Kitty squeezes their arms and sobs. “I don’t! I don’t know why I’m like this! It’s so easy for everyone else but I just /can’t/ and it’s never going to change, and you’ll get hurt over and over and over because I can’t follow simple rules- I’m not built for this! What’s she going to do to me when she realizes I’m still bad while she has me drugged!? Bunny, what’s happening, when’s it going to stop, Liam, please-“

Bunny goes rigid. Fuck. Kitty messed it all up again, Bunny is going to get punished and Kitty is going to get punished and they’ll never be able to think clearly again-

“What’s happening to me!?” They scream. Crawling, crawling all over them, what’s crawling on them, why won’t it stop?? She’s going to kill me! She’s going to kill me when she realizes I’m too broken to be good, I can’t, I can’t! I’m worthless! She’s going to kill me!”

“Just- just breathe. Follow my breathing.”

Bunny tries to demonstrate taking slow, deep breaths, but he’s obviously struggling. Kitty’s fault. Kitty’s fault because they’re bad bad bad worthless worthless worthless can’t do anything right-

“Would it help if I touched you, or would that make it worse?”

“I don’t know!”

“Okay, okay. So, take some deep breaths. I think Jane gave you something different this time. So you feel scared instead of tired. Or scared and tired. Does that make sense?”

Kitty nods. It does help, to think of the fear as something in their body, something drug-induced. They’re not sure why. They’re able to even out their breathing a bit.

“You’re not worthless or bad or any of that stuff, okay?”

Kitty groans and rocks back and forth. “Bunny, there are things crawling on me, get them off, please? Please, Bunny, I’ve been good, right?”

“…Yes. Yes, you’re good, you’re doing great. There’s nothing crawling on you. You’re hallucinating.”

Kitty shrieks and starts scratching at their arms, their neck, their face. “You think I’m crazy again! You’re not listening, you never listen! I’m not crazy!”

“You’re not, you’re not. Deep breaths. I… don’t see anything crawling on you. That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re hallucinating, but that combined with you being drugged made me think it seemed the most likely. Does that make sense?”

“They’re too small to see! You never listen to me, never never never, you hate me! You wish Jane would fix me but she can’t! I’m unfixable, I’m defective-“

Blood is under their nails. That’s bad, that’s very bad, Jane doesn’t like other people to damage her property! But Kitty can’t stop clawing at themself.

“I don’t hate you. Wait, Puppy-“

Kitty didn’t see that Puppy had joined them. She grabs their arms from behind them and holds their arms apart so they can’t keep scratching themself.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, you’re just going to make them more scared. Puppy?”

Puppy does not let go. Kitty writhes in her arms. “Get off me! Get off me, you hate me, you want me dead, don’t touch me!”

“Puppy, let go of them! You’re making this worse!”

Puppy does not let go. Bunny does not try to pry her off them.

“Okay, okay, we’ll figure this out- shit, Kitty, can you tell me- no, that won’t work if you’re hallucinating- can you try to empty your lungs completely before taking another breath?”

Kitty tries. Their panting slows down a bit.

“There- there we go. You’re okay. In… and out. In… and out.”

Kitty has more luck following his breathing, this time. When they’ve calmed down enough to stop struggling, Puppy lets them go.

“Okay. How are you feeling? I want to get you bandaged up and see if you can nap through until the drug wears off, what do you think?”

Kitty mumbles something. Even they aren’t sure what.

Bunny bandages up their scratches and cleans the blood out from under their nails. He has them drink some water and eat a granola bar, then he takes them to their room and lies down with them on their bed.

“I promised- I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else get in my head-“ Kitty’s been rambling for a while, and Bunny has stopped responding. Kitty thinks he’s listening, though.

“They made me feel guilty for everything- everything I said and didn’t say, everything I did and didn’t do, everything I thought and didn’t think, felt and didn’t feel, even what I dreamed and didn’t dream about. I promised myself I would never let anyone do that to me again, but now Jane’s in my head and I can’t get her out, I want her out!

“I escaped one cult just to get kidnapped into another, worse cult, Bunny… what’s happening to me?”

“She drugged you. Do you think you can get to sleep?”

“My heart’s beating too fast- she’s in my head, I can’t sleep-“

“Would it help if I read to you?”

“…yes.”

Bunny finds a book on the floor of their room and opens it to the first page. He only gets a few sentences in before Kitty can’t stop rambling again.

“Do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Do you wish I was just good, so you didn’t have to get hurt?”

“I like you just the way you are. I don’t think you’re worthless.”

Tears stream down Kitty’s face. “Why is my heart beating so fast? It hurts, Bunny, there’s something crawling on me-“

“Just listen to me read, okay? The drugs will wear off.”

Kitty sobs. “And then she’ll give me more!”

Bunny doesn’t answer. Just reads from the book.

Kitty hates Jane and her fucking games.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @fuzzybucketz @quins-whump-stuff

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Grandfather's Ghost (short story)

“So, medicine cat, eh?” Redjay settled beside his grandson, who had snuck out of the nursery and kept to the shadows of the camp wall to avoid being shooed back in or be seen talking to air.

Myrtlekit nodded enthusiastically. He had told Hickoryskip his decision earlier that day, and guessed that either Redjay or another of his family had seen the discussion. “A good choice, right?”

Redjay made a doubtful grunt. “Are you sure it’s the path for you? You have a bloodlust in you, little one, battles are a good way to quench the thirst.”

“But it’s so mindless,” Myrtlekit responded, pulling his mouth to one side. “Slashing around is fun, but it’ll get boring in time, right? And what am I gonna do when there’s no war for moons?”

His grandfather grinned, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Aw, so mind games has piqued your interest, has it?” His smile dropped. “But you’ll have to target the weak, and you’re better than that. Stronger than that.”

Anger clawed Myrtlekit’s chest. “I’m no coward! If they’re not weak, I’ll make them weak, then I’ll make them all beg for mercy and give them none!”

Redjay’s eyes sparked. A ring of energy seemed to shoot through his body, lifting his fur in enthusiasm. “Oh, the fire in you, my little one!” He tilted his head, so far it almost looked like the bones inside had split apart. “I suppose I do see the benefits. Herbs and poison right by your paws, to be used at your disposal…”

“Trusted by my Clanmates and leader,” Myrtlekit added, remembering Bella-May’s advice.

“StarClan won’t rat on you, because you’ll be their messenger.” Redjay’s grin was returning.

“Gorsedaisy will hate it.” Myrtlekit spat the name. The elderly medicine cat had never liked him, and wasn’t shy on making her thoughts clear. 

Redjay’s eyes darkened. “Indeed she will. The Clan knows she’s lost her petals. Ha! They’ll trust you more than her!” Redjay’s whole body shook. “I can just imagine what she’d say! ‘No! Please don’t let him become a medicine cat! He’s evil, I tell you! Evil!’”

Myrtlekit pressed his paw to his muzzle, stifling the laughter that threatened to choke him, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to breathe. The impression Redjay made was perfect. For a second, he thought that Gorsedaisy really had spoken. Sure, it was a little dramatic in its mockery, but the idea was still clear. “Do it again, do it again!” He prompted.

Redjay did so, though he had to control his own chuckles before he could speak again.  “‘You’re all fools! Fools! I guess I’ll speak to you when you get to StarClan, because that’s where the lot of you will end up, mark my words!”

Myrtlekit burst out in a fit of open laughter, rolling onto his side until he gasped for air. “One more!”

“Myrtlekit, what are you doing out here?” Myrtlekit whipped around to face Grebeglade, his aunt, who had been on guard duty. “What’s got you so amused?”

Myrtlekit looked over his shoulder. Redjay’s spirit had already disappeared. “I saw a frog jump on a squirrel, and I thought it was really funny!” 

Grebeglade looked around. Her whiskers twitched, and she blinked at him with warm amusement. “Must have been a dream. Go back to your mother, alright? You could freeze out here.”

“Okay, I will!” Myrtlekit told her, and bounded back to the nursery. His fur still buzzed as he settled in the nest beside Blacksong, and the smile remained on his face as he fell into the darkness of sleep.

==================

--Probably one of the cutest stories we'll ever see of Myrtlwing.

--I like to think that Redjay does his mimicry often for the amusement of the little ones.

@ambitiousauthor

--Base found in this stash: FREE Warriors Lineart Pack 1 by LexisSketches on DeviantArt

[lenievi]

snw2 #5

My personal episode ranking based on my enjoyment: 3 - 4 - 2 - 1 - 5

I really didn’t like this episode. It was my least favourite of all 15 episodes tbh. It just didn’t hit right for me...

- I wonder if Chapel is going to leave the show at the end of the season.

- and ughhhh they really did what I expected and that was have Spock hate Sam Kirk *sighs* I mean it was clear in the very first episode, but... a little bit more creativity, maybe? I hate Sam, therefore Jim is also terrible, oh, he’s actually not, BFFs *rolls eyes*

The episode did everything I expected, but I kinda hoped they would write it better, but instead Spock just went and slept with Chapel immediately after T’Pring told him she wanted to take a break for a while. (I guess good for Spock to have another sex that wasn’t under an influence?) And he lost all my respect. (I hoped that Spock would be honest with T’Pring and would tell her that he has feelings for another and wished to experiment, and so they would part for a while... but no....) [also Spock literally going to Chapel after Amanda told him how painful it is to be in love with a Vulcan when you’re a human is certainly a choice.]

T’Pring should never take Spock back. She deserves better.

Spock can just forever live in his self-made purgatory. 

“She is yours. After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing after all as wanting.” They made it Spock/Chapel relevant now.

so I guess when Spock decides that being with Chapel wasn’t the best idea he’s ever had, they part, Chapel leaves the Enterprise

after a while Spock meets Leila and falls in love again. But this time, he will hold himself back and will never act on his feelings, until his shields are broken because of the spores

Chapel, in the meantime, will use Korby to get over Spock only to get assigned to the Enterprise again after Korby disappears, and will have to work alongside Spock for several years. And they will both be awkward around each other, but still occasionally “forced” to get close. Spock’s “katra” being put into Chapel, forced to kiss... (Requiem for Methuselah might now get another layer, too, but I still don’t want to rewatch it lol)

There were still Spock/Chapel scenes in the trailers, so I guess they’ll be fine for a couple of episodes and then maybe in the finale they “break up” and Chapel leaves? Until Kirk gets the Enterprise? The thing is, I feel, that Chapel is relatively popular and I also feel like many people are invested in Spock/Chapel and would like to see it continue, but considering Hemmer left the show at the end of s1, they might get rid of another character this season as well. No one would expect the legacy character to leave, since she is supposed to be in TOS, but also we know that she was on Kirk’s Enterprise to look for her fiancé, so... (maybe this is the reason why they’re still in 2259 even in the second season...)