#aside from the big boy I have never drawn deep cut

[lilowoof]

deep cut is getting ready for the upcoming splatfest!

[fixtionvixen]

As a girl of the 90s, a lot of my favorite movies have never had the endings adult me craves. The 30 years later view where everyone is still together and the dogs still alive and we all are stupid happy. Watching Casper the other night led me down a path, wishing we could have the scene we all wanted. Casper as an adult, alive and well, with Kat in the big mansion and content to live out their days! I don't know that we will get there (or even if we did in some weird sequel I'm oblivious about existing) so I decided to do it myself. Happy Halloween you ghosts with the most!

Looking out across the dark sea of trees, Kat Harvey feels her bones ache. With fatigue, with the cold weather, with nostalgia and sadness. The mansion that her and her father moved into almost 30 years ago was still standing, just as she had left it when she went to college. Nothing really changed with it, the cobwebs still clung to the tall corners, it still smelled like earth and time, and the pictures hanging on the walls still boasted faces only the ghosts inside had seen.

Her father, James, still visited from time to time, smiling oddly at sections of the house where a part of their lives became a memory for him to look over later, playing out in his memory like a movie. Kat would look as well, expecting the scene to be real in front of her, almost real enough to touch. But after that night, 28 years ago today, she knew better than to believe anything stayed real for long. She still walks through the entryway and looks up, picturing her first kiss with him. The way the room fell away and her heart shimmered like snow on a sunny day. Her teenage heart was not prepared for the wrenching of emotions and the shocks of that day, to find out her dad was dead and brought back and the ghost she was slowly developing a crush on to become flesh. But November 1st, she woke with a quick rush, throwing her blankets aside and rushing out to the hall, only to find the mansion empty and hollow.

Searching room after room, it seemed the only things left in the house were... still living. No uncles. No laughter. No antics. Just creaky boards and rattling window glass. For years following, every halloween her and dad would dig out candles, bring out ouiji boards, do everything in their power to connect to the other side, to find their friends and ask what happened. Did they find what they needed to cross? Did they just leave and go someplace else? It's answers that never found a resolution and only left them with melted wax and a sad sense of abandonment.

So they did what they'd always done. James stayed there, leaving to chase down ghosts and dreams but always returning to the haunted mansion where Kat stayed, dreaming of a blonde haired boy who swept her off her feet. The older she got, the more in depth those dreams became. What was a dance and a kiss became a drawn out daydream where he came back, not as a ghost, but as a grown man. Where they could spend their time as they wanted, making her teenage heart sing and her young adult feelings something more tangible, something she could grab hold of. But she knew, these were only the desperate wishes of a lonely girl, who's best friend was a ghost until he was gone.

Sighing, she turns away from the window where she let her thoughts run free within the past, only to turn back as the flash of lights cut through the sky and into the window, startling her with their shine. She watches as a lone car, looking to be older than her, turns up the winding road to the mansion, sinking into the pot holes they've filled repeatedly and aways return, until it rumbles to a stop at her front steps, running idly as the driver sits unmoving from the car. She moves from the window, heading to the staircase, ears straining always to hear the slight giggles of her friendly ghost but only hearing her breaths as she hurries down the stairs to the door. Taking a few deep breaths upon reaching the doors, she prepares for everyone it could be. A lost traveler looking for directions. A murderer out to kill the lonely lady in the mansion. A friend from her school who knows she's back and decided to drive out to say hello. A client looking to see if she's followed in her father's footsteps (she has, somewhat, as a Professor of History that specializes in the Occult). But ghost stalking was for her father. Which is why it feels odd that as the car turns off on the other side of the doors and a car door shuts, the house seems to let out a sigh of contentment. As if the other side was relieved somehow.

With that weird feeling pushed aside, she swings open the door, greeting whoever is on the other side with a swift leave and never come back look, only to have the breath stolen from her lungs and her face to sink into utter shock. The man standing before her, hand raised to knock and similar shock on his face, seemed to her a distant memory, someone's she's seen across a room and kept in her mind or a man she swiped across on a dating app. Only he seemed.... more familiar. More like someone she had met. His wind tousled blonde locks fall across his face, cutting paths through the searing blue eyes staring into her brown ones. His appearance seemed relaxed, but the squint of his eyes and the tense stretch of his shoulders hunched forward as if against the cold portrayed a deeper reason he was on her doorstep.

Before she could open her mouth to ask for an answer, he stepped into the frame out of the cold, looking past her into the house and muttering to himself. Shocked, she swings the door into him, closing it almost onto his nose but leaving it cracked for them to converse.

"Who are you and why are you here?"

He squints at her, clearly debating what route to go, barge in and murder her or convince her nice side to let him in out of the elements. Deciding on the second, she assumes, he steps back with his hands raised and begins his explanation with the statement, "Hi. I'm Jasper... You'll think I'm crazy...."

She huffs out a laugh, the words on the tip of her tongue that she befriended a ghost and crazy is a relative term, when he finishes his sentence saying, "..... but I think I died here."

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

The candle light flickers against the wall, complimenting the crackle of the fireplace in the study. Kats gaze does not waver from his pacing figure cutting across the rug with determined steps, as if being in motion will keep the questions at bay. After a brief battle of wills at the door, she had let him in and he hoped she wasn't planning to murder him for making one odd move that she isnt anticipating. She sighs, crossing her legs and trying to look like the authority figure she can be in front of a class, only this times she's not in a skirt and Oxfords but in holey sweatpants and house slippers complete with bunny ears and a missing eye. He hesitates, brain flying at a speed he cannot himself stop, knowing she is at the end of her patience with what must be a mad man in her house. A house he can all to clearly remember being a part of. Somehow saying that out loud will make it all the more real. But he is here now. He's made the choice to follow his inner thoughts and see where they lead. He just never thought that they'd lead him to her, messy hair that he wants to touch or the dainty, too polite smile on her face he can almost taste, and the visions of white dresses and dancing with her that seem to fill his vision.

As she braces her hands on the arm of the chair, prepared to launch herself forward to demand answers, he abruptly stops his pacing, eyes staring at the photos along the mantle. "The man in these photos, it's your father yes? A doctor of sorts... the commercials seem ages ago but I recall being as entranced then by his face as I find myself now." He turns to face her, sadly smiling at the tense way she holds herself on the couch, as if bracing for his insanity to peak and he launch himself at her.

He slowly makes his way towards the chair near her, not wanting to startle but ease her mind. He sits relaxed, staring into the flames, ready to begin his thoughts.

"I mentioned before that you'll think me crazy. And you just might. But I again implore you to hear me out. Let me purge myself of these memories and only once I'm done do I ask that then you decide what my problem is." He notices the curve of her mouth from the corner of his eye, glancing over to see it disappear and her to nod in his direction, giving him leeway to begin. He sighs, looking back into the flames, and sums up the last 30 years in as little words as he can.

"When I was a boy, my parents were never really home. We grew up a middle class, both parents working, always just enough to get by but never enough to be comfortable. But one summer, they took me to see a baseball game, the Brooklyn Dodgers. Now I was a kid, so the fact that there was $1 hot dogs was more interesting to me than the game. But we sat and ate and the sun seemed to make every blade of grass shiny. And two rows down sat a man with a jersey on that said Snyder. And to this day, my parents don't know how or where or why, but I was immediately upset that someone, somewhere, had my treasure. They consoled me, they tried talking to me, anything to figure out what I was wailing about. We had to leave the game I was so distraught. I cried myself to sleep in the back of the car, waking up later after dreaming of it. No pirate booty or piles of gold were my treasure. No. I was adamant I owned an autographed baseball signed by Duke Snyder from the Brooklyn Dodgers. It's all I talked about for days. I can still feel the joy of getting that ball for Christmas! But then I remember hiding it, taking care to put my ball and mitt in a chest so I could make sure no one could take my treasure.

After that, other things came back to me. The feeling of my lungs tightening late at night, every winter when the temperatures sunk below freezing. My hesitancy in participating in snow day activities, no matter how my friends begged or my parents pleaded for me to just get outside. Then I remembered people I no longer was around. Parents that didn't look like mine and a father who seemed always stressed and working. Uncles that were rough and loud and always nearby. A nice man who brought his daughter who became my friend. But then it all stops. I don't know anything of after. I've spent years researching and going to hypnosis and digging through archives, hell I even went to see a psychic to figure this out. And all things point to a very strong soul in reincarnation.

Which, as a Professor, I'm sure you can hear how ridiculous this all sounds. And I agree! I could almost convince myself I was going insane. Some childhood trauma I repressed had led me to having memories that were not my own. To having personality tendencies that felt like my own yet they were not. I fought it, I ignored it, until I finally just gave in. And upon doing that, it was as if I gave the universe the go ahead to lead me where it wanted. Outside of Tennessee, I found a psychic who could read past lives. Never one to believe but willing to follow my gut feeling, I went to her and was immediately overcome by this feeling of... happiness. She opened the door and immediately smiled, nodding to the center of my chest and saying, 'your soul is on a long journey isn't it.' She brought me in and explained her theory, reincarnation, and how my soul was given an opportunity to cross over many years ago but did not take it. And upon doing a great deed, was given the opportunity again but with a promise... that he'd be reunited with his friend one day. And that journey, well, it led me here."

He looks over at her, never brave enough the entire story to do so, only to find her face tear streaked and her body relaxed back into the chair, eyes watery and lips smiling, staring back at him as if she had only been waiting for this moment, for him to end the story and finally confess what the psychic told him months ago about the soul he keeps safe. He swallows thickly, gathering courage that she won't think him crazy or throw him out, and propels himself forward, out of the chair to squat beside her seat, leaning in close enough for his breath to tickle her hair and to smell her perfume. Her eyes go wide as she opens her mouth to ask the questions she has to have, when he shakes his head no to stop her. He takes a deep breath, relying on the advice of someone else to help him finally solve this puzzle, and says the last thing she told him, the phrase to help him find where he belongs. "Can I keep you?"

[fattestwriting]

Mitsuru being corrupted into a slob while attending college in America by her new feeder boyfriend? He's also the reason why she's rocking a fauxhawk undercut and embracing punk culture with her black lipstick and leather jacket~ (Weight: 600 pounds, Vore: No, Gassiness: Her belches and farts are nondestructive, yet still very noisy.)

Mitsuru had been looking forward to the foreign exchange program at her college for some time. It gave her an exciting opportunity to explore another nations culture while continuing her studies! And now that she was here, it was mesmerizing. The culture shock was huge, way more than she had expected from watching American media. But, as much as she wanted to jump into her exploration of America immediately, she had a week of classes before spring break, and so she found herself in her first class of the day.

She was obviously an outcast, but she was no stranger to making friends, so she decided to sit next to a nice looking man, near the back of the class.

"Oh, hey. Are you new here?"

"Yea, I'm a foreign exchange student from Iwatodai. My name is Mitsuru, what's yours?"

Little did Mitsuru know, but this inconsequential moment, talking to this boy, would change her future forever.

After class ended, they ended up chatting all the way to their next class, and the class after that, and the class after that. Turns out they had the exact same class registry, and try as she might to focus on the lectures, Mitsuru was always drawn towards the man, and elected to chit chat with him instead of listening to any of her lectures. By the end of the week, she had completely stopped caring for her classes, only going to school to talk with her new boyfriend.

When the first day of spring break rolled around, her boyfriend had invited her out on a tour of the city she was in. Ever a sucker for new experiences, and having already set aside her spring break to do this exact thing, Mitsuru accepted. He had started with the more normal stores, your Forever 21s, JCPenneys, etc. But later in the day, he took her to Hot Topic.

"Why is this place so... Dark?"

"Oh, it's cuz it's goth. It's a whole trend, here in America. You should try it! The look would do wonders on you."

Despite what the man believed, Japan also had a wide variety of goth subcultures, but with Mitsuru being so school oriented back home, she had never gotten to know that, so she believed him entirely when he claimed it to be an American made identity, one which she was now obsessed with.

By the time they were done shopping, she had gotten the whole ensemble. Black lipstick and eye shadow, an extremely pale foundation, studded black leather boots, fishnets, cut off black short shorts, a short sleeved, high waisted, cut off My Chemical Romance shirt, black nail polish, and an assortment of neck and wrist chains. But, she noticed she didn't quite look the same as all the photos she saw.

"Where can I get my hair cut around here? I want my hair to match too."

And so, he took her to a nearby Great Clips and they got her hair trimmed into a short, punky undercut. They also dyed her tips a deep black, giving her a wave red on black look. When Mitsuru was satisfied with her look, her boyfriend suggested they stop for some lunch. Mitsuru agreed, as they had been running around town white a lot after all.

He took her to a McDonalds, claiming it to be a cornerstone of American culture. Even Mitsuru knew that Japan had McDonalds, but she did know they originated in the states, so she didn't argue. She did protest, however, when he ordered over 300 Big Macs, seemingly all for her, as he ordered a seperate, much smaller meal for himself.

"Oh, didn't you know? It's a typical American custom for women to eat this much! I ordered you less than most girls, actually, since I figured you were new here. But you can handle this, right?"

Despite his words, that hadn't been a question as he unwrapped the first burger and shoved it into her mouth, forcing her to swallow it without chewing. After just one burger she was exhausted, breathing heavily as her stomach ached. But, she had wanted to explore American culture, and if this was the norm, who was she to argue with her boyfriend? So she let him keep feeding her burger after burger, stuffing her belly well past double her maximum capacity. When he finally finished, she was burning up. The massive ball of melting meat stuck on her wouldn't stop churning, and it was strained beyond belief.

*BBBBBBWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOUUUUUURRRRRRPPPPPP*

*PPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTT*

She blew off at both ends, filling the restaurant with her putrid stink. It stung her eyes, but nobody else seemed effected in any ways. By the time she readjusted to the newly brown air, she noticed her boyfriend coming over with twice as many burgers as were already stuffed in her gut. He must have detected the confusion on her face, as he spoke up as he sat down.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you didn't think that was it, did you? That was the appetizer! This is the main course, and then you still have dessert!"

Mitsuru moaned, less than ecstatic about the daunting challenge before her, as her belly groaned from its taughtness.

When spring break was over, Mitsuru was over 600 pounds, all but stuck to her boyfriends couch as he fed her junk 24/7. Her newly acquired clothes had all but burst off of her, with even her boots having been splitted through. The only thing that remained were her fishnets, which barely hung on.

*PPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTLLLLLLLLLBBBBBBBBBBBB*

By now the entire apartment was filled to the brim with her absurd gas, the entire airway was tinted brown and smelt of a waste production plant, which was effectively what Mitsuru had been reduced to.

As the date for her to go home finally came, she was nowhere to be seen at the airport. She was still lazing around on her boyfriends couch, a doughy, overly morbidly obese blob of a woman. She hoped SEES would do fine without her, but at this point, she couldn't care less. She was hungry, she was loved, and she was happy.

[dirtyoatmeall]

Mad Dogs (Kyotani x Reader)

A/N: soft kyotani is on my mind, luv that angry boy. anywayz I'm working on a long Osamu fic to satiate my burning desire for the onigiri man, it'll be out eventually so enjoy this for now :)

Pairing: Kyotani Kentaro x gn!reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: None ! My run on sentences

~

Kyotani could count the times he was genuinely confused on one hand. The time he asked his sister if she was being such a bitch because she was on her period and she responded by threatening to push him down the stairs, the time in first-year when the teacher introduced moles during chemistry, and now, you.

Ever since the beginning of second-year, your actions have never failed to leave the spiker in a state of confusion. One day you sat next to him at lunch, smiling kindly before opening your bento, talking about your day while occasionally asking questions. He never answered them, and you just shrugged and continued on.

He didn’t speak to you for the first week, and when he did, he snapped at you, telling you to leave him alone. You just rolled your eyes and told him “Eat your lunch Kyotani-san, you’ll be less cranky afterwards.” (he did feel better, not that he’d ever tell you.) You’d even bring him food every once in a while, usually when he had a game (not that he ever played). Even when he told you that, you’d just shrug and smile softly, “You never know, so you better eat up, just in case.”

He even thought that Yahaba had possibly put you up to it, in some weird attempt to get him to be a better teammate, but when he brought it up to the setter he just looked at Kyotani oddly and asked, “(Y/N)? Is that the person with the earrings? I’ve never talked to them.” So you just apparently just decided one day to befriend him. (Wait, befriend? You’re not actually friends… are you?)

Another odd thing about you, your accessories. While Aoba Johsai is a private school, it is rather lax on its uniform policy. As long as you had some semblance of the uniform on, you were golden. It gave Kyotani the freedom to cut and dye his hair and wear eyeliner, and it gave you the freedom to wear your… earrings? He asked you about them one day, what they were.

You looked at him bemusedly, “Um, they’re earrings Kyo-san.” When he continued to look at you deadpan, you playfully rolled your eyes, “I was joking! I make them myself, see? Today I’m wearing my beetle ones, and I wore my frog ones yesterday! I just get plastic figures and…” He half-listened while you explained your process, but he found himself focusing on you and not your words. He took in the dopey smile on your face, the way your eyes brightened, and how your hands were more animated while talking about your interests. It was… cute. (Wait, cute? When did he think you were cute?) If you saw the slight blush on his face, you didn’t say anything, which he was thankful for.

After months of eating lunch together, and occasionally accompanying you to the train station, Kyotani found himself coming to the confounding conclusion, he liked you. And not in the ‘I tolerate you’ way. He liked you in the ‘almost got in a fight when someone made fun of your hobby’ way or the ‘I get this weird feeling in my chest when I’m not with you, but when I’m with you I get a weird feeling in my stomach’ way. He had no idea what to do, so he turned to one of the only other people he respected, putting his pride aside to ask for help.

“What did you just say?” His sister looked at him like he had just grown another head. He rolled his eyes, patience thinning. “I said, how do I ask someone out?” It took her a few moments to snap out of whatever daze she was in, a Grinch-like smile appearing (at least, that’s how It looked to him), and she leaned forward. “Aww, does Kenta have a crush? Why don’t you tell me about this mystery person and I’ll tell you the best way to ask ‘em out.” He grits his teeth as he begrudgingly obliged.

After a very painful conversation with his older sister that ended with a “Get them something they like, but not something obvious, something that would show you’ve not only listened, but retained what you know about them.” Kyotani grumbled at the memory, he can’t believe he had to go through all that just to be told something he already knows. He shook his head and got back to the task at hand. He looked at the shelf in front of him, pursing his lips as he contemplated on which one to buy. He thought back to what you’ve worn in the past and decided on one, grabbing two packs and going to the checkout.

It took him three days to do it. The first day he forgot them at home, the second day you had a club meeting, and yesterday he just couldn’t do it. He got in his own head and chickened out. But not today. Today as soon as you sat down next to him in the courtyard, in the shade of one of the many trees on campus, Kyotani thrust the packs toward you, refusing to make eye contact as his cheeks dusted pink. You eyed him warily, but took them nonetheless. When you opened them, you gasped softly.

“Kyo! You got these for me?” You took his silence for an answer and he was glad he glanced at your face at that moment. You had the dopiest smile on your face, eyes big and bright, filled with an emotion he knew all too well. His cheeks darkened and he moved his gaze to your earrings, giraffes. You clutched the packs of plastic figurines to your chest before placing them in your bag. He took the moment to take a deep breath, finally able to think with your eyes off of him. He nodded determinedly to himself and when you turned back around you were surprised to find him closer, gaze unwavering.

“(Y/N).” You raised an eyebrow, “That’s me.” He took another deep breath. (Why was this so hard?) “I like you.” Your cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, to match his own, and your smile this time was softer, yet held more emotion behind it. You stared at him for a moment, and he tried, and failed, to not freak out. (Why weren’t you responding? Oh god did he make a mistake? He was going to kill his sister, why did he think she would have good advice she never dates any-) His spiralling thoughts were cut off by the feeling of soft lips on his cheek. It only lasted a moment, the spot you kissed burning as his gaze snapped to yours, finding your face much, much closer than before, noses almost touching.

You whispered his name, breath fanning across his face as he tried to keep his gaze level with yours, to not look at your lips. Though when your eyes flickered to his own his only thought was, fuck it. And so he closed the very short distance between you two, cupping your cheek gently as he kissed you. Your hand circled his wrist lightly as you reciprocated, tilting your head slightly, deepening the kiss. Your lips moved against each other a little messily at first, but quickly finding the right rhythm. You gripped his wrist a little tighter, moving to scoot closer, wanting to eliminate any and all space between you two when-

“MAD DOG-CHAN IS THAT YOU? OH MY GOD ARE YOU KISSING SOMEONE” You broke apart with a gasp, turning toward the noise to see four figures about fifteen feet away, when your eyes focused you could see they were the third-years from the volleyball team, Oikawa standing with his hands on his hips, wide grin ever-present. Kyotani growled, eyes focused on the third-years. You squeezed his wrist, turning your face to kiss his palm. He looked at you and you smiled. You took his hand from your face and intertwined it with your own before turning to the ones responsible for the interruption. You waved with a big smile and the third-years laughed and waved back before continuing on towards the school. You turned back to Kyotani, kissing him lightly again before pulling away, a playful smirk on your face. “Mad Dog-chan?” He groaned, hand not intertwined coming up to cover his face as you laughed.

BONUS---

Practice was just ending when you walked into the gym, having just finished your own club activities. You waved in greeting as you passed other players, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend as you pecked his lips, pulling away slightly with a smile. His arms wrapped around you as he pulled you closer, smiling softly. You pulled away fully after a few moments, allowing him to pack his bag. Oikawa came over while he was changing shoes, throwing an arm over your shoulder casually. “Ah (Y/N)-chan! I see you finally turned in your manager application! Don’t worry, it was mostly for formalities, not just anyone can calm down Mad Dog-chan like you- wait, what are those!” He gripped your shoulders as he manoeuvred you in front of him, looking intently just below your ear, you smiled mischievously. “Do you like them? I was inspired by your nickname for Kenta!” You cupped your earring gently as you showed Oikawa (and the other third-years who wandered over to see what earrings you had in today). They laughed as they took them in, dangling from your ears was a pair of blonde colored dogs, each with exaggerated eyebrows pulled down into a ‘v’ shape crudely drawn on, making the dogs look comically angry. “They’re mad dogs!”

[dream-a-little-bigger-darling000]

You'll Fit So Nicely You'll Keep Me Intact

Author's Note: Hello Hello! Not my GIF, please don't think it is, but it is my fic! I asked a few days ago if I should do Bane or touch-starved Tommy, and it was pretty clear I should do my sweet summer child Tommy boy. I just really think this big tough fighter needs to take a break and be held every once in awhile. And you can't tell me this man wouldn't have the sweetest moans. Fight me on it you can't. Please Please PLEASE reblog, like, or comment on this if you liked it. I live my day to day life craving validation.

If you absolutely hated it, also let me know! I admit I'm not the best at writing, and I'm willing to learn so I can feed my Tommy Conlon addiction. Ok, that's all, be fed!

2400+ words?! C'mon, that's gotta be enough to make you proud.

The whole fiasco was genuinely an accident.

The two of you, in his small cramped apartment, helping each other make dinner, because you couldn't remember whose turn it was, walking around each other like you had been doing it for years, because you had been.

You had been by Tommy for as long as you can remember, through those years where puberty slammed in the door and decked you directly in the throat (and other places), through the time where his family had slowly fallen apart, and into the years where he had joined the US Marine Corps.

Those years had been hell. At least when he moved away you were still able to text him annoying day-to-day updates and talk in the quiet nights when no one was awake to hear you admit how much you missed each other. But when he joined the Marines, you heard even less from your Tommy, and the ache you felt for him only grew.

When he came back, he had came back for good, immediately seeking you out with the promise of your old relationship back. And things went back to normal, slotted into place perfectly.

Except the insane amount of pining that you went through every waking hour you saw his stupidly attractive face.

But you weren't going to think about that. There was spaghetti to be made.

"Those are done." Tommy nodded his head to the noodles as he made the salad. You sneered to yourself, still pissed that he got the easy part.

"No, they're not, look, that one's still hard-"

"That's what she said."

"It's still undercooked you jerk. Can you please let me cook in peace? You're over there, doing the bare minimum, you ass."

"Hey, if this isn't tossed right, the whole thing is ruined. And those noodles are definitely done. We can get them in the sauce before the garlic bread is done so it'll cool down a bit. Look." All the sudden Tommy was crowded up behind you. Your breath did something funny. Probably the steam from the boiling water. Because, you know, it's so hard to breathe around.

Tommy took the spoon you were using to stir and managed to scoop up a single noodle. He then carefully picked it up and threw it on the cabinet. It stuck, but looked like it would fall via a strong sneeze.

"See? Done." You looked behind you to stare up at the infuriating man. He smiled and tilted his head. You had the sudden urge to hit him. With your mouth. Damn it.

He turned around, not giving you a chance to argue with him. That was his first mistake. As a MMA fighter, the idiot should know never to turn your back on the enemy.

You scooped up another noodle with your spoon. You waited until he was truly busy with cutting the tomatoes up for the salad.

You aimed for his head. It wrapped around the back of his neck with a soft splat. He startled for a moment, and then set the knife down and stared forward, still not turning around to look at you.

"You know what, now it's done. Now it's stickin'." You were struggling to hold it together, desperately trying not to laugh as you turned off the stovetop and set the pan aside.

You felt strong arms envelop you from behind, and you let out a loud laugh as you felt your feet leave the floor. Tommy, spinning you around before setting you on the counter. You've really put yourself it a bad position.

Well, if you're being honest, probably the best damn position you've ever been in.

Except that the bastard started tickling you. More laughter spilled out of you, uncontrollable at this point.

"Tommy!" You were out of breath from the constant attack. What happened to never turn your back on the enemy? "Tommy, what are we in-" More laughter as his joined yours. You two were so close you could feel his shoulder dip every time he rumbled a laugh. "what are we in 6th grade now- Tommy!"

You could feel his laughter huff by your ear, and you knew you had to resort to dirty tactics. If he wanted to play by middle school standards, then you had no choice but to stoop down to his level.

Tommy was very distracted trying to murder you by laughter alone, and he looked like he was having the time of his life. He never even realized your hands were so close to his head. He was in the middle of another fit of giggles when he felt your nimble hands glide through his hair. He had half a second to understand what you were planning, and he was just about to pull away, to get as far from you as possible before-

You gave a solid pull to his hair. You felt satisfaction shoot through your body as his laugh choked off, his body going rigid underneath your fingers. His breath stuttered and his hands instantly fell from your sides to grasp the edge of the counter.

You didn't quite understand what was going on at first, the only thing on your mind being that you'd won the battle. You couldn't help the smug smile from sliding across your expression, or the snarky little giggle that bubbled it's way out.

"What's wrong, Tommy? Did someone school you at your own game, hmm? Maybe next time you'll think before you-"

"Could you please let go?" Tommy sound winded, like he'd just fought a few rounds with someone much bigger than him. It made you pause, and then frown.

Your fingers loosened from his hair, but you didn't lower your arm just yet. You couldn't fathom why Tommy was acting this way, when he instigated the rough-housing. And you knew for damn sure you hadn't hurt him. You had seen the idiot stub his toe on his coffee table before, and the only reaction out of the fighter was a pause, a look up to the ceiling, and one long, drawn out sigh.

So even though he sounded like he was trying to fight for his life, you know it absolutely wasn't because you had hurt him in anyway. Tommy could break you five times over.

You looked down at his hands. Not only was he grasping the edge of the counter top, but his knuckles were white, like he was anchoring himself. You glanced to his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips pressed tightly together, and his eyebrows were furrowed in deep concentration. Was he- was that a blush? His body was still pulled tight.

Experimentally, you lightly scraped your nails along his scalp.

If Tommy were to ever hear you call the sound that came from him a whimper, he'd probably swiftly and effectively dispose of your body. But it was a fucking whimper.

His eyes snapped open wide and met yours. You saw his utter mortification. You would say you felt guilty, but having your long time crush whimper while slotted between your thighs as you sat a top a kitchen counter really did things for you.

You mentally reprimanded yourself for letting your mind fall into the gutter as your friend so obviously had a small break down.

Before you could get a word out, to try talk him down from whatever thoughts were swirling in that pretty head of his, Tommy was out of kitchen. Ah, so he's chosen drama today? Coming from a man who would rather fight his own brother than talk, you can't really find it in yourself to be surprised.

"Tom." You dropped down from the counter, heading toward the living room, which was the only way he could've gone. As you rounded the corner, you saw him pacing the length of the room, his hands interlaced behind his head, elbows out, eyes wild.

"Tommy." You smoothed out your voice, pictured yourself trying to calm down a particularly flighty horse. You know, if the horse were the love of your life and you were desperately trying to make things less weird between you two before the already delicate friendship collapsed.

At your gentle prod he stopped. He let his hands fall down to his sides. He huffed once. Crossed his arms, made a face, and then dropped them. His fists curled up into balls and he closed his eyes. He opened one and looked toward you.

"You didn't hear that."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your own arms to your chest.

He pointed to the kitchen. "That didn't happen."

Because you love your best friend very much, you didn't roll your eyes.

"Tommy. Calm down. Take a deep breath." He did not take a deep breath. You did for him. Then another one for you. You moved toward the couch, and the way he suddenly looked like he was about to sprint out the door didn't escape you. You held your hands up placatingly. Easy, boy.

You sat down, leaving enough room for him to sit beside you. He looked at you wearily. You gave him a pointed look, one that said this is something to be discussed, and there's no way you're getting out of it, and gently patted the space for him.

He looked like he'd rather do anything else. He eventually made his way to the spot and plunked down, but as close to the arm of the couch as possible.

You gave him a sweet smile. He looked away, but not before you caught the blush. You decided to let him speak first.

It was quiet for awhile. Your thoughts went to the noodles still sitting on the counter, probably cooling in the water making a film. He cleared his throat.

"I don't. Not a ton of people touch me." He stared dutifully in front of him. You stayed silent, afraid of scaring him into silence again. He shifted uncomfortably, letting out a growl of frustration. "I mean people touch me. I just meant. It's not. It's," He looked like each word was slowly strangling him, "Never that intimate. I guess. And never anyone like you."

You're eyebrows shot up. His head jerked toward you.

"Not like that, I mean like someone so pretty." You choked a little. He visibly flinched. "Ok. I think that's enough for tonight. I think I've made plenty an ass of myself for one God forsaken night." He made to move, but your hand covered his before you really thought about it. He immediately stopped, staring at your hand on top of his.

"Tommy, it's ok." He gave you a dubious look. "No, really. Lots of people don't know how to deal with touch when it's not normal for them-"

"I'm fine, I touch people all the time, it doesn't matter it's ridiculous-"

"Tommy." He stopped. You lifted both hands to slowly cradle his face. His eyes were panicky. He looked like he was fighting every instinct inside him. "Listen to me, love." His eyes widened. "You don't have to explain anything. I need you to know it's ok to freak out a little. It's ok for this to be new." You bit your lip. "It's ok if it feels good."

A small sound came from the fighter. His eyes slipped closed. It suddenly hit you. You sucked in a sharp breath, and you started to gently stroking his face to his neck.

"Oh Tommy. You spend all that time fighting in the ring, so much time dominating. You barely let anyone touch you before you knock them away." His dad was probably never there to offer him any type of physical love, and his mom was too distanced from anyone to truly give what Tommy craved. By that time, he had pushed his brother away, and you had never really noticed him to be very active in the dating area.

You could feel his control slipping, could feel him slowly letting you hold his head up while he explored the sensation of someone just feeling him. When he spoke, his speech was slightly slurred.

"Was always jus' scared."

"I know Tommy."

"Didn' want you t' leave."

"And why would I do something stupid like that."

There was a second of silence, but Tommy was too far in to go back now.

"Cuz' I only wanted you to touch. Only ever you." Your heart stopped. His eyes slowly opened, meeting yours. His gaze snapped to your lips, back up to your eyes. All it took was for your eyes to snap to his lush mouth, and he was surging to meet you.

You felt like you were melting, melding into him. His lips were sliding against yours, his hands suddenly huge, thumbs cupping your face while his hands rested on the sides of your neck. He kissed like you see him fight. The urgency and the power and the emotion. You ached all over.

You could hardly remember your name when you finally separated, heaving lungfuls of air. Maybe all that oxygen deprivation had really done something to your brain, because you might be having a stroke. It almost smelled like something was burning. Tommy's face did something funny and he sniffed the air.

Oh. OH. The garlic bread.

Both of you made a mad dash for the kitchen, Tommy arriving first and throwing the oven door open, grabbing whatever cloth he could find to take out the charred bread as you used a dishrag to flap away any smoke that spilled out.

Once he made sure his apartment wasn't going to burn down or that the ambulance wan't going to be making a surprise visit, he slumped against the counter, breathing heavily. You put your hands on your hips.

A few second went by, both of you trying to catch your breath. Tommy looked up at you. You met his eye.

You both melted into peeling laughter, trying to stay upright. It seemed like every time you two would get your shit together, you'd fall right back into cackles.

He finally reigned in the worst of the laughter, and slowly made his way to where you were standing. Your own laughs died down.

"Are we good?" you ask him gently. He nods his head, with his sweet smile.

"We're good" he replies gently. He gets this determined look on his face, and steps real close to you. He doesn't do anything else for awhile, instead looking to you, asking with questioning eyes.

You give him an encouraging smile. He smiles right back at you, and for the second time tonight, strong arms envelop you.

[hiddendreamer67]

Giant Mers are Good Mers

That's right, it's MerMay baby! Introducing my new bois. Caspian is a giant siren with influences of Mediterranean monk seals and leopard seals. Beckett is a lil' human who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. This piece is a completed oneshot, but I've got a couple ideas for more oneshots with this pairing, including a few ideas for alternate universes (especially after seeing all the fun @ibis-gt seems to be having with AUs of their bois).

Word count: 6,001

Initial prompt idea: human was taken by a giant siren but then let go (on a whim / siren got bored) but human doesn’t know why they were spared so they come back to thank the siren. The siren doesn’t even remember doing that because it was such an insignificant event to them, but now it’s interesting because humans never came on their own.

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Beckett had always been a simple fellow. He grew up in WhiteBridge, on a small town farm with his three older sisters picking on him ceaselessly. While he loved WhiteBridge and its quaint charms, Beck found his true passion in books, and studied at Oxford for several years before scouring the globe for his passion. In his quest for knowledge, Beckett chose to join a month-long excursion out at sea, and found himself regretting that decision a few weeks later.

“Steady on there.” One of the sailors, Michelle, handed him a pair of earplugs. “You’ll need these where we’re going.”

Beckett eyed the little pieces of foam dubiously. “And just where might that be?”

“Siren territory.”

Beck hardly believed in such fairy tales, but to calm the sailor’s superstitions he inserted the plugs as instructed. Siren tales aside, Beckett found himself growing as twitchy as the sailors. The coastline hadn’t been visible for ages due to a large amount of fog accumulation. The stormy skies were foreboding as well, indicating that proper precautions would need to be taken. This far north, the weather reports often indicated rocky waves far beyond what should be normal.

Would Beckett sink, out here in the middle of nowhere? Was that to be his fate? The young man began to fret, hastening to make himself useful as the first rolls of thunder sounded off and the waves grew steadily higher.

And then, he heard it. Beckett paused, arms slack on the rope as he attempted to hear that haunting melody. Was the weather playing tricks on him, or was someone calling out to him.

“BECK! EARS!”

Beckett blinked, stunned to find himself standing on the slippery railing. When did he get up here? Beck hastened to climb down, noticing the rest of the crew had their hands firmly clasped over their ears, even with the ear plugs inserted.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Even with the double protection, the voice grew in volume, its booming voice penetrating into their heads. Every single person on board fell victim to its call, the ship’s captain turning the wheel to head towards the beckoning beast. Beckett climbed back up to the railing, plunging overboard into the crashing waves.

With a sputter, Beckett fought to keep his breath, legs kicking desperately against the current. Even in his desperate survival state, the voice called to him, and instinctively Beckett swam in the right direction to answer its call.

Every time the voice paused to take a breath, Beck would regain control for only a moment, his heart pounding as his fate flashed before his eyes with nothing to be done about it. Between one blink and the next, the sky grew darker, a looming shape breaching in the distance. Another blink, and Beckett’s face lost all complexion staring up at his demise.

A great sea serpent, half man half beast, towered with its human half over the pitiful human. With a single shift of its body, the beast created waves that threatened to pull Beck under. Those sharp features and piercing blue eyes were unforgettable, and subconsciously Beck realized this was the last face he would ever see.

Another blink. This time, when the serpent let out a hum, Beckett remained conscious but still out of his own control. His body was lax but his mind manic. The siren reached for him, slimy claws surrounding his form and making Beck shudder as he was raised 50 feet in the air in seconds. Beckett whimpered, coughing out sea water as his gaze was drawn down to the siren’s lips. The creature grinned and revealed its razor-sharp fangs. Taking a deep breath in, the siren revealed the cavernous depths beyond as it prepared to inhale its next meal.

Beckett pleaded nonsense pitifully, tears pouring down his cheeks as the haunting nothingness washed over his mind yet again. Would he even wake once more? Was the beast merciful enough to let Beckett go in his sleep?

When Beckett woke up, he thought he was dead.

He squinted, the sun too bright for his eyes. The sun? What happened to the storm? Stranger yet, the water that had soaked him to the bone was no more. Beck was dry, wrapped in blankets in a stranger’s bed.

“You’re awake.”

Beckett turned his head, his sore muscles protesting the movement. Beside him sat an older looking fellow, hair greying with age. “Who’re you?”

“The name’s Seymour.” Seymour introduced himself. “And who’re you?”

“Beck.” Beckett’s voice felt like he hadn’t spoken in days. “Am I dead?”

“No, but you tried awful hard.” Seymour assured him. “Found you passed out on the shore two days ago. Guessin’ you were part of some shipwreck? Though there wasn’t much wreckage to be found. Awfully impressive for you to have swam that far.”

Is that what happened? Beck frowned, trying to parse out the details. His body ached something terrible. He did remember swimming for a great distance. Had the siren all been a strange vision of his adrenaline-infused thoughts?

“...huh.” Beck settled back into the pillows, looking up at the ceiling. “I… didn’t know I could do that.”

“Well that, or an angel saved you.” Seymour chuckled. “You’re one lucky soul.”

Beck squinted in thought. If that’s what angels looked like, he could understand why all biblical depictions had humans cowering in fear.

(...was it an angel?)

Beckett spent some of the most confusing weeks of his life recovering from the shipwreck. Even as his physical form healed, Beck couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the events that transpired that night. He couldn’t get the notion out of his head that the giant sea serpent was real. It had all felt so lifelike, the claws and the fish breath and the dark melodious tones that haunted his dreams…

Seymour was kind enough to open his home to Beck, offering the traumatized lad a position maintaining his lighthouse while Beckett still fought to gather his wits. “Yer’ not the first.” Seymour assured him with a chuckle. “It’s no water off my back if you want to keep me company while you figure things out.”

You’re not the first. Beckett had cleared his throat, wanting to address that thought. “The other people who wash up on shore… did they ever… see anything?”

Seymour raised a patient eyebrow. “What do you mean, seen? Figure you lot have all seen a lot, what with the wreckage.”

“No, I mean, out at sea.” Beck felt foolish, twiddling his thumbs a bit. “Like a… like a merman.”

To his credit, Seymour did nothing more than a slow blink. “A merman.” He repeated.

“But, not a regular merman.” Beck winced at his own words. Just what was a regular merman? “A big one, like a hundred feet long, and pale white skin, and white locks of hair, and piercing blue eyes-”

“Kid.” Seymour cut him off. “I’ll tell it to ya straight. No, I ain’t ever heard nothing like that.”

Today, Beckett found himself on the cliffside, safely back from the edge as he watched the distant waves. His knees were tucked up to his chest, chin atop them as Beck sat lost in thought. Somewhere out there, Beckett’s giant captor- and later savior- was out there.

Why did the beast let him go? Even further than that, the siren had gone out of its way to give Beck a chance at life. There’s no way Beckett could have made it all the way to the shore on his own, disoriented as he had been.

Despite his better judgement, Beckett had to know the truth. With this foolish notion in mind, Beck set out a few months later, having rented a boat from one of the local fishermen. It took a lot of practice for Beckett to learn how to guide such a vessel, as every crest of a wave made the poor lad jump.

Seymour must think he was mad. Often the kind old man reminded Beckett that he didn’t have to conquer his fear of the waves directly, but Beck had just shook his head. Seymour couldn’t understand the debt Beck felt to the creature that had saved his life, and his curiosity kept him captive. Beckett wouldn’t be free until he had answers.

Of course, once he was out on the waters, Beck realized how foolish of a plan this truly was- he knew nothing about aquatic navigation. Every part of the ocean looked the same to him. Even worse, his memories of the last sea journey were extremely muddled. How on earth was he going to find the same location?

And even as Beck drifted in waters that may or may not be similar, the human realized he had no surefire way of gaining the siren’s attention. He settled for calling out often, hoping his carrying voice would be enough. Did the beast understand english? It was deceptively human-looking.

Beckett’s throat grew parched, and Beck sat down a moment to take careful sips of water from his dwindling bottle. The sky was growing darker, and a familiar fog had begun to roll in. An eerie chill began to creep up the back of Beckett’s neck. Suddenly, this plan wasn’t feeling so wise.

That’s when he heard it. The familiar song of his dreams was echoing across the water. Beck had forgotten the feeling, his limbs stiffening against his will like a marionette pulled taunt.

Blink. A gigantic fish tail, just the tip cresting the waves. Blink. Beckett found himself in the waves, gasping as he kicked frantically to keep his head above water. Blink. All too soon, Beck found himself clasped between those claws, water dripping from his locks as he stared at those terrifying chompers.

Oh god. This was a terrible idea. What should he do? What was there to do? All the blood left Beckett’s face, watching the siren lick its lips. It raised Beck higher, dangling the human by the back of his shirt above a now gaping maw. Beckett let out an unholy screech, realizing he had made a terrible mistake.

Beckett squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the words out of his lungs before he never got the chance again. “WHY DID YOU SPARE ME?!”

To Beck’s great relief, he didn’t find himself lowered onto the beast’s tongue. Instead, after the longest pause of Beckett’s life, he opened his eyes to see the siren’s mouth had gone slack.

“What?”

Beck’s eyebrows shot up into his scalp, shocked to hear the siren actually speak. Guess that meant it understood english, too. Beckett cautiously raised his gaze, meeting the siren’s eyes instead of its teeth. The creature looked confused, to say the least.

“You-” Beck cleared his throat, knowing he had to keep the siren’s attention lest he become a meal. “You spared me.” The siren’s brow furrowed further. Beckett frowned. “You… you saved my life? I mean, first you threatened it, but… 3 months ago? You- our ship, and the song, and… I woke up on the shore…”

Unfortunately, despite being the most momentous occasion of Beckett’s life, the giant sea serpent didn’t seem to have given the night a second thought. Beck couldn’t stop the sinking feel in his chest, knowing this whole journey was pointless after all.

The siren slowly shook his head. “That sounds unlike me.”

“It’s true!” Beckett insisted, especially because his life seemed to be on the line. “I was baffled too, but for some reason you spared me, and-and I don’t know why either! It’s been driving me insane. Why else would I sail all the way out here trying to find you?”

“You came looking for me?” This, at least, caused the siren to raise an interested eyebrow. “That would be a first.”

Beck nodded quickly. “Yes! I’ve been shouting for you all day. And before that I’ve been training for weeks, saving up for a downpayment to borrow Ben’s boat, which I’ll probably be losing now that I have no idea where that ended up…” Beckett grimaced, once again meeting the siren’s gaze. “Sorry, I’ve been told I have a tendency to sidetrack conversations in uncomfortable situations. Boat’s not important. Please don’t eat me.”

To both of their surprise, the siren let out an amused snort, the hot fishy air rustling Beck’s hair.

“I apologize for that.” The creature had the decency to look sheepish, even as its words curdled Beckett’s blood. “It’s nothing personal.”

“Wait, what?!” Beckett immediately began screeching, attempting to squirm out of the claws still holding him captive.

“Stop!” The siren hissed, his grip tightening painfully around Beck’s ribs. “You will fall with that behavior.”

Beck winced, continuing to struggle against the crushing appendages. “That was kind of the idea. I choose waves over teeth.”

“Waves over…?” The siren shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. I will not eat you.”

Beck found that hard to believe. He squinted, judging the gigantic face before him even as the pressure stayed tight around his chest. “So, you were going to?”

“Yes.”

“But now you’re not.”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Because you’re quite interesting, little human.” The siren admitted. “Your question confuses me. Do you want to be eaten?”

Beck chose wisely to avoid that question. “My name’s Beckett.” He said instead. “Beck, for short. Not little human, or anything.”

The siren blinked. It must be strange putting a name to your not-food. “My name is Caspian.”

Caspian. For some reason, Beck hadn’t actually pictured the siren having a name. Or talking. Or generally possessing much humanity at all… the self-reflection made him feel a bit guilty.

“It’s nice to meet you, Caspian.” Beck greeted. He glanced around, realizing the sun had finished setting. “Can we circle back to the boat issue? I mean, I’m glad this hasn’t ended fatally, but it is getting late.”

“Hold on.” Caspian frowned. “You spent all that effort to reach me, only to leave? Little Beck, your story has holes.”

“No, no no no.” Beck quickly shut that down, hastily trying to avoid any possibility of a vengeful siren. “No that’s not it at all. It’s just, your time must be very valuable, and I don’t want to intrude. And also, contrary to popular belief, I'm not a great swimmer. Hence the boat.”

“Hmm.” Caspian seemed to consider this for several moments. The giant seemed to reach a conclusion, but Beck was uncertain what it was as he was raised up above Caspian’s head. “Climb on.”

“Climb on?” Beck repeated, confused.

“And hold on tight.” Caspian advised, opening his palm and tilting it so that Beck slid off with a yelp. “I was under the impression you need air to survive?”

“YES! Yes, that is- yes, I need that.” Beckett confirmed, quickly grabbing onto Caspian’s hair as best he could. Not the easiest task in the world with how everything, including himself, was soaked. Nevertheless, Beck was wise enough to prepare himself for whatever a massive sea serpent might have planned.

Without further warning, Caspian lowered himself into the water, only keeping the top of his head above the waves for Beck’s benefit. Beck hastily lowered himself onto his stomach, not wanting to slide off Caspian’s head as the mer began to swim through the ocean faster than a speedboat.

“Where are you going!” Beck shouted above the wind whipping at his face. He squinted, trying to see where the siren was headed but having no luck. Were they swimming to the boat? Had Beck really gotten so far away from it?

Unfortunately, the siren himself offered no answers. The night sky and fog did not help Beck’s visibility. In these conditions, he was practically blind.

After several minutes of this less-than-ideal water travel, Caspian came to an abrupt stop. Beck frowned, finding himself staring at a rocky cliffside shore. Was Caspian trying to return him to the lighthouse again? But none of this looked familiar…

Caspian raised his head above the waves, sending Beck scrambling to keep his hold. It didn’t matter, as those familiar claws came up and plucked the human from Caspian’s hair.

“Hold your breath.” Caspian advised. This was Beck’s only warning as he was cupped between Caspian’s hands, the mer diving beneath the surface.

Thankfully, Beckett was intelligent enough to take the warning to heart. He held his breath, eyes squeezed tightly shut to avoid getting saltwater in them. The pressure became quite intense as Caspian dove several dozen meters down with ease. It made Beck feel like his head would pop at any moment. Was Caspian trying to drown him? But why go through all the effort of telling Beck to hold his breath, if only to drag it out?

Just as Beck could take it no longer and felt on the verge of passing out, Caspian breached the surface. Immediately Beck began to suck in large gulps of air, snorting to get the water that got stuck unpleasantly up his nose.

Despite being above the surface, Beck couldn’t see anything. He tried not to panic, heart racing thanks to all the uncertainties of the situation. “Where- where are we?”

“Home.”

Caspian’s answer only brought on further questions. Home? What kind of home did a gigantic merman have, anyway? Slowly his human eyes began to adjust to the darkness, noticing that bioluminescent moss seemed to give the space just enough light to see the outlines of shapes. It appeared they were in some sort of underground cavern, the water lapping against a craggy water-worn shore.

“Ah, yes. Of Course. Home.” Beck tried not to think about the several deadly reasons a wild animal might welcome him into its living space. But thankfully, Caspian wasn’t just an animal. He could talk, he seemed half human- that had to amount to something, right?

Of course, Caspian had still planned to eat him. So. There’s that.

“You’re still not gonna eat me, right?” Beck asked, not about to leave something so important to chance.

“Right.” Caspian sighed, as if the question were a mild annoyance and not tied to Beckett’s entire livelihood. “But you have disturbed my hunting time. I’m hungry.”

“Not sure that’s entirely my fault…” Beckett murmured to himself.

Caspian lowered his cupped palms to the rocky shore, setting Beck down away from the water’s edge. “Stay here.”

“Wha-? Stay here?” Beck became alarmed, taking a few nervous steps to catch his footing on the slippery slope. “Where are you going?”

“Do not worry.” Caspian assured Beck, easing himself back into the water. “I’ll bring you back something to eat as well.” With that, Caspian dove back into the water, leaving Beck alone in this dark murky cave.

Beckett blinked, shocked to find himself alone in this enclosure. “I don’t think he knows what humans eat.” Beck grimaced, not eager to see just what Caspian would be bringing back for him. Would it be wriggling? Slimy? Would it be human? The thought made Beck want to throw up.

Beckett shivered, feeling chilly now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. He found himself in an unknown underwater cave off the coastline somewhere, still soaked to the bone in his wet rags. The icy temperature in here was freezing, and the water wasn’t any warmer. Was Beck going to die of frostbite here? How long was Caspian planning on keeping him prisoner?

Beckett walked up and down the shore, looking for any driftwood or materials to make a fire. He had no luck, of course, but even if he had Beck didn’t know the first thing about starting a fire. So with nothing to warm himself, what should Beck do? Beckett knew from all the books he’d read on environmental conditions that staying in his wet clothing was one of the worst strategies for survival, but standing around naked in the freezing cave didn’t sound any more appealing. Not to mention, Beck had no way of drying his clothes even if they left his person. He would just have to put the soaking wet rags back on eventually.

Making a foolish decision, Beck kept his clothes on in the hopes that his own body temperature would help dry them eventually. Coming from the man who went out to sea to search for his would-be murderer all day, perhaps Beck shouldn’t be treating himself as a good source for advice.

“What was I thinking?” Beck murmured, pacing back and forth to try and keep the blood flowing to his extremities. His fingertips were growing numb, and Beck shoved them in his armpits to try and keep them warm.

Should he try and escape? Beckett guessed there must be some underwater entrance to this cavern, but there was no way of knowing how deep he would have to dive to reach it, how long the tunnel itself was, nor how high he’d have to swim to reach the surface on the other side. Beckett wasn’t known to be a particularly decent swimmer. Even just the idea of getting in the water right now made Beck shudder, not eager to get soaking wet once more.

Beckett let out a yawn, the excitement of the day catching up to him. He was cold, and tired. Nothing sounded better than stripping off these clothes and lying down in a warm, dry bed back at Seymour’s.

Oh gosh, Seymour. What was the old man gonna think when Beck didn’t return home like he claimed? He knew Seymour had little faith in Beck’s sailing abilities, but Beckett had foolishly promised to be careful. Would Seymour mourn him? Worse yet, would Seymour try to send out a rescue? What if Caspian found him and wasn’t so merciful?

Beckett was dead on his feet by the time the water began to shift. Beck slapped himself out of his stupor, standing to attention in his semi-dry clothes as the giant merman emerged.

Caspian pulled himself partially up onto the shore, holding out one hand to Beck. As expected, none of this looked edible in its current form. There was a live octopus, still wriggling around, a half dozen oysters, a few slimy eels, and a few other squirming entities Beckett wasn’t certain how to classify.

“Oh, thanks.” Beck tried to keep the disgust off his facial features. Even with not eating all day, Beck didn’t have much of an appetite. But would Caspian be mad if Beck didn’t eat it? It’s not like Beckett asked for it in the first place...

“I was uncertain what you would like.” Caspian admitted, a soft frown gracing his features as he nudged the human with his fingertips, encouraging Beck to eat. “Will this be good for you? Do not be shy, I ate my fill already.”

Beck cleared his throat. “Well, uh, some of this is what humans can eat, but we don’t eat it… raw. Or alive, usually.”

“Hmm.” Caspian considered this for a moment, taking one of the eels between his claws. Caspian raised the creature to his lips. In one swift motion, Caspian used his fangs to tear off the eel’s head, sending a small spurt of blood spattering down.

Beck cried out, quickly covering his head with his arms to try and avoid getting caught in the rain. “COOKED! IT NEEDS TO BE COOKED!” Beck hastily corrected, turning a bit green as Caspian tried to once again offer him the bloody corpse. “It needs to be prepared right, too, I don’t think I’m supposed to eat a lot of stuff found in live fish, they usually gut ‘em and stuff, and I’ve never been one for sushi in the first place.”

Caspian licked his lips, clearing away the blood stains as he tilted his head like a pup. “What do you mean, ‘cooked’?”

Beck slowly uncovered his head, thankful Caspian seemed to have backed off for a moment. “Right, cooked.” Beck nodded to himself. “Guess you wouldn’t know what that is, living in the ocean and all. Um, do you know what fire is?” It was Caspian’s turn to nod. “Wait, you do? How?”

“Fire chokes out life.” Caspian explained. “It creates the smoke and the ash that destroys the shores.”

“Well… yeah, I guess it does do that, sometimes.” Beckett admitted. “But we use it in smaller, healthy doses. You use it to cook your food, usually heating it up and changing it to be healthy.”

Caspian seemed more confused the further this conversation went on.

“Unfortunately, there’s no fuel here anyways.” Beck gestured to their surroundings. “And I don’t know how to make a fire anyways, so-”

“No fire.” Caspian said sternly. He sounded more like a stern parent, banning experimentation with firecrackers in the house.

“No fire.” Beck confirmed. He glanced at the ceiling. “Probably wouldn’t have been the best idea anyways, all enclosed like this. But anyways, no. I can’t accept your fish. Thank you, it was very kind of you, I’ll be forever grateful, but if I eat that I will be sick.”

“...hmm.” Caspian looked- disappointed? Frustrated? It was hard to tell the mer’s emotions, but Caspian at the very least seemed to understand Beck’s meaning, as he pulled his handful of fish back to himself. With a thoughtful expression, giving Beck one last option to protest, Caspian tilted the whole mixture into his mouth, chewing it into a paste and swallowing with ease.

Gross. Beck kept this thought to himself, grateful he was not on the other side of Caspian’s abs himself as the pleased merman gave his stomach a few pats.

“Then what will you eat?” Caspain asked, laying down to be more at eye level with the little man.

“Well, uh, I suppose I can always eat after I get home.” Beckett chose his words carefully, still uncertain what Caspian’s intentions were. “My friend would usually make meals with me. Stew, most of the time.”

Caspian’s eyebrows furrowed. “I can make stew with you.”

“No, you can’t.” Beck corrected. Gently. “No fire, remember? Fire’s needed for stew, too. And we don’t have any of the other ingredients. Vegetables, seasonings, broth, cooked meat… stuff like that. And any we got in here would be soaked with sea water, and that’s not great for humans either.”

The giant siren seemed displeased with this answer, obviously intent on keeping the human alive. This, at least, was one positive note in a storm of negativity for the evening.

With a displeased hum, Caspian reached out his hand towards Beckett. Instinctively Beck flinched away, worried the siren had gotten bored and wanted to do away with him, but all that happened was a giant digit began carefully stroking the top of Beck’s head and down the length of his back.

“Uh...what are you doing?” Beck asked, still stiff as a board.

Caspian didn’t seem inclined to answer. Instead he tilted his head, curious blue eyes intently studying Beckett. “Can you sing?”

Beckett blinked. “Can I what?”

“Can you sing?” Caspian repeated, and after Beck gave a nod: “sing for me.”

“Oh, well, I can sing, but not very well, mind you.” Beck admitted, looking a bit sheepish. The stage had always been his sister’s forte. “Certainly not to your caliber. I don’t think you want to hear me sing at all, actually.”

“Yes I do.” Caspian insisted gently. “Sing.”

Beck let out a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for such a task. What song does one even use to serenade a siren? After careful consideration, Beckett selected an old nursery rhyme from his childhood, both for its brief length and easy melody.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star-” Beckett began, his voice shaking. He cleared his throat, trying to project a bit more even as Caspian leaned in to hear. “How I wonder what you are. Like a diamond in the sky, up above the world so high…”

Beckett had shut his eyes, trying to forget about any pressures to perform. A nice benefit to this impromptu concert is that Caspian had paused his petting to allow Beck to focus. “Twinkle twinkle, little star… how… er, ...up… ah…y’know what? I’ve forgotten the last line, actually.”

Beck grimaced, opening his eyes. Caspian was as difficult to read as ever, the siren’s face passive as Beckett awaited any sort of review.

“That was it?” Caspian clarified.

“Yeah, not a very long song.” Beckett agreed. “Meant for children, y’know? Just to… well I don’t know the point of it, actually, I guess it’s just something to sing.”

“Ah.” Caspian drummed his fingers along the rocks. “It was…”

Beckett waited not so patiently. “Well?” He spoke up. “I told you I’m a lousy singer.”

Considering the siren made no effort to disagree, Caspian held the same opinion, yet he wore a pained expression. Perhaps Caspian had held out hope for Beck after all? But then again, even if he were a renowned opera singer, how could a human voice ever possibly appeal to a siren?

“I thought everyone could sing.” Caspian admitted quietly.

For some reason, this bashful admission is what finally set Beck roaring with laughter. Beck clutched at his sides, doubled over with mirth as a concerned siren watched. Caspian let out a noise of concern, reaching out his hand to prod Beck in the side.

“No- I’m good!” Beck hastily assured him, pushing away the finger as if he had any chance of telling the siren what to do. “It’s just- ah, fuck. What a day, you know?” And with that, tears began to pour down Beckett’s cheeks, the poor exhausted boy helpless to stop them as he alternated between laughing and sobbing.

Now Caspian let out a whine, the trill noise echoing across the cavern walls as Caspian scooped the human up into his hands. Beck gasped, momentarily without air as he was forced against Caspian’s chest. “Shh, shhh.” Caspian hushed him, patting his back like he was a child.

Well, what did it matter? Beck felt like a child. He was tired, and hungry, and cold, and he just wanted to go home. Unable to work on any of those things, Beckett tried instead to take the comfort that was given to him, so overwhelmed by the day that this might as well happen.

Beck hiccupped, his tears still coming but too exhausted to keep wailing. Beckett leaned into Caspian’s chest, the smooth seal texture feeling surprisingly warm and dry for a creature that spent most of its life in the ocean. If he focused, Beck could hear a rhythmic thumping. It was Caspian’s heart, just on the other side of this ribcage.

“I wanna go home.” Beck murmured, more to himself than the siren who wouldn’t listen. “I just wanna go home.”

A rumbling sensation filled Beck’s ears, which he slowly recognized as Caspian’s singing. Beck closed his eyes, allowing himself to succumb to the call.

…

“...Beck?”

---

“-OI! Wake UP!”

Beck coughed, startled awake as he found himself once again doused in sea water. He blinked, disoriented to feel the surface beneath him was rocking like a boat. Before Beck could ponder that out, a bright light shined directly in his eyes, making him squint.

“Blimey, you look half dead.” Seymour whistled, taking stock of Beck’s appearance.

“I...what?” Beck frowned, looking around. They were on a boat. What happened? Last thing he remembered, Caspian had been coddling him like a wounded babe. “Where’s Caspian?”

“Who?” Seymour didn’t have a clue.

“Caspian! I- the giant siren!” Beck looked around, trying to spot anything in the darkness of night.

“Boy, I think you swallowed too much seawater.” Seymour shook his head, easing Beck back down. “Take it easy, you’re lucky to be alive.” Seymour pulled out an emergency orange blanket, wrapping it firmly around Beck’s shoulders. It was only then that Beck came to the startling conclusion he was naked, stripped of his wet clothes entirely. At least he could see them lying on the deck as well.

“The voice.” Beck insisted, staying down only because his head felt dizzy. “You must have heard him singing? He was singing. What’d I miss this time?”

Seymour had no answers, as far as giant sirens went. Instead, he explained his side of things. “When you didn’t come back yesterday, I came out to look for ya.” Seymour explained. “You must have a guardian angel after all. Caught you in my sights only by change with the spotlight, adrift in the waves. No idea how the hell you’ve got a speck of life in you, jumping in without a liferaft or lifejacket or nothin’. Holy hell son, ya got a death wish, there’s easier ways of going out.”

“I- what?” Beck frowned. “No, that… that’s not what happened.”

“Hypothermia can cause hallucinations.” Seymour swore under his breath. “Shit, you’re in a worse state than I thought. Never should have let you come out here alone in the first place, nevermind with Ben’s boat. He’s gonna kill ya, y’know, if you do manage to survive the night.”

“Didn’t mean to lose the boat.” Beckett rubbed at his eyes. “Got left behind on the way to the caverns.”

“To the caverns, he says.” Seymour rolled his eyes, handing Beck a warm thermos. “Drink. Sit. And don’t fall asleep.” With these last instructions, Seymour moved over to the captain’s chair, starting the motor and steering the boat back towards shore.

Beck stared at the waves passing by, sipping gently at the contents of the thermos. Tasted like hot lemon tea. Beck would have preferred hot chocolate, if shipwreck survivors were allowed to have preferences.

Was it a shipwreck? Did he jump in? No… no it was Caspian, wasn’t it? Dumb seal’s fault for it all. That, Beck was certain. Too bad he couldn’t charge the siren for Ben’s boat.

Before, Beck had barely escaped with his life, lost and confused about his potential giant savior. Now, he knew so much more than he had before. Caspian was real. Caspian’s name was Caspian. Caspian had intended to eat him, didn’t, and then let him go. Caspian had forgotten him.

Would Caspian forget him again? Why did that notion make Beck feel so uneasy?

It wasn’t like Beck owed Caspian anything, truly. The guy had saved his life twice now, but only after endangering it in the first place. But why did Caspian let him go this time? It seemed as if Caspian was intent on keeping him around like some sort of amusing lil’ pet. What had changed?

Beck’s mind was too tired to process through such things. He sipped more of the tea, growing drowsy.

“No sleeping!” Seymour yelled.

“Yes sir!” Beck jolted upright, regretting it when his head pounded. The sound of the waves had changed. Beck could hear them crashing against the shore, indicating they were almost to the dock.

Seymour expertly steered the ship into the harbor, a feat which took a good deal of skill in the middle of the night. Once securely fastened, Seymour offered Beck a hand, hauling the boy to his feet and keeping Beck steady all the way up to the lighthouse.

“Alright, in you get.” Seymour instructed, easing Beck into bed. He piled more blankets onto Beckett, disappearing briefly to grab a warm compress which he placed on Beckett’s forehead.

“I really did see him.” Beckett murmured, closing his eyes as the warmth lulled him into a deep slumber.

Seymour let out a low sigh. “I’m sure you did.” Seymour murmured, patting Beck’s arm.

[angrylizardjacket]

dirtbags // 3: Charlotte

Summary: High school AU, 1985, Winter. The year’s off to a strange start as Charlotte and her friends find out that not only does Lola work at the new diner that opened up in town, but her dad owns it! Charlotte humbles Nikki in a very un-Charlotte manor, and Vince’s parents decide to host an English exchange student in an attempt to give him a good role model; instead, they get Razzle.

A/N: 8466 words. Do I care too much about this AU? Yes. as always, for my dears @misscharlottelee and @newyeareva ft. a softer world quotes

the city sometimes feels like a movie set. maybe this is the big scene. maybe i can be an extra at least.

Charlotte’s only a few practice hours away from being able to get her provisional license, and she berates her past self for not getting it sooner, especially not when her Winter Break has been kind of a shit-show and she’d rather tear off her own arms than ride in Tommy’s shitbox of a car with Vince Neil. 

Since his blowout house party, Vince had essentially been grounded for the rest of the school year, had his car privileges revoked, and the only people his parents apparently trusted him to hang around with outside of school, were Tommy, Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach. Tommy was delighted. The girls, unsurprisingly, were not. Vince himself was downright somber, and had sulked for the remainder of the semester, and well into the break.

He had been in a particularly sour mood since last night, New Year’s Eve, when his parents had announced they were going to be hosting an exchange student from England for six months. Vince is convinced it’s an attempt to give him some sort of role model his own age, and spent most of his parents’ New Year’s Eve party ranting to Tommy and the girls while they played cards in his basement.

Her saving grace is Eileen, of course, who’s father had bought her mother a shiny, new car for Christmas, and had given Eileen the keys to her mother’s old station wagon. 

“It’s kinda dumb that we’re taking two cars,” Peach, Eileen’s little sister, pipes up from the back seat, hands fiddling in her lap. It’s New Year’s Day, and while their various parents were sleeping off their hangovers, they’d suggested the kids check out the new diner that was opening today. Vince jumped at the suggestion of freedom, and everyone was in agreement, but Eileen and Charlotte took Peach in Eileen’s car the moment Vince slid into Tommy’s front seat, holding the flyer he’d gotten at the mall that told them all about the diner’s opening day, “just saying, we could all fit in one.” But she’s met with silence, “are you going to be mad at him forever?” She finally sighs.

“Yes.” Both Charlotte and Eileen answer automatically. Peach sighs as dramatically as she’s able, and sinks as low into the seat as she can. Charlotte turns on the radio, and hums along to something familiar, but that she doesn’t quite recognize, staring out the front window at the back of Tommy’s car. Vince turns around in the front seat and flips them off.

“I’m gonna ram them,” Eileen says, with absolute sincerity and serenity, leveling an intense glare at where Vince was now waving.

“Don’t,” Charlotte advises, equally level.

“I don’t get why you’re still mad, I’m not even mad,” Peach huffed, pouting. Charlotte and Eileen share a look; at sixteen years old, Peach was top of almost all of her math and science classes, but she was still a teenage girl, and an absolute fool for a blonde boy who made her cry. Charlotte knew that feeling all too well, but thankfully she’d moved on from the ‘wondering why she wasn’t enough’ stage to the ‘realizing her ex is a cheating douchebag and it was never her fault’ stage. She really hopes Peach can move on to ‘realizing Vince made her cry and hasn’t even tried to change since then and deserved to get his car keyed’ stage quickly.

The diner was bustling when they arrived, a large decal on the inside of window, black, thick and flowing lettering, outlined in gold, reading Leo’s. Through the window, several booths were already filled, as were a host of the stools along the counter. It looked warm inside, inviting in golds, yellows, peaches and oranges, neon signs and rusted street signs, band and comic book memorabilia, and photos. Behind the counter -

Lola. Smiling.

“I’m freezing my butt off, can we go in?” Peach asks, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her parker, the only person who did not recognize the girl currently pouring coffee for an elderly gentleman at the counter. 

Inside, the diner is warm, filled with the sounds pleasant chatter, and of the Beatles coming from a cherry wood jukebox in the corner.

“Lola!” Tommy can’t help himself, lighting up at the sight of her, and once Lola finishes pouring her customer coffee, she looks to their confused little group, and waves.

“Find yourselves a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment,” she calls back, smiling bright and wide, hair tied back with a bright, red bandana. 

The teens do as they’re told, pulling off jackets and gloves and scarves, sliding into a booth by the window, looking around, wrapped up in the smell of warm food, and the confusion of Lola’s presence, and completely unfamiliar demeanor. There’s an uncertain kind of quiet among them, having just expected to spend lunch at a cool new diner, but this has shift everything, only Peach, blissfully unaware of who Lola even was, seemed at ease, rearranging the sugar packets in their little holder.

Lola comes by with menus, and cups, and a pitcher of water for the table, looking pristine and put together in a tight, black blouse, skirt, and scuffed black combat boots, little peach-coloured apron tied around her waist. She pulls a notebook and pen from the pocket of the apron, looking around at them all, as if finally taking a moment to assess the situation.

Charlotte picked up a menu.

“You work here?” Tommy asked, and Lola confirms brightly, but doesn’t give any further details. She does, however, thank them all for coming, and recommend a few of her favourites.

“I’m also partial to The Lola, for obvious reasons,” she gives an actual laugh at that, as if implying one of the burgers was named after her was giving away too much information, and Charlotte was quickly scouring the menu.

Beef patty, double bacon, American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a home-made smokey maple-barbeque sauce, on a toasted bun.

“The menu’s kind of misleading,” Lola admits, moving to look down over Charlotte’s shoulder as she was reading, “all the patties are home made too, with Leo’s signature blend of herbs and spices.” That asked more questions than it answered. No-one’s quite sure what to say.

“Can I get a milkshake?” Peach pipes up, and Lola’s smile grew wide as she asked what flavour, “chocolate, please, and do you have curly fries or regular?”

“Hand cut,” Lola tells her proudly, but that means very little to Peach, who’s just glad to be having food, “still need time to think?” Lola asks the rest, and they all give her awkward, quiet smiles and nods. 

Lola leaves, heading back to the counter, and the moment she’s gone, the whole table explodes with whispered confusion, leaning in, asking questions and not getting any answers. 

“You guys are being super fucking weird,” Peach hisses loudly at them all, while Charlotte and Tommy argue about how the other should have known. Eileen, quietly delighted by the chaos, demands to know if anyone else thinks Lola might secretly have a twin, and Vince, who’s had the least contact with her aside from Peach, is babbling about how it’s weird to see Lola so chipper; their mutual confusion is enough to set aside Eileen and Charlotte’s hatred of him, at least for the moment. 

When Peach demands they explain what they’re all whisper-shouting about, disturbing the booth behind her, they all quiet down, and Tommy and Eileen take it in turns explaining their full understanding of Lola. Charlotte takes the time to actually look around the diner now that she was inside.

There’s two other waitress, one behind the counter, the other always moving on about the various tables and booths on one side, making sure the customers are happy and food and drinks are delivered, both in the same outfit as Lola, though with varying footwear. 

The view to the kitchen is unobstructed behind the counter, a half wall where meals ready to be delivered were sat, but a clear view to where three people in the kitchen, two by the grills and fryers, turned away; a broad-shouldered man towering over the grill with the longest hair Charlotte’s ever seen braided neatly down his back, and a comparatively shorter man, also with far shorter hair, though enough to be pulled up into a messy pony tail. The shorter man’s working the fryer, and putting together burgers as the taller man cooked up their various ingredients. There was also a strangely familiar kid with a mop of dark, curly hair washing dishes on the other side of the kitchen, barely visible.

Lola worked diligently, smiling and chatting away; she collected dishes, and ferried meals, and handed out slices of desert from the cute, multi-tiered desserts display on the counter. When she came back, milkshake in one hand, basket of fries in the other, Peach is fully caught up on each of her friend’s short but confusing histories with her, and blurts out -

“You’re Lola?” Injecting new meaning into the words, into the name, as if anyone else at their entire school had the same name. Lola’s smile goes a little tight as she places the fries and the milkshake before the redhead. Standing back up, she taps her nametag, which reads Lola, with little flowers drawn around it, and confirms, though it’s clear she’s more on edge than she was before.

“You guys ready to order?” She asks, still trying to keep up her chipper attitude, pulling out her notebook again. Everyone’s quieter this time, looking over the menu and finally deciding on food.

“My mom heard the owner was a chef, is that true?” Tommy asks, looking up from the menu to Lola again, and the tense set of her shoulders loosens considerably at the question.

“Leo is a chef,” Lola nodded, grinning broadly, “trained at the Culinary Institute of America back in the sixties, and worked his way up to being the head chef of Parker House in Boston, which I know probably doesn’t mean much to you guys, but it’s,” Lola laughs a little struggling to describe it, “it’s fine dining at it’s finest, but for the past twelve years, he’s been running Leo’s in Salem, and now he’s here, still using all that fine dining training for the anyone who wants a good meal at a good price.”

“Is that something they have you memorize in training?” Vince says, a little awed, and Lola gives a strange little smile.

“Leo’s my dad.”

Everything kind of fell into place after that, finally making sense, and the gang’s confusion quickly shifted to understanding, and the air around the table seemed to clear. It was easier after that, the teens in the booth ordering quickly, and the chatter picked up to a normal level as she moved away, shouting their order back to the kitchen once she was back at the counter.

She doesn’t spend much time at their table, still in charge of waitressing half of the tables and booths, but she always gives them a nod as she passes, and their meals are being delivered efficiently, so there’s no reason to complain.

The food itself, for diner food, is nothing short of spectacular, which kind of just raises more questions - why if Leo can cook food that tastes this good, and with all the experience he evidentially has, would he open a diner in suburban LA, and not a high-end restaurant? But it feels kind of intrusive to ask, so Charlotte simply enjoys her food, and her friends’ company.

Up until Vince starts complaining about the exchange student again.

“His name’s Nicholas, he shows up in a week, and mom’s making me clear out the basement so he can sleep there,” he’s despondently poking his milkshake with one of his fries, head propped up on one hand, “I’ve been asking for years if I could move into the basement, and this fucking Nicholas just gets it?” His whole expression scrunches up at the thought, and he angrily eats his fry.

“Wait, so the issue isn’t that you have to clean up the basement, it’s that he gets to use it as a bedroom and you don’t?” Charlotte frowned, lowering her own burger, “why would you even want to sleep in the basement?”

“Privacy!” Vince throws his hands in the air, eyes wide, “Tammi keeps complaining about getting cramps in the back of my car, but my bedroom walls are paper thin,” he huffs, “I need my own space.”

“Tammi?” Peach asks, her voice high and almost painfully chipper, “Tammi Frisk? She scored the winning goal in the softball final, right?” She’s not looking at Vince, when Charlotte looks over to her, she’s looking at her plate of fries, pushing the few left around without eating any, smiling in a way that’s clearly forced.

“You were at the softball final?” Tommy asked, frowning slightly. Peach did not look up.

“For the school paper,” she explained, voice still strange.

“You’re still with Tammi Frisk?” Eileen asks, making sure the disgust is clear in her voice as she draws the table’s attention away from the clearly uncomfortable Peach. Charlotte’s lip curled; she wanted to make sure her expression was as judgmental as possible when Vince turned back to her. 

It’s not that she cared about who he was dating, she was mostly apathetic to Tammi, and knew little more about her than the fact that she was on the softball team, but Charlotte knew Vince had been dating Tammi when he’d decided to crush Peach’s heart publicly at the start of the last semester.

Neither Peach nor Eileen had told any of them exactly how, but apparently Eileen’s hatred was well warranted, both against Vince, and according to Eileen, Tammi too.

Vince, immediately sensing Eileen’s shift in tone, and seeing the look on her face, frowns.

“Kind of,” he responds flatly, and his gaze flicks to Peach, “not really,” he backtracks, and his indignation at the whole situation seems to fizzle out with a sigh, and he slouches, going back to paying attention to his burger, “she’s sort of hanging out with one of the second-string football guys, but they’re not... and we’re not really...” he trails off, despondent once more.

At least Vince seemed to be self-aware of the fact that he was an asshole to Peach, at least he had the decency to feel bad about it. Why he kept inviting Peach to hang out, despite the fact that he knew Eileen, who hated his guts, would come along too - invited or not - baffled Charlotte. 

Tommy was his friend, and a guy, Charlotte was a cheerleader and technically popular, and so was usually begrudgingly invited too, but Peach, sweet Peach, recent Science Fair Winner, junior reporter for the school paper, treasurer for the AV Club, by all accounts ‘a nerd’ when judged by her interests, was still on the guest list of Vince Neil’s life, even if he wouldn’t admit that out loud. 

It kind of made Charlotte want to punch him in the face.

But that’s not news.

“I hope the English exchange student is a decent influence on you,” Charlotte tells him. Vince scowls.

“You sound like my parents.”

you make me want to pretend to be a better man.

Now that school has started back up, Vince has thankfully had his car privileges returned, and Charlotte can return to not glowering in the back seat of Tommy’s car when he picks her up on the way to school, and drops her home on the days they both have practice. 

But it’s Wednesday, first week back, and he’s uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he’s babbling about practice, or cheerleaders he thinks are pretty, or Lola, but today, he meets Charlotte in the carpark, leaning against the trunk of his car, hands in his pockets, quiet. It’s decidedly unnerving.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” Charlotte asks, yanking the passenger door open once he unlocks it, sliding into the seat and putting her bag by her feet.

“Nothing,” Tommy voice betrays the lie, the thoughts so clearly on his mind that he was trying to avoid talking about. Charlotte won’t push him, if he wanted to tell her, he would, and he usually does, “put on some music, will you?” And Charlotte obligingly opens the glove compartment in front of her to look through the collection of 8track tapes he keeps in there, several of which had been Christmas gifts from Charlotte herself.

Feet on the dashboard, Charlotte’s more than content listening to Bon Jovi, bopping her head to the beat, when Tommy finally finds the words for his thoughts.

“Lola and Nikki Sixx are friends.” 

Up until now, Charlotte was under the impression that Tommy, like her, thought Nikki and Lola would be great as friends, Tommy’s current tone implies otherwise. 

“Is that not good?” Charlotte’s careful about her words, still not sure where Tommy’s hesitation was coming from.

“No, they make sense,” he’s quick to try and backtrack, words spilling from him almost too fast, “they make sense as friends.” He deliberates, before asking, “Charlie, you’re not friends with Nikki Sixx are you?” And it sounds like he already knows the answer. Charlotte hesitates.

“He keeps bothering me during my free periods, I wouldn’t exactly call us friends -”

“He called you Charlie,” its deadpan and accusatory in equal measure, and Charlotte shrinks back into her seat as Tommy keeps talking, “he called me ‘Charlie’s cousin’. It was weird.”

“I thought you wanted to be his friend -” she tries, right as they pull up to a red light, and Tommy fixes her with an unamused look, the only expression that makes him seem older than his years.

“Did you tell him I was obsessed with him?”

“No!” Charlotte snaps, automatically defensive.

“Because I’m not -”

“I never said - I told him you were a fan! That’s all! Like Duff was!” Charlotte tries to clear up, and Tommy looks back at the road, though this time he thankfully looks more pensive than angry. Only Bon Jovi cuts through the tense air between them for the rest of the drive back to Charlotte’s house, and when Tommy pulls up outside, he doesn’t say anything to her when she gets out. 

The next day, like clockwork, fifteen minutes into her free period, Nikki Sixx comes climbing over the school’s fence, into the garden Charlotte had been trying to force herself to study in. In all honesty, she’d been waiting for him, picking at her nail polish beneath the table and reading the same sentence in Moby Dick over and over again.

“Miss Lee,” Nikki nods to her, a little gruffer than usual, “you seem more tense than usual; I can help you with that if you want,” but he still manages to smirk his way through an unsubtle come-on, and Charlotte rolls her eyes, not in the mood for their usual banter.

“I’d rather sit on a cactus,” she tells him icily, without even a teasing edge. Nikki’s eyebrows shoot up at the hostility, and he puts the packet of cigarettes that he’d about to offer her on the table, knowing she’d turn them down anyway, “I thought people weren’t meant to know that we know each other.”

“What people do?” Nikki frowned, raising his lighter to the cigarette between his lips, “is this about yesterday? I talked to your cousin, big deal. Everyone knows you two are related, and everyone knows you,” he looks pointedly to the embroidered logo on her cheer uniform, “I wasn’t even looking for him -”

“Dude,” Charlotte felt as though she was about to tear her hair out, “you called me Charlie to him, people don’t just call me that!”

“Plenty of people call you that! That leggy redhead you’re always hanging around calls you Charlie -”

“My friends call me that -” Charlotte snaps, “and I know you know that’s Eileen Austen.” And Nikki’s wearing a dreamy look, like he’s thinking unholy thoughts about Eileen as Charlotte speaks, before snapping out of it as the first of her words register like a bucket of ice water to the face.

“I’ve called you Charlie before. To your face.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Charlotte tells him dryly, crossing her arms, “it’s less effort if I don’t correct you. We’re so not friends that I don’t even care about correcting you.” Back when this school year started, Charlotte wouldn’t have dreamed saying half the nasty shit she’s thrown at Nikki Sixx, and at some point she may have to confront the idea that being around him has made her meaner, “but did you tell my cousin that I told you he was obsessed with you? Because I never -”

“I said I was glad he was a fan!” Nikki scowled, sitting back and glowering at her across the table, “all I wanted was to ask Lola if she wanted to sit on the roof with the rest of the smokers, and your fuckin’ yappy, dumbass of a cousin -”

Punching someone in the face hurts a lot more than Charlotte had been anticipating, but it’s worth it to see Nikki toppling backwards off of the picnic bench and onto the cold grass. His cigarette lies some few feet away while he lays groaning, clutching his cheek, and Charlotte’s standing, leaning, thighs pressed against the picnic table for support as she’s staring down at him, breathing heavy through her nose while the adrenaline rushes through her system.

“What the fuck, Charlie?”

“Don’t talk shit about Tommy,” her heart’s thundering in her chest, she can feel the blood rushing in her ears, and when she looks at her hand, she sees the skin of one of her knuckles has split enough to draw blood, “he has done fucking nothing to you apart from support you, and think you’re really fucking cool, for whatever dumbass reason, so don’t you dare talk shit about him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nikki groaned, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath after being winded so thoroughly, hand still cradling his cheek. That’s how Charlotte leaves him, slinging her bag onto her shoulder, and stalking towards the library to finish the rest of her free period in peace.

When Tommy drives Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach home after school that day, he’s quiet once again, but it somehow feels completely different to the oppressively accusatory air of the day before. The three girls were chattering away, trying to plan a trip to the mall for the upcoming weekend, and only when Peach and Eileen were waving goodbye in the rearview mirror did Tommy speak up.

“Did you punch Nikki Sixx in the face?” There’s a smile in her cousin’s voice, and Charlotte’s not quite sure how to react.

“I had good reason to,” she says, carefully guarded.

“He said you guys were friends, and then he thanked me for being coming to the gig a while back; told me he’d asked you to bring me specifically,” Tommy’s tone was oozing pride, and if Charlotte had been looking at him, and not frowning out the window, she would have seen how he was all but preening.

“He told you all that?” Charlotte’s anger at her memory’s of the morning’s altercation was fading fast.

“He hung out with me and Lola by the carpark for lunch,” Tommy paused, snorting a laugh, “didn’t want his buddies to find out a cheerleader gave him a black eye.”

“I - what? No I didn’t...” Charlotte’s eyes went wide, and finally she looked at her cousin’s beaming face.

“You definitely did; Lola laughed at him for a full ten minutes because of it.”

“Serves him right,” Charlotte said, with a begrudging little smile.

Nikki sits with Tommy and Lola on Friday too, which Tommy is delighted to inform Charlotte on Saturday while he’s driving them both to Vince’s, where his parents have invited them over to meet the exchange student. Nicholas.

He arrived on Wednesday, but Vince’s parents have given him the rest of the week to settle in, and had invited around the few friends Vince has that they deem to be a positive influence, if only so he knew a few faces around school. 

Charlotte had been picturing some over-gelled boarding-school boy, used to itchy uniforms and strict rules, and about to get a good deal of culture shock hanging around Vince and the rest of their motley little pack, but when Charlotte brings this speculation up in the car, Tommy’s quick to dismiss it. Vince, from the little Tommy had spoken to him in the past two days, was over the moon, claimed that Nicholas - Vince had called him Razzle - was amazing. If Charlotte felt an quiet sense of foreboding at that sentiment, she felt it was justified.

The first thing either of them hear after being directed down to the basement by Vince’s mother, is Alice Cooper playing almost obnoxiously loud; Charlotte’s not sure why, but it eases something in her chest. 

Nicholas’s - Razzle’s? - room, first and foremost, is possibly the coolest bedroom Charlotte’s ever been in. He’s decked it out with movie and band posters, though most of the band’s she’s never heard of. There’s string-lights above a desk, a bed crammed into one corner with a bright duvet, and even a sofa, and a few beanbags all crowded around a low, wooden table that had mostly been taken up with a record player, which is where they found their friends. 

The name Razzle suited him, Charlotte considered, as she took in the newcomer’s appearance, all spiked up dark hair and ostentatious clothing, animatedly telling a story while Peach and Vince hung onto his every word. He looked almost wild, like collection of half-thought ideas all vying to become a reality through the texture of his clothes, the height of his hair, the hint of amusement that tailed his words, the passion shining in the blue of his eyes when they flicked to look at her and her cousin, standing on the stairs and watching him.

His words grow quiet as he takes them in, as if waiting for something to happen, for someone to introduce them.

“You must be Charlie and Tommy!” His accent, thick and bright, made her nickname sound so familiar on his lips.

“Charlotte,” Vince corrects, giving a surprisingly respectful nod to Charlotte, who tries to shrug nonchalantly.

“Charlie’s fine. You’re,” and Charlotte hesitates for a moment, ignoring Vince’s eyeroll, “Razzle, right?” Razzle’s smile is blinding at her immediate use of the nickname, and he waves them in.

Peach throws Tommy a cushion from the sofa when he asks, and he settles himself on the floor next to Vince, while Peach and Eileen squeeze over to make room for Charlotte on the sofa clearly only made for two people.

“I was just telling these guys ‘bout my band’s very first gig, ‘nd how I had to sneak out just to get there,” Razzle settled back into his own beanbag, hands out and ready to return to his story, eyes still shining with anticipation at the memory, or possibly just glad to have an audience. 

Oh, Charlotte thought, looking at this boy she barely knew, already fighting off a smile in the face of his infectious enthusiasm, maybe Vince was becoming a better judge of character.

“You’re in a band?” Tommy’s eyes light up, and Charlotte gives her cousin a fond smile; Razzle has already won his seal of approval.

we need more good crazy. it'd be nice to watch the news, and think, 'that's fucking insane', but feel a little jealous instead of just alone.

Heather hasn’t been glowering as much at lunch, and the rumour is that it’s because she’s getting laid. Well, it’s less of a rumour to Charlotte, since Heather confirmed as much to the rest of the cheer squad when one of the girls asked her, but she’s being coy and secretive about who she’s with, which is the really weird part; Heather won’t say, and no-one’s coming forward, and lord knows that most guys at their school would jump at the opportunity to claim they’re banging the Vice Captain of the Cheerleading Squad. 

But Charlotte knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead just smiles back when Heather gives her a sunny smile in the cafeteria.

Tommy is less than thrilled with the news when Charlotte brings it up in the car after school. Nikki’s still sitting with him and Lola during lunch, despite his bruising going down considerably over the weekend, and Tommy is equal parts delighted and uncomfortable, for reasons he can’t seem to put into words. 

“At least Pam’s single,” he says it with as much of a dreamy sigh as he can manage, though it comes out more forlorn than anything else. Charlotte pets his shoulder, and reminds him that so is over half the squad; he perks up a little at that. 

They pull into Mick’s gas station, and Charlotte waves to Mick and Lola, who are sitting on the step by the door sharing a cigarette. Lola waves back.

“Meant to give this to you,” Lola says to Charlotte, still sitting while Mick begrudgingly heads inside. Tommy follows him in, not needing to fill up the tank, but rather just looking to drown his sorrows regarding Heather in a jumbo slurpee. Outside, Charlotte waits with her hands in her pockets, giving Lola an amused smile, watching as the dark haired girl pulls a pin off of the jacket she practically lives in, and hands it over.

It’s a piece of black card stock cut into the shape of a star, barely an inch in diameter, taped to a safety pin. It say Punched Nikki Sixx in silver pen, one of the points of the star already a little bit crumpled. 

“You’re a little bit punk, so you get a pin,” Lola tells her, smiling around her cigarette, looking quietly pleased, and perhaps even a little bit proud; whether of herself or of Charlotte, Charlotte can’t tell, but it still makes her flush.

“I thought Nikki didn’t want anyone knowing that a cheerleader gave him a black eye,” Charlotte mused, looking at the little pin, and Lola’s face scrunched up, expression falling.

“So? Who gives a shit?” She shrugs, looking away tone having shifted to almost forcibly neutral in an instant, “wear the pin or don’t, I don’t care.” Lola stands with a groan, without giving Charlotte a chance to respond, and calls to Mick that she’s heading to the diner. Mick waves, Tommy calls out a farewell, and Charlotte frowns, wondering what just happened.

“I hate that,” Nikki says flatly, the moment he spots the pin where Charlotte’s fixed it to the strap of her backpack. There’s no hard feelings between them after last week’s altercation, thankfully, though they don’t talk about it. If Charlotte’s glad that he still showed up, if she’s realised she may, in fact, enjoy his company, she keeps that information to herself.

“Lola made it for me,” Charlotte tells him. Nikki leans in, squinting at the handmade pin.

“Of course she did,” he sighs, leaning back. Surprisingly, there’s quiet between them for a few, long moments; maybe, Charlotte considers, this will be one of those mornings where Nikki uses their time together to catch up on sleep, and Charlotte can actually use her free period for it’s intended, study-related purpose, but then Nikki sighs like he wants her to ask what’s wrong.

So she does.

“I need a new band.”

“I can’t help you.”

“I know,” Nikki nods with resignation, “I was gonna ask this guy I work with, Slash, he plays guitar, but he’s already in one -”

“Wait, you don’t mean Duff’s friend Saul Hudson, do you?” Charlotte frowned, intrigued despite the stab of anger she felt at the mere mention of her ex. Nikki seemed taken aback by her question.

“You know Duff McKagan?”

“I dated him for a year and a half,” Charlotte finds herself suddenly very interested in drawing connecting triangles in the back of her notebook, not looking at Nikki, who’s quietly processing this information.

“He’s in a band now,” and neither of them seem to be quite sure why he offered that information, but they both let is hang between them for a moment.

“Makes sense,” Charlotte nods, tone flat, “with Saul - Slash?”

“Yeah,” is all Nikki has to say.

“Slash is a good kid, I always liked him,” Charlotte offered, and finally she looks up, “Tommy plays drums.”

“Marching band isn’t exactly -” Nikki begins, but Charlotte’s shaking her head.

“No, like, legit drums,” she enthuses, “his parents fixed up their whole garage to make it sound proof for him,” but she doesn’t want Nikki to think she’s pushing her cousin on him too hard, not after last week, so she sits back, and crosses her arms, trying to play it cool, “I mean, you can ask him yourself, see if he’s any good.” She shrugs, but Nikki looks like he’s already considering it. 

“How many musicians do you know, Charlie?” He finally asks, giving her a faint, amused smile.

“Probably too many,” Charlotte responds with a longsuffering smile, before her mind turns to the things Tommy himself had told her, “I heard you and Lola are getting along; what’d I tell you?” She teased, and much to her surprise, what she could see of Nikki’s face, for his hair, was turning pink.

“She’s a bitch; you know she’s a bitch, right?” He asks, but he’s grinning, all sharp and dangerously amused.

“I knew you guys would get along,” Charlotte gives a pleased little sigh, as if she’d manufactured their whole friendship herself. Nikki rolls his eyes at her, and the bell goes.

Tommy, as it turns out, thinks they’re sleeping together, at least that’s what he tells Charlotte when they’re on their way to Leo’s after school to meet up with Vince, Razzle, Peach, and Eileen. The news of Nikki and Lola’s potential affair surprises Charlotte at first, but after a moment of consideration, she thinks she should have seen it coming. 

Tommy’s reasoning is that they’ve become friends far quicker than he’d realised, and Nikki’s always giving Lola lifts after work, like they’re going in the same direction, even though he’d pretty sure Nikki doesn’t live near Leo’s. It also turns out that that was what had been bothering him about Nikki and Lola being friends; he still tries to insist he doesn’t have a crush on Lola, but he and Charlotte both know that’s mostly a lie.

So Charlotte can see how conflicted he is when he tells her that Nikki’s looking to start a new band, and that he asked about Tommy possibly playing drums. A beat of silence follows, and then, without looking away from the road, Tommy mutters a quiet thanks, knowing without asking that Charlotte had been the one to recommend him. Charlotte leans over and bumps her forehead against his shoulder in unspoken acknowledgment. 

“Duff’s in a band,” Charlotte’s voice is soft and a little unreadable.

“Sorry,” Tommy mutters, tone somber like it’s the worst news in the world, “we could throw rotten tomatoes at him?” He suggested, at the mental picture alone was enough to make Charlotte laugh, “or is that just in the movies?”

“I think that’s just in the movies,” Charlotte says, amid giggles, “besides, the rest of his band doesn’t deserve that.”

In the week that Razzle’s been in LA, Vince and his family have taken him to several, sophisticated restaurants in the vicinity, and Razzle had apparently loved them all; Leo’s was no different. He was sitting across from Charlotte in the booth, at the end of the table, reading the menu intently as the others chattered away about their day, making noises of intrigue every time he spotted something new he wanted to try. His knee knocked hers under the table, but it barely seemed to register, so engrossed in the menu that he muttered the faintest apology.

“Afternoon, guys, welcome,” Lola at work never failed to startle Charlotte, despite the fact that she’d been here once already since the first time. At least her chipper introduction seemed to bring Razzle back to reality. 

“Hi, yes - oh! I know you!” Razzle lit up at the sight of Lola, and the rest of the gathered teens watched with interest, trying not to give away how intrigued they were to see Lola’s reaction, “Miss Honky Cat, you work here?”

What?

“Alright, Razzle, you found me, did you wanna order something?” Lola says, with a good-natured eyeroll, and an easy grin, hip cocked to one side. Razzle asks her what she recommends, and orders that, and then the rest of them, who had been sitting in stunned silence, are quick to order for themselves.

When she leaves, it’s mere moments before Tommy asks what that was all about, and Razzle’s eyes go wide.

“That’s Lola, innit? From school? She’s in my music class, was playing Honky Cat on the piano in the second music room, the Elton song, you know, when we had some free this morning,” he explained, confused, “she called me Rocketman when I picked what she’d been playing, but I told her my name’s Razzle.” 

“You’re an enigma,” ironically, it’s Eileen who says this, wearing a fond little smile, while Razzle just looked bemused.

“I think it’s the accent, chicks fuckin’ love it,” Vince pipes up, smirking, and Razzle tries to hide his own pleased little grin since he can’t very well deny it, “Pam was all over him in Phys Ed yesterday -”

“We were just having a conversation -” Razzle was quickly turning red, while Vince clutched at his arm, putting on a high voice, twirling his blonde hair around one finger as he pretended to be Pam.

“Oh Nicholas, tell me more about The Clash, please, I want to know more!” He ended with a fake moan, which had Eileen and Peach laughing, while Razzle grabbed Charlotte’s hand and exaggeratedly mouthed ‘help me’. 

“Pam’s into Razzle?” Tommy groaned, breaking the moment, falling dejectedly against Vince, who was already leaning pretty heavily on Razzle, who was then ejected from his seat and onto the floor, while Vince was draped over where he was just sitting, and Tommy was draped over Vince, “I’m gonna die alone.”

Despite Tommy’s despair, the rest of the table was greatly amused.

Thankfully for Razzle, it wasn’t a far fall, and he’d held tight to Charlotte’s hand, so at least he hadn’t ended up flat on his back, and Charlotte gave him an apologetic grin as she helped him to his feet. He lets go to dust himself off, and it’s here Charlotte notices his maroon, velvet pants, and black and white leather shoes with their little heel.

“Fancy threads,” Charlotte points out, notes of approval in her voice. Razzle makes a move to straightening a jacket he’s not wearing, and clicks his heels together, drawing the attention of the rest of the table to his shoes, of which they all make various noises of approval, or at least interest.

“I dress to impress,” and judging by his tone, if he were as crass as Vince or Nikki, he would have winked, but Charlotte’s kind of glad he refrained. He then shoves Vince, and by extension Tommy, back up to a sitting position, retaking his seat across from Charlotte, this time purposefully knocking his knee against hers.

Charlotte’s glad that Lola’s back with their drinks, so she can look at something that’s not Razzle’s sunny smile, because she doesn’t want to think about how pretty it makes him look. Stupid, British, band boy and his stupid, blue eyes.

But then she’s looking at Lola, and all she can remember is Tommy’s dejected expression when he told her that Lola and Nikki were possibly sleeping together, and Nikki’s half-hidden, bashful grin when he calls a bitch with a kind of fondness that Charlotte had never heard from him before. The urge to protect her cousin, from harm, from heartbreak, is carved into her bones, but part of her knows it would him hurt more to let him keep falling for Lola when she’d never really end up catching him. Suddenly staring into the depths of her soda became the safest option.

i have loved since you. but when the new paint gets scratched, there you are underneath.

Heather, of all people, is holding a party, and she tries to limit the amount of people she tells - the squad and her friends were the first to be invited - but of course, the guest list spirals out of control, and it’s exactly one and a half days before Tommy’s mooning over the fact that he’s been invited to a party at an actual cheerleader’s house.

“Dude, you’re killing me here,” Charlotte tells him at lunch; she’s finally sitting with him, Lola, and Nikki, though Nikki’s late. Heather had coyly asked her to ask Vince to bring Razzle - the cute English guy, specifically - and Charlotte had picked up her bag and left. Something about Heather in a good mood was worse than when she was being catty.

“You don’t count, you’re my cousin,” Tommy waived her off, and Lola snorted a laugh from where she was laying in the grass, using her backpack as a pillow. “You going?” Tommy pokes Lola in the ribs and she smacks his hand away, but makes an affirmative noise, and throws her arm over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

Something about how that makes Tommy smile, almost pleased, has worry sinking heavy in Charlotte’s gut. 

“Heather asked me to ask Vince to invite Razzle,” Charlotte’s not quite sure why she says it, or why it makes Lola bark a laugh of her own, but at least it get’s Tommy’s mind off of last time he and Lola were at a party.

“Of course -” Tommy sighs, but then, in the very same breath, he lights up like a lightbulb, “wait! If Heather’s preoccupied with Razzle, and Pam’s going, then I -” he turned sharply to Charlotte, eyes wide, “is Pam seeing anyone?” Charlotte gives him an amused, but longsuffering look, shaking her head.

“You gonna put the moves on her?” Lola’s smirking, and Tommy’s steadily turning red, but refusing to be embarrassed.

“It’s now or never, you know? She’s graduating in a few months, will go to college and date some meathead, college footballer, this is my chance,” he enthused, and Charlotte pet his shoulder in solidarity. 

Nikki joins them halfway through lunch, right as Lola and Charlotte find themselves playing angel and devil on Tommy’s shoulders regarding how he should dress for the party. Charlotte’s firmly of the opinion that he should be be wearing bright, eye-catching things - “Come on, you know Pam likes those new-wave guys!” - while Lola was adamantly recommending to go all-out punk. 

“Don’t ask Nikki’s opinion, you know who he’s going to side with,” Charlotte implored, and as if to prove a point, Nikki throws his bag to the side, and lays down with his head pillowed on Lola’s stomach. 

“Because Nikki has taste,” Lola throws her arm above her head, into the grass, neck at an awkward angle as she looks, wide-eyed to Tommy. 

“Thank you,” Nikki grumbles, and immediately closes his eyes, “what are we arguing about?” A pause, then, “and why is Charlie here?”

“Heather asked Charlie to bring Razz to the party next weekend,” Tommy says, the words sounding rote off his tongue, before he gets into the meat of the argument, laying himself back in the grass. Somehow it makes Charlotte feel left out, being the only one left marginally upright, and she slouches a little lower against the fence. 

Tommy explains his conundrum, and much to everyone’s surprise, Nikki refrains from giving his opinion, sighting that he has no clue what Pam would like, and that he’s not taking the fall if Tommy looks like a dickhead and crashes and burns while talking to, arguably, the most popular girl in school.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole,” Tommy groans, without really thinking, and as the realization and subsequent horror took over his expression, Lola barked a laugh, and even Nikki was grinning.

The moment was surprisingly light, Tommy’s face buried in his hands, though he’s now hiding a smile, and Charlotte is surprised at how easy it is to smile and laugh here, these people accepting her presence without another thought. The politics of the cafeteria make it all feel so foreign, but Tommy said ‘Charlie’s sitting here now’ and Nikki and Lola took it in stride.

And later, Eileen will ask her where she was at lunch, will go on to sigh and roll her eyes as she recounts barely sitting through five minutes of the cheerleaders buzzing like cheerful, little hornets, discussing who would be at the party, and how they would coordinate their outfits. She’d spent another five minutes with the swim team, who spent the entire time picking apart her backstroke technique since she ‘finally decided to join them’.

“This is why I don’t sit with them,” Eileen had frowned, sitting in the McDonalds carpark, absentmindedly violating her soda with it’s straw out of frustration, Charlotte, wide-eyed, quietly eats her terrible, oily fries, and lets Eileen vent, “if I have to listen to one more five-am-gym-going-wannabe-sports-scholarship tell me my form is off, I’m going to go full Carrie-At-The-Prom at our next meet,” Eileen warned, and reached over to snatch a fry. Very few people were ever privy to Eileen’s frustration, as the redhead seemed to do a rather good job of bottling it up, but Charlotte personally felt honored that her friend could be so honest around her.

“I was thinking of joining yearbook, maybe? Or the school paper with...” a strange moment of hesitation, “with Peach,” Eileen paused, taking a long moment to think, and take a sip of her drink, eyes glass as she stared out at the highway as cars passed before them, “auditions for the school play are on Friday,” she adds, like she’s seriously considering it, “it’s Singin’ In The Rain, Keanu actually suggested I should audition.” The idea that Keanu and Eileen have talked enough for him to suggest that she audition for a musical and for her to serious consider it is kind of baffling; Charlotte doesn’t process the meaning behind any of this now, however, just files it away in the back of her mind for later.

“Macy moved to Portland over the Summer,” Charlotte feigns seriousness with her suggestion instead, trying not to give away how amused she is, already anticipating Eileen’s response, “we’re holding cheer tryouts to replace her on Tuesday,” Eileen’s expression is already souring, almost comedically disgusted at Charlotte’s implied suggestion, though she lets the blonde finish, “you were the best bottom-right to the pyramid we’ve ever had,” she said, barely stifling giggles as Eileen turns to her.

“I’d rather die,” her lip curled, and Charlotte leaned over the center console of the minivan to press her forehead against Eileen’s shoulder, and Eileen reaches up with her free hand to scratch gently at Charlotte’s scalp, before bursting out with, “and my form’s not even bad! The coach loves me, Charlie, she loves me, they just think they’re better than me, bunch of clique-y, insular, webbed-toe bitches.”

The words hang in the air, a surprising outburst from the usually reserved and thoughtful girl.

“Do they really have webbed toes?” Charlotte asks, turning so her temple still pressed against the soft cashmere of Eileen’s sweater, but she was following the ginger’s gaze out to the highway ahead. Eileen gives a tired, little laugh, as if her outburst had left her exhausted.

“No.”

Charlotte wants more than anything to ask her what’s wrong, but knows better than anyone that Eileen only says exactly what she wants someone else to know. Instead, she offers her fries silently. Eileen takes one.

“Peach and I got into a fight today,” voice barely above a whisper, Eileen follows her words with a sigh, and suddenly her out of character frustration made complete, and utter sense. For all that she’s known both Peach and Eileen, Charlotte has never known their altercations to be quick or painless affairs, “Vince invited her to Heather’s party.”

“He invited her himself?” Charlotte’s not sure what the issue is beyond their general dislike of Vince, but if Vince himself is starting to possibly change, then it’s hard to see the issue. 

“Yeah,” Eileen seems to know what Charlotte’s thinking, and pauses to find the right words, “I don’t trust him, and I don’t know how she can trust him either.” There’s a quality to her voice that Charlotte’s only heard rarely; uncertainty, “and I don’t want her going to Heather’s party, I barely want to go myself, and what if she drinks, and what if she does terrible things she regrets -?” Eileen cuts herself off, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning her head back against the headrest.

“I get it,” Charlotte says, so gentle, so understanding, but Eileen’s still quiet.

“She’s my little sister, Charlie,” Eileen sighed, “and it’s like our parents couldn’t care less, so I have to protect her, and I have to keep her from the guy she thinks is the love of her life, and I have to be the one to always remind her of all the shitty things he’s done and remind her that life isn’t a goddamn fairytale.” She sounds close to tears, soda cup between her knees and hands clutching, white knuckled, at the steering wheel, or else she may have been tearing her hair out. 

There was a shake in her voice, tight and exhausted in equal measure, like the words had sat, unspoken, pressed against her teeth, for far longer than Charlotte had realized she’d been thinking them. Charlotte rests her hand on Eileen’s. 

“She loves you more than anyone else in the world, you know that right? She’s just sixteen, you know all the drama and shit we went through last year -”

“I can’t watch her go through what you went through with Duff,” the words escaped Eileen in a rush, and she clamps her mouth shut, sitting forward in the driver’s seat, lips pressed into a thin line, as Charlotte’s heart sank in her chest, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I know what you mean,” Charlotte sat back in her own seat, nodding dejectedly, fiddling with her bracelet. 

“You... Charlie, you know you’re my best friend, and I love you, and seeing you in pain with no way to help,” Eileen’s hands slid down the sides of the steering wheel as she forced herself to relax, though her words have Charlotte’s heart swelling with fondness, “it fucking killed me,” she admitted, leaning back, letting her shoulders sags with the weight of her words, like the weight of the world, and as she leaned back, she looked to Charlotte, so unguarded, so sincere, “I can’t let Vince break Peach’s heart like that.”

Eileen has always looked and seemed older than her seventeen years, but it’s strange to see her like this, to be reminded that she holds within her this unassuming duality. To protect is her first instinct, herself, her feelings, her friends, her family, but she’s still so young, just a kid; she still deserves to be protected too.

“I’m so tired,” Eileen murmurs, gaze dropping to her hands, now folded in her lap, and she huffs a humorless laugh, “I’m seventeen, Charlie, I’m fucking tired of feeling thirty.”

[averyhappychainsawhalloween]

Reverence | Part 7

Thomas Hewitt X You

Masterlist with links to other parts

You sat out in front of the store. It was hot today with a lot of sun and you were thankful for the lemonade Luda Mae had made. You sipped it from a old mason jar and pressed the cool glass to your neck. 

Hoyt had insisted on you coming out to the store to help Luda Mae during the weekend. Whether it was because she needed help or because Hoyt wanted you away from Tommy you weren’t sure. The last few days had whirled by so quickly. It was a lot of scrubbing dishes and minding an empty store. Even at night there seemed to be some mending to do. Every time a task was done there was yet another one to do as if they were trying to keep you busy. Even at night Hoyt sent Tommy out on errands to check the perimeter fence so you couldn’t steal into the basement and spend the night with him. 

One morning, as you came downstairs for breakfast, you overheard Hoyt and Luda Mae talking.

“He’s sweet on her,” Luda Mae whispered.

“She’s an outsider, we don’t know a damn thing about her,” Hoyt said. 

You had been replaying the conversation in your head over and over the last few days and still wasn’t sure where you stood with them. Thomas, obviously, enjoyed your company. Uncle Monty couldn’t give a shit about you. Luda Mae kept an eye on you but seemed to write you off as harmless. Hoyt still having suspicions about you at this point felt ridiculous, even if ultimately he was right. 

They shouldn’t trust you because you didn’t plan on staying in the middle of nowhere forever. 

You took another gulp of lemonade, leaning back in the lawn chair and glaring down at the empty road through the tent of sunglasses. The air hung hot and heavy with no breeze to speak of. Your dress was glued to your body with sweat and all you wanted was to go back to house and take a shower but you needed to prove something. 

You hadn’t escaped last week with a clearly injured young man, but that only proved you weren’t stupid. However, if a car came by full of gas would you jump in and leave them? 

Hoyt seemed to think so. 

His squad car pulled in beside the store. After a moment the engine shut off and he appeared, walking around the building.

“Afternoon, sheriff,” you said, nodding to him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, walking past you into the store. 

You took another healthy sip of lemonade. He was just jealous you were kissing on Tommy and not him. 

You could hear Hoyt and Luda Mae’s voices carrying from inside the store but couldn’t make any words out. You closed your eyes, stretching out under the sun. After a while you heard an engine rumble down the road and looked to see what it could be. As it came closer you could tell it was a larger vehicle, a van or a pickup perhaps. Drawn by the sound of the car, Hoyt came and leaned against the doorframe to the store. 

As the car approached it flicked its blinker on signaling it would pull over.

“How stocked up are we?” you asked, your eyes on the car kicking dirt up the road. 

“We’d be better off if you weren’t around,” Hoyt said. You rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses. “We could always use more. You never know when a shipment will roll through.”

“Noted,” you said as the car pulled in front of the store. The engine kicked off and two men stepped out. College aged by your estimation. You looked into the back seat and didn’t see anyone else. Two men didn’t seem like that big of a threat in the grand scheme of things. 

“Hey, do y’all have a phone?” one of the boys asked, his twang overpowering. 

“Not here,” you said, cutting in before Hoyt could speak. “But we got one back at the house. If you buy me some gum I could show you.” 

Hoyt stayed quiet, watching you closely. You smiled at the boys and they wore their own grins. The one who had spoken was very clearly raking his eyes up and down your form. 

“You got yourself a deal,” he said and stepped inside with his buddy presumably to buy bubblegum. 

You looked up at Hoyt, your smile as bright as the afternoon sun. 

“It’s not the catching it’s the keepin’ that’s hard,” Hoyt grunted. 

“You know Sheriff it’s alright to like me,” you said playfully. “You might as well, I plan on sticking around for a long while.”

“Until Tommy gets bored of ya?” he said sharply. Your smile fell. The idea of Thomas getting bored of you hadn’t even crossed your mind. Angry at you, maybe, but bored? Was that something that happened? Had Tommy picked a girl to keep before and grew tired of her and threw her in the freezer with everyone else? It was enough to make you feel cold despite the relentless heat. Hoyt threw his head back, his whole belly shaking with a deep laugh. He was still laughing when the two boys stepped out of the store. 

They tossed the packet of gum to you and you managed to catch it as it arced through the air. 

“Thanks,” you said, your bubbly mood undercut by Hoyt’s nastiness. “This way.” 

You started around the store to head through the tall grass back to the house with the boys in tow and heard Hoyt calling after you. 

“You kids stay safe now!” 

You yanked a stick of gum from the package and shoved it in your mouth, chewing out your frustrations on the sticky pink goo. 

“Do you live close by?” a boy asked behind you. The gum boy again. 

“Yeah, real close,” you said. You hadn’t timed the walk but it wasn’t going to kill them, that’s what all the chainsaws and knives were for. “Y’all from Austin?” 

“Dave’s from Austin,” the bubblegum boy said, smacking his friend on the back. Dave had short cropped blonde hair and a stiffness about him. On closer inspection he seemed older than his friend and a lot less friendly. “I’m from Houston though. I’m Jake by the way.”

“Well, Dave from Austin and Jake from Houston, I hope you like our little stretch of highway while you’re here,” you said. “I hear it’s the nicest piece of nothing for the next forty miles.” 

Jake laughed and suddenly he was beside you, shortening his steps to match your stride leaving his poor dear friend Dave behind. 

“You’re pretty funny,” Jake said. You blew a bubble with your gum, filling it with air until it popped and wrapped it back in your mouth. 

“Are you funny, Jake?” you asked. 

“I’m plenty funny, right Dave?” he asked over his shoulder. Dave didn’t have a reply and Jake didn’t wait for one. “You live out here with your family?” 

You looked up and saw the house coming into view. It was only a matter of time now. 

“Actually the Hewitts were kind enough to take me in,” you said. 

“What are you a troubled youth?” Jake asked, laughing as if that was a joke. His claim that he was “plenty funny” was looking weak at the moment. 

“Oh very troubled,” you said, stepping into the shadow of the Hewitt home. “Drugs, alcohol, sex you name it I did it.” 

The lies came easy to your tongue, if it was because Jake seemed like an easy mark or because you knew they’d only have to feel real for a few more minutes you weren’t sure. 

“Sex?” Jake asked as the three of you came up the stairs onto the porch. Of course that was the word that caught his attention. You yanked open the front door and propped it open with your foot, ushering them in. Jake stepped aside and let Dave enter first and then hovered by you as you stepped inside. You pulled off your sunglasses and gave Jake a wink. A goofy grin stretched across his mouth. He really thought he had a chance. What a fool. 

“Where’s your phone?” Dave asked, clearly more focused on the task at hand than his friend. 

“Oh it’s downstairs,” you said, crossing to the metal door to the basement. You knocked your knuckles against, three quick raps to signal to Tommy downstairs. “Some fumbling with the wiring, I know but it’s hard to get anything fixed way out here.” 

Dave nodded, accepting the explanation. He helped you slide the door open and started down the stairs. 

“Your friend can handle himself right?” you asked Jake. 

“Yeah, he doesn’t need me,” Jake said, running a hand through his hair. 

“Come sit with me, I’ll get you some sweet tea,” you said with a smile so sugary it could have rotted your teeth clean out of your mouth. You led him to the kitchen making sure he sat in a chair with its back to the door. You took your time tossing your gum away, pulling a fresh pitcher of tea from the fridge and pouring a glass.

“I think it’s real admirable that you’re conquering your addictions out here,” Jake said, folding his arms across the kitchen table. You smiled at him, stepping in close enough to graze his shoulder as you place the glass on the table. 

“Oh, I’m not conquering anything out here,” you said, your eyes glued to his despite the motion you saw in the corner of your eye. 

“Then what are you doing?” he laughed nervously. Thomas stepped into the room as silent as a mouse despite his size. You kept your eyes down at your victim but could see Tommy raise a sledgehammer over his head. 

“Indulging.”

The metal head came down on the man’s skull like a spoon through the shell of an egg. You watched bone crack and splinter as brains started to spill out onto the floor. Jake twitched and convulsed in his chair, his boots dragging across the linoleum. He may be moving but he wasn’t coming back from a hit like that. 

Your smile was untamable as you looked up at Tommy. 

“I did it!” you yelled jumping up and down. You caught Tommy’s hand and dragged him into your celebration. He dropped his hammer to wrap his arms around your waist. “Did you see Tommy? I brought them right to you!” 

Thomas hefted you up into the air bringing your lips to his. It’d been a full week since your shower together and you had missed his touch. After chores and only Luda Mae and Hoyt for company most of the day it felt so good to be in his arms again. You brought your hands to his face, brushing the hair out of his eyes. 

“You did so good, Thomas,” you said, kissing him again. He twisted around and suddenly you were seated on the kitchen table with Tommy’s hips between your thighs. Goosebumps rose along your arms as a hand drifted from your waist to tangle into your hair. 

A gunshot reverberated through the house. You jerked up, panic flooding your body. You jumped off the counter and followed Tommy out of the kitchen only to knock into him when he came to a quick stop. 

At the front door Hoyt stood over Dave from Austin, smoke rising from the barrel of his gun and the hole he had put in the young man’s head. There was a trail of blood across the entrance way from where Dave had dragged himself from the basement trying to escape. You hadn’t heard a thing, but you weren’t thinking about him you had been thinking about Tommy.

“What did I tell you girl?” Hoyt snarled, shoving the corpse with the toe of his boot. When you didn’t respond he pointed at you with his pistol, his finger still on the trigger. “Come on what did I tell you?” 

“I-It’s not the catching but the keeping that’s hard,” you repeated quietly. You hid slightly behind Tommy, sliding your hand into his for support. He squeezed your hand back. 

“Does this look like you kept him?” Hoyt sneered, pointing the gun back down at the corpse. He fired again into the dead man’s head sending another loud bang through the house. “Well?” 

“No, sir,” you said, your throat closing as a sob formed in your chest. You wanted to prove him wrong but you only succeeded into doing the complete opposite. 

Hoyt crouched over the corpse and finished a keyring out of the man’s pockets. 

“Tommy, get these boys downstairs,” Hoyt said before he grinned at you, his mouth curling into a terrible smirk. “Your little friend and I are going for a drive.” 

[breakyeol]

read my lips

one shot

┗ pairing: kyungsoo x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: making out, light groping, mild language, poor description the shout into silence game, the reader is head over heels folks buckle up 

a/n; I am so in love with him plz help and this was NOT supposed to be this long oh my gosh, I have zero self control

You were in love with Do Kyungsoo. Head over heels, madly, incredibly, uncontrollably in love with Do Kyungsoo.

You were in love with his big, beautiful eyes, with his perfectly heart shaped lips, with his heart stopping smile, with his deep goofy laugh, with his smooth rich singing voice, with his thick booty, with his soft spoken nature, with his chilling glare, with his ridiculously amazing cooking skills, with his low key sense of humor that always managed to have you splitting your sides laughing, with how easy it was to get under his skin, with how shy he gets whenever someone complimented him, with his existence as a whole.

In your eyes, Do Kyungsoo was perfect. From head to toe. Every flaw, every imperfection, every ‘shortcoming’ just made him all the more amazing. You absolutely adored and respected him with every last inch of your soul. You were simply in love with him. And you’d told him that, more times than you can count on both hands, you’d told him that you love him.

The only problem was— he didn’t realize that you meant it.

It wasn’t his fault by any means, he wasn’t oblivious or slow witted. The only reason he didn’t understand that every time you told him you loved you that you actually meant it was because you had a nasty habit of making it into a big joke.

Every ‘I love you’ was followed by laughter and a sarcastic comment that made him roll his eyes and push you away. Every confession falsified by a teasing tone or playful grin. Your genuineness was masked by your humor, formed from your uncertainty.

But today, you were determined to bare your heart to him, and tell him that you were genuinely in love with him and not flip it into some kind of joke. You were tired of being a coward and covering up your feelings with humor. The longer you kept it inside, the more frustrating it became. You needed to tell him. Genuinely. Honestly. Whether he felt the same way or not, he needed to know your true, unfiltered feelings.

And so, you concocted a plan.

A stupid plan that would probably get you absolutely nowhere, but a plan nonetheless.

“Y/n,” Kyungsoo’s brows lifted in surprise as he opened the door to his dorm to find you standing on the other side, “what’re you doing here?”

You’d convinced – ahem, bribed – the boys to go out tonight without Kyungsoo (they didn’t need much explanation as they knew all about your secret love and wanted to stay clear of your gross sappy feelings).

“I was bored,” was your vague explanation, an innocent smile drawn across your lips. Lifting the back of snacks and supplies you’d brought along, you continued, “plus I got this weird sudden urge for a game night. Mind if I come in?”

“Not at all.” He chuckled lightly, moving aside to let you step inside. You smiled happily as you all but skipped into the boys’ shared home, immediately being greeted by the mouthwatering scent of whatever five star worthy food he must have been whipping up before you arrived.

“It’s smells good, Soo! What are you making?” You asked curiously, trotting after him diligently as he made his way towards the kitchen. You slipped into one of the stools at the island as he made his way behind the counter, picking up where he left off.

“Nothing special, just spaghetti,” he shrugged nonchalantly, though the upward twitch of his lips gave him away, “it’s finished, actually. Would you like any?”

“Of course! Everything you make is delicious, how could I say no?” You agreed eagerly, shifting forward excitedly in your seat as he spooned some in a separate bowl.

He smiled shyly at the praise, and you couldn’t help the way your heart swooned at how adorable he looked.

You wanted to pinch those precious round his cheeks and kiss those heart–shaped lips and praise him until he was bursting at the seams. Because that’s the only thing that he deserves: all the love and praises and goodness in all of the universe. You’d gift wrap happiness itself if you could and would gladly hand it over to your lovely Soo.

“The place is oddly quiet… any of the other guys around?” You asked, despite already knowing the answer, looking around exaggeratedly. He shook his head with a soft sigh, lips puffing out slightly.

“No. I think they all took off while I was showering earlier. Didn’t even give me a heads up, those bastards.” He muttered sourly, thick brows curling inwards as the corners of his lips down turned.

You gasped dramatically, as if you were the one that had been deeply wronged. “What assholes!” You exclaimed, and Kyungsoo laughed that deep bubbling laugh that made you just want to go lay down in the corner and cry because you’d be more than content if that was the only sound you were blessed enough to hear for the rest of your natural life. “How could they just leave behind my lovely Soo, hm? How cold hearted. Then I suppose it’s just the two of us for the night? What a shame…”

Your playful cooing was met with a heavy eye roll. “Shut up and eat your pasta, yeah?”

The second he slid the bowl across the counter you were immediately digging in, shoving forkfuls of the delicious meal mouth. You moaned loudly as the flavor hit your tastebuds, eyes rolling in bliss.

He laughed, big, beautiful eyes turning into crescents at your emphatic reaction to his food. “Good?”

“Fucking exquisite, Kyungsoo, Jesus Christ.” You corrected, quickly shoveling in another mouthful.

“Can pasta be exquisite?” He asked skeptically, raising a thick brow.

“Yours sure as hell can! I’m pretty sure you could cook a cockroach and it’d still be delicious. Actually, you know what? You should open your own restaurant. It’s borderline criminal that me and the guys are the only people blessed enough to be eating your food. I’d go there for every meal of the day, every day, for the rest of my life.” You declared firmly, slamming your hand down on the countertop with a sense of finality.

“Every day for the rest of your life?” He repeated, brows lifting in playful amazement, “You wouldn’t get bored of my cooking?”

“Hah! Never.” Your face dropped into a deadly serious stare. He burst into a fit of giggles, nose scrunching in the most adorable way imaginable as his shoulders jolted upwards, head bobbing forward as he leaned against the counter for balance.

Your heart felt like it could just burst at the sight.

Were you swooning? You were definitely swooning. Not that it could be helped, because who wouldn’t melt into a puddle if they saw Do Kyungsoo laughing like that, looking so cute and squish-able that you could die—

“You’re ridiculous,” he managed when the fit of laughter eased.

“And you’re ridiculously cute.” You shot back with a flirty smile, resting your cheek on your knuckles as you watched him place some of the utensils he’d used in the sink.

He scoffed at that, so used to your teasing quips that they barely roused a blush anymore.

“Ah! That reminds me!”

He jumped slightly at your sudden outburst, looking at you with wide eyes as you suddenly leapt off the chair. Snatching the bag you’d brought, you rounded the counter before grabbing one of his hands and dragging him towards the living room. He let out a soft ‘oof’ as you pushed him onto the couch, before plopping down beside him, a bright smile staining your lips.

“I brought a game!”

Kyungsoo watched, blinking curiously as you dug through the bag, before yanking something out. His eyes widened upon realizing that they were a painfully familiar pair of pink, cat ear headphones.

“Y/n—”

You swiftly cut off his disapproving interjection by pulling the large headphones over his head and letting them snap into place over his ears. A grin twisted the corners of your lips upwards as you took in how adorable he looked, glaring at you with that dangerously endearing pout that you just wanted to kiss right off his perfect, handsome face.

“Don’t look at me like that, Soo. A few rounds won’t kill you,” you teased, flicking the tip of his nose, “Jongin isn’t even here to make inappropriate —yet hilarious— mistakes.”

He huffed at you, and you had to physically fight off the overwhelming urge to reach forward and pinch his cheeks. “Still,” he grumbled, but didn’t make any verbal disagreement as you plugged the cord into your phone, “I look stupid.”

“Stupid?! Puh–lease,” you scoffed in disbelief, “you’re the cutest pink eared kitty in the whole wide universe, Do Kyungsoo.”

He pinned you with a warning glare. “I will not hesitate to kick you out.”

Laughter bubbles at your lips (though you knew he was very, very serious). “You enjoy my company too much to do that,” you cooed teasingly, tapping the top of his nose and watching in wonder as it scrunched up.

“You wanna bet?”

Your laughter ceased and you pouted, looking down in surrender. “No…”

He scoffed, reaching over to flick your forehead as the ghost of a smile teased his lips. “Stop pouting and start the game, will ya?”

“Okay, so I’ll say three words or phrases and if you can guess all of them, then you get a point. Then we’ll switch, alright?” The directions were vague, but you didn’t plan to actually extend this game past those first three phrases. He understood nonetheless, nodding in agreement. “Okay…” you pulled up a random playlist on your phone, pressing shuffle, “start!”

Kyungsoo flinched just slightly as music blasted through the headphones. “It’s loud.” His voice was louder than usual and you laughed at how cute he looked with his eyes all big.

“It’s supposed to be!” You giggled, tossing your phone down onto the coffee table.

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“You’re not supposed to you, doofus.” You laughed loudly, and a smile stretched across Kyungsoo’s lips. Holding up a finger, you said, “first phrase!”

“First phrase!” He repeated, voice all but booming.

Stifling the grin that threatened to pull at your lips, you enunciated as clearly as possible, “Kyungsoo’s pasta is delicious.”

He shook his head, brows furrowing in confusion, “slow.”

“Kyungsoo’s,” you pronounced slowly.

“Kyungsoo,” he repeated back carefully.

“Pasta,” you continued.

“P—…,” he hesitated briefly before understanding, “pasta!”

“Is.”

“Is,” he purses his lips.

“Delicious.” You concluded.

“Del… Kyungsoo pasta is delicious!” He exclaimed, obviously very excited that he figured it out. You grinned in adoration, not bothering to correct the tiny mistake he’d made.

“That’s it! Okay, next phrase,” you clapped your hands together as a playful smile curled at the corners of your lips, “Chanyeol is a giraffe.”

He didn’t hesitate before repeating flawlessly, “Chanyeol is a giraffe.”

A loud laugh broke from your lips, your entire body doubling over. “How– how did you g–get that so f–fast?” You managed to get out between obnoxious cackles. He grinned lightly, though, you doubted he understood any of what you’d just said. “Okay— okay, last phrase.”

Right. Next phrase. Or rather— the phrase. The whole reason you’d come over in the first place. The one thing you needed to get off your chest more than anything in the world. You couldn’t help but to find yourself feeling a tad bit nervous. Understandably, you presume. You were about to profess your undying love to the one and only Do Kyungsoo. That task is bound to arise some buzzing nerves.

Now… if only you could just get those three little words to actually come out.

Taking in a deep breath in hopes of soothing your suddenly racing heart, a slightly more serious expression carved onto your features. He didn’t seem to take notice of your sudden change in persona, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Straightening and stealing your spine, you took in one last breath before carefully mouthing—

“I love you.”

He rolled his eyes with a soft scoff. “Y/n, that’s too easy,” and with an easy little grin he repeated, “I love you.”

“No, Kyungsoo, I—” a strangled groan worked its way up your throat.

Something akin to frustration bubbled to life in your gut. Not at him, but rather, yourself. He didn’t get it. But of course he didn’t get it. Why would he? You’d been too much of an insecure fool to be genuine about your feelings and instead covered them with sarcasm and stupid, childish humor. And now, because of that, he didn’t get it. So how could you possibly make him understand—

Oh. Now that’s an idea.

He must’ve taken notice of the strange contortion of your features, because his own brows furrowed in confusion as he blinked at you, pulling the headphones off of his head. “What? Was that wrong— oh!” He was barely able to get out the question before your hands were fisting in the collar of his shirt and yanking him forward, effectively slamming your lips into his.

It took a few moments for your mind to catch up with your actions. But once it did, all hell broke loose in your brain.

‘Freaking out’ would be one hell of an understatement. Because… Oh god.

Oh god. You kissed Do Kyungsoo. Correction— you are currently kissing Do Kyungsoo. You are actually kissing him. On the mouth! With your mouth! Your lips are touching. So then why did you entire body feel like it had just been set on fire? Was it normal to feel this way? Definitely not. You’d kissed other people in your lifetime. But no kiss had ever felt like this.

This kiss— god, this kiss. Not only did it feel so incredibly right, it felt like the entire universe was falling into place. The planets were aligning. Fate had finally stepped into your corner.

Okay. So maybe you were being a tad bit over dramatic. But could anyone really blame you? How many nights had you spent dreaming of kissing him? How many hours had you daydreamed away fantasizing about his lips? How many years had you spent loving him?

Lost in your own mind, savoring finally getting to feel the softness of those perfect heart shaped lips against yours, it took you a few moments too long to realize that he had failed to kiss you back.

Shit.

You yanked yourself away from him so fast you damn near gave yourself whiplash. Hand flinging to cover your offending lips, you took in his stunned expression. Oh god. He hated it. He definitely hated it. No one has that kind of look on their face if they enjoyed a kiss.

“Jesus. Kyungsoo, I am so, so, so sorry. I didn’t even think—” you began to apologize profusely, humiliation and shame settling like a heavy stone in your gut, but the pathetic words suddenly came to an abrupt halt, silenced on the very tip of your tongue at the last second.

For whatever reason, your brain was running a few seconds behind the rest of your senses today. Because, you definitely saw Kyungsoo’s face coming towards yours, saw his eyes fall shut, saw his lips press out ever so slightly. And then you felt his hands on your skin, felt the gentleness of his warm palms cradling your jaw, felt him pulling you forward— pulling you towards him.

And yet… it still took your sorry excuse of a brain over ten whole wasted seconds to process that he was kissing you.

He was kissing you.

You immediately melted against him, hands flinging out to drape themselves around his neck, locking him in place against you. There was no way in holy hell that you were going to let him go this time. You’d –happily– die of suffocation before you’d willingly put an end to this ecstasy that was his kiss.

His lips were so soft, so gentle, it felt like you were kissing clouds. Was it humanly possible for someone’s lips to be so perfect? So thick and plush and silky that it could drive just about anyone mad. You’d imagined what they might feel like more times than you care to admit— but nothing in your wildest dreams could have lived up to the reality. It wasn’t often that real life outdid your expectations… but you couldn’t say you were surprised that Kyungsoo turned out to be an exception to that commonality.

You couldn’t hold in the light moan that made its way up your throat as his fingers drifted down to press into the curve of your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over your clothed skin. His lips pressed hotly into yours, deep and slow, like he was taking his sweet time to feel you out, getting a physical sense of where you were with him. The tip of his patient tongue just barely grazed over your lower lip, and you were more than happy to allow him to gently nudge them apart.

Instinct took over at that point, your mind too hazy and muddled to make any real decisions. And the feeling of his tongue flicking over yours wasn’t doing your sanity any favors. You didn’t even notice, didn’t even realize that you were being pushed down until your back was flush against the couch. His body hovered over yours, toned arms caging your head in as the kiss grew deeper, greedier, hungrier, yet somehow remaining slow and controlled.

A low groan vibrated against your mouth, his hot breath searing your lips as he let out a sigh of your name. Your hands clutched at his back, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blades, desperately tugging him closer to you. You wanted to feel every inch of him, feel what you’ve been deprived of for far too long.

Tonight, you were feeling exceptionally greedy.

But every time you attempted to quicken the pace of the kiss, reach deeper into him, take in more— he was pulling back, denying you… fucking teasing you. And the low chuckle he let out against your greedy lips told you that he was enjoying it.

“Knock it off,” you whined impatiently, fingers reaching up to drag through his thick, dark locks. He grinned, one of his hands following the cut of your body line down to grip the side of your thigh, squeezing just tight enough to have your stomach twisting and burning in a whole new kind of way.

“You’re cute.” He murmured in that smooth, rich voice, nipping sweetly at your lip. Heat rose in your face, a smile curling at the corners of your mouth, warmth pooling in your chest.

“Kyungsoo,” you whispered breathlessly, fingers tracing delicately over the defined cut of his jawline, “I meant it. I really do love you. I’m… I’m in love with you.”

Your heart was a hummingbird as you spoke, voice dripping with more truth than you’d been brave enough to ever show to him in the past. Above you, Kyungsoo let out a soft breath, his forehead pressing lightly against yours as your noses bumped, lips just barely caressing. His cool touch soothed over your burning cheeks, gently coaxing your gaze to meet his. His eyes were dark and deep, deep enough to drown in. They completely sucked you in, swallowing you up in less then a moment. Under the intensity of his molten gaze, you found the racing of your thundering heart calming, the fierce burning of your skin cooling.

God that feeling. That feeling of indescribable, all encompassing, pure bliss. You could never grow tired of it, not in a million years.

“Y/n.” His voice was like honey, thick and sweet in your ears as he spoke the very words that you’d been dying to hear since the moment you first laid eyes on him. “I love you, too.”

“Shit,” you laughed shakily, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.” You didn’t offer him a moment to respond before you were dragging his perfect lip back down onto yours.

But, the moment that had encompassed the two of you shattered into tiny shards at the sound of the front door swinging open and booming voices filling the walls.

“I can’t believe you actually ate— oh shit!” Baekhyun yelped in shock, eyes bulging at the sight of Kyungsoo on top of you. Said man quickly pushed himself off of you, a hot blush flushing into his cheeks.

“Okay, Soo!” Chanyeol’s bellowing laughter boomed in your ears, hands clapping as he cheered. “Get some!”

“Not on my couch!” Junmyeon whined, foot stomping as he glared at your burning faces.

“I definitely could have lived my whole life not having seen that,” Sehun sighed, placing a hand over his eyes.

“Yo, your plan actually worked this time, y/n!” Jongin’s amazed giggles spilled into the sudden awkward air. “That’s a first!”

“Hey, Kyungsoo! Remember to wrap it before you tap it!” Chanyeol barked out, causing himself, Baekhyun, and Jongdae to double over in an obnoxious fit of laughter.

Kyungsoo glared darkly at his cackling friends, looking about ready to bash all of their heads as he reached over and snatched the first thing he could get his hands on— which just so happened to be the cat ear headphones. Still attached to your beloved phone, might you add.

“Chanyeol, why don’t you come over here for a second, yeah?” Kyungsoo hummed lightly, standing up from the couch and beginning to walk slowly towards the group by the door. The giant grinned widely, shuffling in the opposite direction.

“Ah— I’ll take my chances over here.” He chuckled, holding his hands out in front of him as he backed away slowly. Kyungsoo shook his head, crooking a finger dangerously in front of him as he took a few more steps forward.

“No, come here. I won’t you hurt. Promise.”

“I don’t trust— AH!” Chanyeol shrieked as the shorter man chucked the headphones across the room, just barely ducking out of the way before they collided with the wall next to his head. “Kyungsoo!”

“Oops.” He smiled innocently, rolling his eyes when Chanyeol began whining loudly. Disregarding his friends, he spun back around to face you, extending his hand for you to take. “Let’s go.”

You giggled, casting a brief glance in the direction of the eight other boys before looking back up at the one that had completely stolen your heart, sliding your palm into his.

“Where to?”

He crooked grin twirled at his kissed pink lips. “Away from these idiots.”

“Yah! Who are you calling an idiot!”

Ignoring Baekhyun’s exclamation, Kyungsoo pulled you upwards, tugging you along behind him as he made his way to the front door, nudging through the numerous bodies of his housemates.

“You, idiot.” He tossed over his shoulder at his younger friend, before gently guiding you into the cool night air.

[starculler]

Whumptober 2021: Day 3

Word Count: 6341 || Read on Ao3

Tags/Warnings: Star Wars, Anakin Skywalker, Boba Fett, Time Travel, Alternating POV, Violence, Injury, Blood, Slavery/Tatooine Slave Culture, Death Mention, Hopeful Ending

Inspiration: Family is more than Blood by Quillfeet

Got this one in by the skin of my teeth lmao. Did my best to handle any sensitive topics as carefully as I could under a time constraint, but feel free to let me know if any issues crop up.

Anakin bounced on his toes, eager to see the stranger who’d drawn so big a crowd long after the suns had set, but unwilling to leave his mom’s side. Not when he could practically feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut through with even the dullest, poorly-made shiv. Still, impatience and curiosity burned through him and his admittedly small well of patience had already been wrung dry after an unbearably long day of having to behave in front of Watto, his customers, and the other masters in the market.

He tugged on his mom’s warm, calloused hand and she squeezed his, her grip tight but not painful as she peered over another slave’s shoulder. She frowned at whatever she saw, brow pinched and her mouth pursed in the way it sometimes did when she tried not to look worried in front of him. Anything that worried his mom like that should have made him nervous. It didn’t. He practically vibrated out of his skin at her side instead, his need to know turning to a prickling itch that crawled up his arms and down his back.

“Mom,” he said, low and in the tongue only Tatooine’s slaves knew, the word drawled out into an almost-whine he was nearly too old for.

His mom only squeezed his hand briefly, a reprimand and warning, and Anakin’s shut his mouth before any of a dozen question slipped through his chapped lips.

One of the slaves, a twi’lek near his mom’s age, on his other side turned their head just enough to make it obvious they’d heard him. He flushed, embarrassed until they winked and shifted so there was a a small gap to see through between them and the human blocking most of Anakin’s view. He wasted no time leaning over, putting most of his negligible weight on one foot so he wouldn’t pull his mom’s hand while he snuck a glance and give himself a away. Not that it mattered.

He gasped, all the breath stolen from his lungs when he caught his first glimpse of a scene seemingly pried free from some of his worst nightmares. Funny enough, the first thing he saw wasn’t the stranger body, but the sand beneath them: wet like someone had spilled water on it and dark red, almost black in the low light of old, flickering lamps made of more rust than metal — most of which he’d helped his mom fix more than once. Eyes wide, his gaze trailed up from there, from the soles of the stranger’s ratty boots to the top of their head for just long enough that the image of them burned itself into his memory.

Too soon and not soon enough, his mom pulled roughly on his arm, tugging him close against her side and hiding his face in her skirt. He clung to the dull, brown fabric and soaked in her familiar warmth even though it did nothing to stop the way his body shook. She squeezed his shoulders, but did nothing to scold him for looking. There was no sheltering a slave from horrible things. Not really.

Anakin had seen a lot of bad things in his terribly long eight years. He’d seen slaves beaten bloody and others blown up, some so violently that there was almost nothing to give back to the sands when they were mourned. He’d watched his mom scream and bleed and, once, beg to take his punishment when he’d been even younger and taking it himself might have killed him. He’d seen slaves in chains marched across the market and put up for auction. Others he’d watched be chased out of Mos Espa entirely, out into the sea of sand never to be heard from again.

This, however, was new. A cruelty his mom had so far kept him safe from, laid out on the sands of the slave’s quarters for all of them to see. The stranger’s face had been the most visible without any of the tattered bodysuit in the way. It almost looked like some master had at least taken a vibroblade to their face, carved him up bad enough that they were missing a good amount of dark, curly hair on one side of their head. The rest of them, he thought, looked a bit like a krayt dragon tried to chew them up only to spit them out halfway, leaving them worse for wear but just functional enough that they hadn’t just left them out on the sands to die.

Whoever they belonged to, Anakin hoped he never found out if only because not knowing might keep him and his mom safe from being sold to them too.

By the time he’d calmed down enough to pry his hands free from his mom’s skirt and shuffle back around to see, the bulk of the crowd had drifted away — off to sleep or work or wallow until the suns rose on another grueling day. The only ones left were him and his mom, a few adults rushing soiled and new strips of cloth back and forth, and the three grandmothers kneeled beside and working on the stranger. His mom squeezed his shoulders again, half distracted by a conversation with another mother about infection and recovery and the fact that they had no water to spare for the stranger bleeding on the sands as aged but experienced, sun-weathered hands stitched the worst of their wounds closed.

Anakin leaned back against his mom, watching. Without anyone to block his view, he could see more of the picture than his first glimpse had allowed. A red and tan bodysuit torn to shreds that might have been white before the blood and the sand had gotten to it. Strips of cloth ripped by experienced hands to be used as bandages. Green armor whose paint looks like it had been half-dissolved rather than properly stripped off, carefully pried away from the body and set aside with all the gentleness something so obviously expensive deserved. A not-so-small arsenal of blasters, grenades, a rocket and rifle, and more knives than Anakin cared to count all set just as carefully aside with well-deserved fear rather than reverence.

And pain. He saw it in the twitch of the stranger’s lips and the furrow in their brow. In the way they seemed to flinch at the grandmothers’ not-quite-gentle touch despite how he was sure they couldn’t be awake. He saw it in the ragged, uneven way their chest rose and fell, like just breathing was so hard it might as well have been crossing the dunes in a sandstorm.

He frowned. He remembered being so sick once he could hardly breathe — how much his chest had hurt and how his mom had helped soothe it by rubbing something gooey and awful-smelling into his skin. Remembered being punished, ten stinging, throbbing, bleeding lashes on his back, and how he’d cried while his mom held his hands, whispering in his ear to comfort him while another slave had stitched the worst of them closed. He wondered if the stranger had someone like his mom to hold their hand and help them breathe before they’d wound up with whatever awful master had done this.

It made his stomach twist itself into knots to know that they had only the grandmothers to help fix him and an audience to watch and fetch supplies, but no one to help make the worst of the hurt go away. And Anakin…

Anakin felt a tug, deep in his stomach and behind his navel. The kind that urged him to be silent, to run, what people to avoid, or what he needed to do to fix up a droid or appliance just right. He didn’t think before he moved, ducking out of his mom’s loose grip and ignoring her startled cry of “Ani!” as he trotted forward until he stood next to the stranger, deliberately slotting himself into place where he knew he wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.

One of the grandmothers, Amiya who Anakin knew his mom still called auntie even if she’d only ever been grandmother to him, looked up at him as he approached. She slanted a glance at his mom and for a second after she looked back at him, he thought she was going to send him away. Instead, and to his surprise, she only pursed her lips and waited, her work paused mid-stitch and her one scar-split brow arched as she waited. Anakin complied hastily, though the words come out tongue-tied and clumsy despite how he’d spoken the slave’s language just as long as — longer than, even — he had Huttese or Basic.

“They need someone,” he said, soft and suddenly too aware of how quiet the quarter was at night. “To help. Like mom does when I’m sick or hurt.” He stopped, floundered for a moment before adding, so low he almost doubted she heard him: “There’s not a mom to help them, but I can. I want to.”

Amiya watched him, her gaunt, wrinkled face the even and placid mask most of the adults like her and his mom wore where they might catch a master’s eye — a mask Anakin would also wear one day when he was older and had to hide his feelings from whoever would own him. After a long, almost uncomfortable moment she nodded. He flashed her a bright smile and kneeled in a patch of night-cooled, mostly blood-free sand. For a long time after Amiya turned her attention back to the stranger, Anakin just stared. The damage looked so much worse up close and the smell of the gore alone was nearly enough to make him sick. He didn’t realize he’d started to shake until a gentle hand pressed against his back, slick with blood that would stain his shirt as it rubbed comforting circles between his shoulder blades. The white-haired grandmother the hand belonged to smiled, thin and sad, when he turned to her, and he offered his own much wobblier one back.

“Breathe through your nose,” she advised, voice cracked and croaking from long-healed damage, and he did. It helped, but not much. Still, she patted him twice more on the back and offered up a firm “good boy” that sounded prouder than he thought was warranted.

Anakin sucked in three bracing breaths, shallower than he would have preferred, before carefully — more carefully than he’d ever done anything else — picked up the stranger’s larger, brown hand to cradle between his own smaller palms. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t pull. Barely even breathed. He just rubbed his thumb over their split, scabbed knuckles and pushed safety and comfort and the other warm things he felt when his mom chased away his pains and nightmares at them. Imagined them flowing down from his thoughts to his arms, pooling in his hands to be poured out from his palms and into the stranger’s rough hands, absorbed through the skin like the first sip of soothing water on the worst days.

Whether it worked or not, he wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe some of the tension in the stranger’s brow and the stutter in their chest eased just a little bit. He stayed there, holding their hand and sometimes babbling, soft enough it almost counted as a whisper, switching between all three of the languages he spoke and even into brief bouts of untrained Bocce in the hopes that they knew at least one and would find it comforting. It could have been minutes or hours before his mom came to collect him, his head bobbing and eyes threatening to close as exhaustion swept over him. She crouched behind him and ran her fingers through his hair a few times before she spoke.

“Time to sleep, Ani.”

“But mom—” he started, voice more of a brief mumbling slur for all that he didn’t get to say more than those two words before Amiya cut in.

“Mind your mother, Anakin.” He ducked his head, chastened. “You’ve done good tonight, but it’s past time for little ones to rest. This one’ll be here come the suns’ rise and you can sit with them then until you and your mom are off to your master’s.”

Anakin nodded, mumbled a tired “Yes grandmother Amiya,” and patted the stranger’s hand twice before setting it down with a quiet promise that he’d be back as soon as he’d woken up. He stumbled when he stood, grateful for his mom when she put her hands back on his shoulders and steered him back home all the way to his flat pallet. Sleep claimed him easily that night, too tired to even dream.

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

The world was pain. Burning, stinging, cutting pain day after night after day for what might as well have been a small eternity trapped in the wet, writhing darkness where only his own nightmares provided grim relief until he clawed and rent and tore his way out of that hell and into another. He gasped and dragged himself forward, burning from the heat of the suns above and the sands below until he felt he’d boil away entirely.

Death would have been a mercy, but mercies had never existed for men like him.

He crawled and shoved and pried his way through the sand with the same desperate, all-consuming determination he’d relied on all his life. A legacy left to him by his father. A curse when giving up would have been a kindness to his battered body.

Time was nonexistent. Unimportant to him in his struggle. Day or night mattered little in the suffocating, sweltering heat when he knew the desert would swallow him whole at any moment. Should have swallowed him whole, but didn’t. The desert, for once, was kind and he hated it for that.

He hated it for letting him live, tortured and weak and pitiful enough that no one he knew would have looked twice at him. There were voices and hands, reaching and gentle and alarmed. He hated this one act of kindness — not mercy, this could never be mercy — the desert had granted him and he fought, battered and bit and snarled in the vain hope they’d leave him for dead when he proved too much trouble. They took it as challenge instead and won.

Defeated, he let himself fall into his exhaustion wondering if he might slip away in his sleep instead and prove their efforts useless.

His nightmares weren’t welcome, but they were familiar to him by then.

He watched his father’s head fall from his shoulders a half dozen times as his body was dragged, unconscious, through the desert.

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

Anakin sat with stranger the next morning like he’d promised, all but sprinting out the door of their tiny home as soon as his mom had told him he could go. He stayed until his mom called him back and worked with her in Watto’s shop until the toydarian let them leave just as the first of Tatooine’s suns had touched the horizon. When they returned, the stranger had been moved into one of the few empty homes in the quarter — the slave who’d lived there recently sold and a replacement yet to be found — to avoid the worst of the day’s heat. He sat with them again after late-meal, holding their hand and talking, helping with any small task he could until they shooed him off to bed.

His mom stayed with him, longer sometimes and well into the night. She helped whoever else was there keeping an eye on the stranger teach him how to change bandages, spot the signs of infection in a wound, to decide which remedies and medicines were critical and which could be spared and saved for later, as well as how to make a few of the most basic ones.

“There isn’t much we can do for them,” Amiya had told him, grave but gentle, on the third night, “except wait and watch, and ease some of the pain if we can.”

He’d nodded, feeling tears prick at his eyes even as he bit his lower lip to help keep them from falling. His mom brushed her fingers through his hair, pulling him close to her side while he worked to breathe through the tangled knot of emotion pressing on his throat.

“It’s not fair,” he said, voice thick, and his mom clucked her tongue, not unsympathetically.

“Life rarely is, Ani.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then leaned her cheek there like she could drape herself over him — a blanket to blot out the world’s cruelties. “Sometimes, your feelings won’t matter,” she said, sounding wretched as the words settled heavy in the air between them. “Sometimes — most times — all we can do is live in reality and accept that it might be cruel no matter what we do, knowing that denying it will do us no favors.” Anakin sniffed, pulling his knees in towards his chest. “And we will live, knowing this and knowing that being kind in the face of this cruelty is the bravest choice we can make.”

“Are we?” he asked after a long stretch of silence, feeling small and miserable. His mom hummed a question against his hair while Amiya stared at him, dark eyes seeming to peer right through and into the core of him. “Kind, I mean. Is. I mean. I heard some of the other adults — I didn’t mean to listen, really, but they were talking about. About…” He trailed off, but Amiya picked up the thread as seamlessly as if she’d read his mind.

“About a mercy.”

He nodded. His mom stiffened, hugging him tighter. He knew there was mercy in death on Tatooine. He’d heard slaves beg for it before, beaten half to death and left, bleeding and wheezing on the ground. He’d watched one new mother walk out into the sands with her baby one night and come back alone in the morning. He’d even seen a grandmother, withered hands bloody and holding a shiv as she walked out of the house of a slave who’d lost most of their arm when their chip detonated and survived, only for the wound to grow infected and the slave so weak they could hardly drink a sip of water.

He didn’t like it, but he knew.

Amiya sighed, leaned back against the night-chilled stone, and looked at the ceiling.

“Let me tell you a story, Anakin,” she said, and he thought she sounded older then than she ever had before.

“Okay.”

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

The nightmares had no end. They played on loop — his worst and his best memories twisted together with things that had never happened at all until he couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. He lived them. Was them. Played his part in them until he was sure he really had died out there on the sands and this was hell.

If it was, he wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of seeing him beg even if all he wanted in the worst of it was to wake up, ten years old again before everything had gone to shit.

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

The stranger woke with a groan on the fifth morning, just as Anakin had turned his back to follow his mom to Watto’s shop. He gasped, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed to spin back around.

“You’re awake!”

They blinked up at the ceiling, stiff as a board the second Anakin had practically shouted the words before slowly, probably painfully, turning their head to look at him. Anakin rocked back on his heels, mouth open and the words just about ready to burst out of him when they beat him to it.

“What?” they asked in Basic, voice a rough, crackling growl that could have been natural as much as it might have been from a parched throat or their injuries.

It was Anakin’s turn to blink then, uncomprehending for a moment before he realized he’d spoken to them like he would have any of the other slaves in the quarter. He flushed, fumbling for a moment from embarrassment before managing to wrangle together the right words.

“I said: you’re awake. You’ve been asleep for five days! Well, four, but today makes five. So, five days.”

“Oh.”

They stared at him, blank except for the obvious signs they were in pain — their pinched brow, their thinned lips, the pallor of their skin, better than it had been but still noticeable — and Anakin fidgeted in place until his mom called his name. He looked back at her, to the stranger, and briefly to his own feet before turning a bright grin on them.

“I have to go now, but Mom and I’ll let someone else know you’re awake. They’ll give you some of the water we all helped save up just in case you did really wake up. Which you did!” he added, too excited to keep himself from pointing out the obvious.

“What?” they asked again, but Anakin had already turned back to his mom with a cheerful “bye” thrown over his shoulder.

The day passed in an agonizingly slow haze of nerves and excitement that had cooled briefly after Watto yelled at him some time close to midday, and reignited when he and his mom started the walk home under the violet-orange lit sky of late-evening-nearly-night. She steered him home and forced him to eat his late-meal before setting him loose with a small smile and a firm warning to be careful. He grinned at her, nodding even as he practically tumbled through the door and back out into the quarter to make his way to where they’d been keeping the stranger.

“Hi,” he said, peeking through the tattered fabric hung up in place of a proper door.

The room was almost empty, lit mostly thanks to the three moons peeking up over the horizon and the last traces of the twin suns falling on the other side spilling through two windows, little more than a pair of squares cut out of solid rock, and the open, arched entrance. The stranger was the only person inside, propped up to sit against the wall furthest from the door, and mostly hidden in shadow except for the light cast from a neat little device about as big around as the palm of Anakin’s hand that they’d put down next to them. On their other side was a pile of their green armor, all but a pauldron which they’d been turning over in their hands until Anakin had poked his head in.

Their small arsenal of weapons, however, had been moved to the corner of the room furthest from them. Not that he faulted anyone for that. Every slave in the quarter would be in trouble if anyone found them, whether they’d actually helped the stranger or not.

“Hi,” they replied, suspicion all but dripping from the word as they slowly lowered the pauldron down to rest in their lap.

Anakin smiled and took the attention as permission to step inside, settled down with his legs crossed on the room’s sandy floor. Even from a few feet away, he could tell they looked better than even that morning — still battered and bandaged and a little paler than they probably should be, but whole and alive in a way they hadn’t been while asleep. Unconscious, technically, but technicalities rarely mattered to an eight-year-old. The silence stretched between them, both of them staring at each other until he chose to break it.

“How do you feel?” It was only polite to ask, even if it wasn’t what he really wanted to know. A dozen questions burned his tongue, but his mom hadn’t wasted time teaching him to be rude so he kept a tight leash on them and waited. Thankfully, not for long this time.

“Fine,” they said, curt if not a bit gruff. They sounded better, he noted, than they had earlier. “You’re the kid from this morning.” They furrowed their brows, speaking slowly like they weren’t quite confident about being right. Anakin nodded even though it hadn’t quite been a question. He knew that feeling well, after all. “What’s your name?”

“Anakin. What’s yours?”

“Boba.”

Anakin cocked his head to one side and asked, shameless: “Just Boba?”

“Just Anakin?” they drawled in return, their unbandaged brow arched. Anakin grinned, all teeth and excitement. He liked Boba.

“Anakin Skywalker,” he offered, expecting to get Boba’s surname in response only to be disappointed when all got instead was a a slow blink and a huff of breath that could’ve meant anything and nothing at all.

“What’re you doing here, kid?”

He pouted, watched Boba’s lips twitch up into a smirk, and pouted harder. He wondered, somewhere in the very back of his mind, if it was smart to be there, alone with someone who wore armor and had weapons and as much muscle and healthy bulk as Boba did. There was a danger to them, in the way their eyes never quite settled on Anakin in favor of scanning their surroundings again and again. It was there in the way they sat, too. At ease, like even injured and newly-woken they knew they could fight their way out if needed. Anakin wondered, but stayed, knowing his mom wouldn’t have let him come if anyone had mentioned they were dangerous.

“Rude,” he said, still pouting but also a little joking. Testing. Boba rolled his eyes and waited for a proper answer. “I come here every day. I even did the bandages on your arm.” He gestured to Boba’s left arm where they’d been sliced from elbow to shoulder, jagged and sloppy. It had needed stitches in three different places where the cut ran extra deep — the wound too long to spare enough thread for the whole thing. “Mom had to fix it the first three times, but I got it right this morning. Before you woke up.”

“Shouldn’t you be out doing … kid … things? Fun things?” Boba asked, sounding suddenly awkward, their gaze sliding away from Anakin after the clumsy question and looking for all the world like they hadn’t really meant to ask it.

“Maybe.” Anakin shrugged. “Watto’s been in a bad mood though, so mom and I have been getting home really late all week. Even if I wanted to, all the other kids would’ve gone home by the time he let us go.”

Boba’s gaze snapped back to him as he talked, focused instead of awkward, and only offered a low hum in response. He felt a little like a piece of meat in front of a starved massif, but did his best to channel a bit of his mom’s unwavering calm. Not the mask she used in front of the masters so much as the air she adopted in front of some of the new slaves brought to the quarter, scared and alone.

“Any siblings?” They sounded almost hopeful when they asked, only to scowl when he shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “It’s just mom and me. Do you? Have siblings, I mean.”

“No.” Boba sighed. “Sort of, but not really.” Anakin wrinkled his nose.

“How’s that work?”

Boba didn’t answer, only waved a hand at him in a vague gesture he took to mean it was complicated. He nodded, understanding. Slave families were always complicated, and he’d learned not to ask about complicated things when they didn’t want to be talked about. Instead, he changed tracks and poked at one of the many other threads he’d wanted to pick at since Boba had woken up earlier.

“How long have you been on Tatooine? I’ve been here my whole life, but my mom wasn’t. She got sold to Gardulla a long time ago before she lost a bet to Watto and he won both of us.” Anakin’s lips tugged up into a grin and he leaned forward, excited despite himself. “Before that she said she was in space, on a real ship and everything. I’m gonna go up into space one day! Get on a ship and fly right off Tatooine and see all the stars up close.”

Boba leaned back, drawing one of their legs up so they could rest their left arm against the knee as they listened. It made it harder for him to read their face, but not impossible. And Anakin was nothing if not good at figuring out how people felt if he concentrated hard enough.

“Sounds like a good goal,” they said, amused. When they said nothing else, Anakin frowned.

“Aren’t you gonna answer?” Boba tipped his head just slightly to one side, and he huffed, shoving as much exasperation into the breathy sound as he could. “My question? About how long you’ve been here.”

“Long enough.”

He nodded, humming a little in response. It made sense, he mused, that someone with a master as mean as Boba’s might not want to keep track of how long they’d been with them. That thought, though, brought up another very important question that Anakin wasn’t sure anyone else had thought to ask them yet. He hesitated, mouth suddenly dry as he shifted in place, and picked at the hem of his tan shirt to buy himself a few seconds more.

“Have you—” He stopped. Pressed his lips into a thin line so he wouldn’t give in to the urge to lick them. “Terrin and Bhan found you out in the sands behind the quarter,” he said, carefully picking his words. “Mom said they brought you back here. And. Well, uh.”

“Spit it out kid,” Boba said, not unknindly but not kindly either.

“It’s just, five days is a lot y’know? And-and some masters’ll wait a few, yeah, if they hurt you bad enough, but. But five is a lot, ‘specially for a slave, even if you look really well fed and have cool armor and get to actually hold weapons. But five is a lot of days! And I was really scared I’d wake up or-or come back from Watto’s and you’d be blown up ‘cause your master didn’t wanna wait anymore and—”

Boba moved, faster than someone that hurt should have been able to, and leaned forward, almost crouched, with his hands up, palms out. Anakin’s mouth snapped shut on instinct and he sucked in a huge breath of air, relieving the ache in his lungs he hadn’t noticed in his rush to get all the words out even as the rest of him tensed. They waited until he wasn’t practically gasping, their already dark eyes almost black in the shadows.

He’d thought Boba felt like danger before, but now they looked it, balanced on the balls of their feet with their hands out in front of them. For a moment, it was like seeing double: Boba as they were, bandaged and hurt, and another Boba clad in green, well cared for armor, crouched much like they were now except they held a blaster in one hand and a vibroblade as long as Anakin’s forearm in the other.

Just then, Anakin thought, a little hysterical, they looked like the predator they could be.

As quickly as it had come, the moment passed and he was left with only Boba as he knew them: unarmored, unarmed, dressed half in the remains of his once-white undersuit and the ratty strips of cloth they’d used to dress their wounds. He breathed, long and slow, until his heart felt a little less like it wanted to beat its way out of his chest, and forced the rest of his body to loosen up at least a little, not wanting to look too much like an animal about to run.

“You think I’m a slave,” Boba said, almost a whisper, but Anakin couldn’t find it in himself to nod or speak. Not yet. “Thank you,” they added, a lot like they were trying not to spook him, “for the concern, misplaced as it is.”

It took a few tries, but Anakin finally found his voice for long enough to ask, soft as he could: “If it wasn’t a master, then —” He swallowed even though his mouth felt drier than the desert. “Then who did this to you?”

They didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to lower themself back down with a groan half-muffled behind gritted teeth. Anakin felt small under their gaze if not quite scared, but did his best to keep himself upright rather than cowed.

“I did,” Boba answered, strained, with a weight to the words Anakin didn’t understand. They did nothing to make him feel any less small, no bigger than a single grain of sand. “I was stupid. Wound up in—” They paused, squinted at Anakin, and then quickly amended what they’d meant to say. “Wound up in trouble with no backup.” They shrugged, the dark circles under their eyes looking suddenly so much bigger. Heavier. “I remember a little of how I got out, but not how I wound up here in … Mos Espa I think someone said.”

Anakin opened his mouth, not sure at all what he wanted to say, if anything, until his mom’s voice at the entrance startled him.

“Anakin, time to sleep.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, eyes firmly set on Boba, but Anakin nodded anyway.

He stood, brushing sand off his pants for a moment before looking back at Boba. He smiled, dimmer than before, and said: “Goodnight, Boba. See you tomorrow,” he added and waited until Boba’s lips twitched up again — not quite a smile, not quite a smirk, but an invitation back all the same. He did grin then, offering up a little wave before turning on his heel to follow his mom.

“ ‘Night, Skywalker,” he heard Boba say, as the cloth in the doorway settled back in place.

Anakin took his mom’s hand when she held hers out. She squeezed his fingers briefly, then tugged him close. He breathed in. Out. And listened for the little notes he sometimes heard on the wind — the tug in his gut and the pull in his bones that sometimes pulled him closer to one decision or another. He felt it, faint but there. A warmth like good, hot food in his belly or his mom’s hugs after an awful dream, and for a single second, the scrape of fingers on metal ringing in a way he’d never heard before but made him think of Boba regardless.

He let his mom hold him all the way to his room until he kissed her goodnight. His last thought before he fell asleep, curled up on his pallet and tucked under his thin, scratchy blanket, was of the stranger named Boba and the pleasant notes plucking a tune inside and around him, whispering to him even on the edge of his dreams.

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

Boba watched Skywalker — Anakin Skywalker — leave, nothing but a kid smaller than Boba ever remembered being: naive and vulnerable and dressed in all the inadequate trappings of a slave and so damnably bright that it hurt to look at his little, hopeful face. Not so much as a hint of the Jedi knight he remembered from his youth — most of it propaganda he’d caught glimpses of in prison and a few jobs before the Empire erased everything — remained in the child except maybe in the edges of that smile, confident if not yet cocky, but innocent. Painfully innocent.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, the skin on his palm still a little raw from the acid in the sarlacc’s stomach. Maybe, he thought desperately, he was still there, being slowly digested to death because surely, surely, that made more sense than what every other conclusion he reached for pointed to. He had to be dead or dying, not—

Not 36 years in the kriffing past, if the date the woman who’d told him where on this godsforsaken planet he was had given him was right. It made no sense. He wasn’t a Jedi — little gods no — and he had no connection to their Force or any other magic. He didn’t think the sarlacc had anything to do with it either, but that still left him with no answers and a galaxy’s-worth of questions.

“Fuck,” he growled, as much a helpless sound as it was a curse to whatever or whoever had caused this. He’d wring their neck as soon as he found out, even if it meant figuring out a way to strangle some magical cosmic thing that a dead order of damned wizards had believed in. For now, though, he was stuck. Injured and healing, without a ship or a credit to his name, no reputation to speak of, and Anakin fucking Skywalker who apparently helped nurse him back to health and had promised to come back in the morning.

And a father who was alive somewhere in the wider galaxy.

The realization came slow and with all the strength of an imperial star cruiser hurtling forward at full speed. He swallowed, blinking back a wave of stinging tears as something thick and pitiful welled up in his throat. He breathed, deep and slow, and forced himself back into order by sheer force of will. He was still stuck on Tatooine, tucked away in the slave’s quarter by some idiotic sense of communal good-will that would do nothing for their self-preservation, but he had time. He had time, if not a lot, to find his father and… Do something.

“Fuck,” he said again, but it was tired. A thick and bone-deep weariness that threatened to suffocate him if he thought about it for too long.

He sighed and wondered, for just a moment before he let sleep drag him back down into the darkness and nightmares, if his father was the man who’d raised Boba already, or someone else entirely. He hated that he didn’t know which one he’d prefer if he woke again tomorrow and found that time travel really was the answer to where — when — he was.

[sweet-sammy-kisses]

Stars In Your Eyes Chapter 1

For the @jaytimweek  Day 1: Space Pairing: JayTim Rating: Mature Notes: I had hoped to have this done completely but health and my muse wanting to make it longer derailed those plans but I love JayTim in space to much to quit. Warnings: One scene of suicide and talk of victim blaming. Summary: Tim along with his friends take to the stars for a "short" break and mission only to decide to stay. When the Outlaws begin looking for them it becomes a chase among the stars as Jason and Tim take on an interesting and unique way of flirting. You can also read it on AO3

After a fallout between him, Dick, Bruce and the others Tim had set out to prove that he could fly on his own only there were those who wouldn't let him, his true family vowed to be with him every step he took.

Staring out the window there were days that Tim could hardly believe that this was his life now. To see the stars and planets up close. To see nebulas colours twisting and twirling around one another creating sights to behold.

"These are the voyages of Young Justice, seeking out those who would harm the innocent and basically just be jerks. To kick some ass and save the day while looking awesome as we do it."

A long-drawn-out sigh escaped Tim as he heard Bart start to narrate their day again, "I should have never let you watch Star Trek." Tim muttered into his hand.

Conner let out a laugh at Tim's comment, "Dude, you made us sit through and watch Star Trek and Star Wars so we could see how epic they were and get our opinions on which franchise is better." Tim's so-called best friend reminded him.

And okay Conner was right about that once Tim learned that neither Bart nor Conner had seen either Star Wars or Star Trek he had made it his mission to change that and now he was regretting it so much.

Tim had hoped when he found Bruce that things would change, that Dick would take apologize for his actions, would want him back as his little brother. Would stand beside him and speak to the Justice League that he was wrong as were they for turning their backs on a teenager who had lost everyone he loved.

But none of that happened.

Tim knew that Dick had a lot on his plate, stepping up to be Batman as well as raise the demon brat but he thought that Dick had missed him as much as he had missed his big brother but he had hardly spoken to him.

That added salt to the open wounds Tim was still carrying. So when a Raven suggested that Tim take a much-needed break one that would do Kon and Bart good as well, coming back from the dead could mess a person up and it was best that they take some time to heal.

Plus no one was brave enough to say no to Raven, if she wanted you to take a break you would even if that break ended up being in a demon demission.

Bart still had his hidden space ship and Tim had seen how much Jason enjoyed being out here and it had truly helped him to control his pit madness.

It was supposed to be a two-week trip then they ended up helping stop kidnapping and then they saved a planet from being enslaved and then something else came up and now they had been in space for six months and none of them were in a hurry to head home.  

Somehow they had managed to become Space Vigilantes.

And as Tim glanced around looking at Bart, Conner, Cassie, Cass and Helena looking at home on the ship and then done to Dex-Starr that was purring away on his lap Tim realized that it had been years since he felt this at peace.

Jason had always thought that he was going to remain the black sheep of the Wayne family he never thought that his perfect replacement would tell Bruce and Dick to go screw themselves, give up his claim to the Wayne name and take off with his best friends into parts unknown.

Of course, that didn't mean that just because Tim was done with them it didn't mean they were done with Tim of course it had taken three months Tim returning to take Cass and Helena with him before it sunk in their "family" thick heads that Tim was serious he wasn't coming back. So when Oracle failed in hiding them they turned to their last resort.

A loud laugh escaped Jason as he stared at the face of his so-called brother, "You want me to help you find the kid that you tossed aside for the demon child who tried to kill him more than I did? Who from the moment he arrived used Timmy as his verbal, emotional and physical punching bag and to this day still does. You have got to be kidding me Dickface. Tim did the smart thing and the healthy thing to get away from that toxic and I ain't dragging the kid back to it."

Jason couldn't understand Dick when it had been him riding the pit madness and Talia's poisons whispers in his ear trying to kill Tim Dick had been protective and willing to go one on one with Jason but when it was Damian he was basically victim-shaming Tim into not being okay with Damian's treatment of him.

A sigh escaped a tired-looking Dick and Jason would have felt sorry for him if this wasn't of his own making. And if he hadn't seen the damage Damian's treatment and Dick, Bruce and even Alfred's lack of setting boundaries first hand.

Jason had been searching for Tim for a while. He wanted to make amends with the younger man. He had heard about the fallout between Replacement and the rest of the Bats but the last thing he expected was to see Tim standing on top of Wayne Enterprise's arms spread out wide as he took a step off of the ledge and let himself fall.

Jason could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he forced himself to go faster, he couldn't be late he had to catch Tim. Too much blood had been spilt and he wouldn't let another Robin die.

Once he had Tim in his arms did Jason remember how to breathe. Landing on the nearby roof Jason ripped off his helmet, "What the hell was that replacement?"

Haunted blue eyes looked up at him, "Why did you save me, Jason?"

At that moment Jason felt like he was back in his coffin.

The look in Tim's eyes and the lack of emotions still haunted Jason to this day and he might not be able to do much but he can keep Tim safe.

"Look Jason, I get that things haven't been easy for Tim but it is time that he got past his tantrum and returned home." Dick couldn't understand why Tim was acting like this and to make matter worse Raven and Gar were refusing to talk to him about Tim and about allowing Damian onto the team.

Frustrated that they were just going around in circles Jason ran a hand through his hair, "Look Dickie I  know firsthand what training with the league was right and I know the demon brat had it rough but until you set boundaries for him, ones that include not trying to kill his brother, or using him as an emotional and physical punching bag I ain't helping you find Timbit."

Dick fell to his automatic defence, "Damian has changed and Tim is older." He winced at the look not only Jason gave him but also Roy and Kory. "Look I know Damian can be a little much but he has changed so much."

"No one is denying that you haven't worked wonders with the brat but you are still blind to how he treats Tim and that isn't healthy." Jason countered.

"Also have you gotten around to fixing Tim's standing in the hero community or is he still called the insane Robin?" Roy spoke up he had experienced firsthand what it was like to be the black sheep of the hero community, to hear the whispers and judgemental eyes watching your every move waiting for you to screw up and he refused to let Tim go through that as well.

The wince that crossed Dick's face was answer enough.

A soft sigh escaped Kory as she looked at her one-time love, "Dick, there is no denying that you had much to handle when we thought Bruce was lost from wearing the cowl to raising an abused boy that you let Tim slip through the cracks. Tim had lost so many in his life in a short time that losing Robin, his place in the community and his big brother all at once has left deep scars that have yet to heal."

Jason and Roy saw the effect that Kory's words had on Dick as he looked ashamed, "He had me." Dick whispered.

"Did he?" Jason demanded. "Because I remember he had a big brother that told him a neglected and abused teen that he needed to take the kill attempts, the verbal and emotional abuse from Damian because he was older. Because Damian's horrible upbringing somehow made Tim invalid. That he as the victim should just take it because how dare he wants to feel safe in a place he once thought of as home with the people he thought of as family. Only to be tossed aside and ignored as he was repeatedly attacked. Until you can look me in the eye and tell me that you have talked to Damian and the rest of the heroes I won't be helping you find Tim." With that, Jason cut the communication with Dick.

Letting out a sigh Jason relaxed back into his chair.

"So what are we doing?" Roy asked.

They had heard rumours of a bunch of teens, teens that happened to match the description of a certain team of young heroes who had taken off for a mission only once it was completed they sent back a message that they were staying in space helping out others and they weren't that far away.

Opening his eyes Jason's lips curved up into a smile as he purred out, "We have a bird and his flock to hunt."

[geeks-universe]

Until Dawn Breaks

Darkness Shall Reign.

A/N: This is going to be a slow burn Dean Winchester x Reader that brings y’all back to the beginning. Buckle up.

The look Bobby was giving you was not one you were willing to acknowledge.

You knew it all too well. In the past few years since you’d first run into the hunter, he’d been gazing at you with something akin to sorrow- pity, even.

“We can talk about it,” Bobby finally said, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that told you he was uncomfortable.

You’d come to know pretty much everything about the man who considered himself your adoptive father. Not that he’d ever explicitly worded it like that. (This was the great Bobby Singer after all, he had a reputation to maintain.) Still, besides the few ‘friends’ you’d made in the hunter community, you didn’t really have anyone else. Thus, Bobby became the one person you could trust.

And he never, ever took that for granted.

“If you want to,” he shrugged, eying you closely.

He knew that if it was a particularly bad dream, you wouldn’t want to. There were ones that you would let fade so far into your mind you’d never hope to think of them again. And then there were the ones you’d wish more than anything to dream of again.

You echoed his gesture.

“I don’t remember much,” you admitted. Your unwillingness to think about what you did remember remained unspoken, but he understood.

He cleared his throat.

This subject had a way of making the both of you uncomfortable. Before Bobby found you in the backwoods of some old town in Montana, you knew nothing. Not where you’d been, not where you were going, not even why blood dripped down the front of your shirt.

You were banged up really bad, though it didn’t seem that the vamp nest you’d been dragged to had anything to do with it. And Bobby, bless his soul, didn’t have the heart to turn down a kid with wide eyes and glistening tears.

He’d been wary at first, but you broke down the walls around his old heart. The two of you found your own little family, and you knew that no matter what happened in your past, you would always have him.

“Dean called,” Bobby spoke finally, hoping for a change of topic.

You gave a noncommittal hum. You knew the Winchesters boys by name only. You’d met their father a few times, and he was a little rough around the edges, but he’d warmed up after you helped him with a wendigo in Michigan. Bobby didn’t seem to mind that you’d never met the boys he’d talked so much about though.

You had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with the numerous complaints he’d made about Dean and one too many hookups when they were working a case together.

“He thinks John’s missing.”

You quirked a brow, a clear sign you wanted him to elaborate.

“He went on a hunt and didn’t call. It’s been longer than normal.”

A thoughtful nod was all you offered in reply. Personally, you didn’t think anything could take the great John Winchester down. He fought with such tenacity and proceeded with far more caution than most hunters. He was as good as they got.

“He’s going to look for him, wanted me to go with.”

“And are you?” You asked.

He shook his head.

“I’m too old for wild goose chases. ‘Sides, I figured now would be the best time to let you stretch your wings.”

Your eyes went wide as you searched for some sort of sign that he was joking. Bobby had always made sure that when you went on hunts, you were close to him, if not with him. There were very, very few instances where he’d let you go without him, and those were only ever if you were with another seasoned hunter.

Despite the fact that you had turned 20 months before, he still didn’t want you out on your own. And you fully understood why. Hunting was a dangerous business, and you’d only been at it for four years- at least to your knowledge.

You were skilled though. Exceedingly so. Had been since the very beginning. Bobby had wondered if there was a possibility you were a hunter before he’d found you, but all of his research had yielded nothing. He’d never found information on your life before.

“Honestly?”

The serious glint in his eyes grew in intensity. You knew what the look meant, but Bobby still found the need to voice his concerns.

“Dean will be here tomorrow.” He told you, leaning forward an inch in his chair. “I don’t know how long this is going to take, but…”

He paused, almost as if he wasn’t sure what words he wanted to use at the moment. After an extended silence, he put the utmost sincerity into his words.

“Be careful.”

The rest of the day- and, if you were being honest, most of the night- was spent training. The majority of it was with Bobby, though you’d spent the better half of the night without him. He needed his rest, and you needed to calm your own nerves. You weren’t particularly afraid of hunting without him, but you were afraid of the dreams that might plague you.

The funny thing about having no past was it seemed to always want to tease you while you slept. It was like little snippets of what you’d been doing would seep through the cracks while you were unconscious. Bobby was the only one you trusted to talk to about it. 

Eventually, however, exhaustion set in. Training would do no good, so you put your fears aside and fell into a fitful sleep. Unlike most mornings, Bobby woke up before you did.

He was conversing with a deep voice on the floor below you while the tendrils of unconsciousness retreated from your mind. You stretched out, grimacing at the tiredness you still felt. The clock by your bed let you know it was nearly noon.

Most days you woke early, if only because nightmares and dreams plagued your sleep. You had a feeling most of it was memories, but no real way of knowing. Some days your exhaustion would cause you to sleep for far longer than considered healthy. You were glad you at least got a little rest before starting on this journey, because you didn’t know how well you’d fare without Bobby by your side.

You took your time getting ready, knowing that Bobby wanted to catch up with Dean. (Plus, the warm water of your shower felt very nice.) You’d already packed your stuff, but you found yourself double checking that you had everything.

Before you headed down, you looked at yourself in the mirror. The bags under your eyes were nearly gone from the extra sleep. Your hair was pulled back from your face, which you noticed seemed to have a healthier glow than it had the night before. You’d grown up a lot in the past four years, you noted.

It wasn’t just the disappearance of baby fat and the womanly figure though, it was the look in your eyes. They were like a storm, thundering with a knowledge even you couldn’t interpret. Sighing to yourself, you wrapped Bobby’s flannel tighter around your shoulders. He’d given it to you the very first day he’d found you, and it’d just become yours from then on.

You headed downstairs then, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

You weren’t sure what to expect from Dean Winchester, but it certainly wasn’t what you saw. His gaze was drawn to you before you’d even stepped into view, no doubt a nod to his training as a hunter. His gaze was almost playful, and a boyish grin tugged at his lips. His eyes, a gentle green, shined brightly. His lips were a pale pink, and you found yourself hard pressed to continue your assessment.

“Hi,” he greeted, though there was something in his voice that spoke of a little more than an introduction.

Bobby groaned.

“Don’t even think about it,” he bit out.

Dean frowned when you giggled at Bobby’s reaction.

“Nothing to worry about,” you promised your adoptive father with a sweet smile.

He didn’t look particularly convinced, but he also trusted you far more than most people. (And he still didn’t know about all the times you’d snuck out with Blake the past few years. You’re sure that might make him a little less trustworthy when it comes to boys, but what didn’t know him won’t kill him.)

“I’m (Y/N),” you said as an introduction.

He nodded his head, a smirk on his lips.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You had no doubt about it. Bobby always was proud of you, even if he never admitted it.

“Can you give us a minute?” Bobby asked, shooting Dean a look.

The man paused, then gave a winning smile.

“Of course, I’ll take your bag out.”

You raised a brow, but gave Dean your bag. He took it without hesitation, turning around without so much as a goodbye. You watched him go before you turned to Bobby, knowing the man wouldn’t speak up until Dean was gone.

“Okay, what do you-”

You were cut off by your own surprise when Bobby pulled you into a tight hug. It took a moment before you returned it, but you hugged him just as fiercely.

“Be careful, kid,” he said seriously, loosening his grip just a little. He pulled back far enough to look into your eyes. “If you need anything, I’ll be here.”

You laughed breathlessly, nodding through the tears in your eyes.

“I know.”

He jerked his head in the direction Dean left.

“Go.”

You gave him one last smile- wide and without restraint- and then left the house you’d called home for the past four years. Truth was, you didn’t know how long this would take, but deep down you had one hell of a feeling you were approaching something big. In the time you’d known Bobby, he’d taught you well. Now, it was time for you to take a new adventure, and whatever may come, you knew you’d be prepared.

And who knows, maybe you’d get some answers along the way.

[megmachine]

Mistakes

A/N: this is the first section of my WIP star trek fic. See the tags before reading if your interested, and please let me know what you think! 

The last time Jim ever saw his aunt alive, she was crying. He was thirteen and being led onto a bus alongside his cousins and had glanced out the darkened window on a whim. She had been standing in the doorway to their farmhouse, clutching little Sarah’s favorite blanket, arguing with one of the large men dressed in black that had come to take them back. The man had laid his hand on his belt, saying something, and Aunt Josie had broken down crying. Through a cloud of red dust as they drove away, Jimmy saw her fall to her knees and sob. Tear tracks cut through the dirt on her face, leftovers from when they’d been playing in the garden earlier. They turned a corner and trees finally blocked his view, and he turned back to talk to his cousins.

He was only supposed to be on Tarsus IV for six months. Driving the car into the canyon had been the last straw, and even though they’d ‘worked things out’ with the cops, Jimmy knew he’d pushed too hard. Frank was fed up with him and he’d been suspended from school again and his mother was still out there, exploring space without him. Winona said she would be earthside ‘in just six months, Jimmy, it’s only six months,’ and that this was just a stopgap to get him away from his step-father.  What a load of bull that was, not that he’d say it to her face. Two months in, when he moved into boarding school full-time and wasn’t counting down the days till his shuttle home, Winona messaged him. She told him her ship, the U.S.S. Faragaut, would be delayed eight additional months and for the first time, he wasn’t heartbroken. Fourteen months in the colony, he could make it fourteen months. His aunt actually liked him, she never even hit him, and his cousins didn’t treat him like a burden the way Sam used to. Classes challenged him, for the most part, and he got to go back home every weekend to see his aunt and the farmhouse. Sure, meals weren’t that big, but Jimmy had never really gone hungry here, either. Tarsus was good. Life was good. 

This time, though, as the farmhouse faded from view, he could tell his Aunt knew something was different. Clouds of red dust obscured his view and it felt like he was losing something, somewhere he’d finally started to call home. It was silly to get so melancholy about a semester at boarding school, he’d thought. He’d thought a lot of things that ended up being wrong.

It was two Saturdays later when Jimmy and Will wondered if something was wrong. A full two weeks since they had seen the rest of their family. They were sitting on his cousin’s bed, each with a PADD in hand, working on their homework. Their teacher, Hoshi, had been grilling them on languages, and despite Jimmy’s efforts Will couldn’t grasp Vulcansu conjugations. 

“No, see, it’s a past tense irregular verb, and you forgot the hyphen-”

“Jimmy.” Will interrupted him, something he never did. His face, normally an open book, was drawn and stiff. Jimmy held his tongue and swallowed back his knee-jerk snarky response. His cousin took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, and let it out in a huff.  

“I’m worried about my mom. She hasn’t been responding to my comms all week, and Mr. Davies told me we aren’t doing home visits next weekend, either. I just… I know you think it’s stupid to get all worked up over family, but this isn’t like her.”

Neither of them said anything for a minute, both brains running through the options. Finally, Jimmy sighed. He knew his cousin well enough to know where his mind had immediately gone, and had an idea of how to deal with it. 

“Look, Will, I do understand where you’re coming from. If you’re really that worried about Aunt Josie, how about we go see her? Will that make you feel better?” Jimmy tossed his PADD aside and stood up, stretching his arms over his head and groaning exaggeratedly. Honestly, he’d been wanting to stretch his legs too, but hadn’t had the right opportunity to sneak out until this moment. 

His cousin wasn’t convinced yet, though. “What do you mean? How are we supposed to get home if buses aren’t running to the farm?”

Jimmy smirked, tilting his head and glancing back. “Why, we’ll be breaking out, of course!”

That line sealed the deal. After all, Will was a bad boy at heart, too.

It was dark out by the time they could put their plan into motion. The double moons were rising in the west, casting everything outside the range of the street lamps in a faint, pale light. They took a walk in the botany gardens after dinner, a fairly inconspicuous thing to do. Subconsciously, Jimmy noted that a few of the plants seemed wilted, white flecks spotting a few lower leaves, but he wasn’t a botanist and so made no comment. Will kept an eye on the teachers that patrolled the area while Jimmy made his way to a shadowy corner, the one place he knew of that the cameras wouldn’t see him. From there, he accessed the security system from his PADD - he’d been teaching himself programming since he was five, sitting in the back of his kindergarten classroom, it was a breeze to hack these types of systems - and ran a loop of camera feed. From there the two made their way to the chain link fence that surrounded the school. 

The principal told them it was to keep wildlife out, since Tarsus had some rather nasty native predators. Of course, there was a hole in the fence that Jimmy had known about for a few weeks, and nothing had managed to get in, so he didn’t know the validity of that statement. The gap was barely big enough for him to squeeze through, scrawny as he was, but he’d kept it in the back of his mind in case he ever wanted to sneak out. There hadn’t been anything suspicious going on, at least as far as he was aware, so he’d had no reason to utilize it before this night. He was enjoying his classes, and had no reason to mess around. At, least, not until then.

Jimmy went through first. After making sure the coast was clear, Will forced his way out, too. The fencing groaned, and they both held their breath for a minute before determining no one else had heard. After that, it was smooth sailing for the rest of their ‘escape.’ The fence opened up into a thick forest, full of a mix of native and terran flora that formed a dense canopy and heavy shadows. They could still use the moonlight and their knowledge of direction to make their way towards the nearby town of New Franklin. The school they attended was fairly secluded, so their hike took nearly an hour. The principal and teachers, when asked, had said that the governor thought it important that students learn astronomy and botany and all types of things you couldn’t study well in the city, so their school was the only thing this far out. They were surrounded by forests on one side, and a massive plain on the other, and as far as one could see there was no other sign of civilization. When he first got there, Jimmy had thought all the greenery was wonderful. Now he was starting to hate it, as he was slapped in the face by yet another palm frond-looking thing.

Eventually, pushing through the thick greenery native to Tarsus, Jimmy thought he could hear the murmur of human life. It was about time - they still had to consider the hour-long drive to and from the farmhouse, and he wanted to get a little bit of sleep that night. Their plan was to either hitch a ride from a kind stranger, an idea Jimmy wasn’t a big fan of, or steal a vehicle, something Will didn’t like - even though Jimmy had argued that they wouldn’t really be stealing, they'd be borrowing with the intent to bring it back unscratched. That argument was part of why they’d gotten started so late, and now Tarsus’ first moon was more than halfway through the sky. Its blue face watched them as they foraged on through the woods, unwavering and unyielding in its faint light. 

They popped out on a paved road, the outlines of squat, wide-spread buildings against the tapestry of stars the only sign of civilization. There were next to no lights on, Jimmy noticed. No street lamps, or illuminated windows, or headlights. He’d have thought the town was dead, if not for the hum of generators he could still make out. A curfew, then? Why? Neither of them had any answers, but this did throw a wrench in both their transportation options. More so Will’s favored plan than his own, though his would be difficult to pull off too. 

Well, there was no way around it. The two boys exchanged glances - neither had said a word their whole adventure other than to warn the other of a hole or tree branch, too scared of being heard and caught - and advanced towards the dead town. Jimmy knew more than enough about hotwiring to be able to steal most civilian vehicles, and Will had been driving aunt Josie’s truck for the past year, so they were rather confident in their abilities. But that all depended on whether or not they would find something to steal. 

The first couple of buildings they approached were barren. Jimmy could make out the muffled sound of human voices and movement behind the walls, but there were no vehicles other than a couple of rusting bikes parked out front. The first hovercar they saw was all black and parked in the middle of town square. The engine was still running, but no one was sitting inside the car. Jimmy made a mental note of it and kept creeping along, hoping for a less suspicious get-away vehicle. The next one they saw was sitting in front of a small house. The car itself had four wheels and more than a little bit of rust, but it obviously hadn’t been used in the past few hours. The house it was parked near, similarly, didn’t show any signs of life. Neither Jimmy nor Will wanted to think very hard about that fact. Still, this was a better option, less likely to be noticed missing if they could get away quietly. Jimmy cracked his knuckles, gave his cousin a grin, and eased the driver’s door open.

Since he’d been old enough to start developing his fine motor skills, Jimmy had been playing with wires. Maybe not a sign of the safest childhood, but it certainly had its perks. For one, he could open a panel inside any car, four-wheeled or hovering, and get it running in under five minutes if it was a model from the past half-century. Thankfully, this one was. Another thing Jimmy was thankful for, he considered once the engine hummed to life, was that 23rd century cars were so much quieter than previous renditions. Not even the house a block over could hear it starting up. Will nudged his cousin over, crawling into the driver side and adjusting the seat to his liking. 

“I’m still sticking by my argument that I could drive this puppy just as well as you,” Jimmy grumbled from where he was buckling himself into the passenger seat. 

Will ignored him, throwing the car into gear and ever-so-slowly crawling out of the driveway and onto the road. “How the hell am I supposed to navigate all the way home if I can’t turn on the headlights?” he hissed, peering over the steering wheel in a way that didn’t really give Jimmy much confidence in his abilities. 

He sighed, hunching over the center console and pulling out more wires from Will didn’t even know where. In between stripping colorful rubber with his teeth, Jimmy explained himself. “Most modern cars actually have the ability to display an active infrared view through the windshield - night vision. It’s better than using the headlights, actually, but we humans are too attached to the way things have always been to use it. Manufacturers even got rid of the easy-access switch, but they never bothered to get rid of the tech itself. Lucky us.” He spared a second to glance up at his cousin, grinning wildly, before twisting two bare wires together and clipping them to a circuit board. Jimmy had no idea how like his mother he looked in that second, and the excited expression faded almost as suddenly as it had appeared. 

The windshield display flickered once, twice, before the pitch black landscape became visible in various shades of green and grey. The compass, temperature read out, and clock reappeared in their usual location (lining the top of the windshield, out of immediate eyeline), now a bright white against hunter green shadows. 

Jimmy almost whoop-ed, catching himself at the last second and instead silently punched the air. “What’re you waiting for, Willy?” He snickered, flopping back into his seat. Will grumbled something about ‘cocky little nerds’ and eased his way down the pavement, gradually making his way out the town as a pace that had both of them out of their minds with boredom before they’d even made it a mile. 

It took a little over ninety minutes to get to aunt Josie’s farmhouse. More often than either of them wanted to acknowledge, they’d pulled off the road and held their breaths, paranoid that they were being followed, only to laugh at themselves when no one showed up. Jimmy didn’t voice the alternative - that they were being stalked, toyed with. Will was on edge enough as it were. 

The lights were off when they pulled up. Neither were that worried - Aunt Josie had always been more of a morning person, after all. Her red pickup was still parked under the carport. As they walked up to the front door, Jimmy watched his cousin unwind, tension easing out of his muscles. Will pushed the door open - again, not worrying, they lived far enough in the country to not bother with locks - and stepped into the kitchen. The house was silent. Jimmy followed, hands in his pockets but eyes darting around the heavily shadowed room. 

Making their way deeper into the house, Will seemed to relax further and further while Jimmy felt the hairs on his neck stand up. Something felt off, but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was wrong. It was a somewhat similar feeling to what he would get when Frank was about to come home, full of cheap liquor and anger he’d take out on Jimmy and Sam. The air felt stale in his lungs. At the end of the hallway, the door to Aunt Josie’s bedroom was closed. 

Will was smiling as he nudged the door open. He took a deep breath, ready to call out to his mom, ready to be reassured of her health and safety. The next second he was hunched over, hands clasped over his mouth and stomach rolling. The smell of decay overwhelmed them, and Jimmy finally identified what, exactly, was wrong. 

Aunt Josie was laying on the ground near her bed, an archaic bullet hole through her chest. The light grey rug under her body was stained dark brown with old blood. While Will clung to the doorframe, trying desperately to keep his dinner down, Jimmy stumbled forward to her side. He’d always heard that people were peaceful in death, but Aunt Josie looked as distraught as she’d been when he last saw her, through a school bus window, two weeks ago. Her body was breaking down, past rigor mortis and well along in the bloating process. Deep tan skin was now motley green. The stink of rotting meat and excrement and who knew what else was thick in the air, having been trapped in the room with her. Dark liquid covered the wood floor, leaking out from her body, more fluid than one would expect from a corpse. If he looked closely, which he tried not to, he could see the small movement of maggots and cadaverous bugs within her small wound and under the skin. 

Saliva pooled in Jimmy’s mouth and he turned away, stumbling out of the room before collapsing to his knees and retching. Will staggered after him, pale and sweating. Neither of them said a word for the longest time. Will was barely breathing, not making a sound as tears pooled in his eyes and ran, silently, down his cheeks. 

“How long has she been dead?” he finally whispered, choking on the word.

Jimmy hated how his mind automatically went through the stages of decomposition, hated how for a split second he could objectively analyze how far along the body (his aunt, not the body, it was his aunt lying there) was. He was barely aware of his lips moving and the words coming out of his mouth. “It takes around eight days for discoloration to start. She’s probably been… for over a week.” 

“Fuck.”

It took another ten minutes for either of them to move. Jimmy pulled himself to his feet, dragged his cousin behind him, and made his way towards the front door. Will didn’t make a sound as he was led along, eyes unfocused and staring into the distance. It was past midnight at this point, and Jimmy knew they had to get going if they wanted to avoid being caught out. As he passed the kitchen table, a stack of mail caught his attention and he grabbed them, curious, glancing over the words. 

��In response to your request… Cannot supply more rations… Distress signal…’

Jimmy swallowed and stuffed the papers in his coat pocket without a second thought. 

Will was still unresponsive when they reached the stolen car, and without a second thought Jimmy shoved him into the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel. Driving this old thing couldn’t be more difficult than the corvette, and this time he wasn’t trying to run from Frank and the cops and Riverside. Jimmy didn’t spare a second to glance in the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the farmhouse. If he did, he wouldn’t have been able to leave. 

It was only when they got close to town that Jimmy noticed they were being tailed. At first he thought it was a figment of his paranoid imagination. It was barely there, in the corner of his eye, and his cousin was of no help in differentiating real from fabricated. Will hadn’t spoken a word since the farmhouse. Jimmy stepped on the gas a hair and fixed his eyes on the road in front of him, ignoring the tingling in the back of his mind. 

Jimmy pulled off on the side of the road and stared out the back window. He’d seen it again, bigger and more obvious. He was 85% sure there really was something out there, in the black of Tarsus night. Either way, he wasn’t too keen on getting caught, so they would be legging it through the woods the rest of the way back. He hopped out of the car and led Will behind him into the dense forest. He'd finally started responding when Jimmy asked him questions, and could see his surroundings well enough to avoid low hanging branches.

“Come on, we’ve got to go, they’re behind us Will, we’ve got to hide,” Jimmy panted in his cousin’s ear. They were making far too much noise, stepping on twigs and getting slapped by branches. He just hoped they could get far enough ahead of the people stalking them, out of hearing range and back to school before sunrise.

 Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard boots stomping through the undergrowth after them. “Hey! Where’d you go? You know the punishment for breaking curfew, it’ll hurt less if you just stop running!” The overt threat of pain and punishment sent a chill down Jimmy’s spine and he couldn't let himself get lost in memories of Frank, he had to get his cousin back to safety. He grit his teeth and made a conscious effort to be quieter, shushed Will when he spat a curse at a vine that tangled around his leg but it was too late. Bright flashlight beams cut through the greenery and into Will’s face and shouts filled the air. 

Then they are running through the woods, abandoning all hope at subtlety and there are crashing footsteps behind them, the high pitched whine of phaser blasts and deep voices calling out promises of pain, and - 

Will trips over a branch, twists his ankle, and Jimmy hauls his cousin up and behind him. He’s limping and leaning heavily on the younger boy but Jimmy clings tight to him. He won’t lose more of his family, he won’t, not after Sam, he can help Will, it’s not too much further to the fence and if they can just lose these guards they’ll be fine.

Gunshots and phaser fire follow them, sinking into tree trunks in their wake, cutting through leaves and then they hit something definitively not wood and Will is screaming, crying, begging Jimmy to stop but he’s bleeding out all over Jimmy and it’s too much, too much, he can’t make it stop please make it stop! There’s a hole in his stomach, gaping in what little moonlight is filtering through the tree branches. Hot blood is burning his hands, his face, and he can’t put enough pressure on the wound while trying to run and he can’t stop running or they’re both dead. They’re both so, so dead.

Will is clawing at Jimmy’s hand and at first he grips it tight, trying to take some of the pain from his cousin, but he’s being slapped and Will is glaring at him with as much strength as he can muster, though it’s fading fast. Jimmy has never seen so much fire in those brown eyes until now. He’s wheezing, but he can force out a mouthful of words. “Leave me, Jimmy. You gotta get out of here.” The men are gaining on them and they don’t have much time left. Will lets himself go limp, still staring at Jimmy, shrugging out of his hold and collapsing onto the ground. He shoves him once, for good measure, when Jimmy stops moving. “Go!” Will shouts, the force of his words making blood spew from his paling lips.

 Jimmy runs. He runs, and doesn’t look back. 

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

The Smell of You-Part 4

This is the continuation of a BTS!Vampire one-shot! You can find the other three parts on my Masterlist! <3

Tags: Bts, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boyscouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS one-shot, Poly!BTS, BTS x you, Seokjin x you, Yoongi x you, Hoseok x you, Namjoon x you, Jimin x you, Taehyung x you, Jungkook x you, BTS!Vampire, Bangtan!Vampire, BTS as Vampires

Genre: Fluff, a tiny bit of angst if you squint

“Sir, please, you need to remain calm....” 

Your statement is cut short as the large man, the patient you are desperately trying to control, high on some sort of drug and out of his mind, swings his arm into your diaphragm, sending you flying into the nearby med cart and sprawling across the tile floor, dazed and slightly out of breath. 

One of the other nurses rushes to your side, as the three doctors and two other nurses involved with the patient, finally get him under control and pressed down onto the gurney, fighting and kicking, as one of the doctors sinks a needle full of sedative into his arm. 

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” Trisha, the nurse who you now recognize, asks nervously, as she helps you sit up carefully from the floor. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You say breathlessly, as you take mental note of your body and if anything feels out of place. “It just knocked the wind out of me is all.” 

You hear her gasp as she helps you stand to your feet. “You’re bleeding!” 

Following her wide gaze down to your left hand, you note that you are indeed bleeding, the crimson liquid oozing thickly from a large gash across the palm of your hand, probably put there by the bottle of medication that had shattered when you knocked the cart over in your fall. 

“We need to get that stitched up.” Trisha hurries on, waving over one of the doctors, as the gash on your hand starts to sting, finally, as the shock wears off. 

As the doctor leads you over to a nearby gurney, hand held delicately in his own, red blood leaving a trail of drops on the floor behind you, you feel anxiety begin to boil in your stomach. 

Not over the fact that you’re hurt, or that you’ll need stitches. No, you’ve been an ER nurse for long enough to know that this is just part of the job. 

No, the anxiety stems from something much, much deeper than that, and as the doctor administers numbing agent into your hand in preparation to begin stitching, a swear word leaves your lips, but not because of the pain. 

“Shit.” 

No, its because, when you get home, your seven vampire boyfriends are going to smell your blood and see red. 

And the man on the gurney will then have much more to worry about than just a hospital lawsuit. 

*******

Walking into the apartment after your shift, you’re careful to keep your bandaged hand hidden beneath the folds of your coat, even though you know you’re just putting off the inevitable. 

And you were right. Oh boy, were you right. 

“Hi guys.....” 

The words have barely left your mouth, before Taehyung is upon you, his nostrils flared and pupils dark, as he backs you against the kitchen counter, warning in his voice as he asks darkly, “Why do you smell like blood?” 

You swallow, determined to keep your anxiety at bay, as you set your work bag down on the counter behind you, before replying dryly, “I work at a hospital, Taehyung.” 

“No.” He shakes his head, eyes roving over your body, looking for something he has yet to find. “You smell like your blood.” 

“What happened?” Yoongi growls, standing from his place on the couch, eyes dangerous, as he moves across the room to join the younger brother, who is still searching your body with his eyes for any sign of injury. 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in your fingers, as you say, slightly exasperated, “You guys, it’s nothing.....” 

“This doesn’t look like nothing.” Namjoon joins in the conversation, and you realize, as his fingers are felt on your skin, making you jump, that like an idiot, you had used your injured, bandaged hand to pinch your nose without thinking, giving them all a clear view of exactly what they were looking for.

“Shit.” You swear under your breath, his fingers still encircling your wrist, as they all stare down at the wrapping around your palm, the smell of your blood oozing from every pore. “Look, there was a rowdy patient, it wasn’t a big deal....” 

“It is a big deal.” Taehyung says darkly, eyes glinting dangerously. “He hurt you.” 

“Okay, look.” You tug your wrist out of Namjoon’s grasp, pushing between the other vampires to free yourself as you put your hands on your hips and glare at them. “I know you’re worried about me. But I’m fine. And now, I’m going to take a shower, because it’s Jungkook’s turn tonight, and you are not going to ruin that for him.” You point between the three vampires, still watching you closely, their eyes still focused on the flash of the gauze against your palm. “Now. Don’t do anything stupid. Promise me.” 

They glance between each other, and Yoongi opens his mouth, as if to say something, but you point sternly between the three of them, interrupting him before he can speak. 

“Promise. Me.” 

They sigh, and then Taehyung rolls his eyes before holding his hands out in a gesture of peace. “Fine. We promise.” 

“Good.” You nod, already headed for the bathroom and the promise of a warm shower after a long day of work. “Behave, boys. Or I’ll know.” 

********

“The hyungs sure were worked up earlier.” 

You glance up in surprise at Jungkook’s voice, soft and quiet in the stillness of the room, his warm breath brushing gently across the crown of your head from where you lie next to him, cheek resting on his chest, his arm around you as the two of you read a comic book he holds up above your heads. 

“Mmm.” You hum in agreement, eyes once again drawn to the bright panels on the page before you, as you snuggle closer against him, his smell-comforting and hinting of vanilla-filling your nose with his closeness. “They tend to be a little overprotective. It sometimes happens, you know, when your mate is a human.” 

There is silence for another moment, the only sound his breathing and the turning of a few pages, and then he speaks again, catching you off guard once more. “Noona. Can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure, Kookie.” You say, glancing up at him again, chin propped on the firm planes of his chest, as you offer him a soft smile, shrugging slightly, waiting for him to continue. 

He blushes slightly, taking in a breath, avoiding your eyes, as he hurries on, pushing himself to be brave. “The hyungs. When they feed, there’s more.....right?” His blush darkens, and he hides his face in your hair, suddenly embarrassed. 

You ponder his question, knowing what he means, and biting back a smile, you sit up, forcing him to abandon his hiding place, his cheeks still red, as he struggles to meet your gaze. 

“Yeah, I mean, we’ve all been together a long time.” You say, reaching out to push some thick, dark strands of hair back off his forehead before continuing. “There’s usually other activities involved-either before or after the feed.” 

Jungkook lets out the breath he had been holding, tossing aside the comic, as he sits up to face you, biting his lip, the picture of suddenly unsure uncertainty, his hands twisting into the fabric of his sweats in his lap. “I’m sorry I.....I mean...” He stumbles over his words, and his cheeks redden again, his gaze dropping from your own. “I’m sorry we’ve never....” 

“No! no!” You hurry to reassure him, scooting forward, taking his hands in your own as he once again meets your gaze, and you offer him a gentle smile, reaching out to stroke a finger down his high arched cheekbone. “Kookie, you don’t have to apologize. You’re new to this, and becoming a vampire is overwhelming, or so I’ve heard.” You laugh, and he manages a smile at the sound. “You’re still adjusting, and learning to feed is difficult. The other boys have had decades to practice it. I don’t expect anything more from you, Kook. And I’m never disappointed with just your bite, you know.” You wink at him, offering him a playful smile as you do so. 

He sighs, a heavy sound, and you hesitate, before reaching out to prop his chin up with your finger, meeting his dark eyes beneath his furrowed brow, lips pursed with trouble. “Kook. I don’t need all of that. It’s really okay.” 

“I know, I know.” He throws himself back on the bed, arms going across his face, which is turning red once more, and you watch him curiously for a moment, before he says from beneath his arms, voice muffled, “But what if it’s something I want?” 

You’re caught off guard slightly by his hesitant question, and you stare at him for a moment longer, before crawling across the expanse of the bed to be beside him, reaching up to pull his hands down from his face. “Is it something you want, Kook?” You ask carefully, your eyes meeting his own, the air between the two of your suddenly feeling slightly breathless. 

He pauses, considering your words, before he nods, a jerky movement, stiff with nervousness. “Yes. But you know how it is. It takes me forever just to work up to feeding still, how am I supposed to not be nervous about that too?” 

You watch him for a minute, and then you grin at him, throwing your leg over his prone body to straddle him, and you feel him take in a surprised breath and stiffen slightly beneath your sudden weight. “Kookie. You just need to relax.” You say with slight amusement, sitting on him, as you stare down at him, one brow cocked. “Look. Let’s just play a game, okay? I’ll ask you a question and then you can ask me a question.” 

He hesitates once more, still stiffened beneath you, but you feel him relax, just an inch, as he takes in a deep breath before nodding. “yeah, okay.” 

“Okay.” You bite your lip for a moment, thinking, before you ask lightly, “What’s your favorite color?” 

“Purple.” He replies without hesitation, relaxing further beneath you as he considers his own question. “What’s your favorite food, noona?” 

“Ugh, you already know that!” You say with mock exasperation, and he grins, before you laugh and say, “Red Bean Paste Stew. My turn.” You suck your bottom lip between your teeth again, chewing on it as you consider your options. Suddenly, you snap your fingers. “Got it. What’s your favorite animal?” 

“Tiger.” He answers, once again quickly, not having to think at the simple question, his nose screwing up slightly in thought. 

“Really?” You joke, leaning forward to press the tip of your index finger to his wrinkled nose. “Are you sure it’s not a bunny?” 

“Yah.” He groans in annoyance, and you laugh, as suddenly, he’s pushing you off of his body, rolling you to the side, as he turns to face you, face squirreled into a look of irritation. “Why does everyone always ask that?” 

You laugh again, but then the sound dies off into the silence between the two of you, and you realize, with a jolt, just how close the two of you are, how easy, how effortlessly, you have transitioned into being in each other’s space-Jungkook’s dark eyes close enough that you can see the specks in his irises, feel his balmy breath washing across your face, see the tips of his long white fangs pressed into the pink, supple skin of his bottom lip. 

“Noona.” 

Your gaze flicks back up to his at his quiet call of your name, and his brow is once again furrowed in thought, as he considers you, eyes never leaving your face, noses almost brushing. 

“Why is your heartbeat so loud?” He breathes out, and you’re suddenly very aware of your heart pounding, almost painfully, against the walls of your ribcage in response to him. 

“Because of you, Kook.” You murmur back, tongue darting out to wet your suddenly dry lips, as your gaze once again falls back down to his perfectly pink lips, pursed in confusion. You hurry to reassure him, reaching out carefully with one finger to smooth the deepening lines between his eyes. “It’s a good thing-the way my body reacts to yours.” 

He watches you, his pupils dilated slightly as he studies you, and then his own tongue, supple and slick, slides out between his parted lips, flashing white fangs that make your stomach jump in anticipation, as he lets out a long breath, before asking quietly, “(Y/N)? Can I kiss you?” 

“Yeah.” You nod, letting your finger drag down his cheek and across the firm lines of his jaw, as he leans toward you, his movements slightly hesitant still, as his gaze flickers down to your lips. 

His mouth covers your own, and the kiss is soft and sweet and held back, as if Jungkook isn’t quite sure how far you’re willing to let him go just yet. 

As if in answer, you part your lips for him, beckoning him to slide his tongue in between your teeth, and as he does so, your hands slide up his face, tangling blindly in his hair, as he lets out a low groan against your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you closer against him. 

The kiss is slightly sloppier now, his teeth bumping against yours in his haste to taste you, to feel you beneath his tongue, and when he pulls back, for the briefest of moments, pupils blown and lips swollen, you are both panting, trying to catch your breath. 

One of your hands slides from his hair, and you run your finger across the lines of his lips-red and plush and bruised from kissing-and in response, his mouth parts beneath your touch, and he takes your finger between his teeth, gently pricking the flesh with his fangs. 

It’s as if electricity is crackling up your hand and into your body at the touch of his teeth, and warmth and tingling and heavy anticipation coils in your stomach, and you can’t wait any longer. 

“Jungkook.” You whine, squirming, as you pull your finger from between his teeth, his eyes darkening at the sound of absolute want and need in your tone when you say his name. 

He rises above you, hands pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, fingers twisting into the strands of your hair, and then he leans forward, his lips once again meeting yours, the kiss hungry and hot and urgent this time, as his fingers drop to stroke down the tender skin on either side of your neck, causing you to shiver beneath him in response. 

Sliding his mouth from yours in a smooth motion, he hovers, just for a moment, above the thin flesh barely covering your pounding pulse just below your ear, and then he lowers his head, and his fangs sink into your throat, and it’s the familiar feeling-of bright pain, and then chilling ecstasy and warm pleasure. 

Your fingers curl into the material of his shirt as he drinks for a few moments, swallowing your blood noisily, some of the warm liquid cascading past his lips and slipping down the skin of your throat, pooling, warm and stagnant, in the hollow at the base of your neck. 

And then he pulls back, carefully retracting his fangs from your body, and you relax slightly, letting your fingers unclench from his shirt, as you feel his tongue, gentle and warm, lap across the marks on your skin, sealing them, before he licks down the remaining flesh of your throat, cleaning up the blood that had escaped his lips, before he pulls back from you. 

His pupils are still blown, eyes dark, and you reach up, carefully wiping some of your blood from his bottom lip, the liquid crimson against your own skin, as you breathe out, slightly breathless, “That was good, Kook. Really good.” 

“Yeah?” He cocks his head to the side, his eyes returning to normal, brightening, as he grins down at you, the old Kookie returning as he licks his lips once more. “Next time.” He hesitates, the warm blush returning to his cheeks slightly, and it’s hard to believe, that this was the same vampire from moments before. “I’d like to do more than just kiss.” 

“Next time.” You nod, still trying to catch your breath as he lies down beside you, burying his face once again in your hair, as his fingers stroke absentmindedly up your sides. 

There is a moment of silence, and then his voice, filled with amusement, sounds in you ear. 

“Your heartbeat is still really loud, noona.” 

[stressedoutteenager]

with all the new info we got about the netflix adaption of the grishaverse, I felt more motivated to write something and recently wrote something about Kaz realizing - because Inej explains to him - that he should show more appreciation towards his friends, particularly Jesper

If you want to read on AO3: here’s the link 

Say Thank You

“Would it kill you to say thank you for once, to let him know he’s appreciated?”, Inej says as soon as the door to Kaz’s office falls shut.

She hears Kaz wince quietly while she rummages through his desk drawers for anything that would help her clean his wounds. She’s been back from her latest voyage for almost a week. It had been a successful one and coming back to Ketterdam, she felt proud and accomplished.

Kaz could tell as soon as he saw her. She was glowing.

Several days passed peacefully, while she got to reconnect with her friends. They did all send letters but as correspondence is not regular when one is on the seas and at different coasts each day, catching up in person is much more fun and rewarding. Several peaceful days had passed, indeed, until somebody tried to break into Wylan and Jesper’s home.  It is common knowledge that their home is constantly under security. And most people know not to mess with Dirty Hands, the Barrel Boss, and his associates. Some might even say his friends. Yet, somebody was stupid enough to do so. Maybe, stupid. Maybe, reckless. Maybe, brave.

Luckly, the intruders seemed to be only there to gather intel. They got scared off by Kaz and Inej arriving at their friends’ house. Instantly, the couple inside, that had not noticed anything going on outside, was interrogated about possible enemies. It could have been someone trying to break in to steal from their big fortune, but that thought was dismissed quickly. Doing that would be stupid and nothing else. However, this attempted break-in seemed to be only the start of it. Threats kept coming; break-ins at the Crow Club, vandalism at the Slat, cheating and brawls while gambling.

Kaz didn’t want his friends to be involved again, not after they left the Dregs behind - for the most part. Wylan is still in contact with Kaz for business and Jesper supports Kaz’s businesses in various ways when he can. But, they don’t interfere with the Dregs’ dirty business. Inej on the other hand… whenever she’s back in Ketterdam, she’ll share anything she finds valuable with Kaz. She would have never dreamed that she’d miss the dirty, crooked rooftops of Ketterdam and yet... she can never resist to jump from roof to roof like she’s flying.  Those familiar, light steps of Inej’s always itched to be up above everyone else where she could blend into the shadows and listen. And listen she did. - An unknown but surprisingly quick and efficient working gang was targeting the Crows.

Kaz made a plan and his former crew members inserted themselves in it. Despite Kaz’s refusal at first, they did not relent.

But, things suddenly went south. Kaz was struck by a flying knife, none of his crew saw coming. Not even Inej, which she still feels horrible about. And then, chaos broke loose. It all happened so very fast, they were ambushed. Still, after all these years Kaz, Wylan, Jesper, and Inej can read each other’s expressions and can communicate wordlessly and accomplished to come out of the unplanned, unexpected brawl victorious.

Now, as Inej turns around, Kaz has rid himself of his jacket. His shirt is ripped, quite a big patch is red. Kaz only looks at Inej while crossing the room until he’s stood right next to her. Leaning on his desk, he takes the cotton ball from Inej’s hand.

“He didn’t have to join me.”, Kaz simply says.

Inej’s eyes wander over Kaz’s face, down his body to his torso. The red patch is still getting bigger. And Kaz is not doing anything about it. Inej steps closer, meets Kaz’s gaze and waits. A couple moments all he does is stare right back. His jaw set, eyes trained on the girl in front of him that didn’t think twice before exchanging her captain’s hat for her scaling shoes when she noticed it might be useful. Useful to Kaz.

Finally, he nods and she starts unbuttoning his shirt slowly. She takes care to not touch his skin, pulling the shirt away from him, towards herself, while taking one button at a time. When his shirt is finally completely open and pushed off his shoulders, the deep stab wound on his abdomen is on full display.

“Apply pressure.”, Inej instructs him as she hands him a towel and takes the cotton ball back. He doesn’t make a sound but Inej can feel his quick breath on her cheek. He's hurting. She does not want to make him more uncomfortable than he already is and pays attention to not touch him with her fingers. The cotton ball is now pinched between her fingers. “Neither of us had to. We wanted to. And if it weren’t for Jesper there, you’d be in much more pain than you are now.”, she lifts her head to look at Kaz and only when he meets her eyes, she adds, “Or dead.”

There’s no movement in his face. His eyes stay on Inej, when he says:“I can handle myself.”

“Sure. You’re the Bastard of the Barrel .”, Inej says through her teeth. She tells him to lift the towel and cleans as much of the blood as she can before taking a step back to get the bandages. She had seen them in the drawer at his desk. She goes back to stand in front of Kaz and cuts up the bandage into the right sizes.

“I know you’re trying. I can see it.”, she says, not meeting his gaze. They both know what she means. It is not a secret that Kaz goes to meet Jesper and Wylan regularly. Most people think it’s on business and yes, sometimes it is, but mainly, it is a pretense. Still having her eyes only on the bandages, she continues: “But sometimes it’s not enough. If Jesper weren’t there today, if he hadn’t used his power, you’d be injured so much worse.”

Positioning a bandage on his wound that is still bleeding, she continues to speak while applying more pressure than is needed: “And forget saying thank you, you barely glanced in his direction afterwards and gave Wylan the instructions on how to keep their home safe.”

“I..”, Kaz starts to talk but stops as soon as Inej leans closer to wrap a thin piece of towel to keep the bandage in place. She hovers so closely that he can smell the flowery smell in her hair, even through the dust and dirt of the brawl not even hours ago.

Inej mutters: “You can’t just always assume everyone around you knows what you think.”

She’s done with the big wound and steps back. To give him a break. And to be able to see his reactions to what she’s saying. Kaz smirks lightly when saying: “They are not supposed to.”, but that doesn’t impress Inej one bit.

“But your friend should. Your friend should know that you’re grateful for his help. That you appreciate them. Especially when they are this close to you and when they see you as family.”, Inej says, arms crossed over her chest but her tone of voice softer than before.

The adrenaline is only now wearing off and the fear that Kaz might be hurt badly is growing calmer.

Inej can see how much Jesper means to Kaz. And deep down, Jesper knows that, too. But he should not have to settle for only that.

Kaz does not say anything, does not show anything in his eyes. Inej shakes her head and turns around to put away everything she did not use and she can hear Kaz limping towards the trunk near the door, where he keeps spare clothes. While worrying about his stab wound, neither had thought about his leg. She hears Kaz wince before she even turns around and can see him struggling to put his shirt on. Inej closes the distance in quick, quiet steps and helps him wordlessly. She then continues to button it up.

“Thank you.”, Kaz says and Inej can feel his eyes on her. She doesn’t look up until she has buttoned up every button. That she can hide her small smile that way helps too. She is incredibly happy that he opens up more to her now than he ever did. Emotionally and physically, verbally or with his looks. She’s proud of his progress. And still, her point from before stands.

“You’re welcome.”, she says, finally looking at him and finds him looking at her with a small smile. She tries to school her features but it is too late. He saw the effect of that small smile. No matter how much older she is now and how many threats and problems she has faced by now with a straight face, Kaz still has the annoyingly exciting influence on her as if she’s still 16.

Kaz takes a deep breath without moving an inch away from Inej and says: “I have some immediate business to take care of. But in the morning I’ll go check up on Wylan and Jepser.”

“Good.”, Inej answers and allows herself to finally smile at him. His eyes focus on her lips drawn upwards; his hand itches to drag her closer. “I’ll accompany you.”

Kaz’s first instinct is to refuse. Out of habit. Even though he would like her to stay at the Slat with him. Even though they both know he might need a second pair of eyes when walking through Ketterdam the next morning. He bites his tongue and nods.

He takes out the key to his room from his pocket and hands it to her: “You’ll be least disturbed there. I’m going to send some of my people to take care of the remainder of today’s business.”

-

The next morning, a message boy arrives at the Slat, asking for a message to be given to Mr. Brekker, who had already left to go check up on the person who sent the message, inviting him to Breakfast.

Jesper is the one to open the door and is surprised at the speed at which his friends arrived but doesn’t comment on it. He lets them in and locks the door behind them.  Inej greets her friend and continues towards the kitchen where an off-key singing Wylan can be heard. Jesper makes a move to join her but Kaz calls him back: “Jesper, a moment please.” Inej hears Kaz and knows she shouldn’t be as proud as she is. This should be a given. Still.

“Everything okay?”, Jesper asks, looking Kaz up and down.

Kaz sets his cane aside and nods. “Yes.”, and then does not know how to continue. Inej had said he should let his friends who see him as family know that he appreciates him. But that’s the problem. Jesper is like a brother to Kaz. It makes it harder to express his thoughts, not easier.

“Okay..”, Jesper says, a little suspicious.

“Just…”, Kaz continues and straightens his back and looks at Jesper properly. “Thank you… for your help yesterday.”

Jesper needs a moment to process what Kaz said, but then opts to play it off. He shrugs and waves it off: “Sure, no problem. It’s nothing.”

Kaz is tempted to let it go now. He said thank you. But he knows that once again Inej is right. “No, it’s not nothing. Without you there yesterday, I might have scarcely come out of the attack.”

He is looking Jesper in the eyes but is not showing anything more than his usual stoic gaze. And yet, Jesper knows Kaz means it. To that, he smiles and instantly wants to hug Kaz but knows better. Instead he nods, smiling, and tries not to beam.

They turn to go join the others in the kitchen, but Jesper’s step falters when Kaz adds: “But don’t ever put yourself in danger for me again.”

Kaz does not stop, he passes his friend and thinks, he does not want another brother dying before him.

[doodle-zombie]

Lamia Bonding #14: Beach Day

Warning: If you're at all squicked by self-hate due to body perception, please keep that in mind before you read this.

---

Packing the boys up and taking them to the beach was... an idea that Valerie sort of regretted. The weather had gotten a lot nicer in the last few days and she loved swimming and the beach was one of those things that everyone could enjoy. She refused to take any of her boys to a crowded pool, not willing to see what chlorine would do to Sangria's beautiful scales. If it was anything close to what happened to her skin... yeah, she wasn't risking it.

It was fortunate that she had taken possible beach days into account when getting clothes for her boys and she had several sleeveless tops that would keep them decent enough not to attract weirdos. The unfortunate part was...

Swimsuits.

Valerie hadn't worn a legitimate swimsuit since the one time she'd wore a bikini, back when she was 12, and the experience had been so unpleasant it still made her feel sick. Since then she had strictly worn shorts and a tank top whenever she was swimming around other people and she tended to have massive freakouts the day before. When it came to what she looked like with less covering her Valerie was often shoved into a deep pit of sadness. None of her boys had seen her with less than a long sleeve shirt and pants on, feet completely covered as well.

Sadly, she couldn't hide behind so much coverage when it got hot enough to make her sweat. And with the boys being in her life she couldn't just hide when she wore fewer clothes.

All of the boys had slept with her, even Sangria had somehow got tired enough to actually sleep, and she woke up so hot that she'd wanted to melt. And of course, she had worn her usual fuzzy pajama pants and long sleeve shirt to sleep so she was an absolute furnace that the boys loved cuddling with. A miserable furnace. She was sure that a tail had even slipped into the leg of her pants sometime in the night.

The increase in temperature was not a very welcome change for Valerie but she peeled herself out of bed and went to check the weather report. It would be warm enough that people would be congregating at the beach, since the weather had been fluctuating so much lately, and she could admit to being somewhat excited to get to the water herself. Sure, she generally had to shave before she went or she would never be able to convince herself to leave the house but it would be worth it. Her boys would love to sunbathe in hot sand, she was sure of it!

Unfortunately, Valerie was ruthlessly reminded that none of them had seen her uncovered before. As soon as she took off her shirt and laid eyes on the old scars... she felt immediately disgusted. It was just a flash and then it was shoved aside for indifference instead but she still stared at the scars on her left arm for much too long. They didn't stop there, either. Littering any easily covered area from her chest down to her upper thighs. She had allowed herself to forget they were even there.

Out of sight, out of mind.

She wasn't ashamed of the scars, per se, but they generally got her a lot of negative attention. Add on to that, Valerie was incredibly pale and the number of comments that got her was something else entirely. When she had hair to cover the scars she could forget they were there but she feared the fight it would cause if she didn't go smooth more than people seeing her scars. Better for people to assume she'd survived an attack of some sort than to think she was a radical feminist hell-bent on taking down the patriarchy.

Marmalade was drawn in by her negativity just as she was finally putting clothes on, shorts, and a tank top as she usually wore when the weather was warm. Not only would it be the first time he saw her scars but it would be his first glimpse of the tattoos as well. The green eyes of the wolf on her left side were what greeted him while she carefully put her hair up into a ponytail. Valerie tried to summon a believable smile for her Chain but she could tell if fell flat by his open skepticism. Of all her boys, he knew her the best.

"We're going to the beach," she announced, hands on her hips to avoid rubbing at her arms. "Can you make sure everyone gets ready while I prepare the snacks?"

"'k."

Well, that was the least amount of fuss she had ever gotten about anything. Marmalade wasn't big on fussing with her but he was usually capable of a bit of funny, fake tantrum-throwing to make her smile. She was still anticipating a tantrum but likely from Currant because the chances of someone making a comment on her boys were high. People wouldn't understand how she kept a Coral and a Mamba together, or why she had them in such large sizes when the bitty versions were "sooo much better don't you know?"

Ugh, she was already disgusted.

Nothing that she came up with prepared her for what actually happened.

Arriving at the beach was the easy part, her van fit all the boys with moderate comfort and they could assist her when it came down to moving things around. Lapis was already napping, sprawled across her shoulders and snoring away. Currant wouldn't help, still incredibly wary and insistent on clinging to her side. Marmalade and Sangria were already off, the Mamba declaring he would find the perfect spot for them to bask and his clutch brother rolling the small lights in his sockets. Other people gave Sangria a wide berth, unwilling to be on the receiving end of his venomous ire by accidentally touching him when they weren't allowed to.

Valerie followed with a little laugh, holding Currant's hand so she could still walk but they wouldn't get separated. His reaction to the sand was a little shiver of bliss, the grains perfectly warm against the dense magical scales of his tail. She was surprised to find that, though her boys weren't the only lamia around, she had the only full-size lamia on the whole beach. There were a few people who had the distinct forms of Chain lamia, one or two had Corny lamia bitties, but nobody had a Mamba or Coral. In fact, the most common type she saw was the Papython and she even saw more Kings!

The only lamia types she didn't see at all were Mamba, Coral, Pygmy, and Honey Bo. And that made her really sad, a Pygmy would love to be taken to the beach! She had almost assumed there were no Kraits but a squint towards the water revealed their characteristic pattern bobbing amongst the waves. Valerie even saw some bitty types she'd never seen before, including a few skeletons with wings flittering about and though they were adorable she worried they'd be picked off by predatory birds and the seagulls!

She spent so long admiring the other bitty around her that Valerie had effectively been ignoring the comments being passed around about her. It wasn't anything new and having her focus on it once again meant that Val just clenched her teeth behind her smile and kept walking.

"...legs are so pale!"

"...see all those scars? What a freak."

"Does she think she's cute?"

Her hand tightened around Currant's phalanges, drawing his crimson eye lights up to her face. Val was trying her hardest not to think about how much she once firmly believed what these people were saying about her. She wasn't some skinny girl who could pull off a swimsuit and feel confident that everyone thought she was cute. Ah, she remembered why she never got a roommate and why she preferred to live so far from other people.

Why her only friends were monsters she adopted to care for.

"HOW DARE YOU SSSSSAY SSSSUCH LIESSSS ABOUT MY HUMAN!"

The booming, enraged voice of Sangria sharply cut through her mental anguish. While she was stuck in her own head they had managed to reach Sangria and Marmalade, both of which were incredibly irritated by the comments they'd heard directed at her. Sangria was puffed up angrily, so far off the ground and emitting a deep hiss that he looked much larger than she knew he was. Marmalade's tail was buzzing, something Valerie had never seen him do before, and the menacing glare on his face showed he would tolerate no disrespect towards his bonded. People that had been close seemed much more interested in putting distance between themselves and her boys.

Currant quickly joined in on their posturing, less withdrawn once he was around the others, and added in a lot of very.... colorful insults. Even Lapis, her lazy boy, was tensed around her neck and glaring darkly from beneath one of her plugs.

"Well," she drawled, amused at how quickly their section of the beach had been vacated. "That's one way to guarantee we have enough space to bask."

"not funny," Currant and Marmalade hissed together, twin stares daring her to pretend she was OK.

Ever the large personality, Sangria wasted no time in taking her mind off the insults to her person.

"Put your human sun lotion on," he commanded, hands upon his hips. She had to squint to look at his tail, which was just beautiful under the sun. "The last thing we need is you getting burned."

"I love you guys," she breathed, absolutely delighted by the colorful range of blushing skulls.