#call me millions knives the way i own way too many fucking knives

[orcelito]

At some point soon ish I'll try to gather all my knives up for another group pic. It's been a while since I've taken one. I have so many fucking knives

[shisnhou]

i l*ve you

pairing. ran haitani x gn! reader

genre. angst, breaking up

cw. toxic relationship, ran has a gun, a gun is pointed at someone, asks of death, infidelity

wc. tbc

an. -

you never understood what someone meant when they said, or ever felt like they were going to puke right that instant because of all the emotions that were falling upon them. you’ve always thought that one way or another, they might have just been exaggerating.

how could one experience such enormous emotions the point wherein they could no longer hold on. up to the point that even their own digestive system would give up and let everything out.

to you, it was all myth. there is no way that could possibly happen.

up until it happened to you.

"..i got a girl pregnant."

finally, you get to understand the feeling of projectile vomiting due to the emotions hitting you in all your weak spots all at the same time.

you violently hear your world break right underneath your feet. the ground underneath you has been stolen and suddenly, the face of death appears right before your eyes, ready to take you with open arms. 

the words have disappeared from the tip of your tongue. just a minute ago, you’ve had so much to say, but right now, there’s nothing that you can say. you’re all of a sudden, mute and perhaps deaf at the same time. because, even though the sound of your world crashing was so loud, everything that’s leaving his lips are not being heard by your ears.

though, you do manage to hear one thing he‘s saying. “she means nothing to me,” you catch that from him. just that, and then everything else is just gone. 

it hurts. it feels as if a million knives has just been stabbed through you. this hurts just as much as getting shot in the heart. such immense pain you’ve never felt before pierces you straight in the gut, and it hurts, it hurts so much that you wish you were dead. 

“please listen to me.” you watch him beg, kneel in-front of you with his eyes shedding tears. his hands are bunching up your shirt, gripping it hard as if you’d disappear if he doesn’t. “she doesn’t mean anything!”

you were so happy with him. just yesterday you were in bed, sharing the passion that you thought he had reciprocated, but today it suddenly feels like you’ve been slapped in the face by realty. it feels as if you’re being punished for believing you actually deserve such happiness. 

“hit me! punch me! stab me!” he screams, his hands fumbling, reaching for something from the back of his pants. with eyes so sad, yet so bored, you watch him. he’s desperately looks at you, when he finally finds what he had been fishing for.

his gun. 

“shoot me!” he’s pushing the weapon to your hand, placing your fingers between the trigger and pushing the muzzle right against the middle of his forehead. “but please, i beg of you. please don’t leave me.” his voice is barely a whisper, pleading you as he cries. 

your heart screams, yet it feels empty. how could ran haitani, such a feared man be reduced to almost nothing?

“ran,” you call for him, and he looks at you. 

those purple eyes, god those purple eyes you adored so much suddenly feel like the sun. the sun that’s so beautiful, so bright, so addicting, so fun to look at, yet if you look to much, for too long, it’ll burn you, and then permanently blind you. 

“did you.. did you even love me?” the question suddenly feels like a rope around his neck, and you’re the one holding the axe, ready to cut the rope and hang him. “did you even think of me? think of our happiness? think of what you had right at your palm?”

such easy questions, yet he can’t answer them. he cannot find the precise words to use as his answers. he feels like a baby once again. there are so many words he knows, yet not one, not a single one can translate a single thing that’s going through his head right now. 

“it’s a fucking easy question!” you blow up. if your tears hadn’t fallen earlier, then surely now, they’re dripping and forming a river right at your feet. “answer me!”

“i don’t know.” he cries, “but please! please don’t leave me!” it’s so not him. he isn’t usually the one begging for mercy, on his knees, crying so hard that he cannot breathe. 

“you’ve got the nerve ran.” you scoff, holding his wrists, dropping the gun that was pushed onto you. “got the nerve to beg me not to leave you when you, you actually dared to tell me that you’d marry me. and then you fucking cheat on me.” it’s as if a hand is being encased around you neck, choking you, threatening to tell you that if you don’t leave it’ll kill you. “you told me you loved me as if you actually meant it!”

“but i did mean it!” he holds unto you, even though you’re desperately pushing him away to grab what you can and leave him in this place you once called home. 

“had you meant it, you wouldn’t have fucked someone else!” that scream leaves him quiet, and leaves you out of words. this time, his grip falls, and you finally are free from him. 

he looks at you with the saddest face you’ve ever seen from him. all while you two were together, you never made him cry, while he made you shed tears on occasions. there was never a time in your relationship wherein he had begged on his knees for you, sometimes you did for him. there was never a time in this relationship wherein he begged you to hurt him, sometimes, you did just beg him to hit you instead of walking out in the middle of the argument. 

the love you had with him, it was never right. everyone was against it. quite literally, it was always you and him against the world. you turned your back on the world because he asked you to do it with him. because he was your world, the only shoulder you could lean on when the whole universe made all the odds go against you. 

yet now, your world, the man who holds your heart, the one ground you stand on, your everything, they’re all gone. they‘ve all been seized. now you’re left with nothing. there’s not a single speck on you. it’s as if, your world, it moved without you, and you didn’t even know. 

“i won’t tell you to live a good life when you ruined mine, ran.” you shakily release breath, taking your wallet and phone as your rush to remove your tears. “i was yours, and i thought you were mine. i’m not sorry, ran. but i hope you are. i hope until the very last day of your life, you feel sorry for what you did to me.”

ran swallows, and then he nods. although his jaw is tight, his heart is dying: he still smiles. he finds it in himself to smile, even when he feels like dying. "if that‘s what you want, then okay." he shallowly breathes. "but no matter what, i still, and always will love you. i love you."

your world, it fell apart. and even though you said your bitter goodbye as the night bleeds into the light sunset, in your heart the goodbye is hallow. you didn‘t mean it, because even though you didn‘t want to, you still love him. in your heart, you can‘t, and never will, escape the way you love him.

content belongs to @shisnhou on tumblr! do not repost, copy, use, or modify!

[capricorn-stark]

Protégé

pairing: red hood!jason todd x robin!reader, slow burn 

warning: swearing

a/n: for context, this is somewhat loosely based off of Battle for the Cowl (2009) which I definitely recommend as a read! 

There was something about falling that you would never, ever get tired of. 

Ever. 

Probably.

With the wind whistling in your ears, your hair floating up in a million directions, and your limbs seemingly weightless as the buildings and lights blurred into one endless streak of color, the rush of adrenaline that ran through your body right before your grappling hook shot out and you landed quietly on the concrete was about a million times better than any sparring session back at the cave. 

You grinned as you straightened, rather proud of the fact that you had actually managed to land so smoothly without nearly paralyzing yourself. Again.The landing was something you had been working on for a while now.

You could practically hear Bruce’s voice ringing through your head after your little stunt, lamenting on and on about how you had more important things to focus on during patrols, and you let out a sigh as you ran down the backway of the nearly empty streets. 

The heavy man who had been bound up with a decently made gag and one of Bruce’s fancy tech pieces (Batcuffs, maybe? Something else with Bat smacked in front of it?) grunted beside you. 

“What? Not like you had someplace to be.” You grabbed the back of his rather tacky-looking spandex suit to drag him along back to where your mentor was supposed to be.

Despite your (many) disagreements and his (many) criticisms of your hand-to-hand combat skills, attitude issues, and pretty much everything else relating to you, Bruce had actually still allowed you to go off on your own tonight. It might’ve been because he wanted a few hours of nothing but beating up petty criminals by himself for stress-relief, it might’ve been because he had started trying out that whole independence thing with you a little more (even though you were still only permitted to be about five blocks or so away), it might’ve been plot-convenience - but either way, you appreciated the gesture.

It didn’t take long for you to pull your new friend over to what should’ve been your rendezvous point with Batman, letting the man drop with a dull thud and a grunt of protest against the concrete as you glanced around for the other man. You weren’t particularly concerned by the fact that the Bat himself wasn’t there yet - after all, he was the goddamn Batman. He’d show up eventually. In the meanwhile, you decided to go over the information you had gotten on the criminal with you. 

Just for the sake of it. Bruce would make you go over it anyways.

“Drury Walker, thirty-two years old, found him trying to mug someone in a back alley and make an escape. Called himself…” you paused, looking down at his sorry-looking outfit for a few moments while he looked up at you with murder and vengence in his eyes. “...Killer Moth.”  

“Killer Moth?” A completely new voice repeated in disbelief, causing you to immediately whirl around to face them in a fight stance, heart racing at a million miles per hour. The guy in front of you had his hands up in the air, his face concealed with some sort of red knock-off Iron Man helmet. He was gonna get copyrighted by Marvel Studios. “Shit, sorry,” he started at the sight of you, still leaning up against one of the walls. “I was supposed to make a wholeass dramatic entrance, but you said his name was Killer Moth and that-” The man made a noise that was either a sharp cough or a laugh of some kind. “-sounded so fucking lame I couldn’t help myself.” 

Despite the fact that you were definitely in some sort of major trouble with this new guy, he really did have a point. Even Killer Moth himself would’ve been embarrassed by how trash his name was, if not for the fact that he looked like he was on the verge of an aneurysm - understandably so, since the new guy had produced not one, but two guns out of apparently nowhere. 

“And let me guess,” he continued, pointing one of them at your head, his tone still all-too light and easy. “You must be the Bat’s brand-new Robin.” 

Now this is where most people would've shut up and proceeded to be complicit with the dude holding two guns. But Batman hadn’t seen reason and made you his (sort of) partner because you were like other people. Hell no.

“Do I look like a traffic signal to you?” It had been the very first of your amendments with Bruce. You would not be fighting crime looking like a literal traffic signal or, at best, a clown from Haly’s Circus. And the tiny green shorts had to go. “Or Robin Hood?” The guy had a rather awkward pause where his gun sort of dipped. Killer Moth was looking between you with wide eyes. “Do I?” 

“I guess you kinda got a point.” You huffed and he raised his gun again, getting more in-your-face as his already angry-looking helmet somehow managed to look angrier. You weren’t exactly sure how a helmet could convey so much emotion. “But you work with Batman. And I heard you went by Robin.” 

Okay, so you couldn’t make him change the name, but you had agreed it would be more of an honorary thing.

“It’s complicated.” 

Using such a phrase as an excuse to escape from situations you didn’t want to go into was one of the many things you had learned from Bruce in your five months of training. Somehow, that seemed to trigger the guy further.

“So you do work with Batman.” 

Before he could do something actually insane, you had managed to push the gun pointed at your head away from you, using his brief second of surprise to take it out of his hands, kick him in the chest, and round back on him with it in hand. 

“And what about it?” 

As cool as you thought you might’ve sounded didn’t cover for the fact that you were still nerve-wracked about what was happening right then. Especially after the guy started to dramatically slow-clap like some sort of evil thespian in a high school drama. 

“Not bad, Robin. Not bad.” He looked at the gun in your hands and grinned. “If you weren’t Batman’s new replacement sidekick, I might’ve believed you had the balls to use that thing.” 

Now, you were an excellent fighter. You had to be, after your excessive training with the guy who had literally mastered about every martial art in existence during his (give or take) five year-long mission to find himself. Plus, some personal experience. But fighting someone like this guy? Built like a tank and padded up in a whole lot of armor and packing an assortment of knives, guns, and even a damn taser you got a first-hand taste of?

You fought hard, but about five minutes and another round of the taser later, you saw the knock-off Iron Man helmet staring down at you before the world went black.

~*~

You woke up in what you assumed was the self-dubbed Red Hood’s safehouse of sorts. 

“How the hell did he rope you into this shit?” he demanded with what you could only assume was him glaring at you through the helmet. Probably some expression that made someone look all angsty and annoyed - which was fair, since he had been trying to drill you for information you straight up refused to give while bound (way too tightly) to a chair for quite some time now. Rather rude. “Let me guess. You watched your parents die.” You stared at him before shrugging.

“Nope.”

“Oh, so they just went ahead and died somehow. Untimely accident caused by some psycho bitch in a Spirit Halloween costume.”

“…nope.” 

“They abandoned you as a child.”

“No, they didn’t - does divorce count?” 

Red Hoodlum’s hands kept clenching and unclenching while he stood there, staring at the wall behind you in silence. From the way his chest kept rising and falling, you were tempted to believe he was practicing breathing exercises amidst his rather violent twitching. 

“Divorce - what the hell is your trauma supposed to be? Why did he pick you?!”

“Hey, just because my trauma doesn’t include people dying doesn’t make it any less traumatic,” you scoffed in response, knowing you were absolutely right about that. Your middle school guidance counselor had said so (and it’s true, ladies and gentlemen, trauma comes in many forms!). “Kinda rude to assume it didn’t affect me somehow.”

He seemed rather abashed at that and you heard him clear his throat a little. 

“...right, yeah. Sorry.”

“Apology accepted - can you loosen these ropes a little? It’s starting to kinda hurt.” 

“Do I look ten? That’s the oldest trick in the book, I’m not gonna-”

“I’m not going to run, just loosen the ropes a little.” He still looked like he didn’t believe you. “Come on, I don’t think I can outrun your guns.” As in his literal array of guns tacked up to the wall behind him, not his gigantic biceps. 

And you weren’t too worried about being held hostage by him, either. You figured you had ten minutes tops before Batman burst in through the doorway, ready to give you a lecture on why straying from the specifically designated parts of Gotham he had let you traipse around was a terribly stupid idea. 

“No.” He was already walking towards the door, because apparently, he had enough of trying to interrogate you. 

“Hold on, I feel like my wrists are actually about to start bleeding or something - where are you going?”

“Keep talking and I’m gonna get the duct tape.” 

“Is that a threat?” Sounding more confident than you actually felt should eventually make you more confident. Eventually. 

The Red Hood sucked in a breath, stopping by the doorway and turning to face you, reaching into his pockets to get what you assumed was either a gun or duct tape when you both startled from a sudden crash. The man in front of you was already whirling around with two guns positioned to shoot when you heard the familiar voice of someone else.

“Hold your fire, soldier. I’m not here for you.” A pause. “Or I wasn’t, but now I kind of am.”

Apparently, Batman was too busy to save you. Now, you got Nightwing. 

And as much as you liked Nightwing, that still kinda stung. 

[speechlessxx]

For Better, For Worse (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

Summary: In which the reader reunites with her estranged husband.

Warnings: language, Sad Ransom (he’s a little out of character in this ngl), bad writing, SPOILERS (if you haven’t watched Knives Out)

Word Count: 1634

Feedback is appreciated!

You were hosting a get together at your new apartment. A few of your college friends found time to visit your new home in New York City. It was a gift – an apology – from your husband, whom you’ve been separated with for the past year. Separated. Not divorced.

The split was nowhere near mutual. “I’m not happy,” you confessed to him with tears running down your face. “I’m not happy anymore.” And although he didn’t want you to leave him, he didn’t want you to resent him by forcing you to stay. So, with regret, he let you go.

You got married young. You didn’t want to call it a mistake though many of your friends and family argued that it was. They’d say you were hypnotized by the empty promises that he said and that it was about time you came to your senses. They’d tell you that you deserve to be happy, that you deserve better. You wouldn’t tell them that although you weren’t happy as the relationship found its end, you didn’t want better. You just wanted him.

It all started with an urgent knock on your apartment door. Three sharp taps grabbed your attention and you walked over to the door. You opened it without bothering to look through the peephole.

“Linda?” You asked in surprise. Lo and behold, your mother-in-law stood in the hallway. Her brows were pulled together in a scowl and she looked exhausted. “What are you doing here?”

Though the Thrombeys weren’t your favorite bunch, they were still kind enough to welcome you into their family. They had high hopes for your relationship. They thought that you were going to be the one to tame the beast. But you failed.

When you and your husband made the separation known, they cut you off. And understandably so. Joni had unfollowed you on Instagram. Meg stopped answering your calls. Linda and Richard had even blocked you from contacting them – you were sure you’d get a restriction order. Walt and his family never bothered to talk to you, so the harsh silence didn’t hurt as much. Only Harlan had reached out. He said if you needed anything, to let him know.

“I need you,” Linda muttered. It sounded as if the words hurt her as she said them.

“What?” You scoffed, your grip on your apartment doorknob tightened. Your knuckles turned white. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to go back to Massachusetts with me.” She said, sternly. “Pack enough for a week, maybe two.”

“I have guests,” you frowned at her demands. “What happened?” Dread filled you. It had to be an emergency if Linda Drysdale came all this way to talk to you.

She let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “(Y/N), if you don’t do as I say this instant, so help me God, I will drag you out by the hair.”

Your frown deepened as you took a step back and shook your head. “You’re not my boss. If you touch me, I will call the cops.”

“You always had a backbone on you.” She chuckled dryly. “That’s why he liked you so much. You were the only girl that would ever stand up to him.” She put her hands on her hips as she sighed. “He needs you, (Y/N).”

-=+=-

And with that, you found yourself on the Drysdale private jet, flying back to the life you left behind.

You told your friends that it was an emergency and that you’d reach out once it’s all over. They were all understanding as they quickly filed out of your apartment.

You looked out the window, watching the clouds pass. You and Linda sat in silence. She had a drink in hand as she furiously typed on her cellphone.

“You never told me what happened,” you muttered filling in the silence.

She glanced up at you, a glare in her glasses. Her lips pursed. “And you never told me why you left my son.”

“Not like you guys ever answered me when I tried to talk to you.” You snapped. “Wait, he never told you?”

“Did you cheat on my son?”

You frowned at the accusation and shook your head furiously. “Absolutely not. I love him.”

“Love,” she repeated, a smirk painted on her lips. “Well, it’s good that you didn’t say ‘loved’.”

“Why does he need me?” You asked. “Is he… is he filing for divorce?”

But she never answered your question.

-=+=-

The ride was silent. You didn’t exactly know where she was taking you. There was a small voice in the back of your head that joked that she was going to kill you, but you knew that wasn’t true. Linda Thrombey was capable of many things, but murder wasn’t one of them.

“Is this a joke?” You asked her as the two of you got out the car.

“Am I laughing?” She bit back, slamming her car door shut.

The jail gave you an unsettling feeling. The curious eyes of the cops followed you as you quietly followed Linda.

She paid over a million dollars for bail. That fact alone sent an uneasy feeling to your stomach.

You sat in silence as the officer handed her a garment bag. You watched the scene unfold. The doors opened to reveal him.

He didn’t notice you as he walked over to his mother. She shoved the bag into his hands, turned around and walked towards the exit. He stared after her, confused. You found your nerves again as you stood to your feet, quietly following her.

“(Y/N)?” He asked, jogging through the hall to catch up to you. When you didn’t answer, he grabbed your arm and spun you around to make you look at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Why are you here?” You snapped at him. His features softened as he saw your watery eyes. He hadn’t seen you in a year. He didn’t think that your reunion would be at a jail. You swallowed and took a deep breath. You pulled your arm from his grip.

-=+=-

Linda dropped you both at the familiar home with the large windows. The memories replayed in your mind; everything was still so vivid. “I’ll come by next week.” She said as the two of you got out. “The officers will arrive shortly.”

You bid her a quiet farewell.

You stared at him from across the dining table. He asked you to sit next to him like you would in the past, but you refused.

“Explain.” You ordered.

“Do you want something to eat?” He asked, deflecting. “I don’t know how to cook, but there should be a few things in the fridge – “

“Hugh!” You snapped. “Tell me what you fucking did!”

He adverted his eyes from your glares. He didn’t like when you stared at him like that. Everyone always thought he was a bad guy, but you never did. He knew if he told you the truth, that would change. You’d walk right out his house again and never come back.

“If I tell you, you’re going to leave me again,” he muttered. He didn’t even notice that his voice cracked. He didn’t notice the tears that began to form in the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

You put your head in your hands in defeat. You could easily look up what he did. With a bail so high, there’s bound to be a story about it on the news. From what you could gather from Linda was that Harlan’s dead and everything that was once theirs now belonged to his sweet nurse, Marta. But that was as much as she would tell you.

You sighed as you stood. You walked over to him, taking your usual seat next to him. Your hands were shaking as you reached over and grabbed his forearm. “Please,” you begged, “please, tell me.” He stayed silent. “Linda came all the way to New York to abduct me so that I’ll be here for you. She wouldn’t tell me why.” He stayed silent and you let out a shaky breath. “Now, I could easily find out what you did. A couple searches on google and I’ll knock. But I’d much rather you tell me.”

“If I tell you, you’ll leave me again.” He repeated. “I’ve already lost everything, (Y/N). If I lose you twice, I swear I’m going to lose it.”

You sighed as you stood. He thought you were going to walk away, but you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. He hesitantly wrapped his own around your waist. You missed this. You missed Ransom.

“I’m sorry that I left you,” you apologized, kissing his temple.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he muttered. “I promised you a lifetime of happiness and gave you nothing but frustrations. Like I am now.”

“But I’m here now, Ransom,” you coaxed. “I… I want to be here for you. I could’ve easily told Linda to eat shit, slam my door in her face. But she told me you needed me. I would dropped everything and everyone for you.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, burying his face into your stomach. “I’m sorry.” You felt the material of your blouse getting wet and you quickly realized he was crying. You allowed him to break down, knowing he didn’t give himself many opportunities to do so. You ran your fingers through his dark hair as you tightened your hug.

“I made a vow to you,” you whispered, pulling away slightly so that you could see his face. You sat back down in your seat and cupped his face in your hands, wiping away the tears. “I made a vow… For better, for worse, Ransom. So, whatever you did, I’m not leaving you. Not again.”

READ PART 2 HERE

[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader. 

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  general angst.    

tags / warnings.  everything about this is pain.  you can literally spin in a circle and point at somewhere on the page and it’ll be pain.  i’m sorry.

beta reader(s).  @midnighttifa​ (your comments make my days better, @pars-ley​ (you’re so lovely), and @papillonsgf​ (i owe you my life and all my love).  thank you, my dears!  💖

wc.  3k

chapter three.

You’d thought they’d left - all the memories of him.  Packed into cardboard boxes and plastic bins, folded between clothes and bare picture frames.     

You realise now, they’d only been hiding, waiting for his return.  

The smell of your perfume.  His favourite one, strawberry jam and cosy cedar wood.  It calls to moments together, of his face buried into the side of your neck.  Wandering hands and wondrous laughter, warmth crowding everywhere.  The wet of his teeth against your skin as he’d smile.  Springtime and Sunday matinees, fresh picked fruit and messy kisses.  

The mirror in your hallway - the one you’d taken too many photos in front of, that’d you almost broke one drunken stumbling night.  The one he’d loved you breathless in, with a hand at your throat and another on your waist.  Where he’d whisper sweet nothings with eyes only for you.  Where your little piece of paradise was preserved by a pretty iron frame. 

The tee shirt that you’d washed and promised to return but never had, keeping it as a trophy.  A rightful reminder of his love.  How it fits you just right without fitting you at all, comfortable and lazy and effortless.  A mirror image to the one he wears now.  

You find pieces of him scattered everywhere, swept under rugs and tucked within cupboards.  He’s there in the kettle that whistles and the tea that steeps, dipped in the honey pot and hidden behind your curtains.  He’s there in your thoughts, tucked away on the top shelf that you pretend doesn’t exist.  

Even as he sits, still and unimposing on the couch you’d both picked, he’s everywhere.

How is he everywhere?

“Want some help?”  It floats across the space, comfortably as if he’d never left.  It fits easily, familiar and lovely.  You hate it.  You hate how it makes you feel, digging up emotions you’d buried from their rightful place in the ground.  

“I’m fine.”  

A lie.  Lily white and inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things. 

You’re not quite sure why you bother.  Whose feelings were you sparing - his or yours?

“You sure?”  It’s closer than you anticipate, a ghost of a breath over your shoulder.  It sends your mind reeling, feet following in the same fashion as you all but slam into the hard block edge of your counter.  You nearly topple mugs as you go, only avoiding a disastrous mess when hands find you, catch you like that’s what they were made for. 

Jungkook’s an indomitable figure, palms searing heat into every nerve ending beneath his touch.  You can’t help the way you instinctively lean into him.  You love him somewhere deep in your bones, in the stardust that makes up every atom - a moth drawn to his flame. 

But you knew better now.  Fly too close to the sun - you’ll only get burned. 

“Please don’t touch me.”  

It’s you who breaks away first, turned towards the scent of chamomile and lavender.  You can only imagine his expression;  it’ll twist out of shape, crooked like you’ve just kicked him while he’s down.  

You suppose you have, but he’d thrown the first punch.

“Why’d you invite me in if you’re only going to ignore me?”  It hits like a shot to the gut, exactly as it’s meant to.  He isn’t asking for the sake of asking - he’s asking so you’ll cry yourself hoarse and find comfort in his arms.  He’s asking because he knows the answer and he wants you to regret it.  

You know it.  You know this side of him, even if you wish you didn’t.  

Even if you wish he was still the same boy who you’d fallen in love with years ago, full of sunshine and promise.  The one who’d have held you all night, kissed you senseless under the moon and held your hand through the sunrise.  Who’d break his own back bending over, weather a hundred storms for the people he loved. 

It’s a silly wish - a useless one, wasted on shooting stars and broken bones.  

He would never be that boy again.  He’d come too far, changed too much.  You hardly even recognise him now, cut from stone rather than cloth.  A thousand sharp edges you catch your hands on when you foolishly reach for him.  He is an incomplete masterpiece and you’ve never been artistic.  There’s nothing for you here.  

A mug is extended - an unnecessary apology.  An olive branch in the form of your old ritual.  “Please don’t say that.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?  Can’t do or say anything.”  It’s petulant and angry, a riot crowded behind his teeth.  You’re worried what the words might do - how they’ll beat you black and blue. 

“I don’t know what you expected.”  You can’t hide the exasperation, the overwhelming sadness that starts in your heart and branches out into your veins.  It creeps further, presents itself prettily in jewels nestled along your lash line and the tremble of your chin.  You’d cry if you weren’t so tired, every ounce of your effort eaten up by the boy that glares at you now and demands more than you can possibly give.  

He sighs - a long, unbroken sound - and something shifts, snaps into place as if the entire cosmos has aligned to allow this moment.  

He looks like him suddenly, like the version of himself you’d thought long lost.  It’s hidden in the peculiar shape of his mouth, uneven around his frown;  it’s there in the light of his stare, where sunbeams pour past boarded up windows.  It’s there, even where you can’t quite see it, in the corner of his soul and his drifting heart.  He’s always been a wanderer.

But then he moves, retreats back to his seat and to himself.  

He feels farther away than the moon, his silence that of the stars.

You take a careful sip of the liquid that burns through ceramic - anything to distract from the cold hands of memory that claw at your neck.  You turn words over in your hand - test them for clarity and weight, a jeweller inspecting their most prized possessions.   Was there anything you could say that would make this better? That would fix this gaping, Jungkook-shaped silhouette that tore a hole right through you?

You remember how you’d fallen for him, tumbled headlong into love with him - intensely, blindly, wholeheartedly.  It’d been easy then.  You’d dived into depths too shallow, climbed trees too fall;  you hadn’t thought your heart would break, even if every other part of you did. 

You’d thought it’d all be worth it.  

Instead you’re left with alkaline bones calcified under paper-thin skin, parchment sewn together by shaking hands and sodden by saltwater.  It’s hardly a body at all, ripe for the picking and bruising and tearing beneath teeth like knives.  

Can you blame him for how he hurts you when you’d already hurt yourself?

There’s a tang on your tongue.  It pools between seams, dripping misery into your mouth and swallowing the sob that’s formed in a wave.  It crashes against your teeth, stings the pink of your gums with salt;  it rises and crests, engulfing sandy shores you’d once built your home upon.  It comes and comes and you can’t stop it - sound bursting forth like a siren song.

He’s upon you then, utterly defenseless to your call.  He crowds you before he can think twice about it;  a drowning man seeking air.  It’s a pretty metaphor for a pretty boy.  What he doesn’t realise is that he is a galaxy all his own - not a sailor lost at sea but a swirling vortex not fit for human life.  Jungkook contains no oxygen of his own, smothering you in what he calls love and feels more like hell. 

“I’m sorry.”  It disappears into velvet, clinging to silk like electricity.  They spark in your eyes, electrifying your thoughts.  “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”  

Arms do the opposite of what they’re meant to.  They crush your resolve beneath the weight of them - pry open your insides - and you’re crumbling.  The agony comes in sheets, like September rain.  It streaks down your cheeks and soaks your clothes, sinking beneath your skin until you’re waterlogged. 

“Don’t say that.  Don’t you say that to me.”  

Don’t lie to me, you think.  

He speaks the words he thinks you want to hear, weaving them until they’re a muzzle for your sadness.  “I’m sorry.  I never meant to hurt you.”  As if good intentions make up for the way your heart aches. 

They don’t. .

“Forgive me.  Please.  I need you.” 

Forgive him.  Forgive him?  You don’t even know what you’d forgive him for.  You’re certain there are more skeletons in his closet than in the ground.  Dig one up and another three would rise - some sort of awful hydra’s head born from your nightmares.

“I can’t.”  It claws itself out of your throat and into the air that suffocates, ripping it apart with teeth and nails.  Hands find the collar of his shirt and it isn’t clear whether you’re shoving him away or clinging to him.  You can’t make up your mind, fisting the material between your fingers until the strands might snap.  It feels terribly familiar, like the thing behind your ribs that’s six seconds from tearing.  

You’re pushing and pulling, hitting and halting.  Hauled in a million different directions.  It’s too much.

“What’re you sorry for?”  A fist to his chest, right where your heart lives (or dies, rather).  Your demands are barely coherent, words with no beginning and no end.  “Tell me.  Tell me what you’re sorry for.”  

He could push you away.  It’d be easy, really.  You half expect him to.  He hates being told what to do.

“I’m sorry for hurting you.  I’m sorry for not realising how good I had it.  I’m sorry for forgetting about what we had.  I’m so fucking sorry.”  They’re confessions you’ve heard a hundred times.  Over the phone, through the door, on his knees.  It never changes - a recital he knows intimately well.  “I’m sorry for letting you down.”  

You shouldn’t have expected more.  It would never come - not with him.  Not from him.  He had too much to lose and you’d never be enough.  Nothing in comparison to those thin white lines, those flashing lights, those women. 

You thought you’d known that.  You’d had three long years to learn that.

These apologies aren’t answers;  they’re excuses.

You peer up at him - into those wondrous eyes, so full of light and swirling with constellations - that you don’t think he expects it when you thrust your hand into his chest, past sinew and gristle to find the truth.  It squeezes, incremental, around the organ that you’d once thought beat in time with yours.  Silly girl.  It hardly beats at all.  

“That’s not what you should be sorry for.”  The tears still fall.  They come, relentless, as if his mere presence undoes all your hard work;  they carry your words, pull them off your tongue like white water rapids.  “You should be sorry you’re asking me to forgive you.  You should be sorry you’re putting me through this.”  It’s those same fists, over and over again, as if you might force something more out of him.

“I’m sorry I can’t let you go.”

“Please let me go.”

“I can’t.  I can’t.”  Jungkook cries like his tears might sway the tide.  “Stay with me.  I can’t do this without you.”  It’s a lie - a terrible, poorly-dressed lie - but he speaks it like the truth, like you’re his truth.  

He begs as if he doesn’t remember the harsh sting of reality and how it fits within your story.  He pretends like these chapters haven’t been written together, passages underlined in garish red ink.  He acts oblivious to the mistakes you point out, refusing to read between the lines even when they’re written in. 

Fault lies with him - mostly, wholly - carried in the palm of his hands with small portions - sections of his knuckles - divided up to reflect the ache of your mutual loss. 

He knows that - but knowing something doesn’t mean facing it.  

“I need you, Pumpkin.”  

“You don’t need me.”  Hasn’t needed you in years, far longer than even the last three.  He’d found others to need, others to fill the gaping you-shaped hole he swore was real.  

Women with beguiling eyes and beseeching mouths.  Women whose names you never learnt but whose perfume found a home somewhere along your shelves, whose clothes masqueraded as yours when you’d find a wayward scrap of lace in the back pocket of his jeans.  Women who took your everything - but only because he’d been ripe for the taking.  

I miss you, he’d insisted over those first few weeks.  I can’t wait to come home to you.  Nothing’s the same without you. 

You should’ve known then that someone so used to having it all would never let go so easily.  

In a perfect world, you would’ve fought less, given more - uprooted your whole life to travel across the world with him.  He would’ve stayed at your side, found his vice in the shape of your smile, the beat of your heart.  You would’ve been happy.  Together. 

You wonder - would it have made a difference?  Or would all paths have led to this?  Had you been doomed from the start?  Star-crossed lovers?  

You’d like to think so.  Passing blame helps - softens the pain and drowns out the what-ifs. 

You never had a chance.

He wants to tell you it’s true, that none of them mean anything close to you.  He wants to tell you that you’re the love of his life and that, when he gives this all up - flickers out like a star that’s burned too bright - you’ll be the one he crashes into.  You’ll be the only arms he seeks, his northern star in human form.

But you told him not to lie and you’d insist he was, so he doesn’t. 

He stares at you instead, soft and sad and so desperate he can trace the fractures in your composure as he levels you with that unwavering intensity.  It stutters to life a hundred hummingbird wings;  he can practically hear them buzzing about in your chest.  He thinks they’d burst out of your chest if you weren’t careful, caging them beneath brass.

“I love you,”  he tells you, words so sweet, so tender - a melody he strings together only for your ears.  It warms your cheeks and fizzles quietly in your stomach, melting away the ice that crystallises your heart and turns it cold.  He strips you bare with the admission, hoping to find some sort of acceptance in your eyes.

He forgets that he is not a blameless boy and your body is more than a confessional booth.

You believe it when you say it, half-hearted and defensive.  It would hurt more if it weren’t so wet.  “You don’t love me.” 

“I do.”  What can he do to convince you it’s true?  He thinks he’d do anything if it brought you back to him - where he wants you most - tucked away in his arms and his head and his heart.  “I swear I do.”  

He reaches for you with high hopes.  It’s silly of him, he knows.  You’re lightyears away, tucked among the stars.  It’s where you belong, out of reach and shining bright.  He can’t deny how badly it hurts.  He wants you here, beside him;  he wants it selfishly, as he wants most things.

“You don’t love me, because you don’t hurt the people you love.”  It’s a phrase Jungkook’s heard before.  From your lips, from movie screens, from god knows fucking where.  What a stupid phrase.  He didn’t mean to hurt you.  He didn’t mean a lot of things and didn’t that mean anything?

Each time it comes, it agitates him, stewing his blood to a boil.  It simmers in his veins like witch’s brew, a love potion rotten and ruined - sweet milk gone sour.. 

Was this that - a relationship that had run its course?  A bond past its expiration date?

“I love you,”  he repeats, ever harder.  As if the words might turn to amber, remain forever on the top of his tongue, crystallised and perfect.  It feels like it.  He’s told you enough times, ever since he was fifteen years old - practically an eternity.

“”You don’t.”  It’s your own insistence, biting and cold and yet somehow still a summer’s day.  You weren’t always like this.  He’d driven you to this.  But you were never very good at keeping him out;  warmth always crept in, sunlight streaming through the clouds.  That was the glory of your love.  It was irrefutable.  

Your skin may have thickened but the fire roars on.  

“I love you.  I love you so fucking much.”  He holds you, seeks to burn the truth of his words into your marrow.  Thumbs sweep the point of your chin, right below where he’d like to leave the impression of his mouth.  

There’s a sadness in your eyes - an ocean of melancholy that turns them bitter blue.  “Love is sacrifice.”  You pry each finger from your face, turn knuckles alabaster with your gentle ministrations.  A part of him wishes you’d tear them clean off;  your kindness hurts more than your hate.  “And sacrifice is something you’ll never understand.”

You lead him to leave, just as he’s led you through hell.  You don’t falter when the door of your home swings open, the one in your heart slamming shut in tandem.  

When you tell him to go, he isn’t ready - wants to spend the rest of his life in this place with you - so you guide him out, with a tiny shake of your head and a click of the lock.  He stares at the wood grain when it shuts in his face - memorises the patterns of the home you’d built together.  He stands there longer than he should, setting sun searing upon his shoulders.  He should leave, he knows.  

But you’re his weakness and he doesn’t know whether he loves you or hates you for it.

author note.  this was really meant to just... explore their past a little bit?  so i hope that comes across?  actual plot movement will be forthcoming.  tysm for reading!!!  💜 

tag list.  @jalexad​​​ @aa-ronpa​​ @kookiesbreaky​​ @celestialflamefairy​​ @xjoonchildx​​ @pars-ley​​ @seokjinssi​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​ @patpus​ @dazedjjk​ @koozui​ @jinhitwhore​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

[fiesta-freddie]

Faded Dreams| Paul x Reader

Request: Hi! If you’re okay with writing something a bit sad or angsty, can you write a Paulie fic where he is always calm and mentally stable but he and the reader break up and after that he feels empty and can’t do work properly, tries to do anything that may help him get over her but only makes it worse, and he starts reminiscing good old days with the reader ?😭🖤

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Literally just a lot of angst

His life had seemed perfect in every way imaginable ever since you had become a part of it. His lonely days no longer felt like they dragged on forever. His bed wasn’t cold at night anymore, thanks to your warmth occupying the other side. 

He recalled all the times you two had woken up intertwined in each other's arms after a long night of kissing and pleasurable moaning. The sheets were a mess and his shirt was wrapped around your perfect figure. Being able to wake up by your side, seeing you softly sleep as the morning light began to shine through the window was when it felt like the world was perfectly still and time stopped for just a brief moment. 

But he wasn’t the same anymore and he didn’t know why. You were the first one who made him feel so empty and alone now that you were gone. No matter what he did to try and forget he just couldn’t.

He didn’t have the same energy when it came to recording in the studio. All his songs had melancholy tunes to them, instead of the happy ones that he once used to write. The words were all about heartbreak. About you.

He hoped that you would hear them and that you would know how sorry he was. He hoped you would know how much he hated himself for his mistakes. How much he missed holding you in his arms and calling you his own.

If it hadn’t been for that stupid stupid mistake he had made, he would still be making more of those happy memories with you.

He mentally scolded himself every time the recurring memory of that night popped into his head. It made him cringe.

It made his heart break into a million pieces all over again again each time. It felt like two years of his life had just gone down the drain.

“Paul! You absolutely worthless man whore! I can’t believe you- you kissed her!” You cried out in between sobs.Your broken voice echoed throughout the dark alley behind the bar. You had stomped out as soon as you saw it happen. Paul followed you out, trying to stop you.

It broke him to see you this way. Of course the kiss was only a mistake, the result of one drink too many. That still didn’t make it any better. He knew no amount of apologizing would make the situation and better. He couldn’t fix it this time, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Y/N, love, please just calm down,” His words were slightly slurred, but he tried his best to maintain clear speech “let's not get too carried away with it. Okay, pumpkin?”

“No!” You retorted. You were absolutely furious with him and if he thought that calling you one of the many nicknames he had given you would make things better, he was sadly mistaken. “No! You do not get to call me ‘pumpkin’ anymore! Maybe you should give that name to the girl you were all over five minutes ago! I’m sure she’s just dying for you to-”

“Y/N stop it!” His voice cracked, he was on the verge of tears. It took everything in him to not break down right there on the spot “You're being irrational, don’t you think?! It was one kiss, I had no idea what I was doing, okay?”

“Bullshit Paul! I know for a fact that this isn’t the first time this has happened. John even told me so! You just can’t help yourself and your goddamn tendencies can you!? God!” 

You buried your face in your hands. Your face was warm, but not in a good way. Not in the way it would usually heat up every time Paul complimented you or touched your thigh under the table. No, this warmth was from the tears that streamed down your face out of pure anger. Frustration. Hatred even. How could somebody you love so much, somebody you gave everything to, someone you let you see at your most vulnerable state, fuck up this bad? You didn’t want to believe it, but deep down you knew something like this was inevitable. 

You heard sniffling. Without even looking up from behind the small barrier you had built, you knew Paul was crying. He had cracked. And as much as he didn’t want you to see this side of him, he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. 

“Y/N, please,” he pleaded. His voice was small, barley above a whisper. You wanted to give him another chance, but your heart just wouldn’t let you. This wasn’t the first time that something like this had happened with him and you knew if you let him try again, it probably wouldn't be the last.

Your voice was calmer now, but that didn’t mean your mind was. A million thoughts were racing through your head. You slowly walked over to him and stood in front of his figure. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye, but you knew what needed to be said.  “Paul,” you began to cry again, tears streaming down your face, “I-I don’t think...I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to hurt myself. And I know I sound crazy, but I think this is for the best. For both of us.” 

He was silent. He wanted to say something but he just couldn’t. It was like he was frozen.

“Who knows? Maybe fate will bring us back together someday.” You tried to lighten the moment, but it just felt like you were stabbing a million knives into your chest. All you really wanted was for him to wrap his arms around you and ask to start over, but you knew that would never happen. 

You waited for him to respond but he didn’t. There was nothing else you had to say. Nothing else he had to say. 

Barely audible, you whispered out the last words you would ever say to the man who had given you the best two years of your life you could have ever asked for. “Goodbye, Paul.” You lightly brushed his knuckles with your fingertips before turning the other way and walking into the street.

You kept your head down to hide the tears that endlessly streamed down your face. All the memories you had with him began to run through your mind at a hundred miles per hour.

The days you had spent with him in the studio, laughing every time he messed up while recording. The number of songs he had written with you by his side. The ones he had written about you. The countless dates you two had gone on together. Watching the stars with him until the early hours of the morning.

Your first kiss.

And your last.

You never wanted to imagine having to let him go. The love of your life. 

You were sure he was the one you’d get to grow old with. The one that you would raise your kids with and make more memories with. But now that all just seemed like a dream. A dream you had to wake up from, no matter how much you didn’t want to.

------

Taglist:  @beatlevmania @givemequeen @my-dumbshit @john-lemonade @ineedyoubygeorgeharrison @princesof-theuniverse @geostarr @katiekitty261 @killerqueenisthebest @yeehaw-city @asphalt-cocktail @chloe-on-cloud9 @harrimoon​ @lovemybrowneyedboy​ @johnlennonssucculant​

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Clothing Is Custom, No Labels: Part One

“No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias.”

Summary: You’re one of the last bespoke tailors in town, making suits and custom clothing for Gotham’s elite. Business men and women, well known lawyers, the Wayne family, and... the Joker?

Genre: Self-insert

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x fem reader 

Warnings: Some cursing

Word count: 1,667

Authors Note: Here comes part one! I recommend reading the Introduction first if you haven’t 💜

Inspirational Music: Beat the Devil’s Tattoo by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

                                    - Part One -

Sleep did not come easily to you last night. You tossed and turned, worry about this cryptic meeting flooding your dreams and stirring you awake throughout the night. The lack of good sleep left you feeling hazy and distracted. So hazy that you didn’t see the uneven patch of sidewalk beneath your feet. Your hands shot out in front of you to catch yourself, the rough pavement scraping your palms.

You huffed as you stood up and brushed off your sore hands on your pants. Fucking sidewalk. You pass that patch of sidewalk every day and every day, you walk around it. But not today. Today has decided to be different.

Your keys jingled as you unlocked the back door to the shop, yawning with coffee in hand. It was going to be rough, staying here late tonight. After you opened the front curtains and switched on the lights, you reached behind the desk to turn the news on in the background while you readied the shop to open.

“Several Gotham city banks have been robbed within the last week. This string of robberies has left many dead on the scene at each location, all of whom are assumed to be accomplices, as reported by eye witnesses. If that wasn’t strange enough, all of them have been wearing clown masks,” you heard the GCN anchor say from your little tv.

What did he just say? You left the mannequin you were preparing to dress in the window and took long strides back to the desk.

“It is estimated that over sixty million dollars has been stolen thus far. Police have had few leads as their investigation continues but one man appears to be the driving force behind the robberies. Gotham PD has released this photo, captured by security cameras at Gotham National Bank just yesterday,” the anchor continued before an image flashed on the screen.

Your eyes widened and your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of a man in ghostly white makeup with black around his eyes, a blood red smile over his lips and two jagged scars curling up from both corners of his mouth, staring straight at the camera.

“Nothing else is known about this man other than that he goes by the alias, ‘the Joker’, leaving a Joker playing card behind at many of the crime scenes. If you have any information on the man pictured, please contact the anonymous tip line listed at the bottom of your screen.”

You switched the tv off, a shiver running down your spine. That image was burned into your eyes, as clear as it was on the screen moments ago. You blinked a few times but it was still there, staring at you. The Joker. Those eyes just gazed straight through the screen and locked with yours. It was unsettling but you couldn’t help but feel something else. Overwhelming curiosity. Who was this guy? Why did he paint his face? Where did he even come from? This was the first you’d heard of him. Not to mention those scars. Flesh viciously sliced apart, torn clean through, leaving behind a macabre permanent smile. A strange feeling tugged at your stomach as you thought about the pain he must have felt. They were so… terrifying.

The sound of the door opening jolted you out of your trance as you jumped and whipped around to face the door.

“Oh, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare you. Where do you want me to leave these?”

A delivery guy stood just inside the doorway with a handcart stacked with boxes. You shook your head and answered with an embarrassed smile, “It’s ok, I guess I’m a little jumpy today. You can leave them anywhere back there, thanks.”

You pointed toward the back room and he nodded on his way to drop them off. Shit, maybe you shouldn’t drink that coffee.

The afternoon crawled by at a frustratingly sluggish pace. The ticking of time made you impatient for the day to be done but simultaneously anxious about the very same idea. A particularly needy woman with perfume that burned your nose picked up an altered dress and a man looking to get his pants hemmed to fit his unfortunately short stature took up some of your time but it was still an hour before closing time. Your stomach fluttered for a second. Tonight it wasn’t really closing time. You decided to preoccupy yourself with a book you’d meaning to read, sitting down and leaning back in your chair, getting comfortable at the desk. Maybe you’d run out to grab a bite to eat soon.

Your eyelids flew open as you suddenly awoke with a start. The shop was dark. You scrambled from your chair to find the clock, grabbing it from the counter and turning it around. 9:40 pm.

Your heart started pounding in your chest, the meeting with your new mystery client was dangerously close. You cursed under your breath and rushed to close the front curtains, hoping to avoid anyone else trying to come in. It was a miracle you weren’t robbed in the first place.

Reality rushed over you and your hands started to shake with unease. Why were you so nervous? Well, this has never happened to you before. Men bringing you that much money ahead of time, in cash no less. Asking, no, telling you to stay open late for them. It was just weird. Weird in a way that made the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up. And now it was here.

A few deep breaths did something to calm your nerves a bit, at least until the hands on the clock reached 9:58. 

Headlights illuminated the maroon velvet curtains over the windows, sending your heart rate soaring once again. He’s here.

Suddenly, an urge to hide made your legs twitch as you stood in front of the desk but you resisted it, fighting to keep yourself from running to the back room. Your heart continued to pound and was joined by a shudder down your spine as you caught sight of two silhouettes, figures cast in shadow over the curtains that were moving toward the door.

You held your breath when the door opened. It was the bald man from yesterday. He made eye contact with you and blinked. You tensed up, waiting for him to say something, but instead he let go of the door to disappear back outside.

What?

Before you could react, the door opened again and a different man stepped into the shop.

You halted in place, staring at him. His hair was stringy and tinted green. His face. His face was covered with a layer of white paint, black smeared around his eyes, that devilish red smile that had been floating around in the back of your mind all day. It was him.

You couldn’t move. You willed your body to do something, anything other than stare at the man with the Glasgow smile in front of you. But that’s all you could do. Blood rushed in your ears as you stood there, trapped in your own body, for what felt like far too long.

He took a few steps toward you, thawing your muscles instantly for you to back up and bump into the desk, your eyes still on him.

“What’s the matter, hm? You look nervous. Is it the scars?” he spoke as he gestured toward his face.

His voice was peculiar. Somewhat high and nasally but deep and gravelly at the same time.

Your mouth opened to speak before you had any words in mind to say. “Uh, um. N-no. I, um, I just recognized you from the, the news,” you sputtered, trying not to visibly tremble.

His eyebrows shot up and he grinned as he replied, “Ahhh, little old me? Well I’m, uh, flatter-ed.”

The only thing you could do was nod as you continued to gaze wide-eyed at him, your hands gripping the edge of the desk behind you like a vice. The way he pronounced words was hypnotizing. They were spoken so deliberately, so carefully chosen.

“Well, as much as I’d love to continue with this, uh, ban-ter of ours, I believe you can make me a suit, yes?” he continued.

You suddenly stiffened to attention after his statement registered in your mind, your already hammering heart flipping uncomfortably in your chest.

“Oh, um, yes. Y-yes I can,” you managed to stutter.

He clapped his hands together, making you jump slightly. “Fan-tastic! Shall we?” he said enthusiastically, extending his arm out toward the mirrored area of the shop.

He waited a moment for you to move, only to watch you continue to stare like an antelope caught in a  lion’s gaze before flicking his tongue out over his scarred lip and sauntering over on his own.

Deep breaths. You took deep breaths, so quickly that they were making you nauseous. You had to try to relax. What if you made him angry? He’s killed people. What would he do if you messed up? It’s too late to back out. You swallowed hard against the lump growing in your throat. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this…

He started thumbing through the books of fabric swatches on the nearby table, scrutinizing each with his eyes and occasionally raising an eyebrow as you slowly approached with pins and needles buzzing in your hands. He suddenly flicked one of the books shut and raised his eyes to meet yours once again, making you stop in your tracks and hold back a gasp.

“Now, what do I call you, doll?” he asked, his dark eyes fixed on yours.

Your words tumbled out, responding all on their own, “Y/N.”

His gaze had captured you again and this time it was drawing you in. The room around you seemed to dissolve and all you could focus on were his spellbinding eyes.

“Y/N, call me Joker,” he purred.

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

@amethystmoonprincess @call-me-harley-quinn @paev 💜

[staggeringsmite]

HELLO! just finished properly listening to your (amazing!) corruption arc playlist! I have many thoughts, and so I wanted to ask you about specific moments and/or characters that you associate with songs (as mentioned in your tags), as I am simply SO intrigued. (did you have certain songs that were added for certain character(s)? were any songs for specific what if's? etc.) also, please consider this a free pass to ramble about anything related to the playlist that you wish. it is SO excellent!!

AHHHH!! thank you jade (both for the compliment and the free space to yell about my thoughts here because when i get playlist brainrot i get it Bad <3) // the playlist in question

i think i'm genuinely going to do a song-by-song thoughts below the cut, but here are some overview thoughts/associations if you don't wanna read all of that or don't have the time!

overall this started with athena by nova twins! i thought the sp*der imagery and overall vibe was great for a more sinister look at the wacky (mostly) chaotic neutral party as they are, just going full lolth. i wanted the pacing to be semi-slow and then drop into the more rock-heavy reckless villain-y section before moving into a (?) bittersweet? i guess? end that feels a bit more like a question mark of if it was worth it.

i think this party is full of extremely interesting motivations to side with an evil power for their own gain/the benefit of the people they care about, and each one of them has a very complex relationship with that so things spun wildly out of control as a thought about this.

for songs i associate with specific characters here's an overview, but you'll notice there aren't a lot for fy'ra rai or orym which i get into a bit more in the song-by-song:

all: i come with knives, into the spin, steady/steady, control, bad dreams / lolth: million years, athena, diggers / dariax: diggers, plenty, hollow / dorian: athena, grenadine, dangerous / fearne: plenty, you should see me in a crown, black wave / fy'ra rai: home / opal: home, grenadine, black wave, you should see me in a crown / orym: i'm not calling you a liar, dangerous

song-by-song >:)

1. i come with knives (acoustic) - this song, zoowee, so i went with the acoustic version because i think it's a nice slow but sinister start and it very much gave me the feeling of whenever you begin as a character to question taking this kind of power, that is a Source yes that you can do whatever with but is rooted in temptation and associated with evil, is there any real justification for that which is not in some part selfish. "i come with knives and agony to love you" if that isn't the chosen ones to a T in their overall reasoning for even considering a deal with lolth. and as much as that may be rooted in care, and wanting to be strong and powerful enough to protect the people they care about, it is a painful way to love when you really choose that path once and for all.

2. into the spin - this one is based on "slow climb but quick to descend" and i love the instrumentation as a part of the overall vibe, but it's about sowing the seed here. planting even a hint of consideration in accepting the power of the circlet and lolth's words is going to need time for the person to mull it over, but once it's on it is On baby.

3. million years - this is what i mean by All In Baby, and while it isn't the playlists narrative point of anyone actually accepting the power for good, it is a glimpse intended to shake things up after an 8 minute slow start with the first two songs, and this is all about lolth who is a Chaotic Evil entity, who is a reckless and hauntingly destructive force <3

4. home - "everything you made will end up broken" i think this song to fy'ra rai is more of an omen, of everything that she cannot fix but wants to, knowing that she cannot make choices for the group and seeing the potential path they could wind up on and knowing that fundamentally if they go that way it is their decision no matter how much it will hurt her - for opal there is SOMETHING about the tone of this song that feels very much like her, and the complete lack of care it seems to have to rattle off mundane things to the intimate drama of the place, to omens, to demands/declarations i think it shows her personality well and how that pairs with a chaotic neutral entity being offered something like the power of the circlet

5. steady, steady - idk if this is necessarily everyone but the mix of you know when you're ready and i am ready to be the one, this is the song about taking the leap and grabbing for power and/or fy'ra rai and orym's feelings of diving in with them or resisting/leaving them

6. diggers - for lolth this is just the consistent "i've been waiting for you" in the bg which i found fun and disconcering but also i think this is the perfect party and perfect storm for her to convince someone to use the circlets power >:) - for dariax! it seems with what we know he doesn't really know that he is a divine soul sorcerer? unless that is a show he is putting up. still, i feel like him carrying the circlet is Very interesting as someone with a divine bloodline who is in a way being given/chosen for that type of power holding onto this artifact born from evil and perhaps being tempted by it & i think this song works as an interesting back and forth for him with the strange double-entity grab for him in a way

7. athena - truly just a banger that fit the vibes wayyyy too well and started this whole thing, it's loud and reckless and out for blood babey <3 - i think i associate it with dorian mostly because i also associate it with lolth and he is the closest to really taking that leap in canon (and also probably the first one the go if we're following this playlist like a story with everyone/most everyone going corrupt, though it can be read truly infinite ways these are just compiled songs) i think it has a certain flair and appeal that just makes me Feel like it's the song that would play the second dorian puts the circlet on (which! fun fact! decreases your charisma by 2! have fun beloved bard!) - i think it's a very intense conversation

8. i’m not calling you a liar - okayokayokay it's orym thought time bc there are sooo many worlds and routes for orym here and i truly have no idea where he would even end up in this hypothetical. do i think that orym loves these guys and wants to protect them? yes. do i think that he may genuinely take the pain of loving them and keep his morals by walking away and/or turning on them if they all go evil? maybe. do i think he also might love them enough to throw that away? maybe. in a party of all chaotic neutrals besides him without fy'ra rai he is surprisingly the wild card here. while they have each other and no one else, he has the teachings and wisdom of the voice of the tempest and a moral compass that does not align with theirs at all. so, something has to give! dorian's slide into chaotic neutral was natural, but i think orym would be giving up Much More of himself to let himself slide from neutral good to chaotic neutral. i have no answers only sad, sad hypotehtical questions and scenarios so i will just, leave you with "and i love you so much, i'm gonna let you kill me." - this song also comes here before the storm of the 3-5 because whatever way he goes i think orym sees it all happen before anyone else does.

9. grenadine - Do Not Tell Me You Couldn't Hear villainous opal and dorian say the lines "what a big heart i have, i'll be your savior now. what a real catch i am, all the more to pull you down." - i see this song as playful but more genuine for dorian in terms of Truly Really believing any action he does to protect his friends is justified and good to him in his eyes whereas this is a very playful song for a villainous opal - they both give off this vibe strongly though (could see this one for fearne as well but don't have a good a justification)

10. black wave - helloooooo my favorite druid and warlock?? going apeshit with power? more so than they already are on a day-to-day basis (esp given episode 6 combat)? that's what this song is about. "stumbling down the street i swear to god you don't wanna test me" - i also think they both have an interesting question with "what do i believe?" with fearne being of the feywild which is a place of considerably different moral standing to exandria and opal being so young that she doesn't have the world figured out at all <3 terrifying and upsetting when you get into those questions on a corruption arc <3

11. you should see me in a crown - okay i knooooow this one is on the dorian playlist BUT vibes for my brutal babes <333 something about opal’s whole personality and fearne confronting the mirror self But eventually choosing/heading down the path anyway?? impeccable i love it there’s very few other thoughts here

12. control - OKAY not only does this song Fuck but i put it as party wide because i think it transitions nicely into the end of the mix which is more of the “questioning this decision after going all in but not being able to turn back/was it all worth it in the end?” part - i mostly love the “though i like the idea of providence... i’m in love with control” repeated because! i think the circlet is very interesting in that it has been iterated many times over that though it has connections to lolth and she has some claim/twisted abilities with it, it IS just a power source. so, the idea of going all in and accepting this power is an incredibly interesting dilemma of “who’s in charge here? did you really put it on/would you have without these dreams and lolth’s influence? are you really in control?” i think this song really represents that admission/delusion of control in this situation.

13. plenty - okay this song in any context is just my Feywild/Faerie Vibe song so i think this trails back to my feelings about fearne leaning into that different set of fey morals along a corruption arc, and as for dariax i think this is about abundance! following through that mixture of divine power source and chaotic evil god origin over dariax and his chaotic history of vast and varied experiences in emon, i think this very much befits a corrupt version of him.

14. dangerous - this song makes me insane, and the first reason i put it on the mix was the “the dead are true believers. rest assured. we are all believers” really just made me think of a terrible and cinematic moment of them discovering the circlet with the dead aboard the ship ESP in the context of this playlist’s narrative where that was the point they were destined to claim its power and go through their corruption arc - “how does it feel to be your own deceiver?” is the main reason and feeling as for why i made this a dorian song as well in line with “don’t worry i would do anything for my friends.” bc i personally find dorian’s corruption arc to be disillusioned with his own intentions and takes a lot of convincing himself that taking this power for his friends is noble in the scope of this group’s collective morals and self-interest in keeping each other safe and prosperous so <3

15. hollow - woowee dariax corruption, at least in this scope, i think is very frightening to me in that i think he’s going full maximalist, abundant, greedy, impulsive chaotic evil if we’re realllly leaning into a villain arc but still many of those things if we’re just going “this group is the only thing that matters and i’ll do anything for them no matter the cost” - i also think this song has a tone of resentment towards this? apprehension a bit? recognizing that this is how the person singing is but not entirely enjoying or feeling justified in it? as impulsive as dariax is, i think he cares A Lot, and is even a character i could see pulling a reverse dorian and going chaotic good in a different story than we’re in? “so simple when i was younger” and “i’d be a dancer of a different tune” really give me angsty dariax vibes in the height of his corruption arc

16. bad dreams - “don't you worry about your bad dreams cause I'm not in them. don't you worry about what change brings cause you can't stop it.” WOOF i don’t know that this one really needs to be explained but it’s the climax and the descent all in one of the party/corrupted individual being too far gone in their decision to step back or be saved. i think the tone of the song lends itself well to a mixture of uncaring but also giving some question to if they regret it or not based on the narration of the crowd against them.

[pilot-boi]

The Sun’s Sorrow

When the Fates cut a string, that person’s life is meant to end right away. But there are special cases. And Pyrrha’s string is shorter than most, measured out to one length since the day of her birth. She knew this and she was more prepared than most for when her time would come, and for the time she had she would burn as bright as the sun.

Although not everyone would cope with her absence quite as well, one life’s flame is often enough to ignite another’s.

(Or: The PJO AU that literally nobody wanted or asked for)

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away

AO3 LINK

Battles raged up and down the streets of Manhattan.

As he ran, Jaune passed Yang and the remaining members of the Ares cabin taking on a squadron of Lastragonians. His blonde haired friend had long since abandoned the shield her adoptive sister had begged her to use and was clocking demons in the face with her celestial bronze knuckles. One giant took a hit to the jaw, to match the cut across Yang’s cheek, but that was all Jaune could see before he sprinted past.

He ducked on instinct at the yelled command of Qrow Branwen, and a volley of Hunters arrows streaked across the street brushing close enough to ruffle Jaune’s hair. The front line of a horde of hellhounds fell, and he had barely enough time to hear Qrow call for another volley before they too were passed by.

The sounds of more battles echoed through the sleeping streets, in a mockery of the sound of the normally bustling city. Nora called a strike of lightning down on some giant blue… giant down one alley. Sun and Neptune fought back to back down another against a whole troupe of enemy demigods.

A flurry of petals shot past him and materialized into Ren and Ruby, the girl already swinging her scythe to launch Ren up into the air to fight some kind of flying pig. Another street down Weiss barked orders while simultaneously taking down a monster with every expertly placed blow as she and the rest of the Athena cabin took on a phalanx of dracanae.

Jaune had no time for any of them, because just up ahead the person he was chasing was already out of sight.

They’d received word that Cinder- Kronos was advancing on Central Park. Flanked by a million bajillion monsters of course, but what did that matter? The King of the Titans was here, and they were in no way prepared.

Well most of them weren’t.

Red hair and a sash to match sprinted away from their little war council before any of them could stop her.

A chance to stop Kronos before the battle even began? A chance to fulfill the prophecy before the burden of the world fell to Ruby. To fulfill the destiny that the Fates had brought her back for. How could she not? This was what she was made to do.

Jaune had seen it written across her face as clear as day, and his dad was the god of daylight so he knew what he was talking about. He should have known what she was going to do, he should’ve stopped her-

He’d never be able to catch up in time. Even if Pyrrha wasn’t one of the fastest people at camp, Jaune was definitely one of the clumsiest.

Why couldn’t he have inherited his dad’s speed? Nope just blonde hair, a sunny disposition, and crushing abandonment issues. No special powers for Jauney, whoop-de-fucking-doo.

He turned a corner, and arrived on a scene of destruction straight out of an action movie. Or a nightmare. Or a nightmare that he had after watching too many action movies

It was a warzone. It looked like the rest of the Camp demigods had heard the news and also converged onto the park. On the right flank, Sun was leading an assault with the rest of their siblings. On the left, Blake raised her sword into the air and together she and the other satyrs and nature spirits charged in to face Adam and his faction.

Ruby was fighting scythe against sword with a flame bright Titan out on the surface of the lake. His friend was barely half the height of the Titan, and she was only holding her own against the laughing man by shadow stepping behind him every other second.

Pyrrha was nowhere to be seen. Thankfully, neither was Kronos, because they were already getting thrashed as it was.

There was too much blood everywhere to pick out her hair or sash. Bronze gleamed on the chests of campers and enemies alike, blurring into one big shiny mess. He ran through the throng of fighting, squeezing past giants legs, helping where he could with his shield blocking a strike or two. But mostly he was screaming for Pyrrha over the sounds of the battle.

And then he found her. Crumpled at the base of a maple tree just outside of the line of battle, almost looking asleep like the rest of the mortals. Jaune was almost relieved until he slid to his knees by her side and she didn’t open her eyes immediately.

“Pyrrha! Thank the gods,” he yelled, pulling her up and holding her tight against him. She barely resisted, just chuckled softly. “I was so worried, don’t do that!” he reprimanded, pulling away and examining her closely

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” she promised, smiling weakly up at him. With eyes as bright as Greek fire, and an unmistakable blood trail dribbling from her mouth.

He examined her again, looking for anything that could be causing this. Because people didn’t just start bleeding for no reason. And then his eyes fell on the arrow sticking out of her ankle, just above her heel.

Her Achilles’ tendon.

Jaune’s blood ran cold, but he shook it off. It was fine, just a little scratch he could handle this much. “You’re hurt! Hold on-” he patted himself down for ambrosia, nectar, for anything that he could use to fix this. “Just give me a minute-”

“Hey-” Pyrrha tried to get his attention, but he ignored her.

“I can fix this, just hold on Pyrrha.”

“It’s okay-”

“No it’s not okay, you’re hurt, and I can’t do anything and-”

“Jaune.” His frantic rambling was cut short by one of Pyrrha’s hands closing around his own. “Look at me.”

He didn’t want to look at her, afraid that he’d start crying if he met her eyes. Dammit, his friends were dying behind them, and Jaune was crying over Pyrrha holding his hand. What the heck was wrong with him?

“Please?” And now he did meet her eyes, because she sounded fragile in a way that he couldn’t take right now on top of everything. And she was still holding his hands in hers, but Pyrrha’s hands were shaking. So he looked at her.

And what he found broke his heart and scared him even more than the warzone he’d just wade through to find her. Because Pyrrha was crying. Crying and smiling up at him like he was the most important thing in the world.

Which was wrong, because he wasn’t the prophecy child, Ruby was. Or Pyrrha was. Or they both were, or neither of them were. Anybody but stupid, bumbling, useless him.

“It’s okay,” she repeated, still smiling at him, and although her voice was soft, Jaune didn’t have to strain at all to hear it over the sounds of clashing bronze and fire behind him. It was like they were contained in their own little bubble, hidden away and unnoticed by the rest of the world.

“But it’s not okay.” And now his voice was shaking, and he swallowed back tears. “Pyrrha you’re-”

“Dying?” she replied, sounding vaguely amused by the whole situation, even as she coughed more blood out to land on her chestplate. “Yes I suppose I am.”

“No, no stop that,” he insisted, scooching closer to her and glaring through the tears that definitely weren’t blurring his vision. “You’re not dying, you’re just hurt, and if just hold on a little longer-”

“I… don’t think I can,” Pyrrha repulsed simply, grimacing a little bit. “I can feel it…” She trailed off, eyes defocusing for a moment, and Jaune’s blood froze at how long it took her to come back to the present. “This was how it was meant to be.”

“No,” he swallowed thickly. “You’re wrong, you’ve gotta be, Pyrrha please you’ve gotta be wrong.” Just this once, she had to be wrong. Pyrrha was never wrong, but please just this once.

“You’re more important to me than the world, you know that?” Another one of those sad smiles, and she leaned back heavily on the trunk of the tree. “More than the whole world, or the gods, or anything.”

Jaune couldn’t believe what he was hearing. For one because he’d seen enough movies to know that this was final words type talk, and Pyrrha was strictly forbidden from having any final words whatsoever. But mostly, because how could he be more important to Pyrrha than the world? He wasn’t anything special, which she knew better than anyone.

His heart felt like it was rolling around in a rock tumbler, being worn away by knives and other rocks and fire. He shook his head numbly, unable to articulate any further protestations.

“You made me believe, for just a moment, that the prophecy didn’t matter, that I could actually have a life.” She squeezed his hand, and her Greek fire eyes crinkled into a smile. “Jaune you gave me back my life.” And her voice cracked on the last word, and now they were both crying

He was dumbfounded. Whatever words he might have said died in the back of his throat. But luckily he was saved from having to think of more when Pyrrha reached one hand up and pulled him down into a kiss.

Jaune froze. His brain was going a million miles an hour, too fast for any coherent thoughts. His eyes were wide open in shock, and they stared at her for a moment before sliding closed.

It was a clumsy kiss, too fast and awkward to be anything else. Pyrrha tasted like blood, and tears, and they were both still crying, but they fit together like two pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. Made for each other.

He felt like he was burning up, and for a moment he wondered if this was how Pyrrha lived her life all the time. A flame burning brighter than any other, destined to live life more than anyone else. But to be snuffed out far too soon.

And then realized that it was because Pyrrha was burning alive with fever. Something flickered to life within him, and he could feel it. The arrow was poisoned. And the fire in Pyrrha’s veins had reached her heart.

Jaune’s eyes opened slowly, too dazed from what had just happened, and he gazed at her in wonder for a moment. Her eyes were still closed, and her grip was lax against his neck, but she leaned her forehead against his.

“I’m sorry.”

And then Pyrrha’s hands fell away. And the flame flickered out.

Instinctively Jaune reached out and grasped at that flame. Something tugged in his stomach and he fed every scrap of energy he could find into keeping the flame alight. Into reliting, into anything.

Tears were streaming down his face, and his hands were glowing but he couldn’t see them, and maybe he was yelling something but he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears. The flame stayed out, and the darkness inside of Pyrrha filled her like a void.

She wasn’t warm anymore.

He leant down and pressed his ear to her chest, desperate for any kind of sign, and crumpled against her when she didn’t move and he found none. Even through the ringing, Jaune could tell that he was screaming now. Pyrrha’s head fell limply against his shoulder, her bangs covering her eyes. Eyes like Greek fire that would never shine again.

With the battle still raging behind him, Jaune laid Pyrrha gently against the tree. Now she looked like she could be sleeping, even though her chest didn’t move with breathing.

He was more angry than he’d ever been. Angry at the Titans for killing her. Angry at the gods for being terrible parents and dragging them into this stupid war. Angry at the Fates for convincing Pyrrha that she was only good as a weapon to point at the enemy. Angry at himself for letting her down in the worst way possible.

Jaune didn’t remember much after that. Just his veins burning like the sun, rage flooding his body like a fire, and a sorrow and mind-consuming determination that this wouldn’t happen to anyone else.

He waded into the battle, tears streaming down a face that was glowing bright enough to rival the Titan still battling Ruby on the lake. Jaune fought like a maniac, paying no heed to any injury he might take from strikes that he wasn’t meeting.

Every ally he brushed past was suddenly bursting with energy like they could fight an army. Fully replenished in a way none of them could be after fighting nonstop for days, weeks, and months straight.

Dammit, nobody else was going to die.

And then the world went dark.

Who knew how long later, Jaune woke up beside the lake and found Ren and Nora kneeling over him. Nora was rambling worriedly and excitedly before his eyes were even open. Ren helped him up and nodded in response to Jaune's thanks as he passed him a bottle of nectar.

Ruby appeared out of the side of a tree, shadow-stepping from somewhere else in the park. “Jaune! Thank the gods you’re awake,” she exclaimed, a grin splitting her exhausted face. “You’re not hurt are you?”

Jaune hesitated, and was shocked to find that he wasn’t. He’d waded into battle without bothering to use his shield, and somehow miraculously he was uninjured? Well uninjured past a weakness in his arms and a shaking in his legs. But that was it, so what in Hades was going on.

“It was Apollo,” Ren spoke up, after a moment’s silence. When everyone looked confused, he explained. “I saw you come out of the woods, glowing like the sun.” He nodded at Jaune’s hair. “You’re still glowing, in fact.”

“I am?” Jaune glanced up, as if suddenly he’d for some reason be able to see the top of his own head. His eyes narrowed. “But what’s that got to do with my dad?”

“Your dad blessed you,” Nora clarified, rolling her eyes fondly at Ren. “Glowing hair, healing stuff, no injuries? What else could it be?”

“Healing?”

“Everyone you came in contact with during the battle was healed,” Ruby confirmed, nodding. “At least until some enemy demigod saw what was going on and clonked you on the back of the head.”

Nora shuddered slightly, and at Jaune’s questioning look said. “You dropped like a sack of potatoes. We all thought you’d died.” Ren nodded in agreement.

“Anyway,” Ruby continued, “I just got the report from Weiss, and we’ve got no serious injuries.” She opened her mouth, and then closed it again, a look of confusion darkening her silvery eyes. “But why now?”

Nora hesitated, shooting a glance towards the treeline, and some kind of understanding flickered across her face. “What happened in the woods, Jaune?”

His heart dropped out of his chest.

The world was moving in slow motion suddenly, and for a moment he was worried that Kronos was nearby. Jaune had heard about what effect the Lord of Time had on the environment, and if this wasn’t the same he’d eat his sword. Up was down and left was right and he felt like he was inside an airplane with how sick he felt.

“Jaune?!” Nora exclaimed. Jaune blinked his eyes open -when had they been closed?- and saw them all staring down at him in alarm. Darkness was blinking into his vision, but he found himself leaning against Ren, who suddenly had to hold him up as he’d pitched sideways towards the ground as all the strength left his body. “What’s wrong, what happened?!”

Jaune didn’t want to say what happened. Didn’t want to think about hair as red as the fire he could still feel pulsing through his veins like the rays of sun on a summer day. He didn’t want to think about Greek fire eyes that burned into his soul, and would never see anything ever again.

Averting his eyes, he swallowed thickly at the tears that blocked the words caught in his throat. Staring across the lake, he looked away and stared instead at the ground, finding that he couldn’t look at the trees whose fall leaves were the exact shade of Pyrrha’s hair.

He’d felt her die, he realized now. That flame had flickered out, and at the same time, in that moment of trying to fight against the Fates themselves, Jaune had unlocked something within him.

Jaune had reached out and grabbed at Pyrrha’s very life in an attempt to keep it here on the mortal plane, and his father had blessed him for that. Finally using the latent godly power that had been passed on to him by his father, Jaune had used Apollo’s own healing to stave off death with his bare hands. And he’d damn near succeeded.

He could still feel the heartbeats of everyone in the glade.

But one critical one was missing, and would remain missing.

“We need a shroud,” he said finally, tears barely letting the words out. His voice sounded hollow, like all the life had been stripped away leaving behind an empty shell. “A shroud for the rebirth of Achilles.”

[ladyshandioftheendless]

~KISS AU writings 51~

LAST PART BABIES!! This is gonna get SAD but I hope you all enjoy it!! Thanks for joining me on another crazy story ride! <3

~Shandi

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~SIREN AU Part 9~

Summary: With the love of his life gone, Ace is caught in a perpetual downward spiral. Only a miracle can save him now.. (told from Ace’s POV)

WARNING: IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THE SUBJECT OF SUICIDE PLEASE READ WITH DISCRETION!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list!: @smokeandmirrorz @slashscowboyboots @tanookikiss @misslivvie

I don’t want him to go. 

I wanna beg him not to. Plead with him to stay with me. 

I don't have any right to keep him from the sea though. That's his true home. Where he belongs. When he comes back inside I lock the cellar. I don’t wanna be drunk for our last night together. I cry and hold him tightly. Stroke his soft, fragrant hair. We kiss. We make love in the shower. We make love in my bed. My heart aches with the thought of losing him. I stay up all night and hold him while he sleeps, wishing the dawn wouldn't come.

But I can't stop the sun.

I wake up...and he's gone. There's only a note left on his pillow.

Ace~

I am sorry for leaving this way.

I do not have the strength to say goodbye.

Please know that I love you and I will never forget you.

Perhaps when the time is right we will see each other again.

Until then may my song remain in your heart.

Starfish

Under the note are sheets of music. Did he..write this for me..? Fuck. Fucking fuck. I clutch the papers against my chest and cry. All I can do is cry. He's really gone.

I've cut myself off from the outside. I haven't been in my studio in so long the equipment is collecting dust. Starfish was all the light..all the color in my world. Without him everything is dead and lifeless. I just drink. More than I ever have. When I black out at the very least I can still be with my Starfish in my dreams.

The alcohol doesn't last forever. I'm completely out in the span of only a few weeks. Fucking hell. I need more. Unfortunately for me I'm the only one who can get it. I'm sure as hell not gonna ask anyone else for help. So I grab my keys and head out.

It was a mistake.

It's dark and I can barely see where I'm going. I can't focus. There's a horn blaring. I'm blinded by bright headlights. I lose control. The rest is a blur.

~*~

The next time I wake up I'm in a bed..but it's definitely not my bed. Of course. I'm in the hospital. Because I drove straight into an oncoming car. I can't move, but there's pain. So much pain. How bad did I fuck myself up this time?

"So you're awake."

Is that..Petey's voice..? I can only move my eyes to look. Sure enough there he is sittin' beside my bed..and he looks pissed. Relieved too but mostly pissed. I can only manage a small noise.

"Don't try to talk. Your jaw's wired shut."

I widen my eyes. What?!

"Yeah that's right. Your jaw is one of the many things you broke during your little joyride. You fuckin' idiot. I've been tryin' to contact you for weeks..and the next thing I know, I'm hearin' about you in a head on collision on the news! What the hell were you thinkin' driving in such a fucked up state?! You're lucky you're not dead! Although you're probably gonna wish you were once they start forcin' you to detox. Get used to this view, Frehley. You're gonna be here for a while." I watch him pick up his jacket. "Relax I'm not dropping you. Visiting hours are over. I'll be back tomorrow."

He leaves me alone. Alone with my fucked up head. Physically and mentally. 

~*~

Recovery is far from a walk in the park. 

The pain is constant. If it isn’t my broken body it’s the withdrawal. Just to add insult to injury, it didn’t take long for my accident to become public. They say my career is over and that I should just retire with the tiny shreds of dignity I have left. I know Petey’s only being a friend by tryin’ to convince me they’re wrong, but are they? I mean..what could I possibly regain now? There’s no point in tryin’ to sugarcoat it. I have nothing left to live for..

After four grueling months I’m finally healed enough to go home. Petey has to plant false rumors about when I’m bein’ released so the reporters don’t descend on me like vultures. He’s still damn good at what he does. Still, it’s no happy homecoming. The house is just as empty as it was when I left it. I miss Starfish so damn much. I would’ve wanted nothin’ more than to see him here waiting for me. No such luck. As if the mock me, the sheet music Starfish left for me is right there on my kitchen counter. I just hold it against my chest and cry again. 

Another month passes. I fall off the wagon again.

Petey has the doorway to my wine cellar bricked up. It hard to think about stayin’ sober when there’s no reason to be. I look out at the sea and wonder where my Starfish might be. I can feel tears start to sting my eyes.  “I hate it so much here, Starfish..I wanna join you..” It would be wonderful to be like him. To not have a care in the world. To be part of the sea. Then I hear something. A soft sound far off in the distance. Is that..singing..? It has to be him. I’m sure of it! I turn over the sheet music and write a note to Petey. He’s been the only real friend I’ve ever had. I can’t leave him without an explanation. I tell him everything. Who ‘Paul’ really was. What happened at the last concert. Where I’m going. It won’t be easy for him to read but I’m sure he’ll understand in time. I’ve had it with this world. It’s time for me to go. 

~*~

It’s still difficult to walk but I’m not gonna let that stop me. I pull my patio door open and walk out onto the beach. As I move closer to the sea I can hear Starfish’s captivating voice. He’s calling to me. He wants me with him. I rid myself of my clothes and walk straight into the rising surf. The water is cold. It cuts into my skin like a million knives. I don’t care. I see him waiting. He’s smiling at me. He takes my hands and pulls me under the water with him. 

‘Starfish..my Starfish..’ I cling to him tightly, wrapping my legs around his tail. ‘I’ve missed you so much, baby.. I never wanna be without you again.’

“And I do not wish to be without you~” 

‘Wait..you can hear me..?’

“I hear your thoughts as clearly as my own~” 

‘T-then you heard...’

“I am sorry, my love. I could not return to you until I was ready. I have trained my power for this very moment.” 

The shell Starfish is wearing around his neck glows brightly, lighting up the ocean around us. It’s warm..and comforting. 

“My love..will you accept the gift I offer to you? Will you spend the rest of your days with me beneath the waves? Consider carefully. Once I do this, it cannot be undone. Any human friends you have..you will likely never see them again.” 

I already know what my answer is. ‘Wherever you are, Starfish..that’s where I wanna be.’

The shell glows brighter, enveloping me with its light. There’s no pain. There’s only warmth. I can feel myself changing. I watch claws extend from my now webbed fingers. Scales appear along my arms and across my chest. My teeth are now pointed fangs. As my new gills start to work I no longer feel the growing pressure in my lungs. I can breathe! I look down to see that I now have a shimmering blue tail..and it’s the most beautiful sight~

“There..it is done~” 

I look at him and smile. “Thank you, Starfish~ I shoulda known you’d never abandon me. I promise, baby..I’ll make it work this time. I’ll make myself better for you. I wanna be the man you deserve~” He just wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly. “My darling..you always have been~ I knew when I washed up on your shore that it could not have been a coincidence. It was fate~” 

“I believe it now~” 

We share a kiss and swim off into the depths together. My Starfish and me. Sirens of the deep. Lovers of music. Soul mates~

~END~

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #376

“when the wind bends the branch to softly touch me  /  when the band plays your song  /  i feel strong enough to keep dreaming”

If your s/o smoked pot/did drugs would you care? Yes, but for pot that's only because it's illegal here. I also find smoking to be a turn-off, but I'd be able to look past that if it was for actual health reasons. Do people ever call you by your last name? No. Has the last person you dated/fell in love with ever seen you cry? Yes. Where are you going on your next vacation (or where do you WANT to go)? I've got none planned, nor do I know where I'd want to prioritize. Like there's South Africa, but I first need to get healthier before I could handle the heat and trudging through sand. I want to go to Yellowstone National Park to spread Teddy's ashes there (seeking permission of course), but again, I need to be in better shape before I go on a venture of photographing there, as well. I need to be healthier to do a lot of the things I want to... Do you own anything bought in another country? No. Who do you text the most? Sara. Four things you wish you had? Better health (including mental), financial stability, a job, and motivation to indulge more in my artistic hobbies. What was the last thing you cried about? Stress regarding this dog we're stuck with. What is your favorite Elvis song? Probably "You're The Devil In Disguise." Do you think you could be the next American Idol? Ha, absolutely not. Do you prefer reading fiction or non-fiction? Fiction, by a long shot. Does anybody send you money in the mail for your birthday? No. My grampa used to, but he's been dead a couple years. Who is one person you met and automatically didn’t like? I was not a fan of a doctor I once saw for my tremors. She was very rude and just threw the idea of me having Parkinson's or something at what, 17 years old or whatever? My psychiatrist knows her as well and knows she's a whackjob. Heard her name and was essentially like "ew" lmao. What monster would you be most afraid to have in your closet? A male one with a knife, I guess. I really hate knives. And men scare me anyway. Which Adam Sandler movie do you like the most? I don't know, he's in too many to possibly think of one right off the top of my head. Who was one of your first celebrity crushes? Jesse McCartney was my first true love, haha. Have you ever been hit on through text messages? Yes. Do you have to do any yard work? No. Have you ever mowed the lawn? No. Do you get an allowance? No. Did you ever know your great grandparents? I think I knew one? There was this woman from my childhood I knew as "GG" for "great grandma," but I have no recollection of who she was related to or even if she was directly related to me. I remember that I really really liked her, though. Do you like the taste of Tums? It's the texture I really don't like. The candy-like Tums though, y'know, not the chalky ones, I like more than someone should like medicine, haha. How about Pepto Bismol? Omfg no. Do you have a fast or slow metabolism? I have a slow metabolism, but thank Christ it's not as bad as when I was on Abilify. That stupid fucking medicine was the reason I gained so much weight that I haven't been able to lose. What’s your favorite onomatopoeia? (Crash, bang, zoom, meow) I dunno. Do you eat ramen? There's only one specific kind of ramen I've had that I like: Yakisoba's spicy chicken one. Sweet or regular pickles? Regular. I don't like sweet pickles. What kind of dreams do you have most often? Since my nightmares started, violent ones. I'm usually trying to defend myself or lashing out at someone myself. What do you do for personal growth? I try to be a deep thinker, for one. This can way too easily lead to overthinking, but I appreciate that I think it at least helps me learn from my mistakes and work towards making me a better person. I need to start challenging my anxiety more, as that would definitely be massive growth... If you could read anyone’s mind, who would be the first person you’d read? Jason's, only because all I want to know is if he thinks I was emotionally abusive after the breakup or not. But I also don't want to know. Do you have a makeup item or style trick that you feel improves your look significantly and that you feel like you couldn’t go without now that you have it? No. What’s your favourite cereal? Probably Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but I like a lot of cereals. Do you prefer red wine or white wine? I don't like wine. Way too bitter. Do you read Reddit? If so, how often and what subreddits do you like? I don't, but I've thought about lurking on a reptile husbandry one or something like that. Might learn some stuff. But at the same time, there are so many conflicting and very strong opinions amongst hobbyists to the point of awful toxicity that I'd rather not read. Have you recently broken up with a significant other or even just a friend? No. Have you ever eaten at a restaurant and left without paying? God no. When was the last time you played a board game? What did you play? Probably Scrabble back when Sara visited. Do you primarily use cash or card for your purchases? Why? Cash, because I don't have a debit or credit card. Do you believe sex should be mandatory in an ongoing dating relationship? Um, no? Some people don't care for it, and that's completely fine. Have you ever recorded yourself doing a cover of a song? No. Any secrets you’d never tell anyone? No matter how close they are to you? Yes. Do you like deviled eggs? NO. FUCK that yolk shit. What career are you most interested in? I still think my first career goal, a paleontologist, would be most interesting and exciting. Like just IMAGINE discovering a new dinosaur. And it's such a job of passion - you have to be so, SO careful and invest so much time in slowly recovering it from millions of years of rock and sand and time. I can only imagine the feeling of accomplishment when an excavation is complete. Have you ever seen a rooster? Yeah? What do you think about religion? Honestly, I personally wish it had never been a thing. It's brought with it so much hatred and bigotry, but I do acknowledge at the same time it's brought great comfort and hope to some people, and that's wonderful. But just all things considered, I feel it's done more harm than good. What’s your favorite sweetheart name (baby, honey, angel, dumpling) Probably "lovely." Has a little kid ever fallen asleep on your lap before? Yes, back when I babysat my neighbor's kid once. Have you ever thrown a grenade? Yikes, no. Have you ever talked face to face with someone famous before? No. Have you ever owned a rocking horse? I don't think so? If you could meet anyone in the world who would it be? HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM Have you ever wished you were dead? Yes. Is it awkward when people start talking all deep around you? No, I actually like deep convos. Have you ever played the old school Pac Man arcade game? Possibly? Ever played Mario Karts on Nintendo 64? No. Have you ever been scuba diving? No. Can you surf/boogie board? No. Do you like Chinese food, Mexican food, or American food better? American. What’s your favorite thing to order from Taco Bell? Cheese quesadilla and fiesta potatos. Sometimes I get the cinnabon delight thingies, but I avoid 'em with how unhealthy they are. Do you like hot, cold, or lukewarm showers? Pretty hot. Do you like to swing? I LOVED swinging as a kid. I haven't done it in a very long time now. How about jumping on a trampoline? I loved that as a kiddo, too. I haven't done that in years. What are you favorite color eyes? Sapphire blue or like an emerald green. Do you have long arm hair? Nah, at least I don't think so. What third generation console is your favorite? PS3, Xbox 360, or Wii? I loved my PS3. I'm still so bummed mine broke. How often do you like to have sex? I'm not sexually active, but even when I was, I didn't care. Do you have a facial expression you seem to pull a lot? What is it? Not really. I think I look stoic most of the time. Do you always listen to music when you’re online? No; I usually have a let's play or something like that on that I can split my screen and watch while doing something else. If so, what are you currently listening to? I'm listening to "Love Goes On And On" by Lindsey Stirling and Amy Lee right now. Do you ever forget how to do really simple things? Like what? Yes, like how to control the laundry machine and other things like that. There's just so many options that I never, ever remember what to set it to, no matter how many times Mom shows me. That's how my memory is with most things these days, really... Were you born with naturally straight teeth? No; I needed braces. If you were the opposite gender, what name would you like to be called? Uhhh maybe Severin. Do you prefer original or sour Skittles? I love both, but sour wins. What about chocolate or peanut M&M’s? I also enjoy both, but the original are better. Your favourite band: Do you prefer their old or new stuff? That's like... impossible to answer, lol. I just love everything. Do you check to make sure your ear phones are going in the right ear? No. Do you secretly still listen to Ace of Base? I have no idea who that is. Have you ever broken someone else’s bone? No, thank goodness. I'd feel awful. Is it stupid to think you can write a book at thirteen? No?????????? There are incredibly talented writers out there at young ages. Hell, I remember as a kid, I wanted to be the youngest published author way before that age. Are you ever embarrassed about what you dream about? There've been some I wouldn't share. Have you ever had sex with someone as a favor? No, and I never would. Does your mom let you date? I'm 25, my dude. She let me when I felt ready, though. If you had the last person you kissed’s Facebook password, would you go snooping through their stuff? Why or why not? She doesn't have one, but hypothetically, fuck no. Because that's none of my damn business, and it still wouldn't be even if we were still dating. Have you ever fainted? If so, when was the last time? If not have you ever come close? I've fainted once when I was a teen and have come close many other times. Ever take a keyboarding class? Do you type using the skills you learned in class, or how you used to before you took the class? Yeah; it was mandatory for I think one year in middle school. I type how I was taught in there. Do you find your best friend’s significant other/crush attractive? She doesn't have an s/o, and idk who her "real" crush is, as much as she'd love Frieza to be real, haha. What do you do with your clothes that don’t fit anymore or just don’t want? Donate them. Do you cut out coupons? My mom will keep some fast food ones she gets in the mail sometimes. Did you ever breathe in helium and talk funny afterwards? I think I did once at a birthday party, but I'm unsure. Would you ever open your own business? If so, what kind of business could you imagine yourself having? I want to be a freelance photographer so, so badly. I want to specialize in nature and wildlife, but having a boudoir studio would be great to help keep me afloat, plus I adore the art of boudoir. I've shot it once for an old friend, and by god, I loved how empowered it made her feel, especially as a plus-sized woman. She adored the pictures, and I'd just love to help other clients feel like they're gorgeous in their unique body, too. Last type of candy you ate? I had a donut from Starbuck's yesterday. Did you decorate your house for Halloween? If so, how many decorations? Did you go all out, or just put up a few things? Mom and I don't really decorate anymore. :/

[ofwolvesandbutterflies]

the constant

Pairing: Nakamoto Yuta x Reader

Genre: suggestive fluff

Tags: gang!au, partnersincrime!au

Warnings: brief mentions of violence, mature content... the whole works

day 15 of 30 days with NCT

Synopsis: in which you and yuta have a love/hate relationship in the way that yes, there are times you’d stop at nothing to rip his throat out... but you’d still kill anyone who’d try to kill him.

// tryin’ to be with you is crazy // (x)

--

[23:44]

Out of all the things that were supposed to happen today, you would have never expected to be at yet another lavish party, posing as Yuta’s arm candy in an effort to catch any piece of information that could help total the yakuza your group had been having trouble with for years. On top of that, nor did you expect to have his hands teasing the edges of your thin party dress up little by little, sloppy, open mouthed kisses coaxing moan after moan from your glossed lips. 

Today was supposed to be your day off. No guns, no violence, no blood, no sex, and no Yuta. Forget the perfectly tailored leather pants that hugged you in all the right ways and concealed so many dangerous gadgets, the hidden knives up your sleeves, and the eternally loaded gun always ready in your holster. Today was all about comfy sweatpants, oversized long sleeves, and all the unhealthy food you fasted from during the work week at the 127 syndicate. 

The aroma of slow baked chocolate and the tiniest hint of vanilla wafted through the air, bringing a genuinely happy smile to your watering mouth. Nothing could ruin this afternoon. And then, your phone lit up, vibrated against the wood grain of the table you sat against with a ring you wished meant something - someone - else. You stuffed a piece of brownie in your mouth before pulling the device up to your ear. 

"Where you at, baby girl?" Yuta's relaxed voice floated through the phone speakers like honey; smooth, sickeningly sweet, and so very easy to get addicted to. Yuta was cocky, he was confident. You supposed it was part of his charm as the infamous womanizer of the gang. Nevertheless, having to hear that almost every hour of every minute of the week was definitely part of the reason hearing his ring tone never hesitated to spark irritation in the very depths of your being. He continued. “Just thought I’d let you know I missed seeing your ass this morning at the 07:00 meeting.” Your lips curled back into a sneer, swallowing the rest of the brownie chunk you had just stuffed into your mouth.

"How nice of you to call in on my day off, sweet cheeks." Shoving the freshly baked plate of brownies back onto the counter, you hissed at your partner, not even bothering to cover the annoyance in your tone. "Thought you had another - what was it you rather me call them again? Oh right - another rendezvous this afternoon. 

"Oh, that’s right. I did have something planned. If I remember correctly, it was with this hot piece of multi-million dollar eye candy, Bae Joohyun. And I was looking forward to it, too. Would’ve been an easy couple thousand.” An over exaggerated sigh pushed its way out of your partner’s infuriatingly soft lips. Had the handsome blond been right beside you, a sure smirk would have appeared on his face, challenging you, taunting you. “Too bad it got cancelled. Jealous, babe?"

"Never in a million years, dickhead,” the scoff elicited a sigh from his end of the call. “Now what do you want?"

His answer was quick, sharp and you could practically see the shit-eating grin seeping into his voice.

"Jaehyun said to be back within the hour. He and ‘Yong have a thing for us to do sometime soon. And by 'sometime soon' I mean by the end of today." Good thing you had put the brownies away a few minutes ago, the news surely would have shocked you into choking on a piece of chocolate-y heaven. Your eyes widened and your back stiffened. This must have been important. Jaehyun and Taeyong never called you or any other member in on a day off unless it was imperative to the success of the crime syndicate. “Y/N? You still on?” 

"Wha- wait, Yuta, what’s going on?” Adjusting the phone so that it was in speaker mode, you quickly pulled your hair up into a sleek ponytail and ran about your studio apartment in a rush to get your work-outfit on. Pressed button down? Check. Sexy pants? Check. Dark shoes, sunglasses, and mask? Check. “Why today? Wh- I mean, what details are we working with here? What type of stuff do I need?" 

“They didn’t give me much to work off of, babe, just told me to tell you to get your ass up and over to the company in 15 minutes.” The pet name flew over your head to go completely unnoticed as you stripped down to change. Gone was the playful banter the two of you shared on the daily. Yuta’s work voice was on which meant he was serious. You bit back a groan, hopping around on one foot as you tried to stuff your other foot into the pant leg. 

“You said within the hour. Fifteen minutes?! Really?" 

"The sooner the better, Princess. You know Jae doesn't like to be kept waiting." 

Grumbled complaints fell upon deaf ears and you stuffed your company wallet and ID into your purse. “Fine. I’ll see you in fifteen.” 

“Make that ten.” 

“Oh my fucking- Yuta!” 

--

Getting to the party had been no problem. Slipping in unnoticed hadn’t been a problem, either. Hell, even convincing everyone you were another escort and that Yuta was part of a new development in one of their small eastern groups was easy money. However, getting the information… had been posing a problem. 

The rough prints Taeyong had provided the two of you with said the meeting room was more centrally located in the house. While the information you were going off of was limited, the moment the two of you wandered past the crowds of low ranking footmen and into barren hallways where only a few, higher class gang members stood guarding a door, you knew you had found what you were looking for. 

A surge of confidence welled up within you and you started toward the group of men over in front of the door. You could take these pansies. However, a hand, warm and calloused from years of fighting, tugged you back into a familiar chest before you could do anything. Within seconds, his lips were on your neck, kissing and sucking dark bruises into your skin with leisure. Albeit a little taken aback, you followed your partner’s lead and tilted your neck to grant him more access.

“Ahh… Yuta…” Leaning back into his body, you crained your neck so you could shoot a hooded glare up at your partner. “As much as I love how needy you are at the most inconvenient of times-” 

“Easy, princess,” Yuta murmured, smile evident in the way his voice lowered, deep and sensual against the shell of your ear. You suppressed a delicious shiver at the sensation of his hands sliding up and down your arms. “Sorry about the sudden contact, there are just a couple of guys to my five o’ clock that were looking. But those goons over there? There’s three of them, two of us. We can’t rush them like this.” 

“Gr… Fine.” All of a sudden, he paused to spin you around and slam you up against the wall of the hallway, only loud enough to garner the little bit more of needed attention to the two of you. With his hands on either side of your head and his teeth teasing the flesh of your neck, you couldn’t decide whether to glare at him or kiss the dumb grin off his lips when he wedged his knee between your legs. 

“How about a little... distraction?” Your eyelids fluttered when kissed you again, immediately understanding what he meant. You knew well this was all a part of the job, rolling your core up into the evident arousal forming in your partner’s pants, biting back a moan when he bent down slowly, eyes flickering over your shoulder to check on your audience... But damn, the way his clothed hips met yours had you moaning your partner’s name louder than you originally meant to. 

“Oh my go- Yuta, oh fuck…” One last kiss and he pulled away, sparing you a knowing smirk before turning towards the sound of footsteps near your position. All three men surrounded the two of you, eyes trained solely on your partner.

“HEY.” A giggle threatened to slip from your mouth when you heard how high one of the guy’s voices was. 

“‘Sup, man?” Yuta cocked his head, running a finger over your lips playfully before grinning up at the frowning male glaring at him, the shorter one. “Need something? Another drink? You need a light? Oh shit, have you tried any of the girls over here-”

“Cap it, dickwad,” another guy growled. You noticed Yuta’s smile drop ever so slightly and your blood began to boil. No one called Yuta ‘dickwad’ except for you. “You got 10 seconds to find another hallway to fuck this bitch in before I-” 

“She’s not a ‘bitch’,” your partner grumbled before the other idiot could finish his sentence. The other man stopped and glanced at his friends in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe a ‘low-ranking foot soldier’ dared talk back to him. You fought the urge to go for your knife when he grabbed Yuta’s collar, sneering. 

“Care to repeat that, dumbass?”

“Sure, old man,” Yuta growled, eyes narrowing as he squared his shoulders in front of you. “Don’t. Call. Her. A. Bitch.” 

“Why you little fuck-” he didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, though. Because Yuta had already kicked him in the gut and threw a well-squared punch straight into his jaw, knocking him out cold. The other two rushed at him, dark eyes glowing with something dangerous - but they, too, were on the floor, unconscious within seconds.

“Come on,” he called, stepping carelessly over the unconscious bodies and towards the door. “Door’s open.” For a moment, all you could do was stare with your mouth agape at your partner. You had worked with him for the past 4 years and while so much of your time together was spent arguing, bickering over trivial things… There were moments like these that reminded you he still cared in his own way. Releasing a breath, Yuta’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he pulled the recording device out of his suit jacket. 

“Wait- Yuta!” you spoke, hurrying over to your partner’s side. He turned and paused mid-stride, eyes refusing to meet yours just like the way they did every other time he did something for you. “What the fuck- I mean, what was that- I mean, wait. No. T-thank you. You… You didn’t need to beat them up.”

“Pfft, who said I was doing it for you,” he shrugged, voice back to being cocky, slinging an arm around your waist to pull you closer to the door, still avoiding your gaze. “Those guys- they were just assholes in general, they don’t know how much shit you put up with. They deserved that.” 

“But still…” You trailed off, knowing he wasn’t just going to take a compliment like this. So instead, you turned towards him, cupped his chin and pressed a sweet kiss to the frown disfiguring his beautiful features. And he stopped, grabbing your waist to pull you to him once more, soft lips caressed yours. It was all part of the job, that much you knew. Playing coy, acting dumb, kicking ass, skipping days off, and kissing random strangers. 

But the one constant you could always count on was Yuta. Your annoying partner who would always, always have your back.

[mermaidxatxheart]

Homesick

Ok. This is my addition to @panicfob​‘s 25 Days of Christmas! 

Day 7: Ice Skating. 

I picked Steve. This one was really fun to write, but also very personal to me. It’s based on some real events, and clearly not the ones with Steve. Anyways! I hope you like it, let me know what you think.

Pairing: Steve X Reader

Summary: You’ve been Tony Stark’s intern for a while now, and you’re having a hard time making friends at Stark Tower. Which only adds to your melancholy of being away from your family during the holidays. Steve does his best to take your mind of everything that’s going wrong

Word Count: 6269

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of cancer, slight depression

Tony Stark is a madman. 

 Insanely generous, and so nice that it makes you melt. But fuck, he never sleeps. And that means that you never sleep. 

 He doesn’t mean it, he gets so involved in his projects, unaware of time passing. So, he’s calling for coffee, made paint-thinner strong, and it’s 2AM. 

 You knew this would be hard. Moving away from your home, your parents back in Chicago. Everything you know left behind for a cold, unwelcoming city. You had yet to find a friendly person. 

 No one in your apartment building even knows what you look like. And most of the people you see on a daily basis in Stark Tower aren’t friendly at all. They tend to avoid you, averting their gaze as they pass you in the hallways and you can’t figure out why. It’s certainly not because you’re assistant to one of the most powerful men in the world; because they definitely have no problem greeting Tony. 

 He doesn’t hear half of them, his head always a million miles away. And what’s worse, the people you’re sure would be welcoming and friendly haven’t been around in months. 

 The rest of the Avengers. 

 They come back to shower, sleep, debrief and then they’re gone again. You’ve only been able to greet them a few times in passing. 

 Steve was genuinely kind, welcoming you to the team. Sam thanked you for keeping Tony out of their hair, even though you haven’t done anything but rush around after the lunatic. 

 Natasha stopped in front of you, hands placed lightly on your shoulders as she looked you dead in the eye. 

 “There’s a number to call in case Stark starts harassing you too much.” She deadpans, tucking a business card into your pocket. 

 “Romanoff, leave my intern alone!” Stark called and she dropped a sultry wink at you before stepping around you. 

 That was the first time you’ve seen them. And the only time you’ve been able to actually speak more than a ‘hey’ as you rush past them. 

 Safe to say, your last ten months in New York have been lonely. 

 This is leading up to your current situation: the dreaded phone call with your mom. You love talking to her, but she was supposed to wait for you to call later when you had a little free time. But in typical mom fashion, she had to do it on her own time. 

 “Sweetheart, why don’t you just come home? The holidays are just around the corner. Just two weeks away.”

 “That’s exactly why I can’t. Mr. Stark needs me around. Trust me, I miss you guys. You’ll have to send me pictures of the tree.” Your voice wobbles like a traitor, and you clear your throat harshly. 

 “We will, sweetheart. Do you need anything?”

 “No, Mom. I’m okay. How’s Dad?” You ask, the struggle to force back your tears is a true fight. 

 “He’s okay. Making sausage bread right now.” She gasps loudly. “I know! We can send you some. How would you like that?” She asks happily, and you just have to crush your eyes shut and nod, the lump in your throat making it nearly impossible to actually talk. But your mom doesn’t need you to say anything. She knows. 

 “Alright, my sweet girl. Don’t cry. Maybe your dad and I will take a trip out to see you. We’ll come out for New Year’s.”

 “Mom, I can’t ask you to spend money on me like that.” You croak, your voice thick with emotion. Talking around the lump hurts and you feel like you can’t breathe. 

 “You’re not asking, dear.” She reminds you. “And we would love to come to see your fancy new life out there.” There’s mumbling in the background, your dad’s deep voice, but you can’t really make out what he’s saying. 

 You have no trouble picturing him in your cramped kitchen, the cutting board that’s half the size of you taking up almost all of the kitchen table. Flour, big bowls of browned sausage and hard-boiled eggs and olives scattered around it. You can almost smell the loaf baking in the oven and you feel your entire chest twist. 

 You sniffle, feeling your whole face screw up as you try to fucking hard not to cry. Your lips are mashed together and you don’t dare inhale because you just know that that’s gonna set you off. You open your mouth to try and tell your mom you have to go so you can sob in peace somewhere that isn’t a public stairwell. But you can’t make yourself say the words. 

 Just to listen to their lives, going on the way they always have, so constant, so loving and generous. You don’t want to stop listening even for a second, no matter the tears blurring your vision or how the lump in your throat now feels like you’re trying to swallow knives. 

 Christ, you miss them. 

 “Mom,” you choke. 

 “Oh, hold on, Y/N. Dad wants to talk to you. I’m gonna put you on speaker-phone...as soon as I can figure out how.”

 You give a watery chuckle but offer no help. As mean as it sounds, you like listening to her struggle with it. Your mom, who can’t even manage to sign in to Amazon without help. 

 “Oh, got it.” She says proudly. 

 “Hey, kiddo.” Your dad greets happily and you fucking lose it. 

 “Hi, daddy.” You choke, your voice barely more than a strangled whisper. 

 “Are you crying?” He chuckles and you could just smack him. 

 “No, don’t be stupid.” You grumble. 

 “Why are you crying? Honey, we’re fine, there’s nothing to worry about.” He says and you have to cover your face because you’re crying so hard. 

 “Mom said you were making sausage bread.” You try and it comes out as a sob, but at least the words were audible. 

 “I am. Want me to send you some?” He asks. 

 “Yeah. Just put it in a box with you and mom and mail yourselves to me.” You rub furiously at your eyes, even though it won’t do any good. You’re a fucking waterfall now. 

 “I’m not sure we’ll all fit, but I’ll try.” He jokes and your knuckles dig into the fleshy softness of your eyes. “I know you miss us, trust me, we miss you, too. But we’ll see each other soon. There are so many things to be happy about. You have a good job, you’re healthy, I’m making you sausage bread that you don’t have to share, you have all your teeth.” He lists, knowing one of them is going to make you laugh.

 “I know. I’m just worried about you. And, I don’t really have anyone to talk to here.” You sigh. 

 “Everyone still being cold?” He asks. 

 “It could be summer here and I would still be feeling that frigid breeze.” You wipe your eyes. “But, hey, at least I still have my teeth.” A noise on the stairs makes you hesitate. “I have to get back to work. I’ll call you guys later, okay?” You say softly. 

 “Alright, kiddo. We love you. Call us if you need anything.” He says gently. 

 “Bye, Y/N. I love you.” Your mom chimes in and you manage a mumbled return before you hang up, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. 

 “Ugh. Idiot.” You grumble, trying to wipe them dry. A hand reaches out in front of you, holding a soft white square of tissue. You follow the tissue up to the masculine hand, up the well-defined arm to Captain fucking America’s perfect face. 

 “Thanks.” You mutter, taking the tissue and wishing you could die quickly. 

 “Everything okay? I couldn’t help but overhear...” he has the nerve to fucking look bashful. “Sorry, I shouldn’t pry.” He shrugs.

 You wipe your eyes dry, wishing you could do something about your eyelashes so they wouldn’t remind you how much you can’t stop crying.

 “I’m okay. Just homesick.” You shrug, mimicking him without even realizing it. “My parents are still in Chicago, so the holidays are especially hard.” You unlock your phone to text your mom to keep you updated on your dad’s tests.

 “I understand.” He nods, offering you a hand to pull you to your feet. You slip yours into his big one and it dwarfs it. “Tell me about them.” He prompts, following you back towards the door. 

 “Oh, well...” you start uncertainly. 

 “Y/L/N, get in here. I need a target!” Stark calls to the hallway. 

 “Sorry, duty calls.” You mutter, ducking into the large workspace, leaving Steve Rogers watching after you, hands shoved into his pockets, a frown on his face. 

 Steve

 “Hey, Sam.” Steve greets, coming into the kitchen. 

 “Hey, man.” Sam glances at him. “Everything okay?”

 “Just ran into Tony’s intern.” He rubs the back of his neck, the encounter still hanging in his mind. 

 “Oh yeah. How’s she doing? It’s been what? Six months?”

 “I think so. I think she’s having a hard time. She was crying while on the phone.”

 “Stark finally got to her, huh?” Sam jokes.

 “I’m not sure. I might ask around and see if anyone’s noticed anything strange.” Steve says, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. “She said something about her parents, but she also alluded to it being cold here, even in the summer.”

 “You think Stark’s being vicious again?”

 Steve shrugs. “I hope not.” He pictures the girl’s face, unchanged since the last time he saw her, perhaps a little more tired. Still beautiful, though. 

 Natasha walks in, digging the milk out of the fridge. “What are you two love birds talking about?” She grins. 

 “Stark’s intern,” Sam replies.

 “After ten months, can she really still be an intern?”

 “I’m sorry, ten months?” Steve frowns. Can it really have been that long? He still remembers the first time he saw her face like it had just been a week ago.

 “Rogers, you need a better calendar.” Nat laughs. 

 “Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark needs you in his lab.” FRIDAY comes on the overhead.

 “Thank you.” He gives a wave to the other two, heading for Stark’s lab. People greet him with a warm smile, a friendly nod. 

 He swipes his card at the door and enters. “Hey, Tony. You needed me?” He says, looking around, hoping to spot Y/N somewhere. 

 “I saw you making eyes at my assistant,” Stark says, elbows deep in a machine up in the high corner. 

 Steve rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t making eyes.” He mutters.

 “Big, disgusting, doe heart eyes. So, I have a job for you.” Tony says. 

 “I already have a job. And I’m confused. Am I here for you to yell at me?”

 “No. I’m not an idiot. Blind sometimes, sure, but I’m not dumb. Something’s wrong with her. She won’t tell me, says she’s fine. I want you to find out what it is. You’re trustworthy. People tell you shit.”

 “And why would she tell a complete stranger instead of you?” He asks, ignoring the pathetically obvious attempt at a language joke.

 “She wouldn’t tell a ‘complete stranger’ but I bet she’d tell Steve Rogers. Genuine, heartfelt, romantic sap who just loves to help a damsel in distress. Also. She, probably like every other hot-blooded woman in the last 90 years, thinks you’re attractive.” He shrugs, the wicked smirk is back. The one Steve daydreams about punching off his face.

 “What are you even talking about?” He sighs, keeping his hands dutifully by his side. 

 Tony returns to the ground level and picks up a box, thrusting it at Steve. It’s filled about three-quarters of the way with letters of all different colors. “Fan letters for Captain America. I read some of them, but after the one-hundredth one describing you as the sexiest golden retriever, I gave up.” Tony says. “Needless to say, women like you. I’m not asking you to marry the girl. I just want to know what’s wrong with her.”

 “There’s nothing wrong with her, Tony. She’s a person with emotions.” He snaps. 

 “You have your marching orders, Rogers.” Tony waves him away.

 He drops the box back on the counter. “Where is she?” He sighs.

 “I sent her to get me coffee. I stopped vibrating, so I need more.”

 Steve rolls his eyes and walks back outside, heading back for the kitchen. He stops someone on his way, one of the friendliest people he knows in the building. 

 “Hey, Mike. Have you noticed anything strange with Y/N?” He asks.

 The bald, stocky man frowns. “No, but I don’t really talk to her.”

 “Oh, right. Thanks.” Steve mutters and keeps walking. 

 Everyone he asks all seems to have the same answers. ‘I don’t talk to her.’ ‘She doesn’t socialize with anyone.’ ‘I’ve never even spoken to her.’

 All of these statements are swirling around his head as he turns down a hallway. Maybe he just happened to find all the people that you’ve never spoken to-unlikely. 

 In ten months, you don’t appear to have made a single friend in Stark Tower. That’s concerning. It also doesn’t give him much hope for you wanting to talk to him. 

 “FRIDAY? What’s Y/N’s location?” He calls.

 “Approaching the Tower front doors. Mr. Stark likes his coffee from a shop eight blocks away.” The AI reports. Steve bolts for the stairs, taking them two or more at a time, knowing it would be faster than the elevator.

 He skids to a stop just inside the front doors only slightly out of breath. You’re standing outside, glaring at the handles with undisguised frustration. He rushes forward and opens the door for you. 

 You blink up at him, surprised. “Captain Rogers.” You start, your hands are full of coffee cups, eight in total, all labeled with Stark’s name.

 “Please, it’s Steve.” He says, holding the door wide for you to step through. You have to pass close to his body, your perfume swirling around him. There’s something else, but he can’t quite detect what.

 “Thank you, Steve.”

 “Want me to carry those for you?” He offers, standing back and letting you decide.

 “You can carry the top one.” You nod and he lifts it gently.

 “How are you feeling? From before?” He asks as they head for the elevators. The doors open and it’s full of people headed up from the basement. They all immediately stop talking as they spot you. The scrutiny, the hostile feelings emanating from them was something Steve hasn’t felt directed his way in a long time. Not since his days as a showgirl for the USO. 

 He wants to do something to ease the tension, to put you and the others at ease, but he doesn’t even know what’s going on! One of the occupants reaches forward slowly and presses the button for the doors to close. 

 “Sorry, Cap. Maximum occupancy.” He says, meeting Steve’s eyes apologetically. 

 Steve doesn’t even manage to nod in response before the doors slide shut in his face. He turns to look at you, his face is frozen in confusion. 

 “I should get these to Mr. Stark. He doesn’t like it when he can start to feel his face.” You mumble, taking the tray back from his hands and heading for the stairs.

 “Please explain!” He practically shouts after you. But you don’t stop. “Y/N!” He jogs up the stairs, easily catching up with you. “What was that?” He asks, taking the second tray from you.

 “Nothing.” You shrug.

 “Didn’t look like nothing.” He looks down at you, but you’re carefully watching your every step. He can feel you fighting yourself, some sort of internal battle. Or maybe he’s just hoping you’ll tell him instead of pretending to be deaf. 

 “It’s nothing,” you repeat. And then quietly add “new.”

 “This happens a lot?” He asks. 

 “Can we talk about something else?” You mumble.

 He works the muscle in his jaw as he looks at you. “You never answered my question. Are you feeling better?” It’s stupid. Of course, you’re not. Everyone is treating you like some sort of leper. God, he’s a fucking idiot. 

 “Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t mean for anyone to see that.” You sigh, but your shoulders have relaxed noticeably. 

 “You were talking to your parents, right?” He asks. 

 “Yeah. I told my mom I would call her later, but she just can’t wait sometimes.” You shake your head, leading him off the stairwell and across the fifth floor.

 “Where are they again?” He asks softly, not eager for you to start crying again.

 “Chicago. They’re getting ready for the holidays.” You reply, voice remaining mostly calm.

 “And what does that include these days?” He asks and you blink up at him before you make a small ‘o’ with your mouth.

 “Right. Well, my parents have a pretty big family and some really close friends. So, they make cookie trays as far as the eye can see.”

 “What kind of cookies?” He asks as you nudge him up a different set of stairs.

 “Oh gosh. So many. Let’s see, there are Russian tea cookies, peanut butter blossoms, snickerdoodles, hermits-“

 He laughs loudly. “What are those?”

 “Peanut butter, cocoa powder, and I think butter and sugar melted in a pan and then you mix in some oats. They’re a no-bake cookie.” You explain easily, pausing to lean against the railing.

 “They sound good.” He admits, feeling his sweet tooth taking over. 

 “They were my favorite when I was little.” You smile fondly. “Then, of course, chocolate chip, and there’s another kind that is peanut butter with fork impressions in the center, but I can’t remember what it’s called.” You push off and start walking. 

 “You’re making me hungry.” He laughs. 

 “I haven’t even told you the best part.” You grin, a delighted sparkle in your eye as you talk. 

 “I’m listening intently.”

 “He makes his own dough and then he makes sausage bread. Mozzarella cheese, olives, eggs, Italian sausage all rolled up and baked.” You pause for a second, breathing hitching in your throat and you’re silent for an entire flight of stairs as you struggle. 

 “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.” He frowns. 

 “It’s not your fault.” You mutter. 

 “It’s hard being away from them.” He guesses.

 “Yeah, but it’s more than that.” You stop on the floor with Tony’s lab and swipe your card. The door beeps and you step inside.

 “Ah, perfect timing,” Tony says, glancing over at you. “You know, the elevators work just fine. You don’t have to keep taking the stairs.” He gestures to the table.

 You set the coffees down and pick up a small wrench, placing it in his outstretched hand. “I like the exercise.” You say casually. 

 “Gross.” Tony glances at Steve, his dark eyes seeming to catch something. “Y/N, you’re dismissed. I won’t be needing you for the rest of the day.” He says briskly, and your face visibly falls. 

 “Did I do something? If I took too long with your coffee, sir, I’m sorry. There was a long line and-“

 “Y/N. Stop.” Tony says, setting down the wrench and gripping your shoulders tightly. “You didn’t do anything.” He frowns, looking you up and down. “Are you holding your breath?” He asks and you shake your head, but Steve can clearly see that your chest has stopped expanding. 

 You’re fighting more tears. 

 “I’m perfectly satisfied with your work. But I honestly just need peace and quiet right now. Maybe Steve can show you around. He has nothing to do.”

 “But what about your lunch? It’s barely noon.” You protest.

 “FRIDAY, order me a pizza,” Tony calls, never looking away from your face. “There. Problem solved.” He smiles, turning you around and nudging you towards Steve. 

 Obediently, you follow the Captain out into the hallway, the door locking behind you. Steve looks at you, feeling the bomb clicking down to detonation. Plump bottom lip caught between your teeth, eyes look, unseeingly, straight ahead. He watches as they fill with tears, but you refuse to blink. Your chest stutters as your breath comes close to hyperventilating. 

 “Wanna go get cookies?” He asks awkwardly.

 The tears spill over and you close your eyes. “Shit.” You mutter, voice is thick with emotion as you brush them away roughly. Steve doesn’t know what to do, so he holds his big arms open offering you a hug. Never in a million years did he think you would actually accept. 

 You almost crumple against his chest, small hands gripping at the back of his shirt as you try to stop crying. He wraps you tightly in his arms, rubbing your back slowly. 

 “I feel like I just got fired.” You gasp into his shirt. 

 “He’s just giving you the day off. Y’know... being nice?”

 You’re quiet for a long second, pulling away and wiping your eyes. Honestly, he would have let you stay there for as long as you wanted. 

 “You said something about cookies.” You mutter. 

 “I did.” He chuckles. “There’s a good bakery a few blocks away. Wanna go?”

 You nod and he gestures towards the stairs. “The elevators should be empty now.” You mutter, heading for the bank of elevators.

 “Do you wanna talk about that?” He asks. 

 “Only when my mouth is full of cookies.” You reply and he chuckles. 

 “That’s fair.”

 ***

 The bakery is warm, smelling of crystallized sugar, chocolate, and melting butter. Your eyes close slightly and Steve very gently touches your elbow to guide you over to the counter. As soon as you start walking, he drops his arm, respecting your space. 

 The lady behind the counter is nice, smiles at Steve in a friendly sort of way. “Your usual?” She asks, already reaching for a set of tongs. 

 “Actually, not this time,” Steve says, glancing towards the display case. “Pick anything you want.”

 You look at the glass, perusing over the cupcakes, brownies, cakes, and cookies. They all look so good, how does he expect you to choose?

 “Um,” you fidget, glancing at Steve, his lovely blue eyes watching you curiously. “Can I get a chocolate chip cookie?” You ask and the woman nods, grabbing a plate. 

 “You know what? Let’s just get two of all of them.” Steve says, and you look at him, feeling your forehead pinching together. “Yeah. You need to try them all, and I’m certainly not about to share mine with you.” He grins effortlessly and you feel your face moving in kind. 

 “That’s fine. I’m not that good at sharing, anyway.” You reply. 

 “Two glasses of milk?” She asks, watching you. 

 “Decaf coffee, please? Enough space for a lot of creamer.”

 “You got it, sweetheart.” She looks at Steve. 

 “Coffee, black.” He replies.

 “Boring.” You mutter. He rolls his eyes and shoos you away. 

 “Find a table.” He says, heading for the counter. You select a table toward the back, a little more privacy for what was sure to be a very difficult conversation. You make sure you grab a pile of napkins, getting prepared. Steve joins you a few minutes later and eyes the stack of napkins, but doesn’t comment on them. 

 The woman brings a tray over; two plates of cookies, two mugs of coffee, one already with a spoon, and a small pitcher of cream.

 “Spoon is yours, love.” She says, nodding to you as she sets everything on the table. You pull the mug towards yourself and begin to make your coffee.

 “Thank you so much.” You say softly. You wait until she walks away and your coffee is made before your hands curl around your mug and you sit back. 

 “Okay, where do you want to start?” You ask, letting the porcelain warm your hands. 

 “The elevator.” He says carefully. 

 “It’s not unusual. I take the stairs more often than not. I don’t know what I did to make everyone act like that, but they definitely don’t like me. No one but Tony and Pepper. You guys were really nice, but you’re not here all the time.” You shrug, breaking apart the chocolate chip cookie. It practically melts on your tongue and you stop talking to savor the buttery sweetness. 

 “Oh man.” You hum. “This was a good decision.” You close your eyes and he chuckles slightly. 

 “No one’s said anything? When did this start?”

 “Immediately.” You sigh, focusing on chewing slowly. 

 “Shit.” He mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. 

 “Are you allowed to swear?” You ask, peaking at him and he rolls his eyes.

 “Yes. Tony needs to knock that off.” He grumbles and you give a little laugh. 

 “He’s put swear jars on every floor in honor of Captain America. FRIDAY keeps everyone honest.” You say, watching the most adorable blush creeps up his neck.

 “I’m gonna kill him.” He mutters.

 You polish off your first cookie, shaking your head. “Nah. He loves you. He donates the money to a VA hospital downtown.” You say and he blinks in surprise. 

 “I definitely didn’t see that coming,” Steve admits. 

 “What else do you wanna know?”

 “When we walked into Tony’s lab, you were saying something about it being more than just being away from your parents.” He prompts. 

 Your stomach plummets, and you set the next cookie down. You know you’re going to cry, again, and you hate it. “My dad went to the doctor’s a week ago for a colonoscopy and they found some polyps that turned out to be cancerous.” Your voice breaks and your vision goes blurry again. Steve quickly hands you a napkin and you crush it to your eyes. 

 The thought of your dad not being around anymore is what terrifies you. He’s indestructible, he has to be here forever. No less is accepted. 

 You take a deep breath, trying to finish. “He’s gone back for a PET scan and now we’re just waiting for results.”

 “Do you have a picture of them?” He asks and you’ve never been more grateful for the big man across from you. You dig your phone out and pull up a picture of your parents. 

 “How long have they been married?” He asks. 

 “Almost forty years.” You sigh wistfully. 

 “How’d they meet?”

 “High school. But they didn’t date until after he got out of the Navy. He said that he came back and saw her in the bowling alley and everything else just disappeared.” You say, remembering the way your dad’s whole face changed when he talked about that moment. A big, dopey smile and heart-eyes as big as his face. “And the first time he kissed her; he saw fireworks.” You hang your head, feeling totally inadequate compared to their love story.”

 You’ve had a few steady boyfriends, but none that have made you feel that way. And none that have looked at you like you were the only thing in the room. 

 “That’s really sweet.” Steve smiles and you nod. “Y/N, what are you thinking about?” He asks, taking your hand gently. 

 “Kind of like I failed compared to them. I don’t have any friends here. They had everything so... so together by the time they were my age. Already on their way to buying a house and starting a family.” You press another napkin to your eyes. 

 “Just because it happened like that for them, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you for taking your time. Some people are born lucky that their soulmate is so close. Others have to search a little bit longer. It definitely doesn’t mean you’re a failure.” He says, squeezing your fingers gently.

 “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about you.” You say and he launches into an enthusiastic story about the Howling Commandos getting into a drinking contest in a French bar. 

 He’s a good storyteller, has you gasping for breath as you laugh to his memories. He tells story after story as you both work through your cookies. You realize that this is as bittersweet for him as talking about your parents was for you. He misses them just as much.

 It’s late afternoon when he finally sits back, a satisfied smile on his handsome face. You take a long sip of your refreshed coffee and your phone rings. You jerk unexpectedly, digging in your pocket. Your mom’s face is on the screen and your stomach plummets, twisting uncomfortably.

 “I have to get this.” You whisper. He nods, pulling out his own phone as you stand up, hurrying outside. “Mom?” You answer nervously. 

 “Hi, my lovely.” She says, using her serious mom's voice. 

 “Oh no.” You mumble. 

 ***

 Steve finds you out there a few minutes later. He pauses, watching you the same way the first time he found you crying. Hands over your face, shaking from trying to hold your sobs back. 

 “Bad news?” He asks softly. His hand is soft and gentle on your shoulders, breaking your resolve to stop fucking crying. He pulls you against his chest and you absolutely crumble, letting yourself just get it all out for a minute. 

 “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He mutters, rubbing your back gently. 

 “His tests came back clear.” You manage to mumble into his shirt. 

 “Wait, really??” His voice perks up and you nod. “That’s great!” He scoops you up and spins you around. “We should celebrate.” He says, setting you back down and using his shirt to wipe your eyes.

 “You would want to?” You ask, looking at him. 

 “Of course. Anything you wanna do.” He nods. 

 You tilt your head, thinking for a minute. “Can we go ice skating? It’s cold enough and I haven’t been in forever.”

 His fingers tighten around yours for a second. “If that’s what you wanna do, absolutely! Let’s go back to the Tower to change and then we’ll go, okay?”

 “Deal. Thank you, Steve. I promise I’m not usually such a mess.”

 “You’re not a mess.” He promises. “Come on.” He offers you his arm.

 ***

 Steve

 “FRIDAY? Where’s Agent Romanoff?” He asks, pulling on a sweater.

 “She’s in the kitchen on this floor with Sam.” She replies. Steve heads for the small kitchen to find out what Nat found out. He had texted her when you had gone outside at the bakery. 

 He just had to know. 

 “Hey.” He greets as he walks inside. 

 “Hey, man.” Sam waves with his spoon. “How is she?”

 “Tough. Nat, did you do what I asked?” He looks at the small redhead.

 “You didn’t give me much time, Rogers.” She sighs dramatically. “But, yeah. These people would not last one second in enemy hands.” She scoffs.

 “And?”

 “And apparently, Stark’s personal slave is a highly coveted position for some reason. And she got it over someone who supposedly deserved it ‘way more’ so, everyone decided to be a bunch of children and ice her out.”

 “I don’t think it worked,” Sam smirks.

 “Definitely not.” Steve agrees. “Do I even wanna know how you found this out?”

 “Spy trick.” She shrugs. “I sidled up to someone and complained about her. The rest was easy. They couldn’t wait to bitch about her.” She rolls her eyes. 

 “Thanks. I’m not sure if I should tell her or not.” Steve sighs. 

 “Where are you going?” Sam asks, eying him suspiciously. 

 “She wants to go ice skating. She wants to celebrate some good news she got.”

 Sam looks at him for a full minute before cracking up. “Oh man, I think I love this girl.” He wheezes.

 “Laugh it up, Wilson.” Steve rolls his eyes. 

 “You won’t even need your hat and sunglasses disguise.” Nat grins. 

 “Not you, too. I thought you were my friend.”

 “You might be in the wrong business, Rogers.” She winks. 

 “Miss Y/L/N is approaching,” FRIDAY warns. Sam straightens up and they all peer at the doorway Steve had come through just moments before. 

 “What are you staring at?” Your voice behind them makes them jump. 

 “Waiting for you,” Natasha says brightly. “We hear you’re going ice skating.”

 “I haven’t been in a long time and Steve was nice enough to let me choose.”

 Sam stands up and drapes his arm around your shoulders like you’re old friends. “I, for one, wholeheartedly approve.”

 “Ready?” Steve asks you, trying not to notice how cute you look in your coat and hat and gloves.

 “Ready.” You glance around Natasha and Sam. Steve can see the words before they can escape your pretty lips. 

 “They already have plans. Looks like it’s just the two of us.”

 “Maybe next time?” You look hopefully between the two of them.

 “Definitely next time.” Sam grins with a wink at Steve. 

 ***

 You were right about it being cold enough. Your face is already feeling the effects of it, flushed and a little wind bitten. You hope you don’t look too ridiculous. 

 Skating comes back to you easily and you glide around, turning in small circles as you get the feel for it again, smiling to yourself. You can feel Steve watching you from one of the entrances, leaning against the frame. 

 “Come on, Steve. The ice is great.” You taunt and he chuckles. 

 “Alright.” He slowly puts one skate to the ice, tentative, testing. You glide to a stop, watching curiously. He slowly pushes out, hands outstretched for balance, knees bent slightly. 

 “Steve?”

 “Yeah, I got this.” He says, completely focused. 

 “Mhm.” You hum, watching as Captain America wobbles on ice skates. “Have you ever been ice skating before?

 “Once or twice, recently...on a mission.” He admits.

 “And how did it go?” You ask and he looks up at you, promptly losing his balance and falling on his butt.

 “About like that.” He sighs. “Sam still laughs about it.” 

 You glide over and offer him your hand. He pulls himself up unsteadily. “Well.”

 “You don’t have to wait for me.” He says, shooing you away.

 “Nope. You were here for me all day today. I’m not leaving you now.” You say firmly, taking his hand again. “By the time we leave, Sam won’t have anything to laugh about.” You guide him forward slowly, giving him time to adjust. 

 “What are you thinking about?” He asks after a minute. 

 You glance at his face, finding his bright blue eyes on you. “Oh, I was actually thinking about how nice it is to know that you’re not perfect at everything.” You say with an impish grin. 

 “Oh, thank god. I can’t live with that kind of pressure.” He grins, starting to lose his balance again.

 “Also, I’ve seen you fight. You’re so graceful. How is this so different?” You ask, pushing him a little faster. 

 “Not sure.” He huffs, squeezing your fingers a little more. “How do I stop?”

 “You drive a motorcycle, right?” You ask and he nods. “Isn’t there a brake pedal you push down with your heel?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Same concept. Or if you turn your bike sideways, you don’t go forward anymore, do you?”

 “Right.”

 You carefully let go of his hands and do a lap around him, demonstrating how you side stop. “Tada.” You grin. 

 “Tada.” He sighs and you laugh, skating back over to him. 

 “You’ll get the hang of it. You’re a fast learner.” You say, leading him around some more. 

 ***

 Steve

 He does pick it up quickly, but not as quickly as he would have liked. He’s fallen half a dozen times and his ass is sore. 

 You’ve been so fantastic, so patient. He can easily see why you got Stark’s intern over anyone else. He would need someone patient. 

 “Are you having fun?” You ask, keeping next to him now that he’s gotten somewhat better. 

 “I am.” He smiles, pulling you close without thinking. It bumps him off balance and you tumble with him, a yelp ringing out as he takes the impact on the ice and you fall on top of him, arms and legs tangled together.

 “Shit, I’m so sorry.” 

 You free your arms, but you’re still half laying on him. “It’s okay.”

 How are you so warm after being out here for so long? Your eyes meet his and then his hand is brushing your hair back out of your face, cupping your cheek gently. 

 The rest of the rink disappears as your face drifts closer, pulled in by some kind of magnet.  He couldn’t care less that they’re on the floor as people skate around them. Those people no longer exist. 

 You tilt your head slightly and then your soft lips are pressed against his, shy at first until he pulls you closer and you melt into him. Your hands cup his face and he’s struck with bright multicolored lights flashing behind his eyes. The world seems to vibrate with sounds and time seems to have frozen, just for a little bit. His senses dialed to ten, his nerve endings are alive with every soft press of your lips. His pulse booms in his ears. 

 You pull back slightly and he watches you, face flushed. 

 “Hi.” He whispers. 

 “Hi.” You reply quietly. “You probably wanna get up.” You say, slow to pull back more.

 “I’m definitely fine right here.” He mumbles, his arms around you.

 You chuckle. “Wanna go get hot chocolate?” You ask and he nods.

 “Sure.”

 You kneel back and pull him to his feet. Your hand linked in his as you skate towards the exit. He watches you unlace your skates, thinking about the story you told about the first time your dad kissed your mom.

 He wondered at the time what that would have sounded like. 

 Now he knows. And he can’t wait to do it again.

 Tags:

@panicfob @everythingisoverrated @dsakita @shreddedparchment @bitsandbobsandstuff @after-avenging-hours @alexblrus @thinkingsofamadwoman @i-dont-want-to-be-called @thefridgeismybestie @fortheloveofallthatsholy @crazychaotic @pleasureoftheguiltiestvariety @redstarstan @septic-boye @justreadingfics @themistsofmyavalon @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @wkemeup @thiccbinch @glide-thru @moli1497 @ellaenchanted91 @part-time-patronus @janeyboo @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @thirstybitchqueen @xxloki81xx @stuckonjbbarnes @browngirlmagic @geeksareunique​ @nicoleplacee

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 20)

The sun rises and slowly transforms the pitch black night into early morning, then into forenoon. Daryl observes how the quiet community, as if it had been in a coma overnight, slowly wakes up. He sees people come out of the houses, hears Carol calling out ‘breakfast’s ready’ inside the house and the clinking of forks, spoons and knives against plates. But he doesn’t move from his spot at the porch stair. 

Ever since he and Jersey handed over the watchtower to Eric and another Alexandrian that he haven’t bothered to put a name on and Mila went to sleep for a few hours, he’s been sitting here, sunken in thoughts.

It’s too much to process somehow. Everything he feels, everything he found out about her; it’s overwhelming not knowing what to do with all of these swirling… whatever it is. She’s like a goddamn hurricane. All hair and hell. Damn, she’s pretty, beautiful even. And that accent. She talks a lot. She’s pragmatic to the point of being indifferent. Maybe because she was raised like a goddamn robot by a psychopath. She’s hot tempered, impatient, stubborn... and holy fuck, Daryl digs it. All of her; the big heart, the kindness, the humor and the sarcasm. It’s like booze mixed with cherry coke. The way she looks at him… or is it just a creation of his own imagination? Is he a complete idiot for thinking that she looked at him in a special way when they sat there together, in the dark, sharing that bottle of vodka? Could it be- no! Obviously she doesn’t- he’s a fool. But the way he felt, throughout his entire body and soul, when their hands touched, he definitely felt something. But that might just be it, his own stupid delusion. When she told him she’d been engaged, and declared that whoever gave her the ring was dead, Daryl felt like the devil himself for feeling relieved, but also bad for feeling like that. 

The night has truly been peculiar, he thinks, while resting his gaze on a bird in a tree, trying to feed its squeaking nestlings. Parts of what Mila told him Daryl had recognized from his own childhood. He’d been beaten up many times by his old man, leaving deep scars that never faded. He’d been neglected and abused for most of his childhood, by everyone when it came down to it. But he was a boy. Not that it justified his father's actions towards him, but Daryl could at least, and used to, fight back. He was a pretty good fighter at an early age and knew he had to aim for the kidneys. But Mila was a girl, an unwanted girl who had to face the shame and blame for not being born as the son her old man so badly wanted. He’d reminded her every single day of her shortcoming, and she had apologized, and that (and when she told about the physical abuse, because that’s what it was, even though she didn’t refer to it that way) had hit him hard. How she somehow, even though she clearly despised and distanced herself from his actions, could talk about him with something that sounded like affection, Daryl found astonishing. Like she desperately cling on to the good memories, the few she might have. Was it a perfect example of Stockholm Syndrome, or just pure madness? She’d lived in a lie for almost her entire life, he’d murdered people; how was it possible that she was so indifferent after what she’d been through? Or maybe she just managed to conceal it behind a thick wall of oppressed feelings. He could understand that more than well in a way. But on the other hand it seemed like she’d turned her life around; she had a kid who she’d managed to keep alive. Her story had made him feel secure, less odd about his own history that he’d tried so hard to oppress, to push back into the deepest darkest corner of his soul, never to reveal to any living soul. 

Daryl had never talked to anyone about his upbringing, in fact he’d never talked to anyone as he talked to Mila. Somehow she managed to get these things out of him, that he had previously buried deep inside himself, that he’d never in a million years thought he would tell anyone as he told her the other night. She treats him in a way he’s never been treated before. 

Daryl twitches when he feels a thug on his vest. He removes his chin from the stock of the crossbow and turns where he sits on the porch stairs. 

“Hey kiddo.”

Juri smiles and sits down on the stairs next to him. He’s dressed in dungarees and boots, has seemingly managed to dress himself this morning, but has failed to tie the shoelaces that dangles around his soles.

“That won’t do. Come here.” Daryl waves his hand and nods at the shoelaces that flutter in the wind. The boy obediently raises his foot, Daryl takes it and puts it to his knees and begins to lace the small boot. “Gotta tie ‘em up good, or they’ll fall off ya’ feet.” he says and ties the shoe steadily, but not too tight. He doesn’t want to be responsible for causing Jersey Jr. a broken foot.

Daryl ties the other shoes too, then they sit there next to each other, quiet. Every now and then the boy snails up at him curiously. When Daryl snails back, Juri looks away, giggling. He’s kinda funny, Daryl thinks to himself and smiles. Cheeky, a li’ rascal.

“Ya’ mum’s not up yet?” he asks. 

Juri shakes his head, then makes a snarling sound. 

“She snores?” Daryl grins. “Yeah, ‘bet she does, kiddo. Heard ya’ were a snorer too.” He gives of a grunt, like a pig and Juri bursts into a big, faint, silent laugh. “Ya’ wanna go for a walk?”

Juri nods eagerly. 

“Let’s go.” 

Daryl gets up, grabs Juri under his armpits and lifts him up and places him on the ground. They walk around the pond, a walk that normally doesn’t take half an hour, but since his companion is only 3 feet tall, the pace is below average. When they arrive back to the house, Mila’s standing on the porch, shielding her face from the sun with her hand. Daryl once again gets all warm throughout the body and his tongue starts to crawl back up toward his palate. No, dammit! Juri starts to run towards her when he sees her, with three flowers clenched in his hand, that he picked next to the pond. 

“For me!” Mila’s smile could light up the entire Safe-Zone if it would've been night, when he hands her the flowers. “Moya lyubov, thank you.” She looks up at Daryl. “Where are your flowers?”

“Didn’t pick any.”

“What a shame.” She stands up and looks at Juri. “You know what! Carol has been an angel, and made lunch for you, Romeo.”

Mila shoves Juri into the house, while the boy waves at Daryl from between her legs. 

“Slept well?” 

“Enough.” she answers easily. “I need to get out of here for a while. Gotta go find new shoes for Juri. What kind of mother lets her son walk around in heavy boots in this heat?” 

“Good luck with that.” Daryl scoffs. “Getting past those assholes unnoticed won’t be easy.” 

The sapphire eyes peers at him through the sun. 

“Wanna join then?” She asks boldly with a grin. “Show off those hunter skills. Trust me, it’s easier to find game meat than a pair of kids size nine’s.” 

Daryl snorts and looks around. It’s not an impossible mission, but foolish. On the other hand, he can’t just wander around in here. He’s convinced that she would leave on her own if he doesn’t follow, no matter how much he, or anyone else, opposed it. 

“Gear up, Jersey.” He therefore answers and nods a little. 

Mila smiles triumphantly, turns on her heel and enters the house. She returns minutes later, with the automatic rifle on her shoulder and a backpack, dressed in a worn, black leather jacket over the dark t-shirt.

“New jacket?”

“Not directly. I got it for my eighteenth birthday. Saw it in this store down in Ashbury Park and thought, ‘hey, I’d look so cool in that’, so Adam and Peter brought it to me.” She corrects her left  boot with the other foot. “I love fun jackets! Fringes, embroideries- I'll be buried in this one, if that's the last thing I do.” Mila smiles. “Oh, and I told Carol we were going out.”

“What did she say?” Daryl asks, clenching his jaw. Some things are better left unsaid. Like sneaking off in the middle of what can be likened to a siege.

“Something like, have fun-” Mila replies and hurries down the porch. “And take it easy.”

They walk toward the wall, toward the place Daryl climbed to enter the Safe-Zone. Mila climbs onto the truck easily and soon they’re standing on the roof of the trailer, looking out over the landscape on the other side of the Alexandria walls.

“Head for the woods.” Daryl points. “The bike’s in there somewhere. Short run.”

Quickly and silently, they get down the trailer and start running towards the trees, into the woods. 

“Ya’ know where to go?” Daryl asks as they find the motorcycle in the same place he left it.

“I have a strategy.” Mila replies. “Houses with toys and swing sets outside usually have kids stuff inside too.”

“Fine.” Daryl gets the motorcycle up and leads it up the road. “Let’s go find some swing sets.”

He straddles the motorcycle and scoots forward, to give her room to sit behind him. Mila throws her leg over the body of the bike and sits down on the leather seat and wraps her arms around his waist. Daryl takes a deep breath, tries his best to maintain a normal heartbeat. 

”All right.” he coughs nervously. 

He warns the engine once again before he kicks off. He can feel all of the power in the machine throughout his entire body. Behind him, Mila squeezes his waist and makes a delighted cry as he increases the speed as he maneuvers the beast on the desolated road. 

“This is awesome!” Mila hollers into his ear.

A smile spreads on his lips and he speeds up, causing Mila to hug harder around his waist and laugh. They cruise around the nearby residential areas, scouting for children’s bikes in the driveways, basketball hoops, colorful slides and toys. Eventually, they find a street that seems to fill all the criteria. Daryl hits the brakes and the motorcycle stops next to a two storey house with a hoop and a climbing frame in the yard. Mila climbs off and takes her rifle, attaches the silencer over the barrel. 

“Okay, let’s find some shoes.” Daryl states. “Lead the way.” Briskly, Mila starts walking toward the door, rips it up and raises the AK in front of her and walks into the house. He follows, cautiously listening for hissing sounds and dragging feets. It’s clearly not her first rodeo. Mila immediately starts looking in wardrobes, in the laundry room and in cabinets. 

“Nope. Nothing.” she notes after a while. “Let’s continue.”

They leave the house and start walking down the street. Mila’s long hair blows effortlessly in the wind as they pass by abandoned houses, driveways and overgrown lawns. In the distance Daryl sees a lone, limping walker approach them in the street. He lifts the crossbow to his shoulder, aims and shoots. In the distance he sees it fall into a pile on the grund.  

“That house seems promising.” Mila points toward a house with what looks like a homemade skateboard ramp in the driveway. 

Daryl runs over to the walker, lying in a pile on the asphalt, to collect the arrow. When he turns, Mila has caught sight of a rotten creature, appearing from behind the molding ramp. With ease she lifts the rifle, aims and places a bullet in its head and it drops to the ground with a thud. With a crooked smile Daryl remembers what she said about the soup can. He then finds her inside the house, browsing the books in a bookshelf in the living room. 

“Children's Books!” Mila holds up a book for him to see. Where the wild things are, Daryl reads from the cover. He’s never read it. On the other hand, his ma’ never read books for him and Merle. “There’s so many cute books here! Peter Rabbit, Paddington-” she grabs the books and puts them in a pile. 

Daryl rests on the back of the couch, watches her stacking books on a chair. He’s amazed by how she engages her entire heart and soul to make sure that the boy has everything he could ever wish for. What would it have been like growing up like that? 

With about ten children's books stuffed in the backpack, Mila then continues through the house in the search of a new wardrobe for Juri, faintly humming. Daryl finds a weapon cabinet where the owner forgot a Glock and a few boxes of ammunition, and Mila finds a pair of Chuck Taylor’s in Juri’s size.

“Half a size too big, but his feet will grow.” She states and puts the shoes in the backpack.

If he thought they were done by now, Daryl was mistaken. They therefore proceed to the house next door.

“You notice something?” 

Daryl immediately turns all vigilant, looks around in search of hostility movements. Mila laughs a little. 

“What?” Daryl scoffs, mildly irritated, and lowers his guard. 

“We’re alone.” Mila says as they walk around a dense bush, once perfectly trimmed in a rounded shape, in front of the porch. “Like a little adventure. Pretty fun, right?” 

She feels the door handle and nods. Unlocked. She pushes the door open and it goes up with a creak. Mila quietly walks into the hall, Daryl follows, with a gut feeling that something will happen. And his guts don’t lie. All of a sudden Mila’s pushed to the carpet by a walker coming at them from the left, followed by its two companions. The first one attacks Mila and Daryl’s grabbed by a male, missing an eye. Mila swears loudly, a muffled bang is heard when she shoots the walker right in the face and tries to get up from the floor. Daryl tries to pull away from the one eyed bastard, that clings to his vest. The rotting mouth and disgusting fingers claws to his torso. 

”Watch it!”

With impressive force Mila grabs a hold of it by its shoulders, pulls it away from him and throws it into the opposite wall of the hallway. She takes her knife from her boot shaft and pushes it into its forehead. Daryl takes a hold of the last, remaining dead asshole and pushes an arrow deeply into its skull, forcing it down on the floor. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Ey, wha-”

Without another word, Mila lifts his shirt and searches his torso for wounds, or at least he thinks that’s what she does. Oh god, please don’t. Daryl gets intense chills of pleasure all through his body by her touch. Those soft, delicate fingers send shivers throughout his body in sheer delight. She withdraws, sighs in relief. 

”Though it bit you.” she says. 

“I’m fine.” Daryl replies, hardly meeting her gaze as he pulls the shirt down.

He tries to steady his breath, all while Mila still pants faintly. Their eyes meet, or are more like glued to each other. Daryl’s heart beats hard inside his ribcage, he can almost hear it like a drum inside his ears. Suddenly, before he’s able to say or do anything, Mila has thrown herself onto him, presses her lips against his in a kiss out of this world. It’s so sudden and so surprising that he can’t turn all flushed and angry, his usual defense mechanism in unfamiliar situations. But it’s also everything he’d ever dreamt it would be. Why would he withdraw? With her hands on each side of his face, her soft tongue finds its way in-between his lips into his mouth, exploring every inch of his mouth like a gold miner looking for nuggets. It’s mesmerizing, he’s never been kissed like this in his entire life. 

He cups her face with his hand, the one not holding on to the crossbow, feels the soft skin towards his palm. It soon finds its way to her lower back, as he presses her body against his as she begins to guide them away from the hallway massacre, with the three dead corpses, into the other room. Daryl briefly presses her up against a wall, making a framed picture fall to the floor. The rough, passionate kissing turns into a frenzy of hands and heavy panting. Daryl drops the crossbow to the floor and steers Mila towards the dining table. He pushes her towards the table, while their fingers eagerly search for buttons and zippers during heavy breathing and intense eye contact. 

He’s so excited, so frantically horny. Never before has he felt such a desire. He fumbles, all while Mila’s able to kick off one boot, push down her jeans and underwear, making them dangle around her leg and unbuckles his belt at the same time like a fucking magician. Daryl lets out a grunt as his palms run over her bare, soft thigh. He presses his forehead against hers and they kiss again, moaning into each other's mouths. Mila’s chest heaves rapidly underneath the t-shirt as she unbuttons his jeans, pushes them over his hips, releases his pulsating cock and drags him closer. She caresses him, touches him to the point of almost no return. Daryl ends it by grabbing her buttocks in his hands, lifts her up onto the table. She spreads her legs, pants breathlessly as she pulls him in between. Daryl grunts as he lightly fondles her, she’s so fucking wet. For him! That’s the most fucking incredible part, well, one of thousands right now. There is no darn turning back now. Without breaking eye contact, almost drowning in those sapphire eyes, while inhaling her scent, the floral and everything that enchants him, Daryl enters her, making both of them exhale loudly. She tightens around him and it feels as if he will come right away. Jesus christ, I can’t hold it, he finds himself thinking as he feels a rush of pleasure spread through his body, it won’t go. He starts to grind his hips into her, causing her to moan loudly, to dig her fingers into the back of his vest, as she jerks her hips forward against him. He lets out a low growl and starts to pound into her, making the table squeak, holding her in place while he with the other hand softly grabs the hair on the back of her head, not breaking their eye contact; all while a feverish heat runs through his body. 

Dear god he doesn’t want it to end, but he can feel himself edging as her body clenches around him, and he realizes that it’s more than close. He can feel it, her entire body screams that she’s on the edge too. She lifts her head to the ceiling, as she reaches climax and the surge of warmth from her orgasm surrounds him. Daryl moans loudly into her neck, feels his entire body tremble as he digs his hips into her, as deep as he possibly can, exploding inside of her.

They gasp for air, as if there wasn't enough oxygen in the room, bodies trembling, but they don’t break eye contact. Something warm runs down his cramping thigh, bolting with his runaway pulse.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Daryl’s whimpers, his voice breaks. He swallows, but doesn’t move, just keeps holding on to Mila’s body like a castaway clinging to a piece of board. “I’m sorry-” 

“I’m not.” Mila pants with her fingers entangled into the back of his head, the other hand grasping the back of the vest. “I’m not.”

They remain like that for a few seconds; silent, trying to get a grip of the whole situation and what just happened, how amazing it was. Daryl lowers his eyes, for the first time in what feels like forever and with a soft movement he wipes away the warmth from her inner thigh with his thumb. He feels high on adrenaline, feverish, standing there with one hand under her left thigh and the other in a firm grip round her buttocks, welded together. 

“I want ya’.” Daryl manages to utter between the heavy breaths, looking back at her. “Ya’ asked me what I want. I want ya’.”

Mila caresses his face with the other hand, runs it softly over his lips. 

“I want you too.” She replies. Daryl’s uncertain, did she actually say that? The faint smile he gets, between the panting breaths, somehow says it all. ”You heard me, Dixon.”

[ibtk]

Book Review: THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY by Laura Jean McKay (2020)

(Full disclosure: I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review through Edelweiss and Library Thing's Early Reviewers program. Content warning for violence, including that against animals. Caution: this review contains a spoiler in the form of an excerpt.)

'Well, I’ve got a secret for you, Miss Kimberly Russo.' She digs her sharp little nails into my skin. ‘What is it?’ ‘This flu means people can talk to animals.’ Her head shoots up. ‘I want the flu, Granny. Don’t you?’ ‘Grown-ups don’t wish they had diseases, and neither should you.’ ‘But don’t you?’ Outside, Wallamina and Princess Pie are nose and beak to the sliding door, trying to press their way through. Eyes shining. ‘Course I bloody do.’

I can see the wild in her. She looks and acts like any dog. Plays, wags, stares into my eyes with her baby browns; does chasey, catch, begs for biscuits. Then the dusk comes and she lifts her neck and howls the saddest song in all the world, and there’s that wild. Dingo, owl, night thing — that sound is a warning. Loneliest you’ll hear. Wraps around your face, your sleep, your dreams. She’s saying: ‘Hey, hey. There’s something coming.’ The rangers here are always telling me, don’t talk like that. They say how dingoes are just establishing territory, checking on their pack. Dingo admin. But stand on the hot road that runs from the gift shop to the enclosures, and listen to the dingo in her cage call out to the packs on the other side of the fence. Tell me that’s not special. Tell me she doesn’t know something about the world that you and me haven’t ever thought of.

Jean Bennett isn't you're typical grandma - unless you're picturing Gemma Teller Morrow, that is. Jean drinks, smokes, swears, and sleeps around, usually all at the same time, and occasionally with her gay and committed coworker, Andy. She's got a tiger tattooed on her boob, and a dingo named Sue imprinted on her heart.

A lowly guide who dreams of becoming a ranger, Jean works at an Australian wildlife park, run by her son's ex-girlfriend Angela and owned by Angela's father. Jean and her husband Graham landed there years ago, after bouncing around the world for a while. Eventually Graham left Jean to shack up with another woman; their only child, Lee, jumped ship too, but not before hooking up with - and impregnating - Angela. Now Ange mostly keeps Jean around for the free child care (and maybe also because Ange feels sorry for her).

As for Jean, she stays stuck in this weird, awkward morass for her granddaughter Kimberley - one of the few people she can tolerate, let alone love. Jean prefers animals of the nonhuman variety, and the Park's residents/captives are her found family. She has a special place in her cockles for Sue, a dingo mix who she helped rescue as a wee little pup.

Jean's precarious life is already teetering on the edge of chaos when THE FLU arrives - first in southern Australia, then at the Park's gates, thanks to none other than an infected Lee, as charming as he is irresponsible.

Zoanthropathy (from Greek: zóo, “animal”, anthroponis, “human”, pathy, “disorder”), aka zooflu, otherwise known as "the talking animal disease," allow humans to understand and communicate with other animals:

'The strain known as zoanthropathy affects cognition in humans, and it is believed that enhanced communication between humans and nonhuman animals is possible. Zoanthropathy is hosted and spread by humans. [...] The disease is very high in morbidity and very low in mortality. Infected humans appear able to communicate (encode) and translate (decode) previously unrecognisable non-verbal communications via major senses such as sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound with nonhuman animals.'

When Lee runs off with Kimberley - to commune with the whales on the southern coast - Jean embarks on a cross-country road trip to find them. Riding shotgun is Sue, whose keen nose points the way to Tomorrow (Tomorrow being Sue's conceptualization of Kimberley. Jean is Yesterday, and Lee is Never There. Scathing, yet accurate.)

As with most potentially animal-friendly tales, I was equally nervous and excited to dive into THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY. As it is, the book both thrilled and disappointed me; I almost feel like it deserves two separate ratings, one for the idea and actualization of the dystopian zooflu future - which is breathtaking - and another for the human-centered plot that propels the audience's journey into this world - which is decidedly less so.

Let's start with the zooflu. It seems like it would be awesome to be able to talk to animals, right? Think again. I mean, really turn the idea over in your head, sit with the superpower, and try to envision what this might entail. Given that most of the nonhumans we encounter on the daily are exploited, oppressed, or otherwise negatively impacted by humans -

be it the 25 million farmed animals we create, torture, and kill for food every year in the US alone; the "wildlife" (read: free-living animals) we displace, starve, and kill through habitat loss; the dogs and cats we buy, neglect, and then abandon at shelters; or the animals we unintentionally hit with our cars (or the bugs we trod on just walking down the street); etc. x infinity

- we are weapons of mass destruction. To most of our nonhuman kin (and sometimes our fellow humans, too). Instead of words of wisdom and messages of hope, we'd be more likely to hear cries of terror. Confusion. Pain and agony. Hellfire, everywhere. Created and fueled by us and our own.

Heck, I'm not even sure it would be beneficial to always know exactly what our beloved, nonhuman family members are thinking. I have a fifteen-year-old dog named Finn who's going deaf and blind and battling dementia. More often than not, I suspect that being privy to his innermost thoughts would freak me the fuck out. Not to mention break my damn heart.

And then there's the mode of communication: not just just verbal, as we're used to, but all-encompassing: "sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound." Think pheromones, sound waves, scratches and ticks. The beating of countless tiny wings, all bombarding your brain and trying to tell you something. That kind of thing, coming at you uninvited and from all directions, is apt to drive a person mad. And it does, as evidenced by zooflu sufferers who stuff their orifices with whatever's handy to block incoming stimuli - or, at the more extreme end, the pseudo-religious trepanners who invite strangers to drill holes in their skulls in a misguided attempt to relieve the pressure.

Talking to animals sounds like the stuff of dreams - but in McKay's hands, it's a nightmare.

And a pretty trippy one, at that: fittingly, the incoming messages that Jean's left to decode aren't quite what you'd call straightforward. There's a lot of translation required, and Google hasn't yet caught up:

I’m reading her body like some language I barely remember from a high school textbook. Bonjour madame, connaissez-vous le chemin de la gare? Let’s go to the station. Or, where the hell is the supermarket? I can parrot the words, but the meaning is in scraps.

Copies of this book should be sold with a sheet of acid, or maybe some edibles. I kid, but also not.

If, like me, you assumed that increased understanding and compassion would surely spring forth from this newfound ability to communicate with nonhuman animals, you'd be wrong. While some people do indeed embrace the flu, many others lash out: animal-free zones are established, and hungry citizens start hunting former pets, since they make for easy prey (apparently they've never heard of fruits and veggies?).

There's one especially excruciating scene that I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. Jean takes refuge in a makeshift church, only to catch a glimpse of how the missionaries make their sausage (stew):

A small fluffy dog has pelted out a kitchen door, thin bit of twine tangled around its legs, body blonde fire, screaming, Hello. Please. Please bite its soft. Quick. Help me. I jump up, calling the poor little bugger, but the parishioners shriek louder, climbing on their chairs like that dog is the snake from the garden of Eden. The woman rushes for her daughter and hauls her by an arm out of the room. It’s funny, for a second, until the laugh dies in my throat. The little dog, too tangled in the twine to move, slumps panting in the aisle. It’s not just m e. Where’s other me. She’s still — The god-botherers are faster than me. They grab that dog with WWF wrestling passion, using real lumps of wood, real knives. The little dog has enough time to issue a thick whiff of terror from its undercarriage, Help her, before they’ve slit it ear to ear right there in the pulpit. There was no blood with Lee. He didn’t even look that drowned. He might have come alive any moment. He might be alive right now in his grave. This little dog, though, is bleeding out on the beige carpet. The door to the kitchen is open. Matthew the soup cook leans on the jamb, then turns back. A fluffy tail on a chopping board. The steaming pots. Pain like a stab to my guts — he stirs a soup very much like the one he was serving up in the park.

Of course, this scene is so repulsive to most of us - Jean included - only because the animal being killed and consumed is designated for "companionship" instead of "food," at least in this particular culture. Chances are you've known and loved a dog or two yourself - and so the doomed beast transforms from a something to a someone. Not an unfeeling object to be used and discarded at will, but a sentient creature with her own feelings, desires, and loved ones. Had it been a chicken or pig, the result wouldn't be quite so horrifying; Jean herself eats meat, and justifies doing so, on several occasions.

Yet an earlier scene - in which Jean comes upon an abandoned tractor trailer truck packed with pigs destined for slaughter - will hopefully challenge readers to expand their circle of compassion:

I’ve seen battery hogs before — of course I have. But not out and about. Not staggering around and trying to walk, calling to whatever they think is ‘more’. Glazed eyes that strain like they’ve never seen sunlight. Skin stretched over bodies fed to the point of bursting — something between swine and meat. Saw some animal liberationists on the street in the city one time, saying factory farms were the same as Nazi camps. I called them bloody racists too. The pigs clatter past me down the ramp, fucked-up eyes on the road ahead, calling, Hello is it more. Those animal nutters were wrong, but not in the way I thought. It’s not the same as the Nazis: that was us doing to us. What’s this? [...] A hurt sow sits on her haunches, then lies down on the verge, panting unevenly under the slathering sun. Another weaves blindly over the asphalt toward her, flies spinning around her head. They push their noses into each other. Send me a postcard, the sick one says. Postcard, indeed. What the fuck. I watch more closely. The meaning bright off that tight skin. All the little bits saying, Leave me, and, I’ll hear about it, and, Don’t you see it. Move on. There’s more. The ones that can walk stretch their legs, for, More, more, more. I stand at the top of the truck ramp watching them break into a group trot toward the next paddock. Skin rippling. Hooves carolling. Know that heart-in-your-mouth run. Know exactly what ‘more’ is. I’ve seen it in Lee and I’ve had it too, at times. These pigs are half dead, they’re stumbling around, blind, mad, and fucking hopeful.

Even if many of the characters in this book resist the humanity clearly evident in nonhuman animals, I hope that readers will hold these passages close - especially at the dinner table.

Sue, our main nonhuman protagonist, is a fascinating character; like many of the semi-domesticated animals in the park, McKay paints her as a series of conflicting impulses: safety or freedom. Hunger or satiation. Dingoes or humans. She is fiercely loyal, much to her own detriment. She has wants and needs of her own, and she's often satisfied to set them aside for the good of her (adopted) pack.

And I guess that brings me to the second half of this review: the humans, most of whom are awful. Jean, exponentially so.

Initially I thought that Jean would be my people: she's a hard-drinking, mold-breaking badass broad who gets on better with animals than people. She has a mini-rescue in her backyard where she keeps some of the park's doomed relinquishments. (The public treats the park like a rehab facility when in fact it's in the business of entertainment - old, sick, injured, and "common" animals are routinely killed.) She and Kimberley spend their afternoons together designing the animal rescue they hope to build one day.

But Jean is kind of a terrible person. To call her a misanthrope is half the story: she's also senselessly mean and cruel, especially when drunk, hungover, or frustrated (in other words, 90% of the time). I don't fault Jean for her substance abuse problem - alcoholism is a mental health issue and should be treated as such - but nor is it an excuse for being such an asshole. (There's even a scene where she trolls people discussing the zooflu online, like a fucking American redhat.) She's shit to everyone around her, except for Kimberley and Lee (Lee, who could use a good ass-kicking).

And then there's Sue: Sue, who followed Jean across the damn country when she should have been settling into a dingo pack of her own. Sue, who found Kimberley and saved Jean's life. Sue, who is nothing but good and true and trustworthy. Sue, who Jean assaults on multiple occasions: kicking her in the ribs, binding her with rope to prevent her escape, and even trying to shoot her (with a gun that's thankfully empty of bullets). At one point, she "forgives" Sue for saving her life - as if Sue's the one who needs forgiveness!

Despite the abuse, Sue continues to stick by Jean's side, which galled me endlessly. Towards the end of the story, following the attempted murder, Sue gets revenge of a sort, dominating a delirious Jean and forcing her subservience. However, the book ends shortly thereafter, cutting any sense of satisfaction far too short.

I really felt cheated with Jean: I thought she might be my avatar in this world - but she's just another terrible human who doesn't deserve the company of animals.

Likewise, the whole subplot involving Kimberley's parentage is way over the top dramatic and unnecessary; it seemed like we were being plucked from a dystopia and dropped into a soap opera for a minute there. Just, gross. So yeah, there are definitely some aspects of the book that I appreciated more than others. THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY may be imperfect - but I'd still wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone looking to explore our relationship to nonhuman animals in a dystopian setting.

[mothmansrevolt]

LU Girl Scout AU (and subsequent PTA AU)

LU au where they have to pretend to be girl scouts because Time has to prove a point to the pta board and to the Karen Squad Its basically a bunch of highschoolers and singular college student pretending to be girl scouts because of both friendship and Time just shoved some sashes in their hands and said Y'all are all now girlscouts and offered to get them Chipotle as payment.

Twilight is in college(online). Warriors in a senior. Legend and Sky are juniors. Hyrule and Wild are sophmores. Four and wind are freshmen. Four is homeschooled by his grandfather though.   All are in a specila branch called hylia scouts (creative i know). This means they get set uniforms and competitions with other troops over cookie selling boundaries since hylia scout troops are usually very close to eachother. There are two troops in their area including them. Troop 4296 (the Links) and 6669 (the Karen Squad) They are troop 4296 because Time wouldnt let them have either 420 or 6969

Time--a pta mom--rivals with the Karens--tired as all hell but will not hesitate to prank the karens--troop leader and/or chaperone depending on the situation--He has a million bumper stickers supporting his "girls"--honestly he's just here for the cookies--someone get this man a coffee--has two sons according to the law, but has eight in spirit--you mess with his children he will not hesitate to murder you--all his sons are arsonists and he doesn't understand why--will call the links his "daughters". half the town can't tell what children he actually has--loves coupons and discounts "Malon said I'm not allowed to start fights at the pta meetings but I will not hesitate drag her here if you insult my beautiful brats again." Twilight­--Time's eldest son--only in this because he doesn't want his friends to get hurt and he loves his parents--a good boy--loves animals and will not hesitate to educate you on them--he wears overalls and if forced will wear a skirt over the overalls--he cant sell cookies for shit because nobody believes that he is a girlscout--sometimes has to duck down behind Four if certain people are around because they'll get suspicious--it does not work--He pretends to be everyone's big brother and they love him for it--perpetually confused by Wolfie "I have command over an army of teenagers and goats, nothing can stop me but gas money and my gpa." Wild--Time's second son--can pass as a girl pretty well--he destroys stuff during craft time--hot glues patches to sash--He has every one of the cooking patches and than some--Often seen with the camera photographing everything--Will help create new badges--give this boy a scavenger hunt and he will find you just about anything--has a tendency to ride on wild animals--isn't legally allowed to drive a car nor own a license. nobody knows why--second most convincing for this whole thing "This is just a glorified gang and honestly I am living for it." Four--from the neighboring farm but Twilight and Malon babysits him sometimes. he is a staple--the karens keeps trying to steal him because he is 'innocent' and 'a little lady'--this leads to ridiculous hijinks--he is small, quiet, not very mentally sound but he tries his best and is brave as all hell--owns the most badges--will rock the skirt always--fashionista or fashion disaster, there is no in-between--he's the most committed besides legend and warriors but is the most convincing--best cookie seller--Often seen handling sharp tools and knives for some reason, who gave this child a weapon?!--tends to befriend bad people--the only one with the fire safety badge even though, he to, is an arsonist--wears a vest because the sash is too big, Malon made it for him--has a bird named Ezlo who sits on his head "Sorry Miss Karen but I've been bribed with my first born child so kindly fuck off." Legend--salty and sassy--will always rock the skirt--also a fashionista and knows accessories--he's really only in this because of a running bet with warriors--he has a soft on the inside sometimes--he will get into cat fights--The other girlscouts from a rival troop HATE him because they will always lose arguments against him--knows the most about girl scouts, won't say how--Often seen blinged out with the jewelry he wins at the local chuck-se-cheese with his buddy Ravio "I have command over an entire troop of shortstacks and will not hesitate to order a strike against your fucking kneecaps. Do NOT question the authority of this skirt." Warriors--pretty boy--in a bet with Legend--also a fashionista--he is a big brother tho-- protection squad and trying his best--he is on student counsel and is a good leader--stand in when Time is busy--Often seen with a sports bag in one hand and a girl scout sash in the other--all the troops think he is a major lesbian because he keeps flirting with the other scouts--he gets more numbers as a girlscout, not that he could ever admit this "I'm a known lesbian among the girl scouts and honestly that is my crowning achievement." Sky--is here because his friends are here--He is the mom friend--second best at selling cookie because of his sweetness--He often tag teams with Four for selling cookies--is slightly confused but he's here to make sure nobody gets hurt--honestly just naps during meeting-- Often seen with blanket and a comforting hug--rival troops actually have scouts seeking out to befriend him--always forgets his skirt and is often seen borrowing his girlfriend Zelda's "Guys, please stop fighting you are all beautiful young women. Karen, you shut the frick up." Hyrule--the camper and nature boy of the group--he loves and has earned every patch for exploration and camping--tends to get lost--needs navigation patch--its been revoked from him twice--Humble and nice--often sleeps over at other peoples houses--nobody knows where he lives--it confuses the shit out of them--He is buddies with Four because Four knows the backwoods and roads the best--Often not seen due to being lost "Legend duck taped a gps to me arm and I think its lost to :(" Wind--baby boy--not as innocent as the others think--he absolutely loves being a girlscout--will play pranks on the other troops during jamborees and campouts--lives by the sea, slightly far away form everyone else--He helps with the nautical patches--hangs with the resident young delinquents, Tetra's gang. she thinks this is hilarious--he owns the troop wagon that they all use--its named King of the Red Lions or just Dave depending on the hour--only here because Twilight babysits him and his sister--also wears a vest because he thinks its cooler--Often seen with a telescope and covered in sand--someone give this child a bath "My first love may be the sea, but my second is that damned burrito, hand me the fucking skirt!" Wolfie--troop mascot--a giant half wolf half god knows what--has his own vest and patches-- has a tendency to just show up--Nobody knows where he comes from nor where he goes--he is the town cryptid and it isn't uncommon to see him pulling the troop wagon with the boys in it--Four still rides on his back--it counts as the horse back riding patch--Twilight is perpetually confused by him and its become a running gag that Wolfie is his fursona--loves cookies, sadly the cookies do not love him--can vaguely say curse words "arf" Shadow and Dark(I'm not sorry)--in karen's troop 6669 (for fun? for rivalry? who knows. they don't)--brothers--edgy bastards who are in a band together--Shadow is best friends with Four, Dark thinks he's pretty rad--Often seen with Four and the other edgy teens--both sassy, both easily pissed but trying to be kind of nice--Shadow is the only one who has achieved this--no those are not their real names, its Link and Link like everyone else in this goddamned town--HI MY nAME IS ebONY DArknESS DEMENTIA RAveN WAY--Dark is the author of My Immortal--both suck at selling cookies--tag team with Four to try and help their sales--rivals of troop 4296, they despise each other--both wear vests because Shadow wanted to match Four and Dark decided he can trick out the vest "Our mother may be a bitch and a dumbass, but at least we aren't petty white boys." "Wait Dark we are petty white boys" "FUCK" Karen Ganondorf Smith, Kaaren Link Johnson, Carhaen Reese--bitches and pta moms--runs the pta--the karen squad--Reese's daughter named Betghyani who is very nice and likes troop 4296--Johnson is mother of Shadow and Dark--they are fucking nuts y'all--they represent the three evils of the pta: the enforcer, the healthy diet extreme, and the bitch against disabled children (quiet hands!!!)--despite popular belief, Four (Link Smith) is in no way related to Karen Smith (legally at least. Karen thinks they are and it doesn't end pretty sometimes)--they all hate Time with a burning passion because he is not afraid to call them out on their bullshit "I've brought up so many stances and rules into this pta and will not have some farming hooligan upstaging the careful work me and the other heads have created!" Malon--couldn't be on pta because she almost murdered a karen with kindness--sweet and kind but can still kick ass--helped make and fix uniforms--acts as chaperone when needed and finds this all completely hilarious--she makes snacks with Wild for the meetings--has adopted all of these children--actively enforces Wind and Four to eat more because whY ARE ALL YALL SO TINY--can lift a cow "Don't talk to me or my husband or my son or my son or my eight fake sons or my lovely eight fake daughters ever again."