#from the sound of black hole sun blasting outside | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dewedup · 1 year ago

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shallows beneath me (raindrop!reader)

The ripples that surround her feel like they are brushing her skin purposefully, rubbing and lingering instead of hitting and breaking away. Little rivulets dance across her stomach, gliding effortlessly from one side of her body to the other. She watches, mesmerized, as the water curls along her skin in a way that shouldn’t be physically possible.

A beach day with the ghouls goes exactly how you think it would, thank Satan the band's assistant was gifted multiple holes.

Lightly inspired by the sunbathing sweaty ghouls origin story Hot Ghoul Summer by @high-imperatrix

18+ ONLY

Pairing: Raindrop x reader / Rain x reader / Dewdrop x reader

Fandom: The Band Ghost

Words: 4,033 (can we just take a second to commemorate this as my longest fic to date, i broke 4k words!)

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Oral Sex, Water Sex, Double Penetration, Gillplay, Threesome F/M/M, Nipple Play, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, no beta we die like Nihil, Dewdrop Is A Little Shit (Ghost Sweden Band)

Read below the cut or AO3 link

She was a little surprised by the invite from the ghouls. It was unbearably hot out, this whole week being a heatwave from Hell itself, and they’d asked her to join them for an afternoon out by the lake. The entire band was currently enjoying a well-deserved two-week break from tour, and sure she’s seen the ghouls around but it’s not the same as being forced into close proximity during the touring process. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss their company.

Apparently, the feeling was mutual, considering Swiss almost beat down the door to her room to extend an invitation to join them.

She took another glance at the mirror, observing the risqué bathing suit she had ordered online at the start of the summer, not having a reason to wear it since purchasing it. It exposed a little more than she was comfortable with, but she’d wanted to venture outside of her comfort zone with the yellow polka-dot bikini that had screamed her name on the website. She knew the ghouls wouldn’t judge her or poke fun, but her self-confidence was ebbing away with every second she spent in the mirror. With a sigh of distaste, she reached to the back of her closet door, grabbing the black sarong, and covering herself up as best she could.

She made her way down the path to the lake, towel in one hand and a wide-brimmed sun hat protecting her face from UV rays. She perked up as the sound of music and laughter drifted to her ears, rounding the shrubbery to see the ghouls sprawled along the beach. Phantom had a speaker set up beside him, pop music blasting at an unholy level as the ghouls tried to shout over the 80’s pop song. Phantom waved as he saw her make her way to the group, reaching over to turn the music down slightly.

“Look who decided to show up!” Dew yells, the beer bottle in his hand glistening with condensation. She squints through her sunglasses as she notices all the ghouls in their silver, day-to-day masks, instantly regretting agreeing to join them.

“Guys, I forgot you’d have to keep your masks on with me around. It’s way too hot for that, I’m going to head back in-” she was cut off as Dew sprints to her, tackling her into the soft sand and wrapping a clawed hand over her mouth, hissing playfully.

“We knew what we were getting into when we invited you, sugar.” Cirrus calls from her position underneath an umbrella, Cumulus’ head resting in her lap as she runs her fingers through the blonde curls. The rest of the ghouls all made sounds of agreement. Dew uses his grip on her to lift them both back to their feet, dusting some sand off her back.

“Beer?” Swiss asks, already reaching into the cooler beside him. She barely finishes nodding her head before he’s tossing a bottle at her. Luckily Dew’s reflexes are lightening quick, snatching the bottle out of mid-air, raising it to his face and using his fangs to pop the top. He offers the beverage with a little bow, some of the ghouls cheering at the display.

“Why thank you!” She replies with an overdramatic curtsey, accepting the drink, and taking a seat in an unoccupied lounge chair that Dew brings her over to. He sits in the one beside her, leaning back and stretching his long body. She’s never seen the ghouls lacking so much clothing. Their on-stage costumes or Abbey-regulated outfits are a staple. Sometimes catching them in loungewear during tours, but never in bathing suits.

Dew sits beside her, shirtless skin catching the sun’s rays with the glistening sweat on his body. His hair is piled into a lazy knot atop his head. He tosses a wink at her as she runs her eyes over his body, a flush staining her cheeks watching his lips pull into a smirk.

The same lips that opened and serviced her in the sky a week ago.

Her body temperature rises slightly, and it’s not due to the sun beating down on her.

“Where’s Rain?” She questions, seeing every other ghoul present and accounted for on the beach. She assumes she’s taken his chair, noticing a discarded t-shirt and mask on the ground beside her. The thought of his bare face being somewhere within her vicinity starts a yearning in the pit of her stomach. It tastes slightly of desperation.

“Somewhere out there,” Mountain gestures vaguely to the water with his head, not bothering to elaborate. Her eyes graze the surface of the water, seeing no sign of the ghoul in the blue abyss.

Water ghouls, she thinks fondly as she smiles and returns to look at the group.

The music beats comfortably around them as everyone relaxes. At one point Phantom and Aurora challenge each other to see who can go lower in the splits and she watches intently as they both show impressive feats of flexibility, the ghoulette taking the win as she starts bouncing lightly using her toes and heels.

The sun is showing no signs of stopping. She’s almost uncomfortably hot at this point, wondering how the ghouls are still standing having come outside before her. She lifts a hand and fans at herself to no avail. Aether’s eyes catch the movement of her hand, and she grins back in acknowledgement.

“We’re from Hell.” He stresses the answer to her unasked question. She supposes it makes sense, this is probably just unseasonably hot for them and not boiling their blood from the inside like for her. “Why don’t you go take a dip in the water and cool off a little? I’m not going to break it to Papa if you turn into a puddle and can’t make it to the next leg of the tour.”

She sticks her tongue out playfully at him but concedes that the water would do her some good.

She raises up, undoing the cover she’d hastily put on last minute, instantly hearing catcalls come from Swiss and Dew who are shamelessly watching her make her way to the edge of the water. She can’t turn around, the blush covering her entire face, chest, and body burns. If she puts a little extra swing in her step, it’s solely for the eyes she can feel tracing her every move.

The water splashes against her feet as she steps up to the shore, taking a few slow steps to acclimate to the chill of the liquid in contrast to the sun rays still beating down on her. When she gets up to her thighs, she raises her hands above her head and jumps forward, breaking the surface as she dives into the cool depths. The water surrounds her like a cool hug, brushing against her skin in a way not many other things can.

She takes her time, swimming further out to a depth where she can no longer graze the floor of the lake with the tips of her toes. The sound of the music still reaches her ears, but she feels worlds away as she lifts her body to float weightlessly, the sun warming her front while the water cushions her like a soft bed.

Something about the water changes around her. The ripples that surround her feel like they are brushing her skin purposefully, rubbing and lingering instead of hitting and breaking away. Little rivulets dance across her stomach, gliding effortlessly from one side of her body to the other. She watches, mesmerized, as the water curls along her skin in a way that shouldn’t be physically possible.

“Look what Leviathan has brought me.” The whisper touches the shell of her ear, taunting lightly as she shivers under his attention. The statement, and their current positioning, with Rain’s head floating beside her shoulder, is reminiscent of their first encounter. She feels heat stirring between her legs as he nudges his way along her neck, lips brushing across the skin, chilled from the water he’s been scouring the whole time she’s been at the lake.

“I was wondering what you had gotten up to.” She offers back, acutely aware of the fact that he is maskless and right there. In any other circumstance she wouldn’t hesitate to turn her head, to catch a glimpse of the unknown face that haunts her dreams. But he’s here, trusting her to play by the rules, showing his cards so plainly she can’t help but adhere to expectations.

So even though she’d give anything to look at him, she remains painfully still, staring up at the sky.

Rain’s presence clouds her mind. She forgets how to hold her body up and her legs slowly drop, treading water as the ghoul of its kind pushes up against her back, pressing his skin against hers.

“I’ve got you,” he says so casually. She instantly follows his lead, letting her body relax even though she’s almost positive she’s about to sink below the surface. But Rain’s there, leaving little room between their bodies as something thin, yet strong, wraps around her waist. Her fingers travel below into the water, finding the place where she’s being anchored. Is that his tail?

Rain lets out a soft gasp as her fingers come in contact with the extremity, and she smiles wickedly as she clocks the reaction, moving her fingers along his tail to see if she can hit that spot again. Bingo, she thinks as Rain shudders behind her. No verbal cues this time, but she can feel the way his body reacts to her touch.

“Close your eyes,” Rain commands, already moving her body around to face him as she slips them shut instantly at his words. She can’t see it coming, but his lips are on hers, pressing in with an urgency she gladly returns. She lets him devour her whole, trying her damndest to keep up with the way his tongue battles hers for dominance. They kiss for so long she starts to feel lightheaded; her brain being deprived of the oxygen it needs causing black spots to form beneath her closed eyes. She pulls back, gasping for air as she throws her arms around Rain’s neck, holding him while still keeping her distance to breathe in. Something flutters along her inner forearm, and she squirms at the feeling, eyes squinting hard with how much effort she exerts to fight the need to open them and see what’s brushing against her.

Curiosity burns deep within her as she pushes closer again, finding Rain’s lips and kissing them fiercely while her hands come closer, moving to rest on the water ghoul’s neck. Her fingers graze the skin there, feeling the strong muscle underneath, until they run over something that doesn’t belong in her mental image. A gasp leaves her lips as she feels the soft tissue flutter beneath her fingers, air pushing out of the space she’s exploring.

“Gills,” Rain interrupts her train of thought, pulling back so that he can assess the look on her face. She tries hard to school her surprise, knowing that while she can’t see it, she’s very much under scrutiny right now. It’s eerily quiet for a minute. She can feel Rain’s eyes burning into her, but she can’t look back, can’t do anything but wait to see what he does next. She starts to wonder if maybe he’s waiting on her to say something, and she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Cool.”

The cringe is instant. She can feel her face scrunch up as she wishes Rain would loosen his grip on her with his tail and let her float to the bottom of the lake. She hears a chuckle from behind her and she whips her head around, cursing the fact that she doesn’t know if it’s safe to open her eyes. She wouldn’t betray Rain’s trust like that.

“He told you he has gills and all you say is cool?” She’d recognize that voice anywhere, can picture the smirk on his lips as his hands come to rest on her hips from behind.

“Dew,” Rain drawls. The warning is clear, but she can also detect the smile he’s wearing in his tone. “They are… cool.” Rain forces out. She’d like to think he’s trying to smile around the words, instead of scrunching his face, which is more likely. The chuckling fire ghoul behind her blows hot puffs of air on her neck as he tries to reign in his laughter.

“How cool are they?” Dew fires back, his tongue meeting the back of her neck and running a trail up it. Rain’s tail flicks at her stomach, the sensations doubled by the fact that she can’t see anything. The word cool is starting to lose all meaning. She feels equal parts shame and turned on, the wandering hands trailing along her body helping push her to be a little bolder.

Her hands brush against the silky membrane of the gills, enjoying the feeling of it underneath her fingertips. She runs along the seams, feeling the water ghoul stiffen beneath her hands. The reaction gives her all the permission she needs to venture further, pushing in so very slightly, letting the gills encompass the tips of her fingers.

“Enough,” Rain commands, his hands suddenly wrapping around her wrists, gripping firmly but not too tightly, a warning. “They’re sensitive, I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun I have planned.” He elaborates, leaving her hands to rest on his shoulders as he plunges forward, lips meeting her neck in small nips and licks.

“You wanna see a trick, doll?” Dew’s voice is in her ear, both ghouls worshipping her body as she floats, gripping onto Rain for dear life. She’s humming confirmation and nodding, not trusting her voice as fangs scrape the delicate skin of her throat, dragging lightly along it. She doesn’t even know who the fangs belong to anymore, Rain and Dew working her skin like it’s a choreographed dance, picking up where the other left off and never leaving her wanting more.

Claws ghost down her sides as she feels lips pressing against her skin under the cover of the water. Her hands follow the movement from where she still has them on Rain’s shoulders, feeling him sink deeper until he’s at her waist. The claws come up and carefully tug at the strings on either side of her bathing suit bottoms, soon leaving her bare to the chilly water of the lake.

Dew must feel the shiver down her spine at the cold, for suddenly a warmth is spreading around the surrounding water. At least, she hopes it’s his fire ghoul magick and not the other thing she can think of. A gasp leaves her lips as the claws underwater grip her thighs, spreading them wide and letting them rest on his shoulders, her hands traveling higher and digging into Rain’s hair. There’s a pause, a second where she feels like he’s waiting for some kind of green light, unable to voice his question under the water as he is. She makes her needs loud and clear, using the grip on his hair to pull him flush against her, moaning as he doesn’t hesitate to start licking into her folds with a barely concealed hunger.

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that one.” Dew remarks cockily, his own hands slipping underneath her top and fondling her breasts as he bites down hard where her neck meets her shoulder. Another strangled moan pushes its way past her lips, her hips bucking into Rain’s mouth as Dew continues to tease her. Fuck, she thinks. This is the hottest thing I’ve ever been a part of. Even if she could see, it would simply be too much all at once. Maybe keeping her eyes closed is the only thing tethering her to the last shred of sanity in her mind.

“Fuck!” She shouts, Dew’s hand shooting up to cover her mouth as more unintelligible garble comes out as Rain bites down lightly on her clit. Her grip on his hair tightens to what must be a painful level, pushing him further into her as she rubs her hips up and down along his tongue, fucking his face like it’s the only thing she was put on this earth to do.

“Yes, take what you need baby.” Dew hisses encouragingly, using the hand not covering her mouth to flick viciously at her hard nipple. The scream she lets out dies on Dew’s hand as she clenches around nothing, the slick of her release disappearing into the water surrounding her as Rain continues to coax her through her orgasm with his tongue.

Her thoughts are in shambles, the exhilaration of coming so hard in such close vicinity to the other ghouls, the idea of them hearing her cries of pleasure… She clenches again, overstimulation causing her entire body to shake with how insanely turned on she is. The sound of Rain breaking the water in front of her grounds her slightly, pulling her head from the clouds she had floated to upon her release.

“You taste even better straight from the source,” Rain growls, his lips encompassing hers again as she tastes herself on his tongue. The flashback of Rain licking her juices from Dew’s fingers on their most recent flight hits like a train, her eyes rolling into the back of her head beneath her closed lids.

“Need you.” She breaks apart from Rain to breathe out in a whiney tone, one hand reaching back to cradle Dew’s head while the other stays firmly tangled in Rain’s hair. “Both. Need you both.” She adds, in case her words were interpreted in any other, incorrect way.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Dew groans, pushing his erection into the plump skin of her ass as he rubs himself against her. She doesn’t know how to voice what she wants, knows exactly what she’s after but is unsure how to ask for it. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, worrying it as she reaches for the right words.

“At the same time?” It comes out more as a question, unlike the demand she was hoping to make. The second of silence, and the fact that she can’t see their expressions, lingers too long to be comfortable. Her cheeks flush in shame, the need to escape for her own self-preservation.

“Unholy shit,” Rain breathes. The growl in his words strikes a chord deep within her, pulling the strings in her stomach taunt. She has to swallow back a groan at the sound.

“Are you sure, doll?” Dew asks from behind, but she can tell he likes the idea from the way his hips stutter in their attempt to rub a home into her ass cheek. Both ghouls shuffle slightly, pulling her back toward the shore, where her toes can brush the floor of the lake. “We can go slow, but it might be a lot to handle.”

“I’m sure.” She confirms sternly, already knowing she won’t know peace until she has them both where she wants them, pushing her to the limit and then spilling over the edge.

“Fuck, Rain you’ve got to go- shit you’ve gotta go first, I’m not going to last long in there.” Dew acknowledges, his cock running up the cleft of her ass, rubbing without applying any pressure. It’s been ages since she’s had someone visit through the backdoor, but there isn’t a single bone in her body that isn’t down for what’s about to happen.

“Yeah, fuck-alright.” Rain bites out, wrapping his hands around her thighs once again and lifting her so that she can settle comfortably wrapped around his hips. She feels his cock pressing against her and angles her hips, trying to trap him in her soft, warm heat. She hits the mark, and he sinks deep into her cunt, filling her so completely she can’t help the sigh that tumbles from her lips. He rocks gently, giving her time to adjust to his size as he starts to build a pace, the water rippling from the bouncing movements as Rain guides her up and down on his stiff cock.

“Last chance to back out,” Dew taunts behind her, the head of his dick pushing experimentally at her tight hole. She clenches unintentionally, a strangled moan coming from the water ghoul in front of her.

“If it’s too much for you, you can still crawl back to shore with your tail between your legs.” She doesn’t know what comes over her, probably the adrenaline from their current predicament. The fire ghoul snarls lightly, rising to the challenge as he pushes in slowly, but surely. Rain pauses his own movements as he waits for the other ghoul to find his place. She doesn’t know what to do, impaled on the two of them, her body locking as she feels Dew break into a long-forgotten entrance.

“Relax,” Dew hisses, his breathing heavy as he fights the urge to fuck her into the next year, simultaneously being squeezed within an inch of his life. She keens forward, clenching Rain’s shoulders as she tries desperately to loosen her muscles and allow the intrusion. Dew lets out a hollowed-out groan as he finally slams home, his body vibrating with the need to move but allowing her a chance to ground herself.

Everyone’s frozen, no one moving as they wait with bated breath to see who dives in first. She’s fucked out and filled the most she’s ever been, but she needs more, craves more.

“I swear to Satan, if one of you doesn’t start moving right fucking now.” She spits, her hips moving just the slightest bit, and it seems to spark them both into action. They alternate pumps, her eyes crossing at the foreign sensation. She feels helpless, letting the ghouls take over the work as she becomes boneless, flopping her head down onto Rain’s shoulders as her body slumps.

Dew picks up the pace, fucking into her like it’s the last thing he’ll do. His own thrusts bounce her up and down Rain’s cock, though the water ghoul doesn’t sit idle by, rotating his hips and trying to bury himself as deep inside her pussy as he can get.

She knows it’d be impossible to take both their knots like this, that it would quite literally split her in two, but she can’t help but fantasize about it. Think about the way they’d be locked together for quite some time, stuck between the two ghouls who followed her into this murky water with the sole purpose of fucking her.

Another thought of their knots has her bearing down, pulling moans from both ghouls as their hips stutter through her muscles tightening.

“Tell me you’re close,” Rain begs, his hips moving erratically as he tries to move back into a rhythm. She’s unsure if he’s talking to her or Dew, but she groans in agreement either way.

“C’mere,” Dew’s voice is in her ear. She tries hard to focus on the sound, the way it trembles slightly along the word. She feels Rain lean forward and listens to the sound of the ghouls kissing sloppily beside her. She lets out a high-pitched whine, wishing desperately she could crack an eye, just to catch a glimpse of what she’s sure would be a frequent thought during her highlight reel.

A hand touches her chin, pushing her face to the side and suddenly she’s in the middle of the kiss, both ghouls pressing against her lips enticingly until she lets out her tongue. It’s unbearably hot, the way all three of them caress each other.

And that’s how they come, groaning into each other’s mouths as they both fill her with their seed. Stars sparkle beneath her eyelids as she comes so hard. She can feel a tingle from her head down to her toes. The moan she lets out is filthy, sinful, and loud. If there was any doubt about what they were getting up to prior to this, she’s sure the other ghouls are now painfully aware of how depraved she is.

#raindrop x reader #dewdrop x reader #rain x reader #dewdrop ghoul x reader #rain ghoul x reader #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost bc #ghost #gloom writes #cruel beast series

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naushtheaspiringauthor · 1 year ago

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~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- none

A/N- This chapter is pretty long because I wanted to do the end of Siege and Storm in this one and not make another one for it. The upcoming ones won't be this long I promise And lemme know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @nadeleine123n @marauders-wife

Ch-44 ~The sacrifice~

“Don’t wait for us,” Alina said to them. “I’ll give you as much cover as I can.”

Another clap of thunder split the air.

The Grisha plucked rifles from the arms of the dead and gathered around at the door.

“All right,” Alina said.

She nodded to Zoya who glanced at Anaya

Alina threw the door open and shouted, “Now!”

David lobbed the flash bomb into the twilight as Zoya swooped her arms through the air, lofting the cylinder higher on a Squaller draft.

“Get down!” David yelled.

They turned toward the shelter of the hall with their eyes squeezed shut and hands thrown over their heads, bracing for the explosion. The blast shook the stone floor beneath their feet, and the glare burned red across them.

They ran with all their strength.

. The nichevo’ya had scattered, startled by the burst of light and sound, but only seconds later, they were whirling back toward them.

“Run!” Alina shouted.

She raised her arms and brought the light down in fiery scythes, cutting through the violet sky, carving through one nichevo’ya after the next as Mal opened fire.

Just when more of them began to rush towards them, Anaya stepped forward, raising her arms

“Zoya!” she glanced at her

Zoya nodded at her before taking her position

Anaya brought one arm forward and stretched out the other behind. She nodded to Zoya and jerked the arm forward as Zoya sent a gust of wind towards the nichevo’ya. A massive heap of sharp icicles went towards them along with the wind, making them scatter.

Without further thought, they ran for the wooded tunnel.

They rushed through the tunnels with the monsters still on their tail. They pushed them back from the tunnel, black wings beating the air, the wide, twisted holes of their mouths already yawning open.

Then the air suddenly came alive with the rattle of gunfire. There were soldiers pouring out of the woods to their left, shooting as they ran. Their war cries of Sankta Alina echoed through the woods.

They hurtled toward the nichevo’ya, drawing swords and sabers, slashing out at the monsters with terrifying ferocity. Some were dressed as farmers, some wore ragged First Army uniforms, but each of them bore identical tattoos: Alina’s sunburst, wrought in ink over the sides of their faces. Only two were unmarked. Tolya and Tamar led the charge, eyes wild, blades flashing, roaring Alina’s name.

The sun soldiers plunged into the shadow horde, cutting and thrusting, pushing the nichevo’ya back as the riflemen fired again and again. But despite their ferocity, they were only human, flesh and steel pitted against living shadows. One by one, the nichevo’ya began to pick them off.

“Make for the chapel!” Tamar shouted.

“We’ll be trapped!” cried Sergei, running toward Alina.

“We’re already trapped,” Mal replied, slinging his rifle onto his back and grabbing Alina’s arm. “Let’s go!”

“David!” Alina yelled. “The second bomb!”

He flung it toward the nichevo’ya. His aim was wild, but Zoya was there to help it along. They dove into the woods, the sun soldiers bringing up the rear. The blast tore through the trees in a gust of white light. Lamps had been lit in the chapel and the door stood open. They burst inside, the echoes from their footfalls bouncing up over the pews and off the glazed blue dome.

“Where do we go?” Sergei cried in panic. They could already hear the whirring, clicking hum from outside.

Tolya slammed the chapel door shut, dropping a heavy wooden bolt into place. The sun soldiers took up positions by the windows, rifles in hand. Tamar hurdled over a pew and shot past Alina up the aisle.

“Come on!”

Just where are they taking us? Anaya thought, but had no choice other than to oblige her.

Tamar tore past the altar and grasped one gilded wood corner of the wall. Anaya appeared utterly perplexed as the water-damaged panel swung open, revealing the dark mouth of a passageway.

This was how the sun soldiers had gotten onto the grounds. And how the Apparat had escaped from the Grand Palace.

“Where does it go?” asked David.

“Does it matter?” Zoya shot back.

The building shook as a loud crack of thunder split the air. The chapel door blew to pieces. Tolya was thrown backward, and darkness flooded through. The Darkling came borne on a tide of shadow, held aloft by monsters who set his feet upon the chapel floor with infinite care.

“Fire!” Tamar shouted. Shots rang out. The nichevo’ya writhed and whirled around the Darkling, shifting and re-forming as the bullets struck their bodies, one taking the place of another in a seamless tide of shadow. He didn’t even break stride.

Nichevo’ya were streaming through the chapel door. Tolya was already on his feet and rushing to Alina’s side with pistols drawn. Tamar and Mal flanked her, the rest of them arrayed behind her.

Alina raised her hands, summoning the light, bracing for the onslaught.

“Stand down, Alina,” said the Darkling. His cool voice echoed through the chapel, cutting through the noise and chaos. “Stand down, and I will spare them.”

In answer, Tamar scraped one axe blade over the other, raising a shriek of metal on metal. The sun soldiers lifted their rifles, and the Inferni struck their flint. Anaya formed a long blade of ice, prepared for what was to come.

“Look around, Alina,” the Darkling spoke. “You cannot win. You can only watch them die. Come to me now, and I will do them no harm, not your zealot soldiers, not even the Grisha traitors.”

Anaya cringed at the mere sight of the man, for all he’d taken from them, they were the traitors to him.

The nichevo’ya swarmed above them, crowding up against the inside of the dome. They clustered around the Darkling in a dense cloud of bodies and wings.

Tolya cocked the triggers on his pistols.

“Hold,”Alina spoke

“Alina,” Tamar whispered, “we can still get you out.”

“Hold,” she repeated.

The sun soldiers lowered their rifles. Tamar brought her axes to her hips but kept her grip tight.

“What are your terms?” Alina asked.

Mal frowned. Tolya shook his head. Was the girl really that foolish to think of becoming a martyr?

“Give yourself up,” the Darkling said. “And they all go free. They can climb down that rabbit hole and disappear forever.”

“Free?” Sergei whispered.

“He’s lying,” Mal said. “It’s what he does.”

“I don’t need to lie,” he spoke. “Alina wants to come with me.”

“She doesn’t want any part of you,” Mal spat.

“No?” the Darkling asked.

Summoning his shadow army had taken its toll. He was thinner and paler. The power had cost him.

“I warned you that your otkazat’sya could never understand you, Alina. I told you that he would only come to fear you and resent your power. Tell me I was wrong.”

“You were wrong.”Alina responded, her voice steady

The Darkling shook his head. “You cannot lie to me. Do you think I could have come to you again and again, if you had been less alone? You called to me, and I answered.”

You … you were there?” Alina asked with a tremor in her voice

“On the Fold. In the palace. Last night.

“That isn’t possible,” Mal bit out.

“You have no idea what I can make possible, tracker.” he responded. “Alina, I’ve seen what you truly are, and I’ve never turned away. I never will. Can he say the same?”

"You don’t know anything about her,” Mal said fiercely.

“Come with me now, and it all stops, the fear, the uncertainty, the bloodshed. Let him go, Alina. Let them all go.”

“No,”Alina said..

The Darkling sighed and glanced back over his shoulder. “Bring her,” he said.

A figure shuffled forward, draped in a heavy shawl, hunched and slow moving, as if every step brought pain. Baghra? Anaya thought.

She’d heard from Alina aboutwhat he’d done to her. But she’d never expected this.

She flinched.

“Leave her alone,” Alina spoke in anger.

“Show them,” he said.

She unwound her shawl. Anaya heard someone near her moan. It was not Baghra. The bites were everywhere, raised black ridges of flesh, twisting lumps of tissue that could never be healed, not by Grisha hand or by any other, the unmistakable marks of the nichevo’ya.

Anaya was unable to figure out who it had been. But she had a sudden glimpse of her hair, the shining auburn locks. She finally realized who it was, with immense horror.

“Genya,” Alina gasped.

They stood in terrible silence. Alina took a step toward her. Then David pushed past her down the altar steps.

Genya cringed away from him, pulling up her shawl, and turned to hide her face. David slowed. He hesitated. Gently, he reached out to touch her shoulder.

Anaya saw the rise and fall of her back, and knew she was crying.

Caring, loving Genya. Genya, who was the first person to welcome her back home. Genya who’d helped her attain confidence in herself. Genya, who was never given a choice. Genya, who’d done all in her power to help them. Genya, who despite tolerating so much, still managed to stand tall.

He had done this to her. Just because she'd chosen to no longer be his pet.

David drew his arm around Genya’s shoulders and slowly led her back up the aisle. The Darkling didn’t stop them. “I’ve waged the war you forced me to, Alina,” he spoke. “If you hadn’t run from me, the Second Army would still be intact. All those Grisha would still be alive. Your tracker would be safe. You mourn the people killed in Novokribirsk, the people lost to the Fold. But what of the thousands that came before them, given over to endless wars? What of the others dying now on distant shores? Together, we can put an end to all of it.”

“All right,” Alina whispered.

“Alina, no!” Mal said furiously.

“You’ll let them go? all of them?” she asked

“We need the tracker,” the Darkling responded. “For the firebird.”

“He goes free. You can’t have both of us.” The Darkling paused, then nodded once.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mal said through clenched teeth.

Alina turned to Tolya and Tamar. “Take him from here. Even if you have to carry him.” “Alina, we won’t go,” said Tamar. “We are sworn.”

“You will.” Tolya shook his huge head. “We pledged our lives to you. All of us.”

“Then do as I command,Tolya Yul-Baatar, Tamar Kir-Baatar, you will take these people from here to safety.” she summoned the light . “Do not fail me.”

Tamar had tears in her eyes, but she and her brother bowed their heads.

Mal hooked Alina’s arm and turned her around roughly. He pleaded with her, but she would not change her decision. She rested her hand on his cheek, stood on her toes and kissed the scar on his jaw.

She whispered to him and then walked up the aisle.

“Alina!” Mal shouted as Tolya held him, forcing him to go back.

The rest of them turned back, there was nothing they could do for her even if they tried. If she was truly a saint, she’d either be martyred for the cause, or would rise to become something more.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lantsov x oc

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harrison-abbott · 2 years ago

Text

Somebody had smashed the phonebooth glass.

The shards lay like rough marbles across the concrete.

I stepped over them and climbed through the pane that

Was smashed through instead of the proper doorway.

And unhooked the phone from the box and listened –

To that robotic drone the other end …

The insides of the booth were all yammered with graffiti;

People’s nicknames with love hearts and sexual slander.

Leaving the booth I continued into the SPAR

With its zappy green and red sign dazzled in the sun.

The shopkeeper was forever depressed and never spoke.

I got a Freddo bar for 10p and a Coca Cola for 35p,

And left the shop with them into the sunshine again.

Whenever I clacked a can open I had a fear that I’d lose

The metal cap in the inside and I’d drink it and it’d get

Lodged in my throat and I’d choke to death with nobody

To see me suffocate.

I passed the flats and the little kids’ park and the short

Plain of grass that we used for football; albeit Jamie

Wasn’t around today and Hannah and Alex were off

In Spain somewhere so it was just me left to wander.

The sugar from the coke blasted my mind and sent this

Rash all across my mouth and battled with the gluey

Chocolate smeared around the gums.

Yonder down the path there were a bunch of bigger boys

Coming my way. There was no chance for me to run

Or divert pathways so I just kept going … They wore

These pristine new trainers of Nike and Adidas and Reebok

And they’d done their hair up in spikes and I could smell

The gel from them as I passed … and they all glared down

And I was too scared to look up and one said a snarly joke

And they all laughed and when I’d moved on a few paces,

This skittering clinging noise occurred around my feet

And I flinched. A coin. They’d thrown a 2p copper at me

And there it was rolling into the bushes and they all

Guffawed and I just kept going, hoping they wouldn’t chase.

When I got home I still had half of the coke left so I took

It upstairs – to my big brother’s room. He wasn’t in.

I wasn’t allowed to bring cans of any sort into his room

So I was super careful not to spill anybody as I went in.

His bedroom was choked full of CDs and he had this

Brute of a sound system which I was not allowed to touch.

(He had this habit of pushing my eyeballs in with his

Thumbs if I did something to annoy him so I was

Keen to avoid that punishment if I could.) But he did let

Me play the PlayStation if I wanted. As long as I didn’t

Scratch the discs. And he had the game Final Fantasy VII.

I put that in and turned it on and turned the TV on … this enormous

Black hulk of magic that droned and coughed and was forever

Dusty on the helm and when the screen panged alive it

Bristled with these ferocious black and white dots all raging

Together until I switched the settings to AV, with those lovely

Crimson and yellow capped wires plugged into the right holes.

I always watched the into to this videogame even though

I’d seen it a hundred times. It was always like walking into a

New room or going into a train tunnel or plugging up a curtain.

I selected NEW GAME … and was now in this new arena,

A soldier, now, jumping off a train with a big sword on my back.

And now these goons were coming to fight me, alongside

A lift of adrenaline under my tiny ribcage. And the music!

It spattered with electric drums and nervy edgy synths and

Wouldn’t relent but kept you going through these odd tunnels

And up and down these ladders in this odd world of steaming

Pipes and hanging chains and long staircases …

Made me forget who I was and nothing quite mattered.

Not even the summery gleam outside or the pull of sugar.

#writeblr #poetry #prose poem #my poetry #poets on tumblr #tumblr writers #childhood poem #nostalgia #prose poetry #creative writing

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saschaederer · 4 months ago

Text

* “Tortellino” (coded references to ‘Cake’ and ‘(small) child’)

* Mental image pertaining to the Anime ‘The seven deadly sins‘

* Mental image pertaining to the Anime ‚Gantz‘

* Several pseudo hallucinations (flash of light) of eyes rolling upwards, sexually-sadistically

* Several pseudo hallucinations (flash of light) of aggressive eyes

* Several pseudo hallucinations (flash of light) of the ‘eye of Sauron’

* (All of those, in initial reference to me)

* Mental image of a black hole (pertaining to fantasies of mine, of what I‘m falling into, otherwise a metaphor for what’s created ‚around me‘) - mental image of, apparently a black Jupiter - „Black Saturn“ (pertaining to the Antichrist, initial reference to Jordan Peterson)

* „Goddess“ - Mental image of a naked Taylor Swift in a trance state being held up by her arms, with a vagina first looking like that of Denise Oppitz, then of Maren Sykora

* „It‘s been raped“ - „it’s being raped“ - Mental image of a cartoonish, smiling Octopus looking similar to what people have reported their books to look like, in the reviews here https://www.amazon.de/dp/1607109328?ref=ppx_pop_mob_ap_share, raising its tentacle and smashing people on the ground, swooping people off the table, into a sack - a golden number on, what looks like a black guitar pick pointing downwards, swinging up and down on a bar to the right, the number on which looked at first glance to be at about a million, but at a closer look, about 1600 (initial reference to people acting heroically, currently alive)

* The snares in ‘Telefon Tel Aviv - The Means Whereby Lovers Are Waylaid’ being, or having been produced way too loudly (initial reference to Julian Sens or an alter of his, (“having experienced”) experiencing torture of such nature (being blasted with way too loud sounds or music))

* “Merlin Wenzel”

* Reel with Taylor Swift, singing live ‘The worst thing that I ever did, was what I did to you’ (initial reference to her having commanded, delegated or negotiated suffering upon me)

* “Who blows?” (initial reference to someone performing fellatio on me while I sleep, partial reference to anyone performing fellatio to mitigate damage)

* Screams of a child, outside of my apartment - “(initial reference to Mikhaila Petersons) son / sun (initial reference to me)”

* A Windows Apple Music preview showing to be playing (though on pause) ‘Klein – Listen and see as they take’ (initial reference to me getting castrated)

* “Post Malone”

* “Play bow” (pertaining to (“nicht”, German: ‘not’) my location mentioned in the post today and this video https://youtu.be/vQTndM7RdGE?si=Y0Uf-GHW4rfCXDcx, mentioning the person ‘Chase Herro’)

* Image of a quantum computer showing a red light, pertaining to the episode ‘Red Light, Green Light’ in the TV show ‘Squid Games’

* “(Basically, this system) at its current iteration” (pertaining to the text I‘m currently writing) – “(it kinda destroys the) dramaturgic effect” – “pertain” (initial reference to a burn mark on my kitchen counter flickering, pertaining to an eye)

* The dissonant noise in ‘Daniel Avery & Alessandro Cortini - Illusion of Time’, emerging in the second minute, playing in my head (initial reference to me getting tortured)

* “Gronkh” (German Youtuber)

* “Verletzen” (German: ‘To hurt’, initial reference to me)

* “Verletzen (“dramaturgic”)” (German: ‘To hurt’, initial reference to Tomoko Kuriyama)

* Flashes of light in my peripheral vision

______________________________________________

REPORTS:

______________________________________________

PLEASE READ:

How I handle threats I receive (Last Update: 25. 10. 2024):

Changed:

- „The order in which threats are written down, reflects the order in which I can remember that they’ve been communicated to me, from earliest (usually the night before) (…)“

to:

„(…) (anywhere between recently and the night before) (…)“

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chaospel · 1 year ago

Text

The Motorcade

From the icy coffin of our full-blast-air-conditioner car, it was hard to tell that it was blazing hot outside. The molasses parade of cars stretched so impossibly far ahead of us that we'd be forgiven if we couldn't see the herse, such a small dot at the head of the procession. But no, it glowed with such a deep, black, radiant light. "How can't you see it? It is everywhere."

The sky was so clear and burning blue that those first strange clouds rolling whispily in, though stealthy, were a shock to the system when finally spotted. Something like thunder roared. Rain began on the periphery and slowly but surely became all we could see. Sight was sheets and sheets of rain and smeared car headlights for what seemed forever. The sky was a close (too close, really) ceiling of gray (almost black) clouds, roiling uneasily.

I turned the radio on. Maybe to hear a weather report, maybe to hear something other than the rain. I like rain. I love rain. But this rain sounded so wrong. Unnatural hisses and sizzles marked its impacts, and in the cacophony of white noise it produced... could I hear whispers?

"Amelia," said the voice on the radio in such a distant echo, "do not fear."

We could smell just a slight sulfurous smell as the rain began to finally, after what seemed like days, slow its pace. I know it was we because we commiserated about it.

As the inky blanket above us parted, "Really, almost boiling away from the center, wouldn't you agree, Amelia?" said the radio, we were greeted with the Eclipsed Sun.

A pool, a hole of endless black stood in the sky surrounded by eratic, red, electric flames. And the sky purpled like a bruise.

Gripping the wheel tightly, I tried to focus on the road. But there is something in the backseat. There is something I feel so indentified with.

We drove on in silence forever, myself and the thing in the backseat. The Eclipsed Sun blazed with cold heat over everything. Thruming with indecent radiation, the violent inkblot stared at us, at me.

Along the side of the road, the rolling hills gave way suddenly to desert. Cracked earth spread everywhere and strange twisted cacti, like saguaro, but thinner, taller, meaner, blacker stretched into the sky. I could feel them pricking me even inside my car, so removed from their murderous looking needles. I could feel them pricking my mind, stigmatizing my hands and feet. "Get off that cross," sang the radio, "we can use the wood."

The Eclipsed Sun was like a closed eye. And then The Sun behind The Moon flickerd out and the eye opened.

The Moon looked into my soul.

The Moon asked me a question, but I can't repeat it here.

I would not answer.

The Moon asked again.

I could not answer.

The earth began to blacken and crack as those not-saguaros seemed to dig into it. From the cracks billowed a rancid smoke and as the smoke cleared, small, black, thin things began to grow rapidly from the cracks. They grew like vines, but it was soon clear they were more like tentacles.

The endless line of sap-flow that was the procession did not seem to respond, but I was suddenly gripped with an all consuming fear. I knew they were coming for me.

"Give in?" asked the radio while The Moon still stared deep into me and watched for my answer to its own question to bubble to the surface of my boiling insides.

There was nothing for it.

I jerked the wheel suddenly to the side and the car went barreling through the charred landscape. The black tentacle things matched my increased velocity, an ocean of spindly, slimy worms now following me as if magnetized. I swerved to avoid hitting a not-saguaro. The front driver's side tire thumped on a rock and I lost the wheel just for a moment, braked hard in panic, and then the ink trails came pouring on to the car. I floored it, and the car was doing doughnuts on the cracked, black earth. This did manage to break the tentacles hold. I began to speed away, not letting up on the gas even a little.

"And time goes by," sang the radio, "so slowly."

As my mind came back to me from the world of adrenal thumping in my temple, I could see that I had lost the tenatcles. I began to let off the gas. The desert was giving way to chaparral, yet it was still a bit more blackened looking than one might like. I came to rest at the gently sloping end of a large cuesta. At the top I could see a knobby, bare tree whose branches made a great thorny canopy over the peak. The Moon still asked its question, still squirmed through my guts looking for my reply. The radio said, "weeeooookrrrrrrkkssss."

I unbuckled and exited the car. The Moon The Moon The Moon still asking still asking still asking. I went to the back driver's side door and pulled the box from the seat. All this time it had felt so heavy in the backseat, but when I lifted it, it was so light, like nothing.

I climbed the soft slope the the tune of The questioning Moon. In the shadow of the knobby tree I found the hole already dug, a shovel in the mound of dirt by its side.

I looked out over the cliffside at the vast, rocky terrain below. In this crater, lay the endless body of a Dead God, it's many eyes glassy and blank, but clearly oriented in a stare toward The Moon. The question of The Moon had eaten away at parts, and preserved others. Oh to stay there and study the Dead God, to unravel its mysteries. The temptation, I'm sure, of anyone who stood where I am standing now. And which would be better? To live here in infinite archeology, scholarship of The Remains? To become a physician and attempt resuscitation? To leave this place and never return; never speak of the Unspeakable scene again?

I looked back toward the procession. It was such a thin line from this vantage, but endless. In each direction its extent was endless. No begining or end could be glimpsed, even from these heights. I looked back to the Dead God.

"I cannot burry the God," I thought, "but I can burry this." And looked to the box in my hands.

As I placed the box in the hole, I felt that weight I had felt in the backseat again for just a moment. Not a weight that would cause me to drop the box, but one that would cause it to fall into me endlessly.

I let it go.

It took a long time to burry the box. I was exhausted and the dirt was hard. And I was not as eager to be done as I might like. I was not so eager to live in the world without the box.

When I finally finished, I began to walk back to the car, and The Moon resumed its interrogation. I slid into the driver's seat and turned the key.

The radio said:

"We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a special report. Life is endless, but lives are not. To everything is a season and ours is the season of Sisyphus. But even Sisyphus is a story and stories move in finite circles."

I drove slowly through the charred landscape and saw that little tufts of dry grasses had begun to poke their way out through the seams of the earth. For a moment I thought I perceived their connections below, the rhizome spead throughout everything I could see or imagine. I wondered what this meant to the question of The Moon. For the first time in eternity, I smiled.

When I arrived again at the procession, I waited patiently. It did not take long to be let back in. This was a movement toward equilibrium, after all.

The procession moved imperceptibly, and my car along with it, A Glow still overhead, questioning.

I looked up and watched The Moon.

visit Psychic Cartoons for more like this

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whythinktoomuch · 4 years ago

Text

i. apocalypse now & then

Kara touched down, her boots meeting the earth with a metallic clunk that was promptly swallowed up in the dust and utter grayness of her surroundings. The warnings came immediately—insistent beeps, bright red numbers and figures flashing before her eyes.

“How’s it looking?” asked the tinny voice in her helmet, and Kara sighed.

“Yeah, you were right. Place is infested,” she said, studying the mess of debris and desolation that seemed to feed directly into the faint horizon in every direction. “Kryptonite readings are off the charts. There’s either a tower nearby, or mines just planted all over. Maybe even both, if i’m Iucky.”

Alex let out a harsh breath. “Look, I know you’re not going to leave until you find those people, but you better watch your fucking back out there, okay?”

“Hm… don’t I always though?”

“You ask that every single time, and every single goddamn time, I have to re-mind you of all—”

“All right, all right…” Kara said, rolling her eyes. “Just stop worrying so loudly already, jeez. I’ll keep you posted the entire time.”

“Like that was ever an option.”

“Love you too,” Kara said breezily, and she began her search.

She explored the area in proportioned sections, slipping periodically into x-ray vision, keeping her feet drifting an inch off the ground at all times. You just never knew these days. By now, Kara had stepped on enough lead-wrapped kryptonite mines for one lifetime, which coincidentally had been the same number of times it took to gray almost the entirety of Alex’s head. Or so Alex claimed anyway.

Apparently, over two decades of this sort of living could do that to a person: make them older, but also, steal away every last bit of their sense of humor.

Whenever Kara happened upon a particularly extensive blind spot—jagged slabs of lead piled on top of each other—she took her time. Carefully sifted her way through all that rubble, with a spare bit of rebar or her heat vision from a safe distance. Calling out to any potential survivors that could have been trapped underneath. But as she steadily neared hour two of her search, it was starting to look like a lost cause. That whoever had sent that distress signal must have since succumbed to the environment, like so many others already had done before them.

Then Kara heard it.

Whipping her head around, Kara strained her ears to their very limit, all the while silently cursing how muffled everything sounded in this godforsaken suit of hers. It took a minute or so to hone in on it, but she finally made out the distant voice.

Help us. Save us. We’re down here.

Kara snapped into action, already hurtling full-speed toward the source of the cry. “Alex, I found them.”

“About fuckin’ time,” Alex said, but the note of relief carried through the speakers loud and clear. It always did, of course, given the scarcity of such a feeling as of late. “All right, get them out of there, and hurry your ass up. You’ve already been out there for too long.”

The voice grew louder and more distinct as Kara approached it, and eventually, she could even distinguish other people in the mix—their whispers, the muted beats of their heart seemingly punctuating every word, and all the shallow breaths of air in between. She counted at least five separate individuals, five more lives that she could potentially save from this impossible landscape.

But by the time Kara reached the point where the voice was sounding from below rather than from the distance, her excitement had all but waned, receded back into the ever present anxiety hanging in the air.

“… Fuck,” she huffed out, staring at the large swathe of broken rock and dirt and twisted metal beneath her, the letter K spray-painted all over the surface in a faded green. “Alex. They’re in a mine-rigged shelter.”

“Forget it then. Just get out of there,” Alex said, all rather predictably. “We can send an extraction team with defusers in the morning.”

“But that’ll take too long,” Kara protested. “It would take days, just for a task force to cover all that distance, and these people need help now.”

“No. I want you to put down a marker and come right the fuck back home,” Alex said. “That’s your last kryptonite filtration suit! If anything happens, if you sustain even the slightest bit of damage out there, you could—”

Kara cut the feed and swiftly locked her comms from all available channels, employing one of the few tips Winn had passed onto her before he died. Because Alex didn’t understand. How could she, when she wasn’t the one who had to listen to these desperate cries for help from people just barely out of reach.

She floated outside the presumed blast radius, planted her feet firmly to the ground, and went to work. Uncovering the buried shelter bit by bit, one sizable mass of charred rubble dug up after the other. It wasn’t easy. The kryptonite in the area, though not exposed, was much too close for comfort even through her suit. And it made the sun hotter, everything heavier, and Kara’s progress as slow as it could possibly be.

But all that—the sweat gathering on her brow, the soreness burning up her lower back—was a very small price to pay when weighed against the lives of at least five people in need. So, Kara kept going. She kept burrowing deeper into the earth with her bare hands, until the sun was but a small twinkle above her head and her fingertips were brushing against a patch of warmed metal.

And she could hear them better now. They were so close.

Kara pressed her palm against what had to be the outer wall of their shelter. “Hey, can you hear me in there?”

“Please help us!” came the frantic response, only somewhat muffled now. “Please get us out! We can’t breathe in here!”

“Okay! Okay… I’m gonna get you out, okay?” Kara shouted back, heart thumping hard in her ears. “Just… hang on.”

A quick once-over was all it took to determine that the wall before her—like most other surfaces nowadays—was naught but a few inches of commercial steel, coated in a thin layer of lead. And as such, all it would to take, of course, to break into such a structure was—THUNK!—a single punch from the Girl of Steel herself.

Kara ripped a hole in the wall, using her heat vision to melt down the edges as she tugged the entire thing apart. Eventually satisfied with her efforts, she was just about to crawl through her rather crude but functional doorway when the speakers in her helmet abruptly flipped back on.

“—him back to life, and just… throttle him for showing you that trick!” Alex was practically hollering in her ear. “Why would you ever need to do that anyway? The whole frickin’ point of the—”

“Whoa, Alex, Alex, it’s fine! I’m fine! Just shh!” Kara hastily cut her off. “I’ve pretty much got my foot in the door already, okay? So, I’m helping these people whether you like it or not.”

“Yeah, you fucking better,” Alex said with a scoff. “I want to look these people in the eye while you explain to me what was so goddamn special about them that you had to…”

And Kara barked out a laugh, shaking her head in wonder as Alex continued to chew her out in a way that only sisters could, apparently. “Hey, you can do whatever you want, okay? Just let me bring them home first.”

“Fine. Just don’t kill the comms this time.”

“Oh, I would never.”

“Kara, I fucking swear to—”

But the rest of all that swearing quickly faded into the backdrop, as Kara finally poked her head into what should have been just another underground refuge from everything their world now had to offer. Because ten feet below from where she had burrowed her way in, was not a handful of dehydrated people waiting to be rescued—only masses upon masses of thick coils and plates of smooth black metal shifting about.

That’s when Kara realized that it’d been quite some time since she’d heard a cry for help. And soon after that was when a muted click! sounded, then somewhere down there in the midst of all that darkness and mechanical movement, came another loop of voices calling out to her.

“Oh shit…” Kara whispered, and at least ten sets of glassy eyes flicked up to stare at her. The pre-recorded voices immediately cut out, and the entire room lit up in a vibrant green as the machines all powered up with a collective hum. “Shit, shit, shit, you were right!”

“Right about what?” Alex demanded, but Kara was too busy heeding her long overdue advice of getting the fuck out there to respond.

Kara burst from the ground in a flurry of dust and clattering scrap metal, already heading for the horizon at full-speed. She needed to put as much distance as possible between her and the decoy shelter. It was nothing short of an honest-to-Rao miracle that her sudden escape hadn’t tripped any of the mines on-site, but now, it was only a matter of time.

Still hurtling away, Kara threw a glance over her shoulder just in time to see the first three drones break through the surface, already mindlessly chasing after her. Then the third and the fourth crashed right on through after them, which abruptly led to a series of rapid beeping, which abruptly led to a violent disturbance in the air that stole away all the sound from the world and knocked Kara right out of the sky.

(next part here)

#sometimes it takes me 2 years to write one sentence #other times i bang out 3k words in one sitting #so here's the first half. the second half will be pt. ii... and will there be a third part? who's to say #my words.

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jawllines · 4 years ago

Text

He’s too far in thought, he realizes, when Ellie comes and waves her hand in his face, “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, eyes wide as saucers, “Maisey said you look like her aunt when she zones out and she’s depressed.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, one that expels the air from his lungs as he nods, “Yes, Ellie, I’m okay. What’ve you painted, hm? Can I see it?” She grins, her cheeks pudgy and rosy as she runs back to her seat and picks up the canvas she’d been working on. It’s a sun and a moon, both with rather cryptic looking faces on them, and Harry had never so perfectly had to manage his poker face, “Whoa!”

“I think that might just be the coolest thing I’ve seen in my entire life,” Y/N appears behind him, Oliver more or less clung to her pant leg as she’s reaching over his body to set a box of juice down on the oak table for him to disperse among his campers, while holding her hand out for the canvas, “May I see it, Miss. Ellie Bellie?”

Ellie smiles shyly at her — she always got so shy around Y/N, but never in the way where you would think she’s nervous. No, she gets shy the way you might when meeting an older sibling’s friend and wanting to desperately try to impress them. Harry knew as much, considering he would attempt to perform for each and every single one of his sister’s friends growing up (and each time, Gemma would make a few colorful threats to deter him). No matter how quiet Ellie gets with her though, she’s always the first to ask if they got to play with Y/N that day.

Harry still doesn’t like the other camp counsellors but Y/N’s an exception

part 1

(tw: mentions of suicide)

ii.

Psst.

Harry was typically a heavy sleeper. When he was younger his mum used to joke that he could sleep through an earthquake-induced tsunami if someone allowed him to. An alarm would have to be pretty loud to stir him from his slumber, and unless he was on edge, a mere call of his name would not drag him from whatever dreamland he’d submerged himself within.

Psst.

There had only been two things before that could notably wake him. His mum, who was the sweetest person on this planet yet managed to be the cruelest being on earth when he needed to be up for something, and his childhood cat Molly, who sits on his chest and makes it hard to breathe (which, from what he’s learned, encourages his brain to panic and wake him up so he could fix it). Other than that, he was blissfully unaware of the world for hours at a time.

Yet, there was something stirring him now. A low sound that puzzles him as he toes the line between consciousness and his dreams, aware of the blankets that cover him but still dancing on a stage with his limbs thrashing wildly and people shouting his name.

Psst.

Was it an insect? Maybe he was performing outside then -- a crowd of thousands in an outdoor field to see him for... .what was it that he did again?

Psst.

Oh, he’s dreaming, isn’t he? How deep in his dream is he? He thinks this is the first time he’s ever been asleep and realized that he was asleep...he could probably conjure something up, right? Manifest something that he’s always wanted, try his hand in lucid dreaming. If only he could focus apart from the insect zipping past his eardrum.

Harry, please wake up, we’re being haunted -- or murdered, or something.

Harry’s eyelids flutter like swallowtail wings, his gaze blurry and unfocused as he comes to. He’s confused, piecing together the puzzle that always presents to him when he’s just woken up and has to readjust to the world around him. The whole process of it took nothing more than 10 seconds, maybe 15 if he’s really out of it, but that’s only because thoughts run through his mind at a hundred miles a minute.

What time is it? The room around him his pitch-black apart from a very small amount of light illuminating beneath the curtain covering the window he’s beneath, so it couldn’t be morning. Potentially early morning, but he would say that would be 3-4 AM. Did he need to be up? He didn’t think so, actually, because there’s no alarm buzzing him awake and as far as he’s concerned, he hadn’t signed up for any early morning shifts at the bookstore as of late. The last time he went in at 5 to open up shop while the owner was on vacation and Harry was more or less ran down by a mother raccoon when he’d stumbled upon her babies after getting out of his car -- Harry had been reluctant to go before sunrise since.

Where was he? He knows he’s not at home, that’s for sure. The sheets smell like him but not him enough to be at his own place -- and the bedding isn’t as soft either. He knows he hasn’t passed out at someone’s house because he only does that if the person is close enough to him that he would recognize their scent, or if he was too drunk to get home, but that was usually accompanied by a wicked headache and a sour stomach. No, where he was smelled like wood and generic fabric softener. There was an air conditioning unit that rattled and rumbled from where it was fixed to the wall, he felt a tension in his neck that he only experienced at one place and, yeah, he was at the camp.

He was at camp, in a cabin with Y/N, who slept with the lamp on because she hated the dark, was the owner of the voice that had woken him up in the inky black room.

“Hm?” He hums, brows pinching as he lets his eyes shut again, only to open them a few seconds later, “Wha’s wrong? Why is your light off?”

“I don’t know,” her voice is still just a bit over a whisper, and Harry wonders why she doesn’t just speak up now that she knows he’s awake, “I woke up a little bit ago and thought maybe there was a storm that knocked the power out or something, but I checked the weather and it’s been clear skies all night. I think our power line was cut which is like -- straight out of a horror film.”

Harry sighs, a bit of him regretting the number of horror movies they’ve been watching once they finally got to watch Midsommar (in three days, they’d sifted through six different movies -- two movies a night and each one managed to horrify Y/N more than the last). He begins to press himself from the bed, his eyes adjusting to the dark around them, making out slivers of shadows, “I’ll go check --”

“No! Are you crazy?” He hears her bed frameshift with her as she moves, “That’s just asking for a maniac to come for us. Plus I keep hearing noises and I can’t tell if it’s like...like little raccoon feet or a one-armed hook man.”

“Alright, then go back to bed.” Harry begins to lower back down to the mattress but a sharp whine leaves her throat, “It’s dark when you close your eyes.” It’s silent for a moment, but then Harry feels a bead of guilt dribble through his body. He sighs, reaching up and wiping his hand down his face, “What do you want to do, yeah? If you don’t want me to go out there. Do you want to stay up?”

She’s quiet, Harry is straying further and further from the state he would’ve been in to fall right back into his dreams but he tries to wipe away the irritation the best he could. What he reminds himself is that four days prior, Y/N had trekked out in the forest toward a lake despite her unremitting distaste for the woods in the dark and slapped Jack clean across the face because he was being rude to him. And he was going to ignore her? Fall asleep while she’s frightened? Harry could be a prick, but he wasn’t the bleeding antichrist.

“I...um, well, I don’t want us to stay up, no, we’ll be so cranky tomorrow,” she shuffles in the sheets, “I dunno’, I’m sorry, you can go back to bed, I’ll be okay.”

Harry isn’t sure what to do but in his half-awake state, the next few words that leave his mouth seem like just the temporary fix necessary for them to get the last few hours of sleep that they can, “Do you want me to read you a story or summat?”

She giggles quietly, “No, it’s okay, really, go back to sleep, okay?”

What Harry could have said was I can’t now, knowing that you’re awake and scared, but instead he utters a simple, “No.” He sits back up, patting blindly for his phone in his sheets, slipping his fingers around it, and tapping it awake. His screen blinds him with its brightness, so he lowers it before finding the flashlight. It lights up the floor at his feet and subsequently at its edges, he can make out Y/N’s shadowy figure. She’s sat up, curled in her blanket, wrapped around her head, and giving her a pseudo-nun appearance. She waves at him lamely and he struggles not to roll his eyes, “Maniac be damned, I’m gonna go out there and look for the breaker. Maybe the arseholes broke their vow of integrity.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Jack or one of the others came around and switched the breaker off, just to be inconvenient for the morning. They’d left them alone for four days sure, but Harry figures that it’s not so much four days of silent reflection and questioning why they feel the need to be such pricks to him, and more so four days for their anger to fester and brew. If not for the fact that Y/N slapped him then made him find laundry detergent and commanded the others to go get his clothes, then for the way she acted like nothing had happened the day prior. Jack’s cheek was still a stingy, red splotch, Oliver and Brandon were straight-faced looking irritated, and Y/N -- well, Y/N had never been more content with her day. She was having a blast with her kids playing bean bag toss, they did their little dance when one of them got it in the hole of the board, and when they were all getting drinks, Y/N offered to grab Harry his. He watched as she went to the cooler around the same time Jack did, they both reached for the last Dr. Pepper, and Y/N plucked it up and handed it to him before grabbing both her, Harry, and Mitch’s lemonades.

He thinks it’s the sincerity that she holds, that would aggravate him had he been in their shoes. Y/N was completely unbothered by the night prior and Harry could tell, just like when he doesn’t reciprocate their maleficent tendencies towards them -- it was digging under their skin.

(She makes Harry laugh when she comes back with their lemonades, handing him one and uttering, “I let the prick have the last Dr. Pepper, and I’m regretting it.”)

And while he’s hoping that they haven’t turned their target to her out of spite, he wouldn’t change what had happened for the world. It had made the two of them that much closer, and in the following day’s Harry had poked and prodded Y/N’s brain a bit more. Especially after what he’d seen on her page, he was intrigued by her. Intrigued by how she saw life, why she came at things the way she did, what built her up to be the person that she was in these very moments that he’s speaking to her. Harry hasn’t asked her about her old college roommate and he doesn’t plan on it either -- he doesn’t feel like he could, or he should.

Harry has lost people before and he thinks the worst thing someone could do was to bring it up unprompted. He knows that it’s probably always on her mind but even then, maybe it isn’t at the forefront of it. Maybe she’s just trying to have a good few weeks, separate herself from the real world for a while, and he would be cruel to dig up something that she may not be ready to just up and chat about. No matter how curious he is about the whole situation, and no matter how much he wonders if she treats him the way she does because of what happened. If the topic was brought up by her he would openly and freely discuss it as long as she was comfortable, but he wouldn’t give her the third degree.

So he minds his business and focuses on trying to get to know her better instead.

He can’t say that it doesn’t change how he treats her a bit though. Harry is much. . .gentler, than he had been. He tries to be less critical of her unwavering optimism and seeks to understand where it was coming from instead. If he’s in the right mood he’ll attempt to match it, which makes for a good day with their groups, who he finds -- despite the small age gap -- have begun to kindle very close friendships. Mrs. Graham had even commented on it one of the days after they had a riveting game of balloon tennis.

“You two make a good team -- putting all these other counselors to shame. And to think you were pouty about having to share a cabin.”

It was true, they did make a good team. Harry thinks that them sparking a friendship had made the whole experience much more enjoyable for everyone involved.

All of this together gives insight into why Harry is willing to stuff on his shoes at 3 AM and go out in the dark, muggy night to check and potentially fix a breaker. And no matter the number of times he assures her she does not have to come out there with him, she keeps hold of her ‘no man left behind’ mentality, pulls on a pair of flip flops, and pads out after him.

Had they been in any other cabin, finding the breaker would have been much easier. They’re typically on the backside in the upper right corner, surrounded by a little cage with a lock similar to that of an animal crate. The struggle with their cabin was that the backside was basically in the woods, so he had to dodge low hanging branches and tangles of ivy to get even remotely near it. He hands Y/N his phone and she shines the light over the metal box, her hand steady despite how she looks back and forth and all around them like she’s making sure there are no red eyes glowing at them. The world around them is silent apart from the chirp and groan of insects, the scutter of an animal somewhere in the far distance makes Y/N huff a weary sigh but otherwise, nothing comes out to attack them. Harry restarts the breaker, they go back inside, and the lamp on its dimmest setting is switched on how they had fallen asleep with it.

They both breath out in relief, Y/N dives back into her bed and Harry flops down atop of his covers, giving himself a second to feel the cool air from the conditioner fan over him.

“Theoretically,” Y/N begins as Harry lets his eyes fall shut, “If there were some creature in the forest --”

“There’s no creature in the forest.”

“I know, but theoretically --” She continues again, but Harry is quick to cut her off once more.

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he tells her, “Go to sleep.”

Once more, Y/N falls silent, but a quiet, “Thank you,” was the only thing to leave her mouth.

. . .

A summer thunderstorm wasn’t abnormal during camp, which is why the recreation center and the art building are beneficial. It keeps everyone preoccupied and entertained with well-insulated walls to mute whatever carnage is taking place outside, which makes for less frightened children and an easier time for everyone involved. Harry liked being active and running around with his campers, sure, but he also really enjoyed a nice, calm, relaxing day trying his hand at DIY projects and abstract paintings. Plus it gave him the chance to wear the camp hoodie that he had spent a pretty penny purchasing, which was made of the softest fabric he’s ever felt and was far more comfortable than the t-shirts that they normally wear.

Y/N had also bought the hoodie, Harry saw as she stepped out in it after her shower this morning, and she seemed to be drowning in it but in the best way. The fabric pools off of her, but she looks cozy, and well-rested despite them waking in the middle of the night. He thinks she looks pretty cute, but he kept the thought to himself and instead asked her if she wanted his extra granola bar for breakfast.

They alternate throughout the day, between the rec center and art building, and on the schedule, it appears that most the day he would be with Y/N’s group (which he prefers) and a few times he’s even with Mitch as well, which is nice. Mitch doesn’t grow to like many people, but he liked Y/N well enough -- he thought she was oddly entertaining (or so he’s told, Harry) and good for a chat. The only times he and Y/N were not with each other were when the activities were age-specific, but even then, it wasn’t like anyone was in a different room. They were all just at different stations within a big room in the art building and the recreation center was more or less free for all.

Harry wondered when he started basing whether or not a day was going to be good by whether or not he and Y/N were able to be around each other, but he decided not to think about it too much. Lately, he’d been a little more on edge with whether they were together, simply because of Jack and the others. He didn’t want them fucking with her, and even though she’d proven that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, he still worried, especially knowing he would be the cause of it.

Y/N doesn’t seem the least bit distressed about it, or as far as she was letting on -- she’d not expressed any thoughts or concerns that they would be spiteful towards her. Hell, the only thing she had told him the night after was that she hoped she didn’t make things worse for him. For him. Why was she so willing to defend him? What did she get out of being so kind?

“I especially like how multidimensional it is — purple and pink stars? Beautiful, I love those two colors together,” she places her hand on Oliver’s head, and it’s then that Harry notices he’s holding something, “Harry, Oliver here wanted you to see the flower he drew because I told him how much you like lilies.” As bashful as he always is, he holds out the paper toward Harry. It was cute — a singular, yellow lily and he could tell that Y/N helped him draw it, but the paint and crayon marks all over the page suggested she left the color duties up to him.

“Oh my goodness,” Harry gasps, looking at the painting, flipping it to Oliver and pointing at it, “You did this?” Oliver nodded excitedly, “It’s gorgeous.”

“I think our groups are the best artists,” Y/N motions to her table, only a meter away from them all working diligently on their projects, “Charlotte is over there doing an artistic interpretation of the both of us, we are not allowed to see it until she’s finished. Mikey is doing his own rendition of Disney world, I see Maisey is creating a beautiful tree -- Noah is that a cowboy you’re drawing?”

Noah barely looks up from his paper, very carefully dragging the tip of the marker in a circle, “Yes.”

“And Noah is drawing a cowboy! Modern-day Van Gogh’s, all of them.” Harry smiles as Y/N drags a stool up beside him, positioning it in a way so that she could watch both her kids and speak with him, “I heard they’re having one of them party things tonight, I didn’t know if you wanted to go or not.”

“Hm, I dunno,” his brows knit together as he lightly scratches a mosquito bite on the inside of his forearm, “Do you feel comfortable with going after what happened last time?”

She suckles her bottom lip into her mouth, gnawing on it as she nods her head, “Mhm,” she looks around them for a second, making sure that none of the kids are paying attention to them before she lowers her voice, “Mitch said that you used to go to all of them last year, and would like -- have a good time. I hope that I’m not ruining that for you.”

“How would you be ruining it for me?” It’s true, Harry hasn’t gone to any of the parties that they’ve been doing since the very first one he’d escorted Y/N away from. Not for any other reason apart from he was just spending time and hanging out with Y/N, or he’d be too knackered to even think about leaving the nice, cool setting of their cabin to be in the muggy heat with drunk college students. He had much more fun not attending, and other nights Mitch would come around and chill with them too. . .he had all he needed then. Didn’t need the booze for a good time.

“I don’t know, I just didn’t know if you weren’t going ‘cos of what happened the first time and you felt like you couldn’t leave me out or. . or something like that.”

Harry shook his head, “No,” he answers, “We can go tonight if you would like, but it’s unnecessary for me. I’m good either way.”

Although Y/N appears unconvinced, they have little time to go further into the topic because Charlotte is running up to them, a big grin on her face, “I finished!”

“Well give it here,” Harry holds out his hand, waving her over, “Let’s see it.”

On the paper are stick figure versions of he and Y/N, with big grins and 12 other little stick figures surrounding them. Above Harry’s stick figure, there’s a pink arrow and a very five-year-old esque writing of HUSBAD (Harry presumes it’s supposed to be husband), and above Y/N’s in the same fashion, she’s written WYFE. It’s then Harry realizes that Y/N’s figure has a veil on and Harry’s has a bowtie, “This is for you twos wedding! So thens when they take pictures you can has this one.” Charlotte chirps brightly and Y/N and Harry both cast each other a disbelieving glance.

“Whoaaaaa,” Y/N is the first to break their silence, a smile pulling at her lips, “This is really good Charlotte! I didn’t know Harry and I were getting married, though.”

Charlotte nods quickly, still grinning at them, her bottom canine missing as she gleams, “Me n’ Mikey thinks you should!”

Y/N turns toward him, nodding toward Charlotte, “Well, the god’s have spoken. Where’s my ring?”

Harry coughs on a laugh as he hands the paper back to Charlotte, “This is really good, Bug. Why don’t you and Oliver go help Josie finish her coloring pages, hm?”

The both of them head the short way back to their table, hiking up on the small stools and Harry makes sure they’re all settled before he turned back to face Y/N, who was biting down on a grin, “Don’t start --” he began but she’s already started, shaking her head.

“Listen, it’s okay to be in love with me, but you should really try to tone it down. . .the kids are starting to notice.”

Harry scoffs before he proceeds to tease her,, “How d’ya know they aren’t basing it off your actions, huh? Giving me love eyes every couple minutes like nobody would see.”

Y/N mocks offense to his words and he tries to keep up the facade, but his sheer delight for getting in a teasing match with her overcomes him and he can’t help his smile. Harry loved teasing people -- loved making them flustered or reducing them to a bashful mess by his words alone. Y/N, however, was much less into flustered gazes and sheepish tendencies, and more so ready and willing to give him it right back. He’d met his match -- if he teases her she’s teasing right back (if she hadn’t started it in the first place), and both of them found mutual pleasure in it.

“You can’t use my love eyes against me, I can’t help but give them to everyone I’ve ever met” she tells him, feigning sincerity before an additional anecdote, “You know my college roomie always told me they’d get me in trouble one day, and she had never been more right, ‘cos they did once at a party. She wouldn’t shut up about it weeks after it’d happened.”

Harry feels his body tense just a bit at the mention of her, and he tries not to let it show on his face that he’s surprised how she so casually brought her up, “Yeah? What’s the story?”

“The little ears around us suggest that I tell that story later,” she checks her watch, before looking back up at him, “Oi, we’ve got five minutes until we’re in the rec center. You get to pick what we all do since I picked the last rotation.”

. . .

This time when they’re on their way to the party, Harry lets Y/N walk in front of him as he directs where she was to go. Opposed to when they had first made this journey together, Harry feels far more protective of her than he originally had. Plus, he’d seen how clumsy she could be and after the earlier storm, the softened dirt and broken off tree branches from the billows of wind made for a much harder terrain to navigate, so he felt more comfortable being able to reach out to catch her if need be.

Harry was wary of going to the party tonight but Y/N had been borderline insistent that they attend, “Mitch says he misses you at these things and Niall told me he could only stand Shaun theorizing about the universe and us not being the only life form so many times before he snaps. I say we’re needed.” Harry never minded free drinks, and a potential fuck at the end of the night, so he wasn’t all too worried that he would be having a good time. He just hoped that the others would allow Y/N to have a good time. And he knows he’s being paranoid, because they hadn’t necessarily targeted her for anything prior to or after the lake incident, but he still worries. . .he can’t help but worry.

But he wouldn’t hover. Once they got to the clearing, he helped Y/N get her drink and she sought off after Niall while Harry went over to Mitch, the two of them promising to meet up again in a little bit. He didn’t hover, but he did watch semi-closely, eyeballing Jack and the others, making sure they were staying away from her. Apart from a few less than friendly looks thrown in his direction though, they seemed to be keeping to themselves which Harry was ultimately very thankful for.

The night goes by as these nights usually do -- he and Mitch drank, had a laugh, gabbed about music for a while, some of the drama going on around the camp (Y/N had an ear for gossip and eyes that could make anyone tell her anything, so Harry’s had a door to all the melodramatic events happening throughout the counsellors). It was a bit weird when Stacey -- one of the counsellors he’d only ever briefly spoken to -- had come up to them, and a little weirder when she borderline propositioned him for something more than a chat in the woods, but Harry politely declined. Told her that he was pretty exhausted after a long day and was probably just going to have a few more beers and retreat back to his cabin.

He passes it off as a fluke. . .maybe he’d been making eyes at her and hadn’t realized it. But then Mia makes her way toward him and Mitch, and this time Harry’s brows furrow when she starts chatting him up. This one he entertains for a little while before eventually ebbs away from the conversation, because he and Mia had a fling once, but Jack convinced her and the free world that he was a prick, so she called it off. He didn’t necessarily understand why she would want to start that up again, or what “little birdie” put a bug in her ear that he still thought about her (as she said one did).

It was after Cara had finally left after coming around to chat with him, that Mitch began to chuckle lowly at his side, shaking his head slowly, “Jesus Christ,” he tilts the nozzle of his beer against his mouth, and when he pulls it away, his lips are shiny from the liquid, “She really is working hard.”

“Huh?” Harry feels desperate for an explanation as to why three times he felt as if he were being propositioned for a romp in the woods when he was not actively pursuing one. He had a feeling that it was the others trying to get him alone so they could enact some sort of piss poor attempt at fucking with him without Y/N spotting and tearing them a new one over it, “Are you in on something that I’m not, ‘cos m’feeling pretty fucking lost here, man.”

Mitch nods his head, and Harry follows his gaze to Y/N, who is speaking with her brows dipped inward to Cara, “A few days ago she’d been asking me and Niall what you were like last year, and we told her just the same, jus’ a lot more ‘fornication’ is how Niall put it,” he smirks softly with a shake of his head, “And she seemed all concerned, asking us if we thought she was holdin’ you back or something. Personally, I told her if you wanted to sleep with someone you would have whether she were around or not but she didn’t seem very convinced.” A snort leaves him as he motions towards her again, still as amused by her ideas as he had been when she’d first explained them, “Guess she’s trying to set you up.”

“Oh fuck me,” he exhales so forcefully, it whips the delicate plumes of smoke from Mitch’s cigarette into a misshapen huff. Why was she so concerned with it? Harry hadn’t once expressed any avidity in needing to spend time with someone in that manner -- he could go without sex for three weeks. . .did she not think he could? Was he exuding nymphomaniac tendencies? He surely hadn’t thought he was -- a few quick handies in his nightly showers typically tide him over just nicely for a bit of a dry spell. And what was her business that he hadn’t slept with anyone since they’ve gotten here? Why was she speaking about him with the others what she could as easily ask him? What she had as easily spoken with him about, albeit leaving out a pretty large portion of it.

For the first time since they had begun getting along, Harry was irritated with her. He’d never been one to brood, however. He liked things to be up front and honest as soon as possible if the situation allowed for it, to stop his mind from taking an idea and running away with it. He held little interest in playing mind games with people.

Which is why he hands Mitch the rest of his drink, fixes his heavy cardigan around his shoulder, and sets off in her direction. He dodges many bodies, avoids an empty cup on the ground beside what he could only presume to be a sticky puddle of liquor, and narrowly makes it past a playful fight between Oliver and Brandon who were wrestling one another. Y/N doesn’t realize that he’s making his way to her until he’s just a meter or so away, when Niall catches a glimpse of him and attempts to be inconspicuous in the way he pinches her side. She gasps from the way his nails had accidentally bit into her skin, flinching from the pain before her gaze had settled on him, “Harry!” She cheered but his face doesn’t soften as it usually does when they see one another, which alerts her to his disapproving gaze, “Oh, what’s wrong?”

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” He inquires, motioning out past the trees. Enough trust had been built into the foundation of their friendship for her to not question him. Instead, she passes her drink off to Niall and follows Harry into the woods -- he wouldn’t go so far that they wouldn’t be able to see one another from beneath the curtain of leaves shielding away the moon, but just far enough that nobody would be eavesdropping. In any other situation he might wait to bring this up until they’ve made it back to the cabin, but Y/N’s intentions had been clear that the person he was taking home tonight wasn't supposed to be her.

She pauses with him at a particularly thick tree trunk, and places the arch of her foot against one of the jagged roots that carved its way through the earth, “Is everything okay?” She balances herself with a hand against the bark, wincing when it jabs into her skin, “I was keeping an eye on Jack n’ them I thought so they wouldn’t try messing with you, but did they say something?”

That does melt him some, Harry was strong enough to admit that. Just as he had been concerned with her wellbeing, she was just as much concerned for him, and he appreciated that. And while it does threaten to soften him down to his core, he still had questions that needed answers, and he wouldn’t let up until she responded to them.

“Why are you sending girls over to me?”

Her brows raise, but less in shock of learning the information, and more so with wonder how he’d found out she was the one sending them their way. The surprise dissolves into embarrassment quickly, her shoulders slump and she casts her gaze deeper into the forest, “Dammit,” she doesn’t hide her disappointment from being caught, or even feign confusion to try and pass the blame off coincidence that every girl who had come up to him had subsequently talked to her prior, “I was hoping you would be less observant.”

“Y/N.” He says her name sternly, and her shoulders drop dramatically further as she steps down from the tree root.

“Listen, in my defense I just felt awful!” She admits, waving her hand toward the party, “Jack had tried telling me a few times about how you just fuck people and leave them, blah, blah, blah, right? And I wasn’t paying any attention to him, but it made me curious to what you were like last year, so I asked Mitch and Niall. You came to these things all the time and you had fun -- then I come ‘round, ruin the first one, and you’ve been hanging out with me since. I just. . . I wanted you to be able to have fun and not feel like you have to worry about me, y’know?”

A ‘v’ sits between Harry’s brows, “What is it your business what I’m doing, hm?” He fixes his cardigan from where it slumps off his shoulder once more, “If I wanted to sleep with someone then I would. Do you think I can’t set something up myself?”

“No, of course not, I just thought --”

“You didn’t think,” he cuts her off, and Y/N’s arms curl over herself instinctively when a cold brush of air rolls past them, “You should have just came to speak with me about it, I could have told you that I didn’t need anything like that, and that would have been that. Don’t go behind my back trying to orchestrate things for me, okay?”

He wanted to say it -- he needed to say it, because Harry wasn’t some sex driven lecher that everyone at this camp tried to make him out as. He thought Y/N had known that too, but he guesses he was wrong.

But he wasn’t expecting her to look so fucking defeated by it. A guilt weighs on his being when she nods, tipping her head down, “Okay, yes, I won’t anymore. I’m sorry,” her fingers dig into her bicep, as she breathes out, a shiver rattles through her that she tries to be inconspicuous about it, “I wasn’t thinking -- I wasn’t thinking how it would look.”

Harry sighs, peeling his cardigan off of his arms, revealing his bare arms to the chill but he ignores it in favor of holding it out to her, “Put this on,” he wiggles it some, “I know you’re cold.” She takes it from him carefully, looking up, brows raised slightly as if to ask if he’s sure, “Go ahead.”

“I really am sorry,” she tells him, pulling the patchwork cardigan over her arms, it hangs off of her, and Harry swallowed thickly. She’s. . .cute -- Harry had always been able to admit that. Her face is sweet, her eyes exudes nothing but understanding, kindness, and such a soft glow that Harry couldn’t quite explain. He finds that those eyes give him great comfort and warmth, because now when they’re tinged with the contrition she feels and Harry feels cold.

“I know,” he murmurs, he holds out his hand for her, and very carefully Y/N slides her hand into his own, “Do you want to go get pudding?”

A small smile pulls at her mouth.

“Yes please.”

. . .

Niall lets them use the key after a few dozen promises to be careful with it. They trek the familiar way, mindless chatter fills the air around them until they get to the cafeteria and their voices quiet in case the security guard is looping around. Y/N reveals her hand from the shield of his cardigan sleeve, Harry watches as the fabric pools around her arm, toward her elbow, and produces the key (that Niall only trusted her with). They creeped into the kitchen, pulled open the large refrigerator door, and the pudding sat in rows on the bottom shelf.

They both choose vanilla this time, having tired themselves out on chocolate, and they sit at the spot they had last time, across from one another. He can tell, despite his peace offering, that Y/N still feels upset about what had happened earlier and it sullies his mood. She’s still chatting but not with as much heart as she typically has, and Harry couldn’t stand it. He just wanted her to giggle as she teases him again, without feeling like she’s tip toeing on eggshells around him.

“Hey,” Harry starts, dragging her attention towards him where it had previously been scooping the sides of her pudding container, “Would you stop being so. . .tense? Is this about earlier?”

Y/N clears her throat, opening her mouth and furrowing her brows like she was about to deny it, but she relents, shoulders dropping, “A little. I still feel bad about everything,” she shakes her head, dragging the edge of the spoon around the plastic, “About everything, not just that you aren’t able to sleep with someone. I came in late, ruined you having your own cabin, woke you up with my alarm, made you get out of bed ‘cos I’m afraid of the dark and -- I just feel like this massive burden. I feel like this massive burden on everyone.”

Harry is alarmed by this sudden confession, but his body ultimately rejects the notion that she could ever be a bother, “How are you a burden to anyone?” He inquires, shaking his head, “You’re such a ball of light that just swarms through rooms. The thought of you being a burden is akin to the thought of Satan being a saint. . .it doesn’t sound right.” Harry sets his pudding down, though he keeps his hands fixed around the cup and the spoon, “Don’t know what gave you that idea, but the last thing you are is a burden. Who gave you the impression that you were?”

She wipes tiredly at her eyes, “Nobody in particular, it's just,” she shakes her head, “Even now, I wanted to make your night good, and then I fucked it, and now you’re here with me instead of having fun at the party. I just feel silly.”

“Don’t.” Harry tells her simply, “I like to spend time with you, and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

The tension in her shoulder releases, “Thank you for this, I’m sorry m’just saying the same thing again and again. Back at home it feels like everyone is just. . .so hyper aware of me -- they’re always being so careful, or overly concerned and I always wonder if it feels like a heavy weight on their shoulders, like I’m forcing a piggyback ride.” She shrugs her own, reaching for the second pudding cup, “It’s just shit, so I overthink everything all the time to try not to be a burden, but I keep making it worse. Or at least that’s how it feels.”

Harry tilts his head to the side some. He’s not usually someone who pries and probes people for information, but he’s never been more curious about Y/N than in this moment. When he thinks of Y/N at home, he thinks of sunshine pooling in the hallways through casement windows, her spinning around the kitchen in a dainty floral dress that billows around her as she stirs homemade jam. Harry imagines her amongst woodland creatures who coax her to the forest with songs, escorting her there as she gambols freely.

He could not imagine her going home and feeling like a burden. Hell, he would have thought that she considered everyone else a burden -- that maybe it was draining to be the absolute light of everyone’s life. Yet here she stood, seeming worn, and broken.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why is everyone hyper aware of you at home? You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable.” He says it delicately -- he means it. . .if she didn’t want to share this with him, then he wouldn’t force her, but he wants to open up the possibility. He wants her to know that he’s an open ear if she so chose to utilize him.

“Um,” her gaze does shift downward -- she suddenly appears so small, “Are you sure?”

Harry nods.

“I just -- it's not that I don’t like bringing it up, I just don’t want you to treat me any differently than you would knowing it, yeah? I think that’s what I hate the most.” She notes, “So do you promise that you won’t -- you won’t start tiptoeing around me?”

“You’ve got my word.” Harry vows, but he has a feeling he knows what she is to say.

The sleeve of his cardigan covers her hand as she brushes the hair from her face, “In freshman year of UNI, my roommate was Mrs. Graham’s daughter, Penelope.” She straightens out in her seat, “We didn’t like each other much at first but we had grown very close -- um, once she threw away my fruit snacks and so I dunked her toothbrush in the toilet, but I felt guilty and went out to buy her a new toothbrush,” a laugh leaves her at the memory, as she rolls her eyes at herself, “That was what we had going for a while, but a late night heart to heart kind of made us closer. She told me things that. . .she’d been through a lot that nobody should have to go through, you know? She was bullied a lot growing up—in high school it was bad, people used to always gang up on her over stupid shit.” Harry hums, encouraging her to continue, and she stirs the pudding around mindlessly, “And we were just close after that. We had a flat together sophomore year and most of junior year, she’s my best friend,” she swallows thickly, “I didn’t realize how sad she was. . .I didn’t realize what she was still holding onto, and she -- we went home for Christmas break, and she never came back.”

Harry feels his stomach sour as her eyes bead with unshed tears, “Oh, Y/N,”

“It’s alright. I’m okay, I’m fine as I can be -- I’ve -- I’m mourning and I miss her, but I’m trying to be strong. Most days I am, but everyone at home just expects me to be this fragile thing, y’know? The days I’m happy, and chatty, they think I’m faking it. And some days I do, yeah, but. . .it’s just disheartening when everyone pretends to know what’s going on in my head.” She plants the pudding directly in the center, leaving it there and retreating her hands to her lap, “Mrs. Graham told me she felt the same. That’s why I came in last minute -- I’ve got all my volunteer hours settled and everything but she said it might be nice to get away.” A slow, easy sigh leaves her lips as she blinks the tears away, not one drop trickled down her cheek, “It is nice, but I still worry that I’m a strain on people around me, even if not for the reason I am at home. And I’m sorry to like, info dump all this on you,” she laughs a little in spite of herself, “You can’t ask me things, unless you want an hour long explanation.”

Harry reaches out his hand for her, for the second time that night, and once again she slowly slips their fingers together, “Thank you for sharing that with me, I know it must have been hard,” he squeezes her hand, “But I understand you a bit more now. I’ll keep my promise, I won’t treat you any differently, but before that --” she blinks at him, waiting, “I think you might just be one of the kindest, strongest, most caring people that I have ever meant. I know you would never do anything to intentionally hurt me or add stress onto my life, so you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to try with me. We can just exist together, yeah? We’ll exist without burdens and without worry.”

The look in her eyes, was one that Harry had never seen before. One that makes him melt in her touch.

“I would like that.”

. . .

“I can’t swim.”

Harry was crouched down to Maisey’s height, fixing purple mermaid floaties around her arms. The day was not unusually muggy, but there was an additional itch to jump belly first into the cool watered lake. He had woken with a revitalized need to pry a star from the morning sky as it shifted from an inky purple to an early, dusky morning blue -- and give it to Y/N. He had decided after their conversation last night -- after they’d gone to bed and Y/N fell asleep cuddled in his cardigan -- he had an overwhelming, and an all encompassing want to hold her.

Which made it hard to part ways this morning, but he managed. And maybe he played out an image in his head where he pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek before they went to wake their respective cabins, or maybe he didn’t (but if he did that’s his own problem). He is quick to convince himself it was because she’d shared a piece of herself with him that he doesn’t think she lets many people see, and Harry always develops a bit of a platonic crush on his friends at some point or another. He questioned whether or not he was in love with Mitch for a solid four days once. . .sometimes he just let his heart get carried away.

He had been enmeshed in these thoughts as he got his campers ready for their time in the lake. At first glance, a ton of children in the lake seemed like a horrible, and faulty idea, but they took precautions so that everyone was safe. Every child wore floaties and/or life jackets no matter how proficient their swimming abilities. There was netting about ten meters out so that the children and counsellors couldn’t float out toward the middle, and they worked it so that only three children could be in per counsellor at a time, so that they could keep an eye on everyone. Harry wasn’t so nervous because he was a strong swimmer, and his kids were a little older, but he could tell Y/N had been a little jittery about it. It’s why Harry told her that while she was out in the lake with her little ones to let him know, he would come out with her to bring her some additional comfort that even the floaties could not provide.

Harry had been pretty sure all of his kids were excited to go to the lake and he was grateful for that, until he looked up to see the nervous, large blue eyes of Jackson, downcast after he had spoken the words. The unprompted admittance confused him as he turned to face him, “That’s okay, buddy, we’ve got floaties for that.”

Jackson did not seem convinced, shaking his head fiercely, “No, I -- I can’t swim.”

“J.J. is afraid of the water,” Noah exposes the truth just as easy as he takes a sip from his juice box, equipped with his own blue arm floaties, “He didn’t want to say though ‘cos --”

“Noah!” Jackson cuts him off, betrayal laced within his features.

“--’cos he didn’t want to seem like a wimp, but he almost drowned when he was little.”

Jackson looked as if he could cry, and Harry shook his head quickly, “Hey, hey, hey, c’mere buddy,” he motions him over, and he comes easily, stepping before Harry who had not bothered to leave his already crouched position, “Explain to me what’s going on, yeah?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, a frown prevalent on his mouth, even as he speaks, “When I was little little, my big brother pushed me into the pool and I went under the water and my mom had to come in and get me because I can’t swim good.”

Harry pulls his lips back, reaching out to squeeze Jackson’s shoulder, “I’m sorry to hear that buddy. I won’t force you to get in the water if you don’t want to, but I do want to tell you that if you feel more comfortable, we could try a life jacket instead of the floaties? It’ll keep you more buoyant -- more bouncy in the water.”

“Aren’t those for little kids?” Jackson inquires, brows pinched, but Harry shakes his head and points toward Y/N, never more glad in that moment that she had the age group she did, along with her views on not making them do, wear, or say anything that she wouldn’t herself. She’s got the life jacket swung around her arm as she clips Oliver into his own.

“Y/N’s going to wear one too, and she’s not a little kid. I’ll wear one as well if you’d like.” He promised him. Albeit looking reserved, Jackson nods softly with his hands in little fists, worrying his lip between his teeth. The poor thing, Harry thinks -- he used to be afraid of water too. Nobody wants to conquer that fear suddenly, let alone with a group of people that may or may not poke fun because they’re kids and kids are jerks sometimes.

Harry finds him a life jacket -- a cute one with a shark on it, that he helps him clip on, and fits it to his body with the straps. Next, he needed to find one for himself, but he wasn’t entirely sure where they kept the counsellor life jackets, so he called for Y/N where she’d been a few meters away and she popped her head up from where she was like a meerkat. Her eyes softened when she realized who had called her, and a gentle smile pulled at her mouth, “Hey hubby,” she greets him, much to the delight of Charlotte, who claps giddily, “What d’ya need?”

“A life jacket, please. Where’d you get yours?” Harry tries to be decent -- tries desperately to keep his eyes to himself, but he finds that this is surprisingly difficult when Y/N is in her swimsuit. It wasn’t obscene in any sense of the word -- in the pamphlet they get when they sign up, it is very clear that speedos and bikinis were not appropriate, and therefore not allowed. If a child couldn’t wear it, then you shouldn’t bring it -- was the apothegm that they chose to live by in reference to dress code.

This, however, doesn’t mean that Y/N’s swimsuit didn’t suit her well. It was fitted in a way that wasn’t too tight, yet wasn’t too loose -- like it might have just been made with her in mind. A simple one piece of nylon and lycra colored a powder blue, that barely showed off that much more of what she wears to bed, and yet his mind still flutters elsewhere. To unwise places, that he drags himself from before clearing his throat and forcing himself to look around the lake so it appeared his eyes were just scanning everything.

“You’re in luck,” Y/N jogged the short way from where they stood, back to where her kids were all gathered, playing happily in the sand. Beneath what Harry had assumed was just a cluster of towels, another life jacket was hidden beneath the fabric. She hands it toward him with a triumphant grin, “This was the last one. I grabbed it for you in case you just wanted to float rather than keep your legs kicking -- you had a big lunch, didn’t want you to get a cramp.”

Harry hates how his heart balloons in his chest. There was no reason to be a melt because she had thought of him -- that she had him in mind, so she snatched the last life jacket, and hid it beneath towels so nobody else could have it. No reason to feel all mushy from the way that she unfolds it for him, a silent prompt that she’s going to help him pull it on. And there was certainly, absolutely no good reason for how stupidly affectionate he feels when she strokes her finger along the heart tattoo on his forearm mindlessly, before murmuring, “You make me wanna get covered in them. Maybe I’ll just go and get all of yours.” She looks down at the ground, “Maybe not the toe, my feet are ticklish -- think I would kick the artist.”

He recruits Y/N for the process of easing Jackson into the water -- Noah and Elinor are floating and bobbing about happily at their sides, while Charlotte and Mikey playfully kick and float close to their older counterparts (if not practically on top of them). There was a chill bite to the water when they had first stepped in, but as they walked out further and sunk a bit deeper, the cold eases up. The cool air soothes them from the sharp bite of the scorching sun, Jackson holds his hand so tightly Harry thinks his fingers may go numb, and he figures Y/N is feeling the same way, if her soft, “Loosen your grip up a bit, Sweetheart, you’re gonna take off my hand.”

Eventually, Jackson relaxes. He finally understands that the life jacket will keep him afloat and holding onto Y/N and Harry wasn’t a necessity. Once the idea of this settles in his brain, he is more willing to let go and enjoy himself. It feels wonderful to see that he’s having fun, and even better when he sees the smile on Y/N’s face from this small victory. Last year, he hadn’t felt this parental over the children last summer, but something had changed. . .something that made him feel like he was a bit of a parent.

It has to be Y/N. There was something about her that just oozes mother figure for these kids, even if she wasn’t intending to do so. She kissed the bandages over their wounds to take away the hurt, she praised the ground they walked on, picked them up if they asked, danced with them, encouraged them, treated every single child as if they were her own. Harry believes she’ll be a beautiful mother one day, if that’s what she’d like, and whoever the father or mother was she had chosen to spend her life with, they were unbelievably lucky. He just hoped they would understand that.

Y/N floats into his line of sight, “Are you okay? Ellie said you look like Maisey’s aunt again, whatever that means.”

Harry snorts, before nodding, “Yeah, I’m fine. A bit tired.”

An understanding gleam overtakes her, “Y’know, I did think you seemed a bit snoozy,” she reaches out for him, squeezing his shoulder softly, “D’ya want to have a sneaky nap? I could watch the kids.”

“But I like having you both,” Jackson whined, shaking his head quickly, finding their hands once more, reassuring that his grip was tight as ever, “Please stay.”

“Yeah,” Noah splashes over to them, sliding his arms around Harry’s neck, wetting his hair with the water clinging to his life jacket, “You two are fun together! We always have so much fun -- Brittany said her counsellor always yells at them when they ask her to play with them.”

Elinor was quick to add, “And Ro’s counsellor falls asleep during art days! He doesn’t even help them stay in the lines, and they’re little like Oli, and Charlotte.”

Y/N’s bottom lip juts out in the prettiest little pout -- Harry finds himself wanting to pluck it with the pad of his thumb, “That’s silly, isn’t it? I have so much fun with you guys, I couldn’t imagine not playing. Right Harry?”

Nodding his assent, he reaches up, settling his hands around Noah’s arms and bring him along with him as he kicks them closer to Y/N and the other three, “It is silly. Some people just aren’t as fun as Y/N and I, Bug, it’s proven fact. They did the scientific method and everything.”

Oliver gleefully pushes himself up on Y/N’s shoulders, flopping back into the water and bobbing, “I love yous!” He chirped brightly, “Yous guys are my favorites! I love yous.”

The sight is adorable, especially as Y/N wriggles around and holds her arms out so they could hug, which Oliver happily accepts, “I love yous too, button.”

They have fun -- for hours, as they switch out which kids are in the water, spend time on the beach with all of them, making sandcastles, burying one another, chatting and playing. It was very freeing; Harry could easily tell that he and the others were having far more fun than any of the other groups were -- Mitch and Niall had gravitated their groups closer to them when Y/N and the kids began to pour sand over the top of him. Even Cassidy came around with her kids after they had heard them all giggling and laughing and wanted to know what was going on. Harry was having fun, and maybe he was just mushy, but he credited it to the joy Y/N was exuding. It was hard not to be in a good mood when he was around her.

By the time the sun sat a little lower in the sky, casting the shadows of trees over the sand and cooling them to the point of chilling. The kids washed their feet and hands beneath the rush of water from a yard hydrant, wrapped up in towels, and headed toward the dining hall for their dinner. There was a taco bar today, and Harry found that Y/N and he had a mutual love of tacos as a whole. She showed him how she adds feta crumbles, even let him have a bite of hers to see if he would like it so he could decide whether or not to put it on his own (it was delicious, she was right).

Once dinner was finished, everyone was exhausted. They all gathered around the campfire, one of the counsellors strummed a song on his guitar, they all had s'mores and then they dispersed. Not even the rush of sugar from the chocolate and marshmallow gave any of the children an umph in their step; they were all so sluggish and slow, dragging their feet through the dirt on their way to their cabins. Harry’s group barely kept their eyes open as they stalked to the showers, washing off the lake water and sand that had been clinging to their bodies. After they brushed their teeth, they all but face planted in their beds and snores soon filled the quiet air of the cabin. They only made him realize how exhausted he was from the day spent baking in the sun, floating and kicking in the water.

He trudges back to his cabin, where he finds Y/N had already showered off. She was face down in her pillow, her back slowly rising and falling with each gentle breath she took. She hadn’t covered in her blankets -- no, instead she used his cardigan as a makeshift cover over her body, and Harry thinks it might just be the cutest thing he’s ever seen. The patchwork swallows a good portion of her body, the sleeve flopped limply by her head. . .he could imagine her crawling into bed. Could imagine her putting her knee up first, dragging the cardigan that had been lying limply over the post with her and just letting it drape over her body. She probably wasn’t thinking she would fall asleep. . .probably thought she would just lay there for a minute before gathering the strength to get beneath her covers.

It’s adorable -- Harry hates how adorable he finds it, actually. If he could crawl in beside her he would, but instead he ambles to the bathroom, starts up the shower, and climbs in.

The water his hot -- boiling drops pelt his skin, washing away the grime and sweat that felt as if it’d been caked onto his skin. It felt good; to cleanse and scrub himself free of the lake, massage shampoo into his scalp, soften his curls with the conditioner, and just allow himself to revel in the feeling. Showers feel wonderful - a renewal that he deemed necessary by the end of the day. And when he gets the temperature just right, it soothes the aches and soreness in his bones, turning his muscles to softened jello. By the time he slipped out of the shower, he was practically boneless and thought he’d be lucky if he made it to his bed before dropping to the floor and falling asleep.

He expects Y/N to still be asleep when he leaves the bathroom, but he’s surprised to find her sat up in her bed, his cardigan pooled around her body and a deep frown on her face.

“Oh!” He’s started some -- he really thought she was out for the night, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“It’s morning?” Her face further turns to that of distress and Harry bites down hard on a chuckle.

“No,” he responds, “It’s not morning. Only about 10PM, so you’ve got plenty of time to rest still.” She looks around groggily, rubbing at her cheek with one hand while she fisted his cardigan in the other, pulling it closer around her body, “Why don’t you get beneath the covers, Babe?” He asks her, and she’s quiet for a little while. The only inkling Harry receives that she even heard him was how she tries to shuffle and wriggle the covers down with her still stretched out on the bed, stuffing her legs into the blankets first, then sliding the rest of the way smoothly. All the while she clings to the cardigan, holding it tightly, resting her cheek on it. Harry doesn’t know if Y/N’s just far more affectionate than he had even thought prior, or if she was just half awake and doing things she wouldn’t do if she was fully conscious. Vaguely does he remember her saying something about typically cuddling with a teddy at night -- how she stuffs her face against it because it always smells like her fabric softener.

He wonders if that’s why she snuggles with it -- he wonders if she likes the smell of him, so she buries her nose in the fabric and breathes it in as she rests.

Harry hates this. He hates how inconceivably soft he’s been feeling, but he can’t help it. Y/N had found him worthy enough to poke inside her brain -- she opened up to him in a way she expressed she’d not been opening up to many people about. It made him feel closer to her.

But he told her he wouldn’t treat her any differently after finding out. And if he suddenly started expressing more affection, he fears she would think he was only doing it because of what she told him. He just wants to be. . .he just wants to be gentle with her. Doesn’t want her to ever think that she’s a burden to him, because the anecdote had made him question and second guess how he’d been treating her their entire time here. Of course, he was never intentionally cruel, but some of the situations he thinks about the two of them in, and how he responded, makes him cringe.

He switches off the overhead light, her dimmed bedside lamp and muscle memory guide him to his bed. Harry climbs in, shivers as he adjusts to the warmth beneath his covers, and breathes a soft sigh of relief to have finished with the day.

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice startles his eyes open, which he’d not been aware he’d closed.

“Hm?” He hums -- he had thought she’d fallen back asleep already.

“You’re okay?”

A soft smile plays at his mouth -- she asks him every night before bed, he’s noticed.

“Yes, I’m okay. Are you okay?”

She nods, “You did really good today,” her voice is muffled from her cheek mushed against his cardigan, “The kids had a lot of fun, they were telling me. I had a lot of fun too.”

“Yeah? Me too,” he reaches to thumb the hairs of his eyebrow down, “And thank you. You always do really well with the kids.”

She’s quiet for a minute, and once more, Harry thinks she must have fallen asleep, but the shift of the mattress tells him she’s changing position and Harry notices once more that his eyes have closed, “I’m glad you’re my roomie.”

Harry utters the words, that two weeks ago he thinks he would have spit at.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re my roomie too.”

. . .

Harry was drunk.

Typically, he didn’t allow himself to get very drunk at these little parties. He trusted the others so little, he had no doubt in his mind that any moment he was slightly impaired in some way they would take it upon themselves to prey on his weakness. This means he only ever gets mildly tipsy -- drinks enough to feel good but caps himself when he thinks he might start stumbling.

But he just didn’t cap himself today. Not for any reason in particular -- their day hadn’t been difficult. They helped their kids through a mildly strenuous obstacle course throughout the morning, cooled down with them drinking juice boxes and eating popsicles and by 2PM they were inside doing little DIY projects. Harry burned his finger with some hot glue, but otherwise it was a pretty easy smooth kind of day that they didn’t get often. He and Y/N hadn’t gotten to spend much time together, which he wouldn’t admit loudly was a disappointment, but he and his kids had all agreed that they missed her.

(And when they had seen her and her group walking into the art room, the lot of them had erupted in cheers, Noah, Eli, Maisey being the loudest of them.)

They had a pasta dinner that was surprisingly filling, they told “spooky” campfire stories and ate s’mores, he got his kids ready for bed and he went off to the cabin. He and Y/N were going to one of the parties tonight, not because they had such spectacular luck with a good time before, but because they were coming up on some of their last nights here at camp. It was a bittersweet feeling -- Harry remembered being more than ready to flee last year, counting down each day, each hour dragging on longer than the last. This time, it felt like it was coming too quick. He would miss the kids, he would miss the busy days some. . .and sure, he was happy to go home and take a shower that stays hot longer than five minutes and rest on his soft, cozy bed, but he would miss not having Y/N right across from him.

That was what he was having the most trouble coming to terms with, he thinks. The idea of them not having to spend every moment of every day with one another after doing it for three weeks almost sounds wrong. It's the same feeling he gets when he knew he and Mitch wouldn’t have such easy access to one another once they went back home. Being at this camp sort of felt like being stuck in a time loop where the outside world doesn’t exist, so it’s very easy to forget that they all have lives outside of here. They all go to class, go to work, go home, study, eat and sleep.

He and Y/N live relatively close to one another -- only about a ten minute drive up the street with only one turn and it's into her apartment building -- but he wonders if they’ll utilize it. He wonders if their friendship is tied to this camp and if that’s where it will remain, or if she even wants to be friendly with him after. Harry hadn’t considered that maybe she was only putting up with him because they had to live together and she didn’t want it to be miserable. Had he questioned if he was even enjoyable to be around? How does he ask her that without sounding entirely too desperate or needy?

So partially, he drinks to ease some of the worry in his mind. Harry doesn’t think he would “break down” or something like it if they weren’t able to continue being friends -- like a forgotten summer love that he might think about throughout the fall, and message her to see how she was doing -- but he certainly wouldn’t be delighted if that’s how it ended up. Harry thinks there’s so much more to Y/N that he would like to see, and know, and hear. Three weeks isn’t enough time, Harry decided, but in the same breath he wondered if she had thought it was more than enough.

Harry knows she cares for him, at least a little bit. He knows that he cares for her and her wellbeing; he was fond of her. From what he knew of who she was fundamentally, down to her core, Harry knew she was selfless and kind -- it was hard to find people like that, who were that, without it being cakey or clouded by something else. She was transparent in who she was and her feelings regarding most things, and Harry valued her honesty.

And she was just so damn fun. Every moment with her he spent, the air filled with laughter; she brought a slice of sun in her pocket wherever she went and Harry was consistently being warmed beneath it.

The fact of the matter is, Harry doesn’t know how he could meet someone like Y/N, and get used to the idea of her not being in his life after three weeks. If he could refuse it he would, but what was he going to do? Kidnap her and take her home with him?

He’s sat on the tree root, opposed to standing beside it like he usually is, with his back pressed against the bark of the tree and he ignores the jagged, uneven trunk against his skin. Mitch was beside him, leaning lower than he was with his jacket bundled up and stuffed behind his head, his legs kicked out as far as they would go and because of this, his foot rested against Niall’s lap. Niall was pleasantly gone himself, a bit louder than normal but also zoning out every so often.

He was a good guy, Niall -- he had good opinions, and he chatted him and Mitch up about guitars often (he was typically the camp’s go to for an acoustic guy if they ever wanted campfire songs). Harry thinks they could probably be really good friends, if not for the fact that Niall was so barefaced in his crush on Y/N.

It was obvious, Harry thought. He’d thought it was obvious from the first moment he spent a prolonged period of time with both he and Y/N -- his cheeks got rosy when she touched him, he stuttered over his gratitude if she complimented him, and if she went out of her way to do something (like when she’d stuffed her hand into a thorn-bush for his guitar pick that had flung from his fingers, and subsequently got all scratched up), he would look at her how someone might stargaze.

Harry doesn’t know why he doesn’t just ask her out, if he likes her so much. It almost irritates him how skittish Niall seems to get at the prospect of it; to run away from those warm, nice feelings that she provides is silly. It reminds him entirely too much of himself and he loathes it.

Tonight had been no different, only Y/N was dancing back and forth between them and a few other counsellors (Harry only recognized one of them , who was called Rosie and had been in his first year maths). Harry watched her most of the night, in the least obnoxious and creepy way he could, just because. . .well, she was nice to look at. He liked how her body animated as she spoke, or how she nodded her head as someone was speaking to her -- it was an encouraging nod, and her eyes locked onto theirs like they might be telling her where the fountain of youth might be located, or the secrets to the universe.

She was cozy today -- it was cooler out than most of the nights that they had experienced, with a chill breeze that had even stirred goosebumps on Harry’s arms (and he was all but swaddled in his hoodie). Y/N had a light fitted sweater that she sometimes slept in -- not heavy enough to shield her from the icy terrain that winter would provide, but enough to fight past the harsh summer night breeze that threatened to help a storm roll in within the next few hours. Loosely, he let the images of her cuddled close to him invade his brain. What it might feel like, how the knit would brush against his skin, if she would hide her face in his neck or spider around him as the big spoon and burrow against his hair. Y/N struck him as someone who liked to do more of the cuddling than being cuddled herself.

He would miss her when they had to leave. Harry worried who would just exist with her, like they had been doing. He worried about her going back to a place where she felt like a burden -- he would be around, wouldn’t he? If she allowed him to, he could be there for her, but he doesn’t want to seem pushy. By all definitions, they had really just met -- Harry had known Y/N for approximately 17 days, but it felt like so much longer. He wonders if he had known her in a past life, or if it was the fact that they spent almost every day all day with one another for at least 15 of those 17 day -- he finally understands how everyone in the Love Island villa always goes on about how a day in the outside world feels like a week where they are.

It’s not like he’s professing his love to her, for fuck sake. He just likes her -- whether it be platonic or not, Harry thinks Y/N is just delightful.

“Your little girlfriend’s not with you?”

Harry had forgotten how Jack’s voice sounded how grating nails against iron pipes might make someone feel, mostly because they hadn’t spoken in quite a while. After Y/N had slapped him, he had kept to himself, resorting more to disgruntled glares and probably pissy comments he was murmuring to his mates about him. If someone asked Harry, he would say that him and his friends were afraid of Y/N -- she posed a good threat to them. Sure, they hadn’t understood the extent of her words that night (like how and why she knew Miss. Graham), but they were enough to rattle them. No matter being in university, or within the range of 20-23 years old, nobody wanted to be scolded by a woman in her 40s, nor did they want to be kicked out of a camp counsellor position, or to have their volunteer hours revoked.

So they had left him alone, which Harry thinks may have been such a strain for them he would be surprised if they hadn’t popped a blood vessel. Even if they wanted to, he was always with Y/N -- they never really had the chance, and if they did, they didn’t really take it.

Which is why he is both surprised and incredibly annoyed with Jack’s sudden appearance.

“Piss off.” Harry responds, nursing his beer bottle closer to him.

“You’re always so ill-tempered,” Jack leans up against the tree, “Just wanted to have a chat. Like why Cassidy suddenly wants to break things off after chatting with you and Y/N. Got any ideas?”

Harry’s brows dipped in confusion, “What? What are you on about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t fucking know,” Jack rolls his eyes, “Cassidy and I are doing just fucking fine for six months, but we come here, she starts chatting with you and now all the sudden she’s ready to break up. What the fuck did you say, hm?” He nudged Harry’s side with his foot, “Fucking Y/N wasn’t enough, you had to fuck Cassidy too?” He kicked him this time, harder than before.

Harry, who did not take too kindly to being kicked, rolled his eyes and pushed himself to a stand, “Dunno why you’re so fucking insecure that you think me being around has anything to do with Cassidy finally seeing what a prick you are, but this needs to stop,” he handed his bottle to Mitch who took it wordlessly, “I’m not fucking Cassidy, I’ve never fucked Cassidy, so if you could just grow the fuck up and recognize that maybe she broke up with you, because you’re awful to be around, that would be great.”

Jack, which Harry had expected, took more of a physical approach, giving a shove to Harry’s shoulders, and Harry’s back slams against the tree behind him, “Fuck you,” he spit, “You all holier than thou ‘cos you’re dipping your dick in Miss. Rainbow Bright? What do you know about me, hm? You’re just a dumb fuck who has to be here because you’re a no good druggy fuck with anger issues. How does it feel knowing you’ll amount to nothing after UNI?”

There isn’t a lot that could get under Harry’s skin. A lot of people could say a lot of shit that he brushes off and lets go, but there are two things that he really just can’t. One of them is when people try to speak poorly of his mum, and the other, was when someone pretends to know his situation when they don’t have a fucking clue. Who was this trust fund bastard to tell him he was a druggy fuck? That he would amount to nothing after UNI? Harry worked two jobs to set himself through school and keep himself fed, with a roof over his head, just so that he could live the life he wanted to after university.

Maybe it was silly to punch him, but it felt good to. Harry reared back his fist and it collided with his jaw, making Jack stumble backward, his hand flying to his face, “You fucking --” he swung in return, only he catches Harry’s shoulder because Harry moved out of the way in anticipation. Niall narrowly dodged being caught in the crossfire as he rolled out of the way.

The fight didn’t get too far, however, because when Jack was gearing up to swing again, Y/N appeared and easily wormed her way in between them, “Are you serious right now?” Her brows were furrowed -- she looked legitimately pissed off, and, well. . .it made Harry take a step back at least, “Thought we had a chat about this, hm? You were going to leave him the fuck alone -- no, look at me, not him,” she grabbed at his collar, giving a sharp tug when his angry gaze had flittered back toward Harry, “I’m not an angry person, Jack, I don’t like being mean, or cruel like you seem to be so fond of, but I can and will be if I need to and I promise you that. Don’t you ever speak to someone like that again, yeah? What you were saying was just awful.” She lets go of his collar, taking a step back and sighing in a sharp huff, “I can’t speak for Cassidy, but if I had to guess she probably cut things off because you’re a jealous bastard who questions every interaction with another person and try this alpha male persona to scare other people away. It must be exhausting.”

Jack shook his head, “We were fine --”

“You thought you were fine. Things aren’t always what they look like, alright? The sooner you understand that, the easier your life will be.” She nods toward the center of the clearing they were in, “Go get some ice from the cooler, and go the hell back to your cabin. You’re not a fun drunk.”

Albeit reluctantly, Jack follows her orders and slinks his way to the cooler. The others around them had grown quiet as they had watched the confrontation unfold, but they soon all lost interest once they realized nothing more would happen. Y/N turned to face Harry, the anger on her face immediately dissolving, as she shakes her head, “What a dick. I’m so sorry he spoke to you like that,” she takes ahold of his wrist, the hand that he had punched Jack with, running her thumbs over his reddened knuckles, “I told him -- after the lake, I told him that he needed to leave you alone or I’d do something about it. Dunno what I was gonna do, but I was going to do something -- I will --”

“Hey, hey,” he cuts her off, “It’s okay -- it’s okay, come on, let’s. . .let’s go to the cabin, yeah? Should we go back to the cabin?”

Y/N looks at him like he was batty, “No shit we’re going back to the cabin! I’ve got to give you like a full medical look over. He slammed you into the tree, and honestly, you bruise like a peach.”

They make the trek back to the cabin, relatively quiet, Harry still attempting to process what had happened and what Y/N had said. Had she really spoken to Jack after the fact and threatened him if he messed with Harry again? The softest, probably sweetest person he knows, had taken Jack off to the side and told him if he didn’t leave Harry alone she was going to do something about it. Not only that, she grabbed him by his collar and told him off in front of everyone. It made his heart race, the thought of it, and his cock twitches in his pants at the moment on repeat in his mind.

Once they get back to the cabin, Y/N has him take his hoodie off with her in the bathroom so she could visualize his back and shoulder. Jack may be short-tempered and smaller than Harry, but his punches still packed a great deal, so a nice, reddening bruise was forming quickly around his shoulder. On his back there were scrapes from the tree bark, Y/N tells him, and a ton of little bruises that had begun to form as well. She makes him stay still as she retrieves the first aid kit from their medicine cabinet.

“Y/N,” he started, and she hummed to encourage him to continue, “When did you speak with Jack privately?”

She clears her throat, plopping the first aid kit down on the sink counter and unclipping it open, “The morning after the lake,” she answers without hesitation, “I wasn’t trying to like, fight your battles or anything, but I needed him to know I wasn’t bluffing when I told them I would rat them out, and worse if the situation allowed it. I hate bullies,” she pulls out a small tube of bacitracin, tutting her tongue as she squeezes it out on the tip of her finger, “And I hate how they treat you. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t at all,” Harry remarks softly, jolting when her fingers very carefully graze over one of the tender areas on his back, “Thank you, actually, for sticking up for me again.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I think I’m pretty scrappy when I need to be,” she giggles to herself, “Like, if need be, I would take on the Queen for you. Might be an uneven match though, she’s pushing 100.”

Harry spins around to face her though, “Y/N, I mean it,” he tells her seriously, their gazes locking, “Thank you for everything. For dealing with my attitude, for sticking up for me, for helping with the kids, for making this experience bearable, for being such a positive light,” he sighs, “You’re amazing, you deserve amazing things.”

Y/N looks taken by his words -- he wonders if she’s as lost in his eyes as he is in hers. Her mouth falls open gently, like she may be searching for what to say back to him but can’t come up with anything. He worries that he’d said too much -- that he freaked her out or something. He wasn’t trying to, he was just so grateful for her, he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to express it.

He is about to apologize for being too forward, when Y/N pushes the short distance and connects their lips together.

Harry’s confused for a moment as his brain registers what’s happening, but when he feels that she might pull away, his body finally seems to wake up. His hands find her face, cradling her jaw in his hands as he reaffirms the kiss and lets the butterflies in his body take over in hoards. He’d given thought to kissing Y/N, sure, but he’d never thought it would happen. Not only that, he’d never thought it would feel this nice. She tastes like the pineapple wine coolers she’d been sipping on that night, her lips still a bit sticky from the residue of the alcohol on her soft lips.

She’s gentle in how she kisses, like Harry would have guessed -- careful too, and cautious with how her lips parted from him only to fix back together. A pool of heat had formed in Harry’s lower belly and rose to his chest, stirring his heart in flutters when her tongue slid into his mouth and met her own. Harry hadn’t realized just how badly he wanted to kiss her until their tongues are sliding against one another, and his hands are slipping down from her jaw, caressing the delicate skin of her throat, skating down her chest to her hips. He squeezes her sides and pulls her closer to him, feeling the knit of her top rub against his bare torso. It was as soft as he’d imagined it’d be.

Had she been wanting to kiss him for as long as he wanted to kiss her? Normally, Harry could tell how badly someone wanted to kiss him by the act alone, but with Y/N he was so caught up he couldn’t focus. She was calm and soft, but the longer they kissed, the more ardent she became. It was the tiny moan that had left from her mouth into his own, that made him lightheaded. He had to pull away to breathe but his forehead pressed against hers as he breathed in, “Harry?” Her voice is low, she says his name like a secret, “Was that okay?”

His response is to press their lips back together, but this time only for a moment, before he withdraws. Harry loops his fingers around her wrist and brings her with him back into the main room, flopping onto her bed since it was the closest and urging her to climb into his lap. She straddles him, and just as soon as she’s within reach, he slides his fingers at the nape of her neck and pulls her back to his mouth.

It was good -- it felt so fucking good, Harry couldn’t begin to describe it. He held her close, and tried as he might to stave off his cock from ruining the moment, the longer they kissed the harder he got. How she was positioned at first made it so she couldn’t really feel him, but when she tried to get closer to him, she scooted her hips forward and rubbed up right against him. A gasp leaves her as she parts from him, looking down, having lifted her hips, “I’m sorry,” she apologizes and Harry gives a startled laugh.

“I’ve got a stiffy, and you’re apologizing?” He chuckles with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I’ve got a pretty girl in my lap kissing me, s’kind of hard not to get hard. We can stop if you want.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she answers with no delay nor doubt, as she lowers back down, resting her front on his prick and with this she gives an experimental roll of her hips. Harry hisses in a breath as she does it again, her own little moan slipping from her mouth. She was only in a thin little pair of shorts, and Harry had chosen sweatpants for the night, so there was little fabric truly separating them. Harry was thankful for it as she continued to roll her hips against him, sponging kisses from his mouth, down his jawline, to the curve of his throat. She fixed her lips there, lulling her tongue over the skin before she started suckling at him and Harry’s hands danced along her back, stroking up and down it, feeling her, holding her closer. Each roll of her hips made him harder, and he was desperate to know if she was wet. If he pushed his fingers into her shorts, would they come back slick from her arousal? Would she watch him as he slid them into his mouth to taste her? Would she let him split her thighs and lick straight from the source.

His mind was overcome with filth, smutty images entangle once innocent thoughts as she brought the blood to the surface of his skin. When one of his hands left where it had latched onto her hip and slowly maneuvered around to her front, she paused, but left her face dipped in his throat, “Are you wet for me?” He asks her quietly and she nods through a little shiver, “Yeah? Bet you soaked through your little panties,” he murmurs as he slides his fingers past the elastic bands of her shorts and underwear, but left his fingers just past them, “Answer me.”

“Yes,” her voice trembles, she swallows thickly and the muscles in her abdomen contract beneath his fingers.

Harry hums low, slipping his fingers down further and he dips between her slick folds, “Oh, Sweetheart,” he presses a chaste kiss to the side of her head, “Is this your first time getting wet for me?” She shakes her head, “Hm, really? So you’re like this often? Do you take care of it?”

“I -- yeah,” she stutters over a moan as the pads of his fingers roll over her swollen clit slowly, feeling it flick beneath them, “At night, sometimes I will in the shower if I can’t. . .if I can’t wait anymore.”

He feigns a gasp, “Oh my goodness,” he speeds up the slow lull of his fingers, “Your showers are always so fast, doll, you’re really that quick to cum?”

Harry may not be able to see her face, but he can hear the pout clear in her voice, “It usually isn’t that fast! Just with you, it is -- when I think of you, it’s always quick.”

He thought it would be impossible for his cock to be harder than it already was, but her words make pre-cum bubble at the tip, and when he dips his fingers back into her slick little hole, he gets even harder. Gliding his fingers from her panties, he draws them up to his mouth and presses them past his lips as he’d wanted to. Y/N has withdrawn from his throat, watching him do it with glassy eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders, digging her fingers into grape sized dents at the muscle. Her mouth falls open as he sucks her juices away, his eyes fluttering and a groan torn from his throat.

“Get on the bed,” he instructed and Y/N followed without question, crawling from his lap and lying her head on her pillow as Harry stood, and repositioned himself. He takes a hold of shorts and drags them down her legs, wriggling them off her ankle and tossing them elsewhere. His lips finds her ankle first, before he’s peppering and sponging kisses down her leg, the parts that he had tended to throw over his shoulder. When he gets to her thighs, he makes the kisses slower, softer -- he suckles and nips at the supple skin until he’s right before her center, only to switch to her other thigh and push kisses up and down the length of it.

Y/N’s whole body trembles with each shaky breath she gives. She’d spoken no words until he was positioned right in front of her core, looping his fingers in the waistband of the little cotton pair she had on, pulling them up toward her hips so the fabric stretched out over her. He could see her pussy beneath it, made out the outline of her swollen lips and engorged clit -- it made his mouth water.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” she tells him, and his gaze is pulled back up to her -- she looks apprehensive.

“What?”

She shrugs, “I know some guys don’t really like to so --”

“Do you want me to eat your pussy?” Harry asks her bluntly, and he revels in the way her eyes widen, and how bashful her face turns as she looks away, “It’s a yes or no question, honey, if you don’t want me to, I can come back up and kiss you while I make you feel good with my fingers. If you do want me to, I’m g’na pull those panties to the side and make you cum on my tongue -- either I’m good with.”

“I -- yes,” she answers, her voice meek, “Yes I want you to.”

Harry smiles softly, “Poor thing, How many stupid boys were refusing to eat this sweet little peach?” He runs his thumb up and down her slit, visualizing where the wet spot had grown and soaked her panties so that the fabric thinned. Leaning in, he nosed at her clit and she inhales, “God, I’m so excited — you’re okay with this? You’re okay with me eating this little pussy out? Need you to let me know because once I start sweet girl, I’ll be in heaven.”

“Yes, please, please lick me.”

“So polite,” he suckles a kiss at the very innermost part of her thigh, before licking one, long stripe up her center through the fabric. She moans, pushing her hips down toward his mouth as he drags his tongue over it again, and again, and again. He soaks it with his spit, teasing her — he wanted to pull her panties to the side and suckle and slurp between her lips until she came — but he wants her to beg for him. Wants to hear that she wants him just as much as he wants her.

He smiles against her as he hears her getting impatient, little huffs between each moan. She whines, her hips bucking up against his tongue — he looks up to her, watching as her chest rises and falls quickly. The fingers of one hand are dug into the sheets beside her, while the others rest between her teeth. Her brows were tilted, lips pouted, whimpers come more frequently the longer he suckles and laps on the fabric, drenching it.

“Harry,” she finally works out, shivering when he pauses just over her clit and flickers his tongue over the top of it, “Oh, please just -- please.”

“Hm?” He hums against her, jolts, inhaling sharply, “What is it, baby? You’ve got to use your words.”

“Please stop teasing me,” she tells him, “Please take them off.”

And Harry may love to tease, but he wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t a bloody monster, was he? So he slides his index and middle finger in between the fabric and her core and tugs them over to the side -- he didn’t want to waste any time wiggling them down her legs. No, instead he dips his tongue in between her lips and slides it flat and straight up to her swollen clit. The groan that leaves her is sinful -- it makes his cock twitch in his pants, his heart slamming against his sternum as he suckles and her fingers find his curls. She digs her fingers within the strands, rocking her hips up to meet his mouth, and for a moment, Harry just leaves his tongue out and flat for her to grind against. Harry thinks, if he could spend the day just strapped to Y/N’s bed, willing, ready, and waiting for her to come use his mouth how she pleased -- he would be inconceivable happy.

Eventually he wiggles his face back into her, sliding his tongue back and forth before he latches his lips back around her silky folds. The swollen little button crying desperately for his attention was where he spent most of his time, lapping, or lulling his tongue in circles around it. She keens, her heel digs into the mattress and begins to slide down but Harry grabs a hold of her thighs and pushes both of them up, so her knees are to her chest. The new position makes her cry out his name raggedly, and Harry was teeming with carnal desire, and so horny he thinks he would barely have to hump against the mattress to cum.

“I’m close,” she warns him, mewling, “I’m g’na cum, I’m -- oh, please don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Harry doesn’t think he’d stop if he was paid to do it. He doubles his efforts, sucking harder, sliding down to tongue at her hole while his fingers wrapped around and spun little circles into her clit. His other hand he reaches up with and slides his thumb into her mouth and she accepts it graciously, as it muted her moans that grew louder and louder the closer she got.

When she cums, it’s beautiful -- Harry wishes he would be able to see it on repeat, how her back arched upward and her hips bucked loosely as she pulsated around his tongue. Her mouth hangs open around his thumb, her eyes squeezed shut, the fingers in his hair tighten and her other hand wraps around his wrists and holds him tightly. The initial lurch of it subsides and she melts into the mattress, trying to catch her breath, her chest heaving beneath her sweater.

After he thoroughly cleans her (until she’s twitching and jumping away from his tongue), he crawls up her body, pushing her sweater up over her breasts, “Can I fuck you, Darling?” He asks her, a small smile on his mouth when she leans her chest closer to him so he can reach behind her and unclip her bra. Tugging the cups away, he grabs them carefully, thumbing over her nipple, “If you don’t want to, that’s okay, don’t feel bad about it, just let me know.”

“I want you to,” she rushes to tell him, nodding, “Do you have a condom?”

He dips his head against her chest, breathing out a sigh, “Fuck me,” he utters, shaking his head, “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

He usually does -- Harry always keeps a few on him, but he remembers very vividly he and Y/N had blown his last one up just a few nights prior and drawn a face on it. For a moment he feels hopeless, a sad pit forming in his stomach because the thought of fucking Y/N sounded like paradise and he only brought one bloody condom that he wasted.

“It’s okay, we’ll do it next time then,” she tells him, and Harry feels a joyful spike in his overall demeanor. Next time -- she wanted there to be a next time? And if she wanted there to be a next time, then they would have to see each other after the camp. . .they would spend time together, Harry could learn what she was like in her normal day to day. He was eager and delighted, and not even just at the prospect of pushing into her (which he was also pretty damn excited for), “I mean, if you wanted to do this again, then, yeah -- right? We’ll hang out after camp is through?”

A smile threatens to split his cheeks, “Of course we will,” he tells her, nosing at her jawline, “And not just ‘cos you promised to let me fuck you. I was hoping we would see each other still but was worried that you might be sick of me.”

Her brows pinch, “Sick of you? Dummy, I thought you would be sick of me!” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at the both of them, “We’re so stupid, we ought’a communicate better.” Y/N presses at his abdomen, “C’mon then, I’ll spin around and you can fuck between my thighs. I did it once with a boy -- I just shaved in the shower last night too so it should be soft.”

Y/N flips over, scooting her bum in the air for him as she cuddles a pillow to her face, her ankles locked in place and her thighs squeezed together. Harry wiggles out of his pants and boxers before he lets a glob of spit fall onto his stiff cock that had soundly slapped up against his stomach, slicking it up nice and wet so the glide between her thighs wouldn’t be too dry. One hand he lays palm flat to her bum, stroking the skin there with his thumb while the other hand navigates his prick, tipping it down and fitting it between her warm, soft thighs.

It felt good; Harry groans wantonly as he pulls out and sinks back in, watching himself disappear between them. She wiggles her bum at him and Harry playfully swats it, chuckling when she squeals and giggles, “You’re so fucking cute,” he coos before bending over, stretching himself over her so his chest was pressed to her back as he started steadily fucking in between her thighs. One hand he uses to cup her breast and tweak at her nipple while the other he slides down to her pussy, finding her swollen little button and rubbing it.

Harry’s skin prickles as she moans, her legs falling open just slightly but he tuts his tongue, “Keep them nice and tight for me, baby,” he murmurs, and she nods, tightening the channel for him once more. He won’t last long, he knows it -- he can feel that pool of heat crackling in his lower belly. His blood buzzes in his ears as he fucks his hips forward, their skin slapping together sound in their little cabin. Her breasts bounce with each thrust he gives, she’s beginning to cum again from the ministration of his fingers, and Harry’s nearing the end of his rope.

“You feel so fucking good,” he’s just a breath away from her ear, “You’re gonna make me cum.”

He nibbles at the shell of her ear and lets his eyes flutter closed, his senses on overload. All he can hear, and taste, and smell, and feel is her. Dizzy and overwhelmed, Harry feels as if he may burst at the seams.

“Cum,” she murmurs, “Please, I want you to feel good -- I want you to cum.”

That’s all it takes -- the little push of her words has his hips stuttering as he cums, spurting long stripes between her thighs, some catching her skin, some landing on her sheets below them. His world fizzles out, static splinters through his body as warmth rushes through his veins, and his toes curl hard enough to lock up. As he comes back to, he giggles, the last of his orgasm drooling from the tip as he pushes a kiss to the back of Y/N’s head, “Stay still, lemme go get us a rag.”

His legs feel like jelly when he stands, fleeing arse naked to the bathroom and returning moments later with warm, wet rags. He cleans her first, careful in how he works her underwear down her legs before he pats gently around her thighs and at her center. She’s sensitive, so a few times she twitches and flinches from him but eventually relaxes as she holds tightly to the pillow. He wipes himself off a bit haphazardly, more concerned with getting Y/N somewhere to lie down as he gently tugs on her arms, “C’mere, poor thing, I came all over your bed.”

“Yeah, you jerk,” she says puckishly, letting him guide her over to his bed, climbing in and immediately snuggling beneath his covers. Harry is not too far behind her, and at first she snuggles up close to him, she hisses and squeals before trying to shuffle away, “Why are your feet like ice?” She asks him, her words accusing, like he’d come in the bed with intent to freeze her.

Harry shrugs, “I dunno’ I usually wear socks to bed to keep them warm.”

“Socks? To sleep?” She slowly wiggles her way closer to him, despite the words that follow, “I don’t think we can share a bed, you’re batty.”

“Guess you’ll have to go sleep on the jizzy bed then.”

Y/N laughs, and Harry feels it vibrate through his body as he holds her close to his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They’re quiet for a moment, as they both settle, taking deep, slow breaths, allowing themselves to slip towards sleep.

Before Harry could get there, Y/N murmured his name.

“Thanks for being my camp ‘husbad’.”

Harry smiled to himself, and held her a little closer before he teased her.

“You can say thank you next time with an 18 carat diamond.”

#WRITING #WOOOOOOOOOOO #I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT #YAHTZEE :D #IT WAS FUN TO WRITE #IM GONNA DO A SMALL PART 3 TO TIE THINGS UP IN A LITTLE BOW #HAPPY READING #harry smut

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beccarooni · 4 years ago

Text

The End - Chapter 1

(Infinity war AU: Loki lives and leaves the Statesman with Bruce Banner. Multi chapter fic, enjoy the ride babes xo)

taglist: @woahthisguy (ask to be added if u like!)

When Loki woke, part of him still thought that he was on the Statesman. Still aboard that cursed vessel, with smoke filling his lungs and the maddening glare of the stones shining before his eyes. Rays of sunlight filtered into his vision, and he felt broken wood under his fingertips - but part of him still expected to see Thanos’s golden boot step into his vision. Still expected to see his brother, bloodied and bruised, a lifeless body tossed beside him. Expected to hear his last pained scream as the power stone touched his head, to smell the ozone building in the air and to see the final flash of lightning that would signal his brother’s journey into Valhalla.

What he heard was the sound of birds.

Muffled by walls, but there. Birds, nature, the faint sounds of traffic and conversation bleeding in through the ringing in his hears. He opened his eyes, grunting slightly as he felt splintered beams digging into his side from where he fell. A neat hole in the ceiling signalled his entry; he stared up at the familiar sun and sky, and let his eyes fall shut again with a groan.

Midgard.

But not just anywhere in Midgard. He inhaled the musty air, coughing out the dust from his throat. Magic - he could sense it everywhere. It clung to every surface of this place, seeping into the floorboards with a familiar sense of order and learning. Not just magic - sorcery.

Loki sat up. Pulled himself out of the hole he’d created in the floor, and almost buckled under the weight of the familiarity of this place. The Sorcerer’s Home. Where he’d been suspended in animation for over half an hour, only to be dropped onto the marbled floor and told that they were going to see Odin. He remembered Thor’s voice, then. That was one of the last times he’d sounded like himself. Before the Norns had twisted the last few strands of their monstrous tapestry, and brought their world crashing down around them. Around Thor, to put it more aptly. Loki had shed no tears for Odin. Hadn’t felt the same coiled rage in the pit of his stomach as when Frigga had died. But it had signalled the beginning of the End, for them. The beginning of Ragnarok. The twisted path that had dragged them from Midgard to Sakaar to Asgard and finally to a barely held together spaceship crawling through the stars.

And then to oblivion.

Loki flexed his fingers, stepping onto the cold marble floors, and allowed himself a moment of respite. This wasn’t good. Out of the frying pan, and into the proverbial fire. Midgard may have meant refuge for Thor, but not for him.

Voices sounded from outside the doors. Loki stepped quickly, pressing himself against the wall - not that it would do any good. The Sorcerer had sensed them from oceans away, last time. He could pluck him out of thin air if he so chose, and deposit him at his feet. But it felt right, at least. Sensible. Slinking his way in and out of the shadows was what he was used to, and he needed some familiarity right now. Stability in any form; even if it was just a repeated motion from a lifetime that was now obsolete.

“The Avengers broke up. We’re toast.” Smooth, honeyed tones from beyond the door; a voice that could have been roughed with anger, but the edges smoothed down into something more palatable. Stark.

“What do you mean, broke up? Like a band? Like the Beatles?” Another voice sounded off - this one inquisitive, confused, but still with a certain fog - like someone coming out of a long sleep, trying to recount a dream that was fading rapidly. Banner, then.

Loki leaned back against the wall, silently cursing his luck. Of all people he encountered, it had to be Stark. Someone who Loki’s last fond memory of was tossing him out of a window - and even that was marred with the faint blue tint of the mind stone’s power. He couldn’t even enjoy throwing Stark out of that window. Couldn’t even take credit for it, really.

He shifted his fingers again, feeling the familiar steel of his dagger morph into life in his hands. That brought a little comfort, at least. Even if he knew in his heart he wasn’t in much shape to fight off the Avengers right now.

He had Banner to vouch for him - maybe. But Banner didn’t have the same trust in him that Thor had. And Thor wasn’t here to echo that sentiment to his allies, because Thor was dea-

“Thor’s gone.” Banner’s voice resounded off the walls again, subdued and uncertain.

Loki didn’t know why that word suddenly made him so angry.

Gone implied things. It implied uncertainty; that they didn’t know where Thor was, or what had happened to him. Gone implied that Thor could come back. Gone implied hope.

It wasn’t Banner’s fault. He didn’t know any better, didn’t know the full extent of what Thanos could do.

Loki did.

And maybe that’s what drove him out of the shadows, moving just beyond the doorway to stand in the light.

“Thor isn’t gone. He’s dead.” Loki almost winced at his own voice - rough and jagged and far from the silver tongued smoothness he was used to.

But the look on Stark’s face almost made up for it. Alarm creeping into the eyes beneath the sunglasses, a memory of when Loki had last seemed glorious. Unstoppable. A raging inferno fanned by the mind stone, laying waste to Midgard’s streets with an army of monsters at his side. Memories of grand speeches and golden horns. Stark’s hands twitched, grabbing onto a small cord at the collar of his shirt that would probably unfold into some trinket or other, meant to blast him across the room with a quippy one liner to follow it.

Banner’s eyes widened for a moment, but softened just as fast, and he took a few steps forward. Not all the way - he was still too smart to move all the way - but enough. Enough for a placating gesture, at least.

“We don’t know that, Loki. He could’ve escaped, he could’ve-”

“Correction - you don’t know that. I do. Thanos wouldn’t leave someone like him alive.” Loki shook his head, a hollow laugh forcing its way out of his lips. “He was too much of a threat.”

“The Tesseract?” The voice of the sorcerer from his side caused Loki to turn, meeting Strange’s scrutinizing gaze with what he hoped was a mask of steel.

“Thanos has it. And the power stone.”

“Then he’ll be coming for the rest.” One gloved hand drifted idly to the necklace around Strange’s neck, his face setting in grim resignation.

“I’m sorry, am I missing something? Why are we all standing here talking to this guy? Last time I checked, he was working with Thanos, and was very much in favour of - I don’t know, murdering us all?”

Stark finally jarred himself out of whatever train of thought he’d been following, moving forward to grab Banner by the arm - like a mother, reaching out to snatch her children from sticking their hand into a campfire.

“Tony, it’s fine. Well, it’s not fine. But Loki’s with us on this one.” Banner shrugged his shoulders, batting at Stark’s hand with a twinge of embarrassment.

Stark scoffed, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.

“So I’m just supposed to trust him because, what? It’s a ‘long story’?”

“Oh, God no. But he is on our side.” Bruce frowned, gesturing at Loki listlessly. “Look, do you think he’d look like that if he was working with Thanos?”

Loki shot him a glare, but tilted his dagger upwards to try and catch a blurred glimpse at his reflection. Even in the unclear mirror, he couldn’t deny that Banner was right. Soot smudged along his cheeks, rimming the glaring red cuts on his face with black. Dark circles stamped under his eyes, there was blood beneath his fingernails. He looked unhinged.

A stretch of the neck, a flex of the fingers, a flash of gold, and he was whole again. The grime still clung to his skin, but it was hidden now, at least. He tilted his chin up, spreading his hands out wide.

“I am not here to pick a fight with you, Stark. Nor any of Midgard. But Thanos must be stopped, and you’re going to need more than the Avengers to do it. You can kill me, or imprison me, but buried beneath that colossal ego of yours, you know you need me.”

Stark’s jaw clenched, and for a few moments Loki expected the flash of a cannon and the impact of a missile hitting his chest. What he got instead was a sigh, tight and constrained, and a small nod in Banner’s direction.

“Fine. But if this blows up in my face, you owe me like...a million cups of coffee.”

Banner shrugged, and the three Midgardian’s continued their discussion.

It wasn’t a discussion Loki wanted to participate in - and by their hunched shoulders and wary looks, it wasn’t one he was privy to, either. Which was just fine by him. He tapped his fingers against his elbows, and wandered about the room.

So many artefacts that he hadn’t paid attention to last time. This room hummed with magic, every table, every chair, every floorboard was steeped in it; like fragranced smoke clinging to a curtain.

He overheard some of the conversation, of course. Talks of a great battle between their Captain America and the Iron Man; a rift between the team that had grown into a chasm - one that strangely he hoped would be mended. Not for their sake, of course; it would just be easier to fight Thanos if they all united as one, and fought together rather than apart, and -

Norns, he was starting to sound like Thor. He shut his eyes, shrugging his shoulders to try and rid himself of the sentiment. It was funny what a few moments of desperation could do to you. The death of his mother, and he worked with Thor again. The death of his father, and he saved a world he swore to hate. The death of his brother, and now he was talking of comradery with the Avengers.

Banner kept casting looks at him from across the room. Worried looks, but not for his own safety - at least, not entirely. Banner looked worried for him, and for some reason that filled him with vitriol, anger that was acidic and spiteful.

Banner thought he was exaggerating. He still saw Thor as a golden hero, unbreakable and untouchable. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know that it was better for Thor to be dead. That when Loki said that Thor’s fate was sealed, it was not out of spite or doubt of Thor’s strength; it was out of hope. Loki would rather kill Thor himself than have him die at the hands of Thanos.

At least Loki’s steel would have been kinder. The flash of silver and the seconds it took for the blood to leave the body would be a mercy, compared to the dazzling pain of the gauntlet. Seconds still felt like seconds, when you were stabbed. The infinity stones stretched those seconds into hours. Loki knew from experience.

Before, he might have relished at the thought of causing Thor pain. Wherever this sentiment had come from, these feelings of care and brotherhood, he wanted them gone. They’d settled on his skin with the dust from Asgard, baked into the clay of his being in the fires of a supernova, watched from a spaceship window. If he had nothing from the beginning, he would’ve been fine. If Thor had died at his hand, hating him, he would’ve been fine.

Thor had died believing in him. And that was so much worse.

Screams erupted from outside, and all four of them glanced towards the doorways.

“God, already? It’s been what, five minutes since you two crash through the window and now we’ve got more party guests?” Stark rubbed at his forehead, probably nursing an oncoming migraine.

“I guess they move fast. Let’s go.” Strange and Stark headed towards the doorway of the sanctum, but Banner lingered behind.

The scientist paused at Loki’s side, looking at him with a gaze that was suddenly inscrutable. No easily provoked anger that Loki could stoke into a wildfire to keep the sadness at bay. No mistrust. Just a hint of sadness, and a twinge of concern in his voice when he asked:

“Are you alright?”

Loki’s hand lifted to his face, feeling the wetness of tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He stared at his fingers, before wiping them against the material of his jacket.

No time for this. Not right now.

“I’m fine.” Loki gritted his teeth, flipping his dagger in his hand.

Loki didn’t take much stock in legacy. He’d had his fair share of prophecies and purposes, and none of them had quite worked out the way he’d wanted - or expected. Fates could be changed with the flip of a dice - his birthright had been to die one moment, inherit the throne the next. He was destined to be the doom of Midgard and the saviour of Asgard and somewhere along these severed threads of prophecy he’d realised that it was all just chaos. He’d rather be an agent of that, than a warrior honouring the stories of someone else.

Thor’s story felt different, though. If he was going to honour anything in his life, maybe his brother could be the exception. Maybe he could help protect this fragile blue planet from this destruction; just this once.

Loki gripped the dagger harder, until his knuckles turned white.

Midgard waited on the other side of that door. A place that he had chosen to conquer, and Thor had chosen to care for.

If it didn’t die today, he knew it’d be a matter of time before it died from something else. But he wouldn’t let it be lost today.

Thor believed in him. He’d died believing in him.

Honour that, then. Honour his stubbornness, if nothing else. What better legacy was there to leave Thor with, than postponing the dying light of a planet just because?

Chaos and stubbornness. What better combination was there than that?

#my fic #fanfic #thor fanfic #infinity war au #infinity war fix it #thor odinson #loki odinson #brodinsons #bruce banner #multi chapter #mcu fic

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strawbunniiee · 3 years ago

Text

A Girl and a Ghost Ch 5. Precious Rose

SOOOO this one is a bit lengthy!! there’s a bit of blood, a lil language, so fair warning! oh yeah and HEHEHE SPOILER ALERT THERE’S SOME TASTY PHANTOMEACH MWAHAHAHHAA

i had a LOT of fun writing the phantom and peach fluff hehehe ;)

dont worry!! this definitely won’t be the last chapter either, there’s still gonna be more of my cheesy fic sjfndkfd

hope you enjoy!! @salamifuposey @monsterbride99 just letting these lovely hooman beans know that this chapter exists!!

Jawaii had her arms raised, ready to slice King Boo to ribbons, but the king blasted her back into a wall.

Jawaii had the wind knocked out of her lungs as she slid to the floor.

Phantom rushed to Jawaii's side, picking up her petite body. His eyes became a deep, dark blood red as he shot a murderous glare at King Boo.

"She didn't even stand a chance." he smirked.

Phantom charged a blast of blue fire in his palm. "DIE!" he screamed, hurling it at the king with all of his might.

He had attempted to avoid it, but he wasn't fast enough. The ball engulfed him in flames as he screamed.

The king flung a fireball from his cracked crown, but due to his crown being damaged, it spiraled out of control, which hit Phantom in the process but also set the attic ablaze. He gasped and grabbed Peach's body.

Jawaii regained her breath and jumped off of Phantom.

"JAWAII, NO!"

She didn't listen, instead she ran to King Boo and aimed to tackle him. She phased right through him and onto the floor. This just made him guffaw.

"YOU IDIOT! OH, YOU MORONS JUST MAKE ME LAUGH!"

Phantom began to inhale, gathering air in his body to let out the loudest, most powerful opera scream he had ever sung.

King Boo saw this as an opportunity to take Peach back from Phantom. The ghost Rabbid glanced over at Jawaii in panic, as if begging her to do something.

Jawaii leaped up while the king was distracted and stabbed him, taking great effort to make it as painful as possible for him. It cut open his skin, creating a massive gash on the side of his face, bleeding out a strange blood-like substance, perhaps ectoplasm.

The king let out a monstrous howl as he fell over onto the floor screaming, his hands over the gash.

Then, Phantom finally let out his scream, after inhaling so much air he felt like he was about to explode. It was a force so strong, so powerful that it blew a massive hole in the attic, blowing the bleeding king far away, all the way to the swamps in Spooky Trails.

Both of their ears rung from the noise.

Peach began to slowly wake up. Phantom picked up Jawaii and burst out of the hole in the manor, taking the three of them away.

———

Peach screamed when she fully woke up.

"Wh-where am I? Who are you? ...Oh. Mr. Tom?... what happened?" the princess sputtered out, deeply confused by what was happening. "All I remember is... King Boo taking me away, and then... nothing. And... who's the little girl?"

Phantom's face turned red and his eyes widened as he shyly looked away, blushing. "Ah, w-well... Princess, it's a rather complicated st-story, you see,—"

"Phantom, why don't you and I tell her what happened together? Maybe it'll be a lot easier that way!" Jawaii chimed in cheerfully.

Phantom smiled at Jawaii. "I suppose you're quite right!"

The two happily retold Peach everything that had happened, complete with how the two became friends, their adventure in Spooky Trails, leading all the way up to them rescuing her from King Boo.

"Oh my goodness, what a story! It sounds very scary but exciting at the same time! I'm glad that you're safe and sound, though!" beamed Peach.

Phantom blushed yet again. "Oh, why thank you dear Princess! I'm quite happy you went on unscathed as well."

"Hang on a sec, you know this lady Phantom? She seems very nice!" asked Jawaii.

"O-oh, yes yes! I do know her. We're, erm, friends." Phantom said quickly.

Jawaii squinted suspiciously at him. "You seem super awkward in front of her. Do you have a crush on her or somethin'?"

Phantom's face was a bright red tomato at this point. "N-no, that's preposterous, o-of course not! Why, no male and female can be t-together without people believing that they are lovers!"

Peach giggled a bit. Jawaii grinned mischievously.

"You know, Jawaii has a point. Do you have a crush on me..?" asked Peach.

"...N-no, it's just hot out here. I act a b-bit strangely when it's scorching hot like this!" It was actually quite cold that morning, contrary to Phantom's statement. "Oh, and would you look at th-that, we're here already!"

They had made it to the silent castle in the early hours of the morning. The sun had not even come up yet, still pitch black and silent. Phantom set Peach and Jawaii down gently.

"...Thank you so much for saving me from King Boo, Tom." Peach gave Phantom a gentle kiss on the cheek. His face violently blushed as he had a look of sheer surprise on his face, his jaw hanging open. Jawaii couldn't help but snicker at the look on Phantom's face.

"I... oh my! I wasn't e-expecting that, my princess." Phantom stammered.

Peach simply just smiled. "Would you like me to get you a room to stay in for the rest of the night? You two must be very exhausted after your dangerous adventure together!"

"That would be very much appreciated!"

"Oh... Jawaii? Should I tell your parents where you are...?" asked Peach, concerned.

Oh crud, I totally FORGOT about that. thought Jawaii.

"Uhhhhh... I'm sure they're fine! I'll just come back when the sun's up!"

"All right, then. I'll be right back in just a moment!" Peach walked off.

Phantom went silent.

"Hey uh... now that she isn't here... do you actually have a crush on her?" asked Jawaii.

Phantom looked around and whispered in Jawaii's ear. "To be completely honest, yes. I do. She's the most beautiful, kind woman I have ever met... and thanks to King Boo bringing back the memories of my past life, I know that I had spent my past life attempting to get her to notice me. But it had resulted in my demise."

"First of all, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, no shit Sherlock, for a theater nerd you're a TERRIBLE liar y'know." she teased lightheartedly. "Second of all, ouch... that really sucks. But hey! In this life you befriended her!"

Phantom sighed. "I wish so dearly that we could be together. I tried so hard in my past life, I sacrificed so much to get her to notice me... but that red capped demon had gotten in the way countless times. And worst of all... he and Peach are together."

Phantom began to softly sob, his hands over his face in despair. Jawaii slowly walked over and gave him a hug.

"Aw... I'm so sorry about that... But my mom says it's not good to bottle up emotions. Maybe you should tell her how you feel..?" she suggested.

Phantom just stared in silence for a few moments before he finally responded. "...Perhaps."

"Maybe I could help you with it!"

"...No, i-it's best for me to simply just... tell her. I've known her for quite a while now, but I've mostly been too nervous to do as much as speak to her."

Jawaii hugged him again, even tighter than the last time. "I'm here for you, best friend." she smiled.

Phantom hugged back. "...Thank you, Jawaii."

After a few minutes, Peach came back in to tell them that their room was ready.

"Sorry about the wait! We had a few issues... come on in, it's much comfier in here than it is out there. It's so cold out." she said.

"Oh! You're all right, Princess."

Peach escorted the two into the castle and into their room. Just like outside, the castle was very dark. It had little to no light other than the light of the stars and moon softly shining through the windows.

When they arrived, Peach opened the door. The room was very tidy and had very expensive looking furnishings, and two extremely fluffy beds with plentiful amounts of pillows and blankets. Jawaii gasped and immediately began to jump on the bed. Phantom and Peach laughed a bit at Jawaii's antics.

"Well, sweet dreams you two. You both deserve it after the adventure you've had tonight! And thank you both again for saving me... that was such a terrifying experience. No matter how many times I get kidnapped, it's always so scary."

She smiled and blew them both kisses. Phantom blushed.

"Ah... you're welcome, Peach. Bonne nuit."

Peach smiled and closed the door. She went back off to bed happily.

"What the shit did you say to her? Bun... bon-nue. What?" Jawaii asked, deeply confused.

Phantom quietly chuckled. "Bonne nuit. It's French for good night."

"The heck's a French?"

"Heh heh. Perhaps I shouldn't be laughing, for you're an alien child. You don't know everything about Earth and that's understandable!"

"No, it's okay. I like to make people laugh. 'Cuz it means I made them happy!" replied Jawaii.

Phantom smiled at Jawaii once more. "We should get some rest, my child. We've had a very long day. Bonne nuit, Jawaii." He laughed a bit at his own joke.

Jawaii smiled. "Nighty night, Phantom." She yawned and stretched and sprawled out on her bed, quickly falling asleep within a matter of minutes.

Phantom, however, lay awake in his bed, thinking about what Jawaii had told him to do. He tossed and turned, pondering his decision. His heart throbbed, wondering what would happen.

Then, he decided.

He was going to tell her tonight. He had figured that he may as well get it over with now.

He nervously got out of bed and quietly phased through the walls to get to Peach's bedroom, where she had still laid awake. She was slightly startled by Phantom seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

"Oh! Tom? Is there... something you need?" she asked

"Well... there is something I must tell you. I've hidden it from you for so long... because I was afraid of being rejected, I suppose." he admitted.

"Oh... Well, what is it?"

"I know that you are already taken... b-but..." Phantom covered his blushing face with his hands, and forced himself to finally choke out the words.

"I l-love you."

He knew that this was the end. She was going to kick him out of her castle... or far worse.

But her response shocked him down to his very gramophone.

"Well... if I'm completely honest, I have feelings for you too. That peck on the cheek earlier... was something I've wanted to do for a long time." she smiled and looked away a bit.

Phantom stared dumbfounded at her. He couldn't believe it. "B-b-but, you— and M-Mario—" he stammered.

"Oh, that's just a rumor that goes around... everybody seems to think that! He's still a very close friend of mine, and I'm so glad he's saved me so many times."

"Erm... speaking of that... King Boo told me something about myself that not even I had known. I... I was a human once. I wanted so badly for you to notice me... each time you were kidnapped, I always attempted to save you... but my attempts were futile, for Mario always saved you before I ever could. But one day, King Boo trapped you in a painting... and for the first time, I had arrived in time to save you. Unfortunately, he had killed me and sealed my soul inside a gramophone. I had forgotten about this previous life... until he had told me. Then all of the memories rushed inside me. Saving you had felt... like I had finally fulfilled my goal." he explained.

"...Actually... now that I think of it, I do remember a handsome young man who had clothes not different than yours who had come to save me from him. I remember his beautiful deep voice... with that accent... it was your voice! Your voice was always so familiar to me...but I could never figure out where I heard it."

Phantom's face turned red from the complements. "P-princess, please stop flattering me..."

She giggled. "You haven't become any less handsome than you were as a human, you know."

Before Phantom could respond, she kissed him again. This time, on the lips.

The two kissed under the pale morning moonlight shimmering down into the room.

#tw blood #jawaiis cheesy fics #a girl and a ghost #jawaii #phantom x peach #phantomeach #phantom of the bwahpera #princess peach #king boo #mario #super mario #mario + rabbids kingdom battle #mario rabbids #mario + rabbids #fanfic #fanfiction

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half-bakedboy · 4 years ago

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i'm not bullet proof (when it comes to you) (read on ao3)

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: Teen Summary: Every instinct inside of him told him he needed to protect Buck. He was on the other side of the truck, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth proudly from heel to toe. Eddie had gotten out to go see him. Buck had complimented him, made Eddie blush until he had to walk away before he said something dumb. Buck was—

Where was Buck? Even though it was broad daylight in the middle of the city, not in the darkest hours of the Middle East, there was another gunshot, and he thought he heard Buck scream.

“Get down! Everyone down! Firefighter down!” A voice had shouted, but it wasn’t Buck. Where was Buck?

Speculation for Season 4 Episode 13: Suspicion (contains spoilers from the promo)

Eddie’s ears were ringing. He could hear the distant sounds of sirens but he didn’t remember turning them on when he had left the truck. He didn’t need to turn the sirens on because they had saved the little boy and the emergency was no longer that. They had done their job and everyone was safe and—

Gunshot. He thought he heard a gunshot, barely, too far away for it to fully register in his mind. He wasn’t sure at first if that was what the soft pop was because he was in L.A. He wasn’t overseas and he wasn’t in the line of enemy fire. He had rescued his team, dead and alive, and they had been flown to safety. They were back with their families and he was back with Christopher. He didn’t need to protect anyone in L.A.

Buck. Every instinct inside of him told him he needed to protect Buck. He was on the other side of the truck, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth proudly from heel to toe. Eddie had gotten out to go see him. Buck had complimented him, made Eddie blush until he had to walk away before he said something dumb. Buck was—

Where was Buck? Even though it was broad daylight in the middle of the city, not in the darkest hours of the Middle East, there was another gunshot, and he thought he heard Buck scream.

“Get down! Everyone down! Firefighter down!” A voice had shouted, but it wasn’t Buck. Where was Buck?

Eddie tried to move, but his body was on fire and there was a heavy weight pressed against his chest. He reached to push it away, but his hand only swatted through the air. What was holding him down? He ran his fingers up his chest and along his neck, knowing before he could even pull them into view that they were covered in blood. His mind was fuzzy, his vision foggier than he remembered it to be, and when he tried to call out for help, no pleas left his scratchy throat.

Gunshot. Buck. Firefighter down.

He turned his head away from where the sun was glaring down at him, focusing on the familiar redness of the firetruck and hoping it would calm his rapidly beating heart. His eyes drifted from the window, shattered from what he could only assume was a missed bullet, down to the silver metal that spanned across the front of the truck. His mind clouded while he stared at the bumper and he couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping to the cement that was covered in blood. His blood, if he had to guess.

Underneath the truck, he could see Buck. He was lying on his stomach, a hand covering the back of his head while he reached out frantically, clawing at the clean cement in front of him. Eddie could see his lips moving, the way his eyebrows creased in panic and his eyes widened in fear, the redness of his face mixed with the splatter of blood on his neck.

Buck was hurt and Eddie had to get to him. He tried to move but he couldn’t. How could he protect Buck if he couldn’t move?

Then Buck was crawling toward him and Eddie held his hand out, fingers reaching for solace in his best friend’s. Buck was getting closer, dragging himself across the pavement, underneath the truck like a shield. A bullet clanged above Eddie’s head, destroying the perfectly polished metal and sending shards of it flying in every direction. Buck was covering his head again and that was good. That meant he could be safe. He had stopped moving which meant he wouldn’t be in the line of fire.

Eddie had to protect Buck, save Buck, make sure that Buck was okay. That was his only priority.

“Back,” Eddie choked out as Buck tried to move toward him again. “Stay back!” Eddie yelled as best he could. The intensity of his words caused his mouth to sour with the taste of blood and he knew that wasn’t a good sign. He coughed, trying to clear his throat of the pesky liquid that stopped him from warning Buck away and spat on the pavement beside him.

“Let me help you!” Buck screamed. The terror was clear in his voice and it did nothing to lessen the worry that continued to flood through Eddie.

He wasn’t sure if he could feel his legs. He could see his toes wiggling and his fingers trembled from where they stretched out for Buck again, but he had gone numb. Numb wasn’t good. Numb was far from what he should be.

He vaguely registered the hand around his wrist before he was being pulled underneath the truck and tucked firmly against Buck. The move jerked him out of the black hole his mind had pulled him into for protection against the worst pain he had ever felt that blasted through his core. He screamed in agony and he was sure the wetness of his face was from tears of misery. He thrashed and tried to sit up until he realized that only made it worse and Buck slid an arm across his chest to keep him steady. The solid weight was welcome and when focused enough, he could feel the warmth of Buck surrounding him.

He was safe so he let his eyes drift close, the noise around him deafening until everything went silent.

__________________________

“Stay with me, Eds, stay with me. Hey, that’s it. Open your eyes for me.” He awoke to Buck’s voice.

He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep or why his head was pounding or why he couldn’t move his body. He was strapped down to what he assumed was a backboard with Buck straddling his waist, his hands pressed to Eddie’s chest, their placement instantly recognizable. That and the way Buck huffed above him meant that Buck had just given him CPR - which meant that Buck had probably started his heart again.

He also realized that the pain surging through his abdomen was from the broken ribs Buck would have inevitably given him. He blinked rapidly, trying to take in his surroundings, his mind trying to puzzle the pieces of the last few minutes together. They were still outside the same building, the firetruck glowing brightly beside them. There was still blood on the pavement in more spots than he remembered, but people in uniforms of all kinds were stomping through it.

“Buck,” Eddie tried to say through the burn in his throat, gathering the strength he could muster to grip Buck’s bicep weakly.

“Hey, don’t talk,” Buck instructed. He must have seen Eddie’s confusion and panic because he moved his hands to cup Eddie’s face, leaning a little closer so they could focus on each other. “We almost lost you there for a minute. Don’t scare me like that, okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You got shot, but I’m sure you’ve already figured that out. We don’t know what happened. One second things were fine and the next—”

Buck was babbling, a symptom of his fear, Eddie guess, so he choked out, “You okay?” He rested his hand on the blood dripping down Buck’s neck, lamely attempting to check him for injury through his own anguish.

“What did I tell you about talking. We just got your neck all bandaged up, okay? So you have to stop talking,” Buck pleaded. “Now I know how you feel around me, huh?” Buck teased but the joke was lost in the fear so prominent in Buck’s eyes as he leaned into Eddie’s touch. Eddie’s arm dropped down again because he couldn’t hold it up any longer.

“I—“ Eddie began but then he felt like he was drowning.

Why was he so weak? How bad was it? How could he make Buck look less destroyed at that moment? Was Buck going to be okay? Would he be okay?

His mind reeled with questions, all of them thwarted by the hot liquid filling his throat. He ignored the fact it was probably blood, turning his head abruptly to spit onto the already bloodstained pavement beside him. He could feel his heart slow from where Buck’s pressed against it and his lungs didn’t seem to want to take in the air he inhaled.

“Eddie, please, just stay still. Stop talking, stop moving, stop— No, no, no!” Buck shouted, “You’ve gotta stay awake, okay? You have to stay alive, Eddie. You just saved that little boy and Christopher is going to be so proud of you, just like we are.”

Eddie was safe with Buck above him, so he allowed his eyes to start drifting closed again.

Buck begged and pleaded, but Eddie couldn’t take the pain anymore. His mind hazed even as Buck pressed his lips to his forehead and whispered, “Stay alive for me.”

Eddie wasn’t sure that he could, but for Buck, he would try.

__________________________

There were flashes of bright lights. The sounds of electricity crackling above him. The smell of blood and iodine. The metallic taste he wasn’t sure would ever leave his mouth. He couldn’t feel his fingers, his body still numb, but his awareness of his other senses comforted him. He was hurt, that much he could feel, and if he had to guess, he would open his eyes and be in a hospital room.

Where was Buck?

He couldn’t get the question out of his mind. He had asked it too many times to count. Where was Buck? Was he okay? He had blood on his neck from what Eddie could briefly recall. Was he hurt? Did he get help or did he just help Eddie? Was anyone else hurt? What the hell happened?

“Hey, you gotta calm down, Mr. Diaz. Your heart rate shouldn’t be this elevated so soon after surgery,” a soft voice comforted. Eddie took a deep breath, ignoring the way his entire body burned at the subtle movement of his chest, and finally focused on the nurse beside him.

“Buck—”

“Mr. Buckley is fine. He’s been asking about you every 15 minutes since you got here and annoying most of my coworkers, but he’s okay. We told him the same thing of you, but neither of you are good listeners, are you?” She said and Eddie knew he didn’t have to answer. “You two are quite the talk of the hospital,” she noted conversationally as she checked Eddie’s vitals. He gulped dryly, thankful when she gave him a small cup of water.

“What happened?” Eddie asked. He had more questions, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy to ask them let alone wait for their answer.

“We don’t know, honey. You were shot, that’s all the information I have. I’m sure that intimidating sergeant out there will have more for you when she comes in,” the nurse explained, patting the back of Eddie’s hand softly. He knew she must have been referring to Athena and he instantly felt better that Buck had someone out there with him.

“Can he—?” He couldn’t even finish his question, suddenly hit with an onslaught of fatigue from whatever the nurse had given him for the pain. She patted his uninjured shoulder and nodded.

“He’ll be in here when you wake up,” she said and the prospect of opening his eyes to Buck was enough reassurance for him to drift off again.

__________________________

“Yeah, Bobby, he’s already been up once… Christopher’s with Pepa. I let him know what was going on and he wanted to be here, but I convinced him to wait another day… I know, I know. He’s okay, I know.”

Eddie could hear Buck’s voice as he slowly pushed himself out of the cloud surrounding his mind.

“He almost wasn’t, Bobby, and I—” A long sigh left Buck’s lips and he brought Eddie’s hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of it as it was the most normal thing in the world. Eddie cleared his throat to speak and Buck whispered, “He’s up, I gotta— Yeah, I’ll tell him. You, too, Cap.”

“Bu—“ He couldn’t even get the name out before Buck made a noise somewhere between a laugh and sob that had panic arising in Eddie. “You’re okay?” Eddie asked because even staring at the man beside him wasn’t enough for him to believe it. He tried to pull his hand away to inspect Buck’s bandages on, but he couldn’t even try to remove his hand from Buck’s grip.

“I’m okay, but only because you’re okay,” Buck explained, kissing Eddie’s skin once more. “You know, I’ve decided that the only thing worse than almost dying is thinking you are dead,” Buck began, holding Eddie’s hand to his chest as tightly as he could. “This is the second time I’ve thought you were dead and honestly, one time was too many.”

“I’m good,” Eddie choked out. He was still struggling to speak, his vocal cords much weaker than he had ever remembered them being. He used his unoccupied hand to reach up to his shoulder where he had felt blood back when he was laying on the street, but Buck swatted it away as if protecting him.

“Bullet went through your shoulder. Sent a chip of your collarbone into your neck. It just missed your carotid but did a number on your vocal cords. The sniper must have thought they were shooting me,” Buck teased and Eddie shot him a look that he hoped warned Buck away from any ridiculous notion that he should’ve been the one to get hurt.

It already pained Eddie to know Buck had to be the one to keep him alive.

“Idiot,” he said with affection before he added, “thank you.”

“For nothing,” Buck responded quickly. “I would have thrown myself in front of you if it meant saving you, Eddie, you know that,” Buck noted and Eddie knew just how true that was. Eddie remembered Buck crawling toward him, putting himself in the crossfire of still flying bullets even after Eddie warned him away.

“Stop doing that,” Eddie pleaded, but Buck shook his head in response.

“If one thing became abundantly clear to me today, Eds, it’s that I will never stop putting you first. Seeing you lying there--” Buck shook his head and Eddie squeezed his hand to urge him to continue, “--it’s like you’ve always been just out of my reach and I don’t want that anymore. I can’t do that anymore.”

The implication of the words wasn’t lost on Eddie. They had been dancing around each other for weeks, months, maybe even years if Eddie thought about it. It was obvious to everyone around them, including themselves, that their relationship wasn’t as simple as coworkers, best friends, or partners. There had been an unwritten line between them that neither was willing to cross, both too scared for the future and what it could mean, what it could damage.

The admission shocked Eddie more than the bullet had. He had always thought that Buck would never be the one to fully cross over, always allowing Eddie to be the one to control the ease and direction of their relationship, so to hear him erase the last of that nearly invisible line had his heart soaring.

“I don’t—“ Eddie coughed, burning pain rising through his entire body as he struggled for air. He could hear Buck calling for a nurse and felt their hands separating but he wouldn’t allow it. He pulled Buck back because he couldn’t allow him to move away again and risk him backpedaling his words. “I don’t want that either,” Eddie said through bated breaths as the same nurse from before pumped him with new medications. He sent her a grateful smile and her eyes shined back as she watched the two of them. Everyone always looked at them like that and for the first time, Eddie knew what they saw.

“Well, good. I’m glad we’ve, uh, cleared that up?” Buck squinted, his eyebrows furrowing as if he was still confused, and Eddie reached up to stroke the side of his face where the skin around his eyes had crinkled.

“We’ll talk,” Eddie promised, his hand falling only to be caught by Buck who entwined their fingers and brought them to his mouth again. He nodded before resting his head on Eddie’s lap, cradling Eddie’s hand against his chest as he let his own eyes fall shut. It couldn’t have been comfortable but he figured he wouldn’t be able to send Buck home even if he tried, and he wasn’t about to try. Instead, Eddie rested his other hand in Buck’s hair and gazed down at him until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Buck was there. He was mostly uninjured and holding onto Eddie as if nothing would ever make him let go.

Buck was safe, so Eddie was, too.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #911 #911 on fox #911 speculation #speculation #but i really want it to be real ajskldf;asd #my writing

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kaitoujokerscans · 3 years ago

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The Night the Silver Cape is Set Ablaze CH3

<3> Noir Strikes!

The violent tremor made Hachi and Hosshi shriek.

"Eeek!"

"Hosshi!"

"W-Whawazzat!? Is Spade back!?" Joker looked up. The middle of the Sky Joker was a giant gas-filled sac called an envelope, and it was sandwiched top and bottom by the airframe. Joker and the rest were in the lower part, whereas the tremor had come from the upper part. The two people and one pet ran through the hallway up into the upper gondola. The collection room for less recent treasures was up there. All their spoils of victory were organized compactly in it.

"Joker-san, over there!" Hachi pointed to a gaping hole in the ceiling. The obvious assumption was that someone had blasted it open.

"..." Joker put himself on guard. He slowly surveyed the room, and just then, he caught a glimpse of a fluttering cape.

"Who's there!"

He could see the silhouette illuminated by the light of the moon. A long cape draped behind his lanky body, and a large silk hat covered his head. He looked familiar — seeing him, Joker shouted out abruptly. "Master!"

Yes, he looked exactly like Joker's master, Silver Heart. But then the moon's light shone over the man's face.

"Wha...!" Joker's expression froze up. That wasn't Silver Heart...!

The man's round spectacles glinted. Behind them, callous eyes quietly regarded Joker. As the moon's light gradually shifted, the man could be discerned better. He wore the same hat and double-breasted suit as Silver Heart, but their colors were the exact opposite. Gold buttons shimmered on his jet-black suit, and his black hat was emblazoned with a golden letter "N".

"Greetings, Phantom Thief Joker..." came a low, monotone voice. The wind should have been roaring from outside, yet the man's words reached the pair's ears calmly and clearly.

"My name is Noir. I'm certain my advance notice found its way to you..." It was evident from the man's voice that he was much older. The voice that streamed out of his seasoned throat flowed forth with gravitas.

His voice had a strange ring to it. It left no impression, as if you would forget about it if he weren't standing right there.

"..." Joker noticed that his usual lackadaisical attitude had gone. What is this feeling...? Joker's instincts were telling him that the man in front of him was dangerous. Regardless, he plucked himself up and spoke like normal.

"I've been waiting, Phantom Thief Noir. Looks like you're after my treasure." The corners of Joker's mouth were raised, but his smile was stiff.

"That is correct. My intel tells me that those terming themselves 'phantom thieves' must send out advance notice..." said Noir deliberately.

Joker responded loudly, as if he were trying to shake off his nerves. "Obviously that's what phantom thieves do! That's what my master taught me!"

"Your master... is that so, heh heh heh..." Noir chuckled. His strange laughter was unsettling to Joker. "And your master's name is...?" asked Noir. He sounded as if he were asking a question to which he already knew the answer.

"My master... is the Silver Magician, Silver Heart!"

"Heh heh heh... As I thought..." Noir leered, his eyes glimmering eerily. "Then as announced, I will take your treasure...!" Noir lifted a hand high and snapped his fingers. Then immediately, BOOM! BOOM! — a series of explosions roared, blasting off the Sky Joker's entire roof.

"Wha-!?"

"What just happened!?"

"Hosshi!?"

Above them was the expanse of night sky. A fierce wind buffeted Joker. Then Noir stuck up one index finger and said to Joker:

"One minute."

"Huh?"

"Shield the treasure from me for one minute. If you can protect it for a full minute, I will accept defeat and leave here."

"You what..." Joker glared at Noir.

"Joker-san!"

"Don't worry, Hachi. A minute'll be over in no time." Joker may have been acting flippant, but he expected this to be a tough match. As someone who lived in a world where every second mattered — and even shorter intervals too — Joker knew best how long a minute could drag out for. And there was one other thing...

Joker heard a voice inside his head. Shield the treasure from me for one minute. Joker had heard this phrase before. It was probably back when...

"The count's already begun!"

Noir's shout cut off Joker's train of thought. He threw up his cards to block Noir's attack. Noir, tall in stature, had swung a knife. Masterfully wielding the short blade, he beat down upon Joker.

Joker blocked the knife blade frantically. The strikes were hardly swift. Nonetheless, he would quite plainly be injured if he didn't guard against them. Noir's blade was honed in on Joker that precisely.

"Rrgh! Rrghhh...!"

"What's the matter, Joker? Your pocket's unguarded! I can pilfer the crystal from it at any time!"

"!?" Joker took a giant leap back, flipping in midair before landing. He had found out that the gem was in his breast pocket. Joker softly patted over the pocket. He could feel the crystal. It hadn't been taken yet...

He's toying with me...!

Joker's competitive spirit was ignited. He fanned his cards out and yelled. "Straight Flash!"

The cards shone with blinding light, and Noir raised a hand to his eyes. While he was still immobile, Joker jumped back towards Noir.

You can't win just by defending! No matter how far back you're pushed, going on the offensive will open a path to victory!

Remembering what Silver Heart had told him long ago, Joker charged towards Noir. If he could just make him drop his knife by using his cards, he wouldn't be able to attack any more.

"Hiiyah!"

It was just as his cards had caught the knife. Joker saw a suspicious glint in his field of view. Oh shoot...!

Joker scrambled to twist his body while off the ground. As he did, he felt a sharp knife whizz right past his nose. Had he noticed the glint any later, the blade would most likely have cut into his face.

But how... He shouldn't be able to see right now!

It was then that a heavy impact rocked through Joker's body.

Noir's knee had caught Joker in the stomach. Massive pain pervaded his body, and Joker could no longer breathe. Then he felt his lapel being grabbed at. As soon as he processed this, Joker's body was tossed into the air. Noir had sent Joker flying with a model shoulder throw. Joker's scrawny body hit the floor like a rag doll.

"GWHAAAAAH!" Joker let out an incoherent howl. His whole body was in agony.

"Joker-san!"

"Ghh... I'm... okay, Hachi..." The falling position he had taken just before hitting the floor had done its job. He didn't have any bone damage, at least. Joker got up wobblily and scowled at Noir. When he did, he saw that the spectacles Noir had over his eyes had been replaced with sunglasses.

"When did you...!?"

The sunglasses had blocked the light and rendered Straight Flash ineffective. Noir then touched the end piece of his sunglasses and turned a tiny knob. The tinted sunglasses instantaneously changed back into the same transparent spectacles they had been before.

"W-What are those!?" Hachi exclaimed in surprise.

"...Polarized lenses, eh."

"That's correct, Joker-kun."

Polarized lenses have a special coating that prevent light from coming in from anywhere but one specific direction. If two polarized lenses were aligned in the same direction, they would appear at first glance to be normal lenses, but by changing their orientation, light wouldn't pass through and the lenses would turn dark like sunglasses. They are much like the light shade plates used when looking at the sun.

"You predicted my attack...?"

"Hardly a remarkable feat. I only imagined how my opponent would attack two or three steps ahead. Then I changed danger into an opportunity. According to my intel, this is the basics of being a phantom thief. I'm sure you're aware of this...?"

"Ghh..." Joker bit his lip in frustration. Master said this too. How does he know Master's teachings...? His attacks were being read like a book. This was the first time he had faced such a formidable opponent.

But...

Joker's spirit hadn't been broken yet. He could still feel the crystal against his chest. The pocket that Joker had the crystal in was bifold. Just sticking your hand in wasn't enough to pry out anything. You had to put your hand in all the way and under another layer of cloth to get at whatever what was inside. Noir probably hadn't been able to get his hand all the way in there.

"But it looks like I still won. I protected the treasure for a full minute...!"

"..." Noir stared at Joker silently.

"What's wrong? Aren't you the one who said the match would only last a minute, gramps?"

Then Noir laughed derisively — at himself. "Hmph, it seems I'm slower than I once was... It took more time than anticipated to snatch the crystal from that second inner pocket of yours," Noir said, and waved his hand. Almost like magic, a bright red crystal ball shone in Noir's fingers.

"T-That's...!" Bewildered, Joker put a hand to his lapel. There was a hard sensation.

How...!? In a panic, he probed inside the pocket and removed the crystal — but the thing he pulled out was no gem. It was a rock about the same size as the crystal. The rock was hefty and sank in Joker's palm.

"When did you...!?"

"Just after I mentioned your pocket to you. I deliberately set you on edge, only for you to be relieved moments later. That relief was the key. You could say you dropped your guard. When you let down your guard, used the shining cards, and approached me, that was when I took it. Slowly, with these deteriorating hands..."

"......" Wordlessly, Joker sank to his knees. I didn't notice at all...

Noir had gotten his hand into Joker's pocket, removed the crystal, and to top it all off, he had even planted a dummy. Joker had utterly lost...

"Now then, I will leave with the treasure. You're fairly clever. Your aptitude is wasted as a phantom thief." Noir's words pierced right through Joker. "According to my intel, you were least skilled at 'protecting treasure for one minute' drills."

"What...?"

The one who had told him to "shield the treasure from me for one minute" during his training had been none other than Joker's master, Silver Heart. What Noir had proposed was exactly the same as his master's training.

"...Do you know Master?"

"Yes, far better than you do. He was quite a talented man. Yet a talented master will not necessarily have talented disciples..."

"'Scuse me!?"

"Farewell, Phantom Thief Joker!" Noir twirled his black cape. It was such a dark, obscure black that it was as if the stars around him had vanished. The cape wrapped around him with a fwoosh, and an instant later, Noir was gone.

In the darkness of the blustery night, Joker, Hachi, and Hosshi stood idle, staring stupefied at the empty void.

#kaitou joker #light novel

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nosebleedclub · 4 years ago

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The Dark Suburb

((Posting again because the original post on June 11th, 2017 6:09pm is no longer available due to me deleting and re-making this blog.))

This is a compilation post of Nosebleed Club prompts from 2015-16 revolving around the concept of “the dark suburb.”

Family Melodrama

something is wearing your mother

oh god his intestines strung up on the christmas tree

your dog’s body all over the house

banging on cellar doors

a creaking sound in your dead sister’s bedroom

warriors with spears and shields painted on the dining room ceiling of a violent family’s mansion

a woman in an expensive coat and an expensive car headed to her nephew’s funeral

coming home to a completely alien mother

getting a doberman on christmas morning that won’t let you leave the house

the reason your parents fled the city to live in the suburbs

summers in palermo where your father was looking for something

mother’s breakdown in the supermarket

the supernatural car you and your twin got for your 16th birthday

parents strangely and deeply interested in the boyfriend you brought home

a mom urging her son to quit basketball; she senses something is not right

all the holes - dozens of them - your mother dug in your backyard

grandparents hiding the reason your parents are away during your winter holiday break

your best friend doesn’t want to go to your house anymore

grandpa’s ghost followed us into the new house

dad hates her bc she killed her twin in the womb and then her mother

Do I Love You?

your boyfriend’s basketball shorts, his boy-aroma, his ghost between your legs when you watch the video of his last game

girls kissing in a gas station convenience store and a third recording them on snapchat

the boy you like drawing flowers on your ap biology practice test when you switch tests with him to grade

walking across a supermarket parking lot by yourself thinking of a boy you love

red mouth

girlfriend scrubbing the blood off her arms in the bathtub

in a tiny white house in florida, sitting on a beer-can-covered counter, legs spread apart, a boy between them

in a drug-induced haze i left home for his semi truck

he never fucked me without his ski mask on

a girl and a girl and claw marks on the door“don’t ever take me back”

The Occult

the incantation that annihilated a whole suburb

a body that drags other bodies into an oven

the witches gathering in the red lake

inhuman sacrifice

dogs gathered at the edge of town refusing to cross the boundary to the outside

a 10 year old girl with memories of a serial killing spree that occurred when her parents were children

white shirts hanging on branches all over the woods

the town of three-eyed children

arrows raining down on a soccer field

feeding time

mysterious scratch marks on your back

a fairy ring in the field where your sister disappeared

Crimes

just throw it in the back

snap!

we found the body but not the head

clearing in the forest where police found a blessed severed head

jar of baby teeth as evidence

children dressed as angels at the crime scene

seeing a face you thought you buried ten years ago at the supermarket

half a fraternity frozen under a lake

fbi agents rolling into a tiny town in appalachia

a severed arm among the hydrangeas

young men howling on the bridge one year after the murder

police cars prowling through your neighborhood, one after another - watching this from your bedroom window

Teen Dream

getting whipped by a towel in the locker room

best friend making the varsity tennis team

taking a shot of vodka in the bathroom after second period

boy gets a boner during gym class

“i’ll be like helicase i’ll unzip them genes (jeans)”

drunkenly reciting the quadratic equation

fear-mongering homecoming queen

track star died in a car accident

dead bodies photography club

“sorry i fucked up here’s some ice cream” “i’m lactose intolerant you douche”

article about demonic possession in the school newspaper

last pool party before summer ends & her hand on your thigh in your dad’s sports car

the first day back from summer vacation & someone in your friend group brings the whole #squad starbucks

a bonfire, lana del rey & drake blasting, the moon

weekend road trips to the ocean

walking around on the track alone, contemplating some philosophical concept you read about on tumblr the night before

coming out to someone completely random - a junior varsity basketball player

the last homecoming dance

lying on the track at your high school after sunset

getting picked up really early in the morning to go on a spontaneous weekend road trip

the sunday after the homecoming dance where you’re kinda tired kinda still energetic from the night before

inside a fast food restaurant drinking milkshakes eating fries until it closes

chill basement party where there’s white balloons gold confetti / glitter two girls who love each other kissing

sitting in the backseat your parents occupying the front of the car you look out the window you see the rural countryside crawl by

pool pizza party at night simple pleasures like that

on the bleachers during a powderpuff football game

sweating so much you might as well have been swimming it would be embarrassing but all the other boys are sweaty too

lost in the suburbs at like 5am and the world is still pale blue

lost in the city at 5pm the sun sinks its head behind skyscrapers

fights on the lawn of an all boys private school

applying makeup the morning after a breakup

huge friend group made up of oracles + boys’ swim team + legendary heroes + valedictorian

aesthetic blogging on a sunday afternoon just chillin in your bedroom

feeling like you could be something big if you work hard enough at it

getting psychoanalyzed by your teachers and parents and extended family

school bathroom pale blue tiles

a dream with damien hirst-esque elements

sleepover at your friend’s villa and you’re the only one awake

looking out at a black sea from your dead cousin’s bedroom window, seeing a light in the distance

funeral mass

chill that runs down your friends’ spines when you enter the classroom the morning after they tried to kill you

the sickness that spreads through the high school

sometimes i was a body in a dump sometimes i was a saint

he said he’d snapchat my burning body to all his friends

my body was evidence she was trying to get rid of

poison disguised as an eighteen year old

a world war between us

$$$

first: “super rich kids” by frank ocean

fast cars flecked with blood

girls who know you won’t be prosecuted if you’re young and rich and pretty enough

snapchat of a boy with red eyes and a glass of dom perignon with the text IS MY LIFE FUCKING REAL

snapchat of a girl’s dad’s black amex with the words MONEY CAN’T BUY HAPPINESS BUT IT GETS CLOSE

taking your middle-class friends out to nice restaurants but knowing they’re with you mainly for the money

“dude i know you’re only a year older than me but sometimes i think of you as my sugar daddy”

traveling to punta del este to find yourself but losing yourself instead

identifying heavily with the versace logo

an imperial bedroom and all one feels is the weight of all that empty space

“even my funeral has to be luxurious”

Hometown Visions

three dead owls on the side of the road

trees bare, houses barren

lanterns lit up on the dirt road at night

moths in a forgotten shed

a dusty old attic filled with dead rats and flies

seeing half your face in a splintered mirror. washing machine making dangerous sounds

midwest: watching a tornado funnel form from a window that won’t shut all the way

grass in the yard growing tall

girls carrying stray cats home

a cellar door swinging open and a man you never wanted to see ever again stepping through it, into the light

snake skins and insect carapaces organized on a torn mattress

a lovely place god abandoned

bat-filled house at the end of the street

a girl crawling out of a burning car

birds in jars

Hide & Seek

not being able to find anyone in a dark forest because they actually left you and it was just a cruel prank

person seeking you is something much worse than what you thought they were

being trapped in your hiding space & no one can find you no matter how loud you call for help

hiding in your friend’s house and finding evidence of a vile crime their parents committed

finding half of your friend

#prompts #nosebleedclub #from the nosebleedclub archive #dark suburb

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years ago

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Code: Light

Part of my Series based on the in game dungeons lol. Just for fun.

In fact… there was a boy who lived here… 20 years ago…

The words echoed in Lu Mingfei’s mind as he looked over the rundown landscape in front of him. He was sitting on a dirty pillow on a broken, rotted out porch, rain pouring down on his head through the holes in the overhang. Spiders skittered about and made him pull his feet in. In front of him was a table of rice, vegetables and tea. Outside the porch was a small garden with a pond, green and overgrown with algae. It was pouring down rain as it had been all day. The pond was at capacity and it would soon overflow its banks. From the gloomy surroundings, frogs creeled out a constant serenade.

He was led there by a woman, an elder in that particular village, who had first reported what turned out to be dragon activity in this small town. Lu Mingfei, Chu Zihang, and Caesar Gattuso were called to investigate. According to the report on the dossier, a young child in a red coat, carrying a red balloon could be seen standing at the edge of the village. His face was impossible to make out. Japanese towns could be full of local ghost tales, but this one occurred with disturbing regularity. EVA, the Cassell Supercomputer then detected an elemental anomaly. Plants seemed to be growing at such an incredible rate, that the rain clouds over this small area of Japan never seemed to stop. The rain would fall, the plants would soak it up and transpire the water again. It was as if the Amazon Rainforest took up residence in the far East.

After explaining about the child, the old woman took them out to that ramshackle ruin of a place. “If it’s that boy you’re seeking, why not try making him something to eat?”

Then she left.

“Guys I’m so over this ghost hunt. This is so creepy and the lower the sun gets the more I want to leave.” He said. He was wearing his usual combat suit, that skin tight but extremely durable wear that was close enough to the body to avoid catching on anything, but strong enough to withstand the cut of a knife. But was it ghost proof? Who was to say they wouldn’t get eaten by this ghost and the rice be left cold and moldy with no sign of them?

“Are you excited to be on an actual ghost hunt? It’s a shame that the ghost is a boy though.” Caesar sat smoking his cigar and looking out over the grey sheet of rain in front of him. He was dressed similarly, with his Desert Eagles at his side. Of course, he made a much more handsome figure in the muscle-hugging suit.

Lu Mingfei wanted to pull his hair out. “You’re engaged! Don’t lust after the dead you freak!”

Chu Zihang slid his sword part way out of his sheath to check his equipment. “There’s no such thing as the dead coming back to life, unless it’s a dragon. And dragons don’t really die. They just sleep until they can be reborn. What we’re looking for is not a real ghost… but something that has the properties of a dragon.”

“Ghost… dragon… whatever. Do we even know if it’s attracted to rice?”

“It’s not about the rice, Lu Mingfei, it’s the routine. If the boy had a family or cared for anyone at all, wouldn’t it miss sitting at a table with a family meal?” Caesar bit his cigar,

“And we’re supposed to be its family huh? Who are you? The mom?” Mingfei shot back.

“Well…” Caesar looked down at the food. “I cooked it.”

Lu Mingfei opened his mouth to say something else but Zihang suddenly tensed. His golden eyes stared into another pair of golden eyes. A boy in a red raincoat, stood at the edge of the mossy pond. He was holding a red balloon. Only those glowing eyes were visible under the red hood. It didn’t seem to have a face.

Lu Mingfei’s face went white and then grey with terror. He shook so hard his teeth chattered “G-ghost!”

A small child’s voice echoed clear despite the pounding rain. “Outsiders. I need your help. Come with me.”

The rain suddenly stopped but the sky grew darker, like a great shadow from something large coming over head. The air suddenly cooled. They were still in front of the table but the garden was replaced by sand. The sand was grooved in artistic circles, like an elegant Japanese rock garden. Looking around, they seemed to be in a ruined ancient village. The piece of land they were standing on was floating in mid air, like it had been torn from the earth. There was no sun. The way was lit by ominous paper lanterns that floated in place, painted with a red swirl pattern. In the distance an ancient Japanese castle tower rose out of the misty horizon.

Torii gates were seen floating in the grey, foggy surroundings. Most were shattered. They seemed frozen in the middle of being demolished, their broken pieces spraying at odd angles, their elegant cross bars tilted, but they never collapsed.

What was most noticeable about this place however, was the sudden sense of crushing sorrow. The feeling one got when they received some sort of horrible news. Like a loved one had just died. It hit Mingfei in the chest and took his breath away. “Guys. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to …” Mingfei eyes filled with tears. “What’s happening. I’m so scared.” He hugged his own arms and tried to stop the tears from falling. “We’ve got to get out!”

He turned to Chu Zihang who always knew what to do in times like this. But the man was frozen, his jaw tense and locked, staring at the ground in a trance, trying to control his out of control emotions. He was breathing fast and trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Apparently, sorrow drove Caesar Gattuso to action. He drew Dictator and pointed it up towards some broken stairs framed by a bright red Torii gate. Caesar suddenly roared. “This place sucks! Let’s get out of here as soon as we can. The only way out is up!”

His sudden yell seemed to break whatever emotional spell had been cast on the other two teammates. Lu Mingfei wiped his face. “What was that all about?”

“I’m not sure. Likely the owner of this place had a terrible life.” Chu Zihang said gravely. “I’ve heard of Longwei, the natural fear that dragons give off to other creatures, but I’ve never heard of a Dragon’s sorrow being projected like this.”

The stairs were floating over empty air, made of uneven, ancient grey limestone. There were dozens of stairs leading up into the ominous grey sky with broken Torii gates at intervals every twenty steps. Chu Zihang held up his hand to catch what appeared to be snow flying in the air. He sniffed at it. “Ash. Like something is burning. This must be some sort of Nibelungen. But I’ve never seen anything like it.” Chu Zihang said. “We should watch out. Where there’s a Nibelungen, there’s always…”

A sudden loud screeching interrupted him. A flock of bats the size of geese suddenly dislodged from under the stairs. A whole flock of them swept forward in a single black cloud mass. Lu Mingfei ducked his head as the claws and teeth scraped at him. “I hate this place already!”

Caesar drew his pistols and fired. The bats were flapping and tilting and whirling, but he just needed to aim for just a moment before shooting one out of the air without missing. Likewise, Chu Zihang quickly slashed once and twice, neatly severing their bodies in two without trouble.

“Bats are better than snakes!” Caesar yelled, reloading his Desert Eagles.

“At least Snakes don’t fly!” Lu Mingfei yelled.

As they climbed the stairs, they stayed back to the back, firing and slicing through the endless swarm of screaming bats. The sound of it was like a constant siren. Mingfei held his hands to his ears and allowed himself to be shielded by his two older students. He could hardly see anything between the endless assault of black bodies.

Caesar’s eyes glowed yellow. “There’s something big at the top of the stairs. That’s where they’re coming from!” He had sent out his Scythe Itachi and they returned with a huge heartbeat up ahead. “Chu Zihang, get rid of these things!”

“Get down.” Chu Zihang closed his eyes for just a moment and then an evil snarl emanated from his throat. Black waves of heat drove back the bats and then exploded outward into violent flames. The bats were instantly set alight and hundreds of burning bodies folded their wings and fell into the endless pit below. Lu Mingfei didn’t even want to think of what it meant to fall down into that grey void. Would he just continue to fall forever?

“Eugh…” Caesar pinched his nose to escape the smell of burning flesh and hair. “Good.” He said, reaching down at pulling Mingfei to his feet.

A loud roar shook the stairs and cracked them. Then the stairs started to crumble, starting from the bottom. If they didn’t hurry, they would be the ones falling. “Run! Run!” Caesar yelled.

Ahead of them was a large gap. The stairs were falling apart around them, coming to pieces, like the mortar that held them together suddenly lost all its strength. “We’ll have to jump it!”

It looked to be ten feet across over the nothingness. They’d never make a jump that far. But it was either try to jump or fall to their deaths anyway. Chu Zihang suddenly grabbed Lu Mingfei’s arm and without explanation took a leap and dragged him with him. For a moment, there was nothing but empty air under him. And then a sudden blast of heat and a loud boom! Chu Zihang used Royal Fire to blast himself over the gap, dragging the terrified Lu Mingfei the extra few feet needed. They landed and Lu Mingfei collapsed on shaky legs. “Are you out of your mind? You could have at least told me!” He gasped.

Chu Zihang looked at him with no expression. “You would have hesitated.”

Lu Mingfei froze. “I- n.- No…” Lu Mingfei looked away and then looked around. “Where’s Caesar?”

Caesar pulled himself up onto his arms. He was hanging from the ledge, having barely made the jump himself. He looked at Chu Zihang, annoyed. “Sure. Don’t mind me. I’ll just help myself up.”

His eyes suddenly widened at something behind Chu Zihang and Lu Mingfei. They turned around and saw a looming snake with a thick human-like torso and bulging human arms. It glared at them with yellow eyes shining from the skull of an ancient predator it wore as a mask. It brandished a spear as long as a car with a sharp bone tip.

#Dragon Raja #Chu Zihang #Caesar Gattuso #Lu Mingfei

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

Text

Loretta's First Lesson

Heart racing, she dropped the parasol and took the machete from where it had clattered onto the floor. She swung it up, high over her head, standing above two men locked in a deathly struggle.

The blade sliced through the air and hacked into the skull with much more ease than she expected, yet still sending painful shockwaves into her wrists with the impact, preceding how the blade slowed and stopped.

Squelching sounds accompanied its removal, yanked out of the wiry old man's head from whatever bone and brain matter gripped it tightly. The train's freight wagon rattled and shook rhythmically, the steam locomotive howled.

Pushing the dead man aside, the other man—whose life she had just saved—stared up at her. Though one eye focused on her, piercing and smoldering, the other—the dead eye—caught her attention for far longer: framed by a claw-torn scar and a milky-white iris where color should be. Their gazes met in that moment, and she cracked.

She turned and ran.

The doorway did not take her to the next train car, but into a dark room. A quiet place. A single cone of light shone down from a blinding little hole in the ceiling, bathing a small green statuette in its cone of illumination.

The fist-sized object sat on the obsidian floor before her, staring at her like the marshal. It looked hideous, like a small jade gargoyle hugging its own clawed legs, enveloped in its bat wings, and with what looked like tentacles where a mouth should be.

It whispered incomprehensibly. Words that pierced her thoughts and she understood instinctively without knowing the language.

Take me, it pleaded. Take me and run far away. Take me to where I belong.

Take me to where you belong.

She knelt by the little statuette and her trembling hand reached out. Instead of a cool surface, it felt hot and silky, like living skin. It had a pulse.

She awoke. Snapped right out of her nightmare, startling awake where she sat in the train, as it rhythmically rumbled and rolled and shook, heading down the tracks from Dead End to Louisville.

Loretta Charlotte Brubaker had been running away from everything for a while now. She had run away from her overbearing and violent husband several days ago, traveling out west from the coast to escape that life with whatever money she had stolen from him.

She had abandoned the last vestige of that mental prison, having now even abandoned the last fancy dress to adorn her lithe figure, which she had still owned when she met the U.S. Marshal one day prior, on the train, on that fateful day.

Now, she was running from Dead End and that same U.S. Marshal. Some other purpose drove him, but she was not going to stick around and wait for him to find out about her and arrest her once he knew. She had seen wanted signs posted before, and always expected to see her name and face appear on one. Anytime now.

One mere night she had spent in that rugged frontier town, recovering from the shock of helping the marshal kill that crazy old man in the train car. The sound that accompanied her pulling that machete from his skull still haunted her. First time she ever killed man.

The marshal checked in on her on the eve of arrival, but she dismissed him immediately and had no interest in talking. A terrible nightmare arrived on the wings of her next slumber, and now it returned the moment she dozed away in the next train, right back out of town.

That very same day, she had abandoned her old clothing and started dressing as a man, drawing a driving cap deep over her brow to obscure her feminine facial features. A conductor already addressed her with "mister" when she boarded the train, which had left her both surprised—and feeling oddly comfortable. Maybe she could assume a man's identity to start her new life.

For now, one of the other passengers gawked at her with an arched brow from the seat across from her. Even though he looked pale and frail and unthreatening—hugging a heavy black bag and a pair of thick spectacles resting on his nose—she avoided eye contact once she recognized the curiosity inherent in his stare. Likely wondering about her gender.

The world outside the train's window trailed by. A beautiful landscape by any measure, the horizon comprised of a forest's thick canopy danced under the late morning sun. Thin white clouds streaked across a sky shaping up to be a deep blue, like the ocean.

Noticing how the monotony of that landscape rolling past them almost had a hypnotic effect, Loretta blinked and rubbed her tired eyes with a thumb and a finger alike. The nightmares had afforded her little rest and she was not inclined to experience another one by dozing off again.

She got up and took a stroll through the train, eventually stopping at an open window where she could stand and lean out. The cool breeze enveloping the moving train washed over her, sweet with the smell of steam that billowed out from the locomotive's stacks.

Although tears had once blurred her vision as a stranger consoled her after that harrowing experience of killing a man with her own two hands, it had all been so recent. The image of the world around her had etched itself into her memory, and she looked to the woodlands around her to see if she could spot any landmarks that caught her eye.

They were getting close to the place she sought. Her nightmares were guiding her. The statuette wanted her to find it. To take it. Whenever she closed her eyes, even in waking moments, she saw this object that she herself had never laid eyes upon. She knew without knowing that it once rested in that cargo car.

The one the marshal had decoupled and let loose from the end of the train, moments before it turned into a fireball with a deafening thunderclap.

Smooth and indestructible, the jade statuette had survived the blast somehow, untouched, sitting in the wreckage before greedy hands found it first and whisked it away. She had seen all this in her dreams.

In her nightmares, she saw many things. Many people. Sensed she needed to get that statuette before it stayed in wrong hands for too long. For what it might summon.

The patches of woodland narrowed around the tracks, beginning to resemble the region where the freight wagon exploded. The train tracks had been cleared, but she could spot scorched earth around them from afar.

It was time.

She returned to where she had left her satchel in the booth with the skinny, scholarly-looking man. He flashed Loretta a nervous smile but then immediately avoided eye contact like she had before. She ignored him and snagged her bag, shouldered it, and headed farther down the train, crossing through sets of doors, crossing from wagon to wagon through the connecting little bridges exposed to the air.

The new revolver in her satchel burned a hole into it. Out of the rest of her meager belongings and the money, it weighed the most, bobbing up and down as she walked, and making itself acutely felt with each of her steps.

Her heart began to race once she exited the final door, arriving behind the coal container of the train's locomotive engine. No more easy walking from here on out.

Loretta swallowed her fear as her eyes scanned the sides of the front. Stories of bandits taking over trains surfaced in her thoughts. Her mind's inner eye played back imagery of how she envisioned this to play out.

Grappling with thin handholds turned out to be scarier than she initially thought. The noise of the machinery churning the metal wheels drowned out everything else, though her own heart hammered against her rib cage like a drum. She held onto the side of the coal cart for her dear life, dreading what might happen if she fell off the side. She inched closer and closer towards the front, where a conductor managed the machinery, his back turned to her while he shoveled coal into the furnace, and oblivious of her slow but steady advance.

Gaining foothold in the conductor's front cabin, she paused to catch her breath and calm her nerves.

"What in the blazes do you think you're doin' here?" shouted the conductor at her. Either due to anger, or because of the deafening noise all around them.

The conductor had finally noticed her. He held a large wrench in his hands, clearly ready to use it like a club. Goggles hid his eyes and smears of grit and coal stained his cheeks, but his face was unmistakably contorted in anger. That mien changed instantly when she whipped out the pistol and shoved its muzzle into the skin under his chin.

"I need you to stop the train, now," she ordered him through gritted teeth, then repeating it in a shout, both for emphasis and so he could hear her clearly over the noise.

"W-woah, woah—slow d-d-down—alright," he stammered away.

As he backed away, his hands raised in surrender, she stretched her arm out straight and kept the gun trained on him.

"I have no quarrel with you," she said to reassure him. "Not stealing anything, either. I just wanna get off before we reach Louisville."

The locomotive howled and steel screeched as the train came to a halt. Holding him at gunpoint all the while, she observed carefully and believed she could operate a train herself now, if she put her mind to it. The realization that she was going to have to hike out of the woods around here once this train carried on only now started to dawn on her.

She had not thought this through.

Hopping down off the side, she maintained her aim on the man all the while.

"Alright. So long," she shouted up at the conductor.

She backed up and stumbled over a tree's root, tripping backwards. All that he and other passengers on the train must have seen, now leaning out of windows, and watching, was how the forest swallowed her whole.

Branches snapped and whipped at her as she walked into the woods. The train's howl pierced the air again, carrying on without Loretta. Once it had vanished down the winding tracks, she left the fringe of the forest again and doubled back.

She returned to the spot where the grass around the tracks had turned bald from scorching. Yellowed and dead. Scrap heaps of twisted metal littered the edges of the forest on both sides around the tracks, framed by where the fire had spread, but miraculously never managed to fully reach the tree lines.

Several people had cleared the tracks with tools and moved most of the wreckage out of the way so the train could safely pass again. Where flames and crushing weight had not ruined the lonesome patch of nature, shoes and men had trampled it down.

A singular set of human tracks left the site of the destroyed car, heading into the dark depths of the woods.

Loretta had always been drawn to the outdoors. Growing up with her family outside of Boston before they wed her off to that son of a bitch, Thomas Brubaker, she always felt more at home in the forest, anyway.

Knew all the tell-tale signs. The trails that people left behind. Broken twigs here and there, branches bent and caught upon others where a grown man had marched.

And way too deep into the woods for it to have been one of the laborers clearing out the tracks. Not just someone walking out there to relieve himself or get some peace and quiet, but someone who had emerged from the woods—and returned to them.

Loretta had heard many stories about things in the unclaimed, untamed wilds. Superstitions ran rampant even in her family, but owed to her childhood, she believed in none of them. Although she had sometimes heard strange things in the forest, she had never seen anything out of the ordinary, always felt at home in such places.

Here, she felt out of place. Felt watched.

But whenever she blinked, she saw that jade statuette before her inner eye. That awful little gargoyle, sitting in darkness, staring back at her. Beckoning her to retrieve it.

She watched back. Knew she had to find it.

So she marched, following the stranger's trails.

With no way to track the time, she could only guess that her wandering must have taken hours. Long enough for her to realize that she had come here ill-prepared, with no supplies. Though she knew how to find water, and had an inkling on what things she might eat and what she might avoid out here, the realization really set in.

The realization that she really had not thought this through.

Panic stayed at bay, but it trailed behind her only far enough that its little brother, fear, crept up on her. A revolver and some bullets were all she had. She feared less the thought of unnatural things that may dwell in such remote abodes of nature, and feared more of men, bereft of sanity, living out here alone.

For it was the trail of one such man that she followed into the woods while the sun began to set. Not a native, either, for he plodded along without any semblance of being in tune with his environment; an oaf who stumbled about like a fish out of water.

The chirping of birds made way to the chirping and buzzing of insects. The occasional snap of twigs nearby heralded the arrival and departure of woodland creatures, always just out of sight, avoiding her as much as she wanted to avoid them.

She froze. Stared into glistening, intelligent eyes. A deer stared back at her. Then the animal bolted, darting away between the trees with little sound and leaving only the stink of fear behind.

Loretta continued and twilight engulfed the forest. The canopy suffocated the last rays of light. But the glow of fire drew her. A camp in a not-so-far-distance awaited her, in the direction of the tracks she followed.

The statuette had to be there.

Soft voices reached her from that camp. Between small tents and around a bonfire, a little group of men spoke with a drawl, native to the white man settling in this region. Language she might understand once she snuck close enough to decipher the words.

They all wore white pointy hoods, roosting atop long white robes emblazoned with an odd cross each. Together, they performed some sort of ritual around the fire. Where she understood fragments of sentences here and there, she failed to comprehend whatever they chanted next. Something foreign that sent chills down her spine.

From her hiding place behind the mound of a massive, uprooted tree, she watched. They side-stepped around their bonfire, conducting their strange rite, their ringleader singing off-key in that awful tongue.

Then he held it up.

His meaty fingers clutched the green statuette, wrapped around it as he held it high above his head. Chanting that gibberish.

Loretta first deemed it nonsense, but it sounded too clear, too deliberate. Patterns that grated on her nerves, guttural and sharp sounds enunciated with enough precision to unsettle her.

She waited till they stopped.

"Now, brothers, we sleep," said the leader.

And she would wait longer, biding her time.

They shuffled about. One went to urinate in the woods, dangerously close, but blind to Loretta hiding nearby. One of them spat and ate something that made him chew a lot. They removed their hoods and none of them looked alike. Not a family; all possessing different hair colors and facial features. Some looked filthy, others cleanly. One splashed his face with murky water from a wide tub.

The leader removed his hood with one hand, still feverishly gripping the statuette in his other. Black rings lined his eyes, and his face was sullen. Haunted. He was first to disappear into one of the tents.

One by one, they all retired into their makeshift living quarters.

At the saloon, Loretta had heard that some of the locals of Dead End had driven the Klansmen out of town due to some recent incident. Paying no mind at the time, she now wondered why.

First time seeing the death cult in person, their entire presence and mannerisms left her with an uncomfortable sinking feeling in her gut. She stayed in hiding. She would wait until the right moment to strike. To get that statuette.

She rubbed dirt and soil between her hands and smeared it onto her face. Fearing her pale complexion might give her away once any of the Klansmen's eyes adjusted to the dark, she hoped to camouflage her skin somewhat. Gratitude greeted her at the thought that she had gotten rid of her fancier clothing with its bright whites and garish colors, knowing the muddy brown and black tones of her newly acquired attire served her well in this unexpected situation.

Whiling away the time, she waited like this, peeking over the edge of her hiding spot at the camp. The more she studied its layout and denizens, planning her approach and getaway, the more it became clear that these six men had not been living out here like this for long. Clothing and strips of game had been draped over racks, haphazardly fashioned out of branches and prone to draw vermin and disease.

Tubs and buckets, likely filled with what had to be stale or even unclean water from a pond or stream somewhere nearby, served them as supplies for drinking and washing. Two heavy chests stood outside, stacked in between the tents, and the one on top was packed to the brim with kitchen supplies and expensive-looking silverware.

And they all looked like "gentlemen"—for the lack of a better word. The clothing they sported underneath the stark white robes was too fancy for rugged folk who lived off the land, the figure on a few of them suggested a life of being well-fed by gilded spoons.

One of them loitered around by the campfire as the height of its flames waned. The hours dragged on and Loretta cautiously shifted her weight every now and then to prevent her own limbs from falling asleep. The only thing to keep her company were thoughts of the recent days—how her life had taken another drastic turn after already taking before that—and her fear of being discovered by these men.

Although her muscles screamed for oxygen, so much so did she force herself to breathe shallowly and quietly, she had no intention of leaving without the statuette. Every time she blinked, there it was, staring back at her. Admonishing her for taking this long. Whispering to her to claim it.

Deep down, she knew it to be in wrong hands here. It was the first time that she saw Klansmen up this close. Her family had taught her to stay away from them for their brutal ways, and these men before her eyes gave off an even worse impression. They lived out here, not like animals—more like parasites. Every one of them exuded an air of menace. Two of them especially moved like they owned the place, oozing unearned confidence and irreverence with their every motion.

One of them stirred in his tent and exited it, stumbling around in a drunken haze. He wandered away from the camp, finding a place between the trees, on the edge of the fire's glow—and too close to Loretta for comfort. There, he dropped his pants and groaned as diarrhea exploded out of his behind.

Loretta covered her mouth in disgust and squinted, trying not to watch the abhorrent spectacle, but unable to look away. He panted and groaned and eventually ripped off some leaves to wipe—from an ivy bound to give him a rash, no less, cementing her impression of a lack of outdoors savvy.

As if life itself conspired to sabotage her, and out of all the worst possible times for this to happen, Loretta's stomach growled. The man grunted and pulled his pants back up. She gritted her teeth and nestled against the dirt and roots nearby, hoping her clothing was dark enough to not be perceived.

Diarrhea man peered out into the darkness of the woods. The dancing flames cast just enough light to eerily outline his silhouette, but not enough to indicate where his gaze swept through the shadows, scanning, and looking for where a sound might have come from.

His stomach emitted a similar noise and he groaned again as he buckled his belt back up. He returned to the camp and Loretta waited several moments before she allowed herself to breathe again, ignoring the silent screaming within the walls of her tortured lungs.

The diarrhea man approached the watchman by the fire and murmured a few words in exchange with him. Diarrhea man waved a hand dismissively and hunkered down by the fire while the other retired into another tent.

Loretta waited yet longer, praying for the sickly watchman to fall asleep on the job. His eyelids drowsily dipped every now and then and she could watch his exhaustion quickly creeping up on him.

She would have to move fast. She produced the pistol again, cradling its cool grip in her palm, feeling gravity and the weight of its deadly charges join forces to drag her hand down.

Soon, she kept reassuring herself. Soon, he would slip into the dream realm and she could sneak in there, grab the ominous statuette, and sneak back out. She had no clue about where to go, but her thoughts returned to the marshal and Dead End. If she could make her way back there without stopping, she might be able to broker for the lawman's help or protection before the sun even rose.

Word traveled fast, but what were the odds of him having heard of her criminal background already? Impossible, she wagered. The marshal had at least made the appearance of genuinely being concerned about her safety and the well-being of the other people on the train they had arrived in Dead End on.

Not once did she stop to question why she felt compelled to retrieve the statuette from a wagon that he had decoupled from said train, detonating it with whatever had been on board back there.

Or how it survived the blast and the fire.

Diarrhea man's head slumped down, and his plump jawline wrinkled with fat. Loretta waited longer until she heard the sound of sawing wood erupt from his nose, and she let him snore away for several minutes before deciding that he had passed out.

With careful steps, she crept ever closer to the campsite, curving around the perimeter, and targeting the leader's tent. She only needed to get the statuette. In drawing closer, she now heard more snoring, sawing faintly from the other tents.

First, her muscles screamed, then her lungs, as she held her breath almost entirely again, ensuring she made no sound whatsoever. Paces away from the camp, a stench hit her nose, so foul that it almost made her knees buckle and nearly provoked her to retch. A strange smell of decay and death permeated the air.

How could these madmen tolerate this?

Her eyes darted up and down, to and fro, always carefully looking where she stepped, to not make any noise when she moved, and eyeing the single watchman and the tents while the sheer suspense painfully knotted her stomach.

With trembling fingers, she opened the tent flap and felt the statuette's presence. Almost there. Almost out of here.

Her eyes transfixed on it, she crawled inside the tent, prowling like a cat, quiet as the thief she was. The stench waned in power in here, perhaps attached to one of the other men outside or to something about their camp she had not yet discerned.

The leader had curled up into a fetal position, his back turned to her and most of his body covered in fuzzy blankets. The statuette lay on a fine little carpet of unusual beauty, sitting there and staring at her. Just like in the dream. The thin beam of light from the campfire, pouring in through the crack in between the tent flaps, landed on the small green object with uncanny symmetry.

She took it. Grabbed it. Just like in the dream—the nightmare—it felt warm and silky-smooth to the touch, like snakeskin. Not like what a small green stone object should feel like.

The leader's body spasmed, as if he had jolted awake from a dream of his own. Loretta froze and hoped he might not be awake enough to sense her presence. His head swiveled and his eyes burned into hers as they locked gazes.

His eyes carried the air of something hopeless. And something deeply troubled. The glint of campfire reflecting in them accompanied the flames of fury bubbling up, flaring up in his visage.

In a flash, she had gritted her teeth and jammed the revolver into his face with such force that she heard a sickening crack. Her imagination painted a future in which he cried out in pain and alerted the others.

Instead, he displayed no such pain, only rage. He screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Someone has come to take our treasure! Come! Come to me, brothers!"

In a split second, she knew she could not take him hostage to get out of here. In a snap decision, she shot him in the face. This did not silence him forever, instead leaving him in a helpless heap on the ground inside the tent in a growing pool of blood, orchestrated by gurgling sounds as he twitched and moaned in pain.

She tumbled back out of the tent, only to stare into the faces of three of the Klansmen. One of them held out a knife at her. The other balled his hands into fists, raising them to fight; and the third grabbed a small wood axe from the fire. The remaining two emerged from their tents, surprise written across their faces.

All of them stared at Loretta and her eyes darted back and forth between them, letting the aim down the sights of her smoking barrel follow her nervous gaze.

"Stay away, gents. I have enough bullets for every one of ya," she said.

Only problem was with how she delivered that threat. Her voice quaked more and more with every subsequent word until the last of the sentence died a croaking death in her throat.

And these men, well—they had murder in the eyes now.

The pistol cracked as she fired more shots, possibly missing here and there while backing away, but it was too late. They lunged at her, some of them were hit but did not go down yet, and the weapon clicked ineffectively after several pulls of the trigger.

The forest grounds cracked with breaking twigs and turf getting kicked up as she fled in a hopeless dash from the Klansmen's camp while they gave chase.

Loretta tripped, stumbled, and a hand grabbing her forearm slid down the length of it, yanking the spent pistol from her palm and causing her to tumble sideways through the bushes. She emitted a clipped yelp and then started screaming as three of the men converged on her.

She swung and flailed about but several hands grabbed hold of her and wrestled her down to the cold forest ground.

And that stench.

That awful stench, it had fully engulfed her. Made her eyes water, and her nostrils burn like fire.

They must have smelled it too, for their faces crinkled. But not enough to quell the anger. Loretta barely noticed that the other two had collapsed before they could give chase on her short and failed escape, but the remaining three were two too many for her to handle with an empty gun.

That's when she saw the eyes. Through the blur of her tears, despite her field of vision narrowing, they stared at her. Piercing, yet hollow. Yellow, but dead. Looming far above the three men on top of her, while they pushed her down.

Behind them. She almost wanted to warn them of it.

A face that vaguely resembled the face of an owl, opening its beak. Hungry.

Between the trees, she could barely see its slender frame and spindly limbs. Tall. Standing taller than any of the men, as tall as a house. Arms like twigs reached out, creeping up closer behind the men, who were fully engrossed in pinning her down and strangling the life from her.

Loretta thrashed even harder against their grip, tried to throw them off—wanted even more desperately to escape that thing behind them than the men themselves—but to no avail. A filthy hand pressed down over her mouth and she bit into it, but he held it there, muffling her screams. Screams of pure terror.

That owl-like face crept closer. Hands like thin knives sunk down, ever deeper, treacherously close to the men on top of Loretta. So busy were they with unleashing their vengeance upon her and uttering threats of things they intended to do to her that they failed to see where she was truly looking.

One of the men began to gurgle and shriek and violently convulse. Only with tremendous delay did the other two rear their heads and slowly notice what was happening.

Claws as long as swords had pierced the convulsing man's torso and blood dripped from their sharp tips where they emerged from his ruptured chest. When those claws vanished, withdrawing back inside of him, warm hot fluids sprayed out in every direction, showering Loretta and the other two men with buckets of blood.

The man's screams pierced the air, and the other two soon joined him. Violent yells of pain became a chorus of panic. One of the Klansmen stumbled away, crawling, and tripping, and eating dirt as he fell again before he could get back up on his feet to run away. The other rose to his full height, still dwarfed by the thin giant with the owl's face. Paralyzed with fear, his yells died in his mouth.

It grabbed him and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing.

Loretta screamed at the top of her lungs as she watched the creature wrench one of the man's arms from its socket, connected only by the wet threads of sinew and tendons from which more showers of blood exploded, splattering onto the dry forest grounds and onto the shrieking woman. Then the creature fully removed it, severing those fleshy threads.

Backing away, she crawled best she could through the dirt without averting her eyes from the creature, until a sharp pain shot through her skull: the result of bumping her head into a tree's trunk.

The third man did not get far. The thin giant needed barely move to lurch forward. Its arms could cross a street with how long they were, allowing it to sink its claws into the third man's chest with frightening ease. Gliding like a hot knife through butter.

The owl's beak opened, and a gleeful cackle escaped it, echoing through the woods like a thousand voices. A puff of smoke billowed out in its company and it began tearing the third man into ribbons. His screams took far too long to cease under the torturous dismemberment.

None of them would survive as the thin giant with the owl's head always cut them short from escaping, dragging them back into the shadows where they had piled onto Loretta, and removing limbs or piercing them with the blades of its fingers, all so freakishly gaunt that they looked dangerously close to snapping under pressure, yet displaying sheer strength that defied anything natural.

It raised a torn-off human arm to its beak and shoved twitching fingers inside. Instead of gorging itself fully on the digits, the sounds that followed resembled more suckling and slurping.

Loretta stopped screaming, terrified by how the giant seemingly ignored her, but fearing for her life as she knew that she only needed to draw its attention to suffer the same fate as the Klansmen.

As if on cue, it turned its head and stared at her through its dead eyes. The yellow in them did not glow, glassy and corpse-like, instead swallowed by the shadows of their sockets, barely visible save for the faint glow from the campfire reflecting in their corners.

The arm in its skinny claws shriveled up and desiccated before her eyes, blood stopped dripping from the severed stump, and the creature drained it of all life as it continued to stare at her.

The statuette. It was what had brought her here, and her quest was to remove it, come heaven or hell. Some part of her knew that if she could not let it stay in the hands of these men, then she sure as hell could not leave it with a monstrosity such as this.

Tears still blurred her vision and stung in the scratches upon her cheeks, but she had regained some composure. Desperation overrode the urge to scream.

She thrust her fist out at the monster, gripping that jade statuette in her hand, and holding in front of her like a holy cross being wielded to ward off a demon.

The owl-giant began to chew on the severed arm and the crunch of bone sounded almost like the snapping of twigs underneath Loretta, only wetter. More revolting.

It suddenly shoved the length of the human arm into its maw, offering a glimpse of rows of tiny sharp teeth clamping down on it. As it gorged itself upon the arm, it chewed, and crunched and swallowed.

And the thing grew even larger, looming over Loretta, rendering its thin limbs even more grotesque to behold. It closed in on her, not at all deterred by the jade statuette in her hand, slowly, but surely.

Her knuckles turned white as her grip upon the object tightened and her entire body quivered with dread.

The monster emitted another cackle, another chorus of tortured souls. And up close like this, its dead eyes betrayed something else.

Pure evil.

Ancient, all-knowing. Like it had watched mountains rise from the dirt, and oceans dry out, while sucking the marrow from the bones of giant beasts before they bleached under the eternal sun, and all turned to dust before man walked those plains.

It spoke. What at first sounded like hissing and snapping noises almost made sense. Formed patterns.

Like the words of the Klansmen's now-dead leader. A dead language, something alien. Something Loretta could not comprehend, invading her mind with every syllable, and feeling utterly wrong in its entirety.

The creature stopped closing in on her, but it snorted, and a gust of fog billowed out from its beak, like steam from the stacks on the locomotive, clouding her vision and enveloping Loretta in ghostly mist.

Through it, she saw those dead eyes surface, piercing the fog and staring into her soul.

Gravelly, growling, it spoke again. Unsettling all the while, like someone who tried to speak while inhaling. Yet each word poured out from it as slowly as tar, as it said, "You—you may leave."

The mist refused to dissipate, trapping her inside this suffocating tunnel of swirling fog. She felt incapable of tearing her gaze off the dreadful stare of this creature.

"W-why me?"

More cackling, like hundreds of voices and riding on the backs of muffled screams—including her own, mimicking her shouts of terror from mere moments ago—all echoing between the trees and causing the mist to roil.

"Why? You are as thin as I. And you have left me plenty upon which I may feast."

A thin blade pierced the fog. The tip of one of its fingers. It took Loretta moments to register the shape of its claws balled up, like a human hand forming a fist but pointing at the statuette with its index finger.

The bony tip, black and dripping with blood, it clicked as it connected with the green statuette.

"This is a thing of the deepest seas. It belongs not here. It belongs far away, to which you must take it," spoke the creature.

It withdrew its finger and had it not been for the pained sounds of a man sobbing in the vicinity, crying for his mother, then silence would have draped itself long enough over the creature and Loretta for her mind to race with a multitude of disjointed thoughts.

"Once you remove it from here, you return. Then, I teach. Then I teach you my ways," it said.

No—it commanded.

Where Loretta offered no response, her stomach growled in her place.

This elicited more cackles from the monster. Its face withdrew, swallowed by the unnatural bank of fog around them. The dead yellow of its eyes remained, and the overpowering stench of death faded.

"If you hunger, then find new feasts. This one—this one is mine to take from you, and yours to offer, little one," the thing spoke, reaching her ears in seven calm voices simultaneously.

The man's sobbing turned into a whimpering not unlike a dog's, then rose sharply into higher-pitched territories until a snapping sound turned him silent.

Loretta would not be warned twice.

Kicking up turf behind her as she fled through the forest, stumbling through patches of ivy, breaking through brushes, she refused to stop until she could see no light of a campfire anywhere.

Her lungs now on fire, her skin burning everywhere from myriads of scratches into which sweat had trickled, she finally dared to pause. She leaned against her knees to catch her breath, wheezing, and looking around in a persistent panic. The blood still rushed in her ears and the adrenaline still filled her every fiber.

She looked behind her, unclear on where she had gotten lost in the woods. If she continued to gain more distance from that… that thing… then she might live. She had to get out of this forest quickly. Back to Dead End.

The jade statuette in her hand throbbed. Only ever so briefly.

She lifted it to her face to peer at it through the veil of night, wondering how much more trouble this eerie object would get her into.

She tore her eyes off it and looked back in whatever direction she believed to have run from. She could see no thin giant, no owl's face, no yellow eyes. No strange mist that smelled like bad breath, no putrid odor that reeked of death.

Yet she felt watched. Like it continued to stalk her. Like the six dead men it could feast on would never sate its voracious appetite. Like she might be next if it only changed its mind.

Loretta continued her nightly odyssey. She wrapped her jacket more tightly around her and hugged herself, only now feeling the cold. Alone in the dark woods, she marched on. Always looking over her shoulder, wary of the thing out here, feeling like it followed only steps behind her. Looking up, to see if she could spot its ghastly outlines lurking between the trees.

The night would be long, and she would never stop until the sun rose. And even then, she would continue marching on, not taking a break until she had crossed the invisible borders between this merciless wilderness and re-entered the rugged frontier town.

For a moment, when her stomach growled, her mind flashed to the sight of those men being torn asunder, and to the sounds that revealed how the creature devoured them, piece by piece. She shook her head and perished those invasive thoughts. They fed on her hunger, unlike her own mind, feeding dark urges for her to sate herself upon human flesh so the hunger would subside.

She winced and forced those thoughts away. She had no intention of returning here whatsoever.

Never again.

Some part of her told herself—whispers aloud which she only noticed herself muttering to herself after the fact—that she need not pay heed to any words from such unnatural beings. That whatever lessons this thing may have offered to impart on her, that its every word was poison. She sensed it in her bones: this creature spoke treachery fluently.

Such ancient evils always did.

This was only the first of many lessons for Loretta to learn.

—Submitted by Wratts

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