#god what a terrible stage name

[setmeatopthepyre]

Third Act [ now also on Ao3]

They've just evacuated the last of the factory workers when Incident Command calls for total evacuation. Structural integrity can no longer be guaranteed, everybody out. Eddie, who has their patient's other arm draped over his shoulders as they help the man limp to the nearest ambulance, grins at Buck. "Now that's what I call perfect timing."

"Yeah," Buck agrees, maybe a beat too slow, distracted by the number on the turnouts that just darted past them. The name under the 217 started with the wrong letter, the person's shoulders too narrow, height not quite right. Not that he's looking. Not that he's been looking. Not that it would matter if he was. With the enormity of the factory and the spread of the fire they have on their hands, the chances of running into a particular individual are small. Besides, if he's here, he's more than likely at the other end of the staging area, with the helicopters that are being refueled and awaiting instruction. Not that Buck's been looking. Or paying attention to any of that. At all.

They've just handed over their patient to the paramedics when their radios crackle to life once more, this time to confirm that all first responders who had entered the building are safe and accounted for.

"Thank God."

Buck turns to find Bobby has come up behind them, has clapped a hand on Eddie's shoulder, a relieved smile lighting up his face under his helmet. And. Yeah. Buck smiles with him, feels terrible for a moment for being so preoccupied when he should just be damn grateful for how their day - night, now - has panned out. Despite the enormous structure, despite how fast the fire spread, despite the upgrade from a three to a four alarm fire when it became incredibly clear the building was not up to code, despite the flammable materials housed in the far end of the structure, (despite the whir of helicopter blades overhead reminding Buck of him, despite the way he had to force himself not to stop and listen when a headcount for the 217 went out over the radio) they got everyone out alive. Some of the factory workers were in critical condition, others would be touch-and-go for a while, but they got them out alive and that was all any of them could ask for.

Perhaps it was too big an ask.

There had been a few moments in Buck's life in which he'd wondered if the universe had it out for him, was just waiting for him to be happy, let down his guard a little, so that it could pull the rug out from under him and send him sprawling. Choking on breadsticks on Valentine's Day. Choking on blood at his own welcome back party. Choking on his own nickname in his own loft as. As he walked out the door.

It feels like he's choking again. Buck watches the faces around him fall when dispatch tells them they were wrong, that there's still two people inside, on the top floor. When the IC responds that there's nothing to be done, the lower floors are ready to cave in, it's too unsafe. When a familiar voice crackles over the radio, saying there's a chance, if they land a helicopter on the roof, get the last two people out from there. That he'll do it.

"Absolutely not, firefighter pilot Kinard. That roof is ready to go any minute now, and you want to land a bird on it? That's a suicide mission. Stand down, that's an order."

There's a static crackle, as if someone, as if he, is weighing his options before he speaks. Buck doesn't breathe. Doesn't think he could if he wanted to.

"If there's any chance they can be saved, I have to try."

And Bobby meets his eyes, still tries, "Buck-", but they both know there's no version of this moment in which Buck doesn't grimace apologetically, doesn't turn, doesn't run faster than he's ever ran before.

He's gone, long strides, lungs burning, everyone and everything he passes a blur. He bumps into someone, yells "Sorry!", he thinks, isn't actually sure that's what he does, eyes set on the rotor blades looming dark against the orange cast of the fire in the distance. It's hard to tell if they're moving, what with how the light shifts in the dark, what with how his vision has become narrowed to that single point, and the dull roar in his ears could be his own blood pounding, could be the commotion that comes with a scene like this, could the be panic rising like bile in his throat.

For one insane moment, he thinks he can hear the sweeping crescendo of an orchestra, thinks, hysterically, like sprinting through an airport in the third act of a romcom. Thinks, I should tell Tommy. Realizes what he's hearing is that dull roar shifting into the high whine of rotor blades gaining momentum and thinks, Oh, god, Tommy. And then, in a blink, he's fighting the dust in his eyes and being buffeted by wind and his hands find purchase on the titanium hull and he's hauling himself inside.

With the wind gone, it's like he's suspended in stillness for a moment. Stillness, not silence, because helicopters are loud and the sound is everywhere, like a physical sensation. Or maybe that's just how it feels to be in close proximity with Tommy again. Tommy, who is staring straight ahead, punching buttons, flipping a switch, and Buck isn't sure Tommy's even aware of his presence until Tommy's reaching back, headset in hand, not looking at him at all, gaze still firmly on the dashboard.

Even when Buck has the headset on, the roar of the engine finally dropping away, Tommy doesn't acknowledge him immediately. The set of his shoulders is stiff, determined, defensive. He lets out a sigh. "What are you doing here, Buck?"

Buck carefully ignores the name, ignores the way Tommy still can't look at him. Squares his shoulders, even if Tommy can't see it. "I'm going with you."

There is a moment in which Tommy doesn't respond, simply finishes the last of his pre-flight checks. When he speaks, his voice is carefully deadpan. "You know we're probably going to die out there."

Buck can't help it, shoots back before he can think about it. "Figured this way I can prove I want you to be my last."

It works. Finally, Tommy turns. Meets his eyes. Breathes out. "Evan."

And Buck knows it's a ridiculous moment to smile, but it's like a weight falls away from him and he can feel his chest expand in a way it hasn't been able to since "See you around, Buck."

"Like you said," he amends. "If there's a chance at all, I have to try."

Buck doesn't think he's imagining the spark of hope in Tommy's eyes, the twitch of a smile, before Tommy turns back to his controls and the ground falls away beneath them.

[matchaelette]

gif by @yoongi-bts

when jungkook is a vessel of love, and love is as beautiful as the poets said it was

summary: idol!jk and oc!ash, established relationship, the first time 'I love you' was spoken out aloud. the more earlier stages of their relationship. yearning, tenderness, fluff, it's all sickeningly full of love.

genre: fluff

warnings: none.

word count: 3.4k

notes: life updates. one: i'm back. obviously. two: jung hoseok is back and ksj 1 is coming (!!!) three: I am officially a uni student and majoring in civil engineering. classes start from the first week of december. four: I have decided to officially name this drabble series *drumrolls* the hopeless romantic series. so, without further ado, welcome back, our hopeless romantic couple!

you’re in love with jungkook.

no, you’re not allowed to say that.

fuck what you’re allowed and not allowed.

you’re desperately, helplessly, hopelessly in love with jeon jungkook. your gorgeous, gorgeous boy.

yours.

then why are you not allowed to be in love with him?

because you’ve been dating him for three months. three months.

only three months, since you decided to stop pining after him, decided it was enough, after god knows how long. three months since that decision led you to be extremely nonchalant around him, calm and collected to a point where it almost looked fake (you’re a terrible actor), and the next thing you knew, you were heavily making out with him in the chilly air of a fall night. calm and collected, indeed. three months since you learned that jungkook was pining for you in the same manner, if not more, and three freaking months since both of you decided to date, being head over heels for one other ever since.

it's too soon to say ‘I love you’. even if you know deep down that you were in love with him even before dating him– but there’s no way you’re treading that water. the realization of being in love with him right now is enough to freak you out. no, it’s definitely too soon to declare ‘I love you’.

because you don’t know whether jungkook feels the same way. although it’s not like you need or expect him to feel the same way you do. just because you’re in love with him doesn’t mean he has to be. you can happily wait until he’s ready and feels the same way.

you’re just scared that he doesn’t want to feel that way. that you’ll scare him away.

look at him. does he look like he feels the same as you?

jeon jungkook looks like a slow-motion daydream, standing in front of you. tight-fitting jeans, snug around the well-defined muscles of his thighs, and a black checkered shirt, sleeves rolled up, displaying the protruding veins of his arm. his curly hair covers the vein in his forehead, almost reaching down to his lips which were pouting in distress.

yeah, you don’t care how he feels. you’re in love with him.

but you are a graveyard of all the people you ever loved.

you can’t have jungkook join those ghosts of the past.

“this thing–”, the boy of your dream grumbles out loud in real life, breaking your thought train, “–hates me!”

oh, that.

“three hours now. we’ve been trying to fix it for three hours.”, you shake your head, frustrated. you’ve been out all day today and the last thing you wanted to do when you got back home was your laundry. but the lack of fresh clothes compelled you to do it anyway. and everything would’ve been fine had you not entered your laundry room to discover the whole floor flooded with water. panicked and disoriented, your first instinct was to call jungkook, despite it being past midnight. when your boyfriend heard what had happened, he immediately demanded you step aside and that he was already on his way over to your house.

now, it’s four in the morning and you’re both dripping wet, absolutely drained, standing in a puddle of water and soap. all you could do is to stare dejectedly at the washing machine. it was a losing battle.

“oh my god!”, jungkook cries out in indignation, “a minute ago it was sprinkling water in my face, now it’s sprinkling soapy water!”

“jungkook, move away”, you hurriedly pull your boyfriend away from your washing machine. he rebels under your grip, the patience he displayed half an hour ago was now transformed into rage.

how can someone be so cute when they’re mad?

“let me go, ash”, he points a threatening finger at the washing machine, “you wanted a fight, buddy? I’ll give you!”

“jungkook!”, you laugh and wrap your arms around his waist, “it already won! look at us!”

jungkook stares down at your attached bodies, soaked from top to bottom, while the washing machine looks like it is having a field trip.

“okay, I give up”, he sighs and rests his chin on the top of your head, “unless–”

“no unless.”

“hear me out first”, he smooches your hair, “you smell amazing by the way. anyways, unless– wait, what was I going to say? I was supposed to say something amazing.”

“I’m sure it was amazing, babe”, you chuckle with fondness, “but that thing is a lost cause. I’ll call maintenance in the morning. let’s take a shower and go to sleep, okay?”

“mhm. yeah”, he replies in affirmation but only tightens his arms around you.

“I’m sorry for calling you so late. I should’ve just– I don’t know. I mean, it was just a minor inconvenience. not a big deal. I don’t know why I freaked out–”

“princess, ssh”, jungkook coos, “you have a problem, you call me. doesn’t matter how small or big it is.”

“kook, I literally called you at one in the morning.”

“and I am very glad that I am the first person that crossed your mind. even though I couldn’t help you. I swear to god, this washing machine has a personal grudge against us.”

“thank you anyways”, you mumble against his chest.

“hey, this is what boyfriends are for.”

how is it possible not to love him?

you wake up to the humming of a honey-caramel voice in the distance.

you yawn and grab the crisply folded silk robe from the foot of your bed. the clothes haphazardly tossed on the ground last night were nowhere in sight, and neither was the person who did so. yet you could hear his hums, feel his warmth.

you smile.

the clock on the wall reflects a bright 11:10, and it’s safe to say that you’ve just woken up. after staying up with your rogue washing machine till four in the morning, you can’t really blame yourself. you feel very well-rested though, for the first time in a while.

jeon jungkook’s presence has that kind of power.

you make an effort to stay silent in your own house. your bare feet tiptoe against the icy floors, carrying you to the sweet melody you’re fairly certain is your boyfriend in the kitchen. and undoubtedly it is. jeon jungkook has his back turned towards you– white tee clinging to his physique, his hair damp and disheveled, singing softly to himself while doing the dishes.

you hold your breath and hug him from the back, resting your cheek against his spine.

jungkook, momentarily confused, laughs when he realizes it’s you.

“good morning princess.”

“good morning jungkook”, you inhale him in. he smells like peaches and baby soap. and fresh laundry. “you smell heavenly.”

“I just came out of the shower–”

 “–hey!”, you cut him short when he gently peels you off him, unexpectedly devoid of warmth, but jungkook hugs you back in an instant; your ear against his ribcage, his chin on the top of yours.

“mmm, that’s better”, you mumble, “did you do the laundry? you smell like detergent.”

 you can almost reach out and touch the outlines of his smile. “you couldn’t do it last night so I thought I’d take some work off your shoulders. I folded your clothes as well!”

“aww, you didn’t have to do– wait, the washing machine is fixed?”

“yeah, I called the repairmen in the morning and they said they were coming over. I was pretty surprised at how quickly they arrived.”

“what happened?”

“one of the pipes got leaked somehow. I think I also did some damage when I tried to fix it. but don’t worry, it’s as good as new.”

“not worrying”, you let go of jungkook and let muscle memory guide you to the coffee machine, “why did you wake up so early?”

 “it’s one p.m. in the afternoon. what’re you talking about?”, jungkook laughs.

“it’s one p.m.?!”, you choke on your coffee, “the clock– but it was eleven–”

“it’s out of battery. I got new ones though”, jungkook points at the bags sitting on your counter.

“you went grocery shopping? you spent an entire lifetime while I slept!”, jungkook chuckles at your awe, “tell me from the beginning. what did you do?”

“well, I called the repairmen as soon as I woke up and then I went to take a shower. they were here by the time I was done. I made us breakfast while they fixed your machine, went grocery shopping afterward, came back and did laundry, here I am now”, jungkook kisses your forehead, “all while someone slept like a baby.”

“oh my god. thank you so much.”

I love you.

“you’re welcome, babe”, he smiles, “I gotta leave now. but listen, I got you ice cream, popcorn and those salty chips you seem to love so much. call me if you need anything else.”

“huh? why though?”, you peer in confusion. you’re usually not very big on snacking. and jungkook knows that. unless it’s your–

“your period is supposed to start tomorrow, genius”, he rolls his eyes, “you don’t remember, do you?”

you clearly didn’t.

apparently, he did.

you tiptoe forward to hug jungkook, too stunned to form any coherent word. you hope jungkook doesn’t notice the tears filling your eyes but when he lifts your face to gently kiss your eyelids, you realize that he knew you were gonna cry.

yeah, I definitely love you.

“hello, jungkookie’s girlfriend!”

kim taehyungs’s visibly enthusiastic face beams at you through the screen of your phone. your initial reaction is to wave brightly at him, despite the slight confusion of whether you accidentally called him when you picked up the phone to facetime your boyfriend.

“hi, tae!”, you say heartily, “gosh, it’s been a while since I saw you.”

“and whose fault is that, huh?”, taehyung’s voice is a warm breeze on a spring evening, “jungkookie tells me you’ve been like… hella busy”

“I was. I mean, I am. it feels like I am always busy these days”, you sigh, “but never busy enough for you guys! how are you?”

“good. busy as well, but good.”

“kook told me last night. you guys work way too hard.”

“wait”, taehyung exploded into laughter, “jungkookie was at your place last night?”

“...yeah?”

“our manager was looking for him and jungkookie was going on and on about how he was in his room all night and manager hyung didn’t knock loudly enough!”

“oh my god, he wasn’t supposed to be at mine yesterday?”

“no, I mean, he was done working but he didn’t tell anyone before leaving the dorm!”

“that might be my fault”, guilt fills your eyes, “I was doing laundry last night and my washing machine started leaking water everywhere. I panicked and called kook. I’m sorry”

“hey, it’s okay, no harm was done”, taehyung looks amused, “so you were doing laundry at midnight? no wonder jungkookie is obsessed with you.”

“obsessed with me, huh?”, you smile playfully, concealing the tiny somersault your heart does.

“he literally never stops talking about you”, taehyung grins widely, “bro is whipped”

“hmm, I did call bro’s phone, right? or did I accidentally call you?”

“how do accidentally call taehyung instead of jungkook? one starts with t and one starts with j”, taehyung suddenly looks disgusted, “unless you saved him as something weird, in that case, I don’t wanna know–”

“kim taehyung.”

“or you can just tell me that you missed me, you know”, taehyung flips his phone camera and you spot a dancing jeon jungkook in the middle of a huge practice room, “but since the only person you care about is jungkookie–”

“kim taehyung–”

“–you called him, okay?”, you hear taehyung’s laughter, “I was playing games on his phone. he’s practicing extra today.

“practicing extra?”

“he said you guys made plans to hang out tomorrow.”

“we– we did”, you’re puzzled. jungkook continues to dance furiously, his quick and precise movements almost defying gravity, completely unaware of his surroundings, “wait, we planned to meet tomorrow because both of us had a clear schedule. why is he practicing extra today?”

“hobi hyung was asking him the same thing”, taehyung nods his head in mock disappointment, “we don’t really have a free schedule tomorrow. but he said that if you couldn’t meet tomorrow it’d be a while before you did. right?”

“y-yeah”, you blink.

“soooo, yeah. as I said, bro’s so whipped.”

oh god. be still my wild heart.

“this boy”, you finally exhale after a pause; feeling bad that he’s overworking himself to meet your needs, feeling grateful that it’s worth it to him.

“this boy, indeed. no, actually, we’re kinda proud of how amazingly we raised him.”

“you really, really did. ya’ll should give out parenting lessons.”

taehyung chuckles, “okay, I’ll give the phone to him.”

“tae, don’t”, you smile, quickly stopping him from calling jungkook, “just tell him to call me whenever he’s free, okay? I’ll be up.”

“okay, then. take rest, okay? don’t overwork yourself.”

“look who’s preaching”, you shoot him a stern look, “the kings of overworking themselves. take care, okay?”

taehyung laughs, “yeah. come over to the dorm whenever you’re free. we all miss you.”

“I will. bye!”

“kook– stop it–”, you say in between a few puffs of breath, “you’re– god– tickling me!”

“am I?”, jungkook wiggles his eyebrows, and smothers his face on the exposed skin of your tummy once again, causing you to almost choke with another round of laughter. the sensation of his lips against your tummy has the butterflies inside going frenzy, but a part of you is scared shitless that it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with yourself.

you want to laugh; you want to cry. you wanna twirl into a knot and fly up in the sky. jungkook has no idea of the power he has over you– his body molds into yours, one his hands have shaped, a design he has drawn, kissed it into a sculpture.

you love him, you love this human being staring at you from between your legs with all the love in this whole fucking universe, kind and whole and happy and real, jeon jungkook, you love him so fucking say it.

I love you. I love you so much that I can’t deny it any longer, the promise stays silent on your tongue.

you wanna cry.

at least, you think you do.

“your heartbeat is going crazy”, jungkook calms down once he’s done tickling you out of your wits. he moves between your thighs and presses his ear against your heart space while gently laying his head on your chest.

yeah, do you know that is because I love you and not because you tickled the living lights outta me?

“princess?”, he asks quietly.

say it.

“princess?”, jungkook raises his head and looks at you, mildly concerned “are you okay?”

say something.

instead, you stare at him. you stare at his eyes. if eyes are actually a mirror of people’s souls, jungkook’s eyes perfectly represent his– filled to the brim with tenderness, tranquility, and mirth. a few years ago, you had read somewhere that humans were created from the burned-out embers of stars. you never believed it. the same folks who start wars, spill blood, stealing lying deceiving and doing everything evil, cannot be created from something so divine.

however, jungkook, over and over again, contradicts that belief. you have no doubt he’s born out of stardust. and fiery comets, northern lights, solar eclipses, everything magic.

“why are you crying?!”, jungkook’s anxious voice snaps you out of your reverie. without realizing you find yourself getting pulled up to sit on his lap, straddling his thighs. “is it me? did I do something?”

“itsh nn-not”, you utter weakly but the words come out as a stifled sob. when jungkook doesn’t understand what you’re saying, he completely loses his composure. he lets go of you and attempts to pry himself away, fairly convinced that he must’ve done something stupid. but you dig your fingers in his arms, trying to communicate with your firm grip that he did nothing wrong. it’s you, you’re the stupid one.

it takes him a few more seconds to realize that you’re crying for something else altogether, and only then does he relax. he wraps his arms around you, letting you break down in his little protective bubble.

what is wrong with me? why does every feeling of mine come out as tears?

“it’s okay, it’s okay”, jungkook coos, “breathe. breathe with me.”

“inhale with me”, he holds eye contact and carefully guides your breath, “good. now exhale. in. and out. it’s okay. I love you. you’re okay, princess.”

and

everything

just

freezes

for a moment.

for a moment?

seems like a lifetime.

you never realize how many types of ‘I love you’s there are until they’re spoken out aloud. most ‘I love you’s are expressed as a confession, while there are some which are born out of panic. I love you. do you love me back? these ‘I love you’s are full of anxiety, and a desperate longing for reassurance, for arms that’ll keep them safe. some are born out of anger and frustration. I’m doing this for you, because I love you, why don’t you understand? then there are those which are born out of pure terror because I love you but I’m afraid that all I’ll ever do is hurt you.

jungkook’s ‘I love you’ sounded like it was nurtured, a flower that bloomed inside a long time ago. like a blanket woven from your favorite human on the entire planet and falling asleep with someone inside your heart no matter how alone you feel outside; a promise.

not that any of you were in the right state of mind to realize that.

you and jungkook realize at the same time. the words that have been spoken out to existence.

he stares at you; you stare at him. devastated, mouth hanging, eyes bulging. none of you breathing.

jungkook closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again.

“that was not a mistake”, his voice is deep and low. you hold your breath, afraid to miss a single sound that comes out of his mouth, “I do. I will if you allow me to. not that I can help it– I mean, even if you don’t allow it I can’t help myself. I love you. it’s not like I can just un-love you! wait, why do I need your permission anyway? it’s my feelings we’re talking about! okay, but it does concern you”, jungkook looks mortified, “but still, you don’t have to say it back. it’s great if you do but like, there’s no pressure. just don’t tell me to un-love you because that one is none of your business, oka–”

you kiss him. you kiss the living lights out of him. jungkook doesn’t even register what’s happening, he just accepts everything– the way your lips smashes against his, the way your tongue envelops his, finding you in every corner of his mouth, feeling you in every inch of his skin; a drunkard clinging onto every last drop of alcohol yet never having enough.

jungkook is literally panting when you let go of him.

 “I was crying because I am in love with you. I have been in love with you for a while now and I didn’t know how to say so”, you confess. only a few words are enough to make realization flash in his eyes. after all, he knows you. he knows you well enough to know everything, even the things he doesn’t.

“I must’ve been a saint in my past life to deserve this”, jungkook closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours.

“I think this is your first life. you’re like the sugar in a cookie.”

“what? I thought I was the cookie!”, jungkook furrows his eyebrows, offended, “also, sugar isn’t good for you. what are you talking about?!”

you giggle in response.

“hey! take it back”, he overpowers you in a swift motion. he reels your bodies backward to hover over you, pinning your hands down on the mattress, smirking. “otherwise you’re gonna regret it.”

“regret? nah, I think I will enjoy it”, your smirk wipes off the one on his face.

“oh boy”, he sighs.

“jungkook?”

“yeah?”

“say it again”, you whisper.

“I love you.”

“again.”

“I love you.”

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage

18+ 3k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, somnophilia, drugging, eventual smut. gif | AO3 | fanfic directory

Homelander was born with only one terrible poverty: loneliness. He's been starved of love his entire life, made sick by his hunger for it, but he believes you might have the cure. If you want to survive, you'll find a way to give it to him.

Homelander has never been able to understand people who bird watch. Of all the things a mundane person could do with their abysmally mediocre life, why devote what little free time they have to observing a creature even more dull than they themselves are?

Perhaps it's the gift of flight. By far, it is the ability of his that garners the most attention. Or maybe it's the power trip one experiences when observing something simpler and weaker than yourself for sport. The novelty of becoming endeared by their strange little behaviors and quirks. It's this line of thinking that eventually walks Homelander down the path of people watching. During his downtime, in the quiet moments he spends perched atop skyscrapers and apartment complexes, he finds himself watching the people miles below him scurry about like insects through a colony.

Over time, he begins to recognize regulars. People moving back and forth, day in and day out, no different than ants moving grains back and forth. He has to laugh. It's no wonder god abandoned man. Man is fucking boring.

Even the god they made for themselves thinks so.

To ease the monotony, he concocts little stories for the ones he recognizes. He imagines the kinds of lives they live outside of their commutes and the routines he observes. He names one of them Peter, and every day he invents a new reason Peter is yet again running late for his train. Because he's always late, Peter never stops for the woman selling street meat on the corner across from the station.

Homelander imagines that the meat she peddles is people, and that she's got her eye on that speedy little rabbit, Peter.

And then one day, he notices you.

It isn’t that you’re especially beautiful or noteworthy. Just like all the other busy little bees, you go about your same routine each and every day of the week. Sometimes you're in a rush, other times you enjoy your stroll. Regardless, you always find time to stop and give money to the same homeless man occupying one of the few alleyways protected by an awning. Sometimes you linger to chat, other times you can only stop long enough to drop something into his hands.

It isn't always money. Oftentimes you have food for him packed neatly into a little take-out box. Despite the packaging, it looks homemade. You always have a warm smile for him, even when you’re obviously frazzled.

To the rest of the world, this man may as well be fucking invisible, but here you are handing him a box of home cooked food like he's someone who matters. Homelander is the world's greatest hero, and yet some bum on the street is being fed with more love and attention to detail than he ever has.

It's a goddamn joke. More and more, it becomes apparent to him that you’re pathetically lonely. After a few days of observing you amongst the others, he starts trailing you more actively, forgetting all about Peter and his eventual butcher.

He wants to know more about you.

You live alone, working and cooking for only yourself and your stray pet. Sometimes you cook for your coworkers or the odd friend who stops by before leaving you alone all over again. He watches from a distance while you toil away, cooking more food than you’ll eat in a week for people you see for a fraction of each of your weekdays. It couldn’t be more obvious that you’re desperate for someone to take care of.

In a way, he can relate. 

Maeve has been more distant than ever, choosing to engage him only when there’s a camera present. When it’s only the two of them, she just drinks until he barely recognizes her. Madelyn has begun her “fertility journey,” words that set his teeth on edge, and has barely had a real moment to spare him as of late. The rest of his team doesn’t help abate his loneliness either; Marathon is a washed up hack who can barely sprint these days, Lamplighter is only ever interested in clubbing, the Deep couldn’t hold a conversation in a bucket, and Noir is a mute.

And so he soothes his solitude with thoughts of you. When he isn’t with you, he daydreams about it, imagining what life would look like if your worlds were to intersect. The more he learns about you, the more vivid his fantasies become, and the more intensely he aches when he still finds himself alone in his bed at the end of each night.

It spurs him to visit you more and more.

One particularly warm summer night, you leave your window wide open. He takes it for the invitation it is, drifting towards it under the cover of dark. Your screen is loose and pops out noiselessly. Not exactly safe, even if you do live on the fifth storey.

You just never know what might come lurking out of the shadows.

Slipping into your living room, he’s met with the sound of white noise playing from your bedroom. Is it the sound of the streets below that bother you? You’d never hear it from his penthouse a hundred feet in the air. You could leave the windows open all you like and hear only the roar of the sky, not unlike the ocean waves your phone is poorly mimicking.

He could take you to the actual ocean. A beach house far away from the buzzing neon lights and incessant honking and revving of traffic. Walking through your apartment, he makes his way to your tiny kitchen. The one in his penthouse puts yours to absolute shame, and yet the only thing in it that’s ever been used is the fridge. He’s certain he’s never opened the double oven or so much as turned on the gas range. Meanwhile, your kitchen is riddled with use, each cupboard stuffed with mismatched cookware and the like. It smells of grease and spices and love.

The sad irony of it is almost too much to stomach. You don’t belong in this cramped little sardine can. You should be in a proper kitchen. 

You should be cooking for him. The thought comes to him like a flash of genius. Of course. That’s the answer that will solve both of your little dilemmas. If he is a bird watcher then you’re a songbird snared in a net. It would be inhumane of him to leave you to die before you’re ever appreciated–ever seen–by anyone who matters.

You would worship him for rescuing you. His wealth and power would see each and every one of your material needs met with ease. You would never work for anything again. All you would ever have to concern yourself with was being loved and loving him.

He walks to your room with a hand pressed absently over his heart, cradling the anxious little bundle of nerves that have gathered there. He can tell by your breathing that you’re deep asleep, and yet he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he approaches.

His first time being so near to you after weeks of simply observing.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he steps towards you. The sound of him is masked by the ambient noise spilling from your phone, not to mention the fan you have pointed directly at your bed in a desperate attempt to save yourself from the summer heat.

You clearly weren’t built for this paltry life. Mary was no one before God chose her for greatness. Is that not what he’s about to do for you? It’s the will of a god that elevates you.

He kneels by your bedside, bringing himself face to face with you. Your breathing is even, each huff smelling faintly of mint. Your lips look soft, slightly parted in sleep. Everything about you is gentler, more relaxed than you ever are in the day to day grind of your life.

You could look like this all the time without it. He has the power to change your entire life with nothing more than a couple of numbers shifting from one space to another. Money has always been inconsequential to him, so abundant that it hardly means anything anymore. You, however, are ruled by it.

For the first time in his life, he recognizes the power in his wealth.

He brushes the tips of his gloved fingers along your cheek, down your jaw. He’s never used his hands so tenderly as when he traces your sleeping eyelids with his fingertips, imagining what dreams chase behind them and make them flutter.

You don’t stir. 

Emboldened, he follows the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, imagining how soft you would feel against the bare pad of his finger. Leaning in closer, he indulges in the warmth of your breath tickling his lips. You’re a sound sleeper, the thud of your resting heart beating steadily in his ear.

Closing his eyes, he bridges the distance between your lips, pressing his own lightly to yours. For a second, he thinks he’s woken you, that you’ve caught sight of him and your heart is drumming loudly in his ears. He draws sharply back, but sees that you’re still deep asleep, your features peaceful.

It’s his heart that’s racing, a thundering sound that blocks out every other noise in the room. He’s breathing shallowly, excited in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. There’s a flush crawling up his throat, and it’s at that moment he breaks out into a wide, wondrous smile.

There’s no question of it now.

He has to have you.

The plan to acquire you ends up requiring very little setup. If Madelyn cares why Homelander’s suddenly spending so much, she’s yet to make a comment. 

Bitterly, he thinks it likely that she’s glad to see him distracted. 

He starts preparation by appropriately stocking his kitchen; you’ll appreciate the supply of ingredients, he knows. The quality of what he obtains for you is leagues above what you can afford, as is the cookware. He buys you new clothes, jewelry, imagining every step of the way how you’ll look in each piece. How you’ll look as he takes them off. He’s seeking to upgrade your life in every conceivable way, like bringing a cat home from the pound and teaching it the meaning of luxury.

You’ll want for nothing. You’ll be so grateful to him. And you, the sweet and perfect little thing that you are, make yourself painfully easy to ensnare. You come home under the cover of dark like clockwork, perfectly oblivious to his approach. You’ve just managed to fish your keys out of your bag when his hand closes a kerchief over your mouth and nose, stifling your cry. His other arm slips around your waist, holding you steady. The cloth smells overly sweet, ether-like, and though that scent has no effect on him, you respond to it almost immediately.  “Shhhhshhshh,” he soothes, letting the anesthesia do its job. Fuck, you feel good in his arms, back held tight to his chest, your delicate hands prying at his wrist as you kick, claw and scream–albeit muffled–into the cloth. He holds you with ease, keeping you close to his body, angling you in such a way that you won’t hurt yourself.

Despite your tenacity, you fight a losing battle. Your efforts grow weaker and weaker as you lose your grip on consciousness. He hushes you all the while, encouraging you. “That’s it, let it go. I’ve got you, I’ve got you...” Finally your head falls back against his shoulder, your face lolling into the crook of his neck, the rest of your body falling slack in his arms. He pulls the cloth away from your mouth, tucking it into your bag for now. He turns his head to yours, lips barely ghosting along your forehead. He takes in a deep breath of you, his eyes falling shut. Beneath the sickly sweet smell of the chemical mixture he knocked you out with, he can smell the remnants of your perfume. It’s not his favorite fragrance, but the underlying warm scent of you is intoxicating. He’ll collect whatever belongings you decide you want with you when he returns, if anything, but he doubts you’ll miss much. Your stuff will seem like a heap of rags and garbage by comparison. He’s looking forward to how the perfumes and lotions he’s bought you will smell on your skin, and how you’ll look in the clothing he’s picked for you. He adjusts you into a bridal carry in his arms and gently kicks off from the ground, holding you firm to his chest. The city is beautiful at night, a landscape of stars mirroring that of the sky above it. He’s always loved it here, and yet he’s shared it with a painful few.

Madelyn never lets him take her to the skies. Maeve had been wowed initially, but she had quickly grown disillusioned with it. With him.

You’ll be different. The trip back to his penthouse feels agonizingly slow, but he maintains a lesser pace to keep the wind from rashing your skin, savoring the featherlight weight of you in his arms at last. He lands deftly on his balcony, stepping through his open reinforced glass doors. After laying you down in his bed, he takes a moment to slip off your shoes, setting them aside. He eases your purse off of your shoulder, and places it on the nightstand. After sprawling a thin blanket over you, he takes a step back and puts his hands on his hips to admire the perfectly domestic scene he’s set.

Slowly, he breaks out into a smile. His bed swallows you up, makes you look small and lonely. He’s the missing piece, of course. He’s already looking forward to seeing himself complete the picture in the mirror above you. He imagines coming home to you like this, curled up in his–no, your shared bed, blanket pulled up over your shoulders to block the chill left by his absence.

Oh, how you’ll miss him when he’s gone.

You’ll have nothing and no one to concern yourself with except for him. No burdens, no dread, no stress. You’ll live in peace and security the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, spoiled rotten by the bounty of all that he is.

Neither of you will ever be lonely again.

Tilting his head slightly, he listens to the sound of you. Your breathing is shallow, the beat of your heart steady. Normal people don’t realize it, don’t have the capacity for it, but a heartbeat is as distinct as a fingerprint. Over the years, he’s learned to read them as such. He’s memorized yours. There isn’t much for him to do in the time that you’re asleep. He knows precisely how long you’ll be out; the anesthesia blend he gave you was straight out of Vought’s lab, and the dose he gave you leaves him with at least an hour before the two of you meet properly. The anticipation is enough to make him giddy. For all that Homelander knows about you, there is plenty he does not. The externals of your life have only provided him so much, but that will come in time. He didn’t bother with perusing your social media accounts, not being particularly proficient in them himself. 

Besides, he wants getting to know you to be an organic experience.

He remembers to take your phone out of your bag and dispose of that rag he used to dose you while he’s at it. He unlocks your phone the way he’s seen you do a dozen times before, and spends some time ensuring that no one will be expecting you anywhere any time soon. All it takes is one quick email and you no longer have a job. A few social media posts later, you’ve informed anyone who might think of you that you’ll be enjoying an impromptu sabbatical in Europe.

The power of technology. After that, he pops your phone into the safe behind one of the dozens of portraits on his wall.

When he hears you starting to stir, renewed butterflies start fluttering about in his stomach. You have no idea that your entire life–no, your entire perception of reality–is about to change. No more dodgy commutes, no more living paycheck-to-paycheck. You’ll be free to admire the world from the lap of luxury–his lap, to be specific. You make a quiet moan, the chemical fog wearing off gradually. He moves swiftly to your bedside, primed with a welcoming smile, hands on his hips. “Riiiise and shine, sleepyhead,” he coaxes, leaning forward at the waist. Still disoriented from the drugs in your system, you stare at him as if you’re dreaming. He doesn’t blame you. In almost every other reality, there’s no explanation for the fact you’re seeing America’s favorite hero, the Homelander, standing above you. He knows the side effects of the drug have left a strange buzzing in your ears, and that your tongue likely feels heavy and cottony. He’s already got water for you on the bedside table. “Home…lander?” You manage to get out. His smile broadens. That’s the first time he’s heard you say his name. You look cute like this, bleary-eyed and needy. He’s grown accustomed to seeing you as a put together provider, self-sufficient and tending to the needs of those around you, but rarely your own. Seeing you unraveled feels like a secret intimacy for him alone. “The one and only,” he preens. Now that you’ve seen him posed valiantly by your side, he takes a seat on the bed next to you, reaching out to brush his gloved knuckles along your forehead. He attributes the slight flinch to your drug addled confusion. Poor thing. If he’d had an alternative to using a sedative, he would have preferred that.

Not that it matters now. You’re finally here.

( chapter two )

[rpclefairy]

𝐁𝐆𝟑 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

a selection of lines from the various companions' banter quotes (not cut scene dialogues!) from baldur's gate 3. these are generally spoiler free and non context specific so they can apply to different settings and dynamics! feel free to change names and the like to customize the prompts.

“Death can't have me. Not yet…”

“Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.”

“Realmspace is vast. Countless worlds to be mapped, kingdoms to be conquered.”

“I have missed this. The adventure. The danger. The kicking of butts!

“Let me guess - you need something.”

“Such attention.. I never realised I was so popular.”

“Let's cook with fire, baby.”

“Do you intend to vocalise every thought?. Or just the most obvious ones?”

“Wherever we go, ye gods let there be something green.”

“Careful, or I will take your toy away from you.”

“Watch your elders and learn.”

“Perhaps try attacking the enemy?”

“So much we don't know, lingering in the furthest reaches of existence.”

“All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.”

“The shadows are my friend.”

“Yes, yes, have your fun. It isn't you they're trying to kill.”

“Feet planted firmly on Faerûn, please.”

“Admirable stamina, yet terrible priorities.”

“Well you certainly have the 'omnipresent' part down, don't you?”

“I am ready, whatever may come.”

“My faith protects me.”

“Need a throat slitting?”

“Death greets us all - but not today.”

“You need my expertise?”

“Can you feel death's cold grip?”

“So many stars, so many mysteries yet to be discovered.”

“Death comes quietly.”

“And I thought we were going to be friends.”

“Locked tight, but there must be some way to open it.”

“No, you can't die. Get up, damn you!

“You had my attention, now you have my fury.”

“From silence to suffering.”

“So many worlds out there. You'd need a thousand lifetimes to see them all - more.”

“I hope this is important. For your sake.”

“Let them gaze deep into their own abyss, and wonder just what it is they are trying to achieve.”

“I ought to just burn this whole thing down.”

“We have slightly more pressing matters to attend to.”

“You have still have time to surrender.”

“Every kicked buttock, another step on the path.”

“Weave save me. I can't take much more…

“You are right to fear me.”

“Let me look around. Might be something that'll help me crack this thing.”

“Incredible, to think how many worlds exist beyond this tiny speck within a speck I call home.”

“I really wish I could cast a Hold spell on you.”

“I can fawn over my face later.”

“Ready for another round?”

“Keep your blade close.”

“I can't unlock it from here, but there must be a switch or a button somewhere…”

“No, that's not moving. There must be a way to open it somewhere.”

“Battle favours the fearless.”

“Sleep with one eye open, evil. Maybe both.”

“Gotta be something around here to unlock this thing.”

“Why do beautiful people taste better?. It hardly seems fair on the ugly - they have such wonderful personalities.”

“Oh, calm down. I'm happy to see you too.”

“Just go for the Magic Missile and fire away. Never fails.”

“Still standing, no matter what you heard.”

“Enough waiting. I crave blood.”

“Hang on - I won't allow this. You aren't dead, go it?”

“GODS, it's HOT in here!”

“No rest for the wicked, I see.”

“Better to hide than fight, sometimes.”

“Would that I could hide from you, too.”

“Are you feeling lonely, perhaps?”

“There is no right or wrong, only truth.”

“Battle is afoot - you can poke me once we are safe.”

“What good all this ethereal eladrin blood if I can still get pimples?”

“I should've been a drow. They have such stylish armour.”

“I am armed! Armoured! And entirely sick of your foolishness.”

“Let's have some fun.”

“War is an old woman's game.”

“No rest, be you wicked or wise.”

“I'm getting too old for this nonsense.”

“I would poke you back, but I fear that's what you want.”

“You have my attention - now do something with it.”

“You are insistent, are you not?”

“Do what must be done.”

“Your suffering will be spectacular.”

“Lest I sit down for a rest and not rise again.”

“Better to look evil in the eye. Even if it be very small.”

“I'm not built to crouch.”

“I think I could go another round.”

“Always the same old song.”

“Is perfection too much to ask?”

“Eyes on victory, tummy on dinner.”

“So many places to be.. and I chose Baldur's Gate.”

“I'm not opening that. Not from here, at any rate.”

“What is the point, if not victory?”

“Won't last much longer like this.”

“Let's hope the locals are friendly.”

“Let us show them how it's done.”

“Weapons high. Standards higher.”

“Must everyone be so exhausting?”

“What I would not give for a chunk of fresh honeycomb…”

“Which way to the nearest library?”

“Now this is my happy place.”

“Who shall I silence?”

“Stop, or die.”

“Wear your scars proudly.”

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

Quarterfinals, Match 2

expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)

Lauryn Hill:

"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"

"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."

"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."

"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"

Damon Albarn:

"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."

"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."

"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."

"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."

"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"

"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"

"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"

"THE MAIN BLUR"

"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."

"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."

"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."

"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."

"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."

"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."

"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."

"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."

"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"

"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."

"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."

"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"

"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."

"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"

"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."

"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"

[gguk-n]

Angst with Lando and he says “please don't cry, i can't stand to see you cry"

Thank you for the ask! I hope I was able to do it justice. There is implied smut. Reader's POV

Fragile Bonds

I could say it now, I officially hated going out. It has less to do with the fact that we've been at every club across the globe since the season started and more to do with the fact that Lando attracts attention. He was a gorgeous man with a career in F1, so it was a given that people would be attracted to him. What I didn't expect was how much we would go out to drink. Neither me nor Lando are huge drinkers but he can never seem to say no to a party. So, here I was trying to be a supportive girlfriend while my boyfriend was on the DJ booth, remixing some songs.

I will agree, the first time he did it, it was very hot; watching Lando DJ, even the second time around. Right now, all I saw was red. The girl at the DJ booth was making herself too comfortable with 'my' boyfriend. The way her hands would rest on his biceps or the lingering touches she left on his shoulder or back. Was Lando blind or oblivious to what was happening? Did he forget that he had a girlfriend? I am not the jealous type but I am terribly territorial about my stuff and the people I love. I love Lando too much, and this bitch was making me so annoyed.

So, I took matters into my own hands and went towards the stage only to be rudely pushed away and scolded by the guards and the lady on the booth. I told them that was my boyfriend and I wanted to speak to him, she laughed at my face. What the fuck was Lando doing and why did he not see his own girlfriend? After a couple more harsh words from the lady, I screamed Lando's name which seemed to make him to look at me, a loopy smile on his lips. God, I wanted to smack his pretty face. I was pissed, I told him I was leaving and without waiting for his reply, I turned on my heels and left the club heading back to the hotel.

Once back, I took my clothes and make up off. I had tears streaming down my face. This wasn't the first time Lando had forgotten about me. He would always end up surrounded by all the people and while soaking in their attention, forgot about me. To me, he was the most important thing, to him, I felt like a commodity. My eyes were red from rubbing them too hard and the lump in my throat did not seem to go away no matter how hard I screamed into my pillow. My social media was also filled with pictures and videos of Lando from the party.

I don't know how long it was since I came back, I had stopped looking at the watch at some point. I quickly wiped away my tears when I heard the click of the door. I was going to pretend to be asleep, I didn't want to deal with Lando right now. Before I could act, my face was cupped in between two rough calloused hands while his thumbs tenderly rubbed my cheeks. "Why did you leave?" Lando asked. "I was tired" I squeaked out. Lando holding me like this made my eyes prick, I pushed him away while sitting up. He could see the tears in my eyes, I mean my vision was blurry. "You're so blind. I hate you." I said, I didn't in fact hate him, it's just that he made me angry. "No you don't" Lando chided. This annoyed me so much. "Why did you let her touch you? Why didn't you tell her I was your girlfriend when I tried to talk to you?" I asked. "I only saw you when I turned around, baby. I didn't know she was touching me, if I did, I would've stopped her." Lando reasoned. "Really, because, she was literally hanging from your arms, running her hands all over you and you didn't care." I said. "I really didn't notice her, I was looking at you the whole night" he said. "If you were looking at me the whole night, you would've noticed your girlfriend walking towards you." I said while angrily wiping the tears from my eyes.

"Baby, please don't cry, I can't stand to see you cry." Lando said while trying to hug me. "Doesn't feel like it Lan, you seemed to have forgotten you have a girlfriend." I spat. "Babe, I love you and I am sorry if I made you feel like that. I really was looking at you the whole night. The only woman who can command my attention is you. While I taking a sip from my glass, I lost you, I kept trying to find you and I couldn't, until you called out my name. Please give me another chance." Lando whispered with tears in his eyes. I was a sap when it came to him , sometimes he can be really dumb. "I promise this will never happen again. You can brand me if you want." Lando continued a laugh left my lips on hearing his words, "Lan, I'm not branding you but I know a better way to keep women away." I said whilst pulling him by his collar to kiss his lips. "I think I'll like this method more than the branding one, anyways." he muttered against my lips.

I couldn't stay angry at anyone for long, especially not Lando.

[oceantornadoo]

hii! can you do what it would be like asking price to put pads on the shopping list?? and then when price goes shopping he has to call you to ask for what size ?? 😭😭 btw i love love your work, hope u had a good day💞.

im pretty sure you're referring to this post but i decided to make this price x reader so :) enjoy!

bsf marriage pact!price x reader, he's slightly creepy but he's sweet (this is actually a bit dubcon but its in good spirit)

you had had a shit day. actually, make that a shit week. emotional the whole time, feeling lonely, depressed, and with the weirdest cravings. right when you were about to call your best friend and rant about how terrible you felt, you had went to the bathroom and- oh.

that explains a lot.

and now here you were, sitting on the toilet for the past ten minutes, contemplating. you were completely out of all period products and your flow was so heavy there was no way you were making it to the store free bleeding or with toilet paper as a makeshift pad. of course, that's when john decided to call you (let's be real, who doesn't take their phone to the bathroom. don't judge.)

"evenin', duckie."

"ugh john, i told you not to call me that. its so annoying."

john grunted a chuckle into the phone, swiping a hand over his beard. "you love it." silence. he could practically hear your eye roll. "dinner tonight?" he was pacing his apartment, uncharacteristic for a man like him. calm, cool, collected. never when it came to you.

"can't, sorry. maybe in a few days." he grunted. "could order a takeaway?" you sighed in his ear, the sound a melody he craved to hear over and over again. on lazy saturdays and in-between small fights over laundry. baby steps, though.

"its just not in the cards tonight, john, i'm sorry." you were never like this, withholding information. even when you cancelled on him, it was with a long-winded explanation with the names of about seven people he didn't know and plans you didn't want to go to. "'s wrong, duck? got a hot date or somethin'?" he mentally crossed his fingers, not allowing a physical expression. he wasn't that whipped. not yet.

"no, im just sick. and tired." his muscles relaxed. he started putting on his boots and grabbed a fleece, something gaz insisted was not too tryhard for someone like him. "i'll run to the store and grab ya medicine, hm? what'dya need?" you sighed again, rubbing your fingers to your forehead. he obviously was not giving this up and you did really need pads...

"ill text you a list when you get there. thanks john."

"anythin' for you, duckie."

list: pads, advil, that one chocolate candy you know i like, something for dinner

shit. price had been with a woman or two, but had never had to buy her pads. of course, he'd never let it get to that stage, not when he had you to take care of. but now here he was, staring at playtex and always and what the fuck was a diva cup? he'd better call you.

"all ok, john?"

"ya didn't give me a color on your pads, duck." you giggled. of course he paid attention to the green versus orange pads.

"its pretty heavy so some of the overnight and extra daytime ones would work." silence.

"...there's numbers." your cheeks warmed. you couldn't believe you were talking about this with john of all people.

"god, john. this feels so embarrassing. so weird to talk about with you."

"why? gotta know this for the rest of my life, duckie." shit. he was referring to that night a couple weeks ago, when you confessed to him you thought you'd never find love. when he said he'd marry you in a heartbeat, just say the word. when you compromised by telling him if you were still single in two years, you'd go to the courthouse then and there. when you didn't see him turn and write the date in phone, just as a reminder.

"5, john. there should be a moon symbol or something. and then 3. should be green, i think?" he grunted an affirmation, putting the respective pads in his cart. he turned around, having said goodbye and ended the call, and was subsequently greeted by three women, staring. paused in their product selection, staring openmouthed at how nonchalant he was about buying pads.

30 minutes later he was at your place, groceries and takeaway in hand as he used his spare key to let himself in. "duck?" all quiet. he stalked through your place and noticed the light on in the bathroom. one, two, three quick knocks. "john?" "'s me. can i come in?" "no i- need you to get me something." he waited patiently. "can you go to my dresser and grab a pair of underwear. something ugly, lots of coverage." who was he to say no to a free invite to your underwear drawer?

john dropped the pads outside your bathroom door and headed to your bedroom. finding your dresser, he had to give himself a second. calm down, old man. they're all clean.

that didn't stop him from sniffing a few, reveling at the scent of your laundry detergent. he almost groaned at the scent, imagining you in them. even in the "unsexy" pairs, your curves clothed in cotton and elastic, wrapped up in a lovely package. all his.

john selected a pair with "lots of coverage", whatever that meant, and headed to your bathroom. he opened the door with ease, setting your pads down on the counter. you shrieked.

"john! im half naked, you need to knock." obviously, the sight of your bare thighs and the top of your mound peaking out was most welcome, but he was more concerned about getting you off the toilet and putting food in your belly. "jus' me, duckie. come on, show me how to do it." he gestured at the pads. he couldn't be serious.

you slowly unboxed them, taking care to cover your naked body as much as possible. even while moving slowly, your shirt still shifted and he caught glimpses of your pretty pussy. an image for another day, when you weren't in pain. he focused on your fingers, deftly putting the pad on your underwear with years of practice. he memorized how you placed the pad, ensuring it stuck to your underwear before tearing the paper off the wings and tucking them on the other side. you looked up at him and he nodded, mission complete. "thank you, by the way." he kissed your forehead, so quick you could have missed it in a blink.

"turn around, i have to put it on." he sat back on his haunches, staring. "go'on. 've gotta learn somehow." you were too tired to care, ready to devour your dinner. you missed his hungry gaze as you revealed your cunt to him, wanting even though it was covered in blood. you missed his fingers twitching as you slowly pulled on your underwear, fabric caressing your skin like he yearned to. you got up, flushed, and washed your hands, missing how he tucked his fingers in belt loops and leaned back into the wall, a move he'd done many times in his tac vest.

"thank you, john. truly." he gave you a grin under the muttonchops, all satisfied. task finished, mission accomplished. you had asked him to do this, a husbandly duty. after you dried your hands, you made a move for the door, but he stopped you with a hand to the jaw. he brushed his beard against you, feeling the shiver in your bones. his mouth hovered near your ear, accent coming out low and sultry. "anythin' for my future wife, duckie."

--

ngl this got a bit weird but i like it??? had to struggle to not lean into my simon riley weirdness tendencies as im still learning john as a character.

[favslarue]

Bakugo NSFW inspired by Never Lose Me - Flo Milli

Wanings: Rough sex, erotic dancer, dirty talk, humiliation kink, light spanking, coming inside. porn with feelings.

My first EVER fic. English is not my first language, 100% accept advices and correction in the grammar and vocabulary, but please be nice. 🥹

Don’t know how to make the introduction cute, new on tumblr 😭

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡

You never have felt so hot than you feel right now, you took some classes before, but you never felt this adrenaline while pole dancing, especially because you never danced with this type of clothes, never had a crowd of men mesmerized by you, and most important, never had him staring at you that way.

You are wearing the most revealing outfit you’ve ever worn in your life, a blood red push up bra, and the tiniest lace shorts of the same color, a fishnet stocking that suits your skin color, making your thighs shine, and a high black plataform. A red mask covering your eyes and nose, leaving only your lips showing, with a lipstick as red as his carmine eyes. Your curly hair is completely matted from the sweat and movements, you knew how hard it would be to untangle it later. But for some reason, that just complemented the whole look, you looked feline.

He was looking in your direction, with a look that would make anyone shiver. It seemed like anger, but he was licking and biting his lips like he was thirsty, like he was hungry, for something, for someone.

You thought that maybe the villain was close to you, maybe they were in that crowd that was throwing money at you.

You were on mission, it just didn’t make sense that the others were searching for a terrible villain, involved with illegal prostitution, and he was just standing there, like your fucking bodyguard. He probably had a plan.

Everyone would joke that you are his crush, cause you’re only one that haven’t got a rude nickname. And you’ve always answered that he probably didn’t noticed you yet to create a name for you.

These thoughts were immediately vanished from your head as the song that you been obsessing over for weeks starts playing: Never Lose Me - Flo Mili. In this moment you just get so excited, you just let the rhythm control your body on that pole, as you mouth the song without even noticing it.

“Never had a bitch like me in your life

And you ain't never had a bitch like me in your life, uh

Never had a bitch like me in your life”

You don’t even notice those perverts freaking the fuck out at this new interaction

You weren’t even thinking straight, maybe your body thought this was another wet dream your had about performing like this to Bakugo.

“Tell me you don't never wanna lose me (lose me)

Tell me you don't never-”

You searched for his eyes on the club, and once you found it, it mesmerized you, you clearly wasn’t being yourself, maybe it was the mask that gave you the confidence - and the stupidity - to just stare at him while erotically dancing and singing softly

“When I suck it, I look in your eyes (yeah)

You better fuck me like you mean it (fuck me like you mean it)”

That moment, you noticed his expression shift, from a angered look to a eyebrow raise and a smug grin. You thought you were delusional.

“Doin' good, bitch, I'm gucci (bitch, I'm gucci)

When we fuckin', it feel like a movie (it feel like a movie)”

As the music stoped you go back to reality, noticing what you did, but you didn’t even had time to process everything. Someone grabbed you by your wrists, and drag you out of that stage and pole, it was Mina. They got him.

The cops are outside and the villain is cuffed, and three of his men are in the same situation. You been shoved into the teams car, Bakugo sits on the drivers seat, and Kirishima on the passenger’s seat. you, Mina and Deku, behind. She covers you with a coat, you totally forgot you were seminude.

- Oh my god. I can’t believe your distraction worked so well Y/N, that asshole watched you the whole night. Good is that Katsuki was searching that area, he catched the villain! - Says Mina excited and nervous - The other three criminals were just around the club ordering the poor girls around.

That moment you realize that Bakugo wasn’t watching you, he was actually watching one of your watchers. Your eyes widen and your cheeks redden.

You look into the car mirror, he was looking at you, with one of his eyebrows raised, almost laughing at your face. You wanted to die.

The whole ride you were quiet, unless if asked something

- Where did you learn all of that? You were SO hot on that stage - Mina shouts, making your face even redder

- Hm. i just took some classes for fun, you know? Never thought i was going to actually use it. - You say staring your hands, to embarrassed to look up and meet his eyes again, which were shifting between you and the road.

You got to the UA accommodations, your coat was long enough to cover your thighs, or else your classmates waiting on you team would see you semi naked

They tried to make conversation, Bakugo didn’t even paid attention and just went to the rooms. You did your best to be polite enough when leaving too. Walking towards the rooms, you saw him at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall next to your door. Your stomach dropped.

You just wanted to turn around and go back to the living room. But you kept walking, trying to ignore him, didn’t even look in his direction, while he didn’t took his eyes off you, as if he was daring you to stare back at him. You didn’t.

As you got to your room, you tried to open the door, doing your best to not drop your keys and to stop shaking.

He didn’t turn his body in you direction, but still, he was so damn close, you could smell him, it kind of reminded you of a gas station. It was addictive.

You finally opened it, he pushed you inside, entering without an invitation, pushed you against your own door. It all happened so fast that hadn’t had enough time to think before he started talking. His voice sounded so angry and deep.

- You’re going to explain to me what you were doing today.

- W- What do you mean? - You tried so hard to speak coherently - We were in a mission, i was designed to dance as a distraction and undercover.

- But not to distract me. You thought that dressing as a slut and singing that song to me, you wouldn’t catch my attention? - He said pushing you harder against the wall - Maybe that’s what you wanted.

- Fuck you! Not everything is about your ass.

- I thought you wanted me to fuck you, like I mean it, right? - He said it mockingly.

You kept quietly, you felt a heat in you stomach and between your legs.

His hand started opening your coat, the other one he placed in the back of your neck, he started with a caress that sent shivers through your body, giving him an unspoken permission.

The caress stopped and he tugged your matted hair tightly, making you moan with the unexpected pain, with that, his mouth curled in a smug grin.

He managed to take of the coat without you even noticing, now you were wearing only your lingerie. He didn’t have you time to be embarrassed, capturing your lips with so much hunger, seemed like he was starving for this, for you.

The kiss wasn’t romantic or calm, it was angry and burning. His sweaty hands gripping you turned the temperature of the room up. Your hands curled up in his hair, and that made him lift you up, your legs circled his hips.

he headed you to the bed, he didn’t even tripped once, it was like he knew the way to your bed like the palm of his hands. But he never had been to your bedroom, right?

He sat on the bed and you sat on top of him, neither of you broke the kiss. He started moving your hips with his hands, creating fiction between your covered parts.

- I’m the only one who should see you wearing this, gonna teach you to dance like that only for me. - He whispered in you ear

His voice had a huge effect on you, and on your pussy. His kisses trailed a way through your neck to chest. Hands left your hips and touched your back until it was in the clip of your bra. But it stopped there

- Are you lazy or sum? Who the fuck told you to stop moving? - He slapped your ass right as he finished his sentence. Gripping your thigh right after the smack.

- Hm… Sorry - You moaned, you restarted the rolling of your hips, eagerly, as if it would satisfy you.

After so much teasing, he finally took of your bra. And your shaking hands moved to his T-shirt, unbuttoning it. At that moment you focused on his face, his eyes were in your tits, as you moved your hips they bounced, he licked his lips while watched you hungrily.

His eyes met yours, for the first time that night, his glaze wasn’t dominant, it was kind of begging, he took a moment to observe your features a bit. Your face was red and eyes teary, lips swollen from his kisses and bites, neck and chest with purple and red marks all over.

- Fuck… You’re beautiful, I hate it.

He rolled you, to lay down in your back, under him. Kissing you again, as he tried to unbutton his pants. Wearing only boxers, he started to grind your intimacies again, making you moan. It was taking so fucking long.

He took of your shorts and the stockings so fast, leaving you only in a thong. Pushing your panties to the side, his fingers started working on you, in and out of your cunt, making wet noises

- You’re so fucking wet…

- Just fuck me then, hm… You’re taking to fucking long!

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled

- Didn’t know you were such a eager whore. I’m doing you a favor by preparing you.

- Your ego is so huge, you think I can’t take your tiny dick?

He stopped. You didn’t even saw him doing the movement of freeing his cock from his pants, you just noticed when it was already invading you. It was big, and he wasn’t gentle. Your eyes started tearing up, you really couldn’t take it

- Ah! Wait. - You cried. - Calm down.

- What is it? Isn’t it tiny, you bitch? - Couldn’t he take a joke?

- Sorry, calm down, please. - He complied, stopped a bit

- Is it all way in? - You asked

- Not yet. I’ll be nice, but only this time.

He went for another kiss, while shoving it gently, his hand moving from your legs to boobs. When it was all in, he started with a calm rhythm, which didn’t suit his personality.

You moaned, pulled him closer to you and arched your back, wanting more.

He shoved his face in your neck and sniffed, you smelled so fucking good. It was all too much for him, your moans, your scent, the hotness in that room.

He started to pound into you, hard.

- Ugh… Fuck - He moaned into your ear

You sunk your nails on his arms and back while he ravished you. Each trust deeper than the previous.

- How long have you been dreaming of me destroying your pussy like this?

You just couldn’t think of an answer that wasn’t humiliating

He slapped your face and then grabbed it while your cheek that was still burning, kissing the pout that his hand forcefully formed in your mouth.

- Answer me, you disgusting whore. I want to know how much time I wasted without having this pretty bitch to fuck when I want.

- Aah. Since… Since I first saw you, i’ve been waiting for you to make a move… I- He stopped you with a kiss, his tongue invading your mouth.

He was going deeper, almost hurting.

The tension growing on your stomach, your pussy throbbing and your heart pounding in your chest.

- Are you going to cum princess? - He asked trying to mock you, but his voice revealed how much he was trying not to reach his own peak.

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t. It was already too much for you, phrasing your situation wasn’t really possible

- Come for me, slut. Now that I know that’s what you’ve been wanting since we first met.

That was it. Hell. You actually came like a slut, you just felt the tension being released, how long haven’t you had such an intense orgasm? You couldn’t control yourself, you didn’t even tried.

You tried to scream, but he closed your mouth with his hands, thankfully. Your eyes were watery and you were shaking in a embarrassing way

Katsuki didn’t seem to think it was embarrassing, he actually never had seen such a sinful scene before.

He decided at that moment that no other man will have the pleasure of seeing that sight.

You were still panting when he turned you around, belly on the bed, not doggy style, you were actually laying down, when he laid on top of your body, inserting himself into you once again, while breathing in your ear and kissing your cheeks and shoulders. It was so… intimate.

- You’re beautiful, the most gorgeous woman on the fucking earth. - He hummed in your ear, while fucking you so calmingly, as if he was trying to enjoy every single inch of your cunt.

- Can’t believe I took so damn long to have you. You’re mine now. - And in one last thrust he shoved himself deep inside you, just to come into your womb. And you came once again, didn’t know if it was from his words or his seed spilling from your pussy to your legs.

He laid by your side quietly, his chest on your back, beating wildly, his arm circling you. In completely silent, that’s how you fell asleep that night.

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Chapter 5

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: You and Eddie make some calls and get to know each other a little more.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.4k

Master List

No beta, you all should know better by now.

“You’re old enough to buy your own now, you know. I’m only gonna up-charge you.” 

“What? Can’t a girl just buy some smokes from her friend?” 

“Right. Friends.”

“Fine, then I’m supporting a local business.” 

“What do you actually want, Stacy?”

“I’m just making sure that you two are going to play nice.”

“What the Hell? Shouldn’t you be telling her that?”

“She’s always nice.”

“Right, and I’m the queen of Sheba.”

“Well then, your majesty, just give me my smokes and I’ll be on my way.”

Bev wasn’t too happy that Eddie was going to be coming in an hour and a half later than expected on his Wednesday shift but she waved it off. The Hideout survived without him for god knows how long, the small dive could handle losing a busboy for a few hours on a weekday night. 

He sauntered into Ms. Benson’s classroom a fashionable ten minutes late, and a few dollars richer. You were already sitting at a desk chatting with Ms. Benson about who-knows-what before taking his own seat on top of the desk. 

If Eddie had to be here, he might as well rebel in his own way. He really would rather be bussing tables and trying to convince Bev to give him extra time on stage than do school services with someone who hated him. 

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Munson.” Ms. Benson said, ignoring the fact that he was on his desk. She pulled out a thick binder and a rolodex that looked like it would fall apart if she didn’t hold it just so. “In here, you’ll find the budget for Spring Day and all of the different vendors and events that we’ve used over the past ten years.” 

Being the smart woman that she was, she placed the rolodex in front of you and dropped the binder on Eddie’s lap. He raised an eyebrow and flipped through it casually, as if looking through the Spring Day binder would provide him with secrets to the school that he could use to force Higgins to let him graduate this year. 

“There’s a phone in the teachers lounge you can use.” She continued, grabbing her own purse. “Let me know what you come up with on Monday.” 

“Wait- are you leaving?” You asked, jaw dropped as Ms. Benson started out of the room. “You’re not gonna help?”

“There’s only one phone. Just get some quotes for vendors. All of the information is in the binder. Just close the door tight when you leave.”  

Your mouth was still agape as Ms. Benson left, which was very amusing to Eddie. It was dead silent before Eddie burst out in a maniacal cackle that echoed through the classroom and made you jump. That also amused Eddie. 

“Well well, it looks like it’s just us in charge of Spring Day.” He got off the desk and dropped the binder down where he had just been sitting. Eddie leaned over the binder and flipped through it. “I’m thinking evil clowns, adding balloon popping back but with knives, and a petting zoo with snakes and goats.” Eddie turned and grinned wide at you. 

“What, no fortune teller to tell you how you’re gonna die a gruesome death?” Your voice was flat, but Eddie could pick up the hint of amusement in your voice which made his grin widen. 

“I’m sure we can dress you up in something covered in stars. I’ll sit under the table and shake it. We’ll make a killing!” Eddie laughed. 

“A killing? Really?” You shook your head at the terrible joke and flipped through the rolodex with a sour look on your face. Eddie hadn’t meant to make a pun, but if it annoyed you he’d keep it up. 

Play nice.

As if Stacy had any say over what happened between the two of you. He barely knew either of you.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to charge for anything, anyway.” you continued, flipping through the cards almost as fast as Doug flipped through long boxes at the comic shop. 

“What doesn’t kill Higgens won’t hurt us.” Eddie pressed, not even fully invested in the idea himself. Something about his talk with Stacy just got under his skin, and the only way he could shake it was by getting under yours now. 

“I don’t think half of these businesses even exist anymore.” you said to yourself as you kept flipping through the rolodex with your good hand. Eddie sighed and figured you were ignoring him until you continued. “This laundromat shut down last year. I heard it was a front for some mafia and there was a shootout.”

Eddie perked up a little, had that been an attempt at playing along? It wasn’t completely in line, but everyone in town knew that the laundromat had just been flooded from the inside when a pipe burst. 

“There’s no mafia in Hawkins.” Eddie said, looking over your shoulder at the rolodex. “Only cults that sacrifice people to the dark forces.” 

You stopped messing with the rolodex, and Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d said something wrong. You had apologized before, maybe it was too soon to joke about it? 

Eddie was usually good at reading people, but you were harder to understand. 

“So, what’s the budget that we’re supposed to be working with?” You asked, changing the subject. 

“Three pennies and an expired coupon for Benny’s.” Eddie replied, flipping back to the first page. 

“Yeah, that sounds right. I guess there’s no room in the budget when the basketball team needs new jerseys or the cheerleaders need pom-poms.” you rolled your eyes, done messing with the rolodex. 

Eddie was a little surprised at the dig towards the cheerleaders, considering your best friend was one. Had been one. Why the hell had she wanted to buy smokes from him today?

The two of you finally got up and made your way to the teacher’s lounge. Ms. Teedee, the art teacher, gave him a half hearted wave as she finished washing her coffee cup. Eddie liked Ms. Teedee, she didn’t give a shit about his reputation. Art and shop were the only classes he had ever done consistently well in, so when he was saddled with a third senior year he decided to re-take art as an easy A. 

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon calling places and taking down numbers. You did most of the talking, but Eddie took charge when you got up to use the bathroom. 

Eddie was surprised when you came back, well that you came back. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you had run for the hills and left him alone. But you did come back, two bags of chips in hand. One of them was offered to him. 

“Thanks...?” Eddie didn’t mean for that to come out as a question, but it did anyway. How was it that one minute you hated him, but another you were apologizing? You were scandalized to be left alone with him to work on this, and yet came back with food. 

He shouldn’t trust it, but he also wasn’t too good for free snacks. 

“So, what’s your deal?” Eddie asked, timing his question with you shoving a few large chips in your mouth. 

“Huh?” was your graceful reply as you covered your mouth with your hand. He could see that his timing was not appreciated, which made him feel better. 

“Your deal. Which of these fine cliques here at Hawkins Hell do you belong to?” Eddie elaborated, spreading his arms as if gesturing to a crowd when in reality he was gesturing to the table the phone was sitting on. 

You took a moment to finish chewing, giving him a glare as you finally got the chips down. Okay, maybe Eddie felt a little bad for that, as you had been nice enough to get him a snack. 

Play nice.

He was a dungeon master, he wasn’t known for playing nice. He could at least play fair though. 

“I don’t belong to anyone.” you said finally, flipping through the binder and not looking at him. “I got in late, made friends with Stacy and... I don’t know. This late in the game, cliques aren’t exactly taking new applicants. Not this close to graduation when everyone has known each other since elementary school.” 

Eddie looked at your broken wrist again, looking at all the different signatures. For someone who didn’t belong to any group, you sure were on everyone’s good side. 

Everyone had some group they belonged to. That’s how high school worked. The Freaks sat with him, the Jocks sat with their teams, the Science Nerds sat with the science nerds... that’s how high school- no, that’s how the world worked, according to Eddie. 

Your response would normally have you tucked away as “new kid” or “freshman” but neither of those fit you. You knew too many people. You hung out with an ex-cheerleader, but you weren’t exactly jumping around with excitement at the last pep-rally. Stacy still dressed like a cheerleader, and was just as nosy as one but you didn’t look popular. 

Not that there was anything wrong with the way you looked to Eddie, you just didn’t look or dress like the popular crowd. He could tell you apart from the near identical wave of perms and ponytails. 

What was your deal?

When Eddie didn’t respond in an appropriate amount of time for you, you responded with the same question. 

“What’s your deal, Eddie?” His name sounded foreign coming from your mouth. 

“Huh?” he asked, shoving a chip into his own mouth, mimicking you. You rubbed your face and let out a laugh, to his surprise. 

“What’s your deal? Or, I guess what’s Hellfire’s deal?” You clarified. 

“Well, you see, it’s a fantasy game-” 

“Not a cult?” 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” 

“Go on.”

You didn’t interrupt him again as he started explaining the bare basics of the game, figuring that you were just looking for an excuse to stop calling people for a moment. That was fine with Eddie, he’d happily sit here and rant about his favorite game in the teachers lounge, tainting the warden’s space with the game that they tried to hide away from the rest of the inmates. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to be listening so intently. You were looking at him, really really looking at him. If Eddie didn’t know any better, and he liked to think that he did, you seemed to be actually interested in the world he was opening up up to you. 

His eyes glanced down at your cast, and the curly signature of Chrissy Cunningham shimmered slightly on the underside of your cast. Eddie could barely make out her last name, but he could assume that the glitter gel pen signature belonged to the cheerleader. 

That reminded Eddie that, popular or not, you were still in a completely different world than him. One where people actually liked you and didn’t sneer at you for bullshit reasons. 

But then why were you looking at him so intensely? 

“So you’re playing make believe with dice and if you roll high you can do things and if you roll low you eat shit.” You said, crumpling up your bag of chips. 

It was a grossly simplified explanation of the game that Eddie had poured hundreds of hours into. 

“Yeah, basically.” At least that had killed a good fifteen minutes. 

“And you’re god.” You added, which Eddie did appreciate. 

“No, I’m Satan, remember?” He flashed you his most charming smile and you just laughed again. 

“You aren’t that bad.” You sounded like you meant that. 

“Tell that to my players, they say I’m worse than Satan.” He said with pride. 

Your conversation was interrupted by the bell, announcing that any clubs needed to pack up and leave. Eddie took that as your cue that you were done. 

You closed the binder and the notes that you two had taken over the past hour and took a deep breath. 

“Wait, shit, Mrs. Benson left. What do we do with this?” You asked, motioning to the binder and rolodex. “Do we just leave it here?”

Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice about just dumping it on one of the tables and leaving. He still had his shift to get to, but... 

“Come on, we’ll drop it on her desk.” he said, and walked out of the lounge before you could protest. 

You caught up to him a moment later, glaring at him for ditching you and leaving you to scramble with your things. Eddie wasn’t sure if he liked you more when you looked like you were hanging on his every word or looking at him with annoyance. Maybe Eddie just wasn’t sure if he liked you. He sure couldn’t tell if you like him at all. 

“It’s locked.” you said. 

“Barely. Make sure no one’s coming.” Eddie squatted down and pulled out a thin strip of plastic from his coat. He could feel his eyes on him and he looked up at you as you gaped. “Not me, look out for anyone else.” he clarified. 

Once you had looked away and down the hall, it didn’t take more than a few seconds for Eddie to jimmy the lock open. He grabbed the rolodex and the binder from you before you knew what was happening. 

Eddie had broken into the classroom, dropped the items off the desk, and slipped back out into the hallway in less than a minute. 

“How’d you learn to do that?” you asked, following him out towards the parking lot. 

Eddie just shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents.”

It was cool outside, the winter weather seemed to finally be on its way out. A small beep signaled you to the sleek car that Stacy drove and you waved at her. Being the good friend that she was, Stacy had offered to drive you home that night. 

“I guess, I’ll see you next week.” you said to Eddie. 

“Same bullshit time, same bullshit place.” he agreed, watching you hop into the car before heading off towards his own van and drive off. 

“Sooooo, how was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date, it was school.”

“Did you make out in the teachers lounge?” 

“No, I gave him a hand job in the janitor's closet.”

“The one by the gym, or the one by the science lab.”

“The gym. Smelled worse but at least there weren’t any dangerous chemicals.” 

“No, really, tell me what happened.”

“We called different places to get quotes for Spring Day. He also talked about Dungeons and Dragons for fifteen minutes.”

“And then you made out?”

“No.”

“But you wanted to.” 

“....Stacy, I’ve never wanted to blow someone more in my entire life.”

Author Notes: Sorry this took so long, I got so brain dead writing this. I really need to visit more of the source material. I love Eddie, but he just hasn't been talking to me much lately. Hopefully when Rise of Hellfire comes out it'll help lol

Tag List: 

 @eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @cyanfairywren @crocworkships @tomtomslongdong @aphrogeneias

@ghcstpyre @totheforestandtheocean @stevekeeryswife @dreamyyy222222 @ajnerdess

@sp1dyb0y1008 @projectcampbell @emxxblog @thebadbatchfan

@transparentenemypenguin @ghoulsgraveyard @spread-the-hope @exploding-bonbon @paleidiot

@2spock @c14r3v1b3srs @yujyujj @saramelaniemoon @morganlolitta

@veemoon @mrsrdlw @eddieheart @bambibiest @mylovelycrazyworld

@sassidykassidy @cultish-corner @thedoubleexposurephotography @bambibiest @wheels-of-despair

@amieinghigh @hazydespair @princesssunderworld

[piratefishmama]

Just ONE chance | Part 1

Eddie Munson was only certain about one thing in his life, and that was that it was supposed to end in his twenties.

But it didn’t.

Thanks to a very dedicated swimsuit model with first aid training, a kick up the backside from Wayne, and a solid year long stint in rehab, Eddie Munson did not die at 23 years of age, when he fell, system full of drugs, into a pool head first from the pool house roof and didn’t QUITE stick the landing.

His head hit the edge of the pool, dyed the water a sickly red.

He still had the scar, he knew he was infinitely lucky that that was ALL he had, but that scar remained forever, buried beneath the mass of curls atop his head where they’d had to operate to reduce the swelling. A terrifying reminder that life was fleeting, and fragile, and god he could have died.

He could have wound up paralyzed, he could have wound up permanently disabled needing round the clock care, could have wound up as ANYTHING but perfectly healthy. Doctors said he must have had some kind of exhausted guardian angel looking out for him because a miracle was really all they had to describe it as.

Eddie gave a toast of apple juice to the terribly drab ceiling of his private hospital room, thanked his mother who’d long since passed for her life saving help because honestly who else would it have been, and then, after that kick up the backside from Wayne, not that it was needed but it was appreciated, he proceeded to fix his life.

Of course, the rockstar life wasn’t easily fixed, but he was a man on a mission. A man with a life he realised that he actually wanted to live.

Corroded Coffin hit fame early, they struck what initially appeared to be gold at some back ally dive bar in Indy, a guy, a fancy embossed business card, a label, words of promise like roses hiding thorns. It was all flashing lights and good times at first. They were thrust upon massive stages to crowds mostly paid to be there to make it look ‘packed,’ label never told them that, they’d told them they’d put their material out on the air and people had responded well, half-truths really. They had gotten the music out there, but the people hadn’t really come until those packed venues hit the magazines.

Everyone wanted to be part of the next big thing. The up and coming next big name in the music industry, already selling out shows!

They were stars, they were famous, they were puppets on strings being pulled this way and that, given alcohol and drugs and thrust into the limelight to dance a jig that’d keep them relevant, not for their music but for their mess.

How very entertaining a human can be when they’re not fully coherent, when they exist purely to make a mess of themselves.

He’d lost himself, his bandmates lost themselves, and only through him not dying did they finally realise that somewhere along the way things had gone so terribly wrong, only then did they finally realise that those perfumed words said in a dank bar back in Indy those years ago, were just well masked poison all along.

They spent two years of their lives after Eddie emerged from Rehab, two years and frankly way too much of the money they’d risked their very lives to earn, to free themselves from the web of legal bullshit their label had ensnared them in.

But they were free. Sure, some of their old material was lost, claimed by their old label, but a quick rerecord, few changes here and there and a solid re-release under their own, self-made label, Corroded Records, well. They weren’t too worried about the future after that. Sure, their old label attempted to slander them online, tried to spread awareness of how they’d paid their earlier audiences to attend shows, but the real fans didn’t care.

The real fans hit back just as hard.

Used that fancy lil internet gizmo everyone now seemed to have to spread awareness on the frankly abhorrent practices their old label had engaged in, practices they hadn’t only used on Corroded Coffin, but several other smaller, younger, vulnerable members of the entertainment industry.

It was a long hard slog to the top full of pains, addictions, rehabilitations, and recoveries. But finally, they had their footing. They were making new music. They were comfortable. They were happy.

It was a brand new, quickly evolving world, and thanks to those new world advancements, thanks to home computers, laptops, smart phones, tablets… the internet, they very quickly found they had a way to get their creations out to everyone from the comforts of a  home studios while they figured themselves out post nightmare. Dove into their roots, rediscovered themselves, thrived.

But survival didn’t come without its downsides.

Eddie Munson… hadn’t died at 23 years of age, but that didn’t mean he’d gotten to live straight away afterwards. Even as a clean and sober man, there were things he hadn’t done, things that’d just… taken a back seat on the list of priorities while the years had ticked on by during their long haul trek to creative freedom.

Life had taken a backseat. For him at least.

Gareth had found himself a girlfriend, and now fiancée in a girl they’d known of back in high school, but had only recently reconnected after they found out she was a back up dancer in one of their new music videos. Once Head Cheerleader, now professional dancer Chrissy Cunningham, the reunion had been adorable, and aired on TV in ‘behind the scenes’ footage.

Jeff had had an ongoing thing with the backup drummer they’d taken up at a gig when Gareth had broken his arm a few years back. Never having been able to talk about it publicly thanks to their old label.

And Dougie was engaged, fell ass over tit for their lawyers assistant, thankfully it was mutual. Their relationship was a whirlwind but soulmates were supposed to be like that.

Eddie was thrilled for them all, really he was but no matter how much he’d realised he’d wanted to LIVE after nearly dying… he still hadn’t really lived at all. He was still just… Eddie Munson, now thirty something rockstar. Single, sober, and honestly kind of sad.

So sue him if he watched a few slice of life things on the internet every now and then.

The bands accounts were thriving nicely with him at the helm, he got the hang of itquickly enough, adapted well as the technologies advanced, so much so that people accurately guessed very early on that it was him running the channel himself, rather than a social media professional. It was a nice distraction! Kept him busy, allowed him to watch silly little videos and find the occasional fan being adorable in their mentions, he loved his band accounts.

But his private account was his favourite.

Because of her.

He’d found her videos on the camera app within a few hours of signing up the bands account, and very quickly made a private one just to follow hers.

Was it weird? Was it a little stalkerish? From the experience could he possibly understand where some of his own fans were coming from when they stalked the bands socials? All of the above, yes.

But he’d found a goddess on his very first real adventure into the internet. He figured he ought to be cut some slack!

Stevie was her name, or Stephanie, but she never went by Stephanie. He found out very quickly that she was a mother through her morning makeup videos where she ranted about PTA mothers, from what he heard, Sally was evil and her potato salad was garbage.

He would have been more than happy to just watch. He followed the account on his private one very early on, and he’d have been content to just simply watch, swoon in silence, appreciate every little mole he could see on her without ever doing anything about it. He’d had crushes as a kid, he wasn’t a stranger to unrequited attraction, or even completely one sided attraction cause the other person didn’t know you exist, so it didn’t matter to him that she would never really know he existed.

He didn’t even comment on her videos. Liked them sometimes, but he’d never commented. Even on the one where she let slip that she’d been single for a while. He remained respectful.

That was… until the lunch videos.

Specifically, the little teddy bear thing she did with the rice.

He didn’t know what it was about that specific video, he’d watched a few of her cute lunch videos before, the sushi was adorable although not to Eddie’s taste, the ramen pots? Genius, Eddie had even tried to do that himself a few times, although the ‘soup’ never tasted half as good as hers looked like it would be, the little fruit animals? He actually, for a moment, genuinely wanted to eat fruit!

But he still kept his words to himself.

But that little teddy bear… nestled in a cushion of healthy greens with a small pot of home-made sauce on the side, it hit Eddie in a way he couldn’t really explain, he wanted that. Wanted someone who loved so hard that they went out of their way to make cute lunches for the person they loved the most. He wanted… the domesticity of it all. She didn’t just have what he wanted. A life. A lived life. She was what he wanted.

Everything about her, that he knew at least, that she was smart, creative, full of love, beautiful, but also pretty damn feisty if her inspired rants about Sally and her potato salad were anything to go by. He wanted her.

He typed a comment, hit send, closed the app, and turned off his phone. Certain that that would be it, she’d ignore his personal account, as she ignored everyone else, he’d get the urge out of his system, he’d feel sad for a little while after the inevitable ignoring, and all would be well.

If only he’d have just looked at the account he was on, before he pressed send.

Maybe it’d have protected his poor front door from the abuse it suffered a few hours later when Dougie finally realised he was at home, because really out of all four of them, Dougie really was the only one with the solid arm strength to really beat the shit out of his front door.

“EDDIE, OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!” Or the vocals to reach him all the way up in his bedroom where he’d very maturely burritoed himself after turning his phone off.

It’d been up for hours. Had he not turned his phone off, he’d have known immediately, because it wouldn’t have shut up, there were over fifty thousand likes on his comment already, over six thousand replies to it.

And the first video on his for you page was someone REACTING to it.

There were screenshots circulating. Stevie hadn’t replied to it, everyone ELSE had, but she hadn’t, deleting it wouldn’t do anything, but he did it anyway. The damage was done, the spotlight was lit and aimed. It was only when the others managed to get to his place and get him seated on his comfy couch, that he finally asked the most important question. “What should I do?”

“Well… we could blame an imaginary social media guy” Gareth offered, already expecting the following, “tell everyone it was just an oopsie?”

“Nah, everyone knows Eddie mans the account” from Jeff. “Maybe we just… silent treatment it, let it blow over?”

“That’s not exactly fair on Stevie though, is it?” Chrissy piped up from where she’d perched herself on the arm of the chair Gareth was sat on. “She’s been thrown into the spotlight here and some of your fans can be kinda… intense.”

“She’s an influencer though, being in the spotlight is like her job.”

“Uh, no, Dougie. She’s not.” Chrissy argued “nothing she does is sponsored, she’s just… popular, and Eddie’s just given her a lot of unwanted attention. Eddie… you really should address it. Either say you were joking if you were, or… I dunno, own it. Be serious about it.”

“Were you joking?” Jeff stepped a little closer, into Eddie’s space, crouching down a little to his level. “Was this just little Eddie talking? Or—or were you serious? Like, she’s hot, don’t get me wrong—”

Gareth snorted, cutting him off “you think she’s hot?”

“I’m gay, Gare, I’m not blind. Eddie?”

“…An if I were serious? Would that be okay? I could hear a but before Garebear interrupted.”

“But, she does have a kid, right? She comes with a real little human being, kids are fragile, impressionable, opinionated, and rockstar lives aren’t kid friendly most of the time… I know we’ve cooled it down, and I know you’re great with kids, Ed but… are you prepared to like… have one? Like a whole ‘this is one I made earlier’ little kid with its own pre-built personality that you’ve made zero contributions to?”

“I made zero contributions to you shits too and yet you turned out alright” Eddie sniped right back, a little more defensive than he really had any right to be. “If it weren’t for me hunting this lil chubby cheeked fuck down after his first hellfire he wouldn’t even be here!” Eddie motioned to Gareth, who squawked in objection

“Hey! I’m neutral here leave me out of it!”

“Do you not think I could take care of one?” Eddie ignored Gareth completely, eyes on Jeff, who shook his head without any offense taken from the outburst.

“I think you’d be great at it, I’m pretty sure you’d be like, the first choice for godfather if any of us had kids, but I’m asking you… are you prepared to take one on right now, even if they might not like you very much at first, if she’s interested? Because that kid will come with her, there’s no ignoring that.”

He didn’t even have to think about it. Even though the godfather thing was something he’d undoubtedly circle back to later, his answer was an instant “Yes.”

“Then own it. You have our support to use the account to make a public statement, however you choose. See where it gets you.”

His public statement was a picture, a black square with big white writing on it. Just a big ol ‘WHOOPS’, captioned “I regret nothing. Just ONE chance, sweetheart, just one.” And then he opened their DM’s in the hopes that maybe.

Just maybe.

She’d message.

Part 3

[ariawins]

My Vespersona being a silly lil gal 😌 I'll post some of her cliché lore in the read more.

She had always been on the stage. Her singing and dancing had captivated audiences since she was a young girl. She loved nothing more than performing and bringing joy to her fans. But there was one person who had captured her heart even more than her audience - Scarlett. For years, her and Scarlett had danced and sang together, their chemistry on stage undeniable. And as they grew closer, their love for each other blossomed. They were the perfect pair, and it was no surprise when they announced their plans to marry.

However, as their wedding day approached, she began experiencing strange symptoms. She would forget her lines on stage, and strange marks started appearing on her skin. She tried to hide it from Scarlett, afraid of what she might think. But as the marks spread and her memory continued to fail her, her contractor, who had been working with her for years, could no longer ignore it. He screamed that she had become useless, an ugly monster and could no longer perform. It was a harsh reality, but she refused to give up.

She researched for a cure, praying everyday to her solar god for help. But nothing seemed to work. As the days passed, her condition worsened. She could no longer remember her childhood, her age, or even her name. And the face of her beloved Scarlett became a blur, a stranger insisting they were meant to be together. It was all too much for her. She couldn't bear to see the disappointment in Scarlett's eyes or the fear in her fans' faces. So she ran away, seeking refuge under the mountain in search of a rumored cure - Lunar Ichor. It was a dangerous journey, but she was desperate.

She would do anything to go back to the supposed perfect life she once had before this terrible curse took over her. Shortly after entering the mountain, she heard about the beloved Lunar church in the market place. Her heart raced with excitement and she immediately headed there in search for any leads of the Lunar ichor.

Little did she know, this would be her worst outcome. As she entered the church, she was greeted by a curious priest named Cirrus. He promised her protection and a possibility for salvation, claiming to have a few leads on how to obtain the Lunar ichor. She was drawn to his words, entranced by his promises. As days turned into weeks, she slowly began to forget *everything* about her past life. She meandered around the church like a ghost, blindly trusting Cirrus and his teachings. She was a mere shadow of her former self, trapped in the grasp of the Lunar priest.

[mondothebombo]

✨Small Canon Things in Ninjago That Aren’t Necessarily Important to the Plot, but Important to Me Pt 2✨

(in honor of the first post reaching 2.5k notes)

1. the reason the ninja can’t summon their elemental dragons anymore is bc they’re too traumatized

2. Kai takes laxatives

3. Lloyd felt responsible for Nya’s sacrifice

4. Morro took a shot while he was in Lloyd’s body

5. Cole’s favorite color is orange

6. Chamille, the master of form, is a “bad girl” post s4

7. the ninja were literal children when they waltzed into Chen’s tournament and proceeded to beat all the adult EMs in the competition

8. prior to seabound, Nya resented her parents for not being there in her childhood, her mother more so than her father (✨mommy issues✨)

9. Nya is hyper-independent as a result of her childhood; while Kai is more openly accepting to his parents because he has a better memory of them

10. Wu was close enough with Lilly that he could remember whether or not she wore a necklace

11. Cliff Gordon was a “womanizer”

12. Lloyd didn’t naturally hit puberty until s8

13. Cole and Jay are best friends

14. whether or not you see Pixane as a bf/gf situation in canon, they are canonically soulmates

15. Jay has not yet received his inheritance letter

16. at least up until the Merge, Zane’s statue is still in downtown Ninjago City

17. ninjago citizens are fully aware their only protection are six super-powered teens/young adults

18. the ninja are still famous, public figures

19. Jay is the only ninja who hasn’t died (yet)

20. despite being a terrible actor, Lloyd is always sent on the undercover missions

21. the ninja are on first name basis with each others parents

22. Cole’s favorite genre of music is soft rock

23. Zane has selective memory

24. after Nya’s sacrifice, each ninja depicted a different stage of grief (Zane-Denial, Kai-Anger, Lloyd-Depression, Jay-Bargaining, and Cole-Acceptance)

25. Cole never actually had feelings for Nya, he was just flattered by the attention and petty about Jay being mad at him

26. elements react based on the master’s emotions

27. Jay is so emotionally dependent on being around other people that he loses his mind when he’s alone for too long

28. Lloyd had a chat with god and wasn’t impressed

29. Cole’s snoring can be heard throughout the monastery

30. Nya is not a morning person

31. Kai and Skylor have been in a situationship since s4

32. Lloyd being the grandson of god is not common knowledge

33. the group of civilians that were on the bounty when Cole fell are probably the only ones who truly realize the danger the ninja put themselves in on the regular to protect the city, and how close they are with each other

34. Wu didn’t want to tell the ninja about the green ninja prophecy because he was afraid of having a repeat of Morro

35. since s8 at the very least, the ninja all shared a room on the bounty until the monastery was rebuilt

36. Jay’s confidence in his own abilities fully depends on what others believe he’s capable of

37. several villains have called the ninja out on being “just a bunch of kids,” and then proceeded to get their shit rocked by said kids

38. the overlord can gloat to Lloyd all he wants to in crystallized, but fact of the matter is Lloyd defeated him when he was like twelve

39. Kai and Nya raised and took care of each other, it wasn’t just Kai doing all of the work

40. Kai is two years older than Nya

41. Zane’s biggest fear is losing his humanity

42. Lloyd’s biggest fear is becoming his father

43. Nya’s biggest fear is losing her individuality

44. Cole’s biggest fear is letting his family down

45. we the audience are the only ones who see the characters as legos; they’re real people in-universe

46. Kai likes spicy food

47. while elemental masters are immune to their elements to some extent, their elements can also be shown to hurt them in some circumstances

and as always, feel free to add on!!

[mariacallous]

Salman Rushdie has just published Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder. In August 2022, he was giving a talk at the Chautauqua Institution in New York. Hadi Matar, a 24-year-old from New Jersey, rushed the stage and stabbed him 15 times. It was astonishing that Salman survived. He lost the sight in one eye and sustained terrible injuries, but he’s still with us and he’s still writing, and unlike Hadi Matar, he’s still worth hearing.

We think of fanatics as stalkers with an obsessive knowledge of their targets.  Like the antisemites who compile lists of Jews in the media or the homophobes who so focus on the details of gay sex they might almost be closet cases

Most terrorists and bigots are not like that. They are like soldiers in an army who kill and hate for no other reason than tradition or men in authority have told them to kill and hate. If we were less fascinated by the pseudo-glamour of violence, we would see them for what they are: dullards and jerks.

In Knife Salman is almost as angered by the sheer lazy stupidity of his wannabee assassin as his violence.

“I do not want to use his name in this account. My Assailant, my would-be Assassin, the Asinine man who made Assumptions about me, and with whom I had a near-lethal Assignation … I have found myself thinking of him, perhaps forgivably, as an Ass.”

The ass “didn’t bother to inform himself about the man he decided to kill. By his own admission he read barely two pages of my writing and watched a couple of YouTube videos”.

That was enough, apparently, along with a little light indoctrination in the Levant.

We know from Matar’s mother that her son changed from a popular young man to a moody religious zealot after visiting her ex-husband in the Hezbollah-controlled town of Yaroun in Lebanon, a mile or so from the Israeli border.

“I was expecting him to come back motivated, to complete school, to get his degree and a job. But instead, he locked himself in the basement. He had changed a lot. He didn't say anything to me or his sisters for months.”

Salman quotes a wonderfully perceptive line from Jodi Picoult

“If you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it’s not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”

Rushdie is openly contemptuous, as he has every right to be.

“I see you now at twenty-four,” he writes, “already disappointed by life, disappointed in your mother, your sisters, your father, your lack of boxing talent, your lack of any talent at all; disappointed in the bleak future you saw stretching ahead of you, for which you refused to blame yourself.”

This has always been the way. Readers old enough to remember 1989 when the Ayatollah Khomeini ordered Salman’s execution for writing a blasphemous satire of Islam’s origin story in the Satanic Verses,will know that Khomeini had not read it. Nor had the furious demonstrators in the streets or the regressive leftists and Tory ministers who upbraided him for the non-crime of causing offence.

Those of us who had read the book pointed out that it was a magical realist fiction which contained sympathetic accounts of the racism Muslim immigrants in the UK suffered. Indeed, the Tories of the day loathed Salman, we continued, because of his confrontations with official racism.

But after a while we fell silent. Pleading with his enemies felt demeaning. It gave them undeserved credit, as if they were reasonable people, who could be swayed by evidence rather than just, well, pillocks.

In Knife Salman attempts an imaginary conversation with his persecutor.

OK, he says, Islam, unlike Judaism and Christianity, holds that man is not made in God’s image. God has no human qualities, it says.

But isn’t language a human quality? To have language, God would have to have a mouth, a tongue, vocal cords and a voice, just like a man. The terrorist’s understanding is that God cannot be like a man, however. So, God could not have spoken to Gabriel in Arabic. Gabriel must have translated his message when he came to the prophet.

The angel made it comprehensible to Muhammed by delivering it in human speech which is not the speech of God.

Thus, the version of Islamic instruction Matar received in his basement when he switched from playing video games to listening to Imams was an interpretation of a translation.

“I’m trying to suggest to you that, even according to your own tradition, there is uncertainty. Some of your own early philosophers have suggested this. They say everything can be interpreted, even the Book. It can be interpreted according to the times in which the interpreter lives. Literalism is a mistake.”

For a while, Rushdie says he wants to meet Matar again at the trial, as if he wants to have the argument in the flesh.

He tells a story about Samuel Beckett, which could only have happened to Samuel Beckett.

Beckett was walking through Paris in 1938 when he was confronted by a pimp named Prudent, who wanted money from him. Beckett pushed Prudent away, whereupon the pimp pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the chest, narrowly missing the left lung and the heart.

Beckett was taken to the nearest hospital, bleeding heavily. He only just survived.

You will never guess who paid for his treatment. James Joyce, of course, he did.

Anyway, Beckett went to the pimp’s trial. He met Prudent in the courtroom, and asked him why he had done it. This was the pimp’s reply: “Je ne sais pas, monsieur. Je m’excuse.” (I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.)

But the more he thought about it, the less Rushdie had to say to his enemy. The idea that you can have theological arguments with a man who wants to kill you for writing a book he hasn’t even read felt ridiculous.

Although popular culture is full of stories about murderers, and true crime podcasts top the charts, killers and fanatics are nearly always less interesting than their victims. More often than not they are just thick. Nasty and vicious, but thick first of all.

We are about to see the stupidity of fanatics deployed on a mass scale. Two thirds of Republican voters (and nearly 3 in 10 Americans) continue to believe that the 2020 election was stolen from Donald Trump, and that Joe Biden was not lawfully elected. They think it because that is what Trump told them to think.

Islamists told Matar that Salman was an apostate, and that was all he needed to know. Trump told Republicans the election was stolen and ditto.

If Republicans were consistent people, they would not vote for Trump in 2024. What would be the point? They would have every reason to fear that the deep state would rig the 2024 presidential election as it rigged the 2020 presidential election.

But they will vote for him because, once again, that is what he tells them to do.

In the end there is a limit to how much attention you can pay the vicious and the stupid.

They are not interesting enough, as Rushdie concluded with marvellous disdain as he contemplated the life sentence Matar will face.

"Here we stand: the man who failed to kill an unarmed seventy-five-year-old writer, and the now 76-year-old writer. Somewhat to my surprise, I find I have very little to say to you. Our lives touched each other for an instant and then separated. Mine has improved since that day, while yours has deteriorated. You made a bad gamble and lost. I was the one with the luck… Perhaps, in the incarcerated decades that stretch out before you, you will learn introspection, and come to understand that you did something wrong. But you know what? I don’t care. This, I think, is what I have come to this courtroom to say to you. I don’t care about you, or the ideology that you claim to represent, and which you represent so poorly. I have my life, and my work, and there are people who love me. I care about those things.”

[bon2bonn]

Those Eyes

Carlos Sainz Jr X female!driver!reader

WC : 1.9k ?.

🌶️🍒*✧I close my eyes and all I see is you*✧🍒🌶️

This is war! :

A disaster, that what the challenge the team put up for them turned out to be , and what started as a simple taste testing ended up in a food fight, or war for better use of words.

The fire were a combination of Mellon juice that escalated to sour cream frosting and weirdly textured yellowish green juice that turned out to be blended beas, spinach,and a generous amount of egg yolk , the smell was something to remember, the media crew knew that for sure , as they were drenched in it when one of the two 'accidentally' quote and quote, splashed it backwards instead of the other way .

It was a misunderstanding, the blindfolds were a terrible idea and the directions they were given were misleading and resulted in both accidentally spilling cups on eachother, and it went from there to the point where Horner walked in to see what the screaming was about only to receive a fist full of mashed creamy potatoes to the face which then slides to his shirt and finally plopped to the ground in a loud splat .

Carlos with his hair coated in whipped cream pointed at our driver who was already pointing at him with her face covered in a cocktail of white cheese and chocolate sprinkles , shouting " he/she started it " to a stoic faced Horner.

°°°°°°°°°°°🌶️ °°°°°°°°°°°

Voldemort? :

Carlos looked to his right where our driver sat on the long couch bored out of her mind while they went through the by now repeating questions asked for the god know how many times, so he leaned and asked her something, to which she shrugged before answering back , then counting three things to which he agreed with a scrunched up face , adding with pointed look to which she nod , both were caught off guard when the host directed his question to them " Carlos, Y/N , any thoughts on....you know who? " Their face twisted into confusion as they blurted out at the same time " Voldemort? " , to which they were given confused and startled looks, with Lando cackling from the other side .

°°°°°°°°°°°🌶️ °°°°°°°°°°°

Running up that hill :

Carlos face was zoomed in as he was about to keel over with exhaustion if not for his hand supporting his weight on his knees , breathing hard with aching muscles, drenched in sweat from head to toe with couple of strands stuck to Face.

Standing beside him was our driver , fresh as a daisy doing jumping jacks as if she didn't just ran a full lap around the circuit " come on! , let's gooooo ! " , and Carlos's glare could never be more bitter, cursing under his breath at the enthusiastic energy radiating off of her , clashing with his black hole of despair while he tried to find a way to ditch and crawl back to his hotel room . She grabbed the sleeve of his shirt but he swatted her hand with a scowl, making her smack his arm with a loud " rude! " , he retaliated with a smack of his own on her arm earning another one on his shoulder before she stepped back and gave him a 'did you just...' his own look screamed ' what are you going to do about it ? ' , then both started to swat at eachother landing hits on wherever they could reach , then our driver decided to shove him hard , caught off guard herself as he stumbled back making her gasp as she stared, eyes as wide as his before she held her arms up in defence, trying to bargain as he got back to his feet , her pleading fell into deaf ears as he charged at her , and she didn't waste time to sprint away from the now miraculously energised Carlos.

°°°°°°°°°°°🌶️ °°°°°°°°°°°

The mandacity :

The Fans caught it many times, turning it into an inside joke of sort more so as a trait the two shared along the years . The mandacity meter of (CarlosXourdriver) ship name. The resent sighting was during the media day of the Dutch GP where Ferrari and Merc were having a shared open stage interview , and to say the hosts were overly biased against them would be an understatement , the two hosts kept throwing subtle comments here and there , which resulted in some of the fans boooing from the crowd making them tune it down for a bit, but alas the whole thing was a nuisance.

One of the two ran his mouth a bit two much , making Carlos lose his stoic face to a much so done look , turning to our driver to his left with questioning eyes , who herself had a milder version of 'wtf' face turned into a scowl , she locked eyes with him the second he looked her way , and he mouthed ' the audacity! ' to which she shook her face and corrected with the same scowl ' No , no , no , The Mandacity! ' making him snort loudly as he tried to hold back the laugh threatening to burst out .

°°°°°°°°°°°🌶️ °°°°°°°°°°°

" you can't handle it " :

Carlos never leaned when it came to challenging our driver and her immune taste buds that he and almost everyone questioned whenever she came up with an abomination of concussion that she called tasty.

He wasn't one to judge but how on earth could she eat those combinations, and fans didn't waste time to notice when he fell into another crisis after one of her experiments.

Such as the chilli experiment as some called it where it started with our driver making her usual pre-summer break snack from hell . Consisting of a bot of instant noodles cooked with a shit ton of chilli powder then when serving she added a bag of flaming Doritos on top , a mix of cream cheese and a big spoon of chocolate drizzled on top and one scoop of ice-cream and a splash of hot sauce to top it off .

He sat comfortably after grabbing himself a fork and took one big bite, ignoring her warning of " you can't handle it " . And how he wished he didn't, the taste blended well , salty and sweet accompanied the spicy taste added to the crunch of the Doritos and the smooth texture of ice-cream, but then the chilli kicked right as he swallowed , and you could see his face turning shades into an alarming bright red along with his ears , his eyes turned unfocused with a faraway teary look as he slumped on the chair in a heap .

Our driver looked at him as she scooped another big bite and asked " you ok ? " Waving her hand Infront of his face , but he was lost to the world , she shrugged and added another splash of sauce, proceeding to take another bite .

°°°°°°°°°°°🌶️ °°°°°°°°°°°

Prince Charming who!? I only know his highness , prince Carlos Sainz Jr :

Fans couldn't let go of the moments they collected of carlos's stary eyes as he 'admires' our driver (or what their shippers say) . And boy it was a sight to behold.

Eyes soft and dreamy when he looks at her , too lost to the world to care if someone would catch on , a small smile slowly creeping upon his lips with a small tilt of the head , you could almost hear him sigh longingly.

The most viral moment was caught when Carlos was sitting down on one of the foldable chairs, overly tired and fresh out of FP2 after a long day , a couple of other drivers waiting around along with our driver who scraping on a small note book , mumbling to herself as she wrote down for a couple of minutes before handing it over to one of the Merc engineers then turned around.

She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes before looking around, her eyes fell on Carlos, who was already looking at her, a smile making it's way on her face , mirroring his as she approached and held his face in one hand while the other went to run through his gorgeously dishelved hair " Hi " , he smiled up at her and gave a sweet " hi " back , she asked with a tilt of her head " what are you doing? " He grins and answered easily " admiring the view , and you? " , she couldn't help the laugh bubbling out as she answered back with a dazzling smiles of her own " admiring you " .

°°°°°°°°°°°🌶️ °°°°°°°°°°°

Chilli🌶️ and cherry 🍒 :

The carnival's Bright lights danced in the background, with Carlos holding on a giant bear with a giddy grin permanent on his face , his eyes squint as he let out a laugh at our driver who stood beside him with a scowl , in her hand she led two keychains, a chilli and a cherry, each bright in colour as she showed them and pointed to the delighted Carlos " I busted my ass and won him this !! " She pointed then held up her hand offendedly " and look what he got me !! " Carlos gave her a side eye and retorted " if you don't want them , give them back " then he snatched the chilli keychain and hooked it on the bow around the bear's neck .

With an accomplished humm he held out the bear and declared " meet thee Carlos Sainz Jr++ " . She stood with a dropped jaw at the declaration then snatched the said Jr++ and made a run for it , followed by a screaming Carlos " give me back my Carlos Jr++ !!!!" She called back as she dodged his attempts " heck no!!! I won him " he exclaimed " for me ! " She dismissed with a flipped bird over her shoulder " that was before I know how bad is your aim ! " He retorted back without thinking " that's not what she said " she gasped with a scandalised voice and shouted " chilli! " He called back with a smirk " cherry! " .

°°°°°°°°°°°🌶️ °°°°°°°°°°°

Those Eyes :

Carlos was seen looking around with a deep frown, his eyes scanning in concern when his search was fruitless , he ran a hand through his still dishelved hair anxiously before tying his suit's hanging arms around his waist as he ventured around to look somewhere else.

He backed his steps as he passed by the small figure of our driver, huddled away and out of sight and didn't waste time to approach with a relieved look replacing the stress . He crouched down and tried to get her to talk to him , asking what's going on, she took a couple of minutes to focus on his eyes pleading with her , blinking her eyes with a frown twisting her face then the dam broke, then her breath turned erect as a sob followed by another fell out before she could hold them back .

His eyes softened with understanding, and he was quick to scoot over , covering her from view and trying to console her as best as he could , letting her lean her head on his shoulder with her arms tight around him with his hand on the back of her head .

🌶️

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 8 Stages

Summary: The truth is the hardest pill to swallow. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 9.5k Warnings: **THIS CONTAINS SERIES SPOILERS** violence, blood, angst x1000, language, brief hospital setting, mentions of alcohol, stages of grief, heavy emotions A/N: This was one of the most cathartic and emotional pieces of writing I've ever done.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

You didn’t realize how white your knuckles were until you glanced down at your hands gripping the steering wheel. You hadn’t moved the car a single inch since you saw Bennett’s car. It was the same piece of shit silver sedan he always drove; you’d know it in a heartbeat. Even if you didn’t recognize it, you could spot his floppy blonde hair and lean frame standing on your porch. You mindlessly searched your purse for your phone, dialing Joel’s number. You’d hate yourself for this later, but you needed to lie. 

“Everythin’ okay?” Joel answered. 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you lied. For your sake, you hoped that your voice wouldn’t be as shaky as your body. “I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier. Why don’t you come over later, okay? I just got home, and my head is pounding.” 

“I was ‘bout to leave my house, baby. Can I come over with some medicine and some food? I’ll take care of you,” Joel insisted. 

“No!” You panicked. “No, it’s okay. I’ll call you later, and you can come over. I promise.”

“Baby, y’sure you’re okay?”

You inhaled sharply, your eyes glued to Bennett only yards away. God, you were terrible at lying, but if Joel knew Bennett was here, you’d be left with a dead body in your front yard. 

“I’m fine, Joel,” you sighed. “Just need some rest.”

“I’ll be waitin’ for you to call,” Joel said. You could hear the defeat in his voice. 

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“See you later, baby.”

You couldn’t hang up the phone fast enough. Joel would hate you for lying, but you needed to do this—whatever it was—alone. Everything in your life had been flipped on its head in just a week, and now, the man who had broken your heart beyond amends was standing at your front door. You weren’t sure if you would survive this.

Taking your foot off the brake, you rolled your car into the driveway. Bennett glanced at your car as you put it in park, his blue eyes piercing through the distance between your bodies. The coldness of his stare was just the same as it was two years ago; nothing about him had changed. 

Your legs could barely hold up your trembling body as you exited the car and made your way to the porch. Bennett wore a casual business suit, the pale blue dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his black slacks hugged his long legs. He hadn’t changed one bit. He was always the businessman. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You questioned, bounding up the porch steps.

Bennett eyed you as you got closer, shifting his weight and drinking you in. You were well aware of your appearance: the long work day had left your hair tousled and your blouse wrinkled from sitting at your desk. You spent two years imagining what seeing him again would be like, and in every stupid imagination, you weren’t looking worn down and tired. You imagined you’d be triumphant and strong, but you were small again in his shadow. 

“Hello to you, too,” Bennett grinned. Your name off his tongue was venomous, a slow, poisonous drip that ran through your veins. Compared to Joel’s accent drawling out your name, Bennett said it like a curse. 

“I’ll ask you again, Bennett. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Bennett’s hands twisted together in front of his body, and your eyes caught the sun’s light radiating off a golden band sitting snugly on his left hand. He was married. You steadied your body's sway, your vision blurring around the edges. 

“You’re— you’re married,” you stammered. 

Bennett glanced at his hand, his eyes roaming back to yours with a smug grin.

“Just tied the knot in May,” he shrugged. 

“To who? What—. I don’t understand why you’re here.” Your mind was reeling. 

“Her name is Natalie. We met through work about a year ago. We hit it off immediately, and I knew she was the one.”

Your knees threatened to buckle, and the strong composure you tried to maintain slipped. Bennett was married. He was in love. And it was to someone else. 

“If she’s the one, then why are you here? At my house?”

Bennett looked up at the porch overhang, his eyes tracking over the flowers planted in the yard on the walkway leading to the front door. You saw it in his eyes; you had made this a home. 

“Your house,” Bennett echoed. 

“Yes, Bennett. My fucking house. The one you abandoned when you ran away.”

Bennett scoffed, tucking his hands into his pocket. 

“You still don’t remember, huh?” He asked, tilting his head as he looked at you.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you seethed. You stepped forward, baring your teeth.

Not only was Bennett here, but he was taunting your memory. Nothing had fucking changed. 

“A friend of mine saw you out to dinner with someone a couple of weeks ago,” Bennett started. “I was curious and figured I’d drop by and ask about it.”

You laughed.

“Not only did you leave me, but you got married. And now you want to act like you give a shit about who I date?” You accused. “Are you that fucking cruel, Bennett? Do you have any clue how fucking insane you sound? You have no control over my life anymore. Who I date and what I do is none of your business! You decided that the day you left.”

“I’m here because I care about you,” he defended.

“You never cared about me!” You yelled. “You left me! You have no right to come back. Not now. Not ever.”

Bennett stepped forward, both of you toe to toe. You couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes. Something about the way he stared at you made you rethink his words. He looked concerned; he looked at you like he did care. It was a look you hadn’t seen since before the accident. 

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” He asked. 

“Know what, Bennett? Stop being so fucking cryptic!”

Bennett opened his mouth to speak, but the words were drowned out by the sound of tires squealing. Your head whipped to the side, your eyes widening as you saw Joel barreling out of his truck and up the yard. 

“Joel?” You exhaled.

You told him you’d call him later. You told him not to come here. Why didn’t he fucking listen? Why now?

“Bennett!” He shouted, running up the front steps. 

You barely made it out of the way before Joel’s fist sailed into Bennett’s jaw, the sound of bones cracking echoing around you. There was no time to recover or react as Joel grabbed Bennett by the shirt collar, spinning him into the wall and shoving him on his toes. Joel was only a few inches taller than Bennett, but in his grip, Bennett looked smaller than you had ever seen him. Blood dripped from his lip as he whimpered in Joel’s grasp, a deep purple bruise blooming across his cheek and jaw. 

“Joel!” You gasped, your voice finally returning. 

You ran toward his body, trying to tear him off Bennett’s body. Joel only shrugged away your hands, his fists tightening around Bennett’s collar.

“I told you I’d kill you if you ever came back,” Joel snarled.

You staggered back after hearing his words. What did Joel mean? What was he saying?

Bennett smiled through bloodied teeth, pushing his face closer to Joel’s. His eyes shifted between yours and Joel's, and his lips curled back.

“We both agreed to stay away,” Bennett said. “Then I find out you just couldn’t give up. You came right back to her. Does she even know?”

“Y’have no fuckin’ business to be back here, Bennett,” Joel snapped. 

Joel used brute strength to wrangle Bennett to the ground, his arm winding back before he assaulted him with another pound of his fist. Bennett’s face snapped to the side, blood spurting onto the wood-paneled floor. Joel delivered an onslaught of punches, an explosive display of his anger shown in the form of sadistic violence. Never did you imagine Joel to be so cruel, so unforgiving… so terrifying. You watched in horror as Joel terrorized Bennett with strike after strike. You couldn’t stomach it, your body swirling with nausea as more blood pooled around Bennett’s face.

“Joel! Stop it!” You finally screamed.

You threw yourself at him, yanking at his shoulders to try and tear him away from Bennett’s limp body. Bennett’s eyes were hardly open, shallow groans escaping his mouth as he shook his head back and forth. He was hardly recognizable. 

“Joel!” You pleaded. “Stop it, please!”

Finally, Joel relented, rocking back onto his heels with blood splattered on his hands and shirt. This wasn’t the man you loved. This was someone else… someone terrifying. 

“I’m calling the cops,” you panted, your breath ragged as you tried to swallow down the vomit rising in your throat.

“Don’t,” Joel argued. You didn’t recognize the tone of his voice; it was so harsh and angry.

“I can’t just leave him like this, Joel! Don’t you see what you did to him? I don’t—I don’t know what the fuck just happened. I told you to stay home. I can’t… We need to call an ambulance.”

Joel stood to his full height, glancing down at his hands, their tanned skin battered and bloody. Whoever this man was before you, it was not the man you were falling in love with. 

“What are you gonna tell them, baby? Because if they see me like this, I’m goin’ to jail.”

“Are you threatening me right now, Joel?” You gaped. “After everything you just did.”

His eyes met yours, the darkness inside them drowning out the brown you were so familiar with. His eyebrows furrowed together, scrutinizing your body language and disgust as you stared at him. 

“Call them,” he grunted. “I don’t give a fuck. I told him what to expect if he ever came back.”

There it was again. That same sentence that confused the hell out of you. It jarred you in an unsettling way, but you pushed it down and focused on the man lying unconscious on the porch. You ran to your car, dug for your phone, and dialed 911.

You remained by your car until the police showed up, their flashing lights and sirens lighting up the fading sun as it drifted into duskfall. Joel sat on the porch steps, his head hung low and bruised hands in his lap. Neither of you had spoken a word since you called the police, and his words to Bennett still swarmed inside your mind. You had lied about the headache to him earlier, but now it was true. And you felt fucking miserable. 

Two police officers exited their car, meeting you on the driveway. 

“Can you tell us what happened here, ma’am?” One of them asked. He was taller than Joel, his face clean-shaven and creased with aging skin. His hand remained comfortably over the grip of his gun on his utility belt, and you tracked each movement as your heart thumped in your ears. 

You swallowed thickly, deciding to do the unspeakable. You lied.

“I came home, and my ex-fiancé was waiting for me,” you explained, meticulously fabricating a story that would save Joel. Despite your confusion, a small piece of you still wanted to protect him. “I called my boyfriend and told him I felt unsafe. I tried waiting in my car, but—but my ex dragged me from the car and was threatening to hurt me if I didn’t let him inside. That's when Joel, my boyfriend, showed up. Everything he did was to protect me.”

The lie tasted bitter as it sat heavy on your tongue. It was hard to remain composed as your headache grew stronger. 

“We’ll need statements from both parties,” the officer explained, reaching for a small notepad. 

The other officer, a short, tan-skinned man, stayed with you and gathered your personal information. You watched as the first officer approached Joel, your body tense as you worried the stories wouldn’t add up. You lied for Joel. You hoped for both of your sakes he would fuck this up more than he had already. 

The blaring sound of sirens jolted you from your fixation on Joel, the ambulance coming to a rolling stop in front of your driveway. The neighborhood was slowly becoming crowded, with watchful neighbors littering the streets and front yards. You shrunk away from their wandering eyes, wishing the world could grow quiet and dark. 

Medics bounded up your driveway, a stretcher and medical supplies in hand. You bit your lip to contain the cries threatening to explode. You hated Bennett, but the brutal image of Joel’s fist crushing his face over and over again… you couldn’t erase it from your mind. Bennett was a piece of shit, but he didn’t deserve what happened. 

The other officer joined you again, tapping his pen against the notepad. Anxiety wove its way through your pounding headache, straining the air, trying to expel from your chest. 

“The medics are working on stabilizing him now,” he explained. “Mr. Miller’s story matches yours, so our next step is prosecution. Is that something you’d like to do, Miss Smith? I recommend filing a restraining order as soon as possible to prevent another incident like this.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” you nodded. “Whatever you think is best.”

The officer cocked an eyebrow at your response, visibly confused. If you were following the path of your lie, a restraining order would make sense, but you also wanted to speak to Bennett after he recovered. You needed answers. You needed answers from him and Joel. 

“I’ll give you the contact information for an attorney that can help with the process, but other than that, we have everything we need tonight,” he said. “When your ex-fiance is awake and alert, we’ll gather his statement and file a full report. Medics will transfer him to St. David’s for further evaluations and motoring. If Mr. Miller needs further medical attention, please contact us so we can include it in the report.”

He handed you a business card with his name and number, and slowly, the commotion began to die out. You looked on in horror as the medics wheeled Bennett off in a stretcher, his face swollen and bandaged. He was a hollow version of the man you once considered so powerful. Your memories, your happiness… they were always his. And you didn’t know who owned those things anymore. Everything was crashing down around you, and you had no control.

Joel’s figure was shrouded in darkness as he stood by your front door. The anger still radiated off his body, but it was far more tame than it had been just an hour ago. The medics had cleaned and bandaged his hand, and he kept it cradled to his body. You made a conscious effort not to look at the red stains marring your porch; you’d worry about cleaning the mess tomorrow. You couldn’t stomach the smell and sight of it, not when your mind was plunging further under the pressure of your migraine. 

Joel said your name, steering you out of your swarming thoughts. You blinked up at him, your eyes hazy and blurred from tears.

“Why the hell are you here, Joel?” You snapped. “I told you to stay home, so why the fuck did you show up?”

“Somethin’ bout the way you sounded on the phone made me nervous. I’m not sorry I showed up, though,” he confessed. That wasn’t good enough.

“You either explain to me what the fuck just happened, or you leave,” you ordered. 

“I can explain everythin’, baby. Can we just go inside?” Joel asked.

“You actually think I’m letting you in my house after you almost killed someone?” You raged. “I don’t even recognize you right now, Joel! And what the fuck did you mean when you told Bennett never to come back? What did he mean when he said you both agreed to stay away? Do you know him, Joel? Have you been lying to me this whole time?”

Joel sighed, his eyes falling to the ground; he couldn’t even fucking look at you.

“Answer me, damn it!” You cried. “Why won’t you answer me!”

“Baby, can we please go in the house? I need you to sit down and listen to me when I explain everythin’.”

“No! I want you to tell me right now.”

Joel nodded, standing idle in front of you. 

“I knew about your accident before we met.”

You looked at him horrified, your body frozen. 

“How?” You asked. “You didn’t even know me until almost three months ago.”

“I knew ‘bout it ‘cause we were datin’ when it happened,” he sighed. Joel’s features began to soften, and the pain in his voice was almost impossible to ignore. 

“No,” you shook your head. “You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not! Would you just listen to me? Please?” He pleaded, stepping forward.

You staggered back, your back hitting the side wall of the house. Your knees barely held your weight as you tried to grasp his words. Joel rubbed his bandaged knuckles, sucking in a breath before continuing. 

“You and Bennett broke up after you moved to Austin,” he began. “Y’all had some big argument, so y’moved in with Maria since you were substitute teachin’ at her school—the same school you teach at now. It musta been a couple of months after the breakup, but there was a parent-teacher conference night, and I ran into you. That's how you and I met, baby. That was nearly five years ago.”

Like a saw cutting bone, your headache fractured into a million tiny pieces, each one a sharp stab to your brain as you tried to grasp onto Joel's words. It wasn’t true. He was lying. You were going crazy; all your hard work at remembering everything and moving on was crumbling down, sand through your fingertips you could not keep from falling away.

“No, I know you’re lying,” you denied, tears streaming down your face. “You’re just making some sick fucking joke out of my memory loss. That’s what this is, isn’t it? You saw an opportunity to make up some story after I shared the most traumatic part of myself. You and Bennett…” You heaved in a breath. “No. This—this isn’t true. You’re lying.”

“I’m not! And I can prove it, but let me finish explainin’,” he begged before continuing. “We dated for almost two years, alright? Best fuckin’ years of my life. Y’were the best thing to ever happen to me. You even moved in with me and Sarah! She loved you so so much, baby. We would go to her soccer games together and watch cartoons together. We took her campin’ in the summer before the accident. Everythin’ was amazing. So fuckin’ amazing.”

“Sarah?” You interjected. “She would have said something to me months ago. You can’t expect me to believe this.”

“I begged her not to say anythin’ to you when she started school,” he explained. “I didn’t want you knowin’ till I was ready. I wanted to do this my way.”

“Your way?” You scoffed. “You get to decide when it’s a good time to tell me everything I’ve known is a lie? Are you fucking kidding me, Joel?”

“Everyone wanted to wait ‘til it was the right time,” he defended. “We all hoped you'd remember if I came back into your life.”

You slid down the wall, your body crumbling to the ground. You buried your head in your hands, trying to quell the pain squeezing together inside your head. Nothing made sense. Everything felt like a lie. It wasn’t true. You kept telling yourself that if it was true, everyone you loved and trusted had lied to you for years. You had struggled alone for so long without the truth. 

“My parents? My sisters? They all knew?” You muttered. “Everyone kept this from me?”

Joel crouched in front of you, his hand hovering over your leg. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You yelled. You shrunk away from him, curling your legs up to your chest and pressing into the wall. 

“The doctors and your parents thought it was best we didn’t mess with your memory,” he said, exasperated. “Bringin’ me into your life when y’didn’t remember me woulda set you back in recovery.”

“So, what?” You laughed bitterly. “Bennett just magically reappeared to save the day? Why did he come back if he and I were broken up?”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed tight. You shivered against the wind rustling through the yard, your thin shirt barely keeping you warm. Not even the warmth of your tears coating your cheeks could fight the chill creeping through your spine.

“Your parents made the decision to reach out to Bennett,” Joel argued. “And he loved the idea. Bennet loved knowin’ I’d have no access to your life, and he’d have you back.”

“My parents wouldn’t do that. They hate him.” You kept shaking your head, hoping things would begin to make sense.

“They hate him, but they love you more, baby,” he whispered. “And I loved you—I love you—and I was willing to risk it all. If there were some chance you would get your memory back, then I’d be here waiting for you.”

“But I never remembered! I still don’t remember, Joel! So why now? Why did you come back?”

Joel rocked back onto his heels, his body falling back until he sat before you. Tears glistened in his eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. He didn’t have the right to be sad; he fucked up. He lied to you, and now he was paying the consequences. Your indifference and anger would torture him like he had tortured you. Like everyone had tortured you. 

“I just wanted the chance,” he admitted. “I wanted to know if that spark was still here between us. I know it’s still there, baby. This is real.”

“Don’t call me baby,” you cried, your voice barely above a whisper. “This isn’t real. You lied to me, Joel, and so did everyone else. Everyone decided what they thought was best for me, and I have suffered because of it. Do you not see that?”

“We did it to protect you,” he defended. “Y’gotta understand that.”

You pulled yourself to your feet, tripping over his body and toward the door. You wanted nothing to do with this conversation anymore. You fumbled with the door handle, the tremor of your fingers making your grip weak on the lock. The sound of Joel standing behind you ignited another wave of nerves, and you spun to face him. 

“I will never forgive you for this,” you cried. 

He stepped forward, his eyes pleading with words he couldn’t say. You shoved at his chest, forcing him away from you. Joel’s brown eyes looked at you as if he could see your heart breaking. He choked out your name, broken syllables that no longer sounded beautiful on his tongue. 

“Don’t ever come back here,” you threatened. “Don’t contact me. Don’t contact my family. You need to leave. Now.”

“Please,” he begged. Heavy tears fell down his tanned cheeks, leading to the scruff lining his jaw. You would have ached to soothe his sadness yesterday, but not now. Not when his sadness stemmed from the lies that filled the gaps in your memories. 

“Leave!” You screamed, shoving him again. 

Joel stumbled back, staring at you wide-eyed and heartbroken. You stepped forward again, your hands ready to push against his chest one more time. He lifted his hands in defeat, walking backward down the porch steps. 

“I love you,” he whispered in the night. “I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t wait to see him leave. You threw open the front door and slammed it shut just as fast, your body slumping against the wood as you swallowed down your nausea. 

You wanted to vomit.

You wanted to scream. 

You wanted to stop loving Joel. 

The room was spinning around you, and you had no chance to find your bearings before the haze washed over your mind and dropped you to the ground. 

Everything was dark around you. You groaned as you peeled yourself from the floor, your head still throbbing. The lies grew louder as you tried to recall everything Joel had said. 

I wanted to do this my way. 

I love you. 

Lie after lie, overlapping in the ocean of pain, threading its way through your body. The house felt colder than you were used to, your body still shivering as you stood on unsteady legs. You walked to the kitchen in search of water; every swallow felt like knives slicing through your throat. You fumbled for the kitchen light, rummaging through the cup cabinet for a glass. Two gray mugs sat snug on the shelf, the reminder of Joel staring straight at you. Another wave of emotions coursed through you, and you reached for them. 

You turned them in your hands, the faint smell of coffee lingering on the ceramic. The quiet moment spent together no longer felt special; it felt like a disgusting lie. Joel didn’t guess how you liked your coffee; he knew. He knew everything about you. The rage inside you returned, stronger than it had been on the porch. Your hands squeezed the mugs, and you hurled them into the nearest wall, a scream erupting from your mouth. You didn’t flinch as they shattered. You didn’t blink as they pierced the wall and chipped the paint. This house was built on lies, and you wanted to ruin every inch of it. You reached for another mug, smashing it on the ground before you. Then another…and another, until you stood in a pile of broken shards of your life. 

It wasn’t enough. 

You walked around the house, shattering anything you could find worth breaking. You stood in the living room and stared at the dust-covered bookshelf, your chest rising and falling. The books crammed on the shelves taunted you, the broken spines and dog-eared pages another reminder of the years you’d never remember. The adrenaline and anger led you to the shelf, and you used all of your strength to push it over. It toppled to the ground, its weight shaking the floor beneath your feet. A few books made their way out of the destruction, their bindings crushed by the downfall. 

You staggered back to the couch, slumping into the stiff cushions. Flashes of Joel wrapped around you flooded your mind, and you immediately rolled off of it. Your ass hit the ground, and you crumbled into a ball. Somewhere in the distance, your phone rang, the shrill of the ringer echoing through the destruction you had created. Maybe it was your mom with news of your dad. Maybe it was Beth. But you knew your phone would never light up with Joel’s name again. 

You rubbed your temples, trying to massage the ache throbbing in your skull. 

You spent another hour on the ground until you finally decided to drag yourself to the bathroom. Under the blinding lights, you stared at the stranger in the mirror. You didn’t recognize her. Whoever she was, she wasn’t the girl you had been hours ago. Your eyes were swollen from crying, your cheeks flushed, and your lips chapped from screaming. The wrinkles in your blouse were worse than they had been after school, the corners untucked from your work pants and splattered with remnants of Bennett’s blood. You didn’t recall ever getting close enough to the bloodshed, but the evidence of Joel’s violence was all over your body. You couldn’t tear your clothes off fast enough. 

You turned on the shower and didn’t wait for the water to run warm. The cold spray washed over your hair, and you scrubbed every inch of your body until your skin was raw and red. You ran the loufa over the places on your body Joel had touched: your stomach, your neck, your breasts. There wasn’t enough soap and water to rid yourself of the phantom touches left on your skin. You hated him. No, you wanted to hate him. You shook your head… you hated him. 

You hated everyone in your life. 

The imprint of Joel’s body was still pressed into the other side of the bed, and you couldn’t stand looking at the pillow he had laid his head on beside you. Those moments you shared under the light of the moon no longer felt special. He knew your body once before; he had seen you stripped bare and spread open. You gave yourself to him willingly, which meant something to you. Stripping off the sheets, you tossed them to the floor, curling up on the cold mattress. Sleep evaded you, so you let the night pass, your eyes watching the hours slip away through the view behind the bedroom window. 

Eventually, the sun rose and colored your room in soft morning sunshine. It angered you that the Earth continued to spin; the world hadn’t stopped moving, though you remained stuck in the series of events from yesterday. It was so fucking unfair that people around you would wake up today and move through their day with contentment and happiness. You didn’t know if you’d ever experience those emotions again. You were spiraling into each stage of grief, the overwhelming pressure of them consuming every fiber of your being. 

You mustered up whatever energy you had from yesterday to pull yourself from the empty bed. You were numb as you dressed yourself for work, avoiding the mirror as you put on a black dress and flats. You had briefly considered covering your dark circles and puffy eyes with makeup, but your exhaustion and lack of care said otherwise. 

Vacating your room, you walked into the mess you had created. Shards of broken dishes and glass littered the floor, the wallpaper torn in areas, and the bookshelf still lying half-destroyed in the living room. A laugh bubbled out of your mouth, the sound foreign and distorted. You did this. Your rage and hatred for everything around you ruined the only haven you had left. You couldn’t contain the laughter as it wracked through your body, tears springing from your eyes as your eyes glazed over the catastrophe of each room. The denial settled back over you when the laughter died, leaving you weeping in an empty house. 

As you left the house, you averted your eyes, your self-restraint working overtime not to focus on the blood stains marring the porch. You’d deal with that later. The silence inside your car weighed heavy on you while you drove to the school, your mind numb and empty as you pulled into your parking space. You should have found a substitute for the day, but you needed the distraction. Who knows what would have become of your house if you stayed in it any longer. The idea of setting it on fire didn’t sound so bad. 

You decided to lock your classroom door until school began; you didn’t need nor want to see Maria. She was just as much a liar as the rest, leading you on all these months and pushing you toward Joel. That “Happy Hour” night was just a ploy to get you and Joel in the same space; her intentions were never pure. Everyone had blood on their hands in this stupid fucking plan. 

The school bell rang, and you hesitantly opened your door. You plastered on the fake smile you had mastered, feeling uncomfortable after the last few months of actually feeling happy. Joel took that away in the span of a night. 

As the students filed in, you greeted them with a tight-lipped smile and a brief hello before settling into your desk chair. You weren’t in the right headspace to teach today, so you opted for quiet reading time and a few worksheets: anything to keep the noise levels down and the questions to a bare minimum. 

The classes went as smoothly as possible, with only a few outbursts of noise from each class. You hadn’t found the time to cry between each one, too busy finding the courage to face Sarah. 

Joel’s voice rang in your head as you watched her walk into the classroom, her curls bouncing with each step. 

She loved you so much, baby.

How could you believe Joel when he said something like that? It wasn’t true; it was manipulative. You never knew Sarah until this year. She was just as much a stranger to you as any other student until Joel entered your life. Yes, you cared for her, but you didn’t love her. Even she had been a part of all of this, her last conversation with you was just as much of a lie as everything else. You doubted Joel told Tommy he loved you, and you doubted Sarah even heard the conversation—if there really was a conversation to begin with. She was pushing you toward him like everyone else did. 

Everyone had a say in your life except for you. You were a bystander among their choices; nothing in the last three years had been in your control. You were a puppet on a string, tossed everywhere until it pleased them. 

“Okay, class, today is just an easy day for you,” you announced, your voice harsh and clipped. “Take out your reading for the next unit and work on chapters one through three. Once you finish, please grab a worksheet from my desk and get started on that.”

A unified groan sounded through the room, and that was your breaking point. Standing from your desk, you leveled the entire desk with a heavy glare.

“I don’t want to hear a single word today,” you snapped. “Open your books and start reading. Please.”

They all looked at you in terror. You had never been one to snap or be quick to anger, but you were teetering on the edge of eruption. One more word, and you would explode. The students sorted their backpacks for their books, the sound of pages rustling the only noise surrounding you. Slumping back into your chair, you sighed heavily and turned to your computer. 

An email sat unread in your mailbox, and you clicked it open with a pit in your stomach. 

Ms. Smith: My deepest apologies for your recent family emergency. Per the quarterly requirements, parent-teacher conferences must be completed by the end of the week.  If you need anything, please do not hesitate to reach out. Many thanks, Principal Edmonds 

Fuck. 

Fuck. Fuck Fuck.

You completely forgot about parent-teacher conferences. In the chaos of the last week, it had slipped your mind entirely. You scrounged through your binder of schedules and pulled out the spreadsheet you had created, skimming through the list to find Sarah’s name. She was the last on the list. Fuck. 

Seeing Joel this week would be too soon for the open wound bleeding inside your chest. You created a mock email to send to each parent, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you landed on Joel’s email. You couldn’t avoid just one student during the conferences, even though every atom in your body screamed at you to do it. Without a second to overthink your choices, you sent your mass email and closed your inbox. 

As the class continued, students drifted to your desk for their worksheets. Sarah was among the first in the groups to come up; her eyes lowered to the ground, and a frown dragged down her lips. A piece you ached for her; she was just a child amid a web of lies. Then, there was another piece of you that understood Sarah was wiser than you realized. She understood the severity of the situation, yet she continued to persist. Were the soccer games even part of Joel's meticulous plan? 

“Miss Smith,” she cautioned. 

“Is there something you need, Sarah?” You scowled. You were being harsh, but you couldn’t find a fuck to give about it. 

“No. I—uh—I just wanted to ask if things were okay,” she stammered. “You know, between you and my dad. I shouldn’t have said anything yesterday. It was—.”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Sarah,” you interjected. You leaned forward, locking your hands together. “You shouldn’t be worrying about my dating life, nor should you worry about your father’s. I am your teacher, and these conversations need to stop.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her eyes still staring at the ground. “I understand.”

She sulked back to her desk, never looking back at you. 

When the final bell rang, you exhaled relief and listened to the class chatter quietly as they packed up to leave. You quickly cleaned your desk, stuffed your things into your bag, and slung it over your shoulder. Maria's voice drifted down the hall before you could lock your door correctly.

“I’ve been trying to catch you all day!” She said, exasperated. 

You rolled your eyes, dropping your keys in your bag. Inhale. Exhale. 

“Sorry, Maria. I’ve just been busy,” you lied. “I need to get home, okay? We can catch up later.”

“Is everything alright?” She pressed. “Is it your dad? Is he okay?”

You whipped your head toward her, the venom creeping over your tongue. Inhale. Exhale.

“I haven’t had time to check in. I’ve been busy.”

Maria eyed you wearily, the dots connecting in her head the longer she stared at you. She saw the anger plastered on your face; she could hear the bitterness in your voice. Her lips trembled as she tried to piece together something to say. 

“Did something happen with Joel…” Her voice drifted off. 

“Don’t, Maria. I need to get going.”

You rushed down the hall, leaving her between empty classrooms and lingering students. 

St. David’s Medical Center looked the same as it did three years ago. Nothing had changed since you had been rushed here in an ambulance, your life hanging in the balance and memory gone. You’d never forget the moment you woke up in the hospital bed, bleary-eyed and confused. 

The brick building towered over you as you entered the ER. You stilled the erratic pulse in your veins before asking a nurse which floor Bennett had been transferred to. You didn’t want to do this—you didn’t want to see him—but you deserved answers that Joel didn’t have to offer. He hadn’t been the one with you the last three years; he didn’t know the other side of the story. 

The elevator ride up to the trauma unit was miserable, the nerves building inside you with each passing floor. You weren’t sure what to expect when you entered Bennett’s room, but you hoped for the best. Maybe he’d talk. Maybe he’d scream. Maybe he’d threaten to sue you…or Joel. All of which were valid reactions. The elevator door slid open, exposing you to a fluorescent hallway, a blur of nurses passing by as you walked through the corridor. 

The door to his room was shut, but you spotted a petite blonde woman through the cracks of the blinds. Natalie. Dammit, you forgot he had a wife, and that made all of this much more complicated. Sucking in a deep breath, you knocked. 

“You aren’t welcome here,” she seethed, cracking the door open an inch. 

“I understand, and I’m so sorry. I just—I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I’m at fault for all of this. I really am sorry,” you apologized. 

Natalie’s green eyes pierced into you, little daggers jabbing into the places in your heart that were still left intact. She was a few inches taller than you, her frame more petite and athletic than yours. You could understand why Bennett married her; she was perfect. You had no reason to be angry with her for his decisions, but you needed Natalie to know why you needed answers.

“Is he awake?” You asked, attempting to peer over her shoulder into the room. 

She quickly blocked your view, moving into the space that allowed you to see in. 

“You need to leave,” she snapped. “Our lawyer will contact you, and you can apologize to him.”

“Has he told you anything about me?” You tried a different angle. “If he has, you know why I need to talk to him. What happened yesterday…I had nothing to do with it. I was a bystander in all of it, and I know that doesn’t make the situation better, but I need to talk to him.”

“And I need you to fucking leave!” She raged. 

You were defeated, tired, and left with gaps in your memory that would never be filled with answers. Nodding slowly, you wound your hands together, twisting your fingers as you stood, reluctant to leave.

“Listen, when he gets better can you please just—can someone let me know? And if he ever wants to talk to me again, I’d really like to speak with him.”

“Like I said, our lawyer will contact you.”

The sound of movement behind her stirred her away, her head glancing back at the bed. You waited idly, trying to get a glimpse of Bennett. All you could make out was splotchy, swollen skin and bandages covering half his face. When you thought about Joel, a new wave of disgust flooded you. He did this. He not only ruined your life, but he ruined Bennett’s life, too. Joel nearly killed him last night, and the guilt would weigh on you heavily for that. 

“Natalie,” you heard Bennett’s voice echo into the hall. It was broken and raw, and you watched the door close in your face as she returned to his bedside. 

You remained outside the door for several minutes, not knowing what to say or where to go. This had been your only chance at learning the truth from his side, but Natalie persisted in not giving you the opportunity. You understood, though; you understood her pain. 

You made your way down the hall toward the nurse's station. An older woman in blue scrubs looked up at you with soft eyes and a gentle smile. 

“Can I help you with somethin’, dear?” She asked. 

“Do you mind if I leave my number with you? It’s for the patient down in room 201. I would really appreciate it if you could leave it with him when he gets discharged.”

“Oh, of course, sweetheart. Let me grab a notepad.”

You jotted down your number and left the hospital with tears streaming down your face. Everything was hopeless, completely hopeless. You would never get answers or closure; you’d have to spend however long to accept it and move forward. But that wasn’t good enough. You deserved answers. It was your life you had lost, and everyone else got the pleasure of knowing… everyone except you. 

You were too tired to care about the mess when you arrived home. You walked barefoot through the house, tiptoeing around the broken dishes, not bothered by the thought of stepping on the shards. You were numb; nothing would hurt right now. You had no appetite for dinner, so you settled for a glass of wine; at least the buzz would overlap the throbbing pain in your head. 

Your phone sat on the dining table, untouched. You hadn’t checked it in nearly twenty-four hours and were scared of what you might find. Despite the anger toward your family, you still worried for your dad. It was hard to push aside the emotions weighing down your chest, but you needed to make sure he was okay. 

Taking a long gulp of your wine, you finally checked your phone. 

Seven missed calls from Mom

Ten missed calls from Beth

Two missed calls from Stella

You dialed your mom’s number and waited with trembling hands. 

“Sweetheart! I was so worried about you. Why haven’t you answered me?” Your mom sounded flustered.

“I’ve been busy,” you lied. 

“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day. Dad woke up this morning, and everything was okay, like we hoped. He’s going to have a bit of recovery with his hip, but there were no other issues. His memory is fine, and he’s alert.”

That was the tipping point. 

“I’m glad he can remember everything. I would really hate it if you had to lie to someone again about their life,” you said bitterly. 

The silence was louder than words. 

“Sweetie…” Your mom pleaded.

“I know, Mom. I know you lied. I know about everything, so save it.”

“You have to understand—.”

“I don’t have to understand anything! You don’t get to decide what I think or feel right now. You all chose to lie to me for years!”

“It was what we thought was right,” your mom begged. “We didn’t want to lose you. We—we were all so scared that messing with your memory would make things worse.”

You laughed, your body void of any emotion other than anger. Your words were weapons, and you were ready to aim to kill.

“And what were you planning on doing if I got those memories back?” You questioned. “Were you hoping I’d just carry on with my life without giving a shit? You took two years of my life and kept it a secret! You took everything from me, Mom. You all did.” 

There was no mistaking the sound of her crying through the phone. You pulled your cell phone from your ear, letting the muffled sounds linger in static air. Your name floated through the receiver, and you slowly brought it back to your ear. Your mom's words mumbled together.

“…sorry, sweetie. I’m so—I’m so sorry. We should have told you sooner. We shouldn’t have…”

You tore the phone from your ear again and lifted your wine glass to your lips. The rich-bodied taste paired well with your resentment, the tinge of bitterness coating your tongue and poisoning your words.

“There’s a lot you should have done and said, but it’s too late now, isn’t it?” You raged. “You should have told me the truth the moment I woke up. You should have never let Bennett back into my life, and you should have never kept Joel a secret. I understand now why you all acted so weird around Joel in Boston. I understand why everyone was shoving it down my throat to tell him about the accident. You wanted me to be the one that took the fall when everything connected. I’m sure you’re so happy now that you’re free from all the secrets you’ve been hiding.”

“I just wanted you to be happy,” she sobbed. “We all did.”

“Happy?” you repeated. “I’ve been miserable for years. You all knew how Bennett treated me, and you let it happen! You made that decision, and now you have to live with it. You were worried you’d lose me? Well, congrats, Mom, you’ve lost me.”

You ended the call before she could utter another word and returned to your wine glass. Sitting at the dining table, surrounded by unfamiliar ghosts, you drank until the bottle ran empty. 

Light-headed and drunk, you staggered through dark hallways to your room. The world spun around you as you collapsed onto the bed, your body on an endless merry-go-round as you tried to shut your eyes. Even with an entire bottle of wine in your system, you still couldn’t sleep. You watched the ceiling fan rotate for hours, your head spinning in the same cadence. Around and around, your thoughts turned until nausea led you to the bathroom. 

You laid your head on the edge of the toilet seat, exhausted and defeated. You wanted to cry, but the tears never came. You wanted to scream, but you had no voice. All you had was a handful of anger and nowhere to place it. 

It took you three days to finally clean the mess inside your house. Your energy levels ran so low from work and parent-teacher conferences that you would just lay on the couch and stare at the ruined walls. Your fridge was empty, and nothing in your pantry had been touched aside from the aged bottles of wine you kept stored on a dark shelf. You weren’t the type to drink yourself into oblivion, but it had been your only comfort amid the heartbreak. You didn’t sleep much, either, and it began showing. Makeup no longer hid the dark circles sinking in beneath your eyes; you gave up trying to hide it. Your students slowly started to notice the shift in your mood as the week passed; their books were open and ready to read before you could even sit down. It was a nonverbal agreement between them and you; they kept their voices down, and you didn’t lash out. You never wanted to be the teacher who didn’t care about what they learned, but you didn’t even care about yourself right now.

But now it was the last day of conferences, and you had to see the person you hated most—the person who built up and tore down your happiness and trust. 

I love you.

You wished you could love the sound of those words. You wished you could hear them again in a different life and believe them. In whatever memories you lost, you knew Joel meant those words, and you knew you probably meant them, too. And the longer you thought about it, the more your heart shattered. It was all a lie.

The clock was nearing six o'clock when you finished your conference with Georgia and her parents. Of course, she got high accolades and praises, and you carried yourself as best as you could the entire time. With tight smiles and agreeing nods of your head, her family finally shuffled out. 

You tried your hardest to contain the emotions welling inside your chest. There had been nothing but a static numbness rolling through your veins the last several days, but any moment now, Joel would walk through your classroom door and tear off the bandaid, barely keeping your heart together. You sorted through papers on your desk, trying to busy yourself as you waited while cursing yourself for ever deciding to be a teacher. If you hadn't chosen this school, maybe you could have avoided meeting Joel—back then and now. You might have never met if you had chosen a different career path. If you never met, then—

A familiar voice said your name and roused you from your endless ‘what ifs.’ Your head snapped toward the door and saw Joel standing with Sarah at his side. He didn’t need to say anything else; he saw everything written on your face—the anger, the pain, the exhaustion. He saw right through your hard exterior—he always did. And you hated him all over again. 

“Hello, Sarah,” you greeted her with a tight smile. You kept your eyes below Joel’s neck when you greeted him. “Hello, Mr. Miller.”

You didn’t want to spend another second lost in the dark brown of his eyes, wondering about what could have happened if things had been different. You pulled Sarah’s report from your pile of papers and jotted down the list of what to talk about and how quickly you could sum it up. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed something in Joel’s hand, his bruised knuckles squeezing it tight.

Sarah went to one of the desks, readying herself to sit down. You held out a hand to stop her, urging her to remain standing.

You started, “I’ll keep it short and sweet, so I don’t waste any of your time.”

“What happened to your hand?” Joel’s voice radiated around the room, the concerned tone vibrating through your body. 

You glanced at your hand and realized it was red and scabbed with cuts from cleaning the house—you hadn’t been particularly careful or safe when you picked up the broken pieces. You dropped your arms to your sides, keeping your features schooled and replacing any emotions with the professionalism you had mastered through the years. 

“Like I was saying.” You cleared your throat. “Sarah has done great on the units so far this year. She’s among the highest-scoring students in the class and did exceptionally well on our poetry unit. I do not doubt the rest of the year will be even greater academically for her.”

Sarah stood awkwardly between you and Joel, her teeth chewing into her bottom lip. Joel shifted beside her, his hands drawn behind his back, keeping whatever he held a secret. You looked over your paper again, skimming the words that had been pre-written weeks ago. 

“I have no concerns about Sarah or her capabilities in the class, so I think we should end it there,” you said. If this had been any other student, you would have spent more time talking them up and genuinely putting effort into the conference. But you wanted nothing more than to see them both walk out the door and leave.

Joel repeated your name, attempting to capture your attention. It worked, but not to his benefit.

“I am your daughter’s teacher, Mr. Miller,” you snapped. “Please address me correctly.”

You glared at him, finally meeting his eyes. He looked just as awful as you did. The glimmering amber of his eyes had dulled to a dark color you had never seen before, and his patchy beard was far past unkempt, the dark, wiry hairs traveling down his neck. Even his tan skin looked paler than you could recall. 

Good, you thought. You wanted Joel to suffer. 

“Miss Smith,” he tried again, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we just talk for a minute?”

“Unless you have a question about Sarah or the class material, there isn’t anything else to discuss,” you countered, clenching your jaw. 

Joel turned his head toward Sarah, giving her a brief nod. She slid her eyes to you again, their hazel-colored softness filled with concern. Before you could question it, she moved toward the door, leaving you alone with Joel faster than you could register. 

“Sarah!” You called, stomping to the door. 

She was already running down the hallway, curls bouncing around her head. 

Your body muscles tightened and contracted as you stood helplessly in the doorway. Joel’s warmth swarmed around you, even at the healthy distance he maintained. 

“Hey,” Joel said from behind you. 

You glanced back over your shoulder, watching as Joel brought forward the item he had hidden behind his back. It was a book. You recognized it immediately. Romeo and Juliet.

“Look, I just—.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his biceps flexing under the cotton sleeves of his shirt. “I just wanted to bring this to you. It’s yours. I kept it all these years after the accident. I don’t really know why. I mean, I do know why. It’s stupid, but it’s your book, and you deserve it back.”

“Oh.” You blinked up at him, not knowing how to respond.

“Still got all your notes and scribbles,” he sighed, handing it to you. “Used to lay up at night with it, readin’ what you wrote on the sides of the pages after the accident. Y’know, I already knew it was your favorite when I asked you. I just wanted to hear y’talk ‘bout it one more time. Y’used to talk my ear off ‘bout your favorite books.” He laughed at a memory you didn’t know existed. “Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer. Y’have a good day, Miss Smith.”

He placed the book in your hands, his body brushing your shoulder as he walked out the door. Words lodged in your throat, words you didn’t want to say. The anger you were carrying inside you was becoming unbearable, but in the same breath, you hurt for him just the same. 

Joel was long gone when the words finally came out, and you whispered thank you as you held the worn-down book between your hands. 

You half-considered throwing away the book when you got home, your hand hovering over the trash bin with the book grasped between your shaking fingers. There wasn’t an ounce of you that wanted to open it and see your writing. Joel had carried this with him for years, holding onto a secret only he could remember. He had read this play probably a thousand times before he had even asked about it on the soccer fields. The facade of ‘doing research’ was a lie; he only wanted to share a moment of the past with you. A moment you couldn’t remember and a moment he only wanted to relive, even for just a few seconds. And you did it. You gave him hope that his plan would work, never knowing the truth. 

You hated him. But it wasn’t enough hate to drown out the immense suffering of still falling in love. 

Walking to your closet, you found the darkest corner and buried the book deep into the shadows. You’d be ready to flip through the pages one day, but you needed time. 

Sitting back on your heels, you stared at the cuts along your hands and felt absolutely nothing. There was no more anger.

There was nothing.

[callsign-rogueone]

some girl on a horse

Sawyer Henrick x reader (peach!) words: 4k 🏷: major iron flame spoilers in this one, peach is a horse girl lowkey, temporary heartbreak, miscommunication (or just lack of communication), sawyer should really be in the doghouse here but he's too damn cute to be mad at, sweetheart cameo... that's all I got. onyx storm tomorrow! why am I dreading it...

With each passing day, it has become more clear that you and Sawyer are done playing pretend. He’s fulfilled his duty, and is probably glad to be done with it, not having to cross the bridge to go see you every day, or to spend his weekends with you in town. He has better things to do as a rider, and an executive officer at that. 

Maybe this was the will of the universe, having your paths split, then cross, then split again. It was childish to think that you’d stay close forever, that he’d stick around longer than he had to. He’d invited you out with his friends as a nicety, and then been too polite to decline when Rhiannon had volunteered him to be your knight in shining armor. You’d been an obligation to him, nothing more. 

But there had been so many moments where you saw something like love in his eyes when he’d looked at you, felt it in his touch and heard it in his words.

He’d have made a great stage actor.

Hot tears slip down your cheeks, blurring your view of the setting sun. You’ve started spending your free time out by the end of the bridge. You can’t cross it, but you can sit there and wait. And wait you do — a book laying in your lap unread, your hands numbing from the cold wind as you gaze across the river.

Your heart leaps every time anyone comes by, falling harder each time you realize it’s not him. It’s getting dark earlier each day, getting closer to the solstice. If Sawyer and his friends have really dumped you, then that’ll be a lot fewer presents to make. 

But the boy you’d grown up with wouldn’t do this to you. He was good to the core, always one to do the right thing, the one person you could always rely on and could always trust to keep your secrets, that you’d been content to die beside when that fire had swept through the village all those years ago.

That’s what’s kept you putting on the necklace he’d given you each day after you say your prayers, kept you reading the death rolls every morning for his name and waiting out here every afternoon for any sight of him — the belief that he’d come back to you if he could.

He’ll be back tomorrow, a little bruised but otherwise intact, and you’ll bandage him up, and everything will be alright. It’ll go on like that until July, when you graduate and get shipped off… somewhere, and then maybe the gods will be kind enough to let your paths cross again.

You’d quietly accepted that you’d drift apart at school, but now that he’s back in your life, losing him is going to hurt so badly.

Your friend bursts through the doorway, panting. “The riders are leaving.”

“What?”

“Look,” she wheezes. 

Your heart drops at the sight: at least a hundred dragons all flying straight overhead. Dozens of them are red, and any one of them could be Sawyer’s. Did he leave with them? Where are they going? Is something terrible happening, and they were called in as reinforcements? 

They’re headed south, not west — not to the border with Poromiel. Navarre probably isn’t going to war, then. But what else would demand that much firepower? 

Nothing good, that’s for certain.

————————

Rumors swirl around the quadrant for the next few days, every patient and healer having something to say about the week’s events.

Are we sure this isn’t just another one of their games?

Traitors, the lot of them. They should be rounded up and hung.

I’m sure there’s a reason why they left. Maybe they know something we don’t. 

Someone calls your name down the hall; Yara, a scribe cadet you’d befriended last year.

“It’s good to see you— oh!” you squeak in surprise as she pulls you into a hug — you hadn’t taken her for a hugger, and you really aren’t that close.

“Don’t react,” she whispers into your hair, “but his name is on the list. He left, and the rest of his squad, too. The Sorrengail girl, at least.”

You blink, stunned. “To where?”

“They’re saying Riorson led them all to Tyrrendor. That venin and wyvern are real, but the leadership and the crown are ignoring the threat.” She breaks the hug, painting on a bright smile. “Me and some of the girls are going out for drinks this weekend. You should go.”

You search her eyes for some indicator that she’s hinting at what you think she is.

“It’ll be a bit of a hike,” she continues, “but we’ve done crazier things.”

Have you, really? What she’s suggesting would be capital-I Insane, and potentially land you in prison. And wyvern and venin are just fairy tales, aren’t they?

You chew your lip, thinking. If Yara is right, and Violet, the smartest person you know, had left with the rest of them, there must have been some pretty damning evidence to convince her. And if she left, then Sawyer, Ridoc, and Rhiannon definitely went with her. 

“Maybe,” you respond a moment later than appropriate for the conversation you appear to be having. “I don’t know if it would be the best idea — I have a botany test that I really need to study for.”

“Understandable. Let me know either way. Good seeing you!”

“You too,” you manage, your heart and mind both racing. Did she really suggest that you follow them to Tyrrendor, or are you going completely insane?

There’s only one person you can talk to about this.

—————

“I can’t decide if this is the best idea you’ve ever had, or the worst,” Sarah offers around a yawn.

“Hopefully not the worst,” you reply, looking around the barn. Your eyes settle on a chestnut mare, the only one awake at this hour. “Hi, girl. You wanna go on an adventure with me?” She snorts softly, happily letting you scratch at her chin. “I’m taking that as a yes.” You turn back to Sarah. “If anyone asks…”

“I have no idea where you are. Do you have everything you need?”

“I think so. I took everything I care about, so if they want to assume I’m dead, I’m fine with you burning it all.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point.”

“Thank you for everything,” you say softly, pulling her into a hug. “I’ll write from the road — or your uncle Fergus will. Leave her stall and the barn open. Some idiot forgot to lock up properly and she bolted.”

“This is why you’re the smart one. Too bad you’re absolutely nuts.”

You laugh, quieting as you realize that it’s still very much four in the morning, and you’re supposed to be making a silent exit. 

“I really fucking hope you’re right about this,” she whispers, holding you tighter.

“Me too.”

The horse lets you saddle and mount easily, walking you toward the door. “Alright, girl,” you say, patting her neck. “Let’s see how fast you can go.”

————————————

“Did you need something?” Brennan asks the infantry officer, looking rather peeved that he’d interrupted his lecture. 

“We have a bit of a situation,” he says quietly, embarrassed. “There’s some girl on a horse outside, says she’s a healer. Came all the way from Basgiath.”

Second squad exchanges a look.

“There’s only one healer I know that’s crazy enough to do that,” Rhiannon whispers.

Violet looks over at her, incredulous. “You don’t think…” 

Ridoc grins from ear to ear, clapping a hand onto Sawyer’s shoulder. “Why are you still here? Go get your girl.”

Sawyer bolts from his seat, ignoring Brennan’s protests as he races down the hall toward the front gates. “She’s on our side,” he calls, and the two guards lower their swords, letting him through.

Your head snaps up at the voice, your body flooding with relief at the sight of him. You spring forward and hug him tightly, clutching the black leather of his jacket for dear life. “You’re alive,” you breathe, and his heart cracks right down the middle. “Gods, Sy, I was so scared… The leadership wouldn’t tell us anything, and I didn’t hear from you or Violet or Ridoc or anyone… I waited for you at the bridge every day, but you never came, and I thought…”

He wraps his arms around you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, peach,” he whispers, rife with guilt. “It hurt so fucking bad to leave you behind, but I knew you’d be safer there, under the wards.”

You’re crying now, tears slipping down your cheeks and seeping into the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t tell me that anything is safer than being with you.”

He holds you a little closer, rubbing your back gently — slow sweeps of his palm, up and down, up and down, letting you get it all out. 

“I mean it,” you sniff, still clinging to him. “I need you, Sy. I don’t ever want to be away from you like that again.”

“Hey,” he soothes, holding you closer, “I swear to every god who’s listening that I will never leave you behind again. You have my word.”

“Good,” you say in that same cracked whisper you’d used when you’d agreed to let him protect you from James, to play pretend with him.

He continues to whisper soft reassurances to you, rubbing your back. “I’m okay. Everyone is okay. They’re all here, Ridoc and Violet and Rhiannon and everyone. They’re all safe.”

That makes you feel a little better — you’ve become deeply attached to his squad in the last three months, and you couldn’t bear the thought of any of them being injured, or worse. “Is it true?” you ask softly. “All those fairy tales about wyvern and dark magic?”

“It is,” he says quietly. “All of it.”

You exhale deeply, sitting with the information for a moment. “I don’t know what to say,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Your tears have dried by now — you don’t have any left, likely because you’re so dehydrated. Water had been scarce the last few days. 

He finally puts it together. “Did you steal a horse?”

“I prefer the term liberated,” you wheedle, and Cinnamon chuffs softly in agreement.

“From who?”

“Some poor infantry cadet. They didn’t treat her right, anyway.”

He laughs, bewildered. “You’re absolutely crazy, Peach.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, waving him off, “but you love it.”

He holds you tighter, letting you lean into him — you’re exhausted, your entire body sore from your journey. “I do,” he says softly. “I do love it. I love everything about you.”

Your breath catches. “Sawyer…” you whisper, a warning that you’re getting close to something you can’t ever come back from. 

He ignores it. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m so grateful that you came back into my life when you did. I don’t want to play pretend anymore. I want this to be real.”

“I want that too,” you say quietly. “I was going to tell you the day that you left.”

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I promise you that I’ll spend the rest of my days making it up to you.”

“I don't think I was ever really pretending,” you admit into his shoulder.

He laughs softly, his chest shaking against yours. “I wasn’t either.” You shiver, burrowing into him further — it’s freezing out here, but he’s impossibly warm. “Alright. Let’s get you ladies inside.” 

Cinnamon lets him take the reins easily, trusting him to be gentle with her after seeing the way you ran to him and hugged him so tightly. 

You stay tucked into his side as you make the short walk to the stables. 

He turns to you after a moment, pausing his work of undoing the tack. “Wait. It’s a twelve-hour flight from here to the school… When did you leave?”

“Nine days ago,” you answer tiredly. “It would have been eight, but there was a rockslide in the mountains, so I had to double back and take the long way round.”

“Nine days?” he echoes. “How did you…”

“I followed the south star,” you explain, gazing up at him. “And then a friend of ours found me, and led me the rest of the way here.”

“You’re welcome,” Sliseag adds.

Sawyer blinks for a second, processing. “You two never cease to surprise me.”

You laugh, the puff of breath visible in the air. “Him and I have an understanding.”

“Evidently so,” he agrees, finishing up.

You step outside, tilting your head up to watch the flakes fall. “Just like home.”

He smiles, tugging you closer. “Just like home,” he agrees, leaning his head down…

You put your hand in front of your mouth to stop him. “That’s not a good idea,” you squeak, your cheeks warming. 

He looks at you, confused and a little hurt.

“Sy, I’ve been camping for the last three days,” you prompt, embarrassed. “There weren’t any inns between here and Deaconshire.”

It dawns on him after a second. “Ah.”

“Yeah. So if there’s a bathtub and a sink in that castle back there, I’d like to use them.”

———————

He isn’t expecting you to start stripping so fast, but you’re so eager to be out of your dirty clothes and into the warm water that you don’t think about the fact that Sawyer is still standing there.

He whirls around as soon as he realizes.

“Facing the wall and closing your eyes? I’m almost a little offended,” you tease.

You can see how red his cheeks are in the mirror as he responds. “It’s called being respectful. I’m gonna find you some clean clothes. I’ll be back.”

You hum, letting your head tip back against the tiled wall. By the time Sawyer returns, you’ve washed up, and are just relaxing, enjoying the moment of peace. The warm water is so nice after the freezing cold weather outside, and besides the last week of traveling, you haven’t taken a real bath in two and a half years — showering at Basgiath just isn’t the same. 

“You about ready? It’s almost dinnertime, and you need to eat something.”

You whine in protest, sinking deeper into the water.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Five more minutes. But you’re gonna get all pruney.”

You wiggle your fingers at him playfully. “Oh, it’s too late. I’ve been pruned.”

He rolls his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

“C’mere,” you coax, sitting up a bit and resting your forearms on the edge of the tub, leaning toward him.

He settles onto the floor, at eye level with you.

“I brushed my teeth,” you tell him. “So I’m ready for that kiss now. Are you gonna do it, or should I—” Your sentence is interrupted with a soft whimper as he pulls you forward with a hand on your jaw, guiding you into a dizzying kiss. Water sloshes against the side of the tub as you rise up onto your knees, wanting him even closer, but you have to pull back for air. 

“Minty fresh,” he pronounces, brushing his nose against yours.

“Gods,” you breathe, “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”

“I have no idea. But we have the rest of our days to make up for it.”

It’s your turn to tug him forward. You bring a hand up to cradle his cheek, sending water droplets running down the side of his neck, but he doesn’t seem to mind, still entirely focused on you as the kiss gets deeper and deeper, making up for lost time.

He pulls back after a moment, and you whine softly, pouting up at him as he stands. “Dinner,” he reminds you gently. “We can pick this back up later tonight.”

That seems to appease you — there’s that mischievous little twinkle in your eye, the one he loves so much. “I’m holding you to that,” you warn.

“Please do,” he answers a little too quickly, holding out a thick towel and turning his gaze to the wall so you can get up.

“Averting your eyes again? Ouch.”

He reddens, still looking away. “If I see you naked right now, we won’t make it to dinner.”

You giggle, taking the towel from him and pressing a kiss to his flushed cheek. “You, Sawyer Henrick, are adorable.”

He clears his throat, gesturing to the pile on the counter and changing the subject. “I think these should fit.”

Black on black, of course. This castle… palace? fortress? is full of riders. At least it’s cotton fabric and not all leather — that would be a bitch to put on with wet skin.

You throw your still-dripping hair into an easy style; you’ll take the time to dry it and detangle and everything later. “This feels like a hallow’s eve costume. All I need is the jacket,” you joke, examining your reflection.

He shrugs his off, draping it over your shoulders, and your heart nearly stops. 

You’d had his tongue in your mouth not three minutes ago, but this somehow feels even more intimate — wearing his jacket, with his name over your heart, being wrapped in his scent and the warmth of his body that lingers on the fabric... Definitely against regulation, but so are a lot of things you’ve done in the last week, namely taking an unplanned and unsanctioned leave of absence from Basgiath with no real plans to return. 

You’ll deal with those consequences later. Maybe.

—————

You freeze at the sight of the group of people entering the hall, their brown uniforms and the quivers of arrows over their shoulders marking them as gryphon fliers. You’ve never seen one in person before. 

“It’s a very long story, but they’re on our side now,” Sawyer explains, but he still holds you a little closer anyway — it’s unclear if he doesn't fully trust them, or if he just wants to comfort you in the presence of the people you’d been taught to treat as enemies.

“That should not have been a surprise after everything else you told me,” you laugh, but the sight of them still makes you a little nervous. 

He stops at one of the long tables and drops a kiss to your forehead. “Sit. I’ll get you some real food.”

Rhiannon is the first to spot you. “I told you it had to be her!”

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Violet says, wide eyed.

You laugh, settling into an open spot on the bench. “I feel like a little kid playing dress-up. But at least I don’t stick out so much anymore. The blue was a little…”

“I thought it was nice,” someone says quietly — a girl sitting next to Ridoc with a book open in front of her. You recognize her from the infirmary; he had brought her in one morning, covered in cuts and bruises. A little butterfly had fluttered around her the whole time, landing on your arm once as you worked.

You offer her a soft smile. “Glad to see you in one piece.”

“I hear you’re our newest healer,” someone greets — a man who looks a bit older than you. Your eyes catch on the Lieutenant Colonel insignia on his jacket, and then the mender’s patch. He must be the equivalent of Nolon around here.

“Yes, sir,” you answer shyly, suddenly a little embarrassed to be wearing someone else’s uniform. “Or one in training, anyway.”

“We’ll take what we can get. Come by the infirmary tomorrow, and we’ll get you started.” He pats Sawyer on the shoulder in passing, giving him a knowing smile. “Your squadmates can fill you in on what you missed this afternoon.”

Sawyer reddens. “Thank you, sir.”

You wait until he returns to the head table before you look back at Violet, wide-eyed. “Is that…”

She nods. “Officially, he isn’t. But yes, that’s my brother. How did you know?”

“You have the same smile. And the signet patch — Nolon talks about your brother all the time. He’s the best mender there’s been in a hundred years.”

“He’s pretty good,” she concedes. “Second only to Lieutenant Avan, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Your ears prick up at the mention of the girl. “Is she here too? How’s she doing?”

“You know her?” Ridoc’s girl asks, curious. 

You nod. “She came in all the time with Professor Carr to practice. Oh, I hated that guy. Poor girl always looked so uncomfortable around him, and he’d work her to the bone every time. I talked back to him once, telling him to let her stop before she keeled over, and I was sure that he’d get me in trouble for it, but he just gave me that creepy stare and left.”

“I know the one,” she says with a shudder. “He’s the worst.”

“Food,” Sawyer prods before you can reply, pushing the plate closer to you.

You roll your eyes at him, but you finally realize how hungry you are, tucking in to your first real meal in days — nothing fancy, just some kind of fish and vegetables and brown bread, but it’s much more appetizing than anything you’d had at any of those terrible inns in Deaconshire, and with much better company. You had to cut everything with one hand, the other under the table clutching Sawyer’s dagger to defend yourself against any of the other patrons, but praying that you wouldn’t have to. Mercifully, they’d all left you alone.

It feels like you’re back at school, crammed around one of the tiny tables at the tavern you’d frequented — the same laughter and easy chatter, as if you aren’t preparing for a war of proportion you don’t yet understand.

You keep up with the conversation for a little while, finishing your plate and resting your head on Sawyer’s shoulder for a moment, a gentle gesture of thanks. He wraps an arm around you, tucking you into his side as the squad continues to discuss several things that go in one ear and out the other, but are likely important to this effort — journals and runes and wards and the original six.

You can’t keep your eyes open. Now that you’ve reunited with Sawyer, gotten cleaned up and eaten something, the adrenaline has faded, and you just want to sleep for the next four days — in a real bed with real blankets, not a thin sleeping bag on the frozen ground.

“M’sorry,” you murmur. “Just really tired.”

He chuckles softly. “It’s okay, sweet girl. Let’s get you to bed.”

You bid everyone goodnight, trudging up endless flights of stairs to a barracks room that’s devoid of anything except a bed made up with plain sheets and the pack you’d taken from school. 

“Home sweet home,” he announces. “At least you don’t have a roommate. I get to deal with Ridoc twenty four hours a day now.”

You manage a laugh, kneeling down to look through your bag and setting a few things on the empty desk. “Now it’s home.”

He raises his eyebrows, amused. “Glad to see that your bunny made the cut when you were packing a bag to commit treason.”

“I wasn’t going to leave him behind after twenty years,” you defend, a little embarrassed.

“Understandable,” he offers. “Alright. You’ve got pajamas, bathroom’s down the hall, you have your key… you all set?” You nod in affirmation, and he kisses your forehead, giving you a soft hug before he turns toward the door. 

You whine softly, holding on a little longer. “You’re leaving?”

“I need to shower, but I can come back after, if you want.”

You cover a yawn with your hand. “That would be nice.”

“Alright. Get changed. I’ll be back.”

The door unlocking and the movement of the mattress under his weight stir you from your sleep. 

The bed is just barely big enough for the two of you, but you don’t mind, curling into his side and nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder. He’s warm, and the weight of his arms around you is soothing.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.”