#half the storm gets alcohol poisoning

[kamaluhkhan]

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window. 

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer. 

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

[readychilledwine]

Free Will

Eris Arranged Marriage – Drabble

Summary - Eris knew his father would purchase him a bride sooner rather than later.

Warnings - Arranged Marriage, alcohol use.

A/N - From one Vandaddy to the next.. May do more with this. May let it die. Too early to tell.

🔥Eris Masterlist🔥Master Masterlist🔥

You were beautiful, Eris would give his father that. Glowing skin enhanced from the moonlight kissing you. He had found you sitting in a window, looking outside like a bird now trapped in a glorified cage. You had disappeared from the festivities taking place, and he was tasked with finding you.

“How miserable,” he walked closer, noticing the half empty bottle of wine beside you. “Drinking alone in the dark, wife? You should have invited me. Mother knows I hate a boring celebration."

Your eyes met his, your cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glassy, “Did not realize my oh so powerful new husband would take pleasure in dark corners and," you paused to lift the bottle, squinting to read it. “Pomegranate wine.”

Eris only chuckled and took the bottle, drinking straight from it. “My favorite, actually.” He leaned against the window ypu sat in. He followed your eyes, noticing you were looking over the garden. “They say pomegranate is the origin of sin and the seasons.”

“The tales of the Dark Mother and Forest God. I know it well,” you held your hand out. Your new husband took another drink before handing it back to you, bottle now passing between you. “Legend says the Dark Mother had found him so beautiful she lured him to her with a snake of many colored scales. Once she had him in his poison garden, she gave him a choice.”

“Eat the pomegranate and stay with her,” Eris finished. “Or watch as she slowly killed the lands he loved. But by eating the seeds..” He smirked for you to finish.

“He upset the Mother. So she cursed the lands of the North with the seasons and turned his home into a barren land of ice and snow, his sister's into one haunted by rot and neverending harvest, his brothers into one trapped in the beginning of the rebirthing cycle and storms, and his parents in dead heat and drought.”

Eris looked you up and down. "They say the female of the species is always more deadly than the male." Eris sighed, “But his choice also unleashed freewill among the fae.”

"But it cost us the ability to connect with our true forms and shift. That power is now heavily reserved," Your voice seemed empty. As if the thought of that piece of you that was missing was more than just an animal but a symbol of freedom.

He studied you again, you leaned in to look into his eyes, “I do wonder what kind of animal would have been behind your skin, my wife. Are you a snake leading me to a trap? Are you a bird with clipped wings, desperate to fly away? Or are you a lioness, stalking and waiting for her chance to kill?”

Your lips twitched up. “You'll find I associate heavily with the symbol of our court, husband,” you looked him up and down, the tension between you two growing within every second. He could see it. He would see something cunning and intelligent hiding behind those drunk eyes.

A fox fits you well, and now, you were invading an enemy den.

Eris gave a smile that made chills run down your spine, “I think we will get along, y/n.” He took another swig of the wine finishing the bottle before picking you up and forcing you to hold his hand. “Our party awaits, my little wife. And more pomegranate wine.”He lead to you the ballroom, loud music and dancing in full swing as the fae celebrated the marriage of their heir apparent.

Eris poured two glasses, handing one to you, “To free will, my fox.”

The words were an offering, an understanding.

Your glass touched his, arms linking to drink as ceremony required. “To free will, husband.”

[darkst4lker]

taste. // thranduil

thranduil oropherion x fem!reader

plot: two weeks and a half ago, thranduil and (y/n) had a messy break up. now, he appears at your friend arwen's birthday party with his ex girlfriend by his side and you decide that if he wants to play that game, you would play it too.

tw: (mdni) modern!au, it's mainly lovers to enemies to lovers but there will be mentions of smut, angst, thranduil behaves like an asshole, misogyny, use of drugs and and alcohol, good ending (?, i changed a lot of things from the lore!!, everyone is like 20-27 here but legolas wasn't even born yet here. YES there's a moment where starts playing lover you should've come over by jeff buckley!!. low caps on purpose.

notes: english is NOT my first language. i'm sorry if there's any mistake. also this is the first time i publish something i write here!!

“(y/n)” tauriel spoke. you and her were helping arwen to decorate her house for her birthday party that same night, yet you were visibly sad for your break up with thranduil. “(y/n), are you okay?”

you weren't okay.

it was the middle of winter. arwen's living room was one of the most comfortables and warm places on earth, in fact all of her house was like that. it was one of the places where you felt more safe than anywhere in the world but today her house felt deadly cold to you.

maybe the problem wasn't arwen's home itself but the fact that your soul was freezing since the day thranduil's deadly words stabbed your heart like a poisoned knife.

“i don't love you anymore, (y/n).”

fucker. you had spent two years together.

in fact, you and thranduil never fought, never argued, never insulted each other while you were together. yet, the day he left you like that, completely out of the blue, you insulted him so much he probably thought that all his family line would be cursed forever.

he said horrible things too, it wasn't just you. but you may had gone too far when you threw an antique vase that belonged to his family for years through the window of his apartment.

in your defense, he was the last person you thought that would leave you.

of course arwen's house felt cold, the whole world felt cold actually. how could anything feel good in this earth when you weren't in thranduil's arms?

you took a deep breath.

it took you a moment to answer to tauriel's question because the vestiges of the last discussion you had with thranduil were fresh in your mind like if it had happened a second ago. you tried to dismiss the storm of memories flooding your mind and you looked at tauriel.

“yeah, im sorry i went blank for a minute.” you answered while hanging up some balloons in the wall. you tried to fake a smile but your tired eyes revealed your sorrows.

“that's it. im tired of seeing her like this, im going to kill him” aragorn said, leaving his spot next to arwen in the kitchen where they were preparing all the food for the party to get his coat, but arwen stopped him right away.

“stop, you're not helping her. we need to stay here by her side.” arwen came out of the kitchen, after aragorn. her calm voice sent chills down your spine.

aragorn crossed his arms and left his coat alone while he sat in a chair facing you.

you sat on the sofa and arwen sat besides you. the decorations were ready and now you didn't had anything else to distract you from the heartbreak im your chest.

“everything is going to be okay, sweetie. i'm sorry you'll have to see him tonight, bard insisted a lot for me to invite him.” arwen words comforted you and then she hugged you softly. aragorn looked annoyed while he leant against the wall and tauriel stood beside him. “sooner or later he will realize what he's missing.”

“better be sooner because i can't believe he hurted (y/n) like this when a month ago he was talking about fucking marrying her.” aragorn said clearly angry. “i know he's my friend and all but... i can't believe that he really did that.”

“well love can be like that sometimes, i guess.” you answered, trying to keep yourself together. “it comes and it goes.”

“yeah right, but is never just like that (y/n).” tauriel voice was calm but she did seem irritated. “i don't understand why on earth he would do that. it doesn't even makes sense.”

“it doesn't matter if it makes sense or not, guys.” you were clearly about to cry but you held it. “what is done is done and we can't go back in time, and neither can thranduil. i will survive this shit.” everyone tried to smile at you while you spoke but you didn't sounded as convinced as you wanted.

yet, you were true. you couldn't go back in time and in fact, the hours passed swiftly and now the night welcomed the birthday party everyone was waiting for.

you got showered and prepared directly in arwen's home. you had brought your outfit and now your body was inside a stunning and tight scarlet dress.

the black heels that you were in made your outfit more mysterious and in your neck there was a lovely silver necklace with a ruby pendant that arwen had let you borrow for the night.

with a little bit of perfume and red lipstick on, you left arwen's room and joined tauriel's side on the party. there wasn't much people yet, a couple university friends from years ago, the boy tauriel always spoke about: kili and his brother fili, gimli, aragorn of course and like five more people.

it wasn't full yet but arwen's home was quite big so the amount of people wasn't going to be a problem.

thranduil by the other hand, he surely was going to be one.

tauriel and you talked for a while, spending time together before she went to dance with her almost-boyfriend, kili.

you really liked kili for your friend, he seemed like a sweet guy. you really hoped they would end up being together and you wished in the deepest places of your heart that he didn't ended up breaking your friend heart.

like certain person did to you.

you drank a little from the bottle of wine aragorn gave you before rushing to dance with arwen and more people started to appear.

the fear of seeing thranduil that night was disappearing by every sip you gave to the wine and soon you even thought that maybe he wasn't even going to come.

a couple hours later, the house was full of people everywhere, it was 11pm, the party had just started hours ago and when you thought you were free from certain blonde, you saw probably the worst thing you could see with alcohol in your system.

thranduil entered the party with a beautiful blonde girl by his side. they both had their hands enterwined and the girl was giggling while they talked. you instantly felt a rush of rage invade your whole body to the point you believed that your brain was on the verge of exploding.

thranduil had a formal black shirt, leaving two buttons unbottoned and revealing his neck, a little sigh escaped from your lips at the heavenlt sight.

and there it was her.

she looked like a goddes pulled out from a fairytale, making your insecurities corrode your guts like a sickness. the tears threatened to fall off your eyes as you watched their entrance from the another side of the room, and the worst was that you recognized her from old pictures thranduil had in his house. that was his ex girlfriend, now actual (you supposed).

when you thought the horror was over, thranduil looked at you from the distance like if he had some kind of radar attached to him that warned him about everytime you looked at his direction.

his ocean blue eyes met yours. it felt like a boat crashing in the middle of a sea infested with mermaids.

his stare was as intoxicating and addictive as always were. the feelings accumulated in your throat like stones and you got scared for a moment before breaking eye contact with him. it lasted just a second, but it felt like a lifetime passed while your eyes met his.

then you quickly took a sip of your bottle of wine, trying to not give him the pleasure of seeing you rush to the bathroom to cry. for what it felt like hours, you had to see him dance with his new girl and you imagined that you were the one dancing with him, kissing him, touching him.

it was unbelieveable. he literally had replaced you.

how could he? why would he?

those questions pierced your heart like swords, like his words did days ago.

“it was just a pause, a distraction. i needed someone to heal what my past relatonship had broken in me and i already did. you served me well and i will always be grateful.”

you 'served him well'? really? what the fuck does he thinks he is? a king?

his words had melted in your ears like a rotten peach. the sweetness of his low voice mixed with a hint of gall flooding every sentence he said.

you understood now what he meant when he said he healed.

by the other hand, thranduil was breathing heavily.

his hands were on his new girlfriend's waist and sometimes he planted soft kisses on her face. yet, he couldn't fully enjoy anything of it. thranduil regretted all his actions, and much more, how he couldn't save your relationship.

he felt like an idiot. all of his thoughts were on you, every kiss he gave her, every look, every loving gesture, he desired it all went to you instead.

thranduil was deeply conflicted, though. even if he knew how wrong he were when you two broke up, he also was quite offended with the things you said.

it felt like a torture, probably the most horrible one on earth and the weight of his actions were killing him more slowly that he would ever wanted to.

thranduil didn't told you his real motives for leaving you, he thought it would only make it worse for both of you. but after leaving, all of his actions felt meaningless now that he didn't had you.

he was proud, and stubborn though. and watching how you left your seat in wich you were obviously staring at him to sit next to bard made his heart ache terribly.

in your mind, bard seemed like an obvious solution: he was hot, he was your friend and long before you started going out with thranduil he and you had spent a couple of nights together. bard obviously recieved your presence with open arms.

"(y/n), sweetheart." bard calm voice welcomed you as you approached the couch where he was drinking a beer. you noticed he had a blunt on the other hand. "you look beautiful as always."

"hi, bard. long time no-see" you took the seat next to him, everyone were dancing and the fact that he was also a very close friend of thranduil made the whole idea of making out with him so much better.

there was a brief moment of silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. the music was peaceful now, tempting every couple to slow dance.

"do yo want some?" he offered you the pot, and you took it while nodding.

as you smoke, bard looks at you with his classic lovely and reassuring smile, only this time he seemed quite drunk and clearly high.

you were a little drunk yourself too.

"i think i needed that, thank you." you give him back the blunt, and he leaves it in the ashtray. after, he looks at you with curiousity.

"are you-" he started to say but you interrupt him.

"yes i am in fact okay, thank you for asking though." the question had you completely exhausted. you rolled your eyes and stared at him right at his, starting to feel the mix of pot and the alcohol making you a little dizzy. "i came to see if we could make out for a while, i don't care if it's your fault he is here, i don't care about him, i don't care about anything. please, help me forget everything for a second like in the old times. please." your voice sounded a little desperate but the truth it was that you were.

the pain in your heart was begging and pleading to be released, to be cured even if it was for a brief moment. it felt like a bomb ticking on your chest that could explode at any moment and bard seemed to notice it.

a soft smile appeared on his face as he spoke. "you do seem to care, sweetie." the nickname made your heart ache a little, all his nicknames did. thranduil used to call you loving names all the time but the last time you two spoke he called you plainly by your name.

you asked yourself if he also was calling her those sweet names too.

your mouth opened to answer bard but the words didn't came out as the heart ache was ripping apart your body from the insides. bard saw your change of expression, knowing you needed help to get the words out of your chest. you did care after all.

bard puffed, trying not to sound melancholic and grabbed your hand softly. “im sorry, love. i know why you're asking me this and you can be sure i understand it, but thranduil made me promise i wouldn't touch you and i don't want to be in the middle of this break up.” as always, he was a pacifist. bard put his hand on your shoulder and pulled you into a hug. your sight started to get blurry from tears. “it will pass.”

his words echoed in your mind calming every part of you like a balm.

���it will pass.”

you spent what it felt like hours in bard's arms, cying silently. he held you, proving that even if he was thranduil's friend, he was still your friend also. it was a beautiful gesture, and made your soul heal for a while.

yet, an specific sentence of his words lingered in your mind leaving a poison trail on your thoughts: “thranduil made me promise i wouldn't touch you.” why on earth thranduil would care if you fucked bard? what was his problem?

after a moment, you broke the hug and faced bard a little bit ashamed by the way you tried to approach him at first and how you broke down instantly at him reading your feelings like a book. after wiping your tears, you looked at him. your face was swollen from crying but your expression tried to remain calm.

“im sorry i tried to-...” you started, but he cutted you off.

“it doesn't matter, love. it's okay.” bard said, giving you a reassuring stroke on your hand.

a sigh escaped from your lips and then you felt hungry, as you hadn't eat anything in the whole night.

“i will go to the kitchen to get something to eat, i'll be back in a sec.” your voice was trembling at every word but bard smiled at you and nodded, giving you a soft pat on the head before you stood up.

he surely knew how to treat a heartbroken person.

the way to the kitchen was silent, at least for you. the music was still loud but your head was even louder.

your hands placed themselves on the refrigerator door and the familiar soft cold wind welcomed you.

arwen never cared if you took food from her fridge, so you guessed that she probably wouldn't mind if you took an apple. then you closed it, not wanting to be tempted to eat something more and empty the whole refrigerator, leaving your friend having to buy more things tomorrow.

as you ate the apple you remembered how thranduil had cooked you an apple cake one time. it was probably one of the few times he ever baked anything sweet yet the cake resulted to be absolutely perfect.

then you cursed yourself, if you wanted to forget why did he keep coming back in every single little thing you did?

it was like every detail of him was craved deeply onto your heart with no intention of leaving you soon and it hurted more than you could stand.

“you must be (y/n)” a sweet voice called you from behind, and when you turned you saw her.

it was probably one of the most beautiful women you'd ever seen. blue eyes, blonde hair and soft lips.

you fully understood why thranduil would ever leave you for her. she was surely beautiful like if she were some kind of angel.

“yes, i am.” the words left your mouth with shyness. she had a smirk on her face, and looked at you while your teeth catched another bite from the apple.

“it's surely nice to meet you.” she answered, but her voice was almost cynical. there was a weird tone of passive aggressiveness behind it but you were probably too high to catch up.

then it became so obvious you couldn't avoid it.

“thran spoke a lot about you.” she continued, getting closer to you. “but i'm sure that he will soon stop.” then she walked some more steps to your direction and you placed the apple on the counter, swallowing hard.

you didn't realized that you probably had a sad look on your face until she spoke again.

“oh, don't put on that face.” she said, chuckling. there was a mocking subtone on her words. “thran will forget you quickly.” her words felt like a sting through your chest. “you surely don't seem as beautiful nor interesting as everyone said, and i will clearly erase you from his heart.”

you were about to answer, but then you saw thranduil appear behind her like if he were searching for her, and it was too much for you to handle. it was too humilliating to see him watching how his girlfriend completely destroyed you.

your steps were fast as you left the kitchen clearly at the verge of tears. the bathroom was the first door you saw as you almost ran out of the room.

the door felt heavy against your hands but it was nothing you couldn't handle. the first instinct you had was sit on the floor, knees against your chest and finally letting it all out.

you didn't cared if anyone heard you. the heartbreak was a weight in your chest that you needed to purge the fastest way possible, even if thranduil mocked you with his girlfriend outside, even of everyone only felt pity for you, even if the world ended tomorrow.

the pain needed to come out.

and as you finally gave yourself permission to cry, the bathroom door started to open.

you almost didn't noticed, as the sounds were minimum but what you did noticed was the cologne thranduil always wore.

your stare didn't raised to face him, and he closed the door.

“what on earth are you doing?” his voice sounded like a dagger through your heart, and then you looked at him from the ground.

“i didn't asked you to come here.” your answer was harsh. “you're clearly having a lot of fun with all of this.”

“i don't care about what you think, (y/n).” you felt like your name was cursed on his lips. thranduil's voice was serious. “i asked you a question.”

you got angry instantly. how dared he to even ask something like that?

as you stood up to face him properly, your face swollen from tears and by looking him in the eyes you noticed he was probably high too. yet the weed nor the alcohol were clouding his senses that much.

his eyes were like an ocean, and you were drowning in it. quickly and deeply.

“i don't know what on earth do you want me to answer. i literally don't know.” you said, clearly irritated with his attitude and your voice trembling with fury. “what the fuck do you want me to say?”

“don't talk to me like that” he answered harshly. memories of your last fight came to you like a storm. “i asked you why are you crying in the bathroom like a pathetic little girl” thranduil said. “you were clearly capable of defending yourself two weeks ago”

instantly, you understood he was talking about the fight.

“and you were the same imbecile you're being now.” the answered came from your lips almost drowning you in venom and thranduil's expression became more cold than before if that was even possible. “it didn't occur to you, that maybe and just maybe, i don't want to fight for a man like you in the middle of my friend birthday party?”

“a man like me?” he sounded almost offended, and took a step closer to you, his head over yours and his serious eyes looking down at you. “you were dying for a man like me not even a month ago”

and you were still dying for him.

as thranduil was much taller than you, after the break up you discovered that arguing with him was one of the most intimidating things you'd ever done.

yet you faced him with bravery, not letting him ruin the last pieces you had from your broken heart.

“well i don't want to anymore.” you said and he got more closer, his chest almost touching yours.

“and what kind of man do you want then? you want a man like bard?” thranduil asked and he sounded annoyed, his face was stoic but the subtone of his words betrayed his feelings.

he sounded jealous, and he clearly was.

“and what is your problem if i do?” you bited back, pushing his buttons. “maybe he'll treat me way much better than you, in fact, i'm pretty sure he wouldn't replace or use me « to heal » in the first place.” you avoided his eyes while you spoke, not wanting your look to give away the fact that you didn't wanted to be with anyone else than thranduil.

thranduil let out an irritated puff, then his hand went straight to your face, grabbing it tightly, forcing you to look at him.

“then go date him, (y/n).” he said, his voice becoming rough. “that's really what you want?” thranduil asked.

you didn't answered, as you became nervous. yet your hands went to his chest, trying to push him out but it was useless.

thranduil was visibly angry and an irritated chuckle left his lips.

“but i don't think you want that, do you love?” he said, not really expecting you to say anything, cause he already knew the answer. “actually, if i remember correctly, less than a month ago you were in my bed whimpering for me.”

thranduil calling you « love » again made your heart skip a beat as the rest of his words burned your skin like a wildfire.

“why are you throwing a tantrum, thranduil?” you asked, annoyed. he was completely delusional if he thought you wouldn't fire back. “isn't your new girlfriend enough for you that you have to come looking for me like a little puppy?” every word you said felt like if you were digging your own grave, but you didn't cared at all. thranduil's grip on your face became harder.

the next thing that happened was probably the last thing you expected.

thranduil kissed you fiercely, like a unleashed beast. it was agressive, but you played along.

it was like drinking from an oasis in the middle of the dessert, and you answered him with the same obsessive hunger. you broke the kiss briefly to push him almost violently against the bathroom door, and then you were the one to attack his mouth to shut him up before he could say anything.

a slow song started to sound loudly in the house, making the contact more passionate.

« maybe i'm too young, to keep good love from going wrong »

thranduil went from kissing you like an animal to kiss you tenderly, his hand releasing your face to caress your head. he subtely guided you to the floor, where he sat with his back against the door and you placed yourself in his lap, straddling him.

minutes passed, his lips tasted like if you were drinking napalm making your loins burn, and your blood rushed quickly to your cheeks. both of his hands placed themselves on your hips, pulling you closer as his tongue asked you permission to enter your mouth.

« so 'll wait for you, love, and I'll burn. will I ever see your sweet return? »

you open your mouth and let him do as he please, and thranduil takes the opportunity, introducing his tongue. then, the kiss abandoned its sweet nature to become an agressive fight between the both of you, again. your hands move to his hair, making it messy.

thranduil wastes no time and one of his hands moves to your neck, making a little bit of pressure, while kissing you.

the kiss is broken up by the need to take a little bit of air, and you both look at eachother in the eyes, his hand not leaving its place.

« it's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter »

“i hate you” you say agitated, your lips swollen from the past interaction.

he chuckled, breathing heavily. “i hate you too.”

« it's never over, she is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever »

and then he pulled you to kiss you again, roughly. his left hand went under your dress, caressing your thigh and the other made presure on your neck and made you sigh in between the kiss. thranduil smiled as you kept kissing eachother hungrily, now moving his hand closer to the sweet spot between your legs.

you made sure to kiss him hard, and bited his lip with delicacy as he moved your underwear to the side, thinking that if you were lucky, his girlfriend would taste you too when she kissed him.

thranduil touched you freely, like he still loved you. you whined against his mouth, and he broke the kiss.

“you still want to go out with bard?” he asked, releasing your neck to make you look at him by grabbing your chin. his other hand was between your legs, playing with you and making you sigh again.

« lover, you should've come over, 'cause it's not too late »

there was a brief silence as you tried to hold yourself together to give him an answer.

“n-no.” you said. “do you love her?” the sudden question came from your lips in an agitated whimper as you looked him in the eyes. for some reason you felt he almost rewarded you by moving his hand faster against you, making you gasp.

“no.” thranduil finally asnwered only for you to kiss him again. you grabbed both sides of his face, and his right hand caressed your hair softly.

and then your little make out session was terribly interrupted by loud and violent knocks on the door. you both stood up quickly, like children being caught doing a mischief.

he made you a sign to keep quiet and spoke.

“yes?” thranduil said, calmly.

“babe, is that you?” you rolled your eyes at the sound of his girlfriend's voice. thranduil noticed and a little mischievous smile appeared on his lips.

“yes, it's me. give me five minutes.” he answered, his voice was too calm for the events that unfolded just moments before.

thranduil then pressed you against the wall, next to the door so the door could cover your presence while he went out. you wondered if his new girlfriend was really that stupid to not notice her, but you quickly thought that if thranduil was doing this he probably believed too that she was indeed stupid.

you admired how he always knew how to manage all the situations, but something in your chest ached when he gave you another kiss before whispering a soft « i love you » and opening the door, leaving you shocked.

he loved you. thranduil really loved you.

“im here, love.” thranduil said to her, covering your presence with the door and showing his girlfriend that no one was in the bathroom with him. at least to her eyes.

“the party is ending, thran. we should go.” she said. oh you loathed her, and a part of you hated thranduil for leaving you for her. you wanted him to say no, to stay with you, but he didn't.

“okay. let's go.” he answered, and exited the bathroom, leaving you alone but forgetting to turn off the light.

you walked to the mirror, saw your messy make up, the frustrated look on your face after being interrupted and your lips subtly swollen from the kisses and you laughed.

you fucking laughed.

you laughed because, no matter what she could say or do to compete with you, you've already won. he didn't loved her, he was yours. and you hoped; no, you knew, that everytime she kissed him, she would have to taste you too.

and to think you didn't intended to fight over him on the first place, but now the game was on.

I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKED THIS!! it was super hard for me to finish this, and i plan to do a part 2 so stay tuned <3

[district-thirteen-intern]

So I'm writing after a long time, and I've never written anything for the hunger games universe before, so please be kind, and I hope you'll like it. it's set some time after the victory tour but before (and during) the quarter quell announcement.

dust and damnation ft. haymitch abernathy

pairings: Haymitch x Reader

blurb:

Haymitch Abernathy’s plan to drink himself into oblivion hits a snag when his new housekeeper declares war on his filth—and his misery. Now there’s tea where his whiskey should be, flowers on his table, and worst of all? He might actually be getting better.

content warnings: alcoholism, trauma

The funny thing about hiring a housekeeper to save your life is that sometimes it actually works— which is, frankly, both suspicious and deeply inconvenient for Haymitch, whose retirement plan involves dying sometime soon of liver failure, ideally full-up with a bottle of something strong and undeserved. In his defense, he had been somewhere on his fifth blackout of the week when the kids brought up the suggestion about hiring a live-in maid to help around the house, and he hadn't been coherent enough to argue— which means he's wholly responsible for all the chaos she brings with her, armed with a mop, an infuriatingly sunny disposition, and the absolute audacity to set blooming flowers on his kitchen table like she didn't just ruin the perfectly curated gloom around his house. The kitchen table is only the first victim in a series of victims. In the span of a week, the yellowed curtains are washed and open and billowy again, and empty bottles no longer litter on the floor like unmarked graves, and there are biscuits cooling on the windowsill like he's some washed up grandmother and not a murderer and a pariah and a damaged monster, and for the first time since he began living here, the walls don't loudly berate him for killing everyone he loved everyday. The scent of lemon polish lingers in the air— bright, clean, and offensively optimistic— and it's like hope and dish soap had a baby.

“It smells like a dog shat in a meadow,” he grumbles.

She protests. “It smells elegant!”

“Sweet girl, it smells like a candy store threw up in here.”

“I like it.”

“I don't care,” he says. “Get rid of it.”

And then he storms off and she never does get rid of it.

Later, when she runs out, he's the one who replaces it. And if the scent lingers in his clothes a little longer than he'd ever admit? That's for him to know.

Then she starts laundering his clothes.

He protests on principle.

She replies that his principle smells like rot and mildew.

Haymitch almost doesn't like it.

The food starts appearing next, and surprisingly, it's not like a threat or a bribe or even a favor. There are stews and breads and the occasional crime against pastry— because she may be an optimist but she's no chef— but it's always warm and fresh and sometimes he reaches for it with an absence of mind, like it's a reflex etched into the marrow of his bones. His mother had never wasted anything in her life, and he still hasn't unlearned this habit after years of drowning in insurmountable wealth and grief. So he eats the half-cooked, over-salted meals quietly— automatically— until he feels almost human; something almost real, with life and opinions and motivations.

The bread is still a war crime though.

Haymitch saws at the loaf with a knife. “Did you and that boy bake this or excavate it?”

“It's rustic!”

“It's reinforced concrete.”

She starts defensively. “Next time, you cook.”

“Next time, I'll just chew the table leg,” he grumbles. “Tastes the same anyway.”

She throws the concrete slab of bread loaves at his head.

He eats it anyway, because it's hot, and it's there, and no one has cooked for him in years. But when she burns it again next week, even he can't stomach it. And taking pity on both their stomachs, he nudges her aside, and makes some omelet.

He claims it's just to stop her accidentally poisoning them.

(Neither of them mentions it again.)

And then there is the tea.

It's some foul-tasting concoction brewed from bitterness and herbs and whatever damn kindness she keeps hidden in the pantry that cures the hangovers. Haymitch glares at the mug like it’s personally offended him—which, in fairness, it has. It smells like wet earth and something vaguely medicinal, the kind of brew that could either cure a hangover or summon demons. He’s half-convinced she’s poisoning him slowly, just to see how long it takes him to notice.

But damn it all, it works.

And worse—

She knows it works.

The threadbare blanket on the couch is replaced with a hand-knit monstrosity in cheerful colors, and little windchimes hang on the porch, and if he listens close enough while drinking in the lonesome of his bedroom, he can hear her humming happily as she works. He doesn't even hate it.

No one demands he stop drinking.

He tries anyway.

He almost swears she can tell when he's itching to reach for another bottle, because she appears by his side with some half-cooked, over-salted dish and two glasses of tea and that's that.

Between the music returning to his life and him cooking around the house and helping her in the garden and eating full meals, it's not as hard. He doesn't quit completely, and there are still nights when the ghosts of all his loved ones seem too close, when the weight of the arena and the years of silence becomes unbearable, and the tremors in his hands aren't from withdrawal but from memories, when the bottle is the only thing that can drown out the screaming in his head.

He tells himself it's just once.

Just this once.

(It never is.)

And when he fails— inevitably and spectacularly— feeling sick and hoarse and ashamed before her, she gently wipes the sick off his mouth with a washcloth and half-helps and half-drags him to his bed.

The next morning, there's a glass of water and a plate of dry and plain toast on his nightstand.

He tries again.

It's like a battle. Some days he wins. Some days he loses.

But he keeps trying.

And she keeps waiting.

(That's enough.)

The kids begin to accept dinner invitations much more frequently too, looking less and less concerned, and his sweet girl— that's how he thinks of her now, inside his head, where his desire isn't limited by the cruel reality— looks much less troubled, and when he's sober, he can focus entirely on the sway of her hips as she dances while dusting off the furniture, and that dimple in her cheek when she smiles at him like he's anything more than a man damaged beyond repair.

And so they dwell in this happy medium in the in-betweens of grief: him almost sober and her almost content, until the quarter quell is announced.

The tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors.

Haymitch finds her in the garden, fingers stained green from crushing leaves absently between them. “What are you murdering those poor plants for?”

“Just weeds.”

He steps closer, boots scuffing in the dirt. “You're a terrible liar, sweetheart.”

She stiffens. “Go away.”

“I can't. This is my favorite drinking spot.” He sits down beside her, and nudges gently. “Out with it, sweet girl. What'd the flowers do? Insult your knitting?”

She doesn't take the bait. “You promised her that— that if Peeta is reaped, you'll volunteer for him.”

“Yes.”

“And then, you'll die saving her.”

Haymitch shrugs, and then regrets it when he sees the look on her face. “Hey, look at me,” he says softly. “Worst-case scenario? You finally get the house to yourself. No more socks on the floor. No more me drinking all the—”

“Stop!” she says. “You don't get to joke about this.”

“I absolutely get to joke about this. It’s my impending death. I’ll make as many quips as I wa—”

“No! You don't get to joke about this. You don't get to make me care about you, and then make jokes like it doesn't mean anything. I won't let you.”

He reaches out, and wipes away the tears spilling out with his thumb. “Don't cry, sweetheart. Not for me.”

She grabs his hand and presses a kiss to his palm and then his wrist, all quick and fierce, and then she clumsily shoves a delicate flower crown on his head.

Haymitch touches it, bemused. “Is this my execution garland? How charming.”

“Shut up,” she says.

“Make me.”

There's a short pause, before she's leaning in and pressing her lips against his— and well, turns out she has a vested interest in shutting him up; an interest he happily encourages, laughing and kissing her back because he's a man of numbered days.

She leans into him.

The sun sets.

(They don't talk about tomorrow.)

They will, eventually, when it's impossible to ignore; but right now, this little bit of happiness is enough.

a/n: so that's that then! i hope you liked it. please don't forget to like, comment, and reblog.

also please let me know if you want to be added into my hunger games tag list, so you may be notified when i write something else for this universe.

[koznme]

ICARUS t. todoroki

chapter one

18+, mdni. swearing, illicit substance use, drinking, mentions of addiction and alcohol abuse, brief mention of trauma, mention of hookups, third person point of view (touya’s perspective), touya is an asshole and so is reader, beta read but not throughly edited because i cba

taglist is open, writing under the cut

word count 7.4k

series masterlist

routine was something he was very familiar with—a repetitive, perpetual, never-ending series of events; but it was what kept him somewhat sane. it was a simple routine, really: wake up, go to work, fill the void, sometimes he’d hit up the bars—it honestly depended on how the day went.

some days were worse than others. some mornings, it took him three tries to get out of bed. not because he was tired—hell, he wasn’t even tired—but because his body needed a little something first. just something. he’d hoped it was enough to take off the edge.

the edge was always there. always sharp. always waiting, like a blade pressed against his ribs. anger that crawled under his skin, a frustration that burned in his veins, an itch he'd never be able to scratch. it never let up—a storm building in his chest, swirling like chaos that couldn’t be controlled until it all blurred together. he could never pin it down—there was no target, no release, just a never ending fire. it was never enough to scream or fight it out; it simmered deep, where nobody could see, where he had to hide it. but god, it felt like it would explode at any second.

he told himself he had it all under control.

everybody always did—at first.

the thing about days like that was, when they hit, it was like nothing mattered. on those days, he’d skip work entirely, leave his responsibilities behind like they were nothing more than paperweights. it wasn’t like he was lazy–no, it was just the weight of it was too much. the pressure, the itch, the anger–the whatever it was– it dragged him down until all he could do was stay in bed and let the world slip away. it was honestly a miracle he was still employed at all. maybe it was his steady hand he had on days he did show up. clean lines, no tremors. or maybe it was the way he could disappear into the work, eyes locked in, needle humming like a lullaby—focused, steady, precise. or maybe his boss stopped caring, he still did good work, and good work was good work.

if the day dragged him under, if the weight sat heavy on his chest, he’d head to a bar. the only place where everything blurred into the background, where no one gave a shit about who he was or what he felt. a familiar place with familiar faces. the kind who didn’t flinch when his mood snapped sideways. the kind who didn’t ask question when he ducked into the bathroom a little too often. they didn’t care. it was an unspoken agreement. he liked that.

on those nights, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t end up home.

no, never home. not after any thoughts would take hold, not after the sharp sting of loneliness would settle in like poison. no, he’d end up in someone else’s bed. they didn’t need to know him. they didn’t need to know anything. he just needed a body. it was much more convenient this way, he’d think, half-lucid, chasing some sort of numbness in every form he could–pills, bodies, silence. anything to keep him from feeling too much. anything to keep the anger from boiling over, to quiet the ache from wanting too much but trusting too little.

but when he woke up, it was always the same. that hollow feeling. the dry mouth. the emptiness. he’d slip out of bed quietly, careful not to stir whoever was next to him. never overstayed his welcome. always dressing quickly, leaving without a word, and making his way home in the early hours, streets empty and cold. just like him.

back in his own bed, he’d lay there, staring at the ceiling, every inch of him stiff with the weight of it all. wondering if he could make it through one more day. wondering how long it would be before the whole thing–this life, this routine–snapped completely.

it wasn’t really living; but it passed for it.

and yet, the itch, that damn itch, it never went away. it only grew. restless under his skin, gnawing deeper into him with every breath. some days, it felt like the only thing keeping him from ripping his own skin off was the barest threat of control. the barest threat holding the rage down, keeping it just below the surface. he told himself he had it under control, but it wasn’t control anymore. it was just keeping it from exploding.

he couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he could control it.

it was a constant struggle, a battle he was losing more and more each day. he used to think that if he kept moving, if he kept numbing the itch with whatever worked for a little while, then maybe he could keep it at bay. maybe if he just kept going, kept pretending it wasn’t there, he could outrun it.

but it never let up. it just got worse. it spread, it burned, it twisted, until it filled every corner of his mind. and no matter how far he ran, no matter how many distractions he tried, it was always there–waiting, clinging to him, like a shadow. waiting for the next moment to tear him apart. a weight he couldn’t shake. it dug deep, suffocating him in ways that made it harder to think, harder to move, to feel anything else.

it was like drowning on dry land, the pressure tightening in his chest until it felt like his ribcage might crack. and it was always there, no escape. no end.

he woke up to that same weight.

the moment his eyes flickered open, it was there–like the air itself was too thick to breathe, too heavy to hold him up. he didn’t even have to try and recall the feeling; it was already pressing down on him. every breath felt like a drag, like something was holding him in place, pulling at his chest. it wasn’t enough to make him want to stay in bed. no, it was something deeper.

something worse.

he blinked into the dim light of his room, disoriented, the sheets felt too warm, the silence too heavy. his head was still foggy, the consequences of the night before had settled deep into his bones. a mix of too many drinks, and not enough sleep. a pounding in his head he hadn’t felt in a while. it took him a minute to piece together where he was. no, not where–what–what the hell was he doing here again he rolled over, grabbing his phone off the nightstand.

1:00PM

the bright light of his screen nearly blinded him, closing his eyes did nothing to help. he tossed his phone aside; it landed with a small thump somewhere on his bed, he’d worry about that later. the heaviness in his chest was still there, a pulse he could feel in his bones, like the world was pressing in on him from all sides, suffocating him with its weight the same pressure, the same endless tightness, like a vise that had been there too long.

he ran a hand through his knotted hair, fingers brushing against his scalp. the rough fabric of last night’s clothes felt weird against his skin–a ratty shirt, too thin and stretched out with the logo of some band long worn out, a pair of jeans that felt a size too small now. great. a dry laugh bubbled up in his throat, but it was hollow. empty. he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d bothered to change before crashing out. it wasn’t like he’d planned to sleep here, or anywhere. but the bed…the bed had seemed like a good place to stop moving. and now he was stuck.

when he finally dragged himself out of bed, it was a struggle–not just physically, but mentally. his body felt heavy, leaden. his head spun slightly as he pushed through the disorientation. the soft whir of his fan was the only sound in the room–everything else eerily quiet. the room was too quiet, too still. no distraction. no escape.

as he shuffled into the kitchen, the first thing he noticed was his roommate’s door. already wide open across the hall, a surprising sight.. the guy probably hadn’t moved in days, always glued to that screen like his life depended on it. the dull him of his gaming rig buzzed faintly from the smell of stale cereal, half-empty energy drinks, and grease in the air. he couldn’t remember the last time they’d had an actual conversation that didn’t feel like a pointless exchange of words.

however, the guy was there, slouched at the table in the kitchen, eyes glazed over as he absentmindedly spooned cereal into his mouth, his phone propped up against the roll of paper towels–a video playing on the tiny screen, no doubt something related to whatever obscure game he was playing.

“morning,” his roommate said without glancing up, the word flat, as though it meant nothing at all.

“it’s nearly 3pm.” he muttered back, grabbing a bowl out of the open cabinet over head and pouring himself a bowl of cereal. he opened the fridge, reaching in for the carton of milk, the sound of it sloshing around in the cardboard contained filling the silence. he didn’t care that the guy wasn’t even looking at him. didn’t care that everything felt like it was slowly decaying around them.

the itch still burned in his chest, but he didn’t know where to put it. didn’t know how to shake it. he could feel the gnawing, the burning, the need to feel something other than the hollow ache in his chest. something, anything. he didn’t care what, anymore. he just need it to stop.

the routine was the same as always–awkward silence punctuated by the video playing. he grabbed a mug, filling it with the coffee in the coffee maker that he was sure was at least a day old, only half-paying attention to the motions, the bitterness mixing with the heaviness in his chest. his gaze flickered toward the table, where his roommate was still zoned out, eyes glued to his screen like he was drifting through another dimension.

“got anything today?” his hoarse voice cut through the silence between them. he didn’t even know why he asked, the answer was always the same. weed, pills, something. he didn’t care about the specifics anymore. he just needed to feel different. just a little bit of release so stop the itch from clawing at him.

his roommate didn’t look up, white hair falling between his eyes as he leaned closer to the tiny screen in front of him. he shrugged, scratching at the flakey skin around his neck. “a little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

he didn’t offer more, the way it usually went, as if the exchange was already understood–no questions asked. just the transaction. their whole routine was built around that unacknowledged code, as much as a part of their living arrangement as the rent itself.

he just stared at the long-haired guy in front of him, patience thinning. the rage crawled up his chest, but he forced himself to take a deep, shaky breath. the irritation was familiar, but this time it felt sharper, churning inside, nipping at his skin, scratching at his composure.

his roommate finally glanced up, but only briefly, before shifting his gaze back to the last few seconds of the video. “you want something or not?”

“no, of course not, tomura.” voice laced with sarcasm, and venom. he couldn’t help it. “i wouldn’t fucking ask if i didn’t want anything.”

tomura didn’t react. with a lazy shrug, he pushed his chair back, the wooden legs scratched against the linoleum floor of the kitchen–grating, jarring–a sound that deeply irritated touya, made his skin crawl. tomura shuffled to his room like some zombie, head down, back hunched–a product of the countless hours of hunching over his computer–shoulders slouched forward, absorbed in his own world. not even the slightest sign of care for the exchange. the door creaked as it closed behind him. the quiet in the apartment settled over touya, thick and suffocating.

he was already halfway through the motion of reaching into his pocket when the door opened again. tomura stepped out, holding a few small, beat up ziploc bags with different contents inside. he tossed it onto the table without much thought, and then, as an afterthought, muttered, “take your pick.”

it was so detached, so empty, no emotion behind the offer. a lazy transaction. it pissed touya off more than he could explain.

touya reached forward, but as his fingers grazed against the plastic, something inside him snapped–his whole body tensed, his jaw clenched. a rage, cold but white hot at the same time, gripped him from the inside out. the kind that made his chest ache

“that’s it?”

he barely recognized his own voice, low, tight, cutting. the words hung in the room, heavier than they should have been. for a brief moment they sounded like his old man. he hated that. the comparison, the recognition, it sickened him. his dad would do the same thing–given him and his mom scraps and called it enough. he bring home some extravagant gift, a half-hearted offer, the bare minimum. no love, no effort. just a cold hand-off of something that was supposed to mean something, but never did. it was never enough.

yet, somehow, his mom always found a way to forgive. a way to turn a blind eye.

and now, here he was, staring at tomura–doing the same damn thing. the same indifference. the same empty gestures. the same bullshit. tomura barely spared him a glance, eyes rolling in indifference, like he was already over it. he didn’t care, couldn’t care. his voice was a lazy drawl, a boredom he didn’t try to hide. “you want more? too bad. that’s all i’m offering. you figure it out.”

the frustration boiled over, and touya pulled out a crumpled bill, slamming it down onto the table with enough bags to make the bags rattle and the table wobble. the anger was red-hot now, rising in his throat, and the weight of it all–the rage, the sick realization that he was no different from his dad–made his hands shake.

tomura glanced at the money, the wrinkled 5000 yen bill sitting between the two of them. his lips curled into a half-smile, a bitter, mocking thing that nearly drove touya to the edge. “nice. can afford this shit, but can’t even make your half of the rent on time. pathetic.”

pathetic. the way tomura threw that word, like it meant nothing. like they were just another piece of trash to discard. it was a jab to the gut, a reminder of everything touya hated about his life. about the way things had always been.

“i’m pathetic?” he hissed, voice low but dangerous. “i’m pathetic? you think i chose this? you think i wanted to end up like this?”

his hands were fists now, knuckles pale, nails digging into the meet of his palms. the plastic bags sat there, insignificant, forgotten, but somehow the epicenter of everything wrong in his life. they were the last thread holding it together–and now even that was fraying.

“you’re always like this,” tomura just blinked, slow and blank, like none of it touched him. like he was watching some dome scene in a movie he’d already seen a dozen times. “always throwing a tantrum, acting like the world owes you something. get over yourself.”

“fuck you,” touya spat. “you don’t know shit about me.”

“don’t need to.” tomura shrugged, already turning away, leaving the bill on the tabletop. “you’re not that complicated.”

and just like that, he walked off, that lazy shuffle of his disappearing back into his cave of wires and screens and cigarette smoke. the door clicked shit behind him, a soft snick that somehow sounded louder than a gunshot in the silence that followed.

touya stood there, shaking. the rage didn’t leave–it never really did–but now there was something else mixed into it. something quiet. shame, maybe. or grief. whatever it was, it sat behind his ribs and tore at him like a rat. he looked down at the bags still on the table. he should’ve just grabbed them and left. he should’ve numbed it again. made it go away.

but he couldn’t move. not yet.

because the thing was…tomura wasn’t wrong. not really.

he wasn’t that complicated.

just a mess with a pulse.

a guy who couldn’t outrun his own goddamn shadow.

a man with his hands full of fire and nothing left to burn but himself.

he slid into the chair, the weight of the day already pressing down on him again, even though it barely started. from the other room, he could hear tomura, the low hum of whatever game he’d thrown himself into echoed around the apartment–gunshots, screams, repetitive synthetic music. it was all muffled, like it came from underwater. it was like he was underwater.

touya stared at his own reflection in the sheen of the tabletop–warped, fragmented. he didn��t recognize himself. didn’t know who this version of him was anymore. his hands twitched. his breath came too shallow, body tense. the bads sat there on the table, untouched, quiet in a way that felt cruel. he stared at them like they were mocking him–like they knew just how close he was to cracking. like they didn’t carry the weight of every bad decision he had ever made.

but they did.

god, they did.

he still heard tomura in the other room, probably already forgotten about him. probably laughing at some stupid video, lost in his screen, detached like always. and that stung in a way he hated admitting. not because he wanted tomura to care–but because some part of him needed someone to.

even if it was the wrong person. even if they never stayed.

the itch was always there, yes–but so was the fear. the emptiness. the gaping hole in the center of his chest, the one he tried to fill up with drugs, with hookups, with routine, with anything that would give him a moment of peace. but nothing ever stuck. nothing ever lasted. the moment things got quiet, it was like his brain turning on him–ripping through everything all at once.

he swallowed hard, throat dry, like he’d been chewing on ash. the taste of the previous night still clung to the back of his tongue–alcohol, smoke, someone else’s perfume. it made his stomach twist. he ran a hair through his hair, dragging his fingers down his face like he could scrape away the exhaustion and shame clinging to his skin. his leg started bouncing beneath the table, nerves firing beneath his skin like static. he needed something. a hit. a drink. a scream. he didn’t know. just something to shut it all up.

he stood up suddenly, the chair screeching across the linoleum with a harsh scrape that made his teeth grind. he hovered over the bags again, hands trembling. he hated this part–the bargaining, the slow unraveling. the part where he lied to himself. said he didn’t need it. that he could choose to walk away.

and maybe he could. but just not this time.

he picked up one of the bags, turning it over in his hand. it was light. too light to hold so much power. but it did. it held everything–silence, relief, numbness. it was a lifeline. it was a death sentence.

he stared at the bag for a long time, the plastic slippery under his grip. the decision wasn’t loud. it didn’t crash into him or scream in his head. it slipped in like a sigh, quiet, gentle. like surrender. there was no fight in him, his fingers moved automatically. muscle memory. a ritual. he emptied the bag with the kind of efficiency that only came from repetition–quick, precise, practiced. the kind of motion that had stopped feeling dangerous a long time ago. now it was just a part of him, like breathing.

it didn’t hit as fast. he supposed it was from the constant use, the buildup of immunity.

but when it did, the edges dulled at first–his thoughts softened, like someone turning down the volume on the world until they completely disappeared. that familiar itch under his skin faded into static. the burn in his brain smoothed, the fires smothered into something quieter. almost calm.

he let out a slow, shaky breath and sank into the chair, slouching down until his spine curved in a way that would normally leave him in pain. his eyes drifted towards the ceiling, half-lidded, unfocused. the lights above him blurred, a bright yellow that bathed everything he touched. his limbs felt like jell-o, the air around him wrapped him in a hug of sorts, his breathing slowed and the pounding in his ears subsided. for the first time all day–all 2.5 hours he was awake–or maybe all week, he didn’t feel like he was going to come apart at the seams.

that was a lie, of course. a temporary one. a borrowed moment of silence. but right now it was enough.

he stayed there for a while. lost time. let the stillness stretch over him like a weighted blanked as the suns rays grew and shortened. the apartment around him had long since faded–the only things around were the soothing hum of the fridge, the faint buzz of tomura’s game through the wall, the ticking of a cheap clock he hadn’t replaced since it broke. time meant nothing.

eventually he stood, once the initial high wore down just enough for his head to not feel heavy and his limbs to regain some semblance of stability. his body still moved like it was underwater–lose, a little slow, but sturdy enough to stay upright. his joints ached in that disconnected way, like they weren’t quite his own, another thing borrowed. he pushed off the edge of the table, swaying slightly as gravity reminded him it still had him by the throat. his palm found the wall, fingers spread against the chipped paint and rough texture. it was cold. solid. something real in the haze of it all.

the hallway tilted slightly, or maybe it was just him. hard to tell.

he dragged himself toward his room with a sluggish determination, using the wall like a guide rail, brushing his shoulder against it every few steps just to stay grounded. his legs carried him forward, muscle memory again, doing the work his brain was too fogged to manage. the apartment around him was fuzzy–nothing but a blend of doorways and shadows.

he reached his door, fumbled with the handle–missed once, then caught it on the second try. he didn’t bother turning on the light; the darkness was a comfort, a familiar weight draped across his shoulders. safe in its own way. empty, sure–but at least it didn’t ask anything from him. he stepped inside and shut the door behind him–not with intention, not with purpose, just because that was what he always did. the click of the latch was soft, yet it echoed in the stillness. final. like the closing of a casket.

then he sank to the floor.

not the bed; that felt too far, too soft, too clean. or at least cleaner than the floor, cleaner than he felt. the floor was solid. hard. honest. something that didn’t give when he leaned into it. something that could hold him when nothing else could. his back hit the cold wood with a dull thud, and he let out a slow, shaky breath, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. his arms fell limp beside him, his whole body slack–like a marionette with cut strings. the high was still there, humming just beneath his skin—numbing the sharped edges, a low distant thrum in his blood. but it was already slipping.

and with every minute that passed, the weight began to creep back in. draining out of him lie water leaking from a cracked vase–inevitable. unstoppable. first as a whisper. then a murmur. then a scream until it became nothing but the silence again. a heavy weight upon your chest. the part of the high that no one warns you about–the aftermath, the slow coming down, the crash, the stillness that wasn’t peace but something worse. a void, a reminder. it never crashed into him, no. it seeped. like rot through the walls. it wasn’t peaceful, it was hollow. deceptive. the kind of quiet that echoed with everything he tried not to think about.

he opened his eyes. vision blurry, unfocused, drifting toward the ceiling. shadows shifted in the corners, barely touched by the faint light bleeding through the slats of the blinds, outside, life kept moving–buffled bass thumped from someone’s speaker down the hall. a dog barked. and somewhere beyond his door, tomura laughed, low and unbothered, voice tangled in a conversation that drifted through the walls thin as smoke. touya didn’t move.

he was aware of the faint buzz of his phone on the bed behind him–forgotten, ignored. a dull vibration, persistent, muffled by the twisting sheets around it. but he never got up, never checked.

he couldn’t feel his face. his hands were warm and tingling. his heartbeat was steady but slow. steady. drowsy. the kind of slow that made time crawl. made everything feel like it was suspended in amber–thick, unmoving, suffocating.

he blinked once. twice. his eyes stayed open, but he wasn’t looking for anything. his mouth was dry; his chest felt hollow. but it was quiet. no screaming thoughts. no memories clawing their way up his throat. no reminders of what he’d done. who he used to be. nothing telling him he was worthless, that he would be better off dead, no echoes of that final argument with his dad–shouts and slamming doors. no glimpse of his mom, tearful and silent. no image of natsuo, standing in the hallway, small hands clenched into fists, starting at him like a stranger. no remembrance of fuyumi carrying shoto on her hip, the two of them wide-eyed, watching. just silence.

eventually the quiet shifted, turned into loneliness. not the kind you feel in an empty room. no–this was deeper. hungrier. the kind that curled up beside him and whispered in his ear. the kind that felt like it lived inside his bones, crawling up his spine, branding him from the inside out.

a hot, searing ache. one the pills couldn’t touch; one the high couldn’t numb. the ache of absence. of everything he’d thrown away. the kind of loneliness that didn’t just hurt, it hollowed. and he felt it, right there, at the center of his chest. it always found him again when everything else faded. the part of him that still missed being loved. the part of him that hated himself for ruining it. the part that wondered–honestly, quietly, hopelessly– if maybe there was no way back.

he swallowed hard. it caught in his throat like a stone. his limbs felt heavier, his head thick with static. he didn’t know how long he had laid there. minutes. hours. could’ve been both. could’ve been neither. but it was long enough for the high to loosen its grip, for the fog to clear up. not enough to make him feel normal–whatever that meant–but enough to bring the ache back.

and when it returned, it didn’t sneak in like before. it hit hard. full force. a deeper emptiness that settled low into his stomach, infecting every part of him. no more hum beneath the skin. no more float. just heavy clarity. one that didn’t sooth–only reminded. the silent wasn’t soft now. it was loud. screeching. heavy with everything he’d tried to drown.

he swallowed again, jaw tight, hands flexing against the floor like he needed to hold something. but there was nothing, just dust. air. the pieces of a life that hadn’t really belonged to him in years.

so he stood.

slowly. unsteady at first. his muscles ached in protest, but he pushed through it. the floor creaked beneath his weight as he stood. he pulled on a hoodie from the floor. didn’t care that it smelled like a blend of ink, cigarettes, and stale liquor. it was warm, and it was easy. he shoved a hand in the front pocket, fingers brushing against old receipts and a lighter he didn’t remember putting there. the room spun once. he let it pass.

his tongue felt like paper, his throat burned faintly. he crossed the room, grabbed his wallet off the dresser, no even sparing a glance at the mirror next to it–he didn’t want to see what looked back. he needed out. he needed to go somewhere with lights. with noise. with people who didn’t look too hard or ask too much. somewhere where he could fade into the background, somewhere where the loneliness wouldn’t find him.

the apartment felt too small. too quiet. too known. it made everything inside him louder.

so he left the apartment in silence. no word to tomura. no glance at his phone. no second thoughts. the door shut softly behind him, the sound lost to the noises of the city awakening around him.

outside, the night air hit him hard–sharp and cool, slicing into his lungs with every breath. the sky was the color of bruises–deep, purpling clouds handing low, like they might fall. his boots scraped against the pavement, each measured and slow. steady and sober enough. the lights from the street bled into his eyes, too bright and too artificial, painting the sidewalk in broken gold. people around him–hundreds at least–weaved their way around him, moving on past his tiny bubble. the city didn’t care about him. never asked anything. never looked too closely. it just kept moving. he liked that.

the bar wasn’t far. just a few blocks of cracked pavement, flickering neon, and corners that smelled like piss and desperation. sitting somewhere along the intersection home to meth heads and heroin junkies. the usual path.

the sign outside buzzed faintly, one of the letters dead. he hesitated at the door, just for a second–not out of doubt, out of exhaustion. but still, he pushed through. inside, it was dim, low-ceilinged and buzzing with voices, clinking glasses, the low murmur of a jukebox stuck on a sad song from a decade no one remembered. the air was thick with sweat, smoke, and spilled whiskey. it wrapped around him like a blanket and he hated how much he needed it.

he moved to the bar without looking at anyone, slid into a stool like he’d never left it. the bartender glanced over, nodded once. not surprised to see him. there were no exchanged words–just a quiet understanding, the kind between two strangers who’d seen each other too many times, who knew the shape of each other’s silence better than they knew their names.

the glass landed in front of touya with a soft thud. a smooth crystal holding an amber liquid. smooth. familiar. he stared at it for a moment, the way the light caught the rim, his eyes traced the gentle sway of the whiskey inside. like it was waiting for him to break the stillness. coaxing him with empty promises.

he brought it to his lips. the first burn was sharp. clean. it cleared the last remnants of the fog in his skull, dragging his mind back into focus. the second drink went down easier. warmer. more forgiving. by the third, the ache in his chest still wasn’t gone. it just sat there–quiet, patient. like it knew it had all the time in the world.

he didn’t stay long.

the first bar never held him for more than a few drinks these days. it used to be enough–to fade into the noise, to let the alcohol smooth out the jagged edges, to sit quietly and pretend he wasn’t waiting for something to change. waiting for something to end.

lately, nothing had been able to dull the edge.

the buzz came and went like static, and the silence afterward only rang louder. the familiar voices around him felt distant. empty. the music grated, switching between genres fast enough to make his head spin. the glass in his hand felt heavier than it used to.

and the worst part? no one noticed. not the bartender. not the regulars. not even himself, really. just another night. just another slow unraveling.

he set the empty glass down, the sound barely audible over the low buzz of the room, and pushed himself off the stool. he left a few wadded up bills next to the glass as his feet carried him out the door and into the cold without a thought. the wind bit at his cheeks. the city hummed around him, half-asleep, half-feral. he didn’t need to check the time–he already knew it was late, and he already knew he wasn’t going home.

he didn’t know exactly where he was heading until he did. another bar. a different one. the one with rust on the awning. the one with cigarette smoke in the alley. the one where she worked. he wasn’t exactly looking for her.

but he wasn’t not looking, either.

the bar was warmer. louder. worse. it felt like being trapped in amber–hazy, sticky, suffocating. the air hung thick with the scent of stale beer, cheap perfume, and too many breathless conversations happening at once. college students packed the corners and crowded the bar, laughing too loud, leaning too close. everyone was trying too hard to forget something. he knew the feeling.

the lighting was much more dim that the first bar, and murky, too. like it had given up trying to illuminate anything clearly, the kind that made everyone’s skin glow gold and sickly, like they’d been dipped in honey and smoke. shadows moved across the walls. faces blurred together. his boots stuck slightly to the floor as he made his way to the bar. he found a seat at the end, tucked half in shadow, and let his eyes scan the room before settling on her.

she was working behind the bar–moving with a rhythm that was half muscle memory, half exhaustion. her expression was unreadable. detached. no wasted energy. no fake smiles. like she’d poured herself into the motions so completely that there was nothing left for small talk, for smiles, for anything resembling softness. her hair was pulled back in a loose tie. there was something almost graceful in the way she avoided eye contact. like she’d mastered the art of being untouchable.

there was something about the way she moved–quick, precise, not a single wasted motion. she didn’t yell over the music like her coworkers did. she didn’t flirt. she barely even spoke. just a rhythm: nod, pour, wipe, side the drink across the counter, move on.

he didn’t think she had notice him. not yet. he watched her anyway.

“don’t even think about it.” a voice cut through the haze beside him–smooth, confident, a little too loud.

touya blinked, turning his head slightly. the guy stood behind the bar near him, towel slung over his shoulder, grinning like he lived for the change to interrupt. bright-eyed, tan, annoyingly charismatic. the kind of guy who looked like he flirted just for sport.

“think about what?”

“her,” the blond nodded in her direction, like it was obvious. “she doesn’t do customers. doesn’t do anyone, actually. you’re wasting your time.”

touya narrowed his eyes, tone low and sharp. “did i ask?”

the blond just laughed. “didn’t have to. i’ve seen that look before.”

he turned away, jaw tight, fingers curling loosely around the edge of the bar. the kind of frustration that didn’t come from the comment itself, but from the way it landed. like he had asked. like he had shown something. like wanting to look at her meant anything at all. he hated that the guy could read him so easily. hated that he wasn’t wrong. but before he could come up with something to say–something cruel enough to shut it down–she looked over.

and for a second, she hesitated.

her eyes met his, then drifted. a pause. a flicker of recognition. not strong. not certain. just there.

“you again?” she asked, dry and flat.

“didn’t think i was that memorable.” he’d only spoken to her once–about a week ago. out back in the dingy, damp alleyway behind the bar where the air reeked of overflowing dumpsters, rain-soaked concrete, and cigarette smoke that clung to everything like regret. he didn’t know why he went out there that night, why he walked through that particular alleyway. no real reason. just one of those moments where his body moved without his brain. restless. hollow. needing a breath of air that didn’t taste like liquor and cologne.

he remembered her standing against the brick wall of the building, a cigarette between her fingers, the cherry glowing faint in the dark. her posture had been relaxed, but not open–like she’d folded herself into the silence and didn’t want company. still, she hadn’t told him to fuck off. he remembered how her eyes flickered toward him but didn’t linger. just a glance, like she was used to ghosts passing through. he remembered asking her for a light.

he didn’t even smoke that much.

maybe once in a while. mostly when he was drunk. or when he wanted to feel like he had something to do with his hands. he didn’t even remember if he had a real cigarette on him that night or if he’d bummed it from someone on the way out. regardless, she didn’t ask. just handed him her lighter–plastic, cheap, brand new, and warm from her palm. their hands had momentarily brushed. he remembered that brief sensation of skin. calloused fingers. no polish. no rings.

they hadn’t said much after that. maybe two more sentences. short, forgettable things. she smoked in silence, and he mirrored her, like he didn’t want to break whatever strange stillness had settled between them. then, without ceremony, she stubbed the cigarette halfway through and gone back inside, tossing a parting remark over her shoulder. a dry joke, sharp and careless, like she didn’t expect him to laugh. something about making sure he doesn’t lose any more fights or some shit. he didn’t even remember the exact words. he just remembered how much it irritated him. it shouldn’t have bothered him that much.

but it did.

he stayed out there long after she was gone, bathed in the dull light of the streetlamp overhead, a thin ribbon of her smoke still lingering in the air. feeling nothing at all. or maybe, too much. it was hard to tell the difference.

now, he sat in front of her again–his bruises faded but still faintly visible–watching her move behind the bar like she’d never stopped. her expression hadn’t changed, still unreadable. still composted in that detached way that made it impossible to tell what she was thinking.

“you’re not.” she said simply, already turning away to pour another drink. “you just asked me for a light. that happens a lot.”

he laughed under his breath, quiet and bitter. “yeah. guess it does.”

it shouldn’t have stung. but it did.

she didn’t look up at him right away, just kept serving drinks and wiping down the bar with a damp cloth. the kind of motion people fall into when they need to keep their hands busy. her fingers were quick, practiced, distant. then her gaze flicked toward him–brief, unreadable.

“you looked like shit.” she said simply.

that made him laugh, this time a little more real–tight in the chest but not bitter. “thanks.”

“i see a lot of people who look like shit,” she added, leaning her weight on the bar, one elbow resting near the sink, the soft hum of conversation filling the space around them.”it blurs.”

he didn’t say anything to that. just looked at her–really looked. the low light case soft shadows over her face, outlining her cheekbones and the tired shape of her eyes. she wasn’t wearing makeup, not much anyway. her sleeves were rolled up just past her elbows. she looked like she belonged behind the bar the way some people belonged in churches–too worn out to believe in the place, but still showing up every night like it mattered.

“guess i thought it stuck.” his voice low, almost dismissive. “didn’t think i was that forgettable.”

she looked at him then. not soft, not cruel. just direct.

“it was a cigarette,” she said. “and maybe ten words.”

he scoffed, his lips curling up into a smirk without any humor. “didn’t know there was a word count minimum for being remembered.”

she didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched like she might’ve, in another lifetime. “most people don’t even bother lighting their own. you did. that’s something, i guess.”

“cheers to that. glad i’m memorable for being slightly less useless than average”

“you said it,” she replied, already turning away.

he watched her for a moment longer, something bitter curling low in his chest. maybe it was better that she didn’t remember him clearly. maybe it meant that it hadn’t mattered. maybe he should stop wishing it had. then, like clockwork, the annoying blond slid back into view. a grin already plastered on his face.

“there he is,” the blond said, wiping his hands on his towel. “thought you’d slipped out.”

touya didn’t look at him. “still here.”

the blond leaned over the bar just enough to glance between him and her. “so? we having a moment here, or am i walking into the world’s most painfully one-sided crush?”

touya’s jaw tensed.

“she’s working,” he said flatly. “you should try it sometime.”

all the blond did was snort. “touchy.”

she didn’t even glance at her coworker, just kept lining up clean glasses–face indiscernible.

“you know,” blondie added, lowering his voice just a little like it was a favor, giving him a warning. “you’re not her type.”

touya finally turned to him, slow. “and you are?”

“definitely not.” his grin grew wider. “but i’m smart enough to not try.”

“good,” touya muttered. “stick to what you’re good at.”

the blond smirked, backing off with raised hands in mock surrender and a wink. “that’d be charming people, thanks.”

“right. must be exhausting carrying that delusion around.”

the bartender finally backed off, still grinning like he hadn’t just pissed gasoline on an open flame. the exchange ended there–sharp, small, but enough to leave touya with a sour taste in his mouth. he didn’t know what he expected coming here. not warmth. not kindness. but maybe something closer to acknowledgement. something human.

he ordered a drink, downing it with ease; the warmth in his chest now full, too familiar. he sat there a while longer, long after the conversation had died. his elbows on the bar, his mind somewhere else.

she didn’t look at him again. didn’t glance up. didn’t say another word.

no follow-up to the few dry words they’d exchanged. just poured drinks and moved on like he was already part of the furniture. background noise. maybe he was just another forgettable face from a week ago, one of many who drifted in and out of this place, dragging their bruises behind them like the ghosts who hadn’t figured out that they were dead yet.

that hurt more than it should’ve.

he was about to leave when she slid into the seat beside him.

no, not the girl behind the bar. a different girl.

darker lipstick, hair that framed her face in a way that accentuated her features, denim jacket with too many pins. a pretty little thing. her smile was easy–rehearsed. “you look like you could use some company.”

her voice was sweet with a little bite at the end. he didn’t even hesitate. touya turned to her, leaning in slightly. “yeah?”

“yeah,” she said, smiling like it was already decided. “you’ve got that brooding, lost-in-his-own-head look. it’s hot.”

he gave her a soft, tired laugh. “it’s not a look.”

“even better,”

she touched his arm lightly, like she already knew how the night would end.

and maybe she did. he didn’t ask her name. she didn’t ask his. they exchanged a few more words–something vague, something flirtatious–but none of that stuck.

it wasn’t about that.

he looked toward the bar one last time as the girl he just barely knew stood, tugging at his sleeve, guiding him down toward the door with a grin. the bartender didn’t look up. never acknowledged his existence after their brief conversation. just continued to work, as if she had already forgotten of his existence. it was a bitter feeling that took hold of his bones.

he knew she didn’t care, didn’t know why he was desperate for her to. but acknowledging that…that was scary.

so he left.

yapper alert. i wrote this on google docs with narrow margins, single spaced, 10pt font and it still took up 11 entire pages. now that this is done, i’m going to bed.

taglist -> @chaoslibra @chlosology @saucejar @poemeater @skeletonmoths @hecate-frenchfries @personally4runa

koznme, do not copy or repost

[misteryladys2]

Bonus Chapter – Part 2- Before The Storm

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 Male!Natalie Scatorccio.x reader

This is a bonus chapter to explore a bit of her connection with Nate before the next main update. Enjoy!"

Other chapters: ∆×

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

The bonfire was already starting to form in the middle of the dirt field. Shouts, loud laughter, music coming out of a broken speaker. Boys from the team were throwing beer at each other like trophies. People grabbing each other behind cars, others throwing up behind trees.

She was there. Alone in a corner of the lawn, sitting on one of those folding beach chairs that someone had dumped. Floral dress, cream-colored sneakers already dirty with mud. Her hands in her lap, trying to look busy fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

She wasn't sure why she had come. Perhaps out of politeness, perhaps to try to be included. But now she just wanted to disappear.

Nate saw her from a distance.

Black T-shirt, dragging steps. He was laughing at some dirty joke with Kevin, but as soon as he saw that figure sitting alone, he seemed to disconnect from the mess.

He grabbed two glasses from the makeshift "bar" set up in the back of a pick-up truck. He filled them with punch - a cloudy pink liquid that was certainly full of cheap alcohol. He walked over to her.

He held out the glass, a half-mocking smile at the corner of his mouth. "You look like a painting from another century, sitting there. Want to drown that vibe in something dangerously pink?"

She looked up in surprise, but took the glass carefully.

"Thanks... I guess?"

She sniffed the liquid. She frowned.

"It smells like disinfectant."

"It's basically that, but with sugar. Go on, just one sip. I promise it's not poison."

She hesitantly brought the glass to her mouth and took a small sip.

Her face contorted immediately - her eyes wide, her tongue trying to escape her mouth.

"My God! What is that?"

He laughed. A real loud laugh, the kind that comes out when you're taken aback by something.

His smile is adorable.

"You've just lost your soul to the demon of alcohol, princess."

She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, still grimacing. "That's awful! Do you drink it by choice?"

"You get used to it. Or you become a fucking addict. Kind of both."

"You didn’t have to say it like that." She looked at him, the glass still in her hand, her face burning - she didn't know if from the alcohol or from his presence.

"Yeah, well... you look like a rainbow threw up on you. So we're even." He says it in a mean tone, but that's not quite what he means.

She laughed - for the first time that night - and he stared as if he'd won some inside bet. As if he knew, in that instant, that she wasn't just the coach's daughter, or the girl in the cute dress. She was someone who made him let his guard down.

And that scared him more than he wanted to admit.

[olympeline]

You know, I like the idea that one of the first real bonding moments Alasdair and Arthur ever had was in the wreckage of 1776. That widely held headcanon that Arthur hit the bottle reeeally hard and was a rum soaked mess for a good few years after Alfred left. And of course Alasdair would have been around to witness it since their joining in 1707

And it’s quite the uncomfortable surprise, too. Arthur was always such a ferocious little shit - such a thorn in Scottie’s side - that in the end he had to propose a union before they tore each other to bits and sunk Britain’s bright future with their endless wars. Much as he hated to admit it, Arthur was tough. Arthur was strong. But now Arthur’s first born son first colony has up and left, and Arthur isn’t the fire breathing vengeance machine Alasdair expected. Instead of coming up with plots to use their growing empire’s might to beat Alfred to a pulp and drag him back kicking and screaming, Arthur has spiralled into a depressive funk, is going through three bottles a day, and would have already killed himself with alcohol poisoning if he were human. Or maybe he did a few times and just regenerated, idk. Either way it seems Alasdair didn’t know Arthur half so well as he thought he did. He never predicted a reaction like this

Alasdair watches Arthur’s collapse with confusion, followed by disbelief, then open disgust. He tries to ignore it, not wanting to deal with his sibling’s antics. Even when the king and officials beg Alasdair to step in and do something, he brusquely brushes them off. He’s not Arthur’s fucking nursemaid for God’s sake! Until one day they’re due to sail together on the kingdom’s flagship and his little brother holds them up. Alasdair gets the message that the former terror of the waves is once again too shitfaced to stand up, let alone captain a ship. Now the important voyage will have to be delayed

And Scot has just hAD ENOUGH of Arthur embarrassing and inconveniencing them all like this. He swears his brother was less trouble as a mortal enemy! Alasdair storms into Arthur’s room to drag the addlepated sot out of bed and talk some sense into him. With his fists if necessary. Not that it comes to that with Arthur as drunk as he is. Alasdair has to drag him up then hold him up to yell at him. And when Arthur tries to punch him, he would have gone down like a sack of spuds without big bro’s bruising grip. It’s awkward for all involved when Arthur’s pathetic attempts at a scuffle and Alasdair shaking and yelling at him, end with Arthur suddenly crumbling and sobbing on his shoulder. Shocking Alasdair again. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just holds Arthur and haltingly rubs his back, muttering soothing nonsense. Most mortifying moment of Alasdair’s millenia+ life.

He doesn’t push Arthur away as he clings to him, though. As much as Arthur drives him insane like no one else, he’s still Scot’s little brother. So he let’s him cry and just keeps supporting him. Listening in silence as Arthur rants and sobs about Alfred: alternating between professing deepest loathing for the “traitor,” and weeping about how much he misses him and how there’s still time to fix everything and they have to try and get him back, etc. etc. It’s a fool’s hope, but Alasdair always knew Arthur was a fool

But what can he say? A smug, confrontational, fiery, normal Arthur makes Alasdair long for their old days of striking swords and border wars. A pathetic, drunk, weeping, vulnerable Arthur brings out Alasdair’s long dormant brotherly instinct. A feeling usually reserved for Wales and the Ireland twins. But, for the first time since he was a wee bairn, the instinct comes out for Arthur. It’s been so long since he saw him cry, he’d almost forgotten Arthur was capable of it

Alasdair lets Arthur cry himself to exhaustion, then helps him back into bed. Takes off Arthur’s coat, pulls off his boots, drags the blankets up over him. Arthur catches his arm, hands trembling, when Alasdair goes to straighten up and begs him not to leave him too. Alasdair rolls his eyes, cuffs Arthur - gently - and tells him to sleep it off. Then promises gruffly to be there when he wakes up, so stop being a drunk fool and go to sleep

Arthur obeys and Alasdair he keeps his word. Wales and Ireland fill in sailing duty and Alasdair stays with Arthur: king and parliament’s ranting be damned. Planning to help his little brother get himself back on track once he wakes up, starting with getting him off the booze. Or at least getting it back down to royal navy functional alcoholic levels. They can worry about everything else later

Thankfully for both their sanities, Arthur remembers very little of this when he wakes up lol. Alasdair makes sure to thank God extra hard that week at church for big mercies

[thesakuragarnet]

Birthday (LOV Found Family Vibes)

Summary:

'Twice: Hey, Dabi, why are you drinking so much on a Monday afternoon?' 

'Dabi: I'm trying to forget tomorrow is my birthday.'

Tags: slight DabiHawks, implied sexual content, swearing, found family, some blood (see GIF), hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, drinking

Word Count: 1,767 words

AO3 link

The sounds of party horns jolt Dabi out of his alcohol-induced slumber, making his hangover headache infinitely worse. 

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" He screams as he jerks upright, sitting straight up on the couch as Toga and Twice jump around him with the obnoxious noisemakers while Hawks and Spinner pop confetti cannons. 

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DABI!" Toga shrieks at the top of her lungs, and Toya puts his head in his hands, palming his forehead aggressively as he remembers the conversation from the night before. 

'Twice: Hey, Dabi, why are you drinking so much on a Monday afternoon?' 

'Dabi: I'm trying to forget tomorrow is my birthday.'

Granted, he was already a bottle and a half in at that point, which is why he'd let it slip. Regretfully, his Quirk made it impossible to get alcohol poisoning; his body processed it too fast to fuel his flames, meaning he sobered up almost as quickly as he became intoxicated. 

Twice and Toga continue to chant and sing, jumping up and down as Dabi blinks, taking in the scene. There's an obnoxious "Happy Birthday" banner that looks like it was dragged out of a trash can and an obscene amount of balloons in the corner (which is an extreme fire hazard).

"HAPPY! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! HAPPY! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Toga and Twice scream in unison, dancing with one another.

"Come on, make a wish!" Hawks' voice is suddenly in his ear, and Dabi turns his head to see a sorry excuse for a cake with a crude "24" in the center written in icing. The candles are unlit. Between the racing adrenaline from being scared awake, the overwhelming noise of the dynamic duo, and all of the bright colors, it tips Dabi over the edge. Smoke curls out of the side of his mouth as he grits his teeth, glaring up at his boyfriend. 

SPLAT!

He shoves the cake into Hawks' face, and Toga and Twice stop singing while Spinner's party horn comically trails off in a melancholy note. 

"WHAT PART OF I WAS DRINKING TO FORGET MY BIRTHDAY DID YOU IDIOTS NOT UNDERSTAND?! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" He screams angrily before getting up and storming to his room, slamming the door behind him. 

"I knew it was a bad idea!" Shigaraki calls from the bar, too busy playing his Nintendo to bother with the festivities. Hawks sends his feathers to grab a towel and slowly rubs the cake off his face. 

"I told you go with blue icing but nooooo," Spinner mutters sarcastically, waving his hands as if that's the real reason Dabi got pissed. Hawks rolls his eyes, throwing the remains of the cake away before he walks toward Dabi's bedroom. 

...

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Hawks waits patiently for Dabi to open the door, but the villain doesn't hear him knocking. Instead, Toya's staring up at his ceiling with his earbuds in his ears, blaring his typical angsty emo music to drown out everything around him. He hated his birthday. Growing up, he didn't really have friends. No one ever showed up to the birthday parties, no matter how many invitations he handed out to his classmates or how many emails his mom sent. Thus, Toya's birthdays were strictly family affairs. Ever since his accident, after he came home to find his death wasn't enough to change his father, family was a bad taste in his mouth. It didn't help that Shoto's birthday was a week before his; it hung over his head like an impending raincloud of doom, reminding him of what was coming...and what was missing. He used to have fun on his birthday, spending time with Natsuo and Fuyumi; hell, even with his mom and his dad...before Shoto came along. Then, everything changed. Every birthday he'd had since was incredibly shitty and always left him feeling more empty and forgotten. In fact, this was the first time anyone had wished him happy birthday in ten years. 

Flit. Flit. Flit. 

Dabi takes out his earbuds when he sees a red feather twirling up above his head, twisting and pointing toward the door. The scarred man exhales dramatically through his nose as he stalks toward the door, unlocking it and opening it.

"What do you want," He snaps, making Hawks flinch.

"To...uh...I don't know," Hawks trails off, twiddling his thumbs in defeat. Dabi sighs and jerks his head back, gesturing for Hawks to come in as he steps to the side. He closes the door behind his boyfriend, who awkwardly sits on the edge of the bed. 

"So...wanna tell me what all that was about?" Hawks offers hesitantly. Dabi's clenched jaw and stone-cold expression don't change. 

"No."

Hawks' wings droop; he should've anticipated that answer, but it wasn't the one he was hoping for. Dabi walks over to the singular window before he leans up against the wall, staring at the sunrise through the fire escape. 

"There anything I can do?" Hawks asks eagerly, deciding to try a different approach. 

"No," Dabi repeats monotonously. Hawks' eyes narrow, and he scrunches up his face in thought before his expression softens. Dabi's attention shifts from the color-changing sky to his boyfriend as he suddenly feels hands unbuckling his belt. 

"You sure?" Hawks murmurs seductively as he starts to unzip Dabi's pants. 

"GET OFF ME!" Dabi seethes, eyes flashing in irritation as he roughly shoves Hawks before zipping his fly back up and fixing his belt. The Pro lands on his wings, grimacing in pain and frowning in confusion.

"WHAT PART OF LEAVE ME ALONE DIDN'T YOU GET? YOU'RE A FUCKING PRO HERO! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO UNDERSTAND BASIC SOCIAL CUES!" The villain shouts, anxiously pulling at his hair before stomping out and slamming the door behind him. 

"Can't even get fucking peace in my own space," Dabi mutters bitterly as he crosses his arms, feeling his chest tighten from all the stress and pent-up emotions. He was so used to spending birthdays alone. He opens the door to the hallway bathroom and locks it, slowly sinking to the floor up against the door. He nervously chews his scarred bottom lip, trying to repress memories from when he was actually happy, but to no avail. Blood seeps beneath his eye scars, and his shattered breathing is barely audible. This is the only way he can cry. 

...

While Dabi spent all day locked in the bathroom, the League held an emergency meeting.

"We can't just let him feel so shitty on his birthday!" Toga pouts, putting her head down on the table. 

"I concur! Why not!" Twice shakes his head in agreement, and Spinner groans. 

"I think we should just leave the guy alone. We've clearly fucked up. Let's not make it any worse," The lizard points out, but Toga and Twice protest. 

"We're family! Plus, do we all really want him to stay mad at us? You know how much of a vengeful bitch he can be," Toga adds.

"We don't know the first thing about the burnt bastard. Where do we even start?" Shigaraki grumbles, putting up his Switch to enter the conversation. Kurogiri, who sits at the head of the table, turns to Hawks, who is staring off into space. 

"Ahem," The wispy man grunts, jarring the Pro out of his daydreams. 

"Yeah?" Hawks mutters as if waiting for instructions. 

"Well, you're his partner, or...whatever. Do you know what he likes?" Compress offers, gesturing to Hawks. 

A smile plays at the hero's lips.

"As a matter of fact. I do."

...

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Dabi jolts awake, still propped up against the bathroom door, and immediately gets to his feet. 

"WHAT DID I SAY ABOU-" His angry tirade stops short as he yanks open the door to find no one on the other side. He raises his eyebrow, poking his head out into the hallway, but there's no sign of life. It's pitch-black outside all of the windows. 

Crinkle. 

He looks down to find a note under his boot with an arrow pointing to the left and the words "FOLLOW ME" scrawled in Twice's messy handwriting. Dabi's curiosity gets the best of him; besides, what are the odds that this is something important? Dabi walks down the hallway and finds a suspicious bottle of Captain Morgan sitting at the foot of the stairs, along with another arrow pointing up the winding staircase with the words "THIS WAY" in Toga's pink cursive. 

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," He sighs, shaking his head as he snatches the bottle and makes the long trek up and up and up until, finally, he reaches the door that leads to the rooftop. In front of the door is a little cardboard box and on the door is another sheet of paper that says: "OPEN" in big letters and "the box and the door" in small letters, presumably Spinner's. 

"This is stupid," The villain gripes as he rips open the small box. Inside is a laminated card that reads "No one will bother you until sunrise" in Kurogiri's calligraphy. A content smirk plays at Dabi's lips as he shoves the card in his pocket before he roughly shoves the door open. 

...

Toya's breath is taken away. He'd never been to the rooftop at night, and he was vehemently regretting that he hadn't. In the dead of night, because they live in the shadier part of town, the night sky is visibly filled with glittering stars. In the center of the rooftop, a hammock rests between two steel posts. Beside the hammock sits a foldable table with a singular piece of cake on a paper plate; a candle burns brightly in the center of the dessert. Dabi is trying so hard not to smile, but he feels an achingly familiar feeling in his chest that he thought would never spark again. He walks over to the table and sees one last sheet of paper, folded up beneath the plate like a card. He opens it. 

Our shitty family isn't complete without you. Hope this makes up for fucking up so bad.

- Shigaraki, Toga, Twice, Mister Compress, Kurogiri, Spinner, & Hawks

The fact that they all willingly did this. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Truthfully, this morning had been terrible. It was obnoxious, excruciating, and all around too much. But this. This was what he appreciated because it was tailored specifically to him. Lowkey, subtle, yet meaningful. He knew Hawks had a large part in this. He's the only person that he ever told about his love of stargazing. Maybe he'd burn him later for spilling a guarded secret, but, for now, he was...happy.

[okasuka]

ahhhh

The cold wind whipped through the city as Damian stormed into Reader’s apartment, frustration etched across his face. He found her leaning against the kitchen counter, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in her hand. The sight ignited his anger.

“We talked about this,” he snapped, slamming the door shut behind him. “You promised me you’d stop.”

Reader rolled her eyes and took another swig, wincing as the alcohol burned her throat. “I don’t remember making any promises to you, Wayne.” Her voice was sharp, defensive. “You’re not my keeper.”

“I’m trying to help you, but you’re too stubborn to see it!” Damian’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “You’re killing yourself, and for what? To drown your pain in this—this poison?”

“Don’t act like you understand my pain!” Reader spat, slamming the bottle on the counter. “You don’t know what it’s like to live with this kind of emptiness, Damian. You have a family, a purpose. I have nothing.”

“That’s not true!” he barked, his voice breaking. “You have me! But you’re so wrapped up in your own misery that you can’t see it!”

Reader’s lips trembled, but she refused to let him see her cry. Instead, she grabbed her jacket and shoved past him. “I don’t need you to fix me,” she muttered bitterly, slamming the door behind her as she walked out into the night.

The mission went south quickly. Reader had intercepted the call before Damian could, rushing in alone to stop a gang deal downtown. She didn’t wait for backup. She didn’t care.

By the time Damian arrived, the scene was chaos. Smoke and fire filled the air, and Reader lay crumpled against a pile of debris, blood soaking her side where a knife had sliced too deep. Damian’s heart stopped.

“Y/N!” he shouted, rushing to her. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale. “Stay with me,” he pleaded, pressing his hands against the wound to stop the bleeding.

Her eyes fluttered open briefly, and she gave him a weak smile. “Told you… I don’t need a keeper,” she whispered before her eyes closed again.

“Shut up,” Damian growled, his voice trembling. “Don’t you dare leave me. Do you hear me, Y/N? Don’t you dare.”

The infirmary was too quiet. Damian sat beside her bed, staring at her lifeless form hooked up to machines that kept her stable. His gloves were still stained with her blood, and his chest felt like it was caving in.

The guilt was unbearable.

He replayed the argument in his head over and over, each word a dagger to his heart. Why didn’t he stop her? Why did he let her leave like that?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He reached out, taking her scarred hand in his. It was cold. “I didn’t mean what I said. You’re not alone, Y/N. You never were.”

Hours passed, and Damian didn’t move. He didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. He refused to leave her side.

When her fingers twitched in his grasp, his head snapped up. Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused and bleary.

“Damian…?”

“I’m here,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she whispered, “I’m sorry…”

“No,” Damian interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault.” He leaned closer, his voice raw. “But you scared me. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

She gave him a faint smile, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Damian allowed himself to breathe.

The hours following Reader’s awakening were heavy with silence. She lay in the infirmary bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, her body aching and her mind an even heavier fog. Damian never left her side, but his words had tapered off after the first few reassurances. He could tell something wasn’t right.

Alfred had checked on her, as had Tim and Dick, each offering words of encouragement, but she barely acknowledged them. She just nodded when they spoke and muttered short responses. No tears, no anger—just nothing.

By mid-afternoon, she finally moved, gingerly swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Damian was instantly at her side.

“You shouldn’t be getting up,” he said softly, his hand hovering as if afraid to touch her. “You need rest.”

“I’m fine,” she murmured, her voice flat. She wasn’t fine, and they both knew it. She stood shakily, ignoring the shooting pain in her side. The IV tugged at her arm, and Damian gently caught her elbow, steadying her.

“Y/N—”

“I just… I need air,” she interrupted, pulling her arm free. She shuffled toward the door, each step slow and measured. Damian followed, unsure whether to press or give her space.

The rooftop of the manor was cold, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the city below. Reader sat on the edge, her legs dangling over the side. The wind tugged at her hair, and she hugged herself, though it did little to stave off the chill.

Damian lingered behind her, hesitant. He hated how distant she felt, how unreachable. He could handle her anger, her sharp words, even her tears—but this emptiness was unbearable.

“Everyone’s worried about you,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

She didn’t turn around. “They shouldn’t be.”

“Y/N…” He stepped closer, his voice softer now. “You almost died last night. That would’ve destroyed them. It would’ve destroyed me.”

Her shoulders tensed, but she said nothing.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded, his tone cracking. “Yell at me. Cry. Just… say something.”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the rooftop. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Start with how you’re feeling.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “I feel numb. I feel… like nothing matters.” Her voice was quiet, almost monotone. “Like I’m stuck in this endless cycle of screwing up, hurting people, and pushing them away. And I don’t know how to stop.”

Damian sat down beside her, close but not touching. “You’re not stuck,” he said firmly. “You’re here. You’re alive. That’s a start.”

She turned to him, her eyes hollow. “Why do you even care, Damian? I’m just—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he cut her off, his green eyes burning with intensity. “You’re not ‘just’ anything, Y/N. You’re brave, you’re stubborn, you’re brilliant. And you mean everything to me.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and raw. For a moment, she just stared at him, unsure how to respond.

“I don’t know if I can be who you think I am,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” Damian said quietly. “But you can’t keep doing this—drinking, pushing everyone away. Let us help you. Let me help you.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Reader barely spoke as she was coaxed back inside, Damian guiding her carefully down the stairs. She spent hours in the infirmary, sitting on the bed with her knees drawn to her chest. Even when Tim came by to crack a joke, or Dick dropped off food with a soft smile, her responses remained muted.

By evening, the manor felt heavy with concern. Damian watched her from across the room as she sat by the window, staring out at the darkening sky. He could see the weight she carried, the exhaustion etched into her features.

“Y/N,” he said gently, walking over to her. She didn’t turn, but he continued. “You’re not alone. No matter how much it feels like you are—you’re not.”

Her hand brushed her side, where fresh bandages covered her wound. The memory of the night before flickered in her mind—how close she’d come to losing everything. A lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone,” Damian replied. “We’ll take it one step at a time.” He hesitated before adding, “But I need you to want to fight for yourself. Promise me you’ll try.”

For the first time that day, she turned to look at him. His face was etched with worry, his usual stoic mask shattered. Slowly, she nodded.

“I’ll try,” she whispered. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Damian sat beside her, the two of them staring out at the city together. And for the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t as alone as she thought.

The following day dawned with a grey, overcast sky. The storm clouds mirrored the heaviness that hung in the air of Wayne Manor. Damian hadn’t slept much, his thoughts consumed by the hollow look in Reader’s eyes the night before. He hadn’t pushed her for more, deciding instead to let her rest.

But as the hours ticked by and the sun rose higher in the sky, unease began to creep into his chest. He hadn’t heard a sound from the infirmary since Alfred had checked on her early that morning.

He finally gave in to his worry and made his way down the quiet hallway. The infirmary door creaked softly as he pushed it open.

“Y/N?” he called gently, but there was no response. She was still in bed, her face pale, body unnaturally still beneath the thin blanket. Something was wrong.

“Y/N!” Damian rushed to her side, shaking her shoulder lightly. Her skin was cold to the touch, and when he tilted her face toward him, her lips were pale, almost blue. Panic seized him.

“Alfred!” he shouted, his voice sharp with fear.

Alfred appeared within moments, his calm demeanor slipping when he saw the scene. “Master Damian, step aside.” He pressed two fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse. It was there, faint but erratic. His sharp gaze swept over her, and his frown deepened when he noticed the faint smell of alcohol lingering on her breath.

“She’s unresponsive,” Alfred said, his voice low and urgent. “We need to move her to the main medical bay immediately. Call the others.”

The team worked quickly. The medical bay was quiet except for the beeping of monitors and the hum of machines as Alfred and Tim assisted in stabilizing her.

“She’s been drinking in secret,” Alfred explained grimly, glancing at the scans. “And far more than anyone realized. Her body’s reached its limit.”

Damian stood frozen in the corner, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. He felt sick. He had been so focused on what she let him see—the argument, her exhaustion, the small promises to try—that he missed what was happening right under his nose.

“What does she need?” Dick asked, his usual lightheartedness absent as he hovered near the doorway.

“Her stomach needs to be pumped immediately,” Alfred replied, already preparing the equipment. “The alcohol in her system is dangerously high. She’s barely hanging on.”

Damian’s breath hitched. “She’s going to make it, right?”

Alfred paused, his hands steady as he adjusted a monitor. “If we act quickly, she has a chance.”

The procedure was brutal to watch. Damian stood outside the med bay, his forehead pressed against the glass. He felt utterly helpless. Every beep of the machines felt like a countdown, every second that passed a reminder of how close he had come to losing her.

Hours later, Reader was stable again. She was pale, her body limp on the bed, but she was breathing. That should’ve brought Damian some relief, but it didn’t. He couldn’t shake the image of her lifeless form, the memory of her shallow breaths.

He stayed by her side as the others filtered in and out. Tim offered to take over for a while, but Damian refused. He wasn’t leaving her.

When Reader finally stirred the next morning, she felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Her throat was raw, her body weak. She blinked blearily, her gaze settling on Damian, who sat slumped in a chair beside her bed. His usually sharp features were marred by exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice hoarse. He straightened, leaning forward, his green eyes searching hers for some sign of clarity.

“What… happened?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You almost died,” Damian said bluntly, his voice trembling despite the controlled tone he tried to maintain. “You’ve been drinking behind my back, haven’t you? You… you lied to me.”

Her stomach twisted with guilt and shame. She turned her head away, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t want you to know,” she admitted softly. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“That’s not how this works, Y/N!” Damian’s voice cracked, and he stood abruptly, pacing the small room. “You think it’s easier for me to not worry when you’re destroying yourself in secret? Do you even know what it felt like to find you like that?”

Tears pricked her eyes, but she stayed silent. She didn’t have an answer.

Damian stopped pacing, his fists clenched at his sides. “You said you’d try. You promised me you’d try. Were those just words to get me to shut up?”

“No!” she said quickly, her voice breaking. “I—I wanted to try, Damian, I did. But it’s… it’s hard. I don’t know how to stop. And I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

“You’re not dragging me down,” he said quietly, his tone softening. “You’re not. But I can’t do this for you, Y/N. You have to want to fight. For yourself, for us.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and the raw emotion in his eyes made her chest ache. She nodded slowly, her voice barely audible. “I want to fight.”

Damian exhaled shakily and sank back into the chair beside her, taking her hand in his. “Then I’ll be here. Every step of the way. But you have to let me in.”

She squeezed his hand weakly, tears slipping down her cheeks. For the first time in a long time, she felt the faintest flicker of hope.

Reader’s discharge was quiet and unceremonious. Damian was by her side the entire time, his expression unreadable but his presence steady, like an anchor. The others had tried to convince her to stay at the manor for a while, to recover under Alfred’s care, but she insisted on going home. She hated feeling like a burden.

When they finally arrived at her apartment, Reader hesitated at the door, her hand trembling as she slid the key into the lock. She hadn’t been home since the night of their argument, and the thought of stepping back into that space filled her with dread.

Damian noticed her hesitation and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said softly.

She nodded but didn’t respond, pushing the door open.

The apartment was dim and stale, the curtains drawn tight against the light of the late afternoon. The air was thick with the faint scent of old alcohol and neglected cleaning. Damian’s sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in the signs of her struggle.

Empty bottles cluttered the counter, some tipped over and gathering dust. A pile of comics sat on the coffee table, pages creased and covers bent, as if she’d been reading them in frantic bursts and then tossing them aside. Torn sketches were scattered across the floor, their edges jagged from frustrated hands. Gauze wrappers littered the couch and floor near her first-aid kit, the result of hastily treating her own wounds.

Damian’s chest tightened at the sight. He had known she was struggling, but this was worse than he’d imagined.

Reader lingered in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest as she avoided his gaze. “It’s a mess,” she muttered, her voice small.

“It’s okay,” Damian replied, his tone gentle. He stepped further inside, moving to pick up a crumpled sketch that lay near his foot. It was of a city skyline, the lines dark and sharp, the paper ripped at the corners.

She flinched as he picked it up. “Don’t—don’t look at that.”

Damian ignored her protest, smoothing the paper between his hands. “This is good,” he said quietly. “Really good.”

She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “It’s not. None of it is. I’ve ruined everything, Damian. My apartment, my life—” Her voice broke, and she turned away, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield against her own thoughts.

Damian crossed the room in two strides, his hands landing firmly on her shoulders. “Stop,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Stop tearing yourself down.”

Her lip quivered as she looked up at him, the walls she’d built around herself crumbling under the weight of his gaze. “I don’t know how to fix this,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to fix me.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Damian said, his hands sliding down to gently hold her arms. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. No matter how messy things get.”

She let out a shaky breath, her tears spilling over. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this, Damian. With me.”

“Don’t you get it?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion. “I want to. I want to be here for you, even when things are hard. Especially when things are hard.”

Her eyes searched his, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself believe him. Let herself hope.

Without thinking, Damian leaned in, his forehead pressing gently against hers. His breath was warm against her skin as he whispered, “I’m not giving up on you.”

And then his lips were on hers, soft and hesitant at first, as if he was afraid she might pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she melted into him, her hands clutching the front of his shirt as a fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks.

The kiss was a promise—one of understanding, patience, and unwavering support. When they finally pulled apart, Damian rested his forehead against hers again, his hands cradling her face.

“We’ll take it one day at a time,” he said softly. “Together.”

Reader nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Together.”

And for the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she could be okay again.

[skellymom]

"Redneck Doug's Bad Batch Family BBQ"

Cool divider by the talented @cafekitsune

Background: Bad Batch Family BBQ is crashed by Tech's crazy ex-wife. This one shot includes Maadienne "Mad Momma" my OC character from Vagabonds. This story takes place in the BB future when everyone is safe, settled down, and enemies can be friends (except for Hunter and Crosshair-they're family frenemies).

Word count: 2K

Warning: swearing, the "C" word, alcohol, sexual references, drunkenness, Crosshair being inappropriate with Hunter's wife (she no stand for it), Wrecker/Crosshair pyromania, Tech losing his temper/ vomiting, nasty/horrible ex-wife, messy family shenanigans.

This One Shot is based on Tumblr user @talesfrommedinastation post about their Redneck neighbor Doug who has a very fun take on the Batch. To read it (which will make everything in this story more understandable):

https://www.tumblr.com/talesfrommedinastation/727350948139302912/my-redneck-neighbor-dougs-interpretations-on?source=share

Mad heard the Batcher Brothers before they even turned into the driveway...well, at least Wrecker. Tech had driven his extremely quiet fully loaded Tesla. But Wrecker screamed down the dirt road in his “custom” painted LOLAMOBILE (Omega and “The Littles” did the custom work) with Down blasting at an ear shattering volume. He was kicking up dust like a desert storm. Crosshair was in the front seat and Echo holding on for dear life to the roll bars in the back. 

Mad met the brothers at the door to her and Hunter’s home. She and Hunter had been preparing a huge meal all morning for their family gathering. Hunter barbequed a huge side of pork to perfection and Mad heated up the kitchen with her famous delicious side dishes. She wore her comfy black cotton body hugging T-shirt dress and kitchen apron with the words “I poisoned your food” emblazoned on it. Her long undercut was braided with the end barely tickling the top of her butt. She was still fit after birthing 5 children with Hunter, just with a bit more curves and tattoos. Hunter lovingly referred to her as his “Big Tiddie Goth Momma.”  

The Brothers took turns entering their humble abode and greeting the hostess.  

Echo stepped in first, pecked Mad on the cheek, and gave her a bouquet of wildflowers and then handed over a box of Cinnabun toaster treats “This is for Omega. Tell my loveable smartass sister Toaster Strudel thought of her!” They both broke out in laughter. 

“I’ll give this to her when she comes back from the Tipoca City Mall on the Ocean. She took The Littles so Hunter and I could cook without them getting in our way.”  

Next was Wrecker, “Hey Julio, my big beefcake. How ya doin’? As he picked her up and hugged the total stuffing out of her with his huge arms.  

“OHHH Mad, thank you so much for feeding us! I NEVER leave your place hungry!!! Looking forward to those amazing biscuits you make.” He let go and handed her a huge tub of Mantell Mix. “For dessert!” 

“Thanks, Wrecker.” 

Then Crosshair, who removed the toothpick from his mouth to lean down and smootch Mad on the cheek...while grabbing a handful of her generous derriere, “Daddy Warcrimes has been looking forward to those ‘biscuits’, too.” 

Mad immediately slapped Cross upside the head with the kitchen towel that was slung over her shoulder “Hands off or I’ll Daddy Whip Your Ass!” 

“Whatever you say, Vixen” he winked and removed his hand. 

Hunter was used to his sibling pining after his wife since returning from Mount Tantiss. Crosshair could get any woman he wanted, and usually did. But he carried on like he really wanted Mad... or thought he did. She was more than Crosshair could handle, and Hunter liked it that way. Hunter and Mad were over the moon sweet on each other, even after being married all this time. 

“You look like Daddy Womp-Womp to me. Touch my wife again and I’ll snap your skinny ass in half like those Slim Jim’s you live on.” 

“Got your weekly shower I see Hunter. She must have felt randy today and wanted you sweet smelling.” 

“OH, KNOCK IT OFF YOU TWO!!!  

Mad turned to see poor Tech standing silently in the doorway looking anxious and forlorn. He handed Mad his 6 pack of fancy IPA’s (he always brought his own booze and refused to drink anything else Hunter or Mad stocked) and a bottle of Mad’s favorite. “Oh honey, thank you!” She put her arm around Tech and led him into the house. Then put the alcohol on the counter. “I’m SO proud of you finally serving divorce papers to Laura. I know it was hard, but she’s not treated you well at all.” 

“Hunter, get everyone a drink, will ya?” She ran to the stove to stir the homemade Mac and Cheese. 

“I’m on it hon.” Catching a glimpse of her beautiful bottom jiggling as she sprinted across the kitchen. He shot a look at Crosshair with an antagonizing expression of “Mine, NOT yours”. Crosshair sneered back. 

Wrecker patted Tech on the back as the brothers sat down at the kitchen table with their drinks, “So ya FINALLY did it! You’re free!!!” Tech flinched and looked guilty. 

“About time!” Added Echo 

“Hated that crazy bitch Laura” Crosshair squinted while inserting a fresh toothpick into his mouth. 

“Oof, she made everyone else around her miserable, too” Hunter put his hand up to his head, like the mere thought of Laura was giving him a migraine. 

“OH GAWD...remember when she nearly ruined Rex and Ashoka’s wedding?” Mad gestured to Tech with potholders before checking on the biscuits, “Had to get nasty jealous when all you did was say ‘Hi’ to Phee Genoa during the reception.” 

“Ashoka using the Force to shut her ass up. That was GOLD!” Echo threw his head back and laughed. 

“Well, no matter. Better fish in the sea. You know Phee asks about you all the time when I’m at my Ladies Group...so I invited them over tonight.” Mad winked at Tech and bent over to pull out the biscuits. 

Crosshair craned his neck hoping to see Mad’s shirt dress ride up her thigh. 

Hunter punched his brother in the arm. 

“Oww, FUCK Hunter!” 

“HAAA, caught ya lookin!” Wrecker gleefully pushed Cross back into Hunter, who gleefully punched his brother in the arm again and sent him back towards Wrecker. Cross managed to stay in his chair but lost his toothpick. 

“The whole Group is coming...The Martez Sisters...” Mad wasn’t even paying attention to the shit going on at the table. 

“YEAH! My honeys!!!” Wrecker grabbed Cross and shook him in excitement. 

“You’re spilling my beer, Wrecker!” Crosshair pushed Wrecker away. 

“...Fennec Shand...” Cross stopped. Mad had gotten his attention. They liked to talk guns, plus Cross thought she was a hot little honey. 

“…mmm...and Riyo Chuchi.” Echo grinned, tipped back the chair, and crossed his arms behind his head. 

Tech didn’t look excited at all. He was unnaturally quiet and halfway through his second IPA already. Not a fast drinker and it seemed like he was sucking them down tonight. 

“Ok, sides are done. You boys go out and start up the bonfire, it’ll be dark soon and the ladies should be arriving.” 

Wrecker got up and hurried toward the door, excited to set something on fire. Crosshair followed him. “I’ll make sure they don’t set fire to the backyard...again.” Echo promised as the screen door slammed shut. 

Hunter got up from the table and looked at Tech. He had peeled the label off the now empty second bottle of IPA. “What’s up? You’re not usually like this.” 

Tech barely looked at his brother, attempted to say something, “...nothing!” He ignored the rest of his fancy beers, grabbed the full bottle of Jack Daniels, and sprinted out the back door. 

Mad and Hunter looked at each other. Tech was acting strange and extremely out of character. He almost looked scared. 

Hunter walked over and embraced Mad, “Man, Laura did a number on him. Glad I don’t have that problem.” 

“Yeah, not into yelling at my hubby. But I WILL punish you accordingly if you’re bad” Mad sassed.  

“Oh, I’ve been SO bad” Hunter growled and nipped at Mad’s neck while squeezing her bum. 

Mad growled back and was about to give Hunter a huge passionate kiss when a small, controlled explosion rocked the house...followed by Wrecker wooping loudly.  

“For KRIFF SAKE! NOT AGAIN!!!” Hunter let go of Mad and ran outside. Mad decided to wait on bringing the food out and survey the damage. 

Apparently, Wrecker had found Omega’s four-wheeler gasoline can, emptied it onto the fire pit, and Crosshair climbing the old Oak tree across the yard decided to show off. He shot into the pit from 40 feet up and several yards over to start the fire. Echo was mortified and immediately apologized when Hunter ran out of the house. 

“It’s ok brother. At least they contained the fire and didn’t burn down my shed...again.” 

The timing was perfect, as The Ladies Group screeched up to the house in a modified topless Humvee. 

Fennec, Riyo, Phee, and the Martez Sisters descended on the backyard inferno whooping and hollering in excitement. They brought booze, music, and a large sheet cake. 

Phee made a beeline for Tech, who was now sitting on a plastic lawn chair dangerously near the fire and getting clearly inebriated on the Jack. The alcohol and heat made him sweat, and he uncharacteristically shed his whole shirt (a very expensive one) ...which was now burning in the bonfire. So now he was shirtless AND drunk. 

“Hey Brown Eyes” Phee regarded Tech with interest. She had never seen him like this. He looked slightly scared but working on being drunkenly feral. 

Phee opened her mouth to speak again to get Tech’s attention, but was cut off... 

“I HAVE A CONFUSION TO MAKE!” Tech slurred loudly. He had everyone’s full attention. 

“Huh? What did he say???” Wrecker looked around for clarity. 

Echo translated, “I think he has a confession to make.” 

Tech pointed at Echo then comically pointed at his nose. 

“I LLIED ABOUT SERVICING DIVORSH PAPERTHS TO LAURA LAST WEEK. DIDN’T HAVE THE BALLTHS. OH MAKER...” Tech tipped Jack Daniels back and chugged another third of it down. 

“Shit, I didn’t expect dinner AND a show!” Crosshair leaned back in a large sprawling settee with a shit eating grin. 

“Shut up Cross! What do you mean Tech? Hunter inquired. “So, you didn’t serve the papers at all, and she doesn’t know you want a divorce? How did she let you come here by yourself if you’re both still together??” 

“OH...MY TIMING...” Tech looked up at Phee with total drunken embarrassment. 

“Come on honey, you can say it” Mad tried to coax Tech to get to the point. 

“You got this Brown Eyes” Phee smiled at Tech with reassurance. 

Tech tipped back the Jack and downed several gulps. He was applying liquid courage. He was sweating like a mad man. 

“I FFINALLY DIDIT THIS WEEK...” 

“When???” Wrecker threw up his hands. He couldn’t stand the suspense! 

“ABOUTH AND HOUR AGOO.” 

And that is when everyone at the party heard the angry roar of a Hyundai Kia approaching at top speed towards the house.  

“Oh, this is getting good” Crosshair cracked a cold one and waited for all Hell to break loose. Fennec slid in next to him on the settee, stole his bottle, took a swig and handed it back. Her eyes locked on the epic clusterfuck that was to unfold. Laura’s bitchiness was legendary in the Batcher Circle.  

“I’M STHO FUCKED!” Tech screamed 

The Kia skidded to a dramatic stop next to the Humvee, the driver’s door thrown open, Laura emerged with hateful toxic fury, screaming at the top of her lungs as she advanced upon the party. A skinny, overly processed blond, overly make upped, overly augmented, hateful harpy of a woman. “RYAN! (her despicable pet name for Tech). RYAN, YOU FUCKING USELESS TIT OF A MAN! YOU CAN’T PULL THIS SHIT ON ME! WHERE ARE YOU?” 

Echo grabbed Riyo and led her away from Laura’s path. The Martez Sister’s weren’t so lucky as Laura slapped the sheet cake from their hands and it hit the ground. Wrecker was offended at the total waste of cake and the treatment of His Honey’s. “Eyyy, what the fuck, Laura!”  

Brave Hunter stepped in front of Laura and put his hand up in protest “Now Laura...” 

She slapped his hand away, “GET FUCK OUT OF MY WAY YOU SKEEZY REDNECK BASTARD!” 

“OH NO, YOU DON’T DO MY MAN LIKE THAT!” Mad ran up on Laura, but Hunter was faster. He picked up Mad and threw her over his shoulder walking away “Nope, we aren’t doing this tonight.” 

Then Laura noticed Phee Genoa standing there next to Tech and she totally lost her shit, “OH, SO YOU’RE LEAVING ME FOR HER? HAVE YOU BEEN FUCKING HER SINCE THAT REXSHOKA WEDDING???” Tech sat there mortified to be accused of infidelity. He kept silently nodding no over and over while Laura screeched at him.  

“JUST AS WELL, I’M LEAVING YOU FOR ADMIRAL RAMPART. HE’S BETTER THAN YOU, FUCKING RYAN-FROM-ACCOUNTING!!!”   

Tech took another few swigs from the bottle, stood up, swayed a bit, then with the fury of a man who had been kicked too many times, slammed the Jack into the bonfire. There was a sound of glass breaking and the fire roared up as the rest of the alcohol ignited. The fire reflected in his glasses, totally hiding his eyes. He was wet with sweat and his hair was an unruly mess. His chest, since it was bare, and close to the fire was red hot. Tech advanced on Laura with rage from years of abuse and seeing her treat his family and friends so horribly. 

“YESTH I FUCKING SERVICED YOUTHE PAPERSS, YOU FUCKIN HORRIBL CUNT! COULDNOT STAND ANOVER DAY WIF YOU! RUMPFART CAN HAF YU!!! The last sentence was right in Laura’s face, and she got the brunt of Tech’s drunken breath. She reeled back, but Tech advanced on her. He obviously wasn’t done, either. He pointed his index finger at Laura, poking her sharply in the chest, “I DIVORTH YOU!” Poke. “I DIVORTH YOU! Poke. “I DIVORTH YOU! Poke. She kept backing up with each poke. “BEGONE YU VILE BEASTH! FUCK OFTH TO TH DEPFTHS OF HELL YU COME FRUM!!! 

Tech stood there looking Laura right in the eye. She had never seen him stand up to her like this. 

“BY THEWAY...” he swayed unsteadily “...MY NAME ISSNOT RYAN. ITS TEEEECBLAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!” Tech projectile vomited violently upon Laura.  

There was a collective gasp from the group. Then everyone started laughing.  

Tech still wasn’t done. He vomited a second time on Laura’s expensive heels for good measure. 

“This is fucking GOLD!” Crosshair smiled, threw his arm around Fennec and pulled her close. This barbeque was going down in Batcher history as LEGENDARY! 

Laura, thoroughly disgusted, screamed, cried, and made her way to her Kia. She got in and tore away from the scene narrowly sideswiping a red Jeep Cherokee that was coming down the road. 

The Jeep Cherokee carefully pulled into the driveway and parked. Omega and The Littles emerged and walked down to the bonfire.  

“Some crazy driver almost wrecked us!”   

Hunter replied, “Yeah, that was Laura.” 

“Glad we missed her” 

“She’s a BITCH!” The littlest little chirped 

Hunter sternly corrected his youngest “Language, young man!” 

(NOTE: I heavily considered Phee just pounding Laura into the pavement. But then, I thought Tech needed to take a stand for himself...even if he needed the help of Jack Daniels).

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

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[ashes3333]

Senior Celebration

Written for DannyMay 2023 Prompt: Campfire Fandom: Danny Phantom Characters: Danny, Kwan, Dash, Ember, Star, Paulina, Tucker, Sam, Jazz Words: 3115 Warnings: Underage drinking and drug use Summary: It's that time of the year again! the Casper high senior campfire! All the seniors gather wood and fuel and go out to the woods at the designated spot and set up a bonfire with no adult super visitor. No one on team phantom really wanted to go, but with Jazz offering Danny a deal that gets Embrer involved how could he pass up the opportunity?

“Are you going to the campfire tonight?” Jazz asked, visiting from college, as Danny looked up from his ectoplasm noodles.

“It wasn't really on my agenda,” Danny shrugged.

“I think you should go. It’s senior tradition and you never know, you might regret it in the future,” Jazz spoke, using the wisdom Danny sometimes wondered where she got it from.

“I’ve never really thought about it. Besides you never went to yours,” Danny shrugged.

“I never went because I was busy studying for finals and worrying about my little brother who made it his own decision to save the world every day when he was 13,” Jazz countered.

“I was 14 mccuse you,” Danny glared as Jazz rolled her eyes.

“I’m just saying. This will be maybe the last time you will all be together. After this, it’s going to be boring classes and graduation,”

“Who would I even bring? Sam doesn’t like the big functions and Tucker will gladly staff the night in with Sam if she asks,” Danny asked.

“You could always bring one of your ghost friends,” She proposed.

“They’re all busy with their things. The only one who might be mildly interested in it is Ember, but she’ll only go if we’re drinking.”

“I don’t like the idea of you drinking underage but unlike mom and dad, I know about your ghost half. If you can clockwork to approve of your activities for the night and send me a note assuring me that you will be safe you can invite Ember and go wild,” she suggested as Danny’s eyes lit up.

“You Promise!” Danny stood up in his seat, ready to rush to the zone.

“I promise, but If I don’t get a note I don’t want to see you flying home stumbling! I don’t want to see you flying at all!” Jazz yelled as Danny was already off to the ghost zone.

“Is someone flying!” Jack came storming into the kitchen.

“We were just talking about a show dad,” Jazz rolled her eyes, a soft laugh escaping her lips at her brother’s antics.

“So can I?” Danny asked clockwork, his ghostly parent.

“I suppose it is good for young ghosts like yourself to experience things. I know Ember will agree and bring the drinks. I will allow this on the conditions that Sam and Tucker are on standby to bring the two of you home, Ember has to provide the drinks, and no human is to drink our drinks. One sip will probably kill any of them from alcohol poisoning,” Clockwork held up a finger each time he said a condition.

“I promise,” Danny assured him as he got out his phone to text his two best friends.

“I have already sent the note to Jazz. Oh and Danny try to not reveal yourself to your entire graduating class,” Clockwork hid a smirk as the young King flew out of his chamber. He might not be able to see into his future anymore, but the King was known for his antics.

“Ember! Yo Flamehead open the damn door!” Danny was banging on the entrance to Ember’s lair.

“I’m coming Babypop! Damn have some patience,” yelling could be heard from the inside.

“What do you want of great king,” Ember let the sarcasm lace her voice.

“Was going to ask if you wanted to party with the humans, but if you’d rather not,” Danny shrugged as he started to fly away, but not before he was stopped.

“We going to party with the humans?” Ember asked, a smile on her face.

“As long as you provide the drinks and we give none to the humans we are good to party. Jazz and CW both approved it,” Danny smirked as Ember's smile matched his.

“We getting ready at your place then?” she asked.

“Hell yeah. I’ll stop by Sam’s and pick up the face paint. You worry about the clothes and booze.”

“I knew you were my favorite for a reason,” she flew back to her lair to get the supplies while Danny flew back to Fenton works.

“I see that Clockwork agreed,” Jazz said on the other side of the portal, holding the sticky note.

“He approved. Ember’s going to be over in a few hours so we can get ready. Gotta fully let Sam and Tucker know to be on call,” Danny told her.

“You’re really excited about this now,” Jazz smiled back.

“I can a free pass to drink and to fuck with the humans. What would make this better!” Danny told her, the two walked out of the lab towards their rooms as Danny got his phone out.

“You better not be planning anything,” Jazz glared.

“Me never!” Danny faked being offended as Jazz rolled her eyes and pushed her little brother into his room, walking to her own room.

“Okay dude so elaborate on that text. I need more than be on call,” Tucker’s face showed up on the face time.

“Yeah, no offense Danny but just saying I’m fucking with humans tonight doesn’t really help either of us.”

“Remember earlier this year we went out to the clubs and I couldn’t get drunk off of the human alcohol.”

“Yeah, dude. This disappointment on your face when you found out you had to be the DD was amazing,” tucker laughed as Sam glared.

“Yeah well in the GZ ghost have ectoplasm-infused alcohol. Alcohol meant for ghosts and I got permission from both Jazz and Clockwork to go all out tonight. We’re going to the senior campfire. Ember is getting the clothes and alcohol and I need to borrow the glow-in-the-dark hair and paint from Sam. I also need both of you to be on call to make sure Ember and I can make it back home.

“Fuck being on call. I’m going to be there! Want me to bring human alcohol Tuck?” Sam asked.

“Hell no someone has to be responsible. Might as well be me,” Tucker rolled his eyes at the backward situation. In any other situation, Sam would be responsible, except for clearly rebelling against the parents.

“Want to smoke before you go?” Danny offered.

“What makes you think I won’t be smoking,” Tucker rolled his eyes as the two laughed and made plans to meet up in two hours with everything they need.

It was two hours later and everyone was in Danny’s room. Ember had bought the ghost alcohol and clothes, Sam human alcohol, with an ice chest, and the glow-in-the-dark stuff, and Tucker, bring the responsible one, bought the weed and camera.

“We trying to get crossed tonight?” Ember asked, looking towards Danny’s open window and Tucker sitting next to it.

“If it’ll affect you I won’t stop you,” Tucker shrugged as Sam grabbed the joint out of his hands and easily inhaled the smoke.

“Alright first gotta get switched,” Ember said as her body started to glow as she muttered words to herself in her place that were the same clothes and hair, but instead of dead gray skin, she was now a caramel color.

“Bringing out the human costume?” Sam observed.

“The council has been pushing on us to try and blend in more. I have Danny vouching for me but the last thing I want is Walker on my ass,” she rolled her eyes as she passed out the crop tops to the group, all, of course, different from her brand. 

“I’m sticking with my sweater, but thanks,” Tucker declined the shirt, as Ember rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t forget about you geek boy. Put it on to match the neon theme,” she threw the sweater that had her guitar on it toward him.

“Danny, did you want a skirt, leggings, or pants?” Ember asked as she dug through the clothes, passing sam a mini skirt and leggings and Tucker a pair of matching skinny jeans.

“Got any shorts?” Danny asked.

“Bitch you know I have everything,” Ember found a pair of shorts that would reach to his mid-thigh, along with a fishnet long-sleeve t-shirt to put underneath the short sleeve crop top

“I’ll go and change in Jazz’s room,” Danny grabbed the clothes as Tucker left for the bathroom, leaving the two girls to quickly change into Danny’s room. Ember sticking with her normal style, just changing into the neon glow-in-the-dark versions.

Once they got back, Tucker quickly put out the joint as Ember got out the hair die. “I got ectoplasm color for you two, and this lighter blue for me. You don’t need much because it’s going to glow and it should be washable,” Ember assured them as they quickly put in their hair, making sure the fumes can fully escape.

“Ready for makeup boys?” Sam asked as she and Ember already had theirs completed.

“Let’s go!” Danny smirked.

“I feel like I should be to straight to hang out with all of you,” Tucker groaned, but let Sam man-handle his face to get the eye make up on.

“Hey, every group needs their token straight!” Danny defended his best friend.

“Good to know you all keep me around for something,” Tucker said as the group rolled their eyes.

“Ready to head out?” Ember asked once everyone was ready an hour later.

“We drove Tucker’s truck over here so just put everything in the back. We already packed the blankets and shit,” Sam said as the crew headed downstairs.

“Hey, sweetie! Going to the campfire?” Maddie asked as she noticed her son and friends walk down the stairs, pausing at the teenager's outfits.

“Really Danny?” Jazz asked with an eye roll.

“As you said last time we’re going to be together, gotta make it count,” Danny said as his friends already walked out to the truck.

“Just be safe,” she smiled, stopping their mother from saying anything as he left to join his friends.

“Don’t wait up!” Danny yelled, closing the door.

“If the cops call tonight I’m not picking them up,” Jazz said as she closed her book to walk back upstairs.

“Dude isn’t that the geek's truck?” Kwan pointed out to Dash as the beat-up truck with a black and green paint job pulled up backward, letting the bed of the truck face the fire.

They had the attention of most of the senior class by now, simply because everyone thought that wasn’t going to show up. Not from bullying or being made fun of, they have all grown out of that by now. Not everyone thought that they wouldn’t show because they have all made it a point to avoid most of the senior functions.

“Alright let’s party!” a caramel-skinned girl with bright blue hair that seemed to have a glow to it, hopped over to the bed of the truck where there were two ice chests stored.

“I’m not fixing any property damage,” Tucker got out from the driver’s side, a joint in his hand.

“Relax. Danny hasn’t been able to have a night out in a while,” Sam got out from the passenger side. Everyone’s clothes seemed to be matching, the only thing different was their hair and makeup.

“Not my fault! I said no to the responsibilities,” Danny rolled his eyes as many stares followed him as he got on the bed, happy the bonfire was already going, opening the ice chest that was marked with a green x and getting out a bottle of something green, bubbling, and had no label.

“That is definitely the geek squad,” Dash assured, as the entire senior class saw the geeks in a way they’d never seen them before while at school. Relaxed and in their element.

“Please don’t tell me you’re staring at Fenton’s ass?” Paulina pleaded.

“Not my fault if it’s a good ass!” Dash and Kwan were quick to shoot back as both boys blushed, realizing everyone was no looking at them.

“So this is supposed to be the unsupervised senior party? Ember asked nothing the bonfire was surrounded by cars and trucks and just normal groups talking and drinking around.

“Yep. didn’t want to come only came to drink and fuck with humans,” Danny shrugged in a what can you do kind of way.

“Well, this party’s shit. Let’s get it started!” Ember said as she bought out her equipment and a device that had plenty of preloaded songs. Standing on top of the car she got the attention of everyone.

“Alright losers! I came here to party and this is seriously the lamest party I have ever been to and I’ve been to too many fucking awkward dinner parties! Now I finally got my chance to hang out with baby pop and I will not let your high school bullshit ruin it so starting now if you have a request come up here and write it down! If it’s lame or not a party song I’m not putting it on!” Ember yelled as she pushed play and P!nk’s Get this Party Started started to play and fill with noise.

Already team phantom could see people breaking out into smiles and dance

“Since when did Fenton know such a party person?” Star wondered as they saw him and the girl stare deep into each other's eyes as, both with a non-open drink sam counted down and instantly both twisted off the tops of the green liquid and chugged it down, Danny throwing him into their own personal trash bin.

“I’m beating your ass flame face!” Danny yelled, getting his third drink open.

“Keep going baby pop! It’s going to take a lot more than that to get your ass drunk! If I’m not dragging you through the realms as we piss off Cw then this was for nothing!” she cheered him on as the song changed.

“You’re gonna go talk to him aren’t you?” Star and Paulina wondered as they looked toward Dash, a blush forming on his face.

“No, I’m not!” Dash countered.

“But he wants to!” Kwan taunted, avoiding Dash going for him as the two girls rolled their eyes and filled up their cups with wine.

“Ready to push him?” Star asked.

“Oh very much so,” Paulina agreed as they waited, and when they caught Dash staring for the eighth time and forty minutes passed they walked over towards the geek squad, now only containing two.

“Chug chug chug!” Ember shouted as Danny downed another drink, he wasn’t sure about the drink but he knew he was tipsy.

“Sup Star, Paulina,” Danny greeted, as he fell over to the other side of the truck to greet the two girls.

“Hey Danny. Did you come with this girl as your date?” Star wondered as Ember almost split her drink out.

“Me and baby pop are you kidding? Sorry but I’m not into him,” Ember shrugged as Danny placed a hand on his heart.

“Flame face, m’urt.”

“Yeah, you be m’urt. You’re finally starting to slur and we only had to drink six drinks. I’m becoming more and more proud. Anyway, what do you want with baby pop?” Ember asked as she banged on the back window of the truck. “Slow it down you two! I’m trying to have a conversation!”

“Fuck off Em! It’s my fucking truck!” Tucker yelled back.

“Ignore them. You know they're like fucking rabbits,” Danny rolled his eyes. “You wanted to ask something?”

“Yeah want to dance with Dash or Kwan?” Paulina asked as she pointed to where both boys were blushing and not looking.

“Do I gotta choose?” Danny wondered out loud.

“I swear you are such a whore,” Ember rolled her eyes.

“No slut shamming in Tucker’s truck!” Danny shouted back.

“You’re only defending the two rabbits in the backseat,” Ember fought back.

“Tell em yes,” Danny shook his head. “But I don’t think I can get out of this truck by myself,” Danny groaned as he laid down and was about to roll off the tailgate.

“See baby pop this is why we have Tucker. Tucker! Get your dick covered and come out here!” Ember yelled.

“If he wants to fuck Dash or Kwan then make them come and get him!” Sam yelled back.

“You heard the girl,” Ember shrugged, but still gave Danny another drink, laughing when he didn’t sit up to drink it and ended up pouring it on himself.

“Please warn your friends that Danny is indeed and whore,” Ember shouted back.

“If you want Danny all you have to do is get him out of the truck. You also might want to keep him drinking. I think is you stop him he’ll get upset, not angry upset, but sad puppy upset,” Star observed.

“First one there wins?” Kwan asked, as Dash didn’t wait for a start and ran ahead getting to Danny first.

“So wanna dance?” Dash asked, helping Danny get off of the car.

“Get me a drink from Em and I’ll happily dance!” Danny smiled as he drank his eight drink.

“How many have you had?” Dash asked as they went to where the other seniors were dancing around the campfire.

“Who knows? It tastes good. You can’t have any,” Danny said as took another sip and blood rushed to Dash’s face as the way Danny was dancing would not be counted as appropriate.

“Why can’t I?” Dash asked, thinking it was just a drunk brain talking.

“You're funny! It’s not for humans!” Danny laughed as he took another sip, as Dash’s eyes went wide.

“But you’re human,” Dash wondered.

“I’m not human. I’m only half. I died when I was fourteen. It’s why I needed Em here to get drunk. You still wanna dance?” Danny asked, hope in his eyes and Dash figured he could get his answers another time as the two danced and eventually made their way into the back of Dash’s truck.

The next morning Danny woke up, already questioning why he was in his bed, but walked to the bathroom to get something for his killer headache. After that he went down to the kitchen to get some food.

“Good afternoon. Did you have fun?” Jazz asked, placing a plate of food in front of her brother once she heard him shuffling upstairs. “Eat. It helps.

“I don’t know. Can’t remember,” Danny moaned as he ate the food in slow bites as his stomach started to work.

“Don’t worry you'll be hearing the stories soon enough, but in case you were wondering the whole school now knows that you have a thing for Dash and Kwan,” Jazz said with a smirk as her brother almost choked on his food. Instead of elaborating she just walked up, smirking in victory as her brother launched for phone to message Tucker.

[brown-little-robin]

'tis the season to download this image if you need it!

Image transcription of winter weather tips below the cut:

The leading cause of death during winter storms is transportation accidents. Preparing your vehicle for the winter season and knowing how to react if stranded or lost on the road are the keys to safe winter driving. Be ready before you drive!

Before you drive, have a mechanic check the following items on your car:

Battery

Antifreeze

Wipers/windshield washer fluid

Ignition system

Thermostat

Lights/flashing hazard lights

Exhaust System

Heater/Defroster

Brakes

Oil level (if necessary, replace existing oil with a winter grade oil or the SAE 10w/30 weight variety)

Take the proper precautions to outfit you and your car for winter driving:

Install good winter tires. Make sure they have adequate tread.

Maintain at least half a tank of gas at all times.

Plan long trips carefully. Listen to the radio or call 511 for the latest road conditions. Always travel during daylight and if possible, do not travel alone.

If you must go out during a winter storm, use public transportation.

Dress warmly. Wear loose-fitting, layered, lightweight clothing.

Keep the following items in your car at all times during the winter months:

Flashlights with extra batteries

First aid kit with a pocketknife

Necessary medications

Blankets and/or sleeping bags

Extra newspapers for insulation

Plastic bags (for sanitation)

Matches

Extra set of mittens, socks and a wool cap

Rain gear and extra clothes

Small sack of sand or kitty litter to generate traction under car wheels

Small shovel and other tools (pliers, wrench, screwdriver)

Jumper cables

Brightly-colored cloth (red) to use as a flag

Canned fruit/nuts and non-electric can opener

Bottled water

If You Get Trapped in Your Car During a Blizzard…

Stay in the car. Do not leave to search for assistance unless help is visible within 100 yards. You may become disoriented and lost in blowing and drifting snow.

Hang a brightly-colored cloth on the radio antenna and raise the hood to draw attention.

Do minor exercises to keep up circulation. Clap hands and move arms and legs. Try not to stay in one position for too long. If more than one person is in the car, take turns sleeping.

Avoid overexertion. Cold weather puts an added strain on the heart. Unaccustomed exercise like snow shoveling or pushing a car can bring on a heart attack or make other medical conditions worse.

Run the engine occasionally to keep warm. Turn the engine on for about 10 minutes each hour. Run the heater and turn on the dome light while the car is running. Beware of carbon monoxide poisoning. Keep the exhaust pipe clear of snow, and open a downwind window slightly for ventilation.

For warmth, huddle together.

Frostbite and Hypothermia

Frostbite is a severe reaction to cold exposure that can be permanently damaging. Symptoms include: loss of feeling and a white or pale appearance in fingers, toes, or nose and earlobes.

Hypothermia can be brought on when the body temperature drops to less than 90°F. Symptoms include uncontrollable shivering, slow speech, memory lapses, stumbling, drowsiness, and exhaustion.

If frostbite or hypothermia is suspected, begin warming the person slowly and seek immediate medical assistance. Warm the person’s trunk first. Use your own body heat to help. Arms and legs should be warmed last because stimulation of the limbs can drive cold blood toward the heart and lead to heart failure. Put the person in dry clothing and wrap their entire body in a blanket.

Never give a frostbite or hypothermia victim something with caffeine or alcohol in it. Caffeine, a stimulant, can cause the heart to beat faster and alcohol, a depressant, can slow the heart. Both can hasten the ill effects of cold body temperatures.

[leakywright]

ogden task 005: the hart of the matter

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. leaky didn’t want to be here. why did he agree to this? the funny thing is when he pictured college, he pictured press conferences. joking with reporters, celebrating wins, mourning losses. discussing plays and next-time strategies. projecting the what if’s of the draft. that espn would say his name followed by compliments about how he was one to watch. but they never came, that wasn’t his reality. 

this was. sitting in khakis and a button down across from jesse’s dad feeling like he might actually shit himself. something he hadn’t done since third grade when he got food poisoning. but it might happen again, and this time it would be recorded. he smiles at leaky, how responds weakly, crosses his foot over his knee, nods as a cameraman counts down, and then turns to leaky. serious smile this time, a man all about business. 

“it’s a tough year to be a student at ogden college with the tragic passing of penelope klein. and of course, we can’t forget the ongoing missing persons case surrounding beloved student, greer morrison. i know that dean zuko insisted on free on-campus counseling set up for all students. have you made use of it?”

oh, yea. well therapy was something that had been mandatory for him his first year at ogden, so honestly, the habit kinda stuck. dropping from once a week to once a month, leaky never really tells them anything, always afraid it would somehow get back to the dean, but it’s a nice habit. plus he knows what it looks like. “yea, well i was already using our therapy services prior to all of this. it’s always been available, but glad to see that the support has been amped up. students need it to begin with, and uh…” his goody-two-shoe answer faltering slightly, “well, i think we all need as much support as we can get these days.” he gives a nod, knuckles rapping against the cushion of the chair he’s seated in. dean zuko would like that answer. 

and so does donovan hart, who gives a smile and nod, pleased and already moving on. 

“there was that nasty storm that knocked out the power at the resort, i remember. that got a little dicey, huh? parents and staff all congregated in the faculty chalet, but you kids were on the other side of the resort. we’ve been told that penelope organized some things for people to complete to make it through that night together. were you one of them? what did you get up to during the blackout?”

his blood runs cold, thinking back to that night. he’d been entirely too drunk to do much of anything, but was still sent out and found…a bloody glove. that he didn’t report because by the time they were back to the chalet penny was dead, leaky was hunched over a toilet vomiting and dean zuko had already sent him short email to see him once he was back on campus. “uh, yea. penny didn’t really give you a choice,” he kinda chokes on her name, they hadn’t even been close but she was dead, “and so she sent me on an assignment. to collect firewood.” that he didn’t bring back because it was wet and he was freaking out. this isn’t a police interview, though leaky is half expecting dr. hart to make a note and lock eyes with someone as if they’ve found something. he doesn’t do either. 

“in the wake of tragedy, it can be hard to recall things in detail. the brain has its own ways of protecting itself in high-stress situations, and i know that the police have been a near-constant presence on campus this year.” leaky gulps, their presence hasn’t really done much to make him, or anyone frankly, feel safer. “this is not that; i want you to feel safe and comfortable enough to share whatever you want about that night. did you see anything? hear anything?”

he freezes, eyes widening as he glances up, trying to pretend like he’s thinking it through. trying to remember. but he knows, knows exactly what happened even behind the haze of the alcohol. “yea…” he croaks out, his voice sounding different, like it wasn’t his. like he was outside of his body and someone else had taken over. “i found some wood, but it was wet. cause of the snow, so i knew it wouldn’t be good to bring back.” why is he retelling this? so easily? dr. hart didn’t even have to push that hard and leaky was already breaking. “i completely forgot about this, cause i’d been worried about the firewood and then everything happened so…quickly…” he pauses, as if wading through his memories, it all available again because dr. hart had asked the right questions. “i saw this glove, in the distance, a few yards away from the wood…” he squints, the memory picture perfect in his mind, but he’s trying to play it off like it was hazy. “and maybe some footprints? or probably animal tracks. it was hard to tell but i didn’t think much of it.” he leaves the part out about the blood, that was something he should have reported. “cause like, maybe someone had dropped it and was coming back for it? all of us were just following penny’s orders.” he swallows, as if guilt is now settling with him, like it hadn’t been there the entire time. “or maybe someone lost it skiing? A lost glove doesn’t seem like that big of a deal in the moment ya know? and i just…” he stops, looking down, defeated. as if his memory had betrayed him, as if this glove could have been a clue in the mystery. and maybe it would have been, if leaky had told the whole truth. now, he hoped, people would write it off and just give sympathy to a kid who was being too hard on himself. 

dr. hart blinks, gives a small nod and leans toward leaky. as if to comfort him, to coax out more answers. leaky kept his eyes down, afraid that if he looked up the guilt would overwhelm him and he’d be spewing the god-awful truth all over the floor. 

“obviously, we all want to get to the bottom of this and work through whatever lingering effects it might have left behind. if you were paired off with anyone that night, can you remember what they were doing? would it have been possible that they might have been behind anything you saw?"

leaky shakes his head, alex had been the one to persuade them to turn around instead of getting any closer to the glove. to make the smart decisions, maybe if they had inspected it more they would have ended up in penny’s position. or worse, witnesses to it. “nah, i was with this kid alex, and he was by my side. kinda hard to wade through snow alone.” fuck, now they knew it was deep, what if they picked up on the idea that the glove hadn’t been covered? leaky hadn’t mentioned it either way. “he didn’t do anything.” and neither did i! not this time! but he didn’t, that would be too much. 

“now, if you’ll direct your attention to this screen here, i have something that— barring appropriate authorities— no one has seen until now.” a picture of Greer suddenly appears on screen, all eyes trained on this new piece of information. all eyes but donovan’s which are locked onto the face of the person he’s interviewing, watching for any and every reaction. “this photo is shocking, i know. it was found in the faculty chalet the night of the blackout. do you know anything about the day it was taken or who might have taken it?”

suddenly he's slammed back into his body. his insides were practically crawling, eyes looking over at a beautiful greer, her eyes crossed out, but it was still so obviously her. and it was hella creepy. he gulped, almost comically. “y’all…found this?” what did the dean say? no wonder he let leaky off with just a talking to, he had more on his plate than a drunk footballer hitting on his daughter. what did her parents think? he hopes that seeing this show won’t be the first time they see this. “i…greer and i aren’t close.” weren’t, but he pretends to have hope. “so i have no clue but…” he trails off, his stare saying everything else. this is fucked up. and yet this is how the school is dealing with it? that might be even more fucked up. 

“do you have any idea why this photo might have been left with faculty that night? or, most pressing, what reason someone could have for vandalizing it in such a horrible way?” dr. hart is looking at him so intensely he might just pop right out of his seat and hightail it across campus to hide under his bed. but leaky stays seated, popping his knuckles instead to release any sort of tension he can. 

with a sigh he opens his mouth, “maybe a cry for help? that the students can’t do everything alone? we were trapped and no one came to make sure we were okay, and penny died. and greer…” his voice fades as he tears his eyes back toward the camera and then to dr. hart. “who knows what she was going through...is going through. but i think it’s clear…the adults need to help us too. help her, help us on the trip, on campus, friends with penny…” a far different cry from his praise of the therapists on campus too. “y’all are responsible too.” this was mentioned so quietly leaky is unsure if the boom mic can pick up on it. dr. hart makes no indication that he’s heard him either. 

"finally, it's been discovered that penelope, shortly before her untimely death, had mentioned to someone that she knew why greer had left. do you think that has anything to do with this photo? do you know why she might have left? even though being honest about it may seem scary, i promise you, it's the right thing to do. it's the only way we can protect you."

“no.” he states flatly, hands now smoothing across his pants. god, he’s getting antsy. he needs to call his mother, his father, his granny. anyone to remind him that life isn’t all of this. It’s not all mystery and death and disappearing acts and accusing old white men. but what if this is his life now? the choice he made to come here, to do what he did, to be who he was and…it all led here. was this his destiny? or his hell? looking up, he meets dr. hart’s eyes, almost pleading. “i don’t know why greer left. i’m not sure anyone does.” and he meant it, if they did they would have come forward by now right? that’s the right thing to do. what does leaky know about that. “but i…i don’t think this will help us find her.” it certainly didn’t feel like it would. “i just hope she…she knows people miss her. that we miss her. things obviously ain’t the same and-” he stops with a shake of his head, hand now wiping across his face as all words begin to fail him. 

“that’s it?” dr. hart looks expectantly.

“yea,” leaky nods, “that’s it."

[cinnamims]

Annie and the Sea

A/N: This is just a short story I wrote in class! Also: my other work will be updated in the beginning of June. Sorry for the wait; I got super behind in school :,)

W/C: 703

TW: Alcoholism mention

Annie’s long, dark hair seemed to fly as she ran. Her short run was only stopped by the edge of the cliff, jagged rocks poking up from the stormy ocean below. She flattened her dress as she sat on the ledge, salty air filling her lungs. She didn’t mean to run away, honest. Her braids were just done too tightly, her dress was too constricting, and the drunken voices of the party guests were too obnoxious. Before she knew it, her legs were pumping, sprinting towards the cliffside behind the manor. She furiously blinked away the tears that dared to fill her eyes. She gazed out toward the sea, waves the same color as her eyes for as far as the eye could see. A sight her mother loathed, but Annie couldn’t help but adore. 

Annie’s mother, a stern woman named Cressida Sterling, had a reason for her loathing. Right after Annie was born, her father left her mother for his one true love: the sea. Her heartbroken mother turned to drinks and parties to cope. Staring out at the sea now, Annie couldn’t really blame her father. The ocean was wild and untamed, everything Annie wished to be. In the distance, sailors were docking their ships at the port, prepping for the oncoming storm. With a sigh, she stood, brushed off her dress, and returned to the party. 

The next day, the port was busier than usual. The mast of a ship had fallen last night, destroying half of the dock. However, the town wasn’t somber enough for anyone to have been injured. Annie sighed as she watched the bustling people from her carriage, dreaming of the life she’d have if she were free. 

“Anneliese Cecily Sterling!” Her mothers voice broke her out of her reverie. “Did you hear a word I said??”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then what did I say?”

“You said to stay away from the docks and not to bother the sailors.” 

Her mother nodded, “Don’t even talk to them, Anneliese! They will poison your mind, fill your head with false promises!” Part of Annie wanted to retort. To say, not every sailor is dad, mother. Deciding to not risk her day out, Annie's silence filled the carriage.

  The woman opened the door of the carriage for her to get out. Annies heels clicked down onto the cobblestone path. She lowered her head and started in the direction of the market. This was a rare chance for her to leave the manor, even if only for a day. One day of freedom before she would have to return home.

Almost immediately after she entered the market, someone bumped into her. The woman was tall, with hair that shone like the copper coins in Annie's purse. The stranger cut her off before she could apologize.

“Move it, rich girl!”

Annie's nose scrunched. “There isn’t any reason for you to yell,” she said matter of factly, causing the other girl to falter. “Even if there were, shouldn’t I be the one yelling at you? You bumped into me, not the other way around.”

“I,” the other girl paused, looking for her words, “I suppose you're right. I’m just in a hurry, my ship is about to set sail.”

“You’re a sailor?” Annie’s interest immediately piqued, her aloofness drifting away on the salty sea breeze. “What’s it like? Do you swim every day? What about nighttime? Are there many sharks?”

“Please slow down,” sighed the stranger. “It’s very fun. No, I don't swim every day. Nights are gorgeous, and yes, there are so many sharks.”

“I’m Annie Sterling. From the house on the cliff.”

“Well, Annie from the house on the cliff, I’m Rachel.” Rachel glanced toward the unbroken half of the dock. “It’s about time for me to head out. Sorry for bumping into you.” With that, the redhead rushed off toward her boat.

As Annie picked up some groceries from the market, she couldn’t help but look back to the boat. The main deck was completely unguarded, the hatch ajar. No one would notice if someone else got on. Annie looked towards the house on the cliff and back at the boat. She hoisted up her dress and began to run.

[luvr-bunnyy]

i need to vent a little bit so feel free to ignore this.

so, i live with my family.

i’m saving for school so it’s very convenient. i have a full time job and i contribute financially.

but i fucking hate it.

i have no privacy and essentially no autonomy.

my parents are extremely religious. they’re judgmental about everything that i fucking do. they’re so up on their high horse, they can’t see their own hypocrisy. not even if it punched them in the face.

if i got out to drink with my friends, they’re pissed. asking me about why i can’t unwind or have fun without alcohol. why i have to drink that vile shit.

i smoke occasionally and my mom just found out and ripped into me.

mind you, i’m a grown ass woman.

and she’s there, yelling and shouting, after barging into my room, flipping on the lights when i’m trying to sleep.

another thing about my parents is that they’re emotionally constipated. and i get it, knowing how they were raised and the lives they’ve had.

i get it.

the downside is that they hold things in until they can’t anymore and they just go off at the drop of a hat. and when they do, there’s absolutely no way to have a productive conversation with them. i’ve learned to just keep quiet and let them yell and say whatever shit they want at me because i know that anything i say will make it worse. there’s no right response. there’s no right reaction.

and that’s what i did because, again, i was literally almost asleep when she just came into my room and started screaming. i was literally in no headspace to respond.

and she hits me with the, “what? you’re not gonna say anything? you have nothing to say?”

and i said, “nope. because i don’t want to have a conversation with you when you’re like this.”

this, of course, was the wrong thing to say because it pissed her off even more and she went off on me again.

complaining about how me, and my sister, always want to have conversations about something.

which, is true. we’ve told them, time and time again that if there’s something they want to talk about, it’ll be beneficial for everyone involved to be in somewhat of a calm headspace to actually have a productive conversation because there will never be progress if one party is yelling and hurling insults.

the most irritating things about all of this is that they always want me to say something. to respond. but when i do, i’m interrupted.

and one of the things she asked me was why i felt the need to hide it, if i clearly didn’t care about what they (my parents) thought. why i didn’t straight up tell them that i was smoking.

i told her it was because it wouldn’t really be any different if i hid it or if i had straight up told them. they’d still be pissed and she’d still rip me a new one. (it was the same way when i started to drink. i told them straight up and they were livid. )

she then cut me off and stormed out of the room. saying that i probably wished i was living alone because she’s the worst mother ever, she’s the worst because she’s upset that i’m smoking.

this is something she always says during an argument. that me and my siblings probably think she’s the worst mother ever.

and i told her, like i always do, “those words never came out of my mouth. if you want to make yourself bitter and think that, then fine by me. go to bed poisoning yourself with your own words.”

it’s so fucking exhausting.

i’m tired. so fucking tired.

pfft could you just imagine if they ever found out that i sometimes write porn on the internet ??

(what’s also exhausting is having to argue in spanish when i’m half asleep….i hate it here. goodnight, i’ll delete this later)

[lilbookgremlin]

Book Review: Cleo's Rage - EC Land (Devil's Riot MC, 4)

Title: Cleo's Rage Author: EC Land Series: Devil's Riot MC, 4 Format: ebook Genres: dark romance, romantic suspense, motorcycle club, smut Trigger Warnings: kidnapping, rape, suicide attempt, miscarriage Rating: 1.5 of 5 stars

Synopsis: Cleo No one should have to face the devil more than once in their lifetime – yet I’ve had to stare deep into his soulless eyes twice. If you ask me, I was left broken beyond repair. At least, that’s what I thought. Rage didn’t though. They say love conquers all, but how will that be true when he hears everything? The veil will be removed and Rage will see every emotional and physical scar that marks my mind, spirit and soul. This man has been my rock since the moment I met him, and I just wonder if our love is strong enough to weather the storm that’s headed our way.

Mini-review: I'm feeling generous tonight so I'm giving this an extra half-star for two reasons:

The author ever so slightly changed her pattern and had the guy also get injured

Rage wasn't completely disgusting and needing to use the CWs to get off when they're on a break to quote Ross from Friends. That being said, I did have quite a few problems with this book. Like the grammar and writing are still garbage, and the author needs to get a thesaurus because if I read those two sentences again ("Gotta get _'s d*ck wet" and "I pull her flush to me"), I'm turning it into a drinking game except plot twist, you'd end up in the hospital from alcohol poisoning. A huge problem I had with this book was this false narrative of traumas fixing themselves or disappearing when you have the right man with you. Like no, that's not how it works. Cleo was brutally raped to the point of having nightmares where she screams and then two months later she's back to sleeping with Rage and not jumping at everything? That's not how that works. Authors need to stop writing things they don't understand. All that being said, this was yet another garbage book helped only by the main dude not being a total creepazoid.