#he used up the best parts of me and told the scraps to get lost

[lovebugism]

Omg bug we need a part two of “mean” Eddie and reader going on their little date 🤭 if you are up for writing it ofc 😌

pt. 2 of this fic

You didn’t show.

Maybe you just got lost. Eddie figures he shouldn’t have expected someone like you to know where The Hideout was. Or maybe you lost track of time. — but he’d told you the doors opened at seven o’clock sharp, and you’d repeated it back to him. He knows you did because you’d said it in that voice you use when you get all shy, as soft and as low as your meek gaze when you peered at him through your lashes.

But you weren’t just late. You weren’t fashionably late, either. You just never showed up.

Eddie wishes he didn’t care as much as he did.

He told himself he didn’t when you weren’t there at seven, but he looked for you in the meager crowd of twenty when eight o’clock rolled around anyway. 

He’d wanted to see you in the front row. He dreamt of putting on the best show The Hideout’s ever seen right before dedicating some cheesy love ballad to you. 

“This is for a really special someone in the crowd tonight,” he would’ve said into the microphone that smelled like beer. “You know who you are. Don’t let this go to your head, either, alright?” 

He even made the band practice Hysteria by Def Leppard so he could play it for you that night — so the lyrics could tell you everything he couldn’t — but you weren’t there to hear them. 

They ended up playing Love Bites instead.

He spends another two hours moonlighting as a rockstar.

Still in his ripped jeans and eyeliner, he slings a towel over his shoulder and ties an apron around his waist — a busboy all over again. He always forgets how sleazy The Hideout is until he’s got to clean it up. 

He mops sticky floors and wipes down grimy tables and tries to ignore the stinging in his chest every time he remembers that you were supposed to keep him company through it all.

A knock sounds at the front door at eleven o’clock. 

It’s Tuesday night — the place is empty now. Eddie’s been around long enough to know when drunks are out looking for a fix.

“We’re closed!” he shouts, more focused on scrapping off the syrupy ringed stain on the table than the relentless inebriate outside.

“C’mon, Eddie, it’s cold!” a familiar voice pleads, muffled through the door. “You’re not mad enough to let me freeze to death out here, are you?”

Eddie nearly breaks his neck with how quickly he turns to look over his shoulder. 

You stand behind the foggy glass, mostly blurry but still beautiful. The bouquet of purple and red tulips is nearly as pretty as the smile your pair them with. Your floral skirt swishes around your ankles as the wind blows. Eddie winches when he sees you shiver.

He rushes to the door, scrambling with the keyring clipped to his belt loop. His sweaty hands fumble with the chain. It takes him three tries to get it in the lock. 

“Shit. Sorry,” he stammers. “I didn’t think it was you.”

“I figured. It’s okay.” 

You walk through the door he holds open for you, the spring night breeze following close behind. Eddie shuts and locks the door again.

You spin on your heel to face him and hold the flowers out between you. “These are for you,” you tell him — soft and low and timid.

Eddie grins.

“These are very metal, sweetheart,” he teases. The plastic wrapping crinkles as he takes them by the stem.

“I felt bad for being so late,” you grimace. “Didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

“What flower shop is even open this time of night?”

“Zippy’s,” you answer curtly, gaze ducking down to your shoes a moment later.

“You went to a gas station all the way across town to get me flowers?”

You nod.

“No wonder you were late,” he scoffs. 

He saunters past you, then spins so he’s walking backward and facing you. His wild hair sways around his face. He clutches the bouquet to his chest. “Here I thought you off seeing some other schmuck.”

You roll your eyes, knowing no other schmuck has ever given you the time of day like Eddie has.

“I was late because of work,” you correct. Before you know it, you’re rambling. “I wasn’t on schedule for closing, but my asshole manager wouldn’t let me clock out. And I couldn’t call you because I don’t have your number, and I couldn’t find The Hideout in the yellow pages because it’s so old and—”

“Hey. It’s okay,” Eddie assures, practically cooing. It’s the softest he’s ever been with you, and he looks at you just the same — chocolate eyes melting as they twinkle at you. You’re left grieving his gaze when he turns to set the flowers on the counter. 

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” 

Through burning cheeks, you tease. “I thought we agreed you weren’t gonna get soft on me.”

“Oh? You thought that meant I cared that you came?” he scoffs, obviously joking. 

He squints down at you when you appear at his side — turns and presses his hip into the counter, and props his elbow along the top of it. “I’m just happy I got you outta the house. You’re like a damn hermit, you never do anything fun.”

Your face scrunches in discontent. “I have fun!” you correct.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Eddie retorts, nudging your shoulder as he walks past you again — this time heading toward the kitchen. “Sit down. I’ll make you something to eat.”

You’re grateful when he walks to the back without looking over his shoulder at you, lest he become a witness to the beam on your lips that’s far too bright to hide.

Eddie Munson is totally soft on you. 

It’s a good thing, too. Because you’re all but melting for him now.

You sit at the bar with a sweaty beer in your hand. “It’s obviously cheap, but it goes down sweet enough,” Eddie warned when he’d handed it to you. You sip from it, leaning back in your chair with your feet thrown on the one beside you — totally unable to take your eyes off the boy.

You watch through the partition behind the counter as Eddie makes a haphazard effort of basketing leftover chicken tenders and fries. He sets them beneath an orange lamp to warm again.

“A rockstar, busboy, and chef, huh?” you lilt, hiding your smile behind the beer you bring to your lips. “What else can you do?”

“When there’s a pretty girl in front of me?” he retorts as he swipes the crumbs from his palms. He looks at you with a smug grin and shrugs. “Just about anything, I’d guess.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Flirt with me. It’s gross. We don’t do that.”

Eddie laughs to himself, honey eyes squinting. “I’ve been flirting with you for about a year and a half now, sweetheart, but… Thanks for finally noticing.”

He carries the ruby red baskets in both hands when he comes out to sit next to you. You slide your legs off the stool for him — an invitation to be close to you without either of you having to ask.

“Am I gonna get food poisoning from this?” you joke, holding the greasy chicken strip between your fingers.

“The cook made them today,” he scoffs, already tossing a fry into his mouth. He talks as he chews. “Besides, we’d be getting sick together. What’s more romantic than that?”

God, you even think he’s cute when he talks with his mouth full. You’re so far gone for him, it’s not even funny.

Eddie smiles when you take a bite. Your eyes flutter shut on their own accord, your empty stomach thanking you. 

“Good, huh?”

“Amazing,” you correct.

“Gross bars make the best food, I swear.”

You laugh softly together. Def Leppard croons from the speakers overhead. You wonder if Eddie knew this was your favorite band or if your favorite song is only playing by chance. You’re warmed either way.

“How was, uh… How was the show?” you ask him, as curious as you are desperate to fill the silence.

Eddie wipes his palms on his jeans and nods. “It was okay. Same as usual — the crowd was drunk enough to enjoy anything we did.”

“I’m sure it was great,” you retort at his self-deprecating tone, picking shyly at the fries rather than meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

He figures he doesn’t need to tell you about his bleeding heart that was close to breaking a couple of hours ago. You put a bandage over it the second you showed up at The Hideout — with flowers, no less. He’s just glad that you came at all. He meant it when he said that none of the rest matters.

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie shrugs through the food in his cheek. “There’s always next time.”

You grin and knock the leg of his chair with your foot. “Already asking me out on a second date, huh?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it,” he jokes through glowing cheeks. He tilts his head towards his shoulder. “But I’m not paying for your ticket next time, princess.”

Your smile widens. You prop your cheek on your knuckles, unabashedly gazing over at him. “That’s okay. I’ll be in the front row either way.”

“Promise?” Eddie’s lilt edges on teasing and sincerity. He momentarily abandons his own food as he mirrors your positioning, not realizing he’s leaning closer to you until he’s already doing it.

“Promise,” you nod with a smile so bright he thinks it could rival the sun.

He continues to shorten the distance between you — coming closer closer closer. You watch him, amused, and with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

You want him to kiss you. No, fuck that, you need him to kiss you. But more than anything, you need him to do it first — a cheeky little something to over his head when you’re kissing him later.

And you don’t mean to laugh, but the thought makes a giggle spill from your lips before you can stop it.

The bubbly sound knocks Eddie from his stupor. 

The tip of his nose just barely brushes your own. His glazed-over eyes fly open. He remains still, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow, as he blinks owlishly at you. The pretty pink mouth he was about to kiss you with falls softly agape. 

His head jerks backward a second later, almost in disgust. 

“Shit. Sorry,” he curses. His body shifts away from yours completely as he turns his attention to his half-eaten basket of fries. “That was— That wasn’t cool of me.”

Still smiling, you reach a hand out for his leather-clad forearm. You caress him soothingly there in reassurance. “No. It’s okay—”

“No, that was really fucking weird,” he says, forcing out a laugh.

“Right?” you scoff. “Why would Eddie Munson, the chef-busboy-rockstar, wanna kiss a girl like me?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, tilting his wild head to his shoulder to look at you. 

He finds you with a gleam in your eye, one that’s not usually there because, most times, he’s too busy making fun of you.  A smile hints at the corners of your mouth, barely there and beautiful. It’s a bit smug — twinkling with the satisfaction of finally having the upper hand.

Eddie figures it might pay off to be soft with you sometimes. He never wants you to stop looking at him like this.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he confesses quietly.

Your smile widens. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats again, eyes flitting away from yours.

“Don’t be,” you promise. Your nose scrunches softly. “…Wanna give it another go?”

His gaze snaps back up to yours. He has to fight the urge to tease you, lest he ruin the moment he’s been thinking about for months. He’ll be damned if he lets the opportunity slip away from him now.

“Sure you’re not gonna laugh at me this time?” he lilts, looking at you from halfway beneath his lashes.

“I’m not gonna laugh at you,” you promise, though a grin’s already threatening to pull at your mouth.

“Promise?”

“Well, I can show you better than I can tell you.”

You let Eddie lean in first. He exhales a heavy breath from his nose that fans against your skin when your lips collide. The rosy plush of them lock with yours like they were made to do it. His palms rise to your jaw, keeping you tucked neatly against him when the moment threatens to pull you away. 

Your hands migrate to the lapel of his leather jacket. You tug him further to you — a promise that you’re not going anywhere.

You don’t laugh into his kiss this time.

You smile.

[lola-bunn1]

somebody that i used to know pt 2

❥ a/n: the story won’t really make sense if i don’t make a change in the timeline, so let’s just pretend the whole sky people war has been going on for a really long time also this took so long like i began writing this the second i posted part one and then it took me hours then i scrapped it and made a better version which turned out so bad im sorry

part one, part three

Five months.

Its been five months since Neteyam last heard your soft voice, its been five months since he last felt your touch, its been five months since he last felt happy.

Its been five months of hell.

After you left, Neteyam lost himself. You were part of him, you were his life, his world. Now you were gone, and so was he.

The war kept happening, for a while.

Until everything just died down, the sky people stopped cutting trees, they stopped building weapons, stopped attacking the Na’vi. They just left.

Of course, everyone was happy. The Na’vi won once again.

But the forest isn’t what it used to be, there’s too many bad memories that lie here. It didn’t feel like home anymore.

Of course to Neteyam, it never was. You were his home, you were the light of his life. Without you, he was nothing.

That’s how much he loved you.

Jake and Neytiri have thought well and hard. They wanted to leave. Get a fresh new start somewhere else, the kids reacted differently. Lo’ak didn’t care, Kiri was mad, Tuk didn’t know what was going on, and Neteyam…

He just didn’t react. No sadness, no happiness, nothing.

The family packed up and left, Neteyam flew away and never looked back, not even for a second. There was nothing there for him.

You weren’t there for him.

As he flew, he thought of the things he could’ve done. He shouldn’t have dismissed it so fast. He should’ve cared more, comforted you more, convince you harder.

If he did, perhaps you might be here, with him. Smiling and flying your ikran around him, giving him that warm feeling he missed so deeply.

But you weren’t. It wasn’t real.

When they got to the village, they introduced themselves and waited as Jake spoke to them.

“It is decided, Toruk Makto and his family are going to stay with us.” Tonowari, the olo’eyktan stated

They all muttered small thank yous as they were lead to their marui.

“This is yours” Tsireya, Tonowari’s daughter said as she showed them the marui, “We’ll send over some things in a bit while you get comfortable” She smiled at them and walked away as they began unpacking

“Alright, everyone—family meeting, come on, fall in” Jake said, everyone huddled into a circle, Lo’ak tapped Neteyam’s shoulder, snapping him out of his trance and making him sit with them

“Okay, guys. We need you all on your best behavior. No trouble, I mean it. Learn fast, pull your weight, be nice. We need them to trust us, so we can all get along. Got it?” Jake said, they all nodded with small responses

“Sorry!” A woman said as she walked in, carrying a bunch of things that were high enough to cover her face, “They told me you might need these” She said, turning to her side to see them, her eyes widening as she dropped the things on the ground

They all froze

Neteyam, startled by the sound, turned to see what happened. His eyes widening in shock.

It was you.

It was you…

It was you!

How is this possible? You left—did you move here?

“Y/n?” He said, standing up and walking towards you, you backed away, still speechless.

“I—I have to go” You said, running off, he was quick to follow you

He finally got close enough to pull you back, you looked at him in silence

“It’s you…its really you” He whispered, “What—what are you doing here?” He asked

You sighed, “I moved here…”

“This is where you’ve been? All this time…” He said, cradling your face, he pulled you in for a hug

Its been so long since he felt your soft touch. Five hours without your touch was long enough, imagine five months.

He closed his eyes, inhaling your scent. The sweet smell he’s been missing. He slowly opened his eyes, feeling something else.

He let go of you, looking down, his eyes widening.

You had a bump, a baby bump. He was sure it wasn’t weight.

“Neteyam…” You whispered

“What—how…” He stopped talking, did you move on? You ran away, and started a family with another man?

He backed away, shaking his head

“You…you were that quick to forget me?” He asked, before you could answer, he left.

“Neteyam!” You called out to him, seeing him fade away

When he got to the marui, everyone was there, waiting for him, flooding him with questions

“What happened?” Neytiri asked

“How is she here?” Kiri asked

“Who knocked her up?” Lo’ak asked, everyone went quiet

“What do you mean?” Neytiri asked

“Did you not see? She looked pregnant”

Neytiri gasped and smacked his head, “You do not speak about a woman like that!”

“No…it’s true.” Neteyam said

“She is with child?” Neytiri asked, her eyes wide

Neteyam nodded

Neytiri and Jake shared a look, they went to comfort him but he just pushed them away

“I’m sorry, kid” Jake said, patting his back

“I do not care.” He said, they all looked at him with pity, and went to sleep

The next day, Neteyam got up early, not like he even slept. He went outside, exploring the village. He went to ocean, staring at it in silence

“Neteyam…” You called out

He already knew it was you, how could he ever forget your sweet voice?

He began walking away, you kept calling his name and he ignored you

“Shit” He heard you say, he turned to see you wrapping your arms around your stomach, as if in pain

“Are you okay?” He asked, sure he was mad at you, but he still loved you and cared about you

“I…I don’t know—shit” You said again, groaning in pain

He quickly rushed to you, helping you walk to your marui

“Its okay—I got you…” He said, comforting you as you kept feeling the pain

Once you got to your marui, he helped you sit down

“Okay—stay here, I’m gonna call the Tsahik”

“No!” You said, “I’m fine now”

He stopped and realized what you did

You tricked him so he can stop ignoring you

“Very smart” He rolled his eyes, about to leave until you grabbed his hand

“Neteyam, please…” You said, your eyes tearing up

He sighed, sitting down and waiting for you to speak

“I didn’t forget you” You said

“Clearly” He said

“You didn’t listen to me—“

“You left without me!” He yelled

“You didn’t want to leave!” You yelled back and he went quiet, “I tried to tell you. I tried to tell you Neteyam, I lost too much in that forest. I hated every second I was there. You were the only thing I cared about”

“And it shows.” He said, “You just ran off and found another guy to keep you company.”

“That’s not what happened!” You snapped, tears sliding down your cheeks, “I needed to leave! Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done! I had to go out all alone into some random village filled with strangers! And I tried to forget you, I really did. But I don’t think you know how hard it is to forget someone when part of them is in you!”

Neteyam froze, he looked to your stomach, and back to you

“It’s…mine?” He asked in shock

“Yes you skxawng!” You yelled at him

He nervously laughed, a smile finding its way on his face, his eyes still wide

“It’s mine…oh eywa, it’s mine” He whispered, placing his head on your stomach, hearing the heartbeat, he looked to you, cradling your face, “You’re carrying my child? Mine?”

You nodded at him, he hugged you tight, kissing your forehead

You were back, back into his arms, carrying part of him in you. He was going to make sure you never leave again

ok this sucked so bad im sorry for everyone who was expecting a way better ending.

[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 5

Christmas Eve part 2

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: swearing, family members are mean (are we seeing a pattern?), can you tell that I love lebkuchen from the number of times it got mentioned, they kiss again but for like 2 seconds, then they kiss again later for longer than 2 seconds 👀, reader's grandpa isn't supportive of her job (but it's ok because lockwood saves the day), a pigeon was harmed in the making of this chapter (but it lives!), drinking (alcohol), lockwood talks about his family and the Christmases he spent without them, reader comforts him, there is so much communication but somehow so much miscommunication at the same time??? and I'm annoyed at myself for doing this (but it's necessary), this part does not have a happy ending at all (I'm sorry)

series master list

"Well," Lockwood started, looking around at everyone gathered. "I suppose it started in March."

He paused for a moment, trying to figure out where to go from there. "We were on a job, just the two of us, in Kensington. A couple wanted their house clearing out before they properly moved in, and called us. Everything was going perfectly fine, and then we realised that our clients hadn't told us everything about the property, and we were dealing with three Limbless in an enclosed space." Y/n remembered that job well. It was one of the few cases that she'd actually gone on with just Lockwood, and they had been arguing for most of it about the best way to get rid of a Limbless.

Their argument had attracted the other two that were out in the garden.

"Y/n was brilliant, of course, using her Talent to locate the Sources of the three of them while I covered her, but I got held up in the corridor by some Type Ones that had appeared and she was left on her own. I only just got there in time to throw a salt bomb at the Limbless behind her and give her the extra second that she needed to wrap up the Source, but I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life. I really thought I was too late and that I'd lost her." His voice sounded thick with emotion, and when Y/n met his eyes they were watery. She tried not to frown, since it was strange for her to see him so affected like this. Lockwood cleared his throat, and looked back at the crowd. "Then of course I realised that I couldn't live without her and I asked her on a date. She said no, despite my attempts at baking her favourite cake and all the flowers." He cracked a smile, and people around the room laughed.

"Well you did look rather pathetic, Ant. I sort of wanted to watch you suffer a bit more." That much was true at least, since any time she got to watch him squirm was entertaining to her.

"Well you certainly got your share of that, darling," he huffed, and Y/n bit back a snort at the frustrated look on his face. "I had to ask her about six times after that first one before she finally said yes. We've been dating since the middle of April."

"It was eight, but who's counting?" Something about his story didn't sit right with her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe it was how close it was to what had actually happened on the job, or maybe it was the dread of all the questions she'd get about her job once people started mingling, wanting to know if she had a backup plan in case this line of work failed, or if she realised how dangerous it was.

Maybe it was the way that Lockwood had looked at her when he was talking about losing her.

~~~

"What are your intentions with Y/n?"

"Don't be stupid," John said, whacking his brother Sam on the arm.

"No, but really, what are your intent- oof!" Sam had been tackled to the floor by John, and Lockwood did his best not to flinch.

He'd been dragged into the library a few minutes ago by Y/n's brothers, and although he was the smallest, Tom was currently the most frightening as he stared Lockwood down from across the room, despite the two eldest brothers currently scrapping on the floor.

"Did... did you want me to answer that, or...?"

"I mean, it would be nice to know," Will piped up, eating straight from a packet of lebkuchen in the armchair opposite. Lockwood didn't think he'd ever seen the man without some sort of food nearby. He sat forward in his chair slightly, trying to come up with a good enough answer that would mean he could go back to the party. John and Sam stopped punching each other to hear his answer.

"I'm mostly just happy that she even gave me a chance, if I'm being honest." That much was true, but Y/n's brothers didn't need to know that he was talking about her acceptance of a position at his company and not the mythical relationship that the two of them had been in for eight months. "I know that I'm incredibly lucky to have her, and I can promise you that I won't do anything to screw that up."

Sam and John seemed happy enough with his answer, and Lockwood started breathing a little more easily. Tom was still staring at him, and Lockwood could have sworn that the boy hadn't blinked the entire time. Will snorted, shaking the bag around to get the last crumbs of lebkuchen out. "Yeah, sure. What's the real answer? No more of that crap, because it's obvious you rehearsed that to make us happy." When Lockwood didn't say anything for a moment Will prodded him again. "Go on."

He clenched his jaw, wondering how he could say anything nice about Y/n when she hadn't said anything nice about him for nearly three years, and looked out the window. A memory flashed up, and despite it having only been that morning, he was surprised at how quickly he'd forgotten the interaction.

Since when had she memorised how he took his tea?

He didn't think that Y/n had ever made him tea before, always making it a deliberate point to make a pot for everyone but him, and yet that morning while they sat in bed she had done it perfectly as though it were second nature. Then his mind drifted back to the night before, and he felt his face warm up at the memory of the mistletoe. He cleared his throat.

"I guess..." Lockwood sighed through his nose and clenched his jaw again. It was starting to ache. "I guess that's true, what I said before-"

"You guess?" Will interjected. Lockwood hadn't thought that he would be under this much scrutiny, but he was starting to sweat uncomfortably. He'd rather be dealing with Barnes right now than be sat here.

"It is true," he amended, making wary eye contact with the man. The packet of lebkuchen was neglected in Will's hand, hanging limply as he sat forward to question his younger sister's boyfriend. "She's incredible - the most incredible girl I've ever met - and I truly am aware of how lucky I am that she chose me. I'm not exactly... easy... to be around sometimes because of my agency, but she deals with me perfectly. She deals with me more than she should, to be honest." He frowned, thinking again about how he needed to figure out how to apologise to her. Nothing he had said was a lie; in fact, he didn't think he'd said anything more true about Y/n the entire time that he had known her. She was incredible, since her Touch was so powerful and unlike anything that he had ever seen before. And he did count himself lucky that she, despite his horrible words, still decided to work for him. And she did deal with him, more than anybody should, and she did it by being just as much of an arse to him as he was to her.

Maybe they were good together after all.

A thud on the window made everyone turn to look at what had made the noise, and Tom finally broke eye contact with Lockwood.

"Pigeon," Sam said, having been closest to the window. "I think it might be- oh no, it's just got up and flown off. Don't tell Mum though, she'll have a fit if she sees the mark it left."

"Alright, I think we're done here. You're free to go, Lover Boy," Will said, waving his hand vaguely at Lockwood and scrunching up the empty lebkuchen packet. Lockwood got up to leave, but upon opening the door a body fell face first into his chest with a small 'oof!'

"... Darling?" Lockwood asked, confusion lacing his voice. The figure looked up and offered a smile.

"Oh, hi! I was just... wondering where you were, Anthony." He tried to not let it show how much it affected him to hear his first name in her mouth, but the slight intake of breath that he took probably gave him away. It didn't help that Y/n was in that dress, since she looked so stunning that he couldn't focus on anything but her.

"You're so obsessed with each other," Lockwood heard Will mutter from behind him, and he realised with a start that they had just been staring at each other and blocking the doorway, penning the others in the library. When they went to move, however, Sam stopped them.

"Mistletoe! You can't break tradition!"

"Ugh, again? Did Mum plant an entire fucking garden of it?" Y/n said, peering up at the sprig that hung over their heads. "They're not gonna let us leave without doing it."

"Alright. Let's get it over with then," he whispered into her mouth, and he couldn't help but feel the exact opposite when she pressed her lips to his.

~~~

"So," Y/n's grandfather Richard started, and internally she groaned. He had used the tone of voice that meant he was about to start asking about work, and she was dreading this conversation. "Being an agent. Are you still sure it's what you want to do with your life, Y/n?"

"Yes, Gramps. I'm sure. I have been doing it for years now."

"But there are so many other things you could be doing! Jobs that you could actually be good at!"

That stung a little, and Y/n sat back slightly in her chair. She loved her Gramps, and most of the time he was one of her favourite family members, but he'd been alive before the Problem had started and didn't understand that things had changed since he was a kid. He believed in her in most other ways, just not when it came to her life as an agent, which was one of the only things she was truly passionate about (other passions included drinking tea and hating Lockwood).

"I don't mean to intrude," a voice piped up, and once again Y/n found herself wondering how the hell Lockwood managed to always turn up at the right time. "But Y/n is one of the best agents in the country, sir. Her Talent is so incredibly unique and that's what makes her so brilliant at her job." He perched on the arm of the chair that she was sat on, and she frowned when she felt the urge to rest her head against his thigh.

"Well how can you possibly know that!"

"Gramps, this is my boyfriend, Anthony? You met him briefly last night?"

"Oh, is it? Right, well I suppose you would know then! Tell me, is she too much of a pain sometimes?!"

Lockwood hesitated slightly, glancing down at where Y/n sat in the chair and frowning a little at her Gramps' question. "If anything I'm the pain. I don't know why she keeps me around to be honest." He sounded so sincere about it that for a moment she forgot that he had ever said anything horrible about her. The rest of their conversation faded into background noise as she remembered what she'd overheard earlier.

It was probably breaking all sorts of moral laws to eavesdrop on her brothers' interrogation of Lockwood, but then again she'd made her boss her fake boyfriend to fool her entire family, so she figured that she was well past being entirely moral about things. And besides, she hadn't been intending on listening in at first, she'd just been walking back from using the loo and happened to hear them. She couldn't get Lockwood's words out of her head, and she'd been replaying them over and over since.

"She's incredible - the most incredible girl I've ever met - and I truly am aware of how lucky I am that she chose me."

What the hell did that mean? Was it a lie that he'd made up to make them happy? But then she'd also heard Will prodding for the truth and his exclamation that whatever Lockwood had said before (which she hadn't heard) was obviously fake, so did he just come up with a better lie?

Tonight, she thought. Tonight I'll talk to him.

~~~

When the last guests had stumbled out of the front door, singing loudly and bumping into each other because they had had too much to drink, everybody left in the house let out a sigh of relief.

Y/n mumbled a tired 'good night' to everyone as she pulled herself upstairs, and Lockwood followed after her. He'd been helping her father tidy up a little before turning out the lights, to save some of the food that needed refrigerating and chucking other things in the bin. She had been worried when her dad first started talking to Lockwood, but then she'd heard her father laughing and had decided that they would be perfectly fine together.

Now she collapsed face first onto the bed, not yet worrying about the chill in the room.

"I can see why you were dreading that," Lockwood said, his voice sounding too loud. She'd had to down a few drinks that afternoon to deal with the sheer number of questions and comments from family members and friends, and now her head was aching slightly.

"Can you get me some water?" she asked, but since her face was still buried in the duvet it came out muffled. Lockwood's footsteps shuffled around for a while, and then went silent, and Y/n huffed in annoyance. Of course he'd just get himself ready for bed and not worry about her, that was so typical of him. She pushed herself upright, wincing when the room wobbled a little and the pain increased in her head, then frowned when Lockwood reappeared, something in his hand.

"Here. I couldn't find any painkillers though, so I'll just go and fill that up when you're done so you can try and sober up before bed."

Oh. Maybe he wasn't being so typical after all.

"Thanks," she muttered, taking the glass from him and eyeing it warily.

"It's not poisoned, darling. If I was going to kill you I wouldn't do it in a way that might mean you could come back to haunt me."

"Charming."

He sat down on the bed next to her with a sigh, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "You know," he said, not looking at her. "This hasn't been... the worst Christmas I've ever had."

"No? You're spending it with me." He gave her a wry smile, finally bringing his gaze up to meet hers.

"Yeah, that's not really that bad."

Oh.

"Really?"

He hummed in answer, nodding slightly, then got up and walked over to the fireplace. They sat in silence while Y/n finished off her water and Lockwood got the fire going, and once she headed over to sit next to where he was crouching she realised how cold she had been before. He sat back, leaning on the chair behind him. Y/n was hunched over her knees, empty glass dangling in her grip. She could have done the same as Lockwood with the armchair behind her, and god knew her head needed something to rest against because despite the water dulling the ache it was still pressing against her temples, but she didn't think she could see Lockwood's face at that moment.

"The first Christmas after Jess passed was the worst."

Her head snapped to look at him where he sat to her left, but he was staring into the fire, eyes transfixed on the flames but looking at something far away. She didn't say anything, instead just letting him go ahead in his own time.

"The ones after my parents died were hard, sure, but at least I had Jess around and we knew what the other was going through. Then she was gone too, and I was nine years old in a big house that was suddenly empty of the family I had spent my life being loved by."

She knew that his family were dead since the absence of any of them was shockingly present in 35 Portland Row, but he had never told her anything. She'd had to learn it all from Lucy, George, and Holly.

"That first one was horrible. I don't think I stopped crying for longer than an hour the entire time, and I couldn't sleep because I kept replaying it over in my head. I could have helped," he whispered, and Y/n could see that his eyes were glistening in the light of the fire. "I could have saved her, if only I hadn't-" he cut himself off, his voice growing too strangled to continue. Quickly she placed her hand on his arm, turning her body to face him.

"Hey, hey," she said quietly, drawing him into her arms. Her glass had been abandoned on the floor, her hands now holding Lockwood's body in her lap instead. His head was resting on her chest while his arm wrapped around her stomach, the other supporting his weight, and Y/n told herself that she was only allowing this to happen because she hadn't yet sobered up.

She wasn't sure how long they were there for, her leaning back at an awkward angle to allow room for Lockwood to lie on top of her and curl into her side while he sniffled, but after a while she found that she didn't mind stroking her fingers through his hair (which was surprisingly soft) or having his weight on her (it was like having a weighted blanket).

"Thank you," he muttered after a while, sitting up and wiping at his face. He paused in his movements when he realised that their faces were much closer together than was normal for two people that didn't like each other. The memory of that morning when she had smoothed out his collar and he had been about to say something came back, and when his gaze flicked between her eyes and her lips she drew in a breath.

"Anthony?"

And then he was surging forward, kissing her with the same passion that he had hated her with while she reached up to grab his shirt, not caring that she was wrinkling the fabric that she herself had smoothed out that very morning. How could she think of anything but him when the two of them had finally crashed together like a tsunami hitting cities?

How could she think of anything but him when he pulled her on top of him?

And how could she think of anything but him when he sighed her name into her mouth and it sounded sweeter than the tea he drank?

And then she was thinking about him entirely, and remembering everything that had happened since they met, and suddenly kissing him was a terrible idea.

"She's not good enough for the company."

She pushed away from him with a start when those words blared in her mind like warning alarms, the memory of what she had overheard in the library around four months after starting to work for Lockwood and Co. She hadn't heard anything before, but the disdain in Lockwood's voice told her it was about her. She had run upstairs to make sure she didn't hear any more of what he thought about her.

"Y/n?" he asked now, voice hoarse from crying and kissing, and his expression was desperate as he watched her press her hand to her lips and take shaky breaths. "Y/n? What is it? Wh-"

"Don't," she snapped, standing up and trying to forget the feeling of his hands on her body. "Don't... just don't, Lockwood." He was getting up too, scrambling after her and reaching out to stop her from slipping away.

"I don't understand-"

"Don't understand what?! We can't- we hate each other, Lockwood!" The venom in her voice made him stumble back a few steps. "You never wanted me at your company and you made sure that I knew that!"

"I-"

"I heard you telling the others that I wasn't ever going to be good enough for you, and then a few hours later after a job you're telling me that my Talent is incredible?! What am I supposed to think?! And then you spend the next however many years being a complete dick to me and complaining about me, so I do the same because clearly being nice didn't work, and now you're here at my fucking family Christmas event pretending to be my boyfriend and kissing me when you don't need to-"

"Of course I need to! I know I was horrible to you-"

"An understatement," she scoffed, crossing her arms.

"-but I'm trying to figure out how to apologise to you because I know that I've fucked up and I need to fix it!"

"So you kissed me?!"

"No! Yes! That wasn't an apology!" He rubbed his hand over his face, clearly frustrated with how it was going. "It was a mistake- no, Y/n, I didn't mean it like that!"

"A mistake?" she whispered, her eyes stinging with fresh tears. "Kissing me was a mistake?"

"No," he said, tone filled with desperation. "No, Y/n, I just meant that I shouldn't have done it before apologising to you because then it would seem like... I don't know! Like I was doing it just to try and trick you into accepting my apology or something!"

"Were you? Doing it to trick me? Because right now I can't tell what the truth is, Lockwood!"

"It wasn't a trick. It was never a trick, and I'm an idiot-"

"Yes, you are."

"Would you just listen to me?!" he shouted, anger seeping in to his body, and Y/n took a step back at the look in his eyes.

"What, like how you listen to me?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Yesterday, on the platform, when I was talking about my family being a lot and how it was hard for me and I'm actually related to most of them, and I couldn't imagine how hard it would be for someone to be introduced to all of that in one go. You just assumed that I meant it would be hard for you because your family is dead, and then when I tried to explain you cut me off and gave me the cold shoulder because you didn't fucking listen, Lockwood. What I meant was it would be a lot for anyone, no matter their own experience. Hell, even George has said that he would rather be blocked from the Archives for life than ever meet my family, and he's got almost as many relatives as me!"

Lockwood didn't say anything for a minute, instead just standing still and staring at her while the fire in his eyes died down, and Y/n shook her head. "This?" She gestured between the two of them. "This will never work. We will never work. Because you never wanted me and no matter how much I want you to like me in the same way that you like the others, you never will. And I will never be good enough for you." That was one more person to add to the list of people that she needed to meet unnecessarily high expectations for in order to be even noticed. She wiped at the tears that had slipped down her face while she was talking, the salt making her cheeks itch.

"You're right," Lockwood finally said. "I won't ever like you in the same way as the others." He stopped there, looking down at the floor. When he went to speak again, however, he lifted his head to an empty room, and the bathroom door shutting him out.

Y/n ignored his attempts to talk to her through the door, shoving the duvet and blankets that she had quickly grabbed into the bathtub and plugging her headphones into her walkman so that she didn't have to hear the rest of his cruel words and excuses.

She had craved something different with him, and it had fucking destroyed her.

And now she had to wake up on Christmas Day and pretend that she was hopelessly in love with the fake boyfriend who had just broken her heart.

part 6

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the tag list! <3

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part eight

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

hope is a dangerous thing.

a/n: it’s heeeeeeeeere. full disclosure - it might be a few days until part 9 goes up; as far as I know, tonight’s ep shows some flashbacks which means I might have to do a bit of revamping! plus I really don’t wanna burn myself out with this one, there’s still so much ground to cover!!

word count: 4.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, yearning, nightmares, mentions/allusions to sex, if I missed something let me know.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

The days bleed into months, and before you know it, the snow comes. Winter.

You haven’t left the mall. Or, haven’t been allowed to leave the mall. Every time you cross paths with Cowan, it’s the same conversation.

“Let me through the gate.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You’re nothing if not persistent, but you try your best to make yourself useful. You and Deanna have formed some kind of friendship, and you help her out as much as you can. At first, you don’t know much about treating injuries besides the bit you remember from an old first aid course, so you pay close attention to her movements, handing her supplies when she needs it, taking her orders in stride.

She was an army nurse, you learn, and lost her husband long before the outbreak. “Just as well,�� she told you, a sad smile on her face. “He barely came back to me after Vietnam. I don’t think he could have survived this.”

They never had kids, but she tells you her niece and nephew may as well have been her own. “They live in Cape Cod, on the coast.” Her face went dark. “Lived.” Then she looked at you. “You remind me of my niece, you know. Fierce little thing.”

She teaches you how to dress wounds and clean them, when something needs stitches and when glue will do, how to stretch the materials you have left as far as possible. When injured soldiers show up after the first snow, she puts you to work.

Cowan’s among them, a ricochet bullet in his shoulder. Deanna hasn’t shown you anything like that yet, and you balk a little as he pulls off his gear, blood pouring down his arm. “Wait here.”

You sprint across the floor to where Deanna is literally elbow-deep in another soldier who clearly hadn’t been as lucky as Cowan. “What d’you need, kid?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, spying a pair of forceps on the table nearby and grabbing them. “Just these. I’ll come help you after—”

“You go take care of Nicky,” she orders, her voice almost stern. “You don’t leave his side until you know he’s all right, you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You sprint back to Cowan, finding him hunched over, hand pressed to his arm, blood staining his knuckles. You grab a pair of scissors from the tray beside you, hooking your arm under his shoulder and getting him upright. “Fuck!” he shouts, and you grit your teeth.

“Sorry.” You cut away his t-shirt, pulling the fabric from where it’s wedged between his fingers, and his other hand curls into a fist on the table. “What happened?”

“Bunch of runners,” he breathes out, and you yank his hand away from the wound quickly, replacing it with a thick scrap of towel, pressing your hand into his shoulder. He winces, tipping his head back. “Came right up over the fence.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I told you that chain link wouldn’t hold forever.”

“Yeah, yeah, you should run the world.” He meets your gaze, holds it. “You ask me to let you through the gate again, and I swear to god—”

“I wasn’t going to,” you say quickly. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not a lie either. “But I want to help, if I can.”

The towel has already soaked through with his blood, and it makes your gut twist. “Help?”

“Teach me to shoot,” you say. You’re trying to distract him, and grab his hand, pressing it against the towel. “Hold this.”

“Bat’s not enough for you?”

“No, but the rifle I found in the sporting goods shop upstairs will definitely help,” you reply, grabbing the forceps and wiping them down with a bit of antiseptic. “Especially once I get out of here.”

Cowan stares at you, that hard gaze he’s become famous for. “Why d’you wanna get out of here so bad? You’re—”

“If you tell me I’m safe here, Corporal, I’m leaving that bullet in your shoulder.”

He actually laughs. “God, you are something else, you know that?” 

You freeze, for a moment. Suddenly, you’re standing in your kitchen, in Austin. Joel Miller is handing you a bouquet of daisies and telling you you’re beautiful and kissing your cheek. The memory catches you off-guard, and you only come back down to earth when Cowan squeezes your wrist, peering at you.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply instantly, shaking your head. “We need to get that bullet out.”

You hold up the forceps, bracing your hand on his collar. “This isn’t gonna feel great, is it?”

“Well, it sure as hell won’t tickle,” you admit. “Is this the first time you’ve taken a bullet?”

“No. Second.”

“Pull this away, when I say,” you instruct, tapping the back of his hand. “I gotta be quick.”

“Have you done this before?”

You lift a shoulder, a nervous little laugh falling out of your mouth. “I watched Deanna do it a couple weeks back. It was in the guy’s gut though, not his shoulder.”

“Did he live?”

You go quiet. “Move your hand.” He hesitates. “Now, Cowan.”

He moves his hand, pulling the towel away, and you push the forceps in. The air seems to go completely still as you fish for the bullet. Cowan’s face is screwed up in pain, both hands curled around the edge of the cot, white-knuckled. “Did the guy live?”

“No,” you admit finally, feeling the soft clink of metal hitting metal. Bingo. “But we found a bite on his leg after, so the internal bleeding was probably the better way to go.” You twist the forceps, and he hisses in pain. “Tell me about the first time you got shot.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?” you quip, and he actually smiles.

“It was basic training,” he starts, and you nod, focusing on his shoulder. The forceps pinch around the bullet, and you pull ever so slightly. “My buddy and I were just fucking around. He didn’t know the thing was loaded.”

“He shot you on purpose?” you ask, brows raised. You pull a little more, making sure the grip holds.

“Not on purpose,” Cowan replies, and you can feel his eyes on your face. “We were just kids, then. Just screwing around, trying to fill the time. And now…”

“He still around?” you ask, prompting him further. “Your buddy.”

“I hope so,” he replies. “He moved to California, after we finished basic. I really hope he—motherfucker!”

You pull the bullet all the way out with a flourish, dropping the forceps onto the tray and grabbing a fresh piece of gauze. He hisses again when you press the new gauze to his shoulder, and you scoff. “Baby.”

“You just pulled a bullet out of me.”

“I’m aware,” you throw back, pressing a little harder. “I still think you’re a baby.”

He gives you the signature Stare before glancing down at his shoulder, taking over the pressure you’re holding, and you step away to get an actual roll of gauze. “Meet me at the south entrance tomorrow, and I’ll teach you.” You turn back, your brows raised. “To shoot, I mean. Bring the rifle. You have ammo?”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Yeah, managed to find a few boxes.”

“Good.”

You nod, unable to hide the grin that pulls your lips. “Good.”

+

They’re somewhere near Nashville. He thinks; Tommy’s been navigating, Joel’s just been following his brother. The weather has held up mostly, but now they’re holed up in some shack Tommy found in the woods, hiding from the rain. It’s been constant, nearly three days now, and Joel can’t fucking sleep.

He hasn’t slept well since they left Austin, not that he expected to. The few beds they’ve found have been heaven, but every time he closes his eyes, the dreams come, and he’s reliving that night all over again. Doesn’t matter how many days go by, and he knows it doesn’t matter at all how much time passes. He’s never gonna forget.

He took first watch, told Tommy to get some shuteye and parked himself on the front porch, watching the rain slide of the metal roof, pooling in front of the shack, running downhill like a river. There’s mud caked on his boots, and he feels dirty down to his bones. It’s been a few days since they had real shelter, though, and he revels in the silence, being away from the main roads.

But the silence lets his mind wander, and when that happens, it lands on you, more often than not. Sarah is always there, in the back of his head, the sound of her voice forcing him further, but when he gets a moment alone — a rarity now — he lets himself remember you.

Your last conversation still haunts him. The fear in your voice, the way you’d sounded so out of it when you first picked up, and he’d brought you back down, focused you. Patch yourself up. Take what you can and go. Get the hell out of Boston.

I’ll find you, baby.

Sometimes, the hope invades his heart like a disease, branching through his limbs and making his chest ache with it. He has to hope that you made it out, that you’re alive somewhere, that your paths are leading straight towards each other. Every time they come over a hill or turn a corner, he feels that tug in his gut, a quiet promise that this time, you’ll be heading straight towards him, a big smile on your face.

But Joel knows that hope is a dangerous thing to let in, to nurture. As hard as he wishes you alive, he knows the opposite is more than likely. He sees it when he does manage to get some sleep, nightmares infiltrating his brain until he wakes up panting, the phantom feeling of his daughter’s blood on his skin melting away far too slowly.

Right now, he’s forcing himself to remember the good.

That last week, before you’d left for Boston. He took you to that open field every night, almost, held you in his arms, kept you close and never let your mouth get too far from his. He’d buried his face in your neck and memorized the smell of you, the feel of you, the taste.

You pulled on his hand, led him away from the truck and into the open field. You laid down in the grass side by side, the sound of crickets and the soft wind the only thing you could hear. He’d leaned over you, cupped your cheek in his palm, rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. You kissed his fingers, giggling when he rolled himself on top of you a moment later, his mouth chasing yours.

He planted his hands either side of your head and you reached for his belt, dragging your hands down his chest. He could feel your heartbeat, when he pressed himself against you, the twitch of your knees along his ribs as you held him closer. That’s how it always was between you two, who could get the other closer, how much could you pull until the space between no longer existed?

Joel still remembers the noise you made when he pushed into you, right there in the grass. The way you’d dug your nails into his back so fucking hard it made him moan louder, the sound echoing through the night. The blissful smile on your face as the pleasure ripped through you, and Joel felt it, the tightness of your body, the way he could taste it on your tongue.

God, he loved you so goddamned much.

A clap of thunder yanks him out of his head, and he flinches hard, the gun in his lap sliding onto the wooden porch. He’s on his feet in a moment, shoving both hands through his hair, and without another thought, he steps out from under the shelter of the roof. The rain pelts him instantly, soaking through his clothes, making goosebumps rise on his arms.

It feels good. He tilts his face towards the sky, feels the water drip down his arms.

He hears your voice, in his head. What you said that night, under the stars, laid out on his chest, your eyes glassy. “I won’t ever stop thinking about you, Joel Miller. Not for a million years.”

He never should have let you leave Austin. Not in a million years.

+

Cowan stays true to his word. He teaches you to shoot, not just the rifle you’d stolen from the mall, but other guns, too. Shows you some tricks with the hunting knife you’d found in Dean’s bag, even teaches you how to build a fire. You stop asking him to let you through the gate, and he stops giving you the Stare. After a few lessons, he starts bringing you along on patrols. You carry the rifle and the bat, the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The temperature is dropping, the snow sticking consistently, and the UPS jacket you’d stolen months back comes in handy, keeping you warmer than you expect.

There’s not much conversation to be had between you two, and when you do talk, it’s light shit. You avoid the subject of families, partners and the like. You mostly talk about music, and you laugh the hardest you have in a long time when Cowan admits to you that he’s seen the Backstreet Boys in concert three separate times. You’re bent in half with laughter, tears in your eyes, and he starts laughing along with you.

The laughter stops, however, when you circle back to the mall. There are four trucks outside, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up when you see Deanna step through the doors. Everyone else who’d been inside, faces you recognize, people you’ve met, they’re all coming out of the mall. Deanna has blood on her scrubs, a strange look in her eye.

“McCoy!” Cowan calls once you’re close enough, and a soldier turns. “What’s going on?”

Both the soldiers step to the side, and you make a bee-line for Deanna, swinging your rifle onto your back. “What happened?”

The older woman looks shaken, and she grabs you once you’re close enough, her hands digging into the sleeves of your coat. “T-Tim,” she stutters, and your brow hardens. You know who she’s talking about;  Tim, his wife Marcy, their two kids. Their cots weren’t far from yours in the department store. You’d helped their youngest son, Henry, when he’d cracked his forehead on the tile, tripped on his own feet chasing his little sister, Emily, around the mall. Hell, you’d had dinner with them just the night prior, you and Tim had made the kids giggle slurping your noodles. “He just…” Deanna trails off, and fear twists your stomach in an iron vice.

“Are the kids okay?”

She nods furiously, still holding onto you tightly. “But…but Marcy, she…he just…” She looks back towards the mall, gestures for a moment before clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’d never seen one up close before.”

Deanna collapses into your arms, and you hug her tightly, half worried she’s passed out, but the worry passes when you feel her hands fist in the back of your jacket. Over her shoulder, you see a soldier leading Henry and Emily outside. Henry still has a bandaid on his forehead, and Emily is clutching his hand, tear tracks on her face. Your heart aches.

“I’m gonna go with them,” Deanna tells you, pulling away after a moment, and you just nod. She jogs after the kids, and you turn back to where Cowan and McCoy are still talking. Cowan has a hard look on his face, and his jaw tightens as you approach.

“What the hell is going on?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re supposed to be safe in the mall, Corporal. That’s what you said. I could have been halfway to Texas by now. Hell, I could have been in Texas by now.”

“I know what I said,” he bites back before heaving a sigh. “We got an update, from FEDRA HQ.”

You lift a brow. “And?”

He glances at the stream of people still filing out of the mall. “The fungus, the thing that’s causing this, it’s in the food. We need to check everything that was in the mall, everything that was handed out. Production dates, expiry dates, it’ll give us an idea of what needs to be destroyed, but—”

“But there’s a chance everyone in there ate something contaminated,” you finish, swallowing back the bile that rises in your mouth. “There’s a chance we’re all already infected.”

Cowan’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“What do we do now, then?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the people filling the street outside the mall. “Where do we go? Standing around here like this, it’s just gonna attract them.”

“There are buildings that have been deemed safe,” McCoy tells you, and Cowan just nods. “The quarantine zone has been marked off. We take everyone there, separate you for now, keep an eye out for anyone changing.”

Cowan nods. “Check everyone for bites, again.” He meets your eyes for a moment before calling for two other soldiers. He starts barking orders, and you turn to McCoy.

“I thought the city was the quarantine zone.”

He shakes his head. “Too much space. FEDRA gave us the borders, showed us where to go. The walls’ll go up soon, and we’ll be that much safer.”

You balk. “More chain link bullshit?”

McCoy shakes his head again. “No, ma’am. Bricks. Guard towers, barbed wire. The whole kit and caboodle.”

You swallow hard. Shit.

+

The chain link stays up. The walls of the quarantine zone press deeper into the city, and as promised, you’re shuffled into apartment buildings. There’s still blood everywhere you look, damaged ceilings, broken windows. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but the building itself is intact, and that’s apparently good enough for FEDRA.

They put you in separate units, the number of survivors taking up less than half the building. You stay with Deanna and the kids. Emily clings to your side, her arms wrapped around your leg more often than not. She hasn’t said a word since you left the mall.

The soldiers patrol the streets and the hallways, and after a week, six more people turn. They’re put down without a second thought, their bodies carried out of the building. The food supplies are carted from the mall to a warehouse within the new zone limits, and everything that was given to you is taken back for inspection. It’s a lot of waiting, of pacing the floor of your new home, of trying to come up with ways to distract the kids from what’s happening.

Shortly after you’d been evacuated from the mall, they’d brought out Tim and Marcy’s bodies, and your hands had started to shake violently when you saw the blood on Tim’s face, the deep gouge in his wife’s throat. Bullets in both their skulls. It had all happened so fast.

And you’d been eating the same things they had.

The worry gnaws at your stomach. You’d protested, at first, when Deanna insisted you come with them. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t bear to see the pain on the older woman’s face deepen when you admitted you feared the worst. She still managed to pull it out of you, later that night, after you’d put the kids to sleep in the only bedroom, the pair of you sitting at the kitchen table.

“If it happens, it happens, kid,” she said, gripping your hand tightly. “And we deal with it. That’s all we can do.” You’d nodded, and she’d reached into her bad, producing a bottle of gin. “Something to take the edge off.” You nodded again.

A week passed, the six were put down, and you were safe. Your mind started to wander. Trucks filled with construction material arrived at the edges of the quarantine zone every day; you could see them from the apartment. More FEDRA soldiers, some venturing into the city to find usable materials. Soon enough, the wall was starting to take shape.

And if the wall went all the way up, that meant you were never getting out of Boston. Never getting the opportunity to find your family, or Joel.

But, the wall has only just begun, which means there are still holes in the boundary, and with more soldiers assigned to the quarantine zone itself, that means the chain link is left unguarded, for the most part.

They announce curfew hours and the consequences for breaking those hours, and you start planning. Collecting things, weapons and food that won’t spoil, refilling your first aid kit. You take what ammo you can find, nicking a few boxes from the FEDRA tents when no one’s paying attention. You still have the maps from the bookstore, your hastily-drawn path still marked on the pages.

You wait for nightfall, and you run.

You leave Deanna a note, tell her you’re sorry, tell her you’ll try to send a message that you’re safe, once you are. The kids are fast asleep, and you kiss their heads before you go.

Your path through the city leads you right past your apartment, and your heart nearly stops. The entire front of the building has been exploded inward, no doubt a result of the bombings. If you look hard, you can see the edge of your living room, behind the twisted rebar and broken bricks. You want to linger, but you don’t, the shout of an Infected pushing you forward, gripping the bat tightly.

The construction of the wall left a lot of tools laying around, and it was all too easy to find a pair of large wire cutters. You found a piece of chain link in an alley within the quarantine zone, and tested it out. Sure enough, a clean cut.

There are still patrols along the chain link, but they’re more sporadic. The guard posts have been dismantled, dragged further inwards, set up again along the new walls. You see a soldier pass by the spot you’re aiming for, and wait until he’s completely out of sight before bolting across the pavement to the fence, pulling out the wire cutters.

You have one foot through when you hear a familiar voice.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Cowan’s kept his distance, since you moved into the building. It bothers you and doesn’t at the same time. But in a way, you got what you wanted from him; you’re more confident that you could make it beyond the fence now. Especially with the rifle strapped to your back.

Your head drops, and you pull your leg back out, straightening and turning on your heel towards him. “You really thought I wouldn’t try it?”

“I really didn’t think you were this stupid,” he shoots back, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious. You will die out there, why don’t you get that?”

You grip the chain link, the metal rattling beneath your shaking fingers. “I can’t just sit around here for the rest of my life, Cowan.”

“So you’d rather waste it, out there?” He gestures towards the fence with his rifle, to what lays beyond. “What good will that do? You’re smart, you know there’s a good chance your family is dead.”

“But until I know—” you start, and your voice betrays you, cracking on the word. You swallow hard. “Why can’t you just let me go? What difference does it make?”

His strange dark eyes narrow at you. They’re blue, you’ve come to learn, but a dark shade that sometimes looks black. “Come with me. There’s something I want you to see.” You open your mouth to protest, and he lifts a hand. “Come with me first; if you still want to leave afterward, then I’ll take you through myself.”

You stare at him for a long moment before slinging your bag from your shoulders, pulling out a length of rope. You thread it through the split fence, yanking the metal back into place and tying it off. Once you’re done, you get back to your feet, and when Cowan turns to leave, you follow.

He takes you back to the quarantine zone. A few soldiers shoot you looks, since you’re out past curfew, but Cowan waves them all off. “She’s with me.”

You keep following him, heart hammering in your throat as he leads you into one of the buildings they’ve cleared out. Down a long hallway, a few more soldiers giving you looks, before Cowan ducks through a doorway, waving at you to follow.

“What is this?”

There are tables everywhere, cords spilling out of boxes, hooked along the walls. On the walls, all sorts of maps and notices, FEDRA orders staring back at you. A soldier sits in the middle of it all, headphones hooked over her ears, twisting the knobs on a gigantic radio, adjusting the antenna. When she sees you and Cowan standing there, she pulls off the headphones, a grin on her face. “Hey, Nick.”

“Melissa,” he nods, and juts his thumb towards you. “Can you set it for the Austin base? And give us a sec?”

She just nods, her face falling slightly, and twists more of the knobs. Her brow furrows a bit until she gets the right frequency, and then she gets up out of her chair, holds the headphones towards you. “Hit the red button to talk, and let go once you’re done, or else they can’t talk back.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the headset from her. You look at Cowan. “What is…?”

“It’ll connect you with the FEDRA base in Austin. You can give them the names, of the people you’re looking for. They’ll be able to tell you if they’re in the shelters there. If they’re not there, there’s no telling if they’re alive or dead, but at least you’ll know if they’re safe or not.”

Your brow furrows. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“I can’t reassure you,” Cowan says bluntly, and as you sink into the chair, he perches on the desk beside you. “No one can. The world is a fucking minefield, and while yes, I’ll admit you’re a good shot and you clearly know what you’re doing with that bat, you will die out there. If your family isn’t still in Austin, I can almost guarantee you, they are dead.”

You rip your eyes from his face, turning your gaze to the radio, the little flashing lights and the knobs. “You don’t know that.”

There’s a hand under your chin a second later, and Cowan turns your face towards him again, drags your eyes back to his. “I meant what I said. If you still want to leave, I will take you through the gate myself, no more bullshit. But talk to the base first. Find out if they’re still there before you throw your life away on hope.”

PREV | NEXT

[shiorimakibawrites]

Code of Conduct (Part 1 of VG)

Code of Conduct - Part I of A Vigilante and a Gentlemen

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem! Reader Word Count: 2,594 Chapter Summary: You were just trying to get to work. Warning(s): Sexual harassment, fear of sexual assault, swearing Series Masterlist My Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

Code of Conduct

When you saw the construction site on your way to work, you were tempted to find another route to work. Very tempted. But you were still learning your way around New York and didn’t want to get lost. Furthermore, you didn’t have time to get lost this morning. You couldn’t be late for work. You hated it but you needed this job. The rent wasn’t going to pay itself.

So you took a deep breath, trained your eyes on the sidewalk in front of you, and started walking at a fast clip. You hoped that you would be ignored. There was nothing eye-catching about your outfit – a knee length shirt, light weight blouse, both in neutral colors. You hoped it was too noisy for the sound of your heels to be heard. You hoped that these men would prove your worries misplaced by concentrating on doing their jobs.

Your hopes were dashed almost immediately. Almost as soon as you were in view of the crew, you heard a shrill whistle. This was quickly followed by a barrage of that mixed comments about your ass and your breasts with suggestions of various sexual acts you could perform with them. Your shoulders were hunched up around your ears and your face felt like it was on fire.

You didn’t know how many people were leering at you, how many were shouting. You didn’t want to look. You were already going to have those voices, those words echoing in your ears, when you tried to sleep tonight. You didn’t need their faces haunting your nightmares. You wanted to run but you couldn’t really run in these shoes. You were already felt humiliated enough without falling flat on your face. Or your ass. The best you could do was to hasten your pace.

Just a little further, you told yourself, seeing the end of the construction and the corner that would soon take you out of view.

Then one of the men – if the safety equipment he was wearing was any indication – stepped out on the sidewalk. Turned and planted himself in your path. You barely managed to avoid running into, skidding to a halt. The scrap of boot on concrete had you looking behind you. Another man dressed similarly to the first. Your heart began to pound. Your eyes looked frantically and your fear only grew when you realized the only way out involved running into traffic.

“Hey, bitch, don’t ignore me,” the man in front snarled. You might have called him handsome but the sneer and utter contempt in his eyes ruined any appeal he might have had. You also didn’t like how he seemed to enjoy your fear as he took a step closer. You wanted to take step back but you couldn’t risk getting any closer to other man behind you.

Movement out of the corner of your eye alerted you to someone else approaching. You risked a quick look and felt your heart sink even further as another large man walked toward you. You took a step back, preparing to run. You would take your chances with the traffic. The cars only might hurt you.

To your surprise, the approaching man stopped moving toward you. He was handsome through his nose looked like it had been broken at least once. His generous mouth was twisted into a scowl, dark eyes blazing with ice cold fury.

Fury, you suddenly realized, that wasn’t directed at you but the man standing in your way.

“Stop being an asshole and leave the lady alone, Jackson,” he said. Part of you wanted to shiver. He had a good voice, deep like a roll of thunder. It wasn’t a trained voice but there was a snap and bite of command to it. It reminded you of the voice that your uncle, who had been in the military, used whenever he was expected to be obeyed immediately.

The front man – Jackson – didn’t like being called an asshole. He took an aggressive step toward the newcomer and snarled, “What did you say to me Castigilione?”

“You heard me,” the newcomer – Castigilione – said. “Stop being an asshole and leave the lady alone. Right now.”

Castigilione wasn’t yelling. He was speaking just loud enough to be heard. But his voice was filled with warning, one that matched the look in those angry eyes. A look that screamed that Do not test me. You will not like the results.

The air between the two men crackled with barely restrained violence. On the surface, they seemed evenly matched. Both men were about the same size but there was something about Castigilione. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, a feeling that this man was a lot more dangerous than he looked. And he looked plenty dangerous already – a tall, well-built man with an eerily calm expression on his face and eyes filled with grim warning.

Jackson was a creep but he was apparently a creep with at least some self-preservation instincts. Because he was the first to look away, turn and go stomping back into the construction site. Muttering no doubt unkind words under his breath as he went. Jackson’s unnamed friend behind you was made of even less stern stuff because it only took one hard stare from Castigilione to send him packing. Likewise, the men who had stopped working to come over and harass you, one look and suddenly they remembered they had actual work they should be doing. Immediately. Somewhere else.

Castigilione turned his attention toward you. The look in his eyes immediately thawed, his expression shifting from that eerie calm to contrition. “I’m sorry about that, ma’am. I’ll see to it that this doesn’t happen again.”

You didn’t quite believe him. You believed his apology. He looked and sounded sincere. But you had heard such promises before. Sooner or later, they always got broken. But you had neither the time nor the desire to argue with him. So you just nodded acknowledgment and continued on your way to the office.

Work was work. Stressful. Your job title might have been office manager but the duties were closer to secretary-receptionist along with whatever data-entry jobs your company was currently short-staffed on. Which happened a lot since there was a pretty high turnover rate. First because the bulk of the staff were college students who left after the summer or they graduated. Second because it didn’t pay very well. Third the boss was an asshole.

You often thought about quitting but couldn’t without another job lined up. This job search had been slow going. Usually because by the time you got off, your eyes ached from staring at computer screens all day. So much that you couldn’t bare the thought of looking at them for another couple of hours to go through job listings, let alone fill out an application.

You had tried resting them by laying on your couch with a cool damp washcloth over your eyes. It had helped sooth your tired, often itchy eyes but you also almost always feel asleep.

Those were the good days. On the bad days, you walked home trying not to vomit from the migraine pounding through your skull. Those days you made sure the curtains were drawn in your bedroom, slipped on the noise-canceling headphones, and tried to get some sleep. Pain relievers sometimes eased the pain a little but the only effective cure you had found for your migraines was dark, quiet, and a nap.

It was frustrating. And not just on the finding-a-new-job front. But on the achieving your dreams front. You wanted to be a writer. You had finished writing the outline for your first novel. You were actually writing your first draft of it. But completing that first draft was slow going when you were so often too tired to do anything but eat dinner and go to sleep. You were trying to get up early and write in the morning before work but it seemed like everytime you got on a roll where the words were pouring out of your fingers and onto the page, the alarm on your phone would signal that it was time to get ready for your other job . . .

Writing wasn’t the only thing that you enjoyed that had been falling by the wayside lately. Your to-read stack of books had barely been touched and the stack of e-mail notifications of fan fics you had been subscribed to was equally bereft. Your other creative endeavors were even more neglected than your novel. You hadn’t been cooking much and you couldn’t remember the last time you baked.

Stop thinking like that, you told yourself sternly. All you are doing is making yourself feel worse.

You tried to steer your mind toward the positives. It might not be going as fast as you would like but you were making progress on that first draft. It was getting to be summer and the company always hired a bunch of college kids during the summer months so your work load should lightened for a little while. You had found a job listing last night that had looked promising and had e-mailed your resume before you could talk yourself out of it. Maybe you would actually cook dinner tonight. Buttered noddles might not be fancy but it wouldn’t be microwaved or take out.

It was time for lunch. You hadn’t brought anything with you and there were no vending machines in the building. If you wanted food, you would have to go out and get it. Something that filled you with dread. Getting to the nearby restaurants meant going by that construction site again. And very thought was making your stomach twist into knots.

You considered skipping lunch but you had only had an apple and coffee for breakfast this morning. You weren’t sure you would make until you got off work without getting hangry. As satisfying as it might be to tell your boss exactly what you thought about him, getting fired would be far less satisfying.

So you did your best to swallow your nerves and went out to get lunch. As you got closer to the construction site, the tension in your body grew. Your hand was clenched so tightly around the strap of your purse that the knuckles were white and the veins were popping into high relief. You were starting to feel so nauseous that you weren’t sure that you’d be able to eat.

Like this morning, you walked fast. Unlike this morning, you watched the men. It would probably mean more hollering once they realized they had gotten your attention but you couldn’t trust them to stay in work site. What if one of them tried again? And this time you didn’t see him in time to avoid being grabbed? It might be the middle of the day in a densely populated city but plenty of potential witnesses hadn’t stopped them before . . .

You tensed when one of the men noticed you. Your heart sank when you recognized the same man from this morning. Jackson the Creep. Saw the leering look and his mouth started to open . . . only to abruptly snap shut when Castigilione smacked him hard against the back of the head.

Jackson turned to (you assumed) glare at him but it didn’t seem to phase the other man. Who simply returned his (assumed) glare with one of his own. The same hard stare with ice cold eyes from this morning. Again, he didn’t say a word. Did nothing that could be considered threatening. Just stared at him and waited, his body looking relaxed and confident. Jackson said something – you couldn’t hear what – but whatever it was had little effect on Castigilione.

The only change was this grim, little smirk that spread across his face. Castigilione looked like the embodiment of ‘fuck around and find out.’

It, to put it very frankly, made him look very hot. Which, now you were taking a closer look, he didn’t really need help doing. Those blue jeans showed off powerfully built legs and that white tee shirt under his safety vest was clearly one size too small because it strained to contain those broad shoulders and torso, those muscular arms . . .

“Are you alright there, ma’am?”

You jumped at the voice. You looked up and realized that Castigilione was no longer in a staring contest with Jackson the Creep. Also that you had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and had been staring, completely oblivious of the other pedestrians jostling past you. You felt your face get warm with embarrassment.

“Fine! All good!” you managed to get out and cringed. Your voice had come out high-pitched and squeaky. Like a chipmunk. You wanted to melt into the ground. Why were you always so awkward and embarrassing around cute guys?

It really didn’t help your embarrassment to see his lips twitch in an obvious effort not to laugh. Or that smile that spread across his face was so stupidly adorable that it made your heart flutter. You scurried off before you could embarrass yourself further.

The possibility of embarrassment did nothing to prevent you from checking him out again when you walked back toward your office with your sub. You added a nice-looking ass to his list of other attributes. Along with the observation that he had the straight-backed good posture you associated with people who had been in the military. Maybe recently in the military since none of his hair could be seen from under that hardhat. Granted some men just preferred wearing their hair very short but recently military fit with the manners. Only military guys had ever addressed you as ‘ma’am.’

Another thing you learned during that trip was the Castigilione didn’t miss much. He noticed you watching him almost immediately. Your face warmed at getting caught staring. Again. Warmth that only increased when he winked at you.

Work conspired to put Castigilione out of your mind by getting pulled into extra work when a coworker called out sick. You managed to get it done but it was late by the time you did. Night had long since fallen. Now you were nervous for a different reason. You didn’t like walking alone this late at night. Yes, this was the Kitchen and all you had to do was scream. Then the Devil would come. You believed that. Trusted it. But rather hoped that you would never need it.

But you couldn’t afford to take a cab everytime you worked late. Not unless you wanted your meals to consist entirely of cheap ramen. If you were lucky. So you prayed to whoever might be listening and felt inclined to be kind to lone travelers, and walked home.

The construction site was dark and silent as you went past it. The men had long since downed tools and went home. You tried not feel disappointed about missing seeing Castigilione again. Unless he had quit at the end of the day, you would see him again. You went this way every day that you worked.

You would probably check him out every day too. And maybe, just maybe, you might work up the courage to actually talk to him. Have a real conversation where – knock on wood – you wouldn’t squeak like a chipmunk. Or otherwise make a fool of yourself. Maybe while having a coffee or something.

You shook your head, pushing those thoughts out of your head. This was not the time for daydreaming.

[errorryx]

blood moon – part three

read on ao3 | read part one | gemcyt/life series, 3.2k words

for this update, i scrapped an old scene that provided context but was otherwise very boring. if you're curious, there's a longer explanation available in my ao3 notes.

—

Bdubs woke up in the late morning to the sound of several people arguing in the next room. He recognized Grian and Cleo’s voices, so he got up to see what all the fuss was, only to run right into Pearl in the hallway.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Pearl said in a low voice. “I was just…”

“Snooping around?” Bdubs attempted to deliver this line with an intimidating glare, but he only managed a yawn.

“What? No, of course not! I just wanted—I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

“Why’s that?”

“Grian said you were an expert on building. I had a few questions for you.”

“Really?” He brightened. “What else did he tell you about me?”

“He said if I had any questions about making a base, I should go to you first.”

“Well, he’s absolutely right. I know everything there is to know about building. I built this base we’re standing in now, you know. It’s called a crastle.”

“It’s lovely,” Pearl said. “Probably my favorite base! Don’t tell Grian, though.”

“Oh, you flatterer.” Bdubs waved her off modestly. “I do my best. So what were your questions?”

“Do you know what a chimney is?”

…A chimney. Right. Yes, he definitely knew what that was. “It’s the top part of a fireplace,” Bdubs said with perfect confidence.

“And what’s a fireplace?”

“Why, it’s the place you put fire, of course!”

Pearl looked baffled. “Why would you need a place to put fire?”

This stumped him for a few moments. Why would anyone have a place for fire in their home? “It’s a very complicated question,” Bdubs said. “I could explain it, but it would take all day, and I’m sure you’d find it very boring.”

“Right, of course.” A small smile appeared on Pearl’s face. “I wouldn’t want to take up all of your valuable time.”

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

“I guess I want to know why you’ve all started building bases for yourselves in the first place,” Pearl said. “They’re very lovely, but I don’t understand what they’re for, exactly.”

“Oh, of course! You’re a pearl, so you’ve probably never had a space just for yourself, right?”

Pearl blinked. “I guess not.”

“When me, Cleo, Tango, and Impulse first got here, we found lots of old ruins,” Bdubs explained. “That’s where we got all our books. Let me see, where is it…” He got up and looked through the nearby bookshelf. “Here it is! Man-Made Wonders of The World.”

He presented the book to Pearl with a giddy smile. Pearl took it, flipping through the first few pages with delicate hands. “What’s a man?”

“It’s short for human,” Bdubs said. He was very proud of having figured that one out on his own. “They’re a type of life-form that used to live here on this planet a long time ago. Cleo thinks they’re extinct, because otherwise we would have found one by now.”

“And they built all these? Without gem technology?” Pearl’s eyes widened. “Where are these structures? Have you seen them all?”

“Well, that’s the problem,” Bdubs sighed. “This planet’s really big, and none of us have a working ship anymore. If we had one, we might be able to explore, but it would be a long journey on foot, and Cleo doesn’t believe me when I tell her I can make sure we don’t get lost.”

“That’s a shame,” Pearl said, so quietly that Bdubs almost missed it.

“Wait a minute!” he said. “You must have had a ship to get here, right? Where is it?”

Pearl looked very much as if an agate had just walked in and caught her goofing off. “Well, you see—”

“Bdubs!” Cleo called from the other room. “What are you shouting about?”

“Coming!” Bdubs answered. “Don’t go anywhere,” he told Pearl, before poking his head into the other room.

He was greeted with the sight of two unfamiliar gems, a rose quartz and a peridot, the latter of whom seemed to be attempting to hide behind Grian. (It wasn’t working.) “These are Lizzie and Mumbo,” Cleo told Bdubs. “They came here with Pearl, apparently. Pearl was just here a second ago, but…”

“Oh, she was talking to me!” Bdubs said. “We were having a wonderful little conversation about bases.” He glanced back into the hallway, but Pearl had already disappeared. “Huh. She must have wandered off.”

“Seems to be a habit of hers.” Cleo didn’t look too happy. “You entertain our guests for a minute, and I’ll go make sure she’s not rifling around in our storage.”

“Sure thing!” Bdubs’ arms instinctively went to perform the diamond salute, but he knew Cleo hated when he did that, so he disguised the gesture by clapping his hands together. “So how did you guys all get here? Where’s your ship?”

“They claim there’s no ship,” Cleo said on their way out of the room. Her tone of voice clearly indicated that she didn’t believe them.

“It crashed,” Lizzie told him very solemnly. “Horribly. Went up in flames and everything. Big disaster.”

“Funny coincidence,” Bdubs said, “that’s exactly what happened to ours.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pearl through the window, in the process of sneaking away. She met Bdubs’ gaze for a split second, and gave him a wink before vanishing from view.

—

Scott was out in the garden when Jimmy heard a visitor knocking at their door. Usually he waited for Scott to tell him what to expect, but it had been a while since they’d had any surprises, and besides, Scott rarely gave him a straight answer when it came to the future. So instead of waiting for him, Jimmy got up and opened the door by himself.

“Hi! You’re Jimmy, right?” Pearl stuck out her arm, and he took it, bewildered. “I just learned about handshakes from Bdubs. Did I do it right?”

“Probably,” Jimmy said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t know. What’s up?”

“You fuse a lot, right? I wanna talk about fusion.”

She must have seen Flower Agate at the party last night. “Yeah, sure. Come on in.” Jimmy stepped aside to allow Pearl to enter. She took a few steps, only to be stopped by the sudden appearance of a wall of ice between them.

“No,” Scott said evenly from where he stood at the back door, his arm outstretched. “Not happening.”

“Scott, what’s going on?” Jimmy backed away from Pearl, who looked just as confused as he felt. “Is something wrong?”

Scott ignored him. “I can’t tell what you’re planning,” he said to Pearl, “but it won’t work. You’re going to get yourself and a lot of other gems hurt.”

“What are you talking about?” Pearl asked. The ice only came up to her waist, but she didn’t try to step over it. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Her voice trembled on the words.

“Maybe not, but you will.”

“Is this about a future vision you saw?” Pearl said. “Just tell me what it was, that way I can—”

“I’m not taking that risk,” Scott said. “Just stay away from me and Jimmy.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Jimmy interrupted. “Can’t we talk about this? I’d rather have nobody get hurt, if that’s an option.”

“You and I can talk about this,” Scott told him. “But you—” he turned his attention back to Pearl, “—need to leave.”

Before Pearl could respond, Scott pushed the ice wall further forward, forcing her out the door. It slammed shut, and he hurried over to lock it.

“What has gotten into you?” Jimmy asked him. “Wouldn’t it have been a better idea to talk it out with her? What harm can one pearl do?”

“You really have to ask that question? You’ve met Joel.”

He couldn’t argue with that—Joel had caused a lot of trouble when he’d first arrived. But for the brief time they’d spoken, Pearl had been perfectly pleasant. “Can you at least tell me what’s going to happen?”

“I can’t,” Scott said.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t. There are too many possibilities right now. We’ll have to wait it out and see how things end up.”

Jimmy loved Scott, he really did, but sometimes he made Jimmy want to tear his hair out. “Then what’s the use of future vision if we still don’t know what to do?”

Scott didn’t answer him. Jimmy looked down to see a small ring of ice encircling the hem of his skirt.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said hastily, reaching to pry Scott free of the ice. He set him down on the couch. “Forget I said that. How about tonight? Can you see what happens tonight?”

“We go to the party,” Scott said slowly. “We fuse again. It’s—I think there’s a new fusion? It’s hard to see as Flower Agate.”

“So that’s good, right?” Jimmy asked. “We’re safe.”

“I think so.”

“We’re safe,” Jimmy repeated, with more confidence this time. “We’ll be fine.”

He hoped Scott believed him. He wasn’t sure he believed himself.

—

Mumbo was at a party with a bunch of rebel gems, and people were fusing.

At least, that’s what he thought they were doing. Pearl had warned him this would happen, but it was one thing to hear about it and quite another to see it for himself. Right now, the sapphire and the lapis lazuli were involved in a dance that made Mumbo want to politely avert his eyes—yet at the same time, he couldn’t look away.

“This is…a lot,” he said.

“Yeah,” Pearl agreed. “Are you freaking out? It’s okay if you’re freaking out. We can go back to the ship.”

“No, it’s alright!” Mumbo couldn’t imagine going back to the ship and letting this happen without him. “We can stay.”

The sapphire and lapis finally fused, and he got to watch in real time as their forms merged into one. It was slow and confusing and oddly beautiful. He let out a gasp when the ball of light finally solidified into a single figure, which stood taller than most of the other nearby gems.

“I’m trying to be supportive of Gri,” Pearl said. “I know he likes this. When he fused yesterday, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so…”

“Happy?” Mumbo guessed, searching for Grian in the crowd. He found him talking to a blue gem, with Scar somewhere off in the distance. Maybe Grian didn’t always fuse with Scar, then. Maybe he liked to branch out. “He seems really at home here.”

He’d officially reunited with Grian that morning, which had been wonderful, but…strange. Tense. Mumbo had been expecting everything to promptly return to normal once they found Gri, but it was becoming more and more obvious that that would not be the case. Even worse, Pearl seemed to be in denial about it, and Mumbo had been taking cues from her for long enough that he had no idea what to do.

His attention was pulled to the nephrite and green jasper he’d met earlier, who were—well, if the previous fusion dance had made Mumbo want to look away, this one made him want to bury his head in the ground. Still, he watched. He’d never seen anything even remotely like it. He couldn’t imagine himself ever making moves like that, but perhaps he could manage a twirl or two. Would he have to take off his limb enhancers?

“I don’t know what else to do,” Pearl said.  “Do you think if I fused with him, it would convince him to choose us instead of them?”

“Huh?” The second fusion dance had reached its culmination, but a third and a fourth had started up. Mumbo managed to tear his eyes away for a moment to look at Pearl. She had taken on an odd in-between color, which corresponded with the sun’s current position most of the way below the horizon. “Beg your pardon, did you say you were thinking of fusing with Grian?”

“I might as well try.” Pearl got to her feet. “I’ll just go ask him. No big deal, right?”

Mumbo was fairly certain that Pearl and Grian fusing would be a recipe for disaster, but he doubted Pearl would listen to him. “He’s been talking to that blue gem for quite a while now. You might be interrupting something.”

“I don’t care.” Pearl was fully red now. “We’re losing him. He’s in love with this planet. If we don’t offer him something better, he’s going to realize he prefers it to us.”

“Surely there’s a better way than—”

Pearl had already begun walking away before he could finish. Mumbo didn’t follow her. He’d seen enough of Pearl in her red state to know there wasn’t anything he could do except watch the disaster unfold in front of him.

“Boys,” a very sarcastic voice said behind him.

Mumbo looked up to see Rose Quartz—no, Lizzie—taking a seat in the grass beside him. “What’s a boy?” he asked.

“Not sure!” Lizzie said. “I heard Cleo say it earlier, just like that. I think it’s an insult.”

“Boys,” Mumbo repeated, trying to mimic her derision. He watched Pearl storm up to Grian and grab his arm, pulling him away from the blue quartz. “I really don’t understand pearls.”

“Me neither,” Lizzie said, with a little huff of exasperation. “Want a flower? I’ve been picking off the petals for fun.” She passed Mumbo a small white blossom with long petals, the stem severed halfway down.

Mumbo methodically plucked every third petal as he watched Pearl and Grian’s conversation from afar. He didn’t dare approach them, but he couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying.

—

“What are you even saying?” Grian said, throwing up his hands. “Have you gone mad?”

“Am I not good enough to fuse with?” Pearl asked. “You’ll fuse with spinels and quartzes but not me?”

“Pearl, I’m not—” Grian cast a glance at BigB, who was trying to mind his own business. It was proving to be a very difficult task. “I haven’t even fused with any quartzes yet, I’ll have you know. And besides, it’s not about what type of gem you are.”

“So why not? Spit it out.”

“I don’t think this is a good time.” Grian looked wary, but his mind was clearly made up. “Not while you’re still red.”

“That’s it, then?” Pearl threw up her hands. “You won’t fuse with me because I’m off-color?”

BigB winced at that one. “Woah, okay, I don’t think that’s—”

“Don’t you start,” Pearl snapped. “I’m talking to Grian right now.”

“Actually, I was talking to him first,” Grian said, before BigB could figure out a polite way to exit the conversation. “I know you’re still adjusting to living here, Pearl, but BigB didn’t do anything wrong.”

Pearl gave him a look of pure fury, then turned the same gaze on BigB, who immediately put up his hands in surrender. “Fine,” she said. “I get it. You’d rather hang out with your new friends.”

“Pearl, I don’t—”

“Whatever, Gri,” she said coldly, and turned on her heel, walking away into the dark.

Grian sighed. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he told BigB.

“Did you know her from somewhere?” BigB asked him. “That really didn’t seem like a conversation between two gems that met yesterday.”

“I guess there’s no point in keeping it a secret if she wants to have loud arguments in front of people,” Grian said. “Yeah, I know her. At least, I thought I did.”

“That bad, huh?”

Grian shrugged. “Something’s going on with her, but I have no idea what it is.”

“You think it has anything to do with the whole color-changing thing?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen her do that before.” Grian stared off into the woods where Pearl had just disappeared. “I’ve never seen any gem do that before.”

“Me neither,” BigB said. “I bet if anyone knows, it’s Ren. He’s seen a lot of weird stuff.”

“You think he’d know something?” Grian looked even more worried at the prospect. “I’m not sure if I should bother him with this.”

“I can ask him,” BigB volunteered. “I don’t mind.”

He looked around at the rest of the party, finding Ren lounging in the grass by himself. He was surprised Ren and Martyn hadn’t formed Red Diamond yet, considering all the other fusions that were going on, but he wasn’t about to question it. “Hey, Ren! Can I ask you something?”

“What’s up, dude?” Ren waved him over. “Is something wrong?”

“Not with me,” BigB said. “I just wanted to ask, have you ever seen a gem change color?”

“Hmm.” Ren took a moment to think. “I can’t say I have. Not permanently, at least.”

“What about temporarily?”

“Well, that’s a different story. I’ve seen it happen a few times.”

“You have? Really?”

“Sure, have, m’dude. It’s pretty funky.” Ren sat up straight, immediately towering over BigB. “Happens sometimes on planets with different types of suns. Most gems look about the same, but sometimes a gem will go a bit—well, I don’t want to say off-color, but—”

“So it’s just a trick of the light?” BigB asked.

“Sometimes,” Ren said. “Sometimes nothing else happens, but—haven’t seen it myself, mind you, but I’ve heard certain gems will start to go a little off the rails, if you know what I mean.”

BigB laughed. “Like we all did when we got here?”

“Hey! Not all of us!”

“You’re right,” BigB said. “It was mostly you and Martyn.”

Ren sighed. “I suppose you’re not wrong. Why were you asking about color-changing gems, anyway?”

“You’ve met the new gems, haven’t you?”

“Seen ‘em, yes. Not really had a chat with any of them yet. I was planning on introducing myself, but I was worried I might intimidate them with my size.”

“You could always shrink down,” BigB suggested. “But yeah, Grian and I just talked to Pearl, and she was kind of…the wrong color? Last I saw her she was close to the same color as Grian, but this time she was red. Is that normal?”

“She was red, you say?” Ren looked alarmed. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. Saw it with my own eyes. Grian said it happened last night, too.”

“That’s…not good,” Ren said. “Where is she now?”

“She got upset and ran off.” BigB pointed in the direction he’d seen Pearl disappear. Ren’s frown only deepened.

“We should probably go make sure she’s okay.” He got to his feet, then looked down at BigB and hesitated. “Maybe I’ll take your advice on that shrinking thing. Wouldn’t want to scare her.”

BigB watched as Ren shrank down to match his height. Amusingly, Ren’s gem stayed the same size, making it look huge on his chest. It was odd to be able to look Ren in the eye, but BigB found he quite liked it.

“Alright, you lead the way,” Ren told him.

“Just you and me?” BigB asked. “We’re not getting anyone else?”

“We don’t need a whole group for one pearl,” Ren said. “She’s not hostile, is she?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then I’m sure we’ll be fine!” Ren flashed him a grin. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

—

<Previous part | Next part>

(I'll update this fic with the next part when it's done, but you can save it on ao3 if you want to make sure you catch it!)

if you read this all the way through and enjoyed, please consider reblogging!

[corporatefrog]

╰┈➤ Welcome Back to the Channel part 15; red string of CONSPIRACY

✧.* featuring yn opening up to Kyle about their recent theories : ̗̀➛ notes - I always get nervous when I post written out parts (esp when it's a smau) but I felt like this needed to be in person for the effect. The next part will be mainly written too so get ready! tags - college au, superhero au, smau

series masterlist previous | next

It’s got to make sense. It HAS to make sense. If it doesn’t make sense I’ve spent the past week thinking about it and that’s a week wasted that I could’ve used to do something else or literally anything. 

My vision blurred as I stared at the cork board, eyes tracing the same track of red yarn from picture to news article to picture to news article to picture-

It was a vicious cycle that had trapped me for what felt like hours but could’ve been minutes. Or days. Time came and went in no consistent interval. I woke up, went to class, came home and stared at this board until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. 

I hadn’t made a video in a few weeks and I’d postponed the interview I had scheduled with Fast Pass with no new date set. Another lost opportunity because I couldn’t get my shit together. This is all I had right now. So I had to be right. Even if the theory made me sound like I’d never had a critical thought in my life. 

Which it does. Kyle didn’t even respond after you told him. That means no one believes you. It means your theory doesn’t make sense. This is BUTTERS we’re talking about.

Yeah but if it’s wrong, that means those people are right. Even if they’re just spreading hate on the internet to make themselves feel better, they have lives nonetheless. If I assisted someone who’s actively ruining people’s lives, does that make me just as bad as him? 

I shake the thoughts away. I’m not a bad person. I may make questionable choices but what college student doesn’t? It’s a part of growing up. So I have to be right about this. But what does that mean moving forward? What do I do knowing one of my best friends is a super villain? 

A stinging feeling begins behind my eyes as I feel the familiar pressure across the bridge of my nose that always happens before I start crying. 

Why can’t I figure this out? Why can’t I let this go? Why am I stuck-

A knock at the door startles me from my concentration. My head whips to the door as though it would open on its own to reveal who interrupted my time of focus. 

“Yn? Hello?” Kyle’s voice sounds from the other side of the door. 

Oh fuck. 

I looked back to the cork board which took up the majority of my living room. 

Why did I buy this again? I wondered, realizing how much space the board actually took up. The once tidy living room had become cluttered with empty coffee cups and takeout containers littered over the coffee table, end tables, and ground. Bits of red yarn sat on the ground from cut up scraps. Other lengths that had connected discarded evidence sat in a pile on a stool, waiting for the chance to be connected to the ever expanding web once again. 

“Are you in there?” Kyle’s voice rang through the apartment again.

I can’t let him in here! He’s going to think I’m some hermit conspiracy theorist!

…Well I kind of am a conspiracy theorist.

Deciding to ignore that realization, I lunged for the nearest piece of trash (a 3 day old Chipotle bowl that I just kept forgetting to walk the 3 feet to the kitchen trash) and tossed it into the garbage can. Speed cleaning the apartment lifted a weight from my shoulders, making the small living room feel less claustrophobic. 

Wow, I feel better already. Maybe I should open the blind and run a vacuum through real quick- KYLE!

I spun and walked toward the door, fixing my appearance in the 10 second walk to the door to the best of my ability. Even if I’ve been stuck in my apartment for a week and a half, I didn’t want to look like it. 

Unlocking the door, I put on my best “I’m totally fine and mentally stable!” face.

“Hey, kyle!” 

If I looked bad, Kyle somehow looked worse. The usually maintained curls frizzed into a blur atop his head and his shirt was clearly on backwards with a Fruit of the Loom logo showing proudly at the base of his neck. His eyes darted around the hallway and into my apartment through the sliver he could see through the cracked door. 

The fuck is up with him?

I think while also wearing a shirt backwards after throwing away a week’s worth of take out food and diluted iced coffee as though I was any better off. 

That’s not what we’re focusing on right now. I’m perfectly stable, duh. 

“You good?” I asked, leaning against the door frame to keep him from seeing my conspiracy board. 

Kyle raised an eyebrow, “You’re the one that texted me an essay about your theories then called yourself an asshole.”

“Oh those?” I forced out a laugh, waving a hand to brush off the concerns, “Those were just joke, duh! You took those seriously?” 

“They sounded pretty serious to me.” Kyle sighed, running a hand through his ragged hair in a way that somehow didn’t catch his fingers in the mess of curls, “Can I come in? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

My eyes darted back into the apartment. The giant cork board stuck out like a neon sign saying “A MENTALLY ILL PERSON LIVES HERE!” I couldn’t let someone see me like this. Texting Kyle in the first place was a mistake. He’ll think I’m not thinking clearly, that I’m not someone to be trusted. The work I put into being reliable yn who’s always there to be a person you can lean on will be ruined. No one will ever trust me again. 

But don’t you want someone else to know? Just knowing that someone else sees your stress instead of shoving it down until it spills over?

The thought alone of telling someone about these thoughts, of sharing the burden I’d created for myself, cleared the clouds fogging my mind. He can be someone who will listen. He can be a witness so I’m not the only one who knows that I’m struggling. 

I stepped back, pulling the door open so Kyle could step through. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.” I started, hoping to mediate the embarrassment of letting someone into my stress lair. 

Kyle shook his head as a small smile tugged at his lips, “It’s no problem, if you’ve ever seen stan’s room-” His sentence died out as he noticed the cork board. You know, the giant one covering my living room wall filled with pictures and newspaper clipping connected by red yarn. 

“Oh.” Was all he said. 

I shut the door behind him. Kyle jumped slightly at the sound, turning his gaze to follow me as I walked. He doesn’t say a word. Only staring at the cork board, the remains of trash I’d missed on my quick clean, and my own disheveled appearance. 

Might as well address the elephant in the room.

“Do you want to talk about the cork board?” I asked, continuing before he had a chance to reply, “Let's talk about the cork board because I’ve been dying to talk about this cork board all day.” Walking up to the board, I pointed to the center where two photos sat: one of the supervillain Professor Chaos and the other of elementary education major Butters Stotch. 

“Professor Chaos. His name keeps coming up over and over again. Everyday Call Girl is sending out alerts about this guy,” I move my hand to point at different tweets I’d printed out and pinned to the board, “Professor Chaos takes hostages in a McDonalds Play Place for a birthday party. Professor Chaos attempts to sign himself as the mayor of South Park using a fake charity petition. Professor Chaos hijacks the news station to declare the weather today ‘a 100% chance of Chaos’. This entire corner is just tweets about Professor Chaos!” 

Kyle sits down on the couch without a word, eyes still following my every move. I start pacing across the living room. 

Why isn’t he saying anything? Is it because he doesn’t believe me? 

“So I start to look closer at his actions, his way of speaking, everything that makes Professor Chaos who he is. But it’s around this same time that I start to text a certain person more because we have a philosophy class together.” I return to the board and point to screenshots of text messages. 

“Here Butters talks about getting grounded for eating two cookies and here Professor Chaos talks about being grounded for wearing his villain outfit then got grounded for trying to get ungrounded.” I look between the cork board and Kyle, trying to justify my hypothesis with the urgency in my voice, “No one gets grounded as much as Butters. You know that. I know that. Everyone knows that!”

“But that’s not even the smoking gun!” I exclaimed, pointing to another corner of the board, “Last week, Butters missed our philosophy class- which he has never done- and when I texted him, he said he was at a showing of Frozen on Ice with his mom in Denver. But when you look at the schedule for Frozen on Ice,” I pause for effect, “they don’t start shows for this season in Denver until next month. Right day, wrong month.” 

“But guess what was going on last week? Professor Chaos attacks main street and is tackled by Super Craig. Landing him with another defeat and some pretty gnarly bruises to boot. The kind of bruises you’d need to miss class to cover up.” I finished with a sigh, glad to finally tell someone the monologue that had been racing through my head for the past week. 

I brace myself for Kyle’s response. His eyes are locked onto the cork board and my scribbled sticky notes shouting various exclamations of discovery and panic. With a deep breath, he levels his gaze on me. 

What is he thinking? Is he trying to find a nice way to say I’ve lost it? Have I lost it?

“Yn-”  He begins but I cut him off. 

“I know it sounds crazy, okay? I know it sounds like I’m reaching by claiming the only truly nice person I know is the town’s resident fucking super villain-” 

“You’re right.” 

Kyle’s response blasts through my clouded mind. I physically take a step back as my face morphs from frantic stress to confusion. 

“What did you just say?” I ask, shoulders remaining tense as a hand twists into the fabric of my shirt. Kyle sighs, looking away and muttering something to himself. He raises a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes before looking back at me. 

“You’re right about Professor Chaos.”

The words I hoped to hear, the words I thought would finally take the weight off my shoulders and release the stress that had gripped my nerves, only intensified the panic in my mind. 

“You mean you believe me, right?” I started slowly, trying to clarify the simple language mistake Kyle made. 

“No, I mean you’re right.”

Before my mind could begin to wrap around the first revelation, Kyle continued speaking. 

“I can’t tell you. I’m not allowed to. I shouldn’t even be telling you this. But I know someone who can, or at least someone who has permission.”

I began shifting my weight from foot to foot, holding back the urge to begin pacing again as I ran a hand through my hair. 

“You know how cryptic you’re being right now, right?” I said. 

“Yeah I know.” Kyle's leg began to bounce as his own nerves began to peak through, “I’m walking a very thin line and I’m trying not to get us both into major trouble.” He looked up to me, trying to communicate a message I couldn’t understand. 

“With who?” 

“Someone with a lot more authority than me. Someone who can explain things more if you come with me.” Kyle urged. 

What does that even mean? Let’s not forget that he said we were right. How does he know that? Why does he know that?

My thoughts fought against each other to be the one addressed first but with so many questions, it felt impossible to single out one from the mass. Everything was happening so fast. Everything changed so fast. When did the mood of the room become so urgent? Did it always feel like this? 

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to pause the thoughts. Nothing is going to get done at this rate. So I need to take the first step forward. 

“Okay… yeah.”I started slowly. Kyle nodded and began to stand but I held up a hand for him to wait, “But only if you promise we can get ice cream afterwards.”

Kyle looked at me with an exasperated expression, “Are you seriously using this to get free ice cream?”

This is what he’s surprised by? 

I raised my eyebrow at him and pointed to the chaotic corkboard, “You just told me my batshit conspiracy theory was right and now you want me to follow you to an unknown location to talk to an unknown person. Fuck yes I want free ice cream.” 

Kyle considered the cork board for a moment before sighing. 

“Fine. We’ll get ice cream.”

I muttered a quick “Fuck yeah.” to myself in celebration before looking back at Kyle, 

“Okay I’ll get my coat.” 

I grabbed my jacket and followed Kyle out the door, not nervous about where I’d be going, but scared that I wouldn’t like what I found.

taglist [reply to be added]: @sula0kin @lacuna-at-dawn @anglettecolours @cocolena@sukisprettyface @feverish-dove @sweetadonisbutbetter @hand-writxen@mishstuff@sophtophie @triphovia  @lacunaanonymoused @inkedintothepaper @toodeepintofandoms@mmmaackerel @sillybilly-123@n0tangeliccc

[saras-devotionals]

Quiet Time 3/7

What am I feeling today?

dreamt again despite my best efforts, prayed over it a lot. feel sad, let down. traveling today but my parents can’t come with us. tried my best but my dads in pain and I sympathize. I know he wishes he could have come and it’ll be hard to be away from them, so yeah overall just sad and defeated. at least I get to go back to my home city 🥲

Bible Plan: Healing What’s Hidden

Prisoners of Hope

Trauma is subjective. If you feel as if what you went through was traumatic, it probably was. However, if you feel that your experience wasn’t traumatic, you may or may not be correct because trauma is tricky. It hides in the dark and trips us up when we least expect it. It tries to convince us that what we experienced was normal and to minimize it while stacking itself up against someone else who “had it worse.”

I tend to minimize a lot of what I have experienced by saying it wasn’t that bad. A therapist of mine once told me that just because someone may have had it worse, that does not erase my experience. I still endured pain and it still had an effect on me.

By its simplest definition, trauma is a deeply disturbing experience or series of experiences. If you have been abused (mentally, physically, spiritually, or sexually), been neglected, lost a loved one, survived an assault or natural disaster, or even lived in close proximity to someone who has experienced trauma—you have experienced trauma.

There’s a book I bought about a year ago. I bought it because upon reading the title, I started crying.

This stood out to me. I find myself as a very science based person. I’m in nursing and believe that there’s a lot of clinical reasoning behind what goes on in our bodies and minds. I have still yet to read this book but I want to because a therapist had also brought this up. My parents (especially my father) experienced a lot of trauma in their lives. And even if we ourselves have not experienced it, that trauma does carry on in our genetics (she used the example of how children of holocaust survivors had ptsd even though they themselves never experienced the horrors their parents did).

The first step in healing trauma is acknowledging its existence. We have to come to grips with the reality that what we experienced wasn’t normal. When we dismiss or excuse our trauma as simply a regular part of life, we deny its impact on us. We end up looking for remedies rather than getting to the roots of the problem.

This is something I want to continue working on. I spent some time talking to the women leader for the campus ministry about my life and experiences and she brought up that there were times when it sounded like I wanted to cry but denied it and therefore I was numbing myself. I acknowledge that now. A lot of times, I’ve tried over and over to relive and fix the trauma that I’ve gone through and in turn believed I healed. It hurts less sure, but it still hurts. And I think I just have a hard time discerning what’s healing and what’s numbing.

All around the world, God is redeeming what seems irredeemable: “He who was seated on the throne said, ‘Behold, I am making all things new’” (Revelation 21:5). Notice that God says he is making all things new, not that he is making all new things. God’s innate reaction to brokenness is restoration.

This is very comforting. He isn’t going to scrap us aside, but He’s going to restore us with what we already are.

Healing from trauma probably won’t bring you back to your pre-traumatized self because the scars will always be there. But the scars will remind you of what you’ve overcome. Someday, they will be a powerful testimony to others of what God has done in your life. There’s beauty in this kind of renewal. There’s richness in things that have been truly restored rather than cosmetically dressed up. In Zechariah, we read that we are “prisoners of hope” because God promises to restore what we have lost.

With this, I just want to further distinguish what in my life am I cosmetically dressing up and what has actually been healed in me. I feel as if my mind won’t allow me to go there even when I try. It’s like there’s a road block and blank slate even though I know there’s something behind it, I just don’t know what it is.

God knows exactly which parts of you are wounded and what will be required in order for them to heal. He has restored millions of wounded minds, bodies, and souls throughout history, and he is paying special attention to your wounds right now. He is preparing them for healing.

It’s reassuring that He knows because I don’t. I want Him to reveal it to me. What am I running from? What is my mind protecting me from? Why can’t I access it? Why can’t I open that wound? Is it a matter of time? Where I am in my life? I just have so many questions and no one can help me with it because no one knows me besides me and I don’t even know, so only God does.

Isaiah 43:18-19 NIV

““Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”

Heavy on this! I can have the habit of dwelling on the past, especially right now. I’m nostalgic, I miss some of my past, it saddens me knowing some things will never again be as they were. However! My hope should be what God reassures, He’s doing a new thing! In order for the new to come about, the old has to go!

Zechariah 9:12 NIV

“Return to your fortress, you prisoners of hope; even now I announce that I will restore twice as much to you.”

I had a hard time understanding this so I went searching for commentary:

“Prisoners of hope” has reference to those who patiently waited for the kingdom of God. Paul spoke of himself in this terminology, “Hope of Israel, for which I am bound with this chain” (Acts 28:20); and in Galatians 3:23, he wrote:

Before faith came, we were kept in ward under the law (that is, prisoners), shut up unto the faith which should afterward be revealed. This is exactly the metaphor Zechariah used in Zechariah 9:12; and, although Paul did not quote this passage, he was surely familiar with it.

I think it’s just the hope that we have in our restoration in Christ. He washes away all sin and we are raised to a new life because of him.

Revelation 21:5 NIV

“He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.””

I just want to get out of the way that my initial reaction was to laugh because of that meme where spongebob is like “write that down! write that down!!”

but besides that! yeah that really also shows the importance of the word of God. This is all written down for our benefit, so that we may know him better and know that everything that’s in the Bible is trustworthy and true. We can trust the promises He makes and as such relates to this in which He is making everything new!

[dionysia-does-stories]

Meech's Doll

Cringetober 2023, Day 19: Dolls/Puppets/etc

On AO3

Rating T -1,355 words - Tortall - Yuki & Kell

Summary: Newly wed, Yuki comes to New Hope for the first time. She tries to settle in and be accepted amongst the fort with mixed results. But she has an ace up her sleeve, new fabric scraps to be the hair for Meech's bald doll all the way from Lalasa in Corus.

Story:

A crowd gathered around New Hope’s gates to welcome the newest Lady of Queenscove. A wave of shock had crashed over the camp at the idea that Neal was getting married. It was swiftly followed by the fact that the bride intended to stay in New Hope until the end of the war. It had been the only thing anyone gossiped about. Then, the final piece of information—that the bride was Kel’s other best friend—had trickled its way through the refugees and everyone had stopped finding it all that scandalous. Of course, any lady friend of Keladry’s would be a bit odd.

Kel had chosen to take that as a compliment and not an insult. She was excited to have Yuki in the fort. Some of the other fort commanders had bemoaned the safety risk of having a lady on the frontlines (they’d specified a proper lady and not a lady knight). Kel did worry about her friend, but she knew Yuki had a good head on her shoulders and wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.

Yuki wasn’t worried about raids or attacks at all. The only fear that Yuki seemed concerned about was that the refugees at New Hope would hate her. It was hard in so many ways to be an immigrant to a kingdom, even one like Tortall. Yuki was always having to brush of snide comments or invasive questions. She did it with grace, the edges of her eyes crinkled with laughter. But Yuki knew that Kel (and Neal) cared deeply for the people of New Hope.

Kel had tried every angle she could think of to reassure Yuki that the refugees wouldn’t hate her. And that even if they did Kel and Neal wouldn’t think any less of her because of it. When that had failed, Kel had tried to rope Neal into reassuring Yuki. That was lost cause from the start. Kel hadn’t heard Neal say a single sensical word in three weeks. But Yuki married him anyway. Yuki was brave. New Hope was a place that appreciated brave people.

The whispering as they entered through the gates didn’t set things off well. Rude comments about Yuki’s un-Tortallan facial features interspersed with suggestive comments about her “exotic” beauty. There was a part of Kel that wanted to lecture them all about their behavior like a strict mother. She held herself back only because she knew her interference wouldn’t do Yuki any favors. Neal was happily oblivious, which was probably for the best.

That evening, Kel stopped by Yuki and Neal’s room. Saying a silent prayer to The Goddess that she wasn’t interrupting anything, Kel knocked on the door.

Yuki answered, her eyes lighting up when she saw it was Kel.

“Are you settling in okay?” Kel asked.

Yuki nodded her head. “Very much so.” A little mischief colored her tone as she added, “I’ve been thinking I should join your glaive practice in the morning.”

Neal called, “It’s too early!” from his desk. He didn’t lift his head from the list he was reading.

“Just because you want to sleep until midday,” said Yuki, “doesn’t mean I have to.”

“You’ll wake me up,” he complained. “Also,” his voice took on a sappy quality, “I’ll miss you.”

Kel loved her friends and was happy they loved each other. But she did wish they would stop flirting in front of her. “You would be welcome to join us,” she told Yuki. “I could use the help to be honest.”

“It’s settled then,” Yuki said, ignoring the hurt animal sounds coming from her husband.

Kel smiled. “I’m heading to the mess hall. I don’t know if—“

“—I’ll join you,” Yuki jumped in.

“I won’t be done for another half hour,” Neal said.

“Then you can join us when you are finished.” There was determination in the how Yuki was holding her shoulders. She wasn’t going to hide in her rooms, like a delicate fairytale princess in a tower.

Kel led the way. Yuki kept up a steady stream of conversation about the goings on in Corus and how Kel’s family was doing. She showed Yuki the window that the cooks served meals from. Yuki made pleasant small talk with the cooks as she thanked them for her food.

Kel sat at a table of freed convict soldiers. As graceful as a butterfly, Yuki perched on the bench across from Kel. The soldiers didn’t know what to do with themselves. Even if they had met nobility before, it was unlikely they’d ever seen a Yamani lady.

Yuki showed her talent for directing conversation to the fullest. She introduced herself to each of them, revealing that she already knew several by name from Neal’s letters. She talked about how terrible Neal’s handwriting was—a unifying complaint among anyone who had read it.

Just as all seemed well a young woman walked past at a fast clip muttering just loud enough for the table to hear “whore”. Kel rose to follow her. Yuki grabbed Kel’s arm, gesturing for her to sit.

“She can’t speak that way to you,” Kel said.

Yuki shook her head. “I will survive. Besides, how many times have you been called a whore? You should know it’s the insult of the unimaginative.”

Kel sat back down. “But I put up with it because I wanted to be a knight and the insults are part of the price I pay for that dream. You are the furtherest thing from a whore.”

Yuki made a hum of dissent. “I am a newly wed woman,” she said, wicked and full of implication.

The men around them were all guffawing. The double entendre itself wasn’t particularly dirty but hearing it from Yuki made it the most hysterical thing in the world to them.

Kel smiled, relaxed. She noticed Toby and his friends. She waved them over. The children presented themselves in a gaggle. They bowed and curtsied to Yuki, a gesture that Kel truely appreciated.

“Yuki is trained with the glaive,” Kel told them. “She’s going to help out at our practices.”

There was a soft chorus of “thank you”.

Yuki greeted them all. Then she addressed Meech specifically. “Are you Meech?” she asked kindly.

Meech furrowed his brow, confused. He nodded confirming his identity.

“Neal told me that your doll lost all her hair saving everyone from Balyce.” Yuki reached in to a cleverly hidden pocket in her skirt. She pulled out to bundles of high quality silk scraps. “Lady Keladry has a friend who makes dresses and she gave me some replacement strands of hair for your doll.”

Meech’s attention was riveted on Yuki as she showed him the bundles. “If you don’t mind me taking your doll for a little while, I can sew it on for you.”

Meech held the doll out to her without further prompting. Yuki carefully laid it in her lap.

“There’s a decision to be made,” she warned him. “I have this bundle with fiery red hair, which I’m told your doll originally had.”

Meech nodded.

“But I have this other color,” Yuki held the bundle oddly close to Kel’s face. If it had been anyone but Yuki, Kel would have batted their arm away.

Yuki continued, “You can see this one is a soft brown somewhat golden color.”

The men were snickering quietly to themselves and Meech’s eyes were huge. Kel hadn’t figured out the joke, although she knew there was one. It had something to do with the color of the silk which was—

The new silk for Meech’s doll was the exact same shade as Kel’s hair.

Meech pointed to it. “I’d like that one. please.”

Yuki let her lips show a smile. An impolite behavior in the Yamani Isles but an expected nicety in Tortall. “I like this one too,” she whispered like they were sharing a secret.

The doll premiered it’s golden brown hair shortly there after. It and Yuki were a smash hit around New Hope. Someone carved the doll a tiny glaive to bring to morning practice. Kel smiled every time she looked at it. She loved her friends.

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 13: "You weren't supposed to get hurt" Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Jeryk Motplowe, Bekwyl; background WoLs from @lesenbyan Triggers/Content warnings: n/a

Bekwyl lies in the shade, curled up on his side, unwilling to move for fear the strange red drahn woman might come back and finish the job - that he's even alive at all must've just been an oversight. He's sure she thinks she finished him off; he's just glad she's wrong. That wicked axe of hers! Nothing like the glorified woodcutter's hatchet he's touting around.

He'd lain there waiting for her to take his bloody head off with it. Only when he'd opened his eyes, she was nowhere to be seen.

Thaffe and Jeryk, he thinks, guilty and terrified all at once.

What must've happened to his friends? He didn't hear any screaming. Maybe he'd heard the distant sound of a scuffle, somewhere far off - but that could just as easily be the coyotes scrapping over territory or food. He remembers how swiftly the axe-wielding woman had put him down - not even a sound out of her, like she hadn't even broken a sweat. Like she killed men like him every day.

What chance would Thaffe and Jeryk stand? They weren't even armed. Hells, Thaffe doesn't even have so much as his miner's kit on him. It's supposed to be Bekwyl's job to keep an eye out while they're working; he's supposed to keep the other two out of danger...

He'd been the first to notice the strangers creeping around the railyard, poking around at the old machinery. He'd told Thaffe and Jeryk to hide - and to stay hidden - while he circled around to the storehouses, trying to plan his angle of attack. There were six of them; Bekwyl can't remember ever seeing so many people wandering into the Hills of Amber all at once. Two men, strangely dressed. Three women, even more strangely dressed. And one girl.

And nearly every one of them, armed.

Not merchants. Too intent on the remnants of the trolley yard to be just passing through - and passing through to where?

He'd pondered his odds, knowing full well it was a lost cause; fighting people isn't like fighting the occasional gnome or knocker in the mines - and these people looked experienced, like they knew how to fight, how to kill. Maybe... maybe if he tried to distract them, got them to split up...

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the red woman had appeared. Bekwyl barely had enough time to draw his axe before she was on him like a force of nature, and in two mighty swings that didn't seem like they should be possible from such a small woman, she'd taken him down... and there she left him, presumably for dead. He gingerly feels at the worst of his injuries, prodding gingerly.

His fingers come back clean. No blood.

That doesn't seem possible. Surely she must've...

"There you are!" Bekwyl starts at the unexpected voice, half-anticipating the return of his attacker... but no, it's just Jeryk, looking a bit scuffed, but none the worse for wear. Cheery as ever. He kneels next to Bekwyl. "You're still in one piece, right? Why are you still laying there?"

Godsdamned idiot- "They could still be around! Get back into hiding!"

A quizzical look passes over Jeryk's face. Then he smiles again. "Oh. No, it's alright; it was all just a misunderstanding. They want to use the trolley, not steal parts from it. Thaffe's taking them back to Twine now - maybe they'll bring Magnus around."

"Did you hit your head?!" He tries to sit up, still shaking with nerves. "One of them tried to kill me!"

"Well, we did try to attack them without knowing their intentions, Bekwyl," Jeryk says, as if he's the one who can't fully grasp the situation. "You weren't supposed to get hurt; they just had questions about the trolley, that's all."

Gods, Jeryk. The strangers'd said the magic word - trolley - and suddenly they were the man's best friends.

Bekwyl prods at his aching head again, wondering if maybe she had cracked his skull and drained him of all sense. "What happened with you and Thaffe, then?"

"We fought too," Jeryk says, beaming, with more pride than his obvious defeat warrants. Bekwyl's never so much as seen Jeryk throw a punch. "Of course, if we'd known they were just after information on the trolley-"

"Why do they even-" Bekwyl shakes his aching head. "Never mind. Magnus'll never help them."

Jeryk stands, brushing off his coat. "He could," he says, in all his unquenchably boundless optimism. "You never know. Can you stand?" He offers a hand, and after a moment's stubborn reluctance, Bekwyl takes it, letting his friend haul him back to his feet.

He sways, dizzy - she might not've cracked his skull, but the woman had whacked him over the head with an axe. "Ugh-"

"There you go, you can lean on me," Jeryk says, wrapping one of Bekwyl's arms over his shoulders, supporting him, as they begin the walk back home. It galls Bekwyl not a little to need the support, from little Jeryk of all people - he's supposed to be the one keeping the others from harm - but he's already been fully humbled today; the last thing he needs is to fall off the tracks and finish what the red woman started.

He sighs. "So who are they, anyway?"

"I haven't the foggiest," Jeryk replies, unbothered. "They say they need to reach Nabaath Areng."

"Why?"

"They didn't say, but they do need the trolley to do it!"

"You're hopeless, you know that?"

Jeryk hums a little, smiling. "They're very kind, once you get to know them a little," he says, carefully maneuvering both of them over the gap between the tracks. "I hope Magnus takes a shine to them, as well; we might just see the trolley repaired after all, if he does."

"Is one of them going to pull a hunk of leonine out of their-"

"Who knows? One's a mage. Have you ever met a proper mage before?"

Gods, but his head hurts, and Jeryk's a headache unto himself, no matter how fond Bekwyl is of the odd little bastard. Why couldn't Thaffe have been the one to come looking for him; at least Thaffe might be able to give him a straight answer...

"What happened to you?"

The voice makes him look up. They've reached Twine, just in time to catch Kee-Satt of all people heading out - out to the mines, no doubt, on whatever secret errand had brought the Kholusian mystel all the way out to Twine...

Bekwyl's tongue ties itself in knots. "A... accident at the..." He clears his throat. "Accident at the railyard." He adds, "Good luck out there." Gods know the ronso miners won't spare the mystel half a kind word.

The man narrows suspicious violet eyes at him, and says nothing, stalking off with his head held high.

"'Good luck out there,'" Jeryk teases, grinning. "You should say something, you know."

"Say what? That he looks like a scrawny, shaved ronso? Shush, you." He untangles himself from Jeryk, and stalks home, nursing his wounded head and pride all at once.

[angeldrawsstuffs]

The Letter

WOO! Time for a Pixie Hollow AU snippet!

Context: After an… eventful encounter with Smith’s family on the mainland, Red brings his fellow Kai a letter from his little brother! The only problem is that Monty knows of Smith’s… unfortunate current height.

“Focus.” Smith told himself as he bangs his hammer against the glowing hot metal.

For the short amount of time he’d been in Pixie Hollow, he had to admit: there was a lot of metal available for him to work with. Plus, he needed something to pass the time while he waits to hear back from Red about the others.

First Master it’s been over a week he’s been stuck here and he hasn’t been able to get so much as a peep to the mainland.

Although, it’s not as if the hollow wasn’t accommodating. After all, he has his own house with a forge to use his “talent”. Not to mention the little lost trinkets of his family the others found lying around being used decor. Like Cole’s lost cassette tape currently being used as shelving.

…First Master, he’s bad at focusing.

Suddenly, as if his focus wasn’t broken enough, an eager knock comes to his window.

Red.

If there’s anything he’s learned, it’s that knocks on the window mean that Red has arrived.

Smith quickly sticks the work in progress blade back into the burning coals and part runs, part flutters over to the window to allow his eager counterpart in.

“Smith!” Red smiled at him.

“Hey, Red.” He responded with a small wave, “How’d things go? Did you find them?”

“Found and got put in a jar by one.”

Smith sighs, “Who?”

“I think he said his name was Jay..?”

“Yeah, that checks out.” Smith motions for Red to come inside; “Now come on in, it’s weird talking through the ceiling.

Red nods and quickly obliges, though he struggles to pull what appears to be a sheet of paper inside. But not just a scrap of paper like Smith had gotten used to seeing around here.

No, this was a full sized, human piece of paper.

“They told me to bring you a little something!” Red explains, still trying to pull the paper in, the roof creaking unnervingly.

“What if we just read it… outside? You know, not in my house with the very on fire forge?”

“Oh. Right- I’d fly backwards if I could.” Red said as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Smith has to remind himself that people apologize differently here in the hollow and that “I’m sorry” isn’t really said.

Unless your name is Smith Forge, that is.

Red flies back out the window just as Smith shuts it and elects to go out the door. You know, the thing built specifically for entering and exiting buildings.

Then again, he’s pretty sure by now that Red’s allergic to doors.

Moving on from weird allergies, upon exiting his temporary home, Smith finds Red already doing his best to unfurl the paper.

“Need any help?” Smith asks- well, he wouldn’t say he really ‘asked’ more as he told Red he was going to help. Or, at least tried to.

“I- I got this!” Red assured, very much not getting it.

Smith, after a few failed attempts (he’s still a beginner, cut him some slack), flies up and grabs the other end of the folded paper, quickly getting over how large it is compared to his small size.

Together, the two Kais manage to unfold the paper, revealing colored pencil markings and handwriting Smith could recognize a mile away.

“Did my Lloyd set you up to this?” Smith asks, giving Red a knowing smirk.

“Yup. He was really excited too.”

“Well then, I guess I can’t keep the kid waiting.”

With some assistance from Red, Smith flies up higher to read the large lettering on the paper.

‘Hey Kai! I’d I’ve missed you!’

Aw. Smith’s missed him and the others too.

‘Red told us about your little problem over here.’

…That wasn’t intentional, right? Because the word “little” is clearly bolded.

Whatever, it’s not like Lloyd would just write a whole letter to make cheeky short jokes about Smith being only five inches tall…

Oh, who is he kidding? This is his little brother he’s talking about. He absolutely would write a whole letter to do that.

‘But don’t worry! Zane says we’ll find a way to come see you shortly.’

Ok, yeah. This is absolutely on purpose.

‘Anyway, I can’t believe Dad would go so low and send you away! I know your anger is short, but hold on, we’re coming!’

This FSM-damn kid…

‘Are you ever short on money? I don’t know what fairies use as currency.’

Currency? Does Lloyd even know that word?

…

Jay. Jay ducking helped with this, didn’t he?

‘Keep holding your head up high, or, as much as you can’

Perfect, teenage-level punctuation?

Yeah, this is partially Jay’s work.

‘I only have a bit more room, so I’m sorry this was so short.’

Oh that was just a cheap one.

‘Anyway- bye Kai! We miss you!’

Smith sighs fondly and is about to roll the paper back up before anyone else sees it, but a message at the bottom is small text catches his eye-

‘P.S. Could you write back? I know Red said you’re ok, but I wanna hear from you.’

…Right. They haven’t heard a peep from him in a week and now they’re being told he’s been turned into a tiny fairy in a magical fairy village.

First Master why did he not think of that-?

The two Kais work together to fold the paper back up, and, just as Smith and Red finish, a smirk befalls Smith’s face.

Oh.

Oh he just had an idea.

If Lloyd and Jay want to make fun of his size, fine. They can do that, they’ll just have to deal with the consequences of having a tiny brother.

He sincerely hopes they can read tiny paper.

[coolhandluke]

I tend to think of the Of Man album as falling in the latter days of Cool Hand Luke. (Although, as CHL keeps putting out music this gets more confusing.) But it actually began in 2005. For context, that was one year after the release of The Fires of Life and 6 years before Of Man was released. I don’t remember exactly what I wrote first or when the ideas started coming to me, but I know for sure the first recording for “His Eyes” started in Spring or Summer of 2005.

During 2005, Cool Hand Luke was on hiatus. I spent the better part of that year touring with The Chariot on drums. We were on tour with Underoath for three months that year. I had known the Underoath guys from playing shows and festivals with them before they blew up. But I got to know several of them a lot better being on the road with them for so long. Tim McTague and I talked a lot about music, life, and God together. Somewhere along the way, I shared my idea for a concept record that told stories about Jesus from eyewitnesses. 

Casey McBride was The Chariot’s merch guy/hype man/dude who would do anything if you dared him to. He and I became friends over the summer, and we started talking about possibly making music together. He would go on to play bass in Cool Hand Luke for a few years. 

The best I can remember, we had a few days off in Atlanta. Tim recommended we go rehearse at Matt Goldman’s studio and maybe record something. At the time, Matt was at his old setup in Little Five, if that means anything to you. All you need to know is it was one big room, and it apparently used to be a rehearsal space for The Rolling Stones…or something like that. Also, if you don’t know who Matt Goldman is, he is a.) one of my favorite humans b.) an incredible producer and engineer. You may know him for records he made with Copeland, Underoath, Anathallo, The Chariot, My Epic etc. I am pretty sure this was the first time I ever recorded anything with Matt.

I remember Tim (on guitar), Casey (on bass), and I (on drums) sat up and started working through the song. I think I tracked the piano first so it would be a map for us. I had the skeleton, I had a few specific parts I wanted them to play (like the weird descending part when the crowd is yelling “Crucify), and I knew which parts of the music were supposed to correspond with the parts of the narrative. But Tim and Casey largely made up their own parts and really helped flesh the song out and bring it to life. Some of it was exactly what I had envisioned. Some of it changed quite a bit, but I loved all of it. We left with a rough mix that included drums, bass, guitar, and keys. We were stoked to finish it. But it would be 5 years before I would return to finish it.

Anyway, In 2009 I returned to seriously finishing the songs for Of Man. I started tracking songs a little at a time at The Brown Owl in Nashville with Conrad Snyder. But I knew I wanted to get back down to Atlanta to finish “His Eyes” and do a few other songs. 

So, at some point, I ended up going to Atlanta to work with Matt Goldman again. When we originally tracked, I had not written all of the lyrics. I think I wrote them in 2008 from a composite of a few different accounts of Jesus’ trial and execution. I had plenty of time listen to the demo and think through what needed to happen to bring the song to completion.

The problem was that when I got to the studio in Atlanta, Matt could not find the hard drive he had the “His Eyes” tracks saved to. We searched high and low and only found some random scraps that weren’t any help. It was lost. You may think, “Well, just do it again.” But you’ve got to remember that Tim and Casey had played on it, and they were in other states. The likelihood of getting all of us back in the studio and remembering what in the world we did was pretty slim. 

All I had was the rough mix from when we had originally tracked. I really didn’t want to track on top of this because there were some things I really didn’t like about the mix—like missing guitar parts. There were some parts that we had thought of as background that were very loud. And some parts that we had thought of as prominent that were quiet. There was also an entire bass part that I had planned to change. 

Also, I wrote all of the songs as a chiasm—every song on the first half of the album had a song that corresponded on the second half. But “His Eyes” was the gate in the middle. I couldn’t just cut it from the album. The middle of a chiasm is the most important part.

So, we decided to just take this rough mix and track on top of it. There was one huge problem: at some point a click track came into the mix. No big deal if you’re listening to a demo, but this was going to be on the album. It sounded ridiculous. 

If you know the song, you might know all the layered percussion that starts to build right before everything drops out and you hear the people yelling, “Crucify.” Well, that wasn’t originally going to be there. We had to do that in order to cover up the click track. My good friend Phil Smith who had toured as our drummer came to the studio and we did some geeky drumline stuff together on toms. 

It took forever to track it a bunch of times and get it all clean, I wasn’t sure it would work. But Matt Goldman is really good at what he does, and God is really good at what He does, and all the percussion totally masked the click.  And now I can’t imagine the song without it.

For the crowd chanting “prophecy” and “crucify,” my friend David Kowalski invited a bunch of his friends to the studio. I knew a few of them and some of them I didn’t. At this point Goldman was in yet another studio, and the main tracking room was gigantic. So, he spread us out all over the room with mics in various places. I was the only one who had headphones to hear the track, so I stood in a corner and conducted everyone.

I had wanted Josh Scoggin (The Chariot, 68, etc.) to come do some vocals, including the “No!” screams. But he was tied up and couldn’t come to the studio. I decided to take a stab at the screams. I had done all of the clean vocals and that was all that was left. If you’ve listened to old CHL, you know I used to scream back in the day. But it had been a long time, and I didn’t know if I could do it with out my voice cracking and/or sounding lame. 

Recording vocals is a very vulnerable thing. I love Matt, but I always feel a bit insecure doing vocals with him because I’m not the greatest singer. He works with some really great singers. You hear my best takes after an engineer has worked all their magic. But Matt heard all my voice cracks, sour notes, bad timing, and weird annunciation. 

I went in a dark part of the studio and prayed. I tried to imagine that I was John, seeing the first nail being driven into the hand of my friend and my rabbi. I walked back up to the mic and went for it. Matt may have secretly thought it was garbage, but it felt right to me. (The photo on my Tumblr page is from that recording session)

I am still proud of the Of Man album, and I think “His Eyes” is an incredibly powerful song. I am honored to have been a part of it all. Every year people reach out and tell me that they listen to the album during Lent and Holy Week. Some of them I know and some I don’t. But it means more to me than I can express. Thank you for your kindness and encouragement. Soli Deo Gloria

[bee-writes-stuffs]

dear jack- Crutchie Morris

(Note: Trigger warning for mentions of violence, death, abuse, and suicide.)

Dear Jack,

It’s been a while since my first letter. The guards here ain’t been much nicer to us, but I got a scrap of bread yesterday and things are looking brighter.

How’s the strike been looking so far? I hope we’s close to winning- I’m sure you know how much I miss you and the others.

There’s a boy in here, he’s six years old and his name’s Leo. I told him about you, how you escaped this place on Teddy Roosevelt’s carriage. He wants to escape, too, but it’s impossible. Some guards heard us talking and beat him senseless.

I still don’t have my crutch. I don’t know where they put it, but so far I’m doing fine as long as they don’t make me stand. 

When you come to get me, I wanna head straight to Santa Fe. Once the strike is won and we’re off, we ain’t never coming back, right? We’ll go together, like you said. You and me.

I gotta go, they’s doing roll call.

The end,

-Crutchie

******

Dear Jack,

How are you today? It’s real lonely in here sometimes, even though there’s people all around me. I can’t understand what they’s saying most of the time. It’s like they’s speaking another language.

I got beat real bad yesterday, a little bit after I wrote my last letter. I couldn’t stand up and the guard doing roll call didn’t like that. It was horrible, cause the other kids just stared as I was lying there. But hey, what could they do?

Y’know, at least it doesn’t get any worse than this. 

You’re still coming for me, right? I hasn’t heard any news of the strike yet, whether Kath and Davey helped us win or not. I’m rooting for you. Please, just don’t leave me here. I’m excited to see y’all again.

Remember when we was tiny, and we used to play in the puddles when it rained? Selling was miserable after, but we had so much fun. If I could, I’d take us back to that time, when everything seemed awesome no matter how bad it got. 

By the way, Leo says hi!

Your friend,

-Crutchie

P.S- I’m still holding onto hope for Santa Fe, just so ya know.

******

Dear Jack,

I’m shaking so hard I can’t write.

They killed someone, Jack. Beat him to death right in front of us for crying. 

They’s telling everyone that we ganged up on him and did it ourselves, but I saw it, Jack. I heard him yelling out and begging us to save him. We couldn’t. 

Please, tell me you’re still coming to save me. Damn it, if you were ever my friend, don’t leave me here.

-Crutchie

******

Dear Jack,

You ain’t coming for me, are you?

******

Dear Jack,

I’m sorry to say that I ain’t writing to give you good news.

This is my goodbye, Jack. I’m giving up. It’s getting harder to sit up, and I can’t even try to stand anymore. It’s all beatings and starving, and I can barely hold my damn pencil to write to you. 

I’m gonna start giving Leo the rest of my food. He’s getting weaker by the day (I guess I am too) and I can’t stand watching him get so thin. Any bread or smuggled food I get’s going straight to him. I’ll just wait until it’s my time, which I know won’t be long. The only good part ‘a this is that if I’ve gotta die, at least there’s one kid that won’t.

Good luck on the strike, Jack. Tell the fellas that I love them, okay? Tell them that I’m sorry that I had to do this. It’s not that I’ve lost my resolve- I can feel myself dying, Jack. I know that we promised to go to Santa Fe together, but I’m not gonna make it that long. 

Maybe if I make it home, to wherever Mama and Papa and Nora are, we’ll be able to give ya some sort of sign that we made it. Maybe I’ll get to see you again, who knows? 

I’m sorry. I love you and the boys so much- you’s always been like brothers to me. I’m gonna miss y’all.

Your best friend,

-Crutchie

******

Dear Jack,

So, I guess we did it. We won, despite everything. 

Thanks for getting me outta there. It was hell, Jack, plain and simple, worse than you described after you escaped. This’ll be my last letter, cause there ain’t no reason for us to be apart again. Well, I guess there is, since you took that fancy artist job that Pulitzer offered ya, but I ain’t never going away again.

I’m real sorry for giving up on you, Jack. I was scared, and hungry, and so goddamn hopeless despite knowing deep down that you wouldn’t let me die there. No matter what, I think we’ll make it. We just have to keep on hoping.

Good luck with that artist job, and with Kath. Me and Davey and Race’ll make sure that the boys end up okay. We’ll miss ya a bunch, but don’t let that stop you. Thanks for everything, brother, and just know that wherever you go, I’ll be with ya every step of the way.

Your Brother,

-Crutchie

[carry-on-my-wayward-butt]

I know I’m not supposed to trust my feelings after 9pm but they’re so big

[astaroth1357]

Brothers Accidentally Make the MC Cry

Hello, this is the obligatory italics blurb that I have to put under my titles or else things look weird and it bothers me. Don’t mind the blurb. The blurb is a friend. (Though I could start writing pieces of a little story up here just to see if anyone even reads them… Hm…. Ideas, ideas...)

Warning: Angsty

Lucifer 

If he were being honest, he’d say that a part of him had always feared this would happen...

Lucifer likes to tell himself that he’s invincible, but everyday stresses can get to him just like anybody else. And like other people, he may not always act his best when he’s dealing with a full plate…

The MC hadn’t meant to make his day harder when they told him that they accidentally broke a lamp. It was a genuine accident! But Lucifer was still dealing with the fallout from another one of Mammon’s failed schemes, Satan had cursed all of his ties again, and Beel had eaten every scrap of food in the House… for the second time that week...

In comparison to everything else, a broken lamp was quite minor, but for Lucifer it was just the last straw and, for just a moment, he lost control…

His palm slamming against his desk hard enough to snap its legs and send it crashing to the ground. He scarcely knew what kind of look he had on his face, but whatever it was, he had made his human jump back in shock...

Really, it was silly for them to assume that he had gotten that upset over a lamp, but he saw tears starting to gather in their eyes all the same as they stammered out a quiet apology… 

It felt like an ice spike to the heart. Damn his temper… He really ought to have been more careful with them after… well, everything he’d done before…

He was quick to go over to them, catching their face with his hand and giving them the most sincere apology he could muster while wiping away their tears… Overreactions aren’t becoming of him and he hated to cause them pain… 

He, of course, took care of the lamp himself as penance and on the surface that seemed to be it (but to anyone paying attention, he had softened up on the MC considerably for at least a week. They probably could have sworn in front of Diavolo and he’d let it slide, he felt that bad about it...)

“I’m sorry, MC, I shouldn't have reacted like that… You haven’t done anything wrong, I promise… Please, there’s no need to cry…”

Mammon

Oh? What's that? His heart is now in a million pieces now...? Well, that seems fair…

He and the MC were out on one of his gambling nights and he was actually on a killer winning streak for once! Jackpots around every corner, he was rolling in it!

The MC had tried to convince him to just throw in the towel early, take his winnings while he had them and bail, but he wasn’t hearing any of it.

In hindsight, their insistence must have really shown how much the MC cared about him and wanted him to keep his earnings... but in the heat of the moment all he saw was someone trying to spoil his one night of fun.

To be fair to Mammon, it’s rather rare for him to lose control of his anger like he did. But when they tried to pull him away from the roulette table, he genuinely snarled at them and told them to get lost...!

Fortunately, he regretted his actions immediately after he saw the hurt in their eyes…

If their goal had been to get him to step away from the table, they achieved it. But only because he got up to pull them into a hug while stammering out apologies… Watching them actually shed tears hurt worse than any rope Lucifer had ever tied around him...

He spent the rest of the night away from the casino and trying to cheer up his human like his life depended on it... Seeing them in pain just tore him up that much.

"Ah, come on MC… I'm sorry, honest…! Please don't look at me like that, I'll do whatever ya want okay...? Just no more cryin…"

Leviathan 

Now thinks he's the worst, literally the worst. Lower than lesser demon spit. Lower than Cerberus' shit. Lower than… well, you get the idea…

Levi can get very… intense when things involving his passions are brought up. This can be a fairly endearing quality… but it also means he gets disproportionately impassioned about seemingly minor things.

Levi ended up snapping at the MC when they let him over-sleep one day. This wasn’t unusual for them to do as Levi’s sleep schedule was notoriously shitty, but they shouldn't have done it that particular day…

An item he wanted on Akuzon was going to go live that morning and he had to be awake to participate in the bidding. He had mentioned it to the MC the day before, but he blew past it so quickly they didn’t actually remember…

He found out that he missed the bidding after he woke up and he was pissed. Genuinely enraged that they didn’t remember to wake him up to the point that he was shouting and baring his fangs! 

… Really it was not a good look and he should have known better.

The look of fear and the tears gathering in the MC’s eyes snapped him out of it like a hard slap to the face, and somehow, it stung even more than that would’ve... It wasn’t long before he was crying along with them, practically begging for forgiveness...

He made it up to them by having a private showing of their favorite movie using a projector in the Planetarium, cuddling with them under a blanket while still, occasionally, muttering apologies under his breath.

“M-MC…? MC don’t cry…!! Please don’t cry, I- I’m sorry!! I… MC… I’m so sorry…”

Satan

Like Lucifer, he always worried this would happen and he hated when it finally came to pass…

He’d spent all his life learning how to restrain his temper, but it’s not a perfect science. There are the occasional times where the heat of the moment gets the better of him and he does something he regrets…

The MC had walked in on him one morning while he was fuming about Beel leaving the fridge empty again. It hadn’t been the first time they’d seen him like this, but this time he was absolutely furious.

He had told Beel again and again and again to get his snacking under control or to, you know, get up early and get more food so the whole family wouldn’t spend the morning starving but noooo! Mr. I’m Hungry never thinks about anything but his own stomach and then leaves whoever’s on kitchen duty to pick up the slack like some dimwitted muscle-bound meathead and THEN-!!

When the MC tried to take his arm to calm him down, he jerked their hand away from him and roared right in their face. He may not be a lion, but the full sound of a pissed off demon could make humans have breakdowns all on its own…

Which was more or less what the MC began to do as he gripped their wrist, panicking while taking shallow, stuttered breaths…

Satan's anger left him swiftly and he let them go, only reaching out to touch them again when he tried to wipe the tears from their cheeks… He had to coo and beg for them to calm down, which was only so successful because he was fighting back tears himself… 

On a scale of 1-10 of the worse things his temper has ever done, he'd rank this a firm 200... He refused to touch them for about a week afterwards and it took a long time for him to trust himself again… He just didn't want to hurt them...

"MC?? MC…? M… Oh no… MC, I'm so sorry, I would never hurt you! I… I wouldn't dare… please believe me..."

Asmodeus 

Oh baby! Sweetheart! Love of his life!! No, please no… don't subject him to this…

MC and Asmo were out dancing and some witch came by to try and flatter him.

Now, Asmo is a flirt normally, but get a few drinks in him and well… Let's just say his love of attention overrides his better judgment far more often than it should and friends don't let friends go home with creepy witches.

When the MC told the witch to scram, Asmo was confused and, frankly, quite irritated. That lovely lady had been stroking his ego in all the right ways and his human just scared her off so rudely!

Under most situations, Asmo would have kept his cool better but the haze of Demonus made his tongue loose... which let the venom fly…

He couldn’t quite remember what he said. The words left his mouth so quickly that they slurred together on his clumsy tongue, but it must have been enough because the MC flinched away from him.

That hurt all on its own, but as he started to process the pain in their eyes… he had never sobered up so fast...

He had their cheeks cupped in his hands and were kissing away their tears within the instant. Though the loud music at the club should have drowned out his apologies, the MC could see it written all over his equally tearful face…

He pulled them into his arms and then out of the club shortly after, the fog of Demonus that plagued him just moments before had long left him and all he knew was that the MC needed to be brought home and cuddled… stat.

“M-MC…? I’m sorry was it something… did I…? I’m so sorry… Please don’t cry…!”

Beelzebub 

He really didn't mean to shout so loud… honest... 

Beel becomes a completely different person when he’s hungry. He’s not entirely to blame, as his hunger can get so intense, but he still can snap from time to time when he really doesn’t mean to…

It was right after one of his practices and Beel hadn’t gotten a chance to eat in a few hours by the time the MC came to grab him from RAD. That already had him in a bad mood, but practice hadn’t gone too well for him either… 

He honestly didn’t realize how sharply he snapped at the MC when they asked him how he was. The irritation and frustration of the day all hit him at once and he became much harsher towards them than he ever intended…

It must have been the shock of seeing ever-sweet Beel suddenly get so aggressive with them that startled them so. He saw a couple tears gathering in their eyes before they could hide them and his heart just sank…

The MC was picked up in a crushing bear hug before they even let out their first sniffle. Beel didn’t even have to say how sorry he was, they could feel it in every squeeze he gave them. All while he completely ignored the growling of his stomach...

Beel wouldn’t let them go until he was certain they’d forgiven him which, honestly, took a while. Mammon was the one to ask why he had carried them all the way back to the House like a baby but… well, he didn’t need to know, now did he?

“MC, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have shouted… Are you alright...?”

Belphegor 

Stubborn boi is stubborn and trying really, really hard not to crack right now...

That's not going to last long.

Belphie can be a bit of a brat and since he's the baby of the family so he's used to getting his way. He and the MC don't argue a ton, but when they do, he always digs his heels in and refuses to budge an inch on anything.

So what started out as a simple disagreement on how often Belphie would flake out on his chores turned into a kick-the-door-down argument over how much his laziness left the MC to pick up the slack...

It ended as all their barn burning arguments do, with demon-form Belphie sitting cross-legged on his bed refusing to look at them and the MC angrily pacing about the room until he cools off…

And then he heard it.

First a sniffle… and then a hiccup. Another sniffle then muffled whine…

Oh no… not this… Why are they crying…? They don't normally cry…

To his credit (or perhaps discredit), he managed to hold out for about two minutes before he finally glanced back at them. Seeing the MC wiping their tears all alone on the floor crumbled his resolve real quick.

The MC found themselves enveloped by Belphie's arms before they even noticed he got up. Naturally, he was pouting and trying to make it seem like "not a big deal or anything" but they could tell by the nervous twitch of his tail that he was hurting too…

Needless to say. Belphie started remembering his chores a lot more after that.

"Humans are so fragile… I didn't mean to make you cry, you know? I'll get things done just… Don't cry… please…"

[ramzawrites]

Just a day with MICHAEL and wine aunt y/n?

Babysitter Y/N Is On The Case

GN

Pairings: none

Characters included: Ranboo, Tubbo, Michael, Fundy, Philza

Warnings: While this is Gender Neutral, Reader refers to themself as Aunt/ gets referred to as aunt by others

Series: a request drabble!

Summary: Y/N was asked to play babysitter for Michael so of course who would they be if they didn’t bring some toys with them or tell him some funny stories about his parents.

Words count: 3103

Authors Note: I’m sorry I wasn’t sure what kind of pronouns you wanted me to use so I stuck to Gender Neutral but Reader still gets referred to as Aunt. 

I also was really excited to write it but lost steam halfway through, I apologize but it did help me get back into writing after being stuck with studying so much! So thanks for that!

Ranboo was sitting on the ground. Busy watching Michael draw with crayons on scraps of paper. He was currently making his own rendition of a family portrait and Ranboo couldn’t help but be amused with the way he drew him, Ranboo, and his best friend Tubbo.

He was tall, sure, but seeing how Michael drew clouds right next to his face was for some reason quite comical to him.

Tubbo was pacing the room up and down. His thoughts lingering on something else. Foolish was currently building their new home, a mansion to be exact, and he needed their help to map some stuff out.

At first the two wanted to bring Michael with them but Foolish brought up that a construction site might not be the safest place for a toddler. So, the two had to find a babysitter. It would be the first time they entrusted someone else with their adopted child and it made both of them nervous to say the least.

This place didn’t have the best track record when it came to important things like that and yet they still found someone who they felt like they could trust.

It was none other than Y/N.

Y/N did help the two numerous times. They were always there when trouble arose and they made their best effort to help the two through it. Both Tubbo and Ranboo felt close enough to them to even consider them family.

Ranboo mentioned this off handedly the day Y/N first met Michael and they looked shocked but also as if they were about to melt right then and there. It was this reaction that reaffirmed to them that, yes, they could trust Y/N.

A knock made Tubbo finally stop pacing and instead he practically sprinted down towards to the front door. Ranboo wanted to roll his eyes towards Tubbo’s agitated state but he felt similar. He just had more experience on how to hide it.

When Tubbo finally opened the door he was met by a smiling Y/N. They were holding a small bag in their hands as they gave Tubbo a short hug as a greeting.

“Hello, Tubbo! Babysitter Y/N is here and ready to take care of my little nephew Michael.”

A bit overwhelmed Tubbo let them in and closed the door, shutting away the cold winter air “Nephew?”

“Well you two told me that I’m somewhat like family to you, so, that would make Michael my nephew, definitely not grandson. So nephew.”

Tubbo just stared at Y/N for a short moment “I- I guess?”

Frankly he was a bit confused with how enthusiastic Y/N seemed to be about this whole situation. On one hand it was proof to him that Y/N did indeed take this somewhat serious and on the other hand this seems like it could somehow spell trouble.

Shaking off his confusion Tubbo began making his way up back into Michael’s room, closely followed by Y/N.

“Ranboo! How are you!” Y/N greeted the Enderman Hybrid as they softly put down the bag.

Michael looked up from his drawing and let out a happy squeak as soon as he noticed Y/N. He slowly got up and stumbled his way towards them and effectively hugged their leg as a greeting.

Y/N giggled as they slowly knelt down and put one hand on his head, ruffling through his bristle like hair “Hello, Sweetie. I’m happy to see you as well.”

“So, um, we need to go then. We made some extra food and put it to the side. Please don’t give Michael too much cookies or too much from the cake. He likes to-“ Ranboo begun to ramble off but Y/N interrupted him.

“Don’t worry, Ranboo. You won’t be gone for weeks. It’s only a day, probably even just a few hours. Nothing will happen to him. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Okay, but don’t let anyone else close to him, okay? Especially not Fundy. He has threatened him before!” Tubbo added.

Y/N put their hand above their heart “I hereby swear that I will protect little Michael with my life and make sure no harm will come to him while you two deal with your own business. Now, go.”

They were now physically pushing the two towards the stairs.

“You are awfully forceful today.” Ranboo noted, now worried after all that they chose Y/N as the babysitter.

Even so the two begun making their way down away from Michael’s room, all the while Y/N would continue push and poke them towards the door.

They scoffed “I’m not being forceful I’m helping you guys out. Besides, do you want to let poor Foolish waiting?”

“Alright, Alright! We are going! But should anything bad happen to Michael… Just saying, I have extra nukes.”

“Tubbo!”

But Y/N just rolled their eyes “I know. Don’t worry. Really. You guys have been good to me so I want to repay your kindness. Besides I have gotten quite attached to the little gremlin as well.”

Finally the two seemed to relax and grabbed their jackets as they walked out of the door. Y/N waved them goodbye and softly closed the door once they couldn’t see them anymore.

Now with the two parents gone Y/N made their way back to Michael, not wanting him to be alone for too long.

Back in his room Y/N found Michael staring out the window, probably watched as his parents left the home without him. Usually at least one person would stay behind so it must have been a surprise for him to see both of his parents leave at the same time.

He let out a few sad squeaks as he desperately tried to jump around, hoping he could somehow find his parents again if he just took a better look.

“Hey, it’s fine. They’ll come back and while they are gone I’m taking care of you, alright?” Y/N begun speaking, hoping he would turn his attention towards them instead the outside but he ignored them.

Y/N stepped closer, sitting down on the ground next to him while he was standing on the tip of his hooves, holding on to the corner of the windows with his hands.

Carefully Y/N stretched out a hand to Michael’s shoulder in order to gain his attention this way and it seemed to work. He let go off the window and instead twisted around to look his babysitter in the face. Both his eyes wide and glossy. Michael seemed to be close to tears.

“They will be back soon I promise, alright? In the meantime we can hang out!”

He still seemed to be close to tears and sad squeaks where still leaving his mouth so Y/N decided then and there it was time for their special weapon.

As Y/N got back up they held their hand out for Michael who slowly put his hand into theirs. Together they walked towards the brown bag Y/N brought with them.

An almost mischievous smile made it’s way on their face as Y/N opened up the bag in a way that Michael could look inside.

His expression immediately lightened up. The gloss seemed to disappear and instead he looked like he was in awe. He took his hand out of Y/N’s and moved it inside the bag only to stop and look Y/N into their eyes. Obviously asking for permission.

Ranboo and Tubbo really did a good job when it came to teaching Michael manners apparently which surprised Y/N a tiny bit. For some reason they suspected that Ranboo played a bigger role in this than Tubbo though.

Y/N nodded “Go ahead. I got them for you after all.”

Excited Michael almost dove into the bag as he got the little toys out. They were just simple wooden toys like horses, people and the like but still hard to come by around in this place. He sprayed them out on the ground only to take a closer look at the figures that seemed to represent certain people.

There were four of them. One looking like Ranboo, Tubbo, Michael and of course one looked like Y/N. They had to admit part why they did this was to bribe Michael but only a tiny bit. He was adorable and they did get kind of attached to this young Pigling as well so giving him gifts like that was only natural, right?

He grabbed all four of them and hugged them close to his chest, his gaze once again on Y/N’s face with a pleading expression.

“Yeah, they are yours! Just remember who got you them.” It felt like their heart was swelling up in their chest as they watched Michael hugging the piece that looked like them.

To Y/N’s sudden surprise Michael softly put the wooden dolls down, got up only to crash back into Y/N, hugging their body with his tiny arms. His previous sad squeaks exchanged by happy grunts.

“Alright. You want to play a bit? Read something? Or would you want me to tell you stories about your parents? Don’t get me wrong they are amazing but they are also idiots.”

Curious Michael looked back up which gave Y/N the chance to boop him on his little snout “Embarrassing stories about your parents it is then.” Which resulted in Michael to let out a sequence of grunts that mirrored a giggle.

Michael moved back away from Y/N and sat down on the ground. Grabbing the figure that represented Y/N as well as a brown horse.

“What could I tell you about... There is so much. Oh, if I tell you about that I think both Tubbo and Ranboo will kill me. Then again. You can keep a secret right?”

Without hesitation Michael nodded enthusiastically as he continued to play around with his new toys.

“Let’s start then.”

For the next hour or so Y/N begun telling stories about Ranboo and Tubbo. At first they only wanted to tell him about the little embarrassing things they did but it soon turned into a bit of a nostalgia trip for them. Briefly talking about how L’Manberg started, Tubbo’s presidency, Ranboo’s first day in the SMP and all the hijinks in between.

They made sure to let out the bad parts and mainly concentrated on the funny bits and pieces in between all the stressful situations and wars they have been through. That was something they didn’t feel like they had the right to talk about. Not without talking with Ranboo and Tubbo about it.

During all of that Michael was patiently listening though he was still rolling around on the ground playing with his new toys. Whenever Y/N thought he might not be listening anymore he let out a few squeaks urging them to keep on going.

The two new parents probably have never talked much with Michael about what they have been up to before they adopted him. To them there was a lot of pain connected to their past so instead they tried to work on their future instead. A future that involved Michael and hopefully a happier one.

For Y/N it wasn’t that different to be honest. They were right there at the beginning of it after all but when it came to the two parents they could tell Michael probably better than they themselves about the funny little bits in their past.

The time went on and at some point Y/N stopped telling stories and instead joined Michael in him playing with his new toys. He was also very adamant about the fact that Y/N used the Y/N-Doll while they played out scenarios like fighting off zombies.

It has already been after mid-day when Y/N came over to babysit so it didn’t take long for the sun to slowly set, soon the world turned dark.

When Tubbo and Ranboo first talked with them about Y/N babysitting they also made sure to tell them that once the sun is down it’s bed time for Michael which was a rule Y/N tried to follow at first.

“It’s bed time Michael. You can play later with the dolls but this is one of the rules your parents set up for me.”

He just put his arms in front of his chest and huffed out an annoyed grunt, still holding on to the toys.

Y/N smirked “Man, you sure are lucky that cool auntie Y/N is here. Let’s move bed time another hour or two but if your parents come home soon you have to get in bed asap?”

Once again Michael was enthusiastically nodding.

When Tubbo and Ranboo did finally came home again they heard a ton of noise coming from upstairs as the door fell shut. They were tired from the visit to the mansion since it took longer than expected. Foolish took the chance with them there to properly map out all the rooms. And with properly map out it really meant thoroughly.

He was so happy to see them since apparently having to build all this while having to guess how to build the rooms was a stressful endeavor. So, as much as they missed Michael and worried for him, they felt the need to stay and help out Foolish as much as possible.

He really seemed to be on the edge of losing his mind.

Though now they were curious why in the world they heard a rumbling from upstairs and Tubbo, determined as he is, climbed up the ladder as fast as he could.

Though all he saw in the room were toys strewn around, Michael in his bed with his eyes closed, clearly taking in deep breaths as if he was just running around while Y/N sat next to the bed with a book open upside down in their hand.

Ranboo was now joining the group as well, his expression showing his confusion to this situation.

“Ah, uh, hey! How was the day with Foolish? As you can see I got the kid some toys, I hope that is alright.”

“Michael?” Tubbo asked and to Y/N’s detriment his ears twitched for a moment and he clearly squinted his eyes even closer shut.

Now Tubbo turned to Y/N with his hands on both of his sides, his eyebrows turned down into a frown “Y/N!”

“We told you he had a strict bed time!” Ranboo chimed in.

Y/N set the book down and got up “Yes, you are right. I should have listened. I am sorry. He was just so happy with the toys! Anyways, I have to go now as well. Hope you guys aren’t too angry with me since babysitting him was a ton of fun. If you need my help again don’t hesitate to ask me.”

And with that they made their way out of the house. Ignoring the call outs from the two. Effectively fleeing.

While they were not thrilled that Y/N let him stay up way past his bedtime nothing really bad happened to him hence why in the end they had to admit that Y/N was a good choice for a babysitter.

So whenever the need for a babysitter arose they still asked Y/N to fill that role.

Of course whenever they appeared they would bring in more presents. Either more toys or things like books and building blocks. Over time Michael seemed to be mostly interested in the little dolls that depicted actual people from the SMP so Y/N made sure to at least bring always one little doll over whenever they visited him.

Telling him fun little stories about them and who they were. At some point this turned into their favorite little tradition with the Piglin kid.

This seemed to also be the same case for Michael judging by one little instance.

They were visiting Michael once again, this time carrying a Ghostbur-Doll with them only to meet Philza and Fundy at Tubbo’s and Ranboo’s place. They were all deep in a discussion concerning Michael which Y/N used to sneakily hand him his new toy which he happily put next to his others.

Both Philza and Fundy have visited Michael a few times already as far as Y/N knew but not as often as they themself did.

“Oh, good that you are here, Y/N. I ‘ve been wondering something.” Fundy suddenly approached them, missing the subtle gift exchange just beforehand.

Y/N raised one of their eyebrows, somehow sensing trouble from him “Hey, Fundy. Hello Philza, Tubbo, Ranboo. Sorry that I’m late? Didn’t expect to see Fundy and Phil here.”

Ranboo scratched the back of his neck nervously “Yeah, we didn’t as well. It just kind of happened.”

“I get that. Either way it’s nice to see them. What is it that you were wondering about Fundy?” Y/N turned back to the Fox Hybrid at the last part.

He had a mischievous smile on his face which didn’t seem to only worry Y/N but the other residents in the room as well “You have not been the only one visiting Michael from time to time, so we have to settle one thing. Who is the better aunt or uncle.”

“Just ask him then.” Philza threw in, sounding somehow tired of Fundy already.

This seemed to pull Michaels attention back towards the adults. Ignoring his new toy for now but still holding on to it.

Y/N didn’t want to show it but a satisfied smile appeared on their face. They had it on good authority what Michael would probably go for.

Fundy knelt down on the ground, so Y/N followed suit.

“Hey little guy. Uncle Fundy has been wondering who you like more. The super cool fox dude? Or the boring Y/N?”

Normally Y/N would have said something against it but instead they just rolled their eyes and made sure to put on a soft smile for Michael. No words were needed.

When Michael looked at bit unsure on what to do Tubbo let out a weary sigh, probably tired of Fundy’s hijinks “Go ahead Michael. Don’t worry no one will get mad it is just a question.”

“You- You don’t need to answer if you don’t want to.” Ranboo tried to further calm Michael’s worry down but before he even properly ended the sentence the kid was already on the move.

Without even hesitating he ran into Y/N arms. Y/N put their arms softly around him and ruffled through his hair “Yeah! Suck it Fundy! I’m the better one! Hah!”

“Y/N!” both Tubbo and Ranboo exclaimed angrily at the same time but Y/N just continued to snicker as Fundy got back up and begun sulking in a corner. Philza was of course busy laughing.

There was no way that Fundy even stood a chance against Y/N from the very beginning.

“This was unfair! They clearly bribed him! Look at all the toys he got from them!” Fundy exclaimed angrily.

“All is fair in love or war, Fundy.” Philza reminded him between him laughing.