#i also didn’t draw him looking dead tired for once

[manongeon]

a little Dazai doodle i did :3c

don’t ask why he looks like so young idk either

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 4

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 2,6k words | masterlist

You are alone. The room is dark. Silent. Not a single noise audible. Not a single candle burning. Nothing but deafening silence and darkness, almost like an endless void.

And you. You are alone with your thoughts. Your fears. Your memories. 

Nesta has left a moment ago, the wooden door is now closed, the room dark. She had asked you a few times if it would be alright to leave you alone, and of course, you said yes. You decided that you like Nesta. She has a powerful aura around her and is definitely not one to mess with. You would have loved to talk to her a bit more, but you couldn’t keep her here. 

But damn, do you hate being alone now. You said you would be alright, but deep inside you knew you wouldn’t, but you didn’t want to keep her here. You couldn’t do this to her.

You are miserable and considered one of the most dangerous beings in this world — what would she do here? With you. She definitely has better things to do...

But now that you are alone, the room suddenly scares you. Being alone does. You didn’t want to keep her here, but you also don’t want to be alone.

Your curl your fingers towards your palms, drawing blood when your sharp nails pierce into your flesh. But the pain…you don’t even notice it anymore, having done this so many times over the past centuries. Whenever you were scared, or panic.king It was not in order to harm or hurt yourself, but to remind yourself that what is happening to you real, not some wild nightmare or hallucination, that you haven’t gone mad.

You lift your gaze and turn your head slightly, your neck aching. You realise quickly that you can’t stay here. You don’t want to stay here. Not alone. Not in the dark. Never again. You can’t do this. You can’t stay here right now. 

No one told you you had to stay in your room, only in the Library. So the Library is where you want to be. Outside of this room. In the light. Surrounded by books and maybe one or the other person – the priestesses.

You shoot to the door and rip it open, dashing toward the first light source you spot. The large, towering bookshelves at the end of the corridor are lit and this is where you are heading right now, tired feet still carrying you over the floor rather quickly.

Once surrounded by many books, the scent of the old pages seeping into your nostrils, you inhale deeply and close your eyes for a moment, trying to level your breathing and still your mind.

The Valkyries once had breathing techniques you still like to use. Mind-stilling techniques that helped you to not go insane in your time in the Prison.

You hand reaches out and you brush over some books.

It is a soft, female voice that startles you slightly when you hear it behind you. “You must be, Y/N.”

You spin around and are met with a beautiful, tall female with teal eyes. She kindly smiles at you and you nod.

“I‘m Gwyn. I also live here. Welcome to the Library.”

You meet her gaze and stop dead in your tracks. "Gwyn?"

"Yes," she says, "actually Gwyneth Berdara, but I prefer Gwyn. Just Gwyn."

You look at her in slight surprise, feeling both nostalgic and sad. Your friend, a former member of the Wild Hunt, was called Gwyn. He is dead now.

"You are not scared?" You don't want to think about him, the friend you have lost. Another person who left the world too soon.

You swallow around a lump in your throat and your sharp fingernails brush over the spine of a book. You are thankful for the sweater Nesta has offered you on your way down here, having seen how much you shivered, now hanging loosely over your shoulders, the nightgown beneath still the same you have been wearing for centuries.

"Of you?" Gwyn asks with a smile and takes one step closer. You almost want to warn her to not get too close, but you know you would never hurt her. It’s only what you’ve heard your whole life. Don’t get too close to the demon. Stay away from the evil female. 

The Bloodthirsty Baroness comes at midnight to steal your soul and leave you to bleed out. The Silent Reaper executes you before you can defend yourself. Not once have you done such a thing - only tales and legends made you seem like this demonic monster. You only ever avenged victims, took care of those who hurt them, and devoured the revenge you exerted. But you never hurt someone only to hurt them.

"Yes, of me." You meet her eyes again and see how she shakes her head.

"I have a lot of respect for you, but scared? I know you won’t harm me, so I'm not scared."

"Because the High Lord would kill me for it."

Her warm, soft palm lands on your chest before you have time to react. It startles you, massively, and you nearly choke on a breath. Your eyeballs threaten to fall out of their sockets by how wide your eyes are open — she is touching you. You are not irritated or shocked about the audacity, you are confused, startled, about her...kindness.

She smiles when she takes in the shock on your face.

"I am not scared of you because I know you have a good heart. Right in there, you are good, and I don’t have to be afraid of you, with the High Lord’s protection or without it. I know you wouldn’t harm me."

She pulls back her hand and you almost want to reach for her and just pull her into an embrace. She reminds you of your sister and right now you would give the world for just a simple hug from your sister. Or just a simple hug. Just someone caring enough for you to hold you.

“The fangs? The claws, the—”

“Incredibly amazing assets and most definitely very handy in battle. And as I said, I have a lot of respect for you, I can feel your power and I know what you are probably capable of. I am incredibly impressed by you and your powers, but they don't scare me.”

You almost want to laugh about the powers part. Because right now...you don't have them. Not with the amulet not being in your possession, not with some training. Every ounce of power you had, slowly drained from your body during the imprisonment.

But you shake your head and inhale deeply. You don't want to let your anger and frustration show right now, it wouldn't be fair when Gwyn has only been kind to you.

With a little chuckle slipping through your lips you shake your head. “You have a heart of pure gold, Gwyn.”

She only smiles politely, but a faint blush stains her cheeks. “You want company this evening?”

A sigh of relief leaves you. “There is nothing I would rather want." You sling your arms around yourself. "If you don’t mind, of course.”

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

The following day – armed with several books Gwyn helped you collect in the Library– you start to read up on Koschei, on spells and curses, on anything that could be important. 

You dive into one book after the other, each one captivating you so much you forget about the time and world around you as you gather information, noting things done or remembering by heart. Your mind is sharp, fully focused on the book, eyes scanning every single word, taking it all in. There is so much that is important, you let your head fall back and then you inhale deeply. 

Hopefully, they will give you back your amulet soon. You need it and you also want it back. It has been in your family’s possession for centuries, until Azriel–

You don’t dwell on this thought, straightening up and focusing back on the task at hand – going through yet another book and some pieces of parchment that come along with it. 

By the special request of Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court, you are always working upstairs, in the living room of the House of Wind. It doesn’t bother you; most of the time you are alone, some tending to business inside the house, others training (Gwyn told you so) on the rooftop. 

Sunlight brushes your skin and you revel in the feel of it. You haven’t felt, nor seen, sunlight in so long it now feels like balm against your skin. It is so good, you haven’t felt that alive in so long. 

You are still kept somehow locked in, but it almost feels like freedom. You are allowed to roam freely in the House of Wind and the Library. You haven’t got your powers back, but as long as you are in here, you don’t need them. You only need a bit of sunlight, some wonderful conversations with Gwyn, a soft bed to sleep in and good food. It is enough and slowly contentment crawls back into your body – nothing you’ve never thought to ever happen again. 

But now there is hope for you to find happiness again. Not with Azriel, and also not with him in your life, but there will be a way to avoid him somehow. Once you have your powers back and Koschei is defeated they might let you leave. You would go to the continent or even further away. As far away from the male who caused you that much pain as possible. 

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

The voice startles you and you almost shriek, jumping up in your chair, snatching the book close. Your heart races like a wild horse and you whip around to look at Nesta. 

There is a smile on her face, one that is too kind and empathetic – you are not used to that sort of friendly behaviour towards you. 

“I am fine.” You'r answer is too quick. Too tight, and Nesta purses her lips.

“You may pretend to be, and you are damn good at it, but I know you are not.” She closes the door behind her and moves toward the table, bracing her slim hands upon the surface, manicured nails tapping against it. “What you have gone through…I think none of us can imagine, but I don’t want you to have to swallow it all up.”

Her throat bobs when she swallows. “I know what it does to someone, not opening up or not having anyone to talk to.”

“I don’t need anyone to talk to.” You meet her gaze. “I don’t need anyone.” You want this statement to be strong and steadfast, but your voice gives you away, breaking slightly towards the end, so you quickly add. “All my life, I’ve been alone. I was orphaned when I was a babe, later no one ever cared about me, then my powers manifested and everyone got scared and they started to fear and hate me.”

“You were part of the Wild Hunt.” Nesta interrupts you and you don’t like it. But her statement surprises you. How the hell does she know? Well, Rhysand has probably told everyone. How he knew? Either from his father or Azriel.

“I was.”

She claims the seat across you and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I’m sure they cared about you.” Neither of you looks away and power stretches out between you. You are both strong-willed and powerful, neither of you is giving in now. You wonder if she really only wants to help you, be there for you. There is not a kernel of bad blood inside her body, your soul detects nothing, and so it makes you truly think she might only want to be nice to you. But why?

“We didn’t care about each other. We tolerated each other, had our backs when we went out for the hunt, but that was it.” Slowly, you scrape a talon down the cover of the book. 

“Did you give yourself your nicknames?”

Does none of them have manners? No knocking, no announcing oneself, just showing up. 

You turn to Gwyn and raise your brow at her. You can’t be mad at her, she was too kind to you the other evening, and her words have strung cords within your heart you thought no longer to exist. So, inhaling deeply and calming your heart, your decide to be polite to her.

“The Bloodthirsty Baroness.” Gwyn walks up to Nesta, nothing but curiosity shimmering within her teal eyes. "The Silent Reaper."

Your eyes flick to her and in a smooth, polished voice you say, “I earned myself the titles.”

Neither Gwyn nor Nesta show a reaction but a chill courses through the room, cooling the temperature at least two degrees.

“But probably not for the reason you think," you silently add. You move the book away from you and flex your fingers, then curl them towards your palms. “I wasn’t bloodthirsty for innocent people, I only took revenge for those who could no longer do so. My hands were drenched in blood, but it wasn’t spilled in vain.”

“See,” Gwyn says with a small smile and slumps into the chair next to Nesta. “I knew you had a good heart.”

A cold chuckle parts your lips. “I wouldn’t quite say that I have a good heart, but I’m not quite as cruel as the legends and stories paint me. And the silent part is definitely true - always appearing at midnight, taking the souls of those with me who deserved it. No noise could be heard, no one could be seen and no trace was left behind.”

A smirk appears on Nesta’s face and she slowly bows her head. “Are you alright with being here?” She changes the topic and you are incredibly thankful for it. Or would be, if she hadn’t asked this question. 

You can’t quite say no, because being here is not the worst place you have ever been at, but then, with Azriel always being somewhere around, it kind of is (not as bad as the Prison though…)

“It is alright.”

“I asked if you are alright.”

You chuckle again and give your head a shake. “I’m alright.” 

Now, Nesta dips her chin and seems content with your answer. Insufferable, you think, but you have to admit you actually like her. She partly reminds you of yourself. 

There is a little spark inside your mind, just a very small thought, a fleeting moment, that lets you think what if. What if you stayed here and became friends with Nesta and Gwyn. You could see yourself being friends with them and–

You immediately cut off your string of thouhgts. 

This is bullshit. You won’t stay here. The first chance you get, you will be gone. Far away and never return. People who live here have hurt you, and you will never find forgiveness for them.

“Shall we let you work again?”

With a smile you dip your chin at Gwyn. “That would be nice. I’ve found quite some things already.” You don’t really know why you share so much, but you are all in this together, so why keep things from them. And so you continue, letting them in on what you have found out already, sharing some bits and pieces with them that could be of interest. 

When the sun already starts to set outside and Gwyn and Nesta leave for training with the other priestesses you are for the first time reminded how much time you have spent bent over the books this day.

“Nesta,” you call after her once she is nearly out of the door. 

She slowly turns to you, waiting, but Gwyn is already gone, her humming filling the otherwise silent corridor. 

“Thank you for offering me to talk to you whenever I need it. And thank you…just thank you.” You smile a little sheepishly but she returns it with a bright grin. “Anytime,” she says and you add, “If you get a chance, just tell Gwyn thank you from me again as well.”

She bows her head and is gone in the next moment. 

With a small, barely-there smile on your lips you focus your attention back to the task at hand. Spending so much time researching seems like a good thing to make time pass, you realise and reach for yet another book. It is big and has a thick velvety binding. Your fingers stroke over the golden lettering that says something about darkness and its creatures. 

When you flip it open the first lovely being revealed to you is the Naaga. You haven’t seen them in a long time, you think, but you have had both good and bad memories with those little beasts. You flick through more pages, getting lost in every little word you read, reminding you of a time long ago. 

So enthralled by the knowledge you gather from the book, you haven’t noticed that someone opened the door, nor that someone has walked in.

Not someone – Azriel. 

"Can we talk?"

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

[redskull199987]

What about a Mike x fem!reader where reader helps mike through one of his nightmares?

Lifeless Stars

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader Request

Word Count:1.6k

Warnings:very angsty again, but also lots of fluff and comfort too, I also may have added Abby a bit into this because I love her and I wish I had a sister like her:,), also Movie spoilers

Summary:After the events at the Pizza-Plex, You and Mike both have problems coping with what happened. But at least you have each other…and a sweet little Girl, whose goal it was to make you smile again...

Masterlist

You felt tired. Terribly tired actually. The Sun had long disappeared behind the Horizon. The House was quiet and all lights were shut off, as the entirety of your little family had withdrawn behind the warmth and comfort of your blankets. 

And theoretically, you should have been asleep. But much to your dismay, you weren’t. You had been awake for hours, downright tired to the verge of passing out, but sleep just wasn’t able to find you.

Maybe it was because of what had happened a few days ago at the Pizza-Plex. The events were still burned into your skull, the images still vivid and every time you closed your eyes, it didn’t take long before that damn Golden Bonnie crept his way up into your dreams. You supposed, that was the reason you were unable to sleep tonight.

With a sigh, you quietly tried to sit up while not waking up Mike, who had his head laying on top of your shoulder and his arm slung around your waist. As cautious as possible, you pushed him off of you and stood up. You looked at Mike once more and gently pulled the blanket back up to his face again, before making your way into the kitchen.

 ‘Maybe a cup of tea could help’, you thought. And you seriously hoped it would. Your last resort would be Mike’s sleeping pills, but you really didn’t want to use them, knowing of how much trouble they always brought Mike.

So, without turning on the lights, the house only illuminated by the shine of the Moon, you stood in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil, so that you could put on your tea. Your eyes wandered all over the room, gazing at the various pots and plates that were standing in random places. Abby’s drawing of you guys and the kids on the fridge or the Picture of Mike and his brother, when he was still alive. You sincerely hoped that he had found peace too. That he was in a better Place now, looking down on Abby and Mike with a smile on his face while patiently waiting for the day of their reunion.

The sound of the tea pot pulled you out of your thoughts. Quickly, you poured the steaming water into your cup and set it down on the kitchen table to let it cool down a bit, so that you would not burn your tongue when drinking it.

With another heavy sigh, you walked over to the couch and flopped down on it. Your body felt heavy. Too heavy. With a small hiss, you lifted your shirt, taking a look at your still healing injury. Mike might have had it worse than you, but Afton had still managed to nab at you with his damn knife. You got way more lucky than Vanessa though, since she was still in the Hospital. You really hoped that she would wake up soon, so that you could thank her properly. If it hadn't been for her, you would probably all be dead.

A noise from your bedroom suddenly caught your attention. With furrowed brows, you swiftly jogged back through the dark hallways. You could swear, it almost gave you a heart attack, when you abruptly ran into Mike, causing the two of you to stumble to the ground.

“Mike?”, You groaned quietly, blinking in the dark trying to spot him,”Mike, are you okay?”

You didn't receive an answer, but instead, you felt a pair of hands, searching for your own in the darkness.

“Mike, I’m here.”, you mumbled, reaching out for your boyfriend. Your hands hastily found his shoulders and pulled him closer to you. Only now, you noticed that he was trembling. His breathing was fast and heavy and he was slightly sweaty.

“Mike..”, you whispered, lacing your fingers with his,”Come with me.”

You quickly pulled him to his feet and guided him to the bathroom. Once you were inside, you switched on the lights and closed the door. You saw how Mike slightly flinched away, as soon as the dim light illuminated the room. You gazed at him with concern on your face, before motioning to the bathroom counter. He quickly understood and sat down on it.

With your eyes still on Mike, his hands were still trembling, you grabbed a cloth and held it under the water, before coming back to him.

With a reassuring smile on your face, you slowly stepped in between his legs. Mike almost automatically grabbed your waist, pulling your body closer to his.

“Hey.”, you tenderly grasped his cheek, making him look at you. Without another word you raised the cloth to his face, slowly wiping the sweat off of his forehead. Mike only closed his eyes, seemingly just trying to enjoy your sweet touch on his face.

“What happened?”, You finally asked, when he had calmed down again. His hands were no longer trembling anymore and his breathing had returned to normal. 

“I had a nightmare.”, Mike explained, his gaze now focusing on the ground,”I dreamed that..that, I wasn’t able to save Abby. That they took her, just like Garret. And I couldn't do anything. I was just staring like a useless piece of shit-”

“Mike.”, you said firmly, turning his face back to you,”Don’t say that. It was just a dream. Abby is safe. She’s with us. Nothing can happen to her.”

Mike didn’t say anything in return, so you tried something else instead of just talking to him. You swiftly raised your other hand, but not to his face, but to his chest. Your palm rested right above his heart, that you could feel beating rapidly. Mike only looked at you in confusion.

“Mike..”, You mumbled, searching for the right words,”What I can feel under the palm of my hand, is the Heart of a Big Brother, that’s only beating for his sister. A heart that’s beating because it’s owner decided to stay alive for his sister. To be there for her and give her the life she deserves. And not only for her, but also for me. I know what you did to save us and I will be forever grateful for that. So are Abby and Vanessa. You saved us. We’re alive because of you, Mike.”

You could feel tears well up in your eyes, because as you said them, you realized how true they were. You owed Mike your life and you would forever be grateful to have him in your life.

“I love you.”, was all that Mike was able to mutter in response, before he pulled you into him by your waist, connecting your lips in a sweet and tender kiss. You felt him holding onto you tightly and as you parted, he gently leaned his forehead against yours.

“Thank you, Y/N.”, Mike mumbled, kissing you once more on your temple.

Your sweet moment was interrupted, as you saw the lights in the hallway suddenly go on. Mike and you only looked at each other for a second, before he jumped off of the bathroom counter. He pulled you behind his body, as the two of you quietly walked over to the door. With one final step, you walked into the hallway and all your tension quickly dissolved into relief, as you saw who the culprit was.

Abby was sitting at the Kitchen table, sipping on the tea you had made earlier.

“Hey, you little thief.”, You smiled and sat down next to her, “That was mine.”

Abby looked at you apologetically, but not really:”Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”, you smiled and ruffled her hair affectionately.

“Why are you up, Abbs?”, Mike asked, also sitting down next to the two of you.

“Couldn’t sleep.”, the girl answered shyly,”So, I drew a picture for you guys.”

Wordlessly, she slid a piece of paper over to you and Mike. The two of you looked at each other for a second, before glancing at the drawing. Your heart bloomed with joy, as you realized what it was.

In the drawing, you could see Mike, Abby, Vanessa and you playing together. It looked like Hide and Seek and while Mike was the Seeker, Abby, Vanessa and You all hid from him with a smile on your faces.

“That’s really beautiful, Abby.”, you mumbled, trying not to tear up.

“Let's put it on the fridge, hm?”, Mike suggested and promptly did what he just proposed.

Abby only smiled at you and instantaneously jumped up, giving you and Mike a big beary hug. You could only embrace the girl in your arms. You had grown so much closer over the years and you were extremely grateful for that. You really did love her like a sister,

“Let’s all go to bed now, shall we?”, Mike proposed,  a smile now also on his face.

Abby and You could only nod, as sleep was now finally catching up to you. You could barely remember what happened afterwards…

Bonus:

Your eyes only opened reluctantly, but the sun had been poking your face for a while, so you decided to give it a shot. But as you tried to sit up, you realized that it was of no use. This morning, you did not only feel the weight of one body on you, but two.

 You blinked around a few times, before realized what was going on. Abby had asked to stay with Mike and you for the Night, so that she could fall asleep faster and thus here you were. With Mike clinging onto your left side and Abby onto your right.

But all you could do was smile at your little family and close your eyes again, pulling the two of them closer. You really were grateful for everything. And you always would be.

[heygreyyart]

Hello!! It's been ages I wrote something this long in my second language and holy. shit. This was hard you guys, i think i'll stick to drawing lmao. This only fuels my admiration to you, writers!! also, enjoy this art wip in the meantime (●'◡'●)

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

For Janna’s sake -- if she could shut up for only five seconds.

Calloused fingers run through the curly back of his chestnut hair, as Viktor shut his eyes attempting to pace himself down.

An exasperated sigh escaped from his pursed lips, the slender scientist had been unknowingly trapped against the desk from his own laboratory as the small, freckled frame against him defied the towering height between their bodies, thin arms positioned around him menacingly.

In a way, he found this endearing - Viktor knew she was trying to compensate for the lack of physical height between them by cornering him...little did she know, the scientist enjoyed it behind his unamused facade.

On the other hand, he hated the loud and dramatic antics Ella constantly played whenever they didn’t agree on anything – an unfortunate daily occurrence. 

“You’re making a scene, again. “ He muttered, his hoarse, tired voice lacking patience. He spent the past thirteen hours tinkering and testing some new calculations for the Hextech crystals. Just like his co-worker, the blue gems frantically reacted out of proportion. Dark eyes locked into his golden gaze, demanding him to continue speaking. Plump lips huffing as her arms slowly backed away, crossing around her chest in a swift motion. He noticed the red swelling in her eyes. Viktor assumed Ella spent the afternoon crying – a habit he once witnessed only because he found her wrecking her own sketches and cursing in a language he didn’t quite understand a night after sharing a meeting with council Medarda and the rest of that godforsaken rounded table. The little firecracker hated it when someone else had so much control over her… so of course, the most obvious route of action was to crawl back to him for a rematch. 

“You interpreted everything I said earlier in the worst possible way. As usual.” The red haired woman took a deep breath, puncturing eyes silently stared at his now perplexed features. If looks could kill, he knew for sure he’d end up laying cold dead for being too blunt for his own good. The grasp in his cane strengthened as he embraced Ella's impact.

Hot or cold and no way in between, that’s how it had always been. Ella would either ignore him for a couple of hours (or maybe a day or two if he was lucky enough), then she’d return to the lab in the middle of the night, angrily slam the door while making everyone around aware she was pissed as hell and curse him in every colourful and possible way.

Viktor didn’t care too much, he’d gotten far too used to her explosive attitude after spending six tortuous months working together. “Now it’s a good time for you to say whatever you actually meant to say today during our meeting.” She spat. 

What Ella lacked in height she manifested with her threatening attitude. For once she decided not to call him by his name. “Viktor” had a nicer ring in her ears but he didn’t deserve her sugar coated purrs.  

“You do realize what you did today will basically, fuck me and my team all over. Right? We need the funding. Jayce was this close to close the d–” “I am aware.” Viktor snapped quickly, dark eyebrows furrowing with frustration. 

“What you were not aware of, is the fact we do not need these businesses to use –exploit! – what we are doing here. We have enough resources to allow them to turn this revolutionary step for all humanity into a pathetic sponsor deal." 

The slender man got up and backed away from the bomb exploding right in front of him. He noticed the redhead clamped her hands furiously and impulsively slapped the hard and cold surface of the desk. 

“So fuck the rest, right? As long as you and Jayce have enough toys to play in your lab. Is that all you care about, Viktor? This funding would have allowed us to display this project everywhere in Piltover, all of Runeterra even! Alas, improving our chances to continue what we’re doing for at least two more years.” The artist let out a frustrated, resigned sigh. Manicured hands covered her face in a fruitless attempt of self soothing. White spotted fingers quickly moved to the immense hair bun to remove one thick brush that kept the hairdo from falling down only to re-do her characteristic hairstyle. Viktor had noticed that this was another habit of hers, a routine to avoid descending into madness. Nothing this woman did went unnoticed by anyone– especially to his attentive eyes. “I understand you never actually had to go through cutting expenses, the academy has a tendency to only reject the art department’s projects and practically fire everyone... “

She started, eyes wandering around the laboratory looking for anything to distract the angry and loud pounding of her heart. “Excuse me? You don’t have the faintest idea what I had to endure to get where I – “ 

Viktor raised his voice, his accent thick and rabid. His slender figure drew near to her, and for a moment he fantasized of whacking the brat’s head with his cane. “--But we’re required to explain every little spending we do.” Ella cut him off defiantly. 

“And unfortunately…I can’t say “science happened” like Jayce and you love to tell Heimerdinger whenever you spent last three month’s expenses for just one test.” “Science happened?” Viktor repeatedly exasperated. Speechless.

[irisintheafterglow]

End Game #2 (volleyball captain!gojo x you)

summary: you sneak out to play volleyball.

word count: 1.5k

cw/tags: mild language, jjk volleyball au, misunderstandings, a little angst but nothing too bad, commitment issues lol, subtle pining !!!!

note: ok part 2 because this au has given me motivation again. also i don't know if i should make the rest of the team the second-gen jjk sorcerers (yuuji, megumi, nobara, inumaki, etc) so if you have any thoughts on that lmk. i'm thinking yes make them part of the team but that'd negate their age gap so as long as that's fine i think it'll work. anyways hope you enjoy!!

likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated <3

A knocking on your window jolts you from your daze as you stare blankly at the unfinished document in front of you. It was only supposed to take two hours, you told yourself, but those two hours had doubled as you kept rewriting and re-wording every sentence you typed. Squeezing your eyes shut, you rest your face in your hands and pray for the teacher to postpone the due date. 

More insistent knocking draws your attention again, despite willfully ignoring it the first time. You lean back in your chair and groan, waiting for him to become impatient and start his Shakespearean monologuing. 

“Are you going to make me sit out here in the cold? In the dead of night? How cruel is this earthly plane–” You slide the window open, meeting Satoru’s eyes with a tired stare, and his voice catches in his throat. “Wow," he manages. “You look like shit.” You blink once, twice, a hand leaning on the window frame and the other on your hip. 

“What are you doing here, Satoru?” 

The mouth turns into a sly grin. “I need a partner.”

It’s late, and you’re unfazed. “I have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not what I mean, wait…what?” You laugh at the genuine confusion that paints his face, turning back into your room to grab your shoes. He slides through the window easily like he’d done a million times before, landing softly on the carpet and leaning back against the ledge. Poorly masked concern leaks into his voice and you smirk. “Since when were you seeing someone?” 

“Since never, Satoru. I already have my hands full dealing with you and your team; a relationship would essentially be another item on my schedule.” You slip on mismatched socks and some worn-out sneakers, shutting your laptop with a scowl. The essay would have to wait until you were done taking out your frustration on a volleyball. He watches you intently, blue eyes glowing in the moonlight. You’d known Satoru for years, but you always found that it was most challenging to read his emotions at night. It was like certain emotions were nocturnal. By day, Satoru was the goofiest person you knew; by night, you sometimes caught him staring at you in ways you knew he didn’t look at anyone else. You pushed whatever motives he may have into the back of your mind, dismissing his nightly flirtations the same way you ignored the daytime ones. 

You stand in front of him expectantly with your hands on your hips, and he peers up at you, eyes twinkling like the stars. “Shall we?” His fake chivalry makes the corner of your mouth turn up. 

“We need a ball first, Satoru.” You maneuver through your window after him, allowing him to briefly place his hands on your hips as you jump down from the ledge. His hands linger on your body for a moment before his senses come back. 

“I left it in your yard.” 

Your mouth drops in disbelief. “In the flowerbed?” You’re both whisper-yelling in front of your house, and you hope none of the neighbors decided to take a late-night stroll. 

He puts his hands up in surrender, shrugging as you turn on your phone flashlight to find the ball. “There was nowhere else to put it!” 

“I swear if you crushed those pink asters that I’ve been–”

“That you’ve been tending for years, I know.” You shoot him a glare over your shoulder as you bend over, fishing out the ball among the dark foliage. “You should grow red asters.” 

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Satoru,” you quip, tossing him the ball and running a hand over the petals to ensure they weren’t damaged too badly.  

He takes your spunk in stride, falling into step next to you. “I think they’re pretty. D’you know they’re supposed to symbolize devotion?” 

Your body runs on autopilot, crossing neighborhood sidewalks with Satoru at your side as you head toward the small park a few blocks from your house. He spins the ball on a slender finger absentmindedly as you walk. He continues his attempts to convince you to plant red asters the entire way to the park, even after you’ve taken your regular position across from him near the playground. “I’ll think about it, okay? Will you stop telling me how to garden now?”

“I wasn’t telling you to do anything; I was just suggesting it.” He throws you the ball, underhanded, and your arms move together mechanically to bump it back to him. 

“Yeah, just like you were suggesting that I call you captain earlier today.” Nimble fingers set it gracefully back to you, and you almost miss spiking the ball watching it arch in the air. 

He receives it easily, bumping it back. “I still don’t understand why you refuse.”

“Because I’m not one of your players, Satoru. I’m outside of the game. I make sure you all have water bottles and stuff.” Set. 

“You’re still just as much part of the team as anyone else is.” Spike. 

“Agree to disagree, then.” Bump. 

There was a separate reason as to why you didn’t want to call him captain, one that you would take to your grave. It was a line, you considered it, just like acknowledging his flirting. If you crossed that line, you were truly integrated into the team, truly connected to Satoru. You were the team’s manager, still separate from the rest of the players. As nice as it was to have somewhere to go after school besides your house, it was just as nice having a foot in the door just in case things suddenly went south. It was how you were, and you weren’t in the mood to verbalize your commitment issues with the one guy who’d probably tease you the most about it. 

Satoru’s face is unreadable again as he sets the ball, but you could see the gears turning in his head. “Are we still having that practice match with Kyoto next week?” 

Of all the things he would ask you, you didn’t think it would be practice-related. “As far as I’m aware, yeah. They offered to buy dinner if we won, by the way.” Spike. 

“Does that mean we have to pay for their food if we lose?” Bump. 

“Probably.” Set. 

“Then, no. Definitely not.” Spike. 

“Why?” You stick your tongue out teasingly. “Got plans?” Bump. 

“No, not yet at least.” Set. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spike. 

Bump. He shrugs nonchalantly, running a hand through his moonlit hair that you knew he only did when he was nervous. “Was thinking about asking someone out after the match.”

Set. “Oh.” The surprise moves past your lips before you can stop it, and you kick yourself mentally for feeling a bit of disappointment at his plans. You tended to get dinner with Satoru after practice matches, always some shitty fast food place where he talked about how much the other team sucked as he wolfed down three burgers. Sometimes Suguru or Shoko or Nanami would join you, but the one constant after hosting rival teams was dinner with Satoru. His intentions bothered you deep in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out why. 

Spike. “Yeah.” A layer of awkwardness settles between you two that you’d never felt before. It wasn’t that you were distressed that he was gonna ask someone on a date; your body just felt physically unable to create words. 

Bump. “Well, have fun with that then.” You fight to keep your voice even, eyes on the ball to look away from Satoru’s piercing stare. He was trying to read you, and you weren’t going to let him. 

Set. “Aren’t you going to ask me who they are?”

Spike, a hard spike. The ball speeds toward Satoru faster than he expects it, forcing him to catch it instead of sending it back toward you. “No, Satoru. Unlike the rest of the country’s population, I really couldn’t give two shits about who you decide is worthy of your attention.” The words fall from your mouth with more venom than you intend, and you bite down on your bottom lip guiltily. “I’m sorry. It’s late.” 

He watches you again, mysterious eyes analyzing your thoughts like a science experiment. “Yeah, it’s alright. It’s my fault, anyway, making you come out this time of night.” He smiles one of those make-everything-better smiles, and you feel a little lighter that he wasn’t too angry. “I’ll take you home.” 

Several minutes that felt like hours later, you’re back in your room as Satoru sits on the windowsill again, about to leave. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’m gonna ask them to dinner.” 

“Really? Why not?”

With his back to you, you had no idea what his expression was. You didn’t know if he was angry with you, but something in his voice told you he was hiding something. 

“Just doesn’t seem like the right time.” Before you could formulate a response, the old Satoru is back in a snap, tilting his head toward you playfully. “But, hey. You never know. Maybe someday I’ll get the balls to ask them,” he murmurs before he disappears, leaping down from your window into the night. 

You can’t tell if you’re relieved or disappointed that he wasn’t going to ask out that mystery person.

[capitalisticveins]

my feelings are still hurt from hearing Milo scream in pain from the bone is his arm literally being crushed in half soo…

Angst headcannons on ANYONE but my baby❤️ because who knows how much I can take??

First request! These are Angst headcanons for nearly everyone...except Milo and Sweetheart (when I say nearly everyone I mean nearly everyone)

Some characters show up more than once, some only show up once, hope you enjoy! [also the format is really weird for some reason and idk how to fix it? im sorry :( ]

Precious is scared to think anything in fear of Regulus listening in.

Huxley and Damien haven’t seen Lovely since Inversion, and haven't seen them return to classes either. To them, Lovely is dead. (well i mean they are dead but y’know what I mean)

Lovely is resentful of Sam for how much of his power he recovered after being turned compared to them, and they hate that they feel that way.

When Elliott heard about Sunshine getting into the crash, he nearly had a panic attack when he heard that they were in critical condition. The person at the front desk could barely understand him when he demanded to see Sunshine.

It took Cutie 2 months to finally pursue therapy, but due to how much the price of therapy skyrocketed in Dahlia after Inversion, they had to look for help outside of town, and is having their friend house sit until they come back.

Both Anton’s and James’ listeners have forgotten what they look like. James’ listener doesn’t even know if he’s okay.

Tank didn’t fully hate Quinn after telling the Department what he did. They were angry, but they didn’t hate him. It wasn’t until he ambushed them and their friend while on a walk did they feel any disdain.

Vincent sees Alexis as a step-sister. The feeling isn’t mutual.

Asher claws at his scars constantly, which creates more scars which he also claws through. It’s a cycle not even Baaabe can end.

Ollie gets tired through all the work assigned to him at Vesta, but he’s never told Babe, or anyone. He just keeps taking the work with a smile and insists on helping people with their work. It’s gotten to the point where he has to slip out of Babe’s arms in their sleep to finish up.

Caelum wishes to have a seat at the double wedding, but he won’t.

Cam’s insomniac listener hasn’t had a visit from him in a while, and it’s gotten harder to fall asleep. Whenever they can’t fall asleep, they simply dim the lights, play calming music, and draw a mysterious man that is stuck in the back of their head, but they can’t recall where they’ve seen him from. They usually do this until 8am, and it messes with the rest of their day.

Guy and Honey have had only 1 major “argument”. Guy was constantly distracting Honey on purpose while they were studying for their finals, something they’ve been stressing over. Eventually they grew angry at him whining outside their door and yelled at him to leave them alone and “pester someone who can tolerate him” before slamming the door and returning to their studies. They didn’t apologize right away, they just both sort of acted casually after a week. It wasn’t until a year after they graduated that the event leaked into Honey’s mind, and they randomly apologized to him. Guy felt that he deserved the reprimand, and they had a talk before they decided to play Mortal Kombat together.

Tank acts tough and violent, but they are petrified of Quinn. They’ve been with him the longest, they know what he’s like, what he can do. They’ve planned out everything they’ll say and do when they encounter him, but if they see him, they’re practically frozen.

Sam has openly refused getting into a car if he sees Lovely in the driver’s seat. He expressed that he’d rather run around the Earth than get into a car with “the second coming of road Satan”. Lovely laughs at the memory but Sam was dead serious.

When they’re not being worked on, or in sleep mode, the Asset sort of just…stares at their hands, and tells anyone questioning that they’re simply recalibrating data. They’re not. They’re reflecting on what happened to them when the obsession code was inserted, and trying to recall what they were like before. They can’t remember.

Freelancer has had MANY “not so nice” thoughts before Caelum revealed himself, and they returned after Inversion.

Angel’s cat died a little while ago. They didn’t tell David, they just drove to Milo’s house under the guise of “going to the store”, and played with Aggro.

Lasko nearly turned down the offer of being a professor at D.A.M.N

The Asset used to go into sleep mode when getting worked on or have upgrades installed. Not anymore. They make sure to keep an eye on the person working on them, and question every code they write, scanning to see if their heart accelerates to catch them in a lie.

Cam has been the only person working at D.U.M.P who questions Warden’s whereabouts.

Fred and Brighteyes haven’t spoken since their argument. Both because Fred can hold a grudge, and because Bright refuses to leave their room if Fred is out there.

Geordi tried talking to Cutie again, but they wouldn’t respond to his texts, or look at them, so he had to visit the house. You can imagine his surprise when someone he remembers seeing from the Pool Party inside their home telling him Cutie is out of town, and you can imagine his surprise when he came back months later and was told the same thing.

Seer Obscura is incredibly superstitious. No walking under ladders, no umbrellas indoors, no stepping on cracks, no going around a pole, none of that. They’re terrified of being killed by some horrible luck

David didn’t consider getting into an official relationship with Angel at first. He thought they wouldn’t last for more than a month. Angel thought otherwise, so while David wasn’t giving it his all for the first few weeks of the relationship, Angel was.

Lasko hasn’t spoken to his mom since he abruptly ran away, and neither of his parents have made an attempt to contact him, despite him trying to contact them.

Warden has grown dependent on Vega in the month they’ve been with him, and becomes distraught when he’s not in the room. 

Baaabe is usually hard-headed and speaks with passion, but after Inversion, they grew to be more soft-spoken, especially around Asher.

When Starlight was first released from Hell, they sneezed after about a minute, so Avior was stuck looking at them sneezing super slowly for a month and a half.

(last one isn't angst lmao)

[kristannafever]

Big Sky Ranch - 6

Kristanna Modern AU Rated: M WC: 4460

Chapter Index

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

Davy and Buck hopped in Frankie’s truck, leaving Kristoff sitting alone with Anna in the back seat while Sven rode shotgun and Coop drove them back to the ranch. 

He was frustrated and tired as hell.  “This isn’t safe,” he said to her again.

Anna shook her head, utterly defiant.  “Like I said, I don’t care.  You are not keeping me out of this now.”

She was angering him.  And she was also arousing him.  He’d been with a cowgirl once who could give it as good as she could take it, and that was nothing compared to the fiery determination in Anna’s eyes.  Fuck, he was a goner with this woman. 

And he had to admit, having her in his corner like she was, that pissed off look like she had when she’d tasered those guys in the back, made him feel pretty damn good.  Whatever thoughts he had that she might give up on him before giving him a proper chance, were gone.  Ever since she hopped into his lap in the truck and looked at him, he could see it in her eyes, and it was all reaffirmed by the fact that she insisted on coming along.

“I’m putting my money on two,” Sven said.  “No way they’re waiting until near daybreak.”

“Yup,” Kristoff agreed. 

“And you really think they won’t split up and hit our houses too?” Coop asked from the driver’s seat.

Sven shook his head.  “No way, too close to the main house.  They know better than to draw Weadick’s attention to them.”

“He’s the man that owns the ranch?” Anna asked.

“Yeah,” Sven answered.  “His family has been ranching in these parts for over a century.  Everyone knows who he is, even Daddy’s boy.”

“And Mr. Weadick… was at the bar tonight too?”

“No,” Kristoff said quickly.  “He doesn’t want any part of what happens outside of this ranch and everyone knows it.  No one fucks with him.”

“He had a son that he planned to take over the ranch someday,” Sven explained.  “Then he was killed when a drunk driver hit him and flipped his truck into a flooded ditch.  Drunk guy passed out and that poor kid drown to death in his own truck.  The old man didn’t really care about much after that.  Waved his rifle at anyone who dared to bother him.”

“Jeez,” Anna muttered, looking sad and bothered by what was said.

“He has a daughter,” Kristoff said, reaching down and grabbing Anna’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.  “She lives in the city with her husband.   Old man Weadick is hopin’ to have a grandkid someday to leave the ranch to.”

“His daughter doesn’t want anything to do with it?” Anna asked.

Sven chimed in, “Nah, not so much.  They got into a bit of a fight about it last time she was visitin’ him for dinner.”

“Could hear them arguin’ all the way at our houses,” Coop said.

“Apparently her and her husband want to sub-divide the land, build housing developments on it.  You know, big estate lots.  Get rich,” Sven added.  “Course, old man Weadick said ‘over my dead body’.”

Anna smiled slightly at the old-man voice that Sven put on when he mimicked his boss. 

Kristoff said, “So, he just sits up in that house, pays us to take care of the ranch, and bides his time.”

“That sounds lonely,” Anna murmured, still looking a little troubled.  “Is he… or, was he, married?”

“He was,” Sven answered.  “She died couple years ago.  Cancer.”

Kristoff nodded. “She was sick for a while and he knew it was coming.  Still, tragic though.  She was really nice, even after what happened to her son.”

“She made the best apple pie,” Sven said with a dreamy voice.

“Wish I could have met her,” said Coop, taking a turn off the country road onto a gravel laneway that Anna recognized as the driveway to Kristoff’s cabin.

Sven laughed.  “She would have liked you, kid.  She could tease the new greenhorns as well as any of us.”

“Huh,” Coop mused.  “Maybe not then.”

Everyone in the truck chuckled a little as Coop drove past where Kristoff’s truck was parked in front of the cabin and around to the back onto the grassy field that rolled up to a wide berm.  He took it a couple hundred meters further and into a ticket of trees that had space enough for the vehicle where it would be out of sight.  The men took off their hats and left them in the truck as they got out.

The moon was just a sliver in the sky, making it near pitch black as they walked the way back to the cabin.  He offered Anna his elbow so that she wouldn’t trip in the dark, and she held it tight walking along beside him. 

At the cabin, Kristoff went inside while everyone else stayed on the porch.  He grabbed the items he needed and joined them, closing his front door and walking back into the darkness.  He handed the rifle to Coop and his other shotgun to Sven.  Moments later, Frankie’s truck rolled up the drive and Buck and Davy got out, each holding a rifle, and walked to where they all were standing. 

Frankie leaned out his open window.  “You boys got this?”

All the men nodded. 

“Alright,” Frankie said.  “I’ll stay hidden and keep an eye on these guys’ approach.  I send the signal, you get ready.  You get into trouble, you call me.  When this is all said and done, I’ll escort those boys outta here myself.”

Kristoff, Sven, Davy, Buck and Coop all murmured an agreement and got into a circle as Frankie pulled away.

“How we playin’ this?” Buck asked.

“Just like the last time,” Sven said. 

“Last time?” Anna and Coop both asked in unison.

Kristoff turned to Anna and gave her a smile, even if she could barely make it out in the near complete darkness.  “Story for another time,” he said quietly.

Buck gave orders. “Davy, you take up point in the back on the left.  I’ll take it up in the back on the right.  Sven, you take up front by your brother, and Greenhorn, I need you to go hide on the slope to the river.  As soon as Kristoff and Sven make themselves known to these boys, you come up slowly, rifle ready, let em know you’re there, and try to look intimidating.”

Coop said, “Sure, no proble-”

“And keep your damn mouth shut,” Buck ordered.

Coop nodded and every man peeled away from Kristoff, Sven and Anna.

“What do I do?” she asked.

That bit of anger flared up again that she was even there.  “Nothing,” Kristoff said quietly.  “You keep your head down until this is over.”

“I have my taser,” she said, voice defiant.

“We’re playing with guns, Anna,” Kristoff said, and started walking down his drive to where they would lay in wait.  “Unless you know how to shoot, you keep quiet and keep your head down.”

She was silent as she followed them and he had to wonder if she was mad at him, or upset with him, or maybe even done with him?  This was certainly not how he wanted to be spending time with her.  Even though it was dark, he’d seen the surprised look on her face when he came out of the cabin with the firearms.

Shit, maybe she was scared? 

Kristoff turned to her as they walked and spoke quietly.  “Just so you know, we have no intention of shootin’ anyone.  Just a precaution, you know.  In case they come in hot.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Anna said back quietly, making it hard for him to gauge her mood.  “I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were going to kill anybody.”

That made him wonder again why she was even there at all.  She had to have known there wouldn’t be anything for her to do in this particular fight.  Did she just want to make sure nothing happened to him?  Or did she want to make sure that no one got hurt with the high levels of testosterone about to face off.

He thought back to his threat against Daddy’s boy in the bar, saying he’d kill him if he laid a hand on Anna.  At the time it was an empty threat, only now, with the thought of Anna possibly getting hurt, maybe not so much. 

Sven peeled off into the bush next to the laneway and ducked under a tree branch to put himself on the far side of the big Oak, hiding from the road behind the trunk.  Kristoff and Anna followed and took up a place out of sight near him.

“So, what is the plan?” Anna whispered when they were settled in hiding. 

“Couple of them will come up the lane,” Sven said quietly. 

“We flank them and Davy and Buck handle the others sneaking up the back,” Kristoff added.

Anna said, “So when you said like last time, you meant it.  Literally.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”  Kristoff sighed.  They didn’t have time to get into the whole story right that instant. 

“With the same guys?” Anna asked.

“No, different scenario altogether, but we don’t-”

Kristoff’s phone vibrated.  He pulled it out of his breast pocket and looked at it the same time Sven looked at his own phone.  Frankie had sent a group text to all the men lying in wait.

“Shit, they didn’t waste any time.”  Kristoff put his phone back in his pocket and took a firm grip on the shotgun.

“Probably went by the bar and looked for our truck and figured we knocked off early.”

“It would appear so,” Kristoff whispered.  He turned to Anna, barely able to make out her expression in the dark.  “You stay behind this tree until it’s over, you hear me?”

“Yeah, okay,” she whispered back. 

“I’m serious,” he warned. 

“Trust me, I believe you,” she said, and shuffled closer to the tree trunk while Sven moved closer to Kristoff’s side.  He couldn’t worry about her or her thoughts in that moment.  Shit was about to go down.

They were silent as they waited and listened.  Everyone knew they would leave their truck a ways back and proceed on foot.  It seemed to take a long time, until the crunch of gravel under boots could be faintly heard coming up the laneway. 

Kristoff waited as three of them walked past, taking careful steps to minimize their noise and one of them with a flashlight pointed to the ground to see where they were stepping.  Of course, Daddy’s boy was leading the charge.  One of them had a shotgun and the other two had something else in their hands that Kristoff wasn’t quite able to make out in the dark. 

Now behind them, Kristoff and Sven crept silently up to the gravel, walking on the grass on the edge a few steps to get closer.  Kristoff stopped in place and Sven went to the left, flanking them on the side.  When he was in place, Kristoff made his move. 

He racked the shotgun, breaking the silence of the night with two loud metal clacks, and all three men stopped dead in their tracks and whipped around towards him. 

“Help you boys?” he asked in a low voice that resonated almost as loud as the shotgun in the quiet of the night.

Sven racked his shotgun, and their focus immediately went that way.  Then Coop approached from the other side and cleared his throat to let them know he was there.  Now all three men were looking back and forth to him, Sven and Coop, realizing they were effectively surrounded.  The one with the gun was keeping it low for the time being.  Good.  It was better this didn’t escalate much further. 

“You boys are trespassing,” Sven warned them without raising his voice too much.  “Not smart.”

“What you got in your hands there, shitheads?” Kristoff asked.

Both of the men holding the small-ish object moved their hands behind their backs to hide what they had.  Not one of them said a word.  Kristoff knew they were waiting for the other two coming up the back to get them out of their predicament. 

He started walking towards them slowly, gun up at the ready and aiming at their knees.  “Drop it,” he demanded through gritted teeth.

They listened, dropping the objects that sounded like thick, liquid-filled glass as they clinked off the gravel.   A second later a sharp whistle came from somewhere behind the cabin.

“Comin in,” Buck warned in his loud voice. 

“Davy too?” Sven shouted back.

“Yup.”

“Good, now we got ourselves a party,” Sven said as he approached the three men Kristoff had the gun trained on.  He reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone, using the flashlight to see what they’d dropped on the laneway. 

“Are those… Jesus shit,” Sven said.  “I knew you guys were fuckin’ crazy but I didn’t think y’all were this nuts.”

“What do we have?” Kristoff asked.

“Couple of Molotov cocktails,” Sven answered.  “No doubt with your name on ‘em.”

In a moment of pure anger, Kristoff raised the gun face level to the three men in front of him.  “You gonna burn down the cabin with me in it.  That the idea?”

Buck and Davy came into view from the side of the cabin with two men walking in front of them, rifles trained on their backs.

“Please, let me go.  I didn’t even want to do this,” said the other guy who had been holding a burn bottle.  He raised his hands slowly.  “I can’t take this shit anymore.”

“Shut your goddamn mouth, Lyle,” Daddy’s boy warned his friend.

The man with his hands in the air turned to his boss.  “No way, Boone.  You’re a fuckin’ psycho.  I’m done with you.”  He turned to Kristoff.  “Can I go, please?  I will never, ever, set foot in this county again.  You have my word.”

Kristoff jerked his head to the side in answer and the guy left hastily with his hands still up in the air.    “Let Frankie know,” he said to Sven.

Taking one hand off the gun, Sven got his phone and dialed.  It was answered right away.  “Got one coming out.  Let him go.”  Then he hung up and put the phone back in his breast pocket.

“Who the fuck was that?” asked the man next to Boone with the gun pointed low.

Kristoff answered, “Cops.”

“Oh, fuck no, I’m out.”  He raised one hand slowly, and with very deliberate and careful movements, bent to lay the gun on the ground. 

“Seriously, Chet?  You fucking pussy,” Boone spat at his friend. 

Chet straightened slowly. “Same deal.  I’m done.  I ain’t never comin’ back here.  I promise.”

“Fuck off then,” Sven said. 

“How about you two?” Buck asked the men stopped in front of them.  The assholes shared a look and then slowly raised their hands in surrender.

“We see you fellas again,” Buck warned, “this is gonna end very differently.”

“Yup,” they both agreed, and started walking quickly away.

“You fucking sissy ass motherfuckers,” Boone screeched in their direction.  Neither man answered. 

Sven grabbed his phone again and dialed Frankie.  “All four, good to go on foot.  Just got Daddy’s boy left to talk to.” 

Boone stood there stark still.  Kristoff could just make out the anger and defiance in his eyes.  He wanted to hit Kristoff… badly.  Hell, he wanted to set his house on fire with him in it no doubt.  He was a dangerous man who could not be turned loose to strike again.

Kristoff had wanted to settle this himself, but the only way this was going to end permanently was a line that he was not about to cross, regardless of his previous feelings of anger. 

Sven moved to his side.  “This is really fucking serious,” he whispered.

“I know,” Kristoff whispered back.  He knew damn well Boone could hear them from the look he was giving them.  The man was furious.

“Tell me those aren’t what I think they are,” Buck said as him and Davy approached, shining a flashlight at the ground where the gasoline filled bottles lay.

Kristoff nodded at the old man.

“Shit,” he said slowly.  “Sven, you better get Frankie up here.”

Sven turned away taking out his phone.  Kristoff watched him walk away and spoke quietly to the man on the other end.  Then he saw movement far past in the direction Sven was heading and was about to swing his gun around, thinking one of Boone’s boys had a change of heart, when he realized it was Anna.

He pointed the gun at the dirt immediately and swiftly walked over, telling Buck to ‘watch him’ over his shoulder. 

He strode up to her quickly, angry that she didn’t listen.  “What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, then looked over his shoulder, hoping they were far enough away that Boone didn’t see her in the dark.   

“I saw four guys run out of here and didn’t hear anything for a while,” she whispered back to him with her own harsh tone.  “I was worried.”

“We’re fine, go back to the tree,” he said, and turned away.

“No.”

He stopped in his tracks and turned back slowly.  He stared at her, quiet around them except for Sven’s voice faintly in the distance, and the far-off drone of crickets and frogs.  His eyes, so much better adjusted to the low light, appraised her furrowed brow and serious expression.  Never in his life had he ever felt such a deep urge to kiss someone.

And never in his life had he ever felt such a deep urge to protect someone.

“Anna, listen, this turned serious.  I do not want-”

“What do you mean serious?  Is someone hurt?”

He shook his head quickly.  “No, no.  But Boone is a dangerous guy.”

“Boone?”

“Ringleader’s name apparently,” he said impatiently.  “Listen, Anna, I do not want him to know that you are here.  I absolutely do not want him to make a target of you.  Please, please, go back to the tree.  This is serious.”

Her wide eyes, shining in the scant moonlight, finally showed understanding.  She nodded and turned away without a word.  Kristoff trudged back to where Sven was just hanging up the phone, hoping they were far enough away now not to be overheard.

“What did he say?”

Sven pursed his lips.  “He’s pissed, of course.  And he’s headed over now to take this fuckwad into custody.  But even charging him probably won’t stick like it didn’t stick last time.  Daddy has deep pockets and knows how to go over Frankie’s head.”

“Yeah, I’m worried about that too.”  Kristoff rubbed a hand down his face.  “What can we do?”

“Dig a grave,” Sven said solemnly. 

“Come on, Sven.  We aren’t those men.”

“Kristoff, brother, if he ever hurts you, I am one of those men.”

He nodded, unable to help where his mind went all of the sudden.  If it was Sven, or Anna, and the worst happened… well, then he wasn’t sure what he’d be capable of, but he imagined it would be a lot.  Like Sven, he supposed he would be one of those men after all.

Headlights stabbed through the darkness on the country road and turned off onto the gravel laneway.  Kristoff and Sven stood where they were, watching as Frankie’s truck pulled up.   While neither of them uttered it out loud, they were both afraid of what Boone might be capable of should his father bail him out of jail again.

*****

Anna waited, eyeing the truck that was now leaving the ranch and wondering what was happening.  Then Kristoff was there a moment later, calling to her in the dark.  She finally came out from behind the tree and met him on the road.  He looked worried.  Exhausted. 

“Frankie has him now,” he said by way of a greeting.  He shrugged dejectedly. 

“What happened?”  She couldn’t help but ask.  Her curiosity was running amok. 

“I, uh… I need to get you back to your place.  Hop in my truck and we can talk on the way.”

Kristoff turned and walked away, so she followed.  When they approached the truck, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out some keys then went to the passenger side and unlocked the door.  It was clearly an old truck, made even more apparent to Anna that it didn’t have automatic locks.  He opened the door and waited until she crawled up into the cab before shutting it. 

He unlocked his own door and hopped in and had just started the vehicle when the big dually rounded the corner around the cabin.  Kristoff rolled down his window with a hand crank when the bigger, nearly brand-new truck stopped.  The back window went down.

Sven looked out at them.  “Drive safe.  See you in a bit.”

Kristoff nodded once and rolled up his window as Coop pulled away.  He put his truck in reverse, backed away from the cabin, and turned to head down the laneway to the main road.  He was silent as he drove, and Anna wondered how to approach the subject.   He was clearly on guard about something.  Perhaps the gentle approach would be best.

“I can see that you and Sven really are as close as brothers.”

Anna could see his mouth turn up in the smallest of smiles by the dim light coming off the instruments of the dashboard.  “Thick as thieves,” he agreed. 

“Do you guys still know your Norwegian?  After you told me the story, I got to wondering.”

He bobbed his head back and forth.  “We do, for the most part.  We have both forgotten a lot of it over the years.  I mean, we never did learn how to read or write it.  I guess we could figure it out if we really needed to, but we just embraced the English and kind of left all that behind.”

“You both speak it really well.  Aside from the names, I figured you were both born here.”

He nodded thoughtfully.  “Sometimes it feels like we were.”

Anna was silent a moment, then decided to get the information she wanted.  “I hope no one was hurt?”

He looked over at her quickly.  “No, not at all.”

“Can you tell me what happened then?”

He sighed, long and deep.  “They showed up with the intent to burn my cabin to the ground.  Likely thinkin’ I was in it.”

Anna’s heart dropped in her chest.  When Kristoff said it was serious, she did not think it was that serious.  She thought maybe someone hit someone they shouldn’t have, or maybe uttered some kind of threat.  Arson and a possible attempted murder weren’t even in her wheelhouse of possibilities. 

She suddenly didn’t know what to say.  Now she understood Kristoff’s rather harsh insistence that she stay put and stay out of danger.  It was clear to her that he didn’t think that those guys were going to do much worse than beat him up either.

“Anna, I don’t think this is gonna work.  Between us.”

She snapped her head in his direction, blindsided.  “What?” Her heart quickened in her chest.

“This life of mine�� it’s not for you.  This is never going to work.”

Anger swelled up, setting her on edge.  After what they’d been through in such a short time, and the strong feelings they had talked about, she knew exactly why he’d said that.  “You get people trying to murder you often?”

Now it was his turn to look quicky at her.  “What?  No!”

“So, this Boone guy shows up with some seriously fucked up idea to set fire to the cabin, apparently with you in it, and you don’t think someone is going to do something about it?”

“His dad bailed him out of the drunk driving charges,” he said sternly.  “I’m sure he’ll bail him out of this too and he’ll try again.”

“You honestly think that?  After what happened, that he’d try and do it again?  With how serious this is?  With how serious those charges are?”

He looked flabbergasted as he kept his eyes on the road, his mouth working silently. “Yes!” he said after sputtering a moment. 

“And you’re worried about something bad happening to me because of it.”  It was a statement, not a question, and Anna knew exactly what she was doing in saying it that way.

His jaw tensed and he suddenly jerked the wheel, pulling them far into the ditch as he flicked a knob on the steering column.  A tick-ticking sound filled the cab as the hazard lights started flashing.  He turned to her, looking down at her where she braced herself against the passenger door for how far they were tilting into the ditch.  His eyes were wide.  “Yes,” he said, “and that horrifies me.”

“You know what horrifies me?  The thought of you getting hurt too.  Why do you think I was adamant about coming along?”  He didn’t react.  He just stared at her with intensity.  Anna pushed herself up a bit off the door to get her face closer to his.  “Do you feel this?  The way I feel this?”

After a second or two, his entire body relaxed along with his face and he just sat there, looking at her for a moment before he slowly nodded.  “I do.  I surely do.”

“Then don’t ever say something like that to me again.”

His eyes scanned hers and he nodded, the corner of his mouth turning up.  “Yes, ma’am.”

Anna smiled.  She liked that.  The other girls at the diner hated it because they were on the young side like her, but Anna had never been addressed with a near constant respect like that from Kristoff and all the other cowboys.  It was nice. 

“Alright then,” Anna agreed, something Kristoff had said to her numerous times already.  She even tried to mimic his slight accent and was rewarded with a bit of a smile. 

He looked contemplative as he pulled back onto the road, and they drove the rest of the way to Anna’s place in silence.  He parked on the street and shut his truck off, then he turned to her, only Anna wasn’t about to let him say whatever he’d opened his mouth to say.

“Stay with me tonight?”

He let out an exasperated breath and shook his head slightly.  “Anna…”

“On my couch.  I’d feel better if you did.”

His mouth closed slowly, looking at her with exhausted eyes, then to her delight, he nodded.

---

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[patchwork-oil]

❧ "Blue Hour”

Chapter 1/?

Pairing: Karkat/Reader (Gender Neutral) Word count: 2,101 Warnings: strong language

Summary: You and your roommate Karkat have a somewhat typical Friday night.

Author’s Note: First x reader I'm posting! Kinda excited :3 dunno if I'll continue this but it was fun to make regardless. I know x readers don't tend to be in first person, but it's my favorite way to read them so :,) you're stuck with that.... The whole theme of my writing is that it's hugely self-indulgent. since like. the homestuck x reader tag is super dead askhjfd

   It’s blue hour isn’t it? I can hardly tell if there are clouds in the sky right now. Looking up between the buildings feels as though I might be about to fall into a deep, dark pool. The street below looks like it’s underwater, the lights from all buildings nearby look… tired? Like I’m looking back at the past through an old, sad movie.

  The front door jingles and opens. 

   Oh, Karkat’s home. What the hell was I doing just now?

   I could have sworn I was doing… something on my laptop. Oh, right. Just watching some YouTube. But, I paused it? To look at the clouds? I’m really out of it right now, I guess. 

   Unconsciously I shake the distraction out of my head. It hasn’t been that long since I got back from my job at the grocery store, I must have spaced out trying to relax to some videos. Whatever, there are much more important things to think about at a time like now. 

   “Karkaaat-” I announce once I open the door to the living room, drawing out his name as long as I could.

   “Fucking hell! What!” He grouched something about just getting back home, a single moment of peace would be nice. He hides his startled jump by trying to put his coat on the rack by the door. 

   “You said you’re cooking tonight,“ I accuse, “and I have never been more in the mood for chicken than I am in this moment right now.” I point a finger at him like I’m in a courtroom and my last name is Wright.

   Karkat makes a look like some sort of wince. “Uh huh. And I’m the unfortunate slob who has to do something about that.” It was almost phrased like a question. He exaggerates every move as he closes the door and steps inside. 

   “You are!” I nod “When you lost the chess match with John yesterday, you also made your roommate look like a loser, remember?”

   “Yes, I get it, I get it. You’re annoying and I have to pay for it.”

   “I’m just saying we both know John is going to ridicule me for even thinking about supporting you at the tournament so you should be the one who has to pay the medical bill for the… embarrassment. In the form of food. Tonight. As dinner…” He looks up at me from taking off his shoes, not amused and highly confused. “I’m losing my train of thought. You said you’d make dinner anyway! Why am I trying to convince you?”

   “I didn’t even say anything,” he chuckles, “that was 100% you.” 

   “I picked up chicken and broccoli from the store today!” As I walked past him to the fridge, I hit him on the arm. 

   “Fucker,” he spits.

   “And I’ll do the dishes like usual.” Placing the chicken on the counter, I reach for the broccoli-

   “Just sit your ass down! If I have to deal with your sniveling prongs making a mess all over the meal block, (Name), I swear to God we are not having a repeat of pasta night.” He starts to make big shooing gestures, ushering me out.

   “You really suffocate my creative spirit, KK,” I playfully sigh, knowing full well I shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen with my track record of spilling anything that can be spilled. Sometimes even things that can’t be spilled. 

   “Last time I checked, we don’t need ‘creativity’ over an open flame.” 

   “You may be right.” I giggle. “Thanks for cooking though.” 

   He mumbles some affirmation and gets to work. My gaze lingers on his back for just a moment before going back to my room to grab my Switch. I’ll always feel guilty about not helping out but I know that even if I were more graceful in the kitchen, he prefers to have control over everything. I will, however, be within earshot if he needs an extra hand. Starting up something casual on the Switch, I plop down onto the couch. 

   Maybe there was something in those clouds today. I can’t stay focused on one thing for too long. I’ve abandoned the game, still holding it my hands while its quiet soundtrack plays. Every time Karkat uttered a curse over the food, I caught myself looking up, watching him for a while, then looking away. 

   We’d been roommates for ages now, since the last year of college. We quickly clicked, which was super fortunate for me. There was no way I wanted to live on my own after school, and as luck would have it, he wasn’t opposed to staying as roommates either. He, for the most part, enjoys cooking, I clean the dishes since he says he hates doing that, he doesn’t mind to remind me when I forget to do a chore around the house, and I’m not bothered by how he gets loud on calls with his friends. It’s such a ruminating day today…

   “Hello? Do you have slime in your hear ducts?”

   Eh? Ruminating over. 

   “Earth to (name).” 

   “I’m here! I’m awake,” I jostle suddenly.

   Karkat just started putting everything on the table—the nice one we worked together to buy so we had somewhere to play his tabletop games. Though, it also takes up the majority of the small apartment. 

   “Sure you are. You weren’t even looking at the game, you looked like you were undressing the meal vault with your mind.” 

   A surprised laugh escapes from me as I get off the couch. 

   “Food’s ready.” 

   “Yay! Thank you again, it smells really really good.” 

   “Mhm.”

   We squeeze into the chairs and dig in, it tastes just as good as it smells. I’m honestly pretty lucky Karkat is cool with cooking for me. We used to eat in our rooms, both because of the lack of a table but also because we both preferred eating alone. It’s likely we’re only eating here to get our money’s worth, but there’s still something satisfying about a warm homemade meal over a nice table. 

   “Kar?” 

   He only looks up in response, food’s probably keeping him from his usual yelling. 

   “I got a new game if you want to play with me tonight,” I swallow and continue, “since it’s Friday and whatever.”

   He sighs loudly once he’s done chewing. 

   “Cooking for you and entertaining your screen addiction? Seriously, (Last Name), have I been put on this planet, cursed by the twisted gods who hide their sorry asses among the stars where they know my mortal wrath can’t reach, to be the player 2 at your beck and call?” Despite his long-windedness, his voice is softer than usual, making me smile before I even process what he said–a good sign he’s totally up for a game. 

   I perk up, “It’s called Heave Ho, I’ve watched other people play it so I got it myself. I think you’ll really like it.” 

   “If it wasn’t Saturday tomorrow I wouldn’t even think about it.” 

   “Yay!” I kick him under the table and he kicks me back just as hard. “This is super fuckin’ good by the way, I’d eat this every night.”

   “I only followed a recipe, you don’t have to slobber all over my bulge about it.” 

   “Gross, in front of my chicken?” 

_________________

   “Could you! Fucking! Hold on for one second! Do you think you’re capable of doing that?”

   “Hahah-I’m trying, I’m trying! I swear to god the button is unpressing its-hahaha-elf!”

   “It’s not ‘unpressing’ itself you’re CLEARLY letting go–just fucking–HOLD ME UP!”

   “I AM! What! Pfft bahaha-you don’t think I’m doing everything I can?”

   “You’re swinging in the wrong direction–(NAME) YOU–AGH-”

   A short “splat” noise follows and I erupt in laughter. Karkat throws his head backwards on the couch and groans sounds of anguish into his hands. I can’t help putting down my controller, my character dying as a result, and holding my sides to try and keep them from splitting. 

   “You thought I would like this game?! You thought, no–” he turns so he’s facing me on the couch, “(Name) you thought,” he grabs me by both arms, which I don’t really process because I’m still laughing “You thought there was some way in ever-loving Hell we could play this game without me bursting a fucking blood vessel and dying here in this room right now?!”

   “Sto-op!” I can only manage to squeal between gasps at air in my laughter. “I can’t–I can’t,”

   “Literally the most hopeless display at cooperative gameplay I’ve ever fucking seen and you make me play every damn game you buy.” He lets go of me and I fall backwards onto the arm of the couch, still giggling away. Distantly, I can hear him also laughing. It fills me with accomplishment, knowing I chose a game he would enjoy. I knew this game would be ragey, but it’s also primarily skill-based. As long as he knows I’m trying, which he can trust from how often we play together, he’ll have a good time.

   Finally I can manage one big gulp of air before I’m back in position. He was holding his head up with one hand, massaging the bridge of his nose, surely trying to hide the sharp-toothed grin he can’t shake. I knock my shoulder into his to snap him out, and after collecting himself he retaliates with enough strength to nearly push me off the couch. I rebound and get comfortable again, sitting cross-legged with one leg over his.

   “We. Just-“ I giggle “-need to regroup.”

   “Oh really? Oh really, is that all?”

“Stop it—I’m being so real Karkat I might piss if you make me laugh again don’t even test me. Pick up the controller, we can do this.”

   “No, we have to do this. We’re going to beat this level.”

   “YES! That’s the spirit.”

   We muse over our plan a little more. Deciding how exactly we should angle our characters to achieve the perfect toss—right into the goal. A couple more failed attempts go by calmly, “all part of the plan” I repeat like a mantra. 

   A calculated silence falls over the apartment. Blue hour is far from over and the windows we forgot to close display a full dark scene of a quiet cityscape. Some bright apartments far away are blinking sleepily.

   “FUCKING-“

   “No no no, focus-“

   Our characters swing, the game music hums idly, our characters stare blankly back at us. 

   We launch ourselves at the goal. 

   Everything is still.

   A successful note starts to ring.

   “YES HOLY SHIT!”

   “Oh my god!”

   We both start to pump the air with a wave accomplishment washing over us. Confetti in the game starts to fall and I turn to look at Karkat-

   -at the same time he turns to look at me. 

   Both our smiles drop to surprise and a beat goes by. I push myself off of him and he takes his hand off from my back—

   “I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t realize I was so close-” I start.

   “No- you’re fine, I didn’t… Notice. I wasn’t paying attention, sorry.”

   We both nervously laugh. The soundtrack went quiet, briefly, before it automatically moved onto the next level with a funny sound effect. 

   What. 

   The FUCK–why was I–I had somehow managed to get myself half on top of Karkat while we played–and then when we looked at each other we were so close- and what the fuck he stared at me I think? How long did we look at each other? What the fuck was that? And his arm, I can’t-

   “Oh man! We left the blinds open, let me just close them really quick.” I stand up, speeding without really thinking about it, to the window. 

   “(Name)?” Nope. Ignoring that. 

   I prop myself up by two arms over the back of the couch, moving so rigidly it nearly hurts. 

   “We beat the level! That’s pretty cool! So. Maybe it’s about time y’know we call it a day. Right? Yeah.”

   He still doesn’t say anything while I start to pull the switch out of the dock and lock the joycons back in place. 

   “Um? Sorry, again, I’m just gonna go back to my room. So um! Goodnight!” I robot over to my door. 

   “What the- (Name)!”

   “Oh, and for the food! Thanks again!”

   And slam it shut by accident. I don’t hear anything from the other room for a moment, not for the minute or two I strained myself to listen. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding and slump against the door. 

   Ever so slowly, I ghost my hand over my mouth.

   Why am I freaking out so much?

Next Chapter

Author's Note: Yay! Hope you enjoyed :) I will mayyybe write a second part, bc this is definitely not finished haha. I dont know the best x reader tags! if you're willing to help me out id love to know :3

[undreaming-fanfiction]

With This Ring (13)

Chapter 12 here, Ao3 here

The whole rush to the church was a blur to Steve. He was distantly aware of Eddie’s sped up summary of the last day that sounded more like a drunken nightmare instead of something that could have ever happened. He didn't bother adding any details, instead focusing on the feel of Robin and Eddie’s arms under his. Steve had originally started speed walking and tried to keep his pained expression at bay, but a few whispers behind him put a prompt end to that. They both grabbed him, supported his weight enough to lessen the pain in his ankle and off they went.

Robin, to her credit, remained mostly quiet. Maybe it was the shortness of breath - as Eddie had said before, not needing any oxygen had its merits - but she took the whole story in literal stride. Only when Eddie finished with tossing the tape in the mail did she say something.

“I wish I could have seen Dick’s face when you did the stabby thing. He deserved that. And more.” Her tone didn’t betray much, but there was a hidden sting.

Eddie laughed. “Damn right he did. Although you’ve surprised me, Buckley. You seem pretty chill with the whole living dead thing.”

She kept her eyes on the road, carefully synchronizing her steps with Steve. “Trust me, I’m freaking out on the inside. But I saw you up close. You…don’t look right. Having a crazy explanation is better than guessing and coming up with an even crazier one.” After a few seconds of silence, she added, “and also I don’t have time to faint, scream my head off, or do whatever you’re expecting. Nancy’s about to marry that douchebag, and I can only handle one crisis at a time.”

“Wise.”

As they arrived at the church door, Steve turned to face them. “How do I look?” 

It wasn’t really a question. He was disheveled and for how crazy his heart was beating, he was dead tired. No pun intended. 

Eddie smirked at him and tucked a rogue hair strand behind Steve’s ear. “Perfect, like always.” 

“Yeah yeah, but you also look like someone who was supposed to crash the wedding five minutes ago,” snapped Robin and pushed him towards the door. “Let’s go!” 

That was an order he could easily follow. Steve straightened his back and pushed the heavy doors open. 

He was met with dozens of pairs of eyes. Frightened, relieved, confused…but mostly judging.

The church wasn’t nearly as full as Steve expected, but his stomach still gave an uncomfortable squeeze, as if it begged him not to draw any more attention to themselves. But he had to do it, had to be in the spotlight again. Especially when Nancy was about to have her life ruined in a way much worse than had been in her stars just a few days prior. 

Swallowing down the rising panic, Steve took a deep breath. “I object!” 

If Brenner’s stare could kill, Steve would be hanged, stabbed, stoned and set on fire all at once. 

But as cheesy as it may have sounded, he was afraid of nothing when he had Eddie by his side. 

“You’re late, young man,” Brenner said. “You had your chance already, you squandered it. Isn’t ruining one wedding enough for you?” 

“Not at all, sir.” Steve was marching ahead, still holding Eddie’s hand and focusing on not letting his pain show. This wasn’t a place to show weakness. “This one is far more enjoyable to ruin. Because the bride actually doesn’t want to marry him. I doubt God looks kindly at coercion.” 

Nancy smiled at him with so much warmth and disbelief it made his heart jump. “Steve, you came! You’re okay!” she whispered. She bit her lip when she saw Robin behind his back, sneaking to the side and making her way to the altar. To do what, Steve wasn’t sure, but he would support her no matter what, even if she tried to abduct Nancy by throwing her over her shoulder. 

But before he could respond, another voice interrupted them. “You dare to speak about God when you keep this company?!” 

Jason Carver was shaking. He stared at Eddie with a look so hateful and terrified that he must have seen through the ruse, even though Eddie was still far away. Eddie wasn’t facing any of the wedding guests, but Carver’s expression betrayed that he knew. 

“I don’t know what dark entity brought you back, freak, but you don’t belong here. You can’t be in the house of God! I won’t allow you to ruin more lives than you already have!” 

Nancy took a step back, watching Jason with confusion. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t you see? He’s dead! His…his eyes are all wrong. He was gone for over a year and now he’s come back…different.” Jason was pale under his usual tan. He was licking his lips between sentences, staring at Eddie as if he’d been sent to drag him to hell. “You should be dead and I don’t care what black magic you are using, you will return to the grave. The dead have no right to walk amongst the living!” 

“Ooooh, scary!” muttered Eddie, but Jason wasn’t listening. His focus had shifted to the wedding guests.

He turned to the seated people of Hawkins and raised arms. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I know how preposterous it sounds, but take a single look at his face and tell me, is this the Eddie Munson you knew?!”

More people turned to Eddie, studying him and flinching as the realization hit them. “No,” was the resounding answer. 

Jason continued his speech, turning to pastor Brenner. “Pastor, you are a man of God. Will you allow this? Will you allow this abomination to disturb this joyful day?!” 

“No!” shouted one of Jason’s friends. Steve recognized him - it was Patrick, Jason’s teammate and a constant sidekick. “Not in this town!” 

There it was, that famous magnetic personality. Jason could rally crowds, inspire bravery and righteous anger with his speeches, just like he had when Chrissy disappeared. Steve could see the wedding guests stirring in their seats, some slowly getting up, moving towards him and Eddie. He grasped his hand, disregarding its coldness – it provided much more warmth to him than many had in life. So what if he was supposed to be dead! 

Dead…

Steve took a deep, sharp breath. Was this…?

The mob in fancy clothes was approaching. 

“Steve?” whispered Eddie and tugged on his hand, urging him to follow him out of the church. “I’m pretty sure this is our cue to leave. Maybe run. Fast. I’m sure the bride to be will follow.”

But Steve shook his head and let go of Eddie’s hand, a single caress on his knuckles as a promise of return before he took a step forward. 

“How do you know, Jason?” 

The groom stared at him, confused. The charm was temporarily broken and people stopped in their tracks, glancing between the two men. “How do I know what?” asked Jason.

Steve couldn’t help himself, he felt his trademark bitchy smirk tugging on his lips. He might not have been academically smart, but he knew people. And that right there? That was a man sweating underneath his expensive wedding suit, and not because the church was too warm, oh no. 

He took another step forward and motioned for the people to sit, no struggling for confidence this time, no wondering if he deserved the attention, the respect he felt when they returned to their seats, confused but obeying. Because this wasn’t about him – this was about Eddie in every single way. If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t really remember when things hadn’t been about Eddie. 

“How do you know Eddie is dead?” he asked again, loud and clear. “Because that was an impressive monster hunt speech. And yet…no one could have told you Eddie is dead. He’s moving. He’s breathing, when he remembers to. Sure, I told my parents and Robin too, but I know for certain none of them told you. My parents would never say something so preposterous aloud, and Robin didn’t know until just a few minutes ago. The point is - Eddie does look alive if you don’t see him up close. But you are so certain from the second we walked in that he’s dead. Or at least…that he was dead at some point.” 

Jason grew several shades paler, if that was even possible. He was gripping Nancy’s elbow so tightly that she bit her lip in pain and yanked her hand away. Staring at Steve, he was stammering, searching for words. “I…of course he is, I mean look at him, look-“ 

But Steve just shook his head, making his way to the altar. The carpet felt soft under his feet and he had to stifle an urge to laugh – he was dreading this day so much, avoiding it like the plague, and yet joining Nancy at the altar now felt like the most natural thing in the world. It was almost liberating, saving her from a monster that for once wasn’t their forced marriage. 

“Look at what, Jason?” he stretched his words, enunciating and raising his voice so everyone in the church could hear him. “Please enlighten me. Or maybe some of you esteemed guests can!” He turned around and addressed the wedding guests, taking in their faces – Ted Wheeler’s pasty face, trembling in silent rage, confusion in others, fear…but only one face showed what he was looking for. 

Karen Wheeler was clutching her purse so tight her baby blue nails made tiny indents in them, but her mouth was open. She couldn’t hide the horror of the growing realization about who her daughter was to marry. 

Steve smiled at her, motioned for her to speak up. “Tell me, Mrs. Wheeler. When you look at Eddie Munson, the man standing there – sure, he might look a bit tired, maybe pale, but would your immediate thought be…this man is dead?”

She shook her head slowly and Steve didn’t have to look behind him to sense the pride that was swelling from Nancy. The women of this family were strong, after all. “Absolutely not,” she answered, voice loud and clear. “Not unless…I already knew he was dead.” Her eyes bore into Jason, accusing him. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler. My thoughts exactly.” Steve turned back to the guests and extended his hand towards Eddie in a silent plea to join him. “You see, Jason is right. Eddie is dead. As in no heartbeat but still moving, reanimated dead. He’d be able to describe it more eloquently, maybe even present it in a rather disturbing way. But Jason couldn’t have known that – Eddie was assaulted about a year ago and left for dead, buried in a shallow grave…”

That was the first time Steve’s voice faltered, the anger, sadness and injustice of it all squeezing his throat, but Eddie’s cool hand was there again, rejoining him and grounding him as he went on. 

“A shallow grave a short walk from here, in the woods. There was no headstone to see, no indication what happened. As far as everyone knew, Eddie just left one day. And it was so convenient to believe that he ran away after all the rumors about Chrissy Cunningham, about his assumed role in her disappearance. Even if his uncle knew Eddie would never leave his guitar, his beloved books, hell, especially him. He wouldn’t leave Wayne Munson behind, not without a goodbye. But if you asked, someone had an answer…a convenient witness who saw Eddie leave the town.” 

Steve turned to Hopper who stood there with his usual unreadable expression, frowning at the guests and at the world. “Chief. Can you please confirm for all of us here who informed you that Eddie left the town, that he wasn’t missing?” 

Hopper stayed quiet for a moment, fingers looped behind his belt as he considered his answer. “It was Andy…Andrew Conner,” he said gruffly, stabbing Jason with a sharp glare – Jason, who was still grasping what was happening. 

And there it was, the final discrepancy. Nodding, Steve addressed the guests again. “There you have it. The only reason why Eddie Munson wasn’t considered missing was the word of a single young man…a young man who happens to be Jason’s close friend. And yet, before even seeing Eddie up close, Jason immediately believed that Eddie was the spawn of Satan, an unholy zombie or whatever he wants to call his current state. But if his best friend witnessed Eddie leaving the town, how come Jason immediately jumped to this conclusion?” 

Hopper made a sound of reluctant agreement. “Young Harrington here makes a good point. Care to explain that, Carver? Because I’ve been here for the whole shitshow and while you spouted a lot of stuff about black magic and what not, that young man doesn’t look dead to me.” 

Before Jason could respond, Patrick stood up again and pointed a finger at Eddie. “This is absurd. What reason would Jason have to kill Munson? Sure, he didn’t like him, but it’s not like he’d risk prison to get rid of him. You don’t go to jail for vermin.” 

Before anyone could answer, an unexpected sound broke the silence – Eddie started laughing, loud and unrestricted, echoing between the tall church walls. “Oh, but he had a reason,” he growled at Jason, staring daggers at him. “I didn’t really suspect him, didn’t think he had it in him. Or at least I hoped that the Hawkins’ next golden boy wouldn’t do something so utterly stupid. See, Nancy Wheeler isn’t the first woman Mr. Perfect here is about to make unhappy. Do any of you remember who used to date Chrissy Cunningham?” 

The groom grew even paler. “Don’t you dare talk about her!” 

“Oh, but I will!” Eddie uttered, and his eyes were cold, angry. “I will because she is an incredible person that never deserved what she got from you. She felt suffocated by this town, by you, by her family.”

Eddie took another step towards Jason and each word sounded like an accusation. “I know all about you, Jason. She told you about the pain she suffered under her parents, their criticism, their demands, the threat to her health that they were. She decided to confide in you because she thought you cared about her. And what did you do? You told her to be patient and understanding. You told her that this must have been their way to show love, that they were her parents after all and they would never hurt her. All the while she was starving herself for their approval. After that, she came to me for help.” 

Hopper tilted his head. “To you?” 

“Yes, to me. How bad do you think it must have been, to trust the local outcast instead of her perfect shiny boyfriend? She was afraid of everything and everyone, but the night her mother told her that she had a month to lose weight into her wedding dress when Chrissy barely ate enough to function, that was the last straw. She was so weak, so hungry. She told me that the stale cafeteria müsli bar I had in my van was the most delicious thing she’s ever had.

She knew some of my friends had moved out of Hawkins and wanted a starting point for her new life. Someone to crash with. I helped her plan everything, gave her my friend’s number and directions. I made sure I was on that bus with her, I went to Indy with her, helped her find the place. Then I went there to check on her again…because she trusted me. And I would never betray that trust.” Glaring at Jason, Eddie’s fists were clenching and unclenching as the realization sank in - that he finally found the cause for his untimely demise, his murderer. “But I never thought that you’d kill me for it, Carver.” 

Steve expected many things, most likely a fight to break out, for Carver to deny everything, maybe for Hopper to step in and arrest him for…what exactly? But the one thing he never saw coming was Carver’s hands dropping, hanging limply by his sides. What was written on his face was pure shock.

“Chrissy…Chrissy’s alive?” he whispered. 

Once again Eddie’s chuckle echoed in the church, but no matter how many times the sound was brought back, it held no joy, no amusement. It was bitter, so bitter that Steve’s insides felt like ice. “Wait. Fucking wait. I thought that all the shit you were saying about me killing Chrissy was just your way of punishing me for letting her escape your clutches. Are you really…are you telling me you really believed that I murdered her?”

Jason was sweating, shaking even more than he had been before. He looked like he was about to be sick, clutching his mouth and taking deep breaths through his nose. “What else was I supposed to think?” he whispered. “She said she’d be back the next day. You wouldn’t talk to me. She never…she never mentioned wanting to break up, how was I…”

“Of course she didn’t! She told me everything, Jason! How you shut down her attending college, for her own good of course. How you asked her parents to marry her even when she told you she wasn’t ready. And you have the fucking gall to question why she ran away instead of talking things through with a guy who bulldozed over everything she wanted? Who told her to keep starving herself to keep the peace?!”

That snapped Jason out of his stupor. “I loved her, you freak!” he shouted, his voice breaking at the last word. “As if you could ever understand that! She always understood that I wanted only the best for her, she knew it was the right choice when we discussed things. I would have made her happy! It would take only a while. We would appease her parents and she’d be free. She didn’t…she didn’t have to run away from me…”

Eddie’s anger dissipated, and he just seemed sad. Rubbing his temples, he let out a deep sigh. “Look, I can handle being murdered for doing the right thing, but being dead because you’re dumb and didn’t bother to think of other options? Because you’ve got a…murder tunnel vision? I’d be better off not knowing.” 

Jason was staring at the floor, and Steve thought he saw tears in the corners of his eyes. “I never wanted to kill you,” he whispered. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

Eddie’s eyes snapped back towards him. “What? Care to explain this,” he gestured at his own face, his body, “because how do you fucking accidentally murder someone?”

Steve could have sworn he heard Chief Hopper mutter, “yeah, that’s what I’d also like to know.” 

Still talking to the floor, Jason wrapped his arms around his middle. Cornered and finally forced to reveal the truth, he seemed much younger. “You wouldn’t talk to me! You’d always leave when I tried to question you, or you’d say that I’d better get used to Chrissy being gone because it wasn’t changing. So I thought I’d make you talk. I saw you going to those woods, and I followed you. I just wanted to knock you out. I wanted to restrain you, question you. But I…I hit you too hard. You just collapsed and…when I checked, you weren’t breathing.” 

Steve felt sick, and from the look on her face, Nancy did too. She was taking short steps away from Jason, not daring to turn around. Robin, on the other hand, was petrified. Nancy had to tug on her hand several times to make her move. 

But Jason wasn’t stopping them. He was full on crying now, sobbing into his palms. “I was so afraid. I tried to revive you, I swear. But you weren’t getting up, and I thought…I can’t get arrested, not when Chrissy’s still missing. I buried you there and told Andy I saw you leaving on that bus. He’d repeat anything I told him. I thought I’d confess once I found her, but…I never did. I couldn’t stop looking for her because if she wasn’t found, then what I did would have been for nothing. And now you’re telling me that’s exactly what it was. I killed someone for nothing.”

Apart from Jason’s lingering sobs, the church was quiet. Eddie stopped moving and stared at the stained glass window above the altar, at the tinted rays of sun that had no business looking so cheerful. “A mistake until the end,” he said flatly. “How fitting.” 

Steve barely registered the steps behind him. Chief Hopper got up from his seat and, not unkindly, grasped Jason’s arm. “That sounded like a murder confession to me, Carver. You know what that means.”

Jason nodded through his tears, meeting Hopper’s eyes with something that hadn’t been there for years - acceptance. “Yeah. I do. I’m coming with you.”

There was a sudden rush of movement from everywhere - Jason’s parents throwing themselves towards Hopper and being blocked by his officers, Karen Wheeler rushing to Nancy and Robin, Mrs. Henderson and the Sinclairs ushering all the kids outside despite their vehement protesting…it was a lot. But Steve could only concentrate on one thing - Jason Carver stopping in front of Eddie.

“For all it’s worth…I’m sorry,” he said. Glancing towards Nancy who was in a joint embrace with Robin and Karen, he added, “to both of you.” 

With his and the kids’ departure, the church finally went quiet.

Chapter 14 here

[sugutoad]

Matchup Trade for @karlalove2002

╰┈➤ Thank you for doing Matchups at Sugutoad

╰┈➤ Kento Nanami ‘The Accumulation Of Those Little Despairs Is What Makes A Person An Adult’

He had thought no one would care if he died, Haibara was dead and his remaining friends were too busy struggling for their life to acknowledge one another. The short woman who had walked alongside Ino caught his attention, he had seen many beautiful women before but you were ethereal.

That optimism, big brown eyes and brown hair… You were too similar to Haibara. He tried to ignore you at first, he didn’t want any painful memories. Not now. Not ever. But when you would wave shyly at him in the halls as he passed you, he couldn’t help but nod. And smile… a small smile would crack at the corner of his lip. He was a bit too tired to notice though, after all love is shit. Just like work and sorcerers.

His MBTI and yours are quite similar. ISTP and ISTJ. The only difference between the two of you are your last letters. But the truth is, differences are good in a relationship. Not everything the two of you have to go hand in hand to the other person’s opinion. And differences can be good, after all it would be boring to have a partner the exact same as you. New sides of both of you can be opened, ones that have never been truly explored. He is a judger and you are a perceiver. How do you change one another? That’s up to you and he will follow your lead, picking the most logical route.

Not much can be said about zodiacs as they do not represent a person’s identity properly but Nanami, being the Cancer he is, was slightly different around you. See the passage I found, I think it describes the two of you:

“Leo and Cancer both have big feelings, which can make for a solid relationship when both parties engage in healthy communication habits. Leo won't be shy in sharing how they feel, and although Cancer may be a bit more guarded at first, their body language will be a dead giveaway. These two fall fast.”

He wants to spend his time with you. He promised himself that after Itadori is sent to safety, away from the glooming eyes of the elders who controlled all their lives like master puppeteers , he would retire. He didn’t enjoy life as a sorcerer, why must he experience the death of others first hand? Perhaps… if the two of you survive the challenges the world throws at you… you can leave everything. Say your goodbyes and move to Malaysia. 

He wants to spoil you so much. The amount of times you had told the blonde man, he refused. You were his girlfriend, you had to be treated the best. Just sitting with you on the couch, the pearl beaded necklace he brought for you glistening in the light. He was so happy. If you buy him even a loaf of bread, he will complain you spoil him too much. And then proceed to buy a ring for you. Who knows, maybe even a wedding ring? Atelat once a week, he takes you out to a fancy restaurant. His lover should dine in the finest of places. And if you wish to eat at home, he will cook for you, occasionally Ino comes to eat with the two of you. Probably some karaoke with you and Ino may be involved. Nanami would rather sit beside Gojo for five minutes before singing in front of other people.

He was never the time of man who could sit through a whole episode of a show. Always looking at his clock, just to be sure how much he was wasting and how he could make up for it. But after learning you liked anime, he sat down on his coach and watched the ones you had always mentioned about. He wanted to talk with you about it, always making theories and ways the storyline could have been better. Saying things like: ‘why is Naruto so obsessed with Sasuke? Can’t he leave him alone’ or ‘I think Annie is the female Titan, how can they not guess that?!”

He has your drawings hanging in his room, it’s so embarrassing to you yet cute. Whenever he is doing his work, he glances to the side to see your art pieces and reminds himself that you also work hard to create those pieces willingly.

He is so patient. When you want to say something, he will sit in front of you and listen to your thoughts. Nanami doesn’t care how long he has to wait, he just wants you to be revealed and not anxiety filled. He often smiles at your jokes, well most of the time. When a dirty joke spills from your sweet lips, a look of disgust appears in his face. He may or may not scold you for being so childish, depends upon his mood that particular day.

[ancat-dubh]

A friend died a few weeks ago and I dreamed about him last night. I say friend – he was my boss at my first bartending job when I was 18, and for a few years after that at the theatre where we both acted, did the box office, and served drinks. That was a big transformative period of my life, though, and a lot of the grown-ups around me then – charismatic actors living out of their suitcases, often in addiction, doing some of the greatest art I’ll ever see, also my first dose of queer elders – have had an outsized lasting influence in my life.

He was a friend in my mind, even though we mostly only exchanged birthday messages and pleasantries when I was in town or, once, a black-out drunken run-in at the dive bar where he didn’t recognise me, but smiled and pirouetted me on my way to the bathroom. He was a strange, intense poet who’d won Jeopardy one year, given it all away, and tried and tried to make it work as an actor. He drank more as he got older, and his frequent Facebook posts got angrier, lonelier, occasionally blaming unnamed women for the pain he was in; his spot-on range of accents, sleepy gentle bookseller’s regard, and ability to flick into uncanny, ecstatic states onstage in an instant stayed the same.

He’d grown up in the Green Mountains, and it was there I was driving to see him in my dream. I’d been late getting up to meet him; we’d planned to get a drink at the bar in the town where his mother lived. We were having a text exchange while I drove, the kind you sometimes have in dreams where everything’s shaky and the buttons aren’t working and the conversation’s high stakes. (Or maybe you don’t have those – it’s been a while since I’ve dreamed regularly, years, maybe, but I’ve had a few these past few weeks). After getting tired of waiting for me, he’d gone off to a local environmental demo in support of a rare species of snake. While he was there, a counter-protestor had lit the forest on fire; he was texting me images and videos of the fire, of himself yelling and shouting trying to direct the firefighters, alongside downloaded images of the rare snake they were there to save. Are you okay? I was trying to ask as I drove further up the Mountains towards his house. I stared at the image of the snake bouncing in my lap while I waited for his reply – yellow belly, iridescent black body blazing a dull rainbow.

I haven’t been a ~visual artist dahling since about age 16 and I shan’t pretend to be so it surprised me how much the automatic drawing I did tonight to charge my quarter of our Imbolc ritual looked as it did on the phone in my dream. It looked, too, like the banner my friend and I painted together in the dream when we both arrived at his house safely – him smoky and tired, me out of breath from my anxious drive, cracking open a few beers and an old bedsheet and almost wordlessly painting the snake against the smouldering woods together to hang on his wall. It didn’t occur to me he was dead until after I woke up, but when I remembered the overall feeling of relief, contentment, ease in my body remained alongside grief.

I slowly worked some protection magic into a snake drawing tonight doing a little improvised ritual digesting after our feast (Guinness and honey glazed salmon, my v non-tradish version of colcannon, cheese platter with dried apricots, clotted cream and madeleines). After two of us left, my friend who was hosting and I made our own sketches of snakeskins with intentions and offerings written between the scales, and burned them while pouring out some libations to the ancestors and local gods. I thought about one story of Brigid, particular to Scotland, where the goddess emerges from the ground as a snake to start the spring; snakes fleeing fires through canyons and across hot asphalt in LA; the quiet, tactical prudence of the Wood Snake and the days-old Chinese New Year.

It occurred to me once or twice too, as I thought about my dead friend’s insistence on sending me this image of a snake, of all things, burning vibrant and don’t-touch-me colourful over a pine forest sparking into flames – I’m scared of snakes. Ever since I was four years old, and nearly stepped on a baby copperhead wriggling across my path while I walked barefoot through a dusty summer meadow. But this one felt like so much of a Sign showing up the way he did, I felt like I knew him already; there was no question of being afraid. God is change, I wrote on my paper sketched snakeskin; my friend and I wound ours together and set them alight and they burned right through into a perfect circle of black ash, so perfect and simultaneous we both shrieked and clapped our hands. (I’d had us read some of the maxims in Parable of the Sower for our ritual – I’d started rereading it the other week with images of the LA fires echoing in my brain and had to stop because the whole thing was a little too real and relentless and my brain’s only a few weeks out from feeling like a sharp trap). Spring’s not here yet but the change is here already. I thought of the snake-goddess sticking her head from her winter burrow, tongue tasting the air to confirm – yes. We’re in it; it’s here.

[artsy0wl]

It’s Me, Leibchen

Back with another wonderful little Logurt fic of mine. While I try to plan out my next one, I thought I would share this. This takes place during and after the events of the Wolverine and the X-Men episode Hunting Grounds (I have one or two that take places around this episode lol), Kurt’s being Kurt, and Logan tries to keep his distance because he doesn’t want to hurt him again.

Also, the following are lil German phrases that Kurt’ll be using.

Leibchen: Sweetheart

Kleine blau Katzchen: Little blue kitten

Ja: yes

Ich leibe Logan: I love wLogan

Bist nicht ein Monster: You are not a monster

Ich leibe dich: I love you

Ich vergebe dir: I forgive you

I'll think of something else.

And that's exactly what Kurt would do. He wasn't going to take Wanda's suggestion. He wasn't going to kill Logan. Not when he could be saved.

Drawing him to Kurt was a risk. In this condition, Logan was unpredictable and feral. He wasn’t in control of his actions either. One wrong move could kill Kurt, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

A low growl was Kurt’s only warning before Logan attacked. Adamantium claws slashed at Kurt, but missed, flying through a puff of smoke. Landing on Logan's back, Kurt tried to pry the equipment off of Logan.

Unfortunately, the electrical current from it and Logan’s struggling caused the blue mutant to retreat. What followed, was a barrage of swipes in his direction, which he dodged before teleporting again. Once again landing on Logan’s back, Kurt tried to yank the equipment off of Logan, but the electrical current send him flying.

The next thing Kurt knew, Wanda was trying to stall Logan. Dark smoke formed as Kurt moved to get her out of harm’s way. Kurt brought them to a sturdy branch high off the ground, looking for Logan. Clearly his plan wasn’t working, but he wasn’t going to give up.

“Enough hiding.” Wanda lectured. “He needs to be stopped. Permanently if need be.”

Kurt flinched at the lethal implication in her tone. She wanted him dead, despite knowing he wasn’t in control. Spotting Logan, he concocted one last ditch effort.

“I know what I have to do.” Kurt stated, jumping out from their hiding place.

“He’ll kill you!” Wanda shouted.

“He won’t!”

Kurt landed in front of Logan, not making a move as they locked eyes. He was going to have to get close if he was going to do this. Logan ran at him, claws engaged, as Kurt mirrored the action. Dodging the first few strikes, Kurt looked for an opening.

Claws dug deep into Kurt’s arm, which prompted a hiss from the blue mutant and an audible gasp from Wanda. Ignoring the sting, Kurt’s hands grabbed the sides of Logan’s face, causing the Canadian to pause.

“Leibchen, it’s me.” Kurt whispered. “Your kleine blau Kätzchen. You’re hurt. Let me help you.”

Logan didn’t seem to react, too confused or tired to do so. Or maybe he was recognizing Kurt. Kurt gently kissed Logan’s forehead, hoping it would distract Logan from his hands reaching out for the helmet.

A sharp gasp escaped Kurt as claws jabbed into his side. Logan’s face, though stuck in an eerie grin, seemed agitated.

“It’s okay.” Kurt assured, holding back the urge to cough up blood. “We’re almost there.”

Not waiting for a response, he quickly grabbed onto the helmet, ripping off of Logan. Kurt ignored the pain and electrocution, focusing on the helmet. It was immediately followed by a wave of numb relief as Kurt looked into Logan’s eyes. Blue eyes shook before focusing on Kurt.

“Elf?” Logan gasped.

“Ja.” Kurt affirmed. “It’s me liebchen.”

Kurt let out a gasp, clenching at his side. Yellow eyes dimmed as his legs gave out. Logan grabbed Kurt, picking him up. Wondering why . Blue eyes flashed between confusion, fear, and horror when he saw three deep gashes in Kurt's side. It only grew when he realized the blood on his claws. Kurt let out a harsh cough.

“Elf?” Logan gasped, not getting a response as Kurt lost consciousness. “Elf!” No response. “Kurt!”

~

Light dismissed darkness as Kurt slowly woke up. The first thing he realized, were the white walls and lack of trees. A dull pain in his side was the next thing he noticed, fingers inspecting the damage. They found where Kurt had been stabbed, running along the bandage softly and carefully.

Anxiety rose as he remembered what happened. He began searching the room, praying he wasn’t alone and that Wanda didn’t do something drastic. He spotted Wanda standing in the doorframe. Her eyes were sorrowful and her face grim.

“He wants you to know, you’ll never have to deal with the monster again.” Wanda stated.

“Is he…?” Kurt began.

“He’s alive. Fought tooth and nail with Mojo and Spiral, not letting anyone touch you until we got you here.”

“Then why…”

“One good look at the damage he caused, including internal bleeding and a cracked rib, he knew he couldn’t be with you anymore. For your sake.”

Dark hair flinched as Kurt shook his head. His heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest and he grew more anxious. If Logan was in pain, Kurt couldn’t forgive himself for letting it happen. Kurt sat up, weakly getting off the bed.

“Are you crazy?” Wanda gasped, catching him before he lost balance. “You need rest.”

“Not when he’s hurt.” Kurt refused, pulling away from Wanda when he regained balance.

"He's not hurt. You are."

"His soul is hurt."

Kurt limped towards to the door. It was pitiful, but determined, and Wanda wasn't sure what had gotten into him. In her mind, Kurt had no reason to consul Logan. Logan had hurt him. Stabbed him. Mind control or not, that shouldn't be so freely tossed aside.

"Why do you care so much?" She asked.

"Ich liebe Logan. Er ist mein liebchen." Kurt stated, surprising her a little. She had not heard exactly what he said to Logan, so she hadn't thought they were that close. “And he’s hurt. Not in body, but in spirit. So I have to go.”

~

The Danger Room. No surprise. Beating things up took Logan’s mind off a lot of things. It also relieved some stress and anger. But Kurt knew better. He wasn’t here to unwind. He was hear avoiding the guilt he felt. The shame. That’s why Kurt was here.

Logan was destroying dummies left and right. No one else was in the Danger Room, probably too scared to be in the same room as Logan in his current state. He was so invested in it that he hadn’t realized he had company.

“Logan.” Kurt sighed, startling the Canadian.

Kurt took a step towards Logan, who replied by stepping back. “Stay back!” Logan gasped.

Kurt shook his head. “I can’t do that Leibechen.” He inched closer to Logan, arms open.

Logan’s heart sank, looking at Kurt’s wound. “Elf, I’m not your leibchen. I’m a monster.”

“You’re not. You’re my lovely, grumpy lone wolf. Mein Leibchen.”

“Your leibchen wouldn’t hurt you. Your leibchen wouldn’t stab you. A monster does that.”

“Bist nicht ein Monster. Mind control does not make you a monster. Mojo is.” Kurt’s legs gave out, causing him to fall.

“Kurt!”

Logan grabbed Kurt, cradling him. Kurt was unharmed, merely drained. But that did not stop Kurt from gently kissing Logan.

“Ich leibe dich.” Kurt sighed. “Ich vergebe dir.”

Logan said nothing, holding onto Kurt warmly and closely. Hearing those six words meant more to him than anything. They were calming. They were peace.

[aurumacadicus]

More serial killer Bucky I guess. 😒 Tw: blood and gore and self harm and depression and suicidal thoughts and beloveds this man is a serial killer. This is past revenge he gets too much pleasure out of it. He chooses not to hurt Tony much but that’s an exception not the rule. He once tried to strangle Steve for getting in his way and Steve almost broke his neck in response these men went to sleep and woke up WRONG. They are not nice people.

Also I’m saying this so no one gets on my ass: The illnesses Bucky mentions are in quotations because until he actually researches them, Bucky thinks they’re fake. They didn’t have that shit back before he fell from the train and he is ASTOUNDED to know that he and Steve probably have some form of PTSD. But that’s future Bucky’s problem. He’s got Hydra to kill.

Watch out for under the cut.

—

“You need to go check on Tony,” Steve says. “I’ve got too many enemies on my tail. I can’t go. He’s not answering his phone.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it back out. “I’m on my own job.”

“He’s not answering his phone and I can’t get to him,” Steve says flatly. “If he’s dead when I get back, that’s your fucking problem.” He hangs up before Bucky can say anything in response. The dial tone sounds judgmental.

Bucky looks at his phone for a moment, sighing, then crushes the Hydra goon’s throat in his metal fist, not caring about the blood splattering over him. He would have preferred to draw it out, but he hadn’t started his homicidal bender just to watch the kid who got him out of it die. His phone rings again. He answers it.

“I told him you killed his parents, by the way,” Steve says, voice clipped. “So he might try to shoot you. I don’t know,” he adds, sounding frustrated. “He might hand the gun to you to finish the job, too. He’s taking this medicine. I think sometimes it helps and sometimes it doesn’t.” He sighs angrily. “I kinda thought they’d be able to fix this by now. The human body is a mistake. Have you heard of AIM?”

"No," Bucky says simply. He’s been hyper-focused on Hydra.

“Fucking piece of shit future things were supposed to be better without me--” Steve says, and then there’s the sound of shooting, and then he hangs up again.

Bucky considers looking into AIM, then decides he can deal with them if and when he runs out of Nazis to kill.

Tony’s front door is unlocked. It irritates him. Most people are scared off by locked doors, go looking for easier targets then. A locked door would at least buy someone time to protect themselves if the invader was intent on getting in.

“Are you here to kill me?” Tony asks where he’s sprawled out on the couch. “Finish the Stark family off forever?” His head lolls forward, and he blinks at him slowly, bruises under his eyes, greasy hair sticking to his damp forehead.

Bucky walks over to grab him by the front of the shirt with his metal hand. Tony doesn’t stand up when he tugs on it, so he shrugs, dragging him over to where he assumes the bedroom is. That seems to warrant a reaction, apparently, because he scrabbles uselessly with his grip. He makes his way through the bedroom to the bathroom.

“What is this?” Tony finally asks. “Is this a prosthetic? Why is it made out of metal?”

“To torture me,” Bucky answers. It could be a joke. It mostly isn’t. He opens the shower door and thrusts Tony inside. He means to draw his hand back, but Tony had a grip on him, so he slides a few inches before Bucky stops. “You’re gross.”

“It’s not gonna kill me to stay gross a little longer,” Tony huffs, twisting his arm this way and that. “This is sloppy. They really were trying to torture you, huh?”

“Chronic pain makes you tired. When you’re tired, you’re easy to control,” Bucky says. He sounds like he’s repeating it. He doesn’t know where he’s heard it before. One of the Hydra scientists, probably. It makes sense.

Tony’s face twitches, but whatever was there, it’s gone before Bucky can parse it. “I could do better,” he says, wrinkling his nose in disdain.

“You can’t even bathe yourself regularly,” Bucky says flatly. “Melding metal with a nervous system? Please.”

Tony jerks his head up to glare at him, and it’s the most emotion he’s seen on his face. “Oh yeah? Fucking watch me.”

He pulls his shirt over his head and throws it at him, and Bucky ducks on instinct. He stoops to pick it up and wonders why, remembers someone yelling at a bunch of little girls to pick their clothes up after they bathe. It sounds like his voice, maybe. He decides not to think about it. It wouldn’t help. He takes a moment to examine Tony’s arms. All he sees is the faded pink lines, he notices with approval. The scars will probably always be visible, but at least it doesn’t look like he’s got any new marks.

Tony throws his pants at him. He catches them and can’t help but think he aimed them at his head on purpose. His aim isn’t very good. But then, his everything isn’t very good right now. His ribs are too visible. He could use a few good meals.

Tony shoves his boxers down, and Bucky can’t help the noise he makes when he sees the wounds inside of his thighs. Razor marks in two rows from mid thigh up to the crease almost up to where thigh met pelvis.

Bucky has his flesh hand around Tony’s throat before he even realizes, shoving him up against the tiles with a snarl. He feels Tony’s throat work beneath his hand, but there’s no pleasure in it--there’s no fear in Tony’s wide eyes, no anxiety. He doesn’t even struggle. Bucky drops him, disgusted, and Tony drops to the floor with a gasp as he spits, “You’d be happy if I killed you, wouldn’t you?”

Tony clutches at his throat, as he continues sucking in air, but he doesn’t answer, staring up at him from under his lashes with what might be disappointment, if Bucky was generous, except that he mostly looks like he feels nothing at all.

It’s wrong. People shouldn’t want to... What had Steve said? Medicine. Tony was sick. Something was making him feel like this.

“Shower,” Bucky tells him sharply, catches sight of the razor on the shower shelf, and reaches in to snatch it.

Tony looks like he wants to complain, but thinks better of it in response to Bucky’s sharp glare.

Bucky waits for the shower to start before he goes through the bathroom cupboards and drawers, then out into the bedroom. He finds a couple more razors. Takes those too. Finds a couple orange bottles and examines them. Googles the names to figure out what they are. Doesn’t understand any of the words, really.

“What’s serotonin?” Bucky asks when Tony comes out of the bathroom, and Tony lets out a startled bark of laughter. “They didn’t have that when I was in the army,” he continues defensively, and Tony laughs harder.

Tony gets dressed, and Bucky googles what the fuck a dopamine is. Doesn’t care that Tony’s getting close until his hands are on his metal wrist. “This really is garbage,” he huffs, unimpressed. “I know I could do better.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” Bucky says flatly. “You’re still trying to die. You don’t even lock your door.” He slants Tony a sharp look. “Is that because you’re hoping someone will come in and hurt you?”

“Maybe, but so far it’s just been your contrarian ass,” Tony grumbles. “Saved my life twice even though you regularly kill people. Even my own parents. So unfair.”

Bucky turns his judgmental slant to a full-on glare, outraged. Tony doesn’t even notice, making him turn his arm so he can examine the elbow joints in motion. “Do you have any self-preservation in that emaciated body of yours?”

“Celebrities are supposed to be thin,” Tony scoffs.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky tells him, unimpressed, and then jerks his arm free and stands. “Answer your fucking phone.”

“I was mugged,” Tony says with a blase shrug, and then snaps, “Don’t fucking choke me if you’re not gonna finish the job,” when Bucky reaches out for him again.

Bucky pauses to consider this. Maybe a good slap would help?

Tony tips his head back to look up at him, purring, “Or unless you’re gonna finish the job, if you know what I mean. I like when my daddy chokes me while I’m riding him.”

“Gross. I knew your dad,” Bucky says. Remembers the way Howard looked up at him, blood dripping down his face, and asked, “Sergeant Barnes?” before he beat him to death. “Don’t call me that. You’re twelve.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Tony exclaims, offended.

It's the most emotion Bucky has seen on him, even more than in the bathroom. “Answer your fucking phone,” he says, instead of ‘sounds fake’ or ‘no way.’ “I had to leave in the middle of a job. If I have to do that again, I’ll be very angry.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Tony says, and Bucky has to credit him for being honest.

“Maybe you can fix my arm,” Bucky says, instead of telling him he’s annoying. “If you live long enough.”

Tony’s eyes immediately go to his arm again. Speculative. Interested.

Bucky leaves. Takes a few days to do a deep dive on “depression” and “bipolar” and “anxiety” and wonders when they started existing outside of shell shock, except apparently that isn’t a thing anymore. Takes another few days to research the medication he’d found and texts Steve that he doesn’t think what Tony’s taking is helpful. Suggests different options.

The only response he gets is “why is Tony taking my blood????” and “WHY IS TONY DRAWING ARMS??????? ARE YOU GETTING A NEW ARM????? I’m gonna tell him to put a smiley face on where the star is now.”

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

I have just reread your last two letters and I have a curious impression. When I realize that you live somewhere, that you get up, that you change, that you lie down, that you talk, that you get angry, that you laugh somewhere far from me, surrounded by living beings - well, more or less -, when I learn that Robert [Jaussaud], whom I know, Michel, Janine [Gallimard] come and go around you and that you attend a lot of small daily events, I am astonished and there is something in me that refuses to admit it.

The house, the landscape that surrounds you are for me part of a dream that is reduced to a few words and a postcard; it is not very real. The presence of F[rancine] does not seem very plausible to me either; it is part of the mists that always blur a part of a being; it presents itself to me as a ghost of the past that makes you someone I can never know entirely, someone distinct from me that I can never possess completely - but this image remains vague, a little abstract; it is your unknown. Mixed with him, you disappear for me, from this world leaving me only the memory of the one I knew and which has no relation with the other. If you were dead, it would be the same in a way, and it hurts me in a way too.

However, I understand; but when the image of a being existing for me comes to mingle with you in my reveries and when I suddenly realize that this is true, that Robert [Jaussaud] or Michel [Gallimard] can, if they want to, take your hand right now, then I don't even feel pain anymore. I don't understand anymore, and yet for days and days it goes on. How strange and funny! Michel or Janine can put their arms around your neck, look as long as they want at the turned-up corners of your lips and make for an irreplaceable time a whole existence around you that will be taken away from me forever. It's enough to make you laugh, admit it!

And to think that we will not stop here, and that led by life, we will still disdain - for a trip, for a vacation, for a movie - days and days to come. Ah, that's clever! No, my darling, my love; I don't remember the trucks at the aubede Senlis - I only remember thinking... once, I think... being awakened by the storm and quickly falling back to sleep in a warmth that I now miss to the point of pain - I also remember the bottles of Vichy in the evening, the wait for the waiter who didn't come, I remember how little by little, during those days, I became acquainted with you, with an intimate you, trembling and warm, I remember being aware of a frightening danger and I remember the last bursts of my egoism, until then quite firm, and my abandonment, my acceptance, my consent. Ah, yes, I remember. And I dream, I dream. Constantly.

And I build and I arrange, and that collapses and I start again. Over and over again. Tonight, during the intermission, we got serious. We talked about the children we might have. I tried to be biased, to run away, but Jean and Michel kept drawing me a picture of my daughter, because they had decided that I would have a daughter... with a pointed chin and almond-shaped eyes. Smart guys! Something deep inside me capsized and I dreamed, I dreamed, I dreamed. Alas! Too old now to have children and then could I and would I know how to be a mother? Forgive me, darling. Because there is a land that is forbidden to us, we never dream and this evening I am tired of a life that only ends in the night; I want future projects, of I don't know what.

Don't worry; it lasts the time of a letter; then everything fades away and it's only a matter of starting again.  Perhaps it would be better not to write these desires or these states of mind; perhaps it would give them a consistency that they don't have - and that's why I hate letters in general - but, you know, and I do too, it does me good. I'm going to sleep, my love - I'm going to cook my cold a little. See you tomorrow, my darling; see you tomorrow, my beautiful face, sleep, sleep well; love me. Love me again. Courage. I kiss you with all my soul.

Maria Casarès to Albert Camus, Correspondance, February 6, 1950 [#175]

[thetarttfuldickhead]

A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.

Masterpost / AO3

14.

Another fucking draw. At least they’d actually scored in this one (Obisanya 26, Tartt 74), but what good was that when they let the other team net the ball just as many times? Jamie stared morosely at his Lynx collection, trying to muster the energy to change out of his kit. He was sweaty, his hair was a mess, and his side ached dully from a nasty tackle near the final whistle; taking a shower would be heaven. But he was too tired to move.

It wasn’t so much the game that left him exhausted, even though it sure took its physical toll. The past ten days had been a mad flurry of setting up surprise after surprise for Roy, and that had involved more gift hunting, eavesdropping and secret sneaking around than Jamie had ever thought he’d get up to. Between that and football and team Christmas bonding there’d barely been time for sleeping and eating.

And after all that, he still hadn’t called Mummy. He’d tried to, every single night, but he just. couldn’t. do. it. Apparently his efforts still weren’t up to scratch, which was baffling, to be honest: how fucking sad was Roy that not even the truly fanastic stuff Jamie had pulled for him had made him happy? Christmas was only days away, and Jamie was running out of both ideas and time. Could he get Sade to actually write Roy a song… ? Might be too much, though, even if he managed to figure out how to sort it. It’d give the bugger a heart attack or something, and that would make Keeley sad and probably not count as him doing a nice thing, even if it’d be dead unfair of the universe to blame him for Roy being a frail old man.

Perhaps he could invite Dani out for another brainstorming session; it had worked a treat last time. Jamie was pretty sure that Roy had appreciated his gifts and gestures, from what peeks he’d managed to sneak of the man. Just not appreciated them enough, apparently.

It also seemed like maybe Roy was getting a tiny bit suspicious. Yesterday, he’d kept turning his head every this way and that, and sometimes stopping dead in the street and whirling around, looking a little wild-eyed. At one point Jamie had had to dive behind a couple of large rubbish bins to avoid detection. That was a pair of perfectly ripped trousers he’d never wear again.

Fuck, but he wished that—

“Jamie, are you feeling well?”

Jamie turned to look at Sam, who had stopped by his cubby, already changed and with a concerned pinch to his kind face. He looked just slightly, slightly hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure if his question would yield an answer or something sharp and snide. Jamie made an effort to smile. “Yeah, bruv, I’m sound. Just, you know, tired of not winning.

“It is disappointing. But, thanks to you it was a draw instead of a loss. And it was a very nice goal too.”

At the praise, Jamie felt his smile grow easier, more sincere. It had been a very nice goal, hadn’t it? Good of Sam to notice. 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks mate. And yours were great too, you know?” he added, remembering what Dr. Sharon had said about how acknowledging other people’s accomplishments did not diminsh Jamie’s own.

The way Sam’s lips curled into a wide grin, mirroring Jamie’s own, and the way the sight of it made Jamie feel warm had him thinking she was onto something there.

“Thanks, Jamie,” Sam said simply, and gave him a friendly nod before walking back to his own cubby.

Still smiling, Jamie finally began to undress.

---

Once he was showered and changed and Ted had somehow talked them all into feeling determined and hopeful rather than dejected, Jamie hefted his bag and headed for the door. On his way out he passed by Keeley and Rebecca Welton, offering a smile to the former and a polite nod to the latter.

Keeley lit up when she saw him (and fuck, but that still did things to him, didn’t it?). “Hi, Jamie,” she said. “Listen, I was wondering if you could stop by my place tomorrow? I wanted to talk to you about some new tweaks to your brand, now that you’re playing again?”

Jamie perked right up at that. Talking to Keeley and discussing his brand? Fucking brilliant. Much better than spending another day trying to figure out what would possible make Roy Kent happy enough to appease the universe into letting Jamie call his mum.

He’d been working hard. He deserved a little break. Besides, hanging out with Keeley at her place might well yield some new Roy related ideas.

“Yeah, mint, yeah,” he said. Then a thought occurred to him and he frowned. “Or, actually, no, I can’t. The team’s doing a day trip Winchester Christmas Market after our recovery sessions. Sorry.”

He was, too. As much as he was growing to appreciate the lads and was looking forward to the trip, he’d rather spend some time with Keeley (and his brand was in sore need of some brushing up, ‘cause people were still being cunts and hung up about him walking out on City and Amy and stupid shit like that).

“Oh.” Keeley looked disappointed, which cheered him a little. “Tuesday?” she suggested.

“Sure, yeah. I mean, I’ve got training, but I could drop by after? Unless you wanna… “ He nodded towards her closed office door.

“No! I mean… No. There’s been… there’s an issue with the ventilation, yeah, it smells awful in there. Like dying animals and farts and baby vomit. Blegh. You don’t wanna go in there.”

Uh, yeah, no thank you, he sure as hell did not. Jamie made a face. “Yeah, all right,” he said. “I’ll just come by yours then?”

She nodded, looking relieved. “Great! Thank you, Jamie!”

“You’re all right.” He gave her another smile, Rebecca another nod (and noted that she for some reason seemed like she was struggling not to either roll her eyers or laugh, which was kind of rude, considering how hard Keeley worked for her and all, and she really should get Keeley’s office sorted), before heading out to his car.

So. Fun trip with the boys tomorrow – maybe he’d find something nice for Mummy and for Roy at the Christmas market – and then hanging out with Keeley the day after. So-so playing and his mummy issues aside, life wasn't so bad.

[scorpiongrassfield]

Look at the Menu 

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You focus on it, really focus, and find that the menu is only half there. It sort of shifts around as you look at it, but it seems like there are only a few things written down and the rest are blurry. Like your attention is being led away from them in favor of the others. 

Add that to the pile of weird. 

Looking at it too intently makes your head hurt. You decide on a bowl of soup just to be done with it. 

You nudge Pat. “What’s going on with the menu?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” Pat says. 

“Ah, they may have changed it since the last time you were here? They do that sometimes. Reprint and rearrange and such,” Theo offers helpfully. 

“No, look. Try to focus here,” you say, pointing at one of the blurry parts. 

Pat squints their eyes and puts their sunglasses back on in an attempt to see it better. 

“That’s weird,” they say. They put their sunglasses back up on top of their head. 

“What’s weird?” Theo asks. 

You push the menu over to Theo. “When you look here,” you say, tapping the spot, “the menu is unreadable.” 

Theo moues as he looks at the menu. “What do you mean? That’s the breakfast section. A stack of pancakes with eggs, bacon, and a side of fruit,” he says. 

“No way,” Pat says, and takes the menu to look at it again. They blink rapidly. “Huh.” 

They pass the menu back to you. “Look.” 

You look. 

That spot on the menu has filled in. It says what Theo says it does. 

The rest of the menu is filling itself up before your eyes. 

Pat rubs at their eyes, looking tired. “Well. We’re really going to have to look into all of that soon,” they say. 

The waiter comes by to take your order. 

Once they’re gone, everyone is ready to talk again. 

“Theo, have you noticed anything weird going on lately?” you ask. 

Theo tilts his head to the side a bit as he thinks. “Ah, other than finding out I’m a ghost? No, I don’t think so.” he says. 

Pat is strangely silent, so you look over at them. They’re writing in their notebook. 

“You still want to solve this mystery, right?” you ask them. 

“Of course. I can’t let something like this go,” Pat says without looking up from their notebook. 

Maybe convincing them will be easier than you thought. 

You won’t say anything in front of Theo, though. That would be rude.

“Can… Can I help? I’ve never solved a mystery before,” Theo asks earnestly. 

Pat seems to think on it for a minute. “We’ll see, kid,” they say noncommittally. 

Theo smiles like Pat agreed. 

You change the subject a bit. “So, did you make any progress on moving on while I was out?” you ask. You want to know how much time you have to keep your promise. 

Theo’s smile fades. “Well. Um. I guess so?” 

“We called to let George know what happened to him, since no one in the family made contact,” Pat says. 

Oh. That sounds. Rough. 

“At least George knows now,” Theo says. “I couldn’t call because I didn’t have my phone. And also, I guess I didn’t fully know I was dead either. So that was very helpful. Thank you again, Pat.” 

“No problem. That’s what I’m here for,” they say, finally putting their notebook away. 

The waiter comes by with everyone’s food. 

Pat’s got a salad, Theo’s got peach cobbler, and you’ve got your soup. 

Pat starts in on their salad, then pauses, leaf-filled fork halfway to their mouth. 

“Hey, Theo. Wanna help me out with something? It’s for science,” Pat says. 

“Oh! Um, Sure. What can I do?” Theo says, surprised. 

“Try taking a bite of that cobbler for me,” they say. 

Theo’s face falls. “I’m. Not really hungry,” he says. 

“That’s fair. But I want to see if a ghost can eat or not,” they say. 

You thought they were already sure they couldn’t. 

“Here,” Pat says, stabbing a bit of peach and topping onto Theo’s fork. “Just try it, and if you can’t, that’s alright. Experiments are allowed to fail, you know?” they say. 

Theo nods seriously and takes the fork. 

After a moment of hesitation, he pops the food into this mouth. 

His eyebrows draw in as he chews, like he’s confused or displeased. 

You glance over at Pat. They look like their entire understanding of the world just crumbled. 

You look back to Theo, who still looks befuddled. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

“Well. Clearly I could eat it. But um. It was very strange,” he says. 

“How so?” 

“Ah, it’s just that. I know what their peach cobbler tastes like, usually. It’s very good. But. For some reason… I couldn’t taste it at all,” he says. 

You feel your stomach drop.

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