#imagine how many holes there would be if we just bothered to take the dirt out of them

[plus-size-reader]

Just a Kid

Daryl Dixon x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2453 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Taking Lydia in as your own with Daryl

Hi, I couldn’t get this concept out of my head. 

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“She’s just a kid, D” you hummed, carefully working at the knot in his neck that he’d been complaining about for days.

You knew that this thing with the girl, and Jesus, and all these people wearing faces was really starting to wear on Daryl’s nerves.

You could tell, because every night when he came back to your house, he was even more tense than the last and at this point, you were really starting to get concerned that he would burst a blood vessel.

There was just too much going on right now.

...but you knew what you had to do.

Lydia was just a child, and even if her people were the purest evil you could ever imagine, that didn’t mean that she was. If nothing else, she was little more than a battered little girl who had never known any better.

That was how you saw her, and you knew Daryl did too.

He just wasn’t ready to take on so much yet, and honestly, he didn’t know if he could. It was hard for him to have to take over all this at Hilltop, and that girl they’d brought was only making it worse.

“You still on that?” he grumbled back, really hoping that you would have gotten over this pipe dream of yours already.

The two of you had talked this conversation to death, and while you knew there was a good chance that nothing was going to change, you would continue to do so until he changed his mind.

Ever since she had come to know this group, you had gotten it in your head that the two of you could give her the home that she had never had but Daryl wasn’t so easily convinced. 

It just seemed like more than you were ready for.

He saw that look in your eyes, when she was finally safe behind those gates, but then you’d gone and made it even worse.

You met her.

Maybe it hadn’t been the greatest idea, and maybe it wouldn’t help but you knew that at least you could try to understand better.

You could only imagine how a girl in her position would be feeling. You knew that if you were her, you would have been absolutely terrified.

After all, she was surrounded by strangers, in an unforgiving and new environment.

It was possible that one friendly face would make all the difference to her and as it happened, you had one of the friendliest faces around here.

If anyone was going to get through to her, it was you.

Course, Daryl was against the idea from the start but you knew that no one else was going to stick their neck out for her if you two didn’t. That made it more than worth it to you, even if no one else understood.

She didn’t say a word for the first few days.

Lydia had nothing to say to you and frankly, you couldn't blame her for that. You were a stranger, the enemy as far as she knew, and there was no reason she should have trusted you at all, but that wasn’t always going to be the case.

The more you came, the more she realized that you may have been the only person willing to stick their neck out for her. Once she decided that you weren’t going to kill her, or sell her out, it was pretty much settled.

You needed to help her.

It wasn’t up for debate, but for some reason, convincing Daryl was proving to be an even more difficult task.

“We aren’t her parents, it ain’t our place” he tried, desperately hoping that you would see how insane what you were proposing was. Still, you weren’t letting up, and he knew you well enough to know what that meant.

You were invested.

You were going to do whatever you could to get through to her.

Perhaps it was because you two found yourself comparing her to Daryl or perhaps it was your own soft spot for kids.

In any case, the damage was done.

“She doesn’t have parents D, that’s why she needs us” you sighed, leaning down to rest fully into his back, your head nestled in the space between his shoulder and his neck. It gave you just enough leverage to look at him.

It was hardly up for debate.

Lydia’s mother saw her as little more than an asset, something to abuse and control. After all the things you’d endured with Daryl, it made her well being that much more personal, for both of you.

It took months to get Daryl to tell you about his past.

He trusted you more than anyone else in the world, and his greatest pain was still too difficult to share until he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

You had no doubt that the hold this girl’s mother had on her was even stronger.

At least Daryl had Merle, he knew how much of an asshole his dad was.

Lydia was brainwashed.

You would be lucky if you were ever able to break whatever her mother had done to her, due to the extreme circumstances, but you knew that you had to try.

No one deserved the way she had been treated, and you wanted to make sure that she understood it wasn’t her fault.

Her mother was cruel, and there was nothing more to it than that.

The best way to prove that to her would be giving her a real home, proving to her that not everyone was going to treat her the way that she did. Maybe, if she felt safe, she would finally start to open up.

When the two of you first met, Daryl hardly spoke to you and when he did, it was always in a gruff, unfriendly tone. It took him some time to warm up to you and once he had, that tone warmed up to one of love.

It just took time.  

The same thing could apply to Lydia, if you just gave her some time.

If nothing else, it had to be worth a shot.

She was worth it.

“You really wanna do this?” he hummed, after what felt like an eternity of silence between the two of you.

Daryl heard you, he got the message, he just couldn't be sure that being with you, and him, would be enough.

He knew what it was like to be in her position, and he knew how hard it was to let people in. It was possible that she would never allow herself to be cared for in the way you wanted to, and he didn’t want you getting your hopes up.

You would be crushed if she rejected your offer, but it couldn’t hurt.

Even if she wanted nothing to do with either of you, at least you tried to give her something. That was much more than anyone else in the world had ever done for her.

“Yeah, I do. I really do” you smiled, not even bothering to hide the wide grin that spread across your face at the idea of what he was saying. It wasn’t exactly a yes, but it was as much of a yes as you were going to get from Daryl.

It was more than enough.

At the end of the day, even if it was a bad idea, Daryl knew better than to argue with you. What you were suggesting was crazy, but it was so very you that he couldn’t even worry about it.

He fell in love with you and that heart of gold of yours, so if this was what it was telling you to do, he owed it to you to let you do what you thought was right.

You had to, just as he had to.

...and of all the crazy ideas you’d ever had, this was hardly the most dangerous one.

All you wanted to do now was give a little girl a place to live and a family, it wasn’t like you were suggesting some kind of suicide mission. You and Daryl had faced far worse than a child, desperate for belonging and acceptance.

What you were doing was new for all of you.

~

Lydia wasn’t sure, at first.

After all, she had never really had parents and you and Daryl had certainly never been parents.

It just wasn’t something you had any experience with.

However, with all that you’d lost recently, it didn’t make sense to turn her away too. She was a product of her circumstances and nothing more. It wouldn’t be fair to make Lydia pay for the sins of her mother.

Instead, you chose to put all your effort into making sure she never felt like a burden again.

You knew that she blamed herself, in part, for what her mother had done. Henry was gone, Tara was gone, Enid was gone, it was just too much.

You’d lost too many people in the months it had been and you weren’t interested in losing any more.

You certainly weren’t interested in letting a little girl take the blame for what her people had done, not when she first arrived, and not now.

Lydia was good, she was trying, and that wasn’t something you were going to debate.

Thankfully, that was something you and Daryl could both agree on, without all the initial back and forth.

You were both winging it, of course, but you knew that you had to try and stick up for her. Even the smallest gesture would make a world of difference.

She deserved to feel safe for once.

When you and Daryl had decided to take her in, it wasn’t supposed to be perfect. You weren’t going to move into a little cottage surrounded by a white picket fence, with flowers and a dog.

It was making the best of whatever shit show situation you’d been dealt.

It was all you knew to do.

“You wanna help me with this?” you hummed, addressing your words to the young girl at your side.

What you were asking wasn’t really all that much of a question but considering that you were sewing up a huge hole in Daryl’s button up, she wasn’t interested.

“D does it himself, mostly, but he’s clumsy about it. The stitching always comes undone” you reminded, thinking about the last time he’d offered to stitch up a hole in your jeans, and it had unraveled by the end of the day.

He meant well, he really did, but he had never really had the patience for more delicate things like this. Sewing of any kind, even stitches in flesh, had never really been his foray.

...but that was okay.

You told him that you would take care of this, and he could pick up the slack somewhere else, making dinner or cleaning blood and dirt out of the laundry.

“I don’t know how” she tried, looking at you in the way she often would when she ran into something she had never done before. The two of you’d had this same conversation when you suggested she go to school with the other children.

She didn’t even know how to read when she came to you, and now, she is making great progress.

It was just a matter of learning what she had never had a chance to learn before.

“I’ll teach you, it's easy” you smiled, handing her the garment with one hand, and the needle with the other.

She looked unsure, lost even, but she took it nonetheless.

“Hold the fabric with this hand, and move the needle with the other, up and down in as straight a line as you can manage” you instructed, keeping it as simple as you possibly could until she got the hang of it.

You knew this was probably a tad bit overwhelming, and if she didn't go it right the first time, she would get discouraged but luckily, years by Daryl’s side had taught you a patience that nothing else ever could.

You could sit here all day if you had to, as long as she got the hang of it.

Lydia had been living with her pack of skin walkers all this time, only doing what she was told, but that wasn’t the life she was living now.

She was part of a community, and she had a family, but that also meant that she had to learn to protect and provide for herself when you weren’t there. If something ever happened to you or Daryl, she still had to live.

Her clothes couldn’t be ripped or ruined, her wounds couldn’t stay open to fester, and eventually, she would need to cook and clean for herself too, but for now, a helping hand was all you needed.

People were what kept your communities running, and your home was no different. You and Daryl were a team, communicating without words most of the time, and she was part of that now.

She was part of the team.

“Like that?” she tried, hoping that some part of what she was doing was right. There was no real way to tell but you didn’t seem upset so that had to be a good sign.

It was a strangely domestic task for her, one that brought back memories of her people, her old people, sewing up masks of tanned human skin. The motion was the same, the idea was the same, but there was something normal about this.

She was just fixing a shirt.

There was nothing volatile or aggressive about this, and it wasn’t for anything other than someone she cared for. That made it a little easier to stomach than any other chore may have been.

This was for Daryl after all, and if anyone had earned something like this, it was him.

Lydia wasn’t blind.

She knew what the two of you had done for her, always making sure she had something to eat and sticking up for her when the others got a little too comfortable with their distaste for her.

“Exactly, just a little closer together” you prompted, smiling when she did just as you asked. She was a quick learner, and you knew that she could do this.

This was normal, real, and the sooner she learned that she could live a completely normal life, the sooner she would really adapt to life in a community like this one.

“Once you’re done, you can help Daryl with dinner. I’m sure he’d love the help”

It was hardly where she expected to be, but it was more than where she’d been. At least, with you and Daryl, Lydia knew that she was safe.

[ikeromantic]

Inspiration

Written for @green-tea-and-manga as part of my 500 follower celebration!

Arthur, Mind, Something Old, Cute and Sweet

Approx. 1200 words of fluffiness

Arthur glared at his typewriter. It was a modern Dactyle. Modern! He laughed. His grandfather wouldn’t have bothered with this mechanical monstrosity. The blasted thing was stuck again. Letters ‘N’, ‘E’, and ‘S’.

He wanted his last typewriter back. It was - would be - a slick Remington portable, in blue. The keys had a smooth, firm slide and didn’t blotch the page. But Comte hadn’t brought it back to the mansion after their deal and now he was stuck with . . . well, this thing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be writing?”

Arthur turned to the doorway with a grin. “I can think of some things I’d much rather do.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She laughed as expected. “I can see we aren’t making much progress here. Got writer’s block?”

“Something like that, luv.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Then I know just the thing.” She held her hand out to him.

Arthur accepted her hand and stood up. “Are we going some place then?”

“We are.” She grinned mischievously.

“Your room,” he asked hopefully.

She shook her head. “Not quite.”

“Then I’m quite flummoxed. Where else does a pretty skirt lead her lover to midday?” He wasn’t as confused as he let on. His lady love was wearing button leather boots and a skirt that fell short of her ankles. He had only to add that to the flush in her cheeks and the fluff of fur on her hem to deduce they were going outside and that Vic was sure to be a party to their little break.

He snagged a sunhat for her on the way out, holding it in his freehand until she’d led him down the steps. Arthur settled it over her hair and tied the ribbon under her chin.

“H-how did you know I’d need this?”

Arthur leaned close. “Just a guess. If I’m right, do I get a kiss?”

She giggled and pressed a warm kiss to his lips. It was as sweet and slow as the summer afternoon, and he never wanted it to end, but she pulled back to smile at him shyly. “Vic is running about without a leash. We should probably -”

“Ah yes. Sebastian was quite cross the last time Vic dug an extra hole in the flower bed.” He held his hand out to her. It wasn’t much of a mystery where the dog ran off to. Victoria had a penchant for the tulips, especially on hot days.

That’s where she was too. Rolling about in the dirt with the happiest look on her face.

“Oh Vic. You’ll need another bath now.”

Arthur laughed. “She’s always been a naughty little thing.” He helped get the pup leashed, brushing bits of dirt from her long hair.

“I thought she’d stay on the porch. I told her to stay.” She huffed a bit at the dog, but couldn’t stay angry. Vic was just too cute.

The three of them walked to the forest edge, where the leaves made patterns of light and shadow on the soft grass. Victoria jumped and snapped at passing june beetles and floating butterflies. And the two lovers held hands as they passed under the whispering boughs.

Arthur sat down at the edge of the creek that ran along one edge of le Comte’s lands. It was narrow here, and shallow. Perfect to cool off. “Come on my pretty bird. Let’s take a rest here.”

She sat down beside him. “I think you picked a good spot.”

“I was just following you,” he laughed.

“Well, I was just walking.”

Arthur started unlacing his shoes. “You mean to tell me you didn’t have a spot picked out? No destination?”

“No. I just thought it might help you to get out of the mansion for a little bit. When I was writing my blog, it always helped me to go for a walk. It cleared up my mind so I could focus on what I wanted to say.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Not that it’s the same thing, of course.”

She’d told him before what a blog was. Some sort of public journal. He found the notion fascinating, especially when she’d explained how there were many kinds of ‘blogs’ and ‘fandoms’ and ‘web-sites’ for people to read and engage the writer on. “Say,” he asked suddenly. “What kind of typewriter did you use for that blog? I imagine they only get better.”

“Well . . . most people don’t use typewriters in my time. They’re antiques. We have computers.” She grinned. “I think you’d like them. Information at the tip of your fingers, and no need to rewrite a page to make an edit.”

Arthur groaned. “To have such tools! You think we could talk le Comte into bringing one here the next time he uses the door?”

She laughed. “Probably not? I mean, you’d need the right kind of power supply and there’s no internet . . . I think you’ll just have to wait for it.”

“Blast. No short cuts, eh?” Arthur gave a wry chuckle. “I suppose there’s no help for it then.”

He regarded her from the corner of his eye. “Do you still write about your travels?”

She ducked her head, embarrassed. ”I just make some notes in a journal. Where we’ve been, stuff we’ve done.”

“I’d like to read it. Your blog too!”

He was rewarded with a wide-eyed look and a blush that spread from cheeks to ear-tip. “It’s . . . nothing special! You were there for most of it!”

Arthur shrugged. “It might inspire me. And teach me a bit more about you. The greatest mystery this hack author ever tried to solve.” He tapped her nose with a tip of his finger. “Now put your legs this way so I can help you with your boots.”

“What?” She wasn’t sure what part to reply to, but she did put her legs across his lap.

He ran his hand up her leg, caressing her calf. Arthur was sure she had the nicest legs of any skirt he’d ever chased. He undid the buttons and tugged off her socks, then set them next to his shoes.

“Did you mean that?”

Arthur grinned. “Of course I did, luv. Now put your feet in the water. It feels like a bit of heaven. There you go.”

She poked his arm. “That’s not what I meant. I mean the part where you said . . . I might inspire you?”

In that moment, she looked so vulnerable. Every bit the innocent rabbit he’d seen her as those first days at the mansion. “You inspire me every moment since you stepped through that door. I haven’t written a thing that wasn’t touched by you.” Arthur bit his lower lip, embarrassed by his confession but unable to stop the words. “You are always there, haunting my imagination. I worry sometimes . . . that I’ve dreamt you up. That you couldn’t possibly exist. And that I’ll wake and find you gone.” He stopped, realizing he said more than he intended.

She took his hand and settled it on her chest.

He could feel her racing pulse, the thundering gallop of that sweet and gentle heart.

“You didn’t dream me,” she told him. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

They sat like that for a long while, listening to the water as it rolled over stones. The song of birds in the nearby trees. Their mingled breath and the rhythm of two hearts in love.

[lillotte17]

Bird Nest

Continuation of my post-canon drabble things!! Who is ready for some Emotional Whiplash?!

~

Domesticity is not something that Zhou Zishu has much experience with.

Even before becoming the Four Seasons’ Manor Lord and the Leader of the Window of Heaven, his family had always kept servants. He has never been like Jing BeiYuan, who seems to like nothing more than luxuriating amidst finery, but he has never had to concern himself with the everyday tasks of cooking and cleaning and doing laundry, either. He knows how to look after himself well enough, when he has to, but his standards of ‘well enough’ are not especially high. He was always content to make do with the things on hand, and wait for his fortunes to shift towards something better. Or to simply drown himself in wine until the state of his surroundings and his body no longer mattered.

It has never bothered him before, but in these last few days spent in the cold dusty ruin of the World’s Armory with Lao Wen, he is beginning to notice the gaping holes of his inadequacies.

He does not know how to take care of someone.

He knows how to protect someone, how to fight off enemies and hide from pursuit and outmaneuver any opposition. He knows how to treat a simple wound or a fever when someone is suffering. He knows how to care about someone, but after words of affirmation and patience and physical intimacy, he is at something of a loss.

When they had been staying at the Four Seasons Manor with Chengling, he could wave off the fact that he was not doing most of the mundane work of keeping them all fed and healthy because he had a disciple to train and poison burning through his veins, and later, an injured shoulder to contend with. He had focused more on their defenses, and taking stock of their food and medical stores. Making sure that the secrets of the Manor had remained hidden and safe, so that Chengling could inherit them once he was ready.

But now the Manor is gone, and there is only the mountain and the armory and Lao Wen, and Zhou Zishu…is not entirely sure what to do with himself.

The first three or four days had been lost to fear and grief, clinging to Wen Kexing’s limp body and pouring as much of his internal force into him as he could before slumping over in exhaustion. Once he had come back to him from the brink of death, the two days following had been surrendered to hands and mouths and ravenous devotions. They had spent most of their time in various stages of undress, lounging about on the random assortments of tattered mats and blankets they had made into their bed, neither one willing to venture far from the other’s line of sight.

The fifth or sixth day finally had Lao Wen declaring that he felt grimy past the point of endurance, and sent him puttering about the maze of bookshelves and farming equipment in search of the tools to shape the armory into a livable space. Rong Xuan and his friends had come here to train, so there were still some useful things here and there. A few chipped bowls and a dusty teapot. A moldering wash basin that is not yet beyond salvation and a small stew pot with a rusting handle. He had swept and bustled and rearranged things in nearly a frenzy, and Zhou Zishu had not done much more than keep him company and carry and few things when he was bidden.

It had taken the better part of the day, but now they have a dining area, a cozy nook in a well-lit corner for reading and writing, and even a few battered screens set up for privacy while bathing or changing clothes, if they feel so inclined. It nearly feels like a home, even if everything they have is in some state of disrepair. They heat enough water to wash themselves, tend to their outer robes as best they can, and sit down to their first meal of ice and snow in nothing but blankets. It is not especially filling, but then again, their bodies do not seem to feel hunger as they did before, either.

Wen Kexing seems buoyant with his successes, his damp snowy hair glistening in the soft light of their little table lamp.

“How long do you suppose it will take the others to come dig us out?” he asks.

“It is hard to say just how bad the avalanche was from in here,” Zishu hums thoughtfully, “Even if they find the markers you left and follow you here, I am afraid it will take a few weeks at the very least. Transporting large amounts of men and equipment through the mountains is slow going even in good weather.”

He smirks at him.

“Why? Are you sick of me already?”

“Impossible,” Wen Kexing laughs with a dismissive wave of his hand, grinning from ear to ear. “It was more of a practical concern. If we are trapped in here for months, we might survive it well enough, but there is no telling what state we will be in without access to any sort of grooming tools. The old monster did not exactly tell me what to expect if the technique succeeded. Will our hair keep growing? What about our fingernails? Are we going to look like horrible mountain beasts by the time they finally come for us? Your poor dumb disciple will start crying in fear again.”

“Chengling will cry when he sees us no matter what we look like,” Zhou Zishu sighs, exasperated yet fond. “But I would assume that since our bodies are no longer using food to fuel themselves in the typical sense, that our metabolisms have slowed, or possibly even stopped. Even if our hair and nails keep growing, it will likely be some time before we become terrifying.”

“Hm,” Lao Wen nods in acceptance, “What will we do about keeping clean, though? Luckily, we do not have to concern ourselves too much with dirty dishes, but what about our clothes? What about ourselves? Water can only do so much on its own.”

“I did not expect you to be this squeamish about a little dirt,” Zishu chuckles.

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing says flatly, “It is hardly going to be ‘a little dirt’ after several weeks. You should know by now that to touch and be touched by you is one of my life’s dearest delights, but if you truly intend to forego soap and cleanliness for an entire month or more, I am not sharing a bed with you. For sleeping, or anything else.”

Zhou Zishu arches a brow at him in disbelief.

“Would you care to know how long it had been since I had a bath when we first met?”

“Just because I could tell you were beautiful beneath all of that filth does not mean I was willing to bed you before you got a chance to wash yourself,” Lao Wen huffs, “I do have standards.”

Zishu makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, but his expression is still doubtful.

“Ah well,” Wen Kexing sighs, deciding to sidestep the obvious but unspoken opinion about what his standards are, or lack thereof, “There must be something in here we can use. Maybe there are stores of rice in with the grain and farming supplies. I doubt it would be safe to eat, but if we cook it, the water leftover might still be good for washing… And Rong Xuan was married. Perhaps his wife left something behind.”

“Perhaps you mother did.”

Lao Wen tenses in reflexive discomfort, as he still does at any mention of his past, but then the moment passes and he smiles.

“I doubt my parents would have come here very often,” he tells him softly. “They supported the idea of the armory, but neither of them were that invested in becoming martial masters themselves. They wanted to heal people. But…it would be nice, if we found something of them here. If they left something behind that we could use to make a life together.”

“You are good at this,” Zhou Zishu compliments him sincerely, gesturing to the living space they have already arranged, “I never would have thought this place could feel even half this hospitable. You did a good job with our manor too, before it was destroyed. Chengling barely knows how to boil water, so I know you must have helped him with more than you claimed. The Valley Master is truly a man of many hidden talents.”

“I was only the leader of the ghosts for eight years,” Wen Kexing reminds him, bitterness seeping into his smile, “Even if the old chief favored me for my ruthlessness, I was still more of a servant or a slave than a ward. If I am good at building a life from ruins now, it is because I was never given an option to do otherwise.”

“Lao Wen, I-”

He holds up a hand to halt his apology.

“You do not have to be sorry,” he says, “Not for what happened, and not for making me talk about it either. We have eternity to share together, so I imagine all of our old wounds will eventually be dragged out into the sunlight at some point. It is not the easiest thing to discuss, but…I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything.”

Zhou Zishu puts his hand over his on the tabletop, squeezing his fingers in reassurance.

“There is no rush,” he reminds him, “As you said; we have time. I will be here, and I will listen when you are ready.”

He chuckles softly.

“Of course, those things are easier to talk about while enjoying a jar of wine together, like we used to,” Zishu sighs wistfully, “Of all the things we are going to give up for this life, that might be the most difficult for me to part with.”

“But Ah Xu, we brought the sweetest wine with us!” Wen Kexing grins, leaning towards him over the table.

“…You mean in your flask?” Zhou Zishu blinks at him frowningly, “We cannot drink it anymore, even if you brought some.”

“I have been drinking this wine every day,” Lao Wen insists, eyes curving upwards as his smile deepens, mischievous and extremely self-satisfied. “This is a taste I would not sacrifice for anything.”

Zishu’s brows furrow in consternation, sensing a ruse, but not certain what the endgame could be yet.

“…Do you not want to know where the wine is?” Wen Kexing asks sweetly.

“If I ask, will it end this silly game any faster?”

“Hm, perhaps. That is entirely up to you.”

“…Where is it?” Zhou Zishu huffs out with a grumble, looking terribly put-upon.

“Here!” Lao Wen exclaims happily, placing one long finger directly against Zishu’s lips.

Zhou Zishu catches his hand on instinct, fighting a losing battle with the urge to roll his eyes.

“You are utterly preposterous.” He informs him evenly.

“I am also hopelessly charming and completely inescapable,” Wen Kexing agrees without the slightest hint of shame. He moves his finger to lightly trace one corner of Zhou Zishu’s mouth. “You, on the other hand, are both delicious and intoxicating. If were not trapped inside, I would whisk you out beneath the moonlight and drink you in until both of us were dizzy with sensation.”

“Do these types of brazen declarations actually work on people?” Zishu wonders.

“They worked on you,” Wen Kexing points out with a shrug, still smiling like a fool.

Zhou Zishu lets out long-suffering sigh, seemingly defeated, but he meets Lao Wen’s gaze without hesitation. A few heartbeats pass, and he turns his head slightly, just enough to brush the barest whisper of a kiss across the tip of the finger still hovering near his cheek. He smiles at the surprised silence that follows, pulling the hand in his grip closer to him, deciding to press a kiss into its palm as well.

Wen Kexing’s eyes on him are molten.

Zhou Zishu laughs.

“Well, I think we both know what works on you.”

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing exhales his name with a stuttering breath, a thread of supplication weaving through his voice.

Zishu’s expression softens exponentially.

“Alright.”

~

Zhou Zishu wakes up the next morning with a mild soreness that is becoming typical. His freshly rinsed clothes from the day before are folded neatly near the bed, along with their battered little washbasin and a damp handkerchief so he can wipe himself down before dressing. Wen Kexing is sitting at the narrow table in their reading nook, the sun sifting in through the high windows painting him with sweeps of warm golden light. His hair is still unbound, softening the angles of his face as he pours over the open book in front of him. A comb is loosely clasped within his left hand, seemingly forgotten.

Zishu takes the time to admire the scene in silence. He thinks again about what it means to take care of someone. To make a life from the ground up with nothing but your bare hands and your sincerity. To build a home within the walls of someone else’s heart.

He is still not certain he knows how to go about it, but no one said that the first step had to be the largest one.

It takes him a few minutes to quietly sweep away the traces of sweat and other things from the night before and pull his robe on. He is certain that Wen Kexing must have noticed, but he seems to be engrossed with his reading. Without waiting for acknowledgment or invitation, he pads across the room to pluck the wooden comb from Lao Wen’s elegant fingers.

“You won’t be able to read properly with your hair falling in your eyes like that.” He says it more brusquely than he meant to. His mouth twitches downward briefly in discontentment. That was not how he wanted to begin this.

For his own part, Wen Kexing simply turns his head slightly to blink up at him, a mix of warmth and mild surprise on his face.

“Are you offering to help me look pretty, Ah Xu?”

“You hardly need my help with that.”

Lao Wen shifts in his seat a little, as though he is so pleased with the compliment that he cannot quite hold it in.

“By all means,” he tells him, trying and failing to hold back a wide curling smile, “If you want to touch me anywhere, I would be that last person to stop you.”

Zhou Zihsu laughs.

“This I already know,” he says, leaning over to poke at one of the round mouth-shaped bruises along the side of Lao Wen’s throat.

Wen Kexing hisses and pulls a face as Zishu moves to sit behind him.

“And here I thought you were going to be tender with me,” he quips lightly.

Zhou Zishu stills for a moment, a portion of Lao Wen’s silvery hair already gathered in his left hand. He fiddles with the comb and stares and the shoulders of the man in front of him. His expression slides back towards uncertainty.

“I am.” He says finally. Wen Kexing reaches back and pats his knee. He can tell that he is smiling by the tilt of his head, and somehow it seems to ease the tension back out of his shoulders.

Without another word between them, he beings carefully running the comb through Lao Wen’s hair. He does his best to be gentle, but there are a few places with some especially stubborn tangles. Wen Kexing makes a low pained sound as he tries to pull the teeth of the comb through them, and Zhou Zishu pauses once again.

“Have you ever combed someone else’s hair before?” Wen Kexing wonders.

“…No,” Zhou Zishu confesses.

“Not even your shidi’s?” Wen Kexing presses, sounding surprised, “Didn’t you raise him once our master passed? Qin Jiuxiao was still too young to look after himself at the time, was he not?”

“We had servants at the Four Seasons Manor,” Zishu reminds him, “I was the new leader of a struggling sect. I was not going to spend time doing something that could easily be allocated to a maid. I helped him with his studies and I trained him in martial arts. He came to me with his troubles, but the more mundane chores of childrearing were handled by other people. I had too many other things to look after to go out of my way to make sure he was groomed every morning.”

“It was not a condemnation,” Wen Kexing says softly.

“I know.” He sighs.

“Do you wish you could have done more for him, now?”

“I…don’t know,” Zhou Zishu admits, “I don’t know if there was any more I could have done for him even if I wanted to. I was only sixteen when I became responsible for him. I barely knew how to run our sect, let alone how to be someone’s father figure. As his older brother, it was my job to keep him out of trouble, so that is what I tried to do. He had a good heart. A pure heart -like Chengling- and he was just as silly. I tried to make sure he never got his hands dirty the way I had to. We used to dream of the day the Window of Heaven would no longer be needed, and we would wander the jianghu together. Maybe, if that had happened, we might have had the chance for more moments like this.”

His hand trembles slightly and he tugs the comb harder than intended.

“Ai,” Wen Kexing winces, “Start closer to the bottom. It will be easier to get rid of the knots higher up once the ends are free of tangles.”

“Mn,” he acknowledges. “Sorry.”

He glances down at the comb in his hand. A crisp bouquet of carved wooden flowers in a dark cherry lacquer. Almost violet. He runs his thumb over it thoughtfully.

“Did you find this in the armory?” he asks, “It’s a woman’s comb, isn’t it?”

“Ah, no, I brought it with me,” Lao Wen says. His tone is casual, but almost abnormally so. Zishu squints down at the comb again to see if there is anything peculiar about it. But it just looks like a comb.

“Did it belong to your mother?” Zhou Zishu hazards a guess. “I thought the only thing you managed to take with you when the ghosts came was the hairpin.”

“…It belongs to Ah Xiang.”

Oh.

“When she was little, I would help her get dressed and do her hair up in the ugliest little buns you ever saw,” Wen Kexing continues in something of a daze, “I am sure I pulled her hair so many times, but she never complained. She was too scared I would throw her out. When she got a bit older, she would scold me when her braids were sloppy, but she wouldn’t let any of the girls from the department of the unfaithful do them, either. She only wanted me, and to this day I don’t know why.”

By this time Zhou Zishu has managed to tie back a portion of Lao Wen’s hair so it is no longer falling in his eyes. He thinks about attempting the usual little twist he wears it in, but it is already a bit crooked as it is and he suspects that would be beyond his abilities. He smooths the hair back from his forehead one last time, gently pulling a few strands loose at the sides to frame his face the way he likes it.

“She loved you.” He tells him quietly.

“I loved her, too.”

“I know.” He squeezes his shoulder.

“I found the comb in with my things when I woke up after…after…” Wen Kexing’s breathing becomes erratic, and Zhou Zishu wraps him up in his arms, pulling him back against his chest. Kexing refuses to meet his eyes, but he eventually seems to calm himself, reaching up and holding onto Zishu’s wrists for dear life. “I don’t know if there was some sort of mix up in the rush to leave Ghost Valley, or if Ah Xiang left it for me on purpose. Maybe she thought it would give her an excuse to come back, if she wanted. Maybe she just wanted me to remember all those early mornings when I used to do her hair for her. Or maybe… Maybe she thought I would forget her if she didn’t leave something behind.”

“She knew that she was going to miss you,” Zhou Zishu says, pressing a kiss into the crown of his head, “She wanted to make sure that you would miss her, too.”

A child takes after their parent, after all.

“I…was not as nice to her as I could have been,” Wen Kexing says thickly, “At first, it was because it was too dangerous. If the other ghosts knew she was precious to me, they would go after her as soon as it looked like I might be any sort of threat to them. I had to keep her at a distance to keep her safe. But later… Later on, I think I just forgot how to be kind to someone. And so, I was always making her worried that I would throw her away…”

“She knew,” Zhou Zishu soothes, “She knew your intentions. Who else could know you better?”

“You know me better,” Lao Wen sighs. “She was a bit too silly to understand me completely. Her heart was better than mine. She deserved better than me.”

“You raised her well.”

“Not well enough.”

They sit together in silence for a while, each lost in the memories of the children they could not save. There is grief, but there is understanding, too. The wordless empathy of touch. Zhou Zishu holds Wen Kexing in his arms and sees the ways their hurts fit together in perfect likeness. How just to know someone who knows him, someone with whom he freely shares his words and his space and his time without resentment or restraint, has allowed them both to become more of the people they had always wanted to be. And that…is a kind of caring, too.

Perhaps the most important kind.

The rest will come later.

“Lao Wen, I am afraid if you don’t get up, your hair will need combing again,” Zhou Zishu says after a long time has passed. He makes no move to relinquish his embrace, however.

“I’m not getting up,” Wen Kexing says stubbornly, “You can just comb my hair again for me later.”

“Oh?” Zhou Zishu laughs softly, “I thought I wasn’t very good at it.”

“You are not,” Lao Wen tells him bluntly, “But I’m spoiled now. You have to brush my hair for me every day.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Zhou Zishu smiles, and holds him that much tighter.

“Alright.”

[league-of-thots]

YeeHawks

Pairing: Hawks x female reader

Word Count: 3.3k+

Warnings: 18+, alcohol, riding, is cowboy kink a warning?

A/N: not the way y’all wanted me to return, but the way y’all deserve lol. i didnt really have the energy to give it an in depth edit but sometimes it be like that

         You wipe the sweat from your brow, the sun is high in the bright, cloudless sky. It means that the heat is just pouring down in waves from the sky though, and you curse the fact that you’d agreed to switch shifts with one of the other farmhands that had asked you the day before. Part of you wants to find Kirishima and reem him out, but you know he’s a sweetheart and wouldn’t have ever done something that would make things harder for you on purpose.

         Having said that, imagining giving the man a piece of your mind makes it easier for you to grit your teeth and put your back into heaving large packets of grains into a wheelbarrow for the pigs, so that you wouldn’t have to make as many trips. Instead, it would just be one hellish trip, and a lot less walking in the heat.

         Wiping the stray dirt on your pants you sigh. You feel sticky and can feel the grit on your face, on your arms. You must smell something fierce, though you know compared to the pigs you’d be feeding in a few minutes, you smelt like a bed of flowers.

         You feel the strain on your back as you finally finish loading the wheelbarrow and start to haul it over to the south side of the Academy farm. The ground is rough, and you feel the jarring of the weight in your shoulders, you’re going to be so sore tomorrow.

         After you finish feeding the pigs, you take the supplies back to where they belong and head off to start some of your final tasks of the day. One is milking the cows, and the other being your favourite, plowing some of the dirt to prepare for the new season.

         Is it a bit stupidly cliché that you love riding the big tractor while the sun lowers in the sky? Maybe. Is it worth it? Absolutely. It’s one of the best views you’ve seen in your life. Plus, it always helps clear your mind from a day of hard work so that when you enter one of the farmhouses, you’re ready to do whatever else you need to get done.

         When you park the tractor back to its spot in the barn, you see a few of the other farmhands talking together. They’re laughing with one another, and you wave to them as you walk out with your overcoat and keys.

         You’re in a daze until you realize you’ve somehow already started up a warm shower, standing under the steam to relieve your body from the stress of the day. Your muscles feel so much better with the hot water on them and the steam makes you feel as if you’re in stasis. It’s good because tomorrow is going to be a big day, the August festival, a celebration that the community holds as a sort of last hurrah before the season gets busy once again.

         After you’re clean and put together, you head downstairs to have a quick conversation with the couple other farmhands that share the house with you. You need to check if there’s anything else you need to do to help with the final preparations for tomorrow. The four of you had made some homebrew cider to share with the other townspeople, and it tasted quite good, despite being a little heavy on the alcohol. But nobody would be complaining about that, of course.

         “Mmm, I think its fine.” Mina says, faced scrunched up in thought. “We did pretty well with it for sure.”

         “I agree,” you reply. “Just wanted to make sure I could pass out for the night. I’m fucking dead.” She laughs a little at that.

         “Gotta make sure you have the energy for tomorrow. I hear that it’s going to be extra wild.” She waggles her eyebrows. “You know that there’s going to be a horse-ridin’ performance from our sheriff’s department, but there’s also gonna be some cowboys over here to show off some of their skills too.”

         You’re slightly intrigued at that. Maybe, you’ll even get to see him again… but, better not get your hopes up too much. Instead, you say, “That would definitely be a treat for all the hard work that this year’s been.”

         Mina nods sagely at that. “If I see that blonde, twink of a cowboy I’m goin’ to make him my bitch. Because I deserve it.” That brings a snort out of you, but you pray a little for Denki if you do see him tomorrow, because lord knows he’s going to need it.

         The two of you chat for a little while longer before you wish her a good night and head up to get some rest. You do have a busy day to get ready for after all.

           You wake up early the next day, ready to quickly get your tasks done so you can let loose with friends and community members that night. You wish that you don’t have to do any work, but you can’t have everything you want.

         So, you drag yourself out of bed, muscles tight and body sore, to quickly grab a protein bar and a cleaner pair of working clothes. Your overalls are starting to sport holes and there are some dark stains that just won’t ever come off. You need new ones, you think, as you walk towards the horse pen.

         You love the horses, how sweet most of them are and how peaceful it is in their separated area. It’s especially nice in the early morning, with a crisp breeze and the sun peeking out on the horizon. You grab the feed mix that someone had mixed the day before and drag it over to the troughs, where there are already some of the animals waiting for you to arrive. The horses have learned to expect people in the morning, and some of the more assertive ones wait at the fence to be the first ones to get to eat.

         While they feed, you prepare the cleaning tools inside the small stable that is connected to the fenced off pen. You take each horse that’s finished eating into the small shelter to clean their hooves, brush out their mane and body, and then your favourite part, riding them for a few laps of the enclosure to make sure they run a bit each day.

         It’s while you’re dismounting a cute mare named Starlight when you hear a low whistle from behind you. Someone’s obviously been watching you, and sitting there just outside the enclosure.

“Damn, baby, wonder if you could ride me as good as those horses there.” You feel a vein ticking in your head as you recognize the voice. He’s supposed to be getting ready for the group event, not bothering you while you try to get some fucking work done before you can finally relax and celebrate.

         You turn your body and inwardly groan as your suspicions are confirmed, sitting there waiting is a certain cowboy who’s always managed to piss you off greatly every time one of his short visits brings him to the UA farms.

         “Hello, Hawks.” You grit your teeth as you move towards the next horse that you’re about to take care of.

         “I’m wounded, really, that you don’t sound pleased ta see me, angel.” There’s a satisfied smirk on his face. He really does get off on toying around with you and seeing how much he can piss you off. So, you take a deep breath and calm yourself.

         “Now, why would you expect anything different? I haven’t forgotten the last time you came aroun’-“

         He waves you off. “You’re bein’ ridiculous. It was a harmless joke.”

         “I had to clean the stables for TWO WEEKS.” He just laughs at your anger, totally unphased. It grinds your gears more, the cheeky grin on his face that charms everyone around him, whittling down your intense irritation.

         “Well, if anythin’ everyone else certainly enjoyed it.” You grumble out some choice words about him, making sure they’re loud enough for him to here, as you start brushing out the mane of the mare in front of you. He seems pleased with himself, leaning on the fence, head on his hands.

         “Do you not have somewhere to be? Something you should be practicing for?” He lazily waves away your attempts to get him away from the work you’d like to finish up.

         “Who needs practice? I know exactly what I’ve gotta do so there’s no real reason for me to waste my energy before the actual performance.” He says it with a casual arrogance, that you know comes from years of experience and absolute confidence in his abilities. “The only thing I wanna do right now is try all of the good I know y’all made for the party tonight.”

         You give him an unimpressed look. “Just because we know each other does not mean that I’m going to just give you the cider meant for the community.” He pouts “You can try it when everyone else does later.”

         “Yeah, but we have a special connection.” He grins and you splutter, embarrassed and trying to put away the memories of your bodies pressed together and calloused fingers in your cunt.

         “Jesus, Hawks. Shut up.” You look around furtively, checking to see if anyone would’ve overheard.

         “You like me loud.” God, his smug look makes you feel hot and bothered.

         “Get outta here so I can finish my work, damn it.” He just laughs, turning around before turning back.

         “You better save me some of the goodies y’all made up for after the performance.”

         “Yeah, whatever,” you grumble, face flushed and mind now distracted with memories of Hawks’ hands tangled in your hair.

           “Well, now. This is delicious.” Your eyes follow his tongue that darts out to lick the drop of the cider that had dripped onto his lips. You’d made sure to fill a plate up with the treats that had been spread around the outdoor tables, lanterns hung up around them not only for ease of finding them, but also to light up the evening. “You helped make this?”

         “Yup. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it was between never having done it before and Mina’s enthusiasm. God bless Momo, without her we wouldn’t have gotten it done.” He laughs, and you can’t help that you can’t keep your eyes off of him.

         He was slightly sweaty from his earlier performance, which had been perfectly executed, tank top tucked into worn jeans with a feather-like buckle. His eyes are scanning the crowd around as the two of you lean on the outside of the saloon, the inside being too filled with inebriated or high adults to even try to squeeze into a seat.

         “So, how’s life been around here since I last visited?” he asks between bites of some spicey brisket, obviously enjoying it.

         “Ah, not much. Just the usual social drama. Actually, Shinsou almost got his dick sliced off by some machinery someone had fucked around with. I swear to god that man has the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”

         “Holy shit, sure does sound like it.”

         “But yeah, it’s just living day to day for me now. Not much new happens out here, as you very well know.” He shrugs.

         “Might as well see. What’s even keeping you here, then?”

         “Not everyone needs to be on the road their whole life to be happy, Hawks.”

         “I suppose. More cider?”

         “Sure.”

           You’ve drank way too much, you know that. But the fuzziness in your head just makes you want to keep going, to have fun and make up for all the time you lose working long hours every day.

         Besides, Hawks is there beside you, egging you on and matching you drink for drink. His hands always seem to be on your body, either squeezing your ass, wrapped around your shoulders or waist. It makes you feel warm, and you know he’s teasing you, trying to rile you up. He wants to see how bothered he can make you before you snap and drag him off to some private place.

         You’re determined to beat him out though. So, you lean into his body space and trace your hands over his arms, the insides of his wrists. You hear his breath hitch, though his attention is kept on whatever conversation is happening in front of you.

         Of course, this is Hawks, who has just as much patience as a saint, despite being as far from one as possible. But you’re drunk and turned on and the teasing is too much for you to handle, so when there’s a brief pause in the activity around the two of you, you pull him down so you can whisper in his ear how much you want him.

         He grins, “Might as well head back to your place then.” You agree and drag him with you.

         The moment you’re in the house, you wrap your arms around his neck so you can bring his lips to yours. Its messy and rushed, but it’s relieving at the same time. The two of you have done this enough in the few times that he passes through that he’s comfortable enough to let you take charge for a bit.

         “You can’t even wait ‘til we’re upstairs, sugar?” he chuckles, drawing out each word. You feel the rumble of them, pressed up as you are against his chest.

         “Shut up, Hawks.” You grumble, pulling him towards your room if that’s what it’ll take to get his dick out faster.

         After rushing in the room, you kick the door shut behind you and immediately get back to kissing him. This time, he makes more of an effort to assert himself, holding your face in his hands and licking into your mouth. You sigh into him, your hands finding his heated skin beneath his shirt as the pace slows down from the frantic rush it had been. It becomes sensual, and you can feel him getting more aroused as he slowly shifts his hands, starting to grind into you.

         You pull away from him, getting some air as you start to take off his shirt. He enthusiastically moves to help and you get to admire his muscles stretch as he does. Obviously, life constantly on the road does wonders for your abs.

         “You too, sugar. You’re gonna make me feel underdressed.” He says as he moves to take off the rest of his garments. A laugh slips out of you as you hastily get out of your outfit. When you turn your attention back to him, he’s sitting on the bed and he gestures for you to join him.

         When you do, he kisses you again, intensely, as he guides you onto your back. You sigh as he kisses down the side of your jaw to mark your neck, reaching blindly for the lube and condoms beside the bed.

         He quickly slides it on and you hear the squelching of lube as he moves in a rush. You don’t have time to make fun of him though, because as soon as he’s finished, he spreads your legs and puts the head of his dick at your entrance.

         He groans, closing his eyes as he enters you, and its uncomfortable for a little bit. Soon enough though, you relax, and start to feel great as he moves his hips slowly against you. Hawks fucks deeply, you know this from your times before, but each time it feels just as tantalizing as the last.

         “Hawks, please.” You pant, trying to wiggle a little bit just to get some friction, some tiny relief for the edging you’ve been through. He just gives you a smirk, as he keeps you completely locked between him and the mattress. You tense so hard he groans on top of you, but he doesn’t let you move, dick still sitting snug inside your cunt.

         “Well, let’s see those barebacking skills you were showin’ off earlier then, hmm?” he says, his voice low and gruff. With ease, he gets the both of you turned around so you’re now sitting with your ass on his thighs, hands clamped tight on your waist keeping you in place while he lays back on the headboard. He nods satisfactorily, looking you up and down with lidded eyes. “Y’know, I like this view much better, baby. What a pretty picture you make right on top of me.” Part of you wants to roll your eyes, but the warmth that his words give you makes the impulse disappear.

         “You know, Hawks, in order for me to show you said skills, you’re going to have to let me move.” He laughs as you try and lift yourself against the pressure he’s putting, obviously unable to really do anything. “Seriously, you dick, lemme move.”

         “But the face you make when I play these little games with you is so cute, sugar.” He’s got a faux innocent smile across his face and you pout and cross your arms in response. “Okay, okay, I’m done. I promise,” he says, letting off all the pressure, but keeping the two of you connected at the hips.

         “Thank you.” you quip, starting a quicker pace than the one Hawks had been setting, gravity still making it just as deep as before.

         Being drunk obviously makes Hawks that much louder, or maybe it’s the change up in position, you can’t be sure. But, his praises, his deep moans, the lewd noises from the slapping of your body against his hips, it all makes you feel hot as hell.

         You look down, seeing Hawks’ eyes widened and excited, he grins when he notices your look and begins to rock up into you. You throw your head back in as he hits deep within you, crying out his name. Hearing it obviously enthuses him as he grunts in exertion, starting to thrust upwards harder, and you feel your body responding, muscles tightening as you get closer to your climax.

         “God, you’re gorgeous like this, y’know?” he gets out through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to be able to last much longer…” He’s panting, fingers digging into your hips sharply, sure to leave marks.

         “Please, I wanna cum Hawks!”

         “Tell me what you need, sugar, I’ll give it to you.” Hearing that makes you smile, he was always so attentive to your needs.

         “Touch me…”

         “You gotta tell me where for that.” Even when so close to his climax, somehow, Hawks manages to be cheeky. However, when he’s fucking you this well, it’s much easier to let the teasing roll off your back.

         “My clit, Hawks. You do know what that is, right?” He lets out a genuine laugh at that, before sending one hand down towards the bundle of nerves.

         It’s enough, between the stimulation and the deep thrusts into your cunt, that you feel yourself tighten and cry out, cumming hard onto his cock. You lean into him, kissing him hard as pleasure courses through your body.

         He works you through it, breathing heavily, you can feel his pulse skittering under your hands. You feel him twitch within you, and an idea forms in your mind. Mind wrapped up in pleasure, you act on the thought immediately, bringing your hands to his chest to play with his nipples.

         He loves it, making keening noises as you work, legs shaking with effort to stay up and keep pace with him. You let him take the lead and you hear him shout and arch up as you pinch his buds, feeling him release.

         He thrusts a couple more times, lazily and slowly, kissing the top of your head as you settle down to lie on his chest for a few minutes.

         You breath deeply, content in the moment. You know after you clean up and rest, he’ll be gone on the road once again, so you relax, enjoying the presence.

[woeisme-iamwoe]

an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 2

IwaOi this time around. My favorite ship. The world’s favorite ship...there’s so many

Undecipherable, by ioo (4k. G. canonverse)

 I’m pretty sure the author meant ‘indecipherable’, nevertheless! I am appalled that this work doesnt have more hits. Y'all are sleeping on it and that's not okay. 

The sound of the door slamming against the wall has Hajime startling back to the present. He looks at the source of the disturbance and finds himself face to face with Oikawa, red in the face with breathlessness and a leather-bound notebook tightly clutched in both of this hands. When he spots Hajime, he makes a beeline for the bench and slaps it down right next to him.

"Koi no yokan," he says. "The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love."

 primavera, by tothemoon (8k. T. canonverse)

All of tothemoon’s works read so beautifully 

They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom. 

Learning to Walk (So That We Can Run), by ricekrispyjoints (27k. M. canon-divergence)

I've read this work so many times. Like, so many times and I’ve never tired from it. Gorgeous. The shift from friendship to romance felt so natural, love it. 

"I'm not healing like I should be."

In his second year of university, physical therapy just isn't cutting it. Oikawa's knee is getting worse, and he can't hide it anymore.

Or: the light angst, project-your-own-life-experiences-on-Oikawa knee surgery fic you didn't know you wanted.

 Priorities, by weirdmilk (2k. T. canonverse)

Kissy, kissy. 

‘I just -’ Oikawa begins, ‘it might be difficult to get married, sometimes, I think.’ He chews on his lip.

Iwaizumi makes a questioning noise.

‘Ah,’ Oikawa says, and then, in a rush, ‘if I didn't want a wife at all - what then? If I said that to you. If I told you I can’t see it. Like - the wedding dress. The bride. I just can’t see it.’

Iwaizumi swallows again, his heart beating much faster than the conversation warrants. He wonders whether Oikawa can hear it. ‘You’re eighteen. You aren’t supposed to see it yet.’ He snorts. ‘I mean - if we’re sharing shit, I’ve never even kissed a girl.’ He doesn’t mind admitting it. It’s not something that bothers him - he’s never prioritised girls very highly, and despite Oikawa’s largely undeserved status as Miyagi’s most eligible teenage bachelor, he doesn’t think Oikawa has ever wanted a serious relationship with any of his fan club, either.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi can't sleep before their first practice match with Karasuno.

 Before Midnight, by fathomfive (2k. G. canonverse)

Reads like a fairytale. 

The sky turns, the seasons turn over, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa track the movements of the stars. Nothing is ever quite constant, but it's close enough.

The grass is stiff with frost. They walk in silence past the raked-over vegetable garden and up the back hill, footsteps crackling, and stand side-by-side at the top of an incline that used to seem much bigger. Iwaizumi glances over but Oikawa’s already gone, eyes searching the sky with no hint of hurry, just a kind of reverent patience.

 make a bet, keep a promise, by raewrites (13k. M. canonverse)

Bet still on. 

Sometimes, in still moments, Iwaizumi wonders why out of all the people on earth he ended up with Oikawa Tooru. Why it’s his face that lingers on his fading conscious in the last moments before he falls asleep, in the first blurry seconds upon waking up again. Why when he looks to his side, he expects Oikawa to be there in the same way he expects to see five fingers on both hands, a natural extension of himself, ever present.

Why he can’t imagine a future without Oikawa in it.

It begins with a bet made between the two boys in the mid-summer of their eighth year. It starts with volleyball, but like with most things involving Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, things are never quite that simple.

 our hearts still beat the same, by knightswatch  

 two birds, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou (5k. T. canonverse)

Of heartbreaking letters and paper crane wishes. 

Five months into the term, two months after he’s stopped replying to Oikawa’s texts, the first package arrives. A small square box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and Hajime almost trips over it on the way to his dorm.

There’s a letter attached.

Oikawa doesn’t know how many times he’ll have to put his feelings down on paper before Iwaizumi believes them. 

Through My Eyes, by anchoringsouls (2k. G. canonverse)

Okay! Okay, we were doing great with the soft, happy love up until the last part! That's great, just great!

“I think if you ever saw yourself through my eyes, you would fall in love with yourself the same way the way I did with you.” 

in time it could be ours, by deusreks (3k. T. canonverse)

Anyone wanna go back in time and make a time capsule with me only to dig it up years later and we’re actually in love?

Set post Seijou's match with Karasuno. There's a moderate amount of rolling in the dirt. No pajamas were hurt in the writing of this fic.

There, in their joint backyard, was Oikawa Tooru, clad in his silly luminescent space pajamas, digging a hole near a cherry tree.

“What the hell, Oikawa.”

Tooru stubbornly continued digging. He looked pitiful in that moment; everything that was grand about him in daylight was meaningless in the darkness. He was only a boy with a shovel whose broken heart mirrored Hajime’s own.

 we can do better than that, by spaceburgers (16k. M. canonverse)

Of course, of course, the IwaOi road trip fic. AnD thErE wAs ONly OnE bED!

Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all. 

They Say it Rains Diamonds on Jupiter, by exsao (35k. T. canonverse)

I don't know, just gorgeous. Hajime’s so in love. 

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

 Midnight boys/sunset town, by carafin (10k words. T. Housemates AU):

The author says they played off of the fact that Oikawa oftentimes forgoes his sleep in order to work, and wrote it so that he doesn't sleep at all. This was so cute, kinda sad, mostly not. Love how Iwaizumi just goes along with whatever crazy stilch Oikawa is on. 

In which Iwaizumi Hajime grows a few chili plants, participates in an eating contest, breaks into a park, and falls in love with a man who doesn't ever sleep - not exactly in that order.

5 Reasons Why Iwaizumi Hajime's Flatmate Is A Complete Weirdo (An Incomplete List)

1. He's obsessed with that stupid bucket list of his.

2. He's the proud owner of seven truly ugly, criminally hideous movie posters with aliens on them, which he insists on pasting all over the damn living room.

3. He's always stealing Hajime's sweatshirts.

4. Sometimes, he wakes Hajime up for breakfast. At 5AM. On Saturday mornings.

5. He literally never, ever sleeps.

 The Best I Ever Had, by FindingSchmomo (62k words. T. Canon-divergent):

You’ve read it, your mum’s read it, your dog has probably read it (you really need to take facial recognition for him off your phone, he’s got some weird nighttime habits). So basically this fic caused me physical pain and then pumped me full of morphine and now I’m good! Beautiful read, hated Oikawa for a while, Iwaizumi is the only boy I would ever feel safe alone with. 

A story of separation and time lost. Oikawa and Iwaizumi lose contact, and life goes on. Now, a decade later and back in Japan, Oikawa wonders if he can pick the pieces back together, despite knowing Iwaizumi has moved on. A story of their past, present and future, pieced together by shaky hands.

 darlin', your head's not on right, by aruariandance (13k words. T. canonverse)

Again, I’m pretty sure anybody who's anybody has read this fic and for good reason! Super sweet realizing you're in love fic. Makes me reconsider wanting to get married. 

'“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”

Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.

“I was thinking our Aoba johsai colors to go for more, you know, softer tones? Besides, I’ve always looked great in that sea foam green color. Oh, and I guess you look decent in it, too.” He grins, saccharine sweet, and Iwaizumi has never been so tempted to knock one of his perfect pearly white teeth right out of his stupid mouth."

or,

Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.

 the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle, by kittebasu (66k. T. canon divergent)

Is this one of the most famous Iwaoi fic? I don’t know. Looks like it, I know it's my personal favorite. Where Oikawa studies bugs for a living and can’t seem to come to terms with his feelings. Very angsty, love that in a fic. 

Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

 Terrarium, by sausaged (11k. T. Post-canon)

Honestly, I’m so surprised this fic doesnt have more hits! It’s so good! Made me ache! I love the memories and character growth shown through the growing of the terrarium, absolutely adore that kind of symbolism. So beautiful, give it some love because it's one of my absolute favorites. 

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

 A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

 Lips like sugar, by ohhotlamb (8k. T. canonverse)

Why did my childhood best friend never offer to help me practice kissing only for us to realize we were only interested in each other? I had a fake high school experience. 

Hajime is offered to learn the art of kissing from a true professional, one Oikawa Tooru. It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

 Falling Slowly, by bravely (commovente) (3k. T. canonverse)

So special, imagine loving one person, and one person only like this for the entirety of your life. This is getting too sappy, I want off of this ride. 

over the years, some things change; but over the years, some things stay mostly the same.

(alternatively, mornings with oikawa and iwaizumi over the years).

 No sleep in the city, by loveclouds (7k. T. canonverse)

Mass/volume = Iwaizumi, apparently. (Please. If anyone gets this absolutely horrific joke, lets elope).

Along their journey to find Tokyo's best ramen, Iwaizumi finds himself asked again and again why Oikawa is still single.

 Time, by surveycorpsjean (5k. E. canonverse)

Growing older together. 

When they're twenty-three, their story only begins.

 Everything With You, by Ellessey (14k. E. canonverse)

Came damn near to crying, you can just feel Iwaizumi’s pain. Fight scene was probably the most emotion evoking one I’ve read in a long while. 

‘Hajime still loves Oikawa, but he understands now. Oikawa can't look at him and see someone he could potentially date.

And that makes it easier to not focus on the little things that used to drive him crazy—Oikawa's long legs, the way he's always hanging off of Hajime, how his whole face changes when he gets ready for a jump serve, and he looks like he could take on the entire world and win.

This new arrangement though, this living together situation, is presenting a new set of variables that must be adjusted to, and the nakedness is one of them.’

--

For years, being Oikawa’s best friend has worked out fine. Hajime is hopelessly in love with him, but it’s enough. Then Oikawa—who, by all accounts, has never been anything but determinedly, assuredly straight—gets a boyfriend. Or a boy friend-with-benefits. Hajime doesn’t know, and he doesn’t give a shit about the definition.

What he knows is that remaining best friends is starting to seem a bit too painful (way too painful) to be considered a solid option.

 The Best Best, by rikke (12k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Takeru is a whole mood. Don’t want kids, but I do want domesticity and this fic feeds me well.

“Congratulations, Iwa-chan! You’re a dad!” Iwaizumi hears as soon as the door opens. He’s dealt with Oikawa for all of his twenty-one years of age now, but this declaration is still sufficiently disturbing enough that he turns from his place on the couch and braces himself for whatever Oikawa has done this time.

 Or the one where Iwaizumi and Oikawa babysit Takeru for a week.

 cheek kisses, by ohhotlamb (G. 3k. Future fic)

Sooo cute!! 

“Every time,” Hajime murmurs, “every time I see you again I remember how fuckin’ crazy I am about you.”

 Routine, by snoqualmie  (2k. T. canonverse)

Again, anyone wanna be my childhood best friend so we can put face masks on each other and fall in love? I died, truly. 

Iwaizumi is fourteen years old, horny too often and angry all the time, and he’s just starting to notice that Tooru’s legs are really long, that his lips are kinda soft looking, and his fingers feel good pressed under his jaw.

 Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad, by sunsmasher (19k. G. canon divergence)

Be wary, I would give this fic an upper rating to probably Teen and the follow-up fic is Explicit. But, Oikawa on the Japanese national team is just a dream as is, but add in a rekindling friendship and an angsty make out sesh? Mwah, delizioso. 

It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.

He has, however, sent Iwaizumi tickets for the 2024 Los Angeles Summer Games.

“So go,” says Matsukawa's voice. “It’s only a few weeks. You’ve got a whole city to hide in if it gets awkward, and if it doesn’t get awkward, well…”

It’s like watching the future reconfigure, like being in high school again, watching team after team fall to Oikawa’s faultless planning and shameless charm.

“I’ll get to watch a whole lot of volleyball,” Hajime says, and resigns himself to fate and/or Oikawa Tooru.

“Hey, when you get there, can you bag a gymnast for me?” Hanamaki asks, and Matsukawa squawks.

 Chasing Paper Suns, by carafin (10k. T. Future fic)

Again with the growing up and coming back together, this time with more angst than the last. Lovely, really lovely read. 

Post-high school, Oikawa makes it to the national volleyball team but Iwaizumi doesn't. The next three years become an exercise in growing up without growing apart.

Some days Hajime likes to think of himself as Oikawa’s counterpart—the two of them blending into a single devastating unit, the invincible setter and his unyielding ace, the bond between them unbreakable and true. Other days he feels like he is chasing after a rising sun, always running and running with his eyes fixed on the distance, trying to cross a chasm that stretches on without end, caught in an endless and exhausting pursuit.

 the yellow room, by ohhotlamb (14k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Makki and Mattsun see bullshit and call you out on your bullshit. 

“I told you, we broke up like six months ago. We’re not dating anymore.”

Hanamaki eyes him suspiciously. “You live together.”

“Yeah, so?”

“There are pictures of you two kissing stuck to your refrigerator.”

Hajime shrugs. “That wasn’t my idea. Anyways, they’re good pictures. Good lighting.”

 the river runs, by tothemoon (11k. T. post-breakup)

My heart ACHES. Happy ending, promise! Just read it. 

One year since their breakup, Oikawa Tooru starts a list of daily reminders, tips, and tricks called HOW TO FORGET ABOUT IWAIZUMI HAJIME, and he’s determined to make it stick.

—

This is a firsthand account of how to deal (and rather spectacularly, at that).

 I sure hope that guy gets fired, by Xov (29k. T. canonverse/time loop au)

The only thing better than one confession, is MULTIPLE confessions. Oikawa trusts Iwaizumi unshakably, and that's beautiful. 

It was the fourth time experiencing the exact same day that Iwaizumi Hajime reluctantly admitted to himself that something was very wrong. 

 my only friend was the man in the moon (until i met you), by ohhotlamb (7k. T. canonverse)

Just so innocent and sweet. Oikawa said ‘effort’.

In which Oikawa has a life-altering revelation, and Hajime is starting to think it involves him.  

 Bet On It, by originalblue (13k. E. canonverse)

Tooru being nice for a week? That can only end one way… with a d*ck in Hajime’s mouth. 

Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week. 

 especially for tender ones like us, by viverella (17k. T. canonverse/post break-up)

Gods! See? See what I mean? How could I forget about a work as heart wrenchingly beautiful as this? Give it some love, actually, all of the love. 

The worst part of it all, Tooru thinks to himself sometimes, is that even as they fought and kicked and screamed and tore each other to shreds, it was never that Tooru stopped loving Iwaizumi any less. The worst part of it all, he thinks, is that loving Iwaizumi turned out to not be enough.

(OR: on finding the right person at the wrong time and learning how to pick up the pieces)

 sunset town, by skiecas (33k. T. canon-divergent)

Another work that I just CANNOT understand why it doesn't have more hits. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I almost cried. 

In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

Two years down the road, reconciling his lifelong dream with his lifelong love proves to be the greatest challenge.

 of odd numbers and intimate regrets, by bravely (commovente) (5k. T. post-canon/one night stand au)

Basically, Tooru and Hajime sleep together after not speaking for seven years and of course there’s feelings and angst and a belated chance at happiness and a life together. 

Tooru’s spent the last seven years of his life in a carefully constructed schedule that is, he realises now, as much a habit as it was a way to forget about the person in front of him.

[or, the one night stand AU between two people more than friends but not quite lovers, measuring the passage of time in distance and long-gone memories, the expansion and contraction of the spaces between their fingers each time.]

 cross my heart, open wide, by acchikocchi (7k. T. canonverse)

Super cute, super short. Realizing you're on a date with the wrong person one-shot. 

For a minute Hajime doesn't know what to say. Everything and nothing crowds his mind, leaving no room to think. That he's never tried this. That volleyball's over. That he's graduating in five months. That it would be really nice, at least once, to go on a date with a good-looking guy.

 Hajime goes on a date. It's not with Oikawa. 

 Fernweh, by oikawashoyo (19k. G. canonverse/post time skip)

A mature(ish) Tooru?? I love works that show Tooru growing and living happily in Argentina and this one is just beautiful. (Plus! Plus, Skai did a piece on it as well and I love ALL their work so you can visualize everything). Love it. 

Argentina is stretching out before him, an opportunity, a challenge. He is reminded of his losses, his insecurities, his disappointments; sees them form a tall, tall wall blocking his path to success. He takes a deep breath and knows he is going to shatter it.

In which Oikawa's whole life is spent longing for the horizon — in the form of a dream, a home, and a boy.

 i breathe easily in your arms, by orphan_account (2k. M. canonverse)

Soft, soft sex

When, after completing their high school graduation ceremony and heading home to enjoy their freedom, Oikawa had pulled him into his room and pressed his lips hesitantly against Iwaizumi’s own, it seemed an inevitable development in the unfolding narrative of their shared existence.

Despite years of having a bed to himself, the sensation of another body taking up space in his sheets, curling against his chest, creating warmth, feels natural in much the same way.

 old and new, by Mysecretfanmoments (5k. T. canon divergence)

Finally a fic where they don't freak out on confession and it's sweet. 

“You seem—sad.” Was that the right word? Others sprang to mind: desperate, lonely, anxious.

Tooru looked away. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Tooru folded his arms, sighed. “I missed you, of course.”

Hajime swallowed.

“No need to look that way. I told you, I’m not one of your macho man buddies. I’m allowed to say stuff like that without being embarrassed—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hajime complained. “No need to be so defensive. I’ve missed you too.”

“Oh?” Tooru seemed to get a little of his own back, leaning forward on his elbows. “What about me did you miss?”

((Going to separate universities, Hajime and Tooru learn the true meaning of "distance makes the heart grow fonder"))

 all i wanted was you, by spaceburgers (6k. E. college/fwb au)

This was more emotional than I thought a 6k friends with benefits fic could be, okay? Okay. 

Wherein Hajime and Tooru are fuck buddies, Hajime curses his treacherous heart, and Tooru is bad with feelings. 

 we shine like diamonds, by whitemiists (26k. T. canon divergence)

I couldn't not include this work. It deals with internalized homophobia so well and I really resonate with it. 

In all seriousness, I’m very lucky to live in a country where my sexuality is widely accepted and my heart goes out the LGBTQIA+ peoples who are forced to hide themselves. You are loved and your sexuality and gender-identity are not wrong and never will be.  

Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the word fuck and then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.

"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

 Look For Him, by Leryline (18k. E. canonverse)

A collection of kisses. I love Hajime’s grandmother. 

She laughs gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so heartbroken before, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sighs and prods at the mackerel with a chopstick. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just different, you know? Like Oikawa pissed me off so much that now he’s not here I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“But you weren’t always annoyed with him, were you?” his grandmother smiles serenely and takes a sip of her tea. “My, my, Hajime, old women see everything. I saw you out there with my finches, when you were kissing Tooru’s nose. Your mother and father used to do the very same thing, you know, when they were younger. And look how long they’ve lasted. I hope you and Tooru last, Hajime. He’s very good for you.”

-

Oikawa has kissed Iwaizumi more times than either of them can count; it’s a constant thing, their lips never really leaving the other’s skin. There are, however, times when they’ve kissed that are burned into their memories. Eight of them, to be precise.

 film reel life, arsenicjay (8k. T. canon divergence)

Such a unique and creative idea! Reading from the eyes of a camera, so beautiful!

The only person Iwaizumi is lying to is himself, when he insists: I am not in love with Oikawa Tooru. 

 how to let your planets align, by tether (tothemoon) (15k. T. end of the world au)

This is the only remotely non-happy ending fic I will be including on here, and it's purely because it's a gorgeous read. And yes, I ached. Your lips, my lips, apocalypse. 

It is the last day on earth, December 2nd, 1985, when you realize you're in love with him.

[atsukashii]

❝back again❞ // k. bakugou

SYNOPSIS: ➛ When pro hero ground zero destroys your shop trying to take down a villain, you don’t hesitate to curse him out. What you don’t expect though, is for him to come back again the next day. 

» CHARACTER PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

» WORD COUNT: 5K cause I have no self control

» GENRE: pro-hero!katsuki, aged up characters

» WARNINGS: swearing of course, fluff, fluff, and oop surprise more fluff,

» PROMPT: lilac - “if you don’t kiss me right this second i swear”

« masterlist || ao3 »

Anonymous: can i get uuuuhh ‘lilas’ with pretty boy katsuki 🥺💕💕

a/n: hell yes you can! I went a bit overboard with this request but I hope you love it! Also i’m running off the non-canon idea that Katsuki’s hero name is Ground Zero here.

Pro Hero Ground-Zero is an asshole. He’s an attractive one, but an asshole nonetheless. The explosive blonde was the hero on patrol this morning, when a villain decided to attack some old lady in the middle of the street. Ground Zero fought the villain and left behind a crater in his wake. One you are currently staring at, steam almost coming out of your ears. Because that crater consisted of half of your flower shop.

Are you fucking kidding me? You hear the news reporters behind you, talking to their cameramen about what went down on this normally quiet street. 

“This morning, Pro Hero Ground Zero successfully defeated a villain known to police as ‘FrostBite’. The villain has been responsible for many civilian attacks recently, he’s been linked to a heist just three days ago, which saw the criminals get away with over fourteen thousand…” You tune out the reporter's voice as you step back into your shop, through the gaping hole that was once your front exterior wall. Great, this is so fucking what I needed right now, you think. 

This whole shit fest is the icing on an already bad cupcake. It started when a woman had come into the store just last week, complaining about your goods. Which caused such a ruckus that an inspector was called, only for him to find some bullshit excuse that had stopped you from selling coffee’s in your hybrid cafe/flower shop momentarily. Add on top of that the fact that you are currently in your final semester of university and you’re about to sit your final exams in literally three days.  The word stressed does not even come close to describing your inner turmoil right now.

“-and here he is now! Ground Zero! Can you give us any information about what happened today?” The reporter asks.

“A villain got what he fucking deserved, the end.” A deep voice says from behind you, and you just know it’s him. Clenching your fists, you resist the urge to turn around and scream at the man. What about what you deserved? You look around your store once more and stifle a whimper at all the damage; crumbling walls, plants scattered across the floor, pots shattered and your precious neon sign. Broken. You kneel down and pick up the now dull yellow neon light and feel your eyes begin to sting. This shop had been your dream since you were a little girl, and now it was torn apart by a villain.

“I do my job, and I do it well. Write that in your fucking paper.” The hero reiterates again. Pure fury floods your brain until you are seeing red. Spinning around, your eyes focus onto the battered hero and the flawless reporter, and suddenly, all you want to do is scream. Your mouth begins moving before your brain can follow and say it's a bad idea. 

“You do your job well?!” You hiss at them. Everyone’s attention moves from the asshole hero to you, your apron covered in dirt and rubble from when your front wall crumbled right in front of you, because a villain was physically thrown through it.

“You destroyed my store!” Ground Zero’s face flushes red in anger as he stares at you with his scarlet eyes. If you weren’t so mad, you could maybe appreciate how handsome he is, but currently you can see too much damage - expensive damage - to even think like that.

“That villain was a threat to society, he got what he deserved. You should be thanking me, you damn extra!”

“Thanking you? You left a DAMN HOLE IN MY FUCKING STORE!” You scream at Ground Zero. “And what about what I deserve? I don’t deserve to have to pay for all of these fucking damages that you caused!” The anger seeps out of you as you look at the small crowd around your store, gawking at you. You can’t imagine that this is a normal response for heroes to get from civilians. What a mess…

“Y/n!” A voice interrupts the crowd and you look to the right where someone is pushing through the mass of people slowly, to get into the store. The second your best friend & work colleague see’s the damage, she lets out a sad sigh and looks your way.

“Oh sweety…” you hold up your hand, making them stop from walking in. 

“There’s broken glass everywhere. Let me clean up first,” You whisper, suddenly ashamed of your outburst. Ground Zero had been doing a civil duty, and you’d just jumped on his case about the damage he caused? Good one y/n, real smooth. Turning your back on the hero and the crowd, you weave around smashed pots and dead plants, reaching behind the counter for the broom you keep there and begin to sweep up the mess. You can hear the group begin to disperse, but can’t get rid of the feeling that someone is watching you. Looking over your shoulder, your eyes lock onto the vermilion gaze of the upcoming hero, known for his brash attitude towards reporters. Your breath catches in your throat as his intense stare seems to look into you more deeply than anyone ever has. Like he’s analysing your very being and everything about you. You shift away from him, grabbing the plastic rubbish bags you leave next to the till for the frequent mishaps that happen in your store, and you get to cleaning.

What a mess.

❀ ❀ ❀

 For the past two nights since your shop was damaged, you’ve been crashing with your best friend who deemed it unsafe for you to stay at your apartment located above the partially destroyed store. You didn’t have the energy to argue against them at the time, so now as you walk down the main street towards your shop, you’re thinking about how strange it is that you need to travel to get to work. At least it's a sunny day, so surely this has to mean something good... You hope. 

But as you round the corner convenience store on your block, you stop in your tracks. In front of your pathetically boarded up store, stands a tall man in black jeans and a matching jumper, the hood pulled up over his head. Because that’s not suspicious at all. Unfortunately, he’s leaning up against your front door, so you’re going to have to at least ask him to move.

“Uh, excuse me?” His head whips towards you, and your gaze immediately locks onto the ash blonde hair that peeks out from under the hood, and the matching eyebrows partially hidden by his dark sunglasses. It’s him, Ground Zero. Here. At my store. You don’t have the drive like you did the other day to be mad, so instead you keep walking towards your store with a raised eyebrow aimed at the pro hero. 

“Shouldn’t you be patrolling somewhere Ground Zero?” You ask the man as you approach. He shifts away from the door, but doesn’t move far, allowing you to use your keys to unlock it. Not that locking the door would do anything to deter intruders considering there’s a fucking hole where the almost floor to ceiling windows once stood. 

“It’s my day off.” Now that you’re not overcome with rage towards the man, you can appreciate the deep tone to his voice. One so alluring it sends chills down your spine. Do not go there, seriously y/n. No, it doesn't matter that you’re not mad, he’s still an ass.

“Good for you.” You mutter, before stepping through the doorway. You had cleaned up a lot of the debris from the room over the past two days, but the council wouldn’t let you begin working on the wall until today, as they had to deem it still structurally sound before you went around doing things. Hopefully, if all went well, you would have the shop open again in less than two weeks. 

You notice that the further you walk into Daisy Chains, the hero follows. You place your bag on the till and round to face him, leaning your weight against the wooden counter.

“Are you here to mug me or something?” What use did a pro hero have to you? What use did he have coming here either?

“I’m a fucking hero dumbass, its literally my job to detain people who do that.” He growls, his vermilion gaze forming a scowl that really shouldn’t be attractive on him, but somehow is.

“Well how am I supposed to know? First, you damage my shop, then show up in all black, glaring at me and following me into an empty store?” You challenge, meeting his intense glare straight on. If he thinks he’s intimidating you like this, well he’s right. But, you’re not going to let him know that.

“I’m here to help.” His voice echoes throughout the dead quiet store. For a moment, all you can do is blink at the somewhat stranger. He lets out a growl at you that has you steeling your spine.

“You kick up such a fuss about your fucking store, then what? Don’t want help when it's handed to you?” Ground Zero barks at you, bringing you out of your stupor.

“I’m just surprised is all.” Your honesty makes him pause. “But if you’re serious, I’ll take the offer. It wouldn’t hurt to have another set of hands.” You’re not an idiot, you know you’ve got a lot of work to do in order to get the shop back up and running, and considering you’re not the only employee here and it's your livelihood, you need it up and running as soon as possible. 

“The contractor says it's going to take about two weeks.” You comment.

“Then we’ll do it in one. I’ve only got a few days off, so we need to get this done soon.” Ground Zero replies with a blank expression, before getting up off his spot of leaning against the wall. You can’t help but admire his determination, especially to fix something he may have helped cause. A lot of hero’s you know wouldn’t even have bothered to come back for this, it was just another ‘ casualty of the job’. But for some reason Ground Zero did, and you weren’t about to look the gift horse in the mouth. 

“If i’m going to have a stranger help me out for the next couple of days, don’t I have the right to know their name?” You ask, walking forward towards him. He straightens up at your approaching figure - as if going on the defensive, and you notice as you come to a stop that he’s quite a bit taller than you. His nose would touch your forehead if he bent forward, no wonder he wasn’t intimidated by me when you yelled at him the other day. 

“Y/n Y/l/n, proud owner of Daisy Chains.” Sticking out your hand, Ground Zero looks between your eyes and your hand for a moment before reaching forward and gripping it.

“Katsuki Bakugou, also known as Ground Zero.” He introduces, shaking your hand. You can’t help but notice how calloused it is compared to your own. Well he literally works with his hands due to that explosive quirk of his.

“Katsuki Bakugou…” You breathe, testing the words out on your tongue. You glare half-heartedly at Katsuki, “I still don’t like you.” You finish, pulling your hand away from the blonde. He huffs at you and scowls. 

“The feelings fucking mutual. Let’s get this shit done.” Katsuki orders, pushing up the sleeves of his hooded jumper and walks over to the boarded up wall, grabbing a hammer as he moves. He’s definitely determined, that's for sure. One however, can also describe Katsuki as elegant. You observe the way that he moves; every motion fluid with a sort of grace you wouldn’t have pinned with someone like him. He yanks of his hood as he begins to pull the nails out of the wooden beams. Strong too. Unfortunately, his sweater hides his defined biceps that you know are there due to seeing him the other day in his hero costume and you - nope, stop right there. Shaking your head to clear your wandering thoughts, you reach over to the tool kit your best friend brought over for you to borrow and follow Katsuki’s lead and begin ripping down the wood.

With two sets of hands, things get done much faster than you had originally thought it would. You had ripped out the hastily put up wood, and began to demolish the rest of the damaged structure like the contractors had marked out for you. Due to being too poor to afford builders, you had planned to do the whole thing yourself, so as much as you hated to admit it, Katsuki’s presence was actually a major help. Not like you’d tell him that anyways. By the time it was five thirty that evening, you had already begun to put up the interior wall structure. Katsuki somehow knew what the hell he was doing, and barely had to look at the tips the contractor wrote down for you. When you had questioned him, he’d just barked at you to mind your own dang business, and proceeded to pout like a child for the next hour. Some of your neighbours had brought some temporary fencing to put across the front of the store to try and stop people from getting in during the day - and you had thanked them profusely as they waved it off. Because you were only twenty one, the owners of the shops either side of you had taken you under their wings so to speak. The old lady who ran the bakery next door often ‘made too much’ bread and gave some to you, and you in response 'accidentally ordered too many of her favourite roses’ so they’d go to waste if she didn’t take them. And when they’d seen Katsuki, he’d just huffed and managed to find something to do on the opposite side of the store. He’s a strange one that Ground Zero. 

As the sky kept darkening, you look from the star speckled darkness slowly settling outside to your watch and decide to call it a day. Reaching over your head, you groan as your muscles pull tightly and ache from all the labour. 

“I think we should call it a day Katsuki.” You yawn, looking over to the blonde who has already started to pack up the tools. He glances at you when he’s done, and dusts his hands on his black jeans. 

“I’ll be here tomorrow at eight. Don’t be fucking late or I’ll break in the door to get in.” Katsuki promises, before pushing out said door. 

“I won’t pay for that damage!” You call after him, watching as his shoulders tense in annoyance at your words. Holding in your laugh, you observe as he pulls his hood over his head and stalks down the street, slipping into the shadows like he’s made of them. You let out a sigh and lean back against the counter, suddenly feeling much more optimistic about your store and its progress now that Katsuki’s helping.

He definitely is a strange one. 

For the next three days, your progress clicks like clockwork. Arriving at eight am and leaving at seven when it gets too dark and you’re both too tired to do much more, the store is slowly coming back together. Last night, you’d even ordered take out and actually had a civilised meal together. Sitting on the floor of Daisy Chains, you’d both eaten gyūdon, conversing in innocent small talk whilst you gaped at the hot sauce that Katsuki kept adding to his food. He had smirked at your expression, which then resulted in a two hour Q&A with pro hero Ground Zero. Where you learnt that he absolutely loves spicy food, likes mountain climbing of all things, and can actually cook - which you only learnt because he called the food bland and was offended when you sassed saying that he couldn’t do any better. Apparently, he can. It was a weird experience, getting to know Katsuki as someone other than Ground Zero, Pro Hero destined to be number one - his words of course. It was actually… Nice, talking to him. Your heart jumped around inside your chest like an overexcited child in those moments, just getting to know him and seeing his lips tick up ever so slightly for the first time at a joke you cracked. And you need your heart to stop. You have no reason to feel like this, if anything you should be mad. No, you think. He’s using his days off, things he’s mentioned that he rarely gets, to help you fix something that - yes, he caused damage to, but could have just left alone. 

You let out a sigh at your confused thoughts and dip the paintbrush back into the bucket on the floor. Your feelings towards the confident blonde are perplexing at best. Yet, as you look around the nearly completed store, and the painting you have left to do, you couldn’t help but want him there. Sure, you argue - a lot, but you also really enjoy his company. And no, it wasn’t because around midday every day, he’d shed his jumper and you’d be graced with toned muscles bulging out of his tank singlet. 

Except he had mentioned to you last night that he wasn't coming in today because he was back on patrol. It’s fine really, you have managed to get a lot done today anyways, as a lot of the heavy lifting had already been finished earlier this week. You had given the new wall a coat of primer after the window installation guys had come in and done their job on the brand spanking new windows that made your bank account cry. Having them back in and the wall officially closed in, you were also finally able to move back into your apartment upstairs and off your friends couch, which was a massive relief. 

Dipping your brush back into the paint, you look at the rest of the wall that has to be done. You had decided earlier that you may as well give the rest of the store a bit of a face lift whilst you were at it. Half of it was completed when you had to take a break before you gassed yourself with the paint fumes. Deciding to leave the back door open and turn on the fan, that usually is only made use of in the summertime to attempt to decontaminate the air, but the store still reeked of paint fumes. So you settled on keeping the front door open using a cinder block. It was working, gradually. 

Slowly, the sun set behind the skyscrapers and you are still painting. Letting out a yawn, you carefully paint around the edge of the window frame, trying not to either touch the tape you had previously put down or let any drip onto the paint cloth on the floor. You are so focused on the task that you don’t notice someone has walked into the store until they speak.

“You shouldn’t leave the front door open like that dumbass, some creeper is going to take that as an opportunity to come in.” You let out a terrified scream and the paintbrush flies out of your hand and onto the floor. Placing a hand to your chest to slow your thundering heart, you look to Katsuki who's standing in the middle of the store, arms crossed on his chest, his usual glare ever so intensely settled on you, and still dressed in his hero costume. Good gracious.

“I thought you had patrol?” you ask, not moving an inch. It feels like forever since you’ve seen him in his hero costume, and somehow it looks even better then it did the first time you saw him in it. But your opinion may be biased seeing as you’ve unfortunately found yourself thinking of the hero constantly recently. He’s grown on you, like an annoyingly attractive fungus you can’t seem to get rid of. 

“Just finished up. Thought I would come over here and see how slowly you’ve been going.” He smirks. You almost choke on your saliva as you look at his ticked up lips. Is he…  Teasing me right now? 

“Slow? I’ll have you know that i’m moving much faster today than I have with your help Mr Pro Hero.” You sass, picking up the brush and moving to continue on the wall.

“Obviously, that's why you're still going at this time.” You know he’s only trying to rile you up, but you can’t stop yourself from shooting him a playful glare over your shoulder at him But as you move, you find him no longer standing there. Katsuki’s fishing behind your front counter for something, and you’re about to ask what he’s looking for before he walks towards you, a paintbrush in hand. You blink at him as he stands next to you, dips the new brush in the paint and begins to pick up where you left off.

Your brain can’t seem to comprehend that he’s here, when he said he was super busy, in his hero costume, helping you paint. You’re unsure as to how long you’ve been standing there staring at him for, until Katsuki looks at you with a frown.

“You better not start fucking slacking now dumbass. I didn’t come here to do it all for you.” He says with a small smile and god what the hell is going on right now? Your cheeks suddenly feel hot and you don’t need to touch them or look in a mirror to know that you’re blushing. Hurriedly, you scramble for your thrown paintbrush, reaching down to the pastel blue liquid that almost looks white and begin to paint. 

The radio plays softly in the background, the only source of noise in the store, and you find yourself bopping your head with the music as you work. Suddenly, when your favourite song comes on, you make a mad scramble to the machine and turn it up loudly, ignoring Katsuki’s protests. Dancing as you walk back to the wall, he’s glaring at you but there's no anger in it. Somehow over the past few days, you’ve managed to finally crack the code that is Katsuki Bakugou, and understand the many meanings of his scowls, glares and unfriendly remarks. And now, as you’re singing along to the song and shuffling towards him with a dorkish grin, he’s one hundred percent amused at your antics. Katsuki doesn’t dance along, or even bop his head, but you can see him mouthing the words ever so slightly, and that's enough. As the last chorus hits, you scream the words out loud, which earns a loud bark of laughter from Katsuki. Mid verse, the climax of your performance, you stop to watch it happen. You know you’ve said things he’s found funny before, because his mouth shifts upwards ever so slightly, followed by him calling you an idiot and turning away. But seeing him laugh, a proper laugh that starts in the belly and spreads happiness through every pore of your body and into those around you, it was so attractive to you. The soft smile he sent you after too was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen. For a man normally so harsh and with sharp as fuck features, the gentle look he gave you made your stomach somersault. 

The song was forgotten as you forced yourself to keep on painting until you finally finished. Looking at the clock behind the counter, you smother a yawn as you read the time. 11:16pm. 

Finally, it was all coming together. With only the radio making noise, you and Katsuki tidy up your tools once more and you walk him to the door. He raises an eyebrow as you lean up against the glass door. 

“I moved back upstairs today, so no more couch surfing for me.” You answer his silent question.

“That’s good, I was sick of having to walk you all the way back to your friends place.” Katsuki replies, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He was smart enough to bring a change of clothes with him tonight to change into once he’d dropped blue paint onto his costume and realised that it wasn’t the wisest idea to wear it. So now, he was back in his casual black getup, in the sweater that a part of you so wanted to steal.

“Hey, no one ever asked you to do that, thank you very much.” Scoffing at your words, Katsuki shifts his weight from one leg to another. 

“You’d have never made it there without me.” 

“Whatever makes you sleep at night Mr Pro Hero.” Standing in silence, you suddenly can’t bring yourself to look at him and instead look back inside the store. “Hopefully I’ll have this place open again in a few days,” You say out of nowhere, simply feeling the need to break the silence. 

“That’s good. I might have to come around and actually buy something.” Snapping your head back towards him, you flush from head to toe. Is he flirting with me? You asked yourself...surely not… Why would someone like him flirt with someone like me? But you can’t help but hope that he is.

“If you come around here for any other reason other than to buy something, I swear to god Katsuki.”

“Any other reason?” He challenges, taking a step closer. Your back is pressing into the glass door behind you as your eyes lock onto his scarlet ones. “What if I have a perfectly valid reason?” 

“Does it include breaking things?” You breathe, his face so close now that you can feel his exhale fan across your mouth. Oh my god.

“Not breaking, just stealing something.” He’s whispering, as if speaking too loudly would scare you away like a timid animal. Your heart is about to burst from your chest with anticipation. He’s going to kiss me, he's sooo going to kiss me. And you so want him to.

“You’re going to steal some plants Katsu? That's a bit lame. I thought you were some big shot.” His eyes flicker to life with something you can’t quite place. Teasingly, he looks down at your lips and you swear to god. 

“Hey,” he drawls, “don’t go judging me now y/n.” his hand comes up to your face and brushes a strand of your hair away from your eyes. “Do you give everyone else shit like this after they’ve done you a favour, sweetheart?” 

“Katsuki.” You all but groan, letting logic fly out the door and gripping the front of his sweater. “If you don’t kiss me right this second, I swear-” He doesn’t even let you finish the sentence before he’s cradling your jaw in his hands and crashing your lips together. The two of you collide with such force it knocks the air right from your lungs. Katsuki completely dominates the kiss, which has shocks running down your spine and into the tips of your toes every second it continues. He possesses your very being and you can’t do anything but hold onto him and return it with everything you have in you. Reluctantly, Katsuki pulls away from you, but continues to hold your face captive within his grasp. 

“I-uh…” your brain is no longer functioning and sits with the same potential of goo inside your skull. Smirking at your response, pride swirls inside Katsuki’s eyes.

“Got nothing to say now dumbass?” He jokes, releasing a cheek to brush hair out of your eyes again. You’re pretty sure there's paint in it.

“Are you going to kiss me again?” You manage to ask, deciding that you never want to do anything other than kiss him every day for the rest of your life. This time, Katsuki doesn’t laugh at you, or even smirk. His smug grin morphs into something so soft and rare that you doubt many have ever seen this look on him, and even fewer ever will.

“Only if you agree to go out with me.” Katsuki states. Of course he wouldn’t ask like a regular person. He’s Katsuki fucking Bakugou, pro hero and future number one if he gets his way. He doesn’t have time to beat around the bush.

“It’s almost midnight Katsu.” You point out, which makes him laugh.

“I didn’t mean right now dumbass.”

“Oh.” You feel yourself blush bright bright red, mortified you try to pull your head out of his hands purely out of embarrassment. But Katsuki quickly moves his hands from your face until he’s pulled you tightly against him, your chest flush against his torso, your head craned up to look at him. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” he utter’s before leaning in and kissing you again, this time softly and chastely, so different from the desperate kiss earlier. Suddenly, you’re so glad he exploded into your lift and ruined your shop that day. “You’re getting dinner with me tomorrow night.” He mumbles against your lips.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask, your fingers weaving through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. You feel him smile a feral grin against your lips and try to hold in a smile of your own.

“No.”

“Good, wouldn’t want it any other way Katsu.”

©️ 2021 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

[writingsbychlo]

put her together again (prologue)

word count; 2398

summary; while in the field, mitch encounters a hostile force who almost takes him out, and accidentally finds himself tangled up in something far more advanced than he’d ever imagined.

notes; this is the prologue to a new series, and it’s a pretty dark one. there will also be a lot of triggering themes, so watch out for that!

warnings; violence, slight gore, reference to torture, death, reference to mental & emotions abuse, possible suicidal references, reference to self harm, reference to branding, reference to brainwashing & manipulation.

Mitch would be dead, if it hadn't been for the quick thinking of Stan. Another agent in the field was unexpected, a target that had training that far exceeded his own, he really stood no chance. Up against him or Stan, even both of them together, she would have come out on top. 

Whoever the girl was, she was one hell of a fighter. 

With his hands on his knees, he lifted one to brush at his forehead, wincing at the blood along his hairline as the cut stung, and he wiped the back of his hand across it, red smearing his skin and the cool air sweeping across it for only a second, before he was feeling blood begin to build up along the gash once again. With a sigh, he searched around for his gun, one that had been knocked from his hand only a minute into the fight, and he located it sitting under some knocked over tables in front of a little street coffee shop. The roads were empty now, not even the honking of horns or screaming of civilians, the man you’d been protecting having achieved in his mission of setting off a bomb, and he glared at you as he clicked the safety off and checked it to be loaded. 

Holding up the weapon, he aimed it at your head, feeling zero remorse as he closed his finger over the trigger, squeezing down and releasing the bullet, only a second after fingers had wrapped around his own and jolted his aim to the side, the metal pinging off of the cobblestone walkway as it cracked the tile it landed on, clattering away across the quarter. 

With a growl, he spun to face the man, his mentor fixing him with an equally stern and hard gaze as it had always been, especially in the first few weeks that he’d been in his training, all that time ago. “She helped kill people today, Stan. She was going to kill us.”

“We aren’t executioners. We take her back with us, we get information out of her.” He snatched his hand back from the man, grunting an agreement before clicking it back to safety and tucking the device into the back of his pants. “You know as well as I do that she was a hired gun. She was protecting him, so much so that she was willing to die at your hand to let him get away. I want to know who hired her, she’s our lead.”

He knew it made sense, it was perfectly logical, but he hated the way you were cooperative in this, he hated that the woman at his feet had allowed such things to happen, and he fought hard to suppress the wild anger he had worked so hard to learn to contain and control back down. Instead, he spat out the blood in his mouth with a grimace, stepping over you to walk back towards the car and making sure to drag his foot across your body to plant a rough kick into your ribs, not that you reacted in your unconscious state, but it made him feel a little better. 

Instead, he did as he was told, opening the trunk of the car and fishing around in the toolkit for the duct tape before making room to stuff you inside a minute or two from now, and he looked at the bullet holes along the side of the vehicle, rolling his eyes with an angry huff. He wasn’t exactly gentle, your arms behind you back and sealed up tightly before attaching you ankles together too, and sealing one over your mouth for good measure, should you wake up on the journey to the safe house. 

By the time he had you loaded into the back of the car and fastened in, Stan was already sitting in the driver’s seat, the engine running as he waited, and the second he was within the car, it was starting up and peeling away from the scene, calling Irene to explain the situation. He didn’t bother to listen in, barely perking up to add his input, before he was resting his head back against the window, the adrenaline coming down and revealing to him just how much his body ached all over. 

He was sore and covered in cuts and bruises, he could already feel it under his clothes, every rub of the fabric against somewhere that was pained, and he couldn't wait to get into the shower, dismissing Irene alongside Hurley from the second they’d arrived at the isolated little home. You were still unconscious when he opened the back of the car up, much to his relief because he knew wasn’t feeling like starting another fight as you resisted, and slung your body over his shoulder to carry you inside, taking the tape with him. Stan had a chair set up, in the middle of the room read for you, and he tossed Stan the roll of tape once you were slumped into it, before making a beeline to the bathroom and calling the first shower.

He barely hesitated, only pausing to grab a change of clothes from his bag, before finding himself switching on the hot water, and peeling his clothes off of his body, stepping under before steam has even begun to fog the mirrors. A groan bubbled up from him before he could stop it, sounding out in the bathroom as the tension immediately soothed just from the hot water, body practically melting into the tub as he eased himself of the aches, and he had to force himself not to fall asleep in the comfortable heat and relaxation. 

Instead, he busied himself with scrubbing down; blood, dirt and grime washing away into the drain as he watched it go, scrubbing a hand through his hair and the colour only darkened as it washed away. The cuts would sting each time he got soap or hot water within them, but once the runoff was going clear instead of red and grey, he was beginning to see where he was grazed and cut, and where he was simply beginning to bruise. He knew he couldn't stay too long, using up all the hot water before Stan had a chance to get in, and as tempted as he was in the will for amusement purposes to leave the older man to shower in the freezing cold, he wasn’t that cruel.

He towelled himself down, and pulled on his boxers, finding the cream from bruises and ointment for his cuts, making sure to take care of himself and place gauze over the worse once, before finally pulling on sweats and a fresh t-shirt, scrubbing at the longer strands of his hair and making a note to get another haircut, before stepping back out into the main room. 

“Leave me some hot water?” He smirked, the thought he’d once had flashing across his mind once again, but he nodded as Stan scooped up a towel and change of clothing for himself. “Good, I won’t be as long as you were, princess, but if she wakes up while I’m in there, just knock on the door.”

He sneered in the older man’s direction, but let him go, and the door closed, leaving him alone with the woman in the chair. He was certain Stan would have already followed all of the formalities, but he decided it wouldn't hurt for him to check you over himself, and so he made sure to pat you down with what he could reach, checking for anything that you could use to escape or fight back. He even checked your hands, and under your tongue, no hidden razor blades or sharp objects, and he eventually deemed you to be okay. Pulling up his one chair, he set it backwards, straddling the seat and resting his arms over it, balancing his chin atop them, before staring at you intently. 

He didn’t like you, but you were a mystery. No matter how many time she had insulted you or goaded you, you’d never once spoken back. You didn’t fall for the temptation to lash out with words like every other person he’d fought had, and you didn’t have the same sinister flash of pure evil in your eyes that he was s used to seeing. There was no hatred, malice or anger when you fought, only determination, but your eyes had been blank as you worked, as though you were simply working, nothing in the situation being of any gain to you.

Stan came out of the bathroom, steam curling out of the doorway as he did, and Mitch turned to offer him a quick look, catching the raised brow he received in response, and letting his thoughts flow freely from him.

“Don’t you think she’s a little odd?”

“What do you mean?” Stan was leaning on the edge of the counter that connected them to the kitchen, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth, before crossing his arms. 

“She didn’t react. I looked into her eyes, there was nothing. Nothing. No anger or hate or pure joy at killing, it was like there was nobody in there. A robot, not a person. It was more terrifying than facing someone who took pleasure in killing.” He sighed, both of them snapping up to look at your from the first twitch of your leg, a foot sounding out across the carpet. 

“Guess we’re about to get some answers. Maybe that’ll put you at ease.”

He huffed doubting it would do anything other than anger him further, but your eyes were opening to look at them both. He expected fear, a sudden jolt as you tried to free yourself, looking around for escape exits and a way to get free. Maybe some glaring, growling out curses under the tape and making a show of trying to seem defensive, but you didn’t.

Instead, you took a single deep breath, keeping your gaze fixed on the carpet before you as your hands flexed out behind your back, cracking your knuckles and stretching your muscles, but then falling flat, and you almost seemed o relax into the chair, slumping your body weight over it but wincing when you pressed against something that must’ve hurt. 

He shared a look with Stan, his confusion only growing, but Stan shrugged a little, before flipping out the blade on his pocketknife, and moving towards you, the scare tactics beginning, but you never even flinched. Not when he peeled the tape from your mouth, not when he pressed the blade to your shoulder with the threat of pushing it through. Threats didn’t work, shouting didn’t work, it didn’t even work when Mitch had filled the tub with cold water and held you over it in a threat of dropping you within, and still, you were unmoving. 

They had thought through every option they could to get their answers, without ever physically harming you, and do Stan had decided to resort to mind games. He filled up a glass of water at the sink upon watching you swallow down thickly on what he assumed to be a dry throat for the fourth time within the last minute, and he made sure to make a show of preparing it. He clinked a spoon against the edge of the glass once, taking his time in preparing it, before bringing it out to you and offering it up to your lips, an almost friendly smile on his lips. 

You leaned in, taking a large gulp of the water without hesitation, drinking down almost half of the glass, much to both of their surprises, and his eyes widened when Mitch turned to him.

“She didn’t even smell it for traces, or taste test. She doesn’t care.”

They were just regrouping for a discussion when you finally spoke up, the sharp intake of breath making their heads snap back toward you, and your eyes were glued on Mitch’s own, a cold and empty gaze that sent a shover rocking along his spine, and goosebumps rising on his skin. 

“Units must not return without assignment success.” His brows furrowed, jaw dropping a little as he turned to face you more fully, and he frowned when you didn’t speak up again, but he gave you a chance, your tongue flicking out to lick over a busted lip as you tried to clear your throat. “Termination in the field, or termination at base. You must terminate the unit.”

“Oh, fucking hell.”

“What? This gibberish mean something to you?” When he looked back at his superior, the man was a little paler, eyes wide like saucers and jaw hanging wide, and Mitch had never seen this look on a man’s face before. “Hurley?”

Instead of responding, he moved to crouch in front of you, holding your gaze intently. “What is the name of your company?”

“Unit cannot comply with your request.”

He let out a ragged sigh, flicking out the blade once again and Mitch got to his feet quickly, fearing that Stan may actually gut you like a fish in his anger, but he circled behind you, cutting away the material of your shirt around your neck and letting out a loud shout at what he found. Stumbling over his own feet to get a look, he found a tattoo, branded into your skin with a symbol he didn’t recognise, but it would seem Stan did.

“I heard rumours from the higher-ups, notes on previous cases as eye witness results, but it always just seemed like a myth.” He seemed almost shocked, and Mitch has no idea what was going on, but he felt like he was drowning in the thoughts flying through his mind, his head pounding with all the new information he was processing. 

“Does that mean something?”

“Yeah, it does.” 

“And what are we supposed to do with her, then?” Stan let out a groan, and you shifted a little when the seat jolted as the older man kicked at the chair leg angrily, but you never looked back at them, your expression never shifting from the same haunting emptiness you’d held continually since he’d first laid eyes on you.

“Call Irene, tell her we have a Nocturnus agent in play, and that she’s alive.”

[negans-savior-complex]

Plotted starter for @we-will-begin-again​

It wasn't all that unusual for strangers to wander into Savior territory; more often than not they were the usual survivors, desperately looking for safety, a roof over their heads and four walls to hide behind. Sometimes they were of the nastier sorts, armed groups with a murderous attitude looking for trouble, and to take what was rightfully theirs. And sometimes... sometimes it were people like these. The inbetweeners, not quite the desperate sort, but at the same time not quite a threat either. Not outright anyway.

From what Primo had told him over the radio, a group of such people, no more than a small handful, had wandered too close to one of their outposts to avoid detection. What they were doing there no one knew, possibly they'd meant to use the place as a hide-out for the night or maybe they'd hoped to simply loot it and move on, not knowing that it was already occupied by far more people than they could handle.

They were surprisingly well equipped, which threw out the theory that they were simply yet another ragtag band of desperate sorry bastards, which wouldn't be a problem except they refused to answer any of the questions Primo had asked them. Who they were and where they came from. If they were part of a bigger group or community and what they wanted. They wouldn't even give their names, which was just rude as fuck at this point.

Nothing. Zip. Fucking nada.

And that right there was a goddamn problem.

Nothing happened in Savior territory without him knowing about it and if these assholes thought that they could get away without answering anything and be allowed to move on like this wasn't a problem, they had another fucking thing coming.

With enough persuasion, everyone talked eventually... and Negan prided himself on his ability to persuade people into doing all kinds of shit. And until they did, they would be considered enemies.

So when Primo had contacted him on the radio, his orders had been simple: strip them of all weapons and belongings, load them into a truck and bring them to Sanctuary so he could confront them personally and get what he wanted. They weren't to be harmed but at the same time they were to be kept under guard at all times, and to only shoot to kill if one of them tried anything. Their survival wholly depended on whether they were willing to cooperate or not.

His radio crackled with static before a voice came through, the old speaker giving a slight metallic quality to the words, but they were clear nonetheless. “Boss? We're here, unloading them now. We're at loading dock C.”

Negan inhaled deeply and reached down to remove the device from where it sat clipped to his belt, and raised it up, pressing the PTT button on the side. “Be there in a minute.” Returning it to his belt Negan turned on his heel; Lucille sat in her usual place when he wasn't carrying her around, propped up against the backrest of a plush recliner opposite the couch. Depending how things went with these strangers, he might have need of her tonight.

Holding her in his hand, feeling her comforting weight in his palm like she truly was an extension of himself, always made him feel better. Not quite complete, but close, as close as he would ever get to feeling complete again. Lucille's death had ripped a tear in his soul, punched a hole in his heart that nothing and no one had managed fill, no matter how many communities he had under his control or how much shit he had... no matter how many people he fucked, and that was okay. He was hardly the only one, everyone had lost someone at some point, but the pain served as a clear reminder of his shame, his weakness and his mistakes, and that was what kept him going strong now. It was what he drew strength from, and the bat made it bearable.

With her safely in his hands Negan left his room, traversing the darkened hallways of the factory on his way down to the loading docks. At this hour, a little past midnight, all the workers had long since retreated to their own beds but he wasn't alone; there were still Saviors around, patrolling the halls and the grounds outside, and every single one of them gave him a wide berth and a respectful nod as he passed them on his way out.

Loading dock C was of course that one loading dock where the goddamn exterior light above the door had broken down days ago, and no one had bothered to fix it yet. It wasn't used much, which was probably the reason why Primo had picked it, which was fine and fucking dandy, but it was so dark out he could barely see these people he was to tickle for information. The only light came from the truck's headlights they'd used to get here, illuminating their captives from behind and making it impossible for him to make out any details or faces unless he moved closer.

Meant they could see him just fine though, so not all was lost.

They were there, kneeling in the dirt in a neat little row, all properly lined up like sheep ready for slaughter. To the side, at the bottom of the concrete steps lay their belongings, various rucksacks and duffel bags as well as a few firearms and knives, kept well out of their reach. They were outnumbered at least two to one anyway, they'd be fucking stupid and suicidal to try and make a grab for their weapons but hey, he'd been surprised before. Some people really were that stupid.

Negan watched them for a moment, Lucille resting on his shoulder, and his lips slowly curled up into a devious smirk, causing the dimples in his cheeks to deepen. “Well,” he mused and reached up to stroke leather clad fingers over the scruff on his chin. “aren't you a sorry looking bunch of sad shitstains on the pavement. Not quite how you imagined this night to go I imagine. Things are about to get a whole lot more interesting real soon, that I can fucking guarantee.”

Dry grass crunched under his boots as he approached the line-up, not close enough to be within reach, but close enough to demand their attention. Every shred of it.

“It's real simple.” he continued, using his free hand to gesture at the group while he paced in front of them with slow, deliberate steps. “I ask a fucking question, you give me a goddamn honest answer. You're here because you did not communicate and here I am, taking precious time outta my night to give you motherfuckers a chance to remedy that mistake. I'd say that's more than fucking generous. It's like my ol' nan always used to say; communication is key, and talking-” Negan came to a full stop and swung Lucille off his shoulder, swinging her with an audible hiss of displaced air as he switched her from one hand to the other. “-talking is what keeps you alive. So.”

The leather of his glove creaked as he tightened his grip around the handle and pointed the bat's blunt head to the person at the far left, slowly moving her down the line. “Question number one: which one of you limp dicks is gonna be the first one to spill their fucking guts out and tell me what I wanna know?”

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Ghost Wedding: The Remix

So, uh, here’s the first actual fanfic I’ve written, and the first full length piece I’ve written in literal years. I wrote it for my own amusement, after weeks of eating up various bits of TWST lore and scenes and going “But, how would the whole Ghost marriage story have gone with a Yuu who was more like me a goth bisexual disaster?

What follows is a series of vignnetes, starring a Yuu who’s the only girl in NRC, with deeply questionable taste, told in the second person. Please let me know if you enjoyed it, I crave positive feedback and like when other people enjoy the things I like.

Contend warnings for blood, body horror, emeto, coarse language and pretentious word choices.

You've been here a while. En-Arr-See wasn't precisely a safe place, what with your dorm being a condemned hellpit of tetanus and black mold, and powerful magicians having mutagenic psychotic breaks only curable by kicking their ass so hard it flies out their mouth. But certainly, it wasn't boring, and you'd made friends. You had your scrappy ginger Ace in the hole; your serious mamas-boy Deuce; your funny little not-a-cat Grim. Hell, you even have your Horned Boy, he of the poison-coloured eyes that never seem to leave your face when you talk about fun things like books and music and the moral imperative of dissolving the monarchy. And, you were on speaking terms with a good chunk of others. So, when your favourite little robot came up to Crowley, yelling something about ghosts kidnapping his brother, you took his hand and said, "Ortho, show me what's going on." After all, you won't let anything happen to Idia. You have plans for him yet.

~*~*~*~

Some beauties might launch a thousand ships, and in your (objectively correct) opinion, while Idia's beauty wouldn't lead to a ten year siege of Troy, he'd certainly convince everyone attending Whitby Goth Weekend to haul off into the sea with a beat of his lashes. The first time you'd seen him, you'd simply stared in slack-jawed awe. He was luminescent; even leaving behind the fiery hair that flashed and swelled behind him, his eyes were a bright clear amber, and his skin translucent, with his own blue veins serving as the detailing in the marble. Add in the deeply circled eyes and the bluish discolouration of the lips, and the figure he presented was arresting, astounding, more beautiful and unreal than anything you'd conjured up after staying up all night reading ghost stories. "Magnificent," you'd said to yourself, and if your friends gave you a strange look, well, fuck 'em. They have no sense of beauty or taste.

Unfortunately, the intensity of your gaze proved too much for him, and he'd fled. You'd had no time to pursue the object of your infatuation either, class would soon begin, and Grim was yelling. Later, then. There's all the time in the world to ask after the fine young man with the lamplight eyes.

~*~*~*~ "Oh no," you said when Ortho showed you the video. "She's really hot."

Grim gawked and Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you take from this?"

"You're the one with an all-boys school. What's a girl like me to do when a pretty girl pops up?"

"She's a ghost, Yuu."

"That's the best part."

"My brother-"

"I'll help you, dear." You set a hand on Ortho's shoulder. "He must be so frightened, right? I'll do what you need." 

Before anyone could say anything else, a racket started up outside, and things got a little busy.

~*~*~*~ "Do you mind if I sit?"

Idia looked up at you. starting at the intrusion. His face was awash in blue from the conjured screens around him, his lips gone black. "...Why?"

"Tables are full. I'd rather not eat standing." He didn't explicitly say no, so you settled across the table, a few chairs down. He made a fascinating tableau as you picked at your lunch, flicking through and typing at the screen. Lines of code, schematics for all sorts of tech, occasional comics all flit across the pane of light in a million shades of blue. Until...

"Could you pretend I'm a bug?"

You squinted. "What." What the actual hell did he mean by that.

"Pretend I'm not here. I'm beneath notice."

You stop for a moment and smile, faint enough that he can't see the devil in it. "You want me to treat you like an insect."

"Yes." Hard to see in the light, there was a small twitch by his temple, a barely perceptible shake in his long fingered hands.

"Alright." With that, you slide down the table to directly across from him, settle you chin in your hands, and stare at him unblinkingly.

"?!?!?" The squawk he made was undignified and deeply, deeply endearing. "What are you doing?"

"You asked me to treat you like an insect." You smile at him, full of mischief and good cheer. "So I'm looking at you very closely. I'm taking in every sweet action, and delighting that the day has conspired to put something so wonderful in front of me."

Oh, who would have thought that this blue boy could turn so pink! As he pulled his hood up, you chuckle and move back to your tray. "I'll let you be," you say, and did indeed, for the amount of time it took him to close up shop and flee back to the depths of Ignihyde. When you waved at him as he went by, he nearly tripped in his haste.

~*~*~*~ "Stop laughing."

The boys did not listen.

"May others show you the kindness you've shown Idia if you're in a bind."

"You're just mad because she's gonna kill your-"

"Grim? Shut the fuck up. Now; who's helping."

After a chorus of 'no's, you drag your fingers through your hair. "I hate all of you so fucking much right now... Ortho, your ideas?"

Ortho's idea was deeply enticing but Crowley would not have the school leveled, and thankfully, the two of them threatened and guilted the others into helping. You'd have to say thank you later, but god, then Crowley might think you actually liked him instead of just finding him funny, and who needed that in their life?

"Alright, so... A plan?"

~*~*~*~ As badly as he might've liked to have escaped, there was only one empty seat in the class, and it was by him. So, Idia threw his hood up, along with his headphones, and started blatantly ignoring you.

"Idia." Silence.

"Idia." A faint grunt and he turned away from you.

"Shroud," you intoned in the most sepulchral tone you could, setting you hand in his field of vision. He whipped his head at you, the fire in his eyes nothing compared to the changing colours on his head.

"WHAT."

You raise your hands in supplication, trying to still your racing heart. "I'm sorry dude. I wanted to ask where you got your screens?"

"My screens?" His eyes flicked back to his schoolwork, hovering in the air. "I made them myself."

Your face lit up in awe. "That's amazing dude, holy shit. How'd you do that? It's a damn miracle."

"Ah... well..." Two sides warred within him - pride that someone recognized his tech genius, and his deep seated anxiety that anyone trying to be nice was just fucking with him. Fortunately for both of you, pride won out. "It's certainly something complicated for a magicless normie like you to understand." He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Do you really want to hear?"

You fixed him with a level look. "Never call me that again. Now, start like I'm five and go from there."

He stared back at you, and you stared right back. "Indulge me, Idia."

He gave you a smile full of sharp, crooked teeth, and while you tried to still the palpitations the sight of them gave you, he started with very basic theory, and went from there.

~*~*~*~ "You are not going to seduce the ghost bride, Yuu."

"Why the hell not?"

"You're a girl?"

"You're kinda plain."

"You're fat."

"She's probably straight?"

You point in turn at Leona, Azul, Vil, and Kalim. "So?, no I'm plenty hot actually, get fucked, and... Okay, That is a good point. But Kal, you have no idea how many straight girls I've managed to kiss."

"I think you'd die, Shrimpie," Floyd said as he flopped heavily over your shoulders, giggling as you attempted to untangle yourself. "And you're short."

"Yeah, but you have no idea how hot I am when I'm actually try- Shut up, Vil - Like, I clean up so good you guys. I even made a suit a couple weeks ago -"

"That's convenient? Weirdly so?"

"I found suiting that wasn't moth eaten and decided to have fun, at least-" You finally escape from the noodly arms of Leech the Wild One. "Let me suit up and show you? I can be so sexy, you guys. Come on."

In answer to the confused silence, you took your keys out of your pocket and chucked them at Deuce's confused face. "Adeuce! Grim! It's on the vanity in my room!"

"But ghosts?"

"Say you're clearing out things so that we won't bother... No, actually just go the balcony way."

"You can't unlock the balcony from the outside without a lockpick, it only locks from the inside."

A moment of silence. "Lilia, what the fuck?"

He shrugged. "I moved everything two inches to the left once to see if you noticed."

"I wasn't imagining things?!?"

This'll take a moment to sort out, and the clock is ticking...

~*~*~*~ You truly liked the woods! Green and quiet. Full of things that crawled and scurried, little friends that squeaked and croaked and hissed. The occasional precious treasure of a small bone or edible mushroom. So, you were quite surprised when you found Idia, miserable, crouched beside a fallen log.

"... Skipping gym?" Going by the uniform, the most likely answer. "Or did you finally realize that outside doesn't always bite?"

He scowled at you, and you stifled a giggle when you realized that yes, he was actually covered in bug bites. "They should replace this with a mall."

"You hate malls. Too many people." You reached out a hand, and pulled him to his feet. Idly, you wondered if he'd let you try and fit your hands around his waist, but thought better of asking.

"Game stores are alright. No one bothers you in one, or in arcades. And." He stopped, as he brushed the dirt from his legs, before continuing in a mumble you only got the gist of.

"Me and Ortho will be your big, scary guard dogs?"

"... Who'll notice me with both of you?"

"Everyone." Because he's the most beautiful person in the room, and they'd be mad not to look. "Because you show up so rarely. It makes it all the more noticeable when you are out, so everyone pays attention." You held out a hand. "I'll take you out the back way so you don't get in trouble."

No dice. He held his hands in close. "I'll just follow."

"Alright. Why'd you go out this far in the woods with no map, anyways?"

"There's no cell service..."

"Clearly, we need to turn your blood into a wi-fi signal, instead of liquid sugar."

He huffed, but he did follow you, and was actually approaching a good mood once you escorted him through the Ramshackle gates.

~*~*~*~ "Hey, what did I miss?" It took entirely too long to get a single lock of hair to to a perfect insouciant flip over your forehead, even with the eternally stylish Sam's help.

"She's slapped everyone who went to propose, and when she does you're paralyzed for 500 years."

"Christ," You say as you adjust a pin on your lapel. "We have to get Idia back, he'll get what? A week before he gets the hand."

"She's so fussy!" yelled Grim. "You have to sing and have a dog and she hates poison flowers."

"Clearly, she has no taste." Honestly,you thought her taste was just fine, what with thinking Idia was the finest of the bunch. He was very princely, if your tastes ran to exquisite corpses with the personality of a neurotic goblin. "Who wouldn't want poison blossoms?" Tie? No tie? Tie? No tie? No tie. And unbutton. Leona wishes he had this chest.

"We know she has no taste because she chose Idia."

You chose to ignore that, and clapped. "Okay, Round Two!"

~*~*~*~ The truest tragedy of this school was that it was all boys. Not that boys were bad by any means, you certainly enjoyed them, but... girls. Tall girls! Short girls! Busty girls! Petite girls! Butch girls! Femme girls! Fat girls! Girls!

So many kinds of girls, and you, in all of your plump and handsome glory, were the only girl in an entire high school. Welcome to hell.

You accepted no gifts that came unvetted. You had friends ward the everloving bajeezus out of your dorm room. Grim was more than happy to test your food and drink for tampering, but it was exhausting. You at least knew that any food you ate at the Mostro Lounge was clear, but that was only because everyone was too damn scared of the eternally hovering Floyd to try anything while there.

 So, you eat a lot of vending machine snacks.

You've been standing there for fifteen minutes, trying to figure out the best combo with your limited funds, when someone coughed behind you.

"??? Oh, hey Idia." You stepped aside while he shuffled up to the glass and peered in. "Anything to recommend? I got this." You waved your bill in the air.

He only looked at you a moment before looking back at the machine. "That won't get you much."

"Ah, don't I know it. But it's all I got."

He still wasn't looking directly at you, but a smile started to creep across his face. "Get your bag."

"Wha-" He was already tapping out a beat with the keypad, blue sparks flying from his fingertips, the machine starting to groan and shiver. With a final note, the snack machine gave a final heaving shudder - and every single snack fell to the bottom of the machine.

He was so proud as he smiled at you, reaching down and pulling a single bag of gummies from the spilled mess. "You first."

And, as you stuffed your schoolbag and pockets full of thieved goods, praising his genius, his cleverness, his skills, he just glowed.

~*~*~*~ "I guess you were ahead of the game, Yuu. She hates that no one's dressed up properly. And..."

"And? You raised an eyebrow at Ace.

"You do look stylish. But you need backup."

"Of course. You'll all rescue people while I distract her!”

"But what if she slaps you?"

"You'll step in if that happens. But we have to dress you all up."

"Did you makes spares?"

"No." Tragic, everyone would look so cute in summerweight green wool. "Let's ask Sam, he's got everything."

~*~*~*~ "Okay, Ortho, you see?" You held his back to your chest, and raised your hand in front of his face, palm away from him. As you wiggled your fingers, you could see movement on the back of your hand. "Those are tendons. Those, and the muscles, are what move the bones, make your hands move. If you put your fingers here," you say as you place his fingertips over the moving lines, "you should be able to feel it."

"I do! They go up and down. What's the popping?"

"That's my faulty joints, we'll cover those another day. Now," you flipped your hand over, and moved his fingers to your wrist. "You feel that?"

"That is your pulse! It's not as string as it should be."

"I'm not always in the best of health. So, Ortho. My hand moves by muscles and tendons when I think of it. My blood moves through my body, one beat at a time, and you can feel it. Right?"

"Right."

"You," you say, as you take Ortho's other hand. "Your hand moves by motors and servos, when you think about it. Electricity and magic moves through your body, in beats so fast we can't perceive it, and it's as measurable as my pulse."

"... Because I am a robot."

"Because you are a bit different. But we're both alive, we're both real, just in different ways." You turn to look at Ortho directly, and he looks back at you with yellow eyes that are actual, real lamps. "Don't let anyone ever say you're not real, or alive, or good enough, just because you're different."

And though you can't see it, you can feel Idia smiling from the corner of his room.

~*~*~*~ Alright. No more time for memories, only the here and now. You've got a heart full of love, a pocket full of ring, and a head full of stupid. You're as prepared as anyone else who went in. Start on your left foot, and...

"Hello? Excuse me?" You make a cursory knock at the doorframe before stepping in. "I heard there was a wedding."

The bride - Eliza - whirled on you, and stopped. She was even more of a vision in person, airy translucence and fine, sweet features currently arranged in confusion. "Ah- Yes! I'm getting married to my darling Prince Idia! Right away, so-"

Not if I have my way about it, you thought to yourself as you arranged yourself in a perfect bow, one hand behind your back. You pretended not to notice Idia trussed up with rope, but you filed the sight away for later. "How wonderful. I wish you only happiness. But it must wait."

Before she could get her hand ready, you straightened and fixed her with your best smile. "My dearest princess, I cannot let this happen until I dance with the most beautiful person in this room. It would be improper to do so with a newlywed, and I cannot know peace until I dance. Would you be so kind, my fair princess?"

She was still baffled. "Aren't you a girl?"

You keyed up the brightness. "I am, and I dance very well. Would you indulge me, my dear?"

You could see her considering it. "You... are rather princely. Can you lead?"

"Of course. May I?" Again with the bow, and to your delight, she returned with a flawless curtsy. Hand in hand, you began.

~*~*~*~ It was delightful, to dance with this silly ghost girl. Everywhere your bodies touched, from her hand in yours to what would have been a fine chest, but was instead a clean and elegant ribcage festooned with pearls, heat seeped away and left only a chill as cold as clay. Her footwork was flawless, considering she no longer had feet, and she was so easy to chat with. She asked you about your dog (none currently, but you'd love to have one, and there was Grim in the meantime), your singing, (little voice to speak of, but that was what vocal coaches were for), and why you wanted to dance with her (because when would the chance ever come again? Unless fairest Eliza considered her for forever and a day.)

"But what of dear Idia?" She'd almost looked towards where Idia no longer was, having been unknotted long ago, but you drew her back in before she could notice the chaos around her.

" 'Dear Idia', though as beautiful as the moon in the sky, has cold feet, my love. He's afraid of dying. But I? I'd cherish you for all of eternity." You leaned in closer. "I am not afraid of dying, beloved. To journey with you through realms beyond mortal reach. I can think of nothing more exciting than to cross the barrier to the other side, hand in hand with you. In the words of a fine sir from my home, 'to die by your side/the pleasure, the privilege is mine'. Please, please consider me, please..."

Here's how it should have gone: She said yes, and you put the ring on her finger, and all was well. But you'd awakened such a sweet hunger in her, she could not wait for propriety. Instead, she grasped your face and kissed you with the passion of five hundred years search, found.

~*~*~*~ It was so pleasant at first, that you couldn't help but return it. When had anyone ever kissed you with such passion? But quickly, the chill began to overtake you. It could have been bearable, but after that was pain. You started to shake, uncontrollably, as every nerve in your body was scraped away with a rusty blade, and as you weakly tried to push away, as blood began to flow from your eyes, your mouth, every pore and orifice, she still would not let go. All you could think was it hurts it hurts it hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts and, as you slipped to a grey place beyond where pain could touch you, you barely noticed the cacophony around you, or something hurtling towards the two of you from the corner of your eye.

Something blue.

~*~*~*~ When you finally woke up, through a drugged and painful haze, you couldn't tell where you were. When you jolted up, the pain of it sending you into a nauseated fit of blood-flecked coughing, a familiar yelp sounded, and you turned to see Idia, little the worse for wear.

"You're up, uh..." He fumbled something onto the table, behind his back. "I."

You just looked. At him, at the surroundings. A hospital bed, with gifts and flowers (most filched from the wedding venue, but someone had stuck Jade's poison blossom into a vase and set it in the far corner). Idia was the only one present, seeing as it was the middle of the night.

"Ortho's getting things you might need. I... I hate hospital scenes..."

"Hurt's over.” You tried to settle yourself more comfortably, failing miserably. “Here comes the comfort." You reached out a hand, as he looked anywhere in the room but you.

"Idia." Silence.

"Idia." More silence.

"Shroud." He hesitantly placed his hand in yours, tinting pink as you pulled the sleeve up. The sight of it made you gasp. His fine wrist, so small even you could put your fingers around it, was mottled with deep bruising, blacks and purples set so deep into the skin that there was crusted blood on the surface, despite being unbroken. It was so, deeply, incredibly...

Beautiful. It was all you could do, not to press your lips to his wrist and taste his pulse as it flitted under his skin. To clean the blood away with your own tongue and cover the marks that your hungry ghost princess had made with your own teeth. Not hers. Yours.

Really, no wonder you'd been so enchanted with Eliza. You're cut of the same cloth.

"It must hurt."

He jerked his hand away, making you both wince. "What the hell is wrong with you? They only reason you're not dead is everyone pouring so much healing magic into you that it exhausted almost everyone. I." You could see flickers and flashes of orange sparking along the full length of his hair. "I'm not worth dying for. Why?"

What do you tell him? That it was the right thing to do? That you wanted to prove that you could woo a pretty girl? That you didn't want him dead? That you were a possessive bitch that couldn't stand the idea of someone else having him, even if unwilling on his part? All were true, but what do you say?

It proved a moot point, as when you opened your mouth to say something, anything, something shifted within you, and the only thing Idia received was a gout of blood square in his face.

~*~*~*~ After you'd slept, you reached for your phone in the thin morning light. Your friends where texting well wishes and condolences, and explanations of what happened after you went down (It seemed Idia had tackled Eliza clean off of you, and after some chaos she ran off with her retainer, rending this entire day moot). Even more interestingly, you found a text from an unknown number:

- I'm still mad at you.

You huffed to yourself, and after a bit of thought, start to text back.

- Dude I'm so sorry about the uh. blood puke. - I'll pay for cleaning - Also you know, you could have just asked for my number a long time ago? - Like a normal person? - Who doesn't break into phones to steal said numbers while I was unconscious next to you, what the fuck dude - That's not what this is about though. - You've got every right to be mad - That whole day was traumatizing, and you didn't deserve any of it - I'd rather sort this out in person but if text is easier for you right now we can do that - One last thing though

You stopped, and thought Do I actually do this? and went what the hell.

- I still need that dance I went in to get from you

[starssayhello]

Two Loves, One Heart

Fandom: Narnia, Edmund Pevensie x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

@finnofamerica​​ asked: Hi caroline! First of all, Congratulations 🎆🎉 second of all may I bug you for an Edmund x reader (for your celebration) with “If you love two people at the same time, choose the second because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.”?Love you!!

A/N: this was fun :)

Your mother always said, “If you love two people at the same time, choose the second because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.” While at the time it seemed to be good advice, you couldn’t help but think that her reasoning was a bit flawed. Now, however, you weren’t so sure.

You had been in a happy relationship with James for years now. The two of you grew up together, childhood best friends and neighbors. Your mothers always hoped the two of you would get together some day. And eventually you did. Being separated during the evacuations of London was tough on the two of you. You were both sent to places on the opposite ends of Britain, and it was the longest summer of your life. At your fifteenth birthday party, James kissed your cheek, and you began to see him in a slightly different way. At sixteen, you gave James a real kiss. You weren’t officially together, but everyone knew James loved you. You’re pretty sure you loved him too, yet sitting here with Edmund, you felt things you never felt with James.

A year at Professor Kirke's house with the Pevensies gave you the adventures you'd always dreamed of. Edmund and you became fast friends, being the closest in age. When you and the Pevensies went to Narnia, you became part of their family, so of course, going back to life in London was a huge adjustment. The four of them kept in touch with letters, but it wasn't the same. You still missed them immensely. 

During your weekly trip into the city, you never expected to come in contact with the Pevensies. Yet there you were in line to purchase your train ticket home when you heard someone call your name.

“Y/n!” You spun around and your eyes landed on a tall dark-haired boy walking towards you.

“Edmund!” You nearly dropped your bag as you ran over and threw your arms around him in a hug. “How are you? How are your siblings?”

He grinned and looked over to the other end of the station where the three other Pevensie siblings stood smiling. Edmund took your hand, a habit the two of you developed over your years in Narnia, and pulled you over to the others. “Y/n!” Lucy exclaimed, hugging you tightly. Many hugs were exchanged between the five of you and eventually, you made your way out of the station to a little park nearby. You figured your mother could live without you for another hour or two, and if she bothered to ask, you would tell her who you ran into.

It had been nearly a year and a half since last seeing the Pevensies. After returning to Narnia with them and reclaiming the land from the Telmarines, you and the Pevensies were once again separated. You kept in touch through letters, but it wasn’t the same. You lived with them for fifteen years, and not a day went by where you didn’t gossip with Susan, play games with Lucy, discuss life with Peter, or tease Edmund. Coming back to England left a hole in your heart.

The five of you talked for hours and hours, and it was only when the sun began to set that you realized how late it had gotten. “Look at that, it’s nearly sunset,” Susan commented.

“Never quite as beautiful as a Narnian sunset, are they?” Edmund nudged your shoulder, grinning. You shook your head in agreement. Many evenings found you and Edmund sitting on the western balcony of Cair Paravel waiting for the sunset. Now, every night you watched it out the window of your bedroom, you couldn’t help but imagine where Edmund was, if he was watching the sunset, thinking about you the way you thought about him.

You sighed as you looked at the time on your watch. “I better head home now. I’m sure Mum’s worried sick about me.” Peter chuckled.

“Us, too. Mum told us to be back before dark.” The five of you rose to your feet, brushing the dirt and grass from your pants and skirts.

“It was great to see you, Y/n,” Susan told you. “You’ll have to come to the city more often to visit.”

You nodded, your eyes catching on Edmund’s soft smile. “I come every Thursday. You’ll just have to come by the station so we can spend the day together.”

"That sounds wonderful." Lucy pulled everyone into a hug.

They walked you back to the station, Edmund holding your hand the entire way.

----

“James, we need to talk.” You knew those words never led to anything good, so you figured you might as well get it over with. After stewing for a few days about your encounter with the Pevensies, particularly Edmund, you realized that it wasn’t fair to James to continue your relationship. Not that there really was one to begin with, but it still felt wrong to continue leading him on when your heart belonged to someone else.

He sighed, moving over on the bench to allow you to sit. You had asked him to meet you at the park, a neutral area that left little room for negotiation since you could walk away at any moment. “I already know what you’re going to say, Y/n.”

“You do?”

James nodded. “You don’t think I’m right for you anymore.” You sat in silence for a moment, pondering his words. Slowly, you nodded. “It’s alright. I understand.” He stood up and offered you a hand. Pulling you into a hug, he whispered to you, “He’s a lucky guy.” Then James walked off, leaving you alone on the bench.

That night, you wrote to Edmund asking him to meet you at the station next Thursday. Please come alone, you requested. As much as you loved his siblings, this was a conversation you needed to have in private with Edmund.

Thursday morning rolled around quicker than you hoped, and suddenly, you found yourself on the train to London without a clue of what to say to Edmund. Thankfully, the words came easy once you found yourself standing in front of him.

“I ended things...with James.”

Edmund tilted his head, confusion written on his face. “Why?” You sighed, taking his hand and pulling him to a nearby bench.

“My mum always told me that if you love two people at the same time, choose the second because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second. I did love James...once. Not anymore, though. Someone else has taken my heart, and I don’t want to take it back from them.” You looked up at Edmund, e/c eyes meeting his rich brown ones. “I don’t love James anymore because...because I love you, Edmund.”

Edmund’s eyes widened, his lips parting in surprise. Then the biggest smile you had ever seen spread across his face. “I love you, too, Y/n.” You let out a happy gasp as his hands reached up to cup your face, and he pulled your lips to his.

The kiss was slow and sweet. You didn’t need to rush because you knew in that moment that Edmund wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Your fingers wrapped around his tie, pulling him closer. When your lips finally parted, Edmund pressed his forehead to yours, eyes partly closed, a soft smile on his face.

“That was wonderful,” he murmured. You nodded, a grin falling over your mouth.

“I love you, Ed.”

“I love you, Y/n. I’m glad your heart chose me.”

A/N: sorry for the lame ending, I had no clue how to finish it.

[vicecityhq]

██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: the last plump dumpling on the plate that you and your friend fight over, the betrayal you feel when you drink a milkshake that’s too cold and get a brain freeze but it’s too good to stop, and the buzzing of a bumble bee flitting from flower to flower. With a slight resemblance to LEE JOOHEON  (JOOHONEY) of/the MONSTA X.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Kkul Beol (actually his full name. He doesn’t have a surname) ALIAS: Yellowjacket Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Divine Realm Age: Unknown, but has lived 26 years in Earth realm Date of Birth: May 20th (aka World Bee Day) Gender: Male Preferred Pronouns: he/him or they/them Species: Spiritual Fairy Occupation: The Howlers, Dealer Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: Milky, pale Eye color: Varies Scars: None Piercings: Ears, Dimple piercings Tattoos:When he doesn’t have his wings out, they manifest as bold linework that follows along his shoulder blades and down his back. He has a colorful fairy pinup girl on his right inner forearm. A bumble bee design on his left upper arm that blends into a fairy circle tattoo on that inner forearm. Various weeds and flowers on his legs. Hair color: Varies Abnormalities: Since Beol can reinvent his physical form to his liking, his features may change on a whim. However, he does tend to stick to the same form, with only his hair and eye color varying. Transformed form:As a spiritual fairy, Beol’s physical form is only a formality that allows him to better experience the world. His spiritual presence is formless and genderless. It is almost like looking at dust when it catches the light.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF:  N/A SINS:  greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  / lust  /  pride  /  envy  /  wrath VIRTUES: chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility /  kindness /  patience /  justice KNOWN LANGUAGES: Korean, English, Gaelic SECRETS: Beol manages to get out of being prosecuted for his crimes by charming the officers who try to arrest him with his fairy dust or using illusions to escape. SAVVIES: drawing, getting tattooed, playing pranks. Powers & Abilities: fairy dust manipulation, healing, wish granting (but it usually has a hidden caveat), semi-immortality, empathy, energy manipulation and absorption, energy barriers, energy blasts, malleable anatomy/shapeshifting, spirit physiology, illusions, intangibility, possession, telekinesis (via fairy dust manipulation), teleportation.  Traits: (positive) chipper, animated, fun-loving and playful. (negative) fickle, impatient, gets petulant when things don’t go his way, doesn’t realize his pranks can be harmful or perhaps he feigns ignorance. Aesthetics: the last plump dumpling on the plate that you and your friend fight over, the betrayal you feel when you drink a milkshake that’s too cold and get a brain freeze but it’s too good to stop, and the buzzing of a bumble bee flitting from flower to flower.

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: May 20th, year unknown Date of Death: N/A Crime Record: Beol knows that he should avoid getting entangled with the authorities at all costs, but his innately mischievous nature contradicts rationality. He rather enjoys skating on thin ice when it comes to getting caught. When he was a “teen,” he often got in trouble for truancy, vandalism, and theft. Now, as an “adult,” he has to be far more conscious about getting caught. He has been charged with possession and possession with the intent to distribute, but - miraculously - has not served any jail time.

Background/Biography:

In a time long ago, Celts used to believe that when a person slept or entered a hypnotic state that their soul left the body in the form of a bee. Sometimes those souls got lost on the way back (or perhaps were detained) and found their way to the divine realm of the fae, where they would become what is known as spiritual fairies. Or at least that was the story Beol’s mother told them, but the reality was that there was no living fae who remembered exactly where they originated. Their mother would affectionately call them their ‘wandering little bee’ because Beol was an adventurous child who could never be tied down in one place. It came as no surprise to them when Beol decided to leave the realm they’d always known and venture out into the human world.

When Beol crossed over to the mortal plane, they embraced the incredibly different way of life with childish wonder and enthusiasm. At first they explored in their spiritual form and enjoyed playing all sorts of pranks on unsuspecting humans, but - as is typical of the fickle nature of fairies - that grew boring quickly. Beol eventually constructed a physical form so they could better interact with others around them. Being a young and playful soul, Beol chose the façade of a school-aged child since their fun-loving antics were very similar to his own. What he didn’t take into account, though, was that a parentless, vagrant child stood out and it wasn’t long before his friend’s parents became concerned for his well-being.

In his naivety, Beol didn’t think much of it when they’d asked where he lived and who looked after him, telling them that he took care of himself and stayed wherever he wanted. That naturally led to the police being contacted and Beol was placed in an orphanage until they could find a family for him. Truthfully, he could have simply flitted off and ventured someplace new, but the idea of living with other kids sounded like an eternal sleepover to him and how could that be bad? Of course, it wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies in the system. Many of the orphans came from broken homes and were passed around to fosters that were no better. They’d come back with new scars and bereft of their smiles, their innocence gobbled up by the darkness within others.

Beol couldn’t stand seeing them hurt. He could vividly imagine how they’d gotten each bruise like he’d experienced it himself and felt their anguish like a bottomless pit in the center of his chest. Yet he wasn’t powerless to fight against it like they were and Beol quickly went from using his abilities for harmless fun to avenging his friends. He would go out of his way to be assigned to their previous foster parents and would make sure to traumatize them so much with his illusion magicks that they never dared to take in another child again. While it did make him feel better, his habit of terrorizing parents tarnished his record and made him increasingly difficult to adopt out. Not that that bothered Beol. Sure, it was hard watching his friends eventually leave to go with loving parents, but protecting those that remained had become his responsibility and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that if he left. Besides, he had parents and didn’t need new ones, even if his counselors never believed him when he told them.

As he “aged” into teenage years, Beol’s outer image evolved to suit his interests and style. He became close with the more rebellious crowd, other lost boys and girls like himself who couldn’t care less about authority or conforming to what society wanted. They spent more time in seedy pc bangs and back alleys sharing a pack of smokes than they did in school or hoping for families that would never accept them. It was around this time that he actually came out about what he really was and where he’d come from, though that identity seemed like a far off memory now. He was no longer a shade wearing the suit of a man and could freely embrace his quirkier side without worrying about anyone disapproving.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

This charade always amused Beol. Every time he found himself in this position, with an officer staring him down on the other side of the table in the cramped interrogation room, he wondered why their initial play was to put on this veil of ignorance. As if they didn’t already know what he did or have evidence against him. Did it actually work on suspects? He assumed that most people dug themselves into a hole trying to weave a pitiful fallacy with the same gusto as a scared child blaming the broken vase on the cat in the hopes that it would exonerate them. Beol, on the other hand, was a sophisticated liar and not burdened with the pressing need to evade something. He could phase out of the room right before their very eyes, after all. So the only reason he had to deceive them was simply because it was fun.

“Well, I can’t just start with last night, officer. That’s not how good storytelling works.” He countered coyly and rocked the chair back onto the two rear legs so he could kick his clunky boots up onto the table. Dirt and grime broke loose from the deep grooves in the sole and fell onto the open file set out before the policeman who was trying his best to see unperturbed, but Beol relished in the neigh imperceptible way his jawline tensed in annoyance. “It all began when my parents died in a tragic car accident and I was adopted by my rotten aunt and uncle. You know, they always told me my father was a drunk and that the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree. So at least I’m exceeding someone’s expectations. Anyway, this one day, we went to the zoo for my cousin’s birthday and there was this enormous python-”

[order-of-river-phoenix]

...For Someone Like Me; Lew “Chuckler” Juergens

Fandom: HBO War; The Pacific

A/N: this is a long one guys. Also, this is a part 2 to this imagine, so it might be helpful to read that one first. This was actually requested by @alienoresimagines so thank you bc I rlly liked writing this one, and I wouldn’t have written it if you hadn’t said anything. (Honestly, I just rlly love Chuckler)

Warnings: some language; also a crude joke is thrown in bc it felt in character, but just know I cringed as I typed it out

Taglist: @liebegott @stressedinadress @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @floydtab @hbohmygodx @meteora-fc @punkgeekchic @vintagelavenderskies @hoosiers-hoe @mavysnavy @alienoresimagines

__________

"Hey, Marshall, right?" Chuckler wore an unnervingly cool grin as he gripped into the other guy's shoulder.

The guy frowned up at him, seeming to immediately take the defensive. "Yeah. What's it to you?"

His answer came as a literal punch to the face.

Marshall, now clutching his bleeding nose, backed away from the larger man. "What the fuck was that for?"

"That," Chuckler loosened his fist and shook it, "was for a friend." Ignoring the many eyes on him, he turned on his heel and walked away.

__________

"Knock knock," a cheery voice announced.

You looked up from the wound you were rebandaging to see the bright smile you had come to look forward to. "Hey, Chuckler." You quickly tied off the bandage and patted the Marine. "You're good to go, Nealy. I'll check it again tomorrow, alright?"

"Alright. Thanks, Y/N," he said before leaving the medical tent.

You turned your attention back to Chuckler. "Are you here to bother me again today?"

"I don't bother you," he scoffed. His smile dropped for a split second. "I don't bother you, do I?"

"No," you laughed, "you don't. I'm just surprised you have as much time to hang around as you do. I don't know what you're going to do when we're all actually doing our jobs."

"I'll be running around hoping to get hurt so you can fix me up."

"That's not funny." You looked up at him, trying your best to convey a serious tone, though his grin made it so hard to be stern. "The last thing I want to see is you with a gaping hole in your side."

"What about a small injury?"

"Like a bruised hand?" You carefully grabbed his hand and held it out to check. "What'd you do to get this?"

Still smiling like an idiot, he lowered his head. "If you wanted to hold my hand, you could have just asked."

You blinked. "What did you do to your hand?"

"It's really nothing." He tried to slip his hand out of yours, but you gripped his wrist. "It's fine."

You let him take his hand back, which he quickly shoved into a pocket, but you didn't miss his slight wince at doing so. "Are you and the boys wrestling for fun? Or did you just deck a coconut tree because it looked at you funny?"

"I guess you could say it was a coconut tree," he mumbled. "Has about as much brains."

You frowned a little, thinking back to the other night. He had never really come off as a fighter—current situation withholding—so the idea that he had been in a fight with someone that wasn't an enemy Japanese soldier was difficult to believe. You remembered the way he had reacted when he found you crying, and you couldn't help but wonder...

"Lew..." your voice trailed off as you decided on what to say and how to say it.

His eyebrows furrowed a bit at this—you hardly called him by his given name anymore. "Yes, Y/N?"

"Who was it?"

"I don't think I understand."

"Yes, you do."

"Who did what?"

"Who did you punch?"

He had yet to master the art of the poker face. "You know what, I think I'm going to leave you alone now. Enjoy some peace and quiet."

Before you could protest, he was walking away.

You tried to tell yourself that you didn't care. You rationalized everything about your reaction. Why were you so upset about his bruises? Chuckler was your friend, and you were never fond of your friends getting into fights. Why did you want to know who he fought with? Despite taking his role in this war seriously, he wasn't exactly the easiest person to upset; you wanted to know who surpassed the threshold. Why did you want it to be Marshall? Let's face it, you'd want anyone to punch him right about now. Your heartache was still a little fresh, and it wasn't like you had much alone time to work through it all.

But no matter what answer you gave yourself, there was still something gnawing at you. You needed to talk to him.

It never occurred to you that it may be difficult to find him among the many other men, but you were at a loss as you wandered around the allotted area of the island. Instead of finding him, you found some of his friends.

“You guys seen Chuckler?”

Hoosier blew a cloud of smoke out before looking over at Runner, who appeared uneasy.

Leckie, glancing between the other two, groaned a little as he sat up, and a tight smile stretched across his face. “You looking to thank him for his chivalrous act?”

You frowned slightly, watching as Runner smacked Leckie’s arm and Hoosier held back a laugh. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you know,” Hoosier replied, seemingly amused by the topic—hardly a great sign, as you had learned. “Are you gonna sleep with him since he defended your honor?”

Appalled, you quickly responded with, “What the hell are you talking about? Just tell me where he is.”

Runner, who had given up being the good guy, controlled his giggling. “We haven’t seen him for a while. I figured he was with you.”

“Thank you,” you grumbled. Just as you were about to continue your search, you stopped yourself. “What did you mean when you said he ‘defended my honor’?”

Sid, having politely kept himself out of the conversation, now took the liberty of answering. “You mean you didn’t hear about him knocking out that guy in I Company? Chuckler told us that guy hurt you or something.”

That little inkling in the back of your head was right. “Oh.” You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry, laugh, or scream. You did absolutely none of those, standing there with a blank expression.

“You know what, Y/N,” Runner announced when they were starting to get concerned, “How about you stay here, and we’ll go look for him?”

You absently nodded while Sid helped you sit down.

“I’ll stay with her,” Hoosier offered, flicking his cigarette butt away.

The other three took off to find Chuckler, and you tried to wrap your mind around it. You kind of had an idea that he liked you, but did you like him back? Lord, it was difficult not to like him. Even when you were still holding out for Marshall, Chuckler had been the face you looked for everyday you weren’t running around trying to tend to wounds and illnesses.

“He didn’t knock him out,” Hoosier spoke up. “That old boyfriend of yours. Chuckler threw one punch.” As if to punctuate his statement, he held up one finger as he said it. “Bloodied the poor bastard’s nose, but he never hit to ground. Never hit back either.”

“I don’t really know how I’m supposed to respond to that... but thank you, I suppose.” You watched him pick at his dirty nails, making you suddenly aware of your own rust-colored nails—months of blood and dirt packed in. “Why’d you offer to stay with me?”

“You want the honest answer?”

“Sure.”

“Didn’t feel like getting up,” he shrugged.

You nodded in acknowledgement. “Right.” Before you could think of some other way to awkwardly make conversation, Chuckler was standing above you. Quickly springing to your feet, you stared up at him.

“You wanted me?” he mumbled, trying to sound aloof.

“You tell me about the weather, even when I’m experiencing the same thing. You go on and on about how you saw coconuts falling. You even tell me about the shells you find littered on the beach.” You exhaled. “But you can’t tell me that you punched Marshall? Doesn’t that seem like the kind of thing I’d want to know?”

His mouth opened and closed as he struggled for words, and as if on cue, the other men slipped away, looking for somewhere else to be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice was gentler now, but there was still an edge to it.

“I like seeing you smile, and that didn’t seem like something that would make you smile,” he answered quietly. “My mom used to tell me that jealousy wouldn’t get me anywhere, but I couldn’t help it.”

Your heart twinged, and your stomach did cartwheels. “Chuckler, you cheeseball.” Grinning, you playfully shoved him in the chest. “Could you stop being so cute for even a minute?”

That smirk you loved so much grew on his face. “Aww, you think I’m cute?” He took a step closer, and his hands found their way to your waist.

“Shut up. You know you’re cute.” You looped your arms around him. “Next time you decide to beat up someone for me, let me know. I want to see your technique.”

His laugh rang out, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like this.

[lightchildofthespring]

The fantastic adventures of Takeru Takaishi

Summary: As the aspiring writer of a soon-to-be-classic novel, Takeru goes back to Ishida Farm, in hopes that a bucolic life with his brother would provide the inspiration he needed. He meets Sora and wonders what kind of relationship she has with Yamato. When a “demon” digs its way out of the soil, Takeru gets new book ideas. {AU} {Sorato}

Chapter 1: The demon

The ship that had brought him from the Old Continent had taken nearly two months to complete the journey to Turtle Island, as expected. Takeru had sent letters to his brother, asking Yamato to wait for him at the port, but he didn’t show up. With no other option, Takeru requested a cab to take him to Ishida Farm. However, nobody paid him attention.

Or almost nobody.

A young lady with orange hair and reddish eyes offered him a ride on her cart, which was attached to a beautiful brown horse. Takeru found amusing how that woman was wearing pants, boots and a large yellow shirt. Back in the Old Continent, he had never seen a lady wearing something other than long puffy dresses or, at least, long rounded skirts with buttoned shirts. The fashion of the colonies should be different.

“My name is Sora. Nice to meet you!” She greeted while helping him to put the luggage on the cart. “You’re not from around here, are you? I mean… your clothes…”

“Oh, yeah! I bet you don’t see high fashion from the Old Continent every day!” Takeru exclaimed. He could only imagine how much of an effect his lustrous black boots and the linen suit he was wearing could have on people who had never experimented the finest things in the world. As courtesy, he posed to her, letting Sora admire his elegant form for as long as she desired. Takeru even tipped his fedora, knowing how much that act increased his natural charm.

“So… are you coming to the cart or…?” Sora asked. Shockingly, she didn’t seem too impressed by him.

“Yes, of course! I need to go to Ishida Farm! My name is Takeru Takaishi, by the way!” Takeru said, trying to get on the cart. He failed on the task, which made Sora help him.

“You have quite strong arms for a lady,” Takeru praised, after being pulled into the vehicle.

“Thanks. But, to be honest, you happen to be very light.”

Takeru blushed.

“Well, you see, I weight as much as any other man from the Old Continent. I’m also an intellectual, I don’t really do labor work. But if you could measure my capabilities with a pen, I’m sure you would find them quite remarkable. You see, I’m about to write the greatest novel of the century, ought to become a classic. Therefore, I came to the bucolic environment of my infancy to seek the right inspiration.”

“The way you speak is so cute!” Sora giggled. “From what I understood, you’re an aspiring writer and you’re here to be inspired by your family’s farm. Oh, wait! Yamato has told me about his little brother and his mother living in the Old Continent! It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, so my brother has talked about me?” Takeru was surprised.

“He talks about you all the time!” Sora told him. “Yamato showed me some of your letters, with your short stories.”

“I can’t imagine my brother showing personal letters to anyone. Since he was a kid, he has always been the broody, solitary type,” Takeru commented. “He would have to be really close to someone to do that…”

Takeru observed Sora’s cheeks getting pink and knew there was something up. However, Yamato’s personal relationships weren’t his most pressing concern, despite how amusing it would be to tease his brother about them.

“Why didn’t Yamato come to pick me up?”

“That is strange,” Sora said in a concerned voice. “Something must’ve happened!”

In about 30 minutes, they arrived at the farm. It seemed smaller and dirtier than Takeru remembered from his childhood. The wooden house behind the vegetable garden was old and in need of repairs on the roof. Standing on the porch, there was a blond and bearded young man pointing a shotgun to the front door. It took a couple of minutes for Takeru to realize that the tall and muscular individual was his big brother.

“Yamato! What’s the matter?” Sora asked, jumping from the cart and running towards him. Yamato immediately turned to her, while putting the shotgun down.

“Sora, you have to go away, it’s dangerous!” Yamato told her.

“If you’re in danger, then I must stay by your side!” Sora stated, pulling a knife from her belt, which had been hidden by her shirt.

“YOU WERE CARRYING A KNIFE WITH YOU THIS WHOLE TIME?!” Takeru shouted, getting out of the cart. Yamato and Sora stared at him.

“Takeru?” Yamato muttered as his eyes shone with tears. “Is that really you?”

“Yes, it is I, Takeru Takaishi!” Takeru announced. “The brother you haven’t seen in person for more than 12 years and, yet, you forgot to pick up upon his arrival!”

“I didn’t forget to pick you up, something more urgent happened,” Yamato told him.

“What could possibly be more important than picking me up?” Takeru asked.

Yamato pointed to the vegetable garden, where a hole was visible among the carrots, some of which lay on the soil.

“I was tending the carrots when a demon crawled out of the dirt,” Yamato told the others. “A horrible creature that seemed to be made of mud itself… it’s inside the house now!”

“A demon?!” Sora gasped.

“Demons don’t actually exist!” Takeru stated.

“I know what I saw!” Yamato raised his voice. “A creature from Hell came out of the soil, stared at me with eyes as dark as the night and told me, in a horrifying hoarse voice… ‘could you please let me use your bathroom and lend me some spare clothes?'”

Sora and Takeru exchanged confused looks.

“I didn’t know demons could be so polite…” Takeru murmured, muffling a smirk.

“Then, you actually let the demon use your bathroom and wear your clothes?” Sora asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What was I supposed to do? Say no to that abomination from Hell? It could’ve cursed me!” Yamato said, anxiously holding one of his suspenders.

“I actually think it was a good idea to be kind to the demon,” Sora told him, showing Yamato a reassuring smile. “Having a supernatural creature owning you a favor could be good for our cause.”

“Cause? What cause?” Takeru asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Ehhrrrr… n-never mind that!” Sora stuttered, exchanging nervous looks with Yamato.

These two are hiding something from me! Takeru thought. Something other than their budding romance!

Suddenly, the knob on the front door began to move. Yamato, once again, pointed the shotgun at the door. Sora had her knife at hand. Takeru didn’t know what to do, therefore he stood behind to give moral support if necessary.

As an intellectual, Takeru shouldn’t believe in demons. However, he knew his brother wouldn’t make up such a story. Besides, a part of him found the possibility of encountering a supernatural creature exciting. That could be what his soon-to-be-classic novel would be about! Fantasy tales were popular, after all! Better than writing boring stories about a farm! An idea for the title emerged in his head: The fantastic adventures of Takeru Takaishi!

Once the door was open, the creature at the other side did not live up to the expectations Yamato had created. The so-called demon was a young man with red hair, thick eyebrows and black eyes wearing identical brown pants, white shirt and suspenders to the ones Yamato had, with the difference that those clothes were clearly too large for the stranger.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Yamato! Now that I’ve cleaned myself, I feel actually alive again!” The young man said, slightly bowing to Yamato.

“I’m a bit confused…” Sora whispered in Yamato’s ear, “is the demon possessing him?”

“I’m not a demon,” the other corrected, looking into the young woman’s eyes. “People might call me that, but that’s not what I am. My name is Koushiro. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sora!”

“How do you know her name, demon?” Yamato inquired, making the shotgun almost touch Koushiro’s face. “Are you planning something wicked involving her? If you even think on touching a single hair of Sora’s head, I will send you back to Hell myself!”

“Again, I’m not a demon, my name is Koushiro,” the other said, taking a step back. “I learned her name the same way I learned yours. You could think of it as a kind of special power I have.”

“A demonic power! I knew it!” Yamato nearly yelled.

“Yamato, please, stop bothering him,” Sora requested. “Koushiro keeps saying he’s not a demon. Stop calling him that.”

“Yes, big brother, stop it!” Takeru said. “There are more important matters we have to discuss, such as…” he got closer to Koushiro “how long were you buried in the soil? Why were you there? How did you survive?”

“How long… well… what year is this?” Koushiro asked.

“The year of 1892 after the ascension of the Goddess,” Takeru replied.

“Then, that means that I stayed buried for 52 years,” Koushiro said.

“52 years?! You don’t look like you’re more than 20 years old!” Sora was astonished.

“Oh, I’m way older than that, actually,” Koushiro told her.

“Are you saying that you’re immortal?” Takeru inquired. “Is that how you stayed alive all this time under the vegetable garden?”

“I wasn’t alive,” Koushiro explained. “I was shot to death 52 years ago and then my corpse was buried. I only came back to life today and had to dig my way out of the soil. By the way, sorry if I startled you, Mr. Yamato.”

“There was a corpse under my vegetable garden… for 52 years…?” Yamato muttered, terrified. “And then you just… came back to life…?”

“With the due respect, Koushiro, you don’t seem too shaken for someone who just resurrected,” Takeru commented. “That’s especially odd, considering that I’ve never heard of anyone coming back to life in the history of the world.”

“I’ve been dying and coming back to life for a really long time now,” Koushiro told him. “Honestly, this last death wasn’t as bad compared to the other ones I had.”

“Are you telling me that you’ve had many horrifying deaths? That’s fascinating! Tell me everything!” Takeru asked. “Your life sounds like an exciting horror story! Yes! I shall call the first chapter of my book 'The demon!'”

“I thought we had agreed not to call him that anymore,” Sora commented.

“Maybe we could discuss that later, Mr. Takeru,” Koushiro said, turning his attention to Sora. “There’s something more important right now. Miss Sora, your mother and allies are in grave danger. Yamanaka’s forces are preparing to ambush their camp this night.”

“What?!” Sora and Yamato said at the same time.

“Yamanaka? Isn’t that the name of the Lord appointed by the Emperor himself to guard Turtle Island?” Takeru questioned. “Why would such a remarkable person ambush anyone?”

“Hey, Takeru, don’t defend that guy!” Yamato scolded his brother. “Old man Yamanaka has been exploiting the poor people of this island for decades! We’ve been fighting against his oppression!”

“W-Wait a second…” Takeru was getting increasingly nervous, “i-if you’re opposing someone appointed by the Emperor, doesn’t that mean you’re opposing the Emperor…? If you’re opposing the Emperor, that makes you…”

Sora exchanged a long look with Yamato. Then, she approached Takeru and gently touched his shoulder. She showed him a warm smile and let him know:

“We’re called many terrible things by the Empire, but what we call ourselves is revolutionaries.”

“My own big brother… a subversive… a traitor to the Empire…” Takeru murmured, “it can’t be! I can never accept this!”

“Takeru, you have to understand!” Yamato tried to reach him. “You were raised in privilege, so you don’t know, but there are countless people around the world suffering because of the Empire! We’re fighting to help those people!”

“My mother and I don’t always agree on things…” Sora muttered, looking down, “but she’s fighting for the sake of the oppressed! I can’t let her and the others get ambushed! We must go and help them!”

“Y-You can’t expect me to simply cast aside everything I’ve learned to this day to follow you into a revolutionary camp!” Takeru stated.

Koushiro approached Takeru and told him:

“You know? Once the revolution is victorious and the Empire falls, I bet many people would like to read a book about how it all happened. The author of such a book would be famous in the entire planet.”

“Hey! Leave my brother alone, demon!” Yamato hissed. “Takeru needs time to adjust his whole understanding of the world!”

“I see… I see… I can see it all now!” Takeru exclaimed. “An oppressive regimen, dashing heroes and their love story, the unlikely contribution of an actual demon! Oh! Everybody is going to want to read a book with all these elements! Let’s go to the revolutionary camp, at once! Off to chapter 2: Daughter of the revolution!”

“Daughter? Wait, is that going to be about me?” Sora asked.

“What was that talk about love story? Whose love story is that?” Yamato inquired, blushing.

“How many times will I have to tell you that I’m not a demon?” Koushiro questioned.

While Sora prepared her horse, Yamato led Takeru and Koushiro to the stable to get three more animals. As the sun hid behind a cloud, the sound of bells entered their ears. They knew that sound came from the chapel in the village.

Koushiro gazed at the hills on the horizon, thinking about the last encounter he had with that person, knowing that he was still around, waiting for him.

[semi-occasionally-writing-stuff]

Of Bullets & Blood - Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Summary

C.C. Tinsley. A preacher’s son. Now a bounty hunter who will do whatever it takes to find who killed his wife and son.

Ricky Goldsworth. A former samurai running from his past. Now a bounty hunter trying to stay honourable in a land riddled with crime.

At first glance, these men were opposites in every way. However, through betrayal, blood, corruption, and the crimes of a serial killer, they will find that they have much more in common than they first expected.

Western/Samurai AU!

Chapter 2 - The Meeting of Two Minds

C.C. Tinsley was not a patient man. If there was a job the needed to be done, he would do it straight away using the method that would guarantee his success and survival. This general rule could at times cause him to make ruthless decisions in his line of work, but this didn’t bother him much. He had abandoned his principles a long time ago.

So, when he entered the Sheriff’s office and spotted a bounty of $50 for Billy Nelson aka the Axeman, he would be a fool not to take it.

“I know that poster says dead or alive Tinsley, but I’d like to see if you’re capable of bringing a bounty in without pulling the trigger or leaving a pile of dead bodies,” Goondis drawled.

Goondis never approved of Tinsley’s methods. Although the man never broke the law, he was reckless in his eyes and did the job without an ounce of honour or respect. Turning in one too many criminals with gunshot wounds to the back of their bodies told him everything he needed to know.

“Don’t know why you’re getting all upset. You’re just going to hang the man anyway. You should be thankful that I’m saving you a job,” Tinsley answered as he pocketed the poster and walked out. He then got on his horse and rode straight for Nelson’s house, he didn’t want to give other bounty hunters any time to get there first.

Tinsley had been doing this job for 5 years. He knew that if you gave people a chance in this line of work, they’d only turn and stab you in the back. This often meant that if you wanted to see tomorrow, then it was best to act before they had the chance to think of their next move. It had built him a reputation, sometimes it helped but other times it made jobs much bloodier than they needed to be.

By the time Ricky arrived at the Sheriff’s office, Goondis was polishing his rifle with a sour look on his face.

“Get your ass to Macombe’s End and bring Nelson in. Quickly,” he grumbled as he tossed to poster to Ricky.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“C.C. Tinsley rode off to take him in a few minutes ago. He’s been taking bounties for years, but I don’t trust the man. He’s ruthless, disrespectful and a coward. Won’t be too surprised if I find out that he’s killing all the dead or alive bounties in cold blood. I’ve never received so many with bullet holes in their backs, a real man would look them in the eye” Goondis spat.

Ricky nodded, making a mental note to watch his back when he went for Nelson. From the way the Sheriff spoke about him, he wouldn’t be too surprised if Tinsley shot him in the back just so he could be the one to take the Axeman in.

With this in mind, Ricky rode to the outskirts of Macombe’s End and slowly walked towards the house, scanning every possible ambush spot as he was expecting to be shot at any second.

Tinsley was also expecting a surprise attack of sorts but didn’t quite anticipate the swing of an axe knocking the gun out of his hand as he rounded the corner into the Axeman’s living room.

“Well, shit Nelson! You better not have scratched that! I don’t want to be paying for it using your bounty money, I have better things to spend it on,” Tinsley exclaimed, panic levels slowly rising as he saw that the man was so much bigger than him.

Nelson grabbed Tinsley by the throat and lifted him off the ground, “You won’t need to worry about that. I’m thinking about doing some redecorating. A nice decapitated head on the porch should look nice, don’t you think?”

“It’s a bit extreme, a rocking chair would look much nicer you know? But then again, I’m not too sure what the Bigfoot race use to decorate their homes or… Jesus when was the last time you washed?” Tinsley wheezed as he tried to pry his hands from his neck.

Tinsley realised that may not have been the smartest thing to say in his position, but he’d be damned if he never antagonised the killer that parted his head from his body.

“How ‘bout we take this outside?” Nelson snarled.

Tinsley barely had enough time to respond before he was thrown head first through the living room window and landed roughly on the wooden porch. Pain blossomed from his head and shoulder and then quickly spread into his neck and through his back. Hearing Nelson’s footsteps get louder, he grabbed the wooden railing and hauled himself back onto his feet.

Nelson rounded the corner with his axe wearing a snarl on his face. Before Tinsley could throw another insult, Nelson swept his axe to the side, trying to cut Tinsley’s head off from where he stood. Tinsley leapt back at the last second and watched as the axe embedded itself into the cabin’s wall, splinters flying everywhere.

Tinsley realised he needed to find a way back into the house to get his gun. He ungracefully scrambled over the railing, caught his foot at the top and fell straight into the dirt.

“Not my proudest moment,” Tinsley mumbled to himself as he started to pick himself up.

But before he could, a sharp pain exploded in his left side and he was thrown over onto his back. Tinsley’s heart dropped as he saw Nelson standing over him with a wicked smile.

“You’re right, a rocking chair with your decapitated body holding your head in your hands would look nice. Thanks for the tip,” he chuckled as he swung back his axe, but before he brought the axe down, a voice rung out.

“Turn around and fight me!” Ricky yelled as he drew his katana.

Tinsley and Nelson exchanged a confused look before he slowly lowered his axe.

“The fuck are you doing?” Tinsley yelled, completely baffled to why a man would bring a sword to an axe fight when a gun would end things so much quicker.

Ricky ignored the bearded stranger, solely focusing on the Axeman and his movements, “Get off the man, and face me. Or are you too much of a coward?”

Nelson laughed in surprise. Out of all the people he expected to turn up, he could not have imagined a man in a simple shirt and trousers holding a katana commanding him to fight.

“Alright then. Let’s jazz it!” he yelled as he stepped over Tinsley.

Now Tinsley could do the smart thing and let this crazy stranger fight Nelson, which might give him enough time to grab his gun. However, he could not push the doubt away. The man was small. To him there was a good chance that he’d be taken down before Tinsley was able to hobble his way over back into the house. Even then Tinsley didn’t want some poor fools death on his conscience.

So instead he settled on a bad idea and kicked Nelson in the nuts as he stepped over him, causing him to fall straight onto the floor. Ignoring how his body protested, Tinsley climbed on top of the man and punched him as hard as he could, feeling his nose crunch under his fist. But before he could hit him again, Nelson flipped Tinsley over onto his back, leaning over him.

“I’ve really had quite enough at this,” he spat.

Ricky shook off his surprise at how stupid Tinsley was being and quickly ran over to the pair. He made eye contact with Nelson for a split second, his eyes widening in surprise and panic, he knew he was out numbered and was growing desperate. He reached for his axe, but Ricky’s boot swiftly met the side of Nelson’s head, knocking him out instantly.

Tinsley rolled Nelson off him, sighed in relief and let his head thump against the dirt, “That was a bit theatrical, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps, nobody is dead at least…you okay friend?”

“We ain’t friends,” Tinsley drawled

Ricky sheathed his katana, “Then what are we?”

Tinsley slowly picked himself off the floor. He noted that the floor was slightly swaying beneath him, pain was still running down from his head to his shoulder, which was most certainly going to be bruised later and there was a dull ache in the side of his hip.

“I don’t know, a couple of assholes maybe?”

“Speak for yourself.”

Tinsley sighed as he walked back into the house, careful not to show any sign that he was finding it difficult to stand and walk properly. He gingerly picked up his silver revolver and leaned against the door frame, observing the stranger as he checked his gun.

“Okay. An asshole and a stuck-up prick, how ‘bout that?”

Ricky smirked; he had met too many men like him back home. They usually ended up dead, “You are trying to make me angry, but all I feel right now is a strong sense of pity. Goondis was right about you.”

Tinsley’s jaw tightened and felt a wave of anger flow through him. He could deal with pre-conceived judgements on his character, he had learned to use them to his advantage, but pity is something he had grown to despise ever since his mother passed when he was a child.

“And what was he right about?”

“You’re a cold, aggressive man without honour.”

Tinsley laughed bitterly, “Being honourable is a good way to get killed. I have folk that I need to deal with before I can lie 6 ft underground.”

“And what kind of folk would that be?”

“Bad ones. You try fighting a beast with honour and see how well you do. I guarantee you’ll have your throat ripped out before you’re even finished commanding it to fight you. Why didn’t you cut that bastard in half when you had the chance?”

“It wasn’t right to. I also didn’t want to ruin your brown coat with his blood, despite all the dirt that it’s covered in already.”

“Aww, how considerate of you. You say that to all the men?” Tinsley crooned.

Ricky blushed and tried to suppress the smile that was tugging at his lips. Instead deciding to distract himself and started to tie the axeman up.

Tinsley could tell he was new at this, naïve and filled with a sense of duty, “So sword man-”

“It’s a katana.”

“Whatever it is, frankly, I don’t really care. I haven’t seen you around before. What’s your name?”

“Ricky Goldsworth. I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ricky answered, crossing his arms across his chest.

Tinsley grimaced as he carefully walked from the house down to Ricky. He gripped his gun a little tighter “Likewise. So, since I was here first, I’m taking him in. You can have 15% if you beg for it.”

“I don’t beg. Take him and keep the money, I’ll come with you to make sure he is delivered alive,” Ricky exhaled, not fully convinced that Tinsley wouldn’t just shoot Nelson before he brought him to the Sheriff.

“Fine…but you’re staying at least 10 paces in front of me. I don’t feel like getting stabbed today,” he grunted as they whistled for their horses.

The ride to the Sheriff’s office was silent. Both of the men keeping an eye on one another. Expecting some sort of attack.

They tied up their horses outside and Tinsley hauled the man off his horse and onto his good shoulder.

“I’ll wait here, make sure our horses are okay” Ricky said as he got some food out of his horse’s bag.

“If you steal my horse, I will fucking shoot you Goldsworth.”

Ricky rolled his eyes, “Good to know. Stealing an Arabian horse with such skinny legs sounds like a great idea, especially when they break so easily.”

Tinsley started walking up to the Sheriff’s office, “Their legs won’t break if you don’t ride like an irresponsible maniac, makes sense that you have a Shire. Matches your reckless will to get yourself axed.”

He kicked the door open and threw Nelson down by the entrance to the cells, “You order an Axeman?”

Goondis jumped up from his chair, expecting blood to be oozing onto his floorboards and inspected the man, feeling his pulse, “He’s alive?!”

“Yes. I’ve brought you live ones before, granted the poster said they had to be to get paid.”

Goondis slowly shook his head in disbelief, “I’m not giving you the money.”

“Why not?”

“You didn’t capture this man,” Goondis growled.

“What makes you say that?”

“You would’ve brought me a corpse if you had!”

“Do you want me to take him out back and shoot him? I’d happily do that for you as long as I get my $50,” Tinsley challenged.

It was quiet for a moment. Both of them staring at one another. Waiting for someone to break. After a moment Tinsley took a step forward towards Nelson and the Sheriff relented.

He took the money out of his drawer and threw it at him, “Fine. Take your damn money and get the hell out.”

“Oh, don’t be so angry Sheriff, you know you’ll have fun hanging him. I’ve seen that look in many killers’ eyes. We both know you are not the saint that you pretend to be.”

The Sheriff reminded Tinsley too much of his father who was a preacher in Texas. After his mother died, his father would wear a kind and warm façade when standing in front of God but at home he was a vengeful and angry drunk. But with the Sheriff, there was also more to it than that. Every time there was a hanging. As soon as the neck snapped. He could see a how much he enjoyed watching people die. To him, the Sheriff pretended to be a good man. He was just as bad as the people he put away.

Goondis sighed and shook his head, “I never claimed to be a saint and I certainly do not enjoy watching those poor souls die. But I do what I have to do to keep people safe and these fine folks clearly trust me since I’ve been in this position longer than you can count. It is my duty to bring people to justice. But I know that the concept of duty is lost on you since you are only motivated by the money. Now, stop running your mouth and get the hell out my office.”

Tinsley smirked and started to leave, a part of him enjoyed seeing the man trying to force him to believe the trustworthy image he projects, “You can’t fool everyone, Sheriff. The truth will come out sooner or later.”

After the door shut on the Sheriff, he let out a sigh of relief. Goondis knew what had happened to Tinsley’s wife and son. Even 5 years on there were still theories being passed around about who did it. Most people believed Tinsley had lost his temper and killed them himself. The Sheriff was inclined to agree with them. Goondis was afraid that Tinsley would use his gun as a problem solver to either end his own life or gun him down in cold blood.

Ricky had just finished brushing Tinsley’s horse as he limped down the stairs. He noticed that Tinsley was tense and had a slightly crazed look in his eye.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Perfectly fine. How’s my wonderful horse Holly doing?” Tinsley hummed as he patted the side of her face.

“She’s great. You seem to take good care of her.”

Tinsley nodded and climbed onto his saddle, “She’s the only one who’d say that.”

Ricky raised an eyebrow, “She also told me you stink of horse shit.”

“Fuck you. I hope to never see you again Goldsworth, you’re a pain in the ass.”

Ricky nodded, noting that he looked much more relaxed now, “I kind of saved your life so how about a thank you next time.”

Tinsley paused, considering his options for a moment. However, he refused to give him the satisfaction, “How ‘bout no.”

Tinsley then rode off towards own his camp in the woods. Leaving Ricky to get hit by the chunks of mud that his horse kicked behind her.

As Tinsley stoked his fire that evening. He tried to figure Goldsworth out. Every time he came across another bounty hunter after he caught the criminal, they’d try to blow his brains out and steal the bounty themselves. The fact he escorted him back to town without trying anything was suspicious. He was convinced Ricky Goldsworth was up to something and hoped he didn’t cross paths with him again.

But Tinsley had been alive long enough to know things never go the way he wanted them to.

[hermits-that-craft]

Chapter 50 - Arc 2 - Two Deaths In The Server, Reprise

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509375/chapters/63621574 TW - DEATH, BLOOD, TORTURE, SCREAMING

“Scar is here.” Princess’ voice is strained, her body shaking as a bruise blooms on her cheek.

“Yes. The mage came.”

“You said-” Princess’ voice shakes, two voices saying the same thing at the same time, one deep and unsettling and the other far too high pitched to be natural. “You said you would leave him alone!”

“Princess, get a hold of yourself.” Night snaps, anger mixing with tiredness as they struggle not to lash out at her again. “He came out of his own free will. He can suffer the consequences. I have not done anything to him.”

“You knocked him out.”

“He committed regicide. You know what the difference between your father and King Silas is, Stress?” Night growls, Stress flinching away from the angry god. “Your father wasn’t murdered by his son.”

---

Impulse doesn’t struggle in Night’s arms as Night drags them to a small cell, the smell of blood trading for the smell of mildew and mold. The cuts on his back sting and tears well up in his eyes, trying desperately not to cry.

He thinks of Tango, of Zedaph. They’re both safe. The trade was equal, his freedom for theirs. It still hurts, Void it still hurts. He would give almost anything to leave, to feel safe, to feel whole again. To see the crinkles in Tango’s eyes when he smiles or the way Zedaph’s shoulders shake when he tries to hide that he’s laughing. He’d do anything to see them again, to be able to hold them, to be able to be held. To see someone not hurting - not hurting him. To see a face without rage.

Impulse saves his strength. He doesn’t struggle like he knows Ren did, like he could hear False doing. He lets Night drag him to a room, to a cell containing Scar, who flinches away from Night though he cannot move away. Night drops Impulse on the floor, walking out of the room. 

Scar tries to walk to Impulse, the large metal squares forcing Scar to stay in one place, unable to move. He struggles, and Impulse can see the flashes of bright blue and gold magic in his eyes, the smell of electricity and fire fills the room, but nothing happens. A cut rests on Scar’s face, dangerously close to his left eye. The burn on Scar’s shoulder is bleeding, cut open by someone cruel, possibly Night or 

Stress wouldn’t, would she?

Scar’s shoulders shake, his eyes filled with guilt. He mumbles something, an apology to someone Impulse can't see. An apology to someone lost. Someone who could come back, but likely won’t. Doc won’t come back himself, and neither will Ren. Even if they are freed, even if Night is killed and gone forever, they won’t come back themselves. No one will leave this place, this base, the same. Not Impulse, not Scar, not False, not Stress, not Mumbo. No one will leave this place the same.

But they will leave this place.

Impulse stands, his legs shaking, and he forces himself to walk over to Scar, pulling a small hairpin out of his hair, focusing on the lock on Scar’s handcuffs. He forces the lock open, spending too long on the lock. Night could find them. Night could come back.

“We need to hurry, can you do that magic thing you did back there?”

“I don’t know how to. I lost control.” Scar looks at the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this is all my fault if it wasn’t for me none of this wold have happened.”

“Scar, you didn’t invite Night here.” Impulse pulls the mage into a hug, smiling kindly. “This isn’t your fault.”

“If I was the one who died instead of Silas, Doc would still be Doc.” Scar mumbles to himself.

“Don’t you dare say anything like that ever again.” Impulse says, taking Scar by the shoulders. “Silas was a bastard, one who doesn’t deserve to have his name spoken again. We’re getting out. We’re leaving right now, and you and I are going to get everyone out, Scar. I swear it. We’re going to be okay.”

Scar nods, watching Impulse with wide eyes as Impulse rips some of his shirt off, wrapping it around his fists before he punches at the door, breaking the wood just outside the door handle. Impulse opens the door through the hole, offering his hand to Scar. Scar takes his hand, and with a squeeze of their hands the two men run. 

They run through the endless halls and rooms, past dead ends and screams. They stumble over the wreckage that Scar left after he grew vines in the room. Scar’s lungs scream and beg for a pause, and Impulse’s legs burn as though they were dunked into lava, but the two men don’t stop, they can’t stop, fleeing from the room, from Night, from pain. To pause is to die, to run is to live.

Scar stops, making eye contact with Observer as they near the door. The fake Mumbo glares at them, picking up a sword and Impulse pulls Scar through the door, his legs and lungs screaming. 

The two men flee through the jungle, fear gripping at their hearts. They will die here if they are caught.

And they won’t come back.

---

Iskall watches as everyone comes into the main room, everyone yawning and bleary eyed, though none more than Grian, Builder and Rose. Builder sits down, putting his head into his arms and shutting his eyes. Grian stands in a corner, his eyes watching the door like a hawk, though he relaxes more as the door shuts behind Xisuma. Rose sits by a window, staring out into the distance, twisting her wedding ring around her finger as one hand rests on her stomach. Iskall almost envies her - her wife is dead, at least she knows that Protector isn’t going to hurt anymore.

He wishes he could say the same about Stress. He wishes that Stress had the freedom of death, because then he would know that his girlfriend isn’t hurting - isn’t in pain.

Cub brings a bowl of soup to Rose as Cleo, Bdubs, Etho and Keralis try to make a plan, Wels flinching everytime the gesture towards him. Etho gestures to Iskall a few times, saying something about him needing to get used to his new arm before he can fight.

Iskall agrees, though he wont say anything about it. He won’t admit that he’s punched things, broken cups and bowls trying to get used to how the arm works. 

Etho said his arm doesn’t hurt anymore, which is a plus.

Iskall taps his foot, the plan frustrating him more by the minute. Storming Night’s base? Giving Mumbo the opportunity to trap it, with the help of Beef? Not a chance, not if the hermits want to win. It irks him, it’s too risky. They might free some hermits, but the losses will be huge, and Night can permakill. It doesn’t matter how much favour Cleo has with Amari - Hermits will die because of this plan.

Iskall stands up, his chair scratching against the wooden floor. Heads snap towards him, surprise written on everyone’s faces.

“This plan isn’t going to work and too many people will die because of it.” Iskall says plainly, a monotone voice falling out of his lips. “Don’t bother protesting - Let me give you some advice I learnt from being an assassin. Lure your victims out. Don’t walk into a trap.”

“Well, do you have a plan?” Cleo looks at him hopefully, “Cause I’m up for suggestions.”

“The saying is down for suggestions, Cleo.” Joe puts in kindly.

“We trap the nether out of the shopping district. Everyone prepares to fight, no matter how skilled they are at fighting. Anyone with admin history at all needs to reset everyone’s spawn to the spawn island. A small party - maximum three people, goes to free the captured. The rest of us fight. The rest of us prepare. Anyone with allies off of the server invites them in. Builder, are there any other gods that could help us?”

Builder blinks a few times, shocked that he was called on. “Amari, Althea and Ella could help out.”

“Amari I know, but Althea and Ella?”

“You know how the jungle has a god?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Bdubs snaps, glaring at Builder. “I’m not going through that again.”

“No, you aren’t. Althea is the mushroom island goddess, Ella is her twin, the mushroom plains goddess. They’re both my daughters.”

“Grian isn’t our only cousin on your side?” Evil Xisuma asks quietly, and surprise flashes in Builder’s eyes.

“You’re the missing sons?” Builder mumbles, but before anything can be done, a buzz echoes through the room, people’s faces turning white. No one wants to read it, no one wants to see if they’ve lost someone.

Iskall sets his jaw, taking a deep breath in. He picks up his communicator, ready to read it.

TheNight sent (2) attachment(s) TheNight: I’ve heard about the nHo TheNight: Pity you have to lose two more to the jungle. You all know the consequences of running now.

Iskall’s eyes wander over the attachments, bile rising in his throat. He shakily sits down, handing his communicator to Cleo. He hears her screams through panicked thoughts, he barely hears the other hermits shouting, barely see’s Grian’s eyes flash red or Zedaph crying in Tango’s arms. The images won’t leave his mind.

Impulse and Scar, lying in a thick, bloodied copse vines. Their backs torn open, ribcage exposed. The bones aren’t pure white, stained a light pink with the blood.  Their bodies are magles, vines tearing Scar’s arms from his torso and strangling him. Their bodies - because Iskall can’t imagine that the two men are still alive - are coated in blood and dirt. Bones stick through Impulse’s leg, a vine exiting the back of his head.

Iskall is going to kill Night.

[flipomatic]

Internship Chapter 6: Day 2 - Edric

Author Note: And here comes the second important original character.

First Chapter Previous Chapter

__________________________________________________________

The start of day 2 was almost the same as the first. Edric walked slowly to the jail, though this time wearing his new uniform. He carried the mask, enjoying the last part of his day where he’d be able to see properly. He held onto it with just enough force not to drop it, barely holding it between two fingers.

When he arrived, sighing at the sight of the building, Edric knew he was a few minutes late. Honestly though, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He walked slowly into the building, then through the Emperor’s Coven door. He only put the mask on when he entered the coven’s wing of the building, once again cutting off his peripheral vision.

After the long patrol in the market the day before, Mike didn’t tell Edric where to report the next day. He actually said he didn’t know what Edric would be doing, and suggested that he check with the dispatcher in the morning.

Since this was a suggestion and not an order, Edric didn’t feel obligated to obey.

After passing the offices, Edric went straight through the hallway intersection. It was time to see the staff lounge, since he hadn’t been able to go in there yesterday. He passed by a coven member on the way, who didn’t react to his presence. The mask helped with anonymity.

Edric opened the door to the staff lounge upon reaching it, entering the room. It was small, about the same size as the dispatcher’s office. There were a couple rundown looking couches near a table on one side, with an icebox and counter on the other. Only one coven member was inside when Edric entered, standing strangely near the door. He wouldn’t know who it was until they spoke.

The coven member watched Edric enter, before greeting him. “Good morning Edric!” He said loudly, allowing Edric to identify him as one of the patrol witches he met the day before. He was pretty sure that this one was Anderson.

“Morning.” Edric replied, not wanting to come off as rude but mostly not wanting to engage in conversation. He looked around the room, not impressed with the inside. It needed some color, he’d consult with Em later about which color would be best. It would be simple too apply it to the walls.

“I was just looking for you.” Anderson said, pulling Edric’s attention back to him. Edric didn’t believe that. He was supposed to go to the dispatcher, not to the staff lounge, so it wasn’t a great place to look for him. Unless, Anderson was one step ahead and knew he’d go there. How crafty of him. “My name is Frederick Anderson, we met briefly yesterday.” So, Anderson had been his last name. Edric made a mental note of it. “I have your assignment for today. Not just that, your assignment for the next few weeks.”

He paused for a moment, prompting Edric to ask, “What is it?” He had one eyebrow raised, though it wasn’t visible underneath the mask.

“I’ll be mentoring you. For the next four weeks we’ll go on patrols, hone our magic, and show the public just how great the Emperor’s Coven is!” Frederick pumped his fist with the last part, voice rising in volume.

So he was going to spend the next four weeks with this guy? Edric wasn’t thrilled; he seemed too gung-ho to match well with him. “Alright.” Edric responded simply, withholding a sigh.

“We’ll meet every morning by the locker room, then go to the dispatcher for assignment.” Frederick moved past Edric to the door as he spoke, opening it. “Which is where we’re going now.”

This time Edric sighed; his time to hang out in the staff lounge was vanishing before his eyes. He bit back a complaint and followed Frederick out. They walked back towards the intersection to head to the dispatcher’s office. Edric stayed behind him, out of sight.

“You go to Hexside, right?” Frederick asked as they walked. He was looking back over his shoulder; if Edric tried to do that while wearing the mask he would trip for sure.

“Yup, graduating next year.” Edric said with a nod, wondering why Frederick was asking.

“Feels like forever since I visited.” They turned the corner. “How’s principal Bump doing? Still hanging in there?” He sounded fond of the old witch.

Edric tried to keep his interactions with principal Bump to a minimum. “I think so, he’s still the principal.”

As Ed finished speaking, they reached dispatcher’s office. Frederick opened the door and entered, with Edric close behind.

The dispatcher was alone in the room, writing on one of the many papers that littered his desk. He looked up when they entered.

“Hello!” Frederick greeted him enthusiastically. “Where are we assigned for today?”

The dispatcher looked down and flipped through his papers, stopping on one and picking it up. “You’re off patrol for today, assigned to the training room.” Oh, training instead of patrol. For Edric, this could be way better than going on patrol, though it still sounded like a lot of work.

Fredrick flashed a thumbs up. “Thanks, we’ll be there if you need us.”

With a nod, the dispatcher dismissed them from his office. The pair left the room and started walking back across the building.

They were about halfway there when Edric had a random thought that he had to ask about. “Can I call you Fred?” It was easier to say than Frederick.

“No.” Frederick replied immediately, not even taking a moment to think about it.

Edric smirked, “Are you sure?”

This time Fredrick stopped, turning his head to look right at Edric. “Yes, I’m sure.” He said firmly, before continuing to walk.

Edric made a mental note of the exchange; this could make good prank material later.

A minute later the pair reached their destination and entered the training hall.

A couple coven members were already there training, but there was plenty of space for them too. Frederick walked to one of the empty corners, signaling for Edric to follow him.

“How much combat experience do you have?” Frederick asked when they stopped.

Edric thought about it. He had helped fight a slitherbeast before, but other than that he didn’t have any. “Very little.” He admitted, adding an additional detail. “And I can’t imagine fighting in this mask.”

“We can fix that.” Fredrick lifted one finger to casting position. “There’s an illusion spell that lets you see out, but keeps the outside solid.” Ooh an illusion spell. That was right up Edric’s alley. “Let me show you.”

Frederick spun his finger to cast the spell, making a small magic circle. A moment later the spell took effect, and Edric gasped audibly in shock. All of the sudden, his mask was transparent. He could see out of it in every direction, not just through the eye holes. He took it off and turned it around, but the other side was still solid white.

“Very impressive.” Illusion magic was the best; Edric fully believed that. He put the mask back on.

“You try it next.” Frederick canceled the spell, returning Edric to not being able to see.

Edric lifted his hand, carefully drawing the magic circle. When the spell activated, his mask again became transparent from the inside. It wasn’t as clear of an image as Frederick’s spell had been, but it was great for a first attempt. He would have to keep the spell up for a while, but if it failed he could always reapply it.

“It works.” Edric said with a nod. His animosity towards the mask was quickly decreasing, but he still planned to bury it after everything was over.

“Good work!” Frederick sounded excited, though it was hard to tell without being able to see his face. “So that’s one combat obstacle down. What kind of magic do you specialize in?”

Edric stood straighter as he responded. “Illusion magic, near the top of my class.” He bragged, which he felt was earned after performing that spell correctly on the first try. He also had earned a spot to intern at the Emperor’s Coven, which was nothing to sneeze at.

“That’ll be useful, we do a lot of illusion spells. What other types can you do?”

This was a point of shame. “None at all.” Edric shook his head with a derisive chuckle, he was terrible at other types of magic.

“We’ll see about that.” Frederick replied, something that Edric didn’t like the sound of. “Let’s start with illusions though. Do you know any rope or net spells?”

Edric drew a magic circle, summoning a rope illusion. “Rope, check.” He swung the rope overhead, like a lasso, then flung it in Frederick’s direction. Instead of wrapping around him as intended, it bounced off and vanished. Edric just stared in shocked silence.

“Magic ward.” Frederick said simply. “We’ll get to it someday. For now, I think you should learn a couple of other spells.”

“I really don’t want to.” Edric replied dryly. There was no way this would go well.

“That’s the spirit.” Frederick was undeterred by Edric’s lack of enthusiasm. “We’ll start with a plant spell.” He lifted his hand again to cast a spell, this time drawing a green magic circle. A few roots grew out of the dirt floor, reaching a few inches off the ground. “This spell can be used to grab the ankles of someone trying to escape. Go ahead and try it.”

Before so much as lifting a finger, Edric knew he wasn’t going to be able to do this spell. He had tried a plant spell once before, and couldn’t get a plant to wiggle let alone grow. He slowly lifted his hand, trying to create the magic circle. He made it about half way around before it wobbled and collapsed. Frowning, Edric tried again to cast it. He was able to close the circle, but when the spell activated it had no effect.

Frederick cast another spell, drawing a single root further above the ground. He left it there, sticking up. “Try again, focus on just this one.”

Edric sighed, but did as he was told. He remade the spell circle, focusing the spell on the one root. When it activated the root twitched, but otherwise didn’t move.

Each subsequent attempt reminded Edric why he didn’t bother with plant magic. It just didn’t work well for him, not at all.

They worked on the spell for a while, and eventually Edric was able to make the root move slightly. With that achieved Frederick was satisfied enough to let him move on to a different spell.

“Next, you need to be able to do a basic healing spell.” Frederick said, causing Edric’s stomach to drop even further. His healing magic was just as bad as his plant magic. “Just to heal small cuts, I’ll demonstrate.” Frederick first cut a small portion of the root, then made a small magic circle to demonstrate the spell. When it activated, it healed the root completely.

Frederick made it look easy, but for Edric it wouldn’t be. First, he tore a notch into the root again so he’d have something to heal. Then he spun his finger to cast the spell, luckily able to complete it on the first try. Unfortunately, there was no impact on the root.

Frustration growing, Edric tried again. His second attempt still had no effect; somehow this was worse than the plant spell.

“Try to remain calm.” Frederick couldn’t see his face, but he seemed to sense his irritation. “Healing spells don’t work if you’re agitated.”

Saying that did not help Edric follow through on it and his next few casts of the spell had similarly bad results.

They continued like this for some time, trying to get the spell to work. Edric had little luck, even less than with the plant spell.

“How about this.” Edric remarked after yet another failed attempt. “I’ll just use illusion spells instead.” He was getting nowhere with this.

Frederick was, unfortunately, turning out to be quite stubborn. “Not everything can be replaced with illusion magic.” He stated firmly.

“I disagree.” Edric wasn’t going to back down on this. “That plant spell, I can match it with an illusion.” He drew an illusion circle, which was wonderfully easy after struggling for so long with plants and healing. It triggered a wave of small illusion ropes, popping out of the ground. “Works just as well.” He crossed his arms.

“But if you lose focus, the spell will break.” Frederick countered with a shake of his head. “You still need to learn the plant one. And there’s no replacing healing with illusions.”

Edric grimaced beneath his mask, but couldn’t think of a good spell to counter with on the spot. “We’ll see.” He said, making a note to ask Em later if she knew of an illusion spell that could heal.

“For now, keep working on the two new spells. I’m going to be doing some training on my own, if you need anything come grab me.” Fredrick pointed to a spot about ten feet away, where he would go to train.

That was fine by Edric, time alone to work was way better than what they’d been doing. He nodded once, and Frederick left to do his own training.

Now on his own, Edric immediately abandoned the new spells. He worked on practicing his illusion based net spells, trying to find the best one that had a short cast time.

Edric kept his back to Frederick; he had no interest in watching the other witch train.

He also kept trying to think of how to replace healing with illusions, but didn’t have much luck with that.

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