#it’s so hot outside the wind is actually stinging me

[blvdheart]

hi

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[caxde]

disposible heroes | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary Eddie is assumed to be dead, you belived it, until music found his way into your live again, and a promise he's still alive is evident (7.2k)

warnings fem!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn, idiots in love!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!, canon-ish complaiant?

a/n: thank you to @sage-glowstick for all your help as I was writing this <33

“You know I’m here if you need me, right?” Robin’s voice felt as if it were coming from a thousand miles away, even if she was beside you, her fingers running through your hair, petting you softly. 

“I know” Your voice came out croaky, heavy, raspy. Tears were still falling from your eyes, you felt them, the coldness of the salty water running down your reddened and hot cheek. 

“Anything you need.” She repeated, wiping it away, her finger on the apple of your cheek a bit longer, trying to make you feel seen. 

“It just doesn't feel real.” You whispered, not being able to actually say it fully out loud. 

“I know.” She imitated your low tone, standing up from the bed as she looked out the window. “It’s a lovely day out, we could go for a walk.”

“In a bit, maybe.” You gave her a forced, half smile to her. She imitated it before nodding, standing up to finally leave the room, leaving the door ajar. 

It was a good day out, sunny and without a cloud, the leaves on the tree outside your window moving slowly. 

But he wasn’t there. 

As far as you knew, his body still laid lifeless on the fractured darkened ground of the upside down. 

And you hadn’t saved him. 

Guilt consumed you. 

It was worse, you had to lie to Wayne, you had to lie to the only person that knew him as much as you did, that cared for him as much as you did. 

You buried an empty coffin a couple of weeks ago. 

And all you had was an old shirt of his, and his guitar pick necklace you had once gifted him. 

Your hands closed around it, one last tear falling down as you did so. I miss you, i’m sorry were the only thoughts running through your mind. 

After a long time of just thinking, your eyes vacant and your thoughts going a bit too fast. As soon as Robin came to check on you once again, she knew where you were headed off to. 

The mix he had made you was still in your car, playing his music as if he was next to you. If you concentrated enough, you could still hear him sing them, in his usual chaotic goofy voice and tone he always used to get you to laugh, though if he was being sirius or was in his own little world he actually had a beautiful voice, an angelical one if you were the one listening. 

A weird combination of crying and laughter was now consuming you, as you finally parked your car in the same spot you had for the last few weeks. 

It was a weird feeling, you became more yourself the closer you walked to his grave, the closer you came to seeing his name carved in stone, the fuller you felt, as if he was walking beside you. 

The wind rustled in the leaves, as birds stopped singing, the sun still shining, your skin soaking it in, your puffy eyes squinting harder because of it. 

It was a very scenic moment, you thought as you sat down in front of the carved stone. 

“Hey Moon.” You whispered with a heavy heart. The stinging coming back to the back of your head as you looked at the faded graffiti you had cleaned yesterday. “I brought you a bit of music, I thought you might like it.” You fumbled through your bag, trying to find the little portable cassette player you had saved up for, that he had drawn in the back of with one of his markers. EM was here could still be seen in a faint white ink. “I finally got you the Metallica cassette you wanted.” You half smiled, trying not to break down again. 

The first guitar notes from the song battery filled the air, you let your body hit the ground right as the bass started, your feet stomping at the melody. 

“You’d love to play the guitar solo of this one.” You teased him, mumbling to the sky, your eyes closed, your body relaxing a bit more. 

The little portable player was starting to make that funny noise it had been making for the last couple of days, that dirty interference that made you angry every time, interrupting your time, it only infuriated you more now that you were here, trying to be close to him once more. Your arm reached to it, your eyes yet unopened, spanking it a bit, hopeful that it would go away. 

It didn’t. 

It started going in and out of focus, as if something was tampering with it, or water had crawled in, making the switch to the next song sound as if it was coming from deep underwater, as if a wave had just engulfed the speaker. 

“Fuck’s sake.” You complained through gritted teeth, grabbing it and holding it up, wiggling it a bit. As you did, the muffled sound went away, and the thing that should not be started playing. 

You lowered the volume, and let the speaker sit next to your ear, letting it sing only for you. 

It didn’t give you any trouble for a while, until it started acting up again. This time, the volume went up and down. At first you thought it was random, until you started paying attention. It seemed like a message, and grief invaded you enough to make you believe impossible things. 

Your shaking hands grabbed it, pulling it a top of your lap, looking back at where his name was carved before whispering “Don’t fuck with me” as you played the backwards button. Letting the song start from the beginning once again. “I swear to god Eddie if you’re fucking with me I’ll kill you again.” You spat as you mumbled angrily at the air, hoping to be right. 

To your astonished surprise, it seemed to work. 

The volume went up, as if it was a code, as if he was screaming. If you were honest, you could feel him screaming and yelling the lyrics in that chaotic voice you learned to love and miss. 

The very first word of the song spiked up messenger, it felt obvious enough, though it could just be a dumb coincidence. lurking beneath the sea made the volume go up, lowering immediately after it. You kept listening, writing it on the sketch pad you always carried in your bag. 

Once the song ended, the previous blank paper had sparesed lyrics over it. 

It read a confusing mess that you had to bring to Dustin as soon as possible. You recited it over and over again while you were speeding on the car. 

The motor of your car was louder with every gear shift you made, the little orange arrow in your speedometer kept rising, but you payed it no mind. In a similar manner, you didn’t care if your car skidded anytime you made a left turn, the only thing in your mind where the little words you had heard louder than the others. 

You didn’t care if your car blocked his driveway, or if the keys were still in the ignition. The bag on your left shoulder felt havier now that it was guarding the little instrument that felt magic. You hands where still shaking and you could stop fidgeting with his necklace, moving it one swipe left and two right as you made your way to Dustin’s front door, not sure what to say, not sure what to do. You were now anxiously looking down at your feet, and the way they moved through the cobblestone, the bumps that they left on your feet. 

You gathered enough courage to bang on his door. 

But he was taking a bit too long. 

Bang

He still hadn’t come down stairs. 

Bang Bang Bang Bang

“Jesus what?” He finally opened the door, the usual annoyed look on his face disappearing once he the way your lips were pressed together. 

“Upstairs, now. Code red.”

-

“Can you read it again?” Dustin asked, a pen in his own hand. 

“Messenger. Lurking beneath the sea. Forbidden site. Shadows. Underground. Fallen city, living death.” You looked at him, sharing a deep breath. “Then it repeats, Lurking beneath the sea, and ends with not dead”

Dustin stood up, pacing around his room while his hands fidgeted with the pen he had. 

“And you’re sure it worked normally before you arrived at the grave?” He inquired, his words pausing between them as he usually did when he was trying to figure out something. 

“Look I know it sounds stupid, but… I… It can’t be a coincidence.” He acknowledged just how hopeful and defeated you were, and he gifted you a smile. 

“I wanna believe it too, I just, can I hear it now?” You nodded, while you took the little player out of the bag and played the song again. It sounded crystal clear, no interference, no change in volume. “And it changed volume once you were…” 

“Yeah, I told you.” 

“We should go there, I’ll ask the others to join us there.” He grabbed the talkie while he handed you the phone, letting you call into family video, the number already dialed up. 

“Family Video this is Steve how may I help you today?” He sounded as bored as he always was, you could tell he was playing with the telephone chord. 

“Steve, can you take your break now?” Your voice was quieter than usual, and that pulled him in, you heard how his elbows hit the table, and the receiver was caught between his cheek and his shoulder. 

“Hey honey, everything okay?” His tone was sharper now, you felt the way he was measuring his words, he had become rather used to spreading kindness and handling you with care ever since you had come back, you had no time for that kind of nonsense right now. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking you to skip work in the middle of the day.” Your words were coming out sharper and colder than you intended for them to. Irony stinging like a dagger. 

“A simple no would also work, y’know.” He answered, a bit hurt, but mostly worried. He knew the number was coming from Dustin’s house, and the only reason you had to go over his house was for one he didn’t dare to think about. 

Mostly because the last time you had barged in with Dustin into Family Video he ended diving into cold water, and with a few scars to remember those days by. 

“Can you take your break or not? We kinnda need both of you.” You were impatient now, you were speaking faster, snappier, quicker. 

“What the hell is going on?” You could physically see him holding the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed while he loudly breathed out into the receiver. 

“Steve! Please?” You were begging now, the frustration of wanting to let him know everything all at once, while trying to be careful to not say too much, the fear that someone might listen to you, the impotence of not being able to do enough, it was all enough to create tears that wouldn’t fall. 

“Breathe out.” He reminded you. He didn’t know what was going on, or why you seemed to be so aggravated, but he could tell that it was important enough, a sense of urgency clear in your voice. He took a second, looking at Robin while his eyebrows raised she called the ‘the decision look’ and she knew better than to oppose it. “Is this a code red?” He finally asked, wanting and needing you to say no, his head falling deeper once he heard your muffled yes. “Where are we meeting?” 

“Graveyard.” You answer quickly, the iron taste in the inside of your mouth becomes more prominent now that you are speaking again. “Pick Nance up.” You told him before hanging up. 

You gave a quick glance over your shoulder to check on Dustin. His words were fast paced, he started the second one while the first was still finishing in his mouth, he had no time to lose, which in a weird way, was reassuring for you. Someone cared as deeply as you did, it made you feel not that alone, seen in a way. 

You found your way downstairs, your feet feeling heavier and your chest tightening, a fast thought entered your mind, as it grew bigger so did the worry that accompanied it. What do we do if he is alive?

If Eddie really is alive, and he has been there, all by himself for the last weeks he must be pissed off. Not only that, as far as you remembered he was incredibly injured, so he could be right at death's door, a slip away from being actually gone. And if that was really the case, and he was bloodied, starving and a whisper away from death, you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t at least just try, you had to try. 

But then again, that panic was shared. 

Dustin did not talk while you drove. He didn’t complain while you smoked one of his cigarettes that he had left on your glove compartment, he limited himself to stay still, biting his thumb as a response to the nervousness that was now deep inside his body. 

You parked where you had a mere hour ago, and the birds sang until you found your way next to his gravestone. You looked at Dustin, needing reassurance, he just nodded. Weirdly enough, you were both in a lost for words. 

You sat in silence, looking at his name with clear sandness in both of your faces, you hid a whimper, culpability making its way into your body. 

“I feel insane.” You confessed as you buried your face into the palm of your hands. Needing just a second to process it all. 

“You’re not the only one.” Dustin added, looking back as soon as he heard a familiar car pull into the secluded place you both were, he gave you a soft pad on your shoulder, his head nodding to it so you’d look. 

Steve emerged from the burgundy car, closely followed by Robin, Nancy and Jonathan.

Robin’s eyebrows were raised in concern as she ran to where you were, she wasn’t a fiscal touch person, but lately she had been giving you hugs every chance she had, and this time it was no different. It felt familiar, a sense of reassurance you desperately needed. 

“What’s going on?” She whispered into your ear, pulling away slowly, looking deep into your eyes. You waited for the other three to make their way up hill, Nancy’s knuckles were white with how much strength she was holding Jonathan’s hand. 

“He’s alive.” Is all you could bring yourself to say, before breaking down. 

You weren’t even sure why you were crying this time, maybe it just felt good to say it outloud, maybe it was just too much to manage, or maybe you just needed to relise your bottled up emotions. It didn’t matter. 

Nancy’s eyes widened, as Jonathan looked at her, not really understanding why you’d say that. Meanwhile, Steve’s arms crossed in front of his chest, he was having a hard time following you. 

“What are you talking about?” Steve’s voice was not only lower, his tone had never been as serious, not a trace or irony or sarcasm in them. 

“Dustin?” You plead for help, you didn’t think you could manage to explain it all again. Your hands were busy fidgeting with the cassette player, tracing over the speaker, wishing that it would happen again. 

“She uh… Well…” Dustin was having a hard time, the possibility that you might be right was a bit overpowering for him. 

“I came over, and played him the new record.” You gestured to the empty cassette case with the white crosses on it, Robin picked it up and looked at it closely, smiling in that that’s sweet way that she does when she finds something charming. “And uh…” 

“She says that the cassette player started going wild, the volume going up and down by itself, interference, water sound in it. But we played it again at my house and it sounds perfectly clear. And well… The words that were actually louder were like a call for help and if we look at this logically-” Steve cut the explanation that Dustin had started, a crease in the middle of his forehead. 

“That’s insane. You’re seeing things where there are none.” He exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his hands. 

“Steve…” Robin pleaded calmly, her eyes asking for him to consider the situation. 

“It’s not!” You screamed. You needed them to understand, weirder things had happened to all of you in the last couple of years, this was nothing new. “Will was able to communicate with you!” You looked at Jonathan now, trying to make him understand, trying to win him to your side of the argument. 

“Yeah but… He actually… It was his voice.” Jonathan mumbled, trying really hard to believe what you were saying, trying to see your side of the story, but the look of desperation on your face was too close to Joyce’s, and that gave him a bad feeling in his stomach. 

“He’s alive.” You repeated, looking back at the way his name was carved into the gray stone, how long it took you to be able to accept it, and how it hopefully would be destroyed, as if it never had happened. “And he’s down there, alone, injured and with no strength, do you really think he’s going to start chatting?” With every word you said your tone became higher and higher. 

“Look, there is no way he’s alive…” Steve’s voice sounded defeated as he crouched down, closer to your eye level as you were still sitting down at the floor. “We all saw him down there, bloodied and… I get that you want him back, but you shouldn’t make it our problem.” his cheeks were red, as the vein in his left temple became bigger with every breath he took. 

“Your problem?” That made you lose it, it was one thing to not believe you, it was an entirely different thing to call you crazy and accuse you of being delusional. “You were the last one out, if he is alive, it’s your fault.” It had been like poison, hearing you say such things. You knew far too well that you were hurting him, his lips were pressed against each other, his left hand holding on thigh to his arm. 

“Guys…” Robin tried to calm you both down, exchanging looks between the both of you, knowing full well this could blow everything up. Knowing that pain can be spread around faster than any disease. 

But before she could say anything else, her ears perked up, as she heard the way the wind was rustling through the trees, she was a bit too sensitive to these kinds of things, over vigilant after everything she had seen. 

“That’s way out of line…” Steve whispered, with clear guilt creeping in through his voice. “You know that if I could trade it… You know I don’t…” He was truly at a loss for words, not being sure what he could say, an extremely defeated expression rested on his face, his eyes avoiding eye contact with yours, looking at the ground, and the way the grass moved thanks to the wind. 

“Guys!” Robin screamed at all of you now, as she picked out a rusting coming deep and low from the little player you were still holding. 

Silence broke through all of you, as you looked down and started hearing the beginning of a song you hadn’t hit play for, the red light that usually shined bright when it was on was absent from it. 

“Did you–?” Dustin started to ask, you shook your head, as a hopeful smile invaded your lips. 

You went quiet, looking down at it, a guitar solo started, before you heard the tape playing backwards until the last phrase of the song was found, volume creeping louder and louder reaching out again could be heard from it, you let out a chuckle, a nervous giggle that went around the group as everyone had now experienced what had happened to you. 

“What song is that?” Nancy asked directly at you, her face still in clear shock, mouthing the first words since she got here. 

“Welcome home” You mutter, with glee in your eyes. “He is here.” You tell her, knowing that she fully believes you, by the way fear was creeping into her body. 

“That could just be a coincidence…” Steve was still cautious, not wanting to fully give in. If he did, that meant that you were right, and that he left him for dead, and he couldn’t handle the guilt that came with it. 

“Eddie!” Dustin started screaming, directly into the little player that you would not let go of, repeating his name with urgency. “Buddy, are you really there?” 

“It’s changing again.” Robin pointed out, as her fingers traced a pattern on your leg, reassuring you that this was actually happening. 

It was exactly as it had happened a few moments ago, when you were by yourself, as if water had creeped inside, mumbled and far away it sounded as the song changed to another one, before becoming crystal clear to your ears. The heavy thumping of the guitars starting again, quieting down before abruptly going up once the lyrics Twenty-one, only son, but he served us well could be heard. 

You were tearing up now, and you weren’t even capable of hiding it any longer. 

But panic came quick once you heard the next highlighted set of words. 

Finished here, greeting death, he’s yours to take away

“What’s this one called?” Jonathan asked this time, his head whipping fastly from Nancy to you. 

“Disposable Heroes.” 

-

You wasted no time. 

Dustin held on tight to his car seat every time your foot pressed the accelerator, everytime you swerved the car you could feel him holding his breath just for him to release it in a nervous manner. 

They were all gathered around Steve's kitchen table, arguing over themselves. 

You weren’t all there, the only thing going over your head was him, and the promise of actually being able to hear his voice once again. 

Your foot kept on tapping the ground, a repetitive pattern that you weren’t able to stop, your hand still playing with his necklace. The chatter of them talking was overwhelming you, they were wasting time and that was infuriating. They were arguing, and you were frozen in the spot. They kept talking and you remained quiet. 

Nancy sat down next to you, she still hadn’t said anything either. 

Her hand traveled to yours, a top of your thigh. She squeezes your hand, you knew it was her way of telling you i’m here, i’m sorry. 

“They’re wasting time.” You finally whispered, your voice hoarse, a trace of sadness in it. 

“I don’t think I can go back.” She said at the same time, a trace of guilt in hers. 

“You shouldn’t.” You reassured her, not only with your calm voice, but with the same squeeze she gave to your hand, now on her’s. You didn’t have to tell her that you planned on going alone, she had already noticed. 

“You can’t.” She finally looked at you, deep into your eyes. You noticed the way her eye twitched before shaking his head. “We barely made it out of there, there’s no way you’ll make it by yourself, and having to carry Eddie or…” 

“His body?” She snorted a laugh, trying hard not to giggle, thought the nervous laughter got you too. “This has to be one of the most insane days…” She nodded while you both laughed, catching your breath before she talked. 

“I’m watching over you, I’ll stand at the gate. That I can do.” she stood there for a second longer, her lips pursed in that shy smile she usually gave people, the ones she actually cares about. 

“Thanks Nance…” You let go of her hand, to give her a playful bump on her shoulder. She nodded as she saw you finally stand up. 

Robin looked at you with curious eyes, as she saw you finally leaving the couch. She watched in a quiet manner as she saw you grab the car keys and put them in your pocket, and how you looked around as you put your hair up in a messy ponytail, bumps caused by shaky fingers. She only put her hand around Steve’s arm, her eyes still trained on you, once she saw you pocketing the vodka bottle and the old rag to light it up. 

Steve looked at Robin first, following her eyesight until she saw you, trying to not look suspicious as the rag poked out of the pocket of your brown leather jacket. 

You knew you were being caught as soon as you heard the sudden silence. 

“Woah, woah, hey…Where do you think you’re going?” Steve pointed out, one hand on his waist as the other one gesticulated widely. Confusion and worry evident in the way he spoke, his voice coming up and down like a rollercoaster. 

“What do you think?” The frustration was clear in the way you not only looked back at him, but in the way your words sting. “You’re wasting time…” You were now defeated, your hands now buried deep into your jacket pockets, fingers playing around with what you had in them, a way of distracting yourself. 

“We’re not.” Dustin tried to make a point, though his furrowed brows read as sadness. “We need a plan, so we’re just trying to come up with one…”

“What plan? We go in, Nancy guards the door, we get him, we come back.” Your shoulders scrunch up as you simplified it all, their eyes switched from you to Nancy, who was still sat down at the sofa, a bit tenser than when you were beside her. 

“Nance, you’re not coming?” Steve inquired, his whole body turning to face her from a distance. 

“I… I can’t…” Her eyes crystalised as shock emanated from her body. 

“She doesn’t have to, I’ll be with her, we’ll keep watch. Right?” Jonathan jumped in, reassuring Nancy, as Steve took a step back. “You’re not leaving my sight.” He whispered in her ear once he got by her side, their foreheads touching. 

You smiled to yourself, a sweet moment between them. The world stopped for them, you could tell, and that’s exactly what you were craving right now, and worrying you might never get back. 

“Fine, but we still don’t know how to get in.” Steve added, his arms flexing in front of his chest as he shook his head in defeat. 

“Watergate.” You mutter. 

“You’re insane.” Robin snapped as soon as she heard you, pausing in between words. “Even if we did manage to get down there and it was still open, how do you plan on coming back with him? What if there’s more rabies infected bats around? What if you get stuck there this time? We need to find another gate!” She was now talking in full speed, cascading words as her thoughts entered her mind. 

“So we go to the woods!” You whine, frustration and impatience invade you once more. 

“The woods?” Steve asked. 

“She’s right.” Dustin added, his eyes finally leaving the ground shining as they did so. “Vecna killed Patrick and that created Watergate, so maybe there’s a gate near Fred’s death, like the one in the trailer…”

“What?” You questioned him as you saw him losing the train of thought. “We go to the woods and we get in and out, what’s wrong?” 

“We killed Vecna, so the upside down should be collapsing since he isn’t alive and isn’t there to power it so…” He continued as he thought out loud. 

“So what?” Steve asked as his voice went higher in tone. 

“So it’s crumbling down.” Dustin pointed out as if it was overly obvious. 

“So we have to go, now.” You said at the same time, heading to the door, no time to waste. 

You heard their footsteps following you as you found your way to your car, you were finally getting somewhere.

-

You thought you would feel relieved once you saw you were right, what you weren’t expecting was your jaw to clench at the sight of the hidden gate. 

It wasn’t big, it was small and weak. 

The same thing that happened back in the graveyard started again. The wind picked up, hollowing through the trees replacing the chirping of the birds. 

“Take care.” Nancy said with a trembling voice, while her hand was holding tightly with Jonathan’s. 

Steve’s grip on his bat changed, firm and steady now, before twisting it a bit, readjusting it so he’d be more comfortable. Dustin’s hands fidgeted with the end of his jacket, patting his pockets checking once again that he wasn’t missing anything. 

“If we’re not here in an hour, check in with El, she’s with the others guarding Max, but she should be able to…” Dustin recalled for the hundredth time, going over the plan he had been yelling about in the car drive over here. 

“Yeah, one hour. Got it.” Jonathan nodded as he spoke, waving bye as you stepped in. 

You just pressed your lips as you heard him. 

If you only had an hour, you had to make it count. And it had to start now. 

You had never just walked into the upside down. You had always fallen into it, so you didn’t have time to actually feel the veil breaking as your skin found its way in, the viscosity of the red hue, and the dryness that could be felt immediately after that. Your eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of colour and light, as you became hypervigilant, looking up at the sky before the others found their way. 

Nothing. 

There was absolutely nothing there. 

A cloudless sunless grey sky welcomed you, with no thunder or lightning. 

If anything, that nothingness was just more unnerving. 

Every step they made echoed through, and made you look around, hoping to find something that would make you keep your hopes up. 

You agreed on walking to the graveyard, if there was nothing there, you’d find your way to the trailer park and go back. 

“Something’s weird.” Steve pointed out, as he looked around. 

“Not weird, decaying.” You added, nodding to a grey crumbled up vine. The hole in it seemed to get deeper and bigger by the second. 

“Quiet.” Robin said, as she looked up. “There’s no bats, no thunder either.” 

“You can still trip though.” You told her as you held her from stepping into a fallen tree branch. 

You walked, you weren’t really sure for how long, yet she was right, it was oddly beautiful now. A stuck in time version of Hawkins where nothing seemed to change, where everything looked as if it was straight out of an antique photograph you had found hidden in a cupboard. 

You could see the iron gate from the cemetery, the bars on it starting to fold down, as if they were wilting flowers of an old bouquet. You felt as you collectively held in your breath. 

It wasn’t long after that that you started hearing someone yelling unintelligible things. 

While you were slowly making your way in, Eddie lied there. 

He was right where you thought he’d be -unaware that you were near him- an empty space between gravestones, his body falling into the floor, exhausted from getting there, starving and malnourished. He had been talking nonsense for a while, he started whispering it into the heavens, until now, his voice was loud, and even if he didn’t intend to, panic found its way in it. 

“Just one more song? Please? I need to know you’re there. I’ll sing along again if you want!” He had been looking at the void in the sky for a long time, he wasn’t sure if it had been an hour or two, to be honest, it felt like he had been there for days. “C’mon baby, please? Just a bit more, a guitar solo, or just… your voice would be nice…” He started begging now, pleading with some force he didn’t quite believe in for something that would indicate you’re there, near. “For fuck sake! I know I’ll die here, at least you could play some music while I do so!” Themix of desperation and tiredness was now getting into him, he looked at his hands and realised how his rings looked bigger, then now danced and moved with more ease. “Or just… Maybe if you light one up?” 

At the same time, you started hearing his screams, and you started picking up the pace, running through the maze of granite carved stones, with different names and dates. 

Dustin was the first to start screaming his name, while you just focused on running near where the voice came from. 

You’d know it was him even if you hadn’t heard him in thirty years. 

Adrenaline came over your body, so you rushed until your legs stopped, all of a sudden once you saw him. 

He was there, his hand on his stomach, where blackened stains in his shirt layed wrinkled. 

He was there, his hair laid perfectly still in a careful knotted mess. 

He was there, his chest raised up and down as he breathed. 

He was there, and he was alive. 

“Moon…?” The nickname you had for him fell from your lips, your tone shaking as you still couldn’t believe it. 

He slowly stood up, a grin of discomfort from pain evident in his face. He looked at you, his eyes barely opening up. He was still sitting on the ground, you felt your lips curving upwards as relief invaded you, seeing him smiling at you in recognition. 

“Eddie?!” Dustin screamed as he ran up to him, falling to his knees as he hugged him, his head hitting his chest, Eddie’s arms slowly wrapped around his body. “I thought I… We lost you…”  His voice was muffled, still you could tell he had started crying. 

“I thought I lost you too.” Eddie’s voice trembled as he looked directly at you. His eyes crystalised once he saw the first tear jump from your eyes. 

You felt Robin’s hand on your shoulder, a thigh squeeze letting you know it was real. He was okay, and you were getting him back. 

She nodded, letting you know it was okay if you wanted to interrupt.

You walked slowly to him, the back of your hand wiping away your tears. You let your body hit the floor, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. 

“Hi” You whispered as soon as you were a breath away from him. 

“Hi” He gleamed back as soon as he got you close. 

“You’re okay?” You asked, as your voice quivered, desperate to hear him again, talking directly to you. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He nodded as a trembling hand found the back of your neck. 

Dustin smiled before stepping back, leaving you both alone for a moment, a much needed moment. 

You gave in, melting into his arms. You were both crying quietly now, his hands stroking your hair politely, afraid that you were nothing but a mirage, while yours held on thigh to him, scared that you would cause him pain from needing that close. 

“You scared me to death.” You half joked as you chuckled through the crying. 

“I’m the one dying.” He added on to the joke, his lips finally kissing your temple, drinking your perfume in as he did so. 

“Shut it.” You shake your head as you slowly pull back, your hand now cupping his cheek, as your thumb slowly graces the high points of his cheekbone. “I’m getting you home.” 

You thought about kissing him, your lips touching his, melting completely under his touch. But once he leaned in to do so you saw how blood stained his shirt again, your eyes darted from his as you looked down, the red growing wider by the second. 

Fear invaded your body again, a sense of urgency creeping over both of you. 

“Yeah, we should really go” He grunted through gritted teeth. 

-

It had been a blur. 

Nancy grabbed your car keys from your hand, as you helped Eddie inside the car, sitting on the back with him. Cradling him as you talked to him, trying to keep him calm even if you were panicking deep inside. 

Steve arrived at his house before you, opening the door wide open, Robin helping you bring Eddie in. 

They were downstairs now, phoning Hopper, and El and finally Wayne. 

Steve’s bedroom guest had a big window where sun creeped in, a soft breeze helping him cool off as cold sweat dripped from his forehead. You helped him lay on the soft mattress sitting next to him carefully. 

You had enough supplies hidden under the bed, you knew you could stitch him up enough so he would stop hurting, you had enough experience patching people up. 

“Can you take your shirt off?” You asked him with a slight raise of your eyebrows. 

“You already want me naked?” He joked. He tended to do that when he got nervous. You tilted your head as you bent over so you could take the little box full of supplies out of underneath the bed. He chuckled once he saw the box in your hands. He started trying to take his jacket off, with a grunt in his face he shook his head. “I might need help.” He admitted, a grunt on the back of his throat. 

“Thought so.” You muttered under your breath. 

You scootched over to him, your trembling hands becoming steadier as they found the neck of his jacket, pulling it down slowly. At first, Eddie moved, tried to help. Once he felt your hands against his arms however, he stood still, his eyes not letting go of you, and the way your hands moved with such carefulness and tenderness. 

The tips of your fingers were now in between his skin and his shirt, soaked in dirt and blood. 

You looked at him before pulling it up, he nodded, his eyelids halved opened, a cautious smile in his lips. He sucked to his teeth as his skin separated from the stiff cloth, your fingers brushed his abdomen with care, avoiding to trace his skin as soon as you saw the grin of discomfort he had on his lips. His arms ached once they were up in the air, the shirt falling off of them slowly. 

“It looks worse than I thought.” Eddie grunted as he finally looked down. You guided his torso against the cushions that were prepped up, his hand lingered to your arms, the tip of his fingers burrowing into your skin. 

“I’ll clean it up, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” You tried to play it off, a kind smile curved your lips upwards, a little gesture he imitated. 

“You must really like me” He started in a soft whisper. “You keep lying trying to make it all better.” 

You laughed it off, a short chuckle coming out of him. You started soaking the cotton swab with alcohol, the odor of it filling the small gap between the both of you. 

“You know I do.” He smiled in a soft manner, his teeth showing as he tilted his head. “Ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

You smiled kindly before starting to clean his wounds. They were as if someone ripped and crumpled a paper sheet. They weren’t deep, just repetitive bite and claw marks over the same spot. The big one was on his lower abdomen, another one near his collarbone, a gash on his neck. His arms were full of scratches and deep cuts you had to keep clean. 

He didn’t complain. He just let you do whatever you thought you had to, deep down he knew that if he let you take care of him, you’d feel better. And if he was being honest with himself, he enjoyed you dotting and caring for him, you knew it was because he won’t trust anyone else but you. 

“You know you could just wait for Hopper to come right? He’ll probably make me go to a hospital or something.” He whispered in an attempt to get you to look back at him, his eyes not leaving yours. 

“I know, I just…” 

“I’m okay.” He started, reassuring you, trying to get you to stop overcleaning the same spot on his chest. “Hey.” You kept overdoing it, a blank look on your face. “Darling, please…” He begged now, the way his lips said the nickname snapping you out of it. 

“I thought you were dead.” You crumbled down, nervous tears threatening to jump out, your lips quivering as you started to talk. “I thought you were gone, Moon…” 

“I’m not.” He reached out, his hand finally holding yours. “You really think it’s going to be that easy? You’re not getting rid of me.” 

“I buried you… Well there was nothing in there but… I just.”

“I know, I heard you and Wayne talking.” He confessed, his eyes changing, now they were full of melancholy, and a hint of guilt. “I’m sorry by the way…” 

“What the fuck are you on?” The words fell right out of your lips, tilting your head as your tone went higher. 

“I just… I heard you crying. Begging and all that. I’m sorry I almost died and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything I wanted to, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you before, I’m sorry I left I-” You interrupted him, as soon as you heard the big word. Your hand tightening around his. 

“You do?” 

“I do what?” He tried to brush it off, the confession had fallen out of his mouth without him thinking too much about it. 

“Love me?” You were embarrassed by how hopeful you sound. His free hand travelled to your cheek, slowly stroking it as he looked deeply into your eyes, falling deeply into them. 

You gave in, your head now resting in the palm of his hand, he slowly pulled you closer to him. Finally closing the distance between the both of you, slowly, then all at once. His lips met yours, a smile appearing on both of them. It was a careful kiss, a needy and soft kiss. It said more things than you both could ever tell eachother. His lips begged for yours to never leave him again, to let him stay by your side. Yours were yelling for him to be patient, and let you love him in a quiet and slow manner. 

You pulled away slowly, your forehead touching his. 

You both knew each other understood. Still, he whispered low enough for you to barely hear him, right before you were interrupted by the door opening. “Of course I do.” 

“Happy you’re back kid.” Hopper’s voice interrupted the both of you, moving your heads so you could look at him. “I’m sorry but you’ll have to answer a couple of questions, then go to the hospital”

“Stay?” Eddie asked, a promise in his voice. 

“Yes. For as long as you let me.” 

He kissed the tip of your nose, before talking again. 

“Forever then.”

[stxrr-strxckk]

Feeling Cold?

Flufftober day 1-Carmen Berzatto x fem! reader

Listen to: Pretty Boy; The Neighborhood

Warnings: None!

A/N:Decided to start off my flufftober with my very own name twin<3 Carmy always holds a special place in my heart!

Summer was finally over, and no one was happier about that than Carmen Berzatto. Sure, the warm weather was nice, but there was something about fall in Chicago that was practically addicting, and after living in New York for so long he was more than happy to welcome the nostalgia of the season. Even if it meant bundling up in sweaters, scarves, and more layers than he could count.

Carmy couldn't help but smile as the fall air welcomed him home, walking down the steps of his shitty apartment. He had a thick wool coat draped over his basic white t-shirt and jeans, which really was a godsend in the 30 degree weather. He still felt the sting of the wind on his hands and face, and decided a hot cup of coffee would do him some good.

He walked into a small cafe a few blocks from the restaurant, figuring it wouldn't add too much time to his commute. He ordered and took a seat, burying his face in his phone as he waited for his name to be called.

"Carmen?"

He looked up, assuming his coffee was ready. Instead, he saw you. You had on an apron with the cafe's logo on it, and held his coffee in your hands. His eyes widened. He didn't know you worked here. If he did, then he probably wouldn't've come here.

"Fuck, chef?" you recognized him. "I didn't realize you went here-" you said, dazed.

"Yeah, uh, I don't- actually." he sniffed, avoiding eye contact. "I just- I needed some coffee, figured I'd try this place out. I didn't know you uh," he gestured to your apron. "worked here."

"Yeah, no, I do." you replied, an awkward silence falling over you too. Carmy hated running into his coworkers outside of work, always had. He felt so... Naked when it happened. Like the version of him at work was gone, and he was this vulnerable creature with no defenses. This must have been awkward for you too, he noted.

"Hey, uh, my shifts almost over, and my phone died, so I don't know how to get to the restaurant for open. Could I, maybe walk with you?" You felt weird just asking that. This was your boss. The guy who hired you a few months ago, and barely talked to you except for team meetings or if he needed you to do something. But you were desperate. (Plus, you wanted to get to know the guy better. He was so mysterious, something about it drew you in.)

Carmy was surprised by how forward you were. "Yeah, sure, that's- that's fine." He cringed at his stutter. In other circumstances, he would've most certainly said no. Ordered you an uber, written down directions, but today was... Different. And plus, it was you. Not Richie, or Fak, or Marcus. He'd never admit it, but he had a bit of a soft spot for you. So naive, the bright eyed and bushy tailed girl who was so eager to get a job at the Beef. He didn't know why, it was a second rate joint now that Michael was dead.

"Really?" Your eyes brightened, and Carmy swore he felt his cheeks flush. "Perfect, my shift ends in 5. Can you hang on a minute while I get changed?" He nodded, sitting back down as you hurried through the last few minutes of your shift and ran to the back.

He got up when he finally saw you step out from behind the counter. "Ready to go?" he asked, making note of your outfit. Graphic tee and baggy jeans. No jacket.

"Um," you patted your pockets, making sure you had your keys and wallet. "yup! Let's go, I'm not gonna be late today." As you strode out the door, Carmy couldn't help but chuckle. He followed after a second, coat bundled up tight against the wind.

"So, uh," Carmy said, breaking the silence a few minutes into your walk. "how long you been working at that cafe?"

"Pretty much my whole life," you shrugged. "I know the owners, they gave me the job in high school. It helped me pay for culinary school. I kept if even after I graduated, the job market was pretty slow anyways."

"So what made you wanna work at the beef, then?"

"Well, I don't see myself making overpriced lattes my whole life." you laughed, kicking a pebble down the street. "I wanna work in a real kitchen. And I always liked the beef, me 'n my friends used to get sandwiches there after school sometimes. What 'bout you, Carm?"

"Oh, uh, well my brother- he, he owned the place. But, he died. Killed himself a few months ago. Left me the place in his will."

"Oh." you trailed off. That got dark fast. "I'm sorry that happened."

Shit. He just ruined the conversation. "Yeah, uh, thanks." he trailed off again, not knowing what to say next. You didn't either, and suddenly the cold became a lot more noticeable. You shivered, teeth chattering as you tried to warm yourself up by rubbing your arms.

"You cold?" Carmy asked.

"No, I'm fine." you tried to shrug him off, but it took a whole lot of willpower not to reply with something snarky.

"You sure? 'Cus you look like you're fuckin' freezing."

"No really, I'm okay!" This was embarrassing. You totally forgot your coat, but there's no way you'd ask for Carmy's. That felt like overstepping.

Carmy sighed. You were stubborn, a lot like him. Clearly, you were cold. Who wouldn't be in 30 degrees? Quickly, he unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it off.

"What are you-" You started, but stopped when he draped his coat over your body, the heat of the fabric instantly melting all the cold away.

"There. Now you'll stop with all that fuckin' chattering." Carmy laughed, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

"Thanks."

The rest of the walk was filled with lively conversation, and once you arrived at the beef you hated to admit you were disappointed. Carmen held the door for you, glad the kitchen had working heaters as he stepped inside.

"Yo, cuz! What took so damn long?" Richie poked his head around a corner.

"None of your damn business Richie." he replied, throwing his now empty coffee away.

"Hey, Carm! Why's new girl wearing your coat?" Fak yelled, and all eyes turned to you. You felt heat creeping into your cheeks, and it wasn't just because of how warm it was in there.

"And Fak's hear too. Great." Carmy groaned. "Hey, here's an idea! Why don't we all get to fucking work instead of asking stupid ass questions!" He clapped his hands twice, trying to hurry everyone up. "Chop chop people, we open in 15!"

Just like that, the kitchen was alive. Everyone doing their job, but you couldn't help but look up at Carmen every few minutes. And you swear you caught him looking back at you. You hoped he'd come into the cafe more often. Maybe these morning walks would become part of your new routine.

A/N: Day 1 done! This isn't proofread chat, my bad. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Please like, reblog, comment, and request! XX, Starr!

Wordcount:1248

[venomwrites]

Something about the dictator cape because her striding around in it like that is so fucking hot?

Vi’s world comes back in blues. 

Powder’s cyan splatters across buildings. It stains people’s hair and hands and billows into the sky through vents. It’s bright and loud and so hard to look at sometime. When Vi sees it all she hears is a scream. Like if Powder can just scream loud enough it will bring back their dad, Isha and Milo and all the others. Somewhere in that scream is Silco’s black-gold eye winks back. Nowhere in it is Caitlyn’s mom. 

Ekko’s turquoise cuts in the gaps. The tree is wilting and he’s nowhere to be found, but the Firelights flash out of her eyes sometimes. Still fighting, still holding onto what he was taught. It’s the closest echo of home Vi can find. When Powder vanishes again that’s where she shows up. They let her in with only a few questions asked. Vi pretends they don’t sting. Then she falls fast first into the softest cot she’s ever felt and sleeps for two days straight. 

Caitlyn wraps herself in midnight blue and blankets Vi’s world with it. Every time she goes outside she sees it hovering. Above the splatters and the dyed hair and all the chaos. For a moment Vi thought it was the blue of purpose, of belonging. But now things are right again. And it’s just the same blue that’s made her ache since she was a kid. Nothing good comes from that midnight shade. It’s just a bigger set of bars on a bigger cell that Vi calls home. 

Before when Caitlyn was pissed, Vi could content herself with ghosts. 

Now she won’t leave her the fuck alone. 

Every time she surfaces there’s someone there. An Enforcer who looks too long. A gutter rat whose dressed too well. She knows she’s been watched. They are running out of ways in and out. None of them come near the entrances and exits, but the speed with which they turn away is making people uncomfortable. 

“They cannot know about this place,” Chireen says.

“She’s already been here,” Vi points out. He gives her a hard look, “alright, alright. I’ll go talk to them.” 

She finds the nearest pretend gutter rat who immediately does the worst impression of a drunkard Vi has ever seen. Of course she’s something of an expert on the subject, but he’s particularly awful. Without any pretense she hauls him up and holds him against the wall. He is immediately in a defensive position.

“I need to see her,” she says. He nods and pulls out a pair of cuffs, “that’s a fucking joke right?”

“Protocol, I could—“

“Forget it,” she doesn’t have time for this Enforcer bullshit. She shoves her wrists out, “take me in.” 

There’s no color in Stillwater. 

Vi should have figured this would be how things play out. Naturally if there was a way to make Vi’s life suck more, Caitlyn was going to find it and make a protocol about it. Vi doesn’t even know why she’s surprised. At least this time she winds up in one of the interrogation cells that has a little sunlight and some stale but fresher than below air. There’s even a proper toilet and a chair and a cot. She expects to be there for a few hours since Caitlyn is so incredibly busy these days. But Vi’s barely made herself comfortable on the cot when commotion starts. 

She’s hopeful for a moment that it’s a riot. 

But it’s just Caitlyn. 

“You wanted to see me?” Caitlyn says and if Vi was wondering if she was still mad, she’s not anymore. 

When she first met Caitlyn in her blue uniform, Vi tagged her for a low level Enforcer. Sure the gun she was carrying spoke of wealth, but it wasn’t Enforcer wealth. That was family money. And even then given her willingness to break the law and run around the Undercity, Vi figured it couldn’t be that much. Not until she went to her house anyway. 

They’ve come a far cry from that. 

Caitlyn wears her wealth and influence now like she wears the cloak. She’s tall in a way that has nothing to do with her actual height. Her mouth is in a tight disapproving line and her blue eyes glare down at Vi. But it’s the cape that really sells it. It folds around her form like a barrier cutting her off from the rest of the world. She’s sure as shit the only Enforcer Vi sees wearing a cape. Even her hair is down which only serves to further make her look different. 

“You look like a statue I’d spit on,” Vi remarks. 

“What do you want?” Caitlyn repeats, her voice tighter this time. 

Yeah she’s really pissed. 

“Stop following me.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t do that,” Caitlyn says, “you’re a prime target.”

“I can take care of myself,” Vi retorts. Caitlyn just stares her down, “I’m going to lose my home.”

“Then you can come back to Piltover.”

“I’d rather stay here,” Vi shoots back. 

“As you wish,” Caitlyn says and turns on her heel. 

She’s dead serious, Vi realizes. Of course she is, Caitlyn always gets what she wants. And she gets pissed off when she doesn’t. Vi is learning that really quickly. 

“Wait!” She grinds out. Caitlyn stops, “how long are you going to punish me?” Vi demands, “I told you I was trying to save my dad.”

“With your sister!” Caitlyn spits, turning so fast the cape billows, “you forgot to mention that part.”

“Sorry I didn’t have time to go over every little detail with your goons about to invade!” 

“That is not a little detail!” Caitlyn counters. Vi knows she’s right. Caitlyn balls her fist, takes a breath and looks at her, “now you’re a target. The Noxians know how to navigate the Undercity. You cannot be left unguarded.” 

“So you just want me guarded but you don’t want to see me?” Vi demands.

“Exactly.” 

“Who the fuck put you in charge?” Vi demands. Caitlyn stiffens, “oh wait--“

“I suggest you do not finish that sentence,” Caitlyn says. 

“I suggest you stop putting guards around me. I’d rather take my chances with Ambessa. At least she looked me in the eye when she tried to gut me.” 

Caitlyn is suddenly too close and there’s a blue that Vi forgot.

She can never pin down the blue of Caitlyn’s eyes. It shifts from midnight to teal to cyan. Sometimes Vi thinks they are blue-grey, shades darker than her own. But they are always impossible to look away from. Sometimes its annoying. Right now it’s downright infuriating. But Vi’s already damned so she’s definitely not backing down from this one. Caitlyn stares at her long and hard, her eyes bearing down. Then she presses her lips tightly again and straightens up. 

“Guards or Piltover, your choice.”

“Neither!”

“Guards it is,” she says. 

“You and that stupid cape can’t ignore me forever!” Vi shouts after her.

But Caitlyn’s the General wrapped in the night sky, and as much as it pains her to admit it, Vi knows she probably can. 

&&&&

The guards start turning up drunk. 

They always stagger back, bottle in hand and eyes clouded with merriment. They sleep it off and wake with apologies and explanations. Neither interest Caitlyn. She knows this is Vi sending a message, even if they say sometimes it was a red head and sometimes her hair was black. Sometimes it’s blue. Those times infuriate Caitlyn the most. She’s knows Vi has been locked up for longer than she’s been free. She knows this is excessively reckless but also understandable. 

She also doesn’t care. 

At best Vi is going to get herself killed. Caitlyn doesn’t want to think about what the worst case scenario looks like. It’s so easy to picture Vi in that green tank. Caitlyn grinds her teeth. She will not let that happen. She’s a Kiramman for Gods sakes. Vi seems to be the only one who keeps her from getting her way. She’s not going to let Ambessa also have that distinction. 

“General? They’re back.”

“They?”

This time Vi and her guard come in arm in arm. Because this time Caitlyn sent Loris. Vi’s taken care to send her guards back very drunk but also safe. But she never goes inside. Loris though keeps his arm around her shoulders like they are old friends. Caitlyn straightens up as they come fully into the garrison. Vi glances around but Loris keeps a fist of her jacket as he steers them in. 

“Well look who it is, General sneers a lot and her stupid cape,” Vi slurs.

“Bring her—“

Loris heaves Vi forward and Caitlyn has no choice but to catch her. It’s almost automatic to sling one of Vi’s arms over her shoulder. Vi grips her ‘stupid’ cape and looks up at her, blowing a piece of red hair up in a way that would be almost difficult to ignore. If her breath didn’t smell like something that makes Caitlyn’s eyes water. She’s very, very drunk. 

“I gotta go back.”

“That is not an option tonight,” Caitlyn says. 

“You kidnapping me? Again?” Vi frowns, “lawbreaker.” 

Caitlyn ignores her and steers them up the steps and through the private entrance she rarely uses. Caitlyn’s a fool in many ways, but she’s not enough of a fool to trust all the Enforcers. There are definitely moles. Which is one of the reasons she implemented the protocols. If Vi comes up here she’s supposed to be in cuffs. The guards that watch her are ones Caitlyn actually trusts. And despite all of that Vi manages to saunter in without a second thought. 

“This is nice, this yours?” Vi says looking around the office. Some schematic draws her eye and she sets off, “what’s—“

“Would you sit down?” Caitlyn snaps, batting her hand away before she can pull the string pinned there. 

“Who are you tracking?” She asks and glances up at Jinx’s headshot. She snorts, “still?”

“Yes—“ there’s a sound of ripping, “Vi!” 

Vi fixes her with that hard grey stare and rips again. There are moments when longing for her overtakes Caitlyn’s senses. And then there are these moments when she never wants to lay eyes on her again. She has half a mind to throw Vi out and make her stagger back to the Undercity. But from the way Vi is looking at her, that’s what she wants. And Caitlyn would rather hang herself with her cape than give her that as she shreds months of work. 

“I’ll see myself out.”

“You will not!” Caitlyn storms over, “sit down.”

“Or what? You’ll make me?”

“Easily.” 

Caitlyn’s never been much of a brawler but Ambessa’s changed that. Vi gives her a hard, silent look. Then she drops the pages into the fire and walks over to the couch. Caitlyn watches the pages burn. The search for Jinx has been half hearted at best these past few months. There are other things to be concerned with. Ambessa, Jayce, the golden light Mel seems to conjure whenever she’s angry. Even though every flash of blue hair makes her want to redirect people, at the moment Jinx isn’t the priority for anyone else. 

“Do you know where she is?”

“Wouldn’t tell you if I did,” Vi says, her tone cutting deeper than Caitlyn wishes it did.

“After everything, you’re just going to walk away?” Caitlyn turns, “how?” 

It still hurts that Vi can just walk away. 

Caitlyn’s been here before. Torn between never letting Vi out of her sight and never setting eyes on her again. She’s not proud of how desperately she listened to the wind those first few nights. Just waiting for Vi to climb up her balcony and tell her off. Tell her she misunderstood something. Make it all make sense in that terrible, infuriating, brilliant way of hers. But Vi never came. One day Ambessa locked the window, posted a guard and that was the end of it. 

“You look like her,” Vi says. 

Caitlyn feels like she’s been slapped. 

“Sometimes she’s still that kid, too smart for her own good,” she throws an arm over her eyes, “still standing in that room with those things in her hand—.”

The comparison stings, the way only a truthful one can. Again. How many ways has she played it over in her head. All she had to do was pull the trigger. She had the shot. So many shots, the weight of that magazine was impossible. She could have emptied every one into Jinx’s chest. Jinx was evil back then, she deserved it back then. If she had taken the shot her mother would be alive. Piltover, the Undercity, they would all be different. Instead she hesitates and Jinx knocks her out and the next thing she knows her mother is dying a city away. 

“And yet you walk away,” she says.

“Leaders don’t get to be selfish,” she says.

Vi is drunkenly sprawled out on her couch, she doesn’t look like she’s leading much of anything. Caitlyn doubts those are her words. 

“You don’t know the first thing about leadership,” she says.

“No, but my dad did,” Vi says. 

Of course it would be her father’s words. The father Caitlyn led Ambessa right to. No-one knew they were down there, they had been manipulated into a trap. Or she had. Caitlyn doesn’t want to think too hard on it. If she does, she starts to consider that maybe Jinx didn’t know her mother was a Counselor. Didn’t know who she was aiming that rocket towards. And that makes it very hard to swallow anything, even her own spit. Behind her she hears Vi stretch out on the leather, perhaps she’s too drunk to reason this either. 

She pulls out a throw blanket she keeps for nights in the office and drags it over Vi. One of Vi’s hands catches her fingers. 

“Leave,” she says. Caitlyn frowns, “wherever you are, leave,” she drops he hand, “I hate it when you look like her.” 

&&&&

When Vi opens her eyes she realizes it wasn’t a dream. 

She’s in Caitlyn’s fancy office. She very clearly tore down some map she worked hard on. And she’s under a very fancy blanket that might be the warmest, softest thing she’s ever felt. Her mouth feels like sandpaper though and her head is definitely trying to crack open with every pulse of her heart. She shoves the heels of her hands into her eyes. Loris is the best and the worst drinking buddy a girl could ask for. 

“You’re awake,” Caitlyn says, stepping fully into the room carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of sandwiches.

“Yeah,” Vi says, pushing herself up.

Caitlyn presses her lips together and sets the tray down. She’s wearing her usual Enforcer gear, her hair is tucked into its usual bun. She’s still imposing but she doesn’t look comical anymore. It makes it easier and harder to sit next to her and take the mug she hands her. 

“It’s tea,” Caitlyn says, “I haven’t poisoned it.”

“I didn’t think you had,” Vi says quickly, “did I—“ she motions to the wall. Caitlyn glares, “sorry.”

“Was that your intention in coming here?” She asks. 

“Huh? No!” Vi is surprised that it kind of hurts to have Caitlyn look at her with such mistrust, “I wasn’t ‘intending’ to come here at all.” 

“Right,” Caitlyn says shortly pushes herself up, “you need to stop getting your guards drunk.”

“You need to stop sending them,” Vi retorts. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Caitlyn tells her, busying herself with some of the endless papers strewn about, “not until we defeat the threat.”

“Powder isn’t a threat,” she says automatically. Caitlyns’ eyes narrow. 

“I was talking about Ambessa,” she says, “Jinx isn’t a threat to you, she is a threat to Piltover.”

The name makes Vi think of that stupid party with those stupid chairs. When she told her she could have Powder back. When she chose to be Jinx after Caitlyn didn’t shoot her. She hates the thoughts of that room. But she refuses to linger in them. 

“She goes by Powder now.”

“Maybe to you!” Caitlyn says and the indignant anger is back, “to the rest of us she’s Jinx.”

“And what are you to them?” Vi demands before she can stop herself. Caitlyn stiffens and sucks in a breath. But if Vi’s going to stick her foot in her mouth, she’s going to get it all the way up there, “the people you swore to protect are afraid of you.”

“I know that!” Caitlyn argues, wrapping her arms around herself, “I hate it—“

“So change it!” 

“I don’t know how!”

Vi glares at her and walks over to the wardrobe, yanking it open and ripping down that stupid fucking cloak. Caitlyn watches her as she strides over to her and shoves the cloak in her face. 

“Start by burning this stupid thing and try being a fucking human being again!” she spits.

Caitlyn looks outraged but Vi doesn’t care. There’s so much shit going on but Caitlyn’s still hunting Powder. Still enacting martial law. Still traipsing around cloaked in Ambessa’s authority and her mother’s money. 

“I am,” Caitlyn says and Vi can’t help but roll her eyes. 

“Why am I wasting my breath? Of course you are,” she says, “General.” 

Caitlyn stares furiously at her in silence for a moment. 

“You don’t know me,” Caitlyn says. 

“And whose fault is that?” Vi throws up her hands,” you know what? Do what you want, I’m out.” 

She leaves before Caitlyn can say anything.

&&&&

 Martial law lifts the next day.

It’s three days before Vi wakes from her bender to find Loris back.

She lets him stay.

&&&&

She’s thumbing through her notecards for the morning speech, trying to find the right words.

“You’re sounding almost human again, Cupcake.”

Her fingertips tighten on the cards but she doesn’t dare turn around. It’s been a month since she saw her last. Vi eases herself into the room and approaches. Caitlyn finally lets herself appraise her. She’s wary but she’s here. The anger has a cautious edge. Her hair is long enough now to touch her shoulders on the side she grows out. The other side has been freshly shaved. She smells less like a bottle and more like a person. 

“That almost sounds like a compliment.”

Vi shrugs and walks over to the wall. Caitlyn feels the start of her own panic and shoves it aside. She doesn’t want Vi to see, she wants her stay. But she’ll see eventually and Caitlyn knows she’ll be more upset about the betrayal than the new map trying to track her sister. She lets out a deep breath. Caitlyn looks down at her notes. If they start to fight she’ll never have time to properly prepare. 

“What are you going to do with her?” 

The genuineness of the question makes Caitlyn pause. She would love to see Jinx dead. She deserves to see it properly. Finally. She’s seen Jinx almost dead. Seen her sprawled out completely still. And every time she does she sees Vi curled over her. She feels Vi shove her away to grab Jinx. The part of her that screams for blood is not one that cares about justice. That part of her screams in a child’s voice that she is a Kiramman. What she wants is the only thing that matters. She wishes it wasn’t so loud. She wishes she didn’t give in every time she sees the order to shoot her on sight.  

“I don’t know,” Caitlyn says, “why?”

Vi leans forward and presses her forehead to the wall. 

“She’s getting bad again.” 

Caitlyn tries not to think about the room, the rocket, her mother. She forces herself to be grounded in the present. Vi still has her forehead against the wall. One of her hands curls into a fist. There are so many scars on her hands. She presses her knuckles into the wall. Caitlyn expects her to put her fist through it. Something sets in Vi’s shoulders and she turns around. Caitlyn’s aware of a paper fluttering to the ground but she just focuses on Vi’s clear eyes. 

“I want the same protections on her,” she says, “taken alive, that nice cell, only I get to see her.”

“You’e giving her up?” Caitlyn can barely hear her. 

“I don’t know where she is,” Vi says, “she keeps appearing and doing stupid shit. She won’t let me near her,” her fists ball by her sides, “she keeps trying to get shot. Your guys, suck by the way, but she’s not thinking.”

Caitlyn swallows against the tightness in her throat. Vi is asking her to protect Jinx. It’s a barbed compromise, one she never expected to be offered. Self loathing radiates off Vi. She’s desperate. Like she was back in that cell when she saw the drawing. Just like that she struggles for a mask of indifference. But it’s a poor one now. Caitlyn can see right through it. She commands Caitlyn’s attention and stares her down. 

“If you do it I’ll stay here with you.” 

The nausea steals her breath away. Something lights in Vi’s eyes and she steps forward. She’s offering what Caitlyn wants and all Caitlyn can think is if she vomits on her desk there’s going to be so much paperwork to redo. She clings to that thought as Vi takes another step forward. 

“I’ll say here and I’ll be an Enforcer again.”

“Stop!” Caitlyn tastes bile. Vi’s eyes widen and Caitlyn knows she’s thinking this is about Jinx. Maybe it is, maybe some part of it is. But all Caitlyn can think is that Vi would do anything she asked in that moment. And Vi believes it would work, “Just—“ Caitlyn scrambles for the order, for her seal. She can barely see as she scrawls out what Vi wants and seals it, “get out,” she says. 

“Huh?” Vi’s features twist.

“This is the order for her protection. Give it to the commander and just—“ her stomach rolls, “just get out.”

Vi’s lip curls but she takes the order. Caitlyn counts her breath until she hears the door close. Then she flies over to the bathroom and looses whatever she’s eaten that day. 

&&&&

Turns out, not everything’s blue. 

That’s all Vi thinks as she holds back Caitlyn’s hair while she vomits. She was fine five minutes ago and then she went pale and now she’s tossing her cookies. Vi keeps her hair back as she finishes, her shoulders shaking. She stiffens when she seems to realize she’s not alone. 

“Get it all out, Cupcake,” Vi says, trying for levity. 

“You thought I would take you for her,” Caitlyn says, finally looking up at her, “after everything—“

“Hey—“

“Do you really think so little of me?” 

Caitlyn appraises her as sharply as anyone can in that position and Vi doesn’t know what to say. Caitlyn interprets her silence as the complete answer, not the conflict. She moves away, straightening up and tugging her jacket back to perfection. Vi gets up but it’s not like it makes a ton of difference. Caitlyn rinses her mouth and pulls back her hair. She meets Vi’s eyes in the mirror, looking more collected than anyone whose been vomiting has a right to. 

“I don’t want you here,” she lies, her eyes narrowing at Vi’s scoff, “you don’t trust me to honor the order.”

“It’s not that simple,” Vi argues, unable to look away from Caitlyn’s gaze as her eyes harden, “Cait we gassed the Undercity. You were shipping people in trains off to Stillwater—“ she can see Caitlyn throwing up every wall until her eyes are flat, “yeah,” the truth tastes barbed, “you’re right, I don’t trust you to honor this.”

Caitlyn breaks their eye contact and leaves the bathroom without a word. So much blue covers her world, all of it is unyielding. Jinx think’s she’s fine and won’t let Vi within ten feet of her. Won’t let her touch her for anything. Caitlyn will watch her from someone else’s eyes and agree to shit she doesn’t want to, but she won’t let Vi be around. Vi knows the world kept spinning when she went away but she doesn’t get how she’s supposed to be around all these people who want her safe but don’t want her around. 

She forces herself out as Caitlyn sets down her pen and picks up her seal. She holds out the paper, though Vi is pretty sure she knows what it is. 

“Thanks,” she says, the words leaden in her mouth.

“I’ve kept my orders regarding you,” Caitlyn points out. 

Vi’s used to being short but she feels about ten inches tall. 

“Yeah,” she says finally. Caitlyn keeps staring her down. Like she’s waiting for something. Vi hopes it’s not an apology, she isn’t getting one, “still want me to—“

“Yes. Go.” 

&&&&

Caitlyn wears the cloak during her next speech. 

Vi is sober when she helps Loris back to the hideout.

&&&&

There is a lot of paperwork that comes with stripping someone of being an Enforcer. 

Caitlyn never got around to it. 

She couldn’t bring herself to put pen to paper and make things real. Then things got busy. It never seemed like it was ever going to be a problem, not considering how things occurred. At some point Maddie had filled out the forms and left them ‘just needs you seal’. She still didn’t. She just put them in the bottom of the pile and resolved to file them when she got around to it. 

It’s only when she comes back to Vi sitting in her office, rolling her badge across her knuckles, that she remembers where the papers even are. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says. 

“You know when I flashed this at the door, they just let me in,” Vi muses, “I was just going to take the win but then I scanned it,” her fingers close around the badge, “I’m still an Enforcer.”

“Yes,” Caitlyn says, there’s no point in lying about that, “I forgot to file the paperwork.”

Vi gives a purposeful look around her pristinely organized office. Caitlyn ignores it and walks over to the wardrobe, undoing the fastening and hanging up the cloak. Vi scoffs in the background. Caitlyn’s fingers tighten in the blue fabric. At the time she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Now she forgets why. It’s certainly not too late. 

“I will file it—“

“Remember when you said this doesn’t work if we don’t trust each other?” Vi says abruptly.

Back in the Undercity. Back with Vi bleeding out and throwing herself off of everything. Back when something made sense, even if Caitlyn was learning everything was a lie at the exact same time. But Vi was brilliant and brave and that made facing the impossible easier somehow. Now it’s just her and everything continues to be a lie, but there’s a coldness to it that makes her bones ache. 

“I think you were onto something,” she says. She walks over to the fire, pulls out the backup order and tosses it in. 

“I won’t rescind the order,” Caitlyn says. That should be the end of it. But Vi looks at her with her grey eyes and seems to cut through all her defenses, “but I don’t forgive her. I still want her to pay.” 

She expects Vi to explode but she just ducks her head and looks back at the fire.��

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you she was there,” Vi says, “I was just thinking about saving our dad.”

Caitlyn knows she has so much to apologize for. To so many people. Most of all to Vi. But she’s been trapped on the precipice while Vi just hurls herself off of it. Like it’s natural to apologize, dust yourself off and keep going. Caitlyn doesn’t know how Vi is so fearless. She always thought when she was able to see the real world, she would be as well. But she’s not. Her parents always showed her she could do anything, she deserved to do anything she wanted. Because she was a Kiramman. And yet it’s Vi whose brave and forgiving while she’s wondering how to be any of that. 

“I didn’t file the paperwork because I was hoping you would come back,” she says finally. 

“You can’t even look at me half the time,” Vi points out, something morose in her tone that guts Caitlyn. 

“It hurts,” Caitlyn admits finally, unable to complete the sentence. 

“Me too,” Vi says, her fingers curling against the mantle. 

She takes a deep breath and pushes herself away, moving towards the window. It’s hard for her to be there, it’s hard to watch her walk away. Caitlyn doesn’t know what possesses her to speak when they’ve only just managed to have something resembling a normal conversation. 

“I won’t wear the cape if you stay for morning drills.” 

Vi pauses and turns around. 

She doesn’t talk though so Caitlyn continues. 

“We fought well together.” 

“You mean when you saved my life and carried me off the battlefield?” Vi offers, but her hands are in her pockets and she steps forward. Away from the window, “Think you did most of the work there.”

“I usually do,” Caitlyn says. Vi scoffs, “it would be good to practice as—“

“A team?” Vi offers. Caitlyn nods. Vi considers her for a moment and then shrugs, “I could use a workout.”

Something in Caitlyn’s chest starts to flutter, even as she desperately tries to tamp it down. Vi walks over to the door. 

“Oh Loris is hungover, so go easy on him.” 

&&&&

General Kiramman and Enforcer Kiramman are blue. 

Caitlyn is red. 

Red like her sparring wraps, red like fire, red like a blush. Red like a memory. Red like blood. Red like the angry line that bisects her face from Ambessa’s blade. Vi finds her in front of the mirror, staring at her remaining eye. 

“I deserve this,” she says, like she’s trying to convince herself. 

“I’ve got those scars too,” Vi offers.

Caitlyn meets her eyes in the mirror, gasps and nearly topples over. Vi’s had her eye swollen shut enough to appreciate the loss of depth perception. Though she knows that’s not the only reason. She’s by her in a flash, steadying her quickly. Caitlyn tenses but doesn’t yank away. She just turns her head away. Caitlyn’s always looked pretty perfect, even running around the Undercity. Vi thinks the leg scar may have been her first one. This is a pretty spectacular second. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says quickly, “should you be out of bed?”

“I had to see,” Caitlyn says. Her eye scans across Vi’s face. Vi would look away but she doesn’t want to risk dropping her, “how long are your eyes going to glow?“

That makes her glance in the mirror. She doesn’t recognize the pink eyes that glow back at her. Not set in her own face anyway. The doctors said the glow should lessen as the drug works itself out of he system. Vi has no intention of becoming a shimmer addict. Even if the stuff saved her life. 

“A few days maybe,” she says, “docs say they might stay pink though. Is that—” Vi doesn’t know how to ask if that is something that’s going to rip them apart again. It’s not something she can change. 

Caitlyn motions vaguely at her missing eye. 

“I suppose both our eyes are different now,” she says, wincing when she tries to give a reassuring smile. 

“Let’s get you bandaged,” Vi tells her, “lean on me.” 

Caitlyn sits in front of her and lets Vi wind bandages over the cut. It will be a long road of healing but they are both alive. At the moment that’s the only fucking thing that matters. She tries to be gentle as she secures the bandage behind Caitlyn’s head. Caitlyn focuses on her with her remaining eye. The white threats through her hair but Vi can’t forget the red. 

“You’re pink,” Caitlyn muses. 

“Give it time, your scar will match,” Vi points out, “don’t try to smile,” she says when Caitlyn winces. There’s no shimmer Thank god, just those white tablets that take the edge off, “here.” 

Caitlyn takes them. Vi knows it’s darker in Cait’s canopy bed but it all seems the same as the shimmer heightens everything. She doesn’t know how any of this is going to play out. But some part of her and Caitlyn are painted with the same color for once. 

And somehow that’s all that matters.

[joelmillerlover123]

The Weight We Carry - Part One

Where The Grass Meets

Description : You meet two new strangers. Are they to be trusted?

Warnings/AN : F!Reader, mentions of illness and disability, descriptions of breakout day, mentions of death by starvation, post!outbreak, is the reader smart? Idk. 

Word count : almost 2k

Let me know if you like it!

  The grass crunches under your boots with each step. The only sounds you hear now are your own breathing and your feet hitting the ground. Your hair has grown long and you’ve started to detest it, but you can’t cut it. Not yet. You're reminded of why when the wind hits your face and you feel the bite of cold just beginning to sting your cheeks. 

  You remember winter before. Before all of this. Christmas trees. Presents. Baking with your sister.

  But none of that matters anymore. And now you need to find food. 

  Your sister got “sick” a while ago. Well, you don’t know if she’s sick or just simply exhausted. You are the oldest, you were always tougher, thicker skin, more maternal towards her. You took care of each other. But if you would want one of you to get sick, it would be her. 

  She wouldn’t be able to take care of both of you. Not with you incapacitated. 

  You guess that was your sick way of rationalizing what is happening. Why she can’t do anything for herself now.Because it’s your responsibility. It’s always been. 

  Breakout day, all those years ago, you and your sister were driving. You had just about gotten a mile from your house when the radio cut and gave the emergency announcement. You look over at Mary, your sister and see the color just about drain from her face. 

“What’s going on?” Mary looked around outside the car’s windows, frantically searching for something, anything out of the ordinary. 

“I don’t know,” You said with every ounce of calm you could muster. You turned the car around and headed back to the house. 

  Luckily, your dad was a true southern man and was an absolute hoarder of all things guns. Ammo, rifles, revolvers, pistols, even a few almost automatic weapons were fully at your disposal. So, you and your family had barricaded yourselves in your house. 

  You stayed like that for a couple months. Then, there wasn’t any more food. You still remember the look on your mom’s face when she realized she was dying of starvation. 

  You cried yourself to sleep every night for weeks after she died. You had begged your dad to go outside to find something. He just shook his head. Too scared of the government or the ‘rebels,’ as he called them, to actually go outside. 

  You counted down the days until he died, too. 

  Then it was just you and Mary. 

  She was only a year or so younger than you. Not much. When your dad died, you felt a giant weight lift off your shoulders. Now it’s time to do what needed to be done from the beginning; go outside. 

  That was almost twenty years ago. Gosh, twenty. You must be… what? Thirty-six or so, now? Hm. Weird how when you pictured thirty-six when you were younger it sure didn’t look like this. 

  You start making your way back to the little house you and Mary found a couple seasons ago. You’re both from the south, where there’s just about two seasons: hot and cold. Somehow, in all y’all’s walking, you made it somewhere with four whole seasons. Made it easier to track the years that passed. 

“Anything good?” Mary asks as the door creaks open, sitting on a chair and waiting patiently on your arrival. 

“Yeah,” You drop the rabbit from your trap on the table, “Dinner for a few days.” 

  Mary cracks a smile. 

“Thanks,” You can see the tears start forming in her eyes and before she can fully get too emotional you walk away from her, carrying the rabbit. 

  It wasn’t easy being sick. You could see that. You don’t know what happened or why it was happening but you didn’t care. She’s all you have. Of course you’re going to take care of her. And it really helps with how grateful she is. 

  You skinned and cleaned the rabbit, tossing the gross stuff off for the birds. You watch your hands meticulously work at the carcass, remembering what you’d watched your dad do all those years. He never taught you to do this. But you’re a great visual learner. 

  Dinner was silent that night. Mary blamed it on exhaustion. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask again, setting her down in her bed. 

“Yeah,” She nods and adjusts herself, “Just tired.” 

  You linger a bit longer, watching her carefully, looking for something that you can fix. 

“You do enough for me,” She rolls over, “Go to sleep.” 

  You reluctantly walk away and crawl into your own bed. You toss and turn for what feels like hours and then get up and go check on her again. 

  You do that for the rest of the night. 

  The sun rises with a slow creep up and over your window sill. You’ve been wide awake the entire night. You go in and check on Mary again and take a breath when you see her chest rising and falling. You get your favorite revolver and head out the front door, closing it quietly. 

  Luckily, with how smart you are and how scared your sister is, you haven’t used all of the ammo your dad left. But, you’ve used some. 

  Sometimes, when you do actually sleep, you dream about them. About the infected. About their lives before all of this. Who they were. Who they could’ve been. You wake up and shrug it off as sleep-induced psychosis, making stuff up. But that tiny, whimsical piece of you always says that it’s them communicating with you. That they’re always with you. And they aren’t angry. 

  You shake your head and focus. You’re trying to check your traps again. You set a new one yesterday but it doesn’t hurt to check them as often as possible. Especially with winter coming up. 

  Snap. 

  You spin around in the direction of the sound. Staying as silent as you can. The screech of an infected knocks your nervous system into fight or flight and luckily, you stay to fight. 

  You stay put, scanning the direction of the sound until suddenly, a gunshot rings through in the direction. 

  Now, your blood truly runs cold. 

  You’ve run into your fair share of people post-apocalypse. 9 times out of 10, they aren’t here to make friends. 

  Mary. 

  You don’t even care anymore if these people hear you. You take off running in the direction of your little house, praying no signs of life are visible from the outside. 

  You burst through the door to find an empty living room so you storm into Mary’s room and there she is, still fast asleep. 

  You breathe. Hard. Almost out of control. You feel your lungs start to move without you. You feel the room start to spin and your legs begin to fall from under you. 

  Mary. Mary could’ve died. Been killed. Or worse. Those people. They’re still out there. 

  Your lungs are still uncontrollably pumping for air and you hear your mouth gasping. 

  No. No. No. Not now. Not when there’s- there’s people. 

  Mary wakes up and looks at you, eyes foggy with sleep. She sees your pale face and wide eyes and faces you in the bed, using all her might to sit up. You see her mouth open and the worry on her face but her voice is a distant whisper. You can’t make out anything she’s saying. She’s not helping. 

  You throw up your hands to stop her and walk out of the room, feeling the tears start to spill. You need to breathe. 

  You use all of your manual will power and strength to slow your breathing. Your legs start feeling normal again and the room starts to slowly stop spinning. 

  You close your eyes and focus on one sense at a time. 

  Touch the table. 

  Smell the wood. 

  Hear the wind. 

  Taste the baking soda toothpaste from this morning. 

  See… you open your eyes… your makeshift kitchen. 

  Your breathing feels normal. And everything’s calmer now. 

  You walk into Mary’s room. 

“Sorry,” You say. 

“What was it this time?” She asks, sleep still coloring her features. 

  The people. 

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” You turn from her and turn back, “Please don’t try to go anywhere.” 

  She tries to protest but you’ve already left. 

  You make your way, much more quietly, back to where you were. 

  You find one of your traps and sure enough, these people are looking at it, assessing it. 

“Well,” The girl says, a little too loud, “Are we just gonna stare at it or are we gonna do something?” 

“I don’t know,” The man replies, hand on his hip as he eyes the trap, “It’s well set, so it could be old.” 

“Nuh-uh,” The girl points to the rope, a fresh, red stain on it where the rabbit was caught, “It’s been reset.” 

  The man huffs out of his nose and crosses his arms. 

“Well, if we keep going this way, we run the risk of running into whoever set this but if we go back…” He trails off. Clearly it’s a mutual understanding there’s no going back. 

“I say we just run the risk,” She girls shrugs, “Who's to say this person isn’t a kind hearted individual looking for friends?” She kind of laughs to herself and looks at him. 

  He hesitates and turns from her towards the direction of the house. 

“You stay near me,” He looks at her, and his tone dips, “Understand?” 

“Yes, Joel, yes,” She says with a sigh, “I get it.”

  What to do? You could just confront them. You have a gun. So do they. Hm. Think. Think. You could just let them keep walking. But they seem nice and clearly where they’re going is important. In a flash of impulsivity, maybe it was the adrenaline from running or the adrenaline from seeing a man for the first time in… who knows how long, you step out into their line of vision. You hold up a gun towards them as they freeze, the man stepping in front of the girl and holding up a gun towards you. 

“Look,” You say, breathing, “I’m not trying to hurt you but,” You trail off, mustering up your confidence, “You know, I don’t know y’all, don’t know what you could try.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t know you either,” The man says, his voice deepening and growing louder, trying to intimidate you.

“It’s my trap,” You say, lowering your gun slightly, “They’re all over this place and if you aren’t careful…” You don’t finish your sentence. 

  He doesn’t lower his gun and just kind of stares at you. 

“Y’all seem perfectly nice,” You interrupt the silence, “I, um, I have a house, just this way,” You point in the direction of your house sheepishly, lowering your gun completely, “And food.” 

  You see the girl’s ears perk up at the mention of food, her breathing slowing. 

  The man looks back at the girl and the girl nods, and he eventually lowers his gun, too. 

“I won’t hesitate to kill you,” He says gruffly, moving in your direction. 

  You smile, knowing you won’t hesitate to kill him either. 

“I have a sister,” You say, “She’s uh… at the house,” You figured they’d catch on when you would help her walk to and from. 

  The girl walks ahead of the man, closer to you and tells you her name. Ellie. And Joel.

[inoreuct]

Since it’s spooky season, may I request a demon Sanji offering Zoro some food?

i was supposed to post this for friday the 13th, but it got way more dramatic than i planned… thank you for the ask!

Y’know, when Sanji became a demon, he hadn’t expected to have to deal with moss infestations. 

He is aware that that sounds rather ridiculous and makes little to no sense. The long and short of it is, he got himself cursed. Dumb, yes, he’s aware of that too, but how was he supposed to have known that the rare herb garden he’d stepped into was guarded by a territorial (and rather unhinged, in his humble opinion) occultist?

But as far as curses go, this one really isn’t so bad. Sanji had just sort of… accepted it, after a while, and it certainly hadn’t hurt that the whole becoming a demon gig came with its own massive underworld castle filled with invisible servants. He shudders, peering into a mirror and brushing an invisible speck of dust from his horns. He could have been turned into a goat, or something. How the hell would he cook if he was a goat?

Back to the topic at hand, he has a visitor. A human, of all things! Wandering about the underworld! Sanji’s scrying bowl had offered him a view of short green hair and three swords hanging from a belt, and honestly? He doesn’t know what to make of it, and now the man is hovering in his entryway, poking at a 6th century vase that Sanji is fairly sure holds some Roman emperor’s dead body. He checks his reflection one last time, sucking at his teeth before he phases into shadow, hovering just outside the edges of the foyer. The flames of the candelabra flicker in an invisible wind and the man whip his head around, looking for a threat that isn’t there— 

And Sanji coalesces right behind him. “Hello, little huma— Ack!” A sword swings for his neck in the space of a breath and he leans back on instinct, not putting much effort into it—

The tip nicks his throat and draws blood.

Sanji’s eyes go wide. Oh, this just got interesting.

Regular blades can’t hurt him. Can’t even touch him; they pass right through his form like he’s made of liquid shadow, but he feels this cut. The faint sting, the hot trickle over his tendons, the smell of his own blood thick in the air. He hadn’t even heard the sword unsheathe.

The man is backing away, eyes wild; Sanji huffs a laugh and melts into the shadow again, reappearing just in time for the man to bump into him with a loud swear. Sanji needs to stop calling him The Man. “What’s your name?”

The Man scowls as he holds his sword ready, and it pulls at the vertical scar over his left eye. “Like hell I’ll tell you. I’m not gonna let you use me for whatever— witchy shit you wanna do.”

Sanji raises an unimpressed brow. “First of all, I’m a demon, not a witch. And second, it doesn’t work like that. You need my name for spells and such.” 

“Which is?”

“Now why would I tell you?” He grins, sharp and sweet like the song of a blade through the air. “You’ll know mine when I know yours, Marimo.”

“Marimo?” his visitor scoffs, and Sanji shrugs with a genial smile even as Marimo bristles. Better than The Man. 

He turns around, gliding through the foyer more for the sake of having something to do than actually trying to go anywhere, and of course Marimo follows. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” he sighs, side-eyeing the man as he squints warily at a bust of some sort of cat with seven eyes. 

“Nope.”

“What’s the deal, then? A human all the way down here? Hell isn’t exactly the most popular vacation spot, y’know.” Sanji pauses and gives a pointed look to the weapon that had drawn his blood. “And that is not a normal sword.” 

Marimo’s eyebrows twitch, the only sign Sanji gets that he’s surprised. “Cursed blade,” the man grumbles, rubbing a thumb over the hilt. “And I’m looking for someone.”

“…In Hell.” Sanji’s skeptical.

“My best friend got himself kicked through a portal, alright?” Marimo protests, lip curling in irritation. 

“Ha! Good luck with that,” Sanji huffs, walking again. “Nobody new’s been down here except—” Wait. He spins on his heel, and Marimo narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Dark hair, chatty as anything, about… yea high?” he asks, lifting his hand as an estimate, and he lurches back when Marimo leans all up in his face with his eyes like sharp granite.

“You know something.”

“One of my… acquaintances said something about it, yes.” Mihawk had mentioned a guy suddenly popping up. Monkey something-or-other. Loofah? He opens his mouth to speak right as he hears an odd growl, and Marimo pulls back with the tips of his ears turning red. A huff of a laugh slips out without Sanji’s permission. “Alright, come on,” he decides, creating a shadow door and waiting for the other man to follow. “Can’t find your friend on an empty stomach.” 

They walk straight into the kitchen, and Sanji gets to work whipping up a plate of omurice. He was a chef before, and he still is one; he’ll feed anyone who’s hungry. He might not be human or alive (or is he? He still isn’t sure) anymore but he refuses to let go of the values that he’d lived and breathed by, no matter how… questionable his unexpected guest may be.

He is done in a matter of minutes. “Eat.” The plate scrapes as he slides it across the countertop with cutlery, but Marimo just glares. “What? Don’t like eggs?”

“Isn’t there some rule about getting trapped here if you eat?” 

Sanji resists the urge to roll his eyes, because Hell’s bells, this man is stubborn. “Look, that’s all bullshit, alright? Eat, or I’ll make you. This is the only place around for leagues that has food you could possibly digest. Or would you rather go hunt for elephant scorpions?”

The man recoils. “The fuck are those?”

“You don’t wanna know.” He nudges the fork and spoon closer, crossing his arms with an expectant eyebrow.

Marimo raises one right back, but he hesitantly picks up the cutlery and digs in. “…So you eat human food,” he mutters after a while, and Sanji looks up from where he’s washing the dishes.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Dunno,” the other man muses, taking another bite. The dim light of the wall sconces makes his three golden earrings gleam, highlighting the gnarly scar across his chest. “What with the whole demon thing.”

“Not all of us have a taste for mortal flesh,” Sanji sniffs, examining his cuticles coolly before getting back to scrubbing. 

He’s feeling a little strange. Maybe it’s the human interaction after so long of being down here with just his invisible friends and other demons for company, but it’s making something hurt right behind his ribs, where his heart beats more slowly than it has any right to. He’d missed this. Cooking for someone else. Banter. Companionship. 

He takes a shaky breath and plunges his hands into the water, grabbing a frying pan and scouring it viciously. No use reminiscing and chasing pipe dreams. 

“Oi.”

Marimo’s voice catches his attention, and he rinses the sponge. “Hm?”

“How’s the—?” The man gestures vaguely to his neck, and Sanji’s fingers fly up to his throat to feel for the cut.

“Oh, that.” It’s already mostly healed, and he tilts his jaw to the side to show it. “S’fine. See?”

Marimo grunts, turning back to the last bites of his food. “Sorry.”

Sanji stills, something wild flaring hot in his ribcage before he mentally wrangles it into submission. He wouldn’t have expected an apology from anyone— much less this man. “It’s no big deal.”

“Still,” Marimo says gruffly, sliding the plate back over, the ceramic scraped clean. “And thanks.” He blinks for a second before nodding to the empty plate, as if it isn’t clear enough. “For the food.”

What the fuck. Sanji takes it, feeling like he’s in a bit of a daze. Marimo had seemed like a bit of a brute at first, with his scars and his close-cropped hair and his physique and the stupid shirt that was open halfway down his damn chest (Sanji, don’t look, it doesn’t matter how many muscles he has), not to mention the three swords. He’s bullheaded but obviously skilled, and— who the Hell is this guy? 

“Who sent you,” Sanji breathes as he sets the plate down, something sinking in the pit of his gut. He readies one hand behind his back. There has to be a catch.

Marimo frowns. “Nobody sent me, I told you I’m looking for my—”

He lunges. His claws are around the man’s neck in less than a second, digging up into the soft part of his throat. Marimo’s Adam’s apple bobs against the pad of his thumb. “Who sent you,” he hisses again, and it comes out less steady than he likes.

Sanji doesn’t know why he’s affected. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. He has not fallen so far that the thought of this small bit of— of courtesy, of company, being a farce should feel like such a betrayal. 

So why does it?

He tightens his grip, gaze boring into eyes that have gone granite-dark in the low light, and yet Marimo does not pull away. The man tips his chin up, allows the point of Sanji’s claw to dig just beneath his trachea. “Nobody sent me,” he repeats evenly, chest rising and falling with his breaths, and Sanji holds back a snarl. He has been alone for too long for some human to come waltzing in and fucking up his life with— whatever this is, only for him to get butthurt because it wasn’t real. It’s not even that big of a deal and he feels fucking ridiculous. 

“If you’re lying—”

“I’m not.” 

And it seems like he really isn’t. Marimo’s pulse is rock steady, his gaze unflinchingly neutral, tracking Sanji across the room even as the demon slowly pulls away. 

“I’m sorry,” Sanji mutters, leaning back against the sink and pressing a hand over his eyes with a tired exhale. “I apologise, I— I lost myself.” 

“S’okay,” Marimo says cautiously. His swords clatter against each other as he stands and pushes the stool in with his knee. “I should… get going.”

“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Sanji shakes his head a little and smoothes his hands over the front of his blouse. He snaps his fingers, and a shadow door materialises in front of the other man. “This will take you to the acquaintance I was talking about, Mihawk. He’s your best bet at finding— What’s his name?”

“Luffy.”

“Luffy. Right.” 

Marimo hesitates, and Sanji feels like something’s gotten caught in his throat. 

“It gets lonely here, doesn’t it?” the other man asks abruptly, turning to face Sanji properly.

He swallows. “…Sometimes,” he concedes, keeping his tone light. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Marimo gives an aborted jerk of his head, like he hadn’t been able to decide whether to nod or not. “Luffy’s appetite is crazy. He’ll be hungry when I find him.”

Sanji can’t help but laugh. It seems to be becoming a recurring problem. “You asking if I’ll feed him?” 

“Yeah. Because I think you’ll say yes.” 

A smirk pulls at Sanji’s mouth, and he lets it lean sharp. “Do you have a death wish, planning to come back to a demon’s castle?”

“Maybe,” Zoro mutters, but he matches Sanji’s expression tooth for tooth. “But the food’s good, and the company’s… decent.”

Sanji really does roll his eyes this time. Unbelievable. “You’ve got some nerve, Marimo.”

“Zoro.”

Zoro. It echoes around in his skull, sets something sparking up under his skin. “Zoro,” he tries, cocking his head before he nods to the shadow door. “Get going, idiot. That isn’t going to stay open forever.”

Zoro takes a step backwards. “You haven’t told me your name.”

Sanji purses his lips to hide his chuckle. “Come back with Luffy, and maybe you’ll find out.” 

The last thing he sees is the swordsman’s grin before the door dissolves, leaving him alone in his kitchen with a feeling in his chest that he hasn’t felt for ages. Fuck, this Zoro is trouble.

Sanji drags his hands over his face and groans, but he’s smiling. 

All he does in this damn castle is laze around and cook for himself. If it means cooking for someone else, and decent company… Well, a little trouble couldn’t hurt.

[curvydave]

Dance with me?

Bright lights and dark liquor help soothe the sting of a cold night on the road, but nowhere near as much as a pair of warm hands. Or, in which you and Booker have a night, normal night at a tavern for once.

Booker/Reader fluff, 1.8k minific because there's never enough fic for LOA <3 [Crossposted to AO3 as well!]

The life of a vagabond isn't an easy one -- not with this crew, at least. Perhaps its just bad luck, or maybe its just the way of the world nowadays, but with each step you take, it seems there's some new puddle of trouble for you to wade through. With the wind in your fur and the guard always hot on your heels, you've learned to take your moments of peace where you can get them. 

Although, perhaps "peace" is a bit too strong of a word. 

The music is loud, with fiddles so lively and bass so rich that it seems to rattle the very foundation of the tavern the lot of you have found yourselves in -- money ain't too hard to come by, not with your groups' set of talents, but keeping it... that's where the trouble comes in. Not that you're complaining, of course. Gold piece after gold piece hits the polished counter of the bar as the seven of you spend freely -- the brightest futures are built by dark liquors and good fun, after all. 

Travelers of all sorts crowd the bar, having stopped in for a moment of reprieve in their migration up the river bank. Some are vagabonds like you: Others run here in their search for a new place to plant roots: Others have simply stopped in for a good time. At every clearing, there seems to be an unwritten rule of hierarchy, but not here. The Eyrie and the Marquisate are just words in a hall like this -- as long as the liquor flows and the band keeps playing, each and every one of you are just a set of wayward souls, searching for a good time. 

Strong oak walls shelter you from the cold night outside, and despite the decades of natural wear and drunken carvings, they keep you plenty warm. Wax lamps hang from the ceilings and adorn the tables that line the room, casting a warm glow over the whole scene -- its homely. Safe.  

The comforting atmosphere of the bar turns molasses thick as your pleasantly inebriated mind struggles to catch up, thoughts loosened with Gods-know-how-many glasses of alcohol. You drum your fingers against the bar as you wait patiently for your next drink, watching your friends in amusement as they stumble over one another on the dance floor. Grumley is barely able to catch himself from falling straight on his ass as Peggy walks him through the motions of what you presume to be some sort of jig, and truthfully, Jean Claude has never looked more out of place. You'll have to find something other than a three-piece suit for him to wear out on nights out like this, you suppose, although you can't imagine he'd take too kindly to the change in attire. You laugh quietly to yourself -- Out of the lot of them, you're not sure anyone other than Peggy actually knows how to dance, except for... 

"Well, aren't you just the most beautiful thing this side of the clearing?" 

Booker sidles up to you, leaning forward on the bar with a lopsided grin. From the way he's swaying ever so slightly, you imagine he's probably been stealing sips from everyone else's drinks when they're not looking -- not like you can blame him, of course. You'd be lying if you said you weren't doing the same, yourself. Which of you started that particular game you can never remember, but you're more than happy to keep it up. 

Your eyes crinkle fondly at his words, and you suppose that he's able to catch the warmth even in his intoxicated state, as his tail swishes with a sweetness of its own. He hails the bartender -- a poor, clearly overworked pine marten whose struggling to keep up with the influx of patrons tonight -- raising a hand to be seen over the thick crowd. "I'll take one of whatever they're having," he points towards you, "on me." He drops a handful of gold coins and leans back against the bar once he gets an emphatic nod from the stressed little mustelid -- you make a mental note to tip him well, before you retire to your rooms for the night -- and leans his head in his hand. He blinks slowly, regaining his sense of balance after the quick movement, before speaking again.  

"Band ain't half bad," he remarks, casting a quick glance over to your gaggle of friends, before turning back to gaze upon you again. The slur in his words is just barely detectable, and you realize he's nowhere near as drunk as you previously thought -- you might not have to carry him to your room, after all. 

You smile, shrugging. "Yeah, they're pretty good. Not as good as you, though," you throw back, netting a prideful laugh from him. He simpers, waving his hands with a little "Ah, well, you know," before settling back into his earlier position. His whiskers twitch, hooded eyes glittering in the low light of the tavern. "Still having fun, sweetheart? Party still going?" 

You nod, throwing a quick "thanks" to the bartender as he hands you your drink before he scurries off to fix Booker's. You take a quick sip before speaking: "Yeah, I could watch our idiots do... whatever that is--" you gesture to your friends as they stumble over one another, "--for hours, probably." 

He laughs low: "Yeah, they're something alright." He casts another glance their way, seemingly lost in thought, before turning back to you. His pupils, blown out with equal parts rum and adoration, dart across your face, looking for something that your fogged mind is just barely able to catch -- more practice than clearheaded deduction, in this state. Opened arms are seemingly all he needs as he closes the gap, leaning into your embrace eagerly. Low murmurs of "being too good for him," are just barely caught as he wraps his arms around your waist, tucking his muzzle into your shoulder before guiding you into a sway, quickly finding the beat of the band. Even muddied under god-knows-how-many glasses of liquor, he's still able to pick a rhythm out of the chaos. You wouldn't even call it a second language -- it's like he thinks in music, breathes in music. Just another one of those little things about him that you find yourself absolutely enamored with, really. You're briefly treated to the memories of him playing his heart out at the last tavern you ran through, and you grin into his fur -- you imagine it wouldn't take much prodding to get him up there now, if you really wanted to. But you're content to simply hold him like this, to enjoy a single, normal night together. 

Back and forth you sway as his hands start become restless, claws lightly dragging themselves along the fabric of your clothing, before adventuring beneath your jacket, and then under your shirt to trace senseless patterns against your hip bones. You take the chance to card your own hands through his fur, scratching affectionately behind his ears -- when the hell did he lose his hat? -- before tracing down the length of his spine. Soft murmurings in the crook of your neck nearly go unnoticed, and you're half sure he's even forgotten what he's asked when you hum inquisitively, but fortunately he seems to regain his train of thought. 

"They've been trying to get me to dance for the past hour." 

"Yeah? And why haven't you?"

He grumbles. "Have you-- have you got any idea how many perverts are in this bar?" He briefly pulls his head from the crook of your neck to shoot you a look when you laugh in response, before lying his head back down. "Besides, it's not the same without you." He fumbles aimlessly for one of your hands, interlocking his fingers with yours when he finds it, as he tugs you into a little more rhythmic of a sway. "'s always better when you're there." It's at those words that you place an affectionate kiss to his temple, coaxing a low hum of contentment from your lover which reverberates through your chest as he settles once more. 

A dull thud from beside you catches your attention as the bartender comes and goes, dropping Booker's glass beside you before scurrying away to tend to another group of travelers, and you take the chance to sip his drink down a bit before he notices -- although, your trick doesn't quite work, as he pops his head up with the bobbing of your throat... but he doesn't seem to mind much. "Thief," he murmurs, reaching out for his stolen drink. 

"I am not a thief," you retort, "I'm just making sure it's good," you place another kiss to his snout before handing it over, and he glares back at you playfully before his expression melts into one of utmost fondness. Although its quickly covered by the rim of his glass as he takes a sip himself -- tilting his head appreciatively when the liquor hits his tongue -- before placing it back down on the bar and returning his attention to you. The gears in his mind seem to turn as he gazes upon you, finally clicking into place as the band transitions into a more upbeat swing. He grabs your other hand, pulling your interlocked digits to his chest with a look of utmost certainty. 

"Dance with me, sweetheart." 

"I thought you said this place was full of perverts?" 

"Again, very, very different with you there. Besides," he disentangles one hand and motions to your gaggle of friends as they stumble over one another, "someone's gotta save them from their own embarassment"  As if proving his point, Grumley finally trips over his own two feet -- he's only saved by the outstretched hands of Bitsy and Hazel as they help push him upright, aided further by Jean Claude as he pulls him up by the collar. You laugh under your breath at the scene, and after a brief scan of the room... 

"Fuck it," you grin, grabbing your glass from the bar as you tug Booker to the floor. He gives a cheer, pressing a firm kiss to your cheek as he slings an arm around your shoulder and takes the lead himself. Raised hands as you call to your friends nets cheers of their own, welcoming you back into the fray as you and Booker find the rhythm once more. And as the night goes on one dance turns to two, and two to ten. Lights flicker and glow as the band plays on, casting your dancing shadows on the walls, like a manifestation of the joy that surrounds you all as you twirl the night away. 

The life of a vagabond promises excitement at every turn, with new scenarios to guide your feet every time the sun rises. But its moments like these that you love the most.

[overthinkingtaleblr]

Speaking of body temperatures, how do you think of Ghost having the body temperature of like. a dead body

It means he has the same body temperature as ME so I’m actually really happy about it! I’ve never met anyone else who is As Cold as I am all the time, so I understand it might be a bit confusing for those of you who run hot… Lemme give my two cents, I can help develop this.

As soon as it reaches late october, he has to start wearing long underwear under his clothes or else he’ll be shivering every time he leaves the house. This means he’s verrry limited in his Halloween costume choices.

Most of Ghost’s winter clothes are waterproof by default. Snow is fun for about 20 seconds before it becomes painful. He’s got a change for his gloves, pants, hoodie… everything that could touch snow can Not touch snow. The combat boots are already safe, but still.

Fuzzy. Socks. To wear around the house. Preferably with funny patterns on them and no holes. He can and will slide along the wood and tiles.

His bed is covered in soft, warm blankets. Like. Three of them On Top of his sheets. They barely help, all they do is trap what little body heat he produces… which is next to none. But it’s better and preferable to nothing.

Coat at all times. Summer, coat. Winter, two coats and long underwear underneath. The sleeves stay long. This isn’t always to keep the body heat in, but WIND. Wind will make things so cold so suddenly and it STINGS all the while.

This might just be me and the ‘tism, but when the winter gets rough… TUCK LEGS INTO HOODIE!! It’s so needed for warmth.

You’d think this would make him drawn to warmer foods, but it really doesn’t. Does make people stare at him like he has a third head when he says 60 degrees F is cocoa weather.

Ghost hates the winter and tends to be twice as cranky as usual if he has to stay outside for longer than he can stand.

But yeah this is mostly me projecting <3

[28seesaw]

Dinner

About: A simple, comforting one-shot about Yoongi coming home after a particularly tough day. Pairing: idol!Yoongi x female OC Warnings: - Also on: AO3 A/N: Been writing bits and pieces of Yoongi fic privately but never published anything, so I decided to make a tumblr dedicated solely to it (and also to push me to actually finish the writings). If you stopped by to read this first piece, thank you ♡

It was beginning to occur to Yoongi that even outside of the public eye, he was afforded no privacy. The nature of his work meant that at any given moment, there was an infinite number of hands always in close proximity either doing something for him or with him or to him. From the wiping of sweat from his brow during photoshoots to adjusting a single wisp of his already coiffured fringe, there was quite literally nothing that Yoongi could do for himself before an outside pair of hands would swoop in.

On the tougher, more tiring days, Yoongi almost felt guilty at how angry he would get inside when this all got too much. He knew it was through nobody’s fault that his privacy felt invaded virtually every second of his working hours. It was just the job. Yet, the years and years of being in such a position did not make it any easier to get accustomed to it.

It had been another long day, and in spite of the cold weather outside, Yoongi felt nothing but the stuffy heat from being under hot studio lights all day. Nevertheless, Yoongi took a deep inhale, grateful that the long day was over, thanked all the production staff and hastily made his way to an awaiting car. Once inside, Yoongi shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the leather headrest in an attempt to wind down. Yoongi had almost drifted to sleep when he heard his driver call his name, signaling that they had arrived at his condominium.

Stepping into his private lift, Yoongi rubbed his tired eyes, only to sigh angrily at himself when he realised he had not removed his makeup. In his haste to get home as quickly as possible, Yoongi had simply collected his things and bolted, not even stopping to grab a cleaning wipe which was his usual practice. It did not help that the look today was quite a strong and elaborate one due to the nature of the shoot. He stared at his eyeliner-smudged fingers and felt the sting in his eyes from some of the mascara having gone in. This day was not ending well and there was no other way to describe it but Yoongi was upset.

When the lift doors opened with a soft chime, he was greeted with the comforting smell of his favourite instant ramyeon being cooked. Removing his shoes, he entered the hallway, making a quick left to where the kitchen was. The scene that greeted Yoongi instantly replaced whatever upset there was with amusement. The ramyeon he smelled was bubbling away in its silver pot but was literally moments away from being burnt had Yoongi not quickly walked over to turn the heat off. Yoongi then turned to see a tired, resting figure with its head tucked into folded arms on the kitchen counter. The haphazardly-tied black ponytail fell to one side, concealing the only exposed cheekbone of the otherwise buried sleeping face.

Smiling softly to himself, Yoongi tenderly pushed the hair away from the sleeping face and sat himself on the kitchen stool beside.

“Nari…” he called gently, running his thumb affectionately over her cheekbone.

Nari stirred and looked up with a start.

“Did I burn the ramyeon again?!” she said with a gasp, getting up and running to the stove.

Yoongi laughed, grateful for the way all of the anxiety and weariness of the day seemed to have vanished.

“Almost,” he replied, following Nari only to hug her gently from behind. He could not help but grin as he watched her peer into the pot, stirring at it frantically to check if the bottom had burnt even though Yoongi had already turned the stove off.

“Is this your dinner or were you making me dinner again even though I know you’re dead tired from work?” asked Yoongi, turning her round to face him “Both?” she answered, finally taking her attention away from the noodles and hugging Yoongi properly.   “You could have texted me and I’d have gotten us some dinner on the way home,” said Yoongi.

The both of them stood hugging in the middle of their kitchen in a quiet moment of relief, both simply glad to be in the arms of the other. Nari pulled away first to look up at the face of her boyfriend she had missed all day only to notice the odd charcoal-coloured streaks under his left eye. .

“What happened here?” she asked, gingerly touching the corner of his eyelid. “Forgot I had make-up on…” Yoongi replied, raising his hand to show her the smudge on his fingers.

Clicking her tongue, Nari took Yoongi’s hand and led him to their sofa. When he was seated, she disappeared to their bedroom and reappeared with some cotton pads and a cleansing oil.

“Close your eyes for me?” she asked softly, seating herself beside him.

Yoongi smiled and nodded. He shut his eyes and tilted his head back, relaxing into the comfortable sofa.

Very carefully, Nari applied a few drops of cleansing oil onto the cotton pads and began gently wiping his make-up away. She started with his eyes, very carefully getting as much of the eyeliner and mascara off. Gradually, her hands moved across his forehead, down to his cheekbones and his chin. She did not rush, taking her time to clean every inch of his make-up off. It was then that Yoongi realised that for the first time since he had gone in to work that day, he was feeling calm under a pair of hands. This did not feel invasive, nor harsh, nor agitating. All Yoongi felt was solace, pure and utter solace.

“All done,” came Nari’s voice as she got up to throw the used cotton pads away. However, Yoongi stopped her, placing a gentle hand on her wrist and coaxing her to put her things down. With a small tug, Yoongi pulled Nari towards him and she more than obliged, moving to sit on his lap, slipping her arms around his neck. Yoongi buried his face in her hair and the pair sat just like this, wrapped in the warm comfort of each other.

“Yoongi,” Nari murmured against his neck. “Hmm?” he answered, placing a kiss on her temple. “The ramyeon’s going to get cold.” “Doesn’t matter. I’ll just make us another...”

Yoongi nudged her face towards his and placed a slow, thoughtful kiss on Nari’s lips. She smiled into his kiss, parting her lips slightly to draw more kisses out from him. There was no hesitation as Yoongi’s grip on her tightened, kissing her back in the way they both wanted.

“How hungry are you?” asked Yoongi, reluctantly pulling away from her. “I mean, I could eat,” Nari replied, shrugging casually. “Could you wait a little?” asked Yoongi, moving to plant kisses along the side of her neck.

Nari chuckled softly, closing her eyes as she savoured the feel of his mouth on her skin.

“And how hungry are you?” she asked, a little breathless from the way he was kissing her. “Absolutely ravenous…” Yoongi replied, before sweeping a laughing Nari into his arms, as he rushed them both to their bedroom.

[vagueshape]

Context for the rest of this post:

I am seven years old and on the bus, it is raining and me and my friend are chatting. All of a sudden some kids start screaming as a wasp starts flying around the bus. For some reason he lands on my friend, stings her, goes over to me, stings me. I start having an allergic reaction. Cue severe fear of wasps that has lasted until today.

Now:

I am chilling in my living room. It's nice and sunny out but much too hot for me to be outside, so sitting by the window is just fine with me.

The front door is open, while the glass door in front of it is closed. My uncle who lived here before me didn't shut it completely one night and the wind caught it and ended up kinda breaking it. Part of it near the handle bows out a little, leaving a gap.

Apparently, this gap is big enough for a wasp to fit through.

So all of a sudden I hear the very distinct buzzing of a bug and look to see a MASSIVE wasp flying around panicked. He goes back to the door and is now bumping up against the glass trying to get out.

Now, I know about wasps. As a kind of way to try to lessen my fear, I have quite a few wasp facts stored in my brain. I know killing this guy is a bad idea, and quite a few other wasps are flying around outside.

I don't want to be known by the other wasps as a wasp killer. I'm trying to have a peaceful and beneficial relationship with these guys. I leave them alone, they eat the bugs.

So I open the door.

And this guy. I guess his little brain couldn't realize there was an actual way out, and so he keeps bumping against the glass.

And I'm standing here freaking out because of how close I am to this wasp, that I can't do anything when ANOTHER wasp flies in.

Although this one is much smarter and realized that this was not a place he wanted to be in and flew back out almost immediately.

So I'm still holding the door open, about to cry. And this little guy starts trying to climb on the doorframe, looking for a way out. I'm afraid of another wasp flying in again.

And normally with most bugs I'd gently pick them up and place them back outside, but wasps are much more aggressive, and I don't feel like having an allergic reaction.

So I keep holding the door open.

And then I decide to try talking to him.

"Buddy, I know you don't want to be in here as much as I don't want you in here, the door is right open. You can go."

For some reason this worked, and he crawled out onto the top of the door and flew away.

I close the glass door, and then the front door. I shakily text my fiance to tell him about the encounter, and then I tell my dad we need to replace the door.

Anyway be nice to your native wasps, they're vital to the ecosystem.

[saintsofwarding]

EMBRYO

Chapter 3: Rose Above it All

She kept running until she was off the school grounds and into the tangle of streets beyond. It was only once she slowed, legs shaking, a stitch in her side, gasping searing breaths of the frigid late-afternoon air, that she remembered she'd forgotten her bike.

"Shit," she panted. "Shit-"

She turned around, but couldn't move. She couldn't make herself go back to the school. What if Sam had followed? What if she was outside? What if she was hurt?

What the hell had she done?

Her face was hot, her eyes stinging. Cold wind buffeted her; she shrank inside her coat, chin inside her collar. If she hadn't blown it before, she sure had now. She'd let her powers out. She'd let them out big time. It had felt like a reflex, a breath- Sam had grabbed her, so, without conscious thought, she'd lashed out.

If I can't control them-

Panic tightened her breathing. She leaned against a telephone pole, trying to get her breath back. Cars passed on the road behind her, slewing slush from the last rainfall over her boot toes. Rose pressed her eyes shut, counting her breathing, just like she and Heisenberg used to do when she was a little kid waking up from nightmares of blood and chains, black wings and shrieking laughter, a village locked in snow. In and out. One, two, three. He'd knelt by her bedside, holding both her small hands in his own, counting to her in a low voice. One, two, three. Just a little trick I learned a long time ago, kid. See if you can put it to use.

Her breathing eased, but she stayed against the telephone pole, not wanting to move. Maybe she could stay there forever. Build a little shack around the pole and live there like some kind of weird hermit. Yeah, that sounded good. Change her name, too. Rose who?

"Feeling better?"

Rose gasped and whirled. A girl stood a few feet behind her, hands in the pockets of her oversized black jean jacket. She smiled. She was about Rose's height, maybe a little shorter; her black slip skirt and black sweater, coupled with straight jet-black hair, made her nearly blend in with the dark streets behind her; she was paler, though, than even Rose, with a pointed, foxish face that seemed to nearly glow in the gathering dusk.

"You looked like you were about to throw up or something," she said. Her voice should have been sweet, sing-song, but there was a sharp edge to it that made Rose feel like she was being not-so-subtly mocked.

"Uh?" Rose said, stupidly, then shook her head. "...No...I was just- um, rough day."

"Ohhh. I know how that is." The girl tilted her head to the side. "What is it, then? Hard math test? Friendship drama? Ooh, let me guess. Boy troubles?"

"No," Rose said, frowning a little. "Actually. Do I know you? I don't recognize you from school."

"You wouldn't. I'm a new transfer." She grinned, then in one fluid movement, hopped up onto the short brick wall that bordered the sidewalk. Her combat boots went clomp. She began to walk up and down the wall, arms held out for balance.

"I think we're gonna have a lot of classes together, though," she went on. "Maybe all of them. Maybe we can talk."

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Maybe we can...be friends." She leaped down, right in front of Rose, who flinched back. "What do you think?"

"Yeah. Maybe." Rose edged back. "Listen- I, uh- I forgot something at school, I have to go- um, get it..."

"You want me to walk with you?"

"No. No! I mean, don't go to the trouble." Rose made herself smile. This girl, weird as she was, had only been friendly. Ish. Friendly enough. Whatever. "See you tomorrow."

"Definitely," the girl said.

Rose turned and began back toward the school gates. A few steps on, she turned back.

"I'm Rose, by the way," she said.

The girl smiled in return. "Eveline."

***

The school grounds were quiet. No sign of Sam. Rose retrieved her bike and wheeled it toward the bus stop. Dread ached in the pit of her stomach as she contemplated her fight with Heisenberg that morning. Would he still be mad? Was she in for a night of awkwardness? Yet someone else she'd completely blown it with? Her palms were slick on her bike handlebars as she waited for the bus, her fingers quivering as it pulled up and she got on.

She went to the Goodwill nearest the apartment building for a couple hours, sorting through the racks, trying on this oversized sweater or that, browsing all the inappropriate romance novels in the used book section, killing time so she wouldn't have to spend it at home, or, worse yet, with her own thoughts. This place, with its too-bright lights, its comfortingly-shabby items on sale, the other shoppers flicking through vintage blouses and polyester '80s pants, was as far from the mold and her nightmares as anything could be.

Her phone buzzed a couple times in her bag; she didn't look at it. The evening grew darker and darker outside, mist swirling across the pavement, rain spattering the big plate glass windows. At last, the employees began to look like they just wanted her to leave, and after buying a stack of old paperbacks and stuffing them into her backpack, Rose finally bit the bullet and left.

She arrived home as the last of the light left the sky and the rain began to fall in earnest, a freezing October deluge that soaked through her coat and into her skin after only a few minutes. Locking up her bike, she climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and, with a shaky exhale, let herself into the apartment.

Silence greeted her. The living room was dark, save for a single lamp by the squashy green couch; it illuminated the mess of un-put-away groceries on the kitchen counters, the weird welded-together scraps of metal on a card table shoved near the window, the cluttered bookshelves so stuffed with books and Engines Quarterly and knick-knacks they looked liable to collapse. Throw pillows embroidered with Romanian designs covered the couch, the only thing Heisenberg had added that Rose considered pretty.

The apartment had yellowing walls and kind of a funky smell in the summer, but Rose couldn't help but feel a bit of tension drain from her as she kicked off her boots and slung her backpack onto the couch. Here, she never had to pretend. Here, if the mold made an appearance, if she did something really freaky, no one cared.

Us monsters have to stick together, Heisenberg had told her. But what if Rose didn't want to be a monster all the time? What if she wanted Sam to look at her without fear in her eyes? What if she wanted to show her truth to someone that wasn't Heisenberg and have them smile, and go to her, and touch her, and not be afraid?

Couldn't she have them both?

Couldn't she?

Heisenberg would only mock her if she talked about this with him. Nothing wrong with you. Fuck anyone who says different. Rose wanted to scream in his face that just because he'd come to terms with his own power and was okay with being a weird shut-in who didn't have any friends and spent all his time welding spoons together didn't mean she had to be the same way.

Okay, that was mean. He didn't really deserve that. But he didn't get it. He was old, older than he looked, and he'd had time. Rose just had him.

And she wanted more.

She padded into the kitchen. A note stuck to the fridge with a horse-shaped magnet read, in Heisenberg's slightly childlike scrawl, food in fridge. b back soon brat!!

Sure enough, half a microwave lasagna awaited her in the fridge. Rose smiled a little to herself. While it warmed up in the microwave, she leaned against the sink, staring out the single small kitchen window into the rainy darkness beyond. Traffic pulsed and rumbled from the nearby freeway. Somewhere in another apartment she heard the bass beat of music. Raindrops pattered softly against the glass.

Quiet. Calm. Everything was okay.

What are you? Sam yelled, her eyes bright with fear.

It sniffed you out-

Hunted you down-

What are you?

What are you?

And what if she was right? What if she was endangering everyone around her by her mere existence?

She was just scared, Rose told herself, but she couldn't stop feeling the surge of power inside her, the mold responding on instinct to the threat. And there was more, she knew. There was so, so much more. She just didn't want to look deeper in case the depths were crawling with horrors.

Could be crawling with wonders, too, the voice in her head whispered.

The note gave no indication as to how 'soon' Heisenberg would be back. Knowing him, it could be five minutes or five hours.

The microwave dinged.

Rose ate her lasagna.

She went to her room and pulled on dark clothes, a hooded jacket. She put on her boots. With a last glance at the apartment around her, she left once again.

The roof access was, technically, supposed to be locked, but Heisenberg had shattered the padlock approximately five seconds after they'd moved into the building. He'd souped up the wiring to their apartment, too, so he could run four or five TVs and a bunch of power tools at once without the meter reading ever showing a spike in consumption. Just a nice side effect of being a living electricity generator.

He never went into extreme detail about what exactly had been done to him- his past was a murky fog, much like Rose's own, and she didn't want to press him too hard. He got a faraway look in his eyes whenever it got brought up, and it was so far removed from his usual sardonic glitter that it was a little scary.

Rose headed through the metal door and onto the slick, rainy expanse of the roof. The night air hit her, making her shiver; steam poured from a vent, making a muggy cloud in the freezing rain. Rose stuck her hands deep in her jacket pockets, pulse ticking in her throat. Was this a stupid idea? Probably. She should probably go back inside, do her homework, waste some time on the internet, read her new smutty paperbacks.

She didn't. She made her way to the edge of the roof and looked down. Traffic streamed by, a river of light. Regent City spread on and on before her, a grid of steel and glass and smoky darkness, all the way to the distant curve of the bay far beyond.

This was the first seaside city she and Heisenberg had moved to- they never stayed in one place more than a few years- and Rose loved the open sea. A plane of nothingness; a slap of salt wind. Sometimes when she looked out at the ocean she felt like she was living on the edge of the world.

She took her hands from her pockets and lifted them. They trembled a little.

"Okay," she whispered to herself. "Work with me, now."

She turned to face the open rooftop, her feet apart, her shoulders braced. She splayed her hands, trying to call the power on her own terms. Just a little. Don't break anything. Light flickered through her nerves, behind her eyes-

Nothing happened.

"Come on," she muttered. She shook her hands and did a little jog in place. Stopping, she let out a long breath, then splayed her hands again.

The darkness slithered around her.

A pulse blasted through the rain, clearing it in a sphere around her for a moment. Black tentacles burst from the rooftop before she realized she'd called on them, great whipping structures that looked like the roots of trees rendered in glistening, iridescent oily blackness. They roared ahead, toward the far side of the roof.

Rose screamed; she dropped her control, and the mold dropped, too, splashing down in a gooey puddle that coated the concrete. It slithered back to her as she swayed on her feet. She sat down heavily on the edge of the roof, nausea bitter on the back of her tongue. Her pulse pounded. It sounded deeper than before, a drumbeat vibrating through her; she closed her eyes, trying not to be sick, and the darkness was there, too, like she hung above an endless abyss. Like the ocean.

What's down there? Fall and fall forever. Voices rose, a gibbering chorus of them. Come on, Rose, just take a look- just fall a little-

Rose?

She drifted in the darkness, suspended, her skin glowing like moonlight. It spread below her, on and on. An endless sea of mold. Glistening swells; waves of oily black. They formed faces, hands, bodies.

Moments.

Two people embracing. A woman kneeling in the snow by a graveside. Feral monsters ripping and tearing at what once might have been a body. A baby cupped in a man's arms, one mangled hand stroking her cheek.

On and on. Further and further. All she needed to do was descend into the mold, sink down, down, and she would find it all. Everything.

Everyone.

Rose, it whispered to her. They whispered.

Rose.

"Rose."

Her eyes snapped open.

Heisenberg stood silhouetted by the open rooftop door. The rain pattered against his shoulders, slightly hunched in his old trench coat. He was hatless, his gray hair soaked in ropes around his face. From that, and from the half-smoked cigar in his hand, Rose guessed he'd been standing there for way too long.

"I..." she started. She glared at him. "How long have you been watching me?"

"It's almost nine, kid. How long have you been sitting there?"

"Nine?" She'd gotten home around six-thirty. Oh, god. Had she been out here for almost two hours? "I was- I was-"

"Enjoying our world-class view?" Heisenberg said, making an expansive gesture with his cigar. "No accounting for taste."

"I-" Rose began. Heisenberg regarded her, slowly smoking his cigar. "I was- brooding."

He guffawed. "Brooding."

"About...Sam."

"Yeah? How's that going for you?"

"Not good."

"So the same."

"Yeah. Today..." She trailed off.

"Bad?"

"Pretty much." "Kill her," Heisenberg suggested, with a shrug.

Rose laughed, out of shock more than anything. "What?"

"Kill her. Then you won't have to worry about her anymore." "I can't tell if you're being serious or not."

His grin widened, becoming sinister. "That depends on your answer, Rosie."

Usually, this kind of sociopathic advice made Rose feel better, made her laugh at the absurdity of it all, made her look at things from a lighter perspective. Now, it grated at her. What did he understand about it?

"Maybe that's how you'd do things, but I actually want her to like me," Rose said. She stood up; her joints creaked, aching with cold. Two hours. She'd been sunk in that black void for two hours. Horror shuddered up her throat; to cover it, she pressed on, reckless and hot. "You don't get it, do you? You're never gonna get it."

"Rose." He spread his hands. "Come on, now-"

"Don't," Rose told him. "Just. Don't."

She pushed past him and hurried back inside, making it back to the apartment and into her room before she even heard him begin to follow. She shut her door, then after a beat, dragged her overflowing laundry basket in front of it. Her room spread around her, cozy, messy, and scruffy, strings of fairy lights tacked up haphazardly around the window and over a wall of magazine cutouts and posters. Her ancient laptop hummed on her desk, which was covered in a mess of nail polish bottles, art supplies, a couple anime figurines. A poster of Gillian Anderson in the X-Files was decorated all over in little pink heart stickers, and one of her favorite Goodwill finds, an old Audio-Technica turntable, sat stacked at a rakish angle atop one of her overstuffed bookshelves.

She had this fantasy of inviting Sam over, them sitting in her room, Rose casually mentioning oh, would you like to hear a record? I've got some real groovy beats. They'd sit shoulder to shoulder while the record spun and scratched its doleful sound through the room. Sam would look at her, and Rose would look, with passion in her eyes, back. A hand would rise to cup the face. They'd move in. Lips would touch.

Usually her fantasies cut off there; in her romance novels the dude would generally rip off some article of clothing, exposing various expanses of creamy flesh, but Rose figured Sam wouldn't really like her to rip any of her cool clothes.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the apartment. Something went crash; Rose heard Heisenberg mutter a stream of sound that contained the word fuck a few times. She guessed he'd run into the coffee table.

Rose had to get Sam to trust her. That wouldn't happen unless she could control her powers. And when she used them against nothing...that was when the nightmares came. She needed an enemy, a real enemy. Not Heisenberg. She couldn't hurt him. Imagining life without him in it...she didn't even want to contemplate that.

She couldn't bring him into it, either. This was her problem, not his. And she wanted to take care of it herself, show him she was her own person, that despite all he'd done for her, all they'd been through together, she wasn't a little girl anymore.

The footsteps approached her door.

"Kid," Heisenberg said. "Listen, uh...I know this stuff is, uh, important to you and all..." She could actually hear the gears grinding in his head. "But look, whatever you're going through, it is gonna end, you know that, right? One day you'll wake up and you'll be as old as me and Sam will probably be long dead and it's just not gonna matter anymore..."

Rose was only half-listening. She went to her window and fiddled with the latch.

"...I get it though, I really do, you care about people, and usually when you care about people you don't want 'em mad at you and you don't want to deal with your feelings for certain individuals by murdering them..."

The window came open with a crack of breaking paint. Rose stuck her head out. The sheer drop plunged below her, four stories down to the pavement.

She lifted her hand. Black tendrils unfurled from her skin, reaching for the sill, grabbing on and winding in.

"...And I know I historically dealt with all my problems by crushing them into dust or turning them into a mechanized monstrosity, but that doesn't mean I haven't had moments of contemplation in my life that don't involve artificial blood and screaming..."

Rose glanced back at her room, at the door. Then she looked to the drop. With an exhale and a little nod to herself, she grabbed the sill and swung over, into the empty darkness beyond.

[fromthebeddesk]

The Banshee (Short Story)

(I've had this one mostly finished for a while. Can't remember if I posted it already, so here ya go. TW for gore, anxiety attacks and missing parents.)

The Banshee

Never sail out to the Old Fortress. That’s the number one rule whenever I go stay with my Aunt Robin in England. I’ve always been able to resist the temptation before.

But not now, not after I’ve just been sent to live with her permanently, with the police officer’s words still throbbing through my head, “I don’t think your parents are coming back.”

Not now that I can’t keep my mind from making a beeline back to the last day I saw them.

Not now, when I have to keep my hands and body busy every single second, so I don’t have time to process what’s happened and I can’t have a panic attack.

I have to do something. I can’t just sit around in my warmly lit new bedroom. I’ll fall apart before I ever fall asleep. I growl in frustration, setting my phone down, and start to pack.

Knives, climbing gear, energy bars. A fully stocked first aid kit. A compass, a flashlight, a backup flashlight. Extra clothes in case I get soaking wet.

Chemical-activated hot packs, since you can’t do much with frozen fingers. I debate whether to bring the phone, but decide against it. I don’t need it when I’m away from civilization, which is where I’d rather be half the time.

I yank on my toughest clothes: layered T-shirts, jeans with rain pants over the top, woolly socks and a matching sweater and hat. And a good coat, obviously. It’s before dawn in British winter.

Tiptoeing out into the hall with my backpack slung over one shoulder, I pause to let my eyes adjust to the darkness before heading downstairs. It’s more dim than actually dark, because the sun’s starting to rise and Aunt Robin is staunchly anti-curtains. I turn a corner into the kitchen and very quietly fix myself a big thermos of hot chai. Being British, and also the best cook I know, Aunt Robin is a tea snob. I've been spoiled by the good tea at her house for years now. I scribble a note onto a scrap of paper.

Couldn’t sleep, went sailing. I’ll be back for breakfast, don’t kill me.

She won’t be exactly happy, but she won’t ground me either. She never does. Well, she might if she knew where I’m planning to go. But what Aunt Robin doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I weight the note down to the dining table with one of the little stone statues she collects.

I’ve never noticed this particular one before, actually. It’s a slender, elegant cat, carved out of white rock. Out of habit, I try to identify the type of stone like my dad taught me, and catch myself just in time as my eyes start to sting.

“No.” I snap out loud. “Bad Jay. Don’t think about it.”

I shake thoughts of my parents out of my head, tamping them down until there’s nothing left on the surface to make me scream. Then I head to the front door and tug on my boots, stepping outside. The cold sea wind hits me like a solid thing and I gasp a little, my breath steaming in the frigid air.

Aunt Robin’s house is a good few miles from any town, right up on some cliffs that drop down to a scrappy little pebble beach. I hike along the edge of those cliffs, admiring the sunrise on my landward side and the dark, heaving Atlantic Ocean on the other. Finally, I get to what I like to call the Staircase of Doom.

Honestly, the term “staircase” is stretching it a bit. It’s more like a steeply sloped trail with the occasional stairstep, carved right out of the cliffs and zigzagging down. There are rickety driftwood railings near the top, but as you get further down, those disappear. There’s nothing to help you keep your balance, nothing to stop you from stepping off the edge into the gloom below and breaking your neck on the rocks.

In short, it’s perfect.

I head down, and I’m about halfway when I see the cat following me. It looks a lot like Aunt Robin’s cat statue. Lean, huge for a housecat, pure white and just about dripping with arrogance. It saunters around my moving feet and plops down directly in front of me. The path is narrow enough here that I can’t just walk around it. I stop, hands on hips.

“Excuse me.”

The cat cocks its head at me. Blinks a pair of startlingly blue eyes. Then settles down and starts licking its butt. A boy cat, I notice.

“You, sir, are a jerk.” I inform him. “Move or I’ll move you.”

He doesn’t even look up. Typical cat. I sigh and scoop him up, wincing as his claws dig into my shoulders.

“Chill, dude, it’s just for a minute.”

I walk until the trail widens, then put the cat down. He gives me a glare, then walks off ahead of me, tail at a jaunty angle as if to say “Just because I let you hold me, doesn’t mean I like you.”

I break into a run as the trail peters out onto the pebbled beach. The cat follows. The sun is mostly up now, and I can see the little dock where my sailboat, the Guinevere, is tied up. She’s bobbing on her moorings as the tide comes in. The rocks shift and scrape under my feet as I head over. I toss my backpack into the boat, then jump in myself. I’m about to untie her when the cat jumps into the boat.

I raise an eyebrow. “I think you’re going to regret this decision in a minute once you start getting wet.”

He heads belowdecks and curls up on the little padded bench that I store things under. I shrug. “Okay, Your Majesty. But I’m not turning around.”

I cast off the ropes and start the motor. I could probably make it to Old Fortress Island on wind power alone, but I don’t want to deal with it while I’m sleepy and distracted. I keep a steady hand on the tiller and steer us through the waves. Cold sea spray gets in my face. I stick my tongue out and catch some, immediately regretting it as the briny, fishy taste fills my mouth. I really should know better than to do that by now. But it’s me, so of course I don’t.

Soon enough, I see the island, looming up out of the mist like some fossilized giant beast. The Old Fortress isn’t visible yet, but it will be soon. I give a little involuntary shiver. Nobody who isn’t from around here knows about the place, it isn’t even on most maps. Some people say it’s from the Dark Ages, some say it’s earlier. A lot of people say it’s cursed. All we know for sure is that anyone who goes there doesn’t come back quite the same. In my opinion, that’s probably because they were drunk at the time. I have nothing to worry about. I’m sane, I’m sober, and I know how to handle myself.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I toss my anchor into the water and hop out. The bitter cold seeps into my shoes as I slosh through the weedy shallows and tie the boat’s ropes to a nearby boulder. I climb back aboard, grab my backpack, and turn to the cat. “You coming?”

In one smooth motion, he jumps into my arms. I snort.

“Don’t want to get your feet wet, huh?”

I walk along the beach searching for a usable path up the cliffs. Eventually, I settle for one that looks the least like it’s going to kill me, stuff the protesting cat into my backpack and start climbing. When I reach the top, I’m greeted by a breathtaking view. I pause for a moment, taking in the pale blue-gray sky and a few soft, peachy clouds, the last remnants of the earlier sunrise. I can see for miles now that I’m higher and the fog is starting to burn off.

There’s the house on the cliffs. The lights are on now, which means Aunt Robin is up and ought to have found my note. I’d better hurry if I want to see much of this place before breakfast. Mentally composing a good excuse for later, I wrestle the cat out of my backpack and plunk him down on the scrubby wet grass and heather. He gives me a look of such betrayal that I can’t help but giggle.

“What, did you think I was going to cart you around the whole time?”

I unwrap one of the energy bars I packed and eat as I walk, heading into a small stand of wind-gnarled trees. It’s eerily quiet up here except for the distant crash of waves. No calls of seabirds, no little skittery things rustling in the undergrowth. Just my own footsteps as I shuffle through a pile of rotten leaves and the cat’s occasional dissatisfied murp.

And that’s when I finally see it.

The Old Fortress is even more of a ruin that I expected. The stones that form the enormous outer wall are falling out of place as their mortar rots away, revealing the dirt and rubble at the walls’ center. The ones that are still standing are a few feet above my head at their highest point. They’re also covered in fungus, bird poop, and moss. I walk around the perimeter, looking for a way in. Soon enough, I find a spot where I can clamber over the lowest bit of wall. The cat follows me. Hold it. Are his eyes glowing?

“You magic or something?” I joke.

I lean in closer, and he looks up at me, all innocent like he has no idea what I’m talking about. Yeah, his eyes are definitely glowing, and not in the normal cat-in-the-dark way. More like there’s shifting, flickering fire inside them, only it’s bright sapphire blue. Well, it’s not like he’s actually magic. That’s impossible.

I shrug. “If you’re bioluminescent, that’s your problem not mine, bud.”

I turn away and keep walking. Inside the walls, things are in even worse shape. In most places, there’s barely a single stone on top of another. I can clearly see that things were well-laid-out here, though. The walls, what’s left of them, are ruler-straight, and the cobblestones are still mostly there, even though there’s weeds climbing up between them. I pick up a piece of worn red pottery. It looks like part of a roof tile or something.

“I wonder if this place is Roman.” I mutter.

I’ve binge-watched enough Time Team with Aunt Robin to know a fair bit about British archaeology and history. The Old Fortress seems to check out with what I’ve learned about Romano-British architecture.

“What you see now is Roman.”

I scream and jump. There’s a boy standing next to me. Like, right next to me. How did he get so close without me noticing? I glare at him.

“Okay, creep, what the Hell are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Same as you. Getting away from my regular life.”

He’s got a Scottish accent, not unusual considering how close we are to the border. He’s also the picture of handsome insolence, with dark messy hair and a smirk that could be either playful or taunting, depending on the angle. The cat, like the traitor he is, rubs up against the boy’s legs, purring like a chainsaw.

“I didn’t see another boat.”

“I came from a different direction.” He says.

“Kay. Well, feel free to go back that direction and quit stalking me.”

“I’m hurt.” The boy says overdramatically. “So hurt. I was not stalking you, merely trying to make your acquaintance!”

I snort. I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for goofy people, always have been. The boy smiles. Not a smirk, just a regular smile this time.

“See, I’m not that bad. My name’s Brendan, by the way.”

“Okay, fine.” I relent. “I’m Jay. How do you know it’s Roman?”

“Dad’s an archaeologist. I picked up a lot from him. But this site’s a lot older than just Roman. There’s activity here going back to prehistoric times. It’s always been an important place.”

“You should give tours.” I joke.

He shakes his head. “It’s not safe for most people to come here.” Brendan pauses. “Come to think of it, why are you here? And why are you using Robin’s boat?”

“You know my Aunt?” I blurt out. “Don’t tell her I was here. Please? She’ll ground me.”

“Well that answers that question.” Brendan says with a chuckle. “She mentioned she had family in America. I didn’t know you were staying with her currently, though.”

“Well, I am.” I say flatly.

I really, really don’t want him asking more questions about why I’m here right now. I don’t want to be fighting that knot in my throat for the rest of the day. So in time-honored awkward-person fashion, I try to change the subject. Brendan beats me to it. “That cat, is he yours?”

“Nah. I think he’s a stray. He’s been following me since I came down to the boat.”

We chat a bit longer as we walk. I learn that Brendan has two older sisters who are away at college right now, and his Mom is a historian working at a big museum in Glasgow, where they live most of the time. They’re down here visiting some friend of hers who just had a baby. He’s never been to America and is pretty curious. I’m right in the thick of explaining how Halloween works, because boy is this kid missing out, when the cat starts hissing and arching his back.

In unison, we look at the direction he’s facing. There’s nothing there but an old stone circle. Brendan sighs. “This is where you should leave.”

“No.”

He laughs nervously. “Thought you’d say that.”

“Are you gonna explain to me why the cat is freaking out? Or how you know my Aunt Robin? Or why this stone circle is supposedly dangerous?”

Brendan gives the circle a wary look. The morning shadows seem to darken around the stones.

“In a minute, yes. For now, do you have anything we can use to make fire?”

I nod, already digging around in my backpack for the little lighter I carry. He frowns. “That’s it?”

“Sorry, I left my flamethrower at home.” I snap.

Fear of the unknown is making me tense and jittery. It always does. My anxiety is stupid like that. If I’m ever in a situation where I don’t have all the info, my ridiculous brain starts filling in the blanks with everything that could conceivably go wrong. It’s happening now.

I dig my fingernails into my palms, trying to breathe deeply, trying to tell myself that I’m going to be okay. It doesn’t work. I start shaking, and my fear must show on my face. What’s worse is that Brendan doesn’t try to reassure me. He looks just as terrified as I feel. That means I might have good reason to be scared. My brain latches onto this thought with vicious claws and runs with it.

I draw my largest pocketknife and flip it open, pointing it at the stones. “Brendan. I need to know what’s happening, or I’m going to have a panic attack. Now, please.”

He blinks in shock, then nods. “Okay. The long version is too long for right now, so I’m sorry. Magic is real, monsters come to this island sometimes, and I think one is trying to break through and eat us. Having a panic attack right now is perfectly natural. Though it would be more helpful if you could avoid it.”

I glare at him. “Now you tell me?!”

“I thought you already knew!”

We’re interrupted by a long, low wail. It’s coming from a ragged gray shape that’s just appeared in the middle of the stone circle. It turns, and I can see it’s an emaciated, deathly-pale woman. She’s dressed in old-fashioned clothes faded away to threadbare scraps. Her stringy white hair and the skin of her hands is flecked with what looks like dried blood. The strangest part, though, is her face. Her wrinkled skin is stretched tight over her skull, making her look like an Egyptian mummy with a better nose. Her mouth is wide open revealing toothless gums, and it seems to be stuck that way. And the creepiest thing? She’s crying. The front of her dress is nearly soaked with tears, and her hollow chest convulses with the raspy, wailing sobs.

Brendan curses. “Banshee. Got any earplugs?”

“Earbuds, two pairs.” I toss him my spare pair. “Here. Hope you don’t mind my earwax.”

“It’s preferable to being dead, at least.” He says, putting them in.

I follow suit and scoop up the hissing cat. He flails and scratches until I put him back down.

“Ungrateful little bastard.” I mutter.

The banshee hears me and starts stumbling in our direction. I shudder just watching her. The way she moves reminds me of a zombie from some cheesy old horror movie. Only, I usually think those zombies are ridiculous. There’s nothing funny about the figure shambling towards us now.

I can’t hear her properly through the earbuds, but judging by the little scraps I can hear, that’s a good thing. Her crying is rising in pitch to something like an ambulance siren. Brendan draws a knife of his own. It’s a full-blown medieval dagger, the big kind I’m pretty sure is called a dirk.

“Are we fighting it?!” I holler.

“No choice!” Brendan yells back.

“Great.” I grumble.

And then we don’t have time to talk more, because she’s right there. Weirdly, she takes a lunge at the cat first. He jumps up on his hind legs and seems to grow, white fur glowing, until he’s the size of a panther. One claw swipe and her crying turns to a painfully high shriek as she’s thrown to one side, landing in the heather near my feet. The banshee picks herself up faster than I can get away and digs ragged nails into my arm. I yell in pain and yank away, but that withered hand is way stronger than it looks. She grabs my neck with the other one. I stab her.

By some miracle, my knife actually hits, sinking into one of her eyes. A mix of blood and weird gray goo spurts out. She screams again, and I’m pretty sure one of my eardrums just burst, but her grip loosens enough that I can pull away and stab her again. I miss this time, but she’s already hurt.

The banshee stumbles, then stumbles again, backwards into Brendan. He grabs her hair and drags his knife across her throat. Finally, it’s over. We’re both covered in blood and other, less pleasant stuff, and my arm feels like it’s on fire, but we’re alive.

The cat, back to his normal size now, walks over. He’s got a little blood dripping from a scratch on one ear, stark against his white fur. After a minute, he yacks up a big, gross hairball onto the dead banshee.

“You and me both.” I say as a wave of nausea comes over me.

Brendan pulls his earbuds out. I do the same.

“This is why you should have left.” He says softly.

“I’m fine.” I snap.

“No, you’re not. You’re shaking, you’re white as a sheet, and your eyes look like they’ll pop out any minute.”

He comes over and looks at my arm. “Take your coat off, we need to clean this. Cat, you too.”

Surprisingly, the cat walks right over to him.  Suddenly, the full implications of everything that’s just happened hit me. I start shaking harder, heart pounding so hard it hurts, and the nausea hits me full force as I curl up, trying to wipe what I’ve just done from my memory.

Brendan pulls me into a hug. Normally I’d punch a stranger if they hugged me without permission, but right now the contact is exactly what I need to ground me in reality. I lean on his shoulder, trying to get myself under control.

“First kill is usually the hardest.” Brendan says. “I’m really sorry that happened how it did. But we do need to tell your Aunt Robin. She’s the one in charge of protecting this area from monsters, I just work for her. A banshee’s the most powerful thing that’s shown up here in years.”

I nod. “Yeah. Being grounded is better than being dead, I guess.”

“You guess?” He teases. “You need to work out your priorities, Jay.”

I swat at him. I can hardly believe I’ve just met this boy today. It feels like we’ve known each other for much longer. I guess fighting monsters together is a good bonding experience.

I take my coat off and roll up my shirt sleeve, biting my lip to keep quiet as Brendan cleans and bandages the jagged scratches. Then we pack up and head back down to the beach, get in the boat, and set off for the mainland. Aunt Robin has some serious explaining to do. Also, I’m starving. I can almost smell the full English Breakfast.

[enchantinglyjade]

Shining My Love on You

Bob Marley/Kingsley Ben-adir One Shot

Bob Marley x Blk!Fem!Reader Note: Girl, I did it. This is just a quick little idea I got from the song Sun is Shining by Bob Marley. I don’t know much about Jamaican culture so I hope nothing in here is disrespectful. Most things/dialogue comes directly from the movie just to make sure I'm getting things like the dialect correct. Also, like my Elvis content, this fanfic derives from the biopic and has little correlation to the actual musician nor the actual actor, but rather the character that both come together to create.

-

Monday morning

The sun shines over the city of Kingston, giving each of its inhabitants a sweet sting upon their skin. The wind blows tenderly, cooling an otherwise hot morning. 

Bell bottoms cover the scraping of a young man’s shoes against the sand and rubble as he passes through town. The breeze catches beneath his unbuttoned jean jacket, causing it to flair gently behind him. As he walks, he catches glimpse of a rusted, teal pick up truck parked outside one of the shops, bags of green, yellow, and red mangoes piling out of the back. A woman takes four bags into her hands, lifting them from the truck with a bit of a struggle.

With a smile, he jogs over. As he approaches, his ears pick up on the faint static of a radio coming through the front door and pouring out onto the streets. “Here, let me help ya with that.”

The woman looks up in surprise, but smiles back nonetheless. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

He takes in her face; her bright eyes, her braided hair, her youthful spirit. Not the first time he’s seen her around, he realizes. “Ah, that’s no problem.” He says, following her into the shop with bags of the fruit in his hands.

It is a small building, but its authenticity shines through down to the freshness of every seed and the care behind every wipe of the windows. “This yours?” He asks as he looks around after placing the bags on the front counter near the register.

“My mother’s” She answers, taking fruit by fruit from the bags and placing them on a nearby cart. “She’s with child, so I’m in charge for now.”

“Ah, I see.” He nods out. “You live in that yellow house on Hope?”

Her eyes contort in confusion from his sudden personal question and her movement stops, looking at the seeming stranger with a more cautious approach now. “How’d you know?” She asks slowly.

He chuckles at her expression. “I live near. I seen you pass by.”

As she takes him in, her face begins to soften, a feeling of ease settling in her stomach as she remembers his long hair and slender build playing football around the neighborhood from time to time. “Thought I recognized you. I’ve heard my cousins speak of you. Bob, is it?”

He can’t help but grin when he hears his name flow from her lips. “Me that is.” She tries to hide her blush when she notices the softness in his voice and the savor in his eyes as he gazes down at her. He chuckles at her shyness, finding it endearing how she’s trying her best to focus on the fruit in front of her. “I’ma head back home,” He says softly. “But when you need help with your mangoes again, you know where to look for me.” He smirks as he backs slowly towards the entrance, still taking in the way her aura fills the shop.

She shakes her head with a chuckle before an offering comes to her mind for the kind man. “Before you go.” She stops him suddenly, grabbing a ripe fruit from the top of one of the bags. She tosses it his way, where he catches it with ease. “On the house.” She says as she resumes unpacking the bags.

His grin widens, thumbing the smooth skin of the mango as if in hope to find the subtle heat her fingertips had left behind on it. “I appreciate it.” His eyes glance up thankfully.

She lets her gaze wander over her shoulder where she makes contact with him one last time. A small smirk appears on her cocoa lips as she gives him a quick once over before turning back with a satisfied hum.

Wednesday morning

Palm trees stand still above the streets, no breeze to be felt. The rising sun already blazes, peeking out from behind the mountain tops with readiness. Rooftops glisten with heat, the usual busy streets not quite as busy today.

Despite this, the man decides to go for a jog, making sure to accidentally pass by a particular shop on his way through the city. His green running shorts bounce with each step, his shirt darkening as it gathers the moisture that rises from his brown skin.

The familiar shop then approaches. He hears that same radio music playing, it’s static seeming louder today. The doors are open, but no one joins her inside, so she spends her shift feeling the music instead. The shelf in front of her is just nearly stocked before she can’t help but dance to the beat coming from the front of the store. She moves slowly in place, twirling her wrists out to her sides. The window behind her allows the pastel pink and yellow of the sunrise glow to outline her body, nothing but her faint silhouette apparent to the man's eyes. He can't stop himself from staring in amazement, hypnotized and inspired by her body.

As she turns, he makes her out clearer now. Her large hoop earrings graze the side of her throat as she sensually rolls it to the song, beaded hair braids making music of their own as they gently clap together along her spine. The charm around her neck falls into the divot of her chest next to the small drops of sweat that dew the surface of her skin. He lets himself take in every detail of her beauty down to the very colors of the beads around her waist. The small glass spheres peek out over her skirt as she stretches her arms out above her head; green for vitality, red for love, black for protection.

She rotates once more in place. Then, as her eyes open, she can’t help but naturally focus on the familiar face in the doorway. He leans against the frame with an enraptured expression. However, instead of jumping back in surprise, she lets out a small laugh, letting her arms fall back down to her sides. She feels her shoulders drop gently, feeling an odd sensation of relaxation in his presence. “Do you always spy?” She asks, cocking her head to the side.

He pauses for a moment, chuckling to himself with an endearing smirk as he looks down at her. “Do you ever not stare at a rainbow?” 

She finds herself unable to say another word, finally allowing her lips to curl in a similar fashion. 

“Warm day for dancing, don’t you think?” He teases, crossing the barrier into the solitude of the shop.

But, she only shakes her head, taking small steps in his direction. “Never too warm for freedom.”

He can only smile more. “I like that.”  And her laugh makes a feeling in his chest become warmer than any Jamaican day.

Friday morning

The woman hangs laundry outside the yellow house, her cousins yelling in the yard next store as a small black and white ball gets kicked around in the lush green grass. 

The radio plays, as it always does, filling her company enough as the rest of her family busies themselves with a game. Her feet move, as they always do, filling her boredom as her hands repeat a similar motion.

She picks up a small, worn red shirt, grasping a pin in her other hand. As she raises her arms, her eyes instinctively focus on something behind the clothes line, someone. 

She chuckles, pinning the shirt to the line before giving him her full attention. “Back again.” She taunts playfully, walking from the laundry basket.

“Dancing again.” He takes notice with excitement. 

Her feet move towards the gate, casually drifting towards his side. “Of course.” She responds.

He stands in front of her gate, leaning his arms across the fence in wonder of crossing the other side. “I love that you can’t help but dance.” Her blush returns as does her gaze to the wet clothes hanging about the yard, but this makes his mind wonder even more. “You’re a very beautiful woman.”

As she looks up, she’s met with a more captivated and earnest face than she had previously gotten used to, but she snickers it off. “You’ve a habit of saying that nowadays.”

He lets just barely a second pass between her words before he responds. “And I mean it more and more every time.”

Despite his earnesty, she laughs it off again, but her heart begins to speed faster with each word of cherishment she receives. “Is that why your eyes always trail my way?”

He chuckles. “When you find a beautiful flower, you can’t help but watch it blossom.”

She hums at his natural poetic way of speaking, finding it entertaining and having to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from smiling. “Many flowers you be finding?” She questions with teasingly squinted eyes.

He smiles at the suggestion. “None quite like you.”

Saturday evening

She locks the shop doors after making her last sale. Her back is heavy with exhaustion, her feet sore with work. She lets out a deep breath, closing her eyes to find her center and ease her stress for the time being, at least until she can make it back home. She slumps her bag over her shoulder and begins to walk, the moon beginning to climb the side of the mountains, shining through the telephone lines to light the dimming streets. But when she finally nears her front gate, she finds the man there once again.

He leans over the fencing just as he did the day before, staring longingly, almost nervously up at the faintly lit windows of the house.

“Bob.” She calls out quietly, almost in question as to why he’s there.

He turns in surprise as he hears the sound of her voice to his side and straightens his back out. His usual smile doesn’t yet appear on his face, which causes the woman’s stomach to worry. “Been looking for you. Wanted to talk to ya.” He stammers out.

She readjusts her bag nervously on her shoulder, quickly looking him up and down. “What ‘bout?”

He looks down at the ground and his throat bobs with a swallow. “I can’t stop thinking ‘bout you. All the time.” A chuckle escapes his lips, his cheeks blushing from the embarrassment of his own nervousness. He decides to just get it out finally, consumed by the feelings she brings him. “I want be with you.” He states with a soft firmness in his tone.

Her heart flutters but her brain tells her not to show it. “I thought you just flirting… not that you want me.” She challenges her feelings reluctantly so, not wanting to believe something so good.

He shakes his head with an unbelievable grin. “I want you like a tree wants soil… like a mango wants a cute shop in Kingston to be sold at.”

A laugh escapes her lungs before she looks tenderly up at him. “You’re sure?”

He takes a step forward, a teasingly dubious hum responds to her question. “You think me not know what I want?”

Her voice drops quieter as he nears her, feeling his air cascade down her skin. “What you know?” She breathes out.

He lets his belly fill and deplete with air once as he relishes in their energies beginning to finally collide. “I know I gotta fight for the things I believe in.”

Her hands reach forward to place above each breast of his, feeling them expand beneath her fingertips, feeling the distinct thump that echoes throughout his ribcage.

His gaze drops down to her lips but just as quick re-find her eyes, the want is there, but his need searches her eyes for her soul, not her touch.

“And what do you believe in?” She asks.

The hands once at his sides, reach out to cup her waist, thumb rolling over the small beads he had noticed only a few mornings ago, gently pressing the rounded glass against her skin.

The sensation sends a shiver through her body, causing her shoulders to shake and her bag to slide right off, thumping to the ground at her feet. A quite gasp escapes her lips as her eyes are forced to break away from his at the sudden disruption.

With a chuckle, he hooks his thumb under the strap, letting his fingertip graze the length of her arm. Her eyes can't leave his hand, feeling his subtle warmth cascade past her elbow and trickle down the sensitive bone of her forearm until the bag acquires balance on the concrete.

He lets the strap fall to the ground as well, then finds solace at her waist once again. His lips widen slightly before answering her. “One heart. You and I.”

Her breathing falters, wanting to reach out for him, but she can't help but disappointingly let her eyes break away from his again. “Had me heart broken more times I can count, Bob. How can I believe in the one?”

One hand is removed from her waist, reaching towards her face. He curls his fingers, placing them beneath her chin for her to rest upon. The thumping of his chest becomes more present to her, but her mind can only focus on the tingling of her cheek as his thumb rolls over it as it did her waist moments before.

Their eyes lock onto the others, not daring, not thinking to move away. She can feel him, and he her.

Her palms stream up the cloth of his button up towards his neck, simultaneous to him leaning forward for her, and then it happens. They collide.

His mouth is soft, barely moving, so he can make out the feeling of her warmth against him, make out the feeling of the passion that flows through each of her veins and connects with his. Their lips crash in the same way a wave can smoothly cascade a beach, but alter its sand entirely nonetheless. It is earth changing, weather inducing.

She holds his face against hers, the skin of their lips barely breaking away as their foreheads connect and their hearts press together to join as one.

His lashes fan between her own, opening to scan the emotion in her gaze, opening to make her a promise he intends to keep. “Well, here I am.”

Would you ever write fanfics of the new Bob Marley movie? Kingsley Ben Adir was amazing in it.

Yo lowkey! That actually sounds fun. He was really good in that movie, I'll think about it lmao

[chihirolovebot]

a huge smile on face(s) when the kiss ends from the kiss prompt for shuichi and hajime? ty :)

— 𝐇𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀 + 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓.

word count: 1.6k

content: gender neutral reader, hinanami friendship my beloved, light cursing, flustered hajime <3

notes: will do shuichi in a separate post bc this got away from me. what can i say im a hajime simp thru and thru. thank you for requesting!!

"ah... you should just tell them you like them, you know?"

hajime's hands slip on his console; it goes clattering, unheard, to the ground. he stares at chiaki with wide eyes and silent lips, but the girl doesn't even have the grace to look up after telling him something so ridiculous.

he'd just been venting! he didn't expect her to call him out like this! face burning, he retrieves the console with a mutter of apology. there's a crashing sound from chiaki's, and then the familiar chime of a game over. with a small sigh, she slumps against the back of the bench and regards him with gentle, knowing eyes.

"i can't." hajime's mouth moves before he gives it permission. "it's - they're - you know."

"what?" chiaki says demurely. "too good for you? is that what you were gonna say?"

"w-well!" hajime dithers uncomfortably, hot under the collar. "it's true, isn't it? i mean, they're an ultimate, and they're in the main building surrounded by all the other talented people, and..."

"and what?" chiaki blinks. "i'm an ultimate, aren't i? and i like hanging out with you just fine. besides, y/n likes you too. don't say i told you so, but they're always talking about you. fuyuhiko is just about sick of you and he's never even properly met you." as she speaks, she's fiddling with the buttons on her console, rebooting the game to try the fight again.

meanwhile, she has effectively knocked the wind out of hajime. he gapes at her, game forgotten on his lap. "what?" he croaks. "they - they actually talk about me?"

"all the time," chiaki confirms. "they're a pretty simple person, you know. i doubt you'd have to go all-out with your confession, or anything. maybe flowers."

"chiaki," hajime says seriously. "i'm not going to confess. i can't."

for the first time, chiaki frowns. hajime's stomach flips; he hates seeing her upset, because it happens so rarely, and it makes him feel like maybe the worst person alive. she pauses her game and turns to look at him.

"why not?" she asks slowly, as though trying to puzzle it out in her own head. "i mean. you like them, and they like you. if you don't confess, isn't it just going to torment both of you?"

"but." hajime's mouth is dry. "i'm nothing. right? i - i'm just some reserve course student. i can't..."

"sure you can. i think you're being pretty silly about this," chiaki tells him gently. hajime grimaces. chiaki is soft about it, but she always speaks her mind. it's one of his favourite and least favourite things about her. "sorry if that was rude. i just... well, i think it would make everyone happier if the two of you were together. including me. i'd like to see two of my friends happy together, you know?"

hajime's heart stops. "friends?"

chiaki's wide, amber eyes blink slowly. "of course we're friends," she says mildly. "you play video games with me." and with that, she turns her attention back to her console, and hajime is abruptly forgotten.

he can't even go into the main building to find you. how pathetic.

he has to wait outside, getting eyed and scrutinised by security who see his reserve course uniform, who plainly want to rag at him but can't because he isn't technically breaking any rules. he glares over at them whilst simultaneously hiding the bunch of flowers wrapped in cellophane at his side.

he hopes you like them. you're nice enough that you'll pretend to even if you don't, but he wants you to actually like them. wants you to have them in your room with pride. his eyes sting, suddenly. he's so stupid. drooping flowers wrapped in cheap cellophane. you literally have the ultimate chef, mechanic, photographer in your class. he's sure any of them could come up with a better gift than this. this is an awful idea, why did he ever listen to chiaki? he'll dump the flowers now, and—

the doors fly open, and a sea of brown-uniformed students come pouring out. hajime, flustered, nearly drops the flowers in shock. he keeps an eye on the crowd; most of them give him odd or disparaging looks as they flit past, but he barely sees them. chiaki wanders past, absorbed in a game already, but she pauses when she spots the flowers at his side before he can whip them out of sight. she stops only long enough to give him a brief, encouraging smile before carrying on with the crowd.

is he sweating? the hand clutching the flowers is slipping on the cellophane. he can't do this, he can't do this can't do this can't do this—

"hajime?"

he yelps; one of the last students out, you walk alongside akane owari and nekomaru nidai, who pause to eyeball him. they're not judgemental, at least - mostly curious. akane's eyes zip from you to hajime, as if wondering what on earth he's doing here.

"y/n." he can only thank his lucky stars that he didn't stammer. his face is absolutely burning. "do you - i mean - can i talk to you for a minute?"

you blink, surprised. it's not unusual for the two of you to hang out, of course. he suspects the only reason akane hasn't throttled and questioned him is that she already knows who he is. but he's never waited outside the main building like this before, and certainly not with flowers in hand. your heart skips a beat. "um. yeah, of course. hang on." you turn to akane and nekomaru, who have split identical shiteating grins. "you guys go on, i'll - i'll catch up with you tomorrow, okay?"

nekomaru claps you heartily on the shoulder as he moves past, which almost sends you flying into the asphalt. akane cackles and bellows, "use protection!" over her shoulder, which, great, now the both of you are blushing like fools.

"uh," hajime says eloquently, realising he should speak. "i. uh. shit. this already feels like a bad idea and i haven't even - okay."

"hajime," you say patiently. "don't rush yourself. i'm not gonna get annoyed, or whatever it is you think."

his eyes are a lovely shade of olive-green in the sparkling sunset, you realise unhelpfully when they widen a little in surprise. he's visibly nervous, picking at a stray thread on his jacket, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. you can't stop staring at the flowers, and your heartbeat picks up. are they... is this... is he possibly...?

mouth suddenly dry, you wait for him to gather his thoughts.

"okay," he swallows after a minute. "okay. i'm just gonna do it. y/n." and his gaze nudges up, and he's suddenly staring you straight in the eyes. it's strangely intimate, makes you feel as though he's looking right through you, and your whole body is flushing under the contact. "since we started school, you've, erm, you've always been so nice to me. i mean, more than nice, that doesn't seem like the right word, but. you know what i mean, right?" he doesn't give you a second to answer, beginning to pick up speed. "and - and at first i didn't really get it. i mean, you're an ultimate, and you're surrounded by all those talented people, and i'm just me, so i thought - i don't know, but i just really didn't get it at first. but i think i see it now. like, you're just kind. to everyone. and, uh, what i'm trying to say is - fuck. shit. okay. you know what i'm trying to say, right?"

he's bright red in the face, more flustered than you've ever seen him, even more than the time you accidentally fell asleep against his shoulder whilst the two of you watched some horror movie. it seems to be a great effort for him to look at you, but he's making himself do it because, you know, he's brave. even if he doesn't admit it to himself, he is brave. you look from his flushed cheeks, to the flowers in his hand, to the barely-concealed sparkle of hope in his lovely eyes.

and suddenly you can't not kiss him. it seems like the strangest thing in the world that you aren't kissing him right now. so despite the lurking fear that he might genuinely have a coronary if you do so without warning, you tug him forward by his tie and slot your mouth against his.

the reaction is instantaneous - he yelps, muffled against your mouth, and his hand flail like a distressed octopus. thanks to losing all motor function, the flowers go tumbling out of his grip, landing in a morose, colourful puddle at his feet. the kiss ends before he can figure out what to do with his limbs, and when you pull back he's gaping like a fish, so red that he's in real danger of overheating.

a beat. you think you may have made a mistake. and then, like waking up from a dream, hajime blinks slowly --

and then he smiles.

you rarely see him smile so genuinely. it's as if you've let the sun into a dark room; his eyes lift up, and his mouth lilts, and the violent blush on his face cools somewhat into a mild, lovesick pink. your hajime is practically glowing in the dying light; you've noticed that he's handsome before, sure, but here in the sunset with the taste of him on your mouth, he's practically ethereal.

"oh," he says absently. he's still smiling.

"oh," you echo, and you realise that you're smiling, too.

[muffindaddystyles]

OH NO BABY!!

Summary: It was Harry who swimmed in freezing ass water but someone else (his lovie) ends up catching a cold, caring boyfriendrry, a mighty bit momrry.

Turquoise chilly waves crashes against the dark coloured stones as Y/N watches her button sized boyfriend; summat all with rosy cheeks and nose, un-tattooed, wearing excessively short knickers (so tiny it shows the curves of his cute bum perfectly), being a cheeky giggly boy while shooting his swimming scenes. 

She wheezes a cold puff of breath winding her brown overcoat closer around to keep her warm but it fails to do so and she might get a scolding from Harry for being silly and waiting outside the whole time just to watch him but she doesn't care, she's extremely proud of him and comes by the sets of My Policemen once a time she gets day off her job early. 

He paddles towards her like a penguin buried into humongous coats and towels, his brows furrowing together trying to recognize her dainty self waving him quite enthusiastically from far and his face softens at that.

Shaking his head when her teeth clanks together from the gush of stinging cold breeze. 

"Lovie'," He wraps his nippy palms around her hands bringing them to his frosty lips to blow warm air, knowing she hates cold and gets real whiny from not being able to bear it yet she stood in it for two hours for him means alot to him because his assistant told him someone was waiting for him but didn't tell it was his actual sweet baby.

"How you're not a frozen chicken yet?" She asks sighing once in the heat of his given trailer and he makes an exhultant purring noise when she cups his face, lulling it left and right playfully, "Are you okay? She queries worriedly looking down at him with batted eyes and he muses a chuckle at her sweetness. 

"Baby 'm fine -- feeling hot by the way now you're inside the van." He grins bashfully tugging her closer with his knees pulled around her legs, "You better go back home .. I don't want your cutesy bum to freeze to death." She squeaks surprisingly when he smacks her ass playfully and drags her down by pulling the lapel of her coat to smear his lips against her's fondly -- heart bigger than it's normal size at her sight making his day 100x better. 

"I brought you lunch, it's on that shelf." She tells him standing at the stairs of trailer and he waves her blowing a heartious kiss her way, "Call me when y'reach, yeah?" 

"Kay, bye!" Her awfully pretty smile covets dimples into his cheeks and he just want to throw himself into the sofa piled with blanket and scream into it like a teenager girl.

Though, she keeps sneezing through whole ride -- eyes teary, nose runny and fingers twitchy not to mention her numb toes making her feel very uncomfy. Her eyes dropping from being too sleepy and lazy. 

She's about to catch a cold. 

Tiredly she drags her feet upto their flat and doesn't even pet their kitten strawberry on the way to their bedroom and when reaches it flops over blankets snuggling into them -- without even changing into comfy clothes. 

Sirens everywhere as she wakes up with a groan holding her forehead to subside the pound in it and it's feeling like blazing alarms are going off in her head making her want to puke. 

It's dark outside. She's been napping for hours. She manages to sit on the edge of bed deciding whether she should stand up to go to washroom or not for that all she could see is floating wooden floor. 

Weakly she trudges towards the kitchen filling a glass of water and pulls out a thermometer from one of the drawers -- she was too occupied in waiting for it to beep  then checking her fever that she didn't hear Harry announcing; he's home. 

She gasps quickly shoving it under her bum, "Don't you hide that thermometer from me!" He squalls rushing towards her in two big strides of his daddy long legs and her eyes widen comically. 

"I was just checking and I don't have any kind of fever!" She squeals not letting him get hold of the thermometer and he glares down at her sternly, "You're burning up, baby." He hisses, the back of his hand pressed to her forehead. 

She stands up and does a twirl for him shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, "See 'm fine —- " Only to pass out but Harry was quick to take her fall in his arms gracefully squinting his eyes down at her.

"Yeah . . . could see how fine you're." She gives in atlast. Knowing he's going in a severe mommy mode.

"Put your arms around me — Or just fall on me, yeah that works too." She nods and let him slip his socks clad feetsie under her soles to walk them to their bedroom, he sits her down and she wails when he opens their wardrobe to get her something comfy. 

"Nooo." She bunches up into a ball as he fists her vest top to pull it over her head, "it's freezing -- 'm feeling so cold." He frowns because he's sweating his ass off from the heat. 

He sweeps her hair away from her eyes rubbing a hand down her back continuously, "It'd be a sec, pet. Then I'll warm these blankets in the drier 'n make ye' some soup, so you'd be all cosy 'n snuggly … hmm?" She's very unconvincing when sick. Wants him and just him by her side. 

She wipes her nose with her sleeve and sniffs, raising her armpits in air for him and  shivers terribly when he undressed her completely, "Oh me poor baby." He leans in to kiss the corner of her lips but she pushes him away grumpy-ly. 

"You're g'na get sick too, dummy." He pouts childishly helping her to put her legs in her fuzzy pyjamas, plants tender kisses to her ankles once covering her feet in aloe-fused socksies.

When she stands up on wobbly legs with the support of his folded thigh he almost jumps asking worriedly. 

"Where are ye' goin', missy!??" 

"To washroom." Her voice barely audible her throat achy and scratchy, "'M comin' with you." He tells her demandingly and she groans knuckling at her eyes. 

"No."

"You wanna walk by yourself? Alright, let's see that." He leaves her wrist and she gasps tripping forward from weakness -- catching the nearest furniture before the damage. 

"Moppet, stop being so stubborn and lemme take care of you … look at you, an absolute horror –-- never been this frail." He's just so caring it makes her want to cry and have a full on water-works party. He pushes her from waist to himself pecking her sweet smelling hair and takes her to washroom. 

After that he tucks her beneath two fluffy blankets and leaves her to make some soup for her and bring her medicine, "Harry!" She yowls pinching the blankets closer around her round small head and feels bad when he rushes inside in a frenzy with an utterly concerned face, serving spoon in his hand and dish rag on his shoulder. 

"What happened baby? D'ya wanna throw up? Or are you feelin' freezy, should I blow up heat?" He asks in one breath and she blushes murmuring timidly, glossy eyes still very sleepy and exhausted. 

She sneezes loudly, "I just –- achoo!! –- " Another sneeze and she messes her words horribly, " –- you — " Drool on the corner of her mouth. 

"You achoo me?" He giggles softly fetching some tissues for her and wipes her nose with them as she struggles to clean it herself. 

"'M sorry, please come back." She sighs holding in an another sneeze to avoid wetting him with her yucky stuff. 

He strokes her head for a generous moment, "It's almost cooked –- oh fuck is it burning?" He sniffs the air then looks down at her with full on saucer eyes and slaps his forehead when she raises her shoulders, "Maybe?" Thankfully not all of it got ruined and his grin was obnoxious while bringing it inside. Trying to shoo away strawberry who's pawing at the frizzes of his socks. 

She smiles up at him with hooded eyes when he hovers the spoon infront of her waiting to feed her as if she's some sort of lil baby and when she tells him it's hot he blows at it and when she still tries to make excuses he stares at her strictly, "Baby." He warns her and she obliges quickly grabbing his wrist delicately to eat and his heart jumps consciously at the fact she's still burning awfully. 

"Did you even put salt in it? It tastes like nothing."

"Please stop wasting of what's left of ye voice on complaints about soup you can't even taste." He huffs and she giggles only to drive into fits of loud coughs. He rubs her back gently and puts the tray aside when she feels like throwing up from the effect of coughs and moves the bin where she's bended over the edge of bed and his legs. 

"It's okay, hmm just let it out." He caresses her back and holds her hair away from her face -- though nothing comes out since she hasn't eaten anything from morning. 

"I hate this." There comes the first sniffle and he instantly cradles her face in his soft hands, "I know dovie' you're feeling very icky right now but it'll be better in the morning, I promise." She shakes her head coughing into her elbow. 

"I don't want to eat anymore." Her voice groggy and hoarse, he lifts her gaze up towards him scolding her with a stern frown. 

"Hey, now none of that -- you're not allowed to sleep until your belly isn't full." She groans nodding at last and he kisses her shoulder as a little reward. She isn't very bratty. Infact she's Harry's polite girl. Though, When she's he makes sure to tug her back on line but at the moment he understands that how much she's suffering. 

How much she needs him to take care of her.

Taking care of her medicines and her cough syrup he turns on the lamp laying back into heap of pillows against the headboard and spreads his knees to bunch her petite weak body against his chest and closes them when she's properly snuggled on top of him, it's one of her favourite positions to sleep in when she's sick --- clinged and cuddled to him. 

Like babies on their mommy's chest with their bums sticked out.

He tightens his arms around her hiding his face into the crook of her neck and smooches tiny kisses to her sweet spot, "You're so cute baby makes me heart-ache." 

His tranquil heartbeat never fails to lull her to sleep and his hands loving on her sides always makes her feel very warm, "You shouldn't have come to beach -- moppet. Knows your immune against cold is terrible." He whispers cheek squished over her head and she murmures sleepyly —- hands bundled up between her and his front, "Just wanted to make you feel ….. loved." Her words jumblish but full of affection and drool sticks to his sweatshirt when she mumbles against his chest. 

//

Harry didn't sleep whole night making sure she's okay, making her sip her cough syrup in betweens and massaging her head but when his eyes barely dropped and the clock hit 4 in the morning whimpers and wails started slipping out of her lips as if she's in very much pain. Which infact she's. Her body shivers vigorously in his arms and even though she's sweating her fever didn't lower down a bit. 

He has never seen her in such a bad condition. 

He perches on his elbow immediately cupping her hot rosy cheek and gives it few pats crying out worriedly, "Hey baby -- wake up." When she doesn't listen his lungs felt suffocating themselves bile forming in his throat. He throws the blanket away sitting up fully and rests her head in the nook of his elbow.

"Y/N!?" He tries not to panic when she gives him no-response and before his anxiety driven self could duck down to press his ear to her heart her eyelids fluttered barely -- blue chapped lips moving slowly. 

"'M okay, bub. Don't worry ….. " 

"Bullocks. You're not okay! You can't stop shivering!! Looks almost dead." He growls angry at her and himself for not taking her to clinic soon, "You're so fucking stubborn, pet." He mutters rageously laying her gently down on the mattress and climbs down the bed to bring their coats. Almost stomping his way all around the bedroom to collect stuff. 

This time doesn't ask her if she could walk or not and glides his arms underneath her shoulders and knees to haul her firmly against his chest -- blanket still wrapped around her shivering body. 

"Shh, shh my baby. You're g'na be okay, 'm so sorry you're in so much pain." He tries to soothe her while walking down stairs of the building. 

Turns out she caught pneumonia. They had to stay two hours at the clinic for her drip and some injections for which he had to hold her down from wiggling and squirming her way out. 

Made her rest till the fever was gone temporarily then drives them back home when assured that her condition isn't worsening and right now when she's cuddled up into his side with strawberry sleeping on his thighs he nudges her lightly.

"Dovie' I love you so much but that doesn't mean you can scare the shit outta me like that." She just mewls sinking deeper into his side.

"No more set visits fo' you." He tells her seriously and she perks her head up coughing mildly and he raises his forefinger in a demand for her to stay quite, that there's nothing to argue, "You could watch me for once 'n all at the big screen." 

"Harry……" She whines tugging the hem of his sweatshirt.

"No, Harry." He pets her head down back on the pillow. 

Without saying anything she distance herself from him like a grumpy shrimp and fusses under her breath. He supresses his amused chuckles noting the silliness of this girl and drags her back by her ankle towards him.

"Come back here, you little betrayer." He gasps dramatically and squishes her in his embrace till she gives up and herself nuzzles up into his homely scented neck. 

[themurderofcrowscollective]

" You can keep the last of me, I don't care I am obsolete! You have seen the last of me, wring my neck I won't feel a thing! REVERB, RESOUND AND REPEAT! PHASE OUT MY HEART AND YOU WILL SEE! SLAM SHUT, EYES BLANK AND REPEAT, I WILL SHOW YOU WHAT I CAN BE! " As I shouted it out, I don't even care if anyone can see me. I keep dancing as the song from my memories play out, but while I dance I get my phone out and turn on the actual song, skipping to the instrumental part before the final verse. During it, I keep dancing until the final verse. " You can keep the last of me, I don't care I am obsolete. You have seen the last of me, wring my neck I won't feel a thing. " My voice is so soft it hurts, and I can feel the tears burning and stinging my eyes. " Reverb, resound and repeat, phase out my heart and you will see! Slam shut, eyes blank and repeat, I will show you what I can be! " Then as I shout the final part, I feel relieved to let out my anger and pain. " I AM MORE THAN WHAT YOU CAN SEE!! " As the song ends, I take deep breaths until I fall to my knees, tears rolling down my cheeks as I lean forward until my head touches the ground, hugging my sides as I yell out and sob in anger. " I-I was a kid... w-why did you have to hurt me?? " I look up to the sky and sob as I yell. " WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE YOUR HATRED?? I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT!!! " As if on cue, it started to rain as dark clouds rolled by. I don't know how long I spent out there, it was just me and the rain. As I stood up and let the rain drench me, I close my eyes as I spread my arms open wide and listen to the rumbling thunder. At least I stopped crying. The wind started to pick up, blowing more rain towards me as I just let it happen, feeling alive for the first time. Still, more thoughts got to me. " IS THAT YOUR ANSWER?? YOU JUST HATED ME CAUSE I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT?? I CURSE THE DAY YOU TWO STOPPED LOVING ME, STARTED SEEING ME AS SOME KIND OF FREAK ALL BECAUSE OF SOMETHING I WAS BORN WITH!! " A loud thunderclap roared across the sky, but I didn't get afraid. " IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?? I'M NOT SCARED OF YOU, I'VE FACED DEATH COUNTLESS TIMES AND I'M STILL FUCKING ALIVE!! " As another lightning strike flashes and the loudest thunderclap echoed, I yell up to the sky. I must've yelled too loudly as I heard Alejandro run outside. " Hermano! What are you doing out there?! " I turn to look at him, unaware I was looking at him with both eyes wide open. He knew something was wrong but before I could say anything, he grabbed me by the arm and we both ran inside. Rudy stood inside and waited as we ran inside, Alejandro holding my face into his hands as he looked at me. He must've known I was out there singing and yelling, as he had the same look of concern in his eyes. " Dios mio, are you alright? " I shake my head, letting out a sigh. " No... bad dream of something that happened to me, when I was just a kid. " Alejandro pulled me into a hug, something I needed. " Want to talk about it? " I only nod, hugging him back when I notice Rudy come back with a towel and drape it over me. Eventually we headed to the kitchen, Rudy sitting down with me as Alejandro made some cocoa the way his mom used to make it for him. " You can begin whenever you're ready, okay? " I nod when Alejandro takes a seat next to me and hands me a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows in it, putting a hand on my back as I took a sip. This is good. After a few seconds, I finally start talking. " I might not be the person I was anymore, but I still have the memories of what happened to me when I was a kid. I was born with just a single differing feature, which you two can see. " I look at them both, my right eye color being a bright golden yellow which is a major contrast from my left eye which is blue. " They didn't like it when I got older, I had to be their perfect fucking daughter with matching eye colors until I was like... 3 or 4. I was given this scar by my alcoholic father who blamed me for his drinking and I had already been beaten by him before that day. "

A Stranger's Bullet

We've been on a fucking roll with these word vomits, but now it's my turn to play! (It's K btw)

During a mission set out in South Korea after Price have received word of Shadow activity being sighted, Horangi had requested to be dispatched alongside Ghost. It was only them two as they were both sufficient in stealth and taking out enemies silently but what would happen if both of them were to be cornered by enemies on all sides, only to witness them get headshot from afar? Why don't we find out? - - - " Wake up Lieutenant. " Ghost had instantly opened his eyes as soon as the words were said, he'd fallen asleep during the ride to South Korea for a mission. First step was to have a stake-out, gather intel on the enemy's movement, and only take them out when the order to move out is made. Originally he had planned on doing this alone but during the mission briefing, Horangi had asked to join. It seems the enemy were close to where he used to live so before Price could try to reason with Horangi, Ghost spoke up and allowed him to be there. The plane ride was long and tiring but eventually the plane landed and their assigned taxi was already there to pick them up. They had to wear their civvies (civilian clothes) as they'd traveled via public airplane so you could imagine how plain they looked. Their hideout is as simple as it could be, being stocked already with equipment and supplies to last them about a week before they were able to push out phase 2 of the mission. For the first week it was purely gathering intel and infiltrating the enemy's hideout to gather said intel, nothing strange or out of the ordinary having occurred yet. As soon as all the intel was gathered about their plans, Ghost sent them to Price who then ordered the command to take them out. It didn't go as planned. What Price thought was a few opponents really happened to be more than what Ghost and Horangi could take on, so when things went south, the pair of them were cornered on a low building. " If one of us makes it out here alive, I'd want it to be you Ghost. " " Bullshit, we're both getting out of 'ere. " They stood with their backs slowly reaching the edge as the enemy closed in, guns aimed and ready to shoot... until one of them dropped like a fly. Not a sound was heard aside from the thud he made, and when one of the Shadows checked on him to find a bullet shot straight through his head, that Shadow also fell. No one knew what was going on but Ghost and Horangi took it as a chance to fight off the ones left standing as more Shadows fell to the ground, until none were left alive. After getting back to the base (after another boring plane ride), Price debriefed the two on the mission until it was time for their input. " Sir, while we were there we were surrounded by many Shadows until someone shot down a good amount to make it a fair fight for us. You didn't send anyone to help us, right? " Ghost asked inquisitively, Price looking confused as he leaned back in his chair. " No, I didn't. Did either of you see anyone else that night? " Horangi leaned forward. " I saw a glimpse of someone from above, but they were too far away for me to get a good look at them. " " I'll have it added to the report. Good work you two, dismissed. " - - -