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thefamilyeldritchabomination · 6 months ago

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Maze Chapter Two: Renegade Pt. 3

Hiei slowly lifted himself from Yusuke, getting a very good look at the former spirit detective before looking at his own arm as well. The planes jumper mostly did its job by protecting the occupants from the disfiguring injuries of the very unstable rift made from the rush job, but, because it was unstable, it had triggered Hiei and Yusuke to enter their demonic forms as a means of survival. Yusuke did resemble Raizen when he was still alive as Hiei went to shutting down his jaganshi form, the green and excessive eyes receding before making his way towards Kurama. There was a concern in Hiei’s mind that was only confirmed when he reached Kurama and his little horror show. Kurama, having his abdominal region being attacked throughout his combat career had caught up to him about eight years ago in the form of heavily scarred and damaged intestines that were getting infected due to age. The jump through the unstable portal had attacked that fragile spot on Kurama’s body, even the planes jumper couldn’t protect Kurama from that. The other thing that had Hiei concerned was the fact Kurama was fighting off the shift into his Yoko form which wasn’t helping the blood festival going on. “Goddamn it Kurama, just let your body shift into Yoko’s, you’ll be able to heal quicker that way.” Hiei growled as he climbed back to the front seat, annoyed at the stubbornness of Kurama.

“When I said I would never become Yoko again, I meant it.” Kurama growled as half his face was fighting between Shuichi's and Yoko’s. “Kurama, I am not above hitting an injured person if they’re being stupid. It’s a lose lose situation, either you shift now to save that human body of yours or you let it die, becoming Yoko anyways but more permanently.” Hiei was very prepared to thwack Kurama if he continued to be stubborn.

“What happened to your code?” Kurama received a thwack to the back of the head for that question as Hiei just stared at the Former thief indifferently. “This is an exception to my code. Now let yourself shift so you can fucking heal.” Hiei readied a second thwack in case Kurama decided to carry on.

“Okay, fine, but if I shift into Yoko to heal, you need to drive the van while I recuperate.” Kurama relented, getting his cell phone out and preparing to let the shift happen. “What?” Hiei gave Kurama a very perplexed look at being asked such a task. “Drive the van, I can’t drive in this state until I’ve recovered.” Kurama raised an eyebrow, pausing a bit at Hiei’s reaction. “..fuck me..” Hiei grumbled as he stared at the hideous thing called the steering wheel. “Hiei, is there something you need to tell me?” Kurama returned to coughing up more blood as Hiei came clean. “About that, I never felt or had the need to learn how to drive one of those puny human vehicles before until now.” Hiei told the terrible but unsurprising truth to Kurama who just stared at Hiei for a moment after having the bloody coughing fit. “So you don’t know how to drive?” Kurama furrowed his brow a bit upon hearing that. “Kurama, you're talking to someone who basically lived in public parks while being exiled from the demon world. Do you think I’d have a license to drive?” Hiei glanced to the side, not wanting to talk about the years he lived outdoors without any sort of shelter.

“Alright, we’ll compromise, I’ll show you quickly on how to just pull over to the other side of the road so we’re not blocking it up.” Kurama moved Hiei onto the driver’s wheel so he could finally shift as the pain became a bit too great.

“Fine..” Hiei said as he got pushed over to the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel as though it was a life line.

With a sharp inhale of breath, Kurama relaxed his body as he let it finally shift. Kurama’s shifts had always been an odd one compared to the others. Instead of just transforming like how Hiei’s would, Kurama’s was likened to a flicker of light so to speak. The nearly middle aged human called Shuichi Minamino had vanished as he was replaced by a much taller man with silver hair. His fox ears pinned to the back from the abdominal pain as his demonic body went to work on healing up the injury. The golden eyes darted to the back of the van to check on Yusuke for a moment before turning his attention towards Hiei. Yoko had temporarily returned as he instructed Hiei on how to drive the van to the side of the road with much annoyance from both having to focus on healing and the jerking motion of the van being driven by Hiei. It took a while to teach Hiei how to park the van and how to turn it off, much to Hiei’s displeasure of being reduced to driving a puny human vehicle.

With the van parked to the side of the road, Yoko went to relax a bit after a tiresome ordeal and started to check the cellphone for a moment. Having fulfilled that side of the commission, Yoko got up the number that Ophiuchus used before to send a text letting the arch fae jackass know. Hiei raised an eye as he watched Yoko click his sharp claws against the glass of the phone. The sound of the message being sent rang as Yoko kept his hardened eyes on the screen, waiting for an answer amongst other things. Deciding to risk it seeing as Yoko was in fact in the process of healing up, Hiei spoke up.

“Now that we’re no longer running from spirit world authority, tell me, who is this employer of yours? There are not a lot of people running around with free fae technology at their disposal.” Hiei looked very carefully at Yoko, pretty sure he’ll put up an argument about it.

“The employer? A soon to be very decommissioned Fae Queen once I get a photo of the person we’re needing to restore Yusuke.” Yoko responded coldly as he waited on the phone, watching the screen as though it had insulted him personally.

“...Kurama, you’re talking about a fae queen here. Those things are essentially magical nuclear reactors.” Hiei nearly shouted before regaining his composure about the entire situation.

“It’ll be challenging, but there is no such thing as being invincible, not even for a fae queen. I’m a very patient man with time at my disposal for the moment.” Yoko calmly replied, much like a calm before a massive storm arrives.

“I think the same can be applied to you there.” Hiei said, a part of him wanting to see Yoko dispatch a fae queen while the other rather not see a magical fallout of horrors.

“Not when the half arsed monarch over there insulted Yusuke and Kuronue like that, trust me on that one.” Yoko hissed a bit as he narrowed those cold, horrible eyes of death as the response arrived.

The images that arrived earned Yoko’s confusion for a moment as Hiei looked over to check it out. It was two images, one from public outings and the other when amongst her own kind. It was a dobhar chu, a canine-like otter variety of fae, but something was off with the image. This queen elect was super short for her own kind, especially for a dobhar chu with one ear flopped lazily to the side. Her fur was a creamy sort of off white with brown markings around the eyes like eyeshadow, lining the rim of her ears, and a stripe running along the back to her tail. The only thing that would’ve been considered normal for her kind was the bi colored hair, cream and brown stripes curled with fluffy bangs. Next to it was the fae’s human disguise, it kept the bicolor hair and the eyeshadow like markings on a ‘the sun will kill me on sight’ pale skin. This wasn’t the source of the confusion, the source was the fact that this person was often shown as part of the entourage for the earth settled faes’ queen rather than being said queen herself. The perceived queen was over seven feet tall and had always dressed in the most elaborate gowns imaginable, hair neatly done in rows of microbraids that led to a fluffed up faux mohawk unlike the small one that often dressed in more cutesy clothing rather than something fitting for royalty. It was pretty clear after a few messages for clarification that the images sent was in fact the queen for the human world settlement, somehow the entirety of their real queen going missing had been kept silent.

“I guess that was the stand-in the whole time, though I can see why, that queen is insanely small.” Hiei commented, catching Yoko off guard at the eavesdropping. “Whatever, if this is the person who’ll get the job done, then so be it.” Yoko placed the cellphone down, he now has a face to the signature and that was the only thing that mattered.

“I would’ve thought the settlement faes would’ve made a huge fuss that their queen went missing.” Hiei pointed out, unsure what to make of the fact that the whole ‘the queen is missing sound the alert’ thing wasn’t being treated as a major deal. “What do you expect from them? They’re like injured cats when it comes to internal conflicts, they hide it from everyone and only discuss it amongst their own kind. I’m not surprised at all that they wouldn’t breathe a word about a missing queen. Besides, the whole settlement is essentially an anarchist paradise, they’re likely getting along just fine without their figurehead.” Yoko said as he went back to focusing on recovering, having had enough about the fae and their antics that made his skin crawl in annoyance.

“Changing the topic then since the fae really got you pissed off, why didn’t you have the idiot cut a hole into this world instead?” Hiei waited patiently to bring up the very one elephant in the room as Yoko shot him a scowl. “Hiei, it’s not wise to ask a dumb question around me. Kuwabara wouldn’t have done it given Keiko’s wishes. There is that and I didn’t want to drag a human into this fae contract, that wouldn’t have ended well.” Yoko responded as he carefully pushed himself off the seat to get to the back to lay down for a while.

The van went silent for the time, Hiei having decided it was best to let Yoko have some quiet time as he healed. Yoko laid down for the time being to let the injuries heal themselves while keeping track of Yusuke on the makeshift life support. With a face to the signature, Yoko felt reassured that Yusuke will finally be brought back to his family and friends after being gone for so long. Whatever punishment that might be waiting for him and Hiei would be worth it in the end. The morning rush, the all night preparations, the rush job, and the recovery had taken a toll on Yoko as he slowly drifted to sleep. Hiei sat by the driver’s seat, keeping watch on his end until Yoko was awake and ready to travel once again. It would be another few hours of rest before Yoko would wake up and take back control of driving the van into the town up ahead. On the sign as the van passed by into its territory read simply as ‘Meteor City’ as Yoko and Hiei entered. Outside of the van, a few miles back, stood a figure dressed head to toe in dense armor that had been monitoring the recently appearing vehicle. The figure fished around in the armor for a moment before pulling out a two way radio as it hummed to life to deliver a message.

#YYH #Yu Yu Hakusho #yu yu hakusho fan fiction #Fan Fiction #Writing #Maze #Yoko Kurama #Kurama #YYH Kurama #Hiei #Yusuke Urameshi #OCs #HunterXHunter #HxH

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undeadorion-archive · 11 months ago

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So I had a "fun" thing happen the other morning.

I went to bed at around 4am. At around 6:30am I became dimly aware of the sound of the window in my dad's office sliding open, but what ultimately woke me up was him yelling something. I live in Washington state and it's December, so at this hour it was still completely dark outside. He'd said "What the hell are you doing?!"

There was a random guy in our front yard with a flashlight. I only saw him through our low quality doorbell camera, but he looked to be late middle age. He'd pulled up his car behind mine, which is at the end of the driveway, got out and was walking across the yard to the far end of the house. He was holding something in his other hand, too. I could only tell it was something long and thin, so my guess is either a screwdriver or knife.

My dad has a whole security camera system set up in his office. The front of the house is covered, but all the cameras are angled to see the doors and windows, so the yard itself isn't covered. And the small area between the house and the fence on the far end is the only side of the house not covered, which appeared to be where this guy was headed.

They guy retreated to the street the moment he heard my dad yelling, but responded that he was "looking for an address." Then gave a number that started with 4. Everything on our street starts with a 1. Our house number is beside the door in very large numbers, plainly visible from the street and we have a light by the front door that's always on at night. Only he wasn't looking anywhere near the door.

If he'd just jumped in his car and left, that alone would have been weird. But he didn't. In fact, he didn't even immediately get in his car. He first walked away from his car, toward the neighbor's house, before coming back and getting in his car.

He then spent 20 minutes driving back and forth on a street that's only about 4 houses long. He'd stop randomly and just sit in the middle of the road. He'd turn his headlights off for a few minutes then back on. At one point he pulled up and parked in front of someone else's house but stayed in his car.

I was intently watching him, waiting for him to get out again. If he was in his car he could just leave at any moment. And if I called 911 and he was gone by the time they got there, they wouldn't do a damn thing because we didn't get a very good look at him and we didn't have his license plate number. All I could identify was that he was driving a white or silver small SUV, which are probably the most common car in this area. But the guy never got out of his car again and eventually, finally, drove away to terrorize a different street.

I posted the video and description of the car and behavior to a local neighborhood community. Someone said that around 3:30am that same day someone with a car matching that description had been doing something similar on his street. He'd taken notice of it because the car and stopped with its headlights glaring right in his front window.

My dad thinks he was probably drunk or senile. I think he was looking for somewhere to break in and just doing a terrible job of it. Either way, I'm now super paranoid and my dad's planning to add a camera that covers the front yard.

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magnusrosen-blog · 1 year ago

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Irony and reality can sometimes be close to each other.

The sleeping people!

We sleep so heavily in an illusion that everything is done for our own good!

In the history of man we find a conclusion.

Even though people are injured and die in war, shot on our streets and in our homes in front of our noses, even though we have poor pensioners, Swedish citizens who are homeless, drug sales outside middle school in some schools in our country!!!

😴 So we sleep so well and soundly and I shouldn't question it, what if someone says against me, oh yeah yeah I don't want to be part of that, then it's better to be quiet and sleep on, then people get hurt while I closes my eyes.

Even fixed service agencies like banks are starting to question us all as if we were criminals. Questions like if we are active politically or have feelings in the military, why we want to deposit our cash or withdraw cash, act like we support terrorists or other criminal activities. Is integrity and respect for people completely gone?

Is it ok that we are all treated as potential criminals?

😴 But we just sleep on in a dream that everything is so good.

Our news is no longer objective, nor is the new healthcare that recommends preparations that have not been tested according to all the rules of the art, but they spread chemical mixtures into people's bodies, what is actually in these substances? 😴 But no one dares to ask, we just dare to say "yes" and continue to sleep.

5 G, which would make the whole world wake up to a thunderous quality and speed, turns out to be more intended for something else as everything has become worse when it comes to telephony and data speed.

Where I live slightly outside of Gothenburg, it has definitely gotten worse, so I have turned off my 5G.

The radiation inside the city is on "warning" for humans, I have seen this myself on a radiation meter.

😴 But no one seems to care or question this either.

Did you know that there are several different techniques that cause the sunlight to be blocked from our globe.

Yes, it is certainly scary that some people are experimenting with our entire mother earth.

Tinkering with the weather has been done since the Vietnam War.

😴 But what does it do when you can close your eyes and sleep on?

Wars are encouraged instead of effective peace processes, at the same time they talk about climate change which entails high environmental taxes, tax money that is not even earmarked?????

War is a terrible environmentally friendly act, but it doesn't matter because you fight for the good of everyone????? Or do you do this for the good of all. 😴 When did a war bring anything but illusions and death to the little man???

The vegetables are now genetically engineered to such a mild degree that the vitamins are starting to become difficult to detect in the increasingly brilliant, colorful vegetables that many times next only taste like water, 😴 but that can't wake us up either!

Some pieces of meat start to get an aftertaste from the brush 😴 but what does that do, or beef fillets filled with water to charge a higher kg price, 😴 but oh yes it's nothing to worry about when you can sleep on.

Yes, now it is even difficult in some professions to get full time since the 80% salary came into effect.

More expensive prices with less wages.

😴 Yes, that's good, then we won't be able to afford to live.

Think how good life is anyway, well until the day you open your eyes 👀 and ask yourself, how could it be like this.

Yes, that day started to get its last "well before date"

Then the road back is very long.

Yes there are many more alarm clocks ⏰, 😴 but it doesn't seem to help.

Shouldn't we at least question and demand an objective picture with more than one perspective?

Questioning gives answers but silence does not.

The wise ask and the foolish dare not question. But no questions are wrong and clear, transparent answers must always be given so that no major misunderstandings occur against the people.

The worst thing is if society splits up into small different groups that are against each other, because then we easily fall into the plates that the perfection of power has put out and become easy to sink our teeth into.

😴 But what does that do when you can close your eyes and sleep on.

Perhaps it is simply too much to ask to open one's beautiful eyes and instead just sleep further into an illusion and future that is currently presented when this text is read?!

But in any case, in the sign of love, you can wish everyone 😴 sleeping a good sleep.

Sleep tight!!! ❤️🙏

Magnus.

Love peace understanding

Remember: Questions bring knowledge

Free speech makes for a free world

Photo Gabriel Henningson

www.magnusrosen.com

www.magnusrosenband.com

www.culturemeetsindustry.com

#book #magnusrosenband #outsidetherockbox #sound pollution #moderearth #spiritual #barvcafebar#brännö

#avelibooks #noise pollution

#magnusrosen #bassplayer #ljuset #miraclet #basenimitthjärta #avelibooks #mrb #nyhetsmorgon #tv4#rocknytt #manneinstrument #manneguitars #ebs #mannebass #understanding #thesea #sun#heavymetal #rockmusic #rock #itstimetorocktheworldagain

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spicedddrum · 10 months ago

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Hey Im fucking BACK

so. I love thinking about this kind of thing so I went a LITTLE hard when considering it.

First some notes- something I love about M9 and CR is the outfit details and keeping them to character.

M9 specifically seemed to do a really good job of keeping similar silhouettes across everyones looks. Calebs always got a trenchcoat scarf and tunic, beau always has a mid-riff, sleeveless overcoat and her Cobalt Soul sash, ETC

SO LETS LOOK AT MOLLY

He has his coat, a very important piece to him. I think Matt and Tal had already set up that this was a gift from someone important. I think Molly is sentimental about everyone he's ever loved and keeps things to remember them by. His other design elements are obviously circus-y. His jewelry is costume jewelry and his clothes are hand-me-downs from circus-folk.

Design wise he is VERY harlequin. Which i fucking love. SO. MUCH. he is the most beautiful and genuine clown.

Right now he's so young, only two years old really! any memories he has is leftover nightmares of some sort of flesh city. He's happy to forget whatever the fuck THATs about am embrace these new families he's found.

SO. HIS FIRST REDESIGN LOOK

I tried to keep the important details, open chested shirts are mentioned with him and lucien so its ESSENTIAL 👏 plus he needs some sort of skin showing to do his blood magic. The inconveniently tall boots are enough essential to his character. Even Kingsley has them.

He's kept the coat up to this point because it's important to him and he's worked so hard on it besides. He's also kept his circus leggings because theyre perfectly good and make his legs looks great why would he replace them?

Otherwise I focused mostly on mirroring Jester's second look. I think him and Jester would be terrible influences on eachother while shopping. I also bet that with new money and thieving friends he would finally get nice jewelry instead of cheap costume stuff.

I will admit i am fuzzy on the ENTIRE MIDDLE of the campaign but by the time they get their first updated art i believe theyve been to shadycreek which inevitably means more things about Lucien and the Tombtakers has surfaced. Molly is probably still fully in the boat of not wanting to know anything about any of that but I can almost guarantee beau would start digging in to those sore spots once they keep running in to more people who knew Lucien.

I think theyve also met Vess and been to Xorhaus by now?

Matt also mentioned that if what had happened hadn't he was interested in having Lucien be a reoccuring antagonist for them. I optimistically think this means Molly would be forced to have a face to face conversation with him at least once by now.

FINAL LOOK, AEOR RUINS

This is my favorite one I leaned a lot on fanon Lucien for this as well as taking a bit of inspo from BG3 fashion lmao

I tried to keep the important silhouette bits I mentioned before, open shirt, tall boots, long coat. BUT i think its unrealistic that that coat makes it to the end of their adventure without being TRASHED either over time or all at once. I think Molly would do his best to salvage fabric and ideas from it (sentimental bastard)

I think that even if everything had happened differently they still would have ended up in the Aeor ruins in the end. All roads led north as it were. In this AU Molly's had to either face Lucien and his reality physically and/or mentally. this is MY reality so i get to pick my favorite outcome which is that Molly sort of talks Lucien down and sort of absorbs those fragments of psychology back in to himself, experiencing his memories from a second hand POV in a way.

Sort of how Kingsley refers to molly and lucien as his siblings I think Molly would end up with a similar sort of affection and empathy for Lucien.

I don't think Molly wants to fully let go of his circus past, that's him for sure but I also think he's not trying so hard to run from Luci at this point, allowing some of his influence in to his look 😌

EDIT: ALSO. THANK YOU FOR THIS. I FEEL LIKE IVE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME THIS FOR YEARS. I HAD SO MUCH FUN

Any ideas for potential Molly outfit changes we could have gotten?

lots actually. so many that i will be returning to this later in the day hopefully with sketches

#i. love. mollymauk.#m9 #long post #mollymauk tealeaf #lucien tavelle

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hotxcheeto · 3 years ago

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Please chloe price relationship headcanons sfw and nsfw :)

━ 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐇𝐋𝐎𝐄

Pairing(s) - Chloe Price x G/N!Reader Warnings - Cursing (obvi), NSFW under the cut

You guys are probably friends or at least acquainted before y'all start dating

She's the type to hardcore flirt with someone 'as friends' to test out the waters because its 'her personality' "God, your looking exceptionally hot today." "We'd be a fucking power couple, don't you think?" "Yeah, you look great in that shirt. But it'd look better on my floor."

Cue your blushing and her smirk

But seriously she's testing the waters

She scared you'll end up leaving like the others but that proves very wrong

It finally comes out as a high confession in her room in the middle of the night while laying beside each other on her bed

She's basically gone and just blabbering away at how hot you are and that she's always wanted to kiss you

You are flabbergasted.

Staring at her with wide slightly red eyes in the dark while she just keeps talking "Chloe stop messing around." "I'm not hot stuff... would you be mad if I kissed you?" "...no."

Cue the best kiss you've ever had in your entire life

She's totally a touchy person

LOVES CUDDLING?

Is ALWAYS touching you I mean ALWAYS

Working on your laptop? Her head is on your shoulder watching you do whatever your doing

Laying in bed? She's either laying on you or has you laying on her

Standing at the counter? Her arms around your waist and her chin is on your shoulder

You can't escape her grasp

She really likes laying her head on your shoulder

Likes kissing you too

Like everywhere

The type to stick her head up your shirt when your both laying down

She's a pervert and you cannot tell me otherwise

Loves to lay her head on your stomach a lot

It gives her a sense of security

Likes to be big spoon a lot because she's a cocky douche sweetheart and likes to feel you laying beside her wrapped in her arms so she knows your still there

But on bad nights she gets nightmares about her dad, Rachel and Max leaving she likes to lay her head on your chest or in the crook of your neck

Or her head in your shirt on your chest?

Its for security

It reminds her that you're still there and your not gonna leave her

She likes her hair being played with

She'd probably try to talk you into getting a tattoo or a piercing

Or even dye your hair and she'd totally do it for you

In her bathroom which proved to be a terrible idea the bathtub was multicolored for days

You're best friends with Joyce

She thinks you're an amazing influence on Chloe and helps her not get into so much trouble

Keeps her less angry and more grounded after everything that has happened to her

Also helps calm the fights between her and David

She'd call the school saying there's an 'emergency' or that you had an appointment to get you out so you guys can have fun together

Will force you to stop working if you're stressing yourself out too much and will hide your things to get you to take a break

Loves hanging out at the Junkyard with you and if she finds good quality things she thinks you'll like she saves them to give to you

Will spend her money on things you love even though you told her a thousand times she didn't need to

You guys are definitely saving up to travel

Like a cross-country road trip finding little odd jobs to do just to get out of Oregon

NOW SPICY TIME

She's a mother freaking TOP

I don't really see her being on bottom unless she's really upset that day but even then she's still pretty dominant

LOVES to go down on you in every way possible FOR HOURS just because?

She likes it?

She knows it doesn't really do anything for her pleasure but she gets so fucking happy watching you needy for her

She likes to feel needed but she's also very needy

LOVES having sex high

It's just so much better in her opinion

She also either falls asleep immediately after sex or gets high after and she doesn't mind if you don't want to either or if you pass out

She gets to admire your after-sex glory

The girl loves your ass

Loves to tease you and flirt with you in bed "Jesus hot stuff if I knew you were gonna beg for me this bad I would've asked you out sooner." "Chloe I will literally leave right now."

No you wouldn't of

Lets be honest

A/n: I love these sm I got a little carried away

#chloe price #chloe price x reader #life is strange x reader #life is strange #chloe #lis #dontnod #nevy writes #special tag

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knullanon · 4 years ago

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invincible bullshit that i came up with 10 days ago i just forgot about it

ngaoevnbiaebiw its here @anxiousnerdwritings i hope you like it i got inspired by you to write this

words: 2196

warnings: past arguing, MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ENTIRE SEASON 1, shooting, arguing, past manipulation

“Reports of who killed the Guardians of the globe are starting to surface, with our agents finding out about the supposed killer: we know they spared Omni-Man, killed the rest of the members, and then fled. We also know they are not from earth. Lots of people have speculated that Omni-Man is the one behind these killings, however, the government has ruled out that being a possibility, since there was no evidence of Omni-Man doing these actions. More at 7 tonight on-”

The program stopped playing as you saw a contact appear on the top of the screen, and reading it, you immediately perked up.

Swiping on the green button, you happily said, “Hey, Dad! What’cha need?”

You heard a chuckle from the other end, before he said, “Hey kiddo, how you holding up?”

“Nothing much going on here, you good over there?”

“Yup, mostly everything is fine. You know my work, they always have something for me to do.”

“Hopefully that clears up soon.”

“Yeah, hey, listen, where are you right now?”

Ugh, not this again. Your mood slightly dropped as you remembered a few years ago, when you first met Cecil. He wasn’t as good as he is now, and he would always be asking where you would be. Even in school. However, that was all in the past, since you were older, he now knew that you were responsible enough to do things on your own. At least, that’s what he wanted you to believe.

“Uh, well, I was just gonna go hang out with some friends and then go back home. Why?”

“Ok, listen to me very carefully: one of my guys is gonna pick you up near Bridgetown, ok? You’re gonna get a bracelet from them and then I’ll explain the rest here.”

What the fuck? “Oh, um, ok, when will they be there?”

“About 5 minutes. Be there soon, love you, bye.”

He hung up the phone quickly, which was extremely rare, even for him, since he would never show his love to you out publicly and you would feel weird if he even did. However, on the phone or in private he was a completely different person, having a great personality and he was an even better dad.

Well, he did say to hurry up, and 5 minutes. You checked the time and when you saw it was near 1. You strided your way towards the street he told you to meet on, and cheerfully thought of the ways to hang out with your friends after whatever he wanted to do. Maybe you could go to the mall? Maybe the food court? You’ve been meaning to try those damn milkshakes at that new bar everyone is talking about, but it was always so crowded. You never liked crowded places in the first place.

Suddenly, your phone rang again. This time, when you checked, it was your dad again. Strange. It was weird for him to call you twice in a row. He usually got to the point within a few sentences.

Picking up the phone, you said, “Hey dad-”

“________, listen to me. Get to someplace safe now. Get out of the road. Get out of the public. I don't care if you have to go inside someone else’s house, just get out of sight.”

Stopping in the middle of the road you let out some surprised stutters. “Wh- Dad, what are you talking about?”

“_______, please, just listen to me when I say this, you are in danger and you need to get out of there.”

“Why? What’s happening?”

You were shuffling around trying to find a good place to “hide” while your dad went into complete panic mode in his voice. “_______, find a place to hide, and whatever you do, get out of open space.”

You heard him speak to someone off the phone, before he cursed out loud. “I have to call you back, but someone will be there, wherever you are, ok? I… I love you.”

Before you could answer him, he hung up the phone. Anxiety was the only thing you could feel, as you looked around the desolate neighborhood. There was a reason why you chose this area over others: it was quiet and small. Not only that, but the only people who walked this way were people who were not fond of bigger crowds. In fact, you haven’t seen anyone go this way for a long time. You always wondered why, since it was the perfect way to get robbed. Of course, that would never happen, especially with all those lessons from your dad about self defense.

The street you were on had walls surrounding the sidewalk to prevent people from going into people's backyards, probably. They were too high up to climb, and they were concrete, so it wouldn’t be easy to just hop over and call it a day.

However, you were almost at the end of the street, and you knew there was a little patch of bushes and leaves that would provide the perfect cover. They were almost as tall as your dad, which always made you wonder who was watering them to be that big.

Pacing quickly towards the end of the street, and seeing no one in sight made you let out a sigh of relief. Either dad was overeating or something bad was happening, and you don’t know which would be worse. When Cec- dad overrated, it always got messy, no matter what it was about.

“Why were you out so long? I was about to send a team after you-”

“Cecil, it’s fine, I just had to talk to my-”

“Don’t call me Cecil, and don’t try to make excuses, tell me who you were with right now or I swear to god-”

You forgot the memory almost as soon as it came up, instead choosing to focus on getting to the brush where you could hide until C- Dad came to pick you up. Wherever he was. Actually, did he give you a time that he would be there?

You got a weird feeling that made you sprint towards the bushes and dive in, like there was someone behind you. You ignored it and forced your way on all fours, ignoring the cuts and scratches you were getting on your arms and legs.

There was almost a whooshing sound above you, and you wondered if your dad sent a fucking jet to get you. But that thought left your mind when you heard it right next to you, along with the sound of someone making a harsh landing onto the street. You were able to hear the little bits and pieces of concrete fly off the ground to hit the ground again.

You stayed completely still, leaning on your arms while your body was facing the street. You heard something shuffle, like moving fabric around, before a familiar voice hit your ears.

“Who’s there?” they- he said, and you were about to cry out of relief when you heard it. “Omni-Man?”

~~~~~

“Cecil, why do you think Nolan would go after ________?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Cecil didn’t look at Debbie, instead focusing on the map in front of him, wondering where Mark could’ve been.

“What reason would he have to go after them? I just- he wouldn’t just attack a child, would he?”

Cecil felt his head start to hurt. Goddamnit, why did Nolan want to go after you? You had nothing to do with anything, besides being Cecil’s daughter. … is that why he was after you? Just because you were related to Cecil?

No, Nolan wasn’t stupid. He knew you weren’t his biological daughter, Nolan knew Cecil took you from somewhere.

He probably thought you were just someone that he got for fun, which was the furthest from the truth. Cecil didn’t-

“Sir, we’ve found Mark Grayson, along with your daughter, not at the same locations, but-”

“Where is she?” Cecil didn’t try to hide his worry in his voice. It didn’t exactly help when the agent said, in a monotone voice, “She's with Omni-Man, sir.”

~~~~~

“________? What are you doing here?”

Peeking out from the bush, you saw Omni-Man walk up towards you and hold out his hand. You graciously took it, and helped yourself up. Even when you were standing at your full height, Omni-Man was way taller than you. Like, way taller. He could beat your dad within an inch of his life even with all of that combat stuff he learned over the years.

Of course he could, he’s Omni-Man dumbass. Ignoring the thought, you answered, “I’m, uh, busy.”

You saw him give a small smile. “You’re busy hiding in the bushes?”

“Yes.” you cursed internally for answering that so quickly like an idiot. You weren’t expecting him to let out a laugh. He continued while you stood there, confused as all hell.

Finally, he said, “You know, you’re a terrible liar.” You laughed along with him for a moment, before saying, “Yeah, I know.”

His face suddenly darkened, before he said, “So, why are you out here?”

The laughter in the air was gone now, only replaced by crushing silence as he waited for your answer. You felt yourself shrink under his scrutinizing gaze. He looked like he was judging you for just standing there. Well, he could’ve also been judging you because you were in a bush just 10 seconds earlier. After a few more seconds, you broke.

“C- Dad said to hide somewhere.”

“Aren’t you too old to be playing those games?”

“Yeah, I am, but apparently someone was gonna come and get me. He just said to get out of open space.”

You heard him mutter something under his breath, before he scratched the back of his head.

“Well, I can see why he would want that.”

“Really? Why?”

“A mob boss named Machine Head.” When you gave him a confused look, he elaborated, “Machine head was a guy who took down the new Guardians of the Globe along with… Mark. They thought they got him, but unfortunately they weren’t able to kill him.”

“How does that have anything with me?”

“... You’re Cecil’s daughter. Cecil was the one who found out about Machine Head. And took him down. Machine Head wants revenge against Cecil for ruining his plans, so he’s probably going to take it out on you.” When you still gave a surprised stare, he asked, “Do you really not have this happen often?”

“No, Dad keeps me inside alot…” your voice trailed off when you heard your phone ring, and picking it up, you saw it was your dad.

“Hello?”

“_________, I told you to get to somewhere safe!”

“I-I am! I’m with Nolan!”

“Hey, Cecil, don’t worry, I’m right here.” Nolan’s voice was filled with sarcasm, probably an old joke between the two. After all, they were both good friends to each other.

“No, you don’t understand, ______, listen to me-”

Suddenly you were grabbed by your arm, and dragged down. You were caught by Omni-Man before you hit the ground, though. Looking behind him, you saw two trucks coming towards you, along with multiple people in them, with weapons of all sorts.

You didn’t have time to ask who they were or what they wanted, as Omni-Man grabbed you and pulled out off the ground, and into the air. It took you a few moments, but you realized you were in the air. Flying.

Reaching for your phone in your pocket to call your dad back, you realized you must’ve dropped it. However, you weren’t about to waste your energy trying to get it back. Especially not when you were high above the ground. So you simply hung on for dear life as Omni-Man flew away from the shouting people in the cars.

~~~~~

“Where is she?”

“She went with Omni-Man, sir.”

Cecil stood there for a moment, wondering what the fuck happened. It was obvious now that Nolan had no intentions to harm you, but why would he take you and not tell you anything? Cecil wondered before something was handed to him. “We found this near where they took off, sir.”

It was your phone. Completely crushed to bits. “Omni-Man took it from her and crushed it without her knowledge, sir.”

“You started to shoot at her?! What the hell were you thinking!?”

The men stood there, completely still realizing their mistake. “We’re not kids playing at some game, this is real life. And now- I-” he really wanted to kill Nolan now. Debbie was going to become a widow, and he really didn’t care.

Walking up to the truck that was nearest to him, he opened the back and shuffled around, trying to find something, anything that would be of use.

Then he found his favorite gun. The only one he could actually hold himself without another person that stopped Omni-man.

Loading the ammunition, he walked over to Donald, who had a tablet in his hand. “Sir, we’ve found where they’re going.”

Looking at the area on the map, Cecil tapped his wrist watch, and said, “Good. Get the backup ready, and get Mark Grayson. Get Invincible.”

#yandere invincible #yandere nolan grayson #yandere cecil stedman #originally i was gonna put the invincible logo at the end but i didn't want to do that much work cuz im tired rn

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bumblesimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Green Thumb

Part 18

Request: Yes or No

Also kind of short

You stared out at the river, fingers warm from the heat of the mug in your hands. You felt tired, empty, and disappointed. The roof was a nice place to sit and think. Your gaze dropped down to the ground below.

"I don't believe this is the safest way to test your abilities, (Y/N). Especially since Sam doesn't have on his wings." Vision said in concern, watching Sam hype himself up. You shook your head, laughing.

"It's definitely not safe." You grinned, watching Sam. He looked down from his spot on the roof, shaking off nerves.

"Run the idea by me again." Vision said as Wanda chuckled softly.

"Alright, Sam is gonna jump off the roof and I'm gonna use my powers to keep up in the air. If they don't work, Wanda will catch him."

"You're gonna allow this, Wanda?" Vision looked at the redhead. Wanda shrugged, sipping on her tea with a small smile.

"Ready?" Sam called, sliding down his googles. You nodded, backing up a bit, grinning widely. Sam backed up out of sight before running off the roof. You raised your hand, watching him suddenly fly up. He screamed, arms and legs flailing.

"You might gonna to catch him, Vis!" You called as Sam briefly disappeared past a cloud. Vision flew up, catching Sam and flying back to the ground. Sam raised a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat as he panted.

"Again?"

"Again."

"Kind of chilly out here, don't you think?" You turned your head, looking at Tony. He took a seat beside you, sighing.

"So, how'd it go?" Tony asked, turning to look at you. You licked your lips, lightly shrugging as you sipped on your hot chocolate.

"Good. I learned a lot about my family. It was confirmed that, uh, I was indeed abandoned by my mother. It's great." You told him, giving a small nod. Tony hummed.

"It builds character." Tony said. You snorted, looking down at the hot chocolate.

"Yeah, I guess so." You muttered.

"What'd you learn?" Tony asked, watching you. You sighed, head tilting up. You stared at the passing clouds.

"That my dad was killed here... By.. The Winter Soldier." You breathed out. Tony stayed silent, frowning as he nodded.

"I.. I can't blame him. He was brainwashed and not in control. How did you react when you found out about Bucky and your parents?" You asked, looking at him. Tony licked his lips, looking away from you. He seemed to think about his words, eyes squinting slightly.

"I.. I was more hurt by Rogers than by what Barnes did. Rogers kept it from me and he never planned on telling me. Even if we didn't consider each other friends.. We were teammates. How was I supposed to be okay with trusting him with my life when he was never gonna tell me about my parents?" Tony frowned, sighing heavily. You bit your bottom lip.

"I'm sorry Steve betrayed you like that." You said softly. You wouldn't want to work with someone who betrayed you either. You took in a small breath, looking at him curiously.

"Do you think Steve knows? About my dad?"

"Unless Barnes saw some similarities between you and your dad, probably not. Your dad covered his tracks. He made sure he wouldn't be connected to his family. Very smart of him." Tony offered a small smile. You reached into your back pocket, taking out a photo. It was of the whole family. Your grandparents, Florine, Michael, and even Gerdie as a pup. You turned it around to the back, looking at the phone number.

'Call when you need me, kid'

"People really need to stop calling me kid." You mumbled, huffing softly. Tony chuckled.

"You look like one."

"Oh, fuck off, old man." You gave Tony a playful glare. He scoffed, touching his chest dramatically.

"Are you really gonna retire? I mean, at this point, you're asking to be called an old man." You pointed out, grinning when Tony rolled his eyes.

"Pepper and Morgan need me. I don't want to be an absent father. I know how it feels to have one and.. I don't want to be like my father. I won't make the same mistakes."

"You'll make new mistakes." You shrugged lightly. Tony shot you a look. "But I'm sure you're a great father!"

"Right." Tony grunted, shaking his head. You chuckled softly, placing your cup beside you. You inhaled softly.

"When I was drunk.. I vividly remembering saying that you suck before passing out. What happened?"

"Oh, you were a goddamn mess. Definitely an emotional drunk." Tony replied, making you groan softly, cheeks flushing from embarrassment.

"You said I was a lucky bastard and you cried.. You also kissed me." Tony looked at you, gaze searching for a reaction. Your lips parted, brows raising.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Uhm.." You licked your lips, straightening up and clearing your throat. You stayed silent, thinking of what to say in response.

"Pepper doesn't have to know. It was a drunk kiss that nobody really saw, right? I mean, I already have enough on my plate. I don't need an angry wife on top of that." You blurted out, shrugging lightly. Tony cleared his throat, nodding.

"Yeah, of course. It barely lasted a second." Tony looked forward, scratching the side of his neck. Awkward silence took over, both you and Tony unsure on how to proceed without making things even more weird.

"How are you?" Tony suddenly asked, turning towards you. "Like, in general."

"Terrible."

"Yeah, I feel that. Wanna... Wanna talk about it?" Tony asked. You stared at him, brows furrowing.

"Are you practicing on me for when Morgan needs a talk with you?" You questioned, head tilting slightly. Tony shrugged.

"Yes and no."

"That's nice." You huffed softly, gaze drifting towards the setting sun. You watched him, shoulders slumping.

"I feel.. Incredibly alone. Yeah, Nat is here but I can't rely on her. She has her own issues to deal with. Bruce... Bruce is god fucking knows where and if I tried talking to him, he'd probably just stand there. Clint is also god fucking knows where. Thor fucked off the moment they came back from killing Thanos. The outerspace crew is kind of weird. Steve is... Steve. He'd just give me a speech and a pat on the shoulder. Carol barely comes to Earth and she's also pretty intimidating." You licked your lips, shaking your head as you brought your knees up to your chest.

"The people I used to talk to have either.. Died or chosen to leave. I have to take care of a big ass fucking farmhouse cause its goddamn owner left! My life is slowly falling apart and I have to comfort myself cause nobody seems to care enough! I am so fucking tired of feeling tired. I thought I had found a family but I guess I'm not good enough for those." You raised your voice, feeling the wind get harsh for a quick minute. You let out a deep breath, eyes shutting to keep the tears from falling. You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders, gently leaning you against a warm body. You sniffle, a shakey sigh leaving you.

"And I am so tired of crying." You whispered. Tony gently leaned his head against yours, hand squeezing your arm.

"I know.. I'm sorry." He said quietly. You relaxed against him, feeling numb and empty. You looked down at the photo. You wondered if this was the life Michael had wanted for you. To be a hero to a planet missing fifty percent of its inhabitants.

"You know what might make you feel better?" Tony asked.

"What?" You sat up, using the sleeve of your jacket to wipe your nose as you sniffled. Tony stood, motioning for you to follow. He offered his hand, watching you pick up the mug. You took his hand, holding it as Tony led you off the roof and down the stairs. You placed the mug on the nearest table, letting him guide you outside and onto the field. You stood in the middle, looking at him with furrowed brows.

"Letting it out." He finally answered, letting go of your hand and taking some steps back. He raised his arms.

"Let it out. Scream, kick, punch, curse. Let it all out." Tony said, smiling widely. You sniffled, still unsure.

"C'mon, I'll do it with you. On a count of three, okay? One... Two... Three!" You inhaled with Tony, eyes shutting as you screamed as loud as you could. You heard Tony chuckle in amazement, opening your eyes. You noticed he had been knocked down onto the grass, the trees nearby having been bent back by the wind. The grass around your feet were burned and gray clouds had formed in the sky. You noticed Tony looking up at something behind you so you turned, blinking and slowly looking up at the large ice spikes that almost reached the clouds.

"Holy shit." You whispered, taking a step back.

"You're still on the tip of the iceberg with your powers, Elsa." Tony said, getting up as it began to thunder. You felt some weight off your chest, turning to face you.

"You know.. That actually did help." You chuckled, smiling gently.

"Well, I am a genius." Tony replied, digging into his pocket and pulling out car keys.

"I should get going. Pepper's cooking dinner and I don't want to miss it." Tony said. You nodded, walking with him towards the road. A sports car drove out of the garage, stopping infront of Tony.

"All my things have already been sent home." Tony said, looking at you. You hummed, nodding.

"You can be an asshole sometimes but.. You'll be missed." You told him softly. Tony gave a genuine soft smile.

"You should visit, kid. You might like my new place." Tony said, opening the door and getting in.

"Give me a call and I'll visit when I can." You said, watching him buckle up. Tony nodded, sliding on sunglasses.

"I'll be seeing you."

"Not really looking forward to it." You replied, hearing a small snort before the car drove off. You watched it go, sighing softly. You looked over at the spikes, licking your lips.

"What more can I do?"

Tags: @geek-and-proud @wolfelocksley @babyvisionisamenace @jjk-is-my-shit

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eury--dice · 3 years ago

Text

put lyrics to this melody

happiest of holidehs, @growaswego ! your prompts for @sincerely-us were such an absolute joy to write. i hope you enjoy, friend, and thank you for a wonderful start to 2022!

read on ao3

Zoe was never one to believe in love at first sight, but if she did, she knew she felt it at The Ellison’s performances.

There was something small-town and charming and lovely about them, something that reminded her of why she loved music at all. And so, h er first night back from college for winter break, sleep-deprived and still spewing flashcards from finals, Connor dragged her into the family car and shuttled her on a barely ten-minute drive which was so familiar it ached.

“Why are we so old?” She whines at him. She’s missed whining at him. “We’ve been doing this since middle school. Almost an entire decade.”

“Aging is a cruel mistress, Zoe,” Connor says, not taking his eyes off of the road. “It’s treated some of us better than others.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Her heart warmed at the sight of The Ellison, especially when she saw its brown siding and tiny-windowed facade completely unchanged from the months she’d been away.

She and Connor were in middle school the first time they made the trek out, taking in live music and reveling in being away from the Murphy house. Connor would push ahead and grab them hot chocolate or eggnog, and Zoe would stake out the best seating with the ferocity only a middle schooler can manage. And together, warning their hands on the drinks and ignoring the bitter cold awaiting them outside, they forged the very first Murphy family tradition.

Even though Zoe expected them to be out of return from their semester apart, Connor handled it with a grace he never could’ve managed during high school. “Now it’s the holidays,” he says as he pushes her through the doors, encouraging her to push past the crowd. “Get a good seat!” he calls as he continues on through the café.

Zoe shakes her head, her eyes scanning over the crowd a little. A few faces seem familiar, but she feels, more than she ever has, uncertain in this space. She hasn’t been here in so long.

Eventually, she shakes her head one last time for good measure. Just as an employee takes to the stage, she slides into the first seat she can find.

“Hey, you’re Connor’s sister, right?” A voice says to her left. She turns automatically, her eyes falling on the girl sitting at the table across from her.

“Yeah,” she replies, quiet to fit under the announcement of the first performer.

“I knew it! He’s been talking about you all semester!” she says, a little too enthusiastic and loud for the space. “I’m Alana.”

“Zoe-”

In her peripheral vision, a mug of eggnog slides across the table until it bumps her hand.

“Told you she’d be here,” Connor says over her head.

“Do your friends not believe I exist?” Zoe demands, turning to glare at Connor. He refuses to meet her eyes.

“D’you know who’s up first?” He says instead.

The three turn their attention to the makeshift stage, sitting through acts and clapping when appropriate. Zoe gets up once, only to get another eggnog, and when she makes her way back to the table her heart drops to her toes.

“Next up, we have Evan Hansen!”

Zoe slides their cups across the table like Connor did, but doesn’t look at either of them, only examines the way that the all-too-familiar Evan Hansen sets sheet music on the piano and poises to play.

“Is that the one Jared kept talking about?” Connor whispers, ducking his head to get closer to her ear without making too much of a ruckus. She just nods and jerks her head away, letting Evan’s chords fill her ears instead.

On their third or fourth trip to the Ellison, Evan was the first on the docket. He’d looked fit to bolt, but a restraint filled his posture and made him drop to the bench with a thud. It was something terribly overplayed, but when he opened his mouth and sang his first shaky note, Zoe thought she’d be rooted in that shop forever; Evan’s curls and frightened, a determined expression and smooth fingers flying over the keys matte in the cheap lighting, something inside of her shifted.

Too soon, he leaves the stage, departing with surprising speed for the number of papers he had spread over the stand. Zoe taps her fingers against the table, one at a time, one and one and one again. She’d tried to talk to him a few times before, to no avail. Her eyes meet Connor’s, and he mouths go.

She goes.

“That was a pretty good set,” a voice says behind Evan, making his fingers twitch for a second. Most of the time he can recognize who is going to say something to him. This voice he isn’t sure he can place.

Well, until he angles his head, a half-formed sorry on his lips.

The girl in his line of sight was familiar; she couldn’t help but be. He’d seen her countless times, and thought about her countless more.

When he was young - youn ger, certainly, than he was now - he’d started going to the Ellison. Just on the nights his mother was working and there was no one to be accountable to at home. Especially around the holidays, once Hanukkah ended and the Christmas season rolled around and he didn’t want to think about this cheery holiday which would never apply to him much as his father wanted it to, he found himself turning up more and more. It was a short walk from his house, and also from Jared’s. The Ellison started as a good place to get coffee to calm himself down, since Heidi never kept any in the house. But the open mic had drawn him in one night, and with the several years of piano lessons and a voice that Heidi assured him was “lovely” tucked under his belt, he braved it himself one night, with only a few other people in the café crowd at all.

He couldn’t say a word in front of his classmates, and any kind of band was off the table for that reason. But the Ellison? It was - well, truly, it was familiar. Safe from most of the people he knew. Stage fright couldn’t seem to grip him.

Some of the people, too, really drew him back to performance after performance.

“Oh, u– thanks,” he says, dropping his sheet music into his bag. “Um, you’re, actually same to you Z-”

“I’m Zoe - oh,” she says at the same time, cutting herself off. “You - know me?”

“It’s, oh,” Evan says, regretting every moment of his existence. “I meant, I meant I’ve seen your sets before. Uh, a lot of Billie Marten?”

Zoe laughs a little, biting her lip in an absent gesture. “I had a phase junior year, yeah.”

“And you - huh, this is maybe a little weird, but I just mean I enjoyed it, um, not in a weird way but in a musical-”

“What-”

“The, um, the original, original song, Cain and Abel? Um, that really - I liked that a lot.”

Evan looks down, suddenly unable to look at her. But her voice coaxes his eyes back up to hers, deep brown and suddenly guarded.

“You remember an original song I performed? I - how long have you been coming here?”

“Uh,” he shrugs, a small half-tug of the shoulders, heart rate skyrocketing at once. “Yeah, like, six years? You - I mean, I recognize a lot of the performers, but-”

“I’ve only seen you a couple of times, though. I was actually hoping to see your performance tonight but-” she cuts off, her cheeks darkening. “My mouth got ahead of me.”

“I was actually hoping to see you, too,” Evan says, the words tumbling out.

Someone hits a power chord to start the next performance, muffled in the cramped staff hallway. All at once the distance between Evan’s hands gripping his backpack doesn’t seem so far away from Zoe’s bit lip. He can’t look away from her eyes, and she can’t look away from his. The air is heavy for a moment.

Some shield drops in Zoe’s eyes, and she releases her lower lip.

“Yeah, I didn’t have time to put together any arrangements this year,” she says, her voice softer. A lisp curls around her r’ s, one he hadn’t heard before. She shrugs. “School.”

“Oh,” he says, blinking. “Same, actually. Well, in rev-reverse. Didn’t have time to perform during the semester so, so here we are.”

“I’m even more impressed, honestly. Want a hand?” She asks, gesturing for his bag. After a pause, with her hand outstretched, she says, “so you can get your coat on?”

He glances back down at the floor, where his coat lies crumpled haphazardly, a shock of navy blue against gray. “Oh. Right. Thanks.”

“Where do you go?” she asks. “I graduated last year, and I used to see you around a lot.”

“Oh, I’m - I had a gap year last year,” he says, hands fumbling on his zipper. “And I’m at Franklin Community this year, y’know, so I’ve been around. But you have, um, not been?”

She hums a note, discordant with the song playing behind her. “I’m in New York this year. First day back.”

“Ah.”

“I normally come with my brother, actually. He’s in the crowd somewhere talking with someone. He’s at Franklin too, actually.”

Something clicks in Evan’s mind all of the sudden. “Connor? Murphy?”

Zoe laughs, half startled, half amused. “Yeah? That was quick.”

“We have an art history seminar together. Oh,” he says, accepting her outstretched offer of his backpack. “Thanks. And, well. You guys look similar, that’s all.”

Zoe turns her head away, catching her eye on the old poster on the wall. “We get that a lot. Alana, I think, is the person?”

“Small world,” Evan says. Off of her confused look, he smiles. “She’s also - same seminar.”

“Ah.” she turns, peeks out at the crowd which seems to be only getting more intense and into the performance. She seems to catch Evan’s wince as the sound crescendos. “Are you staying til the end of the concert?”

“No, I think I’m gonna actually, I’m gonna head out?”

“Do you want a ride?” she says, each word careful, precise, unlike how she’d rushed them before.

“Oh, no, thank you, I can walk-”

“It’s nearly the solstice, it’s fucking freezing,” she says, cutting him off. “Let me, really.” And, seeming to sense his next question. “Connor already said he’d get a ride back with Alana, if that’s what you’re worried about. No pressure, really, but if you got frostbite I’d feel terrible.”

Evan’s fingers tighten on his backpack strap for a second, like he’s back in his high school hallway, stranded, one light leading him through. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

“It’s no problem.”

She cuts through the staff-only exit, and as soon as they’re away from the performance Evan’s shoulders relax and his head clears.

Zoe leads him to a car that’s clearly a family SUV, the kind that other parents see in the middle school parking lot and scoff at the expense. “You can just throw your bag wherever,” she says, turning on the heat as quickly as humanly possible, rubbing her hands together from the short walk. “Cold?”

Evan nods, holding up a hand to the heat. “I have, I have horrible circulation.”

“God, same,” she says. “Connor always just tells me I’m weak.”

Evan laughs a little at that. “I doubt it.”

Zoe shakes her head, biting her lip again.

With Evan’s directions, she makes quick work of finding his house. The rows of houses with string lights blur his eyes, tunneling his vision. He glances towards Zoe, noticing how the light catches on her face.

“I can’t believe you remembered my song. Remembered it.”

Evan scrunches his face. “It was - I mean,” he hesitates. “It’s what made me want to write music at all.”

The Christmas lights peter out, and Zoe pulls to a stop in front of his dark house. Her face scrunches to match his, as she shifts in her seat, rubbing the hem of her sleeve. “Really?”

“Really,” he says, mirroring her stance. Her face catches him off guard again, unguarded, open. “And, um, what was the one, the other one - I can’t see through you anymore, you’ve clouded around me but I’ve left no trace, so you beg me for honesty, still I know that you’d be so kind you lie to my face-”

He’s cut off by her lips, and he lets out a hum of surprise for a second. Her lips are cold, even though they’ve clearly been in a heated car, and they hit him like an electric jolt. When he was a kid, he would build static up on his palms in the winter by rubbing them together, and then hold his palms just apart, reveling in the crackling feeling. When it became unmanageable, he’d touch his bedside lamp, concentrating it all into one point, fascinated by that stinging jolt he’d created from nothing.

This kiss feels like that jolt.

His eyes slide closed, hand reaching to touch her wrist. Her lips are soft, and the sweet smell of rosewater fills his senses from her curls. His fingers graze her wrist, the barest of fingertips, and she breaks away as quickly as she began the kiss.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have - I’m so sorry,” she says, pulling away.

“No, it’s - please, don’t, please don’t apologize,” he says, his hands straying towards her as she rocks back in her seat. “I’ve - godthisisprobablyweirdbutI’velikedyoufromafarforawhile?”

A “what?” escapes from her, halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I’ve - you can, I can leave, I’ve just - liked you for a while, I think, um. From your whole, you know, vibe. And - my friend Jared, I think he knows Connor, um? He talks you up sometimes and I just - yeah. Please don’t apologize,” he says one last time, entreating.

Zoe laughs for real, a bubbling sound that expands and breaks in the still car, as Evan can’t help but mimic her. “God, Jared, that asshole.” She glances back towards him. “He does the same for you, too.”

It’s Evan’s turn to sit back heavily at that. “God, that asshole.”

“Here’s to asshole friends,” she says. “But I really shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“No, I - I liked it. Really.”

She shakes her head, eyes resolutely away from him. “You normally do the spring performances, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his palms together, already cold. “It’s less crowded.”

“I think I saw you perform before I ever started. It’s where - damn, you were playing the piano and singing? I think it was - was it Ed Sheeran?”

“I hope not,” Evan says, suddenly horrified. “But probably.”

Zoe laughs, and she finally looks him in the eye again. “It was. I was the same way.” She rubs her palm against her thigh. “I was in band, but no one else so young performed at the Ellison. Until you.”

“I’m a trendsetter,” Evan jokes, cringing a second later.

“Oh, for sure.” Her leg bounces in the driver’s seat. “I’d like to kiss you again, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Evan says. “Please. Yes.”

And she does.

( addendum, later)

Long distance is, admittedly, not ideal.

But when Zoe gets off the train and gives Connor one of their quick, comfortable hugs on the platform, she has only a simple request.

“Can we swing by the Ellison?” She asks, breathless and barely ready to be back in town.

Connor raises an eyebrow. “It’s hardly nighttime.”

“Think outside of the box,” she says, and takes off towards the car.

The Ellison is a cheery reflection of suburban spring, wilting flowers by the door that clearly were put out too early and got caught in the final frost of the year. When she rushes forward, leaving Connor calling “wait up!” behind her, a bell jangles to announce her entrance, clashing with the opening piano chord she recognizes from dozens of videos Evan sent asking her for feedback.

She settles into the first seat she can find, although she’s one-third of a tiny afternoon audience. She is enthralled, as always, in everything Evan; the way he pulls music from the air, poised, ready, confident even in the face of nerves.

He meets her eyes. He smiles, and she smiles back.

A few minutes later, when Connor slides a hot drink to her, she hardly notices.

(If she looked, she would see that Connor is smiling in exasperation, too.)

#sincerely us #deh #dear evan hansen #zoevan #bandtrees #zoe murphy #dear evan hansen #connor murphy

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yesterdaysanswers · 3 years ago

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At that point we moved on to phase two: the clothes. At that time we often associated with Greg Lake and I had the unfortunate idea of telling him that he had some really nice jackets. He had them made to measure, white leather, and in concerts he took them off regularly and threw them to the fans. People threw themselves onto them, grabbed them and tore them up, according to a timeless rock ritual. I liked this a little, but it also hurt my heart because I said to myself: "But how much will you spend on these theatrics?”. In fact it was not a small problem, it was always necessary to distinguish between the various items. Greg's jackets were part of the production costs of the show, in short, they weren't money coming out of his pockets; a bit like what happened to the instruments devastated on stage by the Who. As I said, we weren't good at money at all, and in fact, even that time we came out fleeced: the look for the show cost us several thousand pounds, but we found out later.

In short, we all go to Greg Lake's tailor. I start: "I'm a drummer,” I tell him, "and I've always used the kimono because I'm comfortable with it. And I need something that can be seen well even if I'm sitting behind the cymbals and drums…ok?". He nods and takes my measurements. Then he asks me to draw him a drawing. I dust off my talents as an artist or former artist - and let's not forget the legacy of father and mother, tailors - I go ahead and throw down a little sketch for him. He elaborates it in his own way and after a few days he comes up with something that is a cross between Star Wars and Flash Gordon, with two immense winged and pointed shoulder pads and a large white heart drawn in the middle of the chest, all edged with sparkle. I was a bit doubtful, but I thought that after all, they were stage clothes... In short, it goes on: underneath with the others.

Franco did not want to hear reasons. "I play with the T-shirt", he cut him short, and in fact, with that new "American" good boy hair from Casalpusterlengo, it wasn't too bad.

"At least put on a jacket,” we try.

"Yes, but then I take it off and stay in my shirt."

"Like fuck,” I tell him. "You take off your jacket, you stay in a nice comfortable T-shirt and I'm here like an idiot banging with my wings. So, if I have wings, I don't want the sleeves because I sweat!"

"Ok," says Mauro, "then we'll get a shirt with puffs."

"Yes, bravo, let's put the puffs on and when I trigger the drumsticks I get tripped up inside and you’ll be laughing…"

"Then I'll make the sleeves with the puffs", he replies. "He does a lot of Pierrot, he is very beautiful with the violin..."

Of course Greg Lake, who never minded his business, didn't miss the opportunity to get his nose into it.

"Look, Mauro,” he says, "it's perfect! You dress up as a Pierrot, we put a nice candelabra on the organ, and when you go into it like a damned madman with the violin you take the bow, do zinzinzinzin and pam!, as if it were a sword blowing out a candle. And then zinzinzinzinzin and again pam! blow out another candle."

And while Greg got excited jumping here and there, all absorbed by his idea, Mauro’s mood grew darker and darker.

"This is crazy, this is crazy,” he tells me in Italian. “In short, either we make music or we do the circus, let's talk about it..."

In fact, we were unable to get into that perspective. All the English bands were quite tacky in these things. At the time, Emerson, Lake & Palmer were terribly busy with their monster trip Tarkus, you see. There was an armadillo, made of papier-mâché, with people inside that pushed it and made smoke come out of its nose. We weren't going to go that far, but at least the clothes were worth trying.

When Flavio's turn came, someone jumped out saying that he would be well dressed as a page. At the time, fairy tales were in vogue: wizards, witches, fairies and whatnot. They were clothes you could find all over the place, in King's Road, in Kensington Market, in all of London. Basically we managed to convince him, and the tailor makes him a pair of beautiful tights with vine leaves that roll up his legs and a beautiful bunch of grapes on the crotch.

Flavio was stunned. "How the fuck do I go out with grapes in front? I get on the keyboards and that thing hangs there between my legs..."

He didn't want to hear reasons, if there were any. Well, in the end our search for the look was a failure. So everyone continued to do what they liked.

(my translation of an excerpt from Due volte nella vita by Franz Di Cioccio)

#pfm #premiata forneria marconi #franz di cioccio #greg lake #franco mussida #mauro pagani #flavio premoli #long post #translation #my translation

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extasiswings · 4 years ago

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How we feeling clowns? Wrecked? Anyway, here, have an episode tag for both the crossover and Buck Begins. Also on ao3.

Eddie’s driving nearly on autopilot, the roads familiar as they get closer and closer to El Paso. Part of him almost wishes he hadn’t taken the driving shift to get them to his childhood home, even if it made the most sense—he can feel the tension in his jaw and shoulders creeping in, curling tighter with every mile they come closer, and his fingers itch for his phone, for the commiserating sympathies of his sisters who understand what he’s likely to walk into much more than Buck or Hen.

Technically they could have skipped the detour. Eddie hadn’t even planned on telling his parents he was coming to Texas at all—it was Christopher who let it slip, and then Eddie had been immediately put on the spot and he hadn’t been able to come up with a good way out of stopping by after his weak deflection that it wasn’t a social trip was met with well, you have to stop and eat somewhere, don’t you.

Sophia told him to lie and say the department said no. But she’s always been much better at lying to their parents outright than he is. Adriana shrugged and said if he didn’t want to go he didn’t need to give them a reason and should just say he wouldn’t be coming. But then, that’s her tactic as well and always has been—putting her foot down to establish hard boundaries, forging her own path and bucking all expectations. Eddie’s always fallen somewhere in the middle, which he supposes is fitting—struggling to set boundaries, often getting there only when pushed, wanting approval but lacking Sophia’s talent for gentle manipulation that usually leads people to think that whatever she wants was their idea.

So. Here he sits. Driving to El Paso.

“Eddie?”

He blinks and clears his throat as he registers Buck’s voice, the edge of concern that says it’s not the first time Buck has called his name.

“Yeah?”

“I was going to ask if you could pass back the aux cord,” Buck says. “But now I think I should ask if you’re okay.”

Eddie glances over his shoulder—Hen is in the back of the truck, head pillowed against the window, dozing with her eyes closed. He swallows.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen my parents is all,” he replies. “And usually when they call it’s to talk to Christopher so...it might be uncomfortable.”

Buck’s voice drops. “Have you talked to them since the thing? Other than about this I guess.”

The Thing, also known as the huge fight they got into when Eddie decided that if he was going to keep working he couldn’t live at home for awhile and they tried to once again insist that he take Chris back to live with them. Like some terrible combination of the arguments they had before he moved to LA and after Shannon’s funeral, only even worse because Eddie had been raw enough over the decision to move in with Buck and let his abuela take care of Chris for awhile and really didn’t need to hear anyone tell him that choice made him a bad parent—

Sophia had been spitting mad when he told her and while he doesn’t know what she said in her own subsequent call to their parents, he knows that the next time they called him, the subject didn’t come up again. Which, he supposes is as close to an apology as he’s ever likely to get.

He probably could have used that as an excuse to not visit. But then, that’s not really how they are. Don’t apologize, pretend you don’t hold grudges, act like everything is fine, and repress until it feels like it is—the Diaz family way.

Eddie sighs as he focuses on the road.

“Not really,” he replies. “They’ve called Christopher every few weeks, but we’ve only talked directly...three times maybe since then? Things seem to go south more quickly when we’re in person though so I guess I’m…”

“Bracing for impact,” Buck fills in quietly. “I get that.”

“Yeah?”

Buck shrugs. “I don’t talk about my parents,” he points out. “Don’t talk to them either if I can avoid it because they always have a way of managing to just—anyway. The last time I even called was after everything with Maddie and Doug. Haven’t seen them since...since before I started with the 118 at least. So. Yeah. I get it.”

He hesitates, then adds, “You know I have your back, right? You’re my best friend and you’re an amazing father. I’m not going to let anybody get away with talking badly about you in front of me, even if they are your parents.”

Eddie glances back and manages a faint smile, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admits. “Even if you did try to steal a fire truck in the middle of the night without me.”

Buck laughs and shoves at his shoulder. “At least it wasn’t this truck. Besides—you caught up before I did it anyway.”

“Yeah, my Buck’s about to do something dangerous senses were tingling, couldn’t let that slide,” Eddie teases.

“Just give me the damn aux cord,” Buck shoots back, but he’s grinning.

And as they pass the next exit, Eddie feels like maybe things won’t be quite so bad.

***

Buck hates Eddie’s parents.

It’s not the most charitable thing to think about someone you’ve only just officially met—he saw them at the ceremony when Eddie passed his probationary period, but he’d been on pretty strong painkillers at the time and Maddie had shuffled him back home as soon as possible—but he really does.

He hates the tense, anxious set of Eddie’s shoulders, hates the way his smile looks forced—it triggers the same fierce, protective instinct that rears its head whenever he gets between his parents and Maddie, and, well, he did promise, so—

He really doesn’t feel bad for interrupting the very first digs about how seeing Christopher over video isn’t the same as in person, but it’s nice to have the option and technology really is wonderful, Zoom calls must have been a great improvement from your army days, right son with—

“You know, it is wonderful isn’t it? Did Eddie tell you how amazing Christopher is handling hybrid learning? It’s really so great how his teachers have adapted, I can’t imagine he would have kept up so well anywhere else.”

Buck smiles brightly as Eddie’s mother’s lips thin. Hen coughs and takes a long sip of lemonade. Eddie blinks in surprise from across the table and clears his throat, grasping at the lifeline.

“Yeah, top of his class,” Eddie says.

“He even has a reading group once a week with some of the other kids in his class that Eddie started to help them stay social. I know a lot of the other parents appreciate it,” Buck adds, and Eddie rubs at the back of his neck.

“We definitely do,” Hen says, glancing at Eddie’s father as she clarifies, “I have a son Christopher’s age. They used to play together all the time before all of this.”

“His therapist said kids are resilient, but I wanted to at least try and give him something normal,” Eddie replies, and his mother’s brows raise.

“Christopher is in therapy?” There’s a note in her tone that makes Eddie tense and Buck’s hackles raise.

“I took him to see someone for a few sessions after Shannon died, mom,” Eddie says evenly. After the tsunami, Buck fills in for himself. “It didn’t seem like a bad idea to go back again to make sure he’s okay during a time that’s pretty unprecedented for just about everyone.”

“Really, I think more parents should send their kids to therapy,” Buck interjects. “If it’s a feasible option, I can’t see that it’s anything other than great parenting to make sure your kid has the best tools they can to take care of their mental health.”

God knows if he’d gone to therapy a hell of a lot sooner, he might not be struggling through sessions with Dr. Copeland now that he’s nearly thirty, but that’s not really the point.

“Well, some people feel those sorts of things are best taken care of within the family,” Eddie’s mother replies.

“With all due respect, sometimes the family’s way of handling problems just makes things worse,” Buck replies, his smile dropping briefly before he forces it back again.

“This lemonade really is delicious, Mrs. Diaz,” Hen jumps in as Eddie pushes his chair back and starts collecting empty plates. “I would love to get the recipe before we leave. If you don’t mind.”

Startled, the older woman blinks. “Oh. Yes, of course. I’ll write it down for you.”

Buck pushes back his own chair as Hen continues redirecting the conversation and follows Eddie into the kitchen where he finds his best friend gripping the edge of the sink.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

Eddie looks over his shoulder and exhales heavily. “Hey.”

“Sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t,” Eddie assures. “I’m just...exhausted. And ready to get back on the road and home to my kid.”

He hesitates, then adds, “you know, my sisters would be impressed. I haven’t seen someone manage our parents like that since they left. I—thank you.”

“I meant what I said in the truck, Eddie,” Buck replies. “You’re an amazing father and a great man and—it’s not right that anyone should pretend any different. So. I won’t let them.”

Eddie glances at the hallway. “Guess we have to go back eventually. I didn’t quite think this escape plan through.”

“Once more unto the breach?” Buck offers. The smile he gives Eddie is far different from the fake one he’s had up since they arrived, and when Eddie returns it, a spark returning to his eyes, it makes Buck’s stomach flip and his pulse race.

He tries not to think too hard about that. They still have a long drive ahead of them—plenty of time to save it for later.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

***

When they get home, Eddie barely manages to shower and plug in his phone to charge before falling into bed and immediately going to sleep. When he wakes up, he finally checks his messages and sees several missed calls and texts from his sisters.

So? Sophia asks. How was it?

<em>You were right</em>, Eddie taps out, and then waits. His phone rings a few seconds later.

“I’ll save the I told you so in favor of asking if I should get Adriana on the line for an emergency Diaz sibling parental grievance vent session or if I’ll suffice,” Sophia greets.

“It’s not that serious,” Eddie replies. “I’m okay—a little annoyed still, but...I’m okay.”

He’s not quite sure what compels him to add, “Buck was there. He, uh, he told them off about it a little actually. Politely, but that kind of polite...you know the one.”

“The one that’s basically go fuck yourself with a smile and/or plausible deniability?” Sophia fills in, and Eddie laughs.

“Yeah, that.” He rubs at the back of his neck and leans back in his chair. “It was—he kept pointing out things about what a great dad I am.”

There’s something about the feeling in his gut that he can’t name. Something he wants to poke at, to explore, but that also makes him wary. Like a yellow caution light—it’s not a do not enter but it’s not risk free either—and he’s not sure whether it’s a risk he can take yet.

Sophia is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “You are a great dad, Eddie. In spite of them. I’m glad you have other people in your life who recognize that too. You deserve that. You deserve to trust that you’re good at things, even if mom and dad say you aren’t. You deserve to be happy, so...”

The silence that follows feels weighty.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Is Buck—?” Sophia cuts herself off. “—nevermind. Hey, the twins are calling, so I’ll call back again later, okay? Love you.”

Is Buck what? Eddie wants to ask. But he swallows it back.

“Love you, too,” he says instead. “Talk to you later.”

As he hangs up and tosses his phone aside, his mind wanders back to that feeling. Right up to the edge of warning lights and caution tape. And Eddie wonders for a moment if he should—

There’s a knock at his door.

“Dad? You awake?”

“Yeah, buddy,” he calls back. “Be right there.”

Later. He can think about it later.

***

Eddie figures it out at the worst possible time—in the middle of a five-alarm fire when Buck’s trapped inside and he doesn’t know if—

What do you do when you realize you might be in love with your best friend and they could die?

“We have to go back in there,” he says, before he can think of any reason why he shouldn’t. “We can’t just leave him, we have to—”

“You’re right,” Bobby interrupts, and the other captain makes a noise of frustration.

“Captain Nash—”

“You’re right,” Bobby repeats, holding Eddie’s gaze. “We’re going to get him back.”

Maybe it’s stupid, four trained firefighters diving back into an active blaze in an unstable building with unclear direction, but Eddie can’t regret it when he sees the desperation on Buck’s face. The relief. The impending breakdown.

After, he’s assigned to take care of the victim and Buck’s carted off to the hospital to get checked, and Eddie thinks maybe that’s better. It gives him time, at least. Time to figure out what to say, what to do, whether he should say or do anything at all. Part of him doesn’t know. The rest is screaming I love him, I love him, I love him, wants to get his hands on Buck to verify for himself that he’s fine. That he’s alive. That he’s going to stay that way.

But when he gets back to the station, Buck’s parents are there, sitting at the table, and Eddie just—

He thinks about the look on Buck’s face earlier in the shift when he spilled everything, when he explained how he was apparently born just for parts and how he used to throw himself into bad situations because it was the only way to get their attention.

He could ignore them. But he doesn’t.

“He saved my son, you know,” Eddie says, gripping the top of the staircase as the Buckleys look up. And it’s probably somewhat insane to keep talking because he knows they don’t even know who he is, but he can’t help it because he just needs them to understand— “Buck. He wasn’t even working at the time, he was on medical leave and didn’t know if he would ever be able to be a firefighter again. But he saved my son in the middle of a tsunami—my then eight-year-old son, and god knows I can’t imagine losing him, I think that would be the worst thing I could possibly go through, and I’m not sure I would survive it, but I didn’t have to because Buck saved him. And probably twenty other people as well. That’s just the kind of person he is. The kind who saves people.”

They don’t say a word, so he keeps going. “He could have died today. Because he didn’t want to leave anyone behind. Because he is a good man, even if he doesn’t ever feel like he’s good enough. And he hasn’t said a lot about you, but he’s said enough for me to know that while he’s gotten the latter impression from you, he learned the former himself. He built his life here himself. So...I don’t know why you’re here, if you want to explain yourselves or just want him to forgive you because you feel guilty, but I just wanted you to know that. That he’s a good man. The best man that I know. And if you’re proud of him for that, he deserves to hear it. That’s all.”

Eddie walks away then, heart beating too fast, blood rushing in his ears.

The best man that I know. And I’m in love with him.

That wasn’t for their ears though.

It thrums in his veins, the words caught in his throat as he showers, changes, waits for Buck to return to the station. And when he does, Eddie almost—

But something stops him.

“You have visitors,” he says instead. And leaves Buck to it.

Buck finds him in the locker room after.

“So, my parents said they heard stories about me while they were waiting,” he says. “When I asked them who from, they said they didn’t know, but that I saved their son in a tsunami—and trust me, that got a hell of a lot of questions.”

Eddie is grateful for the open locker, the excuse to hide his face as he pulls out his street clothes.

“Yeah, well—just because they’re not going to appreciate you doesn’t mean that nobody else does.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie pulls back and takes a breath before looking over at Buck. There’s a look in Buck’s eyes like he’s trying to piece Eddie together like a puzzle, to work out all the things he hasn’t said. And Eddie suddenly feels exposed, far more than he had when Buck was sitting in his childhood dining room staring down his own parents.

“You’re a good man,” Eddie says quietly. “They should hear that. And...someone should be willing to defend it.”

Buck’s quiet for a moment.

“I have to go see Maddie,” he says finally. “But maybe I could come by later? And we could...talk?”

“You don’t have to ask, Buck,” Eddie replies. “You know I—” I always want you. “—you’re always welcome.”

Buck watches him in silence for another long moment, then nods. “Okay. Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

It’s hours before there’s a knock on the door. Hours in which Eddie burns dinner and then orders takeout because he’s too busy thinking, hours that he spends trapped in his own head, thinking through all the worst case scenarios, through every what if of how things could go wrong.

But also how they could go right.

And by the time he opens the door, he’s almost ready to just let the words trip off his tongue, but before he can, Buck says—

“Please don’t tell me I’m wrong about this.”

—and kisses him.

Eddie freezes, but before Buck can pull back, he slides a hand around the back of Buck’s neck and kisses him back with everything in him—every bit of thank god you’re alive and I was so afraid and I can’t lose you that he can muster. By the time Buck pulls away, they’re both breathless.

“I’m in love with you,” Buck admits. “I’ve been—”

“Me too,” Eddie replies. “I thought—I thought you were—”

Buck kisses him again.

“I can’t believe you told off my parents.”

“Well, you told off mine, so—”

Eddie pulls Buck through the door.

“Chris is in his room,” he says quietly. “But...you should stay for dinner. And…”

You should stay. Just stay.

Buck does.

#chapel writes #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #911 spoilers #(just in case)

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abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years ago

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hi! i love all of your writing, especially your abby fanfics. i know you’re in the middle of your eivor series right now, so pls disregard if you don’t feel like writing this request or don’t want to write for abby, but i was wondering if you could maybe write a hurt/comfort type imagine where abby either comforts the reader when they’re sad or after they have a nightmare. i get really frequent nightmares and love to read fanfics like this but totally understand if you’re not into the idea. all the love and i hope you’re doing well; merry christmas if you celebrate!

so this is half a year late, but I finally have a little more time to go through my requests so here it is! this is also the first time I've actively avoided gendering the reader as I've gotten a few requests for a nonbinary or genderfluid reader. This is not a cop-out on that, I definitely want to write an explicitly nb reader but I figured this would make the reading experience better for quite a few people!

Summary: The reader has recently lost a family member and stranded with the WLF. They struggle with frequent panic attacks and nightmares. Abby notices and tries to take care of them.

CW for loss of a family member (sibling), death and grief, heavy trauma, panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares, and struggling to breathe. The nightmares are also fairly violent and creepy so please watch out for yourselves and only read this if you're in a good state of mind <3

I've Got You

The truck rattled as Leah drove it up the road to the WLF stadium. It had been a particularly rough day on patrol. You and the other wolf had run into a group of freshly infected that seemed to have been three families once. The children had been the worst. The youngest had probably been about ten years old before she had turned, her eyes bright blue and her blonde curls matted with dried blood. You had taken care of them all, of course you had. But it had been horrible. You folded your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.

You had joined the WLF a few months ago after losing your team and your little sister in a clicker-infested cellar you had set up camp in. It had been so fucking stupid, so careless. But everyone had been tired, you hadn’t seen any infected in days, and so only one of you had kept watch. He barely had time to scream before the clicker had ripped out his throat. It had been chaos, madness, everyone scrambling to escape into the network of damp corridors and storage rooms, more and more clickers being drawn to you by the noise.

Leah raised her hand at the armed guards at the gate and they opened for your truck. The sun was setting behind you and most people were inside the stadium now, eating or spending time with friends. Both of you were quiet. Leah’s legs were covered in slowly darkening blood and the smell was nauseating. The tall wolf pulled the truck into its designated spot and took a deep breath.

“Y/N?” You looked up at her. The circles under her eyes could compete with yours, but her face was still as kind as ever.

“Yeah?”

“You take care of yourself today. Take a long shower, get something to eat. I’ll let Martha know to give you a double portion for dinner.”

You smiled faintly at her. This was how it was here. All the wolves had seen terrible things and probably done even worse. They all chose to let it out in training and then leave it behind them. No sense in holding on. You nodded.

“Thanks, Lee. See you in the gym tomorrow.”

The brunette grinned and patted your thigh.

“6 am sharp!” She jumped out of the car and gave back the keys at the checkpoint, then she vanished inside the stadium.

You stayed in your seat. Your fingers had cramped up and you were scared to unfold them, scared you would never be able to stop them from shaking again.

Sierra had held your hand all the way, not letting go as you dragged her through the darkness, fought off four infected, stumbled up stairs you had not come down on, and found yourself in a ravaged theater. You had run all night and only stopped when you were unable to go a single step further. When you had found a small pawnshop that you could lock up safely, you had made a bed of your jacket and a moth-eaten blanket from the theater. Sierra had started to cry. You would never forget the way dread had started to creep into your limbs, seeping into your skin and stretching dark tendrils toward your throat. You had rolled up Sierra’s sleeve and there it was. A relatively small mark, just the puncture wounds from two teeth turned into mean scratches as Sierra had pulled her arm from the jaws of a clicker and kept on running. But it had already begun to fester, the edges of the wound an angry red contrasting the white blisters forming around the site. It felt like the ground had been pulled from below your feet. You fell and fell, unable to speak, to do anything, just staring at the thing that meant the end of the world. The end of your baby sister.

A shout caught your attention - another car had returned to the stadium and was pulling into a spot a few paces away. It was Manny and Abby, everyone’s favorite duo. The attractive joker and the stoic warrior. They were among Leah’s best friends and she had introduced them to you a while ago, all of them welcoming you warmly. It had been strange, being part of a group again, a team. Your heart was still too sore.

So you had quietly pulled yourself out of most of the group evenings, the film nights and game nights and arm wrestling tournaments and what else there was to do. Manny had tried his luck flirting with you a few times and one time you had even joined him for a dance, but after realizing he wouldn’t land with you he had respectfully backed off and now treated you more like a little sister. Mel and Owen had been nice, too, both very secluded when they turned up together, but Owen was funny and enthusiastic and always yelled your name across the cafeteria or the training course when he saw you. He was one of the few people who could make you laugh no matter how hard you tried not to.

Nora was a whirlwind, the smartest person you had ever known and unfaltering no matter what the universe threw at her feet. She liked poetry and hard rock music, big men and even bigger women. You had often wondered whether she and Abby had ever hooked up. But you weren’t sure of anything concerning Abby. Always the stony face, the impenetrable wall, the arms-length smile and polite nod in the hallway. It could be infuriating at times. Especially because despite it all, against all your better judgment, you could feel yourself growing more and more interested in her, constantly looking for her in a crowd and sneaking side glances to see if she was listening to you or laughing at the same things.

The car doors banged and the sound echoed through the small space. Manny was laughing about something Abby had said and walked with a bounce in his step as he approached the counter to hand back his keys. Abby looked like she always did, khaki cargo pants and a black cutoff, her green backpack slung over one muscular shoulder. Some strands of hair had escaped her braid and curled up at the back of her neck, slightly damp from her sweat in the hot summer air. Trying to calm down and distract yourself, you let your gaze wander up her strong build, freckled biceps flexing as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. And then she looked straight at you. You didn’t move, stayed frozen as you had for the last few minutes, wishing you were invisible.

Your face felt hot and suddenly there were tears blurring your vision - what was happening?! Your knees started shaking as well, bouncing uncontrollably as your nails dug into the backs of your hands. Your throat was closing up and your bottom lip was quivering. All you saw were specks of grey and green, all you felt was your body resisting every command and rebelling against you, trying to hold you in place and suffocate you silently.

Suddenly the door opened beside you and a soft, deep voice said your name. You tried to blink the tears away but your vision wouldn’t clear up, panic blinding you further. You began shaking your head as your chest convulsed in a desperate attempt to draw breath.

“Fuck, Y/N, okay.” Abby’s voice was determined and suddenly her hands were on your wrists. Her skin was warm and dry, her grip firm. She softly shook your clasped hands and somehow moved so her face was in front of yours, a mess of green and brown and there, soft pink where her lips moved, speaking quietly and telling you to breathe with her. One hand stayed on your wrist and her thumb massaged the cramped up muscle there, digging painfully into your flesh but pulling you back to her slowly. One hand came up closer and a calloused thumb brushed the tears from your cheek before her hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing into your upper back.

“Hey, look at me, look at me, Y/N, you’re okay, I’m here. Can you try to breathe in with me on three? Just stop fighting for a moment, count with me and then we’ll breathe in together. Okay? One.”

You tried to sit up straighter and stop the erratic twitching of your chest, still choking on your breath as you waited for her commando.

“Two. Three.”

Her hand pressed between your shoulders from behind and suddenly you could breathe again, a loud gasp that turned into quiet sobs as you fought to release the air from your lungs before breathing in again.

“There we go, you’re doing so good,” Abby’s hand was on your cheek again, “so good, Y/N, breathe with me, that’s right.”

Your vision slowly returned to you now, though it was still distorted by tears. Abby had half-climbed into the truck, one foot between yours and one dangling out of the open door, her weight held up only by her right leg as she pressed her back against the dashboard. A wet laugh escaped you. Abby shot you a confused look, paired with the hint of a relieved smile.

“What?”

“You’re gonna get a cramp as well,” you rasped, “if you keep that up.”

You slid further to the inside of the broad seat, making room for Abby next to you. She grinned and sat down, one hand still on your wrist. Her eyes went down to your trembling hands, your knuckles still white from your iron grip.

“Okay, let’s take care of your hands, hm?”

Her fingers wandered softly over yours, then she rested one hand over your tangled fingers and pushed her other thumb between your palms, gently loosening your hold. She pulled back each finger slowly, starting with your thumbs and stroking each one as they relaxed. Finally, your shaking hands lay freely on your thighs.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N, don’t worry.” She took one of your hands in her lap and started massaging the inside of your palm. “Wanna tell me what got you there?”

You sighed, breath still shaky with tears.

“Um.. We ran into infected today. Runners. Families, it seemed.”

Abby sucked in a breath and gave you back your hand before taking the other and starting the same gentle procedure.

“Those are the hardest. Kids?”

You nodded and Abby made a soft noise. You took another rattling breath.

“I… I lost my little sister. Back when… before I came to you.”

Her head shot up and she stared at you, shock and sympathy playing over her features.

“Fuck, Y/N, you never said…”

“I know.” You lowered your head.

When you had stumbled out of the woods around the WLF stadium and begged them to let you in, they had stripped you and searched you before bringing you to their leader. After hours of questioning to make sure you weren’t a spy for any other group, he knew about your team and everything you had done in the last three years, but you hadn’t mentioned Sierra once. It wouldn’t change anything anyway. They had brought you to Nora who had patched you up, examined you, and fed you before showing you to your new room. It was a small closet on the base level of the stadium, with only a tiny window letting in some light. You were thankful for a roof over your head and the armed posts surrounding the stadium.

“I didn’t want to talk about her. I didn’t lie to Isaac or betray you. It wasn't anyone's business.” You gave Abby a fierce look. Nothing would change your mind about this. She just nodded, her eyes wide. You sighed, brushing your hands against each other.

“She was bitten. I see her every time I close my eyes. It wasn’t fair.” You dropped your hands into your lap. “I just don’t… I can’t -”

Abby’s hand was on yours again, her fingers sliding between yours.

“Hey. I won’t tell anyone. But I’m here, okay? If you want to talk.”

You scoffed.

“No one ever talks here. You’re all made of stone.”

Abby contemplated this for a few seconds, then she squeezed your hand.

“My dad was murdered a few years ago. Almost all of our families are dead.” Now it was your turn to be shocked. Fuck. You had been so insensitive. “By us, I mean Owen, Nora, Jordan, and me. Owen lost his parents to infected and his brothers to the scars just last year.”

Abby leaned back and stared out of the windshield, the garage now dark except for a few small lamps at the exits.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Of course, I’m in no place to tell you how to deal with it.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, you know. We don’t talk about those things.” She looked at you, her gaze so intense you almost pulled back. “Would you like to?”

You forced yourself to hold her gaze.

“I think I would. Now that it’s all… further away.”

Abby nodded, squeezing your hand again.

“Then we’ll talk. You can tell me all about your sister. And… I haven’t talked about my dad in a long time. I think I’d like to tell you about him, too. He was great.”

A small smile played around her lips and you felt a rush of gratitude for this wonderful woman. You could practically see the memories playing through her head behind those green eyes. She blinked, looking back at you.

“Wanna get something to eat? You must be starving. I know I am.”

“Sure.” You shared another smile and exited the car together, fingers still intertwined as you crossed the lot and Abby held the door open for you.

Dinner was already over, but Leah had kept her word and the elder woman at the counter gave you both gigantic bowls of beef stew with thick, coarse bread. You told Abby about your patrol that day and she hummed sympathetically. She knew what it felt like to deal with infected children. After a while, the door to the cafeteria flew open and Manny came in, sleek black hair still wet from a shower. He grinned brightly as he made his way over to you and sat next to you on the metal bench.

“You coming along tonight?” he asked you, drumming his fingers on the table. You raised your eyebrows.

“What’s happening tonight?”

He tutted at Abby and gave her a theatrical frown.

“You didn’t invite Y/N? It’s Mel’s birthday! Owen got his hands on some prime hooch. You celebrating with us?”

You smiled at your plate. The last thing you needed was to get wasted and completely lose any shred of sanity you had left.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll join you. I still haven’t showered and I had a terrible day. I’m just gonna read a bit and pass out, I think.” You gave him an apologetic shrug.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Read and pass out? It’s a special occasion! You sure?”

“Yeah, but really, thank you for inviting me. Maybe next time.”

He sighed heavily, then he clapped his hand on the table and stood up.

“Abby, you need to get moving, girl. We’re meeting in 20 and you stink.”

Abby just raised her eyebrows and shook her head, finishing her stew. Manny's laughter echoed through the empty room as he left.

“Do I really smell that bad?” There was a twinkle in her eye, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. You smiled back.

“Not at all. He probably smelled me.” You grabbed her empty bowl and placed it in yours. “Go have fun, I’ll clean this up. See you at training.”

Abby cocked her head to the side, seemingly not sure what to do. You gave her another encouraging smile.

“Really, I’m fine. Thank you for taking care of me, I owe you. Go celebrate!”

The tall blonde stood up slowly. She still seemed hesitant.

“I’ll come check on you later if that’s okay. And you can always come over and talk to me if something’s wrong, alright?”

Your chest felt tight all of a sudden, but not in the way it had earlier. It was the feeling of reaching for something knowing you’d never have it, of wanting something so bad and only being able to admire it from a distance. It felt like being homesick. You thought of Sierra again and how she had been your home, the only anchor in your life. Fuck, not now.

You shook your head as if to get rid of your thoughts and gave Abby a brave smile.

“Okay. But I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Okay. See you later, then.”

“See you.”

Abby gave you a last look over her shoulder before exiting the cafeteria and you made your way over to the kitchen. The cooks had already left and a lanky red-haired boy was the only one still there, washing dishes and listening to music on an mp3 player. The metallic sound in his headphones echoed through the peacefully quiet kitchen. He almost jumped two feet into the air when you approached from the side, bowls in your hand.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me! Jesus Christ.” He pressed a wet hand to his chest, the suds leaving a dark print on his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how not to scare you, music and all. Sorry.” Both of you had to laugh and he held his dripping hands out for your dirty bowls.

“Don’t worry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone this late. You just come back from a mission?”

“Just a patrol run.”

You leaned against the counter and watched him clean the dishes.

“Anything exciting happen?” His eyes were bright and excited. He was even younger than he had looked at first, he couldn’t be older than 15. “My brother is on patrols too. Maybe you know him, his name is Danny.”

You crossed your arms and tried to remember the face that matched that name. Danny had been on patrol with Owen for a while when you had first arrived, but now he was stationed on some outpost and you hadn’t seen him for a long time.

“Yeah, I think I do. He’s not here at the moment, right?”

“He’s at the Serevena Hotel. I may be able to visit him there soon, depending on how my training goes.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Training to be a soldier?”

“Of course.” He stood up straight. “I want to do my part, protect our people. Fight the scars.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that. Even though you were thankful the WLF had taken you in and even though you had also participated in rigorous training from the first day on, soon being cleared for missions, you didn’t really have the same loyalty and faith for the organization. The seraphites were your enemies now, of course, but they were just people. You all were. Sometimes you wondered how it could have come to this - so few people left on this earth and here you were, slaughtering each other.

“I hope you can visit your brother soon.” You let your arms fall to the side and turned to leave. “Thanks for the dishes.”

“No problem,” he mumbled, putting his headphones back in.

You were in no rush to get to your room and so you took a few detours, passing the gym which was filled with quite a lot of people getting their training in after work. You looked into empty classrooms, trying to decipher what was written on the board. Would Sierra have studied here? Sat in the front, eager to learn the things you hadn’t been able to teach her? What if you had come here earlier, before it all happened? Could they have protected her better than you had? She would probably be walking next to you now, telling you about her day.

When you finally arrived at your room, you just quickly grabbed a towel, a clean shirt, and some shorts and headed for the showers. The hot water seemed to help somewhat. You wondered what Abby was up to right now. Probably getting drunk and having fun. Was she the type of person who danced? You had never seen her dance before. Maybe Nora would persuade her. There it was again, that heavy, pulling feeling. You turned the water off, got dressed, and went straight to bed. Enough heartache for one day.

You woke up confused, not knowing where you were at first. It was pitch black and there was some kind of noise outside. You reached around you and finally found the flashlight next to your pillow, turning it on and trying to wipe the sleep from your eyes. What was going on?

It had to be after midnight. The lights in the stadium were only on from 5.30 am to 10 pm in order to save power. You untangled yourself from your sheets and got on your feet, swaying a little. There it was again, that strange scratching noise accompanied by a quiet mumbling sound. It wasn’t directly at your door but seemed to come from further down the corridor. There were a few other people living down here in storerooms and sectioned hallways.

Yawning, you walked to the door and opened it ever so slightly, pressing the flashlight to your thigh in order to keep the light down at first. You couldn’t see anything, so you waved the flashlight around the corridor. Your stomach dropped.

At the far end of the hallway, a small figure stood in front of one of the doors, trying to open it to no avail. Small hands scratched at the wood, quiet brabbling reached your ears. This was wrong. Very wrong. The figure hadn’t noticed the light yet. It went on to the next door, trying the door handle and whining in frustration when it didn’t open.

Why didn’t the people inside wake up from the noise? You stood frozen as the figure tried the next door. It was a child, dressed in dotted pyjamas. Its blonde hair was shoulder length and tangled in knots. You slowly pushed your door open wider in order to step out into the corridor. Suddenly, the hinges squeaked and the sound echoed through the hallway.

The child slowly turned toward you. Blood was dripping from its mouth, its eyes were cold. It took a step toward you. You looked down and realized you were holding a gun. Oh. Right. Infected. You were supposed to shoot them.

As the kid made another strange brabbling sound, more blood ran down the front of the cotton pyjama shirt. You raised the flashlight with shaky fingers and aimed it right at the child's face.

Your blood froze in your veins. No. This couldn’t be. You had taken care of her, you had made sure she wouldn’t… wouldn’t turn into one of these… No, you had given her a peaceful ending.

“Sierra.” Your voice was raspy, quiet with terror. “Sierra, what are you doing here, baby?”

She growled. A horribly wrong sound, coming from someone so small and so lovely. Only she wasn’t lovely anymore. She was sick. Infected.

“Sierra!” You spoke louder now, your voice pleading. “Baby, please don’t do that. It’s me, see?” You raised the flashlight to light your own face for a moment. When you put it back on her, she had stopped walking. Her face was a mask of ice-cold fury. When she spoke, her voice rattled like nails in a metal box, rough like chalk on board.

“Y/N… Why?

You sank to your knees.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry Siri, I was so helpless. I didn’t know, I didn’t…”

“You… killed… me.”

She was getting dangerously close now and all of a sudden you could smell her, too. Foul, dead, vile. The smell of sickness and decay. You raised the gun, a war raging between your head and your heart.

“Sierra, stop. Stop.” Tears were streaming down your face. “Please stop, Siri. Don’t come any closer. Stop, stop! Please stop!”

Your little baby sister was so close that you could have reached out a hand and brushed through her hair. You stood up and took a step back.

“I’m gonna have to shoot you if you don’t step back. You’re infected, Siri. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you can’t, please Sierra. Don’t, please don’t…”

She hissed at you and lurched forward. A shot rang through the air and the girl fell to the floor right before you, her tiny body at your feet, blood slowly pooling around her head. You dropped the gun and it clattered on the concrete floor. You clapped your hands to your mouth and screamed into your palms, crying out again and again, trying to gasp for air. It felt like your heart was being torn in two.

Suddenly there was a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around, but there was only darkness. You let yourself fall to the floor and kept weeping into your hands. Someone gripped your wrists and shook them slightly. You opened your eyes.

Abby was sitting on the side of your bed, her face right above yours and full of worry. You shook your head, frantically looking around your room for any kind of danger. The room was almost dark, light just seeping through the crack under the door. It was still early in the night.

“Y/N? Hey, hey. You’re okay.” Abby slowly let go of your wrists. “You had a nightmare. You’re okay now, I’m here.”

You were still too terrified to speak, so you just scooted further to the side and grabbed Abby’s hand, giving her a pleading look. She understood immediately, kicking off her shoes and climbing into bed next to you, holding out her arm for you to crawl into. You pressed yourself to her side and rested your head on her chest, feeling yourself tremble in her arms. She just held you for a while, letting you listen to her heartbeat until your own body began to calm down.

“Hi,” you whispered into the dim room. Abby stroked your hair while she held you tightly.

“Hey there,” she mumbled back. “Feeling better?”

“Not really.” You looked up at her. She smelled faintly of alcohol and something sweet. “How was your party?”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“It was absolute chaos. I had to escape from there before it could consume me. And I also had someone to check on.” She squeezed your shoulder. You cringed at the thought of her finding you like this, writhing and talking in your sleep, crying out or even fighting her without knowing who was in front of you. You had always had horrible nightmares and Sierra had taken the brunt of them, waking you countless nights and trying to stay brave when you yelled at her or shoved her away in the first moments of consciousness, not yet fully back in the real world. Now that she was gone, they were a hundred times worse. You pressed your forehead to Abby’s shoulder.

“Did I scream?”

“Not really. I just knocked a few times and then I heard you talking, and you sounded so panicked that I thought I should make sure… I’m sorry I just came in like that.”

You shook your head.

“No, don’t. Thank you for waking me. It was… God, I hate this.”

Abby’s fingers combed through your hair, massaging your scalp. It was heavenly.

“Does this happen a lot?”

You snorted involuntarily.

“Every night. Several times. I never sleep through and I never sleep enough.” You wiped a hand over your face. “Sorry, I know I’m not the only one and it could be worse. It’s just… hard.”

“Excuse me?” Abby’s tone made you look up at her. “You’re telling me you have several panic attacks in your sleep every night but it’s fine because others have nightmares, too?”

You frowned. Panic attacks? You’d never thought of it that way.

“Y/N, you’re allowed to complain. To me especially. Remember, we wanted to talk about our problems? Be open about all this?”

She was right. You pressed yourself closer to her.

“I guess, yeah. Thank you for… for being here.”

“Wanna tell me about your nightmare?”

You held onto Abby’s shirt, clenching the fabric in your fist as if she might be ripped from you at any moment.

“I don’t know… I mean, why not. Well…” How were you even supposed to explain all this? How would you ever talk about your sister without freaking out again?

Abby pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you felt the tension in your stomach dissolve. You took a deep breath.

“I can never tell I’m dreaming. This time I thought I heard something in the corridor and I went to see what it was. A little girl was scratching on doors, trying to get in. She looked like the… like one of the infected we ran into today. But I made a noise and when she turned around she was... She was -” You gasped for air, trying to keep your calm. Abby hummed softly, stroking your back and giving you time to think.

“She had the face of my sister. Sierra.” You hadn’t said her name out loud in so long, only in the nightmares. Maybe it was time to rid her name of that terror, that fear, and grant it the love and warmth it deserved. “Sierra was my little sister. We ran with a group the last few years, stayed with them after our mom died. But she was bitten and I had to… I had to let her go.” You swallowed hard. Abby’s thumb drew circles on your back.

“So in the dream… the girl turned around and she was her . And I didn’t know what to do. I begged her to stop, to not come any closer because she was infected, she was bleeding, and -” You drew in another breath and buried your face in Abby’s chest. “She asked me why I’d done it, why I had… and she kept coming and then she attacked me and I - I had to, I had to shoot her.”

Hot tears were burning in your eyes and your throat was impossibly tight again. Abby gently placed a hand on your cheek and turned your face up toward her.

“I’m not gonna tell you it was just a dream because I know it's more complicated than that. I get them, too, sometimes. But what I can tell you is that I’m here, that you’re safe now, that your sister is in a better place and that one day you will be able to speak about her without feeling like you’re falling apart.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it. And now you're with me. We can heal together. I’m here, I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

You raised your head from her chest and turned a little in order to get face to face with her.

“Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this? Why now? I didn’t even think you liked me. You don’t have to take care of me.”

Abby’s features softened and she huffed out a silent laugh.

“I don’t know. I really… You were right when you said we keep everything to ourselves. But some of us do it more than others. And I guess I’m the worst when it comes to showing what I want.”

The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Abby took a deep breath.

“I like you, I really do. I just thought you needed more time. I know what it’s like to suffer and to feel like you can’t breathe. I wanted to give you space. But then I saw you in the car and I immediately knew what was happening. And I finally realized that I wouldn’t make things better by staying away.”

She held your gaze and you felt something shift between you. Her hand on your back came to a halt. You smiled softly.

“I always thought you didn’t find me interesting enough to talk to me. I was so jealous of the others for being this close to you and for making you laugh. I wanted that, too.”

“You’re the most interesting person that’s ever walked into this stadium,” Abby said softly. “God, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to feel left out.”

You rested your head back on her shoulder.

“You made it up to me already. Really, you saved me today. Twice.”

Abby chuckled.

“Just wait until I have my next breakdown and then you can return the favor. Shouldn’t be long, they get to me every few days.”

You wrapped your arms around her torso.

“Well, then you’ll just have to stay close by.”

She hesitated, holding her breath for a second. You waited.

“Do you want me to stay? Tonight?”

You smiled to yourself.

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

You kept talking for a while. Abby told you about the party and about the cook Nora was currently hooking up with, and you told her about the boy in the kitchen. She recalled training with Danny when she first joined the WLF, laughing about how he had boasted that he wouldn’t lose to a girl and how she had him on the ground in a headlock in about two seconds.

At some point you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew you were in the truck again, sitting in the passenger seat as the car flew through Seattle at top speed. You looked over and in the driver's seat there was the red-haired boy from the kitchen. His face was determined, a hard mask of concentration. He was panting hard, driving as fast as he could. Arrows were flying around you, soaring through the broken windows of the car and missing you by mere inches. A horse was whinnying. Scars. You immediately pulled out your gun and started shooting at everything that moved outside, hitting at least three people and a horse.

“Sorry,” you whispered as you reloaded. Animals weren’t fair.

You looked up and suddenly there was someone standing in the middle of the street. A small girl, brown-haired and in a red dress. Her back was to you. You screamed at the driver, but it was too late. The truck hit the child and it was thrown against the windshield, making a horrible noise as it cracked the glass and rolled over the roof to the back of the car where it fell to the ground. The truck came to a shrieking halt and you jumped out, gun drawn. The scars had vanished. You and the redhead ran back to where the girl was laying in a heap on the street, so small and fragile. Blood was running through the cracks in the pavement.

You turned the girl on her back and froze when you saw her face.

“Sierra! No, no, no, oh god no, what have we done - Sierra, Sierra, baby, look at me!”

“Y/N!” You heard your name but Sierra’s lips weren’t moving. “Y/N!” You whipped your head around and woke up.

It was dark and Abby had an arm wrapped around you, the other was holding your cheek. You swallowed and struggled for air.

“I’ve got you, hey, just breathe for me, I’ve got you.” Abby’s voice was sleepy and rough, something you'd have never thought you’d have the privilege of hearing. It calmed you down instantly. You dug your fingers into her arm, strong muscle flexing beneath your touch.

“Shhh, that’s right, just hold on. You’re okay.” You melted into her arms, hands and legs still shaking. She made a quiet humming noise in the back of her throat and pressed another kiss to your scalp. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” you whispered and she hummed again in response. You rested your head against her chest and listened to her breaths as they slowly became more regular, chest steadily moving against you. Her heartbeat thumped softly in your ear. Cocooned in the wolf’s arms and serenaded by the quiet symphony of her sleeping body, you finally drifted off to sleep again.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby tlou2 #abby anderson fic #fanfiction #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst/comfort #angst/fluff #manny tlou #wlf #washington liberation front #abby anderson / reader #abby/reader

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magnusrosen-blog · 1 year ago

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Irony and reality can sometimes be close to each other.

The sleeping people!

We sleep so heavily in an illusion that everything is done for our own good!

In the history of man we find a conclusion.

Is it ok that we are all treated as potential criminals?

😴 But we just sleep on in a dream that everything is so good.

Where I live slightly outside of Gothenburg, it has definitely gotten worse, so I have turned off my 5G.

The radiation inside the city is on "warning" for humans, I have seen this myself on a radiation meter.

😴 But no one seems to care or question this either.

Did you know that there are several different techniques that cause the sunlight to be blocked from our globe.

Yes, it is certainly scary that some people are experimenting with our entire mother earth.

Tinkering with the weather has been done since the Vietnam War.

😴 But what does it do when you can close your eyes and sleep on?

Wars are encouraged instead of effective peace processes, at the same time they talk about climate change which entails high environmental taxes, tax money that is not even earmarked?????

Yes, now it is even difficult in some professions to get full time since the 80% salary came into effect.

More expensive prices with less wages.

😴 Yes, that's good, then we won't be able to afford to live.

Think how good life is anyway, well until the day you open your eyes 👀 and ask yourself, how could it be like this.

Yes, that day started to get its last "well before date"

Then the road back is very long.

Yes there are many more alarm clocks ⏰, 😴 but it doesn't seem to help.

Shouldn't we at least question and demand an objective picture with more than one perspective?

Questioning gives answers but silence does not.

The wise ask and the foolish dare not question. But no questions are wrong and clear, transparent answers must always be given so that no major misunderstandings occur against the people.

😴 But what does that do when you can close your eyes and sleep on.

Perhaps it is simply too much to ask to open one's beautiful eyes and instead just sleep further into an illusion and future that is currently presented when this text is read?!

But in any case, in the sign of love, you can wish everyone 😴 sleeping a good sleep.

Sleep tight!!! ❤️🙏

Magnus.

Love peace understanding

Remember: Questions bring knowledge

Free speech makes for a free world

Photo Gabriel Henningson

www.magnusrosen.com

www.magnusrosenband.com

www.culturemeetsindustry.com

#book #magnusrosenband #outsidetherockbox #sound pollution #moderearth #spiritual #barvcafebar#brännö

#avelibooks #noise pollution

0 notes

missinghan · 4 years ago

Text

aria of an assassin ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : assassin au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 6,2k.

❖ warning : mentions of blood & violence, explicit language

❖ summary : minho hasn’t been fazed for decades throughout his bloodied career until the next target happens to be a black cat and he’s suddenly incapable of pulling the trigger.

❖ note : okay, so it’s been a year? this tiny, stupid blog is turning one year old today? yea I couldn’t believe it either. this is to all of my mutuals and readers out there, I don’t say it enough but I truly appreciate each and every one of you 🖤 I wish I could have written something longer but due to school, this random piece will have to do for now.

❖ the sequel : with felix is out!

one.

“Shit.”

Minho grits in a hushed tone although all that has been accompanying him is the pitiful moonlight and icy breeze dissolving into every fiber of his skin. Every minuscule movement suddenly becomes too irritating to his eardrums. The hustle and bustle life of the city at night. Terrible traffic. Even the sound of his own inhales and exhales.

What is that thing?

He thinks to himself, proceeding to expand his eyesight with the pair of scopes; confusion soon flares into curiosity, then faint anger and dead silence. He swears his heartbeat just paused awkwardly like a broken record for a split second there. Such strange, or odd targets are no stranger to him; nor do they stir something inside the coldness of his rib cage.

Not an easy kill, they say. And not easy it is.

Because whatever he’s watching with his very eyes is a cat. A goddamn cat with a coat as sleek pitch as the dark canvas upon his head and piercing golden eyes. The peculiar animal walks with its head held high like it’s lording over everyone else—such self-reassurance, such radiance some humans cease to possess.

It’s dangerous, they say. But it’s a fucking cat! Irritation bubbles up at the back of his throat, makes his skin crawl, and causes a bark of profanity to leave his lips once more. Has it not occurred to his client that he doesn’t kill children and animals? When it’s clearly been written on the contract? In bold, underlined, and everything?

They could have at least given him more details on what he’s getting himself to this time.

An exhale. He packs up his things, pulls his black cap down a little, and leaves the top of the building without looking back. If he did, he would have seen those starry eyes boring holes onto his back.

two.

The road Minho is walking through is more than familiar. For one, he takes the same path every day to grab a drink at his go-to place—a vending machine near an old, plain high school.

It’s fair to say he knows every corner of the neighborhood like the back of his hand—from the dark alley where bullies beat up their classmates to the small stall of lemonade of a middle school girl who waves at him every morning. He never reciprocates though; it doesn’t feel right. The amount of apathy in his heart isn’t enough for him to act normally when taking lives is what he does for a living.

For two, he used to have a part-time job at that particular high school for an old request. Due to his conscience, he did go out of his way to take the kill outside of the school—causing a catastrophe in such an environment makes him uncomfortable.

Just then, he stops. His brow raises. Isn’t that…

The black cat slinks through the crowd of nosy students in the direction of where he too is heading. It raises its nose and gives the air a rough sniff, making a face as though the general stagnant with exhaust fumes stench of the city disgusts the entirety of its existence.

Watching it take a slight dip to avoid being hit with someone’s bag, Minho holds back every urge to come running at the creature and wrap his arms around its small figure. He wonders how long it’d take for the cat to reach its final destination because it’s definitely taking some sweet ass time to stride through the front of the main gate like a supermodel. Meanwhile, he’s stressed to the core as if the harmless high school filled with teenagers is nothing less than a battlefield.

Is it testing him?

Something is oddly unsettling about an animal staring straight into his eyes. Paranoia fuels the forgotten irritation inside his chest, sets out to make him actually think those golden eyes are memorizing every inch of his feature. Then, they soften with what seems to be exhaustion, its tiny head turning and its tiny feet take it skipping gently away from the scene.

Minho finally acknowledges the knot inside his stomach and the breath he’s been holding. With a harsh gulp, he no longer takes notice of the fact if his cap is hung low enough or if he’s walking too quickly. For the first time in long, a rush of adrenaline hits him hard enough to make him speed walk through the herd of chatty teenagers.

Questions naturally pop up as his shoes kiss the ground, his shadow sprinting into a dark, though familiar alleyway. Was he hallucinating? But he’s been getting enough sleep and eating well. What makes him so certain that it was the same cat? Instincts or some sixth sense bullshit perhaps. If it was the cat that’s assigned to be killed off in a week, what’s so dangerous about it? And how long has he been running for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? And to where?

“You.”

Half-way through trying to keep his thoughts off of his face, Minho stops himself when a rather feminine voice echoes through the narrow space. Unsure of whether the voice was reaching out to him, his legs stop moving while his eyes are peering through the dark. Much to his heart’s dismay, shivers run up his spine when something comes in contact with the warm flesh of his neck.

“What’s your name?”

Slowly, with his hands on the back of his head, he turns on his heels. “Excuse you?”

You retract your gun-shaped fingers into the pocket of your jacket, phlegmatic eyes gazing at him through the thickness of the night. “I want to know your name,” you try to make your point clear, utterly unfazed.

Minho stares you down for a good five seconds. Neatly dressed in the school uniform, an oversized jacket thrown over your body but no backpacks. There’s a name tag being embroidered onto the fabric in red “Shin Yuna - 1A”. Whoever you are, he’s certain that isn’t your name. That name doesn’t even suit you. That isn’t your uniform.

“What’s the point?” he questions, hands dropped to the sides in slight relief.

You tilt your head, expression neutral. “I have a habit of collecting names of people who tried or are trying to kill me. It’s quite relaxing to write it down on a list actually. You know, easier to keep track.”

He’s trying hard to not let any impulsive urges overthrow the rational side of his brain. Everything suddenly twitches in slow motion. His silence seems to bore you. Your eyes are more dead than angry, more done than irritated. Like you’ve been through this shit one too many times already to care.

“At least say why you’re sent to kill me.”

That, Minho can answer within a blink of an eye. “They sent me because I don’t exist.”

Your gaze glistens with a glaze of boredom. “Everyone said so.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Where’s your house, kid? I’ll walk you back. It’d be a pain in the ass if your parents found out how you’re wandering alone after school,” he brushes it off like you’re a slight nuisance (which you are). His heartbeat spikes up once at the mention of family, one that you’ve acknowledged with ease.

Your arms are folded over your chest now, to cover up the sudden stab of sympathy inside your chest. “There’s no need. I don’t have a place to go back to nor do I have parents who will nag me for staying out late.”

His mind automatically blackouts along with his senses, blurred with such peculiar feelings swirling at the pit of his stomach. You make it sound like it’s not that big of a deal like you’ve utterly been numb for so long. It’s tragic but understandable. This isn’t the first time he has witnessed a story like yours—your parents, dead or alive, he does not know; by the sound of it, you’re an orphan. Another unfortunate being to graze this planet like himself. This means you can’t afford school, so that uniform really doesn’t belong to you.

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Lee Know. Call me Lee Know.”

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

You didn’t mean to expose anything about your life to a total stranger, or specifically an assassin. However, nothing matters when you most likely won’t meet him again nor will he succeed in taking your life. Even the fact that he chose not to give you his real name amplifies how much shit he does not give about you. You don’t expect anything more honestly.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you feign enthusiasm before clasping your hands together. “Go home. The sun is already going down.”

Strangely enough, Minho can only watch as your shadow shifts to the outline of a black cat before dipping into the depths of the starless night.

three.

To Minho it’s always just another day in the office. Except his office is a windy rooftop overlooking the mark’s exact location. His tools—rather than a computer—is a state-of-the-art rifle with a telescopic lens. A silencer isn’t very important since traffic and people are more than enough to drown out any suspicious noises. Most will mistake it for a back-firing van. He takes aim with no more qualms than one would gossip about a colleague, then pulls the trigger while thinking about what to order other than Chinese for lunch. When the work is done, he carefully packs everything up into an inconspicuous rucksack. And leaves the scene, like a phantom.

It’s always been the same boring, bloodied cycle.

Yet something’s changed since Minho met you.

He used to maintain a cool detachment to his targets. His conscience prefers not to think of them; whenever he does, it’s as if they’re already dead, mobile meat bags waiting to be laid on a cutting board. He doesn’t like to think merrily of his job, he doesn’t see it as helping them meet their destiny. None of that bullshit. To put it more nonchalantly, everyone will die one day. Minho considers it as a good way to go. Oblivious and in pain for one moment before completely gone the next.

Simple. Convenient. Much less agonizing than this brutal world.

Although that doesn’t mean he isn’t traumatized by the amount of blood that has stained his hands. On good days, he might get three to four hours of sleep. Bad days, few minutes to none at all. Terrifying nightmares gnaws at his soul every night, the ugly scar like a reminder of every single one of his sins. He can’t force himself to lose his sanity like any fools out there going down the same path.

“Shit…” Minho mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. He didn’t sleep well last night—like every other night; hence the bad temper and bitter taste at the back of his throat.

After a deep breath, he stares at his Hecate II with mischievous eyes—those of a hunter framed in the expressionless face of an executioner. His blunt hands are steady as they lift the shiny weapon over the concrete of a rooftop, drawing out a dry shot in his mind.

Through his scope, he watches as you’re crossing the road in your human form before stopping abruptly in front of a random tree. You then proceed to squint your eyes and look up in the opposite direction. Minho unknowingly holds his breath, waits for you to release your iron gaze, and move on with your life. But his expectations don’t prevail.

“What the fuck?”

Without much patience, he curses before shifting his scope to the same direction only to find another shadow creeping around on the balcony of a nearby building. No time to think of a rational solution—killing them is an ideal one—Minho feels his palms growing sweaty when a small, peculiar object comes flying toward his way. His head quickly moves away before the bullet pierces through his scope, shattering the glass completely.

“Son of a bitch,” he lets out a shaky breath. Crimson starts to drip down on the side of his cheekbone, but he can care less.

Because that’s the least of his problem right now.

Another subtle ‘bang’ can be heard in the distance, like a broken record scratching against his eardrums. Kid…! Minho’s heart collapses in realization.

four.

It’s not hard for Minho to do research on quite an amount of vital information about you. When he saw your body dropped to the ground lifelessly and an ambulance immediately drove by to pick up your body, he knew things weren’t going to end just like that.

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

He isn’t a believer, has never been one. Yet when he managed to take out your kidnappers in that ambulance, your weak breaths startled his heart and shook his mind into awareness of how serious the situation is. After that, he tracked down the hitman who delivered the hard blow, put a bullet through his brain, and found an USB full of detailed information about your existence. Which just makes things a whole lot more complicated to understand.

Apparently, you’ve been ‘killed’ one too many times before—there are photographs of your supposedly dead body in a bag, thrown into the deep, dark woods, other times into a nameless river. The thing about you is that you were once an experimental subject to your own biological parents who are sickeningly vile scientists. At the age of nine, you fell down the stairs and had a big gash on your head. They never knew because your wounds were quick to heal themselves. However, your whole life was flipped upside down when they saw you shapeshifting into a black cat while running around at the playground.

From then, your life became a living hell behind cold metal bars with needles stuck in your arms and strange pills being forced down your throat almost every day. Their sudden change only nourished resentment through time until you managed to cut down the laboratory’s power supply and fled from your own home.

You have no one to lean on. No place to go back to. No nothing. And you’re just a teenager.

Minho feels awful.

Usually, he isn’t the type to be empathetic nor does he have the energy to. It’s very out of character for him to let his emotions linger on a homeless kid with some supernatural abilities that will make his life that much more dangerous. Because to him, more often than not, people tend to give their condolences only to forget after brief moments of grieving. At the end of the day, it isn’t their own problem, it isn’t their own life. But now when it comes to you, Minho feels a strong sense of responsibility that if you end up dying, it’s on him.

It’s stupidly conflicted, it really is. His job—blowing people’s brains out—is the sole reason why he makes a six-digit amount of money for every job. Therefore, he isn’t sure what picking a random kid up from a fake ambulance and bringing her back to his shabby apartment is going to do him any good.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You hate the fact that you can recognize that voice.

Just then, you wake as if it’s an emergency, as if sleeping has become a dangerous task. Your heart is pounding loudly inside your ears, the sound echoing listlessly to the pit of your rib cage. It’s always like this. It takes you some time to calm your nerves before gathering what exactly happened the moment you blacked out.

Right, you think to yourself, groaning slightly while pushing yourself up. You were shot right in the chest, and your body was probably discarded somewhere. After that, you’d grab a hitchhiker so they’ll drive you back into town. Like always. The only difference, this time though, is Minho placing your limp body on his bed with a blanket to warm you up.

His face appears within your eyesight when you’re done adjusting your vision to the bright room—you’re not used to this much light around. “You look calmer than I expected,” he mentions.

Minho grabs your face and scans it over. “Let me see. Did your wounds close up properly?”

The tender action, which has become weirdly natural to him although this is his first time, accidentally triggers something inside you. Your hand automatically slaps his away. It is an upfront refusal, but it doesn’t surprise him. He only offers you a comfortable moment of silence before placing a tray on the wooden nightstand.

“Eat up. I’m not going to feed you,” he cocks his head toward the bowl of porridge with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You glare at him in suspicion. “Bringing me home. Giving me a bed to sleep on. And even food to eat. What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing. I didn’t kill you only because you’re too young for my moral code,” he pretends to roll his eyes, voicing monotonously.

A frown adorns your tired features. “So you’re going to kill me when I get older then?”

“Probably,” Minho smirks faintly with a cock of his eyebrow. “That depends if you still remember my name, Y/N.”

One thing after another, this assassin only continues to baffle you. He was just going to shoot you the other day and now he’s giving you food? Preposterous! To put it simply, you’re unprepared for such kind actions, such gentleness from someone who takes lives for a living. You’re unprepared for dealing with people in general because they detest anyone who’s different from them—your kind, the kind with supernatural abilities and all. Hence, you’re left unwilling to befriend anyone and would rather be alone for the rest of your life.

Until such twisted moira pushes you to—what was his name again? Not his real name, the made-up one that he uses in the underworld.

You speak up softly after feeling safe enough to let your guards down, “Lee Know, was it?”

“It’s Lee Minho.”

“Pardon?”

He only smiles, “My real name. It’s Lee Minho.”

five.

“Y/N! A little help over here?”

“Coming.”

“Y/N, go check the fog machine!”

“Got you.”

“Y/N, can you put these boxes over there?”

“Alright.”

That’s all you’ve been doing for the entirety of your boring day. Getting yelled out at, having people ask for help nonstop, and responding with a two-word answer at max. You’re not complaining—they pay you well enough, the job is more on the down-low side because you’re nothing but a mere stage crew for an above-average theatre studio. So you simply hoist the three final plastic boxes into your arms with a jerk of your knees and place it where they asked you to. Thanks to your parents, their experiments along with skeptical-looking substances have efficiently enhanced your general strength and agility.

Another crew member perks up when you plop the heavy stack of cardboard boxes down with a loud thud. “Oh, can you carry those lights to stage left too?”

“Sure.” You could have pretended to pick up one box at a time and to drag your feet across the stage with difficulties to avoid being used. But you’re too lazy to repeat the same cycle two more times, so you really don’t have any other choice here.

Nevertheless, you suppose it’s not entirely bad to do all of this heavy handiwork. Because it keeps your mind off of unwanted things, such as Lee Minho for example. Lee Minho, the assassin, not the actor—you’d gladly fangirl over that certain celebrity rather than admit that you actually enjoy the hitman’s abrupt presence in your life.

The fact that you know he will find you even if it means traveling to the ends of the Earth and back doesn’t help to ease your insomnia. So for the past few days, you’ve been working extra hours along with picking up a job at a florist in hopes of not bumping into him. Stupid. You know it is. But how can you deal with a self-esteem crisis because the idea of being a burden just irks you so much?

It’s like you’re hopelessly proving that you don’t need anyone when you, in fact, want that kind of unconditional love that every other human yearns for.

After helping your colleagues out with the lighting, you simply sit behind those thick curtains until the show is over. Then, you head out, find a place to sleep, and head to an old lady’s place to pick up new clothes to change into for the next day. Since she’s been treating you with nothing but kindness, you’ve tried to pass by and helped her out at her son’s antique store too.

Your routine is supposed to go that way and stay that way. You won’t die because you don’t like overworking yourself. You’re doing just great.

“Hey, Y/N! Your brother is here to pick you up!”

Throwing your crewmate a blunt wave, you find your way out of the school’s theatre through a back door without shifting the expression on your face. You don’t have any siblings. And your colleagues don’t know anything about your family background either. So it, unfortunately, boils your guesses down to one.

Despite knowing who it is and why they show up, you open your mouth to speak, “How did you find me again?”

Minho shows up with a more casual version of his working attire—instead of the fully black, monochromatic outfit, he’s changing it up with a leather jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. He leans on his shiny motorcycle smugly like he knows something that you don’t, in which you very much dislike.

“Young lady, I’ll have you know that being an assassin helps me appear at places to do things I’m not supposed to do,” he ignores the fact that your question was purely rhetorical and chimes.

You attempt to throw him a glare which isn’t intimidating enough. “Call me ‘young lady’ one more time and I’ll put my foot where it’s not supposed to be.” Who are you kidding? He’s a hitman when you’re just a kid. Pigs would be flying by the time you managed to physically shoo him away.

“Am I supposed to guess where that is?”

“Enough. Go to work. Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, are you encouraging me to kill people?” Minho gasps, acting shocked and appalled. Clearly, he’s not good at it despite sharing a name with a well-known actor.

You can only retort harshly, “Don’t put words in my mouth, you ass.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Why?”

His hand automatically reaches for your forearm. “Don’t people eat for pleasure? What’s wrong with you?”

Your heart leaps in, anger perhaps, pupils shaking when he closes in on you. Upon your reaction, Minho retracts his arm immediately. He should have thought better of it; you’re probably too traumatized to be dealing with him right now.

At that, your eyes round at the remorse on his face and you could have glared him off right then and there. But somehow, your basic human manners overcome your usual snappy self, letting you think that maybe he means no harm. Maybe he’s checking up on you one last time before going on about his life. You shouldn’t be too riled up about it just because he tried to kill you once.

Minho catches the familiar anxious gaze and sighs, “Okay, we don’t have to get something to eat. I’ll give you a ride back. Do you have somewhere to stay the night?”

It’s rotten work, whatever he’s trying to do. So you shake the harmless tingle inside your chest away before pushing past him. “No,” you answer dryly and leave.

six.

You go to work sick the day after because you couldn’t find a place to sleep in and had to make do with napping in front of a tattoo place. Yes, napping; because when you finally shifted into your cat form and allowed your eyes to rest, the sky started pouring waterfalls. The rain had soaked into your shiny black coat, making it frizzy and luring the sickness up your spine the moment you tried finding a different haven.

No one notices. No one.

Not even the mask, the extra layer of sweatshirt nor your hushed coughs every now and then. Despite downing the cold pills early in the morning, you’re only burning up harder by the second. Oh, you know! Maybe they just don’t care, that’s it. Because calling in off for work due to a minor cold isn’t a valid reason. However, you’re still shivering on the inside and burning on the outside. Enhanced genes or any of that bullshit isn’t enough to prevent you from getting sick like any other student. Perhaps something wasn’t complete, or they’d messed up somewhere. Perhaps that’s why they’re trying to get you back.

How foolish of you to think somewhere deep down, they still want you back. With a reason as blunt as you being their child.

Drowning in deep thoughts, you almost crash into a pile of boxes filled with equipment when your foot gets tangled to a random cable. Your eyes automatically screw shut as you wait for the impact but it never comes. Only a gentle pair of hands on your shoulders did. From that point on, you can’t hear or see properly. You don’t even have enough stamina to register who’s holding onto you so reassuringly. Whatever is happening gets hazier by the tick of a clock. It’s either you’re hallucinating or Minho is giving you that mirthful scowl of his.

Yep, you’re definitely hallucinating.

“Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“That’s a stupid fucking question.”

A frown adorns his perplexed features as his glassy eyes skim your face. He has a really pretty smile, he should smile more, you think. His hand latches onto your burning forehead, slides down on the side of your cheek with such grace as though he’s caressing you. A grumble leaves his lips at your dreadful state. This is why he should have never let you go in the first place.

“Come on, kid. Let me help you,” Minho says before giving your arm a light tug.

You don’t like what you just heard. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can barely walk.”

“Who said so-” As if on cue, he lets go of your arm bluntly. Caught off guard, your legs go weak without any remaining strength. You stumble and would have most likely fallen on your face if it weren’t for his grip on your arm. A gasp comes out inaudible when he hoists you upright, not planning to let go any time soon.

Minho scratches the tip of his nose with his ring finger, sniffing lightly. It seems like he’s arguing with a younger version of himself. He now knows how it felt like for those caretakers back then.

“You did,” he says with the same smirk when you woke up in his apartment for the first time.

seven.

That’s the only time you’ve ever allowed someone to help you with something. But Minho had to constantly check on you every two seconds, not wanting you to fall asleep on his bike while it’s speeding down the highway like a gust of wind. For a moment there, he really thought you would slip away into the night as he tried to find his keys because that’s just how you are.

Minho is no doctor, but he doesn’t go to one for a cold or a really bad fever. He can manage, he tries to convince himself.

After testing your temperature and giving you something new to change into, he slaps a cool gel patch onto your forehead before heading off to the kitchen to cook up something. You need to be full to be able to take your medicine anyway.

In the act of resting on his bed, you decide you can’t take staying in the same spot anymore so your body perks up in a sluggish manner. The aroma of home-cooked food wakes your senses almost immediately, causing you to look over at his busy figure by the marble counter. You think it’s endearing how he hasn’t bothered to change into something more comfortable. But he instead threw an apron over his working attire and dived right into the cooking process.

You have always felt like you were missing out on something whenever you looked at Minho. Perhaps it was how his striking eyes stared at you, whether mischievous or else. Perhaps it was how his lips were turning down most of the time with less than affectionate words.

Or it’s plainly how he has been trying to hide that he actually cares.

“Hungry?” He tilts his head to the side playfully once his sixth sense starts kicking in.

You can only nod. “Yeah.”

It takes Minho a lot of convincing yet you won’t let him feed you. Like hell, you would. Therefore, with helpless eyes, he watches you from across the table. He doesn’t laugh or get annoyed when your shaky hand drops the spoon and splatters the soup all over the table. His hand simply reaches for a piece of paper towel to clean up the mess, tossing it into the trash bin later. The same cycle repeats in comforting silence until you finish the entire bowl. The soup definitely wasn’t five-star worthy. But it’s enough to warm you up inside and out. Of course, Minho chooses to let the dishwasher do the job—his hatred for doing dishes is always at its finest.

Then, like the other night, he has already passed out on the table with a blanket draped over his body when you step out of the shower. Instead of plopping the weight of your exhaustion onto his bed this time, your legs stay frozen like cement on the floor while your eyes take in his reclined figure under the thin fabric. Minho is sleeping with his head buried in his arms, his glasses and messy files abandoned to the side. He’s definitely not a heavy sleeper because he doesn’t snore; only feather-like breaths can be heard through this endless beat of silence. The faintly blinking light from his laptop makes you feel exposed so you push yourself toward the balcony.

A hiss comes out hushed and quiet when your feet come into contact with the cold tile floor, bringing you across the studio apartment with small tiptoes. You peer over your shoulder, gazing at the only available source of light. Unconsciously, you ball your fists.

With a soft sigh, you slide open the glass door and step out to bathe yourself in the comfort of the moonlight. Despite the chilling air of the night, something warm fills up your lungs like an overflowed cup of wine. It suffocates you a little until the knots in your muscles and mind loosen; a sense of relief washes over you—you haven’t felt that in years.

Nothing makes sense.

A hitman hired by your parents shouldn’t be putting a roof over your head, tucking you into bed nor feeding you. Minho barely knows you; and your knowledge about him as a genuine person isn’t enough to convince you that this is reality. Because after years of wandering the streets, being tossed around like trash with plenty of a series of unfortunate events, you’ve made it a habit to sink into yourself.

So the longer you stay here, the more you’ll get attached to him. And the more you get attached, the more he takes away your default instincts to turn your back on everything.

Guilt wells up inside your chest as though it’s an old habit, a setting by default. If you ever try to go over the moderate line, you will break.

Holding back a croaked sob, you know that once you let it go, tears will only start flooding. With a push of your muscles, you effortlessly hoist yourself up the metal railings in one go. The wind combs through your hair like an empathetic hand but you ignore it, Minho’s sweater closing in on your skin.

You should leave, you try to urge yourself. You should jump off and dive into the depths of the night, let the allure cradle you in its emotionless arms.

Because after all, despite all those eyes on you out there, you’re ultimately alone within.

A foot dips out into thin air once the slump in your shoulders goes weightless. Immediately after, an incredible force pulls you by the ankle, and to the ground with a loud thud. Minho falls onto his back harshly, groaning slightly with you on top of him.

He knew what you were trying to do, he saw it the other night with his own eyes. Even under the knowledge of your capabilities, Minho still feels a rush of panic rising inside his chest. It’s only until his arms fully have a hold of you does his racing heartbeats slow down. Supernatural abilities or none, you’re still sick. And he’d be losing his mind if he woke up to an empty bed tomorrow morning.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he speaks with trembling vocal cords, in a tone you’ve never heard before. Strict but mellow. As though there’s a race inside his mind but he’s desperately trying to keep his cool. It’s fear. The moment he’s introduced to the idea of losing you—it’s genuine fear.

“Minho, I can’t die. Didn’t I tell you—“

His grip squeezes you in a breath tighter, cutting you off completely. “The fuck were you thinking? You can’t just jump off the balcony like that!”

“I already told you. I can’t die. Minho, I’ve done that plenty of times before,” you furrow your brows in a troubled manner, unsure of how to react.

Minho widens his eyes at you in sheer disbelief. Shock riddles his senses and gets the best of him. So now he’s fussing with his hands, incoherent profanity leaving his lips non-stop within the next thirty seconds or so. He’s usually very calm, collected, calculating, and cold. This is very unlike him. It makes you wonder why he’s acting this way. He knows that you can’t die from jumping off a building. So what’s there to worry about?

“You’re such an idiot! Try doing that again and I’ll kill you with my own-“

You truly don’t know how important you are to him. Frankly, he hasn’t even realized that yet.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him closer. Since you’re bad at resolving any kind of conflict, you opt for the most rational solution—going with his flow until he’s calmed down. “I won’t do that again, promise.”

His lips fall agape at your words. He wasn’t expecting that. And even when you see how he’s reacting to your sudden change, you decide it’s no time to back down. This might be the only time you could show him that you’re at least grateful for everything he’s done.

He’s quieted down now. And when he manages to speak again without tripping over his own words, his voice comes out as a whisper. “Hey kid,” he looks down at you, wanting to stroke your hair but drops his hand in sheer defeat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“Who would do my job when I’m gone? Isn’t that irresponsible?” You exhale deeply before fluttering your eyes close, finding odd peace within the rhythm of his heart.

Minho says pointedly, “Well, you could have asked someone to help you with it.”

“No one would help me.”

“How’d you know? Have you tried asking them before?”

Your eyes shoot open and flicker around your surroundings, you’re at a loss for words for a split second there. Heat rushes to the apples of your cheeks in shame, your head hung terribly low. “I’m not used to asking for help. I’d hate to be a burden,” you confess.

Innocence glimmers in your eyes when you look up at him, waterlines threatening to break any second now. Your lashes are slightly damped and how lost you’re looking right now can physically draw crimson on his heart. At the end of the day, you’re just a kid. You had to grow up the hard way, with no one by your side telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, even simple things like how to react to non-verbal affection.

Don’t let her go, Minho. Not now. Not ever.

“Then fix it now.”

“What?” You pause.

“If you need help, ask for it. If things are hard, say it. I’ll be there to give you a hand.”

Tears well up in your eyes, croaked sobs shake your body, only prompting him to pull your closer. It’s warm. Damnit, why is it so warm? “I-I can’t sleep. Sing me something?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Minho just knows that he would bleed with you even when the rain pours and the sky falls one day.

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