#like the one with the stuck ski lift or the one with the girls climbing the big tower thing in the middle of the desert

[vigilantejustice]

taking bets on how many years until they put out a movie based on the submarine situation

[rancidtae]

NAERI STATION: INTERLUDE - CHAPTER ONE

Genre: fluff, angst, coming of age au. mafia au. Warnings: none yet Pairing: bts & Original Female Character (Jung Jiah) - Jeon Jungkook/OFC - Kim Namjoon/OFC Summary: the one where Jungkook imprints on a strange girl and Jin hopes they don't regret this

"It's freezing out here. Get in the car." Yoongi ordered, holding his 22 with both hands. Jimin's wide eyes were fixed on the side of the road, not too far from Jungkook. "Guys…" Several red spots disturbed the clean untouched snow, like cherry syrup on shaved ice. They weren't large or deep, but the contrast called for the eye.  The realization hit them all at once, Jungkook was the first to connect the dots. Taehyung was stuck in his spot. "Whoa. This is exactly how horror movies start." "Everyone, get in the car— Jesus fucking Christ, Jungkook!" By the time Yoongi was done with that sentence Jungkook had already sprinted past the line of bushes, disappearing into the darkness of the woods. "And now we're splitting up. Classic."

Jungkook was always drawn to heights.

It started with his dad holding him up as a baby, lifting him high enough to get a close look at the peculiar texture of his childhood home's popcorn ceilings. Whether it was scalding the scorching metal slide at the park, the oldest and sturdiest tree he could find, or the climbing walls at the indoor playground, he grew up seeking that thrill he was introduced to as a child, never quite sated.

Now he was old enough to exchange plaster ceilings for expansive night skies, and trees for the lofty water tower of Songju. No safety straps or helmet to hinder him, away from his mother's watchful gaze. She had enough on her plate without him adding to her worries. 

With Yoongi around he still got nagged at from time to time, though he was less focused on his safety and more fixated on the structural integrity of the convenience store’s roof at Naeri Gas Station.

This was one of the good spots. The entire town expanded before him—the train rails, the middle school he had attended as a child, the river bank, and the bridge. The fluffy snowy woods, the moon, the stars, the mountains, and the smoke. The distant glow of Seoul's lights illuminated the night sky.

Jungkook took a deep breath and wrapped his hands around his to-go cup of hot moka.

He appreciated the crisp wind and the alone time. Just because he was an adrenaline junkie didn’t mean he couldn’t savor the peace and quiet. Content, he filled his lungs with a deep breath and went for a short sip.

A rapid double-take mid-sip and he immediately paid the price of not blowing on the scalding liquid. A string of curses erupted from his lips as pain surged through his body, prompting him to turn away from the source of his agony.

Smoke?

And that's when he spotted it—a radiant orange mushroom in the sky.

A muted gasp escaped his lips as he blinked, making sure he wasn't hallucinating or trapped in a dream. No eyesight damage could conjure that big of a fire in the middle of the night.

His sense of direction rarely failed him. He knew exactly where it came from.

Dust cascaded from the discolored cardboard ceiling panel, landing on his keyboard.

Glaring up, Min Yoongi wondered why Jungkook insisted on stomping around the roof and considered going up and giving him an earful.

However, time was a luxury he lacked.

It was late, and he was juggling a ridiculous number of open tabs on his screen, each one vital to his work. A frustrating detail drawing stubbornly eluded him, and he was pretty sure that, any second now, his mouse wheel would die on him. 

He’d much rather be seated comfortably in his chair at home, not behind this crappy counter, constantly interrupted by the occasional customer looking for dumb shit they could get anywhere else; gum, condoms, or cigarettes. Unfortunately, Namjoon needed someone to cover this shift for him, and Jimin and Taehyung had proven themselves untrustworthy when it came to handling the gas station by themselves.

On the bright side, a reliable source of shitty yet surprisingly effective gas station coffee sat within reach. Whatever they put in that concoction had been making his left eye twitch and his heart beat funny for the past twenty minutes. With a sigh, he donned his headphones, stretched his fingers, and decided to pay no mind to the fact that he was probably tweaking off caffeine or the possibility of Jungkook battling the ever-elusive gang of raccoons up there all by himself.

After all, the kid didn't have any imminent deadlines or a scholarship to win.

And then, without warning, some asshole forcefully swung open the door, causing his travel cup to perilously flirt with the edge of his keyboard. 

That was the final straw.

Yoongi yanked off his headphones, ready to throw someone out, only to be met with the wide-eyed gaze of the wide-eyed boy frozen in an NPC-like pose.

"What’s wrong with you?"

"There's a fire. I think it's Hwacheon." Jungkook blurted out so fast Yoongi could barely make out the words.

"What?"

Jimin and Taehyung barged in with a similar lack of consideration for the door's frailty.

"Did you guys hear that?"

Yoongi's irritation only grew, suspecting some kind of shitty joke. "Hear what?"

"Hyung," Jimin stared at him in disbelief. "Did you really not hear it? It sounded like a missile landing."

Yoongi knew that Jimin had never heard a missile landing in his life. 

Furthermore, if the North decided to attack during a random Tuesday night, they wouldn't target a small town with a population of less than 20,000 when Seoul loomed nearby. He approached the glass facing the street, rising onto his tiptoes to peer over the soju advertisement decal.

A lovely ember glow illuminated the sky.

Looking over his shoulder, Taehyung began to panic, hands entangled in his hair. "What if we’re under attack?"

Without uttering a word, Yoongi swiftly made his way behind the counter, saved his progress, closed the laptop, and seized the keys.

"Hyung—"

"One of you call 119."

Songju wasn’t under attack, that much was obvious. Hwacheon Women's Correctional Institution loomed before them. 

The once bustling facility now stood engulfed in smoke and fire, casting a glow across the winter landscape. More eerie than lovely from up close.

"Damn," Jimin cursed, his words weighed down by a mix of shock and disbelief. 

"Why aren’t the firefighters here yet?" 

An old lady overheard their conversation and turned to face them. "It's the fire department's anniversary today," she explained. "They booked Chonda's beer house."

Taehyung’s hand went to cover his mouth. That was terrible timing, and it painted at even more hopeless picture.

The woman shook her head. "They're probably still trying to drag them out of the karaoke booth."

It took no time for a crowd to gather. Living in a small town with not much going on, the people of Songju were naturally known for their nosiness but also their kind-heartedness. They came ready to lend a hand. However, they were also proud dissenters, so the general reaction to the cops prohibiting anyone from crossing the gates to assist in the absence of the firefighters was predictably not great.

"But why are they taping up the place instead of helping?" Jungkook glared at a passing cop widening the perimeter, his frustration mounting.

Meanwhile, Yoongi engaged in a tense conversation with the officers. They offered the same explanation to everyone: the federal authorities had jurisdiction over the situation, and they were not allowed to enter the facility. The lack of action infuriated him. What were the people inside supposed to do, hold their breath and wait?

Just when the tension threatened to rise to a confrontation between cops and civilians, a fleet of black SUVs pulled up to the scene, Taehyung caught sight of them first and immediately hit Jimin’s chest with the back of his hand to get his attention.

Men dressed in suits, devoid of any identification, emerged from the vehicles, diverting the crowd’s attention. Crisp haircuts, shiny shoes, IEMs on their ears, take-no-shit demeanors. Their presence raised eyebrows in no time, and people started to retreat.

"Cavalry's out," Jimin muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning them subtly.

Taehyung nodded, counting up to at least eight more men fitting the same description. One of them approached a lonely reporter. Back up in place, the police officers kept expanding the perimeter, instructing people to move their cars and urging everyone to leave the scene for safety concerns.

Next to them, Jungkook stood quietly, in a world of his own. The fire reflected on his face and made him appear younger than he actually was.

Noticing him, Jimin and Taehyung shared the same look of concern.

"Hyung," Taehyung's deep voice caught Yoongi's attention. He’d found a spot with the group of disapproving dads assessing the situation with their hands on their waists. "Jungkookie left his inhaler back at the station. We should go."

Yoongi tilted his head, understanding the unspoken message. Whatever the old cop he was arguing with earlier said to him as he walked past was drowned out by the blaring sound of the fire brigade pulling up, followed by three ambulances.

Inside the truck, driving back to Naeri, no one dared speak a word until they put enough distance between them and Hwacheon.

"What was that?" 

"I don't know, but I don't like it," Yoongi said, his lips pressed together tightly. "Tell Namjoon and Hoseok to stay in the city tonight."

"They must be on their way by now"

"Then tell them to turn back."

Jungkook had a barrage of questions stuck in his throat, but his pride urged him to swallow them down.

"So, are we going to talk about that?" Jimin asked from the backseat, peering out the window, his fingers tapping his lip.

"What if it's a terrorist attack?" 

Yoongi shook his head, veering off the highway and opting for the unpaved road that led home. Something must have felt truly off for them not to return to the gas station. Jungkook realized in their haste to leave, he had left his laptop behind. 

"Those weren't counterterrorism guys."

"You recognized them? Who were they?" Taehyung asked, gripping the back of the driver seat.

"No, but I know they were there to keep people away from the scene," Yoongi replied.

Jungkook scoffed to himself. If something behind those gates was important enough to summon high-level federal agents, there wouldn't be much left of it now. He thought of all the people trapped inside and slumped against the passenger seat. 

Fire was a terrible way to go, to have someone taken away from you.

The ride home would take longer than usual since the snow chains on the tires limited their speed. 

And this meant that when Jungkook spotted something in the middle of the road where the snow remained undisturbed, Yoongi absolutely noticed it as well.

He gave him a quick side eye  "You see that?" 

Jungkook nodded, his face set in a firm frown, hand shooting to the door handle.

Jimin peered between their seats."See what?"

"Hyung, stop the car."

Jimin clicked his tongue at Jungkook "No way, did you see how they looked at us? I wouldn't be surprised if they were tailing us."

Yoongi spared Jungkokg another quick glance before slowly bringing the truck to a halt. 

Jungkook jumped out before they even came to a complete stop, much to his annoyance. 

"Hey, wait a second," Yoongi called after him.

"What's wrong with him?" Taehyung complained.

Ignoring them, Jungkook made his way back along the tire tracks, wordlessly turning on his phone lantern.

Undeterred by Jimin's nagging in his ear about listening to the kid in the first place. Yoongi put the truck in reverse and followed him slowly.

"You know there are wild boars in these woods, right?" Taehyung called out, his head out of the window, eyeing the towering trees above. "I heard they hunt at night."

Jungkook had finally stopped, crouching down before turning to face them.

Yoongi squinted at his reflection in the rearview mirror, he looked small standing in the middle of the narrow road, nothing but darkness behind him. The stillness of the empty road, the white noise of the radio and the hum of the engine made him decide that he did not like any of it. Jimin was right, he shouldn’t have stopped.

He grabbed his 22 and jumped down from the truck. 

"I seriously read that they're active at night, hyung," Taehyung insisted, cursing under his breath when Jimin joined Yoongi, leaving him with no choice but to abandon the warmth of the truck as well.

"Hey," Yoongi barked. "Put that thing down." 

"It's a scalpel, hyung." Jungkook said, looking down at the object in his hand.

"That's great. Jin hyung can get you a new one. It's freezing out here. Get in the car."

"Guys…"

Jimin's wide eyes were fixed on the side of the road, not too far from Jungkook.

Several red spots disturbed the clean untouched snow, like cherry syrup on shaved ice. They weren't large or deep, but the contrast called for the eye. 

The realization hit them all at once, but Jungkook was the first to connect the dots.

Taehyung was stuck in his spot.

"Whoa. This is exactly how horror movies start."

"Everyone, get in the car— Jesus fucking Christ, Jungkook!"

By the time Yoongi was done with that sentence Jungkook had already sprinted past the line of bushes, disappearing into the darkness of the woods.

"And now we're splitting up. Classic."

No tire trails to speed through or the truck's lights to show him the way, trudging through the snow was proving to be difficult, but Junkook knew he’d be alright as long as he could hear Jimin complaining behind him, or on his right, it was hard to tell from the echo. 

Whoever had dropped the scalpel wouldn't make it in these woods if they were bleeding.

Every intake of breath froze up his lungs, and every puff he let out clouded his already poor vision. He slowed down his steps and focused on his surroundings as much as his phone's flashlight allowed, killing an incoming call from Yoongi before his ringtone could go off.

A few more heavy steps in, frustration began to settle. He could hear some kind of bird nearby, and perhaps he was imagining things, but he could feel its beady eyes looking down at him. 

Jimin had gone quiet, but he still carried on.

Then his boot hit something. 

He didn't get to look down but instinct told him not to step on whatever it was. Out of balance, he shook his arms in the air and bent forward and back until he ultimately plopped face-first into the snow. The cold took no time to go past his sweater and jacket.

He pulled his phone out of the snow.

Blotches of white or yellow and red covered her face, and her lips were tainted blue. A sick amount of skin was exposed—legs, arms, neck. Nothing but a thin baby blue gown rode up to her knees. 

She had no shoes on. 

The scream ripped through his chest. "Hyung! Hel—"

A hand covered his mouth. Taehyung hissed at him. "Do you want everyone in a 10-mile radius to hear you?"

“Is she dead?" Jimin stuttered, his hands swatting in the air for balance. "She's practically naked."

"No way she's alive," Taehyung mumbled, finally releasing him. Jungkook couldn't move or disagree with him, even though he wanted to. "She looks like a blueberry popsicle, wh—"

"Are you just gonna stand there and stare?" Yoongi snapped, already ripping off his jacket "Move, you fucking pussies."

Jimin groaned and closed her eyes at the feel of her shoulder blades. It reminded him of the time his cat died when he was in middle school. Yoongi put the jacket over her in a sad effort to cover her.

Taehyung did the same, eyes terrified, lips trembling. "I think– I think she's dead."

Jungkook could still do nothing but stare at her. He knew he’d have a hard time forgetting the image of her frostbitten fingers and purple-green lips up close. She couldn’t, right? Human bodies were made to be resilient. She was definitely running through the woods. She must have fallen and hit her head or something, and that meant she had some fight in her, right? She definitely wanted to live.

"Jungkook, shut up and help us," Yoongi barked, snapping him out of it. His body reacted to the order before his mind could catch up, and he just... got to it. 

Despite her lightweight appearance and their combined efforts, it was a challenge to move an unconscious body through the snow. He held onto her calves and prayed—something he rarely did, not since his father died—that she wouldn't snap in two like a twig.

Jimin looked like he wanted to throw up, while Taehyung kept mumbling about how he might be having a nightmare. After some deliberation about how and where to place her, they managed to put her in the back seat. Jungkook went in first, with her back on his lap and the rest of her body on Taehyung's.

No one talked about what was going on or what they were going to do next with the unconscious girl. Yoongi made a harsh U-turn, stomped on the gas, and Jimin had Jin on speaker in no time. Taehyung took off his sweater to put another layer on top of her.

"No. She's just… uh–." Jimin looked at them over his shoulder. "Is she breathing?"

Taehyung and Jungkook shared a panicked look. "I don't think so. No, I don't... she's not."

Frows burrowed and eyes stuck on the road, Yoongi had a firm grip on the steering wheel. Jin's leveled tone as he asked if anyone in the car knew how to do CPR cut through the tense atmosphere. Jungkook felt some relief in his chest, knowing that he was aware of the situation at hand, but he still stuttered when he mentioned that he had learned the basics in summer camp.

"Ok, Jungkook, that’s good. I need you to do—"

"But that was like... five years ago, I think."

Jin paused.

"Yoongi, you guys should really call an ambulance."

Yoongi disagreed. It was only a 10-minute drive, and with the cops all over Hwacheon he could make it 5.

"We're not that far, I'm going as fast as I can. All ambulances are in Hwacheon right now anyway."

Jungkook did his best to ignore Yoongi’s speeding, the way the truck vibrated with every click of the wheel turning, and the white blur of trees passing by. He did his best to ignore how she felt on his lap, how she didn’t react when he shook her or how Taehyung pinched her legs, how Yoongi breathed shallowly, and how Jin’s calm instructions turned more into a steady stream of reassurances.

“Keep your hand on her chest and check if it’s moving with your breathing.”

He did.

“Pinch her arm, and squeeze her knuckles.”

Nothing

“Check inside her mouth. Get the car warm, don’t move her too much" Jin instructed, and they all cringed knowing that they dropped her about three times and hit her head with the door before getting her in the truck "Do you see anything obstructing the mouth or nose? Blood, vomit, any loose teeth?"

"No." At least the inside of her mouth was warm, Jungkook thought. Any other time he would have felt disgusting for touching a stranger's mouth like this, but he was out of touch with the sentiment.

"Good. We're doing 30 compressions and two rescue breaths, fingers interlocked and centered on the chest. Don't be afraid to push deep, but give it some time to rise back up. Keep doing that until you guys get here. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Okay. I'll count with you."

Soon she was covered in about three layers of sweaters. Taehyung even put Hoseok's favorite beanie on her feet like some kind of makeshift sock while he followed the rhythm set by Jin. He leaned forward, pinched her nose, and pushed air through the girl's mouth.

Blue and red lights glared at them from a distance. A line of cars stretched as far as Yoongi could see. He thought it might be an accident, but luck wasn't on their side tonight.

"These assholes" Yoongi hissed.

A traffic stop had been set up, likely by the same or a different fleet of black SUVs from Hwacheon. They had no choice but to join the unmoving line of cars, hoping they wouldn't be subjected to any inspection.

"Ah, hyung, we're gonna have to put you on mute," Jimin said, a huff of air rushing out of the still-unresponsive girl's mouth, followed by more thuds. Jimin feared he might break her ribs. "Kook—"

Despite the tension and the impending approach, they went on. Even though they were shielded from the blue and red lights behind the driver's seat, anyone approaching Yoongi's window might catch a glimpse of what was happening in the backseat. 

There was an unspoken agreement. They could not, under any circumstances, let these men see the girl.

One of them by the side of the road flashed his light at them, signaling them to stop. Jimin gulped loudly, Yoongi took a deep breath, and Taehyung slapped Jungkook's hands away, throwing something over her face and chest. 

Yoongi rolled down the window slowly. Silently, with cold faces, everyone prayed.

"Evening, gentlemen. Can I see some ID?" the man asked.

"Sure thing," Yoongi said, pulling out his wallet. "Is there a problem?"

"Just routine," he replied, returning the ID to Yoongi's hand. He shone his flashlight inside, briefly blinding Jungkook, which made Taehyung snicker at his reaction. "Mind if I take a look around?"

Jimin thought he might pass out right there, but he managed to remain composed. All of them did.

"Yeah, sure. No problem, do I pull over or–"

"Min Yoongi, I thought I told you guys to go home."

And at that moment, the old cop from earlier became a beacon of hope, appearing out of nowhere with his thumbs hooked on his vest, acting as if he held some authoritative power. Yoongi sighed, giving the fed a tired look.

"Someone has to close up the gas station, officer."

"I thought you guys were open 24 hours. Does your boss know you're taking liberties with the schedule?"

Jimin held back a smirk, not because he had fully recovered from the near heart attack moments ago, but because he knew Yoongi was working his way through this, resting his elbow on the edge of the window. Professional bullshitter.

"Don't think there'll be a line tonight for gasoline with Hwacheon all torched up. He'd understand."

"You think so, huh?" the officer leaned his head in, flashlight scanning the inside of the truck. "Make sure to drop these kids off. I better not see you with any paint on those hands, Taehyung."

Another fed called the first one over, and the two in the back subtly followed him with eager eyes as he trotted away. Taehyung put a hand over his heart, coming down from the rush.

"Never again, Officer Han."

They smoothly merged back into the moving line of vehicles, gradually picking up speed as they put enough distance between the stop and themselves. 

Jimin slumped against the passenger seat. "Fuck. What the fuck? We owe that old man, big time."

"No, we don't," Yoongi replied, speeding past a blinking green light.

"Hyung, he just saved our asses—"

"He was saving his own ass. He comes by the station and buys a fuckton of weed every month," Yoongi explained. Taehyung was invested, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. "His wife has arthritis, it's really bad. I think he extracts the oil himself."

"Oh– that sucks. Poor woman."

"But thank fuck for arthritis," Yoongi said.

"Thank fuck for arthritis," they echoed.

Lost in the conversation, Jungkook looked up at Taehyung with wide eyes. There was a thump under his fingers where he had pressed them against the underside of the girl's jaw. It was barely noticeable, reminding him of the baby birds he had tried to save when they fell from their nests after a rainstorm when he was a kid. He could never save a single one, no matter how hard he tried.

"There's a pulse," he said. "I can feel it. There's a pulse."

"Put your seatbelts on," Yoongi ordered and stomped on the gas pedal.

Something about Seokjin changed when he put on his uniform. It was unsettling coming from the guy Jungkook could usually read so easily.

"Sit down, will you? You're making me dizzy," Jimin complained, closing his eyes and resting his head on Taehyung's shoulder.

An influx of people took over the waiting room as ambulances came and went. Word was that they were still dealing with the fire in Hwacheon. The fire had made national news, and helicopters were currently flying over the area. It was a grim situation.

"So, how bad is it?" Yoongi asked.

Jin took a short breath, pocketing his phone and not bothering to lock the office door behind him. No one in the hospital would walk in without knocking.

"Are you referring to the national tragedy unfolding out there, or the unconscious girl connected to the ECMO machine?"

Yoongi dropped his head. "Sorry, hyung, we had no one else to call."

"No, don’t mind me, it’s a rough night– you did well bringing her here. She’s suffering from severe hypothermia, it's bad."

"But is it like... chop a few fingers off bad or..." Taehyung trailed off, hanging his head to the side with a short guttural sound. "...bad?"

"Her fingers weren’t black," Jungkook corrected him. "Limb amputation is usually required for deep frostbite.”

"I think we can trust the professionals to make that decision."

"Yes, but I just read about it. People only lose limbs when they have deep frostbite, and her fingers were just red, so—"

"Well, that's great. Jungkookie just got his Ph.D. in the stages of frostbite from the University of Naver.” Jimin blurted out.

Yoongi crossed his arms, paying them no mind. “Hyung, do you think she'll make it?"

"You're right, Jungkook. She has symptoms of mild frostbite, it’s unlikely that amputation will be required,," Jin said, Jungkook gave Jimin a mocking look "She likely experienced cardiac arrest before you found her, so you guys saved a life tonight. You guys did well."

"But there's still a chance she..." Yoongi's words trailed off, uncertainty lingering in the air.

"Yes, she's currently in critical condition," Jin confirmed, with no particular emotion, just exhaustion weighing his features. 

"So maybe we didn't save a life tonight. Let's not spread false hope," Taehyung interjected.

"Hey, you punk, I was only trying to be optimistic,"

"I know, hyung, but let's not raise Jungkook's expectations unnecessarily," Jimin responded.

“My expectations? You mean that I don’t like the idea of someone dying?”

“No, Kookie, I mean that you kind of imprinted on her and I don’t want you to be heartbroken,”

"I didn't– imprint? What’s wrong with you?" Jungkook protested loudly.

"You mean like in Twilight?" Jin quipped.

"I did not imprint," Jungkook insisted firmly, pointedly looking at the eldest.

Yoongi cut them off, pinching his nose "Okay. Yes. I mean no, you didn't, Jungkook. We know. Hyung, what's it look like to you? Does she have a chance?"

Jin explained as much as he could. They were currently pulling the blood out of her body, warming it up, and pumping it back in. He assured them that his father had called in a good friend, one of Seoul's most sought-after cardiologists. They were following his orders until he arrived.

"Your father's here?" Jimin questioned, surprised.

"He came as soon as he heard about the situation in Hwacheon. It's not every day that we see unresponsive hypothermia cases in the ER, so he wanted to see it for himself.” he paused, suspicion lingering in his eyes. “What happened?” 

He didn't buy the story about them stumbling upon a stranger in the middle of nowhere. Jungkook squirmed restlessly under his questioning eyes, and Taehyung and Jimin turned to Yoongi for answers.

"Whatever this is, you don't have to worry about me. But my father will see through the bullshit," Jin warned them. "So just be honest with me. I'll figure things out with him."

"If this is about insurance—" 

"Don't be ridiculous," Jin interjected, scolding Yoongi sternly. "Did you think you could simply drop someone off in that condition without raising eyebrows?"

The nurses would talk, and Dr. Byun would surely want to discuss it with his father once he took a look at her. Songju was a small town, rumors spread fast. It could potentially get buried under the chaos caused by the Hwacheon incident, but Jin needed to make sure he knew the whole situation.

"Well, I think our honest expectation was to get her professional help."

"And she's getting it. Don't get smart with me, Taehyung.” He was annoyed now, crossing his arms and turning to Yoongi, disregarding the younger ones. “Is this one of Kim Giseok's girls?"

"What? No. Hyung, what?"

"So you do know—"

"Hyung, we seriously don't know. Jungkook found her in the middle of the woods, we couldn't just leave her there."

"She had a scalpel, and there was blood on it," Jungkook added, like that one detail would be of any help "But I don't think it was hers. I think she was running away from something."

"Figures," Jin sighed.

"What do you mean?"

"The girl is deaf. Her transmitter is missing, not to mention the fact that she's branded. So if this is Namjoon making a move, then I'd appreciate some honesty here. I'm not asking because I want to know, but it might help us get her the help—"

A sudden knock on the door jolted the room into silence. The four of them exchanged anxious glances, their mouths opening and closing like fish gasping for air. Jin cautiously opened the door, peeking outside with a polite greeting at whoever was on the other side.

It was a woman, young by the sound of her voice. "Intern Kim, we have some National Security Service men here. They want to talk to the director, but he's busy at the moment"

“Is Chief Park unavailable?”

“I think it might be best if you talked to them until Director Kim gets out of the OR”

"Okay, that might be a good idea. I– I'll talk to them. Just give me a second and I'll be right there." Jin closed the door behind him and raised his hand, signaling for them to wait before saying anything.

After a few tense seconds, and not without taking a peek at the corridor, he lowered his hand. "Listen, I need to go. I'll keep you updated, I’ll ask someone to find you a private room or an empty office."

"Hyung, can they sweep the place?" Jimin asked.

Jin hesitated, put off by the question. Four pale faces stared back at him, waiting. "What are you asking me?"

"It might not be good if someone finds out that she’s here.”

The implication seemed ridiculous, and in any other situation he’d laugh at it, but he’d heard the nurses talk, and he’d seen the girl with his own eyes. He found himself unable to dismiss their concern. At the same time, his own worries about the situation grew.

His headache returned at once. Jin could only hope that he wouldn’t regret his decision.

"I'll see what I can do."

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Enchantment

Rowaelin Month, Day 20

Playing with Magic @rowaelinscourt

Rowaelin Month Masterlist//Main Masterlist//Fluff//1462 words

“Where in the world could she be?” Aelin asked frantically, running her hands through her hair anxiously.

Rowan shook his head. “Aelin… I’m so sorry… but I don’t think we’ll ever find her. She’s gone for good.”

Aelin gasped. “She can’t be. Don’t give up, Rowan; she’s our little girl!”

A mournful sigh left Rowan’s mouth. “Fireheart, I know you love her, and I do too, but we have to be realistic.”

Aelin covered her face with her hands. “I miss her already.”

Rowan’s lips twitched, and Aelin knew he was holding back a laugh. She pressed her own lips together to keep her face as melancholy as possible.

“Me too,” was all he could manage, hand going to his mouth to cover a snort.

Aelin grinned. “This is all your fault. If you had never suggested hide and seek, we never would have lost Nora in the first place.”

“My fault? How could you?” Rowan clutched his chest dramatically.

Aelin turned away, crossing her arms. “I don’t think I can stand to look at you anymore, you bastard. Leave me be.”

She watched in the mirror she was facing as Rowan sent a wink her way. “As you wish, my queen. I’ll pack my things immediately.”

Rowan turned and started for the door. Instead of passing the pair of shoes sticking out from under the bed, he paused. “Are these…” He paused dramatically. “Nora’s shoes?”

“All we have left of her,” Aelin replied, sniffling.

A muffled wheezing sound came from under the bed, and Aelin and Rowan exchanged a smile.

“I better get them, dear. If we leave them here, someone could trip over them.”

Aelin finally turned around. “As you wish.”

Upon hearing that the shoes were going to be picked up, they retracted farther under the bed, frantically trying to disappear. But Rowan was too fast for the shoes. He grabbed them, pulling a squealing child out from under the bed.

“Nora!” Aelin cried. “My gods, I thought we’d lost you forever!”

Nora, still on her back with her shiny red shoes in Rowan’s hands, stuck her tongue out at her mother. “No you didn’t, Mom, you’re the worst actor ever.”

Aelin gasped in indignation. “You slanderous little worm. Why, I’ll teach you to speak to the queen in that manner.”

She marched over, suppressing a grin once more as Nora squealed again and wiggled her feet free from Rowan’s grasp. She tried to stand, but Aelin swooped down on her and picked her up effortlessly.

“What will the punishment be?” Aelin asked in mock reprimand. “A visit to the dungeons? One thousand push-ups? Chocolate for dinner?”

“Mm, that last one sounds pretty good to me,” Nora said thoughtfully, dangling in Aelin’s arms.

“Mala spare me,” Rowan muttered.

Mother and daughter sent matching smirks to Rowan, only smiling harder as he said something along the lines of, “I hate it when you two do that.”

“Well, now that hide and seek has brought us the tragedy of thinking our daughter was gone forever”—Nora stuck out her tongue again—“why don’t we find something else to do?”

There was no pause between Aelin’s question and the squirming little girl saying, “Oh, we can practice magic. Please? Please, please, please?” Nora stared right into Aelin’s eyes. “Please, Mama,” she whispered.

Aelin laughed. “Of course we can. But we better get out of the castle, away from collateral.”

Nora nodded seriously, probably unsure of what “collateral” meant but too stubborn to admit it.

Aelin set her daughter on the ground. “Race you down to the courtyard,” she said.

And Nora was off, sprinting out the door and down the stairs.

Rowan chuckled. “She’s a handful, alright.”

“But she’s our handful,” Aelin said primly.

Rowan snorted. “You’re so cheesy.”

Aelin flashed a smile. “Race you down to the courtyard,” she repeated in a soft murmur, a flirty undertone in her voice.

Both of them knew the fastest way was not the stairs, as Nora had gone, but out the window and straight down. Rowan could fly, of course, so Aelin made sure to swing a foot out and knock him off his feet before jogging to the window. She smirked to herself as Rowan cursed her name.

Aelin may not be able to fly, but agility was second nature to her. She kept herself in shape, always training with Rowan, working for every muscle on her body, pushing herself to get better. Aelin hadn't quite been prepared for the pregnancy with Nora, and she’d had many days where helplessness had wracked her brain until the only thought in her head was that she was weak.

After all, some scars never heal.

But she’d finally given birth to the joy that was their daughter, and Aelin had started training all over again. She and Rowan had discussed more children, and firmly decided to wait a while longer until Aelin was ready again, which is why they only had the one child, nearly eight years old.

And the past eight years had made Aelin more physically able than she’d ever been, a feat of nature. She may not have wings as her mate did, but the way she climbed down the many stories, hanging from terraces and dropping from ledges, could almost be considered flying.

Aelin was nearing the bottom when a white-tailed hawk sailed out of the bedroom window. She went as far as to raise her middle finger before dropping the last story and a half, rolling, and rising with ethereal grace.

Aelin was too busy smirking at her husband as he dived to the ground to notice the little munchkin charging her way. One minute she was mouthing loser to the skies, as immature as ever, and the next a small form was clinging to her side.

“I almost won!” Nora yelled, desperate for some form of credit.

Aelin grinned and ruffled the short silver locks she’d inherited from her father. “Yes you did, dear.”

“I want to set something on fire,” Nora declared blatantly.

“Just like her mother,” an amused, but slightly concerned, voice said from beside them. Rowan had shifted back into his Fae form.

Aelin sent him an innocent smile. “What do you want to set on fire, Nora?”

“Don’t answer that,” Rowan cut in immediately. “Let’s start with something… unlikely to be needed in the future.”

Aelin snorted. “Boring old man,” she said, and Nora giggled, earning a faux wounded expression from Rowan.

Aelin pulled something out of her pocket.

“Tell me that’s not Darrow’s latest decree,” Rowan said in exasperation, already knowing the answer.

Aelin shot him a smile. “Something unlikely to be needed in the future, exactly as you wished, my darling.”

Rowan shook his head, lips twitching slightly.

Aelin unrolled the scroll and held it out, stepping away from Nora. She sent a nod her daughter’s way.

Nora got into defensive position—her parents’ child for sure—and furrowed her brow. She’d played with her magic plenty of times before, but she was still learning how to control it, particularly the small amount of fire she’d inherited from her mother. She had a far greater amount of ice powers from Rowan, and better control over them as well—which made burning things all the more fun, in Aelin’s opinion.

Nora stared holes into the parchment, but nothing happened. Rowan came up behind her and bent down to whisper something in her ear, and the tenderness of the gesture melted Aelin’s heart. Nora nodded in determination once Rowan was done and squinted.

Her focus seemed to have improved with Rowan’s instruction, for smoke started rising from the paper. Nora smiled in delight and the whole thing burst into flames without warning. Aelin grinned and held the scroll as it turned into ash in her hand.

“Lovely, Nora.”

Darrow would not be pleased. What a productive day this was turning into.

Nora clapped her hands excitedly. She spun around, the ground starting to turn frosty at her feet. The wind whipped, and Aelin shared a proud look with Rowan as ice scread across the courtyard.

Nora’s power was limited, and the ice couldn’t quite reach the edges of the courtyard. Aelin felt Rowan’s ice freeze the whole thing over thicker in addition to expanding it, and all of a sudden, they were standing on their own little ice rink.

Nora squealed, quite possibly unaware her father had helped out. She laughed—then yelped as she slid onto her bottom. Nora quickly got back to her feet, just as capable as her father and persistent as her mother.

Aelin slid lazily over to Rowan, still watching their daughter spin and skate around. “I love you.”

He smiled, lifting a thumb to Aelin’s cheek. “I love you too.”

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

[calamitykaty]

A Love Like This

Owen Joyner x Fem!Reader

Summary: Owen makes his way back to Norman, OK after filming and resumes the on again, off again relationship with reader. The feelings between the two escalate until one finally breaks. 

Word Count:3437

Warnings: Mild Swearing, Fluff

A/N: HUGE thank you to @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ for letting me bounce ideas their way when I got stuck on this! 

Owen stumbled around in the dark picking up a handful of white pebbles that separated the stepping stones lining the backyard of the house. He stood outside of her window, the soft glow from her bedroom light illuminating him as he began to ping the pebbles off of her window. His face lit up with a smile as she pushed the window up and peered outside. The sticky summer air seeped into her air-conditioned bedroom, leaving her skin feeling sticky. 

Owen dropped his handful of pebbles and waved his hand, beckoning her to meet him outside in the middle of the night. 

The giddy feeling inside her stomach erupted as she slipped her feet into a pair of sandals and hastily climbed out of her window. Owen moved forward, grabbing her waist and helping her down. His hands never leaving her body as she slowly turned around to greet him, her hands gripping his forearms. 

“Hey, you.” She smiled up at him from under her eyelashes. 

“Hi” 

He dipped down, catching her lips with his as her eyes fluttered shut. Her hands moved from his biceps to hang loosely around his neck. Owen pulled back and she kept her eyes closed, a light hum vibrating in her chest as he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“So, where to tonight, Casanova?” Her smile reached up to her eyes, creating small crinkles at the corners of her eyes. 

Owen stepped back and looked up at the sky with a smile tugging at his lips “I hear we’ve got clear skies tonight” 

She drew her eyes up to the sky “we also have a lot of light pollution, Owen.” She let her eyes drift down from the sky and over to the boy standing in front of her.

Owen looked back down at her with that familiar glint in his eyes that she’d become accustomed to throughout the years of their unsaid relationship. With Owen constantly leaving for his acting gigs, they had never set anything into stone but they had always managed to find themselves back together again the second he was back in Norman, Oklahoma. 

Owen placed his hands over his heart in mock offense and gawked at her “Do you take me for a fool, y/n?” 

Giggles erupted from the petite girl “only most of the time, Joyner.” She teased. 

“Shall we?” 

Owen extended his left hand out towards her. Y/N was quick to let her palm slide into Owen’s, their fingers interlocking as he guided her out to the street where his pick-up truck was parked. She dropped his hand as she clambered into the pick-up truck, her eyes immediately set on the paper map that was strewn across the dash.

Her attention was brought back to the blonde boy as he slid into the driver's seat and placed the key into the ignition. Owen turned the key, bringing the truck to life before putting the truck and drive and letting his left hand take the steering wheel while his right took its place back in Y/N’s grasp. 

Owen let his eyes drift from the road ahead over to Y/N. He watched her lips move as she quietly sang along to a song on the radio.He let his thumb run over her knuckles and moved his eyes back to the road. 

The sky steadily grew darker as they moved away from the city lights until they were nearly half an hour outside of the city limits. Owen pulled the truck off of the road, turned the headlights off, and removed the key from the ignition, 

“So, is there where you kill me and dump my body?” Y/N joked as she slid across the bench seat of the truck and kissed Owen’s cheek. 

“Why I put up with you is beyond me.” Owen joked back and opened his door.

Y/N slid out behind Owen and followed Owen around the truck. He lifted the tailgate down and hopped into the bed where he opened a box of blankets and pillows. Y/N watched as the boy meticulously laid everything out before he extended his hand out to her and pulled her into the back of the truck. 

Owen laid down on the makeshift bed with Y/N cuddling into his side, both looking up at the star-filled night sky, 

“Owen?” She called the boy's name quietly, drawing his eyes from the sky down to meet hers. 

She moved so that her head was resting on his chest and murmured “never mind.”

Owen kissed the top of her head and squeezed her waist gently, reassuring her that she didn’t have to say it. He knew she loved him and she knew he loved her but saying it aloud would make it real and they didn’t dare to cross that boundary.

Y/N woke up with Owen’s arms wrapped around her body and her head in the crook of his neck. Her eyelashes tickled the skin on his neck as her eyes fluttered open. 

“Owen” She whispered. 

The blonde boy groaned and tightened his grip on the girl for a moment before opening his eyes. 

Y/N lifted Owen’s right wrist so she could glance at his watch and sighed “I’m late for work.”

She pushed herself up into a sitting position and raised her arms above her head to stretch. 

“Owen, seriously, get up!” 

Owen pulled himself up and nuzzled his face into her neck “call out, you’re already late so just call out.” 

Y/N turned her head to catch Owen’s pleading eyes. She bit her lip and weighed her options, on one hand, she would definitely get fired if she called out for the fifth time this summer and on the other, this was her last week with Owen before he left again for filming. 

“You’re a bad influence, you know?” She tilted her head up and kissed the boy's cheek. 

Owen hugged her from behind, pulling her back against his chest while she fished her phone from her back pocket. She dialed the familiar number to the cafe where she worked and worked up her best “sick” voice, throwing in a chesty cough for good measure before hanging up and sliding her phone back into her pocket. 

“And here I was thinking I was the actor!” Owen laughed and removed his arms from her body letting her stand up. 

Owen shoved the blankets and pillows back into the box and hopped down from the truck. He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her out of the truck before closing the tailgate. Owen walked around to the passenger door and pulled it open before assisting Y/N into the truck. 

Owen took his spot back behind the steering wheel and started the truck, navigating the pair back to Norman. Y/N rolled her window down and threw her right arm out the window, letting her hand move in motion with the warm wind. The invading wind that rushed through the window tousled her curls around her face. She sang off-key to the pop song that played through the speakers, giggling as Owen jokingly groaned. Owen’s eyes lit up as he smiled to himself. Hands down, this version of Y/N was his favorite version. 

‘Are you hungry?’ Owen asked, his eyes spotting a small diner as they approached the outskirts of the city limits. He was pulling into the parking lot before Y/N gave him an answer. 

“Bold of you to assume I was going to say yes, Joyner.” Y/N smirked as she hopped out of the truck.

Owen slung his arm across her shoulders and pulled her into his side as they walked towards the door. 

“You eat like a 300 pound NFL linebacker, Y/N. I really didn’t even need to ask the question at all.” 

“I do NOT!” She gasped and slapped the boy’s chest.

“You DO-” Owen threw his head back in laughter “-last summer you beasted me in a hot wing eating contest and literally an hour later you were whining about being hungry and ate an entire combo meal from McDonald’s!” 

Y/N slid into a booth in the back corner of the diner, Owen sliding in the side opposite of her. Her cheeks flushed red at the recollection of the memory. She had certainly never been one to be self-conscious but she definitely didn’t want the boy that she was enamored by to think of her as some sort of food eating trash-compactor.

Owen’s brows pulled together as he took in her change of demeanor, “hey,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean it in any kind of negative way, ya know? I just meant that I like to think that after knowing you all of these years that I know you well enough…” 

Y/N looked up at the boy and playfully rolled her eyes “I’ll let you off of the hook this time! But, I would recommend not likening any other girls to NFL players in the future.”

“Noted.” Owen smiled at the girl before they both turned their attention to the approaching waitress. 

All hesitations left Y/N’s body as her stomach growled. She riddled off what seemed like half of the menu and a glass of chocolate milk before looking up at Owen and asking what he wanted. 

Owen stifled his laughter as their table slowly filled up with plates of food. 

“Okay, so maybe you had a point.” Y/N sheepishly admitted as her eyes scanned the assortment of breakfast foods laid out in front of her. She stabbed her fork into the plate of eggs while her left hand grabbed a slice of bacon. 

Owen picked up his breakfast bagel and took a bite out of it. “I like that you can be yourself around me.” He said with his mouth half full. 

She smiled back at the boy before grabbing her phone that was vibrating on the table. She let her fork drop onto her plate of pancakes and pressed her thumb to the phone, unlocking it.

                                                    Boss Lady

Don’t bother coming in for any more shifts. You can pick up your pay at the end of the week.

A deep frown pulled at her lips as she read the text message from her supervisor. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised that she would be fired for calling out but it didn’t make her any less upset. She dropped the phone onto the table and dropped her head into her hands. 

“Y/N, you okay?” 

She looked up at the boy and narrowed her eyes at him “I got fired. So, no, I’m not fucking okay.” 

Owen lifted both of his hands up in front of him “hey, whoa, you don’t have to take it out on me.”

Y/N grabbed her wallet from her purse and dropped the appropriate amount of cash on the table before sliding out of the booth. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes as she hastily made her way to Owen’s pick-up truck. She could hear Owen’s footsteps on the pavement of the parking lot as he ran up behind her.  

Owen grabbed the girl’s shoulders and turned her around to face him. 

“Are you seriously blaming me for this?”

He was met with silence. 

“That’s not fair, you didn’t have to call out. You could have told me no!” Owen argued. 

“You’re right-” she met his gaze before continuing “I make bad decisions around you and that’s not your fault. It’s mine...you come back a-and every single time I let this temporary thing that we have control every decision I make.” 

She tilted her head to the sky and blinked rapidly trying to hold the tears from slipping down her cheeks. 

“Please, just take me home.” She whispered and turned away from the boy. 

Owen silently followed her to the truck and got into the driver’s seat. She sat with her body slumped against the passenger door, her eyes never leaving the window as Owen navigated them back to her house. A silent tension lingered in the air between the two for the duration of the drive and Owen desperately wanted to reach out to Y/N and hold her hand. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t see her as temporary, that he didn’t see anything between them as temporary. But instead, he swallowed his words and settled on fleeting glances at the girl. 

He placed the truck into park as he pulled up to her house and Y/N silently unbuckled her seat belt before opening the door and sliding out of the truck. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Owen asked, hopefully. 

Y/N wrapped her arms around her body and looked down at her feet “I don’t know.” She licked her lips before adding “I-I think maybe we should distance ourselves...you’ll be leaving in a few days anyway.” 

Owen didn’t have a chance to respond before the passenger door was being slammed shut and Y/N was walking to her front door. Owen stayed sitting in his truck, waiting for her to look back at him and wave from the door the way that she always did. His heart plummeted to his stomach as the girl opened her front door and slipped inside with a second glance. Inside, Y/N pulled back the curtains from the living room window and watched as Owen’s truck pulled off and disappeared down the road. 

She let the curtains fall back into place and trudged her way upstairs to her bedroom where she fell to her bed. For the first night of the entire summer, Y/N didn’t hear the familiar pinging of pebbles hitting her window. She didn’t meet Owen for a midnight rendezvous and she sleep didn’t come easy to her. Her heart felt heavy at the way she left things with Owen and she wasn’t positive if she had actually meant anything she had said or if she was just trying to save them both from the inevitable.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N, pulled herself out of bed and to the bathroom where she brushed her teeth before hopping into the shower. She let the hot water pelt against her skin as she contemplated whether she should call Owen or not and take back all of the things that she had said. 

She exited the shower and headed back to her room where she slipped a t-shirt over her head and pulled on some pajama pants before she grabbed a book from her bookshelf and settled into the comfy chair in the corner of her room. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered two summers ago when Owen employed their mutual friends to keep her busy for the day while he created a reading nook in her room. 

She read over the same sentence five times before placing her bookmark back into the page and closing the book. Her ears pricked up at the sound of pebbles on glass and she couldn’t help the smile that took over her face. She scrambled out of the chair and across the room to the window. She flung the window open and didn’t wait for Owen to make his way over to her before she hastily climbed out of it. 

“You know, I do have a front door, right?’ She teased as she made her way over to Owen

Owen shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged “something about this just feels more romantic, I guess.”

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked, her eyes holding his gaze. 

Owen’s hands reached out to hers and intertwined with them. He held both of her hands between them “It’s the last day of the state fair and I have two tickets…I was hoping you’d go with me?” 

“You sure you want to take me? I was kinda harsh yesterday.”

Owen dropped her left hand and lifted his hand to her cheek and let his thumb graze her cheek bone. 

“I wouldn't want to go with anyone else.”

“Okay, let me get changed.” 

Owen helped the girl climb back into her window. She rummaged through her closet and settled on a floral sundress and gold sandals. She left her face bare and pulled her hair into a high ponytail before she ran downstairs. She closed the front door and made her way over to Owen who was leaning against his pick-up truck. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and pulled back only for Owen to dip down and catch her lips with his. 

“You look...wow…” he breathed out as he pulled back. She felt her cheeks burn red at his compliment.

“Don’t be getting all soft on me, Joyner.” Y/N replied before moving away from him and getting into the truck. 

Y/N’s eyes lit up as they pulled up to the fairgrounds. She tugged on Owen’s hand, dragging him to the balloon game, the one with the water gun. 

“You know these games are rigged.” 

“Shut up and entertain me, Joyner.”

Owen reluctantly handed over two tickets and took a seat on the stool next to Y/N. They came up empty handed but that didn’t stop Y/N from dragging Owen to each and every fair game until they finally lucked out at ring-toss. She hugged the stuffed sloth to her chest and turned to Owen. 

“See! They aren’t all rigged!”

Owen rolled his eyes and pulled her into his side “I mean, we literally spent like $30 worth of tickets on a stuffed toy that cost like maybe $2…”

Y/N shrugged “yeah, well, I love it.”

 Owen bit his lip as he stared down at the girl next to him. He desperately wanted to tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to confess that his favorite part of the year was always when he came back to Norman, back to her. But instead, he swallowed the words back down and let Y/N lead him to their next destination. 

Owen placed a kiss to the top of her head before letting his arm slide down from her shoulders until his palm slid into hers. They stood in line at the ferris wheel as the sun began to set and the world began to light up with the colorful fair lights. 

They clambered into the bucket seat and the attendant lowered the bar across their laps. Y/N’s eyes lit up with wonder as they were slowly lifted into the air, the wheel making two full turns before it stopped with them at the top. 

She looked over at Owen to find he was already looking at her. Her hands nervously fidgeted in her lap as she contemplated if she was really going to cross the boundary that they had set when all of this had started four summers ago. Owen leaned in and she felt her eyes flutter shut as their lips met with Owen’s right hand gently cupping her cheek. 

“Owen..” she breathed out, her lips barely ghosting over his. She pulled back and averted her gaze. She looked out over the fairgrounds at the flashing lights of the rides and the sun that was barely peeking over the trees.

“I love you. I’m in love with you. I know I’m breaking the rules b-but I can’t let you leave this time without knowing.” 

She nervously let her gaze move back to the boy sitting next to her as the ferris wheel began to turn again. 

“Please say something.” She pleaded as the silence that followed her confession began to settle on her. 

“I--I, we can just forget---” She was cut off by Owen’s lips on hers but unlike every other kiss they had ever shared, this one felt intentionally passionate. 

“I never wanted us to be temporary, Y/N. I’ve been holding in these feelings for so long, waiting for you to feel the same way. ” Owen’s fingers ran the length of her jawline. “And every time I see you, I ask myself what did I do to deserve a love like this?” 

The ride came to a stop and Owen helped the girl out of the bucket seat of the ferris wheel. A smile pulled at her lips as she followed him back to the pick-up truck. She gently tugged on his hand as he opened the passenger door for her. Owen turned around and she drew a step closer. She hung her arms around his shoulders, her lips kissed at the corner of his mouth. 

“So, what next, Casanova?”

Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist or if I missed tagging you!

@straywonpil @siennanoelle01 @choppedhoundsludgeclod @cool-ultra-nerd @hxney-bunches-x @crybabyddl @sorryyoureoutofmyleague @dream-a-little-bigger-x @kcd15 @all-in-fangirl @ifilwtmfc @onlygetaway @iainttakingshitfromnobody @angryknightstatesmantrash @jazzyhales @bathtimejish @lanasfandoms @miranda0102 @emotionalbruv@aliandthephantoms  @multifandombabies @kinda-really-lost @5sosmukefan  @s0uz4s 

[starlightartemis]

37th Battalion (The Lucky Batch ☘️)

It was raining the other day and it reminded me of you lucksters @mango-peachjuice @maygalodon @generaltano , so now this little thing exists. (Rane loves his little sister Brisk, I know, the Force told me.)

Rain can be bittersweet too

It was raining.

The soft splatter of the first few drops against durasteel had him looking up from where he was cleaning his blaster, eyes climbing through the tall canopy until they spotted the clouds covering the skies. They were a pale grey, light and fluffy, like the ones that usually hung over Kamino with gentle rain and murmuring thunder.

It was like the first time he’s felt it on his skin, from that time, long ago, when something inside him had pushed him outside the domes and into the storm. The moment that had earned him a name.

And the last time, when he’d let it run over his face as he’d held the bodies of his brothers, his chest tight while his heart shattered.

A thunder rumbled softly in the distance and dragged his mind out of bittersweet memories. He looked at the sky, uncertain, something off between his ribs.

Hesitantly, he stretched his hand forward, out of the cover of the dropship's wing. Gentle droplets landed on his hand, scattering once they met the plastoid on his arm and leaving specks of water that slowly made their way down his dusty armor, the trickles thicker as rain started to come down a bit harder and pool at the base of his palm.

He hadn't realized he was trembling until the water cupped in his hand slipped between his shaky fingers.

Ozone in the air, blood on the wet soil, cold—

Suddenly someone rushed past him, a cold breeze brushing against his cheeks as Jackal and the General dove forward, away from the cover of the ship’s wings and out into the open. He watched, impossibly still, as they both started sprinting like madmen in the small clearing, legs brushing against the tall grass and faces up to feel the water on their cheeks.

There was singing and smirking and buzzing energy under the skies, both of them drunk in the unexplainable freedom of the incoming storm. Songs got woven in the air and the warm rumbling of thunder echoed in the distance, like drums joining in to their display of joyful nonsense.

And there was laughter.

He'd never heard laughter in the rain before.

Jackal and Kenhla kept running around, boots splashing in muddy puddles as the water poured down, trying to get to each other. They were drenched from head to toe, armor splattered with mud, robes dark and heavy and wet, and yet they looked like they didn't have a care in the world other than dancing under the rain and laughing and spinning and joking—

Brisk suddenly joined in, an extra bounce in her step as she spread her arms wide, like a bird ready to take off towards the endless sky. She did a happy little spin, her feet light on the slippery floor and her eyes closed as she welcomed the storm like someone would greet a childhood friend: with glee and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

A giggle escaped her lips and it was a sound of pure joy, a melody among the thunder and trickling water of leaves and metal, and Rane couldn’t help the way his breath stuck in his throat at the sight of the little padawan dancing under the rain.

There was a warm light in her eyes; a spark he found so hard to find in his own these days.

“Hey, Rane!” She called to him as she caught him staring quietly from under the shelter of the ship. The girl looked so carefree with her short hair plastered against her forehead, robes getting darker with water by the second— it was as if the weight of command and war had been lifted from her small shoulders for a moment. Her hand reached out to him, an invitation, a grin wide on her face. “You coming?”

Yes. No.

It hurts. It's cold.

Like holding somebody’s dying body. Rain was lonely.

But it’s freedom. It's life.

They were laughing and dancing. Together.

It's home.

He smiled quietly, hesitantly, and with a deep breath, took the step forward.

@lavenderstaars @letsunity @lynnpaper @monako-jinn-stories @oo-hazel-oo @catboy-tech @cosmicghostie @radbatch @longearedowlfromouterspace @namesmox @burnthashbrown27 @lusiawonder some wholesomess for the soul.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Would You Be My Little Quarantine (one-shot)

Synopsis: As the mandatory quarantine hits, the Reader is stuck in a cabin in Utah with the boys from 5 Seconds of Summer. Turns out another person is stuck in a hotel nearby. Hijinx ensue as does romance. 

Pairing: Harry Styles x f!Reader

Genre: fluff pretty much just pure, teeth-rotting fluff.

Warnings: it’s my first time writing for Harry as I was never really part of the fandom, but damn does Watermelon Sugar do things to a person, so please be kind. This is defo not my best work, but I’m slowly getting back into the groove of things, so bare with me :D

Word count: 6061

        TikTok had become Y/N’s new obsession. She’d stayed away from it as long as she could, being a true Vine generation child, she felt loyalty to the deceased app. But one night, after a long recording session, she caved. And then stayed giggling on it until the early morning when the birds started to chirp… or until Calum had taken her phone and threatened to throw it in the jacuzzi if she didn’t go to bed. 

        The girl and the four guys from 5 Seconds of Summer had been renting a cabin in the middle of the Utah woods to help them escape the distractions of the city as they recorded their respective albums, and given how they were good friends, they decided to collaborate on a few songs, and it made sense to just chill together as well.

        Which had started off Y/N’s own TikTok series, having ‘borrowed’ the idea from the Irishman living with two girls.

        “Alright, gentlemen.” She slid inside her bathroom pulling the focus of her camera on the reflection in the mirror. “I live with four guys, and I have some things to say. Why do you always, and I mean ALWAYS, leave your socks around the house? The dirty ones. You know you could just throw them in the wash… there’s an idea.”

        “We do!” Calum yelled

        Y/N turned her face to the door and hollered, “Only after I’ve asked you to!”

        “Do not!” he countered.

        “Do too!” she exited the bathroom and into the hallway only to be met with the man standing there with his hands on his hips. “Then how.” Y/N pointed the camera towards the living area you could see from where the hallways overlooked the room. “Do you explain that?” And when she zoomed in, there, in a small pile laid two brown socks, all crumpled up and almost pushed underneath one of the three couches, as if someone was trying to hide them from sight.

        Calum stammered for a bit. “Those are NOT mine.”

        Y/N flipped the camera and looked at it like they do in the Office. “Help me,” she mouthed and finished the TikTok, pointing with her hand at him. “Ya disgustin’!”

        Just as maturely as she had reacted, so did Calum by crossing his arms and sticking his tongue out, but their little bickering about whose socks they were and whose job was it to put them in the dirty wash (they were Ashton’s, and it was his job), Luke poked Y/N’s side as he came out from his room. 

        “I know might seem weird, but is there any chance another person could join our quarantine group?”

        Y/N’s eyebrows rose. Sure, the house was giant, mostly because whatever production she was a part of on Broadway, after a successful season, she invited all of them there to get away from the bustle of New York and just chill. It was in the middle of the forest, encased by gorgeous mountains and at the side of a lake where they’d go jet skiing and cliff diving.

        “I thought people can’t visit one another?”

        “They can’t,” Luke confirmed. “That’s the point. The unfortunate soul just got stuck at a hotel not too far from here, and all the flights are cancelled. Two weeks of quarantine without symptoms have been concluded, but, knowing how impossible it’d be to get to London, when you know, as I said, there are no flights, I offered a place to stay.”

        “So,” Y/N dramatically rolled her head. “You already offered to stay before asking me?”

        “Well, I knew you’d say ‘yes’ because you’re a kind, generous, amazing, smart, talented, compassionate person and wouldn’t leave someone on the streets when you know you could help.”

        “Mhm, keep talking.” Y/N squinted her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

        “Incredible, best musician I’ve ever met, how you haven’t won all of Tony’s I’ve got no idea. Your acting skills are impeccable and the movie industry is missing out on a once in a lifetime kind of a talent by not castin-“

        “Alright stop.” Y/N busted out laughing. “As long as you promise I won’t wake up with an axe in my head, ‘s fine.” 

        “Promise.”

        “Good. Also, could you please get me three bottles of that wine I like?” Y/N hollered before skipping downstairs and to the kitchen where Ashton was brewing the tenth cup of coffee. “I have a deadline in two weeks and have literally no idea where to go with the story.” She referred to the second book of her series she was writing, and now with the lockdown going on, her literary agent was breathing down her neck, and it didn’t help she hadn’t written anything in like a month and didn’t remember half of the already exiting story.

        Luke lifted a brow and hissed through his teeth. “That bad?”

        “You have no idea,” she sighed and left for the living-room where she could harass the boys for their fries and procrastinate some more. 

***

        The few hours, while Luke was away, were quite uneventful. All of them sat around on the couch pit, wrote some music, lil bit of lyrics and Y/N almost cried seeing as her characters had decided to live their own life and not obey to her story.

        “Why do you have to be such an idiot,” she mumbled under her breath and furrowed her brows as she wrote herself into a new plot hole.

        Right as Y/N was about to delete the whole chapter, the door slammed open and she heard grunting. “We’re here!” Luke hollered, and the thought of wine made her giddy, making her leap over the edge of the couch, and rush to the front door only to stop dead in her tracks. 

        Y/N’s mouth hung open, not because of who the person joining their quarantine group was, but because of what the person was. “A fifth GUY?! You didn’t tell me it’d be a guy!”

        “I didn’t think it’d matter!” Luke yelled back.

        “There’s already four of you!” She pointed back to the living room hearing loads of ‘hey!’ being shouted back.

        “Would you leave him on the streets if you’d known he was a dude?”

        “No, of course not!” 

        “Why are we yelling?”

        “I don’t know!”

        “I mean, I can leave.” Harry Styles said pointing at the door, not really knowing what to do. He certainly hadn’t expected that sort of greeting. “But I do come bearing gifts.” He lifted a black bag where a clinking of glass could be heard.    

        “No,” she sighed.  “It’s fine... I just… I just miss the company of vaginas.”

        He raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Vaginas?”

        “People I can rant to. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter if you have a vagina, as long as we can have a good rant. Especially about the gross things like having all of your dirty socks thrown around the house.” She threw Luke a look that screamed ‘I know you pushed all of them under your bed, and it’s stinking up the whole place.’

        Harry shook his head. “Ya not gonna find me leaving my clothes like that. Besides, ‘s disgusting.”

        “No,” Luke whined, “come on, man! You’re supposed to be on our side!”

        “It’s two against four,” Harry snickered, throwing his hand around Y/N’s shoulder, who gave Luke a smug grin, and it made her mimic the same expression.

        “It’s evening out. Maybe you should actually invite some other people to quarantine with us. Say, Harry, is maybe Niall in need of a place to stay?”

        Luke rolled his eyes, and shook his head, going into the kitchen and placing the food bags he’d been holding. “I hate you so much.”

        Y/N’s smile just widened.         

        ***

        “Yes, I’m still stealing your series Irishman.” Y/N zoomed in on her face. “Because now…” she looked up at the ceiling in a manner ‘someone please save me’, “I’m living with FIVE dudes. Yes, FIVE. We have an addition. And if someone doesn’t come and kill me, I will kill them.”

        “We’re not that bad!” Michael hollered form out of frame, to which Y/N yelled back, “Yes the fuck you are! Boys are gross. You do realize you’re allowed to have more than one towel. Like you DON’T have to wipe your face with a towel that’s soaked up your ball juice.”

        “It’s economy.”

        “It’s disgusting! Also.” Y/N turned the camera to Harry who was climbing up the stairs with a cup of coffee in hand. “Say ‘Hi’ to gremlin number five. He’s stolen all of my nail polish.”

        He gave a cute wave with an adorable smile, muttering an unintelligible ‘Hello’ as his mouth was stuffed with a piece of bread and a very muffled ‘You don’t even use them.’

        “Yes, but that’s not the point. Anyway,” Y/N pointed the camera at herself. “Tune in for an update whenever, as long as I haven’t strangled anyone, and pray to the heavens you don’t see my face in the papers cause the next time you do, it’ll be my mugshot for a quintuple homicide.”

        “Is that a threat Y/L/N?” Harry smirked, as Y/N walked past him and took away his cup of coffee.

        “No, it’s a promise.” She threw him a wink, leaving the Brit with his mouth open at the woman’s audacity, as she stopped the recording of the TikTok.

        “That was my coffee!”

        “Not anymore!”

        He shook his head, turning back around and going to the kitchen, seeing Y/N perched on one of the stools, neck stretching over to where Ashton was watching a video on his phone, the black liquid in his cup now a creamy beige. Harry smiled. Maybe quarantine wasn’t going to be so bad.

***

        Y/N’s head popped from the side of the door, bringing all of their attention to her. “You guys need to record anything right now?”

        Luke shook his head, signifying the band was alright before turning to Harry who mimicked him, the tapping of his pen stopping. “Why?”

        “Just got a call from Laurence, he said something’s wrong with the ‘Candy Store’ audio from yesterday. Need to rerecord it and send it over. Something about a faulty export or whatever.”

        “ ‘S all yours.” Ashton motioned to the recording booth. “Oh, but can I be Heather Duke?”

        “And can I be Heather McNamara then?” Luke piped in.

        Y/N chuckled. “Not to burst your bubbles, but you do know you won’t be in the final version?”

        “No, but we could be in THIS version. It’d be for our private files. And it’d help you.”

        “That sounds so wrong.” She grimaced. “How would that help me?” Y/N plopped next to Harry on the floor. “You’re the biggest distractions I’ve ever met.”

        Luke scoffed. “How dare you! We offer you our services of being backup singers, and you… you’re such a meanie. You’re such a Heather Chandler!”

        “It’s 2020! If Leslie Odom Jr. can play Aaron Burr, then I can play one of the Heathers! Don’t be sexist, Y/N!”

        “I never said a dude can’t play a Heather, don’t put words in my mouth. I just said last time we tried to record anything together we ended up playing SIMS for like seven hours, but… come on you two divas, get your asses inside then. But I swear if Laurence or Kevin call because one of you whispered something dirty in the background of MY parts, I will strangle you in your sleep.”

        “How little trust do you have in us?”

        “Very,” Y/N deadpanned, showing the two men inside, leaving Calum, Harry and Michael to man the production table. “If you mess with anything, your asses will be grass.” She pointed at the three and all of them put their hands up in surrender. “ ‘S bad enough you ruined my single.”

        “It’s called giving it flavour,” Calum said through the microphone.

        Y/N just responded by sticking her tongue out.

        Michael lifted his fingers, counting down from five to one, giving her the cue to start.

        “Are we gonna have a problem?” Y/N cocked her head to the side, already immersed in the character of Heather Chandler. “You’ve got a bone to pick? You’ve come so far, why now are you pulling on my dick?”

        Harry swallowed hard. 

        “I’d normally slap your face off, and everyone here could watch,” she slightly motioned with her head to the audience behind the screen, a mockingly sweet smile on her lips. “But I’m feeling nice, here’s some advice, listen up biatch.”

        When her hips started moving from side to side to the rhythm of the song, Harry swore he’d never found someone being mean (even though it was mock mean) so hot.

        “I like,” Y/N raised her voice before dropping it. “Looking hot, buying stuff they cannot.”

        There was no sight of the sweet and bubbly girl Harry had met. This was Queen-B of Westerberg High in flesh. He was transfixed. 

“I like drinking hard, maxing dad’s credit card.”

She didn’t need anyone’s credit card to pay for her things, given how she was one of the top paid Broadway singers of their generation, and something in Harry skipped a beat at how confident she looked.

        “I like skipping gym, scaring her, screwing him,” Y/N rolled the ‘r’ deeply in her throat, and he had to collect himself before his thoughts went to an unsavoury place.

        “I like, killer clothes, kicking nerds in the nose!” With a smile, Y/N pointed at Luke who only rolled his eyes. “If you lack the balls, you can go play dolls, let yer mammy fix you a snack,” she emphasised the ‘K’ after having mockingly sung the bit before. “Or you could come smoke, pound some rum and coke, in ma Porche with the quarterback.”

        As weird as it was to have the two boys be her fellow Heathers, Y/N hated to admit it did help her. It reminded her more of what it was like to be on stage before the pandemic had started and the production had to be shut down. And she missed them. All her fellow actors just as much as she missed the rush of getting on stage and losing herself in the role and atmosphere. 

        “You can join the team –“

        “Or you can bitch and moan,” Y/N’s ‘Heathers’ sang in a nasally voice

        “You can live the dream.”

        “Or you can die alone.” 

        Harry snuck inside the recording booth, picking up a pair of headphones by the drum set.

        “You can fly with eagles,”

“Or if you’d prefer,”

        “Keep on testing me,”

        “And end up like her!”

        And that’s when Harry joined in, reciting the lines of both Veronica and Martha, and when he saw Y/N keeping a palm over her mouth as she tried to keep a mean face while inevitably hiding a smile. The whole of the song, despite how Ashton, Luke and Harry had tried to make Y/N break character (she came close a couple of times), the woman stayed on the line, not missing a beat, and especially enjoying the moment where she looked at Luke, who was about to hit the high note and screaming ‘shut up, Heather!’

        Harry couldn’t help the smile splitting apart his face. When Luke had first picked up his call, having known he and the gang were somewhere in the Utah region, he had thought he’d be living with just the guys, and when he found out it was actually Y/N Y/L/N renting the cabin, the girl he’d admired for so long for how brave and utterly unapologetic she was of being herself, Harry had just thought he’d gain a new friend, not have romantic feelings spring up.

        And all of it had happened in the span of two days, not even that much. He’d arrived the evening before, had met the woman, and now it was three PM on day two and was already in love. 

        It was an exhilarating and terrifying feeling all at once. Some studies said it takes men eight seconds to fall in love, which Harry now could pretty much confirm, while it takes women generally fifteen days to fall in love. And he could only hope Y/N might have some feelings for him as well, otherwise, he’d have to scold his heart for falling quickly once again. 

***

        It was the middle of the night, wind slamming against the windows when Harry got awoken by people talking behind his door. At first, he was ready to fight, thinking immediately that intruders had come into the house, but when he heard a ‘fuck off Michael’ and a ‘you fuck off, you’re gonna ruin this’, he understood everything was fine. And he was just about to lay back down on the soft pillows, but as the saying went – curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, so he threw off the covers and lightly went to the door, where a bleary Harry appeared on the stairs making Y/N and Michael whip their heads towards him and freeze on the spot. 

        “What are you two do-“ but he didn’t get to finish the question as the two co-conspirators shushed him.

        “You’re either in,” Y/N whispered harshly, “or out. Choose Styles.”

        A beat. “What kind of trouble’re we getting’ into?”

        The smile which spread on her face was nothing short of wicked. “Revenge,” Y/N hissed.

        “Be quieter than a mouse,” she whispered to him, and now the trio moved downstairs.

        “Who are we getting revenge on?” Harry spoke as quietly as he could, as they rounded the corner and exited the cabin through the back door. It was colder than he thought, seeing how the wind wasn’t warm at all, and he was grateful he’d fallen asleep in his favourite rainbow cardigan. How Y/N and Michael didn’t even shiver in their barely-there pyjamas he didn’t understand. 

        “See, Luke here thought it was a good idea to not heed my warning about not messing with my recording.”

        Harry’s eyebrows scrunched up. “He didn’t.” He knew Luke hadn’t, he was there the whole time and listened back to what they’d sung with everyone together.

        “No, but he did rename a different file with the same name I had for the 'Heathers'' recording, on MY computer, mind you. And well, let’s just say, it was not what anyone wanted to hear.”

        Harry had to swallow, as his mind went to unsavoury places, and as Y/N shimmied open the lock of the window to the studio bathroom part of the house, she looked over her shoulder to see his expression. It would seem, despite him being in ‘Dunkirk’ and having been confirmed to play Eric in the live-action ‘The Little Mermaid’ he wasn’t as good of an actor as he thought.

        “Get your mind out of the gutter,” she snickered and pulled herself inside the house through the window, Michael handing her a black duffle bag Harry hadn’t first noticed. “It was a conversation I had with my friends while we were all drunk. Some tea, some very personal tea was spilt, and so.” She unzipped the bag slowly and took out a whipped cream can. “I’m going to spill something else.”

        Canned cheese was one of the most disgusting things ever created by a human in Y/N’s opinion. So, squeezing nine cans worth of the stuff inside all of Luke’s socks, jean pockets and everywhere else possible was good enough revenge for her.

        “Why are we in the studio though?” Harry asked as the trio crept towards the bathroom door and peeked through the open sliver. It was pitch black. 

        “Because Luke teds to forget his favourite things here,” Michael explained and motioned for them to follow as he checked that the hallway was clear. It was go-time. 

        Together they all snuck back inside the recording studio, and much like Michael had said – Luke’s favourite jean jacket, a woollen jumper, three pairs of boots and shoes were all scattered around the place. He hadn’t even noticed it while they’d hung out there, but now Harry understood what Y/N was talking about while whining about the boys being messy.

        She uncapped the can and squeezed, the artificial smell of cheese wafting through the air, making her almost gag. “That’s for being a bad friend,” she muttered while filling up one shoe. “That’s for making bad jokes.” She filled up another. “And that’s for saying ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ is an overrated song.’

        It was hard for Harry to contain the giggles, as he uncapped his own can and started filling up wherever Y/N pointed to. Did he feel bad? Sure. But was it fun to feel like a teenager in a university dorm during a prank war? Abso-fucking-lutely. And it didn’t help that he was desperately falling in love with Y/N with every second they spent together. Like she could’ve asked him to hide Luke’s corpse, and he’d say he’d take the blame for the murder if it came to it.

        “Why did we have to sneak around the place like that?” he suddenly asked, brows furrowing in concentration as he squeezed the smelly contents inside the inside pocket of the jacket. “Why couldn’t we have just walked through the house?”

        “Because Luke always and I mean always comes to the studio at 3 AM,” Y/N stated. 

        Harry looked at the clock. It was 2:45 AM already. 

        “But before that, he goes into the kitchen, makes himself a double espresso, a sandwich and eats it before going into the storage where we keep all of the instruments, which is where he is in right now. Had we snuck through the normal way, he would’ve seen us and stopped this. And that just wouldn’t fly.”

       However, it was like Luke had a sixth sense as right at that moment the light flipped on, and like deer in headlights, the trio’s heads shot up and eyes widened.

        “What the fuck!” he whispered hand extended in the direction of the already six empty cans on the floor.

        Y/N snapped out of the adrenaline induced frozen state and shrugged. “I told you not to mess with the recording.” She put her finger back on the squeezable part. “And you. Didn’t. Listen.”

        The cheese squirted out with a splutter, and all of them stood still as the final bits dropped into Luke’s black boot. “And that’s payback.”

        With a sway in her hips, Y/N exited the room, leaving the three men to gawk after her. 

God was she a hurricane, Harry thought to himself. And he’d never been as happy to be caught right in the eye of it all.

***

        The next few days all of them spent lounging around the house, recording a few songs, most of them by Harry seeing as a huge wave of inspiration had hit him, making him write more than one love song. He even asked Y/N somewhat shyly if she could do some of the backing vocals, and he swore the song went from a 3 to a 100 the second he heard her voice weave his lyrics into a symphony. 

        By that point, they’d been quarantining for a week and a half together, and a heatwave was coming up. The cabin had both an inside and outside pool which they’d all had to learn how to maintain, seeing as no one could come and do it for them, and a jacuzzi tub on the terrace. As much as the boys tried to prove they knew how to keep the places clean, ultimately it was Y/N who saved all of them from chlorine poisoning and algae overgrowth. 

        So, it was right when she pulled out the pH indicator and said it was good for use when with a scream, Luke rushed forward Y/N, rugby tackling her by the waist and plunged both of them down to the water below. 

        “You asshole!” She splashed at him, laughing and choking out a bit of water as they resurfaced. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”

        “That’s payback for the cheese.”

        She went silent for a second, but then shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t deserve it. But you did deserve the cheese.”

        “So,” Luke extended his hand for a shake. “Do we call this even?”

        Harry exited the cabin right as both of them completely soaked to the bone jumped out onto the wood floor. He stopped mid-walk if only to control where his eyes went seeing as Y/N’s white shirt clung to her body and well… didn’t leave much for the imagination anymore.

        “Do I wanna know what happened here?” He raised a brow.

        “Retribution.”

        “Though I do gotta say, you have a funny way of getting revenge.” Y/N smirked at  Luke, making him squint down at the girl. 

        “What do you mean?”

        “I mean,” she drawled out, a mischievous smile on her lips, “that when I filled your clothes with the cheese, my stuff didn’t get stinky. And yet, from your end… I’m not the only one wet.”

        A beat passed.

        “God fucking damn it.”

        “Hey!” She pointed a finger at him. “We called a truce!”

        Luke waved her off. “Yeah yeah, whatever,” but Y/N grabbed Luke’s hand right before he went inside and squeezed it. 

“We good?”

        He sighed and smiled. “We good, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, gave Harry a quick ‘see ya later’ as well and disappeared through the glass doors. 

        Harry didn’t know what’d happened to him. He’d always been a helpless romantic, falling in love, and maybe a bit too hard at that, but this time, even without Y/N knowing about his feelings, his heart felt safe. 

        Sure, the side of her he’d seen was a complete headcase, and she had more energy than a bull with a red flag in front of it, but the utter love exuding from the woman, even while she complained about her four, well five counting him, housemates was palpable in the air. The way she hugged and made sure everyone had whatever they needed, the way she let them know if anyone needed to have a chat, she’d be there to listen, and the small little things of how she always knew what preferences they’d have for their pancakes or breakfast in general, made his heart melt. 

        “Luke’s a lucky guy.” Harry swallowed before saying that. As much as seeing Y/N be affectionate with everyone, him included, made him feel all fuzzy, a little jealousy monster did bubble up in his stomach when he saw her snuggled next to the lead vocalist of the band. He didn’t have any right to, but no matter how much he tried to repress the green beast, it still lurked somewhere deep in his heart.

        “Hm?” Y/N lifted her head where she’d been looking at the water as she squeezed it out of her shirt and up at Harry.

        He motioned with his chin to where Luke had disappeared. “He’s a lucky guy to have someone like you.”

        “Oh, we’re not together if that’s what you’re implying.”

        “I –“ he stammered. “I didn’t mean to offend y-“

        But Y/N waved him off. “You’re not the first nor probably the last person to say that. I get it. They asked me one time to surprise their fans at a concert in Connecticut, I think, and when their photographer sent over the pictures, I kinda saw what everyone kept saying, but I’ve never looked at any of them as more than a friend. Best friends, brothers maybe, but nothing more.”

        “How’d ya get so close?” Harry enquired, his chest feeling a bit lighter.

        Y/N huffed and plopped down to the ground, patting the place beside her which Harry took. “When I first went solo, right after being on ‘Beetlejuice’ I was fucking terrified. Didn’t really know anyone in the music industry like that. Being on Broadway’s different.” She shrugged. “And the award shows are different as well. Like with ‘Tony’s’ or ‘Oliver’ awards it’s you know – musical and theatre geeks. My people. But the first time I went to VMAs I almost shat myself.” She chuckled, and Harry did the same. “Didn’t know anyone at all, was petrified to even find my seat because someone told me I’d have to sit between Lady Gaga and Rihanna, and my heart was not ready for that. Ashton saw me at the edge of the carpet, creeping around the entrance and kinda…” Y/N bit her lip looking for the right words. “I dunno. They kinda took me under their wing, in a sense – if you need a friend in the industry, we’re here, that sort of thing. And ever since then, we’ve been best friends. Luke and I just got the closest because we got stuck in an elevator once for like eight hours once, and well, boredom and thinking you’re gonna die in a four by four-foot box brings people closer.”

        Harry almost choked. “Eight hours?”

        “Yep.” Y/N popped the ‘p’ and gave him a sarcastic smile. “It was like soooo much fun,” she said sarcastically.  “I totally didn’t think the elevator was about to drop from where we were up on like the sixtieth floor, and both of us were gonna get our bones smashed to pieces, and I only had two protein bars, and you know how I get without food,” she stated. He nodded.

        “Cranky.”

        “Exactly. But.” Y/N chuckled. “We didn’t die. Which’s great, not complaining, and I gained one of my all-time best friends.”

        “Well, I’m glad you didn’t die.” Harry gave her a warm smile and nudged her foot with his. “Wouldn’t have gotten the chance to meet you otherwise.”

        She nudged his foot back. “ ‘M glad I didn’t die either. And I gotta say – you’ve made this whole quarantine bearable. Sometimes it’s like fighting with four toddlers, and that’s always a futile battle. Happy to have another wrangler with me. Also an accessory to my crimes.”

        He inched his hand towards hers, and when Y/N didn’t pull away instead liked her pinkie with his, a warm feeling rushed through him.

        “Happy to be of help.”

***

It was two nights later or full two weeks since the six of them had been together when things took a turn. 

Y/N’d always been a light sleeper, especially when her life was mainly placed in New York, but now, living in the middle of nowhere, she’d been able to catch up on some sleep. That was when the sound of her door being opened made Y/N shot up in her bed, sheets clutched at her chest in a panic. “What? What’s wrong? What did Calum set on fire?”

        “Nothing.” Harry’s eyebrows scrunched up, but he decided not to ask. There was the morning for that. “This might seem weird, but could I uh could I possibly sleep in your room?”

        She blinked a couple of times, because her brain was still processing his words and if they were even English, but once they registered, Y/N nodded, pulling back her blanket and scooting over. “C’mere.”

        “Again, I’m sorr-“

        Y/N shushed him, as Harry climbed in the bed, placing the duvet underneath his arm and twisting to see her, as she mumbled, “less talk, more sleep.”

        He hummed in agreement. His eyes were heavy, in fact, they’d become heavy the instant his head had hit Y/N’s pillow, but it was like his heart, the same poor heart that’d had to deal with the newfound emotions for the whole time he’d been there, the same poor heart that didn’t know better and always gave itself away to the person it deemed to be worthy, no matter if in the end it ended up broken, took over the control of his eyes and mouth, and while slamming against Harry’s ribcage, he whispered his confession. 

        “I really like you… As more than a friend.”

        A second passed. He felt Y/N stir as she turned towards him, brow furrowed. “Sorry?”

        “I said…” He let out a shaky exhale. “I like you. I fell for you pretty much the second I entered the house and you threatened to throw me out because I was a guy. And then I fell for you when I saw you let loose in the studio. And then once more when I witnessed what your wrath entails.”

        Y/N chuckled. “Cheese.”

        “Yeah…” He let out a little laugh. “Cheese.”

        A gentle palm went to brush away the hair stuck to Y/N’s face and he swore he could just melt as she leaned into his touch. “And then I fell for you when you said yes to singing my song… when you sang the lyrics, I dedicated to you… and every second I fall for you even more… I just… I thought you should know…”

        “Well, I can only hope that you’ll take this as a compliment then, when I say I kinda like you too, Styles,” she mumbled snuggling deeper into her pillow. “Though I didn’t think I was your type.”

        “What’s my type then?” he mumbled back, letting his arms wrap around Y/N’s waist when she shuffled closer. Not only was he now fully in heaven because he was covered by the softest duvet in the world, head resting against a literal cloud, but also because his nostrils were invaded by the gentlest of smells, and the body against his was the warmest of comforts. 

        “Well, not girls like me.”

        “You mean talented, beyond funny and absolutely breath-taking?”

        “Introverted, house hermits who don’t wash their hair unless they have to go somewhere with a perchance of self-destructive behaviour. Unintentional that is.”

        Harry’s eyebrows lifted. “Would’ve never taken you for an introvert.”

        “Mmmh,” Y/N sighed, feeling his fingers skim her skin. “That’s because I’ve known those guys for years, and they’re like my brothers. Couldn’t be uncomfortable even if I tried with them. We’ve seen too much of each other. But I’m definitely an introvert. Almost had a panic attack the first time I had to make my own doctor’s appointment.”

        “You didn’t seem shy with me.”

        “That’s because for some weird reason I… I didn’t feel awkward around you. And I mean, you did bring wine.”

        She could feel Harry’s chest rumble as he laughed. “Well, I hope it helped with inspiration.”

        “Ugh, don’t remind me,” she huffed, but opened her bleary eyes and were met by Harry’s green already staring back. She couldn’t contain the giggle, and it only grew in power as he chuckled himself, making her bury her head in his chest.

        “What?”

        “Nothing,” she shook her head. “Just never thought I’d date someone from 1D.”

        “Are we below you or something?” There was no trace of malice and hurt in his voice. He knew Y/N wasn’t like that.

        “No, ‘s just my boy band phase was ‘Good Charlotte’, ‘Panic at the D!sco,’ ‘My Chem’ and the sort.”

        “So, you weren’t fainting while listening to ‘You Don’t Know You’re Beautiful’?” Harry mumbled in Y/N’s hair, sleep slowly overtaking him.

        She shook her head. “Sorry, no. Panties definitely weren’t dropping then.”

        “Are they now?”

        “According to ‘Watermelon Sugar’ you’re the one pulling all of ‘em off.”

        “Damn. Guess it’ll have to be my new challenge.”

        Y/N’s eyebrows scrunched up as she looked at him before promptly falling asleep. “Making my panties drop?”

        “Yep. But this time because of me, not Gerard Way.”

        “Bold of you to assume it was just Gerard Way. I’m a slut for all of those wizard dads.”

        By the time she slurred out the last sentence both of them had drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

***

        “They were right!” Harry shouted jumping up in the bed, startling Y/N awake once more as if something was breaking down on their heads with how urgently he jolted. “It does take women two weeks to fall in love and men 8 seconds.”

        A pillow met his face. “Fall back asleep.” 

        He leaned over her still horizontal form, a smug smile on his face. “Are you gonna make a TikTok about it?”

        “Probably ‘bout how I murdered the boyfriend I was with for three hours if he doesn’t let me sleep.”

        He didn’t argue. With a smile on his face, Harry drifted off once more. Who knew that getting stuck in a hotel somewhere in Utah would lead him to the love of his life? 

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take): 

Forever tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines​ @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

A/N: So... I know I’ve been gone for quite a while, but that’s because I have a job now (I’m trying to get a different one that actually would involve my degree, because this one is absolutely killing me), so please be understanding with the spare posting. I still love writing fics, and as evident, I’m kina branching out into other fandoms :D

There’s a lot of things going on in my life, so if you wanna follow me you can do that on Instagram @dinnusa or @read_with_dee or on my blog dinnusa.wordpress.com :) I also have a TikTok @dinmasters

P.S. feedback is always appreciated :)

P.S.S. If you wanna be tagged please drop a message :) or if you want to be removed/ changed to a different tag list please also message me :)

[wreckofawriter]

The World Stilled

Pairing: Carl Grimes x reader

Word Count: 1.8k (sorry its so short)

Warnings: Zombies, panic attack

Request: @alex-sulli the carl grimes imagine, i was thinking like a fluffy imagine where the reader is worried about finding everyone/alexandria falling and he reassures her :,) you can choose either

A/n: I choose Alexandria, I tried writing on the road cuz season four and five are my favorite but it sucked so I deleted it. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

    It didn’t matter where in the walls you were. You could hear them. You could always hear them. The groans and growls of the monsters that had taken over your world were constant in your ears. You pretend it didn’t bother you because it shouldn’t have, you should have been able to walk around like you weren’t trapped inside of a metal coffin. You could live, you would live. That’s what you kept telling yourself. The words running over and over in your head until they lost their meaning and it was gibberish you continued to say. 

    You took as many gate watches as you could, it was better when you could see them, look them in their lifeless eyes, and know what you were up against. You hated hiding from them, it made you unsure, it made you feel like you were in the dark. 

    All-day you were running equations and scenarios through your head. If something were to happen how quickly could you get to Judith? Where was Carl if you needed to run? How much food was in your house? How many could you take out before you were cornered? Carl noticed how distant you got. He saw the way your eyes always darted towards the walls as if to check and see if they were still standing, the way you jumped when he walked up behind you or how your fingers were always dancing around your gun. You were paranoid, just as you had been when they found you, how you had been on the road, how you had been for weeks after first finding these walls. And now you were here again, alert and frightened. 

    Ron wasn’t helping, he had always made you uneasy. something about him made your mind scream. Now he was carrying around a gun, his eyes watching Carl a bit too carefully, you were just being paranoid, you knew that but something still screamed as you watched Rick teach him to shoot. But you were just paranoid. 

    You told Michonne about your fear and she had said it was what kept you alive. You supposed that was true. You couldn’t afford to relax, you knew if you did, you died and the people you loved died. But it was tiring to be paranoid. It was exhausting to jump at every shadow, never get a full night of rest, to run scenario after scenario until you went insane. Sometimes you wished you were as brain dead as some so you could finally take a break. 

    “Are you alright?” Carl’s voice broke you from your spiraling thoughts. He climbed the ladder to stand next to you as you scorned the walkers below you, eyebrows scrunched lip tucked between your teeth. 

    You nodded stiffly, “Fine.” What if you had people shoot from two different sections of the wall, would that clear a path? Or maybe you could use the Wolf’s bodies, if the walkers went to feed a few could escape. But the bodies were cold now, it was no use. 

    “You seem..” He paused looking for the right word, “Jumpy.” 

    You glanced to your side, your right hand ghosting your gun as it always did now. Carl was staring at you, his blue flannel open, a white t-shirt underneath surprisingly unstained. His hair blew away from his face in the slight breeze. “I wonder why.” you scoffed. 

    “These walls are going to hold.” he responded plainly, “I know they will.”

    “Then we’ll starve to death.” You were only half kidding. Your eyes moved back to the walkers. You had about three months worth of food, four if you rationed right, two if people stole. You needed to find a way out. Maybe tunnel under the wall? 

    “I know that look,” Carl spoke up again.

    Your eyes remained on a dead thing, its jaw was dangling from its face, you wondered if it happened before or after it died.

    “You’re thinking. Think about how to survive.” Carl continued, “You used to do it all the time, at Terminus it never left your face, on the road, it didn’t either.” 

    You refused to speak, focusing on the crowd in front of you.

    “I remember when my dad found you and brought you back to the prison you looked at me the same way, like you were guessing how much longer we would all last. Patrick was terrified of you.” He chuckled, “You looked the same way when we first got here, you placed a three-week life span on this place. I remember you telling me that.”

    “I guess I was wrong.” You shrugged, “It was four.”

    Carl sighed, licking his lips, “Look at me y/n.” 

    You snapped your eyes to his own, there were so blue it was almost startling. His soft smile was gone, replaced with a worried look that dislodged something in your chest. 

    “This place isn’t dead yet. I won’t let it die. I need it, you need it, Judith needs it. We can’t afford to let it die.” He took a step towards you, “So stop making escape plans, you can’t jump ship yet.” 

    You swallowed thickly “I can if it’s sinking.” 

    You hadn’t been this angry in a long time, you felt so pathetic, you were helpless, weak. Rick expected you to just wait for dead people to come save you. You were going to die here and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t stand it. Your heart raced as you picked up a dart, its board was a few meters in front of you but you turned your back to it to look at the photos on the walls. Stock photos of kids who were dead now laughing, a dad serving lemonade, picnics, and blue skies. The first dart bounced off the glass so you pulled your arm back more thrusting the second as hard as you could at the little girl in a french braid and a red dress. The glass cracked, You raised a third, tears clouding your vision as you blindly thrust it forwards hitting the wall where it stuck with a hollow thump. 

You were going to die here. 

    The nights were always the worst. It didn't matter how many doors and gates were between you and them, their constant murmur could always be heard. You tried to bury your head in pillows, you tried earplugs, headphones. It took you two days to realize it was all in your head. The one place no matter how far you ran, you could never escape from. You hadn’t had a panic attack in a long time. Since before, you used to get them over stupid things like science projects and presentations. Now as you chocked on your own breaths it was because you were going to die. Soft sobs echoed around your dark room as you tried to make up for the air you were losing with gasping breaths. Tears clouded your vision, your nose was clogged, you felt like you were slowly suffocating. Your head thumped behind your eyes and the sound of walkers continued. 

    You jumped at the sudden hand on your shoulder, you would have screamed if you had the breath. Your glassy eyes locked with Carl.

    “You’re okay y/n,” He spoke calmly kneeling in front of you. 

    You shook your head wildly, the thick sheen of tears finally falling from your eyes and sliding down your cheeks. “We’re going to die.” you cried, “We’re all going to die.” 

    “You’re not gonna die.” He said so firmly you almost believed it, “I’m not going to, Judith isn’t, my dad isn’t. No one is going to die.” 

    You hiccupped a whimper ripping from your throat, “You don’t know that.” 

    “Yes, I do.” He answered without hesitation, “Now I need you to take a deep breath okay? You’re gonna breathe with me.” 

    You nodded taking in a shaky breath and realizing it. Carl sat in front of you breathing in and out slowly until your hands no longer shook and your heartbeat had calmed. It was silent now, the dead’s noise was gone, replaced by crickets and frogs. 

    “I can’t watch you die, Carl.” You said, “I can’t watch anyone else die.” 

    “You won’t have to.” He spoke, a small smile on his lips, “We are going to make it. I swear.” 

    “How can you be so sure?” you wondered aloud, “How can you know that?” 

    “I just do.” He replied.

    You felt so tired, your eyelids heavy with the weight of shed tears, your head was still aching dully and your limbs felt numb. 

    Carl noticed as your body slumped in on itself. He stood, offering you a hand and pulling you to your feet. You fell into your bed, Carl headed for the door. 

    “Good night y/n.” When he went to shut the door behind him panic set in. You could hear them again, the clash of their rotting teeth, their growls and sickening moans. 

    “Wait!”

    Carl stopped in his tracks, turning back to face you.

    “Please don’t leave.” You begged, “I can hear them when you leave, please don’t leave me.”

    He didn’t question your sanity. He didn’t ask who they were. He didn’t have to. Instead, he walked back inside your room closing the door. You moved over in your bed as he kicked off his shoes and lifted your blankets, lying beside you. It was quiet again.

    “Thank you.” You mumbled turning onto your side to face him. 

    Carl followed your actions, his face was illuminated by the soft moonlight drifting through the window over your shoulder, his eyes almost glowing in the silver light. “Anything for you y/n.” 

    You moved closer to him, burying your head into his chest and fisting his t-shirt. You felt him stiffen for a moment before his arms fell around you drawing you towards him. You could hear his heartbeat, its quickened pace drowning out the endless thoughts in your mind. He smelt of lavender, his warmth surrounding you. 

    “Y/n?” Carl whispered.

    You turned your head up to look at him, head tilted slightly in a silent question. 

    He paused for a moment too long, his eyes flirting across your face delicately. “I love you.”

    The world stilled, the dust in the moonlight air stopped moving, the dead outside the walls froze, the living inside halting their breaths.

“I love you too,” you mumbled. 

His hand found your cheek, his thumb tracing along your jawline before resting underneath your chin and lifting your face to his. Your lips met hesitantly, eyes fluttering shut. His lips were soft and light against your own. Your hands ran up his chest wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. His tongue grazed the seam of your lips and you tilted your chin to deepen the kiss. 

When you pulled apart you were both blushing, your breaths coming in short pants. 

“You are so beautiful.” Carl murmured and you buried your head into his neck to hide the roses blooming on your cheeks. 

Masterlist

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Can we get uhh joker with an girl who's afraid of loud noises like yelling, thunder, ect?

Hello, anon! Thank you for the request, you’re my first one! 💖

I took a guess on what genre you preferred and figured fluff would be a good choice. A bit ooc for our clown but hey, it’s fluff. I hope it’s what you were looking for and that you like it!!

Self-insert, Ledger Joker x fem reader (no other details on appearance, etc for your imagination to complete)

Word count: 1,611

Warnings: noise phobia, shouting/fighting, thunderstorm, flash back about attempted mugging, adult language, graphic threat of violence (it’s still nice, I promise 😂)

Phonophobia

Not again.

The neighbors were at it again. At least once a month, the couple next door would spend the evening screaming at each other. Your old apartment building on the edge of downtown Gotham was far from sound proof, the near paper-thin walls serving as a mere sieve for their harsh words spat at full volume. And what made it even worse was that a storm was brewing in the dark outside.

You’ve had a problem with loud noise since you were young. It’s difficult to explain, but the anxiety it could trigger was sometimes overwhelming. Fireworks, concerts, construction sites, storms, it feels like your ears amplify the sounds even more. It vibrates your skull and closes in on you, weighing heavy and making you feel so small to a point where sometimes you felt like you could barely breathe.

You thought about doing something, saying something, to the people next door to get them to stop but the idea of confronting them only made the anxiety worse and you curled into a little ball on your couch in the small living room.

A rumble from the sky carried the threat of impending thunder to your ears and your chest tightened. Oh no, no, no, no. This has happened a few times before, too many sounds at once and you shut down in a full blown panic attack, your head pounding with each and every vibration.

You really didn’t want to be alone. You were in your late twenties but didn’t really have friends. You’d left home when you were sixteen out of necessity and since then focused on fending for yourself for so many years in this unforgiving city until you’d finally gotten off the street and into this ramshackle apartment. Then six months ago, you met him.

The Joker, terrorist, mass murderer, psychopath, the Clown Prince of Crime, came into your life one night when you were coming home from a late shift at your job as a clerk at the bus station. You preferred night time, it was quieter. You rounded a corner on your usual route back to the apartment building and found yourself at gun point, threatened to give a man in a ski mask whatever he wanted, “or else”. Before you could react, a purple-clad arm wrapped around the man’s chest as his throat was cut in front of your eyes. You knew who he was and you were no stranger to violence in your life but you’d never seen anything like that. Ever since then, he’d taken an interest in you. He used your apartment as a hideout and occasionally gave you small jobs like picking up unmarked packages or driving a car to a random address and leaving it there in exchange for cash. You were in no position to refuse for obvious reasons. You’d even contemplated at one point whether the mugging was staged to get you to trust him or owe him something. The time and place seemed all to convenient. You waited for the day when he’d ask you to repay your debt but it hadn’t come yet.

Whatever you were to him, he was really the only person you knew or cared to talk to. You had been afraid of him at first, of course, but that began to fade a few months ago. Whether or not letting your guard down around him was in poor judgement, you had reached a point where you didn’t care. You hated yourself for it, but an attraction was growing in your belly, nervous fluttering of your heart when he looked at you adding to your frustrations. He really didn’t care about much of anything, free from the stress and worries of life that everyone else was subjected to. You were fascinated by that and your mind eventually spun it around into some sort of crush, to your dismay. It’s not possible, you told yourself. He wouldn’t want you, some regular girl from the streets of Gotham. But why did he keep you around?

Your fingers twitched toward the burner phone he’d given you on the table. He always called you, you’d never called him, if that was even possible. But at the first crack of thunder over the screams of “fuck you, asshole” from next door, you grabbed the device and hit the call button before you could think better of it. Too late, it was ringing.

You shakily brought the receiver to your ear as each ring twisted your stomach into tighter knots. Another crack of thunder.

“Well, well. Hello there, doll,” you heard Joker’s raspy voice croon over the speaker.

Your breath hitched in your throat before you forced yourself to speak, “H-hi, Joker. Um, I, uh wanted to know if you w-were planning on staying here tonight.”

The two or three seconds of silence that followed felt like an eternity before he answered, “Ahh afraid of the storm, are we?”

Stunned and unable to speak, your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You were never able to hide anything from him, even when he couldn’t see your face.

He giggled and said, “Lu-cky for you, I need to, uh, lay low tonight. Ten minutes.”

The line went quiet and you lowered the phone from your ear. Ashamed of what you just did, you wished the earth would swallow you up in that moment but you were stuck here. At least you’d have a distraction.

Right on cue, every sixty seconds, thunder sent your body trembling harder while the apartment next door continued to echo with blame and insults for what felt like the longest ten minutes of your life. You had been resisting, but finally covered your ears with your palms just before Joker’s ghostly face suddenly appeared in the window as another crack of thunder stung your ears. Your eyes widened and you let out a yelp before your face flushed and you hurried to the window to jerk it open. Joker climbed in from the fire escape, his hair wet with rain and greasepaint smeared a bit more than usual. He looked down at your shaking hands and sweat beading on your forehead and asked, “What’s the matter with you, hm? Called me here didn’t ya?”

The sound of shouting and glass breaking from behind the wall made you nearly jump out of your skin as you stared at him and he raised his eyebrows.

“Hmmm, what do we have here? A little phonophobia?” he hummed, leaning toward you.

He was always right. This you definitely couldn’t hide from him. Your breaths with short and huffing as you nodded meekly. He was most definitely the wrong person to seek comfort from but you had no one else to turn to.

He liked his lips and rolled his eyes up at the ceiling for a moment when the man next door screamed obscenities once again.

Suddenly, Joker turned toward the wall and growled at full volume, “Keep doing that and I’ll cut your tongues out nice and slow so the last thing you taste is your own blood filling up your mouth!”

The resulting silence made your ears ring and he slowly turned back toward you, tongue flicking out over his lip. His voice was incredibly loud but as soon as it was over, your breathing began to slow.

“Better?” he asked with a sly little smile.

You swallowed and swiftly nodded before thunder practically shook the building, the storm now looming overhead. Your eyes involuntary squeezed shut and a whimper escaped your mouth as your trembling legs barely held you upright. Joker sighed and slid his water-logged coat from his shoulders along with his gloves, draping them over a chair. He wasn’t supposed to be someone who had much, if any, empathy for other people. Why should he help you?

Maybe he knew what you were going through.

“You need a, uh, distraction, hm?” he asked.

You opened your eyes and looked into his. They weren’t dark and cold as usual but you still couldn’t read what was going on behind them. You never could.

You blinked and he stepped closer to you until you could feel the heat coming off his body. Your heart raced and you couldn’t hear anything anymore as the lump in your throat tightened with anticipation. Your mind raced with irrationalities. Was he finally about to kill you?

Suddenly he grabbed the collar of your shirt and pulled you forward to smash his lips into yours. You took a sharp inhale, the smell of greasepaint and gasoline flooding your nose as you drowned in the sensation of his warm lips against your own. Was this real?

Your eyes fluttered closed and you kissed him back, involuntarily lifting your arms to wrap them around his neck. This was real. He hummed against your mouth as he dropped your shirt collar and took your face in his hands, deepening the kiss. His scars made it that much more intense as he hungrily devoured the taste of you until your lips were practically swollen.

He took your bottom lip into his mouth before releasing it and pulling away for you to catch your breath.

“Dis-tracting enough for ya?” he purred, still holding your face.

Your expression of shock and surprise morphed into a wide smile and you giggled as you nodded your head at him. He smirked back and locked lips with you once more before he staggered to bring both of you toward the couch where he pulled you down to flop on top of him as he chuckled.

Thunder rumbled overhead but you didn’t hear it. You were too busy kissing the Clown Prince.

[cockasinthebird]

Stuck? Stuck.

This year for the senior weekend trip, Hawkins High students gets to enjoy a lovely stay at a hotel so cheap it's a risky gamble to even set foot there, and a Saturday trip to the Indianapolis Museum of Art, to which absolutely everyone is equally excited about.

Which is not at all.

Steve groans and sits up in the hard bed he has to sleep in for two whole nights, sharing his room with three other guys from his year that he swears he has never ever seen before, despite them all knowing his name and history quite well.

The drive here hadn't been that long, although it felt like hours, nerve ridden and anxious to not sleep in the safety of his own haunted mansion. Sure it's nice to be surrounded by people on all sides if he were to tell the truth, but...

Billy fucking Hargrove had been staring at him all day, sat two rows behind on the bus, and whenever Steve turned to look, he was met with an icy stare and suspicious grin. Billy had even actively gone out of his way to bump into Steve, push him around and kick his bags away, to which Tommy had laughed and patted Billy on the back, that fucking traitor. Sure they hadn't talked since after the fight with Jonathan, but Steve didn't know their friendship had been so fragile.

With an exhausted sigh and jittery hands, Steve carefully closes the door to his room, then heads down the hallway to find the elevator. He can never sleep when he's away from home, yet Dustin had convinced him that this is a great idea! Get out and have some fun! People always hook up on those senior trips! And then he did that Chewbacca wanna purr of a sound, prompting Steve to push his cap down his face.

The elevator climbs slowly up to his floor as he thumbs his lighter, on and off, on and off. Who here would he even hook up with that he hasn't already before he got together with Nancy? And now that they're over and Billy is running the school instead, Steve's odds had fallen even farther into the pits of hell.

He just needs to get out for a smoke, and maybe flirt his way to a drink or two at the sleazy bar; this place doesn't look like it cares about serving minors alcohol, what with the water stained ceiling and floor, the peeling tape, and the creaky as shit elevator, as it barely can manage a ding once it reaches the 4th level.

It whines just the same as he steps inside and feels it bounce dangerously underneath his weight. It requires several attempts and hard jabs from Steve before the ground floor button registers his attempts, and starts closing.

When just in the last second, strong fingers curl around the rusty metal and pries open the doors again.

That grin, those curls, the sun-kissed skin.

Billy fucking Hargrove.

“Where you off to, Harrington?” he asks with a flash of predatory teeth and steps into the limited space.

Suddenly Steve is feeling hot and claustrophobic, heart racing both from the presence of his enemy, and from the fear that the elevator might not be able to support both their weights.

“Why the fuck should I tell you?” he snaps and does his best not to meet those blue skies that just won't give him the same courtesy of pretending the other doesn't exist.

“Could be you wanted some company,” Billy says with a low tone that hints at something secret and suggestive.

“And why are you up?” Steve doesn't really care to know, but thoughts of why Billy might be up and about this late flows freely. There would only be one reason, and maybe it's the second floor where all the girls are located.

But he doesn't press the 2nd floor button. Simply puts his hands in his denim jacket and leans with his back against the wall.

“Oh you know exactly why I'm awake this late, princess,” Billy drawls out and licks his lips.

Which Steve doesn't notice, if anyone were to ask. He pulls up a cigarette from the back he has stashed in his back pocket, and slips it between his lips to save time once they're able to get away from each other again.

Yet it's gone just as quick, as Billy reaches out and snags it away, just to place it beneath his mustache. And Steve stares daggers at him, all too quickly he's angry, but really it takes no time with Hargrove around, as his mere presence in Steve's life in a constant source of pain and fury.

“What the fuck you asshole, give it back!” Steve frowns and clenches his fist with a strong urge to punch. It's been too long since he's felt the bliss of nicotine, and he can feel it in his blood. “Get your own shitty cigarettes.”

“Why don't you come over here and take it, then?” Billy muses with a cocky grin that goes from ear to ear.

“Yeah yeah, very mature, give me my fucking cigarette back, Hargrove. I'm almost out of smokes and patience with you.” Steve turns to stare at him now, a few feet apart filled with air so tense you could cut it with a fucking butter knife.

“Well that was quick,” comes the response as a mean spirited chuckle.

“Oh don't be like that; you've been harassing me all fucking day you shit!” And Steve steps closer, up to where he can feel Hargrove's breathing. “What is your deal with me?”

Billy lifts up his chin, looking all brash and smug. “Do I have to one?”

“Why else would you be making my life a living hell?” Steve's fists clench tighter. “Isn't it bad enough you stole my best friend and 'knocked me off my throne'?” he says with possibly the most infuriated air-quotes anyone could ever manage.

“Nope.” Short and crude, the p popping loudly despite the cigarette caught between teeth.

“Then what the fuck do you want?!”

And as Billy's grin somehow grows more sinister, he doesn't get to answer before there's an abrupt jump of the elevator and a nerve wrecking screech.

The loud whir of cogs and mechanics silent. The elevator has stopped.

“Are... are we...” Steve dares not say, as if that would make it real and not just his imagination.

Billy shoves Steve away and steps over to press a button, any button, and when there's no response, tries a second button, then a third, then every other option there. Punches the keys over and over and over-

“Fucking stop that! You're just making it all worse!” Steve shouts and grabs on to Billy's sleeve to tear him away.

“Oh like you know how a fucking elevator works!” Billy snarls back and pushes Steve hard for having even dared to touch him. “I know your grades, I've heard the questions you ask in class, I bet even Max could answer half the shit you can't!”

Steve doesn't even have time to think before he flings his fist after Billy, who catches it perfectly on the nose. Cigarette flies from his mouth, blood drips onto the sticky floor, onto Billy's dirty boots and his clean, white tee. And he continues being unable to think, as Billy fucking laughs.

“God damn Harrington, I can't believe you had the guts to do that,” he sounds near insane as he talks, swipes his tongue up to lick his upper lip clean of dark red. “You know you're gonna regret that now, right?”

“According to you I don't know shit.” Steve stands with his feet too far apart, shoulders raised and fists aching for more. As much as he would prefer not to fight, since he always gets his ass kicked, the rush of seeing blood flow from Billy's nose is invigorating.

No matter how prepared he thinks he is, Billy's fist still feels like a goddamn boulder against his eye, and barely has Steve staggered backwards at the brute force, before Billy grabs him by the collar of his striped polo and shoves him into a corner; caging him there with his own broad, muscular shape.

“You punch like a girl, Stevie,” his voice low and... oddly sensuous?

He reeks of cologne, teeth sharp and perfect like a wolf, body sturdy and thick, pressed into Steve with such intent that he can feel every inch of power.

“What are you gonna do now, Harrington?” Billy's chuckles like thunder in his chest as they stay flush together.

Steve feels his heart beat in his swelling eye, lumping in his throat, beating against his ribs like xylophones, and somewhere between his legs. Red really is a great color on Billy's lips.

“What are my options?” he groans out and wants to move away from the insufferable heat that's gathering too far down.

Eyes jump around every one of Billy's strong features, looking like a damn model from afar and up close like this. Jaw square and stubbly, an ocean's view in his eyes, a thousand eyelashes that he doesn't deserve to have, freckles like a starry night that he didn't even know existed on Billy's perfect skin, lips so hopelessly inviting despite the wicked grin.

And maybe Billy catches how he's being admired right now, because his smile falters to a slightly slack jaw. “Doesn't seem like you have any,” he mumbles out, tone uncertain of something.

“I fucking hate you, Billy.” Steve can't move his head away, can't tear his gaze from where that tongue peeks out to lick his lips clean once more.

With a timid whisper, barely more than a breath, Billy utters out, “I hate me, too.”

Lips meet with obscene force, Billy pushing against Steve's mouth as if it's his only source of life, and immediately Steve opens up; tastes the metallic blood that still drips slowly down from Billy's wounded nose, and feels that captivating tongue intrude deep as it urgently memorizes every inch of wet heat.

It's as if they've both been starving for years, and now they're all too worried it'll end in the blink of an eye.

Billy bites and pulls at Steve's lower lip with a guttural groan.

“Fuck, Billy-” Steve nearly moans out and tries to buck out his hips.

“Shut the fuck up, Harrington, or I'll punch you again,” Billy growls and dives back in to lick where his teeth had just tortured sensitive skin.

“Mmh- ah-” and Steve pulls away to say, “Do it.”

“What?” Billy has never looked more dumbfounded.

“Fucking hit me again.” Steve licks his lips clean of Billy's blood and stares intensely down at him. “Slap me in the face.”

And Billy grins like the devil, bites down on his tongue, breathing staggered as he contemplates on whether or not Steve is serious. Then brings a flat hand across a pale cheek.

It stings and burns throughout his entire body, anger and lust confusingly mixing and making his blood pump faster, his cock growing harder. He pokes at the inside of that cheek where he can practically feel the red hand print form.

“God you're a freak, pretty boy.” Billy wags his tongue and stares with a confident brow. “This why Nancy Wheeler left you, huh? She couldn't keep up with your perverted desires.”

Steve doesn't speak, simply digs a hand in between them, and oh what an exciting bulge he finds there, one that forces out an “Arrh,” from stained lips and feels the hips below urge closer.

“Like you're one to talk.” Now Steve is the one to smirk, crooked and looking like the cat that got the cream.

Which Billy fucking hates. All he can do is press their lips together again and grind his full dick against Steve's hand caught between them. His movement irrepressible as he rolls his hips and swallows every single moan that spills from Steve's puffy lips, pleased and turned on by every syllable, irritated that Harrington can't just shut the fuck up.

It would be all too easy to get caught like this. But isn't that just exciting?

That thought strikes both of them at the same time it seems, because just as Steve moves his hand out of the way, Billy's flies down tear away at their belts, all the while maintaining the rhythmic dance of their ever so insatiable tongues.

Neither dares to utter a single word, because the wrong one could stop it all too soon, so they settle on hushed grunts and groans, barely a cursed word till Billy's hand shoves into Steve's trunks once his fly is down.

“A-ah- shit, Billy-” Steve moans out and closes both his hands in the denim jacket.

“Be fucking quiet, Harrington, I swear to God,” Billy hisses out with his gaze low.

Attention caught on how fucking long and hairy Steve is, the head of his flushed cock wet with pre. He doesn't waste any time with getting himself out as well, his own leaking erection girthy with clear veins snaking around. Not as long as King Steve's magnificent dick, but definitely wider.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out hard at the sight of them both out in the open like that, shiny and standing at full size.

A moan cuts through him as Billy brings his free hand up to muffle every sound, with such force that it knocks Steve's head into the wall. The pure display of dominance that that move is, makes Steve leak even worse and struggles to keep his eyes open.

“I said shut the fuck up,” Billy's voice deep and threatening.

Steve feels as if he's staring death in the eyes, and all he can do is whine and thrust his hips into the iron grip around both their throbbing cocks. It's dry and uncomfortable, but fuck if it doesn't get him to where he needs to go.

And once again their minds must be in perfect sync, because Billy brings up his hand, and Steve watches intently as Billy spits into his palm, clear blue eyes never looking up to catch how burning amber stares.

Finally he gives in, when that slick hand twists around the two of them, and Steve's eyes roll back between fluttering lids as his mind goes blank with searing pleasure. A calloused hand, thick veins, hoarse groans, all of it the only things to matter in his world now, as every practiced jerk of his all too hard prick tears away at his self control and shoves him into the deep end of urges he never realized he had.

Urges he doesn't care to ignore.

Never before has he heard Billy go this long without insulting him, and he kinda misses it. He fights to open his eyes again, and catches how Billy's brows are raised high up and pinched together, his mouth wide as he barely manages to choke his own moans before they grow too loud, stare locked down where he's fisting them together with such fervor he could light a fire with it.

Steve is aching to hear Billy call him names, throw around abuse like it's nothing and shame him for something, anything. Perhaps tonight will give him new material finally, call him a queer or gay, just to then overpower him as he always does when they fight, now maybe followed by... a handjob? A blowjob? As long as his hands are on him, Steve won't complain anymore.

Can't complain when he's so close. He hadn't realized how badly he needed release at all till Billy had started pushing into him just minutes ago. Had their constant struggle just been pent up sexual tensions? Was this what it was all leading up to? An inevitability? Billy pumping his closed hand around them in a gross as all hell elevator, feeling every single inch of Steve's painfully intense erection?

“Fuck, ah shit, lift up your shirt,” Billy's quick to groan out with labored breathing that stutters as he speeds up his hand as fast as he can go.

And Steve doesn't hesitate to do as told, brings both hands from Billy's jean jacket to his own striped polo and lifts it up as high as he can, what with the way they're crammed together in a corner.

Feels the heat gather, the coil in his gut tightening till it's seconds away from springing, the vice grip around him doing wonders in pulling him to the edge, then shoves him off as he cums, hips shoving into Billy's rough hand with short bursts as he moans against the one stealing away his air, feels how he ejects wet heat all over his abs in a toe-curling feat.

Shortly followed by Billy as he empties all he's worth onto Steve's stomach, forehead pressed on top of the hand covering Steve's mouth, eyes still unblinking as he watches what a gorgeous mess they're making. He squeezes their spent dicks till the last drop drips down his broad fingers, and then lifts up his hand.

Ensures that Steve is watching, as Billy sticks out his whole tongue and licks his hand clean, sucking on the digits till there's not a trace left.

Steve moans into his hand at that, and despite the fact that he's been depleted of all his energy, still feels it jolt through him and burn into his memory for forever.

Finally Billy pulls his hand from Steve's mouth, and wipes the spit off in his jeans as he steps away.

And Steve nearly collapses without the support of thick muscles to keep him up, boneless in the afterglow of the best orgasm he's had in months. But... what's he going to do with the way they've painted his abdomen? There's no fucking towels or paper here, and he can't just take off his expensive polo shit and use that! He stares down in slight panic and gestures with his hands as if he's just going to, what, wipe it off?

When his sight gets blinded by something soft that reeks of musky sweat, and he catches Billy's shirt before it would fall to the floor. He looks up to see Billy put his jacket on again.

“Use that to uh...” He points to the cum that slowly runs down Steve's exposed skin.

Although hesitant for very good reasons, Steve does eventually wipe himself dry with Billy's tee, and awkwardly hands it back, as if he can really use it for anything now.

And a prolonged silence fills the air between them, as Steve remains in the corner and Billy struggles a bit with the doors; no clue what floor they're on anymore, and the counter above probably hasn't worked in years.

“What happens now?” Steve asks cautiously from where he's sitting in the same corner, a spot that he dares not leave.

Billy groans out a complaint and shakes his head at the immovable steel doors. Then goes to sit next to Steve with only slight space between their bodies.

“You mean if we make it out of here alive?” he laughs, and hears Steve give a tired chuckle as well. “That depends...” his tone grows wary and serious. “Harrington... if you tell anyone about this, I will fucking kill you, you understand?”

Their eyes meet, and in Billy's there's a storm of mixed feelings. Fear of getting hurt, premature anger of being found out about, and maybe hope? But that could just be Steve projecting his own thoughts and feelings onto the other.

“And what if I don't?” Steve swallows hard around the anxiety that clumps together in his throat. “What if I don't tell anyone about... us?”

One corner of Billy's rather stern grimace quirks up. “Then I'll see you tomorrow night.”

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter eight: the red eye

Sam and Alex both climbed into the ambulance together so to keep themselves safe on the way back to Munich. He leaned his back to the inside wall and pulled his knees up towards his chest. She nestled closer to him in order to keep him a little more company on the way back to the hotel.

Her body ached and she still shuddered a bit from the feeling of being so close to the fireball. Nothing a cool shower could rectify for the both of them however.

She still wondered what he had said to her in Russian back to her, especially when she peered back at him and he gazed on at her with a thoughtful look on his face. His dark eyebrows were sharp and his eyes were as clear as a bell. Those tears did something for him just to clear his eyes.

Sam considered putting her arm around him once again, just to hold him close to her once again: she could still see it within those deep set eyes. Indeed, whenever she shut her eyes, the inferno burned itself further into her memory like the cherry at the end of a cigarette.

“Did you see where the girls went off to?” he asked her as he adjusted the blanket draped about his shoulders.

“The Cherry Suicides? I'm afraid not, no.” She shivered a bit even though she wasn't cold.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, it's just—”

“Memory,” he filled in.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, me, too. My chest still hurts from that panic attack. Like I couldn't breathe.”

“You feel like everything is about to shut down,” she followed along, “or like you're about to die of a heart attack.”

“Exactly, yeah! My chest and my stomach are both killing me. Gonna be sore tomorrow for sure.”

The double doors of the ambulance swung open and Greg and Eric climbed inside there with them.

“You guys doing alright?” the latter asked them once the doors shut behind them.

“Yeah, we're just still shook is all,” Sam replied. “You know, every time you close your eyes, and you see it there.”

“Oh, yeah,” Eric nodded his head at that. “Anyways, we're going back to Munich and Chuck said we're probably gonna just go back home after tonight.”

“Just like in England,” Sam recalled.

“Exactly like in England,” Greg nodded his head at that.

She wondered exactly how things would fare for them that night at the castle, especially with Alex so shaken from the incident. Every so often, on the ride back to the hotel, she peered over at his hands rested upon his chest and shoulders, and she noticed his fingers twitching against his shirt. She had no idea if it was from nerves or from the fact that he was a guitar player, but it was the sight to see right next to her. But his breathing had steadied out and he let his knees separate apart a bit. Eric kept his eye on the separating window at the middle of the van, the one that closed them off from the driver and the assistant medic next to him, while Greg wrapped his blanket all the way around his slender body.

“I feel like it's already been a long day,” Eric declared.

“Me, too,” Sam agreed with him.

“If nothing, we can all just go right to sleep on the flight back home,” he pointed out.

“What's the fun in that, though?” Greg asked him.

“Lots of fun in that,” Eric retorted.

“Nah,” Alex shook his head.

“Those seats are rough to sleep in,” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah, they don't recline back!” Alex said with a gesture of his hands.

“They do—sort of,” Greg added.

“Yeah, like an inch and a half or something. But that's about where it starts and ends, though.”

“Can't put your feet up, either,” Sam added.

“Can't put your feet up and you can't recline back,” Alex stated as he stuck out his fingers at the same time, “—it's just not a good time all around, either. Woe betide the poor bastard with a bad back.”

“A bad back, bad neck, bad knees—or just anyone who wants to sit comfortably,” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah!” Alex chuckled right then, a big hearty laugh that came right out of nowhere. She pictured how he would look if someone really tickled him, if someone told him something that was way too funny. She also pictured someone actually tickling him, too: with a laugh like that, he had to be ticklish.

Sam kept close to Alex all the way back there, and by the time they had reached the outside of the hotel, he sighed through his nose and tilted his head back to the wall.

“You know what else sucks to recline back in?” he asked the three of them.

“What's that?” Eric asked him.

“This damn ambulance—” Alex groaned and lifted himself up from that little seat on the wall. He bowed his head forward and hunched his shoulders: Sam considered giving him a little massage but he had already climbed to his feet before she could do anything for him.

The medic at the front of the ambulance opened the doors for the four of them: Eric climbed out on to the pavement first and Greg followed suit, still with the blanket wrapped around his body. The medic held onto Sam's hand as she stepped down from the back there: Alex lingered right behind her.

“You got it?” he asked right into her ear.

“I think so—” She almost had to sit down on the edge of the floor in order to set her feet down on the pavement.

“You have got it, fraulein,” said the medic.

“Danke,” she told him once she had both feet on the ground.

“Ah, gerne geschehen,” he said back to her with a little smile on his face, and then he helped Alex out of there. Once the four of them were reunited with each other, they awaited Chuck, Tiffany, and Louie out of the other ambulance. The Cherry Suicides were nowhere to be seen, such that Eric even made note of it once they all had congregated together on the sidewalk.

“They probably went back to Dusseldorf, come to think of it,” Chuck announced to them as he put an arm around Tiffany. Louie turned his attention to the hotel behind them: Sam could only see the side of his head and the outline of his nose, but that was enough for her to come to the conclusion that he still cared about Zelda. Even with their secrets out in the open, he still had a spot in his heart for her, or at least that was her assumption.

“We've still got time before the show has to start,” Chuck continued, “so you know—if you guys all wanna relax, we all can do that willy nilly.”

“I want a shower,” Sam confessed.

“Yeah, me, too,” Alex added as he took the blanket off and slung it over his shoulder.

“Think we have to give these back, Alex,” Eric told him.

“I think we do, too,” he said with a nod of his head.

Indeed, they handed those protective blankets back to the medics, and then they returned to their rooms within time. Sam thought about Joey, given he had taken a different ambulance from them. In fact, when she put more thought into it, she realized that she hadn't seen him since the explosion manifested over the air field.

When Chuck unlocked the room door so as to let the five of them back inside and Sam ducked into the bathroom with a fresh change of clothes so she could have first dibs on the shower, she kept her mind firmly fixated on him.

He was her boyfriend and yet he had gone away from her, which in turn left her to hold Alex close to her. It was as if he could feel her and read her mind without touching her any further than her hand. She undressed and climbed into the shower, and she switched on the water. The warmth cradled her like she did for Alex.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if that was why Alex had forgiven her with such ease: he saw Joey there on the train with her. The conversation she had had with Scott that night before flashed back into her memory. It just made a great deal of sense to her the more that she thought about it. Joey saw Alex, and in turn Joey saw her call out to him. For all she knew, Joey was trying to grab her attention because the train was moving, not because Alex had missed the doors by a few seconds.

There was just too much left unsaid, however. All she had running through her mind right at that moment remained nothing more than an educated guess and a conclusion based on Scott's advice, and even then she had no idea if she could trust his advice. The poor man was losing his hair.

She scrubbed her scalp and her hair with her fruity smelling conditioner followed by the matching shampoo: once she rinsed off, she was quick to clean off her body with the soft smelling bar of soap.

She spared no expense given there was a show before a castle in a few hours time. Once all the soap had been rinsed away, she yanked the clean white towel off of the rung and dried off her body and her hair. As she put her clean underwear on, she noticed that the bathroom door hung open by about a quarter of an inch. For all she knew, it had opened by mere mistake, but she wondered if anyone in that room had seen her in the shower that whole entire time and she was oblivious to it up to then.

She wrapped her hair up in the towel and then she put her bra back on, followed by her black jeans and that same black blouse she wore to the Providence show. She knew that she wouldn't have to take it off for them that night given it wasn't about to be that type of show that evening.

Sam headed out of there so she could let Alex take a shower for himself. She almost didn't see the point of it for him since he was about to take the stage in a few hours time, but he yearned for it regardless of anything else.

The night before she barely paid any attention to Schweinfurt Castle and the surroundings themselves given she was so preoccupied with amending things with Alex: all the lush dark trees that made up the forests and the impending darkness that was East Germany not too far from there. The gray skies overhead gave way to thick fluffy clouds that forebode torrential rain, the first rains of the season no less: Sam wondered if it was going to be anything like the rain in New York and dissipate away into a fine mist as they climbed into their van by the curb. Since they were taking the first plane out of there and back to North America, Tiffany suggested they may as well put all their things in there so they could save time.

Anthrax's van remained right behind them all the way up the autobahn to the city up the road from there. Sam hadn't seen Joey climb in but she knew he was inside of there.

Right across from her, Louie waved his drum sticks about in order to prepare for the mood that night. Alex and Eric cradled their guitars upon their laps all the way up while Chuck hummed to himself.

The darkness outside and the near miss from the fireball made Sam think of black ink drawings, the gloomy look that riddled about them. Something about the spookiness of the Black Forest out there as well as the bright hot flames over the spectators on the far side of the air field. Something to mourn. Something to bleed over with the loss of life and the preciousness of it.

She glanced over at the skull ring on Alex's right ring finger. A carpe diem and a sign that he would never be tied down to any one thing. The clock was his friend as well.

She envisioned what it exactly was that she could draw for herself once she had a chance, be it back in Lake Elsinore or the very flight itself.

Joey's black curls twirling in the wind. The little tuft of gray upon the crown of Alex's head. The trees in the forest outside as they burned in a blaze courtesy of a collision of three Air Force planes over a runway. Something to tie it all together.

She tucked the idea into the back of her mind as they took the first exit from the autobahn and into the heart of the Black Forest. Right then, the clouds overhead unleashed torrents of rain, literal torrents of rain, onto the roof of Testament's van. At one point, as they pulled up to a stoplight, Sam turned her attention to Chuck right behind her in the driver's seat. He had turned the windshield wipers all the way up and yet she could tell they were having a hard time in keeping up with the falling rain outside. Rivulets formed on the windshield and all over the windows next to him and Tiffany.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

But beyond that stoplight was the castle itself and the gravel entrance up to it. Puddles splashed on either side of the van.

“Already a shitload of rain,” Greg said aloud as he adjusted the locks on his guitar case.

“That's an understatement, dude,” Chuck told him. “I don't think we ever had this much rain back in the Bay Area.”

“I don't think we ever had this much rain out in the desert,” Sam added.

“Oh, yeah, and you guys get the monsoon flow big time down there,” he stated with a craning of his neck.

He parked underneath a tall scraggly dark pine tree that loomed up into the swirling darkness overhead. The perfect mood for what awaited them at the stage before that tall dark castle. She slid the back door open only to be greeted by literal sheets of rain all around them. She kept it open as Chuck and Tiffany made their way over to the tent that served as a backstage area between the stage and the castle.

A small group of people across the gravel from them had pitched up a tent over their van. As the five of them awaited for them to return and give word to them, she watched at least one of each of them smack on the inside of the tarp, and it took her a moment to realize that they were ridding of the extraneous water up top.

“Never seen this much rain before,” Eric proclaimed right across from her.

“Not at all,” she agreed.

Chuck yelled out something from in front of the van.

“Let's roll, gents,” Sam told them and she climbed out of there first. The rain pattered upon her already wet head, and thus it never actually perturbed her as they made their way up the gravel trail through the black trees towards the castle as it loomed in the darkness on the slight rise in the earth. Tiffany put an umbrella over their heads once they met up with her right outside of the tent.

Chuck's curls matted to the sides of his face, and his neck and shoulders, and yet none of it appeared to bother him in the very least. The seven of them congregated inside of that tent, away from all the rain as it came down on them even harder.

“I hope Anthrax can stay dry,” Greg confessed as he shook his drenched hair all about.

“Nah, it's gonna be a wet one,” Chuck told him, “mark my words, Gregory.”

Within a couple of hours time, Testament took to the stage, drenched to where their clothes stuck to their bodies. They were so soaked from the downpour that Alex had peeled off his shirt and put on nothing more than a little black leather vest over his bare body. The first time Sam had ever seen him without a shirt and out in public to boot.

The rain had washed away all the colors to where everything appeared as either a shade of black or gray, black and gray to go with the Black Forest and the castle behind them; black and gray to add to the fact that the Soviet Union and the Iron Curtain loomed right behind them. She shook her head about against the rains all around them and then she bowed forward. Her hair dangled down, still soaked, much like the inky tentacles of an octopus, much like Joey's inky black curls and ringlets, and then she lifted herself upright so her head of hair flung up into the air. It was right at that moment that she caught a view of Alex on the far side of the stage. Greg and Eric moved out of the way for her.

She watched him move around the stage much like how he did the day before. But there was something off about it, however. He kept his head bowed a little more than usual, such that his rain drenched bangs obscured the look in his eyes.

It was difficult for Chuck to head bang with such wet hair but he did it anyway.

They did that song, “Trial By Fire”, once again, as well another one from The New Order, which Chuck introduced as a song penned by Alex himself: he ran his fingers through his wet bangs and pushed them out of his eyes, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

And she realized what he was doing.

The audience had no clue that they all had almost been incinerated by a fireball.

“This song is called 'INTO THE PIT'!” Chuck shouted into the microphone.

Alex put one foot up on the amp before him once again to get them going. The four men behind Chuck launched into this vast wall of sound, one as forboding and formidable as the border a few miles to the east of there. It was that moment that Alex's little red guitar actually resembled to an ax, an ax to the head of anyone who dared cross him. Red as their blood.

Red as a fever.

Chuck's voice soared into the rain fallen heavens over them.

All she knew about this album was that it was rushed there in the hole in the wall, and yet she knew that, in those mere two minutes, they owned that whole entire corner of West Germany. She glanced over at Louie and his dark hair as it sailed all around his head as if he summoned something out from the earth underneath him.

Two minutes of red. Two minutes of Alex with his head bowed much like Minerva. Two minutes of violent drumming.

Two minutes was all it took.

The crowd before them erupted into the loudest applause she had ever heard: as far as she knew, the Cherry Suicides never warranted that much applause before.

“Danke schoen, Germany! We love you!” Chuck bellowed into the microphone head, and the five of them bowed away from the stage. He threw his arms around Tiffany and planted a kiss on her lips; meanwhile, Eric and Greg took turns giving Sam an embrace right there. But her eyes were fixated on Alex, as he stood before his amp and let the noise bleed out from the guitar strings.

The loud agonizing shriek that pierced throughout the air as a result. All she could think of was the incident at the train station. The way he let the noise meander and twist about, like a boy who had been left behind by someone he considered a friend.

“I bought him a ginger snap for god's sake,” she muttered as she shook her head; she knew Eric and Greg wouldn't hear her, either. Even though they had buried the hatchet between them, she still wondered if he still felt raw about it as he slung his guitar off of his shoulder and strode off stage with it, even as the feedback continued to sear all over the stage.

The seven of them gathered away from there as the stage hands helped clean the place off for Anthrax next.

“Yeah, I definitely say we bounce outta here and get on back to the States,” Chuck declared, “it's getting late and this rain is getting worse, too.” Sam turned her attention to the tent behind her. She spotted Frank as he picked his big white bass guitar out from the case on the floor there, and she hurried over to him with her arms wide open. He lifted his head in time and he showed her a warm little smile: she could smell the peppermint from the piece of gum pressed against his lower row of teeth.

“Gimme a hug,” she told him. “We're flying back to New York in about an hour or so.”

“Aw, you guys are leaving us already?” He was stunned by that as he put his arms around her.

“Yup—the red eye back to New York.”

“You oughta just say 'fuck it' and go back to Marla and Belinda in—they're in Albany right now, right?”

“Yeah. Oh, I know, right?” She chuckled at that. “But I can't, though. All my stuff's back at that house in Lake Elsinore, including my desk. I don't even know where they live anymore, either. And forget it with Aurora, too.”

“D'you talk to Scott, too?” he asked her in a low voice.

“I did,” she replied with a nod.

“Yeah, he actually wants to come back soon. But who knows what's gonna happen, really.” Frank shrugged his shoulders.

“Sam, c'mon!” Eric called out to her.

“Anyways, I gotta go,” she quipped.

“Okay—” They gave one another hug and then she hurried after them and back to the van under the tree. The stage hands had helped pack up Louie's drum kit and stack it inside of the van behind them; soon they were back on the road to the airport in Munich.

It was right then that the fatigue settled over Sam, such that she rubbed her eyes and relaxed every inch of her body. The thought of a long flight, albeit one that eventually lay over in New York City, felt so daunting that all she wanted was to take a nap the very second she sat down in one of those airplane seats. A hard seat that refused to recline back or not, she was ready to fall right to sleep on the flight back home.

She took her spot in the middle section, right across the aisle from Greg and Alex, and right next to Chuck and Tiffany. She set her purse right between her legs; once she opened it up to ensure that she still had her passport on her person, she spotted that journal inside of there. That journal plus a few of her black ink pens.

She decided to draw until she fell asleep given it was so late.

The plane taxied about the runway and then, complete with the light fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach, they soared through the black sky and embarked on the return to the United States. She took a pencil out from her purse in order to better sketch out the scraggly tree from the Black Forest as well as Joey and Alex as they knelt on either side of it, as if they said a prayer. She recalled what Alex had said about people in East Germany, in how they wanted Germany to be a single country again.

She wished for the two of them to bury the hatchet between them as well.

As she finished the graphite sketch itself, Chuck and Tiffany had fallen asleep right next to her. Meanwhile, across the aisle, Alex himself had leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. It took Sam a few seconds to realize that he hadn't moved a muscle in a long time as well. She leaned forward for a better look at the smooth side of his face and the soft porcelain skin there.

“Is he asleep?” Sam said across the aisle to Greg, to which he nodded in response at that.

“Sound asleep.” He glanced back at Alex and then back to her with a shake of his head. “Poor guy.”

“I know—I held him so close to me when all of that was going down, though.”

“Oh, yeah, I saw you,” Greg recalled as he raked the side of his hair with three fingers. “It was incredible, too. The time I've known him, he's always so calm and collected, and—you know, real stoic. So it was surreal to see him like that, and it was even more surreal to see him being cradled like that, too, 'cause he's a big boy.”

“Yeah, he actually pressed the side of his head to my chest. This big teenage kid just reduced to a helpless little boy. I had to hold him like that, though.”

Greg snickered a bit and he looked over at Alex again. Meanwhile, Sam tended to the ink drawing on the arm rest before her, or at least the first beginnings of it. The steadiness of the plane allowed her to lay the ink down straight up, as if she was drawing back home at her desk. She paid no attention to him and his leaning across the aisle in order to better watch her. She stopped right in place, but then she realized that they were alone there, right across the aisle from one another. But she was unsure if she wanted to move her hand out of the way for him to watch her.

“You know, I've actually been wanting to see you draw,” he said in a low voice. She frowned at that as she had no idea as to how Greg knew that she was the artist herself given he barely saw any art from her, if at all.

“Really?” she asked him, more puzzled before when she put more thought into it.

“Yeah, you know, I sometimes overhear Charlie talking about you in their hotel room, and I know they're talking about you in particular.”

“Did you hear them address me by name?”

“I think have, yeah. Like Charlie talks about those little ink drawings you made for him on the North American stint of their last tour and I think I've actually heard him mention your name at least once before.”

He then leaned closer to her and she angled the journal closer to him so he could see the drawing she was making right then.

“Is that Joey and Alex?” he asked her in a near whisper so as to not wake anyone, and she nodded at him. Drawing Alex was tricky with ink, but she left behind a blank white streak upon his head: at one point, once she had finished filling in the blackness of his hair, she went back and left behind exactly three little markings on the inside of that little tuft of gray hair to indicate that it was hair. Curls upon curls upon more curls as they twirled in the wind for Joey. Both men had knelt down on either side of the tree in meditative repose.

Greg propped his head up in the palm of his hand and watched her fill in the tree with more black ink.

The monotony of it left her eyelids feeling heavy, but she persisted until the drawing was finished. She signed her initials at the bottom of the page, and then she turned it around so he could see it for himself.

“That's fucking beautiful,” he remarked.

“Thank you, Greggy,” she told him.

“No, thank you,” he retorted back to her with a friendly little smile on his face. “You know, that's actually something I think about, too.”

“Joey and Alex just getting along with each other?”

He nodded.

“Thing is Joey's older so the assumption is that he has more experience than he does—and you know, the whole thing about Alex being precocious. It's like a tornado hitting a volcano with these two duders.”

“Surely, there's gotta be a way for them to meet in the middle,” she suggested as she brought the journal closer to her.

“I hope so, too—I think all would be well if that happens.”

Sam rubbed her eyes and Greg fetched up a yawn.

“Hey, the next time you're up in the Bay Area,” he began again, “you oughta to not only come see us again, but you ought to see Exodus, too.”

“I'd love to see them,” she declared, “especially since Marla and I missed them that one time.”

“Saw Testament by yourself—time to see Exodus solo, too.” Greg flashed her a wink and he leaned back in the seat. Sam packed the journal back into her purse with her pens and that one pencil, and she wondered exactly how she would do that given they had to literally break her out of the house in Lake Elsinore. She turned back to Greg to speak to him more, but he had already drifted off to sleep at that point however.

She sighed through her nose and leaned back in the seat herself. No sooner had she done that when she fell asleep herself, that time into a dreamless bout that ended with Tiffany waking her up.

“We're almost back home,” she told her in a broken voice.

“Oh—Oh, okay.” Sam rubbed her eyes and then strapped into the seat; all the while, she wondered as to how long that light over their heads had been on. She peered back across the aisle at Greg and Alex, both of whom had woken up before her and strapped in themselves. The latter kept his head bowed away from her prying eyes and she wondered what was going through his mind right then.

Soon, they touched down in the place she hoped that she would call her home again at some point in the future, the heart of New York City.

She shook her head about every so often as the seven of them filed off of the plane together: Testament had their instruments on their backs every step of the way through customs and to the ticket counter. Sam slipped her passport next to her journal and she rubbed her eyes again.

Fell asleep too late and as a result, her eyes had difficulty waking up.

“Seven to San Francisco,” she heard Chuck tell the attendant there.

She stopped when he said that.

“Wait. San Francisco?”

“Yeah.” He looked over at her with a twinkle in his eye. “I don't want you back in that shithole,” he confessed.

“But—all my stuff is back there, though,” she pointed out.

“It's just stuff,” he told her. “It can be replaced.”

She remembered that she had that piece of rice paper still at the bottom of her desk drawer. But before she could say anything, they had their tickets in hand and nearly an hour wait before the plane was ready.

There was nothing more that Sam wanted right then was a cup of coffee for herself, and she and Eric made their way to the nook of a cafe near the big glass front doors. The closeness of the room and the warmth from the brewing coffee made her even sleepier than before then.

“Couple'a lattes and some Mercyful Fate for the both of us?” he offered her.

“Yes, please!” she declared as she lingered close to the doorway. Something caught her eye and she peered out the door, and beyond that to the front doors.

Alex stood outside there, right at the curb as if he awaited someone to take him back home somewhere there in New York. Instead, he lingered off to the side: he wasn't smoking, but rather it appeared he stood out there for a breath of fresh air. He bowed his head a bit as something lurked close to him. Sam looked more closely at the sight of a little black cat with a white spot on its chest. Genie burst into her mind right then and she wondered how Marla was doing up the road in Albany with Belinda and of course with that cat.

Alex glanced down, and the cat peered up at him with its eyes big and dilated and its tail erect at the sight of him. Sam noticed the collar about its neck: he crouched down to the ground so the cat could smell his fingers and he could pet its head. She watched him pet this cat as it stroked closer to him and rubbed up against his lower legs.

“Doesn't it just warm your heart?” Chuck said right into her ear, such that it made her jump a bit. He laughed at that and he gave his long curls, now smooth and dry, a little toss back with a flick of his head.

“I can't really stop watching him,” she confessed to him with a shrug of her shoulders. “I don't know why, either.”

“You guys shared trauma, that's why,” Chuck explained to her in a low voice. “Shared trauma from a violent event like that is a surefire way to bond with someone because you heal together.”

“Really?”

“Well, I don't really know that for sure, but that's what Tiff tells me 'cause we've bonded a great deal more since that incident.”

Sam turned her attention back to Alex outside when the cat scurried away from him and he lifted his attention to what awaited there at the curb.

“Sam?”

She brought her attention back to Eric, who came over to her with a pair of straws in hand.

“Coffee'll be ready in a couple of minutes,” he told her, to which she nodded her head at that.

“Hey, there's my girl.” She recognized that upstate accent right behind her. She whirled around and there was Joey.

“What the hell, I thought you guys were playing at the castle tonight?” she asked him.

“I wish you didn't have to go back there,” he confessed to her.

“I wish I didn't, either,” she said; and she realized that Joey was oblivious to the fact that she had been legally bound, but she wasn't even close to being in love with Bill. He leaned in to her face for a kiss on the lips when the sound of Eric's voice broke the mood.

“Sam!”

She gasped and she almost fell backwards onto the tiles behind her. And she realized she had dozed off standing up.

“Drink this coffee, man,” Eric chuckled as he handed her the paper cup.

“Thank you,” she muttered as she rubbed her eyes again, that time with one hand. It was only an hour before the plane had to leave, and yet the fact Alex had gone from the doors outside made her a bit nervous. She hoped that, by the time the hour was up, he would find his way back there. A train ride that ran like clockwork throughout the heart of Germany was one thing, but to miss a flight would prove to be absolutely devastating.

And yet she trusted him. He woke up on the flight like clockwork, thus he could return to the next flight plan out to California like clockwork. Doubt still lingered in her mind however. It was a large airport and a bit of a walk to the terminal as well.

“I bought him a ginger snap, for god's sake,” she muttered as she sipped on the fresh hot latte.

[eris-builds-a-world]

OC-tober Day 3: Duel

Prompt list by @oc-growth-and-development​ 

Duel between Ever (she/her) and Kori (he/him). They’re both about 17 years old. Futuristic setting, where they are part of an elite mission on a distant planet. 

Warnings for violence against both characters, swearing, and use of weapons.

***

“Fight me!” Ever screamed, making another lunge at the boy in front of her. 

Kori backed away, panic rising in his circuits. Ever clearly wasn’t giving up on this. The girl had worked herself into a frenzy, and despite his best efforts, Kori couldn’t think of a way to talk her down. 

“What is that going to prove?” he asked, his volume rising louder than intended. He dodged another of her blows, but she responded with a quick kick to his chestplate. “Either you win, and my siblings--” he rocketed back several feet, avoiding a kick to his face “--aren’t very good at designing protective casings. Or I win, because I have literal iron bars for bones! I don’t want to hurt you!” 

The girl didn’t let up at his warnings, but raced toward him for another punch. 

“Coward!” she hollered, her voice cracking. “Cheater!” A flurry of punches, and then her foot slammed down on his boot, sinking him slightly into the ground. Although the air was thick, the sand around them was billowing up from Kori’s earlier propulsion. 

This close, Kori could see pure hatred in Ever’s eyes. Pink and blue strands of hair stuck to the sweat on her forehead, and Kori tried not to look at the spit forming around her mouth. 

“You cheat death and leave the rest of us to starve!” Kori thought her shouting was unnecessary, as they were standing face to face, but she continued, her contempt lifting up to the skies. “You will never be a person, you’re nothing but scrap metal. You should have stayed six feet under like you belong!” 

As gingerly as he could, Kori caught her hands in his own, keeping her from throwing more blows. She yanked back, but his grip held firm. He thought about lifting her by her hands and flying them back to base as they were. The purple bruises around her wrists gave him second thoughts, though. He worried her earlier punches may have caused broken bones, and lifting her like this might lead to more damage. 

His indecision gave her the opening she needed. With all her might she kicked at his knee, trying to bend it backwards. Kori stumbled, releasing his grip, and in the time it took to blink, the girl had pulled a knife out of who-knows-where and was jabbing it at his face. 

Kori threw a hand up in defense and soon found it punctured, the end of the knife sticking through his hand. He was sure he saw Ever’s lips curl in satisfaction. A quick assessment told him the hydraulics in his hand would need to be repaired.

The next minute was a flurry of sand and dirt, Ever continuing her attacks and Kori deflecting. When Kori had Ever soundly knocked to the ground, he flew into the air, getting more distance between them. But when the dust settled, she was no longer lying in the sand as he expected. 

A flash of blue hair ducked behind their dune buggy, and Kori dodged away before a taser blast made impact with his midsection. He cautiously descended so he wouldn’t have to shout as loud. 

“This is pointless,” he told her. “Isn’t it good? Shouldn’t families be reunited if they can? I’m not a machine. Or...I mean, I am, but I’m not replacing a person. I just have...prosthetics.” He gestured to her and the empty supply route they had been traveling along. “You’re just angry at everything, and you’re getting yourself hurt.” 

Several taser blasts shot toward him. He had to admire her aim, because despite his trajectory tracking, she managed to clip his hip. For a moment, his world went dark and he plummeted to meet the ground. When he regained his sight, Ever was standing on his wrists, her rifle pointed at his head. 

“Reunited?” The word dripped like poison. “Like anyone cares about reuniting families if there’s no money in it. I think I have a right to be angry!” Now the rifle was at his throat. “No one seemed to care about reuniting families when they decided my land was expendable! Where were all the medical teams and body upgrades for us? News flash, there are still actual people planet-side, trying to survive wars.” 

Some quick math told him yes, he could flip Ever off of him before she took her next shot. Her rant continued, and he waited for the best timing. 

“But you?! You beef it and everyone rushes to mop you up and turn you into a machine. No one deserves to be immortal, least of all some pampered satellite bastard like you!” 

Kori stiffened at that. The idea that his life had any correlation to the word pampered was laughable. He hadn’t known what her life was like on Earth, so yeah, he didn’t blame her for going ballistic. But she clearly had no idea what his life was like either. He figured blowing off some steam wasn’t a bad idea after all. 

“Fine, you want to do this?” he snarled back, trying his best to make his face plates look aggressive. “No one’s here to stop us. If you’re that angry, hit me like you mean it.” And he flung her into the air. 

Her rifle shot went wide, but she kept a tight grip on the firearm while she landed unsteadily on her feet. 

Kori (mostly) no longer held back, trading blow for blow, and trying to knock the rifle from her arms when he had the chance. Her knife made a comeback, and he wasn’t even sure where she was keeping that! In a matter of minutes, scorch marks spattered the ground. Kori propelled into the air just to get a break from her rage, but she latched on, and soon they were both several stories in the air. Shit, he didn’t want to accidentally drop her and kill her. 

But she didn’t seem phased by the risk of falling, and the close proximity only fueled her on, giving her a chance to try to stab her knife under his shoulder blade. 

As the two came crashing down to the ground, Kori made a mental note to apologize to her later for the likelihood of giving her more broken bones. The fall only mildly slowed her frenzy, and she was back on him in a flash. She was pulling at ears and joints, anything she could find purchase on. Kori was certain if she found a way inside his casing, she would dismantle him then and there. 

So he punched her. Really punched her, and she fell several feet back. The sand dug into her limbs and face, but when they locked eyes, Kori saw her grinning wildly. Like, an actual smile. Which would have been amazing if it wasn’t so terrifying. 

Ever lunging back at her opponent, and Kori found his shoulder trapped in a hold as Ever twisted his arm around her own arm and leg. In her pained state, she put all her strength into pulling his shoulder apart; which she was quickly succeeding at. Kori could feel the metal arm separating from its socket, wires stretched to their limit and fraying. He was going to lose his arm, not to an alien invasion, but to an upset teammate. 

“Okay, ow. Ow!” Kori scrambled to push her off from him, but she wasn’t relenting. “Stop already! Ow!” Kori squealed. 

And then she let go. 

They sat on the ground staring at each other. Kori counted 11 agonizing seconds. Ever’s sweat had turned the sand on her body into mud, which was caked on her clothes and certainly getting trapped in the open wounds she had received. Kori’s hand was leaking an undisclosed fluid. 

“That really hurt? You weren’t just faking?” Ever asked. Kori noticed her arm was shaking, though her fist tightened its grip on her knife.

“Duh, you were trying to rip my arm off!” 

Ever huffed. “Nearly succeeded too, if you weren’t such a baby.” She was quiet for a beat. Then she let out a war cry loud enough Kori was certain homebase could hear it. As her voice quieted, Kori thought she was actually laughing. 

“Thanks, bolts-for-brains. I needed that. You would think if you’re supposed to be some superweapon, they would make you out of thicker stuff. Remind me not to depend on you for life-and-death situations.”

For awhile, the only sound was her labored breathing and a metallic grinding, like gears out of synch. 

“I guess we should...head back to camp?” Kori suggested. Ever nodded. He noted that the girl made no attempt to stand up. 

“If you need, I could carry you,” he offered. 

“Hell no.” She climbed to her feet, trying and failing to hide a grimace. “Though I guess if you use your rocket boots, I won’t try to stab you if we...hold onto each other and fly back. It might make you actually useful for once.” 

“About that,” Kori countered. “You cut the fuel line when you were stabbing my leg. Rocket engines are out of commission.” 

“Ha!” Ever shouted. “I’m proved right once again! You heard it here, sand scum, robots are completely useless!” 

And so they began the tedious journey back. Kori eyed his human companion. Her hands were...well, “mangled” was the best description Kori could find. He was sure the team would put her in double casts for the foreseeable future. And Kori didn’t even want to think about what Zed would do when he saw Kori’s shoulder...and fuel line...and shielding...and hand. 

Stealing another glance at Ever, he was pretty sure she walked with a proud swagger after the damage she had done to him. Or maybe that was just a limp.

[writethehousedown]

Conflicted Looks Good On You (Crystal x Gigi) - Mina

A/N: Hi everyone, i’m so excited to finally get to participate in one of these challenges! I worked really really hard on this so I hope you enjoy it, this is possibly my best fic yet? :> Please go say hello on my blog @goodemornting !!

Crystal works as a lifeguard for the scariest ride in the entire waterpark, The Vortex of Death. Gigi hates scary things, but might make an exception for the pretty woman who keeps on saving her.

The first time Gigi met Crystal, she’d been dying. No, literally dying.

There was water in her lungs, and it felt like she was drowning from the inside. Her feet were somehow stuck to something that felt like clammy plastic, almost suffocating against her skin. The sky was blurry above in bruised shades of purple, great swathes of orange cutting across it, and it looked like the skies in those terrible indie horror movies Jackie sometimes made her watch. There was a procession of skulls above her as well, faces grotesque and grimy with tongues protruding from bony cheeks and dripping drool into a pool of flames, and Gigi couldn’t help but wonder whether the devil had finally gotten the best of her and sent her down to hell.

Her first coherent thought was thighs. Good thighs. Nice, strong, tan thighs with a soft layer of muscle. The kind of thighs she’d like to see walking around the house on lazy Sunday mornings, blue shorts attached to them and a tacky, overlong red T-shirt hanging down just below the waistline. Water-drops clung to wet skin and ran down in interesting little rivulets, creating intricate lines that could be traced most efficiently with a tongue.

Pair of Thighs had to have a face up there somewhere, Gigi hoped, but then again this was hell so was she really sure?

She chocked at the feel of hands intertwining with her own, grip tight and unflinching as they struggled to lift her up. The gaping skulls and fire became spirals of blood-red spots, scrunching her eyes up and letting herself be lifted from the water. She tried to breathe in and felt her lungs burn, throat tight and painful.

A hand thumped her back hard.

Gigi sputtered, dribbling water. She almost managed to cough out a sentence but then someone’s mouth was on her own, knocking any coherency straight back out of her with the feel of soft lips pulling harshly to get a better grip. She startled, shoulders tensing, but her arms didn’t have the strength to pull away. She tasted sugary peaches, like the kind that filled the cakes and pastries in cafe windows, warm fingers on the back of her head offering the lightest pressure, before they pulled away with a quiet gasp. Gigi scrambled back, and in her daze, managed to kick someone squarely in the chest.

“Holy shit! Holy shit, Gigi!”

If this really was hell and peachy-tan-thighs-girl was a demon, then Gigi was screwed because somehow she’d also brought her best friend into this equation.

“J-Jackie?”

The Persian woman crowded her field of vision, shoulders slumping in relief at the brunette’s words. She looked pale, a wet towel slung over her neck and brown eyes comically huge behind her glasses. Her hands were pressed against her face, squishing up her cheeks in nervous panic, and Gigi thought she looked like a twelve-year-old.

“Oh my god, what were you thinking? Why did you do that?” She screeched, hands clutching her heart as though it might beat right out of her chest “Did you get water in your head or something? I thought you were going to die!” Gigi looked back at her hazily, almost apologetic for how nervous the older woman looked.

“D-do what?” The younger gasped out, shaking slightly from the cold water hugging her skin.

“Jump out of the floatie!” Jackie hissed, turning to speak to someone out of Gigi’s vision. “I’m sorry, are you all good?”

“I’m fine.” A honey voice laughed gently, breathing heavily, “Is your friend alright now?”

“She seems to be alive,” Jackie trilled, high and panicky. “And talking. Is that bad?”

“Oh, no, that’s great. Maybe you can head to the cafe, get some sugar in her.”

Gigi floundered to sit up and get a full look of peach girls face, rubbing at her eyes that were stinging from the pool water. The lifeguard was still clutching her chest in pain, but her grin was square and wide and her striking orange hair was pulled back from her face in a messy ponytail. A jarringly purple headband covered half her forehead, keeping her curly hair off her face, and Gigi saw manicured brows, soft lips and golden, tan skin. The top lip was thicker than the bottom one, which was interesting, and the brunette told herself she was only staring so hard because those lips had been on hers just a few moments ago.

Because Gigi had - apparently, in panic - jumped off her floatie in the midst of the scariest ride in the fucking park, the Vortex of Death, and proceeded to injure the poor lifeguard.

She felt her heart stop again. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, “I’m really sorry, oh my God. I kicked you. After you saved me. I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I like saving lives.” The woman grinned like it was nothing, waving a hand nonchalantly which the brunette noticed had fingernails painted in rainbow colours. “Not often that I have to climb up half the ride to do it, but it shook up my day a little.”

Jackie tried ineffectively to dry Gigi’s hair with her wet towel, scoffing under her breath. “Don’t you usually save people lower down?”

“Yep. Most pass through the shark dive before they panic and flail and I have to go pull them out.”

Gigi frowned. “Where was I?”

“Still in the flame thrower part.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed. At least you didn’t drown.”

Jackie was nodding, though she looked like she was trying to convince herself that everything was okay more than Gigi. She still looked horrified, patting the brunette’s head with that towel and biting down on her lip so hard that Gigi was afraid she’d tear right through.

“It’s okay, honey,” The older whispered, “You can get stuck in the shark dive next time.”

The lifeguard girl giggled loudly at that, shoulders shaking gently. Her voice was a pretty, smooth thing, sling-shotting itself straight into Gigi’s veins, but her laughter itself was heady and adorable. Her one piece swimsuit showcased an embroidered burning skull with the words Vortex of Death beneath it, hardly fitting of the bright brown eyes and gummy smile the taller woman possessed. Her name-tag badge said Crystal, which was a weird one, but who was Gigi to judge? Her blue shorts looked tight and stuck to her skin way too snug, hugging her toned muscles. It wasn’t fair, because even in her tacky lifeguard clothes, Crystal looked like she belonged in a summer fashion catalog. She didn’t look real, much more suited to a beach in the Mexican coast or a hip village in the south of France or something, working on her perfect tan skin.

She certainly did not look like she should be giving CPR in a shitty waterpark in a tiny corner of southern California, and Gigi was immediately mesmerized - cartoon heart eyes, dry mouth, shaky hands - the whole package.

“Do you feel like you can stand up?” Peach girl - Crystal - asked with a tilt of her head. She looked concerned, warm eyes fixed on Gigi’s own and large palm held out for her to hold.

“Y-yeah.”

“Awesome,” She grinned. “Come on, then. Take my hand.”

The younger woman grabbed at it, ignoring the way her heart jumped at the feel of her long fingers closing around her palm, strong and promising. Crystal yanked her up and off of the concrete, catching her neatly after she yet again stumbled into her arms. Gigi gaped up at her, halfway dead again from mortification, but the tan woman’s smile was warm and kind, carving deep laugh lines into her cheeks.

She swallowed hard and felt her insides flutter.

That had been the beginning of her doom.

***

“Nicky says she’s imprinting on you,” Jan grinned when they met at the entrance to the park, under the palm trees surrounding the ticket booth. “Like baby ducks imprint on mom ducks. Only your mom is a hot lifeguard who’s mandated to wear those teeny shorts.”

“She’s not my mom,” Gigi hissed, but Jan didn’t paying attention. “What’s up with this dumb park and teeny shorts, anyway?”

The blondes head turned as a woman passed them by, gaze lingering on the same uniform swimsuit. Gigi had been at this park enough times now to recognize the broad shoulders and dark hair of Jaida, the girl who handled the Lazy River. She spotted her sometimes with Crystal, fooling around when the crowds were less and they had nothing to do. She low-key resented the woman because it was absolutely impossible not to, Jaida was gorgeous, like, beach model, I-do-runway-shows-for-fun gorgeous, and they were super touchy and flirty and annoying all of the time. Once, at Gigi’s insistence, Nicky had asked Jaida if the two were dating. The dark haired woman’s response had been loud, deep laughter, and a pat to the top of Nicky’s head.

“Her name’s Jaida, if you want to know,” She told Jan with a frown, hoping she didn’t sound too aggressive, “She’s really pretty, huh.”

“Jackie told me her name,” Jan replied thoughtfully, craning her neck to keep gazing at the older lifeguard. “Your Crystal is pretty too. Doesn’t she sing as well?”

“She only does one direction songs,” Gigi muttered, shouldering past the older girl to pay for tickets, “She’s a real pro at those, though.”

A loud snicker from behind her told her that Nicky had finally joined them. “She’s a weird one, huh?“

“She’s not weird,” Gigi pouted, crossing her arms, “She’s just…she’s different.”

The French woman snorted, “You act the sun shines out of her ass.”

The brunette pinched the bridge of her nose exasperatedly, “Why the fuck did I bring you guys?”

“Because you know it’s too lame to come to water parks alone.”

Nicky added, “Do you really think we have nothing better to do with our weekends?”

Gigi raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t.”

The French woman frowned, “Well, yeah, fair. But it wasn’t me who decided to crush on the lifeguard that strictly works at the scariest ride in the entire water-park, while having the biggest fear of water.”

“Will you ever let that go?”

“I don’t know. You might have to actually get the girl before that.”

They passed through the entrance to the park, Gigi’s feet acting on their own as they dragged her to her inevitable destination, the stone pathway leading up to the scariest ride in the entire park. Jan laughed once they arrived, nudging the brunette’s shoulder, “Hey, how many times do you think we’ve come here in the last six weeks?”

Gigi didn’t reply, she didn’t know if she was ready to acknowledge the number yet. She knew exactly how many times.

Twenty.

Twenty fucking times she’d come to the water park in the last month, and twenty fucking times she’d climbed into the Vortex with her heart beating out of her chest. It never stopped being terrifying, she never stopped feeling like she’d puke, but somehow, she’d conditioned herself at a Pavlovian level to look forward to it.

To look forward to Crystal meeting her at the bottom of the ride, beaming smile preemptively in place and warm hands waiting to yank her out of the water.

Crystal. Gigi tried out the name nearly every day since the lifeguard had told it to her. Tonguing it around in her mouth, getting a feel for it. Crystal.

Crystal was always there, waiting at the end of the ride like a little guardian angel dressed in her teeny shorts and sometimes that purple headband, reaching out to help the hapless souls flailing in her pool after being spit out by the hell-ride.

What’s up, Gigi would ask, cool as you please. And Crystal would reply excitedly, did you have fun? She would nod, very cool, as if she hadn’t just spent the last one minute screaming her head off like a banshee. As if she hadn’t felt her soul fly up all the way to her gullet, hanging on by a bare thread for the entire duration of the ride. And how was your week, busy yeah? She’d ask, swallowing down her nausea. And Crystal would say something cute, something funny, like oh, I had to dig two people out of the slide today. No big deal.

The lifeguard always smelt like something citrus and tropical, only slightly layered with the chemicals in the water. She always had those peach-shine lips, and Gigi wondered how much lipbalm the lifeguard must go through because they’re more likely to become chapped with all the chlorine she was in contact with. Gigi would stay for a few minutes, chatting with her, asking her things. Do you like pizza? I like pizza, and Do you like sewing? I like sewing. She learned that Crystal likes dancing, and eating Italian food. That Crystal’s accent is colored with the heavy Spanish she picked up from growing up in Mexico. That when she’s not saving lives in the dumb theme park she moonlights as a bartender in some tiny club.

Crystal had even come to expect her, always asking where she’d been if the brunette hadn’t shot down the Vortex for a few days. It lit something fierce in Gigi’s heart when she did that, knowing that the older girl thought of her when she wasn’t around. She would absolutely keep coming back, waste her money on tickets and climb into a ride that scares the soul out of her, just to hear the older woman say what have you been up to? I missed you this week.

It’s a potent sort of crush. Puppy-love strong, blood on fire, wanting-to-serenade-with-roses-and-tulips sort of thing.

Gigi is so gone.

“You okay to do the Vortex alone today?” Jan asked, bouncing giddily on her toes, “Nicky and I are thinking of doing the Lazy River.”

Of course they were. They were going to spend most of that Lazy River ride falling out of their floaties and scraping their heads along the side and bumping into others - general incompetent nonsense that’d get Jaida to follow them exasperatedly along the edges of the entire course. “Sure, try not to get yourselves killed.” What she wanted to say is please don’t go, I’m so terrified, but the idea of getting some precious alone time with a certain tan skinned lifeguard has her holding her head up confidently, walking through the fiery entrance alone like she wasn’t about to faint.

The line dwindled. The Vortex’s head was shaped like a screaming man, tiny red and black striped boats sitting in lines ready to escort people through the horror show. No matter how many times Gigi stood there, waiting to be launched down the steep throat and into the spinning, spiraling slide, she still got awful butterflies at the thought of it. There was only one more person in front of her, and then she would have to go, and the worst part was waiting for the safety-guard to rise and for the beep to sound and for her to be launched down that deep, dark tunnel like a rocket into space.

The person in front of her was thrown down the slide, a scream rising from their throat like cold murder. Gigi shuffled forward, grimacing at the ride’s technical controller who offered her a sympathetic smile. Why do people make these things? Who wants to be scared out of their wits while being sling-shotted into a dark, amniotic chamber full of echoing sounds and slick, red walls? What is this fascination with knowing what it’s like to possibly be swallowed by a giant whale or something? Why are people so intensely entertained by—

“Fuck!” Her hands scrambled for purchase as she was propelled forward, the ride making a terrible screeching sound as the plastic slid against the slide. The skulls leered at her from every turn, the disgusting laughing sound that seemed to have been recorded in the pits of purgatory itself cheering her on from the speakers hidden in the walls. Gigi shrieked, the sound echoing off the walls and bouncing through the chamber along side her.

She could almost see Crystal now, sitting on her lifeguard chair, peering down the tunnel to see whether Gigi would get stuck inside the exit. “A lot of people get stuck on that part, y’know,” The older woman had told her once. “It’s a structural defect. But most people find it hilarious and it adds to the experience, so they don’t fix it.”

Gigi hadn’t had the heart to tell her that most people probably also appreciate the sight of Crystal climbing up to get them, pole in hand, to poke them out of position. Crystal - narrow yet broad, big yet small, a mess of contradictions and odd features and little flaws brought together into the perfect person. Gigi could hardly believe she wasn’t a fever dream.

The redhead’s sunglasses were bright green and heart-shaped that day, reflecting the afternoon sun and doing wonders for her tan skin. Gigi barely had time to glimpse before she fell right out of her floatie and straight into the pool, the splash sound reverberating through the water. She went under and spluttered for a while, bright blue in her eyes and burning water in her throat, before familiar arms dragged her out and greeted her with a tight embrace.

“You never stick the landing right,” Crystal hummed, looking down at her through a teasing smile, “Hi, Gigi.”

“Hey,” The younger woman replied breathlessly, holding up a weak thumbs up. “What’s shaking?”

“You tell me,” The taller woman raised an eyebrow teasingly, “Pretty nasty fall you had today, looked like you were about to cry.”

Gigi pushed the hair out of her eyes, trying to appear dignified, “Are you making fun of me?” Crystal’s eyes widened, shaking her head frantically.

“No!” The taller woman assured, hands flurrying to deny the statement, “You looked graceful, almost! Very pretty. Do people ever tell you how pretty you are? Because I think so.” She spoke very quickly, that heavy accent dripping honey-like into every word, and Gigi could hardly catch what she was saying. That was endearing too. Crystal’s lashes fluttered excitedly. “You’re really something, Geege.”

The brunette peered at her, trying to make out if all of this had a layer of hilarity to it. The redhead didn’t look like she was joking, just gazed at Gigi happily - so earnest and serious, eyes round and lamp-like, a one thousand kilowatt smile. Skin all supple and tan and pretty, hair drawn back from her face, standing there knee-deep in chlorinated water fangirling over her. Her big, bubbly lifeguard crush. Gigi sort of just really wanted to kiss her head.

She cleared her throat. “I thought it must look kinda weird, falling off every time I get on this ride,”

“No, it isn’t! You look cool, dramatic. You look like an actress.”

“Really?”

“Really. Your clothes look cool, too. I love your swimsuit!.” Crystal beamed, gesturing down at Gigi’s white lace bikini. Her hands were still resting on Gigi’s shoulders, big palms squeezing gentle, so soft that a butterfly couldn’t get away with it. “You should be confident.”

“I am.”

“That’s good, then.” The redhead licked her lips - a quick pink swipe, leaving her mouth glossier still. “Wow, I can’t believe I know someone so gorgeous. It’s

awesome.”

Crystal smile was pearly and bright, starry-eyed, mouth that cool blush tone that reminded the brunette of fresh strawberries and fluffy blankets. “That’s pretty lame,” Gigi laughed, cheeks getting warmer by the second.

“Five people have gotten stuck since morning,” The lifeguard grinned, “One was this girl, she screamed the funniest things ‘till I got her out of there, you should have heard it. Sometimes I think people hate this ride. They do it once because it’s so famous and everyone wants to look cool, but they secretly can’t stand it.”

Gigi glanced back at the Vortex and shivered, her heart still pounding from the twists and jumps of the tunnels packed inside. All of what the taller had just said applied to her, too, but she’d left out the one variable that kept bringing her back.

She wondered if Crystal knew what she looked like.

“You come back, though,” The redhead observed, peering around Gigi in preparation for the next person screaming their way through the stone chamber. “You seem to love this ride. You must be a really brave person.”

Gigi chuckled weakly, her stomach flipping. “I like to live dangerously,” She lied through her teeth.

“Yeah?” Crystal lit up. “So do I! I’ve been wanting to go to the summer festival so bad. There’s this crazy roller-coaster this year, did you see it?”

She’d seen it. She’d seen it many, many times, all over her Instagram feed no matter how many times she told the app she was Not. Interested. It was a monstrous thing, must be the size of two baseball pitches, at least three times what the vortex was. Just looking at it had been enough to make her want to melt into the floor, so of course Crystal was absolutely enamored by it.

“They brought it in from Australia or something. I keep asking Jaida to come with me, but she says she’s scared, which is weird because normally she’s good with this stuff-“

Sometime in between Crystal opening her mouth and closing it, Gigi had begun to nod violently. She’s not sure when it started, but her mouth twisted into a warming smile. It felt like she was no longer in control of her own voice as she hummed, “I can go with you, if you want.”

The redhead looked at her, wide-eyed, a little daze of possibility sparking in her gaze. “Really?” She asked, and then frowned skeptically. “I mean you don’t really know me, and I wouldn’t want to pressure you..”

“I’d love to go, promise,” Gigi beamed, earnest. “I - uh - I love roller-coasters. Who doesn’t?”

“Right.” Crystal brightened, cheeks puffing up from her wide smile. Excitement made her look soft, even softer, actually, lit her up from the inside like a little doll that smiles when you push at its tummy. Gigi heard a swoosh of blood rushing in her ears. “What reason is there to be scared? You go on the thing, you have the time of your life, you feel alive. You know?”

The brunette could think of at least five hundred reasons to be scared. “Alive.” She mumbled, clenching her jaw, “Alive. Yep.”

The lifeguard giggled happily. “When do you want to go?”

There was a little kick in Gigi’s gut, a last ditch attempt to get her out of something she knew she shouldn’t be doing. “W-whenever. I’m free…Monday night?” Too bad, she had done it anyway.

Crystal near vibrated in excitement, bouncing on the heels of her toes. “Okay! Okay. Monday night. I’ll meet you there.” Her eyes twinkled, round pupils gazing into Gigi’s more piercing ones, and the younger woman felt as though she was going to faint yet again.

The splash of someone else landing in the pool startled them both, a quiet scream following it from underwater. The redhead shot her an apologetic look, - gotta go now - and padded her way over to the flailing person, warm-voiced and gentle and smiling as she helped them up.

The brunette climbed out of the pool, looking back once, and then started to move towards a different ride before she made another decision she’d regret.

“Geege!” Crystal called, waving dramatically back at her, “Monday, don’t forget. It’s a date!”

Gigi nearly stumbled into a bush.

***

In all matters not involving math, scary rides, and one particular tan-skin lifeguard, Georgina Goode was very competent.

She made and designed clothing, with some help from Nicky. She liked to cook, and she liked living alone, and she liked women. She liked some fun with her sense of organization, too, so on most weekends that she didn’t have to work, she ended up in a club with Jan.

“Cute girl at eight o’clock,” The blonde slurred, happily pulling Gigi this way and that in vaguely the rhythm of whatever song was being played, “She’s been looking at you all night.”

She turned to look, but it was like her mind’s eye had shrunk to develop an omnipotent focus only on Crystal. Her gaze found the new girl and slipped away quickly, disinterested. She turned back to Jan with a shrug. “Not my type.”

“Oh, you have a type now?” The older woman’s smile was knowing, “The type that makes you go on scary rides? Loud, smiley, tan?”

Gigi shook her head, groaning, “I’m going with her to the autumn festival tomorrow.”

Jan’s eyes went wide, stopping in her tracks and mouth gaping wide, “Really? You finally asked her out? Lifeguard Crystal?!”

The music changed, some pop anthem, and Jan lit up and tugged on Gigi’s arm to pull her further into the dance floor. The brunette grinned and shimmied closer. She liked dancing with Jan, because Jan was the rare breed of person who’d recite all the properties of antibiotics or whatever she was studying at nursing school while performing a slut-drop. Jan never made things weird. Even then, she was probably contemplating Gigi’s potential future with “Lifeguard Crystal” as she swayed her hips enthusiastically to the rap music.

“Well, she’s not bad looking, I guess.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Fine, fine. She’s fucking hot. Like. Ridiculously hot.”

“That’s more like it.”

Jan’s brows creased, offering a sympathetic smile. “But you don’t know her very well, babe.”

“I know her better than that girl over there you were suggesting I take home.”

“Fair point,” The blonde frowned, reaching around Gigi to grab her drink from the table. “But what if she’s…Oh, fuck it. Enjoy your date with Crystal. She of the life-giving mouth and tiny blue shorts. Just be safe, okay?”

“Yeah, well,” Gigi hesitated, dry-mouthed, ignoring the patronizing tilt of the older woman’s head. “I don’t think this date is ending that way.”

The blonde narrowed her eyes, “Why? What are you two doing?” She asked skeptically, downing a sip of her vibrantly coloured cocktail.

She took a deep breath, “Going on the roller coaster at the summer festival.”

Jan spat out her drink, looking back at the younger woman with eyes the size of saucers. “What?” She spluttered, loud enough that club goers around her startled and looked in their direction. “Have you seen that thing? It’s monstrous. It’s abominable. It’s an absolute atrocity, Gigi.”

“We want to feel alive.”

“You sound really dead right now.”

“I know.” She sighed, hiding her face behind her palms, “She just, Crystal, she’s… special, y’know? I want to impress her so bad, it’s insane,”

“Of course you do.” Jan put her small hand to Gigi’s jaw, furrowing her brows. The younger woman leaned into it, taking a deep breath. “God, it’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Maybe I just need to see her out of those shorts for once. Break the spell.”

The blonde shook her head. “It’s bad,” she whispered, nodding to herself and patting Gigi’s cheek gently. “So bad.”

“Janet,” the brunette whispered hoarsely, “How much do I need to pay for you to come to the summer festival and drag my body away if I die on this thing?”

***

On Sunday evening when Crystal messaged her to ask are we still on? with a flurry of heart emojis and a mermaid, the brunette didn’t have the slightest idea of how to respond.

She scowled at her phone for a minute. Yes? She typed, and then deleted the question mark. She wasn’t a stumbling middle school girl with a painful crush on a senior way out of her league. She was smart. She was confident.

She could do this.

Yes, she sent, and then couldn’t bare to look at the phone for a while. Crystal’s reply wasn’t much to go on when she finally gained the courage to peek.

“Cool,” The brunette read aloud, turning the word about in her mouth to gauge its true meaning. “Cool.” She pouted at the lack of any smiley faces.

She let it go. Ran late anyway because she kept looking at pictures of that roller coaster and having mini heart-attacks. There was a chain lift and a steep drop and many, many points where both the contents of Gigi’s stomach and her heart were likely to leap out of her mouth.

Still. She could do this. She wasn’t a baby, she rode the Vortex of Death every week - she could do this.

Crystal’s hair was ruffled in the wind when Gigi finally caught up to her, already smelling of daffodils and ice-cream. She was finally out of those fucking shorts too, dressed all pretty in a yellow sundress and patterned necktie, still with that soft-shine balm glossing up her lips in a more shimmery colour this time. She wore round glasses, pushed up to the top of her head and intertwining with her red curls, with bunches of colourful bracelets decorating both hands. She looked straight out of a painting, maybe a character escaped from the most beautiful art museum and on the run through the summer festival.

“You look - you look nice,” Gigi stuttered, all verklempt, and Crystal beamed back with her eyes scrunched up.

“You too! There’s a penguin pin on your shirt.”

Gigi looked down, almost gasping at the sight of said penguin pin in the middle of her pale blue blouse. She hadn’t meant to wear that one, but by some psychobabble-subconscious-wizardry, she’d still managed it. It’s even a dancing penguin.

“Oh,” she chuckled, feeling slightly sick.

“It’s cute.” Crystal poked a finger at it, all easy, like all her dates turned up wearing penguins on their shirts. Gigi jolted back in surprise, shocked at the sudden contact. The redhead laughed and stuck her hands in her pockets, “Sorry. Should we go find the line for the roller-coaster?”

The younger woman squirmed a little, grimacing, “Y-Yeah,” she replied, finally, “I guess so.”

The festival was pretty and thrumming, all glimmering blue lights and palm trees, smell of tropical fruit and salt water, luau music. There was smoke and surfboards and the luster of gaudy-pretty streamers, fluttering silver and aqua and yellow. Spots of glitter constellated on Crystal’s cheeks like freckles whenever she looked up.

“I love the summer festival,” The redhead muttered in awe. “Where I grew up the carnivals were smaller than this, but it was my favorite time of the year.”

Gigi only spent the first minute feeling clammy-palmed and sick with worry, because Crystal turned out to be a ridiculously excitable person. Five steps into the festival and her hand came tight down on her wrist, dragging her off because puppies, oh my god, they have puppies, and Gigi went along because what the fuck, she liked puppies too.

The air was caramel-thick and the close press of bodies made the space hot. Crystal watched the puppies jump through loops with wet lashes and a beatific expression, fingers itching forward to grab, to hold. Gigi cooed at a fluffy poodle with curly gray fur and liquid eyes. The older woman pet the top of its head, looking overwhelmed. “I miss my dog,” she whispered quiet, and Gigi felt the sweetness in that sentiment all the way to the tips of her toes.

In some time she asked, a bit hopefully, “Are we going to stay with the puppies forever?” She wanted the answer to be yes, fuck the rollercoaster. Spending the night getting ice cream and playing with dogs sounded much better to her.

Crystal blinked, “Oh,” she shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly, “Sorry. We should go.”

Gigi would’ve much rather stayed. But she dug this grave for himself, and now there was really no choice but to lie in it. She did manage to distract Crystal a little more on the way, which wasn’t much considering Crystal was extremely easy to distract.The brunette only had to wave her arms and say look over there for the tan woman to wildly pick any random direction and find something to look at. They inspected the painted surfboards and wander through a maze of mirrors. They buy a weird little ship in a bottle that Crystal randomly fell in love with. They followed loud pew-pew sounds into a neon-lit, temporarily constructed arcade, where the lifeguard demolished Gigi in some annoying car race game. There were Pokemon in the arcade claw machines that they spent a few minutes trying to win.

“I like Pokemon,” Crystal grinned, and she filed that away, thought of herself saying it to her friends - my girlfriend likes Pokemon. The redhead was focused, tongue peeking out the corner of her lips and eyes narrowed as she navigated the claw. “I have a lot of these”

“I think they’re cute.”

“You do?”

Gigi faulted, colour rushing time her cheeks. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think you were the type of person to like plushies.”

“What type of person did you think I was?”

Crystal shrugged, not looking away from the claw. “Very cool.”

“Oh.”

The older woman didn’t  seem very bothered by this change in perception but Gigi was, she wanted to clarify, the itch to make herself clear rising and suffocating her until it came out in a fast rush. “My friend says liking soft things doesn’t make you any less any less cool.”

Crystal glanced up, leaning forward to pat Gigi’s chest lightly. Weirdly, when she did it, it wasn’t patronizing at all. Just Crystal letting you know it’s fine. “It makes you more cool, I think.”

“Cooler,” She corrected, feeling her insiders shrivel up at her lameness. “Not more cool, cooler. I mean—that is—never mind.”

Gigi felt like a little moth drawn to a lamp - herself the moth, night-black and dirty with lies. Crystal’s the lamp, warm and sparkly like Christmas stars and fairy lights and she is so gone.

***

The Hurricane Dominator was exactly as Jan said: an atrocity. It climbed steep above the rest of the festival, and just the one visible loop of it made Gigi want to find the nearest trashcan to hurl into. It looped and curled and the cart practically hung suspended upside down at some point. She felt the integral parts of her system begin to shut down already, but Crystal rocked back on her feet, eyes wide and fists clenched, a soft wow shaping her mouth into a little O.

When they got closer, it was obvious that the line stretched all the way around the festival. Crystal’s face dropped a little. “That’s a long queue.”

Gigi tried not to let the relief show on her face. She tugged gently at the taller woman’s sleeve. “Maybe we should go on the smaller rides.”

“No, I can probably bribe someone into letting us cut the line.”

And she proceeded to do just that. Gigi stood back, slack-jawed, watching as Crystal walked up to a random guy and started promising him enough money for burgers and a drink. She threw in the little Pikachu, too, pressing it to the guy’s chest in that universal bro-thing where you slap the shit out of the other dude as hard as possible. The guy grinned and hi-fives her, proceeding to give Crystal her number, and then he and his girlfriend walked right out of the line leaving space for the older woman and Gigi.

“That guy was nice,” The lifeguard smiled, off-hand, when Gigi rushed to join her. “He has a restaurant near the water park. Said he’d give me dumplings on discount if I go there.”

The brunette huts his mouth quickly, trying to hide her astonishment.  “Do you.. is that how the world usually works for you?”

“What do you mean?” Crystal asked. “Oh. Yeah, I make friends fast! But look, we’re right at the front now.”

Gigi could feel herself start to sweat. Panic crawled up her spine, many-legged like spiders, locking up her muscles and breaking out of her in little shivers. She occupied herself with the mole on Crystal’s nose while she chattered happily about previous roller-coasters she’d tried. “There’s a TV show on an Australian channel that’s only about theme parks,” The redhead was babbling happily. Gigi really had to lean in to hear her over the death-screams of the people riding the Hurricane Dominator. “That’s how many theme parks they have. That’s my dream job.”

“Working in an Australian theme-park?”

“No. Having a show about theme-parks.”

“You must really like theme-parks.”

“I like all the rides except that thing that does the vertical drop,” Crystal muttered. “I’m scared of those ones.”

Gigi was scared of everything. As a kid, she was scared of the fucking monkey bars in the neighborhood’s jungle gym. Now that she was older she was afraid of spiders, snakes, foreclosure, unpaid credit cards, roller-coasters, ghosts, and her own truth. If she didn’t get on this thing, how is she going to tell Crystal what she was doing visiting the Vortex of Death multiple times? She imagined that conversation: I think you’re hot, so I took the death-ride twenty-one times so you could pull me out of the pool. How’s that for a meet-cute? Her palms felt clammy and sweat beaded on her brow.

The discomfort must’ve shown on her face, because Crystal asked, suddenly, “Are you okay?”

Gigi felt her soul slowly edge its way out of her body. “What?”

“You look pale. Are you okay? Do you want to sit down?”

She managed to hold her tongue through climbing onto their seats, and even pulled the safety-guard down. The older woman hummed contentedly, ready to go, and turned her head to look at Gigi. Her face fell so abruptly it was like she’d decelerated from mach speed to zero.

“Hey, uhm,” Crystal hesitated, eyes nervous and twitchy, “you look really faint.”

“I feel—I feel like I might,” Gigi flinched at the sound of the rollercoaster creaking, “You know.”

“What?”

“Faint.”

The redhead wriggled a little in her seat. “Do you want to get off? We can get off. We don’t have to-“

“No, no, you wanted to do this.”

“I don’t want to do it if you’re scared,” Crystal whispers, eyebrows furrowing, “There are other rides. We can go on that Twisterado thing - or the Space Pistols-“

The brunette giggled, a bit hysterically.  “I’m scared of all the rides”

“You’re not scared of the Vortex,” Crystal said authoritatively, reaching out to pat Gigi’s thigh. “You love that ride.”

And it was at that moment - with that syrupy-orangey light still playing on Crystal’s skin, with her brows on display and confusion clearly written on her face - that Gigi realized she really couldn’t do this. She couldn’t ride this roller-coaster. She was going to fucking die. All the energy sapped out of her, siphoned through some invisible port and fed to the demonic force that powered the ride.

“I’m fucking terrified of the Vortex,” Gigi gasped, death-bed-confession heavy. “I have nightmares about that thing. When I die and go to hell, all they’ll need to torture me is to make me go on that thing again and again, get me stuck in the bottom every single time, and—”

The tan woman looked like a confused puppy. “What are you talking about? You keep coming back to go on it.”

“Yeah, well.”

“I see you literally every week.”

She shuddered. “Crystal,” he says. “I only go on it because I get - I get to see you.”

The lifeguard looked flabbergasted, eyes the size of saucers and mouth gaping wide. She opened her mouth, like she wanted to say something, and then pursed it shut again. “What?”

Gigi looked at her shoes miserably. “I only g-go on the Vortex of Death because of you. Because you–uh, you save me, and you’re cute, and I…like seeing you.”

Crystal blinked violently, head tilted, puzzlement spilled scatter-shot across her features. But now they were moving, the roller-coaster slowly pulling backward,  and she could feel all of her insides clench up in horrific anticipation of what was to come.

“I know it’s pathetic,” Gigi mumbled, hating how small she sounded. The redhead still wasn’t saying anything. Crystal was probably too nice to say how lame this was.  The brunette wanted the ride to start so her soul could fly out of her body and take her out of the older woman’s range. “It’s so pathetic. I’m sorry.”

Crystal took in a shuddering breath. She opened her mouth again.

And then, with loud music and a horrible tug at Gigi’s stomach - the ride began.

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 2

summery: Set before the events of spencer's mansion. Slight AU where the Birkin's most recent babysitter gets more than she ever bargained for on one stormy night as she watched over Sherry. Cara was ready for a blackout but she almost got her life snuffed out when two forces attack the Brikin’s home, their goals unclear. All Cara wanted to do was get Sherry to safety but with the phone lines dead, she has to rely on herself. Will Albert Wesker be an ally? Or will he add Cara to the list of things needing a "clean up"?

I hope you enjoy!

Reposted from my account on AO3 under my username doomer.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomer

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

She sighed in relief for a split second as the weak beam returned, only to feel all the breath being snatched from her lungs. A six-foot-man, heavily armed and dressed in black fatigues, came straight for her, face obscured by a ski mask. A scream bubbled its way out of her throat, only to burst prematurely as the intruder raised a gun to his lips. She forced her lips shut, feeling hot tears build up before they trickled down her cold cheeks.

She was terrified, but that terror only grew when she remembered she had left Sherry all alone. She cursed herself at her stupidly but then again, they would have both been caught by the gunman.

The intruder circled Cara, making a low whistling noise as his eyes drank in her form. He and the others were sent here on a mission, having already collected half the payment. All he had to do was collect the goods and deliver them to receive the other half of the payment. The girl was a spoil, and extra bonus, he was all too willing to snatch. She should blame the Bikinis. Anyone affiliated with Umbrella or their employees sealed their-

Cara grabbed a nearby vase while he was too distracted and smashed it against his head with a great amount of force, knocking him to his knees. But trained as he was, he was again back to his feet even before the shards hit the floor with an enraged shout.

Cara blindly sprinted away into the darkness, randomly bumping into the furnisher. She hasn't been in this house long enough to memorize its layout just yet, especially in the dark. All reason jumps out the window when such monster of a man is giving chase.

She ran as fast as she could and only paused when she didn't hear him coming after her anymore. Her ragged breathing was the only one consuming air in the room. From the smell of overly ripe bananas, she realized she was in the kitchen. A memory sparked in her mind, and she rushed to feel along the wall for the landline she had seen several times.

A tiny bit of hope sparked as her hands met the smooth plastic. Her fingers immediately began pressing buttons she knew by heart. It was someone she believed could give her more immediate help than a 911 call. She called Chris Redfield, a member of the S.T.A.R.S Alpha team. He was her best friend's brother and certainly would know what to do.

To her disappointment, a single ring was all the phone could give before the line went dead. It felt like a lifeline had just been cut.

'I could still grab Sherry and run,' Cara thought as she ran upstairs. Now with her eyes better adjusted to the dark, she was better able to avoid bumping into things. Several feet away from Sherry's bedroom, Cara's hand was already reaching out for the doorknob.

Before her hand closed around the handle, another wrapped around her throat with a crushing force. She gasped for breath as her airway fought against the pressure, narrowing by the second. she didn't recognize the man, realizing that the intruder had come with friends. Slamming her against the wall, he used his other hand to increase the pressure on her throat, and soon her vision became a blur. With the little bit of strength she had, she delivered a swift kick to his crutch.

That would have worked on the run-of-the-mill robber, but these men were trained mercenaries. He easily blocked her with his knee. A full-toothed smirk mocked her as her consciousness flickered worse than the flashlight had. Her bitterness left her with a bad taste in her mouth. The world had taken too much from her already, but it still wanted more. Always wanting more.

Air flooded into her airways, no longer constrained. She slid down the wall with the sensation of something warm and wet splatter against her face. At first, she thought they were just tears. She gasped for air, clammy hands running over the bruising over her neck. She shut her eyes as the world spun around her.

Her eyes snapped open as she heard a thud, realizing the man had fallen to his knees. Cara crawled away quickly, expecting him to attack again. She blinked several times to clear the blurriness into focus.

Time seemed to slow down as she stared wide-eyed at the man kneeling in front of her. The hands that were seconds ago determined to end her life were wrapped around his own throat, failing miserably to stop the blood from gushing out like a fountain. There was someone else here, someone who was not on their side, but that didn't mean they were on hers.

"H-help m-me." he choked on his blood, reaching a hand towards Cara. Seeing the figure behind the man slowly walk towards her, she slapped the desperate hand away and scrambled to her feet, ready to run. She didn't get far and screamed as she too met the end of the man's blade already slick with blood.

A man with slicked blond hair, not a strand out of place, and an unreadable hardened expression stared at her from behind a pair of expensive shades. He used his whole body weight to pin her to the wall, nestling the knife right below her chin, sharp end nearly slicing the skin.

"W-who are you?" Cara whimpered; voice strained like a mouse about to expire. Her breathing came out ragged as she licked her dry, cracked lips.

"You must be Sherry's new babysitter," His voice was deep, soothing, and pleasant, so unlike this very situation. A thousand questions flooded Cara's mind, but she was too afraid to ask. Too afraid to give him any inspiration.

Her eyes darted to the door, and she felt a heavy feeling settle into her stomach. She was so close to Sherry, but so was the threat. Cara couldn't even help herself, and the little girl may end up paying the price for it. She hated herself for being so useless.

Footsteps rounded the corner, revealing three armed men with their guns, and they were trained on Cara and her assailant. Within a blink of an eye, the knife was gone from her neck, finding its new home buried right between the eyes of one man. He dropped to the floor with a thud, expression frozen in a state of confusion.

"Fuck! This motherfucker got Stennely and Adam. Let's fuck him up!" One of the men shouted.

Cara was shoved backward aggressively by the blond man without another glance her way. Producing a gun of his own, he began firing with precision catching a man in the temple. The others took cover, getting ready to return fire.

Cara didn't wait to watch the rest of the fight and raced into Sherry's room, slamming the door. "Sherry? Oh god, please tell me your alright," She cried, eyes darting from one point to the next in search of the little girl's form. Then she remembered the little girl hid under the bed. Holding her breath, she quickly lifted the covers and glanced below, only to let out a sob as she realized the little girl wasn't there.

"Sherry!?" Cara cried louder, overwhelmed with panic and-

"Cara!" a quivering voice called out. Cara whirled around to see pale little hands pushing the closet door open, Sherry's head peaking out.

"Oh, thank god!" Cara said, feeling the crushing weight of guilt lifted. She shouldn't have left the little girl alone. With a gentle smile, she reached out to touch Sherry's tear-streaked face.

"I heard all the noise and got so worried about you. Oh no! Your hurt. " Sherry gasped, wiping something off Cara's face, her fingers coming off red. The high schooler shuddered with the memory.

"I-it's.... not... it's not mine. Don't worry. But we've gotta leave right now."

"But daddy said not to leave the house. We can stay hidden in the closet." Sherry said, opening the door wider. The ongoing gunfire moved further away to a more distant part of the house. The fact that the gunfire did not yet stop threw the idea of hiding right outside the window. Literally. There was definitely no hiding here.

"I know, I know, baby, but there are bad people in the house," Cara said and led the little girl to the window. "We have to get out before they find us." she held the girl in a tight embrace before she heaved the window open, kicking the screen out. Sticking her head out the window, she spotted a drainpipe within reach making its way down from the roof. The rain was falling without mercy, already drenching her hair and weighing down her eyelashes.

"This is a bad idea, but I see no other way," Cara said, throwing her leg out the window, and then the rest of her body followed suit. "Just do what I do and don't do what lands me splat on the ground,"

The little girl looked unconvinced, but she followed. The pipe groaned as Cara used to climb down. While the descent was only from the second floor, it felt like years were passing and not minutes. The rain forced them to make slower, calculated moves as it made the metal slippery. Any mistake could lead to something breaking or worse.

Soon Cara's feet touched the ground. Her mind was alert and ready to bolt, but her muscles screamed from the strain. As soon as Sherry was grounded, they raced to the neighboring home. Cara banged on the door, calling for help

No one came to the door, despite the two flashy cars parked outside. Not wasting time, she ran to the next house and the next, banging on doors and windows, only to meet the same outcome.

'The fucking posh fuckers of Raccoon too stuck up to get involved when other people's lives are in danger. Not even for a child, they were willing to help,' Cara thought bitterly, feeling even more helpless. She just wanted to make a single phone call to Chris- to anyone!

A black van sped through the residential street, contrasting with all the bright sport cars parked in front of the expensive homes. It squealed to a stop as soon as it spotted them. The doors slid open, revealing armed men dressed in black army fatigues and bulletproof vests. They ran towards the girls with purpose, guns aimed and ready.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be. Give up the little girl, and we won't hurt you. In fact, you're free to go." One of the men said, approaching the girls slowly. Cara had a strong feeling that he was lying and that he will make sure she won't see the sunrise ever again.

"Help!" Cara banged on the door again, knuckles bruised and sore, but she didn't stop.

"Save your breath. No one will help you. These stuffed fuckers of umbrella are too self-conceited to even help one of their own. They have no sense of loyalty. Now, why would they help you? Just give us the girl." The man taunted, drawing closer to them.

"Over my dead body," Cara spat before grabbing the little girl and sprinting.

"Big mistake." He smirked, a vicious gleam in his eyes. With his finger on the trigger, he trained his gun on the two fleeing forms.

Bang.

The mercenary's hand split from his body, having been a recent target of Wesker's sniper rifle from where he hid atop the roof of the Birkin’s home. The mercenary screams didn't carry far before Wesker cut it short, delivering a second shot into his skull.

"The mistake is yours, thinking you could snatch my dear little niece and kill her favorite babysitter," Wesker said, a sinister smile playing on his lips.

They were right about Umbrella lacking any sort of loyalty, but he would not hesitate to kill for what was his and his dear friend William.

A clean-up crew was already on its way, but Wesker wasn't going to make it too easy for them. He had been cooped up in the STARS office for too long this week. Having time for little else and dealing with tiresome subordinates and chief of police constantly breathing down his neck at every turn. He was just about ready to snap. And these men came at just the right time to ease his boredom, just a little bit.

[havens-most-wanted]

Jak 2 Opening Scene as Written by a Bot

Exactly as the title says. I plugged in snippets of the Jak 2 script into an AI text generator and got this. Bold is original script. Regular text is not. [text] is edited for continuity and clarity (doesn’t help much though). Enjoy.

Credits to: Rexy (game script, minor edits done by me) https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/ps2/914535-jak-ii/faqs/26498

AI Bot https://inferkit.com/

Warnings: Implied incest, random nonsense.

Here we go...

Samos's voice: For every age there is a time of trial.

It may be that it has happened to us and to me, but the Father tests everyone so that the just can become children of light.

We can only try to get through it with a minimum of fuss.

Like the soft - ball test.

When you're a kid, your parents throw you the soft - ball test.

They throw you the ball, and you run and run and run and run and run, and then you fall on the ground, and it's time to get up, and your ball rolls away somewhere else.

But then you remember your lessons.

The scene then shows up outside a hut in Sandover village, one of the locations in the previous game, where Jak, his ottsel friend Daxter, his female companion Keira, and her father Samos, the green sage, were seen near a large machine.

Samos: Today's the big day, Jak. I hope you are prepared, for whatever happens...

Keira: I think I figured out--

Samos: --That if I ever see you again, I'll…

Keira: W-what?

Samos: Sorry.

Keira: I think I made it pretty clear how I feel about you.

Samos: Sorry, but I can't be sorry.

Keira: You can't be? You can't be sorry you're sorry? I don't get it.

Samos: I'll just…

Keira: [Samos], it's okay.

Samos: (concerned tone) I'm sorry, but you can't just leave me like this. I'm not a man who cries over girls that he never even knew. I'm just gonna…

Keira: (muttering) Whatever, it doesn't matter anymore.

Daxter’s finger hovers in front of a large red button on the rift rider.

Samos: Daxter! Don't touch anything! Though the Precursors vanished long ago, the artifacts they left behind can still do great harm.

Keira: Or great good! If you figure out how to use them.

Samos: I've had some experience with the Precursors, Keira. They're not something I want to mess with.

Keira: Samos, have you ever considered being a scientist instead of a soldier? You're a brilliant scientist, with an education, and a lot of potential. You could build incredible things, not just weapons, but maybe something greater than a weapon.

Samos: That sounds like a lot of work. It's easier to use my powers to fight.

Keira: I'm sure you could come up with some other use for your gifts.

Jak activates the rift rider.

Daxter: Looks like Jak's still got the moto!

Keira: Interesting... it appears to be reading out some preset coordinates.

Daxter: Wow, look at that!

Then, something started to shake, and the ring started to spin before some of the bridge leading to the hut started to break away, and the skies turned dark.

Monster voice: Finally! The last anybody who is here for long. If you are seeking...The lobster roller is in the Oasis. Have a good time. See you later!

Daxter: Uh, why are you reading out coordinates?

Monster voice: This is a museum. You must have been asked to come here. I thought you would find something interesting, like one of my friends.

Daxter: What friend?

Monster voice: I thought maybe you would like to see something in the museum.

Daxter: What did you just say?

Monster voice: Do you not hear me?

Metal Heads begin flying out of the opened rift gate.

Daxter: Aaaaargh! What are those things?!

Samos: So THIS is how it happened…

The monster's head showed up from inside the gate.

Monster: You cannot hide from me boy!

Keira: Do something, Jak!

Daxter: *starts pointing at the buttons* What's this do?

Keira: Shove a building up against it!

Keira started to stomp on the monster's head.

Monster: That'll only make it madder!

Keira: Shove it back in it's hole!

Keira pulled up the floor. The monster hit the ceiling and fell to the ground.

Monster: ...You cannot hide from me boy!

Samos: ...and so it starts. I hope your instincts don't get you in trouble.

Daxter: Uh, how do we start the mission?

Keira: Go up there! It was right on the map.

Samos: Here, I'm staying out here with Keira.

They get sucked into the portal past the giant monster, leaving Sandover behind.

Keira: What was that thing?!

Samos: Hang on everyone!

Daxter: YYAAAAAAHHHHHH! I want off this thing!!!!!

Then... it wasn't long before the machine exploded, throwing Samos and Keira, and Jak and Daxter, far apart from each other.

Keira: AAAAAHHHHH!!

Samos: Find a way back to me Keira. We can't be separated this way.

Keira: I know... I'll go and try and find a way out!

Samos: Please be safe and come back to me…

Keira: I will!

The two of them were separated, and this made the story change. But they were still together, and Keira knew that they weren't really separated, so she was still fine, and they could still be together. So she went in search for Daxter, because he must be stuck somewhere. 

--

Jak and Daxter fall from the sky and crash onto a paved walkway. They looked around, and saw tall metal buildings everywhere. Daxter's face contorted in anger, he tossed a lead pipe he was holding on his hand down to the ground.

Daxter: Okay, I swear that's the last time I ever, EVER, touch lead!

Jak: Yeah, Daxter, the last time I help you, is the last time you use your lead pipe on anything!

Daxter: WHAT THE (CHECK ALL CAPS) (HEADING)WHAT THE HELL!

Then, from in front of them, a bunch of soldiers appeared, lead by Erol, a sleek man with spiked orange hair only just hidden by his armored helmet.

Soldier: There he is. Move in.

They stop in front of them both.

Soldier: Step away from the animal!

Daxter: YYAAAAHHHH!!!!!

Daxter runs between Jak's legs, and away from the group.

Erol: Forget the rat. The Baron wants to talk to you.

Daxter: Y-you ... do ... u-um, yeah …

They talk in a rough, but still kinda giggly voice.

Erol: So, the Baron wants to talk to you.

Daxter: Yeah. Well, he's standing right here!

Soldier: Then why don't we escort you into the castle?

Daxter: …

Soldier: …

Daxter: Mmm…

Erol: Yeah, but he's standing right in front of you.

Daxter: ... OK!

They split. Erol to Erol's troops to take Daxter into the castle, and Octo and Snake to take Jak back out [to the prison].

Daxter: Don't worry Jak! I'll save you before you know it!

{TWO YEARS LATER}

The scene then changes to a prison-like area, and this is where we see a completely reformed Jak with sleeker hair and a goatee on him, strapped to a  chair, where what looked like a ray gun was zapping him. Surrounding him were two figures - Erol again, and the ruler of the city, Baron Praxis.

Computer voice: Dark Eco injection cycle complete. Bio readings nominal and unchanged.

Praxis: Hhhppp. Nothing! I was informed that this one might be different!

Erol: He is surprisingly resistant to this substance. Perhaps we'll find that he too is resistant to other Eco...remodeling them.

Praxis: (picks up Jak's hand) Niiice. A different mind. Would that I could use that to draw out my other subjects. They're a lot more expendable when they don't fight back...but I guess this would be different than what they have to deal with.

Erol: The city is dying, but we can't help them if we don't take these to the Emperor. That won't happen if I'm not there. So make it happen...Master Praxis.

Baron Praxis grabs the barely conscious Jak's hair and lifts up his head.

Praxis: Aaaagh! You should at least be dead with all the Dark Eco I've pumped into you!

Erol: What now? Metal Head armies are pressing their attacks. Without a new weapon, my men cannot hold them off forever!

Praxis: I will not be remembered as the man who let you run away! I will be remembered as the man who destroyed your army!

Praxis unleashes his Juggernaut; the knight's remains are vaporized. Erol raises his blade to Praxis' throat.

Erol: I don't know what I can do to repay you.

Praxis: Do not apologize. I did what I did to protect the life of the one I love.

Erol: (lamely) So, you think that deserves a reward?

Praxis: Oh, no. I don't want anything from you. I want you to live and keep doing what you do best.

Erol: And what is that?

Praxis: Working.

Erol: Because I had to teach you that skill?

Praxis: …

Erol: If you want me to leave this world then I will. I don't need it.

Praxis: Do you need a reason?

Erol: I'm just being honest. I'm trying to save you because you can't save yourself.

Praxis: What? I don't want to die. I just want to stay here.

Erol: The first time you can't make this decision. Then you can't ever decide.

Praxis: [proudly] And now you're leaving?

Erol: (leans towards Jak) I'll be back later…

The pair leave the scene. Then... a small platform rises from down below, revealing Daxter.

Daxter: Ding, ding... Third floor... Body chains, roach food, torture devices.

He jumps onto Jak’s chest, landing on both feet.

Daxter: Hey buddy... you seen any blue wool?

Jak: Nuh-uh. That's the seventh floor. Not enough wool.

Daxter: No? Really? Well... hey... you know that purple tunnel that goes off to nowhere? You can't climb it.

Jak: Yeah? Well... I've got a plan. What if we try that tunnel?

Daxter: And what's your plan?

Jak: The tunnel leads to that room. I know where that room is.

Daxter: Hmm... I remember it. You know, how I worked with Daxter on this game.

Jak: Yeah... that.

Daxter: Well, I don't see why we have to go through this.

Jak eyes briefly flutter open at the voice, but close again.

Daxter: That's a fine hello! I've been crawling around in this place risking my tail, literally, to save you! I've been looking for you for two years! Say something! Just this once!!

Jak's eyes suddenly fly open.

Jak: I'M GONNA KILL YOU FOR THAT!

Daxter: Hang on, I know you're awake... [Bleep]

Jak scrambles to a sitting position, much faster than Daxter, and punches Daxter in the jaw with a left hook.

Daxter: Bully.

Jak then grabs ahold of Daxter's body, swinging it up in the air, causing Daxter to fall, and fling him to the ceiling. Daxter flies to the ground and lands, rather gracefully, on his tail.

Daxter: Gotcha!

Jak: Never underestimate your own hide, you little rascal!

Daxter: Slight overkill.

Jak: AAAAAGGHHH!

Jak changed into a more demon-based form, to be now known as Dark Jak.

Daxter: Or aaah... you could do it.

Jak then starts approaching Daxter with an aggressive look, his mouth pulled back into a feral-like snarl.

Daxter: Jak? Easy now. Easy buddy. It's, it's your Dad.

Jak: What?! I thought I said I didn't want to see him again!

Daxter: We'll see about that, buddy.

Jak starts backpedaling as Daxter stands and looks at his friend/father.

Jak: AAAAGGHH!...

Jak tries to attack, claws out but... he suddenly came to a stop right before striking his friend.

Jak: Daxter?

Then, Jak changed back to his normal form.

Daxter: What the heck was that?! Sheesh, remind me not to get in your face again, I don't think I can take it!...

Then Daxter gave him a friendly tap to the head.

Daxter: Hey, no problem! Why don't you tell me all about it!

Jak: Well, it happened while I was on patrol. I got bit by a crazy Mystian, so I've been recovering from it ever since.

Daxter: Oh.

Jak: I wasn't too sure how to act when you first came here, so I kind of was just acting like I normally did.

Daxter: What you mean by that?

Jak: Well, I did whatever I did when I came back

Daxter jumps on his usual spot on Jak's shoulder. The pair leave the scene together.

Daxter: I, uh, brought you some new shoes!

Jak: They're nice.

Daxter: Don't worry. You can wear them with some shorts or long-sleeved shirts.

Daxter walks off and Jak is left standing there alone.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer IV: Breaking the Chains

I stood leaning against Zihang, looking down at Pompeii. Tears running down my face. Sorrow weighed on me. Even though I hadn’t known him, and he didn’t know me, he’d fought hard and I never would have escaped without his help. And what was I going to tell Caesar?!

My sobs started up again and Zihang nuzzled my hair. “We have to go.”

“No, I don’t want to leave him here!”

“Gunships will be arriving from Cassell any minute how to burn this place and the servitors roaming it to the ground. We have to go.” Su Enxi spoke in a sad and quiet voice.

I walked away from Zihang and removed the pistols from Pompeii’s robe. It was the least I could do for Caesar. As I did so, a small photograph fluttered to the ground. 

The picture was taken from a distance, but the shot was beautiful. On the shores of the gulf of Genoa, Caesar and Nono stared into each other’s eyes under a garland of flowers. Caesar in his pristine white suit and Nono in her sheer white dress.

Pompeii had not been invited to the wedding. I remembered. The hurt actually ran that deep. But Pompeii had to have attended anyway. I looked down at him. He really did love Caesar. And now...

A tug on my arm. “Come on.” Zihang coaxed me gently and this time I followed him.

Su Enxi jogged ahead of us. “This way. Hurry!”

We exited down a long flight of emergency stairs and down a long hallway that opened up to a delivery entrance. A large truck was waiting.

“What took you so long! They’re almost here!” Lancelot’s golden haired head stuck out of the cab of the truck. “Let’s move!”

Enxi helped me climb in as I was holding Ru’Yi and Zihang leaped in after me. The four of us, squeezed into the truck and Lancelot drove away as the first dark shadows of the helicopter gunships swooped in from the sky.

There was a hiss followed by a loud bomb and the light of the explosions turned the skies red. I turned my face into Zihang’s shoulder, letting the tears soak his jacket.

“Do we have something in here for her to eat?”

“Just a few granola bars sorry, it was all I could grab on such short notice.”

Zihang reached into the glove box and handed them to me. He never stopped holding me, stroking my hair as we rattled over the crumbling access and maintenance road that would take us to the airport.

Enxi’s phone suddenly rang and she picked up. “Speaking. Yes, we just left. We’re on our way out of Italy soon.”

My mouth was full of granola bar but I tried to speak. “Mmf, they know about Memfei!”  “Shh... don’t talk with your mouth full or you’ll choke.”

Enxi continued to speak and her voice continued to grow lower. Her expression grew grim. “Got it. Lancey, pull over right now!”

“Don’t call me, Lancey!” He snapped as he pulled  the truck over to a shadowy shoulder covered with trees.

Once we stopped, Enxi turned and spoke directly to me with a sigh. “I’m going to explain as best I can. You may not understand all of it, but just listen, okay?”

I nodded, the gravity of the situation not lost on me.

“The Secret Party is on their way to the village where Erii and Lu Mingfei are still hiding. Mai Sakatoku and Von Frings are heading with Caesar to Japan. But I need you to go and retrieve that girly Gen brother and take him to Mingfei. It’s urgent. They’re planning on using the wood block sound to drive Mingfei and Erii to the brink of madness and kill them.”

“But... the Gattusos are dead... shouldn’t everyone be listening to Caesar?” I asked.

“Caesar declared his independence from the Secret Party just now. He’s gone full rogue.” Enxi sighed. “Anyone who opposes him is going to be met with deadly force. The school board has labeled him a traitor.”

Enxi lifted one hand to her forehead. “He’s an absolute maniac right now, but frankly, that is what the Japan Branch needs to survive. At any rate, Nono will probably survive. But that won’t help us just yet.”

“If Caesar’s not the head of the School Board then who is giving the orders?”

Enxi’s lip curled up in disgust. “A representative from the Beowulf family.”

“Beowulf?” Zihang’s head lifted in recognition.

“I’ll keep it short.” Enxi said, fidgeting with her hair. “Before the Industrial Revolution, dragon slaying was an extremely dangerous thing. The Secret Party could only rely on its own blood, alchemy, and dragon slaying swords handed down from ancestors. It was a glorious, if tragic time. The members of the Secret Party wandered around in black robes and candlesticks like a bunch of cultish monks.” She pulled out a cigarette, stuck it in her mouth and went to light it, but Chu Zihang, snatched it out.

“Mind the baby.”

“Oh... right. Damn, I guess I’m a really nanny now, huh?” She said with a bitter smile before continuing.

“Anyway, Beowulf was one of the more prominent names in that era. You’ve studied the poem, so I don’t have to explain it to you. The poem ends with the king being killed by the dragon’s poison after laying eyes on its treasure. But we know the real ending.”

“They’re actually the cruelest dragon slayers. They feed a drop of dragon blood to every child that’s born.” She glanced down at Ru’Yi.

“Only one in every 100,000 are able to withstand the dragon’s poisonous blood. And every member of the Beowulf Family can! But not only that, they’ve become addicted to it. Hungry, like Servitors. Every Beowulf family member seeks dragonblood like it’s a drug. And they’ll stop and nothing until they have it.”

Enxi’s voice lowered further as if speaking the words would some how summon these people. “That’s why the Secret Party calls them Dragonblood Thirsty.”

“They showed up right after Anjou was hospitalized.  They’ve been working behind the scenes to hunt you down. They’ve watched as you’ve escaped their grasp again and again! They’re convinced that Mingfei is a Dragon King. They’re not going to listen to reason, and they’re not going to show mercy to anyone who stands in their way. Once Erii and Mingfei are under the spell of the Woodblock and become draconized, the Beowulfs will throw everything at them and feast on their blood after the battle.”

She turned out the window. “God, I want to smoke.”

She steeled herself, “So... my dear, that’s where you come in. Mingfei has to attain his full abilities before the Beowulfs arrive. There’s only one Hybrid who can withstand the woodblock sound after Herzog’s tampering and that’s that girly Gen brother.”

“Chime?” My eyes widened.

“That’s right. We have his location from the little monster girl. I need you to go there and get him to come to her village.” She scrolled through her phone and showed me the message on it with an attached image. The image was of a building tucked away behind tall trees. Its ornate tiled roof swept up at the corners where lions stood guard, mouths open.

“You have the ability to teleport there. You’re our only hope.” She pressed the phone into my hands. 

I turned and looked at Zihang. “He knows you. You can do it easily.” He said.

“What about you? What are you going to do?”

Zihang turned and looked at Lancelot who was staring out the window, not saying anything.

“I’m going to stay with Lancelot. We’ll make our way back to Chicago and try to revert EVA to her former self.”

My heart dropped. Separated again. But I took deep breath and straightened my back. I handed Ru’Yi over to him. “Okay. Leave me here on the side of the road.”

Enxi’s eyes widened as I unbuckled myself.

“Meixiu.” Zihang gripped my arm and rested his forehead against mine. For a moment, we stayed that way, saying a silent prayer in our hearts.

“Ordinary life... with you.” I whispered.

I forced myself away, I didn’t look back at Ru’Yi. Enxi got out. I got out after her. Her eyes were wide and after we got a short distance away she stopped me. “Hey. I...”

“What is it?” I asked with a touch of impatience. Wasn’t she just hurrying me out right now?

Her gaze lowered to the ground. “I have to say. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked confused. “You saved us back there...”

“You’ll find out.” She rubbed the back of her neck and turned and walked away. She climbed into the truck. I listened to the gravel crunch under the tires. It motored off into the distance.

I raised my eyes to the sky and then I closed them, focusing on the image. Immediately I felt the cool shade of the trees. I took a deep breath and could smell the moisture in the air. 

I had the coordinates. I took a step forward and immediately was plunged into the dark and the cold and the nothingness of the void between spaces, spanning thousands of miles in a few seconds.

When I reemerged, the building was before my eyes. A young boy looked up at me, eyes wide. 

“Uh... Uh... K... Konnichiwa!” I chuckled, waving.

The boy ran off, screeching and then I realized I was covered in blood. “Oh my god. I didn’t even...” I looked up and several men thundered down the steps, leveling rifles at me.  I raised my hands in the air. “Tomodachi! Tomodachi! Ruri Kazama no Tomodachi!” I said, regretting the fact that I never bothered to really learn Japanese.

They seemed to get the message through and grabbed me, escorting me inside the building. I hopped on one foot to remove my shoes and tried to smile at them. The place looked run down and old on the outside, but everything inside was brand new. The tatami mats had that sweet straw odor, the red paint on the pillars carved with dragons burned bright. The walls were painted with murals of traditional Japanese art. Potted plants were in every small window.

They still held their guns to me. They were all young men and women. Their eyes were shifting around as they spoke to each other, reflecting fear and confusion, not anger.  They must not get a lot of guests here, after all Chime used the same digital Nibelungen to hide from EVAs prying eyes. I tried to smile pointing to myself. “Hao ren... I mean... Ii... uh how do you say person in Japanese...”

“You can speak English.” One of them, with russet brown hair lowered his guns.

“Ah! Thank you... thank goodness.”

A young woman came out of a back a hall. She said something in Japanese and they all reacted in cries of astonishment, shouting questions.

I just smiled. “Believe me, we’re friends.”

The young woman beckoned to me. “This way. Oh!” She looked down at my dirty stockinged feet and then hurried over to get slippers for me. They were a bit ill-fitting and flapped about as I walked.

She took me by the hand and led me down a hallway until we came to a door. She knocked twice and then opened the door.

Sitting on a small pillow in a simple shirt and slacks, his red eyes smiling from his pale face, Chime Gen looked like the least threatening person on the planet. He leaped to his feet when he saw my tattered white clothing, the blood and my haggard expression.

He sprang into action, pushing me towards the pillow and making me sit while sending rapid fire orders to the young woman. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

He’d grown out his hair, long and white. His rapid movement sent strands of it forward to veil his face, his concerned eyes.

“Chime. You’re the only person who can help us. The Secret party has found Erii and Mingfei and they’re coming over to use the woodblock against them.”

“What?!” He hissed. Immediately, the soft concerned look turned into a hard burning hatred. His face creased, the folds sent dark shadows that shattered his face like a mirror. “Who?! Herzog?!”

My heart leaped in my throat. “No.” I swallowed. “Herzog is dead. But there was another man, Bondarev, who worked with him. Herzog thought he killed him and assumed his identity as Tachibana... but he was still alive and working within the Secret Party.”

The story was confusing, even to me, but Chime’s sharp eyes took in he information. His gaze turned distant. Thoughtful.

“Turns out that he was an agent of the Gattusos. He returned to Japan again. This time under the name Shinnosuke to pursue Mingfei and I. He killed Crow.”

“Okay...” His brief fury had gone as soon as it had arrived. His expression was grim, yet calm. It astounded me that he had no further questions, grasping the situation in a single go.

The girl returned with a tray of tea and rice and vegetables. She saw us close together, saw Chime as he stroked my face reassuringly. She looked between us in stunned silence unsure what to do until Chime nodded for her to place the food and tea on the table.

“There’s no time Chime, they’ll reach Tibet soon!” I said after she had left.

He cut me off, raising his hand. “We have... defenses.” He smiled. “Even if they have an idea of where we are. The village is still remote enough that it will take time for them to get there.”

“But we shouldn’t wait. We need you to help Mingfei and Erii break the influence of the woodblock sound, like you did!”

Chime was listening, but he was still bringing me the tea. “Here.”

“Chime... there’s no time for tea!”

“I know you’re scared. You should be. We both know the consequences if Erii loses control and Mingfei... who knows?” He looked at me gravely. “But this... release... you’re seeking. That’s not something I can force. I can provide the circumstances to help. But it will be up to them to succeed.”

“What... why?”

Chime sat, one knee against his chest. “Herzog used an alchemical procedure, along with a special surgery, to divide the aspects of one’s personality. The good aspects were concentrated in one person. The bad aspects in another. Because he was looking for weapons, he concentrated all the power in the bad side.”

I tried to imagine my sweet Mingfei, my frightened Mingfei, my silly Mingfei as a bad person and couldn’t. What Chime was telling me rang true. Sure Mingfei had some annoying personality traits but he wasn’t bad. All the badness in him was concentrated in another personality.

The one with all the power.

"Mingfei... was... with Herzog?”

He nodded once. “He doesn’t remember and no one bothers to tell him.”

My mind flashed back to the boat, where Mingfei was desperate to see his ‘father’. He said his ‘father’ had called him from a mysterious phone in a bookstore. But perhaps it was someone connected to Herzog? I shuddered to think what might have happened had I not intercepted him.

“There’s something else.” Chime continued. “If we are successful in reuniting his mind and freeing him from Herzog’s woodblock, you won’t know him any more. You might think you know him, but he will be the person you should have met... not the person you know.” Chime’s stare sounded deep into my heart, like he was looking into my very soul.

I lowered the teacup. “Then... you are not the Chime... I remember?”

“No... I’m not.” He gave me a small smile, a subtle maliciousness glittered in his eyes, a quiet cunning.

“You’ll... help me right?” I asked, my heart beating faster.

“For Erii... of course. She loves Mingfei.” He paused and took a small breath. “Unfortunately... Mingfei is not real.”

My shoulders dropped and my eyes widened. “But...”

Chime gave a deep sigh. “Do you still want me to help?”

I rested my forehead in my hands, filled with despair. Enxi’s apology. Was it for this?!

“Who sent you here asking for this?” He asked.

“Her name is Enxi Su.”

“Oh...the owner Takamagahara... or... I should say... former owner.” 

“I thought she was Mingfei’s friend...” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion.

“Well... Maybe she is. But not friends with the Mingfei you know.” Chime reached for his own cup of tea.

My face grew suddenly hot. “I don’t want to lose Mingfei... I don’t want to lose him.”

Chime moved to sit next to me, wiping my face with a cloth. “You’ve lost a lot of people. We all have. This is not an easy decision. But whatever you make... I’ll support you.”

I struggled to regain control. “They’re going to turn him into a dragon lord and kill him. I can’t let them do that.”

Chime nodded once. “I suppose then... he will agree?”

“Yeah... there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Erii.” The pain of loss assailed me to the point of physical pain. I reached up and gripped my chest, gritting my teeth. “This sucks.”

Chime let out a breathy laugh. “Mingfei has someone who cares about him. As for myself... Let’s just say things were already so complicated... my recombined personality was just one more wave in a stormy sea.” He sipped his tea. “After we do leave here, I have to ask you never to return. I want to keep this place a secret.”

“What is this place?” I asked looking around. Musical instruments leaned against the wall. There was a small laptop, headphones, microphones and bookcases filled with notebooks.

“It’s a Kabuki school. I teach the orphans from the Japan Branch. The unstable ones.” He lowered his cup to the table. “My brother enacted many reforms to re-integrate Devil Clan members back to the Hydra Clans. But so many died in the war that bad blood still remains, and many young Devil clan members have no one to go home to.”

“So this place is a haven them. And also a school. Because no matter what my brother says, unstable hybrids are simply not offered the same educational opportunities as stable ones.”

I nodded. “That’s really kind of you. Okay. I’ll keep it secret.”

“Thank you.”

“Maybe someday... Maybe someday Cassell will change and they’ll be able to study there too.”

“Hmph. Maybe... but still, unstable hybrids have issues stable ones can’t possibly understand... unless they’ve been there.”

His eyes shifted outside the door. His expression tender. He then turned to me. “Once you’re finished eating, we can go. Though, it doesn’t look like it will take you that long.”

My chopsticks were already tapping the bottom of the rice bowl.

[yourpaceangel]

To Be Held

this is my good omens holiday swap fic for @eliza--thornberry. i really hope you enjoy it and happy holidays!

[ao3]

When winter comes, it does so slowly and with good warning. It gives ample time to ensure the sensitive plants are brought into the small glass shed Crowley generously calls a greenhouse, or into the cottage proper. Aziraphale tucks away the last of their picnic blankets for use in the spring and brings their lovely little wicker sitting bench into the protected walls of their solarium. They’ve learned in the last few years that even if the winter is predicted to be mild, it is best to be cautious. 

The first week of December is deceptively mild, enough so that Crowley puts off bringing their heavy down comforter out from the attic storage with complaints that he would get too hot at night if they brought it out too early. A few days later, when storm clouds roll in bringing with them freezing rain and high winds off the coast, he regrets ever making the complaint. 

Crowley wakes freezing, the kind of cold that creeps up your bones and holds tight. For a minute Crowley doesn’t understand why he’s awake. He reaches out for Aziraphale and his hand meets with an empty bed and cold sheets. Thunder rumbles outside, and Crowley feels the sound in his chest making its home there, a yawning chasm of despair. 

The clock on the wall reads 4:18AM. 

The floorboards creak underfoot as Crowley climbs out of bed. He grabs a blanket off the foot of the bed, a patchwork quilt Bicycle Girl-Anathema, Aziraphale’s voice in the back of his head corrects crossly, lovely girl-had given them a couple years prior at Christmas, and wraps it around his shoulders. His hair is a mess, growing far too long lately, and he pushes it out of his face impatiently as he heads downstairs. 

Aziraphale isn’t hard to find. 

The library is beautiful, even in the dark. Floor to ceiling bookshelves all painted white to offset the dark floor and three massive windows that take up nearly a whole wall on their own. Aziraphale is in front of the middle one. His back is ramrod straight, hands clasped together behind himself, standing barefoot in his flannel pajama set and dressing robe. 

“Angel,” Crowley says quietly. 

He doesn’t need to be quiet, it isn’t as if there’s anyone else in the cottage for him to wake up. But there is something about the night that makes one tread lighter, speak quieter, as though if you did not then something terrible might happen. There’s a heaviness to nighttime Crowley has never been able to shake. 

Lightning arcs across the sky as rain pounds against the glass in an immutable torrent. In the same instant lightning arcs itself across the stormy gray-blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. There’s a heavy ozone smell to the air that makes Crowley feel light headed. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, though he doesn’t step any closer, doesn’t dare reach a hand out to touch him, “come back to bed.”

It is so very cold in this room without the fireplace to keep them warm. Crowley likes to spend whole afternoons in front of it while it’s lit, lounging with his head in Aziraphale’s lap and listening to Aziraphale read aloud. Without the roaring fire and soft glow of lamplight everything seems cast into sharp monochrome shadows. 

Thunder hits like drum beats.

“Angel,” Crowley tries again.

Aziraphale’s head snaps to the side, pinning him in place with a stare. Aziraphale looks all the world like he’s never seen him before, and lightning arcs across his eyes again, his face impassive as stone.

“Come back to bed angel,” Crowley says, and offers a slender hand up in supplication, “come back to me.”

Recognition dawns across his face like a drop of water rippling across a well. Aziraphale shudders and says, “Crowley?” He sounds hoarse, like he’d been screaming for hours with no answer. 

“Yes love,” Crowley says and relief warms him down to his scale covered toes, “I’m right here.”

Aziraphale takes one step forward, then another, and then he buries himself into Crowley’s open arms. “I’m cold,” He says after a long silence. 

“Okay,” Crowley says and kisses his shoulder, “come on then.” He twines their hands together and leads them back to their bedroom. 

All the way, Aziraphale limps.

The next morning Crowley digs out the heavy goose down duvet from the storage trunk in the attic. He spends the next several hours sneezing and rubbing at his itchy eyes from the dust. It’s worth it though, because a deep chill settles over the house. 

Aziraphale moodily holds himself up in his study with the small space heater while Crowley chokes on dust and sets about trying to get the ancient radiator up and running. He finally gives up sometime in the afternoon, deciding the moderate warmth it puts out is the best he’s going to get and resolves to put on more layers. Aziraphale takes the news with a bit less grace than he normally would, sighing and looking put out about the whole ordeal. 

Crowley spends the rest of the day in his studio, arbitrarily shifting canvases from in progress easels to the closet to be painted over or discarded and then back again. He pauses over a seascape he’d been working on, the ocean in the throes of anger during a storm and bright light flashing across dead gray skies. His hand twitches and he tosses it into the closet with more vitriol than it really deserves. 

He drags himself up to bed a little after eleven, hair falling out of the haphazard bun he’d thrown it into just to get the curls out of his face. He’s unsurprised to find Aziraphale still hasn’t made his way upstairs as he readies himself for bed. 

He lifts the corner of the duvet and puts it down again, shifting from one foot to the other and glancing at the door. It isn’t the first time Crowley’s gone to bed alone, but he’s never liked it. 

He hears Aziraphale’s unsteady gait coming up the stairs just as he resolves himself to a sleepless night shifting restlessly under the covers. Crowley sighs when Aziraphale climbs under the covers next to him, the light from the hall pouring in where Aziraphale’s left the door half open. “All right?” Crowley asks, his eyes half lidded. 

“Mm,” Aziraphale non-answers, pulling through covers up to his chin. He looks exhausted. 

“Come here,” Crowley prompts, opening his arms up for Aziraphale to slide into. 

Aziraphale makes a noise, not unlike something put upon and disapproving, but moves closer anyway. Crowley takes that for the little invitation that it is and drapes himself on top of his angel, legs tossed carelessly together and pointed elbows digging into Aziraphale’s round sides. Aziraphale grunts but bears his weight, eyes drifting shut. Crowley hums against Aziraphale’s chest, nosing at the little buttons holding his satin sleeping shirt closed. His hand rubs absently at Aziraphale’s stomach, skimming up and down the swell of it. 

Eventually Aziraphale goes pliant underneath him, either placated or unwilling to put up a fight any longer. A strong hand curves over a too sharp jut of bone at his hip and Crowley presses an approving kiss just above the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt. Crowley’s hand drags down from a soft stomach to a tense leg, kneading and prodding at the soreness there. Aziraphale hisses and clenches his hand harder against Crowley’s hip in warning. 

“Let me,” Crowley breathes, nuzzling under Aziraphale’s chin, “please.”

Aziraphale lets out a tense breath and relaxes his hand. “Fine,” he says. It’s as much permission as he’s going to get. 

Crowley kisses a thank you into whatever skin he can reach at Aziraphale’s neck and tries to rub the ache out of Aziraphale’s leg. This corporation bears no scar, but Crowley can feel the ache where it pulses just below the flesh, a phantom, writhing heat from a sword too many years ago. 

Aziraphale’s breath catches on a particularly painful press of bony fingers against flesh and Crowley stops. “Okay?” He asks, hand sliding up over Aziraphale’s hip and stomach, dipping under his shirt to splay over soft skin. 

“Okay,” Aziraphale whispers. If he’s crying neither one of them mention it. 

Crowley rests his head against his angel’s chest, feeling the steady low thrum of his heart. He lets his thumb rub absent circles against Aziraphale’s stomach and hums something low and sweet, a melody he remembers from a time just before his century long sleep. When Aziraphale’s fingers card through his hair, distangling small knots with gentle ease, he lets his eyes fall shut. 

The morning greets them with a weak glow behind heavy drapes, struggling desperately to peak inside. Crowley only wakes when Aziraphale shifts underneath him, preparing to get out of bed. 

“Where’re you going?” Crowley mumbles. His mouth is dry and sticky. His hair is stuck to his cheek and opening his eyes is a chore. His back aches between his shoulder blades. “Comfy-“

Aziraphale’s lips find the top of his head. “Time for breakfast, my dear.”

“Mm,” Crowley protests, “‘s cold.”

“It is,” Aziraphale agrees, voice deceptively soft, “I can draw you a bath if you’d like.”

Crowley clicks his tongue. “No,” He says, “no it’s fine.” He slides off of Aziraphale with a groan, his back seizing, shoving his hair out of his face and looking up with sleepy eyes. 

Aziraphale presses a kiss to his forehead before climbing out of bed. The couple steps he takes away from the bed are stumbling, his leg locking up on him a little. He grunts and rubs at it. 

“D’you want me to run you a bath?” Crowley asks, furrowing his eyebrows together. 

“No,” Aziraphale says, shaking it out, “It’s fine.” He bites off the end of the word a little sharper than he usually would, the line of his jaw locked tight. 

The space between them suddenly feels like it spans miles. The little warmth that had gathered between them over the night seems frozen over. Crowley digs his fingers into the heavy down of the comforter. Silence hangs heavy and pregnant in the air like swollen dark storm clouds. 

Aziraphale clears his throat.

“Any-“ Aziraphale stops, worrying at his lower lip, “any requests dear?”

“Omelets?”

“Of course, of course.” Aziraphale murmurs. “Do join me soon, won’t you?”

“‘Course I will angel.” Crowley replies, voice just as soft. 

Aziraphale nods stiffly and leaves the room.

Crowley sinks into the bed, cold despite the layers covering him. 

It’s the music, several long minutes later, that pulls him out of bed. Something cello heavy and familiar drifts up the stairs. The first record Aziraphale had played when they first moved into the cottage, something slow enough to learn to dance to. Crowley feels tears prickle at the edge of his eyes that he blinks away. He steals a jumper from Aziraphale’s vanity chair and pulls a pair of heavy woolen socks over his feet before padding downstairs to investigate. 

Crowley loves their kitchen. It’s a bit small for a cottage this size, but it’s never felt cramped. He remembers nights staying up late going over wood samples and fabric swatches, Aziraphale absently braiding bits of his hair while he compared two similar swatches over and over. The large window over the sink overlooks the sea and lighthouse in the distance, sheer white curtains tied back with black ribbon. In the spring Crowley likes to keep the window open while he cooks, but for now it is shut tight to keep out the creeping chill of frost. 

The sun bursts through sheets of gray clouds in spots as a promise to the rainy haze ending soon. The music is louder inside the kitchen, Aziraphale’s record player in the sitting room next door, filling the still air. Crowley watches Aziraphale’s bare toes curl against the hardwood floor, his fingers drumming against the counter in time to the music. He’s humming a little, his mouth turned up in the corner in a fragile breath of a smile. 

Crowley presses himself against Aziraphale’s back and wraps his arms around his middle, hooking a sharp chin over a soft shoulder. Aziraphale rests a hand over his for a moment, squeezing briefly. Crowley presses a fleeting kiss to the back of his neck and steps back. Aziraphale shifts his weight, leaning further onto his good leg. 

“How long are you going to pretend it’s not bothering you?” Crowley asks, his chest an aching, open chasm. 

Aziraphale takes a sharp breath. “It’s-” He shifts his weight back again, “It’s fine, dear, just a little twinge you know.”

“I know,” Crowley echoes. There’s anger there- beneath the empty nothingness he hasn’t been able to banish since finding Aziraphale staring out at that awful storm- a fire burning too bright and hot. “I know what it’s like to hurt,” He hisses, “and to pretend that it doesn’t.”

Aziraphale turns off the burner, setting his spatula down. He turns around to face Crowley, face a mask of neutrality. “Are we going to fight about this?”

“I don’t know, are we?” Crowley asks, spreading his arms wide, “Or are you going to just admit to me that you’re in pain so I can stop hurting for you.” 

Aziraphale’s face drops. “I’m not- I didn’t,” He huffs, “I didn’t ask you to hurt for me. I didn’t ask you to pick up that burden.”

“You didn’t have to,” Crowley says, “I just do.” He reaches out and catches Aziraphale’s ever twisting, wringing hands. He brings them up to kiss the knuckles. The anger in his chest fizzles out to a bare spark by the affection and love that floods him instead. “It hurts me that you would deny yourself comfort, and it hurts that in doing so you push me away.” Aziraphale’s fingers twitch in his grip, holding him back. 

“Crowley-” Aziraphale says. 

“Let me take care of you, Aziraphale. Let me love you.” 

Aziraphale makes a sound. A ragged, shuddering gasp of a sob that he tries to quiet by pulling Crowley into him and pressing his face into Crowley’s neck. Crowley places a hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck and holds him there, wrapping his other arm snugly around his waist. 

“I’ve got you,” Crowley says into down soft hair, “I’ve got you.”

They stay wrapped together like that for a long time. The attempt at breakfast vanishes with barely a thought, but the music plays on much longer than the record should allow. 

“It does hurt,” Aziraphale says. His voice chewed up and rough, eyes swollen and red. Crowley rubs his thumb gently over the back of his neck. “And when it does I...Crowley it’s like I’m back there again and I don’t- I don’t ever want to have to be that again.”

“I know,” Again that gentle sweep of thumb against fragile skin and bone, “I know.”

“Crowley I am so scared that someday I’m going to hurt you because of it,” Aziraphale whispers, a little frantic, “That someday I’m not going to wake up in time.”

“You won’t.” Crowley assures, “Angel, I know that you won’t.”

Aziraphale kisses him desperately, hands clutching at Crowley’s ribcage and trying to pull him even closer. They can’t get close enough. Too much clothing and skin and bone in the way. There is a desperate need to hold and be held inside the very essence of one another. 

Crowley pulls back to pepper kisses over Aziraphale’s eyelids and cheek. “Come on,” He says, “I’ll light a fire in the library and we can try and get warm together.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley links their fingers together carefully, preciously, and leads the way.