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queenimmadolla · 8 months ago

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EMMY! First of all, I’m still so happy you watched the film, gave it a lil shot because it really is on it’s way to becoming a cult classic and there is NOTHING better than getting to experience one before it’s reached the classic stage.

SECOND OF ALL, you flatter me so! I’m always at war with how I write, because my particular style is sort of writing the way I talk and I’m SO envious of writers who can who can pull out their solid gold pens, with their solid gold ink and write solid gold magical sentences that sound like Shakespeare himself and Jane Austen would desire (so you, you write this way btw and I wanna throw flowers on your stage whenever you grace us with your work) because they’re so TALENTED!!! But I do like how I write, too. Someday, maybe I’ll be able to make it more distinguished and learn how writers like you make everything said and done as though it were pure poetry 😍 (y’all always got me weeping and teary eyed, even if it’s not angst! TALENT!)

AND FINALLY, I’m glad you’re enjoying christaffy! She was my only solid choice because of how little we know about Chrissy, so I can write her to my hearts content and I feel like they’re a little similar! She means well a majority of the time in here, the campiness just got her lol. I have plans for the rest of the series (and Steve) that don’t QUITE line up with the movie, my own little spins here and there so I can’t wait to see what you think of the rest!!!! P.s., you are the BIGGEST SWEETHEART and i cherish you

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

“Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around.

Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

“I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.”

“Wha’?”

“Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

“Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair.

While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him.

Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him.

The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention.

Someone.

Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side.

Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie.

He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

“It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

NOW, 1989

“Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

“Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand.

When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying.

You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job.

You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan.

So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

Your mother was murdered.

Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional.

The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery.

Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself.

You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace.

The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells.

He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting.

So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead.

“Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

It was a little odd, but you did.

When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

“I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

“I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him.

You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

“Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

“Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

“YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring.

“He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

“Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

“Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.”

Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I��ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss.

“I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked.

“I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

“Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.”

You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

“It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that.

“That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.”

Didn’t feel like it.

Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

“No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

“Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

“You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands.

“And I can. Please, let me do this.”

You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

“It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it.

You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

“So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university.

Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

“See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?”

You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, spill.”

Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

“Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!”

This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.

“Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush.

“Steve Harrington.”

“STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

“Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

“Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

“Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

“And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again.

“Does he flirt with you?”

“No.”

“See him flirt with any girls?”

“Nope.”

“Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

“Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

“He’s on the spectrum?”

Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

It got quiet for a few moments.

”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most.

She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

“Reefer Rick?”

“Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

Munson.

You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

“I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

“Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

“Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

“No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

“How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

“H-He’s your favorite…?”

“Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

“You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you.

“Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

“He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea.

“Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

Maybe a drink would calm you down.

You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

“The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now.

“What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

“Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

Oh, shit.

Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

”Funny seeing you here.”

You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off.

“It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

“I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

“Oh.”

He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

OH, THANK FUCK.

“Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

“So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

“Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

“Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

“Hey, Carol.”

Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

“You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl.

“Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

“Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

“You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

“I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

“Oopsie.”

But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

“Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy.

Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning.

You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

“You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

“You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

“You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

“I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

“Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

“Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it.

Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

“You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

“Wall.”

“Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

“Great Wall of China.”

Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

“Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense.

Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

“Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing.

“Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

“Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

“Does that feel good?”

You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.”

Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

“I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within.

She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

“Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you.

His right arm was out, palm up.

He was waiting for you.

You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

“Sissy. . .”

“Sissy…”

“SISSY!”

You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect.

What the hell?

“You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways.

You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

“It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

“Oh my god…”

“So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

“Ooh, your knees…”

You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

“I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

“Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

“You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist.

“Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once.

“Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

“It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

“Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

“Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

“It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

“Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

“That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

“Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

“I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

“─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

“And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing.

“That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning.

You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

“I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

“Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

“THAT WE DO!”

You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

“What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

“Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

“Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

“Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

“Mm. White wine?”

It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

“Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

“He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

You shot him a glare.

“Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers.

You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

Then your eyes snapped open.

Oh, god. You were a loser.

After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

“Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

“Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

“Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation.

“She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

“I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

“Yes, we got a free soda!”

Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

“Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

“Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

“Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

“You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

“All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.”

“Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

“I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

“I bet you can.”

After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house.

Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder.

And it was coming from outside your front door.

You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home.

You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

“Uuuhhhnng…”

This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

“Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

“OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!”

You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs.

You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

“Stop it!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Go away, I’m just a girl!”

The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located.

On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature.

You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it.

Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

“It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.”

He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation,

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

“Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

“I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

“Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

“Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

“C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

#commentary reblog #Emmy 🚬

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libertys-lovers · 2 years ago

Note

That does it! Explain your selfship tags, because I wanna know if there's a story behind 'em. Please and thank you!

ANAJWNWK- Ya got it boss! 😎👍

All of my self-ship tags are like that because I ADORE the fandom ship-names that are lil puns based on the characters involved… but I don’t think that’s the part I needed to explain lol. You’re right though, most of my self-ship names/tags have a bit of a lore behind them! I’ll try to make this post not the longest thing in the universe, but I am warning you… there’s gonna be a lot.

(I, uh… idk if it was a specific tag that made you curious. I’m just gonna go over all my individual Romantic F/O tags; but if it was one of the poly-tags that you were curious about, or if it wasn’t even a Romantic F/O that peaked your interest, then lemme know!)

———

��💥Dramatics💥🕶 - Karamatsu and Freedom are both dramatic people. That’s… that’s it really. 🕶 is Kara’s emoji because he wears sunglasses. 💥 is Freedom’s emoji because it looks like one of those effects you’d add in comic books, and she’s a comic artist so- | 💉🖋Blueprints🖋💉 - So, the reason Dr. Flug and Inkwell started working more together was because Inkwell could turn Flug’s blueprints into physical models, which helped him flesh out his inventions. It also works well because, like, Blueprints are sciency things and they use ink, so it fits both their motifs anyway. 💉 references this one shot I adore of Flug, where he’s holding this syringe full of nasty green stuff and is just looking sinister. 🖋 is there because pens have ink and certain pens need inkwells.

🏜📰One Shot📰🏜 - So, Sniper is…. a sniper, and Journalist has a writing-centric job. So the name’s kinda like, idk, a pun. One Shot here means both “shooting once and being successful” and “the style of writing”. We’ve got 🏜 for Sniper because he’s from the outback, and 📰 for Journalist because, ya know, the news! | 📋📰Secretary Dept.📰📋- Both Miss Pauling and Journalist have secretary-esq jobs. AKA: They write reports all the time. The emojis link to their respective forms of writing. | 🐸📱Songwriter📱🐸 - Lúcio makes music, and Dime was an author/social media influencer. So, songwriter was a word that perfectly fit the both of them! 🐸 represents Lúcio’s frog aesthetic, and 📱 references Dime being an influencer.

🔩🍀Successful Operation🍀🔩 - Stein’s known for his biological/physical experiments, and Lucky’s whole thing is that she’s like a good-luck charm to Death Weapon Meister Academy. So the name’s kinda means, like, “hey, the surgery went well! how lucky!”. The 🔩 represents the literal screw in Stein’s head, and the 🍀 represents Lucky’s luck. | 👊💡Transformative Love💡👊 - So, Goku and Fluores’s shticks both revolve HEAVILY around transformations. Goku has his 50 gazillion different forms, and Fluores can hop between a human and alien form. And tbh Transformative Love just had a nice ring to it. 👊 references Goku’s violent tendencies, and 💡 represents Fluores’s name-source (fluorescent), which in itself references her moth-like alien form.

(This next paragraph is all about the Cookie Run self-ships. To save time, I’ll just tell you now that all their emojis reference their flavors. The only exception is Licorice’s emoji, ☠️; that’s just a ref to his aesthetic.)

🍾🍇Viola Rosa🍇🍾 - Viola Rosa is literally just a brand of wine I saw at the store one day. Sparkling’s based of champagne and Faux Berry’s themed after berries! Seemed fair enough. | 🧀🍇True Crime Novella🍇🧀 - Roguefort is a HUGE wanted criminal, and Faux Berry is an author! So why not combine those themes by referencing mystery novels, but except clarify that they’re REAL. The novella part of the name just sounded fancy; the distinction in what book it is has no real meaning. | ☠️🍇Dark Arts Scribe🍇☠️ - Licorice does dark magic! And like I said earlier, Faux Berry is an author! The name’s just another cute way to fuse their jobs. | 🍰🍇A Dog’s Tale🍇🍰 - Red Velvet controls an army that’s made up of essentially dogs, so the base for the ship name is A Dog’s *Tail. But I replaced tail with tale because, once again, Faux’s job. | 🌸🍇Tricolor Tea🍇🌸 - So, if you look at Cherry Blossom and Faux Berry’s color palettes, the pink from Cherry Blossom would stick out & the blue/purple/pink from Faux would stick out. Those three colors can be associated with the duo then, & as a cute bonus they both have pink, so the other colors they have can kinda be tied together! The tea’s just a reference to the fact Cherry Blossom likes tea.

🔥🌿Traveling Circus Rose🌿🔥 - Rengoku is the Flame Hashira, and The Wisteria Wanderer is a vigilante that themed herself after the flowers that demons are weak to. The Circus Rose is a flower that looks a lot like fire, so it references both Rengoku’s fire aesthetic and W.W’s plant aesthetic! The traveling part is because they both have to travel for their jobs. 🔥 represents Rengoku’s fire and 🌿 represents the hanging nature of the wisteria tree. | 🐦💭Head in the Clouds💭🐦 - Hawks can fly, and Daydream’s whole aesthetic is dreamlike. Therefore, the phrase “head in the clouds” can be both literal and metaphorical! Like, you can literally have your head in those clouds because you’re flying, or your head is just in those clouds because you’re spacing out. 🐦 represents Hawks’s bird aesthetic, and 💭 is a thought-bubble for Daydream, cause ya know, she essentially daydreams for her quirk! | 🌌🎧Artificial Nature🎧🌌 - This one references their contrasting aesthetics and values! Dororo has a more traditional aesthetic & loves the outdoors and nature. Miss Machina has a futuristic(ish) aesthetic, and loves technology and human progress. The name’s like, idk, the written counterpart to those phone towers that look like trees; it just combines their two vibes. 🌌 represents Dororo, because he’s an alien! 🎧 is there because Machina had headphones in her design when I made the tag, but now it’s just there as a standard nod to tech.

🎹🕊Angel’s Choir🕊🎹 - 2-D is the lead singer of the band, and Lily does backing vocals! 2-D has the voice of an angel, and Lily’s whole aesthetic is vaguely-inspired by angels (even to the point that 2-D thought she was a guardian angel for a bit). And, ya know, they sing together, so it’s like a choir! 🎹 is there because 2-D can play the keyboard, and 🕊 is there to reference Lily’s angelcore aesthetic. | 📚🌺Assisted Romanticide🌺📚 - Okay, so Gary and Libby each have a self-defined purpose of existing to assist the ones they care about, including each other. Romanticide is a word for death that is, in some way, caused by romance; THIS is here because Gary and Libby have had to protect each other many many times. 📚 references Gary’s love for comic books, and 🌺 references those vacation button-ups that dads are known to wear (Libby’s shtick is that she’s a dimensional tourist, if that helps to add context). | 💎👻Graveyard Stones👻💎 - Henry is a Rock-Type trainer for GO Rocket, and Liberty is a Hex Maniac (AKA: she trains Ghost and Psychic types). So the name combines both of their type preferences by referencing all the rocks you can find at burial sites. 💎 is a gemstone for Henry; I would’ve given him a 🪨, but that didn’t show up on PC for me. 👻 is for Liberty, because ghost. | 🛋💽FOCUS.EXE Has Crashed💽🛋 - Sasha and Libs both have technological aesthetics linked to them, which explains the techno-blabble in the name. The reason that it’s FOCUS.EXE specifically crashing is because, well, you tend to lose your focus when you’re brainrotting over your lover! 🛋 is for Sasha; it was meant to vaguely reference his weird grudge against lamps, but the emoji honestly just fits his vibe. 💽 represents Libs, since she has the more heavily-used computer aesthetic

I’ll explain 🏩Lavender Lovers🏩 too since I’m about to use it. This is my catch-all tag for when I talk about a TON of F/Os. So, like, my signature color is purple, and lavender is a shade of purple. So my lovers being titled as lovers of a color that’d surely make them think of me is very wholesome. It’s also a reference to the Lavender Lands, which in my self-ship lore is the big cross-over dimension that everyone gets to mingle in. The emoji is 🏩, which I think is a Love Hotel, but might be a Love Hospital instead? That emoji’s just there because there’s a lotta lovers living in the same place (the crossover dimension has this huge mansion we all get to chill in; it’s the biggest roommate trope known to man lmao).

#self ship #self shipper #self shipping #romantic f/o #🏩lavender lovers🏩#🗽letters to liberty🗽#mmmmmm #I’ll put this under Into the Libbyverse too #it technically covers the lore so-

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drabbles-mc · 4 years ago

Text

Like Father, Like Son

Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas x F!Reader

Request by Anon: Could you do a fic with someone (idc they could all be my baby daddy lol) being a boy dad. Like helping him fix his bike, temporary tattoos to look like their mini me and just being lovey and protective over their mom like their dad

Warnings: talk of pregnancy, a whole lot of family fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I would die for soft Creeper Vargas. Me and @garbinge had a mini idea-bouncing sesh about him as a family man and I have a feeling this will not be my last fic about Dad!Creeper lmao. Hope you enjoy!

Join my group-chat here: (X)

Mayans Taglist: @mayans-sauce @thesandbeneathmytoes @paintballkid711 @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @queenbeered @sillygoose6969 @sesamepancakes @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @gemini0410 @multiyfandomgirl40 @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @themoonandthewicked @bucky-iss-bae @encounterthepast @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @holl2712 @lakamaa12 @kkim120 @toni9 @shadow-of-wonder @petlaufeyson @crowfootwrites (If you want to be added to my taglist let me know!)

You heard the familiar rumble of his bike as he pulled into the driveway. Smiling to yourself, you slowly made your way towards the front door. You opened it as he walked up the steps to greet you with a hand on your ever-growing stomach and a light kiss on your lips.

“How are you two ladies today?” he asked as he gently ran his hand over your stomach.

You chuckled, “We’re alright. The rest of your pack, however, is up to no good.”

He smiled, “Oh so they’re my pack now?”

Trying to contain your smirk, you nodded, “Go out back and see what they’ve been up to. You’ll definitely agree that they’re yours today.”

You listened to the sound of his heavy, booted footsteps as he made his way through the house to get to the back yard. You followed a little ways behind, and sure enough moments after you heard the deck door slide shut, you heard the sound of your husband’s laughter filling the air. By the time you made it to the door, Creeper was already crouched down, taking stock of the entire scene in front of him.

“What’s goin’ on out here, lil man?” he asked as he sat down next to his son, who was very seriously looking over all the markers that were spread out in front of him.

“We’re gonna look like you!” your son had the proudest smile on his face as he waved his marker around in the air.

You watched as Creeper took in the sight of his three kids all actually sitting and getting along together. Your son was outnumbered by his little twin sisters, and the three of them bickered constantly the way that young siblings do. But the rare moments when they all really liked each other and got along made the rest of it worth it. You subconsciously rested your hand on your stomach—truthfully neither of you knew the sex of the baby, but Creeper was certain it was another girl. He was practically willing it into existence. You were both going to be thrilled no matter what, but as you stood back and watched Creeper picking out what color to use for his son’s next ‘tattoo’ you couldn’t help but to hope that you’d have another boy running around soon to even out the ranks.

“Who came up with this idea, huh?” Creeper asked the three of them as he carefully started doodling on the back of his son’s hand with a magic marker. The twins simultaneously pointed to their brother and Creeper couldn’t help but to laugh, “I should’ve known.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard them so quiet,” you spoke up as you watched the four of them, “I thought I might’ve lost them for a minute—that’s how quiet the house was.”

“You three? Quiet?” he looked back and forth amongst them, “I don’t believe it,” he put the cap back on the marker and motioned for the girls to come closer, “Lemme see your ink, lil mamas.”

Creeper smiled as he looked at all the designs and doodles that covered his children’s arms. All things being considered, it wasn’t the messiest thing the little crew had ever gotten into. He loved everything about being a father, but moments like this really made his entire heart swell. All three of them had their arms covered in stars and smiley faces, and his son had a very scribbly skull drawn on his knee.

“I like this one,” Creeper tapped his son’s knee lightly, “You do that?” He nodded proudly and Creeper pulled him against his side, “You’ll have to give me one later.”

“Girls?” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, “Now that Dad’s home we can take the dogs out. Still wanna go?”

They leapt up, cheering happily with all the energy that six-year-olds usually had, as they ran inside to grab their socks and shoes. You laughed as you listened to the clamor they caused. Looking back at Creeper and your son, you couldn’t help but to smile.

“You’re more than welcome to come with us,” you rested your arms on top of your new baby bump, “But I figured you two might like some boy time.”

Creeper looked up at you from the floor, “You shouldn’t be doing all that, baby. You should be resting. I’ll take are of it.”

You shook your head, “Walking is good for me, Neron. And for the baby. We’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded as you walked over and placed a kiss on the top of your husband’s head, “Positive. You two have fun. I love you both.”

“Love you,” they both called after you in unison as you walked away. You smiled to yourself as you made your way through the house to catch up with your daughters, who were already being half-dragged out of the house by the dogs they managed to clip the leashes onto.

“Well,” Creeper slowly rose to his feet, holding his hands out to help his son to do the same, “Now that your tattoos are all dry, wanna help me with the bike?”

“Really?” his eyes lit up as he set his hands into his father’s.

“Yea,” he pulled him up and instantly tucked the boy against his side, “C’mon, it’s been a while since we worked on it.”

The two of them walked through the house and made their way out the front door so thye could get to the garage. Creeper stood back, allowing his son to lift and push the garage door up as high as he could before his dad had to take over and open it the rest of the way. Running in, the boy went right over to the light switch and flipped it on. Creeper chuckled as he walked in, making his way over to the large sheet that was draped over his latest project that he’d been tackling little by little with his son.

With a flourish, he removed the fabric, and his son’s eyes instantly lit up. Creeper had always been a bit of a fixer—he liked having projects to plug away at to help him unwind. The bike had been brought to the scrapyard by someone who, “Clearly doesn’t know a fucking thing about motorcycles,” according to Creeper, because there was plenty of potential left for it. The bones were still decent, it just needed a lot of TLC. Creeper called dibs on it and no one was going to fight him on it. So bringing it back to life had been his latest task.

For as much as he enjoyed his solitude a lot of the time, having your son as a built-in assistant to help him with the bike had been a great experience for the both of them. For as young as he was, he was very interested in everything that his father could tell him about the bike, the parts, and the tools used to fix it all. The two of them made a good pair, your son sifting through the tool chest to get whatever his father needed, and Creeper showing him little tricks of taking things apart and putting them back together.

“Y’know,” he cranked the wrench as his son sat next to him, watching intently, “when we’re all done with this, you can choose the color for it if you want.”

His eyes were bright, eyebrows raised in excitement, “Yea?”

He nodded, “Yea. You’ve been doing a lot of work on this—it’s only fair,” he paused for a moment, “It can be your bike, when you’re old enough.”

“Mine?” his eyes were filled with wonder as he thought about what his father had just told him.

“Yea. Just,” he chuckled, “Don’t tell your mom that I said that. It’ll be our little surprise for her.”

“Don’t tell me what?” you were leaning against the garage doorframe, a soft smile on your face as you watched the two of them working together.

Creeper turned around quickly, clearly searching your face to see how much of the conversation you’d heard, “Nothin’, mama. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You chuckled, not convinced, “Mhm. I’m sure,” you absentmindedly ran your hands over your stomach, “Just came out to let you boys know to start wrapping up—dinner’ll be ready in ten.”

You made your way back to the house to finish getting dinner ready and you could hear your two favorite men in the world behind you as they started to clean up their project for the night. It brought a smile to your face and put a warmth in your chest as you walked inside and listened to the loud laughter of your two daughters getting into some kind of trouble in their bedroom.

When they finally made their way inside, you sent them both to wash their hands and get ready for dinner. You could see the disappointment on your son’s face at the thought of washing all of his tattoos away and you had to chuckled quietly to yourself.

“I love you,” Creeper said quietly with a soft smile as he pressed a kiss to your cheek in passing while he made his way to the kitchen sink to wash up.

“I love you too,” you smiled over at him for a second before getting plates and cups down out of the cupboard above your head.

You were getting ready to lift the stack of plates when your son came sliding into the kitchen, skidding skillfully on the hardwood floor in his socks. He lifted the plates instead, beating you to it. You tried to take them back from him, not wanting him to drop the entire stack of plates and have them break, but he insisted.

“I got it, Mom,” he reassured with a nod.

“Honey, I don’t want you to—”

“Dad said you need to rest,” he turned and started walking towards the dining room table, “I got it.”

You chuckled as you glanced over at your husband, “Between the two of you, I’m never going to get to do anything anymore, am I?”

He laughed and kissed you lightly on the lips, “Maybe not. But it’s because we love you.”

You gently cupped his cheek and ran your thumb along his cheekbone, “I love you too.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #creeper vargas #creeper vargas x reader #creeper vargas x you #creeper vargas fanfic #neron vargas #neron creeper vargas #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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annaraebananawriter · 3 years ago

Note

Hugging: comforting hugs and hugging and gently holding the other’s head

Blue and Dream

( wow i could remember It without forgetting about 2 seconds later lol )

And this one marks me finally having an empty inbox! Now I can do another prompt list, and I already have one in mind (although that one will be for the Dream SMP characters only).

I also wrote this as platonic, because that's what I usually default to when I can't tell.

Happy reading!

~oOo~

Waking up to someone screaming was, unfortunately, all too common for Blue.

It was just the side effect of living in a world that reset and a brother who believed he was the only one who remembered, who knew. Of course, Stretch didn't know that Blue remembered too, he just hid it because it didn't matter in the long run. He could handle it, Stretch needed him to pretend everything was fine.

Besides, even if he stopped hiding it, Stretch would probably ignore the possibility, instead taking it all of his shoulders alone.

So, Blue is used to waking up to screaming. He's used to going to the other room, entering the whirlwind of magic, and calming down his brother. He's used to comforting him after his nightmares, staying there until he falls back asleep.

It's just that he's not so used to it happening when he stayed with Ink and Dream.

That's why when it did happen, he had woken up, as usual, growing confused when he remembered where he was. He knew that Stretch wasn't the only monster in the universe to get nightmares, but he didn't think his friends were prone to them too.

Nevertheless, Blue should go and check on them.

Walking out of his room, he first checked in Ink, as his room was the closest. Ink was sprawled out, hugging his paintbrush to his chest while he snored, dead to the world. His blankets had been kicked off to the floor.

(Blue resisted the urge to go and tuck him back in; he wasn't their mother!)

Moving onto Dream's room, Blue paused by the door.

The muffled sobbing told him he'd reached the x on the map.

Sighing, Blue gently knocked on the door. "Dream?"

The sobbing cut off and some shuffling sounds happened before Dream called back, voice wavering, "You can come in, Blue."

Poking his head in, Blue met Dream's eyes. The guardian tried to smile at him, but it was clear that he didn't really mean it. He smiled back anyways, never one to leave one hanging.

"Hey," he said, closing the door behind him as he stepped inside. "I heard some screaming. Everything alright?"

"Oh, everything's fine! Honestly. It was just, just a bad dream, that's all." Dream looked away to trace patterns on his sheet. "I'm sorry that woke you up. You can go back to sleep now."

"I don't think I could sleep when my friend needs some hugs right now." Blue kept his smile strong as Dream looked back up, opening his arms to prove his point, tilting his head. "May I?"

Dream watched him quietly. The hesitation was clear. His friend broke eventually, though, reaching forward in the same motion. Blue wrapped his arms around him just as the sobs started coming out again. He only hummed, alternating between rubbing Dream's back and gently holding his head as the arms around him tightened.

They sat there on the bed for a while. Blue didn't say anything comforting, not like he would with Stretch; Dream didn't like talking about his feeling, acknowledging them as less than perfect was practically a sin in his book. So he only stayed there, offering his shoulder for tears and hums for background noise.

Once the sobs settled down, Dream slowly sat back and wiped the remaining wetness away. Blue watched him, a hand still remaining on his shoulder.

"Better?"

"Better," Dream agreed, smiling genuinely this time. "Thank you, Blue. You didn't have to."

Blue shook his head, laughing. "Nonsense! You're my friend. You needed comforting. I was happy to provide that." Standing up, Blue offered a hand. "Now, how about a cup of hot cocoa before we go back to bed?"

Laughing himself, Dream grabbed his hand. "Sure, as long as you make it. You make the best cup in the multiverse."

#my writing #ask #touches ask prompts #fanfic #drabble #prompt #dream sans #blue sans #swap sans #underswap sans #mentioned ink sans #utmv #undertale

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extravalgant · 3 years ago

Text

‘and in spite of everything, tenderness there must be’ aka that wizbat fluff that anon (half-jokingly?) requested like four months ago

summary: the wizard reflects on things. bat helps them out.

words: 1344

warnings: possibly ooc bat. i kind of got the hang of it but also he’s sort of difficult to write. not too sure about the interactions here but i tried my best (does a little dance); possibly ooc wizard? i just wanted to make something vague enough to be fluffy. it’s also been like... months since ive actually written something coherent. be patient with me 🛐

also its pretty much all lowercase minus punctuation. i hope that doesnt bother anyone lol

through the warm haze of their sleep-addled mind, the wizard could tell that they had fallen asleep the minute they had sat at their desk.

they can’t be to blame, however; their office, upon being assigned to one the first time, had developed a chill over the years - no doubt the result of being empty for so long without any constant heat. their first order of business was to plead with ignis to place a spell, a rune - something - to keep their fingers from falling off.

the wizard couldn’t understand how tarrak could stand the temperature in his own office, which was even chillier than theirs. though, they figured, he was better equipped to deal with environments such as those.

but now the room was.. cozy. a little bit homier and more welcoming. their office had been so bare and awkward the first time they moved into it, unsure of how to decorate it aside from placing books they needed, or paperwork that needed to be filed. they hadn’t learned how to file paperwork at ravenwood.

they hadn’t learn much at ravenwood, truth be told.

at times it did feel as if they had grown into someone with more serious responsibilities - an adult. an authority figure. but each time they braved the bitter winter winds of polaris, or the sweltering desert sands of mirage, they realized how young they felt, how ignorant their own reports were compared with scholars of the school of magics they learned at ravenwood.

professor hargrove’s words echo in their mind, a constant forefront ever since discovering what lurked underneath wizard city.

...but a wizard like you didn’t exactly have time to take a history of magic class, did you?...

history of magic… they would have loved to have taken that class. learn more about the magic they have so much of.

but wizard is as wizard does - and a wizard’s job is never finished. even as their eyes glaze over their own post-world reports, feathered pen nib sliding unceremoniously across the page, it stains their hands in black ink and smudged prints.

it’s not until they feel something warm sliding over their shoulders, fingers gently removing the pen from their hand, do they realize the mistake of having a very warm and cozy office.

a pause. “i didn’t mean to wake you.”

the wizard can’t help the fuzzy warmth that overtakes their chest, and the smile that graces their face at the sound of the voice that they recognize so well.

bat.

“when did you get here?” you ask sleepily. bat looks embarrassed for a second, having been caught in such a vulnerable moment of expressing their concern for them, making them comfortable.

“just now.” he replies. “your room - it’s, uh… very warm.”

the wizard laughs at his awkward attempt at a conversation, and he gives them what they imagine is a sulky look in response.

“i guess that’s my fault, huh.” the wizard said. “i told ignis this room was too cold and now i can’t even do paperwork in here without managing to fall asleep. i think ione is tired of seeing me drool all over reports…”

that doesn’t get the usual half-smile the wizard is used to - rather, they note the slight crease in between his brows. “are you sleeping more here than in your room?”

“i think so.” they remark, trying to wrack their brain the last time they actually left this office to sleep in the apartment they were gifted. “it’s fine though! sorry you have to see all this mess…”

the wizard stands from their seat - surprisingly comfy, and also one of the reasons they manage to fall asleep at their desk all the time. bat watches from the sidelines, observing the way their hands curve over the pages of the report, and appreciates the view of their side profile and face.

and realizes just how self-destructive their tendencies can be.

“you should try to sleep in your room more.” bat starts, again, and they look up questioningly.

“i should keep that in mind.” they admit, a small huff of laughter leaving them. “but, well - you know what they say, a wizard’s work is never done."

“it can be though.” bat supplies, and isn’t quite satisfied with the way that the wizard hums in half-agreement. “you know that, right?”

“of course.” the wizard says, shuffling papers into the nearest open drawer on their desk, before shutting it. “give me a little credit, bat.”

he watches silently for a few moments, eyes gathering in places that they lingered, before deciding to press into their personal space.

the wizard lets out a surprised noise, clearly not used to this kind of straight forwardness from him. “uh—”

“can i kiss you?” he asks, and the wizard notes that he too, is just as nervous as they are about this situation. they take his hand hovering in the air, just above the curve of their cheek, and place it on top, nuzzling their face into his palm.

“you can.” the wizard agrees, and can’t help the dreamy tone they take with him. it almost hurts with how much they trust him so easily; to cradle their heart with enough confidence that it won’t get hurt again.

and he would be damned if he ever betrayed their trust ever again.

the kiss is almost withering – it has the wizard straining their neck against bat’s taller, more bulkier form. they’re desperate for some semblance of affection, of the realization that someone wants them, desires them, covets them.

and that is almost just too much to bear.

“hey.” bat says. “we can do whatever you want today, okay?”

“i…” the wizard furrows their brows, worrying the bottom of their lip between their teeth. “... are you sure? it’s a boring request.”

bat shrugs. “i’ve heard worse.”

“i just kinda want to… go to bed.” they admit, albeit a bit weakly. “i know you and mellori come here to hang out, but i always feel so tired.”

the wizard rests their forehead against his chest, allowing themselves to sag in relief after admitting it. they can feel something almost like shame curl in the center of their chest, but swallow it down anyways. bat had to know – deserved to know. the two of you had promised to communicate your needs to one another, and yet…

they can’t help the shame of actually admitting it.

“we can do that.” is bat’s reply instead. “part of this is also what you want to do, too.”

the wizard stews in their own thoughts for a moment, trying to formulate another reply, when he speaks up again.

“and,” he says, and the tinge of embarrassment is apparent in his voice. “it’ll - you know. make up for the other day when i was talking about my inventions.”

the wizard pauses, before smiling. “i like listening to you talk about stuff you’re passionate about.”

they could tell by the flick of his ears that he wasn’t quite as convinced, but still flustered by the whole thing. “whatever. lets get you to bed.”

“we’re going together.” the wizard says, and another laugh is pulled out of their system as they lead him out the door and into the hallway.

the walk there is short, but punctuated by the intertwining of both your hands, even as the wizard notices the way he squeezes their hand lightly, mauve dusting itself onto his cheeks.

the moment the both of you curl up in your bed next to one another, the wizard understands that saying – you fall asleep faster with the one you love.

bat can try to hear out the mumbles in their voice as the wizard fights to stay awake, but then they feel his arm wrap around them - almost a heavy weight of security around their figure.

“sleep.” he says. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

and now the wizard can’t help but settle against his side, curl into his form, and tuck their head against his chest. and finally - they feel at peace.

and finally, they fall asleep.

#wizard101 #w101 #wizbat #bat w101 #IIIIII HOPE THIS LOOKS OKAY? SOUNDS OK...?!?!!?#omg im so embarrassed about posting this actually #but there is virtually no fics as far as wizbat goes (looks longingly at a03) and i was getting desperate #something soft for the season....!#hopefully . bat wasn't too ooc in this lol #or ill die. fr #and if my non wiz mutuals see this . well . dont mention this to me or ill die of embarrassment<3

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angelofsmalldeathandthecodeine · 5 years ago

Text

Disasters and Detentions

Request: “Hi! Can i please request A fred weasley x reader (I love my boy fred lol). With the angst prompt 16 and fluff prompt 12 and 9 please? Tyty i love your writing!”

(”Why do you care?”/”Oh my God! you’re in love with him”/”God, you’re so fucking cute”

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 1.9k (I got excited or whateva)

A/N: These were suchhh cute prompts to work with, I really love writing the twins in a school enviroment it gives me good vibes :) ALSO this is so long but like I said before, the twins x fluff = a dream.

The Triwizard tournament was all anyone had been talking about recently, and while you could admit it was an exciting year for Hogwarts with the Yule Ball too, you couldn’t help but get tired of everyone’s eagerness – even those too young to participate.

You sat with your friend Hermione, completing work, and simultaneously watching as students in their sixth and seventh year entered their names into the goblet, each time admiring the flicker of the sapphire blue flame.

“Isn’t he dreamy” Hermione commented, gazing at Cedric Diggory who had just placed his name into the Goblet, receiving a warm welcoming from the inferno, indicating acceptance.

“I guess” you said, looking up towards harry noticing he had the exact same grin on his face as yourself. You both knew exactly what Hermione was trying to do and by the looks of Ron it had worked.

You understood why all the girls would swoon over the older, prince charming-like Cedric, but you had someone different in your thoughts…. much different.

Suddenly the room was filled with clapping and cheering as if Gryffindor had just won the Quidditch Cup.

“YESSS” you heard the raspy laughs of what could only be Fred and George, running into the hall with a test tube each. The way the light hit Fred’s copper hair as he ran towards the goblet had caught you in a trance. His Hazel eyes, his bright smile and pale complexion… it was all you could focus on.

Suddenly you were met with a hand being waved across your face which disrupted your line of sight and snapped you back into reality.

“What on earth has gotten into you” Hermione asked, with a puzzled expression on her face.

“uh, nothing just tired” you replied in an attempt to draw as little attention as possible to what was actually distracting you.

“Well lads, we’ve done it” George announced to the mass of applause “cooked it up just this morning”, as soon as you heard Fred’s voice you couldn’t help but swoon at the sound, gaining another weird look from Hermione.

“It’s not going to work” Hermione sung, in a rather condescending manner.

Before you knew it, you were inches away from Fred, who had accompanied his brother in lowering himself to yours and Hermione’s level.

“Oh yeah?” Fred asked, patronisingly back whilst leaning an arm on your shoulder. You weren’t sure what to do in that moment other than freeze and try not to make any eye contact. You could feel your palms get sweatier by the second and your breathing start to increase at a stupidly rapid rate.

“And why’s that Granger?” George then asked, with sole focus on beating Hermione in this sort of battle of ‘who’s right’.

Strangely you thought could feel Fred’s eyes, looking you up and down, which only caused your body to tense up even more than it was before.

You zoned out completely every word that Hermione spoke, only being able to pay attention to the arm that rested on your shoulder and the lips that were inches away from your face.

“Ah but that’s why it’s so brilliant” Fred said, this time you had gained some confidence to look slightly in his way to which you were then face to face with his mischievous grin.

“Because it’s so pathetically dim-witted” George over emphasised in Hermione’s scolding face, causing you to giggle like a schoolgirl.

God, how pathetically dim-witted of you.

Fred and George looked at each other before rising to their naturally giant-like height in high spirits of just winning an argument against Hermione Granger.

Whilst putting a thumb over the test tubes to shake them you couldn’t help but kind of worry about Fred. It was such a strange feeling, you knew how much of a prankster both him and his twin were, but the potion was dangerous, and not nearly as dangerous as if they managed to enter the tournament itself.

“I hope he’s alright” you accidentally mumbled under your breath, causing a slightly aggravated Hermione to snap back.

“What, Fred? Why do you care?” she replied, meeting your gaze focusing on Fred.

There was silence for what seemed like forever, you didn’t know what to say and didn’t want to make it obvious, “I don’t I just, uh, I made one of those potions myself at home, nasty things” you settled with.

Yet, you were forgetting who exactly you were talking to, they don’t call her the brightest witch for her age for no reason. Hermione looked at you, who then looked at Fred, who seemed to be looking in your direction and suddenly the light bulb inside her turned on.

“Oh my God! You’re in love with him!” Hermione gasped, giggling in the process.

“Shh Hermione!” you attempted to reduce the chances of anyone hearing the truth, especially that of Fred.

“Ready Fred?”

“Ready George”

“Bottoms up” the twins sang in unison which helped distract Hermione from the information that she had just heard. Fred and George proceeded to jump into the ring of fire that guarded the Goblet, letting out a very confident “Yesss” that got the crowd going once more.

Putting their names in the fire seemed to actually work, gaining a repeated and very smug “Yeahhh” from both the twins – yet there’s one thing you had learnt during your time at Hogwarts, and it was that Hermione was always right.

Instantaneously there was a flash of blue light and before you knew it both the twins were rolling around on the floor with white beards, rather resembling Dumbledore himself.

You couldn’t help but really belly laugh at their stupidity as the crowd chanted “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

“Detention! The both of you!” McGonagall’s voice went straight though you, yet you continued to laugh at the twins’ misfortune as she attempted to separate them.

“And I suppose you find this funny miss Y/L/N” McGonagall’s eye caught your line of sight, “then I shall see you in detention with these two buffoons”

You groaned at the thought, which seemed to only antagonise her further “Oh and since the three of you are in Gryffindor, 10 points from Gryffindor” she spoke in a high tone, which earned a groan from the majority of the room.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Later that day you had found yourself in the detention hall with both Fred and George, alongside a few other misbehaving students. Don’t get me wrong, you had sat through your fair share of detentions, it was just that this year you had promised yourself that you would try and reduce the amount of time you had to spend with Professor Snape.

After what felt like an eternity, Snape put his head down to mark some work and you felt like you could finally breathe.

A paper bird landed onto your desk, bringing you back into the real world.

The note simply read:

‘I’m sorry for getting you into trouble’

You turned around discreetly to be met by Fred, who gave you a gentle smile, and in turn you were holding in quite possibly the biggest smile you have ever had before.

“God, you’re so fucking cute” you mumbled to yourself whilst reading the note, but before you knew it Fred’s message started to disappear, and the ink began to write the last words you spoke.

Of course, Fred had used magical ink. “oh no no no” you began to panic quietly, frantically trying to think of a spell that would erase the words on the note. Yet, your anxious mind only hindered your time and the note began to transform into a paper bird and fly behind you towards Fred’s seat.

You started to sink into yours, literally face palming at the thought of Fred reading those words. You were so embarrassed that right then and there you had sworn you just wouldn’t open your mouth for the rest of the year.

Since you hadn’t got another note back and you hadn’t turned around to check, you prayed that the paper bird had just got lost on the way back to him.

Once detention had finished you collected your books and rushed out of Snape’s classroom, faster than you ever had before.

“Oi! Y/N! where you off too?” Fred’s voice unexpectedly called after you, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

“Just uh, the common room” you replied without looking back to face him, maybe everything was alright after all, and maybe Fred really hadn’t seen your note.

“Great, I’ll walk you”, you heard Fred’s footsteps get closer and closer to you, before finally gaining the courage to face him in hopes of his cluelessness.

“Oh by the way, this is for you” Fred opened his two hands to reveal a paper bird, pecking at his palm, “couldn’t have gave it to you back then of course, Snape was watching me like a hawk” he laughed before allowing the bird to flutter into your hands.

Your heart sank at the thought of opening the note, with a sick feeling in your stomach.

‘Y/N,

I had no idea you felt that way, but in that case… You’re way cuter’

You giggled slightly, feeling a sense of relief yet still feeling extremely anxious. Fred Weasley thought you were cute. You couldn’t believe it.

Finally looking up from the note, you noticed Fred’s hazel eyes staring longingly into your own, and you couldn’t look away.

You watched as he lifted his hand to your cheek, pushing back the hair that draped slightly over your face. The brush of his fingers on your skin felt so soft and warm, yet your gaze remained. In that moment you felt no sickness, no heart sinking, and no anxiety… just butterflies in your stomach and a sense of serenity.

“Is this okay?” Fred asked, and with one nod from you he began to lean in closer, causing you to slowly press onto your tip toes to make his job a little easier. This time he lifted his right hand to cup your face completely.

Upon instinct you closed your eyes, feeling your face be lifted towards his. You could feel the warmth of Fred’s breath grow closer, placing your hands on his lower torso where they would naturally reach.

The moment was perfect, and without a second thought your lips met Fred’s in a soft exchange. The initial kiss allowed you to linger for a moment, digesting the feeling of not only his face against yours but his fingers entwined in your hair.

Your lips were left cold but sweet as you breathed into Fred, causing him to place a second kiss on your lips returning the warmth you had just felt. This time you felt the corners of Fred’s mouth curl into a smile which made you do the same.

Pulling away slightly and starting to land on the heels of your feet you began to open your eyes slightly, seeing Fred’s adorable smile with his eyes closed. He began to pull you up again ever so slightly, eyes still closed.

“Hang on, just one more” he seemed in a trance, and giggling you put your hands around his neck to which he lifted you gently. The third kiss was as good as the first and second, and with that you were placed onto the ground, spiritually and physically.

You and Fred giggled at each other when finally opening both your eyes to see each other again. You felt Fred’s hand snake down your arm to meet your own hand, locking his fingers between yours.

You looked down at the floor and bit your lip at the afterthought of the moment, gripping Fred’s hand tightly as he let out a heavy breath.

“I bloody love detention” Fred announced as you walked hand in hand towards the common room, giggling.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fanfiction #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley oneshot #george weasley imagine #fred weasley imagine #Harry Potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins x reader

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ahtsumu · 4 years ago

Text

again and again and again ; ushijima wakatoshi

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader

synopsis: every august 13th, a void opens in your chest. the universe is one sick bastard.

tag(s): soulmate!au, very angsty, equally fluffy, reincarnation!au, prince!ushijima, rebel!ushijima. android!ushijima, dad!ushijima, pro-volleyball player!ushijima ; warning(s): lots of death n dying, suggestive themes, light profanity ; wc: 4.8k

a/n: happy birthday ushi!!! inspired by cloud atlas and the raven cycle but you don’t have to have seen either to understand this fic. tbh it’s just a bunch of different au’s tied together by the strings of fate lol. a thousand thank you’s to @dorkyama for beta-ing!

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2020

It’s another August 13th and Ushijima Wakatoshi might die today.

Glumly, you push away the plate of breakfast in front of you, cross your arms over the new space, and rest your forehead down as if in front of a grave.

“Please,” you beg with eyes shut. “Let Ushijima Wakatoshi live today.”

(You’ve whispered this phrase infinite times–– so often that it has a home in your mouth like a cavity.)

SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON, 2012

When you first meet Ushijima–– the first first time–– it’s evening and you’re lost in a meadow somewhere in Washington. Where exactly doesn’t quite matter and, even if it did, you wouldn’t be able to remember. At least, not at this moment. Because you see something most peculiar.

Under the half-lit sky, in the glade of overgrown sweet vernal grass and marigolds and daisies, a figure stands paler than the moon overhead.

The body belongs to a young man dressed in a sweater and slacks. His dark hair parts on the side, stopping right above a pair of firm dark eyes. Thin lips press in a perfunctory line, sharp nose radiates an aura of authority.

And yet, he looks lost.

“Hello?” you call out. The boy doesn’t respond, only continues to hover in the middle of the clearing with the same confounded expression on his face. So you ignore the pounding of your heart in your chest and inch closer until you’re just feet away, shivering. It’s a strangely cold day for July, you think.

“Can you tell me your name?” you ask. Seconds pass in silence as he stares past–– no, through–– you. With your thudding heartbeat and shallow breaths still the only sounds in the meadow, you realise that you may have to try something else.

Gently, you touch the pads of your fingers to his shoulder. A fresh wave of ice floods through your veins, raising goosebumps all over your skin. More curiously, though, your fingers fall through said shoulders. It feels like plunging your hand into a bucket of ice.

Eyes wide, you lunge backwards. A ghost?

No, ghosts aren’t real.

(If that’s the case, then what is he?)

At your touch, the boy’s head jerks up. Life floods his gaze. Blinking, he says, “Ushijima.” His voice is low and smooth, but quiet. Firm. He looks around the meadow as if seeing it for the first time.

“Is that all?”

Ushijima’s focus returns to you, this time with the addition of furrowed brows. His eyes are fixed on you in a way that makes you feel as if he’s reading your soul.

“That’s all there is.”

A million questions race through your mind and before you can decide which to ask first, his incorporeal figure vanishes from the meadow.

And you’re alone again.

Oddly enough, the way back to your aunt’s house comes naturally to you. Once inside the ancient wooden manor, you realise that the feeling that guided you back was the same that had led you to the meadow in the first place.

Then, you wonder, had you truly been lost?

Aunt Risa’s an eccentric woman in her thirties, always yabbering on about Mercury in retrograde and events that are yet to happen. Grandma had been the same. Clairvoyance, or what everyone claims is “clairvoyance”, supposedly runs in your family. You wouldn’t know, though, because apparently it skipped your mother. Coincidentally (or not), she’s extremely proud of her normality. And she’s also extremely proud that you, supposedly, are normal, too.

It’s safe to say that you don’t see your mother’s family often.

Still, she sent you here from New York to “connect with your roots”. And even though you know that’s a cover for “raise hell somewhere else for one summer”, you let yourself consider that it means getting acquainted with the mystic mumbo-jumbo you’ve ignored all these years. After all, nothing normal can explain what just happened in the field… right?

Good thing Aunt Risa isn’t normal.

“That’s Glendower’s Meadow you were just in,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes. “Lies atop a very powerful ley line.”

Ley lines, you learn, connect places around the world through electromagnetic forces. They are also able to transcend time, gravity, space… all forces that cannot be seen.

Aunt Risa adds that they do more than just connect places. “Soulmates countries apart can step on any point in the same line to see each other. It’s been said that the power ley lines emit is so strong that even soulmates worlds and years apart can meet in these little pockets of energy. Guess it tides you over til you’re destined to meet.”

Somehow, everything she says makes sense and doesn’t at the same time. Soulmates? Magic? None of this is real, is it?

“Now,” she continues, “it’s odd that you can use ley lines, though. Remember how you couldn’t tell a black jackal from a swan the last time you read tea leaves?”

You frown. At seven years old, you hadn’t exactly been trying.

“I guess there is something supernatural about you! You can’t deny how magical it is to have a love that transcends lifetimes…”

You don’t hear the rest of what she has to say. “Lifetimes?”

“Yup. Soulmates are the only people in this universe who go through reincarnation. The Universe is a hopeless romantic, letting her children fall in love again and again and again.”

And this explanation satisfies you because you’re sixteen, a little naive, and the Universe has never failed you before.

(She will.)

July passes in a honeyed haze: you spend every day with a content curve to your lips, thinking about a boy with eyes and hair dark as night.

Aunt Risa doesn’t have the heart to tell you that she’s seen his future in this life. And when you step out the creaky wooden door for the last time, ready to go back to the bustling jungle that is New York, she calls out to you with an expression you don’t yet recognise. “Don’t you worry, hun. You’ll see that Ushijima boy again.”

But not like this.

You’re about to get out of bed and dress for the first day of school when an out-of-control eighteen-wheeler runs his driver’s black SUV off the road. Ushijima Wakatoshi dies on August 13th in his timezone.

As it happens, you feel a strange sense of loss settle in. It’s like you’d been driving on the highway and just missed the last turn home.

(You’ll learn in the next life that you, in fact, do not have the gift of foresight. But you do have the curse of memory.)

PARIS, FRANCE, 1749

The year is 1749 and sunlight pours through the windows of Ushijima Wakatoshi’s second-floor bedroom.

In this life–– your second life–– you are a brilliant composer. The Universe, as you’ve guessed, follows no rules, no directions. Doesn’t even spare a glance at a linear timeline. Or perhaps, it’s time that isn’t linear. Either way, you try not to think about things out of your control. Life is good now.

At the sound of your fingers waltzing across ivory and ebony, Ushijima slowly sits up in the king-sized, soft linen sheets falling to reveal his chiselled torso.

“Good morning,” he rasps, a content smile tugging at his lips. “You look enchanting as always.”

The melody stops. Between the lid and music rack, your eyes meet–– his gentle, yours mirthful. “You flatter me,” you deny with a cheeky grin. Still, you rise (wearing his robes, Ushijima notes) from your seat and stroll over to your lover, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs against your lips. “I live another year just for you.” Ushijima really means that–– in fact, he believes with his whole heart that he was made for you and you him. There’s no other way to explain how your bodies mould so perfectly together, how you understand each other without even speaking, how time feels like it doesn’t exist whenever you’re around. Your meeting at Duke La Trémoille’s ball could only have been the work of Fate’s nimble fingers.

(It was. A ley line runs underneath the Duke’s family château.)

You hum, thankful that this time you have the privilege to love him as he lives. Your last life was spent agonising over the only memory you had of him. “And what does this day have in store for the man of the hour?” The words that leave your lips morph into bubbling laughter as he moves aside on the bed and pulls you into his embrace. Still giggling, you kiss his bare chest, relishing in how secure his arms feel around your waist.

“Mother is hosting a ball tonight in my honour,” he says. That you are not invited to, he doesn’t add. He doesn’t have to, though, because you know that she doesn’t approve of you. Not being French is the main reason why, but there’s also the fact that you’re a musician. A talented, accomplished, royally recognised musician, sure, but that doesn’t change how at the end of the day, all you have to your name is inked paper.

And Ushijima Wakatoshi is first in line for the throne of France.

“Ah.”

It’s hardly fair for you to feel slighted–– you knew what you were getting into the second the Crown Prince, notorious for his aloof nature, invited you to Versailles to perform for him and his friends.

(In his defense, Duke Tendou had forced his hand by threatening to throw a fit in front of the Queen, but only after he’d seen the painfully restrained wonder in the prince’s eyes.)

Still, you yearn for something more.

Ushijima feels your body stiffen in his arms and knows the moment has soured. “You can never be Queen of France,” he murmurs into your neck. Shivers crawl down your spine the same time tears prick at your eyes. “And I can never give you a throne.” It’s not the throne you yearn for.

“I know.” You curse whoever the lucky girl will be. And you curse Ushijima for reminding you that she will definitely not be you.

“I can only promise you my heart.” He presses his lips to the side of your neck. “My undying devotion.” A kiss to your exposed shoulder. “And my soul in every life we meet.” His hand slides under your chin and turns your head towards his. Soft lips move against yours while the pads of his fingers wipe away the tears that had spilled over your cheeks.

“Toshi, I must say that the literature tutor your mother hired is doing a marvellous job,” you murmur once you pull apart.

A short breath of amusement leaves his nose. “He’s only polishing a gem that already exists,” Ushijima counters.

You smile slyly, another witty remark ready to launch from your mouth, when three sharp knocks at the door cause both of you to freeze.

“My friends, the Devil approaches.” Tendou’s faint voice travels through the opulent front door.

Sighing, you slide off the bed and tug your day dress on. Without being asked, Ushijima ties the laces in the back together. “Tell your mother I said hello, won’t you?” you tease, kissing him deeply on the balcony.

“I’d prefer not to think about my mother with your lips pressed to mine, darling,” he replies.

You giggle softly, and with one leg dangling off the balustrade, say, “And careful not to wear yourself out dancing, Toshi. Expect a visit from me later.”

His sonorous laughter rings through the air as you jump and land deftly on the freshly cut grass below, running the whole way back to your humble apartment in the eleventh arrondissement.

Regrets of not sneaking into the ball will burn into your brain after Tendou arrives at your door later that evening with a faraway stare on his face.

Towards the end of the ball, Ushijima Wakatoshi is led away from the dance floor and into the gardens by his scheming younger brother Goshiki.

He doesn’t return. The beloved Crown Prince of France dies on his twenty-first birthday with a dagger in his chest and poison in his veins.

With two lives under your belt, you reach the cruel understanding that in every life you live, August 13th is the day that Ushijima Wakatoshi dies again and again and again.

In a sense, memory is foresight.

NEO SEOUL, 2144

Tomorrow, the Union Revolutionary Group exposes the government for their crimes against your people.

But tonight, your head rests against his chest–– a habit you picked up sometime after Germany, 1943, even though you are presently in Neo Seoul, 2144. To be honest, you’re not sure if it’s even 2144. Neo Seoul’s calendar isn’t like the one you went through your first few lives with and you’re certain one year here is equivalent to two back on the Earth you knew… or something like that. Either way, every August 13th passes under your nose without detection. Every day passes uneasily, because although you never truly know when anyone dies in any life, you really don’t know when he will in this one.

But hearing Ushijima’s heart beat firmly manages to take the edge off yours. Every pulse is a murmured confirmation that everything is still okay.

You jerk back when he stirs from sleep. Disorientated, Ushijima blinks at your dimly lit figure before registering that it’s you. A confused expression crosses his features. What had you just been doing?

“Is everything alright?” His voice is raspy with drowsiness but he sits upright against the headboard anyway.

“Yeah.”

“No, it’s not. Tell me what’s wrong.” Nothing ever slips past him–– at least, not when it comes to you. Still, you bite your lip and contemplate if it’s worth mentioning. Three years of working alongside the renegade Commander (and hundreds more from other lifetimes) have taught you that words of comfort do not belong in Ushijima’s vocabulary. But it’s the night before you, the only known freed Fabricant working with the Union, are going to expose the Unanimity’s enslavement of Fabricants to all inhabitants of Neo Seoul. And…

“I’m scared, Wakatoshi.”

He thinks you’re talking about tomorrow. His eyes dart to the holographic digits floating throughout his room. 12:02 AM. You’re talking about today, then. He’s not wrong–– you are afraid of today. But you’re also afraid every day.

Ushijima pauses, wondering what to say. He’s never felt fear the same way others do. Others might only see a myriad of ways they can fail or die but he simply sees a chance to prove himself. A chance to emerge victorious. “If you let yourself be scared,” he says, “then you lose without fighting. Fear is a wasted emotion. Even at your last breath, you should never be afraid.”

As you mull his words over in your head, a section of your hair falls in front of your face. Ushijima’s fingers twitch. Would it be too much to––

“Then what should I feel instead?” He stills.

The question hangs in the air, thickening until the spacious room feels suffocating. Normal people–– people you knew a couple of lifetimes ago–– would probably say something like “love” or “hope” or even “don’t”. You think Ushijima might, too.

But when Ushijima speaks, he says, “Feel right now.”

A shift in the moonbeam pouring through your surrounding glass walls casts a muted glow over your features, breaking through the darkness of the room. Ushijima’s olive eyes flash and fall to your shining lips.

His Adam’s apple bobs. Anticipation bubbles in your stomach.

You think that you might die tomorrow. He might die any day. What are you waiting for?

Feeling a fiery rush of blood surge through your veins, you close the distance between your bodies until the tips of your noses touch. Gently, your hand comes up to the back of his neck, feeling his pulse speed up under your fingers. He instantly reaches out, grips your waist firmly. Hot, uneven breaths fan across your face.

“What––”

“I know it’s forbidden between Fabricants and pure-bloods,” you breathe out, “but––”

Ushijima nudges his lips against yours. They move stiffly, unsurely, but it’s sincere. It’s his first kiss and it’s your… you’ve lost count by now. It doesn’t really matter, though. Past, future, or present, every one of his touches feels new.

Both of you might die tomorrow. But tonight, you both are so very alive.

And when his heart pounds, unmuffled, bare against yours, you are reminded to live now.

Twenty-one hours later, a laser beam whizzes past your ear.

“Go faster!” you shout over the wind, tightening your arms around Ushijima’s waist. “We have to get to the broadcast station now.”

“I’m trying,” he grits out, pressing his foot harder against the hoverbike’s pedal. You speed up, but only a little. “Fuck. Remember what I taught you about the laser pistols?”

“Always aim a little higher than you want to.” From the mirrors on the side, you see the corners of his lips quirk up. You reach for the gun in his belt.

Not a single police officer remains on your tail when you step foot into the broadcast station.

“We don’t have much time, miracle girl,” Tendou, a fellow Union soldier, says once you arrive. He punches the elevator button. Instantly, the chute opens. “Cameras have picked up on at least five Unanimity squads headed our way from the city.”

The sinking feeling that today out of all days might be August 13th suddenly weighs on your stomach. A shaky breath leaves your mouth.

Ushijima stops you before you can step in. Cupping your face with his large hands, the brunet gazes deeply into your eyes. “I believe in you,” he murmurs. “I believe in you.” His fingers brush against your cheekbones. You let your eyelids close, relishing in this stolen moment between two new lovers.

Ushijima presses his lips against yours, kissing you as if he’s trying to carve a message into your bones. He whispers his conviction one last time before stepping back and allowing Tendou to push you lightly into the elevator. The thought that Ushijima’s words allude to more than just faith nudges your brain as the two men grow smaller in your sight.

Halfway through your revelations, the Unanimity cuts through the metal doors of the station. Behind the glass panels encasing the radio room, you watch the shootout begin. Every bone in your body screams for you to join your comrades, but you remember what your orders are. No matter what happens, do not stop the broadcast. If the truth doesn’t come out now, the Union will have sacrificed everything in vain.

You will your voice to steady when Unanimity soldiers take out the Union soldiers hiding behind Tendou’s barricade.

You will your hands to unclench when Ushijima deftly slides over his squad’s barricade and tosses a plasma grenade towards a cluster of enemy soldiers, then picks off the survivors with his Union rifle.

You will your breath to endure when the brunet is blown back by a grenade tossed by another squadron. Ushijima’s cranium collides with the floor. His body stills; blood red as cherry wine pools around his head like a cruel halo. Swallowing, you push forth. You’re a soldier.

But you can’t help the way your throat dries or hands shake or lungs tighten when you see his head turn ever-so-slightly in your direction.

He smiles in his last breath.

(The Archivist asks if you loved Ushijima before you are taken away. You tell him you always have, do, will.

The Unanimity guillotine doesn’t scare you like you think it should. Knowing what and who waits ahead, it feels more like a kiss to your neck.)

QAASUURI, 3003

As you step out of the metal carriage, the ground beneath you begins to vibrate. This, as you’ve learned, can only mean that you are standing atop another ley line.

Olive eyes stare at you impassively when you look up. A dazzling array of awards and medals is pinned to his chest over a white military uniform. Compared to all the other soldiers around him, you gather that the deep purple cape over his shoulders means he’s someone important. Possibly your betrothed? You briefly recall another lifetime in which he’d been the crown prince of somewhere, and you, by a spectacular stroke of misfortune, had only been a composer then. Fighting back a smug grin, you muse that this time, you are a princess.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi, Captain of the Qaasuuri Royal Guard, at your service,” he says with a low bow. “King Washijou appointed me to ensure your safety during your courtship with the prince, your highness. These are trying times, especially with the war against Ibis.” Your heart falls. So it’s one of those lives.

Mustering the warmest smile you can, you curtsy and say, “Thank you, Ushijima. I hope we can get to know each other better.”

You do.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the Qaasuuri are a race more android than human. But nothing about him feels artificial. He is as real as he was in Berlin. Atlantis. Cairo. Camelot. Hanoi. Olympus. Tallahassee. He feels as human, too.

You get to relearn the way his cheeks flare up when you call him Toshi and not Ushijima for his first time (force of habit)... and every subsequent time (at your pleasure).

You get to relearn his wry humour, how every-so-often his stony demeanour breaks after one of your quick jabs, usually in response to his agonisingly blunt remarks. (“You should have brought a coat, princess,” he notes with disapproval when you shiver in the chilly spring air. You promise him that you look better with hypothermia than in any Qaasuuri coat. An amused breath blows out from his nose. And though he doesn’t say a word more on the subject, his white jacket over your shoulders speaks more than enough.)

You get to relearn how his hands feel on your skin. The first lesson is your mistake: missing a step down the spiralling staircase on your way to dinner. Automatically, his hand grips your arm to pull you back. He uses a little more force than necessary, though, and tugs you into his firm chest. Neither of you can look at each other for the rest of the evening. The second is his mistake: reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you read in the palace library, somehow knowing it’s one of your pet peeves. Both of you freeze when his fingers accidentally brush against your cheek. Ushijima thinks he’s never felt skin softer than yours–– you think it’s been too long since he last touched you.

The third is neither a mistake nor just one of your doings. It happens on a cool autumn evening as the two of you walk through the palace gardens with your hands dangling haphazardly at your sides, knocking against each other again and again as if begging for an opening. Finally, you acquiesce. You slip your hand into Ushijima’s cold palms. And though nothing shows on his stony face, his heart whirrs like an overheating engine for the rest of your walk. He doesn’t let go until the iron palace comes back into view.

“We should stop,” he pants between fervent kisses, “before this gets out of hand.” You nip at his neck. “You’re betrothed to the prince––” you suck on the skin between his collarbones and throat, drawing a low groan from his lips “––and I can never give you a throne.”

You pull back, knees on either side of his waist, and stare down into his eyes. “I don’t want a throne.” Ushijima watches you with rapt attention. Sometimes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he remembers. Slowly, you repeat his words from lifetimes ago. “I only want your heart.” An unreadable expression crosses his face. “Your devotion.” It’s not recognition. “And your soul.”

It’s conviction.

By now you’ve seen many breathtaking things: entire cities built from ice, the end of the ocean, a Venusian sunrise. None compare to Ushijima Wakatoshi with his pupils blown wide, hair tousled, lips flushed. Red with love.

None compare when he promises, “You have that and more.”

A pause.

“Show me.”

With an effortless flip, Ushijima’s muscled body hovers over yours, olive eyes flashing wildly in your dim chambers.

Amid fast breaths and guttural moans, amid steely olive eyes and parted lips, amid the subatomic space between your bodies, you feel it cloak your skin like armour.

Love.

(The Ibis storm the Qaasuuri castle one month before the wedding. Ushijima fights the invaders valiantly, superhuman modifications undoubtedly being of help. But there’s just too many of them. The last thing he tells you is to run. The world burns when you look over your shoulder, only to see a Ibisian sword drive through his heart.

The Qaasuuri are a race more android than human. But they still bleed the same.)

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2018

The oldest you ever witness him live to is thirty-two years old.

It’s the morning of August 13th and you walk into the kitchen to the sight of Ushijima Wakatoshi lifting your daughter up into the sky, spinning her little body around in circles, the pancakes on the stove slowly bronzing to a mouthwatering shade of gold.

“Mommy!” she giggles when she sees you. Leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, you watch your husband set your daughter back down on the ground with a soft smile on his face.

“Sleep well?” you ask, ruffling her hair. She nods happily and bounces back to the stove. Her latest obsession has been cooking in the kitchen, though you’re not sure when exactly she moved on from “potion-making” in the backyard.

“Morning,” Ushijima murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Happy birthday, handsome,” you tease, leaning into his chest. As the words leave your mouth, the sunny morning haze cools into desaturated blue. But it’s been thirty-two years, you reason with a hard swallow. Maybe the cycle has broken. Your eyes dart to your daughter’s little figure on the stepping stool, her small hands gripping the spatula flipping a bronzed pancake over to its pale side. How would she…

You steel yourself, though a small fissure can’t help but open in your heart from the force.

She isn’t your first child and she won’t be your last. Time, you’ve learned, likes to play games, likes to set you on the same storyline again and again just to see if another ending will show itself. There will be more tomorrows and more yesterdays. There always is.

But that doesn’t make todays hurt any less.

Ushijima tilts his head to the side, olive eyes peering into yours. “Is everything okay?” He never misses (or missed) anything–– not when the two of you were heisting in Switzerland or revelling in Alexandria like Dionysians, not when you were crammed in the same codebreaking room during World War I or sailed across the Atlantic to your doom in 1912. Not now.

But you’re tired of carrying each bygone lifetime into the next. Willing yourself to forget the fact that you’ve seen him die again and again on August 13th, you put everything into the lie that slips your teeth: “More than okay.”

You choose to cherish the present.

“Order up!” your daughter exclaims, proudly presenting the plate of pancakes to you and Ushijima. “I even made one shaped like a heart for Dad for his birthday!”

With a grin, you come closer to inspect the heart-shaped pancake. “Excellent work, sous chef!” you compliment, tapping her nose lightly. It’s sharp like her father’s. She, however, inherited your eyes. You turn around to face your husband. “What does Head Chef Ushijima think?”

Smiling softly, he takes the plate from her hands and, without a second look, says, “It’s perfect. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Breakfast passes in a blur of laughter and honey.

(You think you have gone through another August 13th unscathed when night falls and all of your friends exit through the cherry wood doors of one of Tokyo’s finest restaurants. On the car ride home, however, your white SUV swerves to avoid a deer in the road and flips once, twice, three times.

You wake up neither a mother nor a wife.)

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2020

A subtle sigh of relief exits your lungs when Ushijima Wakatoshi enters through the front door at 12:01 AM, red Team Japan suitcase in hand. He’s back from the airport. More importantly, he’s alive.

“Did I make it?” he asks with an upturned corner of his mouth. His olive eyes are half-closed from the exhausting transatlantic flight and his muscles are still a bit sore from how vigorously he played the game against Argentina (Oikawa’s team, for god’s sake)... but he’s here.

And he can’t be any happier.

You know that he’s talking about the time, probably hoping to joke that coming home to you is the best birthday present he can imagine. In that regard, he technically hasn’t made it.

And yet, you leap into his arms and press kisses all over his face as you repeat “yes” again

and again

and again.

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redrobbingabank · 3 years ago

Text

Prison Break

Tw: lots of violence, blood

The white pastry box in her hands was heavy with the weight of the pie. Niki walked down the prime path the way she always did, smiling softly, sweater sleeves covering her hands. It had been a long time since she truly felt the way. She wasn’t sure when it had become a disguise, but it had, and everyone believed it without batting an eye. Beneath it, rage burned, hot but controlled. Always controlled. Her best weapon, she knew, was how she was perceived. Patience would pay off. Nothing but pain was coming for the people who’d locked her friend away.

She found Sam outside the museum. He leaned against the pillar, turning an unlit cigarette over and over in his fingers. He glanced up at her footsteps, then pushed himself off the pillar and pocketed the cigarette.

Niki smiled brightly. “Sam! I was just looking for you.” She hurried up the steps and under the awning outside the museum. The light rain a few feet away droned on.

“Hey, Niki.” Sam sounded tired. He looked it, too. Purple bags under his eyes were made starker by the unhealthy pallor of his face. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Are you okay?” she asked, arranging her features into a concerned look. “You look exhausted.”

Sam blinked a few times. “Yeah, I’m good. Just all the stuff that’s happened around the prison. Tommy, you know?”

No mention of Techno. Nothing about the lies, about how he and Quackity had pulled him away from his damn birthday party to lure him in. Niki nodded understandingly. “I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end,” she said. Then she held out the box. “I made you a pie. Felt like you might need a pick me up on guard duty so often.”

A small smile appeared on Sam’s face. “Thanks, Niki. I really appreciate that.” He took the box, opening it to find a pumpkin pie and cutlery taped to the side. “Pumpkin! My favorite.”

“I was hoping I remembered right.” Niki smiled again. There was a chance it wouldn’t work, she knew. That Sam would set it aside for later. But he had a parentlike streak. Niki had seen it in his interactions with Tommy. So she tweaked her gaze, made it subtly more hopeful and excited. Sam noticed, and freed the fork from the side of the box. He relaxed a little at the first bite of the comfort food and immediately ate more. “It’s good?” Niki asked sweetly.

Sam nodded. “It’s amazing. Thank you, Niki, really. I needed this.” He swallowed another bite, and two things that would oppose each other happened. First, his eyes widened with panic. Then they began turning glassy. “What…” his knees buckled, and he slowly slid down the pillar before falling sideways.

It had worked. Niki and Jack had been playing around for a while. Mixing potions together, testing the effects. They’d found a combination Jack had named Aurora’s Poison. Weakness, slowness, the scantest drop of harming, and a ground up petal from a wither rose. Death without stillness.

Sam’s face had taken on a bluish tinge, but his chest still moved up and down. His eyes were half open. “Niki… ” he mumbled, “help.”

Finally, the facade could fall. Niki’s smile turned into a cold smirk. She squatted beside him, strands of pink hair falling into her face. “Oh, Sam.” His lighter had fallen from his pocket. She picked it up and sparked it, studying the flame before looking back at him. “You don’t deserve my help.”

There was the faintest glimmer of realization in his eyes before they closed for good. “Sweet dreams, Warden. The Syndicate sends its regards,” Niki murmured. She stood. Let Quackity try to wake him. He was a living corpse.

She stepped back into the rain, her boots the only sound on the prime path as she returned to the underground bunker Techno had left in his instructions. Phil and Ranboo were already inside and suited up. There were two more pairs of netherite armor on stands against the back wall. One was for her. The second was for Techno.

“How’d it go?” Phil asked.

“Perfectly,” she replied, tying the straps of the chestplate. Phil’s armor had two bumps on the back, designed specifically to accommodate his wings. He had his sword in hand, shield leaning against his wall. A crossbow and quiver were slung across his back, and Techno’s sword hung from his belt. “Didn’t know what hit him.”

Ranboo looked the calmest Niki had ever seen him. Normally, he fidgeted constantly. Now, his hands were still, aside from the way they drifted to his axe handle. His face was set determinedly, and his crown hung from his armor stand, swapped out for a helmet. He’d been the one to get them the armor. It shone with the best enchantment the server could offer. Niki had known he was rich, but she hadn’t realized exactly how much he’d been sitting on. Her jaw had nearly dropped when, before they set out, he passed a totem to each of them.

“Need help?” he asked, taking half a step towards her when she started struggling with her gauntlets.

“I’ve got it.” Ranboo returned to the wall. He began tracing the blade of his axe lightly with his finger.

When she’d finally gotten all her armor in place, Niki crossed to the rack of weapons. She seized her bow and a quiver of harming arrows, slinging them across her back. She and Phil were the contingency plans if they were somehow pursued. Finally, she picked up her own axe. Its enchantments hummed, sending thrills up her arm. “Ready.”

“Ranboo?” Phil asked. The teenager nodded. “Alright, then.” He flicked the lever by the door. The sound of breaking glass filled the air as potion bottles broke. Niki felt the difference immediately, her bones strengthening with the magic. “Let’s go.”

Phil had known anger before. His life had been too long not to. There had been a time, before Techno, before Wilbur, that he let it consume him. Then Techno had arrived, and it was like impulse control had been installed. They were still formidable, of course, but Phil didn’t seek war anymore.

He knew grief, too. He knew the way it moved, the way it played with you until you wanted to sink beneath its waves and drown. It had consumed him after Wil’s death. He could hardly bring himself to clean his sword before he fell into a stupor in front of the fireplace. It had been Techno, again, who pulled him out of it. Who’d given him a new sword and convinced him to play war games until the sight of blood didn’t send him vomiting to the bathroom. There would be no Techno to pull him out if this went wrong. Phil might as well be dead too.

Ranboo and Niki followed him out of the bunker. The streets were empty as they silently made their way to the prison.

They didn’t bother to ring the bell. The three of them stood in the portal until reality straightened itself out. Phil had Techno’s will clutched in his hand. The bundle of papers had been empty, at first, until a few days ago. Writing had begun appearing, in Dream’s messy, spiked scrawl. Sam was a fool, Phil thought. He couldn’t take away Techno’s knowledge of spells.

He strode to the corner of the little room they were in. A loose tile was there, easily unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it. Phil lifted it and threw it to the side. There was a loud crack when it hit the wall. He flipped the lever beneath it. “Thirty seconds before it resets,” he said, returning to the portal. Niki and Ranboo followed suit, and the prison constructed itself around them.

It was all so darkly decorated. Alright, edgelord, Phil thought sarcastically. They bypassed the waver on its lectern and the lockers to the side. Phil flicked the levers according to the code Techno had written. A door opened, and they took the tunnel Sam used into the next room.

Their way through the prison was marked by similar proceedings, and Phil’s mind was left to go on autopilot.

Techno knew it was a trap. He’d told him so a week ago, standing in the snow outside their houses. The moment he was out of sight, Phil had opened the will. He’d thought the message of the empty papers was clear: do what you want, lol.

So he’d gone to the stasis chambers and waited by the levers. Three days, he gave himself. Then he’d hit the lever, and Techno would be home safe.

Then it was four days, and Phil wasn’t sure why he’d waited longer. The pearls were a safety blanket. Using them would make things better. Unless what they revealed made it worse.

Then, on the fifth day, he’d woken up to a scratchy, crinkly noise from the will. Scrambling out of bed, he’d turned the pages over, and found the ink still wet. And what had Techno written, first thing?

PHIL, DON’T USE THE PEARLS. I NEED THE VIEWS FROM A COOL ESCAPE.

The dramatic little shit. But Techno had lain out his plan, and like always, it was smart. Phil had gathered the Syndicate, and they’d been ready.

A hint of nerves appeared in Ranboo’s eyes when they passed the iron door into the main cell area. Phil understood it. When they’d hung out, Ranboo told him how it was the point of no return, in a way. They all remembered what happened to Tommy. But Ranboo had three lives, Phil assured himself, and hoped the teen remembered too. He’d be fine. So would Niki. And Techno.

They travelled through the respawn checkpoints and extra rooms until they were in front of the lava wall. Ranboo glanced at the bed. “Should we set our spawn here?”

Phil shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to be spawn-trapped in here, but if you want to, go ahead.” Ranboo looked at the ground. Remorse tugged at Phil. “Sorry. Just a joke,” he said. Ranboo nodded.

Waiting for the lava to come down would take too long. Phil threw a few potions of fire resistance down on them and flipped the lever so the bridge would be safe when they returned. Then, with Ranboo and Niki standing on the bridge, he flipped the lever. He ran and leapt onto the bridge with the help of the jump boost pots from earlier.

The flames surrounded them in orange light. They couldn’t see each other. The lava tickled, almost, drying them off from the rain outside.

They came out the other side with a few blocks between them and the cell. Phil blinked a few times, readjusting to the low light, and froze. He hadn’t expected to be greeted by what was there.

Ranboo worried. It was in his nature. So of course, when he’d heard the plan, he took precautions for failure.

Tubbo was back in Snowchester with Jack by his request. They were in the control room, with a nuke armed and ready to hit the prison. Michael would be there too. Ranboo had made Tubbo promise not to let him out of his sight. Ranboo had never been more grateful for his husband’s habit of not asking questions.

His comms had been burning a hole in his pocket the whole way here. One message and it would all go up.

Now, though, he forgot all about the nukes as the bridge came to a stop at the cell block. Anger took its place. “Quackity,” he said in a near growl, “what are you doing.”

The scene before them looked like a horror movie. Blood, dry and fresh, coated the floor of the cell. Dream –– Dream –– was curled in the corner, shaking. Quackity stood in the middle of the room with a sword in his hand, grinning. And Techno.

Ranboo’s friend was standing by the back wall. His cape was torn. He was bleeding, too, but Ranboo couldn’t tell from where. He did, however, see the way Techno was just barely leaning against the wall behind him. His heart clenched.

“Oh, hey guys,” Techno said. Despite everything, his voice still came out strong and unbothered. “Nice timing.”

“Hey, guys.” Quackity flipped the sword in his grip so the point was against the ground, then leaned on the hilt. “Surprise seeing you here.” His easy grin didn’t reach his eye.

Ranboo vaguely remembered a day in old L’Manburg. He and Quackity had shared a pot of coffee and talked about Ranboo’s thoughts on people versus sides. He’d felt like Quackity understood. He’d thought he’d befriended someone who wouldn’t betray him. “Quackity,” he repeated, lifting his axe, “what are you doing.”

Behind him, Niki and Phil were moving. He didn’t pay attention to their movements, just trusting them to be ready.

“Ranboo,” Quackity said. “I get you’re probably mad. I saw you at Techno’s party, you two are friends. So first, I’m sorry you had to see this.” I bet you are, Ranboo thought. “Second, I’m only doing it because Techno’s a threat. I can’t let him be out in the world, causing problems.”

“You. Are. Torturing. Him,” Ranboo said. “Both of them!”

“Eh, Dream’s had it worse,” Techno shrugged.

“Shut up,” Quackity snapped. Ranboo’s temper snapped.

Of all the people in the room, Quackity probably hadn’t expected Ranboo to make the first move. It took him two steps to reach him, three more to shove him back against the wall. He held his axe to Quackity’s throat. “Who’s next on your list, huh?” he snarled. “Who’s the next ‘threat’ you’re gonna take out?”

Quackity’s eyes flashed. “Well, I hadn’t been thinking on it much,” he grinned, “but Tubbo and that outpost aren’t exactly making me feel comfortable.”

A furious scream built in Ranboo’s throat. He drew back his axe, to do what he didn’t know ––

“Ranboo?” It was Dream, looking up at him. For a moment, Ranboo was thrown into chaos. He couldn’t tell if it was really Dream, or all in his head. A small blade pierced the chink in his armor. He stumbled back, blinking, and the time it took for him to rip the cork from a Regen pot and pour it over the spot was all Quackity needed to ruin his advantage.

He launched himself at Ranboo. Phil intercepted him, netherite screaming as their swords collided. Niki was by Techno, offering him Healing and Regen while he leaned more heavily on the wall.

The moment the prickling in his gut subsided, Ranboo threw himself into the fight. Phil was quickly left out, which he seemed alright with. From the corner of his eye Ranboo saw him kneeling by Techno as well.

He hadn’t expected the fight to be so short, for his part. Anger fueled him, and something else. The Enderwalk, rising up in his unsteady mental state and giving him strength he didn’t know he had.

Cuts opened on Quackity’s limbs. His laughter turned to panting in the confined space. “This all you’ve got?” he yelled, out of breath. He tripped, stumbled, and fell against the wall near the lava.

Ranboo stood over him, axe in hand and red with blood. The natural course from here was to end it, right? Kill Quackity, kick him into lava? But the day in L’Manberg wouldn’t leave his head.

“You can’t do it, can you?” Quackity said. Somehow he managed to look relaxed, leaning against the obsidian as blood soaked his clothes. “I remember being that weak. It was awful. Really, Ranboo, don’t mess with me. The house always wins. You don’t want to start this.”

“Oh, shut up.” Ranboo swung his axe, and the handle collided with Quackity’s head. He slumped against the wall, eyes closed. Blood trickled from beneath his hair, but his chest still rose and fell. Ranboo left him there and returned to his friends.

Niki and Phil had taken care of most of Techno’s injuries, though he had his arms around their shoulders. “I can walk by myself, guys, seriously,” he said, but was immediately cut off by the two of them saying “bullshit” in unison. “Well, one of you needs to get Dream,” he said.

They paused. “Dream?” Niki asked incredulously.

“Yeah. Look at him, Quackity’s been giving him hell.” He glanced at Ranboo. “But hey, Syndicate rules, remember? You guys don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna. You can go ahead on the bridge and send it back to us.”

Ranboo and Niki shared a glance. They had both been citizens of L’Manberg. They had both been victims of Dream in some way. Ranboo knew Phil had helped destroy L’Manberg like it was a business deal, but he would agree with Techno. They wouldn’t follow Dream, but they’d help him. And as pathetic as the man looked in the corner of the cell, Ranboo couldn’t bring himself to do the same.

He looked Techno in the eye. “This doesn’t change my loyalty to the Syndicate. I just can’t justify helping Dream. I’ll still stand with you in other matters.”

“Got it.” Techno grinned. “Just don’t trap us in here again.”

Ranboo returned the smile, stepping onto the bridge. Niki followed him. “Sorry, Techno,” she said. “But I agree with Ranboo. He’s done too much to hurt me.”

Techno nodded. Niki knocked an arrow and shot it across the now empty pit. It hit the button on the other side, and the bridge began moving. When they reached the other side, Niki removed it from the button before hitting it once more.

“You can go ahead,” Ranboo said. “I’ll bring them back.”

Niki smiled at him. “Thanks. You fought well, Ranboo. See you at the next meeting.” She disappeared back into Sam’s tunnels, which Phil had left open.

Ranboo waited until Phil and Techno were safely on the bridge, Dream draped between them, to press the button one final time. Before it had reached full speed, he was traversing the tunnels himself, moving back towards Snowchester and his family. Quackity would find a way out of the prison, he knew. Tubbo and he would need to be ready.

#dream smp #dreamsmp #dsmp #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fic #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp fic #nihachu #philza minecraft #philza #ranboo #technoblade #dream #pandoras vault #awesamdude #quackity

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vidalinav · 4 years ago

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Letting Things Get too Far: (One-shot) *Contains ACOSF spoilers

This is not the fic I was going to post and I am on the fence now about posting “Love is Bright Red, Hope is Dark Blue.” I might still do it, but I don’t know, because I don’t want the six chapters to influence my perception, but OMG I am so mad. I have to laugh because I’ve never been this mad before. And I know eventually it will be okay with the rest of the book, but I cannot deal NOW with what we’ve got. I will not be unbiased, no reader in the world is unbiased when they love a book, but oooo this is a little too much. Like if you’re not deeply enraged are you even a fan? Lol

The only way I deal with emotions is writing because I get really obsessive and I cannot stop thinking about something until I change my mind about it, so I wrote a fic based on those chapters to change my mind.

So Please don’t read this fic if you haven’t read the 5.5 chapters that were released (legally) to the world yesterday. I do have to say that I wrote this based on Italian translation and not of the one that was translated by someone here in English. But the general concept it the same.

Summary: Nesta gets threatening (some time after she’s “healed”)

Nesta could tell they were watching her. She supposed it must have seemed off to them that she was sitting in the dining room, reading a newspaper, a toast with jam and cup of tea to the side of her. Too casual, they must have thought. So very much unlike the Nesta they knew.

But one by one they sat—to the side of her of course since she’d chosen the head of the table. Nesta knew of only one other person who would dare sit across from her. She smirked behind the letters, the paper smelling of ink.

First Elain, sweet Elain with her soft, cautious good morning.

Then Feyre with her ruffled hair, matted and imperfect. Nothing like the High Lady she was supposed to be. How embarrassing, she thought, that Feyre had not yet learned that queens were to be perfect in every instance. Every circumstance.

Mor yawned loudly, stretching her arms above her head. The billowy blonde looked to Feyre as Nesta sipped a bit of tea. Green with a slice of lemon.

Amren was shushed as she came barreling in. Loudly and grumpy. Tired, perhaps, from her days going over the law books of Velaris code.

Rhysand kissed the apple of Feyre’s cheek, her little sister’s skin turning red. A honeyed gesture that made the rest gag mockingly for the way Rhys then bit down on the soft flesh and playfully pulled. He indeed sat where she thought he was going to—the only seat left closest to Feyre. His brows furrowed when he noticed her across from him, but Nesta didn’t give him the light of day.

The game had not begun.

Nesta waited for the missing player, ruffling the newspaper, the sound harsh in this room where all remained quiet. As if they were waiting for something.

Waiting for someone.

Azriel walked in, sitting to the side of her. He peered up at her. Wary and assessing. What are you up to?

She blinked at him surprised, not at all expecting that he’d be here for this—that he’d come down from the House of Wind to grace them with his presence. No matter. This talk wasn’t particularly for him, but she supposed he’d learn something too. As they all could.

The last one of them arrived with a flourish down the stairs. Bright and loud, stomping on the wood as if soldiers had been set loose in this house and not merely one male who made her smile sweetly despite herself.

He kissed her on the lips, a small peck. Something new for the others to witness. They looked at each other, mirth in their eyes—shock. But not from her happiness, Nesta thought, from their triumph. This broken girl who’d been mended when her heart was full.

“Sit down,” Nesta commanded softly, pointing her chin to the seat beside her—across from Azriel. She watched him look towards his brother, but Azriel merely shrugged.

“You waited for me?” Cassian laughed, the sound off even to her. His eyes squinting with concern… or was that vigilance she saw?

Oh, how dangerous he must know her to be to look at her like that.

Nesta smiled, her eyes softening. “I’d always for wait for you.”

Cassian lips set into a fine line at the sickly-sweet tone.

“In fact, I couldn’t have done this without you,” she gestured to the room, shrugging at the last moment. A strained laugh on her voice, “Or so they’ll say.”

Nesta set her newspaper down. The paper rumbling. Distantly she could hear the yells of soldiers, the clash of swords calling to her in her memory.

But none of that noise was here. No one said a gods-damned thing.

She sighed, sitting back in her chair, surveying them all. She could scent their fear, but Nesta didn’t know who it was coming from as she looked to food in the center. Vibrant jellies, eggs, and bacon. Much more food than any she’d consumed in her months away. She’d been reduced to plain porridge.

“Just say what you need to say, girl,” Amren said, gripping the table with her hands. Small and powerless.

Not as powerful as her anyway.

“You’re right of course, dear friend. I should get on with it as any other.”

Nesta lilted her head in a nod. “Consider this meeting long overdue. It was my fault really, for having been in such a low place. I suppose being constantly faced with death and brutality is a regular occurrence to the fae.”

She shrugged a nonchalant shoulder, huffing a laugh as Cassian’s gaze went to the skin of her collarbone from where her robe had slipped off from her shoulder. “Or so I’ve been endearingly reminded of for the past four months… It was my bad of course for letting things get too far.”

Nesta leaned forward, laying her head delicately on her hand. “Isn’t that what you said Feyre? I want to get the exact words right.”

But Feyre didn’t speak only stared at her with those blue eyes so much like hers but so different. They were made from different parts she supposed—different parts of their mother. Feyre got the stomach, and Nesta got her cold, melodic heart.

Queen indeed.

“Letting things get too far?” Nesta laughed, the sound loud even to her own ears. “Yes, I suppose that was true… But you know, this amazing thing happened when I was forced to follow this routine of yours. Have breakfast. Train. Have lunch. Work at the library. Have breakfast. Train. Have lunch. Work at the library. Over and over until I thought the monotony might kill me itself.”

Nesta smiled brightly to all of them, her eyes rolling over their gazes. Elain didn’t dare look at her. Nesta was not in the mood to comfort. What were older sisters for but to lead by example?

“If the magic and the trauma didn’t do it first,” she added.

She lowered her voice as if she were about to tell a story, engaging her audience until all they could do was listen.

“And then—like a miracle—Cassian was called to Vallahan and I went with him. Screw the rules, he said…” Nesta patted him in the shoulder. A good little soldier. “So easy for you to say that when the rules were not made for you.”

“You know what I discovered?” She sang.

Nesta waited for an answer, but no one would meet her gaze.

She looked to the one who knew so much about the outside world. The one who could never leave the one inside her head. “What did I discover Mor?”

Mor took a sip of her mimosa, cringing as she swallowed. “People fear you.”

“People fear me,” Nesta said, proudly.

She laughed, shaking her head at these beings in pajamas who thought so highly of themselves.

She lifted a shoulder, “for good reason of course. I certainly convinced the council of Vallahan. I always knew I had this power, but to wield it—to not let it control me but to be controlled—Glorious.”

“And you know what I learned in those two weeks?” Nesta lowered her voice, the words slipping out of her in a sneer. “That I have more power in my little pinky then you have in your entire body. All of you.”

She flipped her hair back, where a stray piece had fallen forward, “I got your little treaty signed of course. That was simple. You’d be surprised how easy it is for people to give up their will when they are pissing their pants. But no matter, all’s fair right?”

“Why are you tell us this?” Rhys asked. “What do you want?”

Her eyes went to his, those violent storms of subdued rage.

Tell me again to sit like a dog High Lord, she whispered into his mind. Rhys sat straight up, Feyre grasping his arm.

Nesta simply picked up her newspaper once more. The image in the center showing a great depiction of Velaris’s royal family.

“You ever make a decision on my behalf again,” her voice turning to soft silk. As sweet as a poison apple, “I will burn this city to the ground.”

Nesta tilted her head up, noting the marbled leaves engrained in the ceiling. The opulence. The fraudulent comfort of a house too large for two.

“I think I’ll start with this estate.”

She tutted. “Paints are usually flammable, aren’t they Feyre?”

She watched her sister swallow, the light of Rhysand’s eyes dimming to a darkness she thought might engulf them all.

Nesta could smell his fear…

She lifted the cup to her lips, “Understood?”

“Duly noted.”

The rest mumbled their assent.

And Nesta turned to the toast at her side, already spread with apricot jam. She picked up the bread and set it on Cassian’s plate. “I quite like these jams. We should get some before we go.”

“Too much sugar,” he replied slowly, as if he was getting used to the switch from her being threatening to caring. “You eat this, and you’ll be tired within the hour.”

Nesta pouted in response, wrinkling her nose, “You know, you really need to lighten up. Maybe you’ve gotten harsher in your old age.”

Cassian gave her a hard look.

“I mean, you’re in your 500s. You can barely keep up with the times,” She teased. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t keep up… in other areas.”

Cassian scoffed, lifting his lips in an outrageous laugh.

“Wait” Feyre called, holding her hands up in surrender. Nesta turned to her, lifting a curious brow. Her little sister blinked back, unsure if Nesta still wanted to destroy their home.

She would never destroy her little sister’s home...

But then Nesta thought of her shabby apartment laying in rubbles, ready to be rebuilt.

Oh, right.

“Will you continue to be our emissary?”

That was a question Nesta was not expecting…

“Oh, I don’t know,” She flourished. “I suppose we’ll see how it goes.”

She shrugged dramatically, “You follow these rules… and after a couple of months, I’ll re-assess your behavior. We can revisit me working with you all after some time has passed.”

“I don’t see how you’re allowed to do whatever you please, just by being threatening,” Amren noted.

Nesta smiled at the hypocrisy.

“Subsection B, Line 84 says I can,” Nesta sang, “As long as were making up rules.”

I’m laughing as I type this. This book is about to be a cathartic experience. It actually did make me feel better to write this.

I wish someone would release an epub already. Like fuck this shit, we’ve bought three versions, two versions, one versions, multiple versions. There’s only a week left. It hardly matters, release the PDF! The book was supposed to be out last month anyway. I’m not into self-righteousness right now, like the release of books is mostly about money. Sara has earned her part. I’m sure she’s happy. These are the people who hardly cared about promoting it at all. I think they threw this book out the window a long time ago and you know what they saved money on promotions too. They’ll be fine.

I’m clearly displacing my anger... But I cant handle this anymore... But I cant stay away.

#nessian #acosf spoilers #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years ago

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The Oncoming Storm Part 25: Home

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Oh no. That's all I have to say. Also, Chen is a delight.

A/N: This chapter was so long that I actually cut it in half to post it over two separate days instead. It was 12 pages and I figured that was a bit much. Though, 8-12 is what I average when I'm writing fiction for publishing so... haha <3 love you guys! hope you are all doing wonderful!! Also please, please make dick jokes in the comments. PLEASE lol.

Part 24 Part 26 Chapter Index

It was a struggle to open your eyes even if you were awake. You had rolled onto your side and were facing the window. You could see the light of the morning peeking in from along the seams of the dark curtains of the hotel room. Somewhere throughout the night, you’d readjusted and now you were the little spoon. You could feel his soft, even breath on your shoulder, warm and comforting. His arm was tucked beneath you, the other wrapped tightly over yours that rested over your chest.

You didn’t want to get up, so you closed your eyes again and sunk into his arms, clearly not thinking. Your back was pressed against his chest, your hips pressed square against his too. He tightened his arm around you, and nuzzled into the side of your neck, a hot sigh tickling your sensitive bruised flesh. More importantly, you could feel him pressed right against your backside in all his glory. There he was. Liu Kang. You snapped your eyes open and were as stiff, well, as he was, afraid that you would make it worse if you moved even if you were incredibly curious.

Just what kind of good dreams was he having?

Then you had to try not to laugh. You carefully turned to bury your face in the pillows, and it was so hot that you swore you might be burning alive. Liu Kang and his inherent warmth against every single part of your body was killing you.

You were going to suffocate. Or catch fire.

Deep breaths. Breathe through his hand gently clutching yours. You could do this.

Okay.

No big deal.

Liu Kang was wrapped around you, pressed against you, and you were trapped in his arms and trying desperately to think about anything other than that. The impure thoughts were rampant.

Chen would have been screaming your victory throughout the temple. She also would have told you to just go for it. Make that complicated ride that much more complicated. Poor choice of words, brain. Chen had gotten into your head. And all the tension you’d built up with Kung Lao and Liu Kang had no release to speak of.

“Liu?” You decided the best thing to do would be to wake him up. Sneaking out of his arms would have made things both awkward and worse.

He stirred at the sound of your voice and pulled you tighter. It took everything inside of you not make a sound of surprised delight at the impressive mental picture he had very clearly painted. Oh, god there were so many jokes popping into your head. Sarcastic defense mechanism, go away! You had to keep it together. No laughing. No moaning. No jokes.

Your face had never been redder. He was waking up. Thank god. His lips brushed against your shoulder, and he nuzzled right against the side of your neck, nose pressing just behind your ear. This was hard. Ah, damnit brain. No jokes! With a soft moan just against your neck, he shifted.

Then, very suddenly, Liu pulled his arm out from beneath you, let you go and rolled onto his back, knees bent so that the blankets didn’t reveal any secrets. Yeah, the secret had more than been revealed already. You appreciated his modesty anyway. You carefully scooted onto your back, careful not to brush against him in any way and fanned your face. There was no talking down the redness in your cheeks, no hiding what had happened.

“Sorry,” he managed, his voice still gruff and sleepy. He stared at the ceiling and seemed to be coaching himself through his own deep breaths. You sat up and adjusted your shirt that had become unbelievably crooked. Some of the buttons had even come undone. Jeez, you’d certainly been busy while you’d slept. “You… sleep alright?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and the fact that he was trying to have a totally normal conversation like that hadn’t happened was hilarious.

No laughing.

“Yeah, it took a while to get to sleep but I basically blacked out when I did. Feels like I could sleep for another year though.” You somehow managed to act normal. As normal as you could with your face as red as it was and your eyes as wide as they were. You could barely have a conversation about where you were relationship-wise, so you were pretty sure that you weren’t ready to discuss his morning wood.

You needed Chen in that moment. You needed Chen to help you uncomplicate this yarn ball of chaos in your head. Then again, Chen would have just told you to go for it. To reach around and give it a go. You had to close your eyes and try not to laugh again. “What about you?”

You didn’t laugh. Kudos to you.

“Tired this morning.” It was the first time that you had ever seen Liu Kang looking like he could have slept longer than you did. In fact, he was a little pale. Not terribly so, but then again, all the blood in his body was busy somewhere else. It took every ounce of your strength not to ask him if he was okay. He would tell you if he wasn’t. “I need a shower. Will you be okay alone?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.” You purposely turned toward your own bed to offer him modesty, but you might never be your normal color again. Red forever. You waited for the sound of the bathroom door closing before you flopped back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. You’d changed your mind. “I can never ever tell Chen this happened.” The teasing would have gone on forever.

While he was in the shower, you changed into some of your new clothes and then cleaned yourself up. In the mirror your cheeks were finally turning back to a normal rosy color. You checked on the jade to make sure that nothing had changed during the night, and then you packed up, opened the curtains to the hotel room, and straightened up while you waited for Liu, doing anything in your power to stop your renegade thoughts.

“Do you need to stop anywhere before we go back to the temple?” Liu joined you moments after you were dressed, clothed in his familiar black and white gi, and back to his old self. Still a little pale though.

“Hmm?” You had just finished tucking the jade into your bag.

“You didn’t really get the chance to pack up your things to stay with us. I figured you might need to do some shopping.”

He was so damn thoughtful. “I actually went shopping before I met with you yesterday morning.” You patted the bag. “So, I’m okay. Thank you for offering though. I really did need a few things, especially since I keep destroying everything I wear with ink.” You patted his shoulder as you walked past him to sneak into the bathroom now that he was finished. You had to make yourself presentable and enjoy these modern amenities one last time before you returned to the temple.

Afterward, you stopped at a food stall on the road and grabbed breakfast. Then you hiked up the mountain just far enough so that Liu could summon Raiden to bring you back. You still weren’t quite sure how they did that. Was it a prayer? It looked like a prayer. He was a God, after all. Liu had used a flourish of fire, but Kung Lao had just closed his eyes and then boom. Lightning.

You were back in the temple in a flash. You pulled the bundle of jade out of your bag and offered it to Raiden while Liu Kang updated him on what you’d gone through. It felt weird to be back but not in a bad way, necessarily. This was your home now, you guessed. You hadn’t really talked about it. Everything had happened naturally and without question.

Raiden peered into the shirt and then allowed the jade to fall onto a second pedestal that had been placed a few feet away from the first one which was currently encased in glass. “Good.” Raiden seemed impressed, and you beamed. He really did have a fatherly presence about him. “I need time to examine these artifacts and attempt to unravel their purpose. The wickedness and power that has been infused within them continues to elude me.” You had expected him to need time, but you had also expected him to be able to figure it out. Again. He was a god. These things took time, you figured but you also had no idea how to process what you were up against. It was still way above your head. “From what I’ve devised from the dotaku, it was used in a dark ritual. It is tainted beyond my sight with dark energy. You two will check into the infirmary on and off for the next few days. Kung Lao has come down with a terrible fever since his return. I suspect it’s the curse on these objects causing it.”

Liu gave you an accusatory look as if to ask if you were hiding something from him. You shrugged and shook your head to his silent request. “I’m bruised all over but other than that? I feel fine. And that bell was all over me. We were much more careful about the jade. Trust me, if I had a high fever then you would know it. I’m a big baby about fevers.”

“Even if it turns out that you are immune to the impact of these objects, I would like you both to make certain that you keep a watchful eye on your health and report all symptoms to those in the infirmary.”

“Yes, of course Lord Raiden.” Liu Kang bowed respectfully before him.

“When I’ve uncovered anything of note then I will call upon you.” Raiden spoke more to you than to Liu and you bowed your head as you had learned to do. You were grateful to him for trying to help you at all. Raiden very well could have just let you die and had someone else take the mark from you. This was still beyond your understanding. Gods, curses, magic. You’d jumped into it all headfirst and had embraced the chaos, but there were moments where your logic-brain said ‘excuse me’ and you had to sort out the nonsense there.

You were trying your best, but it always came back to thought that you were very likely going to die because of this. Raiden turned away from you, dismissing you without a word. Liu nodded toward the doorway and you walked with him, dragging your bag behind you. Being out in the world for a few days had been nice. You weren’t sure how long it would take to acclimate to life in Raiden’s Temple. Right now, you were just hoping that you’d have the time to figure that out.

You made your way into the infirmary and Chen practically ran to you and gave you a hug. You were a little surprised by it but returned the affection. “Welcome back!” Chen smiled brightly and then bowed to Liu Kang respectfully. “Raiden has orders for us to keep an eye on the two of you. Please take a seat.” Chen led you to one of the empty benches, so you sat down there together.

Chen examined Liu first, taking his vitals and writing them down in a notebook she had nearby. You sat awkwardly, tapping your forefinger against your knee. Chen sat back up after she was done and then rested her hands on her knees.

“You have a fever, Liu Kang.” She tapped the paper and he blinked in surprise.

“I feel fine.” He insisted, looking to you as if he had to justify it after all his accusatory glances. He’d worried about you so much that he seemed to think that the tables were about to be turned.

“Just over 100. But if Kung Lao is anything to judge by then this isn’t the worst of it yet. I recommend rest and fluids.” Chen then frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Not that I can force you to rest, of course. I suggested the same to Kung Lao and he said, and I quote ‘I will take it into consideration’ except that his fever was spiking up to 104.”

“That sounds right.” Liu sighed but you felt suddenly on high alert. That was one hell of a fever! You’d have to check in on him. “I’ll rest and if I feel worse then I’ll check back in. If not, then I will be here in the morning just in case.”

“Thank you.” Chen slumped her shoulders as if this were a relief in comparison to having dealt with Kung Lao.

“Y/N?” Chen looked to you disapprovingly as if you were about to be just as stubborn.

“I feel fine! Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“You often say that you’re feeling fine when you are not, in fact, fine,” Liu whispered, and Chen snorted with laughter while taking your vitals.

“Well, I am legitimately fine right now. Honestly! And I don’t mean to lie about that stuff. The last few weeks have been weird so my definition of fine has kind of changed.” You pouted. You hadn’t meant to give anyone a false sense of how you’d been feeling but fine one day had meant that you could use your arms again and fine another meant that you’d had a vision but were still functioning. Chen glared at you, trying to discern if you were hiding something. Then she made a little note in her book. You craned your neck to try and read it and so did Liu. You gave him a look to silently scold him, and he returned it. You tightened your lips not to laugh but couldn’t hide your grin.

“She’s not lying. No fever. In fact, your temperature is even a little low. This is the most normal checkup you’ve had since you’ve been here, Y/N. I want you to come in for bloodwork later but for now… you’re okay.” Chen still seemed suspicious and Liu did too.

“Wow, you just can’t believe I’m the finest in the land right now.” You teased and Liu laughed and then shook his head as if embarrassed that he’d laughed at it. It had been a terrible joke, to be fair.

“Thank you.” Liu stood and bowed politely to Chen. You joined him and waved at Chen.

“Y/N? Could I talk to you for a second?” Chen called you back just as you’d made it outside the infirmary and back to your bag.

“I’ll be two seconds.” You told Liu who leaned against the wall of the doorway. Now that you knew he had a fever, his pale face made sense. Your hurried over to Chen. “What’s up?”

“So…?” Chen nodded toward Liu Kang and then gestured to you. You stared in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? Right now?”

“Umm, yeah right now.”

“It’s complicated.” You rubbed your temples in annoyance. “And I obviously don’t have time to talk about it right now.”

“Oh, thank god that it’s finally complicated!”

“It has always been complicated, Chen. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I can’t. But this is disappointing news.” Chen sighed in obvious frustration. Why was she frustrated? You were the one surrounded by a sea of hormones all damn day! “Come chat with me when you get the chance. I want to know how it went and also what complicated means.”

“Can I please go now, Chen? Please? He’s just standing behind me waiting for me while you gossip.”

“Yeah, he is, isn’t he? He hasn’t taken his eyes off you once by the way.” Chen sighed dreamily but her expression quickly shifted. “On a more serious note… I’m worried that you aren’t having symptoms the way that they are. I have a bad feeling again. Keep checking in with me, okay?”

“You are a surprise every time I talk to you.” You gently grasped Chen’s shoulder. “I’m going now.”

“You better find me later!”

“You’re a terrible monk,” You whispered and then pointed at another monk who had been very obviously listening in, silently nodding your head as if to add in that he, too, was a terrible monk.

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