#s eternally miserable than you are usually'

[seaworthee]

my favourite thing about reading asoiaf is thinking to myself 'you dont have to do this. nobody's making you do this.' every two pages

[brynn-lear]

LOCKED AND LOADED [Yandere!Wanderer x Reader]

Prompt: The world is about to end. How will you grieve when you're forced to be with a miserable man until the last second? [Dedicated To: @mixed-kester for the Alone Together Event]

Content Tags: yandere!scaramouche "fluff" oneshot (yes, there are no other parts:]), major persona 3 spoilers but you DON’T need to know the game before reading this since everything is explained, improper use of a S.E.E.S evoker /j, Scaramouche is so normal about you, UNRELIABLE NARRATOR, major character death/s–

V. Acceptance.

"Where the hell are you, (Y/n)?"

Standing near what should have been the front doors of his university was a short man with dark purple hair. He leaned precariously against them, his head tilted upward as if the sickly green moon's ominous pull was nothing to be afraid of. Gekkoukan University's nearby dorms– fraternity and sorority houses included– are not usually this silent. Instead of people, coffins were aligned perpendicular to the ground.

The wanderer glanced at his watch with mild interest. He had been waiting for a while now. Your guest hoisted himself up, circling the ground with the tip of his shoe. The baseline of his attitude had always defaulted to irritability and passive-aggressiveness. The vertically aligned hour-and-minute hands do not placate it. The timing itself makes it worse.

It's December 31st, 2009, 12 AM– the Dark Hour.

With a harsh sneer, he pocketed his hands. You usually have the door to the Velvet Room open to him whenever. What's the big deal? Were you seriously THAT mad at him? Really? He didn't do anything to warrant this "pettiness". He had never known silence as much as this moment.

You should've accounted for the hostility that proceeds on the "off-chance" he did arrive early.

His tone darkened, his bloodied hands gripping his S.E.E.S evoker tightly.

"If you don’t show up, I will cleanse the world of human emotion all by myself"

You shook from afar, afraid of how he wouldn't hesitate to make his threat a reality. He had already taken so much– you were beyond mad at him. You were terrified. Wronged. Abused. You didn't want to step into the light. Much worse, step into his shadow.

The worst thing evil can do is to turn you into one of them.

He clutched the bloodied yellow scarf in his hands tightly.

Why did this happen?

How did things END up like this?

IV. Depression.

You took a deep breath and charged forward.

You don't trust [Wanderer] ever since Ryoji told him about the impending apocalypse.

Seldom do you leave the Velvet Room. You weren't hiding in the Velvet room months before the end of the world was imminent. When April had only reached its fourth day, there was nothing you wanted more than to spend time outside. So ignominiously innocent. You did not know who [Wanderer] was and how much effect he would have on your life at the time. You were just tired of the ongoing stream of uneventfulness.

And now here you are, berating the protagonist in full.

"[Wanderer], why is Ryoji missing?! US ATTENDANTS CAN'T FIND TRACK HIM ANYWHERE!!!"

With a fistful of his university uniform, you yanked him by the collar. Your eyes were livid as you reeled your composure. This wasn't what you had in mind when you were "isekai"d into a video game. Out of any game, why did it have to be Persona 3? And out of anyone that could be a protagonist, why did it have to be HIM?!

You thought this would be a grand affair... Whatever they spun in anime back when your reality existed were pure lies. Where are the scenic views? The mountains? The grasslands? This plane of existence you're forced to sit through for eternity was far from the RPG fantasy people would hope for. No closer you could ever be to paradise.

In fact, this man is threatening to ruin said paradise.

[Wanderer] pulled your hands away forcefully. His glare was not that different from yours. "Why do you care about him so much?"

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe it's because his death means forgetting everything?!" You clenched your empty fists. "You know damn well what happens if he dies! You'll lose all the help you can get to stopping the Fall!"

Such a heavy weight on your shoulders but the protagonist doesn't care. This may be a turn-based game– but it wasn't based on you. If it was, you wouldn't be screaming your heart out at him! You wouldn't be an NPC. Hell, you'd probably be a better protagonist than him.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed every stress out of your system.

"Listen—" You rubbed your temple. "You need to start forming bonds. Social links. Support system. Confidants. Whatever you want to call it. You were supposed to have the answer by now as to what life is for."

[Wanderer] remained silent throughout your spiels. His facial expression alone was enough to infer immense disinterest. You were mindlessly doing your job. There will be no tirade or physical aggression that can convince him that you believe in your assertions with full conviction.

"Do you want to see him?"

"Yes! Of course. Knowing you, you're—"

"Tempted to kill him because you think I want the world to end?"

"Obviously."

That's where you're wrong.

A nihilistic man can have other reasons to commit murder.

"But if he's missing, you can forget about him, right?"

"What on earth are you talking about?!"

[Wanderer] turned around. "Meet me later, you know the time."

"I'll show you where Ryoji is."

III. Bargaining.

XX/09/2009

He doesn't recall the time he was brought into this world like you had.

Puppets are malleable. Memories are easy to overwrite when your body is held together by white wood and "khemia". His past evades him.

Maybe it's better this way.

He took you to Chagall Café. Although it was your first time out in a long while, he had no qualms about ignoring your questions. He feigned deafness as you asked about the news, his college life, friends, or anything related to what was happening in 2009. And he even ignored your humble request to buy the cheapest coffee for you. Instead, he bought you a chocolate frappe.

"For Elizabeth's cutest little sibling." He said, sarcastically copying Elizabeth's tone as he sharply handed the drink. "Wouldn't want everyone's darling to get a caffeine addiction."

Thanks, asshat.

Of all his offensive behavior— he really spent more money just to insult you. You shook your head and accepted it. It's the most expensive one on the menu too. What dedication to being a hater. But before you could open your wallet, he shot your payment down.

"Just take it." He smirked. "Look at you, paying me back for treating you poorly. Are you a masochist?"

You immediately shoved your money back in. "You still bought me a free drink, so really, who's the loser here? Prick."

[Wanderer] laughed heartily before he pulled out his battered codal, which had underlined texts for provisions he deemed important. There was a momentary softness in his gaze that disappeared in an instant.

But that's the only conversation he planned on having that evening. He did mention he'll drag you out in his study session so you weren't too shocked by it. Instead, you sat and awkwardly people-watched. The world you came from and this one were identical. You got through your old 2009 just fine— it's just that Tatsumi Port Island was not a real location from your original Japan.

Your memories about the video game Persona aren't very clear since you reincarnated in the game, but the red band [Wanderer] wore on his sleeve affirmed that he is the leader of S.E.E.S. It's nice to know that someone like him has the potential to become a leader.

[Wanderer] appeared wholly immersed in his studies.

…

Maybe he wouldn't notice if you looked around—

…?!

He immediately grabbed your hand. You yelped slightly as you noticed the iron grip he had.

"Where are you going?"

Don't leave him.

He squeezed just a bit more tightly.

"W-What the— I'm just going to the bathroom." You felt a shiver down your spine as you shared his gaze. There's a dull coldness to it you couldn't quite place, as if he had been a witness to injustice, sevenfold.

You quietly sat back down. He still hasn't let go of your hand.

"Good riddance." He muttered.

"If it isn't [Wanderer]!"

You turned around, yanking your hand away.

It's Ryoji.

You stood up, gawking.

"W-Woah, are you okay?" Ryoji asked, hurriedly approaching you. While you were frozen in place, [Wanderer] looked at his empty hand, feeling your warmth escape his fingertips.

G-Good… he's still alive.

You thought [Wanderer] killed him.

[Wanderer] is the wildcard, and that's a terrifying factor to consider. He hasn't shown any interest in humanity. Knowing his past has not increased any hope on your end. Everyone else in his eyes are insignificant insects.

He has the power to end Ryoji.

He has the power to end this world.

Locked and loaded.

Ryoji's eyes softened. "Wait, I think I know a beautiful face like yours from somewhere… You must be [Wanderer]'s attendant, (Y/n), right?"

You blinked.

"Wait, how did you…"

He chuckled, taking and placing a soft kiss on your gloved hands.

"I have my ways." Ryoji winked.

"Don't touch them." [Wanderer] sneered.

Ryoji stood up straight, unfazed by his threatening tone. You took a moment to examine his appearance. He had a lot of white clothing and a big yellow scarf around his neck. Just below his left eye is a mole. On the surface, he appeared quite human, but everyone seated at this table was aware of his true nature.

He is the 13th arcana. The appraiser.

You and [Wanderer] have every right to be wary.

"I'm Ryoji Mochizuki. It's nice to be officially introduced to you, Mx. (Y/n)."

"Ryoji Mochizuki…" You tasted the syllables.

"Oh? Who knew hearing my name from your lips makes it sound so wonderful."

"C-Cut it out, you don't mean that." You said, a little flustered.

[Wanderer]'s gaze fixated on you, stewing in his concoction of envy and misery. His fists were clenched beneath the table, knuckles turning white. With narrowed eyes, he watched as you continued engaging in conversation with Ryoji. His laughter was grating his ears. He couldn't bear the sight of you engaging with another man, especially someone as flirtatious as him.

Ryoji, sensing [Wanderer]'s distress, shot him a casual glance. To top the look, he paired it with a knowing smirk. He made mental notes of the man's clenched jaw and tensed shoulders.

"You seem a little on edge, [Wanderer]. Finals coming up?" He feigned innocence.

"It's December, and I'm not on edge." He scoffed, trying not to make his gritted teeth evident. "Don't you own a calendar? Finals are in March. To think a pea-brain like you managed to transfer to Gekkan…"

"Right, right." Ryoji smiled, closing his eyes. "Then it must be my proposal you're thinking of."

You stiffened; [Wanderer] did not.

"Ryoji—"

"I know, Mx. (Y/n)." He started. "I know you're not too keen on the idea of killing me. My existence is the affirmation of the Fall. None of you— sorry, I forgot (Y/n) is from the Velvet room— I meant none of them will live till Spring… Or perhaps it's more accurate to say they'll forfeit the will to live."

…

"… I-I'm sorry." Ryoji buried his face in his yellow scarf. There's a certain tremble in his voice that truly emphasizes his sorrow. "Just as all living things die, the flow of time cannot be hindered. But there's comfort in killing me. If you do… you won't have to suffer for the coming days."

If [Wanderer] kills Ryoji, Tartarus, the Dark Hour— the burden of everyone's memories will all disappear.

But [Wanderer] can retain his.

He's not originally from this world after all…

However, should he let him live, the rest of S.E.E.S's life will continue until everyone's inevitable demise.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

[Wanderer] rolled his eyes, diverting his eyes back to his notes. "Everyone will die soon, who cares? I've heard your spiel several times already. You need to get more entertaining material."

"[Wanderer]!" You scolded him.

Your eyes widened in disbelief at [Wanderer]'s unwittingly casual jabs at the apocalypse. You wanted to ask him if he was even listening, but the truth will disappoint you. A cold sweat formed on your brow.

Ryoji's smile crooked into a hopeless one.

"You depend on (Y/n) too much."

[Wanderer] froze. "What did you say…?"

"You have a group of people around you, eager to establish a bond— eager to be friends with you. You have met Junpei, Yukari, Mitsuru, Akihiko, Fuuka, and many others– but you don't consider any of them as your friends." Ryoji shook his head. "Instead, you spend your time with just (Y/n). Never anyone else. Just them. To the point that I think it's unhealthy."

"I don't care for humans." He replied immediately.

"You're human too, [Wanderer]." Ryoji shot back. "You're made of blood, bones, and flesh."

[Wanderer] fell silent. What Ryoji said was true, and yet…

"Am I?" He laughed.

The sound was hollow and mechanical. Deprived of genuine mirth. It did not sound forced, yet his eyes were dull.

…

Perhaps he lived as a puppet for so long that the idea of being human has yet to reach him.

Ryoji shifted, uncomfortably glancing between you two. The tension was palpable despite the cafe's peaceful ambiance. Ryoji cleared his throat softly.

"I should leave…" He trailed off, voice slightly wavering. His eyes darted around, scrambling for words to say. "But, um, before I leave, I just want to say again that you need to give it some more thought, [Wanderer]... It's a big deal… Just…"

Ryoji sighed. "Remember to make your choice to spare or kill me by December 31st. I'm glad you're having fun but don't get too distracted with (Y/n). I'll be waiting."

That being said, his footsteps reverberated loudly in the otherwise still room as he turned and headed for the door. He dared to turn back as he grabbed for the doorknob and saw you two sharing a look that he couldn't determine if it was one of contemplation or displeasure. He hurried out and the cafe door shut behind him.

"Happy?" [Wanderer] bitterly asked.

You paused for a moment… then grinned.

"Tsk, what are you laughing at, worm?"

"Nothing, nothing!" You shrugged. "I just thought that for a guy with a stick up his ass, you're cute when you're jealous."

That riled [Wanderer] up in an instant.

You do not know the full extent of his envy's filth.

"I am NOT—" He stopped, realizing how counterproductive it would be. "Whatever. I don't care."

"Uhuh?"

"Shut up and finish your damn chocolate!"

II. Anger.

Before you know it, it's April.

"Seriously, you three, I'm bored as fuck! Can't I just take a stroll outside?" You yelled, waving the heavy persona compendium in the air as your sisters ignored you.

It hasn't been long since you reincarnated, so your right to go outside isn't as liberal. Given the impending threat of an apocalypse, the Velvet Room attendants are especially overprotective.

"(Y/n), dear sibling, watch your mouth! You mustn't let Igor or Nameless hear you speak so vulgarly."

Taking a good look at your new "siblings", you've noticed how almost everyone was present. Margaret sat elegantly on the sofa while Theodore & Elizabeth were doing their best to calm you down. It's almost rare to have all three in one place. The three oldest were busy-bodies who had more eccentric matters they devoted their attention to. Including rapping and dancing, though neither performances are good for your senses.

"If boredom plagues you, then you should try teasing Theodore." Elizabeth yawned. "He's easy pickings."

"Sister!" Theodore pouted. "Shouldn't (Y/n) focus on studying how fusing works? It would be a better use of their time…"

"The day (Y/n)'s new wildcard learns the value of social links might just be the day miserly politicians become generous." Elizabeth shrugged.

You paled, tugging her sleeve. "Oh fuck… Am I screwed?"

She gave you a lopsided smile. "I may be your new sibling but that does not mean I am obliged to resolve your problems, (Y/n). Learn to solve this on your own."

Theodore coughed.

"Please, stop scaring them, sister Elizabeth. It's not their fault this new guest is a cruel arbiter. I fear there will not be a second of groundless joy in store for them…"

"You're not helping me relax either! Motherfucker. Can't you two speak normally?"

"Settle down, all of you."

The four of you stood straight as Igor tilted his chin up. Though you've gotten used to his bloodshot gaze, it had a way of prickling your skin this time around. With his signature smile, he closed his eyes and snapped his fingers.

"Our guest is about to enter."

"W-Wait, RIGHT NOW?!?"

Before you could react, the room transformed into what appeared to be a large elevator. The walls were barred and creaking noises began to subtly make their presence. A floating door materialized, and soon, opened.

Dark purple hair and eyes, short frame, soft face.

"…Hmm?"

You blinked.

"Wait, no way…"

You know him.

Of course, you know him.

"Everyone, meet [Wanderer]."

You decided that you two should reintroduce yourselves and forget that the past ever happened.

For now, you had been gifted with a vital role: being the protagonist's attendant.

According to your Igor, your role is to assist your guest in fusing personas. He had chosen you specifically in advance as you are his "anima/animus figure". Initially, that job was for Elizabeth. However, your beliefs, your intuition, your emotions— they're in perfect tune with [Wanderer]. Igor expects you to facilitate their spiritual and psychological growth and implore them to interact more with others.

Which, based on that alone, sounds like this puppet just hired an unpaid therapist.

"What do you want?"

"Well…"

Since you became [Wanderer]'s attendant, you've started to have thicker skin. He will always make his crankiness known each visit. You're slightly grateful for it, for how else would you know patience otherwise? Though his personality rubs you the wrong way, his strength does have merits you cannot ignore. Even Belladona, the Velvet Room's devout singer, had sung praises for his mettle. There was one line that struck you about her song, something about him being like a puppet with a beating heart unbeknownst to himself…

Which is why you thought you might as well try to see if you could convince him to take you out sometimes.

"What, like a date?" [Wanderer] scoffed then smirked, a light blush on his face. "Are you really that desperate?"

"No, eww—" You rolled your eyes. "I meant it literally. Igor and the others wouldn't let me go outside unless I'm with someone they trust."

He looked away and covered his mouth, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"Like a child?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up." You deadpanned, your pride slightly chipped. "Like a child or whatever you want to see it, as long as it gets me out of here. I just want to see the world before it all…"

You paused.

Better not to bring it up. You're not sure if Igor told him yet.

[Wanderer] raised an eyebrow. "What's in it for me?"

You shrugged. "Is money not enough?"

He paused.

…

"You've got to be kidding me— Fine, what else do you want?"

His eyelids lowered, hissing slightly. "Evil expects evil from others, huh? I wasn't trying to think of anything more, but now that I think about it…"

"Oh, great."

"… I can take your request," he pointed at you. "But only if you join me in the library. Anywhere else, especially loud places like clubs, I'll send your ass back."

That's a no-brainer.

"Deal!"

Though you've missed the peculiar sight, [Wanderer] had a small smile on his face as you shook hands. The two of you had become nearly inseparable since then.

Worryingly, he's closer to you than other humans.

The only relationship he needed was with you.

And with what little time this world has left, you hope you could have a last cup of coffee with him…

I. Denial.

Your reality crumbled. What a START.

Your family, friends... all gone. No one was left. You convince yourself you "deserved" this punishment for smoking a life away with dreadful workloads, no matter how untrue it was. When the world burnt down, you were sent into a darkness you had not known before.

The person in charge of your reincarnation process told you that for the next few minutes, you and a selected companion will see your lives flash before your eyes in a void— and it will not necessarily be a comforting sight.

But you woke up relaxed. In an abyss filled with broken mirrors meant to depict your character to pieces, you donned a plain expression. There was not an inch of you that grieved for what was lost. Similarly, you had no care for how you were being transmigrated to another realm. Though you had grown accustomed to this isolation, humanity always struggled with silence. There was ringing on your fingers. When you unclasped your hands, you saw a pointed shard. Curiously, you clenched it. But no matter the tightness of your grip, no blood came out.

Your breath fogged up the glass. You wondered why that Memokeeper told you that you deserve to live on. You thought your life was rather unremarkable.

Makes sense. You thought to yourself. I'd rather pride myself on a boring life with integrity than an ambitious yet fraudulent one.

「Assignments. Commute. Study. Review. Assignments. Commute. Study. Review. Was that all your life was...? Then tell me, little (Y/n), why does the mirror in front of you appear distorted?」

And so, you gazed forward. Your reflection stood tall, larger than your life, and it beckoned you to come closer. This "(Y/n) (L/n)" had the opposite of a Cheshire grin- perhaps a caricature- perhaps an accurate depiction. Wearied of yourself and wearied of the sycophantic students around you. How unhappy are you to see yourself as someone like this? Are these the emotions you wish to be preserved? Is this the memory you want your world to be remembered by?

「These memories must be corrupted. Someone must be tampering with them. I do not think you lived a miserable life.」

I can't answer your questions either. But I think that reflection is who I am, because sometimes...

"I wish I had never been born at all."

Your lips were parted, but no sound came out. You resonated with those words, but they did not come from you. The voice was dark, hopeless, and alone.

When you were being sent off, you thought no one was around to greet you. There was another man. He had short hair and purple eyes- an incredibly rare sight in your world. This man seemed to be gazing at his reflection as well. You needn't know how he saw himself. The emptiness in his eyes did not differ from yours. He, too, was masking isolation as independence with an intense fragility. The dread he inflicted upon you was the closest you've ever gotten to facing your own perceived "weakness".

His memories were a mixbag. Some were filled with domestic bliss, but the anger in his heart triumphed more. He had friends but thought himself betrayed. His heart was constructed through a system of evasions, and he was a specialist in self-deception. This man knew little of emotions but had an abundance of it. It's no wonder he refused to sacrifice the artistry of his vengeance against humanity. You can sympathize with how he could not attach himself to those around him. He was burdened with malicious knowledge. Fakes. Lies. Insincerities. A class of his own.

However, he had a sin you cannot empathize with. A trait you can read that you're certain he had never noticed about himself.

He was a sickeningly beautiful man with a peculiar innocence.

He looked like a man who truly did not live in the real world.

This man did not feel real to you. He felt made-up. Fictional. His aura of flawlessness appalled you. Though you shared the same sentiments, you thought him dimensionless.

Yet this is supposedly your first meeting.

「Is it? Where have you seen him before? Can't you remember, dear (Y/n)?」

No. No, I can't.

「... What a shame. Worry no more, little (Y/n). Close your eyes. When you wake up, you will meet your new reality— new realm— new family.」

You nodded and agreed to a higher existence you did not believe in. Unlike others, you were a little bit more incapable of trusting a living soul. But there's no other choice.

Life is ordinarily far from anyone's control in the first place. Why bother fighting? If following can make her fuck off, it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

Wait…

Is that…

Scaramouche?

Before you closed your eyes and accepted your fate, you could've sworn...

He looked at you with a crooked grin.

「Thou art I... And I am thou...

Thou hast established a new bond...

Thou shalt be blessed when creating

Personas of the Universe Arcana..."」

"Hmm. Strange… Is that truly the order of the story?"

A woman stared at you.

Not (Y/n) (L/n).

YOU.

BEHIND.

THE.

SCREEN.

She smiled wryly.

Hate might empower you for a short while, but it comes at the cost of consuming you whole. Should a shard or any surface reflect [Wanderer]'s face, he would understand what he had become. However, it's too late. He had made his choice and stomped away any remorse he could have. When all is said and done, he alone will spread the ashes. He alone will stand. A blank slate.

[Wanderer] spent his life looking for scapegoats and ended up removing his responsibility.

Betrayals?

What a sad, sad puppet.

What a poor excuse to justify an entire apocalypse.

A poor excuse of a man.

"THE ARCANA IS THE MEANS BY WHICH ALL IS REVEALED." She muttered softly. "And you have been reading your story in REVERSE. Perhaps this is the only way this world can attain SALVATION. The chronological order is not a slice of life. You did not have a disagreement and decided to start your relationship over again. Life is far more WICKED."

"Read it again, but from DENIAL to ACCEPTANCE. The proper way to GRIEVE DEATH."

With great reluctance, she took the five cards laid on the table and placed them in an upright position.

"Let's see if you'd rather ACCEPT the truth or live in DENIAL."

Mixed-Kester can now message Wanderer [prior to 12/31/2009]

[ms3ox]

w i f & e

In which, Alastor has his ego beaten into the ground, and still can't find a good reason to hate you.

Part I/???

Tags: Slow Burn, Really Petty Enemies to Lovers, Unintentional Marriage (soon)

Notes: I have a good ~40 pages of this already written. Lmk if you guys want more.

______________________________________________________________

At one point in time, Alastor could definitively say that he didn’t care what happened to his wife. 

You were… auxiliary at best and a nuisance at worst. A mess of naivety, youth, and a bumbling sense of goodness. Its truly a marvel how someone so seemingly innocent made her way down to the Pride Ring. But perhaps that was it. Pride. At least, that was his working hypothesis. He couldn’t say for certain what landed you eternal damnation, and perhaps it was none of his business anyway what with the way you kept it strictly under wraps. In another life, perhaps, Alastor would be curious, but time is wasted on flights of folly such as deducing the nature of his benefactor’s death. You had spiraling horns etched into your skull, so you were, in one way or another, just like the rest of them. 

It isn’t until he feels that tug that he realizes what he feels is nothing short of care. The phantom tugs at his chest, at his heart, a pitiful plea for help, but one that smells so familiarly sweet that he knows who it is and where its coming from.

And despite the way this growing humanity makes his fingers strain and curl, he dissolves into shadow and slithers toward your pull. 

---

Boredom is the worst part of Hell. 

Killing and eating can only be so much fun. After disposing of his… hmm, how many now? After disposing of his thousandth body, he finds that the appetite following the kill is nigh on nonexistent. He’s just… restless and bored. There are no turf wars around, no drama within the collective of Overlords, Hell, even Vox has been a doldrum of content lately- a stream of useless garbage that seems even more mind-numbing than the demon’s usual flare for juicy gossip and electric presentation. 

Deal-making is the same as it always has been, too. Alastor finds himself putting in all the work, all the fanciful and dandyish flare to impress his prey before ripping their autonomy right out of them with a handshake. And they’re all the same. Scared, hopeless, down on their luck. Reluctantly trustful of a smile before regretting it for eternity. When one owns thousands of souls… none of it feels… fulfilling anymore. The blood-red skies of Hell seem to fade to a miserable, dried brown- the same sky he’s been staring up at for the past century. 

God, he is so bored. 

This is the real torture. The real damnation. 

Rosie must see the apathy in his eyes and dullness in his smile because her face quickly contorts into something concerned the moment he enters her emporium.

“Alastor?” She would whisper with that soft concern the ladies in his life harbor for him. Even that has become dull to him. “You look all outta sorts, mister. What’s goin’ on, hah?”

And just like many of the concerned ladies in his life, Rosie is quick to offer a solution. He sits with his fingers steepled and his gaze far, far away as Rosie explains another deal opportunity to him. For once, Alastor doesn’t feel like being theatrical. Boredom has sucked the life out of this radio broadcast. Newcomer… Naive… Struggling in Hell, yada yada. 

“...I’ll consider it.” Is Alastor’s simple and placating reply. 

—

The first thing Alastor notices is that you know your way around a knife. Not necessarily how to fight, but you seem to have a keen eye for all the mortal points on a demon’s body- and when executed correctly…

“Impressive, my dear!”

The dandyish facade and wide smile return again like muscle memory- perhaps that’s what it is after decades of tricking demons into eternal bondage. Your eyes narrow suspiciously as the tall, creepy man in the red coat takes measured, clacking steps toward you. Soon enough, Alastor finds himself on the sharper end of your bloodied little pocket knife. Come to think of it, Rosie had said something about the demon being somewhat adept with a weapon… He’s sure there’s more information that his boredom has glossed over and tucked into his memory, never to be found.

“Alastor,” He says without so much as a flinch, taking the other end of the knife and shaking it as if it were your hand. “Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure.”

He pays no mind to the way his blood seeps around it. He’ll visit the tailor for new gloves later. And… perhaps a dry cleaning, what with the violent spray of demon blood that the little demoness incurred with your paltry knife skills and scarily surgical precision. But you seem to pick up on the fact that no amount of ferality and intent to kill can bridge the sloping gap in power between you. Your eyes narrow.

“Do you want something?”

Alastor hums, tapping a finger to his chin. His polished shoes clack with every circling step he takes around you, you and your tattered rags you call clothes.

“Want is a strong word, my dear.” He taps your head with his microphone, then points to the disgustingly garish Embassy as another day drops from its count. “Our annual cull is coming soon. You won’t want to be a street urchin when God’s little pests arrive.”

The mention of God seems to set you off in some way. Your shoulders square, your eyes widen, and there’s some kind of hunger in your black irises that catches him off-guard for a moment.

Interesting…

“I believe it would be in your best interests to seek protection… Shelter…” He circles you once more before arriving at your front. Alastor extends his hand, bending down to meet the sprightly thing eye to eye. Your scleras are pure, white… untainted. Something he hopes to rectify.

“Let’s make a deal.”

A blade narrowly misses the underside of his rib, and he only realizes that when he sees one of his blackened, eldtrich tendrils squeezing at your wrist, keeping it firmly steady while it hovers just before his coat. Alastor clicks his tongue, straightening his posture. He could kill you…  but that feels like a waste of resources.

“Calm yourself, dear, I haven’t even outlined the terms!”

The girl’s eyes narrow even more, if possible, your thin brows furrowing in a way that casts angry shadows over your features. This was going to be a hard sell. But… Alastor’s been known to play with words. His hand finds your straining wrist, replacing the hardness of his power with a gentle touch.

“Pledge yourself to me and I-.”

“No.”

Alastor can’t help the sharp feedback his microphone makes at your sudden dismissal. You will just not let him get a word in edgewise, hm? His jaw hangs open in shock before he quickly rectifies himself, smoothing down his suit. Okay. He can work with no. He’s walked this path many times before. They always come crawling back, one way or another. 

“Hm. I hope you keep this conversation in mind then.”

He hums a jaunty tune as he leaves the stubborn girl to the shadows.

---

[ilbound]

@drippingheart has requested a story : The flower crown was long tossed to the ground; the pollinators would treat it with more kindness than Megumi ever could. Hands busied themselves with the lint inside the pockets of the oversized hoodie he donned. It was strange that a such a stupid little action was both a comfort call-back to childhood while being completely annoying. The teenager already began the process of picking the onyx fibres from beneath cracked fingernails.   ❛ Do you ever cry . . seeing so many people you talk to and make friends with die?  ❜  

Would Kaen even feel the slightest hint of melancholy when Megumi died? Megumi barely mattered when it came to the sorcerers he interacted on a regular basis; why would he matter to an entity who lived countless lives? He never could understand why people wanted to live forever. Naturally, the irrational desire was born out of the fear of the death, of the unknown, yet eternal life sounded absolutely dreadful to him. Lonely. Pointless.

𝑼𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅.

Ah , what insolent youth ( woe , gone are the days ) .  There was a time , once , when the offense of casting off an offering from THE IMMACULATE itself would have dropped jaws , raised brows , clutched pearls ; altogether considered b l a s p h e m o u s in nature to dismiss a god-given gift , no matter how insulting to own existence.  But that was many ages ago , and Kaëltyr was notorious for making exceptions ( perhaps one too many in recent years ) .  Megumi was just such someone whom held their favor , so his disregard did not wound them anymore than did his usual abrasive disposition.  If anything , it made for an a m u s i n g occasion ( & he did humor them for all of a few moments , indulging them just long enough to appease the great entity’s childish whims ) .  No doubt there shall come others , this creature may be virtuous in nature but such did not stop them from being QUITE A MENACE to those they liked ( never ill-intentioned , of course , it may be a curse but kaëltyr’s mischief was simply thus ; a play , a whimsy ) .

Besides , now they had EVIDENCE of the whole debacle !  They held claim to a silly little photo on their phone ( one they swore never to show anyone else ) .  It was , in truth , more of keep-sake for themself than for another anyhow ; the curse oft’ made for a selfish sort when it came to m e m o r i e s .

As they sit together there in the wood , Kaen reclines back against the rough-hewn bend of a tree trunk , relaxed in the teen’s presence and unconcerned for the rest of the world continuing to turn around them in all its ever-miserable chaos.  But amid it , stands Megumi – their friend , their so-called big brother – in all his own harrowed glory.  Kaen is not at all oblivious to the energy he possesses ( & never has been ) ; the shadows which so become him , the immense negativity he exudes harkening them like open wound to starving predator in waiting.  Lucky that he has managed to earn t h e i r company and not that of a curse less controlled , less stable.

His question is warranted , and not one unfamiliar ( but it remains as one they loathe to answer ) .  Kaen sighs heavily , dropping pretense as they speak , their tone taking on a more mannered , more r e s o n a t e quality which seizes the wood to still and silence , ❝ Would y'doubt that I do ? ❞  They ask in return , ❝ Since the beginning , I’ve always felt so deeply rooted with others. I didn't lie about that.  I sought the company of humanity for thousands of lifetimes over , and even more did I experience what it was like t'see friends and lovers die. ❞  A beat.  Kaen turns , looking over at the teen , expression somber.  ❝ Every loss , Megumi , I remember.  Every loss , I’ve been wounded by , even if not my own fault.  M'heart breaks each time.  Sorrow , death , destruction – these , all bedfellows to me.  And yes , I’ve c r i e d over people before.  And will likely do so again.  I hold no shame for that.  Jus' as I’ll hold no shame for grieving the loss of your life when it inevitably comes. ❞

[weirdozjunkary]

Golden heart (SATBK au fic) chapter 6

back again with more of this fic! A bit lober than the others cause its crammed with a lot of stuff. Mysteries are going to be solved so soon, you just wait and see...

Chapter1 Chapter5 Chapter7

Chapter 6- a meal for the mind

The day had gone by and the warm air had begun to cool. The super speedy hedgehog had already bored himself from the castle. At least there were plenty of books to read so he didn’t go completely insane from boredom, he was always kind of a book nerd. Usually when he had a place to rest his feet, he would sit and read wherever caught his eye.

This time, however, reading wasn’t really catching the hedgehogs attention. Instead, he was attempting to stack them like a card tower. It was difficult to do so as each book varied in height and weight. Luckily, all of them were hardcover. Though now even ‘book tower stacking’ was a bore to him.

Sonic sighed as he balanced the books on his sneakers. He tried to see how many he could balance before either his legs couldn’t hold that much, or that he couldn’t balance anymore. He got to five before the large clock in the room chimed loudly and startled him. His legs instinctively going stiff, launching the books up into the air and crashing down onto the hedgehogs face. 

He groaned and covered his face in pain, he was embarrassed but glad no one was around to see his mess up. Sonic sat himself up and looked at the clock. 5 pm already? How long was he sitting around being bored?

Sonic stood and dusted himself off. “Ah, guess time is always moving fast for me.” He put his hands to his hips. “I guess they’re gonna start making dinner soon. Wait… did they still have dinner at this time?” 

Sonic scratched his head in thought before shrugging. “Eh, doesn’t matter!” He turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen. “My eternal clock is probably different from theirs anyways.”

The speedy blue hedgehog moved down the halls that, to him, was a jog, but to others would be like chasing a horse drawn carriage. Still, he made his way down to the dinning hall where he saw a huge banquet displayed with the most Amazing food! It smelt amazing to! 

Grinning widely, Sonic turned to see who was at the table. Apart from the few servants who Sonic treated with the utmost hospitality before they had departed, the figures who sat were the knights of the roundtable. There was Sir Lancelot, who still looked slightly embarrassed seeing Sonic's presence. Sir Galahad, who was to busy swooning over the dark knight beside him to notice him in the room. Sir Percival, her visor still on her head, but opened, you still couldn’t see her face properly though. And lastly, two knights that looked similar to Knuckles the echidna, and… Jet the hawk?

“Hey look Lancelot! It’s the guy that made you look stupid in front of the king!” The echidna teased.

Lancelot didn’t respond, but Sonic could tell he was dying inside. Despite knowing this, he didn’t want to be rude.

“Uh, hey. Is it alright if I have dinner with you guys?” Sonic asked.

The red knight laughed. “ ‘Dinner’? It’s a bit late for dinner, hedgehog”

“So then what are you guys doing here with all this food?”

“it’s called ‘Supper’ you moron!” The green hawk insulted.

Sonic's eye instinctively twitched at the knight's comment, it wasn’t Jet, but he sure did seem like him. “Right…”

“He’s from another world, Lamorak.” Lancelot said. “He doesn’t follow the same things as us”

“Ah right! He’s from a world where cool Knights such as myself don’t exist!” Lamorak crossed his arms. “PAH! What a miserable world would that be, huh?”

The blue guest tapped his foot in annoyance, resisting the urge to go up and slap him. “Actually, my world is GREAT!” He said through his teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that!” The hawk dismissively waved a hand to him

Sonic rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Can I eat with you or what?”

“Yeah, sure, why not.” The Echidna said. “Pick up an empty chair. Just not the big one.”

“Thanks… um…”

“Sir Gawain, if you wish to know my name”

Sonic bowed his head and took a seat across from two of the knights. “Nice to meet you Gawain.”

The red knight grinned widely at him. Sonic had already reached and gathered the food to eat. To the others' shock, he grabbed a lot, more than they had, though they had already began eating before the blue hedgehog came in. They glanced as sonic ate the hearty meal he had took for himself.

“So…” Lamorak leaned towards sonic. “Not that I want to know more about where you’re from. But it IS kind of cool that you aren’t from here.”

Sonic raised a suspicious brow at the hawk. He swallowed before talking. “Really? You want to know more about where I’m from?”

“Yeah, why not?” Gawain butted in, putting an arm behind his head. “Might make use of a normally boring supper.”

“Don’t you guys have stories to tell each other or something?” Sonic said with a slight question in his tone.

“We already exhausted all our stories!” Lamorak groaned. “We haven’t been on a REAL adventure since the king had an ‘episode’ and shut himself in this dumb castle!”

“ ‘episode’?” Sonic repeated.

“How about we don’t insult the king…” Galahad said sheepishly.

“Why do YOU care?!” Lamorak flew a hand out. “You weren’t even there! You were out trying to find that stupid grail!”

“And YOU were with me! YOU weren’t there either! But I at least have RESPECT for the king and what had happened then!”

“Yeah, and your ‘respect’ was no help in getting the damn thing! I thought you were supposed to be the ‘perfect’ one?”

“There is no need for insults, Lamorak” Lancelot glared and growled at the hawk.

“Yeah you’re right.” Lamorak said. “Why should I be insulting the twig when ol’ blue is an easier target.”

Lancelot slammed a hand to the table, the sound reverberating throughout the large dinning room. “DO YOU WANT TO BE KILLED?” 

Sonic slightly raised a hand, trying to bud in to the conversation, his ears awkwardly pinned back. “Um-“

“Like that loner has any fight left in him?” Lamorak shouted. “He probably couldn’t even do half of the things he did back then!”

“You do not know what the king is capable of!” Gawain sneered at the hawk, showing his gums.

“Of course I don’t! It’s been YEARS since anything interesting has happened here!” Lamorak leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest with a scoff. “Don’t tell me you’re STILL scared of him?”

“Don’t speak like you knew what had happened that day…” Gawain pointed at him and growled, glaring daggers with his bright lavender eyes.

“HOW CAN I?” The hawk exlaimed, throwing his hands out infront of him. “You sorry bunches of idiots refuse to say anything!”

“There is NOTHING to say!” Lancelot puffed out his chest.

Sonic stood up on his chair. “OKAY STOP IT!”

The knights froze, their hearts skipped a beat at the volume of Sonic's voice. He really did sound like the king. No matter the situation, that booming voice could always come out to set them straight. Sonic hated yelling, but these guys seemed like they were gonna keep on arguing till the sun rose again. He looked at each of the knights, each of them giving nervous and uncomfortable glances away from the hedgehog. The room was deathly silent, any noise was from each person's breath, or his own words ringing in Sonic's head.

Sonic inhaled. “PLEASE! Just SOMEONE! Tell me WHAT IS GOING ON! Why does everyone look so glum all the time?” He placed his palms on the wooden table. “What happened with the king?”

All of them awkwardly looked away from him. Hiding their faces or simply avoiding eye contact. Why did they decide to argue? Knowing that their new guest was here. He knew about as much as Galahad and Lamorak. Maybe even less. None of them need to know.

“… No one? No one is going to say anything?”

The room was silent once more, still nothing to come out of the knights that accompanied the table. Sonic furrowed his brow in frustration. He shut his eyes and sighed, as much as he hated not knowing things, he didn’t like to push people if they weren’t comfortable.

“Okay, fine…” He hopped off of the chair and tapped the tip his shoes to the ground. “I have something to do anyways. Thanks for the meal though, it was really good.” He bowed at them before running off, leaving the five knights alone with each other.

Sonic huffed as he jogged down the castle walls, that foggy feeling of negative thoughts clouded his head. He tightly shut his eyes, trying to concentrate and calm down. He wasn’t one to get angry, but he was so frustrated that that cloud kept circling him. It felt almost suffocating to feel like this, he never felt this kind of negativity before. He wanted to yell into the sky, to punch something, to curl up into a ball, something to get all this out, something…

A cool breeze fell on the hedgehog’s face, he was outside on the dirt path to the castle's main entrance. He made it about a quarter of the way down before he realized, and oh man, the feeling of being outside again, it calmed him down almost instantly. The fog, his frustration, it all melted away. He calmly took a deep breath in and let it out, his face angled towards the sky. He was so focused on trying to figure things out, that he forgot that he needed to take it easy, problems don’t always solve themselves in a day.

“Sonic!” A familiar voice called out to him from down the hill. It was Tails- or, Miles. He was there, just like he’d said he’d be. 

A smile creeped up on sonic's face, his small tail began to wag hapilly. He waved up a hand to the grown fox. “Hey! What took you so long?”

[saffloure]

ೃ༄HIT DICE (IV)

EDDIE MUNSON X HARRINGTON!OC

MASTERLIST

✧chapter four: misery of the wrathchildren

↳ word count: 7,5k

↳ spoiler warning: s4ep1-2

↳ other warnings: angst, death, wound & injuries description, anxiety attacks, mentions of ED, childhood trauma, mentions of weed

↳ mentioned songs/artists: Ozzy Osbourne, Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now by the Smiths, Morrissey, Metallica, Christine by Siouxie and the Banshees, Rainbow in the Dark by Dio (reference)

↳ a/n: hell kinda broke loose in this chapter

"Principal Higgins’d crucify you if he saw you right now," Eddie Munson chuckled, lending his scraped black lighter to no other than Stacy Harrington.

With her brows furrowing, she leaned forward, inhaling the bitter puff of nicotine.

"Like what?" she asked in a challenging tone, closing her eyes as she let her bag drop to the ground.

"Skippin' classes and smokin' those disgusting menthol Newport’s with the last person you're supposed to be friends with," he replied swiftly, his back now plastered to the cold wall of Hawkins High gymnasium.

There was a little passage between the two buildings — legend had it, it was the exact same spot where Steve and Nancy broke things off two years ago. Now, however, hidden from the judging stares of rumbustious students and their astir yells, the location had become a secret hideout. This morning, the little shire of serenity had been especially important, hence neither Stacy nor Eddie felt the urge to attend the great speech before this evening’s Championship Game.

"I'd rather spend eternity listening to you rambling about DnD than hear another word from that barf bag Carver," Stacy whispered in a venomous tone, her expression causing the corners of Eddie's lips to go up.

"Speaking of which..." the Dungeon Master started, sending her the side eye.

"You know I can't, Edds," she interrupted him with a sigh, "I need to be on that stupid game."

"But you don't want to go there," Eddie pouted theatrically, a cigarette he was smoking almost falling off of his mouth.

"Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do," Stacy murmured, looking down at her shoes, just as they were the only thing that could possibly comfort her. "And I need to do... this 'till I'm out of this shithole."

There was a moment of tingling silence shared between the two high schoolers. If it wasn't for the accompaniments of muffle sounds of the school band and the students cheering, the atmosphere would have been almost grave.

An awkward sensation swallowed Stacy Harrington, leaving her with an inner notion of dispute. Throwing the cigarette butt on the ground, she took a few steps closer to Eddie, burying her head in his chest.

"I'm sorry. It's just so bizarrely complicated," she mumbled, begging to feel at ease when he gently stroked her back.

"'S alright, sweetheart," he comforted her, only to be met with her discombobulated stare. Correcting himself, he blabbered, "I mean... It's not alright, but I get it."

"We should go back inside," Stacy responded, pointing at the school building.

"Nah, they're not finished."

"They are! Just look!" Stacy exclaimed, trying to see through the window that was on almost twice her height. "I swear they're all gone by now!"

"You sure you can see anything?" Eddie teased, yet simultaneously handed her her bag. "If you wanted to free yourself from me that badly, you could've just said," he added in the exact same manner. This time, however, sticking out his tongue.

"Not that quickly, Munson," Stacy responded cheekily before continuing, "We still need to go roller skating together."

"For what? So you could laugh at my exceptionally traumatic fall and possibly an arm broken in three places?"

"Pretty much," Stacy let out a giggle, playfully punching his arm. "See 'ya, milksop!" she added before entering the school building.

Still having around ten minutes before her classes began, Stacy Harrington made her usual route to the bathroom. It was an oddly specific coping mechanism, or rather the lack of it — running the cold water through her fingers, splashing it onto her face in order to deal with the emotions she tended to bottle up each time they surfaced. Today wasn't any different. Moreover, it was a day such an occurrence was likely to happen. Pep Rally, the worst possible social event.

The bathroom door opened right in her face the moment she laid her hand on the doorknob, causing her to nearly spit her heart out. Recognizing a familiar face, she let out a sigh of relief.

"Geez, Max," she mumbled with a smile that never fully reached her cheeks.

"You're friends with Chrissy Cunningham?" The redhead asked unprecedentedly, pointing at one of the bathroom stalls, "She's in there... I-I tried talking to her but she told me to get lost."

With a rapid nod of her head, Stacy patted Max's shoulder, muttering a quick, "Thank you."

Not hesitating a second longer, Stacy stormed into the depths of the restroom. Chrissy was her dearest childhood friend, someone, whom she treated as a younger sister or a cousin. With a relationship as long as theirs, it wasn't a revelation for the girls to be familiar with each other's background. And unfortunately, such information contained knowledge of Chrissy's eating disorder caused by her mother’s disruptive antics. Therefore, Stacy had rather a prominent idea what to expect when she set off to find the doe-eyed cheerleader.

"Chrissy? Are you in here?" Stacy's voice rang through the seemingly empty toilet. It wasn't hard to find the only locked stall and hear muffled paints that began to terrify her.

They brought back the memories of the last summer.

"Open the door, Chrissy!" she shouted, maniacally grabbing the doorknob. "Chrissy!"

"Go away!" The shriek that was let out from the cheerleader was far from an annoyed one.

No.

It was soaked with terror. Ossifying the air around them. It was a scream for help. A scream of someone stricken with horror.

Having no idea where her sudden strength came from, Stacy managed to kick the door so hard the little metal padlock fell out, hitting the ground with a clinking sound.

"Chrissy," she whispered, watching the golden-haired girl sitting, completely fossilized, on the dirty bathroom floor.

"S-Stacy?" Her voice was weak but high-pitched. Almost as if she had just woken up from a draining nightmare.

"Come here, sweets," Stacy murmured, kneeling right beside her friend and embracing her in a warm hug. "You wanna tell me what happened?" she asked, delicately stroking the back of her head.

"I-I..." Chrissy started, yet no other words escaped her mouth.

"You don't need to answer just now. Take your time."

"I think I'm losing my mind..."

An unspoken sister-like worry filled Stacy Harrington the second her friend quietly sobbed, soaking the shoulder pad of her blazer. At that moment all that mattered was to keep Chrissy safe. To help her. Hence she wasn't capable of helping Heather Holloway and her family, Billy Hargrove and all of those, who let out their last breath before the Starcount Mall massacre.

That day, July 4th became a date she would never forget. It became a tragic scar not only on her behavior, but also on her mind. Because of that, Stacy Harrington had sworn to herself she would never let anything else happen to her family and friends.

It was why seeing Chrissy Cunningham, red-cheeked, crying on the bathroom floor with clasped eyes made her so unbelievably vengeful. And solving the problem was the only thing that could possibly tame those feelings down.

"What do you mean losing your mind?" Stacy repeated with a furrowed brow.

"I'm imagining things," Chrissy whispered in frenzy, her hands shaking when she put them back on her knees. "And they're... so, so scary, Stacy," she added in a muffled cry.

"Do you... wanna talk about them?" the other girl asked carefully. With a shake of the head, she knew she made the right decision not to force Chrissy into talking. "Okay. Okay..."

Stacy looked up on the cheerleader, only to let her eyes wander around the bathroom stall they were still sitting in. Hesitating to take further steps, she took a deep breath.

"I... get those anxiety episodes sometimes," she began in hopes of comforting Chrissy.

"You do?" the blonde girl asked in the most innocent tone one could ever imagine.

"Yeah…” A sad smile appeared on Stacy's face when she answered before continuing, "...about school, my future, my friends. Because of that I stress a lot. A shitload, actually."

Her snarky remark caused the cheerleader to chuckle through her drying tears.

"I'd never have thought," Chrissy smiled softly, her demeanor seemingly calmed down. "What do you do to stop that?"

"I-uh," Stacy murmured, scraping the back of her head. She didn't think this part through. "...I occasionally smoke weed. I know it's not the smartest solution but..."

"Do you think I could try it?" Chrissy interrupted her friend, her eyes suddenly becoming bigger.

"I-I... You could, but I don't think it's the best idea. You should talk to someone about the things first. A school counselor, a teacher, even me if you want to," Stacy rambled, realizing how odd the conversation would have been if anyone listened in.

"I've already... talked to Ms. Kelley. For a while now," Chrissy confessed with her head hanging low. As if she was ashamed to admit it.

It broke Stacy.

Seeing her childhood friend and the sweetest person in the whole Hawkins made her want to shout. It was unfair. It was ordinarily heartbreaking to be a witness to Chrissy's meltdown.

The usage of substances to deal with one's problems was utterly immature, she knew that. Yet still, Stacy was becoming desperate to do whatever it took to find a solution.

"If you want to... I can ask Eddie Munson to meet you after school," she whispered as Chrissy nodded her head. "But you have to promise me not to tell anyone about it, okay?"

"Okay," the girl agreed in a timid tone.

As they both got up, Stacy send Chrissy a warm smile before turning back. Heading towards the doors, she heard her name being called.

"Stacy... Thank you."

"Not a problem, sweets," she answered, doing a little saluting gesture that made her friend giggle.

Deciding she should talk with Eddie about the strange situation she had experienced, the canteen became her destination. With the bell announcing the lunch break, she was ready to head towards the DnD table. Having a tiny delay of talking with Ms. Bailey after class, she tightened her ponytail as she rushed through the schools corridors.

As she entered the canteen, her brows furrowed, eyes opening widely a moment after.

Eddie Munson was standing on top of the cafeteria table, delivering a resonant monologue. His hands were plastered to the sides of his head as a resemblance of devil's horns as he put out his tongue, ridiculing Jason Carver.

Focusing all of her attention on the bizarre scene, Stacy shivered when an arm wrapped around her neck.

"Your boyfriend's fucking crazy," the sarcastically amused tone of Debbie Donoghue resonated in Stacy's ears, leaving her with a bad aftertaste.

However, instead of answering, she fixed her already blank stare on the curly-haired third-time senior, who now jumped off of the table.

"Wanna some M&M's?" Angie Ferguson asked blandly, showing a handful of multicolored candies in her mouth before handing the little red bag to her friend.

"Thanks," Stacy replied, appearing compellingly absent-minded.

She watched Eddie sat down, his face muscles tensing up to reveal a sour expression. Throwing his lunch at Dustin Henderson and Mike Wheeler, he scoffed, finding himself back up.

Debbie chuckled at Stacy's reaction, pinching her cheek before she and Angie went back to their usual table. Harrington, however, shook her head to let herself out of the trance she had found herself in.

"...I'm gonna snatch that diploma and I'm gonna run like hell outta here," Eddie exclaimed in agitation, his smirk suddenly.

"I'm borrowing you," Stacy informed both him and the Hellfire members, grabbing his hand and leading him out of the cafeteria.

Confused as he was, Eddie let out a chuckle after they had found themselves on the more secluded part of the corridor.

"Hold up, hold up! Where are we running?" he uttered, a smile never leaving his face.

"Urgent matter," Stacy replied rapidly.

"Well, that I already know, love. We wouldn't have been holdin' hands in front of Carver the Douchebag if it wasn't," he smirked, bumping into Stacy's back when she abruptly stopped.

She looked down at his hand that was still wrapped by her fingers, muttering an unbothered, "Oh..."

"Oh? You're gonna cause a controversy worse than DnD in Newsweek," he blabbered, putting one of his hands on the locker in front of him. "Speaking of which..."

"No."

"Come oon, you didn't even give me a chance to finish!" Eddie dramatically complained, scrunching his eyes.

"I'm not coming today, Edds. I can't even play," Stacy replied with an eye roll, nervously grabbing onto the strap of her bag.

"Oh, I know. 'M not asking you to play... Besides, you know how the campaign is gonna end so..." he shrugged.

"Edds..."

"Sinclair ditched us. We need a sub. It wouldn't be weird if you came here to watch since we, 'ya know, already'd have one outsider," he stated informatively, yet only now noticed how worried she appeared to be. "You good?"

"Chrissy's not been feeling well recently. I think she gets anxiety from all that Pep Rally shit," Stacy confessed, hiding her hands in the pockets of her blazer.

"And you want me to..?" Eddie began, waiting for the girl to fill his question in with an answer.

"...sell her something."

He blinked twice when a fond smirk grew on his face.

"I can't believe it," he muffled, grinning. "Hawkins' pride and joy, Miss H. And Miss C. doing drug deals?" he added in amusement.

"That's not funny, Eddie."

"One more day and it'll turn out she listens to Ozzy as well... I mean, maybe she'll come with you to our campaign, huh?" he rambled on, keeping up his joking mannerism.

"For the love of god! I'm not coming to your stupid meeting!" Stacy stopped him, her voice muffled, yet at the same time audibly annoyed.

"I..."

"Honestly, Eddie. I get that's important to you but so is that shitty Pep Rally to me! If I don't come there it'll be a fucking social suicide!"

Only at that instance Stacy began to hear what she was saying, realizing how abominable her explanation sounded. Suddenly, she felt her stomach drop, her limbs freezing. Before she got the chance to deliberately explain herself, Eddie was looking at her with eyes as widely open as he didn't want to believe what he had just heard.

"Social suicide, you say?" he scoffed, avoiding the eye contact with her. "So that's what this has been all about? You, not getting embarrassed by people like me? You, getting to live your picture-perfect life?"

"That's not what I meant," she tried to interrupt him, but failed as he looked up on her.

"But that's exactly what you've said, Stace! You put on that phoney smile, pretend like it's all good and your friends don't talk shit about you behind your back. A-and the moment someone wants to like you for you, you just turn your back, wagging your tail at that Donoghue girl."

This time it was Eddie, whose voice quieted down at the end of his sentence, regretting the words he had just said.

"I-I..." Stacy tried to defend herself, yet the brutal thought that was just delivered to her kept her far from creating a working answer. "I’ll see you around."

"Stacy!" Eddie called after her as she turned on her heel, speeding off in the opposite direction.

"Just remember about Chrissy," she reminded him before she disappeared into another corridor, a tear escaping her eye.

With his hand clenched into a fist, Eddie let out a growl, hitting the locker he had been leaning on, "Shit!"

This evening, guilt and frustration were the only emotions Stacy Harrington endured. Replaying the conversation she had with Eddie over and over, she couldn't seem to pay attention to the basketball game she was watching alongside Angie Ferguson. Her leg was nervously bouncing, as if she was awaiting for the inevitable end of the tournament. Minutes seemed like hours, elongating her suffering from overthinking every possible scenario that came after her argument with Eddie Munson.

The most tremendously bashful thing? She knew he was right.

That was why after their teams victory, she refused Debbie Donoghue party invitation. After all, she wasn't wagging her tail at anyone. At least not more than necessary.

Grabbing her stuff, she made eye contact with Chrissy that lead to them talking behind the bleachers. She wanted to make sure the girl was taken care of and the fight between her and Eddie didn't affect her. After learning that the Dungeon Master and the cheerleader fixed a meeting after the game, Stacy drove straight to her house, breaking into tears the moment she closed the doors to her bedroom.

Pathetic. The word rang inside her mind like an annoying alarm clock on a Monday morning.

Pathetic. There was no doubt her actions were just so.

Pathetic that she could've prevented it.

If only she stood up, exclaimed she had no interest in basketball, yelled she had had enough of the counterfeited compliments and noisy gossips.

If only she had the courage to be herself.

With her makeup now entirely destroyed by sea salt tears, she crawled into her bed, placing a The Smiths vinyl into the record player. Such cliché action of listening to melancholy music while feeling morose herself was what was a usual occurrence during times like those. A few minutes in, Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now started playing. Wrapping her arms around her knees, a distressed smile entered Stacy's lips.

In my life Why do I give valuable time To people who don't care if I live or die?

"Stace! Turn that sappy Morrissey down!" Steve called from his room, his complain being a repressed grumble.

Fulfilling his wish to avoid him coming to her room with a possibility of finding her crying, Stacy rolled out of her bed. All of the sudden, her eyes fixed on the baby blue landline phone located on her desk. Her mind cramped up with the thoughts of how Chrissy was doing. If she got home safe. If the drug deal came as planned.

A salve of shame overwhelmed her again when she realized she could've suggested her company during smoking. Hence why her one hand made its way to the phone, the other frantically searching for Chrissy's number in the tiny purple notebook Stacy kept the addresses of her friends.

Just as she was about to dial the number, she realized how late it was. If she was to call Chrissy, she would have woken up her whole family. That, she wanted to avoid. She knew the Cunningham's and how their frustration with a late night call could affect their daughter. Therefore, Stacy made up her mind into calling Eddie Munson. His uncle worked late shifts, after all.

However, no one picked up. Not even after four attempts.

He's mad at me, Stacy thought to herself, letting her intrusive thoughts devour her sanity. Back in her bed, she cried herself to sleep, deciding she would try contacting both Eddie and Chrissy the morning next.

Waking up, her emotions cooled down, leaving her mind with a clearer vision of what to do — apologize to Eddie and make sure Chrissy took the weed well. Dressed up in denim jacket, matching jeans and a simple white t-shirt, Stacy grabbed a piece of toast, her Walkman and a pack of cigarettes. Making her way to the Cunningham's she hummed along Siouxie and the Banshees mixtape she accidentally left in her car.

"Oh! Hi, darling! We were just having breakfast. Would you like join us?" the soothing tone of Laura Cunningham greeted Stacy the moment she knocked on the front door.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Cunningham. I'm not hungry," the girl replied, only now realizing she was holding her breath. "I-uh, actually I was going to ask if Chrissy is home."

The cheerleader's mom furrowed her brow, abruptly surprised, "Weren't you two at Debbie's yesterday? I thought you stayed over."

"I didn't go," Stacy responded, doing her best not to express the sensation of fear that began to burn her from the inside. "Chrissy didn't come home last night?" she asked, placing her hands behind her back to hide their trembling.

"No... Did something happened?" Laura splattered all of the sudden, a motherly concern on her face.

"We were... supposed to go shopping. But I guess she must've stayed a night! Good day to you, Mrs. Cunningham!" Stacy lied swiftly, sending her friend's mother a reassuring smile.

A smile she wanted to believe was genuine.

She couldn't stop her fingers from quivering when she started the car. Breaking the speed limit, she raced to the trailer park in hope for some answers. If Chrissy didn't return home that must meant Eddie offered her to stay. And if she experienced bad results of the substances she allegedly used, it would've been for the best if she did that. After all, Eddie was experienced with the drugs he was selling. He could have easily taken care of someone, who zoned out a bit too quickly...

...or at least that's what Stacy wanted to believe.

It wasn't until she arrived at the trailer park, the realization hit her. Simultaneously, her guts wrenched, her legs became unbelievably light, her head began to spin. She had no recollection of parking her car and running towards the direction of Eddie's trailer.

Swarmed with people in blue uniforms.

"Miss! Miss! You can't come in here!" a policeman called, stopping her from running into the house.

But stepping on the doorstep was enough for Stacy to notice a figure being covered by black plastic sheet. Limbs unnaturally bend in joints, lifelessly sprawled on Eddie's floor. Bloodshot eyes, still wide opened. Crimson liquid leaking from her mouth that seemed to freeze in the middle of a scream.

"Miss? Are you okay?" The policeman's words seemed so far away, so distant.

The only thing Stacy could hear was the sound her own rushing blood. The only thing she could feel was the piece of toast forcing her guts to be vomited.

"T-that's... Is that... Chrissy?" she managed to say, her hands shaking so badly she couldn't grab the railing to sit herself down.

"We... still didn't identify the victim. That could be anyone, Miss. There's no need to..."

"Bullshit..." Stacy interrupted the man, hearing her voice as if it was not coming from her. "She has a cheerleader hoodie on. Her name's on it," she explained, pointing at the direction of the house.

"As I was saying, Miss. We didn't identify..."

"Her name's on the hoodie," Stacy repeated, rocking herself back and forth as her arms and legs trembled from the terror that was awaiting to come.

"Miss, you really need to go. This is a crime scene."

Her head was spinning. Her mind was absent. Her brain couldn't comprehend what she had just saw.

She froze. Just as she did in Starcount Mall. Just as she did in the Byers' house.

"Stacy?" a familiar voice called, although she needed to look up in order to recognize its owner. She had never heard Wayne Munson so petrified. So frightened. "Stacy, he didn't do it. He didn't," the man frantically rambled.

He.

Eddie.

Stacy's eyes wide opened when she rapidly got up, her expression covered by overwhelming frenzy.

"Where is he? Where's Eddie, Mr. Munson?" she questioned hectically, her breath heavy.

"He... he ran away," Wayne answered quietly, his eyes blank, lacking any sort of liveliness. "But he didn't do it, Stacy. You have to believe me. Eddie's a good boy."

"I... I," Stacy stuttered. It was only now when she fully realized what happened.

Chrissy was dead. In Eddie's trailer.

The fog that took over her mind vanished, leaving her with the sore throat and sheer horror. But, she finally could begin to think rationally. That's why she vigorously lead Wayne Munson a fair distance from his house. Just to reduce the possibility of the policemen listening it.

"Can you tell me what happened?" she asked, her voice steady, yet still morbid.

"I came home from work. Saw this girl on the floor. No sign of Eddie," Wayne answered in short sentences, still reliving the sight of the dead body in his living room.

"Do you know where he might've gone?" she continued, receiving a negation when Eddie's uncle shook his head. "Okay... okay..." she whispered more to herself than to him.

Trying to confirm that everything was under control. Even if it was leaking through her fingers, not seeming to stop.

"He didn't..."

"I know, Mr. Munson," Stacy interrupted him, grabbing his forearm.

Never for a second had she thought the murder was a result of Eddie's action. It had never crossed her mind that he could be the perpetrator. As naive as it might've sounded, Stacy knew him. She knew his tiny quirks, his random outbursts of breaking into monologues. She knew about the spots he hid his drug supply, about his fascination with Tolkien, about his love for trashy metal ballads. But most importantly, she knew he couldn't have done that. Because nonetheless of everyone else claimed, nonetheless of them calling him a freak, a weirdo, a social outcast, she knew he was a gentle soul. He was the boy, who spent his days on learning how to play the new Metallica song and who skipped lessons just so he could stop being bullied by both his teachers and his peers. He was her friend. Not a murderer.

"I will find him. I promise," Stacy whispered, noticing the tears escaping Eddie's uncle's eyes. "If you need a place to stay..."

"My friend runs a motel. Don't worry, little Harrington," he reassured her with a tiny sorrowful smile.

After saying goodbyes and thank you's, Stacy run back into her car, her destination becoming her brother's workplace.

She needed someone to calm her down.

"Fuck!" She yelled the moment a song called Christine came on, hitting the steering wheel with all of her strength.

Her mind went back to the scenery she entered a while ago. The gruesome sight of her friend's corpse perpetuated her mind, making it unable for her to breath properly.

If only she didn't tell Chrissy to meet Eddie. If only she came with her.

Stacy's thoughts became unbearable to the extreme she had began hyperventilating. It was just like having a macabre lucid dream, a feverish nightmare that was turning out to be reality.

But then, she felt her body sinking even further.

If Eddie didn't kill Chrissy, who did?

Running into Family Video seemed to be a never-ending marathon. Stacy didn't realize when she was standing inside, her hair disheveled, her face red from crying. She didn't even recalled bumping into an older couple until the lady let out an annoyed scoff when their shoulders touched.

"Woah, woah. What happened, Stace?" Steve called as soon as he saw his sister. Mumbling, "Apologies," to the older woman as he grabbed Stacy by her arms.

"Chrissy... Eddie... the trailer park," she mumbled full of panic, her voice cracking the more she spoke.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit," Dustin ranted, grabbing Stacy's forearm and leading her beside the counter to sit her down. "You've seen her, didn't you?" he asked, worry entering his face.

Stacy nodded her head, a lonely, bashful tear streaming down her cheek.

"Hey, she's my sister, Henderson. Not yours," Steve called with the tone that indicated he was trying to get rid of the tense atmosphere.

"Yeah, but she is... Stacy," Dustin wondered, confused by his own lack of a more descriptive word.

"Can you focus? We're kind of short with time," Max reprimanded the boys, pointing at the computer's screen that showed shop's database.

"Well, forgive me for caring about Stacy, who comes in her with her eyes cried out!" Dustin argued, furrowing his brows at Steve.

"It's not that, man! You're just stealing my job!"

"Oh, calm down, Dingus!"

"I saw her on the ground and she... didn't look human," Stacy's whisper brought the attention to her, causing the teenagers to become silent. "And I know Eddie couldn't... I mean, h-he couldn't..." she stuttered, putting a hand over her mouth. She began feeling nauseous at the mere thought that had just occurred in her mind.

"The lights started flickering last night," Max replied, carefully approaching Stacy.

"No…" the older girl gasped, her eyes fixed directly on the redhead. "No, this can't be happening… not again," she repeated to herself as if she wanted to convince her own self the Upside Down wasn't a part of it.

It was so unbelievably hard, hence she already familiarized with the idea in her subconsciousness.

Noticing her state, Steve took a few steps closer to gently ruffle her hair. Giving her time to calm down, the teens had returned to the computer. Trying to figure out the true identity of a certain mysterious persona, they based their research off of their VHR rentals. Connecting the dots while realizing they were doing their research on a man named Rick, Stacy rapidly stood up, glancing at the screen.

"You're looking for Eddie," she stated with confidence, yet her voice remained weak. "You think he's hiding at Reefer Rick's?"

"Hold up, how do you..." Steve started but was never able to finish.

"I can take you there," Stacy assured quickly, her voice breathless.

"So this is true," Robin gawked, a small smirk appearing on her shocked face. "The thing that goes around school... That you actually are friends."

A loud sigh of Max Mayfield tried to return everyone to the rightful subject when she said, "Of course they're friends. Why else would she be at the trailer park today?"

Indicating it was close to common knowledge, Max Mayfield grabbed her Walkman, walking past the remaining high schoolers.

"What are you waiting for?" the redhead went on, standing by the exit.

"Uh, me and Robin are actually on a shift here," Steve complained, met with four equally reprimanding glares. As an defense, he yelled, "Okay! Geez, calm down, people!"

"Closin' early!" Robin called, locking the door as all of them left the store.

"Everyone get into my car. Stace, you sit in the front!" Steve ordered in a mother-like tone, starting up the engine.

With her left feet bouncing, Stacy bit the nail of her thumb, her eyes numbly fixed on the road. Focusing to begin giving directions, she was unable to concentrate on anything else but the route.

On the backseat, Dustin was complaining he was seated in the middle, meanwhile Max rolled her eyes, looking out of the window. Robin's stare, on the other hand, was fixed on Steve's back. Just as she knew what conversation was going to happen in a few seconds.

"We need to talk," Steve started, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"About what?" Stacy asked, not out of sleaziness but of pure curiosity. She felt cut off of the real world, her thoughts took too much time to make a sensible whole. Therefore only after a while she realized the meaning behind her brother's words, commenting it with a simple, "Oh."

"Why didn't you tell me you are friends?" he went on, his voice sounding almost disappointed.

"Technically I did," Stacy whispered, unintentional smile cracking her expression. "Turn left."

"Wh-technically you did? What is that supposed to mean?" His brows furrowed as he followed her directions.

"That time two weeks ago when I was going out. I've told you you were going to Eddie's."

"I thought you were being sarcastic! Like you always are!" Steve exclaimed, sending a sharp stare to Robin, who began to chuckle.

"Why are you making such a great deal about this?" Stacy asked, her voice weaker that usual. Implying she had truly not inner strength to cope with his fits at that moment.

"You need to tell me about stuff like that! I'm your older brother!"

"Well, shit. I haven't noticed," she mumbled, causing even Max to smirk. "Follow the road until we pass McKinley's house."

"I'm being serious! I need to know about that so when the dude needs to be beaten up..." Steve stopped himself, looking at his sister, whose face drastically change. "Why are you laughing?"

"Sorry, it's just... whenever you got into fights...like that one with Tommy H. or Billy... you're always the one, who ends up being beaten up," Stacy claimed through her pitiful chuckles. A smile on her red, swollen from crying face resembled the first droplets of rain on the land stricken by drought.

"Oh, very funny, Stace. Hilarious," Steve lamented with his tone awfully exaggerated.

Stacy looked down on her hands as the reoccurring realization of existence caught up to her again. Through her forced soft smile, she had to deal with the horrid images, the mortifying scene, and, what mattered the most now, Eddie Munson, who was now a proclaimed murderer. The same Eddie Munson, who she thought to be angry with her due to her own indecisiveness.

She looked out the window, placing her chin on her hand. What if he didn't want to see her? Most importantly, were they even going to find him at Reefer Rick's house?

With the persistent thoughts occupying her mind once again, she brought her attention back to navigating Steve. Arriving at the tiny shack near the Lovers’ Lake, the crew found themselves scanning the house with flashlights.

"Eddie! It's Dustin!" the curly-haired boy yelled, while banging on the window.

A tiny quarrel broke, typical for the dynamics of when Dustin Henderson and Steve Harrington were paired up together.

Stacy couldn't get her act straight. The flashlight in her hand wasn't working properly, or… that was what she thought until she realized it was the fault of her trembling hands. She was petrified. Not for herself, but for Eddie. If what Max said was true and their suspicions confirmed? What was the possibility Eddie was being targeted by the same thing that killed Chrissy? What if that something captured him and they were going to find him in the exact same condition?

"The boathouse," Stacy whispered ever so quietly she was heard only by the red-haired girl standing beside her.

"You guys?" Max called, following the clue she was given. Basking in the dead of the night, there was a single light burning, directly above the doors of the building Stacy mentioned.

"Oh, I have a bad feeling about this!" With Steve's mumbling incoherent words to himself, the remaining four went after Max. As they carefully opened the doors of the building, he grabbed an oar laying beside them, taking a lead, just in case.

The boathouse looked drastically different from what Stacy recalled. The atmosphere was chilling, especially now, at night. What added to the eeriness was the overwhelming silence that seemed to be deafening. As they split up, Steve following Dustin, Stacy keeping a close distance between her and Robin, the girl suddenly kneeled down. She picked up a golden box of cookies.

Famous Amos'.

The box she left half-full in the living room of Reefer Rick's house over a month ago. It couldn't have been just a coincidence.

"What are you doing?" Dustin's muffled shriek brought her attention back to her brother, who now hit a bump of trash covered by a black tamp… with an oar.

Shaking her head, ignoring the usual bickering, Stacy went after Max and Robin as they examined a bunch of candy wrappers and beer bottles that were messily placed on the wooden shelf.

"Maybe he heard us. Got spooked and ran," Robin commented, her voice so serious it almost did not suit her.

"Don't worry! Steve will get him with his oar," Dustin answered sarcastically, not pleased at the fact his friend was holding an equivalent of a deadly weapon in his hands.

Stacy stood silent, her nails digging into the cardboard box she realized she was still holding. The same box that dropped a second after Steve let out a terrified shriek and was put up against to wall by a silhouetto that emerged from the darkness of the boathouse.

"Woah, woah, woah! Eddie! Stop!" Dustin yelled frantically, repeating his name over and over.

Stacy had no idea why words couldn't came from her mouth. Especially when her friend was holding her brother, holding a broken bottle to his throat.

"It's Dustin! This is Steve! His not gonna hurt you, right Steve?" the curly-haired boy spoke in a cautious manner, causing Eddie to focus his eyes on him.

The eyes that Stacy remembered as cheerful each time they spoke, now we're filled with anguish and... fear.

Dustin went on, introducing the girls as to calm Eddie down and make him as comforted as possible in that instance. Yet, when it came to Stacy, she held her breath when Henderson said her name. For a spare moment she could've sworn her and Eddie's stares locked. His grip on the collar on her brother's neck loosened a tiny bit.

But it wasn't until Dustin swore on his mother none of them were trying to cause any harm, Eddie fully let go. Breathing unevenly, he slid down the wall, his eyes completely blank, avoiding meeting anything but the floor. Dustin kneeled next to him, saying words Stacy was unable to hear. All of her focus was on Eddie's glance when he finally looked up. Only then she noticed how watery his eyes were, how puffy they appeared.

But she couldn't do anything. She couldn't even emote what she was feeling, hence every single inch of her body felt frozen.

"We wanna know what happened," the calm, quiet voice of Robin was what caused Stacy to snap out of her thoughts.

But it was Eddie's first words that day that utterly broke her heart. "You won't believe me," he sobbed, failing in maintaining his steady tone.

Stacy wanted to kneel down next to him, embrace him, tell him it was going to be alright. Just so he won't feel that exact same way she did last summer. Just so he could lay all of his problems on someone else.

"Try us," Max challenged him.

And so he did. He had told them about Chrissy Cunningham, deep in trance in his living room. He had told them about how he tried waking her up, how she lifted up in the air, how her limbs bend and how the blood splattered from her eyes. Whilst he told that, his hands were trembling, he was biting his lower lip in order not to break into tears. Yet, the constant cracking of his voice entirely negated that he was far from what he had tried to pursue.

The thesis confirmed while recalling the monstrous incident, he snapped at Dustin and Max after they claimed they believed him. After all, his confession seemed compellingly out of place.

It wasn't until Dustin explained Eddie, in brief detail, what they endured on the span of the last three years that the curly-haired senior started to believe he wasn't going crazy. Although his voice remained monotonous and his lips compressed.

"You know, I tried to wake her, man. She couldn't move. It was like she... she was in a trance or something.

"Or under a spell," Dustin suggested, his eyes opening widely.

"A curse," Eddie corrected him.

"Vecna's curse."

"Vecna's curse," Stacy repeated to herself, yet her voice was barely audible.

Taking a step back, she leaned on a wooden counter in hopes of stabilizing her body. Her head was so light it could take a moment for her to collapse the second she’d close her eyes. It all felt like a bad dream. A nightmare she so frantically wanted to wake up from.

And yet, her eyes remained shut.

It felt like oscillating in between reality and imagination; one moment she was feeling entirely rational, ready to take action. The other, her body was pulled down by a sinking lead weight, unable to recognize anything but the sound of her echoing breath.

"Stace?" her brother's voice stood her back up on her feet.

"I'm good," she replied, although she was far from sounding convincing. Finally taking a look at the others, she realized everyone had been staring at her for a while now. That only meant one thing. "Are you going... Can you wait for me? It'll just take a second."

Her sudden change of mind caused Steve to furrow his brow and Robin to nudge him in the shoulder, making him answer nothing except, "Yeah. Sure."

As she watched the four leave, she hesitantly took a step closer to the man, sitting in a half-darkened corner of the room. With her breath becoming coherently audible came the realization she needed to do everything in her power to tame it. Or at least try to.

She didn't even noticed when the words, "Please tell me you're not hurt," left her mouth.

Eddie swallowed the gulp in his throat, focusing on his clasped fingers resting in his lap.

"'M okay," he mumbled, although he sounded exactly how Stacy a while ago. "I-I didn't want to... I tried to wake her..." he started, feeling he had to explain himself. Seeing Stacy shoved an immaculately great amount of guilt on him.

She shouldn't have came here. She shouldn't have seen him like this.

Intrusive questions swarmed his head with every step she took. He could see the pain in her face, the stained cheeks. Even the marks on her forearms she had given herself after trying to snap herself out of her anxiety attack. The thought of him not being aware how much she knew of if she even believed what he had just confessed to make him feel like he was choking a cloud of gray smoke. Smoke that was coming from scorching fire which was devouring his insides.

"I know," Stacy tried to comfort him, yet her voice broke in between the words. "I-I'm so glad you're safe," she added, being only millimeters from him.

His arms wrapped around her hips as he was still seated against the wall. What felt like an electric shock came through her body, causing the hell to completely broke loose. Within seconds she had found herself kneeling down, her chin resting on his shoulder, her hands pulling him closer.

It wasn't like any other hug their had shared before; it was a gesture of desperation that desolately tried to calm their frenzy. An embrace that felt like peace after the storm, like a rainbow in the dark. Most importantly, it felt real.

"We-we will deal with this, I promise. It'll all be okay," Stacy assured him, her throat burning from all the tears that were waiting to be released.

Her fingers carefully stroke his back, hoping to calm them both. She realized her actions had the opposite effect when a sob took over Eddie's body.

"You're crying," she murmured, frantically trying to wipe off his tears with her fingers.

"You're crying, too," he informed her, his weak voice stricken with worry.

In a state of surprise, with an open mouth, Stacy touched her cheeks, only to find out he was telling the truth.

"I... didn't realize," she confessed, a small smile exchanging the sorrowful expression. "I'm sorry," she added, wiping her face off with her forearm.

"What?" Eddie shook his head. "What are you sorry for?"

Stacy's trembling fingers traveled back to his body, this time stroking through his curls.

"You don't deserve to be a part of this," she cried, recalling all of the times the Upside Down was involved in her life. Now, when it was Eddie Munson — a person, she so dearly liked — she couldn't help the overbearing sensation of fear pushing on her.

Eddie looked back down, exhaling after an extended amount of time. He leaned into Stacy's touch, closing his eyes gently and wishing he didn't have to open them any time soon. Simply stay like that, not remembering the morbid events that took place in his house. Just him and Stacy's fingers comforting him.

"And I'm sorry I behaved like a total bitch. I've never meant to say your party was stupid," she added, but this time her tone resonated strongly. Confidently. Just like usual.

The vocabulary, that wasn't entirely suiting her, made Eddie chuckle for the first time since the incident. Seeing his response, Stacy swooped her feet a bit closer, closing him into a warm embrace once again.

"It's okay," he whispered into her ear, his hands melting into the sides of her head.

"It will be. I'll fix it, I promise," she reassured him once more, slowly getting up. "I'll be back as soon as possible. Get you some groceries and shit," she explained quickly, trying to collect not only herself but him.

"Thanks," he smiled briefly, his fingers interlocking with hers.

"Oh! I have a gift for you," Stacy exclaimed, vigorously searching through the pockets of her denim jacket. "To make waiting for us more bearable," she added, handing him her Walkman, a cassette and a pack of cigarettes — the only things she managed to grab before heading out this morning.

"Ew, menthol Newport's," he replied, smirking at her choice of cigarettes.

An attempt to bring just a tiny bit of normality to the situation.

"Oh, shut it, Munson," Stacy chuckled, shaking her head. "Gotta go. I'll make sure to grab you a beer."

With a smile, she waved to him, turning on her heel. However, she was made to turn her head at the sound of her name escaping his lips.

"Stacy?"

"Huh?"

"Be careful, 'kay?"

[coffee-in-veins]

Day 31: Graveyard

an entry for darkest prompts promptober 2022  

previous days: 1, 2, 3,  4, 5, 6,  7,  8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30

now available on ao3 too

Graveyard NOUN – a burial ground, especially one beside a church.

* * *

I see you when you chase All the dreams inside your head I see you when you laugh And when you love 'til the bitter end (I see you) In the dark, at the dawn of something new I see you Yes, I see you

-- I see You by Missio

There was an odd serenity in the rows of unkept poisoned dirt mounts spotted with warped wooden crosses with washed-out names. In the gentle swaying of the encroaching branches of leafless, always gnarled trees that surrounded the place as if they wanted to suffocate it. In the gentle, sandy-rustling creaking of the rusted gate that always needed far more strength to open than it looked. In the broken lines of crooked black iron fences that somehow managed to throw harsh shadows over the shallow graves regardless of the time of the day.

All those, combined, were a solemn reminder that tomorrow was always a hope and never a promise in the land of eternal looming doom.

Even more so, Dismas supposed, for someone who had just lost a trusty companion.

He had a splitting headache exhausted from tears, momentarily too tired for mourning. Where pain was supposed to pool, was merely a dull, numb void – as if there was a hole in his chest, and everything fell out through it. His lower lip was bitten through, and where he usually tasted whiskey, now only blood and bile remained.

“Hey there, ol’ friend,” the ex-brigand tried to start, but his throat got thick and he had to clear it a couple of times. Still, it sounded off and weak when he managed to speak again. “They didn’t e’en bother with a proper headstone for ya, huh?”

The graveyard was silent. The rows remained just as sloppy and barely kept, as usual.

“So much for years o’ faithful service, huh?” Dismas forced a crooked smirk, showing one of his sharp canines, but even that bile-filled expression couldn’t stay on his face for long. “I suppose this will wait for us all, huh? No stone, no frills, no fuss, n’ definitely no glory. No one e’en bothered t’ give ya proper place near the central road. Or the Abbey…”

Oh, those memories were a definite gut punch when they rushed in. The highwayman swallowed thickly and finally confessed:

“Ya made staying in the Abbey bearable, y’know? That bloody coffin of a transept was just… insufferable unless ye were there,” he paused again, rubbing his face tiredly, and continued, quieter. “But ye always were. Keeping me company. Keeping me sane amidst all the oppressive droning. Hell, keeping me warm in that stone sack during winters.”

It was incredibly hard to force out a choked:

“I’ll miss it.”

Because he definitely wasn’t supposed to miss anything related to the transept. Not being the honest cutthroat that he was, that is. Abbey was a different world, to him, a world unfitted for his ilk, a world too depressing and uninviting on its own.

Feeling his knees getting weak, Dis lowered himself to the poisoned ground, bundling into the ripped overcoat. Everything happened so suddenly, he still couldn’t force himself to mend all the new holes in Uncatchable’s matted fur and worn-out padded cloth. Somehow, only those holes made anything feel even relatively real. Else he would’ve kept thinking that it was all an elaborate fright somehow.

“You gave me courage,” he continued when the silence became even more unbearable than his own wavering voice. “In those blackest pits, when everything seemed lost, ya shone. Ye were my best ally. Helped me push past the struggles I thought I couldn’t…”

He felt small, lost and miserable as he habitually reached for booze, remembering in half-motion that it wasn’t there. And this last drop – or rather, the absence of it – finally broke him into ugly, drunken sobbing as he hugged his knees.

“I dunno how I’m gonna go on withoutcha…”

Behind his shoulder, high above, Dismas heard an exasperated sigh:

“For the last time, Dis,” Reynauld’s voice was filled with unending vexation. “I swore on the Light’s Grace that I’ll buy you a new flask. With guelder rose engravings. Can you calm down finally?”

“You killed her!” the ex-brigand wailed, inconsolable, fat drunken tears staining his pants. “Murdered her in the cold blood as if she was some bone rabble! My baby, my beloved, she who nourished me for o’er a decade, n’ they wouldn’t even get her a tombstone! As if she was just a stray, some lowly seeker…!”

The world was a cold, unfair place, and that was yet another proof of that.

“Oh, for the Light’s mercy! You made me give Commendation of the Dying to a flask, Dismas,” the crusader hissed, both aggravated and embarrassed. “His Holiness is still giving me weird looks every time I go to a sermon.”

“As he should, at a murderer!” the highwayman wept. “Oh, my sweet one… run through yer very throat… my the hand most uncaring, woe is me for calling such a man my closest, dearest friend n’ seeking consolation in his bosom!”

“Keep it quiet, will you?” the knight gave a quick glance around, but thankfully, no one wanted to be around the rowdy drunken rogue, so no one heard this heretical farce.

“How can ya demand m’silence afta’ taking away the last comfort that I had? Cruel, heartless man that I let into my--”

“Alright, I’ve had enough,” Reynauld grabbed him like a naughty kitten and stomped in a direction of the bathhouse with a stoic expression of a serial killer. “Firstly, we’re not getting burned at a stake for a flask. Secondly, you’re getting quiet. Now. And once you’re coherent, I’ll get you a new flask. I’ll even allow you to sleep on my lap while you sober up.”

Habitually, Dismas stopped struggling and just dangled in the arms that dragged him out of the blackest pits before. The deal was too good to pass even if his mind was barely operational.

“Promise?” he asked, trying to wipe the tears with already dirty gloves and most likely only making it worse.

“Oh, for the love of all that’s holy…”

Dismas was way too drunk and emotionally devastated, and that was probably the reason he blurted out:

“Not of me?”

Reynauld paused, then turned him around and took one long, hard look at his puffy, reddened, snot-covered face and let out a sigh so exhausted, that all of the holy martyrs would’ve most likely felt sorry for him as their most unfortunate kin.

And yet his voice was soft as he placed a small kiss on his highwayman’s brow.

“You are my little saint, silly.”

[cuttoothed]

A little fic for @jonsimsandcats and also inspired by some adorable art on discord! Featuring notes on kitten rearing, and of course some Jmart because it’s me.

Jon works at the Institute here, but a non-spooky version of it!

*

Martin is doing a final check on the fish tanks when he hears the bell above the front door jingle. He sighs; he knew he should have locked up first. Just his luck.

“This is your fault,” he tells the angelfish balefully. They don’t seem contrite, too busy nosing in the fine gravel for any food they’ve missed. Martin walks out to the front of the shop, preparing his best customer service smile to tell whoever’s come in at—he glances at his watch—three minutes past eight that they’re closed, and no, they can’t just wander around for a few minutes to look at the animals. Honestly, some people seem to think there’s no difference between a pet shop and an art gallery.

There’s a man standing at the front counter, looking around anxiously, a bundled up jumper clutched against his chest.

“Sorry, we’re—” Martin begins, and that’s as far as he gets before the man unleashes a frantic tirade.

“Please!” the man says, “I need your help, I-I’m not sure they’re breathing and they were out there for hours on their own, I know you’re not supposed to move them in case their mother comes back but I couldn’t just—just leave knowing they were still there, and all the vet offices nearby are closed, this was the only place I could think of!”

The man is wild eyed, almost panicked, and Martin lifts both hands in an appeasing gesture.

“Woah,” he says, “Uh, maybe start from the beginning again? Slowly?”

“Right, ah, sorry. Sorry. I spotted them this morning, under a bush just outside my work.” The man sets the bundle of jumper down on the counter, and unfolds it to reveal two tiny scraps of fur: one gray, one black. Kittens, Martin realizes, so small they can only be a week or so old; certainly not old enough to be without their mother.

“I left them alone, because I’ve heard that the mother usually comes back after a little while. A-and I meant to go and check on them again during the day, make sure.” The man sounds anguished now, his face miserable. “But I—I got caught up in work, forgot about it. It was only when I was leaving that I remembered. And they were still there, on their own. Barely moving. Please—is there anything we can do?”

Martin looks down at the tiny creatures in their nest of wool; he can just about see the shallow in-out of their breathing. All day outside alone, at their age, the odds aren’t great. But he’s met enough kittens to know that they’re shockingly resilient little sods, and he’s never given up on a so-called hopeless case before. He’s not about to start now.

“You did the right thing moving them,” he assures the man, moving to flip the sign on the door to CLOSED. “We need to get them warmed up and get some food into them. Body heat is the best thing for them right now—can you start warming them with your hands?”

“Oh—ah, yes,” says the man, turning to his bundle of jumper with a worried frown. Martin leaves him there while he rushes around the shop, grabbing kitten milk replacer and nursing bottles, and then into the back to heat two mugs of water in the microwave while he makes up the bottles. He pops them into the mugs to warm, and brings the whole lot out to the front. The man now has a kitten in each hand, and is holding them pressed carefully to his chest for additional warmth; his expression is still worried, but also desperately tender, and Martin feels a pang of something behind his ribs at the sight.

“One of them is moving,” the man says eagerly as Martin sets the bottles down. Martin can see the gray kitten wriggling weakly in the man’s grip, responding to the heat. Its sibling is still motionless, and Martin’s heart sinks a little.

“That’s great,” he says. “Hold onto her for another minute, and let me see if I can get her sister moving too.”

He holds out a hand, and the man almost reluctantly passes him the black kitten. Martin doesn’t try to notice that the man has lovely hands, with long, slim fingers, narrow wrist jutting out of his shirt sleeve, but, well, he notices a bit. He turns his attention to the kitten; he can’t make out the motion of its breathing anymore. He takes it in both hands and starts to massage it gently. It lies limp in his palms, head lolling, and Martin starts to feel despair crawling cold up his spine.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “You can do it.” The man is watching him anxiously, the gray kitten cradled against his chest, and Martin knows he can’t give up. He keeps rubbing the kitten’s small body, trying to will warmth and life back into the tiny, fragile form. At last, after what seems like an eternity, the kitten squirms in his hands and a faint, plaintive mew escapes it. An answering mew comes from the gray kitten, and Martin laughs, relief washing over him.

“Right, let’s see if we can get them to eat.”

After checking that they’re not too chilled to feed, Martin tests each of the kittens with a drop of formula on their tongue; thankfully they both seem able to swallow without difficulty. He shows the man how to feed the gray kitten, holding its body in a neutral position with the bottle tilted for a gentle flow. It doesn’t take long for the kittens to figure out the process, and Martin can feel the tug on the bottle as his kitten begins to suckle.

“Oh,” he hears softly from beside him, and turns to see the man gazing in delight at the gray kitten, whose tiny, unfurled ears are twitching as it sucks.

“She’s doing great,” Martin comments. “Good job.” The man gives him a tentative, pleased smile, and Martin still isn’t trying to notice but it’s a very nice smile. “I’m Martin, by the way.”

“Jonathan Sims—Jon,” says the man, and then gives a small, tense laugh. “God, I haven’t even apologized for storming in here while you were clearly trying to close up for the night.”

“That’s all right, I didn’t have any exciting plans tonight anyway. I’d much rather be spending time with these little beauties.”

Jon smiles again, more sure this time, and all right, maybe Martin deliberately notices the dimple in his right cheek. Just a bit.

Once the kittens are fed, Martin shows Jon how to stimulate them; both of them only pee a little—poor things are dehydrated—but it’s a good sign. They clean them up and tuck them back into the nest of Jon’s jumper, where they curl up into a small puddle of black and gray. Jon gives a sigh that’s somewhere between relieved and exhausted.

“Thank you,” he says. “I, ah, I think I forgot to say that as well. You know a lot about this.”

“I volunteer at a shelter, there are a lot of kittens. If you like, I can take them for tonight and bring them in tomorrow?”

“Ah,” says Jon. “Do you think that’s—I mean...I-I’m not sure I’d feel right, handing them off to someone else. Not that I think you’re not capable!” he rushes to add, and Martin finds himself smiling.

“No, I get it. You found them, you want to take care of them. I’ll warn you, though, it’s a big commitment. For the first couple of weeks you have to feed them every two hours, even during the night, and then it’s every three or four hours until they start weaning. It’s like having a newborn baby.”

“I don’t get much sleep generally,” says Jon. “At least this way I’ll have something to do while I’m up all night. And my work is—well, I’ll explain the situation.”

He looks set on it, brow furrowed with determination. Martin considers arguing more: that a shelter will be better equipped to care for the kittens, that there’s no guarantee they’ll survive in any case, that Jon doesn’t know what he’s signing up for. But the shelters are always crowded, and kittens this young have simple needs, and really, a dedicated foster parent—armed with the right knowledge—is probably the best thing for them.

“Right,” he says, “Let’s make sure these two are well wrapped up before you take them home.”

He scrounges a cardboard box from the back and they settle the kittens into it, still wrapped in Jon’s jumper along with a soft fleece blanket printed with cartoon fish. Martin gathers a couple of cartons of liquid formula and extra bottles to get them started, and shows Jon how to pierce the nipple so the flow isn’t too strong.

“It should be warmed to body temperature,” he explains, “But not directly in the microwave—put the bottles in heated water, like I did earlier. Do you have a hot water bottle?”

“Yes, I do,” says Jon, frowning intently as he listens. Martin nods.

“It’s better than a heating pad at this age, they’re less likely to get overheated. Don’t make it too hot—body temperature, again—and wrap it in a blanket so they’re not touching it directly.”

“Got it,” says Jon firmly, and Martin believes him. He bags up the formula and bottles and an extra pet blanket, and presses them into the hands of a startled Jon; the till is shut off for the night, but Martin can explain and pay for the items tomorrow.

“What’s your phone number?” he asks, and Jon looks even more startled.

“S-sorry?”

“Or your email. I’m going to send you some links—videos, a couple of good blogs that should be helpful.”

“Oh, ah, right. Of course.” Jon recites his number and Martin saves it under “Jon (Kittens).” He peeks into the box one last time before Jon scoops it up, and sees the kittens snuggled in the folds of the jumper, paws waving in little kitten dreams.

“Thank you again, Martin,” says Jon. “I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.” His tone is shy but genuine, and it sends warmth through Martin’s chest and up into his cheeks.

“Any time,” Martin says. “And feel free to text me if you need anything—if you have a question or...anything. Or call me if you like.” He’s aware he’s rambling a bit, but it’s not every day an attractive man says that he doesn’t know what he would have done without you, so he can hardly be blamed.

“I will,” says Jon solemnly.

*

He doesn’t text Martin any questions that night, but when Martin sends him the links to a youtube channel and three blog posts on kitten care, he replies:

Thank you :)

Martin spends most of the rest of the night wondering what that smiley face means.

*

He doesn’t necessarily expect to see Jon again, and certainly doesn’t expect to see him the very next day. But just before one o’clock in the afternoon the bell above the door jingles and there’s Jon, looking tired and more than a bit sheepish.

“I got all the way into work this morning before I realized I’d never paid for any of the things you gave me,” he says, reaching for his wallet.

“Those were gifts,” Martin tells him firmly. “Sort of a “welcome to foster parenthood” care basket?”

“No, I couldn’t let you—” Jon starts to protest, but Martin shakes his head emphatically.

“It’s no big deal, honestly. I get an employee discount anyway.”

“I...well, then I suppose I need to thank you yet again,” says Jon.

“It’s becoming a bit of a habit,” Martin jokes, grinning, and Jon smiles in return. He hesitates a moment before continuing:

“Maybe I could buy you lunch instead, then? To pay you back.”

“There’s no need, honestly,” says Martin, even as his brain berates him: What are you doing, idiot, he’s asking you to have lunch with him? Say yes!

“Please, I’d like to,” Jon says, and then gives a thoughtful frown. “Only if you want to, of course, don’t feel obligated—”

“I’m on lunch in five minutes,” Martin blurts out before he can overthink it.

“Great!” says Jon, sounding pleased. “If you have time, we could go by my office as well and visit the kittens. I just fed them before I came to see you.”

Before I came to see you, not before I came to pay you back, and Martin feels that warmth crawling up towards his cheeks again. Even if Jon’s intentions are purely friendly rather than...anything else, well, Martin could always use more friends.

“How were they last night?” he asks, and the smile that spreads across Jon’s face this time is pure delight.

“Oh I barely got an hour’s sleep,” he says, waving a hand. “And today they’re sitting under my desk reminding me every couple of hours that they need attention and that they are far more important than whatever I’m working on. They’re perfect.”

“Sounds like cat parenthood suits you,” Martin teases gently, and Jon laughs.

“I think it rather does.”

*

Lunch is...nice, and only slightly awkward in the “getting to know a new person” sort of way. Jon is serious, but also funny in an understated, acerbic way, and there’s a gentleness to him that wouldn’t be immediately apparent, if Martin hadn’t seen him cradling two tiny, fragile lives to his chest last night. He’s the kind of person Martin would like to know better, he thinks.

Afterwards they go to Jon’s workplace, which is extremely academic with a brass nameplate by the door and everything, and down to the basement office where Jon works; Martin doesn’t really know what archiving entails, but it looks like mostly a bloody great pile of paperwork. Jon’s two colleagues give Martin friendly and extremely curious glances as they pass; Jon pointedly ignores them in favor of directing Martin to his desk and the cardboard box sitting beneath it.

When Martin glances inside, the two kittens are curled up in the folds of the fish-print blanket, lying against the shape of what he assumes is the hot water bottle. Their bellies already look rounder than they were last night, thanks to regular feeding, and their limbs twitch as they sleep.

“I’ll take them to the vet for a check up after work,” Jon murmurs quietly, gazing down at them with a soft expression. Martin recognizes that look of adoration, and he knows this pair won’t be going to a shelter or anywhere else; they’ve found their home with Jon.

“They’re lucky you found them,” he says, and Jon smiles self-consciously.

“I think I’m the one who was lucky,” he says.

They spend a bit more time with the kittens, and then Martin realizes that it’s about time he got back to work if he doesn’t want to get in trouble. He excuses himself, waving goodbye to Jon’s still curious colleagues, and Jon walks him out to the grand front entrance of the building.

“Thanks again for lunch,” he says. “And—you have my number, right? The offer is open, if you need anything, just text me.”

“I will,” says Jon. “And, ah, let me know if you’d like to come and see the kittens again. Any day. Well, most days,” he corrects himself. “We could, ah, maybe have lunch again?”

“That sounds...really nice,” says Martin. Jon smiles, pleased, and Martin isn’t trying to notice the faint flush that spreads across his face, but it’s very cute anyway.

*

As he walks back to work, Martin’s phone vibrates with a text. It’s a picture of the kittens, curled up on top of each other, with the message:

Come back and see us soon!

Martin grins; the kittens, he thinks, weren’t the only ones lucky to be found last night.

[lotvseater]

Can I request s/o talking to other guys and they get jealous you can decide of the characters!:0 I just want to see the reactions XDDDD ANYWAYS I LOVE THE SHORT HEAD CANONS IT WAS SO CUTE DIEBCJSXJSBCS I LOVE YOU XJDNXJENXN <33333

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 + 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬;

↳ reactions to their s/o talking to another guy (jealousy headcanons)

notes; thank you for your kind words and the request <33! im glad you liked my last post :D i wasn’t too sure on who to pick, but i hope you enjoy regardless! reader is gn :)

𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫;

he doesn’t like to admit that he gets easily jealous, but it’s so obvious

one look and you’re able to tell that he wants to kill whoever you’re talking to that’s making him so jealous

his eyebrows get all furrowed, and his mouth shifts into more of a frown than it usually is

he’s a bit too lazy for confrontation, but he has his own methods 

leona had been watching you for what felt like an eternity, you could even feel the daggers he was staring into your back. he was definitely getting jealous,,

you could tell by his features, he had an awful poker face. his eyebrows were down-turned and furrowed, his nose scrunching up to form small wrinkles just below his eyes, which were narrowed and predatory.

the student you were talking to, however, didn’t seem to notice and kept speaking; which made leona snap.

with a sudden movement, he stood up and tried to walk over to you as casually as possible, failing miserably. he was practically stomping his way over there.

“oh hey le-” the student couldn’t even get a proper greeting out before the furious lion picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder, promptly turning his back to the other boy and storming away.

“ok, i knew you were getting jealous but was this really necessary-”

“zip it, herbivore.” 

“dude-” he then plopped you down in the nearest place he saw fit, before laying his head on your lap and closing his eyes.

“leona i swear if you fall asleep i will kill y-” too late. damn that lion and his weird talent of sleeping.

𝐤𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐥-𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐦;

definitely not one to get angry

i don’t even think kalim knows what anger is-

he does get jealous though, and barely hides it

he’ll start pouting, getting extra touchy like throwing his arm over your shoulder or clinging to you etc, just so that people know that they’ve gone too far or to back off

well,, this is a bit of an awkward situation. you were only talking to this guy to arrange some starting points for a joint project, you didn’t mean to make kalim jealous, but here we are.

his arm is over your right shoulder, and his face is peeking over your other one, his mouth curled in to a pout. and the other guy wasn’t even noticing, seriously, how dense can someone get?

“uh- yeah, i can do that, but i’ve gotta go so-” you hastily tried to end the conversation, trying to get to somewhere more private than the middle of the classroom, since you could tell that kalim was getting a little bit too jealous at this point.

“oh- see ya, then” the student replied, showing a puzzled expression.

once you’d gotten out of the classroom, kalim let out a small chuckle and a bright smile, skipping to be standing next to you rather than behind.

“hey, y/n, what should we do now?” his entire demeanor had already taken an entire 180, and he was back to his usual, sunshine-like self.

𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐚 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞;

again, like kalim, he doesn’t get angry when he’s jealous

(unless of course you purposefully try to get him jealous)

he actually views it as a way to boast about being your boyfriend, and likes to see the unique looks on people’s faces

this doesn’t go without embarrassing you, though

“lilia...” you murmured under your breath, heat rushing to your cheeks from how much said boy was embarrassing you.

“whaaat~? i’m not even doing that much,” he spoke in a melodic voice, obviously enjoying how flustered you were getting. his mouth was twisted into a cocky grin, which showed off his sharp canines.

“so, as i was saying...” he kept going, further sharing things about your relationship, making sure to especially include things that would make you even more beet-red than you already were.

“oh! you should see y/n when they-”

“time to go!” you blurted out, your voice squeaking as you forced the words out on impulse. “come on lilia it’s really time to go-” you grabbed his arm, yanking him up and away from the other student.

“you sneaky little b-” he interrupted you.

“it’s your fault for making me so jealous~”

you looked back at him as you were practically dragging him along the hallway, pouting as you furrowed your eyebrows.

letting out a sigh, he leaned forward and gave you a peck, “that was funny though.”

“... you’re weird.”

“but you still date me~”

“listen here-”

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[fictional-men-have-my-heart]

Day 13

Day 13’s “write a day”

This was started at 1:30ish this morning as I was waiting for pie filling I made to cool. Finals were over last week, and I have already completely whacked my usual sleep schedule. I chose to look at a list of possible prompts to bring in so I can hopefully give better quality, since most of the day I will waste thinking about what to write instead of actually writing.

So, today’s is: Dealing with a heatwave.

You were no stranger to heat, but it didn’t make it any less miserable for you. The sun absolutely baked everything it touched, and you already had a solid sunburn going on the back of your neck. The days dragged on, and it seemed like an eternity before the sun finally began sinking below the horizon. A breeze was currently blowing through the camp, and you were grateful.

Price: Despite the heat, you saw him with a hot cup of coffee multiple times. You and the rest of the crew asked him how he could stand to drink anything room temperature right now, let alone a hot coffee. He simply chuckled.

             “I don’t think you’d want me to go without my coffee in any weather. You’d be even more miserable than you are now.”

Ghost: How that man survived days like these under that balaclava and mask you had no idea. He had to be feeling the heat, there was absolutely no way he wasn’t. You kept an eye on him whenever possible, sure he’d keel over from heatstroke at this rate.

             “Lt, are you not dyin’ under all that?” You asked Ghost looked over to him, mask pulled up to drink from a water bottle.

“Even if I was, the mask stays on.” Your Lt responded flatly.

             “You’re outta your mind Lt…” Soap mutters, shaking his head.

Soap: He was more like you, trying to hide away from the sun in the shade whenever possible. He donned a cut off he’d made plus cargo shorts, but kept his boots on. As funny as the sight was, the heat was too smothering to laugh at him… much.

             “What are you laughin’ at eh?”  He asked, arms crossed over his chest. You chuck a damp washcloth at him.

             “You, traipsing around in shorts for once.” You snort.

             “You’re one to talk. You’ve got a sunburn brewing and I can smack it before you know I’m there.” He warns.

             “Try it, and you die sergeant.”

Gaz: He was trying to dodge duties outside whenever possible. He kept trying to offer you increasingly interesting things until you finally considered taking a watch he desperately did not want to do.

             “C’mon, I’ll do your laundry?” He queries.

             “As if I want you doing my laundry Kyle.”

             “Suit yourself, I know how to iron quite well.”

             “I’m sure you can, but I don’t want anyone messing about with my undergarments, thank you.”

             “I’ll take night shifts clearing the creepy stairs on the west end.”

             “…keep talking…”

Alejandro: He kind of laughed at how the rest of you fared honestly. He was running around as if it was any other Tuesday for him, and he kept cracking off one liners with Rudy about the “poor souls stuck in the heat.” You were on watch that afternoon, hiding out as best you could under a meager shade producing canopy.

             “I think they’re gonna melt into a puddle if they’re out here much longer Rudy.”

“I think you’re right Alejandro, want to get a drink?”

             “Sure thing.”

However, when they swung back by Alejandro held out a cool bottle of water to you.

             “Keep hydrated or you’ll end up sicker than a dog, I’ve learned that the hard way.”

Rudy: The heat hadn’t been kind the last few days. It baked the base all day long, temperatures rising as early as 10 am.

After a couple times of bringing water to the watch stations around base, he got an idea. You quickly found out this idea when he crept up to you on watch, noticing him when it was too late.

             “Rudy! What in the world!” You yelled, covering your face in a moot attempt to keep your face from being sprayed. He laughed, spraying you further with a long-range water rifle.

             “Gotta keep morale up somehow in this weather! You’ll dry out soon enough.” He grins, turning to go off and get the next poor soul stuck on watch.

You could radio ahead and warn them, but you opt not to, listening to the surprised yelp of another soldier getting hosed down.

König: As someone who was used to wearing a lot of gear, he was used to heat. However, when he was out on watch with you once he did opt to remove one of his masks. You had offered him a wet rag to wipe his face, dutifully turning away as he removed his other mask and wiped his face and neck down.

             “Thank you.”

“No problem, I figure you’ve gotta be sweating buckets under all those layers. How you’re surviving is beyond me.” You smiled, tossing a water bottle over next. The cool water was a relief for the time being.

He offered you some sun balm for your neck, which helped take the heat out of it that night.

[ruki--mukami]

“A weak human, unable to defend myself against multiple grown adults ransacking our estate.” You deserved it. You were abusing the butlers and maids. Now, you’re still a stubborn man who seeks dominance. You’re weak and afraid and will never be free.

“That’s a lot of empty blather for mere livestock. Weak, afraid, shackled… Don’t project yourself on me.”

At rapid speed, the Vampire teleported out of sight and stealthily restrained you from behind with both frigid arms, a sudden palm obscuring your eyes as five daggerlike appendages vehemently plunged into the adipose of your stomach. Nails honed into claws within seconds, Ruki stirred the tapered ends inside the leaking flesh without a care for your survival, punctures giving way to wondrously large gashes of crimson. Usually he would lament wasting an unforgivable amount of delectable life essence which now stained the monochrome carpet of the room, midnight black surrendering to lurid vermillion, but clearly he intended to feast on the escaping ambrosia later, preferably when you no longer drew breath. First, he wished to play with his food, and he would thoroughly and utterly enjoy thrusting Hell upon you.

“You’re mistaken. I’m none of those. After all, the one who fulfills all those criteria right now would be you, L i v e s t o c k. Who’s the one unable to resist everything I’m doing to you right now?”

A deeper slash of his vampiric weapons burrowed into your intestines, birthing a macabre burst of sanguine fluid as he severed each component of your digestive tract, one after the other. Each pained yelp and blood-curling screech only served as music to his ears, earning a triumphant smirk upon Ruki’s face. High in decibels, threatening to inflict laryngitis with each cacophonous shriek, he reveled in your suffering knowing you were at his mercy. Yet the resigning of your vocal cords couldn’t hold a candle to the internal butchering that only intensified as he questioned you knowing full well you could only retort with ear-splitting bellows of agony.

“Who’s the one trembling in my grasp, struggling to break free?”

Up from the lower abdomen then to the breast, all the organs from your liver to your esophagus disintegrated and shredded in the wake of Ruki’s excruciatingly sharp claws.

“Hm… Well, I suppose you may be free now. Free of this miserable existence,” he chuckled sadistically. “Oh? You’re still clinging onto what little consciousness you have left… Ha, how pathetic. Tonight we shall test just what exactly your limits are. Quite frankly, you’re beginning to scream too much for my liking.”

Suddenly, all the broken entrails Ruki just rearranged and dissected with ease rose through your throat, chopped to bits thanks to the very claws pushing them upwards. Contracting, convulsing, suffocating. The torn intestines triggered a gag reflex in your final moments. While his claws did not boast too impressive of a length compared to other predators, it still sufficed in forcing them out your oral cavity. The Vampire released a deranged laughter as you regurgitated your own cleaved insides, an unbearably putrid sensation consuming all five of your senses. Simultaneously, he assailed the curve of your shoulder and not only crunched the soft tissue relentlessly but also retracted his menacing fangs repeatedly in hurried motions to bury them once again, seeking the innermost blood coursing within, each time more brutally than the last.

“Suffer, Livestock… Hurry and suffer in flames eternal.”

[merakiui]

Hello! :D May I request hc’s with scaramouche, childe, and diluc with a s/o who was abused so much they became broken, so the boiz fix her? If you don’t want to I completely understand, and thank you for your time :D ^^

Scaramouche, Childe, and Diluc with an S/O who was Abused

cw: mentions of past abuse + emotional trauma (disclaimer: a relationship will not necessarily fix or help any problems you may have! sometimes it’s better to heal and improve on your own before you seek a relationship of any kind. but everyone deserves to be loved regardless!) if the disclaimer above is confusing, please refer to this post.

⚡ Scaramouche ⚡

You’ve suffered a lot in the past, having finally escaped the abusive situation between you and your abuser. It was vicious and thus left you traumatized in many ways.

Even though it’s been years since, you still have moments where you’re taken back to endless beatings and manipulation that had you clinging onto every thread of sanity left. It was painful, and you’re eternally grateful you now have a caring partner to help you overcome these terrible memories.

But due to the trauma of so much abuse, you’ve become somewhat emotionless. It's not like you can’t feel any emotions; you just choose to blot them out of existence in order to stay level-headed.

Despite his temperament, Scaramouche is very patient with you. He never raises his voice and he makes sure that everyone around you acts civil and kind. Anyone who so much as triggers your trauma will be dealt with swiftly and quietly.

When you slip back into those difficult memories, he’s there to pull you out. Throughout the process, his tone is soft and he gives you as much space as you need to calm down.

Scaramouche talks you through the process, explaining that it’s just you and him and that no one can hurt you. He’s there for you. He’ll never leave you. Those short sentences are what helps you come back down to Earth.

Once you’ve successfully calmed down, he’ll ask if you’d like to lie down or if you need some water and a snack. He’ll have it all prepared for you. All you have to do is ask and he’ll send someone to get whatever it is you need.

He wants you to know that you should never blame yourself. The abuse you suffered in the past is not your fault and you deserve to feel only happiness and love right now. No matter what happens, you find solace in the fact that he’ll always be there to assist you when the days become murky.

💧 Childe 💧

Childe is a naturally affectionate person. He has a big family, after all, so he tends to shower the person he loves in his own version of affection. This can range from hugs to endless kisses to cute remarks.

When he first learned of your past abuse, he was ready to give you even more affection than before to help chase away any negative thoughts. And he was ready to tear into the horrible person who dared to make your life miserable and painful. He’s very good at putting a smile on your face, and whenever it seems like you can’t smile he’s there to wear a grin in your place.

Childe won’t do anything that might trigger your trauma, as he doesn’t want to stress you out. If it looks like you might have a panic attack from too much thinking, he’ll open his arms and offer to hold you tight until the fright goes away. Or he’ll give you your distance. Once your fight or flight response eases up, he’ll talk to you softly, asking if you need anything or if you’d like to just remain in his arms for a little while longer.

It’s difficult for you to express yourself without fearing consequence, so Childe will be very patient. He doesn’t force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable and he always encourages you to speak your mind.

If anyone hurts you, they better be prepared to have a conversation with Childe. He’s not going to tolerate anyone who messes with you.

Childe will give you lots of affection if you’re feeling down. He’ll spend his time cuddling with you in hopes of chasing away any bad thoughts you might have.

He can’t imagine why anyone would ever want to hurt someone as precious as you, and he loathes the person who abused you. If it weren’t for your objections, he might just track them down and give them true hell.

But as long as you’re working towards happiness—now far away from your past and abuser—he’s glad to be there to offer his support and endless love.

🔥 Diluc 🔥

Diluc has helped you through your fair share of panic attacks and nightmares many times; he has a soothing voice of reason that blots out the scary memories from your past.

When Diluc first learned of your trauma, he was very upset. It hurt him to think about that scummy person who dared to abuse you, and he does everything he can to keep your relationship fun and comfortable. In the back of his mind, he worries he’ll do something that might trigger a bad memory, so he makes plans with caution.

Usually his comforting gestures come in many forms: relaxing cuddles, a good meal, and even a nice walk around the winery, his hand holding yours. When you’re with him, he makes sure you won’t think about your abusive past.

Diluc is surprisingly very soft when he consoles you. His voice is firm and gentle at the same time, promising you that you won’t ever have to suffer again and that he’ll always be here to protect you.

He doesn’t force you to do anything that’ll leave you mentally exhausted and you’ll be reminded that it’s okay to not do anything for a day or two. You deserve to relax your mind every now and then, and if lying in bed helps with that you should be able to do it without worry! As long as you aren’t neglecting your physical health and hygiene, he’s fine with it.

No matter what happens, Diluc is always patient and gentle with you. He would never yell or say anything remotely hurtful because he knows it will bring up unpleasant thoughts and memories. Rather than that, he patiently helps you sort through your emotions and he encourages you to speak everything that’s on your mind. You’ll never be reprimanded for sharing your thoughts.

Diluc can often tell when you’re having a rough day, so he’ll give all of his care and attention to you. There are little things he does to cheer you up, such as getting your favorite sweets, gifting you the softest pillows and blankets for when you nap, and giving advice as he listens to your rants.

Sometimes you’ll have trouble sleeping because of a scary dream or a harsh memory. Whenever that happens, Diluc will remain at your bedside as he waits for you to fall asleep, sometimes humming or telling a nice story to lull you to sleep. And once you’re calm, he’ll tell you how much he treasures you and that he’s always willing to help you when you’re feeling down. After all, you aren’t alone in this. He’s right there beside you.

[lupically]

#64B784 | XIAO.

genre | fluff

word count | 1437

warning | none

the karma that xiao was bound to was what he considered as his duty.

the senselessness and pain left from the god he used to fight for, alongside his once companions who have all either fallen into the depths of a spiraling madness or their final demise, one which he has been bound to for years and years, was part of his responsibility as an adeptus.

for someone as miserable as him, to exist is to suffer.

it was exactly that—that dutiful and lonely side of him—that made him deem all sympathy and sorrow an unnecessary part of life, especially when they were directed toward him.

but, no matter how many times he told you that, you never seemed to listen to him.

"i'm fine," xiao huffed out lowly when you sat him down on a chair.

"no, you are not fine!" you hissed through semi-gritted teeth as you rushed about and searched the inn's kitchen for bandages.

he watched as you fumbled around the room, looking for aids to tend to his battle wounds, which you saw have a mixture of black– and teal-colored aura wafting off of his battered skin. you were agitated in, as well as with, the process; xiao could all see, hear, and feel it. from the way the cabinets flew open in a frenzy, to the curses that adorned your once innocent tongue.

the demon mask still covered his face, but if you knew him well enough, which you did, you would know the expression he has on underneath—furrowed brows, pursed lips, sharp eyes, yet somehow expressionless still. he understood not one bit of your response to seeing him, not the shown panic nor the hidden tears.

to him, he needed neither and he deserved neither.

"[name], there is no reason for you to fret," xiao said calmly. "getting hurt is part of the job. there is no use for you to keep worrying about me like this."

"stop talking, xiao, i need to concentrate." you promptly ignored your friend as you grabbed a chair, pulled it before him, and sat down.

you took his hand in yours before placing it on your lap. concentrated on unrolling the bandages and wrapping them around xiao's forearm, which did not stop the demonic energy from spreading into the air, you tried not to let both the sorrow and the anger get to you; sorrow because he has to continuously get hurt like this, anger because he refuses to let you take care of him.

"you are fussing over nothing," xiao continued despite what you said.

you wanted to scoff, but you had anticipated his stubbornness (usually mistaken in the form of being straightforward) to argue back whenever you talked of showing him mortal kindness.

it would be strange of you to assume you could get the yaksha to shut up as you will him to. but, to be frank, and unbeknownst to you, if anybody could get xiao to stop talking those upsetting nonsense for once, there would only be you.

"this is hardly nothing, you are very hurt," you said.

"pain and suffering is–"

"–part of the duty of being a yaksha," you finished off for him just as you stick the bandage together. you did not let go of his hand when you finished, only you held it in your hands loosely and looked up at his demon mask. "i know that."

he did not move. he only looked at you behind the green mask. "then you know that as a yaksha, i need no sympathy or tears."

"i know that as well," you said. "but i'm sorry because i don't agree."

he heaved a soft sigh. "why must you make things difficult for me."

"what is difficult?" you asked then, slightly tightening your grip on his hand as you glanced down at your lap. you furrowed your brows; your hands were almost the same size, with his being only a tad bit bigger. "what about accepting kindness is so difficult for you?"

you never talked about it before. the fact that xiao seemed to have the eternal perception that he deserves nothing good because he constitutes the bane of all evil, to which you heavily disagreed with evidence that he was one of the people who kept liyue safe all these years despite not being fond of the place itself, as well as anybody living in it.

(well—exaggeration. he is fond of you, but he has yet to let you know that.)

it was a decision you regretted to not talk about his little to no self-worth with him earlier because if you could let him understand how he deserves so much more, you would have wanted to do that as early as possible. but you let it dragged on each time as you worried about the scars and blood scattered across his body.

"xiao, do you know what mortals do the best?"

that certainly took him by surprise. hundreds and hundreds of years on this earth and he could not tell you a single thing. was it the growth of civilization, or the booming marketplace, or the amazing architectures, or perhaps even the literary and artistic excellence? he did not know anybody enough to understand and find the question to your answer.

"we love, xiao," you said. "mortals love. that is the single thing we do best. everything else is just what comes with it."

it was only through love. everything was made out of love.

people grow to find a love of their own and create their own family; money goes round and round so sons and daughters can get a new toy and friends can eat street food together; houses are built to keep families warm and safe, houses are built to become filling homes of one or more persons; poetry and art have the image of a young lady and the nostalgia of a passed pet woven seamlessly in paintbrushes and ink.

everything humans do is out of love—for money, for power, for safety, for happiness, for others.

"it is the best thing we do," you whispered, "so forgive me if i have to worry about you from time to time. loving you is what i do best, xiao."

you were looking into his eyes now—well, the eyes of his demon mask, which, thank the archon that he still had it on. he needed it to hide the part of himself that was human, the part of him that was vulnerable, the part of him that was waiting for himself to fall into reckless abandonment and began to fall in love with you so fiercely that the demon aura spiraling off his skin would turn into the shade of red blush.

the unwavering sincerity, as well as gentle affection hidden beneath your eyes, the affection he never thought anyone would have for him—oh, how alarming they were for xiao to look into.

they made it so easy to believe that there was more than just a fraction of him that was capable of being human, that it wasn't just his body and his face that was mortal.

they made it so easy for him to feel treasured, and for him to love others, to love you.

"[name]..."

somehow he thought he ought to take his mask off. he thought he ought to reciprocate the way you were pouring your soul out for him. he reached his free hand up and carefully removed the demon mask off his face, showing you his softened eyes.

his heart beat inside his body; this is him revealing himself to you, the part of him that is human.

"you have my thanks," he whispered as he closed his eyes, his head tipping as if to bow. “for everything.” 

(everything, but mostly for making him fall in love.)

you sucked in a shivered breath, surprised but glad that he was taking a step to accept your care. you leaned forward to him, bumping your forehead against his with a precious grin that showered down his entire world.

xiao opened his eyes to look closely at you, and he let himself breathe out a small smile as he lovingly (the fact lost on both him and you) examined your features.

the chain of karmic debt... how laughable. compared to the grip you have on his heart, which he doubted he would be struggling out of anytime sooner, compared to the blooming affection he holds for you—what is the archon, to the love of his life? what is god, to you?

nothing.

[weekend-whip]

Cole + S:

:)

S. Music Choice (I Hear a Symphony) (Legacyverse, could be Season 2 or 3, could be standalone)

Prompt List

AO3 Version

. . .

It’s not common, but not unheard of for Cole to retreat to the old music room at the deserted end of the school. A room replaced long ago by the far grander one on the opposite end, its only purpose now is to house an old piano that gathers more dust than it does people to play it. Cole slips into the room every now and then, mostly at times when needs a moment alone. As he does today.

He’s still not terribly fond of playing the piano—not after hours and hours and hours of practice forced upon him in his youth...but under his own accord, sometimes it’s a more calming outlet than just outright punching something. Beside, he’s got the skill, so why not use them when he can?

Cole settles at the bench, smilingly fondly at the familiar squeak it makes in the process. He brushes his fingers along the keys with a featherlight touch, a bit melancholic at the fresh layer of dust settled upon them. It means no one’s been here since the last time he’d been, then.

He tests the keys—bright, vibrant notes ping out into the air, putting color into an otherwise monochromatic silence. It’s a tiny bit off-pitch from what would be considered normal, most likely due to the lack of use, but not to the point that the average person would notice. And it’s not like Cole’s doing this for an audience anyway. He is strictly in the company of himself. 

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself like earth itself. He raises a single hand...and plays a single note.

Over and over again, in the tune of a simple song.

It’s monotonous, and unchanging, similar to his feelings. It never grows louder nor quieter, not faster nor slower; the same tempo in every second. It echoes how day after day, he tries his hardest to gain the attention of the one he wants more than anything, in the way he wants. But the response is always the same, and the risk is too great for Cole to just come out and say it. It could ruin everything, and Cole can’t bear the thought of being at fault for a potential falling out. So he buries the feelings away, as he has an unfortunate habit of doing. 

But today, the feelings are just a bit more intense than usual, to the point that Cole had to remove himself from his friends at lunch, and skipped class for reasons that don’t require jumping in a giant mech. He doesn’t know why his heart hurts so much in particular today—why every point of contact feels like electricity to him, yet mere static to the other; why every meaningful glance feels to him like an eternal depth to get lost in and explore forever, yet a shallow, brief, overall irrelevant moment to the other. 

It’s nobody’s fault, Cole knows, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“...I used to hear a simple song...” Cole sings out in a low, even voice. Any more forceful and his voice will become broken, squawky—and more terrifyingly, heard. 

Yet his gentle playing presses on as thoughts drift into memories of how sad and miserable he used to be, until he ran away, until he became a ninja, until he met...well, everyone else. But he’d met Zane first, and from there, for the first time in a long time...his thoughts weren’t so tormented. And instead, a melody of something far more uplifting has since hummed in its place. 

And the song that resonates from those little interactions, those fleeting sparks of hope that something might just ignite if he just wants it enough, that he can break away from this glacial pace of progression and not feel like he’s getting left behind...not feel like he’s being left alone as everyone else carries on...

But now Jay and Nya have each other, and Kai’s got no shortage of people to throw affection unto him with nothing more than a wink to encourage it...

And Zane—

Zane.

Zane.

“...That was until you came along—”

Something shuffles by the door; Cole’s on his feet in a flash, heart pounding in his throat as he instinctively throws up his fists. The door is slightly ajar, even though he had definitely closed it behind him. Cole narrows his eyes; is someone in here with him? And if so, who, when, and...why?

“...sorry, sorry!” chirps a boy in a pink and black hoodie, warping into sight. Cole reels back as the boy floats before him with an apologetic and sheepish smile. “I-I didn’t mean to scare you; I was trying to tell you I was here but then you started singing and I got distracted–PANICKED so please don’t punch me please—”

Cole looks on in bewilderment. “Jesse?”

Jesse does a single flip in the air before landing to bounce on his heels. “Surprise!”

“...how’d you know I was here?” Cole asks, shoulders slumped yet still curious. Leave it to the Master of Surprise to completely catch him off guard like this. Sometimes, though, he can’t help but wonder if that’s just a Jesse thing though. 

“Well, for starters, you vanished at lunch, and then you weren’t in art class.” Jesse leans against the door, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie. “And with that being one of your favorite classes, and there being no Shark Attack or anything else of the sort...”

Jesse scuffs his boot along the ground, puffing out his cheeks.

“...I just got a little worried, so I came looking.”

Jesse shuffles around, like he’s embarrassed for saying so. Cole smiles against his will, something warm budding in his chest. Normally he’s the one chasing down the others when they’re having a rough time. It’s not often that someone hunts him down.

...then again, he rarely lets on that’s he having a bad day in the first place. So. Well. That’s probably his fault, then. 

“...Aww. So worried about me to the point that you, Mr. Good Boy Councilman, skipped class to find me.”

Jesse, flustered, makes a face. 

“You act like I have perfect attendance or something.”

“You act like the type of person who would if he could.”

“...Ugh.” Jesse puffs out his cheeks and glances at the door. “Welp, you seem fine enough, and I’m going to assume you wanted to be alone, so I’ll be off then-”

“No!” Cole yelps. One of his legs whacks against the piano bench as he flinches, causing it to squeak and make Jesse jump. Cole winces, sitting back down. “I-I mean, I did want to just...sort out my thoughts, but...maybe I could use someone to talk to. Since you’re, you know, already here...and if you’re willing...”

Jesse keeps pouting for a few moments more. Cole looks up at him with wide, pleading, marigold eyes; Jesse’s expression melts into something softer, a light grin crossing his lips.

“Oh, fine.” Jesse trudges over to the bench, nudging Cole with his hip. “Scoot, then.”

“...tch, so pushy.” Cole huffs, shuffling over to make room. 

Jesse snickers when his elbows bump the keys, making a rather catastrophic mashing of noise blare out. He settles beside Cole, partially leaning against his right arm. Jesse shifts after realizing just how close he’d gotten, opting to sit up straight and stare expectantly instead.

“...Welp, go on then.” Jesse gestures at the piano, eyes sparkling. “Keep playing; keep singing!”

“...you know I can’t sing,” Cole grumbles. “A-And the playing was, like, the most basic thing I could do in the moment—”

“Sounded fine to me,” Jesse insists with a shrug. “And, if you really think you’re that bad at it, which you’re not, a little extra practice won’t kill you. I mean, listen to me!”

Jesse randomly pounds at the keys, purposely this time, and the absolute offense to music that occurs rips a laugh out of Cole. It’s loud, rough, and unexpected, just the way Jesse likes to hear it, and he finds himself chuckling too, even as Cole starts to bat his hands away. 

“Creation’s sake, you’re going to get us in trouble with that racket,” Cole scoffs between snorts, shaking his head. Jesse tilts his head back and grins shamelessly. 

“Guess you’d better show me how it’s done, then!”

Cole sighs, blowing at his bangs. He eyes Jesse from the corner of his gaze.

“...you’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Hey, I’m skipping class for this, so gimme a show already!” 

Cole glances away again, shoulders scrunching up. Jesse drops some of his bravado, face softening up. Tentatively, he drapes his hand over one of Cole’s, where it rests upon Cole’s lap curled in a defensive fist. 

“...I won’t tease you for it, I promise. I just really wanna hear you play. You know, without creeping by the door, ahaha...”

Cole blinks, glancing down at the gesture, then at the silent yet fierce truth in Jesse’s words. Jesse smiles again, a quirky little thing upon his face, as he nods towards the piano.

Cole has always been terrible at saying no.

With a resigned sigh, he adjusts his posture into something more rigid and proper, but still unmistakably Cole. He hears Jesse gasp in delighted shock beside him, even as he pulls his hands away to lift them above the piano...

And then, very gently, Cole taps at the keys, the barest thread of a melody ringing into the air. 

“...I used to hear a simple song,” Cole begins again, now with ten times the nervousness. He can hear every creak in his voice, every single point of weakness, but Jesse makes no show of pointing out. “...That was, until you came along.”

Jesse grins cheekily; Cole gives him a quick nudge, beginning to play just a bit more intricately. A grander harmony emerges, if only by a few brisk notes, but Jesse hangs on every one. He watches in awe as Cole’s fingers dance across the piano as he would a ballroom floor, entirely mesmerized. 

“Now in it's place is something new...I hear it when I look at you.”

Cole swallows, still hating the way his voice sounds, and dares to peek over at Jesse. He dreads witnessing a look of disappointment, only to be surprised when Jesse’s simply staring wide-eyed in wonder, and with a bit of pink in his cheeks. Jesse’s gaze snaps up to meet Cole’s; Cole hurriedly looks away, throwing himself a bit deeper into his playing.

A more complex tune fills the room, Cole’s hands flitting about the piano with far more vigor than before. It’s a much richer sound, yet nothing spectacular. Cole hums under his breath, keeping to his own beat, all while Jesse leans back, eyes closed and taking in the sound and the moment. 

But after a couple minutes of that, Jesse finally asks,

“...so, why were you hiding away in here, anyway?”

Cole hums, disgruntled now, as he continues to play. His face twists with uncertainty, unsure of whether or not he should say, or he’d even be able to put it into proper words...but not saying so is just going to make all of this pretty awkward otherwise. He’s told Jesse some deep stuff about himself in the past—even back when he hadn’t known it’d been Jesse himself hidden beneath a fuchsia hood—and he’s always been pretty supportive, so...

“...Jess,” Cole begins, absently dragging his fingers across the piano keys. Jesse, as always, perks up upon being acknowledged, giving Cole his full attention. Cole squirms under the intensity of his gaze. “Can I ask a potentially...personal question?”

“Hmm.” Jesse pretends to ponder deeply, tapping at his chin. “That depends on what it is, I suppose.”

Cole chuckles, shaking his head. His playing starts to become a bit dissonant, compared to before.

“It’s nothing that deep, but it’s just—it’s probably kind of stupid, but—I’ve been wondering...have you, um...ever had a crush on someone, even if you’re pretty sure they don’t, or won’t, like you back?”

Cole pauses his playing, looking to Jesse for his answer. Jesse, startlingly enough, has gone somewhat pale, face twitching as he scrambles to string together some kind of response.

“...ahahaha. Ahahaha. Um. Hmm.” Jesse looks like he’s just choked on a lemon. “Ha...Haven’t we all at some point?”

“I mean, maybe not everyone but, like.” Cole’s foot bounces nervously. “I’m asking you specifically.”

Jesse yelps; Cole recoils as Jesse straight up disappears, having warped away, only to blip back in place seconds later. His face is scrunched like it’s taking everything in him to not run away, forcing himself to stay in place. 

“...if that’s too much, you don’t have to answer—”

“WELL, if you really wanna know–” Jesse suddenly can’t sit still, fidgeting and shuffling and looking everywhere but at Cole. “—I suppose there’s this one guy who wouldn’t know I was flirting with him even if he was sitting right next to me. But, ahaha, on top of that, I’m pretty sure he likes someone else anyway, sooo...” 

Cole wilts with sympathy. “Oof, tough break on that one.”

Jesse buries his face in his hands, repressing down a scream. 

“...you’re telling me.”

Jesse peels his hands away, feeling the distressed sparkles building in his eyes. This isn’t supposed to be about him. He glances wearily at Cole with a frown. 

“...why do you ask? Having some...reservations about your own crush or something?”

“Not exactly,” Cole begins. He swears Jesse’s eyes flash an intense pink for a split second; Cole blinks, and the light is gone. “But, I dunno...I’ve been trying to be more...direct, lately? And I don’t think it’s...working. Today I tried to ask him to come with me to go to the aquarium, just us, because I knew everyone else would be busy, and he still said ‘We should wait until we can go with the others! It will be more fun!’...Augh.”

“Now that’s an oof,” Jesse agrees, feeling some of the sparkles fade. Mainly he just feels bad now. “But, ah, given who you’re talking about, I’m pretty sure he just didn’t want anyone to feel left out from a fun time, especially while they’re working or whatever.” 

Cole nods, fiddling with sleeves. 

“...Yeah, I know. And that’s what kind of makes it harder...” Cole smiles to himself; Jesse’s eyes turn sharp. “He’s just so thoughtful and kind, to the point that it kind of blinds him from everything else, and it’s a little bit endearing, and I know if I just explained he’d be quick to apologize, but then I run the risk of saying too much and then what if he takes it the wrong way or–”

Jesse’s got his eyes squeezed shut tight, hiding the all-too telling signs of a potential outburst. And yet, there’s no hiding the way the piano suddenly screeches out of nowhere—cutting off Cole’s tirade—or the way the lights begin to go on the fritz...or how the bench they’re sitting on begins to quake. Cole stills in the midst of the chaos, turning towards Jesse with concern. 

“...was that you?” Cole asks. “Are you okay? Do you—?”

“...it...just...hurts...” Jesse takes a deep breath; the lights begin to calm, and their bench settles once more. He slowly opens his eyes; the glow in them has faded, thank the Master. “...to hear you have to talk like that. I know things are complicated right now, but, I still just wish you could...just be happy, that’s all.”

The silence in the room becomes suffocating; a contrast to the light melodies and laughter from before. It becomes far too much for Cole, and for want of something to distract from the weight of the moment, his hands finds purchase in the keys of the piano once more. 

“I’m not exactly mad or anything, but...like I said, I wanted to sort myself out before I had to see Zane again.” Cole grimaces, his second verse growing frantic. “...which is really hard when I have nearly every class with him.”

Jesse blinks away his own inner turmoil, beholding as Cole’s own starts to bubble to the surface. His face is neutral yet grim, with only the smallest signs of inward frustration peeking between the cracks. Cole only stares down at the piano, refusing to let his focus waver elsewhere.

...still:

“...I guess I shouldn’t be too upset he didn’t want to go with me, honestly. I don’t really make for the best company anyway.”

Jesse balks as Cole quickly abandons the conversation, swinging right back into an intricate showcase of instrumentation.  And, as per Jesse’s previous request, he continues to sing. 

“With simple songs I wanted more...Perfection is so quick to bore...”

“No, stop, go back!” Jesse demands, leaning up into Cole’s space. Cole keeps plinking away on the piano, maintaining the progression. “Why would you say that about yourself?!”

“Because...I’m pretty boring, all things considered? It’s usually the others that keep things interesting, not me.” Cole shrugs, stating it as one would an obvious fact. Jesse gawks at him like he’s turned into a ghost. He sputters, flailing around in a torrent of disbelief.

“What?! You lead a team of ninja, you’re literally got full command of the earth itself, you can dance, you can draw, you can make the most insane mixtapes, you can punch out an entire wall cuz you’re buff and stuff—!”

“That’s...not—”

“—you can play piano and I think you sing well enough, and you’re funny, and clever, and you’re super selfless and good at making plans in a pinch and you like food—”

“Everyone likes food though??”

Still, Jesse throws up his hands in exasperation.

“Just...how can you think any of that is boring?! You’re just unapologetically you, flaws and all, and you...you’re a beautiful person!” 

Jesse blurts it all out, definitely not meaning to go that far, but. Well. He’s here now and he’s going to stick to it. Cole’s eyes widen at the declaration, face going red, hands freezing halfway through a note. 

“...me?!” Cole squeaks out in disbelief. “I...I’m not—”

“Yes, yes you are!” Jesse insists, doubling own with his fists clenched before him. Cole balks, officially taken aback. “I refuse to let you sit here and say bad things about yourself! You’re being very mean to one of my favorite people right now, you know! And I won’t let it happen!” 

Jesse folds his arms, as if punctuating his point. Cole snorts, bewildered by the entire exchange, and sets to singing once more. 

“...You are more beautiful by far,” he hums, making sure to catch Jesse’s eye as he does. Anything that remains of Jesse’s fierce aggressive pep talk vanishes, stricken by such words sang by Cole. Of all people. At him. Cole grins coyly as Jesse sputters, only to chuckle when Jesse starts punching his arm. 

He continues to snicker, until Jesse rolls his gaze up, making sure Cole’s looking dead at him this time, and in the most surprising move of all–

“Our flaws are who we really are.”

He sings back. 

Unlike Cole’s gravelly voice that just sounds like a bag of rocks being throttled around (in Cole’s opinion), Jesse’s voice is smooth and rings with dulcet tones, immediately pleasing to the ear in just seven words. Cole’s heart seizes for just a moment, caught off guard both by how sudden and how good it was. He swallows, fingers suddenly twitching to get playing again. He’s never been so eager to do so before now. 

“...so you know this song too, then.”

Jesse’s eyes sparkle, this time with mischievous mirth. “Maybe. Might be yet another one I’ve taken a liking to after hearing it on your playlist.” 

Cole smiles to himself. He takes a moment to crack his knuckles, flashing a confident grin Jesse’s way before fully, and finally, throwing himself completely into his playing. 

Jesse’s eyes widen as a complex melody echoes throughout the room. Full and harmonic, like ten people are playing instead of just one. The notes spiral and tumble about in a dazzling crescendo that Jesse, and Cole, both find themselves caught up in. It’s a moment of magic that not even Jesse would have been able to conjure up by himself. 

And just as Cole finds himself lost in the music, to the point that he can just barely imagine other instruments theoretically accompanying him in an envisioned orchestra—

“...I used to hear a siiiiimple soooong...!”

Jesse sings from the very bottom of his diaphragm, hitting every word at a perfect pitch that compliments Cole’s piano like a duet always meant to be. Jesse’s words make Cole’s verses from before seem so bland in comparison, but no less meaningful or beautiful.

“That was until you came aloooong~”

And Cole can see it—hear it—feel it; a chorus of violins singing with all they’ve got, flutes whistling with all the air in their lungs, the beat of a drum that races to match Cole’s heartbeat, the applause from the cymbals as they come together to ring in greatness, all crashing together in a glorious show of harmony.

“You took my broken meeel-oooodyyyyy~”

Jesse draws out each word like an angel drawing out the string of a bow, each syllable striking with such potency that they pierce Cole like an arrow to the heart. Even as Cole plays furiously to match Jesse’s tempo, he can’t take his eyes off the other, entirely captivated by the sound. 

A golden afternoon glow from the window pours in as Jesse blinks, pausing for the briefest of breaths. He turns to Cole with a shimmering smile that outshines every light in the room. 

“And now I hear a symphonyyyyy...!”

Jesse’s eyes fall shut as he hits high notes that are way out into the stratosphere—and ones Cole could never dream of reaching. But Cole does his best to follow along with the beats of the piano, framing Jesse’s voice with the sound of the orchestra in his mind. The instruments rise and dance the more Jesse draws out his riff—

And Cole’s just a little overwhelmed by it all.

Jesse eventually rounds off his note; the violins fade, the flutes simmer down, the cymbals cease their crashing, the drums decrease, and Cole’s piano calms into the less-layered tones from before. The golden shine that once seemed to flood to room vanishes as well, replaced by the shoddy lighting of an abandoned school music room.

Jesse opens his eyes again, a pleased smile on his face. He turns to Cole, and accidentally catches his gaze on Cole’s utterly stunned one. Cole sits with eyes the size of saucers, subtly glowing despite the fact his face doesn’t betray just what’s going through his head right now. Jesse squirms, suddenly feeling abashed. 

“...what? Is that not how the rest of the song goes?” Jesse says when Cole’s piano playing comes to a halt. His face pinks as he fiddles with his bangs. “You knew I could sing, so...despite who I am, it shouldn’t have been that surprising, ahaha...”

“Yeah, but I, you, just...” Cole struggles to not just sit there like a gaping fish. Even when Jesse’s not really trying, he still manages to surprise Cole at the most unexpected times. “...I’ve never...heard you sing so brazenly before. Normally you would’ve sprinted out the door before squeaking out a note.”

“Hey.” Jesse pouts, even while knowing it’s true. “It’s just...I made you sing earlier, so...I thought it’d be fair to join in.”

“It’s not very fair when you have the voice of a god. How do you hit such high notes?! I could never.”

“Hnnnng...” Jesse turns away, failing at hiding his red his face is, and also pushing away the desire to hide his head in his hoodie like a turtle. Cole watches Jesse for a while longer, then turns back to the piano. His fingers twitch again, and his chest feels tight. 

“But...when you sang, it...it...” 

Cole swallows, throat suddenly dry. His heart’s racing and he doesn’t know why. 

“...it sounded like you genuinely meant it.”

The room grows quiet; a stark contrast to the full orchestra playing out in Cole’s mind moments ago. Jesse pulls out of hiding, suspiciously quiet, because how do you respond to something like that?! And yet, Cole’s not even sure how he wants Jesse to respond. Is he going to just play it off, or...or is he actually going to—

“...I’ll take that as a compliment, then.” Jesse hums, eyes falling closed as sparkles flit about him. “Guess I am just that good after all!”

“...ha, glad to see at least one of us can take a compliment sometimes,” Cole laughs back, but it falters. Why does he feel somewhat disappointed? 

“...anyway,” Jesse carries on, casting his gaze out towards the window. “Try not to beat yourself up so much, ‘kay? You are a great person to be around, and it’s not like you were outright rejected. Just...try again, I suppose. Ninja never quit, remember? And...especially not when there’s still a shred of hope.”

Cole ruminates, folding his hands together. Jesse’s not wrong, so...

“...okay,” Cole concedes, nodding once. “I won’t be so quick to feel defeated. But...I think I’ll stick around here a little bit longer. Still not ready to head back to class, heh.”

“All right, then.” Jesse stands, stretching out his back. “Just don’t stay too long. We’ve got that review quiz in Social Studies later.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Hee.” 

Jesse twirls on his heels, folding his arms behind his back.

“I should probably go though; I’ve got a test next period. But like I said, don’t stay too long, all right?”

“Yes sir, I promise,” Cole agree with an exaggerated salute. Jesse rolls his eyes, a smile fighting on his face as he heads back for the door. 

“...but, wait.”

Jesse halts, frozen by the call of Cole’s voice. Cole tugs on the ends of his sleeves. 

“The, um, the guy you like...I think he just might come around sometime too. I mean, um, it might not seem very likely, given the circumstances, but...hey, even the Master of Surprise can be surprised too, right?”

Cole makes a face, failing at trying to cheer Jesse up in turn. He’s usually better at these kind of speeches, but finds himself at a loss for the proper words. Jesse giggles at the attempt regardless, expression lighting up with a warm smile.

“...Yeah, ahaha, I really hope so too.” Jesse glances at the ground, heaving a small sigh. “But it’s okay if he doesn’t either; I just like being around him. And...that’s enough already, I think.” 

Jesse has the audacity to wink before officially heading for the door, giving Cole a brisk wave over his shoulder. 

“See you later, Cole.”

Cole sits in somewhat stunned silence as Jesse takes his leave, left to watch the other boy go. 

The notes of a soft piano dance about in the air, chiming in Cole’s ear, and Cole doesn’t even have to touch the keys. 

“...And now I hear...a symphony.”

[nighthaikyuu]

could you do the “kissing my best-friend” tiktok trend with bokuto, kuroo and oikawa! thank you hehe

— synopsis:  haikyuu boys x y/n; kissing their best-friend after watching the trend thats been taking over tiktok. 

— characters included: bokuto, kuroo, oikawa 

— genre: fluff!! 

— authors note: this is so overdue I apologize!!

bokuto 

if bokuto was glad about anything, it was the fact that you had never downloaded tiktok. 

if you had, the second he’d plop his phone against the tv stand and let the song electric love fill the room, you would’ve narrowed your eyes at him and beat him to death. 

at least, that’s what he thought. 

your bottom lip was rolled beneath your teeth as you stared at the screen in utter concentration, your fingers moving faster than ever as you finally let out a triumphant grin.

turning to look at bokuto, you teased, “told you I was going to win that round.”

usually, bokuto would counter back with a snarky response but this time, he simply shook his head and averted your gaze, his eyes falling back onto the phone for the nth time. 

“what are you recording?” you finally asked, your eyes trailing to the phone.

“nothing! just a tiktok!” bokuto squeaked, before chuckling nervously.

you raised a brow at that but as you watched him flash you a wide smile, you simply shrugged and turned your attention back to the tv screen, ready to start the second round.

just then, as the beat drop came closer and closer, and bokuto’s palm became increasingly sweaty, you suddenly felt yourself being tugged towards the boy beside you.

eyes widening at the sudden movement, you turned to bokuto, his name halfway on your lips when you suddenly felt his nose brush yours, his lips dangerously close.

“bo—“ you started when soft lips grazed over your own, effectively shutting you up in an instant. 

you spent the next few seconds short-circuiting but then you felt bokuto’s grip on your waist tighten, and you melted, dropping the game console on your lap as your hands laid against his chest, gripping his sweatshirt tightly in your hands. 

pulling away after what was either a couple of seconds or several minutes, bokuto rested his forehead against yours, his hot breath fanning your face as you heard him chuckle softly, “didn’t expect this to go that well.” 

slapping his chest lightly, you tried to scowl in annoyance yet the small smile that wouldn’t leave your face betrayed you.

“you’re such an idiot”

kuroo

you were going to kill your friends. 

nervously pacing your room, you were looking for a place to put your phone when you heard kuroo chuckle from behind you, “you’ve been walking around your room like it’s a strangers. you good?” 

jumping slightly, you turned around and gave him a nervous smile, “aha, yea completely fine! just finding a place to put my phone to record-um—something.”

raising a brow, kuroo looked at you skeptically before turning his attention back to his book. 

cursing yourself inwardly, you scolded yourself for choosing dare last night. you should’ve known your friends would’ve done something like this. 

nearly all of them knew of your fat crush on your best-friend kuroo and the fact that you wouldn’t do anything about it bothered them to no end; but they weren't you. they didn’t know how absolutely terrifying it is to confess to your best-friend. there was just so much that could go wrong. 

yet here you were. 

after they dared you to do this tiktok with him, and threatening that if you didn’t they would tell him themselves, you found that you had no other choice but to just do it. after all, if this all went absolutely miserable, you could just tell him you got dared to and end of story. at least you desperately hoped. 

finally, setting the phone on top of your dresser table, you opened the app with shaky hands and pressing the song electric love and setting the time to 60 seconds. 

the fact that in the next minute or so, your entire life was going to literally turn upside down was enough for you feel like you were going to throw up. 

taking in a shaky breath, you told yourself you have to do this y/n, you can't back out. slipping your AirPods into your ears, you pressed the record button and turned around to face kuroo, who had been staring at the book in his hand, a concentrated look on his face. 

you knew there was still a decent bit of the song left before the drop would happen, the moment in which you were supposed to kiss the boy in front of you. 

shaking your hands, you slowly started making your way towards him. in no time, you stood by the side of the bed at which he was sitting at and by now, his attention was on you. 

“you look constipated.” he noted. 

“s-shut up!” 

hearing the song in your ears near the beat drop, every note began to drum through your blood; a sudden adrenaline rush ran through your veins when you bent down and removed the book from his hands. 

“hey, I was reading that dumbass!” 

ignoring him, you sat down beside him so that your back was facing the camera but you were facing kuroo. 

as the song heightened, you swallowed roughly as you could feel your heart race in alignment; before you could back out, you grabbed kuroo’s shirt and pulled him flush against you, pressing your lips tightly against his. 

the second you felt kuroo stiffen against you, every single fear you had came crashing down. starting to pull away, an apology resting at the tip of your tongue, you suddenly felt him lean into you, his lips moving against yours softly. 

his hands that had been at his side came up to grip your waist tightly, the touch sending a jolt through your body. drawing back slowly, kuroo rested his forehead against yours as he stared at you with half-lidded eyes, his cheeks flushed red. 

“holy shit y/n...” he whispered against your lips, a small smile appearing on his lips, “d-did you mean that?” 

you nodded almost immediately, a rush of relief flooding your body as you realized he kissed you back, kuroo freaking kissed you back.

kuroo’s smile widened even further. leaning back in, he pressed another soft kiss on your lips, “I’ve been waiting for this day forever.” 

oikawa

while maki and mattsun were arguing over something in the back as iwaizumi stared outside the window in annoyance, you sat in the passenger seat beside oikawa as the two of you scrolled through tiktoks together on your phone.

stumbling upon the ever famous best-friend challenge, you watched the tiktok with a soft smile on your face. you waited in anticipation for the beat to drop and as soon as it did, the guy leaned towards his girl best friend and pulled her towards him, a hint of permission in his eyes before he pressed his lips tightly against hers.

“that’s literally so staged.” oikawa snorted beside you.

rolling your eyes, you replied with a huff, “yea I bet the thousands of people who did this trend all had it staged, I’m sure.”

crossing your arms together against your chest, you added, “It’s your fault you have 0 ounce of romance in you Tooru.”

smirking, oikawa tilted his head so that his face was just inches away from yours, your cheeks suddenly flushing at the reduced proximity.

“is that so?” he grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

before you could question it, he took your phone from you before quickly pressing the song and clicking the record button, setting it down in front of him.

as the song began to blast through the car, the boys in the back froze as the all-too-familiar tune.

“oh hell no.” iwaizumi murmured before quickly opening the door and stepping outside, not willing to be a part of any of that. the other two quickly got the hint as well, falling in suit and before you knew it, the only two people in the car were you and Oikawa. 

while the boys had scrambled out the moment the song came on, you on the other hand went still in shock, unaware of what was actually happening and what Oikawa was even thinking. 

“wait, why’d they all leave? why’d you turn that on—oh.”

feeling a pair of rough and calloused hands cup your face, you were suddenly pulled towards the driver’s seat, lips brushing against yours. before you could say, or do, anything else, oikawa enveloped your lips with his, kissing you softly. 

eyes fluttering to a close, you leaned into the kiss, every single thought in your head flying out the window when all you could see, feel, taste, smell and hear was oikawa. 

pulling away after what seemed like an eternity, oikawa turned back to the phone and pressed the stop recording button. 

“i—what j-just—?” you sputtered as everything came crashing down when oikawa flashed you a smug grin, “now, am I still not romantic?” 

blinking, you slowly took in his words before a sudden realization dawned upon you, that douchebag.

starting with a hit to the shoulder, you flung yourself towards him before bombarding him with several punches, words like you asshole! and that was my first kiss you fucker! spilled from your mouth as oikawa laughed beneath you, trying to wrestle you away from him, “ay, don’t hurt this handsome face. my fan club won’t be very happy with you.” 

watching the both of you from outside the car, maki and mattsun were both laughing so hard they started to wheeze while iwaizumi beside them just had an amused look on his face. 

you probably thought oikawa was messing with you, but iwaizumi knew oikawa meant every single second of it. 

general taglist: @cinnamonrusts @postsfromthe6 @lady-snavely @02hhsailor @killuaking @rae0fsunshine1317 @sugawaaras @voids-universe @yams046 @visaintes @simpforsaeko @honeybacon @kuroosbabie @verblueht @captain-janeway

character-specific taglist: @mkkhaikyuu @bluelightningxiii @ushiwakasvball  

[writerfae]

Curative Cuddles

a sick fic I wrote a while ago while sick and in need of cuddles. Now I’m feeling sick again (damn headache) and I thought I’d post this because I can’t be productive today like I planned to

“Ugh, I hate my life.”

Talon buried his face deeper in his pillow. Or rather, Aiden’s pillow. Unfortunately, that only lead to another coughing fit, so he sat up.

After what felt like an eternity of coughing into the crook of his elbow, he calmed down.

His face however, Talon kept hiding in his arm. He groaned in frustration.

Someone nudged something cold against his arm and he looked up, met with the sight of his boyfriend sitting at the edge of their (usually) shared bed, holding out a water bottle to him. Talon took it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled and took a few big sips.

“Told you you need to stay hydrated or else your coughing will get worse,” Aiden scolded, but he looked pleased, now that Talon drank something. 

He touched his boyfriend’s forehead gently, brushing away blonde locks.

“At least the fever is gone now. Did you remember taking your meds?”

Talon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, mom. I did.”

He buried his face in Aiden’s shoulder. His boyfriend chuckled.

“You behave like a toddler when you’re sick. So you have to deal with me acting like your mom. Don’t get snot on my hoodie.”

Talon snorted, still not moving from his current position. “You mean my hoodie.”

“Okay, okay. Our hoodie. Still. Don’t get snot on it.”

Talon didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned even more into his boyfriend, relishing in his warmth.

The past few days, when he still had a fever, it was impossible for him to be close to Aiden, because he was always so warm and Talon was already burning hot from his fever.

Also, how Aiden had said “I don’t want your germs anywhere near me, I have an important exam this week.” 

So Aiden didn’t come close to Talon for the past whole week. He even refused to sleep in the same bed as him.

In other words, it was hell.

Of course, wonderful boyfriend that he was, he had still nursed him, had given him his medicine and provided him with soup, water, tissues and all sort of comfort food. 

Just that he did it from afar.

That meant no comfort cuddles for Talon. Even though in the past these had proven to be vital for his recovery.

Aiden had laughed when he told him that much. “Don’t worry, once my exam is done and your fever gone, you can have all the cuddles,” he had promised.

And now that time had finally come. He would never admit it, be he had been looking forward to this moment for the whole week.

Maybe Aiden was right when he said Talon was clingy when he’s sick. But truly, could you blame him? 

After all, he had suffered not only from a cold but also from a severe lack of boyfriend snuggles.

Talon put his arms around Aiden and tried to pull him into bed, but he failed miserably, still too weak from lying in bed all day. He coughed again. That damn cold.

He could feel more than hear Aiden’s chuckling. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, amused.

Talon huffed. “Come here already,” he mumbled into his boyfriend’s collarbone. “You promised cuddles.”

Aiden laughed. “So clingy,” he mumbled fondly and shoved him gently to the side to make room for himself on their shared bed. 

Talon was all too glad to move over for his boyfriend.

As soon as Aiden was comfortably settled, Talon made his home in his boyfriend’s arms. He rested his head on Aiden’s chest, holding him close. 

It felt so nice to finally touch him again.

With one of Aiden’s hands brushing through his hair and his comforting presence so close to him, Talon could feel himself relax.

Aiden had always been able to calm him like that. There was a reason he always slept better with his boyfriend near. 

Aiden’s heartbeat was steady near his ear, ever an effective lullaby.

He was just about to drift off to sleep, when suddenly he sneezed loudly, startling both of them.

“What the hell?” Aiden looked bewildered. He, too, must’ve started to fall asleep.

“Sorry,” Talon mumbled. Then he looked up to Aiden and giggled. “I’m afraid there now is snot on our hoodie.”

His boyfriend made a face. “Gross.”

Talon only laughed more. “That was a joke, you know?”

Aiden hummed. 

“It better be, or I’ll shove you off right now to get changed and don't come back all day,” he threatened, but the way his arms tightened around Talon gave away that he didn’t mean it.

“You wouldn’t,” Talon said, resting his head against Aiden’s chest again. “You love me too much.”

Now it was Aiden who laughed. It was warm and gentle, just like his embrace.

“I do,” he said softly, kissing the crown of Talon’s hair. His hand found his way back into soft blonde curls.

With a smile, Talon finally fell asleep and when he woke up the next morning, he felt as well rested as ever.

Maybe cuddles really were the best medicine.

*

au masterpost

general tag list: @deadlycupid @writing-is-a-martial-art @writingamongther0ses @blueinkblot @wildswrites @abiandwriting @theroyalcoven @myhusbandsasemni @authortango @charleeyy @formulatingfiction @shiishki @gr3y-heron @bloodlessheirbyjacques @imstillherebitch