#scrawny as hell but immediately so friendly

[witch-without-gender]

We used to have a cat who would let us give him kisses right on his nose. After a year or so of us doing this, he started gently biting our noses. He may not have understood exactly what a kiss was, but he know it was our way of showing affection, and to show us how much he loved us, he tried to do so using our own love language.

cats don’t understand what it means when you give them kisses ):

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit Part Seven on AO3

Contents

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

The alcohol is definitely making you sentimental and it's hard not to reflect on how isolated you'd been for… so many years. These old locals aren't your friends, but they're certainly friendly. You hadn't planned on putting down any roots here, but then John happened, and now Soap and maybe even Simon. The old Wild fan who you celebrate with when the muppets win. The night receptionist at the gym. You're not sure when it happened, but at some point you'd allowed yourself to become enmeshed - just a bit - in the tapestry of this town.

CW: alcohol consumption, heavy petting but no sex

The place John chooses is understated and casual, for which you're relieved. You don't mind being wined and dined but you'd dressed comfortably, with only skating in mind, so you're glad he hasn't brought you to some fancy touristy place downtown. He holds doors open for you and walks around like a peacock when his hand settles low on your back. He asks for a booth and at this point, you're not even surprised when he tucks in next to you instead of opposite, his big thigh resting warm and sturdy against your own; his elbow placed firmly on the table in front of you so you have to lean against his tricep to read the one menu he's apparently decided you'll share.

It's… nice.

You ask to see the salad section when he settles on some sloppy pile of meats, caramelized veggies, and eggs. He pulls a face at that but obliges and you decide to believe that's not somehow weight related.

"This one looks good," John comments a little too-blandly, pointing at a trough consisting of ninety percent steak and maybe a handful of arugula.

"Are you anemic? Should I be worried?"

John laughs, his arm shaking slightly against your chest. "It's actually your iron levels I'm worried about."

Ah. That's… maybe a little weird, but cute.

"I'm fine, John. Don't have much of an appetite, to be honest."

John looks a little miffed by this but doesn't comment when you ask the waitress for a simple Caesar. He gets his meat monstrosity and asks for it bloody in a voice that could charm the skin of a snake. He knows what he's doing, too, based on the entirely too innocent smile he gives the waitress as he moves onto his drink order, a strawberry shake. You can't help but laugh a little at him.

"I didn't expect you to have such a sweet tooth considering how skinny you are," you confide, a teasing smirk on your face which is immediately wiped straight off when John gives you a hurt, borderline panicked look.

"You think I'm skinny!?"

"Uh… no, like -. I mean, in shape. Fit. Sorry, no, you're definitely not skinny. That was poorly worded." You're floundering, trying desperately to fix whatever it is you'd fucked up. It had never occurred to you that someone wouldn't want to be called skinny, though it makes sense now that someone who clearly put as much work into maintaining his body would never want to be called scrawny. Christ, you'd fucked up. That's twice now. Oh god, he's never going to want to see you again. "I'm so sorry, I only meant -."

But John's peering back at you suspiciously now and it has your hands wringing. "It's okay, honey," he says after a moment, clears his throat. "I uh… lost a lot of weight over the winter. Suppose I'm a little sensitive about it, is all."

You're still a nervous wreck, doubly afraid now that you've upset him. Fucking hell, man's probably got some health issues he's getting over and you had to go and comment on his fucking body. "I'm so, so sorry, I should've thought -."

"Sweetheart, look at me. You're fine. I'm not mad."

Holy shit, he's not. He's -.

Right. This is John.

"Besides, you're right," he continues brightly, beaming at the waitress when she places the shake in front of him. "I am a little twiggy. Let's see if we can't fix that, eh?"

You're still mortified that you even commented on his body. After all the bullshit you've put up with in your life, you know better than to pull this shit. You hadn't meant it negatively, of course, but you know from first hand experience how little that matters. John looks happy enough now, but you won't soon forget how hurt he'd looked after your comment. You're still mulling over the best way to move on when he offers you a sip off his pink treat, dopey smile in place. You can't say no to that and he somehow manages to look even more pleased when you take a sip from his straw.

"So… weight loss… did you have any health scares?"

"Hm?" He jolts, eyes focused entirely on your lips. "Oh, no. Strong as a bear," he winks - weird. "Just lose my appetite under the Arizona sun. Always spend all summer trying to gain the weight back," he laughs, a little sad. "Good excuse to indulge, though."

"Well, indulge away. I do think you look good, by the way. Bet you'll look even better when you're comfortable and confident."

John smiles and kisses your forehead with slightly sticky lips. "Thanks, bunny. I think you look very good too, by the way."

He says it the same way he'd appraised the menu. "Thank you," you mutter, grateful that the waitress chooses that moment to return so he doesn't notice how much you blush from his attentions. It's still odd to you, someone as absurdly handsome as John Price being this sweet on you.

John eats like someone's coming to steal it off his plate. He remembers himself maybe midway through his burger and offers you a bite, but when you shake your head he shrugs and goes back to scarfing it like a stray dog. It's kind of impressive, honestly. More out of curiosity than any genuine hunger, you slowly and obviously grab a French fry from his plate which prompts him to grin goofily around a mouthful and spin the plate so the fries are closer to you. You'd been worried for a moment there that he may have some kind of feeder kink, but the voracity with which he's shoveling food into his own mouth combined with how he picks a singular cherry tomato off your dish has you thinking food might be more of a love language to him. That's okay. Cute. You can handle that.

John doesn't throw in the towel until his plate is completely cleared and when you see him eyeing your half full bowl you laugh and slide it his way. He laughs too, and says he'll make you something at the bar later to make up for it. You're not sure you'll take him up on that, but you won't lie that the ease with which he guarantees your next meal means a lot to you, considering how often a spoonful of peanut butter counts as dinner for you these days.

The waitress asks if you want dessert and John eyes you hopefully.

"You go right ahead, big guy, but I'm out."

With a sigh, he admits he should probably go relieve Simon and the two of you pack up without any sweets.

You follow him to the bar and he guides your Jeep back past a little awning and behind the building. He opens your door for you once you put it in park and gives you a hand down. "You can park right here anytime you need, honey," he says and you can't deny that the privacy afforded by the two surrounding walls is pretty tempting.

John takes you in through the kitchen where you find the most intimidating man you've ever seen in your life. He's muscled like a bull and taller even than John. A shock of pale blond hair; scarred, furrowed brows over dark, blank eyes; a black surgical mask and a matching baby gap t-shirt pulled taut over biceps bigger than your head. Here is a man that could make even Phil flinch just by yawning a little too hard, surely, and when he greets John, his voice is low like an oncoming bulldozer and just as deadly.

"Where the fuck 'ave you been?"

John doesn't even flinch. "Got lunch."

The blond man turns his gaze upon you for exactly forty-three seconds. Technically, his expression is completely neutral, but you can't help feeling like he's brought a pumpkin gutter to your eye socket, taken your measure by literally weighing whatever he finds in there. (Metric, of course, for accuracy's sake.)

"'Hope you 'ad fun. I fuckin' quit."

"Sure, sure," John rolls his eyes. He nods toward the front of the shop, "How's he doing?"

"Can't speak English."

"You can barely speak English, you filthy manc. How'd he do with customers?"

"Gave out 'is number three times, if that's what you're looking for in a keep."

John shrugs, "If it keeps 'em coming back."

"Gaz would've never."

"No, Gaz would've gotten theirs. He good with the till?"

"'Ardly trusted him with it, did I?"

"Christ, Simon, did you train him on anything?"

"Too busy house breaking 'im."

John snorts. "How'd he do, honest?"

"Hmph," Simon grunts.

"Hmph?" John repeats, valley girl inflection.

"Mm."

John gives you a 'holy shit, you seeing this?' look. "That good?"

"Said what I said. This the bird?" Simon nods at you, but John is hardly deterred.

"Yes. Should I extend him a year round offer, then?"

The other man's turn to ignore John: "Hi, pet. Nice to meet you."

"You're Simon, I gather?" You grit down on your resolve and extend him a hand which he gracefully doesn't crush in his calloused palm. "I believe I have you to thank for a great coffee date?"

"That's right, so if you ever want to trade up, I know plenty of things -."

But whatever he knows, you never will because John chooses that moment to get adorably jealous. "Awrigh', 'nough of tha'." His accent is thick when his hand finds your shoulder and guides you through the swing door into the front area. You pop out behind the bar, where a roguishly handsome man with a short cropped mohawk and upsettingly blue eyes is already grinning at you, probably having heard every word from the kitchen.

Sure enough, you have enough time to hear Simon warn John he was going to regret that before the mohawked man is inching closer. "Hi, bonnie," he greets you in a thick Scottish accent and you don't even have a chance to respond before John is right there, crowding you just enough to put the Scot on his back foot.

"Soap," John greets the other man, and mohawk smiles warmly at his boss, devilish eyes glinting with easy charm and just a touch of mischief.

"Price. Who's the lass?"

"Your test subject tonight. Pretend she's just a regular customer who doesn't know what she wants -." John guides you around the end of the bar to the very last stool as he speaks. "What would you start her off with?"

"Tha's easy, bonnie lass like her. Sit tight, hen." Soap (Soap?) gets to work behind the bar as John ducks back into the kitchen area for a moment. Whatever Soap's making looks simple enough, maybe four ingredients, but he makes it into an art form, coating the glass with whatever sticky syrup he's using for flavor before pouring his mix in and adding garnish. John returns wielding a laptop just in time to see Soap putting back the ingredients he'd used. Soap misses the small, pleasantly surprised look that crosses John's face, but you don't, and you understand when you take a sip; the light, citrusy flavor not at all what you'd expected when you saw him break out the thick syrup. You can't help your hum of satisfaction and Soap beams. "Good, right? Not too heavy?"

"Nope, just right. Thank you."

"Good, means you'll be able to drink all night," he winks. He turns to John, motioning to the register. "Am I…?"

"No, but you know how much that would cost?" John asks as he settles next to you and powers on his laptop.

"Sixteen ninety nine," Soap answers confidently and you nearly spit the drink back out.

But John is unaffected, sliding you the remote as he pulls up some scheduling app. "Good lad," he tells Soap and the man nods once, before getting lost on the other side of the bar, cleaning glasses.

John waits until the audience has left to sneak a sip from your drink. You raise a brow at him and he nods his approval before returning it to you. You settle on some old Quantum Leap reruns and John conveniently makes it clear exactly then that you need only say if you get bored.

You can't help but grin at him. "Unlikely. My buddy made up a hell of a drinking game for this show. Been a while since I've played it so I'll have to check the rules, but I think I can keep myself entertained for as long as this block goes."

"Drinking game for a show?" John asks, apprehensive.

"'Course, boss," Soap calls from the other end, not bothering to hide his eavesdropping. "When they, then you…" To you he adds, "Drink whenever Scott Bakula looks in a mirror?"

"That's what? One to start? We can do better." And just like that, you text a friend you hadn't been allowed to speak to in years.

You don't, so you send him the new one and within moments you're settling in to intentionally get tipsy, something you haven't done since the first time Phil laid a hand on you. There's a part of you that can't help feeling this is a bad idea, but another, much larger part of you is determined to put these fears in the past. So you share the rules with Soap and John nods approvingly when he pours himself a water to drink along with you. It's silly, and you feel a little weird drinking by yourself, but John's left hand stays rooted to your thigh, and Soap is eager to make sure you drink every time you're queued. He keeps your glass full, each drink slightly different. You comment exactly once that you don't want to mix your liquors and after that, Soap keeps you plied with the same honeyed whiskey he'd started you off with. They're all delicious, and John seems to agree if his tiny nods after each sample is any indication.

Eventually, real customers start bellying up and John sneaks back behind the bar with a kiss to your temple. By now you've switched the entertainment to the game seven you've been dreading, and the quiet old man next to you seems invested so you shoot the shit with him for a bit. Soap does well, from what you can tell. At least well enough that John feels comfortable spending much of the night in the kitchen. He pops out occasionally to offer you scraps, and check the score, says he's 'starting to get invested in these muppets.' John gloms on pretty quickly to the fact that melty cheese is your weak point, and you end up eating nearly a full dinner despite your general queasiness. The small crowd that gathers around the bar is mostly older, but they're all friendly, and the atmosphere is quiet enough that personal conversations eventually grow to include the whole group and you can't help the smile that slowly grows to overtake your face. The alcohol is definitely making you sentimental and it's hard not to reflect on how isolated you'd been for… so many years. These old locals aren't your friends, but they're certainly friendly. You hadn't planned on putting down any roots here, but then John happened, and now Soap and maybe even Simon. The old Wild fan who you celebrate with when the muppets win. The night receptionist at the gym. You're not sure when it happened, but at some point you'd allowed yourself to become enmeshed - just a bit - in the tapestry of this town. It's exactly what you said you wouldn't do, but when John subtly shakes a bottle of Advil at you from behind the kitchen saloon door, you can't bring yourself to regret it. You nod and he brings you out two along with a bottle of water. Soap switches you to ciders after that without being prompted. You're wary at first because of the sweetness, but he assures you the cider is light and crisp - that it comes from New York so you know it's good. You laugh, wondering if he knows, and take your first sip of home in years.

***

The good thing about living out of your car is you're never unprepared for anything. Before ascending to John's apartment, you stop by the Jeep to grab toiletries and pajamas. John grumbles about putting you in his clothes but you'd be mortified if you leaked on them so you make up some (not wholly untruthful) excuse about sensory issues and clothes needing to fit just right which you can see John filing away with the same seriousness he'd been using to prepare his schedule earlier. There's a nondescript door just in front of John's Suburban which he holds open for you. You lead the way up the stairs and laugh when you hear him hum appreciatively at the view it leaves him with. It turns to a squeak when he pinches just below the crease where your ass meets your thigh and then it's John's turn to laugh when the hand you reach back to stop him doesn't shove him away, simply keeps him in place. By now you've reached the landing and as John draws level with you, his heavy palm slides out and over your hip, coming to rest just a hair too low on your waistline to be decent. The landing is narrow, barely enough to fit a man as big as John, let alone your wide frame, but John doesn't seem in a hurry to open the door into his place. The only light source in the stairway is a small night light back behind John's calves and the ambient light coming through his curtained door panel. Backlit and bowed forward, John's presence is overwhelming. His scent - pine, petrichor, something personal - is inescapable and you almost wish he'd get the kiss you know is coming done and over with so you can get to finally (finally) sticking your face in his chest and just breathing.

Of course, then he does kiss you and you don't want it to end.

John's movements as he bridges the gap between you are slow and impending when he steps closer, boots heavy as one wedges its way in between your shoes. You're already impossibly close when he reels you that final inch by the grip he still has on your waist, meeting your lips with a measured duck of his head that leaves your own tilted back, neck exposed to the wide breadth of his hand which he places on the side there, cradling your jaw in such a way it keeps your head tilted exactly the way he wants you.

It's slow, sweet. Hot. John's mustache tickles but not unpleasantly - too neat and well groomed to be prickly. His lips are soft, addictive, and when he deepens the kiss, his tongue scorches across your own. He groans contentedly and somehow you know this ridiculous man is pleased with the taste of you: honeyed whiskey and sweet cider, the bits of greasy cheese he himself made for you.

He breaks off but doesn't go far, burrows his nose right under your ear and takes a deep, steadying breath. "You drive me fucking crazy, bunny. 'S this alrigh'? I can kiss you?"

"Yes," you breathe and he's immediately back on you, both hands framing your jaw now. At some point your own have found the unzipped edges of his Carhart and you try pulling him closer. You only succeed in moving yourself, however, because you'd forgotten John is built like a brick shithouse, even if he thinks he's scrawny.

He obliges you anyway, backs you up enough that you gently bump into the wall, and then your skull is cupped in a protective hand as you're pushed more insistently against it. John is a solid, burning wall at your front. Even through the layers of thermals and jackets you can feel the heat of his skin and you're torn between the desire to be naked under him, sweaty, slick, panting; and to simply see if he'd humor you by holding still long enough to be used like a heating pad.

You pant when John moves to your neck, nipping at the soft skin there until he draws a breath from you that sounds suspiciously like his name. Like this, you can see where his beanie has ridden up just slightly, exposing a bit of hair above his temple and you feel like some repressed Victorian man catching a glimpse of ankle. You're on him in a moment, sniffing his scalp like a fucking dog and you'd maybe feel a little bad about it if not for the way he groans - if not for the way his overwhelming presence makes you feel a little crazy.

"Want you," John tells the bit of décolletage he's uncovered, 'T' enunciated with teeth framing collar bone. Some harefooted intrusive thought has you wishing he'd bite down, wanting to hear it crunch under his jaw. You can feel him now, hard against your hip. He doesn't do anything with it - doesn't grind it into your flesh or bully your hands down to feel the weight of it - but it's enough to know it's there, has your grip moving under his jacket, spanning his ribs.

"John," you gasp again - pleading maybe. Perhaps a warning.

"I know, honey. I know." He sounds miserable. "Won't touch, I promise. But this is okay, right? I can -. We can -."

"Yes."

You're not sure how or when John gets the door open. There's a clatter and a lighting change you barely register from behind your closed eyes and your lifted onto a counter and that's about the hottest thing anyone's ever been able to do for you so you spread your thighs wide on instinct and John takes his reward by slotting himself in as if he bought the fucking deed. "Won't touch, sweetheart, I promise," he repeats as he shoves your coat off your shoulders and admires his handiwork. "Just want to feel you. I want -. Want to…"

Instead of running his intentions by you verbally, John drops to his knees and buries his face in the crotch of your leggings. You yip in embarrassment and try to scramble further onto the counter to get away from him but his grip on your thighs may as well be made of iron. "John, that's… I'm -."

You're interrupted by the heavy sound of his breathing as he takes a fucking whiff of your cunt.

"John!"

"Christ, bunny, I could eat your right up," John murmurs, lips still pressed against your pussy. You gape at him but the look he gives you from under his heavy brow isn't chastised at all.

He looks rabid.

You gulp and John chuckles, deep and dark. "Not gonna," he assures you yet again, but the hot streak he licks up the seam of your leggings almost has you wishing he would. "Not gonna," he says again, and you realize he's saying it for his own benefit when he stands and places a quick peck on your mons. You're briefly embarrassed by the hair he can probably feel through your thin layers, but you catch him taking another quick sniff which -.

Well, it's odd but at least it completely eliminates every ounce of self-consciousness you've ever felt about your pussy.

John groans, works his teeth against the texture he's found.

"Not gonna?" you tease him, not really at all surprised by how breathless you sound.

John huffs, hot and humid where it gets trapped in the fabric beneath his mouth. "Not tonight," he agrees.

"C'mere." You try to help his weak morals by hauling him up by the shoulder. It's a laughable attempt at best, but John doesn't laugh as he obliges.

"Shouldn't have gotten you drunk," he pouts against your lips.

"Still would've been on my period," you remind him, embarrassed as if the word shouldn't even be spoken at a time like this.

"Always did like my lamb bloody."

"John!" he laughs and you tap him lightly on the pec, which only seems to please him more.

"You won't let me play with my food, bunny?" He's looming over you now, hand resting on the counter behind you. You try to imagine him with blood - your blood - all over his face and find -,

"It's not gross?"

John's smile is wolfish and you're caught in his jaws. "No, sweetheart. One of my favorite treats."

"Oh." That's -.

Why doesn't that gross you out?

"We'll talk about it in the morning, yeah? For now, let's get you comfy and ready for bed."

He gives you one final, lingering kiss. You're not sure when he managed to pry your bag off you, but he retrieves it from the kitchen floor and guides you to his en suite. When he runs the shower, you ask if he plans on joining and the look he gives you is that of an owl spotting a field mouse.

A stupid, drunken voice in your head is starting to believe this man actually wants to eat you.

"Won't touch."

When he leaves, he doesn't close the door so neither do you.

John's body wash doesn't smell like him. It's some citrusy bergamot number, at which you are entirely pissed. Still, the water is hot and the pressure is good so you luxuriate a bit, trying to angle yourself right so that the stream can massage some of your back ache away. You had a blast today, but you'll definitely be happy just to lay down soon. You hope John's not too proper to share a bed with you as you kinda really want to be snuggled. When you exit the shower to find him sitting on his bed, staring at you unabashedly as you towel off, you're pretty sure you have your answer. You give him a little show, giggling when he grunts at the way you bend to reach your bag. Eventually you do have to shut the door on him so you can take care of some more private concerns. He's in flannel trousers and not much else when you finally emerge from the bathroom, still just sitting on the edge of the bed. You stare at him for a moment, a little timid after your show. John is solid: thick muscles cording under a thin layer of fat. You think maybe his skin looks slightly baggy on him, but it's hard to tell through the thick hair that coats him. He lets you look your fill for a moment before motioning you closer with a quick curl of his fingers. You stand between his legs and his big palm skates up over your thigh, hooking his fingers into the band of the men's boxer briefs you wear to bed from where it's visible above your sweats and snapping it lightly.

"Whose are these?"

"Mine?"

"Mm. Coulda given you a pair of mine, if you wanted."

"I can wear my own underwear, thank you," you laugh. "Wait, are you jealous?"

"Yes," John admits easily, fingers pulling at the band as if threatening to take them off.

"Of what? I bought these myself," you laugh again.

"Ah." John has the decency to look sheepish as he gently lays the band back where he found it, double rolled to keep from indenting your skin.

"You're ridiculous, you know?" His jealousy rings a tiny little alarm in the back of your mind but you choose to ignore it until you're sober and can be more reasonable.

"No argument there. Are you ready for bed now or do you want to watch something?" He looks so sweet again, big puppy dog eyes as he looks up at you. This is the man who takes you on dates and kisses your temple in public. It's hard to reconcile him with the starved animal he'd been when he'd had you laid out on his counter, but you find you definitely don't mind the duality.

"Are you up for a movie?"

He nods, "Whatever you want, honey."

"Well, what I want is a stupid kids movie, but that'll probably ruin the mood so, like… you pick."

John just smiles up at you dopily. "That sounds perfect. Anything to help me keep it PG," he winks. It's not a good joke, but he's so proud of it it's hard not to laugh. You decide on Who Framed Roger Rabbit because it's a good goddamn movie and because you don't want to subject him to anything egregiously childish. John laughs at the title and too late you realize your mistake.

"Oh, bunny, you don't think this one will be too scary for you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, fluffing a pillow a little too aggressively in his direction. He pulls it from you easily and uses it to prop himself up against the headboard a bit. The position turns his belly into a perfect pillow of your own and you dive in, kissing the ticklish hairs under your cheek just to watch his abs twitch.

"Brave rabbit. Keep testing me and Judge Doom won't be the scariest thing you see tonight."

"Why do you call me a rabbit, anyway? That a Britishism?"

"Sure."

With John's fingers in your hair and the low buzz of whiskey still in your veins, you only make it to the patty cake bit before you're dozing off.

John notices. "Am I sleeping in here tonight, bunny?" His voice is low, an earthquake at the edge of your hearing.

"God I hope so," you mumble into his belly, mortified to find a bit of drool sticking to his hair. If he notices, he doesn't say anything and you fall back asleep for a while. When the movie ends, his shifting wakes you again. You wouldn't mind except it seems the Advil from earlier has finally worn off and you're starting to get crampy. You shift, restless, but John slots himself against your back, his skin like a furnace on your achy back.

"Shh, I got you sweetheart. Go back to bed." You do, right after pulling at his arm until his broad, warm palm places a good amount of pressure right over your sensitive belly, too content to feel self conscious.

Next>>

[rad-rat-with-a-tophat]

*ALARM SIREN NOISES* THIS IS FOR BOTH DAY 3 AND DAY 5 OF @lovely-blue-galaxy’s 2023 RICHJAKE WEEK. THE PROMPTS WERE SECRETS AND LOCKER

Jenna Rolan liked to pride herself on knowing things. Since she’d moved to Middleborough in 7th grade, she’d figured out everything there could be to figure out. For example, she knew that Chloe Valentine’s first kiss was with a senior when she was 15. She knew that Mr Reye’s had an ex-wife who played in the West End production of Heathers. Hell, she even knew that Chloe and Jake Dillinger hadn’t actually kissed in 8th grade, they just lied about it so people would think they were cool! So yeah, Jenna Rolans knew everything. 

And how might she know everything? Well, just a handy little thing called listening. She was the middle child of a family with 7 kids, she had learned that if you’re a little friendly to someone and say the things they want to hear, then they’ll tell you every piece of gossip they’ve ever fucking heard. Even the popular kids told her everything. Especially them, the popular kids had the most secrets that could ruin their high school careers. And sure, they might not have actually been Jenna’s friends, but they treated her like she was their best friend since kindergarten.

Who cares if all Jenna wanted was actual friends? Having people want her for her information was enough, right? 

Jenna’s feelings were currently inconsequential at the moment, Jenna was on a fucking case. The case? Rich Goranksi and Jake Dillinger’s relationship

Why? They were just best friends, right?

Wrong. Something was UP. 

Rich had joined the popular kids in early October of sophomore year. It was currently early June of sophomore year. Now why was this peculiar? Because all of the popular kids had known each other since the beginning of middle school (excluding Jenna). Now not only did Rich join the popular kids,  but he joined the inner circle. So how did a brand-new kid immediately become best friends with the most popular kid in school, Jake Dillinger?

Therein lies the first piece of evidence. Rich wasn’t new, not at all. In fact, he’d lived in Middleborough his entire life. Except that no one, sans Jenna, ever noticed him. Now this wasn't hard for Jenna to understand. Rich had talents sure, won the 6th-grade Writing Competition, had the best grades in English out of the entire goddamn high school, and not only that but he qualified for State Choir as a freshman.

But how did no one know him if he was this accomplished? The answer was simple, he was a stereotypical loser. He wore all black, never talked to anyone, was 5’1 in 9th grade, only grew 2 inches in the next year, had glasses and a lisp, and was probably gay. Usually, the gay thing would be a benefit popularity-wise (the novelty of queer in the school.) but Rich was a literature nerd who liked dnd, so the whole “probably queer” thing docked popularity points for him.

So how did a scrawny choir kid manage to charm the one and only Jake Dillinger?

Easy, Jake was gay. 

What? How? Jenna explain! Please!

Unbeknownst to literally everyone, Jenna herself was queer, and she had had her own unrequited crush on a straight girl. So when she had a class with both Rich and Jake in 9th grade, it wasn’t very hard to notice that Rich would gaze at Jake when he thought no one was watching and vice versa.

For example, take this interaction from March of last year.

————-

It was Friday and the last period of the day and Jenna did not want to be in class. They had a sub so they were just doing spare worksheets. Well, the overachievers and nerds were doing worksheets while Jenna and the rest of the class were on their phones.

Jenna looked around the room, trying to see if anyone was talking about something she could talk about. Jake was in front of her, but he was working on homework and he rarely knew anything interesting.

Behind her was Dustin, he was talking to Viktor and Jace who were next to him. Sadly, it was about NFL rankings and not gossip.

The seat to her right was empty and the person to her left was Christine, who was too nice to say anything bad about anyone to Jenna. 

Shit, there was literally no one to talk to.

“Ah fuck,” Jake said.

Jenna whipped her head from her phone, this could mean anything. Jake could’ve a text from and that meant Jenna had someone to talk to.

But looking at Jake, he didn’t have his phone, he just broke his pencil. Booooring.

Before Jenna could go back to endlessly scrolling on Instagram, the kid to the right of Jake handed him a pencil and whispered something Jenna couldn’t hear.

Starved for any real conversation material, Jenna tried to discreetly watch the interaction. She watched as Jake took the pencil, eyes a little wide.

And, wait, what?

Jake’s hand accidentally brushed the kid’s hand and then both of them blushed?!

Oh, Jenna could- wait no.

Jenna paused, she knew the kid, his name was Rich and she was pretty sure only she knew he existed. She also knew Jake, one might even call them friends. Jake was the perfect student, smart, charming, athletic, and hot. People knowing about what just happened would ruin him.

Jenna couldn’t risk that, Jake was the one who was able to convince Chloe to let her sit with them. If he was gone, so we’re the closest things Jenna had to friends.

So Jenna never fucking told anyone.

————

Jenna was aware that this barely counted as evidence.

But then two weeks later, Jake blew off a date with Chloe.

Now, Jenna was not, and is not, a stalker. She wouldn’t stoop that low.

But Jenna did have a younger brother, and he wanted to go to the park.

And who did she see? Jake and Rich, at the neighboroughing skate park.

Of course, this could always just be guys being friends.

Flash forward to the current day though. Jenna was walking from Mrs Burbank’s classroom after making up a test. When she turned sixteen last week, her one present was her family’s shitty old Volkswagen, that was from 2001.

Jenna parked by the gym today and was calmly walking by the boy’s lockers, when she heard voices. Not just any voices though, Jake and Rich’s.

Since Rich had joined the popular kids, he quickly became well-known throughout the school. He was the angrier, shorter, and louder version of Jake, somehow managing to maintain perfect grades without ever trying. (Side note, in 8th grade, Jenna saw Rich write a 5 page essay for extra credit in English. Not that he needed it, according to their teacher he had a 100 in the goddamn class. She did ask Rich’s 9th grade Math teacher about his grades and turns out, he had 78 on his report card, so how did he have a 97 now?!)

Rationally, Jenna knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop but she had had her suspicions about Jake and Rich’s relationship since that fateful day in freshman year.

Jenna dropped her backpack on the ground, careful to make sure none of the handcrafted keychains made a sound, and sneaked to the entryway to the locker room.

Jake and Rich were talking quietly, so Jenna could only make out a few words.

“Sorry… hiding… coward… Chloe…”

Their conversation started growing in volume and from what Jenna could make out, it was something about… Chloe finding they were in a relationship?

Before the argument became loud enough for Jenna to hear full sentences, there was a thud of something  hitting a locker,

and. Oh… OH. Yeah that was Jenna’s cue to leave.

As Jenna walked to her shitty car, she considered what she heard. The last time Jenna decided not to say anything, it was to save her own skin.

But Jenna knew this sorry excuse for a school. Literally everyone was homophobic, especially Rich. And Chloe? Chloe would die before anyone got their hands on Jake.

As Jenna shut the door to her care and pulled up Chloe’s contact on her phone, she texted,

guess what I heard????? dustin k cheated on his gf w/ madeleine!!!!!!!!

(Final note, he actually side cheat on his gf)

[standfucker]

Koby & OC Headcanons for Anon

Characters: Koby, John (OC)

CW: none

For anon- I hope you find this satisfactory ^_^

Garp’s unit is stationed on an island’s Marine outpost for the month. In Koby’s precious little spare time, he sneaks out at night to train. He’s in the woods near the beach for hours, punching trees with all his might, unaware that he’s being watched.

John, meanwhile, is curious about the scrawny kid bloodying his fists under the moonlight, but he doesn’t approach him yet–he has a complicated relationship with the Marines, so he keeps his distance.

A week later, Koby gets separated from his squad in the maze-like town square of the island’s biggest city. Lost, he wanders into a back alley and is met with some huge, menacing ruffians keen to take advantage of a wayward Marine recruit. Koby’s attempt to talk them down swiftly fails, and they surround him, brandishing clubs and knives…

“Hey, Chore Boy,” says a new voice, and everyone’s head turns to see John. “When you throw a punch, try doing it like this.” He dashes forward, plants his foot, and decks the biggest gangster in the face, sending him flying down the entirety of the alley and through the nearest building.

The other gangsters are stunned, but quickly recover and rush the new guy. John draws back so his opponents are forced to converge, then plants his feet again, knees bent slightly, stance solid. He clenches his dominant fist, and bright, blue sparks crackle around his fingers.

”Blue Lightning!” He twists and throws the punch. There’s a flash upon impact, a small shockwave that has his opponents sailing through the air and landing with heavy thuds. All the men are knocked out. Koby just stares at the back of his savior, who takes in a breath before patting himself off and looking over his shoulder. “Did you see my form? Form’s important when you punch.”

-”Yes, I… wow, you were incredible! How did you do that?” Koby asks. John explains that he’s been training for a long time, and he saw how Koby was practicing on his own. John offers to give Koby some pointers the next time he trains, but first, how about getting shown his way around town?

They talk as John leads Koby back to where he needs to be, introducing themselves properly. The two immediately get along, already having some things in common with their pink hair and friendly demeanors. When they turn the right corner and see Koby’s unit in the distance, John stays where he is, not wanting to get close. “Go on ahead. I’ll meet you in the forest tonight.”

”I should introduce you to Garp! You deserve some recognition,” Koby says, but John politely refuses. Before Koby leaves, he adds, “you should think about enlisting! You would make a great Marine.” John’s expression changes, lips pressing together tightly. He gives Koby a forced smile and says he’ll think about it.

After that, they meet when Koby sneaks out. John teaches him any basics Koby hasn’t already learned, demonstrating proper stances and forms. Koby’s a fast learner, so they even get to some more advanced techniques. Koby builds enough confidence to try sparring. John’s clearly advanced far ahead of him, but goes easy, always explaining to Koby what mistakes he made and helping him improve.

While they take breaks, they talk. John leans about Koby’s time spent as a pirate’s prisoner and sympathizes–pirates took something from John, too, but he won’t elaborate. Koby learns that John’s childhood was largely spent constantly training with an overbearing, brutally tough father.

Eventually, Koby has to set sail. John shows up once the boat has just left port, waving him goodbye. Koby enthusiastically waves back, and Garp squints at John’s distant figure. “Eh? Who the hell is that?” “A friend I made on the island,” Koby answers. Garp takes out a spyglass to get a better look. His jaw drops.  “What the–that’s John!” “You know him?” “Know him? He’s Admiral Akainu’s son!” “WHAT?!”

John and Koby don’t meet again for months, until they run into each other on another island. Koby immediately unloads all the questions he’s been holding onto, namely why? John tells him to slow down, and brings him to his favorite local eatery first.

“I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t important,” John said. “As for why I’m not a Marine…I still haven’t decided if that’s the right path for me. It’s…it’s complicated. For now, I just travel around and hone my skills.”

Koby accepts this, not that he has too much choice–he’s just glad he won’t get in trouble for hanging out with John, unlike a certain other rubbery friend of his.

From there on, John and Koby run into each other every now and then whenever they both wind up on the same island. John’s always the one that finds Koby, spying on local Marines and utilizing Observation Haki to sense if he’s near so they can hang out and train.

As Koby gets stronger, their sparring grows more intense, their relationship going from friends to rivals. Each time, no matter how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other, they always reunite with a smile and a solid fistbump.

[catwings-writes-things]

I can’t pick one so-

Monsters ball, Toy soldiers, We have heard (all or pick one, up to you)

*deep sigh* answered below the cut, because succinct answers are, as always, beyond me. (To be clear, Anon, the sigh is directed at myself for not being able to stop talking, not at you.)

Monsters Ball:

Jon is still mostly in what the hell mode when he realizes that this bizarre nonentity has a human guest in tow.

She’s short, with light skin and long, dark brown hair, and young—distressingly young. Without his powers informing him (unasked, naturally) that she’s twenty-two, Jon couldn’t swear to her being out of her teens.

Of course, the fear in her darting eyes, the nervous tapping of her fingers against the outside of her leg, her gaunt frame, and the hungry set of her jaw probably aren’t helping in that department.

“I asked you a question,” Elias hisses in Jon’s ear.

“Right.” Jon reaches out, feeling even more rotten. That woman is more than likely in the same position he is.

He shakes it off. She’s not his responsibility. His team are.

The London Monsters Ball is an annual social and diplomatic event in the British paranormal community, and you never know who’s going to show up. One year, a long-established London vampire and a recent arrival from Transylvania both show up to the ball, both with their half-turned fledglings in tow. Jon and Mina are in no position to do anything but silently commiserate, but they don’t forget.

At the Monsters Ball the year after that, the two meet again as full vampires, both having killed their sires (with some help from their human partners and their friends, human and otherwise), both hoping to find the other and help them, if they can. Instead, they decide to work together on defusing the pervasive legacies of dark magic and cursed places their respective sires left on the world.

Or, the urban fantasy TMA/Dracula crossover no one asked for.

Toy Soldiers:

“Michael Crew?” Harriet asked.

Michael frowned. “Who are you?”

“Harriet Fairchild. May I come in?” She smiled politely at him.

A flicker of recognition crossed Michael’s face at her last name, and he carefully schooled his face back to neutral before smiling back, thin and tight. If Harriet didn’t miss her guess, Michael wasn’t sure why she was here and was trying to remain prepared for any possibility, from a friendly overture to an attempt to eliminate a competitor. Smart.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said after a pause that had stretched on a bit too long, in a polite, friendly tone clearly intended to be disarming. “Where are my manners?” He backed up a few steps. “Come on in. And you can call me Mike, by the way.”

Jailbreak Mike and Harriet’s first meeting (which, fun fact, I wrote just before I even got the idea for A World of His Own, and one of the major contributors to the creation of the Jailbreak verse was just how deeply and immediately I fell in love with their dynamic. Even if at this point they’re both still half-expecting the other to start trying to kill them at any moment). Harriet’s here as a representative of the Fairchild family, offering Mike a chance to join. Mike is going to need a little (okay, a lot) more information, and some convincing. Overcoming Mike’s hesitation at the idea of connecting himself to other people in any way not strictly necessary won’t be easy, but luckily, Harriet’s up to the task.

We Have Heard:

For anyone who’s read what I’ve posted so far of De Humani Corporis Fabrica… remember this paragraph?

[Angela] hoped she wasn’t about to listen to [Mike] die a horrible death. Not that she objected to horrible deaths on principle, but she was rather fond of this short, scrawny, hunted teenager. From what he’d told her, he’d survived experimenting with at least two Leitners, managed to track her down with only a vague knowledge of the effects of Powers and some clues in a newspaper, and knocked on her door to ask questions very shortly after finding what was left of one of her victims. While in her home, he’d cheerfully joined her in assembling a jigsaw puzzle after she’d told him what it did, watched in awed fascination rather than horror as she operated her meat grinder, calmly helped her prepare meat pies from her own severed arm with a finger tucked in each and invite some poor sap in for dinner, happily eaten his pie along with her while they’d waited in a hum of delighted anticipation for their guest to bite down on bone and realize what he was eating, and laughed nearly as loudly as she had when the fool had blanched, looked in horror from her to Mike and back again, jumped up from the table, and fled with a panicked cry.

This is that fic. I don’t think I need to say anything else.

(And yes, the title is a really, really bad pun on the title of a Christmas carol. Angels We Have Heard on High, if you’re wondering. Told you it was bad.)

Thank you for the ask, anonymous friend! Best!

[bumbleklee]

hey c: can i please ask for something with childe, kaeya ​​and diluc where they accidentally hurt the reader? angst please? have a good day <3

hihi c: i didnt know if you meant physically hurt or emotionally hurt so i mixed it up <3

before reading: angst/hurt, cursing, men being absolutely stupid, under cut for possible sensitive topic + i think this is obvious but i dont think any of these characters would ever act this way 

childe

his fatal flaw was that he was too possessive of you

he was a protective person in general and you were no exception 

and usually it was fine

childe showed affection in public with an arm around your waist or a few kisses and glaring side glances to staring men or women

but sometimes he took it too far and you just wished he would stop

You and Childe had decided to go to a bar in Liyue one night and after a few drinks, you began becoming friendly with the other patrons. You didn’t think your tipsy compliments towards a tall man were flirty but when he smirked down at your shorter form, you realized you may have overstepped the line. 

“Who are you here with?” He asked, leaning down to your ear. Your eyes glanced around the bar and you didn’t see Childe. “Are you here alone?”

“Not alone...” You slurred. The man reached down to slip a hand onto your waist and you flinched away, nearly stumbling to the floor. He caught you fall with a strong arm and pulled you close. You were dangerously close to his face now. “My boyfriend...he’s...”

“Your boyfriend?” The man continued, “I don’t see your boyfriend.”

“Well, turn around.”

Hearing Childe’s voice made your heart sink. The man’s hold on your loosened and you wiggled away, immediately going around him. Childe looked hurt but you didn’t have time to explain yourself before he stepped towards the man. 

“I wouldn’t mess with me,” He said harshly, “I’m the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger.” 

The man looked Childe up and down and smirked even more, “You? Why, you’re just a scrawny little thing.” 

“Stop fighting!” You tried, your vision hazy from the alcohol. Before you knew it, you were stepping in between the men just as Childe swung at the man. Instead of colliding with his nose like he intended, Childe’s fist smashed against your jaw and you cried out. 

A silence grew over the crowd and Childe stared at you in shock. You stumbled for a moment and clutched your face, lingering pain seething through your skin. You regained your balance and looked up at Childe’s horrified face, “It’s okay-” 

Before you could get another word out, Childe turned on his heel and left the bar without a sound. 

kaeya

he was careless

he liked to drink (a lot) and alcohol tended to mess with your logic and reasoning

whenever you two fought, he was usually intoxicated

and it was the same every time: fight when he’s drunk, you make him sleep on the couch, he wakes up sober the next morning and puts two and two together and then surprises you with homemade breakfast or flowers to say he was sorry

every now and then, though, kaeya didn’t know when to stop

“Kaeya, just calm down.” 

He was drunk, even more than usual. He could hardly stand up straight and you had to hoist his body against yours just to get him home. Now he was picking you apart for something you said days ago, slamming kitchen cabinets and making a tremendous scene in front of you. 

“You’re...the most selfish, irritating, two-faced bitch...” He slurred. You spun around at that, your eyes narrow with anger. 

“And you’re an arrogant drunk whose too shallow to care about anyone but himself,” You shot back. You didn’t mean what you said and you were sure Kaeya didn’t either but the tension was too high to talk about that now. 

You waited for Kaeya’s reply. Instead of throwing back a snarky insult, he stepped closer to you. Your body tensed, your back straightening and your arms flat against your side. You knew the words that came out of your mouth next were unwarranted but, frankly, you were getting scared.

“What? Now you’re going to fucking hit me?” 

When nothing happened, you took a step backwards. Kaeya wasn’t moving anymore and a look of hurt crossed his face. Your stomach dropped and you reached out to him but he shrugged your hand away. 

“Kaeya, I didn’t mean that. I just-” 

“You really thought I was going to hit you?” He asks, his voice cracking. It was almost like he sobered up completely in that moment alone. Your jaw was tight and you didn’t know what to say. “I’m not that low of a person, Y/N.” 

You slept on the couch that night. 

diluc

never in a million years would you think diluc would ever hurt you

he was such a gentleman and loved you dearly

he was even notorious for breaking up altercations between couples when things were getting serious

so when your fight escalated past anything you had ever experienced before, you were stunned

It was you that initiated the violence. You felt something explode into you when Diluc made a rather nasty comment and in that moment, you needed to feel some relief. 

A wine bottle falls to the floor of the Winery, shattering instantly and sending glass across the room. You both stare at the mess of glass and alcohol. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Diluc hisses, looking between you and the broken bottle on the ground. His tone was becoming increasingly more vicious which only fueled your inner turmoil. 

 You ignore him and step away from the glass, heading towards the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

“Like hell you are, Y/N! We aren’t done here!” 

You whip around to face him. “What else do you fucking want, Diluc? Do you want me to get on my fucking knees and tell you that you’re right?” 

Diluc runs a hand through his unruly hair, his ponytail long forgotten. He walks up to you briskly and grabs your wrist, yanking you towards him. You stumble down the first few steps towards him. “Can you be bothered to listen to me for just ten seconds?” 

“Let go of me.” 

“Not until you calm down,” Diluc says. His grip on your wrist tightens. 

“Diluc, let go of me! You’re fucking hurting me!”  

At that, Diluc releases your wrist. His hand falls down to his side as you pull yours to your chest, frowning and rubbing out the squeezed skin. He stares at you for a moment before turning around, his back facing you completely. 

“Just go to bed.” 

[mochideleche]

captain. | t.oikawa

oikawa x reader

-> synopsis :  you didn't really want to be on seijoh girls volleyball team, let alone become captain. But as a good hearted and dedicated student, you accept the responsibilities that come with the role, especially when it comes to dealing with the boys’ team captain.

A/N Thank you so much for all the love you gave the last one, i didn’t really think people would read it >w<, and a special thank you to this lovely lot, your comments honestly made me so happy <3 : @winchtr-67 @dancing-in-the-rain54 @theduvetpirate @sailorscout1902 @weebintheinternet @alexthe80swhore @juns-random-world 

“So you down for tonight?” 

you catch the ends of a conversation as you approach your classroom.

“Of course I am, who would turn down ramen?” 

Oh gosh, is it too late to turn back? you think inwardly as you cringe your eyes closed.

You turn the corner and you see 4 figures crowded around the door to your class. Slowly, you approach them, your heart beginning to pound against your ribcage. 

“I mean we haven’t gone out for your celebratory meal yet” you hear matsukawa say, “it would be a waste not to go out for ramen”

Awkwardly you come to stand near them, you didn’t want to interrupt the conversation and bring attention to yourself but they were in the way. 

“Oh, hey Y/N” Iwaizumi greets and you send him a smile. 

At this point the three other boys’ heads turn to you, all giving you a small greeting too,

well except for one...

“Why, if it isn’t Y/N-chan!” oikawa muses which seems to surprise his friends more than it does you. 

“Y/N-chan?” matsukawa asks suspiciously, looking in between you and the offending nickname user, but this comment seems to just go over Oikawa’s head. 

“So, you all better now?” he questions, his smile softening as his eyes flick down to your arms which were hanging by your sides. 

You follow his gaze and immediately understand, “never better” you say quietly.

He smiles at you cheerily, eyes almost shut. You couldn’t help but redirect your gaze away from his face, you could already feel yours heating up. In the process of which, you catch the three other boys throwing looks of utter confusion at each other, it only made you heat up more. 

“SO” hanamaki says, clapping his hands to try to clear the really awkward tension in the air, “ramen after practice for oikawa’s promotion to captain?”

the three boys nod. they were still in the way. 

“Hey, Y/N you should come too, i mean, you got chosen to become captain too right?” Iwaizumi says and you find it difficult to answer. 

It was nice of him to offer but you’d just feel a bit out of place. 

and a certain someone would be there too.

“Thank you, but this seems like a boys thing” you reason, hoping he’d take the bait and brush off his previous statement.

“Nah, it’s fine, the more the merrier right? ” Hanamaki exclaims, “and besides” he continues, slinging his arm around oikawa who stumbles slightly, caught off guard by the other boy’s weight, “oikawa will pay for everything” 

You tried not to laugh after seeing the incredulous expression that formed onto the captain’s face, “why me! i’m the celebratee, if anything it should be you lot paying for my food!” he bursts, shoving Hanamaki’s arm off his neck.

And then the two of them erupt into a boyish squabble and you take this as your que to leave.

You quickly dodge past oikawa and hanamaki who were now poking fingers at each other and duck under iwaizumi’s arm which was resting on the door frame who kindly manoeuvres slightly so you don’t have to squeeze past. 

“hey Y/N!” you hear Iwaizumi call and you turn back.

“You are coming right?” he questions, momentarily looking to glare at the bickering boys who were now grabbing at each other.

Were you? 

but why wouldn’t you want to go? you’re friendly enough with Iwaizumi, matsukawa and hanamaki. it was just...

but you were friendly with oikawa now (if you can call it that), so what was the big deal?

hm, maybe it’s because you want to hate him so badly but you’re scared you’re starting to catch feelings for him-

“sure” you let out, almost regretting it immediately. 

it was ridiculous the way you were thinking and you needed to get over yourself. 

he’s just a useless flirt, you say to yourself. there's no need to get all mushy over his actions, no matter how special they make you feel.

“i’ll go” you finish, as you see a small smile appear on iwaizumi’s face before he runs out into the hallway to kick both Oikawa’s and hanamaki’s asses. 

--

After practice you find yourself standing embarrassingly in front of the girls’ clubroom as you open the door to be faced with 4 extremely tall 3rd years.

you take forever to change, they must’ve been there for long. 

“I’m sorry i made you wait” you say, rushing to lock the door but you’re followed up with a jumble of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘it’s fine’

“You take less time than oikawa” matsukawa lets out and oikawa shrugs accepting this fact. 

“Beauty takes time my friend” he explains, taking the lead as the four of you begin to make your way out of school. 

The restaurant you were eating at was about a 5 minute walk from school. It was one of those family owned small street side restaurants that made you feel like you were eating in your own kitchen. With loving grandmas, cramped tables and the smell of food sitting heavily in the air, there was no other way you’d want to spend your friday. 

Upon reaching the place you allowed yourself to fall behind, trying to avoid an awkward situation. That being, ending up having to sit next to oikawa. 

It wouldn’t be good for your heart. 

The four of you helped yourselves to a table and you stuck close iwaizumi hoping he’d somehow serve as a barrier between you and the curly haired boy. 

alas, he isn’t a mind reader. 

He was gentlemanly enough to usher you in the booth first and it had seemed like your plan had worked. You happily shuffle along as much as you could, placing your bag down at your feet. But as soon as you felt a figure bump next to you, your heart jumped at the thought of having to spend the night next to him. 

“So, what are you getting?” Oikawa asks you, chin resting on his hand as you twists his head to look at you. 

does he always have to stare at you like that? as if he finds you amusing? 

“Haven’t decided yet” you mumble out, taking the menu and lifting it up enough so that he couldn’t see your face. 

Thankfully he avoids any other conversation as the waiter comes to take your drink orders. 

you spend your time behind your menu inefficiently. Instead of pondering of what to eat, you ponder on how the hell you’re meant to calm down. Barely ten minutes had past and you were already fighting the urge to leave, you needed to get your shit together, get over yourself and enjoy this supposed celebration on your newly crowned captainship. 

In the end, you pick what you normally get, not feeling too brave to try something new. And with your appetite increasing by the minute, you wanted to know that what your ordered would satisfy your hunger. 

“Thank you for the food” the four of you call out as your order arrives. And a flurry of arms float around the table at an instant; reaching over for their meals, shuffling drinks and napkins, passing out chopsticks and snapping them open. 

You however, mostly keep to yourself; content with just sitting by the wall and eating with your elbows tucked in as to not bump into the pretty boy next to you. 

As a girl, you ate very delicately which was a sight to see amongst the rowdy boys that surround you. 

Each one of them had removed their blazers, their sleeves rolled up and their ties thrown over their shoulders to avoid falling into their ramen. You even catch that iwaizumi and matsukawa have one of their legs bent up on the chairs, allowing them to rest their elbows on their knees. 

And in your line of sight you also see oikawa’s arms. 

Now he was a tall and thin boy, typical for a volleyball player, but with someone whose serves leave bruises that last a week, you could expect him to have pretty ripped biceps. 

You could see the way his muscles flex underneath smooth tanned arms as he lifted his bowl closer to his face and the way that his folded sleeves seem to fit firmly on his shoulders and the skin peaking underneath. 

They weren’t exactly bulging but they were toned enough to have you staring long enough for oikawa to finally notice. 

His eyes flicker to the side and you quickly avert your gaze into you bowl. 

Ah shit, you inwardly scream as you feel yourself heating up. 

“What you staring at Y/N-chan?” Oikawa smirks, teasing you in a mocking tone. 

You see at the corner of your vision that the question pikes the attention of the others, their eyes on you now too. 

Was oikawa really going to make you say what you were doing out loud, in front of everyone????

“hmm?” he teases again, bowing his head a little to look into your face which was still fixated on the almost empty ramen bowl in front of you. 

You finally let your eyes turn to him, head tilting slightly so that it almost brings you nose to nose with the egotistical flirt beside you.

God you just wanted to shove that stupid grin down his throat.

 “how scrawny your arms are” you deadpan, returning to your meal, leaving oikawa’s jaw unhinging and an eruption of laughter to spurt up around you. 

“MY ARMS ARE NOT SCRAWNY!” oikawa pouts, trying to over bear the cackles from the other three boys. 

“mhmm” you hum, smiling small as to not break your stoic expression (just to up the levels of savageness) 

“Look, see for yourself,” he whines, and you find his arm being shoved into your face and you bring your head back in surprise, “feel my arm, it’s toned! see!” 

You finally let yourself laugh too, iwaizumi nearly choking on his food at oikawa’s added outburst. 

you couldn’t help but feel slightly bad, he seemed pretty riled up because of your comment, but he must surely know you’re joking right? 

You pat the boy’s arm, “no need to be upset toru” and you send him a sweet smile. 

The look of offence melts off his face in an instant as his expression turns into one of soft surprise. you wondered what you did wrong but then notice the abrupt silence. 

The whole table had their eyes on you, wide as saucers. 

“What-”

“Oh Y/N-chan” Oikawa cuts, the slight falter in his theatrics immediately disappearing, making you wonder if you had imagined it, “i know you think my arms are incredibly hot, so don’t be shy, you can caress them anytime you want”

As flustered as you are, you manage to bring your finger up to your mouth and gag, “no thanks” 

The laughter is back, and you’re extremely glad for it. 

But you did however find your anxiety coming back when later on in the evening when you hear hanamaki whisper over to matsukawa, “she called him toru” 

---

“So how’s your team going?” Iwaizumi asks you.

you nod, “we’ve got some pretty good first years” you let out. 

Gosh you hated talking about volleyball with them. You hated how you always felt so inferior and you knew they didn’t think that way at all. But with you constantly being reminded of how great the boys’ team was, it was hard not to feel jealous every time they talked about their club. You wanted to be able to show how hard your girls worked, how talented they were and that they had every right to be praised just as much as the boys were. 

You wanted to talk about your team to them too, but you didn’t want them to know how much you were struggling. 

Iwaizumi nods in response and brings his hands up behind his head, “we’ve got some pretty good first years too, some of them even made it to the starting line up” and he turns to oikawa who’s walking in pace on the otherside of you. 

“Yeah they’re pretty impressive,” oikawa says, eyes closed and palms up, “but there’s always room for improvement” 

You can’t help but agree, “yeah, there are a bunch of other teams who’ve been upping their game these past few years,” you comment, remembering how last year you had just barely lost to niyaami girls.

“Yeah,” oikawa responds, and you notice how his hands are clenched by his sides, “there are other teams who are improving far too much for my taste” 

You glance at his face from the corner of your eyes, his jaw is set and there's a determined look in his eyes. You’re wondering who exactly he’s talking about.

But your attention is dragged from your thoughts as iwaizumi begins to stray from your side.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow-”

You soon realise he’s moving to walk down the road you're passing but he stops and scrunches his eyebrows. 

You’re confused as to why he’s so perplexed but notice how he’s not staring at you, but oikawa. He slowly raises his eyebrow as he turns to face you and stuffs his hands in his pockets. 

you have a feeling a message is sent to oikawa with his eyes and you turn to the tall boy next to you to see the lingering motions of him jutting his chin forward. 

“See you guys later” he calls, finally turning around and flashing you a smile as he begins to walk down his road. 

The two of you watch him for a bit before oikawa starts to move again, “it looks like i’m walking you home then, come on” 

that's it? no teasing, no flirting, just him being nice?

The two of you walk in silence. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, more like you’d both come to the acceptation that there was nothing that you could talk about. 

And shortly, you begin to realise that he has no idea where he’s going. 

With his longer legs, his pace is a bit faster than yours and you can’t help but notice how he was constantly having to intermittently slow down just so you wouldn’t be left behind.  

You note that how every time you reach a corner, there's a slight pause in his step, his feet staying stationary as he waits for you, watching out of the corner of his eyes for you to either walk past or turn. It’s kind of endearing how he wants to take the lead but refuses to ask for directions. 

“Congratulations” he says suddenly and you’re lost for a reply.

“What for?” 

“Becoming captain of course” he says as if it was plainly obvious, with the slight upturn in his voice which was so characteristic of him.  

You feel a slight smile make its way onto your face, “thank you, you too” 

You hear him hum contently as the two of you fall into silence again. Was that an attempt at igniting a conversation? and you just put it out in a flash. 

whoops. 

The small smile naturally begins to disappear as you find yourself contemplating on the fact you were now captain. A whole team to carry on your shoulders, you thought. and how was that going so far?

Deep down you felt as if you didn’t deserve to be captain, you had no intention of carrying on with volleyball after high school. it felt wrong that such an honourable position had been bestowed upon you. 

“You’re frowning” Oikawa states and you look up towards him.

“What?”

He smiles but its lopsided as if he’s struggling, “is there something bothering you?” 

How is he so observant? not just on the court but in ordinary situations like this too. He was so good at what he did, you felt more complied to be envious of him than to praise him. And the fact that his praises were making their way to your ears almost every day by his adoring fans caused you to lean towards the prior more.

This guy could read you like an open book and it made you feel so exposed. 

If he read you, would he soon realise it’s him at the core of all your worries? 

You spot how he’s fiddling with the strap of his bag, and his smile is now straining slightly- it’s awkward and more importantly, most likely fake.

You turn away to save the both of you the embarrassment and only to be relived to see a familiar set of brick wall and garden plants. 

“Oh, this is my house” you say, coming to a stop and fixating your gaze on oikawa. 

“Ah, I see” he comments quietly and you can’t help but think that something’s off. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow” you call, opening the gate to your house and standing inside as your stare at oikawa who hasn’t moved yet.

One second,

two seconds,

three seconds,

“Yeah,” he says, and his face lights up that you wondered what on earth he was thinking about, “I’ll see you tomorrow, goodnight Y/N” and he throws you one of his cheery smiles.

You were so relived to see him acting like the flamboyant self he was that you actually smile back at him, “ goodnight oikawa” 

You let the gate fall shut behind you, the front porch light finally sensing movement and flooding the courtyard in a sombre yellow light. 

he didn’t call you Y/N-chan, he just called you Y/N.

---

Wednesday. 

gosh you wish you could say that you nearly forgot but to be honest it was the only thing you could think about. 

It was constantly on your mind. in fact when one of your new firsts years asked you how their serve was, you were in the middle of mulling over what exactly oikawa was planning to do and blurted out ‘wednesday’ in a panic.

Luckily, she thought nothing of it, but your fellow third years did. 

And that led to a very colourful explanation on to which the two girls could only laugh at the ironicalness of the situation.

“Maybe it’s karma for you bad mouthing oikawa all the time” Ara comments and you roll your eyes at the incredulousness.

“It’s nothing. I can deal with it then i’m done” you mumble, prodding a volleyball that had rolled to you with your foot, “and i don’t badmouth him all the time” 

“sure you don’t” mitsuah joins, immediately avoiding your gaze as your glare at her. 

and the teasing didn’t stop there. When you offered to close the clubroom and let the others go home early, your vice captain and setter were making love hearts with their hands and calling out, “have fun~” over their shoulders.

It bugged you that they thought extra training with oikawa automatically meant the two of you were dating.

It would be nice though wouldn’t it?

you stop in the midst of locking the door, your hands stuck on the key and your grip around the door handle going limp. 

did you really just say that?

you didn’t even think oikawa dated. For a person who had so many fangirls to pick from he hadn’t had that many relationships. One at best you remember, you think it was an older girl you couldn’t recall. But, if he wanted to date, there was plenty of chance to. 

You shake the thoughts off, telling yourself to calm down however, when you enter gym 1, there’s a frown on your face and the words ‘useless flirt’ are swimming laps in your head. 

“Y/N-chan, you made it, i was worried you wouldn’t come” oikawa greets, his signature smile plastered on his face but he tilts his head and furrows his brows, “what’s up with you?”

You try your best to releax your features your weren’t even aware were contorted into a look of depressed confusion, “nothing”

you’re glad the boy only lets out a ‘huh” as you approach, trying your best not to look at him. 

just. a. useless. FLIRT.

“Well,” he starts, clapping his hands together, “I was wondering if your could hit some of my sets for me, would you?” he asks but you can’t help to feel like its more of a demand. 

You simply nod in response, as you watch him pull the ball trolley closer to the back line. You follow in pursuit, taking your time to examine his back. 

You can see the sweat causing his shirt to stick to his skin, and the dark patches that already seem to be drying due to the cool night air drifting through the open door. 

“So all you have to do is spike the ball, i’ll set it up for you okay?”  Oikawa says, turning around to face you once he had placed the trolley at the back.

You nod silently as he smiles and begins to make his way to the net, “oh and would you do me a favour?” he calls over his shoulder, “could you spike with your left hand?” 

hm, what a strange request. But of course you had no need to know why and not really want him to talk anymore, you kept your mouth shut. 

You only nod once again but alas, it seems like not saying anything won’t keep him from doing the same. 

“Such an obedient girl” he chuckles under his breath and you cringe at the comment, making an effort to gag and scrunch your face in distaste. 

“Shut up otherwise i’ll throw a ball at your head” you grumble, but he doesn’t make any smart remarks to your threat. 

You grab a ball from the trolley and wait for oikawa to get in position, he nods at you, his knees are bent and his eyes are focused on you. His hands are floating by his waist and suddenly you find the mood does a whole 180. 

Volleyball was something that was like second instinct. Everything else just... fades. 

He’s in the zone. 

You must say, you prefer professional oikawa to the flirty front he has on most of the time.

You throw the ball up towards him and you begin to run. 

With much difficulty actually, just because oikawa was focused, doesn’t mean you were. you had to try to keep your eyes in front of you and not on him, concentrating very hard not to trip over and fall flat on your face before you even pass the line. 

You find yourselves inching closer to the net, and your feet begin to push down into the floor and your knees unhinge, springing your body into the air. 

Out of the corner of  your eye you see the ball on its course- it’s soaring towards you but it’s slightly low. you bring your arm down just a tiny bit, not ideal for hitting hard but your palm makes contact with the ball either way and sends it into the floor of the other side. 

Your feet land again and as you stand up straight you turn to oikawa , “you lowered the net” 

“Well of course,” he charms, but his face doesn’t hold the same amused smile. you realise that he’s being genuinely confused as to why your asking what seems like an obvious question, “I wouldn’t have you not spiking at 100%, what’s the use of a net that’s too high?”  

You smile at him, surprised at the small act of kindness. You don’t know why but you still can’t get over the fact that this guy is actually nice. 

“That ball was a little low wasn’t it?” he continues, and you nod in response. 

“I’ll do it higher this time but that was still a very good spike” he smiles cheerfully and with that repositions himself and you do the same, heading back to the end of the court.

You did the same thing, threw the ball up, ran, jumped and spiked. 

The first ball was too low, the second was slightly too high. 

But the third was perfect. 

and so was the fourth, the fifth, the sixth-

“you’re honestly incredible” you let slip, after hitting the seventh perfect set in a row. 

The minute it slipped out of your mouth, you regretted it. He obviously knew that, he must've had half the school telling him but when you turn to see the shy blush painted across his cheeks, you find yourself shocked more than anything else. 

“Thanks” he says and you scrunch your eyes in confusion. 

“You act as if you don’t know that” you blurt, not knowing why you chose to say this thought out loud. 

Oikawa turns to look at you and brings his hand to rub the back of his neck, “well- people tell me all the time but i can’t help but feel it’s not genuine. Don’t get me wrong, i’m grateful that they say these nice things to me but- coming from you, well- you’re a great player and a good captain too, so that means a lot to me” 

you feel your scrunched eyebrows relaxing and you suddenly feel bad. 

Who knew that Toru Oikawa was so insecure? 

“Hey,” you began, not knowing what the hell you were doing but- it was too late to turn back now. 

You barely knew this boy and comforting him felt so strange and unfamiliar. did you really have a place to tell oikawa that he should be happy he’s lucky to be so gifted with such skills and be acknowledged for it?

But the look he was giving you completely caught you off guard. there was no flirtiness, no cheekiness and no smug smile hat made you feel like he found you amusing. He was looking up at you through his eyelashes, eyes wide and soft like a lost puppy; face relaxed from any arrogant expression and one that made him look ever so vunerable. 

“I don’t know if you know but you’re one of the best players in miyagi. I don’t really know how you do in volleyball since we barely know each other, but people don’t talk about you for no reason, you know?” you finished meekly, starting to feel a little bit embarrassed at your lame excuse for a pep talk. 

“All I’m saying is, that I think you're an amazing player and that you should give yourself more credit” 

You then began to turn around, trying to brush off the fact that you had just complimented him ; you expected a snarky remark or some sort of teasing but by the time you had reached the back line all you received was 

“thank you Y/N” 

[kickasskody]

                          DAKOTA ‘ kody ’ PIERCE, a character study.  “just because i cannot see it, doesn’t mean i cannot believe it.” -- jack skellington

Character’s full name: dakota pierce Reason for name and/or meaning of name: kody’s parents met and fell in love in north dakota, and decided to name their son after the great state 💖 Character’s nickname: kody Reason for nickname: in middle school, kody didn’t think the name dakota was cool. but the name kody, the most generic white boy name ever , was definitely cool Birth date: december 13th, 2002. baby sagittarius 

Physical appearance Faceclaim: austin abrams Gender: cis male Height: 5″8 #shortking Build: scrawny boy body. looks like he couldn’t lift more than 30 pounds... PSYCH!!! he’s a vampire so he can actually lift several hundred pounds 🤪🤪🤪 Eye color: blue with little dark green specks Glasses or contacts?: not with that snazzy 4k vampire sight !! Distinguishing marks/scars: funny little frecklescape on his back that looks like this emoji 😦 Hair color: dirty blonde Type of hair: type 1, aka straight hair Hairstyle: gets up out of bed, looks in mirror. maybe tussles it a little bit. thats it Physical disabilities: none Mental disabilities: adhd Clothing style: sweaters sweaters sweaters. striped sweaters ( because the best time to wear one is all the time ), disney sweaters, sweaters with dogs on them. white collared shirts to go underneath most of them. denim jackets, a couple of them tattering with holes in the elbows. black skinny jeans -- like he owns four pairs of the same black skinny jeans. someone tell him that skinny jeans aren’t in style anymore. uses the same jansport backpack he’s had since the eighth grade with a sewn in epcot center patch on the front pocket. dirty checkered vans. falling apart high-top converse. it’s not that he’s poor and can’t afford new things, he just prefers all his old stuff.  Make up: has never worn any but wouldn’t be opposed to trying some !!

Personality Good personality traits: good at secret keeping, friendly and uplifting, loyal, thoughtful, great memory, cautious, playful. chaotic good energy  🥰 Bad personality traits: gullible, slightly obnoxious, constantly confused, easily distracted Mood character is most often in: cheery, happy as f, practically bouncing off the walls Sense of humor: goddamn hilarious!!! at least he thinks so lol Articulation: loud and occasionally stuttery. repeating himself pretty often. the type to get lost in the middle of conversation and have to take a second to mentally loop back and remember what exactly they were talking about. uses the word ‘ like ‘ way too much. talks with his hands a whole lot. constantly talking like he’s a kooky disney character on a mission. Character’s greatest joy in life: riding a mf’in roller coaster Character’s greatest fear: disneyworld getting blown up / physically hurting someone  Character is most at ease when: he’s curled up with his friends watching a disney movie Most ill at ease when: he’s laying in bed at night, pretending he’s sleeping since he can’t Enraged when: thinking about how there are vampires in bridgemead -- that they could turn other people, kill other people, or worse... harm his friends.  Depressed or sad when: drinking from a blood bag. watching disney pixar’s coco. thinkin’ about a disneyworld churro and how he’ll never be able to enjoy the taste of one again. Priorities: at the moment? trying not to hurt anybody.  Life philosophy: “Keep Moving Forward!” -- walt disney said that Greatest strength: his optimism / ability to take something sad or bad and turn it around! Greatest vulnerability or weakness: giving just about anyone the benefit of the doubt. 

Goals Drives and motivations: getting enough money to be able to travel the world and visit every disney park on the planet.  Immediate goals: graduating high school / helping the scooby gang solve mysteries Long term goals: roller coaster designer / engineer. create a haunted house / rollercoaster hybrid ride

Childhood Hometown: orlando, florida Type of childhood: the kind where he’s an only child, where his middle class parents live to please and spoil him, take him to whatever amusement park he wanted to go to and buy him all the best merch. the smile on his face was worth more than anything they ever could’ve purchased for themselves. kody probably would’ve had siblings, but his parents had complications getting pregnant again, and thus they lived to make sure he had the best life possible.  Pets: a cat named toulouse ( shoutout aristocats ), but he passed when kody was fifteen Most important childhood memory: waiting in line for five hours to ride harry potter and the forbidden journey at universal studios orlando. blew his little kid mind. Dream job: imagineer!! Religion: non-practicing christians. church on easter and christmas ONLY!

Present Current location: bridgemead, massachusetts Currently living with: his parents 💖 Pets: none Religion: agnostic Sexuality: currently questioning his sexuality. growing up he always felt attracted to both boys and girls, but has never been able to articulate it. he’s only ever expressed interest in women, but he has a fat crush on chris evans as captin america Politics: would be socialist if he cared enough to think about politics Occupation/education: bridgemead high school super senior Mode of transportation: his parents dark blue prius!! but only thursday - sunday

Family Parent one: marcus pierce -- drug store manager Relationship with them: kody and his dad are best buds! if it weren’t for his fathers love for rollercoasters, kody doesn’t know what his life would be like today. they used to play rollercoaster tycoon growing up and kody still cherishes those memories today. Parent two: tina pierce -- bridgemead city manager Relationship with them: kody and his mother have a very loving relationship. however, kody’s adoration for his mother dwindled when it was her job that forced them to move to bridgemead. he thinks of it as her fault that he doesn’t get to go to disneyworld anymore, and there’s a bitter part of him that thinks that if she hadn’t made them leave, he never would’ve become a vampire. he knows its wrong to attribute her to his curse, but sometimes when he’s really sad he cant help it.  Siblings: none Other important family members: his widowed aunt shirley who lives twenty minutes from disneyworld and occasionally would join them on their weekend visits to the parks. he misses her greatly 😩😩

Favorites Color: that bright electric blue color on the cinderella castle at disneyworld  Music: electronic Food: a disneyworld churro.  Film: the incredibles / scooby doo 2002 Drink: pink lemonadde mixed with sprite Form of entertainment: disney+ subscription. if that’s all he had, he’d be content. Most prized possession: a magic kingdom two day passport ticket from the 1980′s

Habits Hobbies: playing rollercoaster tycoon / designing rollercoasters on his computer. obsessively watching ghost club paranormal on youtube. bothering aj with the latest thing on his mind that she definitely doesn’t need to know about Plays a musical instrument?: nope. wishes he could though!  Plays a sport?: nope, but would be great at track now that he’s a vampire! How he would spend a rainy day: playing kingdom hearts II in his pajamas. Spending habits: great at hoarding all of his allowance! since he’s not spending it on food, he’s an excellent saver. pre-vampirism kody was not as cautious with his spending.  Smoking/drinking/drugs?: no way 🙅🏼 has yet to even try alcohol Extremely skilled at: cheering up his friends! finding the good in others and convincing them to see it too 🤗 Extremely unskilled at: stopping himself from crying when he’s sad / when he’s in the middle of crying. putting together pieces of their investigations. sure, he can find things -- but what the hell is he supposed to do with them once he’s got it?!?! Nervous tics: anxious picking at his cuticles. messing with his hair. aggressive foot tapping. scrolling through his phone without actually looking at anything.  Usual body posture: that boy has been working on rollercoaster code on his computer for YEARS. his body posture is absolutely RUINED! Mannerisms: constantly talking with his hands. bouncin’ around like tigger when something exciting happens. abbreviating things that don’t need to be abbreviated. the loudest in the room at all times.

Traits Optimist or pessimist? Introvert or extrovert? Daredevil or cautious? Logical or emotional? Leader or follower? Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? Prefers working or relaxing? Confident or unsure of himself/herself? Animal lover? HELL YEAH.

Self-perception How do they feels about themselves?: before the year 2020, kody actually quite liked himself! he realized that he was goofy and sometimes not everyones cup of tea, but for the most part, he knew he was a good guy who was a little obnoxious! now, he has mixed feelings about himself. vampirism has elevated a lot of his emotions and more often than not now, he dislikes himself for what he’s become, or what he could become if things turn bloody.  One word the character would use to describe themselves: spunky What does the character consider their best trait?: his compassion What does the character consider their worst trait?: his gullibility  What does the character consider their best physical characteristic?: his fluffy hair !! What does the character consider their worst physical characteristic?: that he’s a short king. stream short kings anthem by tiny meat gang How does the character think others perceive them?: he’s pretty sure most people think that he’s wildly annoying, but that doesn’t stop him from being fully himself most of the time!  What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: his vampirism!! get this shit out of him just make him a normal aging boy again!!

Relationships with others Opinion of other people in general: kody is a big ole’ ball of love, and thus so, he tries to share that with everyone. strangers are treated with compassion, acquaintances are treated as old friends, and friends are treated like family. unless kody already knows someone to be a bad person, or is wary of them, he’s genuinely one of the nicest people one could ever meet. Opinion of the Scooby Gang: talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it. Does the character hide their true opinions and emotions from others?: it depends on the topic, but for the most part, yes. when it comes to most scooby gang related endeavors, kody will share his thoughts -- if it’s something related to movies or tv, he’ll be talking your ear off for hours. if it’s something that could result in it hurting someone else, he’ll be quiet, and if his vampirism was ever to come into question, he’d be absolutely be suppressing it.  Most important person in character’s life: oh god, not to pick scooby gang favorites, but probably aj. she’s the closest thing he has to a sister, and he doesn’t know what he would do without their banter, and her support. Best friend/s: aj darke, dylan frye, & arabella byrne Dating experience: absolutely none. kissed 2 girls in the span of 2 years over 3 years ago. Romancing: kody wouldn’t know the first thing about trying to get someone to date him. all he knows is the stuff he’s seen on tv, watched in movies, or experienced around him ( such as his parents successful marriage, or his friends dating people ), but if it were to come down to him, he’d be extremely awkward. picture tom holland’s spiderman trying to talk to zendaya’s mj in far from home -- because that’s extremely accurate. kody isn’t trying to date anyone right now for a couple of reasons: one being that he’s too nervous, and not exactly looking for love, but if it were to happen... he wouldn’t run from it necessarily. but two being that his vampirism creates a bit of a problem for him, and he’s not sure if he should subject anyone to the curse he’s stuck with.

Extra Physicality: if necessary, could probably lift a car and throw it down the street. as of right now, doesn’t know how strong he really is / is more concerned about hurting his friends with this supposed strength than he is finding out how many hundreds of pounds he could lift. kody in a fight? probably losing within the first five seconds, unless bloods drawn and the instinct to pounce takes over. Species: vampire How do they feel about it?: hates it. would do anything to reverse it. wishes he had just stayed a little longer at karma cafe that night. or had never gone at all. How do they look in their supernatural form?: pretty much the same, however when he’s hungry and near blood, his eyes go all dark and bloodshot, and the veins around his eyes start to pulse ( basically just like vampire diaries ), but kody is unaware of this since he’s never seen it happen to himself or another vampire

[reneeofthestars]

At What Cost

A D&D short story

*       *       *

Another fissure split the stone wall to the left, sand spilling into the vast chamber. The slanted slate floor had disappeared completely as sand burst from the crumbling walls of the temple, cascading towards the center of the chamber, where it tumbled into a yawing pit.

Malnissa spat out sand and pulled her bandana over her mouth and nose as she stumbled again. Coarse grains rubbed against her skin, caught in the folds of her dark clothes and held beneath her studded armor. It was taking all her concentration not to be swept away, but her limbs moved like lead. The fight with the scorpion construct had exhausted her, and there’d been no time to rest.

She tried to call out, but the rushing sand was so loud, she could barely hear herself think. Three of her companions had galloped past on the sand striders they’d stolen. None of them bothered to stop their mechanical horses and help her. She cursed them, then cursed again as she lost her footing. She scrambled to right herself, briefly touching the rapier at her hip.

Her bag and bow could be replaced. But the rapier – with the open eye on its pommel – was irreplaceable. A burning bush had given it to her. She hadn’t thought anything of it until the weapon started speaking in her mind, calling itself Watcher.  

Of course, the rapier itself might not be necessary anymore.

She could barely make out the archway across the chamber that indicated the exit. There was still one hallway after this door – or was it two? She couldn’t remember. Ahead of her, a dark, flailing shape caught her eye. Dug. The scrawny half-orc was making as much progress as she was. So, their companions had abandoned both of them. She would remember that. If she made it out of here alive, that is.

One of the remaining pillars was a little ways off, and Malnissa struggled towards it. If she could just reach it, she could rest for a minute, come up with a plan. Her vision blurred as she lurched through the rushing sand, her muscles ached. It may have taken minutes, or seconds – all Malnissa knew was the moment her hands hit stone, and her fingers dug into the grooves of the carved pillar.

Gasping, she hauled herself to the side of the structure, so the cascading sand pushed her into the stone. It was the only thing keeping her from being sent tumbling into the abyss. Why there was a pit in the middle of a chamber, Malnissa didn’t want to know.

Dug’s green skin stood out against the yellow sand, still trying to high-step to the exit. Malnissa’s gut twisted as she saw just how far the archway still was. Her legs burned with exhaustion, and the sand was still tumbling from ever-growing fissures in the walls. There was no way she could make it.

Well… no way she could make it alone.

She felt the rapier at her side, its weight a reminder, an offer. She’d already called on him once today, and wasn’t sure if he’d appreciate being bothered a second time; she still wasn’t quite sure what being fiend-pact involved.

But Malnissa was desperate.

“Any bright ideas?” she spat, directing her attention inward.

There was a moment of silence, then a voice spoke. It was the strangest feeling; it sparked in her mind like a lit coal, and her mind felt crowded. I do have an idea, yes, it said. The voice was less friendly than when he had called himself Watcher, but he had no reason to deceive her anymore. He was K’dol; a pit fiend, a powerful entity of the Nine Hells. At least, that’s what he’d told her, right before she agreed to give him part of her soul and to act as a vessel, in exchange for his power and protection. He’d proved useful time and again; so far, it was a fair exchange.

I can get us out. But I used most of my strength to fight the scorpion guardian of the temple. I need to draw more power.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

I need you to secure the power I need.

“Okay, sure, good!” Malnissa yelped as she almost lost her grip on the pillar. “What do I do?”

Kill the one called Dug.

Malnissa froze, her feet almost swept out from under her. “What?”

He is useless. He will not make it out of this temple, no matter what happens. We may as well use his death to our advantage.

Malnissa held on to the pillar as she watched Dug flounder in the sand ahead of her.

You are an assassin. Consider this another job.

Yes, she was an assassin. But the blundering half-orc hadn’t wronged her. In fact, he’d proved quite useful in numerous situations. And he was the only one who knew of her pact with K’dol. Malnissa didn’t have many morals, but she drew the line on killing people she considered friends.

She gritted her teeth. “No. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll figure out something myself.”

Hm. Interesting. Something in K’dol’s voice made her hair stand on end. He sounded… displeased.

Malnissa took a deep breath, eyeing the distance between herself and the next pillar, wondering if she could tie a rope to an arrow, then shoot –

Unfortunately, K’dol hissed, I am not willing to be trapped down here for the next thousand years waiting for the next adventurer to find your corpse.

Suddenly her mind split with fire, a searing presence forcing its way into her consciousness, she felt herself being pushed aside, she lost her grip on the pillar, everything went white –

Then there was darkness.

  K’dol awoke again.

This time, though, he felt drained. Taking control used an absurd amount of energy. Or perhaps it was the half-elf that was exhausted; she was being pushed to her physical limits in this place.  He had already controlled her once today, with her permission, to help slay the temple guardian. Taking possession by force – though his will was far stronger than the mortal’s – had drained him even further.

Now, there was no choice. Dug must die.

Buffeted on all sides by sand, K’dol hauled himself – Malnissa’s body, but it was his, for now – a bit higher onto the pillar. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he whistled; a shrill, piercing sound, muffled by the sand.

The moments ticked by, and K’dol began to wonder if any remained, when a stand strider finally trotted into view. The horse-like construct easily crossed the terrain, halting beside him. K’dol mounted it easily and took the reins, and the cascading sand no longer bothered him. The construct galloped forward, and K’dol drew the rapier. It had served as an adequate vessel, but Malnissa served better.

Dug must have sensed him coming. He twisted around, his thin face screwed in concentration. His beady eyes travelled from the rapier in K’dol’s hand to his face. Almost drowned out by the sound of falling sand, Dug uttered a knowing, “Oh.” before K’dol plunged the blade into his chest.

Immediately, the half-orc’s lifeforce snapped out of his body, and K’dol seized it, drawing it in as it crackled through his essence, invigorating him. It was a fraction of the power he could possess, but it would do for now.

He withdrew the rapier, the blade stained with blood. Dug’s lifeless body keeled over, immediately swallowed by the sand and swept away into the pit.

K’dol raised a hand to his head, adjusting the hood, and bumped against two small horns protruding from the skull. Malnissa kept them hidden beneath the cowl, but they had grown. It felt as though they mimicked his own horns – when he was in his true form, that is.

He smirked. She had been so willing to accept his offer. It had been clear from the beginning that she had no experience with the arcane, or with anything beyond this plane. Malnissa had no idea of the power he was capable of. And K’dol had every intention of using that to his advantage.

K’dol took the reins and swung the sand strider’s head around. He couldn’t maintain control of his host indefinitely, but he had a little while left, and he was interested in one of her companions. The warlock seemed keen to invoke old powers, and K’dol had some old friends among the Elemental Lords that would pay dearly to have a living host. He intended to offer the warlock an introduction. And if he refused, K’dol would simply take his lifeforce.

K’dol had waited long enough. It was time to begin putting his plan into motion.

[kitten-anarchy]

based off of this post I made a while back

basically it’s an au where harold jenkins survives the end of the world and ends up bumping into little Number Five

Five’s not sure how long he’s spent sitting there at the base of the rubble, staring at the pale corpses of his siblings who’d been alive just days earlier. He hasn’t let go of the brick he plucked from Allison’s hair, and it sits heavy in his slack grip. No matter how hard Dolores begs — Five, please, you need to eat something, you need to move — Five can’t bring himself to move. He wants to move, wants to build them a grave, but if he places it, then it’ll be real.

His siblings would actually be dead.

What’s the point? They were his world, though he would never admit it to their faces.

And now he’ll never get the chance to.

Five sucks in another shuddering sob, burying his face into his ash-covered knees. He ran out of tears awhile ago, and now all that’s left is a vaguely painful burning in his eyes. Though, that could always be from the ash or smoke. He might get an eye infection.

Maybe he’ll die.

Does it even matter? He’s the last living person in the world—

“Hello? Kid, are you alright?”

Five shoots up immediately, stumbling back as he stares at the man standing across the rubble. He only has one eye, he realizes, the glass one he found in Luther’s death grip weighing heavily in his pocket. He doesn’t believe in coincidences, but this man... this man doesn’t look like someone who could end the world. He’s scrawny, dressed in a baggy jacket with ratty dark hair and dots of stubble lining his jaw. And the way he holds himself — Five is reminded of Vanya. Shy, quiet little Vanya, who’s body he still can’t find.

Maybe that’s why he ignores Dolores, who’s screaming at him to get away, and lets the man come closer. The man is still talking, hands waving around.

“Oh jeez, this is really bad, huh? But it could be worse! I mean, I haven’t seen anyone else yet, but if we survived, someone else also had to, right?” The man chuckles, surprisingly calm, giving Five a quick once over. “And if not, at least we’ve got each other. I’m Leonard Peabody, though you can just call me Leonard. Who are you?” He seems friendly enough. Maybe the shock of it all hasn’t set in, or maybe he’s just processed it better than Five, which is a little bit more than embarrassing. He can practically hear his father now: A mere civilian has more sense than you, Number Five!

“I’m... Five,” He mutters, wincing at how rusty his voice is from disuse. “How did you—?”

“Wait, wait, sorry,” Leonard cuts him off, digging through the duffel bag slung on his shoulder. He pulls out a water bottle, handing it to him. “Your voice is pretty roughed-up there, bud. Drink as much as you want.”

Five stares at the bottle. “That’s... actual clean water,” he says, and it’s such a stupid thing to get choked up about, but he hadn’t managed to find any in the past few days, and yet here this man was, just giving it out freely. “Why?”

“Well, you’re just a kid from a, well, preparatory school, and you sound awful. I’ve got more in my bunker,” he holds out his hand, motioning Five to follow. “You wanna come with me?”

Don’t do it, Dolores murmurs into his ear, I don’t trust him at all. His eye, Five, his eye!

“I...” Five’s fingers sting, and he realizes he’s still clutching the brick from earlier. “I can’t— I have to build their graves.” He stumbles over to Klaus, who stares unseeing into the distance. The brick weighs heavily in his palm.

He needs to put the brick down.

Five brushes his brother’s dirty, ashy hair back.

He needs to put the brick down.

Klaus has grown up so much in the past seventeen years.

He needs—

Leonard’s hands cover his. Five watches, almost detached, as his calloused hands remove the brick from his loose grip, tossing it aside. It’s bounces slightly, before sliding down the hill and out of Five’s view. “It’s okay. You’re one of the Umbrella kids, aren’t you?”

What?

“I’m so sorry, kid. They must’ve been awful. You don’t have to do anything for them.” Leonard’s tone is gentle, like how one might soothe a scared animal, but his words— his words make Five’s hackles rise.

“Excuse me?” He snaps. Who the hell does this man think he is, insulting his family like that? Sure, they didn’t always get along, but they loved each other like siblings. “My family—“

“Your family never looked for you.” His protests die on his tongue, and Five can only stare as Leonard goes on, almost eagerly. “I don’t want to be harsh, but I think I need to make this clear: they never looked for you. The whole world read your sister’s book—“

“Book...?” Five nearly huffs out a laugh in relief. Neither of his sisters had been much for writing, so Leonard has to be mistaken—

“Yeah, Vanya, I think the author’s name was?” No. No, no, no, no, no. There’s no way. “Yeah, she said that you guys were never really a family, exposed a lot of secrets...“ Vanya? Sweet, mousy little Vanya, who he shared secret glances and rolled eyes with? Vanya, who played him any new songs she’d learned? Vanya, his best friend? “...Five?”

“She... she really said all of that...?” He hates how his voice cracks slightly, hates the pitying look in Leonard’s eyes, hates the familiar knot building in his throat.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Five. You were the brother that ran away... she kind of implied that it was your fault everything fell apart,” He doesn’t— he never— he never wanted to leave forever. Leonard’s hand on his back is a grounding weight, rubbing gentle circles as another sob forces its way out of Five’s mouth. He barely registers Leonard leading him away from the rubble. “Do you want me to show you? I do have her book and some food. We can come back later to bury them.”

“...please.” Five mutters, because there’s no way his little sister, of all people, would’ve said that. Leonard has to be wrong. He has to be. Grabbing Dolores’s wagon, he hesitates for a moment. “Can we... come back to bury them later?”

“Of course.” He smiles, and that’s enough for Five.

Despite Dolores’s protests, Five takes Leonard’s hand, and the two of them walk out together into the wasteland and away from his family.

(Fifty years later, as Five watches the life drain out of Leonard’s— no, Harold’s body, feels Diego’s hand on his shoulder as he drags him away, he realizes they never went back to bury his siblings.)

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hi! Would it be possible to ask if you could write about Arthur? I was thinking about Arthur falling for a new member of the group who’s pretty dangerous and has a tough exterior, but eventually Arthur is able to get through and bring out the childish and playful side of her, falling for her tough side and her soft side? I hope that makes sense, thank you!!

Okay, I must admit, this one was hard for me to write because I just had a conversation with my therapist yesterday about some of the problems brought up in this piece. So heads up, this piece is pretty much my own way of processing this, is 100% self indulgent, and about 10,000% pure fluff! 

(I chose these pics because he is just too darn cute.) 

Word count: ~6.000

Warnings: extreme amounts of fluff, mentions of blood, childhood abuse, mentions of grief (I don’t know if any of these might actually be triggers, but in case they are...) 

You lower your gun, spitting on the man’s body, whom you just shot. His blood seeps into the grass. 

“Horrible man,” you hiss, glaring at his corpse and holstering your gun. You walk back to the wagon where Arthur and John are going through the boxes. John had gotten a tip about this wagon, owned by a popular goods manufacturer. These wagons are always a hit or miss as they sometimes carry expensive items, such as jewelry, paintings, cash and other times nothing but documents, clothes and worthless household items. It’s always easy to determine how valuable the items are judged by the toughness of the driver and his companion. 

For this wagon, the armed companion had been dealt with by John and Arthur, who’d given them quite a mouthful of insults. The driver was a different matter. He’d pretended to be harmless and quickly left the wagon, but when he saw you with the robbers, he went off, stating that no self-respecting criminals would let a girl do any of the hard work. John and Arthur just traded smug smiles and let you handle him. They knew exactly how easily you got fired up. The driver turned out to be too easy of a kill. 

You put your hands on the edge of the wagon. “Anything good?” you say. Arthur, who’s closest to you, sighs and straightens up. 

“Think this company’s gettin’ wise to low lifes like us. There’s hardly worth anything here.”

“Seriously?” you say, looking at the open chests. “But that companion was a hard ass.” 

“Like I said, think the company’s catching on. Way to go, Marston.” 

“How was I to know there wouldn’t be nothing here?” John snaps. “My guess was as good as yours on the value of the wagon.” 

As Arthur opens his mouth to retort, you interrupt. “How about we get the hell out of here before the law turns up? I doubt them gunshots went unheard.” 

The boys agree and they take the few items that are worth stealing, mostly cans of food and bottles of liquor. You unhitch the horses tied to the wagons and let them loose, which John scoffs at and Arthur raises a questioning brow. 

When the three of you return to Clemens Point, Arthur walks over to you as you’re grooming your horse. 

“Can I ask why you do that?” he says. 

“Do what?” 

“Well, I notice that every job with a wagon or a stage, you let the horses go. It ain’t like it’s hurtin’ ‘em bein’ tied up.” 

You pause. You glue your eyes to your horse’s neck when you finally speak. “If I was a horse and tied up like that and my driver died, I wouldn’t wanna be stuck like that until someone found me. I imagine they’d like being able to move around, graze, find some water.” 

This strikes Arthur. He’s seen firsthand how vicious and unforgiving you can be. Hell, there are times you’ve whipped out your gun and shot it before he could even pull his own out of its holster. Sure, he knows you love your horse more than just about anything. He never thought you could care about some horses whom you’ve no connection with.

“Well, I guess when you put it that way,” he says softly. “Maybe I’ll start doin’ it too.” 

You put your brush away. “I honestly don’t know if it helps or not, Arthur. I just imagine they appreciate it, in their own ways.” 

You walk away from him, heading for Pearson’s fire where he’s set out dinner. Your brusque response to Arthur was nothing new. He’s used to your short answers and even your cold manners. However, watching you unleash those horses has got him thinking: is there a soft side to you?

He’d never have thought that before. He’s seen you shoot men who begged on their knees for you to spare them, seen you rip the flesh from small animals after you’ve shot them without blinking an eye. Hell, you can run with the best in the gang. He remembers that bar fight in Valentine. Before he’d gotten tackled by that big fella Tommy he’d seen you pummeling some guy nearly twice your size, his nose bleeding and his eye purpling under your fist. He’d also seen you take your fair share of hits and knows you can hold yourself up after them too. He recalls a couple years ago, not very long after you joined, how one fella you were fighting with shot you in the leg. Despite the obvious pain, you’d gotten up, walked yourself to your horse and rode back to camp without a single complaint. 

He watches you dish up your plate, his mind reeling with the possible complexities of your character. You don’t notice and you wander off to go and eat at the round table. He comes and joins you at the table with his own plate, but doesn’t mind when you don’t start a conversation. Unlike the other women, you’re happy to sit in silence. In fact, you’re much like Charles in that if you don’t want to talk, you’re not going to. Arthur admires you secretly. You’re strong and unmovable, nothing seems to scare you. How many guns have you looked down and you didn’t bat an eye? 

When Arthur sees you’re done eating, he stands up and reaches for your tin to take it. His hand accidentally brushes your arm and you quickly snap it away, your hard eyes glaring at his hand. 

“Sorry,” he says. When you see he’s just taking your plate, you relax and thank him quietly. He has another thing about you to think on. Now that he thinks about it, he’s never seen you touching anyone, not even in a friendly or reassuring manner. Nor has he seen anyone successfully touch you. One time Sean, after making a joke about how frightening you were, he patted you on the shoulder and you immediately pulled away from him. 

When you’d come back to camp with that bullet in your leg, you didn’t make any sound of complaint until Susan and Tilly tried to get the bullet out. Arthur recalls how upset you’d gotten when they tried to touch your leg, and how almost feral you’d become when Karen tried to hold you down so the others could get the bullet out. Arthur knew it had nothing to do with the pain and more to do with that they were touching you. Sure, Arthur’s not used to being touched either, but he’s never known anyone to get upset about being touched. 

Arthur settles down in his cot for the night, his mind still turning with thoughts of you. Despite the years you’ve been running with the gang, he finds that he still hardly knows a thing about you. You’d run away from your family, fell in with a smaller gang that then got torn apart by the law, some were arrested, some were killed and you were one of the few to escape. That was when you fell in with this bunch. But Arthur realizes that other than that and that you’re capable with a gun and an expert horse rider, he doesn’t know a thing about you. 

*********************************

In the morning, Arthur has a plan on maybe learning about you. He’s always been a curious man and your secretive nature only makes him moreso. He looks around camp but doesn’t find you. Your horse is still tied up, and then he spots you on the pier, a fishing pole in hand. Perfect. 

He comes over, making sure you can hear his boots thumping on the old wood. He’s witnessed how dangerous it is for someone to sneak up on you. He takes out his own pole, feigning that he doesn’t have an ulterior motive for being here. 

“Any luck?” he asks. 

“A bit,” you respond, glancing at him. He could swear you smile a bit. 

After a short bout of silence, he rubs his neck nervously, his pole staying still in his other hand. “Hosea mentioned a possible lead in Emerald Ranch. Thought you and I should go take a look.” 

“What’s the job?” 

Crap, he didn’t think you’d ask this question. Most jobs you didn’t ask the nature on, you just went. “Said somethin’ about a train comin’ through, carryin’ some rich folk. I figure we could board at Emerald Station, and as it’s on its way south, we can… take care of the rest.” 

You continue staring out at the lake. “Sounds good. When’s it due?” 

“Couple of days. But maybe you and I could head out early. Pearson was sayin’ he’s gettin’ low on meat.” Another lie, but he hopes you won’t catch on. Besides, Pearson says there’s no such thing as too much meat. Not with how many mouths the gang has to feed right now. When you don’t respond, he goes on. “Heartlands are a great place to go huntin’. Lots of game. Plus, the view is beautiful.” 

“Sure,” you say, collapsing your pole. “We can go hunting. I could use some time away from this place.” 

He hides his smile and then follows you to the horses. You both mount up and head out. It doesn’t take long to reach Emerald Ranch. You both stop there to “scout” the station, though you’re still unaware that he’s lying. He must admit, he’s a little afraid of how you’ll react when you find out there most likely won’t be a train stuffed with rich folk. He knows you won’t kill him, but you’re already so closed off, it might just make you even moreso. 

You walk down the steps of the station, walking towards him as he stands near the horses. “Just talked to the clerk,” you say. “Says a train’s coming that’s heading south in about three days. We’ll have plenty of time to hu- oh, hey kitty.” 

You’re stopped in your tracks by a cat that’s winding its way around your legs. The scrawny tabby looks up at you and gives a cute “brrr”. Arthur watches as a rare smile stretches your face. You bend down and pet the cat, who just rubs over your legs even more in response. You pick it up and it starts rubbing its chin across your cheek. 

“Oh, you’re a sweet one, huh?” you say. Arthur’s never heard you sound so sweet. “Yeah, you’re pretty. Handsome boy like you, you’re a heartbreaker, huh?” 

After a moment, you put the cat down and it walks off, tail pointed straight up. You smile as you watch it walk away. When you look back at Arthur, you see him staring. 

“Sorry. Just… haven’t been able to cuddle a cat in a long time.” You mount up and walk your horse over to the plains of the Heartlands. Arthur watches you go, even more confused. Why is it that when he’s seen a person touch you, you’ve flinched and acted like there was physical pain to it, but when that cat touched you, you willingly accepted and even encouraged it? 

He follows you, his mind reeling even more. 

******************************

That night, you and Arthur make a campfire for the night, several pelts drying under the stars. You reach into your satchel and pull out a thick batch of raspberries to add to dinner as Arthur cooks some meat. He can tell you’re relaxed and content. Now is the best time for him to try and learn more about you. 

“Can I ask ya somethin’?” he says. 

“I suppose,” you say shortly, leaning against a rock. 

“How come you ran away from your family? Most of us who had a proper family left that life because they died.” 

Your hands shuffle a bit in your lap and you stare off into the fire. It takes you a few moments before you answer. “It was just… easier running away than… than staying, I guess.” He waits for you to continue but you don’t. He wishes you’d give more detail. The tone of your voice says you chose your words carefully. 

“You know you can trust me, right?” he says softly. 

You look up at him for a brief second and then look back to the fire. It’s true, you trust Arthur more than the others. Something about his presence has always had more of an impression on you than the others. You don’t respond, but your hands continue to fidget. He knows you’re not going to come out and say things, if he wants to find out more about you, he’s going to have to ask. 

“Why was it easier to run? Did your pa get busted for runnin’ an illegal business or somethin’?” 

You shake your head. “No. No, he ran a legitimate business. He was the sheriff’s deputy, actually. Well respected in our town.” 

“And?” Arthur says after you fall silent again. “And what?” 

“What was he like?” Arthur asks. 

“Why do you care?” you suddenly snap. You’ve never been comfortable with people wanting to know about your life. It’s an alien thing to you, for people to want to know. When you were a kid, people really didn’t like you much. They found you annoying and you tried too much to be like them in order to make friends. In school, the other kids were more than happy to shut you out. 

Your home life wasn’t much better. You were the youngest of four children to your family. Your brother was significantly older and he was a bully to you and your two sisters. Since you were the youngest though, he left you alone a decent amount of time. Your sisters were a different matter. They teased you a lot, and they used to chase you around the ranch with sharp objects because they knew it scared you. It also wasn’t unusual for them to hit you out of the blue. 

Then there were your parents. Your mother was nice, but she criticized you a lot. She didn’t like that you weren’t as social as other kids your age. When you told her it was because the other kids didn’t like you, her response was that you didn’t try enough. She made comments about how she thought you could make yourself look prettier, how you should wear dresses more often. She also held it over your head that you would be married one day, despite you having no interest in anyone in that way. When you admitted you never experienced romantic attraction towards anyone, she simply brushed it off and said “you just haven’t found the right one yet”. 

Your father was the worst of the lot. He never took any interest in you (or any of his kids for that matter). He seemed to hate you the most though. When he’d come home from work angry, he seemed to take it out on you, screaming at you, blaming any irritance he had on you. Perhaps it was because you were the youngest, but a feeling in your gut said that he hated you because he’d wanted another son when your mother was pregnant with you. There were times too he’d become physically violent with you. It didn’t help that whenever you became emotional, he’d get irrationally angry and tell you to go hide in your room, that no one wanted to see your tears. 

All those things combined into one shaped you to distrust people. You hated being touched because when you were a kid, the majority of the times you were touched caused physical pain. You also couldn’t relate your emotions to people and you had become detached from them over the years, to the point you found it extremely difficult to cry. 

You think back on these things as Arthur stares at you. He’d been taken back when you’d practically shouted at him. 

“I… I guess I’m just curious is all,” Arthur responds. 

“Well, don’t be,” you hiss, turning back to the fire. Arthur’s curiosity of you is making you extremely uncomfortable. Why should he be? No one else ever was. You sigh, trying to simmer down. “Sorry, Arthur. It’s just… it’s better for everyone if you don’t worry about me.” 

Arthur stares at you for a moment. He can tell that whatever is making you so closed off is causing you a lot of pain. He feels an urge to get close to you, to try and comfort you, but he knows that might just makes things worse. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Guess that’s just my problem. I worry about most people in camp, except Micah maybe.” He sees you chuckle a bit at this, which is an encouraging sign. “Point is, I am worried about ya, Y/N. I ain’t known anyone like you, and to be honest, I ain’t too sure it’s healthy.” 

You look up at him, your eyes wide. You want nothing more than to tell Arthur about everything, but there’s something preventing you from doing so. All you can think is that he’d find you weak and pathetic if he knew. It’s just better and easier to keep it all bottled up. 

You sigh heavily. You have a feeling he won’t stop asking about why you ditched your family until you gave him a reason. “I… I ran away because my family proved they weren’t worthy of being my family. I… I remember reading a book and a character said ‘family don’t end in blood’. I don’t know why, that just stuck with me. When I realized what it meant, I knew that my parents, my siblings… they weren’t my family. I’ve never had the luxury of having one.” 

You look down at your boots, your chest tightening. You know you’re close to getting choked up and crying, but you can’t do that. You can’t let Arthur see how weak you are. 

He finally looks away. “I’m real sorry about that, Y/N. Families are always complicated. And I’m sorry if you felt like I was pressurin’ ya. It’s just… how many years you been with us? I feel like I don’t know the first thing about ya.” 

You look up at him again. “Why would you want to, Arthur?” 

This question strikes him and he knows exactly why you’re so private. He feels a pang for you as he realizes that no one has ever shown any interest in you, that you’ve always been alone. He knows exactly what he has to do for you to open up. 

“Maybe because you’re worth knowin’,” he says. He sees your breath quicken. Are you scared? He goes on, wanting to make you feel comfortable. “Maybe because no one deserves to be alone their entire lives. I don’t know what happened to make you feel that way, and I ain’t askin’ you to tell me. But I just want ya to know that no matter what you think or feel, I’m here. I’ll listen. I ain’t gonna think less of ya.” 

He can tell you’re listening hard to everything he says, that he’s got your mind turning. 

You swallow, wanting to test his words. “I used to have a cat, you know. When I was a kid. He was a good boy. The best in fact. He… he chose me. We weren’t supposed to keep him, but when my ma saw how much he and I loved each other, she convinced my pa to keep him.” You smile as you recall the things he did, how he made you feel loved and how he made you laugh. You start to get choked up again when you get closer to telling Arthur the end. You don’t notice that he’s carefully scooting closer to you as you talk. 

“What happened to your cat?” Arthur asks softly. 

“He got old,” you say. “He was thirteen and one day, he jumped up into a tree and hurt his leg. After that, he just went downhill. He started limping a lot, and then he… he had a seizure out of the blue. He only lasted four days after that, and he was half paralyzed when he finally….” You find yourself unable to finish the story. Even after all these years, thinking about him still hurts as badly as it did the day he died. “All I can think is that at least I was there with him when he…” 

Arthur’s sitting only a foot from you now. He’s so close he must be able to see the tears in your eyes. You wish he wasn’t. It’s rare for you to have a moment of weakness like this, and it’s been an extremely long time since you had an audience. Pathetic doesn’t even come close to how you feel right now with him being a witness. He must think you’re laughable, weak, pitiful. You hate yourself for it. 

He surprises you when he speaks in an incredibly soft voice. “At least you gave him a good life, and you gave him the comfort of not dyin’ alone.” 

You sniff, a tear finally cascading down your cheek. You turn your head so he can’t see. He feels sorry for you; he’s never seen you this upset and he can tell you’re fighting extremely hard to keep yourself contained. He forgets for a moment about your touch aversion and he puts an arm behind you, trying to comfort you. 

Your response is instant. You immediately flinch and jump out of reach, your eyes wide and hard. He raises his hands up. “Easy, easy. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” 

You blink several times and then sit back down. “Sorry,” you say. “I just… I don’t like being touched.” 

“I know,” he says. “Can I ask why?” 

You swallow heavily. “I just don’t.” 

He sighs, knowing he won’t get any further. He’s okay with that though, you’ve already come a long way tonight. He starts humming a song Uncle often sings and it relaxes you. After a bit, the two of you crawl into your bedrolls for the night, but Arthur stays awake a long time. He thinks about the things you said. He can tell by your behavior you’re crying for help, but you just don’t know how to ask. He wonders how he can help you out, especially with your touch aversion. 

**************************

The next morning, you get up before he does. You had dreams of your cat and you feel ashamed for how you reacted the night before. Thoughts of how miserable you must have seemed to Arthur circle in your head and you can’t handle the guilt. You quickly grab your bow and head off to hunt, determined to take out your emotions in the thrill of stalking a deer or a rabbit. 

An hour passes before you return to camp, carrying a buck’s pelt, your satchel laden with rabbit furs and even a badger. You can see Arthur’s up and you sigh, trying to pull yourself together. His behavior from last night confuses you. The questions he was asking, the looks he gave you, how he tried to touch you. You have to wonder why. You can’t come up with an answer, so you resolve yourself to hiding it all again. 

As you throw the pelt over your horse’s back and start stuffing the smaller skins into the saddlebag, Arthur puts out the fire. 

“I wanted to ask ya somethin’,” he says quietly. 

You pause, scared he might ask something similar to the things he said last night. “Okay,” you say in a weak voice. 

“What do you feel when someone touches you?” he asks. “And I don’t mean physically. What do you feel?” 

You look up at him, your eyes wide again. You don’t know what it is about Arthur, but you find yourself wanting to be honest with him. “I… I don’t know.”

He clasps his hands in front of him and takes a few steps closer to you. “Do you feel afraid? Confused? Repulsed? Angry?” 

“No, just… confused and… worried, I guess.” You plant your back to your horse, crossing your arms over yourself. Arthur notices your defensive position. 

“Can you think of why you feel those things?” he asks. His voice is so soft you almost don’t hear it. 

You shake your head, truly not sure why you feel those things. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you… well, do you hate it?” 

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“Do you hate that you feel confused and worried?” 

You swallow again and lick your lips. “Yes,” you finally say. “I… I read somewhere that we’re wired to enjoy touch, but I just… I can’t.” 

He stands still for a moment. “Can I try somethin’?” he asks. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya, and if it’s too much, we don’t have to go further.” 

“What is it?” you ask. Your heart’s racing in your chest and you feel the impulse to run. Arthur’s too close, he’s been staring at you too long. 

“Let me see your hand,” he says. He’s determined to voice every step he plans on taking, that way you don’t have to be afraid. When you don’t move, he thinks maybe you’ll deny him. Finally though, you unclench your hand from your shirt and hold it out for him. He can see you’re shaking. 

“I promise, I ain’t gonna hurt ya, and I ain’t gonna think you’re pathetic. Y/N, I just wanna help ya.” He slowly raises his hands and clasps them around yours. His hands are so warm, almost hot, and they’re rough from calluses. He can tell you’re resisting the desire to whip yours out of reach. He keeps his hands still around yours for a moment, and then one finger brushes the top of your finger, leaving a burning trail in its wake. Arthur keeps his eyes on your hands, allowing you to process this. 

After a few moments of him just gently tracing your hand, he speaks up. “Tell me what you feel. Not physically, what do you feel?” 

He can see you’ve settled down, your eyes are softer, your breathing lighter, but you’ve barely blinked since he started this. 

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “I feel.... I don’t know.” And it’s true. You don’t know what you feel. You’ve no idea that right now, your brain is releasing oxytocins, making you feel good, but they’re clashing with your adrenaline. It makes for a very odd combination. 

“Does it feel good?” he asks. 

You give him a tense nod and he smiles. “Yeah, I know it does. Touch doesn’t have to mean pain. It’s okay to be touched, and it’s okay to want touch.” 

He lets go of your hand and takes a step back. He decides the best thing to do is to leave you alone so you can process it all; he could tell from the look on your face you need time to think about all this. 

When his back’s to you, you flex your hand. It feels much colder without his around it anymore and your skin tingles from where he rubbed your skin. You feel confused again, but for different reasons than before. You used to feel confused because you couldn’t understand why someone would want to touch you, but now you’re confused because it did feel good. It felt comforting, reassuring. Even more confusing is that you want him to do it again. 

Arthur looks back and sees you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still looking at your hand like you’ve never seen it before. He chuckles softly and mounts his horse. Despite that it’s obvious he’s caused you to have a miniature identity crisis, he finds your signs encouraging. He’ll give you a break, and then maybe later, he’ll try going further. 

It’s only when he’s gone off hunting that you come back to yourself. However, the memory of him just touching your hand causes distraction. You’re not as focused as usual, you miss a lot more often when you manage to find an animal to stalk. At one point, you sit down and try rubbing your own hand, trying to recreate what he did, but it doesn’t work of course. You end up sitting a long time, feeling perplexed about the whole thing. 

Arthur meanwhile finds it sad. He wonders if you’ve ever really felt someone touch you in a positive way. He’s no doubt that your family hurt you and not just physically. The fact that you struggled and even fought with yourself last night to control your emotions screams that somewhere in your life, you were taught to completely bury yourself as a form of protection. Arthur is a private man, he knows how hard it is to open up sometimes. But there are still people he knows he can talk to about his own feelings. John, Hosea, Mary-Beth, he knows he can talk to them. But you don’t seem to be able to do it with anyone. He sighs, knowing there’s a very long road ahead with you, but he’s willing to go down it. You deserve to be helped.

*********************************

That night, when camp is set up again, Arthur sits close to you. He finds it encouraging when you let him. He notices you keep positioning your hand in such a way that if he wanted to take it, he could. Not only that, you keep rubbing it. He definitely gave you a lot to think about. 

“So how you feelin’?” he asks after you’ve both eaten. 

You look over at him. Your eyes say you’re still a little lost. “I’m alright.” 

He smiles and pats your shoulder, only this time, you don’t flinch. “Good. Maybe you can make some progress.” 

He gets up and walks over to his horse, reaching into the saddlebag and pulling out a bottle of rum. He turns around and almost runs into you. 

“What are ya doin’?” he asks. It’s obvious you followed him. 

“I don’t know,” you say quietly. You want to ask him to touch you again, but maybe go further. However, there’s some kind of block that prevents you from doing so. He smiles. 

“You want me to help you again like I did this morning?” he asks. 

Your eyes widen even more. He can see how tiny your pupils are, despite the darkness. You’re nervous again, but he sees your head tip in the tiniest nod. He sets down the bottle slowly. 

“Okay, but I’m gonna go a bit further this time. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” 

“I know,” you say. 

Spurred on by this, he holds his arms out a little and he takes small, slow steps closer to you. Slowly, he wraps them around you, enveloping you in a hug. You tense up until you hear his voice. 

“It’s okay. Not gonna hurt ya, not gonna think badly of ya. Don’t think about what I think. Think about how this feels, okay?” 

He can see how tense your jaw is, you’re clenching your shoulders and your breathing in short, quick bursts. He holds you gently, but he notices you’re not reacting. He lets you go, thinking maybe he moved to this point too quickly. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says. “Probably frightened ya.” 

“What…” you start in such a quiet voice he almost doesn’t hear. “What do I do? When you do that.” 

It’s his turn to be confused and then it hits him. You don’t know how to reciprocate touch. 

“It’s easy,” he says. He slowly grabs your hands and stretches your arms in front of you, folding them around his waist. “Just do this, then I put my hands here.” He places his hands on your back. “You can lay your head on me if you want,” he says when he notices how stiffly you’re holding your neck, staring up past his shoulder. 

“You’re not… you’re not gonna be upset?” you ask quietly. 

He knows if he voices how shocked he is by this question you’re going to retreat, so he holds it in. “No, Y/N. I ain’t. You just do whatever feels good, okay?” 

You stand stiff in his arms for a few seconds, your hands clenched to the back of his shirt. Then finally, you lower your head and press your cheek to his chest. You can hear his heart beating, slow and steady, opposite of yours. His hand rubs slowly up your back, flooding you with a soothing sensation. You feel yourself suddenly relaxing in his arms, your stomach and chest loosen up, you slowly let your shoulders down and you press your face into his chest. As you relax, you’re able to wrap your arms further around him. His body’s firm and he’s warm, God he is warm. He shifts a bit and then you feel his cheek press down on your head. 

A swarm of emotions suddenly slams into your chest. You’ve never felt like this before, so comfortable and protected. You can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. You suddenly realize how lonely you’ve been all these years, and how much you’ve secretly craved something like this. Your chest tightens again and before you can stop yourself, you’re suddenly crying into Arthur’s shirt. You wait for him to pull away, to be disgusted by you, but he doesn’t. His arms tighten further around you, one hand comes up and cradles your head to his chest. 

Perhaps you imagine it while what feels like every pent up emotion escapes from your body, but you swear you feel Arthur’s lips on your forehead as you sob. Maybe you just wish you felt him do that, it’s not entirely clear if it really happened. 

When you’ve finally lost the ability to cry anymore (your body just can’t seem to produce another tear), you pull away slightly to see the mess you’ve made on Arthur’s shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, wiping your eyes dry. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says gently, his arms still around you. He suddenly smiles. “I never knew someone so tough could be so-” 

“Pathetic?” you say. 

He tilts his head to the side a bit. “Passionate. You got a lot of feelin’s swirling around in ya, I bet ya didn’t even know about some of ‘em.” 

You blush and look down at his shirt again. 

“Point is,” he continues, “it’s okay to feel them, to let yourself feel. It ain’t healthy and it ain’t weak to let yourself be vulnerable once in a while. You’ll find that you’re able to stand stronger when ya do.” 

Your hands clench his shirt a bit. This isn’t right. Arthur shouldn’t be comforting you, the two of you should be settling down to sleep right now. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you say, your voice squeaking. 

He lets out a long sigh. “Because you deserve it, Y/N. Because it ain’t fair to you for everyone to expect you to always be strong and stoic. You deserve to be allowed to be vulnerable. I don’t know who taught you that showing it when you’re upset is a bad thing, but it ain’t.” 

One of his hands comes up and brushes your cheek, wiping it dry. You feel yourself trusting him and get a sudden desire to spill all your secrets to this man. You can’t look away from his lips either. How strange it is that Arthur Morgan, the toughest man you’ve ever met, with a temper so easily flared, is teaching you the importance of being weak every once in a while? 

You press your face back into his chest, your forehead settling against his neck. His arms tighten around you again, his right hand settled between your shoulder blades. You relax even more, to the point you acknowledge his scent. Leather, tobacco leaves, gunpowder and sage. God, he smells good. 

You don’t know how long you stay in his arms, but you’re so comfortable and feel so safe you feel your eyes drooping. He must be able to tell too, because he pats your shoulder. 

“Let’s get some sleep, hmm? I know you’re exhausted.” 

You nod. You surprise even yourself when you move your bedroll next to his, but then feel worried that you might be encroaching on his personal space too much. You look up at him and he smiles. 

“You can sleep next to me if ya want. I don’t mind.” 

For the first time, you smile back at him. When he’s settled in his roll, lying on his back, you curl up against him, your head settling on his chest. Arthur brushes your hair, his fingers trailing down your back. His other hand settles over yours, which rests on his stomach. 

After a while, you look up at him. “Arthur?” 

“Hmm?” His eyes find yours. 

“Thank you. I know I… I still have a long road to recovery, but thank you. I wouldn’t have known how much help I needed unless you showed me.” 

He smiles and then his lips press against your forehead. “You’re welcome, darlin’.”

You settle down back onto him, his heat seeping up into you. When you were young, you imagined doing this with a man you love, but never once did you think it could feel this good. Then it hits you. You love Arthur. There’s no denying it. You wouldn’t have let him even hold your hand if you didn’t. The thought both scares and intrigues you, but you have a prodding in your gut that says he must feel something too. As you lie in his arms, you wonder where he might take you tomorrow. 

[dweetwise]

Its my birthday tomorrow and I don't wanna hit that age milestone so hear me out four survivors and one killer go into the match but everyones aged back like 20 years. Survivors remember the just of their bonds to one another but not their ages, they know the body they are in is suddenly 20 years younger though.

ngl i saw the first ask and immediately went “GASP AN EXCUSE TO WRITE DAD ACE??” great minds think alike anon. now have 8 pages of fluffy crack bc i got carried away

ages i hc for this story: ace 31, david 14, jake 6, meg 2, sally 27

Characters: Ace, Nurse, David, Jake, Meg | Mentioned: Nea | Ships: None | Warnings: None

Ace tries to parent (crack)

When Ace spawns into a trial on Rotten Fields, something immediately feels... off. He briefly has time to consider why his shirt feels so tight over his shoulders before his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of pure nightmares;

A crying baby.

Ace glances around, skeptical. Surely it has to be a new killer? Not even Feng’s voice is that high-pitched. Ace has half a mind to just leave the voice be, but it’s getting louder and he feels like he needs to do his good deed of the year and at least check. So, armed with a trusty purple flashlight, he gets to exploring.

He follows the ungodly screeching and, to his surprise, finds an actual human baby, laying in a small divot on a hay bale. Shit, what now? He doesn’t know the first thing about kids and he doesn’t really care to start learning now. But he can’t just leave the thing here, not to mention it’s loud as fuck and has probably already alerted the killer.

Ace grimaces and reluctantly reaches out to grab the child in his arms. Damn, it’s heavier than he thought! He pulls the baby into his chest to put less of a strain on his arms, and it... stops crying. Huh. Well, time to sneak off before the killer comes to check the noise. If he’s lucky, he’ll run into one of the others and can dump the kid on them.

Thankfully, there’s no sign of a killer as Ace makes his way through the cornfield. He idly wonders if he’s been placed in the trial alone with the baby, until he hears a loud clang followed by panicked cursing. Ace speeds up into a jog, rounding a corner of a pallet gym and coming face to face with—

“What the hell are you doing?” Ace asks the unfamiliar man who is in the middle of piling barrels on top of each other next to the outside wall of the trial, some of them falling down and creating tons of noise. The baby shifts restlessly in his arms and he half-heartedly tries to cover its ears.

“I’m gettin’ us outta ‘ere!” the man turns to face him with an angry remark. Ace squints at the somewhat familiar face; the man is young, most likely still a teenager, with light acne and a scrawny body that hasn’t quite grown into itself yet. There’s something disturbingly familiar about the glare shot his way, and the accent—

“David!?” Ace gawks. The teen’s glare morphs into a confused frown.

“...Ace?” teen David finally seems to recognize. Then, he looks around, appearing to take in the surroundings with new eyes. “Fock, this ‘s still the bloody fog, innit?”

“Why are you so young?” Ace asks, confused.

“I mean, ‘m not tha only one,” David says, looking him up and down pointedly. “Ya sure as shite din’ look like ‘at last time I saw ye.”

Ace looks down at himself and realizes his own arms are a lot bigger than he’s used to and his gut isn’t hanging over his belt like usual. He’s also wearing pants that are way too tight and speak of a youthful cockiness—holy shit, he’s in his thirties.

“So the kid’s gotta be...” David seems to remember, turning to look over Ace’s shoulder at something. Ace follows suit, and sees a child standing in front of the cornfield, hands over his ears and face twisted into a pout.

Ace recognizes the boy even before David utters his name. With unruly black hair and equally black monolid eyes, it has to be Jake. Even with the annoyed frown on his face, he’s just so young, and this is definitely no place for a kid. Before Ace has time to panic further, David throws him for another loop.

“Does’sat mean the baby’s... Meg?” the Brit asks, leaning to look closer at the small kid in Ace’s arms. Sure enough, Ace notices the toddler is a redhead, and its blue eyes are blinking up at him curiously. The ages start adding up, and Ace mutters a dejected “Fuck”.

“The hell’s going on?” David appears to share his sentiment. “Do we gotta escape? How the fuck do we get ‘em out?” he starts raising his voice, panic rising while gesturing to Jake and Meg.

“Calm down,” Ace says, trying to stop his own thoughts from racing. “Let’s just move as a group and try find the nearest generator. If the killer comes, I’ll distract him while you hide these two.”

“Generators?” David says with a frown. “I dun... I don’t remember much, the trials... is’a proper blur—damn, me ‘ead hurts.” Goddamnit. Looks like the transformation had some effect on the other’s memory. Ace can only hope it’s temporary.

“Jake?” he turns to the boy, who perks up upon hearing his name. “What about you? Are you alright?” Jake doesn’t answer, only staring up at Ace. “Do you remember anything?” Ace asks, crouching before the quiet boy and holding out Meg for him to see. “Do you remember her?” he asks.

Jake glances at Meg, eyes wide while he considers the question. “I remember...” Jake starts quietly, looking back up at Ace and blinking a couple times innocently. “That you’re gross,” he finishes. Ace sputters at the unexpected sass while David laughs behind him, teenage voice cracking into a squeak.

When David calms down and Ace tries to pry more information from the teen, he realizes he’s gotten stuck with team Daddy Issues. Both Jake and David have beef with their fathers, and Ace recalls Meg telling them her dad ran out on her when she was just a baby. Surely, this was a deliberate move on the Entity’s part just to spite Ace?

“Oh!” David suddenly exclaims, as if remembering something important. Ace almost thinks his luck is about to turn around when David, instead of blessing him with some vital piece of information, proceeds to stretch the waist of his sweats to peer into his own pants. “Aw, shite!” the teen sighs in disappointment.

“Can we focus on the imminent danger and not the size of your junk!?” Ace hisses in frustration.

“Who’s that?” Jake’s voice pipes up and distracts Ace from the argument. 

Ace looks into the corn and sees a woman approaching them, walking gracefully through the stalks with her red hair flowing behind her, dressed in a... nurse uniform. Shit!

“Stay back!” Ace warns, stepping in front of Jake protectively, turning his body away to shield Meg in his arms. He points the flashlight at the killer in what he hopes is a threatening manner.

“Ace?” she asks, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. Huh, Ace had no idea she even knew his name. Now that he thinks about it, she’s pretty cute, with her round face and button nose—damn it, focus!

“What's going on?” Ace demands. “Why did the Entity de-age us?”

“I don’t know,” the Nurse says. “I’m just as confused as you are.”

Ace squints. Pretty or not, he doesn’t trust her, not with these kids depending on him to protect them. Before he can question her further, David, hands thankfully no longer in his pants, comes up beside him.

“David, don’t—“ Ace tries to warn, but he has no free hands to stop the teen if he decides to pick a fight.

“’Ello, luv. Fancy meetin’ ya,” David offers in a friendly manner. Ace sighs, some of the tension fading. Then, David’s gaze drops down from the killer’s face to her-— “Noice tits,” the Brit quips, grinning smugly.

“David!” Ace screeches, mortified and barely resisting the urge to smack him with the flashlight. “That’s no way to talk to a lady!”

The Nurse merely chuckles into her hand, not seeming phased by David’s inappropriate comment. “I’m without my powers and weapon, so perhaps I could assist you in your escape?” she suggests. Ace feels like he kind of owes her for David’s hormone-driven harassment.

“You can tag along if you want,” Ace settles on. “Let’s try to finally find a gen.”

“I saw one on the other side of that hill,” the Nurse informs. “I’ll show you the way.”

“Uh, thanks. Pack it up boys, we’re moving!” Ace calls over his shoulder to David and Jake.

“Ya comin’, mate?” he hears David offer to Jake.

“What’s a mate?” Jake asks, tilting his head with a frown while trailing after David.

“Like a... lad. Chum. Pal. Wanker—”

“Hey!” Ace turns around to scold the teen. The last thing he needs is bratty Jake picking up more curse words.

“Like a... friend?” Jake tries.

“Yeah!” David says. Jake blushes.

“I wanna be your friend, you’re so cool,” Jake mumbles.

“Race ya through the corn!” David challenges.

“David NO—” Ace warns as the two boys take off in a sprint in the opposite direction of the generator. He curses under his breath, holding Meg closer to his chest as he starts jogging after them.

When Ace catches up, Jake has faceplanted into the mud and David is nowhere to be seen.

“Oh for the love of—” Ace sighs, pulling the boy upright by his collar. He expects Jake to cry, because isn’t that what kids do when they trip over themselves? Instead, Jake just blinks up at Ace with a muddy face.

“I fell,” Jake says.

“I can see that,” Ace deadpans.

“Oi, over ‘ere! I found a gen!” David calls through a couple rows of corn.

Ace gets Jake to the generator David is at without further incident. The Nurse quickly joins them, pushing through the corn. She takes one look at Jake’s face and hides a smile behind her hand, reaching for a handkerchief and proceeding to wipe the boy’s face clean. Ace appreciates the gesture.

“Thanks—uh, I don’t even know your name,” Ace realizes.

“Sally,” the Nurse offers with a small smile. “Shall we try repairing the generator, now?” she asks when Jake’s face is somewhat mud-free.

“Right,” Ace says, crouching down by the machine, trying to figure out a way to hold Meg safely while repairing. Sally leans over the generator on the other side, curiously observing the mechanism.

“You joining, David?” Ace asks the teen who is doing fuck all to contribute. He frowns as he sees David’s face is red and he’s breathing a bit heavily. Then, he spots a noticeable tent in the teen’s loose pants. Oh for fuck’s sake! David is standing directly behind Sally, and got a generous view of her skirt clinging to her ass when she bent down. Ace sighs in exasperation and gives David a pointed look.

“Oi, I can’t do nuthin’ about it!” David sputters.

“Yes, well, you could try if not staring helps,” Ace snarks.

“It’s fockin’ puberty, not me!” David argues. Then he seems to realize something, face breaking into a smug grin. “Not that ye’d remember any of tha’, ye old fart.”

“I beg your pardon??” Ace screeches while both David and Sally laugh at his expense.

It seems the Entity isn’t allowing Sally to interact with the generator, blocking her side of the machine each time she tries to touch it.

“Do you want me to hold her while you repair the generator?” Sally asks, motioning to Meg in Ace’s arms.

Ace eyes the killer warily, hugging Meg tighter to himself. The small girl responds by reaching out a snotty hand and smacking it against his beard, gurgling in amusement. Ugh, lovely.

“Do you truly believe I would hurt her?” Sally pushes.

“Fine,” Ace sighs in defeat as his grip on the toddler is about to slip again when he tries to reach into the generator. “But I’m keeping an eye on you, so don’t get any ideas!”

In the end, Ace has to teach David how to repair the generator, as all of the younger’s previous knowledge of the machines seems to have evaporated. He quickly learns that if David as an adult is impatient, David as a teenager is downright insufferable. Lots of cursing and slang insults ensue as David keeps getting the wrong wires crossed and setting their progress back and Ace’s patience is put to a test.

Meanwhile, Sally gives Meg a wooden horse and Jake a large pine cone to play with, the items that apparently would have been her add-ons for the trial. Meg immediately shoves the horse’s head into her mouth and suckles on it.

“Is it safe? Is it going to splinter?” Ace asks, five seconds away from swooping Meg back into his arms and throwing the questionable toy into the depths of the cornfield.

“It’s old, but the wood is smooth. It won’t splinter, I promise,” Sally reassures.

As he and David are working on the next generator, Sally is humming softly a ways to the side, rocking a napping Meg in her lap who is clutching her new toy in her tiny hands. Jake sits on the ground next to them, using sticks to make the pine cone into an animal. He excitedly shows in to Sally, muttering “Sheep”.

“That’s a cute sheep, Jake,” the killer praises. “Very fluffy.” Jake shuffles his feet, embarrassed by the praise.

Ace feels the generator's piston jump under his hands, before the machine putters along much faster than before.

“Look, I did a thing!” David exclaims, excitedly turning to Ace. “Tha’ was good, right?”

“Yeah, nice job David,” Ace praises, making the teen grin.

“I always wanted children,” Sally says, mostly to herself. “This is nice,” she sighs happily, even while wiping some of Meg’s drool from the sleeping girl’s face.

Ace can’t say he shares the sentiment. He never even seriously considered children; after all, they wouldn’t have fit his lifestyle of gambling and drinking. But now, when he takes in the familiar, if much younger, faces of his companions, he realizes he’s already been looking out for them way before this freak incident. He recalls how his view on baby Meg changed in the blink of an eye as he realized she, like Jake and David, weren’t just any kids; they were his kids. It’s been so easy for him to slip into a dad role now that they fully depend on him and he idly wonders if he would have made a good father, had he ever decided to have children of his own.

When they’re making their way to the next generator, Jake tugs on Sally’s skirt.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Sally asks fondly. Jake pouts and tries to hop up to touch her arm, almost stumbling over his own feet in his eagerness.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” Sally asks, rearranging her grip on Meg to hold her with one arm, and then extending the other down to Jake. Jake grabs the hand eagerly and offers a shy smile at the woman.

And damnit, the exchange tugs at heartstrings Ace didn’t even know he had.

They make it to the third generator and while he and David get to work on it, Sally sits down with Meg and Jake curiously peers over David’s shoulder at the machine. 

Then, Jake disappears.

“I swear, he was right there!” no, Ace is not panicking, he’s just... concerned, antsy, and ready to kill if something happens to Jake. Okay, so maybe he’s panicking a little bit.

“You know how kids are,” Sally says, way too calm about the entire situation. “Let’s go look for him, he can’t have gone far. I’ll check by the shack,” she suggests, turning to leave.

“No, you give Meg to me, I don’t trust you,” Ace snaps. Hurt flashes across Sally’s face. “...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I’m just worried, alright?”

“I understand,” she says, respectfully still handing the baby back to him. Meg lets out an excited coo at seeing Ace, arms extending towards him eagerly. “Let’s split up and holler when we find him.”

“Lemme help,” David offers, moving to stand up from the generator.

“You’re staying here, in case he comes back,” Ace orders. “And stay put until we get back. I’m not losing any more kids in this damn place.”

“Okay, dad,” David snarks, rolling his eyes but obediently getting back to work by the machine.

Ace power-walks through the rows of corn, checking the harvester along with some fire barrels he saw earlier. His heart drops as he takes in all the dangerous farm equipment; if Jake got stuck under a tractor—no, focus, he scolds himself. Not even Meg’s happy babbling can keep the dread from pooling in his stomach.

“Ace, I found him! He’s okay!” Sally’s voice is a godsend, interrupting his panicked thoughts. He spots her red hair through the corn, quickly making his way over, relief flooding over him—

And promptly flying out the window when he sees Jake in the goddamn cow tree, high up and clinging to one of the branches, petrified from fear.

“In what world is he okay!?” Ace screeches.

“He doesn’t look hurt! We should be able to climb up easily, I just need to get rid of my overskirt—“ Sally starts.

“I’ll get him, you hold her,” Ace says, shoving Meg into Sally’s hands before sprinting up to the tree with single-minded determination. He’s grateful for his younger body as he manages to fly up the damn thing fast as lighting, so much adrenaline pumping in his veins that he barely registers getting smacked in the face by stray branches. Soon, he’s holding a trembling Jake in his arms and he knows everything will be alright.

After he’s carefully made his way down the tree with Jake clinging to him, and places the boy back on solid ground, Jake starts bawling. Ace almost feels like joining in, still shaking from the adrenaline and with countless ‘what if’ scenarios running through his head.

“Shh darling, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” Sally murmurs, trying to soothe the boy. Jake just shakes his head and cries some more.

Ace frowns and glances up at the tree. Did Jake get scared by the height, or did something else happen? Maybe he got smacked by one of the cows—ah. Of course; Ace has become so desensitized to the carcasses strung up on the tree, and in a fucked up way they even symbolize safety to him because they’re attached to one of the strongest loops he knows.

But Jake loves animals. And even if he didn’t, what kid wants to see that!?

“The cows must have scared you. You like animals, don’t you?” Ace asks, kneeling before the sobbing boy. Jake hiccups, nodding. “They’re not real. They’re not actually hurting.”

“Promise?” Jake sniffles.

“Promise.”

Jake’s sobbing stops and he rushes into Ace’s arms. “I don’t wanna look,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut.

“It’s okay. I’ll tell when it’s safe to look,” Ace promises, lifting Jake up in a reverse piggyback while the boy clings to his neck, still shaking.

They rejoin David, the teen’s face lighting up when he spots Jake in Ace’s arms.

“Ey, little lad! Where you run off ta?” David offers with a smile.

“He went on a little adventure,” Sally offers when Jake doesn’t look up from Ace’s shoulder. Ace spots a crow nearby, perched on a hay bale.

“You can look now, Jake,” Ace remembers. Jake lifts his head, and Ace points to the crow. “Do you see the bird?”

Jake’s eyes widen in wonder and he nods slowly, eyes never leaving the animal.

“We can look at it closer—but you need to be very quiet. Can you do that?”

Jake nods excitedly, not uttering a peep. Ace starts sneaking toward the crow, trying to keep low, and leading Jake after him. He hopes he doesn’t spook it, since he’s never been good with the birds like Jake, always setting them off in trials and alerting the killer.

It seems luck is on his side, as they’re soon right by the animal, which doesn’t seem to be bothered by their presence as it keeps grooming itself. Ace motions for Jake to go on, and the boy carefully walks up to the bird. He reaches a small hand out and the animal—lets him pet it. Woah. Looks like Jake has always been a natural.

The beady eyes of the crow meet Jake’s equally black ones, wide in curiosity as he carefully runs his fingers through the feathers.

And then the crow caws in a starte and takes off as the generator behind them blows up.

“Bollocks!” David curses.

“Language,” Sally scolds half-heartedly.

“Let me show you a trick,” Ace offers to the teen, rejoining the group at the generator with Jake.

“Sorry I made yer mate fly away,” David mutters apologetically when they’ve all moved to the next generator, Jake sitting in the mud between Ace and David and playing with the sheep he made earlier. Jake shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says. Then he looks up at Ace. “Mommy never let me play with the bird,” he explains. “Said it’s dirty and will make me sick.”

“Well, you were really good with the bird and clearly have a talent. Why not use it?” Ace encourages. Jake smiles brightly and Ace’s heart swells with pride.

The last gen they need to complete is in the shack, and Ace asks Sally to keep Meg and Jake away as the worn building is full of rusty nails and splintered wood. It’s just him and David, and the teen isn’t messing up a single one of the wires this time.

“Yer awful nice to Sally,” David suddenly says.

“Well, she’s been a great help, even if I was skeptical at first,” Ace shrugs.

“Nah, I mean... Ya could’ve taken ‘er,” David says, somber tone in his voice. Ace peers over the generator in confusion, meeting the teen’s serious gaze. “She don’t have ‘er weapon or teleport. She’s just a small lass, no match for ye. Could’a easily had revenge.”

Something unpleasant twists in Ace’s stomach at the words and David’s dark expression. He’s not sure he likes where this is going.

“Not really my style to hold grudges; I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Ace tries to joke. “And even if I wasn’t... Attacking a defenseless woman? That’s beyond fucked up,” he says, frowning at David while trying to figure out what the other is getting at.

“I know,” David says with a frown of his own. “I was try’na say, you could’a, but you didn’t, an’... I respect ya for it,” he mutters the last part staring at the machine. Ace quirks an eyebrow; it seems like David wanted to... give him a lecture in respecting women?

“You know, if you want her to feel safe, maybe you shouldn’t have sexually harassed her,” Ace points out. David groans in embarrassment.

“I know, I was jus’ try’na get between you lot to defuse, an’... ‘m gonna apologize to ‘er,” David mutters awkwardly. Huh, that was a lot easier than Ace imagined. He thought teenagers were supposed to be unreasonable?

The last gen pops and they regroup with Sally and the two kids in front of an exit. While David is opening the gate, Sally hands Meg back to Ace.

“Daddy!” the small girl exclaims, smiling brightly while wrapping her hands around his neck.

“I usually hear that in a very different context,” Ace jokes, causing Sally to chuckle. Jake pulls on Sally’s skirt, handing her the pine cone.

“Thanks for borrowing mr. Sheep,” Jake says.

“Oh, what a polite little boy you are. So precious,” Sally coos, carefully accepting the gift and petting Jake’s hair fondly. Jake blushes and rushes to hide behind Ace, peeking out behind his legs to glance at Sally shyly.

As the exit doors slide open, Sally’s face twists into a worried frown. “Will you be alright?” she asks.

“I mean, even if the whole camp somehow turned young? I think I can handle it,” Ace says, tentative confidence in his parenting skills having built up during the trial. The most likely outcome is that the Entity will turn them right back after the trial, and the ones back at camp will be none the wiser. “Oh, uh. Thanks for the help,” he adds, remembering his manners.

“Don’t mention it,” Sally says, smiling.”It would be nice if this happened more often, where I didn’t have to—” she falters. Kill you, Ace supplies in his mind.

“Don’t worry,” Ace says. “We’re all just... doing our best.”

“I’m... glad you see it that way,” Sally says, looking down at the ground and nervously twirling a red lock between her fingers. Huh... is she—?

A small hand tugging at his own interrupts his thoughts, and he turns his full attention to Jake, who is looking up at him with big black eyes.

“Let’s go home,” Jake says, pulling on his finger towards the exit. Ace grabs his hand and smiles fondly. “You’re right,” Ace says.

“I, uh, Sally,” David hastily interrupts. “‘M sorry about... y’know, before—”

“Don’t worry about it, I know you were just trying to lighten the mood,” Sally says with a small smile. “And if you tried anything, I could still kick your ass into next year,” she adds innocently.

Ace chokes on a laugh, not expecting this side of the soft-spoken woman. Instead of being flustered, David looks... intrigued.

“Ya mean ya can still, like, carry us on yer shoulder...?” David asks curiously. When Sally nods, David’s eyes go wide and a flush spreads over his cheeks.

“Okay that’s our cue to leave!” Ace interrupts, not mentally prepared to hear any more about David’s apparent infatuation with strong women. “Come on, lover boy,” Ace nudges the teen into the exit.

“Gimme a few years, luv!” David hollers excitedly before disappearing into the fog after Ace.

And with that, they’re done with their strangest trial to date.

“I just had the weirdest dream,” Ace overhears Meg tell Nea the next day, a confused frown on her face.

“What about?” Nea asks.

“You remember how I’ve never met my dad?” Meg asks, and Nea nods. “Well, I dreamed that I did. I was really young, like still a baby or something, so it wasn’t really... lucid. I couldn’t understand what he said, but I remember his voice and like, his smile. He just held me in his arms and,” her voice cracks. “I just knew he’d never leave me.” She blinks some wetness from her eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to start bawling—” she hurries to explain.

“No, it’s okay, come here,” Nea assures her friend, pulling her into a hug. “That sounds like a really nice dream. I’m happy for you.”

Ace feels his throat choke up as he watches a grateful Meg cry into Nea’s shoulder. He turns his focus back to shuffling the cards, thankful he’s wearing his shades as his own eyes start watering dangerously.

remember when i said “i’m gonna write shorter stories from now on”? sike

[like-rain-or-confetti]

High School Reunions (Heidi Volturi x Reader)

You groaned again. You dreaded this day even the very first moment you were officially no longer in high school. High school reunions weren't fun, nor completely friendly from what you knew. You'd be surrounded by your year group who had gone off to do major and minuscule things and the many things that sat in between. Maybe there would be doctors and lawyers but there'd also be those who would be considered failing at life. That category had no discrimination. Married? Kids? Stable job? Salary? Vacations? How many cars? The thousands upon thousands of contacts people would promise to get in touch with to help an old friend when in reality they'd do no such thing and instead leech off of the gossip and ego boost. It was a competition, who did life better? You wanted no part in it but you couldn't just simply not go. That would be so much worse. The gossip would thrive! However, you had nothing to 'show off', nothing in your eyes anyway. Nothing is ever enough in this game and you were content with what you had. However, that didn't mean you weren't affected by judgement. 

Emmett nudged you. "Cheer up lil' human." He teased. "It won't be as bad as you think!" "It'll be worse." You grumbled into your hands. "At least you don't have to re-live highschool." Emmett grinned. You jumped slightly hearing Heidi's heels clicking behind you. You had forgotten the Volturi were visiting the Cullen's for a full ten minutes after receiving the invite to the reunion. "What's wrong?" Heidi smiled brightly. "(Y/N) has a high school reunion to go to." Emmett grinned at you. Heidi hummed, intrigued. "What's that exactly?" She twirled a lick of curled hair between her fingers, head tilting slightly. "Hell." You sighed. "I meet up with my year group for a reunion. The idea is innocent, but in actuality it's a sea of adults flaunting their successes like it's a competition." Heidi hummed. "What's so bad about that?" "It's condescending! I'll be around people with high paid jobs, massive houses and many cars and married with hundreds of kids!" You paused. "So maybe not hundreds of kids but you know what I mean." "I do, but you can flaunt too. That's the fun in it." Heidi leaned over the counter slightly in front of you as though you had her full attention. Her red eyes boring into yours.  "I don't flaunt. I don't have anything to flaunt. I'm not married, I don't have kids and I don't have an amazing mansion or a fancy car or any of that stuff. I'm just me and that wasn't enough in high school." You sighed. "I had a tough time in school, other kids weren't...friendly toward me." Heidi narrowed her eyes slightly, quiet for a moment. "When is it?" "Three days away." "I'll go with you. Tell them we're engaged or that we're married. Flaunt me all you like. In return, I get to feed on one of them- my choice." 

Heidi was very attractive, it was her gift. Humans nor vampires could resist her. You were no exception but your guilt set in quickly. "I couldn't do that. You're not an object-" "I'm not asking, sweetie. It'll be fun! I get to feed and enjoy a little revenge and you get to be on the winning team. It's a win-win." That's how it began and she kept true to her word. 

Your jaw hit the floor. Heidi was gorgeous. You weren't surprised when she had chosen a red dress. Her curled hair perfectly framing her face and her make-up was perfect. More notably, she wore a very expensive looking ring on her ring finger. That must have been the 'engagement ring' . "Ready to knock 'em dead?" Heidi smirked seductively. Your heart was racing and you weren't entirely sure of your response. No words coming to mind. "Well one of them more literally." She winked, looping her arm in yours. 

The punches rolled in immediately. You barely arrived and were immediately greeted by Hayley. She was the head cheerleader and was a nice person, soft spoken but her company were vicious. So much so that many didn't speak to her just so they wouldn't have to endure her group of friends. "Hi! (Y/N), yeah?" You nodded. "Yeah." "Oh you look great! It's so good to see you!" You chuckled nervously before attempting to divert the attention from yourself. "Hayley, this is Heidi. She's my-" You stumbled, bit entirely certain of what to call her. Luckily Heidi didn't skip a beat, leaning into your side. "I'm their fiancee. It's so nice to meet you." Hayley looked taken aback. There was a brief second she looked enamored my Heidi before shaking herself out of her daze. "You look lovely tonight! Congratulations on your engagement. That's very exciting!" "It is!" Heidi mirrored Hayley's pleasant and polite smile, although Heidi seemed more enthusiastic. Heidi raised her hand, showing the ring. "I'm very lucky to have gotten such a great catch." You stifled a laugh at the dark humour, her job was considered 'fishing' after all. Hayley seemed to look you over slightly, before her eyes moving back to Heidi. Hayley seemed to be judging that statement for herself. "It's beautiful! I'm afraid I must be going, so many people to see! I'll be sure to catch you soon!" You looked at Heidi who turned to look back at you. "I'm very good at this game." She smirked. "She doesn't think I'm good enough for you. I've seen that look a million times." Heidi scoffed. "I bet she thinks a lot of things. I do too but there is a distinct difference between people like me and her." "What's that?" You asked. "I have the guts to say them." Heidi twirled a lock of hair as her eyes travelled around the room. You eyed a few familiar faces around the room. "Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe we should go." "No, we had a deal. Besides, I've got your back. You don't need to worry. We're going to show them how wrong they are about you." "Promise me you have my back." You said quickly as you locked eyes with someone who made their way towards you. "Promise." 

"(Y/N) (L/N), I cannot believe it!" The blonde slightly overweight man grinned, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, a darker haired and scrawny man followed behind him closely. The blonde was your old classmate Tommy. You remembered how lovely he was and that he was the theatre kid. He lived and breathed theatres and knew just about every single musical every written. "This is my husband Theodore!" Tommy gestured to the dark haired man who offered a small smile, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I knew it was you! I told him! I told you Theo!" You smiled at Tommy. He seemed genuinely glad to see you. Then again, Tommy was always a good guy. "This is my fiancee, Heidi." You felt a little guilt about lying to Tommy but this was how it has to be. You couldn't go back now. Heidi greeted the couple. "Tell me everything!" Tommy said in delight. "I want to know everything I've missed!" You told him of your job and the real details of your life. Heidi was quick, creating the story of how you both first met and how Heidi fell for you immediately. After a couple of years you proposed. She gave such a convincing story that even you forgot she was talking about you and that you hadn't done anything of these things. 

You weren't sure if Tommy and Heidi got on well naturally of if Heidi was just playing along. "Well, in the summer time we hope to finally bring our little girl home permanently. We're finalising the papers." Tommy grinned and even Theodore cracked a smile. "You're adopting? That's amazing, Tommy. Congrats." "I know, I always wanted a daughter! What about you two? Any kids?" "Actually-" Heidi wrapped her arms over your shoulders. "None yet but I'm sure there will be one or two not long after the wedding." Heidi went even further planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

 Heidi's eyes shifted to a woman before nudging you. "Who is that over there?" "Oh... That is Jessica. Why?" "Because I'm trying to listen to everyone's boring lives and all I can hear is her shrill voice shrieking about her golden child who can do no wrong." "Oh...well it looks like she's coming this way." Heidi exhaled slowly, you could tell Jessica aggravated her. "Hello there!" Jessica sang. "My, how you've changed!" Her eyes moved up and down your body making you hold back a shiver.  You remembered Jessica to be a snob, much like her parents. You tried to avoid her as much as possible during school. She always wanted to flaunt and that got annoying after ten minutes. "Tommy tells me there is possible little ones in your future! Good for you! And congratulations on your engagement!" Of course Tommy told her. Anyone would give up any information to divert her attention from them and onto someone else. "Yes, perhaps after the wedding." Heidi said sweetly, sickeningly sweet. It had to be intentional but you couldn't tell her that Jessica had no kind of radar for such hints to back off. "We're waiting until I'm more financially secure." You played along in hopes of settling any tension with Heidi. You were practically saving Jessica's life in your eyes. "I'm hoping a promotion is in the near future for me. A lot of my money has went to the wedding." "Oh I wish I had time for a job!" Jessica swooned. "I simply don't have time for that. I have a little one of my own, she's seven and quite possibly a genius! Naturally all my time goes to her and I'm absolutely exhausted! Oh how she's worth it though. My extraordinary child. Any other parent would be jealous!" Heidi hummed pleasantly but it was very forced. Anyone but Jessica could see it.  "(Y/N) works for the government. I want a big white wedding and my (Y/N) made my dreams come true! Now we hope to have children after the wedding and put some money away for private schooling. We'll have to be careful though in timing." Heidi pulled you closer to her, wrapping an arm around you. "I'd like to enjoy (Y/N) myself without any interruptions. Oh the things they can do!" Your jaw dropped. "Heidi!" "Honey, I promised I wouldn’t talk about your position in the government since it's a secret. You never said I couldn't talk about you." Jessica chuckled slightly uncomfortable. "Well if you excuse me..." 

"Really? Implying sex? Really?" Your eyes were wide. "She was insufferable before she came over here, I did you a favour. I said it because she's recently divorced and is very jealous of every couple here." Heidi paused. "Besides if she said rammed one more brag about her child in our faces I'd expect she'd pull the child out of her bag and trying to force her down our throats. Children are not that special, I don't care who you are." You sighed before a thought occurred to you. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone say something like that about their child. She just promised us a prodigy." "That's because she's insecure in herself, she's trying to show everyone she's a great mother who's managing perfectly her divorce from her husband who likely got bored of her long ago." "Maybe she is coping well." "Perhaps, but no one copes perfectly. That's the difference. She doesn't want a single crack to show and I bet on the inside she is one more crack away from falling to pieces." "I feel like everyone has it put together but me." Heidi snorted. "Are you kidding? Look. See Hayley over there? She went from everyone's perfect princess and now has nothing to show for it. She's learned she's normal like the rest of us. Tommy, no doubt has his issues with his husband because he couldn’t stress enough that his life was perfect along with his marriage. Even with the right person, marriages aren't always easy. I've made my case with that Jessica over there already." Heidi turned to look at you. "Everyone here is miserable and insecure and trying to pretend they aren't. They feel they have something to prove just like you do. As soon as they leave here, they'll be ripping one another apart just to make themselves feel better...it's a little cute if you ask me." Heidi finished with a smile. 

You suddenly stifled with a gasp. Liam. The ringleader of all bullies was in front of you and heading your way with a sickening smirk. You were his favourite to torment and judging by the smile he gave you, they're wouldn't be much difference. Liam looked down at you, a good head taller than you. "(Y/N) (L/N). I didn't expect you'd make it. We all know what you're like around...people." He smirked and you couldn't bring yourself to respond. "Who's this? How much did you pay her to go with you, hm?" Heidi's nostrils flared before she responded. "I'm their fiancee." She said sweetly, holding up her ring. "Has to be a fake. This moron can barely tie their own shoes never mind get you a ring like that." He snorted. Then his eyes ran up and down Heidi, the sight making your skin crawl. "Let me know when this one bores you princess. I can show you a better time." As soon as he left, you exhaled. "Can we go?" You asked Heidi. "No." She said looking at Liam who had walked away. "Why?" "Because I found my meal." "Him? Really? He might make you sick. I think he has tar for blood." "Oh no, he's the one." She said smoothly. "That's the one who gave you a rough time?" "Yeah, but it doesn't matter, let's just go-" "We'll stay for another half an hour. Right now, let's get you a drink." 

Heidi kept you distracted for the next twenty minutes, talking about everything and anything with you as you sipped on your drink. She even reassured you that you were the better catch than Liam...the pun was intended. "Listen honey, I'd spend my time with you before him. He's the type of guy who doesn't have a brain." She tilted her head almost adoringly in his direction. "He's a loser." "That's...not a compliment." "It's not supposed to be honey. Anyway, say your goodbyes. I'm going to get my meal. I'll meet you outside in ten minutes." She kissed you cheek before leaving. She didn't have to go so far in this act but you wouldn't complain. 

You moved away from your original position to see Heidi brush past Liam and giving him a seductive smile, all the while nodding at him to follow her. Liam had no problems and immediately complied. 

You left exactly ten minutes later, saying your final goodbyes to Tommy before Heidi turned the corner, smiling. "Darling, I was just checking the car. Are you ready to go?" Tommy was quick to pull you into a hug. "It was great seeing you (Y/N), remember to add my number! I'd love to hear from you again soon!" You nodded with a smile. "Bye, Tommy." There was something oddly sad about the situation. You already missed him and didn't know why. Perhaps he represented normal human life. Ever since you've known about vampires, your life hasn't been normal. An adjective you missed greatly. Heidi's cold hand slipping into yours broke you out of your thoughts before she lightly pulled you away. You offered a wave to Tommy as Heidi called back that it was lovely to have met him. "Your hand is freezing." You mumbled. "Would you like me to let go?" "No, it was way too hot in there, the cold is welcomed." Heidi smiled in response. "Did you...is he alive?" You asked. "No, he isn't." Heidi said simply. "He was delicious, just the right amount of Karma too " 

Heidi walked you to the Cullen door before kissing your cheek. You blushed immediately. "You were a lovely date tonight and I'm happy to have helped you. Perhaps you should take me out more often." She winked.

[bellarke-angel]

Drabble request: stiles is killed by monroe post-series and lydia sorta does a scream that ends the whole world and sends her back in time to ep1, where she does a very complex martial arts move on Jackson when he hugs her from behind and tries to only act friendly in front of stiles (which still astounds him). Peter's someone she can deal with rather quickly but her main problem rn is to not scare the crap out of this lovable young stiles with her intensity while still grieving HER stiles. 

Lydia was sure this was a dream, it had to be, waking up to find herself lying in bed as though nothing had happened. Yet the last thing she could remember was Stiles limp in her arms, blood covering both her hands and clothes...but it wasn’t her blood, it was his. He’d been stupidly heroic yet again, the pair walking hand in hand through the woods, sure it was weird to be going on a late night walk in the woods but it had become a little thing they’d do. To spend time together without all the murder and shit. Then Brett had appeared out of thin air, the boy scrambling helplessly blood gushing from his arm as he held it, his breath hitched as he collided into the couple.

One word and that was all Stiles and Lydia had needed to know about what had happened, 

“Monroe.”

The boy strained, clearly needing medical attention. Stiles had been quick to the boys aid, trying to help him standing asking him a million questions at once. But all Bret could do was shake his head, mumbling something about his pack being hunted, that so many had died. Lydia couldn’t imagine the pain of losing so many. Stiles had instructed her to take Bret back to the jeep, to get him to the hospital before he lost too much blood. But before he could even shift Bret’s body weight onto Lydia, a sharp snap shot into the floor beside their feet. A gasp escaping their mouths. There was no time. 

“Next one goes through the chest!” A gruff voice echoed from behind them - they didn’t have to turn around to know who that voice belonged to. Gerrard.

"Of course it's you," Lydia sighed heavily, anger bubbling inside her.

It might've been in his genes to be a hunter. But it wasn't what Allison had wanted, Lydia just wished Gerrard would respect what his granddaughter's wishes.

"I should've guessed you'd come crawling out of your hole at some point." Lydia snarled, Stiles close beside her, his hand resting on her lower back.

"To be fair, I've always thought you resembled a mole," Stiles chimed in, a dancing smirk on his face as he ran his free hand over it. The scrawny boy earning himself a glower from the older man before them. “What? It’s true.”

Lydia stifled the smirk that threatened to appear on her lips, the short girl staggering as she felt Bret stumble weakly. A worried glance shooting his way as Gerrard muttered something to the woman beside him, the girl raising her crossbow to aim so perfectly at Brett. The three knew how this was going to end, with Brett’s condition deteriorating rapidly, there was no chance he’d be able to run without getting hit. Stiles quickly straightened, raising his hands up trying to defuse the situation. Shoving all his jokes aside.

“Hey, hey, look. No-one has to get hurt anymore than they already have,” He rambled, “We’ll just be taking our little wolf friend here, and he’ll be out of your hair. We’ll act like this never happened.”

The cruel pair before them let out a harsh cackle, “You think we’ll just let him go? How many people have to die because you monsters roaming our lands? No. He dies tonight.”

It was ironic that she was a councilor, the woman who was supposed to help with the students and their issues. Now turning on them, trying to kill them for something they never asked for. They were just trying to survive, like everyone else in this ghost ridden town. All it took was the snap of a wire, for the arrow to come soaring towards the innocent, injured boy ready to take his life. It happened faster than Lydia could process, Stiles being beside her one minute to launching himself before Brett the next. 

It was the sound of the arrow stopping that shattered Lydia’s reality. It had hit him. Stiles. Stopped plain in his chest, for a moment she found herself frozen in time. The redhead watching as the boy she loved stared down at himself, seemingly in shock that he’d actually risked his life for someone he barely knew. That he’d traded places, life for death. When his warm brown eyes locked onto Lydia’s, that was when she saw fear and pain begin to flood his mind. It was like Allison’s death all over again. But this time she was in Scott’s position, she was the one now cradling Stiles in her arms, the man having fell to his knees quickly losing the strength to breathe let alone stand. It ached her heart to watch, her hand putting pressure around his wound, her hands shaking as tears streaked down her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” Was all Stiles kept repeating, but she wasn’t listening. She knew it wasn’t. If it was then Allison would still be alive now, all it takes is one arrow and she knew Stiles knew that. “Lydia, listen to me. Y-you’ve got to get Scott, or...or my dad, I—”

“Why would you do that? You knew what would happen—fuck, Stiles.” Lydia questioned in anger, all the pain beginning to bubble up. The thought of losing yet another person she loved in the same way, causing sobs to rack her body. “I-I don’t want to lose you.”

Stiles raised a shaking hand to her cheek, his thumb grazing over her soft skin trying to memorize the feeling. He’d waited so long for them to be together, for Lydia to reciprocate his feelings and now it was all being taken away. Lydia let out a soft whimper, leaning into his touch, wishing everything to be okay again, but it didn’t change the fact that Stiles was dying. Right here, in her arms. A piece of her heart crumbling away.

“I love you, never forget that. Since the day I met you...you’ve been all I can think about, all I dreamed about, when I thought of my future, Lydia...” Stiles choked, the tears that were brimming in his eyes now falling. “You were all over it. You still are, okay. S—so whatever happens, promise me you’ll be happy, promise me you’ll go get that award you’ve always wanted. Promise you’ll take care of Scott.”

If Stiles wasn’t dying, she’d refuse to listen, refuse to hear his goodbyes or promise anything that didn’t involve him. She was finally happy, after all these years and that happiness was currently in her arms, on the edge of leaving her.

“Stiles, I can’t — “

It was getting harder and harder to swallow the scream aching to leave her body, but she watched as his eyes flutter, the boy struggling to stay awake. She needed him to hear her say it, to say she loved him more than he’d ever know, to tell him she didn’t want a future where he wasn’t in it. That for the past three years she’d loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone in her life, Stiles was she’d wanted...but it was too late, her mouth fell agape ready to flood him with all the love consuming her thoughts. But his eyes were closed, his chest still...his hand limp. He was gone. And that was when she screamed, just before everything turned black.

[x]

Lydia hauled herself up, wincing at the coursing pain that shot through her head. She hadn’t had a migraine this bad since Eichen House, it took her a second to notice the changes in her room, the walls a horrid hot pink that of which they used to be years ago. The sight immediately making her cringe, she could’ve sworn just hours ago her bedroom walls were a warm rouge pink that she’d chosen with Stiles not too long ago. Lydia shook off the eerie feeling weighing on her, trying to piece together how she could be in the woods with Stiles one minute, to waking up in her bed...but that’s just it. She didn’t remember waking up. The redhead startled hearing her door click open, her mother walking in looking at her as though she was crazy.

“Lydia, what the hell are you still doing here? School starts in ten minutes.”

The redheads eyes widened at that, not bothering to question how the weekend had managed to fly by so fast. Senior year was the year she’d sworn not to be late, it could remain on her record forever and after being stuck in Eichen for so long. Missing out on essential classes wasn’t on her itinerary. 

“Shit,” She hissed beneath her breath, her mother glaring at her daughters foul language. Lydia’s green eyes flickered to her mother, knowing she’d get scolded for cursing - even if she was eighteen. “Sorry, I guess I slept through my alarm.”

“Well, you’d best get moving, you don’t want to be late.” Natalie tutted, she’d always frowned on anything but perfect when it came to her daughter. She knew Lydia was capable of whatever she set her mind to.

Lydia simply nodded, snatching up the first bag in her sight which just so happened to be her bag from her freshman year. It was horribly out of season, but it would have to do, she threw on an outfit - her grey boots, a loose fitted dress and her grey leather jacket thrown over the top. She instinctively reached for her car keys, which she always left resting upon her bedside table. Only to find them missing, she could’ve swore she put them there yesterday. The redhead knew she didn’t have time to fuss about where her keys were, darting down the stairs and into the kitchen, she’d have to ask her mother to drop her off. 

The redhead had fought the feeling of heartache the moment she’d awoken in her bed, but heading towards the school with her books in her arms and bag on her shoulder. It just seemed to get heavier, Stiles flooded her mind, his last words, the pain filled brown eyes, she’d never known Stiles to be as pale as he was that night. It haunted her, and something told her it was too realistic to be a dream. She remembered it so vividly. Lydia sucked in a breath, something telling her today was going to be different and the second she walked towards the double doors, noticing two familiar looking boys, her closest friends, both looking a lot younger and doe eyed than the last time she’d laid eyes on them. Something stopped Lydia in her tracks, she was close enough to note the buzz cut on Stiles and the rugged curls on Scott’s head. Something was definitely wrong.

But right now, with a heavy heart of losing the man she loved seeing him alive and healthy was all she cared about. The redhead strode forward, not bothering to think it through and threw her arms around the skinny boys body. The weigh of her suddenly colliding with him causing him to stumble back in shock. Lydia could tell immediately that this Stiles wasn’t hers. At least, not yet. The girl pulling back, to meet the slightly confused, slightly frightened muddy brown eyes she loved so. But all she could offer him was a smile.

“Lydia...uh...” Stiles visibly gulped, clearly dumbstruck, fumbling for words to say. Seeing Stiles like this, shy and nervous just how he was when they first became friends, melted her heart. “W-What, uh...I didn’t think you knew I existed.”

Lydia laughed lightly at his words, back then she didn’t, she hadn’t even known he’d attended the school until Allison took interest in Scott. 

“Nonsense, I know everyone.” 

Scott had been stood beside his best friend, in his own state of shock at the redheads presence. Not once had she even glanced in the boys direction, now here she was as though she’d change over night. Stiles gave Lydia a shy once over, noting the apparent differences in the girl.

“Did uh, did you do something with your hair?” The nervous boy asked, frightened he’d scare her off. Lydia frowned at his words, lifting a gather of her hair, did he not like it?

“No…” She begun, suddenly self conscious that all this time Stiles might’ve disliked her straight hair. “Do you not like it?”

Stiles reacted quickly to her words, rushing to nod his head feeling as though this was his one chance with Lydia and that he might screw it up.

“Fuck, uh. No, no I love it. I think it’s beautiful, you know, that you’re beautiful. I-I just meant that it was straight, it’s usually curly.” Stiles stammered, trying to correct his error.

Lydia had forgotten how shy Stiles had been around her when they first met, always fumbling for the right words, shooting her loving little looks. It caused Lydia’s cheeks to burn with a blush, falling more in love with him every second that passed. The redhead had no clue how she was here, if this was some strange multiverse, or if she was simply dreaming. But to see her boyfriend like this with his stupid buzz cut, his goofy smile and fit as a fiddle. She was thankful. Because at least it gives her a chance at loving him again, to savor her time with him whilst she could.

[x]

Strangely enough, classes had passed by quickly, Jackson had been hounding her like a dog most of the day. Lydia surely didn’t miss that. The girl sat at the “popular” table listening to Danny hammer on about some model from Vogue; the boys usual topic of conversation. When her green eyes landed on a familiar set of brown ones boring into her, like she was a puzzle he was trying to decipher. Lydia muttered an excuse to Jackson, rising to her feet and heading over to Scott and Stiles. 

“Hey.”

Was all she came out with, for no reason feeling a bundle of nerves build up in her stomach. Stiles seemed to smile instantly at her presence, clearly thrilled this morning wasn’t just a one off.

“What are you boys fanboying about? It’s just I was watching you guys and uh, whatever you’re talking about, it’s clearly important...or intriguing at least.”

Lydia knew Scott got bit around this time, seem as it was the start of freshman year. The two boys nervously glanced at one another, hesitant on whether to spill the details of their night. 

“Just...boy stuff, I guess.”

The ginger had to stifle a laugh at that, “Wow, boy stuff...you sure you don’t mean werewolf stuff?”

Both of the boys eyebrows shot up, mouth agape as they looked at her as though she could somehow read her mind. Maybe she could’ve came about telling them a lighter, instead of dropping a bomb like that. But what was the point in wasting time? 

“What? I mean, how do you know?” Scott struggled, scratching his head anxiously. His eyes suddenly growing wide, lowering his voice as he asked, “Did you get bit by that thing too?”

“No, ew. I just...happened to know, that’s all.” The girl shrugged, sliding into the seat beside Stiles. Subconsciously sitting a little too close to him, he’d been silent since she appeared. Lydia returned her attention to Scott. “That bite, starts something incredible.”

Scott remained dumbfounded, having no clue how she could’ve stumbled across all of this information. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was some kind of psychic. Stiles cleared his throat, eyes still trained on Lydia beside him.

“I’ve never got to admire those green eyes of yours up close,” Stiles looked as though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, his face mimicking a tomato. Lydia could only smile, knowing her eyes were always her Stiles’s favourite. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s not often I get complimented this much.” She smiled sweetly.

“Doesn’t Jackson compliment you?” Stiles frowned, he’d assumed their relationship was the typical popular high school couple, honeymoon phase all around. Lydia scoffed.

“Jackson...has his own shit going on. He doesn’t exactly have time to notice me.”

It felt weird confessing that out loud, knowing that really was how their relationship had been all those years ago. Lydia loved him, despite the fact she knew he was gay…that he had hook ups with guys here and there. It hurt her to know she was just his beard, but as long as she portrayed this perfect picture for everyone else, she dealt with it.

“You don’t deserve a douche bag like him.” Stiles muttered beneath his breath, knowing the old Lydia would turn her nose up at him for saying that. 

“Took me a long time to realize that.” She agreed, wishing she’d fell out of Jackson’s spell a lot earlier than she did. “I should’ve seen what was right in front of me.”

The pair seemed to share a silent exchange, both their hearts fluttering in their chests. The love Lydia felt for Stiles was unlike any of the love she’d felt for her past lovers. Lydia sighed, hauling herself to her feet.

“I’d best get to class, I’ll catch you guys later.”

[x]

Lydia walked down the corridor, she’d flew through her classes. She wasn’t sure if it was considered a cheat that she’d already gone through all of the paperwork and exams. But she hadn’t exactly asked to go back in time. It was the glimpse of dark curled hair that caught the corner of her eye. Her heart dropping to her stomach, it was as though all of the pain from three years ago came flooding back. Allison.

Without thinking Lydia was before the girl before she could stop herself. The urge to throw her arms around the brunette calling to her, but unlike with Stiles she fought it. This Allison didn’t know her yet, frightening her off wasn’t an option. Lydia forced on a fake smile, good at hiding her pain as always.

“Is that the new designer jacket from Gucci? Oh my god, I wish I could afford that.” 

The shy girl brushed her hair behind her ear, smiling awkwardly towards Lydia.

“Uh, yeah. My mom’s sort of into their stuff.” Lydia felt like crying, it had been years since she heard her best friends voice.

Lydia wasn’t sure if this dream or whatever the hell it was, was supposed to be some form or torture or heaven. Whatever it was, she was grateful to see Allison again, whether it was real or not. Only now she was carrying both the loss of her boyfriend and best friend. The dark thoughts seemed to cloud her mind, the redhead being pulled from her thoughts by Allison. Finding the brunette waving a hand in front of her face.

“Hey, you okay?” The concerned laced in Allison’s voice made Lydia give her a weak smile. Shaking herself back into her act.

“Yeah, sorry. Just got lost in my thoughts, but we should totally be best friends?” The ginger beamed, linking her arm through Allison’s with a chirpy bounce of happiness. The brunette closing her locker with her free hand, going along with her.

“Sure, why not?” Allison laughed shyly, as they turned both the girls eyes met two boys at their lockets further down the hall. Allison seemed to notice Lydia’s gaze. “Friends of yours?”

Lydia glanced up at her long lost friend, a small smile on her face. “Yeah, two of the best people I know actually…”

It felt like nostalgia being back where their adventure had started, Scott, Stiles, Allison and her all together again. How it was meant to be. Something within her broke, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this.

“The cute one? What’s his name?” Allison asked, eyes trained on the boys.

“The boy with the buzz cut, Stiles?” Allison seemed to raise a brow at the name, but Lydia quickly noted she’d meant Scott. The redheads cheeks blushing, “Oh, you mean Scott.”

Allison stayed quiet for a moment, “I met him earlier...he seems sweet.”

“I think the feelings mutual,” Lydia grinned, gesturing towards the boy that was now looking Allison’s way. “And now the love story begins.”

Allison blushed furiously nudging her, hating the attention. “Hey, you’re one to talk. Clearly this Stiles, means something to you.”

Lydia shook her head, the brunette was correct to assume so, but she simply smiled. “Time will tell, my friend. Time will tell.”

But little did Allison know Lydia knew how their story unfolded. Love, heartache and adventure awaiting them. Lydia started to walk towards the lovable pair of boys when she felt a pair of snake around her waist, tugging her into whomever it was. As if on instinct, Lydia performed a perfect martial arts move on the boy who was her current boyfriend. Her heart was racing as she backed off of the boy realising who it was, Lydia placed her hand over her mouth in shock.

“Jackson! Shit, sorry. Y-you scared me.”

The attention of every student in the hallway was on her, each of them bewildered by the sudden incident. Lydia extended a hand to help him up but the boy simply scoffed, shoving her hand aside, a scowl written across his expression.

“What the fuck, Lydia.”

The boy dusted himself down, wincing at the ache that ran through his body. Lydia kicked herself, Parrish’s lessons came in handy, but they also appeared like they were on auto-drive whenever anyone touched her. Stiles saw the exchange from afar, anger coursing through his exterior at how Jackson had swatted Lydia away. The scrawny freshman rushing over, standing protectively before the redhead.

“Dude, she said she was sorry.” He spoke up, Jackson took a step towards the boy as though to seem threatening.

Lydia knew what Jackson could be like, the girl slipping between the two men, a hand on both of their chests. 

“Let’s all just calm down, okay? It was an accident. You startled me, that’s all.”

Jackson huffed, glaring at Lydia with anger. “We’re over, Lydia. Sort your shit out.”

Lydia remained unfazed, she got over Jackson a long time ago. The woman rolling her eyes at the immature man, her eyes falling onto the worried brown eyed boy. A smile instantly finding her lips.

“I didn’t know you knew karate?” Stiles spoke up, looking down at the short girl.

“Martial arts.” She corrected, “I learned from an old friend of mine, guess it comes in handy sometimes.”

Stiles shuffled on his feet, looking over her shoulder noticing Scott was in some deep flustered conversation with Allison. A goofy grin on his face,

“Seems Scotty’s got a himself crush.”

Lydia watched the pair interact, the love blooming just as it had so long ago. “I ship it.”

Her words earned a loud laugh from Stiles, the man joining in, “I think they should have a name, just between us, how about...Scallison?”

“I like it, it’s got a ring to it.” Lydia chuckled lightly, her gaze returning to Stiles who met her as though they were in sync. 

Lydia felt like a school girl with a crush when she was around Stiles, she’d always tried to hide it but she couldn’t fight the attraction she felt towards him. Even with his bald head. He was still her Stiles, he cleared his throat, gesturing towards the double doors.

“You wanna, you know, go for a walk or whatever? Feel free to say no.” Stiles asked, looking as though he was preparing himself for rejection. 

The redheads heart fluttered, “I’d actually really love that.”

Lydia couldn’t read the boy before her, so many emotions flooding his expression. Happiness, confusion, excitement all wrapped into one. Stiles rubbed the nape of his neck with a innocent smile.

“Great!”

The pair walked out of the school, no teacher stood guard to tell them to head back inside. It wasn’t like missing a few classes would damage Lydia’s grades anyway. Comfortable silence hung between them as they walked, arms brushing from the close proximity, goosebumps running up Lydia’s arm every time they touched. Stiles was the first to speak up, breaking the silence between them.

“I didn’t even believe Scott when he said it was a werewolf…be honest with me, how did you know?”

Lydia pondered on telling him, seeing no harm, the worst that could happen is him thinking it was a joke.

“I...I’ve known about werewolves since I saved Jackson from the Kanima,” The redhead confessed, Stiles gave her an odd expression. Lydia sucked in a breath before she continued, “Scott was bitten by Peter, some asshole related to Derek Hale. From there Scott becomes a werewolf, he falls in love with Allison along the way, I know this sounds crazy...but I think, I think when I screamed when you died in my arms - brought me back here. Back to you.”

Stiles stood in ominous silence for a minute or two, debating whether to believe the woman he loved. It sounded ridiculous, she just so happened to be thrown back in time to when they first met. And yet it all pieced together, the way she noticed him, the way she looked, how her hair was straightened, longer and her face matured. This wasn’t the Lydia he knew.

“So...in the future I die...that kind of sucks.”

Lydia let out a breath of relief, thankful he believed her. “It was...one of the worst nights of my life.”

Stiles thought it over for a moment, shortly connecting the dots. His eyes suddenly sparkled with hope, a charming smile dancing across his face. 

“Were we…? Are we more than friends in the future?” His question was hesitant, as though he was afraid to ask...maybe to know the answer.

Lydia bowed her head with a smile, “I loved you more than I’d ever loved anyone.”

The words that fell from her lips seemed to knock the air from Stiles’s lungs. All his life, since he’d known the red haired girl, he’d been waiting for the day she returned the love he held for her. Stiles found himself jealous of his future self, to have Lydia all to himself. To get to hear her say she loved him, to sleep beside her, to hold her close whenever she was afraid. Stiles longed for that life.

Before Lydia knew what was happening Stiles crashed his lips into hers, it took her by surprise but less than a second later she responded with the same amount of passion, pulling the boy close. Lydia found herself lost in the kiss, her mind, body and soul all focused on Stiles. The way he held her so gently, the way he kissed her with such fire and affection, his thick shaggy brown hair, those puppy dog brown eyes...that’s when a wave coursed through her body and everything turned black.

[x]

Lydia felt a rush of déjà vu, waking from the darkness, a surge of pain running through her head. She internally groaned, she swore there was nothing more that she hated than a migraine. The redhead head held her head, blinking a few times to get rid of her blurred vision, it wasn’t until then that she heard Melissa’s voice.

“Lydia?! Lydia, hey, can you hear me?”

The girl all but groaned a response, “Where am I?”

“Beacon Hills memorial. Can you tell me the last thing you recall?” The brunette asked, fussing over Lydia as though she’d been in some sort of accident.

“M-me and Stiles...why the hell am I in a hospital?” 

It was quiet for a moment, Lydia looking up to meet Melissa’s concerned brown eyes. “Stiles was shot by an arrow...don’t you remember?”

Lydia’s eyes widened at her words. The woman leapt out of the hospital bed she’d been apparently lying in and was on her feet in seconds. Stiles wasn’t dead. Melissa held up her hands, placing them on Lydia’s shoulders, keeping her from racing out of the room.

“Whoa, slow down. Scott’s with him. You’ve been unconscious for a couple of days, Lydia.” Melissa informed her, easing the girls worries for a moment. If Stiles was in pain, at least Scott could help ease it. “That scream knocked you out, Scott found you three in time. Stiles and Bret had been rushed into surgery, they’re in recovery now. He’s been asking about you.”

Lydia sat quickly at the edge of the bed for a moment, thinking about kissing Stiles. It must’ve been some sort of...unconscious reality. Lydia sighed, glancing up at Melissa, tears welling in her eyes as she remembered the pain that harboured in her chest. 

“I need to see him...please Melissa.”

Melissa nodded, she’d been hearing those exact words from Stiles since the moment he’d regained consciousness. The curly haired woman gestured to the door, holding it open for the redhead to head through. Lydia couldn’t settle the bundle of nerves that were in a knot in her stomach, the last time she saw Stiles, the real Stiles. He was bleeding out in her arms, before she knew it Melissa was pushing open a door that led to Stiles’s room. 

Lydia stood in the doorway, feet seemingly glued to the floor as she looked at him. The boys brown eyes finding her the second she came into his sight. She’d never seen his face glow with such happiness and relief, except when he’d got her safely from Eichen. Tears burned in her eyes as she let all of her emotions free, he was okay. His hair scruffy, his face paler than usual from the loss of blood, but he was alive.

“Lydia, thank god.” His voice was hoarse, rough from lack of sleep no doubt. 

The boy’s voice seemed to break her trance, the redhead rushing to her boyfriend’s side, taking his hand in hers. Tears trickling down her cheeks, Stiles smiled softly, he knew how she felt, he’d thought the scream had threw her into some kind of coma. He thought he’d lost her just as she thought she’d lost him. He ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping the tears staining her face.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” Stiles told her, hating to see her so upset. Lydia let out a strangled laugh, heart faltering.

“I thought you were dead.”

Lydia’s voice broke, struggling to keep herself together. The ginger hesitantly climbed into the hospital bed, making sure her hospital gown didn’t ride up, curling up beside Stiles. Lydia’s head resting on his chest, her eyes fluttering shut as she listened to his heartbeat. Stiles held her close, trying to let her know he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m right here, Lydia.” The messy haired boy assured her, “I’m not going anywhere. I waited so long to be with you, you think I’d leave you now?”

Lydia arched her neck to meet Stiles’s gaze, her eyes flickering down to his lips, the boy noting the lingering stare, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“When they told me you were here too, that you were unconscious for some unknown reason,” Stiles started, “I almost lost it...I’ve almost lost you more times than I can count, they wouldn’t let me see you. Arrow wound and all. I had to make Scott promise to keep an eye on you.”

“I didn’t even know where I was...it was like I was in some weird dream. You were there, Allison and Scott too,” Lydia said, wondering if she had somehow gone insane. “Part of me wished it was real, because it would’ve meant you were still alive. But...even then, I knew I’d rather be with you. Here, now...just like this.”

Despite the sharp pain in his chest from the wound, Stiles reached down planting a adoring kiss on her temple. Smirking in amusement as he watched Lydia’s cheeks flush scarlet. The redhead tightening her hold on his hand.

“I love you with everything in me, Stiles. I really truly love you.”

As his heart raced with happiness, he smiled. “I’ve loved you since I could remember and I’ll love until my last dying breath.”

Okay so I absolutely LOVED writing this one shot, I hope @petrichorblue94 and all my other readers love it as much as I do! Thank you for the amazing request too!! :) A big thank you to my wonderful girlfriend @jaguarslegion for helping me on the parts I was stuck on. Thank you for reading, you can also find this on my ao3 > LoverOfCoffee

[victorineb]

On a moonlit Halloween night… 

“This is ridiculous. How are we getting away with this?” Will had adopted a theatrical whisper that, in Hannibal’s opinion, was more likely to draw attention than their current, admittedly fairly dramatic, appearance.  

“Most people do not share our intimate familiarity with the substance,” Hannibal whispered back, leaning into the side of Will’s throat to breathe in the scent of blood and sweat. “Nor your particular fondness for it, my love,” he added, just to see Will blush like he hadn't ravished Hannibal next to a still-warm corpse not half an hour ago.

“Shut up,” Will said, elbowing Hannibal in the side as if irritated, though the smile he couldn’t quite rein in put the lie to that idea. “They’re so content in their blindness. We’re dripping in viscera and yet the guys in the giant Pikachu suit got more attention than we have.”

“Are you disappointed, mylimasis? Were you hoping to instil terror amongst the crowd, to watch as they shrank from your magnificence, to bask in their fear as they recognised the hunter in their midst?”

“Shut. Up!” This time Will grabbed Hannibal and shoved him against a convenient wall, immediately pissed off that the fond, amused smile on Hannibal’s face didn’t falter for a moment. He shoved his leg between Hannibal’s thighs – causing a symphony of plastic squealing as their murder suits rubbed together – and that got a reaction, Hannibal’s eyes fluttering as he snatched in a breath. Will let him wait for a moment, making no move other than to gently rock his leg against the stiffness he could feel rising beneath it. He watched Hannibal with the sharp gaze of a predator awaiting the moment their prey breaks from cover, and when Hannibal’s lips parted slightly, he surged forward to devour them.  

He allowed himself the span of two minutes to work Hannibal up, biting at his mouth and pressing against his body, hips rolling just enough to have Hannibal straining against his hold. Then, mercilessly, he pulled back completely, watching with satisfaction as the dazed look in Hannibal’s eyes turned dark and wanting. Will grinned.

“Now, behave. Or I will put a leash on you and teach you obedience.”

With a smack to his thigh just short of truly painful, Will turned from his panting cannibal and began sauntering off, pausing only to check that he was being followed and finding Hannibal peeling himself from the wall with a hungry gleam in his eye.

“Down boy,” he teased as Hannibal stalked towards him. “Blood’s one thing but a public sex show will attract an audience, even on Halloween.”

Hannibal stepped straight into his space, sliding his face into the crook of Will’s shoulder and breathing deep. “As if I would allow another’s eyes to behold you as you writhe in ecstasy,” he growled, biting tenderly at the tendon in Will’s neck. “Slaughter thousands in the clear light of day and I would only watch in admiration, but your body and your pleasure belong only to me, beloved.”

Will grinned, sharp and amused, then grabbed Hannibal’s hair and yanked him upwards. “Likewise,” he said, and once more crushed his lips to Hannibal’s, blood smearing and sliding messily between them. And when they parted this time, it was only to rush with hurried footsteps back home, hands clasped tight in promise of the closer touch that would-

“Murder husbands!”

Will tensed and froze mid-step. Hannibal suspected he would have already bundled the young man pointing at them into the nearest available alley had he not been held in place by Hannibal's grip on his arm. It wouldn't do for Will to go off half-cocked (the consequences tended to be messy) and, besides, it wasn't fear with which they were being regarded. The young man – early-twenties, clearly inebriated, dressed in a swirling black cloak and clutching a bright red sword of some sort – was beaming at the pair with enthusiastic delight.

“You're the first to correctly identify us,” Hannibal said, his tone affable and pleased and giving absolutely no hint that he would snap this young man’s rather scrawny neck at the first sign of a threat.

The young man grinned and shook his head. “Yeah, I bet most people think you're a couple of Patrick Batemans, with the plastic get-up and the blood. Dummies. Obviously you're them, Will and Hannibal; Bateman had a raincoat, not a onesie!”

Will fidgeted as their admirer rambled, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Hannibal, for his part, though not exactly pleased by the description of his hunting suit as a “onesie,” was rather amused by the young man’s familiarity with his story, allowing him to give a semi-factual account of their previous life he had clearly put together from Internet chatrooms and the ever-lurid speculation of one Freddie Lounds. Until:

“I mean, your costumes are almost perfect.”

Hannibal frowned. “Almost?”

“Yeah, I mean, obviously the real Will Graham's a lot shorter than your friend. Like, you should be towering over him, but I guess you can't do anything about that.”

“Indeed, I could hardly be said to dwarf my dear husband.”

“I mean, I guess you could wear lifts like Robert Downey... oh wait, you're really married? I thought maybe the rings were just part of the costume…”

“Mmm, for almost six months now,” Hannibal replied, squeezing Will’s arm and smirking at the glower he got in response.

“Ok, cool. So, also, your husband's way too built to be Will – the real one’s all scrawny and delicate, no muscles on him at all. The hair’s good though, and the scowling - it's amazing nobody realised Graham was a killer for so long, every photo of him looks like he'd murder everyone in a ten mile radius just for existing.”

“Might still,” Will muttered, so low that even Hannibal barely heard it. He smirked and tried not to get distracted by the image of Will cutting a bloody swathe through the throngs of be-costumed revellers. Instead, he delivered a small pinch to the inside of Will’s elbow and returned his attention to their admirer.

“Forgive me if I'm not too disappointed that my husband is a more impressive specimen than the actual Mr Graham,” he said, with a wink that automatically caused Will to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, don't blame you,” the young man grinned in response. “And you're pretty much dead on. I mean, you're not blond and your eyes aren't red but you've got his cheekbones, for sure. And the accent. Just one thing, though,”

“Oh?” Hannibal raised a brow.

“Well, it's just that Lecter would never go around being so obviously affectionate. I mean, he's an evil sociopath, right, so he can't feel love? Whereas you guys, it's so obvious that you're totally into each other, no way Lecter and Graham would behave like that. Especially you,” he said, gesturing towards a rapidly-less-amused Hannibal, “you were pretty much draped all over your ‘Will’ here, Lecter’s way too much of a cold fish for that!”

“Cold… fish…” Hannibal said, slowly, leaning into the young man’s space. “You know, your manners could be considered somewhat lacking, my friend…”

The young man’s expression faltered for the first time, the always-satisfying first gleam of fear flashing in his eyes. But just as Hannibal was about to kick his feet from under him and teach him the true meaning of horror, he heard a snicker from behind and felt Will pull him back to his side, nuzzling them together.

“Come on, babe, he already complimented the costumes, you don’t have to give him your scary Doctor Lecter impression too. Besides,” he added, leaning in to kiss his still-coiled husband on the cheek, “you know he’s right. I’d never have fallen for that uptight, pretentious, emotionless asshole. Not even if he does look fine as hell in those suits of his.”

Hannibal peered down at him, inscrutable. “Fine as hell, is that what you think?”

“Guilty secret, huh?” the young man asked, apparently recovered enough to watch them with the amusement of one who has no idea how close he is to death.

Will winked at him. “One of many, I’m afraid.”

“Ought I to be jealous of this fine young cannibal?” Hannibal purred, the monster already tucked back safely beneath the sheen of avuncular friendliness.

“Absolutely, I’m going to abandon you, my brand new husband, and run off with the fancy cannibal who has a habit of cutting into his boyfriends. What can I say, I can’t resist the lure of a romantic gutting.” Will grinned sweetly at Hannibal. “Come on, what kind of fool would do that?”

“Will Graham?” the young man suggested, clearly having bought Will’s lie hook, line and sinker.

“And I am most definitely not Will Graham,” Will said, nodding at him in agreement.

“Lucky for me, I guess,” the young man said. “Hey, any chance I could take a selfie with you?”

It was Will’s turn to tense at the suggestion – albeit it more out of a hatred of being photographed than any sense of danger – but thankfully Hannibal had never met a fool he couldn’t charm the sense out of. “Ah, but then you might be tempted to post it where the good people of the FBI could see and we couldn’t have that, could we?” He wagged a finger gently at the young man and Will thought that was spreading it on a bit thick but it seemed to work with the professorial persona Hannibal had adopted because the young man laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Ok, ok, I can take a hint. Wouldn’t want to wind up on your dinner table, right?”

“Definitely not,” Will agreed. “It’s from Ikea, it probably wouldn’t take your weight.”

The young man gave this a bigger laugh than it probably deserved, which meant he missed the fleeting, outraged glare Hannibal gave Will for even daring to suggest he would shop at Ikea. “Ok, well, I gotta go, lot of tricks still to be treated, you know? Have a good night!” He stood back and took one last look at Will and Hannibal, shaking his head and saying, “Man, those costumes really are almost perfect, glad I got to see them.” And then he turned and disappeared along the street, cape flowing out behind him.

“Fascinating,” Hannibal murmured.

“Dangerous,” Will countered.

“I suppose now would be your opportunity to say ‘I told you so.’”

Will’s head whipped round and he glared at Hannibal. “Yes it is and yes I did and if you thought I’d be above saying so then you know me about as well as that kid does.”

“At least he does not believe you to be such a cold fish that even a modest amount of public affection is wholly out of character.” Hannibal was actually pouting and Will melted like he was looking at the last puppy in the pound.

“Please, if our best disguise involves you acting like my own personal boa constrictor, I'm not gonna be unhappy about it. Besides,” he said, lacing his fingers together with Hannibal’s, “I think I'd rather keep the real real Hannibal Lecter my little secret.”

“Oh? And which Hannibal Lecter would that be?”

“The one who is both a bloodthirsty, brutal, beautiful killer and a heart-eyed, loved-up, hopelessly besotted little love bunny.”

“Will…”

“The one who both fucked up my life, manipulated me and tried to force me to be something I wasn't and who saw the real Will Graham and freed me from an existence that was slowly killing me.”

“Will…”

“The one who is both a gigantic, fussy, pretentious pain in my ass and the love of my fucking life. And I'm the only one who gets to see him. All of him.”

“All?” Hannibal echoed, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

Will stepped in close and brought his lips to Hannibal’s ear, delivering a nip to the lobe before murmuring, “Yeah, but only if you can manage to get us home without any further incidents.”

Which, of course, Hannibal did, and in less than ten minutes to boot. For which trick, Will rewarded him with a quite magnificently big treat indeed.

[cleverbxrd]

          When Tim submitted his Patrol Report, he left out the part about his emotional compromise.

          His jaw hurt. He was probably still clenching his teeth as he typed and retyped up the note to send to his boss, his ‘dad’, for an impersonal briefing. His ears were covered by rounded, black headphones that deafened any noise of celebration outside, not that Gotham was one for much celebration. (New Years Eve, Calendar Man could be out and about)

          The music was supposed to numb his skull, or at least it was an attempt to. He’d experienced the worst of the worst on the grime-covered streets of his hometown, but his heart and his head still ached. It was a dull pain, but it flared every so often, and he wished he’d just stop overthinking. He knew that was impossible, that was his thing, his use. He was the Thinker, the smart one… so, do your thing. With a hefty sigh, his shoulders digging into his desk chair, he closed his eyes, the bass thumping against his brain goading his thoughts to puzzle themselves together as he rationalized what happened, and why he felt so strongly. Sure, he was a piss-poor counselor, but he was a pretty damn good detective.

          Check the report. At what time did this happen?

          Time was really irrelevant to the bat. You try to live life in the daylight, follow the cape-tails by night’s shadows, you forget where the days end and begin. The numerous restless nights he was prone to staying fully awake for didn’t help much with that either, neither did working on holiday. Tim didn’t mind patrolling New Years Eve, he felt he didn’t have anything better to do. It was either make his rounds or watch on a computer screen how much fun it seemed like the rest of the world was having. He opted to actually do something with his night when he didn’t have to worry about classes in the morning. 

          Mistake number one. 

          He was halfway done, circling the shared bay shoreline when he’d gotten the text. It made his heart flutter as the words stretched into his vision, the small heads up display mounted on his white lenses causing more of a distraction than he thought. He’d nearly forgotten he was free-falling, catching himself out of breath from landing hard on rooftop concrete. Conner. Cassie. They were there. He tried not to go, tried to stay away from New York, from the Brooklyn borough, from that warehouse lot decked to the 9s for the turning of the decade (which… in all technicality, it was not.)

          Mistake number two. 

          He’d sat in the shadows, perched high above, scanning the area for familiar faces, heat signatures, anything matching databases he’d had on file. He wasn’t getting anywhere, doubted why he was even there, watching the party goers with the eyes of a hawk. 

          He lied to his best friend, saying he was still on patrol, saying he’d come out if he found the time to, and of course he believed him. Lying came so easy to him, too easy. He didn’t think about it too much, might scare him. It was part of the job, he couldn’t afford to be 100% truthful. No time to worry about the morality of white lies, just keep thinking about where it started, why it started. Find the source of the feeling.

           His memory flashed forward.

           Civvies were ridiculously hard to vacuum-pack into a utility belt, but somehow he’d managed to shove a few things from his wardrobe into the small compartments of the crossed belts. It was always just in case, just in case he needed to suddenly become part of the crowd, just in case he needed a change of clothes that wasn’t shredded, just in case he needed to attend a surprise party where his friends were having fun.

          Fun, now there was a word. When was the last time he’d been fun? Sometime before the first red and black suit, muddled in there with the green tights and ninja boots. He’d tried to be a mini-Bruce, but the physically youngest, and usually shortest, member of their old team acting like the sternest leader of the League had only caused humor from his teammates. He abhorred it at the time, but thinking back he would give anything for that friendly teasing again, for him to accept it with a smile instead of the nearly trademarked scowl he still wore.

          The slightly over-sized sweater covered most of the costume almost perfectly, the cape wrapped tightly around the cinched and belted waist of his Kevlar-spandex suit. It really was the final piece of the puzzle, a disguise over a disguise. Deceit blanketing a lie. So many lies, too many to count, why did he feel like he had to lie so much? To Him? To Himself?

          He’d only go in for a moment, only stay and say hello to the people he knew and leave before people noticed one of the Wayne sons was there. That was the plan, and he wanted to stick to it. His emotions told him otherwise. He’d been brave enough to come all this way, his subconscious rationalized. He felt something bubble up in his stomach, a smile stretching his pale cheeks as he pulled the cowl off of his overgrown hair. To Hell with it all, it was New Years Eve, if he remembered correctly. They were both there, he was in there. He could confess, get it off of his chest, never have to say another word about it. If his hypothesis was correct, they’d both simply forget about it the next morning, or laugh it off like the bird himself had gotten too wasted to care.

          If they didn’t think too hard about it, it could just go away and Tim wouldn’t have to worry about losing his best friends to his infatuation, his desire.

          But it wouldn’t be that simple. Not by a long shot.

          Mistake. Number. Three.

          What a sucker, he’d been. What a fool.

          He’d forgotten to note the time, or maybe was too ignorant of it to try to check. He was already numb from sitting alone outside of the festivities, all noise was white noise. He didn’t even notice Cassie, if she was even at her position when he sheepishly wandered in. Immediately, as always, he felt out of place, uncomfortable in his own skin as the world slowed down around him. Rich boy galas were one thing to attend, nearly pinned into a tight tux with a tie that felt like it could choke you the minute you proposed some outlandish idea to the wrong funder. City-wide parties were an entirely new beast, like a Gotham bar on Saturday night with a little less violence and a little more in the population. The drinking seemed to be of the same caliber, he could smell it radiating off some people who passed him by, taking little to no notice of him. He was probably drunk off his ass too, the party boy, Casanova, tail-chaser. Observing the other attendees led him to believe that Conner wouldn’t even remember he was there, or the texts they’d sent just minutes ago. He was about to simply leave and try his Hallmark speech of love some other time when he saw-

          The sharp pang in his chest lit like a fire again. Tim nearly doubled over in his chair, clutching at his shirt and gasping for air. Don’t panic, don’t do this. You’re breathing, your heart is beating. You can feel your floor under your feet, the clothes on your back, your face, your hair, you’re still there, still here. Tim found his hands gripping at the raven mess on top of his head, slightly skewing the headphones gripping tight around his ears. He roulette-wheeled through his various breathing meditation techniques and found himself filling his chest with oxygen once more, the faded world around him coming through clearer instead of the molasses he felt like he’d just jumped into. He tried to settle himself back into the chair, slumping further down as his pulse pounded against his ribs, almost like it was trying to run away from the husk it sat inside. He was starting to believe that vital organ was more of a nuisance for rattling his core.

          Don’t focus on that, you need a distraction. Remember the night. You’re a Detective. Start asking questions.

          What happened?

          I don’t...I don’t want to talk about it.

          When did it happen?

          New Years Eve. Stroke of midnight. It’s all in the briefing, you wrote it.

          Who was there?

          Probably half of the population of New York City. And Him.

          He’s important to you.

          You don’t get to tell me what I already know. Keep digging.

          Your memory stopped at a particular moment. How did that moment make you feel?

          He slingshot himself back into the exact frame, frozen in time, zeroed in through a telescopic lens. How did he feel? It was such a simple question, but the answers sat brewing in his head before he could find the names.

          Name the first feeling. Now!

          Anger.

          At Conner? Never, not truly. He’d get annoying, but at a point it had become almost charming. At himself? Of course, he was always angry at himself in one capacity or another. Tim was far from a perfectionist, but a people pleaser he certainly was. The need for approval always egged him on, even if he didn’t want to admit it. When he’d given arm and leg without any hint of positive effect, it brought him down. He was too smart not to recognize his own faults, he couldn’t afford to look at himself as perfect. Quite the opposite actually.

          Damn. You’re good.

          I know, keep looking. Name another one.

          Remorse. 

          He didn’t say anything sooner. Maybe he’d be there earlier, snagged that picturesque moment for the few seconds he’d bore witness to it. Why did that matter? A strange tangent from his current thought process, his usual pinched thinking face further pointing into a tight squint. He thought they were looking for a feeling, a clue to this confusing panic he was putting himself in. But… why did it matter?

          Keep. Looking.

          Sadness. 

          It caked every bone in his scrawny little body, soaked into the trained muscles that he hid from his non-heroic acquaintances. He’d been sad for a long time, and he blamed no one but himself. The lingering tears that always dared to fall at a moments notice, the silent sobs he wished he could give sound to, the will seeping away as he would give into what felt like his whole core. There was a word for that, something any normal psychologist would smack him with until he exhausted his resources. Tim knew he was depressed, knew it wasn’t going to go away any time soon, and he didn’t need a therapist telling him over and over again. He just needed to talk, they’d say, about the trauma. They wouldn’t understand, couldn’t understand.  What was the fucking point? Regardless, something that rooted couldn’t have just popped up so suddenly.

          Dig deeper.  What are you feeling now?

          Things.

          Be specific, damn it. You were before, don’t shut down on me.

          Bad things.

          Bad… the word echoed as his all of his mental visuals faded away. They were replaced by a flurry of clues, piecing together strange mental ‘evidence’ that somehow was his key to cracking his head case. He sat bolt upright, his eyes wide as he stared at his glowing computer screen, his mind’s eye making a cork-board with red rope, not too dissimilar to his walls in the dark room he was sitting in. One by one, the items tacked themselves in random orders, random places.

          A question mark, a bloodstained cloak, neon signs, tights and gloves, pixie boots and scaly spandex, hair that flew away from a sickening smile as if the locks themselves were scared of its owner, an alien’s toxic rock. It hit him like a brick.

          Green. Envy. Jealousy.

          How could he not have seen it immediately?

          Jealousy. 

          The same fire that festered in the pit of his stomach when the title he used to wear like a badge of honor was given without question to the ‘true blood son’. The same stabbing coolness when blue birds were let loose to fly free and he was caged for the mishaps of the past. The same rope, choking his words when he sees what he thinks are shattered hopes of something finally good in his Roman Tragedy play of a life.

          A shocked breath comes out in a staccato heave, hands losing their grips on arm rests and hanging limp as the realization washed over him like a sign from some god out there somewhere. “Of. Fucking. Course.” The words came out of his throat slow and hoarse, and they almost surprised him. He’d nearly forgotten how to speak over the blare of noise in his ears.

          Timothy Jackson Drake, you’re a selfish, jealous bastard.

          Another groaning exhale, and he brought his limp frame back to sitting up again, an impulsive urge to throw his head through his keyboard growing stronger by the ticking seconds. Emotions running wild were bad, very bad. It jeopardized the Mission, that’s what he was told. It’s what got him into this mess, every mess, in the first place, basing things on emotions. Somehow, giving names to them all didn’t make it better, and he felt his stomach drop again.

          So, Detective, you’ve found a conclusion.

          A diagnosis / analysis .

          What do you suppose we do about this?

          Turn into a robot.

          Negatory.

          Turn someone else into a robot.

           Double negatory.

          An audible sigh, brows knitting together as he started to get annoyed with himself. One hand floated up to press under the messy locks falling at his temples, the screaming in his ears nearly matching volume with what he felt in his chest. Shutting his mind out for a moment, he carefully listened to the sounds actually coming through the headphones. He’d thrown on a shuffle, his own mind-melting playlists that bombard his senses with overblown guitar rifs and rapid drum beats. Okay, they usually numb him out. What was he even on?

          Oh. Of course.

          He nearly smacked the cold coffee mug off the desk, throwing his hands on top of his face and rocking back yet again with a muffled scream. Back again, a pendulum in a clock, he caught his reflection in the screen. Dark circles made a mask around his icy eyes, a second mask to hide the horror he had become. Catching himself staring back was shocking, but he was transfixed and couldn’t move. When was the last time he really took a look at himself? And why the hell did it have to be over something as stupid as a kiss? He found his hand tracing the almost domino-shaped outline, wondering if it was a trick of the dim light, or possibly residual gunk from under the cowl. He could hope for the best possible outcome, but hope was yet again his downfall. Permanent. Dark. Hard as he tried, his thoughts and the mask just wouldn’t go away.

          Another breath. Root. You’re solid. He’s solid. His feet planted on the ground as he pushed up and away from the desk, stumbling to the discarded costume on one of the mess piles. Specific mess piles, weakly placed where could find things in seconds regardless of the disaster it seemed (that sounded familiar…). Alfred, neat freak of a butler he was, wouldn’t dare disturb Tim’s organized chaos. This room was like a safe cell for Tim, and he was an adult damnit, he could make as much of a mess as he wanted. He dug one hand under the lazily thrown cape, finding the smooth metal of the collapsed staff just where he’d left it, and it felt surprisingly light in uncovered hands. Unlatching it from the bandoleers splayed out like spider legs, he tossed the short tube around until it landed firmly in his left palm. His knuckles stretched white as his grip tightened. A lifeline, a grounding wire.  

          Tim ripped the headphones off of his head, tossing them haphazardly on his desk. He hit delete, omitting nearly an entire 30 minutes of time in his notes he was just going to blame on travel time. Bruce would have to believe that, especially if he’d ceased radio signals the minute he’d stalked the event. He sent the page away, encrypted thrice and swinging through two secure data waves just for safe-keeping. He may be out of his goddamn mind and feeling things out his ass, but he knew better than to send anything to the big data store without preparing for any intercepting forces. He stalked out of his personal cave and wandered into the other one, the bigger one set under the manor, as deep and dark as the nearly permanent markings under his exhausted lids. It was big enough to make any super man feel small, maybe a super boy even smaller. His feet hit the training deck without him really noticing where he was, a faceless body facing him and his trustworthy staff.

          The familiar, echoing clicks with the smallest flick of his wrist was too satisfying to say. He situated himself against the motionless statue, a one sided versus match. He wasn’t going for grace, he wasn’t going for style, and he certainly wasn’t going for finesse. He was going to channel his muddled emotions into one. Build the pressure and release, the extended staff a vessel for the pain he felt clawing at him inside. A release valve, a bomb fuse.

          No faces, no names, no underlying motive.

          Make it brainless, give yourself a break, give way to the horrible things you could do and focus them on one, non-harmful target.

         Just hit shit.