#sorry decode is stuck in my head

[princeysanders]

the way he just gives up

[delqcate]

hi angel!!! im aware of how super busy you are rn, but I can't get like frenemies scott barringer and reader out of my head, imagine it, like he's so annoyed by everything she does, she's the total opposite of him, sweet and kind, but also the sarcastic angry feminist, and he's the self-righteous football captain arsehole.

But no matter what he does, she's constantly stuck in his head, and it's kinda like the song "you look so pretty, pretty like the sun, i could watch forever while you shine on everyone" and he's so in love and a little insecure, which he covers up with this pompous arrogant fboy persona

anyways, you're writing gives me life more than anything! when i first discovered your flannel shirt fic on scott, i became obsessed and stalked your profile and obsessively read through all your fanfics, hayden characters or not, I read them all, and im head over heels in love w u :) you genuinely write the best fluff ever, like your my favourite blog for fluff, like don't get me wrong smut is cute and that, but god i would kill for some forehead kisses and hayden fluff

because i love you.

scott barringer x reader

anon you own my whole heart ilysm!!! you're soso incredibly sweet and being your favorite fluff writer??? such an incredible honor 🥹 i'm sorry it took me a while to get to writing this and i feel so bad cause i feel like i just didn't have enough inspiration for this so it's all messy but I hope it's still good. scott and shelby don't get together here but they're still good friends

summary: you and scott don't necessarily hate each other, but you can't tolerate both that much either. after a plan gone wrong, turns out there's a reason why.

warnings/cw: swearing, kissing (i don't know if that's warnings but yeah), fluff fluff fluff

word count: 1.9k

Where does Scott even begin with you? The Cliffhanger's sweetheart, the epitome of the sun in this hell hole, is his friend. Well, sort of.

Because every time he was near you, it felt like he was constantly basking in the sun, yet at the same time, he was warmed up by everything you did, from your smile to your voice. It was almost like he was constantly taunted.

He couldn't get enough of you, though. You were everything he's ever wanted—the warmth and love of another—and yet he still seems to be pushing you away.

But then that all changes when a little surprise is left on one of the class boards one morning when Scott and the other Cliffhangers are called to meet up with Peter and Sophie.

Scott walks into the classroom, wearing a sweater he just threw on due to the cold, and looks at the board in confusion. "Morp? Wh-what's a morp?" His brow was furrowed, and he frankly didn't care too much about decoding it until Auggie followed from behind him. "Oh, cool, a prom?"

Scott looks at Auggie, realizing everyone else is inside already. His eyes land on you, and he suddenly can't focus on anything but you. Everyone was taking a seat, and it took him a moment to realize you sat with him until a hand waved at his face.

"Scott, y'there?" Your voice rings out, and he looks at you, his face brooding as always. "Why? What's up?" He clears his throat and focuses his gaze on you. Despite hating you, he seems to be interested in what you have to say. Probably just sucking it up so it would be over.

You look at him, and suddenly you find yourself drawn to his eyes. Do they seem more blue than usual lately, or have they always been this way? But you don't have time to ponder about that because now it’s his turn to snap you out of your thoughts.

"Hey, are you there?" He gives you a small smirk, and you playfully roll your eyes. “Yeah, sorry,” you say, clearing your throat and resting your head on your palm. “Sophie and Peter paired us for morp planning.”

His eyes widen slightly, but he immediately covers them up with his emotionless stare again. “Why us? ," he asks, sounding annoyed. “Dunno,” you reply. “Probably ‘to build a stronger relationship between us’,” you say, playfully mocking what Peter constantly tells everyone whenever there’s a team activity.

He let out a soft scoff but couldn't help but let a smirk form on his lips. He was starting to let his guard down, something he rarely does around people; besides Shelby, she relates to him more than anyone. "Yeah, all that bullshit."

You nod and chuckle, watching as he bounces his leg, a habit you share with him. "All we have to do is plan the music, so it shouldn't be too bad. They're letting us use Peter's office and a couple more gadgets, I think." You shrug, but all you could think of was Scott.

Spending time alone with him in a room for days on end sounded both eventful and terrifying. But at least it was him instead of anyone else; at least you could get some peace and quiet for once.

————————————————————————

It had been days since you and Scott were assigned to make the playlist, and despite the bickering and constant grogginess you two would feel the next day, it was bearable. It caused something in Scott to brew—something he thought he could keep in, but it was just waiting to burst.

Scott dragged Shelby away to a corner in the common room—not the best place to have a private conversation, but it'll do.

"Let me guess," Shelby starts, her gaze landing on Ophelia talking to Peter and back at Scott. "You need advice to ask her out?" Scott scrunches up his face, annoyed but thinking about it. "Well, yeah," he says after a moment.

She chuckles and looks over at you again, trying to think of anything. "Morp's tomorrow, Scott. How are you sure Auggie or someone else asked her out?" Scott suddenly seemed upset at the thought, however. "You think Auggie has more of a chance than me?" His angry question was a little too loud, loud enough to catch your attention, at least.

Shelby quickly looks away and narrows her eyes at Scott, slapping his arm playfully. "Will you keep it down, you idiot?" He whines and leans against the wall, crossing his arms and staring at you from afar. "How am I ever going to ask her out? I'm just the cocky football star, a pompous asshole fuckboy. Every bad thing you could think of."

She sighs and moves closer, taking his hand and watching his expression before continuing, "Sure, you can be a complete asshole." He scoffs and looks at the floor. "Great way to start that off," he muttered. She rolls her eyes and continues with, "But all that matters is what they think of you. You wanna go all out and be stupid with your promposal? Go ahead. I'll be there every stupid step in the way."

He moves his gaze on her and mutters, "Stop calling me stupid. But, thanks."

————————————————————————

The plan was perfect. You and Shelby would be hanging out together, saying some good stuff about Scott, and Scott would play football with Auggie. Auggie would throw the ball at you, and he would save you. He would tie that to some smooth way to ask you out, but he would worry about that later. What was the worst that could happen?

Scott watches nervously as Shelby and you sit at the bleachers, taking a deep breath as Shelby discreetly nods and Scott starts to play. Your gaze moves to Scott, and a small smile grows on your face. Seeing Scott play football was cute to you. Despite being an ex-football captain, he still never lost his love for the sport, and you admire him for that.

Shelby notices your stare and chuckles, looking at Scott and back at you. "You eyeing Scott?" Your cheeks heat up and your eyes land on her, shaking your head as your face gets all flushed up. "No- well yeah, but not in that way! He's my friend; I just want to watch him."

Your gaze moves back to the two boys playing, and you swear you saw Scott wink at you, but maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you; he probably got something in his eye.

But you didn't even have time to think because the football started flying towards you, and Scott's amazing plan came crashing down as soon as the ball hit him right in the face.

"Scott!" You yell out and rush down to him with Shelby. He lets out a loud groan and covers his face. He's never felt so much pain and embarrassment before. "Auggie, fuck!" He groans out. "I didn't mean to, I- I'm sorry!" Auggie frowns and looks at the two, watching as you take Scott into your arms and prop your leg up for him to rest on.

"Shit- Scott, move your hand." You frown and try to move his hand, watching as a crowd of people form, someone rushing to grab Peter. Scott whines and shakes his head, saying something about how it really hurt, but it's muffled from his hands.

"C'mon, please? I swear the pain will be gone soon; I need to see how bad it is." You were trying to stay calm for the both of you, and after a moment, he moves his hands away to reveal a bleeding nose and some tears.

You wince and help him stand up. With the help of Shelby and Auggie, you guys safely bring him to the girls rooms and onto your bed, hurrying off to the bathroom while the two find something that could help Scott besides a wet rag.

You return to him on the bed and move his hand away. A small hiss escapes you, and you start to clean him up. The silence was killing you after a while, so you mumbled out, "That was stupid, y'know?"

He looks at you with an annoyed expression and scoffs, trying not to move too much as you clean his nose and check if it is broken. "Well, I'm sorry for saving your life," he says sarcastically, clearly upset that you didn't appreciate him saving you. Maybe his plan was just stupid.

"I mean, I appreciate it, but look at you now." You frown and place the rag on your side table, grabbing some tissues to clean the spot better. "Why'd you do it? Ruin your oh-so-perfect face for me?" He smirks and looks at you. "You like my face, huh?" You roll your eyes, and he lets out a small laugh as you punch his arm.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it." He lets his laughter die down and listens to the two of you breathing. It calmed him down to hear your breath, especially because he definitely needed to calm down. He took a deep breath and calmly let out, "Because I love you."

You stop your arm and move your gaze from his nose to his gaze, which was locked onto yours. You couldn't tell if it was because he was frozen in embarrassment or because he wanted to show you he really meant it; either way, it left you shocked.

How does he like you? He's made it very clear that he has some hatred towards you , so it didn't make sense. "But the way you act around me—" he quickly interrupted you. "It's because I'm insecure." He sighs and looks down at his hands, feeling the embarrassment creep up on him.

"You're just so- so gorgeous. You make everyone smile and laugh; it's like the goddamn sun. You shine so bright, and I can't help but feel this jealousy towards you because everyone gets to experience all of that." Although he didn't outright say it, it was clear to you that he was jealous, and it was incredibly adorable.

You let out a soft laugh, and at first he thought you were laughing at him, but a small smile formed on his lips when he realized you were laughing with him. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I feel like I shine brighter when I'm with you. You make me sparkle, I guess."

He chuckles and moves a little closer, sensing the change in tension, and he was sure you did too because you moved closer. "Sparkle, huh? What are you, a vampire?" He smirks and wraps his arm around you, making you roll your eyes and cup his cheek. "Just shut up and kiss me."

"Yes, ma'am." He smirks wider and kisses you gently, immediately crash-landing into heaven as soon as he feels your lips. They were soft and felt heavenly, just like he imagined. The kiss grew deeper but didn't last too long as someone threw a box of bandages at them.

Scott pulls away in annoyance but quickly gets flustered as soon as he sees Shelby and Auggie; he completely forgets they were coming back. "Congratulations, lovebirds!" Shelby smirks and moves her gaze between Scott and you. "But do us all a favor and get a room, will you?"

You let out a small chuckle and quickly helped Scott clean up, hearing the pair's footsteps as they headed outside. Despite both of you being complete opposites, Something told you it would all work out in the long run.

taglist: none!

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of the Heart, Chapter 8 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

Chapter Trigger Warnings: aftermath of domestic violence, jealousy, domestic abuse

AN: Bonus chapter to celebrate the new welcome post and cleaning up my masterlists <3

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

“Hurry up,” Laurence snapped, his voice little more than a harsh hiss as he leaned into your side. His hand rested on your waist, fingers flexing one at a time, digging into you in a rhythm you knew well. 

“I’m trying.” Whimpering, you hoped he didn’t take your words as back talking. You didn’t want to move slowly, it’s just he didn’t let you take anymore aspirin before leaving for lunch and your muscles ached.

It was a near weekly standing lunch date between you two, a trip to a cafe or a bistro. It was important to be seen, and these weekly lunches served that purpose, just like the trips to the cinema. There was rarely any care for your enjoyment of the dates in it. 

Calling it lunch today was a big generous. Laurence didn’t allow you to order anything more than biscotti and coffee. After spending the morning washing laundry and hanging it out to dry, you were starving, but that would have to wait. 

You stumbled, tripping over your feet as Laurence pushed you to shuffle faster. Whispered warnings dripping with venom were dropped into your ear as Laurence helped straighten you with a kind smile on his handsome face. You pulled your lips into a smile to match. A picture perfect couple as you made your way slowly to the car. 

Laurence slammed the door to the car once you were nestled inside. The sound made you flinch as the force of it rocked the car. You’d messed up again. You’d done something wrong. It was your fault he was in a bad mood and you’d pay for it later. If only you knew what you could have done better, so you could be a better wife to him. 

Maybe it would get you out of going to the cinema.

“I don’t have time to drop you off at the house,” Laurence slammed his door after settling into the driver’s seat. “You’re just going to have to come with me. Be on your best behavior and do not embarrass me.” 

“I’m sorry,” you looked at him pleadingly. “I can walk or take the bus if you’d rather.” 

Laurence struck you with the back of his hand, slamming your head back against the seat. It wasn’t as strong of a blow as he was capable of, even in the confined and awkward space of the car and you were thankful for that. Pain flared, but it was manageable, more of a sting. 

“Just shut up.” 

You nodded, tears gathering in your eyes. You grabbed the handkerchief from your bag, not your good one, but the one stained with splotches of blood, and dabbed at your lip. It was bleeding again, not having had a chance to heal. While the car roared to life, you held pressure on the reopened wound to your lip, trying to decode what you had done wrong. 

Scott, the marketing manager, paced the hallway between offices. Alastor’s annoyance rose with each of the man’s passes by his office door. His unsightly haircut bobbed past the window and drew his attention, distracting him from working on the scripts for that evening.

There were murders he needed to focus on the reporting of. He had to get it just so, report all the details without saying anything he shouldn’t know about them. 

Alastor groaned in frustration as he pushed back from the desk. If willing the man to stop would not work, Alastor may as well take a break from watching his head pass by the window in his door again and again. 

“Oh!” Scott nearly walked into Alastor as he stepped out of his office. “Sorry Alastor, must have been stuck in my head.”

“What troubles you, ol friend?” Alastor asked, not really caring. 

“I vouched for this marketing firm,” Scotty started, following Alastor down the hall and even further, trailing behind him as he descended the stairs. “They were supposed to expand our market. The guy’s been putting off delivering the marketing materials for weeks and then when he did, they were rubbish. Total rubbish.” 

“Oh dear,” Alastor hoped walking out of the building would end the conversation, but Scott followed him still. 

“Right?” The man threw his hands up as Alastor walked down the sidewalk, thinking more of how to get under Laurence’s skin than Scott’s ranting. 

What colors would you like? Alastor pondered the question as Scott went on and on about the meeting and how much he dreaded having to end the contract. Purple? Purple sounded nice. Alastor picked a few purple flowers from the beds lining the sidewalk. Yellow too, he decided. 

“What you cutting flowers for? Gotta lady to impress?” Alastor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“An associate and his wife had me over for dinner. It is only proper to present the lady of the house with a token of my gratitude.” Alastor stopped in front of the rose bushes at the side of the building. 

“I suppose,” Scott’s voice trailed off as Alastor pulled a larger than expected knife in a leather sheath from his pocket. “A bit excessive, no?”

“I was working on some things before heading in,” Alastor shrugged, slipping the leather from the blade as he looked at the different deep red roses. They were almost an unnatural shade of Burgundy and would contrast nicely with the brighter flowers. 

Adjusting his grip on the antler handle, he reached out and pulled forward the first rose. The blade cut through the woody stem as if it was nothing. The blade was honed to a razor edge. Alastor selected three more roses, just in the early stages of their blooms, and cut them free as well. It wasn’t a large bouquet, but it was thoughtfully put together. 

“Well, good luck with the meeting. Pacing the hall likely won’t help you much, however,” Alastor excused himself with a nod.

“Mr. Latimer should be here soon anyway,” Scott grumbled to himself. 

Alastor froze, turning on his heel to face Scott again. “Who now?” 

Alastor leaned against the railing on the second floor, overlooking the station lobby. He should be finishing his script, but this was a once in a lifetime chance to get under Laurence’s skin and save himself a trip as well. Efficiency was a virtue his mother had instilled in him, and he wouldn’t let that slip now. 

Alastor had wrapped the bunch of flowers in some old newspaper, folding the corners down to expose the blooms once he had gotten back to his office. He tied it all together with some hemp twine, wrapping it around the stems until it was nearly as wide as his hand before tying it off in a clumsy bow.

It didn’t look half bad, if he said so himself. 

Now all he had to do was wait. There was a solid chance you wouldn’t be with Laurence when he got there. It was not common for men to bring their wives to business meetings, but there was a chance. On the off chance that you did grace the station with your presence, he wanted to be ready to strike. 

Alastor didn’t have to wait long at all. In less than ten minutes, the front door opened and Laurence shuffled his meek little wife inside, much to Alastor’s delight. He watched as Laurence directed you to the chairs and you sat in a heap. 

From his place high above you, Alastor watched as you looked around. There were no magazines or newspapers anywhere within reach for you to read. Your bag was small today. Clearly you didn’t come here prepared to pass the time. 

Alastor watched as Scott lead Laurence away. After counting down from ten, Alastor pushed himself back from the railing and made his way toward the stairs. Just as he intended, he met Scott and Laurence in the hall. 

“Oh,” Scotty paused, “Here we have our leading host at the moment, Alastor. Alastor, this is Mr. Latimer of Latimer Marketing Solutions.”

“We’ve met,” Laurence said harshly. 

Alastor’s smile only grew wider. “We share a mutual acquaintance. I’ll let you get into your business. I was just stretching my legs for a moment.” 

Alastor’s grin split his face as he walked down the empty hall and toward the stairs. It would be a frightening sight, such a ghastly smile if anyone had been around to see it. 

Oh, this would be fun. What a delightful way to have some pre-broadcast fun. As he came into view, Alastor pulled his smile in. It wouldn’t do to be grinning like a fool as he came into view. 

Alastor took you in as he crossed the lobby. Your eyes were trained on your lap, doing nothing but counting the stitches on your dress as you waited. Did you know your shoulders were slumped, or that you had begun to curl in on yourself?

“Well, hello darling!” Alastor called out, a peaceful smile on his face. 

You startled at the sound of his voice, head shooting up. Wide eyes met his as you jerked your shoulders up and into place. He was impressed to see your spine straighten. You didn’t hold the position long until it slowly slipped again, the weight of something dragging your shoulders down. 

“Hello again,” your voice was soft as you glanced around, looking for Laurence. You know the building was for broadcasting but you hadn’t realized it was for radio or that Alastor would be here. Perhaps this was where Alastor and your husband had become acquainted. 

“I had thought I spotted Laurence earlier, I hadn’t expected him to leave his darling wife just wasting away in the lobby,” Alastor chuckled to himself, holding his hand out for you. “I was just stretching my legs before I sit down for the show later. Why don’t I give you a tour?”

“Oh,” you held your hand up in protest only to have Alastor snag it in his as if you had offered it, “I really couldn’t, it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Nonsense,” Alastor pulled you to your feet where you stumbled, “What wouldn’t be proper would be letting you waste away in the lobby. Besides, I’ve got something for you I had planned to drop by after the show. No time better than the present!” 

With a guiding hand placed just below the middle of your back, Alastor left little room for protest. What would Laurence want you to do? He wouldn’t want you anywhere near Alastor but he also wouldn’t want you to make a scene and Alastor was right. It wasn’t improper for him to give you a tour. 

Your heels clicked against the polished wood floors, old, rich and warm in a way you liked but knew Laurence would loath. It was just a matter of time before the similarly rich floors in your own home would be ripped out and replaced with something more to his taste. 

At least if Alastor was right and money was tighter than believed, it could be a few more years before you’re parted from your home’s rich floors. Eventually, Laurence would ruin them, though. 

Alastor’s charming voice was the background music to your thoughts, allowing you to simply nod and listen as you walked alongside him. His large hand was ever present on your back, sometimes sliding lower as he showed you an award or framed newspaper clipping before he seemed to catch himself and pull it higher again. 

Though his hand constantly drove you forward, he never rushed you, unlike Laurence. The pace the two of you walked was peaceful, meandering, and relaxed. It allowed your pained shuffle to feel almost normal. 

“And here,” he said, wide smile pulling in to become something far more charming that made your heart pound, “Is my office.” 

You were not sure what to say as the ever present hand on your back guided you inside the dimly lit room. The blinds were pulled closed, filtering out most of the harsh sunlight. Dust glittered as it floated through the air, lit up by the few rays of light that fought through the slats. 

The hand was gone suddenly as Alastor moved deeper into the room, effortlessly navigating the dark space with ease that told of countless late nights spent in the room. He switched on the lamp on his desk, bathing the room in a soft warm light.

“This isn’t proper,” your voice came out closer to a whisper than you intended. 

“Nonsense,” Alastor laughed as he picked up a bundle of something wrapped in newspaper. “The light’s on. The door’s open. Nothing to be worried about.” 

You hated how your heart beat harshly in your chest. Why did this man, his soft eyes and charming smile, make you feel like taking risks? Why did he make you feel this way? Why did he make you feel anything at all?

“I don’t-”

“These are for you, my dear,” Alastor presented the bundle, a bouquet of fresh flowers wrapped in newspaper, to you with the soft smile you were catching yourself thinking about more and more. 

“I couldn’t possibly-”

“A perfection appropriate expression of gratitude from a dinner guest to his hostess,” Alastor assured you as he placed the flowers in your hands.

“They’re lovely,” you settled for saying instead of protesting anymore. “You shouldn’t have spent the money on them,”

“I didn’t,” Alastor’s smile spread wider as he watched you examine his offering, pleased with the soft smile that had taken up residence on your face. Had he ever seen you smile, truly? He didn’t think so. It looked good on you. “I picked them earlier.” 

A slam of a fist against the door frame scared you out of your skin. “There you are!” 

“Laurence!” Startled, you clutched the flowers to your chest and turned to your husband. He was read faced but clearly composing himself. “Alastor was just giving me a tour-”

“Of his private office?” Laurence bit out, clearly in a terrible mood. 

Alastor laughed, fearlessly walking up to your husband and patting his shoulder, “Hardly at all, my dear fellow. I simply had some flowers for your dear wife, a token of my thanks for the lovely dinner she prepared. Since she was here, sitting all alone in the lobby, I figured why not eliminate the trip and give them to her now?”

Scott had said the meeting went poorly. Laurence didn’t take the news well and threatened legal action to challenge the canceling of the contract. There was nothing the station needed to fear. The promised services had not been delivered and what was delivered wasn’t near the quality promised. It was a shame. Thethe Latimer name was well known for marketing success through the changing times. 

Such a spectacular failure by a well-known company would be the talk of the town. Even if they tried to keep things private, word would get out. Their reputation would take a hit. Alastor shook his head, performing the required show of dismay for Scott as he made his way back into his office. 

As Alastor opened the blinds in his office, he was already thinking about the ways he could drop little nuggets of the recent failings around town. It wouldn’t do to run his mouth about their shared business, but this business failing had nothing at all to do with him. 

Alastor stood at the window and watched the scene unfolding below, eyebrow cocked and smile tight. He was witnessing left his hands curled into fists, knuckles white. Cold rage he knew well rolled through him. It was the very same rage that sent him hunting in the deep darkness of night. 

What he saw was far beyond the reaction he had expected. Laurence had his hand wrapped tightly around your arm, your sleeve bunching on either side of his hand. Even from a distance, Alastor could see how you stumbled over your feet, dragged along behind Laurence, who seemed uncaring of how close you came to falling. 

Alastor had every intention of provoking a reaction in Laurence, but what he was witnessing was excessive. For someone so concerned with appearances, he was causing a scene. His rage and jealousy made him sloppy. 

Laurence shoved you toward his car. He threw the door open with so much force that the whole car rocked enough for Alastor to see it at a distance. Alastor watched as your husband threw you into the car, clutching the flowers Alastor had spent time picking, trimming, and wrapping for you to your chest. 

Liquid iron rolled in the pit of Alastor’s stomach as he watched the car door slam shut, catching the edge of your shawl. No longer could he see you as the sunlight reflected off the window. Laurence stomped around the car and dumped himself into the driver’s seat. There was nothing for Alastor to do as the car pulled away from the radio station. 

Next? Masterlist

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[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part Three

Of bar fights and ice blocks

Words: 4.3

Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four

Warnings: slow burn to the point we might just be embers, eventual smut but next chapter I promise, teeny bit of blood, quite a lot of masculine nonsense, Joel is hot but remains grumpy

When you were in eighth grade you fell madly in love with Johnny Hocart. He was a theatre kid, wildly charismatic for a 14 year old boy, and smart enough to recognise that you had a crush on him and use you for it. You’d signed up to help out with the school play that year, Johnny being the lead in Death of a Salesman the only motivation for your sudden interest in the arts, and he turned you into his roadie almost immediately. You used your own money to fetch him chocolate from the vending machine, you carried his water bottle around behind him on the off chance he might be thirsty. The afternoon you applied his eyeliner for him, on tippy toes and terrified to topple over and take his eye out in the process, fuelled your first fumbled attempt at an orgasm (you wouldn’t get it right until eleventh grade, but you had fun figuring it out). He made you feel something heavy and relentless and heated in your chest, something that unfurled its wings and beat against your rib cage when he walked into view. The little shit let you dote on him hand and foot right up until the wrap party when he stuck his hand up Donna D’Marco’s skirt and spent the rest of the year bragging about it. You were crushed by it, the weight of the humiliation heavy on your shoulders, slumping you forward and folding you into yourself. You vowed to never forget it. But you had, until you met Joel.

Sitting in the mess hall you wondered what happened to Johnny Hocart on outbreak day. You liked the idea that he hadn’t died immediately, that he’d lived in fear for a few months before getting shot by a raider, or maybe that he’d been traded to a slaver and collapsed one day from exhaustion, from malnutrition. You hated to think of him as a clicker, because even though he was a dick no one deserved that, but at the same time you liked the kind of dramatic irony of him as a bloater, overblown as his ego had been.

You chewed your sandwich, one eye on the door, waiting for Marla and definitely not waiting for Joel. You thought instead about the clients you had booked in for the afternoon, and how you were going to finally sort out Peter Fletcher’s tennis elbow so that he could comfortably hold his rifle, and why didn’t they call it rifle elbow since that sounded so much cooler, and you considered all of this while you kept your head down, and very purposefully didn’t think about the hazel flecks in Joel’s eyes as he gazed up at you, one hand cupping and lifting his muscle while you stood square between his knees.

He’d been grumpy and dismissive, you reminded yourself, and the minute he’d felt some relief he had just up and left. You conveniently forgot the part where you had essentially ushered him out the door, suddenly keen to exorcise your living space of him. You weren’t even sure exactly what that was about, except that you had felt the first flutterings of a wing against your ribs, had recognised the feeling as something dangerous and done your best to quash it.

You were contemplating this when a shadow appeared at your table, and you startled.

‘Shit, sorry, just me,’ Ray said, and you craned your neck up to regard him. ‘Can I?’ he asked, pulling at the chair opposite you, and you nodded while you tried to calm your heart. You could see something was up.

‘You ok?’ you asked, when he was finished apologising.

‘Me and my stupid glorious brain,’ he said, and you were tempted not to let him go on any further. ‘I intercepted a message that read like it was raiders, something about a big stash, an old pharmacy that hadn’t been hit yet. Coordinates, too.’

‘That’s great,’ you said, watching his face carefully, studying the lines across his forehead, his furrowed brow, decoding Jackson’s best decoder. ‘It’s not great,’ you concluded.

‘They called in a bunch of patrols to go check it out,’ he said, and suddenly you imagined Joel on the back of a horse, leaning to the left to try and protect his right side, gun strapped to his back and his neck muscles straining under the ache of it. You grimaced. ‘Marla’s was one of them,’ Ray finished, oblivious to your sudden turmoil.

It was a poorly kept secret that Ray was in love with Marla. Poorly kept in that the only person who didn’t seem to know was her. You suspected Ray would have happily stayed put in Chicago were it not for Marla going arse over tit for the idea of living on a ranch. She had barely had to convince him to come with you both, such that he had offered to trade and borrow to get the supplies you’d need, parting with his mother’s wedding ring that he wore on a chain around his neck in the process. You weren’t even sure if Marla noticed, as it had been lost in the service of gaining three passable sleeping bags, and Marla had wrapped her arms around Ray’s neck and kissed behind his ear when he presented them to you, and you had seen in that moment that for Ray it had been enough.

You could tell Jackson hadn’t been what he expected, not least of all now having to share Marla with an entire town.

‘Ray, you did a good thing,’ you said, reaching out and putting your hand on his bicep. He nodded his head, slowly.

‘You heading to the Bison tonight?’ he asked, and you scrambled quickly to come up with an excuse.

‘I was going to check on Maria,’ you replied, grateful for your guilt reminding you that you’d still not caught up with her. ‘It’s been a while since I saw her, and she’s due soon-ish I think. I was going to take her some dinner.’

He looked at you, his mouth downturned and his brows saddled over his eyes, and you felt yourself retracting from his sadness, from his regret. Johnny Hocart had painted your face in similar colours.

‘Yeah, ok,’ you said. You tried hard not to show on your face that the idea was making your skeleton want to crawl out of your mouth and try its luck on the road. But you could see Ray was struggling, that he was bouncing his leg up and down under the table. ‘Marla’s a fighter,’ you said. He looked at you for a long moment, then nodded his head.

‘Bison. Tonight,’ he said, with finality.

You didn’t ask if he knew who else was going on the expedition. You reminded yourself you didn’t care, taking a big swig of water to drown the butterflies.

—

Propped up at a table off to the side, you had a clear view of the bar on your right and the door on your left. You were sitting with Ray and his friend that you didn’t know, and you were trying to participate in conversation but your guts were churning. As much as you wanted to stay in the moment, you couldn’t stop yourself scanning the crowd for threats. Someone smashed a glass over by the jukebox and you felt yourself startle, nearly knocking your own drink off the table. Over by the bar Chloe Bennett, owner of lumbar back problems and occasional sciatica, demonstrated how much her yelping laugh sounded like a woman being stabbed to death with her own stiletto, and you wanted very much to push your chair back and leg it, but Ray kept glancing at you to check you were ok, and his friend Simon seemed quite nice generally speaking, and if nothing else you might be able to drum up some more business out of him.

‘So you don’t charge anything?’ Simon was asking. Simon and Ray worked the radio together most days, Ray listening in to the white noise for any sign of covert communication, and Simon dutifully twisting the knobs beside him. Some part of you registered that he was conventionally attractive, and you wondered if the way he was leaning in to you as you chatted was what passed for flirting in an apocalypse, but also you were watching Ray scanning for Marla, trying to telepathically tell him it would be ok.

‘I mean, we don’t have money,’ you answered Simon.

‘You don’t barter then?’

‘I’m grateful to be here. My home is payment. My safety is payment.’

‘I don’t buy it,’ he said, and he was grinning and you knew that it was playful, but also you felt a wrinkle of frustration in the folds of your skin.

‘You don’t agree?’ Simon shrugged at you in response, and for a reason still not clear to you it made you want to slap him a little bit. You turned to Ray for help, but Ray was looking at the door, and when you looked too you saw Tommy and Joel had just walked in.

‘Fuck,’ Ray said, and you scanned his face for anxiety but found only awe. ‘They are so cool.’

Simon nodded in agreement, and you scoffed in surprise.

‘Are they?’ you asked, and your companions turned to you, confused, and Ray even slightly betrayed.

‘Tommy basically keeps this place going, him and Maria,’ Simon informed you as if this was news.

‘Peak Mama and Daddy Jackson,’ Ray chimed in.

‘Joel. He’s just…’ All three of you turned to watch him approach the bar, nodding to the bartender, who had started pouring him a whiskey the moment he walked in, and slid it over to him.

You weren’t sure how you wanted Simon to finish that sentence. Your eyes kept being drawn to Joel, the broadness of him, the salt and pepper in his hair in stark contrast to his strength, the power under his muscles and behind his eyes. You felt warm in your palms where you had held him, flexed your fingers to try and get the heat out.

You let the conversation move on without you, staring down at your drink, tracing the droplets of condensation first from the body of the glass and then down to the tabletop. If you hadn’t rushed him out would he have let you keep massaging him? Would you have peeled his shirt from his body and explored the planes of his skin? You wiped the water away before it could damage the wood.

‘They’re heading out tomorrow, first light,’ you heard Ray saying, and suddenly your attention snapped back to the present. ‘So I want to be on the radio early, before they go. See if we can find the signal again, make sure the raiders aren’t going in first.’

‘You said you thought they were further out,’ Simon pointed out. ‘That it was bouncing off the mountain.’

‘I know but we’re a day behind.’

‘That’s a lot of ground to cover.’

‘Not on horseback,’ Ray reasoned.

‘We don’t know if they have horses,’ Simon replied. He held his hands palm up on the table, in appeasement, you realised.

‘We don’t know that they don’t, either. We’re sending seven of our people out there…’ your stomach lurched at seven, and your eyes flicked again to Tommy and Joel, and you wondered if tonight was last drinks for them, not knowing if they would both make it back, a time for two brothers to come together before heading back into war. ‘…including Marla, and I just want to-‘

‘What does Marla have to do with it?’ Simon asked, and you decided then he was either an idiot or heartless, and neither option was preferable. You exhaled slowly through your teeth, and watched Ray for his reaction, and wondered if either of them would notice if you just slipped away into the crowd.

You watched Ray gather himself. ‘Marla is a good shot,’ he said, eventually.

You could feel Simon preparing to argue but suddenly there was yelling, actual yelling not imaginary traumatised-by-the-end-of-the-world yelling, and all three of you turned to the bar.

Jacob and another man you didn’t recognise were standing at the other end of the bar, pointing fingers at Joel and Tommy. Joel had already stepped around his little brother, squaring off with them, and you could see that his body was braced, a tightly wound spring in a flannel shirt and jeans. You picked your glass up off the table and cradled it to your chest, as if that would solve it.

You didn’t know Jacob. He was one of the men who had already decided he didn’t own muscles, or feel pain. You knew that he was younger than the men he was squaring off with, that he was full of bravado and empty of brains, the type to shoot first and think later, and it wasn’t lost on you that back in the day he would have made the type of cop that was the subject of several enquires and a few unflattering news items, who would have been shunted off to be the deputy of a shithole town that’s biggest crime wave was when a couple of cookbooks went missing from the local library, a town that he nevertheless tortured until he retired.

Jacob was currently yelling so hard spittle was flying across the bar, and you could make out the carotid artery along his red neck.

‘All well and good for you two,’ he was saying. ‘Sitting back while the real men go out and defend this town.’ Joel was moving forward towards him, despite Tommy pulling on his sleeve to bring him back, and everyone in the bar was now frozen, watching. Jacob continued, because he was as dumb as he was hateful. ‘Oh I’m on the fucking town council, that means I get to decide who lives and who dies without having to put my own arse on the line. Fuckin’ weak, pathetic-‘

‘Lower your voice,’ Joel said, completely calm and also utterly terrifying. Jacob laughed, actually laughed, in Joel’s face.

‘Fuck off old man,’ he spat, taking another step towards Joel, who wouldn’t back down. ‘You don’t get a say either, ridin your little brother’s dick all the way to retirement.’

‘It’s men and women,’ Joel continued, undeterred and still deathly calm. One afternoon on the road you’d come across a snake on the path, big and brown and poised with its head up, watching you. It had taken you ten minutes to back away from it, so sure it was about to lunge. Watching Joel now, inching forward towards Jacob, you had the same feeling. Jacob wasn’t following Joel, made too stupid by his misplaced entitlement, his anger and his impotent fury. ‘We are sending the real men and women to defend this town, and Tommy and I’ll be here to keep it safe while you’re gone.’

You exhaled for the first time all day, the tension you didn’t even know you were carrying with you suddenly releasing. But Jacob was more angry now, and Tommy was backing up Joel and squaring off too, and you felt the heat in the room ratchet up.

‘I’m having a baby, you fuck,’ Tommy said, and Joel raised his hand to calm him. Tommy immediately settled back behind his bigger brother.

‘Not to say we ain’t grateful,’ Joel continued, but Jacob had noticed that the whole bar was watching, that Joel was about to talk him out of an argument, that he was about to be alpha’d by a man twice his age. He took three steps forward toward Joel, who had already reached back to push Tommy out of the way, and Jacob’s arm was swinging just a fraction slower than Joel’s, who clocked the younger man hard in the jaw and sent him spinning, landing hard on the top of the bar and shattering glasses and bottles underneath him. He was only down for a second before he was back up and swinging, landing a blow on Joel’s eye socket before he and Tommy had him by the back of the collar. You realised you had stood up and had moved towards them only when you were close enough to hear Joel grunt ‘a fuckin bar fight, really? You that fuckin clichè?’

Jacob just grunted, his airway constricted by his shirt that Joel was now using as a vice, and even in the middle of the violence you could see he was careful not to compress harder than he needed to, holding him sturdy but without gripping so hard as to injure.

The four men headed for the door, Joel pushing Jacob through first and then following, using the momentum to swing the younger man out and down the stairs and into the dirt below. His friend rushed to him, pulling him up and away, and as you followed them out you heard Jacob spitting threats of his return. Joel was puffed, leant against the railing to catch his breath. He turned to his brother, checked on him, and then to you, where his eyebrows shot up and you realised he was seeing you only now. Your breath caught in your throat. You had no idea what you were doing there, either.

‘You’re hurt,’ you said after a moment, gesturing to his fist. You could see a scrape of blood pooling on the knuckle.

‘Ain’t broken,’ he said. Turning to Tommy he more or less ignored you. ‘You ok?’ he asked. Tommy nodded, before he also nodded to Joel’s fist.

‘Take him to ours,’ he said to you. ‘We got ice in the freezer. Time to work some more miracles.’

You were alarmed, pretty much constantly, but especially so when Tommy turned back to go inside.

‘You’re not coming?’ you asked, and you hated that your panic had carried through into your voice.

‘Gotta make it right here,’ he said, without turning around.

—

The walk to Maria’s was three minutes at most and still you would have flayed your own skin clean off not to have to do it. You could feel the wings now, beating hard against your rib cage, and you swallowed only to taste acid on the back of your tongue. Joel was silent, but it was the type of silence that belies being pissed off, a general curmudgeon-ing, that set you on edge.

You thought again back to your teacher. When the clients in pain, keep them talking.

‘How’s the shoulder?’ you asked, into the darkness in front of you instead of looking at Joel’s face.

‘Thought it wasn’t my shoulder,’ he said, and it took a second for you to realise he was teasing you, not goading. ‘S’ok, I hear it’s all connected,’ he pretend to console you, and you squawked out a surprised laugh, wondering if you’d ever, up until this moment, made a sound like that before.

At no point had you considered that Joel Miller could be funny. Now, though, you discovered you had even less of an idea of how to talk to him.

‘You’re not going out on the run?’ you asked, and you hoped not to sound too relieved, too hopeful.

‘Got things to look out for at home,’ he said, and you stayed quiet in the hope that he would keep talking. ‘Ellie and me, we had a rough time of it…she’s been quiet. Thought best to…’ he trailed off.

‘Maria said you went to Salt Lake?’ you asked, and because you were still unable to look at him you didn’t see him flinch. ‘Why did you have to go there?’ you continued on.

‘Didn’t realise Maria liked to gossip so much,’ he said, and you heard it then, the hardness of it.

You rushed to defend her. ‘I was just curious,’ you started, and Joel stopped you, stopped walking altogether. You turned back to him.

‘Dangerous thing,’ he said, and you wanted to tell him that you knew that, that you weren’t normally like that, that you were clever and you had survived this long because if it, but he was already turning up the path to Maria and Tommy’s place, and all you could do was trail behind him, like a fucking lap dog, worried he’d lock you out if you took too long to get inside.

From the couch Maria called for Tommy, and when Joel responded she pulled herself up to stand. You were surprised by how big she’d gotten, trying to remember the last time you’d seen a pregnant woman. Let alone a pregnant woman about to pop.

‘I know, I’m huge,’ she said, when she saw you staring and you snapped your eyes back to her face.

‘Radiant,’ you said, and she snorted.

‘Thank you for lying,’ she replied, and you felt the warmth of genuine affection between the two of you, thought for a moment of sunshine on your skin, of your sister.

‘Tommy said you had ice,’ Joel cut in, and Maria noticed Joel’s hand, her face hardening.

‘They started it,’ Joel said, and you nodded behind him to confirm that this was indeed true. You saw the suspicion in her eyes, the way she was careful with him, and you stepped forward, taking his elbow.

‘I’ll sort it,’ you said, smiling with what you hoped was confidence. Joel looked down at your hand on his arm, then up to your face, where you ignored his obvious indignation at being herded like a child. ‘On we go,’ you said, feeling like a deranged grade school teacher, trying to get her class of unruly six year olds through to 3 pm unscathed. You didn’t see the bemused look on Maria’s face as you pushed Joel down the hallway, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway.

Once again you found yourself crammed into a kitchen with Joel. Sitting him at the table you put some ice in a cloth then plopped down into the chair beside him and held out your hand. He stared at you, unmoving.

‘I can do this,’ he said, and you were tired then, having dealt with quite a lot of male bullshit in just the last two hours, and so you groaned and pulled his hand to you, holding him firm by the wrist lest he try and patriarchy his way out again.

‘I can do it better,’ you said simply, and he huffed out a laugh.

‘Now that I don’t deny,’ he said, and it was quiet, just barely muttered between the two of you, and when you looked up into his eyes you found that they were crinkled with something like amusement, something like affection.

You looked down, flexed his fingers for him, heard him hold his breath when you inspected the knuckle.

‘They teach you this in school, too?’ he asked, and you heard again that he was ribbing you. You decided it was a good sign.

‘No this is purely growing up with a daredevil older sister,’ you replied.

‘Family resemblance, then,’ he replied and you looked up at him sharply, angry for a second that he was calling you meek, that he was deriding you for a perfectly normal reaction to the collapse of society, but you saw nothing on his face that belied any aggression. If anything, you saw warmth.

‘This sore?’ you asked, just gently wresting a fingertip on the bone. His hands were big, with thick and powerful fingers, and you were doing your absolute best not to consider what they could do to you, if you let them.

‘S’alright,’ he murmured. For a moment you saw outside yourself, watched you hunched over inspecting the paw of a lion, a little mouse reaching in to extract a thorn.

‘Here?’ you said, hushed under the light of Maria’s kitchen. You pressed down slightly, on exactly the same spot, and heard his breath stutter. You realised the makeshift ice pack was too bulky to fit between his knuckles, so you opened it and took a block out, resolutely not looking up into his face.

‘Tell me if this is too cold,’ you said, holding the block between your fingers and running it gently over his skin.

‘Mmhmm,’ he hummed, gently. You kept the ice moving, your eyes watching his hand for any sign of a tremble, but he stayed resolute under your touch.

The heat of his skin started to melt it, cold water running down and snaking under his palm, between his fingers. It washed away the blood, so that you could see only scratches, surface abrasions, from where knuckle met jaw. You watched the pink of it, mixing with the water, little rivers of something precious, something Joel. You were aware only of your finger tips, the push of wings against your chest present but forgotten, as you witnessed him, his essence. As you gazed down on the thing that made him, that kept him, the life in his veins. As the block melted down to just a wafer, as it healed, sealed over the hurt, you lifted it to your mouth to taste it, wanting the iron and the tang of it, the sharpness of the cold mixed with the heat of him, of your open mouth.

You heard his breath hitch. Your eyes flew open, not having realised you’d closed them, and landed on his face, where you gasped when you saw the look of pure wanting, of pure desire, painted pink and red over his features. You dropped his hand in your panic, your face burning, your legs moving before your brain had even taken a moment to collect itself.

‘Thanks Maria I gotta go think Joel will be fine I hope you’re ok will drop some food around you’re the most beautiful pregnant lady I’ve ever seen take care bye’ you vomited, gathering your coat tight around your shoulders and wanting but not wanting, terrified but hoping, to hear footsteps down the hall behind you. You wrenched the door open, felt the welcome rush of cool on your face, already halfway down the porch before you heard it slam shut behind you.

You sprinted, shuffling over ice but not slowing, back to your home. As you went you followed the wall, wondering how it could have made you feel safe now that you were trapped behind it, wondering how you could possibly live with the snake poised to lunge at you, how you could outrun it when it had taken up home inside your belly, beside your breath.

Tag list (just learned what these are, lemme know if you want me to add you)

@orcasoul

[magknightidv]

The Knight and The Florist.

Masterlist.

Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't expect from an Idv fic. (Fairly short)

Richard Sterling x fem! Reader

---

The Florist. Y/n L/n. Recently dragged into the claws of Oletus Manor by a mysterious letter supposedly telling her of clues of the location of her missing brother. A boy so young when he was stolen from their mothers arms, the girl had barely understood the severity of the situation until she watched her family succumb to an illness that she was immune to.

How will her first meeting with the equally as new "Knight" go?

---

Matches. Games. Decode. Run. Hunters. Survivors. All key words I must remember. I must. One wrong move could cost me and the other survivors our winning matches, the more we win the more we get in return. Or so I've been told by Lily. She's a sweet girl who means well, energetic, maybe a little peculiar.

What if I fail my match. Who will come rescue me. I've been teamed with the other newest survivors, they likely will not be as experienced as the players who have been stuck here for years. No, they simply won't be as experienced. I cannot be fully sure I won't fumble and lose us a match. I do not even know how to play these games, decoding seems simple enough but what do I do if the hunter finds me? I can supposedly contain the hunter but I do not even know how to, I can even support people in some equally as unkown way. Oh how I wish they'd put me in a practise match where there would be no rewards, no consequences. Just a bit of practise.

My breathing becomes heavier and my room suddenly feels a lot smaller. I can't take it. Out.

Get out.

Leave.

Run.

Hide.

A ring of black takes the edges of my vision as I sprint towards the garden area of the manor. The flora and fauna will comfort me, surely. They wither quickly, like my family did. I'm safe with them. In my rush, I fail to notice the taller figure of a man in front of me as I enter the greenhouse.

My head smacks straight into the figure's shoulder, he grunts and turns with arms outstretched as though to catch me should I fall. I don't fall but I do stumble back in my panicked shock and take in his appearance. Long, dark hair, heterochromic eyes of blue and brown, a lean build. He's incredibly handsome, and the beauty mark just below the left (my side) side of his mouth adds to his looks.

"I-" My words fail me as I stare at the man in complete awe. He's the even newer "Knight" I suppose. A moment of stunned silence overtakes us. The greenhouse calms as though even the plants were riled up by the outburst before calming with my own heartrate. "I'm so sorry." I finally blurt out.

The man doesn't seem to particularly care, almost apathetic even before realising I'm apologising. "Oh. It is no issue, I suppose I was the one blocking the doorway." He bows slightly before returning to his towering height.

"My name is Richard Sterling. I have been dubbed, The "Knight", of these games. If it is not too much to ask, would you be able to tell me what this entails?" His tone is sincere and face although fairly flat, there is a slight upturn to his lips. The sense of dread fills me once more as I realise he's asking for advice. Advice I cannot offer.

"I'm very sorry Mr Sterling. I, myself have not been present for any matches yet. I am able to show you the schedule however if you would like? I saw that our first match would be together I believe, so we can learn together." I try to pull a kind smile onto my lips and it works as he smiles in return.

"Yes, I would like that miss..?" He holds his arm out for me to take, I wrap my arm around his and begin to lead him.

"Y/n L/n, The Florist."

What did I come to the greenhouse for again? I strain my memory to try and remember but all I see is the embarrassing but enjoyable first meeting with Richard.

---fin.

Something short and sweet, I have more ideas for these two that I wanna get to working on. REQUESTS ARE OPEN BTW PEOPLE START SENDING THEM IN PLEASSEEE I BEG.

[rainynightmoonlight]

Can I request a Yandere Shinobu x Male reader where she discovers that you stayed at someone else’s healing estate because it was “closer” at the end of your last mission?

I could have helped | Yandere Shinobu x Male Reader

Characters: Shinobu

Summary: Getting help at another estate was not the best idea.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Gore, Obsessive behavior, manipulation, death, kidnapping

A/n: Im so sorry this is so late! Also sorry if it feels rushed, I'm writing this so late!

The forest was dark, eerie sounds within the trees and sky, there stood a boy struggling to keep his stance. Blood dripped down his s/c skin, shining in the little moonlight that dispersed though the thick leaves. A demon was slowly decaying away in front of his e/c eyes that were slowly losing their shining life. Y/n turned away from the demon that was cursing at him. 

Just as Y/n walked out of the forest, blood trailing behind him, his body gave up on him. He collapsed on the trail that led to the village nearby. Luckily, Y/n was saved by the Kakushi of the Demon Slayer Corp. They sent him to a nearby estate to heal because sending him to a further one could have killed him. However, there was one person who didn’t like this. 

Shinobu’s crow had seen it all happen, as a request of its owner, and flew rabidly to the Butterfly estate. When the update on Y/n had been completed, Shinobu set out to get back her dearest darling. She had sent her crow first, with a message for the injured boy. 

“Go to him and tell him I’ll be there soon.”

With that, Shinobu’s crow swiftly flew into the veil of the night. It took until sunrise for the crow to reach the window of the room Y/n was staying in. Y/n noticed and opened the window, trying his best not to open up the wound he had bandaged. He held out a finger for the crow to jump onto, and guided the bird to where he laid to heal. 

Y/n looked at the crow curiously, not knowing why it was here. He knew it wasn’t his. Y/n gave the crow a look, urging it to share the message it had. The crow propped itself onto his bandaged knee, preparing to speak. 

“I have come from the Butterfly Estate. Ms. Shinobu has asked me to share this message to Y/n L/n. The following is what she instructed me to say. My dearest Y/n, I am so glad you’re safe. I am on my way to see you and make sure you’re healing well! It worries me that you aren’t within my healing care, but worry not, you will be soon.”

For some reason, the message unsettled Y/n, but he nodded to the crow, showing he registered what it just shared. He sent a few meaningless words with the crow. It flew out the window to find its owner. Once it did, it shared the message Y/n had, but Shinobu was too busy travelling as fast as she could. 

The sun had already set, and Shinobu stood in front of the estate that held her dearest love inside. 

Y/n couldn’t sleep, the message Shinobu had left him with stuck in his head. He closed his eyes, trying to decode what it could have meant. In an instant, Y/n shot up, feeling something was off. He heard screaming, and walked slowly to the door. 

Anxiety settled deeply into Y/n, his senses increasing tenfold. His ears picked up even more screaming as he walked out into the hall, calling out to the darkness. No one seemed to come to his calls. Until a figure came out of the shadows. 

Y/n tried to get into a position with his nichirin sword, but it wasn’t with him. He cursed to himself, regretting the negligence at this moment. He felt helpless, and he hated it. Y/n was eased when he noticed that it was a friend of his.  

“Shinobu?”

Y/n fell back, horror gracing every feature. As Shinobu came closer, she was covered in blood. The smell was so overwhelming, he didn’t know what to do. Y/n was just frozen on the floor, staring at his friend, who seemed so unbothered by everything around her. She only walked closer to Y/n. 

“Ah my dear! Did that garbage nurse hurt you more? You look worse than I thought. Here, let me take you to your rightful place and get you all healed up!”

Y/n tried to back away from Shinobu, but she was too quick. She injected Y/n with a sedative that caused the boy to feel so dizzy. Shinobu picked up the boy with ease and brought him to her estate. The only thing in her mind was how much of a bad job the nurse did with her dearest darling.

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[chronicowboy]

Natalia texts him four days after Kameron interrupts their date. He has to admit its a shock. He'd kind of just assumed that whatever thing that may have been blooming between them had shrivelled and died. He hadn't been as distraught as he thought he might be, in fact he'd been a little lighter since she walked out.

(Until Eddie had told them about bumping into Marisol at the hardware store, but he doesn't really want to think about that too closely.)

They meet up at a coffee shop because Buck isn't quite sure what to expect, but somehow inviting her back to his apartment feels like a step over the line.

"I'm really sorry," she says as soon as she sits down. "I reacted poorly and I just wanted to get my head on straight before I got back to you again."

"I get it," Buck shrugs, smiles. "I dropped a hell of a lot on you that night. Like all at once. Guess its easier when its just words and not a very pregnant woman on your doorstep."

"Yeah." Natalia laughs, ducking her head. Buck knows she's beautiful, stunning even, but he doesn't feel it. "It was a bit of a shock to say the least." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks up at him. "I was blindsided, I reacted badly, I'm sorry."

Buck bites back the instinctual dismissal on his tongue, hears an echo of Eddie's you don't have to be anything for anyone.

"Thank you for saying that." Its an awkward thing to say, but Buck is getting better at not cutting parts of himself off to fit into other's perception of him.

"Did I blow this?" She grimaces at him, an apologetic thing that makes Buck huff a small laugh. "I feel like I blew it." She bites her lip. "Its just... You know, you spend so much of your life confronting death that you forget to be afraid of it. But the act of creating life," she releases a long exhale, "that's terrifying to me."

"And I get that." Buck nods, but he doesn't. Not really. His job is filled with so much death, life is a luxury, a privilege. Every time they get to help a mother give birth to her child, Buck feels an old wound from a loss on the job heal. The circle of life, Chim would call it.

"I just." Natalia sighs. "This isn't really something you say on like a third date, but I also feel like the whole sperm donor thing wasn't a second date topic, so I'm just gonna say it anyway." She glances over at a couple in the corner, the man wiping foam off their toddler's chin. "I'm not ready for the whole life thing." Buck blinks. "Like kids. I just don't see it happening for me. That's why I reacted the way I did."

"Because Kameron was pregnant?" Buck frowns, heart stuck on her words.

"Because you're a father," she says plainly.

"But I'm not." Buck huffs, scrubs his hands over his trousers. "I'm the donor, not the dad. I'm not really involved. I just gave them my DNA. Sure, I might see the kid from time to time but that's because Connor and Kameron are my friends. Its not because I'm actually that kid's father."

"But..."

"No, Natalia. I am nothing to that child apart from a family friend. That's it." Buck says it and something inside him settles.

"You're sure?"

"Positive." Buck nods. "You want to get a coffee? Try again?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice." She smiles at him, and Buck reaches for his phone just as it buzzes.

christopher: i need your help

christopher: dad's hopeless

Buck snorts down at the texts and shoots an apologetic look up at Natalia as he types out a response.

tell him not to touch anything and i'll come over to help around dinner

"Everything okay?" Natalia quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Buck stuffs his wallet into his pocket as they stand up. "Eddie, um, firefighter Diaz," she nods in recognition, "he's trying to help his son with this big project he has. And Christopher is asking me for help, so I can only assume he's doing an embarrassingly bad job."

christopher: you better hurry, i don't want to fail because dad glued his sliders to the floor

Buck sends a line of emojis he know Chris will get a kick out of decoding before looking up at a silent Natalia. There's something calculating to the slight furrow between her brows that makes his hackles rise.

"And..." She purses her lips. Buck finds himself swallowing in anticipation of whatever she's about to say. "Do you help your co-worker's son with his homework a lot?"

"Eddie's my best friend," Buck clarifies. "Well, no. Christopher is my best friend. But Eddie's a close second. I help out whenever I can." He cuts himself off before he can say anything else, already feeling like he's revealed too much. "Um, w-why?"

"Do you have a picture of him?" she asks. Buck flashes his lockscreen at her, and Natalia smiles sweetly but it looks like she's just figured something out. "He's cute."

"The cutest," Buck murmurs, stealing a quick look at the picture of Chris squirming away from one of Eddie's hugs. "Although he'd probably disown me as a best friend for calling him that now. He's getting too old."

"Buck," Natalia says softly, "I don't think this is going to work out."

"What?" He frowns, figures it would be rude to check his texts when he's being broken up with - if it can even be called a break-up at this point.

"Just the concept of you bringing life into this world was enough to terrify me." She shrugs. "But there's an actual, real life you're shaping and helping to do his homework and looking at like he's the reason you came back from the dead. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Christopher's not my kid, though." It feels like a lie as he says it, tastes like ash in his mouth the moment he thinks it.

"Isn't he?" Natalia taps his phone screen so that it lights up on that same picture of Christopher. She smiles at him weakly. "It was nice meeting you, Buck. Thanks for giving me some answers about death, I hope you can find the answers in your life."

Natalia leaves him in the coffee shop with a sweep of her hand down his arm, and Buck fumbles with a thousand desires all rising to the surface at once. None of which are a desire to run after her. But there's one, there's one stronger, louder, bigger than all the rest. One that makes him want to run all the way to homework club.

on my way, bud

[fishermanshook]

patched up (novelist x gn!reader)

howlpendragons on Pinterest

content warnings: mentions of blood and scars, possible spelling and grammar errors, second person POV, use of y/n like twice

The manor games are brutal, but even brutal is an understatement at how horrible they can really be. Consisting of blood, sweat and tears, all you can do is run. But running is tiring, especially when you know that no matter how many games you escape, you’ll be stuck here in this hell hole forever. 

And during these death games, getting hurt is almost always guaranteed. And if you don’t have the Doctor in your match to speed the (healing) process up, Survivors must take it upon themselves to heal them and their teammates. 

—

You're not too sure when your fingers started going numb during decoding, but with only 1 cipher being left undecoded, you’ve got to keep up the pace. 

Just minutes ago a loud announcement roared through the air, scaring the crows and other unearthly creatures that inhabited this manor away from where they were originally perched. The announcement let everyone know (who was in the game) that the Patient had been chaired and sent back to the manor. But you didn’t need the announcement to know that, as his screams rippled through the air only seconds before his inevitable doom. 

Now the Enchantress has been left with keeping the hunter occupied, and thanks to her pinning her location through a special piece of technology, you know to stay clear of that area. 

You let your fellow teammates know the area you're decoding in, the cipher being at least 50% completed. You're lost in concentration before a certain voice comes from behind you. 

“Hey,,y/n?”

Your head immediately jerks up, almost missing a calibration in the process. 

“Holy, oh my gosh Orpheus you scared me- oh.”

You look at Orpheus who’s slightly hunched back and has a small smile on his face. His pristine white trench coat looks like it's been relentlessly torn and ripped apart, smeared with dirt and what looks to be blood. Following the crimson trail, you spot that he’s cradling his left arm closely near his chest where his whole hand has been painted red. 

“Mind patching me up really quickly?”

How can you refuse? He’s your teammate after all and you can’t leave him standing there in a pile of his own blood.

“Always.”

— 

You and Orpheus sit closely near each other, with Orpheus sitting up with his legs out and your sitting criss crossed. You’ve produced your small medical bag that the manor has provided you with. It always gets restocked before every game by some unknown source, but that doesn’t really matter right now. All that matters is getting Orpheus patched up quickly so you two can finish decoding the last cipher and get out of here. 

You whip out the white medical gauze inside of the red bag and hastily get to work. Orpheus has stripped off his coat so you can get to the main source. You don’t have time to wash off any of the blood or even give him something to hold on to, but you make due with what you're given. 

Before wrapping the gauze of him, you take a rag from the kit and gently but rapidly wipe some of the blood from his arm. You hear him suck in a quick breath, but all you can mutter is something along the lines of “‘m sorry” before quickly wrapping up the gauze. 

Unfortunately, due to some previous trauma, the process takes a few minutes. With your shaking hands and Orpheus’ winces, it brings back some unpleasant memories. 

You may have accidentally tightened the gauze a little too harsh, because it sends Orpheus throwing his head back and grabbing onto your thigh. 

“Ah, shit, I’m sorry y/n.”

You're taking back a bit, looking the other way to avoid contact, pretending to get something else from your bag. 

“Don’t worry about it, just try your best to sit still, okay? If it’s really that bad then you can squeeze my thigh, k?” You say with a small smile.

Orpheus’ eyes widened a bit, but not before shaking his head and staring forward into the abyss. 

You get back to applying the gauze onto his arm, but it’s a little hard when you can’t forget how warm his hand feels gripping onto your thigh. 

—

The rush of adrenaline you get when the final cipher pops is insanely overwhelming, but you’ve learned to just embrace it and take off as far as your legs will grant you. Using that adrenaline, you find yourself rushing to type in the code to the exit gate, then the anxiety gets the best of you. 

“You're not going to be able to type it if your hands keep shaking like that,” Orpheus says, taking your hand and removing it gently from the keypad “let me please.” 

As you stand there with your wobbly legs, Orpheus wonders if you’ve ever noticed how he doesn’t necessarily treat you the same as he treats the others. He’s so much more kind to you then the others, not that he’s necessarily rude or mean to the other inhabitants of the manor though. It’s just that you’ve caught his attention and now he can’t take his mind off of you. 

He wonders if he told you, would you feel the same?

But something pulls him out of his thoughts, as a blood curdling scream comes from the distance. Orpheus and you both look behind yourselves and are met with a bloody and messy Patricia. 

Her clothes have been tattered and abused, her sparkly purple outfit has been ripped to shreds as wounds decorate her body, spilling cardinal red blood. Red blood that perfectly matches the way the Sculpture eyes light up when she meets your gaze. 

Orpheus is quick to put in the code as the Enchantress shouts to go for the tie. He quickly grabs your hand, forcing himself to ignore the way you scream Patricia's name. He pulls you and him through the gate before you can get hit by a sculpture. 

When you two make your way through the gate, he’s still holding your hand as he asks you if you're alright. Are you hurt? Are you in pain? You shake your head side to side but can’t help the tears that silently fall from your eyes and cup your cheeks, almost in a loving way. 

Orpheus doesn’t want to see you cry, and so, acting on impulse, he pulls you in for a hug. Softly shushing you as he combs his fingers through your hair. The two of you sit in silence as you wait for the old and battered carriage to take you back like it always does. 

—

The carriage is dimly lit by a small lantern hanging from the ceiling of the moving vehicle, and he can’t make out the person in the front, but he isn’t really too worried about that right now. 

He’s just thankful you can’t see the blush that’s crept up the back of his neck and spread itself across his face. 

Your head lays loosely on his shoulder, his head on top of your as he rubs his thumb in circles on your palm. Your tears have dried and stained your cheeks, but you're too exhausted to wipe them away. Orpheus isn’t sure what made you start crying, especially when he knows this isn’t your first match. Was it due to exhaustion? The wearing of adrenaline? Or did everything that had just happened catch you off guard? Multiple questions plagued his mind, but the Novelist knew better than to bombard you with his onslaught of wonders, so he just sat with you. You and your tattered body, covered in scars from previous matches. 

To hell with those Hunters, if they ever die. 

— End

note: i say kinda b/c i feel like this isn't really a fic but it'll happen to do,,, this fic sucks i’m sorry you guys

(2023)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, or repost my work on any other platform

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Angel Maker: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: You still feel guilty for what happened to you and Hotch even though you shouldn't. If you had seen that bomb before getting blasted back, then maybe you wouldn't have so many problems with your "abilities".

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

Hotch and Emily headed over there while the rest of the team stayed back to work on the case. It turns out that the unsub wasn't the one who committed the crime, but Shara, the woman you and Rossi talked to. She figured if this killing spree could work for the unsub, then it could work for her.

It's already late, so you'll have to pick this up in the morning. The comment Emily made is stuck in your head for some reason. Why you're upset at this, you're not sure. You're sitting in the conference room and staring at Emily who is outside getting some coffee in the break room. You have a small pout on your face, and Spencer notices this when he enters the conference room.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you say and look away.

"Is it your head? Are you okay?"

"Spencer, I'm okay. I took my pain meds before we left the hotel, so I'm good."

The rest of the team filters into the conference room while JJ is on the phone with Pen. Penelope is working her magic in trying to find out who this unsub could be. According to her, four hundred and sixty-three children were born in the lower Canaan area between 2006 and 2008, so you'll have to narrow the list a bit more to get accurate results.

One of the letters Spencer decoded says, "I knew even before they told me that the future had taken root", which can only mean that it was the date of conception. The date of that letter was January 7th, 2007, so Pen had to look between August to September of the same year. With that, she came up with nine names, which is a lot more manageable.

After she sent over the names, your team got to work eliminating them. The Sheriff would know more about these names than you would, so you bring him in to try and help.

"Hannah Dreyfus was in an auto accident. She could barely walk. Shannon Conway moved away when the plant closed a year ago," the sheriff goes down the list.

"Any other names you recognize?"

"No, I'm sorry." The sheriff does a double-take and grabs the paper when he recognizes another name. "Well, this one here sounds familiar but I can't really place it. Chloe Kelcher."

"Chloe Kelcher. That is familiar," Spencer says and grabs the file for Cortland. "She was on the jury."

"That makes sense. She would have been exposed to the case evidence and seen firsthand what he did to his victims. That's when she fell in love with him, sitting across the courtroom every day."

"Well, it's one thing to have a relationship with a killer, and it's another to become one," the sheriff scoffs.

"There might have been an incident that prompted the transformation," Spencer says and looks into Chloe's file. "There's a death certificate here. Microvesicular steatosis. Her baby died at the hospital."

It looks like Chloe is your unsub, so your entire team heads over to her house, but like you assumed, she isn't home. The judge signed the warrant very quickly, so you're allowed to enter her house without getting into trouble. After a thorough search, everyone gathers in the kitchen.

"All right. We all know what the end game is. She's looking for her final victim. She may have already chosen one. Let's tear this place apart and look for anything that might tell us who she's targeted," Hotch says.

You, Hotch, and Derek head toward the bedroom and come across a child's nursery with glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling.

"Daddy's watching," you say and point to the stars.

"It must have devastated her to think that she could hold on to Ryan by having his child and then lose the baby. Completing his murders became the only way she could hold on to him."

Something isn't right. The second you entered the house, something felt off about the atmosphere. You pause and look around the room until you see it.

Cortland Ryan is sitting on top of some kind of chest located underneath the window.

"What is it?" Derek asks after he sees the look on your face.

Without saying a word, you grasp the end of the chest. As soon as you open it, Cortland mists away. Lying there inside is Cortland's rotting body.

"That's not the only way she's holding onto him," you gag.

"I assume that's who I think it is," Spencer says when he walks into the bedroom. "I have an appointment book here. There are meetings with Delilah Grennan and Maxine Chandler on the day of each murder."

"Sheriff, have you found her tools or the gun?" Hotch asks.

"Nothing yet."

"She has something for this morning: Faye Landreaux."

"She's a CPA," the sheriff sighs. "She does my taxes. She works out of her home."

"Let's go."

Your entire team heads over to Faye's house. As soon as you get there, you can feel how scared she is and also another energy: the unsub.

"My team's ready. Let's get in there," the Sheriff says eagerly.

"Sheriff, we didn't recover a gun at Chloe's house. We have to assume she's armed."

"So are we."

"If you storm in now, she'll shoot, and she'll start with Faye. We need to be smart about this," you say.

"What do we do?" Derek asks.

"I think you should look for an open window," Hotch takes charge. "Sheriff, I need you to bring all your vehicles around to the front, facing forward with lights off, and I need a megaphone."

The sheriff does what he's told, and Derek creeps around the house to try and find an open window to get inside. Chances are, she's locked all the doors so no one can get inside so Derek's only shot it getting through a window without alerting her.

"Hotch, you won't be able to get through to her," you say.

"No, but maybe you can," he says and hands the megaphone to you.

"Sir, the profile is clear. We won't be able to talk her down."

"No, but we can occupy her. If we're right about the MO, she's left a window open somewhere. Morgan will find a way in. We just need to buy him some time. Hit the lights," Hotch says to the sheriff.

Seconds later, lights flood the front of the house, no doubt letting Chloe know that you're here. You take a deep breath and clear your head.

"Chloe, this is the FBI. We know you're in there, and we know what you're trying to do. I know you think that finishing what Cortland started will bring you closer to him, but first, you should know who he really was. I know you thought you were special, but the truth is, he wrote the same things he wrote to you to other women. I've seen the letters." Hotch hands you copies of the letters for you to read to her. "Dozens read the same lines: 'Without the flesh, there is only the soul. You don't need to touch me to feel the love I have for you.' Does that sound familiar? Cortland wasn't who you thought he was. He was a narcissist, Chloe. He wasn't capable of loving anyone but himself.

"To Carla Kettinger, he wrote, 'Ever since your visit, I am crazed with thoughts of you. Already, you have entered my dreams. Each time you appear to me, I am embraced by a feeling of trust and belief as if I've known you all my life. It's clear to me now that you are my fate. We are destined to be together, and when I am gone, that will not change. I will live on in you. In death, our union will be eternal. All appeals are lost. Possessions matter little to a condemned man, but I cannot leave this world without seeing your face one last time.' 

"It isn't your fault that he made you feel these things, Chloe. It isn't your fault your baby died."

That gives Derek enough time to get Faye out of the house because as soon as you're done speaking, you see Derek usher Faye to safety. Second later, you hear Chloe yell out in anger.

"It's over, Chloe. We have Faye. You have nowhere to go," you say into the megaphone.

Still, she doesn't respond. 

"I think we got some tear gas. I'm assuming it's still good," the sheriff says.

"We're not gonna need it. She doesn't have any place to go."

"Well, maybe she'll do us all a favor and put herself down."

"She's not gonna do that, either. She's not done."

Just then, Chloe comes out of the house with the gun in her hand. All officers and agents draw their guns and point them at her, and she stops at the bottom step of the porch.

"Chloe, drop the gun!" Hotch orders, and repeats himself when she doesn't listen.

"I'm coming to you, baby," she grins at the sky.

She raises her gun to shoot knowing that everyone will shoot to stop her. She goes down in two shots, and you back away in pain from the gunshot. Rossi and Emily rush over to her, but she is already dead. Emily notices blood seeing from her jacket, and she lifts it to see the markings of the final constellation.

If we took her victim from her, then she became the last one.

With the case solved, your team gets ready to head to the airport. Hotch is in the police station finishing up, so everyone is waiting by the car for him.

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer asks.

"Yeah, just tired," you sigh.

"Did anyone get directions back to the airstrip?" JJ asks when Hotch comes out with his bag in hand.

"This town's only got one road. We'll find it," Derek shrugs.

"Yeah, Morgan doesn't like to follow directions. You didn't know about that?" Emily laughs.

"Yeah, he likes to vibe it," Spencer smirks.

"Okay, smart ass. You drive," Derek says and tosses Spencer the keys.

He unlocks the car, and you're the first one in. The car has a row of seats behind the back seat, so that's the one you take. Spencer sees how much pain you're in, and he looks down at the keys in his hands. He likes driving every once in a while, but you clearly need him.

"Not this time," he says and hands the keys to Emily who takes them with a smile.

He sets his bag in the back before climbing in next to you. After putting both your seatbelts on, you shift and rest your head on his chest. He wraps an arm around you and kisses the top of your head.

You're always able to fall asleep a lot better when it's in his arms.

"The past is our definition. We may strive, with good reason, to escape it, or to escape what is bad in it, but we will escape it only by adding something better to it." - Wendell Berry

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[kavalyera]

why YOU should read maybe they should add a fifth wall!!!

why you yes YOU ! ! “should read maybe they should add a fifth wall” by oneirogen !!

okay so background of the author(because seriously they rlly do deserve the applause). just in case you’re either new or you weren’t there for no bills in the mail!! this is a reader interactive fic!! MEANINGGG readers get to see where the story heads by voting polls left by the author! but not just that! It is also a cross between an ARG and actual fanfiction. yes you read that right, this thing has ARG elements!!! meaning that there is a story under this story!!! readers have to decode, decipher, and read their way through getting the fuller picture of the story! oneirogen(iconic fr) has done this with one before aka the infamous no bills in the mail still centered on reddoons and ashswag.(read it. it’s soooo good like holy shit. absolutely dreadfully and beautifully written)

okay, enough yapping. time for the actual storyline(the surface level). time for the professional stuff!! (>^_^ )> salamat sa pagbasa :3

This ^ is a screenshot of the very first chapter and yes it might not be your typical, average fanfiction but the story? The story is amazing so far centers and follows around Ashswag and Reddoons, gay businessmen canonically and people suffering…. in a lot of other things.

The story follows these two, Ash and Red. There’s only 2 chapters so far. With 632 words in total but do NOT let that deter you from reading it because the notes and the polls are worth it.

These two are in this room, stick with me right? There is a table in the middle where the two sit in. The author states that they are supposed to be in this room, and that they need to be here.

The room has no door.

They got in, yes, through a door, but they don’t know where the door has gone. It’s vanished as if it never existed in the first place whatsoever. The duo; Ash and Red are stuck in this room yet they need to be here, they’re supposed to be here. They want to get out but alas! They cannot. In fact it almost seems impossible to get out! Because while they did get in, they could not get out. They can never get out of this predicament.

Anyways read the story for yourself because holy hell is this just already a banger!! There’s only two chapters as mentioned but there’s already a puzzle to solve!! And a poll to vote on(well two actually if you catch my drift) anyways!! Happy reading this author deserves the encore!!!!!

(sorry this was long, i want to say so much yet it seems like my words feel like they have a lid on it, unable to escape)

[yourfellowhuman07]

Alliances of the Heart

A She-Ra: Princess of Power 2018 fanfiction

For centuries, the All Princess Ball has been a time for the nobility of Etheria to let loose. Flaunting their power, prestige, and fashion for all to see. The ball had always been politically neutral, but, as tension from the war rises, not everyone is so keen to forget what happens beyond the walls of Castle Chill.

Lord Hordak, along with Princess Scorpia and Force Captian Catra, have come to the party to make alliances and find out everything there is to know about their enemies. Careful to not arouse the suspicion of the Princess Alliance.

Princess Entrapta, being the scientist she is, decides to come to the party to decode the secrets of body language, despite getting the same data from every other party she has ever attended.

When the two rulers cross paths, their plans flip on their heads as the two grow closer. Now it is up to Catra and Scorpia to push the two together as Adora and Glimmer stick their noses where they do not belong.

________________

Introducing Chapter 2!

Thank you all for reading!

________________

Chapter 2: Playing Cupid

Catra grabbed Scorpia by the bicep pulling her away from the chocolate fountain. The two women approached the princess as she filled her pockets with tiny treats.

“Hey, I’m Force Captain Catra from the Fright Zone, nice to meet you.” Catra stuck out her hand with a friendly expression, at least to Entrapta. Scorpia on the other hand saw a mischievous glimmer in her eyes; she was cooking something in her head. Be careful, Wildcat.

“Oh, hi, I’m Entrapta, nice to meet you too.” To Catra’s mild alarm, Entrapta’s hair grabbed her hand and shook it, a little bit harder than the norm but bearable. Entrapta then noticed Scorpia, namely her tail.

“You must be Princess Scorpia. Does your tail secrete a venomous liquid? If so is it deadly, and could I have a sample, to study?” She inquired while wrapping her hair around Scorpio’s tail.

“Woah ok,” Scorpia whipped her tail out of the tendrils of hair and into her arms, “you do not touch another girl’s tail.”

“I’m sorry,” Entrapta pulled away, “I didn’t mean to offend. I’m bad at meeting new people.”

Entrapta flinched when Catra put an arm around her, slightly squeezing her shoulder.

“Don’t sweat it, we don’t get out much either. Say what were you doing up there in the first place all by yourself?” Entrapta slipped out underneath Catra’s arm.

“I was studying human behavior to better navigate social settings. The only problem I have is that all my data is the same.”

“Well, maybe instead of looking in on it from an outside perspective get into the crowd, you know, hands-on learning.”

“I’ve tried before but I always mess it up and no one interacts with me.”

“Hey listen, Scorpia and I will have your back and coach you a little. Sounds alright with you?” Entrapta then began to rock on her feet thinking long and hard about Catra’s proposal.

“For the pursuit of science, I’ll go for it.”

“Alright, we’ll see you in a minute.” Entrapta then raced off into the crowd, excited by the thought of scientific discovery.

“Catra, what is the plan here?”

“Look when I saw those two together Hordak looked amused, and we both know he has never even been close to that with anyone else. A happy Lord Hordak equals an easier time for us. Even if it isn’t anything romantic, Hordak having a friend would improve everyone’s life. You understand?”

“I guess so.”

“Good, now let’s catch up with Entrapta before she chickens out.”

____________________________________

Hordak was once again standing at the outskirts of the crowd silently surveying the partygoers. He looked up trying to find Princess Entrapta who was nowhere to be found, odd. As he sipped his wine he glanced from guest to guest, each one more sparkly than the last. Speaking of sparkles, Hordak caught the tail end of what looked to be an argument between Princess Glimmer and a boy who Hordak recognized from recent footage from his bots. As he was about to eavesdrop, another group dance started up, beckoning everyone to the middle of the dance floor. Surprising even himself, Hordak decided to enter the dance floor.

Hordak randomly stood back to back with someone and as the music stung turned around to see Princess Perfuma of Plumeria, the flower princess. When she saw him her face contorted in fear and disgust. 

“Lord Hordak.”

“Princess Perfuma.” While he appreciated the girl’s fear, he loathed having to start with her. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I am simply enjoying my evening.”

The rest of their turn was dead silent making 45 seconds feel like an hour. Then the music stung, allowing the two to separate, Perfuma whipping her hands on her dress as she walked away. Hordak moved to his second partner, Princess Glimmer.

“Lord Hordak.”

“Princess Glimmer, I must say I am surprised your mother is not in attendance.”

“She’s busy with Brightmoon affairs. She sends her regards.”

“Does she?”

When their turn ended Hordak moved on to Mermista, Scorpia, and Sea Hawk until he was paired with Adora.

“Adora.”

“Lord Hordak, I know you are up to something.”

“What exactly do you think I am ‘up to’, Adora.”

“I don't know but whatever it is I’ll be there to stop it, for the good of Etheria.”

“Is gatekeeping magic from the Etherian population for the good of Etheria?”

Adora, try as she may, had no comeback.

“Say what you will about the Scorponi Kingdom, but at the very least we have free health care.” At that, the music stung allowing Hordak to leave a stunned Adora alone.

Hordak put his back to his next partner, feeling proud at his small comment. The music, once again, stung letting the two turn around. Lord Hordak and Princess Entrapta were once again facing each other. At first, she was startled, something Hordak didn't like, but her face quickly turned into a smile.

“Hello again, Princess.”

“Hello Lord Hordak. I’ve decided to get some hands-on data.”

“I see that.”

“Could you tell me about the Fright Zone? I want to know what I’m getting into before I come to visit.”

“First of all, it is very dark there. The area the Fright Zone was built upon had very unusual weather patterns causing the sky to be covered with black clouds. It is primarily a military base so you will see much of the army cycle through. Of course, there is my sanctum which I will allow you entry to, and the Black Garnet chamber where the rune stone is held.”

“Wait you have the Black Garnet! I assumed it was destroyed during the rebellion.”

The music stung again but instead of separating the two stayed together, ignoring the changing of partners around them.

“Yes, the Black Garnet is in my possession. Right now, my second in command: Shadow Weaver uses it for the stone’s magical capabilities, but anyone can access it with my permission; however, Shadow Weaver is the only one to ever show an interest in it.”

“May I see it? My kingdom’s rune stone was destroyed during a rebellion that lead to the way Dryl is run today, so I have never had access to any rune stones.”

“Once you get to the Fright Zone you may have as much access as you want.”

“Thank you! I was thinking…” The two went on like that for the rest of the song. Dancing (at least Hordak was, Entrapta mostly walked along with him) and talking together like they were the only two people in the world, something that did not go unrecognized by their fellow guests.

Close by, Catra and Scorpia were dancing together, eyes fixed on two ‘lovebirds’ as they have dubbed them.

“Told you it would work.”

“Wow, is Hordak smiling?” At this point, Scorpia’s doubts had melted away leaving behind nothing but enthusiasm for the couple.

“My moons, he is. This was easier than expected.”

“What now?”

“Just let the situation play itself out. We’ll give them the occasional nudge if they need it, but it looks like those two got it pretty handled.”

Then the music stung again letting Adora and Glimmer pair up.

“Glimmer, I think I know what Lord Hordak is up to.”

“What?”

“Look,” Adora gestured over to the Lord and the Princess who were still dancing and talking with each other, still ignoring everyone around them. Glimmer’s jaw dropped as she stared at the couple. 

“They’ve been like that for the last 15 minutes.”

“Are you kidding me? Lord Hordak of all people? When I tried to talk to her she ran away and she dances with him?”

“I don't know what Hordak did, but something feels wrong.”

[morpheusdreamt]

Ty @camillekaze for tagging me on this! It was fun to do and I always love sharing music with people 🥰

Rules: Shuffle your on repeat playlist and post the first 10 tracks, then tag 10 people!

1. Cherry Waves - Deftones

Ive been on a huge deftones kick lately and yall already know i’m a sucker for the ocean/waves pulling you under as a motif for obsession

2. Sugar - Remi Wolf

A song that i’ve got a huge soft spot for, literally unskippable, listened to it a lot when i was going through it at the beginning of last year (and am happy to say things have gotten better/easier since 💖)

3. Harvey - Her’s

A sweet jam and i dedicate to the bestest sdv bachelor ever (in my extremely biased opinion)

4. First Time- Hozier

Im so obsessed with this man, yall have no idea (or maybe you do lmao) This one was an instant hit for me “How before I heard it from your mouth, my name would always hit my ears as such an awful sound” literally FELT. Also bought a shirt that i later found out had lyrics to this song on it and that really got me 😭

5. Softly - Arlo Parks

A bittersweet break up song that is such an earworm, always gets stuck in my head when im getting up in the mornings

6. King For A Day - Pierce The Veil

An emo classic! Perfect for when you feel like screaming at the world 😌 been going to emo nite a lot lately and it’s always one you’re bound to hear at some point if you go

7. Decode - Paramore

team edward 4ever sorry not sorry (this song also just like, seriously fucks, its so moody. Another emo classic!)

8. ヘリクツBOY - Jun Togawa

This one is just fun! Another that gets stuck in my head a lot

9. Sea, Swallow Me - Cocteau Twins

Literally all about the vibes, one of my favs by them and what got me into cocteau twins

10. Jesus Don’t Like That I’m Gay but Satans Cool With It - Lil Boodang

Obsessed with this song, OBSESSED. Found it on soundcloud and its got everything: catchy hook, whiny vocals, hall & oates are there.

i’ll tag @jake-marshall @dweebpheles @yagottabelieve and @supernovajazzy (tho no pressure either) as well as whoever feels like doin it! ✨

[thefangirlthatwaited]

The City of Dreams and Crow's (Chapter 15) - A Destiny Universe Story

Uldren Sov x Original Character

Walking into the Crow headquarters felt good. It was like being home after a long journey. I walked into the training ring, and even though I couldn’t participate, I needed to see it. I walked around, my hand brushing against the weapon rack. I couldn’t wait to be back here.

“Aurora?” I spun around and saw Sarli staring at me, jaw hitting the floor. “Aurora!” She dropped her bag and ran to hug me. “I’m so happy you’re alive.”

Pulling out of the hug, I saw tears in her eyes. “I missed you too, Sarli.” I staggered a bit. 

“You okay?”

I nodded. “Still rebuilding my strength,” I explained.

“Should you be here? Shouldn’t you be home resting?”

“Urgh. Don’t. I’ve had plenty of time to rest. I need to work.”

Sarli smiled. “I hope you know what you’re asking. There are piles and piles of Fallen transmission that need to be decoded.” 

“That’s exactly what I’m here to do.” 

“Aurora,” I went rigid when I heard my brother. “You should be at home.” He scolded.

I turned to my brother. “I was just coming to say hello to everyone before I go back to the office,” I explained, but Jolyon’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll talk to you later, Sarli,” I said to my friend, before making my way out of the training room, Jolyon following behind. “If you have something to add, Jol, just say it.”

“You are one day out of the hospital. You should be resting.” 

I groaned. “I’m so fucking tired of people telling me to rest! I am fine! The doctor told me I could return to light duties. That means I can do paperwork. 

“And if I say no,” I glared at him, ready to fight until a third person joined us.

“Don’t let all that power go to your head,” Uldren said when he joined us. My heart raced, and my palm got sweaty, making the grip on my cane slip. I hadn’t seen Uldren since I saw him injured nearly six months ago. “Uldren.” Jol and I said in unison.

“She can work on incoming transmissions,” Uldren said, then smiled at me. My heart skipped, and my cheeks grew warm.  

“When did you get out?” Jolyon asked, ignoring what Uldren previously said. 

“A few days ago. I’m stuck in the City for now, but I will be back in charge tomorrow.” Jolyon nodded. Wait, Uldren just got discharged, too? How bad were his injuries? “I will walk Aurora to the office. You get back to drills.” Uldren offered, and Jolyon sighed. 

“Fine. Work if you want, but don’t come complaining to me when you’re tired.”

“I won’t,” I grumbled before Jolyon took off toward the training ring. Alone with Uldren, my mind started doing circles while I tried to calm my racing heart.

“Aurora?” Uldren said. “You okay?”

“What? Yeah. Sorry.”

“Come on, we got work to do.”

We walked quietly, taking our time since I couldn’t move too fast. I was the first to break the silence. “Uldren,”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” I said.

“It’s fine, and you’re welcome. “I know what it’s like to be cooped up for months on end,” Uldren replied, smiling. Dammit, why did he have to smile? I stumbled, and Uldren caught me. 

“Sorry,” I repeated. “I still don’t have the greatest balance and get tired quickly. The doctor said it might still be a few months before I return to where I was.” 

Uldren reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I’ve seen your determination. You will be back in the field in no time.”

“That means a lot,” I said quickly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Since I got hurt, not one has treated me the same. My mom and brother treat me like I’m made of glass.”

“They’re worried about you.” 

I groaned before I started walking again. “There is being worried, and there is being overprotective.”

“I know,” Uldren replied, and the silence returned.

Full Chapter on Ao3

[alice--pallas]

When they echoed her words, she nodded. "Worth it," she repeated with a nod. My poor, sweet Alice. She wasn't quite sure how to feel about their sentiment. She supposed that she liked them calling her 'their Alice,' though at the same time, she was still her own person--though she knew they knew that. However, it was the 'poor' and 'sweet' adjectives that she was stuck on. She certainly wasn't helpless. If I could shoulder every ounce of your pain, I wouldn't hesitate. At this, she reached for their hand--maybe it was simply that thankfully, they didn't have any personal experience with addiction. Talking about it with people who didn't have that firsthand experience just wasn't the same--and that was okay. "I know you would," she said softly. "But you don't have to. Really. I didn't really think there was necessarily a right or wrong time to tell you about it, but... I don't want you to...feel sorry for me or anything like that. I just want you to know who I am--and for better or worse, that's a big part of my past and...I guess this rather cheesy," she paused, her sentimentality being nothing new, "But it's had a huge impact on who I am now." She figured that if they were curious, she could fill them in on all the messy details at a later date.

Letting out a small chuckle, she nodded in response to their question and said "Yes, I did." She could imagine they'd been pretty determined to see her--she just hoped that they hadn't clashed with either of her brothers in the process. She knew that sooner or later--probably sooner--she'd have to have that conversation with her triplet. I nearly got thrown out before I even made it to your room. Their words stirred a bit of worry in her, though she tried not to show it. Furrowing her brow, she said "What do you mean?" Nothing terrifies me more than the thought of losing you—not now, not when I've just begun to understand you. Their words intrigued her, even though she knew they probably shouldn't. "Oh? Have been some great mystery to you up until now?" she smiled. She couldn't help it--she liked the idea of someone trying to decode her, perhaps because most people that she was close to these days already knew her so well. It was fun to think of herself as some sort of enigma.

Your words, not mine. Giving them a smirk, she said "I knew I liked you." However, their flirty banter was quickly forgotten when she started talking about the shooting. Is it a piece you were assigned? At this question, she briefly looked down at her hands and bit her lip before meeting their eyes again. Shaking her head, she softly said "No, not exactly... I have a bit of a...habit, if you will, of going a bit rogue at times..." Luckily, the new editor of the Diem, Ulysses, wasn't as strict as her old boss. Still, she was certain that he was currently kicking herself for not tightening the proverbial leash as it were--or at least, trying to. Alice had a minor habit of selective hearing. "In retrospect, I suppose I was looking into things that I shouldn't have, but..." she trailed off, shaking her head, nervous to rock the boat. "Abraxis, people in this town, the people in charge--maybe even some people on the council..." she started, trying her best to tread lightly. "They want people to ignore what's happening in this town and pretend as if we can't see it. But all the missing people, all the grave robberies..." She trailed off once more, thinking of her triplet's dead foster brother, Kurt and his empty grave. "And everything else. Something is happening. And I can't just... I can't just sit by at act as if I don't see it. I won't do that." Perhaps she was being a bit reckless, though.

What does your heart tell you, Alice? If only it were a matter of the heart alone. Giving a small shrug and an uncertain shake of her head, she said "I know that I can't keep going like this... Not if it's going to put me or...even Rhea in danger." She shuddered at the thought of someone coming after her child. "I won't do that to my daughter. But... Just ignoring it? It feels so wrong. It is wrong. I don't know what to do."

the word "can’t," is delivered clean, deliberate, and incisive. it was everything they needed to hear, a revelation in its simplicity. funny, wasn’t it, how a singular utterance from her could set their synapses alight, altering their very composition? alice had become a candy in their bloodstream, her voice rewiring neural pathways, etching itself into their dna like an ancient hymn. every note of her laughter, every whispered word exchanged in the witching hours over late-night calls, had become an obsession. to hear her was to hold the universe still. even now, absorbing the weight of her words felt less like a burden and more like a benediction.

their gaze—equal parts reverence and sorrow—spoke volumes, gleaming with gratitude for truths shared too late, and regret for the obliviousness that had preceded them. empathy coiled tightly in their gut, a nervous energy not unlike moths flitting in an abandoned attic. the thought of her pain, heinous and undeserved, clawed at them. “worth it,” they echoed, their voice a murmured hymn, their eyes locked on hers with an intensity that bordered on worship. her struggle, her triumph over the vices that once gripped her, was a monument to human resilience. how was it that she, with her tenacity wrapped in elegance, her unyielding spirit cloaked in grace, could make suffering seem almost poetic? “my poor, sweet alice…” they murmured, their voice soft but trembling with conviction. “if i could shoulder every ounce of your pain, i wouldn’t hesitate.” to abraxis, no shadow of her past could mar the light she radiated; her faults, if such things even existed, were merely footnotes in the epic of her existence.

they lingered in her space, their breaths intermingling in soft, stolen caresses that pushed back the sterile chill of the hospital air.  I knew you'd come visit once you were allowed. “oh, you did, did you?” her faith in them worked like an antidote to the pallor of their surroundings, splashing vivid color into the sterile void. abraxis chuckled, the sound low and warm. “it wasn’t without a few battles,” they admitted, the memory of their clash with hospital security still raw enough to sting. “i nearly got thrown out before i even made it to your room.” they shook their head, a rueful grin playing on their lips. the thought of her witnessing their temper, seeing them stripped bare by frustration and fear, was almost as mortifying as the idea of losing her. “i’ve walked through hell more times than i care to count,” they confessed, their tone softening, “but nothing terrifies me more than the thought of losing you—not now, not when i’ve just begun to understand you.”

Are you saying you'd go crazy without me? her teasing pulled a low hum of laughter from them, their lips curling into a smirk that was both indulgent and self-deprecating. “your words, not mine,” they replied, “but i wouldn’t argue.” alice had an uncanny knack for slipping past their defenses, her charm both effortless and devastating. to abraxis, she was a symphony of contradictions—a tempest wrapped in tenderness, a magnetic force with eyes that seemed to strip the soul bare. her fierce devotion to her daughter, her willingness to endure for love’s sake, was nothing short of sacred. it left them breathless, longing for a recklessness they’d never dared to embrace until now. the hunger for her was raw and unrelenting, and they knew a stolen kiss wouldn’t satisfy the depth of their yearning—but it was a start. hospital rules be damned.

…some of the things that I've been researching for the Diem. her words, laden with an intentional vagueness, only deepened the mystery she wore so well. they could spend hours immersed in her voice, tracing the contours of her mind as she spoke of chores, her daughter, or the minutiae of her day. but when it came to her work, they both tread carefully, as if afraid to disturb the fragile balance between them. abraxis feared boring her with their own council dealings, just as they suspected she feared burdening them with the weight of her journalistic endeavors. yet, the veil of secrecy only added to her allure. “is it a piece you were assigned?” they asked, their voice edged with curiosity, “and what kind of research could it be to leave you so entangled?” they weren’t oblivious to the risks her work might entail; the diem was no stranger to making enemies.

 I know this isn't really...helpful, or...coherent. her hesitation pulled at their heartstrings, striking a chord of lament. they took her hand, their thumb brushing soothing circles against her skin as if to anchor her. “no,” they said, their tone firm yet gentle, “this is helpful.” their dark eyes held hers, empathy pooling in their depths like a quiet sea. “so, you’re caught between two truths: the work you’re doing at the diem is too important to abandon, but you fear the trouble it might bring.” they leaned closer, their voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “what does your heart tell you, alice?”

[stranger-marauders]

repaired

seven: translation nation

chapter summary: Steve and Kate both have to go to work, but Kate holds a hesitation.

chapter warnings: smuttish, language, making out, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, steve likes kate's boobies

word count: 3.3k

series masterlist | masterlist

WHEN KATE HAD finally arrived at Scoops, she wasn't quite expecting to have to translate a Russian communication with Robin.

Steve had told her a thousand times that she didn't have to help translate it. Kate, however, couldn't help but want to get involved. While somewhat of a secret of hers, she was totally a language dork—that was why she'd taken two in high school. While it had been different than translating either of the languages she spoke, she enjoyed the challenge Russian provided.

"So what languages do you speak?" Robin asked. Kate looked up at her with a confused look, but she elaborated. "Steve told me you speak four languages."

She scoffed, smiling as she shook her head. "Yeah, no, he's a liar. He counts Morse Code because of the alphabet."

"Dingus. What are the other two, then?"

"French and German."

"Wait, for real?" Robin asked, somewhat excitedly. "I speak French, too."

"Really?" Kate asked, matching her excitement. "Like actually, or enough to pass the class?"

"I read a lot of books and listen to tapes," she replied, trying to give Kate an idea about it. "I speak Italian and Spanish, too."

"Jesus, Italian?" Kate laughed. "How'd you manage Italian?"

"I've been playing French Horn since I was five, so I kinda—"

"Can you both stop talking and listen to the tape?" Dustin asked with an annoyed tone, rewinding the tape once again. He came to Scoops to decode it with Steve, not to let Robin and Kate get giddy over a language family that Russian didn't even belong to.

"Sorry, damn," Kate said sheepishly.

When they listened to it again, Robin twisted back around to face him. "Okay, that last part. Just one more time."

"Okay."

As Dustin rewinded the tape, both girls prepared to listen again for anything that stuck out to them.

"Dly-nna-ya," Kate said, drawing out the syllables. She wrote out the way she found it sounded in her notebook, staring at the word. "Obviously it starts with a 'D.'"

"D," Dustin repeated as he moved to the board. "The... The chair. The chair-looking thingy."

"Yeah, okay."

"L," Kate continued, looking at her paper as Robin started transcribing it down in the Cyrillic alphabet.

Once they'd gotten the rest of the phrase, Robin and Kate leaned out of the breakroom window to inform Steve of the good news. "We've got our first sentence."

"Oh, seriously?" Steve said, scooping ice cream into a cone.

"Nedelya dlinnaya," Kate replied.

"The week is long," Robin translated in a terrible Russian accent.

"Well, that's thrilling."

"I know, but progress," Robin said, slipping out the window.

"You still feeling okay?" Steve asked, touching her hand before Kate could slip out behind her.

She nodded, shrugging and smiling. "Yeah, I'm fine. Perfect. Having the time of my life in there. I think I'm gonna take Russian in college."

Steve chuckled. "All right, don't overwork yourself. Love you."

She saluted him with two fingers before she slipped out the window herself. "Love you, too, comrade." Before she could close the window shutters, however, she looked to the customers that Steve had been serving: her sister and Max Mayfield.

"Okay, here you go, you got a strawberry and then a vanilla with sprinkles, extra whipped cream."

"Thanks."

Kate only stared at Max and El in slight shock. Her sister was definitely not supposed to be anywhere near the mall, never mind inside of it to get free ice cream from her boyfriend.

"Wait a second. Are you even allowed to be here?" Steve asked, looking more specifically to El.

"No," Kate said from behind him, trying to get a closer look at her sister. She hadn't even realized that El and Max were friends now.

Both girls giggled as they ran away, and Kate only stared. She hadn't even noticed the horrified expression on Steve's face. He should've known that El wasn't supposed to be there, and now he had just given her ice cream? Then again, if he hadn't given her ice cream, what would she have done to him? Not only was there the opportunity for El to blow his brains out with her mind, but Max could also be really, really mean to him—

"We didn't see her here, got it?" Kate finally asked, looking to him with an unreadable expression.

He nodded, scratching the back of his neck. "Mhm, yep. Got it."

As Steve closed the gate to the ice cream shop entrance, locking it shut, he started talking about the Russian tape again. "I mean, it just... it just can't be right."

"It's definitely right, Steven."

"Honestly, I think it's great news," Dustin said.

"How is this great news?" Steve asked. "I mean, so much for being American heroes. It's total nonsense."

"It's not nonsense," Dustin replied. "It's too specific."

"It has to be a type of code," Kate elaborated, mostly to Steve.

"What do you mean, a code?"

"Like a super-secret spy code," Dustin replied.

"A code that would be useful for Ruskies, anyway," Kate added.

"That's a total stretch."

"I don't know, is it?" Robin asked.

"Both of you are buying into this?" Steve asked, unconvinced.

Robin sighed. "Listen, just for kicks, let's entertain the possibility that it is a secret Russian transmission. What'd you think they were gonna say, 'Fire the warhead at noon?'"

"Exactly," Dustin said.

"I mean, a code makes much more sense than anything else," Kate said. "Like, why would you not use a code to cover up some type of sensitive Soviet information?"

"Exactly."

"So I guess that confirms your suspicion," Kate said.

"Evil Russians."

"I can't believe I'm about to agree with this strange child, but yeah, totally, evil Russians," Robin said.

"So how do we crack it?"

"We can try translating the rest of it tomorrow and hopefully a pattern emerges," Kate replied.

"A pattern," Dustin repeated. "Right, like maybe 'silver cat' is a meeting place?"

"Or a person," Robin said.

"Or a weapon."

"It's probably gonna take a super genius to crack it, but..."

"We've gotten this far," Kate said. She opened her mouth to say something to Steve as she turned to the side, but she quickly realized he was no longer beside her. "Hey, where's Steve?"

The group of three quickly turned around to find Steve standing in front of the mechanical horse near Scoops that seemed to operate all day, every day.

"Hey, Steve," Kate called as he started to pull change out of his pockets. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, it's a quarter. I need... Do you have a quarter?"

Kate chuckled as the three ran over to him. She dug in her pocketbook for a simple quarter, moving closer and closer to him.

"Sure you're tall enough for that ride?"

"Quarter!" Steve shouted as Kate threw one to him, and he put the coin into the machine as quickly as possible.

Once the music started to play, she knew exactly what Steve had been going on about.

"You need help getting up, little Stevie?"

"Would you just shut up and listen?" Steve said as Dustin chuckled.

After the song played for a moment, "Holy shit."

"It's the music," Kate said as Dustin pulled out the tape from his bag and played it.

"I don't understand," Robin said.

"It's the exact same song on the recording," Dustin explained.

"Maybe they have horses like this in Russia?"

"Indiana Flyer? I don't... I don't think so," Steve said, looking to the name of the horse. "This code, it... didn't come from Russia."

"It came from here," Kate said, and she could only stare in horror at the horse as it rocked to the music.

When Kate and Steve arrived back at the cabin, they found Max and El in her bedroom.

This had been the second time today that they'd found the two girls together again. Kate couldn't think of a time that Max and El had been alone together before then, and suddenly it appeared like they were best friends or something.

She turned to Steve, putting her ear against El's green bedroom door to hear them better.

"Is Mike a good kisser?"

"I don't know. He's my first boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend."

Kate's mouth fell open.

Steve gave her a worried expression. "What?"

"Mike and El broke up," Kate whispered almost inaudible.

"Oh shit," Steve said somewhat loudly, not even bothering to whisper.

Before Kate could reply to him, Max called out to them from inside El's room. "Hey, who the hell is that?"

"Just me and Steve," Kate said after giving Steve a pointed look, and El opened the door with her powers. They stood in the doorway awkwardly, trying to act as if they weren't listening to them.

"Oh," Max said sheepishly. If she would've known it was Kate, she wouldn't have been so brisk. "Hey."

"You guys okay?" Steve asked them, leaning against the doorframe. He had a hand on his hip, which perfectly accentuated his Scoops uniform (Kate wished she would've had a camera).

"Yeah, Popeye, we're doing great," Max replied, earning a giggle from El.

"Do you even know who Popeye is?" Kate asked, giving her sister a confused look.

She hesitated to respond. "No."

"Great. That's great," Steve said, moving to Kate's room as he sighed.

Kate shook her head, sighing slightly. "Okay, we'll, uh... leave you two alone. Don't, uh... do anything stupid?"

The two girls both smiled innocently at her. Almost too innocently for comfort. "We won't."

Kate closed the door behind her, which immediately led to the giggles of the two girls as "Angel" continued to blare in the background. In a way, Kate's heart warmed at the thought that Max and her sister were now friends. It seemed like an odd duo, but she figured that both of them probably got so tired of hanging out with all of those boys all the time. A friend like Max would be good for El: she needed someone that would help her speak her mind, to help her break out of Mike's shell (because Kate was very, very tired of her dad being so upset about Mike). Kate also liked Max a lot more than Mike, so she would take what she could get.

Whenever Kate walked into her room, shutting the door behind her, she found Steve had already put on another pair of shorts, digging through her drawers for a shirt. "Well, she's taking it better than I could have ever imagined."

"No shit," Steve replied, still looking for a shirt.

Kate's lips tugged upward as she moved to lean against her dresser, watching him as he dug through her drawers. She liked to admire him whenever he wasn't looking, mostly because she knew his ego didn't need any boosting when it came to how attractive he was. She loved to trace over his freckles with her eyes, his happy trail. The shorts he had on now sat low on his waist, leaving a bit less to the imagination. She, however, pushed it to the back of her mind—she, currently, was much more invested in her sister's relationship. "She obviously broke up with him. Figures. She was too good for him anyway."

When Steve finally found a shirt of his, he put it on top of her dresser, then put a hand on her jaw. "You done talking about the kids now?"

She gave him a pointed look, holding her hand over his. "If your sister just dumped her boyfriend, you'd be talking about it, too."

He chuckled, kissing her as he rubbed his thumb against her cheek. When her tongue slid over his, he sighed, putting one of his hands on her waist, moving under her tank top and flannel to touch her skin instead. 

She slid her flannel off of her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck again, melting into another kiss as he pinned her against the wall. He hoisted her up, her legs immediately wrapping around his waist. Out of breath, he released her lips and began to make his way down her neck, making light nibbles as he moved. When she let out a soft moan when he landed at a particular spot, he smirked for half a second before moving back to the same spot, biting and sucking at it.

He moved back to her lips whenever she'd finally giggled, making him exhale heavily. His hand spanned the width of her cheek, fingertips grazing her hairline whilst his thumb managed to pull at her bottom lip, eager for more.

The loose change and random books on her desk fell to the floor whenever Steve picked her up and moved her on top of it, legs spreading for him to fit in between. One of his hands roamed up her thighs, pushing at the soft skin there until he hitched a knee up and over his hip, pressing himself into her. Kate broke the kiss for only a second to slip her tank top over her head, leaving her just in a bra and shorts.

Just for a moment, he pulled away, chest heaving, pressing their foreheads together. "They're on the other side of that wall."

"And?"

"I'm not gonna be able to stop if we keep going, Kathy."

She stifled a laugh. "Okay."

With her words, Steve shrugged it off and moved down to her chest, kissing over the lace triangles that covered her chest. He looked back up to her again, almost as if he were asking for her approval. She nodded at him, and he unhooked her bra, leaving her topless as he held one of her breasts in his hand and his tongue traced over her nipple.

She moaned softly, immediately running her fingers deep through his hair, tugging in appreciation as she smiled at the sound it pulled from him. His eyes fluttered shut as he continued to kiss, nip, and suck at her breasts, his hands skimming up and down her sides before they settled on her ass. She wrapped her legs around his waist again, noticing the hardness pressed up against her thigh. She moved her hips slightly, making him let out a small moan.

As Steve moved to unbutton her shorts, the front door slapped open and shut, clunky footsteps seeming to follow.

Her father had come home, and he was absolutely pissed.

Kate quickly pushed Steve off of her, throwing on the t-shirt Steve had thrown on her dresser, and Steve quickly dug through the drawer he'd claimed in Kate's dresser, quickly throwing on a shirt of his own. Kate quickly rushed out of her bedroom, finding her father stumbling to El's bedroom door, a wine bottle in hand. "Hey! When I say three inches, three—"

When he slammed the green door open, he found Max and El laying on the floor, reading two magazines.

"Do you knock? Jeez!" Max shouted.

"Yeah! Jeez!" El repeated.

"Oh, hey," Hopper slurred.

When Steve had followed behind her, finally putting on a shirt, he watched Hopper just as Kate had. When he finally looked at her face, his heart dropped: she looked horrified.

It had been a long time since Jim Hopper had stumbled home late after a long night of drinking. Kate couldn't remember a time when her father had done it since they'd added El to their family, and it certainly hadn't been something she missed. The thought of him driving home like this from downtown made a chill run down her spine. She could only stare in horror as her father only made the situation with the two girls in El's room even more embarrassing and awkward.

"I'm sorry," Hopper said, trying to make himself sound more put together. "I thought that, uh—"

"Mike's not here," Max said knowingly.

"Max wanted to have... a sleepover," El said. "Is that... okay?"

"Yeah?" Hopper said. "Yeah, yeah. Yeah." He looked at Max. "Your parents know about it?"

"Yup," she replied, popping the "P."

"Uh, yeah, it's cool," Hopper said. "That's... That's really cool."

Whenever he stopped talking, an awkward silence hung in the air.

"Did you need something?" Max asked.

"No, no," Hopper replied, almost in a daze. "Uh, I'll leave. I'll just let you... I'll leave you..." He stuttered until he finally shut the door, letting the two girls enjoy their time together. Whenever he noticed Steve and Kate's presence, he turned to them as the two only stared at him in horror.

"Hey, you two," Hopper said, smiling drunkenly.

"What happened?" Kate asked, eyes wide. Her father hadn't been this drunk in a long time. 

"Oh, nothin'. Joyce stood me up at Enzo's."

Kate sighed. She hadn't even realized Hopper had asked Joyce out on a date, let alone the fact that they were going on one tonight (or didn't go on, she assumed). "Dad..."

"It's not a big deal. I'm home with you now, so it's all good."

She frowned. "Dad, I don't... are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, I'm fine," her father answered, sitting and reclining back into his chair. "Just glad to be home with you kids."

"Dad—"

"Why don't you two come sit," Hopper said, turning the TV on to a Magnum P.I. rerun. "We can enjoy ourselves."

Before Kate could object, Steve grabbed her hand, pulling her to the couch. "Sure."

"What the hell're you—"

"Just trust me, okay?" Steve said, sitting down on the couch. 

Kate looked to Steve, almost not believing what he was doing. She knew they needed to just leave the room, hide out in her room or something. Even though Steve's parents were home, she wasn't even opposed to going to his house instead. Anywhere would be better than right here right now, and she was absolutely sure of it. Hopper would eventually get better if they just left him alone, that or he wouldn't get any worse.

Whenever he shot her with the puppy dog eyes, though, she sighed, sitting on the couch next to him.

After a couple of hours, Kate had finally fallen asleep. Since then, she had curled into Steve, leaning her head on his chest. He hadn't moved a muscle since then—he knew how much she struggled with falling asleep. He didn't want to risk waking her up, even if it meant he and Hopper were left alone.

Hopper finally cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "You're a good kid, Steve."

He almost hadn't heard what he said. He could've sworn he could've imagined it. "What?"

"I said that you're a good kid."

Steve hesitated. "Really?"

"As much as it pains me to say it, yeah," Hopper said, shrugging slightly. "Out of any of 'em she could've picked, I'm glad it was you. There's not a son of a bitch in this town that gets her like you do."

Steve smiled. "That means a lot, sir."

Hopper looked at him with an unreadable expression. "You, uh… remember what you promised me last year?"

Steve almost laughed at the idea. How could he not remember? it had been that night when she had gotten so hurt, and she had been laying in Jonathan Byers's room, passed out from all the blood she'd lost. After she had almost died, Hopper had asked him to keep her safe, no matter what happened. Back then, it had seemed like a promise that would be difficult to keep, but it truly hadn't been. Not yet.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember."

He hesitated. "Don't forget it."

Steve nodded. "I wasn't planning on it."

Hopper stood up, clapping him on the shoulder before walking into his room for the night.

That night, as well as the night she'd gotten so hurt, would be something he'd never forget.

next chapter

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[oonajaeadira]

If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

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MASTERLIST

_______________________________

You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.” 

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one. 

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing. 

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night. 

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there. 

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself. 

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.” 

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him. 

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm-- 

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

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