#talking points repeated over and over and over again

[pbaz7]

CROSSING THE LINE — PART FOUR ♡

paige x azzi

word count: 5.5k

A/N: Alright this chapter is a little shorter than the other one's but the next few will be longer! We finally get to see the outcome of Azzi leaving 🫣. Please keep leaving comments and live reactions, they seriously make my day.

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November 2023

Paige had tried calling Azzi that morning, her fingers hesitating over the screen before she finally pressed the call button. The phone didn’t even ring before going straight to voicemail. She frowned, trying again, only to be met with the same result.

Frustrated but not willing to give up just yet, Paige decided to try Caroline, figuring Azzi might have told her where she was or needed her help if she did go somewhere. But when Caroline answered, her tone was firm, almost apologetic. “Paige, I can’t tell you,” she said. “Azzi asked me not to.”

“Seriously, Caroline?” Paige snapped, her voice sharper than she intended.

Caroline sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I just… I can’t. You’ll have to wait until she’s ready to talk to you, she just told me she needed to get away.”

Paige ended the call feeling even more irritated, a bitterness creeping into her chest. So she moped around the suite for the rest of the day, her phone always in hand, checking it incessantly. Every notification made her heart jump, only to have her disappointment and hurt settle deeper when she realized it wasn’t Azzi. At one point, desperate to get her mind off of things, Paige tried going to the gym. She pushed herself through a far too intense workout, hoping the burn in her muscles with each set would drown out the ache she felt in her chest, but it barely made a dent in her mood. 

By the next day, when she still hadn’t heard from Azzi, her frustration had morphed into something darker. She didn’t want to admit how much it hurt—how much Azzi’s absence left her feeling hollow and unsettled—so she did what she always did when she didn’t want to deal with her emotions.

She found someone else. 

The girl showed up that evening, and while Paige went through the motions, it was different this time. Her actions were almost mechanical, her words borderline cold. She made it clear from the beginning that this was just for sex, no strings attached, and she stuck to it. When they were done, there was no lingering, no casual conversation, no pretending like she would call her. Paige stood up from the bed and handed the girl her clothes without hesitation.

“You can go now,” she said casually, her tone devoid of any warmth, of any emotion at all for that matter.

The girl looked taken aback, but Paige didn’t care. By the time the door clicked shut behind the stranger, Paige was already strolling into the common area, her expression unreadable, acting as if nothing had happened.

This pattern repeated over the next two days, Paige’s encounters becoming increasingly detached and transactional. She barely even looked at the girls as they left, her mind elsewhere entirely.

Wherever Azzi had gone, the damage would already be done by the time she got back. Paige’s hurt had hardened into something sharper, and she wasn’t sure if she was angrier at Azzi for leaving or at herself for caring so much that she did. 

…

Azzi stepped into the suite late Monday night, three days after she had left, with her bag slung over one shoulder and a determined expression on her face. She was tired from traveling back from wherever she had been, but the weariness didn’t dill her resolve. She needed to talk to Paige. 

The sound of buttons being furiously pressed drew her attention to the couch, where Ice sat with her headphones on, deeply engrossed in the game in front of her. Azzi gave her a small nod as Ice looked up.

“Hey,” Ice greeted, briefly pausing the game.

“Hey,” Azzi replied, as she glanced toward Paige’s closed door.

Ice noticed the look on Azzi’s face and raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything at first. Azzi turned away, heading straight for Paige’s door. Her hand was already on the knob, ready to open it without knocking—something she’d done a hundred times before.

“I wouldn’t,” Ice said kind of frantically, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Azzi paused, glancing over her shoulder with a confused frown. “What?”

Ice leaned back on the couch, her game forgotten for the moment, and gave Azzi a serious look. “Just… trust me. Knock.”

Azzi hesitated, the unfamiliar warning sending a feeling of unease through her. Still, she trusted Ice enough to take her advice. So with a quick exhale, she knocked on the door.

For a few moments, there was only silence as she waited. Then the door swung open abruptly, and Azzi found herself face-to-face with Paige for the first time in days.

Paige stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable, almost stoic. The usual warmth in her blue eyes was replaced by a cold detachment that sent a pang of guilt through Azzi’s chest. Azzi opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, her gaze shifted past Paige to the girl lying on her bed.

The girl was half-covered by a blanket, her hair messy and her body language far too comfortable. When the sight hit Azzi she  immediately felt like she was about to throw up and whatever words she’d been about to say died in her throat as she just stood there.

Paige’s expression didn’t change, her blank eyes meeting Azzi’s as if daring her to react. “What?” Paige asked flatly, her voice devoid of emotion.

Azzi’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her hurt was too sharp, too raw to translate into words. Instead, she just stood there, stunned and speechless

Paige scoffed, the sound harsh and dismissive, and without waiting for a response, she slammed the door in Azzi’s face.

Azzi stared at the closed door, still lingering as if she could somehow push through the moment. But the sight of Paige's expression and the girl on her bed played on a loop in her mind, each replay cutting deeper.

Ice watched the whole thing but didn’t say a word. She just watched Azzi, her usually teasing demeanor replaced by quiet concern. As Azzi turned away from the door, Ice’s gaze followed her retreat, but she made no move to intervene.

Azzi walked past Ice without meeting her eyes, her shoulders stiff, her thoughts racing with everything she had planned to say but couldn’t. Ice let her go, sinking back into the couch with a sigh, silently bracing herself for whatever fallout was brewing between the two. 

…

The tension that had settled between Paige and Azzi after that wasn’t just a passing thing. It was a slow burn, spreading through every practice and team event. For the past week and a half, everyone witnessed the shift. Nothing overly dramatic, nothing that caused an outright scene, but something was different. The chemistry that once seemed unshakable between Paige and Azzi had been replaced with an uncomfortable distance, one that made even the simplest things feel like obstacles. 

Nika and Aubrey worked tirelessly with one another in practice to offset the forced movements, calling plays and adjusting to shifts in defense. But the connection between Paige and Azzi was broken. The fluidity they had once shared was absent, and the team could feel it.

It wasn’t just the lack of contact between them at practice; it was the silence that filled the space between each word they exchanged. When Geno called out instructions or made them do something together, their responses were clipped, their focus seemingly more on avoiding the other than executing the plays.

Some of the team tried to pry, casual questions about how things were going between them, but each attempt was quickly shut down. Paige would just brush it off clipped comments that were emotionless, and Azzi wouldn’t say anything, simply turning away, her usual warmth replaced with a wall that many of them hadn’t seen before.

It wasn’t that Paige didn’t care—it was that she cared too much. She just didn’t know how to express it. She couldn’t even look at Azzi without feeling the ache in her chest, the gnawing sense of loss that had taken root after that morning when she woke up alone with no explanation. So, she continued to fill the void, as she always had. She barely even noticed the girls anymore, but she kept bringing them around, hoping that doing something, anything, might help drown out the silence between her and Azzi and stop the thoughts from swirling in her head.

She couldn’t quite articulate why she did it to the few teammates that asked—it wasn’t because she was interested in any of them and she definitely didn’t get anything from the exchanges. It was just that they provided a brief distraction her mind clawed at in desperation to ease the dullness she was feeling through her entire body. 

Each time Paige came home with a new girl in tow, Azzi’s irritation only deepened. She would be on the couch or in the kitchen, trying her best to remain composed, but the moment Paige walked through the door, it was as if the air shifted. Azzi’s eyes would narrow, her jaw tightening, and if she was already sitting, her posture would become rigid. Sometimes, if she was on the couch, she’d roll her eyes so dramatically that it seemed painful, the silent judgment lingering between them. She’d scoff under her breath, but never utter a word to Paige, as if silence alone could speak louder than anything she could say. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to confront Paige; it was just that the words never came.

The hurt was so clearly written on Azzi’s face every time, but Paige couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge it. Her own heart was in too much turmoil to even care about whatever Azzi was feeling. The silence, while deafening, was easier than facing the rawness of everything they’d both been avoiding.

One morning, after another night spent at a girl’s house—another night of doing absolutely nothing this time around—Paige walked back into the suite, hoping to slip in unnoticed. Azzi was already in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in hand. She didn’t look up when the door clicked open, but the second Paige stepped inside, Azzi’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Nice at least you had the decency to actually stay the night with this one.” Azzi’s words were sharp, her tone biting.

The comment hit Paige like a jab to the ribs, the weight of the unspoken accusation hanging in the air between them. She froze in the doorway for a moment, the anger building in her chest before she exhaled sharply, her eyes narrowing.

Paige’s voice was cold, her usual tone with Azzi these days. “You don’t really get to speak about that, considering your history Azzi.”

Azzi’s eyes snapped up, her expression twisted in confusion and irritation. “What the hell are you talking about?” she shot back. “I’m not the one who’s sleeping with the entire campus.”

Paige scoffed, the sound bitter as she shook her head. “Niice let’s pull the whole Paige sleeps around card” she muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Whatever Azzi.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked into her room, slamming the door behind her, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment.

The silence that followed was harsh, until the faint shuffle of footsteps broke it. Ice stepped out of her room, brow furrowed as she took in the tension that had been hanging in the air. She glanced between Azzi and the door to Paige’s room, clearly concerned.

“What happened?” Ice asked, her voice low, but carrying the weight of her worry.

Azzi didn’t even look up, her gaze fixed on the empty space in front of her. “Nothing. Just another day,” she said, brushing off Ice’s question, trying to sound indifferent.

Ice crossed her arms, clearly not buying it. “Azzi, come on. I heard the door slam. That’s not ‘nothing.’ What’s really going on?”

Azzi exhaled sharply. “Ice it’s nothing I want to talk about, alright? Just drop it.”

Ice, who had spent days walking on eggshells around the two of them, wasn’t having it this time. She stepped forward, her expression soft but firm. “Look, Azzi, I get it. You two are in a rough spot right now. But I’m telling you, whatever you did to her you need to fix it.”

Azzi’s chest tightened at the implied accusation. She lifted her head, her tone defensive. “Why are you assuming I’m the problem here? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ice’s gaze softened, but her voice remained steady. “Look, I'm not trying to accuse you of anything. I’m just putting two and two together Az. Paige was the one drowning herself in drinks that night. I had to basically carry her up the stairs when we got here. The next morning she came looking for you and she’s been like this since then…so.”

Azzi’s jaw clenched as the words sank in, but she didn’t let herself show how much they were affecting her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ice,” she muttered, eyes diverting from Ice’s gaze.

Ice let out a soft sigh, her frustration giving way to genuine concern. “Azzi You might not see it because you’re pissed at her right now or whatever, but you know Paige is the sweetest most selfless person we know. But whatever happened that night... it turned her into someone I don’t even recognize anymore. She just looks so sad or angry all the time and the few times she does crack a smile at someone it seems forced and out of obligation. That’s bigger than whatever argument you two are having. So please just fix it.”

Azzi’s breath hitched at Ice’s words, and for a moment, she felt a flicker of guilt and doubt about what she should be feeling. But she quickly shut it down, unwilling to listen, unwilling to accept that maybe she had played a part in all of this. Her mind set on her version of events. “Like I said, it’s not my fault,” she said sharply, as though trying to convince herself.

Ice’s voice grew softer, really trying to get through to Azzi. “You know Paige would do anything for you. She’d turn the whole damn world upside down if it meant you would be happy, and I know you know that because you teased her about it all the damn time. But right now whatever is going on, whatever happened I can tell she feels like you’re just... another person she’s lost and you know how she gets in her head about stuff like that Azzi.”

Azzi froze at Ice’s words, her heart beating harder in her chest. A part of her wanted to believe it. A part of her knew just how much she meant to Paige, But the bitterness inside her that had to watch Paige go back to sleeping around with random girls like it was nothing refused to let go. So she shook her head, a hard look in her eyes. “Paige treats me like every other girl she gets bored with, Ice. I doubt she’s as broken up about us not talking as you think.”

Ice didn’t even react to Azzi’s words. She had seen enough to know that they weren’t true. “Come on, you don’t even believe that,” she said, her tone calm but pointed. “You know exactly how she feels–you’re just not ready to admit it.”

Azzi didn’t respond. Instead, she let out a small, frustrated sigh and walked toward her room, shutting the door behind her without another word.

…

Even though Paige and Azzi weren’t in the best place—both of them carrying an unmistakable anger toward one another—they still cared about each other more than anything in the world. It was like they were tethered by an invisible string, a constant pull that neither could escape. No matter how far they drifted, they always came back, surfacing for a quick breath of air when they knew the other needed it most before going back under.

That’s why, when Azzi’s birthday rolled around, Paige couldn’t bring herself to ignore it. She knew how much Azzi had been dreading this day. They spent hours talking about it one day during the summer, the time where they would spend everyday getting to know one another. Azzi was spending her birthday without her family for the first time. So it didn’t matter how hurt, angry, and confused Paige was; she couldn’t let the day pass without doing something.

Azzi stepped into her room, the quiet stillness pressing against her in a way she hadn’t expected. Birthdays had always been bittersweet, but this one felt heavier—emptier. She had tried not to think about it all day, pushing the pang of loneliness aside. No family. No big celebration. Just another busy day of her telling the team she didn't want to celebrate. 

Her gaze drifted toward her bed, and she stopped in her tracks. Sitting squarely on her pillow was a small, carefully wrapped box. The wrapping paper—adorned with the smiling faces of Elsa and Olaf—brought an involuntary laugh to her lips, soft and tinged with nostalgia. She knew instantly who it was from.

The memory of forcing Paige to watch Frozen—not once, but maybe 10 or so times—brought a bittersweet ache to Azzi’s chest. With a shaky breath, she walked over, picking up the box. The wrapping wasn’t perfect, corners slightly crumpled, but it was clearly Paige’s best effort. Azzi ran her fingers over it, a sad smile creeping onto her face.

She sat down on the bed, careful as she tore open the paper. Inside was a small jewelry box. When she opened it, her breath caught in her throat. Nestled in the box was a beautiful silver heart pendant, simple yet elegant, glinting softly in the light from her room.

Azzi’s fingers traced the smooth surface of the heart, her thoughts inevitably drifting to Paige. The way she smiled, the way she laughed, even the way she annoyed her most days– every detail of the blonde seemed to live in this small necklace. But her attention was soon drawn to the card that also rested on her pillow. Her chest tightened as she opened it, already bracing herself for what was inside.

The handwriting was unmistakably Paige’s—slightly messy but deliberate ‘Happy Birthday Az.’ But what truly made her breath hitch were all the signatures and words around. They were all from every single member of her family.

Tears welled up in Azzi’s eyes as she read the words they had written, her vision blurring. Paige had somehow managed to reach out to Azzi’s family—miles away—and have them all sign the card. She couldn’t even fathom how much effort Paige must have put into this, knowing how much it would mean to her.

A single tear slid down her cheek, followed by another, until they came freely. She clutched the card to her chest, her emotions unraveling as she whispered into the empty room, “God, Paige… why can’t you just let me hate you for a minute.”

In that moment, all the pain, the distance, the walls they’d built between them seemed to crumble just a little. Even when they weren’t talking, Paige had cared enough to remind Azzi she wasn’t alone. With trembling hands, Azzi unclasped the necklace and slipped it around her neck, fastening it securely. The weight of it against her skin was both comforting and overwhelming. And that, more than anything, left Azzi completely destroyed.

Despite this, the silence that lingered between them stayed the same. Both of them were experiencing feelings they had never felt before and couldn't find it in themselves to talk to one another. No words seemed like enough to express just how broken each of them were, just how much they both felt.

There was a hesitance that lingered between them, like an invisible wall neither knew how to break down. Pride? Fear? Hurt? Maybe all of it at once. Conversations that used to flow so naturally now felt like a daunting task, weighed down by all the unsaid feelings and misunderstood actions. 

So, Paige and Azzi continued to exist in the same space, but their silence had become the loudest thing between them. The atmosphere in the apartment wasn’t as heavy but it still lingered and they both bore it in their own way. Paige had stopped bringing girls home, though it wasn’t out of any sense of compromise—more like resignation. They didn’t hold her attention, and it was more draining than anything to sit there and pretend to listen to whatever it was they had to say. The season kept her occupied, and though UConn had won their first two games, the chemistry between the players was strained. And it was clear to everyone—especially Paige and Azzi—that they were capable of so much more.

Then came the third game.

Despite the fact that UConn had won, Azzi played a game far beneath her usual standard. Missed shots. Bad decisions. A lack of the confidence that had once been her trademark. It wasn’t a total collapse, but it was jarring to watch it unfold. And everyone could feel it. The team had pulled through, but Azzi’s performance lingered in the air, like an unspoken question no one could answer.

Back in their shared suite, Azzi was isolated. She’d retreated to her room after the game, a rare moment when she didn’t have the usual fire in her eyes. The slow loss of her confidence throughout the game had been too much to handle, and as she scrolled through social media, the criticism rained down on her. The comments, the posts, the critiques—they all hit harder than they should have. The self-doubt crept in, overwhelming her. She knew she was better than this. She knew she could do better—but tonight, it felt like the world was telling her she couldn’t.

Paige, knowing exactly how much Azzi struggled with this kind of pressure knew Azzi would internalize it all, even when she shouldn't. So Once again coming up for a breath of fresh air even with the silence that lingered between them, Paige silently made her way to Azzi’s room, her hand reaching to open the door.

When she stepped inside, the sight of Azzi laying on her bed with her phone in hand, eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears, knocked the air out of her chest. Paige didn’t say a word. She simply moved toward Azzi, gently taking the phone out of her hand. Azzi didn’t fight her, didn’t protest, her hands too weak to stop Paige’s gentle movements. Paige locked the phone and set it aside before crawling under the covers next to her.

Azzi didn’t immediately respond. She kept her distance, staring at the pillow, her breathing shallow. Paige hesitated for just a moment before she carefully pulled Azzi on top of her, guiding her head to her chest. It was an unfamiliar gesture—but the silent bond they shared, the deep connection that tethered them to one another, made it feel like home the moment Azzi rested her head on Paige’s chest. Paige rubbed slow, soothing circles on Azzi’s back, her hand tracing over the familiar patterns as Azzi finally gave in, burying her face deep against Paige’s chest as the tears began to flow freely.

The silence between them was thick, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with everything they couldn’t say. Azzi’s emotions—about the game, about herself, about everything she had been holding in—poured out in the form of quiet sobs. Paige didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She just held her, feeling the warmth of Azzi’s body pressing against hers, reminding her of everything they still had, everything they could have.

As the time ticked by, Paige continued rubbing soothing circles on Azzi’s back, her touch slow and steady. The tension in Azzi’s body began to fade, her cries growing softer with each passing second. Paige could feel the weight lifting from Azzi’s shoulders, even if just a little, as she finally started to relax. Eventually, Azzi’s breathing evened out, slow and steady, and before long, the crying ceased altogether. The silence in the room deepened, and Paige felt Azzi’s body become still in her arms.

When Paige finally realized that Azzi had fallen asleep, her breath soft against Paige’s neck. Paige hesitated, a portion of her brain not wanting to disturb her, the other portion loving the way Azzi felt against her chest. But as much as she wanted to stay, to keep holding Azzi and never let go, she knew she had to leave. Slowly, carefully, Paige tried to extricate herself from Azzi’s grasp.

As she moved, Azzi, still in a deep sleep, unconsciously gripped onto Paige’s shirt, her hand clutching the fabric tightly, as if trying to keep her there. This made Paige’s heart ache. She could feel the pull of Azzi’s need, but as much as it hurt to tear herself away, Paige knew she couldn’t stay.

With a quiet sigh, Paige gently unwrapped Azzi’s hand from her shirt, and though every part of her wanted to stay in that bed, stay in that moment with Azzi, she slowly slipped out from under the covers. She stood beside the bed for a moment, looking down at Azzi’s peaceful face, before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on Azzi’s forehead. It was a kiss full of tenderness and care, an unspoken promise that, no matter how broken they were, there was still something between them that could be fixed.

She pulled away, her heart aching, and shut the door softly behind her.

As Paige walked toward her room, she caught sight of Ice standing in the hallway, her eyes immediately locking with Paige’s. The concern in Ice’s gaze was unmistakable, but it was the sadness in Paige’s blue eyes that struck her the hardest. Ice saw it. She saw how badly Paige was hurting, even if Paige was trying to hide it.

Without saying a word, Ice opened her arms, a silent offer of comfort. Paige hesitated for a moment, her chest tightening, before she reluctantly stepped into the embrace. She forced herself to hold it together, unwilling to break down in front of anyone. She stayed still, but her arms were stiff, her mind racing with all the things she wanted to say to Azzi, but couldn’t.

Eventually, Paige pulled back, the hug lingering just a moment longer than she wanted, and gave Ice a weak smile, barely more than a fleeting, pained expression. Without another word, she walked past Ice, retreating into the quiet of her room.

…

After that night, the silence between Paige and Azzi clearly wasn’t one of anger anymore. It was much softer, filled with longing, a quiet understanding that neither of them could fully name. They missed each other. 

It started off slow. It went from both of them keeping their doors shut all day to them leaving them open. They would sit in the common area, not speaking, but neither one of them moving to leave. It was as if the space between them was hanging on a delicate balance, each of them too cautious to disturb it. 

Paige would catch glimpses of Azzi absentmindedly playing with the necklace she had given her, the one she only took off for games and practices now. It was a small gesture that spoke volumes. Every time Paige saw it, a slight smile would tug at her lips. 

They both had waved the white flag, they just didn’t know how to break the silence. 

Paige now sat on the edge of Nika’s bed, her hands pressed into her lap, fingers twitching with restless energy. She couldn’t meet Nika’s eyes, even as her twin studied her with a knowing gaze as she was trying to get Paige to finally talk about what happened. 

“Paige,” Nika said again softly, her voice a calm counterpoint to the hecticness that had been brewing inside of Paige. “I know something’s been bothering you. It’s been weeks, just talk to me so we can figure it out.” 

Paige just shrugged, eyes flicking to the window as if the answer could be found in the dull gray light outside. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, Nika.”

But Nika wasn’t convinced. Besides Azzi she knew Paige better than anyone, knew the signs when Paige was holding something in. This wasn’t the usual “I’m fine.” This was different—subdued, like Paige was a thread stretched too thin, about to break.

“Paige,” Nika insisted, her voice softer now, “stop shutting me out. I can tell something’s been going on with you. We’ve been through too much together for you to hide it from me.”

Paige’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting to the floor. There was a tremor in her chest, and she fought to keep it contained. She wasn’t ready to talk, wasn’t ready to let anyone see the cracks in her armor just yet. 

Nika didn’t push too hard, but she didn’t let up either. She sat down next to Paige, close enough that the warmth of her body was a quiet comfort. “Come on,” Nika coaxed, her voice gentle but insistent. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but you’re not fooling anyone anymore. Definitely even me.”

Paige exhaled sharply, then, almost as if the words had been building up in her chest for too long, she whispered, “We slept together.”

Nika blinked, not sure if she’d heard her correctly. She tilted her head, voice steady but curious. “What? Who?”

Paige’s gaze snapped to the floor, her throat tightening as she repeated it, a little louder this time. “Azzi. Me and Azzi…we slept together.”

Nika absorbed the words, the weight of them sinking in slowly. She had seen the chemistry between Paige and Azzi for a while now, had seen the way they glanced at each other, the quiet touches when they thought no one was watching. It wasn’t surprising, exactly, but hearing Paige admit it was different.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” Nika said, voice soft but not judgmental. “Why is that a bad thing? It should be good, right?”

The question hung in the air, and that was when it happened. A single tear, slow and hesitant, escaped from Paige’s eye, tracing a path down her cheek; because yes, it should’ve been good. It should’ve been amazing. Paige’s hand instinctively went to her face, as if trying to catch the tear, but she couldn’t stop it. She felt it—felt everything—the confusion, the hurt, the abandonment all spilling over in that one small, silent tear.

Paige’s chest tightened, her breath catching as her walls finally crumbled in the quiet of Nika’s room. “She was gone the next day,” she whispered, her voice cracking. The words felt like rocks in her mouth, heavy and painful. “She... she just left me. When I woke up, she was gone.”

The floodgates opened then, the words pouring out faster than she could contain them. Her shoulders shook as another tear slipped free, and then another, until the tears were flowing in uninvited yet unstoppable. Paige’s chest heaved as the weight of it continued to press down on her, the pain she had been holding in finally spewing out. 

Nika didn’t say anything at first. She simply reached out, pulling Paige into her arms with a tenderness that only she could offer. 

“It’ll be okay, twin,” Nika whispered, her voice barely audible. “It’ll be okay.”

Paige couldn’t answer. She could only let herself break, the sobs wracking her body as Nika held her close, whispering assurances over and over again. The comfort of Nika’s arms right now was the only thing that kept Paige from completely losing herself to the turmoil inside her, she missed Azzi so much.

After a while she fell asleep in Nika’s bed, the weight of her emotions finally easing in the stillness of the room.

Nika didn’t disturb her. She let Paige sleep, knowing how much she needed the rest. After a few minutes, Nika gently moved away from the bed, making sure not to wake her. She grabbed a piece of paper from the nearby desk and scribbled down a quick note:

Wanted to let you sleep. Text me if you need anything. I'll be around. -Twin

With a soft sigh, Nika placed the note on the pillow next to Paige before she quietly exited the room.

The rest of the suite felt too quiet as Nika walked to the common area, her mind racing trying to figure out how to fix the situation. She needed to do something. There was only so much she could do by offering comfort. She needed to handle the bigger picture. 

She pulled out her phone, her fingers moving with purpose. Within seconds, she created a group chat with the rest of the team, making sure Paige and Azzi weren’t included. The message was simple:

Team meeting in 20 minutes. Can’t be in my suite.

[0omillo0]

Your fics are so good literally I check this place every day. I would mainline skz angst fics if I could. Angst/hurt/comfort PLEASE. Hyunjin one where reader was in an abusive relationship in the past and they get into an argument that was really miscommunication and Hyunjin like, doesn’t raise his fists but like turns around fast or something and spooks reader and they run off, no phone no keys no nothing. Pure flight mode.

Hyunjin x reader ; angst -> comfort

warnings: abusive ex, mention of fighting

a/n: I’ve FINALLY finished school I’m so tired, but I’m happy I can write all your requests now! (thank you xoxo). also thank you for requesting this! It’s the same problem I have so it was comforting writing this

•

It wasn’t Hyunjin’s fault.

You kept telling yourself that, repeating it silently, like a mantra, as the tension between you both began to rise. The words in your head sounded steady, but your body didn’t believe them. The weight pressing on your chest grew heavier with each exchanged word, with every flicker of frustration in his voice.

Hyunjin was nothing like him.

But no matter how hard you tried, the past didn’t stay buried.

Your ex had turned arguments into weapons. He had wielded raised voices like shackles, holding you captive. Apologies had come like clockwork after the damage was done, hollow promises that nothing would change. It had taken years to leave—years to find your way out of the cycle. And when you met Hyunjin, with his kind heart and gentle soul, you’d believed healing was possible.

You wanted so desperately to believe it.

The argument started over something small, something so inconsequential you barely remembered how it had begun. You’d mentioned the groceries—how there were none left at home—and he had bristled.

“I can’t do everything, Y/N,” he said sharply, barely glancing up from where he stood at the counter, his voice carrying an edge that made you pause.

It took a moment for you to respond. “I didn’t say you had to. I was just—”

“You were just what?” He turned then, meeting your gaze with frustration flickering in his dark eyes. “Pointing out another thing I forgot? Adding it to the list?”

The words hit you like a wave, unsteadying your footing. Your heart sank as you studied his expression.

“That’s not fair,” you said quietly, your tone cautious now. “I wasn’t trying to blame you for anything.”

“Well, it sure sounded like it.” He ran a hand through his hair, his voice lower now but no less biting.

You took a step forward, something twisting painfully inside you. “Why are you acting like this?” you asked, your voice rising slightly. You hated the tremor that betrayed you, hated that you already felt like you were losing control.

“I’m not acting like anything!” he shot back, his voice louder now, filling the space between you. “Why do you always have to push? Why can’t you just let things go?”

“Because I care about you, Hyunjin! I care when you’re upset, and I don’t know why you won’t just tell me what’s wrong!”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he turned his head, shaking it in disbelief. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it. Did you think of that?”

The words cut deeper than you expected, the sharpness in his tone stealing the air from your lungs.

“I’m just trying to help—”

“Well, maybe I don’t need your help!” he interrupted, his voice breaking into a shout.

You flinched at the sound, the echo of it slamming into you like a freight train. Your heart was pounding now, your breath coming shorter. Your feet shuffled backward, almost on instinct, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“God, you act like you need to fix everything,” he continued, his frustration spilling out unchecked. “Like you need to fix me.”

Your breath hitched, and the room around you seemed to shift. For a moment, Hyunjin’s voice wasn’t his—it was someone else’s. Someone whose words were weapons. Someone who’d told you time and time again that you were the problem.

“I don’t want to fix you,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to steady yourself. “I just want to understand.”

“Well, maybe I don’t need you to understand!” His voice broke again, louder this time, frustration and exhaustion tangled together in every syllable.

And then it happened.

Hyunjin turned sharply, his hand flying up to rake through his hair in agitation. The movement was sudden, unintentional, but your body didn’t care. Your mind didn’t stop to think.

You ran.

You didn’t even remember the door slamming behind you, your bare feet hitting the pavement as you fled into the cold night air.

The streets blurred as you moved, the echo of his voice—louder, sharper than you’d ever heard it—ringing in your ears. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, your breaths coming in short, frantic gasps. You didn’t stop to grab your keys or your phone. You didn’t stop to think about where you were going.

The only thought in your mind was to escape.

The cold pavement stung your feet, but you barely felt it. The thin fabric of your shirt did nothing to shield you from the biting wind, but you didn’t care. The fear clawing at your chest was louder than anything else.

You didn’t stop until your legs gave out beneath you, your body collapsing onto a park bench in the middle of nowhere. The silence around you was deafening, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths.

You curled into yourself, pulling your knees to your chest as tears spilled down your face. The trembling in your hands wouldn’t stop, no matter how tightly you clutched at your arms.

“I’m so stupid,” you whispered to yourself, your voice breaking between sobs. “He’s not like that. He’d never—”

But the fear wouldn’t let go.

When Hyunjin realized you were gone, it was like the air had been sucked out of the room. The door was ajar, swaying slightly in the wind. The apartment felt empty without you there.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice laced with panic as he grabbed his coat and bolted into the night.

He searched everywhere he could think of: the café you loved, the little bookstore down the street, the convenience store on the corner.

But you weren’t there.

He called your name again and again, his voice growing hoarse as the minutes dragged on.

And then he saw you.

You were curled up on a bench beneath a flickering streetlight, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Y/N!” he shouted, relief and guilt flooding his chest as he ran toward you.

Your head snapped up, your tear-streaked face locking onto his. For a moment, you tensed, your body shrinking back as if to protect itself.

“It’s me,” he said softly, raising his hands in surrender. “It’s just me.”

He approached slowly, his heart breaking at the sight of you. “Can I come closer?”

You nodded after a moment, your breaths shaky.

He knelt in front of you, his hands hovering uncertainly before he reached out to place his coat over your trembling shoulders. “You’re freezing,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “God, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s not your fault,” you cut in, your voice barely audible. “I panicked. It’s—it’s my past. I just…” You couldn’t finish, fresh tears spilling over.

Hyunjin reached for your hands, his own trembling as he held them gently. “I don’t care how long it takes, or what it takes—I’ll do whatever I need to so you feel safe again. Please, just let me take you home.”

The apartment felt warmer when you returned, but you still shivered beneath the blanket Hyunjin had wrapped around you. He made tea in silence, his movements slow and careful, as if afraid to startle you.

When he finally sat beside you, he looked at you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I want to know,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I want to understand what you’ve been through. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But when you saw the worry in his eyes, the love that hadn’t wavered despite everything, you told him.

You told him everything.

Hyunjin listened without interrupting, his hands gripping yours tightly.

“I’ll never raise my voice like that again,” he said when you finished, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll never make you feel unsafe. I swear.”

You nodded, leaning into him as his arms wrapped around you. You let yourself believe him.

tags: @intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I know you? Part 5

Jason Todd x reader

Synopsis: You meet Tim and Steph, Jason is not happy about it.

Notes: Some drama is finally here brought to you by Tim and Steph. This is the power of embarrassing a sibling.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The past week had been… odd. And that was putting it nicely. True to his word, the next evening was filled with Red Hood replacing your window locks with newer fancy ones attached to an “Out of date” alarm system (his words not yours). He showed you how to set it up and how to attach it to your phone, so if anyone got in while you were away you would know. It seemed a bit excessive to you, living on the sixth floor and all but he was adamant about it, so you let him. He told you if you wanted him to come in and share tea you would have to leave the window unlocked for a frame of time. If he didn’t show in that frame of time, you were to lock the window anyway.

“No later, understand?” He had ordered gruffly, and you had just shrugged. You’re pretty sure he rolled his eyes in response, but you couldn’t see them. In the days following he showed up every day even if it were just for a couple minutes. Sometimes you shared food, sometimes just tea. If he stayed for longer than a few minutes, you would sit amicably at the dining table or at the island. Sometimes in comfortable silence and sometimes conversing about your days, mostly you than him. You finally settled into a routine. After his visit, you would get ready for bed and repeat the day over.

Work at Jackie’s was booming. With the fall season in full swing, people came in requesting pumpkin this and pumpkin that, only to be disappointed to find out Jackies only had one pumpkin item and that was pumpkin bread. It was a blast. You kept up with the regulars and Darla would edge her way around you, collecting gossip. Over the next week and a half, she would sporadically bother you about if you had gotten Jason’s number or if you had fallen in with some other guy. She said she saw some of the signs of a guy but wasn’t too sure. When you asked what she meant she didn’t offer you any explanation.

It was a Thursday when you met Steph. When she came in, you mentally prepared yourself for another no-pumpkin showdown. You try not to judge a book by its cover, but her blonde hair and purple athleisure made it hard not to.

“Hi, Welcome to Jackie’s. What can I get for you?” your lips twitch into a customer service smile. She grins at you like this was the most excitement she had had all day.

“Hi, I’m Steph. How are you?” she asks politely.

“I’m good. What can I get for you?” she sags slightly at your shutdown of the conversation. Overly friendly new customers in Gotham were never good. They usually wanted something.

“Right,” she perks back up, “One hot chocolate and one black coffee.” She pauses for a moment while you put in the system. When you look back up, she asks “Do you know Jason?”

The sudden question slightly takes you aback and don’t answer, so she continues.

“He's about this tall,” she holds her hand in the air, “black hair, looks like he could punch a brick wall.” You nod slowly and she smiles, “Great, where does he usually sit?”

You point to the table nook he usually hides in, and she nods, “We’ll sit there. I heard that you bring the drinks out?” You nod again, still confused about this girl. No Pumpkin spice latte, and she knows Jason? Strange.

“How much do I owe you?” you finally snap out of your stupor. She pays, you thank her and tell her it will be out momentarily. She turns and greets a lean boy as he walks through the door. She tugs him to the booth quickly and they talk to each other in hushed tones, both glancing up at you occasionally. You try to ignore them as you stumble through making the two easiest items on the menu.

You glance up when the bell dings and a smile flits across your lips when you see Jason before it turns into a frown as he frowns. His eyes staring at his now occupied table. You pause in your task and come up to the register as he takes a few slow steps towards it.

“You okay?” you ask as you glance at the two at the table. They’re looking at Jason like they’ve won the lottery.

“Did they talk to you?” He ignores your own question.

“She did. Only to order though. Do I need to call the cops?”

Jason snorts at the question, “Yeah that’ll go well. She just ordered? She didn’t ask you anything?”

You give him a strange look. What is with people and odd questions today?

“She just asked where you sit. Sorry, I gave you away.”

He breaks his glare from them and meets your eye with a softness.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart. They would’ve figured it out even if you hadn’t given it to them.” Your heart flutters at the pet name. He had called you that the few times you had seen him since your walk home and it was starting to get to you.

“You want me to dump out their drinks and just make yours?” you ask as you try to force your focus away from the warmth on your cheeks.

“And ruin your hard work?” his eyes stare into your own and he finally breaks it when you hear giggles from your spies. You drop your chin down. “It’s okay,” he repeats, “I’ll sit with them.” He nods at you and heads for the table. The two sat there leaning together and whispering. You wonder who they are and how Jason knows them.

You get to work make the drinks, no longer stumbling, and with bounce your step. Darla stands next to you with a smug smile and makes some refills for customers.

“You could have asked for his number when he was alone but now there are people. Your poor self won't ever be able to do it.” She says teasingly.

“Thank you, Darla,” you say with an eye roll as you load the drinks on the tray. You take your time to meander to the table as Jason looks like he's berating the two that sit across from him. It doesn’t look like it's working as they both sit there with smug grins. You set the tray on the table and all eyes are on you. You keep your own eyes down as you move the drinks from the tray to the table. Your eyes try to catch Jason’s book for the day because you know you won't be asking like you normally do. You pull the tray from the table and rest it between your side and your arm.

“Anything else I can get you?” you glance at the two but meet Jason's eye. He looks flushed, possibly upset. Steph speaks up.

“No that’s okay. What was your name again?” she says like you had already told her. You break eye contact with Jason and look at her. She’s smiling and you can't find any malice in it, so you tell her. She nods like she already knows and points to the boy sitting next to her.

“This is Tim,” she points to Jason, “and obviously you already know Jason.” You hear a quiet thud from under the table and Tim flinches but smirks as he looks at Jason.

“You missed,” he turns to look up at you, “It's nice to meet you fin-” he cuts himself off and you wonder what the last word was.

You nod politely, “you too,” you say and look at Jason again for some explanation and a defeated look crosses his features as he shrugs.

“Brother” is all Jason gives, and you nod in semi-understanding. Based on the few mentions of family in passing conversations, you had always guessed he had a tense relationship with them.

“I didn’t know you had siblings.”  You look back at the two. Tim and Jason could definitely be brothers. Aside from their stature and slight skin tone difference, everything else is similar. Black hair, blue eyes. Though you would argue that Jason’s were prettier because they were green sometimes. Not that it mattered. Your eyes meet Stephs again. Blonde hair, green eyes, bright smile. Very different looking than the two boys.

“Are you the only girl in the family?”

Steph makes a gagging sound, “I’m not family, Thank God!” Tim snorts at her over dramatics.

“I’m sorry.” Your face flushes slightly as you flounder, “Then what…?” Your hand gestures to them all sitting at the table.

Jason's eyes narrow on your embarrassed state.

“Don’t worry, she’s just a leech.”

“Hey!”

“Would you mind getting me one of those chocolate croissants?”

You shift on your feet with a look of confusion. He never asks for anything else. You nod, “Sure, anything else for the table?”

Tim looks like he’s about to ask for something, but Jason cuts him off with a glare. Instead, he shakes his head no. You hesitantly step away from the table but take your time going back to the kitchen to pull out one of the chocolate croissants and warm it up. Your eyes periodically glance back at the table. They crouch over the table and talk to each other. You worry for a moment that they’re talking about you and then decide that it doesn’t really matter. You had only met Tim and Steph today. Their opinion of you was worthless and You knew Jason wasn’t one for gossiping about others. You’ve watched Darla try and fail. Once you finally make it back over to the table with the croissant, Tim and Steph are gone leaving their half-full drinks on the table.

As you set the plate on the table you ask, “Scare them off?”

Jason lets out a sigh.

“If only. I’m sorry if they made you uncomfortable.” You shake your head in response.

“I'm sorry I made assumptions before I had all the information. I hope I didn’t offend.”

“I doubt you could ever offend anyone sweetheart” Your cheeks warm again.

“That’s not true I work in a public job, and I offend people all the time just standing” you joke. Jason smiles and nods.

“That’s fair. How could you be so lazy?” he teases. You giggle.

 “Speaking of lazy, I should get back to work.” You point a thumb over your shoulder where a man leaves a table full of dishes.

“What time do you get off?” he asks. Your body freezes mid-turn at his abrupt question.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to” he adds on, “I just enjoyed walking with you the other day and I parked my bike around the same area again, so I thought maybe…” He trails off his own cheeks flushing. Your body relaxes as you look at your watch to think. He had convenient timing; you were off soon. It was nice having someone to walk with and it wouldn’t hurt to see him on his bike again. You nod with warmed cheeks.

“I get off in about thirty minutes if you don’t mind waiting?” you say as your eyes meet his. He nods, smiling.

“It’ll give me time to read.” He lifts his book that was sitting on the table, the cover reading Pride and Prejudice.

“Again?” You can't help but ask. He looks at the book cover and rolls his eyes.

“You really want to have this conversation again?” you shake your head quickly at his question.

“I'll see you in thirty minutes.” With that, you walk away from him and throw yourself into your finishing tasks.

Additional notes: This was originally a much longer chapter but I decided to split it up. So, the next chapter is about them walking home. I have to tell you I cannot wait for ya’ll to read the next one cause I got carried away for like three seconds and had to do some backtracking. The plot was happening where I didn’t want it. I loved having Tim and Steph involved in this and just not being subtle about anything. Jason may have tried to kill Tim once but that won't stop him from being a little shit. Thank you for your love guys. This has been such an interesting experience, so the support has been lovely. Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369, @g4bbi3xx 

[dippedinmelancholy]

There’s some weird ass line in the beginning of ACOSF about Cassian tensing as Feyre and Nesta talk, looking like he thinks he needs to get between them to keep Nesta from hurting Feyre and I’m just left going ????????????

And this is a theme repeated in ACOSF, Cassian thinks Nesta will physically attack Feyre, Amren thinks Nesta will make a bunch of trove weapons to like, stab all of the IC (again, ?????????????), Rhysand shows his weird ‘I will kill you if you hurt my pregnant mate’ thing ONLY to Nesta.

I can get “Nesta has a harsh tongue that can be wielded like a weapon”, because, yeah that’s kind of the point, but she’s absolutely never shown any inclination for violence? Literally the only time she’s been violent is when she attacks Hybern and she has an exceptional amount of PTSD from that. Sure, she hurts Feyre’s feelings, but never once has Feyre feared for her physical safety with Nesta. Never once has Nesta shown an inclination to physically hurt people. Arguably, a huge characteristic of hers is that her body language is consistently tight and controlled. She goes so far to tell Feyre she doesn’t want to even learn violence, that she can be/wants to be strong without it. Not that Feyre gives any single fucks about that - or any other desire Nesta has.

And yet for some reason, over and over and over again, all of the IC apply these absurdly violent traits, threats, and ideals to her and it subtly pushes onto the reader that Nesta is absurdly violent, she needs to contained, and others need to be protected from her.

It’s just really absurd and honestly kind of insidious. That difficult women are violent, that Nesta poses this deep threat, that she needs to beaten down and lied to so that she can be controlled, because clearly their lives are in danger otherwise.

It just is another thing of the list of things against Nesta for no other reason than these idiots are cowards who can’t see her as anything but a weapon, and that ultimately, not a single one of them, Elain included, actually knows Nesta. They don’t know anything about her and so they assume the absolute worst.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Welcome to the neighborhood

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 22

Prompt: Santa

Rated: T

Tags: No UD AU; Single Dad Steve; Single Dad Eddie; Steve is Dustin’s dad; Eddie is Max's dad; Neighbors; Christmas

Steve presses the doorbell for the third time, secretly wishing he'd put on his coat - or his outdoor shoes at least. Nobody has bothered removing the snow from the walkway leading up to the door, and it's seeping into his slippers and socks. 

“Maybe they aren't home,” Dustin says, voice slightly muffled from under his scarf. 

Steve scoffs, mentally cursing Carol for talking him into this. “I saw the car pull into the garage, they're here.” 

He's just trying to decide if he should rap his freezing knuckles against the milk glass pane or tell Carol to go fuck herself when the door swings open, revealing a girl around Dustin’s age. She's sporting a vicious scowl and a shock of violently orange hair. 

“Oh hi,” Steve says. “Are your parents home?” 

She gives them a long, pointed once over. Steve in his slippers and too-thin shirt and Dustin in his knitted Minecraft hat. 

Then, without turning, she hollers, “Dad! It's the hottie from across the street.” 

Somewhere in the house, somebody drops something. There's a barrage of swear words that makes Steve wanna cover Dustin’s ears, and then a whirlwind of black clothes and frizzy curls descends down the stairs and almost barrels into the stack of half unpacked boxes in the hallway. 

“Jesus Christ, Maxine! Sorry about that, I dunno what she's on about.” 

The girl rolls her eyes.

“You said it. Own it.” 

The man glares at her. She grins. 

“Hi,” Steve says again, bravely ignoring the heat rising under his collar. “Nice to meet you. I live-” 

“Across the street. She just said it,” Dustin provides helpfully. “Hi, I'm Dustin, this is my dad.” 

The girl gives him a lazy wave. “So, what do you do for fun around here, Dustin?” 

He shrugs. “I was about meet some friends, throw snowballs at cars. You wanna come?” 

“Ew, lame,” she says, grabbing her coat off another box. “Let's go.” 

Steve watches them disappear down the street, already deep in conversation about something or other.

“Well, then.” The other man extends his hand. It's adorned in clunky rings and covered in paint stains. “Do I get a proper introduction, or are we doing that thing where we refer to each other as Max's and Dustin’s Dad until it gets awkward, but by then we're too embarrassed to ask so we just skirt around it and say ‘hey, you’ for several years?” 

Steve is snorting a laugh before he remembers he's supposed to be mad. 

“Steve,” he says, taking the offered hand. It's pleasantly warm after the frosty air. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” 

“Steve,” the man repeats, and something about the way it rolls off his tongue makes a different kind of warmth settle in Steve’s chest. “Hi, I'm Eddie. What brings you here on this fine- oh shit, should I ask you to come inside? My kitchen is still very much a work in progress, but I got the coffee maker running yesterday, so I could fix us-” 

“It's fine,” Steve lies. He's starting to lose the feeling in his toes. “I just wanted to- … I'm here on behalf of the Home Owners’ Community.” 

Eddie tilts his head at him. “There's a Home Owners’ Community?” 

“Um, yes,” Steve says, raking a hand through snow-soaked hair. “Didn't you get our welcome pamphlet? It has this chees- … um, cheery picture on it. Happy family in their yard with their dog?” 

“Oh, that!” Eddie’s mouth goes round. “Yes, I got that. Threw it out. Looked culty to me.” 

Steve gawks at him. He smiles.

“Culty,” Steve repeats. He fucking told Carol the fucking photo was too much, but did she fucking listen to him? 

“Yup,” Eddie confirms cheerfully. “Why?” 

Steve laughs weakly. “Nothing, just- … I think that's pretty damn bold, coming from someone whose idea of a Christmas decoration is this!” 

Eddie follows his sweeping hand gesture to take in his own front lawn, like he's seeing it for the first time. The giant, inflatable Santa swaying cheerily in the snowy breeze. The grinning crowd of plastic skeletons dancing by its feet. Some have pitchforks. 

The whole spectacle is rounded off by a wooden sign, hand-painted in bright red letters. 

It reads HAIL SANTA. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie laughs. “You see, we didn’t get around to doing anything for Halloween this year, what with the move, and it's Max's favorite holiday, so-” 

“Yeah, great,” Steve says. “But the Homeowners’ Community has rules, and they clearly state that Christmas decorations must be-” 

Eddie pats his cheek. His hand is even warmer on Steve’s face than it was against his fingers. 

“But I'm not part of your little club, unfortunately.” His tone is all honest regret, but the quirk of his mouth and the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes tell a different story. “And I'm not gonna join, so there's nothing you can do to stop me. And if she has an issue with that, I suggest chairwoman Carol Hagan come over and say it to my face, instead of hiding behind your back. Not that I blame her. It's a nice back.” 

“But you said-” Steve sputters. “So you did read it!” 

“You should go home now,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “Don't wanna be seen getting friendly with the likes of me. Plus, you might lose a toe if you stay like that.” 

He nods down at Steve's soaked slippers - they may be unsalvageable by now - then starts to close the door in his face. 

“Wait,” Steve says. Eddie does, peering out from behind the door with large, hopeful eyes. “Does that offer for coffee still stand?” 

Eddie’s eyes light up. So do the led flames surrounding Santa's ghastly entourage. 

Carol can mind her own business, Steve decides. He'll get friendly with whoever the hell he pleases. 

More holiday drabbles

[stump-not-found]

i <3 creepy hallway

creepy hallway number one <3

alright time for more home life stuff . the bedroom scene came up as a way of trying to reintegrate the gold statue from earlier, since i just really love trying to find old elements and tie them in as plot relevant as time goes on . not usually planned, but it comes through during the editing stage, which is a fun game of deciding what scenes to keep, and which to get rid of . i wasn't so certain about this one, but i loved the idea of baby ford interacting with mabel, who's slightly older... i need to draw art of it, honestly . they're cute

it's really gratifying seeing people pick up on what i've been setting up as part of ford and the statue, the fact i was able to effectively communicate something going on means the world to me . the rest of the story is gonna dig into it more so i won't lay it all out here, but it really is so much fun . makes the whole writing process feel so communicative when people share thoughts and interpretations . especially when the scenes are meant to be read into !

we also get the closet yay . sure that's not gonna be important at all

writing the kids big blow up fight was a trip and a half . the original vision was a pretty shallow "we're stressed out and out grunkles should stop being mean to each other :(", just as a way to try and push forward the dynamics between ford and stan . that still exists, it's just a lot more focus being put onto the kids themselves . they're tertiary characters for sure, but i like thinking about their home life, and how that impacts them

one of the challenges is trying to have the fight feel fairly balanced between the two of them . shoutouts to my brother and wife for the full ass socratic seminar we had about threading that needle . how do you get a conversation where a young trans boy is trying to discuss his fears about his life and his body, and keeps getting shut down ? how do you balance that with a little girl who feels like it's her job to be the sweet, happy, emotionally intellegent adult in the room ? i'm happy with the end result but boy was it stressful

bill also wasn't gonna be here but i wanted more bill so . he got to come back . i really liked tying in nick with the spit to the little chats their having in the paradox dimension . love the lil hand pinch that was just a treat for meeeee, i get to be indulgent in my fics as much as i want . i also like the fact that ford is under some indescribable pain that entire time . they got a dynamic in this story that makes me laugh .

you know whats funny is i didn't even realize ship of theseus was a paradox writing a lot of the stuff about paradoxes . for some reason i just stumbled into that one . very funny . or, no wait -- i totally knew the entire time my brain is the size of three (3) whole apples

oh man and the entire lab scene i just loved writing . i love including bathroom breaks . i love dipper's poor hygiene . i love the fact the kids traded gold for soda, they're such perfect lil con men in training . and again the whole talk about star trek was so indulgent and fun

the brothers grew up queer in the 60's/70's and that's a major part of their arc . i hope to get across the ways they both hurt each other both as kids and adults . they still got so much to work on, and i just don't know if they've got the time

anyways creepy hallway bill time

favorite part:

“Clark.” Ford stiffens, stops. Looks up. “What?” “That, uh, captain guy. The one with the, he had the big, you know–” Stan gestures over his chest, puffing his pecs out a bit more. “Always had em out, shirt cut off or whatever. Got all hot and sweaty. Great hair.” “...Kirk?” Ford turns in his seat, slightly, to get a better look at his brother. Stan clicks his tongue, points his index finger in recollection. “ Kirk .” He repeats, and the image of the guy blooms in Stan’s head. Ford had a magazine with him on the cover, about as disheveled and beat up as a guy could look, shirt torn open. That particular mag went ‘missing’ into Stan’s stash, and he laughs at that old memory getting drudged up. “I, uh. Was a fan , back then.”

i just love how neither one of them can say what they're talking about out loud lol

Stan and Ford have a conversation, Mabel and Dipper get a bit absurd, and something gold is given meaning.

If you don't look, you won't see it fading.

[tkpuke]

jayvik with 16/lee!vik?

Jayce + Viktor - 16. “Put the book down and pay attention to me!”

The sound of chalk harshly hitting against a blackboard kept repeating, Viktor drawing a equation that took half the space in a hurried manner as if the ideas flowing in his head would vanish any second before he could write the rest down. Viktor was deep in thought, having spent around three hours already in the lab alone. No distractions so far, which he was thankful for.

Until the door swung open.

Jayce comes in, immediately taking a seat while dramatically running his hands through his hair; an anxious habit. “I need to rant real quick.” He starts, but Viktor only glances once and keeps writing away. “It’s this upcoming speech,” he fetches something nearby to fiddle with. “I’m so nervous I can’t even think straight. I don’t even have a speech prepared!”

“Mmm.” Is all Viktor responds with, now taking a little step back to view his work so far. Something’s missing. He grabs a book that was on standby the entire time, flipping through the pages to see what went wrong with his equation.

“I don’t know how much Insight I should give the people about Hextech and its potential. Will it scare them? Will it bring hope?”

“uh huh.” Viktor says again, but he wasn’t truly listening. He has been too caught up on what he’s currently doing, it’s impossible for him to drop it all suddenly and put full attention on anything else. Don’t get him wrong, Viktor deeply appreciates that Jayce comes to him for advice or just to be a shoulder he can lean on, but right now wasn’t a good time. Jayce seems to be a little slow on picking that up, though.

The man sighs, resting his cheek on his palm. “I really wish you could be up there with me, Viktor. I know you already declined but it would’ve put me a lot at ease, y’know?” Silence was all he was met with. He could hear the wall clock ticking, pages being flipped and a occasional chalk meeting the blackboard, but no reply from Viktor. The only sound he was looking forward to hearing.

Jayce finally looks over, seeing Viktor’s nose buried deep in a book. This entire time was he just being ignored? Annoyance starts to fuel Jayce’s entire body, making him stand up to creep over to Viktor quietly. He doesn’t even hear him, of course, his mind somewhere else.

Viktor’s racing thoughts suddenly ripped away from him by a hand placing tiny squeezes on his side. The book was dropped, Viktor grabbing onto Jayce’s wrist tightly but not doing much to push it away.

“Put the book down and pay attention to me!” Jayce nearly pouts as a joke, still squeezing away on Viktor’s side while his other hand supports his back so he won’t fall from all the helpless squirming. “Wahait! Stohohop, I wahahas!” He shakes his head in the midst of all the squirming, loose hair strands starting to almost cover his eyes. Jayce stops abruptly but with the hand still there, almost like a warning.

“Then what was I talking about?” Jayce clearly sees Viktor trying to mentally recall, his silence speaking volumes. “uhm….err…” Viktor hesitantly looks up at him, who stared back unamused. Then, the tickling started back up again.

“It’s not looking good for you, Viktor. Maybe this will jog up your memory? Worth a shot, right?” The squeezes started to intentionally get lower, Jayce evilly seeking out for that bad spot: the hips.

And Viktor knows this. Hence why hitting weakly at Jayce’s chest, trying to signal a tap out. “noHO!—JAHAYCE!” He pretty much squeaks, cheeks slightly flushing from embarrassment. Viktor absolutely hates the sounds he makes whenever he gets tickled silly, but if you ask Jayce?

He adores them.

“That is my name.” Jayce answers innocently, honing in on just that spot. At this point, he doesn’t even care if Viktor had actually listened to him or not. At first, this was for the sole purpose of a bit of fun revenge. Although it always finishes out to be Jayce wanting to just hear his partner laugh like there’s no tomorrow, his reactions so priceless. How can someone not enjoy tickling a person that scrunches up their nose when you target there, or squeaks like a mouse when you tickle here?

It would’ve gone on for a few more minutes if Viktor didn’t bump against the blackboard in the midst of all his squirming, accidentally erasing some of the equation he had written. They both halt; Vitkor staring at the half erased problem in disbelief and Jayce staring because he’s about to get scolded by him any second, which is not a pretty sight.

But Viktor didn’t scold. He instead slowly turned, faces so close they can feel each other’s breath hit their skin. What Jayce failed to see from the corner of his eye was Viktor starting to flex his fingers.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

[derww]

for @heartcircus.

its not like zam actually tries to talk: he stands, carefully holding his notes, just staring at spawn, noticing one familiar face after another, feeling like all thoughts in his head became too heavy, and then just. turns around. and leaves.

you know, all of the princezam nature is to oppose, is to fight. but the last seasons taught him about just how important it is to appreciate people around, to do not only for yourself but for them too. and just today he promised to not interfere with mapicc's plans.

he can't fight, but he can't support. so he leaves. first time in many days, he has no words to say anymore.

all of it is just too familiar, and memories of the past cloud his mind and make every part of his body weak and stale. story repeats itself, and hed hate to see it continue and weave hemself into it, so he does not. i need some time to be alone, he says to derapchu and goes almost to the border – to sunny hill, surrounded by snow-capped mountains.

this time something in it reminds him too heavy. he doesn't build a castle. instead, he builds a hut.

it's not so bad, he says to himself, laying firewood in the stove, it's not season 4 anymore, noone will backdoor the server and mapicc will stop. sooner or later. i cant fight him, but i dont have to. everything will end. and then ill go back.

he feels so fucking tired. only now he understands just how tired he is. so he lies down. and sleeps. and sleeps. and sleeps.

it never gets better; the tombstone of exhaustion only presses him down harder and harder. he sleeps and sees dreams. he cooks himself food and eats it, feeling no taste. he plants flowers and takes care of them. sometimes he talks to derapchu. he never tells where he is.

only in so slow time he suddenly understands just how misplaced he is. he's patch on patch, stitched over and over again with scraps of fabric, no matter how worn or unsuitable they may be, over and over and over, stitched with scars running through his spine. he is a trace of something forgotten, overlaid by images of other people and experiences, accustomed to it so much that it feels like himself. he sleeps and sees no nightmares. maybe it's for the worse.

so far from anyone, without any real goal, Immersed deep into himself, he easily starts missing hours, days, and weeks. time doesn't feel real, and he, at the end, too. people write him. sometimes he answers. he never agrees to meet.

i'll go back when the mawn thing will be over; he promises to derap but hardly believes in it himself. something makes him feel like he has nothing to come back to. this house is also not his home, but it's at least silent here.

derap persists, but in the end he gives up too. and, in the end, he is left alone. he grows dandelions in the field around. when an unfamiliar flower appears in the field, he does not prevent it from growing nearby.

he blinks and feels like he missed a whole week. sometimes he just lies there and doesn't move. he doesn't feel the softness of the pillow, the springy floor under his feet, and, after all, he doesn't feel pain either. a ringing void freezes in his head. he feels tired, but sleep doesn't help.

he missed a moment something changes.

something about how the world exists around him. something about how forest smells like. something about how the grass is rustling under his feet. something is wrong, but he barely makes himself care. it doesn't matter, not really, but time still slows down. he slowly dips his hands into the loose earth, feeling the coolness and texture. nothing here belongs to him, but that's not the point. he plants some poppy seeds. one of them ends up in a pot on his windowsill.

i'm fully okay, he says to derap while not being able to remember what he ate today, i'm just in retirement for now. i will go back to you, i promise. i just need some time.

the boards under his feet creak differently. sometimes something whistles, like an unfamiliar bird. sometimes it seems to him that the grass next to the house is crushed.

isn't this a true peaceful life, he asks himself. to run away from everything and be alone. in the end, there is no way to harm anyone if you are alone. he feels like he was running a marathon all this time and only now stopped.

he adds blue orchids, but their blue is drowning in the red. he takes the smallest orchid inside and turns it into a magnificent flower. In a moment of weakness, he takes the cornflower inside. the next one turns out to be an orange tulip. he doesn't comprehend it.

is it what i wanted in season four, he asks himself. this place strangely reminds him of it. he reminds himself of it, too, allowing himself to feel anything. he still can't decide if it's a good thing. 

the rain is pounding on his window. someone is knocking on his coffin lid. poppies fill the whole field.

i miss them, he writes on a paper. but i can't go back yet. not while spawn is someone's. not while i have to fight my best friend.

when he comes back from the forest, his house still keeps warmth. his footsteps are echoing, and his diary is open by the wind. i miss being able to decide, this page says. i was good at it once.

he doesn't feel sick. he feels dump. the green in his cape is starting to fade.

sometimes it seems to me that i won't be able to overcome this, he writes. but I know i can handle it. i always can. i will overcome anything. i just can't give up.

the forest smells of pine and fir, and it has not been lost in the trees for a long time, wandering far beyond the edge. the forest always brings him back when he wants to. it never holds him by force and generously supplies him with tree cones and wet moss. he always comes back because he has nowhere to go.

this time, when he comes home, he has a visitor. he is not surprised: he calls them by name, nods, makes tea from fir needles.

mapicc rests his head on his elbows.

– lets go home, – he says. zam shakes his head.

– to mawn? – he asks.

mapicc squints.

– yes.

– i won't.

– why.

zam looks at him almost regretfully.

– because i refuse to fight you, – he answers simply, – and i will have no choice but to.

– even fighting me is much better than- than whatever this is, – mapicc remarks irritably.

– i don't want to fight you ever again, – zam signs, – i know you like me as your enemy. i do not.

– you don't have to fight me. join me.

– i hate everything you've created, – he answers with pity, – and i can't change it. please, leave me alone. do whatever you want to do. and one day i'll be able to go back.

– i dont understand why you oppose it so much. you haven't even given it a try. is it, like, that bad? people love it; you can love it too.

zam shakes his head.

– did you really come to convince me to love what I hate?

– i came to invite you to my thing.

– not this time.

in the end, mapicc still leaves. only after that zam takes his floor apart to find a secret passage under the boards. it leads to a dug-out underground room filled with anything. there are books everywhere. an unmade bed. and a pot with a dandelion in the middle of the makeshift countertop.

mapiccs room, says the sign. he adds a glow ink to it and looks around again.

for an infinitely long moment he considers just starting to live here.

[kingkat12]

mistletoe (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, dumbification, mature themes, manipulation, toxic relationship, sorta uncomfortable oops, is Roman using his powers or not?, angsty fluff

summary: one week of repeated quarrels brew down to a heated conversation at a Christmas party... will Roman be able to convince you he knows what's best for you?

word count: 1,536

a/n: hey again!<33 i wanted something cute and Christmas-y, but damn... this is far away from that. I doubt Roman likes Christmas at all anyway, so I couldn't bring myself to write something fluffy omg. read at your own discretion, love u<33 merry christmas!!!

"... You hung it up there on purpose,"

"I didn't," Roman said, smirking down at me as he pointed at the mistletoe above us. Evil man, cornering me in the doorway to the empty kitchen. "This is fate. You have to kiss me now."

Under any other circumstance, I would've been a blushing mess. I might've indulged the banter, I might've already dragged him down to my level and kissed him, but alas-- I didn't have it in me. Not after we had been bickering for a whole week. "Since when were you an avid participant in tradition?" I snarked, crossing my arms over my chest as I glared up at my tall boyfriend. "You hate everything else, but this mistletoe-stuff is acceptable to you?"

Roman rolled his eyes, snapping out of his feigned indulgence. "You're being difficult,"

"And you're yet to apologize!"

"Come on!" Roman let out a big huff, pointing at the sweater he had been forced to wear to this party hosted by my friends; the theme was ugly Christmas sweaters, and I bought him one that was just perfect. Seeing the big, bad Roman Godfrey in a reindeer sweater with a red nose that lit up when you booped it was a consolation prize after our quarrels this week. "Look at the shit I do for you, okay? Now stop giving me grief and kiss me!"

Had I not been wearing heels, I would've probably stomped my foot like a toddler-- "No! I'm still mad at you!" 

"For what?" he snapped, his green gaze narrowing with his next words; "For that thing I said about your friends?"

What a stupid question. "Obviously!" 

Roman let out a patronizing laugh as he rolled his eyes, reaching up to touch the mistletoe above us in the doorway. "They do suck,"

"They do not!" 

"They come up with humiliating Christmas sweater parties, and on top of that, they suck,"

Fucking hell. Dating Roman was impossible at times. I glanced around, making sure no one was around to hear this conversation-- I doubted my friends would be happy to hear this coming out of his mouth. "And you think I'm the biggest fan of Peter?" I hissed, turning to face my boyfriend again. "He keeps reciting Romeo and Juliet and claiming he wrote the passages! He's crazy too!"

That seemed to strike a nerve with Roman; "Hey!"

"Hey right back at you!" 

"At least he's nice!"

"My friends are nice too!--"

"No, they suck!" Roman leaned down to my level; he scanned the annoyed look on my face as he took a step forward, forcing my back up against the doorframe. "You know they hate me, right?" he said, lowering his voice. 

My eyes rounded out, feeling my breath get stuck in my chest. "They don't," I tried not to sound so meek, but it turned out to be impossible. I couldn't bring myself to raise my voice at Roman now that he was so close, now that his breath was falling hot against my cheek. 

He tilted his head to the side, sending me the condescending look I knew all too well. "You're so naive," he whispered. "They talk shit about me, and they talk shit about you. Do you know why I've been so pissed at you all week? It's because you can't stand up for yourself when it comes to those bitches!"

I didn't want to hear it. I really, really didn't. "Roman--"

"They walk all over you, do you not see it?!"

Angry tears were welling up in my eyes; "Stop it!--"

"You think I want you to be around people like that? Don't you think I want what's best for you?"

"You don't know what's best for me!" I hissed, deciding to get back up in his face. Roman was pissing me off more and more by the minute. "You control every other aspect of my life, and I let you, but not this one! My friends are my territory, and I need to have some autonomy here!" 

It was true-- I liked turning my brain off around Roman. I liked that he had money, that he drove me everywhere, that he paid someone else to get my homework done, that he paid for my manicures, because why should I not allow myself the luxury? He got off on it, anyway. It drove him absolutely mad, gave him a high to doll me up and parade me around. So yes, I allowed him control of almost every part of my life, but not this one. I had to be able to make one good choice, no? Or was my brain already too far gone, too fried by pleasantries to function?

Roman's green eyes narrowed as he glared down at me. He let out a sharp breath, visibly growing angrier by the second. However, he contained it with bitten-down words; "And you know why you're so happy to give me control? Because deep down, you're aware that you make bad choices," 

"I don't!--"

"You do," 

Every piece of my self-worth was crumbling at his feet. I let it all sink in, and allowed myself to chew and process the truth he was serving me; Roman was painfully right. I had never been the best at making any choice of any sort. I wasn't sure why my lower lip was quivering with my next quiet words; "But... I like my friends," 

Roman sighed, eyes softening at the sight of me. "I know," he cooed, reaching forward to stroke his thumb across my cheek. "But I'll find you some new ones, okay? Let me deal with it for you."

I didn't want to fight anymore. Didn't want to fight this-- Roman's eventual occupation of my whole life, and his need to conquer every piece of me. There was something about the spark in the green of his eyes, the hidden fire behind his innocent, sweet words that I innately liked, anyway.

Roman made me feel dumb. 

So unbelievably brainless.

... Because maybe I was?

I let my inner monologue die out, go into static noise, as Roman's hand went into the hair at the nape of my neck. He twisted his fingers harshly into my locks as he grinned against my lips-- He had won. Fucking Napoleon. "I'm gonna take such good care of you," he cooed. "You don't ever have to see any of these people again, I'll make sure you don't."

Maybe that was for the best?

Roman knew better than me, anyway. Roman was smart. 

I was nothing compared to him.

Nothing. 

Roman's eyes sparkled with glee at the sight of the wreck he had made out of me. Finally, after one week of planting seeds of doubt in my mind, he had gotten through to my psyche. "What do you say we get out of here, hm?"

I nodded, trying not to hiss as his fist in my hair tightened. Now, I couldn't move-- I was forced to look straight into his eyes, unable to escape his gaze. 

"Gonna fuck you real nice for being such a good girl," Roman whispered, brushing his bottom lip against mine as I let out a shaky breath. "How many times do you want to cum tonight? I'll do it all for you, don't be shy."

I so desperately hoped no one was hearing this conversation. However, it hit me that it didn't matter; I wouldn't see these people again. Roman would make sure of that. "Two?" I tried, not sure what to answer. He got so intense sometimes, it made me weak at the knees with discomfort.

Roman tsked, grinning; "I think we can shoot higher. Let's say three,"

Who was I to deny myself such pleasure? "Okay," I breathed, feeling my cheeks turn a light shade of pink. Nonetheless, I made a point out of getting up on my tippytoes to get closer to his face. "Roman?"

He seemed as amused as ever; "Yeah?"

"Did you still want that kiss?"

Roman glanced up at the mistletoe, momentarily letting out a short laugh. I was sure he had forgotten about it. "You bet," Roman murmured, glancing back down at me before leaning down, nudging my nose with his as an invitation. 

I smiled as joy coursed through my veins-- I knew I was in good hands. Roman knew how to take care of me properly, much better than I ever could myself. 

It took me about a second before I realized I was leaning in.

Two seconds to realize Roman's soft lips were on mine with the gentlest touch known to man. 

And three to realize I was the luckiest girl in the world. 

Someone who kisses like this couldn't ever want anything bad to happen to me, right? His motives couldn't be selfish-- no, that was impossible. Roman's kisses were merely touches of utter love, kisses to ease me, disarm me, and push me into the right path of submission. Every brush of the soft pillows of his lips against mine was the equivalent of a verbal confession of love. 

As I pulled him closer, mentally thanking the person who hung up the mistletoe here, I saw red lights shine through my closed lids-- I smiled into the kiss, realizing we had set off the red reindeer nose of his sweater. 

This is what I was made for. 

This was who I was made for. 

Roman-- only Roman.

[moonperil6]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Fourteen: The Witch Gives Me a Souvenir!

Prev/Next

Warnings: Odysseus's shirt is unbuttoned, but I think that's it. A little spicy btw

Word Count: 1.4k

Listen to: There Are Other Ways

“Ody,” you hissed. “What’re you doing?”

Odysseus’s eyes flickered once to you, then settled on Circe. “I’m not sure I follow,” he said to the witch.

Circe smiled as you pressed your sword closer to her neck. She lifted a hand and snapped her fingers, curtains instantly drawing over the windows, floating torches replacing the sunlight.

“There are other ways of persuasion.” Circe slipped out of your grasp, causing you to make a low noise of annoyance. “There are other modes of control.”

Circe glided toward Odysseus, and you felt dread bubbling up in your stomach. “There are other means of deceit,” she continued. “There are other roads to the soul.”

Circe made a move to wrap her arms around Odysseus’s neck, but was met with you instead as you stood in her path. You glared daggers at the witch, sword pointed at your foe’s chest. Circe sneered at you and took a few steps back. 

“There are other options of passion.” Circe removed a circlet from her head, letting her hair flow freely. “You have so much left to learn!”

The witch was gone in a poof that smelled of sickeningly sweet flowers. 

“Want to save your men from the fire?” Circe questioned, voice now suddenly behind you. You turned to see Circe running her fingers down Odysseus’s neck delicately. She leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Show me that you’re willing to burn.”

You felt your gaze hardening as Odysseus ran his hands down his face. “Who’s to say, with all the mistakes I’ve made?” He groaned. “Will they be the last mistakes I ever make?” 

He didn’t even look at you, so you had to move around to get a good view of his eyes- huge, dilated pupils now filled most of his eye color, but you could tell that the lime-green had been replaced with a light pink.

Circe moved closer, and Odysseus let her, staring at her with a loving look. You nearly retched right then and there as Odysseus wrapped his arms around her torso, bringing her in so close that their noses nearly touched. You could hear Circe’s giggling. 

“There is so much power, so much power,” Odysseus said.

Hermes, you called in your mind. A little help here? 

You felt your mind sharpen, ears pricked for lies. You knew that Odysseus would never let anyone but Penelope touch him in that way. 

Circe pulled away a bit to give him a brilliant smile. “But there’s no puppet here,” she purred, running her hands down his chest and the buttons on his shirt. She twisted a nail around to undo it. Odysseus kept watching her face, body stiff as he stroked her hair.

“Stop!” You cried, shoving Circe away from your captain. “Get away from him!”

Circe scowled at you as Odysseus shook his head wildly, like trying to diminish thoughts from his mind. His eyes returned to their original color, pupils going back to normal size.

There was a moment of silence as Odysseus looked down at his unbuttoned shirt. His eyes widened with realization and he quickly turned to Circe.

“Back at home my wife awaits for me,” he said. “She’s my everything. My Penelope.” 

He raised his hand and swept it upward as if he could reach Penelope that way. “And she’s all my power. All my power.” He curled his hand into a fist. “But it’s been twelve long years.”

You lowered your chin a bit; you missed your queen, your best friend. You wished to talk to her again. 

“Twelve long years since I have seen my wife,” Odysseus repeated, slumping his shoulders. “And now the god of tides is out to end my life.”

You watched in shock as your captain got on his knees, beckoning for you to do the same. You let out an outraged huff and got down on one knee, sword tip digging into the pristine floor as you gripped it with both hands. 

“So I beg you Circe, grant us mercy, and let us puppets leave.” Odysseus wrung his hands.

Circe gazed down at you, ignoring the man completely. For the first time, respect leaked into her glare. She sighed, the edges of her mouth twitching upward despite the annoyed noise. She helped you up as she said, “Poseidon, eh?” 

You nodded numbly, offering your own hand to Odysseus, who grabbed it with a grateful smile.

Circe turned and marched back down the corridor. “There might be a way to evade him. There might be a way to get home.”

You shrugged at Odysseus and hurried after the witch. 

Your eyes flickered from tapestry to tapestry as you studied each and every one of them. There- Achilles getting dipped in the River Styx. A few tapestries depicted gods and goddesses as well. Artemis ran with her hunters, Ares charging into battle on a golden chariot pulled by skeletal horses. 

You caught your breath. The next few tapestries showed a few personal things- Polites holding up a vile as he murmured something to himself, Eurylochus carrying you out of the collapsing cave, Hermes smiling cheekily as he kissed you on the cheek. But the last one, it was awful. You with your bowstring drawn, aimed at a bundle hanging from Odysseus’s hand. 

You turned your head away, not wanting to look weak in front of your captain as his footsteps echoed a beat behind yours. 

“Though this other way’s very dangerous.” Circe’s voice was much louder than it had been in the throne room. “It might be your one final hope.”

You followed the woman into a room, blinking as you tried to take in the vast amount of potions around you. 

Circe grabbed a few, uncorked them, and poured their contents into a large culdrain that stood in the center of the room. 

“I know of a brilliant prophet,” she said. Circe reached out and grabbed a jar with a golden liquid that sloshed around inside. Instead of putting it in with the other potions, she pressed it into your hand. 

“Problem is this prophet is dead.” The witch grabbed a ladle and started stirring. “I can’t get you home, but I’ll get you to the Underworld instead.”

Circe moved to grab an empty jug, but you reached for it too. Grinning, you handed the jug to Circe. She returned your smile and motioned for you to keep holding the jug as she poured the new silverish liquid in. 

“I’ll release your men and I’ll get you to the Underworld instead.” Circe grabbed your wrist gently and led you out of the room through a different door. 

Odysseus seemed rather frustrated; he’d just caught up to the two of you. “Wait,” he said slowly. “You’re helping us.”

You sighed in exasperation and looked at Circe. “Forgive him,” you requested. “He’s rather slow at realizing these kinds of things.”

Circe only chuckled and kept walking. “There are many ways of persuasion. There are many modes of control.” 

Soon you emerged into the open air, and you breathed deeply, relishing the scent of flowers in bloom. 

Circe didn’t pause, giving a polite nod to a few nymphs tending to a garden on your left. “Maybe showing one act of kindness.” The nymphs glanced at you wearily, and you gave them a small wave to relieve tension. “Leads to kinder souls down the road.” 

Circe’s smile seemed to grow a little wistful as she said, “I remember actions of passion. I have been in love once before.”

You reached a pen that held four pigs. Circe gestured for the jug, and with a jolt you realized these barn animals were your men. 

Circe splashed a bit on each pig, stepping back as each grew larger, hooves turning to feet and snouts to normal faces with recognizable beards. 

The witch turned back to you and clasped your hands. “Maybe one day the world will need a puppeteer no more,” she remarked. 

You grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Or maybe one day, the world will need a puppeteer more.” 

Circe’s eyes lit up at your words, and you took your hands away from hers. You grabbed the forearms of two of the men, letting Odysseus deal with the others. 

The jar which withheld the golden liquid felt heavy in your satchel as you dragged them back the way you had come. 

You looked back once to see Circe mouthing the words, “Good luck.”

Taglist: @barrythestrawberry041 @thereigningking

[venic-bxtch]

For Jack Harlow wife threatens divorce after he said he would stop traveling so much when they got married but now he is barely in their child’s life because of work

ꕥHusband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader ꕥ

Tw: angst

The argument started small—just another one of those quiet, tense moments that had become all too familiar lately. Jack had come home late, barely in time to kiss your son goodnight, and you’d watched from the doorway as your little boy clung to him, his sleepy voice murmuring, “Don’t go again, Daddy.”

That had been the breaking point. After tucking your son into bed, you found Jack in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t have a care in the world. The sight of him so oblivious made something inside you snap.

“Jack,” you said, your voice sharp enough to make him look up. “We need to talk.”

He set his phone down, already sensing the storm brewing. “What’s wrong?”

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady even though the lump in your throat threatened to choke you. “What’s wrong is that our son barely knows his father anymore. What’s wrong is that you promised me things would change after we got married, but they haven’t.”

Jack’s brow furrowed, his eyes flickering with confusion—and maybe a little guilt. “What are you talking about? I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You’re here now,” you repeated bitterly. “But for how long? A day? Two? Before you’re off to another show or interview or god knows what else? Jack, you said you’d cut back. You said you’d prioritize us.”

“I am prioritizing us,” he said defensively, running a hand through his curls. “I’m doing this for us—for you and for him. To make sure we have everything we need.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “Jack, we don’t need more money or a bigger house or whatever else you think this is about. We need you. I need you, and our son needs you. But you’re barely here long enough to notice what’s going on in his life. Do you even know that he started saying full sentences last month? Or that he’s been scared of the dark lately?”

His face fell at that, and for a moment, you thought you’d gotten through to him. But then he sighed, his frustration clear as he ran both hands over his face. “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to balance everything. It’s not as simple as just staying home.”

“No, you’re not trying,” you shot back, your voice rising. “You’re making a choice, Jack. And right now, you’re choosing work over your family.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his tone sharp now. “You knew who I was when you married me. You knew this was part of my life.”

“I married you because I loved you,” you said, your voice breaking. “Because I believed you when you said you wanted to build a life together. But this? This isn’t a life. It’s me raising our child alone while you chase your dreams, and I’m done pretending that’s okay.”

Jack stared at you, his jaw clenched and his eyes clouded with emotion. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if something doesn’t change, I can’t do this anymore,” you said, your heart breaking even as you said the words. “I won’t stay in a marriage where I feel like I’m the only one fighting for us. And I won’t let our son grow up feeling like he’s not enough to make you stay.”

Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. Jack looked like you’d just punched him in the gut, his shoulders slumping as he processed what you’d said. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re threatening to leave me?”

“I don’t want to,” you admitted, tears streaming down your face now. “But I can’t keep living like this, Jack. I can’t keep watching our son miss you and pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

Jack swallowed hard, his eyes glistening as he stepped closer to you. “I don’t want to lose you. Either of you.”

“Then prove it,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “Show me that we’re more than just an afterthought. Be the man and the father you promised you’d be.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the floor as he wrestled with his thoughts. When he finally looked up, there was a determination in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I’ve been neglecting what matters most. I don’t want to lose you, and I don’t want to miss out on our son’s life. I’ll make changes. I swear I will.”

You nodded, wiping at your tears but not quite ready to believe him yet. “I hope so, Jack. Because I can’t keep holding this together on my own.”

He reached out then, hesitating for a moment before pulling you into his arms. You let yourself lean into him, your head resting against his chest as his hand gently rubbed your back.

“I’ll fix this,” he murmured against your hair. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. But for now, all you could do was wait and see if Jack would keep his promise.

Taglist: @tylerjeauxburreaux9 @iknowdatsrightbih @ikeepitlight @harlowcomehome @harlowsbby @blackynsupremacy @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses

[genderqueerdykes]

do you ever get tired of ppl asking you essentially the same things/things that have generally the same answers?? like, constantly reinstating the same things only for someone to ask the same question again.. it's something that would frustrate me to no end, so I'm js?? curious what your thoughts are on?? this? /gq very sorry if this comes across as rude at all!!

it doesn't come across as rude!

yes, it gets very exhausting. i get tired of having to type out "butch means queer masculinity" for the 23942390809285th time. that is the ask i get the most for sure, is "can i be butch if i'm xyz" or "do i have to be a lesbian to be butch" and while i'm happy to inform people that butch is a very broad spectrum, you would not believe the amount of asks i get specifically about whether or not people are "allowed" to be butch its. pretty exhausting at times. i know people don't mean any harm but i think that is one of the talking points that comes up most on my blog and its tiring to have to say it over and over and over again

but i will do it if it means helping someone learn! it's exhausting but it doesn't mean i don't want to do it. i appreciate this though, because i can tell that you see me as a person, and not an automated answer dispenser. i appreciate that you're concerned about how i feel. i view this blog as a labor of love. i do it because i'm passionate about teaching people and helping people understand the world around them. i do feel good about what i do at the end of the day. even if i have to answer the same question many, many times. i can't expect people to plumb through my entire blog before they send an ask. i can't expect that every single person has seen all of my posts. it's unrealistic to think that i wouldn't get repeats of that ask

and i do love that i'm one of the people that folks come to right away if they have questions about butchhood! i will say that i am glad that people come to me, because so many people have such a bad take on what it means to be butch. so many people are uninformed. so many people think that butch just means perisex cis woman in a tank top and jeans. i will gladly be here every day to tell people what all being butch can mean and encompass. even if it gets old sometimes, i'm still very happy to be able to educate people on a label that is extremely important to me, on a bone deep level

[chilling-seavey]

Winter Warmers: Day 20 — Thigh Riding & Matching Pyjamas

↳ A/N: I got carried away with this one... Also, thank you to this anon who honestly helped inspire part of this idea!!  

↳ Summary: A night of tea and reading only lasts for so long in your house.

↳ Word Count: 1747

↳ Warnings: 18+, thigh riding (duh), minor dirty talk, mentions of spit, ruining clothes...

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

George had never been that much of a reader but in the right moments, in the festively decorated living room, by the light of the fire and the glittering Christmas tree, with a mug of tea in hand and you tucked under his arm, nothing felt better than a good book. You both held a novel of your own in hands despite the way you were cuddled side by side, arms intertwined and balancing books and mugs, reading away. Only the crackling of the fireplace filled the serene night.

You had purchased your little family a matching set of Christmas pyjamas that year now that your son was somewhat old enough at almost two-years-old to fit into any of them. They were a wonderfully soft plaid of red and black, bottoms and a matching button up top, and the three of you looked straight out of a magazine when you wore them all together. The picture perfect family. It was something you had always dreamt of but never thought would be yours. Sometimes, life really did feel straight out of a novel. 

George’s lips pressing against your temple in a warm kiss pulled you out of the pages of your book. You glanced at him from under his arm with a fond, “What was that for?”

He shrugged, lifting his mug of tea to his lips, “Nothing.”

You snuggled closer into his side and his arm instinctively wrapped tighter around you until his forearm was tucked across your chest. His book was closed in his hand, forgotten about. Yours, on the other hand, was still very much open and very much interesting to you, drawing your eyes back to the scene printed on the pages. 

George read over your shoulder for a few moments before his fingers started wandering, caressing the soft material of your pyjama shirt until his thumb eventually found the bud of your nipple and he gave it a little swirl. You shifted to get him to move, your eyes still trained in on your page. 

But you could feel his breath on your neck with how much you were snuggled up beside him and between that and his wandering fingers, he was quite distracting. George leaned in towards you, kissing absentmindedly at the shell of your ear, underneath, down your neck, in feather-soft touches. His lips were extra warm from his tea, almost hot against your skin.

“What’re you doing?” you mumbled, squirming as his ghostly kisses made you shiver. 

“Nothing.” he repeated innocently. 

“Liar.” you announced without tearing your eyes away from your page. 

George gently pinched your nipple through your shirt. You flinched slightly, finally dropping your book so the pages straddled your thigh to keep your place, and you lolled your head back against his shoulder to look up at him with a pointed glare. He then kissed your nose, the apple of your cheek, the corner of your mouth that subsequently turned up at the corners at his affection. 

You puckered out your lips a little, a silent invitation. George licked his own briefly and then pressed a proper kiss to your awaiting lips, sharing one then two then three. 

“If you wanted attention, you could have just asked for it.” you reminded him.

“I didn’t want to interrupt; you looked so content.” protested George, his coy smile ever present on his handsome face. 

You scoffed and leaned forward to set your book and your mug of tea down on the coffee table, “You definitely still interrupted.” 

George’s mug and book joined yours and then you settled back under his arm, your hand falling naturally against the soft material of his plaid pyjama pants, right over his thigh. Your eyes met again, calm smiles, and then his hand reached up to tuck your hair behind your ear before trailing over your jaw. 

“You’re so beautiful.” he whispered adoringly. 

You scoffed bashfully, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest whenever he complimented you, and your fingers gently scratched over his thigh in silent appreciation. With a shared smile, you whispered back to him, “I love you.”

George’s smile only widened, “I love you more.”

Your reply was almost immediate, fingers dipping along the inner seam of his plaid pants as you gazed into his eyes with a playful sparkle, “No, you don’t.”

He laughed lightly, nodding, “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

You were snuggled so close on the couch that you could feel his warm breaths falling against your cheek and when you turned to face him a little more, your leg draped over his and tucking between his knees, you could feel the momentary halt of his breath. His arm followed you around your shoulder, his eyes unwavering from your face like you were all he wanted to look at. His hand started to slowly rub up and down your bicep, creating a tingling sensual touch that had your heart flipping in your chest. 

George’s voice was a little lower when he finally replied, deep and velvety right up against your ear, “I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree, Mrs. Russell.”

The use of your married name never failed to turn you into putty in his hands and you broke into a bashful smile and hid your face in his neck. George just chuckled and took his arm from your shoulders to rub his large hand up and down your back lovingly while his other hand tangled in the back of your hair to keep you snuggled close. 

After just a moment, you pulled away from his neck to look him in the eyes again. There was so much to read behind his irises as he gazed at you like that in the warmth of the living room. Your fingers found home in the fabric of his pyjama shirt, right over his heart, rubbing gentle circles as you shared a loving gaze by the firelight. His hand slid from your hair to gently trace your jaw, slender fingers lingering at your chin to keep your face turned upwards towards his as his eyes flitted down to your lips. 

He took your chin between thumb and forefinger with a gentle tug just as he leaned in to meet you halfway, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss. You inhaled sharply into the kiss, your hand flying from his chest to grab the side of his neck to keep his lips on yours. You met his eager pace with ease, even as his tongue pushed its way into your mouth. 

In the dizziness of his kiss, you could barely acknowledge his hand sliding down your back and over the curve of your ass in those plaid pyjama bottoms. He pulled away just enough to drop his palm down in a lazy smack. Your leg nudged up higher between his, body turning a little more until your crotch was just about pressed against the side of his thigh. 

George pulled away after a moment, greedy hands grabbing your hips to almost pull you onto his lap. You moved with his demands without protest, soon straddling his thigh with your arms strewn around his shoulders, pressed chest to chest, breathing in anticipation into each other’s mouths. His hands groped your ass over your pants that matched his, his voice a dreamy whisper, “Let’s ruin these.”

It was almost a promise, the way he said it, so demanding and needy all in the same. You could only lean down to swallow it up with your lips, tasting his pretty sounds with your tongue as he moaned into your mouth. His hands pulled you closer at the same time, forcing you to rut against his muscular thigh through the layers of fabric between you. The friction was sizzling. 

When you pulled away to breathe, a thin string of spit connected your lips for a brief moment before breaking between you. Your hands pressed down flat against his chest, pushing yourself up to square your shoulders on his lap, giving yourself more of a leverage to start to grind on his thigh a little stronger. George just gaped up at you for a moment, hands on your waist and only barely helped guide you along because you know exactly what you want and he would always be more than willing to let you do just that. 

He could just never get enough of you—you brought out the selfishness in him to an extreme—and so his hands moved to start to unbutton your pyjama top. You didn’t stop the gyrations of your hips, far too into the friction to stop, letting him do as he pleased as he finally pulled open your shirt to reveal your bare chest beneath. His hands went first, groping your breasts in his warm palms as if he were trying to pull you into your motions that way. The tightness of his grip had you gasping faintly, hips jumping against his thigh, fingers grasping onto the front of his shirt. 

“That’s it,” George breathed lowly, his voice rich and addicting with his eyes all over you, “Christ, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

And then his mouth was on your chest, taking one of your nipples in his mouth as his strong arms wrapped around you to help move you faster. He moaned against your breast, coating you in spit and kisses over your flushed skin, bodies moving together in a dire need to get off. 

He kept you grinding on his thigh until you were so sensitive that you were nearly crying, his shirt wrinkled and stretched from how you tugged mercilessly at it, wanting more, more, more. A little praise and a little dirty talk from your husband helped to finish you off, speaking to you in a low, rumbling whisper of how beautiful you were, how much you turned him on, how much he wanted to see you come all over his thigh. 

When you collapsed against his chest in tremors of pleasure, he held you close and kissed your temple, telling you how much he loved you into your hair. After all that, you had honestly soaked through your brand new pyjama pants and left a wet spot on his at the same time. But if that wasn’t enough, only minutes later, his shirt was also victim as he came up the front of it by your hand, staining the dark red and black plaid in creamy white.

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[rambles-on-dragon-age]

Tell me you only played the game once and didn't bother to engage with anything going on without telling me. 🙄

I'll respond to that nonsensical drivel in that screen shot under the cut BUT the reason they came onto your post to spew their brainless takes is because hating this game is performative at this point.

There's no reason to just drop it and move on because they crave the attention of hating something popular, of regurgitating the same brainless and nonsensical takes everywhere they can. They were too lazy to engage with what the game offered and just outed themself as such.

I'm also an ADHD'er and was all over the place while playing. I've only played once and look at everything I gleaned from it; imagine what's going to happen when I'm not buzzing on nervous energy and actually get to go through it taking my time and snooping for the small details. This game was genuinely engaging and was like a repeated dopamine hit. Every single detail was built with love and this game screams of lore and worldbuilding in every little piece.

As for that nonsensical drivel in the response screenshotted;;

"The side quests are just going from place to place looking for a note, having a boss fight, rinse and repeat."

You mean like literally every single J/RPG game in existence??? You mean the industry standard?? The thing that has been a staple of RPGs for decades now?? How many of those did we have in Inquisition? I can promise it's at least double what Veilguard gave us. How many in DA2? DAO?

"Every companion quest ends with you having to kill their Generic Big Bad and then make a binary choice for the companion."

Every companion quest mirrors and/or parallels the main story line and themes of the game. The complaint should be that the game is repeatedly beating us over the head with the main themes, but then again it did that and you still missed it apparently.

Every companion quest you've been there with them, as their new employer and then friend, every step of the way. You've seen the build up, the backstory, the stakes, all of it. They TELL YOU that they're too close to the issue and need someone outside of it, ROOK, to help them decide. Do you not have friends? Is that the problem? You don't have friends that help you and then talk you through a decision??' They TELL YOU that they're too close to the issue and need someone outside of it, ROOK, to help them decide. Do you not have friends? Is that the problem? You don't have friends that help you and then talk you through a decision??

"Most of the romances are lacking."

IT'S NOT A GAME ABOUT ROMANCE, IT'S A GAME ABOUT SAVING THE WORLD. The romance is meant to be a little flavor sprinkled on the side!! Play an otome game if you're only here for romance !!!!!

"There's very little conflict between the companions and when they're is they kiss and make up."

This is the first game where you hand select a group of professionals and essentially hire them. This is not a slapdash gang slapped together of whomever was willing to deal with world saving fuckery. Each of the people involved has been with their organization for years or decades and fulfill jobs in a professional capacity. I'm also confused on how repeated death threats counts as "very little conflict". But whatever; you made it clear you didn't really do much in the game so you probably missed the majority of the interpersonal conflicts they had. And yeah. As professionals living in close quarters at the end of the world, I would hope they'd be capable of being adults about it and talk through their problems and learn to live with their differences. Like adults should be able to do.

"Every time a companion is having a problem they get this generic 'I'm here for you' 'thanks rook i feel better now' cutscene."

Do you not... have friends? Do they not have things going on in their lives? In the face of something grave happening, words don't always help. Words won't stop their world from falling apart. Know what does? Knowing someone witnessed their worst and is still willing to stand by them. That if they need a shoulder, that shoulder is there for them. In real life, I've been on both sides of that generic conversation. It makes a difference.

"Every faction is generically good and interchangeable."

Factually incorrect. We even had a whole huge chunk of Davrin's quest to show us the Grey Wardens are actually hiding some really big, really grave secrets. Those are supposed to be some of the premier heroes of the realm. Everything with the Cauldron? Did you skip Davrin's quest? Banter shows that the Crows still torture recruits; they have in-fighting and assassinate their numbers. Lords of Fortune straight up have a murder pit where they throw the bodies of those "willing" combatants. Just because they're trying to show Rook their best face doesn't mean they're all good. You have to pay attention to the stuff in the game, not play with your eyes and ears closed.

"Lucanis is straight up lacking content somehow and got shoved in the pantry when everyone else gets a cool room that changes over time."

You have, again, completely missed the content that was blatantly in the game. Upon asking Lucanis why he's in the pantry and not, you know, in a room in the infinitely generating Lighthouse, he says he feels safe there. There's one entrance/exit so he can't be snuck up on. He can see the food and would know if someone was poisoning him. He's constantly brewing and drinking coffee to stay awake so Spite can't take his body for a walk; he's right there at the source and not walking back and forth to do so. He's also, you know, trying to stay awake so Spite can't take his body for a walk and his comfort level is one that helps him do that. Lucanis has the same amount of content that the other companions have. If you would have paid attention to his characterization as well as what he literally tells you to your face that wouldn't have even been part of the subject.

So I have ADHD right? And my first run of Veilguard took me 83 hours and I know I missed a ton of stuff even though I really tried to slow down and pay attention and read as many codex entries as I could. I’m still finding new stuff on my third run.

So when I see takes that are like “Veilguard is weirdly sexless compared to previous games” then in the same post you say you played 60 hours….like ya, you missed a ton of stuff. Which is fine? But you can’t get mad at the game or the writers for it that’s a you problem.

Or “You can’t talk to the npc’s so I can’t feel empathy for them” when like a) you can b) do you actually care about the people of Thedas like at all? I didn’t need the game to hit me with the empathy stick to care about a world I’ve loved for years. Again, this is a you problem not a writing problem.

Or “They sanitized/Disneyfied the lore.” Ugh.

Not saying you need to play the game again because I don’t care and honestly you don’t deserve it anyways but like if you’re going to say stupid shit at least be able to back it up.

[silkenwinger]

lightning crashes

yellowjackets lite, post plane crash (and post getting shot) johnny soap mactavish x reader.

tw for nothing I think. just touch prone johnny and fishing i guess

part two. read on ao3

It follows.

But you follow, too. In the silence of the forest, you trace the marks on the trees with your eyes. Most of them have to be redone, but they serve their purpose well for now. In the darkness, you can hear a feeble sound, a song perhaps. It’s not appeased anymore, but you have just the solution for it. Some night bird sings, a deadly silent owl. Vermin hunt. 

---------------------

The morning light snakes its way into the old cabin as your eyes open. Next to you, Martha rolls over, unbothered. No need to clock in, after all. You rise from the floor to sit up, and wriggle your little pouch around to fetch a small piece of dry meat. The one ratty bed the cabin holds is always given to whoever is sickest, a proposal you brought up as soon as it was discovered. Everyone had agreed, even though you still felt there was some dissatisfaction with the sleeping arrangements. Hushed whispers and mumbled replies are, all considered, quite nice responses in such a high stress environment, you reason.

You yawn, still half in Hypnos’ trenches, and put the meat piece in your mouth. As you chew the hard meat, a tickling sensation starts to form on your nape. Maybe it’s the neck pain that is natural to have while sleeping on the floor returning, but then it heightens, becomes tangible pressure and heat. You turn sharply and snappy, and the corner of your eye sees what’s touching you.

A tattooed arm, covered by a ton of thin dark hair. Connected to it are wide shoulders, which in turn sustain the sheepish face of Johnny. How did he make it this close to you without you hearing him? He sleeps near the door while you’re next to the opposite side. You swallow your bite.

Raising your eyebrow, you wordlessly question why he’s touching you. Even though it’s a little unexpected, it’s far from unwelcome. You just want to know what ails him. He shakes his head, eyes closed, then twirls his hand around with his index horizontal, then rethinks on it for a second and points to the door instead. You nod, but hold your hand up a second, and make the twirling motion yourself. Toilet first before any decisional meeting. Standing on the tip of your toes, you grab your blanket and carefully avoid the bodies on the floor to exit the cabin. Johnny follows, eerily silent. You expect him to wait for you near the entrance, but instead he doesn’t seem to catch the hint. Sending him a glance, you make for the usual patch of trees you usually use in the morning, but still, he follows.

“Um, Johnny?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, have to go to the toilet.”

“I figured.” He only says, like that’s an explanation on why he’s trailing after you.

“So… we can talk later. Give me just a minute.”

“Can’t we talk while you do it?” The question actually floors you. Your mouth gapes while you try to find an appropriate answer to what he just asked of you.

“No, I don’t think that’s right,” your face heats as you even consider it, “really, I’ll be with you in a second.”

“Hmm. What if there’s something out there, and it catches you off guard? Awful way to go.” He sounds pretty jolly for someone insinuating there’s something out there that can just kill you while you have your pants around your ankles, but nevertheless. 

“I’ll stay close. Don’t worry,” and again, be more assertive!, “I won’t repeat it. Stay there.” The voice coming out of you almost doesn’t sound like yours, but you like that. Enough being walked over by everyone. Johnny looks as if you just kicked him to the curb, or like a dog that got hit because he dared to ask for scraps at the table. While his expression moves you, big baby blues, he’ll be fine and you both know it. Some limits have to be established.

As you return from doing your business, you find him leaning against the cabin’s wall, whistling. As soon as he sees you, he peels away from it and gets closer.

“Everything alright?” He has the gall to ask. 

“Splendid. What did you want to talk about?” You snuggle in your blanket.

“Let’s go by the river.”

The cold bites your cheeks as you walk together. The same way as always, the closer from the general crash site and cabin. It must be around five, five and a half, for everyone but you two to be still asleep. 

“Did you dream tonight?” Johnny breaks the silence first, not uncommonly.

“I think so, yes. I remember walking, and walking, and walking again. It felt like I was going in circles, and my feet and back hurt.”

“That’s because you don’t exercise enough.” 

You roll your eyes. He can get preachy fast, and not everyone is a gym buff anyway.

“Anyway, my back hurt so much, and since I wasn’t going anywhere I decided to stop a bit.”

“If I was there I could have given you a massage.”

“Sure. Well, as I was sitting there, a wolf came out of the blue. It was huge, and black, and I thought he was going to eat me whole like in Little Red Riding Hood. But he came close to me and smelled me instead.”

“Nice wolf.”

“Then it kinda became a person and gave me a hamburger. The dream got foggy before that though, I think I was just hungry.” You flatten your arms back to your sides.

“Hmm. What do you think it means?” You shrug your shoulders. You’ve had weird dreams for as long as you lived, and you could be dreaming much worse stuff than some allegorical fable.

“Did you? Dream.”

He hums a bit and tightens his eyes, like it hurts to remember.

“I dreamt about something I did back at my old job,” he says, still looking towards the river, which is much closer now. He brought a net with him, with the intention to fish breakfast, and he drops a bucket on the ground. It's really just luck based. You might go back to the cabin with nothing to account for.

He continues talking. “But it wasn’t a memory. It was like I was there and living it again, but things kept going differently than they really did. You know what I mean?” You nod. Who hasn’t dreamt their life was out of their control? Like a rope that slips out of your hands no matter how hard you try to hold it, the other end held too strong.

You arrive at the bank and start removing your shoes.

“Nay, bonnie, I’ll do it myself.”

“Don’t be silly, let me help.”

Henry, the oldest man in the group, had come up with a way to fish, so to speak. Using the nets from the luggages and stitching them together, then tying it to two big sticks. Hard to catch any real big fish, but considering hunting doesn’t always bring something to eat back, at least some freshwater crabs are better than nothing. You bend down to fold over your pants at least a bit, but then realize they’re too tight to really fold more than mid calf. Putting your hands on your hip, you steal a glance at Johnny. His pants are off.

“Oh,” you whisper. He raises his head hearing your voice, tilting it to the right after. His thighs are still so ridiculously big, and hairy, that you avert your eyes out of pure shame. You’d think he’d lose muscular mass with the scarcity of food, but it barely made a dent so far. You turn your back to him and look vaguely in the direction of the cabin. Breathe in, breathe out. You can do this. You slide your pants off, shivering a bit. God, you hope the panties you’ve got on aren’t the stained ones. Goose bumps all over, you jump a little on the spot, noticing the splashing sounds of Johnny entering the water have stopped. Worried something might be wrong, you turn back with your hands splayed on your front.

Johnny is deadly still in front of you, net halfway through the dark river water. He keeps looking up, and then down at your legs, and then at your middle. Embarrassed by his gawking, you clear your throat and hold out an arm for him to pass one stick. He does so wordlessly after blinking once.

“Soon, it will be too cold to do this daily,” you bemoan to Johnny as you start dragging the net near the bed of the river. He sighs.

“Aye. We need to kill something big, and then store it like Henry said. We’ll make a pelt out of it too.”

“Yeah. We are going to need it.”

On Johnny’s one two three count, you quickly bring the net out of the river. You two get closer to inspect the catch. On the mismatched patchwork of nets, there lies an assembly of creatures. Two shads, one little bigger than a nail. Two big, unidentified fish, hopefully not too sick. Three crawfish of different sizes. You hold a wide hand up with a smile, and Johnny high fives it so hard you almost take a step back. Instead of retracting, he holds your hand in his big paw, and takes his other arm to push you flush against him by the waist. He hugs you with a tight grip, the drops of water falling from his legs onto yours, and you reciprocate the embrace, running your hands on the expanse of his back. His arms feel… like nothing else before, you think.

“You still haven’t told me what you wanted to talk about,” you tell him as you wait for your body to dry, sitting on the grass and jiggling your feet. Johnny has progressively gotten closer to you as the seconds passed. At least he emits constant heat. His thigh brushes against yours.

“It’s about those three fuckers,” he says stretching his neck left and right. His beard has grown a bit: he’ll probably cut it with that one shiv that always makes you nervous.

“They’re not going to have a nice time.” You sit with that for a few seconds, waiting for an explanation that doesn’t come.

“You say that because…?”

He scratches the side of his head. “Remember when we left you guys and went around? And we found the cabin?” You nod. They were gone for just a day, but it had felt like years, hidden under the metal piece and hoping it wouldn’t be too cold during the night.

“They mostly just followed my input, y’know? I mean, I have a little more experience in places like these. I tell ‘em to make signs on the trees so they can figure out where they’re going. Child’s play, right? And they do it. Except maybe they’re doing it wrong, because at some point I realise on my own that we are going nowhere, but the trees have nothing on them, and they look a bit different too.”

“I turn around to tell them what’s up and there’s no one there. Now, it’s not exactly full of explorers and bravehearts here, so I doubt George would ever willingly go off on his own. I start hearing weird stuff, too,” he brushes his forehead, eyes down, “but I push through it and start yelling for them. I managed to find them at the end, and they tell me I was there one second and then I wasn’t.”

The story has you wrinkling your eyebrows. “So you got lost?” 

He scoffs. “I don’t get lost.”

“Okay. Most of them were probably still shaken from the crash. Not all of us jump from helicopters and are fine after,” you joke to lighten the mood. Seeing Johnny pensive is actually a bit upsetting. He smiles, and everything is back to normal, you think.

“I do agree with you that they’re not going to have a good time, though. Not that I want them to get hurt,” you rush to explain yourself, “but it feels like they don’t have a clear idea of what to do. And they’re very upset you’re not going with them. But if they get us help I’m all for it.”

Johnny squints at that. “Someone give you a hard time?” He asks, tone cold. You don’t know how he has come to that conclusion, maybe Martha told him after, but you shrug. You’re in a compassionate mood, and Oliver is going away in any case, left to this forest that makes even a cold blooded soldier hear things. Plus, he probably insults people in his sleep.

You rub your legs to warm them up as you get up to put your pants back on. As you slide them on, you feel Johnny’s gaze on you. Without looking back, you simply say, “Let’s go cook breakfast.”

When you return to camp, you see that Martha and Henry have started the outside fireplace.

“Good morning,” you tell them, and then open your arms and point to show off Johnny behind you, who’s still holding the net and the bucket (he wouldn’t let you hold one). 

“Oh, nice,” says Martha, and she sneaks a look into the bucket. The poor creatures are still moving around, crawfish trying to climb up the walls to no avail. 

“Good job, you two,” says Henry, and you preen under the older man’s praise. He used to be quite the outdoors man himself, but then he got into a bad hike and hurt his leg. He still limps and needs a cane. And now he’s stranded in some unknown region… Some people just have misfortune after misfortune.

You leave the killing of the creatures to other people. You can and have done it before, but you’re still a bit squeamish, and your part was done in catching them. Sitting down, you warm your hands at the fire.

Later, you split one of the two fish in three between you, Johnny and Aurora, who’s still recovering inside. It tastes like mud, all you’ve caught so far do, but if you close your eyes and distract yourself enough it’s like eating a fish stick, or very vaguely smoked salmon (thanks to the fire). 

The three wise men exit the cabin. They’re wearing jackets and holding backpacks on their shoulders, and you turn to wave them over. Oliver holds a rifle in his hand: it’s the oldest one. Maybe Johnny had to do some gaslighting to convince him to take that. You’ve saved the other big fish for them, some much needed proteins for the journey.

“Thank you,” say Chris and George when you pass them a piece. Oliver only nods when you do the same to him, which prompts a glare from Johnny. Whatever.

“We are going to try and go the opposite way. From the plane, I mean,” explains Chris, and Johnny hums under his breath.

“The forest is pretty thick in that part,” says Johnny, “it’s why we decided to go the other way the first time.”

“Yes,” interrupts Oliver, “but here it’s more sparse and there’s still nothing.”

“We are also going to leave a new message on the airplane,” twitters George.

There’s already a huge SURVIVORS IN CABIN NORTH engraved in the biggest intact part of the plane, the one where most of you were sitting. What possibly more could rescuers need to know?

“We are going to write that we are starving, and there’s people who need medical help,” continues George. Martha mutters a “no shit” between breaths and Oliver actually snarls at her. This causes a chain of events: Martha calls him some name, Johnny gets up, Henry busies himself cleaning the crawfish, and you just observe.

“Enough,” says Johnny, resolute and authoritative. It’s no use telling Oliver that if he wants to eat he needs to actually search for food: he can’t even be thankful for other people’s care. What his ass needs is to fight some animal in the wild instead of taking it on you guys, and see what comes out of it.

With peace of mind knowing you’ll have the rage prone dude out of your feet from some days, you wish the three of them good luck.

[garden-of-gay]

Can You Feel It? It's Burlesque Part 2

This chapter is a bit shorter than the last, but that is because I've been super busy and I wrote too much for one chapter, so I am giving a shorter chapter now for a longer chapter 3. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter <3

Ch 1, Ch 2

Also here on Ao3

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Eddie made his way up to the door Steve had motioned to and upon entering the back was hit with a wave of perfume and absolute chaos. The back was extremely crowded, dancers were everywhere in all the different mirrors and stations but above all a woman’s voice could be heard.

“Ladies! Let’s move it, ladies!” She yelled.

There was a cacophony of replies along the lines of “Yes ma’am” and a couple “Where is my costume!?” but for the most part, the chatter was hard to decipher although, Eddie managed to pick up a bit since his time working in the noisy bar.

“Does anyone know where Billy is?” someone asks.

Eddie is thoroughly overwhelmed at this moment as he searches for Joyce. He overhears a dancer talking to someone and figures it’s his best bet to find Joyce, follow the dancers.

He hears a dancer complain of losing a contact on the stage and the older woman from earlier speak up.

“Okay, if you fall off the stage remember, leg extended, boobs up” she chuckles.

The younger woman she was seemingly talking to then chimes in,

“Remember you’re a goddess.”

“Thank you, Robin” the dancer replies with a smile before the older lady repeats the phrase in a mocking tone towards this Robin.

Backstage is chaos, but he loves it. It reminds him of the few times his dad allowed his band to play at the bar and there was a certain anticipation that hung in the air right before performing. He bumps into one of the dancers before she calls out to a man loitering backstage.

“Lonnie, the sink upstairs is broken again,” she said.

“I’m not calling a plumber, Barb” He replies.

He then makes his way over to the elegant older woman and Eddie can slightly make out what they are saying.

“Joyce, have you read this letter from the bank?” He asks.

“Lonnie, how many times must I tell you? No business during business hours” She huffs, annoyed.

“Come on, Henry Creel is coming to the show tomorrow night, this isn’t going away Joyce,” he says.

She rolls her eyes at him and is clearly disinterested in continuing the conversation, but he continues anyway.

“You won’t talk to me before shows, you won’t talk to me after, it’s like you are avoiding me.”

“Well, I didn’t divorce you to spend more time with you” She jokes.

“I may not be Mr. Joyce anymore but I still own half this place,” he says before walking away in a huff muttering on about how it’s not paying the bills.

Eddie then approaches Robin who is in the midst of fixing up a dancer’s hair and then asks.

“I’m looking for Joyce?”

She nods her head in the direction the older woman, Joyce, went and he wanders over to her.

“Hi, are you Joyce?” He asks.

“Yes, honey, why are you in my mirror exactly?” She replies kindly.

“Oh sorry, I’m a friend of Steve’s and I’m looking for a job.”

“Where have you danced?”

“Ummm….”

Eddie had for some reason not anticipated this question and was now left floundering.

“At home? I promise you I can move though.”

She gave him a polite smile in the mirror before speaking.

“Give your name and number to Robin and she can contact you when we have our next auditions.”

“When will that be exactly?” he asked.

He never got his answer because Robin approached, and Joyce turned her attention to her.

“Where is Billy?”

“I don’t know, he’s late again,” Robin said

“Oh, I’m never late” Eddie interjected hoping it scored him some brownie points

“That’s great buddy now leave your name and number with your friend Steve downstairs, and we will give you a call, promise,” Robin said with a gentle push towards the stairs

 “I’ve just never seen anything like it, and I would just love...” Eddie began before bumping into yet another dancer, this time in big sunglasses

“Billy, Robin, and I were just talking, and you know she said…” Joyce said and then gestured to Robin to finish the thought

“That it was so sad that Billy couldn’t join us for the opening number, and it would be so great if he joined us for the next one”

“Listen, less flab more ab, my workout took longer than expected” Billy replied to the women

“And so is finding a new job when I fire your late ass” Joyce joked, but Eddie could tell there was a bit of truth to her statement

Billy then turned and acknowledged Eddie for the first time since they bumped into each other

“Hey, bring me a martini extra dry, straight up, three olives,” Billy said with an heir of entitlement

“He doesn’t work here Billy” another dancer replied while Eddie remained speechless, staring at Billy

“Then he isn’t busy,” he said smarmily

Eddie continued staring at Billy for a moment. Billy then seemed to notice and spoke with a cocky grin on his face.

“Didn’t your mama every tell you it isn’t polite to stare”

“You’re just so damn handsome” He replied

“Screw your mama, stare away” Billy exclaimed with a Cheshire grin

“It’s just no one would ever know” Eddie replied

“Know what!" Billy said angrily.

Eddie took note that Billy seemingly had a short fuse and was easy to rile up…perfect.

“That you are smooth like a Ken doll down there,” Eddie said with a wink before descending the stairs back into the busy club.

-

Once he got back down to the bar, Eddie took inventory of everything happening. He needed a job ASAP and it looked like this place needed a proper waiter. He observed the club for a moment and realized that the waitress who was supposed to be getting drinks to patrons was sitting around chatting with someone at the bar. He watched as a customer waved her over and she blatantly ignored them saying something along the lines of “In a minute”. This just wouldn’t do, and a plan began forming in Eddie’s head, if he couldn’t tell them why he deserved a job then he would just show them.

He stripped the leather jacket he was wearing draping it over a chair before picking up a tray from the bar and making his rounds from table to table based on who was in need of drinks. Once he was satisfied with gathering orders he returned to Steve at the bar.

“A shot of Patron and the tough looking guy in the hat wants a Cosmo” he said, Steve looked puzzled but replied

“What are you doing?”

“One night, if I’m not better than boobs-for-brains over there, you don’t have to pay me” Eddie practically begged he needed this job and he needed it bad.

-

Turns out Eddie had done something right and was told he could return the next night to begin proper work on the condition that he wore the proper club uniform. He had easily agreed as the uniform was all black and even if he hated it he would wear it because a job is a job and he needs it. He had been told to arrive 30 minutes early to his shift to be shown where everything was and get a feel for the place but other than that he was left to his own devices since he had waiting experience under his belt.

Once the club had opened and the seats were filled, Eddie began getting drinks for the tables as they waited for the opening number of the night. Eddie had no idea what to expect but was just as excited to see the performances as the attendees. After a while, the lights dimmed and the opening to Diamonds Are a Girls Best Friend by Marylin Monroe.

A kiss on the hand May be quite continental But diamonds are a girl's best friend

A kiss may be grand But it won't pay the rental On your humble flat Or help you at the automat

Men grow cold As girls grow old And we all lose our charms in the end

But square-cut or pear-shaped These rocks don't lose their shape Diamonds are a girl's best friend

Back at the bar, Joyce and Robin could be found watching Eddie as he worked.

“Isn’t that the guy that was backstage yesterday?” Joyce asked

“I think so?” Robin replied

“Hey Steve, what’s he doing here?” Joyce called out to him.

Steve’s face flushed a bit red at this, but he replied nonetheless

“He really wanted a job and so…he's our new waiter”

“And when did I make you the head of personnel?” Joyce joked with Steve

“He just picked up a tray and started working,” Steve said with a shrug, face still flushed

“Really?” Robin asked, her eyes bugging slightly out of her head

“Well, his name is Eddie” Steve replied sheepishly.

“Eddie” Joyce repeated before calling out to the man in question

“Hey Eddie”

Eddie waltzed over to the bar nervous as to what Joyce had to say, would she be super upset? Would she fire him on the spot? He couldn’t lose this job, he just got it and based on the look on her face, she meant business. As he got closer, however, her face softened before she spoke

“The uniform looks nice on you but roll up your sleeves you look too formal. Also, put up your hair you got a cute face so don’t hide it”

Eddie flushed and hoped the lighting would hide his blush. He had been told he was hot before by the men he had hooked up with, but he had never been called cute, especially not by a motherly type; it was nice.

“Also, don’t ever go behind my back again” Joyce said more stern

“Yes ma’am” Eddie replied, and he felt like saluting but figured that it would not bode well.

“And don’t ever call me ma’am again” Joyce huffed

“Yes sir, I mean ma’am, I mean…Joyce” Eddie fumbled. Damn, he was doing bad at this.

“Get on the floor” Joyce joked before patting Eddie along.

-

The performance continued and Marilyn sang:

Tiffany's Cartier Black Starr Frost Gorham Talk to me Harry Winston Tell me all about it

As the lead dancer ripped jewels from the other dancers’ bodies. Eddie watched mesmerized, slowly picking up the steps to the dance and dancing along as he went from table to table getting drink orders. He was pulled away from watching when a man’s voice spoke.

“Excuse me, Dewar’s rocks and a bottle of your best champagne for the table…and oh, will you tell Billy that I’m here”

“Any you are…?” Eddie asked, especially since this man clearly had money and no manner when it came to introducing himself.

“A member since ’91, Henry Creel. And you are?” Henry asked

“Eddie” He replied

“Eddie" Henry parroted back

-

Meanwhile, as Eddie waited tables, Robin had made her way backstage to make sure the performance was going alright and that she could help with any malfunctions and costume changes to come. As she watched, she was made aware of a presence once he came crashing up to her.

“I’m here,” Billy said

“You’re late, you’re late for a very important date, Vickie went on for you” Robin chuckled because of course Billy expected the club to wait on him.

Billy then looked between the beaded curtains at Vickie before he spotted Eddie and turned to Robin.

“What is that waiter doing here, I want that bitch out now” Billy exclaimed angrily

“What did he ever do to you?” She asked

“He said I have no dick” he pouted

Robin just laughed before replying

“That can’t be the first time that’s happened”

Billy just gave her an angry look before turning to look up at the lighting guy and saying:

“Get my spot”

“Billy, what are you doing!” Robin exclaimed, trying to stop Billy but it was too late, he had already stepped out onto the stage and to reel him back in would just disrupt the performance.

-

Eddie watched as the dancer from yesterday, Billy, stepped on the stage and began to fight for the spotlight over the original lead dancer.

There may come a time When a lass needs a lawyer But diamonds are a girl's best friend

There may come a time When a hard-boiled employer Thinks you're awful nice But get that ice or else no dice

Of course, Billy was like this. Eddie had encountered people like this before who needed everything to be about them, and Billy seemed just the type to do that. He pushed and shoved his way in front of the other dancer and the poor girl did her best to adapt to the situation.

-

 As the number came to an end Eddie found himself back at the bar watching and imagining himself in the place of the lead dancer.

Diamonds Diamonds I don't mean rhinestones But diamonds are a girl's best Best friend

He would sing and the crowd would go wild, clapping, throwing flowers for him, and overall cheering his name. “Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!”

“Eddie! Eddie, what do you need?” Steve asked, snapping and pulling Eddie away from the daydream he was having

“Dewars rocks and a bottle of Dom” He began

“And keep it coming” Steve finished

“So, he’s a regular” Eddie questioned

“Henry Creel, real estate guy. Dating Billy. This week at least” Steve answered

Good to know that Steve and seemingly the club were not homophobic because that might have become a problem at some point but Eddie was more focused on how the dancers got to soak in the applause and bask in the moment. He turned to Steve

“I wanna be up there, I wanna do that”

“Question is, do you have the talent?” he asked

“I do” Eddie replied

“Are you sure?” Steve asked

“Yes!” Eddie replied with a grin

“Positive?” He asked with a smile of his own

“Yeah!” Eddie said, grin getting bigger

“Good because you’re on” Steve replied with a smile before pushing a tray of drinks towards Eddie.

His smile dropped pretty quickly after picking up the tray of drinks and he huffed an annoyed sigh.

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